Chapter Nine

Harry started to sweat. It was not pouring off him, but he felt his clothing start to shrink, getting moist. A small dollop spilled down the chute formed by his shoulders, picking up speed in the small of his back, and dropped in slightly off center into his ass crack. His face felt warm and he could feel a glossy sheen settle across his cheeks below his eyes. His anxiety and stress were manifesting physically as he tried to survey as much as he could of his surroundings.

His nose and mouth puckered slightly in frustration for not paying enough attention to where he was and how he’d gotten there, and he looked side to side, scanning for anything that would help his bearings. Angie stood between him and the door, not threatening, but almost too docile. His scanning back and forth seemed to bring her delight, although she mistook his growing concern for escape for clumsy ardor. She reached out and put her cool palm on his face, drawing it sensuously across Harry’s chin.

“We can sit down,” Angie cooed, and gestured towards the lush couch that faced the panoramic glass portal that ran the length of the other side of the room, “until you’re ready for…other things.”

While the thought of rutting like teenagers would have been a welcome image, all Harry could do was try and get himself and Ahern out of there. He was getting angry with himself for enjoying his cavorting with Dolph and the three G’s, for getting liquored up, and most of all, inadvertently stumbling into the underwater Las Vegas version of an inter-dimensional nexus. There were no apparent cameras in the room, nor had he seen any outside, but he was sure the place had ample security and beyond Bernard. He couldn’t just walk out with Angie and ask to leave the secret pleasure dome…or could he? Harry saw what he was looking for and turned to Angie.

“I…am going to sit down,” his look of consternation turning to a sly grin as he said it. “What’s behind that tri-fold screen?”

Angie looked in the corner at the divider in the far corner of the room. “Nothing,” she replied.

“Good. That’s what I want you wearing when you come out from behind it.”

“Oooh, now you’re getting into the spirit of things!”

She sauntered over to the screen and disappeared behind it. Her hand snaked out from behind to a wall switch and slowly dimmed the lights in the room. It was nearly dark when a bulb popped on from behind the screen, perfectly silhouetting her perfectly contoured figure.

“Can you see okay?”

The fabric of the screen was giving her shape every opportunity to be cast upon it gloriously for Harry, who wanted to tear through it like a child feverishly unwrapping candy.

“Better than I thought I ever could.”

She purred, “Good.” Angie reached out from the screen again and turned the dial above the dimmer which brought music to the room through recessed speakers in the ceiling. It was more electronic-infused downtempo music like the ambient sounds from in the main room. She turned it up loud and coaxed a “whoo” out above the slinky beat. Angie started to undress and sway from side to side. Her clothes pitched over the top of screen item by item as she made her way out of her clothes. Damn it! This was everything he’d wanted but rather than enjoy the sexy gyrations, he was paying more attention to unscrewing the base of a pedestal ashtray. He hoped it was at least brass, and not some cheap, coated piece of crap meant to add to the ambience. It was fairly solid and heavy, which reassured him. The bottom of the post had been milled with the screw peg so it could attach to the base, and that gave Harry something to try and score the glass with.

He forced the screw hard against the glass towards the upper right corner and it barely scored the surface. He tried again, leaning into the effort, slowly wearing a thin scratch into the window. Harry tried to score another mark to create an “x” as quickly as possible. He looked and saw crumpled, ejected clothing on the floor, and Angie was down to her bra and panties.

“Wow.”

She heard his voice coming from the other side of the room. “Hey...no peeking!” A leg kicked out from the opposite side of the screen and then wrapped around the front. Ahern was loving it, and Harry wished he could have been. Her leg disappeared again and now she turned sideways, undoing the clasp in her bra. It slipped off, her shadow figure growing in the breast but only slightly dropping. Again, perfect. In the lower corner of the opposite side, Harry dug a mark in the glass, and looked back at the screen, where Angie had thrown her bra over the top, dangling there like an escaped POW trapped on a barbed wire fence. She snaked behind the partition with more vigor as the music segued into a harder, faster beat that made her look like a go-go dancer at a swank nightclub.

Harry flipped the ashtray around and held it tightly with both hands like a baseball bat, the conical tray his inverted base to keep it from slipping from his grip. It was hardly exact, but Harry started small, steady taps against the approximate center of the glass. The music was covering his tapping, but he increased his force, making each strike grow louder and making him worry that Angie would pop her head out and see what he was doing. Every hit created a shockwave radiating from the impact out to the edges, each expanding outward in a concentric circle of gaining strength. The blows were pretty solid, but the glass was unimpressed, holding form and shape. Behind the screen, Angie’s naked shape slipped panties off her form. She twirled them on her finger before propping them over the top. Harry was just about out of time.

With his last few moments, he squeezed hard on the post and swung hard against the spot he had been focused on. With the recoil he shifted his weight to his back leg and swung back around again, lifting his left leg up and stepping into his last shot. Harry exerted all his force on the “x” mark, which made the ashtray post vibrate even more in his hands, straining to pry itself loose of his grip. The prior strike he had felt in his arms and shoulders, but this last hit sent a strain through him completely. He stumbled back a few paces, and dropped the ashtray on the sofa.

The clinking sound of his hits finally lifted above the music, and Angie stopped.

“What the hell was that?”

Harry didn’t have the faintest idea of how to answer. He looked over at the window. There had been no visible change.

“I…uh,” he stammered. He was about to be fucked, and not the good way. Angie poked her head out from the screen, confused. Harry pointed innocently at the window. It was too dark for her to see exactly what he was pointing at at the window, but he was closer, close enough to see how lucky he was. Oscillating the thick pane created enough stress for his impact on the scored surface to challenge the tensile strength of the glass. The pressure from the water outside added to the momentary failure, and a micro-fissure traveled through, enough to extend the “x” a foot in both directions. Through the center of it, water beaded and a slight dribble sputtered down onto the floor. It held, but the slow leak pooled below the window.

Harry walked over to the tiny puddle of spillage and dipped his fingers in it. He came to the partition and held them up, and flicked them at Angie’s face.

“There’s a leak and I don’t think we want to be in here if that doesn’t hold.”

Ahern lifted the small lamp up over the screen, between her and Harry to see the water. It was tiny, but he was right. Harry looked down to avoid the glare of the light that was inches from his face, and in doing so, looked at the screen which had become translucent with the light source now positioned. As honest and amazing as she’d looked in silhouette, Ahern’s nude form illuminated was that much better. The adrenal glands and palpitations in his chest had turned off his dick, which certainly would have enjoyed the moment, but his gamble had worked.

He squinted and looked in her eyes. “You have to get dressed and we need to get to safety in case that thing gives out.”

“Go back out there and I’ll let them know there’s a leak. If they can’t fix it, they’ll evac everybody.”

“I’m not going until I know you’re safe,” Harry said. He took her face in his hands and stared deep into her. In the last few hours of playing the blowhard and sleuth, it was the most genuine thing he’d said. “If something happened to you, now, I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’d hoped you would find me, and join us. It was a long shot, to figure this out and come here, but you did it. I…”

Harry stopped her with a kiss.

It hardly had the passion he’d expected, that he’d wanted in the moment they kissed. There was desperation in their contact. Rather than the warmth and intrigue in kissing, Harry felt hopelessness. Was Ahern flipped completely or could she come back? Would she come back? How much was there to find out from her, willingly or otherwise? Angie, for all her raw sexiness, did not exert any of it in her lips. She had not expected the kiss, but it was almost conciliatory, a reward for his perseverance and success for locating her. She was recruiting him, and that purpose, and that of her masters was what was most important.

Angie dressed hastily and headed towards the door as she looked at the crack in the glass. It was a gentle sputter, and there was maybe a cup’s worth of water pooling. “Come on!”

“I’ll be right behind you…I’ve got to find my friends. We came here together. I don’t want them left behind.”

“If they can’t stop this, they get everyone out of here. You’ll all be safe. They may even bring you to some of the other facilities if there’s still a little fun left in you. And you’ll all get brought back to Montana when you’re finished.”

“I’m right behind you.”

She opened the door and went down the hall back towards the main grand chamber. Almost good enough, Harry thought. He picked up the ashtray again and took a few more good whacks at the crack. It didn’t expand the shatter mark, but the crack went deep through, and the stream of water increased. The place had to flood or he wasn’t going to be able to slip away as they herded everybody out of there. He looked at his cell phone, and it had no signal – no way to call Lester and warn him about what he’d found. And no way to let anybody know where he was.

In the main room, Harry easily spotted Dolph. He had almost a half dozen Asian girls swarming him as he stood over a Craps table. “Shane, my boy! Look! I found geishas!”

Harry smiled supportively. “Looks like you found more than that,” he quipped, noting the large sum of money he’d amassed in front of him.”

“He smiled back, “They’re my good luck charms.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s on your mind? Don’t tell me you’re already out of dough – they’ll lend ya, but it’s bloody murder.”

“No…no, I’m good. I heard that there’s other places like this. Other locations.”

Dolph turned to his throng of followers. “Ladies, I think Shane wants himself an annual pass!” He laughed, and the swarm of girls giggled like schoolgirls. Harry nodded and affirmed it.

“You can go wherever you want, but I prefer coming to Montana. More out of the way, less crowded,” he said. “And these girls,” he added gesturing with his arms out, “you can’t beat ‘em!” The flock giggled again.

“Yeah, I just have business around the country and I’d hate to have to make a special trip out here, you know?”

“Sure. Until they got this place going recently, I was splitting my time between the one in Michigan and Kentucky. Don’t go to the one in Arizona. All those damn kids out and around Lake Havasu.”

“Wait, there’s one in Kentucky?”

“Yeah, know where Lake Cumberland is?”

---

Pam used her key to get into Dave’s apartment like so many times before, but this was the first time she’d opened that door thinking it would be her last. He wasn’t there as she’d expected, but he’d be back soon enough. She made sure he would be.

You see, before Pam headed over to Dave’s, she called the F.B.I. branch office in Seattle, and they’d never heard of any agent Hardy or Cohen. The office in Washington D.C. was interested in hearing about this when she claimed they’d kidnapped David Bullock after the demolition of the SCANTV studios, but the F.B.I. had a slightly different perspective after conversing with her.

[The following transcript was recorded Saturday 20:46, log file 12/06-1983; shift 6 – agent Karly Sharper, examiner. Transcription from recording by IT specialist L2 Lynne Mequon]

SHARPER: Ma’am, thank you for your patience. I have reviewed the statement you made to our Seattle office but we do not see that your information lends itself to verification of an abduction or kidnapping.

RESPONDANT, identified as BRODY, PAMELA: What do you mean, verification?

SHARPER: We do not have any reason to believe that Mr. Bullock is unwillingly with any party at this time, given your statement and our information.

BRODY: Your information? What information is that? All you’ve got is my information!

SHARPER: At this time, we do not suspect any criminal activity has occurred relating to Mr. Bullock.

BRODY: But you don’t have any agents Cohen or Hardy! You have people impersonating federal agents! That’s a crime. You can’t do that!

SHARPER: Again, ma’am, we do not show any agency operatives in that branch with those names. Are you certain that’s what they were?

BRODY: Yes, I’m certain. They had a badge and everything.

SHARPER: Did you record a badge number or an ID PIN?

BRODY: No, but…

SHARPER: We appreciate your report, however, since we can not corroborate your information, there is not much more I can do?

BRODY: But I told you, they came to our studio…

SHARPER: The SCANTV facility that was damaged in the storm last night?

BRODY: Yes…

SHARPER: I have copy of the report from the attending EMTs and the statement you gave the police at the hospital. There’s no mention of two gentlemen claiming to be F.B.I. agents there.

BRODY: But they…

SHARPER: And the log at the hospital has both you and Mr. Bullock signed in, and later released.

BRODY: Yes, and we were both there with them. They were there!

SHARPER: Released on your own recognizance.

BRODY: What about the incident at the Denny’s? That’s when they took him – there’s got to be a police report about a disturbance there.

SHARPER: As I told you, there was no report of any disturbance at that location. The records at the hospital indicate you were ‘severely traumatized’ by the events of the evening. Is that correct?

BRODY: Yeah, but…look, I know what I saw. Okay?

SHARPER: We are unable to help you any further regarding this matter. If you have any additional information that substantiates these two gentlemen who you claim are impersonating our agents, please contact your local branch office…

BRODY: This is my friend, and he’s missing now after these two showed up, and I’m worried about him.

SHARPER: As you claim, if he’s on his way back to his family in Somerset, please check with them to see if he’s arrived, or if they have been in contact with him. The F.B.I. can not instigate an investigation until you take the matter up with your civic authorities and they determine the individual truly is a threat to himself or others or is a vulnerable adult. Would you like the contact number for your local police department?

BRODY: No, I don’t, and it they were pretending to be federal agents.

SHARPER: I’m sorry. Is there anything further I can assist you with?

BRODY: You need to find them.

SHARPER: I’m sorry. Is there anything further I can assist you with?

[call ends]

Pam texted a message to Dave. It read:

checkd with fbi-no agents cohen/hardy. BANANA! contact me i can get help. safe here at home. come back.

One way or another she’d get to him, and unsuspecting, he’d come back. It had been a whole day without a reply from him, but Pam was confident Dave read her message. He’d try to get away, possibly even without telling her he did, because he might think she was being monitored by associates of “Cohen” and “Hardy”. BANANA was a code they’d used when they go fence hopping and trespass government buildings to sift trash to find documents that escaped shredding that had dubious content – the kind that made for excellent topics for “The Word”. “Why don’t you make like a banana and split,” he said platitudinally when they’d first met, and somehow the corny nature of it worked.

Pam dozed off around midnight, still sitting up in the chair by Dave’s desk. Sometime in the night, she heard a rustling outside the door, and it woke her up. Across the room, she saw what looked like two pairs of feet blocking the hallway light under the crack of the door. There was something being said out there, but it was very soft. Pam got up slowly in the dark apartment. She had not left any lights on so that if Dave were to return he wouldn’t have any idea somebody was there, waiting. Carefully, she picked up the claw hammer she’d left on the countertop and made her way over to the door.

Through the peephole she saw two of the ghoul crew from the Denny’s. It was the pale man and the sole girl. A shiver ran through her. They were arguing at a low volume what to do. She kept gesturing at the door while he threw his arms up repeatedly. Finally, he submitted and reached into his trenchcoat to pull out a small sleeve that flipped open revealing several small tools. He kneeled below the peephole and started fiddling with the lock, trying to flip the tumblers. The woman stood there annoyed, staring at the door, almost as though she could see Pam on the other side. Pam carefully lifted the door chain and silently attached it to the door and stepped back.

It took a minute or so, but she heard the lock disengage. The handle turned and the door started to open. It made a soft thunk as the chain caught, and the pale man mumbled “shit”. He reached up and started to feel for the chain, and then produced a slender, curved tool which he used to jiggle it out from behind the door. He had just lifted it off the slider when Pam threw herself against the door, slamming it closed and taking the top of his fingers off. He screamed in pain and shock and fell backwards, hitting the hallway wall and clutched his severed fingers. The woman had jumped back in surprise as Pam pulled the door open and swung the claw hammer, just barely missing her and hitting the wall next to the door. Pam yanked it out and took a shot at the bleeding intruder. He tried to defend himself with his stump-fingered hand and only succeeded in slowing the strike that hit is wounded hand and his collarbone.

The shrieking continued and he pleased for help. “Morgana!”

Pam was knocked over by a fierce kick at her midsection that sent her stumbling a feet yards down the hall before rolling over. Morgana grabbed her fallen comrade by the back of his coat and dragged him down the hallway towards the stairwell they’d entered from. Pam, still winded from the giant boot that Morgana laid on her, made one last feeble attempt to hit them and hurled the hammer down the hall. To her own comical amusement, it bounced once and then took a decent hop, where it landed on the lower part of the man’s leg, causing him to yelp again.

Doors had opened after the noise settled down, and neighbors looked out, guarded. Pam had made her way back inside, and grabbed the fingertips with a Ziploc bag. She threw that and the hammer into a plastic bag and left Dave’s apartment.

She whined in a squeaky voice. “Would you like the contact number for your local police department?”

---

A blue light flickered in the large room, but it was not an effect for the benefit of the clientele. Bernard’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“I’m sorry my friends, but we must ask you take stock of what you have and head back to our antechamber. We have discovered a small issue within a ventilation diffuser that we must shut down so that it does not affect other units in the complex. In order to maintain the proper environment, we will be addressing this issue immediately so that you can continue your time with us. Until we get this quickly fixed, please let our staff accompany you to the antechamber or back to your accommodations. Merci.”

Call it what you will, but it worked, Harry thought. He looked around for Angie, cutting across the traffic of people moving out of the hall. He brushed past Gary, who was dressed in an Indian squaw’s costume and had what appeared to be several oily stalks of corn in a basket. He called out Shane’s name, but Harry ignored him, trying to find Angie. The room was emptying out, and he’d not seen her. He turned back towards the exit, but rather than seeing revelers leaving, all he was faced with was quite possibly the largest buttoned down shirt ever made. He looked nearly straight up to find there was a collar and large head at the end, eyes staring down at him. The giant stood there like a wall with clothing.

“Mr. Turquoise,” said Bernard with the saucy contempt of his French lineage, “do you not want to join your friends in the antechamber?”

Chapter Eight (part two)

The instructions Nick gave to Harry were easy enough to follow. Harry waited at the Missoula airport for the limousine that would ferry him along with any other paying clients to the Fallen Angel. The excursion would be a colorful line item on his expense report. Agents often carried sums of cash many times their annual salaries. From the local agency fence, Harry withdrew only thirty thousand dollars, most of which he anticipated not needing to use. At the scheduled time, a limo van arrived. The driver then waited outside of the van for the clients to find him with a sign that read, “F. Allen.” Harry spotted the driver quickly but waited to see who else showed up. In a matter of minutes, two men came from the baggage claim area having arrived via air. They were both dressed as if they were ready for a hunting trip, but Harry could tell by their luggage that they more likely were headed for a five-star resort. Another man arrived in his own armored Escalade and left his driver and security detail behind. He was casually dressed, but his sunglasses and Rolex were on display for those who paid attention to details. The last man to arrive had the airport valet park his SLR. He was dressed like he had a high-powered sales meeting at the end of cross-country flight. Harry had augmented his own wardrobe in an attempt to fit in. He had ditched his standard suit for a look that telegraphed, “I’m the president of the most prestigious yacht club of my East Coast port town.” A captain’s hat was all Harry needed to complete the ensemble. Harry approached the driver.

“I’m F. Allen.”

The driver opened the door, and Harry stepped inside. The limo was immaculately appointed. There was a large flat-screen monitor displaying financial news at the front of the cabin. The four gentlemen who entered the limo earlier were already enjoying some cocktails. The windows in the cabin weren’t one-way mirror tinted; they were no-way tinted. You couldn’t see in or out. The only thing Harry could see in the windows once inside was his own obsidian reflection.

“We’re all having G and T’s. I can make you one…”

“Shane Hardy.” Harry answered the question the business traveler’s face was asking. “I’ll definitely take one please.” Harry extended his hand.

“Gary Wright,” he took Harry’s hand.

Gary continued, “This is Dolph Hauser, George Lund, and Greg Drakopolis.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Harry was positive George, one of the hunters, was a congressman from Colorado.

Dolph was about to ask Harry a question when the driver stepped into the cabin.

“Gentlemen, before we embark, I require the entrance fee from each of you.”

Each man but Dolph handed the driver ten one hundred dollar bills.

Dolph kindly explained why he didn’t have to pay momentarily, “I bought the annual pass.”

The driver smiled at Dolph and left the men to get behind the wheel.

Dolph stifled any more questions regarding the Fallen Angel itself, “Don’t any of you bother asking me about it. I don’t want to spoil it for you. You’ll be there soon enough.”

Dolph returned his attention to Harry.

“So Hardy, what’s your line?”

“Well, I doubt I’m anywhere near the same league as all of you. I started out small, selling mail machines for Pitney Bowes. Then I started flipping real estate. Now, I own, along with a few apartment complexes, six McDonalds franchises and a couple Chipotle restaurants. I love the carnitas. What can I say.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Hardy. You clawed your way up from next to nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say my parents were destitute, but yeah, I went to public school.”

“If you know how to earn, that’s all that matters,” Greg added to the conversation.

The discussion continued with each man contributing anecdotes proving the immensity of his testicles. Greg’s favorite topic was his women-juggling ability. Dolph liked to focus on his land transactions and how he always made a fool of the other guy. Gary laughed at everything and always had two cents to add to it. George remained fairly subdued. As a public servant, juicy personal stories were not what he wanted to share with the present company. Perhaps if they contributed a little to his next campaign, he could throw them a little bone by voting how they wanted him to vote. Harry contributed lots of random trivia that amused the crowd. Except for his background, Harry didn’t have to change much. His natural Harry personality worked in most scenarios.

As they talked, Harry had no idea which direction they were headed. None of the men knew. He tried to keep track but lost his bearings after his fourth gin and tonic. After over three hours and many very bumpy moments, the van’s engine finally stopped, and the door opened. They were in the middle of the wilderness. The afternoon sun sparkled from an impressive lake surrounded by an endless forest. The van had parked in front of a run-down lake house—the only lake house around. All the men but Dolph were surprised.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Dolph offered up with gusto.

Harry had to agree. He could understand the need to conceal the location now. If he had a GPS device on him, he would have made a note of the coordinates and returned for a quiet vacation. The other men didn’t seem as energized except for Dolph. Dolph kept laughing like a maniac who was about to hatch his fiendish plan. Harry could tell by Dolph’s behavior that the idyllic view before him wasn’t the final destination.

The men followed the driver into the lake house. The lake house was sparely decorated on the inside with relics from America’s pioneer days. There was a stone fireplace with a couple fur-covered divan chairs nearby for guests to warm themselves. In another portion of the house was a large wooden table surrounded by wooden chairs. There was a wood-burning stove next to a pantry cabinet. It was a couple steps up from camping in a tent.

“Gentlemen, please follow me.” The driver beckoned the men to follow him into one of the two bedrooms.

The room was small and simple. There were a few frames on the walls of landscape oil paintings and pages of Prince Valiant comic books. The driver lifted the mattress from the room’s four-post bed. He then removed the bed’s skirt and peeled back another layer of fabric to reveal a door to what must have been a hidden chest. He used an elaborate key to disable the industrial age lock and open the door. Inside was a ladder leading to complete darkness.

“There is only one way to go. The ladder is fairly long, but you will begin to see light when you reach the bottom. Your luggage will be waiting for you after a thorough inspection. Gentlemen, please.” The driver motioned his hand towards the opening.

Dolph was the first to take the plunge. Greg and George anxiously followed. Gary seemed a little apprehensive and put off by the prospect of entering a dark tunnel and using a ladder, so Harry took the opportunity to begin his descent. The air in the tunnel was uncannily fresh. Harry could find no difference in flavor between the air outside and the air in the tunnel. The air quality did not change much the deeper he went. The tunnel walls changed from wood to concrete. After nearly ten minutes and myriad sweat beads, Harry reached the bottom to find himself in a concrete chamber much like what he had seen in various subterranean government command centers. Dolph and the others were waiting.

“Do you think Twinkle Toes is going to make it?” Dolph pondered aloud.

“I heard that,” Gary yelled from above. He wasn’t far behind Harry.

The group of five assembled, they made their way down a long corridor lined with dim lights to a lone door accompanied by a security camera. The door opened to the warm glow of a red anteroom and a voluptuous cancan girl holding a tray of beverages. She used a blowtorch to light sugar cubes balanced on top of spoons on top of the glasses of green liquid. She then poured water over the glasses and stirred the sugar cubes into the fluid. Dolph picked up a glass, and each man did the same.

“They had geishas with sake last time. This is a nice touch.” Dolph’s excitement had not abated.

The absinthe rolled smoothly down Harry’s throat and had a nearly instant effect. Harry had never been described as giddy in his life, but he was as close to it then as he had ever been.

“Gentlemen, you’ve arrived just in time for our featured presentation of the evening. Please allow Bernard to inspect your person, and you will soon enter the world of your dreams.” The alluring girl had the slightest of French accents.

“I think I’ll just hang out in here with you, Darling,” Greg addressed the girl with his mock smoothness.

“Of course, monsieur, we can make an arrangement for later if you would like.”

Bernard frisked the men thoroughly. He was uncomfortably thorough. Dolph, Greg, and George handed over their sidearms into Bernard’s care.

As the double doors opened to the main hall, Harry remained baffled that he had never heard of the Fallen Angel until yesterday. The space before Harry was much vaster then he had anticipated. Tables of roulette, craps, and baccarat were arranged in a semi-circle around a dining and dancing area anchored by a small stage. A number of hallways snaked away from the main area. Along with standard electrical lighting, a large array of six-inch thick windows opened to the green waters of the lake to display dancing penetrating rays of sunlight. It was a speakeasy on a grand scale. It was as if the cabaret had come to a small western gold mining town in Captain Nemo’s Nautilus. A Massive Attack song was booming through the PA system. The men were mostly clients. They were foreign dignitaries, captains of industry, high-ranking officials, et cetera. The women were all employees. They acted genuinely interested in the men they kept company with tact no ordinary lap dancer or prostitute could duplicate. They were all beautiful in their own way. Some danced. Some danced a little more closely. Some groups of revelers dined on filet mignon or foie gras. Some dined on cocaine. Anything and everything was on the menu.

As Harry settled down at a blackjack table to turn his excursion into a possible profit center, another French-accented voice announced over the PA, “Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the main stage. One of our finest will expertly interpret the Dance of the Seven Veils as you have never seen before. Please welcome our very own sexy, sexy, sexy
Sadie!”

Most everyone stopped what they were doing. The tabla sounded, and Harry feasted on an uncommonly arousing display of dance. It seemed like every head turn and hip sway by the lithe dancer had been choreographed specifically to ignite Harry’s interest. With each veil that dropped, Harry’s desire grew. By the end of the dance, the dancer’s face still remained a mystery, but Harry had to meet her. He grabbed the arm of the first woman to walk by to find out how. Alas, not everything was on the menu. She was a dancer and nothing more. Harry was losing focus. He needed to get Ahern back on his mind and find the connection between her, the Fallen Angel, and Ru.

After quite few hands of blackjack and pestering remarks from Dolph and the other three, Harry was up a modest six grand. The woman Harry grabbed earlier returned to whisper in his ear, “She’ll see you. Follow the bluebird.” She pointed in the direction of one of the hallways.

Harry left the table immediately. He didn’t really have an idea of what he was going to do with the dancer. The first goal was to meet her and talk to her. As he walked down the hall, murals of wildlife migrating away from the main hall were a creative way to direct clients and identify rooms. As the army of animals thinned, Harry continued to track the little bluebird to the end of the hall. A picture of the bluebird was perched on the door of the last room. Harry walked in and waited. After almost an hour, the door opened, and the dancer entered. She removed her face veil. Harry was shocked and overjoyed.

“Angie! What the hell is going on?”

Angie Ahern continued to move purposefully towards Harry. She wrapped one arm around his back and one arm around the nape of his neck staring seductively into his eyes.

“Harry, you can have me. However you’d like, you can have me now.”

“Ahern. Very funny. You don’t have to put on a show anymore.”

“What’s wrong, Harry? Your greatest desire is right in front of you. You can have it, taste it, feel it, and you turn away. Don’t you ever get what you want?”

Ahern struck a nerve. Now Harry began to worry about not only Ahern, but his own ability to resist her apparent advances. She didn’t seem like she was joking. And Harry could never remember her being sadistically sarcastic.

“Ahern, I found your caduceus. You haven’t checked in. What’s going on?”

“Things are different for me now, Harry. The last time I used the caduceus, my CT unit failed. I saw things. I felt pain and pleasure beyond your imagination. It was like grabbing on to an electric fence and not being able to let go. The darkness stared at me and swallowed me whole. When I finally regained control, I thought I had lost my mind. I foolishly tossed aside the caduceus. Then they found me. I was originally looking for them, and they found me. They taught me about the gift I had been given and the origins of these objects we use to mentally scar others and strengthen ourselves. Do you have it? Do you have a caduceus?”

“Ahern, this is crazy. You have to leave here with me. I don’t know who these people are, but they’re screwing with your head.”

“Harry, when you see how powerful they are, and how powerful they will become, you will want to join them. Please join me. Look out into the water. Do you see that? They have been constructing it for many years. They built this place powered by nuclear energy to support it’s construction. Soon the dark ones will come.”

Harry looked through the thick glass and murky water at what seemed to be a large three-dimensional Celtic knot in the distance with a small opening below that connected the sphere to the underwater building they were in.

“Harry, I have given over my soul to them, but you can help in other ways. You can work within the agency to destroy impediments to the arrival. They will give you your heart’s desire—whatever it may be.” Angie caressed the collar of her blouse.

“Angie, this isn’t you.”

“Yet you’re talking to me and calling me ‘Angie’. If it makes you more comfortable, call me ‘Sadie’ then.”

Harry’s mildly inebriated mind grasped for ways to fix his predicament as his obsession stood before him. Ahern had been possibly brainwashed. There was no way he would be able to just leave after their recent conversation. “They” wouldn’t dare allow him. And Harry had no idea where in Montana he was. Montana was filled with bodies of water.

Chapter Eight

Going to Montana on business was not a concept that sat well with Harry. Some would call it torture to send an outdoorsman, as Harry was, to such a natural wonderland only to lock him up in a room built with walls of work. Two times playing the part of Tantalus were two too many. The Clark Fork was practically screaming at him to come and play. But Harry’s discipline was superb. Never had he felt so passionate about a mission. Hrel had hit upon the one thing Harry could not erase from his daily thoughts. It was the push Harry needed to go after the one loose end that kept him up at night. Harry’s work could never be called mindless, but it hardly ever involved any real key decision-making. Harry and Lester were instruments—blunt at times and surgical at others. The conversation with Hrel definitively connected Angie to his current mission, and he could not ignore that connection. It didn’t matter if Hrel was trying to get Harry out of the way. He was finally pursuing what he wanted. Harry was taking control. Then Harry read the bumper sticker on the SUV in front of him-- “God is in control.” Harry laughed.

Harry’s training did not focus on procedural investigation. The fear of becoming a charlatan cop began to overwhelm Harry as he drove along the Clark Fork to the only place he could think to start his search. Harry began to see himself as nothing but a glorified con man at the lowest rung of the espionage ladder. Sure, he could take pride in knowing he helped instigate some of the biggest celebrity scandals of the day. He could keep a secret about the unusually high percentage of suicide bombers whose targets were not random. But what had he created? What had he discovered on his own? It was time. Until he met It, Harry assumed, if It did exist, God was not in control.

“I have to find her.”

Harry parked his car in the very same back alley parking lot where he found Ahern’s caduceus. The dumpster was now overflowing with the day’s garbage, and the asphalt had been picked clean by the local insects. Sunlight completely covered the area that before was sparsely lit by security lamps. Mount Sentinel loomed in the distance. Harry stared blankly at the dumpster. Harry had time to formulate a plan during the drive over. He had a picture of Angie from the previous Missoula red folder. That her last mission was an overnight affair was one of the few details Harry was given. Harry was going to try to question every hospitality professional at every hotel, motel, and B&B in town if he had to. He didn’t have to. Fortunately, Ahern’s lodging accommodations were also included in the original red folder. Harry still wished Hrel could have provided some more useful information.

After leaving the dumpster behind, Harry proudly drove his Metro up to the valet station at the Doubletree Hotel.

“Watch out for the turbo. She’s a little monster.” Harry knew when it kicked in, the turbo would startle even the most experienced valets and car wash employees.

“Okie dokie.” The valet, looking at Harry like he should be staying at the motel up the road, ignored what Harry said.

“Hang on a sec. Have you seen this woman? She stayed here around two months ago.” Harry held up the picture of Ahern for the parking attendant to study.

“Sorry. I wish I could help you.”

“No problem. Thanks.”

Harry saw the young man’s head snap back as he drove away.

“I told him.”

Harry received similar responses from the other hotel staffers he encountered on his way to the front desk. It baffled Harry that a woman as stunning as Angie Ahern could be so easily forgotten. Either Harry’s definition of stunning didn’t reconcile with the mainstream, or part of Ahern’s mission had her eschewing face-to-face interaction with the employees of the Doubletree. Harry did not know what alias Ahern would have used, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to check the hotel register. It was time to pull out the federal badge. Harry approached the front desk with his official game face. He dropped the photo of Ahern on the desk and flashed his credentials.

“Hello there… Cindy. I’m Special Agent Hardy with the FBI. I’m investigating a disappearance. We have reason to believe the woman you see in this picture stayed at this hotel between the thirteenth and sixteenth of April. Can I please check your records to confirm this? Her name was Angie Ahern, but we believe she would have used an alias. If you need to get your manager’s permission to fulfill this request I completely understand. I have the proper warrant documentation.”

Cindy looked over at her slightly older counterpart at the next terminal. With a nod of approval, Cindy began typing away. After a minute she had printed up a full list of guests for the time period Harry mentioned. Harry scanned the list intently looking for some name to jump out. He ruled out the guests who paid with credit cards. After flipping through a few pages, he saw the only possible choice. The name hit him square in the face as if he punched himself with knock-out force— “Harry Turquoise”.

“We’re pretty sure this is one of the aliases she uses. Is this room vacant? Can I see it?”

Cindy typed a little more. She was truly excited to be a part of federal missing person investigation. “It is occupied, Agent Hardy, but we can upgrade the guest to another room so you can search it.”

“I sincerely appreciate that, Cindy. I’ll just wait in the lounge while you take care of it. If you could find out who worked housekeeping during that time, I’d like to question them as well.”

“Certainly, Agent Hardy.”

Harry had time to ruminate on his name showing up in the hotel computer as he sipped his coffee and watched folks in the Clark Fork wearing hip waders attempt to fly fish. The true anglers were an hypnotic sight to behold. Their undulating lines seemed to mimic the delta brain waves Harry and most everyone else in the world produced during deep sleep. The caffeine and delta waves began to mix. Harry had always felt a unique connection to Angie, but he was never sure the feeling was reciprocal. Did she know Harry would be the one to come if she did not return? Hrel knew Harry would return to Missoula. He could have tampered with the hotel database. Harry wanted so much to believe that Angie was thinking of him that all other explanations seemed to melt away.

The man tending bar walked over to Harry with a pot of coffee. Word was spreading among the employees that there was an FBI agent in the house tracking someone. Nick, the bartender, always attempted to build a rapport with the male guests. He played the role of concierge to Missoula’s underworld. The tips were nice, but the kickbacks were what kept Nick’s standard of living a notch above his colleagues.

“Fill ‘er up?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“This is the fourth one. I’m going to have to cut you off pretty soon. I can’t have a raving caffeine addict scaring off the other guests.”

“You’re right. I’ll switch to H2O for the next round. Do you mind if ask you a question?”

“I suppose that would depend on the question.”

“It’s pretty simple. Do recognize this woman? Think back a couple months.” Harry showed the photo to Nick.

“I don’t think I’d forget a face like that. She could be a model.”

“I’m positive she stayed here, but no one seems to have seen her.”

“You know, I don’t know if this will help you any, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. A girl that fine is usually headed for one place around here… the Fallen Angel. If you’ve got the lettuce to get into this place, you may or may not find your girl, but you’ll definitely find one or two girls who are one in a million if you follow what I’m saying.”

“I have to tell you, I’m a federal agent.”

“But you’re a man, ain’t ya?”

“Tell me about it, and I’ll take a look.”

“It doesn’t quite work that way. This place is exclusive. It’s a grand just to get through the door. It’s Disneyland for the rich and famous. Our sociopathic millionaires flock to this joint. People come from out of state. It’s a big deal, but no one in the mainstream knows about it.”

“I guess I come across as a sociopath.”

“A little bit. Hey, aren’t we all just a little bit?”

Harry was fascinated by Nick’s approach.

“Think you can afford it? Show me the money, and I’ll show you the way. Even if you don’t find her, I guarantee you the experience of a lifetime. You can tell ‘em Nick sent ya.”

Cindy approached the table. Nick slowly backed away.

“Hi Nick.”

Nick nodded.

“Agent Hardy, the room is ready for you. If you’ll follow me, or you could come to the front desk when you’re ready.”

“I’d like to see the room.”

As Harry anticipated, the room had nothing to offer. He even checked the vents and plumbing for little messages Angie may have left. The message was the alias. The only other lead Harry had at the moment was the Fallen Angel, and it was more of a diversion than a lead. Cindy returned to the room. She was holding something.

“Agent Hardy, one of our concierge staff recalled something about the woman who stayed in 279. She doesn’t remember what she looked like. Apparently she was wearing large sunglasses, and her hair was different from the woman in your picture. But she checked out via our in-room system and neglected to pick this up. She had left this with the concierge desk.”

Cindy handed Harry a porcelain angel.

“Thank you.”

Harry studied every detail. As he turned the angel over in his hand, he noticed some writing on the bottom.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Harry involuntarily let fly.

F. Allen

---

…

Chapter Seven

In the parking lot, there was chaos.

Mexicans - the few that there were in the Pacific Northwest, came streaming out of the kitchen, much like the panicked patrons through the emergency exit and front door. They were scared and confused, and certainly not sticking around for more ranch dressing for their fries or a third refill on Mountain Dew. There were groups of teens yelling for the rest of their party, running to their cars. Families who had made for a late night snack were huddled together, comforting each other. Weirdoes and goofballs found sudden sobriety in the wee hours of the night, stunned and wondering if they we still tripping or if they had, in fact, barely avoided a melee - complete with inexplicable arachnid orbs and rejects from a goth corporate training video- break out in the tranquil camp of prime diner Americana.

Lester’s mitts were wrapped around Dave’s collar and Pam’s right bicep, pulling them behind Harry, who was trying to keep up with the effortless dodging and sorting past cars and people that Mr. Face was demonstrating. He moved gracefully, almost as though he was floating, navigating the obstacles with uncanny smoothness, as if he was performing a dance move that had been practiced again and again. They had made it to the sidewalk at the far end of the lot when Mr. Face, like he was on a pivot, turned around completely, surprising them; his outstretched hand almost literally stopping their aggressive gait. And while self preservation giving them every reason to keep moving, they still obeyed.

“It’s time to go our separate ways”, he said. His yellow eyes narrowed as he looked over at Lester, and his hand moved into a point, leveling his gloved finger at Dave. “Get this one home.”

Harry dissented. “We can’t take him there…we’ll probably have these bozos showing up there too, if there’s not more of them already waiting.”

“No, not there. Home. To Somerset.”

There was about to be protest from Lester and Dave, but there was something too persuasive about how he ordered them to go. Harry was struck by their compliance. Two days ago his partner would have sooner tied Mr. Face to a chair and made him spill his info than be bossed around, but there wasn’t the slightest trace of disagreement.

“C’mon pilgrim,” Lester said to Dave, “lets see what other babel Nimrod here has to say. It’s a long trip to Kentucky.” Lester looked over to Harry and nodded in an act of comfort, seeing the growing puzzled look on his friend’s face. “We’ll be fine,” he offered, and then headed in the direction of his car. Harry waited a moment until Lester and Dave had turned the corner and gone before addressing Mr. Face.

“Listen Hrel, or Mr. Face, or what ever you’re calling yourself - I don’t know what your purpose is here but nothing but trouble’s been happening since you showed up, and while my partner may like your ideas, I don’t. And I don’t like how much you seem to know about our…,” Harry paused, choosing his words, “business.”

“Now Mr. Turquoise, shouldn’t you really be asking yourself why, if I know so much about you, why is it you don’t have the slightest idea about me?”

Harry looked over to Pam, who had not reacted to his real named being mentioned. She had a somewhat catatonic stupor about her look, facing in towards their conversation, but hardly paying attention.

“You know how this works,” Mr. Face said to Harry. “And I happen to find this body…useful. Much as your little seer was a comfortable place for my counterpart to host. It’s the only way we can exist in your dimension, and only the strongest forms can bridge the limbo to allow us to cross over. This…thing is going to blow through here like a tornado though a trailer park, unless some of my kind can keep the others from arriving. And I think you very much do not want my enemies to show up.”

“We’ve worked hard to made sure that you humans understood enough about what was happening to not interfere. But some of my counterparts have gone native and have other ideas. You’d been given information and had a role to play finding Ruahadavalat for us without alerting our presence, but now we’re so far beyond being back where we started, we don’t even know where to begin or how to guide you.” Mr. Face spoke the next words with sinister emphasis. They. Are. Coming. And protection is now farther away then before”

“We’re not about to put on tin foil hats and start chanting if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“If that brings you comfort, then by all means, but you’re missing it. Just like you did in Missoula.”

Harry’s stomach dropped like it was sucked into a black hole within him. He felt hollow. Was Hrel in his head, thumbing though his thoughts and memories as though he was perusing a magazine stand?

“Go back to Montana and see what you missed. Your lady friend was on the right path before she got too close. Stop wondering and worrying about me and start seeing the obvious.”

“What about her,” Harry asked throwing his thumb over at Pam.

“I’ll see to her…now go!”

It felt strange for Harry to dislike Hrel but still trust him. The safest place for Dave was with Lester, and having them get out of the city would put them as far away from the attention of Dave’s notoriety. It was an easy button to push, to make him want to try and find closure on Ahern’s disappearance, and it made him discount Pam, who was vulnerable in her vacant, disassociated state. He had no car there, but it didn’t stop him from trotting off towards his place, imbued with purpose.

There was less flurry outside the Denny’s but it was by no means a safe place to stay, and Hrel knew it. “Pamela Brody,” he said, “we must take leave of this place.”

She followed him, dazed, pulling her like a balloon on a string. They crossed the street and made a few turns heading down the alley that ran between the non-descript buildings. Hrel spoke, even though it was unclear even to him if she was actually cognizant of what he was saying. He reached into his pocket and put his goggles, which hid his unearthly amber eyes and made his mummy visage strange, but not alien had he been seen.

“I must admit that in my time amongst you, I have grown found of your ways, and feel your species deserve to live in spite of the suffering and misery that seem to be the hallmark of your daily activities. Somewhere inside, there is the kernel of goodness, an optimism that compels you to rise up each day and face the burden of living. I think that’s a noble pursuit, and should our battle cross your path, it would be unfortunate to wipe a planet of young life with such potential out of existence.”

Pam stood there, blinking occasionally, but otherwise unresponsive. A cylindrical silver bar the size of a pack of breath mints slipped into his left hand, and when Hrel moved his thumb over it and tightened his grip, it started to telescope a slender blade from the end. He kept his hand low and concealed behind him.

“If I did things their way, I’d have a magic wand, and convince you to forget all of this, but you’ve stumbled upon something that you shouldn’t have being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There are casualties of every war and collateral damage, and if it brings you any peace, know that mercy is often the hardest to offer.”

In an instant, there was contact. Unexpected. Both of them stood there for a moment as if time had been grabbed by the throat and held against the wall. There was another quick burst of movement. Then another. Pam threw a fourth punch, then a fifth, drilling her fist squarely into Hrel’s face. She cocked her arm and delivered blow after blow with machine-like repetition, following his crumpling form to the ground and continuing to wail on him. Her knuckles were lacerated and bleeding from glancing off the frame of the goggles, but she didn’t stop punching away. The bandages were soaked through with blood and the sound of her fist striking his caved in face was no different if she was slamming her hand into pulp. Something inside Pam had snapped. Seeing her lover killed before her eyes, being caught in the building collapse, running from attackers in the restaurant – all of the shock and stress and fear had overloaded her. But out of that tumult came a sudden clarity and focus.

Pam had not always believed what Dave said, but she had believed in Dave. The reaction, the impact of the show was what kept the oddity at bay, and she realized it now. They had been pushing each other, like a brash couple in Las Vegas, daring one another to go through with an ill-thought out quickie wedding that would only lead to regret. It was a roller coaster ride that just about cost her her life, and she was getting off. There had been plenty wrong in her past, but she had recently been as peaceful as she could remember – and now it was gone. She pictured the bandaged soup of what was Hrel’s face as Dave’s as she pounded it. When there was no feeling left in her hand, she stood up, fist dripping with blood.

Revenge, she thought. Brother Dave was a harbinger of doom, but with all he knew about and from Ru, he could have done more than just cry warnings. He should have done more. He should have kept everyone he was dragging into it safe. He should have told her the truth sooner. He should have kept the disastrous night’s events from happening. Perhaps there was cosmic death and destruction headed their way, but Pam was going to see that she stood over David Bullock’s dead body first.

---

By 1pm on Saturday, the Greyhound had pulled into the Vancouver terminal. Ivy was tired and hungry. She had slept very little waiting for the 8:45 bus out of Seattle, and she wasn’t entirely certain why she’d gone there. It was hazy what happened the night before. Ivy recalled heading to SCANTV to see Brother Dave and watch his show, hoping to talk with him afterwards, and running through the side door as the make up girl left to smoke a cigarette. The news replayed the building collapse, and had she not seen it on the TV in the Stewart St. depot, she wouldn’t have remembered it happening, let alone escaping it. There had been a faint sound, a voice, not coming from any specific direction or place, but she was sure she heard it. It said “north”, and while she didn’t have any idea how she made it back to the hostel to grab her tote that was nearly as large as she and filled with all her belongings, Ivy ended up getting her ticket and hunkered down until the boarding call.

As soon as she turned 18, Ivy left home, and for almost a year she’d traveled all over the country, becoming pretty adept at urban survival. She lived frugally and would do odd jobs for extra money when she wasn’t selling handcrafted jewelry while she went from town to town. Some days she’d bounce through a state with only stops to sleep. Other times, she’d crash on a sofa for a week, or make friends with strangers who’d become hospitable. Ivy was polite and charming, even though she was a fairly quiet girl. Perhaps it was her petite size or doll-like cuteness, but people were taken by her.

There were times Ivy started to nod off, but she never fell asleep, even when she closed her eyes. She had hoped to, but there was that voice again. At first it was just noise, like a distraction, but soon it was a whisper, talking to her. It was talking on and on, and she couldn’t make out most of what was being said, but it went almost continuously through the night and on the bus. At her most lucid she would imagine that it was telling her a story, and that would help send her off into sleep, but soon after it would rouse her and she’d be awake again, trying to tune out the sound when she wasn’t able to understand what was being said. It may not have been in English most of the time, and possibly several different languages and tongues that her typical education had not exposed her to.

A diner was across from Thornton Park, outside the central station area, and she sat at the counter with her bag of everything. It was pretty empty, the only other people inside other than a waitress and the cook was a large man at the end of the counter and a couple in a booth in the opposite corner of the place. The bearded man at the counter had looked up when Ivy came though the door on account of the jangling bell attached to it, but she garnered no attention otherwise. Like ears popping and clearing on an airplane, the static-y chatter of the voice had gone when she got off the bus, and she was relieved to be able to eat without the noise.

Ivy ordered a chicken soup and was sipping at it as she looked at the TV in the corner. It was typical Saturday afternoon programming with re-run shows, but she was taken by the commercial that was airing. A heavy man was bouncing enthusiastically in a green spandex bodysuit.

“I’m Johnny Cabbage, and we’ve got lots of new and used vehicles for you!”

He rolled over hoods and tumbled across truck beds backed up to each other. He pointed at cars off camera, and the cuts would jump to him frolicking about the cars. He did a number of outdated dance moves with the glee of a madman.

“Come down to the Cabbage Patch,” he smiled, “and lettuce make a deal!”

A baritone announcer gave information and directions, as Johnny Cabbage did the “cabbage patch”, pumping his arms and swinging his hips. The commercial ended and M.A.S.H. faded back in. Ivy went back to her soup, and then looked up at the other patron at the counter. She was turning back to her food and made a double take. She leaned over on the adjacent chair, trying to decrease the distance between them, about seven stools.

“Excuse me sir,” she asked.

He looked over at her but said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to bother you, but you kinda look like that man in the commercial.”

He smiled and had a muffled laugh.

“That is you, isn’t it.”

The man put down his fork and stopped eating. “Not for a few years, but yes.”
He was grayer in the beard, but he was about the same size. There was sadness in his eyes even though he had smiled at Ivy’s recognition.

“What do you mean?” She wasn’t trying to rude or pry, she just didn’t understand his response.

“I haven’t run my car business for quite a while. Lost it to my ex-wife when she divorced me, and her stepsons got it from her before they sold it.”

“So why are they showing you in the commercial?”

“I can see you’re not up to speed on our legend and lore, miss,” Johnny said, “but that there is a local classic. Got even bigger when the kids put it up on the world wide web. My neighbor’s son said there’s even people dancing in green outfits in their own videos. I was upset at first, thinking they were making fun of me, but it’s really flattering, and if it’s worth a laugh or two then it doesn’t really hurt my feelings.”

“Can they do that?”

“Show the commercials? Sure. May not draw more business, but they say there’s that name recognition. Helped me get my job now too.”

Ivy stayed attentive, so he continued.

“I work for an electronics store. Used to be the biggest in town. The first, actually. But over the years larger companies and corporations moved in, and people just seem to like going to those places more. The owner is a very sweet old lady, and I just hope that there’s still a few more years left in that place, because that’s all she has.”

Ivy looked at him for a few moments with her brow furrowed. She smiled with the warmth of a child looking at a present on Christmas morning.

“You should do another commercial. For your owner. It’ll help, I’m sure of it.”

Cabbage thought about it for a moment and smiled. “Hmmm…maybe we can. Can you come to Zabba’s TV Electronics on Monday? She’ll be there, and I don’t think I can convince her alone.”

He wrote the address down and passed it over to her. “It’s on Kingsway, south and then east of here.”

Ivy took the paper and folded it into her pocket. She had almost two days to spend seeing the city and becoming familiar with it until her appointment with Johnny Cabbage. And Ru had two days growing from a whisper to a clear voice she would start interacting with.

---

Lester called Harry from a pay phone at a rest stop outside of Drummond, MT. It was almost sunset.

“I really wish we didn’t go running off in the middle of the night…we had to stop at Wal-Mart to get clothing. At the last place we ate, somebody asked if we were going to a volleyball game.”

Harry laughed. “How’s our package?”

“Cranky. Tired. Quiet. He’s not talking much, and when he does, he’s irritated and then clams back up. Losing that voice in his head musta screwed him up more than when it was barking in his ear.”

“How long until you hit Somerset?”

“Couple more days”, Lester said. “We’re barely a third of the way. Wish I realized how much fun 2600 miles would be before we left. Sounded like a better idea at the time I guess.”

“No, it probably was safer to get out of town, although I’m thinking that whoever showed up last night may head out to his parents, so be careful when you arrive.”

“I hear you. Those Chicago agents…have you checked with them?”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t think you should,” Lester told him. “Better we ride into town without anybody knowing, including our own people. If they are ours.”

“You’re not feeling too trusting, are you?”

“Well, until three days ago, I thought we were the only muthafuckas setting up government officials to get arrested for sex acts in bathrooms and getting child actors hooked on cocaine. But with that Mr. Face getting all up in our business and sayin’ him and his spooks are checkin’ us out, I just don’t feel so good when other folks know what we’re up to. I mean, I dropped the Nova before I left town and picked up a rental car just to slip anybody who was trying to follow us.”

“Are you clean right now,” Harry asked.

“So far, but if there is trouble down the line, I ain’t carrying any gear with me…didn’t have it in the Nova.”

“I’m not carrying either.”

“Where are you?”

I left the city too. I’m heading back to Missoula to see if I missed something about…,” he paused and then said, “Ahern.” It had almost a dirty connotation to say it. A swear word.

“You mean A.W.O.L.,” Lester said skeptically. “She probably left the reservation, and if I was going to do the same, you bet I’d go without a trace. You don’t think leaving is just as simple as giving two weeks notice?” He sighed. “Damn…wish I had known you were thinking about going back - we just passed through there a little while ago and this would have been a better ride if I’d had you along. What’s the angle?”

“I think there’s something we missed there…a clue, a hint, a signal – any little thing that may have to do with what’s going on. Maybe it just wasn’t obvious to us then because of we were looking at the wrong signs.” Harry didn’t want to even mention that Hrel suggested it, even though he had sent this partner to Kentucky as a chauffeur without protest. “You said yourself that if Hrel ended up with her sheath, they could have something to do with Angie disappearing. Either way I should go back”

“Either way we’re both chasing answers down and we don’t have the faintest idea of what questions to be asking. I hate being on the catch-up end of things. We gotta know who’s with us and who’s against, and in the big picture how we keep our heads down and stay outta the scuffle between these two sides.”

“And make sure that it doesn’t come to that. How the hell are we supposed to get out of the way of this if they’re coming to our doorstep?”

“I’m going to see again what Bullock has to say for himself. Maybe a family reunion will put things on track. I’ll check back with you if I get something…”

---

It would be a few days before Hrel stirred. His body was in with piles of rubbish and mostly concealed, and those who passed by or through the alley ignored what they figured was a drunken, passed out homeless man. Blood had caked the cracked goggle lenses, which made seeing that much more difficult beyond the cracked orbital bone and shattered nasal cartilage, but he picked himself up and started along the wall, hand out reading the brick for information and guidance. It was rare for Hrel to be taken but surprise, but he had not anticipated Pam would go berserk and wail on him until he’d lost distinguishable facial features. Good for her, he thought, smiling beneath the wrapping with his fractured jaw and near toothless mouth. She was far stronger than he had given her credit for, and while he still felt that he’d have been doing her a favor ending it quickly, he had no desire to follow through with it. His attention was once again back to finding Ru, whomever might be the host, and hoping that it was before his enemies did. But first, there was the tricky business of navigating nearly blind to a place where he could tend his wounds.

Chapter Six

“This man is in perfect health. Aside from the ghastly bump on his head, there is nothing wrong with him. I checked his entire body for external flashover. His heart is beating normally. I’d never have guessed he was struck by lightning. In fact, I don’t believe he was. Please, excuse me. Gina, take this to billing.”

The emergency physician’s words left Harry and Lester perplexed after what they had witnessed earlier at the SCANTV studio. A sobbing Pam was relieved. Dave’s diagnosis was a small comfort to her in perhaps the darkest moment of her life. While they had waited for the doctor to complete his examination of Dave, Lester took no effort in ignoring Pam’s hysteria. He had grown accustomed to her raving. On the ride to the hospital, Lester was wondering how appropriate it would be, for his sanity and her own good, to knock Pam out. He deferred to peace, and eventually the raving became background noise. Harry, on the other hand, had to work hard to curtail his natural instinct to give Pam a hug.

Lester was incredulous. “I think we need a second opinion. How could you be fine after getting walloped by the most fucked-up bolt of lightning I’ve ever seen?”

It was times like these, after seeing something that wasn’t hinted at in the mission briefing, when Lester wished management would give up just a little more intelligence to the guys in the trenches.

“Our eyes often lie. But in this case, I understand your confusion. It wasn’t I who was struck.” Dave too looked mournful.

“Dave, Missy wasn’t struck by lightning,” Pam tried to explain. She was in the midst of an interval of shock after coming down from a recent bout of hyperventilation.

“I know what happened to Missy. I wasn’t speaking of her.” Dave wrapped his arms around Pam. Grief was their stifling blanket.

The hospital was especially loathsome for Harry. It seemed like such a stark place for someone to spend his last vital moments, surrounded by the sick and moaning. The waiting room that night was full of human beings in various states of discomfort. A mother held her screaming baby. A man holding his right eye socket rocked back and forth. There was a pale woman holding a bucket of vomit. The nurses tried hard to brighten the environment with their Technicolor scrubs that did little to lift the pall of corporeal pain. People clinging to life don’t typically complain about the milieu. Do they? Harry imagined being hit by a Mack truck and telling the paramedics as they arrived to save his dwindling life, “Could you please take me to the top of the Space Needle? In all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never been to the top of the Space Needle. Is it worth it even?”

Harry snapped out of it and chimed in. “Dave, I know you’ve had a horrible night, but we really need to talk with you. Maybe we could hit a diner. We’ll buy you breakfast, a cup of coffee. After what’s happened, we don’t really feel comfortable letting you out of our sight. As a matter of fact, you’ve probably been anticipating the conversation we’re about to have.”

“As long as Pam can be included, I’m with you.”

---

In another part of the country, on the street outside the home of Claude and Agnes Bullock, an out-of-state car pulled up. Two well-dressed men exited the car and made their way up to the front door. Claude was waiting for them. The Bullock’s lived on a relatively quiet street. Any car stopping in front of his house at any hour rarely went unnoticed. Before the men had a chance to ring the doorbell, Claude opened the door.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

One of the men pulled out his credentials and smiled. The smile was magnanimous, but Claude read a vaguely malicious twinkle in the eyes.

“Mr. Bullock, we represent the federal government, and we would like to speak with you about your son, David.”

“David isn’t here. I don’t know where he is. It’s been many years.”

“We know where he is.”

After a moment of bewilderment Claude said, “Please, come in.”

Claude prayed for David every day. Claude refused to accept the visions David was having. David in turn refused to believe in Claude’s defined view of God. He turned his back on what was a dominating influence on his life. This was the break that split the two men apart irrevocably. The pain of losing David had never subsided. Claude had rehearsed the moment of David’s return to his life over and over in his head swapping various resolutions. Now that the moment had arrived, Claude found himself in the unfamiliar territory of the real. He struggled to rein in his emotions.

The men followed Claude to the dining room where he offered them both places to sit.

“Can I offer you gentlemen anything to drink—tea, coffee?”

“No thank you,” said the talkative one. “Is your wife here?”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I didn’t get your names.”

“My name is Chamberlain. This is Agent Jordan. We know where David is, and we believe we have a way to cure him of his disease.”

Along this clinical path was not where Claude was expecting the discussion to go.

“Unless there has been some incredible medical breakthrough, it’s unlikely that you could cure him. Please, tell me where you found him. How is he doing? When can we see him?”

“We want to take you to him.”

Claude’s intuition about these men was beginning to appear spot on. Everything Chamberlain said could have come through a phone call. Why didn’t they bring David? Why the interest in curing him? None of it seemed right.

“Please, let me wake my wife. She’ll want to hear this.”

As Claude began to walk away, the one called Jordan quickly reached out and firmly grabbed Claude’s wrist. Chamberlain looked at Claude and shook his head stoically.

“You may not be aware of the fact, Mr. Bullock, that you too possibly suffer from the same condition as your son does-- as did your father.”

---

Harry, Lester, Pam, and Dave walked into the Shoreline Denny’s at 1:53 a.m. on Saturday morning. Lester picked the place. The car ride over to the diner was filled with silence. The atmosphere of the restaurant nearly overflowing with people voluntarily fulfilling the fundamental need to eat at such an hour was just the vibe Harry was looking for. Lester vetoed the hostess’s original seating assignment and found a more suitable booth for the odd-looking party. In a way they fit right into their new environment since there really was no mold to fit into. A pile of darkly-clad teenagers dominated a corner booth. It subconsciously struck Lester how large almost all of them were. Growing up, Lester remembered there being one or two fat kids in his class. Even most of the linemen on his high school football team wouldn’t have been considered fat. But here was a whole group of corpulent teenagers. The skinny fellow in the group was the exception. Harry noticed what was most likely a touring rock band in another booth. It looked like they hadn’t showered in more than a couple days. They had no drugs and no groupies—just an inexpensive meal after a show that probably five people attended. Pam meditated on an older balding man sitting alone at one of the central tables pretending to read the paper. His eyes appeared to light up when the waitress arrived to warm up his coffee. Dave ignored it all. Nothing in his mind could eclipse the significance of his recent loss—his longtime friend, Ru.

Lester ordered, “Moons Over My Hammy with grits, please.”

Pam only wanted water. Harry ordered coffee. Dave went without.

“Y’all are trying to make me look bad with my fourth meal here. My schedule is off.” Only Harry cracked the smallest of smiles.

“Should we really talk about this here?” asked Dave.

“It might not make a lot of sense to you, but we’re professionals, and one of us needs to eat,” came Lester’s response.

Harry added, “I’m not going to go into it, but from a tactical perspective, it actually works.”

Dave prepared himself for the line of questioning. Harry began.

“To reintroduce ourselves, I’m Hardy, and this is Agent Cohen. We represent a branch of the federal government that deals with paranormal activity.”

“Like the X Files,” Pam interrupted.

Harry laughed it off inside, but this was the game they were playing at the moment.

“Yes, like the X Files. Think of us as Mulder and Scully.”

Lester couldn’t resist. “You’re the redhead. You’re Scully.”

“Okay. I’m Scully. Whatever.”

Lester turned serious. “Dave, from what we’ve seen of your show and website, it seems you’re trying to send a signal to others like you. Are we on the right track here?”

“At first, I tried many different ways to reach out. The internet helped spread the message a little wider, but I mainly encountered people who wanted a laugh or people who truly had mental problems.”

“You don’t believe you have mental problems?”

“I do not believe I have mental problems any more than you believe you yourself have them. The show was a way to become even more visible to those I needed to connect with. I’m guessing you’re connected in some way with one side of the conflict, and you’re not a couple of network television junkies as you alluded to before. I’m hoping that you’re on our side.”

Lester was honest. “Dave, I’m not really sure which side we’re on at this point, but we have to know one thing from you in order to continue. Are you talking to someone who claims to be Ru or Ruahadavalat or who claims to contain this such-named entity? Or does the entity, Ruahadavalat, reside within your person? It is important that you are truthful in your answer.”

“Before I can answer, you are to tell me something. What is it?”

Harry and Lester were prepared for this request but were still surprised to actually hear it. They looked at each other a little spooked. Harry grabbed the reins and continued awkwardly not aware of what impact his words would have.

“Vros sends word that seven of the seventeen are in place and connected. They await further orders. The code word is simply ‘choice’.”

“I can tell you, Agents Hardy and Cohen, that you are indeed on the noble side. Unfortunately, the voice of Ru that was inside of me has been silenced—either completely extinguished I’m afraid or just extracted from me. I cannot help you.”

Suddenly, without a word, a spectacled youth pulled up a chair to the table.

“Son, do you see a sign anywhere that says, ‘Please sit your ass down wherever you like’? Because believe me—I’m not even close to being in the right mood for whatever you have to say. Leave, now!” Lester was milliseconds away from knocking off the kid’s glasses.

“Those guys over there at the entrance wanted me to tell you, Red, and the lady to leave the blonde guy and nothing bad will happen. I’m just the messenger.”

The kid quickly left. Standing at the entrance were four seriously dour individuals in dark suits. One of the men had etchings of welted up scar tissue on his face that formed an elaborate and gruesome pattern. Another one in a trench coat looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in decades. One was wearing sunglasses that were entirely too large for his head. Black eye make-up was caked onto the lone woman of the group giving her unusually large eyes even more apparent volume. Harry thought to himself, “Another shitty rock band.” The stare-down was in full progress.

“They have no idea who we are. Showing all your cards like that—this has to be a joke.” Lester was on the verge of laughter but still wishing some firepower was issued for the mission. Since it was diplomatic, both Harry and Lester were unarmed.

Pam wondered aloud, “Should we head for the emergency exit?”

“It’s pointless. We’d just meet them in the parking lot. Besides, I love a staring contest.” Lester already knew which two of the four he would be responsible for incapacitating if the situation called for it.

“I’ll go have a chat with them,” Harry volunteered. Lester wanted to join Harry, but had to remain with Dave. It was probably better with Harry as lead negotiator, since Lester’s negotiations tended to be less about talk and more about drawing blood.

Van Morrison’s “Moondance” floated through the air over the rowdy diners as Harry made his way to the claw machine full of stuffed animals. Harry felt very alive in moments of confrontation.

“The party is over, gang. You have all done a fantastic job making yourselves look very intimidating, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough for us to hand over our comrade. A—you didn’t tell us why you want him. B—you didn’t talk to us directly. C—we’re in a very public place.”

The horribly scarred man spoke. “If you choose to interfere, then you choose death. You choose the blood of everyone here on your hands.”

The rest of the group opened their jackets to reveal to Harry how heavily armed they were. Harry was impressed.

“Ok. You’re obviously serious about this. I can tell you, there are surveillance cameras that will capture your entire killing spree. You’re not going to be able to kill everyone in here; some will get away. But I can see you mean business, so let me go discuss this with my friends.”

“Send him over alone.”

Harry returned and sat down at the booth. “Let’s do it your way, ‘Cohen’. They’re each doubling up on MP5’s—multiple clips.”

“’My way’? I’m not seeing a ‘my way’ in this situation.”

“We can’t rush them, or they’re going to start shooting. I’ll go back over there like I’m going to continue negotiating and distract them enough to give you a chance to enter the fray. Dave, Pam, the minute ‘Cohen’ leaves, you get under the table.”

Harry stood up for the suicide mission when suddenly the restaurant lost power—the lights went out. Harry and Lester could barely see the gang of four moving towards them.

The scarred man boomed, “David Bullock, your protector is no longer here to save your flesh and your soul.”

“But I am!” a dark shadow a few booths over exclaimed as he stood up and revealed an orb blossoming in his right hand. Out of the orb, small spider-like automatons leapt towards the four attackers. The spiders latched on to each one injecting into them an unseen force. Each attacker instantly dropped to the ground, and the spiders returned the orb. The shadow moved towards David and company. Lester saw the yellowish eyes.

“Mr. Face.”

“We must hurry. Follow me at once.”

Dave recognized the being by another name. “Hrel.”

---

It was early Saturday morning in Somerset as two disheveled agents from the Chicago branch arrived at the Bullock residence. Delayed by a last minute assignment involving the re-education of a hedge fund manager, they were just then getting around to their latest red folder assignment. The two agents were delighted by the charming neighborhood and looking forward to an easy job. One agent rang the doorbell. The other one knocked. After two minutes without a response, one of the agents pulled out a torus-shaped tool and held it over the deadbolt and then the doorknob. They stepped inside. After a few minutes of searching the house, they hit a snag that required a call to management.

“They’re supposed to be here, right?”