Mask on, Mask off

It is always said that there are two kinds of people in this world- sheep, and wolves in sheep's clothing. The two gentlemen who had just now assumed the command of this cold bank lobby were definitely no sheep.

While the one with a blank white mask made the teller squirm, the one wearing an ogre mask held a woman by her nape, and pressed his gun to the back of her head.

One always does assume that they won’t be possessed to commit such acts of barbaric brutality, but these men had no delusions about their capabilities. The white faced guy was Robert "Rob" Von Pearson. Son of a brilliant banker, Arnold Von Pearson, he was a young, brilliant kleptomaniac, with an acidic animosity towards authorities in his life. Disowned at 15, he lived his life on his own expectations and capabilities. As an adult, he was tall and toned with wavy black hair curling into tangles which seemed to be just as twisted as he did, and a fancy fluency when he spoke which could put anyone at ease, or rob their comfort away. People always assumed the "Rob" was on account of his name, what it really was on the account of his hobby. The ogre held the identity of Charles Mason.

They guy was a marvel of human body, a top physical specimen. Tall, broad, dark, with long hair, running down to his shoulders. As a kid, he was close to Jenny, his elder sister. Jenny and Rob were very close, and that is how the two had come to known each other.

One evening however, they found young Jenny suspended by her neck from the beams which carried the burden of the ceiling in her room. Charles never did understand the why of it, and for some time after that he and Rob made some unsuccessful attempts to find out the why of this mystery.

But this was in times past now, all they had left of those days were memories, some on the verge of being lost, some misshapen, some perfervid, and some ardent. What did however remain was the friendship they had forged then. Rob had an immense influence in Charles, and they grew up learning the secrets of the trade. Rob was the idea man, and Charles was the one who could execute it with dexterity. Together they had made their fame amongst conmen, thieves, and of course, the state police and federal police. The dream, the plan was to witness the dawn of the 21st century, in the arms of luxurious women and wine, and to spend their dotage in the same way. They were about to reach that margin, and ten years before the deadline at that too.

Now, standing in the middle of all the action, and being the center of attention, these two men, looked at each other and gave a mutual nod. They did not need fake and silly names to call each other during work, their understanding was too deep, and never failing. Except, for just moments before they had just made their ferocious and swift entrance. The guard outside the bank, Rob was supposed to call his attention, and Charles was to dispose him of his life. There was no other way about it, or so said Rob.

"We can’t put on the mask before taking care of him. They're gonna see us coming and call the cops. And we can’t let him live, he'll see our faces. Trust me Charlie, it’s the only way."

 But for the first time in his life, Charles hesitated when snapping someone's neck. Rob darted his eyes back and forth between him and the guard, but when the guard turned around to follow the sight of the stranger before him, Rob did not hesitate to pull out stiletto, and pierce his neck with it. His movements had finesse, and grace, and coldness in it. The warm blood rushed out to color his hands, but he did not let it fall on his suit. He looked at Charles, his eyes reflecting disappointment, but he did not say anything, there would be time for that after. Quickly they put on their mask, and Charles picked up the martyr.

A shot was fired, and everyone dropped to the floor. It almost looked rehearsed. This was the genius of Robert Pearson, no one could explain it, but no one could deny it either. His presence, his posture, and his cold stare, could cripple even the toughest of alphas. He could have said something, but he did not need to, everyone knew what he could do, rather what he would do at the very hint of slightest disobedience. Charles put the body down, and let its weight fall on the wall, as his blood kept gushing out, painting red the clean, cold, white marble floor. It seemed he took a second or two to get up, as if to pay his respect to this man, while his jacket sleeves, poured his the dead man's blood drop by drop into the puddle just below. He untucked his jacket, and with a smooth motion, pulled out his shiny silvery gun. Like a shard of glass, it split the sunlight for anyone who gazed on it, and for who did gaze on it, it looked almost holy. But as he stepped forward, and out of the sunlight, the metal seemed to seep out coldness, replacing warmth with fear.

In a flash did he smack someone out of the way, and grabbed a small woman, by her nape and put the cold gun against the back of her head.

As Charles returned his usual brutal self, Rob couldn’t help but feel more confident, and more pride in his tutelage, and upbringing. He turned to the teller, and made his way to him, without a hurry, like a stroll in the park. He put his gun against the glass window, and casually flung his bags on the counter, then gave a gentle tap on the window. As the sense of the safety and comfort escaped this teller, he could not help but look into the eyes of this white masked man. His eyes conveyed the commands with ease. He made his presence known to everyone in the room without saying a word. His face was never considered to be attractive but he always seemed to attract all attention nonetheless. He looked now at the teller, and he made it known who was in charge here. He was the king, and everyone else present there on that day, his subjects.

The teller sensed an apathetic, condescending, and cold amusement in the eyes of his new master. He couldn’t help but stare at the azure eyes piercing right through him. Ever so often he would fumble, and each time he felt like it would be his last, but he could only sense the amusement in the eyes to get more childlike. Like a child, toying with a solitary ant, for amusement, for curiosity, before finally crushing it under his heel, that was what this amusement felt like. He could not help but sympathize with the ant now, being the subject of this torture which lacked the innocence. He did however see how it gave the man before him an ecstatic adrenaline rush, and the very thought of being a part of this transaction made him feel dirty.

It was like waking up in the middle of an afternoon nap, one does not know how he came to be awake, just that he is. It was the same way for Rob, when something grabbed his attention, maybe it was a sound, or maybe the shadows moved on the periphery of his eyes. He turned around to a see an unseen scene: Charles as a hostage, that too by some greasy cop flashing his badge with the hand he used to lock Charles by his neck, while other held a black gun to his temple. Rob turned his head halfway, to look at the general direction of the teller, and gave a gentle nod. Even a nod from Rob felt like a threat, and the teller obliged, caring no more who would best who, he did what he was told, like an obedient servant.

Rob turned his attention to Charles and this brave fool who would take him as a hostage. Charles rested his eyes as he caught his breath, and Rob felt like he had missed out on an epic showdown, or the fight of the century, in which he would bet on Charles a thousand times over.

Looking at Charles now, he did not know why, but he remembered how he was moments before all of this went down. They were in their getaway car, across the street from the bank, waiting for noon to come around, along with their small window of opportunity. He looked over and saw Charles staring in the distance towards the guard he was supposed to take care of. His eyes, like always, were unburdened with thoughts of higher order, simply because it was not his job to do so. He always was an excellent foot soldier.

He was pulled back to reality again, as the sound of the screaming cop was being tuned from blurry to clear. This time however, it didn’t feel like a lazy afternoon nap, but more of a slap, snapping him out of this state. He was sure he heard the cop say his name.

Paul Wolfe was still a rookie, only on the second month of his job as a beat cop, his career so far was not so stellar. Yet, all one does need is an opportunity. Some wait for the right one, and some create the right one.

Here he was, in the middle of an action-movie showdown, a famed beast, now tamed in his headlock, while he had to convince the other to surrender. He could feel his eyes on him, but he didn’t have his attention, his instructions were in vain. Rob showed nothing but blithe, and that was very a trembling thought for him. In that moment he decided to take action, and gain the upper hand so he called out his name.

“Robert Pearson, you are under arrest for 18 counts of grand larceny, robbery of 7 AVP banks, one attempted robbery, and one count of murder of Jenny Mason”

Like a wounded boar did Charles struggle, a spark lit something tucked away deep within him, at the sound of that name and what had just been said. It pricked him, just like it would prick a lifelong priest to find out his God is a lie, or a man, fiercely religious, plagued with thoughts of taboo. He rejected the possibility of it, and struggled.

The sudden motion of this hulking bull, sent panic across the spine of the cop, like it would do to any human being. He focused too much on keeping Charles in the head lock, and he left his other hand a bit too loose. By the time he realized what he had done wrong it was too late, a small knife had already taken flight from Rob’s hands, and it hit him right near the trigger, Charles broke free, and let loose a punch. The hero flew for a second there, losing his consciousness, his final act was to pull the trigger. He had no idea, who it would hit, if it would hit anyone, but it was all he could do, and he did.

Charles walked over onto his limp body, grabbed his collar and pulled him up to him. His scent triggered some happy memories in Charles, but he could only feel a sting now. He was about to make this cop an exhibit of his brutality, when a cry for help overcame his anger, he recognized the voice but did not want to face the person it belonged to.

At first it felt nothing, and then suddenly, a warm feeling gripped him, right in his guts. Rob went down immediately after that. All he could think was how much he hated this feeling, it reminded him of someone he knew long ago, when he felt warmth of a different kind. Soon things began to fade, it felt like falling into a bottomless pit, perhaps it was not the bullet, it was this life, but he knew this feeling was just there to give his imminent death more meaning. A profound epiphany, a lesson learnt, and then death. With what little he had, he cried for Charles.

Then were these little flashes of consciousness, he was in the passenger seat of the car, Charles was driving, pressing a cloth on his wound, and there was a song on the radio, it was about love. When he came to, he saw a farm pass by, he recognized it, it was the interstate, and they were moving towards the safe house. He looked over at Charles, and his eyes were troubled, and then he looked over too. Charles asked Rob a question, and he replied, truthfully, he was too tired not to. Then he fell into the limbo again.

Rob was thrown on the ground; that woke him, he managed to get up and sit on his knees, as Charles put a gun on his head. He looked around, they were in a moor, the sun was shining through the tall green leaves into his eyes, they were not much far away from the place where they would be safe. He looked at Charles again and said nothing, neither did Charles, this was not the time to exchange words, it was time for a vendetta. Charles tucked his gun in the blood stained black jacket of his suit, and began to unleash his wrath on his childhood friend. Anger was cathartic to Charles, the way he grew up with Rob, he felt no shame or guilt in it.

Rob struggled but it was useless, he tried to reach out for another one of his hidden knives, but Charles knew him too well, not giving him a fair chance. He threw him once again and spread his hands around his neck, choking him, this time without any hesitation.

And just when he was about to remove his only family left in the world, he saw something shiny, something small, redirecting the rays of sun into his eyes, blinding him just for a moment. It was a small knife; one which he had never seen before, and it was moving towards him now. It was too fast, and Charles was too slow. It made its way through his eye, and hot blood came rushing out. This time, however, Rob was not able to save his suit neither did he attempt to. The blood dripped on his face while he held the knife tightly. As the entire weight of his friend, and disappointment lay on him, he pushed the former off of him, and Charles lay there in the grass, still pumping out blood and it mixing with the fresh wet soil. He looked once again at Charles, he really looked unburdened by thoughts of higher order. He took a moment, before he made his way to the car. He saw bloodied masks in the back seats through the rear view mirror, and then the corpse of his loyal soldier as he drove away, somehow managing the pain and his reckless driving in that state.

Back at the safe house, he mended himself, managing to stop the blood, but the bullet was still buried deep in him. He lay on the couch now, and closed his eyes, meditating and contemplating on that day’s events. The more he thought about it the more tense he got, the more uncomfortable at the thought of it. His pain mattered less and less each moment. His mind paced fast, asking all the right questions now that he was out of danger and safe. Then a cold circle relieved some of the heat from his sweaty forehead.

It was the cop, who was just as tense as he was, his eyes looking around and searching for someone,

“Where is he? Where is Charles?’

Rob lay there in silence, looking straight into his eyes.

“Where is he? Where is Charlie?”

The silence made Paul snivel, he knew what had happened, and he knew who to blame. His knees went weak and his eyes teared up,

“Where is my Charlie??” his voice broke, and he felt like he would choke on his own guilt.

Rob still said nothing, he had learnt a lesson that day: he was not the only one wearing a mask. Paul did too, he just wasn’t sure what it was, only that he would have to bear the guilt for the rest of his life.

They rode back the interstate in silence, Rob, cuffed in the back seat, amazed by how little he knew, this was a new feeling for him, the feeling of knowing that he did not know enough, it would take some getting used to. Paul could barely drive, his eyes would water up every few minutes, and he let it all flow over him, like standing against a strong ocean wave, after all he only had this drive left to be himself, for when he reached the destination, he put on his own mask as well. He knew what would follow he got his promotion along with the guilt, and Rob got his sentence, but there was still some time left, the road had not ended. The sun shone brightly, into their eyes, and the radio sang another song of love.