Absolute Zero

Chapter Five

5

Mordecaii had another panic attack- the third one that week. There wasn't anything that Michael could do; it had to run its course. This one, however, was longer than usual, and involved memory loss. When he came out of it, he couldn't remember anything about why he was there, and Michael had to run it by him again. As soon as he had, he asked him, "So, what's it gonna be? Are you going to go on with your suicide, or are you going to help save the world?"

Such a decision wouldn't have taken long in normal circumstances, but this is a tortured teenager we're talking about here, who's life had been nothing but pain, sorrow, and disappointment, so deciding whether or not to save the world that had done nothing for him except give him people that hated his very existence was a difficult task. Seeing as how he wasn't going to get anywhere with just asking him, Michael brought the screen back up again and decided to persuade him. "Here, watch this,"

On-screen was a live feed of Mordecaii lying in his room, except it wasn't from cameras; it was as if it were being viewed through the eyes of someone floating around. "What's this for?" Mordecaii questioned, crossing his arms.

"Just watch, alright?"

"Yeah yeah,"

The live feed ran as follows:

There was no one home, of course, just Mordecaii lying unconscious on the floor of his room. But then the sound of the door opening downstairs made the floaty-camera thingy zoom down to the living room where the door was. Once there, it showed who opened the door; Emilio. His expression wasn't of his usual chaotic malice; instead, it was of concern. "Mordecaii?" He called through his Ecuadorian accent. "Mordecaii, em casa?"

He slowly wandered through the downstairs until he came across the bathroom. The medicine cabinet door was thrown open, and there were pill bottles scattered everywhere. Realizing that he wasn't there, he turned his attention towards the stairs. Quietly he went up them, calling out in a low tone every now and then. When he reached the second floor, he peeked into the room on his left, which was Mordecaii's sister's room. Not seeing Mordecaii, he moved on to the room to his right, which was the bathroom. No one, so he strode slowly to the last room. Upon reaching it, he stopped. There was a bad, ominous feeling in the air, and he didn't like it. Shaking it off, he grabbed the doorknob and turned. "Mordecaii...?"

There, lying still unconscious in the middle of the floor, was Mordecaii. Emilio let out a cry before falling to his knees and scrambling to the blue-haired boy's side. "Mordecaii! Wake up, minha querida, wake up! Oh meu Deus..." Checking his pulse, Emilio sighed in relief when he felt one. Picking Mordecaii up, he carried him bridal-style down the stairs and placed him on the couch. When he did that, two pill bottles fell out of the unconscious one's grasp and onto the floor. Emilio noticed this and picked them up. When he saw that they were empty, he put two and two together and let out a heaving sob. "Oh Deus, I'm so sorry... Mordecaii, minha querida, I did this to you... I'm so sorry!" Taking the cat boy's hand, he took out his phone and called 911.

Mordecaii was not amused. "The Hell was that?" He jabbed a finger at the screen.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked.

"Why was Emilio being all nice to me? What did he call me? Why did he look all concerned and WHY was he at my house?"

Sighing, Michael waved his hand over the screen, switching it from the live feed to a profile of Emilio. "This is Emilio, as you know him; troublemaker, bully, sorta OK grades, but there's also the side of Emilio that you don't know; oldest of seven siblings, caretaker, protector. He's also the victim of abuse and constantly threatened with death thanks to the neighborhood he lives in."

Now Michael brought up a video of Emilio washing a bunch of wounds- stab wounds, cuts, the like- on his back. Beside his bandages was a little journal, with a pencil beside it. It was open to a half-filled page scattered with hearts and doodles and a meticulously detailed drawing of Mordecaii himself labeled "minha querida" . Michael touched the journal, and the "camera" zoomed in to it. Flipping the pages back, he selected an entry- written in Portugese- which brought up a video of Emilio standing outside Mordecaii's house, journal in hand. He climbed up the garden wall to Mordecaii's window and peered in. Inside, Mordecaii was tossing and turning in his bed; a nightmare, most likely. Emilio was intently writing something down, but what it was was unknown since he was writing in Portugese. However, one phrase was being repeated over and over again; minha querida. "What does that mean?" Mordecaii asked Michael, pointing to the phrase in the journal. Smiling, Michael selected the journal and answered, "Let's find out,"

He chose a selection in a side bar, but what it was he couldn't tell since it was also in a different language. When he chose it, the text in the journal changed to English, and Mordecaii was able to read it.

The journal entry ran as follows:

"My dear is having another nightmare tonight. I fear he will never have good sleep. My dear is also crying, crying like never before. Something troubles him, I believe. How I wish I could share his troubles so I would know how to help him. My dear wakes with a shout of fear. I wonder what it is he fears. Not only his stepfather, I think. Something more. Not me, I hope; I would never hurt him. He is my dear. He has cuts on his back. His stepfather's work, most likely. However, I will need more information. Time for the questioning."

The video returned, showing Emilio removing the screen and sliding open the window. Stepping inside, he walked about the bed to where Mordecaii sat, head in hands. "Who gave you the cuts on your back?" Emilio inquired.

"My stepdad," Mordecaii answered, not looking up. Emilio wrote this down.

"Why did he give them to you?"

"I hissed like a cat when I hurt my hand."

Written down.

"What did he use?"

"His thin leather belt."

Scribble scribble.

"Did you bleed?"

"Yeah, a lot."

Scratch scratch.

"Thank you, minha querida. Go back to sleep, now."

"You're welcome,"

Emilio left, and Mordecaii laid back down and fell asleep.

Jaw dropped, Mordecaii couldn't believe his eyes. "HE is the hallucination I see almost every night? But... he doesn't sound anything like it!"

"That's because you were hallucinating."

Mordecaii's knees began to shake, which Michael saw, so he took him by the arm and lead him to an invisible couch, the screen following. They sat side-by-side, Mordecaii still trying to process what he'd seen. Patient, Michael flipped back through the journal entries until he came across the first one. He selected "audio", and Emilio's voice began to read the entry.

The entry was read as follows:

"There is a kid in my class who has the characteristics of someone who is abused. I need to help him. I will do everything I can to help him, even if he hates me forever. Minha querida, I will save you."

Despite this, there was still something that Mordecaii couldn't understand. "If he wants to help me, why the Hell did he bully me?"

"Emilio is a very confused boy, both mentally and physically; he wants to help you, but he also wants to cause you pain that he can save you from. Not only that, but he also needs an outlet for his own pain, which you are the unforunate recipient of. And, I think maybe he sees you as himself and doesn't want you to have anything better than what he has. So, as you can see, a very confused boy."

"Life is so complicated," Mordecaii rubbed his hands over his face.

Nodding, Michael gave his back a rub before going on. "Next live feed,"