Method For Madness - Chapter 2

Thank you for taking the time to read this! I spent a lot of time writing this and any comments both positive and negative are very welcome!

CHAPTER 2

“Imagine it, taking full control of your body” The speaker looked around the room. There were soft flickering lights that looked set to give out. The room itself was covered in “authentic” Irish memorabilia. From the “Guinness is good for you” signs hanging on red exposed brick walls to the old whiskey bottles lining the structurally unsound and cluttered shelves. The room was a bastardisation of culture. It stood about 40 meters squared with a door on either side with a constant stream of patrons of all ages. The group sat at an old rickety table in the corner under an old Hi-Fi system quietly playing “traditional” Irish music. The table was situated beside a dirty window and was propped up and held level with a stack of beer coasters under one leg of the table courtesy of Evan. The speaker sat with the window on his right. Outside was the black expanse of cold, rain and misery typical of that desolate place at that time of the year. The speaker looked at his companions with a manic excitement. A look that his comrades knew all too well. He would get a “revolutionary” idea that would make millions or change everyone's lives but they rarely saw the fruits of such schemes. He always had a new idea. There was his buying silver scheme in which he would buy silver ounce bullions from England and sell them in Ireland for a profit. There was the online mens accessory store that would sell everything the modern man needed like watches, cufflinks, hip flasks, ties and hair wax. There was the the induction electricity source for powering drones. There was the zombie game where the character existed in a bubble and pushed it to gain territory while fighting off waves of monsters. Some were more outlandish or plausible than others. His personal favourite was the “ThunderHum”. This was the idea that he could agitate the magnet implanted in his finger to rely silent messages to the user without anyone else being aware of it.
Today was different.

“You've all heard that factoid of how we supposedly only use 10% of our brains right? What does that mean to you?” Evan, who reached the pub before the rest of the group and thus had consumed considerably more alcohol, decided that it was his moment to shine. “It means that once we unlock our genetic code we will be able to control things with our minds!” At that moment he made an exaggerated hand movement and knocked his fresh pint straight onto his jeans and the surrounding table.
Roark snatched his pocket watch off the table before it became permeated with cheap beer. He had a fair idea that it was indeed waterproof since he had designed and built it himself but he figured it best to nether allow it to stink of beer nor test his craftsmanship. He took a moment to examine his pocket watch again under the semi static light while the laughs and shouts of outrage played out in front of him. The gold harp on the silver background danced with every flicker of the light.

Once some semblance of order returned and Evan was in the bathroom attempting to dry his jeans on the hand dryer, Roark continued; “No. It doesn't mean telekinesis. It means taming the subconscious. Unconscious actions occur every second in our bodies without our faintest knowledge of it. Our cells multiply. Our hearts beat. Our liver and kidneys work tirelessly to clean our blood. Why do our bodies only grow 2 arms? Why not a third straight out of our chests?”

Clare, who had been waiting patiently during the commotion answered Roark eagerly; “Evolution?” Roark looked at her like he looked at everyone, his eyes smiled as he maintained eye contact. His excitement was infectious. “Yes evolution has been the primary mode of progress for species but it entails random mutations followed by survival of the fittest for the best mutation over the course of countless generations and millions if not billions of years.”
Roark spoke as if his mouth could not keep up with his brain. He spoke without any pauses nor any consideration for his audience trying to interpret his thoughts. He had an Irish accent. A Dublin accent specifically. It was neither posh nor rough, somewhere in the middle which meant he could easily move in either crowd. He could hear the murmurings of a successful pub in the background but his table was silent. What some Irish people had sold to the Americans as “traditional” music played softly in the background. He could not stand it. Not in all the years he had lived had his parents or grandparents ever played this type of music. Like so many things, it was a con-commodity sold to foreigners with questionable Irish heritage like “Connemara Soil” or "A Breath of Galway Air In A Jar".

“No what I'm proposing is different.”
“I'm not talking about future generations slightly mutating over countless generations. I'm talking about us manipulating our minds and bodies to do whatever we want. Imagine we could tell our bodies to stop holding fat or to grow six packs. Imagine we could organise our minds and never forget anything again. Imagine we could stop feeling pain or stop feeling nauseous or never again need to sleep?”
At this moment, another one of the listeners at the table who was more skeptical decided it was their turn to Interject.
“This is ridiculous, how could we possibly control the automatic functions of our bodies? Most people can barely use the bits of the brain we can already control.”

Roark looked at him. He did not allow the slight annoyance he felt manifest itself on his face.
“like you said Sean, most people can't properly use the pieces of control they already possess, like how you waste your time screaming at a tv watching sweaty men play with balls. But this revolution will indeed leave most people behind. Not everyone can be the leader for there would be nobody left to follow. This is for a select few who are brave enough to try.”
The girls at the table burst out laughing at Roark’s sentiments to professional football because it mirrored their own thoughts on it but, the latter part of his reply was ominous.

“And how will you take full control of your mind Roark?” Jane gave him a smile that implied something more. Others at the table noticed how she leaned forward and played with her long flowing red hair and tonight like most nights, she continued this ritual while watching the eccentric young man relay his latest assertion of madness. Roark was the envy of the other men at the table for the attention she paid him.

While Jane knew she was beautiful, she thought of herself as an intellectual. When Roark looked at her, he looked her in the eyes unlike most men and some women she had known. What she saw in Roark was the fact he more interested in what she had to say than how loud she screamed. She went out of her way to see him for that. Although Roark did not frequent his friend’s group activities much, she made sure not to miss a single one when he was present. The other thing she liked about Roark was that, when she caught the others staring at her, they were always staring at her chest. Yet when she caught Roark he was always staring straight into her eyes. His eyes almost smiled at her and again unlike the others he would not immediately advert his eyes once caught. Even in lust the man was an enigma. Something she thought she knew all about.

“Simple. There is a section of each and every one of our brains that controls these automatic functions. They must be destroyed and replaced.” Roark took a drink of his Guinness. When he lifted his glass there was silence. By the time he took a sip of his drink there was uproar from every member of the group except one. He let the first hysterics wash over him while he thought of just how dry his mouth had been before he took that sip.

Roark never had anything to prove to these people nor anyone for that matter. Their opinions on his work meant little if anything to him. He did consider their opinions on other things and would hear them out on nearly everything but at the end of the day he would objectively look at the facts and form his own opinion on things. Sometimes he agreed with them. A lot of the time he did not. He often did not destroy their view except when pressed. They would almost always ask. The only one he ever felt that he had something to prove to was himself. Nothing was out of his reach and he judged himself by higher standards than he judged anyone around him. For Roark, god wasn’t real and did not matter. Roark was the highest judge of himself that he would ever consider. Just aswell since he judged himself harsher than god could.
“That’s it isn't it? You’ve lost it!”
“Think about what you said!”
“What did I miss?!”
The last voice was Evan who had finally returned from his futile attempt of making it look like he didn’t wet himself. Jane just sat back. She wasn’t sure if he had been joking. She looked in his eyes and realised he wasn’t. She then thought that this was why she had left California. To find individuals like Roark.
“Roark wants to get a lobotomy.”
“No way! Can I keep the bits of your brain so I can persevere it for future generations?”
Roark smiled. His smile pulled on his right cheek more than his left. “Of course you can.”
“How will you know which bits to amputate?” Jane questioned him calmly. Her tone was light and casual, as if she had asked him the time of day or how his trip was.

Roark looked at her and smiled. He took notice of how she reacted. She was sipping a cocktail and waiting for his reply. He casually checked his pocket watch and placed it on the table. The gesture was like he signed his name on a contract that he had authored in that, he meant every word. Every move deliberate and carried out with purpose.
“By consulting an expert. There is a man in_____ that has been studying brain activity for some time now and I have read all of his papers. His research focuses on lab rats and how when a specific part of their brains are removed they tend to die but not without rapid changes in their bodies. Mostly their dopamine receptors are overloaded with stimuli and they do not pump blood nor breathe. He needs my technological contribution and I need his expertise in brain anatomy.”

It was like he just told them he was going to the moon. (He did in fact have an interest in sending his own probe to the moon.) he looked around the table. They wouldn't meet his eye contact. He could guess their thoughts. Some were frightened. Others did not think he would follow through. Others visibly did not want him to succeed. But then he looked at Jane. she was the exception to the rule. She simply smiled. She knew no matter what he put his heart into, be it hair dressing or sweeping floors, he would command the respect of those around him and succeed in his endeavor.

Roark drained the rest of his glass and stood up, pushing his chair back in one swift motion. “I'm going to get another drink. If you have something meaningful to add to my plan I'll hear it when I get back.” “I'll come with you, I need a refill too.” Jane finished the remnants of her drink and stood too. The rest of the men who had been thinking over the plea to be admitted to St Michael's that they just heard were suddenly jolted from their thoughts by the figure of Jane following Roark through the door towards the bar. They did not even notice Roark picking his pocket watch up off the table before leaving. They were transfixed on the sight of Jane's elegant figure slowly moving away and what had once been pity for Roark now turned to envy.

Roark walked with purpose towards the bar. The barman was a gruff stern man who looked like he gave up his dreams and resided himself to a wife he hates, kids he doesn't know and a miserable bar for the rest of his life. His only solace was the football on TV.
“Yeh alri?” gruffed the barman in order to carry out his duty.
Roark thought of his grandfather. He had memories of arriving at his grandparents house when he was young and his grandfather would always have 4 Guinness's once he came home from work. The man was a serial entrepreneur worth millions and owned 3 businesses and had stakes in 3 others yet, still worked as a taxi driver. He had more money than he could spend and would still worked 5 days a week. Roark’s dad surmised that it was to get away from his wife, Roark's granny. “I'll have a Guinness.” The old barman nodded an approval and fetched a glass in order to pour the drink. He thought about the coins he held in his hands. These coins are the physical manifestation of the worth of his work. In trading his coins, he was trading the best of his effort for the labour and produce of others. “4.20 when you’re ready bud” the barman growled as he left the first pour of the Guinness sit on the edge of the bar. Roark gave the coins to the barman while he watched the black roasted liquid cascaded down to the bottom of the glass as the white cream rose to the top. Just then he noticed Jane approaching from behind.

Jane stood beside Roark and leaned over the bar. She didn't need to stare at the bartender long before she made eye contact and he came running. “What can I get you love?” he even cracked a smile while asking.
“Orchards Thieves please.”
“Coming right up.” and with that be hurried away to retrieve her drink.
Other patrons at the bar had noticed her as soon as she had approached the bar. She was used to shy glances from men but these days it didn't bother her. “Where are you from love?” A patron inquired. He was a middle aged man with a receding hairline, a cut on his head and a belly that was protruding from under his shirt who was probably here to avoid his wife and kids. “California originally.”
“And what are you doing in a miserable place like this?”
“I wouldn't try it Dave, she's mad about Roark here.”
Evan had appeared behind them with his jacket on and scarf wrapped round his neck.
“Sure she hasn't met me yet, what the fuck would you know ya little twerp?”
“Enough to know she doesn't want a baldy fat fuck with kids flopping around on her like a fish for 30 seconds.”
“Hey!”
He stood up and pointed a pudgy finger in Evan’s direction.
“It's a minute not 30 seconds!”
And with that he burst into laughter and sat back down.
“You're a lucky man Roark, you better come back down to training during the week otherwise you'll end up like me!”
Roark stared at the man as the bartender returned with Jane’s drink and proceeded to finish topping up Roark's Guinness.

“Why have you got your coat on Evan? That stain isn't that bad.” Jane inquired.
“We're heading to cafe bar now in a second. Are you two coming?” Jane smirked. She knew full well Roark's disdain for that place. He once characterised it as the place where you see people one day of the week who you’ve been avoiding the other 6 days. “You already know my answer.” Roark replied turning his attention back to his friends.

“I know, but I wouldn't feel right not asking. What about you Jane? The lads wanted me to try and convince you.” Jane motioned to her fresh drink. “I might follow you after.” Evan smiled knowing she wouldn't. “Come on and say bye to the lads then.” Evan sighed as he ushered both of them back to where they had been sitting.
Ciara was trying to hurry the group up but they had no intention of leaving till they knew whether Jane was coming. Once they saw Jane's fresh drink they knew she wasn't coming and made minor pleasantries before hurrying to make it to cafe before free in closed.

Roark sat on the bench against the wall and Jane sat opposite him.
“Who was that at the bar?”
“That was Dave. He manages the local G.A.A team. You should know by now that everyone knows everyone here.”
“It didn't seem like you liked him. You weren't jealous were you?” Jane teased.
“As much as you'd love that to be the case it's actually the fact he's an idiot with an over inflated ego who tries to belittle people. I try not to be associated with people like that.”
“Why what did he do or say?”
He threw a fit because Evan gave a free away in a match and hurled a boot at Evan’s head in the dressing room a while back.”
“And what did Evan do?”
He didn't get a chance to do anything because I caught it and threw it back at his head and told him if he ever tried that again I'd kick the head off him.”
“Is that why he was asking you about training?”
“Yes.”
“And is that why he had a cut on his head?”
“Yes.”
“I'm glad you stepped in to have him leave me alone.”
“You're not a damsel in distress and I won't treat you like one. I also knew who he was and who you are and that you were more than capable of handling yourself against creeps like that. I also wanted to see how Evan would act seeing him for the first time since the dressing room.”
“And how did he do in your almighty opinion?” Jane mocked with a playful smile.
“Roark smirked. “Couldn't of been prouder.”
Speaking of cuts, what's that on your finger? And since when do you wear rings?
Roark examined the cut on his finger. It ran about 4mm on this right hand ring finger tip. It still looked raw but clearly healing well. He smiled. “Text me something and I'll tell you what you've sent without looking at my phone.”
Jane was intrigued now. She dove into her handbag and retrieved her phone and quickly punched out a message while grinning and glancing at Roark from time to time. Once sent she put the phone face down on the table.

Roark waited a moment and took a sip of his Guinness that had just finished settling. He placed it down and laughed. “You asked if we should head back to yours or mine.” Jane sat back shocked. “How did you do that?” She then stated angrily “And you didn't reply.” Roark laughed and took another gulp of his pint. With a few taps on the ring Jane’s phone buzzed and there was the reply Finish your drink. With that, she downed her drink while thinking to herself that she had found someone special.

@MadMan198