Noir scenes of escape out of a mad world (withajmmuse)

 

Jörn says,

“....so, what I was asking— and was —in a round about way—was trying to say—”

but I interrupt him feeling a dread of unease, 

“look, Jörn, I know what this is about,” I say, but ....still, I see his expression is doubtful, as he tries to say something but I ignore this and just keep talking, “we don’t have to talk about this ok? I really have never assumed or expected anything from you—from—us—this.... I’ve had no expectations, so—whatever.... ok?” and not looking at him, in a rush of words say, “—so, look—once this is all over and the safe is —well—all sorted out—you don’t have to worry about me, all right? No obligations— no strings, so— you’re free, we can just go back to our lives, you know, as it was before we ever met. And I’ll be fine about it—don’t worry! So, don’t worry about me being difficult —I swear, I won’t still be hanging around cluttering up your precise and orderly life, if that’s what you’ve been so worried about; it won’t be messy, I’ll just disappear —so relax, you can go back to your family, which will please your mother —or you can do whatever. Ok? —you’re a free agent, it’s cool.”

Not once do I look at him. Even once I am done. 

But the silence that follows .... leaves me with such a painfully awkward feeling. And still I don’t look up. I seem to be glued to stare blindly at a spot on the floor 

but feel aware of such a long, sticky lapse of silence 

only, after such length and intensely schooled willpower of still not turning my head he says,

“what are you talking about?”

and as I try to decide how to reply to that, his phone alerts a call

“Fan....” with a note of annoyance, he says under his breath and answers, “Willem, what’s up? .... you’re kidding.... what-the-fuck, where are they? .... I thought they were together.... they don’t have a spare? .... that’s about an hour from here—why didn’t they just meet and all come together? ....I know where it is, it’s easier if I go.... ok, then you should watch the monitors and make a pot of coffee—and I think you’re right, it’s time to surface,” then Jörn ends the call 

Only now do I dare look at him

He just looks at me in that unreadable, enigmatic way and says to me,

“do you feel like getting out of here for awhile? I think you’ve been stuck in here too long as it’s obviously made you lose your senses, let’s go.”

“Go where? What’s going on?” I ask

But then, he tugs me towards the hobbit door by my hand, not bothering to say anything except, 

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

So down the tree trunk winding stairs, and through where we entered by the catacomb tunnels back and then up to the dungeon he says to Willem as we pass the cage,

“I’m taking her too, I think the air quality in here has fucked with her head.”

And I notice the look of surprise on Willem’s face but he just says,

“be careful. Don’t do anything crazy—I should ask you what your plan is but I’m afraid to ask....” as we head to the bat stairwell that I now know leads out to the storefront with the defunct fuel pumps 

“Oh, you’ll need these!” Willem says and tosses a set of keys at Jörn

Outside.... (actually stepping outside again) ....and after facing my hunters ....I feel extremely exposed out in the open again .... even as —before too—it felt so weird to be outside ....after being stuck inside for so long .... 

and only realize that I actually cling to his fingers in a tight grip after he unlocks the passenger door of the pick-up truck —as he nearly has to pry my fingers from their grip on his, terrified of being out in the open after months in a cave

I notice now that the sun has begun to set in the sky 

“Jörn....” I hesitate, somewhat shaky, before climbing to get in and look up at him and as I do I can see in his eyes that he wants to say something 

but instead he shakes his head and stares into my eyes, and in a low tone says, 

“get in....” but then taking my hand again, presses it to his mouth, “you really are obtuse.”

And then I am distracted, and somewhat occupied with finding how thrilling it is to be on the open road to leave what has been my prison. I hardly notice the quiet. So busy watching the scenery and the novelty of freedom.

After several minutes of this it occurs to me to finally ask,

“where are we going?”

“Lake Placid,” he says casually 

“Why?”

“You know, Willem’s guys—our back up. I guess they’re coming from different locations. The others we expect before midnight but—the ones stuck in Lake Placid, apparently, they got two flat tires —and the van only has one spare— so that’s why.”

“Wow, really? Two? That’s bad luck—It’s the rough gravel out here.”

“It’s also Deiter—he’s known for being a reckless driver.”

“So now you have to fix their flat?” 

He kind of laughs and shrugs with a glance at me but then says nothing more about it and looks straight ahead at the road

Then after awhile suddenly says,

“look, I know you’re angry at me, and I really don’t blame you.... it was extremely bad judgement when I left you here....” and again falls back into silence 

After ....still more silence follows. 

Then, suddenly he says, 

“do you have any idea how much I have been regretting it?” then he looks at me and again turns to look back at the road, “you have no idea.... the whole time I was being held there —the whole time knowing that—you’re here ....with these five assassins —knowing while I’m all the way over there— it is only meters between you and them in the underground hiding .... fearing the worst things could happen— as I’m stuck over there and too far to .... I was losing my mind.... duva—if something happened .... and— it’s my fault .... I fucked up, I should know better —and —that was the reason I decided to break out of there and escape.... be the ‘vigilante’ as you called me —because I put you in danger and.... sorry, but—“ and here he pauses and scoffs, “I really have no idea what you were just going on about,” and shakes his head, “but what I was asking you back there was not what you jumped to conclusions about but....” and suddenly hits the breaks, slowing the car down, “oh, we have to stop here— they have an ATM machine,” and without warning, cutting short the conversation, suddenly turns off the road! (convenient excuse....) pulling up to some isolated, little general store boasting in big red letters that they have an ATM with a big sign on the building. 

He reaches inside the glove compartment to get a face mask and puts it on and hands me one,

“here, put it on —do you want anything?”

and as we walk in he says to me,

“don’t touch anything—which reminds me, I have your vaccines.”

As I know better than to ask questions, I only wonder over why he goes to get cash only to then use a card to buy random things 

When we get back in the truck I ask,

“did you really just go in there to get cash, and then go and buy water, an energy drink and chocolate —with your card?”

“The chocolate is for you. I know you prefer dark,” and he hands it to me with the water. “There’s hand sanitizer in the bag, use it.”

And only after a few more minutes of driving does he say,

“I used my card because I know it will draw the attention of the FBI to know where I am. They’ve been thinking I was somewhere more east since my escape.”

After a moment I ask, 

“why do you want them to know?” but then ....as I say it —I put it together ....then realize something else; I say,

“more east? —of where?? ....what?—like Moscow?”

Only he just looks straight ahead and doesn’t answer

Oh woe betide the redhead’s wrath/noir (jm muse)

“.... but you already knew they were after the code,” Jörn says

“I know, but.... I didn’t realize how close — I thought they— I didn’t realize how—near they ....believed—they think.... they are to .... Jörn....” I shudder, “so it’s just hit me— it seems to make it all so ....real now for me....” 

and yet as I say this....  it seems as if vaguely it connects with something ....so familiar....

but it seems as this is now so real.... I feel more conscious of something else.... 

this vague sense ....I can’t quite make sense of  —that seems to run so deep .... as if within my very soul, its very fiber....

And feel aware it seems to affect me even more so —now in this moment— 

as these things become apparent ....like being flung into the eye of a storm, as if shot from —out of time— by some catapult, a storm from long ago, 

and with it seems to bring and stir up something; some long forgotten ancient fear ....some terror 

of impending mortal doom

and I look again at the stack of white hides.... and can see them dripping red, covered in blood .... a dream? so tactile, it doesn’t seem —and yet feel.... far too real feel ....some deep pain 

....and horror of —intangible loss 

“....back before the midnight sun....” I blurt out and the words just spill off my tongue 

And then, startling me, Jörn’s phone alerts a message 

I watch him as he reads it —then reply before he puts his phone away,

But then he just turns to stare out the hide’s wall of window 

“Willem?”

and distracted, without turning from the view he looks out of, he says,

“ja —yes....”

and try to read his face with him silhouetted in profile

And suddenly, still without turning he strangely asks,

“why have you stayed?”

“Why have I stayed?” I ask repeating his question back confused, “what do you mean?” 

 “Why have you?” he asks and turning now to look at me, intently stares into my eyes, “why do you stay?”

“Why? .... what??? ....why-do-I stay?” stunned I repeat and shake my head, looking up at him —somewhat astounded, as I still don’t get his meaning

He stretches his arms out, holding out his hands as if to indicate, with a kind of wave with both hands, “I really don’t get it,” he says with a kind of incomprehensible calm and it is —something.... in his implication ....that suddenly ignites me like a fuse and —sets off 

And.... in a wild flash, I feel myself brewing to erupt, yet calmly enough I begin....

 “and where would you have me go? Hitch hike back to the city?” 

then winding up,  

“....are you serious....? How can you even ask me this? Where do you expect me to go?” I repeat this question to him again, still stunned by his question to me

 and stare at him aware of the alarms in my head now sounding off,

And don’t draw breath for awhile,

 “—look where you brought me! —not exactly the most convenient location, out here in the scenic yet isolated mountains! oh, the Adirondaks that stretch for miles, shall I ski across the country, how’s that?—you fucking just left me here for months—why do I stay!? You fucking ask me that? And go where-where?—exactly? How? How!!? Just tip toe past that friendly guerrilla in a ski mask down there and his jolly merry men swinging rifles in the barn house, should I make them lemonade and tea? They won’t notice me—I’ve been trapped in that demon dungeon for how many weeks?—thanks to you!—and never mind that there has been ten feet of snow or more out there since last October. How ‘bout I just call an Uber, then? Or ask our Amish neighbors for a ride in one of their wagons back to the penthouse in Manhattan? They’re so friendly! Gosh, why didn’t I think of that before?!” my pulse pounding wildly in my head by now as I rage on at him, “here’s a question for you, Jörn: why the fuck did you just leave me here and go sky-diving no doubt from helicopters around the world playing your spy games and behaving like some one man show deranged Scandi-noir vigilante Batman! How fucking dare you ask me that! —you shouldn’t have left me here!” and in my rage kick a pile of blankets across the floor at him stomping past him seething rage and mumbling, “mutha-fukka!” at no one in particular 

and by the silence that follows, I start to suspect I must have shocked him. Well, he’s never seen my rage

I turn now to look at him waiting for his response 

“I know....” he says rather quietly somewhat subdued and with trepidation seems to hesitate. 

He walks across the floor, first in the opposite direction from me and stops to think then turns to look at me thoughtfully,

“....I know you have been stuck here and it’s my fault—believe me, I know....”

“Why would you ask me that? How dare you! I swear to god, Jörn!—really?!—fuck you!—who needs you! ‘Why do you stay’” I repeat this still amazed, “Where would I go?—there’s a great question for you, Jörn— I’d love to hear your suggestions and —how—I’d get to anywhere from here—oh, yeah! —maybe I can charge up that little rover!— now that I know how it works! Wow! —what about that!?”

“If you just calm down a minute, long enough— I can explain that is not what I was asking you,” he finally says now 

I go over to the cot that faces towards the space heater and sit down,

“pray elaborate, as I am not sure how to interpret your original question to soften the blow of your meaning behind ‘why do you stay?’”

“That was not what I meant,” he lets out a heavy sigh and draws his fingers through his hair making it fall free of its tie, “that was not even where I meant this conversation to go....” he walks over to me and looks at me,

“if you can listen to me now....?”

Catacombs & noir double agents (jm muse)

And as I am pulled along by the wrist, I expect to be going back up through to the dungeon, but instead, Jörn pulls me into another direction that is towards the gym. But then he stops at where the corridor winds and then he hits the wall with his fist

“What are you doing?” I ask because I wonder if he’s gone half-mad 

Jörn just raises one brow and inclines his head so I look

I realize that his punching the wall in that way has triggered a release to one of the hidden doorways,

“it’s your birthday but all backwards,” he tells me as he shows me the keypad that is now exposed by the impact of his fist, “year first, month and day. You do it.”

“Where does this lead?” I hesitate 

“It transverses the catacombs but then leads to the hide,” he says and then nods to the keypad for me to put the numbers in

“You put this in then?”

“I added the coded lock, which is also an alarm that gets set off if it’s the wrong set of numbers so be careful.... but the architect designed all this, it was all here,” he says

“Did Lisa know about all this?” still hesitating, I ask searching his eyes

Jörn smiles again in that way that reminds me of a vampire who’s hungry to feed,

“what do you think?” and like tasers, the kryptonite charges through me 

“I—I think...” and it is not the vodka that heats my skin —like a reminder of how long it has been and have trouble loading a thought, 

“Well, that maybe ....and have thought for awhile, honestly .... that—you perhaps likely set it all up,” I say, now turning my head up at him

“Is that what you think, duva?” then, says into my ear, “put in the numbers....”

but as I start to, have to stop to think as how it is all backwards—and then purposely, he sabotages me as he sinks his teeth into my neck

“Do you want me to set off the alarm?” I ask him

He laughs at me and then puts the numbers in himself. Once having done, the door releases as if spring-loaded. He shuts the way behind us after we go through and now I see we are in a different part of the catacombs I don’t know

“So is this like a bird-hide that this leads to?” I ask him as he takes my hand and leads the way

“In a way. That is the idea. It is built in the trees,” he says, “and very clever as it cannot be seen unless you know what to look for.”

“It’s behind the farmhouse?”

“You’ll see,” he says

I see one of the golf carts as we follow the bend and notice it’s being charged with a cord plugged into the catacomb wall

“Is there electricity down here?”

“It’s solar like everything else he built here— and hydropower from under the pond; the pond which is above that ceiling window—over—you know where I mean?— over where the round bed is up there,”  Jörn says now with thoughtful admiration, “the architect was quite a genius,”

and it is this which makes me say,

“he wasn’t just an architect was he?” 

“Hmm....” Jörn smiles, “so, you’ve worked that out too, I guess.”

“So all this wasn’t just a fall-out shelter?”

“Well, I’m sure that had something to do with it as he was privy to inside information,” he stands by the golf cart and unplugs it, “get in, I’ll show you how to use it.”

“I don’t think I should drive, I’ve been drinking,” I tell him

“I won’t tell.”

“Ok....” 

but not realizing the pedal requires only a tap, I hit the wall 

he says,

“it’s not a carnival bumper-car—never mind, move over.”

I climb over him and he slides over. He puts the lights on and the catacombs light up,

“it’s not a golf cart exactly either. It’s like a rover.”

As he drives around awhile I look around, we maneuver through the long, yet narrow passages. I start to realize how complex it all is down here, and feel it would be so easy to get lost

After awhile he says pointing,

“where that glowing bulb is—there is another doorway. That one leads to a passage right under the sauna,” he says, “and, so you know, not that I think you’ll ever need it, but they all have the same number codes down here.”

“Um—where exactly are we going?”

“I just took you in a circle. We’re back where the car was plugged in. Ready?” he asks and parks. “Let’s go,” and gets off and walks towards a spot along the wall where he points to where the way starts to bend again, “right there, under that light. Hit it right here,” and points, “this time you put in the code.”

“So all the doorways are under the lights?”

“Yes,” he says, “each light marks a doorway. They all have this small impression here, that’s where you hit.”

This time when we go through, the next corridor is different. This is more like a tunnel and is narrow. It is noticeably warmer and the walls seem more like stucco or clay. The way leads to a very narrow winding staircase 

“The hide is actually built from a very big, old, dead tree. We’re climbing up through what was once the trunk of the tree,” Jörn says as we climb up

“Ok, so—when you said it is built in the trees you meant it is built in a tree,” I say

“Both. This is surrounded by all those tall trees you can see from our bedroom back at the barn house. You can’t see the hide at all because of all the trees— and the outside walls are mirrored so.... it’s practically invisible.”

“So it’s like a treehouse? —a hide treehouse....”

“Precisely,” he stops at the top where there’s an odd round door, like a hobbit house, “you first,” he says and pushes the door open. He finds the light and flips a switch

Inside seems more like a yurt, as it is all circular, and as I get used to the light, I can see that the walls are clear like a continual window or giant aquarium on this side, and this way, we are able to see outside. Mostly just trees with thick branches, but some daylight comes through them

“Wow.... it really is a hide. You can see all the birds and squirrels....” I notice

“And foxes. I’ve seen a few bears from up here,” and as he says this, his phone alerts, “it’s Willem....” and walks a few steps away as he answers the call, and then after a long pause of listening to Willem, he says into the phone,

 “.... I think they’re taking turns watching out for agents —your distraction bought us time ....ok.... when do you think they’ll get here? .... that’s about eight hours from here....”

And as he talks, I walk around the circular interior, noticing piles of blankets and rugs and .... hides.... 

and even as I don’t like animal skins, there is something about them that draws me closer .... 

white hides .... 

like the dreams .... piled up in the same way as .... the smeden’s hut. The same way. Just like how he arranged things in the sauna, the way it looked just like the dreams 

I kneel in front of the pile of hides and get that same chill. Like the first time I saw him .... that day in the lobby ....that chill .... I reach to touch the hides with my fingers .... remembering ..... his scent.... on the hides ....

my thoughts go in all directions; overwhelmed —by all things.... the catacombs, the concern about the man in the ski mask, the hunters with rifles after me.... the safe, and

 ....Jörn and with him emotions that I have learned to push away and avoid, not knowing what to really put my faith into 

but now .... as I am reminded of these memories ....all. ....connected to the dreams .... the dreams I have had all my life way before Jörn and I ever met.... that .... I feel and felt from the beginning; from that first glimpse of him .... all are connected —like that day too— the time in his kitchen with the cup, the touch of his hand and how.... how all are.... connected —connected to him 

And all this overwhelms. 

Somehow, though, being here.... this enclosed space that feels so familiar for its resemblance .... even the placement of the space heater sat at the proximity and angles of the piled hides and the bench-like pallet; like a cot or couch to the left of the hides and facing the heater, so like the fire pit; the forge where the image seems burned forever.... like the clang of metal that beat in time by the motion of long, strong arms, the slick muscles of his back, the gold of his hair in the firelight 

“Duva....”

He makes me start as I didn’t hear him walk over

“I was just talking to you, didn’t you hear me?” he asks me kneeling down to me

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.... Jörn—did you put all these things in here?” 

He looks around,

“it gets cold in here. I thought they’d be necessary if we had to ever come up here. Those trunks over there have some basics like emergency supplies and basic survival rations. Outside the door where we came in there’s a unit that has running water and a lavatory—“

I interrupt him,

“there’s something that’s been bothering me. I need to ask you this....”

“Ok....”

“About the safe.”

“What about it?”

“Well.... why....? I mean—why would you need me to tell you the code? Those things inside it. Why should anyone have to open it? Those things .... are horrible,” I say

“No, it is concern of having the weapons in the wrong hands that is more the issue —so it is with the intent to dispose of them— but besides this, there’s something potentially almost more threatening, which is why it is necessary to learn the key names involved— that is in all those documents ....in files; paperwork, the old microfilm. Lists of the names of organizations.  Who was working for who—“

“But aren’t they all dead by now? I mean, this is old news, Jörn, it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“No— not really because —you have to realize, the organizations go back to those old organizations—the moguls; through the families, it gets passed down— they are all connected with the money; the wealth, all involved— so exposing the names.... that is what we’ve been after—details of dates that coincide with archived events we have records of; so, what is in there, those documents in the safe are records and invoices of accounts, detailed instructions with letterheads of all the key players that for decades we have suspected and been after, just never had any actual evidence to go by ....we had part of the information already on file —but this— links it all ....to how major events occurred —like, for example, what happened twenty years ago. You know it is about big control and world power. Just consider back then you know —where was the power?—oil. Oil.... the wealth behind it all — so it goes back to the connections with the families. Who do you think hired those people after you? People like ....Nevik Retnuh....”

and just that name is enough to make it all real. Real enough to fill me with terror

I rub my eyes behind my glasses,

“he’s still —? do you know where he is ....?” and I feel Jörn’s touch on my shoulder

But instead of answering that, Jörn says something else,

“there’s more I haven’t told you ....that you should know at this point.... about the safe—“

“Oh no! If it’s any worse than nuclear bombs and viruses I don’t want to know!” I nearly shriek this, interrupting him and half begging, pleading now 

“No—no, listen— it’s something else.... the reason my government was holding me .... duva, you see—it is because they know I took the safe back but —they think I gave it to ..... them....”

“Them? Who’s them?”

“Duva— who do you think?”

“You mean.... no— wait, back up—what??? ....No— they think....? Jörn are you saying.... so—they think you’re a double agent....? —so....” I look at him as it starts to make sense, “so you mean—“

“And while they’re busy chasing me, they’re not watching what these guys are doing. So — maybe you see why I had to break out of there —you understand?— to get to the evidence. Right now those guys down there are not after that safe you saw next to the gym. Because they think they already have it,” Jörn says

“Why do they think that?” I ask 

“Because— well....” here he actually laughs, “because I had a fake made. They have the fake and —my— government think I’m working with —them—”

“So if they think they already have the safe then.... why are they here?”

He looks at me

It takes awhile to understand why he is looking at me that way. 

But it eventually dawns

and I say, 

“....because they want the code.”

Thoughts and some hide-and-seek (jm muse)

Because Willem requires Jörn for something, he leaves me when he gets Willem’s text from up in the cage and goes back up to the dungeon saying,

“I’ll be right back.”

“You have said that before,” I say to him as he goes, “but then you did not return till months later.”

I watch him as he hesitates at the doorway. He stops and turns to look at me. But then he just looks at me with some expression that I cannot read 

and it occurs to me that it seems he tries to read me.... the slight crease between his pale brows and his set jaw. And then with a slight shake of his head he says again,

“I’ll be right back.”

and goes

I get up from the retro diner booth and walk through to the other part that I think of as the mini-grocer and go right up to the isle with the vodka. and sit down on the slick-gray painted floor with it. and break the seal, opening it.... 

this tension I feel.... 

when did I get to be like this....? 

this impatience

 ....it must be

 ....anger? 

I never was like this, I don’t like it.... 

this isn’t me, not how I ever was. 

So, what is it.... unless it is only just surfacing now. Suppressed anger. Could I have buried it all this time ....? 

I think it is disillusion

how dreadful. how miserably dreadful ....

And as I think this, I take a long swig —forgetting, for that moment, it is alcohol and drink too much. It goes right to my head as the fumes burn through my sinus and I gasp from the shock of it breathing in more of the fumes 

“Shit....” I say out loud and close the cap setting it down, and again speak aloud to myself as I tend to in such states, “that was stupid....” 

and lean back to lay flat on the floor.

I look up at the curvaceous ceiling as the dulling sensation sweeps through me along with that sick feeling between head and stomach 

but even that dulls 

....it was much easier before —much more possible before ....

when it seemed one could renew the soul by escaping crowds in some wilderness, take a trip, have a spontaneous adventure — or even just to simply have the freedom to commune quietly with nature and seek peace

and be able to just think.... clear the mind.... to get out of the negativity of one’s own head— and .... to be able to do what I always do ....just impulsively take off somewhere .... a train, a plane, a bus —or just a long drive somewhere far ....just to run away ....somewhere.... somewhere new; another city or country —escape out of my present deadwood life; the go-to reaction I’ve relied upon so often that is not possible now.... just start anew. start over fresh, shed a skin. How many times have I done that? 

but look at this world now .... it is not possible to,

 it feels so confining as there is no escape.... 

and this must be why I feel this way .... and not familiar with what this is —and so too, feel so guilty to feel it —too—

because I know what is out there, going on everywhere in the world. It reminds me of the same ugly strip malls I found going from the east coast to the west coast...

The trap of a plague, the unrest in the world, coming to blows .... 

what is happiness? 

is it possible to find this I wonder 

Especially when this is everywhere? 

What if this is really the summit of this search for enlightenment....? —whether or not the search is consciously pursued by this world, it may be having this forced upon it. all forced to, in some conscious or unconscious way; to struggle with and determine some elusive essential meaning within these suffocating current realities presented by what is exposed during these confines of life as it is 

So what difference does any of this make .... the injustices .... as I struggle with my own .... ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’ ? ....that line from the US Declaration of Independence—why does it sound so naïve .... these days? 

I sit up to take another swig 

but I know .... everything matters

even as we doubt it

it does .... 

it is only that sometimes ....

 it is hard to see the light; hard to find it....

why do I think of Jung again saying how we become our names .... or is it the other way around .... I wonder.... it seems I have always been in search for the light ....  reaching blindly from the darkness .... and such darkness 

reaching for something 

....that may be inside me 

and still seems to elude me.... 

I take another swig

****

Jörn comes back .... he calls for me from the kitchen area 

and only now I realize how the alcohol has gone to my head when I move to get up from lying on the floor

He calls again 

And because I am delayed I have to call back from the floor,

“I’m in here!” and sit up

I hear his footsteps before he appears and think to right myself, shaking out my hair as I stand up, gripping the shelving as he comes in

“Hej,” I say 

but he gives me an odd look noticing the bottle

“Hej,” he repeats and walks over to take it from me. Then opens it and takes a swig too and closes it with a smile as he looks at me then puts the bottle back on the shelf, “what is going on with you?” he says. But it does not come out like a question

“While you have gone across the ocean a few times, I haven’t even left this dungeon ....” I say “I can’t exactly be —enterprising!” and the last part comes out more suddenly than I meant it to as I lose my balance from the alcohol; his hand comes out to grab me before I crash into the rows of vodka on the shelf 

When I look up expecting him to be disapproving, I find he is holding back a laugh at my expense and still gripping me, now with both hands 

but recklessly I say,

“and who knows what —you—have been up to.... who—not that I’ll ask you, it’s not my business....”

He looks at the bottle as if judging how much I’ve had and looks at me thoughtfully,

“ahhh— is that what it is? Even after Willem explained to you about Stina and how I was being held there—“

“Not the whole time!” I say, and am more shocked than he is for snapping at him 

Only he laughs,

“is that why you won’t let me near you? You think I have had time for sporting activities? Stina’s not my type!” he corners me to the shelf and traps me there, leaning over me with his arms and putting his booted feet so I can’t move

“Well, Lisa then, she’s back there in Sweden where you obviously were —not that it’s my business—“

“Oh no,” and mocks me, “of course not,” while still laughing at me, “I see vodka is your truth serum, duva —I didn’t know you were the jealous type! You don’t usually show this to me. You really think I get around —and with my ex? What an imagination you have— double-O-seven,” and still he is laughing with too much enthusiasm at my expense, “yes,” he says now more thoughtfully, “I think you do need to get out of here. Come on— let me show you something—“ and moves to pull me from there, now grabbing hold of me by my wrist

“Where?”

“To the hide,” he says

“We’re going to hide?” 

“No, to-the-hide— that’s where we’re going, come on.”

memory of a summer’s day

 

she stepped out one fine day to while

and found a pest annoy, “I know what makes your secret smile,” (as she met conceit there on the lane),“so don’t be so coy.”

And in reply with curtsy, she did sweetly say,

“I am sure I am not so urbane”

Because, we must confess, something he would never know 

  in truth it was the silkiness of freedom that did lay

with nothing beneath her skirt that fine day

Electra’s dictionary & Film Noir/a ravishing touch on the man with the vampire eyes; a short (edjmmusechron)

 

it seems now they wait for others to show ....I leave the cage to be alone while Jörn and Willem stand there watching the monitors as they discuss.... going over details about everyone in the barn house

hatching their strategy  

.... but I’m just no good with anxiety ....

I think to find calm 

I go down to the underground to the kitchen area. I go to sit at the table which is attached to the booth that looks as though it was salvaged from an old diner coffee shop from the 1940’s; the strange shade of orange upholstery and the table framed in chrome 

I pull up my legs to sit sideways and lean against the inner wall.... thinking to distract myself with some illusion of normalcy ....by looking at what is going on in the world via my phone apps. But ....it seems to only make it all worse, 

but then, is this so surprising....no, not at all.... 

besides the usual 2020 sick hangover, how’s some new threats of war, shootings, ugly and bitter global politicians cooking up cocktails of poisons to keep future films and video games of war and true crimes fully supplied 

....Oh that bruised emptiness that comes when something within you so desperately needs something so .... so.... intangible and obscure. but so necessary. too necessary to be able to ignore ....nor deny. because it presses so real and so heavy. it chokes

so I remove from all this ....remove .... to the place separate within ....where nothing bad can come inside it; nothing goes in, nothing goes out; this place inside, my own underground bunker with its own encoded lock that never lets. anything. in. unseen and invincible because nothing reveals it is there at all. Invisible....invincible 

wrapped neatly in words 

throwing out meaning. in messages; throwing out messages in its own Morse codes ....and write into my phone, lose myself for hours in my words ....until I forget the fear that threatens to overwhelm me

And so it is only the sound, that deliberate sound of a scrape of a boot sole that pulls me free of my thoughts and I look up and see Jörn standing in the doorway leading into the room I sit in ....and sense he has been there awhile

At first he does nothing. He just stands there watching me. The baseball cap now gone and perhaps it is just the way his sleeves are pulled up past his forearms and how the jeans he still wears now rest lower on his hips that causes me to see him as himself again

 ....and glad of this .... as the ice that has clung to me for so long now seems to melt away by just this sight of him now like this and the way his eyes look at me. that way. And then without a word, he walks over and sits down at the table facing me

for awhile we just sit there and just look at each other and don’t say anything. we don’t say anything. but it feels like we say so many things.... 

and after a while of this he reaches for my hand but only speaks with his eyes ....and then closes both his hands around the one he holds, still watching me.... and because I feel the sweeping ache to grip him, slide my fingers through his and the warmth spreads into me.... and then he smiles and he presses his mouth to the back of my hand and says,

“I’ve missed your eyes.”

game noir for the cowboys

I wait inside the cage and watch the monitors— only the one I watch is the monitor that has the view of what is outside the stairwell where once I had to unlock Jörn from. I know that out that way is another path that reaches the highway. It is the way the delivery trucks come, but what I now know is what only now Jörn has bothered to explain. 

This side cannot be seen from the barn house because it lets out on another street which is the other side of the highway. The angle of how the farm house is situated distorts its visibility because there is another steep hill and a group of houses that cloaks any hint of presence that a road should lead to another address, which is the basement exit at the base of the stairwell. From the outside I can see from the monitor that it looks just like a long closed up general store attached to an abandoned gasoline station. 

There’s a hill and the wooden structure of what had once been the local pump; for historic purposes, it had never been knocked down as it was protected by some law and had once been owned by the farmer whose family built the original house, so remained on the property despite the alternate street and address. It seems the architect who enjoyed building follies and hidden bunkers had a pragmatic sense of humor. 

More and more it occurs to me that Lisa’s acquiring the place for us to rent was as much of an accident as Jörn ending up with all my mail at the penthouse. 

Not for the first time I begin to realize, Jörn ‘arranges’ events that simply appear like incidentally convenient occurrences. Yes, he does play his cards carefully, down to the last detail and keeps a straight face like a professional actor while keeping the most minimal of emotional expressions from crossing his face. He chooses what he lets you see .... doesn’t he? Why does this bother me as I think about this? 

I watch him now from the monitor as he waits for Willem outside. Watch him pace across the old wood porch in his American clothes disguise ... that I do not much like on him. Now with the added Mets baseball cap —which somehow irritates me even more, along with his affected swagger and American beer ....and then I think—he’s missed his calling, he seems to like playacting ....or maybe he just misses the stage 

But then something pulls my eyes away from that monitor and I glance over at the others as I see things happening in the barn house ....it looks like the men are arguing about something .... I move to enhance the focus 

There is something going on. They are fighting now—at first I see they are shouting —two men; the big guy who I had first spotted that day in the ski mask. I recognize his body type; the thick middle and the big shoulders— he grabs the man shouting at him and throws him across the top of Jörn’s piano.... shit.... not the piano ....I shudder as I watch it happen .... and then it is chaos as another guy pulls him off and takes a swing at the man shouting and pulls out a gun, then everyone seems to get involved 

I pick up my phone and text Jörn:

<something’s going on in the barn house, they’re fighting>

I look at the monitor where Jörn is but realize Willem has arrived and have to look closer as it seems Willem too has been creative with his own disguise in a fake dark beard and a deer hunter’s jacket. I notice a Ford pickup truck and almost want to laugh at their stereotypes but then, I can’t really argue their choices. 

I look back at the barn house monitors. They have stopped fighting and now seem to be standing around looking at something on the television screen—but then— the stairwell door bursts open and I jump as Jörn and Willem step into the dungeon 

“I thought you vere joking about de bats— zeems radder creepy don’t ya think wid all about de Wuhan— hey, look, it’s Dusk,” Willem looks at me, “hoe gaat het?”

“Dusk?—hoe gaat het, Rutger Hauer,” I say back, looking at his ridiculous disguise that actually looks more like De Niro. He laughs. I turn now to say, “Jörn, did you see my text? You just missed it actually—they were having some kind of huge brawl! One guy landed on your piano, by the way but, look!—now they’re all just staring at the TV.”

Jörn looks at my text and walks over glancing up at the monitors,

“oh— they must have gotten the update....”

“Update?” I ask and look from Jörn to Willem as they exchange glances 

“FBI....” Willem says looking at me to fill me in and then adds, “I have caused your house guests some trouble —they’ve put out an APB ....only I didn’t say exactly vere dey are ‘cause, vell, ve don’t need dem sniffing around our ‘safe problem’ just yet—zo, instead our inside boys will be joining us real soon....”

driftwood

 

I fear this boat has gone adrift, without a mast and swift

lost at sea…. all purpose gone

there lies sunk with treasure, beneath a port

insignificant and forgotten 

    ….forever to cast that faded dawn 

swept beneath the waves,

like a mermaid’s dusty basement gallery 

 a crypt to lay to rest all memory….

    

  resigned to private peace

Noir Pandora’s box; so what’s in the safe, after all? (e.d.jmmusechron)

 

We reach back inside the underground 

It seems awhile that I realize I have been lost in thought.... deep inside .... somewhere within....

      not even aware that I am sat upon that strange round bed under the glass ceiling window where above the pond is.... 

    did I see it? I was not really paying attention to my surroundings ....beyond the immediate .... concerns and....

I don’t know what I think about. Maybe I flatline.... circuits blown, but then, I should be used to this as it seems drama follows me everywhere .... despite my need for otherwise. That is, a calm life with harmony .... but that has never been my lot in life, I don’t know why and so tired of blaming myself but it must be me. The more I withdraw the more it seems to irritate those who know that I even exist

and the shock of facing a rifle has eclipsed .... how much I have .... anticipated and longed for the moment of seeing .... Jörn .... and it seems I just am frozen there shaking, questioning myself over how do I seem to bring this on? and it escalates into thoughts of why it seems disaster is all I achieve even as I think I do all I can to avoid it; like my daughter that I still don’t understand how it all went against me when I love her so much, how is it possible to attract such bad fortune at every turn, I wonder as I sit there wondering why I’m being hunted down for some code I don’t hardly remember 

it all goes back to my childhood as it seems too my subconscious mind is thus so warped —and from whose loins of I was spawned from to became this identity I never chose to be.... is at liberty to reek havoc all over and through my life ...events I hardly remember ....that shaped the outcome of my life and ....will forever haunt me .... continue to destroy me.... despite all my efforts to rise above them .... I’m caught in a tangled trap of emotions I don’t even understand and hold me from release or peace 

“You got so thin.”

I look up as he comes through the partition. It seems he has made me a cup of tea

and as I take it from him ....our hands touch that way. Reminding me again of .... things. Like before. On the stairs. It was this moment when .... he always comes to me when I am in danger; when it seems it is impending disaster ....like now....

“No, it is just muscle loss from not getting out to do things like hiking —being stuck in.”

“Duva, I can feel your bones right through your skin,” he says, he reaches to run his hand over my shoulder, “are you eating?”

I recoil part from his words. I pull away and draw my legs up to me,

“sorry for being hideous to you. How did you know where I was and what were you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming, why?!”

and because he does not reply, I finally turn to look up at him

it is the look in his eyes that disarms me.... I had not expected to see that .... hurt....?

for a moment it stuns me to see that. I have to rewind in my mind whatever we just said and .... my face burns .... 

he sits down beside me.... but I become tense. I move back a few inches and when I look up at him I see his eyes react 

He says,

“I ....your phone....” he looks at me and I can see he is thinking about not what he says but something else .... “your phone; the gps.... I tracked you.... I realized you left the underground and were walking right into danger —thank god I was there—skit! what were you thinking!?! I have to ask because —what if I hadn’t been there in time? What made you do that?!”

“I am sick of being stuck in here! How could you just leave me here like that, Jörn? All those weeks— and you never even said— I think I am losing my mind....” I say the last part without expecting to and start to cry but stop myself in time

....and he reaches for me 

“No....!” I pull away and cover my face, “you still haven’t said why you’re here!”

“Why?—duva.... if it were up to me I would not have left you here like this. They didn’t give me a choice —to do with my government, it’s too involved to go into and I can’t really reveal classified information. As you know, I’m not even supposed to be here....”

“So why are you? Are you going to be arrested? I still don’t understand how you can travel so freely when nobody is even allowed to fly anywhere!” 

I look at him

and he smiles .... in that way he has —what is that? he reaches again for me and as I start to pull away he says,

“why do you think I’m here?”

So .... I think about what Willem said 

his taking foolish chances.... how he said it was not like Jörn to ....

“I have to get to the house,” Jörn suddenly says

“The house?”

“Yes....” he tells me

“But aren’t they there?”

Jörn nods in that way that seems to say “obviously”

“You can’t go up there!” I say, “they have guns!”

“Duva....” and now he looks at me in that way as if I may be a bit slow and shakes his head

“Jörn— no! —what do mean?”

He shrugs and runs his hand over his hip as if to explain —and only now I see he has a gun

“They can’t stay there in the house. Especially now that they know you’re here. They’ve been looking for the safe— that’s why they haven’t left— and you— because they know you have the code .... they know it has to be here.”

“I found them,” I say now, as if I think it would be a surprise 

“I know,” he says

And only now it occurs to me that he wanted me to.... 

“But I don’t know the code!”

He tilts his head to one side,

“yes, you do....”

“No! I don’t!”

And this time when he moves near me to touch me I don’t pull away,

“you do.... “ he taps my head, “it’s locked in there.... but I believe I can make you remember.”

“How?— why? Why is it so important anyway? Now? All these years later, why should it matter or be worth all of this?What’s in it?”

He thinks before replying. And studies my face,

“how? You saw the sheets of music. The keyboard ....” and then he sighs heavily “what’s in the safe? Why is it so important? Yes, actually, it is still relevant if you want to know  —what is in there....”

“Why? What can be in there?”

He stands up

I watch him pace around the room. 

It is so strange to see him in here. After all these weeks.... It seems strange to see him too

And only now do I take in his appearance. What he wears. It is not his usual choice of clothes. Somewhat nondescript. Forgettable. And it makes sense now that I think about it. Ordinary jeans, a gray shirt and a plain khaki jacket and work boots; the kind of clothes that can make someone go unnoticed especially to American authorities. Maybe that is what has felt so strange about him, he could pass for American and I find I don’t like it somehow ....remembering him in the lobby that first time I saw him ....heading for his evening’s performance 

He turns around,

“You really want to know what’s in there? Talk about a Pandora’s box.... let’s see, let’s start with just the little things first.... oh, just the.... floor plans of all secret entrances to all the embassies around the world, how about floor plans of places like the Pentagon, Fort Knox—? ....floor plans of all world leader countries secret nuclear bases not to mention formulas and vials of chemical warfare weapons.... Duva.... poisonous bacterias ....for the use of chemical warfare— viruses.... sound familiar? maybe relevant? not so outlandish, is it?.... to be used ....likewise ....let’s see, what else? —the  early development of ....the basis of the Corona virus and SARS ....anthrax.... just to give you an idea of the scale of this....chlorine, nerve gas.... how to build a nuclear weapon .... duva.... you of all people should know what a swine that man was if he hired someone to assault you and fucking left you for dead on the college dorm room floor on a private college compass—call it revenge! —for ....?” Jörn pauses only long enough to take a deep breath as if to reload, “I managed to get a view of the contents when it was back in Sweden— it’s a type of X-ray ..... so.... you should know ....there are other things that —I discovered too that —are ....in there.... I came across an interesting letter that surfaced through .... my sources..... I found things of —a more personal nature to him —that back up his motives of revenge ....photos of your biological father with Castro to appear incriminating.... and even more personal, your mother with —Ethan in compromising situations.... taped phone calls of this nature between them, and ....two blood samples, duva that he meant to send for the definitive DNA test of —guess who exactly? One he got from the hospital in Miami where Ethan passed away....”

For a long moment I sit there even more stunned than before

and then, I suddenly surface,

“please don’t go up there!” I blurt out now filled with dread. I cover my face in my hands

“It has to be done, duva— do you really think I’m going to just stay here and hide?” 

he actually laughs!

“You think you’re going to take on—what five guys!? —with rifles?! All by yourself? You are crazy! Willem’s right— totally foolish!”

“No, maybe not completely alone— actually, now that you mention....Willem will be here any minute....”

what was will always be & yet to be again; Electra’s dictionary

It seems an agonizing long time like that while holding back the urge to heave, breathing in the diseased, putrid reek of unclean, animal filth, half gagging while tensely gripping every muscle in my body to keep from moving. Yet I am aware that I shake, now having seen the faces of the men that have been keeping me living like a hostage, no better than a rat in a rathole underground, and ....

forced to trust the hand against my mouth ....even as, had not the whisper given it away ....the subtle scent cutting through the filth reaches me ....of bergamot and cedar ....and under different circumstances I suspect that I would be more aware of certain details, but then, this is the only reason that I comply to his command and willingly let myself be pulled along backwards slowly, and in slow and excruciating measures, am pulled backward and quietly back up the slope I slipped down what seems like long moments before 

And so it seems forever that, in this manner, progressing backward through wet ground, tangled branches and dead roots of broken tree trunks with the hand across my mouth and an arm across my abdomen, slowly I notice with relief, the reek subsiding in the distance. Still it is slow going backward in careful studied movements, as the sounds of voices seem to fade into the trees even as I clumsily misjudge a step and stumble in my confusion of where I step in this manner and almost crash forward down but then am pulled off my feet with a sudden impatient half coherent grunted, “attans!” in irritation, which had I not been sure, leaves me without doubt, even as there was never a question as soon as he was near

Yet, no sooner cleared of the muck and mud, slammed hard backward past the tunnel door that he catches with his booted foot to keep from making a sound, while still keeping a pinching and painful grip around my waist that keeps me from regaining my footing, once the door is secured shut inside the tunnel I am flung up against the wall

“What the fuck were you doing out there?!!” holding me at eye level up to him he stares at me enraged, holding me against the wall, kryptonite eyes blazing at me like ice cold heat 

Only, I start to pass out and cannot answer him, I see black dots that start to take over my vision and he lets go putting me down on the stair case to sit on a step as it seems I have forgotten how the breathe, as I seem unable to catch my breath, shaking still and feel dizzy and sick, like I could vomit 

“Breathe,” he says, sitting down next to me and pulls me to him, “like this,” he says, leaning his forehead against mine shows me and says, “in....” breathing in with me, “now out....” but it seems the shock of the moment stuns me. And his strange calm seems so out of place to me. But then, he must do this every day, I suddenly start to realize.... but then.... like that moment so long ago ....with the coffee cup.... I get the chill knowing —we have done this before, haven’t we....? in much the same way.... and still dizzy from what has happened I don’t really think so much as know, and know ....blind faith.... “breathe with me,” he says, “like this....” and just do what he says.... as if we have done this all before and look up at his face into the vampire eyes

The great escape; hunters in the wood~noir (JM muse chronicles E.D.)

But in the end, I step outside the tunnel door and for awhile stand outside leaning up against it as I both try to get my bearings and also try to get used to the feeling of being outside. 

It has been months and feels so very odd —never mind how oddly I know I am dressed — having to make use of whatever is close to my size among the Cabaret boxes which still lay upon the dungeon’s conveyor belts —which have also been my main source of wearing apparel these last few months—the boxes mostly choices consisting of bizarre animal prints and bold shades of crushed velvet with some lucky finds of snug fitting faux leather jeans with unfortunately too much extra room in the crotch. But luckily, today I found a box of some things from Le chevalier line and managed to make do with a long poet’s shirt —which covers the extra baggage, along with a Louise XIV paisley, damask, silk, burgundy jacket —to pair off with, naturally, combat boots. How completely inconspicuous to be dressed like Steven Tyler in the middle of the Adirondaks but there wasn’t much choice.... needs be—as I had to get out of there, feeling like Howard Hughs after he lost his mind

I mean .... doesn’t this go all the way down the other side of the hill? I think.... deep underground —it’s through the hill— so.... that must mean the barn house would be the direct opposite  ....going the other way.... I mean, right....obviously?

Still I hesitate and take a moment to review the email with the map.... 

still, not quite very clear as it’s confusing to visualize what I look at.... I turn around now to better look at where I just came out of ....

Weird .... it’s almost invisible with the trees and the paint 

I walk around a little over the thawing ground and see— what is that?

Oh —the sewage pipe graveyard —not pretty... but effective .... 

at least I don’t think those are working .... 

but then....I get distracted by a sound. The snap of branches behind me

 .... and 

I sharply turn to look—and for a moment my heart is pounding until I see a deer leaping through the trees 

So for awhile I just wait to calm myself and then step through  a soggy thatch of dead, leafy forest bed. I climb up the woody incline now grateful for the combat boots and decide to take a few moments to survey the area around.... until I hear voices 

Voices? 

Who would be around here ....I wonder— kind of odd

the middle of the woods unless .... well, unless they’re hunters ....and.... no sooner do I think of that that I hear a sudden shot ring loudly through the air like a pop erupting in an echoing explosion 

Oh shit!

I bolt back towards where I came from deciding I’d better head back ASAP and start running but .... I don’t see the tunnel entrance now .... in fact, it seems to have disappeared like Brigadoon .... as it is so well hidden.... this is so not cool, I quickly realize as I start to panic .... 

and the voices get closer. I can hear the branches snapping as they call to each other in lowered tones. It is awhile before I realize they are speaking in another language —what language? I can’t place it. Maybe Slavic or.... no, I don’t know it.... 

But then I see someone up the hill dressed in camouflage —and just as I see him he sees me and shouts pointing at me!

Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! 

I bolt and start to run — but end up falling down the steep incline, sliding down mud as I hear them shouting and running in my direction! I land, falling with a sudden thud as something hard hits against my shoulder —or rather it is myself that lands against something hard, causing a painful impact.... 

it is not long before I realize where I have fallen —smack, dab inside the rusted sewage pipe park.... oh god.... but there is consolation in the fact that the pipes are indeed defunct, if not overgrown with wet earth, twigs, spiders and —I suspect rodents by the smell ....and start to heave and gag 

“Don’t move!” and from behind I am grabbed, a hand shoved up against my mouth, “don’t breathe, don’t say a word!”

Electra’s dictionary &/or Film Noir ‘dear diary….’

dear dictionary .....

It is when, by following the course of the map tunnel that I take the tunnel that leads out to the highway, hidden by a kind of grove of dense woods and according to the photo of how it looks on the outside, the sealed door I come to at the end is camouflaged by the shades of the forest in paint to blend with the background. And when I reach it, daylight filters through a narrow window, overshadowed by an old tree with draping thick branches, somewhat bare from winter. 

There is a staircase that leads upwards behind me that seems to lead up a hill to some other exit. 

As tempting as the daylight is to draw me out— as the desperation to be outside in nature drugs my mind I .... hesitate .... 

there is marked in red signs everywhere ....danger 

and just go to the staircase instead .... sit down on a step .... knowing out there lies vitamin D .... which there has been no source —and there lies the light, like a promise that beckons, as it ghostly illuminates from the window .... my skin has become just as ghostly; as pale as mashed potatoes .... 

but out there is so terrifying 

this cave .... these walls .... 

these walls to write on 

intelligent life ....? I’m losing all faith .... this cave, these walls ..... that I write on .... these walls I have raised .... maybe dare not be razed .... reaching for reason in an unreasonable world is to be a human among dinosaurs; how sad the effort to try seems a futile exertion ....reading about renegades in world news everywhere; things that won’t go away; psycho fraudulent x president, madness all over, shootings, global revolts, a virus that is somehow political and controversial, never mind deadly, genocide, fascist leaders everywhere.... to be human among dinosaurs .... the isolation is terrifying; these markings on caveman walls  

I want to leave

here.... 

but where do I go.... and who is there —who was there ever— that I could ever really trust .... just the Celf .... the celves; the selves within the self-made cell .... what I would give for just one clear sign .... these writings mark my wall

.... till later 

          ....Electra 

An unexpected call noir/striking a chord (e.d.jmmusechron)

I spend hours at that keyboard afterwards. Losing track of the hours ....

for days after sit there....

the memory of my Beethoven recital haunts at me and finally have to leave that room.... that secret, hidden room behind a cracked wall .... and avoid it awhile

I received two first prize awards. I remember looking at them as a child; taking them out of the drawer they were hidden in, in my mother’s nineteenth century wood-carved, antique secretary. They were never displayed, they were tucked away so as not to upset my sister or irritate —him—

why do I think of this now? I find I wonder what ever happened to that old heavy piece that was as tall as the ceiling and as wide as a single bed. It cost a fortune, was my mother’s prize possession. It had so many hidden, secret drawers.... secret keys.... the writing desk folded out and two wood levers pulled out to support it. Dark walnut, always polished to a deep shine and two screen doors opened that would lock with old skeloton keys where two silk wine colored tassels hung. It was such a magnificent piece, it came everywhere whenever we moved across the ocean —twice.... my wild extravagant mother with her weakness for antiques and fine things, she had such regal style 

that was why the drum table always blended right in. You would never know it was actually a key to a safe, but then even the safe is a camouflage; hide it in plain sight ....it just looks like an old sea captain’s trunk and was always shined to a high polish as well but served as a coffee table, nobody ever would think it actually opened; the perfect ruse

these thoughts that haunt .... 

But the music .... it seems to echo in my mind, evasive and elusive ....driving me mad

I used to pretend to read the notes as my piano teacher slammed her stick, hovering over me, shouting for perfection. She terrified me. I couldn’t let on that I could not see the notes on the page and just would memorize her first demonstrations of a new piece; know when to turn the page .... I mean, sure, if I looked hard at the page —if I blocked out the other chords and, I could figure out what they were.... but, it just seemed an annoying step to do when I could just remember how to play them, that was so much easier and more fun and they made better sense once you understood the composer’s mood. No, I never had much patience for symbols because they don’t stay still, move around so much and just cause motion sickness

I can hear the music still in my mind ....

but then it seems I’m losing my mind.... overwhelmed by fears, real or imagined ailments that I think I might have and stuck here isolated, that I become obsessed over and find myself filled with outrageous anxiety 

so tempted to escape the prison.... “shit, I’m losing my mind ....” I say out loud.... thinking: what if I die down here? no one would know ..... and spend hours with such dreadful fears of this ....Until it reaches a point I get a migraine. 

I go back up to the dungeon to do my Cabaret work on orders and setting up shipments through distributors and reading the mindless nonsense in the chat room to distract my mind from fears and serious thoughts that make me sad....

Some time after hours of this my mobile phone gets a call. 

But it is the other number, not Jörn’s new one, but the first one I received the call from when he and Willem were being held

I welcome the distraction and hesitate a moment wondering if I should but then think Jörn would have said something about it, I take the call

“hallo, mijn oude vriend, de ochtendschemering wacht!”

“Willem?!”

“I am just calling to check on you— Jörn is catching a flight but he wanted to make sure things are ok,” he says

“Ok?” I ask and find I doubt it but keep it to myself, “why, where is he going? What’s going on?”

“Listen, I have been wishing to talk to you a little. Some things we never got to. They have been on my mind... things from your past ....well, maybe we catch up another time with all that but ....I feel I should level with you about some things,” he says now. I hear sounds in the background ....swooshing sounds of motion, he must be be driving 

“What do you mean, level?” I ask

“Let’s just say —I feel I owe it to your grandfather.... you remember it was he who first hired me years ago,” he says

“Yes, I know.”

“He was a good man, he was concerned for your safety, you know? So.... I don’t know .... I get the feeling —you don’t know if Jörn is ....well— how can I put this? It is not my business, but.... maybe I feel like I owe it to grandpa, right?”

I take a deep breath of dread,

“you think he’s deceiving me?”

“I didn’t say that, that isn’t even what I am trying to say. No, it is actually something else. I don’t know but, well maybe, I think, you should know something ....”

“What are you saying?”

“Jörn does not let on about things —what is that expression? Ja, dat is het—he ‘plays it close to the vest’ which is good for spy work but I think sometimes not so good in other parts of life,” he says

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he takes chances I worry about ....”

“Can you please tell me what you’re trying to say? Chances how?”

“I didn’t get it at first ....” he hesitates and takes a moment to take a long breath. He lets out a sigh, “let me just explain something. I have known Jörn a long time now. We have worked together for years. Other cases. I have seen how he works....” and again there is another pause 

I had been sitting at the desk on my side where I do my computer work with orders, but now I get up to pace nervously between the two desks and then go the other way, stopping in all the places Jörn usual would to shuffle through things he’s looking for. I pace to the filing cabinet and then to the mini fridge

“And?”

“I remember the day he first saw your picture ....”

And something in Willem’s voice makes me need to sit down. 

I wait

“From that moment on .... something changed ....”he says 

and I feel that chill; the same chill from the first time I saw Jörn,

“When he saw my picture.... you were there? What do you mean....Changed?” 

“About him.... “ he says, “after that he .... well.... he demanded to be put on the case, because, you see, really, it was first my case .... but he wouldn’t let it go.... “ he stops as he seems unsure of whether to say more, “I thought maybe he knew you from somewhere— so strange really .... well, I am just saying .... ever since .... well.... I just thought you should know this....” and then there is another heavy sigh ....and then silence 

After the call ends I find I am somewhat stupefied. I have never really thought that ....

But before Willem ended the call he said one more thing,

“it just is not like him to take foolish chances so.... I guess I am telling you so.... maybe to just know this.... and if any reason —you can use this number to reach me, ja? —dat is alles. I should be in your area in a few days, so—voor nu tot ziens.”

At first I get up to pace back and forth as a million thoughts seem to take my mind in all directions 

and then stop myself from pacing and find myself just staring at nothing for a very long time 

....and only realize I have been standing in front of the filing cabinet that conceals the secret cabinet in the wall and remember how to open it

knowing what is inside ....

I am compelled now to open it.... 

and once opened

sit down on the floor.... and reach deliberately for the passports. I pick up each one, open them to the photo page and lay them all out in front of me— no, not even do I care what all the names say and all the fake, different nationalities.... made up names and identities, the slight nuances of disguises in the photos ....  I am by now so used to knowing what he does.... it’s just a job to him....

And so just stare at the photos .... and don’t at all care .... because it is him that I look for .... the one there within ....such eyes.... it is not so much just his eyes but what is there behind them that I see ....and have known ....even though I have been ignoring .... it is always there

sitting there I stare at the photos, at his face, this man with the vampire eyes from dreams .... and ....  long for him .... run my fingers over the photos and across his features, wanting to touch him because of the ache of how much I long for his face, long for him

And again that question which haunts the way he haunts my soul, why now?....that he should come into my life now.... what purpose does it serve .....? when after years of wandering and lost dreams should he arrive and disarm my well constructed walls.... what is it for .... that we should meet now? 

for something that he needs? —something that I need?—something that goes beyond life and time?

Notes to a stranger Noir continues/never Rest the weary (e.d.jmmusechron)

....the madness of isolation and what it does to the mind 

What part of the intellect are emotions, I wonder? For without them entirely there could be no compassion for life or survival even to one’s self I think. Would there be no ambition even .... ?

What part of the intellect are emotions? 

are they there to guide us? —rule us? or temper us....

unless it is all such a great, big accident 

we imagine gods sitting up there watching and pushing us around like games of chess

we imagine an infinite king with the ultimate say and the final ruling of judgement .... with just one wicked enemy 

And this is what I think about as I stand there staring at those two dominating objects in the room presiding like king and queen. Until I become aware there is something behind me facing the regal audience that is against the contoured wall. In the shadows. As the only light comes from the one just above over the other two but in the distance falls the shadows of the diminished light where yet are other things 

I go over to look at what it is as I am still thinking about the meanings of emotions and what the absence of ....might render .... chaos or the clarity of impartiality .... but for what ultimate ....purpose

A keyboard

             —plugged into the electric outlet .... drawn .... I go over to it

sheets of music .... sheets of music? 

I look at them. By now I recognize the hand that writes these .... even the distracted scribbles of notes of sequence all in pencil .... some scribbled over, scribbled out and over the markings of dancing symbols the letters printed over them 

E G B D F

then crossed out 

then: 

            313c

printed in the margin followed by 

            7 r a    ....added in ink as if in a sudden rush

—with a question mark ....?

313c7ra 

I catch my breath and find I’m overcome because I read Jörn’s other notes; first:

313= ELE?

I feel a wave of dizziness and catch my breath ....

he writes in ink: 

“It’s a lockletter”

only now I notice there is a metal folding chair in the deeper shadow and grateful for it quickly move over to it to drag over and sit down .... but have to close my eyes not wishing to let the waves of dizziness overcome me

and when at last I know they have passed I force a calmness to look back at his hacker’s notes; he writes beside this, “think like a dyslexic....” 

3 (times chord played one hand ) then 1

Up a scale and again: 

3 (times again) 

Chord change:C 

(Four notes played by four fingers) —4

313c7ra 

but no it is not altogether quite right, because I know this.... I know this .... I look around at all the other things. There stacked up on the table that holds the keyboard are books of sheet music, all Beethoven and my heart suddenly begins to pound loudly in my head .... breathe .... lay my fingers on the keys and squeeze my eyes shut 

hitting the wall Noir(Electra’s dictionary)

Even as, it is not a common occurrence, as it happens, because as I have known of other things ....when I saw him ....again it took me by surprise as I don’t think I really believed I really ever would —not here, not now and ....I don’t think I really believed it at the time. And— he was not who I would have ever imagined despite those dreams of the boat and ....the way he stared back at me in dreams with ....such eyes ..... those dreams ....which came at intervals throughout my life. I don’t really know when they began as they seemed to always be a part of my subconscious and yet I willed them away each time. They always scared me somehow 

So, it was 

no, not the first day I saw him....  when I realized because I was not willing to .... 

****

but it was long before that day in the elevator. 

I made the connection to the dreams only ....reluctantly and I think only did I when it nagged at my thoughts out of context of the day; just coming to my thoughts and ....haunted. He haunted me. Seeing his eyes again but, not dreaming, and in the present, even as there is such a sense of having always expected him that only in retrospect did it come to be apparent to me ....and then all the rest made sense 

even as ....it is quite impossible —how? 

....and the wondering over why and why now ....wondering even after all this time —what does he mean to me?

.....In the dungeon, now, I write these thoughts .... but more to stop them.... I do not want to let thoughts grip hold of me; grip hold of the emptiness and cause me to long for his touch—these thoughts I write 

as I sit in the dungeon watching the monitors survey the barn house 

I knew there had been hidden cameras in the house but the monitors never showed anything, that is, not until Jörn told me to get into the surveillance program in his computer in the cage, which now I have access to

I suppose before there had not been any purpose to spy on ourselves 

There are several of them there that come and go. Jörn also has access to viewing so he can watch what I can see on the monitors the same way he watches me in the dungeon. And by now I have become used to knowing they are there, far removed in the underground and removed now too by so many weeks so that it is something surreal to watch the house thus removed and so remote —and the odd angles make the colorless viewing seem less like real-time and more like a film 

What are they doing in there? What are they looking for?

I become more anxious now to get out of here. The thaw has finally come up in the mountains and I long so much to be outside again, long to hike and be among trees, breathe fresh air 

****

It is later when.....

 I go back down to the deep underground, where lately I go a lot to the gym as it is a good way to force discipline ....away from thoughts or —exhaust thoughts and to keep from climbing the walls or from slamming my head up against them 

I throw myself into an ambitious work out to force away thoughts and stopping only to take a short breath....

I don’t know what causes me to look at a section of the the dark gray painted wall that in the odd light looks cracked. I go over to it. No, that is not a natural crack, i decide as —I can tell— I mean, by now, I have become accustomed to these hidden doorways down here but even still.... this one is quite different yet.... I get this odd feeling

I look around me thinking  ..... and spinning around me looking at all the work out equipment thinking as my eyes peel all the surfaces .... there! I spot an Allen key!  —at the foot of a wall of weights and walk over .... there! —beside it a watch. I pick it up to study it. What’s it doing there? I’ve never seen it before, yet.... there’s something somehow familiar about it. It’s an unusual watch that —yes.... it looks like it is made of platinum by the way it glows in the light. I turn it over. On the back of the watch there is an engraving; a kind of indentation like —the shape of a keyhole? beside the insignia ....that I know —yes! from the pendant that he made me.... the tiny platinum safe with the dangling key that I have not taken off since that day.... The key?

The chain is long enough to see if it fits the tiny keyhole

And yet, all I do is just touch it to it and I jump! just as—a red light suddenly glows in the watch face but it is not this which causes me to jump but the loud click I hear from behind me that causes me to start

I spin around fast and bolt right towards the crack as —much more clear now it is revealed.... cracks wide now and comes apart .... I lean into the wall and push against the crack to open it wide and .... it gives away—yes— like another doorway..... another passage is revealed as a light clicks on as it opens

It is hard not to stand there with my jaw wide open staring at what illuminates within 

“Oh my god,” I say out loud to the otherwise empty room, “the safe and the table!” 

More Thoughts of the Legend; an awakening

upon thoughts of identity, as in coming to terms with who you are, ‘knowing who you are’ and having the courage to acknowledge who you are and then accepting this to wear upon your sleeve in how one presents themself truthfully to the world they encounter 

this one aspect which goes with my exploration of a purpose in life that I suppose somehow I have found I feel obligated to serve; why I ever wound up with this so called ‘gift’ (or curse) of this obscure art of communication through artistic expression seems to place me on a personal platform compels me each day to search deeply to look inward at a massive collection of intentional research and experience that never felt like a choice but a mission ..... presses me to I guess underline what comes in those rare moments of epiphanies

to abandon this philosophical project to understand purpose would be like wastefully tossing away time labored over doing this and .... conclusions I reach ....just in the off chance these words blow across that allegorical subway floor like a leaf of paper from a notebook just into the right hands of a fellow traveler ..... I never had lofty ideas for myself, never wanted grandeur or fame because I saw what all that did to someone I .... am connected to but could never claim to be—not publicly anyway. that too was never my point

still, the things that went with all of that are part of why this Pandora’s box became this identity to do this so only for this reason do I mention it. to have to grow up being a secret.... it is so hard to feel one has the right to feel. to speak. to stand up .... for the self. no matter the horrors and injustices .... to live like someone erased; invisible; inconsequential 

why should that leaf from a notebook fall into the hand of some other lost soul? one example comes to me; it is because of what impact she did, and it was the very words of Charlotte Brontë, years even after her life ended. I think often what would have happened had she never written them, what if I never saw them .... it was her actual words that reached me when I read them that struck deep into my soul and saved me at the right time in my life when I needed saving. They could have been written by me as she said things I felt. though long gone as she was she is so vital for all that she stood for and this is what gave me courage not to lay down on that highway to wait for a truck like I had on that road on Bard campus days after my assault knowing who had been behind it 

but not knowing why 

well, no truck came that night. I did walk back watching the dawn come up. I did that night after night but I guess someone was watching over me 

the other day just upon waking, in between sleep and awake my mother came to me to explain and as wild as that may seem ..... I fully understood what I had been unable to before 

I don’t think that came from inside me, it came from somewhere else because I never understood it all and somehow now I can —even as I have said I forgave her, I guess a part of me still deeply hurt for what had always felt like her choice to abandon me to the cruelty I endured by her husband as she stood there silently allowing it all, turning a blind eye and then later cutting me out of their lives; holidays, her illness, even telephone calls ....shut out 

why? 

So, you see, when I woke up completely after that conversation between sleep and awake 

the fact that I understood it all .... maybe I feel it requires me to .... integrate this into .... whatever this exploration for the understanding of purpose, self, acknowledgement 

You see, it was not so much what she said to me .... you see, it was like I stepped into her shoes. I felt it from inside her. It made me understand what she really felt .... how? I don’t know. But we had a kind of telepathy when she was alive so, there is not the slightest doubt to me she felt it necessary I ought to know 

and I suppose I could list all her reasons but .... I think perhaps I would rather say about it that .... she grew up in different times and the choices she had to make in life are not how we live now.... so..... that is what I woke up to .... finally 

I think she was giving me permission to acknowledge who I really am 

and maybe I will burn all my words one day.... disappear erased from invisible , who knows.... blow away ....but this mission keeps calling me back

 

choices in shop windows 

she opened her diary to an old page, flipped the pages back to read, the ink was smeared in places and she read to herself the old words there. 

‘he said to me, “I can’t offer you romance but I would like you to be by my side, I need you to be the mother of my child and be what I need you to be, although I don’t love you and never will, will you marry me?”

she turned the page and then another. and another and another....why did she? she thought as she read each yellowed smeared page, why didn’t she keep to the bargain, be what he needed? She found more pages that came after years and more years, the risks, the safe choices and the words of despair swam before her eyes from other years, more and more words, faith given and chances taken of another 

the oppression of the room drew her out into the night. she drove aimlessly for hours finding herself walking past shop windows and looking in at scenes displayed then wandered down a side street of houses. And as she passed the houses, she saw scenes of families within, laughing families and living rooms warm and snug filled with life and, eventually, wandered back to the street where her car was parked but stopped and turned to look at the nearest shop window and walked over to it to look inside

she found it beautiful, like a painting, it had a glowing fireplace lit behind by an electric light. There was no one in this window, it lay there like a promise and she pressed her forehead to the glass seeing herself there surrounded in what wasn’t there

then walked back to her car

she returned home and found other diaries and one by one she burned them and then walked to her window and looked out into the night and caught sight of a young girl looking in, and so because the girl looked so lost she went outside to find her but when she got outside there was no one there so she went back inside

when she went back in she saw a message on her phone from a name off those burnt pages. it said ‘it wasn’t great but it wasn’t always bad even if we nearly killed each other, there’s safety in the devil you know’

the weight of life pressed heavy on her shoulders of things remembered and family lost and ugly scenes that weren’t there swam before her eyes

she went back to stare outside the window and the lost girl reappeared ....and stared back at her 

https://youtu.be/cqZc7ZQURMs

 

 https://youtu.be/g1OcnH1RyMg

From the novel A Spy in the House of Love, by Anaïs Nin

“She had lost herself somewhere along the frontier between her inventions, her stories, her fantasies and her true self. The boundaries had become effaced, the tracks lost, she had walked into pure chaos, and not a chaos which carried her like the galloping of romantic riders in operas and legends, but which suddenly revealed the stage props: a papier-mâché horse.”

—-Anaïs Nin

A hacker’s companion (jmmuse&e.d.noir)

 

I receive a message from Jörn but it is not through the usual means. Instead it comes to me through the Cabaret website in the ‘chat room’ that was set up during the contest from the launching of “Party in My Closet” which has taken on a life of its own

I have glossed over possible reasons for weeks about why shipping had stopped, using excuses it is due to bad winter weather but not wanting to destroy Cabaret’s recent success I had managed to get some distributors to agree temporarily to ship some orders direct. Even as my mind has not really been focused on Cabaret; besides being distracted for obvious reasons, my personal commitment to it has felt impaired by conflicting thoughts of where I truly stand with Jörn

yet I have found any excuse that provides some way to keep myself occupied with some illusion of normalcy which requires that I not look too deeply as to why I may chose any task as long as it seems to provide something, however menial, that is somehow necessary in some way, which is why I have continued to keep up with things going on at Cabaret, checking in every morning and going over orders and sales, reading through emails from customers 

Jörn appears in the chat room messaging platform that only automatically pops up on my screen if someone directly addresses me through my username which is ‘Le Chevalier’ ....and I only realize it must be him when I see the username ‘GretaWearsFishnets’

as I am half asleep at the desk I bolt awake at the appearance of it and glance self-consciously at the cameras 

The message in the dialogue bubble reads:

<I have a new # to give you>

At first I have to wonder over the possibilities this could be someone else in his spy world either trying to trap me or just some wild coincidence —but I don’t think much is known elsewhere of his fishnets or his Greta cover 

Still I hesitate as how to reply....    and —as I was about to ask if it was him and actually start to but— then backspace realizing how idiotic that is ....and then his message comes with just a phone number to call 

I reach for my mobil and start to tap it in when a call immediately comes in with the number 

his voice lowered, comes in crisp and dry, 

“it will be safer to talk now,” is the first thing he says; I notice he sounds different now; less tense and exhausted 

“Where are you?”

“I ....Duva —I still can’t say. It’s better the less you know—but first, Willem said you tried to call a few times last night. What was it? Is something wrong?”

“Oh did I? Gosh—my phone must have butt dialed you,” I say 

“Three times....?” he says after a slight pause 

“Why do you have a new number?”

“They took my other phone —they’re trying to search for things but I wish them luck, they won’t find anything.”

“They?”

“The government officials. They’ve been holding us....” he’s vague 

“‘Been’? Are you still there?”

“Uh— no....”

“Stina?”

“And her ensemble....” again he is vague 

“So they let you go?” I ask 

and I don’t know if I imagine it or I think I hear him hold back a laugh before he says,

“maybe not willingly.”

“Jörn— so.... ‘not willingly’ ....what does that mean?”

“Uh.... it is necessary to collect some evidence and that is just not possible while they keep us locked up, is it? They think we are linked to some activities that were perpetrated by —the clowns we have been after. Which was exactly their intention. With us locked up they are free to carry out the rest of their plans ....Duva, those things I asked you to do....”

“What things?” I ask 

“In my emails to you that I sent —remember ....? There were the ones about the underground tunnels and then the other one about— “

“Shit! Oh my god! I —I completely forgot!” and only now I turn in the swivel chair to go back to the emails, babbling excuses as I do this, “sorry, I must have been brain dead with hunger, no, I never read them through,” and apologize again but say as I search through the list of mail for this one, “are you guys like ‘on the run’ or something? Are you both fugitives wanted by Dutch and Swedish government?”

“To name two, but —I need you to do this now—I gave you instructions on where to find some documents, can you find the emails?”

“I think —yeah— here.... I just found them —here’s the one called ‘docs’ —are these emails safe?” I ask

“Duva, this is my work, I built firewalls on all our devices and networks—” he says with strained patients 

“—our....? Our?”

“Yes.... so—you see the email?”

I open it now and look at it and —force myself to focus on all the words as there are a lot of instructions. 

“Oh....” I say when I realize .... what it reads ....and still holding my phone, walk over to the tall filing cabinet by the bathroom door.... it says it is behind .... but it isn’t easy to move the cabinet, “wait, hold on, this is too heavy for me ....” I say and put down the phone to try to move it; it is far heavier than my own weight but I lean onto it anyway with all of it and manage to tilt it aside adjacently. There is a hidden little built in cabinet with a locked little metal door. I pick up the phone, “wait....” I say and go back to the email where it says where I will find the key.... it says the built in dry bar ....where the phone charger was —but under it. I have to get down onto the floor and.... cobwebs and dust I feel an envelope stuck on the underside of the unit “I just found the envelope with the keys,” I say into the phone 

“It’s the yellow one,” he says and quickly says, “don’t loose those keys! Put them back when we’re done.”

I find the one with the yellow rubber thing on it and go back to the little hidden door behind the filing cabinet and it opens,

“oh, what am I looking for?—I forgot what you said—“ and in the dim light see the little cabinet is filled with various odd things ....discs, papers, passports, metal boxes....weapons— “oh my god, there’s a gun!”

“You’re looking for a thumb drive— a flash drive; there are several in there but this one has a red piece of tape around it.... Duva? Do you see it?”

I find it,

“yes.”

He says now,

“go back over to my computer—“

“Jörn, but it never lets me on!”

“Well, in the email I tell you where you’ll find my password for it but —that will take too long so I’ll just tell you now—are you in front of it?”

“Aren’t you watching me?” 

“I’m currently walking somewhere and have to see where I’m going,” he says and then tells me the password. Then he says, “I need you to start downloading some files ....”

night terrors noir

 

It is the middle of the night .... I try the number —but he does not answer ....and lean against the wall beside the little bunk bed ....deep in the witching hours .... ever since the loss of my friend, this panic overwhelms me. I have dreams of death ....and dying.... of dying all alone ....in sleep ....and afraid to sleep ....alone and forgotten here, who would know ....? I try the number again but my fingers shake so much it takes several tries ....but he does not answer.... he does not answer ....why does he not answer?

Stranger notes; the petrified touch/Electra’s dictionary

 

“I want to know something,” he says now, but then he pauses as if not sure how to say, “.....what was your first impression.... your first reaction  or ....sense.... that first day in the lobby ....?”

our last phone call had ended abruptly like the time before with Willem 

....but my mind has been in some kind of dark bog; tangled up with painful and agonizing emotions about life. and need. raw emotion ....I don’t know.... and maybe he suspects the mudslide ....it is too far within and under it to .... be able to get out of it.... not the kind of terror people talk about ....ever; like being on an island surrounded by colossal dinosaurs breathing fire and slime at you with just a boggy pit as the only escape and out there in the vast ocean is a lost path where your heart is still bonded to because so is everyone who once mattered 

“What?” I say as I forget the question 

“I saw the look in your eyes,” he says 

Then remember the question,

“look? What do you mean....?” 

“You looked at me like you recognized me,” he says now; his voice low, it is almost a whisper 

I remember now,

“yes,” I say seeing it in my mind again 

“Did you think you knew me?”

It is only a second that I resist this. Between his question and the heaviness of the inky black bog wrapping its cape to seal out the air I ....go there instead 

“Why have you not ever mentioned these things before?” I ask him

or is it the safety of not having to face me that makes it possible to 

“Just answer,” he says

“Yes....”

“You did ....” he says but he seemed to already know 

So why do I choose the darkest corner on the floor to sit down in now..... and press my face into the curved wall and say into the phone,

“....but it wasn’t until that time in your kitchen when—“

“you took the cup,” he finishes my thought 

and then I am back there again in that moment,

“then it was like I ....knew.... it connected to the other ....things.... the dreams and then it felt like I had been expecting it.”

“So what was your first thought?”

His question is so strange now as so much time has gone but it seems some things are always,

“why do you ask me this now, Jörn? Is it because what I’m going through and you know I’m—“

“Please answer,” he says

“You go from never mentioning any of this and now with everything going on you choose now to bring this up—I don’t understand, is there something more dangerous happening that you feel forced to?”

“Just answer.”

“He came back for me,” I blurt out

“Wha—“ he stops himself in mid-syllable. The strange silence of the mobile phone dead-air nearly eclipse the conversation. 

was the call dropped ....?

until I hear his long exhale of breath, like he had been holding it in somehow and I guess then .... gives me courage to say what I never got to tell him until now,

“.... it was a strange chill that began like a tap on the shoulder and then took over and with it, like, the blinders came away ....even as it makes no sense.... it makes every sense.... that is ....what it felt like.... since you ask me this ....now.”

And I think now suddenly of what he said last time.... ‘I shouldn’t have left you there....’ and recognize the parallels