A Fictional Trip To The JFK Prep Academy

Here is basically chapter 7 of Sleep Of Reason. It is heavily influenced by a trip I took to the JFK Prep School I visited last summer, but is after all a work of fiction. Pictures of JFK Prep are shown throughout.

 Once trimmed evergreens reached upward but could not reach the height of the building’s three stories. While the large building still appeared in good condition, nearly every window in it had been broken. The driveway wound away to the right and they found themselves in the center of a collection of buildings.

In front of them was a structure rocks that housed within it a statue of some religious figure.

 Beyond that was a field between the buildings, a thin covering of early winter snow shining bright in the otherwise dull November day. To their left was what appeared to have been a dormitory, to their right a church with an impressively large steeple.

 In front of them, beyond the snow-covered clearing, was a cemetery with a quite orderly quantity of tombstones all of a similar size.

 Johnny signaled for Dave to park at the edge of the drive.

“This place was originally founded by Anton Oxner, a Catholic priest who left Germany looking for a place to practice his religion as he saw fit,” said Johnny. “Of course, you pretty much say that for everyone who came to you country, can’t you? Anyway, he came here with some followers after a little disagreement with the powers that be in the Catholic church with the intention of building a communistic community, someplace where nobody owned anything and everybody had to do some kind of manual labor. As a liberation theologist, the story attracted my attention.”

“A liberation what?”

“Liberation theology. I could fill you full of a lot of church doctrine, but basically it’s a movement within the Catholic Church that’s committed to social justice and peace. Of course, such an idea has it detractors. Anyway, these people, they came to be known as The Association, they created a well-functioning community here. And Father Oxner, he was a great healer, both a doctor and—some said—someone who could heal through miracles.”

Johnny’s willingness to believe was something Dave envied, but he was also a little weary of it. He had seen what too much belief could do. It had almost cost Mindy her life.

“What is it with cults and the supernatural?” asked Dave.

“This was not a cult,” said Johnny, a little perturbed. “Anyway, cult is a term the majority use to describe minority groups, groups whose viewpoints never make it into the mainstream. What people call a cult is a group of people who follow an idea without bringing that idea into the collective consciousness. All movements begin as cults, all begin as a single thought in a single person, actually. But what we call ‘cult’ in an intense desire for change that becomes frustrated. The world calls belief systems that have lost ‘cults’. And such frustrated desires for change lead to a spiritual festering of sorts, a coalescing of spiritual energy. So it is only natural that such a gathering of spiritual desiring would produce what people call ‘supernatural’ activities. But that is not what we have here. This was a thriving community.”

“If it was so thriving, what happened to it?”

“Chastity. While certainly an admirable virtue, it can be taken to extremes. But the community that lived here was so successful at it that they eventually died out.”

Johnny exhaled deeply, watched his warm moist breath disappear in the crisp cold of a November Morning.

“From what you’ve said, Oxner died a long time ago. These buildings, even the church, the look to be much more recent,” said Dave. The buildings he was looking at seemed to have been built in the thirties or forties.

“Like anywhere else, time keeps moving on no matter how interesting the history it buries. After The Association, they sold the property to another religious order. In one way or another, it has survived up until perhaps thirty years ago. Even now, there are hopes to re-open the church. And throughout its history there have been reports of unusual events.

“Like what?”

Well, the miraculous healings. In more recent days, ghost sightings. The usual. A nun who committed suicide, the victims of a pedophile priest, a student who was beaten to death by classmates, his body hidden in the attic. Stories made up to frighten others, mostly. But the place has gotten enough notoriety to have its own episode on some haunted places show. People coming in with their odd instruments and special cameras. C’mon, let’s check out the church.”

They walked across the field full of snow and crunchy grass to the church’s side door, which was surprisingly unlocked.

It was lit only by the day’s dismal light diffused through stained glass windows.

 It felt even colder inside, but Dave figured it was just the night air that lingered longer in the brick building.

In the relative darkness, Dave could feel a certain unease rising within him. He knew if they were to encounter anything that fear would tinge his senses so that he would not be able to fully trust them. Fear warped his ability to see things as they truly were, created  barrier between himself and reality. But as he felt a subtle fear creeping into his consciousness, he was also aware of a fleeting revelation that he had been able to observe: most people live their lives in fear, perceive the world around them through a lens of fear, never able to see life for what it was. At least he was aware of the existence of this barrier that fear created. He just needed to remember no to stick too long seeing things from one perspective. It was like first learning to drive: even if you’re afraid, never permit your awareness to be stuck on a single focus. Remember to look in the mirror, in front of you, at the speedometer. Keep with the routine regardless of the fear, and you’ll be okay.

“Ghosts can’t hurt you,” said Johnny. Apparently, Dave’s apprehension had not gone unnoticed. “Ghosts can’t do anything physically to you. The only damage they can do is by getting inside your head. Don’t let that happen.”

“And what if I can’t not let that happen.”

“That way lies only madness. If you give them power over you, they can cause you to hurt yourself, jump out of a window or slash your wrists. That is why you must stay in control.”

“What if I don’t have a choice?” Dave was not so frightened as he was concerned to take every precaution.

“You always have a choice. Remember that. Now snap out of it. We’re in a church, it’s not going to be one of those encounters. We’re talking about a priest, for heaven’s sake.”

Priest or not, Dave felt very uncomfortable. A church in disrepair where one can see one’s breath is a disturbing place to be. One would think God would take some care to its upkeep.

The sun shone through the east windows, giving a glow to the colors and images of the stained glass.

Some saint that he might have recognized had he paid more attention in catechism was pictured in that imprecise and awkward manner that older church art used. The light that filtered through tended to highlight the darkness and shadows it did not touch, leaving the better part of the church shrouded in mystery. The place felt deserted of whatever made it a place for worship:

whatever frail and ineffectual spirits may have filled this place in the past, it was now abandoned and left to other forces. But something still remained of it former spirit: while seemingly none of the windows in the old school had been spared, the windows here were all intact. Whatever damage done to the church had been done by time and weather rather than vandals.

What kept the church from the abuse the school experienced, Dave did not know. Perhaps it was the attitude people had towards churches, perhaps it was some spiritual force or something in the very makeup of the church that protected it, Dave was unsure. And when he thought about it, he was not really interested in knowing. Some things should remain mysteries. Some things are beyond what a human needs to know, should know. He found himself retreating somewhat from the boldness he had felt of late, found himself welcoming somewhat the walls and ruts that had sheltered him the better part of his life. Perhaps it was just being in a church for the first time in a while that brought back memories and attitudes from his childhood, when respect for the world that adults had created was still strong in him. Perhaps it was some remnant of faith that still belonged to him that spoke of trust rather than evidence. But perhaps such a faith was something that locked people into little boxes, kept them praying to little gods. And perhaps faith after all was not clinging to a belief in small things but a conviction that an honest search for truths would not go unanswered.

He looked around towards Johnny and found him kneeling in a pew, his tattooed head bent in reverent prayer.

Dave found himself envying him for having found answers that satisfied him. But he remembered that those who seemed to have found such answers had usually found them through great loss and sacrifice. Dave wasn’t sure if he was willing to go through such ordeals, wasn’t sure if he could survive them. Answers seemed to be provided only after an agonizing process that tested nothing but a person’s ability to endure. Life’s rewards were given only after seemingly endless suffering that changed a person, altered their very essence until they became something quite different than what they would have intended. Dave wanted to forge his own way in life, wanted to become what he wanted to become, not be shaped by an invisible hand. Perhaps in the end it all came down to the same thing. Perhaps our will and desire to be who we are meant to be permits us to endure trials we never would otherwise. It seemed that only in a church could he come to such unsatisfying answers, as though he were trying to fit together two ideas that did not mesh.

Not knowing what to do while his friend prayed, he kneeled in a pew behind Johnnyn and searched his mind for some sort of prayer. Fragments of long unused prayers floated in his mind like flotsam in dirty water. They were individual items, artifacts without purpose. Dave’s yearnings for a higher power had always left him feeling incredibly alone, like an unwanted child. In such times, a feeling of unworthiness crept over him as though it were the only response that might gain approval. He felt himself again willing to abandon any essential part of him for some recognition from God, but he was unsure how to let go.

“So you’re a praying man, too, eh?” said Johnny, done with whatever communion he had been involved in.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I’m not even sure I know how to pray anymore. When I was a kid, I could say the prayers I was taught, but they never really meant anything to me. Now, I can still recite the words, but it seems that it’s not me that’s saying them, just some pre-recorded message that comes out of some part of myself, some thoughtless action performed by a lower brain function.”

“Aw, you’re just in between places right now. You’re not a spiritual child anymore, but you’re not quite a grownup yet. Sometimes you just have to hold on even when you don’t believe in what you’re holding on to anymore. Sometimes you have to hold on to empty and distant memories, even if it feels like there isn’t any ‘you’ left. I think that’s what faith is all about, doing what you need to do even when the feeling isn’t there anymore.”

“Is that really faith?”

“Well, faith is jumping off a cliff, knowing you’re going to have to fly. Once you’re falling from a cliff, flapping your arms like a madman isn’t really faith, I suppose, it’s just the logical consequence of faith. It’s where the devil waits to tempt us, it’s the forty days and nights spent in the desert. It’s that experience we all must have in our time on earth of what life would be without God. We all have to be tested.”

“Why?” Dave wanted to ask, but remained silent. He didn’t want to sully the greater faith of another with the constant doubting of his own. Part of him was afraid of doing so, afraid to find out that his doubt would prove the stronger. But there was something in The Bible about not putting God to the test. He would have to live with a certain amount of unanswered questions, that was part of faith.

“C’mon, Dave,” said Johnny. “There’s nothing unusual about this church, at any rate. Let’s wander the grounds a little and see what we can find.”

They walked outside the church, making footprints on the light layer of snow that covered the grounds. Moisture was visible in Johnny’s breath, and a hint of steam rose from his bald head. Behind the church was the grouping of white gravestones, uniform and identical.

And yet they seemed to sit like buoys on the ocean, as if they were rising and lowering as the ground seemed to ripple ever so slightly. It must have been some optical illusion caused by the slight snowfall, the breeze, or some unknown source of heat that excited the air molecules. Perhaps it was the cold that caused his eyes to blur up with tears, but as he walked through the path that led down the center of the tombstones, the ground seemed rather unsteady beneath him.

Beyond the rows of gravestones sat a smaller building, hardly larger than a tool shed. Johnny seemed to know where he was going, and Dave had little choice but to follow.

 “This is where Father Oxner was buried,” said Johnny. He opened up the door, waited for Dave to enter. His eyes adjusting to the inner darkness again, Dave found himself within a small chapel with enough pews to seat perhaps a dozen people.

“I thought this was Oxner’s mausoleum,” said Dave.

“I said this is where he is buried,” said Johnny.

“Where…?”

“There, under the alter,” said Johnny, using a quiet, reverential tone.

“Why there? Why not a grave next to all the others?”

“Anton Oxner was an important man. He was trained in medicine, but they say his abilities in healing went far beyond anything medicine could perform. His reputation spread far and people were known to visit here from as far away as North Carolina and New York. It was an ability that soon spread to the other brothers here, to a lesser extent. So respected were their healing abilities that the town did not even have a doctor of hospital until after their passing.”

Dave scanned the little chapel, waiting for Johnny to receive whatever information he was searching for.

“There’s nothing here,” said Johnny. “Nothing I can pick up on anyway. You?”

“Me? No, I don’t feel anything.”

“We’ll check out the dormitories, then,” said Johnny, a hint of disappointment in his bearing. “They were built long after Oxner and The Association had all died off. Still, there have been enough reports of ghosts to make it worth a look. Of course the stories could be nothing but bunk. Give somebody a good story, and it’s only natural to add a ghost to it. Then again, if there is some kind of ghostly presence, maybe it results from something that happened after the passing of The Association.”

Again, disappointment seemed to arise in Johnny. As they made their way towards the Dorms, Dave asked, “This isn’t just a visit for curiosity’s sake, is it? What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for healing. I’m looking for a miracle. Maybe it’s too much to ask, but if miracles do happen, I’m open to one.”

“What’s the matter, John? Asked Dave, quite concerned.

“With me? Nothing’s the matter with me.”

“Then who?”

“Julie.”

“And who’s that?”

“She’s the one who did the imagery on me,” Johnny said, looking at Dave as if he were not used to talking about the subject. For a moment, Dave could catch a glimpse of the man behind the tattoos.

“She’s still alive? I’m sorry, I just got the impression—“

That she was no longer with us? You’re not far from the truth. She has advanced ALS, Lou Gerhig’s disease as you Yanks know it. I used to make fun of her when the symptoms started, called her clumsy when she tripped over her own feet. And then she was diagnosed with ALS, and I couldn’t forgive myself for teasing her. But she just kept on smiling, as though it wasn’t going to slow her down. At first I thought she was just in denial about her illness, about how deadly it was. I didn’t find out until later that the smile was one of her symptoms. Uncontrollable smiling. Not the sort of thing you’d think would be associated with an incurably fatal disease.”

Johnny said no more, and Dave would not allow himself to ask any more questions. But this revelation suddenly changed the situation. He had been depending on Johnny’s experience in such matters, but now he wondered if Johnny was emotionally compromised. But there was little time for him to dwell on the matter: they soon arrived at the dormitory. Again, the building appeared structurally sound but was missing many of its windows. A No Trespassing sign was posted prominently on the door of the building, but it did not seem that it was going to effect Johnny.

“Is this a good idea?” asked Dave.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” asked Johnny, opening the door. There were too many doors and too many windows for whomever owned the place to attempt to keep people out with anything other than threats. They entered the darkness, Johnny pulling a flashlight from within his jacket.

Yet Another Snippet From The Sleep Of Reason

Here is a brief look at my newest novel-in-the-making, The Sleep Of Reason, along with a brief setting of the scene:

Mindy, in search of her boyfriend Dave, visits Russell, a man with psychic abilities. When she arrives at his house, she finds that he lives with his parents and is acutely agoraphobic, so much so that he does not leave the bathroom. As a scientist, Russell sometimes uses big words and talks of concepts beyond Mindy’s desire to contemplate.

“Russell?” asked Mindy. She had waited a moment before speaking, then realized his attention was so intense that he might not ever notice her presence.

Russell looked at her for the briefest of moments before shifting his gaze ever so slightly to the side. His gaze constantly shifted, as though he were intensely aware of his inability to maintain eye contact.

“Hello, Mindy,” he said, and as he spoke his stare shifted downward. His non-verbal cues were so acute that Mindy had no need to discuss his situation. Everything that needed to be said she could read in his discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” she said, nonetheless. She couldn’t help wondering what he had experienced to bring him to such a level, what had frightened him enough to shrink his world to such a small existence.

“It’s not so bad,” said Russell. “My life is still much more full than many people’s. Although my physical life is rather restricted, I live a very rich life otherwise. I reach out to people all over the world, go to places that others could not even imagine. From this little room I can make connections to the entire world.”

Whether Russell was referring to connections made through the internet or through his abilities, Mindy was not sure. Both had possibilities that neither she nor the world could yet fully imagine.

“Please, come in,” said Russell. Mindy had been hovering awkwardly outside the door. It was a larger than average bathroom, but was still only intended for one person at a time. Still, Mindy forced herself to enter. It seemed that what they had to discuss needed the privacy of being in the same room together.

“Did you bring what I asked?”

Mindy reached into her purse and pulled from it a cheap item made of plastic that looked like a miniature urn with a pedestal.

“Here,” said Mindy. She handed him the object. “This is known as the cup and ball trick. It’s the first magic trick Dave ever bought. Right from Mr. D’s shop down on Glen Ellyn Road. If you’re looking for something that Dave is connected to on a very deep level, I imagine this is as close as you’re going to come.”

“Good,” said Russell. “Something from his childhood. Something related to magic, which is his passion. I don’t think you could’ve come up with anything better. Although you too match that description,” he said in passing, not allowing Mindy time to respond or even think too much on what he said.

Russell set the magic trick down on the back of the toilet. “I told you I was a scryver. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“Scrying is the ability to see things through the reflection of a surface which is capable of reflecting more than one image. Some people use mirrors, others water. The crystal ball is a popular method for scrying. The object is to gaze into something that allows your mind to focus in ways that it would otherwise not. Physically, it involves overcoming the body’s natural coordination of accommodation and convergence, but with it comes a shifting of the habitual neural pathways the mind is used to using. New mental pathways are formed, like water rising above the riverbanks and spilling into new avenues.”

Russell stopped talking in order to assess feedback from Mindy. It seemed that his ability to gauge feedback had come from intense practice at it, as though it was a learned rather than natural behavior. “Does that make sense?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Mindy. She had no desire to be lost in explanations. She just wanted to know where Dave was.

“Just think of it as one of those Magic Eye pictures,” said Russell, his ability to gauge feedback obviously limited. “It looks like a repeating pattern of nothing much, but if you are able to force your eyes into behaving differently than they have been trained—not an easy thing to do—you will be able to see something you never would have thought was there. It’s the same thing with scrying. You have to divert your gaze from what you have been trained to look at in order to see what you are not ordinarily looking for. Let me show you. Like I said, it can be done with a mirror or even clear glass, but I prefer water. It seems to be more organic,” he seemed to be attempting humor.

Much to Mindy’s chagrin, Russell turned around and lifted the lid of the toilet, bent over, and stared intently into the water. Mindy didn’t come any closer.

“Uh, can’t we do this in the sink?” asked Mindy.

“Right,” said Russell, looking embarrassed. “I’m afraid I don’t get much company. I’m not used to being around people anymore.”

“How long have you stayed here?” asked Mindy, still unable to get used to Russell’s inability to leave. No, it wasn’t his inability to leave that unnerved her, it was his ability to stay. Whatever his fears, she couldn’t imagine staying in one room like this.

“A couple of years, I guess. I’ve been in the house for longer than that, though. Like I said, though. It’s not so bad. I have friends from all over the world. I get around in ways that people in times past couldn’t even imagine.”

Mindy listened to Russell’s explanation and couldn’t accept them, could not believe he accepted them himself. He knew he had a problem, but he was unwilling to deal with it. When Russell was done helping her, perhaps she could help him. She couldn’t allow another soul to limit himself in such a way. Perhaps all he needed was a gentle nudge out the door.

Russell made his way to the sink, mindful of the limited space in the room and of Mindy’s presence. In a moment, the sink was filled with water.

“Each and every wave and ripple on the water reflects back to me a different angle, a different perspective,” he was explaining to her but talking to himself as well. “It’s impossible to be consciously aware of them all, but each of them excites a certain reaction on the observer. What the result of such reactions is, I cannot say. I was not usually given the results of whatever experiments I was involved in, but then again, I lived it. There are two ways of seeing the world, scientifically and experientially. Some favor the one, some the other. The trick is to keep them in balance.”

Russell was lost in his own thoughts as he seemed to be loosening the grip his conscious mind had on his potentiality. That which made Russell who he was seemed to be unraveling in order to open up new possibilities. The idea both frightened and intrigued Mindy. Russell must have had a great amount of experience letting go of his defenses while participating in experiments, such that allowing himself free reign in front of Mindy would be no big deal. She imagined what it would require to see past one’s everyday image of the world, and she thought it similar to erasing all of one’s past history until one was like a young child whose thought process had not yet developed. She tried following Russell, letting her mind wander in ways that she had not permitted it for many, many years. She found the idea a little frightening yet intriguing. It felt like…trusting. Not trusting some other person, not even trusting herself exactly. It felt like trusting life, trusting the outside world and her relationship with it. She found herself experiencing a freedom, as though she were able to fly, or at least float, like the myriad pre-programmed reactions that she had stored up were sandbags that she were releasing from the hot air balloon that was her consciousness.

Underground at the JFK Prep School

A brief excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Sleep Of Reason

From what the flashlight’s beam was able to tell them, someone had good reason to be weary of trespassers. There was graffiti on many of the walls and hardly a window that hadn’t been smashed. In the thirty plus years the dorms had been in disuse, generations of young partiers and adventurers had visited, some in search of scares, others with a desire for destruction. Shattered glass was everywhere on the floors, but Johnny trod over it in search of some kind of hope. He seemed to know where he was going, worked his way past rooms until he came to a door and stepped inside. Dave followed him as he walked down a set of metal stairs. Wandering around a vast basement, Johnny pointed the flashlight at an open door that led to a tunnel that appeared to be longer than the building itself.

“There’s a series of tunnels that run from building to building,” said Johnny. “Steam tunnels. The central boiler’s somewhere below the prep school, and all outbuildings were heated by that.”

Evidently, Dave couldn’t help thinking, Johnny knew quite a bit about this site. It had been no spur of the moment idea to visit here.

They walked along the tunnel, two large pipes to the right of them. Dave couldn’t help thinking they must have been plenty hot in the day, but now the air in the tunnel was as cold as the outdoor air, though stagnant. He could see his breath when the light allowed. Reaching the main boiler room, they took a turn down another tunnel, Johnny walking as though something was leading him on. Dave too seemed to feel or hear, or sense something, but he did not share Johnny’s compulsion to seek it out. He wasn’t sure which of his senses was being played upon, but there was something subtly unsettling.

They moved on down the tunnel, following pipes leading to some other building, he wasn’t sure which. His sense of direction was thrown off here beneath the ground. And like the impression he got that the graves were rising and lowering, the tunnels seemed to shift in front of him. He knew it was in his head, was certain, but that didn’t make him feel any better. If whatever supernatural forces around here were able to get inside his mind, it could be as deadly as if they were able to touch him physically. He now knew what Johnny was hoping to find, but that didn’t mean that’s what they would find. And this didn’t seem the place to find anything good. Dave stayed close by Johnny, not wanting to be far from the light. He was starting to regret trusting Johnny, regret trusting Doug and Izzy and everyone else involved. Johnny might be working for Doug, but he clearly had his own agenda. They all had their own agenda, everyone but Dave and Mindy, it seemed. They seemed to be the only two who had no vested interest in any of this.

“Slow down,” Dave yelled, too loudly. The narrow hall echoed his words, and he had no desire to call attention to himself.

“Look,” said Johnny, from somewhere up ahead. He raised his flashlight towards the ceiling, revealing pipes heading upwards. “That must be the church above us.”

“So? Now what?”

“The tunnel still goes on. To where, I don’t know. Let’s follow it.”

“Let’s not,” said Dave, attempting to hide his growing worry in sarcasm. He was concerned that Johnny’s desires might lead him to act unwisely. He wished Doug were here now, or Izzy or Mindy. He had no desire to explore any further but his only choices were to abandon Johnny or stay with him. He couldn’t imagine trying to drag him away. Perhaps Dave would have chosen to leave Johnny behind if he had any faith in his ability to find his way out again, but the tunnel system was far larger than he could have anticipated and it felt like something was actively attempting to confuse his senses. Not wanting to leave a comrade to face the consequences even of his own bad decisions, he resolved to follow but continue his complaints in the hop of changing Johnny’s mind.

“This place looks dangerous,” said Dave, trying to plant seeds of doubt, “ ghosts or no ghosts.”

The smoothness of the walls gave way to a harsher surface, as though they were now entering an older underground chamber. He suddenly realized that there were no longer any pipes in the tunnel they were following. The floor was less even, and Dave suspected that they were now walking on a cobbled floor rather than cement. Dread arose in him—along with a degree of anger—although he was not sure if there was any rational reason for it. Wherever they were, it was larger than any underground chamber should have been, especially if it was not part of the twentieth century additions. The ceiling was visible in the beam of the flashlight, but its features were unclear. It appeared rough-hewn, almost as if it had been carved out a handful at a time.

“We must be somewhere close to the graveyard,” said Johnny. “Maybe even under it.”

“We should go,” said Dave. When Johnny did not answer, Dave looked at him, found that Johnny was not paying attention to him. His gaze was towards the ceiling. Dave followed his gaze but saw nothing. Johnny, forgetting Dave’s presence, turned off his flashlight.

“Johnny?” yelled Dave, allowing the anger that he had been keeping in check to find expression. “Turn the damn light on. I’ve had enough of this shit.” Dave was losing his cool, permitting himself to lose his cool, and was ready to say or do anything he could to get back into the daylight and the outside world again. But Johnny continued to stare towards the ceiling, saying nothing.

How could he notice Johnny in the dark, Dave asked himself, and then became aware of a soft bluish glow that emanated from above. He looked up to see lights swirling slowly, at length beginning to take individual shapes. They were human, or at least in the shapes of humans.

My Friend

I really wanted a donut tonight. The weekly habit had been established. On Thursdays my wife works late, so I would get home from work and walk my dog to the bakery. I’d take her most days, but Thursday is the night I try to get some writing done, so I often treat myself to a little something from the bakery down the block.

Old age has prevented Bella from taking the robust walks we used to take: sometime recently she began sniffing more than walking. So the trip to the bakery usually takes a little while, but the trip home is much quicker since she’s anticipating the cookie I’d buy her.

The owner of the bakery is a dog-lover, so much so that he told me I could bring my dog in the shop anytime. I don’t bring her in unless the shop is empty, but sometimes I’ll go around the corner and walk a little further until the place empties out.

The two regulars that work there know her by name. And every time I go in they head for the dog bone biscuits that I’m always buying her. If there are other customers there, I’ll tie Bella’s leash to the water meter outside of the building and enter alone. And as I exit with Bella’s bone, I’ll often hear the woman behind the counter explaining how Bella carries her own treat home.

That’s my favorite part of the trip, the part where Bella walks fast enough that people still mistake her for a young puppy. I’ll give her the white bag with the cookie in it and she’ll grab it in her mouth and carry it as lady-like as Jackie Onassis would carry her purse. I don’t know how that got started, because she’s never been very lady-like. I really think it is a way of showing off for her. I think she likes to show all the other dogs on the block that she has something they don’t. I know it’s not very good manners on her part, but I can’t help appreciating her sassiness.

We usually hit the bakery around the time the traffic is heaviest. And I know it is a weakness on my part, that I am no better than a mother of a child beauty contestant, but I take an immense vicarious joy at seeing people in their cars turn their heads to look at my dog and smile. On any given day I’ll get at least a couple of people’s attention. Sometimes I’ll get a whole carload looking Bella’s way. Sometimes a dog with his head out the window will look at Bella with an expression of surprise. Sometimes I’ll get oohs and aahs from pedestrians. I’ll occasionally even get the kind of smiles and comments from a pretty young woman that I so sought after when I was a younger man.

Near my house is a music store where parents are often in their cars waiting for their children to finish their lessons. Usually they are too busy staring at their phones to realize what they’re missing. It makes me angry sometimes, makes me rant under my breath about how people are too lost in technology to see the beauty that is around them, meaning of course, my dog.

When Bella gets inside the house, she runs through the living room into the dining room and looks into the kitchen. She has to make sure that if anyone is home that they see what she has. I’m sure it is vanity on her part. After this, she will drop the bag on the carpet so that I can pull the cookie out and hand it to her so she can eat it. She used to just rip through the bag, but she has grown delicate in her old age.

I wanted to get a donut tonight, but was unable to bring myself to enter the bakery. They’d have walked over to the jar with the dog cookies in the shape of bones, and then I’d have to explain to them that Bella isn’t around anymore. I want to tell them, I feel they would want to know, but it’s going to be a few weeks before I can talk about it without losing my composure. It’s not that I want to share a sad story, I’d just like to think that others besides myself appreciated my dog for the wonderful creature that she was.

I can’t buy her any more cookies, can’t take her on any more walks, but I’d like to give her something. And so I give her my time and my thoughts, I write a little story and post it on my blog so that the memory of Bella might live on inside the soul of someone who chances to read this. Most dogs are wonderful, and unique. So was mine. So was Bella.

The Sleep Of Reason Chapter 8

A lot of the writing I've done on this book has been without a conscious filter. I'll be curious to reread it and discover if it has any value. I'm sure it will have to be substantially edited, but I'm convinced that the most interesting writing is not done by the critical mind. At any rate, the title, The Sleep of Reason seems appropriate:

Chapter 8

Unable to fight the desire for company, the temptation to contact Dave again struck her. To resist the idea, she decided to check Doug’s office to see if she could locate any information on Russell. That was the answer to her worry and doubt: distraction and possible knowledge to be gained. Doug seemed to hold Russell in high regard, despite Russell’s humble, even meek demeanor. And there was a quiet confidence in Russell, she had seen that.

Mindy had access to Doug’s office but knew it wasn’t good form to go snooping around on the boss’s business. It wasn’t proper to go sneaking through drawers and file cabinets, but she needed more answers than she was getting. She trusted Doug because she had to, not because she wanted to. If Doug was not happy with her digging for information she would be willing to take the consequences. She and Dave’s decision to stay with Doug had been a tentative one, one that hung on a fine balance (?).

She entered the office located behind the display counter. She was allowed access there, but the way she intended to search the place was not something she wanted to be discovered. She opened drawers in Doug’s desk and found each of them to be stuffed with various papers, business cards, and other items. If ever a man needed a secretary, thought Mindy. Izzy’s description of an absent-minded professor came back to her and the state of Doug’s desk supported the idea. It seemed that Doug was always in pursuit of something, books, magic equipment and collectibles if not ideas. But it was Doug’s approach to life, to follow his inspirations faster than he could assemble them into a neat whole. She’d read somewhere that a messy desk was a sign of intelligence. If this was true, Doug was the next Einstein.

There were several times she thought she saw the name Russell written, but Doug’s hastily scribbled writing was open to interpretation. It was only when she found a list that she knew she had what she was looking for. On it were names of people, some she recognized, some she did not. Among the names was an Alan Clifton, which had been crossed out. Also listed was Jonathon Sinclair, Isadore Collins, and Russel Slater. And listed on the bottom were the names Dave Morse and Mindy Virgilio. Next to the names were the persons abilities. By Izzy’s name was the comment: ability to weave a narrative from incomplete information. Next to Johnny’s was the ability to interact with psychic residue. Next to Russell’s was a list: scryving, astral travel, rudimentary telekenesis, etc. Next to Dave’s name were the words “dream visions”, while next to Mindy’s name was a question mark.

What was she doing on the list? She didn’t have any abilities. Did she? No. At least, she hadn’t exhibited any signs of any yet. But she thought of the discussion they had had with Russell and Doug. They had said the very fact that they saw things others didn’t was the reason for Dave acquiring the ability to see things in his dreams. If that were true, and Mindy had seen things that others don’t, then it would only stand to reason that she too would have some ability as a result. But what? She really didn’t care to know. Now that she had found Russell’s name, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask him questions. But she realized it didn’t really matter what she wanted, she needed answers.

Returning to the sales counter, she sat herself in front of the computer monitor. Without experience of locating people online, she typed Russell Slater into Facebook just to see what would turn up. There was exactly many matches, but she recognized his face among the crowd. Mindy took a chance and sent a friend request. She was surprised when a moment later she heard her computer sound loudly, letting her know her request had been accepted. She saw a familiar image on her screen.

Checking his page before deciding to initiate a conversation, she noticed 5,000 friends.

“Russell?” Mindy typed.

“Mindy. How are you doing?”

“Fine. I was just alone and thought if you weren’t busy you might be able to answer some questions.”

Mindy received a request for a video chat, which she accepted. A familiar face appeared, friendly but awkward, almost childish yet obviously intelligent. She couldn’t tell what it was behind him, she almost thought it was a mirror.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you and Dave,” said a voice that reminded her of a (Promising child) young man who sought to sound older than his years. “Russell likes to keep his new recruits to himself.”

Mindy couldn’t help thinking there was something missing in Russell. He seemed to be the stereotypical egghead who possessed vast amounts of knowledge while lacking basic social skills. There was a certain amount of awkwardness to him that he strived to ignore.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” said Mindy. “I’ve only ever seen you through a television or computer screen. It’s like Doug keeps you in a box.” Mindy laughed, but humor did not appear to be one of Russell’s strong suits.

“I don’t get out that way much,” said Russell, avoiding looking directly at the screen. “There’s really no need to, not when technology can provide all the communication necessary.”

“Well that should be good enough for the questions I have. It’s not just you Doug keeps things from.

“And what is it you wish to know?”

“Well, I feel awkward even talking about such things. It’s like something you’re not supposed to talk about, something you keep secret. I can only talk to Dave and Izzy about it because they experienced it too. They’re in on it. But to talk to someone like you, someone I don’t really know…”

“Let me assure you that there is nothing you can tell me that will surprise me. You had your first encounter in April? What is that, like six months now? I have more than two decades worth of research into aspects of reality that most people never encounter.”

More than two decades, Mindy couldn’t help thinking. Either Russell looked incredibly young for his age or his experiences began when he was quite young.

“Well, back when all this began, Dave began to have dreams. I was quite willing to believe that they were just that, that maybe my friend I’d known most of my life was beginning to unravel. Hell, Dave was willing to believe that too. It wasn’t until we both saw things we couldn’t deny with our own eyes that we had to admit it wasn’t just madness. We were seeing things that others don’t—we were seeing things that others would call crazy.”

“If one person sees something unusual it is not to be believed,” said Russell. “If two people see it, it begins to appear true. If everyone sees it, it is undeniable. That is the way the human psyche is constructed. And now you have others, people like Doug, and Johnny and Izzy and myself who agree with your story. Now it’s even harder to deny what you have seen. And you would like to, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess I would. But failing that, I’d like to understand it. It seems like we are in the middle, not being able to doubt it, but not being able to understand it.”

“I’ll help you as best I can, although ultimately it is up to you to perceive the truth in whatever I say. Your ability to see, to understand, makes you more able to move your way through the world. And when I say you, I mean anybody. Knowledge is power. The more clearly you perceive the world you live in, the greater your ability to affect change in that world. Because Dave was able to see things beyond the accepted paradigms he acquired powers that did not exist within that paradigm. He catches glimpses in his dreams of things he couldn’t possibly know. That is a power, but it is one of perception. Izzy has an ability to gain knowledge through creating stories. He takes isolated facts, perceptions, and from them he has the ability not only to weave a narrative, but to a certain degree shape that narrative. Johnny has an ability to see the remaining spiritual echoes of perished souls. In this way he is able to alter the emotional atmosphere of a given area.

“Yes, but ghosts and demons…” Mindy realized she had cut him off before he got around to Doug. She wanted to know what abilities he had, but was already committed to another line of thought. “It’s like we’ve entered a different universe where all the laws are changed.”

“Watch this video,” said Russell, sending her this message on her Facebook page:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ahg6qcgoay4

“It’s something I share with new recruits. It will help you understand. A little.”

Mindy clicked on the link. It was a video titled Test Your Awareness: Do The Test. It showed two teams of 4, one team in black, the other in white. She was asked to count the amount of passes the team in white made, and she was quite happy when the video confirmed her count of 13. Her feeling of pride faded, though, when the narrator asked if she had also seen the moonwalking bear. There was no way something like that avoided her sight, she thought. The video was then rewound and, her mind now no longer busy counting passes, she clearly saw a man dressed in a bear suit walk into frame, walk into the middle, turn around and walked backwards off screen. She couldn’t believe that this was the same video, could not believe she had missed something so obvious. It was a trick, nothing more. She returned the video to the beginning, watch the part she had originally watched. Again, a man dressed as a bear walked into frame, again moonwalked his way off it.

There was no way she did not notice it, there must be some kind of trick.

“That can’t be real,” she said.

“It’s just a simple case of misdirection,” said Russell, exhibiting a degree of satisfaction with the result. “You as a magician’s assistant must be familiar with the concept.”

“Okay,” said Mindy, retreating from the specific example but not the overall concept. “But that is a lonnng way from what we are talking about. It’s a big difference from a simple case of misdirection and a colossal prank by God. How is it that people can not only be fooled once but consistently by some sort of misdirection?”

“Because human consciousness is not what we like to think it is, at least for the most part. We have some dim awareness, some small degree of something we like to call intellect, and we arrogantly presume it is the deciding factor in how we see, what we do. We amuse ourselves in playing a trick on a dog, searching for a ball that we have not thrown, all the time feeling ourselves intellectual superiors. But the truth is our intellectual superiority is of a fractional degree, and our amount of interaction with the universe exponential. The vast amount of dealings with the outside world is actually done on primitive levels. A scent, a color, a person’s relative height all influence our behavior much more than we ever permit ourselves to see.

“The psychological term for it is the illusion of knowledge, the belief that we know more than we know. The thought that the simple model we created of the universe is the universe. Because it works, because it keeps us moving, we accept its reality. And when things that do not fit into our model pop up, we rationalize them, dismiss them because it would be too much of a bother to incorporate them into our unsophisticated model.”

“So what the hell does this have to do with ghosts? And devils? And God knows what else?”

“I’ve got another video for you to watch.” Again, he sent a link to her Facebook page:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA37cb10WMU Feeling the frustration rising in her, Mindy nevertheless clicked on it. It was a video of a mass of ants swarming in a circle.

“What is it?”

“Ants have the ability to follow the scent of the one in front of them. In such a way they are able to send out scout ants in order to find a source of food. Once the food is found, the others follow the scent in order to find the food. It’s an ingenious system. And it works. That is, until something throws a wrench in the system. That’s what happened here. The ants all followed one another but somehow ended up circling back upon themselves. Now stuck in the loop, a circular mill, it is called, they will continue to follow each other blindly until they drop dead from exhaustion.

“Their system was a complex one,” Russell continued, “but imperfect. Humans are smarter, but not by as much as we would like to think, not when compared to any vast span. We have little more understanding than ants in the grand scheme of things. What we see—or think we see—are mere glimpses of what truly is. We see the world in a way that works for us, it is functional vision, at least as long as we need to know how many times the basketball was passed. Ghosts, demons, they’re like moonwalking bears that most of us don’t see. Do you get it?”

“No.”

“I think you do, actually. You begin to understand, at least.”

“But the bear wasn’t actually a bear but a man in a bear suit. Does that mean what we mistake for ghosts or demons, while being something beyond the basketball game we normally are involved in, it is not ‘really’ a ghost but some manifestation of human energy?”

“That’s not really where I was going, but I think the analogy holds.”

“I don’t even know what it was I said.”

“I think you understand, in some manner. Ghosts, demons, tulpa, they are all products of human psychic energy. They are products of the human subconscious, manifesting themselves in a way humans can understand. You see, most of what we think of as psychic energy takes place not only in the sub-conscious but outside of the individual. We think of ourselves as separate and distinct, but much of the time our minds work like computers that are working on the problems of other computers. (clarify) We are synapses in a vast brain that does the thinking for us all.”

In his excitement with the ideas he was communicating, he momentarily forgot his discomfort with direct eye contact. He stared at Mindy, and in that moment realized how completely lost she looked. He cast his eyes away and muttered, “Sorry, I got a little carried away. But you have broken through the walls that society, that fear has placed upon you. You will grow to understand the misconceptions that most of us suffer under. Don’t worry if you don’t understand some of the concepts, it will come. It’s a far more complex paradigm than your mind is used to using, it’s only natural that it will be a little unbalancing.”

“Should I be taking notes?” said Mindy, attempting a little humor in order to lighten the conversation.

“No need. These are the sort of things that you won’t forget. They are abilities, like riding a bike, not bits of data like a locker combination.”

Mindy realized that whatever conversation she had with Russell, whatever he could learn from him, would not be the simple answers she had hope to gain in order give her peace about her and Dave’s position. The answers Russell had were so large that they would totally reshape her perspective, take years for her to feel some sense of balance again. She was beginning a journey that she knew would not be lightly completed. The seeds that had been planted in her mind were not (easy flowers) but oak trees.

Enough of concepts, for today at least,” Russell said in a manner that showed he was not completely devoid of humor. “Perhaps there are other answers I can give you that aren’t so involved.”

Mindy thought it over for a moment, unwilling to be sucked in again to explanations that were beyond her. “Tell me about Doug. What do you know about him.

“He’s a hobbyist,” said Russell, “playing with forces far beyond him. He was fortunate to have a degree of insight and enough money to follow his interests, but that means little in the big picture.

Mindy was alarmed. This was not something she wanted to hear.

“That’s not to say he’s a bad guy or anything. “And to be fair, such forces are beyond any of us. He’s well intentioned, I believe, but he has no idea what he’s involved in.”

“And what makes you so much more knowledgeable that Doug?” asked Mindy, almost defensive of Doug because of her need to believe he was someone who might be able to take care of them.

“Because this has been all mapped out long before Doug took in interest in such things.”

“By who?”

“By the government, among others. By advertisers and marketing firms. By anyone who has an interest in determining how you think and feel, in what you believe. Billions are paid each year to get your mind to see the many choices of bottled water you have rather than seeing the lakes and rivers that are being polluted.”

“Is it really that bad?” asked Mindy. She was beginning to sense the amount her perceptions were shaped by others’ perceptions, but perhaps she didn’t want to admit how little in control of her own life she was.

“Those who rule have always been interested in shaping the perceptions of those who are ruled. But never in the history of humanity has their reach been so great. Advances in technology and psychology have enabled the messages of the rulers to permeate our consciousness that no other society could have imagined.”

There was a lot more Mindy wanted to ask, but she found herself delving in too deep again. It was best that she stick to the shallower water, at least for now.

“And what about you, Russell? Where did all of your information and insight come from?”

“I worked for various governments. Oh no, not as an agent, more of a guinea pig. I had certain talents that attracted attention. But this is one field of study where the guinea pig is apt to learn as much or more than those who study him. I wasn’t a mere test case like Ted Kaczynsky, a man without innate talent that they simply experimented on. I had more value, was fortunate to be left more or left intact.”

“Ted Kaczynsky? The Unibomber was the subject of government testing?”

“Yeah. I’ll send you some links about it. Don’t go sticking your head down too far into that rabbit hole,” Russell laughed, showing a capacity for humor for a second time, “the truth is so tangled in the fantasies of those that survived it you’ll end up driving yourself insane.”

“But back to me. When our government discovered that the Soviets were conducting scientific experiments into psychic phenomena, we decided we should look into such matters as well. Again, always with a military angle. And when the Soviet Union fell and there was no money left for them to pay for such programs, we permitted some of their scientists to emigrate to the U.S. and continue their experiments. I had certain innate talents that were recognized—how I’m not quite sure—and I was recruited into their programs. You may laugh to think of your government spending your tax dollars on such studies as telekenesis and astral projection, but the people in control are always looking for any way to expand that control. The U.S., U.S.S.R., even the Nazis were looking for supernatural means of obtaining military victory. That’s why I say Doug is a hobbyist. By the time an idea makes its way into a newspaper or some mass media film, it’s already been thoroughly explored by the military.”

Mindy heard voices outside the shop door. She wasn’t sure if they were about to enter, but she took the moment to end the conversation with Russell. He had already given her more information than she could possibly digest. She had wanted answers, as well as a diversion from worrying about Dave. She had gotten neither.

“I think I hear people coming,” she said. “I’ll let you go, now. Thanks for the information. When I can stomach it, I’ll be back for more.”

“Sorry I overwhelmed you,” said Russell.

“Not at all.”

Mindy returned home later that evening, receiving a text from Dave that they had arrived at their destination and were so far both alive. Alone for the evening, she threw a pizza in the oven and sat herself in front of the television. TV had always given her a feeling that she was somehow connected to a vast world out there somewhere, but now she wondered exactly what it was she was connected to. What once bathed itself over her subconscious, uncritical mind now seemed to her a less than innocent diversion. She couldn’t block out the idea that as she was staring into the screen that something was staring back at her. It left her with such an unnerving feeling that the television was off before the oven timer sounded.

While eating she stared instead into her laptop. She went to check Facebook but got out when she noticed Russell was still on. She really had no desire to bite off more of the information he was willing to provide when she already had so much to digest. She went to bed early, her thoughts busy with assembling ideas Russell had provided, her cell phone next to her in case Dave reported back.

She awoke in the middle of the night to a message from Dave that told her they had encountered and survived a ghost. He would see her after the show the next night, perhaps driving all the way back.

The Sleep of Reason Chapter 7

My writing has for a time been inevitably detained, but I am now back on track. Here we are being re-introduced to a character who played a prominent part in Perchance To Dream:

Chapter 7

 

Mindy looked at her cell phone absentmindedly, her attention being constantly distracted by the dozens of monster masks displayed across from the counter she was leaning on. The masks were of the vintage variety: Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and others she did not recognize. Mindy knew they hadn’t sold a single one since she started working there, but Doug liked to have them staring at him when he was in his store. Doug was a man with the resources to create whatever environment he chose to inhabit—no matter how strange—and was not afraid to do so. He was an overgrown child, Mindy couldn’t help thinking, wasting money that could have gone to more worthwhile goals. Still, it was people like him who made the world a little more colorful. As far as Mindy knew, Doug didn’t spend his wealth on scholarships for poor children or other charitable deeds. But every child that walked into his store—whether or not they had a cent to spend—was treated to the elaborate displays that had to cost far more money than they brought in.

And flock to the store kids did, always looking for a little amusement. At least in the summer months. This was the Wisconsin Dells, Water Park Capital of the World! But while there were plenty of indoor water parks and other sources of amusement available in November, there hadn’t been a customer for the better part of an hour now. Mindy was needed here—that’s what Doug said—but she couldn’t help thinking she could have gone with Johnny and Dave. She really wasn’t sure of Doug’s priorities, but in the final analysis Doug was the one who signed the checks. Dave and Mindy could work there or quit (which was a possibility never far from her mind), those were the options. And, for now at least, staying seemed the path of least resistance. While Doug was resistant to questioning, there was still the chance of learning a little more from him or one of the others. Presumably that’s what Dave was doing now as he travelled to…what was the name of that town again? Manitowic?

Of course although there was no large throngs of vacationers, there was other business to tend to. Doug’s business went beyond the little store selling cheap tricks to tourists. Doug knew all the important players in performing and collecting magic. He was always on the lookout for rarities and investment opportunities. And so Mindy minded the store.

She stared at her phone while thoughtlessly rolling a coin across her knuckles. It was a skill magicians prided themselves on, something that demonstrated their manual dexterity. She could always do it more smoothly than Dave and it had always annoyed him. There wasn’t much that provoked annoyance in him, but he took magic very seriously and was competitive when it came to skills related to the trade. So Mindy had kept in constant practice in order to have that thorn to press in his side whenever he got to feeling too smart for his own good.

She resisted the urge to text him, didn’t want him to know she worried about him. He was with Johnny, who knew a hell of a lot more than she did concerning such matters as they were now caught up in, but she was not one to delegate tasks when the safety of loved ones was concerned.

She was stuck somewhere between wanting to contact Dave and not wanting to lay bare her concern when she was startled by the opening of the door. She turned to face it and saw Izzy, the man who had introduced her and Dave into what lay beyond The Beyond Show. They had shared a frightening adventure, trying to prevent a replay of a mass suicide that had occurred some thirty years before. And while Izzy accompanied them on their quest, he did not reveal he accompanied them at the request of Doug, did not reveal that he had orders to keep an eye on them. He was a spinner of stories, weaving the most absurd plots and passing them off as truths.

And yet she liked him. At least part of her did. There was some truth to him that transcended her normal criteria, got him past her barriers that kept many others out.

Izzy was a middle-aged man of Native American ancestry, though of what tribe Mindy never got around to discovering. There was a lot that Izzy was never really clear about, a lot of things unspoken despite the fact that he was never at a loss for words. For Izzy, it was always about stories and the details didn’t matter much. There are bigger facts than the truth, she’d heard him say. To trust Izzy, you had to believe the stories he told, had to want to believe them. Or at least you had to find meaning in them. And Mindy did. Well, more or less. Maybe. She wasn’t really sure. But it felt good to believe him, felt good to think that every unanswerable question in life could be explained with a story.

But if it felt good to go along with his stories, she would never let him know that. There were still too many answers her intellect required regarding him. And the others as well. Still, it was good to see him again, good to get her mind off of worrying about Dave or at least have someone to talk to about it. Putting aside whatever instinctual urge she had to be combative, she said “Where have you been?”

“Didn’t Doug tell you? I’ve been on an important mission for him.” He was carrying what appeared to be two hat boxes and lifted them up for her to see. Setting them on the glass counter that separated them, he opened one and lifted from it something that Mindy for the briefest of moments nearly mistook for a severed head. After the initial jolt of surprise, she recognized it for what it was, yet another mask for the collection on the opposite wall. While its appearance was entirely human, it was as frightening as any of those that were on display.

“What is that?” Mindy asked, revolted by the fleshy face that stared at her like an executioner’s trophy.

“That, my dear young girl, is a Tor Johnson mask” said Izzy, rather pleased with himself, “star of such fabulous masterpieces as Beast of Yucca Flats and Plan 9 From Outer Space.” There was a certain amount of satisfaction he seemed to get from his triumph, as if he himself had a childhood tie to whatever black and white B-movies spawned such creatures.

“But wait…there’s more,” he said, and produced from the other box an even more revolting acquisition. “Behold, the Moleman!”

“That looks nothing like a mole,” said Mindy. “It looks like…a meal worm with leprosy.”

“It’s a mole man,” said Izzy. “And look—“ he reached back into the box and retrieved a pair of rubber hands. “The whole set. And in mint condition!”

“That was your big important secret mission you were on for Doug?” And here I was worried about worrying about him, she thought. She had imagined him facing something on the order of what they had faced on Devil’s Island, facing something along the lines of what Dave and Johnny were likely facing at that moment.

“Well, more or less,” replied Izzy. “You see, that was the missing piece. This Tor Johnson mask is the rarest of them all. Now Doug has the complete set.”

Izzy carried the masks over to the far wall and reverently placed them on the shelves. Mindy watched him, becoming disgusted with the whole situation.

“How am I supposed to trust someone who has nothing better to do with his time and money than acquire hunks of rubber from his childhood fantasies? Asked Mindy.

“Oh, you misunderstand,” said Izzy, turning to her with the look on his face turning quite serious. “These masks are more than mere curiosities. They are imbued with the desire for the mysterious of a million young boys now men, their sense of what is possible lost to them but remaining in curios such as these. Each of them separately have an acquired power of perception into realms most of us could never access without an object of power such as these. But together they can open vast portals into worlds most humans could never imagine. Let go of your conscious mind for a moment and see if you can sense the potency that resides in these cultural artifacts.”

Mindy tried to relax her mind, let go her thoughts and preconceptions in order to grasp some sort of sense of what Izzy was saying. But as she did so, she noticed a familiar glimmer in Izzy’s eye.

“You Bastard! You’re just having fun with me, aren’t you?”

A smile spread wide across Izzy’s face, amused at having put one over on Mindy.

“That’s not funny,” said Mindy, never at a loss for ways of expressing her displeasure. “Dave’s off God knows where, dealing with God knows what, and here you are screwing around. How am I supposed to trust any of you when you don’t treat things seriously?”

Izzy had a few laughs to get in before he could respond. “Gallows humor, Mindy. You can’t stay sane when dealing with things so far beyond comprehension without blowing off a little steam. And besides, who’s to say there’s not a degree of truth in what I said? Those masks, the fact that it’s a complete set, it’s important to Doug for some reason. If it makes him happy, makes his mind a little lighter, who knows what positive outcomes that might effect (?)”

“You know, your time might be better served helping me understand things a little better rather than having fun at my expense.”

“I tell stories, Mindy, it’s what I do. Hopefully you can learn something from them, but that’s not really up to me. At any rate, I’m not really the one to ask. I was the newest of the group until you and Dave came along.”

“Yeah, but the rest aren’t here, and I doubt Doug would tell me anything even if I asked him.”

“Yeah, Doug treats things on a need to know level, pretty much. It’s not so much that he’s keeping things to himself, at least I don’t think so. It’s like he’s afraid of sharing what he does know, afraid that his interpretation might not be the right one. Or he needs to hear your interpretation in order to know if it agrees with his. It’s not so much he’s hiding something as that he’s just more concerned about seeing things correctly. He uses everyone else as his feelers and he doesn’t want to bias our feedback with his own. And I don’t think it’s being a spoiled rich kid, although from what I’ve heard he’s got plenty. No, he’s reminds me more of one of those absent-minded intellectuals always in search of answers to the point of forgetting to eat or sleep.”

“And you’re willing to bet your life on your impressions of Doug?”

“I’ve got a healthy sense of self-preservation. And I’m not much of a gambler. Doug pays the bills, so I’m willing to play along. But I don’t think he’d be too willing to sacrifice any of us. He took it hard when Alan died. Stopped all work for a couple of weeks, supernatural and otherwise.”

“And what about Johnny? Is he okay?”

“You don’t have to worry about him. He knows what he’s doing, or so I’ve heard. And he’s a lover, not a fighter.”

“A lover?”

“Yeah. A religious man. And he’s got a girl. A real looker, I’ve seen a picture of her. But he happened to fall for a wild one. She wasn’t the kind to settle down, and he wasn’t the type to stop loving her. Had every reason to, too. She had a bit of an addiction to…well, dangerous living, mostly. I don’t know if you can blame somebody like that, it seems to be the way they’re wired or something. But she would leave him, go on a bender for a week, a month, a year. Then she’d show up on his doorstep when she’d run out of other options and he’d always take her back. See, he had an addiction to, an addiction to her. Some people are like that, some people love completely and never consider leaving no matter how much it cost them. So he’d always take her back. And she’d be good for a while until domestic living got to be too much and she’d be off again.”

“Mind you, I’m just telling you what I’ve been able to piece together from Johnny and Doug and Al, but I’m rather talented at piecing together a story if I don’t mind saying so.”

“Do go on,” said Mindy. She wasn’t sure how close to reality Izzy’s stories got, but they were always of interest. And she was always able to get insight from them. It occurred to her at that moment that what he had was an ability comparable to Dave’s. As Dave was able to gleam truth from dreams, Izzy seemed to gather truth from stories. Mindy was willing to gather information in whatever way was available.

“She was an artist. Raychel, that’s her name. Truly gifted, as you have seen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, Johnny, of course. That’s all her work.”

“She did that?”

“At Johnny’s insistence. Never had a tattoo in his life until he met her. And I don’t know his full intention, but that never stopped me from giving my own spin on things,” he gave her a smile. “I believe he wanted to encourage her talent, to allow her to find a constructive outlet for the urges of freedom she could not contain. Or perhaps he wanted to show his commitment to her, to demonstrate that he was hers completely. I believe on some level that by his choice of subject matter he sought to keep Raychel’s thoughts fixed upon spiritual themes. They’re all Bible related tattoos, you know. I’ve seen them all, more than I wanted, actually. Ask him and he’ll show you too, if you’re not the squeamish type.”

Mindy hadn’t pegged Johnny as the religious type. Nor the one woman type either. She had misjudged him, but she forgave herself for it.

“And did he win her over? Did she ever settle down.”

“Oh, she settled down, alright, but if it was Johnny’s doing, I couldn’t tell you. She got sick, so sick that bad behavior was no longer an option. For a while Johnny took care of her, but she got so bad he couldn’t do it by himself. He still visits her. She’s in a hospital in Marshfield. Johnny still regularly visits her. She’s still the only woman in his life. I’ll have to pay her a visit with him sometime. I’ve been meaning to.”

The story Izzy told her made her stop worrying for a while about Dave, made her worry for Johnny instead. She couldn’t imagine allowing herself to be treated like that, but part of her respected the sacrifice Johnny was capable of.

She wanted to get Johnny and Dave out of her thoughts for a while, wanted to do something constructive rather than worry about others. So before Izzy decided it was time to go, she thought she’d pepper him with some more questions.

“You weren’t there when Doug asked us to join you guys. He said we society is undergoing a sort of paradigm shift, that our way of seeing life is no longer a sufficient tool for the reality of our current situation. Is this true?”

“That’s Doug’s story, which I think is more or less true. But the more opinions you get on the matter the closer to the truth you’re going to get. Here’s my take: Every story starts out simple, but if it is a good one, people add to it, make it more complicated. If too many stories are told around the central story, it’s hard to keep the message consistent. People lose track of the many little details. So the old gets swept away. The story starts fresh, with the essential elements remaining, the ones that deal with the reality at hand.”

“A reboot,” said Mindy.

“Yeah, like that. Like an animal that sheds its skin, humanity is carrying around a big shell of dead stories.”

 

“But if you’re looking for a better understanding of what’s going on,” said Izzy, as if in answer to her thoughts, “you should try talking to Russell, then. It seems he’s available anytime Doug calls him.”

“Do you know how I could reach him?”

“No, but you could probably find him doing a little searching. Nobody stays hidden from those amazing little devices attached to all-seeing satellites that constantly roam the sky,” he said, staring at Mindy’s cell phone that still sat on the counter.

“So you suggest that I search the internet for a guy name Russell?”

“There’s got to be something around here that might give you a little information. Somewhere in Doug’s office, perhaps. I’ve got to be going. I just got back from Philadelphia with those masks and I’m off to Denver tomorrow on another piece of important business. I’m earning my paycheck this week, let me tell you.”

Izzy was already heading towards the door when Mindy stopped him. “Why? Why send you to conduct a business deal when he could just do a deal over the phone and have the items shipped here? Why send you all over the place?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a story teller. I can be rather persuasive with the right sort of people…and there was a little more involved with the Philly trip than just a couple of masks. I’ll fill you in on it when I get back from Denver.”

He turned his back on her and walked through the door. She could perceive in his posture and in his gait that there seemed to be more to his travels than the purchase of collectibles. His shoulders appeared hunched as though he had been carrying a great weight, and Mindy found herself forgiving him for his rather mean joke at her expense. If he was too tired for talking then he was tired indeed. She wished he would stay longer, wished he would share more of what he knew, but she didn’t want to keep him from whatever rest he required. Perhaps Dave and she had yet to see the worst of what this line of business had to offer.