NOVEL NEXT vol. 4 chapter 1 - The Road to McDonald's (1)
I woke to late afternoon. The heat had broken.
The moment I opened my eyes I sensed something was wrong. I straightened my slumped head, feeling my stiff neck loosen, and looked around. My limbs were bound to a chair. My legs were spread wide and secured; I was completely naked.
I didn’t expect today to end peacefully… I turned my sore neck and scanned the room.
The first thing I saw was Mat. He sat terrified atop a paint can by the window. Following his gaze, I saw an unfamiliar man in the corner of the living room. He wore a tank top and shorts; his exposed skin was covered in mottled tattoos—everything from lewdly blooming flowers to tigers, sharks, lines of Latin script, and even tiny Mickey and Minnie Mouse figures.
He was connecting electrical wires to a large machine that looked like a car battery. I stared at him, then turned to Mat. He met my eyes, hesitated as if to speak, then averted his gaze without a word. I had no idea what was about to happen.
My question was answered when George entered with Noose. I smiled at that familiar face. I didn’t care that I was naked and bound; my mere existence must be a humiliation and mockery to him.
Sure enough, George froze at my smile. His silicone mask hid any expression, of course. He stared at me for a long moment, then walked over and dropped onto an empty paint can before me. Noose silently went to the stranger and helped with his work. Now no one interrupted us.
George. In my memory he’d been a fair, fragile boy—the one who’d once borne bruises from Hue’s punishment, slender and pale, obedient and sweet under Hue’s kindness.
Now he’d grown into a cruel man. His shoulders were as broad as ours, his arms thick and muscular, his chest imposing, his gloved hands large and repulsive. The pale, cold-blue eyes that once caught the light had vanished—now in their place burned anger and hatred, the silicone mask frozen and unshaking. His neatly combed blond hair was gone, replaced by a coarse straw-colored wig. This George, from head to toe, was my creation—
“Growing handsome, aren’t you George?”
I greeted him in a ragged voice, throat still raw. Under the mask he remained expressionless.
“You’ve grown quite the pretty face. Must be popular. Hue’s dead now—have you found a new lover?”
George said nothing. He glared at me through the mask, his blue eyes darkening. But last night’s madness seemed left behind. His hatred burned, but his gaze was steady as silicone.
If he intended to kill me now, I had no chance. Bound, naked, and at his mercy… He could have killed me long ago. That he kept me alive, sitting across from him, meant he still had something to do.
My trembling voice broke the silence.
“…You killed Hue.”
“I know. I saw the news.”
I spoke lightly.
“I also noticed you kept his memento, like a quaint little performance, Acacia-ssi. Just like Bluebell. George, did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I didn’t expect you to remember Hue’s cigarette tin.”
George’s voice rasped coldly.
“I meant to tell you when I killed you. Unexpected, really.”
I laughed low and nodded at him.
“Plans derailed, Acacia-ssi?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll just fast-track another plan.”
George stared at me, then pointed beside him.
The tattooed man. He’d finished and now leaned against the wall smoking with Noose. I realized belatedly he was a tattoo artist; the so-called battery machine was his electric needle and ink.
What was he about to tattoo on me? George didn’t take his eyes off me. I couldn’t fathom his intent—some shameful mark? It sounded childish.
George sat cross-legged, hands neatly folded in his lap, calmer than before.
“Being called handsome by a handsome fellow like you… I’m embarrassed.”
George smiled behind the mask.
“Maternal or paternal inheritance?”
Julia (줄리아, Julia) again. He always brought her up. Last time it was Jerome; this time George. I couldn’t understand why he fixated on her.
I’d once confided to Simon about my mother. The top-floor boys must know I’d been chained by her. But that past was irrelevant—and not a weakness. After Bluebell I’d lived as if abandoned. Being her son was no longer a burden I bore consciously. I had no idea why they dredged it up.
George’s mask gave nothing away.
“…They do share likeness.”
I answered at last.
“Both parents had refined looks.”
“Indeed they did.”
George said softly. He pulled the paint can closer and sat nearer. His gloved hand brushed my cheek. The strange feel on my skin sent shivers down my spine. It felt vile. My flesh crawled.
“Your hazel eyes, Raymond.”
George met my gaze with those dark-blue eyes.
“They’re beautiful. Rarely do I see such lovely eyes—soft yet so arrogant. Someone might want to taxidermy them.”
“….”
“Not just the eyes. Your healthy cheeks… they’ve thinned now, but that too is beautiful. Your sturdy neck… Raymond, you’re a very rare beauty.”
George’s voice was disturbingly gentle.
“They say the basest blood often births the most beauty.”
“…Yes, my mother was indeed base.”
My reply seemed to please him. Behind the mask his eyes widened, then he burst into grotesque laughter.
“Ha—ha—base, you say! Oh, how base indeed!”
His laughter echoed, a foul, uncanny presence that dominated the room. Noose and the tattooist fell silent; Mat stared with wide eyes at George. I frowned as the lunatic laughed outright before me.
Abruptly the laughter stopped. George fixed me with a narrow-eyed stare. The sudden hush made my ears ring. Every hair on my overheated skin stood erect as his rasping voice returned.
“You’re right. Your parents were base beyond measure. But you, Raymond, you’re base by birth.”
“….”
“Have you ever wondered why your mother hated you so?”
“What are you talking about?”
I blurted the question—my urgency plain in my tone. A mistake. Even my expression gave me away.
They’d trailed me for years—my Army enlistment, my deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, my discharge after being wounded, my move to Labraham for work. They even knew my past with my mother—more than I did.
George lounged casually as if savouring my panic. He retrieved Hue’s cigarette tin and lit one. I clenched my teeth to keep from challenging him. After a moment he spoke.
“Not only did your mother hate you—she hated your father too. He never came to your funeral. Didn’t turn up until two months later, creeping in like a slug. If he hated you that much, why did he take you? He could’ve left you in an orphanage…”
“….”
“He didn’t treat you gently. He abused a fifteen-year-old boy who’d just lost his father. That’s unconscionable cruelty. Why did your mother do it? Why lock you up? What was she hiding?”
I couldn’t hold back.
“She couldn’t let her fine reputation be marred by a bastard like me.”
Even as I spoke I knew it wasn’t the right answer. George cocked his head in doubt.
“If so, why didn’t she keep it hidden? Why send you to Bluebell? Why the sudden change?”
“….”
“Why? Answer me.”
“….”
“I know why, Raymond.”
“….”
I swallowed thickly.
“Your mother had no choice sending you to Bluebell. As you grew, you looked more like your brother—and that must have horrified her. She couldn’t bear it, so she removed you.”
I didn’t fully grasp his words.
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
My voice shook despite myself.
“My father—my father was…”
A face I’d long forgotten swam vividly into view. I’d left all our photos at Julia’s mansion; I’d not seen my father since my twenties. I’d almost erased his image: I recalled our time playing football, splashing in the bath, eating dinner watching game shows—but not his looks, his voice, his ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ warmth. I hadn’t tried to remember for so long.
And now, as George spoke, my father’s face emerged as if seen just yesterday: his eyes, nose, hair, voice…
“Your father is a filthy, base man who bedded and impregnated your own sister.”
George exhaled cigarette smoke calmly.
“Your mother carried her brother’s child—not to abort it, but to birth that filthy spawn.”
“…Do you… do you even realize what you’re saying?”
“I know perfectly well, Raymond. What do you think I did these past five years after Bluebell?”
George continued, calm as ever.
“I know everything about you, Raymond. Perhaps I know you better than I know myself. Your Army service—in Iraq, in Afghanistan—think I didn’t know? I even know the names of all those foolish, filthy men you’ve slept with, the ones you promptly forgot. I know them all.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.
“Think it was coincidence meeting that ex-Mimis hunter when you became a forest ranger? Why do you think those hunters went out of their way to land you the job in rural Labraham? Do you really believe Simon’s drama set and your job overlap was random? Do you think the workers just ‘happened’ to join in your rape? Was any of it mere chance?”
His cold silicone hand stroked my cheek.
“If you don’t believe me, fine. I don’t need to convince you. You’ll die here—and until then, you’ll writhe in that doubt. That’s enough for me, you filthy child of incest.”