Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[peccatore]

"I... wasn't sure that you would have seen a point. This is only a memory, after all."

[pyrrhicviktory]

Maybe so. But since we cannot change the past... talking about it is often the only thing that helps.

[peccatore]

The Father chimes in again.

"What is there to talk about? This is only the beginning."
"We tried to warn you," adds the Mother.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Viktor turns to both of them, then. ]

I think we've heard quite enough from both of you, thank you.

[peccatore]

"But it's only the beginning," the Mother repeats.
"Do you think this is enough for you to understand?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

Perhaps not. But you are not helping.

[peccatore]

"But we've done so much to help him...!"
"Are you leaving? What are you doing?"
"What will you do?"

It's getting harder to tell which of them is speaking, exactly, but maybe that doesn't matter.

[pyrrhicviktory]

I will go where Marco's subconscious guides, and bear witness.

We have all made mistakes that we regret. This is not the mind of a man who feels no remorse for what he has done. You are evidence of that. The guilt and shame, he carries with him everywhere. It is a heavy burden, and perhaps it should be so. I cannot make it lighter.

But perhaps it is time for you both to remember not to overstep your purpose. Guilt and shame can serve a useful function. They remind us when we have done wrong, when we need to make amends, how to improve and avoid repeating the same mistake again. To ignore them is folly. But to let them run roughshod over our lives is equally damaging.

[peccatore]

"... Oh."

Marco hasn't moved from his spot on the floor, but it seems he's realised something.

"Oh, you don't know. I never told you, did I?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Told me what?

[peccatore]

"Can I... Can I nudge you along? Do I have that ability...?"

The Parents don't seem too pleased with the idea, that's for certain.

"He wants to smooth over his sins!"
"So little that he remembers, and he'll hide even that?!"

[pyrrhicviktory]

It is your mind space, Marco. You can guide me as you see fit.

It is not my intention to do anything against your will.

[peccatore]

"My... will? My will..."

"Your ruinous will."
"Your will is our will is God's will! There is no difference!"

Marco's brow furrows; he shuts his eyes tightly.

"... H-Help me. Help me focus."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... All right. Focus on the sound of my voice. You were going to nudge me along, show me something I don't know yet. Something that must have been important.

[peccatore]

Marco nods, increasingly frantic. The Parents refuse to silenced, but he does his utmost to focus on Viktor over their cries of false messiahs and being led astray and excusing sins--

And everything starts to blur very, very quickly. For what feels like at least a minute, there is no solid ground, no visible sky - even Marco has become indistinct.

When the world slows down, it coalesces into a highway on a rainy night. Something flickers off to the side, barely visible to anyone on the main road.

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Well, this is certainly not the same time period.

[peccatore]

"Unbelievable," the Mother sneers. "So far ahead, and why? To salvage his image?"
"The scientist isn't stupid," the Father retorts. "He knows there have been centuries of bloodshed. This changes nothing."

And then, in unison:

"Follow the light."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Very well.

[ off we go, toward the light ]

[peccatore]

Smoke billows from the light. It isn't long until it becomes obvious that it's a fire - a small one, at least for now - burning from a car that veered off the road and only stopped when it hit a rocky protrusion.

One of the passengers, a short-haired businessman with blood dripping from a large cut on his head, is on the ground, not far from what must have been one of the side doors. The other is crawling out of the wreckage.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ "Are you all right?" seems inadequate somehow, so Viktor just goes over to see if he can help the first man up ]

[peccatore]

"Poor fool."

The man looks... at Viktor, presumably. But maybe he doesn't see him, because what he says is,

"E... Evangelisti? That you? My phone... Can't find my phone. Call an ambulance..."

Meanwhile, behind Viktor, the other man crawls forward, a ravenous glint in his glowing eyes.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ well it doesn't take a genius to work out what's going to happen next, so Viktor steps back a little. ]

... Is there a point? To showing me this.

[peccatore]

The Parents, harsh and accusatory, and the hungry creature crawling forward, under his breath, all say the same thing: "Yes."

But the point is not the foregone conclusion, so maybe there's no use in lingering.

Marco strikes. He drinks until there's nothing more to drink. His wounds heal rapidly; when he's done, hardly anybody could guess he's just driven a car off the road. There are no signs of injury save for the blood on his sweater, but most of it isn't even his.

He comes to his senses, not with the sheer horror of that first night but with a mounting dread. And then a voice comes, loud and crystalline:

"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

Though it's the same voice, it doesn't come quite from where the Parents were standing. It emanates from somewhere close by, somewhere vaguely above, somewhere here, and Marco looks around, frantic and confused, trying to locate the source.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Viktor looks up, trying to locate the source of the voice also ]

[peccatore]

There is no visible source, and yet, it feels tangible and present and real.

"Kneeling over his kill without a care... Disgusting. Is he going to fly away?"
"Kneeling over his kill, just like back then... Oh, our poor son!"

Two voices, apparently. A man and a woman's. The more they say, the wider Marco's eyes open.

"... Mom? Dad?"