Refreshing colour scheme. Expensive white-fur carpet. Slippery, spacious marble floors that reflected the light emitted by the curved floor lamps. A mighty waterfall raging down the cliff in milky froth behind the full-length glass windows of the villa. The blue sky of France, visible and clear, framed up the picture beautifully. Even the air smelled of lavender eau de parfum; Clarisa's breath was truly taken away. There was no one in the living room with her, so she walked around admiring the interior design. She did not know much about Francis, but she could now say that he had exquisite taste. She was gazing up at a large, acrylic painting on the feature wall when a voice called in a mild french accent,
“Good to see you, Clarisa.”
She turned, and a man in a white suit descended the transparent stairs from the second floor, each step a glass plank anchored to the wall and suspended from the ground. His firm, smooth face made him look forty, but half of his crew cut was already silver.
“Francis,” Clarisa greeted, realising that she was the first in her department to meet the founder of their organisation for the first time. He smiled and held out his hand to her once he reached the floor. Clarisa shook it and said sincerely,
“It's an honour to meet you.”
“And I you,” he told her, and Clarisa sensed a tinge of bitterness in that friendly smile of his. “I’m glad you're able to come. Please take a seat on any sofa you wish. If you'd like a drink, I have all the grades of cognac in my collection. But if you just like a good old red wine, there's plenty of that to spare as well.”
“I’d just like water, thank you.”
Francis chuckled as he held a glass under the kitchen tap. “You're too humble.” He returned to the white cotton sofa Clarisa had chosen with two glasses of water in his hands, and passed one to her.
“You're too generous,” Clarisa complimented before holding the glass to her lips.
Francis snorted. “Hard not to be when you've got so much.” He sat down comfortably on a couch to her left, and took some time to admire her anatomy.
“Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you look?”
Though slightly disturbed, Clarisa smiled at him graciously,
“You are one of many.”
Francis returned her a smile, then decided to get to the real talk,
“You must be wondering why I asked you here.”
Clarisa looked up at him eagerly, hoping that they had gotten past all the niceties.
“Yes.”
“And everyone in every branch must be wondering where I've been and what I've been doing for the past entire month.”
“That is correct.”
“And why in my right mind I withdrew almost all of Francis funds without any warning or explanation, killing hundreds of perceivers around the world and leaving my own organisation in practical chaos.”
Clarisa wanted to smile.
“I couldn't have put it better.”
Francis smiled before she did, and let out a sigh as he narrated,
“When you're young, you're ambitious, idealistic, and you think that with such superpower and wealth, you can change the world. You think it's possible to rid it of all evil and darkness, and so with all the resources and energy and guts you have, you set up a shadow-fighting organisation and name it after yourself. There. Done.”
He paused his story with a wistful silence. Clarisa decided that it was part of the act and chose not to interrupt it. Sure enough, he continued,
“For awhile you are very proud of yourself, and you look for people who can share that pride. You find love, and you start to fall in love with the game and not the players. You lose the people who believe in you, and gradually you stop believing in yourself. And that was me. A month ago I stopped believing completely, and the Darkness rewarded me by shielding me from the rest of the world.”
Was she supposed to be his counsellor now?
“Francis,” she said softly, “I'm sorry about what happened to you in the past, but this isn't just about you anymore. You started this organisation, and you can't destroy it just because you no longer believe in it. There are people who have come to believe in your principles, and I am one person in particular. What you started made a difference and will continue to make a difference.”
Francis shook his head. “Why change the world when you can't even change yourself. There is so much darkness in you, why bother about the darkness in others. Moreover, ridding the world of darkness is impossible. It just comes back.”
“It does come back,” said Clarisa. “But we don't surrender to it. We keep coming back just as it does. We can't change the whole world, but we can change the worlds of the people we do save.”
“This is one reason why I asked you here,” Francis said dully. “Why are you so upbeat? People are dying in your branch, and you still think you can solve the crisis. I want to know what keeps you ticking, what makes you 'immune' to the Darkness.”
“I am not immune to the Darkness,” Clarisa clarified. “I still fall for it, and sometimes require the help of my colleagues to pull me back up again. But that's part of life. One person alone is not strong enough, so you make friends, have trust in people, and you'll have each other's back. Being ‘upbeat’ isn't something that you're born with, it's something that has to be learned and takes time. And it's not unfailing. Anyone can fall into depression and lose hope in things they once believed in. But ultimately, being 'upbeat’ is a choice. It's difficult, it's arduous, and to some people it's unnatural. But it gets you going in the right direction, so for me it's something worth putting effort into.”
“Tsk tsk... Now I see why you are a counsellor,” Francis remarked. “Always promoting positivity.”
Clarisa raised her eyebrows, surprised by his knowledge of her occupation. Seeing her expression, he laughed,
“I am a very powerful perceiver, Clarisa, in more ways than one. If I bothered to concentrate, I'd probably perceive what you ate for breakfast this morning.”
“Well, you are the founding perceiver,” Clarisa took his point.
“A month ago, I also happened to notice that you're counselling a new perceiver,” Francis said slowly, “And she appears to be rather… turbulent.”
“I wouldn't say that,” Clarisa regarded the adjective he used, “She's a very sensitive girl, but she has shown improvement in her mental control.”
Francis stated in a clipped tone, “Her name is Kathryn Martinez.”
“Why, yes,” Clarisa wondered what he was getting at. Francis stood up wearily from the sofa and began to pace the floor in slow, big steps. As he turned his back to Clarisa, he recounted,
“I used to have a daughter with the same first name, and a wife with the same last name.”
Clarisa's stomach tightened, and warning lights flashed in her mind. As her suspicion escalated, he continued in a harsh, low voice,
“I did wrong. And instead of making it right, I did worse. I was a tyrant- disgraceful, dishonourable, and a hypocrite to maintain this organisation. It went on for two years, until I awoke one morning to find the other side of the bed cold. The house was empty, and I knew what I made them do.”
Her breathing was strangling her. All she could feel was blood pulsing to her head, as hard as her arteries allowed them.
“For the next six years I ran the organisation with no passion. There is no Darkness but in me.” Francis said scornfully as he rummaged for something in a drawer. “I don't live in that old house anymore. I disposed of everything got to do with them, except this.”
He pulled out a small, wooden framed picture and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Clarisa bent over and saw that it was a family photograph of Francis, a pale-faced woman with coppery brown locks, and a cheerful little girl about five years old, with freckled cheeks and her mother's hair colour.
“You abused them,” she uttered.
“In ways so cruel that they scare me,” Francis sat down on the sofa again. “I still have nightmares about them, and I'm prepared to live with what I've done. For years I didn't know where they've moved to or what they were doing, until about a month ago.”
The pieces clicked in her mind before Francis needed to put them together.
“You sensed her,” she whispered.
“I sensed her,” Francis affirmed, “And no way in hell do I want my daughter to enter the organisation her monster of a father created. So I withdrew the funds, hoping to collapse this organisation before anyone started inducting new perceivers. It wasn't a hard decision at all; I no longer believed in it anyway. But then, about a week ago, I sensed you.”
Possibilities swirled in her head, so fast that she couldn't see what they were. She felt it coming, but she didn't know what it was...
“It wasn't the first time I knew about you. I've been observing you ever since you joined my organisation. You’re the one who’s been maintaining the impossible success rate in New York, and you're the number one perceiver the Darkness is after. You were interesting, but I never bothered to call you up, until I sensed you with her.”
Francis looked at her, a ray of hope beaming from his sad, tired eyes.
“Kathryn was a great girl, and I am sorry about what she has become because of me. I think of her and her mother all the time, and I can't stop thinking about them. I'm a changed man now. I hate everything that I was, and I swear on my life that I will never hurt them again. Kathryn has the potential to be a brilliant perceiver, but she is extremely dangerous in her current emotional state. I might be the worst father, but I still know her best. I am biologically related to her, and her abilities must take after mine. Only I can give her the proper training she needs to control her powers. I used to think that it was too late to get her back, but now that I see you’ve established a rapport, I was wondering if you could do me a favour.”
Clarisa’s chin was buried in her chest to avoid looking at him. She muttered,
“What you ask for is too much.”
“I am afraid it is,” he admitted, and rose from his seat to pace the room slowly again.
“And that is why I’m willing to offer something in return.”
Clarisa closed her eyes briefly as she braced herself for the bombshell.
“I will restore the funds in every country, in every branch of my organisation, and everything will be back the way it was before,” he announced, then his tone softened. “Because all I ask for is Kathryn's trust. As soon as I have that, she is free to become a member of my organisation.”
Clarisa shook her head in disbelief, and said shakily,
“I doubt that Kathryn's trust can be easily earned, especially after it’s broken.”
Francis let out a sigh, then told her,
“I will give you some time to think about it, but I’m sure that soon enough, you will have to decide what's important for yourself. I’ll be there if you do decide to talk to her, but the choice is in your hands. Au revoir, Clarisa.”
Francis dematerialised in the snap of a finger, leaving Clarisa alone in the beautiful living room of the luxury villa that did not look so beautiful anymore.
* * *
It was seven AM, and she had not slept a wink or answered the calls of her superiors, only lain in bed debating morality with her persian cat by her side. She ran her fingers through the white fur tenderly, and it helped to calm her a little. But the pressure inside her was boiling.
Ten AM. She made lunch for herself and did not touch it. She had turned on some classical music and tried meditating in her favourite chair, hoping that it would bring her some clarity. It didn't.
One PM. Three hours to the next session with Kathryn. She rearranged miscellaneous items on her display shelf. The answer was now clear and simple in her head, and she hated it. She knew what she had to say, but had not thought of what to tell herself after it was all over.
Four PM. She appeared on Kathryn's doorstep and rang the bell. It was back to the boring, traditional hello. The front door opened, and Kathryn stood there. She was astounded to see that Clarisa wasn't smiling.
“Hey, what's wrong?”
She let Clarisa enter and closed the door. Clarisa noticed that the dark clouds on the ceiling had thickened. She pictured them rumbling with thunder and lightning, as they were going to very soon.
“Is Leo okay?” Kathryn asked in concern.
“Yes, I've received news that he's better,” she told her simply. Kathryn waited for a reassuring smile or an uplifting remark, but there was none. She sat down on the sofa and watched Clarisa as she took the seat opposite her with unease. The grimness of the scene almost reminded her of their first meeting.
“Kathryn, there's something important that I have to tell you.”
Oh no. The previous time Clarisa had something important to tell her, she had not taken it very well. Clarisa’s speech sounded so forced that it sent a shiver down her spine.
“What is it?”
Clarisa swallowed hard before going straight to the point,
“Jean-Simon Francis is the founder of my organisation.”
Kathryn thought there had to be something wrong with her ears.
“Excuse me?”
“I have spoken to him, and he wants to see you.”
The sky seemed to crash down around her in a million shards. Kathryn rose from her seat and said in disbelief,
“Clarisa, what the heck are you talking about?”
“Your father said he would only let you join the organisation if you let him talk to you.”
Kathryn's face twisted dramatically,
“My father is a criminal!”
Clarisa stood up to try and console her,
“I know this is-”
“You promised you wouldn't talk about him again!” she yelled.
“I know this is hard to believe,” she said calmly, “But he's changed. He is aware of what he has done to you and your mother, and he deeply regrets it. He knows that you're a perceiver and he hopes to reconcile with you.”
Tears stung in Kathryn's eyes, because she was beginning to believe that her father was indeed the founder of the organisation, but not that he was changed.
“You’re wrong! He’s never sorry and won't ever be sorry!” she cried as she stumbled back onto the sofa. The dark clouds began to swarm threateningly as Clarisa had predicted. A flash of lightning struck the floor of the living room with a loud zap, leaving a long zigzag across the tiles.
“It wasn't without thorough consideration that I agreed to this,” Clarisa tried to convince her. “Francis said that he can give you the right training you need to manage your powers. You would have inherited some of his abilities, and he is the most suitable perceiver to guide you on using them.”
“He's a liar!” Kathryn sobbed, her arm wrapped over the cushiony headrest of the sofa. “He's a big, fat liar and you're working with him!”
“Kathryn I am so sorry,” Clarisa said to her as a deafening blast of thunder sounded, making her jump. She quickly recovered and continued, “It was never my intention to upset you, and I know that you might find it difficult to trust me anymore. But I'm willing to sacrifice that trust for your safety.”
“Right now I'm anything but safe!” Kathryn wailed, and sure enough, rain poured down from the ceiling. It was fire to their skin, and no matter how Clarisa concentrated, the rain only lightened for a few seconds before pounding on them again with full force. At that moment, Francis materialised beside Clarisa, and told his daughter,
“I come in peace. I can stop the rain.”
At the sight of her past abuser, a string of expletives escaped Kathryn's mouth. Francis advanced slowly towards her and said,
“All I need to do is touch your wrists. Trust me, Kathryn, just this once.”
Her skin was beginning to peel from the burning rainwater. She was in too much pain to resist as Francis placed the palms of his hands gently onto her scars. The rain slowly subsided to a drizzle. He pushed a bit harder, and it stopped altogether. The prickling sensation on their skin faded, and the crack on the floor tiles also vanished.
Francis released his hands and stepped backwards. Kathryn, kneeling on the sofa, glanced down at the scars on her wrist, then at the room and its drying furniture, then at Clarisa, who was watching her with concern, then at the father she no longer called her own. Slowly, Francis raised both of his hands and told her sincerely,
“Kathryn, I’m sorry for everything that I've ever done to you and your mother.”
“Liar,” Kathryn spat as more tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I don't ask for your forgiveness,” he said, deeply hurt by Kathryn's response, “I just ask you to trust me as a coach, as someone to guide you through your transition.”
“I don’t trust you anymore,” she sniffed, then eyed Clarisa, her sad blue eyes looking back at her.
“Neither of you.”
There was a moment's pause as the two adults tried to think of something to say, but no words seemed right for the situation, or able to appease the teen. Finally Kathryn declared,
“And I don't want to have anything to do with your stupid organisation.”
With that, she faded out into the background of the living room, leaving the sofa empty.
The cold silence that ensued bore into their skin. The meeting was an utter failure and they both knew it. Francis walked over to the sofa and touched the armrest, shaking his head.
“I can try to find her,” he said in a low voice. “But she'll just keep running from me.”
He turned around, to see a single tear slip out from the corner of Clarisa's eye. He motioned towards her and told her softly,
“It may take some time to settle this, but I appreciate your assistance, Clarisa.”
Clarisa said nothing. She made no acknowledgement as Francis stepped away and teleported from the room. She had broken the connection with Kathryn that they had worked so hard to build. More importantly, she had broken her promise. And that was all that mattered.
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