Chapter Thirteen

Pam was startled by the deformed looking man in the motorized wheelchair. Sure, he looked like a crumpled pile of burnt shit, dressed in dirty rags and twisted in the most uncomfortable position, but it wasn’t his appearance that made her shiver. He called her name as she passed by, and he was nearly invisible until he spoke. But when he did, it made her skin crawl. It was almost vulgar, like a curse, the way he said her name.

Columbia Street was not terribly busy on a Monday afternoon, and after spending a whole day locked in her apartment expecting somebody to burst through the front door, Pam went outside with a determination to not hide from the trouble that seemed to be crossing her path. The iced coffee and scone she was holding nearly dropped when she heard her name called. The way that he forced “Pamela Brody” out sounded like his tongue was fighting with his breath, and saying the words seemed to be only slightly easier exhaling.

“Jesus Christ,” Pam exclaimed. “The fuck happened to you?”

Hrel quivered, which would have likely passed for a laugh, but it just made his warped frame wiggle in the wheelchair.

“Accident,” he said, the c’s sounding like s’s whistling through the toothless gap in his mouth hole, which is what is mostly resembled.

The nicks and cuts on her knuckles had faded, but there was no way that Pam had done all that when she beat him. She started to back away from him, and his wheelchair lurched forward after her. Hrel’s wheelchair jerked backwards and he rolled about three feet before coasting into the wall behind him, which made him pop up and then slump forward. He lifted his head slightly, enough for Pam to see his yellow eyes, which slowly closed like a curtain falling, and then his neck seemed to give out, dropping his head down onto his chest. Pam stood there for a moment, waiting to see if Hrel would stir.

Suddenly, a bolt of pain flashed through Pam’s head, and she cringed in anguish as her brain felt like it was soaked in gasoline and thrown into an open fire. She crumpled to her knees and clutched at her head, squeezing it so hard that it might possibly stay intact against what felt like an explosion in her skull that was trying to blow it apart. She pitched forward and saw the street and buildings from a completely tilted angle. A thin ribbon of blood came from her nostril and slid down the side of her face, where it was usurped by the spilt coffee spreading on the sideway. Everything went black.

---

By twilight, Pam stirred. She was laying on her bed, and the smell of curry from the Indian restaurant across the street was blasting through her open window, stinging her sinuses. She rolled over onto her back, aware she was awake, and then became aware of her throbbing head. It was like a hangover times a thousand, far worse than the following day of any drug bender she’d been on. At least there’d be some naked body rolled up next to her or a pile of evidence on the table pointing to the good times that had been, but this was just all misery. Every muscle in her body ached as she got up and staggered into the bathroom. Each step she took was like walking up a sandy incline carrying a car on her back. In her medicine cabinet was an unmarked prescription bottle, which she grabbed and took a handful of pills from. She dropped them in her mouth and swallowed dryly. Cupping her hand, she caught some water from the faucet and washed the Vicotin down. It wasn’t coming out any different, but the water was like ice sliding down her throat.

Pam pulled her tee shirt over her head and undid the fly of her Dickies, stepping out of the pants until she was in her underwear. She turned on the bath, and clutched her panties like a frat boy, clumsily pulling them off. The water in the tub filled up around her, making a reservoir in-between her legs until spilling over and rising along her thighs. Soon, the levels met and covered her legs, waist and then up to her ribcage. She was exhausted and had to turn the water off with her foot, which pushed the spigot around until it was off. Resting her foot on the lip of the pedestal tub, her arms draped over the side until it felt like too much effort and she reeled them in to soak in the hot water.

The pain will go away she thought like a mantra. The pain will go away. Maybe the sixth or seventh time she said it, it didn’t sound right in her head. It had…echo? No, that wasn’t right. But it wasn’t just her in her head. Pam was silent for a moment. The pain will go away. That sounded normal. But when she heard it again, it didn’t at all. Because she hadn’t said it.

Hrel did.

---

”What in the fuck!”

Pam’s shock was understandable, even to Hrel. She clutched a towel to cover herself, and had a knife out defensively as she cowered in the corner of the kitchen.

“I said you have nothing to fear because I can’t hurt you.”

Pam looked around wildly. Where was he? How did he get in? And why couldn’t she see him?

“Because I’m in you mind,” Hrel said. “Because the only way I can be here is to exist through you.”

“Get out of my fucking head,” she screamed.

“There is no me, there is only us.”

“GET OUT!”

Hrel was silent, and hoped by not speaking Pam would calm down. There was a minute of silence, and Pam started to lower the knife.

She asked, “Are you gone?”

There was a brief pause, but Hrel replied, “No.”

Exasperated, Pam slumped to the floor. The knife slid out of her hand and she started sobbing. “Why,” she questioned. “Why is this happening?”

Hrel, lacking concern for expressions of compassion just addressed Pam’s question bluntly.

“I could no longer control Walter’s body…it was too far gone, and you were then only possible candidate to host. If I didn’t make the jump, there’s no telling how long it would be until I could come back, let alone find a host.”

“Who’s Walter,” asked Pam as she brushed tears away.

“You don’t have to say it. If you think it, I’ll hear it, just like how you’re hearing me. Real as you think it is, this is only in your head. And Walter was a good friend. Sadly, he died about nine years ago, but he was such a valuable asset, to let our work together be finished so suddenly was something I couldn’t allow.”

“In the wheelchair…that was…Walter?”

“Yes. He had a massive heart attack, but I couldn’t let him go. It’s not normal, but we had been bonded together for so long, I was able to actively control him physically. When his essence departed his body, I was left with it. Held up pretty well until you busted up his face. And then there was that car…”

Pam had stopped crying and was calmer, well, considering she was having a conversation with a voice in her head. “What car?”

“I got clipped pretty hard by a car yesterday. Shattered Walter’s pelvis and both legs. I was lucky that somebody saw and called the paramedics. Got that wheelchair at the hospital when they left me in the morgue.”

“How?”

“Same way I was able to animate him since he died. But the damage to his body was too massive to continue using it. He held up pretty well over the years, but just couldn’t take any more punishment. I was losing control and had to make a choice. Normally, a hosting is not so…forced. You’re also a hard mind to penetrate. I can’t control you and I can’t hurt you, but I can stay as long as I need to and you can’t force me out. It was not my plan, but I think we need to make it work until I can find Ru. Then, I will leave you be.”

Pam grunted and strained her muscles, from her pubococcygeus and anus, to her abdomen, up to her sinuses. Any physio-muscular contraction she could make she tried in a futile attempt to eject the angelic spirit from within.

“Satisfied,” he asked her.

“No,” she grumbled, lifting herself up and heading back into the bathroom. She hung up the towel and thought for a second about getting back in the bathtub. Adrenaline had taken care of the aching but soon the pills would have to pick up the slack. Pam popped the drain and headed out, briefly stopping in front of the mirror. She scowled at her reflection, and gave herself the finger. Take that, you angelic prick, she thought. On her bed, she rubbed at her temples, waiting for some relief.

“Rest until you feel good enough to eat something,” Hrel suggested.

“I was getting something earlier until you fried my synapses, asshole.”

“You’re just feeling the residual trauma from Walter’s body. Your nervous system thinks it has 23 broken bones, a lacerated spleen, one collapsed lung, and severe facial contusions. That’s not usually how it works moving from host to host, but again, it was jump or disappear from this plane.”

“I wish you did.”

---

The following morning, Pam did feel better, but didn’t like the feeling that even when she was by herself she wasn’t alone. She did her regular morning routine without interruption, and headed out around 10am for coffee and something to eat. Making her way back from Cherry Street, Pam retraced her route from the day before, and came across the spot she’d seen Hrel. Walter’s corpse was gone, as was the wheelchair, but some of the tattered rags were in the gutter, where Pam spit upon them.

She smiled and asked, “What, you’re not an early riser? I’m paying respect to your buddy.”

Hrel didn’t answer, but Pam left it at that. Wherever parasitic spirits go when they’re not trying to move into your head and turn you into their own personal transport, she didn’t bother to find out. The place was a limbo of sorts, between their dimension and Earth, and splitting their consciousness between the dimensions was not something that was shifted between quickly. It was much like standing on a ladder, feet on one rung and hands stretched to another, but instead of being wholly connected and simultaneously touching both, it was more like a circuit being completed. She had not been addressed by Hrel nor had he responded for quite some time and Pam was wondering if he was just going to swoop in from the ether and start talking at random. And no sooner than she wondered, he spoke.

“We need to find Ru.”

“Okay, she said, “so where is he?”

“It is possible that the Grufties know…”

Pam had no idea what Hrel was talking about. “The who?”

“You have seen them once before. Those vault creatures who showed up before I did that night before...”

“Before I stopped that big mouth of yours from flapping. And I’ve seen them twice.” Pam went to freeezer and opened the door to look at the bag she’d saved the severed fingertips in. “I don’t think they want to see me again.”

“Nonetheless, we should start with them before we start looking aimlessly.”

“Or…we can go to Somerset and find David. Maybe he knows how to get in touch with Ru.”

“If things are as bad as I think they are, we’re going to want to stay from there.”

“Is something bad going to happen to him,” Pam asked. She didn’t let on that she was hoping it would.

“Very possibly. Only Ru knows for sure. Call this number and tell Anton you are Walter’s niece. He’ll come pick us up and do whatever you ask him to. And he’ll be persuasive if they don’t feel like talking.”

“I’m not worried…I can be persuasive.”

Chapter Twelve

Harry lifted the eighth-grader’s bloodied head and then rammed it back down into the concrete. He repeated these steps in unison with the pumping of blood through his atria and ventricles. The eyes of the crimson face opened and the boy spoke. Harry halted the thrashing. The soothing voice that came from the boy’s lips belonged to Harry’s Nana.

“Young man, you need to learn to control your temper.”

The boy sat up dripping with blood from every orifice in his head. Most of the holes had been created in the last few minutes.

Harry addressed Nana Turquoise in the body of the beaten boy, “I had to punish him.”

“What authority are you, Harry, to think you are omniscient enough to make some decision concerning his education? You’re going to teach HIM a lesson? You’ve nearly killed him. The school would have suspended him, I’m certain, but you couldn't wait.”

“That’s no punishment.”

“Harry, this boy has a mother. How will she feel now? His father? His siblings? You didn’t even ask him why he did what he did.”

The boy stood up. He was both taller and heavier than Harry. Blood continued to ooze from his head and coat his entire body. The next words to leave his mouth transformed from Nana’s to Bernard’s deep francophone voice.

“You are a killer, Harry. You can’t contain this part of yourself. You are an executioner without his mask. Sooner or later the reaper will come for you as well. It won’t be a heart attack or a stroke at the end I can assure you.”

The face of the boy began to morph into something entirely inhuman. A muzzle began to push out from his face. His teeth lengthened and sharpened. His eyes reflected light unnaturally. The voice that came from the new monster contained equal parts of the Missouri drawl that belonged to Harry’s social worker from his teenage years and an unidentifiable timbre that filled the ears like an unholy dirge.

“Come play our game, Harry. You are the master of violence. Now it is time for you to die by the sword.”

The monster snapped at Harry. Harry awoke in a spasm. Angie was looking down at him caressing his brow with the sun behind her.

“It’s over. It’s okay.”

She had been watching Harry sleep for the past two hours. She was still in awe of all the disorder Harry had wreaked on Dolph’s operation just a few hours earlier.

“I’d say you had a nightmare, but it’s early afternoon. How about an early-afternoon-mare?”

Harry smiled up at Angie. He figured they were just north of the Montana-Alberta border near Glacier National Park. Harry fell asleep at the edge of sunny meadow after a long hike away from their purloined vehicle. The engine had seized up after losing too much oil. The rock-infested ride away from the Fallen Angel had taken its toll on the oil pan. The series of events leading up to the tormented nap left Harry in need of a quiet moment. The couple was in no hurry to get back to the rest of the human population.

Harry’s streak of vengeance that began the day before ended the moment he found Angie alive. The day before, Harry was a vortex of controlled rage after breaching the surface of the lake. The anger, mostly aimed at himself, bounced off in all directions sparing no one in its path. Harry methodically waited as one-by-one he encountered a half dozen members of a search party. Many of the men Harry quietly extinguished were combat veterans, but their paychecks were too small in comparison with Harry’s hatred. A snapped neck yielded a M16 and a bowie knife. A slit throat yielded a Dragunov. A head shot yielded Harry one less pest to worry about. Harry was working his way toward el jefe, Dolph. In Harry’s mind, Angie was dead. Everyone involved was to pay the ultimate price.

After the untimely death of his parents, Harry was able to cultivate a Zen-like control over his emotions over time with the loving support of Nana Turquoise. On occasion, this control failed spectacularly. Almost no one knew about the explosive surprise hidden deep within Harry. Lester had seen a glimpse of it only once in the time he had known Harry. They were working a rare overseas psychological operation. It was a job to plant the seeds of rumor involving a three way relationship between a powerful international capitalist, the C.I.A., and a popular film actress. Harry’s explosive incident had absolutely nothing to do with the job. In fact, it could have placed the outcome of the job in jeopardy. Harry and Lester were walking down a crowded street when Harry saw a man fiercely beating his young son apparently. Harry went straight for the man and dragged him to a secluded alley. Lester was along for the ride; for once, Harry would be the heavy. Harry didn’t just beat the man. He changed the landscape of the man’s face. Lester couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This was Harry Turquoise—the man who wouldn’t let Lester kill a spider? Harry was always the guy who wanted to try diplomacy first. Lester was almost afraid to step in to stop the violent demonstration.

In the seventh grade, Harry’s maelstrom roared out in full for the first time. He and his friend, Nolan, were having an intense conversation outside of class in between periods. Nolan rocked back and forth on his skateboard as they discussed the advantages and disadvantages of the various character classes in Dungeons and Dragons. Nolan was partial to sorcerers. Harry liked to play as a ranger mainly. The boys were quite enjoying themselves when an eighth-grader walked by and kicked Nolan’s skateboard out from under him. Nolan hit the ground hard—hard enough to leave a golf ball-sized knot on his head. Additionally, both bones in Nolan’s forearm fractured when they were sandwiched between his body and the ground. Nolan was in a great deal of pain, and Harry was flabbergasted. He had never seen such a show of disrespect. The bully just walked away like nothing had happened. Harry didn’t know the eighth-grader personally and doubted Nolan knew him. Harry had to do something to balance his environment by returning the seemingly random act of violence. He grabbed Nolan’s skateboard, ran up behind the eighth-grader, and took a full swing at the boy’s head. The boy dropped to the ground. But Harry wasn’t finished. He sat on top of the larger boy and began to punch him in the head. Everyone around just watched in disbelief. When a couple physical education teachers finally arrived to pull Harry off the boy, they found Harry pounding the kid’s skull on the pavement.

Harry’s counsel was able to get the attempted murder charges dropped, but Harry was expelled. He was in the system from that point on. Everyone had their eyes on Harry. When Harry’s specially-assigned social worker saw he had a straight A student with “killer” instincts, he knew just the life path to send Harry down. The only obstacle that kept Harry from ultimately doing government wet work was Nana Turquoise. Hers was the voice of peace. Nurture outweighed nature or possibly earlier nurturing in Harry’s case. Social engineering became Harry’s new path.

“Thanks for keeping a look out. I needed the nap.”

Harry felt he needed to somehow apologize to Angie for dealing so much death.

“All the bodies back there—it’s not really me. I thought you were gone, and I reacted.”

“Harry, if you hadn’t done what you did, I’d still be under their control. I’d still be with Dolph.”

“Are you disappointed I didn’t kill him?”

“I think I understand a little the archaic code you’re basing your decisions on.”

“It’s just when I saw you alive, it all left me. The fight, the rage—it evaporated. Logically, it didn’t make sense considering you were acting like a… like a…”

“Like a whore, Harry. You don’t know what it’s like to feel the full power of a caduceus. I was lost for a long time, and Dolph showed up to guide me out of the desert. I honestly thought he cared about me, and I was willing to do anything for him. I see, now, how wrong I was.”

“Well, when we get back to civilization, we’ll just say you were deep, deep undercover. You’ll have plenty of stories for management.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Harry. My fight, my rage—I don’t think it was ever there for me. Somehow I deluded myself into thinking I was doing something to make the world a better place. I don’t pretend to know anymore.”

“I understand. I don’t fully agree that you were deluding yourself. That would mean I’m deluding myself. But I understand.”

Harry just began to focus on the fact that he and Angie had been holding hands for the duration of their conversation. He squeezed hers, she squeezed back, and they sat by the meadow, enjoying the sound of nothing man-made.

“About getting back to civilization—how are we doing that exactly?”

“I sort of have an idea of where we are. I think I can get us back to a highway. Hopefully, we can hitch a ride.”

---

Dave and Lester were parked outside a restaurant in Louisville. The restaurant’s sign contained only sinographs. Dave neglected to mention to Lester anything about Pam’s text message. Dave didn’t bother to mention that he ran into quite a colorful character back in the bathroom of the rib place.

“Why are we in Louisville? Is there some other restaurant you’re interested in checking out?”

“Partially correct, Dave. Right now, I can’t really trust anyone. But I know I can trust Tommy Liu. Tommy and I go way back. Even though he’s retired from the company now, I’m sure he’ll still help out an old friend. This dim sum place right here—it’s his. And let me tell you, Tommy knows dim sum. I’ve never had a chance to stop by until now. And the way I see it, I don’t really know anyone in your home town. Wherever Tommy sets us up will be a perfect out of the way safe house. We’re close enough to the action, and safe amongst friends. I can’t find that kind of service in Somerset. I’m sure your folks are nice and all, but we can’t risk an extended stay. I’m supposed to ensure your safety. You said you thought Mr. Face had another idea.”

Dave could see Lester’s point. He thought since his parents were in Somerset, that’s where Hrel wanted him to go. Now that he thought about it after seeing the type of people that were after him, it made sense to let Lester survey the situation in Somerset first. Somerset had more significance than simply being Dave’s hometown. It’s proximity to Lake Cumberland was what made it special.

“Yes, I don’t believe he wanted me to reunite with my parents. He wants to use me again. The fissure in Lake Cumberland is one of the most heavily trafficked portals between our part of the universe and the portion in which the angels and demons reside. My genetic make-up has structured my brain in such a way to make me more receptive to hosting these beings. This was a trait I believe I inherited from my grandfather. Hrel may want me for one of his allies.”

“Whatever you say, Dave. I am in the dark on this one, so I have to count on you to know what Face wanted. I still think we should at least stop by to see good old Mom and Dad. It ain’t right for a boy to be away from his folks for so long. Now, let’s eat. I have to warn you—Tommy might call me by some other name when he sees me. People like me—we have all kinds of names. Just play along.”

The restaurant was very different from what either man had been accustomed. Instead of secluded dining nooks for parties from two to six people with a few central public tables on display, there was a large open banquet hall filled with large round tables and a few smaller tables. It was more like a wedding reception than a restaurant. A handful of Chinese women roamed from table to table pushing steaming carts of little snacks. Lester didn’t hesitate to what he was craving after being seated.

“Hey! Hey! Over here.” Lester waved to one of the women.

“The bau, please. And send over the girl with the chicken feet. Also my friend here needs something without any meat. Xie xie.”

The woman placed a tray of four little white balls on the table and stamped the piece of paper on the table. Lester dug in and grinned widely as he ate. Before he had chance to take another bite a sharp-dressed man interrupted.

“Lester Phister, the Phist. I don’t believe it. How the hell are you?”

“Tommy Liu, it’s good to see you old buddy. I thought I’d swing by to check out the place while I’m on a little business.”

“I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

Both men laughed, and Lester stood up to give Tommy a warm hug and handshake.

“Tommy Liu, meet my latest baby-sitting project, Dave Bullock.”

Tommy shook Dave’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dave. You’re in good hands here with Lester. He taught me everything I know now about the Moog synthesizer. And he’ll keep you in stitches while the guys who are after you will be needing stitches.”

“Tommy, this place is fantastic.”

Lester paused and then gave up on the small talk.

“I hate to put this on you with such short notice, but after close, I need to talk to you about a little favor you can help us out with.”

Tommy had a concerned look, but the friendship ran deep. Lester had performed many favors for Tommy in the past.

“Sure thing, Les. We can meet in my private office. Whatever you need, my friend.”

“Sorry, Tommy.”

“No need to apologize. This is a wonderful surprise. The truth is, I’ve been missing some of the more exciting aspects of my old job.”

---

Marv sat in a bar Missoula waiting. A small Hispanic man had been sitting next to him for the past half hour. The man finally looked over at Marv and surprised him by saying something.

“HEY, BRONCO!”

Marv was puzzled. He was waiting for a man named Bronco, and here was a man calling him Bronco.

“Uh, I’m not Bronco. I’m waiting for Bronco.”

“THEY PAY YOU TO WAIT, BRONCO?”

“I’m not sure we should continue this conversation.”

“HEY, BRONCO, TELL THAT TO DOLPH, BRONCO.”

A chill went down Marv’s spine. He had been sitting near the notorious Bronco for the past half hour.

“I apologize, Mr. Bronco, I was confused.”

“HEY, BRONCO, STILL CONFUSED. NO MISTER. FUCKIN’ METALLICA.”

“Here’s the disposable phone. Dolph will contact you shortly.”

“MASTER OF PUPPETS PULLING YOUR STRINGS.”

Marv left the bar uneasy of his status with Dolph and now Bronco. A short while later, the phone rang. Bronco answered.

“FUCKIN’ HELLO.”

Chapter Eleven

Dave studied the text message Pam sent and wasn’t sure what to do. If he started to text back, Lester would probably stop him, ask who, what, why he was sending a message and then spend twenty minutes talking about needing to be invisible to everybody. When Lester came back, Dave politely excused himself to the bathroom, looking more for privacy than relief. He knew Cohen wasn’t Lester’s real name, and it was clear that he was in trouble ever since the Denny’s, but what else had Pam come across?

He entered the bathroom and realized there was somebody in the stall, so Dave stood in front of the urinal and made like he was pissing while operating the cell phone one-handed. In the stall there was grunting, and Dave tried to pretend the other person wasn’t there. He pulled up the menu and navigated to reply, when the stall door opened and the man inside sighed and flushed the toilet. Aware he was pretend peeing, Dave put the phone away and made as though he was in the bathroom honestly.

The man from the stall stood next to Dave at the sink. He was wearing old Oakley sunglasses and had long, greasy back hair. The man was definitely Hispanic, probably one of the Indian people from Mexico or Central America, thought Dave, and the thin moustache and wisps of chin hair only made the look even more clichéd. Dave could have easily pictured the man in some ancient hunting garb on the hot jungle steppes. The man turned to Dave.

“HEY, BRONCO!”

The voice was almost as cartoonish as his look. It was a seriously thick accent, but Dave understood what was being said. The man was facing Dave, and he could see the well-soiled jeans and vintage shirt worn without irony, along with the overall sense of dirtiness the man conveyed. Somewhere, a rickety produce truck was missing it’s driver. Dave wasn’t sure the man was talking to him even though they were looking at each other, and didn’t respond.

“HEY BRONCO, YOU LIKE METALLICA?”

Every syllable was stressed, ME-TAL-LIC-A. The man had earplugs in, and there was an old CD player stuffed in his back pocket.

“HAMMER OF JUSTICE CRUSHES YOU! MASTER!”

Dave was speechless.

“ALRIGHT, BRONCO. HEAVY FUCKIN’ METAL!”

The freak threw up some devil horns and bobbed his head as he left. “OH SHIT, MAN…METALLICA,” he said.

Dave stood there befuddled for a moment. Invisible? No fucking problem. I’ll call her when we get to my parents.

---

From the time she was born, wanderlust was neatly imprinted upon Ivy.

Ivy’s father was an Air Force colonel, who was tasked with decommissioning ICBM missile silos and facilities when the Russians finally ran out of gas and dropped out of the cold war. Because he was assigned to domestic service, he opted to take his family with him from location to location rather than leave them in New Salem, Kansas, about an hour southeast of McConnell AFB where he was first stationed. It wasn’t easy at first, as they had trouble feeling like they had a true home, but after the first year it was like they were on a protracted vacation.

The RV held most of their essentials (as least, that which wasn’t left on the base in storage for their ultimate return), but the various officer’s quarters provided that hotel-like feel to their travels that added to the traveling experience. The number of sites to visit kept the family moving at least twice a year, but there were stretches in between that allow them to explore the surrounding towns and counties. Ivy’s father felt that she would have a far more enriching childhood seeing the country rather than growing up in one place, and with the time he was able to spend with his family already less than he wanted when they were in Kansas, to be circulating around the country would diminished that even further. Yet for all his efforts to be a good father, there was still a disconnect between Ivy and her dad. As you could guess, little girls and psychology of the military don’t quite mix.

At first, Ivy was withdrawn, but when she was old enough to understand why the family kept moving, she embraced the idea. She fancied herself an explorer, a visitor from another planet who was studying the customs and culture of Earth. Ivy didn’t like the jets and bombs and guns, so she pretended that she was secretly disarming their attack capabilities, using mind control to force her “Dad” to decommission the weapons locations. Eventually she would send a message and let them know if it was okay to make contact with the humans – friend or foe, they’d be disarmed and pose less threat. In the game she had created, the military was looking for her and she had to move every time they got close, which was always since she stayed on their bases and operated under their noses.

Ivy kept a diary once she was old enough to write, detailing mission successes and making observations on her travels. Even when she’d outgrown the nuisance of the framework, she still kept a log of her journey and wrote about her thoughts and particularly interesting dreams. She had just finished making some jewelry and had packed it to be sent to her friend Kayla back in Florida, and was settling in to write a little before going to sleep. When her father retired, they moved to Orlando, and the few years before she was legally able to up and go were difficult being trapped in one spot. Kayla was her one true friend back home, and helped her sell some jewelry online and to mall boutiques. Ivy hoped that it would take off more, so that she could worry less about selling at local swap meets and farmer’s markets and try to have a dependably steady income wired to her wherever she went.

For the time being, Ivy was staying at a motel, which was a little more extravagant than she’d usually spring for, but she’d been particularly tired the last few days, and given the warm British Columbia weather, a little air conditioning and a semi-comfortable bed wouldn’t be too bad. Since leaving home, it was a lot harder traveling, and with enough money saved, Ivy thought maybe she’d buy an old VW microbus so she could travel easier and have that nostalgic comfort like when she was a child, living on the American highway.

In bed, Ivy had already set the plain spiral notebook aside for the time she would put her thoughts to paper. She undressed down to her boy-shorts cut underwear put on a small men’s ribbed tank top, the kind her father would call an “Italian undershirt” before sliding into the sheets. Flipping towards the middle where her last entry had been, it was written nearly a week prior when she had just arrived in Seattle. When she took unexpected breaks between entries, Ivy would reread what she had done before moving on, but this time she didn’t even look back. There was too much to write.

I feels like haven’t had a few minutes to catch my breath in the last week, and seeing as how I have a lot to put down, I guess that’s right.

I really like the Pacific Northwest, and having been in Vancouver for three days now, I think that the northern latitudes are my favorite. I had not planned to leave Seattle so quickly, but I just felt…compelled? Lately, it seems as though I’m in a constant state of sleepwalking. Its like, I remember things but feel like I’m viewing them outside myself. There’s even been a couple of instances where I’m not sure I what I’ve done actually happened or was part of a dream – more on that later.

So I partly accomplished what I wanted in Seattle, and that was to see Brother Dave. God, I was such a geek! “You really motivated me to try and make a difference and follow what I believe in.” – ugh! He totally must have though I was such a lame ass. Even his producer chick was looking at me weird. I really would have liked to talk to him about his thoughts on destiny and alternate reality. I guess I could swing back through and try and see him at the studio, since it wasn’t too hard to get in there.

Saw some beautiful places, although I really wanted to go to the top of the Space Needle, but didn’t seem to have the time. Another thing to put on the list “to do” before I die. Magnusson Park was great - saw the Sound Garden, which made such an odd, unearthly sound, but was calming. I probably spent half a day there, watching the sun set and listening to the wind playing the sculpture as my soundtrack. I’m glad I went there after Astoria and Portland, because the quaintness of those places would have been lost in the grandeur of Seattle’s presence. Yeah, Seattle and grandeur – maybe that’s a big much, especially compared to Vancouver, which has the same urban vibe as Seattle, but just, I don’t know…a Canadian twist? Like I said, the whole northwest is terrific.

Met up with the one and only Johnny Cabbage today at Zabba’s, which is a local electronics shop. We talked to Ms. Živojinović, who runs her late husband’s shop and she’s surprisingly on board to let us make a couple of videos to put on the internet that we hope will make business increase. Ms. Z. (can’t write that out again) is going to let us borrow some of the camera equipment and her grandson to shoot it. Johnny is being a good sport, since we’re going to make him do some pretty silly things in the name of art and commerce. He also spoke to her and they want to pay me for my help, which I didn’t expect at all. I don’t think it’ll be much, but anything helps. Me, I just saw his commercial and knew he had more left in him – even if it means being goofy! And I just hate to see the little guy lose.

Johnny invited me to see The Big Dirty Band tomorrow night, and he said we’ll “drink some brews and talk shop”. Fortunately the legal age is 19 here, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t really drink. He was with the Royal Mounties years ago, so I’m sure he’ll make with some stories once he has a few drinks in him too.

Ivy forced out a yawn as if her body was waiting for a pause writing. She stretched and arched her arms and back like a cat on a sunny pane. Her eyes felt momentarily rough, and she blinked a few times to lubricate them, and rolled her neck for good measure. Before she fell asleep she wanted to get down what was most on her mind from the last week.

Last night I had another weird dream, and I say another because it’s starting to become a regular occurrence since I got here. I’m in a rowboat in the middle of a lake, and the water slowly starts to recede until the whole thing is just a dry valley. In the distance are some old wooden buildings, and it looks like a ghost town. The sky above looks like a storm, except it’s sunny out. It’s like a vortex of clouds and light, but there’s no funnel like a tornado. It just spins and gets bigger and bigger. The ground starts to shake and clumps of dirt and earth start to float upward towards the vortex, but suddenly it’s as if the ground rose up and got slammed back down like a blanket being shaken out. The dirt settles and the spinning vortex shrinks and disappears. I’m about to get out of the rowboat but I see that water is seeping through the ground, and soon the lake is filling itself back up.

It’s nighttime but the sky is a very bright purple. There’s no moon, but the night sky makes it bright enough to be able to see. There’s a current now and I’m watching the boat head towards the far end of the lake where two hills are. In the water I see two small dark points near the boat. As I move along, they follow, but they’re not fish or a reflection. Someone is talking to me, and knows my name.

“Ivy, where are you going,” the voice says. I tell it “I don’t know”, and then I hear laughter. It’s not malicious and I’m not scared, but I don’t know that I trust whoever is speaking. The voice says, “I wouldn’t trust me either,” and I ask how it knows what I was thinking. I hear the voice again, but this time it’s like a thought, and it says to me, “You know what I’m thinking.” I talk back to it, but my lips don’t move, and I hear myself saying the words even though the sound is not coming out of my mouth. “No, I don’t,” and then I say “Ru”. “Yes,” the voice says. “See, we do know what the other is thinking.” The rowboat beaches itself on the shore where the two hills are, and I get out of the boat.

That was the first dream. And the next time I slept, it continued.

I’m walking up the path between the two hills, and I see behind me is Brother Dave. He speaks, but it’s in that voice again, not his. He says on the other side of the valley we will see his friends and enemies, and then he stops talking and keeps thinking at me. “If you take my hand and we cross together no harm shall befall you.” I think to him that I will protect him, and that without me he can not reach the peak. Over the top there is another vortex, and when I turn to show Brother Dave, he’s gone and I’m standing next to myself. I think “Ru, will they welcome us or want to us us,” but there’s no answer. I turn back to look at the peak, and I think to myself that I have to keep them from finding out that I know they’re coming, and when I’m thinking that, it’s like my thoughts and Ru are now one in the same, because I’m alone now. The closer we get to the top, the smaller the vortex is, until it’s almost gone. And as I crest the peak, the valley below fills with light that blinds us and I wake up.

Ever since that first night, I’ve been having “conversations” for lack of better term with “Ru”. Sometimes there will be a few words of information about something I’m looking at, or a suggestion of where to turn or direction to head in. When I ask questions they’re never answered but I seem to find the conclusions one way or another through Ru’s command. I want to be scared but somehow I’m not, even if that means I’m losing my mind. If that’s what it is, it’s strangely comforting and not jarring like I‘d expected it would be. Perhaps there will be more tonight, and I can’t shake that feeling that I’m sleeping with one eye open. Or not entirely awake during the day. There’s a surreal quality to the dreams, but in the last couple of days, there’s been a dreamy quality to reality. We’ll see.

Ivy yawned again and put her notebook on the ground near her tote. The light went off and Ivy lay there in the dark, waiting to see what would happen next.

---

After the Fallen Angel had been flooded and sustained considerable damage, a training class was set up for the various henchmen and lackeys. Dolph wanted to be certain that his “employees” were able to manage some level of reasoning and analysis in addition to utilizing their criminal backgrounds. Even though Harry had absconded with Angie, some things, Dolph felt, were unacceptable.

Marv, the top bootlicker in the organization, stood across from Dolph, who was seated at his large desk that was the base of a once mighty tree.

“Marv,” Dolph said, “as you know, we had a very serious security breech, and two of our guests left the premises contrary to my wishes.”

“Yes sir, I am aware,” consoled Marv.

And Marv, you know that I had big plans for those two, yes?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“And yet,” he lingered on the word. “They did.”

“That they did, sir. That was terrible.”

“Marv, I want you to make sure that this training class we have is not another waste of time. If we can’t get adequate scum to do our work, we’re either not looking hard enough or we don’t belong in this business.”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Who was the guard assigned to our guests?”

“That would be Nunzio Nutzzi. He’s in the infirmary with a broken nose that Mr. Turquoise gave him.”

“Shoot him in the knee.”

“Sir?”

“In the knee. Shoot him in the knee.”

“Yes, sir. Which knee sir?”

“Use your discretion, Marv.”

“And, Marv,” he added, “call in Bronco.”

Marv was at the double doors of Dolph’s office and turned around to address his boss. “Sir, what should I tell him?”

“I want him to kill every member of Mr. Nutzzi’s family. But first, I’d like him to come here and find Harry Turquoise and that turncoat bitch-whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Marv. I’ve changed my mind. Shoot him in the left knee.”

Chapter Ten

“I’ve told you practically my whole life story. You even know my real name. I’ve entertained you for the past twenty-four hours. I ran out of jokes back in South Dakota, so I went back into the recesses of my mind and dug up material I used back in the third grade. I’ve educated you on some of the greatest recording artists ever to exist. You gotta give something back. This cat stops purring if he doesn’t eat. If you talked more, I wouldn’t have to talk so much. Thus I wouldn’t have to drink so much water. Thus my bladder wouldn’t be on the verge of exploding.”

As much as Lester enjoyed talking, the one-sided nature of his transcontinental monologue was starting to get to him. Dave’s catatonia was the biggest iceberg Lester had ever attempted to melt. Every now and then, Dave would let a little smile slip. This was the trickle of fuel Lester’s speech had been running on for the past day on the road and during stops for grub and gasoline. The one thing for which Lester could give Dave credit was that he kept his eyes open. Knowing someone was awake to receive his words of wisdom kept Lester from drifting off to sleep and off the highway. As they approached Kansas City, Dave finally started to open up.

“I haven’t seen my father in seventeen years.”

“See. There you go. That wasn’t hard. It’s not the funniest story, but you’re getting the idea now.”

“My father would want you to believe God created all of this. He created you and me. And our purpose in life is to love Him and bring glory to His name.”

“He’s on a roll, folks. He can’t be stopped. Please, David, continue.”

“It’s not the case. It’s not true.”

“Yeah, it’s all some big accident. My mama would whoop me if I didn’t make it to church. She’d get up out the grave and whoop me if she could, if she saw how I spent my Sundays now. I know where you’re coming from, chief.”

“It wasn’t an accident. It looks like an accident. The Big Bang, evolution, everything we know of through science, for the most part, happened.”

“Sounds like an accident.”

“But the demons started it. The dark ones. It was their grand experiment. They originated from a place of constant conflict with competing destructive forces. Without rest for eons, they fought to dominate and expand their reach.”

“Okay, you’re starting to lose me, Dave.”

“When they encountered the angels, they suffered their first defeat. It was their concept of dominance over all versus the angel’s oneness of all. It was the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object.”

“Are you talking about guys with horns and tails fighting guys with wings and halos?”

“No. Both forms do not occupy mass and volume in the way you and I expect conscious beings to exist. They’re not spirits that we could ever see. They exist on a higher dimensional space. They can easily perceive us, but we could never perceive them without their drawing of themselves into our space. In order to continue their conquest, the demons needed a weapon powerful enough to wipe out the angels. They essentially needed their own angels to infiltrate and destroy the space of the angels. They concocted the idea of creating a universe where any life that developed to a level that could transcend its own space would have to be brutal enough and powerful enough to take on and defeat the angels. They would recruit and control these life forms to build an army against the angels. They created the spark that developed into the world you see before you.”

“So the devil made us? Not God? Who’s telling you all this?”

“Ru.”

“How do you know this Ru guy ain’t lying to you?”

“The possibility is there. It abandoned me at what I believed was a crucial moment. I still don’t know why. But I believe.”

“So what’s the rest of the story?”

“The demons had no way of knowing if their experiment would work, but billions of years later, here we are—human beings. To the chagrin of the demons, the angels found us first. They fell in love with us. Out of nothing came something they could never have imagined. There is much more to our species and animals in general than you know. Most people can only get a glimpse of their evolved selves when they are asleep. The portion of ourselves that operates on a different level of space stays locked within us during waking moments. But when we sleep, it expands beyond the boundaries of our bodies intersecting with others. A few enlightened souls can maintain awareness of this phenomenon during intense meditation. They can control the expansion of the soul while awake. This ‘soul’, the angels feel, is the closest kin they’ve found across the many universes they have traveled. The angels do not know of their own origins. Human beings give them a clue of what they might have been. They shepherd some of our strongest souls to join them. We are simply that compatible. You see the one thing we seemed to have gained by developing the way we have, that the angels don’t have, is freedom of choice. And they’re fascinated by this. Everything they do is focused on achieving oneness. We can choose to shun the oneness. And we do so constantly. The demons on the other hand also are destined to behave one way. Like the angels, they can’t make this fundamental choice. One demon can only concentrate on its individual rise of power over the universe. The only reason a lesser demon works for the greater demon is to preserve its own existence and perhaps one day destroy the greater demon to take its place.”

“I’m still picturing a little guy with horns and tail holding a pitch fork on my right shoulder and little guy with wings and a halo holding a harp on my left.”

“It’s true, as humans, we can go either way because we can choose.”

“So where does Ru come into the picture?”

“It is one of the three of the seventeen who first came to our world. It was with me. I saw many parts of our planet with Ru. We were securing possible points of entry the demons could use as shortcuts to our world. The demons seeded their creation with tangible and intangible objects to act as tripwire alarms and possible gateways for easy access to collect their future army. Ru had a knack for locating these objects.”

“Hey, Dave, this is a great story, but there’s a good barbeque place just off of 70. In the mood for some ribs? Of course you are.”

Dave shrugged his shoulders. Lester had food on his mind, but he didn’t laugh Dave out of the car like most people would have after hearing everything Dave had to say. Maybe he’d seen enough to think that Dave could be right. He asked the right question back in Seattle. He knew Hrel. Ru mentioned that Hrel and others sometimes worked with or assisted state authorities. Lester seemed to be one of the good guys.

Lester screeched into the parking lot.

“Dave, go ahead and order. I’m going to do what I should have done four hours ago.” Lester was about to burst, but he had one more thought for Dave that couldn’t seem to wait. “You know, sometimes folks like to wrap themselves in a blanket of righteousness so they can do some pretty fucked-up things and have some basis to justify it. I can’t believe there is a set of perfect beings out there striving for oneness. If you’ve seen it and been touched by it, than you can know evil first-hand, my man.”

Lester ran into the restaurant and headed directly for the restroom. Dave ambled slowly into the modest and aromatic establishment. After he found a seat, he pulled out his mobile phone. There was a text message waiting for him to read.

---

Beneath one of the many lakes in Montana, Harry wanted to ignore the large mass that stood before him. But something about the gun holstered beneath Bernard’s immense coat made Harry think twice about testing his luck.

“Was it the nut sack? It must have been the nut sack. That thing is just getting too much press these days.”

One of the tricks Harry picked up from Lester was to not to appear bothered when finding oneself at a physical disadvantage. Keep the illusion of friendliness alive to let the other guy know that he might really be the one at the disadvantage. Bernard wasn’t laughing.

“For your safety, Mr. Turquoise, come with me.”

Somehow, Harry wasn’t buying that Bernard had any concern for his safety. They began walking towards the antechamber but then Bernard pushed Harry, and they veered to the right. Harry needed to find an opportunity to make a move.

“I must say, Mr. Turquoise, you performed quite predictably—right up to the moment when you decided to damage our property. Vandalism, Mr. Turquoise, really? Such a futile attempt to change whatever fate you believe awaits you.”

“The strength of that glass was on my mind all night. I made a bet with myself that I couldn’t break it. I lost. Who’d have guessed? I owe myself a car wash now.”

They moved higher into the honeycomb of the lakeside structure arriving at a room with a dazzling pool that fed an aquatic cave that Harry assumed led to the lake. There was scuba gear, underwater welding equipment, and a miniature submersible watercraft. Near the pool were three men bound to chairs. Another man with a submachine gun ensured the captives behaved well. As Bernard and Harry moved closer to the men, Harry realized the captives were his friends, Dolph, Greg, and Gary. Bernard began to explain the situation to Harry.

“Mr. Turquoise, we are quite familiar with your background and understand that extracting information from you through physical torture would yield nothing for us. I will ask a question. You will answer. If your answer is not to our satisfaction, we kill a man.”

The three men began to loudly protest.

“This is bullshit! This is fucking bullshit! I just met this guy,” Gary pleaded.

“You better tell them what they want to know, motherfucker.” Greg shot at Harry.

Bernard reassured the men, “Mr. Turquoise has a very noble heart. I don’t believe he wants anything bad to happen to you. Am I correct, Mr. Turquoise?”

Harry nodded.

“Mr. Turquoise, the question is simple. Where is Ruahadavalat?”

“I honestly do not know.”

Bernard walked behind Gary, pulled out his pistol, and shot Gary point blank through the back of the skull.

“Again, Mr. Turquoise, where is Ruahadavalat?”

Greg was sobbing. He knew death was close.

“No more killing! If I fucking knew where he was, I would fucking tell you!”

“We’ve stirred your soul, Mr. Turquoise. But I believe you’re not telling us everything.”

Harry knew it was hopeless for Greg. He looked around for anything.

“He’s gone. He left. I don’t know where he is. That… is… the truth.”

Bernard put a bullet into Greg’s head.

“You’re not listening to me!” Harry screamed.

Bernard’s gun was pointed at Dolph’s head. Harry was resigned to see Dolph die. Then Dolph spoke to Bernard.

“He doesn’t know.”

At least Harry convinced the condemned man. Then Dolph addressed Harry.

“You really disappointed me, Harry. I was really getting to like Shane Hardy. He seemed like a man who knew how to have fun and who wouldn’t allow anything get in the way of that fun. I had no idea, until Bernard clued me in a moment before he tracked you down, that you were the man we were fishing for.”

Bernard’s gun was now pointed at Harry. The other gunman untied the ropes that held Dolph to his chair.

“Can’t we buy you, Harry? Don’t you have a price? We thought Angie would be the ultimate prize. She was convinced. It was her idea as a matter of fact. We let her run with it. And here you go, protecting something about which you haven’t the slightest clue. We took a risk trying to bring you here. Now we’ll have to cut our loses. Bernard, take Harry back to the room he damaged, where we’ve left Angie. They can drown there together. I’m anxious to see what you two will do in the moments before releasing your souls from their flesh.”

Sobriety struck Harry quickly. With the gun now pointed at him, Harry could focus entirely on rescuing Angie Ahern. It would require much improvisation, but the twinkling of a plan was forming. Bernard began marching Harry back to the bluebird room maintaining a safe distance behind.

“So, Bernie, where you from? Montreal? Nice? Ivory Coast? Switzerland? I’m horrible at placing accents.”

Bernard was tempted to entertain Harry, knowing he wasn’t long for this world, but he also didn’t want to let his guard down.

“Okay. How about this? If you don’t tell me where you’re from, I’ll kill you.”

Bernard laughed this time. Harry laughed along with him. When they were in the hallway leading to the bluebird room, Harry started a new line of conversation.

“So my partner loves Steely Dan. Just loves them. But he’s never read Burroughs. So he had no idea that a Steely Dan was a dil…,” Harry trailed off as Bernard moved closer to hear what Harry was saying.

In less than a second, Harry pivoted forcefully into Bernard stripping the gun from Bernard by violently twisting his arm. Harry’s free hand with laser precision dealt consecutive blows to Bernard’s solar plexus and liver. Then Harry instantly moved his aim higher to strike Bernard’s neck. The stunned Bernard was open for Harry’s elbow to knock him unconscious.

Harry dashed down the hall to the bluebird room to find the door locked and slowly leaking at the seams near the bottom. He saw that there was a keypad to enter a numeric entry code. Harry ran back to Bernard to try to wake him. After slapping Bernard a dozen times, Harry realized the man was dead. Harry was familiar with Dim Mak but had always doubted its efficacy. Harry had inadvertently stumbled upon a deadly combination. With no time to dwell on the fact that his joke had come to pass, Harry sprinted back to the door. There was no way to get through. But he could get in another way. Harry ran back through hallways and up staircases to the pool room and grabbed a diving cylinder, mask, and fins. Dolph, the other gunman, and the corpses of Gary and Greg were gone. Harry suited up quickly, checked his regulator, and jumped in the pool. He followed the cavernous water tunnel to an emerald opening. A grate blocked Harry from getting through to the lake. Harry swam the few hundred meters back to the pool room and grabbed an arc welding kit. Harry returned to the opening and, after a few minutes, was able to unhinge the grate. He wasn’t going to be able to take as much time with the window to the bluebird room. He left the welding equipment behind and kicked his way to the window on the other side of the complex. Harry had no idea how much water filled the room. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. After a few attempts at whacking the diving cylinder into the window, Harry realized he would need more force. He could see Ahern on the other side of the glass with water up to her neck. The room’s door wasn’t completely watertight, but the rate water flowed through the crack that Harry made was much greater than the trifling that seeped through the door. She appeared entranced and amazed by Harry’s fervor to save her. Her hand was pressed on the glass. Harry motioned her to move back. He also moved away from the glass. Under normal circumstances Harry would never have been able to budge the pillar valve, but Harry’s adrenaline reserves were producing maximum output. Injuring a few tendons in his hand, Harry twisted the valve until the valve and tank flew away from him in opposite directions. The tank headed toward the window. With a deep thud, the tank bounced off the glass, widening the crack but leaving the window intact. Harry was furious and running out of air. He watched as the water rushed into the room pushing Ahern closer to the ceiling. Harry needed to breathe again. He swam for the surface. After fifty feet, Harry’s face hit the air. He took his first gasp for air and exhaled an anguished cry.

Angie stared at the ceiling. She could no longer breathe freely and look out the window at the same time. She knew Harry had done everything possible to save her. It was unfortunate that his last effort had the opposite effect of speeding up her demise. Angie could only think of how clouded her perspective was and how naïve she had been to think Harry could be tempted into the same dark world to which she had succumbed. She accepted her fate. She had failed to gain any utility from Harry for her masters. She was no longer needed. Her tears added to the rising water. Angie could only dream of living a different life—a life less egotistical—a lesson learned from Harry far too late. With less than an inch left of air, Angie felt herself being sucked towards the door. Dolph and the gunman had pried the door open. Dolph knew the code. Dolph knew everything about the Fallen Angel. He built the place.