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Janus tapped his fingers on the wooden end table pressed up against the plush black armchair he was seated in. His mismatched eyes were thoughtful, not kind, but thoughtful. He often looked like he was actively coming up with a challenge. A test. A trick.
The room was lavish. Dark stained oak made up the floors and furniture. A Persian rug covered the floor. High ornate ceilings above. Strange oil paintings adorned the walls, all normal at a first glance yet stranger when examined.
He kept drumming his fingers. The gloves made the sound silent. Still, the movement was captivating. It wasn’t rapid but measured. All five fingers tap in quick succession before a half moment break. Then again. Again. Again.
The ticking of an unseen grandfather clock rocked a rhythm into the room. His legs were crossed. At the ends of his dress pants, black socks peeked through before being hidden below leather dress shoes. It was 9:00AM. He always looked this formal. He smelt like pine.
‘Do you think, in your opinion, that you’re a good person?’ Janus asked coolly, eyes only half open, like the question was so dull he barely had to be awake to ask it.
‘Odd question to ask me of all people.’ I say, because it is. I am the last person worth asking this.
Janus raises his eyebrows in a mocking replica of surprise. Like my assumption is unexpected, or even bold. It isn’t. ‘I never said you were the only person I’ve ever asked,’ Janus said.
I don’t bother challenging that, though I’m positive he hadn’t been rounding us up one by one to ask. ‘Even still. It’s an odd thing to ask me.’
‘I don’t hear an answer,’ Janus says, fingers drumming again. His gaze is drifting away from me. I’m being boring to him. Or maybe he’s pretending to be bored by me. He wouldn’t be the first to do either.
‘I think good and bad are subjective,’ I tell him, nearly clinically.
Janus smiles. His smiles are sharp and pointy like the edge of a blade. ‘You think that answer impresses me,’ he says like it is fact.
‘I don’t care enough to impress you’ I say.
‘You are refusing to entertain the question. Simply by asking specifically for your opinion, I am acknowledging that the question and answer are both subjective. I know that you cannot objectively answer.’ Janus looks back at me. I don’t like his gaze trained so closely on my face.
‘Then what is the point?’ I say, slightly colder now.
‘Come now,’ Janus chuckles. The sound is like a deep rumble from an old actor with a transatlantic accent. ‘Even you aren’t completely practical. Don’t you enjoy a little bit of stimulating company? Indulge me. It’s one question.’
‘There is no simple answer to your singular question,’ I tell him.
‘Then we can start at a simpler point,’ Janus says like I am a child struggling to understand a basic concept. ‘How about this? Is humanity good?’
‘I don’t believe you are as funny as you think you are.’
‘Come on, I’ve been dying to pick your mind,’ Janus says without convincing me of his words. ‘Just answer the question. Is Humanity good in your opinion?’
‘Again, there is no objective answer to that question,’ I sigh curtly, ‘and what’s the point in an answer that subjective? It’s pointless here. I don’t bother with pointless what ifs.’
‘Mmmmm. Not a philosopher Too practical?’ Janus says, smiling at the window. The glass is frosted, so what lies beyond it is too blurry to make out. It’s hard to decide if Janus would be the type of dream up an unused front lawn just to be blurred by a windowpane. There are certainly some of us who would, but would Janus?
‘No. I am not a philosopher. I leave that to you, Janus,’ I tell him tautly.
‘It’s true, I do love hypotheticals,’ Janus preens, running his fingertips along the brim of his hat, ‘but I like them because they so easily apply to reality. I don’t exclusively spend my hours scheming up pointless questions. I think that I’m clever enough to avoid pointless questions. I ask about what I see.’
‘And what do you see, exactly?’
‘More questions,’ Janus shrugs with his usual poised nonchalance. ‘Just like the ones I’m asking you. Is humanity good in your subjective opinion?’
‘Humans are not good or bad,’ I say, knowing I will not sway him.
‘Right, right, but that’s a cop out, my friend. By saying that, what do we imply?’ Janus asked, spreading his arms.
‘I imagine you will tell me.’
‘Saying there is no good or bad implies that humans are animals. There is no good or bad in a deer or a dog. Are we the same? Or do we simply delude ourselves into it? Our higher intelligence only hinders our personal aspirations then. Morality furthers the wellbeing of our species as a whole while shackling the individual. We need not morals or empathy then. Doing ‘bad’ things aren’t actually bad things at all. Only things.’
‘…Sure,’ I say after a pause, if only to appease him. My hesitation makes it sound like I don’t understand. I do. I just don’t like where he might be steering me. I don’t like being steered at all. This is the most basic train of thought; I don’t understand why he’s wasting his time on it.
Janus looks slightly annoyed at my lack of engagement. ‘So what? You agree?’
‘Elaborate.’
‘Humans are animals controlled by invented feelings of guilt and moral superiority to our unrestrained mammals we share the world with,’ he says.
‘I suppose.’
‘So if I hurt you, it means nothing. I can do what I’d like, and you may acknowledge it as harmful to you, either emotionally or physically, but it is not a ‘bad’ thing to do.’
‘Janus,’ I say wearily, ‘this is neither inventive nor stimulating. I was there when Thomas went to high school. I thought you had better material than this.’
‘Come now,’ Janus clicks his tongue, fingers drumming again. ‘I know you know this. I want your opinion on it.’
‘I think you have a guess as to my opinion, and want your guess to be proven correct,’ I say, feeling impatient. I stuff the feeling down. I don’t have anything pressing to do. Feeling impatient otherwise is a childish emotion. I don’t have time to entertain it.
‘Fine,’ Janus sighs, ‘you really know how to suck the fun out of this you know.’
My hands have been folded in my lap until this point. I feel my arms and spine stiffen.
Janus catches the adjustment in my posture. A self-satisfied smirk tugs at his lips.
‘Is that all then?’ I ask.
‘Not yet, no,’ Janus says, recrossing his legs so that the right one is on top. ‘You’re right. I do have a guess, but that’s the fun of it. Haven’t you ever had a hypothesis you’re itching to test?’
‘I have. Though mine don’t usually involve leading my subject in circles until I’m proven correct.’
Janus pretends to be offended, opening his mouth as his eyebrows draw together in a mimicry of hurt. ‘I would never.’
‘Yes, you would, actually.’
‘Okay fine, I totally enjoy doing that,’ Janus immediately concedes with a smug smile, ‘but that’s to prove a point. This is to test a theory of mine. Completely different. I’m honestly shocked you can’t tell the difference.’
'Care to share your theory, then?’ I ask.
‘Fine,’ Janus sighs dramatically, ‘though it’s less fun that way.’ His fingers begin to drum again, aligning with the beat of the clock ticking from somewhere I cannot quite place.
A few seconds pass. Then longer. A minute and a half go by. Janus is thinking, I can see it in the way his lips twitch every so often. I imagine he’s wording and rewording his pitch behind his closed mouth.
‘Well?’
‘I think that deep down, you believe humans are good,’ Janus says all at once. There’s an anticipation behind his eyes but I can’t see through him well enough to understand why.
I feel my face fall flat. I raise an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
'Is this a roundabout way of insulting my intelligence?’ I ask without much amusement. I feel like the trap he’s setting is closing in on me. He is going to prod and poke until he gets to laugh at me for something. I can feel it. I want to leave, but I’m not so weak to give in just yet.
‘Why would it be?’ Janus asks without answering, head tilting in intrigue.
I pause to think of a good way to support my claim. I level him with a sharper stare. ‘Do you believe humans are good?’
Janus barks out a laugh, looking excited. ‘Turning it on me now? How coy, but this was about you. Unlike many things which are and should be focused on me, I want this to be about you, untainted by my little old opinion. But let’s pretend I did answer, what would that prove?’
'I think you don’t believe humans are good, if I had to make an instinctive guess,’ I say before faltering.
‘And?’
'And by implying that I believe the opposite of you …’ I trail off to my own frustration. It’s hard to get out the words. I feel like I’m being led across a tight rope with a blindfold on. Each step is a gamble.
Janus smirks, leaning back in his seat. ‘You believe that I might believe humanity is bad, and if like I stated previously, you think humanity is good, I think you are wrong. And we just can’t have that, can we?’
I grit my teeth. ‘…yes.’
'Cute. So this whole little game is just a dig at you. A joke. A fun little riddle where the answer is that you are secretly an idiot. Irrational. Biased. Blinded. Wrong,’ Janus says, counting on his fingers as he comes up with different words to describe me as a fool.
'Your track record does you no favors,’ I say lowly.
‘I suppose not,’ Janus shrugs, ‘but no. You’re harder to lead that way compared to the others. I have a different point to make today. Can you guess my next step, darling?’
I glare at him, but I do understand where he’s going with this. ‘Your first question.’
Janus smirks, fingers drumming once more. ‘If I had a cookie, I’d give it to you.’
'Save it.’
‘Do you remember the question in question,’ Janus asks, his finger drumming picking up the pace, losing some of its rhythm in is excitement.
'You asked if I thought I was a good person,’ I say, refusing to look at him. My heart rate quickens. I don’t let my agitation show. Janus is clever, but he’s no mind reader. He’s no god.
‘If you think humans in general are good—’
'Which we have not established—’
'Then do you think you’re a good human?’ Janus finished; eyes fixed on my every move.
‘I’m not even human.’ I say.
‘Don’t bullshit me, darling,’ Janus says, his smug smile boring into my chest.
‘Then I don’t know. It doesn’t matter enough for me to have decided. I am not human, and even if I considered myself one, it doesn’t matter. It’s subjective. It’s pointless. Am I good or bad? I don’t have an answer. I’m afraid you’ll have to manage without one.’
‘I think,’ Janus began slowly, ‘that you refuse to answer. Even in your innermost thoughts. Because if you do decide, you’ll have to face something much larger than something as simple as good or bad.’
‘And what would that be?’ I demand.
‘If you were a good person, why would you be treated the way you are? And if you’re a bad person, then you deserve what you’re becoming despite what he says—'
My vision goes black as soon as I register what Janus is talking about.
‘You don’t deserve it. You deserve better. You deserve to fight it. Good people aren’t bad for defending themselves. Let me handle it.’
Stop. Stop. Shut up. I’m not doing this. Stay back.
‘Please.’
Shut up.
‘I think you’re good.’
It doesn’t matter.
‘Good people deserve better.’
Good people aren’t real.
‘Let me out.’
You’re just my own thoughts. There is nothing to release.
‘Please, Logan?’
‘This is pointless,’ I say to Janus, standing and sinking out of the room before he could object.