Mr. Xavier's weakness

(The chapter contains references to violence against minors, as well as cruelty).

It was a cold morning in the factory, and the flying snow stabbed my hands and face unpleasantly. The doctor stood in his warm coat and handed out magic pills to the factory workers. Armed soldiers made sure that everyone took the medicine. Men and women, resigned to their fate, swallowed the pills without complaint and waited for further orders.

"And now," the doctor looked around at the fourth experimental group, "go to work."

Behind him, putting his hands behind his back, stood Cal. There was no emotion on his face and the workers, furtively glancing at their master, one by one went to the workshops. The Doctor gave them a glance, then looked at his watch and wrote down the time in his notebook. Turning to the manager, he said:

"This shift has been in charge for five days. Don't change them, let them show what the drug can do."

Cal nodded.

"I'm going back to camp, I've got a lot of work to do," the doctor added without lifting his head from his notes and left. The guard let him out, and the massive iron door creaked loudly.

Cal turned around and went into the factory. Standing on the platform at the top of the shop floor, he could see the entire area of the hall at once, and no detail escaped his attention. He would often freeze in one pose so as not to attract attention, and then he would begin to notice things he had not seen before.

He remembered people's names, knew couples who had young children and that they were also in the camp with their parents. Cal knew how many people had died since the camp had started opening. Using his good hearing, he was attentive to the quiet conversations of the workers and gained valuable information. Thus, he learned that group one, two, and three, who had taken Pervitin before, would not begin work again.

Virtually all of them had fallen ill with severe forms of cerebral edema, with liver and kidney damage. Cal had been watching group number four and already knew that the men in front of him were suicide bombers. Gradually, the people in the workshop became more aggressive. They worked without sparing themselves, answered each other sharply, did not go on vacation, did not eat lunch, refused to drink. In the evening, the doctor gave them a new dose of pills, and the men worked tirelessly until morning.

Cal went down to the workshop, and, accompanied by two guards, paced the hall. People looked up at him with unhealthy eyes: dilated pupils, faces covered with sweat, hands trembling. The manager was sickened by this picture and went to his room. As a forced laborer, there was nothing he could do.

He was being used just like the others, only he didn't have to be a guinea pig. In the morning, the lights were still on in the factory and the doctor arrived again. He was examining people, taking notes, and handing out pills again. Cal couldn't bear to watch this and left with Liam for the Academy. The next evening, two people died in the factory. The doctor increased the dosage and continued monitoring.

His mad obsession with the experiment was making him a monster in Cal's eyes. He thought with horror of how many more people would have to die for it to be enough, and by morning there were two more bodies in the workshop. By the end of the fifth day, the manager was at a loss for words. He stopped by Liam's house to calm down a bit, but he wasn't home.

Cal returned later and invited him to dinner. Not stopping to think about the slowly dying people in the workshops, he struggled to focus on the food. Occasionally, he distracted himself with teasing Liam, but he'd barely begun his seduction game with him before he realized that if Liam, God forbid, found out what was going on in the factory, he'd probably do something recklessly stupid.

So Cal sent him home, even though he'd seen how easily Liam could be provoked. Later, he'd stand under his windows and imagine the unknowing lover quietly brushing his teeth, or taking a shower, or climbing into his warm bed and falling asleep. He stood there until the light in the window on the top floor went out. Returning to the factory, he found soldiers carrying out lifeless bodies.

Perhaps if the subjects had been healthy, well-nourished people, they would have endured longer. But the doctor seemed satisfied.

"Son of a bitch!" 

Cal walked right past him into the house, not wanting to stop or listen to this lunatic.

Turning in his bed without sleep, Cal chased the fear and anxiety away from him. Before Liam's return, he'd felt lonely but strong, able to endure everything and bear any madness that came with a new day. But now that someone very dear to his heart was near, Cal knew the fear of loss, and the further away he went, the more he was afraid of being happy.

As if, once he felt that wonderful feeling, all the demons of the world would turn their attention to him and take away… No, he couldn't relax, not now that the surrounding events were becoming more horrible, more inhuman every day, as if hell itself had come to rule the earth.

Cal closed his eyes with his hand, trying to push away the image that appeared before his eyes: entering the gate, he saw a stretcher covered with burlap. On them, the dead lay in a single heap, their skinny, black arms hanging down, entwined.

"Away!" Cal stood up and poured himself some vodka. It had been taken from captured Soviet soldiers; it tasted nasty, but it was strong.

He sat in his chair, his eyes burning from lack of sleep, but as dawn broke, he perked up. Cal urged himself to be stronger than ever. He wouldn't see Liam tonight because he'd been called to the commandant's party.

The event was scheduled for six p.m. 

Cal berated himself for his pleasant appearance because apparently that was the main reason why this unpleasant man kept bringing him closer to him. And now, he would have to sit with an impenetrable face at the feast of debauchery.

Despite his resentment, he had spent the entire day searching for a gift for the commandant. It was tradition for guests to be sure to give something of value to the host of the feast. Cal, bought an expensive gold cigarette case and went back to check on things at the factory. Just by this time, experimental group number five was lined up in the area in front of the gate.

The doctor had already handed out the pills and made notes in his notebook. Cal spent the rest of the day in the workshop, watching the shifts. At first, everyone was working as usual, but after a few hours it became apparent that productivity wasn't dropping, people were still working hard and talking quietly.

"Isaac saw it, and you don't believe it," the young man said to the older man.

"Nonsense, why do anyone such a thing?" The old man waved the old man away and went to get material for overcoats.

The man kept up with him and spread his arms to show the size.

"Pfft," the old man replied and slapped him on the back, "you should be working, but you're babbling."

The offended man stepped away from him and began to fold the finished products on his arm to take them to the warehouse. The clock struck five, and Cal went home to pack. He went into the kitchen and quickly made himself a couple of sandwiches, since he hadn't eaten since the night before and didn't want to get hungover quickly at the party. For this purpose, he had thickened a slice of bread with delicious butter.

The commandant's house, just like the factory manager's, was located on the grounds of his work – the concentration camp. To enter the grounds, Cal provided an invitation as well as his papers. He, like the other guests, was carefully searched, showing deference to the status of gentlemen.

Only then was he able to leave the driver in the car, enter the narrow gate and, accompanied by armed guards, follow the strictly marked route to the commandant's house, which was already glowing with bright lights. Even twenty meters away, music could be heard outside. Cal sighed and put on a mask of civility.

It was always the same at these meetings. First, the guests ate and drank a lot, there were also drugs to choose from, which some didn't shy away from. The invited prostitutes are roughly divided among the men, sometimes there were young boys among them and Cal always looked with horror at their childish frightened faces.

He himself bore the nickname "holy Cal" because he never showed any interest in either. But that didn't mean he didn't care when these disenfranchised creatures were used in front of him or brutally beaten.

The hardest thing for him to do was not to interfere when his blood boiled with anger. He hated with all his heart every profligate who came to these secret meetings for the elite.

All these bastards pretended to be good family men, flashing good reputations, but it was here that they revealed their disgusting guts. The worst of them all, however, was the commandant. 

Cal had never seen him dating prostitutes or engaging in lewd behavior, but this vulgar spectacle he put on with gusto, besides, all the servants in his house were beaten to serious injuries and were often exchanged for others.

As soon as he entered the house, Cal immediately felt the correspondingly oppressive atmosphere, and for a moment, he closed his eyes to picture his favorite face. He did that when he was having a hard time, when darkness enveloped him, and he was suffocating like a drowning man. In such moments, Liam's image saved Cal from despair.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the brightly lit hall where other guests were arriving behind him. The Commandant graciously greeted the guests, showing them to their seats and offering them a drink. Cal handed over his gift and thanked his host for the invitation.

The Commandant put his arm around his shoulder and personally took him to the reserved seat for the factory manager. To his right sat the chief of police, as stern and silent as ever, a man who became quite unruly when he drank.

The seat on the left was empty, and Cal wondered who might be sitting there. Farther back, at the head of the table, sat the commandant himself. Thus, against his will, Cal found himself sitting next to the most unpleasant person he had ever met.

When all the guests had assembled, it turned out that there were quite a few spaces between them, and then the commandant gave his dear friends a surprise. At his signal, the doors swung open and young girls, smartly dressed, were pushed into the room.

They looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, some even younger. Cold sweat beaded unpleasantly down Cal's back, and a lump began to form in his throat.

The landlord cheered, "these are your companions for this fine evening."

Cal looked around him and saw wild predators, glittering at the innocent children who huddled fearfully at the door, hesitant to move.

"What a surprise," jumped up the commandant's best friend, "what a surprise!"

"But where did these lovely creatures come from?" asked someone, Cal didn't recognize.

"Don't worry about that dear guests, just enjoy yourselves, but first, we'll play our favorite game!"

Yeah!" the guests cheered.

"Lottery! Lottery!" They chanted around, and Cal moved his lips silently, trying to keep up with the others.

"Each girl has a number on her sleeve, and here, gentlemen, are the kegs," the commandant placed a huge golden goblet on the table, "let the lottery begin!"

The first man from the commandant put his hand into the goblet and, to everyone's approval, rummaged through it to solemnly raise the number "three" into the air. Everyone immediately turned to the flock of girls and saw one of them blushing with embarrassment, almost fainting.

"Come here, child," the commandant beckoned her, and she dared not disobey.

Having seated the girl in the empty seat next to her, the guest passed the goblet on. Gradually, the empty gaps at the table filled up, and Cal was the last in a succession of "lucky" people. However, there were no more girls left and Cal felt something wrong.

Everyone paid attention to the situation, and silence reigned at the table. No one would dare reproach the commandant for forgetting about one guest, but everyone wondered what would happen next.

Cal sat with an impenetrable face, not looking into the goblet, for he knew it was empty. For him, however, the seconds stretched interminably slow, almost forever. The commandant leaned toward him and said:

"Our dear Mr. Xavier thinks that I have decided to offend him and therefore have not prepared a companion for him, but it is not so. I have tried so long to please our "holy Cal" by offering beautiful and succulent women as well as men, but what I have seen is all in vain."

The commandant looked at the others, seeking approval, and all nodded.

"That's not true, Mr. Commandant, I'm just not interested," the man replied politely and calmly, feeling a terrible inner trepidation.

"Well, you won't be lonely today, for I have a special gift for you, come on, Mr. Fabricant, look who has come to see you."

With these words, the commandant and all present turned to the open door, and someone pushed a confused young man into the room.

"Liam!?" Cal jumped up from the table, out of control, and clenched his fists. His heart was jumping out of his chest.

"What do you think about it?" The commandant reveled in his triumph, "wasn't I good?"

"Mr. Commandant, this is…"

"Don't worry, I would rather not hear anything, just take your friend and sit down at the table, the meat is getting cold. Am I right?" 

The man turned to the guests, and the crowd enthusiastically answered.

The commandant turned and sat back in his seat, pouring the blood-red wine into his glass and then, looking at Cal point-blank, drained the glass in a gulp. The man shuddered under the stare and hurried over to Liam.

"Are you all right?" He asked quietly, taking Liam's ice-cold hand. The man simply nodded in response, completely unsure of what to do or how to act. He clutched at Cal's palm, seeking his support and protection.

"Don't be afraid, sit next to me and keep quiet, we'll get out of here," Cal thought, "God willing".

They joined in the general merriment and tried to act natural. Compared to the personal "surprise" the commandant had given him, the presence of children at the table didn't scare Cal so much. All he could think about was what the sly fox was trying to accomplish, and how to protect Liam.

Suddenly, there was a squeal, and then sobs, and the crowd erupted in laughter. Everyone was laughing, except for the frightened children and a couple of men at the head of the table. Liam sat pale, covered in beads of sweat, he didn't look up or move. Cal mentally cursed the commandant because his heart was breaking with fear for the dear man.

"How did he bring him here? Did the dirty paws of the soldiers touch his body? Did they scare him, or were they polite? Pfft, who am I treating, these people are incapable of being polite."

A new shriek brought him out of his daze, and he looked in the direction it had come from. The girl was wearing a torn dress, apparently her companion wanted to look at her breasts, but she resisted. Cal closed his eyes to avoid seeing the young face contorted with fear and humiliation.

He moved closer to Liam and touched his thigh to his leg, feeling a small shiver hit the man.

"Shit!"

Cal swore and poured a glass of wine and practically forced his friend to drink it, coaxing with his eyes alone. Liam obeyed and drained the glass. All this did not escape the attentive eyes of the commandant.

The man kept a close eye on the fabricator and his companion to determine their level of intimacy, and he didn't seem to be mistaken. Among the well-drunk guests, a contest seemed to have begun to see who could make his victim scream the loudest. Sporadically, frightened, indignant, yearning cries were heard, and the tormentors went into a frenzied rapture like a maddened herd of savages.

The girls were sobbing, and this no longer amused the guests, so a couple of rough blows silenced some of them. This attracted the attention of the commandant.

"Gentlemen, that's enough, don't offend these young flower girls if you hope to have a pleasant time."

There was a knock on the door, and the doctor appeared on the threshold. Cal wrinkled his nose.

"There's our savior," the commandant exclaimed happily.

"Of course, how could I let you down," the man smiled slyly and lifted a small tin box into the air?

The next moment, the yellow pills were actively dissolved in the glasses and drunk by the girls. Few of them understood what drugs were, and so they agreed to drink the drink without resistance. Cal and Liam sat apart from this madness and tried not to attract attention.

"Gentlemen, the bedrooms on the first and second floor are at your service," the commandant said.

After a short time, there was no one left at the table except three men, two of whom wanted with all their hearts to be anywhere but here.

"Well, Mr. Xavier, we are the only ones left," said the master of the house, raising his glass, "but you seem so pleased at my surprise that you have not even thanked me."

"Thank you," Cal said, mentally wishing the commandant a long and painful death. He tried not to think about what was going on in the other rooms, his mind on the man beside him.

"I think it's time for your friend to go home," the man said languidly and signaled to the soldiers on duty at the entrance.

They walked over and made Liam go with them. Cal gripped the empty chair beside him with such force that the skin on his fingers seemed to burst from the strain. Enjoying his undisguised horror, the commandant lit a cigar.

"Well," he began, "here I've found the key to your heart," he released a cloud of smoke into Cal's face.

Cal felt the smoke eating his eyes.

"What do you want?" The man asked bluntly, realizing he was in a loser's position.

"That's a different conversation," the commandant leaned back, grinning contentedly, "I've found your weak spot."

Cal didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead, wanting to run and snatch Liam from the clutches of the armed guards.

"Oh, don't worry, your friend will be brought home safely, but his happiness and safety will depend on you," the commandant poked him in the chest with a smoldering cigar, leaving ash on the spotless fabric.

Cal swallowed and nodded faintly in response. His lips tightened in protest and a desire to fight, but his mind told him not to make any sudden movements.

"Ah, Xavier, you seemed so moral among my cronies, but all this time you've been hiding the dark side of yourself. But today I've brought your shit to light, haven't I? All right, I'm sure you're dying to see your lover, so go," he laughed wildly, madly, and waved his hand, signaling Cal to get the hell out.

The man hurried out of the house, clearly feeling that he had lost this fight. Sliding down the icy driveway, he dashed across the yard and hopped into the waiting car. Pushing the driver, he reached the boarding house and, getting out of the car, measured himself: the window was not lit.

He ran up the steps and made sure the room was empty and Liam was gone. He wrapped his arms around his head and slowly sat down on the floor. His heart was beating so loud with fear that it hurt his ears. He felt nauseous.

There was no telling how long he sat like that when he heard a car outside. He ran to the window and watched in the faint light of the streetlamp as Liam was pushed out of the car right onto the doorstep of the boarding house.

"Liam!" The man shouted through the glass barrier, but no one heard him.

Then he rolled down the stairs and ran outside to take the man in his arms, cradling him reverently in his arms. Liam was unconscious, and his body showed signs of a beating.

Cal examined those marks in detail a little later when he brought him into the room. Anger and grief threatened to rob him of his sanity as he carefully separated the blood-soaked shirt from the mess of wounds here and there across Liam's body.

"Shit, shit, shit!" 

His hands were shaking and not doing a good job. After carefully washing his wounds, Cal used a healing ointment and stayed on duty at Liam's bedside all night. In the morning, he gathered his belongings and, summoning a car, attempted to drive the man out of town, but the first patrol stopped them and informed them that they were not allowed to leave the city.

"We're trapped," came the realization to Cal, and he brought Liam back. He later tried to take the man back to his factory, but even here he met insurmountable obstacles.

All the while, Liam refused to provide details of that evening, and the relationship between them was terribly strained. Cal was afraid he'd do something stupid, so he had watchers at the house to tell him what the man was doing all day.

One evening, as usual, Cal visited Liam's house and found him meditating. The man sat cross-legged, motionless, and suddenly a tear rolled down his cheek. Cal put his arms around him, gathering the salty paths on his face with his lips and pulling him out of his detached state.

"Who were those kids at the party, do you know?" Liam asked, sobbing quietly.

"No, I was as shocked as you were," he stroked Liam's back, trying to calm him down."

"They all had spiritual power, didn't you feel it?"