IV — The Great Pale King

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[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]Spiral targets Dr. Fedorov while trying to maintain control over the forces within him.[/div][/div]

[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
MADS MIKKELSEN   as SPIRAL (THE NARRATOR)
ANYA TAYLOR-JOY  as MADDI  (THE ENTITY)
WILLIAM FICHTNER as DR. ARTUR FEDOROV[/div]
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[div class="spiral-headline"]IV[/div]
[div class="spiral-subheadline"]THE GREAT PALE KING[/div]

[div class="spiral-quote"]And as an ev'ning dragon came,
Assailant on the perched roosts
And nests in order rang'd
Of tame villatic fowl.[/div]
[span class="spiral-quote-author"]— John Milton,[/span], [span class="spiral-quote-source"]Samson Agonistes[/span]

[div class="spiral-indent"]DR. FEDOROV IS EXITING THE ELEVATOR and I wonder if his instincts are screaming warnings of Turn Back and Danger Ahead. I watch him as I've watched so many like him before: hidden in the shadows and coiled to strike. Watch as he lights a cigarette and blows smoke into the air while walking toward his car. Watch as he shoves a hand in his pocket for his keys. He fumbles for the right one. I hear the key go in and the door unlocks. He gets into the car, shuts the door behind him, turns the engine over, and then—[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I sit up in his backseat and clamp my gloved hand over his mouth. He panics and begins screaming through my fingers. His hands are trying to grab at mine, trying to pry it from his face. His jerks are rocking the car back and forth. He doesn't see my right hand coming from the other side, not until it drives a needle into the meat of his neck. He freezes in an awkward position, not screaming but breathing hot air in and out his nose. In the rearview mirror, his eyes are wide and staring at the syringe, at the neon blue liquid in the plastic barrel, and my thumb hovering over the plunger.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I lean forward, just behind his ear. I say in Russian, "There are twenty millilitres of drain cleaner in this syringe. Do as I say without hesitation or I will inject all of it right into your jugular. Nod if you understand."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He slowly, carefully nods. His eyes are nearly coming out of their sockets.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Good, doctor. Very good. Now I am going to remove my hand from your disgusting mouth. No screaming. Speak only if I ask you a question." I take my hand from his mouth and wipe off the saliva and snot on his shoulder. He takes a long deep breath and lightly coughs, but he sits still and doesn't speak.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Keep this up," I say, "and you may yet survive the night."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]We drive, first out of the garage and then on to the highway. He follows my directions without question or hesitation. We drive north for an hour. The tires hum on the road and the engine rumbles like a lawnmower. He never tries to speak to me and his hands, boney and white-knuckled, stay locked on the steering wheel.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"There is a turn up ahead," I say at last. "Take it."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His eyes shoot to mine in the rearview mirror, unblinking and full of panic. Fear overwhelms him, and dread. His rat-face, drained of color, is grey, blotchy, and slick with sweat. Each breath is a rapid chestful of air. The car isn't slowing down. His mouth opens, about to speak, with strings of saliva between his lips.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I put my thumb against the plunger. "Turn now!"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He is starting to cry as his hands turn the steering wheel. The car leaves the highway for a two-lane road, passing a big wooden sign that reads [span class="spiral-smallcaps"]elk island national park.[/span] The roadway winds for two miles through the forest before turning into a dark, empty parking lot. He eases a foot on the brake and looks at me in the mirror for instruction.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Not yet, doctor." I point ahead at a dirt road. "Go there."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The car leaves the asphalt. I say, "Easy now," as rocks and branches begin to pop and crack under the tires. We drive slowly along the straight path. Outside the windows a black forest creeps past, and above, a moonless sky.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Stop," I tell him. The car jerks to a halt. The headlights reflect off a warning sign.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"][span class="spiral-smallcaps"]boloto vnimaniya.[/span][/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"][span class="spiral-smallcaps"]attention swamp.[/span][/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Kill the engine. Leave the lights on."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The key turns and the car gives one last rumble before falling quiet. He is sobbing like a child with these big heavy breaths in between heaves of spit and mucus. I say, "Do you know how repulsive you are, doctor? Do you see it in the mirror every morning?" I reach my left hand over his shoulder. "Give me the keys."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He pulls them from the ignition and hands them over.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Get out." I remove the needle from his neck and replace the plastic sheath. "We're going for a walk."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He stumbles out and falls on his knees. "Please don't do this," he says with a soft whimper, as if his miserable pleads could affect me. The syringe goes into my jacket pocket. I yank him hard off the ground and throw him hard into the side of the car.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Why me?" he chokes out.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You are inadequate, Dr. Fedorov." I let go of him and take a slow step back. "Unfit to live in this new world like so many others, but why you? Truthfully, if you are looking for a reason, the answer is simple: most sheep mind the wolf. You called out, and the wolf came running." One step brings me closer, and another. He recoils as I near. I tell him, "That is the why, doctor, but like you, it is inconsequential. Equally boring is the what. You are here to die, doctor, but how? That is the real question. Do you want to know? Listen close..."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I grab him by the jaw and tell him.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You're going to kill yourself."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He pulls his head away and shakes it. "No, never," he says. "You'll have to do it yourself, you sick bastard."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, tut-tut, doctor." I wipe the hair from his face and grab a handful. "Let's not resort ourselves to name calling. After all, what would Emilia think."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He screams in my face, "How do you fucking know my wife's name?" His hands are beating on my arm to get free. "I will fucking kill you!"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I laugh right in his stupid rat-face and pull him, head first, from the car. I'm dragging him, kicking and screaming, by the crown of grey hair on his head. "And your daughter, Sofia. You wouldn't want her to hear that kind of language."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His words devolve into the growls and grunts of a desperate animal caught in a snare. He tries to dig through my Hilts Willard lambskin glove and fails. The farther we get from the car, the softer the dirt gets, and wetter. The smell of stagnant water is overwhelming, and the crickets chirp all around us. Finally, I throw him forward, and he lands in a foot of swamp water. He thrashes about, trying to get to his feet, but the mud is making it difficult.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Your wife is Emilia." My hand slips into my pocket. "Your daughter is Sofia." I pull out a zipper storage bag and hold it out sideways, letting the headlights shine through it, letting him see the scalpel floating in the bottom of the bag. His eyes are fixed on it.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"It is disturbing how much of our lives are on the internet. Take you, for instance. In the hour I waited in the backseat of the car, I invaded your life through your VKontakte profile. Names, faces, behaviors—I learned it all. I even found out that you recently purchased the house at Proletarskaya 23—"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Stop!" he shouts with his hands pressed together. "Please, don't hurt them! Kill me, but leave them be!"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Not I, doctor." The bag is tossed at him. "You are going to slit your wrists and sink under the marsh. Tomorrow someone will find your body rotting in the water, invaded by microorganisms, maybe even ripped apart by a bear. Your family will be devastated and confused, but alive."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I bend down and level my eyes with his. "If you don't, I will kill you anyway, then I will drive to your home." My voice rises above his pitiful wails. "Yes, doctor, and I will force your wife to watch me take Sofia apart piece, by piece, by piece, and hang her entrails around the living room like garland. Then I'll do the same to Emilia, and in one night, your entire family will be erased from existence."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His words tremble. "This can't be happening..." He rocks back and forth with his hands over his head.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Maybe I'll spare your cat. He'll enjoy dining on the remains for a few days."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He has the bag open. His hand is on the handle.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Will you take your own life to save theirs?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He pulls out the scalpel and, in one violent motion, drags it across his throat from ear to ear. Exquisite blood bubbles and poures out of the gaping wound and runs down his chest. It is quite black in this light, and shiny. Agony and regret swirl around in his eyes, and his expression is terrible, but soon peace finds him, and he relaxes all over. His body goes limp and he falls backward into the water.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I watch him for a moment, then stand and walk back to the car. His death is unsatisfying, but killing him myself would not have sated my hunger. A dragon cannot live on insects. My tastes are much too refined for such common fare.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Ultimately, the doctor died as he lived: pathetically. He was not worthy to witness My True Face. He was a slug slithering through life, ill-equipped to testify of my transformation. A slug cannot describe the warmth of the sun or fathom the vastness of the universe no more than the doctor could comprehend the nature of the Great Dragon.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Maddi is waiting for me by the car. "I didn't think he had it in him," she begins. "Even when you told him about the family, I thought he'd puss out."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I agree with her while reaching into the front seat to switch off the headlights. "Killing his family would have been enjoyable"—I shut the door and stand—"but too dangerous."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"The code," she says with a very Spiral-like smile. "Rule number one."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Never get caught," I say, starting to walk away.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"But there is a problem," she says next to me, looking at me sideways. "You know of what I speak."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I say abruptly, "I don't want to talk about it."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, come-come now, precious."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Go away."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]She returns to the raging tempest of my mind, leaving me to make the walk back alone. I call out to her, but there is only silence. Fine, I say, and head on.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]It's a thirty minute hike back to the main road, and another thirty to the bus terminal in Korolyov. It's a sad, ugly building, made completely out of concrete. There are buses idling next to it, spewing out noxious fumes. There are passengers, too—some loading, others unloading. Drug addicts. Prostitutes. Derelicts who cannot afford to fly, who wouldn't be welcomed on an airplane even if they could. As I move around the building, I wonder if anyone has ever blown up a bus depot.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Taxis are lined up in front of the terminal. I choose the one with the least amount of cosmetic damage. When I open the back door, it smells...okay. I can suffer the stink of fake pine trees because it looks clean inside. Then I hear Maddi say, "Get in, kiddo."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Not inside my head, but in my ears. I bend down and see her sitting by the other door. She pats the seat next to her. I get into the car, shut the door, and tell the driver, "Airport." I am already annoyed because of the garbage this country calls pop music blaring out of radio. I tell him, "Turn it down," and he does.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Maddi says, "You feel it bubbling up from the deep."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"What?" I say and look at her. "Are we still having the same conversation?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You need to talk to me," she says, staring back at me with those wild eyes. "It isn't time yet. We have much to do."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"The Eater must eat," I say in a low voice. My voice feels strained and gritty. "The hunger is becoming harder to ignore, and I am becoming less interested in ignoring it. How long can I maintain this façade? How long until this person suit can no longer contain the Real Me?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Her hands finds my shoulder. "Patience, my sweet." Her fingers knead into my shoulders, then my neck. "The time will come when you look upon this world with serpent eyes and there is no more skin left to shed. You, the Great Pale King of Death shall walk without fear."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I twist beneath the skin when I say, "And the funeral pyres will blot out the sun."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]She hisses in my ear, "We know what the prophecy says, precious, and we are seeing it. See the mad men around the world move their great forces into strategic positions. See them antagonize one another, condemn one another, threaten one another. They ache for the war to end all wars."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"The final battle," I add with a growing smile.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Ragnarök," she whispers, smiling back.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You're right. It is too soon." I relax in my seat. The hunger subsides, if for only a time. My mind is filled with images of savageries and delights. My eyes drift out the window. There is that moon, no longer hidden behind trees. It is a bone hook slung low near the horizon, just above the distant buildings. My mind wonders out loud. "But if we're as close as you say, then there isn't much time."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Her hand has moved down my arm, past my elbow, to my hand. Our fingers interlock. She says, "You are right, of course. You need many more lives, but not like the doctor. His light was much to dim. You need bright lives. Beacons so bright that no one will doubt their testimony." She leans against me, and puts her head on my shoulder. "And you know where we can find them."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]As the taxi zooms down the highway, I look out the window, and scrawled in bright red on a billboard are the words [span class="spiral-smallcaps"]they are the not born.[/span][/div]
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