“This era of prosperity for the common person is now under threat. Firstly, those few who have not benefited from our doctrine, namely the greedy and corrupt, have struck back. Like rabid dogs, their frustration has come to a head, and they have assembled behind the man who promised them the key to my organisation; Horst Stirner. It is they who have sown the recent chaos, and who seek to upend The League Of Reckoning. If you, the people, accept the lie which you will be told tomorrow, then you will have granted permission for tyranny to reinstate itself. I will be the first to admit of our evil nature, yet without us, true evil in this world would multiply beyond imagination.
“I have thus far resisted the attempts of the greedy and corrupt to reveal my identity. I do not answer to them, nor will I ever. Rather, it is my honour to come now before you, the people, to implore you to fight. Let your governments hear your might roar. Take to the streets, raise your voices, rise as free people, and declare your demand for justice and freedom from tyranny. Legitimacy and authority shall never come from above, but from us, the people. Support me, and I promise you; Horst Stirner will meet my wrath, as will his band of traitors and criminals.”
Kalakia leaned further forward and clenched his fist, presenting it to the camera.
“Do not forget,” he said. “We are the people, and we are the power. ”
26
Frederich could not understand the conversation between Camille and the policeman, but he did not need to know French to grasp what was being said. The tone of their voices gave him a general idea:
“How long is this bastard going to stay like this?”
“As long as it takes. He still has an infection.”
“An infection shouldn’t last this long!”
“Oh? I should know how long an infection lasts.”
“He can sleep in his prison cell.”
“Don’t you give me that. Let me do my job and stop interfering.”
The conversation ended abruptly with what sounded like a barrage of insults from the policeman before he marched out and slammed the door behind him. Frederich waited some seconds after the room grew silent before opening one eye slightly, then the other. Camille was standing in the middle of the room rubbing her temples. She exhaled and looked out of the window.
“You can’t keep this up forever,” said Frederich with a low voice.
“I know,” said Camille, going over to sit on the chair beside Frederich’s bed. “Two more days. I hope they will come to their senses.”
Not a chance, thought Frederich, expecting a beatdown as soon as they got their hands on him.
“I can handle myself, you know,” he said.
“I am sure,” said Camille. “Two more days. Then you can face the law.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” said Frederich.
“I don’t need you to understand,” replied Camille.
“I’ve faced worse things than some hero cop.”
Camille sharpened her gaze, paying close attention to Frederich’s face.
“What kinds of things?” she asked.
Psychopaths. Sadists. Murderers. You name it.
“Just more dangerous people,” he said with a shrug.
“How did you get the scars on your back?” she asked. “I saw them when I was operating on your leg.”
The bear from his dream came up, towering above his tiny frame, and he blinked hard. He saw her eyes again, glowing with terror that oozed beneath his skin. He knew who she was, but could not bring himself to say it. He preferred not to go there. It was easier that way. No need to dwell on it. He also recalled his hallucination with the bear while he was locked up in Scheffler’s hole. Every time he saw the scars in the mirror, after a shower or while getting changed, he simply glossed over them. They stopped existing after a while. He was only reminded of them when people asked.
“It happened when I was a kid,” he said.
“They look strange. Not from a knife. Was it an animal?”
He nodded.
“A bear,” he said.
“I see,” said Camille with a tone of awe, her eyes glowing and lips parting. “How old were you?”
“Six or seven.”
“Where were your parents?”
He saw her again, crawling over the dirt, her terror singeing into his being. A pulse of rage shot up, and his entire body shook. Stay out. Every one of his muscles tensed up, almost cutting off his breathing.
Camille read him carefully, then nodded.
“It’s ok,” she said gently. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”
Frederich sniffed and looked away, sensing the episode pass and his body grow somewhat calm again.
The door suddenly burst open. The policeman marched in, scowling, his moustached-face bright red. He pointed accusingly at Frederich and began screaming in French, moving gradually closer until Camille rose up from her chair and tried to hold him back. The confrontation quickly escalated into a scrum, Camille’s pure white doctor’s uniform facing off against the policeman’s navy blue authority. Camille once again proved her tenacity, holding her own against the fury of the unhinged officer. He progressed forward, pointing, pushing and yelling, while Camille dug in her heels and pressed firmly against his chest, resisting not just with her body but her words. Frederich’s leg throbbed as he sat up in a state of vigilance, ready for a fight in case the man broke through Camille’s defences. He looked around for a weapon but only saw a small metal tray on the side table with an empty plastic cup on it. The screaming grew louder, the struggle turning more frantic, before the policeman won out. Camille was pushed suddenly to the side, managing to keep her feet, but too slow to recover to catch the police officer. Frederich braced
