Persuasion

PERSUASION

As a dark and menacing storm unfolded, the rain splattered the windows and sounded heavy. The wind roared. My big old house up the hill seemed to shake, anticipating the squall. Lightning flashes came through the frayed curtains of my office and reflected on my bare walls.

The light of my desk lamp flickered. These are the nights when my demons lurk around my brain relentlessly. I removed my glasses and rubbed my eyes.

I was the only doctor in this small town. Being away from larger places, I had to deal with all kinds of sicknesses. I’ve seen a couple of patients today, demanding people, wanting me to cure the madness they have been dragging around most of their lives. I’m a doctor, not a magician.

I only wanted to sit by the fire, grab the book I was reading, The Mask of the Red Death, and submerge myself into the world of my favourite author. A sudden knock on my door startled me. Who could it be at this time of night? I set down my book and opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, doctor, but I need your help.” The man’s features didn’t disturb me, but sympathy is not my best trait. His dilated pupils displayed a particular anguish, and his eyes seemed ready to jump out of their sockets. His dripping raincoat left a puddle on my doorstep, and his muddy shoes told me he’d been wandering about in the rain.

The man’s demeanour intrigued me. I read in his gaze desperation, agony and a tint of terror. He leaned on the doorway with his forehead against it.

“What do you want?” I asked, standing by the door. Without waiting for an answer, I added, “I don’t see patients at this time of night.”

“Please, doctor, I have to talk to you tonight. I need to tell you what I did.”

The man’s pleading eyes didn’t disturb me. But he picked my curiosity.

“Come in, but before, take off your muddy shoes.” He complied, then stood silently on my cold stone floor.

“Leave your raincoat on the coat hanger,” I said curtly.

He dragged his feet, the back hunched as if carrying a heavy burden.

“You could sit if you want,” I said, pointing to a hard-backed chair.

“Thanks, but I prefer to stand,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” I sat on my old leather chair behind my desk.

He started pacing, running his fingers through his hair; then I noticed his bloody nails. His trembling, thready voice said, “I’ve killed her.” His whole body shook.

His deranged stare didn’t bother me. I’m used to treating the mentally ill. I felt at ease among unstable people like myself.

“Who did you kill?”

He didn’t answer but stopped pacing and pressed his fists to his head.

“Tell me everything,” I said.

He slumped into the chair.

He stumbled over his words. “I feel...I feel like a storm cloud hovers over my head, casting a shadow over everything in my life. My mind is stuck in a loop of anxious thoughts.”

His eloquence suggested he wasn’t a peasant but an educated man. Interesting.

Suddenly, he started wailing, and his shoulders curled over his chest. I didn’t say a word. I just waited for him to stop his whimpering. After a moment, his flat voice said, “I killed the woman I love.”

Hum, a crime of passion. This might be an exciting story.

“I’m listening,” I said and lit my pipe.

His larynx moved up and down with his swallows. He was nervous, but I didn’t care. Sympathy is not my foremost trait.

The man twisted his fingers aimlessly. Fighting back a sob, he steeled himself and told me his story:

“It happened about a month ago. Sitting on a bench by the riverside, I was reading my book when an angelic sound brought me back to reality. The moment I saw the girl, I felt spellbound.” He lay a hand over his heart, and after a moment, he continued.

“While humming, she picked wildflowers. I couldn’t help myself, so I approached Lara. That was my beloved name. Her beauty and charm were exhilarating. But what grabbed my attention were her enormous eyes. I submerged myself in the ocean blue of her intoxicating gaze. Since that day, I couldn’t take her out of my mind.”

The man paused and dried his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

Meanwhile, I took another drag from my pipe. What a pathetic story. It lacks originality, I thought.

“Listen, I don’t have all night. Tell me about the crime.”

The man continued his tale.

“Lara and I became lovers. I saw the world through her eyes and wanted what she wanted. I lived for her. When I woke in the morning, she was my first thought, and I slept with her name on my lips. That was the happiest time of my life.” For a fleeting moment, the man’s eyes glowed and flashed a sad smile.

How pitiful, I thought. I don’t feel comfortable talking about love. It's an overrated feeling. “Fine,” I said. “What next?”

“We were supposed to be happy. But I wasn’t.”

“Why was that?”

“I couldn’t stand it when people looked at her and admired her beauty.” Drops of sweat ran down his contorted features. With his hands clenched into fists, he rocked back and forth on his chair.

“Go on,” I said.

“She was oblivious to my suffering. She was aware of her beauty and the desire she awoke in any man who looked at her. She laughed when I begged her to stop flirting all the time.” He shivered and covered his face with both hands to drown a sob.

I was tired of this man’s long whimpering, but I said nothing.

“I couldn’t take it any longer, doctor. I had to get rid of my suffering, so I devised a plan.” He blinked rapidly.

“One night, I went to her house as she slept and crept into her room. She woke up and looked at me. Her eyes flickered like the sky before the storm. I didn’t give her a chance to react. I grabbed a pillow and pushed it onto her face with a swift movement. She fought me back with all her might, but her effort was useless. I suffocated her.”

At this point in his story, the man took a deep breath to steel himself. Sweat beaded his forehead, and blood drained from his face, but he continued.

“When I removed the pillow, I searched for her eyes, those eyes that had imprisoned my soul since the day I met her. Lovingly, with my hand, I closed them. The cold shock of realization jittered down my spine. I lay by her still, warm body and caressing her face. I asked her to forgive me. I don’t know how long I was by her side. Later, I lifted her to my carriage and drove to the town’s dump.” He hunched into himself, waiting for my reply.

What could I have said? He was a half-witted man who had confessed his crime to me. As I said before, sympathy is not my strong suit. Neither is empathy.

“What do you want from me?” I said with a sharp tone.

He took a small package from his coat pocket and gave me a bleak, insane smile. “I need to ask you for a favour, doctor.” He looked straight at me. “Where can I get the solution they use in mortuaries to preserve organs?”

He didn’t give me a chance to reply. He opened the small parcel, which displayed a pair of human eyes.

My mouth fell open, and my heartbeat quickened. He added, “I want to preserve her eyes so that she can keep looking at me—only me.”

As he finished his story, I took a slow, deep breath. Why should I care about this brainless man? Then I thought, What the heck. I’ll give him some of the solution.

I’m not hard to persuade.

THE END