The Man I Once Knew

The Man I Once Knew
By
Jordan Willbanks

Eugene Middleton, I knew him well. As his personal valet and his father’s before him, I grew quite partial to the man Eugene was a man of excessive intellect. If I knew what I know now, the rows of raised neck hairs and the scatter plot of goose bumps would have come much earlier. He always had followed in his father’s footsteps. His father had conjured up a recipe for fruitful success. Eugene took that recipe and extrapolated it. Ambition, it was the frightening type—the type of Macbeth—the type which you learn not to become. I would learn to dread it.
Eugene was partial to education. I would find him in the far depths of the library studying literature and complex equations. By his father’s demand he was educated by only the most expensive intellectuals. Knowledge most certainly is power. That is no secret, granting it a common idiom.

“My father is dead,” Eugene sat in front of the fire place—welcomed by a giant wall of flames and dusty documents.
Upon my entrance to the library, he rested his leather bound book on the intricate inlay table. The sound of the book falling was the catalyst of a blundering echo throughout the canyon-like room.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I replied in my most sincere voice.
His voice was the sound of peace and war, the sound of demon and angle. I approached the chair and grazed the top of it with my hand, stroking the expensive leather. The books were illuminated by the steady flicker from the fire.
“My father is dead!” he repeated, now in a clamor of a voice. I flinched as his voice carried through the fire-lit chamber. I felt tears form and I could sense the same in his voice. I remained rooted to my position as he slowly rose. He approached the mantel. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. He fumed with intensity. I watched from a short distance as he rested his back on the thick wooden mantel as he eyed a family portrait. He cleared his throat.
“These heinous acts,” He said in a coarse whisper. He chuckled in nervousness. “And it is expected of us to simply press on?”
Eugene would not let me comfort him, and he remained hidden in the far corners of the house. For weeks I couldn’t find the man. I ceased looking after the first few weeks and assumed he would show himself after he had a fair time to grieve. I soon noticed he had been frequenting the library, removing a handful of technological books from the organized rows.
I became befuddled, why such works? I soon let the thought slip from me and became more concerned about the whereabouts of this saddened son. After nearly a month, he confronted me while I was in the library.
He had me follow him through a cryptic hall. It was located behind the fireplace. I felt overwhelmed with a peculiar sense of worry, for at this point I had no reason to believe the Middleton son was at all a threat. I followed him as descended gradually to the colder depths of the underground. Eugene had led me for perhaps half of an hour down the mystical passage. I had been ignorant to such passages, apparently for decades. Eugene brought me to a room, I saw inside stacks of books—the books that were missing from the library shelves—which were laid on a work table in the large room. This room was obviously where the man had been staying for the duration of his grieving. A bed and basket of clothes were tucked in the far corner. The work table was a vast surface, over the length of two individuals. Bordering the far wall was a massive shelving unit, storing such intricate mechanical equipment. It was and still is above me. I felt cold, not only by the far depths of the quarters but a sense of cold, dark confusion.
“I am sharing this with you because you are the only one whom I have faith in. You know my mother died soon after I was born and I was an only child. When my father died, I felt nothing except animosity and spite—”
“I am pleased to find you calmer.” I said.
“Let me finish. I have begun fabricating many tools which will allow me to seek revenge for all the vile men who have destroyed not only man, but a family. Their hands will become colder.” I had not heard a tone such as this from this man before in his life.
“What do you mean, sir?” I asked him softly. He approached the large work table. I admired the fluorescent lights which trailed the high ceiling. I shivered, and my mouth breathed thick gray vapors.
“I mean, I am not letting this incident just pass by. They can’t think this will be slid under the rug.”
“But sir, we have police and detectives, they are investigating. They will trace it back to the murderers. It’s just a matter of time, sir. You have to be patient!” I tried to form a smile.
“Cowards, I cannot wait for them, as they take their time, studying every fiber, every print! I am going on the streets tonight, and I will do my own investigation. I will get my answers.”
“Surely you must be joking!” I hacked.
“I am not,” The room grew silent. “You shouldn’t fret. I am fond of you, only you. I trust you with my life. I needed to tell someone my true feelings.”
“You don’t believe that these actions you speak of are unethical and vain?” I asked him, he chuckled.
“I trust you with my life. You are all I have left, and I could not keep such news from you.” I saw a thick trail of tears drip down his nose.

Once again, I didn’t see him for a number of days. I had become worried. However, I was loyal to the man. I found myself watching the news channel and shaking head in amazement and rubbing my eyes into my skull when I read the marquee at the bottom of the screen. The men the Middleton family presumed to be the guilty parties were found dead. I dropped the vase I was cleaning, resulting in a violent crash.
“You’ve seen the news? A deep voice spoke behind me. I turned in horror, my heart had dropped, and my soul shaken, the neck hairs upwards, and the scatter plot forming.
“Yes, sir. I have.” I stood and remained fixed to my position. He walked toward my troubled body, his black shoes stepping on the debris I had created.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” He shook his head.
“What did you do?” He laughed. “Eugene?”

He continued to summon me into his hidden room. It felt colder upon every visit. He spoke of violence, of the destruction he aimed for. He planned on taking it upon himself to purge the filth from the streets.
Upon my latest visit he had a metal apparatus displayed on the work table. It was black in color like the color of death. It only brought sorrow to me and yet I could not breathe a word of my true feelings to him.
The apparatus was that of a shield of body armor. He explained to me, it was bullet resistant and would leave a blade bent. It was shock absorbent, thus rendering him immune to a recoil from a blast.
The armor allowed him to carry a battery of explosives. He also explained his device would be able to store a family of blades for close-quartered brawls. As he put it on, he tapped a button on his side, triggering a jet engine on his back—allowing him to soar in the darkest of skies.

It became routine to check in with Eugene. He would explain to me what his next plan was. I assumed if he were to act upon his deed to avenge his father’s death that would be the end of it. To my surprise, he explained to me he longed to destroy all he could, to destroy those who have done wrong to others. Murder.
I did not show my discontent. I was now afraid he would end my life if I spoke up. I only imagined he was aware of my true feelings but I acted the best I could. I was trapped. He was loyal to me, as I was to him and disapproval at this point had a high potential to result in violence. Violence surely was a dreadful thing, and I wished upon no one.
I soon was used to studying the morning headlines. I read the obituaries to see if the man I once knew had followed through with his crimes. I began losing sleep and when I did sleep I would dream. The dreams were those that woke you with a blood curdling bellow. I found often my bed sheets would become doused with sweat and tears.
One particular night I heard a soft rapping on my door. I heaved the wooden door open to find Eugene—or what was once the man.
I remained trapped in my steps as if snared by an evil hunter. My eyes formed tears and I gasped in horror.
“What happened!?” I spoke in an abrupt whisper. I was in sudden panic. He stared at me—stared is a relative word, for his eyes were just blood-filled sockets—and raised his hand. In his raised hand was a metallic scalpel. “Your eyes!”
“Yes, my eyes.” He didn’t even speak in pain, his breath was not short, his body didn’t even seem to recognize the true agony he surely was in. “Please guide me to my quarters, I just left the medical ward and I must find my way back.”
“What happened?” I squeaked.
“I will explain, but please don’t sound frightened. Don’t speak of horror and pain. I don’t feel that at all.”
I let him grip my shoulder, and his cold fingers sent the feeling of death through my robe. I guided him through the maze of halls. The house was darkened, only oil lamps illuminated the halls at night and the trees obstructed light from the moon.
We entered the library. The fire was not lit. It wished for a normal visit. The books longed to be read, and the fireplace wanted to be used. Only coals lay in the mouth of the fireplace. I noticed the mantel was missing the family pictures. I only imagined them in Eugene’s cold chamber.
“The library, I can smell the books. I always loved that smell—the smell of knowledge, the smell of what I do not yet know.
It is only a matter of time before the rest of these volumes are scrutinized by me. How I miss this room.” He said, forming a smile.
“The library wishes for your return as well, Eugene. The fireplace hasn’t even been lit since the night of your father’s death. Your current state will render you ineffective, you surely know.”
“Nonsense! You do not know all of my plans old man! How dare you make those accusations?!” His hiss was in a whisper. He removed his hand from me and felt for the mantel piece. The fireplace swung ajar and we entered. I prepare for the frigid excursion with the troubled son.

We arrived in the cold quarters. The fluorescent lights flickered on and Eugene felt for his bed and took a seat.
“We most certainly must converse.” He said, his voice more placid than before—he had not spoken a word in our lengthy walk.
“I believe you are correct, sir.” I replied.
He rose from the bed and felt for the large table six steps away. He opened a drawer and removed two sets of marble-shaped gelatin blobs. He placed the fleshy blobs upon the table in front of me.
“Don’t you be nervous about my current state. I have created a new set of eyes for myself.” He picked up a gelatin marble and aimed it at me. Indeed they were eyes. However, the set he held was all black. I stared repulsed at the creation. “Don’t you cringe. Please!” he said. I became confused at his remark.
“How can I not be—”
“Let me finish,” he said. “I have created such eyes that I can see you myself, as I hold them at you. They know my touch. I have studied DNA and done numerous tests. Optical enhancements to a normal set of eyes, and I will be able to use such enhancements.”
“W-w-what have you been testing on?” I became stricken with a nervous stutter.
“Oh, my friend.” He began to snicker in response to my apparent ignorance. “I have gotten all sorts of specimens since I have started my work.”
“You mean to say you have been—”
“Yes!” He held the black blob in his hand. He slowly let it rise to his face into the bloody depths of his sockets. He glanced downward at his work table and removed a metallic tool. He lodged it in between the ball and the bloody tissue. He pressed a button on the side of the tool thus creating the sound of a sander. Scarlet strands spattered on the table. I felt my hands begin to shake, I quivered and he remained unflinching. Minutes past us by and after a prolonged period he cast his eyes upon me. His eyes became oil wells, the look of a true demon. I knew at this point that Eugene had turned into something. He had not become the vigilant soul he had longed to become, he had transformed into the menace he was aiming to purge and cleanse from this world.
Days had past since that night. I then began writing in this journal which you look at now. I never felt such sorrow nor such remorse. I wanted him to change and I feared he may not. I spent hours writing notes about the man, writing every encounter, and all that came to my mind.
I brought a tray of food and coffee to Eugene. I secretly let the fireplace swing open and waited behind the closed door to listen for servants’ footsteps. I didn’t want them too knowing where the owner of the house was lurking. It would cause distress. I traveled down to the chilled depths of hell. My breath was more visible, more so than normal. For winter had breathed its frosty air upon our entire state. I wore a thick layered uniform to act as some fortification. I did not want to become like the deathlike trees or the frost-licked flowers. I admire the birds who had flown south. They too, longed to traverse to a land of sweet warmth. I was not blessed with such vacations of that. I firmly knocked on his door and to my dismay, I did not receive an answer. I knocked harder and waited longer. I pressed the tray upon the thick door. I guided myself inwards and entered Eugene’s quarters.
“Sir, are you in here?” I asked, my voice slightly elevated.
The room was darker than usual, it appeared that no one was dwelling inside. I scanned the dark room in search of the man. Then I heard his voice.
“Oh, my dear friend.” The was voice calm, but still fatal. I saw in the corner of the room, his black eyes staring at me.
“Shall I turn on the lights?” I asked. My tray began shaking in my hands.
“That won’t be necessary, I can see you just fine.” He replied. I gave him a nod. I could just see his eyes reflecting the few rays of light the hall let seep in. I approached the table.
“I brought you food, sir. Shall I set it on the table?” I asked and rested an arm on the table. The door shut completely behind me and I was left alone with the man, in complete darkness.
“Thank you. You are very kind.” He replied. He rose from the bed and I placed the tray on the table. My hand grazed something cold and dead. I jumped and let out a pathetic yelp.
“Oh, you must not be frightened!” He said followed by a snicker. I began panting and my pulse steadily rose—the sound of my heart echoing in my head.
I veered away from the table and felt a bolus form in my mouth.
“Wh-what is this? Is-is-is this an arm!?” I screeched like a child.
“Yes, in fact it is,” he approached me.
I opened the door to allow some light to enter. On the table I saw a hacksaw and the arm lay in a bloody pool. Eugene reached his left arm out to me. I gagged when I came to the conclusion the arm on the table was Eugene’s right. I spilled vomit on the cold floor.
“Nonsense, don’t do that! You have nothing to fear. I have my own intentions”
“What are you doing to yourself!?” I screamed.
He grew close in darkness, emerging from the density of the shadows. I felt tears. They poured out. My blood flowed in hot torrents.
“Don’t you worry. I’m making upgrades. I am making my arm into a weapon. I surely won’t be stopped.” I felt my body shiver and twitch.
“I can’t believe this! You are destroying yourself. You are making yourself into nothing more than a monster!” I yelled.
“Nonsense!” He roared. “I am becoming everything! I am what everyone wants to become. Isn’t there any part of you that longs to become such a hybrid? Don’t you want this power? I can be anything I wish to become. This is only the beginning. I am going to be what I need to be.”
You are just a young, angry, and sad man, Eugene. I said to myself. He opened a drawer and removed a sealed plastic case. He used the metallic instrument to poke and pry at his eyes. He put in another pair, trading them from the case.
“You can turn on the lights.”
It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he had said. He repeated himself. I staggered as if intoxicated and I flipped on the switch by the door. He looked at me with blood-red eyes. I let mine adjust.
I saw him in the sudden brightness. He was not Eugene. He had become the Devil. He never sensed the evil in himself.
“How many people have you killed?” I asked in a whimper. “I have been watching the headlines and reading the post. I have lost count. I can’t even tell anymore. It seems every sudden death potentially could be induced by you.”
He gave me a death-defining stare. He formed a smirk and flashed his teeth. I saw he had become more pale. As if blood was no longer flowing through his veins.

I studied up on the current news blurbs, and one story caught my eye. It was not a story based on any of Eugene’s nemeses. It was story of pirate attacks near Peru. The story explained how there have been countless boat hijacks. Such attacks entailed, over coming yachts and cruisers occupied by vacationers and families. Upon my next arrival I explained to Eugene the evil that is being done in the waters of Peru. I implored him to let me come with him to assist in the purge.
“I regret to tell you, as much as I admire your ambition to dispose of these hell-raisers, you are not in the right physical state. I could not let anything happen to you. I cannot imagine losing such an important figure. You are my father, the one who survived.” He said in a calm tone.
“I am touched. I really am. Isn’t there a way you can make me stronger? You yourself said you are making yourself a ‘hybrid’ I surely will never forget that.” I replied.
“Like I said before, I am touched with your ambition. I don’t long to make you unhuman in anyway. I can create a suit, much like mine to assist you, if you wish.”

I felt my heart give a leap of faith. I felt ecstatic to join him on his trek near Peru. He explained to me I would call upon a limousine and in travel suitcases the armor would be enclosed within. We would then be flown to South America to speak to officials about expanding the company to their countries—Peru and Brazil.
In a few months we would make our retreat toward the continent. It was only a matter of time. My plan of course was to empty the fuel in his armor, rendering him incapable of flight. He soon would plummet to the depths of the ocean to sink in his weighted suit. The world then would be free from the evil soul he had become. I loved this man. I surely did. I only would have to wait for my plan to unravel.

* * * * *
I, Eugene Middleton, became enraged when I stumbled across the journal entries of my beloved valet. He was a great friend of mine. I thought I knew him well. I thought I was rather sensitive to the shattering of my plates and glasses the man I once knew left upon my table—with all sorts of foods of pure luxury: fresh squeezed orange juice, ripe fruits, buttered toast.
I grabbed some medical supplies from my closet. I filled a syringe with water and slowly ascended the long hall. I felt my heart steadily beating; it pounded like a drum. My temples began to ache and squeeze my head. I felt my arms shake, I knew tears would form. He was my best and only friend. My house was dark and seemingly empty. It was late at night—nearing 4 A.M.—and I ascended the stair case and beared near his door. I slowly let it go ajar. His room was definitely the color I of something I had grown used to. I reached his bed and hovered much like a vulture, over his bed. He breathed softly in his slumber. I pressed my hand firmly over his mouth and I plunged the needle into his neck. I heard him squirm in fear and in confusion, then in acceptance.
“I do apologize, old friend, just know I love you as much as I loved my father.” I said. He shook his head.
Goodbye, Eugene were his last words.