Eye Spy; touch on Adirondaks Noir Night

When we return, it has begun to snow covering the windshield and the hood of the car. By now it is about twenty past midnight, I notice, glancing at my phone as we pull up to the old general store front, alongside the fuel pump to park; the Chevy parks at first beside us until Jörn quickly jumps out of the truck, and to Deiter in a kind of snarl he says,

“Deiter, can you be more fucking obvious?” but doesn’t wait for a reply and says, “how about you park this behind the trees— oh, and—try not to have another flat tire while you do that,” I hear him say

I watch Jörn as he stands by to watch Deiter get back into the van. Jörn walks around then to follow and direct exactly where to move it to. 

There is a tension now surrounding Jörn that I become more hyper-sensitively aware of. It sets me somehow on edge, like an alert that seems to send shock waves through me

I tell myself it is only that he is now in his combat mode, but a cold sets into my bones with a chill that runs from the top of my spine down, and with it a shudder that rushes through me that lingers up my neck to my face and causes an uncomfortable aftershock everywhere and all through me.

With trepidation, I open the passenger door to get out as I watch Jörn walk around the van and in a low tone, direct the others to wait as they get out of the van. Jörn turns to me and motions with his hand for me to walk over

“Wait here a second,” he says into my ear before he goes to lock the truck, but not using the alarm remote. When he walks back to me, he takes my hand and we walk past the small group but he keeps me away from walking too near them, then once we climb the steps to the porch to the door, he unlocks it and stands by the door and with a motion to them, waves them to go in, then waits as they file past us

They go first up the darkened stairwell and— like the other time, I can hear the ruffle of bat wings in the darkness and along with that comes a distinct and somehow eerie scent, rather hard to describe 

“What the fuck!” one of them says

I look up at Jörn as he hides a smile and locks the door behind us, enclosing us all in the darkness. I watch him text into his phone then and a moment later, the door at the top of the stairwell opens and lets in light where Willem stands and says,

“goed— now we are all here; alles is goed,” and ushers them past the door, “the others only just arrived.”

The light in the dungeon seems almost bright now stepping in, but the chill still remains with me; then a kind of whimper escapes me involuntarily as I feel myself object when Jörn lets go of my hand.... presently back in the dungeon which has been my private prison of domain but now occupied by eight men all at least twice my size in muscle and body mass and all clearly carrying loaded devices I’ve mostly only ever seen from the safe cover of a monitor or film screen —besides that moment earlier briefly, facing the deer-hunter’s rifle 

It is obvious they all know each other as some trade remarks to each other in other languages; it is hard for me to distinguish the dialects in the rush and find it all overwhelming 

I inch back towards the conveyor belts that feel more like familiar friends to me, knowing these corners of the underground, knowing where the belts lead, the turns and now— all the secret doors. And right now I find I want to melt right into the walls. 

But Jörn introduces me, moving over to me, and as he does this, I watch him look around, his eyes stopping on one of them briefly before he says,

“make sure nothing happens to her—protect her with your life, do I make myself clear? If you slip up, you’ll live to regret it and I don’t just mean by me,” then he nods at Willem, “Willem will walk you through the plan but first—any news on the feds?”

“I got new intel updates on ops from my guy inside— they are due to arrive at Point Au Roche around dawn,” Willem says and I see the look of surprise on Jörn’s face, “I just received word as you showed up,” Willem explains 

For just a second I see Jörn’s expression change as if recalibrating and then he says,

“....ok.... then that changes things....” Jörn looks at me and then with a kind signal by raising one brow at Willem, Willem steps away and walks over to us

“What’s up?” he asks Jörn

“Take them into the bunk room—I don’t want them to see where we go. Just let them get comfortable in there. You can show them the kitchen and the showers—there’s beer in the store. I’ll join you shortly.”

Jörn waits as we watch them go towards a curve in the catacombs and disappear past and then he says, 

“let’s go.”

We go the other way. Then stop at one of the glowing lamps and Jörn looks at me,

“you do it.”

Only it’s a different lamp. I am not sure where to find the inverted part to hit. I look up at him

He shakes his head,

“find it. It’s there. You know the code.”

But I feel shaken as the fear seems now to have taken over me,

“I can’t see it! —Jörn....”

“You need to do this. Look for it,” he says

I take my phone and use the flashlight. Then find it. It takes a few hits before it pops the flap where the keypad is.... and hesitate as I think of the numbers going backward and press them in. Then hear the click 

“You lead the way,” he says to me

“I don’t know it....” I say 

but he waits 

I start to walk to the right but change my mind

“What are you doing?” he asks me

I go back to the right again and he follows me. We pass the rover but he says,

“do you see how it curves in the wall there? Right by this lamp? It’s different, isn’t it? And this light is more yellow, you see?”

“Yes,” I stop at that light and find the place and hit

Then we go up the narrow tree trunk winding stairs to the hobbit door

and once inside I rush over to the cot —and without thinking, reach for the hides stacked up on it and press my face into them falling against them

“Are you ok?” Jörn asks me and sits down next to me

I don’t answer. 

I feel his hand against on my shoulder and then he gets up, I hear his boots as he walks and then hear a click and the telltale whirr of a space heater motor turn on. He walks back over and sits down next to me on the cot, reaching for me,

“you’re shaking....it’ll warm up in here soon....” he gets up again and in a moment I feel the heaviness of a blanket fall around me in warmth. “You’ll be safe in here. Just stay in here. I’ll be back in awhile. Is your phone charged?” but he reaches into my pocket for it and then replaces it, “we have to go over strategy—it won’t be happening tonight— but possibly some time around dawn—possibly can get some sleep. I’m glad, it’s better this way —I’m actually relieved they’re on their way—“

“You think you can sleep?” I sit up to look at him

He shrugs,

“you should. It’s been a long day.”

“Jörn, how can I sleep?”

He turns now and walks back towards the door,

“at least try. I told you there’s a lavatory through there—there’s a shower and a water-cooler I put in. It has hot water. You’ll find some packets of tea and snacks and things in a cabinet. You haven’t eaten, maybe you should.”

“I want to brush my teeth,” I say

He smiles and opens the door to go,

“look in the trunks, you should find some things. I’ll be back—just stay in here, ok? No matter what, don’t leave.”

He starts to go 

“Wait—Jörn!” I run over to him and pull him back

He smiles and says,

“I’ll be back,” and leaning down to me, presses his mouth against mine 

    ....and then goes  

Driving back to the dungeon

 

“You know the way you can remember every detail of a song that you listened to over and over as a kid or a teenager on the radio? ....every pause —even a jingle of a bell of a Christmas song all the way back from childhood....? How you can go for years without ever hearing it even once and then —someone plays it.... and you remember the whole thing all by heart....?” I turn to look at him with his profile to me, “....Jörn.... ? —you know what I mean?”

“Yes....” he says and then glances at me

“So .... why.... ? I mean....” 

“Why don’t you remember how to play your piece?” he finishes what I started to say

“I mean, I won two awards, Jörn, which means I had to play that piece over and over! You’d think— I mean .... I remember .... I do—sometimes....sometimes....I mean, I can remember .... sort of—like—I can hear it ....echoing in my mind.... like it’s right there on the edge of my memory .... when I’m waking up from.... a dream....a bad dream ....I can never remember—”

He glances at me again but only just taking a moment away from watching the road before looking back. 

After another long moment in silence he says,

“I think we both know why that is. It’s not so unusual. It shouldn’t seem so to you,” he says

“How do you mean?”

Shrugging, 

“you have a degree in psychology....” and here he pauses again looking ahead at the darkened highway before us, then makes a thoughtful sound from within his throat as he pauses to say, “well then—you would have studied about repressed memory.... it’s not so unusual given what —you went through in your childhood.”

And I think maybe it is the tone I hear in his voice as he says this that catches me off guard....as it should have been obvious to me but— now, hearing it in his voice

And now ....I welcome the car’s darkness as I think. And turn to look out into the cover of night with the reassurance of the warmth that falls with the weight of my hair and search in the obscure noir shades of night ....where lies escape. 

Where lies escape. 

It lays and it hides 

and hides truth, even though it can set you free

After another silence he says,

“I think it would come back to you. Once you heard it again. Duva.... and I think your old psychiatrist Dr. Rothschild had begun to .... ”

I find this seems to make me only anxious as I suspect he is right.... as I know what we both know.... there is and has always been a reason for the codes. the rhymes. the Easter eggs of emotions. the dictionary, with its trail of crumbs. and it was never just about Cold War secrets to the one who lost those crumbs

“but Jörn—we might not have that luxury for such a chancy occurrence.... I mean—I think I realize now that .... you need the evidence of the safe—I mean.... to prove you are not some double-crossing terrorist—that the safe they think the other guys have is not the real one and the one down in the underground ....is — and so by opening the real one....would solve a lot of problems, right?”

“Well....” he concedes, still looking ahead at the road, “that isn’t what I’ve been counting on—not altogether. I’ve been working on another angle.... something I’ll tell you about later —but, I have other evidence. And I’m not exactly ready to hand over that safe just yet....” and I hear something else in his voice 

and only confirming concerns of what —exactly—we are heading back to

“so....” and then I think of something else suddenly, “Jörn— remember last summer?” I ask, “that really hot day? ....we were out hiking, do you remember that day? and I got dizzy?— and then I passed out —but....I think— weren’t we talking about the safe—? yes.... we were—and wasn’t that when you told me —it was back in Sweden?—wasn’t it? What was it you said?.... something.... what was it? —like.... you were really angry, I remember— and you were saying how this was to do with your case —and— you felt it wasn’t for them to take it and that it should belong here with you but.... you know, it just doesn’t make sense—and it didn’t to me at the time either....I mean— so.... What was the real reason you didn’t want your government to have the safe?”

When I search his profile now in the darkness of the truck I see the smallest tension in his jaw and then that slight flair of his nostrils as he grips the steering wheel and sort of smiles —or.... is it a grimace?

“It wasn’t that exactly....” he says

“Then what? Because you implied it—you said something like ....I don’t remember now....”

Only he seems to withdraw himself and only stare straight ahead so I decide to let it go

But it is almost when I have forgotten my question that he says, 

“it is that I didn’t want it to get in the wrong person’s possession.... I knew it was safer to get it away from there then to allow it to end up in the wrong hands.”

and suddenly I realize,

“So, you mean—you think there’s a mole?” 

With a quick glance at me he says,

“I do....”

“....and you know who it is, don’t you?”

“Yes.... and .... right now he’s very near.”

 oherwydd eu bod i gyd wedi fy mradychu i

 Adeiladais fy nhŵr ifori

 i gadw'r byd i ffwrdd oddi wrthyf

 ~ ond mae wedi dod yn grypt i mi

 ydy hi mor ddrwg fy mod i dy angen di?

 does dim cywilydd ildio i drechu

 Rwy'n gwybod ichi ddweud.  a cheisiais fod yn berffaith.  ac mae'n ddrwg gen i nad oeddwn i ddim

 mae'n ormod

Roeddwn i'n meddwl erbyn hyn y gallwn ei gario, ond mae'n dod yn fwyfwy trwm o hyd.

making scenes noir/the question remains (jmmuse)

 

And so, by the time we find where part of Willem’s team are stuck, it is about eight o’clock and now dark. 

We find them, on a darkened side street, the silver Chevy van parked in a small lot off the quaint main street. I see that all the shops are closed and as we pull up behind the van in the parking space behind it, I say to Jörn,

“I wonder why we never came here, it’s so pretty.”

“Hmm, likely the times we are living in?” he lightly says and shrugs, “I don’t think they’ve been open for business for months. Remember? —we came up just as everything hit.”

And as he says this, I look around and notice how deserted the quiet, picturesque town looks ....and then try to imagine this place during other times, crammed with people during the Olympics and find it somehow so impossible to.

“Well....” I say regretfully, “it’s too bad we didn’t think to bring your parents here,” as he reaches to open the door to get out

But he doesn’t answer that, instead he says,

“stay in the truck and keep it running. I’ll need the light.”

And as he gets out, he slips on a mask, and then, I see two get out of the silver van to meet him, while another one had already been standing outside smoking a cigarette as we had pulled up— and now I watch him first glance at me and then at Jörn as he walks straight over to him and say, 

“Deiter—“ but the rest of what he says is lost in the stillness of the town’s cloak of night, absorbed in the buildings acoustics.... 

And I look around again to see a walled cluster of surrounding buildings of small and sundry ski and souvenirs shops along with other outdoor sporting gear shops

At first they gather to chat briefly but Jörn keeps a safe distance and gestures to them as he does this. Then Jörn comes back to the truck to get another spare tire and then proceeds to change the rear flattened one, and while he does this, he keeps talking in low tones to them, as one of the others steps up to lend a hand, then takes away the other tire to put it in the van.

It is always cold at night up in the mountains and I watch their breath escape in the darkness and find —the shock of this makes me think, how harmless this once seemed....

and think —what a different world it is

but one day, let us hope that, this too—shall pass. 

And wonder if this is something like what it was like during the world wars.... some dark and scary enemy.... the devastation that leaves no one untouched, the protesters and the nonbelievers, the senseless deaths and the troubles around the globe everywhere

It seems to make me wonder over what really matters

 ....but then I find I wonder even more over this world’s fascination ....seen so clearly in the entertainment industry and its evident audience ....this fascination ....with such luster ....of murder, rape, gruesome crimes, blood and war —and played— in games .... and is the majority of all you ever see streaming in shows and movies. Is it any wonder what the world has become .... 

this is often what I have wondered.... and wonder ....dare to change the dialogue.... would that I could inspire; replaced by substance more life sustainable; more intellectually challenging; would that I could dare to dream

So this I think about as I watch them with Jörn and wonder about each of them.... 

and wonder over 

what are the necessary.... ? ....evils

When Jörn returns to the truck, he reaches for the hand sanitizer, then gets in, slamming the door and starts the motor 

At first in silence he drives, and I watch them in the rear view following behind 

“We’re stopping somewhere to get something to eat, they’re starving,” he says, “there’s not much open around here but there’s a fast food place we passed I saw that is still open.”

I don’t answer, just watch the darkened scenery, still lost in my thoughts 

When we come up to it, Jörn waves them on but he pulls up further down to park the truck; he watches them get out and I realize he wants to be on look-out 

“Do you want anything?” he asks me

“From there?” I ask him shaking my head

“Well, I thought I’d ask,” and looks at me. “You’re so quiet,” he says 

“Don’t you want anything?” I ask

“No....” he says and I see he’s distracted with thoughts

“So what exactly is the plan? You said the others of Willem’s team you expect around midnight?” I ask

“Yes.”

“And then what?” I ask

“Willem’s watching what they are up to at the barn house from the monitors. We’ll wait for the others and decide whether to make a move tonight or....” Jörn stops to think and then after a moment, lets out a heavy sigh, “or wait.”

“Wait for what?” I ask him

He looks at me,

“whether Smulagan shows up.... or....”

“That’s what I thought,” I say watching him; trying to read his face

And after a deep breath, he lets it out and says,

“which .... would be better....” Jörn turns his eyes to me, narrowed, ice-cold steel heat, sharp blades of kryptonite and with the deep crease between his brows, “when we get back .... or there abouts.... first the rest of Willem’s guys need to show up and then..... Willem would have switched on and downloaded the program to send the live footage of the hidden security cameras in the barn house to— them....”

“To ‘them’. You mean the FBI?” I ask

“I mean .... everyone....” he raises his brows and stares dead-center at me, “central intelligence, my government— Stina....”

and suddenly I feel my pulse begin to race

“So when we get back?!” I almost gasp 

“We have time—“ Jörn puts a hand on my arm

“How can you be so calm?!” I ask him

“Duva, this is my work. It’s all planning and strategy. Most of the time it all goes as planned,” he says and looks back out towards the parking lot

“Most of the time....” I repeat

But he just stares out ahead deep in thought

“So—how much time do you think?” I ask him

He turns to look at me.

I say,

“you said ‘we have time’”

“Oh— well.... after they see who’s assembled in the barn house.... Willem will alert me first —so.... I think it would be a matter of minutes before they gather their own team together— once they recognize everyone who’s here and....that will be enough to get everyone into action—these aren’t just your everyday assassins, they’re all well known.... so, well— then I’d say— if he’s back in DC—Smulagan— he would have a crew in less then— well, at most two hours ....but I’d bet sooner,” Jörn says simply with a shrug 

....and it is something I see in his manner....

That strange and familiar thing and ....with it the strange and now familiar chill that I so well recognize

—and a face overlaid in the gray, chill blustery gale, half obscured by the long gold hair, caught on the wind.... 

and with it the memory of there, that glow within the kryptonite of vampire eyes, looking back at me from dreams, so long familiar, and so much.... a part of me

But accompanied now by that other chill. So often described by some as someone walking over their own grave

But I don’t recoil from it. No. Instead, I feel almost drawn.... like some foolish moth to a flame ....and move over to him, reaching for him now —as if partly from that more than dream, which feels so deeply etched and so indelibly within the retinas of a soul. I touch his face....having known and memorized every line and shadow, every crease.... as if I put it all there myself and move over to him

I put my fingers to outline his eyes, drawing with my fingertips and stare inside ....there—then move my fingertips over his lips and move to climb over him and wrap around his hips and press my mouth on his and loose his hair with my hands, in the silk of his hair,

“why do I stay?” I say against his ear

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?