Michael Manning - The Archmage unbound

“We all lose things, it’s a part of life,” I said softly.

“This isn’t like that Mort. Imagine living happily with Penny for years and years, having children, loving them and receiving their love. Imagine everything you ever wanted, love, respect, trust… all of it. Now imagine you wake up tomorrow and discover that it’s all gone. Not only is it gone, but it never existed. The woman you loved wasn’t real; she was a dream, created for the sole purpose of manipulating you. The children, your life, your happiness, all of it was a lie, fabricated by a being so foreign that it didn’t even hate you… you were merely a tool.” Marc paused for a moment.

“She made you think you had children?” I asked, puzzled.

“No… idiot! I was using that as an example, it was the closest thing I could think of to convey the sort of happiness she created within me. It wasn’t just happiness, it was… everything. While she was with me I had no doubts or fears. Death might threaten but she was holding my hand, and I believed she would be waiting for me beyond death’s doors. Every action had meaning, and every moment was full of importance, all part of her plan to better humankind. No… it wasn’t just that…” He stopped for a moment, a note of shame in his voice.

“What?” I asked. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know, but he wouldn’t have begun if he hadn’t needed to get it off his chest.

“It was like sex, only better. The entire time I was in her service I abstained from women… I had no desire for them. Whenever I healed someone…” I saw a shudder run through him as he remembered.

“You had an orgasm when you healed people?”

“No! But my shame is just the same, worse, the sensation was far better than an orgasm. It was like a drug, an exaltation of the mind and spirit, as well as an ecstatic sensation of physical pleasure. Why do you think I went looking for people in need?” The look in his eyes was one of abject despair and humiliation. “I ‘wanted’ to find sick people. I needed it… and when my craving became so bad that I had dreams of hurting people, just so I could heal them… she forgave me. She told me it was normal, a weakness of flesh forced to contain the divine.”

I couldn’t help the feeling of revulsion his words evoked, “That’s…,” I stopped myself before I finished with what I was thinking, ‘disgusting’.

“I knew it was wrong, but I had to believe her. I needed to believe her. I was like an addict… I am an addict. Even now I have dreams… I want to go back to her so badly.” He cradled his head in his hands.

“Yet you rejected her,” I said, hoping to remind him of his own inner strength.

“Even in that decision I cannot claim pure motives. Truly I was angry that she refused to aid Penny… that was the moment when I could no longer pretend she had our best interests at heart. I already knew… deep down… but in that moment I was sure. Even so, I would not have had the strength to reject her if I hadn’t been so angry.”

“Angry that she wouldn’t help Penny,” I added for him.

“No,” he answered in a voice devoid of hope, his face was red and his eyes were swollen with tears now. “I was angry that she wouldn’t give me what I wanted… what I needed. It was the anger of an addict who’s been told he can’t have more.”

I stared at my friend for long minutes. He had run out of words and I had none to give him. My only thought was that a man of noble spirit had been broken, and turned into this. The friend I had known so long was ruined, thoroughly, inside and out, more completely than anyone could be. Looking back I think that was the day that I realized anyone could be corrupted, that none of us were immune to evil. No matter how lofty our ideals, we are all susceptible to weakness and depravity. It was a final passage from innocence to adulthood.

Yet we still have choices. Perhaps not good ones, and sometimes they seem insignificant, but they are still choices. At the very least every morning holds the choice, sink into despair or get up and try to do something, no matter how meaningless.

Eventually my thoughts came together and I spoke, “So what are you going to do now?”

He laughed, “There’s nothing to do. Let me have that bottle and I’ll do the only thing I can to dull the pain.” There was no apology in his voice, merely numb acceptance.

“That’s just a slow death,” I replied.

“Suits me fine,” he said. “It isn’t as if I want to live anyway. What I have become… isn’t something that deserves to live.”

“Do you really want to die?” I asked without a hint of mockery.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“What?” he asked with a note of surprise.

“Not me of course, I still have things to live for… but if you really are in that much pain you should let me help you,” I told him earnestly.

“That isn’t funny. I’m being serious here Mort.”

“I know. I love you Marc. You’ve been one of my best friends for as long as I can remember. If you’re hurting this badly I want to help you.” At that moment I was deadly serious, and he could see it on my face.

“Why?”

“Let’s look at the alternatives,” I explained. “You can drink yourself to death… over a period of months or years, hurting everyone that cares about you, forcing them to watch your slow decline. You could also end yourself in some spectacular manner, shocking everyone and hurting them even more. Or…,” I paused and held a finger up, “You could let me help you.”

“Help me how? You’ve lost me,” Marc said, but as he spoke I could tell curiosity had replaced his anger and despair at last.

“Help you die. Normally when someone commits suicide they do it alone, and the result usually winds up being someone gets a very nasty and messy surprise when they discover what has happened. If I help you your options are vastly better. You can choose how, when and where and I’ll make sure that no one finds your body… unless you want them too. You can just disappear and no one has to know… or I could get ‘news’ months or years later to give your family closure.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I don’t think I could call myself your friend if I abandoned you at a time like this, but…,” I paused meaningfully.

“But what?” Marc asked.

“You have to swear to let me help you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t do it alone. If you seriously decide you want to do this you have to let me help you. You can do it however you want… I’ll help with any plan you come up with, but you have to tell me first and it can’t be something stupid like drinking yourself to death.”

Marc stared at me carefully for a long moment; his face held more hope than I had seen in a month. “Fine, you have a deal,” he said.

“Swear it,” I insisted.

“I swear to let you know when and how I will die, so long as you swear to help rather than interfere,” he answered.

“I swear to help, no matter what.”

“What now?” he asked.

“I have things to do this morning, how about you?” I told him.

Marc laughed, “There’s nothing on my schedule. I had planned to drink myself into a stupor but that seems rather pointless now. I guess I’ll start planning.”

“I suggest you take a bath and shave first, no sense smelling like a dead rat. Don’t forget though… you have to tell me first, no matter what you decide,” I stressed the last part.

“I will. I’m not sure about the shave though, I was thinking of growing a beard.” He passed his hand over the patchy growth that had sprouted across his cheeks. Marc had never been blessed with a good beard; the hair grew willy-nilly across his cheeks, leaving some spots almost completely bare.