Chapter 4: The Price of Life
Life has a way of throwing unpredictable events at you, usually for the worse.
What was supposed to be another rescue mission for Maitho had turned into something more complicated. He tried to keep his thoughts on the traffic in front of him, even though his mind stubbornly drifted towards the events of the evening. At this hour close to midnight, the vehicle population was sparse. Yet Maitho made sure that he tried to follow the road rules as much as possible, just so he could avoid undue attention.
Through the thick ooze of nervous thoughts that filled his mind, one single idea broke into his consciousness; he had fallen into a trap. From the looks of it, Jonathan Cray and his adopted children were there to capture him. After all, they could have killed him if that was indeed their plan.
He took various turns, using one-way roads and alleyways. He wanted to confuse anyone following him. He wasn't entirely certain if he had a tail, but why take the risk?
Yet he couldn't shake off the nervous energy he felt, as though it was an uncomfortable blanket that refused to leave his body.
Just who were the Crays? Why did they possess so much information about him? What were they planning to do to him?
The more questions Maitho asked, the more he received in return. His own mind felt claustrophobic, with queries and puzzles all crammed in together. Without any answers, he would only stuff even more questions into his already burdened mind. He realized that he needed a quiet place to organize his thoughts.
Matiho had an idea of where he could find such a place. In fact, he had a few options.
When he had escaped the Cray residence, he instantly took the first route that his panicked mind suggested; towards his apartment. It was pure instinct that had guided him, his hands gripping the steering wheel, and his foot pushing down on the accelerator as much as it was allowed without drawing suspicious glances.
As he began to pay more attention to his driving, Maitho realized that he shouldn't be heading back to his apartment. Not now.
What if the Crays had someone waiting for him at his apartment? After all, they knew where he lived.
Maitho guessed that the Crays had been observing him, and perhaps for a long time judging from the wealth of information they had on him. There was no way they could know so much without understanding his life, his behaviors, and his routines. The idea that someone had been watching him to a voyeuristic degree made Maitho's privacy feel violated. He felt a sudden sensation of spiders crawling all over his arms and had to consciously look at the view outside his windshield to kill the feeling.
Maitho wanted to think. He saw a turn present itself and took it. The city was a familiar structure to him. He understood its pathways and details, or at least as much as he could gather whenever he was out on a rescue mission.
There was a place that he could go to, if only to collect his thoughts. It was a small café and if Maitho's memory served him right, then it would be open to business at this time of the night. Unlike most cafes however, this joint was located in a quiet neighborhood. Despite its location, it still attracted a decent crowd, most of whom lived in the surrounding area. While the crowd would be sparse this late into the night, it was at least a public location with a few people around. A place that was spacious enough to allow room for his thoughts, but crowded enough to prevent anyone from publicly attacking him.
An ambulance went past him in the opposite direction. Maitho looked into his rearview mirror at the dance of blue and red lights fading away into the distance. A memory began to pillage through the chaos of his mind and made its way to the surface of his consciousness. It was a memory he knew well and even if he were to somehow forget all the events stored in his brain's storage system, he would probably never forget the events depicted in the memory.
He remembered the time he was in an ambulance himself, nearly two years ago.
For reasons that he had never been able to discover, his time inside the medical vehicle were hazy. He could remember glimpses of an overhead lighting fixture and an IV bag through a sea of blur. Voices that sounded distant shouted information and commands, most of which he couldn't understand. Yet he knew enough to realize that perhaps, he might not be among the living for long.
He was in an accident. That much he could still remember in the ambulance. It's details escaped him, as though they were a secret he wasn't meant to discover.
Maitho's next memory began when he woke up in the hospital bed. Machines beeped nearby. Narrow tubes transported fluids into his body. The overhead lamp cast a dim glow, bright enough to illuminate the bed properly but place the rest of the room in partial darkness.
Maitho began to move his body and found that he lacked enough energy to do so. After what seemed like a long period of simply staring at the ceiling, he gained control over small motor functions. The discovery should have calmed him. Instead, a sense of hopelessness crowded his thoughts. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye and made its journey towards his ear.
He remembered that he had no home anymore. He remembered his landlord serving him his evacuation notice a week earlier. Since there was no contract between him and the landlord, Maitho had no basis for an argument. He could ask for an advance from his employer, but he wasn't certain if that would work. Maybe the doctors could keep him in the hospital for a few days. He might have a place to stay temporarily. But then again, who is going to pay the hospital bills?
Maitho wondered if the doctors would accept a suggestion of euthanasia on the grounds that he was too broke. The thought made him chuckle and he discovered that his ribs hurt if he made any sudden movements. No laughing. That's just perfect. He couldn't even make light of his own situation.
The door to the room opened and a man sporting a black suit and tie entered. He closed the door softly behind him and proceeded to drag a chair towards Maitho's bed. When he was sufficiently close, he sat down with his back straight and his legs placed close together. He straightened his tie and looked at Maitho expressionlessly.
The entire scene seemed oddly displaced from reality. Maitho began to wonder what drugs he was on. Perhaps the man was a journalist looking for a scoop. Although there wasn't anything particularly interesting about the accident. Perhaps violence sells, no matter what form it takes.
Young man a victim of city's drunk drivers; Maitho could almost imagine the article title.
"Maitho Oruba. 20 years old. Involved in a hit-and-run incident. Two broken ribs. Severe internal bleeding. Other catastrophic damages. Unlikely to recover quickly," said the man without preamble. He spoke as though he was checking off items on a grocery list. "Unlikely to recover at all, I might add."
Maitho faced the ceiling and closed his eyes. The fact that he was reminded of the gravity of the situation filled him with a sense of emptiness. He was no more concerned about the man in the dark suit. Whoever the man was, it did not matter. He could be the devil himself, for all Maitho cared.
"No job. No relationships," said the man, continuing to speak without a hint of concern. "No family."
"I am well aware of my predicament. I am unsure what you are after, but I have nothing to offer you." said Maitho. He wanted to be alone again. Whatever this was, it could wait another day. He considered closing his eyes and shutting off the world around him.
"I beg to differ." The man's voice hadn't changed its tone, but he sounded convincing. He sounded confident.
Maitho turned his head and looked at the man, who was leaning forward in his chair with the same look of impassivity that he had shown when he first entered the room.
"Right," said Maitho. "That's pretty great. Not sure if you were trying to motivate me or something. So, let's get this over with. What do you want? I don't have a story to tell or money to hand out."
The man clapped his hands, holding them like he was about to pray. "The question is Maitho," he said, his voice attaining a conspiratorial volume, "how badly do you want to live?"
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