Puzzle Pieces: Cyrus

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id87.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="All Hallows Eve"><U><B>All Hallows' Eve</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id88.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fall Camoflage"><U><B>Fall Camoflage</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Cyrus</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id90.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Roxanne"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Roxanne</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id91.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Claude"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Claude</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id92.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Christmas Magick"><U><B>Christmas Magick</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id93.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Maggie"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Maggie</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id94.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Winters Deep Freeze"><U><B>Winter's Deep Freeze</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id95.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Sabrina"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Sabrina</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id96.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Frostbite"><U><B>Frostbite</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id97.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: The Collins Family"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  The Collins Family</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id98.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Biding Time in Purgatory"><U><B>Biding Time in Purgatory</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id99.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Quentin"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Quentin</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id100.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Family Secrets"><U><B>Family Secrets</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id102.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Vortex"><U><B>Vortex</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id101.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Spring Whirlwind"><U><B>Spring Whirlwind</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id103.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Den of Vipers"><U><B>Den of Vipers</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id104.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Angelique"><U><B>Puzzle Pieces:  Angelique</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id105.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Converging Forces"><U><B>Converging Forces</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id106.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Flames of Purification"><U><B>Flames of Purification</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id85.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Adam in Parallel Time"><U><B>Adam in Parallel Time</B></U></A></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>Puzzle Pieces:  Cyrus</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas were always especially difficult for Cyrus. Everyone goes about feeling jolly and singing Christmas carols, he thought. I must go along with that and pretend to be of good cheer myself when, in reality, I feel either nothing or despairing loneliness. Sometimes he felt empty even when he was with Sabrina, his fiancée, or Quentin, his best friend. He was most miserable when he accompanied Sabrina on an outing with Quentin and his new friend, Maggie Evans. He felt totally out of place. After spending Thanksgiving with Adam and Roxanne, he found himself seeking Adam’s company again that weekend. He was relieved to find Adam at home at his own little cottage and not at Roxanne’s house. He’d called Tim Stokes to tell her that Roxanne was a young woman with seemingly no family ties; he’d felt filthy after getting off the phone with the repulsive old man and had washed his hands over and over. Then he’d disinfected the phone. Stokes had been pleased and hadn’t called since.</div> <div> Adam was pleasantly surprised that Dr. Cyrus had dropped in to see him again so soon after the Thanksgiving dinner. He’d begun to look at Dr. Cyrus with the same warm affection he’d viewed Professor Stokes in that other time. He invited the doctor in, and rummaged in his small refrigerator for something else to serve other than the usual Pepsi and cold pizza. “How are you feeling, Adam?” Cyrus asked him. “I feel better and better all the time,” Adam answered happily. “I don’t need the drink as much as before. Maybe soon I won’t need it at all?”</div> <div> “Hmmm…,” Cyrus murmured, thinking. He still didn’t understand the full story of how Adam came into being. "Perhaps. We’ll have to see, won’t we?” He was curious about why Adam seemed to be getting stronger and needed less of the compound. He also wondered about the scars on Adam’s face, which were usually carefully masked with make-up. “Oh, I called a friend of mine—a surgeon in New York City.” While he was thinking about it, he’d better explain it to Adam. Cyrus had a tendency to forget things. “I made an appointment for you to see him on December 27th. He should be able to help remove those scars.”</div> <div> Adam smiled. “Then I won’t be ugly anymore. I won’t need the makeup. Just from my face, Dr. Cyrus?”</div> <div> Cyrus hadn’t thought of that. “You have scars elsewhere?” he asked.</div> <div> “Yes—I will show you. I haven’t put makeup on my body today because I know Roxanne will be away and I won’t have to hide them.” Adam blushed. “I don’t like to be ugly, Dr. Cyrus.”</div> <div> Cyrus shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, yes, but it seems that your Roxanne wouldn’t think you ugly because of scars.”</div> <div> “You’re right. She is kind—but you haven’t seen. I’ll show you.” Adam stood up and pulled his shirt off. He’d turned his back to Cyrus because he didn’t want to see the shocked expression he knew would show up on his friend’s face. Cyrus’ mouth dropped open. “Adam,” he began, stunned, “you say that Dr. Lang operated on you?”</div> <div> “Yes, sewed me together,” Adam replied. Incredible, Cyrus thought. He could hardly conceive of the possibility of man creating man, but in this day and age why had this doctor done such a terrible job with the stitching? It was as if he’d deliberately sought to make Adam look like a monster. “Adam, about your face—did this Dr. Lang need to sew your face together?”</div> <div> Adam thought about it. He knew he’d been assembled from various parts of three or four different people. His face had been whole, though—from one person. “He did do it, but I don’t know why.”</div> <div> What a cruel thing to do, Cyrus thought. Perhaps it was done because in that other time, Adam was supposed to have drawn off the evil side of this Barnabas person. “What is Barnabas like, Adam?”</div> <div> As usual, Adam looked uncomfortable when he was asked about his other life. “At first, he was my friend. He was kind to me. He brought me food and talked to me a little.” Adam paused to think a moment before going on. “He was always busy, and I was so lonely much of the time. I stayed in a small room in the basement.”</div> <div> “Why?” Cyrus had been shocked the first time Adam revealed he’d been kept prisoner. He was asking again to try and draw out more memories.</div> <div> “I don’t know, Dr. Cyrus. There was a—a—“ he put his hands around his ankle, and gestured that it was attached to a length of something.</div> <div> “Manacle?” Cyrus reminded him gently.</div> <div> “Manacle? What is that again?”</div> <div> “It is a restraint—something that would hold you in place. Usually it would go around your ankle or your wrist.”</div> <div> “Ah, yes. A manacle, then. Made of metal, with chains. It was attached to the wall—to keep me there.” Adam noticed Cyrus’ empathic expression, not realizing his friend was thinking he had often felt chained himself. “I don’t know what I did that was bad to keep me there. I was very lonely. I wanted Barnabas to stay and keep me company, but he always said he was busy and that he would be back. Sometimes Dr. Hoffman came to see me. Mostly, though, it was Willie.” </div> <div> Here Adam grimaced with an expression of almost hatred. “Willie was cruel to me.”</div> <div> Cyrus remembered the story Adam had told. Is it possible that this poor creature was intended to drain the evil from this Barnabas and, in reality, the opposite occurred? Adam was very big and intimidating, yet he was very kind and gentle. In that intimidating, scarred body resided a gentle soul who seemed to bear no ill will toward anyone—except Angelique and Barnabas. In those cases, Cyrus thought, he seemed more afraid than angry. “So Barnabas later became cruel to you as well?” he pressed.</div> <div> He needed to know desperately because of his own experimentation. Now that Angelique was dead, he had to use his compound very sparingly because he had no idea where she’d gotten it. He’d begun researching and searching to see if he could find some chemist or company, but so far he’d had no luck. The fact that Adam didn’t need any more of the compound mixture yet was a relief to him because it left more for him...and yet, he couldn’t seem to get it “right”. Perhaps he needed to discover the way to creating another self to infuse the evil personality into. But perhaps it backfires on me, too? It wouldn’t matter, he thought. He would see to it that the created being was not deliberately </div> <div> mutilated. </div> <div> As Adam answered, he noticed Cyrus’ preoccupation and wondered what was bothering his friend. “He did become cruel and cold later, yes. He wanted to kill me. He was no longer my friend.” These were things that he’d already told Cyrus and Quentin when he’d appeared on Halloween. He wondered why Cyrus was asking about them again. “Do you know if Barnabas ever tried drinking anything?”</div> <div> Adam was puzzled. “Of course, Dr. Cyrus. Water, usually. Sometimes—brandy or something called char-da-nay. And also tea.”</div> <div> Cyrus gave him a small smile. “I meant something from Dr. Hoffman’s lab.”</div> <div> Adam was thunderstruck now. “Those things Dr. Hoffman used were not for drinking, Dr. Cyrus.”</div> <div> “Strange to think of Hoffman being a doctor,” Cyrus mused.</div> <div> “May I ask you some questions now, Dr. Cyrus?” Adam asked.</div> <div> “Yes, yes, of course. That’s only fair. What would you like to know?”</div> <div> “I am wondering why in this time I find people I do not find in the other place. I wonder why the people I knew there are different here.”</div> <div> “Like Hoffman?”</div> <div> “Yes. And also, in that other time—there is no Quentin. Why is that?”</div> <div> “I have read about something that is called parallel time, Adam, and also about time travel. Obviously, you didn’t time travel. You didn’t move forward or backward through time because the year you were in was the same there as it is here. You traveled side-to-side I believe.”</div> <div> Adam frowned. “I don’t understand how such a thing is possible. I, too, have heard of going forward and backward in time. I have seen movies about it. But side to side?”</div> <div> “It’s like going into another room of the same house. Have you ever read Alice in Wonderland?”</div> <div> “No, I have not read that one yet. I was going to ask you to about that—Professor Stokes was teaching me reading and writing. I want to continue that because I want to learn.” Cyrus couldn’t hide his reaction of distaste to the man’s name. “In this world, Stokes is a bad man, isn’t he?”</div> <div> “Bad,” Cyrus said softly, thinking of the threats and blackmail. Adam sighed heavily, looking grieved. Cyrus collected his thoughts to comfort him—he was so much like a giant child. “I’d be glad to help you find books to read and to teach you anything you’d like to know—if I can.”</div> <div> “Why is Stokes bad here and good there?”</div> <div> Cyrus thought about it. When he had something he could make sense of, he said, “Sometimes things happen to us, Adam. Sometimes they’re minor things that we decide for ourselves—like what kind of shirt you’re going to put on. Other times, they’re things that happen to us, like a car accident or going to college or getting a job. Perhaps in the other time, your Professor Stokes had good parents who sent him to a good school and he became a teacher. Here, Tim Stokes is no professor. Things happened differently for him here.”</div> <div> Adam nodded thoughtfully, struggling to understand. “Dr. Cyrus, why don’t I remember you from the other place?”</div> <div> “Perhaps the other Cyrus never got to Collinwood.” Cyrus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Adam, shall we go for a walk? To the library? You mentioned that your friend Professor Stokes gave you things to read. Perhaps we should get a library card for you.”</div> <div> Adam gave him a beaming smile. “I would like that very much, Dr. Cyrus!”</div> <div> Pleased that he’d distracted Adam for the time being, the two friends walked to the library. It was only a few blocks off the grounds of the institution.</div> <div> Adam was awed by the number of books inside. Cyrus helped him apply for a library card. From the expression on his face, Cyrus could see that Adam was overwhelmed by the number of choices he had. “If I may suggest something, Adam, my mother told me the greatest piece of literature is the Bible. I would add Shakespeare, except—“</div> <div> “Yes?”</div> <div> Cyrus cleared his throat. “Well, I think Shakespeare is difficult to read, but I think you would like the Bible. It has lots of stories in it.” He thought, giving Adam an appraising look, trying to decide where his reading level was. “Ah!” He suddenly remembered a book he thought he could try on Adam. Cyrus didn’t want to insult Adam by bringing him </div> <div> into the children’s section. </div> <div> There was a young adults’ section. It happened that no one else was there at the time, and Cyrus was relieved. He didn’t know how well Adam could read and yet didn’t want to embarrass him. “See if this is interesting to you.” He looked around for the other book he wanted while Adam read Genesis. “What do you think?” Cyrus asked when he had found what he was looking for. He asked partially to find out if Adam was able to read at the young adult level.</div> <div> “Is this true?”</div> <div> “Some people believe it is true. Whether it is or not isn’t really important right now,” Cyrus answered, thinking that his father would strangle him for saying such a blasphemous thing. “The important thing is to read the stories. It is like a history of the Hebrew people, Adam—the first part. The next part is more a story of the first churches.”</div> <div> “Ah, buildings with tall towers and bells.”</div> <div> “The towers are called steeples. Have you been to one?”</div> <div> “Never. I have never been to a library, either.”</div> <div> “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Cyrus said. Adam wondered why his friend suddenly looked so sad. “This other book is not what I would call a classic. It may interest you, though. I read it, and I found it—interesting.”</div> <div> Adam took the book and looked at it. It was called The Outsiders. He smiled at Cyrus. “Very funny,” he said.</div> <div> Cyrus cleared his throat again. “Well, yes, there is that title. This is not to say anything about you. However, it is about young people who feel that they do not ‘fit in’. Try it.”</div> <div> “Yes, I will. Thank you, Dr. Cyrus,” Adam said gratefully. “With this card, I can come in here anytime I want?”</div> <div> “You could have come here anyway,” Cyrus explained. “The library is open to everyone. With that card, you may borrow books from the library. Of course, you must bring them back when you are finished. Then you take out more books.”</div> <div> “Wonderful!” Adam was pleased. </div> <div> As they exited the building, Cyrus said, “I have to go now, but I will come and see you again soon, Adam.”</div> <div> Dr. Cyrus, why don’t I remember you from the other place? Cyrus couldn’t put the question out of his head as he drove back to Collinsport. He remembered Quentin’s curiosity at the fact that there had been an Angelique but not another Quentin in that other place. He, too, wondered why not. Their circumstances, though—perhaps things had gone differently over in that place. Perhaps that was why there was no Quentin—and no Cyrus. Perhaps that Cyrus had done the same thing he’d done and was in jail.</div> <div> He blinked several times, feeling suddenly dizzy. He felt a wave of nausea and pulled off alongside the road, putting his head down on the steering wheel. “Cyrus! Cyrus! What have you done?” echoed in his ears.</div> <div> He hadn’t meant to be bad. He really hadn’t meant to. He was just curious—that was all. No one would answer his questions—they were nasty, dirty-minded questions, and he was not to think of things like that. They were impure. And you mustn’t touch yourself—that is an abomination. He could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat, and his hands began to tremble. His sister was sixteen, lithe and beautiful. All the boys wanted her. She gave herself to them—he knew she did. In the backs of the cars at the drive-ins or at the town’s lovers’ lane. He knew it because of the jeers of his classmates. Joyce is easy! She’ll lay anyone with a thing between his legs. What was it about his sister that made the older boys want to “lay” her? He would watch her, trying to peek at her while she was changing or while she took a shower. She had pretty, pink firm breasts. He thought if he could touch them, they would fit easily into his palms, like two tender softballs. Once, as he watched her dressing, he felt an uncomfortable swelling. She looked up then and screamed at him. “You disgusting pervert! What are you doing there?” His mother had come and he’d gone limp with the shame of being caught peeking. Joyce was screaming at her mother. “He looks at me all the time! He thinks I don’t know it, but I’ve caught him looking! It’s disgusting, Mother!”</div> <div> “No, she’s lying! I never did! It was an accident!” he heard himself protesting.</div> <div> “How can you say such a terrible thing about your brother, Joyce?” his mother said. “Have pity on him—he has no friends.”</div> <div> “Yeah? That’s because he’s a weirdo and everyone knows it!” His mother slapped his sister. “It’s unChristian and untrue! You won’t talk about any member of this family that way!”</div> <div> “You’ll see, Mother—you’ll be sorry!” Joyce slammed her door in their faces.</div> <div> He turned to his mother. “I couldn’t help it, Mama—she had the door open—“</div> <div> “Let us pray, Cyrus,” his mother said.</div> <div> They knelt down in the hallway, and his mother prayed aloud.</div> <div> I’m hyperventilating, Cyrus told himself. He looked around and found a crumpled brown lunch bag on the floor of his car. He opened it up to the sickeningly sweet smell of rotting banana peel. He dumped the peel out the window and covered his mouth and nose with the bag, trying to breathe slowly.</div> <div> Jean Perry was the church secretary’s daughter, he remembered. His mother would watch Jean and her little brother Marty after school so that their mother could work part-time in the church office. Many times, his mother would leave him in charge of Jean and Marty. She felt he was old enough—thirteen—to watch children seven and five. His mother would leave him in charge at least once a week so that she could go to the store or to run some errands. They had a special game they played together. A special, secret game. Cyrus felt his face grow hot and red with shame. It was a secret game because no one would approve of it—they wouldn’t understand. Not even his brother Joshua, who was ten and had a big mouth, was included in the secret game. Doctor, that’s all we were doing. We were just playing doctor. All kids do that. Playing doctor involved taking off the clothes for examinations, touching parts of the body to see how they worked and what they did when you touched them. Sometimes it involved taking one part of the body and putting it in another…Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut, blocking the thought. No, no that wasn’t part of it at all—never! They played the game for a few weeks, but Marty couldn’t keep secrets. He told. The Perrys met with his parents while he hid upstairs. He could hear them all yelling at first. Then the voices became softer; then came the sound of praying. The door to his room opened. “Cy?” It was Joyce. “I know you’re in here, you little pervert.” He didn’t answer. “You got lucky again, you criminal. It’s a good thing for you that the church has a lot of money for Dad to dip into to shut them up. You’d better keep hiding, though, if you know what’s good for you!”</div> <div> He pressed his cheek to the cold floor. It was just a game! I didn’t do anything wrong, and they wanted to, anyway!</div> <div> Cyrus took the bag away from his face. He was feeling a little better now. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Replacing them, he looked up in the rearview mirror and was dismayed to see a trooper had pulled up behind him. He felt himself beginning to panic again. Oh, God, oh God! I could be put into a dark cell forever and ever because I am bad, bad, bad! He shook his head. Why had he thought that? He hadn’t done anything wrong! The trooper rapped at his window, and he rolled it down and peered up at the officer’s concerned face. “Wh-what’s w-wrong?” he asked, stuttering and hating himself for his nervousness.</div> <div> “Is everything all right, sir?” the trooper asked.</div> <div> “Oh, I ah s-seem t-to be s-suffering from a vi-virus,” Cyrus replied, trembling. He could feel himself break out in a cold sweat again.</div> <div> “You feel well enough to drive, sir? Do you want to go to the hospital?”</div> <div> “No, no! I’m fine, really, thank you. I just felt a little sick to my stomach so I pulled over. That’s all. Thank you, officer.” Cyrus was relieved to find himself speaking normally again.</div> <div> The trooper nodded and moved off. Cyrus rolled the window up and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Thank God, thank God! He thought. He started up his car and pulled back onto the road slowly. To his relief, the trooper turned and drove off in the other direction. Cyrus tried to control his breathing so that he wouldn’t hyperventilate again. He didn’t want to think about the beating once his father dragged him out from under the bed or the hours he spent on his knees.</div> <div> One good thing came of it, he thought. That was the prep school he was sent away to. He was away from his parents — forever. The other boys didn’t make fun of him for his oddly grown-up way of talking and for his awkwardness around other people. He’d met his best friend at that school—Quentin. Had the “other” Cyrus gone to prep school or jail—or had he had a completely different life all together? Shaken, Cyrus suddenly didn’t want to go home and be alone again. Perhaps he could go and see Quentin to take his mind off—things. Of course, what he really wanted to do was go straight back to his lab and mix up his special potion. No, no! he argued with himself. You mustn’t—not until you’ve perfected it! But how was he to know when it was perfected if he didn’t try it?</div> <div> He came to a crossroads. One way led to his lab. The other way led to Quentin’s office. There was no traffic right now; Collinsport truly was a tiny little town. He put the car in park right there at the stop sign to think. Which way should I go? Which way?</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id88.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fall Camoflage"><U>Fall Camoflage</U></A>    <A HREF="id90.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Puzzle Pieces: Roxanne"><U>Puzzle Pieces:  Roxanne</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id85.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Adam in Parallel Time"><U>Adam in Parallel Time</U></A>   <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>