| Subject: Chapter 266 - Part 2 (end of chapter 266) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Saturday, November 18, 06:38:35am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
His footsteps sped up a bit, his fears constant--made no better at all by her last letter. They had already had more than enough enemies, were fighting so many people who seemed to live for nothing besides their total destruction; it didn't even make sense. They weren't exactly world powers, were ordinary people doing their best to enjoy their lives; his head shook. Why choose them to target especially?
He didn't have any clear answer for this, none which made any logical sense, at least--but one possibility did arise. Perhaps it was mostly the fact of what they did, of their place as the fantasy figures for much of the world. Just as someone such as Elkins might put all of his dreams onto Nikita--without even the knowledge of her real name--so even those who knew them did the same, none of them wishing to live solely in their own lives. It made a kind of sense--even if no understanding could make it any better at all.
He was pondering this theory further, was wondering why he had never thought into it before--although he supposed he had been too busy fighting their nemeses to have the time to inquire over their motives; he did now, though, in exile--all of it becoming so clear. For Madeline, her hatred was based on several factors, each of them going back to her essential lack of self. True, she had a highly developed self-will but very little actual personality. She lived solely through others, through her manipulations of them. Whether it were Wolfe or her daughter, she needed someone to control; he nearly nodded, as his analysis moved in. That was why she was so focused on Michael. He was the one man who had always gotten away.
He shook his head, never having realized this fact before--none of his struggles against her, until very lately, even conscious ones. Still, he had never fallen under her manipulations; even when he had followed her orders, it had simply been because they were expedient. Unlike Wolfe--or poor Kate, for so many years--he was not under her control. It all began to make sense. He alone was the one she really wanted. That even one victim had escaped her was too much for her to bear.
It was this flouting of the woman's desires--clearly--which made her so focused on him, and then on his beloved; she had done much the same thing with Simone--but only after their love affair had begun. He thought even further back, the anger starting to grow. It was even possible that the tutor had been the first to introduce Lisa to Fanning, after his brief affair with the actress; he nearly shook in rage. The woman was responsible for quite a lot, then--and all of it was directed, in one way or another, at him.
He had to take a deep breath at his epiphany, as difficult as that could be in air as cold as this--never having realized the tutor's true motives before. Always, he had half-ignored her, paying attention only when she was endangering someone he loved; the fury grew. He had never before realized how many others she might have damaged, while he had been looking the other way.
He hated this fact, his fists clenched--ready for a fight, as the truths sank all the deeper. To the tutor, despite her actual presence in his life, he was still a fantasy--yet another dream in the dark. But for this woman, her dream was of manipulation, of utter control. Once she had him, she would have tired of him quickly--much like Hillinger's intentions with his poor Nikita. But this alone had been her motive all along.
He could feel the rage growing, taking him over; it required great control not to scream. It was such an obvious truth, had been there all along; his head shook. How he could never have seen it before was goading in the extreme.
Still, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself--needing to be ready for the attacks of yet another person of this sort, one who also wished for dominance. He even wondered now whether Ackerman's hatred of him wasn't mostly caused by the actor's open love for Nikita--by the fact that, even in their public image, it was clear that he truly cared for her. The recruit too was probably living on his image of the actor, hating him--in that proxy way that filmgoers had--for being less than his perfect image of a man. There were certainly others in the unit that the recruit could have picked on--that he might have, to a certain extent, had Michael not been there. But the fact that the actor had a beautiful, pregnant, much-loved wife--the fact that he clearly missed her, wished to be with her in every moment of the child's gestation, as well as there for every moment of his life--had simply been too much. As far as Michael could see, Ackerman hated weakness most of all--probably as an unconscious extension of his own fears about so many of his own. And women--and those men who dared to love them--were always the ones he would target the most.
This insight made a great deal of sense of the recruit, even if it were absolutely infuriating to the actor. It was the same sort of reasoning which could easily be seen in Hillinger or Bauer, as well. Even Jones probably reflected it, to an extent--certainly wanted his daughter as a prize, to reflect whatever hideous qualities he might wish to push upon her; Michael shivered, more from rage than fear. None of them saw either of the pair as actual people; none of them were capable of compassion. The actors were simply extensions of whatever sort of qualities they wished to put on them, as they watched their images flickering before them in the dark. They probably even hated them for being life-sized, when they met.
All of these truths, he was certain, were undoubtedly quite obvious, could apply to anyone with the idol of their choice. Real-life encounters, however exciting, were always doomed to disappoint, the idol in question incapable of being entirely what the dreamer had imagined--the dream always quite personal. It was why movie magazines were so very popular. The fan could get a very small--sometimes entirely incorrect--glimpse of what the "true person" behind the mask of their idol was like, and could then mold that personality to their own, unique tastes. It was the very essence of truth which lay behind calling any studio a "dream factory." The real thing would never live up to it.
He would have smiled, had there been any humor in the realization for him, the studios churning out so many fantasies for their audience, without any real interest in those who bought them--so long as they were paid for. He wasn't even certain why it had taken him so long to fully understand these truths; he nearly laughed. Except that he had been too busy fulfilling these dreams to take much time to consider what it was that he was creating.
He was shaking his head, moving ever-closer to the barracks, amazed by these new truths. Even he--he supposed--had been following a dream in those early days, had seen the stage, and then the studio, as an escape. In these places, taking on the body and soul of the characters he performed, he was no longer himself, was freed from all possible troubles and pain. He was probably lucky that he had developed some sort of a personality, before he had started on such a life; otherwise, he might have ended up like poor Martin--stuttering, weak, and empty. It was much easier, really. Then, all you had to do was wait for the next character to come fill you up.
He understood the other actor even better now--although he had always sympathized with him a bit. It was no surprise that the studio had chosen his twin, Mick--who was utterly vivacious and interesting, sometimes to the point of annoyance--to do most of his public appearances, leaving Martin himself to reside in his characters alone. He was quite good at them. But most actors who were entirely devoid of real personality were.
He shook his head, trying to remove himself from these thoughts--wondering where any of his insights might lead. If he were right, then all of his and Nikita's enemies were against them solely because of whatever qualities they imagined them to possess--or were angry with them for not possessing; it was an impossible hatred to counteract. In some ways, as with Ackerman, the only way out was probably death; he had to shudder. But that wasn't an outcome he would give into now.
He kept this truth firmly in his heart, his determination to live at least as strong as his wife's; they would probably both need it. When so many people were angry at you for not living up to their fantasies--when so many were determined to live nearly solely through you--danger was always nearby.
The slight shudder returned, as he came back to the barracks--wondering at the fact that he had made it this far unmolested. Whatever Ackerman would do next, he would undoubtedly encounter it soon; his sigh went quite deep. But there was nothing for either he or his wife to do except to move forward and face their enemies now.
[End of Part 266]
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