The Faire Folk of Gideon

1. Pin the Tail on the Donkey

Copyright © 2001 by Keith D. Jones – all rights reserved
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• 1. Pin the Tail on the Donkey
• 2. Seeking Dragon's Breath
• 3. Flailing Rebellion
• 4. Lucifer's Widow
• 5. Fragile Creations

Also available in ePub & PDF formats.

One

An Extended Rant

I don’t know where to begin. Everything is a jumbled blur. Impossible to tell one thing from another. I feel like one of those guys you hear about who feels things with a passion. Wants to write about it. Knows things. Wants things. To inspire. To tell their side of it. If only they could write it down, then people would understand. If only they could write it down, they would inspire people to action. To overthrow corrupt governments. Feed the homeless children. End crime. Paradise. The only problem being that when they actually sit at the typewriter, notepad, pen and paper, whatever. The mind locks up. Everything wants to come pouring out at once. Everything. This is important. That is important. If I don’t explain this then that won’t make any sense. Guns, candy, lost puppies, interest rates fluctuating, the price of stamps going up. Baseball. Apple pie. Where do you begin? Where? With what? Why?

Know how I feel? Every story has a beginning, right? Right? That means every story has an ending, right? That means the beginning of every story is the ending of another someplace else. Or was that every exit is an entrance somewhere else? It’s been too long since I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. The players. See? They do on stage the things that are supposed to happen off. But, I’m already drifting way off into the sunset.

But, it fits. It fits. Ever read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead? They basically have no clue what is happening all around them. Strange things happen. And, they end up dead. Yeah, it fits. They even talk to the audience. I’m way off target, but every exit is an entrance someplace.

So, this isn’t a narrative. This isn’t a story. It just looks like one. This is an extended rant. I think Henry Miller said that. At the beginning of Tropic of Cancer. Or, one of those weird-ass books. Anyway. This is a rant. This is a wild assortment of all living things. Stream of consciousness. Random, beguiling, out of order. Chaos. Yeah, chaos. Every ending is a beginning someplace else. So, I’m going to get stuff out of order. I’m going to forget things. I’m going to remember things. I’m going to tell you that this other stuff over here happened before all that other stuff I talked about yesterday. I’m going to get confused and tell you stuff that is never going to get mentioned again because it was irrelevant and I never should have mentioned it in the first place.

I don’t care. I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to do this or die. Explode. Go boom. Blood everywhere. You have to understand. I want you to understand. If I don’t get through to you, then there is simply no hope. Why should I care? Why should you? I should explain. I should try. God, have you even read this far? Okay. Things are complicated. The world is complicated. More complicated than you might realize. Than I ever knew. More things in Heaven or on Earth than are dreamt of in philosophy or something like that. Shakespeare. Hamlet. Funny, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead wasn’t written by Shakespeare. Just the names are the same. Everything else was changed to protect the dead.

Okay, here goes. Things are complex. There’s this world. The one we wander around in day by day. And there’s the other world. Or worlds. Or whatever. If you’ve read any science fiction or comic books, you’re probably already thinking other dimensions. Like from Another Fine Myth. No, don’t think dimensions. Don’t think elsewhere. You start thinking like that, and you’ll start thinking someplace totally different. Someplace totally removed from you. You’re safe. It can’t hurt you. It’s another dimension. Someplace else. Not here. Elsewhere. Well, you’re wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It’s right here. You just don’t notice it. It’s like. Pick up a telephone, okay? It’s a telephone. You can call people. You can talk to them. You can order pizza from your car as you’re driving home. Did you know it’s a pencil sharpener? No, really, it’s a pencil sharpener. Not a telephone with a pencil sharpener in it. It’s a telephone. It’s a pencil sharpener. You pick it up. You talk into it. It’s a telephone. You stick a pencil in it. You turn the little hand crank. It sharpens your pencil. Wait, a second. That little hand crank wasn’t there when you were talking into it ordering your pizza. When you sharpen your pencil, you don’t get a dial tone. You can’t order that pizza. You’re going to be hungry. Confused? Oh, boy, you should have been me. Freak-out city. And, I didn’t have anyone trying to explain this shit to me. I just had to survive it.

Okay, another example. Did you know there are people watching you? No, really, they’re standing just over your shoulder. They’re laughing at you. Don’t see them? Oh, they’re there, I can assure you of that. You just haven’t noticed them standing there reading this over your shoulder right now. Made you look? Did you just get a shiver like someone had walked over your grave? No, they’re not invisible. You just haven’t noticed them standing there.

Another example? Look down. See the ducks? There are little ducklings munching on your toes. A whole flock of them. With feathers and little webbed feet and everything. They go quack quack when they talk. They’re munching on your toes. Feel anything yet? You just realized they are there. Munching on your toes. The pain just grabbed you like an anvil to the face. Blood all over the floor. Gushing out of your feet because they’ve eaten your toes. Are you freaking, yet? Are you screaming in pain? Shock? Fear? Grab the pencil sharpener. Dial emergency. Wait for the ambulance. Kicking at the ducks. Trying to make them stop. You make it to emergency. Bandaged feet. Little bite marks. Everything red from the blood. Ready? That’s when you realize that there never were cute little ducklings munching on your toes. It never happened. That’s when the doctor walks in to check your bandages. That’s when he checks your bandages and finds nothing wrong. You’ve got all your toes. The doctor looks at you like he’s crazy. As if he must have walked into the wrong room. Nope, sorry. Right room. Right person. It just never happened. No, you didn’t imagine it. Imagine what? It never happened. In fact, you never went to emergency. You’re still reading this.

Crazy? Are you freaking, yet? Understand? Got the hang of it? If you do, then you’re way ahead of me.

A little history? Who am I? No, forget it. It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand. Yes, you will understand. I was working. Sitting at my desk. In my office, I remember. I remember sitting there, and suddenly, I realized that it was all shit. That my life was empty. Meaningless. Look at the paper on my desk. What was written on it? Garbage, crap, shit! Important to no one. I had clawed my way to this point in my life. Fought, laughed, loved. All so I could sit at a desk and push pieces of paper around with stuff written on them. Did any of it mean anything? Did it matter? What if that piece of paper didn’t get shuffled into the right pile? Would someone live? Would someone die? A tree had died, but who cares about trees?

I suddenly realized that I cared about trees. I cared about them more than anything written on any of the meaningless scrapes of paper shuffled around and about my desk. Dear God, what had I done with my life? How did I get to this point? What had happened to my dreams? My ideals? Did I ever have any? Did I ever care about anything worth fighting for? Did I ever have a soul to lose in all the shuffled paper?

That was when I looked up from my desk. Looked from my office to all the people. All the people helping me helping them shuffle paper. Did they have dreams? Did they have ideals? Did they care? Were they the walking brain-dead? That was when I realized there was a man standing in my doorway.

Okay, realize something. He hadn’t been standing there a moment before. I had looked up and around the office. The door had been empty. Then he had been standing there. Not like a movie. He didn’t blip into existence like film spliced together or like those fancy computer generated effects where someone kind of morphs into the room. He hadn’t been there. Then he was. As if I had finally noticed him standing there.

Another example. Look over your shoulder again. No one standing there, right? Now, while you’ve got your back turned, someone sneaks up behind you. On tiptoe. Real nice and quiet so you don’t even notice. Turn your head slightly. Catching them out of the corner of your eye. Scream! It’s like they just magically appeared there. Punch them halfheartedly on the shoulder. Cuss them out. Fuck, you scared the living shit out of me! Don’t do that again! They laugh.

Follow me? Except I hadn’t turned away. He didn’t sneak-up on me. I simply noticed him standing there. My reaction was similar to what I just described, but I didn’t scream. I was at work after all. I just quietly freaked way the hell out. I was whacking out the walls. I had just realized that my life was a joke followed quickly by this guy just sort of standing in the door. Have I got your attention? Did I explain enough? Do you understand? Fuck, don’t sneak-up on a person like that you’ll give them a heart attack! That, of course, was when he said my name.

Two

Spontaneous Cognition

Another digression. The Faire Folk of Gideon? No, they’re not elves. Let’s get that out of the way right now. They are not elves. They’re not aliens. They’re not visitors, guests or Punch and Judy. You’ve been reading way too many fantasy books. The Faire Folk? What can I say about them? You ever read anything by Neal Gaiman? There’s a great line in one of his funny books, which I’m not going to repeat here. Gaiman? Oh, yeah, it must be elves. Shut up! They’re not elves, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up. There’s just this great line in one of his books.

Okay, think about your boss. No, this isn’t from Gaiman. It’s just kind of sort of based on something he wrote, which I think he must have pinched from someplace else anyway. Probably a history book or folklore or something. Like I said, think about your boss. You’re at work, and you’re talking about your boss. The thing is you know he’s listening. You know he’ll fire you in half a heartbeat if you gossip with your coworkers something he doesn’t like. So, what do you say about him? He’s a kind man. A good man. Caring. Loves children. Fair. Never mean to anyone.

The Faire Folk of Gideon? Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard them mention the place as being called Gideon. That may just be my name for it. I had to give it one, after all. That or I’m just remembering things faulty. The Faire Folk? Oh, they’re kind. They are just. They are a reasonable and fair-minded people. You would never expect them to be selfish, petty or cruel. Nope, never, and I should know. I’ve met quite a few of them.

Starting with Fahrenheit just sort of stepping into my office. Yeah, that’s his name, Fahrenheit. You got a problem with that? Good. Another word about that sort of thing. The just stepping into my office while I was looking right at him but just didn’t notice him standing there thing. You probably think it’s all totally whacked-out, right? Could never really happen, right?

Okay, quick example. Let’s use telepathy. It’s fast. It’s easy to explain. Well, mostly easy to explain, but first I have to tell you about this guy named John Cage. Who? Oh, yeah, he’s this really famous modern composer. Wrote really wild music. Strange stuff. Loved mushrooms. No, really, he did. Don’t read anything into that. John Cage was the kind of composer who would put a guy on stage reading the newspaper in a really breathy whisper that no one could understand and that would be the music. No, really. He would stick stuff between the strings of a piano and get really wild sounds out of it. Stuff you wouldn’t normally think you could get out of a piano. Great music. Loved it. I think his most famous piece was this little treat called 4’33". Basically someone would sit at a piano on stage and not do a damn thing for exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds. Give or take.

Why did I bring this up? Well, one day, John Cage goes into this room that is supposed to be totally quiet. It’s got sound dampening stuff in it or something. The shape of the walls. Whatever. Anyway, he’s expecting it to be totally and perfectly quiet. Not a sound. Not a whisper. Really cool. Sort of like a sensory deprivation tank, I suppose. So, he’s standing there, and he hears two sounds. Two? In the totally perfect silence? What a rip! So, the story goes he stepped out of the room and tells the guy who built it that there must be something wrong. He heard two sounds. Oh, that, well, one sound was the synapse in his brain firing. The other was the blood pumping through his veins. Most of the time there’s just so much noise all around us that we never notice these two really soft sounds.

Let’s focus on the slight sound of electricity bouncing around in your head. That means if someone listens really hard. Knows what to listen for and knows how to listen for it. They can literally hear your thoughts. Okay, shut-up, I know what you’re thinking. Totally bullshit. What do I know about neurology? Nothing. Just suppose that there was someone who could hear the sound your brain makes. Someone who had trained enough or whatever to have an idea of how snap, crackle and pop translated into words. Well, you’ve got a mind reader, my friend.

Of course, with this method, all you can do is listen. I never got to be any good at it. Thoughts just sound like someone brushing a comb through static electricity if you were to ask me. The thing is that if you can hear it then it’ll just sort of sink in even if you don’t understand a word of it. Something surprising can happen then. You just sort of realize that you know what someone thought. Not in any great detail. Just in general. Concentrate on what you remember the person thinking, and you will start to get details. This is what the Faire Folk call spontaneous cognition. Don’t laugh, I’ve done it. No, really, I’ve done it. Freaked the hell out of me, I can assure you. I just suddenly realized that I knew what someone had been thinking. Spontaneous cognition. Try it sometime. Amuse your friends.

But, I’ve gotten way ahead of myself. There’s still a long way between this guy appearing in my office and me doing mind reading. I look up and bam! There’s this guy standing in my door. I just sort of stare at him as if my head has just exploded. I don’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything. Until at last, he says something.

"You are Matthew Drake."

I don’t say anything. It’s not my name. I don’t comment on this. I just kind of sort of stare at him as if he just floated down from Heaven pointing his glowing finger at me and declared me the chosen one. Free my people! Nope, sorry, didn’t happen. No glowing finger, anyway. Me? Brain-lock. I just look at him as if I’m one of those mouth-breathers. Don’t say a word. Think about it. I had just had a startling revelation. I hated my job. Blam! I hated my life. Boom! This guy appears in my door. Just sort of up and appears there as if it is an everyday occurrence. Tells me that my name is Matthew Drake. Whoa, sorry if I’m something at a loss for words. You try and do any better, okay? Let me know.

That, of course, was when Charlie Thurman should happen to walk into my office.

"Hey, Matt, I need to run this by you."

Okay, ready? The talking man is gone. Poof! Like he was never there. You are Matthew Drake, my ass. Disappeared just like he had appeared. As if I had been distracted by good-old Charlie waltzing in my office. Gave the weirdo time to duck out of the way. Pay no attention to the asshole behind the curtain. Yeah, I know I said the guy’s name was Fahrenheit. I didn’t know that yet, okay? So, Charlie screeches to a halt in front of my desk and gives me one of those who is this psycho kind of looks.

"Where’s Matt?"

"What?" Yeah, I know, what a time to find my voice, right? "Charlie, it’s me."

Charlie does this quick double-take like his eyes finally have a chance to blink.

"I’m sorry, have we met? I’ve gone and forgotten your name."

"Charlie, it’s me. Jerry. Jerry Christiansen."

"Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Christiansen. Matt must have stepped out for a minute. Do you know when he’ll be back?"

"Be back? What are you talking about? This is my office. You know that. Who’s Matt?"

Well, to make a long story short, my dear good-old friend Charlie Thurman calls security, and I am forcefully ejected from my office. They pay not the slightest attention to my protests. They fail to recognize my picture sitting on my desk, claiming it to be a picture of Matt. I’ve drawn quite a crowd by this point. I quiet down a notch when I catch the name on the door. The name engraved on the door to my office is Matthew Drake. I don’t stay quiet for long. By the time they’ve got me in the elevator, I’ve got my wallet out. Guess whose driver’s license I’ve got? With my picture on the license, of course. Why the license belongs to none other than Matthew Drake. So, why is my name Jerry Christiansen?

Three

City in a Box

And, that is how I found myself sitting on a bench in front of my office building, staring at my driver’s license with my picture on it but with Matthew Drake’s name. It was my picture. As security dragged me out of the building, kicking and screaming, I caught my reflection in a mirror or shiny elevator door or something, and I recognized my face. So, I knew what I looked like, and that was my picture on my driver’s license in my wallet. The problem was that it was Matthew Drake’s name on the license. I even thought to check out my credit cards. I was sitting on a bench in front of my work. What else did I have to do? Security had lost interest in me as soon as they had got me out the front door. I was somebody else’s problem now. The name on the credit cards? Matthew Drake.

So, how does this happen? One minute, I’m sitting happily in my office, doing whatever the hell it was that I was doing. The next minute, this freak just kind of sort of steps into my office and points his finger at me. No, wait, he never pointed his finger at me. He just told me that my name was Matthew Drake. That’s all he did. That’s when Charlie walked into my office. The freak is gone like he was never there in the first place. Charlie doesn’t recognize me. Security takes over. Good-bye, office. Hello, concrete bench.

Oh, let’s get this out of the way as well. I was chosen. Fahrenheit decided that my name was Matthew Drake. No argument there. But, I’m nobody special. I’m not some long lost prince of the realm or any dumb shit like that. I’m nobody’s brother. Evil twin. Frankenstein’s monster. Add nausea. I think I’m going to puke. It could have been anyone. I’m anyone. Why me, Lord? Well, why not me? If not me, then some other me. Someone would be sitting on a concrete bench somewhere wondering what they had done to deserve this. It just so happens that Fahrenheit did his eenie-meanie-miney-moe routine, and I came up it. I got to sit on a concrete bench and wonder what I had done to deserve this.

So, what was going on? I’ve had time to think about this. It was like Pin the Tail on the Donkey. No, really. Have you ever played that game? Well, what happens? You put a blindfold on and then have to pin a tail on a drawing of a donkey, right? Okay, what else do you do? You put the blindfold on, right? Then, someone spins you around and around so you get all dizzy and don’t know which way is up, what way you are facing, or where the hell the damn donkey is. That’s what was going on. The Faire Folk had dropped a bag over my head, and they were spinning me in big lazy circles, hoping I would fall on my ass and not know which way was up.

Of course, I didn’t know any of this at the time. In fact, I don’t think anyone ever actually told me any of this. I just sort of slowly managed to multiply seven by nine and get forty-two. At the time, I was just kind of sort of sitting on a concrete bench thinking that the whole world had gone crazy. Someone had stepped into my office. Stood in my door. Suddenly, the guy was there. Suddenly, the guy was gone. In-between, he had told me that my name was Matthew Drake. Everyone believed my name was Matthew Drake. My driver’s license. My credit cards. The name on my door. They all believed that I was Matthew Drake. In fact, the only one who didn’t believe I was Matthew Drake was me.

So, maybe I was crazy. It could happen. You hear about it on TV all the time, right? Maybe I had had some kind of trauma or shock or something. Hit on the head. Been smacked around by a car. Something so horrible had happened that the only way I could deal with it was to pretend that it hadn’t happened to me. That it was all fine and dandy if it had happen to this Matthew Drake guy because I wasn’t really Matthew Drake. Nope, I wasn’t. I was fine. I was safe. Bad things only happen to other people. Trauma. Partial amnesia. Post-traumatic stress disorder or something.

It could have happened. Or, that other one. Multiple personality disorder. Yeah, I had heard of that one. That is where you have one person and sometimes he thinks he’s Fred and other times he thinks he’s Charlie. When he’s Fred, he’s never heard of Charlie, and when he’s Charlie, he’s never heard of this fellow Fred. I didn’t know much of anything about it. Just what I had seen on TV. It was usually caused by trauma, right? Something bad that happened when you were a kid. But, what causes the switch? One minute, you’re Fred and then suddenly you’re Charlie. How long could the split exist before a switch happened? I could have been Fred for twenty years, never switching into Charlie. Then one day. Something on TV. Driving to work. Who knows? Wham! Suddenly, I’m Charlie, staring at Fred’s driver’s license.

Yeah, I know. Pencils, telephones and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. The thing to remember is that I didn’t know any of this at the time. One minute, I’m sitting at my desk. Next, I’m sitting on a concrete bench wondering who the hell this Matthew Drake person is and why his name is on my driver’s license. The one thing I did know was that I was totally fucked-up. I was schizo. I was ready to cash it in. The crazy train had left the station, and I’m the engineer. I was staring at Matthew Drake’s driver’s license, and I had heard of multiple personalities. The mind is a wonderfully stupid thing. If you totally screw with your head, you will believe the wildest and most outrageous things as long as they seem to explain whatever the hell is going on.

So, I believed. Sitting on that concrete bench in front of my office building, I absolutely believed that I had multiple personalities. I was Matthew Drake.

"Hey, Matt, you okay?"

Which is exactly what you want to hear when you have just finished convincing yourself that you are someone you are not. I looked up as if someone had just dropped a bomb right behind my bench. That total shock reaction where all your limbs go flying in every direction and you try to look everywhere at once. It was Charlie.

"Whoa, Matt, you okay? What are you doing out here?"

"I don’t know. I really don’t know."

"Come on, man. Is something wrong? You look awful."

"Susan left me."

"No! Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry. When?"

"The other night. I thought I could carry on. I thought everything would be okay."

"Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s rough, man. You two were high school sweethearts, right?"

"That’s right. I thought I could carry on. I just got so confused. I think I need to take a personal day."

"No, problem. Take as many as you need. I’ll clear it with the boss if you don’t even want to go back inside."

"Thanks, Charlie. I just got so confused. Like I didn’t know where I was. Maybe I should see a doctor."

"Life is shit, man. Hey, they’ve got the number for a crisis councilor inside. Maybe I could get it for you. Set up an appointment?"

"Yeah, thanks, man. I just got so confused."

That, of course, is when I made the mistake of trying to stand up. This next bit gets a little blurry. I think I tried to stand up and just didn’t stop when I was standing. I went down face first into the pavement. Started shaking like a son of a bitch. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do nothing except piss myself. My teeth hurt. I could taste spit and blood. I thought I was going to die. Charlie ran for it, screaming something about calling emergency. So, I finally stopped shaking. My head hurt like someone had been using it for target practice, but I felt better for knowing that emergency would be coming soon. I could just lie there like a dead freak, and someone would come to my rescue. I was so tired I didn’t think I could move.

After a while, I felt better. Felt good enough to crawl back onto the bench and wait for emergency to come rescue me. So, I waited. And, I waited. And waited. And, that’s when I started to wonder when Charlie was going to come back and look after me until emergency arrived. What? Had they told him to wait someplace special so he could lead them to me? Fuck, it could take emergency half-an-hour to send someone for me. Where were they? I was going to have a word with the boss about our health plan when this was all over.

Where the fuck was Charlie? That was when I realized that there was nobody around. Nobody sitting on any of the benches. Nobody walking by the office building. Nobody on the street. The street? Where were all the cars? It was quiet. And, that was creepy. No cars honking. No people talking. No birds chirping. No wind. No nothing. And, that was as weird as anything else that had happened that day.

So, where was Charlie? I wasn’t going to wait any longer. No people? No noise? I must be having another episode. Fuck! I had better find help. So, I try to stand and manage not to flatten my face again. That was a good sign. I could walk. So, I start walking back toward our building. That’s where Charlie had run off to. Security will have to notice me. And, as I’m walking back toward our building, I start to notice something weird. There’s something wrong with it. The building. It was. Well, how to explain? The perspective was all wrong. It looked great from where I had been sitting, but as I walked toward it, it started to look off. Like forced perspective in a movie. You know how that works? I understand they use the same kind of trick at theme parks. You build something a lot smaller than it really is. Place it real close. And, it looks really far away. Or something like that. The front of my building was flat like the wall of a movie set.

I reach the door. Push on it. Nothing. Push harder. It finally gives. I open the door and see the ocean. No, really, I open the door, and I see the beach. I see the ocean. Holy shit! I kind of half-stumble half-fall through the opening, and I get a mouth full of sand. In the lobby? Where’s the fucking lobby? Where’s the damn building? I stumble. Belching forward. Crash into grass and sand. Spit. Gag. Puke. I hear waves. I hear the surf crashing into the beach. I turn and look back at the door. I see plywood. I see a facade. I see the backside of a movie set. Well, not the whole movie set. I see wood being supported by these two-by-fours, and I see the door. One side of the door is ugly brown wood. The other side is a glass door. I look around. It’s a box. A really big wood box. Maybe twenty feet on a side. Plain brown wood being supported with two-by-fours on one side. The outside. A city street on the inside. Mock-ups of buildings and everything. I’ve been living in a big brown box? How? That is about when I passed out.

Four

Divine Madness

Okay, enough gibbering. I mean there was quite a bit of it. I was completely round the bend for a while. Hey, don’t laugh. You try it sometime. I had just discovered that the outside was really inside and the inside was really a nice little white sand beach with trees and the deep blue sea. Huh? Yeah, that was more or less my reaction. After I woke up. After I stopped screaming.

Now, the thing is that one can only scream for so long before one’s voice becomes sore. One can only sit gibbering and rocking slowly back and forth for so long before one becomes cold and hungry. Instincts that you didn’t even know you had begin to kick in. Or, can kick in. I’m sure there are some people who would have continued to sit on that beach gibbering and slobbering and rocking back and forth until they died. I think that was kind of the point of the beach. Could I handle it? Could I survive?

There is something very soothing about a beach on a nice sandy hill with the whole of the ocean spread before you. You can watch the most spectacular sunsets, I can tell you that. Yes, I gibbered for a time. I jabbered. I slurped and slobbered. I spent a lot of time on that beach just staring out at that ocean. Watching the waves grow and fade. Watching the tide. After a while, you sort of calm down. A kind of divine madness begins to take hold. You start to accept your fate. Well, resign yourself to the possibility that you’re going to be spending the rest of your life on a little stretch of beach before the great huge ocean.

You start to think about how you got there, and you just kind of sort of start to accept it. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Some guy appears in the door to your office? Just up and appears there without occupying any space in front of or behind that moment? There he is? Sure, why not? So, this guy doesn’t do much of anything after that. Oh, right, he does say that your name is Matthew Drake; even though, you had no reason to believe that your name was Matthew Drake. You were kind of under the impression that your name was Jerry Christiansen. So? Okay, point two. Charlie walks in and doesn’t recognize you. He’s looking for Matthew Drake. He then has you thrown out of the building. You convince yourself that you really are this Matthew Drake person. At which point, Charlie recognizes you as Matthew Drake? Why didn’t he recognize you before? Who cares? Okay, last question. How the hell did the great outdoors that exist in front of your office building turn into the contents of a big ugly brown wood box sitting on a beach out in the middle of nowhere?

Are you really expecting an answer to that question? I didn’t think so. It just is, okay? Deal with it. It has to do with that whole Pin the Tail on the Donkey analogy. See, the Faire Folk dropped a bag over my head and spun me in circles until I fell on my ass and puked my guts out. Now, they are waiting to see if I can still stick it to the ass. None of which I knew at the time, of course. I was still working on that divine madness analogy.

A sane person cannot touch God. I think he was Greek. Dionysus? I think that was him. Well, anyway, I’m drifting again. My point is that the touch of God exists outside of science. You can’t study or prove it through scientific observation, right? To say that a holy angel just fluttered down from Heaven and touched you on the tip of your nose. I mean, prove it. There she is! Where? Where? I don’t see shit! You must be crazy. Some call it faith. I’ve come to believe that it takes an ounce of madness to believe in something that by its very definition can never be proven. Can never be seen, photographed or recorded in any way. Can only be seen by those crazy enough to want to see it.

Yeah, I had a lot of time to just sit there and watch the ocean wax and wane. I tell you. One cannot sit on a beach and contemplate the fact that the whole of the world that he knew could fit into a wood box twenty feet on a side and remain totally cognizant in the head. For all I knew, I really had gone round the bend, and I was really in some padded room somewhere wrapped in a nice warm straitjacket while drooling at the mouth. It could be true. Everything around me could be the fantasy. The sand. The surf. The ocean. Thoughts like that affect you. Divine madness. You’re never the same again.

But, first, I got hungry. That’s what finally woke me from my stupor. Hunger. Easily solved. Bananas. Coconuts. Strawberries. All easily available on and around the beach. Yeah, wild strawberries. They’re tiny little red things. Have you ever had wild strawberries? Oh, let me tell you that once you have tasted wild strawberries those giant red things you find in the store can never compare. Shelter was a little harder to come by. Shelter that first night was little more than keeling over next to a rather large piece of driftwood.

I did eventually get organized. Dragged great big pieces of wood around the beach. Made something resembling shelter. Fire? Forget it. I couldn’t rub two sticks together if my life depended on it. Fortunately, the weather was nice. It never got that cold at night. I did eventually get fire, but that was because I went more than a little funny in the head. It all goes back to that divine madness thing I was talking about.

Like I said, I had a lot of time to sit on that beach. I did do some exploring. I think I was on an island, but I was never able to explore enough of it to satisfy myself that it was an island. I mean the world I had known had totally vanished. The space in front of my office building turned out to be a box sitting on a beach so why should I believe that I was on an island, right? Well, why not? So, it’s an island. Sure. I never got to explore the whole entire thing so maybe it was a promontory of a much larger continent or something. Why not? The beach was enough for me.

Oh, right, about the fire situation. See, spend enough time on an island that shouldn’t exist, and you will start to wonder what it is all about. What anything and everything is all about. Someone had appeared in my door. Just up and suddenly he was there. Like magic. So, why not magic? If people could appear and disappear. If people could know me but not know me. If my name could change without me knowing it. Then what else? What if I could do shit? Like? Oh, I don’t know. Start a fire?

Touched by the strange. Touched by the mad. Touched by the divine. Why not? So, I started a fire. Yeah, I did. Just because I wanted a fire. He said let there be light, and there was. And, he found that it was good. I was so far gone by this point that it didn’t even spook me that I was able to spark a fire through sheer force of will. Well, not quite like that. I didn’t grunt and struggle and strain or anything like that. I held my fair share of staring contests with bundles of sticks before I finally got it. One does not get fire by wanting fire. One gets fire to exist where there was no fire a moment ago by accepting the fact that fire was already there. Was always there. You just had to realize that it was there. Accept it. Notice it. There are cute little ducklings nibbling on your toes. Quack. Quack. Kind of a Zen thing. I can get away with saying shit like that because I’ve got no clue what I’m talking about.

Or, maybe I was just stark raving buggo.

After that, things got real interesting. If fire, then why not wood for a nice house? If wood for a nice house, then why not telekinesis to put that house together without having to do any actual work? If telekinesis, then why not flight? If flight, then why not swimming? Water breathing? Shape changing? Yeah, I had some grand old times on that island.

A butterfly wakes from a long night of sleep, hungry for some nectar or whatever the hell it is that butterflies eat, and remembers a really wonderful dream it had. The butterfly had dreamt that it was a man. In the dream, the butterfly had done man stuff. Walked. Talked. Squashed a spider. Ate beef. Fucked. Taken a shit and slept. Yes, the butterfly thought that it had been a most excellent dream. Of course, the butterfly, being a butterfly, had a very amusing thought. Why, the dream had ended with the man drifting off to sleep. So, who was to say that the butterfly was not really a man dreaming he was a butterfly? It was such an amusing thought that it entertained the butterfly for the rest of that long day and for many a day that followed after.

Oh, I don’t know how long I lived on that island. It got to the point where I enjoyed it. You ever see The Sorcerer’s Apprentice? The part right before the infinite number of brooms with arms start carrying an infinite supply of water into the hovel until it floods? Yeah, like that. Fire, storm and sun. Clouds and lightning bolts. With just a touch of Night on Bald Mountain. You know, the part where he’s making those women born of fire dance on his fingertips. That was fun.

So, anyway, one day I did something really stupid. I realized that I had never gone anywhere back near the big old ugly wood box. I mean, what was up with that? I know why I had stayed away from it. The thing scared the shit out of me. It represented chaos or something like that. Contact with that box had a tendency to adversely affect my lifestyle.

So, one day, I had a hankering to do some exploring. Check out the box. See if anyone was home. I went to the door. It was still kind of dangling open. Wood on one side. Glass on the other. Really cool, I could see the lobby of my office building through the glass of the partially open wood on one side door. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could see part of the lobby. I step back through the door, checking out the strange little world inside. It’s really amazing. Hard to believe that all the buildings and everything are just pasted on the inside of a wood box.

Okay, I’m standing there. I’m looking at everything. I notice someone sitting on that old concrete bench that I had sat on staring at my driver’s license. He looks okay. Fancy suit. Snappy dresser. Expensive looking shoes. Nice tie. Not too gaudy. I hate ties that are so bright they can put out an eye. He looks at me and smiles like the Cheshire cat.

Five

Next Train to Market

Yeah, I know. The Cheshire cat had a grin not a smile. I’ve seen a cat without a grin, but I’ve never seen ducks fly out of my ass. Why did I do it? Why return to the big ugly wood box? I’ve had lots of time to think that one over, and I figure there are two reasons. I’ll start with the less obvious one. I think it was an attempt to reenter my old life. For all I knew, I really was stark raving sane in an institution somewhere with a nice warm straitjacket all nice and tight and snug around my shoulders. The only way to get a hang on things and get out of that straitjacket was to walk back into what passed for the world I had known. Another reason why I might have been crazy was that I had never actually explored the entire island. I had walked, swum and flown all around it but never all the way around it. I never found the end. So, I had no way to really know that it was an island, but I never found any more land either. So, what gives? How can that be? It made sense if I was off my nut. I mean I had walked around the island on two feet. I had flown around the island as a bird, and I had swum around the island as a fish. Does that strike you as particularly sane? I didn’t think so.

The other reason is actually more obvious. I had mentioned finding some guy sitting on the bench, right? Well, he had been sitting there the whole time. I mean, not since I had sat on that bench thinking I had multiple personalities. He had been sitting there the whole time I was checking up on the big ugly wood box. I noticed him from the doorway. Not in detail. It just registered in the back of my mind that the box was occupied. I knew he was there when I stepped back into the city in a box. I knew he was there when I took that look around admiring all the fake architecture. I knew he was there when I walked right up to the bench. See? I had been on that island for Lord knows how long, and I was feeling just a tad lonely. I wanted someone to talk to.

No, I’m not going to go into any great detail trying to describe the guy. It’s something you just sort of learn about the Faire Folk. They change skins as easily as most people change clothes so you just have to sort of get a sense of who someone is through instinct or something. You can’t trust one of them to look the same way twice. You can’t trust that who you’re talking to is who you think you’re talking to. Spending time with the Faire Folk can leave a body feeling just a little paranoid. You have to get a sense of the person. Even then, you can still be faked out. What did he look like? Raul Julia from The Adams Family. There, are you happy?

"Ah, Matthew, I’ve been expecting you. The lands beyond agreed with you, I see."

I didn’t know what to say. I had just spent I don’t even want to think about how long on a little stretch of beach overlooking the ocean. I had spent my time playing with reality. Shape shifting, skipping fireballs like rocks over the surf and making stuff out of stained glass like wood. I had gotten there when I discovered that the world had turned into the contents of a big ugly box twenty feet on a side. What could I say? Words failed me.

"You may call me Beowulf Drake." That’s another thing. When one of the Faire Folk tells you his name? Don’t believe him. "No relation, of course."

"Of course."

"You are rested. You are fit. You are well. You have returned from the lands beyond of your own free will."

"The where?"

"Huh? Oh, over there. There is much you will learn in time. For now, we must away to the common market."

Without another word, he began to stroll with a purpose away from the facade of my office building and away from the door in the box. I could still see the beach and the surf beyond. How far could he get? The box was only twenty feet on a side. But, I hadn’t seen another human being in far too long. I followed him. He walked to the corner bus stop, and we descended into the underground. Flight of stairs. Escalator for anyone too lazy to climb back out. No people. I noticed that as we stood on the platform waiting for the train. Since I had reentered the world, the only person I had seen was Beowulf, and I use the term loosely when talking about him. Soon enough, a train arrived, puffing smoke. Clattered to a stop. Doors opened, and we got in. Nice big windows. Of course, all we could see was the inside of the tunnel we were traveling through.

"Have you ever been to market? No, of course not. Silly of me. It’s quite a thing to see. You’ll never forget it. The common market? You can get anything there. Anything. You need it? Just go to the market, and somebody will be selling it. You have something to sell? Just go to market. Somebody will buy it."

I really must agree with him. The common market is like nothing you have ever seen before. What does it look like? Try to imagine a farmer’s market, county fair and science fiction convention all kind of rolled together. Yes, I went to a science fiction convention once. When I was sixteen. Have you ever been to one? It’s hard to describe. People and costumes and booths and women in skimpy come-hither outfits. I had heard that conventions were the last bastion of swinging sex. That’s why my sixteen-year-old buddies and I had gone to the convention. We were looking to get some. Why am I telling you this?

So, the train stopped, and we stepped into the middle of a great open plaza. People everywhere. Of every description. I swear I saw a group of Klingon. Tables, booths and buildings. A triumphant babble of voices. Everything was for sale here? Believe it.

Beowulf has me by the hand now. Doesn’t want to lose me in this throng. I must look like an easy mark. Mouth hanging open. Gawking at everything. The sights. Sounds and colors. You remember what the dinosaurs sounded like in that movie? Yeah, I swear I heard them bellow off in the distance somewhere. We find a table somewhere. He sits me down.

"Hungry?"

He disappears into the throng for a moment. Returns with a paper sack dripping with juices and flush with steam. Opens it. I swear to you. I cannot remember for the life of me what it was that I ate. I have tried to remember what it looked like. I have tried to remember what it smelled like. I have asked after what it was. No answer. All I remember was that it was the most incredible food that I had ever had in my whole entire life. I take that back. The best food I had ever tasted until I had dragon biscuits. I can’t even pretend to describe them they are so good. Of course, the joke is that dragon biscuits are shit. No, really, dragon biscuits are what you get from the servant’s entrance of a dragon after it’s done digesting its meal, and I swear to you. I swear to you that dragon biscuits are the best and most wonderful food that you will ever have in your entire godforsaken life.

At some point, I realize that Beowulf Drake is nowhere to be found. He left me at that table very happily licking juices from my fingers. I didn’t even start to catch on to this until some thing sat at the table and started talking about this terrible war. It was really horrible. Great kingdoms and foul monsters and ancient evil. It was so compelling that I just found myself listening to him, it, whatever, and I was hanging on his every word, wondering how it had ended. Not knowing if it had ended. Were we in danger? That was when I realized he was telling me the plot of The Lord of the Rings. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Everything that had happened that day was finally starting to catch up with me. I stood, meaning to find something. Anything.

That was when Beowulf came back, and he had someone with him. She was beautiful. Tall. Willowy. Blond hair. Looking all the world like Uma Thurman. And, this next bit I should have seen coming. I should have recognized it miles away. Stupid! All I can say in my own defense is that I was still in the grip of that divine madness I was telling you about. Beowulf Drake had taken me to market. You can buy or sell anything at market. Anything.

Six

Alicia Firelight Del Morgan

A few words about Alicia Firelight Del Morgan are in order, I think. She was born of the House of Fire and is the daughter of Gypsy and Roux Firelight Montgomery. She was married briefly to August Stonegarden Del Morgan. He died under rather suspicious circumstances when she ate him. Yeah, you heard me right. I should also mention that there are four extended families, if you will, of the Faire Folk. Firelight, Stonegarden, Windsong and Fathom, but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone left claiming to be of the family Windsong.

That’s going to require a digression. The Faire Folk rarely if ever fight amongst themselves. In open conflict anyway. They don’t raise armies to smash against each other. There are simply not enough of the Faire Folk to manage anything larger than a small skirmish, anyway. Imagine the Lady’s Auxiliary’s Reenactment of the Battle of Pearl Harbor and you’ve pretty much got it. Evidence of the common market not withstanding, there are more than twenty but far less than a thousand of the Faire Folk. So, I understand. The common market is open to all who can manage to reach it. Many peoples and groups go to the market, and the Faire Folk watch over them.

So, if the Faire Folk don’t raise armies against each other, what do they do when one of the families comes calling about a feud? Oh, they choose champions and settle things with a nice rousing game of chess or more likely with fencing. They are very good with the rapier. It’s like watching the Olympics only without all the protective stuff that the athletes get to wear, of course. I don’t mean you won’t find the occasional poisoning over a blood feud. It just doesn’t happen that often.

The last real conflict occurred after the rather spectacularly failed attempt to assassinate the Majus. The idea for that one fell to the family Windsong. Why they thought they could overthrow the Majus is something I have never been able to learn. I understand that the other three families rose as one and didn’t rest until the lands of the family Windsong were soaked through and through with blood. I’ve had the unfortunate distinction of having seen what remained of the Windsong family’s lands first hand, and a more wasted, blasted, fallow place I cannot describe. I can think of no finer sense of relief that I have ever felt than when I turned my back on that wasteland for the last time. Del Morgan fought for the allied families in that genocidal little conflict.

It was only the second time that such an alliance had been forged. The one time the four families all banded together was in the Elryth War. It was the only time that the Faire Folk were ever in any real danger. They still speak with awe and hushed voices of the war. The Elryth were a group not unlike the Faire Folk, wishing to be overlords to all the people of all the lands both far and near. It was a truly great and terrible war, I understand. Del Morgan fought as one of the Second Bastion to the One Majus’ Irregulars.

In more peaceful times, Del Morgan has acted as an advisor to the Folk of Minor Darraghman. There are other things. Conflicts both great and small. Politics and intrigue. Disasters both natural and most unholy. Nothing to compare to the alliances of the Faire Folk. Nothing worth mentioning anyway.

Except for one other little thing. Del Morgan stood against the Popular Uprising. The Faire Folk were unkind. The Faire Folk were cruel. Something like that. Many of the people of the lands both known and largely unknown rose against the Faire Folk in that terrible time. What amazes me the most about the whole thing was how many of the Faire Folk actually sided with the uprising. Amazing that they survived. An army. No, a mob comes knocking at your door with flame and steel. Desiring your head. And, you answer, hey, I’m on your side! Let’s get those foul vermin who have ground you under their boot for far too long! Amazing. Simply amazing. The hypocrisy. No, the unmitigated chutzpah of it all. Or, maybe they just recognized which way the wind was blowing.

Del Morgan would not bend. She would not turn traitor to her own kind. She stood against the Popular Uprising even when they drove her from her family lands. Deprived her of her very home. She did not yield. Even when she was forced to flee her lands and home and hide from the strength of the uprising, she would not abandon the Majus. It was unlike the Elryth War or even the alliance of the three families against the Windsong Clan. Don’t get me wrong. The Popular Uprising was a terrible time of unrest. Nothing was ever the same. Del Morgan fought back from her place of hiding. Did not rest until the uprising was put down, and she had reclaimed her lands.

But, enough of this kind of talk. Enough of conflict and war. I have told you more of Del Morgan than you should have need to know. I knew none of this at the time. All I knew was that Beowulf Drake was standing before me with a woman at his shoulder. She was tall. Willowy. Blond hair. Expensive dress. Leather great coat that flowed around her like a cloak and reached to the point of almost touching the ground.

"Matthew Drake, this is Del Morgan."

She looked at me, saying nothing, and extended an arm as if she expected me to take her hand and kiss her fingers. I stopped myself before taking her hand, realizing my fingers were still a mess from the food that Beowulf had acquired for me. I looked round and about the table, wiping at my hands. Pushing them against my pants. Against my shirt. My companion of the table was gone, I noticed. He had taken one look at Del Morgan and fled without even trying to finish his story. Scraping fingers to my satisfaction, I took her hand with my own and touched her fingers to my lips.

Why did I do that? Kiss her like that? I really don’t know. The way she stood there. The way she looked at me, holding out her hand. It was just expected of me. I really didn’t have much say in the matter. I had let go her hand before it even registered in the more coherent portions of my brain that I had done anything of the kind. I was still lost in the grip of divine madness. I was tripping. I was so high I could not see the ground. Why did I kiss her hand? Why not?

Del Morgan didn’t even smile.

Seven

J.A.F.S.

I don’t think I ever saw Del Morgan smile. Let me rephrase that. I don’t think I ever saw Del Morgan smile because of me. Anything I did. Anything I did not do. Anything I did right. Anything I may have done wrong. Anything she may have found amusing. She may have smiled. She may even have laughed. I just don’t remember it. She did not speak to me then, standing in the common market, holding her hand so that I could swear my undying allegiance to her. Okay, it wasn’t quite like that, but it might as well have been. Down on one knee! Say the oath, dog! Say it! It didn’t go off like that at the time, but I’m sure you get the idea. Did I know what the hell I was doing at the time? No, of course not, but that is hardly the point. The point is that I was shanghaied.

So, she did not say anything to me as I sat at that table at the common market with the scent of hunger’s food still fresh on my hands. She only spoke to Beowulf Drake. She thanked him for his services. I’m not repeating her exact words because I swear to you that I do not remember what she said. I only remember that she thanked him. I only remember her voice. Not the words. Her voice. Rich. Deep. Born of the earth. How to describe? This was the voice of someone who was born to lead. Who was used to giving orders. Someone who was used to being obeyed without question or comment.

Something I should have mentioned before. Del Morgan had the spark. The gift. Glamor She had it. The mysterious whatever that cannot be described that divides the world into leaders and followers. She took command through sheer force of personality. You wanted to obey her. You would die for her. Many had. Many more would.

She said nothing to me. Only turned and began to walk away. I wanted to follow her. I wanted to spring from that table and walk in her shadow. Like an excitable puppy to lick at her heel if she would but give me the chance. I looked to Beowulf. Not knowing what to do. Not understanding. He had brought me to this place. Was I free to go? Free to leave? Did I want to? Where would I go? What would I do? What was this place?

"Well, go on."

That was the only permission I needed. The thing I had been waiting for. I followed after Del Morgan. Reaching her before she disappeared into the crowd. She did not look to see if I was there, as if she knew I would be. As if it was so natural that I would follow after her that there was never even the slightest doubt in her that I would be. Waiting for her to notice me. Waiting for her to acknowledge me. Waiting for Heaven’s grace.

I followed her to the train station just as I would have followed her to the end of the Earth. We waited for the train. A special, belching smoke. Whistle so mournful that it was like nothing you have ever heard issue from a train before. The train was for us alone. Well, for her. I was just along for the ride. She did not speak to me then. Only looked out the window, watching the hills flow by.

We returned to the city. Walked its streets. Forget about the box, okay? And, the beach. I never saw it again. We exited the subway. Left the underground. Del Morgan led me to her penthouse. As high above the street as you can get and not have the sky and the stars beneath your feet. My new home. Don’t try to find the place on a map. This particular apartment building is in that part of the city which exists just around the corner. Over there. Keep going. You’ve almost found it. It’s the second one on the right and straight on ‘til morning. Yeah, that’s the place.

The lobby is impressive. No, it’s not. Very nondescript. You would never guess the importance of the people living there if you did actually manage to stumble across the place. Small. Gray walls. Potted plant dying in the corner. Smells like piss. The lobby not the plant. One guy sitting behind a dinky desk that looks like it was made out of old newspaper and then varnished. Guy looks like a disgraced linebacker. Looks so bored that he doesn’t even blink when Del Morgan walks toward the elevator.

"That’s Door. Think of him like a concierge at a hotel. You have any questions. You need anything. Ask him. He’ll set you up. Tell you how to get it. Anything."

So, I give the guy a closer look as we wait for the elevator. He returns the look with barely a turn of his head as if he can size me up just from the corner of his eye. He has a voice like twenty pounds of old gravel.

"JAFS?"

"Yeah, Door, he’s my new JAFS."

All evidence to the contrary, Door is really a nice guy. Like Del Morgan said, if you need something, Door can deliver. Your continued happiness and welfare is his purpose in life. I should also point out that Door doesn’t work directly for Del Morgan. He belongs to the building. Until I learned otherwise, I thought he was part of the building. Because he is part of the building staff and is so well respected by the tenants, he can get away with saying shit like J.A.F.S. It took me a while to figure out what he meant. It was my first clue that maybe I wasn’t going to like the place. Just another f- servant. I can’t even say the word. Not when it’s directed at me. Just another f-with-an-ing-on-the-end servant.

And, this next part is a cliche. Ugly downtrodden lobby. Opulent penthouse apartment. Ooh, I never would have seen that one coming. Elevator was a bit of a rat-hole. It was a little nicer than the lobby but not by much; after all, the elevator does open onto the lobby. Why, we can’t have the scum thinking that the lobby is trash but just look at that elevator. They might catch on. Personally, I don’t understand the theory of Hell’s Lobby. They can stand on the street and see the really swank building, right? So, who are they trying to fool? I gave up trying to understand them a long time ago.

The penthouse? It’s huge. It’s grand. It must take up the top couple of floors. Elevator doors open and wow! Check out the spread! Well, not quite. Elevator opens onto a little foyer. Thing looks just about as blasted as the lobby. Then, you get the door to the penthouse open. The little coat closet just inside the door must be as big as my entire apartment. My old apartment. The one I used to live in before I took a little walk on a beach.

There are two women waiting for us. One of them takes Del Morgan’s coat and places it in the closet. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Two women? One’s short and the other is tall, right? Maybe one is skinny and the other is fat? No? Oh, they must be twins, right? Nope, not even close. They’re not Faire Folk proper, but some stuff does seem to have rubbed off on them. Hell, stuff has rubbed off on me. So, what do they look like? Let me just say this and then I’ll give up on trying to describe anyone ever again. Sometimes, they are men, and sometimes, they are women. The annoying thing is that their names never change. That may be the only way to keep track of them.

"Hannah and Romana. My housekeepers. This is Drake."

And, that was it. End of the introductions. Hannah and Romana took one look at me as if they hated my guts and then wandered off as if they didn’t need Del Morgan’s permission to disappear. They are always very busy. What with a place this size and only two housekeepers. Oh, yes, they are busy. Del Morgan doesn’t even have to boss them around. They know their job.

Interesting tidbit, Del Morgan doesn’t have a cook. That surprised me at first. You would think that someone as well off as Del Morgan would have some kind of master chef preparing all her meals. Nope, doesn’t happen. Del Morgan cooks all her own food. She didn’t strike me as the cooking type. I didn’t even believe her at first. Now, I know better. There is a very good reason why she prepares all her own food. Remember when I said that the Faire Folk were not above poisoning a rival? Among the Faire Folk, find a survivor. One who has played the game long and hard. And, you’ll find yourself a gourmet chef. I take that back. It sounds like another cliche. I’ll tell you what. If you believe that someone who cooks all her own food to avoid poisoning would eat gruel for three meals a day, then she eats gruel. If you believe that someone who cooks all her own food to avoid poisoning would become a rocking good cook, then she can whip out food like you wouldn’t believe. Master of the spice rack, too.

Oh, and, I didn’t get a tour of the place. I would be left to my own devices for exploring, but that doesn’t happen, yet. She takes me to a living room, entertaining room, sidebar or whatever you want to call it. There’s furniture and paintings on the wall. Really nice multimedia center. Anyway, I think it was more of a servant’s living room than for guests.

"You are my personal assistant. Not directly attached to the household staff. A gopher, if you will. If I need something, I send you to fetch it. Deliver messages. Sort my mail. It is a hard job. I’ll be sending you on a lot of errands. Difficult tasks. That’s why I acquired you. You survived the lands beyond. You should have little problem here. Many things you see will be new to you. I’m not going to lead you by the hand. You’ll have to sort things out as you go. Ask Door. I’m not going to repeat myself on this. You’re going to have to remember to ask Door on your own. Oh, and, one more thing. I don’t need you. I want to make that perfectly clear. Don’t think you’re special. There is nothing you can do that I cannot do for myself."

As if to prove her point, she sticks her hand in my chest and rips out my heart. No, shit! I can’t believe it. Hurts like hell. One minute, she’s giving me that stupid welcome to the family speech. Next, she reaches over. Her fingers sink into my chest. I can’t describe it. Hurts like you wouldn’t believe. I can hear bones crack as she digs through my breastplate. Blood. Slimy with blood. I can feel her reaching around in my chest. A ring on her finger. She’s got my heart. She’s got my heart. I can feel her fingers slipping around it. Pull! There’s this great sucking sound. And, then, pop! She’s holding my heart in her hand. I feel void. I can’t scream. I’m looking at my heart. Still pumping. Blood slurping onto the floor.

"I’ll keep this someplace safe. Can’t have anyone just up and killing you now, can we?"

I want to talk. I want to scream. I want to cry out. My whole shirtfront is soaked. There is this great gaping maw in my chest. Oozing fluids. Spitting blood. I feel a draft. My heart in her hand continues to beat. I can feel her fingers touching it. They are warm and slippery. Don’t drop me!

"That’s another thing you may have noticed. You cannot speak unless someone gives you permission. Asks you a direct question. That sort of thing."

It’s true. I open my mouth. Find no words. No voice. Just a rasping sound like an engine that is about to die. I’m on my knees. Looking at the blood. Trying to breathe, I feel shards of bone dig into my flesh.

"Look at this mess. Well, don’t just sit there. Clean yourself up."

It hurts. Hurts so much it burns. I’ve got my hand over the hole. Trembling fingers. Feeling void. Slick with blood. I want to puke. I want to vomit hot blood. Choking. Rasping. All I can do is look at her.

"What are you waiting for? Clean yourself up. I paid five million dollars for you. If you can’t handle this, then you’re useless to me. A waste of good money. I should crush your heart right now before you have a chance to embarrass me."

Oh, shit! Oh, God! Oh, fuck me, I don’t want to die! I can’t do this. There’s a great gaping hole in my chest! I can feel my heart beat. Oh, God, I can feel her fingers. Squeezing! Squeezing the life from me! I’m alive! I can feel my heart! Her fingers. Blood still pumping. Just close the wound. It’s like shape shifting. Hey, get off your ass, you fuck! You dumb shit! You can do this! You’re alive! Feel the pain! Telling you, you want to live! Feel the blood flow! Pumping in your veins! Heart is in her hand. In her hand! But, it’s still working! You’re alive! Like shape shifting, close the wound. I know you feel void. Feel your heart! It’s over there, but it’s in you! Bind bones. Mend skin. Close the void. Feel your heart beat. You can breath again.

"That’s better. You may turn out to be a good investment, yet."

With that, she turns and leaves. My heart in her hand. I gasp for air. Try to stand. Slip on my own blood. Smear the floor. Flounder for the couch. And, as I lie there, breathing, feeling my heart, I saw her lick her arm. I remember. As she left the room, she had licked the blood that had dripped down her arm. Her tongue touched my heart. I turn my head. Look. Romana is there. With a mop and a pail. She starts wiping the blood on the floor. And, she looks at me crumpled on the couch. Looks as if she wants to find my heart. Eat it from Del Morgan’s outstretched hand. And, that’s all I remember.

Eight

The Rules of the Game

The penthouse apartment was huge. It must have been at least the top three floors of the building. There were living rooms and dining rooms and a billiard room. A great hall. A formal ballroom. Big enough for several hundred guests plus twenty piece orchestra. Kitchen. Bathroom. Not as many of those as I would have thought. You could do laps in the bathtub in more than one of the bathrooms. Visiting room. Recreation room in addition to the billiard room. This one had a very fine multimedia center. Library. I’ve seen real libraries that are smaller than Del Morgan’s private collection.

Okay, I take that back. The apartment must have been more than the top three floors. I never was a good judge of that kind of thing. And, contrary to what you may be thinking, the inside was not larger than the outside. Meaning, this isn’t Doctor Who. It was a very well designed place. Everything fit. It wasn’t like suddenly finding the outside was really the inside of a box sitting on a beach. The apartment was huge, but it was still an apartment in the city. I mean, sure, just try and find the building on a map. But, once you were inside, everything made more sense than some places I’ve been.

Why? If you could fit the city in a bottle, then why bother coloring inside the lines? I don’t know. I’ve given up trying to understand these people. It’s a fad. Like slumming. Not coloring outside the lines. For the Faire Folk that takes skill. So, yeah, the apartment building required a sustained level of commitment if you wanted to live there. It was a true sign of your station in life. Something like that.

The other reason I’m not sure how many floors the place took up was because I don’t think I ever saw the whole thing. I mean there was no tour. Nobody showed me around and told me what was what. I was simply left to my own devices to figure out what went where. After Del Morgan did that little stunt where she ripped out my heart, I didn’t see her again for days. That’s also why I figure I never saw the whole place. I mean, of course, I went looking for my heart. What do you think I am? Stupid? I want my bloody heart back! She took it. Like she owned me. Getting my heart back was high on my agenda.

The thing is I never saw any part of the place that looked like Del Morgan’s personal chambers. No private study. Bedroom. Bathroom. That sort of thing. Okay, I know what you’re thinking. The whole place was her personal residence, d’uh! That just shows you need to hang out in opulent homes more. See, there is personal and then there is personal. The parts that are on display so everyone can see how wonderful you are. And, the parts that are really none of your business. Like private bedrooms. And, the ever-popular private study.

I never found any of it. Nothing that looked like it was really her private rooms. And, I looked. Oh, they were there. I know that. I figure what happened was that I was not allowed to notice them. Take that staircase over there. What staircase? Oh, never mind. There were no doors I couldn’t open. If Del Morgan didn’t want me turning a knob, she hid the whole door from me. Crazy? Oh, I don’t think so. See, there was something else I couldn’t find. The front door. I looked for that, too. Couldn’t find it. Didn’t notice it. Where was it? Oh, yeah, I was trapped in this place. Also, I couldn’t talk unless spoken to first, remember? This went right in line with that I figure.

That was freaky. Not being able to talk. I mean, sure, it wasn’t as if I had done a lot of talking of late. I mean, being all alone on that beach. Who was there to talk to? But, see, there is a difference between not wanting to talk and not being able to. On that beach, I could bark at the moon to my hearts content. I could stand on that beach. Throw my arms wide to the sky and scream. Working for Del Morgan? Nope, no way, forget it.

So, I woke up on that couch. All crumpled up. Del Morgan was gone. Rohana was gone. The bloodstain was gone. My clothes were still a mess. Ugly. Ripped. Stained. Smelled, too. But, I was still there. What was I supposed to do? I finally clawed my way off that couch and started to do a little exploring. Don’t know what hour it was. The day? Forget it. I wandered through a whole mess of rooms. All descriptions. Found my rooms. Nobody told me they were my rooms. I just sort of claimed them. Maybe that was just part of the deal. Like not being able to talk and not being able to find the front door. Found the kitchen. Well stocked. Nobody ever told me what to eat or what not to. So, I just took whatever I felt like. Something looked yummy? Well, I just claimed it by divine right of conquest. Manifest destiny and all of that. Never should have left it where I could stumble across it. That’s what I say.

So, that’s how things went for a time. Never saw Del Morgan. Just wandered around. Exploring the place. Looking for my heart when I felt like it. Looking for the door. Slept when I was tired. Ate when I was hungry. Avoided the evil twins as much as possible. Yeah, I know what I said. They are not twins. Not even related. Don’t look anything alike. Or, grossly different. Or, anything, oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick. But, come on. Hannah and Romana? They hated me. I’m calling them the evil twins, okay? If that ticked them off. Good.

What was their problem? Why did they take such an instant dislike to me? Now, that has an interesting answer. And, it has to do with what the Faire Folk want. What do they want? Money? Power? Fame? Fortune? Power. Oh, definitely power. With just a touch of fame. Money? Who needs that? They’ve got buckets of the stuff. What do the Faire Folk want? That’s an easy one. They want to be your parents. No, really. I mean, not literally. Give birth to you? No, they’ll pass on that part. They just want to look after you. Or, more importantly, tell you what to do.

That is what the Faire Folk get off on. They want to make the rules. They want to tell you what to do. How to live. How to love. What is good. What is bad. The whole bit. Why? That’s simple. They know more than you do. They know what ails you, and they know how to make it all better. They have only your best interest at heart. Yeah, right. To be more exact, they want only what they believe is best for you. And, they do know what’s best for you. They’ve been around the block a few more times than you as I’ve just finished explaining.

It’s what they argue about. The Faire Folk. They argue and bicker and fight over which of them gets to make the rules. Which family really knows the best way to look after all of us. Wars get started over this kind of thing. Well, not exactly. Chess. Intrigue. The whole thing I was telling you all about. They don’t go to war. But, sometimes, the people they’re looking after go to war for them. Get it? Does one family’s interest in being right get in the way of actually doing what is right for the people? Of course not. They are the Faire Folk. Silent "E," remember? Why they would never let such a thing as their arguments over the best way to look after people actually cause people harm. Nope, they would never let such a thing happen.

So, how do they enforce their will? Sorry, their benevolent leadership and moral guidance over all the people of all the lands both real and wholly imaginary. Do they go out and conquer? No, of course not. That is what the common market is for. Can you imagine such a thing? One place where all people can meet and do business. Trade. It’s what makes the world go round. And, if you doubt me, just remember that one of the root causes of the American Revolution was over the taxation of trade. Do the words "Boston Tea-Party" ring a bell? They should. A bunch of smugglers and merchants discovered that England was going to start enforcing the tax on the importation of tea, and the hilarity ensued.

So, imagine a place where you can go to get anything. Absolutely anything. Now, imagine that not everyone knows about it. Why, you might be the only one. You might be able to corner the market. Wipe that drool off you chin.

Which brings us to the next question. Why would anyone build such a place? To get rich. Okay, beside that. Remember, the Faire Folk are not interested in money. They made the common market. What do they get out of it? Not trade. Remember, they can go to any of these places for any of the stuff they need. Besides, if it was for them, why make it possible for others to find it? If the Faire Folk are the smugglers and merchants, why not keep the riffraff out? Because they want all those greedy little beggars to come to market. To want the market. To discover that they cannot live without free access to the market.

You want to do business in the common market? You’re going to have to abide by a few rules of fair trade. We’re all interested in fair trade, right? Of course, we are. You want to continue coming to market? You’re going to have to abide by these other rules as well. We only deal with civilized people. You are civilized, right? A civilized person would accept the rules of fair trade. Would accept the high standards that all civilized people must abide by in order to remain a civilized people. We must be eternally vigilant.

And, that is what the Faire Folk want.

Which brings us by-and-by back to Hannah and Romana. They are of the People of Minor Darraghman. I may have mentioned that Del Morgan has acted as an advisor and patron to Darraghman. In exchange for her support. Well, let’s be honest here. In an effort to curry her favor, the People of Minor Darraghman gave Del Morgan the services of Hannah and Romana. Volunteers, of course. Remember the rules of civilization? See, on the whole, they tend to be more beneficial to some groups than others. As long as Del Morgan looks favorably on the People of Minor Darraghman, she will insist that the rules of fair trade as well as the rules of civilization continue to benefit Darraghman.

Which brings us by-and-by back to me. Del Morgan acquired my services. Okay, let’s be blunt here. She bought me. Like a fish. Or, a six-pack of beer. Because she felt like it. I was nobody’s gift. It certainly wasn’t my idea. But, what does that matter? Obtaining me has caused the People of Minor Darraghman some small concern. It could quite possibly mean that Del Morgan has taken an interest in us. You and me. All of us. Darraghman could be on the way out. That’s a thought for much concern. My existence has probably caused the leaders among the People of Minor Darraghman many a sleepless night.

They have got to get ride of me. Or, at least, destroy my reputation. And, do so without Del Morgan catching on that they are up to something. So, there I was. Strange new world. Forcefully in the employ of one of the Faire Folk. My very life resting on her slightest whim. And, the household staff want to see me fail. Isn’t life just grand?

Nine

The Party Thereafter

That is how I found myself working for Del Morgan. I woke up on that couch. Still alive but missing one heart. Could I believe it actually happened? Hell, yeah! It had hurt like blazes. Fire and brimstone and all of that. Don’t believe me? You try having someone rip out your heart and tell me what it feels like, okay? I mean there was an element of total fantasy to the whole thing. Life is meaningless. Nobody recognizes me. Find myself awash on the shores of reality. Taken to market. One heart to go. There was definitely something very unreal about everything. Dreamlike. I mean, even if I was in a rubber room drooling on my chin, how did I hallucinate Del Morgan walking off with my heart? For safekeeping?

It’s that damn divine madness. I just kept accepting everything. That’s why I crawled off that couch. Nobody around. Like the place was deserted. I just got up and started wandering around. Exploring. What was so different about the apartment from the beach? I just accepted things as they were presented to me without question or hesitation. So, maybe I was crazy. Did that mean I should start acting as if I was wearing a straitjacket and simply sit on that couch and gibber? No, of course not. If I was just going to lose it, then I never would have gotten off that beach.

So, I went looking around. Found all those really huge rooms. Discovered just how large my new home was. Took a couple of days of exploring. Never saw Del Morgan. Almost ran into Hannah and Romana once or twice. Quickly learned how to avoid those two. Never found the front door. So, what happened? When did you finally see Del Morgan again? Well, that was interesting. There was a party. I’m half convinced it was in my honor. Okay, not really in my honor. More like showing me off. But, not as if I was on display. Expected to do anything. Juggle. Sing. Roll over. Fetch. Good boy. Here’s a nice little treat for you. No, nothing like that. I was simply expected to be there. Not supposed to say anything. Not even introduced. More of a stand in the corner and don’t get in anyone’s way kind of thing.

Wait a sec! So, why did I think the party was for me? Well, that’s a little hard to explain. I’ll try to start at the beginning.

I went back to the rooms I had claimed as mine and found a suit laid out on the bed. Very nice. Fancy suit. But, not overly so. Not pretentious. Gaudy. Or, anything like that. Still, a very nice choice of clothes. So, I’m standing there holding the suit. Looking it over. I turn my head, and Del Morgan is standing there. Kind of in the doorway. What? She’s actually respecting my space or something? I don’t say anything. Can’t. Don’t have her permission.

"I’m hosting a Salon tomorrow. I expect you to be there."

Then, she’s gone. That was it. End of discussion. Oh, sure, I’ll be right there. Your wish is my command. I put the suit down. I was shaking. I couldn’t believe it. I was afraid of her. I had to sit down. I mean the last time I saw her she had ripped out my heart. It had left a lasting impression on me. It had never occurred to me that I might have such a reaction until she faced me down. Oh, sure, people rip out my heart all the time. No, sweat. I can deal. I mean I suddenly realized that I didn’t know if I could be in the same room with her. Oh, shit! And, I was supposed to attend this thing? This Salon? What the hell was that? And, wasn’t I supposed to be her personal assistant or something? How had she notified people about this gathering? That was what first made me think it was about me. I mean, if you want to show someone off for the first time, you don’t send him around with the invitations, right?

None of which matters. So, I went to this little gathering. This soiree. This party. This vindaloo. Salon. Quaking in my boots and all. What else was I supposed to do? Del Morgan had my heart. She could kill me for disobeying. So, I was there. Nice suit and all. Stood in a corner.

I’m not going to try and describe the Faire Folk. I’m not. It was a big gathering. Held in one of the nicer rooms for this sort of thing. Lots of places for people to stand. Sit. Sip their drinks. And, chat. Politics. Mostly it was about politics. That and an ounce of gossip. Personally, I think the two are so intricately woven together that for the Faire Folk gossip is politics. There wasn’t much witty banter. That surprised me, I guess. They weren’t hanging-out trying to one-up each other. Nope, the talk was all die-hard, cut-throat, serious shit. I must say that I learned a lot. The shards and crumbs I could pick-up and understand anyway. It was all very complicated. And, very civilized. Nobody raised their voice. Nobody showed the slightest hint of anger or displeasure. It was all very civilized. Call that a description of the Faire Folk if you wish.

They ignored me. I was part of the window-dressing. Or, maybe it would have been bad form for one of them to get caught checking out the new help. Except for Windermere. She had no trouble walking right up to me. Talking to me.

"Do you like it here? Do you enjoy working for Del Morgan, Drake? Matthew Drake? It’s alright. You can answer me."

"It’s all very strange to me."

"That is understandable. Returning from the lands beyond, you find yourself in the employ of Del Morgan. Against your will? No, don’t answer that. The lands beyond must have been strange enough. How did you find yourself there?"

"I don’t know."

"Of course. But, know this. You were chosen. You were- sent is a good word- to the lands beyond. Not by Del Morgan. No, of course not. See, I understand something of all of this. What it is like in the lands beyond. I have a Grendel. A Drake. Like you. Only female."

"What?"

"Oh, yes, like you. A Man of Earth. But, female. I think you would like that. To be with one of your own kind? Male? Female? That is how it works among your people, I understand. She has been with me for a year or so. I have grown quite found of her. She has told me much of Earth. Of what it was like to find herself in the lands beyond. What it took to survive."

"Please, I don’t."

"It’s alright. Quite alright. I understand. You have been here less than a month. You are still very much confused. Disorientated. That is why Del Morgan has been so kind to you. But, that will change, I fear. Once you have found your feet. Yes, that will change. But, I should not distress you so. You should meet my Grendel. That would make you happy. When I told her that I would be meeting you, she became quite excited. Knowing there was another like her. Only male."

"There are others like me?"

"Yes, you should definitely meet her. Only. There is one condition. For the two of you to be happy. You really should share the same roof. The same home. You should work for me. Not to speak ill of Del Morgan. You should join me. Leave Del Morgan. You will find her to be a cruel taskmaster. I can give you a female Man of Earth."

I really didn’t know what to say. Another person like me? I was not alone in this place? Other people had found themselves opening doors and found the ocean and the beach beyond? I mean I was kind of grossed out by her offer. Work for me and I’ll give you a plaything? Was she looking to start a breeding program? At the same time, she was talking about others like me. Other people. Like me. Someone who had been through what I had been through. Temptation, thy name is fellowship. There was more temptation. If one other like me, then more? How many People of Earth were here? Slaves to the Faire Folk? Another thing. She was talking as if I could simply say I didn’t want to be a slave to Del Morgan anymore and that would be the end of it. Could I quit at any time? Go my own way? Or, would I always require a patron?

Why was Del Morgan allowing this conversation to happen? I looked to the room. The others were there. Still talking. Still ignoring me. I had noticed this. As Windermere had continued talking to me, the others had grown more distant. I mean they had not walked farther away. They had simply seemed to grow distant. Their voices had slowly become faint. As if they were talking in another room. The same room. No walls had magically appeared. But, at the same time, it was as if we had slipped into another place. Somewhere the other Faire Folk could not overhear us. Somewhere that Del Morgan did not know what Windermere was saying. Strange as it may sound, I suddenly realized that I was trapped with Windermere.

If the other Faire Folk did not know what was being said. Did not know what was happening. What could Windermere do? I had no love for Del Morgan. She scared the shit out of me. She had hurt me. Violated me. Raped me. Taking my heart. Telling me she would kill me if I did not clean up the mess. She had my heart. She could kill me. Crush me. Eat my soul. Could I betray her? Without my heart? Could I afford to? I was in Windermere’s trap. What could she do to me? She needed my heart to kill me, right? The others were distant. I was alone with Windermere. To be free of Del Morgan. To be with one of my own kind. If I betrayed Del Morgan, would Windermere ever trust me? If I betrayed Del Morgan, how long would I live? For the love of God, I didn’t know what to say.

Ten

Cravings of the Soul

So, that was everything that was screaming through my head. More or less. There were other people like me. All prisoners, I figured. All slaves. There was a chance that we could throw off our shackles, and all we had to do was ask. Of course, I didn’t know that for sure. I mean it wasn’t like anyone had told me that if I didn’t like the meatloaf I could send it back. So, maybe that was the trick. All you have to do is ask. But, you don’t know if it’ll work. You never hear about anyone who did it. They are not going to tell you. That is for sure. Are you going to try it? Are you? Easy for you to say. Reading this. You weren’t cornered by Windermere. Telling you to betray Del Morgan. She had ripped out my heart. Del Morgan had. It still burned. What else could she do?

What could Windermere do? I mean she must have had a pair of big hairy ones to stand in Del Morgan’s house and offer me a job. That was enough to make me think. What could she do? All of this was racing through my mind. All of it. I was standing there. Not knowing what to say. Fumbling for words. And, she wasn’t going to give me an out. She wasn’t going to offer to let me think it over. No, she wanted an answer right there and then. The only question was how carefully could I word the answer? Could I get my mind to behave enough to think of one? You have to be careful what you say. Even a polite neutral answer can be enough to be considered binding. Hey, I had just spent the last couple of hours listening to the Faire Folk talk politics so I think I had a sense of how carefully I had to word this.

"You have given me much to think about. Everything is so strange."

"I can help."

Shit! Okay, she didn’t want to take let me think it over for an answer. Not that I didn’t want to leave the option open. Okay, I didn’t really want to leave the option open. I mean she was basically offering me sex in exchange for working for her. But, not in a good way. More like she was offering me a whore to screw anytime I felt like it. No, not even. A slave whore. Like those women you hear about on the news who are trying to escape Third-world poverty and persecution and discover their ride to freedom is really a ride to a back alley exotic massage parlor. Ick! Yeah, all of this went screaming through my head at the time.

"There are some things that one must discover on his own."

"Or else he is less than a man?"

Ooh, that sounded good. I wonder if I can run with it?

"Everything is so strange. If I cannot. I am nothing."

"And so, everything is bound up by your sex. I suspected as such from my Grendel."

"I must think. Everything is new to me. You. Everything."

"Of course. But, I must warn you. Del Morgan is being kind because everything is yet new to you. There will come a time when she will force herself upon you. I can only offer my hand for so long."

Yeah, and Del Morgan ripping out my heart was a kindness. Okay, so, things were only going to get worse. I kind of suspected that. By this point, I was totally confused by our clever little conversation. I didn’t know if I had turned her down flat or if I could give her an answer tomorrow. Was she not going to take "no" for an answer? I mean I didn’t really want to turn her completely away. What if I discovered that I could use her help later? Oops, sorry, burned that bridge already. I mean there was still that whole breeding program ick factor. But, then again, what wasn’t icky around here? Then again, she seemed to be accepting my fast-talking sidesteps awfully fast. Should I have been worried about that? There was still the chance that she was going to end our little conversation by ripping out my throat. And, on top of all of that, I thought I could hear the others growing closer. As if things weren’t strange enough. Argh! My head! It’s going to explode! All this thinking and second-guessing! I could feel my brain start to squish out my ears. No, not literally! What were we talking about? Oh, right, she had said something about only being able to help me for so long.

"Risk. The universe is risk. That is how we live."

"A gambler, too? Splendid. We must play chess sometime. One more gamble then I must go. Know this. You were chosen as I said. But, it goes beyond that. I know why you were chosen. They have plans for you, and it isn’t to be Del Morgan’s errand boy. I can help. Remember. I can help."

Oh, great, that is exactly what I wanted to hear. You know I have never been able to figure out if she was serious or if that was just some kind of parting screw you, too kind of thing. If I cannot have you, then nobody can! See, after she said all that you have a destiny crap, she turned and reentered the party, leaving me to stand at the edge of silence all by myself. Well, she had given me a lot to think about. That’s all I can say.

I don’t even think anyone noticed our little conversation. Not right away, anyway. Someone did notice. Of course, I didn’t learn about that until much later. Not until after the party. Nothing that interesting happened for the rest of the evening. Everybody got good and drunk, and they all went home. Del Morgan disappeared. Hannah and Romana swooped in to start cleaning everything up. So, of course, I made a hasty retreat.

I couldn’t sleep. Sprawled out on my bed. Tossing and turning. The old brain-pan was too fired-up. And, what was I stuck on, I ask you? Why, the possibility that there were others like me. People who had found themselves on a little stretch of beach where there had no business being anything resembling anything of the kind. People who had found themselves doing stuff like flying and shape shifting and dancing lightning bolts and all of that. That’s another strange thing. I had started to doubt myself. That I had done any of that freaky stuff I had done on the beach. Then, Del Morgan had ripped out my heart. Oh, yeah, having to heal a gaping chest wound does a lot to convince oneself that you really can do all of that shit. To find others like me? Why, then there would be no doubt at all. We really could do all kinds of fancy not of this earth shit.

Like I said, I couldn’t sleep. I was also hungry. I hadn’t eaten since long before the party. I decided that it was time for some food. Maybe something sticky chewy gooey. Yeah, that sounded good. There was a light on. That was strange. Not from the kitchen. It was coming from one of the other rooms. Okay, maybe not so strange. I mean I didn’t even know what hour it was. It could be day. It could be night. I found it hard to keep track of things like time in this place. But, it meant that someone else was out and about. Probably Hannah and Romana. I didn’t really want to run into them. So, the concept of food kept dragging me toward the kitchen. Maybe some fresh bread. There was always fresh bread in the kitchen. Stuff it full of cheese and mushrooms and this strip steak that I had seen in there the other day. Little olive oil. A dash of mustard. Flash bake it. Yeah, that sounded really good.

The light was coming out of the billiard room. That was interesting. Hannah and Romana never really went in there. So, curiosity got the better of me, okay? I should have known better. I found Del Morgan in the billiard room. She was playing a solo game. Knocking the balls into the pockets. Setting up trick shots. Sinking them all. She was smoking, too. A really thin cigar. I mean I always think of cigars as being those monster things you see in movies or bad TV. Symbols of wretched excess. No, really, what do you think of when you think of a cigar? Fat cat sitting back. Lighting one up. Laughing over these bulging sacks with green dollar signs painted on them, right? Del Morgan’s cigar was slender. It was sleek. Looked almost like a cigarette, but I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it was one of those. Smelled like a cigar.

Del Morgan noticed me standing in the doorway. Didn’t say anything. She motioned me into the room. Oh, well, so much for food. And, you want to know something really strange? I wasn’t scared. I mean the last time I had seen her I had almost pissed myself. Flashback to when she ripped out my heart, I guess. This time? Oh, it’s you. Noticed something else. She looked scuffed-up. Like she had been in a fight or something. Bruise high on her cheek just under the eye. Skin was cracked. If that’s the right way to put it. So, she looked back up from her game. Brushed her hand past her face as if she were moving hair away from her eyes. Looking at me. I swear she was reading my mind.

"Just protecting my investment. Windermere won’t be bothering you again."

I thought I was going to throw-up. I mean, the first thing to flash through my mind. Oh, shit, she knows! I’m going to die! Like I had done something wrong. Del Morgan had stumbled across my fiendishly clever plot to escape. Something like that. I had a secret, and she had ratted it out already. It’s not like I had wanted Windermere’s help. The problem was that it was no longer an option. Del Morgan knew everything. Everything was ashes before it had even begun. And, the one thing going through my mind as she lined up her next shot was how long did I have before she punished me.

More than that really. I mean she was scraped-up. Like she had done ten rounds with a lawnmower. Okay, nothing that bad. But, I mean, at that moment, I wanted her bloody. I wanted her to have been reduced to a bloody pulp. Gruesome. To need Romana to arrive with mop and pail to sop up all the blood. Aside from the bruise, she had maybe a couple of scratches. Here and there. Nothing requiring even a Band-Aid. I knew. I just knew that she had confronted Windermere about our little talk. That Windermere was the one gushing blood. The one who had lost the fight.

So, Del Morgan didn’t say anything. Sunk another billiard ball. The cigar went all but ignored between her fingers. Trailing smoke. As if she just liked to hold them or something. I just stood there. Watched her sink trick shots. Waiting for her to strike me upside the head with the pool cue. I could feel her do it. Her fingers slipping around my heart. I could image her taking a big swing with that pool stick in her hands. Me? Lost my appetite real fast. I couldn’t have said anything even if I wanted to. She hadn’t given me permission to talk, yet. Finally, she looked back to me.

"Fancy a game?"

Didn’t even wait for me to answer. Just started racking up the balls. Looked like she was setting up a game of Nine Ball. Let’s see if I can remember how to play. You have to knock the balls back in order starting at one. If you miss a shot or sink one out of turn, you have to let the other person shoot. Something like that. Well, if there was anything odd about the rules, I guess I would just find out as we went along. Handed me her pool stick. I almost flinched. Like I expected her to hit me. I can’t believe that I flinched. That’s it. Look guilty, why don’t you! She didn’t say anything. Waited. I took the cue. She went to the wall to get another stick for herself. I lined up my first shot. Took a deep breath. And, almost dug a deep furrow in the billiard table with my cue. Cue ball goes flailing off to one side like it’s making a break for it. Whack! Whack! Whack! Finally, smacks into the other balls. They break. Leisurely, like they are in absolutely no hurry to get anywhere. Cue ball just sits there, looking all smug about itself. Hey, I can’t remember the last time I played. Shoot me, okay?

Del Morgan doesn’t say anything. Takes a drag on her cigar. Surveys her first shot.

"Are you married, Drake?"

"No- I mean I was. She left me recently."

"Oh, I am sorry. Truly sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"I don’t know. Who ever understands these things, anyway?"

"I was married once. Don’t like to talk about it. There is always a reason."

"Oh, I know. I guess it’s that old joke. Never go out with someone just because their locker is next to yours. We got married out of High School. We got family student housing at my university that way."

"Let me guess. She paid the bills. You studied."

"Yeah, she waited tables so I could get a degree. The idea was that once I had a big fancy-paying job it would be her turn to get an education. The thing is. Once I got that job. I could support both of us. She didn’t need to keep working. So, why get a degree?"

"Pride."

"Pride? That’s a funny way to say it. But, yeah, sense of self-worth. Self-fulfillment. But, I mean I had the job. I had the wife. What else was there to make my life complete? Kids. I wanted kids. There is her self-worth. Her fulfillment. As a wife and mother. A degree? How long would that take? I wanted kids. So, did she. I wanted them right away. Why did she need a degree to raise kids? My mom didn’t need one."

"And, look how well you turned out."

"Hey! I didn’t want to be sixty before my last kid left home. What would the guys at work think? Your wife’s too busy for you, huh? Maybe you’re not satisfying her needs. I mean. Fuck you, Charlie! Oh, sorry."

"As well you should be. I will not tolerate cursing in my household. This one time I can forgive you. But, you were not able to reach an understanding?"

"No, it just got worse and worse. All we did was argue. She even tried to go back to work. We didn’t need two incomes. Why go back to work? I thought she would enjoy the free time."

"And so, she left you."

"Yeah, just came home from work one day. And, all of her stuff was gone."

Del Morgan didn’t say anything. She just looked at me from across the billiard table. She hadn’t taken a shot in a while. I couldn’t even remember whose turn it was.

"Do you believe in God, Drake?"

"Wha- what? What kind of question is that?"

"It’s a perfectly natural question. Do you believe in God?"

"Not anymore."

"When did you lose your faith?"

I remember looking up from that desk. Before Del Morgan. Before the beach. I had looked up from that desk. Looking around and about the office. I remember looking to all the other people. Working. Talking. Taking phone calls. Shuffling paper. We had all just been shuffling paper. This way. That way. Someone must have cared, but it certainly had not been me. We should have burned the building and danced around it naked.

"I don’t remember."

"I am sorry. I hope you find your faith again."

We didn’t talk after that. Finishing the game, there was nothing more to say. It was strange. I couldn’t look at Del Morgan. She had bought me. Paid five million dollars. Had ripped out my heart just to prove that she owned me. But, after that game, I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t see her the same way again. She seemed almost human. She had almost been kind. Gave me all the time I needed to adjust to her world. Well, almost all the time. It wasn’t long after that talk that she put me to work. Del Morgan sent me on my first errand.

Eleven

Crocodile Fantasy

Yeah, my days of wine and roses were over. I mean everything had been very much like a dream. A lot had happened that was totally bizarre and horrible. Sure, I know. But, what had I done in that time? Really, it was almost a vacation. I certainly hadn’t worked. It’s a funny thing to say. I mean, looking back, I can say it was a wonderful time of leisure. At the time, it was hell. I still had yet to learn what hell was. If I can be so bold as to abuse the phrase. I think it all ties into the survival instinct. That divine madness thing I told you about. The only way to survive the sudden and irreversible transformation of your universe is to get kind of dreamy about it. Like it’s not really happening. Or, happening over there. Not here. Over there.

And, think about exactly what had happened. I had gone from a stress filled work-a-day world to a nice quiet little corner of beach out in the middle of nowhere. I mean if it hadn’t been so freaky and cut off from everything I had ever known. I might have actually enjoyed it. Throw in the fact that I went round the twist for a while there. Fantasy to magic and all of that. Hey, it was close to paradise. Then, I mean, sure. Del Morgan ripped out my heart, which was more painful than I can describe. But, like the beach. I got used to the place. What did I do in Del Morgan’s apartment? I wandered around. I explored when I felt like it. I listened to her wonderful music collection. I slept when I was tired. I ate wonderful food when I was hungry. Nothing was required of me. Hey, it was pretty close to paradise. Except I had been bought and paid for. Yeah, that kind of sucked.

So, I don’t know how to describe this. In a strange way, it was all very nice. It was all very relaxing. Like a dream. Like a fantasy. One brief, shining, glimpse of Heaven. Do I miss it? Well, I know this is all going to sound very strange. But, yeah, I miss it. Not constantly needing to avoid Hannah and Romana. Okay, I give you that. And, the fact that I didn’t have my heart. But, yeah, I miss it. Why? Well, that would require me to get a little ahead of myself, and I was just about to tell you about the first thing Del Morgan ever asked of me. Well, she did ask me to go to that party. And, it wasn’t exactly as if she asked. But, you get the idea.

"Crocodile eggs? Real live crocodile eggs? So, I just go to the corner exotic pet store and ask for a dozen crocodile eggs?"

"That is for you to figure out."

And, that was about the extent of our little conversation. Del Morgan wanted crocodile eggs. Weird. And, when I had them, I was just to put them in the kitchen. Not even give them directly to her or anything. The first time she would know if I accomplished my task would be when she had a hankering for an omelet. Oh, joy, that meant I didn’t even know what kind of time frame I had for acquiring the eggs. Or, where to begin. Or, anything.

Crocodile eggs? Where does one get crocodile eggs? Okay, first things first. Crocodile eggs? Okay, ick. That was first. I shouldn’t say things like that. I’m sure they are a delicacy. Second on the agenda. I didn’t know where to begin. What? Whip out the yellow pages? Yes, I would like to order a dozen crocodile eggs, please. Why, to go, of course. Which raised its own problem. I had never noticed a telephone in this place. Okay, so, ordering them by phone was out. Probably no phonebook anywhere in the entire place. I would just have to ask someone. Not Del Morgan. No, she had made that abundantly clear. And, not Hannah and Romana. I wasn’t that crazy. I could just see them laugh at me. Or, worse, they would send me on some wild goose chase.

Who else was there? The doorman? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Del Morgan told me to ask the doorman if I ever needed anything. What was his name? Door. Oh, yeah, right. How original. Okay, first problem solved. Ask Door. Which raised an otherwise impossible to imagine or describe problem. I couldn’t find the door. No, really, I’m serious. Door was downstairs. That would require me to take the elevator. Which was outside the apartment. I hadn’t seen the door to the apartment since my first day here. Since that time, I hadn’t found it once. I had even gone looking for it pretty seriously. This was crazy. I had to find crocodile eggs. I didn’t know where to begin. I had to ask the doorman for help. I had to find the door to ask Door. Watch out! My brain! It’s going to explode! I had to find door to ask Door. Oh, yes, that is funny. Watch me cry crocodile tears. Kill me now, Lord!

Okay, I suppose locating the front door wasn’t as hard as I thought. I had already done a lot of searching for it. I had looked in all the reasonable and logical places. It was time for a little reverse psychology. I figured the best thing to do was come across the door unawares. When it was least expecting me. Kind of sneak up on it. Wander the halls. Look at the ceiling. Whistle. I’m not looking for the door. No, I don’t need the door. What? Now, you’re going to think I’m crazy? Now? Hey, I had spent a lot of time in this place. I didn’t even know how long. I think I’ve got a handle on how this place works. No, it didn’t help me find the door, but that is totally beside the point.

So, how did I finally find the door? Well, that is still interesting. More reverse psychology. If I couldn’t find the door, then the door was going to find me. Just remember I had spent a lot of time on that little stretch of beach. Doing interesting things that should have been impossible. I was getting desperate. I had healed a great gaping chest wound so I figured I could do this. I drew an imaginary door in the air. Just kind of traced the outline of it. Well, I didn’t see anything. I’m not crazy. I was just tracing an imaginary door in the air. If there were an invisible door freestanding right in the middle of the kitchen, what would it look like? So, I just traced a big rectangle in the air. Reached down. Opened the door. And, stepped into the foyer. Just like that.

Told you, it was easy. After that, it was simply a matter of waiting for the elevator. Riding it down to Hell’s Lobby. I told you about the lobby, right? I can’t always keep track of these things. Door was waiting for me. Well, not exactly waiting for me. I mean I don’t think he ever left the lobby. Day or night. He just sat there. Watched me walk right up to the desk. And, I discovered something interesting. I couldn’t talk. Shit! You think I would be getting used to this by now. I couldn’t say anything until he gave me permission. Now, here’s a scary thought. What if I’m with a big group of people? Do they all have to give me permission before I can say anything? Ooh, that’s going to keep me up nights.

"Good morning, Drake. What can I do for you?"

Morning?

"I need to get crocodile eggs."

"Of course, nothing simpler. There’s a little shop around here that can set you right up. Do you know the neighborhood? No, I didn’t think so. I’ll scrounge you up a guide. Jack!"

Jack is this sleepy-eyed looking kid. Well, kid in the sense that he looked like he was in his late teens or early twenties. He wandered out of some back room behind Door that I would never have guessed was there. Wearing some grunge jacket and ripped jeans. I mean, just try describing one of these guys. I give up. Don’t think that was what he was actually wearing. I’m just trying to give you a sense of the guy. The kid half-staggers up to the desk, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"This is Drake. Works for Del Morgan. He needs crocodile eggs."

"Take him to Old Man Whetstone?"

"Yeah, that will do. Drake? Whetstone runs a little shop where you can get all kinds of stuff. Not all of it as exotic as crocodile eggs."

So, that was it. Jack was going to take me to meet this fellow Whetstone. I’ve never been able to figure out if he was one of the Faire Folk. Jack and Door? No, they’re not Faire Folk. Like Hannah and Romana, they had been around enough to pick stuff up. Especially for Door, I’m convinced they’ve got talent because of the job. Anyway, I followed Jack out the front door of the apartment building. Down the street. And, we waited for the local cross-town bus. I found myself clear across town before we reached this Whetstone guy. I love Door’s idea of a shop around the corner. Clear across town? Oh, boy. What does he consider far away?

Twelve

The Old Hometown

You want to know what was really weird? We were in the city. My city. The one I had been living in before the beach. The one I had called home. The place I had had a job before that freak had told me my name was Matthew Drake. And, that was really freaky. Walking down that street behind Jack. Looking for crocodile eggs. I recognized stuff. I mean I was never the greatest expert on the city, but I could tell the different between a hawk and a handsaw. I still can’t find Del Morgan’s apartment building on a map. Ask me for directions, and I can get you as far as a local cross street. At which point, you’ll say that I’m lying. There’s no apartment building near there. The worst part? You can see the building. No, really, if you’re standing on the city street and look that way, you can see the building. Just try to find it. I dare you.

Crocodile eggs? Yeah, you heard me right. I still can’t believe it myself. I had to find crocodile eggs for Del Morgan. So, I had done the only thing I could. I went to Door. He gave me Jack to lead the way. Hey, I’ve got it. Jack looks like a bike messenger on his day off. Not that it matters. That’s how I knew we were really back in the city. Not because of Jack. I mean, waiting for the bus, I had a good look around. There were people walking down the street, too. Ignoring us in that way that only city folk can. And, that was the freakiest part of all. The people. Standing among perfectly normal ordinary people. And, I couldn’t talk to them. I couldn’t say anything. Nobody had given me permission. It wasn’t even as if we were invisible or anything like that. Think about it. I mean, how often do you stop to look at or talk to someone you don’t know as you’re walking down the street? I felt like the star attraction in a one-man production of The Purloined Letter. I thought about just reaching out and grabbing someone. Get them to talk to me somehow. Let me cry for help. Anything. But, take a guess. If someone tackles you in the middle of the street, do you stop to ask what their problem is? No, and you certainly would have believed me crazy.

So, we took the bus. Even had to pay the fare. Ride it cross-town. We got off in a part of town where the streets are almost too narrow for cars. Winding crooked streets. Shops and buildings sort of leering over us. So many pedestrians that cars couldn’t maneuver even if they wanted to. You know where I’m talking about. That is where we found Old Man Whetstone’s shop. Had to climb down a flight of stairs to reach it.

How to describe the place? It’s not as strange as you might think. I take that back. If you want to believe the place looked like the eccentric oddity shop that time forgot, you just go right ahead and believe that. Looked more like a cross between a hardware store and a corner grocery store to me. Smoked and dried meats hanging from the ceiling. Especially near the door. Oh, yeah, it’s not an eccentric deli and market unless there is unnamable foodstuff hanging from the ceiling. The place was really dark and full of shadows. Hard to see much of anything.

I’m not even going to try and describe Whetstone. The man spoke with an accent that wasn’t born of this earth, I can tell you that. In fact, I have my doubts he looked even vaguely human. That’s probably why it was so dark. Don’t want to discombobulate the passersby.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"I’m looking for some crocodile eggs."

"You’re in luck. I have fresh. Very rare."

What? As opposed to day old crocodile eggs? I know. I know. I’m sure they are a sweet delicacy. I watched Whetstone hobble toward the back of the store. He dug the eggs out of a pile of dirt. I swear to you that the eggs were buried in sand or dirt or something. Whetstone took a bag. Poured some sand in it or something. Then, he scooped a bunch of eggs into the bag. Topped it off with some more dirt. Brought it back to me. The bag was warm. I almost dropped it.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, not at this time. Thank you."

"Oh, anything for Del Morgan."

Hey? When did I say anything about Del Morgan? It was just going to remain another one of those things I was never going to understand. Like paying for the eggs. I mean Whetstone just turned and walked away. Accounts settled or on the tab or something. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I just looked at Jack. He looked like he had gone to sleep waiting for Whetstone to fill the order. My eyes must have brought him around because he blinked once and then looked at the bag.

"Let’s go."

That was that, I guess. I just followed him back out of the store. We had to walk a couple of blocks to find the bus stop. It would be a couple of minutes before the bus pulled up. Jack hadn’t said anything the whole trip to Whetstone’s shop. So, I was kind of surprised when he spoke up, waiting for the bus.

"You from around here?"

"Yeah, I used to live in the city."

"No, that’s not what I meant. I’ve lived in this city all my life, but I’m not from around here. You look kind of dazed. Not used to being around your own kind, right?"

"You could say that, I guess. I haven’t been back since the whole world went kaflooie."

"It’s best not to talk about that. How you got here. I like that word. Kaflooie. What does it mean?"

"I don’t know. It’s one of those words that doesn’t have a definition in the dictionary. You just know what it means when you hear it."

"Kaflooie. I’ll have to remember that."

"So, you’re not from around here?"

"Yeah, didn’t you hear? I’m a Jack."

"Are you saying that’s your title? Not your name?"

"My title? You don’t know, do you? I like that."

"Jack is a good name. You didn’t say where you are from."

"You know? I would rather not get into that. I like thinking it’s my name."

There wasn’t much left to say after that. The bus arrived. Jack didn’t say much on the bus. Something about being surrounded by all the normal people, I guess. I mean, what would you do if the people sitting next to you were talking like us? I know what I would have done. Ignored us. If I overheard too much, I would probably try for another seat. Bunch of weirdos.

That bus ride was one of the hardest things I had done in a really long time. Think about it. I was in the city. Really in the city. I could get off the bus at any stop and disappear. I mean, simply wander off into the crowd. What? You think Jack would really try to stop me? Somehow, I didn’t think so. All I had to do was tell Del Morgan I didn’t want to work for her anymore, right? Okay, I didn’t know, but that is what Windermere had told me. Did I believe her? It was too good to let go. I mean I didn’t know if I could test it. First, I would need Del Morgan to give me permission to speak. Then, I would need the chance to speak freely. Then, what would happen?

Maybe it would just be easier to get off the bus. Or, not get off the bus. Miss our stop. That might work. Could I do it? Holding crocodile eggs. I didn’t know. Where would I go? It didn’t matter. I would just walk away. Toss the eggs. Give them to Jack. Maybe there was something easier. I mean Del Morgan would come after me, right? I would need protection. Maybe I could pick a fight with someone on the bus. Get myself arrested. Spend the night in jail. That just might help protect me. I don’t know.

It was tempting. It was so tempting. What stopped me? Why did I get off the bus at our stop? Why did I follow Jack back to our building? Well, sitting on that bus. Holding a bag of crocodile eggs. Thinking about city streets. I felt something. In my chest. An empty spot. Like something was missing. I was not whole. Like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. I didn’t have a heart. Or, to be more exact. Del Morgan had my heart. I couldn’t leave without it. I just couldn’t.

So, I went back to Del Morgan’s apartment. Said goodbye to Jack. Thanked him for his help. Rode the elevator. Placed the paper bag full of crocodile eggs in the fridge. Went back to my rooms. That wasn’t the last time I would go to Old Man Whetstone’s shop. Odds. Ends. Trinkets. The strangest shit. I won’t bore you with the details. How many times do you want to hear about riding the bus? Oh, one more thing. I could find the door. After that, the door stopped hiding from me. Maybe it was ashamed. Maybe I had outsmarted it. Maybe finding the door once meant that you could always find it again. And, no, the door wasn’t in the middle of the kitchen where I had traced it. The door was about where you would expect the front door of an apartment to be.

Now, I’ve got a thought to keep you up nights. How many people do you really pay attention to as you’re walking down the street? Riding the bus? Driving your car? I kind of like the idea that more of them than you want to think about are not what you think they are. The person sitting next to you. No, not the one talking to himself. And, not the one who smells like he hasn’t bathed. Ever. I would rather look at the one in the semi-formal business suit. Holding a briefcase. No, that’s too formal. He’s holding a fancy gym bag. You know the kind you probably don’t put your sweaty gym stuff in, but it looks like you do. I wonder what could be in that bag. Maybe crocodile eggs.