Page 11 of Farkas: Gothika
“It is beautiful, is it not?” said Vincent softly. “There are rugged mountains where I come from as well, but the landscape here seems newer. Sharper.”
“Where I come from there’s nothing but a few low hills near rivers.”
“When you lived there, did you find yourself longing for something different? Forests instead of tame rows of corn?”
Lee had yearned, although not for different geography. He’d wanted a house that wasn’t frigid in winters and stifling in summers, with plumbing that didn’t rattle and a roof that didn’t leak. He’d wanted a kitchen full of food and a closet full of nice clothes. He’d wanted people to look at him with respect. He’d wanted a place where he fit in. And he’d wanted— Well, the last thing didn’t matter; he’d always known he’d never get it.
Vincent pressed a little closer. “You are lost in thought.”
“Your family has invested in parts of the Bunker Hill project.” Of course that wasn’t what Lee had been thinking about, but it was a safer topic than his own unfulfilled desires.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been working on parts of that project for a while. A lot of people seem enthusiastic about it. Rich people, I mean.”
Late in the previous century, Bunker Hill had been home to some of the wealthiest families in California. They’d built grand mansions with turrets and gingerbread trim. But within a few decades those residents had moved farther away from downtown Los Angeles to places such as Beverly Hills, and the mansions had been converted to boarding houses. Now those houses were crumbling, crowded with the elderly, the poor, criminals, and immigrants. For years, developers had talked about tearing down the slum and chopping off the top of the hill. Luxury apartments would be built there, and museums and concert halls, and skyscraper office buildings.
But first someone had to get rid of the residents.
And that was what Lee had been working on: lawsuits and complicated real estate transactions that would replace the blight with concrete and glass and shining steel after displacing thousands of people who didn’t want to leave—who probably had nowhere else to go.
“Are you troubled, my friend?”
“No.” That was mostly not a lie.
“It is the way of things and always has been. Those with power do as they wish and those without suffer. There is no point in fighting this, and one should not regret it any more than one regrets gravity.” Vincent took a coin from his pocket, held it up for Lee to see, and dropped it over the edge of the balcony railing. It immediately disappeared into the darkness, and Lee didn’t hear it land.
“Gravity,” Lee repeated.
“A law of nature. The best anyone can do is amass one’s own power, and once it has been obtained, to guard it jealously. Is this not what you have striven to accomplish?”
Lee hadn’t thought of it that way, and he wasn’t sure if it was accurate. He was passionate about achieving his own success, but not necessarily at the expense of other people. He stared silently into the blackness.
Vincent lowered his voice to a purr and spoke close to Lee’s ear. “The more power one has, the more freedom as well. Acts that are forbidden to peasants are overlooked in the nobility. Power gives a man the liberty to indulge himself with impunity.”
Then Vincent put an arm around Lee’s shoulders, and Lee had to stop himself from leaning into the embrace. “Come inside,” Vincent said. “I will pour you more wine. And tomorrow, I think, you will meet Laszlo Farkas.”
Chapter Seven
Lee remained in his suite the next day, wearing another set of stockings and tunic. He did a little work, but mostly he paced restlessly, pausing now and then to stand on the balcony or stare at the portrait of Vincent’s ancestor. He was now fairly certain that was a bare leg in the background, sticking out from under the bedcovers. That leg disturbed Lee, and not just because it was male. It was also very pale and crooked at what seemed like an unnatural angle. He didn’t think anyone would sleep in that position.
As Lee paced, he mumbled quiet curses at himself. He was a coward for not trying again to escape the estate. No, he was a fool for thinking he should escape when there was no overt threat and when doing so would end his career. He was a degenerate for being drawn to another man. Perhaps Lee was sliding into lunacy. It certainly felt as if that might be the case.
After the sun had slipped below the mountains and the sky hovered between blue and orange, Lee stood on the balcony and considered what Vincent had said about the Bunker Hill project. Power, he’d said, and gravity.
Only when it was completely dark did Lee venture back inside. Vincent didn’t appear with dinner. He didn’t appear at all, in fact, and after a while Lee ate some of the food left over from his brunch. But there was no wine, and he wanted some very badly. He considered leaving his chambers in search of Vincent or a meal or… anything, but the idea of wandering those corridors at night made him shudder. They were substantially shadowed even during the day.
He’d returned to pacing, this time angrily, when the door swung open and an old man walked in.
Despite wrinkled skin clinging to a skeletal face, his resemblance to Vincent was obvious. His eyes were deep-set in their sockets, snow-white hair formed an exuberant cloud over his head, and although he clutched a walking stick in one gnarled hand, he stood straight-backed. Thin as a famine victim, he wore an embroidered caftan and pointed silk slippers.
“Mr. Farkas?” The question wasn’t necessary, but Lee had no idea what else to say. Introducing himself seemed absurd; surely the man knew who he was and why he was here.
The old man’s lips curled into a smile, revealing a hint of very sharp teeth. “Laszlo, if you please.” He remained just inside the open door, as if hesitant to come fully inside.
“I’m very pleased to finally meet you, sir. Your grandson has been doing an excellent job advising me in my work, but I need—”
“My approval. Yes, of course. I hope you are finding yourself comfortable here.” Laszlo’s accent was somewhat thicker than Vincent’s and his voice had an odd hollow quality, as if he were talking from inside a cave.