Chapter Four

  Forced Experiment

  Two days had passed since Nyxen had wondered if the coffee had fried his brain.

  Today his steps were quicker and he felt a little more lively.

  Hm... hmm... hmm.

  While getting ready for school, Nyxen hummed a tune under his breath. He left the house and, as usual, grabbed a coffee. Then the subway, and then school.

  …

  The students’ faces looked a bit downcast. The geometry teacher was calling students to the board one by one, asking and checking answers.

  “I didn’t study anything. Last night I was fixing the dining table.”

  “At least I studied. Tozo, if I’m stuck, help me, okay?”

  Nyxen wasn’t feeling great either. His grades were above average, but he wasn’t top of the class.

  After glancing at the roster, the teacher said: “Nyxen Velark. Come to the board.”

  He stood and walked to the board in silence. The teacher gave the problem and Nyxen wrote it down. While writing he had to bend; at first he hesitated and some classmates thought he didn’t know the answer. Then he started writing and filled the board with calculations.

  After ten minutes the teacher looked and said: “Sit down. Don’t bother finishing it. Your grade won’t be good. Next time you need to study more.”

  Nyxen sat down with a dark expression. The student behind him said: “It’s fine, man. When are we ever going to use geometry? Don’t take it seriously.”

  Nyxen found that a little funny. The boy behind him didn’t study at all and would probably be expelled next year. If he studied, he wouldn’t be sitting behind a two-meter guy to see the board!

  He smiled inwardly, but outwardly kept his sullen face and said, “Thanks—I feel a little more confident now.”

  …

  During break Nyxen went to the school library. Three students always sat by the heater near the window. These three were Nyxen’s classmates and had the highest averages in class. Their grades were almost always perfect; they studied a lot.

  One was a bespectacled, average-height, plain-looking guy. Another was a chubby boy, about 180 cm tall, with a babyish pale face. The third was a broad-boned fellow with a simple build who clearly worked out sometimes; his forehead was covered in white and red pimples.

  Nyxen walked toward them slowly, cleared his throat and, in a soft voice, said: “Excuse me, guys—can I have a minute of your time?”

  They had seen Nyxen before but acted like they’d just noticed him.

  The bespectacled one said: “Well, well—handsome of the class. What brings you to the library?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up for a moment, then vanished.

  Nyxen said, “In geometry class… could you explain that problem to me? If you don’t mind taking the time.”

  All three said politely, “No, of course—no problem. Go ahead.”

  Nyxen listened to the explanation, but his attention kept drifting to the fat boy’s body fat and the pimples on the other guy’s face. He felt unpleasant. He could see an air of superiority in their eyes. Because their grades were better, they seemed to think they were kings or leaders.

  After hearing their solution he nodded in acknowledgement.

  …

  He threw his bag into the corner of the room. At that moment a voice called from home:

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Nyxen, lunch is ready—help yourself from the fridge whenever you want.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Nyxen answered.

  He changed clothes, put on a hoodie and baggy pants, skipped lunch, and went out.

  A few minutes later he stood in front of the village café.

  “Hi. How are you?” he said.

  Lethe appraised him and said, “You’ve dressed up today.”

  “Not really—just grabbed whatever I could reach,” he replied. “What’s up? Today I messed up the geometry problem at the board and got a bad grade.”

  “It’s fine—how bad was it?”

  Nyxen quickly cut in: “Never mind. Want to go to that place I promised you?”

  Lethe paused, trying to remember. Then she said, “Okay—let’s go.”

  They rode Nyxen’s bike to Sandra and parked in front of the wooded hill.

  Nyxen looked at the hill and said, “It’s right there. We should go this way—it's dry this side. Otherwise your shoes will get muddy.”

  Lethe looked uneasy. Going alone into a hill and woods with a boy? But she said, “Okay… let’s go.”

  Nyxen locked the motorbike in front of a hardware store and they set off.

  Nyxen walked ahead and Lethe followed. The air was humid, birds chirped, and occasionally they heard motors and cars.

  A few minutes later, Lethe, trying to hide her feelings, asked, “Nyxen—where is this place you’re talking about?”

  Without answering, Nyxen stepped aside so the spot would be revealed.

  A wooden bench appeared—plain, without armrests, tidy. Sunlight falling on it brought out the wood’s color so strongly that you could almost smell it.

  “Oh wow—why is this bench here?” Lethe breathed.

  Nyxen said: “Maybe there used to be a path here, but not anymore.”

  They sat a comfortable distance apart. The sunlight warmed the bench and it felt pleasant.

  Minutes passed without exchange of words.

  Finally Nyxen spoke up: “Lethe… aren’t you tired of me?”

  “T-tired?” Lethe answered, surprised.

  Nyxen continued: “Of me.”

  Lethe felt her face heat up. Quickly, in a shaky voice: “N-no—why would I be? What kind of question is that?”

  The pressure on Nyxen’s shoulders made words spill out of him: “Of me. Of this repetitive person who has nothing to say. People look for entertainment. What entertains you enough to be friends with me? Is it… you? Or is it my looks? Why do you trust me? Can you tell me what you want? Be honest—tell me and I’ll give you what you want.”

  Lethe’s thinking sped up but it gave her no leverage; she got flustered and babbled: “Who said I want anything from you? I haven’t asked you for anything. Thinking I want something is just wrong. I… I really don’t want anything from you.”

  All the while Nyxen watched her face—her pupils dilating, her hands moving for emphasis. Whenever their eyes met, Lethe looked down.

  Nyxen knew she wasn’t lying. If she were lying, what could he possibly offer her? Money? Power? Status?

  His heart rate climbed. The strange feeling intensified.

  Nyxen said: “Ah—sorry Lethe. I haven’t slept in days and I feel awful. I want energy but life drains me. I want to give up but life forces me to get up. You don’t understand and I don’t want to burden your mind.”

  Lethe felt the need to anchor him: “This is the first time you’ve spoken more than two sentences in a row. Why do you think you’d fail if you told a little about yourself? At least say what you like. Say what you don’t like. Why do you live?”

  Nyxen thought, and in his head he reckoned:

  [Usually when people are asked a question, a quick answer pops into their mind and usually that answer is right. But how do I tell her that I don’t know why I live? Even if I say it, will she believe me? If she believes me, what then…? I don’t think anyone can do anything about it.]

  After two seconds, he said aloud: “Well… I like the same things others do. Like coffee.”

  Lethe: “...”

  Nyxen: “What?”

  Lethe: “Why do you drink so much coffee? It’s probably why you’ve been so confused lately. First you knock over the flowerpot, then you say you couldn’t solve the geometry problem, then you suddenly ask these weird questions. I say try drinking a little less coffee. If that doesn’t help, double it.”

  Nyxen laughed inwardly. He never thought his habits would be used against him, but out loud he said: “Alright. I can’t think clearly now. I don’t have much time—study. Did you like this place?”

  Lethe hid her mouth in her scarf and muttered under her breath: “Yeah—I don’t get it. Are you trying to change the subject?”

  Nyxen didn’t notice. He stood and said: “Get up—we’re late.”

  They returned to the village and Nyxen went to the café for another coffee. He smiled at himself—today, at least, everything went according to plan.

  Back in his room his heart pounded faster and he could hardly believe it.

  [The evidence says yes. But still… no—everything doesn’t exactly prove it. I’m not stupid.]

  Let’s go back two days.

  Nyxen had muttered: “Ah, man… I’m just hallucinating. This coffee has fried my brain.”

  He walked the street trying to calm his mind. A yellow-and-white cat called to him—Nyxen turned and couldn’t help smiling. It was his second friend.

  The cat ran at his feet and circled around. Nyxen petted it: “You cutie… you’re the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

  “Meow.”

  He laughed, but his mind started working again:

  [Even an animal with instinct is logical. So why shouldn’t events be logical? My feeling tells me it’s not really the coffee.]

  He began to reason:

  [A few days ago I went to the wooded hill. A ridiculous dream, then death. After that I’ve felt that strange sensation almost every day. Why? It wasn’t there before. Why not believe it’s related to the dream? The first time was when I lied to my mother. Then with Lethe. Then several more times. Why does nothing make sense? If I were always lying it would be simple, but when I’m alone it still happens. Maybe I can test it. I know it’s ridiculous and a waste of time… but didn’t I already waste time at the hill that day?]

  Finally he decided testing could do no harm, even though his conscience told him it was just a stupid hallucination. Nothing in the world is irrational.

  First he tried lying. A lie he was forced to tell, not one he felt naturally. He deliberately didn’t solve the geometry problem so he could ask the three top students for help. He confirmed that lying and trying to attract their attention intensified the feeling. This time he focused completely. None of them truly cared for him—why would they? The only thing they were better at was school. Perhaps out of jealousy they didn’t feel inclined to help, even if they acted like they were eager.

  Nyxen didn’t bother with their apparent interest or indifference. When he told Lethe that he couldn’t solve the geometry problem—that was a lie, because he simply didn’t want to solve it—Lethe, unlike others, didn’t stumble and said, “That’s fine.” For someone used to Lethe’s frequent slips, it was clear to Nyxen that she behaved strangely.

  He concluded that when he lied—or was compelled to lie—people not only believed more readily but he himself felt that strange sensation.

  But that was too simple.

  Nyxen wanted to know why the same thing happened even when he didn’t lie.

  He took Lethe to the hill and asked the questions he dared. He noticed that when he asked more emotional questions the same pattern happened: Lethe’s reactions became stranger and he experienced the feeling again.

  In that moment his heart hammered. He realized perhaps he had some kind of power, or something similar—that whenever he tried to attract attention or change someone’s opinion, the strange sensation hit him and acted like a seal, indicating his action had succeeded.

  He still didn’t believe it completely. He asked more questions and Lethe revealed more truths; gradually he confirmed his suspicion.

  When he returned home his head buzzed with thoughts:

  [So I’ve got a supernatural ability? No, that’s ridiculous—what kind of thing is that? Wait—maybe I’m right. Lethe was more stressed. I wanted her to tell the truth. Every time I felt that strange sensation people behaved more in line with what I wanted. But… sometimes nothing changed and I only felt the sensation—like when the teacher told me I got a

  bad grade. Ah, never mind. For now I just want to sleep. But… if it’s real…]

  Nyxen spent the night turning the idea over and fantasizing, but in the end he didn’t give up his coffee. :)