Chapter 6: Twelve Spirals

Why did I even decide yesterday that he was a student?! Now, with one-day stubble showing on his cheekbones and chin, he looked older.

His "Cossack" boots thumped loudly on the floor. After forcibly seating the failed runaways at the desk – right in front of him – the tall blond with shaved temples took down a dense narrow case from his shoulder that widened toward the bottom. He pulled out a daily planner in a black leather binding. Sat down. Removed a gel pen with brown contents from the cover and squinted, studying the students. His eyebrows and eyelashes were darker than his hair, and shaded his eyes in a special way.

I involuntarily lowered my gaze and shifted my attention to his hands. The nails are ordinary, light, short-cut. There are no bandages, plasters, or scars on the wrists – in short, not a single hint of recent wounds.

"Let's start with the essentials: no one has ever managed to forge my signature. I mark attendance myself. I fill in the gradebook exclusively with red ink," he paused, then added with a smirk. "Actually, I prefer the blood of virgins, but given the current shortage, I have to use more accessible alternatives."

His heavy gaze fished me out from the mass of students and seemed to catch me on a hook. Nodding slightly, he smiled an imperceptible smile that was understandable only to me.

"Yes, you also sit down," he threw out as if in passing. Classmates who hadn't yet taken their seats obediently complied – as in a courtroom. After a few moments, I finally forced my stiff legs to bend and sank down at the desk by the door – as if planning to run as soon as yesterday's murderer turned away.

"So," when everyone was seated, the musician calmly leaned back in his chair, twirling the red pen in his hand, "I am that very Art History teacher. The new, useless subject that you will all have to master perfectly by the will of fate. My name is Leo Black."

The silence was finally broken, a murmur spread through the auditorium.

"If you already have questions, ask them aloud."

"Is it true that you're a professor?" someone suddenly squeaked.

"What makes you think that?" he scanned the hall and in two counts identified the speaker. Musical hearing, probably.

"Well, it's written in our schedule," a girl from group "M" cautiously explained. "Under your surname."

"Mr. Doe flatters me," the teacher coldly chuckled. "Any other questions?"

Everyone fell silent again. In complete silence, the pages of the gradebook rustled:

"Well then, let's get acquainted with you. What composition do we have here?.." his index finger with a heavy pentagram ring slid down the list of students. "Wow, five phoenixes in the cohort. Accept my condolences. Does anyone from the feathered ones know how many DNA spirals they have? Adamson?"

"Six."

"Becker?"

"Four."

"Edwards?"

"Seven."

"Kirk?"

"Three."

"And I have nine!" Jake proudly shouted, jumping up.

"Brittlegill, sit down, no one asked you. So, Antipova, what about you?"

"Me…" rising, I faltered. My voice sounded quiet – about to disappear completely.

What are they even talking about?! What spirals? And why so many? Shouldn't a human have just two of them?..

"I don't know," I forced out.

"You have…" he froze for a couple of seconds. His glassy, motionless coal eyes pierced me through. It immediately became so cold and uncomfortable inside – as if I'd returned home where thieves had broken in during my absence, ransacked and turned upside down everything that had been so carefully and meticulously arranged on shelves and in cabinets, and then fled through the window, leaving it open. I even shuddered.

Having finished rummaging through me, Mr. Black arched an eyebrow and concluded with a sigh:

"You have all twelve."

There were whistles in the classroom.

"I doubly offer my condolences. Liz Charm, especially to you. You were unlucky to be held back a year. The previous group was much calmer."

"Come on, Mr. Black, you're exaggerating," the redhead seemed to have finally relaxed, realizing there would be no telling-off for the attempted truancy. Blowing a large pink bubble out of her gum, she copied his nonchalant pose. Well, at least she didn't put her feet on the teacher's desk. "Actually, Niki is a cool girl. We've already made friends!.."

* * *

After classes, a long black Mercedes with special license plates and a personal driver came for Lizzy. Or was it a bodyguard?.. Looking at the muscular young man, whose shoulders barely fit in the sleeves of his formal suit, I was so confused that even forgot to say goodbye or ask what had happened to her Audi. Had she crashed it last night?..

Brittlegill, incredibly delighted by his classmate's departure, dragged me to Alexander Garden to "refresh". He was in no hurry – it turns out he's from Petrozavodsk¹⁵, so he also lives in the dorm.

We were sitting on a bench strewn with rustling golden leaves, and in front of us, bright drinks were sparkling in glass bottles, full of bubbles. As last time, mine was red, and the guy's was blue. For several minutes we enjoyed the silence – after the bustle of the school day, we just wanted to catch our breath. Then I finally asked:

"What is orgone?"

"They told us about this in the prep courses. In short, it's life energy," a bottle opener appeared in Jake's hands, and he skillfully pried off the metal caps one after another. "Fuel for the soul. It's called differently in different traditions: aura, qi, prana. Orgone is the Western term. We can buy one portion a day from the vending machine with our cards. Sometimes students need to quickly restore their strength without 'special effects' – like today, for example… Drink quickly! In the physical world, it almost immediately loses its power."

After taking a few sips, I froze again with the bottle in my hand:

"Why do they make it different colors?"

"It's not color, but the frequency of energy vibrations. It corresponds to the state people are in. In senior years, we'll learn to control all colors of orgone, but usually each person has some basic one that they transmit most often. Currently, green is most common in the world – it's radiated by those in love, or those who are yearning, grieving and depressed."

"Hm, are you sure? Those seem like very different states. I'd even say polar opposites. Love is one thing, but grief is completely different…"

"They're polar in the dual understanding of the world," Jake was showing off his knowledge. "But technically, it's all the same green orgone. It can just be used differently – conditionally speaking, in a negative vector or in a positive one. But in absolute terms – in vertical bars – it's the same thing. And if people knew the basics of energy, they could easily move from a state of grief to a state of love. They wouldn't need anything for this except awareness. They wouldn't even need to search for energy somewhere or convert it. It's already in their hands. And interestingly, the love will be just as strong as the grief was a second ago…"

At this point, he had to pause. A couple in love passing by was vigorously arguing about where they should watch a movie today – in the cinema with friends or at home alone. Keeping quiet for a while, Jake waited until they moved away, then commented in a low voice:

"And that's orange energy in all its glory. The girl wants to show off her new boyfriend to her friends, and he wants to get her into bed as soon as possible. So they argue. There'll be more to come: fire, passion, quarrels, jealousy. Couples who have little orange orgone live peacefully, but their attraction to each other has already faded. And those who quarrel fiercely, make up fiercely. Well, you know what I mean," the guy giggled modestly. "It's a pity that orange orgone runs out quickly. A year or two – three at most – and…"

He was interrupted again. This time, some compassionate old lady was loudly explaining to a schoolgirl with a red pomeranian in her arms that dogs are not allowed here. The spitz responded to the old woman with no less indignant yapping.

"And between these two – is it also fire and passion?" I smirked.

Brittlegill shot a glance toward the battle scene:

"Nah, this is already yellow orgone. The struggle for one's self and personal boundaries. Yellow energy provides strong defence at all levels, but at the same time – provokes starting a war."

"And if you don't defend yourself, then you won't have to fight? Two sides of the same coin, right?"

"Something like that," Jake drank his orgone to the bottom in one big gulp. "Whew! I'm so worn out!.."

A couple of blue drops fell between us on the bench, sliding down the neck of the empty bottle.

"Well okay," I muttered uncertainly, "what about the blue energy?"

"Blue energy is radiated by healers and the sick."

"The sick?! You mean to say that energetically they're equal to healers?"

"Yep. Both can have auras that extend for tens of yards – it's especially huge around terminally ill people."

"And what will happen if you pinch off some of that sick patient's energy? Or eat all his orgone altogether? Will he recover then?"

"Yes. That's exactly how I heal."

Jake smiled shyly and wiped his lips:

"I just love blue energy so much! It's the most delicious…" his eyes lit up in a special way. As if having taken a sip of alcohol, he burst into a long tirade. "People can't… don't know how to properly direct the power given to them. It accumulates and causes distortions in body and soul. That's where all the suffering and illnesses come from. We're used to thinking that diseases are given as punishment for sins, but in reality, there are no punishments from above. There is no punishing God. Here you go – take this energy, use it. Live. Vibrate. The heavier your burden, the stronger the potential hidden within you!.. Jesus Christ had such a huge blue aura that even numerous healings and resurrections of the dead didn't help him escape his own suffering. He didn't master his great power, and it poured out into equally great bodily torments. And there are thousands of such holy martyrs like him! This is what Mr. Wordsworth meant this morning in the assembly hall when he shot me. He didn't choose me by accident. The old man may be blind, but he sees orgone perfectly…"

The blood on his shirt had already clotted and turned from bright scarlet to brown. One might think the guy had smeared himself with chocolate or jam in the cafeteria, but I still shuddered when I remembered the beginning of today.

"I was very sick, from early childhood. Everyone feared I wouldn't survive," now Jake thoughtfully examined the green emblem of the pharmacy across the road – a wavy serpent entwining a cup with medicine. "In fact, that's how it was. I died at least a thousand times. As soon as one affliction retreated, another immediately pounced. Pneumonia, jaundice, measles, whooping cough, dysentery, sepsis… There was no end to them. Until at the age of seven, they took me to a village healer…"

A familiar story. I sighed. Painfully familiar, actually. And next, I suppose, there were amulets, camel wool, and all that?..

"The old woman told my mother," Gill continued pouring out his soul, "that I was actually a healer myself, and my illnesses were because I was rejecting my gift. Mom twirled her finger at her temple and said she was crazy. But I remembered. At that time, we had a hamster, he was going on four years old and started to wither and limp… I decided to try to heal him, although I didn't really know how, but I believed: since the old healer said so – then it must work!.. Long story short, I sat with him for an hour of two, staring at his cage. At the untouched carrot. At the empty wheel. And then – bam – everything happened by itself. The hamster no longer limps, eats well and is still alive. Have you ever heard of hamsters that live for ten years?.. Ha, me neither! Then I also healed the neighbor's cat that fell out of the window from the tenth floor, my classmate's dog that got into a fight with a pitbull on a walk, pigeons with broken wings and frostbitten feet… Later I switched to people, and with them, it was even easier. In general, five years passed when I suddenly realized that my diseases had long since retreated without a trace. I changed my vector, you see? The energy is still the same – blue, indigo – but the essence is so different. I mean, it differs in our usual world," he added thoughtfully.

"Is that why you don't eat meat? Because you're a healer?"

"Why do I need meat," he snorted. "I eat orgone directly, and meat is just de-energized rubber, there's nothing left there anymore. I love nuts most – they have more energy than a whole plant! But damn, they've become so expensive now…"

"I should buy him some nuts tomorrow," I thought to myself. "To thank him for the brief summary of the prep courses' content."

Having finished my drink, I threw the bottle in the trash:

"So it turns out that red orgone is radiated by both criminals and those who fight against them?"

"Exactly."

"But then how do I tell the good guys from the bad guys?"

"You don't. You'll distinguish the weak from the strong and the more dangerous from the less dangerous."

I suddenly remembered the incident on the highway leading to St. Petersburg and felt uneasy. What if that ghost on the road didn't want to kill an innocent person and didn't intend anything bad at all, but, on the contrary, tried to stop the evil?!

"Did you happen to see what kind of car our teacher has?"

"Which one?"

"Mr. Black"

"I did," Jake shrugged indifferently, "he has a Dodge. An off-roader. Why?"

"Just curious…"

Not knowing how to explain everything that had happened to me and whether it was worth explaining at all, I fell silent.

"By the way, what about you?" Gill suddenly looked at me sideways. "Are you yourself good or bad?"

The evening was sunny and warm, just like in summer. So where did this strong autumn… no, even winter cold suddenly come from?..

"I don't know," I mouthed, shivering as if from the wind.