Chapter 21 #2
I respect her and smile back. After her shower, I have every intention of asking her again.
Levon is like a book, and you have to ask her the same thing a billion times for her to let you read one sentence.
It is one page at a time. You can never skip a page unless it is her call and in her own time.
She locks up her heart and shares it with no one.
Persistence is the norm for me when it comes to getting her to share her heart with me.
I suppose such patience must be what helped me with Pesh, but Levon is much more difficult than Pesh could ever dream to be.
However, since I love Levon, I know I must keep trying, no matter how many times I seem to fail in pulling it out of her.
I have to continue to persevere in order to find the truth; for I hold to this strong belief that love never takes failure as defeat, for it never gives up.
“Yes!” I hear a voice exclaim.
I rush out to see Swin rejoicing with Pesh and the group.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We hacked the sensor!” Swin responds.
“What? No kidding. That’s amazing!” I respond.
“Yes! I sent the virus into the sensor. He just took it off! Although I did not know that girl Beatrice was a doctor. She took it off him, it was really gross! He has a huge scar now!” he says.
Our moment of excitement is suddenly interrupted as we look through the computer to see Patron De Londe entering a meeting room in the Observation Building in The Commons.
“Wow, he’s got company!” Swin interjects.
I look at the computer to see upper-class patricians in religious uniforms. I glance at their perfectly ironed dark-blue suits with blue ties and blue shoes that glow. And to no surprise, that insolent Patron De Londe is the leader of this insurgence of virtue.
“How are we able to see them?” Swin asks, turning to Pesh. “I see these are not The Commons camera system you tapped into.”
“The C2C is the only room in the Commons without the usual cameras. Londe does however have his private cameras installed there, so I tapped in,” Pesh responds.
“A glass-covered dome hidden in the heart of The Commons, where only the heartless dare gather,” Swin adds, scanning the aforesaid room.
“Who are these people?” I ask.
Levon walks in and begins speaking, “The Aristocrats! Born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”
“And a gold stone in their hearts,” Swin finishes, staring at them with furrowed eyebrows.
Levon continues, like she’s a political dictionary or encyclopedia of some sort, “They are a collection of individuals who congregate around social, political, educational, governmental issues and otherwise. It’s a top secret group. Members are never to disclose their involvement with anyone.”
“Not even family members,” Swin completes.
“Yeah,” she says.
“Right. You know, Levon, we complete each other…’s sentences. It’s like we’re meant to be,” Swin teases.
“Shut up!” She looks at him with a confused gaze.
Swin smiles.
“Anyways, so they have crazy initiation protocols, and they spend over a million dollars a month on membership fees,” Levon continues speaking to me.
“Not to mention the intimate love affair and intersection between these Aristocrats and The Commons is pretty scandalous!” Swin adds.
“Yeah, and the rules of The Commons allow them to meet at this time undetected by any student,” Pesh completes.
“So are they behind The Seventh Zone?” I ask.
We all look to Pesh, silent.
“They are,” Pesh says.
“What!? They are?” Swin turns to Pesh in shock.
Wow, this explains why most of our teachers are also governmental officials, I think. Before I can ask any more questions, we turn to the computer screen to see that the meeting has begun. And to my surprise, Beatrice is a server in these ungodly affairs.
“Oh, there she goes,” Swin says. “Beatrice. The preparer of all perfectly pedantic proceedings, perfectly positioned pencils, and posh pointing pens. Her visage, one of a pretentious peripheral, for the prerogative of Patron De Londe’s priorities.”
“What the fu…” Levon turns to him, weirded out. “What is wrong with you?”
“Sorry! I heard that once in The Seventh Zone.” Swin smiles to himself, sinking into his chair. “I always wanted to say it.” He chuckles silently.
“Weirdo.” Levon turns away.
Swin rolls his eyes, focusing on the screen.
Patron De Londe watches Beatrice execute her duties with attention to intricate detail and formality.
His shoulders are spread out, and his piercing red eyes scrutinize her presence.
Yet still, he seems relaxed in her presence.
She starts to fill up every one of the sixteen cups with water.
The silence is disturbed by the water’s cohered submission.
Like a criminal about to be thrown into a pit, his eyes monitor each inch of the water’s flow as she pedantically pours it into the glass cups.
She executes this with a powerful placidity of prowess that even practice cannot create; but entire sacrifice, worship and devotion would be a more rational decoding of such prowess.
She continues to the next table, placing identical files next to each chair.
Swin studies her, muttering, “I would wonder what she did to gain such a position. I bet she was born of high class—”
“Money is not enough to be part of such an institution,” Levon responds.
“It’s not,” Pesh agrees.
Pesh reluctantly tells us that Beatrice had met Patron De Londe thirteen years ago in an elite governmental banquet hosted by her father.
And after the banquet ended, instead of entering the carrier home with her familial counterparts, she instead locked eyes with Londe.
And after he took away every inch of her autonomy, he proceeded to violently indulge into the depths of her.
“I heard!” Swin takes over, turning in his chair, suddenly speaking so formally, “That this was the point at which Londe swallowed her addictive venom.”
“Wait, what?” Levon looks at him, utterly confused.
“If I may continue, your majesty!” Swin teases.
“Apparently, she had desired him since she first heard of him twenty years ago. So every yearly banquet, he would passionately possess her, with her complete indulging permission, but she could not show her full indulgence for fear of him ending his proceedings. For they were together, but only for the period of his possession—at his prerogative—and thereafter, it was strictly noted that nothing happened, for he could never stoop so low to be with someone so “simple” like her,” he completes, clearly pleased with himself for reciting that.
“Let me guess. You also heard someone say that?” Levon looks at him.
“I did. I think that’s what I said, didn’t I?” Swin smiles, chuckling, finding this way too funny.
Levon rolls her eyes. “I thought you didn’t know about them?”
“It’s just a rumor. Patrons whisper a lot about her in The Seventh Zone,” Swin remarks. “Sorry, Pesh, you may continue.”
Pesh neither confirms or denies Swin’s statements, but he does tell us that Beatrice is an evil mastermind whose soul had been bought by Londe.
He employed her to foresee all his proceedings, while holding her on a slim rope where her performance was directly proportional to their passionate proceedings.
Such is the nature of the tension that fills the room. But the tension only exists for Beatrice. For nobody knows this, because Londe always gives the appearance of dislike toward Beatrice. Like clever clones, more Aristocrats enter the room.
Patron De Londe is at the head of the table, his fingers tapping the side of his chair, seemingly impatient. His eyes move from Beatrice to the black agarwood table in front of him.
Everyone is seated. And silent.
The moderator of the meeting begins to orate, his eyes roaming across the table, “The emergency meeting on the matter of the theft of The Begon is hereby called to order.”
“On the matter 495, if I may start by speaking as the Secretary of Defense; If there has been an infiltration and The Begon has indeed been stolen by one of our own, like Pesh, I say we find him and reprimand him instantly,” that slimy self-defence instructor howls.
“Subtlety, Shay. But first, we need to be sure it’s Pesh,” Patron De Londe states.
“At this time, all we know is that The Begon was stolen,” the moderator says. “We do not know that it was Pesh who did the deed. Plus, there were reports that they jumped into the water at a dangerous height, but we suspect they are very much still alive.”
“Another topic of great importance is to find out where the suspects are hiding,” an Aristocrat says. “We’ve looked everywhere. They are most likely trying to hack The Begon, and you know it contains all of our investments in The Seventh Zone. We can’t have the public seeing that.”
“Oh my goodness, are they talking about us?” Swin realizes.
“That day, the guards reported three times Pesh carrying out orders you never commanded him to,” one of the men articulates, speaking to Londe.
“It’s definitely Pesh then!” Shay interjects.
Patron De Londe’s eyes strike Shay’s with his blood-red gaze. With the flick of his wrist, he sends a dagger zooming past Shay, almost slicing his face, landing in the wall behind him. “Keep. My. Son’s. Name. Out. Of. Your. Tongue,” he commands.
The room is quiet in silent dread. Shay’s body jitters as though struck by a spell from De Londe’s words. His eyes are widened in horror as he glances to the side to view the weapon, then back. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead.
An old man with white hair breaks the silence. “Please, Patron De Londe. May I speak?” He bypasses the moderator, looking to Patron De Londe.
Londe’s fingers flick in a sign. The moderator nods and speaks accordingly, “You may.” He extends his hands. “Since time is of the essence, let’s all have a free discussion about the issue at hand.”
“We are not sure who’s behind it all. But students keep disappearing from The Seventh Zone. That’s not good for business, and you know that.”