Thread: Bringing Him Back {Gypsy and Alan23}

A story? Noel asked. The expression began in cynicism, yet, as it dawned upon him she was genuinely attempting to help, he forced himself to modify his tone. She meant him no harm - indeed, meant him good - and to mock or revile her would, he knew, be unjust in the extreme. A... story? Delilah, stories are not always good. Facts are not always illuminating. The gods of mythology torment humans in two ways. By withholding what they crave... or, even worse, by giving it to them. He reached across and pushed her disordered hair back from her forehead. It was taking an extreme liberty, he knew... he had no right to perform such an intimate act... yet he craved touch, craved human interaction. There was a man... a man named Le Vasoir... who owed me money. He borrowed from me, desperate to embark upon a venture that would feed his starving family. The venture failed. He came to me, in abject fear, cast down, and told me he could not repay the debt in the time agreed, and admitted I had the right to take what revenge I wished. Noel smiled, slightly self-deprecatingly. Not from benevolence, simply indifference, I chose not to proceed as he suggested. After all, what had I to gain from destroying a man's life, and that of his children? Instead, I gave him more time to pay off the debt - a break, incidentally, of which he took full advantage, and some months later he paid it in full, with far higher monetary interest than the original contract stipulated, but I digress. Anyway, my point is that he felt he owed me, rightly or wrongly, and he knew I was a seeker after... after certain truths. Therefore, as a favor to me... or so he saw it... he introduced me to a man. A... a scientist... or philosopher... or magician. Call him what you will. La Vasoir knew I was a seeker after truth, and he knew this man possessed such truths as might intrigue me. Let us call this man Monsieur Noir for want of anything better. Monsieur Noir and I hit it off immediately. We lunched and dined regularly, visited various haunts... the nature of which, I fear, would make you dislike me... and I really don't want you to do that, pretty Delilah... and talked. Talked of all things. History, literature, art... and, most of all, the underside, the hidden wing of philosophical speculation. Mr Noir had a secret, you see... A secret he would not vouchsafe, for the very reason that I now keep it to myself. A thing it is not good for people to know, and which he kept from me for my own good. It would stop me sleeping nights, destroy my sense of self worth. As it had destroyed his, for, intelligent and urbane as he was, he was a tortured man. His eyes were festooned with bags, for he rarely slept more than a few hours of drug-induced slumber a night, and he dared not pause from the social whirl for fear he might find himself... thinking. No, pretty Delilah, he refused to tell me. And then, one night, in his luxurious apartment in the Rue De Vien, he grew careless. He fell into a stupor, without troubling to lock the draw in which he kept the combination to his safe. I should have respected his wishes. I did not. Delilah, by that morning, I had read his notes, digested all he had discovered. About how our world came to be, about the very nature of God. And long before he woke, I fled from that apartment, screaming in fear, tears streaming from my eyes, gibbering and raving. They found me, covered in mud from the river, my eyes red from crying, shaking and trembling. And... the rest you know. There are people that have offended me in my life, Delilah. Offended me enough to hurt them, perhaps even kill them. But never, ever, before or since, has anyone offended or hurt me enough to tempt me to destroy them to the extent of telling them the secret I learned in Monsieur Noir's notes. For no-one, no-one at all deserves that. Not ever. He smiled. And that is... my story. It's A story, anyway. And... and if you are wise, you'll stand up, pull that skirt down over your wonderful legs and walk away, for you're too good and fine a person to suffer the sheer agony of soul of knowing any more.