Status: Hiatus. I just don't have any drive to finish this sucker. Sorry guys.
Rich Man
Out of Time
It was only seventy-two hours ago that I was standing in Patrice's doorway, watching with jaded eyes as he watched me. He knew damn well that I was going to lay something on him the second I came back from fulfilling my "business" that he had no idea was my failed talk with Blake, regardless of the nature of the facts. And in some sick way, this show of a desire for privacy was also a show of respect to me, as if I were a superior posted on a pedestal whose words were only his privilege to hear. Or maybe he sensed the nature of secrecy, and acknowledged the ominous solemnity of my demeanor when I paused to wave him to my room instead.
He risked asking no questions, following loyally without a word. The level of trust he had in me was something that had me a little on edge. Well, more than a little. After all, what do you say to the child whose new found demeanor was yours to credit? What do you say to the trusting heart you're about to completely disprove? I had lied, manipulated, and cheated. I had done nothing more than fix what was never broken. And I was on the verge of ripping the dressings off of the wound that hadn't even had time to scab.
He watched me from across the room with unnerved eyes. Maybe it was the look on my face, drained of blood. Whatever it was, he was starting to take the hint.
"You're not going to like what you're about to hear."
For a moment I could swear that he stopped breathing. His facial expression suddenly became void of it's animated life and instead contorted with suspicion. "Is there any good news?" he asked weakly, much more gingerly than I could imagine him reacting. It was like he was waiting for me to tell him that he was, god forbid, getting traded.
"Depends on how you see it."
"Then out with it," he firmly stated, slowly but surely gathering some solid ground to stand on. But I knew there was no preparation for this. I knew he would be blind-sided. My only hope was that he would forgive me, that he would somehow find a shred of insane understanding enough to work with me.
'He may never trust me again', I thought, 'But at least he'll know the truth, and we might have a shot at getting out of this without destroying a family.' It took everything my body had to step forward into the light of the two lamps lighting the room. My eyes closed as I gathered what strength I could, body ready to take the fall I knew would throw him off completely. 'You conditioned him to know your methods, to know you... Just have faith... This is your only shot now. You can't do this alone.'
"Patrice, my name isn't Roark."
Silence was my reply, followed by the start of a rumble in his throat, which evolved into a chuckle, then a laugh. He was nearly toppled over when he had the bright idea to take a gander at my expression. The millisecond it clicked that I hadn't moved, hadn't changed expression, his smile faded into a scowling, agape stare that encapsulated his entire demeanor. Tension in his body rose to a new high. He stood.
"You can't honestly be serious right now," he started blankly, but I didn't reply.
I was too busy praying that my plan would work, that maybe I wasn't out of all friends, out of all options, out of all time. When my eyes didn't snap up to meet his, when the straight, tightly pursed line that was my mouth didn't budge, when my body didn't straighten and relax, the boy took a step closer to me with a daunting, clamoring skepticism. He didn't know how to take this, didn't know where to even begin.
When even more affirmative silence floated by, his brow began to narrow, jaw quaking as though he had something to say but simply couldn't let it out. My gaze rose to meet his, equally dead-on stare set to confirm the question he had asked. "My name is not Roark."
"You're lying."
Without hesitation, I reached behind me to the surface of the desk. I had in place several book markers, each gaudy and impossible to miss. Handing him the journal, I opened it to the first book mark and began a process I knew would dominate the rest of my assignment, the rest of my time here. "Rachel Olivarias. Actress. My first assignment. Initials R.O." He flipped to the following marker. " You might know this name;; Alex Rodriguez. Baseball player. I saved him from devastating blackmail. I don't need to say anymore. Initials A.R." On to the next section. "Kristen Thomas. Initials K--"
He began flipping through pages, disregarding the markers set in place, reading under his breath my old findings, my old analysis. He continued erratically flipping until he approached the final marker I had set in place, the very one I had intended for him to read. "What the fuck... Is.... This?" His arms were trembling, fingers white against the paper in his hands.
"You."
He didn't need to hear another word. Patrice slammed the book shut, gripping it in one hand while his face twisted somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "What is... What the..." His chest was heaving. "Who are you?"
"My real name," I began, "Is Amanda Strauss. I put this," I cut myself a little short as I pulled a manilla file off of the desktop, "together for you yesterday... It has everything. No lies. The real deal of truth... You can read it now or I can just tell you what's in that hard copy--"
"Start talking," he fumed, not so sure what he was hearing, "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I want answers."
I inhaled slowly and began. "My real name is Amanda Strauss; adopted daughter of a psychologist known as Nathaniel Strauss..."
---
He seemed to stare at me, breathless, for the longest time. I had been feeding him information for nearly twenty minutes, but it was as simplified and condensed as it was going to get. While I knew he had no trouble in absorbing my every word, it was his inability to get passed the reality that he was facing that truly unnerved me. He was so far and beyond furious when he realized what my background had to do with his present friends that he, at one point stopped me just to breathe and take it all in.
I didn't blame him at all. In fact, he handled it all quite well. Even through the fury, he still ultimately sought out answers. "Getting even more pissed and starting shit would solve nothing." were his words, "I want answers. No more fucking lies like you've been feeding us all."
"For your own good," I countered, "You have to understand what I've been doing is all for positive sake.
"Right, like what Tera did?" he snapped, "Or Winrey, or whatever the hell her name is?! You can't come in here and just mess with us and manipulate like we're-we're puppets or something!" My head hung at this point. "I'm still processing," he blurted, more focused on the following question: "What does Tera--" he shakes his head, "Winrey--want with you?"
"I humiliated her because I was better. She had a test involving exactly what I've made a career out of. She failed. I stepped in of my own free will to fix it."
"And then you stepped down from taking over the entire organization." He thus confirmed my theory that he followed me without an issue.
"Exactly. I made her. She claims she would have been fine without me, but that's bullshit. Everyone knows it."
"You humiliated her."
"And know she wants to fuck everything I've done here up."
"What have you done he--" he cut himself off mid-question, eyes lit aflame as he came to the brutal realization that his words so accurately suggested. ".... Oh my god. We were another one of your fucking assignments! All of us! You fucked with Milan's head, Matt's, Blake's... But wait..." his voice died down dramatically. The boy stared at his palms, tossing both the journal and the folder of my past to the side. The sudden violent action made me jump. He just ran his hands hard through his hair and let out a laugh of pure disbelief and aggravation. "Who hired you?"
"Lex."
His neck nearly snapped upward to stare at me. "Why?"
"She, for starters, is in love with Blake," I began. This explanation would be a slow one, as simplified as possible at the time of thought translating into verbalization. "Patrice, you should sit down. I mean that not out of attempt to calm you, but because this is more information than I've already lain on you compressed again..."
His eyes softened slightly, as if there was some innate sense of trust in him that drove him to do as I said. There was something there, behind his tense demeanor, behind his want for answers, that remained true to his careful, insightful nature. He may have been angered, felt betrayed, lied to, but he was no fool about it. He was already beginning to put two and two together about me as I spoke.
"I heard several accounts of who Tera was, what she did to you guys. Everyone had a slightly different story to tell, but only one version makes any sense of the girl I used to know. Winrey became friends with Blake. She heard he was having some girl trouble, thought that she could take it upon herself to help him patch up an argument he was having with Milan. Turns out, that argument was over whether or not Milan should propose to Kelsey, and apparently that same tension was causing a rift between Milan and just about everyone.
"So Winrey decides that she's going to try her hand at in-field psych, like a beta run. She sees that you in particular are close to Milan, and while she knows that a primary rule of our psychological ethics--don't mock the fact that we have a code of ethics. I know we lie, but it's all out of a desire for the best--she knows to follow utilitarianism values particularly close, but she handles the situation poorly. She doesn't study any of you, just goes for what should be the worst case scenario plan and decides to unite all against two: the problem, Kelsey, and a scapegoat."
"Me."
"Exactly. Blake and everyone, really, know the truth that you had no feelings whatsoever for Kelsey. But it was Blake who even admitted to having a big mouth that led to your famous brawl with Looch."
"She failed," he whispered, staring blankly at the carpet floor. "Winrey.... Tera... She failed us.... We were just.... A failed attempt."
He risked asking no questions, following loyally without a word. The level of trust he had in me was something that had me a little on edge. Well, more than a little. After all, what do you say to the child whose new found demeanor was yours to credit? What do you say to the trusting heart you're about to completely disprove? I had lied, manipulated, and cheated. I had done nothing more than fix what was never broken. And I was on the verge of ripping the dressings off of the wound that hadn't even had time to scab.
He watched me from across the room with unnerved eyes. Maybe it was the look on my face, drained of blood. Whatever it was, he was starting to take the hint.
"You're not going to like what you're about to hear."
For a moment I could swear that he stopped breathing. His facial expression suddenly became void of it's animated life and instead contorted with suspicion. "Is there any good news?" he asked weakly, much more gingerly than I could imagine him reacting. It was like he was waiting for me to tell him that he was, god forbid, getting traded.
"Depends on how you see it."
"Then out with it," he firmly stated, slowly but surely gathering some solid ground to stand on. But I knew there was no preparation for this. I knew he would be blind-sided. My only hope was that he would forgive me, that he would somehow find a shred of insane understanding enough to work with me.
'He may never trust me again', I thought, 'But at least he'll know the truth, and we might have a shot at getting out of this without destroying a family.' It took everything my body had to step forward into the light of the two lamps lighting the room. My eyes closed as I gathered what strength I could, body ready to take the fall I knew would throw him off completely. 'You conditioned him to know your methods, to know you... Just have faith... This is your only shot now. You can't do this alone.'
"Patrice, my name isn't Roark."
Silence was my reply, followed by the start of a rumble in his throat, which evolved into a chuckle, then a laugh. He was nearly toppled over when he had the bright idea to take a gander at my expression. The millisecond it clicked that I hadn't moved, hadn't changed expression, his smile faded into a scowling, agape stare that encapsulated his entire demeanor. Tension in his body rose to a new high. He stood.
"You can't honestly be serious right now," he started blankly, but I didn't reply.
I was too busy praying that my plan would work, that maybe I wasn't out of all friends, out of all options, out of all time. When my eyes didn't snap up to meet his, when the straight, tightly pursed line that was my mouth didn't budge, when my body didn't straighten and relax, the boy took a step closer to me with a daunting, clamoring skepticism. He didn't know how to take this, didn't know where to even begin.
When even more affirmative silence floated by, his brow began to narrow, jaw quaking as though he had something to say but simply couldn't let it out. My gaze rose to meet his, equally dead-on stare set to confirm the question he had asked. "My name is not Roark."
"You're lying."
Without hesitation, I reached behind me to the surface of the desk. I had in place several book markers, each gaudy and impossible to miss. Handing him the journal, I opened it to the first book mark and began a process I knew would dominate the rest of my assignment, the rest of my time here. "Rachel Olivarias. Actress. My first assignment. Initials R.O." He flipped to the following marker. " You might know this name;; Alex Rodriguez. Baseball player. I saved him from devastating blackmail. I don't need to say anymore. Initials A.R." On to the next section. "Kristen Thomas. Initials K--"
He began flipping through pages, disregarding the markers set in place, reading under his breath my old findings, my old analysis. He continued erratically flipping until he approached the final marker I had set in place, the very one I had intended for him to read. "What the fuck... Is.... This?" His arms were trembling, fingers white against the paper in his hands.
"You."
He didn't need to hear another word. Patrice slammed the book shut, gripping it in one hand while his face twisted somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "What is... What the..." His chest was heaving. "Who are you?"
"My real name," I began, "Is Amanda Strauss. I put this," I cut myself a little short as I pulled a manilla file off of the desktop, "together for you yesterday... It has everything. No lies. The real deal of truth... You can read it now or I can just tell you what's in that hard copy--"
"Start talking," he fumed, not so sure what he was hearing, "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I want answers."
I inhaled slowly and began. "My real name is Amanda Strauss; adopted daughter of a psychologist known as Nathaniel Strauss..."
---
He seemed to stare at me, breathless, for the longest time. I had been feeding him information for nearly twenty minutes, but it was as simplified and condensed as it was going to get. While I knew he had no trouble in absorbing my every word, it was his inability to get passed the reality that he was facing that truly unnerved me. He was so far and beyond furious when he realized what my background had to do with his present friends that he, at one point stopped me just to breathe and take it all in.
I didn't blame him at all. In fact, he handled it all quite well. Even through the fury, he still ultimately sought out answers. "Getting even more pissed and starting shit would solve nothing." were his words, "I want answers. No more fucking lies like you've been feeding us all."
"For your own good," I countered, "You have to understand what I've been doing is all for positive sake.
"Right, like what Tera did?" he snapped, "Or Winrey, or whatever the hell her name is?! You can't come in here and just mess with us and manipulate like we're-we're puppets or something!" My head hung at this point. "I'm still processing," he blurted, more focused on the following question: "What does Tera--" he shakes his head, "Winrey--want with you?"
"I humiliated her because I was better. She had a test involving exactly what I've made a career out of. She failed. I stepped in of my own free will to fix it."
"And then you stepped down from taking over the entire organization." He thus confirmed my theory that he followed me without an issue.
"Exactly. I made her. She claims she would have been fine without me, but that's bullshit. Everyone knows it."
"You humiliated her."
"And know she wants to fuck everything I've done here up."
"What have you done he--" he cut himself off mid-question, eyes lit aflame as he came to the brutal realization that his words so accurately suggested. ".... Oh my god. We were another one of your fucking assignments! All of us! You fucked with Milan's head, Matt's, Blake's... But wait..." his voice died down dramatically. The boy stared at his palms, tossing both the journal and the folder of my past to the side. The sudden violent action made me jump. He just ran his hands hard through his hair and let out a laugh of pure disbelief and aggravation. "Who hired you?"
"Lex."
His neck nearly snapped upward to stare at me. "Why?"
"She, for starters, is in love with Blake," I began. This explanation would be a slow one, as simplified as possible at the time of thought translating into verbalization. "Patrice, you should sit down. I mean that not out of attempt to calm you, but because this is more information than I've already lain on you compressed again..."
His eyes softened slightly, as if there was some innate sense of trust in him that drove him to do as I said. There was something there, behind his tense demeanor, behind his want for answers, that remained true to his careful, insightful nature. He may have been angered, felt betrayed, lied to, but he was no fool about it. He was already beginning to put two and two together about me as I spoke.
"I heard several accounts of who Tera was, what she did to you guys. Everyone had a slightly different story to tell, but only one version makes any sense of the girl I used to know. Winrey became friends with Blake. She heard he was having some girl trouble, thought that she could take it upon herself to help him patch up an argument he was having with Milan. Turns out, that argument was over whether or not Milan should propose to Kelsey, and apparently that same tension was causing a rift between Milan and just about everyone.
"So Winrey decides that she's going to try her hand at in-field psych, like a beta run. She sees that you in particular are close to Milan, and while she knows that a primary rule of our psychological ethics--don't mock the fact that we have a code of ethics. I know we lie, but it's all out of a desire for the best--she knows to follow utilitarianism values particularly close, but she handles the situation poorly. She doesn't study any of you, just goes for what should be the worst case scenario plan and decides to unite all against two: the problem, Kelsey, and a scapegoat."
"Me."
"Exactly. Blake and everyone, really, know the truth that you had no feelings whatsoever for Kelsey. But it was Blake who even admitted to having a big mouth that led to your famous brawl with Looch."
"She failed," he whispered, staring blankly at the carpet floor. "Winrey.... Tera... She failed us.... We were just.... A failed attempt."
♠ ♠ ♠
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