The Discord Agent

My role is very simple. I help people. I help them whether they like it or not. Their like does not concern me, it is the noisy buzz of a fly. There are far bigger things in this world and as a discord agent, I occupy my time with those things. This is my reason for being. If anyone were to ask me, I suppose I am happy in my work.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a fixer. I’ve seen those lemmings on a quest to fix others. There’s a plank in their eye, yet they concern themselves with the splinters they see in the eyes of those around them. Their efforts hurt them and seldom land successfully. Neither am I a saviour. There’s only one of those and I know my place and I know it well.

When Luke comes to visit my place of work he presents well. Very well indeed. I watch him. That is to say I observe. That is a big part of what I do. I read the room at the exact same time that someone like Luke does. He’s a good reader of rooms. Has to be. It’s what he does and it’s how he survives. He’s an extreme of the species with many tricks in his bag. He uses some of those tricks to hide in plain sight. Gives the room the illusion of what it wants, so he can then take what he wants from it.

I’ve always had a knack. For an age, I did not know what that knack was, let alone what it was for. There was a time when I referred to it as sight. I saw things that others could not. As I explored this gift of mine, I realised that we all see. Not that we can see. We do see. Problem is that the largest component of vision is our mind and we can conveniently edit what we are seeing into something more palatable. And so we do. This helps the likes of Luke. He really doesn’t have to do much of anything. We do the work for him and he sits back and enjoys the spoils.

I learnt to see what was not there. The gaps. The absences. Once you look for the interruptions in the fabric of reality, they become quite obvious. They are also frightening. They ripple with the darkness we are born fearing. A darkness that goes nowhere when a parent turns on a night light and reassures their child that there’s nothing there. They are of course correct in this glib assessment. It’s the nothing that elicits such fear. Not quite fear of the unknown. We know this darkness all too well and we are terrified of what it is capable of. What we are capable of when we think no one is looking. When we convince ourselves that no one knows. But they do, and there is always a reckoning.

Luke thinks I’m not looking. That I don’t see. He’s never encountered anyone like me and in his arrogance, he believes I have never encountered anyone as special and unique as him. His hubris is what will undo him. That and my gift. I see him well. Which is to say I see his absence and I can reach beyond that. I can reach all the way down. Whether he likes it or not.

He feigns upset. Doesn’t know why his wife is behaving the way she is. Provides me with plenty to work with. All smoke and mirrors. I don’t even need to waft that mist away. Behind it there is Luke’s game. He blames Clair. For everything. Projects every ounce of his pain and hate upon her. She is his current sacrificial lamb and he is attempting to co-opt me into his ongoing abuse of her. Intends to make of me a flying monkey. He’s rather good at this sort of manipulation.

With anyone else, he would succeed. Few therapists understand Luke’s nature. And so they either deem him healthy from the off, or cure a fiction so that he can use his clean bill of health and the work he has supposedly done as yet another stick to beat his already bewildered victim to death with. And make no mistake, his is a game of death. There are words that are more effective than sticks and stones. Luke is living proof of that. There are many ways you can kill someone. The illusion of love followed by the withdrawal of it creates an insane trauma bond that many victims never break free from. They cling onto a feeling generated entirely by themselves. They fall in love with their hopes and dreams as they are punished for that very love. Torn in two, they blame themselves for everything that goes wrong. They embrace a conveyor belt of pain that dismantles them. They live in a world of pain which is the mirror of Luke’s pain. This madness is highly contagious, but I doubt it will ever hit the headlines even as it nears pandemic levels. Mental health is taboo. So everyone turns a blind eye. Which suits Luke just fine.

I’ve seen the wake of destruction behind the Lukes of this world. I see it all. They are killers who will never see justice. They are walking injustices. Smiling agents of chaos intent on hating poor, unsuspecting empaths to death. The deceit oozes from every one of his pores. He knows what he is and is all too aware of what he does. Hurting his intended victim is his drug of choice. Imagine a cruel and callous child getting one over on an adult. The wicked smile playing across his lips. The cold glint in his eye as he wins. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d watch Clair die. Whether by his own hand or withholding vital help as her life ebbed away.

Clair is married to a stone cold killer, but she doesn’t want to accept that. She knows and yet at the very same time she knows nothing of the sort. Luke presents her with a merry go round of masks that amount to two distinct types. There’s a monster taking Clair apart bit by bit. Then there’s the smiling, golden boy that charms that poor woman along a path that is getting darker and more painful with every step she takes along it. Guess which one is the real Luke? The golden promise is one he never intends to fulfil, and it is the promise of his true self. The self he hides from the world.

Although, that’s not quite it either. The Luke sitting opposite me on a sofa that isn’t quite as comfortable as it looks and drinking his tea from a China cup, isn’t Luke at all. Luke stopped being Luke a long time ago. I watch the ego-personality place the cup on the saucer and I smile. He mirrors the smile. This is how he lays siege to those around him. He’s an adept mimic and actor. World class. Few if any, will ever discover that his entire existence is an act aimed at his getting what he wants without ever giving anything in return.

There is a price to be paid, but this version of Luke never pays it. This mask is supposed protection from a world that the real Luke found to be too cruel and painful. The real Luke is hiding within this illusion and every dark act imprisons him further behind crushing walls of pain. The Luke that sits opposite me is numb. He feels nothing. His real self is in purgatory. His soul is constantly tortured. This is hell on earth and Luke has given himself over to a demon. That is all there is to it. The demon promised Luke protection and a whole heap of other goodies besides. The one person Luke trusted was himself and he was betrayed. The depth and nature of that betrayal sickens me. As it should. This is the darkness we all fear. This is evil up close and coldly personal.

I have waited until the sixth session. He is paying me after all. Paying me to be his unwitting stooge. Getting off on the deception of a supposedly bright person. Proving yet again that we’re all as thick as pig shit and he is a superior being. That he has made of himself something better than the rest of us. This entitles him to use us until there is nothing left. I also like the symbolism of the number six. The number of the beast. He plays his game and I play mine. Today I will draw him into my game and land him on the deck of my ship. He will flail and gasp as he awakens to the loss of his game. Without his support system he will panic and expose himself for what he truly is. This is as dangerous as it gets. Never unmask them. The gloves are off when you call them out. And they fight dirty.

I’ve been doing this a while though and it’s like taking candy from a baby. Or squeezing one of those juicy spots you get on your chin when you’re a teenager. Expelling the unwanted guest. Clearing house. Restoring the device to factory settings.

Today, the careful rituals that make my therapy room a safe space so that my clients can open up and rediscover their strength in their vulnerability are cast aside once Luke is seated. There has been no offer of a beverage and in that change alone it is clear that there is a distinct lack of warmth. All the same, I smile as I turn from the door that I have locked. Pocketing the key as Luke fails for once to mirror my expression.

“I know,” I say this calmly and I maintain the smile. This hits him hard. There is no malice. No tension. I’ve merely stated a fact.

I’m rewarded with a flash of confusion and then he smirks at me with a shit-kicker grin he wants me to wipe from his face, “you sound like her.”

I shrug, “and who would that be?” I ask. I’ve walked across the room and reached under the pelmet of the curtains and I’m pulling down the metal shutter. I lock it shut.

He doesn’t ask what I’m doing. Neither does he answer my question. There’s a terrible look of cunning to him now. And the eyes. Those windows to the soul. They’re as vacant as can be. The temperature in the room drops. I don’t imagine it. I’ve been expecting it.

I shudder and grin, “bit chilly in here isn’t it?”. Taking my seat opposite him I lean towards him and fetch up a remote control. Turning up the heat in the room, I then toss the remote to one side on my sofa and cross my legs. Eying him as I dust off an imagined fleck of dust from my knee.

There is power in my pause. He shrinks in the face of my silent scrutiny. Regrouping and considering how to attack me. I’m well aware what he is thinking; he’s not locked in here with me, I’m locked in here with him. The role of aggressor is his. Always has been. His creed is attack is the best form of defence. He has built himself up in the torture of innocents and those weaker than him. But bullies are always weak. Always.

Wagging a finger at him just before he attempts to rise up, I grin again, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“And why’s that?” his voice is different now. All pretence is gone. This is not Luke’s voice. It isn’t even human. They aren’t human. The parasites that take over when someone gives up on themselves and hides in their own darkness. The cuckoo who would flick the defenceless chick out of the nest, if only it could.

“Because you don’t stand a chance,” I wink conspiratorially, “and it’ll hurt a hell of a lot more if you resist.”

He stands, “I think you’d better let me out.” That voice. It really doesn’t belong. There’s a liquid quality to it. As though his airways are rotten. Soon there will follow a foul stench. That stench will linger for quite some time. I’ve yet to find anything that will remove it. Masking it really isn’t a good idea and doesn’t sit right with me in the circumstances.

“Oh,” I say with a chuckle, “I’m certainly going to do that.”

Now Luke is a big man. I should be scared, even before factoring in his constant and ever growing rage and the lack of any semblance of conscience. I rise to meet him. He can’t read me and he’s scrabbling through his bag of tricks desperately trying to find something he can use against me.

I’m pushing him. I’ve been pushing throughout all of our sessions. Turning the tables on him. Cornering him. Leaving him with only one option. To lash out.

It’s a trap. Just as he used a trap to trick Luke into the dark depths of himself. A trap that vacated the driving seat and allowed this foul thing to rise up and take control. A simple and yet irrevocable trap. People like Luke are never cured. They see no utility in change. Healing is a retrograde step. Why join the ordinary masses? Why become fodder for the other toxic parasites that stalk this world? The squatter has found their dream dwelling. Why would they leave?

I’ve moved around the coffee table so that we’re facing each other. I smile my serene smile and I await the inevitable. I should be frightened. This is when it all happens. The potential for this to be my last dance is always there. As predictable as these creatures are, life has a habit of throwing interesting variables into the mix. We are always winging it and relying on a generous helping of luck to smooth the way.

When he lunges I have already become. The knack is a kind of flow state. An elevated way of being. I experience this moment in all its glory. Time itself is mine. I have all the time in the world. This is my space and I come as close to creation as I think it is possible for us to. Moving in the gaps, I entwine myself around the person that should be Luke. Wrap him in my arms and stifle his movement and his aggression. Smother it with an energy he can never prevail against.

I hug this man. A man who has been so rage-filled and hyper-anxious since childhood that his muscles are chords of steel. But even with his enhanced strength he is no match for me. My energy lights him up as I lean in and kiss his cheek and say, “Love is the answer, Luke.”

I lean back to watch his expression of surprise. I’m smiling again. A beatific smile filled with that shine that is filling Luke as we stand in an embrace he cannot break, “I love you with everything I have and everything I am. This is my gift to you.”

Luke’s face ripples and distorts at this, “no!” he gasps in that liquid and guttural voice, and as his mouth opens I kiss him and breath that foul host in. All of him. This is where the character that would be Luke parts ways with the person Luke should always have been. I take the demon into myself and I swallow him down, consigning him to the depths of a darkness that goes far beyond the darkness that we all contain. In that darkness is a portal to the place from whence these demons come. I’m sending him home again. Allowing him to find his way to where he belongs.

As I take these spirits in I feel all the pain they have caused. I thrum with the terrible energy of it. I am as aware as I can possibly be and always I marvel at how I am able to weather that dark storm. But then, I never once lose sight of the guiding light. Never once do I stop loving the small child that fell. All that matters is the child that Luke was and the man he will be. I reach out to Luke’s soul and love lights the way for the both of us.

When Luke returns my embrace and begins to sob I know our work together is done.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…” Luke says these words over and over again as I hold him and I know he means this apology with every fibre of his being. And I know that now he has been touched by the light of love, he will live a beautiful life of remorse. After all, remorse is merely gratitude by another name.

Afterwards, I watch Luke from the window of my therapy room. He beckons Clair from the car when she pulls up to give him a lift home. She hesitates for a moment, but then she sees something in him that she has only ever glimpsed from afar. She sees what she fell in love with from the very first moment she knew Luke and when she does, she cannot get out of the car fast enough. They fall into each other’s arms and I join them in weeping with a joy that washes through us all. Removing the chaos and discord that blights so many lives. Replacing it with the clarity and order of love and truth.

I’m a discord agent. It feels like I’ve been here for a long time. Since near the very beginning. Time flows differently for me. Has done ever since I fell from grace and found where it was that I truly belonged.