 
# DRAWN

Lucus Anthony Ren

Copyright © 2018, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

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# Preface

Is life something else than ideas, and when does thought come into it? When Drawn which simply started as nothing more than one character looking out into her world not very different from many of us what we perhaps a thousand times daily practice, there always appears, or seems, one dominating element; time.

So, taking thoughts and ideas along with time all of which for me at least are three basic essentials in my life being I 'had' a thought, which lead to an idea, then time is applied. And in viewing this equation became surprised seeing how quickly time reacted according to both thought and idea, not either slowing or speeding as I'm accustomed with, rather the value of its application.

It is after all controlling me and I can't change it. Birth. Time moves. Death. Sunrise and set. Seasons. The Big Bang. But what if you take several characters in a story with their difference and similarities, put them in room and change that a little. Then open the door and let them out.

I'd walk the other way quickly, and think happy thoughts because just maybe they were listening.

# PROLOGUE

Rehearsing in his mind the immediate thought which sprang there in making such a trip some months ago from exasperation his presence in playwriting utterly useless without a doubt seeing very little interest from producers in his works, forced himself on this adventure purchasing a ticket to a place of little known except for the trip itself lasting two weeks with several stops would somehow propel his inspiration.

James viewed all this nearing the top of the gangway. He'd wondered for years never known a time without that sensation present. Demanding. Hungry. Beast like in nature, nothing more than controlled illusion he thought. It's what lead him here. To this very spot all the while allowing him to believe he managed the affairs. The turns. The times to wake or sleep. What to eat and purchase. Whether a film was better than book tonight. All just played lulling him to one specific place and the time in which it all would happen. Since birth. Had others experienced the same he wondered many preoccupied talking with one another, those alone resided simply blank-faced, yet felt something missing and then it appeared before him; there were no children. Teenagers yes, but anything under perhaps that age he could not see.

Realizing this he looked more closely below studying the great sea of passengers as he moved further upward, but in searching, he could not distinguish one single child. Had they all been left at home he wondered? Perhaps they had already boarded allowing mother and child first.

'I don't know and none of it makes sense anyway so what's it to me,' James whispered softly to himself remembering none of it started well for any of them back then, all quickly twisted ruminants of some tattered sheet hung far too long on a line to dry, faded, an only companion for it's growing tears ripping gently all those seemingly connected yet far away from that sense of reason held so reverent, illuminating truth with falsehood, an archaic mantle laid gracefully over the entire story where again, only lies gave perception.

Recognition was a powerful thing James knew, probably the most if what it carries changes something so great, so vast as your own soul. 'There are moments words have no right to play with,' the voice echoed not just in his mind but somewhere deep. Someplace yet tapped, unknown maybe, or misused which led to its abandonment, as once things of this nature are in such a demise, what remains only in ruins, when suddenly the scream comes from that depth reserved where only the greatest of all darkness resides, 'HELP THEM!!' crashing into him, pulling his attention to where others gasping with shock pointed below at what took shape with those still waiting to board the ship.

For Angela

Always loved

## Chapter 1: Most of the Letters

Sarah leaned holding the railing wanting anywhere but here. Anywhere without the screaming, without that stench etching deeper into her mind. Anywhere she could be with him, desperately hoping he too wouldn't have to leave along with the other men her world pitched, shuttered under relentless exhausting pressure sending her off into corners she'd never escape from. She was tired of that world. But he arrived.

Sharp, directly from the other world the one she'd left behind a thousand months ago now almost forgot insofar she'd wonder if it ever happened at all or always a wish went astray, having its revenge for something? Something she herself wasn't aware ever taking place, but in his arrival, it all changed; becoming real.

What life before being only some distant ghost till he introduced, or rather was introduced as David Ward a thin man slightly hunched with sharp features around the dark brown eyes by her senior, smiled briefly holding out his hand wanting the customary cordials to seem natural. But they were very far from that Sarah told herself while touching his warm soft yet scared hand. She saw in his eyes there was something much more. His face changed the slightest giving way to a rather deep, though she often carefully questioned while laying adrift toward that lovely reprieve from life through broken whips of sleep, those tattered fortunes of sorts not many witnessed by the looks of it, would have others simply telling her to grasp upon never letting go for this man was very careful in words and stature always aware of his surroundings, secretly buried treasure somewhere far within.

'Those were qualities you can admire,' she told Barbara her closest friend later meeting her after completing the last check they always did together before retiring.

'Sounds like something's gotten into you hasn't it,' Barbara said slyly with her bright smile while raising one eyebrow which Sarah thought always having just a little too much hair and often told Barbara they should be trimmed better, but those of her qualities they brought both together in a natural honest friendship of admiration and understanding.

'Being aware. Awake. I saw it in his eyes and face,' Sarah replied reviewing the checklist in front of her. 'He's also shy, very rare today,' she added.

'Don't lose sleep over this one deary. They're heading in tomorrow. He'll probably be going too. The new ones often do.' She paused a moment bending over taking a closure look at her own work from this morning then continued. 'Besides if it doesn't happen this time, there's always a chance of the next.' And her bright smile fell away in a matter-of-fact way leaving them cold in an ever increasing humid environment both knew they couldn't stand much more of.

Sarah knew Barbara was right. She often was. She was also very reliable and could keep secrets well enough out of the reach of others wanting in. She supposed it's another quality she liked about her and felt the sudden pull of lust toward a woman she roomed with - saw one another unclothed while changing - had nothing to hide from. Felt completely at ease with. Yet because of the men, or at least most in the condition they were, women in such a state they were, naturally found themselves drawn to one another. And it did happen, but not between Sarah and Barbara, though both having full well-shaped figures, neither were interested in such a manner for the other. Or so it was a lie they both suckled, as they both wanted the other, growing with profound intensity blinding them where only the carnage they saw each moment of what war is brought about some barren coherence that too was crushing them all.

But here Sarah stood just inches from Barbara, could smell her perspiration, her hair and all she wanted at the moment was to kiss her soft and tender because tomorrow the boys were heading out and it just wasn't fair she cried in her thoughts staring across eyes tracing along Barbara's beautiful natural curves, it wasn't FAIR with all the stench and horrors of not knowing when and why, or how many, or what conditions all those simplest things just a short time ago, so different when they happened last, all 'so simple', are now gone. Forever.

Knowingly Barbara felt those eyes of Sarah. Knew they watched her. Followed her along corridors, downstairs. And up. When she slept. It was strange at first Barbara thought, but after a while, it soothed. What could you do knowing exactly in the middle of all this why should it matter if a woman looked at another especially with feelings such as these? In this place?

Barbara stood up slowly finished examining, paused then turned to Sarah knowing as not to embarrass both, it would allow time for Sarah to look at something else, but she hadn't. Sarah's eyes fixed directly at Barbara's hips, obviously watching her backside while she bent over attending to her work.

A heat came upon Barbara's face. She felt it start first in the cheeks then move forward wrapping around her, a warmth she knew was held for someone you cared deeply for and they for you, so much so, you'd do anything for them if they asked.

Barbara reached out with her hand touching Sarah on the wrist so slight she thought Sarah might not notice. But Sarah's eyes closed the moment of contact allowing a long-held breath to escape she'd kept the entire examination Barbara conducted as if breath alone would spoil contemplating the softness next to her both unheralded by anyone or thing.

'Sarah,' Barbara whispered questionably. There was a slight twitch in Sarah's wrist, her eyes meeting Barbara's who in their half-lighted area they stood, in the lateness their eyes searched, one allowing, the other questioning, broke what lure held stating, 'It will be a very long day tomorrow. The boys are going.'

The boys. That's all they were actually most not having reached manhood. It was sad the first time Sarah and Barbara saw the boys off. 'It get's easier each time you'll feel less', so they were told, but that was a lie. And tomorrow they go. 'You're our boys,' they'd both say always bringing smiles on such young faces. But they had the quality as David, the very same, a vibrancy for life that would be ripped from them and never returned.

At exactly five-thirty that morning the lights came on, the boys stood and prepared. Various announcements and declarations of courage and God's speed were made for at six-thirty still in darkness the boys boarded their assigned landing craft and headed for the distant shore none had ever see before, and a great many would never step foot on.

By eight the first was returned to Grace, one of four casualty evacuation transport ship able to get closest to the beachhead allowing troops off, ambulancing the sick and wounded off, many reaching the ships five operating theaters, two of which were set-up on the forward deck for immediate treatments in time those suffering the worst surviving due to Grace's well organized and talented staff.

Sarah and Barbara along with other nurses were there meeting their return making sure they were taken according to severity to the appropriate doctor available. On deck watching the return of transports themselves often severely suffering damage from enemy fire nurses lined the ships railing their nervous fear and anguish hidden behind trained compassionate expressions seemed to turn together all at once when hearing the high throttling up of an approaching aircraft they'd learned was on an attack approach when an instant later the loud clapping from its guns striking first the water then traveling quickly alone the ships starboard side rising over the deck in a long trail. Barbara grabbed Sarah's hand as the two watch white puffs turning suddenly red from the rounds striking several nurses almost designating their white uniforms. With the carnage swiftly approaching them, Sarah reached toward...

'Jenny, did you see the blue case for my computer, I'm late for the meeting and the drivers waiting?' The voice tore Jennifer thoughts causing her to jump, startled as she'd forgotten Adam was there. Forgotten everything. For Jennifer reading was one of the few ways she relaxed, enjoying the time to herself. Her close friend Mary told her about this book she herself found very interesting. 'Very difficult to put down' were her exact words Jennifer remembered hearing Mary yell into her phone while driving that vintage convertible Volkswagen Beatle she loved so off to some event Jennifer envied as she wanted to travel along those roads sitting next to Mary without a care listening only to the engine and the wind, taking in the smell of the old car mixed with pine from the wild forest engulfing their lives, so what could she do but order a copy arriving two days later, yet because of her schedule hadn't the chance to start, only able to glance the box it arrived in, still unopened passing it several times on the kitchen table without much thought seeing she wasn't a reader only placing the order thinking it would damage their newly established friendship if she hadn't.

What she wanted was some peace which her husband had now taken from her, she closed the book, turned her head stating clearly for Adam wasn't hard of hearing but hard on the mind of others around him, which was very common among professionals of his nature, 'Try the office dear. Perhaps you left it on your desk,' she concluded sighing wondering upon the chances the case was in fact there, wondering where her life was heading, wondering when the last time the two had sex? With multiple orgasms as in those early years and couldn't remember.

She thought to herself and talked at times with Mary, 'I'm thirty-eight, and always horny.' A slight pause, then added, 'Like an itch.'

'Honey, everything is. And you can scratch it with whomever. And no one will care,' Mary quipped.

'No one' Jennifer thought sitting on the sofa remembering Mary's words unravel something which now slowly crept along the sides of her thighs its prickle increasing, warmth crossing over moving along the inside of her legs that she felt were too large and needed attention in the gym and sauna, were in fact normal for her height and bone structure, enough so as to have their friends and colleagues during summer and winter parties she and Adam often held, comment on her attractive shape.

But they lied only to gain points which she hated seeing most of them were Adams friends and colleagues, a far cry from what Jennifer deem as trusted confidants, yet thinking of this the warmth intensified lived it seemed upon her secret lust for something else than her husband, moving around her buttock climbing up her back when the second call she'd hoped never arrive did with Adam stomping down from upstairs, 'The office? No, no, 'NO'. Won't be there. Christ, I'm late as it IS!' Maybe he was aware, certain if he had there would be no defense, as always with Adam his voice quivered as panic starts the run on him. Controlling his mood. His entire life.

With a flash as it had come, the warming thrill left her retreating somewhere she'd love to know. Wanting to visit it in times such as these she thought as Adam stepped from the stairs panting looking around their large spacious living room trying to place his thoughts that had left him the moment he realized his computer was needed. But since he never put anything away, literally dropping things where he stood leaving Jennifer the task of managing his constant untidy nature, which for the most part she was accustomed, together with futility telling him to put things away, so much so she'd give-up probably meant little if anything to Adam as he saw no fault in his actions.

'The office,' Adam cried, 'why there?' throwing his arms up his way of surrendering, pleading for help.

'That's where I put it,' Jennifer stated calmly as she watched the trembling under his right eye begin. A slight twitch whenever things inside Adam's head grounded. The twitch began its own grotesque twitching. In becoming aware of this Adam immediately blinked the eye rapidly trying to ward off the spasm. In a moment Jennifer knew what followed, if it hadn't been for his phone ringing distracting him entirely reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket answering without checking the caller, a common habit of his, the same spun on his heals marching off in the direction of the office disappearing around the corner moving along the hallway talking loudly with his quick temper that 'he'd no idea whether he was free to play on the thirteenth as this was all managed through his agent', followed by a fucking moron Jennifer heard after the disconnection she presumed but not entirely sure for nothing ever was with this man. Before reaching the office another call this time his voice was calmer saying he was ready in a moment, and that he hadn't lost track of the time. This, of course, was his agent, Maria of Guatemala decent, once prominent concertmaster herself, principal violinist of the Russian National Symphony now agent to several premier musician including Adam for the past seven years as she retired from the circuit, but not the glamour waited for him outside in the limo probably playing with the chauffeur as herself Jennifer deceitfully imagined, screwed anything walking. Including her husband.

Jennifer didn't want to know how 'much' of an agent Maria was realizing it was more than just bookings she made for him. And had been for several years when at dinner she first noticed the sexual tension between them. Afterward, she wondered the length of the affair as she'd noticed it only then. 'And if there's Maria there are others,' Mary spoke plainly when hearing Jennifer's confession a rainy afternoon gazing out the large bay windows of their living room a low drone in her voice sounding almost not her own, 'I'll be free of him. Past. Present. To come.'

Jennifer sat on the sofa staring out those same windows her finger still held in the place where the book stopped as it seemed that while reading, the novel itself, not simply that; something more. Of something gone. Not lost since that you'd feel first in order to miss. The feeling left when Adam entered. Entered not just the room lumbering down the stairs no better than a drunken cow for God's sakes Jennifer thought to herself watching him, 'How is it possible he plays so incredibly well yet act in such a state,' but entered and passed through her life, as it 'was' her life, as Adam wandered into and out of her days.

Having to stop for Adam was the trade she made when they married. The start of her career ended before it even had a chance Jennifer always reminisced, but the wealth Adam provided was ample in exchange allowing her to buy indeed anything she desired. Within reason. And over the years that grew becoming all, there was. Till one afternoon Mary came by on her way to gym dropping off some old newspapers telling Jennifer about a book she'd been reading. A book she thought Jennifer might like that might do her some good because it had 'some slow spark whatever that meant as half the time Jennifer could hardly understand anything Mary spoke with her peculiar riddles and speech patterns she once clearly defined in their first meeting as being a mixture of 'both continents' significant with what Jennifer had no idea and was too timid asking about for here was a person a rarity even Jennifer herself could see something very different indeed and this person no matter their comings or goings wanting friendship with a simple person such as herself Jennifer thought all the while how lucky and thankful she felt having met Mary, but wouldn't say exactly seeing she was late for her workout and would pass by later.

Jennifer researched the book reading the preview thought it a rather simple romance set in a rather vague war and time yet as she read through the first twenty pages not understanding what the war was about, why there even was one, she questioned why a person as Mary would be interested in such writing so plain and quite frankly, boring. The characters weren't defined well, in fact, most of the preview was about a ship. A sort of ambulance ship transferring to larger hospital ships sick and wounded soldiers temporarily cared for.

When texting Mary was it worth the time spent reading the novel before ordering it; 'yes' was the simple one-word reply.

The book arrived but Jennifer too busy couldn't open the package for several days. In reading the preview she really wasn't in any hurry, after all, she felt more obliged to Mary as she'd recommended the story. Seeing the package still unopened didn't bother her in the least as she passed it several times a day laying on the seldom-used kitchen table. It might have been there a week when finally she opened the package taking out the book with Adam just having left for rehearsal startled by its condition though knowingly bought as second hand, possessed a severely worn smudged once light-brown leather cover now darkened with several dog-eared pages, causing an unconscious drift toward the cozy sofa corner her favorite place where the large bay windows opened on the new spring afternoon, eventually seated while this rag on her lap pulled her mind wondering whether she'd placed the wrong order when had she noticed just on the border of their large property of cleared land adjacent the thick forest there came a slight movement within those first trees lining the garden sentinels as it might have been which Jennifer would swear, when the problems began those large trees guarded not something coming out from the forest rather from going into only alerted by Rex their eight year old male German Shepard movements his keen hearing alerting him immediately stared towards the black thickness which if Jennifer and Adam were interested in knowing was an old growth forest many years of age easy to lose the way impassable in some areas unchecked for over sixty miles till the next township, she would have screamed from fear. Not the normal scream a person has when suddenly frightened, but a scream knowing something never seen before would chase you till caught dragging you back into the depths of those woods wherein youth dark clouds formed a moment before trouble arrived.

But Jennifer didn't notice the dogs uneasiness; her only interest being the book nevertheless noted the time about one-thirty when she began reading after checking the novel's mail order on her phone. Moving quickly skimming more than reading at the start simply wanting to get through it as soon as possible so as to discus later with Mary some of the points, her mind drifted from the words written into a sort of day dream of herself in her youth back at college when she was too shy to speak out on a double date with her friend Tracy and two boys all from the same class while discussing their ideas about good sex and whether it was important in relationships when she heard upstairs a loud thud coming from what sounded like the room directly above where she sat; her study.

Startled being removed from both the dream and the sound as Jennifer was alone in the house casing her to jump slightly but quickly bringing her attention to the fact why gnawing his favorite red ball calmly at her feet hadn't Rex heard it? Then her mind become confused recalling the dog just a moment before was not at her feet more over looking out the window toward the forest, and had been as soon as she sat down, which was how long ago Jennifer thought as she reached for her phone to check the time when suddenly another thud sounded this time at the top of the stairs. From where she sat she could easily see the stairs turning quickly hoping to find no one. Jennifer indeed saw only the stairs then looked at Rex who hadn't moved except his rhythmic chewing pacified after the morning walk down the graveled road three miles to where it connected with the larger network eventually sending you into the city and back up the sprawling property but not in the forest behind the house they both not ventured constantly watching the other seeing who would pass through that first line of defense. For Jennifer at first it was almost a game coxing Rex to go into the forest if just a few yards, but the large dog became pensive nearing its border alarming her, since those early times she gives the area a wide berth not nearing the trees, while Rex follows just behind and always between her and the trees as if to protect Jennifer thought later watching how when she changed direction Rex immediately altered his position. Always. She wondered if throwing his red ball into the forest would cause him to follow chasing after as he did everywhere in fact with such force it was frightening seeing his explosive power charging after the bouncing red object Jennifer easily saw if the animal wanted, it could easily tear off a persons arm seeing documentary about Shepard's before she chose the breed seeing Adam wasn't the least interested stating very clearly, 'It will be your sole responsibility and if step or any one else step in that fucking animals shit, I'll kill him myself', but research their capabilities as well as loyalty it wasn't a matter of question any longer; this was the animal for her.

Then came another this time half-way down the stairs causing Jennifer to look back. There, she saw though not clear a man standing indeed in the middle of the large oaken staircase looking directly at her. A man dressed somewhat differently in a dark suit supporting himself with the use of a white cane. He was tall and thin, short hair also styled in another fashion.

Jennifer froze. Unable to take her eyes from the man, yet noticing Rex unaware of anything except his ball no more than a couple of feet from her. She thought he must have heard or at least sensed for Rex missing nothing was excellent in watching over the house and property as the backyard for both Jennifer and Adam loved seclusion was extensive though fenced, except that running adjacent to a large forest. There was no fencing between the trees and their land Adam not seeing the point since anyone stupid enough to come onto their property deserved to get shot and eat.

Another thud sounded and the man stood almost arms distance from Jennifer. She could see his profound erect frame more clearly now, face with its high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, thin long fingers holding the cane while the other held a dark brown hard covered book having worn characteristics with a title she couldn't read as the man's sleeve blocked most of the letters.

He looked at her without malice nor want simply that of blankness Jennifer felt afterward, for in a second he was gone leaving her not with a feeling of anxiety, but one of ache. An ache for something she'd forgotten wanting desperately to remember again.

Turning back to the windows the afternoon sun with Rex quietly working his ball looking deep into the forest Jennifer wasn't sure what had occurred when a message alert sounded on her phone. Half dozing from the sun feeling rather exhausted taking the phone through reflex a message appeared when opened confirming a book order would arrive within the hour requesting if someone was home to receive the delivery.

Puzzled thinking back quickly Jennifer recalled ordering only one book. 'This' book. Checking orders indeed again showed only the one purchase. Knowing an error occurred she returned to the delivery message voicing her response when Rex shot up and in a flash bolted for the front door barking madly frightening Jennifer so the phone dropped from her hand to the hard oak wood floor.

In this unusual wildness certainly in the house Rex turning the corner struck the small side table knocking it over along with several magazines and a small fine porcelain statue of Venus Adam brought back from Berlin while on tour where it smashed sending pieces flying in several directions, barking fiercely his massive claws trying to grip the floor, when the doorbell sounded sending the dog into a frenzy of howls.

Jennifer picked up her phone rose walking quickly in disbelief for the front door all the while calling out to Rex who she could hear was jumping at the massive white wooden door Adam insisted having for security because of his valuable musical instruments though insured he often stated 'culture money can never replace' Jennifer thought all this when remembering cameras were networked into her phone allowing to see both the properties interior and exterior surroundings. Just as she opened the phone's app the doorbell rang again, Rex exploded clawing, growling at the door. As she waited for the connection Jennifer neared the fallen table then suddenly stopped when the first images appeared leading her to forget everything.

All cameras provided their feed divided into windows on the phone's screen, touching one expanded that particular camera's view while moving the finger allowed the user capabilities panning the camera itself, with the rotating of pinched thumb and forefinger zooming the lens as possible. In the center was always a larger default window of the front door. There she saw a uniformed delivery man holding a small package she believed to be the book in question, but it was the view from the camera of another bringing her to an abrupt halt; the view of the sofa corner. Something dark moved, a shadow gliding along the sofa where she a moment before sat reading, then from the corner of her eye Jennifer saw a flash as Rex shot past her and sprang upon the darkness.

## Chapter 2: This Ship Felt It Too

\- earlier -

'Oh, why not. If you want to tell it that way then go right on ahead,' the guests continuously reassured James the entire night over dinner and drinks late into morning. 'It is after all, 'your play',' they further added with congratulations.

James thought it might be a good idea not associating too long with his guests he invited at 'Smits' the local dinner he often arrived at rather tired from the day's events, and half drunk. Thinking it would be nice buying them dinner as they were his closest friends, now felt the urge of wanting desperately to escape returning to the story he presently just outlined to them. Not that they were difficult or boring, simply none of them ever reached into the 'area' he lived. None capable seeing very clearly at all having eaten well drank like fish for several hours, just at this moment they illuminated James's mind of that other side he knew we all had but kept closed till something unlocked its door and things started crawling out from the darkness.

It was in that absence of continuity which so often sprang up as weeds between the cracks of his own fractured mind, that murkiness always contracting his attention, to James this being the only element true the rest simple remnants discarded, pieces cut having fallen, found little use of eventually obsolete antique, found himself often being part of this 'grand play' as he saw it, why not then write it he 'imagined' that afternoon the afternoon circumstances finally changed forcing him to move often seeing himself languishing on its stations platform not sure of the arrival nor destination time, only certain it would appear.

And its appearance became that of a ship which James boarded.

It was a full sun. Striking directly from overhead upon him for he'd forgotten the hat his mind sweltered under the heat. It felt perfect. Leaning against the bench his back touching its searing metal lifting his face toward its intense heat seeing bright orange through the eyelids having an only thought, simply a want of no other idea as he ached from their constant collisions, their misinterpretations. Only peace for just a moment. When the idea spoke to him; 'Get Away.'

Being true the mind does have its greatest moments either in deep dreams we can't remember or only part as they scramble for cover upon waking, or dead silence when itself simply releases hold, adrift will then the consciousness give up its relentless hold. It was here James hadn't a thought except 'that itself' for if his mind was empty without a single one madness as a pumps cavitation from not enough pressure generating intense shock waves imploding its very essence would ensue.

And in that violence James had his peace.

When the owner approached James informing him he was closing and to pay the bill the outcry from friends only half-hearted in nature relieved James of any further hospitality requirements seeing they where now quite inebriated and possibly wouldn't remember much of what had been discussed over the past hour when he told them he was going abroad to finish his play in peace away from all of their stupidity which he'd grown accustomed too and would miss with great pains, the reason for the dinner, as they weren't informed of one simply to come and have meal and a drink.

In parting where hugs and tender touches desires of all the very best often a case when little else could be mustered and suddenly they were gone. James watched their group slowly move in the early morning along the sidewalk snaking its way into forever for no memory is every lost merely distant. This one he wished, at least for some time, remain not too distant.

Standing on the pier overcrowded, handling only a small suitcase James waited along with the others as their deck levels were called allowing them to board. She wasn't a large vessel by any means, but their feelings about her James couldn't place began to surface. Not one of recognition nor fear as he was terrified of the water in his drowning from the past, was for a better expression; 'fulfillment'. Always that proverbial calling so latent James thought, never seeming to notice, or do, but too afraid such as in youth when dark clouds formed seconds before trouble arose.

She was what he always needed. Lusted. James felt a great sadness pass through first the center of his forehead then his heart almost the same instant when his deck was called, a sadness for others who in every respect may never find what they dream of. Work for. Yet here he was that fortunate breed having the chance, that opportune moment appearing seldom rolling out of life's foggy, near extinct hidden landscape. And if James didn't walk through, didn't embark, it would all be lost. Forever as it was never about 'having' the opportunity, but what you're supposed to do getting it.

Moving through throngs of fellow passengers James wasn't interested knowing how all the hundreds would somehow be accommodated, his interests lied thoroughly across the gangway stepping aboard knowing that love. Who said ghosts can't feel? Not that he was one. Not this being a haunted ship, at least of his understanding it wasn't. Because of the happenings before. It is the reason James took this particular cruise, this specific time.

Waiting in line a large group ahead but considerably less as the preliminary checkpoint allowing him to pass clearing the masses, gave James several minutes gazing at the vessels firstly appreciating its size, rather surprising as the crowds decidedly reduced his vision and its overall size, yet now James faced something that completely dwarfed the signification of massive; it being as James remembered simply the largest thing he'd ever seen. Or even imagined.

Her decks reaching far into the pitch black night sky and length extending beyond sight James instantly attached, imagined roaming throughout her cavernous structure for days never repeating his footsteps, never seeing the same thing or person twice. Becoming completely lost.

He laid a hand gently touching the gangway railing, one foot lightly stepping on instantly feeling her vibration even through a heavy glove and winter boot it's resonating tone calling him pass along the entire gangway which extending to her forward the main deck taking passengers toward the desired location some having dreamt of while others cursed as he noticed there were fearful eyes now among a number of those boarding or yet to have.

For that James felt sorry. Sorry, they held this event in such a manner, understanding too they must have motives, but for him, it was simply euphoric.

The line began to move again James mounted the gangway walking slowly hearing various conversations, smelling the salted sea air feeling a new abundant world slowed allowing a greater clarity his mind had yet experienced, just as woman asked if this was the way, to which he replied smiling, 'If you buy me a couple of JDs it is.' She agreed but was quickly lost in the crowd. Climbing he looked down at those yet to board, the ones bidding farewell, and ship staff all mingling together in their masses, swaying it seemed to James as leaves upon trees in a great wind.

Nearly half the distance covered he heard a women voice behind him talking to someone behind her asking whether they thought it was safe. Whether they thought it might sink. Whether they would arrive on time. Whether the weather was fair or foul. James began discovering a different breed in the people surrounding him even on this single-file stairway each clutching their small bag of necessities, the larger luggage loaded below, most either nervous or complacent, but very few with wide-eyed wonderment as he was.

Many were preoccupied talking with one another, those alone resided simply blank-faced, yet felt something missing and then it appeared before him; there were no children. Teenagers yes, but anything under perhaps that age he could not see.

Realizing this he looked more closely below studying the great sea of passengers as he moved further upward, but in searching, he could not distinguish one single child. Had they all been left at home he wondered? Perhaps they had already boarded allowing mother and child first.

Thinking that the logical case his attention turned in having passed several portholes without the thought James decided to look into one as he neared just at eye level. The lights were on allowing a clear view of the cabin which at this height must be A Deck of the more expensive cabins and no doubt some of the wealthier berthed. The line moved slowly permitting James's thorough observation nothing more of a middle-aged man unpacking his luggage. Looking ahead as they climbed upwards passing another long row of portholes, he saw another opportunity with one about waist high no more than a few feet from him. Quickly he looked behind him down the gangway, indeed there were no children there either confirming his rational observation then turning back James bent looking into the passing porthole this time there was a couple slightly older than he perhaps in their mid-thirties sitting on the bed passionately kissing. But again no children.

Still, this hardly proved anything seeing the couple might not have any children let alone married. He turned his attention forward attempting to see the end of the line in which he was a part of and could just make out that indeed it did some distance ahead end. Finally deciding there was no point drawing this splendid time into something he had no control over and really not much interest, only a mild curiosity James devoted the remaining moments on the gangway contemplating what he would do first once he stepped onto this magnificent lady.

Rehearsing in his mind the immediate thought which sprang there in making such a trip some months ago from exasperation his presence in playwriting was utterly useless without a doubt seeing there was very little interest from producers in his works at such a premature state he himself admitted for the most 'never knowing the story very well except when he actually was busy writing the damn thing', forced himself taking on this adventure purchasing a ticket to a place of little knowledge except for the trip itself lasting two weeks with several stops would somehow propel his inspiration.

He began linking just before committing the ticket purchase final transaction, this fact he'd really done nothing since leaving college without any degree and now at twenty-six there was absolutely nothing holding him to the place he was, the city he lived most of his life, friends along with acquaintances, none seemed that important preventing him from this undertaking.

Suddenly there was a booming thunder as the ships horn sounded. The surprise startled James insomuch he instinctually grasped the handrail firmly feeling the sound waves pass through him leaving it's shuttering effect from his chest along the arm into the rail as if it were electricity, and himself the 'ground' where all things suddenly progressed.

At that moment James fell in love with her. Perhaps caused from a childish affliction once his crush upon a math teacher while in the third grade was publicly announcing to anyone interested of his pending marriage he told in great honesty to Miss Benton became exceeding teased from classmates while embarrassment for his family verbal sounded daily, the ridicule burned so far he never wished accompanying a female ever till now, which mattered the least knowing others felt the same for a gorgeous vessel.

Though James was not without the good sense should a women want sex he would certainly oblige the moment, it wasn't with love in mind rather biological at play driving both their passions for he told them directly that afterwards what would be the point seeing one another as they had very little in common of which most agreed simply wanting a good time and needed their urge release of which James concurred happily obliging.

But this was different. The presence of something altogether from another era, place, dream, the definition didn't matter. It was simply 'that' which one feels, and content with as being with her slowly fused shattered parts of himself further completing some direction on some map showing someplace he'd have to travel too. Alone. For what was the point being ushered?

The horn sounded again rolling along the air while many around he noticed tried covering their ears, while some joyfully shocked, while some tearful in departures, while some fearful, while some busy thinking of anything but what was at hand, while some nervously attempted avoiding what was at hand, while some kissed, while some demanded, while some questioned, while some yelled, while some smiled. All doing one thing together James thought; being part of some great reaching movement.

It was with effort they all came together James recognized. Some form of bizarre unity. Herds gathering at the watering hole. Was everything in life the same? Moving together? Safe. Apart faced certain demise. Yet was it individual actions which brought everyone here? Something placed inside them some time ago. Now pushing. Birthing, he thought.

James viewed all this nearing the top of the gangway. He'd wondered for years never known a time without that sensation present. Demanding. Hungry. Beast like in nature, nothing more than controlled illusion he thought. It's what lead him here. To this very spot all the while allowing him to believe he managed the affairs. The turns. The times to wake or sleep. What to eat and purchase. Whether a film was better than book tonight. All just played lulling him to one specific place and the time in which it all would happen. Since birth.

He wondered how many boarding this ship felt it too?

## Chapter 3: First Patient Of The Day

There was no way being fully prepared. They told you what to expect but there was no comprehension manageable what you were about to go through. Even afterward the fact a mind plays maintaining a false sanity itself not wanting to remember memory themselves nothing more than cloth having holes the mind desperately fills with whatever is at hand, the more recalled they themselves grow fragile, eventually losing meaning altogether. Wouldn't you want that? Just to forget?

Sarah had those same thoughts. 'Maybe,' saying to herself. But Sarah knew her mind was too strong and probably should she have the opportunity venturing into old age and there dying, would always remember. Vividly all the most horrid and beautiful moments.

Though trained and with considerable experience Sarah was never fully accustomed to seeing the boys return in pieces or whole all without their once positive youth which in that briefest moment torn away producing what life may remain. And was for them on those beaches. For she herself left with them in that first wave three years after joining. Three years reflecting back before she herself stepped foot on that beach when it all changed.

Nearing the end of her nineteenth year with the fighting now in its fourth she recalled hearing from a friend who'd written her back home the war would last no more than six months causing Sarah to wonder with a growing feeling her twentieth birthday would be spent not among them as was the custom, but in the middle of the ocean somewhere taking care of the sick and wounded as nothing around her seemed relevant or at least of some interest.

Sarah had broken off from most. Though out-going she now moved onward needing to get 'there' to be part of that theater no matter its consequences. She'd spoken with and heard from those having witnessed first-hand in detail what it was and what to expect. But not really. Not what 'really' happened. How could you? Those who did not want to remember conversed in shadows allowing those listening or wanting to such as Sarah, only glimpses fearful their words would bring it all alive again.

Sarah joined two months after her nineteenth birthday not because of the news and how the fighting escalated or wained, but from the intense desire the world she lived in was not enough, and those that suffered she wanted desperately to help. Seven days before she turned twenty she boarded the landing craft with twelve other nurses and seven doctors along with equipment they'd use setting-up their field hospital right on the beach if necessary tending emergency casualties directly that later would be transported back to the ambulance ship thereby saving more lives, yet they themselves came under direct enemy fire often heavy bombardment.

Of the twelve, Sarah and two others this would be their first landing. Their task simple; bring supplies to each operating table when required. There would be six table-groups, each responsible for two. The other nurses would assist the doctors and monitor casualties combat medics scattered throughout the landing consisted in that first wave of thirty-seven crafts and landing forces whose primary role was applying required medical attention for those forces ferry wounded to the eight tables-groups correspondingly lettered A-H. Sarah was group B. And in group B, Barbara was second in command over the nurses.

It can be said in those times, the times which should never happen but do, anything is possible because it simply is 'between time' is obscure. Conjured even. Sarah situated in the aft section of the landing craft could see Barbara forward on the starboard side talking with two other nurse giving hand signals trying to be understood over the craft's engine, the wave pounding its side, and the growing bombardment conducted on the coast laying a wide path for the crafts, when suddenly Barbara turned looking directly into Sarah's eyes and smiled for the briefest moment then resumed her tasking the two nurses.

In that second Sarah heard nothing seeing only Barbara's face. It would later become a common element between the two but also among others. A passing of calmness between on another; the sharing of intimate thoughts. Though Sarah was terrified every part of her shaking, at that moment she felt reassured, that something good would come from all of this, that she was supposed to be here, that sea water splashed in waves over the craft from shell fire exploding practically on top of them from the enemy, that thuds and sharp whips from rounds impacting the craft, that the sun was gone and everything turned a dirty gray, was bearable, could be openly witnesses should not be degraded nor hid from in future memories.

A cry suddenly sounded directly above Sarah, the boatswain's mate stating they would soon land and be ready, brought her attention back. She gripped her pontoon laden with supplies seven of the nurses in the rear each holding one apiece, knowing when the craft did settle and the ramp lowered they would most likely be in the chest-high water the pontoons could be floated ashore.

Sarah could feel nothing but the rocking of the craft hear nothing but the engine revving wildly then die away droning with its propeller breached the surface then digging back into the water. There was no way telling how far you were from the beach, but the sounds of the shelling intensified with the craft's movements grew more choppy signifying they were indeed nearing their destination, when the lurch came with everyone in the craft thrown forward upon one another just as the ramp door dropped open, when the craft hit the rough pebbled sandy beach as the enemy opened fire directly into the craft.

Immediately the boatswain's mate was shot twice with both rounds impacting in the upper chest throwing him back into the ocean. There was no return fire for this was a medical supply craft and if there had they would have been in the front and most certainly killed directly. It wouldn't be possible counting the number of rounds fired into that craft it's landing directly no more than fifty yards away from an enemy bunker in which directly in front of had opened up its fire wanting nothing more than killing all those aboard. And would have if it wasn't for the rapid approach and impact the craft made forcing the nurses and doctors to fall subsequently saving them. Had they known this being the intention of the boatswain for only he could see the approaching beach once the smoke began to clear and knew the inevitable outcome that he was certain to die but that others might live they would not have cursed him so thinking he was the worst coxswain they could have had such bad luck assigned to.

Sarah still holding her pontoon tried to keep it from floating too far away even with the waist lanyard attached as the craft rapidly began filling with water, but one other nurse had let go of hers which was floating aft directly toward Sarah when she heard a voice yelling to get the hell out of the craft and bring what you could for indeed with the impact of shell fired off shore from their own ships falling short, they themselves were being struck by their own fire causing their craft to flood being pushed back off the sand they just landed of which in a moment it would simply float off and sink taking any thing with it that was near or attached.

But there is that area of gray we seldom encounter. That one of which if we choose either path we are certain to fail in both and in our wisdom we try fooling ourselves of this in normal daily living. But this is not a normal day. Here, those in the craft knew if they choose to stay and not face the beach they will be pulled down with the craft or pulled out to sea off the beach where they would be run over by other crafts now approaching in full. Or the beach.

As they were still laying down from the impact of striking the beachhead no one wanted to stand or even craw out of the craft for it was the only safety provided but it wasn't for them to decide done for them when a short round landed its explosion lifting their craft onto its side where those aboard were thrown into the sea along with all their supplies.

Sarah instantly had her pontoon torn away out of her hand breaking the lanyard's safety catch herself landing in the filthy oil and debris-filled water where her head struck something causing a near blackout. It was another craft, in fact, the left side of her head hit which arrived just before them now disabled and on fire producing great black clouds whose smoke engulfed Sarah. Slowly raised her head from the water she treaded for her feet could barely find the ocean floor desperately groped anything to hold onto smoke causing difficulty in seeing let alone breathing as there came another eruption as enemy mortars landed just the opposite side of the fallen craft she so wished cling to whose explosion sent a huge wave of water back over it on top of her pushing Sarah again under the surface.

How quite she thought under the water sounds dying along with many of those she'd sworn to help. The movement of seawater pushing her, cradling her as if in her grandmothers rocking chair on the porch she used to site while being told the many stories of dragons and 'if you do good, good will be for you' one of her grandmother's favorite saying of another lifetime Sarah recalled as she simply wanted now to rest safely in those strong grandmother arms listening of tales again, and again with the only worry was of them ending. Yes, that would be fine Sarah convinced herself just drift off...not care again...slowly drift...

The explosion came from somewhere below this time lifting her out of the water as a child with a toy doll hurling it skyward then landing in a contorted mess. The shell detonated indeed ripping her from the water along with parts both bodily and mechanical ten feet into the air dropping down again in a bloody rain storm.

Sarah landed just on the water's edge breaking her fall somewhat otherwise had she struck the beach directly she'd most likely been killed. Now less than four feet of water the air collapsing in her lungs from the impact cause instinct to surface. It took charge of everything else as it had for millions of years. Thrusting more adrenaline throughout Sarah felt a sharpness return bringing her away from the fog and depths she a moment before succumbed too.

Becoming more aware her body now searching for oxygen Sarah opened her mouth wanting to take a deep breath but instead exhaled what air remained in her with a scream as bubbles rose to the surface. Feeling their path across her cheeks she knew now the direction for air must be above her. Her arms search vainly for the ocean floor stretching wildly tucked her knees against her chest and drove them downward with all her strength.

Her feet hit the ocean floor with the return force of her outreached legs pushing her through to the surface which in an instant she broke from taking her first breath for what seemed hours since the wave pushed her down of smoky-sour metallic as it was, could not have been more sweeter she would recall later in telling the story.

As she gulped the air the snaps of whips and soft thuds from the rounds continuously fired at their landing were still around her. Sand and water spat up from all directions forcing her down below the water's surface again now growing thick with oil and various fuels along with a deepening red from all the blood and body parts.

Sarah could hear the singing as bullets followed her downward many just a few inches away drilling through desperately wanting to fulfill their task of hitting a target they were made for. The oxygen wouldn't last nor she in the situation, forced her to rise out of the water trying to locate any cover near but was pushed down again from enemy attack with rolling waves increasingly thick with refuse from the landing and countless soldiers half-running stumbling for cover and position while firing their weapons.

Sarah was constantly struck by objects some of metal and wood, some human in this sea of waste. Her mouth held water mixed with this and she could certainly taste blood which at first hadn't taken notice too till now and a horrid panic shot through her. She immediately grabbed something large that floated just near her reaching out she pull herself toward it which she then turned placing the object between herself and the incoming fire.

Hoping it was enough cover she rose from the water-starved for oxygen straight away taking several lungfuls keeping her eyes closed waiting till the brain reacted from this fresh resource it desperately needed, before making any decisions, even opening her eyes too wide which of course would cause blinded from the mixture of chemicals and foulness clinging to her face.

While allowing with each breath her lungs to fill as much as possible she raised her free hand wiping her eyes feeling at once a thick layer of oil which she could clearly smell everywhere now in all likelihood a great deal many products especially highly flammable gasoline, the fear took hold realizing one spark engulfing everything in fire was highly probable.

Sarah was approaching a near panic state when she heard a familiar voice off to her left and in searching through a fog of fumes and smoke with only one eye as the other was closed for some reason she hadn't the time nor want understanding of, she saw Nancy clinging to one of the pontoons miraculously still with its medical material intact. She was calling and waving although not directly at Sarah in particular for anyone who could help for when Sarah looked closure saw Nancy's entire forehead was pearl white in color as well as black with oil mixed with the dark red of blood mixing over her eyes and face preventing her from seeing.

Maybe for the better Sarah realized as she contemplated whether she could move toward Nancy while still taking cover behind what now she saw as a large wooden box covered with oil having no identifying marks giving no idea what the contents were but happy for the simple fact hearing that now familiar thudding sound of rounds impacting into yet not passing through, stopped by something light but also incredibly strong.

With the wave action moving everything about Sarah felt a toy in a child's bath tube. One of many toys. Many of which were broken. Watching Nancy she noticed the distance was closing that indeed they were naturally approaching one another and now with her feet touching the ocean floor water at breast level she felt the safest since the ramp dropped. But Nancy wasn't. Her pontoon was bobbing up and down along with her making the two a perfect target. Yet somehow they both were safe. In all the carnage a blind nurse grasping literally a large rubber flotation had survived.

But for how long Sarah didn't think about when she pushed off with her feet and started half paddling-walking calling to Nancy reassuring her everything was going to be all right. Sarah first swam moving her box in the line of fire so as to protect Nancy as much as possible. Though good intention it was, the firing followed Sarah then caught sight of Nancy whom they hadn't noticed before. Sarah could do nothing as she saw the rounds moving from her sputtering into the water directed toward Nancy sticking her in the chest till she sank along with the pontoon as its air burst losing all the equipment as the two disappearing swiftly under the surface.

In disbelief, all happening in a few seconds Sarah continued to move toward Nancy whispering to herself 'No, no, no...' yet knew she was gone. Reaching where Nancy sank Sarah released her box and sank under the water arms moving in all directions searching for her as the water wasn't deep feeling there was still hope.

The water was too murky churning up silt from the waves and chaos above Sarah could only feel her way wishing, wanting desperately to find her. Losing air she returning to the surface when her hand touches something she thought must be the medical equipment, she turned swiftly around groping wildly knowing she hadn't much air as she grew fainter every second, her head pounding suddenly she felt a hand tied to the pontoon. Nancy had tied herself to the medical supplies wanting under no circumstances to lose the precious contents even after the waist lanyard snapped. Sarah pulled but the hand was secure not giving the slightest. Quickly she reached for her boot knife cut the lanyard releasing the two and making way to the surface with bullets still thudding her box now blocked against a mammoth of iron sheets Sarah couldn't understand, till wiping the sting from salt water out of her good eye looking upward speechless seeing it was a tank resting on its turret one tread still running the other completely gone, wondering if anyone alive in the half-sunken mass as waves crashed over its lame track.

Without another thought Sarah took a deep breath diving below beginning again reaching out for Nancy who by this time knew must be dead yet fiercely tried otherwise locating the body when surprisingly she felt the material on the pontoon and worked quickly around till she found a hand whose wrist still wrapped with regents of the cut lanyard, Sarah, this time firmly pushed off the ocean floor holding Nancy with all she could.

And here again, is time passing its illusion upon a given situation seemed minutes for the two breaking the surface, but was less than seven-seconds when Sarah freed Nancy. From the time the ramp fell till Sarah held Nancy's broken body in the waves, her head resting across Sarah's breast now clearly saw it was Nancy's white skull with the skin peeled off, with two maybe three high caliber rounds having struck her in the upper chest almost cutting her in half, lasted just over one minute.

It all slowed becoming extremely clear. With profound meaning. Lasting longer than any other memory Sarah would every retain.

Taking cover behind the upended tank Sarah knew the situation. Felt she caused Nancy's death realized her own death approached of so much then as if all the world emptied into her so many answers producing even more questions, all endless and very clear.

The increased tapping of rounds striking the tank Sarah took cover woke her from this mindset in a daze remembering everything covered in fuel she could do nothing but let Nancy's body slip from her watching it slowly sink away under the waves joining countless others. Her training regained its focus she had to move and link up with others at the designated site twenty yards up the beach which she saw now impossible due to the virtually open landscape without cover from the heavy enemy machine gun and mortar fire while managing through the countless bodies and material strewn along the beachhead.

It was discussed and planned beforehand on board Grace should this occurs and they become separated for any reason they were to make way for another rendezvous point one hundred and twenty yards further down the coastline but under the present situation Sarah new this option was also not likely as any movement either side of the take would result in high probability of being wounded or killed, unless she could use the box she'd had before as cover.

A giant insect on its back helpless the tanks tread still turning, Sarah realized any moment a spark from one single round striking its armor would set everything ablaze, she immediately grabbed the box and began half-walking, half-swimming in chest to waist high water which often covered her with rising swells desperately trying to keep the box tight against her while moving down the beach toward the second mustering point.

Crossing her mind she might be the only survivor from their craft lasted only a moment when from the left out at sea Sarah saw several landing crafts approaching. They too were taking fire even before their ramp dropped and she couldn't help feel immense dread and pain knowing what lay ahead for those onboard when suddenly she realized they hadn't seen her and headed straight for her position.

Her options were few, either turn back to the tank or move forward onto the beach which meant she'd lose cover as the box was too great for her to carry and would simply get stuck in the pebbled-sandy beach. All medical staff had limited infantry training which summed up staying as low as possible and keep moving no matter what. She could, of course, swim out to sea holding the box hoping for a rescue from returning crafts back to Grace yet as she witnessed taking cover behind the tank very few landing crafts returned as most either were completely destroyed by artillery shells or the entire crew killed from enemy fire. Those returning were running full throttle taking what wounded they could and most likely not stop to pick one person floating alongside a box.

Thinking the insanity in that was almost comical had she the time to laugh as rounds continued slugging into the box blowing off further pieces of wood there seemed little choice but returning to the tank when the craft closest to her took a direct hit from an enemy mortar blowing the ramp door completely off along with a great many of those inside torn apart pieces of bodies hurled in all directions for had an artillery shell struck the craft would simply have exploded its blast radius easy killing Sarah, but now only sea water showered down upon her containing, of course, the various fragments of those aboard for the explosion let fell a mist of black oil and red from the blood along with several helmets and a boot.

This was the craft that would have run on top of Sarah without stopping. Now it lay wide open its port bulkhead nearly torn free twisted, hung like some broken wing. The sound wave shook Sarah passing through her she could felt the vibrations underwater pushing her up the beach with its wave caused from the shell's concussion, jerked the box out of her hand tossing it like a small block of wood crashing into the tank, splitting open revealing its mystery of protection. Out from the shattered box floated a dozen or more kapok flak jackets.

Instinctively Sarah grabbed for a jacket but missed as they soon moved out of reach the tide pulling them back into the sea leaving her exposed on the beach in water little more at times than waist deep the only cover being bodies tumbling with grotesque doll-like movements waves crashing them against one another. There were occasional drums what must have contained either water or fuel but Sarah wouldn't chance to be near one. She could only hope enemy fire would lose her among the dead as she laid letting the tide move her about as the others had a brief moment thinking of the rest in her craft and what happened to them those nurse colleagues and doctors having left their profitable practices to join the war effort. Still enemy rounds spatting water impacting on the bodies created a thudding hollow sound around her at this moment should she die surrounded by dead, in all, it was Barbara who came to mind in that last glance on the craft, spoke to an emotion buried deep within Sarah stirring it slowly awake.

Among loud explosions of mortars and artillery of screams from wounded she couldn't possibly tend as there were so many and with no supplies, with hope fading as her strength too faltered exhaustion grabbing the last as thickening stench filled sea waved over her, since the ramp lowered on her craft till now wasn't more than ten minutes in passing, Sarah lived a lifetime and was at end resigning herself to such for she was not a religious woman but more of practicality, and here on this far beach from the safety of her grandmother as a child, of Grace where she felt most at home among her colleagues and soldiers, she thought how silly it was to look at the end of life as simply that.

Those thoughts still in her she had time barely noticing the fire on her left quickly moving toward her igniting everything feed by the sea of fuel and debris most certainly would reach her in a minute forced her to break from those thoughts knowing she had to get out of the water as far from it as possible, and with enemy fire pinning her against the sea permitting little movement Sarah decided it would be better than burned alive when finally she lurched over several bodies beginning to make her from the water further onto the beach.

Keeping as low as possible she began crawling when cleared from the last cover of bodies tumbled along the entire coastline she imagined as far as one could see in both directions but she was not alone. Others seeing the fire also had thought the better option facing enemy rounds rather than the fire which now consumed the area Sarah had just left startling her at the speed with which it passed over producing intense heat and black smoke now billowing over her brought from shoreward winds.

More detonations occurred in the water but not from shelling rather an ammunition of their own erupting sending seawater alight from the fuel and shrapnel raining down expanding the firestorm while some now sprang upright exposing themselves, even more, creating a greater target trying to outrun the falling hell. Those on fire dropped rolling on the beach trying to extinguish the flames but their uniform was soaked in fuel and in a matter of seconds they were nothing more than screams from searing flesh shapeless in a moment from the intense fire.

Sarah cleared the water line struggled to her knees half crawling-running low minimizing her targeted form just as large black clouds produced from the flames themselves somewhere deep inside itself ignite as temperatures rose catching alight bursting flames erupted and rose, outstretching into the sky beyond the clouds rolling forward bellowing in enormous bright reds, orange, and yellow balls of intense heat flashed out leaving only the blackened clouds which fell upon the beach in full moving in the direction of enemy gun emplacements carried by winds ahead of those trying to run clear from the fiery shore obscured in smoke from the enemy.

As the clouds enveloped Sarah and others on the beachhead they vanished into a pitch darkness completely overcome by the fumes in a matter of moments most dropping to the now sandy beach gasping for air just as enemy machine-gun fire intensified. Had they continued their path it was certain most if not all would have been killed as the distance now from enemy bunkers was halved making them easy targets.

Rounds passed over no more then a few inches as the enemy began sweeping the beach indiscriminately laying as much of a carpet from high-caliber rounds seeing the advancing army was now at an advantage hiding in the coal-blacken darkness rolling toward them with increasing speed, for if the enemy would be questioned they'd confide in the fact they felt something in the clouds as it swept across the beach, was alive.

Sarah too dropped chocking on the horrid metallic chemical taste filling her mouth and lungs remembering in youth always dark clouds appeared in her mind just before trouble reached. With the sound deafening from the large caliber weapons being fired against them along with the roar of flames she recalled there must be a thousand guns firing upon them this very moment. Then suddenly silence.

The ringing in her ears increased for the simple reason everything around grew still amplifying the effect for which Sarah believed she'd died just as the blackness passed over producing a brightness shocking those on the beach into opening their eyes, inhaling, unbelieving they remained alive, that they'd survived such an ordeal.

Though most vomited from asphyxiating fumes in a few seconds infantry steadily on the move firing their weapons for some the first time since landing toward the bunkers as Sarah had fallen directly onto the beach rose her head recognizing the difference of weapon fire watched the last of the cloud roll upwards dispersing in the wind but not after having settled on the bunkers filling their tunnels with toxic gasses killing and incapacitating the enemy to the point the advancing army moved quickly either killed or took prisoner, which very few surrendered. In fact, within a day all the capitulated enemy forces in the bunker complexes had died, poisoned from smoke inhalation.

Sand caked across her face, using her one good eye Sarah surveyed her immediate area for wounded though without any supplies she thought at least the bleeding could be minimized. Shaking she rose to her knees using a hand shielding her eye and face from the brightness for after the cloud passed the air seemed to clear, as sponged absorbing all the foulness incurred in the last hour, but had Sarah looked at her watch less than twelve minutes passed since their craft first landed.

The closest casualties Sarah noticed were dead clearly from their massive wounds and decapitations, she turned looking towards the sea and motionless viewed the horrific sight of countless burnt bodies some still ablaze tumbling in the surf and those having washed ashore. The ocean burned with the wreckage of transports and vehicles of many sorts, floating debris and through all the smoke she could see Grace not more than two hundred yards offshore taking on wounded while several landing craft successfully returned as several more maneuvered into position alongside her.

Feeling waves of shock rolling over Sarah realized how terribly thirsty she was, whispered to herself if she was on the Grace there'd be plenty of water. But here she came to terms this would be hard coming her canteen ripped off along with part of her trousers exposing her right hip to mid-thigh. In view of what had happened, she was extremely thankful for her present condition. Except her left eye remained closed. Being motionless she felt a pulsing sensation coming from her forehead, and in reaching with her hand felt a wound just above her eyebrow quickly tracing it along the extent of which started from the middle of her brow crossing just over the eye stopping at the temple. The laceration she determined perhaps half an inch wide was bleeding but not profusely. The eye closed from swelling she determined after moving her fingers gently over the area.

Suddenly from behind a scream grasped Sarah's attention quickly turning, viewed a soldier holding the left knee laying on his back rocking back and forth pressing it against his chest while bright red blood flowed through his clasped fingers some five feet away. Sarah rose on unsteady legs and made her way toward her first patient of the day.

## Chapter 4: An Hour Or So Before

Jennifer was in love. Not the first time she saw him but the third realizing he was the one she laid nights, days wanting. Now it slumped bare, exposing nerves turning raw growing from relentless mistrust to hatred. But that wasn't true. She didn't hate Adam. She always wanted him. In a sexual notion. There was that magnetism he carried. It was his scent she told her closest and really only true friend Mary, cascading along the hallways and sheet covers, bath towels, wardrobes hung full of his clothes calling to her, compelling her. Making her moist with not simply desire, but regret they'd only met now not years before when both were simply children.

Fantasizing how it would turn, Adam as a six-year-old. Twelve. Seventeen. Being near him. Touching him. Being kissed by him. Held by strong, carrying hands, their developed muscles from years playing the violin. The discipline. His sharp mind keen in learning. Remembering nearly everything experienced. Loved passionately. Endless seductive sex.

All wained and faded. She knew their ship had sailed.

They did have some passion at the start but Adam as a fragmented thinking she learned, unable to commit with anything outside his music world, she'd simply become another trophy mounted on the mantle showing those who visited often for lavish networking the powerful parties, regarding these planned strategies nothing more than manipulating those attending very clearly in her brain becoming her puppets. And was it all a daydream often catching herself lost in?

But that wasn't true either.

There were no parties other than after a concert where only a selected few woolgather afterward at some exclusive restaurant reserved only for their types allowed, all others bared, including herself Adam never once having invited her.

Jennifer stopped going to the concerts, feeling others wanting him as she does, did, for once the affairs began her heart no longer could feel. Remembering the first women he'd slept with, without remorse even, a chambermaid in the hotel she interrupted their fucking wanting to surprise him flew in unannounced opening the door of the suite he'd rented for a week hearing their sexual ranting and ravings they'd together never experience as sex with Adam was always quick without little thought other than his own want of release.

She wasn't aware how long she stood in the doorway listening, visualizing what was happening in the shower the two occupied. Perhaps ten minutes. An hour. But it was then the frost formed around her, that chill one feels as the world around fades away leaving nothing but darkness. Where later something else begins to grow. What so many people carry within. Living with. Functioning survival.

'Maybe that's what death is,' Jennifer reasoned. 'When your mother dies. Your dog. Close friend. This is what you feel,' she rationalized for she hadn't lost her mother. Nor dog for which she had none as Rex came later. Or friend because she hadn't that either. A friend as close as you could, a twin per-say, she'd none. There was only room in her for one person and he was screaming with orgasms producing the same for hotel staff having had her uniform partial torn from her, hung from the door handle a dead animal having just been skinned while the shower whose steam drifting out the open door filling the hallway, a barrier Jennifer did not want to enter knowing both their bodily oils of sweat and lust mixed with its vapor. For her the steam was that of poison burning relentless, understanding its own existence meant that of conquest. As it had always been for the human species.

Jennifer never spoke of that or any other time Adam spent with other women. Their own together became almost non-existent insofar on the last occasion he wanted sex Jennifer told him to wear a condom fearing he might have contracted any number of diseases being with so many women and possibly men for he did spend considerable time with them as well. They hadn't any sex since then sharing only a broken time seeing one another hardly even though Adam practiced his music at the house because of the studio he'd built possessed excellent acoustics.

In all Jennifer succumbed to his way of life as she too grew used to the substantial income a concertmaster in the symphony orchestra provided. Adam also conducts chamber music and other private concerts including his recordings both audio and film. There are always the tours where he spends weeks away at a time never contacting Jennifer unless required, only given a schedule which for the most part if interested, is viewed from Adam's website.

She has access to certain funds Adam established for her at the start of their marriage which he continues supporting, more than adequate allowing Jennifer the freedom of doing practically anything she wants.

'So why stay married?' Mary asked brought about an answer, not unlike many; that of simplicity. Jennifer had a very uncomplicated life which she valued greatly. Divorcing Adam would bring about changes she didn't desire nor fully comprehend for she had no higher education in the form of a degree, ever employed, nor did her family have money, the kind allowing a person to jet-off for the Bahamas without a second thought returning two months later, never wondering to check financial standings in the least.

She did go out with Mary, not shopping but just that; go out. The large house they had in the countryside an hour and a half from the city center by train was exactly what she wanted. Adam agreed seeing he didn't plan to stay there often anyway due to his schedule, even their wedding during the late evening partying taking a fellow member of the orchestra onto one of the balconies of the castle rented for the occasion giving her multiple fits not carrying whether anyone heard set the tone of their relationship as a whole.

'In the sense who cares? If you have that kind of money and freedom to do what you want so what if he fucks the way he does? What's it for you anyway?' Mary said often in the early days of their end. Now she didn't care much either way. Mary was single and always will be. She enjoyed men but to a point knowing, in the end, they still had one foot in the cave. Still, she greatly loved good sex and knew how to remedy those lustful feelings, in short, time using her phone, through those contacts.

It's not to say Mary didn't care how Jennifer felt. She knew that. But concerning Adam, she couldn't give a rat fuck for the prick, another statement Mary use in the general context describing some, but of course not all men, for there were good ones. But unfortunately, they were like the dinosaurs. Extinct. Or very close seeing near impossible to find, perhaps completely gone. That's why Mary referred to them as vanished. Lost. She herself knew two such but that was years ago in high school and what the hell did she know back then she told Jennifer over drinks a couple of times especially after several doubles, but Mary could hold her booze better than most men able to consume larges amount Jennifer noticed early in their friendship before she knew much about this mysterious dark-haired sometimes erotic female also was invited to the same dinner as Adam, those kinds of dinners offering great food and better drinks afterwards, but the company were always weak. Or so Jennifer thought. This was just one of those dinners where they first met.

They were late of course because Adam could not find the watch he always wore when going out. Most of the twenty or so guests already into their third aperitif greeted them warmly those some hated Jennifer for being weak allowing Adam to fornicate as he did, while others thought just the opposite of Adam thinking he could have done considerably better than this choice of his, and Why does he put up with her? written clearly across a growing number of foreheads, when Jennifer wondered in scanning the room noticed a women observing her over a class full of drink and ice standing next to a roaring fire for it was dead of winter, near ten degrees with blowing wind bringing the temperature more to zero wearing a thin full-length black formal evening gown to such a simple dinner, so intently observing her, when suddenly the woman winked.

Jennifer thought she must be drunk and offered a smile which of all purposes look something out of a horror film of a person being flayed alive saying, yes that feels damn good, please do go on causing the strange women to close her eyes then down the entire contents of the glass at one go in huge gulps, lowered it returning toward Jennifer with a look of you stupid woman shooting from her eyes, which from where Jennifer stood fifteen feet away looked as black as her dress.

She and Adam were handed drinks introduced by the host to a couple neither of them knew who'd just moved into the large Morrison estate previously owned by the online ebook tycoon two weeks earlier. He a wealth manager, she a prostitute thought Jennifer scrutinizing the way she fell upon Adam, but of course she was a theatrical superintendent having seen Adam before and after several concerts blablabla she fucked him of course Jennifer realized moving away from the two now engrossed talking quietly about future concerts and whether there was time for a blowjob before dinner she imagined thinking what else were they good for, when suddenly this seductive woman in black threw her ice into the fire producing a bright yellow and red flame from the alcohol and wild hissing together dying in a flash.

None of the guests seem to witnessed this by the look on their purple faces with near broken tiny veins crisscrossing noses and cheeks, under eyes from years of massive consumption, only interested in conversations of their own, the black dressed woman gazing deep into the fire

holding the glass with her long extended arms, which as Jennifer having witnessed the event, marveled at her slender long legs for she was taller than most, raised her head again looking directly at Jennifer holding her stare, without the wink waiting for some sign she was alive or so Jennifer imagined thinking.

With that exam, something happened. In the center of Jennifer's stomach there began a slight tingling. Excitement, as a child about to go on a carnival ride. About to smoke a joint. About to be...kissed. 'No. Absolutely not. I'm not gay. Never was nor interested in any of that,' leaped into Jennifer's mind. 'Are you sure?' she heard the tall woman say. Jennifer almost dropped her glass, startled clearly hearing those words over the rooms incomprehensible conversation din.

Still watching Jennifer with not a movement. Nothing in the eyes only penetrating deep into Jennifer's soul-reading all those lovely dark secrets one never wants to be known. 'Jesus Christ!' Jennifer whispered when a hand touched her elbow making her squeal giving another hot prick into her sides producing a violent twitch nearly spilling her drink. 'Why whatever is the matter, dear?' Adam smiled always giving a good show. 'Deja vu,' Jennifer blurted looking at him unknowing why, then realizing too late to retract, quickly adding, 'Thought I had seen this carpet before,' adding a queer smile Adam viewed rather repulsive causing his to fade almost at once, then remembering why he'd come to her quickly stated, 'Forgot something in the car, back in moment,' watching him turn heading toward the front door when the voice sounded again and the whore?

Jennifer turned around believing someone stood near, yet only the continuation of dribble from the guests, in fact, she was standing entirely alone, not a person close yet the words came right next to her left ear as if...whispered. Looking quickly at the beautifully strange tall woman whose eyes never left still Jennifer the other arm resting on the mantelpiece, 'still holding that glass' suddenly Jennifer's mind swam from the guests soured chatter she hated, hated as much as that woman Adam was screwing in their car, 'no doubt leaving her scent and whatever all over the seat which I'll have to smell and sit in, I'll kill him' Jennifer imagined thinking.

Aware she was standing alone in the middle of the room Jennifer drank the entire Champaign aperitif, lowered the glass only suddenly to find the tall women standing next to her startling her to the point she almost spat out the remaining mouthful but able to swallow with some force feeling instantly the bubbles crawling back up her throat ticketing the inside of her nose feeling she would sneeze when the tall woman spoke stating in a clear tone, 'Jesus you're a piece of work.'

Instinctively Jennifer stepped slightly away, trying to keep composed placing the napkin she'd been handed with the drink to her mouth covering the gassy belch produced from its quick downing speaking through the napkin, 'I'm sorry what was that?' which of course she'd understood exactly what was said but wanted time to think what the hell just happened.

'Stop fucking around,' the tall woman spoke, pausing a moment. 'Christ that's your husband's area. Worth killing for?'

Jennifer's mouth fell open unbelieving. 'Stop that,' the tall woman said forcefully as if scolding a small child for picking its nose then eating it. 'Bad enough they think what they do of you. Keep that open and they'll say you're fucking insane growing uglier too.'

'Wha...wha...,' Jennifer tried speaking, both shocked wondering having heard right or was she imagining this person could know her thoughts and cut off in mid-sentence when the tall woman taking Jennifer gently by the elbow moving in the direction of the kitchen spoke softly her lips a few inches away from Jennifer's ear, 'It's just as well dear. We're all somewhat twisted.'

Looking directly into those eyes indeed they were so dark Jennifer thought they must be black. 'They're very, very dark brown. Come on let's go outside. The booze is bad here. That color of fire proves its the cheap shit.'

The two moved from the living room without anyone seeming to notice into the kitchen, passed through which during this time in an extremely busy state readying the evenings meal where hired staff occupied in their tasks couldn't be sure whether any of the guests ever appeared when Adam and the host questioned had a woman resembling Jennifer come through on her way out the back door into the garden an hour or so before.

## Chapter 5: The Hand Touched His

It was indeed a giant labyrinth James realized scrutinizing the ship's deck plans mounted immediately adjacent the purser's office as passengers board giving them a plain view of its size. After his ticket confirmed he knew, of course, the cabin number and deck clearly illustrated on the map, yet paused for it was the first time he actually visualize the ships entirety directly before him laid out in great detail color coded symbols illustrating all the ship had to offer what each deck contained with a full index on the left of large diagrams having times and dates, phone numbers should one wish to call, VIPs including heads of state, celebrities having traveled when and why, as well as of course the ship's history from launch to present day.

Stepping closure to the board looking for his own cabin more from curiosity knowing it was clearly indicated on his ticket still he wanted to see whether it was indeed listed on this wall size layout, when James noticed someone standing next to him, or rather someone familiar as there were a number of passengers observing exactly as he.

It was odd at first for he hadn't seen the persons face, but felt an acquaintanceship almost immediately when he noticed from the corner of his eye the person moving the very instant he did toward the ships plan. No longer interested in whether he could locate his cabin he stepped back. And so the person followed exactly moving just as he giving him a humors thought, 'what if it were my shadow' making him smile slightly thinking such a possibility when from this shadow a slight voice spoke, 'Having trouble too?'

James turned sharply for indeed he'd recognized the voice that of a friend known at university. 'But that's not possible,' the thought raced through his stumbling mind for he was a logical sort of person requiring stark principles for his writing, yet had anyone else not possessing such qualities and at such a level as he, they certainly would have felt a knife slide deep into their very heart, for it was a lover James knew in his second year whom he was so passionately entrenched with body and soul then parted, having never healed from such a wound as this reopened now with a tearing across the years of which James until now, successfully buried.

And through the years James taught himself never again to come so close. And never did. Never wanting.

In that moment of remembrance, a split second before his eyes did indeed meet the person standing next there he knew it was her, that they were once again in each other's arms. That last afternoon together. Were mere kissing wasn't enough their vow of waiting till marriage before making love was broken as each could not withhold the lust and moved to a quiet part off the hiking trail they both wanted to walk since the weather had turned bright, finally warm after such a cold spell of nearly three weeks of nothing but gray rain with its chill creeping throughout every living thing.

It was the hearing of her moans as he entered her and how warm she was, how firm her body under his felt, how responsive she was to his touch, and for both, it being their first time, all returned as fresh as that days spring breeze flowing across their warm entangled sweat cooled bodies.

When he focused on those eyes of the person standing there was anything but what he'd thought. At first James believed himself gone mad his brain shuddering to a halt exhausted from its single last clear picture of life before collapsing into a shell of fear and agony, for 'My God' it whispered its last words before James stumbled backwards away from the person practically falling over had an arm not reached out grasping his elbow steading him. 'My dear boy. Are you all right?' the voice of the person spoke with that calm clarity James so often heard before having been burned into his memory. But now there was a rattling it possessed. A sort of trickery it must have, for it wasn't possible this could be that same woman just a few years before laying naked with her perfect pale smooth skin, her luscious tastes for he'd kissed her entirely that afternoon wanting to know every part of those perfections he'd become drunken with of that sweetest warmth between her thighs, her delicate waist, and smooth buttock, round breasts nipples firm from passion and cool air, her entire body glowing, full of want, a want for him whispering forever.

'It can't be,' James recoiled in horror. 'It's not...it's not...' trying to understand what he was seeing when the person spoke, 'But it is dear. You've come home. See...' and with a wave of the arm James looked at the others standing near and they too had suddenly changed. Changed from what they were just a moment ago into things he couldn't describe for he hadn't witnessed such a site nor thought any degree of withered foul beasts as these ever as they edged, moving closure to him with their hideous stumbling shuffle closing their circle of malice desire 'FOR ME!' James mind screamed.

With a flash, the ghastly foulness dropped away leaving only the passengers looking at him some voicing their concerns about his mental state. 'Is it the first trip on the ocean perhaps that does it,' an elderly women spoke directly beside him gazing upward from her questioning concerned ageless eyes into James's now wide with panic and forehead producing large amounts of perspiration even with the cool air from the night boarding, realized he'd gone mad.

His eyes raced from one to another seeing indeed they were simply passengers as before in fact some stood with him on the gangway their constant chatter even bantering of what they'd do, and not when at sea, when finally reaching their destination the very first desire they'd conduct, now James recalled with disgust but at the time thought how much he too wanted what they spoke of so freely without regards to any property whatsoever. As for him, his life grew solely on the basis of merit. And was the reason why he abandoned her leaving with only 'sorry there is someone else but the world needed more people like you' dribble he couldn't remember very clearly anymore. Not at the time though. At the time he was overcome with stupidity and regret. That he was already with another woman when he said this to Patricia which had she known might upset his plans for this 'new adventure' he liked to call them, from further developing as it had with her and the woman before.

It was his arrogant ignorance upsetting James the most sending the message to her, as always with departures he never spoke, but wrote finding it much easier than having to deal with all the cumbersome antics his 'new adventures' in the past produced, which he'd have to control in future, have to manage the fabrications better James mused finishing Patricia's letter. Having told her numerous lies especially this being his 'first' sexual relationship; he being a virgin is ultimately what caught her.

'Snared them,' he exclaimed glee shining through large brown eyes over drinks among those wanting all the details in James's forays lusting themselves for what they couldn't produce, or ever dreamt of. A reason why very few of his friends ever had children, themselves stemming from an only-child parents, offspring of that sort evolution wanted rid of.

Always seeking those from different cities so as not to complicate embarrassing moments, also confinements brought on by fear of running into previous adventure's, which took great care, with Patricia he'd made a fundamental error breaking the first in his code of rules list; not having women from the same city.

But it was worth it telling himself. He'd never been with a virgin and desperately wanted so, so much he'd gone to elaborate lengths achieving. The dinners. The over exceeding politeness shown. His great care of vocabulary. His research in her, proficient learning her desires and fears, knowing what to say, how and when. Even to weep often as did after sex stroking her telling how wonderful it was, how heavenly. It mesmerized her. It humorized him. It made more drunken friends.

And created what James had no possible idea what Patricia was to be.

'Maybe it's the excitement,' another added. 'Let's just give him some air.' Slowly the crowd loosened moving away from James resuming their discussions earnestly whether they'd have lobster tonight or steak, or get drunk and wild one younger couple added from the rear bringing laughter from all.

James stood his spine ridged yet slightly swaying breathing heavenly, sweat still on his brow. There was a complete blank in his thoughts. Not a single generated. Utter loss of self-control began firstly from a tingling sensation in the right hand holding his boarding confirmation and ticket. His left having no sensation what so ever held the small suitcase contain change of clothes, toiletries, a bottle of fine Scotch whiskey, and his unfinished writing of several new plays. Slowly he looked from the group down to his hand noticing the sensation as it spread upwards causing the arm to grow numb.

His mind tried focusing on the last few minutes but failed. He could feel the onset of cramps in his bowels and knew he had to get to a toilet soon. Turning again trying to focus on the ships plan he desperately willed himself to stay calm and find the nearest lavatory or relieve himself right here on the deck. Searching nearly a minute James located one not fifty feet forward from where he stood on the same deck.

Turning as he knew he hadn't much time, his head lowered feeling completely drained, wanting nothing more than to sit, relieve himself at the same time try and collect what coherent thinking remained in his mind yet in taking a single step halted abruptly for there was someone standing directly in front he nearly walked into.

Mumbling his excuses about to move around, the form shifted staying directly in his path as if not allowing him to pass. James's first thought perhaps the person too simply moved at the same instance he did. He stepped again wider hoping now to clear getting around the person and onto his now urgent needs. But the form again followed, blocking his way.

James lifted his head somewhat raising the eyes to meet those and lost control as their eyes met on his self and the grip of the suitcase which first dropped on its hinged side then fell to its side striking the deck a sound no different from a clapped hand causing not the least attention from those along the deck busy with their own agendas, having forgotten his valuable bottle of whisky purposely brought celebrating a new life might break.

James knew the real feeling of hope when it was ripped from you that sense of suicidal mortal aspects as they slipped through the noose stepping off the stool not wanting any failed continuation in any form existed traced back unto itself for having been unfastened, had no further need playing any role, and was free to pass onto ones greater, knowing the true value, never more abused, never questioned as the weight of such for some was crushing.

As he had since birth James neglected only using it as an aim for that of gaining, furthering ambitions. 'Why not,' consoled himself when doing such, 'everyone else is.' The effect, a limited reprieve swelled despite the fact knowing would rupture one day, dragged James through addiction. His lying yearn he often referred to it alone, and while drinking with those of his caliber, or his mixed consort especially ones trying to persuade, innocent of his ways, particularly those of the trusting nature thinking, 'if I am nice, so must everyone else be.' MY GOD how he loved their kind and certainly there was plenty to select from.

James had forgotten though, neglected taking into account, didn't want to know with conscious blocking, hated them for intruding into his mind their content clamoring of dreams either gone bad or hadn't yet arrived, of the what if's, and why me all the while not giving a damn. But through it, he always saw the rainbow of sex and positioning his two prerequisites for playwriting, a proven fact in his eyes with his third play being produced and first two successful enough for certain heads to take notice.

He learned to indulge himself with all their lives whims and whimpering, becoming interesting and often the best material for his work James used, the reason of his growing popularity, black as it was or at least the majority he chose to write about, fed attending public where selected few afterwards celebrated in debaucherous fashion well outside excepted social norms. A breeding ground for more adventures.

Then quite suddenly all that vanished as if never having taken place. As if his life never began. As if every memory having been removed James could only stand empty looking at the person having blocked his way trying to grasp the simplest of thought for which there was none, his mind a complete void casted him into the sea itself one having only the greatest cold ever felt for indeed James found himself chilled suddenly as all the warmth in his world was consumed by what before him stood as extremely beautiful yet not aware what that was. Probably the most beautiful he'd ever seen if he could only remember having seen one before, and that was the problem for James; he couldn't remember - anything.

Having fallen into some chasm without definition, without markers for reference his mind began to feel a very slow creeping. Starting from the outside closing inwards more quickly it felt in a matter of only a few seconds his entire self-consumed by nothing more than regret so profound from somewhere of his 'past'.

How he felt this, where it came from James had no idea simply it emerged as some rusted anchor his mind having broken free of setting him drift, jetting through a sandy beach and more the tide openly pealed its exposure into his world as some ragged birth a mother dreaded seeing for the first sight after such labour never wanted, yet resigned this unwanted thing nothing more than a permanent burden fouling her remaining life.

Cringing under the weight, becoming clear through those mother's eyes he now witnessed a childhood whether his or not he'd no idea. But here they passed over his mind reluctantly like drunken abandoned newspapers tumbling in a wistful breeze along avenues of thought James never wished treaded, but unaware why only feeling they'd never been acknowledged. But here he was. Forced in realizing his own makeshift shady trickery of an existence and its fragility living it all, playing over and over.

Slowly he saw the person moving a gloved hand towards his that once held the case. Terror caught him, he stepped back but found his feet firmly anchored to the deck unable allowing not the slightest of movement, except his eyes which lifted back towards the face, a face he'd seen before, or should, as there was resemblance there of some thought, somewhere.

James looked deep into those eyes that saw elsewhere. Then it came; the scent. The person gave off the slightest fragrance of something...that was close to him. Something he knew, yet didn't. In anguish searching through countless empty rooms, his mind had become with only passing recollection's never wished for nor could possibly understand although the odor...it was...Then the gloved hand touched his.

## Chapter 6: A Moment Consumed By It

Barbara enjoyed nursing. As a child tended her wounded 'beeboo's' she affectionately called, tortured by brothers constantly to the state they resembled anything but their former grand self's when first presented to her, later purchased by herself from savings earned cleaning the small corner Foremost Grocery store floor across the street everyday except Monday when it was closed.

Taking nearly two hours, after homework, she'd return home evenings around ten. And not. It was home as the word meant most always or intended, for Barbara though it was different as she outgrew the abusive nature of her brothers toward stuffed animals, her mother who attended anything concerning herself, her father who always read the paper till falling asleep, but wouldn't go to bed until his daughter was home, and being such a sound sleep would have to wake him so he could climb the stairs into his empty bed because his wife was out till early in the morning. Every morning.

Barbara thought they probably hadn't had sex since her conception almost nineteen years before, as far as she could recall her mother was hardly home just long enough to cook a quick meal for them then off gallivanting. Her brothers were just one and two years older and could remember when she was eight being left alone in their care. It was the worst of times for her 'beeboo's' and the busiest for her managing their wounds and convalescence.

Standing in the dim light of the closed store she paused a moment resting her chin under the broom handle looking at the canned tomato soup rows all nicely priced ready for the following day's purchase when she noticed everything was nicely placed. Nothing out of line.

She heard several cars drive by their lights passing through the large pane glass window of the store moving along its interior casting shadows about which Barbara played games pretending they were ships arriving with goods from afar. Or mysterious animals never before seen. Or monsters. Hungry and waiting.

But as the shadows moved through the store Barbara simply smiled watching them fade away cars having turned the corner thinking those days are long gone, with them the security of another world, but now this world was burning and she swept floors in a small store, in small town, with most thinking only of small things due to their small outlook.

She didn't resent these folks they were after all friends and elder whom she respected seeing they were her senior, and in fact most she enjoyed talking with knowing how conversations would turn, not critical either way.

'It was just people Bar. Simple like,' her father would say.

Her father is one of those and she loved him dearly as she did her brothers and mother too, although their short-comings weighed on her knowing they could do better, but simply didn't care. Till this afternoon. When the call came for her brothers.

Maybe that's why her mother couldn't stand being in the house much she thought to watch the last of the shadows hide in the back somewhere amongst the large sacks of grain and feedstock, waiting till she shuts locking the door. 'Then they'll have their own time,' she played at the thought. And it was true of course when the store opened in the morning's at seven some of the cans would be on the floor occurring a number of times because Mr. Owen the store owner called asking if Barbara had forgotten to put the fallen merchandise away, which of course was met with the usual response that nothing was out of order when the door was locked, which of course was met with the usual response, must be them pesky mice again.

Barbara was trusted with the store and had the keys since she was sixteen and never once was there any concern from Mr. Owen regarding his holdings, but thought that very moment it would probably change seeing good help was hard to find as tomorrow she'd tell the thoughtful but at times forgetful old man this week would be her last, that he'd have to find another, that she was going with her brothers as they'd gotten the call, which of course he already knew and probably assumed Barbara would do what she was going to do as it was the nature of most head strong girl.

This small town orderly world she lived in was enough. Enough to take the life right out of a person just as it had with so many of the town folks including her parents. Enough if Barbara stayed much longer she knew it would do the same to her without reservation for a thing like that had eternal hungry, governed by none, carrying for one, she told herself since she was twelve seeing her best friend move away with her family leaving her alone with only torn stuffed toys and shadows as company.

Whatever it was in a town like this for there certainly were many Barbara realized growing up, took the life right out of a person leaving them empty and bitter having been 'worked-out' they called it, when you damn near whipped the mule to death doing your bidding. She'd seen enough and didn't want to become that mule and as things happen when they do maybe by chance, or something other, her brothers got the call and would leave in less than two days. She'd go with them. As soon as she figured out how to tell her parents.

'WHAAAT!!' expecting the simplest cry out. But neither did. Her mother, stopped for a moment on her way out the door to another social event, stopped looked over shoulder and plainly said, 'If that's what you want then that's what you'll get,' held her breath about to say something more but didn't instead came to her daughter kissed her cheek turned to push the screen door open and was gone.

Barbara's father looked at her a moment then spoke calmly, 'When your grandfather returned life had gone from his eyes. I'd sure hate to see that.' His own father survived but was nothing of his former self, sitting mostly on the old porch staring, as if waiting. Maybe he thought the enemy was just around the corner. No one knew exactly because he never spoke since arriving back, but at least in peace seeing, he's gone. Her grandmother told Barbara she had her father just two months after he left. Never heard his voice he simply one day walked in front of a long-haul freighter truck killing him dragged under the wheels some twenty yards. Her father was six years old and was standing next to him when he let go of his hand and walked right into the path of that truck.

Her father told her of dreams he sometimes has of that afternoon. Not so much from seeing it all. But feeling the wind and dust from the truck as it passed by him. That was his nightmare. The strong wind and dust kicked up seeing he was only six and the freighter the size of a train barreling not more than three or four feet from him knocking him back, dust climbing high as a cloud, gravel spitting from the dry dirt road, mad hissing as the breaks locked causing its bulk to skid, sliding almost rolling, the entire left side lifted a clear two feet off the road, then slammed back down the driver corrected it's steering as the truck straightened somewhat finally halting like a twisted centipede.

Barbara's father never complained of the dreams, thought himself extremely lucky if the topic rose of the heart mummer preventing his 'call' but then again he added quietly, 'If it lasted much longer they'll take everyone,' though she knew when they occurred hearing him cry out in his sleep more often alone, his wife was away at her events.

Dragging her eyes from the soup can she felt the weight of it, or something she'd known would come when the time was near, or ending, or beginning. It drove her crazy sometimes listening to her brothers rambling on with excitement when it would be their turn, what they'll do, how many they'll kill. Now it was dead calm in the house. Now that they'd be leaving in less than thirty hours. 'They'd all be leaving,' Barbara spoke aloud in the small still store with only the rustling of indeed mice and occasional rat, keeping her company.

But how to tell them?

But you'd already told them dear.

Are you sure?

Absolutely dear. Nothing to worry about.

I suppose not.

Indeed. You should go out and have a nice drink after locking up.

A drink?

Yes. You deserve it dear.

But I'm only nineteen and just.

Not to worry dear. You'll come back a hero before all this is done. A real hero.

Don't be silly they won't give me drink for that. Nothing happened yet. I'm still here sweeping the store.

Are you dear?

When the door dropped the craft was immediately ablaze from rounds of high caliber machine gun fire directly killing three nurses and two doctors instantly blowing one of the doctors head completely off as the round struck him squarely in the face when a voice yelling to get the hell out of the craft and bring what you could, however due to the force of the craft striking the hard pebble beach all within were thrown forward falling over each other. Those first to raise slightly being the doctor and two nurses now dead. Suddenly an explosion along-side flipped the craft onto its side throwing all on board into the swells of cold sea water.

A moment before Barbara was giving directions to one of the nurses when she looked to the stern and saw a young woman she knew only slightly having not the time of speaking with due to the emerging factors at hand, staring at her. Barbara could see the intense look on the almost childish face both fear and somewhere a sort of passion she'd seen only twice before when her best friend left driving away to another part of the country never again seeing each other, and in a man she had as a lover for the briefest of time before being shipped out later killed in action.

Instinctively Barbara smiled at the woman for a moment then came the call from the boatswains mate informing they were soon to land and get ready. An instant afterward he was shot and everything changed, the landing craft slamming into the beach obviously to fast or maybe not fast enough thinking afterward as it did in its own way, save most onboard, flipping with everyone practically ejected into the cold water also saved them. Surely had none occurred in the order it did, most if not all, would have died.

And as chaos has its way of controlling elements we ourselves might not otherwise understand or wish too, with the scattering of nurses and doctors there wasn't a clear grouping sight to target for enemy gunners now only aimed at selected targets sparing their objective slaughter intended.

As Barbara tried rising to the surface she felt the weight of something pressing down, growing heavier. She remembered the time her brothers thinking it most amusing covered her using the thick quilt used in the winter off her bed rolling Barbara then sitting on both ends preventing her escape. Natural the air ran thin in that heavy bedspread almost suffocating her. Wrapped extremely tight it all came back now she was underwater, the panic felt with her brother's joke they laughed for weeks afterwards, in fact, years providing great amusement to all their friends over exaggerating how her screaming though muffled was clearly heard, only by the boys as both parents away working and socializing since early morning, left the three to work the day out for themselves. The father had to leave as his job required him out early by six every morning except Sunday, to be one time by seven, and home by six. The mother being another case.

So what could you do but terrorize your younger sister until she was twelve when they burned her favorite bear over the stove in the skillet leaving it there for her to find all the while mimicking screams as you would yourself having caught fire till she arrived where they quickly scampered off daemon-like howling as boys will with that sort of nature being in them.

The bear wasn't a bear any longer. Most of its fur singed, more than half severely burnt, with an over-powering stench filling the small kitchen causing her to feel sick, Barbara could only take the bear with a towel upstair and sat on the edge of her bed looking at what had become of something she cared for most of her life, given as present when she was three now a horrible smoldering monster. In her first week on the ambulance ship, there were several young boys suffering such as her bear had that day. It all returned when seeing those burnt young men how she felt for her 'friend' and they weren't far apart. Not how they suffered. But how one can do such towards another.

It was common in the first weeks for those new to the theater of war thinking and feeling such. Afterward, they grew numb from it, the mind and body acclimatizing. Preserving. What was more there than that? It was as real as anything ever would be. Afterward, all else seemed so ill-relevant it brought out the true madness within. That of which coping between those two worlds was reproachable only on hallowed ground one had to define for themselves as there were no rules of sanity and it's misleading, for what was normality?

Revenge upon her brothers came in the usual form, a package posted from someplace far and never seen but not unknown where dusk the only light, by whom none could ever imagine for the trueness of such was far beyond any understanding. Often worshiped in times of need, and often answered in riddles. Or not at all.

Barbara witnessed its arrival with vengeance as usual. There was no mistake when that doorbell rang, no hiding away. Their screams started late in the night and never finished till morning. They'd arrived at the table collecting what breakfast they could before stumbling off to school in a daze of wanted terror and exhaustion from sleepless nights dreaming of places they'd never speak of for fear they were real. And very close at hand. Under their beds. Between hanging clothes in darken closets. Where imagination couldn't be recognized whether anything was real or minds eye was acting up again.

Their moaning and whimpering intermingled indistinguishable from one another. At times a girlish high-pitched laugh sprang out one of them then die away taken somewhere forever chained, left eternity alone, eventually insane. Humor and the lightness thereof always had the two sides; this being the darker half.

Lasting for several months till finally even Barbara's mother couldn't tell the two boys apart for they both looked death themselves, took them to the doctor who promptly claimed a better diet and plenty of fluids with no school for a week sending their mother into near frantic despair knowing she'd have to stay with them. At home.

Revenge can play many hands as Barbara watched in only a week how far the mind can fall. By the end, her mother too looked a good number of years older. Severely strained and several more white hairs had sprouted where before was that luscious dark brown she so loved to manage in front of mirrors of any reflection available followed by deep sunken eyes with large growing dark circles under as company for the misbegotten, her mother that last night rather than attending here functions collapsed drained of life in the seat next to Barbara's father letting her head fall upon his shoulder with complete surrender to inevitability.

And then it stopped. For the first night in months no moaning or crying out came from their room. But what remained lasted years in their memories until they were both killed in action two days apart from one another. Barbara didn't receive the details until three weeks after - that they were both hit by enemy fire evacuated back to the beachhead where before leaving the island they died from their wounds.

But that's not entirely true.

They were both shot in the left leg unable to mount a counterattack, their position over-run the enemy using flamethrowers, both brothers incinerated allowing only dental records as proof.

Barbara was the only family member informed of this, never telling either parent who believed the official story till their own passing.

Perhaps they'd dreamt of their own deaths. Witness each other. Whatever it was they never spoke to her nor anyone as far as she knew of those horror-filled weeks during the day knowing what lays in store for you after falling asleep which they did although tried everything not to.

And after a while, things returned to normal and it was never spoken of. It was, however, the last time they teased her caring for such silly items as her stuffed friends and when notified of their deaths Barbara couldn't help be relieved for them knowing what they must have endured all those years and their finally horrific ends. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it knowing there isn't much in her life she controlled thinking the same for the both of them. That most things had to happen one way or another. And if you interrupt that, the consequences where dear.

Barbara felt the weight unbearable, losing conciseness from lack of air knowing there wasn't any more time at the very moment she felt her feet touch bottom her legs instinctively pushed upward with all the remaining strength she had trying to throw-off whatever it was weighing her down so.

At the first instant, there was no reaction she was now being crushed as the heavy force drove her feet into the soft muddy bottom. Then suddenly an explosion sending shockwaves shifting the weight above her allowing it to slide off where immediately she pushed again with a final effort extending her legs as all the air ran out of her body just as she broke surface taking great gulps of rancid oxygen causing her straightaway coughing and choking, as a watery vomit ejected from her.

Someone grabbed her by the small backpack they all carried containing the most immediate medical supplies including drinking water, bandages, and morphine, pulling her forward and in a moment Barbara was half running, half stumbling on the pebbled beach where everything in her life was ripped away thrown into chaos mixed with flames and smoke, gunfire, screams, explosions, solders running, crawling in all directions, floating bodies, pieces of bodies, pieces of vehicles, eruptions of low flying aircraft passing just over their heads, medics having landed in the first wave tending the wounded, and all she could do was look back wanting to see what had held her underwater then wish she hadn't for it was the bodies of those she'd landed with, her colleagues and friends now dead, tumbling in the heavy surf with its deep red almost black color spreading along the entire landing area.

Suddenly she was jerked by the force holding her causing her head to spin she thought she'd pass out when the voice she recognized yelled at her to keep moving was that of David the young doctor just having transferred aboard she'd meet briefly a day or so ago. A day ago what did that really mean in a place like this for no training could prepare any of them for what they were experiencing. Only the veterans had a sense of what this was before landing and they spoke very little about it to others for the reason of firstly, not wanting to relive the facts until they actually stepped foot into them and second, those not having witness wouldn't believe it anyway.

It was paramount to keep moving forward off the beach as quickly as possible, linking up at your designated rendezvous point in order to achieve the main objective that of killing every last one of the enemy. Trained for months many of the soldiers were clear in their thinking, but once the doors and ramps fell open and hell greeted them with its embrace, some of them forgot those instructions, or remembered but couldn't act well enough upon them.

And there were those simply who's time it was, and were killed directly on the beach. The majority did, however, move forward though each island landing was different insofar beaches were either coral-based, sandy or hard pebbles to black volcanic which seemed to cut into flesh finding its way into boots and trousers, shirts and eyes.

Their coastline was entirely hard pebbled providing good footing and easy access off of, however with the landing of artillery or mortar fire upon it those pebbles became small projectiles easily killing and maiming anyone caught in its fire including material for some of the medical supplies that did survive the initial landing though wooden crated, were later torn to shreds. Of what remained in their landing only twenty percent was salvageable.

David though not a physically strong individual became one with adrenalin pumped throughout his body practically carried Barbara out of the surf into a mortar crater throwing her down then himself falling upon her as artillery continued pounding the beach while machine gun fire sputtered the opening of their position bringing any further advance to a halt.

It was deafening as the two were showered with debris allowing only the possibility of holding one another forming some sort of relevance to the life they'd known just a few minutes before. In covering her face with her hands Barbara permitted her fingers a slight opening wanting mostly out of curiosity and instinct allowing the eyes to observe found they weren't alone in their hollowed out bowl of earth. Three other's laid curled up as cats in the winter she thought; two soldiers and a medic who himself was wounded trying desperately to take a bandage out of his bag. Barbara saw at once this would be near impossible as most of the medic's hand he used trying to work the bandage missed three fingers while the other hand was completely crushed.

The same moment Barbara yelled at David to get off she pushed using all her strength forcing him to slide off somewhat giving room to move out from under him where she immediately crawled over to the medic grabbed the bandage from the bag and started wrapping what she could see now was a completely useless hand which certainly would be amputated.

In securing the bandage Barbara searched inside the bag and found a smaller bandage for the other hand and began wrapping it as quickly as possible for she noticed her hands were shaking violently and wanted to finish the job before she lost control of them. Thinking anything other than the present task knowing instinct would take over for she'd bandaged hundreds before, in safe hospital beds, she was sure her skills would pull through. She thought of the time in the store late one night when a stray cat with an injured paw found its way into a dark corner for the night, safe from marauding dogs which sometimes found the less fortunate tearing them apart, when she stopped her sweeping and called gently to the frightened animal who simply looked a moment at her then closed its eyes the way cats do feeling somewhat relaxed. Thought the stray wouldn't let her approach to close Barbara was able to at least open tin of meat laying it a couple of feet from the cat who after hunger won left its safety approaching the can slowly then began to gorge being absolutely ravenous, and when finished moved back slowly into its corner never taking its eyes from Barbara who simply stood back watching noticing the eyes had look of content mixed with fear. Just as the medic when their eyes meet as she first grabbed the bandage from the half-opened bag; fear and extreme graduated.

It all passed slowly Barbara thought later when reliving that time with the cat. The sounds remained of battle, but the visual elements began its crawl through her mind worked it's methodologically self when she grew extremely focused. And here was no different. It was as she'd noticed before; how easily work became. Applying the bandage was simple, searching again the bag finding another vile of morphine, injecting the crushed hand first knowing it would soon waken for the medic was still in shock himself was straightforward. Locating another vile raising it up to the medics face, nodding her head which he replied the same telling her he knew it wasn't enough, as she placed the second morphine into the other arm injecting just above the wound, she could see the medic relax and slowly lay back restful as best one could.

It was all accomplished with speed but differential with the context of her surrounding to the point she simply wasn't connected with anything other than making sure her work was accomplished well. In those first seconds after applying aid, Barbara knew he had the best care possible with these circumstances, and confident once aboard the ambulance ship he'd survive. The following moment after realizing all this she was back again in the crater with David holding her upper arm firmly in his hand pulling her back against its forward facing side providing more cover when three soldiers jumped in on top of the two with full force practically knocking the air from both of them.

The natural tendency in situations such as these is making yourself as small as possible. But when oxygen is pushed from your lungs an immediate reaction for most is to straighten the abdomen area providing unrestricted flow of fresh air. But with the weight of a full grown man carrying weapons and material the options were either push and try to roll out from under or suffocate.

But as it were the soldiers have entered the crater almost immediately left only after firing several rounds at the enemy then climbed over the ridge and were not seen again; all lasting no more than ten or five-teen seconds. But in that time both Barbara and David saw the eyes and expressions of those soldiers showing just their own mixture of bewilderment, fear, and determination, and just before they disappeared one turned to David a single word over the horrendous noise while gesturing his head toward the sea they a few minutes ago entered this madness could be heard; 'fire.'

The two turned to look in the direction of the ocean, when promptly both mouths opened either with the intention of speech or amazement for a huge black ominous cloud seemed alive rolling toward them bellowing bright orange flame thrusting madly outward from within the depths as if hell unleashed its own breath exhaling upon the gray miserable sky and in a moment consumed it.

Ship

## Chapter 7: Barbara Remembered

Grace a six-deck floating ambulance ship approached the closest to shore for any of the large medical relief ships, an ability to be in harms way giving wounded troops more expedient access to hospital evacuation ships. Having litter space for seven hundred and two thousand five hundred ambulatory patients with five operating theaters including medical and surgical equipment as well as psychiatric facilities all sorely needed to deal with the horrors of combat.

Having armaments herself for protection Grace disembarked elements of the beach assault wave able to contain more than eighteen-hundred troops bringing food and ammunition forward while simultaneously transferring casualties off the beaches due to her special designed low draft of twelve feet allowed quick embankment with the landing vehicles, who then were evacuated to hospital ships and better facilities.

Herself having a ships complement of four hundred thirty including nurses and doctors sustained casualties amongst their own one morning around five-thirty while in convoy en route to deployment when a low flying enemy aircraft was spotted. Moments later the craft slammed into Grace within an instant her superstructure became walled in flame. The results were devastating with exploding ammunition further wounding and killing crew and troops alike, burst water lines and steam pipes rupturing electrical conduits crippling the ship's communication and damage control capabilities extensively.

Rescue landing crafts came alongside to assist with firefighting which continued to burn four hours permitting the Grace to take on a heavy list to starboard while crews continued battling the fire's containment along with further tragic detonations of live ammunition including a devastating explosion from the force of the impact carrying parts of the enemy aircrafts cockpit and engine penetrating deep amidships slicing open the surgery theaters bulkhead striking oxygen tanks.

With the fire being fought three hundred wounded troops were evacuated off to waiting vessels as all amidships wards were destroyed along with one of the key surgical theater bays. In total over two hundred and fifty died including eighty-three crew, twenty-seven of which were nurses and four doctors before the fire was finally extinguished five hours after the explosion resulting in a fifty-foot serrated hole extending from the bridge to the bulkhead deck. If there was ever an abandon ship order given most if not all medical staff agreed to stay allowing wounded into what small amount of lifeboats there were on Grace.

There were numerous strafing attacks Grace endured causing deaths and damage to the ship totaling over eight-hundred and fifty rounds. She survived narrowly missed torpedo runs and near collisions with mines, struck coral reef atoll on two separate occasions causing damage below the waterline while evacuating severely wounded troops trapped succumbing to a more than thirteen and eighteen-degree list before repairs could be made from both evacuations.

Of the twelve ambulance ships, Grace received the most hardships both from battles and wounded often having to participate in disembarking troops during severe bombardment while receiving wounded she tended before transferring them to the larger hospital ships lying offshore at a safer distance.

In the past year her executive officer became a fatality along with over three hundred of her crew, yet she safely landed over twenty-three thousand troops, while conveying over four thousand five hundred wounded during of which many times crew were dismounted from their beds used for the wounded and sick along with cots, desks, sofas, chairs even passageways filled during some battles.

But the nurses' roll wasn't simply that of stabilizing wounded, it also pertained to training corpsmen who for the most part had never seen the inside of a ship such as Grace unless they themselves had been admitted as casualties. Once trained the corpsman would leave joining fighting ships where they would later join troops on the invasion beaches rendering initial emergency medical treatment in a combat environment.

Barbara had the task teaching corpsman, while also instructing those twenty-three others under her, as well as conducting rounds with doctors taking notes concerning hygiene and evaluating nurses' performance all very different than sweeping floors at the corner store, but she excelled in her academic studies of medicine promoted her rapidly partially because those of her caliber were few, and she was a natural leader, well liked and respected.

When the plane struck that morning Barbara was busy assisting with an amputation including a nurse had just arrived onboard whom she new vaguely when Grace shuddered under its impact. Almost immediately the lights failed first twinkling rapidly then darkness. For a moment Barbara and the doctor didn't move waiting to see whether the lights would come on again or would another explosion follow for they had no idea of the current situation and though the ship was being shelled or worse, torpedoed.

It was critical lighting be restored as the leg the doctor half sawed through stopping as the ship rocked from the impact, the femoral artery though clamped, was only temporary as the amputation itself would only take a moment with suturing the artery directly after. Yet as both froze from instinct waiting for something worst revealing itself, and training remaining calm under stressful conditions paramount in their work, Barbara stood next to the doctor with sutures ready when the doctor spoke one word; light.

At once she laid the suture material directly in front of her so as to have it quickly at hand not losing it in the now penetrating blackness which seemed to grow giving birth to another life all its own for even with training and confidence Barbara felt the fear in her raise awaking imagination reaching under the surgical table felt the small battery operated emergency lamp each table required to maintain, located the switch instantly sending out its illumination which she cast upon the patient carefully directing it for optimum effect, whereby the doctor continued with the cutting off of the leg and himself directly taking the suture began security stitching the artery.

From some distance came muffled announcements both Barbara and the doctor paid no attention to, concerned only with the operation which both knew in a few minutes would be finished for there was not time waisting as new casualties would soon arrive. Judging from the explosion and its effect upon the ship something horrible occurred both knew costing lives with undoubtedly many casualties.

With her free hand Barbara had ready the wrappings for the end of the leg which was just above the knee as the soldier had been shot in the calf tearing most of the muscle away, though it was hoped to have been saved, the attending nurses new there was little chance as the infection spread quickly seeing he was several days in the jungle prior to being evacuated aboard Grace due to intense fighting.

Unfortunately the explosion affected not only lighting outage but of course meant all electrical, resulted were only three hands in the quiet stillness working instead of four at a critical time till Barbara quickly using its clasp locked the light onto the standard utilized for intravenous injections, adjusting it again upon the doctors work, was in the middle of changing gloves the first casualties entered along with a flood of light from crew carrying large portable emergency lamps immediately changing the environment from the first few times she'd swept the store's floor in almost pitch black alone thinking she'd heard something move in the shadows remembering those dark clouds and how they rose around her when a child, moments before trouble arrived. trying to calm herself humming a tune this being her greatest fear at the time, seeing how her life had changed forcing her almost to laugh aloud thankful her surgical mask covered the smile, to opening an entire different gleaming world she loved dearly, one of special camaraderie a place such as this can only produce.

It wasn't till after more than twelve hours in surgery did Barbara hear the full details, of those killed and injured. She knew it was very serious just as everyone aboard. The ships listing cause mild panic among the more inexperienced crew including medical staff its countermeasure of which was keeping their minds off the possibility of sinking and further explosions as there were a number a few minutes after the initial blast comprising of ammunition for the five-inch duel-purpose and forty millimeter anti-aircraft guns compounding the already dangerous and mentally traumatic situation insofar ambulance ships were safe refuge. Or so it leads most to believe.

That morning everything changed. The wounded on board most averaging age of just seventeen grew extremely distraught with each minute knowing woman nurses were among the dead. Troops waiting for embarkment planned the following day along with a total of more than two hundred thousand on other ships, one of the largest of the war yet, could barely contain the growing hatred, their superiors constantly ordering them to stand-down and 'save it for the enemy' thought most were being transferred to other ships some would of course miss the initial landing as Grace battling for survival herself took on water through several ruptured seams in her hull, slowed to only a few knots per hour as the remaining convoy steamed on toward their objective.

The smell of smoke went throughout the entire ship passing along ventilation ducts, but with the surgical bays strategically placed on different decks, not within one confined area or deck, saved a great many casualties though till the fire was controlled and eventually extinguished ventilation on the entire C Deck which Barbara was second in command were turned off preventing toxic smoke entering the operating theaters, however rose the temperature to over a stifling one-hundred and five degrees. Those high temperatures lasted till the following day putting extra stress on wounded treated and birthed on that deck including medical staff, but none was worse than the listing of Grace which sadly continued as firefighters having poured water on the blaze rabidly pumping it out, hadn't the opportunity though inspecting further damage till much later after the fire and the munitions were both safely contained when calculating why she continued her instability finally discovered when damage control parties inspecting the hull witness just how dangerous the ship was of sinking.

With final inspections and calculations completed, it was estimated in less than twenty-four hours Grace would have to be abandoned at that time her list would cross the point of axis, unable to correct, slipping over onto her starboard side most probably capsizing before eventually sinking in all likelihood, but this would not happen as Tanner received strict orders to scuttle Grace allowing no possibility the enemy laying hands on her, of which was not released to the crew except senior officers, thereby keeping morale at its highest possible.

The closest dry dock facilities were three days at her flank speed of twenty-two knots. In her present state if repairs could be made it would take nine days and at such a reduced speed without escort she would either be bombarded from enemy shore batteries and naval vessels at sea or highly likely attacked from air patrols strafing and torpedoing her till she was destroyed.

Two options remained; conduct repairs and make way for the dry dock, or run her aground on the nearest island more than twenty hours from their current position.

There was first disbelief when news spread of the ship's condition as the hole from the aircraft was a good six feet above the water line even with her listing, however because of the explosion sending vibrations fracturing several seams along her hull it was a fatal blow for the ship with little slowing of the water she was taking on other than continue with the pumps but soon they too would be overwhelmed with the volume of water entering the ship.

Then panic crept along the wounded who, having just survived the horrific ordeals of battle, saw themselves being left behind to drown in a ship they thought safe and protected against such atrocities having delivered them unto their current situation in the first place for many was simply too much. Corpsman and all other crew were summoned to their muster points informed of the situation and told to keep the wounded calm and confident they would be looked after with the greatest care possible. Yet even members of the crew knew the inevitability of such ship heading for dry dock was suicide and hoped command would choose the latter and make for the island.

The situation quickly grew exhausting. Nursing staff having attended to the casualties from the collision for the past twelve hours had little or no rest. Barbara, second in command of B Group consisting of thirty-seven nurses, eighteen corpsman with twelve doctors attending, was called along with her first officer Lieutenant-Commander Carla Hampson to attend a meeting of senior nursing staff including the ships captain Surgeon Commander Bill Tanner and his senior staff, herself hadn't time to eat since the aircraft struck over twelve hours ago, too busy attending patients and assisting in numerous operations, including her own tasks as second officer for her group, found the entire situation one of complex decision making for those on board, and those they failed to assist from battle soon to be fought, those wounded and those who would die because Grace was unable to respond. That and losing close friends and colleagues, as well as casualties put Barbara into a darkened hole she hadn't felt since childhood when her brothers laughing about a silly scorched toy, the great pain, and despair she felt then, now revisited her partially because of her exhaustion and relentless demands placed upon her and the crew, but also they would loose Grace their home, the only connection with a world they left behind, now herself mortally wounded a casualty they all strived to tend while fighting an enemy they could hardly see.

Bill Tanner was short on words as usual. Always direct he laid out the scenario in less than a minute summed up with, 'We're going aground, make ready.'

Looking back one could feel the weight of those words the rest of their lives. Those who survived. Everyone in that meeting including Barbara and Carol felt a relief but also a form of panic churring in their stomachs as the island they were heading for was small and therefore luckily overlooked by the enemy as any great value, though patrolled both by sea and air. The likelihood of enemy troops occupying the island was possible but of any large contingent highly unlikely though Tanner wasn't taking any risks wanting to know beforehand what we'd face the commander requested all update information concerning the island sent to him directly, which he would forward to all departmental heads when received.

It had to be understood Grace was not being abandoned. She would be re-floated and salvaged when the battle damage repair ships arrived within eight to ten days seeing present weather conditions predicted Typhoon Lois would pass within three hundred miles producing strong winds and rain hindering relief efforts several more days.

The meeting lasting only ten minutes was dismissed with Tanner informing all we were entering a very dangerous situation but seeing the other alternative it was the best offered and wished us all safe passage. Carol turned to Barbara giving orders then disappeared with other departmental officers for another meeting alone with Tanner in his cabin walking along the passageway which for Barbara seemed comical for its list was more precarious than she thought before the meeting. She knew all suffered from the same exhaustion as herself, all looked worn to their own ends. But it was only the start she recalled later for the real battle of survival was soon to come and there wasn't time to stand around having this hang about your neck like a chain of despair.

Grace would survive this and the crew too she told herself out loud, received even though Barbara wasn't aware she verbally spoke the words, a heartfelt agreement from several of those standing next to her, both officers and enlisted, medical and operational crew members there was no difference in their unity and desire. They had to act as one just as they'd all been trained in order to see through and not dwell on the possibilities of enemy capture, sinking before running aground, possible attacks from both sea and air now complicated with that of land for there wasn't much details Tanner offered regarding what they'd face once Grace was aground. Perhaps he didn't know himself but on her way to meeting with her staff, Barbara felt the commander did know but didn't want to say for fear of panic and scuttlebutt which in the wrong manner could paralyze many of those willing to accept its words as fact.

Word had already gone out for her staff to meet with her in the mess deck away from as many wounded as possible where once there Barbara wasted no time issuing orders and getting food. It was critical all elements as best as possible were in place when the ship went aground and more importantly 'stayed' in place. The last thing she felt was having her group fail in their task which could and most probably would affect other groups just as their faults would hinder her own groups' capabilities.

In issuing orders she saw for a moment the deep impact the last twelve hours had on her staff and quickly realized it wasn't only B Group but the entire ships complement remembering now similar expressions of those in the meeting, even Tanner showed signs of extreme fatigue. It wasn't enough we'd been at war which for some seemed to have no end, Grace herself commissioned just six months after the onset had seen her share involved in fourteen battles, embarked over twelve thousand seven hundred combat wounded, with more than twenty-three thousand troops landing during beach assault waves.

In concluding her orders Barbara paused a moment reflecting her training but most of all her feelings for those standing around her. Most she'd known since her own arrival three years before, some of the newer nurses she only spoken to briefly, 'not enough to know them well, but well enough to know them' was the expression nurses understood for the fact in realizing some casualties you lost and knew you would, yet tried staving that inevitability as the severeness of their wounds left little resort only providing some last moments for those dying in comfort simply being there. Holding a hand. Talking with them. Allowing them a friendly face, the last they would ever see.

There wasn't time to look at each of her staff now less than the original twenty-three nurses five killed in the operating theater where the plane did the most damage, but Barbara did notice a younger nurse only once having spoken with earlier thinking perhaps just two or maybe three weeks ago. There was something in her Barbara thought when first seeing Sarah. Her light-brunette hair kept shorter than normal cut just under the ear, was unusual seeing most nurse's had longer hair, but possibly it were eyes seeming to look past you when they fell upon you.

Barbara recalled their first meeting, rather informal on her part, very military from Sarah's as she'd only just arrive Grace being her first duty assignment, now again up-close, clearer as it was that first, and indeed here again the eyes held you Barbara thought to herself as Sarah standing an arms distance from her gazing at her commanding officer, a longing of sorts Barbara couldn't recognize wondering if that look was simply brought on from fatigue she imagined.

But she wasn't. And she knew. Trying to fool herself pushing it away trying to control her thoughts concentrating on the task at hand. But she couldn't.

Barbara turned away talking with the other nurses but wasn't of any use her attention returned to Sarah's intent look. She was drawn to it now. It had power. Barbara realized she was staring at Sarah but couldn't help it and know she needed to break away otherwise the other nurses wouldn't understand finding the situation somewhat strange, so she asked Sarah whether she had any questions hoping it would detach herself.

The others looked at Sarah knowing she was the newest of their group wondering what she might say but found themselves at a loss with her reply, 'There'll be trouble on the island' for she didn't blink nor deviate in any manner as if in a dream her soft light voice floated throughout the group striking them all as rather strange hearing this 'boot' comment without direct force nor real meaning; simply giving a statement. Something as a matter of fact that everyone should have already known, that was the tone of Sarah's voice. She was lecturing them, as a parent tells a child, but not in a stern manner.

Most of the nurse's looked at Sarah for a moment then Barbara spoke bringing all their attention back toward her again, 'Correct. It is expected there will be trouble, the islands occupied enemy territory and...'

'Commander Tanner knows,' Sarah interrupted Barbara again with that same tone.

There was dead quite among the nurses. They didn't know what to make of all this till one spoke up saying, 'If you know something then speak out otherwise stop with the theater,' which brought forth verbal agreements of 'yes' and 'that's right' as none there were in any mood for the present situation. Except one who was intrigued by Sarah's choice of wording but Barbara didn't wait for the next round stating, 'Yes, the Commander knows and he's informed us so let's move. You know your required tasks.'

'He's been there before,' Sarah added this time the group stirred restless thinking the 'boot' had lost her mind from stress while 'they better get a move on or there'll be hell to pay' was muddled throughout their circle a common enough expression yet now carried with it reality, should they fail, the consequences being dire.

All these element were at play Barbara immediately noted quickly bringing everyone's attention back towards herself dismissing the group all aware of the new imposing weight they each must endure departed in smaller groups reviewing assignments as Barbara called out to Sarah to stay a moment while at the same moment signaling her supervisor with a nod it was alright and to move out with her own group.

The two stood looking at one another after the group dispersed than in a second Sarah stepped forward eyes watching Barbara stopping just a foot away causing her commanding officer to flinch the slightest by her quick movements drawing back her head and torso, then spoke softly, 'He knows.'

Barbara looked deeper into Sarah's face studying it closely looking for signs of anything related to madness for certainly this young woman fresh from the world must be insane stating the way she did about the commander, not simply out of line for a junior officer but also 'what' she had spoken.

Barbara knew for a fact the commander had never stepped foot on the island, nor even close to it in the three years, she'd been on board. There was the possibility he had prior the war, but she thought it was highly unlikely and besides this wasn't what bothered her, rather the way Sarah spoke of it as it were a warning.

Searching Sarah's face with its deep brown eyes Barbara saw nothing other than a young woman like so many onboard afraid while at the same time enthusiastic. And something else was there Barbara saw. Something for the first time beginning to show itself, or possibly was all along simply failed to see during their initial brief encounter.

It was a look of longing. A desire to be understood as Barbara gradually became aware coming through Sarah's even more youthful face her hair styled in its manner easily removed several years causing her in an instant to wonder whether the reason she wore it as such, when the very thought was ripped away as Sarah reached out taking Barbara's hand in her own.

The existing shock lasted longer if it were from another for Sarah's hand was incredibly warm as it firmly held, yet with a mental force griped while rubbing her thumb gently on the back of Barbara's hand, stroking as if to comfort, she immediately relaxed never allowing the eyes wander from Sarah's knowing they were linked with what she felt both physical and much deeper.

Feelings of something lost, misplaced in a mind stored within a huge attic having countless boxes all identical without markings of any kind, dreams and hopes laid buried among memories wishing better tomorrows, happenings relived, or never were, Barbara's realized even through her mounting exhaustion, searching through the endless boxes there was one slightly opened which she grasped lifting the top slowly off showing her something she'd indeed forgotten, misplaced in all the dealings one has in their every day wandering through needs and fears, lusts and contempt; she'd known Sarah before.

But the memory though vague produced a trail glimpsing into that arena where they once meet, for memories can be judgmental especially one such as this, Barbara strained to fill the holes which were numerous altered what actually happened between them both, as thoughts each time recalled become weaker the mind adds what it think's 'you' wish to see into supplying something coherent. Something 'we' think is consistent. Something entirely different then what in point of fact actually occurred.

And Barbara knew that. Knew the mind prevents showing the truth either for salvation or chemical. Preventing shock or lack of connectivity, 'it' can seduce, guide, even mislead for want of something better showing you all there is, but never was. Can create a madness or birth a genius. Can strive for perfection, foster ideology, revel wanton submission in the masses, succumb to the greater demands of others. Even kill. With glee.

It is in itself the one prime venture haven't yet taken. Understanding who you really are. And at that moment staring into that box filled with horror and pleasure Barbara remembered.

## Chapter 8: Where Their Obsession Began

Both felt the warm sun reach along their bare backs as they stretched under its heat in so matching desire for one another they couldn't distinguish yet whether life actually left them or were they still entangled lovers, passionate acts of sex having lasted hours if not days neither could recall fully which, nor had that mattered having reached such a state one bothered little with such petty notions. Always too short that honesty of true love fleeted with the sign of constraint approaching.

Being with others was part reality part trance for both but together existed only that of wanton pleasure. Having the chance however brief, knowing truth of one another stemming from themselves which insofar produced an overwhelming satisfaction of not having the weight of living that constant lie they carried dragged along dark corridors, once committed to an act they now terribly regret nevertheless must sustain for the fact is was a choice they themselves made thinking it pure and sound, was nothing more than another lie. Perhaps their greatest and in living it saw only a growing contempt of themselves in worlds they created. Built on broken reality nothing mattered only getting on with the drudging affair, wanting sleep most of all, a release from monotony and their own pride imprisoning them, for it was their flamboyancy reveled amongst others, needing to be needed they now deplored thinking once devil-may-care, till it all collapsed leaving the floundered dying soul as a memento that day they first met when thought came in such a brush sweeping aside any they'd known before, as to the very how's and why's carved deep within their desires; had they ever existed without each other as time has with day, as night with darkness?

And so the obsession began.

None thought such possible separating of the two. Those closest knowing their true intent grew jealous wanting such for themselves, that not too rare passion had they not simply misjudged its entire meaning, it's passing often enough, but seldom unseen by most having lost the opportunity in its incorruptible essence, of innocence.

As the ship slide upon the sandy coastline her keel rested burying herself some three feet, secure no longer from fear of sinking, her listing increased slightly having endured the distance when she came about deciding the best course by her commander, in less than twelve hours, without enemy aircraft attack but did encounter several artillery rounds from the island itself illuminating what was hoped to be uninhabited with the brightest possible sign of their pending future laid now greatly uncertain.

It was hoped as Tanner being informed, the small island held no key or any point for that matter of interest to the enemy proved wrong that indeed the enemy with capabilities of inflicting damage upon Grace attempted insofar of the four rounds fired at her three came to within ten feet of her bow sending huge geysers into the air showering the superstructure which caused problems seeing all the widows of the bridge had been blown out from the impact of the enemy aircraft and subsequent explosion of the oxygen bottles in the surgical bay which continued to smolder with occasional fires flaring up due to various combustible materials.

Fortunately none of the artillery rounds caused damage to Grace only that of first shock, then fear for the ambulance ship having greatly lost her maneuverability and reduced speed produced a warfare both of artillery as well as psychological upon its crew and casualties not seen before since Grace though having come under and received at times considerable damage from incoming fire but never when she herself were unable to manage a single return fire seeing her ammunition stores transferred to other ships earlier, left the ship defenseless save the seventy-five fifty caliber machine-gun rounds the commander ordered not be used unless the enemy attempted to board the ship itself there being including ammunition so few small arms among the crew.

As they neared the island they also heard small arms fire immediately after Grace was consecutively fired upon. Then silence. After the fourth round it landing the nearest, no other fire was received from the island leaving those manning the machine gun positions on the port side for the starboard was destroyed from the collision, anticipating incoming fire directed at their positions. One small consolation, they hoped the enemy didn't know their five-inch gun was without shells and would target that first though unmanned in anticipation of such an attack could provide possible location whereby they would be targeted by aircraft from the carriers launched as support for Grace on her approach to the island.

As Grace slid through the sandy bottom, a welcome relief from all aboard for there was very little intelligence about the island, damage control parties lowering small boats came alongside immediately began securing the exterior section of her hull now that all flames were extinguished with the fire watch set throughout the ship set soon after the aircraft struck, when on the bridge Commander Tanner along with all those present suddenly heard a faint radio transmission calling the ship directly, using Grace's classified signal.

At first there was general disbelief their call signal known by only a few staff members from intelligence division, and only to be used with the utmost importance. No other commanding officers in the convoy task force knew any of the other ships call signals for security reasons meant intelligence itself was contacting them directly.

'KAL316 over,' the faint whispering voice repeated Grace's call signature. 'Do you copy? Over,' adding slowly.

Tanner thought for a moment looking at his senior three communications, navigations, and damage control officers on the bridge, all returning a blank expression, then reached for the headset and stopped.

'A trap perhaps,' Tanner stated more to himself that the others present. None of them had any combat experience being only from the rear brought on Grace for this particular mission.

'Unlikely,' the communications officer spoke. 'It's on the secure channel and call signature is exact,' he added monitoring its authorization through the relay matching frequency in cycles each signature owning their unique identifiable character sign had.

'But not our co-ordinance,' added navigations.

'Nor signal pattern commander,' the communications officer spoke abruptly.

True, they all knew without their location signal justified and relayed back to them, it meant certain cause for alarm that indeed they were being drawn into a corner having them answer without waiting for the confirmation code thus revealing their exact position.

It was possible the ships call signal, though highly classified as all ships in this particular convoy were, could have been compromised and revealed to the enemy, which if the case had Tanner acknowledge the incoming request, alerted whoever on the received end their positions and very possibly used calculating the location of the convoy itself.

Tanner looked again at his fellow officers but once more found no confirmation whether taking the headset from the receiver would be the best option or simply ignore it, for once removed the set would automatically send the receiving beacon to the initial sender, designed as such should the receiver be incapacitated would only have to key the set when lifting from its cradle.

But there was one fail-safe designed in the system preventing accidental sending the code for each ship had their own distinct coded signal pattern once received initiated the sequence allowing in any account the headset removed of the code being forwarded, and Grace had yet to receive her individual code.

Tanner could of course give verbal confirmation countermanding all safety factors speaking the signal pattern code, their co-ordinance and his personal access code all commanding officers of vessels in the convoy were given for this particular mission directly into the receiver sending it immediately, but under the circumstances paused.

'KAL316,' the voice even fainter repeated the call signature, pausing then added a moment later, 'Whiskey-Alpha-November-Gulf-Yankee-Zero-Niner over'.

Immediately Tanner seized the headset and spoke directly knowing correctly the ships signal pattern and under strict orders having done so, had only three-seconds to respond with his own authentication code or communication terminated automatically for which re-instating would be a very long arduous process taking valuable days with conditions the convoy having strict communication regulations in-place, was underway toward designated classified locations for deployment of more than its two-hundred thousand troops the largest since the war, and hopefully a major turning point in it's ending.

'Zulu-India-Mike-Tango-Three-Seven-Charlie over,' Tanner having spoken with great clarity waited anxiously along with the entire bridge crew for the response also required within the three-second margin when finally, it came.

'Copy Grace, was the simply hushed reply whereby allowed now secure communication between both parties.

'This is CPT Watson third division RDF over,' Watson whispered.

'Copy CPT, Commander Tanner here CO Grace. What's your task, over?' Tanner keeping his voice low sensing there was a reason for Watson's muted speech.

'Secure your landing, over.'

Tanner was at a loss for a moment looking at the others thinking what did Watson mean exactly when it became clear those explosions they'd heard before Grace landed and rounds fired must be direct results from Watson's rapid deployment forces action while his communication being as such most likely were still in contact or close proximity with the enemy, 'But why would command want to secure Grace when it had obviously more important issues to grapple with,' Tanner thought aloud.

'Copy CPT,' Tanner replied speaking only when necessary waiting for Watson's next communiqué.

Tanner had just finished when suddenly there was burst of small arms fire from the jungle which from Grace wasn't more than the span of the beach perhaps of twenty yards then immediately thick bush and palm growth grew making any advance directly seem impossible as there were no signs of trails or markings of passage either by human or large animals, in fact according to intelligence Tanner noted the small island of only four square miles, one wide by four long was uninhabited having no significant military value for either aircraft landings being too small or naval bass as its entire coastline was too shallow along with considerable coral reef shoals.

So why the RDF, and why secure Grace were the questions everyone on the bridge had going through their minds when Watson spoke again, 'In contact with FLET depot, standby.'

The brief silence was broken when the seaman at the helm spoke, 'FLET depot sir?' directing his question at Tanner who didn't reply only held the handset looking into the jungle directly in front of them.

'Forward location enemy troop,' the communication officer answered, then added, 'and what depot with...' but the sentence stopped when rounds fired from the jungle directly into the bridge struck the communication officer's chest exploding pieces of it spraying the bulkhead and seaman he stood next.

Immediately the bridge seemed to splinter with impacts from high caliber rounds striking metal sending shard fragments in all directions while all dropped to the deck taking what cover they could.

What followed was a large explosion sending huge clouds of black smoke into the air not more than fitly yards from the ship accompanied by maddened screams in the jungle along with an eruption of small arms fire. Then as ants storming out from their nest being attacked, so too did twenty or so of the enemy pour onto the beach running in all directions most on fire trying to douse themselves rolling on the sand or wanting to reach the sea water. Several raised their weapons at the ship but were immediately shot with single fired precision rounds from within the thick jungle. Then another explosion thundered rattling the entire ship as the fifty caliber mounted on Grace was hit with a mortar instantly killing those manning the weapon.

His uniform reddening from shrapnel Tanner stood up unholstering his sidearm when a barrage of both small arm and larger caliber fire swept along the beachhead from the jungle aimed at the enemy those still moving and laying still there being no discrimination of, for the intent was simply to kill anything on the beach.

As Tanner witnessed at least twenty enemy soldiers nearly decapitated by the intense firepower there grew a low humming sound from seaward advancing with increased droning then in an instant two aircraft flew past dropping several bombs detonating deep in the jungle sending large amounts of tree growth and brush skyward at the same time Tanner saw an increased number perhaps twice as many than the previous attack, of the enemy running from the jungle towards Grace opening firing upon her.

The commander raised the alarm notifying all aboard they were under attack and would soon have to repel boarders thought for a moment of one of his favorite films as a child that of a pirates and their marauding spirit he admired so much, secretly wishing he could be one himself, perhaps the subconscious at work during his entire naval career seeking out just such as instance as what developed now before him, finally shown real, not that these were the pirates which had to be fought off, but simply being there, this moment seemed exactly right; what he'd waited all those years for.

And in times as this with conflict raging, where systematic carnage encompasses many shredding bodies from souls where screams deafened through terrified wants of further living, where madness always ruled as the true king, that this being Tanners third battle, but first attacked from land, aimed with the calmness knowing he was already dead mattered only meeting the target, firing that first round of his sidearm striking the abdomen of an enemy whipping him backwards with a wild jerk onto the sandy beach, permitting Tanner to wonder a moment how not so different this was to the movies, and how being with his wife stretched under that sun's heat was all too brief. Where their obsession began.

## Chapter 9: Watson

Captain Robert Watson of the Rapid Deployment Force, was under strict orders not to contact Grace until the last possible moment, and only with the clear understanding once doing initiated the attack sequence against the main enemy positions as headquarters believed the enemy had broken the call signature coding allowing them direct access to fleet operations by way of communications with commanding officers unaware of their own communiqué were compromised.

However, the fact of such wasn't confirmed, therefore command planed a team sent to the island, where reconnaissance did confirm at least three enemy companies responsible for operations and securing main logistics in breaking the code, whose objective was retrieving all relative information regarding how the enemy accessed the coding system considered impregnable, and once doing so destroy all enemy values including personal with extreme prejudice.

Watson's RDF landed on the island at two in the morning the day Grace was struck by enemy aircraft, while readying to initiate the order their own recon believed the main bunker held components used in accessing the code, yet when clear for the strike halted when Watson received direct communiqué from command of Grace's situation and her decision to run aground on that same island.

The new directive from command was issued, informing Watson under his best judgment to move forward with the initial objective and not involve Grace unless absolutely necessary, that retrieval of all content concerning the breaking of the coding signature and all relative details remained critical.

Directed by command to not make contact with Grace Watson knew the situation was dire not involving the ship and its crew knowing the enemy force was substantial and would certainly attack the ship once she ran aground leaving the captain three options; take the bunker complex now, or wait till the ship arrived drawn into the fight diverting enemy fire allowing the RDF a better chance of mission success, or inform Grace.

Watson in evaluating the situation with his men decided to contact Grace but not inform her of the RDF objective. He'd hoped the commanding officer would know what he meant in the key wording Watson would speak to him, secure your landing for indeed each ship in the convoy held in isolation from one another for security reasons, therefore Watson's statement would alert Grace's CO his position was compromised, no longer a secret from the enemy, that an imminent military strike was inbound, and to prepare.

Command forwarded details of the ships present condition, its crew and capabilities as a fighting force should that be required, and while reviewing Watson knew their condition was at best urgent. Several hundred of their crew had been killed or wounded, that troops had transferred to other vessels, leaving only a skeleton crew for operations and medical staff, that her seaworthiness extremely compromised, though she would be relatively safe from sinking once aground, but extremely vulnerable to enemy attack both sea and air for her defense were without ammunition or had been destroyed save one fifty caliber with unknown rounds.

'This is one interesting mess,' the sergeant major uttered to no one in particular but of who along with Watson knelt together with six other men as they reviewed details of Grace while the remaining fifteen of the RDF waited patently scattered, sunken within the jungle surroundings invisible.

Watson smiled slightly still reading the details added slowly, 'Just right then.'

'Aye sir,' the sergeant major quickly replied. 'Been on several such missions sir haven't we and survived relative so, though this being a little different seeing there's a large beached whale to contend with.'

'Always something new and exciting sergeant major,' Watson spoke plainly.

'Comms link sir,' stated the radio tech next to Watson holding out the handset for him to take expecting the call from command. Watson took it, keyed the mic button four times and waited, listening intently.

There were a series of click and soft whistles from the handset which the other could hear but not clearly understand as it was all coded as only Watson knew the system for deciphering comms from command.

At the end of the wheezes and whines, Watson keyed the mic twice handing it back to the radio tech who promptly replaced it into the protective satchel carried on his side and returned looking at the captain waiting as they all were for their next order.

'As expected,' Watson spoke clearly not waiting for theatrics there is little room for it now out here. Trained for such events, the RDF having considerable experience with such missions, though nothing can fully prepare a soldier for what they undertook as each engagement bought its own unique situations, Watson thinking just that and how only a short time ago he was drinking coffee on the fantail of their cruiser watching the sunset deep orange and reds remembering something not too long ago but just far enough away seemed only a glimpse like ghost you thought seen, only some flickering shadow of that life one had before all of this.

Watson recalled receiving his commission how altered it was, how things gliding along unattached. Having to report immediately afterward his honors ceremony without family attending was shorten through the result of his outstanding evaluations. Thought not top of his class Watson hadn't aimed at such, rather simply wanted to finish the fourteen month officers school and get on with what he strived for since the day after his seventh birthday while wearing the new royal blue shirt his grandfather gave him, Scott Rondel three years older beat Watson breaking the nose and three teeth as the big yellow packed school bus stopped that morning just in front of the two because he'd told Rondel he was a bully that needed to be taught a lesson for instructing Watson his grandfathers choice of garment was as no better than a pile of runny duck shit.

Rondel didn't appreciate that remark of being unruly, and being twenty pounds heavier and good two feet taller, simply picked Watson up by his new shirt and smacked him right in the nose sending out a solid gush of red blood all along its front.

As the doors swung open Mr. Simmons the driver who'd driven that same route for as long as Watson could remember, yelled down to Rondel to stop horsing around and get on the bus or there'd be hell to pay, and to drop Watson while he was at it, which he promptly did but not before reaching back and fired another blow sticking Watson square in the teeth, then without fanfare released his shirt letting him fall where he laid crumpled in the dry desert dust which were all of their world, till Mr. Simmons came out of the bus his size much bigger than Rondel reached for the assailant who simply stepped back being much quicker then the older man slapping his hand downward cursing the driver to mind his own affairs or his father would pay him a visit some night when he was good in the bottle and tear his heart out for Scott's father worked on highway maintenance and was as mean as they came, especially when in the booze.

Simmons stood for a moment looking at Rondel who didn't blink as the dust seemed to just hang, the few scattered clouds stood still while everything fell suddenly silent wondering what it was to do next with itself seeing there was this standoff at the bus stop to contend with.

Of the dozen or so, kids who stood watching none moved even those of senior high school levels, there was this dead calm which seemed to wrap the entire scene saving it for another time, eternity perhaps, exactly what Watson thought there in a steaming jungle squatting, sweat pouring from every part of an already tired body as none of the RDF had any rest for more then an hour at a stretch since disembarking for their mission over thirty-six hours ago, that some memories never fade just change a little, remained closest causing the most damage. And that damage is for Watson clear and simple; a distraction.

A mind wandering into its past could be very hazardous, especially in a situation such as this and why in Gods name he thought would he be reliving something which happened long ago and irrelevant. But it wasn't.

It was connected as his grandfather taught him since he was small sitting on their porch before 'granny went on her trip', when she died he meant telling Watson clearly and slow so as he'd not misunderstand, 'Like all 'em stars at night in the sky. You can draw a line from one ta nuther so as hold'em tagether. Same with everything. There's nothin', in the world without that line between 'em. Or it's nothin'.' Watson's grandfather though simple had a point; don't have loose ends.

This wasn't a time to linger long on past events Watson thought to himself. It would be daybreak soon and the RDF needed to establish perimeter defenses as the men knew their captain well enough he'd do all possible securing Grace while not compromising the mission. Even though he'd yet given the order they were busy preparing for the inevitable silently checking gear, staying calm. Waiting.

Preliminary reconnaissance located the target bunker thought to be the center of all their work earlier that afternoon. Several enemy patrols were seen, but none encountered while mapping the circumference of the underground reinforced shelter. Watson discussed with his team after reviewing all details from the observation, the bunker had four entry-exit points, twenty to fifty support soldiers securing the area with light arms, mortars and grenades along with three .50 caliber machine guns fully manned, would best implement gas neutralizing in under ten seconds within contact or inhaled as it moved through the entire complex seeing they had no idea how extensive nor in which direction the tunnels ran, also the quietest and quickest in minimizing possibilities of sounding an alarm both on and off the island at enemy headquarters.

Watson also had to decide where best the enemy housed the deciphering equipment most likely taking advantage in a central and most fortified location whereby the RDF first would deploy the gas immobilizing the enemy insofar not permitting the destruction of any equipment which Watson and his team were ordered to secure and return intact for full analysis at command. This one element of the entire mission was their highest priority with coding broke command had to established how, and responsible parties dealt with before panic struck the general population from learning such; return with the knowledge either material or men at all costs.

It was as well a surprise to Watson himself when informed of his mission. The coding system was seen infallible, yet here facts proving otherwise illustrated with falsified communiqués and orders, even direct conversation between intelligence themselves fabricated of which the enemy thinking the later true confirmed there was a breach in security of the highest dimension.

Watson checking his watch noted there were less than six hours, their mission required completion when rendezvousing at the designated extraction point, signaled the team to move out before the morning light increasing their cover as Watson wanted line-of-sight with Grace and her arrival anticipating the enemy would be vigilant of any communications, possibly alerted to his with Tanner the moment of transmission.

As command stated it was Watson's call either involving Grace or leaving her isolated from the objective, which seeing the circumstances, the later benefiting the mission greatly, a logical choice even thought the enemy would simply fire upon the ship at will destroying it rather than have its crew as well as repair ships and their personal roaming the island inevitably discovering the true extent and capabilities the island possessed, its significates and loss would mean for the enemy greatly outweighed any thought other than self-sacrifice from the enemies standpoint, in fact, Watson and command itself was certain their action against the RDF and Grace would be severed to the point of suicide attacks upon anything threatening the island.

In so contacting Grace Watson himself put the RDF at a much greater risk compromising the success of its overall objective, with results barely marginal for the survival of its crew including that of his own team, while making his way through the heavy jungle towards the beach Watson couldn't help but think what if Grace was never struck by the aircraft and continued along with the rest of the convoy, how easier this would be.'

But that's not what happened and approaching the beach with the jungle thinning some, Watson could make out the white hulk still several miles out slightly smoking of Grace, listing heavily making her way toward him, cleared the logical assumption from his mind, leaving the only alternative he'd known from this entire scenario's onset; that within several minutes after contacting the ship the enemy would attack; would loose twenty to fifty percent of his team from enemy fire himself possibly included; cause untold deaths upon Grace's crew with a high probability of the ships capture and entire destruction; the overwhelming increased chance of mission failure.

And for what? Save ship and its crew which might anyway be destroyed for the enemy never took prisoners, only interrogated brutally with extreme bias before killing? Before giving the order Watson looked into the eyes of his team seeing what they saw, that war was often a disillusion placed there by others having no or at best little understanding, little recognition, only wanting results deemed effective in the greater outcome of its own efforts. It was often enough he thought an egotistical slaughter bathed in a righteous ideology of a better tomorrow, through events having done today.

Like others, Watson volunteered, enlisted, doing his part in the war effort thinking it just and noble. Proud having accomplished officers school though both parents were reluctant seeing him off knowing the high casualty rate of those particularly in combat areas, which Watson specifically requested and granted, wasn't disillusioned by the war, rather the opposite for it pulled at those inner elements he had within that might not have been touched otherwise.

This was his eight RDF mission. His fifth at command. They told him if this mission was successful he'd be promoted to major which they admitted was overdue but needed men such as himself in the field otherwise his advancement too quickly in achieving the rank of major and therefore permitted in low combat casualty areas, would be a disadvantage to the service.

But Watson never bothered with the bureaucrats of the service. His sole mission wasn't perhaps the same as most who fought, though he never asked other men. He could understand well enough listening and watching them. Some either fought because they had to, or wanted. Some loved the slaughter seeing it their right to inflict as much upon the enemy as possible, an 'open season' many called it allowing murder with impunity. There were some who thought different. Who, such as himself, had another purpose outside the normal environment of warfare.

It was an experiment Watson always thought just those few last fragile seconds before the actual fighting started. His in those moments were unclouded. All the things one holds captures from their existence released themselves with such freedom as if the ransom had been paid.

Once Watson felt that nothing would come so close ever again although he hadn't known, yet felt afterward, after the mission when the body starts to relax, the mind connecting again with surroundings. He grew more aware each time he returned. It called him forward most often volunteering, wanting another mission. The liberation. Why he chose to contact Grace.

Staying within jungle cover the small group kneeling felt the fresh air from the sea taking the stench from the tropics and themselves, Watson asked for the handset, checked the channel that being RDF's own, confirmed with his team if they were in position, then called the CO of Grace.

Precautions were taken at best, but the enemy was alerted as Watson anticipated. He hadn't been in contact with command since their last communiqué not wanting to risk information regarding his decision involving the ship intercepted. Also, command wouldn't be very supportive. He trusted his men, discussed the operation in detail with them, asked their opinion. If they were against him Watson would have gone ahead and contacted Tanner anyway. But he wanted the men informed and respected their feelings. Up to a point. After all, he was in command, and he alone would be accountable. Friendship and professionalism can only go so far, and interact with one another, then abruptly halt.

It was just how he experienced riding alone with his brother and mother in the desert when his horse unexpectedly stopped almost throwing him to the ground seeing they always rode bareback there was little to grab except the horse's mane for no more than four feet away was a coiled-up sidewinder nicely taking in the shade under a rock from the late morning sun as it was already over a hundred degrees.

As they always rode single file for just that reason reducing snakebites or getting tripped up in collapsing rabbit burrows, the other two horses almost ran into his own. Luckily not, as it would have surely pushed Watson over the horse's neck he desperately hanging onto knowing if he fell the snake would strike and being far from any place safe such as the hospital, though if he was fortunate and the snake bit an arm or leg, he'd probably survive the nine or more hours it would take reaching medical care. If the snake struck his upper body, probably not, though he was young just twelve, and in good health. Of course, a snake will strike more than once. This too had to be put into account.

And with that halting effect, it more often then not, came with a jolt as if you'd stuck a wire in an electrical socket just to see what would happen when you were seven years old, which of course Watson had conducted on a dare from his neighbor, which in Watson's mind wasn't such but rather an experiment, that of killing all the power in the house causing pandemonium and its general effect upon the inhabitants at ten-thirty in the evening not the best choice of timing due to certain television programs viewed by his parents and brother all visible glued to their climactic outcomes the three waited an entire week for.

The electricity shot through Watson's right arm whipping his hand back feeling like he'd been stung by fifty bees and kick by a horse at the same time while the house turned black as pitch the instant he put the wires into the wall contact directly at the head of his bed he used for his reading light.

He wasn't sure which happened first, either his own yelling or his father, then a pain grabbed hold, but another kind altogether, not from the electricity but a fearful sort of pain. He sensed his family in the other room all in complete darkness sorting out what to do but something gave Watson the impression 'they' were standing right next to him, that they were now ten feet tall with great sharp teeth in hideous drooling mouths, having claws instead of fingers a foot long which they clicked nervously together obviously with hatred for missing their program, wanting to shred and devour him very slowly, and with great pleasure. Only a child's imagination he kept telling himself till lighting was restored and the years that followed. Till in the pitch black jungle one night patrol, he felt it return. Something was there.

He felt that same jolt looking through the viewer watching Grace carefully, at such a close range could see Tanner on the bridge, keyed the handset speaking slowly the ship's call signature.

The last communiqué Watson heard from Grace was commander Tanner's reply, 'Copy CPT' when the first round sounded and the assault began.

Watson waited for Grace to safety run aground before contacting Tanner knowing the outcome of the enemies characteristics, they would attack almost immediately, however, Tanner needed Watson's to transmit the signal pattern authenticating himself. This and a short message Watson knew or at least hoped Tanner would understand in-part all commanding officers in this convey where informed of, 'secure your landing, an encrypted term meaning, I'm your support, hostile incoming.

Command monitored all communications of the RDF mission, upon hearing Watson's contact with Grace did not alert any support vessels or aircraft in the vicinity for fear it would be intercepted. No one in command knew to what extent the enemy infiltrated through its ability hacking the coding system. Watson along with the RDF knew this, in fact, volunteered themselves for the mission knowing there would be no reinforcements, only RDF extraction. The course of action Watson chose whether contacting Grace or not was his. He alone had to weight the circumstances and consequences.

Mortar fire from the RDF wasn't initiated till enemy troops began their attack upon the ship wanting as many exposed in the open as possible Watson not knowing the full extent of the bunker complex wasn't committed to the gas working a hundred percent. Discussing with his team beforehand they agreed it was probably the gas incapacitate sixty percent at best once its dispersal began.

Being of a 'heavier' gas would sink to the lower levels of the complex rather quickly where the RDF hoped material in whatever form used in hacking the code was assumed securely kept. Command told RDF to look specifically for anything two-foot square. Smaller wasn't target as useful nor larger. Four men would enter each access point of the complex ten-seconds after the first mortar rounds landed ten yards from the bunker providing cover fire, dispose the canisters containing the gas and hold position waiting for another ten-seconds then enter moving through the complex igniting further canisters as they proceeded through.

RDF established positions in the jungle surrounding the bunker leaving free passage where random fire forced the enemy to exit providing more easily targeted and controlled environment knowing once the mortar rounds landed the enemy would be alerted to the fact they were under attack.

The operation proceeded as planned until a huge explosion in the bunker, which those of the RDF positioned in the jungle strongly felt must have killed everyone in the complex had no choice but to proceed with the second plan that of securing Grace as she was the only protection from enemy fire, and kill as many enemy combatants possible in the process while making their way towards the ship.

Chaos is best when all parties involved are equal; Grace's crew had no idea what was happening except at the last moment from their commanding officer announcing enemy troops were boarding the ship who themselves didn't know the full extent only a large detonation of some sort, a ship run aground on their beach, and they were under attack, with the RDF having now lost the bunker, their mission compromised with a larger enemy force to fight through in reaching the ship.

With the enemy rushing toward the ship firing predominantly at the bridge, the RDF moved toward the ship shooting at the enemy encumbered by the thick undergrowth, while Watson with his sergeant major both about to step from the cover of the jungle themselves intent on getting to the ship when suddenly Watson grabbed the sergeant majors arm holding him still, replaced the viewer back to his eyes watching again the ship, and slowly voiced with disbelief, 'It can't be.'

The sergeant major following Watson's stare, took the viewer himself Watson handed over with a look of complete shock growing across the captain's face lifted the glasses to his eyes.

'What is...' slowly stated the sergeant major but didn't finish as the impact from the round spraying Watson's right side of his face and neck with blood struck the sergeant major from behind hitting him squarely in the back of the head passed through striking the glass viewer hurling them from his hand landing six feet away on the sandy beach broken and covered with a thick whitish-red matter.

At the same time a sharp whistle sounded from the ship, an alarm Watson thought as the sergeant major slumped forward into the brush. Voices behind Watson grew near though not of his team, the captain spinning fired widely in their direction seeing no enemy only dense growth allowing time for Watson push through the jungle's edge and run for the ship.

Stumbling backward onto the beach Watson knew the enemy would follow, and with what time remained became a matter of reaching the ship some hundred yards down the beach. Turning quickly he sprinted toward Grace but was immediately meet with confusion of soldiers running in all directions, of crew from the ship itself firing down indiscriminately at them himself included being indistinguishable from them, of the enemy he now heard behind crashing through the jungle screaming after him, of wondering where members from his team those surviving and capable of reaching the ship were, of explosions from mortar rounds on the beach, and of a thick whitish-orange smoke rolling onto the increasingly obscuring beach with its strange ominous presence.

It was uncanny Watson thought the moment after witnessing the cloud bellowing, frothing in nature its way low as if hugging the beach for usually smoke of this caused from explosive rounds, most likely mortar from the bunker complex he thought, would be considerably darker. It's the result of the gas intended for use in the bunker Watson straightaway realized glancing admiring its rapid growth while hightailing along the beach, dodging everything possible but now had to contend with a poisonous gas heading straight for Grace who of course knew nothing of its source but would greatly suffer from it, as Watson witnessing the proof - soldiers whom the outskirts of the cloud consumed nearly three-quarters of the enemy force, almost immediately cringed as if in sever pain then dropped to the sandy beach without so much of a whimper as he'd read of its results having been used on other islands with overwhelming effects.

Without respirators provided only for those entering the complex, Watson quickly realized it wasn't possible either outrunning the cloud reaching Grace the gas would certainly take its toll on her crew too. He could swim for safety heading into the open sea and hope the cloud would dissipate, or retreat back through the jungle he'd just escaped from a moment earlier.

Watson had little choice opting for the sea, immediately pivoted running into the low surf knowing once under it would provide some cover from enemy fire increased with more soldiers in pursuit eliminated the option of returning to the jungle. Although he fired several rounds since leaving the cover of the dense undergrowth he thought it certain not having wounded or killed anyone, needed both hands-free to swim, flung the weapon over his back as the soft bottom soon fell away under his boots.

The constant sound of bullets passing him wasn't the main concern as Watson submerged under the warm surf, it was trying to understand what he'd seen just before the sergeant was shot thinking back as he swam deeper and further out from the shore; the hull numbers on the ship weren't those of Grace.

It was assumed for security reasons the system had been compromised to the highest level, therefore use of it was either with great caution or disinformation to the extent sending targeted false details with the intent enemy command would use them, being the purpose of Watson's mission; a ruse.

Only a selected few knew the true operational significance of the mission. Neither Watson nor Tanner was informed. No person of Grace's crew except two were alerted, and from the RDF one was made aware of the full plan, that the aircraft striking Grace was indeed an enemy aircraft although piloted by their own from command remotely with the pilot himself simply a young man outfitted in correct attire impersonating an officer killed the day before.

Command knew their coding system was compromised allowing enemy infiltrate its intelligence so far as they themselves provided the hacking code deliberately to the enemy, which they would in turn use without knowledge, once initiated, trigger a sequential ciphering permitting the flow of data back to command disclosing the enemies system itself and more importantly its location.

And without knowing Watson provided that hacking code; KAL 316.

The enemy picked up the code and almost immediately data began transmitting to command altering them of the enemies entire coded system.

The entire scenario was staged a duplicate Grace run aground on shore with recordings played of weapons fire and alarms. The hull numbers were the same as Grace but with enemy mortar fire damage and stressful environment for both Watson and the sergeant major, they appeared different.

## Chapter 10: Jennifer Takes a Walk

The night air was delicious resembling a drug Jennifer took during her first and only year at college and later in those early years of marriage after realizing fully, there was no turning away loving both the 'medication' and wealth the lifestyle provided.

It was cool but not too, stars brightly brought by reduced light and air pollution the house being a good forty miles from city center, and while Jennifer wasn't a person particularly interested in the happenings of the large metropolis her husband often luxurious with his fantasies claiming it one of the finest the world has to offer, felt that often twinge of regret growing bolder surfacing least opportune moments, such as now while passing through the back door into the garden leaving the nosey party behind.

The cut grass smelled divine and Jennifer knew every inch was perfectly manicured closing her eyes taking it all in long, slow breaths that of a person released from years of their own self-consumption, in fact, the entire property was extremely well managed, not a thing out of place resembling a museum no one lived in. She always hated attending such events but knew for Adam it was important and naturally too herself wanting his money if nothing else while Adam willingly gave himself to both sexes readily.

'It is relaxing,' the voice spoke as it did in the house; inside her head. Opening her eyes Jennifer noticed the same woman standing a few feet away holding a full glass of something looking directly at her with one eyebrow raised slightly. 'Don't you think?' the woman added.

'Why yes, it is. Simply marvelous,' Jennifer spoke relaxed as if there wasn't anything other than this very moment in this very place, in fact not a thing before either now that she put her mind to it. Trying to remember Jennifer could only recall the woman and before entering the garden nothing more.

'The insignificance of it all,' the woman voice spoke coolly as if it too trailed along the night breeze which Jennifer couldn't know whether there was such a breeze as before or was this the very first she ever experienced.

'Or 'too' it all. Or so one might think,' the voice paused then added as an afterthought.

Jennifer watched the woman closely while she raised a filled rather large brandy tumbler now that Jennifer looked at its emptiness produced in the woman hand drinking its entire content without stopping or even breathing all the while her eyes never leaving Jennifer's.

'That 'uninhabited' feeling must be a mighty strong pull on a person,' the voice sounded

Jennifer opened her mouth slightly about to speak when the woman raising her index finger to her lips blowing air softly through creating a hushing noise, a sensation rather, which Jennifer felt pass along her chest and abdomen moving downward to her inner thighs immediately feeling its warmth increase coursing through them, slowly wrapping around the back of her legs as if held by unseen firm hands.

'There are moments words have no right to accompany.' The voice echoes not just in her mind but somewhere deep. Someplace yet untapped. Forgotten maybe. Or misused which led to its abandonment, as once things of this nature are in such a demise, what remains but only ruins.

'It's about time you knew that save you more trouble than not, but you haven't the time nor inclination, or if you did, not the simple understanding of the great health you're abound with from the start but so eagerly trade in hopes of greater riches, yourself becoming the tarnished treasure.'

Felt rather than heard there stemmed a sadness in the voice Jennifer thought, being a perplexing notion for how could one think, when feeling grew with such strength as now she imagined while removing her shoes wanting the earth bare on her feet. It was more of a statement, a factual event realized just now, having taken place seldom, a mere conviction, shot from outside herself forcing the very energy which caused the difference, to begin with, that difference in wondering why she had the courage, yet wouldn't demonstrate its continuity. That precious commodity.

Shoeless clinching her toes into fists clutching the grass, beginning to moisten as the temperature slowly dropped causing the slightest dew form became a welcome relief to the otherwise lacking existence Jennifer knew, growing without reservation from that early declaration performed in front of God and all proclaiming, for her, unity that which she'd use for gains till another, more promising aspect emerged replacing her husband, which had yet been realized.

Gazing up at the star field Jennifer felt the woman in her long black dress move closer, raising a hand gently taking hers. It was warm she noticed, more so than normal.

'Always a few degrees warmer,' came the voice again filtering deeper, somewhere now Jennifer believed more familiar than earlier. As if it was there all along. Only misplaced often losing her keys or shopping list thinking that so trivial, rather lose of her bearing within her own house shambling through it's halls and rooms unaware whether she'd passed there or not when in fact she had a moment earlier, naturally thoughts moving elsewhere, compiled from some other source, producing some other memory, one more inclined not to function accordingly with her present condition, only surfacing at that opportune moment. Such as now.

And as that port widened, that vast arena came forth, that place once unrecognized she'd not entirely mistrusted, for it did return in her sleep though not as a dream one might have, but in whispers, because with fear brought upon that port forced to close allowing only the slightest view with growing despair realizing the fault made. All resting beyond slowly emerged forbidden, only to be observed, Jennifer herself, becoming a simple spectator.

The hand moved gently along Jennifer's wrist, pausing as if slowly feeling for a pulse Jennifer believed none to exist for how could there on such a night as this for which mustn't be real at all, then continued along to the upper arm stopping just under the shoulder when she felt another on her waist holding with a firm gentleness. She felt herself being pulled without the slightest haste forward, then came the feeling of embrace, immediately causing her to shiver as if a great excitement passed through reaching her back, pulling the skin toward its center tightening the entire front of her body pushing her breasts outward with their now aroused nipples produced clearly through her elegant dress.

Jennifer as she downed her third full glass of red wine she loved so, making it almost a bottle, wandered slowly back to that moment when the voices behind called out asking what the hell was she doing outside when all waiting for her with dinner growing old, that it was her fault guests became disgruntled, therefore drinking more than they should on an empty stomach and feeling more at liberty than most times, began spouting their rhetoric of the 'who's' and 'what not's' and of course damnable 'why's', subsequently by the time Jennifer returned from the garden with her husband and the host fumbling in front of them trying to disseminate which had had enough to drink and whom should have more because he was absolutely certain he wanted all of his guest to forget they were here, ordering the stewards to pour more and never to stop until all the bloody bastards die as he and his late wife now herself dead three years actually despised them tooth and nail, only inviting all as some sort of remission on his part of a better day when his wealth was still intact along with his sexual prowess now both fleeting through bad investments and some sexual transmitted bug collected while trolling the whores he so often loved to visit never paying in full, seeing he was cheap himself reason why he hated all his guests so, for his mother told him, 'You always despise what you yourself actually are,' Christ thinking at the moment himself downing untold amounts of twenty year old scotch how now would be a wonderful time to kill them all then hacking to pieces serving them up to their children saying they were leftovers from the party replying he hadn't any knowledge where their parents were but knew they exited the dinner party sound and was certain soon they'd turn up when handing over the finely covered snackies those little devils devoured while churring out their social media tripe, while at the word of 'stewards' Jennifer recalled the host mentioning how strange it was the term used for butlers as if you were on a ship, and with that recollection suddenly her hand let slip the wine glass she held over the edge of that tube with its still giant white creature wanting desperate freedom, exploding on the tiled floor erupting of the senses tearing her in two, realizing she was indeed not where she thought.

steaming toward an island on board the ambulance ship AMS Grace.

## Chapter 11: Thoughts and Ideas

In no way, James, having become immensely successful with his playwriting and now entrepreneur knew the impact on so many they provoked. Having only written because of an overwhelming desire for money and the power bestowed upon elements he himself constructed, elements he alone ultimately controlled being a simple fact of genetics with James on his rise thought to himself giggling from his jingle; 'I'm smarter than the rest, and therefore should have the best, their gonna invest'.

That mantra grew with power as all things when given correct ingredients, that right bit of spontaneity delved, often written about even more, which in fact existed pulling the public grooming their own wanton admiration in themselves they'd pictured most of his literature. Those close-knit friends often supporting him when writing lagged, not to think too much just let the words flow. But the urge was too great. Too much of a goodness, a sweet drug started demanding more then James could produce, but that nagging which soon after chapter three of his first work began, The Pen set in motion what he himself would always shy away from.

Besides, it was a secret.

He wasn't an outstanding writer at any standard, most of his essay work or short stories didn't attract much and those who did comment weren't for the most, favorable. But when James started writing plays, it was something entirely different. Its attribute simply his ability to drop subjects in and out of the story thereby brought audiences to an utter dismay as to what was real, or not.

And as always, there's something more.

With James, it was his 'secret'. Something never told. Never wanted told yet the source of his insight, which everyone had as he knew but some more than most and for James that became the very key to all their kingdoms. He could tap into others feelings, their creativeness redirected into his own so much so their urges, addictions soon followed.

Ingenuity, imagination took for some, huge amounts of energy bringing forth and maintaining let along foster on an almost continual basis as some people must perhaps with their raising of children, marriage, going to college, running a business, or writing, even music for at a gala James met just the man, an acclaimed violinist who'd alight what perhaps always resided, that wholesome debauchery crawling within, hearing the man's wife wanted nothing more than kill him slowly, painfully excited James especial because the man's lustfulness of sexual depravity. It didn't matter for James who saw it simply as a form of energy drawn upon. Including their ideas. And that for James was more important than anything even health or love didn't come near what he deemed The View the moment he capsulated someone else's idea and thought, but more importantly James singled out thoughts looking for them obsessively, reasons being they lead to ideas which lead to plans, and along that trail there were a great number of other tangents he could move with extending from that one, single original thought.

His own View came with 'So how many does a person have each day,' James asked himself looking out the half-open window in the already steaming mid-morning apartment, half-opened because it was stuck since the heat wave and himself stank of perspiration as he saw no reason to shower for there wasn't anyone to shower for only focusing on those thoughts looking down onto the broken sidewalk filled with litter and chaos of an already difficult day for he hadn't a thought in his own head when indeed that's just the sparking of a future into life.

Written as a play, The View proved a critical success for James opening other projects, meeting new people, all stimulated that inner secret of his growing unnatural desires.

Boarding the ship feeling not the slightest twinge toward those amongst him thankful none able understanding human workings as well as he, thankful not any other so inept because he'd have to kill them just as before when she showed up auditioning for the second lead with outstanding qualities that now caused James to shiver pulling the front of his coat grasping with the one free hand attempting to stave off what he thought was cold night air while slowly he marched further up the gangway accompanied by all their gaggling, their seemingly endless dribble of desires and fears, 'MY GOD WON'T THEY SHUT UP!!' his mind screamed thinking of her what with long cured auburn hair and smooth skin, naturally a figure he immediately wanted to hold and consume endlessly, full breasted but not too big as he didn't want to be with woman having large breasts reminding him too much of the teacher and his crush for her resulting severely in both disappointment and embarrassment, ending with an extreme hatred for the woman.

That was the trade-off. In obtaining from their thoughts and ideas James encroached endlessly upon that field of near insanity where composition conducts its greatest warfare simply for the fact his mind wasn't strong enough filtering all the details, selecting only those he found interesting or of value, reason for this vacation yearning time alone on a ship in the middle of the ocean would cool some but not all the haunting urges, but seeing the masses swell as they did boarding such a monster as this metal ark, he was beginning now to regret this decision. His medication held only for short while but even then wore off earlier and earlier each time to force either take another pill before the prescribed time one every twelve hours or hideaway alone staving off inevitable battles in a war he'd never win.

Now when the hand finally touching his, when the crowd pressed in upon him with their grotesque form, when that god awful voice of a woman reaching out towards him, that hideous voice calling 'My dear boy. Are you all right?', when afterward, after they departed freeing him he tried to move away yet now his path blocked by...something...a person perhaps though not sure standing there a gloved hand raising out wanting to touch his hand, their eyes meeting, and he knew he could have screamed for help, the name, the song, the actor, the play, the teacher he'd that boyhood crush on, but it was too late.

James woke not in his cabin but in a room he didn't know, having a very peculiar odor wondered for a moment blinking his eyes trying to one or the other think and keep from going blind the light something so intense it fostered an ache in his head the moment he tried viewing the surroundings thinking it must be from both, then a thought came; 'What if I'm the one?' and another, 'What...you're mad, can't possibly be, besides look at his clothes' the other, 'true but it could be'.

James tried to raise but felt a stab in his side just under the arm. 'Here, here, sir best if you rest now you've had a bit of a fall,' a man's voice called out a moment later feeling a hand gently on his shoulder pressing him downward.

'Whaa..whe..', James tried to speak.

'That's right sir you're not just yourself not yet anyway. You've had a bit of a fall, struck your side against something large, exact on its corner. I don't think anything is broken sir but you'll have to take it easy for a couple of days. No dancing just yet,' laughing lightly which followed by another but higher in a tone that of a woman James thought softer but more forced than the man.

'Fool trying to be smart probably' a thought. 'Maybe he simply fell' the other thought.

'I'm fine I can manage. Where am...,' James stopped speaking slowly trying to rise again and again an understanding hand pressing against the effort.

'Now sir you'll have to stay for at least the night, don't want you to be having any further difficulties later do we now.'

It was more of a command than a question James knew, and realized for sure there was a woman present, probably a nurse. He also realized he needed his medication. And soon for it wasn't just their thoughts he heard but others from all sides, gently squeezing like a soft damp cool sheet drying in the hot sun against his cheek whispering he's long past that twelve-hour time, where his naughty bit allowed, preventing ownership to the fact that soon they'll commence their progressive assault. And that moment the itch began. Just behind the left ear at the base of the skull, that key point James knew because he'd researched once for his play, if you wanted to quickly kill or simply incapacitate a person there's where you wanted to stick them. Where the neck joins the skull. But little toward either ear. That blow of mercy that coup de grace so uncommonly used of those wanting to cripple their victim rather than get it over with.

James understood they would come in their hordes of tormented ramblings wanting of a better future or for some, just one moment would be enough. Nonetheless, for most it was self-induced through their own ill-gotten treasures and visions of something completely out of their reach driving James mad not their thoughts and ideas, rather their idiosyncrasies and firm beliefs therein. Blind they were, nonetheless some of the 'better ones' at least knew they were incompetent James grimaced often contemplating this trying to point out who they were in the crowds these titans of self-reflection, these wanders up mountainsides searching caves in their quest for knowledge asking all the questions as if they'd just been born, while those in the caves simply nodded heads burned their incense chanted away till either the pilgrim left or collapsed from fatigue dying right there, for only then the cave dwellers finally stated gazing at the still form, 'can you now begin'. It was as simple as that yet those seekers searched their entire lives granted clemency to any who'd listen of their gainful insight after having visited the mountains with those from the caves, talking endless hours together learning all there was then solemnly returning down again treacherous mountain paths full with ice and snow, having learned all the answers and all the question but couldn't remember what it was because on the mountain they were something else.

And the medicine would put an end to that James knew speaking slowly, 'Yes that might very well be, but I need my medication,' adding soberly, 'In the top pocket of my overcoat. Would you mind?' trying his best to sound sincere.

'I'm sorry sir but there wasn't any medication found in your overcoat. We searched it seeking for your identification. The fact being, we couldn't find either,' the man plainly stated looking down at James searching for any signs which might warrant having to call security which of course stood just outside who'd been alerted a man was found delusional on near the launderette where passengers weren't permitted.

The fact you needed clearance to get anywhere below, plus no identification found on his person, immediately security began its inquiry as to who exactly this man was and assuming, of course, he a possible stowaway suffering from either mental ailments or substance misuse, or both a high probability showing signs he did with complete lack of awareness and coherence. Once secured James was with a light tranquilizer sedated having the effect of his mind hitting a train head-on causing his unconsciousness of over three hours, allowing time for authorities to further focus their investigation, but when he woke everything began to change.

He grew slowly aware of a gray and white world. Soft, then bright in texture, blurred somewhat then crystal clear though not the colored he'd left, was conscious of the few details, one dominating whether he'd gone blind, or was it happening again. The others seemed less important such as finding himself restrained with thick leather straps wasn't exactly running across his thoughts with mindful fashion since the gray presented itself, nor the fact the language is spoken by those in the room both male and female presumably one of each as far as James could tell, was not something he understood. At all. That and trying to recall the last thing before this situation of lying at least in clean sheets under gleaming bright lights blinding then turning down to an almost dusk like appearance of the room only able to see no further then perhaps four or five feet from the end of his bed looked clean, gave James the distinct information of which he knew all too well in that being of medical in nature. He closed his eyes thinking a moment.

Indeed the beginning of the end for his mind was upon him having been warned knowing full well this was an inevitability at its very best, here was its first lecture; helplessness.

It wouldn't do to try and balk at any type of reality. There were only the fact for which he himself had produced through years of neglect and care too, but not so much as he'd wished now seeing things up close, not as large as he'd thought, but still as potent after all a scorpion is still a scorpion no matter the size and will still sting, for here the case turned an even more intrepid corner, when the smaller of the two is more intoxicating, if not toxic.

And seeing himself in this condition James could only blame himself for reckless abandonment of any norm related to civility insofar he didn't care, really, for so much at stake his mind only turned toward what better way to make of any possible situation in freeing from its dry dock having run aground after full steam into any crowded environment, the greater the herd the better hoped for. How else do you get good material?

Now this being what it was James reflected a moment before the panic started rising for he knew it would since it had always accompanied him especially in moments as these, that here was a perfect setting for a story. He could see the start of something very good, felt that quickness which joined in the race every time some new instrument presented itself, that fleeting of life as is sped past fleeting as gazelles for some, while others struggled with elephants. Still, the effect and most importantly the path to the end results if recorded well, were priceless. For which he would do anything to obtain. And had.

'It's all in the mind' was never so close to insanity as one might think, or even wish. But for James, there was never a distinct border. Never a passport required crossing to the other. Only walking from one room down a short corridor into another. No keys as there weren't any doors, simply the vast promenade, that colorful most beautiful boulevard filled with delights from any source imaginable. All James had to do was take notes. And he did. Entire libraries.

The records always at his fingertips, more often quickly as he had little patience for anything except the act of note-taking itself. There James was tranquil, ever accommodating anyone with their efforts for he knew being so at this stage was a prerequisite for greatness. Any fault meant possibly losing the entire scenario along with its frame of thinking, for which he was thankful to strict upbringing although resentful for the fact of having to listen, enduring years his parents seemingly rampant forced-feed bullshit proved the cause of James's present condition to the point believing anything his mind told him. And that's when the thoughts and ideas started visiting. From others.

At first, James thought them as his own. Unable to decipher whether they were his or a neighbor, someone in his class, on the bus, sidewalk, evoked a sickness not wanting but forced to 'think' what that other person 'thought' as a borderline alcoholic, chronically depressed from failed relationships, or completely inept dumb son-of-a-bitch. In James's view trying to distance himself from the person, the event, desperately wanting a better understanding what happened proved unsuccessful leaving an option of self-destruction coming to mind as with most when at their end.

That was the first episode.

Since he couldn't tell and didn't care how many followed unable knowing whether any were his own and if so which. Believing himself insane he turned to specialists, was prescribed medication that worked slightly, others not at all, drank considerably, mixing a great deal of both when finally he started writing. He wrote what he heard by accident because it was of interest that specific topic of why women are better logical thinkers then men heard a woman had sitting three seats in front of him on the bus, which brought his attention how he picked her out of all others on that packed transportation, leading finally clear of that dark storm having surrounded him, while some thoughts were louder, he turned into thoughts which were of greater interest.

Busy writing his paper for school he accidentally started writing what she thought, transcribing it directly word for word onto his notepaper, without even realizing. It wasn't until the bus stopped and the woman faded that the connection grew faint eventually lost James looking down at his writing reeled as if one moment someone talking very loud then the next, stopped. Dead silence. Here a strewn of words no idea how they appeared on paper, even the fact alone, he himself, not remembering the least, the time of writing them. Blackout.

He knew about such things, of people not remembering they'd done something, of course for James his only recollecting of the word came from booze and drugs. But this was something very different. So he tired it again. And the same results followed. He tried several more with the same outcome. Their thoughts and ideas became his medication.

He was released.

James began writing everything he heard which though exhilarating grew quickly exhausting to the point of both physical and mental collapse due to his inability of focusing on one particular idea or thought. He'd scribble quick notes trying later behind closed doors in his apartment thankful he couldn't hear the rats who owned what most if not all would call squalor conditions at best, attempting desperately anything to recall what was written from meditation comprised of gazing out the window trying to think nothing in particular to massive consumption of cheep gin his favorite drink mixed with thrown-out lemons more rotting than good from the grocer down the street knowing there was some important vitamin they possessed, but couldn't recall, to wandering the city late at night along the seafront thinking of other towns and cities yet visited which grew from curiosity as a young boy once having seeing an old photo of some far off place for which he couldn't read where, to now, a mild obsession in wanting desperately to visit such places, that itself being odd for how could any obsession be mild he kept asking himself as he wandered without aim or want other than the simple gift which God has now taken from him, which everyone had in the ability not thinking a single thought.

'Why,' James asked himself vacantly searching out toward that open ocean standing on the seawall listening to nothing but the water striking with sometimes great force depending on the time of year, winter being the most aggressive in its nature, winter is the time he often wanted to step off the wall dropping into the chilled water, the shock taking breath and life in a matter of moments, the body probably never found, entombed in stillness. A final freedom from disturbance. Or so James thought.

Beginning in one of those dreary mid-winter black moonless night ramblings, it came to James that answer sought since remembering as far back possible in his life being not that immeasurable yet due to the extreme nature of his mental state, seemed an eternity of maddening voices often than not screeching throughout the entirety of his brain including that of both soul and body, for all his efforts not with a bang or shudder, rather a simple whisper of two words; 'let me'.

With that James knew to allow all ideas and thoughts entering lived without responsibility so long as he heeded the scripts they wrote becoming famous for playwrights, famous and wealthy all from his views he called them, those voices promoting direction and content from which to carry it with. Working on his fourth James decided to take a trip, booked a voyage for several weeks, a journey of nothing but water and seclusion as he wasn't interested in visiting port-of-calls advertised, only the ship wandering her decks as late as so often along the seawall wandered, but now with the ability and fresh at handwriting his next great masterpiece excited knowing it would be completed upon return he'd triumphantly march into his agent producing a grand work of art, when all collapsed before the ship even left its moorings.

Not knowing was he trapped in sickbay realizing soon he'd start screaming, pleading to have killed the demons dancing on his chest, paying any amount demanded if only the hideous noise would cease, when a voice spoke in his right ear slightly louder than a whisper so he knew it not as a view but a woman slowly stating, 'Have you anyone we can contact, anyone giving proof as to your identity?'

James thought a moment letting himself calm listening before speaking for any idea of hers. But there was none, grew as the greatest shock she hadn't any thoughts! James believed it unbearable considering every person had them always rattling around believing their stultified little heads.

Of course. The medication. It's taking effect. Thank God!, James thought to himself. Taking a deep breath James was about to speak when suddenly, 'Why does she even bother he's insane,' came a voice from across the cabin. James rose his head slightly off the pillow trying his eyes again, but still the soft glow of grays and whites though now a brighter caused him to wince closing them immediately letting his head fall back.

That James knew was a thought of the doctor giving his point of view, but the woman was another matter. The medication must not have been administered. His mind trying to probe the situation again searching for an explanation of this horrid enigma then feeling the panic start rising James clinched his hands tightly into fists, tensing his jaw muscles preparing for the onslaught of perhaps the entire ship of fools and their drudged nonsense swop down upon him with vengeance carving his brain into small pieces taking it home with them, when he felt a slight touch on his right hand. Tightly wound James shrieked with the light brush trying desperately to pull away but of course couldn't from the restraints.

'It's all right. You are all right. Needn't worry so,' the voice expressed. But James wasn't 'all right'. Not in the least. In fact, should the woman know how far James was from that she wouldn't bother the least talking with him and agree with the poor sod behind her somewhere for he truly knew the exact state of James's, hell he even thought they were also near and ready to begin their slicing. They loved that dearly all very eager to take what they could just cut and scamper off snacking like some hibernating rabid squirrel when the hunger rose. Indeed James realized now the other in the cabin must certainly be one of them, just waiting for the right moment removing the leashes from all the rest allowing the game to begin!

Once again that strange language emerged as the two spoke amongst themselves suddenly filling the air with great vibration as they must be arguing James imagined.

'God I'd love to just get that...' thought the man but couldn't end as James began coughing, throwing himself about twisting trying to be free of the bonds, also breaking the thought of the person knowing if he proved a spasm it would stop their attention projected, which was just the case, the man quickly stating, 'I'll get another sedative.'

'No,' cried the woman and again there was a soft touch this time more of a clasp warm, tender.

'That's not what he needs and you know it,' she added sternly with command.

Suddenly there came a loud banging on the door then immediately burst open.

'Beat him, beat this bastard down!!' A thought blasted outward with the gush of air caused by the door being almost broken down.

'What's all this?' a stern voice. 'Trouble here? Yes?' a rough deep slow voice drawing out each word with great care knowing exactly the weight each carried.

'No need for that, it'll be fine,' the woman called out toward the stern voice.

'You wish. But my... aren't you...' thought the stern voice, security James knew from his tone and manners. A common drool among all the others.

Then as suddenly as what must have been security entering, then turned and left, not a single thought from him only the closing of a door, and the touch again of the woman.

'What's your name? Can you remember?' she inquired calmly.

Struggling James tried but couldn't recall anything from her questioning. His past filled to the point a gloved hand touched his just after boarding the ship. Afterward, everything was blank, a complete emptiness. He simply shook his head from side to side indicating he hadn't or maybe tried staving off the long fingers insanity wrapped slowly around his throat.

'That's all right,' the woman spoke then added quickly, 'Try and get some rest, this is the best place for you now.' Patting his hand then walking away leaving James alone he felt utterly defenseless. Soon those thoughts and ideas would come, having nothing for protection, strapped to a bed knowing nothing of his surroundings or past, understanding nothing other than the unpreventable madness beginning its full swing.

## Chapter 12: A Different Field

Carnage, filth, and chaos left the beachhead in ruins. There was nothing of glamour nor poetic of the whole affair, a simple form of madness taken shape in cruelty beyond words for those having witnessed such an institution for it was that Sarah thought while treating those first casualties since her enlistment, creation humans installed upon themselves.

With the enemy suppressed the front pushed deeper into the dense jungle leaving the beach partially open for emergency treatment of wounded with limited supplies found scattered along the beach, then medivacked to waiting ships where they faced further surgery and recovery.

In the twelve hours since landing Sarah with several doctors and nurses having survived the initial landing together they established a field hospital directly on the beach and it was here she saw first hand what war can achieve on the human body and spirit, herself suffering from the now infected laceration on her forehead caused the eye to swell even further thankfully was treated by a fellow nurse at the their field hospital of now six stretchers placed upon oil drums covered by ponchos where wounded brought even though shelling and occasional rounds, some finding their way through the flimsy poncho roof where received with the best care possible under such conditions.

There were countless moments of fear for not only Sarah but the others as well seeing they too hadn't any experience, this too being their first operational landing. Yet one learns to grapple with all the emotions going through the mind and heart quickly and with their training the medical staff performed admirably recalling later together, there simply wasn't enough time to panic or even think about it once the wounded began arriving.

Word passed there were three other field hospitals established under similar conditions busily tending wounded, when she heard a familiar voice triggering both shock and extreme joy looking up seeing Barbara and the young doctor Ward, Sarah briefly met onboard Grace before the landing assault.

Sarah was struck by Barbara's command presence giving orders and with her landing dungarees in such a condition completely black in color, half shredded with the entire left sleeve torn off leaving her bare arm exposed which it too was covered in cuts some still bleeding and blacken smudges Sarah thought consisting of a mixture of oil and dried blood, there was this quiet calmness about her that shown over all others even more so than when aboard ship where she also exhibited her professionalize as well as understanding of the soul which gave direction to those she came in contact with.

It was as if they were back in the landing craft before all of this when Barbara looked up from her discussion with one of the corpsmen and their eyes meet, there was that same brief smile then returned communicating again with those around her. Sarah had always hoped Barbara survived the landing but with the viewpoint of how the beachhead laid out in its utter condition of balancing hell, she didn't want to stay very long hoping to see her again knowing the chances were slim at best for the loss of life was high among the medical staff too.

Yet there she was. Sarah felt a great warmth cross over her of thankfulness and honor to be among these people, to have met and worked together under conditions such as these, she knew they were safely together for reasons unbeknownst, which shouldn't be questioned but simply excepted for most of them did know at any moment, things could change dramatically.

Sarah returned to her work but later felt a hand touch her on the shoulder when looking up saw indeed Barbara with food and water holding it out to her smiling, commenting on the cut she had above her eye, and that it was wonderful seeing her again after such a rough start. They chatted a moment while a nurse relieved Sarah a moment so she could eat while Barbara pulled her aside instructing her of being mindful for certain issues, to watch over specific patients, and to tell her personally how proud she was to work with her for which Sarah blushed feeling as a school girl a moment being acknowledged by her instructor for her efforts.

It was in that, their very first time they actually could talk other than their first which now seemed years ago when Sarah had told Barbara that Tanner knew causing her commanding officer to question her as to what exactly she meant but was then immediately called away on urgent orders from Tanner himself before pressing Sarah further, now asked her again directly what she meant.

'That we'll run aground,' Sarah stated calmly between gulping mouthfuls of the first food she'd had since arriving followed with water know realizing how parched she'd become almost finishing the canteen with one go, when Barbara with a raised eyebrow asking her to explain, Sarah lowered the canteen and began by telling in quick detailed sentences how exactly the plane struck Grace how Tanner would have to decide running the ship aground an island rather than risk a longer trip, the large explosion on that island just as Grace arrived, and how Tanner himself knew this would happen before it actually did.

Barbara stood a moment looking deep into Sarah face search whether there was drama attached to any of this but found none. In fact, after Sarah first told her of Tanner knowing something, Barbara too felt the same. That she too knew Tanner would have to make the choices he did, as well as Tanner himself did. But it seemed to fade away and was forgotten when she left Sarah to see Tanner himself in the meeting, melting away as a sinking sun slowly below the horizon, now flashed back listening to Sarah again. Flashed in such a way Barbara felt a white heat forming somewhere deep inside her. A heat which brought with it both recognition and shock.

Looking away moment trying to fathom this entire episode for it perhaps was all a dream yet Barbara began to fight with herself whether it possible trying to recall whether she'd had a dream such as this and if so when or was it all brought on by the conditions of all their lives, but gave up relinquished her knowing it was true, that buried deep inside somewhere she understood but saved the fact as if it were a treasure waiting the right moment presenting itself, solving the riddle. Returning to Sarah watching her finish the food and last of the water, Barbara told her to tell no one of what she just said. Under no circumstances to talk about any of this. And then Sarah said something shocking Barbara forcing her to take a step backward, 'You knew too Barbara. Just as Tanner. You knew all along.'

It was as real as sweeping the floors at the Foremost grocery story. As real as being kissed the first time. As real as standing right here on that beach in the surroundings they were, yet it all seemed imagined. Recognition was a powerful thing, probably the most if what it carries changes something so great, so vast as your own soul. And right there it did for Barbara. Exploding shells and the beach entirety grew faint, in point of fact the world itself slipped away that very moment Barbara realized what Sarah stated was true; she did know.

All along.

As if waiting the brain to react, another part of it will preoccupy itself for it's never at rest continuously active no matter the situation or condition, when a little girl about four her father telling her, 'Even after you die your mind continues on helping your heart making the right decision as to your rebirth like choosing which field you want to play in', which later lead to many discussions whether the heart or the mind controlled a person or perhaps both and the extent.

In Barbara's eyes she was at that moment standing gazing at Sarah, entering a different field, a place of familiar things, not unlike that as a young girl she began experiencing when reading books, a simpler time without much of any demands other than what person places on themselves left Barbara with an open mind causing that very door into somewhere swing wide open allowing a glimpse at first, but later the more often visited became readily within reach just as anything does the more you practice it, simply by letting whatever was beyond that door through, into her world.

Just as she'd had an immediate connection with Sarah seeing her the very first instant caused the door to open, although Barbara visited less, slowly forgetting the door and all that lay on the other side as she grew older. To the point, it all seemed a dream of sorts and maybe didn't happen at all telling herself seeing she was so young at the time. So impressionable. So weak they said. Her mind easily manipulated they clamored to call her parents 'better straighten that child up or pay the consequences later' for which Barbara's father told them to drop dead there wasn't anything wrong and mind their own damn affairs.

Now that very moment the door opened again for Barbara and the flood poured from the other side through where Sarah grabbed her as she fell towards the nurse who herself in tattered dungarees with a large cut on the forehead, knew exactly what had just happened, that her commanding officer whom she cared deeply for realized she herself lived between two different fields.

## Chapter 13: He's Gone

Doctor David Ward arrived onboard the ambulance medical ship AMS Grace just four days before she was struck by the plane tearing through the ship killing a great number, forcing him quickly into a different reality realizing just where he was, and what he'd gotten himself into volunteering as a combat surgeon just six months ago thinking a great way to save lives for the work he'd conducted at the time in the small county hospital entailed mending broken bones and perhaps on rare occasions an operation, for which he'd studied over ten years, yet only now performed one appendectomy.

Informing his wife, he wanted to transfer to combat she almost gave birth right there on the floor of their kitchen seeing she was eight and a half months pregnant with their first baby and the shock though commendable from her husband wanting to give service in the first place had passed, this news nevertheless was totally opposite as David was appalled by violence.

Three weeks later David boarded Grace leaving their comfortable world traveling to another where less than seventy hours since getting underway, was ordered ashore with other medical staff including Barbara and Sarah although he knew very little of both, he being one of the doctors for Group B tasked with establishing a field hospital even if the beachhead wasn't secure, whose job commenced with stabilizing casualties that arrived, preforming surgery when necessary, getting the wounded and sick transfer ready to Grace for more intensive care, when the enemy defended with superior numbers, soldiers disembarking from Grace along with other ships, attacked that beachhead, introducing David along with many others, the realities of conflict.

From the point, the landing craft's door dropped everything of value David owned seem irrelevant. The past was after all in his view very trivial and extremely far away, having crossed his mind was an unfair attitude which for a moment trouble him. But only slightly. For David realized as most in combat situations and afterward, nothing was more real than the conflict of war, with those returning never themselves thought they tired. It was apparent most left a great part of their self in those dramatic moments of warfare causes. Right from the start, David knew he too would not escape an inevitability of such scale. How he would cope should he survive after returning home, was something he didn't want to contemplate.

Survived his first beach assault finally linking up with Sarah and the others in B Group was simply something that had to happen. There was no defining moment during their four days B Group stayed on the beach. Their small hospital grew steadily through more supplies and staff. Casualties mounted at times overflowing the now expanded eight operating tables established with twenty-seven nurses and doctors. And sometimes there was a short lull where staff could rotate taking turns getting sleep where they could and eat what was cooked on Grace and shipped over to the hospitals numbering twelve since the assault began.

But through it all some of the inner moments when David looked out at an often dark blue sea and saw Grace nearby hovering like some worried parent over her young unable to participate but close if needed was a secure ghost he thought watching her appear through the dim light early mornings knowing if absolutely necessary they could be on board in less than forty minutes should troops be overrun and they faced imminent attack themselves, quickly became a constant comfort for many.

When finally returning aboard David thought he'd never leave her again, but feeling the massive shudder pass through the ship the airplane impacting the superstructure plunging him into a dream-like world where things of this nature he quickly told himself did well enough occur during wartime, but to someone else - in some other part of the fighting - as the alarm sounded and the ship begins to list the damage, he realized it was all very real, and excited him. Greatly.

Again with B Group, everything in an instant changed. And this is what David became immensely addicted with, that sudden disruption of what normality was, what one thought the importance of, what being tested in life took up a completely different meaning carrying with it an entirely abstract set of rules, where he found himself on the ships fantail conducting emergency operations of casualties from the crash without the slightest thought of home or anything, but the task at hand.

Knowing should any call come for volunteers going ashore before they ordered someone for field reconnaissance missions, where medical staff were assembled with the recon force, David would face some of the greatest observations of ones true character deciding whether stepping forward presenting himself immersed in his new found drug, or stay with the ship he'd choose the former.

One of the last nights spent with his wife before shipping out David laid in their bed watching headlights from passing cars play between the blinds and curtains throwing shadows upon the wall. While listening to his wife's gentle breathing next to him having given birth only three days before she was still somewhat tired needing as much rest as possible between the four-hour breastfeeding and diaper changes but at such an age the only two demands at present the newborn required; food with a clean dry bottom.

And it was while watching this play develop on the walls in their bedroom, the soft echoing of breathing, an occasional stir from the baby David thought about the ship he would be on in just a few days when he felt suddenly being watched.

Laying on his back the crib a few feet away in the corner, for the room was very small just enough with a small double bed for him and his wife, a nightstand with reading light, and one dresser cabinet for both their clothes, when his mind flashed causing a slight stir for a moment forced a sense there were more than simply the three in the room.

Before the months of military training David completed just the week prior, had the same sensation occurred would've clearly rattled his logical and firm thinking mind, to the point of turning on the nightstand light storming out of bed searching for signs whether someone had broken into their apartment, and God forbid was still there, waiting for him in some darkened corner when David approached unaware, would be clubbed unconscious, waking hours later to find his wife and child taken, dragged perhaps for David had a very colorful imagination especially in matters such as violence, from the bed where then physically abused and either left for dead sprayed on the floor in a pool of deep bordeaux colored drying blood, or forever missing.

Now was different. He was taught in training to keep quiet and wait for the enemy allowing time to think permitting the mind to join with the body informing it there is danger about so get ready, and that's where most without proper training faulted in times such as now as they weren't connected proven as a growing number of casualties from those not securely attached with their surroundings matched with their own capabilities since they were either fatigued or ill-informed.

David laid completely still controlling his breathing as trained slow rhythmic, relaxing his muscles knowing in a second they would be called upon without thought rather by virtue of instinctual action from his training, for it was morality David thought to learn well what you are trained in whether surgery in saving lives or taking them in soldering.

Another car passed lights and shadows moved across walls and ceiling from the headlights. David only allowed a sliver of his eyelids to open scanning the room, waiting. Listening. All the floors in the apartment were of wood. Stepping in any part whether it was the bathroom or kitchen caused the wood to creek sending signals loudly throughout the small one bedroom they'd just moved four weeks' prior the birth. Because of the training extended, he told his wife not to bother in her condition that it would be taken care of, but David hadn't counted on the intensity for that final three weeks lengthened period causing him when returning home to simply collapse in bed shortly upon arriving and therefore not all the boxes were unpacked, simply lining most of the walls.

The bedroom was no exception allowing only space to early pass between the boxes and the bed itself meaning, if someone else was in the room they'd be right next to the bed.

'Right on top of you,' David thought to himself. 'In plain sight. Nothing to hide.'

Waiting and listening as the light trailed off the walls and the room began growing dim again, David breathed that slow breath of a man in deep sleep. His wife also remained undisturbed but David was sure of it now all he had to do...but as the fading light moved into its darkness there was the slightest shift of blackish-gray by the crib. Only the slightest. David probably wouldn't have noticed if it didn't pass between him and the bedding of the crib which was light blue, highlighted anything against it.

But there was. Something clear for David in a way, yet darker in nature for as soon as it neared the crib, its form altered.

'Shifted,' David thought later recalling it when the black and orange angry cloud about to consume both he and Barbara on the beachhead folded upon them as would a wave from the ocean itself rolled over the entire landing force, with intention. As if thought how to direct itself with speed and force for which David knew to be insane believing such, yet it was an overwhelming feeling the cloud descended upon the entire front had purpose.

Had David known he'd encounter a similar presence in a few weeks' time under conditions, along with many others experienced that day, insanity would have taken him that moment for a very long journey with the probability of returning from slim, but if so, certainly not in the same frame of mind.

David, watched through eyes near shut as the shadow-shape grew over what he estimated more than six feet from something no higher then that of the crib itself in a matter of seconds as if were bent double, now stood erect.

His wife stirred slightly as if too started by such a sight in her deep sleep her hand twitching David felt as it lay next to his arm as if trying to ward off whatever was to happen next. And with those movements of the mother the shadow-shape ceased blending perfectly with it surroundings save only the corner of the bedding was dark as if from painting the artist had forgotten or not yet added color, which would for the most not be viewed as odd for it was only a small part David thought should he wake just at that moment, looking at his son's bed.

But he hadn't. David saw everything and now knew this shape no more than a foot away from his own hand, was aware he'd had been watching. Observing. There was no hiding from the fact for David was certain when the shape moved slowly from the crib across that distance of a mere twelve inches or so, toward his own hand.

In a matter of a few seconds the dark form would be near enough to touch his hand, and David knew from which the speed it moved, knew of no horror till when it touches his, felt the cry raise in his throat a scream stifled for what seemed years, ready to burst when suddenly his son stirred making an animal sound as if a short bark from a small dog, but low and actually frightful for David never heard such a sound from a newborn before.

The advancing shape having traveled along the bed sheet now halted a few inches from his hand. His wife's trembling continued slightly increased, with an urgency David thought, then came another half-bark from his son. Suddenly the mother began whimpering, softly at first then building rapidly, her hand continuing its spastic like twitch, yet another animal sound that dog-like puppy bark from the baby echoed slightly through the small room, but the shape did not move, not withdraw but seemed to David in defiance to it all, claiming territory insofar his family being the invaders stole by moving in. It was this that David felt strongly from the shape, this above all else that he and his family had taken something which wasn't theirs to have; domain.

With that in mind David opened his eyes fully, raising himself on both elbows, now faced the shape fully his wife startled by his action too woke sluggishly asking what the problem was always seemed to amaze David thinking this automatic question stemmed from something maternal, somewhere something he didn't posses but perhaps all mothers did, he replied nothing telling her softly to go back to sleep, which she promptly laid back into the bed as if it were protection he imagined, doubting even she is aware of this entire episode David realized thought perhaps a closer bond between child and mother exists, although he felt not fear, nor panic confronting this presence alone for his wife began that deep rhythmic breathing signaling her fall into sleep. Rather one of familiarity.

David's eyes moved from where the shape had stopped upward following its entire height. It had grown he noticed almost reaching the ceiling, now flowing around the entire foot of the bed slowly, unhurried as if calculating David thought as the shape did not cross over onto the bed sheets themselves, only in that one specific place were David's hand laid did it remain motionless.

Continuing around to his wife's side up to the headboard of the bed where it met the wall the shape finally stopped. Now reaching the ceiling it flowed along then down the sides of the walls till reaching the floor. It had in a matter of moments nearly encapsulated their entire bed save a small doorway where the crib stood. David reached out slowly placing his hand on his son's bed sheets unable to feel the wooden structure beneath it. Strange wondering a moment able to touch the bed yet it hadn't any framework holding itself together when his wife rose next to him he turned seeing her eyes still closed then clearly stated, 'He's gone,' in a disinterested way, and returned to her sleep.

David turned back to the crib now being consumed by the shape, had almost entirely disappeared. There was a sudden crying out of his voice which never sounded as it stuck in the throat, chest filling with air desperately wanting to release the expected scream but found it unable.

Another car passed sending its lights across the shape allowing David for a moment to see through to the horror of which replaced that of any battlefield having all the torn parts of humanity strewn endlessly, for the shape was simply that; an eternal theater of casualties and he the only surgeon.

Suddenly the scream came from that depth reserved where only the greatest of all darkness resides, his chest heaving in the outpouring of terror and anger desperate, wanting to push all sanity into a corner where it could better be forever held. Preserved.

As David's lungs finished their expulsion of air his own scream deafened by some blanket feeling its pressure pushed upon him as the suffocation drew not only the life from him, but all around, there came other screams through the shape and tremendous with blasts of flares he couldn't recognize, his hand trembling on the crib grasped the bed sheets pulling them close wanting to protect what laid within drew the crib against the bed where he stared into its shocking emptiness, his wife again beside him laughing in some hideous crying fit began screaming, 'HE'S GONE, I TOLD YOU...I TOLD YOUUU!!' followed by more bombardments with wave after wave of screaming all coming out of the dark hideous shape.

David now surrounded inside the shape with something clawing, lashing at him, something besides his wife repeatedly struck out at his face screeching 'HE'S GONE...HE'S GONE!!' all the while great lashes of light burst from the shape blinding his eyes burning from its horrendous glair, David knew he'd entered the real hell he always thought of and with that a massive shock went out splintering the shape into a thousand shards of itself, cut the blackness open releasing reality where David being slapped by not his wife, but another women who's name he'd forgotten though recognized but couldn't quit remember where, as where itself changed into a raging inferno of blacken thick cloud with deep orange once buried now bellowed forth passing over the two who huddling in a sandy hole as explosions gripped them shaking the entire world with the greatest vengeance declaring this was not theirs and they must descend, but having refused the warning now reside with a wanton destruction caused from both sides having produced this monstrosity, reached out clenching what world they had, the doctor wanting the suffering to stop when the nurse yelling into his face no more than a few inches from her own, 'HE'S GONE...HELP THEM!!' and doing so David looked down into his hands seeing the faint remains of what was once a person he tried reviving yet was gone indeed, for there wasn't a torso let alone much resembling that of a soldier who just a moment before David and the nurse listening to his one word, 'Fire' as he paused briefly informing them of the pending danger that would soon over take them all as the mortar struck next to him shredding everything away from the boy, as they were all young, taken in their youth to beaches leaving lives many never returning as before, his gaze deepening into what filled those hands till the slapping across his face broke any concentration, the nurse gripped his collar striking him hard again hollered for him to move pulling at the same time where they both finally crawled from that shallow sandy pit joining again the battle ragging all around in every direction as chaos was king here with killing its rightful charge, David looking back a moment past the pit toward the ocean now on fire, seeing through the blackened-redden orange smoke the faint outline of a man and woman asleep in bed with something darker than black closing around a small crib gripped by strong hands, pulled from the shallowness of the pit as he watched the image consumed by the advancing fiery cloud.

## Chapter 14: The House

Nothing short of ideology would do here. It was, in fact, the only thing floating. All else simply sank as dead-weight life had placed on it and no one knew exactly what to do or when. It was more of an impromptu episode of some mistrusted analytical not once unsupervised nor ever would be style of life they'd all grown accustomed to as plain as their own twisted complexions tampering with any formal clear thinking would allow, and that's just how they deemed recognition from the start as God only knows what prospectors would have perished under such stifling barren landscape a mind of theirs produced with its wants and whims on high patrol for any treasure piratable, hoarding as a rabid squirrel should've managed better during those precious months before winter tore through paralyzing thought allowing only the dimwitted to survive where they all gathered for a sitting waiting with a wondering look about them knowing there was something strange, something a little peculiar in the entire situation but none able attaching recognition to any of it dare venture a foot into that domain, that ripe plantation of ever smooth silhouetted shape having only ones last growth without weeds of encumbrance. Or so it was conceived. Where it was thought important. But that's where the portrait changed.

There was only a scene of understanding as long as there remained something of value worth having, that in possession counted for the simpler more authentic attitude of character, able using a compass locating that barring sought not of an end but knowing it wasn't lost in vain. That at least partially held true. And how no matter the consequences, anything would be paid to maintain it. Trading that wanton dream.

What good would have it been holding with falsehoods remaining on that desolate plateau thinking the while cleverness saved not only the moment but formed a newer, bolder experience allowing opportunities to flourish as hopes through that first unspoiled imaginative ambition without deception, when in the real aspect of diverse relationships, there was nothing more poignant than looming failure forcing stagnated fear in covering something as simple as death and how its exploration on account of boredom so reverently grew waking them from that drowsy interlude lived for so long they hadn't a notion anything changed, when in fact, none was more real.

But no claim came forward having left a lame abandonment where actuality questioned whether it was ever part of any given moment, or simply an invention contrived so as to pass the time with least effort, without remorse, only that part of ambition trolling, spewing chum laden landscape attracting expectations, not in pleasure, rather in a gluttonous nature of more as good regardless of caliber.

And it was just that, that caliber held in the pistol Adam pointed at Jennifer who cried out to Mary she saw quickly stepping between the two a moment before he fired having bought just the year before through a friend claiming with all their wealth such an item was indispensable, though never having been tried, Adam had only a faint recollection from TV as to its simple usage; point and pull.

It was surprisingly heavy in his hand Adam noted having carried the weapon from the den where he kept it locked in a drawer of which he only having the one key, to the living room where both women sat talking some mindless gibberish they always talked he always thought to himself on his way to and fro from the den and how right now he'd grown very tired of the 'bonding' seeing he never thought it 'healthy' his wife's relationship with Mary whom he saw as a rather intrusive bitch though she'd a firm figure in Jennifer's eyes, one of which he wouldn't mind at all abusing often fantasied beating the hell out of her while giving her the fuck she often flirted in wanting from him.

But this all was simply invented on Adam's part of which he spent most of his aroused time pursuing to the extent he hadn't noticed the line between real and not nor caring either, after all from the start, the point realized his growing desire dreamt outside the normal environment of a sexually active man became real with his introduction to Maria.

Of Guatemalan descent, Maria having studied grounded in ruthless determination became a premier violinist at the age of just sixteen performing as concertmaster for the renowned Russian National Symphony. In three years she expanded her network, retiring from public performance giving full attention to her new occupation as agent for some of the most accomplished classical musician in the world including apprentice artists on the rise, managing all their affairs, including their secrets, for which she made certain they had several of, herself even contriving.

Naturally, these secrets were the means of control. Though she had her own Maria was extremely careful who knew those, making absolutely certain she could manage them with their own misgivings about maintaining strict power. Adam was one such, a game of knowing and allowing.

He knew what secrets Maria held, after all, one, in particular, was the reason Adam stood with pistol in hand, and if he didn't shoot Jennifer that day, that moment he was instructed so, then not only his carrier was finished but his life would be spent in a far-off jungle hut having skin peeled slowly starting with his feet working upwards lasting under stringent orders the duration of which at least one year in order to celebrate his own demise cutting off his fingers on that anniversary; one each hour.

For what reason, Adam wasn't exactly clear on since it seemed to him after being told, anyone could do the job, but knowing the alternatives left very little room and hesitancy if he didn't, things would change very quickly as the car waiting outside wanted proof of the fact with not only photos but physical evidence, at his discretion may choose, illustrating beyond doubt the task was completed as directed.

As his finger tightened on the trigger knowing in some short time a very loud sound and some form of recoil action as Adam never fired a weapon before, was astonished when the moment came as indeed the rebound from the weapon held without a firm grip not only snapped Adam's wrist shattering fragments, fracturing it in eight separate places thereby ending his musical career, but also the .38 caliber handgun with the force of the shot flung back into Adams face crushing his nose, breaking the jaw along with eight teeth, four of which promptly dropped out of his blooded mouth the moment after he fired.

This of course not being the greatest surprise of the entire fiasco; that happened when the round Adam fired actually struck something else.

His never having the opportunity of using a firearm, may very well have saved Jennifer, for Adam's round gained another projection although the distance between he and Jennifer being no more than eight feet hence not too difficult a target, proved painful in understanding how it ended up in the forehead of the driver parked thirty yards further down from the house waiting to see along with three of his fellow colleagues Maria sent, which part of Jennifer's anatomy would show up.

The second after his teeth hit the carpet Adam realized things had not gone to plan and wondered which hurt more, his face, his hand, or his brain as it raced understanding not how he was going to die, for which he was certain of rather how long that would take, for which he was certain of starting the very second all this came to light in Adam's brain, but just wanted to take moment before the hysteria set in and his pathetic animalistic screaming reached the three still siting in the car contemplating their own situation being covered in the drivers blood and chunks of brain still pieces of skull attached some having become shards piercing their faces for which they themselves weren't yet aware of only later coming to their light in wiping the driver from infuriated faces while marching up to the front door chambering their own caliber rounds into the semi-automatic weapons brought just in the event something might call for their use, something as this very event, when three gunshots from within the house were heard causing the three to instinctively drop to the well-manicured grass and immediately commenced using their own arms indiscriminately firing across the entire width and height of the house of its two story front.

In place of hurdling themselves off in mind of some commando raid dropping to the grass firing their weapons as they did, they'd forgotten one simple aspect in such a mission; never trust what you don't know for sure.

Had the three known what the three shots provoked they certainly would not have approached the house in such a manner. Had they known what transpired inside during the time it took for them to leave their vehicle to the point of the shots fired, they certainly would not have approached the house in such a manner. Had the three known what Jennifer had seen that afternoon on her phone through the security camera link of what stood next to the bay windows, in the sofa corner where she a moment before reading a somewhat slow story of some abstract war on some island with some characters she couldn't very well connect with, but that may be because she was just at the beginning of the book and had to admit to herself she had very little patients, not like the older generation grew up without a network sprawled across the globe with instant access, or some mammoth database you could ask questions into and get near instantaneous responses, never mind some might be extremely dubious in nature, they sure would have turned their attention of an immediate withdraw to a safer location never wanting to know anything more, except if they survive escaping the area they would seek comfort in some far away land surrounded in thankful thought, 'they were the lucky ones'.

But they weren't.

Perhaps the last thought crossing through their minds besides a delayed sense of pain resulting from each of the three being struck by a round fried from the .38 passing through each of their left kidneys while they continued firing upon the house intent of using all their ammunition realizing there was no retreat for their fate would be sealed literally duck taped to a chair, bolted to a floor, having skin pealed off with liberal salt applied which their employer herself insisted upon, a great titillation bringing about a certain higher orgasmic appreciation for the entire affair she explained to them in detailed should thing not go as dictated.

And they'd be damned if that would happen.

So the three fought bravely to the end, spraying window and doors readily firing several hundred rounds into the front of the house. With weapons emptied, they half-lurched spitting foamed blood from grinning mouths upon that wonderful amazing well-manicured grass they admired secretly wanting the very same if they survived, grinning smiles widen nearing the front door with now large hunting knives unsheathed at the ready safe in knowing they hadn't any need facing that salt and tape excursus for even hardened souls such as these would appreciate a quick slit of the throat in exchange, but their sanctuary was short lived when they fell against the house their near blackened blooded shirts from their wounds trailing upon that green grass shown not the sun above as it breached through thick clouds casting upon a cold frozen earth below giving warmth and safety, instead laid a trail of which something followed them they'd not yet seen.

Their backs against the house, in touching the front wall was as if the structure itself began vibrating from someplace deep, well below the foundation. Below anything normal. From the center something of a greater influence. Not kind in nature nor good capability, that potential given in a comfortable state, knowing they were in the right, invulnerable unto themselves, except this, was different. This instead of giving...withdrew.

Perhaps the last thought passing along any of the three in that fleeting moment before they fell dead, cardiac rupture listing the official cause of death, yet anyone seeing what actually happened, what actually reached through the walls of the house grasping those men, would claim different, though certain variants contradicting slightly one another should they be noted, but none came forward for want even to acknowledge, as Adam and Jennifer's closest neighbors lived some distance never decreed half a mile or a mile neither agreed not even the police when they arrived with questions, and when interviewed by such simply stated they'd seen nothing, when in fact that being true lead to a point of who saw anything at all, might well have concluded being flayed might not be so bad considering the alternative of insanity waiting on the outskirts.

But it was witnessed through the security cameras able in viewing the entire front of the house transmitted to a phone. But not Jennifer's phone; that was a separate channeling.

Since Jennifer began reading the book Mary told her about, intense interest in the happenings of the household eager in capturing any and all activities, later being of great importance not for the local law, nor for its occupants, rather another selected group.

Yet with Adam bleeding, mumbling through broken teeth, none of this seemed relevant when they rolled up into that intoxicating sweet filled air scented of some how ancient Douglas Fir branches twisted swaying slowly on that sunny October unseen breeze, where at night only owls patrolled waiting, certain none ventured out alone, would busy themselves with the task of making sure what arrived did so without the slightest interference from any nearby residence, including animal in nature whether two-legged, those having inclination, as to the extent of their surroundings, assuming they had any connection. Or not.

And in that age-old time before any of this began, laid deep with that grouted forest something none should have wanted, nor should have dreamed but did, and so having woke the presence before it was ready and there the trouble ensued causing its malformed thoughts growing ever larger with abnormal consuming hunger.

And as it broke free of the tree line where only thinner matted brush grew unaware there wasn't a choice but leaving those defend solemn thoughts crushed under some abstract idea things were going to get better if you just 'had hope' and stayed with your gut feeling, but as they stepped from the car all of that scurried out with a disordered manner like some nightmare held too long, rotting from its onset, decay spreading out its nauseating oil floating on waterways often drank from proclaimed as the new elixir.

And waiting, slowly casting a wide view upon the newfound broken landscape of strewn damaged cravings bent on one thing, one element in all this greatness, one dream possessed having brought it here; control.

And while the rolling stopped they hadn't the mind nor willingness to wait, when they opened the bag and released what they'd carried from a place no one here had any idea of nor even dreamt of, upon the land for which as soon as it touched borrowed deep into full of offspring soon to burst open giving way of a new starved form casting aside the current home with a slight regard only that of making certain it would sustain itself, carrying the desired effects till outliving the gluttonous manacled ways it possessed for shear necessity.

And Adam knew this. Knew they would come just as they promised when he failed in making the payment, though extremely thoughtful of, yet with only a moments notice all would change as agreed, for the black clouds appeared as always since he could remember the moment before evil itself arrived. Except for the one small detail. Which he'd forgotten. Yet was told to him on his fourteenth birthday. But he didn't really understand and therefore dismissed with his spoiled even then intuitive mind, as nonsense simply imagined in a dream perhaps fragmented over time or simply playful stupidity as monsters don't exist. Playful because the fear of even entertaining such an idea sharply claimed his logical mind causing something to spring forth for lack of chained existence, he'd never experienced 'that' of the unknown he wasn't able to control for he'd always commanded through either money or manipulation by dishonesty, but how was he to manage something which came to him not in dreams but straight during daylight and waken hours, knowing all his secrets, fears, hatreds, and lost passions only once allowed for as he saw life there was often only the one at getting something and if it slipped by the opportunity wouldn't pass again, or should he grab on as it passed but weren't able to manage it, rather misuse it, that being worse, like an infected anchor dragged taking hold on the bottom causing him nearly to be torn in two from the violent stoppage, all distracting him from that one goal he only had, that one very precious thought nothing altered no matter the cost; being the greatest.

Adam would trade anything only to maintain his stature. Anything.

But anything came with a price.

And you had to make payments on.

And Adam forgot.

So they came rolling to a stop outside the front door just as the three put their backs against the house and felt the slight tingling. Just before the house slid open and took them.

## Chapter 15: It All Began

None of it started well for any of them. It quickly becomes twisted ruminants of some tattered sheets hung far too long on a line to dry, faded, an only companion for it's growing tears ripping gently all those seemingly connected yet far away from that sense of reason held reverent, illuminating that truth with falsehood, an archaic mantle laid gracefully over the entire story where again, only lies gave perception.

As believed, having strayed later simply being found was no more than walking down the street on a first sunny day after the frost of winter resided back waiting for another year, and how good it all felt. How right.

So getting lost must be a good thing. That there were no real sides made little difference, nor the inability of understanding those sides, which having cradled since before any remembered birth only came as remote dreaming and wishful wandering the mind takes when bored. It simply wasn't interested having released the want of understanding anything beyond its own consumption long ago, now only deemed as survival its main intent. There simply wasn't any form as far as they knew different, though they'd ventured seeing it slightly from the fringed of those sheets, in fact, wished they never did, that first sight stirring imagination giving birth of unbound enigmas forcing madness reign as true king finally having its recognition.

It was then James knew he was indeed very mad. Truly not in any storybook meaning. Rather intense, that which could only be handled through the mangled groping of thought others seemingly threw about as discarded tissues having relieved themselves upon from various hole possessed which he hated now seeing clearly it all began when in high school seeing his then girlfriend's drainage of foul snot flow from her nose, those endless strands swinging in the freezing wind as he told her he wasn't interested in her any more, not caring whether it was her heart he heard cracking or the frozen sidewalk he shifted under with his growing desire to leave the repulsion before him, for he simply didn't give a damn about anything other than something hidden deeply, something he'd known but could never really produce a thought near it hoping to wrangle it, tame it but of course the dame thing scampered off in its grotesque lurching as always when he neared, when only it finally did pause James noticed it was not he himself, his own thoughts he listened too, rather from those around him. It was the girls dribbling on about how she loved him and how could this have happened, how and whys of broken times, Christ it was enough to madden you with rage, and so, James did what he could only do, and had only done his whole life as far as he remembered; reach out into that mind he was now connected with and tear it away. Tear it into pieces, rip it as meat ripped from the bone of some starved animal having pinned its pray down, bite deep into flesh then yanked back holding large chunks dangling, dripping from his mouth. Yes, now it came. He saw the essence of the girl he'd just this afternoon, just a moment before in the room upstairs, in her parents apartment who were now gone for the weekend, who left the keys to their now adult daughter and her outstanding boyfriend they'd just meet though hear so many good things about - oh yes, their high promises pinned upon their woolen thick coats as they left for their winter cabin smiling knowing their task in raising an offspring was such joy, had the best sex he'd ever taken from another not carrying if her cries where either from passion or pain seeing she was a virgin it being the sole purpose in his wanted seduction of her, not knowing upon their return she'd be found in a lost state of thinking the remaining of her adult life did their outlook then change to bewilderment not clearly of why, but of why she. WHY US!

As always it comes back to that. And James smiled watching the light go out of the girl's eyes and walked away listening to the snow under his shoes and how peaceful it all felt.

Knowing just what to do he began gathering his own thoughts playing them in a mental order of which honed from countless others either friends, foes, lovers, family whose ideas all removed over the years, mattered not in the least as James had in his grasp the proprietary domain of all as if none had ever emerged from their original owners mind to that extent none in fact ever remembered once James glimpsed their concepts, gaining insight which should prove valuable, he promptly removed in a wink of time, were never the wiser.

It was as simple as that of how often they stood their confounded searching for a thought they'd had just floating before them, but slipped away for that was a certain point; James could not remove all contents of ideas a person had. There was always a few strands remaining, drifting around causing them to stammer, lost in some preoccupied notion in an ever-mounting desire which did overpower a few sending them off to some far corner in humanity where lost minds roam aimless for eternity - 'especially after death' because James knew for certain, there was no afterlife and its all you-get-now or nothing, which without hindsight, for what was the intention of such a thing, he purposely deposited those he particularly despised. And left them.

His ability to make order of someone's idea was astounding, growing ever stronger, yet not his own. James came across his high school math teacher Miss Kington his freshman year and found her conceptual process exactly what he wanted. The next day the substitute arrived taking over the class as Miss Kington was in the hospital with some mental fatigue of sorts it was then diagnosed as. Later naturally she moved to the sanitarium where she still resides drooling while ranting foam flying from her now sunken face it's shriveled mouth gaping open and closing as a fish out of breath the once beautiful brown hair now gray and matted sticking to her constantly sweating forehead creating if anyone cared or even decipher, a roadmap pointing to what actually occurred that sunny afternoon alone with James in her class scolding him if he didn't shape up he'd be doing the year over.

But that's not exactly what James heard.

James heard her mind whipping along, a swiftness never encountered. Such form. Such unity and discipline. 'My God I have to have THAT!' he yelled to himself. And Miss Kington never spoke again anything anyone could ever understand.

Until a woman began a story she was told would be of interest. Rather slow to begin, but worth the while should one have the persistence for that's what wandering around a story is actually; the ability to see differently. Sort of connect-the-dots.

James took those ideas, those aha moments from all he passed. Stored them in a giant file cabinet in his brain which he constantly searched for related details on whatever work he was producing for his playwright. And outside whether the sun was bright or chilled from winters he didn't mind and hardly noticed as he relived someone else insight, their great perception in full order for James knew a person having deep understanding of something whatever it was, was itself profound their minds focused with such intensity, burning through, showing bright calling him; great beacons transmitting.

And that's where the problems began; how to manage such a medium.

At the start it was a simple game James enjoyed playing tossing ideas from others around as you would a ball in the park. It all began watching the tops of their heads as they walked along, moving about. Rarely did he witness this, this air he called it as if broadcasting from a TV or radio station, in someone other then in a vertical state, though he could recall there were a few sitting, these grew jumbled and unproductive in nature resulting in a useless mass of gibberish he didn't want to contend with.

It wasn't the strangest moment one might recall in their childhood when they first notice something no one else notices, thought years ago since his first 'airing' it is the most profound natural foremost in his memoirs of watching a small man not much taller than himself when he was six his first encounter with a person of short stature, a dwarf, whose very on top of his head produced an orange-blueish light flowing outward and up three feet where then simply dispersed. James thought how odd not the fact in person's stature thought it was the key which captured James's attention for the light floated off into the faces of those passing by the small man as if they walked into some colorful thin cloud, their heads being covered with and once in contact, became animated, dancing or so, blinking with small quick flashes of bright white light leaving whips of trails behind as falling star then suddenly vanish.

Though the cloud remained the sparkles quickly disappeared when in contact with another person and James thinking how wonderful it all was called to his mother who was busy walking and talking as she always did not notice this nor anything in particular for she was by no means an intelligent woman only viciously conscientious of the fact she'd born a child and was stuck with it, and if it didn't stop chattering away it did at times, mostly at the least convenient, which was always in her mind, he'd have to be put downstairs, and downstairs was something the little boy knew all to well as a place very cold without much light, just enough to see things crawl out from even darker places, slithering about he could imagine the sucking noises of their great bodies as they moved about each other waiting for him to come a little closer so they could get a good bite on one of his legs then draw him in slowly all the while screams gone unheard for the mother would be as usual busy with herself for she lived as little more than a tube with teeth on the end. Not much different to those in the basement James smiled to himself when recollecting those horrible days and nights down there, smiling now because he fixed his mother good, but still loved her for if she hadn't been locked away he wouldn't have fallen asleep that one time, that one time where the Owner came into his dream.

James called 'this allure' simply that because he couldn't think of anything else and because others moved away when the Owner did come day or night warning him, 'You shouldn't touch someone else's things as they were the owner of those things just as you did with your mother's once where she burned you so don't touch anything else. EVER!'

Except her mind remained in not a complete state of insanity but just enough to know she didn't know which was which, whether she was asleep or not, where the monsters she saw were real resembled that along the lines of continuous withdrawals from heroin addiction. That's where she resided. In that area. That place where all our addiction wait for us James thought as he saw her the last time with those darkening black circle under her eyes as if not having slept for a week or two the ever increasing state of emaciation both mental and physical for her mind was of such weakness James had little effort sealing that condition, which he wished would last forever but seeing he didn't believe in such, the best he could produce was that of this tormented state of uncertainty surrounded by physical pain, shivering from cold and heat which wasn't there, only in her mind he'd placed, of not wanting contact with others seeing that's all she ever did while raising him that constant yakking on the phone or with neighbors, or in front of mirrors of any element catching her reflection always needing to check herself, always with cigarets mounted on a fake mother of pearl filter drooping like suckled dying dreams from the corner of her mouth.

That's why James smiled thinking of his mother so it being his nature after all as a person toward day and night yet the problem was James didn't know whether it was day or not when the Owner appeared that's when he grew very afraid, because even the light wasn't safe, reason he moved mostly at night, or near as possible.

And after the man of small stature, many more arrived. James witnessed them from afar, or stand right next letting this light cloud drift over him permitting a free-think take over his mind quickly understanding whether it was worth keeping their ideas and thoughts or not. The first occasion he felt this dimness happened when a girl starting university away from home for the first time thought to herself, 'What happened if you stopped school and started working,' which was what she wanted, only attending university for her parents sake with their overwhelming finger-pointing enthusiasm 'You need higher education to get a high job' mantra spewing, but she simply wanted to get high and work in coffee shop in Amsterdam, though James didn't know what at the time that high meant nor what an Amsterdam was he quickly learned simply going into this thin cloud which allowed access partly within their minds reading their thoughts. And what shined the most were their ideas which James immediately took great interest in.

It wasn't that James could read everything they thought or felt, only a small part and only connected with an idea. However, the brain in its complexity is literally linked to everything within itself. But there was a block. James in years since first understanding what possibilities the cloud held, till now could still not surpass this wall. Try as he did with every mind chosen to connect once able to penetrate deeper into the actual workings of that person's brain wasn't possible.

Always left on some outer post watching ideas form yet not able to manipulate which was his intention, wanting to control the person, to even plant his own idea into their minds gleefully wishing such, deserving utmost in the outcomes which for hours he spent contemplating those what-ifs while achievements of which ran orgasmic in his own perception all the while whispering, 'Wouldn't mama be proud?'

But that too changed. When a woman began a story she was told would be of interest.

And how to filter all the minds as James grew older became more apparent he'd soon lose any part of his own mind should he not control entered for the sheer amount of information, details, some coherent, most dribble, took their weight pulling him as he'd learned even using them against their own creators. To be sure all he had to do was simply reflect the idea back into their own mind, careful however not to leave any trace of his own self within it.

At first it was a disaster having been caught several times by the person whom he'd just reflected their thought or idea was able to see him clearly in the reflection where either later dismissing the event as deja vu, encroaching insanity, mental fatigue, lack of sleep, sex, food - the list became endless of what a person would think of instead of what really happened, which for the general public James chose was a good thing for if they really knew what had happened most probably would result in a substantial increase in breakdowns and suicides for what would a qualified psychiatrist illuminate for this demand explanations of what they saw or dreamed in that reflection of their own thought of another person they'd never met watching them, but worst, could 'feel' him. And that was the part James disliked most. Being felt. It was the over-powering reason why he treated everyone especially woman keeping then at the furthest distance, despite that for the opposite sex there was only one element he wanted besides the sex of course; that of degradation.

And through the years James mastered this as there were countless should he reflect though never did, left mentally obstructed insofar they developed speech impediments including a variety of ailments ranging from severe skin rash to chronic acne.

James especially schemed woman insulting any conceivable manner feasible; the slower the better. Melting away would be grand in his opinion as he by accident quite well indeed established how this destitution worked suiting him perfectly inasmuch most he wished hurt were those closest to him those the fixtures he saw them as, thus viewing their demise first-hand, on the whole perchance through the act himself instigated, allowing them to think, he genuinely enjoyed their company. This gaining of trust allowed his firsthand vintage collection nearly double in numbers without the least effort except that in declaring admiration in whatever they thought important which upon once hearing such became enthralled producing more material for his writing, more precise because James was both evil and mean to point he wanted to inflict physical pain upon his fixtures but hadn't established the best method.

But that too changed. When a woman began a story she was told would be of interest.

Yet before this entire scenario entered his life, before it all came to the point where James and the others had no idea of what followed, the woman herself was interrupted while enjoying a glass of red wine wondering but not to far whom her sodomizing husband roamed off with and how long they'd be busy till his return as the woman slowly lifted the last of her first glass of a most delicious Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile she'd not had the privilege of trying till now allowing its soft bouquet she loved dearly drift from the glass upon her freshly washed face cooled from the days stress, elevating her to places more often visited then she'd admit being her one free solace where no line admitted ever existing between real and dream of what surprise to find such treats in the loathsome situation drawn into accompanying her adulterous, as everyone knew husband in that slow death march along the final isle of the church for their marriage she'd taken only for reasons of gaining more love then not, and not finances as most beloved for she did love her husband-to-be the bastard he was when she had the thought, 'I'm not going to kill him. But something worse.'

And for the woman what choice was there? She was aging, herself secure though financially from her grandfather's wealth saw to that, the only sibling often leaving that god awful pending feeling of just around the corner something exquisite was about to begin. As so it was when indeed she met her Adam that uprising trainee from some fairytale which itself fairly happens of love finding a way or so we're lead to believe, because love does happen, but it was only her side and nothing of his. True, at the start there was the usual signs of all things going as they should, yet soon died even before the marriage resulting in the woman feeling walking down the red-carpeted center of the church filled with God and hardly anyone she knew for all seemed to be from Adams side, of a fear taking hold.

It started not on the walk itself but a moment before she was to make that march alone seeing her parents knew of Adam didn't agree with any nonsense of matrimony, for God sakes both her parents screaming in unison 'ARE YOU MAD!' That walk down to where Adam waited for her with the priest and the whole thing started rolling around as she looked to what appeared a thousand yards in her mind feeling her stomach jump several times, not from butterflies but goddamn vultures clawing at her insides desperately wanting out to feast upon all those lovely eyes now watching her in that beautiful hand sewn silken gown.

That's what she told Mary her neighbor just into her second glass of wine during their first meeting, as with Mary there was an instant liking as there should be when people meet for the first time and feel overwhelmed. It was an absolute delight for them both. But Adam when he was at home Mary never stepped foot near the house though they were only a short distance away in the hills far from that psychotic city both she and Mary despised, in fact, it was the only thing both she and Adam agreed on; living in the hills.

Standing there holding her empty glass looking at the other invited guests she barely took notice of while finishing her drink only to feel a slight twinge in the lower part of her neck, which happily took her mind from such dreariness of looking at this group she'd surmised even before arriving seeing they were her husbands group, they indeed felt supreme above all others, but it was now an ever increasing pain spreading outward she thought about and while placing her hand just at the base of the skull that being the center point of all the trouble, she almost fainted from shock as she felt another hand resting on that same place she wanted to massage hoping to gain some relief, a hand of a woman, excessively warm, a hand she herself did not feel until having touched it even from it's glowing warmth, a hand which seemed instantly taking what pain there was and remove it for in that spilt second this prevailed, they met.

Without formal greetings the two stood looking at one another for a moment then the stranger smiled stated clearly, 'I've got a book you should read.'

At that same moment, thousands of miles away James felt the breath in his lungs grow icy cold. His heart slowed almost stopping as everything else had while the girl he was enthusiastically fondling into near orgasmic state ceased moaning, for James's life was about to scurry away in a direction he'd never dreamt not wanting to be part of him any longer, as if everything around James rebelled and in a flash, left.

All the sense possessed stopped sending signals, all the 'air' the girl he was busy with faded instantly as with the snap of fingers from some hidden magician everything vanished from his world and he was left in some cold near darken place he knew to be that downstairs his mother saved for him waiting there James thought as his mind recoiled and he felt its shock vibrate through his chilled body as electricity, then the feeling of the quicksand he'd been standing on gave way and slowly began its upward progress devouring all the world eventually leaving nothing but emptiness in his slow sinking it's rising feeling the pressure of being sucked down legs pulled by fingers ever increasing their grip deeper nails cutting flesh, in a moment consume him cutting all life's precious living away with a single passing of his last breath rising through.

Then just as suddenly this cold darkness arrived was it's brutishly surging dark cloud suddenly rolled back swept aside then the girl resumed her passion toward him as if nothing happened, insofar for her, nothing had. But not James, for in some measure was a change upon him there, in that darkness with its earnest devouring, left an existence now taking hold swiftly passing through his mind gathering all his memories, hope, fears. His entire entity. Collected. Cataloged. Just as he'd done with others this cold blackness held all of James. And it waited. Waiting till...

Jennifer spoke softly to herself as she closed the book slowly strumming the soft yellowed pages with her thumb the rest of her fingers idling drumming the hardcover, which naturally has no illustration other than binding in soft cloth, noticeably worn along its spine, and smudged probably from countless other readers before her, 'What the hell is this?' all the while wondering was there a point to the story.

This had brought about the attention of Rex laying half asleep at her feet, half because he felt the tension in her rise steadily since she started reading the book, lifted his head slightly looking at her waiting, waiting for something to happen yet as always seldom did because she noticed in fact only once as far as Rex could recall when she turned while leaving the living room toward the bay window, her favorite spot with the sun warming the entire area where she always half-lay reading, did abruptly become conscious of something occurring at the windows, and not as it was the case with most of her kind Rex realized for he only knew a few humans and they all acted the same, except one. And he was very nervous around that particular human. Even though it looked and smelled like one Rex sensed there was something very different with it which bothered him greatly especially when it looked at him with those eyes telling Rex, 'Just wait. Watch.'

Laying her head back against the soft creamy white cushion she loved most in the entire house because of its texture, the scent caressed her together with warmth from the sun, red wine and a good book far better than anything previous including her husband who pursued his adulterous second hobby as much as his prime for concert master, no doubt spending an equal amount of time between the two, in spite of the fact Jennifer wasn't contemplating any of at the moment, inasmuch all her attention progressed for one leap, in one direction along the what-is-this passage.

For all its faults Jennifer forced herself to continue reading, there wasn't much of a storyline here each chapter skipping from one type of episode to another as it were, characters not well established only having rudimentary details of their lives allowing slight connection with any of them insofar they all seemed rather boring. A war on a ship then on an island; a writer who stole something she still wasn't sure what; some sort of 'maybe' love story between two women.

'What the hell was this' raced through her mind recalling events gathered from what had to be admitted very painful as she felt strongly this was going to be a great adventure, now turned drudgingly sour nearly every page.

But why?

Let alone the stress waiting as if you were about to take an extremely important exam, her best friend referred the book and when it arrived trembling slightly while opening the package when Jennifer saw the cover in the condition she was taken back first thinking it was some humor she wasn't used to from her friend, however, dismissed with as the infamous statement of not judging till you find what's really going on, but to find something here was simply beyond her expectations and frankly capacity she finally had to admit in the end.

There came a soft whine from Rex as he too felt what Jennifer now realized and she looked at him with a small smile slowly growing. 'Well, it can't be all bad,' she said to him with an immediate twisting of the dog's head trying to get a better signal she always though, but knew Rex understood everything she spoke to him within reason of course, and maybe more so now as she looked at him wondering just how much he really understood or approximately. In any event they were almost twins in a way as most highly intelligent animals are with the ones they choose to connect with, and that she recalled Mary's mother telling Mary often of the times she heard the iron shoed hooves of the horses as they returned up the dirt driveway after a walk 'along the boarders' but never knew exactly what that was having always forgotten to ask Mary when ever they spoke, only when looking out the window there was nothing but the shimmering sun beating down on the tired dry desert dirt they lived upon, and Jennifer wondered hearing the story would she too have that same ability after Rex was gone, hearing his steps on the stone and wooden floors of the house from his claws which actually grew too long but should be trimmed by running wild as dogs like that should let nature do the work, but she either hadn't the time, or cut their walks short for various reasons knowing he needed to be out more in the forests behind their house but Jennifer grew uneasy of those deep woods a month after they moved in when Rex ran after a rabbit and she followed calling him, but found her direction lost, wondered for over an hour calling him and crying knowing they were both absent from their own time, when suddenly there Rex was covered in filth from dirt and mud something blacker than his own dark coat smeared along his flanks and legs as if he pulled himself out of some deep hole panting wildly with a trace of blood on his muzzle leading Jennifer dare not guess whether he'd caught his prey.

But then the real fear came as she approached Rex happy in seeing him began a low growl from somewhere deep stepping away from her with a look of both fear and hatred in his eyes, for which she'll never forget, for which she'll never understand, for which he'd never acted before.

Jennifer froze from this reaction knowing it was not the same dog who seemed more afraid of her now that she called to him retreating more out of fear not wanting to attack, would rather flee than confront and while the two stood waiting, watching, one clear element came into play; the forest grew deadly silent.

Rex wondered later after they emerged from the forest into the warm sunny day with the clear blue sky whether Jennifer had noticed the stillness which encroached around them or was she to preoccupied trying to understand why he acted as he did. Rex above all sensed the fear, knew its scent on her that full richness bearing him further bringing him back to her, not her calling him, but that overpowering impression especially humans release when confronted with something unknown, yet produced such a pull he could feel sensing her danger, upon arriving knew she too had changed, wasn't the same master. Then the terror took hold. She hadn't heard a thing, most likely her own thoughts possessed her as it was in most humans Rex realized watching above all aware of her emotions probably more than herself because as Rex learned, humans faultier easily when in a state of panic. Most animals he knew as well loose coherence when threatened, but humans were at the top, not that they couldn't manage the danger imminent or imagined, rather they weren't used to it. In Rex's world, everything was a possible hazard. And he what amounted to having exceptional senses hovered on that threshold between what the world showed clear, and another.

With shock still running, Jennifer remained frozen for several minutes, yet was much shorter as one's reality collides with the undefined. Thrown under a speeding train reveals in oneself the inability of what time really when during her thirteenth birthday party caught drunk with friends her parents trusted upstairs staying the night-over were immediately sent home naturally informing their parents they'd be returning somewhat inebriated for which of course Jennifer's parents resumed full responsibility thereof seeing it occurred under their roof, the situation blossomed as it did, she was henceforth grounded for three months with double the chores already instated, and in bed with lights-out at nine o'clock sharp, for which those three months seemed twice as long, while anything pleasurable simply fleeted.

Being the first pronounced lesson learned Jennifer faced, and with dignity for she honored her parents to their dying day, except when she married Adam, yet there in the forest that period of instruction after her party seemed a century ago happening to another person, that life's lesson even those so poignant, proved fragile may indeed be shredded from any thought held precious, never worth forgetting, in that period she actually stood very still for only ten seconds, for which Rex knew the situation well, had seen it a hundred times over, there was something else in the forest beside the two and it wasn't interested in playing games between fear and time simple incapable of wanting anything to do with such notation set by those wishing only control of both yet understanding neither, ensued with more pressing intentions of possession and full knowledge of the surrounding, passed through the forest just as Rex began his chase after his fear torn prey coming into contact with the animal first then the woman, knowing neither was the means of its succession was intent of moving off when suddenly there was an image not seen before having caught its attention, for within the woman it saw a square resembling the item in-question but not precisely, which might prove no more detrimental, than perhaps gainful if not now, than later, after all what was the rush in the matter seeing all you knew was time because that is exactly what you were, or rather part of; an extent or exact, a passage, a leeway, a protected path as it was, yet clouded, more of a shadow billowing forward consisting not of solid mass, as impressions shown through voicing muffled noises, whispers as it were, thinned while moving low upon the forest ground, not obscured in the least simply passed unswervingly the shrubbery and trees by.

And it was that very moment, the moment when Rex growled, when the shadow 'noticed' the square drawing attention more closely realizing then the woman too was somehow connected, that she'd learned from the object, learned significant points yet unaware of their importance, innocent perhaps she was, but willing to understand should the opportunity arise the shadow paused behind the woman knowing the animal sensed wasn't a concern for what could it surmount as beasts simply move off shy and afraid, with people though standing stupefied realizing or at minimal trying, in what witnessed prior succumbing with that inevitability invoked something higher descending upon them, or, denounce any thought whatsoever retaining shreds of some lasting sanity, yet finally like the animal moving slowly off as this animal clearly was in defense of the woman voicing as it did in a low howling rumbled tone, the shadow advanced in the direction where the forest eventually thinned, exposing an area where the object it sought laid confined; in a large box with glass.

With Jennifer carefully watching Rex she hadn't the least noticed a shadow no more then ten feet behind her stretching, billowing towards her home, but then the dog shifted its head watching something she suddenly grasped with fright was to the rear of her in turning saw only the dense forest as it carried on a good half mile till reaching the property she and Adam purchased and built their lives together only a few years ago, now another life, the only one thought overwhelming pressed, screaming as it passed through her was getting home with Rex as fast as possible.

Jennifer hoping to get close enough to get the leash back on Rex nearly loosing control of her bladder when in turning back found he was now standing a foot away from her staring up at her with eyes she'd forgotten, eyes she saw when they first met taking him out of a cage he'd been kept for months abandon left to starve, eyes which told the entire story in one look she recognized instantly, yet what took her by surprise was she hadn't heard him in the dead silent forest approach for the brush was thick and relatively dry, his footfalls certainly sounding clear, and a second later the impact crushed her of seeing, his coat was entirely clean with the under part of his chin having turned gray.

It was Rex she knew and felt, but...older.

Her mind simply stopped. How long she hadn't any idea maybe a few seconds, maybe a minute, but in that period Jennifer came to understand one thing in all the quietness of a dead world where only she and her dog stood, not even her own mind working which when it did often produced an audible buzzing from an accident she suffered in high school when a loud sharp hammer sticking a wooden plank they used in building a gazebo in the garden she'd gone out to look at after school, sounded no more than three feet from her left ear damaged the hearing which since slowing passed through her brain she often saw it, a slow drift as it were, increasingly taking over the other ear where now they both produced sometimes and almost deafening ring couldn't be heard now, and it wasn't being underwater where sounds having a muffled tone, here there simply wasn't any sound at all.

Jennifer knew she called out to Rex, knew she opened her mouth, but no reverberation followed. She called again. Nothing. She then raised her hands intending to reach out to Rex and stopped growing instantly cold with fear at what she saw, which normally would amaze her as to how quickly shock could set-in even before fear registered in the brain, yet these circumstances hadn't, not even the slightest of interest because what Jennifer witnessed, couldn't have an explanation. Hadn't any sense to it. And that's what a brain does in order to save itself; falsify, then shutdown allowing no reason of ill effects to succeed.

But that wasn't exactly what happened. Though Jennifer wished it so. Desperately. Given anything to simply blink and return. Pass-out. Comatose. Instead, she was present for the full impact seeing what had become of her hands and arms.

## Chapter 16: She realized

What is the goal, the conscious goal, and the fear opposing it, drowning in that shallow end, lured there by crystal water, safe the bottom clearly seen, no depth unknown, where ridding high felt justified of a ruling righteous, but not here, instead on some other arena struck by an annoyed God sick of its creation, and with foul lances covered in poisonous ranting driven deep into that fragile surface roamed by half-dead saints too good for their own, happy in their world of whatever thought a moment before as intention to their own attention limited insofar enabling a bliss of stupidity granted only in states given for accomplishments regardless of whether fit, or deemed not.

At least the intention. Strived for.

Yet convictions lacked certain continuity. Tumbled without aim like malignant horned weeds rolling across a seething mirage laden desert floor only stirred through faint winds adding that feverish loathing to an already blistering conception struggling to make true in that alliance of characters where none spoke any truth.

Struggling with the many ideas for a time till it was up, no use alienating the situation any further there wasn't a clue which edges the four-sided triangle was longest, and whether the thing actually existed as outlined by the college professor in geology class that freshman year.

Perhaps a very confusing time.

No punishment correcting disobedience at hand, further hampered any real progress apart from that of possible starvation, not from lack of substance consumed every few hours, or randomly on impulse for nourishment, but something far greater, unless progression raised its dreary inebriated spirt then for certain all else would fail as it had in any new far-flung undiscovered landscape hoped and prayed upon knowing it was the last great still-to-be chastised realm of unspoiled beauty, commanded.

And where was it all leading?

That was the problem. Because it was the wrong question as things lingered, twist and turn in their own ways, labeled mysterious or inept, halfway there without fuel enough for the entire trip becoming stranded was a better option than not even setting out in the first place, so why do they even pull breath if they're not willing to at least get marooned?

All this, and two other elements were laid out to the dark shadow before it left through that traverse of danger and very possible destruction without regret or hesitation for 'time' wasn't allowed in any sense of the word, for it was the word; the governance.

It lasted and dwindled. Played and corrupted. Destroyed and birthed. Ruled over all uncontrollable without reverence nor concern. Unstoppable.

Was there anything so never intended for understanding that would preoccupy the shadow as it managed these elements of existence slantingly?

And the woman realized, she was not an expert of herself, not a weapon in mass creation, produced nothing of real tangible content, ignited no fires, not able to go over even her own head. She felt real as ever knowing at this moment when looking not at her arms, but seeing everything around her was trying to get from A to B by way of Z resulting with desperate things, with desperate people, having disparate effects.

Seeing the foreboding dark cloud erupt upon her house passing through those hand-blown glass bay windows loved so, knowing it sought the object, that book given by no one, illustrated in her own mind, fantasizing the right thing in the wrong place, caused the reaction of her dog's muzzle turned gray, that of her arms with their spots and wrinkles showing true age, that she had written all the characters into the book as notes of her life, a memory on paper familiar with the fact she had no one to share, her life having lain dormant since, knew little of anything beyond the woods she lived in all those years, ventured onto pages hoping to avert the encroachment of insanity constantly roaming, pressing just outside the border.

Growing late, those last notes written generations before the woman couldn't recall when or even why they loomed out at her demanding she felt to have their say as it were, causing her to spend countless nights woken from only a few hours just before retiring to bed, the dog always at the side in his own made of old cloths as it was too cold even for the well-furred animal to simply lay on the wooden floor, picked up the book kept at the night stand with gloves having fingers cut off donned against the chill thought it was well into spring, and noted what she'd acquired in her life, obscure as it may have been and continue still, writing what was precious, and what was lost.

And how it all returned to life clear as any, lighting the fire in her mind for she knew fate called what never was an accident for there simply wasn't much, only giving false names while no real part of anything was connected to another because the woman hadn't gone where she wanted, but understood it being fine where she was. Where she needed to be.

Her passage grew first with simple scribbling's then papers and finally the old plain paged book she'd found at a garage sale years ago not knowing then it was to play the role it has and continues evermore, warding off that darkness of impairment as a roaming black cloud waiting an entire life growing somewhere deep, slowly moving, devouring whatever's left of the mind took the writings and held even from that blackness, even though searching endlessly pressing forcing her notes to faultier and stop abruptly.

She noticed afterward, after she'd written part of the late night for which its hour increased with exhilarating bound by nothing but the speed of the writing, not of herself, rather another spirt she believed accompanying her next to the bed assisting her for she easily drove deep into her memory bringing back times faded as worn colors from a bleaching sun, yet bloomed filling onto the paper as if they'd happened a moment before.

The youth had returned. And it was grand.

Her mind sharpened at the age of twelve again reading nearly a book every two days, even with the work of school reining at every word, but it mattered not for she knew the material of class as easily as you would the inside of your shoe nearly worn through, never heeding the various teachers ranting 'Always with your head in a book child will produce nothing more but the insatiable ability in never understanding the world!' which proved only as the fulcrum reading wasn't just fun. It became that powerful enigma created; anything admired within which could bind and hold individuality.

And so it had for the woman. Not only producing, but something strong came from her pursuits of material as if always searching, searching for something she'd known but somehow misplaced not able even remembering the time either, having aided at least some reference points in this seemingly endless task, when looked upon by some as sorcery demanding this obsessive unnatural act cease.

And as the uneducated always achieve in their form of moronic ingenuity, the girl was branded, castaway into that scene having read countless versions of, now part of, sought its once glory hoping of pulling herself out from their mire kingdom only to fade under its weight, became secluded eventually drifted ashore her island, absolutely alone, the only perception in her own right as company.

The notes grew in depth-first from scattered words, thoughts buried as it were for the sake not from lack of use where the overburdened mind banishes their meaning and pathways of yesterdays covering them so defiantly in that recessed corner with branches of beguiled hopes of better tomorrows, but for the necessity of having witnessing the whole affair in the first place, that 'you' were part of something, and should be remembered. Yet it fades.

At first, she questioned the words wondering had they really taken place. Had they once shown form, citing characters of importance, or rather dreamt where in that wishful thinking pool of melting memories drowned, never having known their own truth? Yet having labored with the characters she remembered their seemingly unworthiness, straddled with esoteric ideology driving her mad as it did then when she knew them all years before. Or...?

Thumbing the worn pages, the woman knew there were at the very least some connections; she wasn't completely mad. She had the photographs of them though they too shown age faded, some yellowed and cracked as the film from that time nearly crumbed reason she hardly took them out. But took them out from where? It had been years since and now with the notes she grew agitated seeking desperate confirmation her sanity wasn't slipping, but couldn't remember where she placed them.

She began to doubt certain events were true when in the middle of the night having woken while reaching into her bedside table for the sharpener her pencil having grown dull making it difficult to read the ever softening, thick letters pencils have when their point losses its sharpness causing her to smile slightly thinking of life in the same manner, when her hand rummaging through endless content collected over the years and suddenly touched something she was certain hadn't been there the day before when she last opened the drawer looking for a cloth to clean her glasses as the blue one, her favorite, had gone missing which not surprising and yet thankful the house she'd lived in for years was as small as it was for had it been any larger the countless hours if not days spent scouring for lost or near lost items took their toll same as a prisoner counting the hours till freedom having just commenced years of servitude insofar as the incapability producing any useful result often left her exhausted after only a few minutes whereby she swiftly succumbed in that inevitability laid before, of being ambushed into submission.

Pulling the drawer further open the woman gently felt deeper feeling along this sudden discovery and doing so formed the picture in her mind a container of sorts contrived of thin metal no larger than that of half a paperback book. Using her hand to move the clutter aside in order to get a better look she gently removed some of the drawers contents placing them on her bed and was shocked to discover other items she thought lost long ago lay now before her under the circled desk light glowing softly sending merciful shadows onto the walls of her small bedroom as they at least refuse in-part giving the true impression of one characteristic that only of shape thought she wasn't an unattractive woman having married once long ago, had but three lovers her entire life the last nearly fifty years before, yet in those shadows she noticed something different. Something moved. Swirling it was, slowing within her own shadow for she had ceased her movements and having caught her attention, began to grow. Her 'self' shadow sitting motionless on the bed heighten steadily, separated becoming two; the second shadow exactly as her own slid out from the first was after a moment nothing more than a mirror of its original, suddenly rose stood erect and walked toward the small window, her favorite, allowing her to watch the forest from the east as the sun rose through forbidden mysteries of enchantment, but now held secrets far deeper than she'd ventured with her dog and never wanted for fear of getting lost where things roamed in their kingdom undisturbed.

Reaching almost the ceiling though low it was, must have stood over seven feet tall. Having broad shoulders, the woman took it for male although wasn't certain as no distinguishing signs of a female gender either appeared.

The woman wasn't frightened, rather intrigued by the sight, for there was something very familiar concerning the entire situation. At first she thought it was a dream replayed having come to life, but wasn't certain nor really cared as she wasn't interested analyzing the why's or how's, more readily the who as the acquaintance quickly increase ever stronger to the point a presence was felt of which the woman knew of.

Confusing but the woman forced herself focusing on the image the way it moved now motionless at the window, despite when it walked to the window there was an unequivocal sense she gained knowing those particular movements. Its carriage was unquestionable.

And that's what was puzzling; there were more than one.

The woman felt unshaken in her belief there existed several persons in the shadow, several she had known before now joined into this one shape, standing there in her small bedroom in the middle of the night next to the window for what reason she'd no idea, other than perhaps she'd died, lingering between the two worlds of existence and not; or she'd gone mad finally.

It wasn't until the dog stirred at the side of the bed from his bed, sat up also looking at the shadow without much care except that of perhaps why his sleep had been interrupted, that the woman thought if the dog saw this then she'd not passed over, except with him together, then the train of thinking broke when she started hearing something inside the shadow.

The problem living alone except for a dog, the forest begins to gain another soul. A soul of stillness like not other, except that perhaps of the desert in the height of the day when temperatures scorch the earth, where that stillness enters beginning to master its host of which is never released from, that commandeering through no matter the stout resistance, will fail, where a constant and building ring in ears while standing deep within perennial fermented landscape might not be from imagination or the lack of sound itself one becomes dependent upon, but of nothing more than another vocabulary holding a different message one of which the woman's perception became grounded. Had she known.

But she hadn't. Not consciously. And as messages have a way reaching those that either require them or expect their reception, but unable for reasons they push through initially, at times with great illumination depending on value, a physical sense produces itself. In this case, a shadow.

While the woman still not entirely transfixed, yet understanding the compounded urgency with every slow breath drawn, for she was still-in-mind though had she noticed her heart was beating a slight rabid, allowed since childhood the ability to calm oneself was as easy as learning nursery rhymes entered now with the tranquil stride of a larger than normal giraffe, which indeed she pictured as her 'familiar' concentrating the animals meandering gait, matched with her breathing, its stride over the savanna hypnotic in nature, and nature protecting such allowed escape from facts, predators often became lost looking too closely, began first hearing a mumbling of sorts, voices with missed syllables, vowels and consonants at a rage both misguided hampered in their own existence desperate forming some unity of sense, grew ever faint in it's calling of her attention, from within the shadow.

She was certainly more not from the face of incoherence, rather premonition their summonsing erected in her mind not one of fear, nevertheless natural recognition from the past those souls once held dear, gone, now upon her bidding allowance, rebirth without prejudice of errors that once laid bare marrow a constants of great value, that rudiment honesty welcomed in any sign.

It was their way of coming forth contacting the woman who she herself thought sanity loosened from its moorings drifted from landmarks with good intention never noting recognition in any form save that of those closest to her, and their love together, the only 'true' existence she'd known or cared as all else simplified the art of lying and how its malignant force enslaved even the bravest angels.

The whisperings, that of simplest origin came forth through the shadow as it was of port-of-call bearing to mind intrinsic passions the woman had forgotten, now gave life to her state as most in their advanced age succumb immediate before the end to some realm they not at arms length held, but close at bosom, desiring inevitability certain, the last knowledgeable act before death released a grip sustained the entire time, that all there was, was life, and nothing more.

And so she began to write about those.

They came to her in waves as once a child she'd spent too much time in the surf tumbling her about so at rest continued feeling it's tossing, pulling, head spinning with soft joyful dizzying pain as she continued rolling tasting salted waters hearing it closed about her ears numbing sound except those now remembering their own existence through her. It was her having brought them back. Her notes calling awoke them.

It had all begun on Grace. The wounded. The dying and dead. Of the still passionate boys soon removed of their youth through struggle. Of a doctor and two nurses who cared for them. Of a man who stole from others their dreams and fears for ambition and gold. Of a man wanting to save comrades but failed. Of a role marking events only observing never allowed entrance. Of their inoculate. Of that crossing between them all.

They came to life again returned.

It was a time long in the past, but the woman remembered, only in the dead of night as it were. Until the shadow came and all changed. But she'd forgotten that in fact, it would happen as such. Locked away for safe keeping the brain would rather not allow its owner posses clarity, only glimpses and even then locked in some form permitting insanity holding the keys whereby once opened those rooms flung wide their barred existence and if the bearer wasn't prepared, then who would reign but that of the madness which often so close waits alongside sanity, so natural it is, its recognition, that distinguishing the two, is near impossible.

And in that state of constant battle the woman noted on paper the facts as best having remembered, for they being the bloodline of all she loved, the ones she'd been tasked to honor, knowing in turn one would do the same of her and her life, that now at the moment notes made of her own and what beloved surrounded the life she clung too were penned not so unlike her own by someone who'd watched over her in her last moments, as it always had been and will so remain as to not be forgotten. A memory.

Then in such place, those worlds meet of rooms, and shadows, voices heard, becoming clearer only when the steward accepts realizing what they are to say within the book, what they have been tasked to observe. And note.

Just as a woman who met another, was told to read a story, one that may not be of such interest, be not of a path found having anything other then the furthest from themselves, not being of choice, that not entrusted, rather bestowed with the facts they where presented and to in so doing clearly, as possible sake, note them in their book.

And if rightfully developed, the souls returned of characters;

that through all her life the woman remembers how she was there with Watson and his attempts at saving those on board Grace;

that she indeed loved Barbara, and Sarah returned the affection;

that she saw the wounded pass through her hands as David though an outstanding surgeon couldn't possibly cope with the demands war;

that given this book to read in the bay windows she'd seen herself captured on camera, many years after the war;

that standing again aboard Grace, she witnessed the realization of James seeing her first love years since he washed away the passion she felt, seeing the fear in his eyes of future now set, but not one of his own sliding into permanent insanity unable understanding which world he lived in, those of his own thoughts or those of others he'd stolen;

that as a concertmaster consumed with greed;

and that of Mary who herself gave the book to read, so as to start her memories.

They fully merged now from the shadow as the dog not stirring laid on his side only lifting one eyelid, aware the woman would be at rest as Sarah and Barbara sat on the bed, she between the two. James looked over her left shoulder his back against the wall, David stood with Adam and Jennifer at the bed's foot, while Watson who with hands in his pockets, looked out the small window as she patiently noting thoughts which they knew before herself even seeing they'd participated in them before, to such an extent their forced summoning, confident being paramount since never was such prior noticed by any of them, therefore this the first constituted an unprecedented situation one of which addressed the issue of the shadow itself and why in her notes it appeared towards the end of certain stories the woman concentrated upon when she herself wasn't aware of its existence.

Only those participants the woman wrote knew the shadow's reason of its occurrence broadcasting spreading of seedlings their sowing intertwined whether memories being factual or simply imagined for they stood together yet more often lied either from their peddler or those having invented ownership thereby established nothing more than illusions of nothing real. Ever.

The shadow being that vestige of a visible trace having once existed but appears or exists no more sustained within evidence of both illusion and truth the very perception it owned as argument dictating one cannot strive with the other dormant, allowing even the most unsettled view from a distance the creations alluring notions to blossom without regret of shame, nor pre-conviction holding center gravity the inability of a conscious elite-hood resulting in naive death of wandering thoughts marooned, their ruptured innocence spilling out upon sanities jagged shoreline never-more than obsolete dreams from misbegotten desires too strong to die alone.

There was never once any sense in any part the woman realized still in her first year of high school, gaining control as it had known something pulls and something pushes; all depending on which way the wind manages the sails, what strength it has in so doing. But what of the madness often its contentious drive fashioned as a beacon throwing light out into a sea of darkness illuminating hazardous landscapes knowing what will run aground would best be kept locked, secured heavily bound, never chance of breakage, save that of a stillness in relinquishing all held in reverence. And burned at the stake for practicing such.

Those she'd met on board Grace and later thought very few, were such they themselves destined for those flames came willingly lighting, fanning their fires, creating that intense heat which driven deeper split wider the crevasse forging not only the memories but their ability in changing of the memories; of returning them back altered. Living again what was missed. Faltered. Dreamt but never achieved.

Another chance.

The woman knew this yet unable connecting the shadow with lives she knew in the past, and whether in fact doing such was what she really wanted. And what of the consequences? The philosophy managing the entire world was that which life is short; do not lose track of it.

Yet here, it carried little or no substance. With any mistake, you could simply 'amend' them through the shadow. Paradise for believers in reincarnation, not necessarily having to do a life over and over, learning till you got it right. Here, you simply changed the memory watching it unfold as a flower opening its peddles toward life-giving environment the shadow allowed witnessing of, stopping, dialing back, change in mid-course, fine-tuning any memory of your own creating a newer you, and highlighting perception.

As the woman learned through the growing loss of her own, memory was in itself nothing more than a puzzle pieced together from what one actually recalls, filling gaps with random knowledge of a working world reconstructing plausible images. While for the woman, notes she set down removed those false memories, all the while becoming the truth re-conformed within the shadow.

Her writing having no blur of boundaries, knew the shadow simply manipulating content of the memory itself eliminating false ones, yet allowing the same intelligent guessing process used in reconstruction, leaving perception occurring first and memory later, in the sequence proving perceptions inaccuracy then so too memory, as a guide capable of losing basic actions and their procedures or even who a person is, of indeed events happening, a moment ago.

In all this, there had to be one important element the woman also didn't know but the characters she wrote about did, of the one rule that bound together all elements at work and could not be altered nor broken in any way. A universal check allowing imagination to flourish, yet kept from destroying itself and everything in its near-infinite connection.

It was simple and straightforward for the woman writing her notes clear and well defined staying within the guidelines, but that's where something altered brought about the presence of her characters, those souls she'd lived forcing them through the shadow fracturing its non-allowance.

The shadow was indeed the track between the woman's imagination and reality, which turning back on itself reviewed whether such even existed, combine with perception paved an alternative for corrections used every day of her entire life, and in not knowing the liberties this allowed, pursued it most unfailingly, never squandering a moment, keeping the writing well ordered till what occurred not only allowing her characters to emerge from the shadow, but something else with them passed through.

## Chapter 17: Near Forgotten

All in her bedroom knew one of them had committed the crime allowing the passage of what wasn't providing consequence being as they were though a simple enough act one never imagined, never conceived, yet here they were without the slightest inclination whether imagination and perception would stand against devouring that last grieving soul, collapsing under the impossible starvation it faced as they all watched silently the shadow they'd arrived through slowly joined an old woman hunched over to some degree continuing her writing never once noticing the events around her, closing off their return.

Watson was the only one who didn't watch the eclipsing shadow fold the wall onto itself just as Jennifer's house when under attack taking assailants and their surrounding environment, encapsulated stored further along with the others but he'd forgotten where just as he'd forgotten nearly everything remembering only a few random thoughts maybe not even his own, but the only ones recalled, so hoping they were his as all of it had gone beyond madness long ago and that too wasn't something remembered with ease as any of them had that simple wish of wanting one memory of their own, just a single even the briefest, but knowing for certain it was indeed theirs, not one written as all had become, all memories taken, used by a writer in notes, plays, novels for they couldn't on their own conceive anything having independent thought stealing from their past in order to illuminate their future.

Wasn't that the point Watson thought to himself looking out the bedroom window not interested in the least of the room which now held him and the others for one captive to another mattered not the slightest to him, only the memory. His memory. One of his own. Not taken and reused. Manipulating remanufactured eliminating mistakes producing that perfect thought not his, to begin with simply noted in one form of another. Then marketed.

Watson wondered who used that memory he'd lost and what they were doing with them, how had they become and would he even recognize them, those thoughts often crossed the vacant desert of his mind nearly empty except only scraps hanging as dried salted meat, semi-preserved cured of anything for he was certain it was all very well organized. They were after all in great demand. They must be. Why else would they be removed?

Barbara and Sarah had too much emotion between them Watson thought. The likelihood they'd ascertain whether anything coherent outside this world of Patricia existed Watson felt was now beyond them. They were too simple in their thinking, only wishing to be with each other but couldn't because Patricia hadn't remembered their past as she'd his. They hadn't the luxury of that encroaching madness knowing there was more to everything but couldn't quite remember what for Barbara and Sarah. Patricia only remembered being on the Grace and combat then the shadow removed it all just at it had with all of them. Even David who fell in love with both women but hadn't realized it yet as that part was too painful for Patricia reminiscing over, and the fact it was so many years ago she'd repressed it to the point believing none of it had ever happened and if some random thought would by chance every surface, would immediately be seen as 'wishful thinking'.

'And how would I know all of this?' Watson thought looking through the window into the deep darkness wondering what lay beyond its thin glass separating them all from something he'd felt was better in not knowing, was better just staying here in the safety of others, but suddenly stopped contemplating any further as he hadn't any idea what started this train of thought. Had he tried Watson probably would have breached the void now separating them from their origin for the briefest of time if he'd held on a fraction longer a moment in his life gleamed a single thin strand of memory illuminating a darkened area in his mind providing the answer.

Instead, he grew sick of the entire situation. One episode after another Patricia wrote triggering the shadow's machinery waking it from that slumber all wished desperately it forever remained, even James who all despised for the character, the roots of the man rotted spreading out towards them all, all the characters Patricia housed in her mind and every work of their mindful art they waited wondering whether one would be removed. Erased.

That was all the point of this insanity, waiting for the 'line' drawn through. Patricia had done it before removing others simply with the use of a ruler and a steady pull across the name. But not permanent. There where strands left behind. Glimpses. The minute flair of thoughts she recalled, though extremely vague and every time she did they grew weaker eventually fading insofar simply imagined those experiences.

That's what Patricia thought happened. But it didn't; they all knew nothing ever completely elapses. And with all this it allowed the room of another character to emerge growing stronger from their own memories returning, consequently the reason everyone literally stood over her writing hoping she'd kill off one of the others. 'Line them through' Watson remembered the time they agreed on the expression smiling slightly still watching the cold night outside growing of another world he once knew but didn't. That he'd once been part of but couldn't recall any of the details or meaning, for now, it all seemed so ill-relevant. A complete waste of time in a manner of speaking, now often wondered why all the excessiveness in its control to begin with when in fact it wasn't there at all, contrived only from Patricia's mind. Even the entirety of this room.

Yet having passed through the shadow their own independent thoughts and memories grew clearer gaining weight, filling in those blanks suffered when inside the shadow, when the shadow consumed them as a more profound explanation, one where all clawed desperately to escape from, back into the warmth of life. And it all seemed so useless. A constant war where nothing was achieved, where the more you pressed ahead there was no further ground captured at the end of the day, that this enemy itself was a ghost simply melting away. And sometimes things moved inside the shadow and hearing the whispering next to you which you couldn't see nor touch you understood its sheer depth of blackness was infinite bringing on an even greater fear; that this was permanent.

Watson mused over the fact listening to Patricia scribbles, James shuffle his feet still leaning against the wall, felt the burn between Sarah and Barbara increase, David at the foot of the bed standing patiently waiting as you would on the delivery of some great birth, yet powerless to do anything as nature being the dominant force wouldn't allow any interruption for the most was probably best because what were we anyway Watson asked himself other than mistakes needing themselves corrected.

We were all broken Watson realized while swimming off the island away for enemy fire, swimming for his life rounds thudded into the sea water all about him forced finally to dive leaving the surface into that deeper water he hoped would protect him where he was certain none of his comrades had as they were completely caught, surrounded by a superior force, who somehow Watson knew from their reaction must have known they were about to attack, must have had knowledge beforehand of his men and their mission.

All the while running through the jungle fighting his way to the open ocean Watson knew they'd been betrayed. Information of their operation leaked to the enemy allowing no hope of success along with dooming Grace and her crew was difficult for Watson to understand, difficult even if he could remember at least some of the details as to what happened. But here, looking out the window very little came to mind. Came to Patricia's mind he later thought, this made him turn slowly finally taking in the room he'd hoped never to view a slow reproach building in him, causing an, even more, disliking for James for it was after all James, the great writer he self-proclaimed, allowing this very situation to develop in the particular disastrous manner it has.

All knew there were only three occasions where the shadow appeared with those involved never returning. It was no secret; none of it was. All warned prior to its consequences, yet each believed themselves fortunate, only to find the episode played out in an entirely different scenario than planned. Just as for Watson, now that it came to mind.

Watson's eyes moved from James to Barbara where they paused. Always that feeling of desire felt for her deep inside slowly raging near out of control if allowed. The curves of her body, her movements. Her fragrance, a trigger signaling the beginning of the onslaught he barely held out each time from, now came even when she wasn't near, the thread of a sprite drifting through the wind, one end connected unraveling its lifeline, a constant reminder should one possess the senses.

Having caught him so long ago time became no longer an issue, never thought about or recorded in any shape, as there in the shadow it simply didn't carry value. The reason why they never aged, only Patricia showed signs of time. Though he hadn't thought much of it either perhaps Patricia was very old too, but certainly not nearly their age. Or was she?

With that, Watson moved his gaze to that old woman hunch over her book carefully making entries with great diligence. For all Watson knew she could drop dead any moment freeing them for she seemed ancient indeed now that he looked closely. What difference she was compared to Barbara whose fresh vital manner slapped the room awake even bringing it to attention before she even entered Watson noted several times before. Before Grace ran ashore, before even on that island with his men. Before the war.

So the random lost trails of the past wandered since he could remember, had its role persecuting while promoting the power somewhere deep below which must be, for how could all this take place so well orchestrated Watson thought, how could any of this be what it was, not that of 'illusion' as so commonly contrived by those locked in that bedroom, persuading themselves in some archaic belief 'It's all a dream', rather that of 'What do we do to be released of here?' as how could evolution be so cruel, for we must be getting smarter each and every day. Or not.

But for Watson, his mind looked at it very differently; starving mad. Insanity crept around like lost drunken friends knowing if they sober up there would come to the hangover so stay inebriated and enjoy the ride, but the other way clearly spoke if you took the drink it'd soon wear off requiring more, so why start something when you know its ending. It wasn't so much the enigma, rather how it came to exist in the first place driving Watson, firing his curiosity, and developed him into an outstanding soldier and leader who many looked up too even the superiors. Reason they gave him some of the most difficult missions.

Pushing himself away from the window Watson slowly stepped towards the bed with the old women no more than a few strides apart, whereupon he stopped at its edge first keeping his eyes on the old women then allowing them to fall on Sarah who sat now beside her traced her slender shoulders down along her thin but strong arms where abruptly they halted in shock. Watson could believe what he noticed; Sarah hadn't her ring on she always wore which in its absence shone the prominent white mark etched onto the skin from the lack of sun as both she and Barbara where brown from their intense work continuously under the burning sun till thicken turning dark.

Watson felt the energy wane from him like a dying wind leaves the sails of a ship whose inhabitant shrank as thoughts screamed in disbelief knowing without it they'd soon perish from lack of food and water. Adrift and without hope. Then madness began its dance and Watson looked up at Sarah face whose head was turned reading what the old woman wrote not noticing the fear growing on Watson. Then suddenly he looked at Barbara and saw she was watching him very closely.

Barbara had the most interesting green-brown in her eyes such he'd never seen before and for the briefest of moments always captivated him for the fact they'd darken slightly when she looked at him. Though he'd suspected she knew how he felt toward her he believed it wasn't the reason for the eyes alteration; it was something else. He'd noticed once before this change as she watched helplessly a young man brought before her and David aboard Grace attending wounded his duty as triage doctor during one of the more sever battles with Barbara assisting, David labeled as pass meaning the patient was passed over allowed to die without medical care their wounds too severe death being imminent, Barbara begged in difference quietly with the doctor for a moment disagreeing and in removing the bandage wrappings around the wounded solders head the moment she'd done so the back of the man's skull fell open exposing a large area of his brain part of which was torn away from either shell fragment or a round yet the solders eyes still responsive smiled at her, the lips slightly moving without any sound caused the apparent trauma in Barbara's change of color.

It wasn't the shock Barbara felt for she'd seen worse casualties, it was the solders response to her care as he must have known time being limited and had she known what he spoke it would have driven her mad so intent on a more accurate degree of damage, addressing the level of wound she felt the doctor had diagnosed too quickly for once a casualty is labeled 'pass' they are taken away to another area of the ship along with others of the same, to die for the most part alone for Grace wasn't capable due to limited staff attending such cases imminent for death, and in not hearing the words softly spoken, 'That's fine dear, just like 'Foremost' after which his eyes grew vacant and a moment later he was gone, Watson did.

Clearly as standing in the deathly quiet bedroom of the old woman listening to the only sound of her writing along with the rhythmic slight wheezing of the dog on the floor, came those words forming in his mind which Barbara now understood looking at him. The revelation of not being in control happens upon a person causing a multitude of profound reactions and for Barbara it produced the changing of her eyes captivating Watson, pulling him ever deeper towards her, causing that ever sharpening pain suddenly formed awakening him from his daze - accounting for love in another world, an alarm for instance, an immensely bright signal driven deep in his very soul from which he often awoke screaming desiring either the alarm to cease, the passion desperately calling wanting to take him forever away, or the mind growing with its denounced sanity dissolving finally into that softness which we're all born with but eludes us in our growing old.

Barbara saw in Watson the fragility of a man who having conducted battles, having to forget himself hoping later when it all ended to find what he'd selflessly left, placed away for protection sake knowing what he must to survive, would take nearly everything from him as it always did with so many others leaving nothing if anything, resembling their original spirit, seeing in his eyes their searching for reasons, the lost-ness in finding no grounds for their actions other than a call of duty somewhere long ago sounding, not sure now it was even heard at all.

She'd seen their faces revealing everything seen and felt. None of which could be hidden nor did they want for if it remained festering nothing other than a hapless form without the substance of its former self-lingered aimlessly roaming among the refuse. Even with this, even realizing the consequences of such, some withheld their speech wanting nothing more than to forget, relinquishing any recognition of ever having taken part.

Barbara knew this in Watson feeling as he, she'd for so long witnessed the same sense in a person, of having to undertake that desperation of making a stand unto themselves admitting it all happened, and they were part of it no matter the roles played, being no different for herself and Sarah, for David, all those tending casualties they too witness, that wanted but inability to resolved and best be managed through any means possible otherwise stepping out the window became a grateful remedy to the constant incursion of remembrance through every item life offered each and every day.

Sarah knew to arrive at Grace that first moment she set her large innocent brown eyes on the white gleaming hull of the ambulance ship, she wouldn't be the same when stepping off that last time, yet secretly hoped she'd never leave. That life would end right here for her, so as never having to endure what so many others would. Having seen their faces, their eyes after returning seeing a once joyous outlook in the wonders of life now themselves draw fallen, dull nearly the same as those just before dying, the eyes changed and you knew they were about to leave.

From this Sarah and Barbara grew closer, their physical attraction toward one another deepened. At the very sight of one another the affair began, their friendship immediately grew well beyond where most dreamt, though seldom experienced. David noticed clearly this from the start arriving well past the point of the twos first encounter when they were both passionate yet very professional with one another just as they were with everyone they came in contact with, civilians, casualties, officers and enlisted alike.

David viewed them as a single twin, beyond the same mirror. Just as he saw himself most of his life starting when he was just six looking out over the low wall surrounding the small adobe house his parents bought when they first arrived four years earlier, at the great expanse before him with wonder at what could possibly be beyond such a wide open space all the while knowing he was watched, perhaps by the clouds which closed around his sons crib he thought now still looking deeply into Barbara's eyes neither wavering in the least discussing who should 'pass'.

Of what David could remember, few remained anything but clear; sights of that still desert, treating random casualties none having faces he recalled, the beach landing with Sarah, his small son's bed consumed by a shadow not much different from the very one he just passed through, and the very instant with that last thought passing through his mind they all turned and looked at Watson surprising the man to the point he retreated instinctively till feeling the wall against him. But that wasn't the greatest shock. It came when Patricia who'd been scribbling notes the entire time since their appearance in her bedroom stopped writing, rose her head from the text and looked directly at Watson.

Watson's breathing stopped as it had many times just before combat, just as the enemy unknowingly crossed a few feet from him in the dead of night so close he could hear their whispering just as whatever lived under his bed whose steal sharp claws he imagined scraping along the cold cement floor edging its way out from under where any moment the beast would reach up savagely grabbing claws sinking deep into his tiny frame, pulled him deep towards its lair where it would slowly eat him, or bright daylight covered in camouflage moving sometimes inches from his closed eyes knowing if the enemy looked at the right place they would betray him relying only on instinct and training for a successful attack, killing an instant without hesitation when the opportune moment arose, always brought a heightened awareness in him, the stilling of the body, the control he had over it. It was the drug of war he'd grown addicted too.

Having a weapon Watson certainly would have used one seeing all as the enemy now at large here confined in such a small room not so different hunting them through small tunnels, encampments, caves he became highly skilled killing them in. He'd developed a sense 'knowing' where they were, feeling them out in a catacomb of terror for most never wanted to enter, becoming completely lost unable deciphering which direction through which opening they passed through sometimes just a few seconds before. For Watson, it was a different matter entirely. His childhood when covering himself with the sheet, not dare moving or to breathe for if he had the monster under the bed would surely know where he was and come hungrily for him.

There were times Watson who never carried a light, entered the unknown cave and tunnel complex, could lay for what seemed hours in-wait engulfed in complete darkness alerted only of the enemy through the smell of their breath, usually of garlic, and body odor whereby once ascertaining their strength in numbers would attack accordingly.

The longest he was below being twenty-six hours surfacing two kilometers from his entry point, having constructing a complete map in his mind of the complex including the varying elevations many of the systems possessed and escape points usually of thick bush allowing air circulation, where later engineers would place explosives closing off areas then wait for anything to stick its head out which was immediately shot.

He never forced any of those under his command to enter the complexes. Asking first for volunteers and if none came forward he himself descended, but on one occasion his commanding officer didn't permit such informing Watson he was too valuable to be scurrying down there like a sewer rat and in his place ordered two soldiers, who little more than seventeen years old had no experience, into the tunnel complex. Within two minutes of doing so screams then silence came from the hole they entered. The commanding officer immediately detonated the entrance sealing it off then dispersing his men fanning them out orders to kill anything that moved thinking the enemy would surface soon.

A half-hour later several rounds were fired, afterward, it was reported they'd accidentally killed the second men sent below thinking it was the enemy. The commanding officer blamed the dead soldier for not calling out before exiting the complex, ordered the hole detonated and moved further up the valley only mentioning the incident to his superiors the two were killed from enemy fire. No one ever spoke of what actually happened naturally considering the sensitivity, and the fact they were always under the strictest orders never divulge mission details.

From that point on Watson was the only soldier to enter any tunnel or cave complex from his unit. It was certainly the remaining members of the unit never knew Watson informed the commanding officer if he ever ordered another search as before Watson would not hesitate to kill him on the spot. Upon returning to base the officer requested and granted transfer to another unit, thereby promoting Watson as officer-in-command. Those men who trusted and respected Watson always agreed he was one of the better officers able to connect and understand the men under his command, saying anything more meant bringing bad luck to a unit.

When Watson felt the wall against him the cold air resounding from the window caused his mind to shift allowing fresh insight taking hold replacing the stale which had for so long hampered any coherent thought ultimately quieting his alarmed manner. Since early childhood, Watson suffered from a distraction of which only now became apparent that of his constant concern of being watched had indeed been realized with all the eyes meeting his right this moment actual was his own self-recognition.

Nothing more than a mirror of oneself Watson understood why he'd felt so many observing his every movement became a conclusion clearing a path he now forged without hesitation, never without resentment nor fear of walking its length regardless the distance. Just as he'd heard countless times from other before finding theirs, he himself now owned his own way and set off upon it knowing whatever lay ahead didn't matter the least; it was the route undertook that counted.

Watson understood his connection with those in the room, having passed through the shadow presenting themselves in another place and time, of what left behind wasn't actually the case because they were all born from the same mind of Patricia who herself lived the lives they thought only were theirs. Till entering the room.

But they were much more.

They were notes existing only in Patricia's mind used creating her book, that same book her imagined Jennifer the college roommate whose cheating boyfriend her Adam always abused was a gift from her Mary the mother suppresser at her Catholic high school she always respected though unwaveringly strict, who had the idea from her James the first and only love in Patricia's life betraying her for another man, who stole the very thoughts from others making his fortune though thankfully produced the lives of her Barbara and Sarah, who were Patricia's best friends working together in the triage clinic with her David, who actually was the brother she'd lost when stabbed in the throat with a knife while trying to stop two students fighting in his English class, and her Watson's commanding officer the idea from her James, who in passing a veteran on the street corner as he recalled moments of battles and tunnels, cave complexes and lost comrades their lives wastefully taken through bad decisions from those giving the orders, of the commanding officer of Grace, who was her own father and Grace herself, who was the ambulance Patricia always ran to meet filled with injured from a war she wished she could herself forget.

Watson understood it now, its clarity formed exactly in his mind all of them including himself never existed as they believed, were simply characters in the mind of an old woman, written in a journal whose sole purpose was that trying to make sense of love and anguish in her life.

But what of ME Watson thought his eyes moving from one character to another, even Patricia's, all the while searching for any clue as to who his character was in Patricia's life.

He knew they were all intertwined. Each of them with their own independent story, yet bound. How was he attached other than the obvious and with memories fading, what of the world he was losing? What of which must have happened just yesterday? Where are they?

Watson struggled to retain only a few reflections as with all in the bedroom, whose memories too simply tumbling off the edge lost to some vast clouded world perhaps used by someone else. 'By another you...'

Shocked Watson turned meeting Barbara eyes for it was her words he'd heard spoken, firstly because he actually heard one of the group, then slowly collecting himself understanding what she implied.

But as he claimed Watson shook this aside, knowing it was too simple too easy and without any justification. There was something deeper running here which desperation pulled at, forcing Watson to resolve; why they came here, where had all the memories gone and how, if possible, return them along with themselves to their own surroundings as certainly, this wasn't a place he wanted to stay much longer. Especially with James.

James; this was all his fault. Watson felt strongly as did the others knowing James had taken thoughts from others using them but it wasn't that so much as James's changing the thoughts into his own then replacing them into another person leaving them to believed they'd had an idea when in fact it was nothing related to them. A construction worker thought he invented a new surgical procedure; a ballet dancer believing she wasn't their true daughter believing she was adopted; a mother was certain she'd drowned her two-month-old baby in the kitchen sink; a college student dropped out thinking she'd lost the grant enabling her studies; a man killed his wife imagining she'd had an affair with their son.

It was endless. And they now knew it. They knew James at first hadn't the ability but in this room all secrets laid bare. In a sudden explosion all the hiding came out as if the sunburst in the room blinding them with clarity the onslaught began, fragmented pasts flowing through each of their minds as broken film clips or soundtracks missing a great many words and scenes crumbling any sane mind.

In all, it was those of James having the most lucidity, the group understanding over the years he mixed, altered memories and ideas between people resulting in an entire range of effects from suicide and murder, to depression, anguish, and schizophrenia. The landscape of humanity was changing and little could be done because of the domino effect James caused. In just one action through an alteration, James set off a chain of events carrying toward the future like a derailed train for which the group had no idea how to control, let alone stop or even if they should.

Maybe his actions were something that had to be. Had to take place. And if the group stopped it seeing they were the only ones knowing the situation such as this even existed, might complicate things even more. Maybe it was something that should've happened which didn't, but now can.

Of all in the room, James was certainly the most dangerous where on the other end Sarah being the most passive always drew James's frustration in his desire to punish Sarah as he saw it, as he professed in everyone, 'They need to be punished. Just look at their own stupidity,' they heard James knowing he defended all his action using that very claim.

They all turned toward James. They all heard him just as Watson heard Barbara. Just as a moment before heard one another's fragmented secrecies. Suddenly they understood at the same instant, they spoke and thought as one.

They were safe from James somehow protected from his insanity. Although continuously focusing his attention toward any ideas worth straightening out his term for the action, no particular person only the idea and memory and results constructed from them being his interest, yet it wasn't true he'd given up entirely probing their own thoughts seeing what could be picked out, remanufactured always playing as many fields as possible, fearing no one, yet respected only Barbara for the reason none knew.

Maybe he loved her in his own way, perhaps something more profound, a mixture of regret and misunderstanding as he mentioned before never understood why one sex favored the same seeing it as immoral when first seeing the two James looking at them in a way Watson will never forget, as that of a child in a candy store for the first time unable to express feelings other than to drool.

Watson never saw it as his task of protecting any of them, why all had their own independent strengths but as balance always played well in their world, weakness seemed to control them all the more so, relentless in its own right never allowing the group straying far from the fact in their thinking they were better than anyone else laid just the opposite Watson realized when memories fade left with only threads fragile and near impossible to grasp.

Each in the group knew how they came to be, how they arrived, how Patricia brought them out, but none knew how Patricia formed this in her own mind. All from her past, they agreed, but why the memories and ideas, thoughts for the most part removed?

On the other side, Watson knew he'd never encountered any of them the side through the shadow back into life, never dreamt or so he remembered, which may, in fact, be a key in this; maybe he had.

That Patricia removed them.

But why? Why would an old woman displace them from her own memories? She'd created the group of characters present in her bedroom Watson thought, gave them life through writing simple notes from the past she so desperately wanted preserving. Thinking this Watson realized another element he so foolishly had not connected till now that being the example in point; connection of them all.

What did all the groups' characters have in common?

Watson's brain flared searching once again looking into the eyes of the group for any recognition, or faultier, any sign assisting him:

Mary who stood against the opposite wall since arriving so still Watson had almost forgotten her presence, she'd recommended the book which Patricia wrote her notes, the look on her face always unreadable this time proved nothing but the same-

His eyes went to Barbara sitting at the head of the bed next to Patricia, lost two brothers in the war, a nurse onboard Grace three years, second in command of Group B, together with David and Sarah their first beach assault, knew something was there before yet couldn't remember continued holding her gaze he'd always felt, still there was nothing he saw altering the few facts he knew of her.

Watson pulled away from Barbara moving directly next to where Patricia's never-faltering gaze pinned him further against the wall, proved maddening for the fact he knew, as they all did Patricia couldn't see any of them for the group of characters were simple thoughts of individuals she produced in her imagination, yet she continually stared directly at him since first approaching the bed and later returned to the wall.

Instinctively Watson knew there'd be nothing had from her, the eyes vacant none responsive if it wasn't for her continuous writing Watson would have thought the women suffered from mental illness in one form or another.

Breaking from her stare Watson looked at Sarah her back to him facing Patricia with only the left hand visible used to support herself as she half-sat, half-leaned on the bed's edge and again Watson attention was drawn immediately at the untanned whitened skin on her finger where a ring had been. Knowing one another, yet this the first time he'd met any of the group, instinctively knew something was different with Sarah. Then with the force of the thought still pounding in his mind, she slowly turned facing him.

It was a mixture of shock and pleasant surprise looking into Sarah's eyes, their familiarity so profound Watson felt the blood rushing from his head causing a light-headedness pass-over his usual sharp intellect just as the shadow had earlier moved across the wall before any of them had entered the bedroom, the same shadow moved across his mind quieting him, producing a stillness that both felt comforting and at home with.

Watson immediately knew to look at those eyes were in-part his own. A reflection of all things he'd done in his life of which previously couldn't be remembered now slowly moved across the landscape of his own filling all voids, pits, darkness with images growing familiar of early childhood as far back as could be remembered to the passing from death. Watson saw himself as each of the group, their lives and link to one another passed through him. He witnessed their births and deaths through triumphs and failures, passion and fears love and hates. Their innocence and wonderment.

That instant he lived the entire life of James, understanding he wasn't the cause of their being in Patricia's bedroom Watson believed absolute certainty in, for James was exceptional with his impression of someone forming stories pictured from simply seeing a person immediately constructing scenarios with sometimes only having witnessed the person a few seconds in passing, becoming so sophisticated it was as if James had known his victim's entire life, and in further, written there thoughts, ideas, even their madness into plays, producing a profound income one of which he wasn't actually the slightest interested in, finally meeting an old woman on the ship about to disembark from his port of sanity, wrestled with the issues while his mind tried killing itself, laid in the ships hospital with obscure medical staff wandered about seeking anything intelligent in their patient as he frothed and barked at them mounting a ravage lust for freedom only wanting to tear their throats out with teeth and nails the ships doctor and nurse tending found horribly shocking as their own growing darkness of uncertainly pulsed whether the patient was human at all, yet had they known the old woman having met their patient just prior to his being stumbled upon demented decks below amongst the huge ships laundry machines, would without any further wanton disruption of their own minds, seized the life boats waiting of just the sole purpose of a sinking, swiftly make way for the nearest landfall, never uttering a word of what they'd both seen for fear of commitment to a psychiatric ward with then open arms for in their contemplation would come to mount the certainty it actually happened and the drugs used to cure the madness would never be enough, but at least they wouldn't remember.

The lightning struck Watson straight in the front of his already aching mind for the insanity of contemplating the room and all those attending to Patricia's writing were exactly that; attending.

Observing ...that viewing through James's thoughts now Watson realized not only was Patricia writing about her life and all present being those from her past but those who'd escaped.

That Jennifer having married Adam who, standing next to Mary was actually her twin, more precisely, the same person, as Patricia herself had twin daughters who died in the war.

That Adam wasn't Jennifer's husband but that of Patricia herself whose overbearing womanizing brought a darkness forward from some great unknown depth, showed itself as onslaught black with at times fiery red-orange clouds in her notes.

That she was herself the old woman who James saw on the ship when he'd tried to see her thoughts were only shown a mirror all his endeavors rushing forward without control smashing his mind as an egg dropped from a great height.

That Barbara and Sarah both were Patricia as a lover, and being loved, but without love returned.

That Watson seeing this abruptly pulled away from Sarah looking again at Patricia's eyes still unyielding from his own, gave no comfort other than the thought thrusting through his brain, we're all going insane from this and the sooner the better so I won't have to remember any of it, as the floor fell away from under him when clearly that rapturous word for most remember AGAIN sliced through leaving the last part of normality severed from anything remotely conscious letting it as gutted entrails sloped into an already almost full bucket.

That it was only concerned remembering, for Patricia to recall her own life had that been conceived, yet here Watson stood, slowly dying from the thought he wasn't anything more than the memory, indeed that false memory as Patricia recalled her thoughts of the past often enough causing the ever-increasing holes to widen as the initial memory grows vague encompassing, taxing the brain to color-in forgotten details, that inability of bringing to mind its original past.

That he and the others would linger in the room for eternity began creeping slowly along the outer lying, ever-shrinking borders of what little sanity remained, forced Watson's reaction. Pushing himself from the wall with both hands he moved toward Patricia when reached, stood an opposite of James who hadn't moved since taking the position watching all within the room resting his back against the wall where the headboard of Patricia's small bed separated the two by no more than four feet, and slowly began to read what the old woman so intent upon writing Watson wasn't exactly sure whether she was aware of anything apart from her notes and if so for how long.

The writing at best was difficult reading with its dark black ink, slanting upwards passing outside horizontal lines the notebook provides each page whether intentional or not didn't reflect any opinion of Watson other than remembering he too suffered the same no matter the many attempts subduing what many thought rather childish in nature unable simply keeping within the lines, for which none knew the fact of the matter Watson couldn't see the lines while putting words to paper. Only afterwards when finished did his errors materialize illustrating lines placed on the paper allowing its user 'line-of-sight' or so Watson's kindergarten teacher told him when the problem first took aim striking his heart, which having been crushed by continuous laughter for years, slowly recovered his freshman year in high school when Watson tired of the joke now ten years, unleashed an assault upon a senior having poked him while waiting for the school bus informing Watson those feeble enough unable in keeping a straight line should be in a school for 'retards' along with their entire family quarantined seeing it was all genetically connected, causing the momentary pause as two thoughts passed through Watson's mind immediately after the senior spoke; one being he never liked the slang used for the mentally impaired, and two he was fucking tired of listening to the same old shit.

It took hard pulling of three students of Watson off the senior's face resulting in a broken nose, bruised eye, and three teeth knocked out, using all their strength with the consequences of suspension and criminal action taken on the part of the victim only dropped when Watson official barred from any sport as the senior was in fact the prominent pitcher for the schools team whose chances of reaching the division playoffs once promising now remained in question due to an inflammation of the bruised eyes which no one actually knew but guessed for good measure because their chances of fame and glory now jeopardized insofar the possibilities of impaired vision in that eye existed, became a significant issue in his everlasting educational record one the military looked especially enthusiastic at for they were extremely keen in men and woman of Watson's character.

Watson in seeing the old woman's penmanship felt a sudden acknowledgement recognizing a unity they shared yet immediately wondering if any of the others in the group also suffered the same when now able to face Sarah openly as she sat no more than three feet from where Watson stood, quickly stole a glance at her shown an immediate reply to his question from her stature unable even stretching the faintest of truth, communicated they indeed all suffered the same problem.

Not surprised, rather wanting further verification in his assumption earlier though each an independent finger they all were from the same hand, Watson relaxed that inner most self used when stress and attention steamed full in many occasions having saved his life and others in combat, focusing his energy on the task deciphering what Patricia had written returned back to her book was suddenly surprised to see the old woman looking up at him a second time over her shoulder while still writing, words recorded in their upward slant with the greatest disregard for any imprisonment of lines what so ever.

If it wasn't for the fact Patricia seemed near blind the entire situation in her bedroom might have been unnerving Watson thought to himself to the point rational thought could not possibly manage to sustain itself any further. Here in Watson's view, an elderly woman without aid from thick eyeglasses which laying on her nightstand hadn't been touch for what seemed years due to the thick layer of dust covering them, but only them as the entire room remained neat and order like everything in its proper place. How then could she see what she was writing let alone who was near, yet in any event none of which caused her the slightest discomfort? She neither seemed nervous nor fearful a group inhabited her room Watson noted from the very beginning, thus Watson surmised Patricia must either know members of the group or unaware they were even there.

While standing against the wall Watson after careful consideration of the two, theorized that in fact, none of the group existed in the first place.

Patricia's handwriting supported the fact she was almost blind due to its penmanship but that not alone convinced Watson of her failing vision nor the condition of her glasses. What told him was though being extremely dark outside omitting no light whatsoever, the middle of the night, the room was also pitch black.

Now, this second time Patricia followed Watson as if listening for a sound one would turn their head hoping to catch its slightest enunciation the old woman trailed after him her neck craned searching. Listening. And in the darkness not only he could but all within the group clearly saw one another proving another point in Watson's scheme of understanding; they weren't actually there.

This Watson believed as soon as he passed through the shadow-portal into the room, where apart from themselves only an aging German Shepard laying on the floor next to Patricia slightly stirred seemed unimpressed at what occurred one eyelid raised slightly being the only indication it was alive, otherwise the animal remained motionless since the group arrived, proved another point in Watson's view, it was practically the same age as the old woman which couldn't be possible due to the fact dogs age differently than humans, therefore the dog had neither passed through the shadow with the group for none had known the animal prior, nor was it from the same period as the woman, leaving the only possibility it too wasn't there. Yet it was clear as anything Watson could see the dog who sleeping soundly at times a hind leg twitched as if giving chase to some phantom prey was no more than a foot away and while reading the old woman notes Watson clearly saw its chest methodically rise and fall with each breath just over the brim of the notebook.

If the dog wasn't from either the groups period nor the old woman's then where, and of what importance it played since the group wasn't in the bedroom, to begin with?

As Watson further believed the group was nothing more then near-forgotten memories in one form or another of Patricia's life, who they themselves could not remember being part of save fragmented threads at the same time, of moments in a film where all but a very few selected frames remained, projected upon the wall of their minds randomly flashed without coherent sequential bearing, yet a dog, an obvious link those of the group having no recollection before ever existed lay on the floor dreaming happily.

Returning his attention to Patricia's notes Watson focused on the page she continuously wrote upon yet stopped abruptly. It is the first time he actually focused what the woman wrote, he had no idea the meaning what she'd written, in fact, they weren't words he'd ever seen before. Straining his mind forcing it to comprehend this new alphabet, Watson realized quickly they weren't words; rather symbols.

He quickly scanned the faces looking at each of the group's members searching for any recognition as it was between them this bond, this ability as it were should one see naturally all saw stemming from the connection between them but failed. With their mannerism expressionless Watson returned to the book, only to see the symbols gradually shifting upon the page, gliding what appeared to be slightly above the page itself gently glancing off one another.

Staring at the page whose writing at first made no sense, now gradually formed what appeared to be a drawing of the bedroom with the entire group in their exact location, even 'himself' looking over the book which the old woman continued working, steadily took shape.

Watson was more amazed than shocked. Here is a room, whose complete lack of light mattered not in the least for the very reason it all took place within Patricia's mind, her imagination, which Watson assumed as to why once arriving in the room through this portal of sorts their own thoughts connected, that they, as a group, came together - another resolution soon after recalling something in her past involving all of them began with the commencement of her writing. Something they'd done together as a group.

But what Watson strained to think of; where were they as a group? He didn't bother looking at the others there'd be nothing anyway assisting him, yet he felt James held if anything some key to all this.

'Not in the least,' James replied, 'I have no idea.' 'Yes and with all your thievery I'm sure you haven't an understanding of even the simplest,' Watson replied with a growing dislike of the man he'd not bothered to hide for once both voicing thoughts opening.

'Watson, you're overbearing macho bullshit doesn't work on the educated so fuck off and return to the jungle herding your type. It's what you've excelled with. Stay with what you are best at.'

Watson knew in that jungle James wouldn't last more than a few minutes. 'And rightfully so,' James added knowing Watson's thought. 'It's only for animals of nothing.'

This of course referred to Animals of Nothing the play James wrote winning awards propelling him into that arena he so demanded reaching, and would do nothing compromising his position there, and everything maintaining, entailed the simple story of a group of animals and their interaction between one another on an island of which there was no escape from illustrating a side of raw humanity within every single person most would not want to contend with let along meet, but for Watson and many others of his type did meet those 'animals' in combat, drawn to their own kind they jokingly admitted to one another relieving the madness they'd all entered with most having volunteered, especially expert training within elite close combat tactical units often sent before the main troops into areas known for high contact probability by way of these small units no more than five or six men, would purposely engage the enemy testing the forces strength reporting the findings, which often enough Watson excelled at training leading his men in the same manner of that particular warfare.

Animals of Nothing brought this kind of fighting to the forefront of corporate offices, kitchens where mothers baked cookies, schools, public transportation where once tapped into and released produced the end of social development and obedience. The play produced not only James as a successful play-writer, but showed the high probability in which humanity will turn.

And James was not the author. None of the ideas his own. He'd picked them out in a bar while getting drunk. His success was certain insofar he simply couldn't write, thus failed in every attempt having material reviewed let alone published. And as usual, James drank to silent the voicing crowds their relentless verbatim of stupidity in his eyes, till off in a corner he picked-up a few words of interrogation consisting of skinning alive, the gouging of eyes all in the name of information retrieval.

Over the following hour, James listened intently as the move from techniques to reasons why, to remorse the owners grew more inebriated unaware they were categorically noted nearly word for word, that at the end James overwhelmed from their relentless graphic dialogue had to leave the bar simply to get away or vomit where he sat.

In two months the play went into production, with it's first viewing by a paying audience eliminated the fact James was useless and should find something more his capability which he himself confessed a drunken afternoon to no one in particular on a bench in the bus station killing time before his favorite bar opened. The fact he was completely alone at the time gave further illusion itself of his own grander believing certainly there must be over twenty glued to the proclamations and would have been more should the small area at the end of the wall where he sat allowed, spewing forth as threads of drool drifting from his chin, 'This world isn't good enough, the reason why I'm so selective in the release of my productions,' proved in-point with its unprecedented success, and fortunate for James no one in particular heard nor even paid attention to his bus station ranting for they wouldn't believe the two originated from the same person.

When in fact they weren't, which in all likelihood intensified their initial shock those contemplating that very possibility had the opportunity arose meeting the James before and that having birthed from, what Watson deemed 'The Adder' a snake all to familiar having come across it a number of times yet fortunately never bitten though six of his men were when happened upon a nest of twelve received bites resulting in near death due to the proximity of the bite and their geographical location not permitting airlift to a hospital, even if that was possible, a fact resulting those men sustaining permeant nerve damage and certain percentage lose of mobility after recovering several months in hospital as no lift was ever ordered due to the mission for which Watson was commanding officer of.

Though considered the mission successful, command assured Watson there was no alternative and all those involved in these special units were well aware of the situations dealt with while on the mission, just as he, command further stated clearly in its debriefing, knew when placed with unitary command of the same risks. Of course, Watson knew and didn't need to be reminded yet watching a man die is different than having to carve chunks of blacked flesh from bitten arms and legs stemming the infection caused from the venoms impact, and enduring the remaining two weeks until the mission was completed were finally lifted out with what remains. This command doesn't see. Just from a single snake bite. So in meeting James the first time he drew the name Adder from Watson as pure and simple as breath itself for it consisted of simply air just as James was of death. Just as he himself was death Watson thought, knowing what he saw in James was also part of him, just as in Barbara, and Sarah, as all in the room...simple mirrors of the other.

Watson turned his attention back toward the notebook and in what appeared on the page while the thought of James and his words drifted outwardly away from his now growing amazement at what he suddenly now deciphered as a ship.

Of course! Watson yelled realizing it was the Grace, though not exactly her, the shape is somewhat different, yet when along the hull the ships numbers gradually slid into place and Watson knew for certain it was her; she being their connection.

They had all be on a ship in one time or another Watson now grasped. David, Barbara, Sarah on Grace itself; Patricia the old woman abroad the ship who James say throwing him toward insanity; Adam being the twin of Mary their mother Jennifer was aboard...never a ship.

'DAMN IT!' Watson shouted loudly not from knowing he was in error rather the mystery continued eluding him. Had Jennifer been aboard that would have counted for all three. But as far as he could recall searching frantically any memory of having happened, Watson concluded Jennifer had never been on board a ship her entire life. 'Unless...' Watson paused lowering the tone of his voice to a whisper, 'Jennifer...was the ship.'

And in that last syllable Watson spoke, Patricia turned the page and began anew her note taken still in its slow methodic upward slant while Watson watched eagerly the words slowly glided around the page just as before, just as soon as she wrote becoming animated moved upwards, and sideways, some tumbling while others spinning gently, softly resting into their place waiting for others to join as fast as Patricia could write, but at her age it took some time, yet as Watson watched time mattered the least since there was no telling of it here in the bedroom. If Watson were to contemplate, there existed no means possible perceiving how long it had been from the moment they arrived till now. Outside held no clues remaining without the smallest of light an eternal dark of where nothing moved the slightest, no sound of wildlife, nor automobile though Patricia lived far from the nearest house there was the off chance of some traffic being heard but nothing at all distinguished as such.

They were simply in a world unto their own. A world where Patricia's memories served some point of reference, neither prolific nor scarce only sparingly permitted those fractional impressions glimpsed a moment where their review might push aside the growing darkness falling upon each in the group, until now with only words from the old woman collectively searching one another creating a resemblance of something more than just understanding, but that of hope in returning to the other side from which they all belonged.

'Jennifer 'the ship'? Jennifer 'THE SHIP'. Are you 'that' stupid? There are a number of other adjectives but it'd pass right over you. 'Stupid' is your level you can't even see the simplest,' James said in a half-laugh, half bewildered voice surprising Watson whose sole intent existed with Patricia's next image, abruptly yanked from his attention, quickly turned looking directly into James's blue eyes housed in a pale shocked expression reminding Watson of a younger self, except his eyes were brown, learning he was passed-over for promotion due to insufficient time served on-mission standing before the large window in his commanding officer's office looking at his own reflection as it changed from shock to rage a matter of only a second, wondering how soon he could return to the war some place deep, where none of this bureaucracy could find him.

Watson wasn't about to be drawn into a conflict, especially with James, above all, at this particular moment. He knew images formed through Patricia's words and wasn't about to miss the slightest details because he failed to see the element James pointed towards, which of course James enthusiastically over-exaggerated in stating, or indeed Watson thought he was, in fact, dull-witted in his failure to think clearly, for he too felt he'd forgotten a key point but couldn't recall, in any case focusing on the page the woman noted being the prime directive of 'this' mission, and through years of training Watson knew you never altered from that. No matter outlining consequences. The mission was a priority, those images the most important consideration, and nothing was going to pull Watson from its message he was certain it contained. Not even a man Watson wouldn't hesitate snapping the neck off.

'Can't see what you've missed,' Watson letting the words filter through focusing on the paper watching Patricia's work intently as James never responded unless a good reason, as with them all. Why therefore did he state those exact words?

With so many happenings in one's life they are held primarily at two locations within the mind; aware of, and not. Watson believed in an area where the two crossed one other, considered an extensive tract of the heavily eroded landscape. A nowhere beyond. The place his thoughts were clearest.

Chosen either in knowing, or not Watson focused what he felt was of interest acknowledging, what remained passed, drifting into a near oblivion held somewhere in areas his mind seldom traveled overgrown with darkness spreading further into what remaining consciousness held him from complete irreparable self-assassination, it being the holy ground left where not even the horrors from the outside ventured, where battle beyond shape and sound reaching far into eternity never relinquishing grasp of him.

This in hand its relentless pursuit of Watson always caused his contemplation of James simply another affliction brought by the sole purpose of gainful goods, of which no doubt the view was collective, members of the group existing from the one source, escalates into an ever accelerating wheel of madness draining efforts put forward by Watson resolving their exit of which none attempted assisting him with, for the reason in part James was correct, Watson so stubborn at times limiting his perspective had he not been so preoccupied assuming command at every turn would've established Jennifer's role encompassing, of course, both Adam and Mary, the only members Watson was unable to place, for which lacking thereof, barred any departure returning through the shadow, realized his error while observing the second image form in Patricia's book.

As with the first, letters formed words slid glancing off one another, Watson watched growing inpatients grew causing the tremble in his hands to increase as if an icy chill had taken them while slowly the image began to take shape.

'Give up Watson you'll never understand what you're looking at anyway,' spoke James a slight smile on his face forming as he watched Watson moving from his shaking hands to his eyes waiting for the reply he knew would spring from him like a crazed jack-in-the-box. James saw the pressure building in the man from earlier on soon after they arrived in the bedroom, knowing it was only a matter of time before Watson came apart, which thinking of it was rather strange James wondered for such a soldier with his experience in battle how could waiting for an image cause such a reaction that it did?

And that's just it. The trembling. Not necessarily from fear of the unknown, rather what is about to arrive. With a soft whispering sound off to the right caused James to turn where Mary, Jennifer, and David were. But they weren't. What James saw was nothing but that part of the small room completely empty where a moment before the three stood calmly watching others in their group.

Puzzled James turned quickly where Patricia and Watson he'd last seen a second before still remained. But then his attention pulled at him. Glancing left and right of Patricia who still sat on her bed as she had since they arrived, James slowly drew breath through closed teeth grasping where Barbara and Sarah had gone.

Leaving the room empty except for the three, the others had moved on. James having no idea where or what actually was happening could barely hold himself as Watson with increased shaking in his hands, the final image formed on the page, began to tell the true story:

## Chapter 18: Watson See's The True Story

'There was once a large ship. It sailed in dangerous waters helping those injured and sick. But then the ship got deathly sick and landed on the ground when a dark storm came and afterward was not found no matter how hard everyone searched for her.

On a ship, there were many brave people and three a man, and two women who worked helping those needing help had to face a dangerous task of leaving the ship to help others on the land. While they were on the land helping the sick and hurt a darkness passed over them and when it left the three disappeared and were not found no matter how hard everyone searched for them.

A man who saw a ship, yet was chased from those who caused a lot of pain and death, ran into the sea towards the ship and dove deep into the darkening sea but was not found no matter how hard everyone searched for him.

Once a woman who didn't know a thing but wanted to know things married a man who knew many things but not those which the woman wanted to know and the marriage failed her ship had sailed the woman told herself, but she had a twin sister who knew many different other things, who wouldn't tell her any of these things except to read an old book while seated in her favorite area of the house where one day she and the house disappeared and were not found no matter how hard everyone searched for them.

There was a man who had an idea which wasn't his own and wanted more of the same till he went insane after meeting a lover from years ago on a ship with no children and was not found no matter how hard everyone searched for him.

Those individuals having something in common placing them together in the bedroom of an old woman practically blind who wrote her memories in a book having a very old cover, though wanting to return couldn't unless they realized their common link shared.

Yet how in time one-by-one they disappeared leaving only the old woman and her dog?'

Watson paused looking up from the book not interested the least what James thought, walked slowly to the window, where reaching out placed both hands high-up on the casing and peered into an endless black of such unknown depth he felt the chill slowly rise in his bones imagining to what point it lasted, but more so, what was there.

Remembered since their arrival no sound nor light was ever noticed nothing from a world they knew was out there, Watson slowly became aware of where he could see the absolute life offered belonged to those who'd never lived, content with simple treasures, presenting it's only grand illusion, one of which he too participated. He turned looked at James just at the moment James began to fade, his terror-stricken face turned side to side attempting to ward-off whatever waited.

And was gone.

Sometimes in the greatest stillness, that perfect silence, the brain begins to scratch itself. Watson heard first what sounded like a feather traced along a dried leaf. Very faint, extremely far away. He listened more intently trying to find what direction it carried out from. Closing his eyes sweeping his mind, a bat moving through its blind world, Watson pushed his mind opening as much as possible, searching, then suddenly stopped, opened his eyes and found himself facing Patricia who was busy as usual. Glancing at her he saw directly the old woman carefully watched the words written whereas before she hadn't but simply stared off blankly into the room or at one in the group, but now she focused her attention fully and Watson only wondered what images those words shaped.

Then he saw something strange; how she moved while writing.

Every time she wrote the scratching sound increased. When she slowed it faded. If the old woman stopped, it also stopped. Then she rose her head from the book, the wrinkled face smiled at him calling out as she still wrote, 'Come. Look.'

Watson shocked from her soothing, caress-like voice he'd never heard spoken before, and disturbed realizing again his hands began to shake for what reason he still hadn't any. His recollection even in combat remembering how complete the control of his body was, but now it seemed he was in another body completely unaccustomed to. First, the scraping, then trembling, of which he tried opening and clenching into fists providing slight relief. At least the prickling sensation associated with decreased blood circulation, a hundred needles of which drove deep numbing muscle and tissue Watson imagined would begin, hadn't. The reason he deduced must be shock from which he must be suffering, even so, couldn't understand the symptoms related also hadn't yet appeared.

Cautiously he stepped toward Patricia his eyes moving from her to the book where seeing again words moving as before, coasting, glancing off one another, gliding along the page then connecting, cluster's gaining in size while others diminished, gathering then a moment later disperse as if they could no longer stand contact, whereas during the beginning of an ache in forefront of his head slowly spread around each side till reaching the temple where pressing inward with increasing force seized Watson's thoughts completely.

Never having felt such pain in his head before, compounded with other ailments a sense of dreaded confusion built around him those final steps where abruptly Watson stopped a few inches from the old woman's bed. He felt an enormous weight somewhere about the shoulders pulling him down, and began swaying under it, tottering about to fall over his mind practically consumed slowly began closing around him with immense pain, not only with himself but which felt in the darkness starting along the corners where the walls met the ceiling, as if draped beginning to fold itself upon him. A massive, thick cloak enveloped, devouring Watson if he hadn't instinctively reached out snatching the book from the old woman's fragile hands then pulled away almost collapsing against the wall. Standing a moment before searching the dark outer reaches of his own mind, 'That's part solution for this' he heard the old woman's thoughts reaching into his mind, his mind which as dark as outside because all thoughts, memories removed, stolen from him, now held in the old book.

In that gained moment of realization Watson experienced a horribly sudden loud shrill clasped him by the throat choking his life, great hands surrounded his neck stabbed their fingers ever deeper as Watson struggled thinking there was an escape.

With that last instant nearly complete, understanding a moment, the split second actually when registered across his brain, Watson gave into whatever directed, whatever held him, with instinct the survival wanting to fight, when the howling took hold.

'It is in the release', his training officer told Watson along with others in the 'special class' as they neared their completed schooling, the final exam has not eaten or slept for five days while still conducting 'the mission' across rain drenched swamplands leaving most the closest to and increased wanting of death they'd ever been, allowed Watson insight, understanding the weight of the officers next words hollered no more that two inches from his ears as he himself entered another level well beyond the one carrying his daily consciousness, 'KNOWING YOUR ARE ALREADY DEAD SETS YOU FREE!'

Since that training mission Watson learned to manage this level maneuvering, entrenched within, shutting down, letting a current flow, he not only lost himself but witnessed surroundings existed before that line stretching far well past any known horizon for which he was just now understanding.

And it stopped. Clinched shaking hands. The shrieking. Suddenly ceased. Like the snapping of fingers, Watson woke. Opening his eyes, the old woman's head lowered gazing motionless upon her writing, words finally formed in the book somehow taken from him returned to her caused little concern when he slowly stepped closure, not from caution brought by fear as before, but confidence in his own control of absolutely nothing, just as a child the moment before trouble arrived seeing those dark clouds approaching.

Stepping carefully over the dozing German Shepard not wanting to wake the animal from its needful rest still twitching through its chase, whose age undoubtedly to measure, Watson halted against the wall next to the bed and looked down holding neither fear nor regret.

At first, it wasn't clear what Watson saw, rather thought he saw as gradually a face formed. One of familiarity, yet not. Attractive, but dull, having an unclear gender, taking his time searching for signs of recognition, though wasn't completely certain he'd seen the face before, he was confident about one thing; the eyes. They were Barbara's.

With many elements still at work, it seldom requires more than one to fall causing the rest to shortly follow. In seeing her eyes, Watson now recognized the chin as that of his own. Other words joined the college of characteristics he now recognized as the group; an aspect from each of their face's compiled in one single portrait.

He quickly became aware of Jennifer and Mary's cheeks, David's brow, the mouth shaped as James's, Sarah's nose, with finally Adam's lips completing the group's representation.

There was only one aspect of the likeliness Watson could not place; the hair. It had been dark, black perhaps, but now faded and thin, is very fragile. And course. Wondering its nature alleviated Watson's mind from one single point, able to view the wider perspective, immediately so doing realized it was Patricia's. Wanting to confirm this he took his eyes from the page moving them directly to her head no more than two feet from his own, which certainly measured up with the image.

Watson thought a moment what did this prove - Patricia was the author, how then could she be a member of the group? Then appearing Watson gazed back to the image as if comparing the two but really was confused to the point his mind simply needed a moment of rest after taking in all the information, finally realizing, 'she was all of us'.

'Yes. Have a rest. You'll feel better,' came a voice from the old woman but not of her own.

Instinctively Watson straightened recognizing the voice, at the same time took a step back wanting distance from it but forgot the dog laid just behind him. His heel caught the shoulder of the large animal, losing balance Watson tripped and would certainly have fallen if a hand hadn't reached out grasping his wrist with such force the pain both shocked Watson and relieved, returning his conscious through which his own hand involuntarily clutched the old woman's sleeping gown of her lower arm at the very instant Patricia turned from her book looking Watson directly and smiled.

It would be well assuming due to his character and military background Watson wasn't distressed easily considering the face he now witnessed was exactly the same as the image on the page, leaving him only the slightest confused, otherwise his mind quickly accepted the fact and more so, regain control in his environment.

The grip on his wrist quite strong, one of which because of his lack of room and physical instability he'd find it very difficult freeing from, also the amount of time to break hold would amount to a mere second or so, left very few options, of which he chose to have the greatest impact since he had hold of the old woman's gown, weighting considerably more than her Watson used the counterbalance continuing the fall pulling her straight from the bed where she landing directly on the dog who bolted upright yelping from surprise then immediately bared its teeth at Watson himself striking the floor the same instant as the woman the impact of which freed Watson, yet now faced another situation; the large German Shepard.

By any account, it was an old dog. Its once black and brown colored muzzle now graying gave the animal a sign of nobility Watson thought when first seeing the large animal. He was after all raised around them, finding it a great joy being near such animals, knowing for the most, their intentions. Yet here was a situation, Watson found himself in the domain of the animal for which it would protect severely without reservation. It would protect its home and protect the old woman, its master and in doing wouldn't stop unless commanded, mortally wounded, or dead.

Watson used Shepard's in combat knowing exactly what they're capable of. If well trained they were five times what infantry could manage with their sense of astounding duty, trust and obedient without question, not to mention profound agility, speed, and stealth. Now he faced one in the small confines of the bedroom, with no weapon for defense other than his own body.

He knew the attack would come in a flash with very little time to react, allowing a single opportunity of striking the animal in one of its most sensitive areas, the eyes. In the present situation blinding the dog was the best option, at the very least, imparting its vision. Then crush the dog's throat.

With his back almost touching the wall the window just above him Watson readied himself for the assault knowing the dog would instinctively lunge for his face in the first attack. He would have to let the animal bit into his raised arm planned as a shield, while doing so counter strike the animal's eyes, followed immediately with repeated blows to the animal's throat. It would last no more then three of four-seconds after which if the animal wasn't severely impaired, the possibility of the dog attacking again causing grave bodily harm were extremely high, even though this wasn't a trained attack animal, once the taste blood from biting his arm Watson knew it would become so as the 'bloodlust' took the animal over reverting to its primal killer instinct.

Watson waited for the attack but the animal simply stood watching, glancing at the old woman who regained to some extent collecting herself sat back against the bed crossing her legs slowly.

Looking directly at him through what Watson was certain were Barbara's eyes the old woman smiled just as James did when thinking he had an upper hand, she reached out-stroked the dog's thickly-furred neck straight away bringing the animal to a laying position against the woman's legs separated the two.

During the dog settling, Watson detected a growing, though faint sound from outside of birds. Not wanting to move as the animal laid quietly between himself and the woman, buffering the two from one another he imagined, hearing the first noise since arriving whose tone brought Watson a stillness often felt along early morning walks taken as a child even through high school.

The birds graceful notes floated from the darkness cascading into the bedroom while the two looking at the other without the slightest interest other than who would break the stillness between them and in what manner, when without warning the dog abruptly sat up staring at the wall behind the old woman while a low growl came deep within the animals large chest as German Shepard's having rather profound lungs, produced large amounts of oxygen for their explosive bursts of speed.

'Is it what you thought?' the old woman calmly spoke while stroking the dog's large head as the mosaic constantly shifted across her face blending together each character attribute as they continuously moved, initially focused then reverted to a state of blur, and then in a moment turning back.

With the initial shock wearing off Watson's focus returned. 'I didn't at first. Some I still don't.'

'Such as?'

'Why we're here?'

'To finish,' the old woman smiled.

'Something we started but forgotten to complete?' Watson questioned.

'Yes.'

'Do we have to complete this as a group together?'

'Yes.'

'Where?'

'Where you've all been at the same time.'

'But Jennifer, Adam, and Mary have not been on a ship.' Watson quickly added.

'But they have,' pausing a moment then absently dictated to Watson turning her attention back to the dog whose head had lowered now resting on her legs crossed. ''Which set sail. It's in the story you just read.'

'All of us with our own story. Even the house? I don't see it here,' Watson replied.

'This room is the house.' The woman returned her gaze to Watson, 'It's 'you' who was never on a ship. You merely swam for it.'

True Watson thought to himself. He wanted to reach Grace but was forced from enemy fire to dive deeper. That was the last he remembered till arriving in the bedroom with the others.

'Yes...that's it,' the woman spoke. She could in truth know what he thought, see through his eyes as he through hers, and theirs, that his dislike for James actually stemmed from something about himself. They all came not from past lives initially thought evident when he saw the first image from the old woman's writing. Unaware of this revelation due to shock, Watson subliminally forced this discovery deeper, only now realizing its gravity.

'The gravity,' the woman stated. 'Always having the weight of things measured. Always needing the logic. The planning. Security in something you have absolutely no control over. Your vanity loosens the actual strength knowledge possess.'

Watson sat listening. It was all that he'd known, although forgotten as would the likes of walking, having to learn again, the present simply stumbling, now forced recalling what the old woman meant.

The ship was the connection Watson understood thinking either the group either physically on or near the Grace at one time or another and...

Watson's thinking abruptly ceased. His breathing stopped. That moment it became clear, it wasn't so much the ship, but the 'time'.

He looked deeper into but there was nothing so normal as light reflected from the eyes of the old woman, yet held something different.

Gazing into their blackness Watson saw himself on the island just entering the ocean with the enemy firing upon him. He saw Grace clearly; however, it wasn't the ship the mission dictated as the hull numbers were different than what shown.

His mind immediately felt, searching members of the group on board specifically Barbara, Sarah, and David whom he'd thought if this was a different Grace they would not be found, which in all respects proved correct; they weren't there. Watson couldn't sense any of the group confirming actually this was a different ship perhaps from another time and most certainly place.

Sarah mentioned Grace's commanding officer Tanner, to Barbara just before the ship beached on the island of which he and his squad were occupied with their mission, had 'known' Sarah before. Why? And more so, what purpose and how significant in knowing her was.

Watson sought the relationship between the two searching Sarah's youth and Tanner's life for similarities, coincidences, anything having brought them together thinking all the while was he on the right path, was it carrying any significance whatsoever, or was he simply grasping at anything, because within him he felt the onslaught of panic forming, knowing its dreadful capabilities.

Panic kills. It is the supreme destructor, ruthless with only one objective; ravage.

Watson knew controlling fright, horror, the unknown, whatever the cause feeding panic drew on much more than composure. The best option - use it. Panic was nevertheless our lifeline for survival, yet proved so powerful it left many standing still when they should run.

Increasing, Watson knew only a moment till it blinded him, causing one missing the small details for seeing only the larger image...

The larger image...

The book. Watson seized the thought conscious of the fact it must have other images from the old woman's carefully noted words.

'May I see the book?' he asked.

It had fallen to the floor along with the old woman and now laid open under the bed behind the dog pages pressed against the floor, so if Watson wanted it he'd have to reach over the now docile animal, yet once he moved Watson believed the animal would attack. Surely if he was to stretch over the animal not able to see what was happening behind certainly the dog would attack the book being close enough for she could easily hand it over to him, the woman simply nodded in the direction where it lay.

Watson wondered now whose mind if any, controlled the old woman perhaps someone or thing giving orders. Was her mind simply the group's combined thoughts? Or a single member? None? Watson having tried without delay assessing where laid the possibilities of such after realizing Patricia held the group's entire embodiment, but remained a mystery one of which seemed the least important, as only the slight increased calling from birds outside kept his mind in relative focus otherwise the pending agitation would begin its press forward with relentless actions as Watson grew weaker from the mental strain.

Certain the book would at least hold some further details of which he wasn't exactly sure, that feeling for the first since arriving time was an issue imperative something be conducted quickly forced Watson to break free of the further slumber accompanying him all the while, that returning back to his own, gained critical urgency similar to that of fight or die as it had in battle so often before taking hold.

Watson slowly with great calmly, at least in his eyes, rose using both hands for support onto his feet keeping as low as possible not wanting to project himself as a threat for the animal or the old woman unsure exactly her capabilities, but his wrist still burned from her grip, reached across the dog picking up the book and slowly returned where he sat.

The dog gave no notice to any movements other than watching the old woman as Watson glanced down for a second in an attempt readying himself should it attack, but it stayed where it was not moving apart from its rhythmic breathing.

Once seated he side-glanced the woman who only in the dog outwardly showing her interest, continued petting the animal, as Watson without delay opened the front cover of the book, paused a moment then looking up again just as the old woman and dog faded leaving him completely alone, except for what he'd seen moving on the pages birthed a madness, which suddenly began filling the room.

## Chapter 19: James's Overheard Thought

'It always feels good starting from anew. I hate getting cornered having a helluva time working out from the mess which at first, was just the greatest, most perfect shit you ever thought,' said the man slumped over his own drooled spit and snot since remembering he was nothing more than a dumb bastard with no name nor money except for the small change placed on the table before sitting down because if he kept it in his pocket it would slide down somewhere getting lost when he wanted it the most as more than not just about everything in the world, and he wasn't going to have any of that so long as he had half a mind left, seeing he only did since losing the coin toss whose consequences having to drink the entire glass at once without stopping simply closed off that half as a curtain pulled against a bright sun.

'But this, this was a madness gone on holiday where these fuckers party the whole time rendering any possible coherent thought a slave torturing them relentlessly with singular ideas all of their own, yet parts removed for the fun of watching them squirm like worms on burning sidewalks. There was nothing sadder then watching those poor bastards, ripe for the picking languish away in their own nut houses all burdened with that great dream of 'not me somebody else' taking the fall out that high storied building they themselves fortified surrounded with whatever paraphernalia imaginable, and here in that quagmire of glee only the hearty survived their teeth and nails sharped screeching at one another in some goddamn frenzied event they all paid big money to watch, while those having the most frolicked.

'Some sort of law hadn't been invented for such a thing because no one could actually put a finger on what the hell was happening so they all played dumb to the event watching something else cartoonish in comparison to this trans-urban rodeo hoping it would all go away or at the very least, they too could play.

'I could see from the start I was going to be in trouble that this required a different breed of hyped-up bullshit then I was used too and goddamn I'd better be ready for it, so I immediately made a call to that rat bastard who could handle such vile decrepit events as this on which was by now spilling all over the damn place like drunken fish dropped in a full barrel, telling him of the situation and why all the walls were shifting as I'd forgotten whether my medication was too little or I'd taken too much, and he better get his mongrel ass over here dame quick and straighten this shit out 'PRONTO!'

'Christ,' I yelled at him. 'If you don't deal with this I'll call the president and have this party fuckin' nuked. DO YOU HEAR ME?!!' It was bad enough the phone kept slipping out of my hand from the heat and sweat this wretched place put on a person as soon as you get off the plane some possible suggestion rammed into my brain saying 'YOU'RE SCREWED' as I wished anything for a relief trying to focus not falling face first onto the steaming runway they'd just thrown me onto knowing I'd burn alive trying to make my way through asphalt quicksand to the waiting car they sent whose door were closed I prayed meant that beast's air conditioning reeved waiting to freeze my skin because I knew my lizard appearance would scare the holy hell out of the hardiest prospector, shrinking it into something somewhat normal but I actually realized from the onset of my labored trek leaving the plane, I'd never be the same.

'As I neared the godforsaken black metallic Lincoln Continental with suicide doors thinking what in the hell would anyone want a black automobile in this temperature must be a sadistic son of bitch when the driver and passenger doors both flew open like some mad crab opening its arms, and two fat men sprang out shook my hand grabbed my bag threw me in the back seat and in a moment spun this giant shark around, and sped off the runway all the while speaking in a language I had no understanding of other than something not English simply because that was printed on the air ticket I was told to pick up and only take a small carry-on as that only permitted when in fact that was all the airplane could carry seeing the size of the six-seater prop-job which could barely takeoff let alone keep altitude.

'The man in back smoking some huge cigar, the cloud intoxicating kept me at least numb along with the ice cold air chilling me to the point my teeth clashed together along with numerous potholes and bumps, kept his dark glasses on inside an even darker car with its blackened windows all the while rambling in his local tongue pointing out the window as we flew giving an impression we were moving faster than that six-seat bomber I arrived on flying the entire way just above tree level occasionally skirting tops sending clouds of whatever had taken cover from suppressing heat, into flight leaving them to either dodge propellers or face certain decapitation.

'I could feel explosive gas building in my bowels when we touched down and had hoped of receiving myself before meeting whatever transportation arrived, but that wasn't the case being shanghaied right off the tarmac resulting in the now increased pressure knowing whether to release some gas would cause the possibility of ignition torching us alive, and heads turned in my direction knowing the uncouth foreign devil can't hold a fart when with a sudden screech we came to a near halt, the driver stepping out before the car came to a full stop like some ballerina knowing if its toes were caught under those wheels it would be the end of a very promising career, spun around opening my door which having been forced up against since the start of this lunatic adventure, fell promptly through onto the dirt road in a cloud of dust circling me like vultures awaiting their meal caused from both the massive vehicles arrival and myself, where my sunglasses half-off my facing skyward in a flash allowing the blistering sun boil my eye balls in their sockets when that promised gas attack began like some jet engine held back its inner mechanics seething at a shot of freedom as the chance of anatomy and luck came together I bounced off the dirty trash filled street then rolled around making sure I was good and covered in its filth, releasing toxic onions and tequila I'd had on the plane trying to steady my nerves hoping we wouldn't hit too many of those dame birds which now were probably bats as one still stuck to the wing I noticed as we arrived though not clearly seeing both our conditions, when I felt the back of my shirt being pulled then the ground fall away I looked baffled in both my eyes and no doubt theirs for a small group surrounded the drive who held me with one hand like a dirty cat staring at me wondering what the hell to do next with such a creature as the last farts I possess left like forced air in the tightly held end of a balloon lamely squeaking till finally dying limp without any though of what in Christ's name was going to be done to me know.

'It was difficult understanding what happened next as the delirium from the past two days of drinking started its run, and the massive hangover it brought encroached like some flaming desert full of hate in my enjoyment from the past forty-eight hours wanting some damn good revenge served up straight away. AND BY GOD IT WAS GOING TO HAVE THAT!! The driver threw me in the back and we shot out of there leaving all to wonder just what had visited them must certainly not been from their world, when in fact we were more kindred then not as I'd grown up in such a place filled with a destitution beyond any know comparison unless you'd actually lived there, and I have lived in both, surviving the one only to arrive in another slightly different having toilets that flushed. Sweet Jesus the circus was in town with this crowd and I had front row seats in the godforsaken mayhem when all I wanted was complete my work and get the hell back to that other side of insanity where at least you knew who was going to knife your back ten times before you dropped and shots were lined up six to a row, so in their great moronic wisdom they sent me back to the slums and here I was without anyone knowing, the same place I'd left from.

'And that was the great intelligence of it all in their fortified thinking 'this is the best' slapping each others backs of sweat stained shirts guzzling their booze worst then cold blooded vertebrae-less creatures I'd seen while on research in the Sonora after taking some weird smelling local drink they said would help with your thirst, which is extremely powerful at the time both my thirst and the horrible smell from the wooden beaker I was about to put my lips on hoping to God it would either kill me quickly or send me some place without all this endless desert, I downed it entirely and almost threw it right out again, but for the little voice in the back saying to me, 'you'll like this naughty bit' so I held back the retch so desperately wanted from that sane side in my brain which later in life shriveled, dying like prickly bushes surrounding me at the time, telling me if you drink this in all sorts of no good will come from it.

'Thinking I had a relatively strong tolerance of anything from alcohol to a wide variety of drugs both pharmaceutical and not, that I could handle anything they threw at me, but nothing, nothing had prepared me, for this.

'The first hour nothing happened after drinking their concocted remedy, only that now I was thirstier than before and when asked if I could please have something, 'anything' to drink as I was sure my kidneys would fail any moment they simple mumbled pointed to the night sky or the dirt in front of them.

'Christ I thought what the fuck was this all about. I could feel the cold reaching through my thin cloths as nights in this desolate place turn freezing, the bastards even took my bedroll and jack only motioning me to come close to the fire. True I spoke some Spanish but these were Indians speaking another dialect I'd run into and had no idea what they were saying. They understood my Spanish though when asked about whether this was the area I needed to research the small group of three young men, one very old man and one extremely old woman all nodded pointing, and in fact, lead me to the promised land which being two kilometers away turned out to be nothing more than a small cave it seemed when approaching storms threatened was used as shelter, which there didn't seem to be any regular event of seeing very little vegetation along the low lying hills and small boulders existed worth raining upon.

'Yet here I waited my tongue swollen to the point it wasn't able to form a single syllable with perhaps that of someone suffering the same misfortune, the cold crawling from the hard dirt through my ass with the only possible solitude in the entire ungodly event was getting as close to the fire as possible even though it wasn't any bigger than a shoe box standing on its end, which as I gazed into looked surprising like a shoe box I thought with wonder was rather peculiar as to why such a thing would be out here in the middle of Christ knows where when to my growing childish delight, it began to talk.

"I'm here for you", its vertical crack stated just as in any normal conversation. Why wouldn't it?

'I thought that was pretty clever a box talking the way it did so I thought myself just as clever and asked it a simple question, 'Which ... is? I said in a low voice as not wanting to draw too much attention to myself or this box thinking perhaps the Indians would move off from fear leaving me stranded here.

'I only had to wait a moment and the box spoke again with its weird but somehow completely normal lid opening that must have been the head and the lower part of the box its jaw and should it simply fell over would have been more expectable for my brain in understanding but it stood on its end telling me this was going to be the way the conversation went so get used to it.

"You've cheated your entire life and now want redemption."

'It would be sure to say I didn't feel much of the cold and I wasn't thinking much of my tongue which miraculously recovered its usage, when my own jaw slacked some as I sat there thinking what this box said exactly, all the while trying to give time for my brain to catch up with what was going on because it seemed to have some trouble, so I sat there just watching the box and the fire hearing its crackle in the dark deafness of an even darker night because there weren't any stars nor city lights making this one of the blackest places I'd ever seen or been. Hell as far as I knew just outside the range of the firelight all life was gone. Nothing existed. And with the Indians sitting around watching me watch them and the fire what more could one think but this to be so, and feeling absolutely comfortable all the while.

'There would have to come to an answer for the box, but I knew it was right. There wasn't any way around it, not that I'd screwed my life up that much or at least I thought, but there were considerable periods where in fact I ill-used anything I could get my hands on, and it did leave me feeling the worse, which with a few stiff drinks was taken right out and shot. But here I sat and the box had me and maybe it was time to ante-up.

"Right you are. But how?" I thought was the simplest reply also the only seeing the increased problems I'm having with my brain, and that's when it hit... I 'thought' what I'd spoken. I never opened my mouth. My mind was fine thinking wise, but when it wanted to talk simply fell by the wayside.

"Help him," the box said.

"Help who?" I thought.

"Help 'HIIIM".

I looked around all the Indians had left. I was completely alone.

Who the hell is 'Him' I thought to myself which of course was probably spoken in a number of different languages to a number of different 'where ever's' listening to any thought I dreamt up and right now there were an even greater number of those racing around like monkeys having serious withdrawals clawing at the door to open upon the candy land where easily they'd overpower whoever manned the gate ravaging that property sending them all on another epic adventure making Alice's seem like a kiddie carnival ride at some tranquil theme park for those wanting nothing in particular except getting completely lost without the use of drugs or alcohol in any way, form, or shitty shape it comes in whose dislodged offspring sorrow aside for the poor bastards having weighed-anchor indexing their own minds having to deal with such an obnoxious species all the while realizing that grave error their once pristine minds thought grand in its own independent decision of employment at such a grand regime, crusaded the grounds with the sole objective instating oneself as supreme. But I couldn't figure whether it was the monkeys or the screaming shits let loose in that park, of which from the two deserved a definite recognition of sorts also putting my mind to rest of the whole squalid adventure that had Alice in pretty good sight except for the fact her hair wasn't white, but dark like her skin.

With all this now shifted romping around my brain like some massive wounded male bovine its horns twisted just for the sake of being so all of which must have been broadcasted at full volume because the reply started coming in. I was getting answers to question I'd never asked nor wanted to know. And it wasn't good answers, answers only a sane mind would ask.

No. This was something altogether another piece of mastering even I thought not possible and being the person I am; I certainly can think of a great many unholy questions I wanted solutions. Let's face it when your mind is wrapped around a serious withdraw or in the peak of a binge, there is a lot of weird shit moving your thoughts around seeming pretty goddam real at the time which spills over onto the other without any questioning whether it is, knowing or not hasn't any security here, all the while mumbling that preverbal lie, there's got to be a balance. Somewhere.

On board, you had to be because they were going to leave and you didn't want to miss the show. It was after all the highlight in this pro wonderment being created equal gives us the right to blow the shit out of each other. Jesus who thought that up? And it was one of those answers which sprang out like a jackrabbit on speed right as the massive forces making a decision takes hold whiplashing it to death one way or another as quivering hind legs eager as all hell to break loose in that last second of 'should I go' and 'hell if I stay then what?' rang through its tiny stoned brain as coyotes neared, licking their chops knowing in their sober minds what dinner was going to taste like.

And why was a rabbit loaded, and the rational composed coyote, one ready even before birth committing suicide scooting around the desert floor half mad, while the other waiting till it tired, walked over and snapped its head off with one quick bite kicking my brain?

"Help him," the box again said.

I didn't think. I didn't want to. I knew...

"Help 'HIIIM."

"Is that me? Help me?" I spoke, or at least thought.

It was difficult understanding anything at this point, or any point, simply which ever way I wanted to believe either truth or lies, those references I knew, depended upon, had left, taking with it that wholesome stupidity I often had referred to as, logic, that pinnacle lighthouse of hope resting on laurels established with knowledge not exactly obtained nor really understood with the best intentions in mind, simply there as ghost markers for any reason deemed purposeful by way of my own admission those jagged rocks thrusting through it's sinking sea.

With that as my base, what could I do but gamble?

At first, there was a resistance of my own self-wanting shrieking preservation must be allowed. The me was strong in not wanting to die, but finally did with a bang when I pulled the trigger blowing it away growing weary of its constant whining. I was glad to be rid of the noise produced from the relentless bickering between what in all actuality I was, with that of what I believed to be since I could recall those first memories in childhood regardless their originality being happy or in not seeing we always want those of joy to stick around, but really, if not for the bad ones what would it all be worth, and besides, bad memories I remember most sticking to the inside of my continually rotting brain.

So I gave and started living that abuse life always wanted, both of myself but especially of others who beyond their capability defending themselves loved that abuse for it was as if we're kindred spirits riding a cool breeze together without them knowing I stole everything the dumb sons-of-bitches owned without them even knowing it till just at the last moment so they knew it was me but couldn't do a damn thing about it either due to their inept ability in understanding any of what happened, or were plane stupid, because those were the only two possibilities seeing they were damn ignorant morons, to begin with.

In taking great pride of talents I soon honed into a well-sharpened tool, it mattered the least who they were or what they absentmindedly rambled on without an aim only providing more for themselves or someone close to them, in any event, the goal remained the same; self-propulsion. Anything to get ahead. No matter. Consequences were for those believing they could actually get one. Here they were never thought of same in line as that infamous saying, you could only get withdrawals if you stopped using the drug.

And most of them, nearly all in fact never came close to stopping till it actually slammed into them usually at full speed leaving them with that look of, what the fuck on their ever increasing whitened expression eventually chocked and killed them.

I told myself, 'I helped facilitate the inevitable' seeing they'd die eventually, why not now as they already were successful what more could their trivial lives produce other than more blatant carnage, which means eventually believing this a practical protection for others from that carnage, was how I assassinated my own mind.

It was that easy.

Then inevitability rose to take a hand with its usual jungle attitude giving me an idea; I could make money. All I wanted. And it was very clear how that would go.

It all started as simple as any good idea without even knowing it.

Working on a paper nearing its overdue life I was desperate taking a widening cocktail of amphetamines to meet this bastard and that worthless engineers half-brained conception between his parents resulting in the onset of my own demise without knowing those massive wheels being set in motion would crush me like some bug crossing a busy interstate aware there was something very fucking' dangerous coming in all directions but having to get on the other side of that accursed road without fail brought the guns to bear on my mediocre life which till now was nothing short of a miracle lasted in the condition this long when a pounding on the door sent my flayed nerves racing for cover putting cockroaches to shame.

"JESUS CHRIST!!", I barked at whatever buffoon had the gall outside breaking my attentional blink which having lasted for several hours being a welcomed relief, its hocks in me somewhat slackened allowing me to spring at the door like a jack-in-the-box on speed which basically I was crunching incomprehensible thoughts into some weird manner of communication on paper I was certain would throw that rat bastard back into the sewers he crawled out from when I froze just before my shaking hand wrapped it's sweating palm around the door handle and placed my head against the door for a moment before whispering, 'Who is it?' like some damn mouse knowing there somewhere brought on by the insane ravings of some priest a half-mad cat just waited ready to pounce sinking its white fangs into my ass.

"Open the fuck up," was the reply but not in any known tone I'd heard before, any known to be human I thought my eyes rolling around showing more white then their shrunken black pupil, normal under such conditions telling myself inspecting its condition in the mirror wondering who the hell was watching me so goddamn close.

I decided to wait knowing if I opened the door the world on the other side would come through and I didn't want any of that crap to deal with the reason why I'd spent the entire last fifty-plus hours using any possible receptacle for my urine instead of going down the hallway to use the toilet.

Luckily I'd brought in four cases of beer and could use those practical one-to-one ratios of drinking one, filling one, three bottles of tequila, along with the actual seven gallons of water all now practical filled with various stages and colors of that foul smelling waste any kidney doctor would diagnose as infected, but with various citric fruits keeping that vitamin C level up combating the shakes and boxes of chocolate I maintained a somewhat coherent body mass, knowing from the past this probably would have done in most especial when you add all the speed and crack, marijuana, coke consumed during that time, fortunately steering clear of the acid and mushrooms I'd left with a friend knowing if they were here I'd be at them right quick.

I was half self-contained. You had to. Heading out on this dependency didn't allow casual trips to piss strolling down the hall only a mere twenty feet distance waving and talking with fellow associates wasn't on the schedule. Christ no! This was something very different from which if weren't absolutely prepared for, would turn you into a raving vegetable because having contact with others not supporting your own frame of stoned mind was unthinkable.

Going outside...down the hall was walking through the jungle in your underwear while at a time of war where you'd no idea where the enemy waited let alone what they looked like but you knew had a somewhat reptile appearance, where anything you touched, saw could send you off running for cover with lose of bearings never finding your room again, stranded in that endless corridor where full grown alien lizards, crocodiles, snakes roamed in their flowered beach T-shirts, shorts of various lengths all wearing dark glasses and hats farting and belching their calls, humping one another raising ungodly noise, and everyone suffering from that hyperactivity disorder limiting their attention span to no longer than two seconds. Just think if the acid kick-in.

Was I going to open a door for THAT?

I could hear breathing on the other side of one or perhaps more of those damn things and there was no way in hell I would let them in here, but the pounding on the door came again this time right against my ear causing me to screech like the twisted night owl I'd become, now caught in some snare instead of closing in on its prey.

I jumped back from the door readying myself all the while wondering why I didn't bring anything except a plastic knife to cut the fruit then remembered the first time reaching such a pinnacle as now I'd nearly cut my own foot off thinking it was a skinned cat which slowly began eating my leg changing roles of the freeze response, so I feigned death to escape my predator, when I heard a key turning in the door which slowly began to open.

There is nothing in the English and perhaps any language, which could describe what went through my mind. There was no escape. The room too small to hide and to narrow to defend against an attack I simply stood adrenal gland pumping gallons, charging through an already overstimulated system where a doctor would've noted a miracle I hadn't suffered massive heart failure right there, and in fact over the past twenty-four hours I should have died at least three times due to amounts ingested.

Abruptly the door swung wide open the best action possible for capturing any drug fiend, catch them off guard and make a lot of noise confusing the poor bastard, that way either they'll faint or try and flee, either case they're on the run becoming extremely confused and more importantly very defensive. The last thing you want is the drug having hold of the situation, something cops and certain medical staff never understood the rules change when dealing with someone under the influence that if the drug goes offensive, they better knock you out become that true beast has arrived.

That brain threshold toward tend and befriend increases significantly climbing out onto the roof then jumping with the objective taking anyone along with them, insofar you'll do anything to escape what was about to happen even if there was no threat, you saw one, knew without any reasonable doubt your life was going to end so you'd tear down walls getting out. With that, the brain kick starts pushing epinephrine to an extreme firing-up all those neurotransmitters who normally aren't active unless you're chased by some wild animal inches from you about to tear limbs eaten alive so of course there was every motivation to get going. And there was nothing, at all, going to stop you.

That's sort of how I felt because there simply isn't coherent communication invented expressing what happens to you, what stays in the mind, what flashes back into the mind as this develops, when the door burst fully open and my fifth grade English teacher Mrs. Lavina which was odd seeing she'd been born ninety years ago in some far off country no one knew exactly, that English was not its mother tongue seeing her accent gave problems into our later years when we all had difficulties because half our vowels wanted to strangle the consonants evolving into an endless mispronunciation war, walks in.

"Good God woman!!," I thought to myself but actual must have screamed for she rose a crooked finger to her chapped tight lips as she'd done a hundred times in the past with me indicating quiet was best here otherwise it was the corner with you where you'd stood for hours counting the spitballs hitting your neck, because right afterward her finger touched those lips the door actually burst fully open and my mother and father stood there looking at me with that unholy gaze they'd mastered when I was up to no good and caught. But there was something very different with those two as they both looked so much younger; high school younger.

Now, this is that 'Jackrabbit Syndrome' effect so often heard of. If it would've stayed put on the side of the road not waiting till the last possible moment to fire off toward the other side just as the steel beast of a '57 Cadillac boomed past caught in the headlights probably thought while its eyes near exceeded the size of its own head, not a thing, because there was a reason when you put yourself into such a position as this it was better realizing up-front, you just weren't cut out for the long ride.

I would have given anything to simply move right past them, out of that evil room imprisoned for God knows how long, out into the hallway where calmly walked treating others to a real exhibition how an incredible demented individual coped with all the insanities adrift central to his tiny brain amounted to nothing really more than my own self-wanted stupidity, that I could make quantified changes in my life and now was the time either that, or head to the nearest Thorazine.

It wasn't all in my head as claimed when telling the story later to a close friend. I did see my younger parents. I did hear their ranting... "Christ is this what we've paid for? What your mother and I have worked our whole lives just so you could run vile?" and witnessed Mrs. Lavina's crooked finger with 'better to grab you by' mouthed from those course chaffed lips. Sure. Damn, right I saw that just as seeing a talking box in a campfire surrounded by nothing but dry desert which crawled along my skin feeling all the creatures having escaped the scorching heat excelled at night claiming that righteous domain since the desert began.

Now staring back into the campfire I realized it all was just one hallucination after another whether drug-induced or not, and how the hell to manage it all. Rightfully so I'd turn to as much booze and whatever narcotic available in the largest amount without question, but woke sometimes right in the same place as before, nothing surprising, nothing but the ranting maniac from my own built conditions unleashed along with all those others whom now looking upward into the night sky, like stars falling towards me, their maddened minds streaking through blackness, a flare in the last moment signaling.

I reached where just before their blaze ignited glowing most prominent gathering them no different than a farmer whose labor now harvested the season's toil, gently bringing them to their native land which having missed their entire lives could now begin. With me.

I would take their thoughts reliving them as they'd wanted yet hadn't possibilities, deciding not continuing my lying research any further believing nothing in the matter, nor did, and would begin afresh producing their existence as well rehearsed stage-crafted plays within plays.

I stared into the fire content in my direction. Not knowing what I'd actually seen and even further what it all meant - the flames, through the box, the Indians now vanished - realizing simply it didn't matter. Only achieve the end result which was understanding everything in the past was nothing more than just that of hyper-overstated concepts to learn from, when actually it was all present at the start, simply neglected, not blind too, just not wanted to be seen. So the mirage instated as normal, grew to the point of counter-productivity, consuming its host. Eventually killing itself. And with all fell and gone, absoluteness survived.

Maybe it was me in that room trying to finish some task, sick of its entirety, replacing the drugs and booze as blind passageways becoming lost since very early on in life probably from birth, maybe before, having now carried spilling through, filling eventually chocking. Challenging. Once threatened, clarity established.

The fire was neither hot nor the night cold. Purely there just as I sat next to looking back into the night sky myself only part, but now more prominent role that of all the characters in all the plays I would produce of thoughts and ideas deflected of those random never lived. Which itself becomes a paradox of sorts seeing I'm writing this now which means you the reader, are also part of that illusion.

## Chapter 20: The Simple Gesture

a small group and their different lives, affected ideas as the movement just beyond those first elms before something came through.

A year earlier...

Though not clear due to the darkness a man wearing gold-framed eyeglasses stood at the top of the large oaken staircase looking directly at her. Appearing as an owner of some large industrial company dressed somewhat differently of a white suit styled in another fashion supporting his tall, thin frame and white close-cropped hair with the use of a red handled black cane, gazed at her sitting beside large bay-windows reading. Looking up seeing him for in a second he was gone leaving her not with a feeling of anxiety, but one of ache for something forgotten.

Sometime before...

While preoccupied with themselves, a fairly dull looking man whose only quality being a thinly trimmed brown goatee, noticed something missing; there were no children. Teenagers yes, but anything under perhaps that age could not be seen aboard the ship taking him along with several hundred others on a two week voyage most confident in the fact of an unnatural 'feeling' sweeping over them the ability a few only possessed understanding such clearly as few seemed to witnessed this except the black dressed beautifully strange tall woman standing utterly alone, yet whose eyes quickly shifted from the dreary goatee, caught an appealing dark red-haired young woman, looking rather pensive whose mind swam from the guests soured chatter so dearly hated, hated as much as that liaison her husband was screwing in their car while she stood waiting, broadcasting firm thoughts no doubt the two leaving their scent and whatever all over the seat she'll have to smell and sit in upon their return, but more so, the pronounced desire to not murder him, but something worse conducted with great care after their trip.

The tall woman returned her study among the plain man and small group, who suddenly stumbled backwards from an elderly woman, falling over had an arm not reached seizing his elbow in a tight grip steading him, but the shock on the man's face clearly shown it wasn't possible what he saw could in all actuality, exist. Then with a simple gesture of her withered arm the man following the woman's movement, looked about noticing as if for the first time passengers further pushing his contorting face toward a deeper fear.

The man clearly dazed, only stood gaping at the old woman, his mind a near complete void while the eyes flashed terror, trying to step back found his feet firmly anchored to the deck unable allowing not the slightest of movement, except his eyes pleading for help in their panic glancing at all directions, as the woman raised a gloved hand to his face.

Watching this the tall woman, unmoved, her own eyes searching the more interesting activities, lead her to another small group gathered around a thin blond woman her hair shortcut in style stood in their circle erect and confidence, clearly found themselves eluded in her statement, 'There'll be trouble,' not deviating in any manner as if in a dream, added slowly, 'He knows.' This last brought in a natural way a very attractive mature looking woman into the circle gently sliding a hand clasping the upper arm of the blond more pacification the tall woman reasoned than anything seeing they were military ready to board the large vessel, proved this voyage not only one of tourism, rose even higher possibilities the war encroached further than admitted, and this, rather the manner spoken as it was a warning caused all listening to shudder with fear not associated in these veterans their uniforms depicting combat nurses having endured such living between two different 'fields' with the look from the mature woman showing she already knew what lay ahead of them, all the while four paces away a broad-shouldered man carrying authority observed their every move especially when a thin man slightly hunched joined them.

The strange tall woman recalled in their time of conflict raging, where systematic carnage encompassing many, where madness ruled as True King, calmness knowing their demise mattered least for most, lifting her head watching those board along the gangway paused wondering on the bow painted in huge letters for all to see 'KAL316', who would give such a name for a vessel such as this, then quickly asking a man walking past if this was the way, replied mumbling something about buying him a drink, which swiftly agreed instead having absolutely no further interest in the person allowed the crowd sweep her away.

Her gaze directed toward a strange soft whimpering heard in a crowd nearest the goatee man searching a small handbag frantically, mumbled a need for medication and voices, while the single strand of saliva formed from the left corner of his somewhat crooked mouth perhaps she thought reason attempting this partial beard, wondered how long it would take before he was held below decks, if they ever allow him to board.

And all this changed as a young woman, began reading a book told would be great interest, yet turned at times very cold without much light just enough to see things crawl out from the very dark; of a man whose stolen ideas and thoughts from others amassed a fortune; of an ambulance ship suffering its own identity while the crew's passion turns awry; of a shadow appearing through fiery orange clouds, all happening while someone passing amid them asking whether their memories needed alteration before the one died with the aim of reliving what they missed or go insane so not having to remember any of it in the least?

## Chapter 21: Having Witnessed

And what did that mean in death? A passing? The loneliness of those remaining? The lost time realized spent from other agendas in mind relinquishing thought of one's own gains, of admittance where that path first traveled surely brought thing very different then what now lays abandoned only the wayside.

But something wasn't known, wasn't tried being the outreach cry for all to hear defending even the bravest, the most conscientious clearing their intention claiming it all justifiably good, when the lie entered, and preoccupation fell silent. In that magnitude nothing withstanding even the briefest instances remained so for any longer than resulted in some grotesque shadow of their former emerging renewal, intent upon new worlds to reign, forced the truth to witness the glowering eyes reflecting all yet often willfully unrecognizable reminder wished forgotten; death releases none.

They felt that having witnessed the rapid breathing constant listlessness for which none of them knew exactly the reason only venturing various scenarios, including that of poison, which in the final moment of life might have indeed been for the contortions, the gaping mouth gasping for air, the blank eyes not knowing if, or when, let alone why the happenings, then the final passing as watery blood as it flowed steadily from still open mouth its purple tongue extended beyond what seemed natural.

They were shocked how quickly death came though one from the group stated very probable, it would in fact occur, whether they themselves an expert on such matters the others didn't know, simply conveyed in a self-evident fact alarming all despite the possibility none voiced it so, simply going with their own affairs till the coughing started which seemed to bring on the convulsing thereby supporting the idea poison was involved.

'But what of the weakened heart?' a member called out. 'This could have caused death just as easily, for the most part, if it was poison why was there no vomiting nor clear signs of abdominal pain so often associated with?'

True they agreed as indeed there were none, only bloody-water in the last convulsions then silence, and the wait of shock arriving inevitably nevertheless for some almost right away, others more slowly as thoughts what could have been done avoiding this encroaching slowly, quietly, while questions of suppose that first formed pulling years latter, it's debating ceaseless by and large stemming from the inability of letting go accompanied with the fact of a supposed happening all feeling guilty in one form or another sure as they committed the murder themselves, which on the whole, one did.

Their exhaustion from listlessness grew ever more woken now with each pressing moment that inevitable weight none wanted but must endure, while sleep the only medium allowing reprieve looked for, longing, the time developing aspects of nothing more than distant thoughts, not dream-like, but obscured regardless where the mind at work warrants categorizing, storing its memories consequently governed almost entirely through emotions strangling logic.

Yet here was death they'd seen approaching, not darken, a lumbering form from childhood tales or rudimentary novels, but in a whisper along the breeze none taken notice of till afterwards gazing down later at the stricken lifeless form, large glassed eyes widen abnormally from seizures, the mouth still gapping its tongue now darker seeming more so since the last breath a mere three hours before, and the odor faint with it's growing presence rose from the corpse casting a thought among them all what the room would become in just a day how quickly flesh rots now limbs stiffened, how quickly what moments before lived, now putrefied accompanying the wanton desire of its removal from their presence.

And it was not a death for the unaccustomed, all having witnessed one form or another, except that of the deceased whereby this being its first and only attended poignantly that of their own, and one of which all attending extremely grateful witnessing the reason characterized by their own demise of the horrid situation they fell upon.

Though never claiming innocence from any deed worthy of what lay before them, even so, the compounded fact held each tightly bound together knowing they themselves were its very cause, but no court would ever find guilty for where was its proof. On the whole, was this in itself judgment?

For what did it really matter the body without life would soon cause attention eventually removed, all evidence ascertained, calculated. Filed. Closed. Forgotten. Destroyed, this giant circuit never ending continuance since anything began, for which whenever studied few could understand even though becoming the solely driven idea spent lifetimes pursuing, the general population craved in one form or another labeled as every-single-element even closely mimicked 'that' re-birth either here or in another.

Who was to blame wasn't the phrase intended the group mulled around looking at all possible areas known and otherwise, placing and removing memories at best since after their own quickly evaporating allowed little to manage and of that case some of the greater problems whether they in actual fact were their own or...

The way nature gives, what is deemed necessary, assembled the group causing them to view any way possible, what they at the time of death, and what they thought other members were doing placing themselves in any vestige fantasied or factual, so long as it dealt along the same time being the only constant reminder of their own existence.

Stripped now of relative instances realizing there was no hope understanding anything from their past, the group knew the now was its only path, that inevitability faced each and every moment of their lives yet always overlooked, searching beyond for promises of a better tomorrow, when in fact it passed no longer holding reference points in view so what did it matter.

Watching blood-thinned water slowly move along the floor the group's thinking moved from relief the spasms finally subsided, to pity. And how strange it all felt wanting to have done something more, realizing they could have had they paid more attention to the hours, days leading to this very moment. But hadn't. Hadn't because deeper inside they honestly didn't know this would be the end result. Hadn't because within that depth they weren't supposed to. That the outcome was already done. Just not observed.

But one knew. One from the group understood looking down at the body would actually happen, and in bending down placed a hand on the chest not search for life, but offering comfort, felt the vibration pass through whispering softly, It's all right for in this passing a form of bravery not the least of whimpers nor crying out of which afterwards seemed most exhaustive.

As the reddened water unhurriedly flowed beneath shoes the member closest through whose hand sensed there is much more to all of this than any words and perhaps even feelings would ever amount, their usage simply lacking any worthy weight, felt what they all had known from the start, from their own beginning, it not being that life itself was too short, but the very existence of even having been there.

In the name of reconciliation, the group pondered, a wanton improvement of their manifested journey reclaimed, their memories near vanished, leaning toward...but what was to prove any of it?

What remained of value, and of that value what changed?

What one moment alleviated from the greatest, now inconsequential?

Was this the true madness so often seen prowling, passionately for the next waiting having all the element so strived for yet never achieved; time?

What had the group mistaken, were they always prisoners never allowed reality staring at their blank wall?

Where had that first wrong step occurred?

When had the shadow grown too strong taking all of them with the simplest ease?

Why had the Owner never spoken only appeared in silence from the staircase and other moments none could remember, yet recognized the presence?

Was he protecting something?

Was it he using the house consuming those arrived for Adam in his failure not paying the dues?

And the shadow simply a by-product conduit allowing only those of the group through, or something more, if so what, and passage to where?

In all the group failed yet to surmise, yet fully understand, because always investigating believing were all that is in life only that of questions and answers, missed the clues at hand.

It wasn't the question of who killed Adam that should have been asked, rather when. Nor their queries of the Owner instead, their connection.

True, the group knew they were all of the same, that Patricia hadn't created them in her notes, but actually were those individuals, now collected in her bedroom by passage of a shadow, passage from another time wherein this time, in this bedroom, were forgetting memories, memories from another time, being of which their true home, and without returning there, would forever stay in the closed room with nothing to show of an outside world except fragmented sounds seeping through.

But they had all disappeared, leaving only Watson scrutinizing Patricia's wording which in itself formed pictures, pictures which lead to clues, which lead to answers, and if one weren't ready to leave something familiar, understanding those clues made little or more often than not, no sense at all.

Watson watched the last of the words anchor themselves revealing on its own a rudimentary image, seemingly younger all perhaps the age around ten years of the group, finding himself though not knowing the others during such time in youth assumed they to be found in all slightly amusing and very interesting as throughout each of their appearances even so different, the eyes remained in effect the same, as best this image produced.

Provoked questions stirred within adding to an already increased stress feeling rather than knowing, should he too vanish, meant eternity in some condition other than their own, laid bare nerves giving raise in awareness and caution, both qualities essential in survival, suddenly pushed his mind out of the damp fog since arrival in the darkened room plaguing coherency into remembering this wasn't the only world, there existed another from which they desperately needed to return otherwise not just forever in this room they'd reside, but forever without any thoughts and ideas of lives before.

Beyond thinking, where Watson knew strived to linger within those loose bounds, within an area of dualistic worlds their tempo pounding fundamental laws governed all hearing its beat, but for the group it was living a bright life, then waking in a cave, the cave where Patricia lived with her notes, the cave where all came together torn from their own lives, only now removed to a labyrinth, an empty prison of eternal passageways leading no where leaving only he to establish what existed between shadows and how achievable if any, bridge these worlds allowing their return, then close the portal having brought them.

But that meant dealing with Patricia and the moment Watson comprehended this his mind slide back towards that prison of illusion, the one lived before, or at the very least held remnants of somewhere within himself, otherwise, how could they even be here if such a place hadn't existed? If not, where did the group actually originate? Or could this exist simply in a dream, in actuality having a drink listening to a Rachmaninoff cello sonata which always brought some peace?

But how could he remember that? That he listened to Rachmaninoff? A moment before he'd no recollection of, yet now he recalled the Sonata G minor melody completed in November 1901 fully.

'In 1901!!,' Watson shouted aloud then added slowly, 'What year is 'this'?' Only Patricia scribbling incoherent notes ever-more crocked letters upon the lined paper she couldn't follow, 'For Christ sakes,' Watson thought looking what she'd penned, 'She can't even keep a straight line.'

'Because you are in a prison, and if you treat it as real it becomes a nightmare,' the old woman's voice pushed through his mind, where Watson reeling back against the wall tried to grasp the old woman nightgown, except the wall, was no longer there, instead only tumbled endlessly away from the room which he saw departing in the distance, finally close in a tiny flare of white light. Then nothing. Except for the pure black.

## Chapter 22: The Owner's Host

It's the problem of trying to get there, when already there, more doing than being, always the effort belonging with agitation. Often the disappointment follows thinking the objective reached when merely the so-called first step yet is taken, though rules followed clearly limits any development, that of understanding the wanton goal all the while either never existed, or previously obtained, in any case, merited travel getting there. Not just having.

For its entirety, the Owner, an older man though difficult establishing an age from the short-cropped white hair and gold-rimmed glasses, knew the have wanted, understood the quest taken achieving such. He was clever only so if questioned, knew not all the answers just the important ones asked, and never spoke first. His tall height matched a thin razor-sharp appearance of narrowed eyes and nose, lips half hidden by a well-trimmed mustache. The hands strong, firm yet delicate fingers their bones protruding through tight skin added to the sunken flesh and high cheeks bones leaving an over-powering impression he was more skeletal then any real health having seemed removed many years before.

But it was the blueness in his cold eyes which caught all who came near enough or in direct contact with to halt abruptly any train logical thought possessed, for it, in fact, the very moment those eyes feel upon them their existence seemed in question; the very memories faltering.

Often stated afterward in meeting the man simply wasn't the disquieting felt, but in feeling, you were being pulled into him. That he somehow consumed you.

Those having business with him felt exhausted afterward both physically and mental with a peculiar sensation as if your mind has completely moved somewhere then returned as you departed from his presence. Of those closest to him, amounting to perhaps no more then one or two slightly shorter yet well-manicured gentlemen in nature, they and none another ever-present in meetings along with the man, waited patiently for the signal given would speak with great calmness and clarity as if one spoke to a child, as if the receiver of information stated from the two listened to a different language other than their own, which was noted between the two, seventeen languages were mastered.

While others reeled thought firstly from their limited intellect proved differently having felt no ill-effects meeting the man or assistants, therefore having claimed nothing in the least stilled discussion only the witted were affected thus their ability in controlling only those of higher astuteness for the sole reason of manipulation. And as rumors fester dwelling in some darken rotting place living for more of everything, the true danger being most wanted exactly that; more.

And this thin man always fashionable dressed in a made-to-measure three-piece white suit with black tie, gave just that; more, and tailor-made.

It was, all things considered, a system of such for believing, defining actually our personal sense of reality, or rather, the substitution thereof.

Why some felt at odds after contacting the man, even the briefest of moments, simply because he didn't change your mind in any form, wasn't some form in one losing their ability and power of voluntary action, instead locating a point in the mind where controversy already exists, connecting, then sending designed stimuli producing the desired outcome, but 'connecting' to what exactly proved extremely difficult ascertaining not to mention construction and delivery of the stimuli.

Nonetheless, this elegant, elderly man achieved just that without the use of any device including medication for the mind contained everything necessary, except two things; experience and thinking it had. It's one thing believing thought endlessly unfolds itself for us, it's another to understand reasoning cannot prove beliefs it is based upon, seeing beliefs stem from experience.

And it was 'that' experience the elderly man searched, relentlessly.

Sitting in the back of his large black chauffeured automobile also from that times as he, watching the people pass unable to view through tinted windows of its cavernous interior, the old man thought of the time he was a little boy when innocent still reigned, and the joy of life was boundless, walking through the tangerine orchard on a sunny morning with his grandfather and father on their way to pick along with several others from their community.

Being too young to collect the fruit from ladders his task was simply gather what had fallen into baskets minding not ones with worms, those were to be left behind, and of course watch for spiders though being winter there were few, still it was a precaution having been bitten you'd probably survive but would become ill for several days, seeing the boy was only four years of age at the time.

The air was so sharp the old man recalled, gazing out the darkened window 'its' world methodically marched along happy knowing it didn't know what he knew. It wasn't the almost instantaneous loss of motor reflex a person sustains should they be informed of certain events, certain 'situations' that would incur for which the old man knew of, which caused him restless days and nights, it was what the person did immediately after, after the shock took hold, after they were told the thoughts they were thinking were indeed their own but placed there to grow sometime before. Just like tangerines.

A slight smile crossed the lips of the man thinking this through, for very much so the two were intertwined, so much so you'd never tell them apart, never able to say which was which, not in the least know whether that thought which just popped into their minds were actually their own, or from someone else, because long ago just like the old tangerine trees themselves only saplings were planted in his farmland along the hills and valleys as far as you could see. And now to look at them you'd fall over at their growth. 'Just from such a tiny plant!' It was his grandfather's voice recalled, how he enjoyed listening to tales told of old and new, of stolen and of the lost never to be found again.

But the Owner found a way, learned what was forgotten buried deep in those hills of his youth now sprang anew on the streets of this metropolis he used as a staging platform for it was certainly that; theater. What better place to foster the art of life.

Simply one little problem with all this being, he needed a host. Someone who could endure, whose mind was supple maneuvering between their own and the Viewie, whereby they themselves unaware of the Watcher, allowed full access without any disturbance.

No matter the results of the trial remained the same; always three required.

The Owner was told this many years before, long before arriving in the metropolis. Always three.

The Host, able to carry the thought, the idea originally taken from someone else, place that into the Viewie who believes is as an original reflection all their own, whereby the Watcher would observe through the Viewie, and if paid enough, could alter that reflection.

But the Owner wanted to modify this procedure finding it rather difficult obtaining and even worse controlling the Host without their knowledge. It troubled him greatly, to the point illuminating the Host entirely was the only solution possible. The Viewie would have the infusion, then at the opportune moment, the Watcher would take control.

And now there was another problem; several infusions realized they were from someone else. That the thought became aware discovering they weren't originally from that particular mind, rather in a phantom brain.

The consequences haven't been fully comprehended reason the Owner personally became involved yet it felt as thought pushing away from death was the same as pushing away from life, of which he felt no fear from either, set his own mind free, free of slavery from that deeper biological craving the conscious holds governing choices, which is nothing more than an impulse to repeat itself.

He had long ago abandoned sign posts within the system used for making sense of the world, those mechanisms too constrained, thought as the key in perception of reality, how else could one understand if they didn't talk with such having been groomed socially, in the same way, the category of posts can be illusionary, for the reason the status of the posts depends deeply on the usage of the post within the system from which stories are eventually constructed of the working world, and it was among these posts the Owner discovered the flaw, where most controversies exist; too many variables.

To make sense the brain constantly reinforces among others through culture, experience, stereotypes, philosophical, religious, political viewpoints, from which convictions are formed. But not rational. It doesn't have to be. As long as it produces adequate explanations it needs no basis in reality.

Which comes to the point of the Owners interest since early childhood wandering the tangerine orchard; choice of either you collect the tangerines with worms, or not, representing alternative worlds, ordinarily the world as it is, the world as we think it should be.

And the Owner knew from that illumination in the orchard, choice being the key, amounting to his entire life's work understanding what produced a subject's desire for one thing, and not another, and how to manage that desire before a person grew aware themselves, thereby eliminating the choice factor.

How to assess the good and bad two aspects of any belief, including motivational all too complex and too open for the project's results were critical, and due. Results where due and he was accountable, therefore few experiments contemplating existence or nonexistence of certain conceptual entities or boundaries, their elements or amounts and weights were sufficiently conducted, which remained for him the devil. Field evaluations were difficult to control, but time accelerated substantially when the first Host was located.

A young man half sober on a bus station bench, the ache of a hangover with its acidic residue crept slowly leaving a dry aluminum taste in his mouth, was marked.

Even with resources the Owner possessed at earlier stages, the Host designated for infusion with the Viewie was near impossible to locate, but suddenly the alert came signaling the Owner, who from across the street watched through his protected windows of his large black automobile results of the first contact made the night before through alcohol, delivered a mere forty feet away, for those two the most consumed items being both water and booze, properties were added into triggering a response shown on the central server highlighting his activities clearly illustrated his night at two specific bars.

It was only a matter of time when the effect would occur, and in seeing further data on his consumption the Owner given further details agreed with the prognosis; in two minutes.

Waiting for the Owner thought of his earlier chemistry class as a youth of ten years, the teacher informing about electrical current, 'the path of energy once took and the tendency for the energy to take that again over and over, whether it is positive or negative, so long as it is the simplest. But it is up to us to distinguish which way to send it, otherwise the short will occur'. How true the Owner thought of humans as well, seeking always the same route regardless of the organism, no matter the endless levels of memory a mind possesses.

A notification came the Owner swiftly cleared his mind and watched through dark brown almost black eyes movement on the bench from the man showed he was ready to stand, however still remained more than one minute till the change occurred the Owner noted through his glasses, glasses of a special nature, finely crafted in gold framed, allowing much more than simply through or shade from the searing heat outside his always well-conditioned interior, and the KAL316 bus had not arrived confirmed by the server the man MUST board that bus.

Slowly rubbing the back of his neck while covering eyes from the high sun, the man stood from the bench, slightly swaying gaining balance, brought a hand forward to check the time. Indeed KAL316 was late but only a few minutes, normal in any case except when hung-over man craving desperately for another drink never understanding what was deemed an 'illness', alcohol like many drugs are self-inflicted brought on by over-indulgence not some molecular imbalance such as cancer, no the man always thought especially at times when in the swing he liked referring to, 'Alcoholism is doing it 'MY WAY' fuck all your ranting AA bullshit!' he'd often spew through inebriated breaths and gulps of whatever was at hand, or now, humble wishing a drink or a bullet either way both in a shot.

The signal sent a few seconds later as the man stepped away from the bus stop bench, a woman approached asking for the time, was given through throbbing eyes the booze causing them to pulse forcible, then asked about buses and their times, which returned only a shrug, then a slow stumble moving around the enquiring woman who calmly touched hung-over man on the elbow, asking if he knew a good place to get a drink and out of the blazing heat. That stopped the hung-over man dead. The Owner could sense the immediate shift in the tempo of the man, his change was almost without question from one of despair, to that of hope. Of course, he knew. He knew all the good places to get a drink. Something just cool enough to take the blisters off the back of the tongue having formed since the last drink because that's why you drink is to keep those damn bubbles from growing any bigger and god help should one of those sons of bitches burst! No sir you don't want any of that nasty shit so let's get swingin' Damn straight. I'M KING OF THE WORLD!! This he often told himself just as that first aroma sent vibrations from that liquor heaven through his furthering spastic muscles, that first knowing he was going to have a drink. Naturally not the one.

The hung-over man slowly turned facing the woman and was about to speak when the bus rolled to a stop blocking the Owners direct view which immediately changed to a monitor on the seat directly in front of him.

'Yes. I know a place,' the hung-over man said with a slight labor yet covered completely his inner enthusiasm.

'But I need to take this bus,' the woman stated firmly but with a certain genteelness the hung-over man seemed attracted to. 'Is it along the route?' then added quickly knowing the bus would pull out, 'I'll buy you couple as long as its on the route, and as long as its out of this heat,' she added with a slight smile at the same time stepping with one foot on the bus and holding an open hand to the hung-over man, which could resist only with, 'There's one on the way. Just like JD,' with a sly smile forming.

And with that they were gone, both moved onto the bus neither ever seen again as the large black metal shark moved slowly swung away from the curb.

## Chapter 23: From Above

It had become frustratingly hot, with a sense nothing would ever come of this no matter how hard attempted, wasn't worth believing. Among the small Group working one turned to the other, 'It's like having a reincarnated husband return as a woman asking his elderly wife out on a date.'

The Group not sworn to secrecy is no need for this went well beyond such primitive deeds. Knowing one another, some since early childhood they'd schooled together and their finding a common interest, formed a like-minded agreement, one of such in existence whereby should one break from the association, the others would not only destroy their holdings, but also family and friends too would disappear, along with their holdings and such.

Whatever the wealth those in the Group individually held didn't matter the least. None counted money. Because they knew it was money that brought them together with its archaic wiring holding things together coated with primal existential dread driving the machine itself. Their idea was simple; data. It was everything, but not simple data, a special kind known as Aware Data, or simply AD.

AD could expand on its own, self-reliant, more importantly, knew what it was; aware of itself.

Often confused with artificial intelligence, the AD was organic contrived through accidental mixtures of unknown compounds three years after the Group formed, was because of the Group AD did, indeed, begin its own independent existence.

Such a discovery could only keep secret through the small Group's trust, which knew would be impossible, knowing one an others characteristics, feared it's eventual misuse, which certainly would be the case, all agreed to send AD onto one of the explorers so often left to the point few took, if any, notice of the secret task except a certain few the Group knew are watching and soon those would come, taking whatever they wanted. Quickly AD was programmed with a biological condition to what degree certain DNA of humans allowed a particular match form; an ability to extract thoughts and ideas from anyone.

With the final sequencing complete AD was then sealed in the container.

Just as AD departed there was an accident. The container ruptured and the AD was destroyed. From that point, life would change.

For that was the idea. To send AD on its voyage. The one orchestrated by the Group. The one where the accident and eventual rupture did, in fact, desolate AD. At 'that' present level.

However, AD merely evolved as organics do, into various water supplies. Freshwater supplies exactly, used in drinking, and other industrial forms for human consumption.

Now all those involved in the Group are dead, except one, who overseeing its entire operation, altered the sequencing before AD was sealed, adjusted all data the others received, allowing them before their deaths confident they'd invented such a biological entity, when in fact they had not, because this one man, understood the endless patterns in grasping for pleasures sought, along with avoidance of pain, would last millenniums, instead he believed it was life waiting to come forth, not the one continuously inherent from the past, and certainly nothing from the future for he was a man of science. Then there came a change.

Many years passed for now the man was old, when in his small nightstand near his bed, in opening the drawer looking for what he thought might be an extra set of eyeglasses seeing he'd lost, again, another pair, his wrinkled quivering hand rummaged through usual papers and books, old batteries, pieces of half burnt candles for when electricity failed along with wooden matches, came across a book he was unfamiliar with.

Pulling out carefully sitting on the bed he looked at the cover through fogged eyes, squinting which soon began to water, reached for a cloth in his winter sweater pocket shuttered with surprise when fingers felt the glasses. Taking them out he thought, 'How in the world,' then stopped short realizing these weren't his. Simply by the weight and thickness of the frame and glass told him as soon as he lifted them free of his sweeter, though they were the same color of gold.

His sight being so poor the old man could barely distinguish the shape of the glass and that mostly from touch, drew the cold winter air through a hollow mouth for all his teeth had fallen out years before along with hair and both finger and toenails, realizing how thin the glass was.

'Definitely not mine,' went through his mind, but then who's for there'd been no visitors, nor he out for over a week and just had them on an hour before laying them down for his daily afternoon nap on the nightstand next to the light and books he read before falling to sleep.

'Were they simply an old pair years before forgotten having?' he thought to add, 'That would reason for their thin glass.' But the old man's mind wasn't it's youthful self nor one laid dormant, still, he could not recall having such as he slowly placed them on, all the while surprised by their lightness, his being massive and thick-glassed when the world slide away below him.

It opened not with a drop but rather a soft curtain pulled gently, constant without interruption till the entire floor of his small bedroom appeared as the night sky full of stars began twirling stopping upon something horizontal stars disappearing giving way to a narrow road the old man floated along no more than thirty feet above its single dirt lane.

A soft glow shown from random houses passed but none by cars or street lights, then abruptly the scene changed to that of a wider road and two-way traffic, and still a moment later to what appeared long grey trains all moving toward a huge metropolis in the distant having numerous gigantic glass and silver towers.

The old man lifted higher as he approached the immense dense sprawling populated mass of twisting roads their overpasses of rail tracks and networks carrying various amounts of both people and containers in all sizes and directions, lifted further virtually the height of the tallest tower where when looking down saw whips of lamb clouds of soft cotton balls his mamma called passing below.

While looking at the clouds the old man noticed something in the book he was holding moved, turning his attention watching an image form upon blank pages slowly taking the shape of faces, faces of young children, children which appeared familiar.

Torn between the beauty of his flight and the book, the old man struggled at which to gaze both obviously not possible, came to an abrupt conclusion when the two swiftly faded leaving him again alone in his cold room with his ragged carpet with its many holes, and springless bed holding an empty book, wearing glasses, not his.

There wasn't time permitting the brain a moments rest in rational thought as to what just happened when there came a knock on the bedroom door, which was open nonetheless for he hadn't closed it, sounding that of a pistol shot in a small closet startling him greatly to the point of near loosing control of his bowels, raising his head from the book to the door, where stood a young woman with incredibly black hair flowing over her shoulders in a long elegant dark maroon evening dress holding a large glass filled almost to the brim with a liquid of a browning hue, calmly smiling through luscious dark red lips.

The old man said nothing only blinked through his new glasses trying to find the words, when the woman spoke in her soft tone, 'You don't want to miss this boat,' pausing a moment then adding, 'Besides, we're waiting,' and with that she raised the glass drinking its entire contents as if it were a single shot, smiled again and just as she turned, stated again over her shoulder, 'You are the host after all,' then stepped out disappearing down the hall the old man still staring blank-eyed at the empty doorway wondering if he'd died and this is where he ended up, back in his dreadful cold room as he neither felt warm nor cold which surprised him since it was the depth of winter, with a single thought pulling him from his stupor; maybe he was dead after all.

But that would be furthest from what happened, instead a sparkle in the old mans eyes quickly flared bright reflecting on the new gold rimed glasses, possessed something in their intensity for seeing through them brought about great clarity removing the once powerful emptiness since he could remember as if now greeting his own self for the very first time transfixed by the illusion of this world where for most of what he recalled was nothing more than shadows, sometimes as dark black clouds with anger of bright orange and red buried deep within flaring from both fright and hostility. It was the only world he'd known, but now there was another beyond thinking.

He could feel the strength returning to his aching muscles and bones have plagued him for years since the accident, the accident which forced him to live in stank, squalor conditions such as these being refused any other as the blamed came solely upon him for the catastrophe returning to his cobwebbed mind, the deaths of colleagues, of the research stolen... 'Or was it....,' his mind quickened, 'Yes...,' he recalled. 'It was sent. I secured it. But...where?' The old man thought deeply, his mind now burned racing through years of life he'd stored long ago into recesses deep within realizing now...'This day would arrive,' his lips smiled slightly remembering now, and remembering too how lips should feel as their softness returned to his after years of cracks effortlessly.

Quickly he looked down at the book and here again more images formed, firstly the same as before; faces from a group of children he... 'Know,' he softly exclaimed adding 'I know them.' Indeed they were children who'd all grown up together. Schooled with on another, eventually becoming the Group. But there was more, slowly images shifted like sand on glass swept softly by winds collecting in corners, drifting along the edges of the paper finally settling in the shapes of the same figures as before...but older.

True it was the children grown, looking exactly the last time all were together saying goodbye to one another. Just before...'The launch,' the man's voice spoke sounding different, by way of youthfulness mixed with sorrow bringing to mind how they all died shortly after, then his prison for there was no trial, yet here in this room was his own not some cement box with bar, but then suddenly realized he was his own prison and all the illusions created within.

As if a whip snapped at the back of his neck all came clear with the sharp pain having forced a huge amount through a very small opening, all of his past pressing into his brain pushed till he nearly fell forward had not a hand grasped him by the arm steadying him back, of which he first looked finding it extremely familiar, following up the arm seeing the face, his younger self-looking down smiling.

What could one do upon seeing such a sight? Cry out...faint...weep? James did nothing of the sort. He stood up, unshaken looking straight at his younger and asked, 'Brought that one?'

## Chapter 24: Now You See

'There is a shallow depth of space between now and the next moment. If it were a bridge and you jumped, you wouldn't know when you struck the water below. Brief or longest of time depending on your view.' Watson remembered being told this often in his training, drilled into the men signifying the importance of knowing your surroundings, more importantly merely realizing your immanent self is only the beginning, another reason he wanted to join specially trained units not solely for military purpose, but also gaining insight of his own nature.

Considering himself not spiritual, only interested in better understanding, knowledgeable of himself not wanting any longer to follow old patterns covering the truth of who he was under that veil of illusion, sought ways of testing not only himself, but the very context he lived striving to locate some point where one could ground themselves refusing to believe anything, any longer, was granted this while both diving deeper avoiding enemy fire from the beach swimming for Grace, and falling away from Patricia in her bedroom.

During the two he thought of a controller leaching his life away craving food, money, sex, status, position, power, intimacy, and attention from all around pursued forever, never satisfied, continuously under pressure improving this outer world all becoming relentless, yet if the mind attempts altering simply the outer world to conform with some believe what one assumes a path should be, it would be trying to change an image in the mirror through manipulating its own reflection, therefore any change requires an authentic source of that reflection, though doesn't mean anything on the outside necessarily requires change, but what alters being the conscious now freed from patterns learned over the years, letting go of that conditioned self further realized from a comment of an instructor, 'You are at the very best, truly free when there's nothing more to loose.'

Watson searched for a complete and utter failure of the egoic self since he could recall, even if he didn't know such a thing existed; in retrospect possible six years of age by way of a lesson in losing a toy, lead throughout his life toiling endlessly, constructing a future which may not arrive, and thus his battles against madness began to wage.

And in accepting reality as it is, witnessing images in Patricia's book ceased senseless generating what he no longer wished; more of the war against himself.

The cure against the crisis living with that limited conditioned way his mind thought began with the vail of his dream-like state slowly lifting, his mind quickly grasped the idea thinking to himself, 'Something wanted not just the Groups' entirety but much more. Something desperately wished understanding how they passed from one world to another, how in their own singular state of different place and time, assembled in Patricia's bedroom, and how could all of them 'be' Patricia as proved both she and James met together on a ship. This alone demonstrates they can't all be from the same person, the same 'life's images' as once thought.

Resting his mind, quieting himself, waiting for he was certain if just allow, just a moment longer the answer would reveal itself as such a ship with it's passing out from the fog, the shape and size indistinguishable only the bow first slowly emerging, tantalizing all who gazed at its true magnitude, Watson thought suddenly, Grace's her hull numbering incorrect, the RDF's mission failing before even commencing. Why?

'Why, why, why? Christ this is useless, might as well give up it isn't going to happen, simply having a laugh at myself. I'll just go to the bar and have good drink, but I can't because I'm stuck some place I've no idea which is the reason for all of this simply having ideas and stealing them, wrapping them around something then presented as something new and unusual to some highest 'user-abuser' whom there was no real link with other than part of me able to read thoughts from others, rather 'steal' I should say, then market after I've killed my husband or maybe someone else while having some sudo-relationship with a sexy ghost appearing to have a serious drinking problem able to consume practically an entire bottle in one swig, who gave me a book because I was so rich and bored the reason I poisoned the son-of-a-bitch, husband not sexy spirit, where I grew very old with my dog who also grew very old in the woods out back which of course seeing I suffer from anything I can't control myself, would walk out into knowing full well I was absolutely terrified of such environments and a complete idiot about direction, and I stole and contrive this entire story from a mixture of other people who had no idea I was doing it, though all the main characters here blame me for this including a two-woman relationship both attractive, both in the medical field, in a war, in a ship, surrounded by hundreds of young easily sexually aroused men, who along with a doctor also on the ship, believing he saw a giant shadow rise out of his son's crib till the ceiling, joined in some gigantic invasion of an island where it appears nearly everyone dies and is going through some spiritual quest, who in all, is an old woman in some bedroom in the middle of the night which never changes, nor has any sounds from outside where we all get together but nobody speaks. Is that what I am or have I missed someone because I can't remember any more I'm so fucking confused!'

A second voice'

''well you've almost got that right except you've forgotten the old sly man with the cane chauffeured in a massive black entombment owning very innovative glasses affecting so many marvelous things upon the human brain we all wish we had one just to try out if only for a moment on anyone actually because that's really the kind of species we are.'

A different voice'

''and that's how most stories develop because we've lost any ability of understanding what is trash, willing to accept any shit calling it good as long as there are lots a flashes and loud noises because seeking approval and constant reinforcement shriveled our attention where we don't give a good goddamn what we ingest, excrete, as long as it can be at the very least partial loaded into clouds having whimsical hoots-n-hoolors of whatever colors because theirs so much crap already no one bothers looking anyway, and since we can't remember anything anyway whats the point of even this?'

A separate voice'

''this could be ranting James sieves through. All the time. Unless he has his med's, even then it's only reduced some.'

Another voice'

''was it here you had your homecoming? In view of all this was it proof enough all were the same person, and the reason why meeting in that dead-still bedroom simply because it was everything from the past collected into one; as would thoughts given to ideas.'

The last began rather calm, very deliberate in speech every word carrying great weight'

''ideas such it was assumed for security reasons the system had been compromised to the highest level, therefore use of it was either with great caution or disinformation to the extent sending targeted false details with the intent enemy command would use them, being the purpose of Watson's mission; a ruse.

Only a selected few knew the true operational significance of the mission. Neither Watson nor Tanner was informed. No person of Grace's crew except two were alerted, and from the RDF one was made aware of the full plan, that the aircraft striking Grace was indeed an enemy aircraft although piloted by their own from command remotely with the pilot himself simply a young man outfitted with correct attire impersonating an officer killed the day before.

Command knew their coding system was compromised allowing enemy infiltrate its intelligence so far as they themselves provided the hacking code deliberately to the enemy, which they would in turn use without knowledge, once initiated, trigger a sequential ciphering permitting the flow of data back to command disclosing the enemies system itself and more importantly its location.

And without knowing you Watson provided that hacking code; KAL 316.

The enemy picked up the code immediately data began transmitting to command altering them of the enemies entire coded system.

The entire scenario was staged, a duplicate Grace run aground on shore with recordings played of weapons fire and alarms. The hull numbers were the same as Grace but with enemy mortar fire damage and stressful environment for both Watson and the sergeant major they appeared different.'

Thinking all this with a sudden flash, it became clear of the insanity present. Maddened strapped somewhere being injected, having parts of your body removed under dim lights in dripping wet rotting conditions surrounded by those constantly smoking cigarets whispering questions, a real interrogation trained to withstand as long as possible, but even then would tell whatever it was they wanted so why go through it all? Just tell them straight off and be done with it.

'But it doesn't go that way. Where would be the fun,' he laughed further wondering, 'What then would we do if unable to instruct how best keeping the brain occupied while pieces being cut away? That's what most of this was about; keeping the mind busy when something else was going on. So it wouldn't notice the trick worked upon it. That all so potent infamous illusion masquerading 'It's For The Greater Good So It Must Be True' campaign riffled thick with such gross ill-regularities though common in such, would still the chiming clock of time dead because that IS the governance since struck.'

'Always about time,' recalling, 'It didn't matter who's actions held recourse, it's the timeline. Sure Barbara, Sarah, and David were all aboard the same ship, that I and Patricia meet, because Jennifer was reading it all from a book given to her, but not by Mary, by her husband Adam, who she killed indeed with a very slow painful poison.

Mary? Are you certain?

Of course. She's one of the group.

Mary is Jennifer's phantom lover, an imaginary relationship brought about through boredom with her life used to escape from the person who actually gave the book.

That...that can't be.

Who actually saw Mary?

Adam. He saw her just before firing the shot at his wife, hated her, jealous of her relationship with that wretched whore Mary.

His envious attitude brought about through Jennifer's dwindling attention toward him, therefore wanting to indeed abuse Mary in his 'fantasies', but it was Jennifer imagining Mary stepping in front of the weapon a moment before firing. In truth, Mary was simply Jennifer's escape.

Not possible. How could both husband and wife be in the old woman's bedroom if they weren't from the book?

Because the Owner was the actual reader of a story of a couple in their troubled marriage, that of a wife who takes to a book reading a particular story of an old woman writing memories in her bedroom so she wouldn't forget her past of war and those she knew, loved, lost and mystified.

If that's the case, how could the Owner be in the story, and reader at the same time?

Because the Owner was the actual author of the notebook. Not Patricia.

But he was in the story?

Yes. But 'how' was he in the story. What capacity?

Drove in a black fuckin' car goddamn it! What else you want you cheap lunatic bastard!!

He was in charge of a group that discovered Aware Data. They placed the data in a container that was destroyed from a ruptured, but it didn't matter as the Owner falsified data showing it existed when in fact, it hadn't.

Another stupid group. And those poor bastards' what?

They later died.

And this Owner?

He lived growing old in some small room; his self-prison.

Jesus what bullshit! Is there anything more? Anything at all felt might be of some importance here?

Perhaps but it's so distorted and follows no sense of logic. First a war story, then a man using thoughts from others for material in his playwrights, a womanizing musician whose wife fantasizes while reading a book all the character some how belong and don't in, at the same time their house eats people who arrived to kill the husband because he didn't make payments on 'whatever', yet they arrive through a shadow in the bedroom of supposedly the author of 'this' story, where one-by-one eventually disappear leaving one watching the words of Patricia's notes form images showing the truth. Yes. I believe that's it, except nothing from outside the bedroom is ever heard or seen except a few birds and the faintest glow of light, which in this place, could be anything.

Christ, I can't make anything meet here, I've absolutely no idea what the aim is of the entire stupid shit story. In fact, I don't have a clue as to who I'm talking to right now. Is it the author or a character!

I'm only repeating what you've told me Watson. Some areas need a looking into but...

It's James! Shit even you don't know what's going on.

Are you sure it's James? I was certain Watson had'

Come on! Of course, I'm sure. Fuckin' hell. I KNOW WHO I AM!!!

Of course, you do. There was some slight confusion was all, the part when you were beastly hung-over waiting on the bus stop bench and asked whether you knew'

YES, YES OF COURSE'

And you were supposed to get on the KAL'

GOD CHRIST MAN I KNOW!! DAMN IT, WHAT?

You did.

I KNOW I FUCKIN DID WHAT OF IT??

And if you didn't something would happen?

OH MY GOD I DAMN WELL KNOW THE STORY. GET ON WITH IT!!!

But it wasn't you.

What wasn't 'meeeeee'?

That got on the bus.

(Pause) Wha'nanana'na listen'.

Yes, that's the point.

Wrong, noo, noo wait I'

That's the point too.

Whaaa?

You are making the point.

Wait a'I'

It was the different James. That got on the bus.

(Blank, no response)

Yes. The change happened before you got on the bus, actually the moment you said, 'JD'. Do you remember that James? JD?

I'I said'

Yes. That very moment. You see James, all were on KAL316 when it pulled away, a moment later a car not seeing the bus collided rupturing the gas tank igniting the fuel killing everyone on board, including the entire Group, Jennifer, Adam, Sarah, Patricia, Watson, Barbara, and you James, the other like you, with the goatee. Our present because earlier you said, the same happened except aboard the ambulance ship Grace when struck by an enemy aircraft. Again, many died however not the entire Group. This, an instance from the past affected the present causing problems such as a house not actually consuming those who'd come for Adam, but literally collapsed as a result of Jennifer, though on board Grace, not being killed since she's the nurse accompanying Barbara known vaguely during the amputation, which David was attending surgeon of. This event created its twin Grace whom Watson encountered. Therefore, the attack from the enemy upon Grace's twin, intended destroying the ship and all aboard, yet due to Watson's RDF tactics was prevented, releasing a shadow, the black cloud, that passed between both past and present, whose presence there effectively altered the timeline causing the destruction of KAL316. This too was not supposed to happen. In effect, because of Watson and the twin Grace along with the original Grace's survival, the future is altered, which you mentioned the reason for the notebook \- a path changing the past, subsequently reversing the original Grace scenario that Watson saw in the last image before he too disappeared, as all things affected conclusively cease to exist otherwise the complete future is in jeopardy of changing allowing for dimensional shift, one of which the black cloud exists causing unfathomable problems along the linear timeline where already probed with David and his baby for the cloud always forms around newborns or those soon to die trying to pass through, being a weaker area in time seeing they're here the shortest length, or those about to end, such as in wars. It is only time as it now presently flows preventing the clouds 'complete' emergence, and should this occur, should the cloud become fully formed it could take any form organically and otherwise, move along the timeline in any direction it so chooses, altering at will anything including disrupting the timeline itself by introducing other dimensions as time can bend, cutting through those other dimensions allowing them to flow into ours bring those dimensions mixing them with ours, in effect holding it all...owning them. The Owner.

The black car, the shadows, the dark clouds during battles, they were all the Owner. YES YES, NOW YOU SEEE!

Yes.

Yeesss. Old man, white suit, golden glasses.

Yes. It can take any form as long as it possesses something black, the connection with its cloud base.

The black cane.

Yes.

The Owner could be the author yesss of the notebook the ink...

Yes, James. It is written using dark black ink.

It's author writing its own passage means through time in the book, creating images that bastard Watson saw. BUT I SAW IT FIRST NOT THAT GOODIE BOY SCOUT BASTARD!!!

What exactly did Watson see? In the first image was the group much younger in age having dark clouds. The second image, indeed a path back in order to change the first Grace scenario.

Yooouth. Their...their youth.

You told me Jennifer, Sarah, Barbara, Adam, and Watson, in their youth dark clouds appeared a moment before trouble arrived alerting them this Owner neared.

And thiiissss path'

You questioned 'Where are the children?' on the ship, you boarded. Asking yourself another question, 'What lead you there?'

I wanted time AWAY TO FINISH MMMYYY PLAY!!!'MMMYY MY'and and weren't any little rats shits scurrying theee theee they''yeeess wwha..wwhat lead me meant'.ooonlyyy just a qqqqueeeestion GOOGOOGOODAMMMMN!

Yet claiming you 'wondered for years never known a time without that, beast like in nature, nothing more than controlled illusion', those are your exact words are they not James?

Soo sooos WHAAAT?.

Beast like? Controlled illusion? Was the woman which touched you what seemed all your memories removed afterward, known long? What was it she who said James, 'You've come home?' Does that mean you can't remember what you did with Adam?

Wha..wha...

What you did James?

NANANANA'.ttttt I havvva havvvannn nnttt...daa...daa...daa...anything taa taa ii... ii...mmmm.

With, or to James, remember you suffer from blackouts, you yourself acknowledge. Did they start before or after you stole thoughts and ideas? And your medication how well does it help?

I...I...ththththt'

Is it at the music gala where you meet Adam and Jennifer the first time, was it there you heard plans of killing Adam because his addiction having frequent sex with anyone labeled unnatural, seeing you yourself having those very same desires?

(Blank, no response)

Was it because you were jealous of Adam, so many wanting him?

(Blank, no response)

But it wasn't reciprocal was it James?

(Blank, no response)

So you sought revenge, but only after deprived of your medication. When you were in the hospital. When they forcibly restrained you. After wandered the streets. After one of Adams 'parties' where things went too far. Where you opened to them believing it would all be fine, that you could manage knowing it all. All. Their. Thoughts.

I'I'th..th..th..eeeey'

You beveled you could change their ideas, replaced them with your own.

Theerr...uuu

You worked them into groups, constantly 'listening' then composing your intentions repeating them to certain individuals. Gaining control over lives, their wealth, instructing what to spend, where to invest, predominantly in your company. You soon became very popular, highly sought after. Everything was as planned. Except for one detail you mentioned having woken the presence before it was ready. That Adam knew this. Knew the incident would come as promised when failed making his payment, that one small detail he'd forgotten told to him on his fourteenth birthday that he mustn't invite you to the gala but did where becoming very drunk you spoke with a man of a ship having a twin simply for the humor of it all in seeing his expression, yourself finding it too strange hearing the tale, yet unaware he'd command the vessel within the year, all because you wanted fixing your mother blaming her still for letting you fall to sleep in the basement where the Owner came whispering, and all the madness opened in you. But tell me James have you ever thought why you haven't aged, why when this shadow appeared it might have simply been death coming and some saw it, knew it though believing themselves fortunate wouldn't feel it's effects of not returning after death took them? But will that change when James when a man begins a story he was told would be of interest? He's here right now, in fact, listening to our conversation behind you and said to have advanced treatments that will help you, James, seeing you have a very special story. Please say hello to the hospital's new owner.

James slowly turned and saw the tall man having white hair and sharp features with his gold-rimmed glasses and black cane smiling.

###

The End

## Epilogue

One of Rex's back legs twitched from the ensuing chase of the past ten minutes left Jennifer looking out the bay windows in a puzzled mood trying to understand what was it exactly she'd just read. Was it a mystery seeing the murder of Adam, psychological drama maybe, or something aimed at opening the mind in wanting to provide a wider perspective.

There was the war of course, but no details as to who the enemy was or why there was even one of which a couple of nurses lusted, in a mild way, for one another, a doctor realizing he'd become addicted to combat, perhaps it is the only thing real, but he had a newborn son so how real is that?

Naturally someone, as in most works not plain in understanding, trying to establish what was happening, though in a special forces unit, supposedly higher educated than most, he was unable to resolve what happened to all the characters after they disappeared from the old woman's bedroom where he himself vanished, or even in what timeline they existed; the when it all happened. And of course, the man who could read minds, stealing ideas.

She tried going back in her mind thinking of element that might have left clues missed during the reading while watching those first lines of trees in the dense forest at the end of the property sway slightly in the wind.

It is about madness driving James insane not peoples thoughts and ideas, rather the idiosyncrasies with firm beliefs of their own superiority, that pilgrimage undertook often left them overcome with fatigue, fortunately, made certain of killing where they stood, for only then having dwelled in the caves their entire existence finally state gazing at their own still form, "can I now begin".

It was simple, yet those search their entire life wanting clemency who'd listen of their gainful insight after having visited the mountains with those from the caves, talking endless hours together learned their teaching, all the answers, and all the question but couldn't remember what it was because on the mountain they were something else.

And the medicine James needed would put an end to that knowing indeed the beginning of the end for his mind was upon him, warned of its inevitability, here its first lecture in helplessness.

It's all in the mind was never so close to insanity as one might think, or even wish. But for James, there was never a distinct border. Never a passport required crossing to the other. Simply walking from one room down a short corridor into another. No keys as there weren't any doors, only the vast promenade, filled with wonders from any source imaginable. All James had to do was take notes. And he did. Entire libraries.

At first, James thought them his own. unable deciphering whether they were or a neighbor, someone in his class, on the bus, sidewalk, evoked illness forced to think their thoughts. In James's view trying to distance himself, craved understanding proved unsuccessful leaving an option of his own self-destruction common with most at their end.

Believing himself insane James sought specialists, who only prescribed medication having little effect, finally began writing where thoughts and ideas became his new drug allowing all that entered lived without responsibility so long as he became famous and wealthy all becoming his own gains, own stories.

He decided to take a trip, booking a voyage for several weeks, but then reality came as it often does without warning woke strapped to a bed, thinking of time and how it changes, breeds allowing passage without his medication of other voices.

Maybe there wasn't a twin Grace Jennifer considered reaching down gratified in feeling the large filled glass of her favorite red wine, carefully raising, gazed its color through light from the large bay windows, knowing this was just a story in a book given by an old school friend having both passionately wanting the other at the time yet didn't, though interesting her abusive husband died something rupturing the doctors stated with intestinal bleeding and eventual heart failure. Strange she thought wondering at the deep red glow cast upon the sofa she rested on from the wine, how all his wealth was now hers as steps came from the massive staircase giving her a feeling she knew who it was being laborsome intermingled with a light tap as if the person walked with a cane.

###

Thank you for reading my story. If you have any questions or comments please leave a message at the website.

Lucus Anthony Ren

Please visit https://lucusanthonyren.com for more stories and news.

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