Samuel

Chapter 32

Clutching his left side while grasping his forearm in place, Dean stumbled over a raised sidewalk. Onlookers briefly gazed at him dispassionately before turning back to their own business. Falling against his forehead, his disheveled hair matted with blood while his clothing ruffled with tattered pieces. Gasping for air, Dean clutched his chest as it ached tremendously. Passing a windowpane, while stumbling in agony, his eyes bulged, horrified of his visage.

Long bereft of the dignity his position demanded, the appearance of this service worker shocked himself. Stained lapels and torn sleeves met the survey of his gaze. Aware his master would punish his appearance Dean woke from this image. Forcing himself to turn, he reminded the scrutinizing dialogue repeating in his mind, that none of that mattered now. He needed to find Alm.

Thunder beat in his chest as he hurried to reach the man, who escaped his former master's grasp. After ten years of service, feeling more like slavery, he witnessed many others come into the employ of Jonathan. However, the only route to their freedom lay in death. At times, even he yearned for the sweet release of the journey to the next plane of existence.

Jonathan and his right-hand man, Chandral ruthlessly meted out punishment. Many of his peers returned to work after being disciplined forever changed. Flat emotionally, laughter, humor, anger, aggression all vacant, lacking any vestige of personality traits, mere husks of personhood remained.

Resting against a cold brick wall, attempting to regain his breath, his chest heavy, constricted as if a snake had wrapped itself around it squeezing ever so tightly, Dean's eyes fluttered softly like butterfly wings. Recalling one of his peers whose life forever changed after his punishment, Dean became a statue.

A younger man, approximately, ten years younger than Dean, his youth forever taken, his vibrancy of his emotion, eradicated in its entirety. His name, Curran, like other individuals under Jonathan's employ, did not have any family nor loved ones. Jonathan required this, within those under his service. Not wanting his servants distracted by familial ties, Jonathan, a textbook narcissist, required all the attention. Everything focused upon him. If ever he felt slighted, his wrath would soon follow.

A flat nose and small ears along with dark freckles further adorned Curran visage. Slim, but not terribly thin, he maintained an athletic appearance. The change in Curran's personality occurred after his reprimand about a button that came off his uniform jacket. A single button initiated the cataclysm wrought up in him. How it had happened was unknown. Perhaps, Curran was tired and dismayed about his present servitude to Jonathan. Perhaps, it was common wardrobe decay. Dean and his peers could only ponder.

Whatever the reason, the timing of this incident could not have been worse for Curran. It occurred in a dinner party under his responsibility. One of his guests commented on the servant's appearance, a result of consuming generous libations, this individual capitalized on the chance to place Jonathon in the spotlight.

"Mr. Marks, you can afford such lavish living conditions and the best food and drinks money can buy. Can you not keep your waiters in decent attire?" The guest said with a wry grin while slurring some of his speech.

Jonathan answered smiling and raising his wine glass to the individual, "Now, if I keep having you as a guest, then I will not be able to afford much at all."

This made those who were within earshot laugh riotously. However, while everyone remained distracted by the exchange between the two, Jonathan glanced at Curran and wordlessly pushed a thought into his head.

"Go and change your jacket immediately."

Curran, temporarily stunned at this exchange did not move until Jonathan's eyes widened further. Of course, he did as he was ordered. It was not until the guests bid Jonathan farewell, that Chandral confronted him. The portly man guided Curran to his master's quarters. There he received his due punishment. All that was audible to the rest of the lofty penthouse was a single reverberating scream. The shriek lasted less than a second. The moment, like an individual turning on a television and immediately turning it off because the volume startled them.