42. My Mouse, But as a Man
Chapter forty-two
My Mouse, But as a Man
Kazimir
Climbing down the fire escape was a silent affair.
Each step was a descent into deeper contemplation.
The city loomed around us, yet it was nothing more than a backdrop to the surreal journey unfolding within.
This was no ordinary moment; I was navigating the complicated world of my mouse’s subconscious.
Scary, yet mesmerizing and bizarre.
Not to mention the sheer audacity of walking through a mind not my own. One where my mouse’s memories had been transformed into landscapes.
Her fears embodied by obstacles.
While this was an adventure unlike any other, this journey also threatened the very fabric of my sanity.
Would I be okay once I woke up?
What would be the cost?
Those questions echoed in the hollow chambers of my heart.
Would I retain my sense of self, or would fragments of her essence cling to my consciousness like persistent shadows?
Do not think about it. I have to do this.
Once we made it back inside the little girl’s apartment, Lunita frowned and guided us out into the hallway. “You think you can do anything.”
“Because I can.” I winked.
She snorted.
Pavel remained behind us, keeping pace with the little girl.
To my surprise, Lunita took us further down the hallway.
I glanced behind us and looked at the staircase. “The little girl says there is no one that lives upstairs.”
“Because there is no upstairs.” Lunita rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows that.”
Then, why have stairs there?
Lunita slowed her steps. “Are you sure Max will be okay?”
“I am. Give him time to heal.”
Tension gathered in my shoulders.
Maxwell, you better wake up.
The dim hallway stretched out ahead of us, and then, abruptly, the monotony of the dim corridor was broken by a bright yellow door, standing sharp against the dull walls and marked with a silver number 3.
Hmmm.
Without even knocking, Lunita turned the knob and pushed the bright yellow door open.
My heart raced.
We entered an office, enveloped in a warm glow of white and yellow hues. Every surface was meticulously clean and organized. Bookshelves adorned the walls.
But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of M.
Emily, yet not Emily.
There, he reclined in his chair with his feet propped up on top of the sturdy wooden desk. His attention was fully captured by the thick leatherbound book in his hands.
Oh my. . .
He wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches, a crisp, white shirt, and trousers. His beard was perfectly trimmed, while his long dreadlocks hung down to his shoulders.
Tortoiseshell glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose.
Yet that face, it was Emily—from those large brown eyes to those full lips. Even the high cheek bones were hers.
My mouse, but as a man. . .
This dizzying sensation fell over me.
My mouse’s familiar features were there, but they were rearranged into someone unmistakably male, someone new yet intimately known.
My reaction was immediate and confusing. There was an undeniable attraction, a pull towards this person who embodied the essence of my mouse yet presented in a form far removed from the woman I knew.
Is he. . .mine also? And what would that mean?
For a moment, I questioned my own feelings.
Was it strange, this attraction I felt?
My heart knew Emily in every facet, loved her in a way that transcended physical form. Yet, here, confronted with this alternative representation, I found myself ensnared by the same intense feelings, directed at a face that mirrored hers but in a context that society would deem unconventional for a man like me.
Pavel got to my side and whispered, “I know what is going on in your mind. Do not think too deeply about this, Kazimir?”
I shoved all thoughts aside.
There was too much at stake. I couldn’t allow any crazy questions to derail me. So, I buried them, deep beneath the layers of my resolve.
Lunita walked further into the room. “M, we—”
A deep voice left him.
“ We are not taking over the body.” He didn’t even look up from the book as he turned a page. “I already told you this three times. Maxwell will be fine, and she is the Boss. Let her keep control.”
I stared at him.
Lunita went to his desk and placed her hands on the surface.
“Move your hands.” M flipped the page. “I’m sure they are not clean.”
Lunita kept her hands right there. “Look up.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“I am studying for the bar. I do not have time for this.”
“If I tell you, you won’t believe me, so just look, scarecrow.”
M let out a sharp hiss of frustration and then lifted his view. “What?”
Before she could answer, he snapped his view to us and opened his mouth in shock.
The book fell from his hands.
“Oh my god,” He stared at me with those startlingly familiar brown eyes. “What? No. How? Or. . .am I dreaming? But I don’t dream.”
His shock was so profound that he sunk deeper into his chair, as if the sight of me had robbed him of all strength.
Lunita pointed at him. “Don’t you faint. Stop it.”
His hands shook. “Is that. . . him ?”
“Yes.” She left the desk and went over to a bookshelf on the right. “The witch sent him—”
“That is not exactly what happened.” I took another step into his office.
“No.” M pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. “It was the breast milk.”
Shocked, I nodded. “Yes. It was the breast milk.”
“Dear God.” He ran his fingers through his dreadlocks. “While I tend to give you two proper privacy, once she came through, I have been monitoring her movements on the television and. . .”
I quirked my brows.
“There has been quite the insurmountable consumption of breastmilk on your part.”
Everyone turned to me, even the little girl.
A tiny bit of embarrassment rose in my chest. “It was only two times.”
“I wondered if there would be an effect.” M slowly rose from the chair, not even picking up the book on the floor. “Back in Russia, the witch told Emily to have a wet nurse due to the possibility of something flowing through the milk. During those moments of your. . .feeding, I wondered if she should stop you.”
I shook my head. “My mouse could not stop me when it comes to a moment like that.”
Lunita snorted.
The little girl whispered something into the lion’s ear.
I watched M take his time heading around the desk. He looked like he wanted to analyze and dissect me, yet also race away from me, screaming too.
I kept my voice steady. “I had no idea I could come here, and when it happened I decided to meet you all before leaving.”
“Do you think this could happen again?” M stopped at the edge of his desk and peered at me. “Do you plan on making this a continuous situation?”
Pavel shook his head. “Once Emily finds out, she will never let him drink from her again.”
M moved his view to Pavel. “You are the cousin that died in Italy.”
Pavel shrugged. “I am, although I do not think that is the most important part of this moment.”
Lunita browsed some of the books on the shelf, but didn’t grab any of them. “We have to kill the witch. She is messing everything up and she got Max shot.”
I spoke, “I wanted to meet you, M.”
He remained by his desk. “Why?”
“My mouse told me how smart you are.”
M blinked and then a proud smile spread across his face.
Lunita sucked her teeth. “He is not the smart one.”
The little girl skipped over to another bookcase.
M wagged his finger at her. “Remember. No touching.”
She frowned and didn’t get any closer to it.
I placed my hands into my pockets. “I can see a city outside of this building. One packed with different cities in the real world.”
“Really?” M’s voice rose. “Where is the city?”
“It is surrounding this building. Alleys. Blocks. Places from Moscow, Paris—”
“Here?” M gestured to the window.
“Yes.”
The little girl bobbed her head. “He said he doesn’t see the demons either.”
“Hmmm.” M rubbed his beard and stared at the bookcase near him. “The human brain operates not only as a center of thought and action but also as a shield . It protects us from emotional harm.”
I gazed at the one wall with no bookshelves. Framed degrees hung from it.
M continued, “But why would our brain not show us the cities around us?”
Pavel went to one degree and studied it. “Perhaps, your brain doesn’t want you all rummaging through those memories.”
“Fascinating, dead cousin.” M bobbed his head. “You could be correct.”
“Actually, my name is Pavel.”
“The brain has this innate ability to filter experiences in order to maintain mental stability.” M went over to a bookcase and began browsing the titles. “Where is that book on defense mechanisms?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“This was a concept originally proposed by Sigmund Freud and later expanded by his daughter Anna Freud.” M shook his head. “Lunita have you been messing around with my books?”
“No one cares about your boring books.”
M gave up his search by the bookcase. “These mechanisms serve as the brain’s unconscious guards, defending the ego against anxiety and unacceptable impulses.”
I leaned my head to the side. “So you not being able to see the city is your brain protecting you?”
“Maybe.” M gestured to Pavel. “It was your dead cousin’s theory, but I agree he may have a valid point.”
Pavel cleared his throat. “Again, my name is Pavel.”
“It is.” M nodded. “But right now you are dead, which I must remember in this moment so I can further study this concept. You are not real. It must be noted. But are you some detached part of Kazimir’s mind or—”
“I am not important.” Pavel nervously shifted his weight to his other foot. “Please give him a clue so that we can leave.”
M eyed me. “A clue?”
Lunita chuckled. She had plopped herself down into M’s chair. “The nasty lion thinks he is Watson.”
“You mean Sherlock Holmes.” M scowled at her. “Get out of my chair.”
Lunita huffed and rose.
M put his view back on me. “What type of clue do you want?”
“I want to help you all find the original.”
“Aww.” M clapped his hands. “That is a very interesting turn of events. Especially if you can see what we can’t see.”
“Exactly.”
“The human brain, in its quest to protect the individual, will alter, omit, and even distort reality.” M held out his hands. “While these mechanisms serve a critical protective function, especially in the face of trauma or distress, they also pose challenges to self-awareness and authentic living.”
I looked around. “My mouse said you had some room with diagrams and things in there. However, she did say she couldn’t understand some of the garbled writing—”
“Garbled.” M touched his chest. “There is nothing garbled on those boards.”
“She had difficulty reading everything.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder if you can read it.” M headed over to a door between bookcases, opened it, and disappeared.
Fascinated, I headed that way.
Pavel followed, but the little girl and Lunita remained in the office.
Once I stepped in, so much caught my eyes.
Like Emily had said, the room was large and all of its walls were covered in chalkboards. But unlike my mouse’s memories, every damned word was comprehensible to me.
On one board there was a list of the alters, putting them in their correct order. There were tons of paragraphs and notes on what could have created each particular alter.
I widened my eyes. “I can read this.”
“Very, very interesting.” M went over to a large white board and pointed. “What about this? What do you see?”
The white board showed a building map that M had clearly drawn.
It was a visual manifesto of their fractured psyche.
Even more, the building’s sections were meticulously labeled.
At the top, almost touching the ceiling of the illustration, was Lunita’s roof. It was depicted not just as a flat surface, but as a flourishing garden. The detailing was exquisite, with tons of tiny flowers.
Below, towards the middle of the building, was the little girl’s apartment. It was drawn with a softer hand, the lines less rigid, more welcoming. The depiction included the scattered toys and the warmth of lived-in chaos.
To the side, there was his office–M’s space, marked by orderly lines and structured design.
I got closer to the board. “You drew a map.”
He even had little blocks for the stairs that went up from the basement to the little girl’s apartment.
The lower part of the diagram detailed my mouse’s basement.
And then, at the very bottom of the drawing Amber’s domain was labeled as ‘the sewer.’ The area was marked with darker, more jagged lines, indicating a space less welcoming.
M backed away from the board as if not wanting me to get too close to him. “You see it?”
“I do.”
“Did she see it?”
“If she did, she never told me.” I studied the building some more.
At the top of the whiteboard, in bold, unmistakable letters, was the question:
Where is she?
I kept my gaze on that one sentence, unable to move away from it.
“Perhaps, the brain knew that she wasn’t ready to see it.” M sighed. “Repression. Denial. These are the sort of things that are employed by the brain to manage internal conflicts and perceived threats from the external world.”
I put my view on him.
“By distorting reality, these mechanisms allow individuals to navigate through stressful situations, albeit temporarily and often at the cost of a clear understanding of reality.”
“So sometimes we remember things in the wrong way to protect us?”
“That is one way to think about this.”
I took in that trimmed beard and that tweed jacket.
M raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong, Kazimir? Why are you looking at me that way?”
“It is just odd. . .seeing my mouse as a man.”
He edged back. “I must inform you that I am in no way interested in a sexual relationship with another man.”
Pavel chuckled from the corner.
I gave him a sad smile. “We both agree on that point, M.”
“You do?”
I nodded.
“Perfect.” M fixed his glasses again. “It is just that you are very. . .adventurous with her. The breast milk, the hidden sex room, and other things. I hoped that you did not think I too was yours.”
“Oh.” I gave him another sad smile. “You are mine, M.”
Pavel snickered.
M cleared his throat. “Perhaps, I will take that declaration in the realm of brotherhood. Instead of in some sense of sexual. . .possession.”
“As long as you know that when you take over Emily’s body, you are not to have sexual adventures like Lunita.”
“Oh no. My heart is with someone else. I stay true, my friend. Never will I love again if I cannot have the love of Felicity.” M’s face turned sad. “However, I do miss my talks with Xavier. Perhaps, if I ever take over the body, you and I can sit with cigars and a nice drink, and ponder the complexities of our reality.”
“I would love that.” I tilted my head to the side. “However, I must ask you something.”
“Yes, Kazimir?”
“Who is Felicity?”