"Hah... I am tired."
I sighed deeply, by any means feeling exhausted after that long conversation with Marvel.
Brains run on sugar. Perhaps, a little sweetness in our conversation and I might have lasted longer, yet the sentiments, the tension, the emotions, everything was sour. Bitter even.
Sitting by the edge of the bed, I turned my gaze at Marvel deeply sleeping. Even though he didn't finish his dinner, the amount of drug I put on his meal was still enough to take him down, because I just needed him to drink his wine.
Yes. I've been waiting for the day to immobilize him, and finally, after almost two years, this day has come.
It was purely benzodiazepine, in high dosage. Even though I couldn't get that tranquilizer from Doctor Plainn back then, I still have an adequate amount of it with me. Of course, I do. It's basically the sedative I often take to treat anxiety and insomnia. Such a thing is considered normal for adults, especially in the underworld, so it doesn't harm my undercover. I bet Marvel has been aware of my condition too, so he never gets suspicious.
In general, benzodiazepine is considered a relatively safe drug when taken as prescribed. But, when it's mixed with a substance like alcohol, it dramatically enhances the sedative effect because both of them are sedatives. I know how it works and how it can pose serious risks to the body. However, those risks can be my benefits.
The most common side effects are drowsiness, dizziness, memory problems and disorientation, including loss of consciousness and brain damage. It controls how awake or sleepy we feel afterward. It might cause weakness for several days or so, too.
Benzodiazepine and alcohol both have relaxing effects, but they also have various negative side effects if they're combined. Even though these effects vary for each person and are dependent on the dose taken and the user's overall health, I never wish Marvel to get brain damage. But, well, if it can make him less dangerous, I guess a little error on his head is fine with me. It won't be enough to kill him, anyway.
Why did I not just poison him?
I wouldn't say I never got the chance, to tell the truth, I had many. But, those people aren't that dumb. Obviously, they would hunt and kill me if Marvel suddenly died. Not to mention when I said if the man himself were to be killed, it was most likely by poison, he looked like he was ready to strangle the hell out of me.
He should have been more careful since his parents were poisoned to death, shouldn't he? Perhaps, he just doesn't know I've heard about Yerevan's dark history? Among all the people here, Marvel is the last person I expect to be ignorant, though...
No one got into the underworld without being a "yes man." The first sniff of insubordination and your career got blown away to the tumbleweed. There is no answer for your boss but "Yes, Sir". I believe I'm pretty good at all that, probably because of the training I had in my early years with my organization.
I stared at Marvel's face for a while, sure that he won't wake up anytime soon. It was arousing how I smelled victory in his vulnerability. I guess this is how he feels every time I'm helpless in front of him?
You may say I play dirty. So, what? You must be thinking I've been miserable and cheap all this time, but I'm not going to sell my pride for nothing.
I never describe myself as spiteful. I figure I'm just evening the misery out. If something is making me unhappy, I feel it is right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness to others. Why not?
Soft laughter slipped past my nose as I pulled up the blanket to cover Marvel's chest. I'm not sure what expression my face has contorted into, but this sensation, this euphoria I'm feeling right now might be one of the best moments in my life and soon, I'll go get my trophy.
"Good night, Sir."
***
Ready with the rubber gloves on to conceal my fingerprints, I turned on my torch, bringing the space into a visual image and I found myself inside a narrow place. I was locked up by the bookshelf in Marvel's bedroom behind me and a door in front of me. In other words, it was the transition from his bedroom to the secret chamber.
Heart rate started rising, expectations becoming anticipations. I'd been dying to know what's inside the room and as if I got nothing to lose, I just gripped and pulled the doorknob. Trimming down the suspense was the rejection of my attempt.
"Of course," I sighed with relief as I at least shouldn't have doubted the door was unlocked.
I took my pen out of my shirt pocket. To be exact, a modified pen. It looks and functions just like any normal pen, except when I pull its upper and lower body apart, there are paperclips in various sizes inside. It's my comrade's creation, Aakash, who is also my junior in Green Organization, who gave it to me months ago.
I pushed the paperclip into the tiny hole on the doorknob and twisted it until it caught the direction of the lock turn. A moment later, I heard a soft clicking sound as the door had been successfully unlocked.
I walked in carefully. The pungent smell of paint and lacquer teased my nose in what I called the "secret chamber" behind the folding shelf, so bereft of any source of lights. The particle of dust floated in the air, spreading its typical stench. Hurriedly, I looked for a switch.
As the lights on, greeting me was a chandelier, the girth of a giant gold alight with electric flames. It brought my eyes to scan the entirety of my surroundings; it was a classic chamber of redbrick, playing about the earthy hues of the woods and the stones, mysterious papers by the wall. I found myself standing on the second floor which was the balcony. Before long, my gaze went down to where the actual deal was placed.
The room was bold on the brown beyond. It stood there as if conjured from the storybook of a child. There were red-brown metal stairs, spiraling miraculously toward the first floor. As I stepped down over and over, my hand followed the curves of its rail, enchanted by the engravings.
Antiques adorned the room as subtle strings upon which travel the finest emotions of long ago, and there they were, the gems of the bygone times, the expressions of the old souls. Grand and empty, dank with small windows and surrounded by their own filth. I wondered between them, taking in the forms of each, letting my brain think as perhaps the makers did. I couldn't resist peeking into the past, holding an object that had traveled through more time than a person could. My mind spun back to decades before, one day, someone carved this with all their heart, how else could it be so beautiful?
I observed the place, feeling the rough texture of the ancient woods, the smoothness of the fine steels, and the vibrancy of their glazes. Every stone was even and square, as if those who built were set on perfection. It was perfect.
But, despite the overwhelming beauty that's deluging the room, for some reason, it felt so cold and lonely...
I shook my head and grasped my focus back on what I should be doing right now. Soon as I spotted a pile of paperwork in a large wooden rack, a stack of metal safe boxes in the corner of the room, and a set of drawers on a shelf, I carefully checked on them to figure things out.
A smile emerged on my face. It wasn't proud, yet quite a humble one, I could confidently say. It was an expression of much appreciation, not necessarily to be boastful, but I wasn't going to lie when I suddenly got the urge to pat my own head and say, "Thanks for your hard work." At that moment, I was a man unwrapping the prize after a hard and long battle.
Amid the wintry air, beneath the noble starry-black, nature observed the beauty of the moon. It glowed equally for all creatures like a bright orb in the darkness as if created by flares. I took in the freshly calm air with that hint of a sweet aroma, the fragrance of glory.
This time, I'm not feeling as intimidated as I was before despite I'm still alone in the same room. The easily anxious me had gone, and I realized it was because I have full control over the entire situation right now.
Though, I shouldn't be too calm because another battle has just begun.