August 1, 2019

“I am sending you to the August Forum Writing Exercise.”

Theodore’s blue eyes hardened at my words and he shook his head. “No, you are not.”

I sighed. “I don’t really know what drives you, Teddy. I feel you’re a bit one-dimensional. An Ask Me Anything-type exercise might give me some answers.”

“I’d rather rot.”

“Oh?” Dr Keating looked up from her notes. “Why do you feel this way, Theodore?”

He snorted. “You, doctor, are gravely mistaken if you think to climb inside my head.”

“What do you have to do that is more important than this, exactly?” I crossed my arms, waiting.

“Yeah, Ted. What is more important than helping out here?” Kimberley perched on the arm of her chair, twirling black hair around her finger. “We ain’t movin’ if she ain’t writin’. We’re all stuck. So go take one for the team.”

He rose from the leather sofa, his eyes fixed on Kimberley. “You would do well to remember who you provoke,” he hissed.  He swung his angry gaze to me. “I have no desire to chat, to talk, to converse, to argue, to speak, or to even brawl with others who attend such foolishness. After the last hell you forced me to, I am done! Send someone else!” He stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

The group looked at each other in shocked silence.

Dr. Keating frowned. “What happened last time?”

Kimberley shrugged.  “He almost froze to death in the Atlantic when the Titanic sank. No biggie.”
———-

Theodore strode down the long corridor to the front door. “Let her finish the damned story without me,” he muttered. “I care not. But I will not go to another outing!”

He banged open the door to the street and stumbled to a stop. “I will kill her slowly,” he said, seething.

He had arrived at the AMA.   (www.litforum.com)
—————-

Theodore turned to leave, but the door had become a solid wall. He slowly turned back, his hands becoming fists as impotent rage smoldered through him. He looked overhead, half expecting to see his creator staring down at him, taking notes.

Same as the Keating woman, he thought. Both fools think to study me like a fatted rat.

He snorted.

Well, the other forced outings did not result in a frenzy of creativity, did they? If they had, The Book she prattles on about would have been finished long ago.

He frowned.

I will have to think of a suitable punishment for the useless woman. I did warn her…

Theodore studied the people in the tavern and brushed a hand across Beauty’s hilt.

I cannot kill a fellow Traveler, but maiming? That was not forbidden. 

The thought tugged the corner of his lip into a half-smile.

Yes, that would be quite satisfying.

He threaded his way around the tables, scowling. Some Travelers talked quietly among themselves while others seemed to throw words in the air, answering questions only they could hear.

Fools, all of them.

He paused to scan the room once more and his gaze settled on a large sign over the bar.

CHARACTERS MUST ANSWER ALL DAILY QUESTIONS TRUTHFULLY. -Management

Theodore stalked across the room to a darkened table near the bar and kicked a chair into the corner where he could watch the room. He sank into it as a napkin fluttered in front of him. He brought it close to his face, tilting it toward the strange lighting overhead as a line of lettering appeared.

#1 “What job would you be terrible at?”

He snorted. “This is the caliber of questions?” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Grandmother would say employment is for commoners. Such thinking has allowed the Harrington coffers to drain with naught to replenish them. Tis the reason Father is in the West Indies, securing ownership in one of the ventures there.” He straightened in his seat with a sigh. “As for your question, I believe I would not be a good teacher. I lack the patience to repeat myself.”

He looked toward the bar, and a mug of ale appeared before him. He grunted as he gripped the frosty handle. “Cold?” He took a short swallow, feeling the beer trace its way down his neck. “Tis different, this.” He took another sip. “Much better than the piss-warm brew at the alehouse.”

Another question wriggled onto the napkin, and Theodore sighed.

#2 “Does your family have a “motto”, spoken or unspoken?

He smirked. “Grandmother believes it to be “Winner Take All”. Her plotting and scheming has allowed us to climb out from Grandfather’s penury pit. The man had poor judgement in most things.”

He held up his ale. “To Lydia Harrington, the most ruthless and cunning woman alive. May her life be long.”

He drained half his glass.

He leaned back in his chair. “As for Father… I’m uncertain of his opinion on anything, except Marie, his cousin’s widow. He is discreet enough in his cow-eyed mooning for her. But I see it.”

#3 If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

Theodore’s brow rose as the question appeared on his napkin.

“Warning label? Why would I wish to warn anyone? Would be foolish, that.” He ran his finger along the rim of his mug as he considered the question.

“But then, having someone disregard all warnings and approach willingly, thinking to best me?” He shrugged. “That could be quite entertaining.”

#4 What is one thing you will never do again?

He crumbled his napkin with a snort and tossed it across the room.

“I declined, repeatedly, to attend this Outing. Yet, I am here.” He glared at the ceiling, imagining his creator staring down at him.

“Mark me, woman! This is the last! I will not be dragged to another Forum Outing!”

He grabbed his ale and finished it in one long swallow, banging the empty mug down on the table, and paused, staring with resignation as his crumpled napkin reappeared in front of him, wrinkled, yet smoothed flat. Another question flung itself across the white surface.

#5 What three things do you think of the most each day?

He hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose to soothe his irritation.

After a long moment he looked up.

I think of the hunt.

And who.

Second, I strategize, to lessen the odds of capture and betrayal.

Third, I think of Mary, my reluctant betrothed. Usually, she does signify, but she has changed recently. Tis hard to put a finger to, but the change is so…fundamental. Tis like a stranger is walking about in her skin.

He sighed as questions crowd onto his wrinkled napkin, demanding answers.

#6 What would your alter ego be like?

Theodore translates the phrase out loud. “Other self?”

His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“The self which is shown to the world and mingles with polite society? That is the alter ego. Most people embrace façades, regardless of how confining or brittle. Tis the self that is cherished quietly, alone, or buried deep inside for fear it might be set loose that is the true self.  It thrives away from prying eyes and cares not for the judgments or praise of others.”

He takes a long swallow from his glass.

“We are what we are. The only ones who know true peace are those who accept and embrace the devil or saint inside.”

 
#7 What is something you’re self-conscious  about?

“Self-conscious?” He frowns over the strange phrase. “Meaning what, exactly? That I feel shame over some part of my character or appearance?” He shakes his head. “I am content with all that I am.”

#8 What feels like love to you?

He is still for a long moment before he leans back in his chair, his thumb absently rubbing at his ale glass. “Tis easy to say the word, love. The term has been abused through time to encompass all type of emotion and opinion.” He pauses. “True love is shown. And when it is shown to you?” A beautiful smile blossoms across his face and he closes his eyes.

“How’d ya know, boy?” The old man lay in front of him, bleeding.
“Tis what I would do, and you taught me well.” He slowly pulled his knife from his mentor’s gut and paused, his young gaze fixed on the man’s face. The old man nodded.
“Go ahead boy. You done good,” he wheezed.
He carefully sliced under the rib cage, ignoring the man’s groans as he reached up past the hot pulsing maze of slippery innards to reverently cradle the still beating heart.  The old man smiled, his dimming gaze locked on the boy’s until his heart stumbled to a stop.
“I love you,”  Theodore whispered, the words new on his tongue.

He opens his eyes, his expression wistful. “Sharing a moment profoundly intimate and final, and to remember it always… Tis the truest form of love.”

Questions fling themselves across the napkin as Theodore answers.

#9 How was your life different one year ago?

“One year past, Grandmother was selling off our home and all that we owned to satisfy the unending parade of debt-holders plaguing us once Grandfather finally cocked his toes. The man was a failure in most things. Grandmother found a copy of cousin John’s will among Grandfather’s belongings, and was delighted to see that it named Father as heir to the ancestral estate. She cared naught that a codicil was also found, naming John’s daughter as heir instead. Grandmother’s blackmail and threats won us control of Harrington Manor.”

Theodore lifted his glass. “The woman is quite cunning.”

#10 What is the most annoying question that people ask you?

He snorts as the question appears.

“I am sure that each question asked at this gathering will hold that distinction in turn.”
 
#11 How would your friends describe you?
#12 When people come to you for help, what do they usually want help with?

He looks at the napkin and shoves it away, irritation growing.

“They want someone to truly listen to their despair and hear their pain. And they want never to feel such pain again.” He takes a sip of ale, letting it linger on his tongue. “I am the truest friend they ever had.”

Theodore Harrington’s Last Day at the AMA

Theodore sat at his table, counting the slashes in the wooden top. Thirty one. He had been successful in ignoring the magicked napkin and its endless questions on most days, and at last he was free. He would leave this place and make his creator pay for her audacity.

He stood, a triumphant smile on his face, and looked toward the wall, waiting.

The napkin tossed itself in front of him, a ribbon of writing unfurling across its wrinkled face.

You will not leave until the questions are answered truthfully.

Theodore sat abruptly, glaring at the offensive napkin. His hand flashed forward, and Beauty was embedded into the wood, pinning the square of paper in place. Its words vanished, only to reappear seconds later, unchanged.

He stared at the napkin, his jaw tight with tension. At last he spoke, his words clipped and cold. “Give me your damnable questions then. And quickly. I have no wish to linger longer than is necessary in this hell.”

A glass of ale appeared as a new question wriggled onto the hated napkin.

#13 –What are your two pet peeves? 

Theodore stared in confusion “Pet peeve?”  The words reformed. What two behaviors in others irritate you the most?  “Chewing with one’s mouth open, spewing food whilst masticating.  And I truly detest those who feel the need to hum incessantly.” He took a long swallow of his ale. “One does not hum for long in my presence.”

 #14 –What are three interesting facts about you?

Theodore leaned back in his chair with a scowl. “I have a fair hand at drawing,” he finally said. “I have been asked to draw portraits, and am told they are quite life-like.” He frowned, thinking. “I have never acquired the taste for tea. Tis fortunate, given the lack of tea in the colonies at present.” He looked pointedly at the impaled napkin. “And I am quite skilled with my knife.”

Another question appeared.

#15 –What do you take for granted? 

“I take nothing for granted,” he said curtly. “Next question.”

#16 –Describe your first.  

“My first what? My first time I bedded a lass? You truly wish to ask such an insolent question?” The words remained on the napkin. He leaned back with a sigh. “I was fifteen when one of the neighborhood lasses made her interest known. I bedded her behind the old tanning shed, in a patch of clover. She was my first, but I was not hers, and she showed me what pleasure could be had with a skillful mouth and clever hands as well as a welcoming body. That summer she tutored me in how to pleasure a lass properly.  Twas satisfying for us both.” He sipped from his glass, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But, after a while she became possessive and demanding.” He shrugged. “She went missing shortly after.”

#17 –What is the worst thing you’ve done or said to someone?  

“My words are true, as are my actions. I have answered the cries of those who longed for an end to their misery and wished for paradise. I regret nothing.”

#18 –Have you ever had a secret admirer?  

He snorted. “The term secret implies a lack of knowledge of such on my part, does it not?”

#19 –What is your favorite season and why? 

“Summer. Tis better hunting then.”

#20 –Have you ever faked it?  

He tapped an impatient finger against his glass. “Faked it”  I am not familiar with the term.” The words disappeared and were replaced. Have you ever pretended to feel something or pretended sexual gratification?  His brow slowly inched upward. “You are quite curious about a gentleman’s bed sport,” he told the napkin. “I do not have a need to fake it.”

#21 –Who was the last person to make you cry? 

“I have not cried since I was a young boy and broke my arm.”

#22 –Who was the last person to make you laugh? 

“That would be Grandmother. Her wit is quite endearing if you are not at the receiving end of her sharp tongue.”

#23 –What is the farthest you’ve been from home? 

He gestured around the room. “I believe this qualifies.”

#24 –What is one responsibility you really wished you didn’t have?  

“I wish to never have to answer another of these questions.” He sighed as another question marched across the paper.

#25 –Have you ever tried to steal someone’s significant other?

He frowned. A significant other what?” The words rearranged themselves. Lover. Wife. Betrothed. He shook his head. “Only a fool would take on another man’s burden such as that.”

#26 –What scent triggers a strong memory for you?

“Grapes,” he murmured and closed his eyes, the faint scent of sun-warmed grapes teasing him. “My mentor found me in a patch of wild grapevines when I was eight.”

He grinned, remembering.

He hoisted the bag onto his bony shoulder, ignoring the muffled cries and desperate clawing from inside. He had thought of this many times since he stomped on the duck egg and felt the crunch of bone and seen the blood and mangled flesh. He had planned one scenario after another, fantasized about which technique, eager to feel that same explosive thrill, until the eight year old body twitched in anticipation. And today was the day. He would feel no sorrow at its eventual demise. He was the hunter, the dreamer of death.

He found his way to the edge of the woods beside a tangle of wild grape vines. The steel blade laid close and ready as he opened his bag with eager fingers and reached inside. The claws were swift, however, leaving stinging and jagged marks before the cat leapt away with a frightened hiss and disappeared. He cursed, stunned by the conversion of events.

“Yer sister’s cat?”

He looked up at the intruder and shrugged.

“Next time ya need to try with sumthin’ not movin’. Geta feel for it and all. Killing’s a gift. Ya need to think, be prepared. I’ll teach ya.”

Theodore gazed up at the old man and nodded. And so it began.

Theodore lived for the feel of his knife and embraced his developing skill. Their project progressed from filleted frogs with hashed innards and birds left wingless to rabbits and stray cats drawn and quartered. He had no feelings for their prolonged agony. Instead, he thrilled in watching their exposed hearts slow to stillness.

And by winter, he was proficient.
#27 – What is the luckiest thing that has happened to you?

He smiled. “Meeting my mentor. He taught me well.”

#28 –Why did you decide to do the work you are doing now? 

“I am a gentleman. Gentlemen do not work.”

#29 –When people look at you, what do you think they see/think?

“The devil or a saint?” He shrugged, “I do not know, nor do I truly care.”

#30 –What is something horrible that everyone should try at least once? 

He glanced at a plate of tiny red chicken wings and nodded at them. “These.”

#31 – What is the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love? 

He frowned at the word. “Craziest?” The line of writing straightened before looping into another sentence. What is the most off the hooks thing you have done in the name of love?
He smiled. “Truly, I have not done anything in the name of love.”

The sentence vanished and the napkin remained blank.

Theodore slammed his empty ale glass on the napkin and stood. “I have answered your questions truly. Now send me back.”

A light sizzled into existence, and he watched it trace the outline of a door into the wall. The door became solid as the light faded, and Theodore Harrington wasted no time in pushing it open and stepping into the dark.

Theodore Returns

He stood in the doorway of Dr. Keating’s office and searched until his angry gaze found me.

“Theodore, welcome back! How was your time at the AMA?”

He stalked into the room, slamming the door. “You have much to answer for, woman,” he growled as he made his way toward me.

I smiled. “Oh?”

“You dare to laugh?” His eyes narrowed. “Tis not a laughing matter, madam! I dislike being held prisoner at your foul outings. Mayhap you forget who you antagonize?”

“Who do you think created you, Theodore? I know exactly who you are.”

A sarcastic brow arched up. “Truly? Why, then, the pressing need to send me if you are well versed in my psyche?”

I started to speak, but hesitated with a frown. “Because I do not know why you kill, Teddy. Do you?”

“Mayhap tis all these forced outings!” Theodore flopped onto a nearby ottoman, his jaw clenched. He forced himself to speak, each word bitten off in a curt staccato. “Although I am loath to repeat myself, I say again, I. Just. Am.” He blew out an angry breath. “Is it truly of import to craft a hypothetical answer to a question that needs not be asked? I am what and who I am, as you made me.”

I stared at him thoughtfully before slowly nodding. “I will accept that. For now.” I ignored his displeased snort. “But I will keep probing, Theodore.”

He glanced around the room and let his cold stare linger on me. “Think carefully before you send me another time, woman. If you do, I promise I will come for you. In your dreams. And there you will not escape my wrath.”  He flung open the door and disappeared down the empty corridor, leaving only the echo of his angry footsteps. 

I shivered in the startled silence.

“So, then.” Dr. Keating stood and consulted her tablet. “I’ll just pencil everyone in for next week?”

———-