The hand still gripped Pierre's shoulder. It was firm and unwilling to release its prey, like a harpoon that has found its mark. The only thing left for the hunter to do was to kill the target, to annihilate it. A prey cannot be allowed to live too long… lest it come back for revenge.
Pierre knew this better than anyone here: the law of the strongest applies to everyone, from child to adult, from man to woman. There is no more equality… in the end, there never was. The strong beat the weak, and the weak become the slave of the strong, plain and simple. It is part of the food chain. One cannot afford to be softened by the less strong. If one wants to live, one must surpass this system, transcend it, so as to no longer be crushed beneath all its rules.
I looked at my opponent's face. It was pallid, his eyes spoke for him: all one could see was fear, stress. He was sweating profusely, his breathing ragged. He must have run in every direction trying to find a group, but given our interaction, I believe I had found my answer. He found nothing — or rather, no one wanted him. It was not his fault: if he had been rejected by his own, it was because he had taken too long, or perhaps because he had a bad reputation… Many theories could be formed about him, but the truth was plain to see… no one wanted him.
— Please, let me into your group. I'll do whatever you want, I'm begging you… take me in.
He was pleading with Pierre in front of everyone, but most people paid him little attention. He had grown used to it: he had done the same to them barely a few minutes before.
Pierre glanced up at Justine, who was already almost at the place where they were to be authenticated, then brought his gaze back down to this insect flailing before him.
— What is your name, my dear friend?
— My name is Didier Hock. Thank you… thank you so much, I thank you!
When Didier looked up to thank his saviour once more, what he saw turned his blood cold. The eyes of the man who had just saved him were staring back at him with nameless contempt. He felt the weight of his silent judgment. He was no longer speaking, his lips curled inward, and his face was nearly invisible, as though night had fallen over it. The only thing Didier could see were his eyes — that black, infinite abyss fixed upon him.
— You want to know what I think of you, Didier. When I look at you, you are nothing but a parasite. That is the truth: watching you crawl, begging me, simply reveals who you are. So I shouldn't be surprised — human beings are so selfish. Your trembling knees and your pleading words reveal nothing but your narcissism and your greed, that hunger to control what you cannot. Your inability to find your place in a group brings your true self to the surface. You desperately try to steal from groups you don't even belong to. Every forced smile, every polite word is nothing but hypocrisy from you. You, Didier, see only your trembling hands and your pride, wounded by your social exclusion. You will become a danger to yourself and to others, because you have failed: look — you have no group. Sooner or later, you will attack someone just to secure your place in one.
— No, no, I'm not like that, no. I'm kind, I would never hurt anyone.
— You believe that… but it isn't true. Look at yourself, begging me like a damn parasite — but you'll see: you'll become so desperate that you'll do the unthinkable.
He was holding his face in his hands, folded in on himself, in tears. I watched him crumble psychologically, perhaps ready to do the unthinkable: take his own life. Suicide isn't so terrible in itself. If one does not believe in God, then there are no possible repercussions. But if one does believe, then it is straight to hell. Whether he does it or not matters little to me. He is so useless he should die now…
And yet, I saw in him everything that gnaws at the human soul, like a distorted mirror of what I truly am: And as I watched him fall apart, I felt nothing but contempt for this thing that had not even managed to evolve, unlike me, who had shaped myself: he would be better off dead. He shames me, just as he shames the human species.
I reached out my hand toward him. I had to kill him: he deserved life in no way whatsoever. Life loses all meaning if he remains alive. And besides, who would come to help him? Morality shifts when it must… God exists only to give one faith in an immense, crushing void. Every prayer has no purpose and no recipient. He could pray all he wanted, but no one would come to save him from the inevitable.
When Didier saw Pierre's outstretched hand, he peered through the gaps between his fingers to look at him. A shudder ran through him: Pierre had no expression — he simply saw those abyssal eyes fixing him in a marble silence. From his face down to his arm, from his arm down to his fingers, night seemed to have fallen: there was no more light, only darkness.
He was reliving the same scene, the one where Pierre had asked for his name. But this time, he sensed it was different: that outstretched hand carried no good intentions…
— Oh? It looks like I'm arriving at a tense moment here. But tell me, what are you doing so far from Justine, Pierre? Where is she, anyway?
— She's not here. She moved ahead a little, because you see, Maxime, a man slowed me down, as you can see for yourself. But if you want to find her, she's just up ahead, a few steps from here.
Maxime was there, hands in his pockets, not far from us. As he spoke to me, he walked toward us, a faintly mocking smile on his face, as though he took some pleasure in the situation I found myself in. Then he looked at Didier, crouching on the ground.
— Looks like you just found one of those people who'll end up in the group of six.
At those words, Didier stood up and rushed toward him, dropping to his knees to beg:
— Thank you for saving me from that heartless sociopath. You could kick him out and let me take his place — I'd be 100% sure to be better than him.
Maxime looked at him without a word, then turned to me with a mildly amused expression. Victims, as I like to call them, are those who victimise themselves over nothing, until they land themselves in situations far too complicated for them to handle.
— You see, my dear Didier… That, right there, is the so-called sociopath — and the leader of our group. And I am part of that group. As you suggest, if I were to kick him out, we'd be in quite a bind, because we'd be missing someone. You cannot win with people who aren't trying to win. Your eyes say it all, Didier: you're only trying to survive, not to win. You belong to those who do their best and still cannot win. To me, they are nothing but worthless scraps — parasites, even. There are two kinds of people in this world: those who are born with worth, and everyone else. No matter how hard an inferior being like you tries: you will always belong to the second category.
Didier's gaze shattered. He had just gone from hope to despair — having staked everything on Maxime's kindness, he was crushed beneath those violent words.
— Why… why? Why don't you want me? I haven't done anything wrong! I want to live! Why does no one want to be with me? I haven't done anything wrong… I haven't done anything wrong…
— Go now, Didier. We don't want you on our team, and above all, there is no room left for you here.
Didier looked at Pierre. Tears were visible in his eyes. He stood up and moved away to one side, his back hunched forward. He must have been crying. All his despair was written in his posture. Perhaps he was walking toward his own death… but no matter, a new problem was about to arise.
— So, what are you doing here anyway? Do the other group members know you're here, Maxime?
— Easy, Pierre. Don't worry about the group. I told them I had forgotten to mention something to you.
He stood there, among all the groups, facing me. I could not understand how he thought, how he worked. Most people are easy to read, simple to see through. But him… he might be the true predator of the group. I could not even remember him at the orphanage, before the intervention of all his fanatics. Who is he, really?
— He's going to kill himself, you know that, Pierre? And I can see clearly — you're preparing something in secret. But are you sure it's going to work?
— Whether he lives or dies is none of my business. He is free to make his own choices and to think as he wishes. If he chooses to kill himself, it does not concern me, as I will not be part of his group. And I'm not preparing anything, for that matter.
— You think I didn't see the way you looked at Justine's friend, and your little visit to the chapel, where you met Morganne? You think I didn't know?
Maxime was watching me with a certain gravity on his face.
Someone must have been watching us… but who, and why? And above all, how does Maxime know all this? Well, it isn't all that serious in itself. He only has theories. I haven't told anyone about my future plan involving Morganne. Even she doesn't really know about it. I simply told her not to stray too far from our group for the plans ahead.
— Yes, I'll admit it… I admit that I'm friends with Morganne, and that I simply went there to check that everything was alright with her. As for the so-called looks at Justine's friend, I was merely curious about her name. Since she wasn't telling anyone, curiosity got the better of me, that's all. No need to read more into it than that, Maxime.
— Not with me, Pierre. Maybe that works with others, but that technique doesn't work on me, understood? I know very well you're not friends with Morganne. And those looks were not simply curiosity… I would know how to recognise curiosity. And if it had been, you would simply have asked for her name. That would have been a far more natural reaction.
— What do you want me to say, really, Maxime? If you know the truth, why not just say it plainly?
He looked at me, then flashed me a smile. He was calm. The noise from the other groups made me realise that, for perhaps the past two minutes, we had been talking in front of everyone. The other groups were chatting; some were perhaps already heading toward where Justine was at that very moment… and there he was, grinning stupidly, in the middle of it all, like a black stain on white trousers.
— Do you really want me to say it, Pierre?
His voice was no louder than before, but it seemed to… fall. Like a stone dropping into a bottomless well. The sounds around us continued, but they lost all meaning. The groups were talking, laughing, arguing, walking… and yet it all felt so distant.
— Very well. I'll tell you, and stop beating around the bush, as you do so well.
He tilted his head back slightly, watching the sky for a few seconds, then returned his gaze to me.
— You are already descending. You think you're following a straight line, but you're plunging. You are going down this staircase toward a shapeless abyss, without god, without anyone.
Silence fell between us. I could hear every sound: blood moving through my veins, the beating of my heart, the footsteps of people around me… and drops of water falling from the trees to shatter on the damp earth.
— You still believe you're on the surface… that you're observing… that you're thinking… that you're "adapting"…
He gave a faint smile. His eyes, usually calm and tinged with humour, had turned serious.
— But no, Pierre. You have chosen this path, and this path alone, when there were nearly an infinite number of better paths available to you…
His words were sinking slowly into my mind. His words were so powerful that my vision began to blur. In my eyes, I could see nothing but his mouth — that wide smile addressing me. I could no longer see his eyes, nor the features of his face: only that mouth, and all those teeth speaking to me.
— Every glance. Every silence. Every pointless lie… these are steps for you, steps toward your goal, toward your Paradise.
He took one step toward me… then two… until he was standing right in front of me.
— And hell does not open beneath the feet of the innocent, Pierre… it opens beneath those who willingly advance toward what is taking shape without their knowing it.
I held his gaze, without any emotion. He was looking at me… like an object, or like some poor, defenceless creature.
— You talk a great deal… for someone who does nothing.
I pointed that out in the middle of his relentless monologue. His smile widened slightly, and a brief laugh escaped him.
— I do nothing? But I am accompanying you. Like a good guide… or simply like a conductor warning you of dangers to come by playing his music.
His eyes glittered with a strange light.
— I am not stopping you… I am not judging you… I am not punishing you… at least, not for now.
He tilted his head slightly to one side.
— I am simply showing you the path… and letting you choose whether to stay on it or not. But every choice you make will have irreversible consequences on your own future.
At that moment, a light bulb blazed to life inside my mind with a fierce glow. He must have had an object of his own… or something mystical, like my journal. But unlike mine, his must reveal things about my future, and perhaps that of others as well. For now, I can do nothing. But I can continue my plan, modify it at the last minute. If his object truly sees the future, or at least part of it, I could use it to foil him… and then I will have my confirmation about the object in question. As for the plan, I must wait for the right moment…
— What do you take yourself for, exactly, Maxime? A hero? Something of that sort? Because as for me, I haven't planned anything harmful. You say the path I'm taking is a bad one… fine, but in what way is it so terrible? I'm doing all of this for us, for the group, and for myself as well. How is that wrong?
— For someone who has already seen the end of this path, the consequences, the tragedies, and the end of all things… I am not saying it is bad or good. I am simply saying it is not the best path to take here. You think the truth lies in the shadows on these walls… but the truth is right there, beneath this burning sun. I know the suffering you have endured outside of here, with that girl… even you know it yourself. This path will lead to your own undoing, Pierre…
Silence settled between us once more. My eyes narrowed, and hatred began rising to my head. Should I beat him to death? How dare he mention that girl? Or can he truly see the future with his object? Is it for me alone, or for others as well? Anger was rising within me like a volcano on the verge of erupting. My eyes were filled with hatred for him, my fists clenched.
Then he continued, calmly, quietly, looking at me with sad eyes:
— That girl you are watching… it is not curiosity. It is an opportunity for you, a means of reaching your ends.
He raised one finger, pointing skyward:
— Morganne… she is not a friend. She is a key.
He raised a second finger:
— And Justine… she is your door.
Then a third.
— And as for Léonie… she is the lock on that door.
His words hit harder than the others. I was no longer even angry — I was simply lost. I did not understand all his metaphors in that moment. But after a few seconds of reflection, I finally grasped what he was saying. One might say he had uncovered my plan… Morganne, Justine, and that friend — who I had only just learned was named Léonie — are nothing but stepping stones toward a far greater goal. For if I manage to manipulate them now, later, they will be nothing more than extensions of my will.
— You are building something great, Pierre. Far too great. For now, I may be the only one who knows part of it. And sometimes, I wonder whether all of this is simply a cruel trick of fate… Why am I the only one who knows? Even if I am almost certain that others are already aware, we are in an absurd theatre where our choices do not matter, where everything is already decided in advance, and perhaps all of this is an inescapable fate, where the void watches us in silence… and I cannot help but smile at the thought that we will all sink into the madness we ourselves have sown.
He made a slight gesture with his hand, as if drawing something in the air. His gaze became sharper. Even if I was no longer sure he was speaking to me… or simply to himself. What had he seen in that such a dark future?
— A chessboard of masks, and you at the centre, moving as though your choices carry meaning. Every gesture seems deliberate, and yet it all dissolves into the void, as if the world existed only for your eyes. Art, theatre, plans… all of it is illusion, a game you observe and take part in at the same time. You are both actor and spectator in a scene without foundation, where the real slips away, where every truth is fleeting, and where you hide behind your own masks to flee the silent abyss of your own existence.
He turned his head to one side and began to laugh, then went on:
— Many men have tried to cross over to the other side, to where you hope to go one day. But the thread is thinner than a hair, sharper than the finest blade. And the path to reach the other side is far longer than one imagines. Of course, others before and after you will take their chances… but these are lost quests.
His laughter was anything but pleasant to my ears. It reminded me of a madman — or a court jester. I gritted my teeth at his mocking laugh.
— You are wrong, Maxime!
— Am I? Are you quite sure of that?
He stepped even closer and pointed over my shoulder.
— Then why don't you look behind you, at all that commotion?
I had almost forgotten there were other people around, besides him and me. But it was true… I could hear the racket behind me: crying, shouting, people left dumbstruck by the terrible scene unfolding just a few metres from us.
One moment.
Just one.
Then, slowly… I turned my head.
Didier was no more… he was gone.
A void for those who knew him, a shattering blow for what my actions had wrought…
— You see?
Maxime's voice, soft, almost satisfied at Didier's fate.
— The weak do not simply disappear… they fall where they are meant to fall.
He slipped his hand into his pocket, perfectly composed in the face of the situation.
— And you…
He paused.
— Look at yourself — you're not even sad… you're smiling at this!
I turned back toward him, the same smile still on my lips… I am not a good person. I have never been one, in fact. Even before this orphanage, I have sinned… I have killed… What truly defines a "good person" as opposed to a "bad person"?
— This is not my responsibility, Maxime. It was his choice… his life… he became his own undoing.
— Of course not, Pierre. You pushed him to his end, you forced him to face the wall he dared not look at. You placed him in his failure… you killed him.
I responded immediately to his provocation. Without hesitation.
— You accuse me of something in which you yourself took part and which you witnessed without ever intervening. You yourself are guilty, Maxime.
He answered me, his words calm. Too calm.
— And so? In what way does that make me a monster, Pierre? I witnessed and took part in his execution, and I feel neither remorse nor grief for him… he simply deserved it.
A smile escaped his lips. I was about to say something when—
Then, in the distance —
A scream.
Brutal.
Chaotic.
Several voices.
A surge of panic.
The groups began to turn, to gather around one specific point. Even though there were already quite a few people there, the rest now discovered the body…
Several nuns came running, accompanied by some of the graders.
Maxime didn't move. A single sound escaped his lips.
— Ah. There it is.
My body moved before I could even think. My steps quickened, almost of their own accord, toward the commotion. I already knew what was there, but I wanted to see… to see what my actions were truly capable of provoking.
The students had gathered.
Some were stepping back, terrified.
Others were staring, frozen, unable to look away.
Then I saw.
A tree.
A rope.
And — Didier.
Hanging. Motionless.
His body swayed faintly, nudged by an almost nonexistent breeze.
His feet no longer touched the ground.
His face… empty, a bluish-purple hue.
No more fear. No more pleading. Nothing. An absolute void. One of the nuns shouted something as she ran toward him. The others were trying to clear the students away.
But I… I remained there. Watching this sinister spectacle.
— You see… I told you: actions have consequences.
Maxime's voice, just behind me. Close. Still, and always, far too close.
— Some were never meant to set foot on this earth. And sometimes… we help them take that first step.
I looked at him there. His chin resting on my shoulder, one hand over the other. He was contemplating Didier's lifeless body with the same detachment as a few minutes before. His eyes were empty — empty of meaning, empty of purpose.
But I was just like him. This scene stirred no emotion in me. No sorrow, no fear, no guilt. Nothing. He had made a choice ; there was a group of five, and with him, it would have been six. Now, there are five.
— Ahahahaha
— What's got into you, laughing like that ?
— I'm not laughing, Maxime. I'm merely mocking the situation. Tell me — in what way is Didier's death so terrible ? In no way at all. His death has brought us nothing — just like him, when all is said and done.
Maxime stared at me in silence. His eyes were fixed on mine, but no words came.
— You know what, Maxime ? I'm going to tell you a story that sums up what I'm about to do.
— I'm all ears. Tell me this famous story that's been burning inside you.
After all… all of this reminds me of a fable I had read upon arriving at this wretched orphanage…
End of this episode.
Thank you for reading.