I should have realized that place was already the first sign that something was wrong. The feeling—too good—of going to the right place always surfaced before the misfortune struck the hardest.
I was still sitting because my knees simply wouldn't respond, but the Director didn't seem to be in any hurry to continue.
It was as if she expected my own mind to do the work for her.
First the discomfort, then the doubt, then came the fear, and soon after, the break.
She observed me with the same fervor of a predator admiring a wounded animal, learning to accept its position in the food chain.
When she touched the table next to the white cloth with her fingertips, I couldn't help but notice that her fingers were too clean and perfect to be so close to that.
The contrast was so absurd it made me nauseous.
"You hesitated."
She said it with no emotion in her voice, but there still seemed to be… a kind of cold joy hidden in her eyes.
"I… have nothing to do with the church."
I muttered by reflex, without looking directly at her.
She laughed, and the strange thing was that the laughter seemed to come from the walls and not from her.
"I know that, Noah."
She pulled up a chair and sat in front of me.
"I don't care."
Her eyes weren't those of someone seeking answers. They were the eyes of someone mad to find cracks, just to have a reason.
She picked up a scalpel from somewhere, crossed her legs, and started cleaning her nails with it.
"You don't need to fake beliefs you don't have. I have the means to find out if you're lying."
"I'm not lying!"
"Shhh! Some justify themselves like you. But when they see it's no use, they try to please me somehow, can you believe it?"
She leaned toward me, smiling in a sick, twisted way.
"Some cry, others start praying in desperation. It's always so disappointing to find someone who has no courage."
She was too close, and just when I thought I would be cut by that scalpel, she pulled it away again, leaning back in her chair.
"Do you believe that morality still has value here? In this world?"
She asked, lowering her head to observe her hands and going back to cleaning them.
"I-I don't know… maybe?"
"Hmm… why are you trembling?"
She asked again, but this time she grabbed my wrist firmly. Her strength didn't match her delicate appearance.
"If you don't believe in anything, why does your body respond as if it did?"
I tried to pull my hand away, but she was too strong.
"Fear is a great teacher."
She murmured before caressing my face with the scalpel.
"Even more so for someone as young as you."
I yanked my arm back with force and she let go without resistance, as if she just wanted to prove that I couldn't do anything to her.
Even having done nothing, my breathing was ragged.
"Do you like pain?"
She asked as she stood up and walked toward the table.
"Or are you just weak?"
I felt a heat rise up my neck.
It was anger, fear, and shame. All mixed together.
"I don't… like any of that."
She smiled sadly when I answered. She made the same expression as someone who just received the answer they didn't want.
"What a pity. I like it very much."
She leaned against the table, placed her hand on her chin, and continued analyzing me. At some point, I realized my breathing was faster and my shoulders were tense.
"People like you are amusing. You try to look strong for… fifteen seconds and then break in such a predictable way, it actually becomes boring."
I wanted to get up, leave, push the door open, punch something.
Anything.
But all I managed to do was look away and take a deep breath, trying to erase the sensation of fear that almost made me vomit.
"I'm not broken."
I spoke, trying to put a little courage in my voice.
"Not yet."
Her voice was full of something I recognized as tranquility.
"But you will be. I guarantee it."
She got up and walked to the shelf of jars.
Each jar had something inside.
They looked like pieces of distorted meat or organs floating in a thick, green liquid. The light reflected on the glass creating small glimmers, as if the thing was alive.
It was something beautiful if you ignored what was inside.
"'The church will save everyone.' They used to say… how funny."
She spoke again while running her finger along the cold surface of a jar.
"'Everything has a purpose.', 'We have redemption.', but you already know that, don't you?"
I didn't know.
But I didn't have the courage to deny it, afraid she would get close to me again.
She picked up a smaller jar, held it up against the light, and smiled.
"I prefer to believe the opposite. Redemption is a lie created by those afraid to look at the truth. Do you believe in redemption, Noah?"
I wanted to say no. But something in the way she asked made me stay silent.
"I thought not."
She answered before I even opened my mouth.
"You don't have the structure to believe in those things."
She returned the jar to the shelf and turned around.
"And that is exactly why people like you are so… deliciously malleable."
My stomach turned.
"I am not malleable."
I said in a pathetic attempt to regain some control.
But she just walked back, stopped in front of me, and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her.
"You are already a broken version of yourself, child."
She whispered.
"You just haven't realized it yet."
I didn't know how to answer.
"Am I broken?"
There was no right answer.
A part of me agreed, but the others seemed to refuse to hand over something I didn't want her to have.
She ran her fingertips down my cheek, and I shivered involuntarily.
"Do you really believe you are human, Noah?"
The question returned.
Only now I understood what she wanted.
It was a moral question. Not metaphysical.
I didn't believe I possessed any inherent value, any dignity, or any line I wouldn't cross.
"I don't know."
She smiled a small, cruel smile.
"Great. You're already learning to tell the truth, even without meaning to."
She stepped away and walked to the door.
"I'm curious to discover more, unfortunately…"
She continued, already opening the door.
"He is waiting for you."
"Who?"
She looked at me with a strange glint in her eyes.
"The Counselor. Of course. Try not to disappoint him, though I would be happy if that happened. He detests people who know nothing."
When I stood up, I felt my legs lock up for a few seconds; my muscles didn't know if they wanted to run or kneel.
But I managed to take a step.
Not out of courage, but because staying there with that madwoman was worse. I walked out the door trying not to remember her voice, trying not to scrub the place where her almost gentle touch had landed on me.
I could feel her eyes fixed on my back even after I had walked a few meters.
Outside, the hallway seemed narrower than before.
Maybe it was the fault of the yellow light, which had a dirty tone as if it were older, or maybe it was just the fault of that unnerving gaze behind me.
I walked slowly, expecting something to appear in front of me or for her to run after me again, but nothing happened.
No sound. No shadow. No presence. It was almost as if there was nothing alive there.
With every step, I tried to organize thoughts that didn't want to align. I still felt her voice asking if I believed I was human, and it repeated in my head like an echo.
I knew it wasn't about humanity. It was more about knowing if I had any moral fiber to be bent, or if I was already bent from the start.
I didn't know the answer.
The hallway was short; perhaps I walked for one or two minutes when I reached a door that didn't match the rest of the place.
It was dark wood, heavy, with deep marks like dragged fingernails or something larger, and it looked old, very old.
When I touched it, I had the impression that it felt too warm and didn't have the texture of wood.
It didn't have a handle or anything, so when I pushed it, it opened easily.
The smell that came out of there was so strong I almost turned back.
It smelled of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. All of that mixed together left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I breathed in a bit of the clean air from the hallway and went in.
It was the right choice.
The air inside was denser, almost sticky.
The room was bigger than it appeared. It had low, yellowish lighting, almost like a bar. But whoever designed it forgot that if it were a bar, it should at least look welcoming.
Dark walls, stained with soot. The floor had deep scratches, signs of dragged furniture or heavy boots. The table in the left corner was covered with open bottles, crumpled papers, and ashes of something burnt.
And behind the table, a man.
Sitting like a monolith, he was the type of man who could break down a door with his shoulder and keep walking without looking back.
Shoulders too broad, skin marked by old scars, and a heavy, dark beard covered half his face. He had enormous arms, and the defined muscles would be incredible if not for the protruding belly.
He lifted his head and looked straight at me.
There didn't seem to be any light in those eyes. He looked like anything but human.
"You said you know me."
He began, without emotion, while grabbing a bottle that looked too small in those hands.
"I don't remember meeting a worm like you."
My head buzzed, and my mind went blank.
His words reached me, but they didn't make sense.
"Who are you?"
I couldn't help but ask, with the sensation of dread growing slowly inside me.
"What? Now you don't recognize the Counselor anymore?"
He laughed mockingly, but only for half a second. When he stopped, he looked at me as if I were already dead.
"Close that door."