Saturday
"Tomi, get me the McDonough file, and hurry up!" The lawyer's voice rang inside the empty office. He was scratching the end of his chin, submerged in his thoughts as he sat back in his green leather chair. "It's just this strange man. I don't know what The Collective seems to want," he said out loud to himself.
He was continuously rubbing his bloodshot eyes, looking at a yellow post-it note with a name on it. This was stuck to the glass of his desk. The pale-bellied lawyer got up from his chair, throwing his hands in the air. The sleeves of his sky-blue button-down shirt were stretched out because of his constant fidgeting.
His glass office door flung open, and a disheveled-looking Tomi walked in with papers in her hands.
He looked up from his desk to see who it was. When he noticed Tomi walking toward him, he pulled himself together, shut the curtains of his windows that looked over the street, and got back to his desk.
"Here you go, Mr. Wilson," Tomi said. There was considerable hesitation in her voice as she shyly glanced at the name on Mr. Wilson's yellow post-it note. She then began throwing papers down on his desk.
"How are you, Tomi? You look well today." Mr. Wilson spun around on his chair and tossed a stack of papers in her direction. His eyes were continuously fixed on one thing, her legs.
"Why, thank you! I feel well, and that comment of yours just made me feel even better." Tomi turned, smiled, and glided toward the door, ensuring she showed him everything she had. She confidently walked out the glass door, aware of his stare.
File after file went across Tomi's desk during the day, and soon enough, she was flooded in files. She didn't know much about law, but she knew enough to know how things worked around here.
Tomi's obsession with her work was unhealthy, and she was sure of herself.
The moment Tomi came back to her seat with a dozen more files, she heard the church bell ring. She knew it was time for her to go home. Every day, without fail, the sound of the ringing church bells told her when it was time to go back home. Yet, she never did. Today she decided to follow the sound out her window.
Her red leather ankle-length overcoat matched her tight red sweater and tailored black pants, heels, and purse. Everything fitted her like a glove. Even the accessories in her hand perfectly complemented her outfit.
Tomi liked working on her appearance, and she knew in any case, that was the one thing that would always make her stand out.
She got up from her desk, putting all the files away, and tucked the chair under her desk correctly. Tomi walked out of the office through the back-right door where the brightly lit Exit sign was. As always, she was the last one to leave.
Tomi lived across the street from where she worked in the city. It was a quick walk for her, but today she liked to take her time. Biting into her spearmint Eclipse gum, walking with the pace of the wind.
The doorman recognized her from across the street and tipped his hat, opening the door. "Ma'am," he tipped his cap again as she stepped inside the building, not once removing his eyes from her chest.
Tomi entered the hallway. She kept her head down and didn't want to give the doorman the satisfaction that she knew where his eyes were. Her fingers rapidly typed on her white phone as Tomi walked toward the elevator with no attention to where she was going. She walked till her hand hit the elevator door – the impact of the hit made her phone fall down. When Tomi bent to pick the phone up, she noticed four pairs of eyes darting in her direction from behind. They kept their eyes glued in attempts to scan their prey.
Just when she was about to stand up, a warm and humid breath hit Tomi's neck. It felt familiar. Goosebumps rolled over her body when her mind rushed with the thoughts of who it could be, but she didn't dare to look behind and lifted herself to wait for her elevator.
When the elevator finally came, the door opened with a sign that signaled its approach. The elevator was going up. Tomi's eyes scanned the elevator, and there stood two men, one on each side. They were dressed modestly, in casual pedestrian clothes. Tomi got in and turned to shoot them a smile. It was an instinctive survival smile. The one you come up with when you think you might be in trouble. She didn't like being alone with men. In fact, a part of her liked it, and the other part hated her for liking it. She wished to be wanted, and time had begun its work.
The elevator door opened slowly. The sound of the cabin fan running yelled above them all. She took seven small steps forward, making sure the men noticed, and opened her spot-free entry door. Her door's view was direct across from the opening of the elevator.
Tomi turned over her shoulder, locked eyes with the men, and winked as the elevator door closed, making the median men fall over.
She laughed to herself when the elevator door shut behind her. #45, the number at the apartment's door read. She gently pushed her keys inside and unlocked the door.
Tomi's apartment was small but sufficient. It seemed enormous to her now that she was alone. Loneliness and anger set in immediately. All these feelings brought back Jake's memory. Her mood had shifted dramatically. Tomi loved Jake, and she just couldn't stop, even when she wanted to.
Thoughts of him filled her head, 'Where was he?'
She quickly opened a bottle of Pinot Noir with a Wine Enthusiast corkscrew from her mother. She did not sip wine tonight; she intended to drink it with purpose.
After a couple of glasses, Tomi started to talk to herself, yelling loudly. Nothing made sense. She made her way to the window to open it. Tonight, she wanted everyone to hear what she was saying. Still, Tomi tossed her beloved boots outside the moment she opened the window. Tomi's eyes followed them as they fell down, hitting the side of her building. Her trendy black leather boots could go climbing, hiking, camping, skydiving, snowboarding, but now, they were internet surfing all alone. Boom. They hit the ground. Tomi watched her boots hit 'Send.'
"This is the game of life!" "Good cereal, too!" She said, and only she could tell what these words meant.
She was bouncing and play boxing in the air at this time after she worked for her boss Mr. Wilson in the morning. She was a different person now than she was, hours ago in the office.
"LIFE, it is!" Tomi yelled to herself as she grabbed the LIFE cereal box on the black marbled counter and buried her hand inside. She didn't bother to grab a bowl or a spoon. Her hands were the only utensils she needed.
Tomi finished the box, the chunks from the cereal were still on her face. It was proof of how certain she was about LIFE.
Tomi got up energetically, throwing the empty box on the floor, and zipped up her black half turtle neck. The front of it was covered with bold letters that read, LIFE. She picked up her black tailored jacket from the pile of clothes lying on the sofa. It was a cold night, and it was better if she had her coat.
Tomi wanted to leave her apartment now. As she walked out the door, she wore her black leather jacket confidently, chin up. Tomi was making her way to the rooftop of the building. Once the breeze caught up with her, her shoulders narrowed, and she shuttered in the cold.
Tomi sat on the rooftop edge, gazing through the night sky and looking out at airplanes that looked so close. She felt she could touch them. One by one, they went passing by. She couldn't help but notice them, wishing she was on one of those sipping a Starbucks Venti triple-shot Mocha with No-Whip.
The plane’s sound screamed amid the silence of the night, but Tomi did not mind it. The noise helped take her mind off Jake, but Jake wasn't the only person she was thinking of. Her mind was engulfed with the thoughts of someone else, and that was Reggie. She could never catch a break with her memories. She had no control over them.
The moon was full, and so was her mind. The perched women that lived downstairs were busy sweeping up the life that fell.
***
Jake stepped in line behind a food truck parked on his street with no shoes on making his way from his house. He was out in the hope of finding some hot dogs with chili-cheese.
He could feel a gentle tap on the top of his head. When he looked up to see what it was, the leaves of the trees mangled into the canopy.
"Jake, my man!" A man shouted from nearby. He was Tomi's friend. "Hey, Will," Jake said as he coughed. Jake wasn't too willing to start any conversations at this time.
"So, yeah, Tomi's been telling me at Bob's the abilities you have and that you can bend, shape gravity, for traveling, and, and more things. Is this real stuff, man?" Will leaned in toward Jake with his phone, recording the conversation with his tweed sport coat pocket.
"So, how do you do it?" Will questioned.
He was visibly getting nervous around Jake now.
"Listen, I'm heading to Bob's this morning, uhm. Come over today if you can." Will said, he wiped his hand over his left pocket, clearing the cat hair stuck near the mic.
Will was hoping that Jake overlooked his recording.
"Take a damn breath, Will." Jake squinted at Will, who was now interrupting the line. Will turned around to look back at the people in line, then back toward Jake, who was directly placing his order.
"I was born here. Now, I'm getting two hot dogs with chili, and a Pabst at 10:30 am. That's how I do it. Would you like something, Will?" Jake asked, ignoring whatever it was that Will had asked him.
He reached in his tailored black pants and pulled out a $50 note along with some loose change. He set the $50 down in front of Will, with his open hand hard, and then Jake continued to quickly count his coins by the window on a metal countertop.
Will just stood there, looking at Jake, not knowing what he wanted him to say. Sweat from Will's forehead was dripping profusely.
"So, what would you like, Will? You didn't tell me?" Jake inquired again as he spun the money in Will's face knowing that these questions were his strange intent to deceive him.
"Come take your order, man, I ain't got all day," a man in a chef's hat yelled as he tried to fit his large head through the window.
Jake being nifty, used Will's evident nervousness to his benefit. As soon as Jake's order came, he snatched the bag of his food and the remaining cash given to him through the food truck slide window. He walked away from Will and his myopic questions.
Sunday
A black skull was positioned carefully on a large glass desk. The head was filled with blue lines that had labels to tell them what parts of the brain did what. On each side of the table were sitting two men – Will and Steve.
Will was seated on Steve's comfortable chair in front of him on his office's third floor. He was wearing a sportcoat and comfortable canvas pants, whereas Steve was sitting in his work clothes. Steve leaned a little to his left to get a better sight of Will's face. Every word Steve spoke was entering Will's right ear. Steve's bronze skin and bonded teeth glared at Will, who was sitting with his hands on his lap.
The sounds of their discussion reached beyond the boundary of just his office. They talked about things they would not want other people to hear about, but their sounds still echoed inside. The words of their dialogue shattered and penetrated every office on the floor.
"Well, Steve, you can't learn anything from someone else's experiences. You must live through your own experiences to possess certainty," Will wrapped his coat tighter and repositioned himself in his seat. Will tugged his sportcoat closer whenever he was a little uneasy, and the temperature that was steady in the room did not bother him much.
The office window was smudged with dirt on the inside because of the lack of cleaning. But, this hygiene was the last thing Steve cared about. He was a manic psychotic. His office rarely got any attention from him.
The sun was shining in its intensity, and reached out to his office. The rays were somewhat piercing through the window and hitting the floor, turning the whole office warm and bright.
Despite the intensity of the sunlight and the building heat inside the office, there was no stopping these two from their conversation. Also, the sun's light stood no chance in this conversation. Will wanted to get to the end of this discussion.
"Now wait, you think anything is possible? Do you want to know what I think about your logic? My word is its crap. Anything is NOT possible." Steve sat back comfortably in his memory foam anti-gravity chair, sure that the chair's physics would keep him safe and rested.
Will could feel Steve's restlessness from his voice tone, which could only mean one thing. Steve needed his meds.
A wall of books shadowed behind them; The library had a book on every topic in the civilized world. However, their argument didn't need any text. Only Gin and Tonic were enough to further ignite their conversation.
"Yes, I do, and there's a reason for it. I know there's a balance here that we're all missing, and the answer lies with our possible ancestors." Will looked at his glass of 'rocks' through his no-rimmed glasses. The glasses complimented him, for they made him look smart. He shook his remaining glass of rocks. They were now turning into the water because of the warmth inside the office.
He stood up in his tailored canvas pants and fixed his coat. This was a subtle cue that this conversation was over.
"Oh, cut that mindfulness shit. This is a fact." Steve looked up at the ceiling, exhaled, and finished his double gin shot. They were both men of science. Steve just could not believe that someone like Will was talking so philosophically.
"Well, so is this, Steve! You know, since the inception of time and before the last hundred years, something happened that no one can explain, not even science. Let's take Edgar Cayce, for example, sometimes the slinky goes up Steven. That's a fact, too. It's not simply the man's imagination," Will was worried that Steve was off his meds again, looking down into his eyes, jiggling his pocket keys.
"Oh, stop it. You sound like a Tomi girl, a Californian hippie with transference issues, who believes everything and anything anyone ever tells her. If there's proof out there, like you say, of something like this 100% pure Denisovan you speak of foraging in the woods or something, he or she, whoever it is, would be worth every penny on the planet, studied by us, and change everything we know about life if your guess is right." Steve said, his tone was filling up with annoyance. Steve was the kind of man who wanted proof of everything. Also, he was not ready to take Will's word for it.
Will was thinking of what to say next. He knew his words weren't going to have much impact on Steve's mind. If he wanted Steve to seriously take his hunch, he needed more substantial proof of life.
"I can't believe you, out of all the people, is saying this crap. Where did you even find this idea, Will?" Steve butted in once more as he pulled the lever on his left to give gravity to his gray leather anti-gravity chair.
"A life's work, my friend. A life's work! My most direct experience, though?! Hmmm. When I was at the LAX airport Tuesday, I recently found myself drinking a black coffee and waiting to meet colleagues for the conference coming in from China. I looked to my right, and I saw the outline of a clear-looking man. He looked almost see-through, and that man rested his body against a silver metal strip of wall, and I noticed from my own two eyes, his body fading in! Then the figure was gone, coupled with three jet thrusts outside on the runway. I mean Steve, I think something's about to happen. This is what happens throughout our history. We overlook moments like these, or we don't want to see them. I'm here telling all this to you today, and you're doing the same exact thing." Will's tone was now getting cold with Steve.
"Do you always romanticize things? You're smarter than that, Will. I know you like the new age stuff and studying Jungian archetypes, but I'm here to tell you it isn't real!" Steve's voice was rising now, and his head was beginning to hurt. His thoughts were sliding now from one to another, rapidly. He could feel the chaos going on in his head.
Steve wanted to get up from his seat. He tried to look Will directly in his eyes to let him know that all of these things he was saying work great in movies but not in real life. However, once he stood up, the thought of cat litter, food, and just about everything else in his life rushed over to him.
Listening, looking into Will's ocean blue eyes. "This is much bigger than a Yanni album, Steve. If we don't open our eyes, we'll miss it, and I don't know what's going to happen. I just know it's going to happen." Will sensed his friend missing most things lately. There was something about Steve's eyes that looked off. They disagreed most times, but his behavior was rarely this intense.
"There you go again, opening your eyes with anthropological wish fulfillment, hoping, my God, hoping these things you speak of are real. Because you've stacked your entire career on the crazy assumption that our one Denisovan cousin exists. I think your heart's bigger than your intellect. That will stop progress in its tracks, Will." Steve took two black pills aggressively.
Will felt a sense of relief overcome him once he saw that, but Steve's aggressive nature still bothered him.
"Things can be done differently is my point, Steve. Besides, the father of quantum physics is quoted as saying this, 'The first gulp from the natural sciences will make you an atheist, but God is waiting for you at the bottom of the glass.' That's good enough for me, Steven. Scientists like us need to have open minds. In all reality, we know very little of what's happening." Will said. There was no point in this discussion, and he was thinking of leaving it altogether.
"Go back to your class and teach your book that you wrote with that wife in that basement of yours, you, smug bastard. Isn't that what they pay you for?" Will was standing still. With an irritated nudge, he set his glass down and headed for the door. He wanted to get out of here.
"Shut up, my man. We'll talk again. I respect you and what you've got to say about paleo-anthropology, theology, etcetera, but not about mysterious hominids we know nothing about. Yes, it's interesting, Will, but that's all it is; it's not reality. And while we're on the subject of classes, I've got a class! You're right." Steve smiled and winked at Will. He began putting items from his desk into his work bag.
"Thanks, Steve; I'll see you next week." Will stepped out of his office. Despite the civil end to the discussion, his mind was occupied with the dialogue that the two of them just had. Regardless of what Steve had said, Will still believed something was looming in front of them – something unexplainable.
He walked out and slowly pushed the down button on the elevator.
Monday
It was raining this year with high humidity in San Diego. The weather was acting like its usual self, dry and humid at the same time. Some locals would say it was impossible for something like this to happen, and they'd be correct. Yes. No.
The weather was damp because of the rain, yet the heat made it unbearable to walk out, but Jake had plans today, and he wasn't going to back out of them. Even if it meant walking in this weather, Jake would see Reggie, his best friend.
Reggie was sitting on a raised platform. He was working on a car that had just shown up in his garage. The shiny surface of the car showed off his tan skin. From the look of the vehicle, it was evident that it was overpriced. Reggie was a modern-day mechanic, but he didn't like to be called one. He worked in an upscale SoCal specialty car place that owned and sold vintage rare classic cars from the '50s through the '80s in San Diego. He was killing it at auctions in Arizona. With his signature blue leather boots on, Jake flew the door open and marched toward his best friend, Reggie.
"Yo' brother, you good?" Reggie smiled big as he ran his hands in his thick blonde hair, bloodshot, and droopy eyes; he looked through Jake. From his appearance, Reggie looked like a classic surfer dude, but he loved his cars. Despite being overworked, the sight of his best friend was enough to make Reggie grin with pleasure.
"Cause the last time I saw you, you were pretty much a disabled man needing a guide dog, Superman!" Reggie stood up from where he was sitting and walked toward his platinum silver metal desk. He pushed a button underneath that was attached to the right side of his desk. He was still smiling with his eyes as he continued to speak to Jake.
"Hey, man! Come on up." Reggie opened the half-door, leading up the stairs to his elevated platform desk.
"Come here, man," Jake grabbed Reggie and hugged him hard. The bond they shared was unique; it was just great to see each other again. After a long hug, Jake pulled back. There was no one Jake wanted to talk to except Reggie. Jake dove right into a dream he'd been having.
"Let me ask you something, man. I've had this dream that's been messing with me." Jake walked around the desk and sat down on the chair that was near the table. Reggie stood and walked toward the coffee maker and set aside two cups. The air was thick with the scent of coffee.
Jake extended his hand and grabbed one of the cups. He gulped down the cold brown drink in a hurry, and it looked like he needed the rush. Jake looked around; his eyes were on high alert. Maybe, he wanted to see if someone was listening in on this conversation and then directed a look back at Reggie.
"You have to listen to this dream of mine." Jake continued, and he told Reggie about this bloody red dream with a grey figure knocking on his door he'd been having.
"Yep, you fucked up, man. You need to relax and chill, like Reggie here." He pointed to himself. He was laid back in his seat and had his feet up against the table.
"No one's out to get you, Jake. You're paranoid about that every second, and there's your dream. Listen, you've got skills, and I sure am glad I'm your friend, but one of those skills, brother, is making shit up and making it real." Reggie cupped his hand and blew on his clear, painted fingernails. He rubbed his shoulder proudly with those nails, smiling at Jake. Even though Reggie worked on cars all day long, there was one thing he liked to take care of, his presence.
"Listen, you should come over on Friday. I've been cookin' up mean BBQ lately. We can sit outside in the back and have a beer and catch up. You look like you need it. You've lost weight, and your eyes are pissed off, Jake." Jake knew his friend was right. He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back. He needed to relax.
He had to accept what Reggie was saying was the truth, but Jake knew his paranoia was on the rise. Jake was swamped by his dreams when the silhouette of Reggie's hand brought him back to real life. The vibrant aroma of the coffee was enough for Jake to know that he needed more caffeine.
Reggie astutely handed him another cup of coffee to go with his food truck Pabst and chili dog. "I just had to have this food this morning. Thanks again, Reggie, for reminding me it's before noon." Jake was leaning down in his chair. His back was resting on the comfortable interior of Reggie's office chair.
"So, I'll see you Friday then?" Reggie inquired as he pointed toward his phone. His eyebrows were raised. Reggie wanted to make sure his friend would show up. Jake had a habit of forgetting things, and Reggie was familiar with him. Jake quickly put his hands in his pocket and took out his phone. After a few clicks here and there, Jake punched in a reminder and set his alarm for Friday's BBQ. Reggie laughed under his breath. He was relieved that he did not have to remind Jake about his trouble with short-term memory.
Once Reggie noted him setting aside a reminder, he started to go off about things that were happening with him, but Jake was not paying attention. "See you later," Jake got up and quickly wished Reggie everything right and then set his half-finished coffee down and snatched his food truck money bag.
"See you on Friday!" Reggie shouted once Jake turned around to leave. Reggie did not want his friend to be left alone, especially with the constant threat of people trying to capture him.
"Hell, yes to a lot of BBQ please on Friday," Jake held his thumb out in a thumbs-up, and he was now moving toward the door. Jake didn't' care much about food, but Reggie's BBQ was the one thing he looked forward to. As he walked out, he was tapping his feet to the beat of Michael Jackson's Billie Jean that was playing on repeat, on Reggie's desk, Bose stereo.
Jake walked out of Reggie's door and started to make his way out of the office. He only wanted to see his friend for a minute or two during his workday. He knew whatever he was feeling, Reggie would help him calm down.
Jake felt a sense of relief overcome him once he talked to Reggie about his dream. Even though no solution came out of it, just talking to him was enough for Jake.
He started walking down the stairs and looked behind to spot Reggie, who was now completely submerged in the song. Without a care in the world, he was nodding his head. "Billie Jean is not my lover/She's just a girl who claims that I am the one…" Michael Jackson spills out these lyrics as Reggie lip-syncs the song. Jake could not help but laugh.
Almost at the end of the stairs, he looked back for one more glance, waved goodbye to Reggie, and left. Jake reached in his back pocket and felt for his keys.
There was no one in the showroom except Reggie now, even though Jake was almost out of the front door. He opened Reggie's glass front showroom door, pushed it open, and stepped into the city's familiar damp, scorching setting. Jake looked up and groaned. He hated this sticky weather. For Jake, this was everything but ideal. Even walking five minutes in this heat made him tired today.
He walked to his car with his long-standing money bag in one hand and his keys in another. Jake was walking in his car's direction that he only drove when he knew there were shady people on the loose. This car, in most ways, helped him feel safer.
Jake knew someone like him could never be too careful; his car was an armored silver 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL. It was made especially for the people who tried to kill him, and lately, there have been enough people like that. Jake's life was his to take and save. He was not going to let any man interfere with that.
He walked out of Reggie's showroom, finding his precious car parked around the back garage there. A red on white 'We Fix Transmissions' painted barn sign in bold letters was placed carefully above the garage stall.
Jake exhaled and drove the car that he so blindly trusted. His car was a lot more special to him than many people. His lips moved like he was talking to himself, and suddenly, his car came to a halt. Jake stretched his neck out the window and read the sign, "Welcome."
Jake parked his car. He reached the back of his car and pulled from the backseat a black leather jacket.
With jacket in hand, he opened the door of his car and stepped outside. For a moment, he scanned the area. Jake knew better than anyone else, there was no such thing as being too careful. Once he was sure there was no one following him, he locked and stamped shut the door of his car. 'Thump,' the sound of the car door echoed along the lines of the way out.
Jake hurriedly walked around to the front of this creepy-abandoned-looking building with an exclusive modern feature; a glass door. As he walked, he passed a wall of red-painted wood. Jake hurriedly stepped into the empty glass office and looked around. "Clear," he muttered to himself.
Straight in front of him was a 4-foot-long metal pole with a keypad attached on top of it. He walked towards it and wiped cleaned the dust that settled on the keypad with his hand, and with one swish motion, it turned on the alarm code using a punch pad behind the gray vinyl countertop.
"1985," he said out loud, pushing the numbers. "Back to the Future…Mayor Goldie Wilson," Jake whispered to himself after finishing the code. In one moment, Jake found himself in a completely new locality.
Staying in one area for too long was not safe for him, which is why Jake traveled every chance he got to throw The Collective off.
Observing the area with his eyes, Jake recognized this is where he had to be. He abruptly headed south on foot to Mulberry St., then east on Wine Ave. As he passed three junkyards and one hardware store, he could not point out the difference between the three. They looked the same. But Jake knew where his destination was.
He crossed Circus Dr., went through Ms. Odekurk's back yard, and jumped over Mr. Head's illegal 10-foot fence down into the Gaslamp City. Once there, Jake faced an apt complex. It was tall and narrow, with weathered brick and available barbeque grills littering the small porch in front of angled stairs going up. Walking past the front, he looked around. Jake's eyes were always looking for hidden risks. Jake knew people everywhere were looking for him.
Some people were waiting there for Jake as he entered the road. The eyes of these men who wore white lab coats studied him. They were all staring down at the street from the 3rd floor. As Jake moved along the road's path, the eyes looked down at him from the apartment's east side. With every move Jake made, they continually wrote urgently on their yellow legal pads.
Jake had heard about The Collective before and the work they did. He was aware that The Collective had hired a sharpshooter loaded with cop-killer bullets. He was full-time, planted on top of the adjacent building to Jake. This husky hairy man had a brown school lunch bag filled with two PB&J's from his wife. He was waiting for the order to try and injure Jake to capture him. Jake knew his target was straight and simple, but he could not risk being caught.
In his mind, he knew he had to take his chances if he wanted to remain safe.
Across the street from Jake's house, teenage kids ate hamburgers. He quickly rushed his way towards his home and ran inside. The smoke from the grill was filling the entire area. His sense of smell was too strong for him to not pick up on it. The sound of laughter echoed everywhere, and Jake's anxiety about being caught died down.
He opened the door to his home and walked towards the front porch window. He wanted to see if someone had seen him come inside. But he spotted no one suspicious. Just a bunch of kids in blue, orange, and Persian colors lifting from their grill. He was safe, at least, for now.
Jake leaned over the craft table for his drink, looking out the window. He was mixing whiskey with water. No ice! He rocked back, slamming the door shut with a yawn. His heart was at ease at this moment. He was glad he was not dealing with Chris today.
Jake lit a smoke. This was his idea of a perfect day. He inhaled till it burned unharmed, feeling the colors dancing out there on the grill, sitting in his '70s rocking chair. Jake's hand touched the wood floor with each rock. He got up quickly. The arch of his back ached a little. With all the activities he was doing for the past few days, his back hurting profusely was inevitable. Suppressing the pain, he walked to the kitchen and threw another TV dinner in the microwave. He looked down at the spotted white counter, frowned, and disappeared into the white mess that was his thoughts. His mind was running wild with ideas on how he would show everyone the truth of the situation. Jake didn't know how long he stood there; the smell of burnt food made him quickly turn off the microwave. The food was ruined. He sighed as it was time for bed.
Flashback – Boy Jake
"That stupid ramblin' got many thinking the wrong things," Grandma Jannetta said, pointing at the small kitchen TV. "Cock-show motherfuckers thinkin' about their place, their money, and their mistresses," smoke released from her mouth as she continued to complain. Jannetta's exposed underarms were drenched in sweat. She was standing in the kitchen with a spatula in her hands that she kept waving in the air as she spoke to make her opinion heard. "So…good luck," grease splashed in every corner of the kitchen as she repositioned herself.
Even though many years had passed, Jake remembered it all for some reason. His past abruptly flashed before his eyes.
Jake walked and looked at the twelve-inch kitchen TV and sauntered back to his kid's plastic green table. Jake loved his grandparents and visited them every once in a while when he was a young boy. He often saw them on Tuesdays to listen to his grandmother talk about her life in the 60s and get cotton candy from his grandad.
Jannetta's gold-flaked necklace rattled like bad metal as she put a Mercedes etched shot glass on the table. She was wearing a used piece of leather, cut from the wrong cow part.
The antics of Jake's grandfather were inevitable, though he was a quiet man. He stayed away from the house, sailing the catamarans in a man-made lake most of the time. Their garage was full of sailing gear next to the kitchen.
None of his boats had an engine. He often said, "Real men don't need an engine," pointing, hanging off the side of his leaning catamaran. He mostly spent time in the garage. In many instances, Jake used to catch him sneaking cigarettes in there. "You out here, Grandad?" Jake asked. He stepped down three steps into the garage from the first-floor kitchen. There was a frosted glass wall in the garage like a Pollock that Jake remembered. The noise from Jannetta's TV in the kitchen was echoing in the garage. "Yes, right here, young man," his grandfather raised his hand up from the corner. Jake approached him. His grandfather stood up and wrapped his arms around Jake's neck. "I can only have one cigarette back here a week? Do you know why that is? Your grandmother would probably kill me and burn the house down if I smoked more than that. Love, Jake, has a funny way of showing itself, sometimes," his grandfather told him with a smirk on his face. His grandfather's hands came down as he looked sideways to the beige garage door, exhaling the smoke out of his mouth.
"Don't take everything she says seriously. She has been drinking red wine for a while now, and I suggested no alcohol before 11:00 am." His grandfather told him.
Grandfather Capers was genuinely talking to himself. Jake was nine-years-old then and loved his grandfather. Sometimes, he wondered how he managed to live with Jannetta, but the answer never came to him.
Suddenly, a notion pierced through their ears. "Hey, y'all! One of you better bring me cartons of smokes from the fridge out there, including the twelve-pack of Pabst on the door," Jannetta screamed from the kitchen volubly. Jake and his grandfather looked at each other and burst into laughter under their breath.
"I am about to gin this rummy so bad!" Jannetta was telling herself. She was sitting at a sandy Tetris vinyl-topped kitchen table, watching a game show. Jake came out of the garage carrying a twelve-pack of red and blue-labeled Pabst dangling from his right arm and a carton of cigarettes under his left arm.
Jannetta noticed what Jake's young body had brought in. "That is pretty good. Now, don't you get too cocky on me, though? Set it over here," she brushed off the kitchen table with her grey arm.
Jake set the carton of the beer and cigarettes on the kitchen table. He then reached and picked up her spatula and started cooking bacon using what Jannetta had left on the stove. And suddenly, it began to pop.
"Listen, do you know how we got you?" Jannetta rubbed her face using her sleeve to wipe her nose. "Excuse me," she cleared her throat, "Do you know what you are?"
Jake immediately turned from the electric stove with bacon on a brown thanksgiving plate. "I figured you are getting sharper and stronger these days. It wouldn't hurt to know. Why would it!" Jannetta asked him. Behind Jake, who he thought was his grandfather, emptied a tall thin glass of wine in one swig and placed the glass on the sandy-colored vinyl topped table. He was too intrigued by what Jannetta had in her mind that he didn't bother to look and confirm suspicions. "You are the last one who can do it," Jannetta winked and whispered to him. With Jannetta's words, a winning rummy hand was laid out proudly on the sandy-colored vinyl-topped table behind him.
Tuesday
Reggie turned around from the block. He remembered where he had parked his '72 mint green Cutlass 454 SS in the far corner of the parking lot under a white wind dancer. As he grabbed his keys out of his pockets while approaching his car, his phone rang. It was a text message from Tomi that read 'URGENT!'.
Reggie immediately got into his car and pushed down on the accelerator out of Exit 27 onto 15 North toward Los Angeles. The next text message contained an address and said that it was about Jake. "Where am I fuckin' headed, Tomi? You're freaking me out!" He thought to himself.
Reggie's phone started to ring en route. It was Tomi. Reggie immediately connected the call and asked, "Tomi, where am I going for Jake? What is it this time? You made it sound like life and death, and I'd do anything for that guy. Is that why you called me!" There was a lot of static on the line, and it was challenging for Reggie to fathom her words. However, he was focused and was driving at 90 mph. He anticipated that he would be there within an hour, oblivious to the fact that LA traffic was fierce. In his mind, "Where am I going for Jake? What is it this time?" The only two questions that kept him focused.
Nevertheless, Reggie redialed her, still cruising at 90 mph. "I will meet you in Pasadena. It is close enough, Tomi. I will meet you in the old part of the town. Be there," Reggie hung up on Tomi hard. He lunged the SS in the carpool lane to make it quick. Time was passing, and with every minute, he felt pressed a little deeper into perplexity.
It felt like the road had stretched its course toward the nothingness that he thought he was driving to. He kept wondering what Tomi could be worked up about now in their lives. It was always something dramatic with her, and he knew that. However, he waved through Pasadena's neighborhood and arrived at the old town under a freeway bridge. Reggie was creeping his SS while turning off his Bluetooth. Suddenly, the young and attractive Tomi clutched the passenger door open and relaxed in the seat.
"What the hell, Tomi?" Reggie was angry and concerned. "Why did you call me here?" Reggie asked as he wiped his forehead using a white face towel. Reggie was drenched in sweat. He threw the face towel on the floorboard and revved his SS engine.
Reggie slammed the brakes in front of the overpass, parked the SS, unbuckled his seat belt, and turned and looked at Tomi face to face.
"Jake is worth more alive, even hurt, than dead. Don't you know that, Reggie?" Tomi finally spoke.
"It is common scientific knowledge, Reggie." She leaned and patronized Reggie like he was a child. She then slipped a thick manilla envelope into her passenger door's side pocket.
In Reggie's head, several assumptions started to percolate. "I thought Tomi loved Jake. I believed they have something special, but I think I was wrong. Does she want to turn Jake in for money?" He wondered.
"Okay, then what are you going to do?" Reggie looked intensely hazel to hazel. "Nothing Reggie don't be silly; it's just information," Tomi repositioned herself. "I mean, maybe it couldn't hurt helping The Collective. I mean, it could benefit us all. I believe in NOT saving one person for the many needs. And that has to include Jake. I have no more feelings for him." Tomi continued eye contact. "Don't you, Reggie?" She then pulled the door handle and opened the door. Tomi flirtatiously got out. "Byeee Reggie," She pointed at the envelope. She then positioned herself under a street oil lamp that was burning bright yellow light.
He gathered himself together, rubbed his face in his hands, and exhaled a pensive sigh. "What the hell is The Collective," Reggie thought. He was oblivious to what Tomi was up to, and it was killing him. He knew some answers were in that thick manilla envelope.
Reggie started his car again, took a right from the park, and headed back home, taking Route 101. He passed every beach town on the coast, from LA to San Diego, with an unopened beer and a thick manila envelope on the black leather passenger seat.
After almost an hour, his long drive finally came to an end.
Reggie pulled over in his driveway and turned off the growl. "What the hell was she talking about?" He wondered again. He then picked up the envelope from the passenger seat and opened it.
It was a bizarre night, even for Jake. That night, when everybody was locked in slumber, Jake reached inside the pocket of his black tailored jacket calmly and pulled out a concealed crimson red .44 magnum pistol.
"Put up your fucking hands!" Jake roared, "Higher, asshole." He cocked the gun and placed his finger on the trigger. The TV was turned on, and there were bright rainbow colors on the screen. "Now, you son of a bitch," he shouted again. Jake cracked him in the forehead lightly, bent down to Chris, who was sitting on Jake's purple velvet couch.
"You better stand up right now!" Jake warned Chris. His words pierced through Chris's ears as he gave him an infuriated look.
"I don't understand, Jake. You and I go way back doing this shit", his voice cracked. Jake pulled him stiffly back by his collar as Chris was, tripping, frightened for his life, tried to run away from Jake's house. In the background, MTV read about Kurt Cobain's death on the flat-screen TV.
"Where do you think you're going? You sit right here…think about your lies. All I give a shit about is the money you owe me," Jake lifted Chris five feet off the ground using his other arm and threw him hard, back on the velvet couch. Chris was oblivious to Jake's strength and begged him to let him go.
"Quit trying. It will not work," Jake pointed the magnum directly to his chest and pushed it three times using the barrel of the gun. He then rubbed the .44 magnum against his muscular right thigh, wearing summer blue tailored jet setter pants. He stood alone in his kitchen after stepping away from Chris and returned with a water bottle. Jake glanced sharply from the edge of his eyes to the front door in the living room and saw a yellow post-it note stuck to the inside mail slot while taking a drag from the water bottle.
Jake snatched the yellow anonymously-left note on the door. It was stamped with a global company's crest. The Collective. "Be yourself. That's all we want." The yellow note looked old. He thought about the words and the divide while pointing the break-action shotgun he picked up from a table in the living room.
"Get out of here before I shoot you and make that meeting in LA count. Give me my money as soon as possible, Chris," Jake told him.
Suddenly, a bullet crashed through the stained-glass side window from the height of the tree outside. It missed Jake's throat by two inches, embedding into the walnut wood front door. It didn't faze Jake anymore, as assassination attempts were happening every week now. It was becoming a matter of national pride to kill Jake for some reason.
Jake waved his left arm towards the door casually. And in one slight movement, the TV turned off, and the room fell silent. He didn't mean to do it, but the distraction from the TV was interfering with the event unfolding in front of his eyes. For a moment, there was no noise, then he held the paper in his hand close to his face, ignoring the missed bullet.
"Look at me…Now get out of here and find it," Jake articulated. He dropped the paper, stood up tall, and broke the shotgun, loading two 12-gauge bullets over Chris's head. He intensely cocked it using his right arm and aimed high in the sky through the window the bullet pierced through.
Wednesday
The night before the misfortunate events, Chris Liss, whom Jake thought was his friend, held a meeting at the Los Angeles International Airport. It was a small room with a table in front of them, and a XO window opened to let fresh air enter. The Collective had made it clear to Chris that Jake would be picked up by a yellow orbital taxi inside LAX. Although Chris was oblivious to what The Collective had meant by that, he decided to follow their instructions. Chris was even told that as soon as Jake was escorted into thin air through Yellow Orbital, the mission would be accomplished. Chris would be taken care of.
"Jake?" Chris directed his attention.
"Yes," Jake answered.
"There is something you need to know," Chris twitched his lips nervously. In his mind, the instructions given by The Collective were repeating themselves. He remembered how The Collective kept reminding him that this capture would take advantage of Jake's strengths and abilities, i.e., such as controlling minds, studying, and being a weapon for mass control and destruction. Later, Jake's DNA would be used for dangerous weapons of war if he died in the process rather than being captured alive. The Collective was in charge here, and this was their plan. The red number '7' and the yellow orbital taxi were to capture Jake, and that would have made Chris and Tomi rich beyond their imaginations. Just because Jake was paranoid didn't mean they were not after him.
Jake had started to become familiar with the nervousness Chris's face was displaying. "What is it?" Jake asked with an earnest look on his face.
"There is no way out of here, Jake," Chris's voice quivered. He reached inside the pocket of the brown coat he was wearing and pulled out a cigar.
"What do you mean, Chris? Be more specific?" Jake narrowed his eyes.
Chris paused as he remembered how the Collective had given him clear directives. A hysterical figure framed in the shadow pounded hard on a teak table authoritatively, thinking he was running the show. And, the small metal room inside Los Angeles airport shook at the incredible sound of jet engines propelling upwards. Chris gaped with his mouth hung open.
"Chris?" Jake asked, taking him out of his reverie.
"Yes?" Chris clenched his eyes.
The cigar smoke diffused in the room as Chris mustered himself.
"Dude, you are scaring me!" said Jake.
"Okay, so I want your hundred percent faith in me regarding this. The Collective has dispersed their men everywhere. There is no way out of here without a fight. You cannot trust anyone, not even Tomi," Chris articulated.
"What do you mean?" Jake asked, trying not to sound too panicked.
"Take the moving sidewalk until you see a white-red number '7' framed in yellow," Chris instructed Jake. In his mind, he visualized - when The Collective showed him the number '7' a week ago. Even though he introduced Jake with impeccable confidence, he thought this wouldn't work.
On to Jake's right, as told by Chris, a massive folk-art number '7' outlined in a circle of yellow oil paint was hanging in Jake's mind. He imagined it.
"And it will be in white, looking like a kid's toy?" Jake confirmed.
"Yes, it will. Also, remember that it will be your ticket out of here without any hustles, Jake,” Chris grumbled.
The cropped blonde, Chris Liss, strolled around in the room and disposed of the cigar in the dustbin placed at the room's far end. He then took a plastic bag out of his pockets and poured some white powder in his small hands. He was drenched in sweat when he burned the smoke. The sun was shining bright yellow on the painted blue sky. Chris clapped his hands cleaned, exhaling smoke out of his mouth; he squinted outside the window with uncertainty on his mind.
Jake stood by Chris's side. He was nodding in agreement, looking both left and right. In a swift motion, Jake stretched his arms out and folded them into a cross. His dark auburn hair was pressed back against his head, and he had an old MB key in his left pocket. Walking around the table, he was listening to Chris and was faced with indecisiveness. His heart was convincing him not to do it, though his mind was suggesting something else.
The birds were chirping noisily outside the window, which Chris had to close to maintain peace in the room. Jake was wearing an all-black stitched suit with a shade of maroon. He looked at the mercury-filled spike, positioned in the middle of the table, next to the building's specifications.
Jake sighed and shared his thoughts in a reflective tone. "You know, Chris, I remember when there was a time of uncertainty. Now, everything is certain and defined. That frightens me. You may have saved your life today if this goes according to plan," Jake said to himself in his mind. He had read Chris's mind and was aware of where he was going with this.
The imagined yellow color had an impact. Jake was looking down. His nerves were about to snap with this orb experience.
"This is a mythical number 7. Chris, come on, man!" Jake grabbed and slammed it down from the wall in his head.
"Let's see, Chris," said Jake, moving around Chris's books on the table. He changed the subject, trying not to pay any heed to what Chris had told him. "Ah, this one is great, but people take it to be Newtonian in nature," Jake articulated. "You modern folks, take these books without any reason, and these books are missing the lessons in your history. These are stories to teach all of you the truth." Jake pushed back, reached to shake Chris's hand quickly, then turned and walked out of the room using the entrance meant for the disabled.
***
As Jake was maneuvering his way out, his cell phone started to buzz. He reached his hand in his chest zip pocket and answered.
"Meet me in the blue room. Use number 18," Tomi sounded like the death angel was approaching her.
Following the conversation, Jake took a U-turn and ran in the opposite direction of the blue terminal room. His arms shook by his side as he navigated his way. Although he remembered what Chris had told him about Tomi, he still aspired to believe her.
To his luck, Jake discerned the moving sidewalk in front of him. He immediately took a giant leap over and hopped on the moving sidewalk, looking for a red number '7' outlined in yellow. However, Tomi's room number '18' was at the end of the sidewalk. Keeping his head down, Jake stood in front of terminal 18 and opened a moving white box, using the code 119733139 while moving on the floor.
Jake was aware of Tomi's ulterior motive. He thought she was trying to lock him up. Therefore, since Jake was tired of seeing Tomi's atrocities, he decided to trust Chris on this one, knowing what would happen if this goes wrong for Chris.
Abruptly, mercury, in a red number 7, started to expand, erupting from a white box. A yellow light ball then entered the terminal, and the sunlight rays emanating from the tarmac and hovered over Jake. The yellow light hung over Jake, and then in an instant, he disappeared into thin air along with the ball of light. People at the airport, including Will, watched this. He was carrying a satchel over his shoulders, and a rolling bag was standing in front of him. The people couldn't believe what their eyes witnessed. Some of the people fainted, and some recorded the incident on their phones. The experience was quick at 3 seconds.
"This isn't what we talked about," Jake thought to himself.
***
Jake was holding onto the yellow ball of light as it hit him. He felt an amplified electric current rattle through his body. He crossed his sturdy right arm over his heart and set his chin straight. Abruptly, Jake felt a sharp, deep pain that coerced him to release a scream. The yellow ball of light disappeared with Jake as he released a cry for help.
"Jake!? Jake!!?" Chris circled the table looking for him. He was making sure that there was no proof of Jake being there. After surveying the parameters, Chris headed to the moving sidewalk and stopped as the white powder kept plummeting out of his pockets to the other side of the moving sidewalk. "How did he do that!? I hope he's dead, and I get paid," Chris thought to himself. At the same time, he was profoundly jealous and scared that Jake could be alive.
The lights at the airport suddenly flashed. Jake's body was found floating and slowly fading in above the ground outlined by tall silver walls with the second flash. Jake settled his feet on the floor as a transparent human body, bright and ducted into an airport stall fading in with every step. Jake then fell on his knees in the ADA stall. His hands were shaking, and his face started to brace up as he landed on the tiled floor of a bathroom that he found himself in. His complexion and his naked body began to grow back ultimately. He couldn't believe this wasn't over. He was naked, starving, and confused.
Jake turned drastically and discerned his face in the mirror. He rubbed his weary eyes and saw them changing into the shade of blue. "You're dead, Chris. You and The Collective fucked this up. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?" Jake thought in his mind. Calmly and smoothly, he stepped back and looked at himself in the mirror again. He traced his hands over his lean body and suddenly punched the mirror. Following the punch, his knuckles started to bleed.
***
Across the city, a giant blue beast made of steel was emptying broken garbage into its belly. There were rambling beeping noises and a loud grunt of the creature as it rolled forward, hoisting garbage up and over into its gut that was spread out in the entire city. Patiently, one by one, the blue steel garbage collector went on to the next.
The agents were jotting notes. There were two psychiatrists in the other two stalls. They were sitting straight, writing inside the toilets. "It didn't work. We couldn't catch him." The two individuals, wearing lab coats, sent simple yet detailed emails to The Collective.
***
Thursday
The sun was shining brilliantly in the sky. Across the street from Tomi's place, a chaotic party was being held. It was her day-glow time, and she was standing on her porch – discerning all the familiar faces enjoying themselves. She was filled with remorse at that time. She couldn't imagine anything but herself at that party with Jake. She missed that comfort.
Since Tomi was known to be at the places where she was not supposed to be, she went inside her house. She went to her bedroom, picked a perfect party outfit, got dressed, discerned herself in the mirror, and went to the party.
"That character you wrote was delightful and well-reasoned," Tomi commented. Most of the people wore black T-shirts at the party. Tomi stopped by the party on her way to meet Jake. She wore smart, rimmed shades. The mainstream tattoo on her arm mocked the guests. The clean, brightly colored walls and bad jazz music surrounded the handmade walnut dining table. The whisper of the guests echoed chaotically in the room. Some of the guests were engaged in party games, the snacks were being served, and alcohol poured. It seemed more like a high school party than adults partying.
"Yes, well, I mean, I just pictured Marcel Proust meeting Willie Wonka, and I got the basic milieu of him," The response pierced through Tomi's ears. "Well, my friend," She patted her friend on the back. "You have written the best shit I've read in years. I want to make a toast to you. Raise your glass, everyone," Tomi announced.
Eyes were darted at Will as he walked and took a Pabst out of his mini-fridge. The darted eyes widened as they witnessed him chug the entire Pabst in one go. "To the best writer on this side of the Atlantic," Tomi directed all the attention toward herself. The crowd jeered and peered in excitement. The house across Tomi's home was filled with laughter and the jealousy that it was trying to contain.
Everyone was enamored with hope and had a steady grip on the glass of wine they held in their hands. "I have a dish like no other...," Bob announced while holding a dish. The party roared in laughter and gulped their beverages at the same time. "Bob, you drunk ass, just hand it to the guy over there," his friend stated, pointing left of the yellow ginseng tree in the front yard. The party was intrigued and looked outside the window to see what he was talking about.
***
A man in his early thirties was passed out on the curb across the street. He had turned pale and was soaking in his sweat. The man pushed himself, and he stood up. He glared round him, turned, and looked at the window. He stared at all the heads leaning out of the window and released a sigh. He raised his hand and gave everyone a thumbs up - insinuating that everything was fine.
Suddenly, the weather was under the contempt of loud thunder cracking. The entire area was soon draped underneath heavy gray clouds, and the wind carried an unusual smell on its wings. Hail started to pound against the cars of the guests – BMW, Mercedes, Audi, etc. There was a sullen silence amongst the guests. People began to panic and ran here and there to find shelter under the distant bridges. Old ladies grabbed their plants off their apartment ledges, children spun in circles with their arms outstretched, and the art students wondered about the importance of it all. It was a hailstorm nobody had ever seen before, despite the city under the contempt rarely affected by hail.
"You know I've loved you for ten years, and you don't even know it. You probably don't care either," Steve confronted Tomi. "I missed my chance. Now you're gone with him. The first time we met, Tomi, we were kids. You believed that I could do something great. Now, look at me."
With the hailstorm, the unfamiliar smell that lingered in the air intensified. The loud sound of hail striking against the objects aggravated. The remaining guests were still leaning out of the window to become familiar with the ordeal their eyes could perceive.
"You are fine, Steve. You're the smartest guy here besides Will. Do not fall into navel-gazing. I wanted to talk to Will or you anyway. We're friends. The three of us. You know that—my God. You need to move on from me, Steve. Look, why don't you and I have some breakfast tomorrow? Then we can hit the museum. There's an exhibition there called Praecox's Theorem that you'd like, being the respected scientist you are," Tomi convinced Steve.
Tomi tucked her long dark blond hair behind her ears and swigged on the beer. She was already tipsy, but she didn't know when to stop. Tomi enjoyed playing with dumb men. The independence she possessed was unreal. She was easily fought off with compliments, light brown skin, dark red wine, and the energy she carried with herself.
Steve was reluctant and saw where Tomi was going with it. He tried to avert himself from the trouble that he could sense, but Tomi was very persuasive. Since Steve too had many beers, he was losing to his hormones.
Tomi grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him up off the couch. They stumbled together into the living room. "I'm down, Tomi. Not this…please," Steve held her close to him.
***
"Where the fuck have you been? You know Miss Boots had to go to the vet!" Steve's wife trembled every time she waved her finger. "I had a meeting with Will and a networking party and had to teach tonight! Make some money for your stupid animals. I told you I'd drop-kick them all if they throw up on my papers again."
Taking off his coat, he set his hat on the rack and lurched toward the kitchen for relief. He helped himself with a tall canned beer from the fridge. "You can be a real bitch and still have cancer," Steve smacked the refrigerator door closed and stormed toward the basement door with his keys in the kitchen.
Steve loved the stairs leading down to the basement. He even loved the smell of staleness, his refrigerator, and the silence from his wife.
Steve's wife understood something was up with him, and he was not the same man she once knew before. She knew he was acting weird and averting from her. Although she suspected another woman in his life, she was too afraid to confirm her suspicions.
"Cucumbers love sea monkeys," Steve thought. He was grumbling because he had not taken his meds for a month now.
When Steven taught at Our Mother of Sorrow, he would hide in the bushes to stalk girls. He liked the girls that majored in the hard sciences. Steve was a sapiosexual attracted to young girls' smart brains, literally making him a borderline pedophile. He would film them as best he could. However, the leaves from the bushes would get in the shot. He wanted it to be perfect. Not like bad porn. Even though Steve's IQ was 185, he still couldn't refrain from such malicious activities that could jeopardize his entire career and the respect people gave him. He even wrote the textbooks used at Our Mother of Sorrow and was well respected within the intellectual community.
Whenever he missed his medicines, he would utter bizarre things. "Can I take your picture?" or "Gosh, that's a wonderful interpretation; you sure are gifted." The younger ones loved this type of attention and respected him, and he knew it. He blindly trusted the girls he lured to engage in sexual activities with him.
Sitting in his basement, he could hear his wife walking upstairs. He cringed every time he heard her move.
"Ah, that'll be good," Steve told himself. He lifted his collection of vintage videos and pictures out of the right bottom drawer in the basement. Everything Will and The Collective wanted was in his bottom left drawer with a cheap metal door lock.
***
He had a particular affinity for one girl. After the party today, he realized he still had that same affinity for that girl. His suspicions were confirmed. It was Tomi. In college, she excelled in all her classes, especially chemistry. He would follow her home and watch her through windows. He even possessed many photos of Tomi that nobody knew about.
Steve went back upstairs after a good jerk in the basement to one of the photos of Tomi. He went to the room and ambled his way to the main door. He clicked open the door and went outside, leaving his wife and five cats alone. It was midnight, and the owls were hooting.
Stars and soft rock came tumbling out of Steve's stereo. He remembered when he was in college with his friends when beakers mattered. The wind blew his hair as he reminisced about his old days in the 80s. As his cars' tires screeched the perfectly paved roads, he found himself in a constant state of remorse. He began to contemplate what he had done with his life and thought he could turn the thing around to pursue everyday living.
Steve felt good about the decision he made. It was hot and humid, and Steve drove south down into the city. He took a right on Wine Dr., crossed over Circus Dr. to WayWay, and took a left from there.
There, he sat outside an apartment complex where he hung out in the 80s and wondered why he came there again. He disdained his life. No one listened to his engineering ideas; Tomi did not love him; neither did his wife, the animals, or his two kids. It was always Will who people listened to.
Steve reached around the door and opened the handle from the outside. Christopher Cross's voice echoed through the dilapidated building. Steve knew this was the end of the song.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door gently. To his surprise, nobody answered. He then turned the knob and pushed the door open.
"I can't lie anymore; Jake is one of us. Our blood," Steve pulled out a jagged, sharp knife and slit his throat as soon as he said this.
"Another one down. We need Jake alive." A man in a white coat slammed the door shut, dropping the phone on the ground. Two large white men wearing Stalin red were standing behind him. They each were holding two large trash bags of Steven in the dark.
Friday
"We've got Jake's place in the parameter. He lives next door, and we are hunkering down here, tracking him every hour. We've hired ten more people to capture Jake, as you've stated as our goal now."
Now back together, Jake and Tomi were enjoying a fine dinner on the patio table. The sun was out, shining bright above them, and the bustle of the city was on routine. Suddenly, amid the perfect setup, Jake put the fork down, and the sound of elegant cutlery against the expensive ceramic plate rose in the air.
He then stood up, walked around Tomi, and grabbed her hard by her shoulders. Tomi surrendered, oblivious to the atrocities Jake had conspired against her in his mind. He perceived himself in her dark hazel eyes like Tomi perceived herself in his dark blue eyes. Jake leaned forward to kiss Tomi on her gentle pink lips.
"Jake, you're hurting me," Tomi cried. With confidence, Jake replied, "Don't ever lie to me again about facts to your advantage, Tomi. I believed in you and our lives together. By the way, Tomi, you are a hooker with a gold tooth, don't you agree?"
After the words that Jake articulated pierced through Tomi's ears, she was lost in pensiveness. She mustered herself together and thought about all the bad things she had inflicted for her own gain. Her heart figuratively pierced when the actions she indulged in with Reggie circulated in her mind. She thought about the manilla envelope and what it contained. Tomi also thought about how she satisfied the businessman, the lawyers, and the scientists - who were after Jake - emotionally and as well as physically.
Jake is right; I am a gold-tooth hooker. She thought to herself.
"Say it! Say it, Tomi!" Tomi stayed reserved, sure of her safety. She looked over Jake's shoulder and saw people from The Collective, dressed in white coats, taking down notes.
"Say it, Tomi, Say it!" Jake kept provoking her to give him the satisfaction that he longed.
The Collective said more money would come to me if I got Jake to volunteer himself alive. Tomi recalled the deal in her mind.
"I don't know who to trust anymore," Tomi shouted, slamming her golden beer on the table. Tears were brimming in her eyes.
Jake and Tomi were outside a redone pacific beach '50's motel. It was a perfect spot for couples with a floral setting. The aquamarine waves pounded the cliffs behind them near the pool, and many of the people around them were busy making out. Jake gently grabbed the yellow paper Tomi was reading and turned around intensely.
Availing the opportunity, Tomi stood up in a swift motion, her hair flying casually on the wings of the cold breeze, and got around Jake, distracting him by exposing her body. She kneeled in front of him.
"You need to listen to me now," she said as she put her hands on her hips and spun around. Her long hair was slung. She stopped and faced him, looking for a compliment thinking this would work. Jake was an animal in bed, and she liked it that way. Jake, however, was oblivious to what Tomi was trying to do. He sat there in sheer silence and watched Tomi with perplexed eyes.
"Listen, you've got everything right in front of your face here with me. See? I don't do that, Jake. Stop being paranoid," said Tomi. She squeezed his cheeks hard, believing in competition and control. Jake pulled on a local IPA, sinking those cheeks.
"Let's get outta here. My life is my choice. Don't you know that? My life is my choice!" Jake slammed down his beer. He checked again for his defensive weapon after the drinks, and it was there.
"Okay! I think you are right," stated Tomi. She then stood up, wobbled around in her bikini, and put on a beach cover-up, pointing toward one of The Collective agents monitoring Jake from across the pool. Jake looked around and perceived the agent sitting across the pool. He stood up, leaving the $10,000 Tomi left under her chair, paced up, and firmly held Tomi's hand.
"Let's go," Jake whispered, grabbing Tomi by the waist.
The aggression Jake depicted made Tomi feel safe. Jake, with his extraordinary abilities, was very precious. Tomi started to battle with her inner indecisiveness, thinking about whether to turn Jake in or not. She knew he was worth millions to The Collective, and she could make a fortune if she turned him in. The trees were mangled into a canopy above them, shielding them from the storm that was approaching.
Soon, Jake and Tomi both left, taking the white wine and brick road to Tomi's neighbor's party. While driving his '54 MB, he, romantically, put his hand around Tomi, giving her false signals. Jake was well aware of the atrocities Tomi had up her sleeves, so he gave in and pretended to be on her side. He knew this was Will's other deceitful, incentivized inquisition.
***
Cuz, Jake's acquaintance, harmless yet a pedestrian, walked past an apartment complex by the 7-Eleven. The weather was hazy and strong winds bustled against the windows of the apartment complex. Soon, with a resonant swift of thunder, the heavens busted into a torrential downpour. People started running in urgency to save themselves from the storm that hovered above them. Amongst the storm and haze, a pair of hazel eyes from the 3rd floor of the apartment complex followed Cuz, who was running to find shelter, wearing a white puffer coat.
Cuz, oblivious to the fact that he was being watched, ran down the street, took an extreme left onto Wine Dr. and Way Way St., and took a left from there. Right around the block, on the zebra crossing, he stood and waited for the light to turn red. The streetlight was showering above him as he tried to muster himself together. Cuz was not okay; he was experiencing an abrupt heartache. As soon the lights turned red, he crossed the street and released a sigh of relief.
***
Wild metal music dominated the atmosphere. The smell of crunchy peanut butter Mary had just devoured lingered in the room. It was dark and hard to perceive what sounded like a party in the house. Soon, her shadow started to joust against the window. From behind the curtain, she was peeping, waiting for Jake to come home. Mary was Jake's next-door neighbor who often indulged in promiscuous activities. Lately, eyeing Jake, she had developed lustful feelings for him, and tonight, she planned on seducing him. She waited for hours, but Jake didn't show up. Later the same night, a black silhouette of a human figure walked into the house.
"That's it. This is my cue," said Mary stripping. She had an impeccable body, an hourglass figure, and prominent curvacious features. Down her spine, she experienced an abrupt rush of adrenaline she had never felt before.
***
It was a secret from Jake that Cuz knew where he lived. Even though they had met each other quite a few times and had known each other for a while, Jake had never invited him over. Unbeknownst to Jake, Cuz followed him one day, and that is how he found about his whereabouts. The door to the house Cuz was in front of was open. "I cannot," he whispered to himself. He turned around to walk away but seeing the sky pouring heavily, he stopped. He knew Jake's house was the only place he could find shelter. So instead of inviting himself in, he waited on the porch for the rain to stop.
Thirty minutes had passed, and the downpour continued. After a long wait of some thirty minutes, Mary's curtains reacted. She pulled the curtains open to perceive the silhouette that was resting on Jake's porch. Meanwhile, Cuz stood up and sat on Jake's porch swing.
"Are you okay?" a female voice pierced through Cuz's ears. With goosebumps on his body, eyes wide opened, he grabbed Mary by the throat and placed a screwdriver against her adam's apple.
"Shit, lady! Don't do that! I could have killed you in an instant," Cuz chided. He withdrew his weapon and sat back down on the swing. "Where is Jake? I thought you were him." Cuz snarled.
"I have no idea. I, myself, have been expecting him," Mary replied.
"Expecting him? Who even are you, and what are you doing here in a robe?" Cuz asked and scrutinized her from head to toe.
"I am his next-door neighbor, Mary." She cupped her hair behind her ears and rightened her robe. The shape of her body became more prominent.
With his mouth ajar, Cuz kept staring at Mary. He was aroused by Mary's smooth body, damp hair, and impeccable features. Although it was dark and Cuz thought about forcing himself on her, he managed to subdue his beastly urges. Cuz looked away and tried to think of something else.
Mary sensed the arousal on Cuz's mind. She glanced over him from head till toe, and in her mind, she found him attractive. Even though they wanted the same thing from each other, they both were not ready to make the first move.
Mary walked off the porch and stood under the open sky. With her mouth ajar, she looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. As the raindrops traced her smooth skin down to the wet grass, her robe got heavy and fell off. Although she was well aware she was standing naked in front of Cuz, she didn't bother covering herself up. Cuz, on the other hand, couldn't get his eyes off her. He stood up, paced over her, and grabbed her in an embrace. Cruz then forced his hand on her chest. Mary submitted. Later, under the open sky, they both made love.
***
"Hey, guys, what's up? I am so glad you both could make it," Bob yelled off his wet porch amid the drizzles of the storm. He looked impeccable as a character: middle-aged, bald, Jewish, and donning a pair of glasses.
Jake and Tomi, striding up the sidewalk, waved at him with a forced smile on their faces. They stepped inside the house, the inside booming with loud rock music. The party seemed wild with folks doing heroin, dancing, couples making out, and people, guests playing beer pong – an epitome of an old-fashioned party. No wonder Tomi wanted to be there. Among the desolated crowd, Will went unnoticed, running here and there with a wine glass. Judging by his gait, it was inevitable that he was out of control.
There was an art exhibition in the house. A group of galloping dong snuggies (uncircumcised men) from France came running behind Will through the back door, passing him in the living room, hollering noises, looking for bathrooms in immense urgency.
A Russian man was the 'curator for Will's archaeological funds' here in a historical house of the university. With a weight in his voice, "I am Russian, so art isn't soft boys," he bellowed, looking down from the second floor to the group of galloping dong snuggies running by, though he couldn't take his eyes off their junk. He wore a pair of red ‘83 Adidas with black velcro.
"They hired me. I'm swamped and critical," he spoke these words under his breath, looking at a piece similar to Piet Mondrian. "Something like that, right? Mark it up!" he was speaking to himself now out loud, pointing at the piece. "This piece meets one requirement, and that's to evoke any emotion. Bad art evokes nothing, not even I don't like this.' At least that's something," Eh hum, cough, cough.
"I'll give those boys a hall pass through this side of the house, but they're fucking too loud! No bathrooms!!" The Russian curator waived his club to his other hand. "No bathrooms!" He was alone this entire time and just fine with that.
Jake watched this group of young men running naked out of the house. They were trying to impress the crowd with their dong snuggie 'abilities,' which nobody paid attention to.
Jake took a sip out of his wine glass, watching the last one go out the front door. After that, he turned to Will.
"Listen, this is the last time I will answer your wish-fulfillment questions. Will, when you know something, you know it; there's no magic, it's not religious, ancient, or spiritual. And, now, to answer your ideological question… Putting it simply, I work out, have good intuition, and check my watch, that's it, Will. It's simpler than you need it to be. There's your answer," Jake revealed calmly to Will's ear as the rest of the men ran by.
Jake leaned back, wearing all clean tailored white, and downed a glass of good red. Jake was going to commit a celebrated spiritual "Hara-Kiri." That is, Jake's goal was to reason one's gift of life. Folks do things with tips.
Will was drunk talking. However, nobody was listening. They all were worried about his condition.
"Well, even it's… it's just that I still want to make sure. Did you fade in on the airport wall? Here, spit in this tube and hand me your glass." Will was too drunk to remember the details the next day and was petrified of Jake.
Jake had a reputation lately not to be confronted with smug hubris. Will felt enlightened, somehow, though. Sure hungover and embarrassed but smiling.
"Hey, buddy, get down here. I want to talk to you about Tomi." Reggie was sitting at his podium desk with the envelope Tomi left him, watching his customers check out a classic 1985 Jeep Grand Wagoneer. "Come now! brother." Reggie pushed back and exhaled deeply.
Jake hopped up from the couch and walked out to his car. He parked in a closed parking spot around the block. Jake settled into it and flew to meet Reggie.
"What’s up, Reggie? What were you talking about? What's she about now? It's money, I bet. How much?" Jake leaned, overreaching in his pocket for the money he brought, assuming it was the same with Tomi. He looked at Reggie's desk.
"What's the envelope?" He picked up Reggie's coffee and took a sip. "Walk with me,” he suggested and tugged Jake's arm. "Come on," Reggie led the way out the front after gathering the contents from his desk.
"What the hell, man, you're freakin' me out!” Jake kicked the gravel, walking past classics. Reggie pulled the ‘band-aid’ off in one go. "Here’s your truth, Jake. She’s trying to pay me to turn you in aggressively or get you to volunteer your body…or even kill you for less money. I can't believe this, Jake. I love you, brother. And…here’s the five hundred thousand in cash she gave me to think about it.” He pointed to the manila envelope she gave him.
“Tomi’s saying Will is paying her to capture you. She's a witness to your God-given talents, this says. And she’s your closest female to collect your genes easily, Will mentions right here,” Reggie points to a copied piece of paper written about this.
“Will is funded by an international science collective or The Collective for short. This company has representatives from every country on the globe for furthering and exploring new life on Earth and in space, including Tibet. Even those places you’d never imagine. See it all written here, Jake. The Collective wants you alive as a global military weapon and in space exploration.” Reggie firmly put the contents back in the envelope and handed it to Jake.
“I might have to go away now with this knowledge, Reggie. It’s about ‘making it.’ I will show up. Those are natural-born talents you all possess relatively and individually, don’t forget that. All of you have these abilities. They aren't God-given, Reggie, and you’ve known that since we played basketball together."
Jake wasn’t surprised about Tomi; he knew she had money from an unknown source but not to that degree and for those specific services against him. It was time to show them.
“Don’t go; I don't know where you’ll go, and I promise they’ll find you anywhere here. My advice? This… this has always been your destiny to face yourself. You've probably bugged already by having sex with Tomi.” Reggie turned his body to the left and looked at the ‘We Fix Transmissions’ sign.
"Reggie, what would you do? We’re all going away at some point.” Jake’s hands were deep in his dark blue jean pockets; he was looking down at his blue leather boots.
“Listen, I ain't made like you, Jake. You were born with two distinct talents. Physical strength beyond any measure seen or unseen and a mental connection to most nouns – that is different. I’ve felt your sweat. I learned with those experiences, Jake. But this is larger than that organic psychedelic therapy control of the mind trick. I know you do more than use your sweat and physical strength as tools, good sir. I'm giving you this money to do what you need to do."
Jake reached out to Reggie and shook his hand firmly, his sharp crystal blue eyes piercing into Reggie’s.
"I'm requesting you and Tomi to meet me at my house late in the day this Sunday. I want to show you both something. Anyway, are you still having that BBQ on Friday lunch? Can't wait to be with you, your wife, and your kids. I’ll use this money to pay for it. Here take this much at least.” Reggie reached and pocketed all the money. Jake didn't look; he trusted Reggie.
Jake knew all this would be coming out this way. An ocean wave is a metaphor – it's coming, no matter what.
“I’ll come alone at lunch, and we'll enjoy our time together. Take care of yourself.” He walked to his armored ‘54 MB and left thinking about how to do this.
An auburn grizzly man pulled his rifle back from the edge of Reggie's roof and ducked down. Crippling Jake to catch him was becoming the goal now for those who knew his worth. The money was just too good. Jake was being hunted at every turn with every kind of weapon obtainable.
It was swiftly becoming national pride to kill Jake before he killed others in some unknown way. The Collective now wanted him either way to study. "Yep, Harvey. We’ve got him cornered. This is our guy.” The grizzly sniper ate a PB&J in one bite before reaching for water.
Saturday
Jake knew Chris hung out at a dive bar called ‘The Lamplighter' – situated a few blocks away from his house. He could disappear in there with everyone else escaping their created hells. It was pitch black and hard to perceive anyone in that setting.
"Yeah, I think I can make a million bucks off doing this, ya know?" Chris Liss knew he was on a time clock after fucking up the red number seven outlined in yellow at the airport. He knew, sooner or later, The Collective or Jake would get him. However, for now, nobody had delivered the instructions on his capture.
“Yeah, so I told Jake that I was in charge when he headed out to the moving sidewalk down that alley. I don't know if he survived; he just disappeared. I am not sure how. It seemed like he possessed some supernatural abilities. I’m sure The Collective got him in the yellow ball, and I'll get paid. A million bucks are coming my way, so no worries. Give everyone here another barkeep! Everyone! The drinks are on me!"
Chris downed his twelfth Bud Light, feeling invincible and holding a can of mace in his left hand under the stool.
"Hell, if I can beat Jake, then there's a new sheriff in town, right?" Chris was drunk talking to the bartender who, in no way, was listening to this deadly drunk grifter.
Amid Chris's babbling, Jake slid in the front door, and the bartender winked at him. Jake sat next to Chris while talking, pointing to the pool table players across the room.
He slapped his back. “Hey man, how’s it going today? Order me what you are having, Mr. Liss." Jake put his right hand behind his head, exhaling smoke into Chris' face, gripping, bruising Mr. Liss' right shoulder with his left hand.
"Holy shit, Jake, you're alive! Hey man, you made it. You disappeared into the airport…what the fuck?!" Chris knew this was his end. He then sprayed mace into Jake's face immediately and tried to run away. However, the intoxicated Chris had no control over his emotions or his body; he fell off the barstool in an attempt to getaway.
Jake didn't feel the mace. He thought it was water and downed his beer in one go.
"Yeah, Chris, your nine lives are up. I'm going home, but before that, I’m sending you to hell. So…how would you like your death, Chris?" stated Jake.
"Probably the only correct choice you'll ever make in your life. You can't lose." Jake wiped his face and calmly lifted Chris off the ground.
On the vinyl jukebox, a record changed from one to another loud in Chris' ears. Filter’s Hey Man Nice Shot was playing loud, causing Chris to flashback into the 90s.
“I wish I would've met you
Now it's a little late
What you could've taught me
I could have saved some face
They think that your early ending
Was all wrong
For the most part, they're right
But look how they all got strong.”
He began pushing his right temple, squinting his eyes, not believing what's on the surrounding sports TVs. The 20-inch speakers were booming. It was 1994.
Chris reached with his left fingers to touch Jake. He’s real. Yes, he is. He thought to himself. It appeared to him he was hallucinating.
“That's why I say, man, nice shot/What a good shot man/A man/Has gun/Hey man/Have fun/Nice shot.”
Filter clicked up higher with a kitchen helper turning the volume up to 14, staring at Chris, leveling the bar with inspirational lyrics.
“So, as you can see, your destiny has arrived in a song, and I've got two 44s. I bet after that song, or maybe when after the bartender tells me to. Again, it’s your choice but, this is your death song, Chris. You picked it.”
"We can fight this out, or you can go with dignity, which is new to you, I know. The Collective wanted me alive and were to pay you after the red number 7 wrapped in yellow captured me alive. Your timing is bad." Jake smiled and waved his right hand as if showing Chris something behind the bar, looking into the wall of glass. Chris's head fell on the bar erupting in tears, and he screamed. The trails from Jake's hand were bright colors and bending long. The bar crowd stood up, pointing at them.
“Nah, Nah y’all, this is my cousin. He’s missing his girlfriend. I've got this. Everything is under control, people." Jake put his arm around Chris, standing him up. They began walking out the front door, and Jake stopped. "Your choice, front or back door." Chris knew now what Jake was asking.
"People like me, Jake. People like me. They really like me." Chris was nodding to the front door; they were close.
He was standing outside on the sidewalk of the dark daytime bar. “Well, there’s one decision, my man. Let's civilly do this." Jake pulled out a retractable sword and handed it to Chris on the sidewalk, the sun yearning for attention. "Here, now, die with honor if you have any." Jake pushed a recessed silver button, and the sword snapped into shape.
“I know you’ve been working with Tomi…to capture me for money. A Collective scientist, right, Chris? Like the white coat in there? That’s what the yellow orb was supposed to do,” Jake smacked him hard behind his head.
“I know Chris, I know.” Jake looked down at the sword Chris was holding, not moving his eyes.
“Okay, okay, what the fuck, Jake? That’s not true.” Chris needed to barf.
“We go way back, Jake. Way back to the south.” Familiar with Jake’s anger, he could not make eye contact with him. However, he thought he could talk him out of this.
"Remember when I told you to think about what way back meant to us? You were tripping in the 90s at my place, and you did not think or learn anything during that time. We do not have a way back in the south. You are useless here with your lies and behavior. It's 1994 tonight,” replied Jake.
Jake pulled out his crimson red .44 magnum pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at Chris Liss, saying, "Pop quiz. Make a choice Chris. Die with honor at your hand or a coward at mine." Chris’s eyes congealed with dread as he observed Jake’s finger moving to the gun’s trigger.
Looking at the gun, pressed against his temple, he pissed himself. Jake looked at him and observed his pants turning a darker shade.
"Now choose!” Jake un-cocked the pistol and put it to his side.
"This has always been your choice, Chris. Either way, you win and are set free.” Jake felt Chris’s depressed feelings.
“I choose the sword,” Chris mouthed.
Jake then flipped the sword and plugged it into Chris’s gut in one move. Jake pushed his body down, gutted to the ground.
"There, Chris, the one thing in your life you've done the right way. Goodnight.” Jake picked him up, impaled with the sword, and threw him high, landing on top of the building. Blood dripping down.
Jake began walking home, not looking back or acknowledging the dying groans he heard from Chris's chosen destiny.
An older woman perching with Tomi watched everything happened. "It's been done before Stella; it's all been done before. Now, where’s your queen going on this Chessboard?” Both of them nodded to Jake as he walked by.
"…Now that the smoke's gone and the air is all clear/Those who were right there/They've got a new kind of fear…" Filter's Hey Man Nice Shot blared from The Lamplighter into the city.
With a local San Diego IPA in his hands, Jake needed liquor and drinks tonight after Chris & The Lamplighter. Killing Chris has not done anything to stop The Collective. There were more white coats and weapons around tonight than Jake has ever seen in one place. He will be driving his car only later.
Jake was already sure drunk off pure Chattanooga moonshine – a total of three growlers. It was the only thing that could numb the psychic pain. Jake was aware these were his last days on Earth. The time was now to die, and he figured out how to pass — HaraKiri in Japan, the honorable method of taking one’s own life. Tomi needed to know he knew their spotted history. He had to do this with Tomi here at his place.
"Get over here, Tomi. I've got something to teach you. No bullshit like you said, so, no bullshit. I promised Will the goods an hour ago. I have got you followed now, so do not stop anywhere on the way. You’re out of the loop," Jake proclaimed.
Jake then slammed his red rotary phone down after leaving her a message. He was in walking meditation around his house, with no spiritual materialism here.
The phone ringed. "Tomi, come on over, have some moonshine with me, old school style. Like we are kids again. You’re safe with me now.”
Jake threw the fishhook and caught her. “Okay, then I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” She was a walking projector. Not listening to what he had just said — not listening made her a megaphone of personal confidential information — dangerously exposed.
Jake glanced out his living room window and saw crazy Mary looking at him. He pulled the blinds closed down low. Her desperate-looking face was erased.
Mary turned away from her window and looked at her house; it had the look of giving up. Mary walked to her first-floor bedroom, stepping over boxes that looked packed as if she was moving. She marched with determination to her white chic side table.
"What is that number; ugh, I can never remember it. Oh, this is…119733139. It's the same number Chris used for the red number 7 outlined in yellow.” Mary pushed the code to open her side table and grabbed the one gun meant to kill Jake.
“Maybe I’ll rape him; at least I won’t be the only girl.” Mary dreamed of what else she could give to Chris to get close to Jake.
Sunday
"Hey, Reggie, are you ready for me? I know it's Sunday. I had work to do." Jake's alarm went off at 10 am to make sure lunch was still on. He got up and called Reggie the first moment.
"That you, Jake?" Reggie checked the grill’s heat with water.
"Hell yeah, it's Jake. Sorry about Friday."
Reggie stood out front of a fired grill billowing smoke off the grates, waving away the burnt air in his beautifully landscaped backyard. "Come on, when you can. I've been grilling all weekend. You are just in time. There is a pony keg here with great stuff inside. Come on over, brother." Reggie dropped his phone on purpose in the thick-sodded grass and flipped all the burgers at once. Still, underneath it all, he was furious with Tomi. He worried sick about his friend being paranoid about things that have not happened.
Jake hopped out of his bed, got dressed, and drove to Reggie's house. He pulled up to Reggie's two-story Family Ties – an awesomely retouched Gothic Revival styled home.
It looked like Michael Gross, APK, and their family lived here.
Reggie landscaped his yard very privately around his entire lot.
Behind the big Iron Gate was his beautiful green garden. Reggie loved growing flowers and plants. He owned a large greenhouse with orchids everywhere, built against the ten-foot-high back-rock wall he built by hand, all around the perimeter. Reggie had made it in the one year he took off from work – this yard, this house, this castle of warmth. People could be here early in life and later in life. It felt safe. So did Reggie and his family.
Jake was thinking and looking at the house from Reggie's driveway. Maybe the first time in a long way, he was finally thinking. His calling in life was unfolding. "Who else knows?" Jake expressed out loud to himself in the car. He cleared his throat, grabbed lotion, and opened his driver's side door heading inside.
He walked through the left wooden gate to the backyard and pool. "Reggie, my man, it smells great out here." Jake had a brown cross-shouldered bag, holding the leather strap at the base around his waist, supporting it. "Reggie, I've got something for you." Jake stepped to Reggie, virtually at attention.
"Take it easy. It is Sunday. There is football on, and we ain't got shit to do but enjoy each other's company. Isn't that the thinking the Dali Lama is preachin'?" Reggie scratched his head. "Maybe…something like that."
Reggie was happy Jake was here. He heard a heavy clank on the grill counter. "Jake…Jake, why are you throwing me your Mercedes-Benzf '54 keys?" Reggie looked at Jake head to toe.
"I'm leaving to travel. You will find a good home for her. She will run. Listen, just come to my family's house tonight at 9 pm, and you will know why. It is important, and you will like it. Remember that old house with my crazy grandparents, Reggie?"
Jake and Reggie later spent the afternoon together, reminiscing their lives together.
"'Member when you started that fight protecting me if you could on the court?" Reggie slugged half a beer.
"I do. Well, those rednecks cannot say shit like that to you. Life's too short to miss a justifiable fight."
They both laughed and sipped, remembering when. "Ok, Reg, it's time for me to go, but I need you there tonight," told Jake.
"It's done, Jake. You'll see me there first, brother." Jake fist-bumped Reggie and stood up quickly, looking blue to hazel. He did not turn around while walking out the side gate from Reggie's backyard.
Jake called a Lyft on his cell, leaving his MB '54 car behind. It was Sunday evening in Southern California. A deep ocean blue with electric stars painted the sky.
Jake was standing in front of his family's house, belting what would happen—imagining it.
The whole twilight event transpired, possessing an extraordinary clarity and looked more seductive than had ever existed. The danger of love was in this way. The youth there were enthused with non-focused energy, ready to kill Jake for money and save the country from the shadows of The Collective.
Jake invited everyone he knew over to his family's house later that evening for a surprise. Tomi and Will came, so did Bob and, of course, Reggie. The bellied lawyer was also invited. Chris and Steve would have been there too if they were alive.
The block and The Collective with snipers on every roof were there. The Collective will take him alive, injured or healthy – whatever works?
Jake was dictating terms now by choosing his way of "death," as our human beings' culture defines it.
Tomi came hoping Reggie had convinced him to turn Jake in so she could make the most money. Thinking more on it, Tomi shrugged. "Or even kill him. I don't care anymore about yesterday." Tomi was turning left onto Balboa Ave. in her hunter-green Land Rover. She had it in her mind that this was the last time for Jake. She did not know what he planned to do and where he planned to go. He had kept it a secret.
It was 9 o'clock in the night. Jake was wrapped in electric stars behind him. He then stepped to an amplified megaphone standing on his family's porch, exposed. His cut chest and eight-pack abdomen exposed. His body now was at the mercy of others.
"You all have touched me on the raw. Even if you have never seen me., I am no different from you. This time here tonight is not an artful sacrifice. This is real. Do not look at the time and come if you are coming. Stay if you have doubts. Reggie keeps by my side always. Go with your intuition, brothers and sisters. That is all."
Each group of men from The Collective made gestures to each other to give the signal to shoot Jake, pointing with a two-fingered motion towards the group. Some were throwing up question marks of what to do. There were too many people.
The listening group, without hesitation, then stepped into his family's library at once, eyes glazed. The outside crowd began to feel the same control. The third floor of the house was busy with curtains moving and weapons outlined by the inside light.
Jannetta wanted him dead tonight. "He's not the most valuable one, I am," his grandmother, wearing a white robe and seated, thought while Jake was talking outside downstairs.
"If Chris, Tomi, and The Collective couldn't do it with the red number seven in yellow, then I'll do it. I will keep it simple and clean with one shot to the forehead from up here. No one will know what happened. He likes it that way anyway," the pale, sick Jannetta with fire in her eyes will not be told no as she mumbled through his words.
Jake saw the mixed group standing where they should be inside the house; a reliable, natural energy was there. Jake walked to them and stopped.
He turned around, reached for his 12-gauge break action shotgun, and shot a sizeable opaque button mounted on a glass door that entered the library. The listening group faded away as the sound ruminated in the air.
The group was calm in their space. A particular wind out there settled them as a sedative. Diving in the ocean felt similar. It was aromatic and made all of them feel better about talking with each other.
The narcist-ego project of peoples' lives was gone. Jake stood next to Tomi in Vipassana, walking meditation. "It looks like we're round, Jake."
All of them looked at Jake with a backdrop of Einsteinian truths and colorful feelings floating behind him. They were in their place in time wrapped around them.
"We look like us! Is this where you've been coming, Jake?" They all were in a protective soft psychic place. Nothing can scare them here. They are only curious and think nothing more.
"This is space in time. See it?" Jake had his hands folded into his forearms, covered with his black jacket, watching them, glancing at Reggie on his right.
The Earth was now under the umbrella of this protective soft psychic enclosure. All human beings were experiencing this in their way tonight. The visuals, the feelings were theirs alone. They felt safe and confident. Awake and asleep, they become better people.
Psychiatrists will need to find another job after this.
"I do see it!" Their edges and personal doubts were gone. They all watched their feelings travel through sweeping, colored clouds.
They leaned towards a bright heavenly white light in the distance.
"I do see it. I do. Can we go somewhere else like the colors and feelings do when they leave? I see it now. I'm aware." The world spoke in unison in the key of F-sharp.
Jake was checking his watch, adjusting internally for time. "We can, but we're under the clock. All of you need to go back. Reggie, stay with me."
"Ok. I'm sorry, Jake, for what I've done." Tomi expressed feeling confident, warm, whole, and complete. She will forget all of this experience with Jake in her life, as will everyone.
Time was letting go of itself.
We will have favorite colors that were brought to us as gifts in the wind. We will own and complete wishes for our lives. The pleasant smells they will find them hope. Thoughts in our lives will be curious and smiling with us.
For our safety, we will never know the truth about Jake.
Reggie was by Jake's side, wondering what happens next. "Home, that's all Jake ever wanted. A home." Reggie thought to himself at how simple this all was. Reggie was ready for his destiny now, armed with the truth.
"Reggie, come stand next to me and look out there," Jake pointed towards what Reggie perceived as the Earth. "What are you going to do after this?" Jake began tightening the buttons on his Reagan-tailored stone-colored overcoat.
Reggie saw the last of the group fade back out.
"I don't know, Jake; you've spun my world around in our lives. What do you expect me to do? I mean, I am only going to remember this! Ok, I'll do whatever you ask." Reggie believed in his friend.
He had sheer faith in Jake. He had seen our kind of miracles to share them in space and time.
"The world will be a better place, Reggie. It is contagious. Tag, you're it." Jake relaxed back into the darkness and faded away slowly, wholly. He left us.
Reggie reached in his pocket as Jake left.
To be continued.