Leaving the Dungeons (e.d.jmmusechron noir ….to be continued)

I stand by the keyboard waiting, watching bigger and bigger pieces of wall crash onto the floor and crumble in a deafening level of noise. Holding my breath, I have to lean against the wall behind me as a dizziness begins to sweep over me, and inch myself closer to the keyboard until the length of it is parallel to my legs and then lean to prepare to grab it in both hands as I watch from my wall as the rubble tumbles in with white dust and then the noise of the drill stops, giving way to voices

At first it is several voices all shouting over each other. It is hard to distinguish any recognition to them, but I hear one of them say,

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” with an American accent

“There could be a bomb!” another American shouts

And then,

“she’s in there, we saw it on the monitor!”

And this voice I recognize 

It is Willem

I let out my breath and breathe in with relief, letting go of the keyboard I began to grip. And when I feel able I call out,

“Willem! I’m here!” and fall back against the wall suddenly feeling even more dizzy

I watch as the familiar outline of Willem steps through the rubble of wall and in the dimness of the room, glowing from the other side, comes streaming rays of light all around him as he steps in and faces me

He looks around at the room which has been both my asylum and dungeon and now having taken it all in, he gives me an ironic half smirk as he shakes his head, with a friendly chuckle,

“dus, hoe is het weer, Dusk?”

It takes a moment for his meaning to come to me ....and when it does it makes me laugh

But I look down and put my face into my hands, still leaning on the wall

“Come,” I hear him say as I hear his footsteps walking towards me but his voice is softened

I shake my head, and after another breath I say,

“I was afraid it was Retnuh ....” and carefully I look up into his familiar face. Now aged over the years since I first saw him that day in the Dutch bar, the first time he approached me…. that day…. handing me his card and telling me he knew about my father. The same face with those distinctive features of nose and broad bones so characteristic of his country’s natives physical features. I find it a comfort to see in this moment as I search the bright blue of his blood shot eyes and whisper, cautiously, “Jörn?”

And when I see his eyes now they are veiled as he shakes his head and reaches for me

“So, it’s true? He’s gone?!” I ask him angrily

“Hey, Dusk, we can’t talk here—“ he says now and with his hand on my shoulder he turns to look behind him then looks back at me, “not here, you understand?”

“I don’t want to know! I don’t care! I don’t want to know anything! I never want to hear his name mentioned again, do you hear? He left me there, I hate him! Do you understand?”

Again, Willem looks over his shoulder than back at me,

“not here— come, let’s go— we have procedures and— you must be hungry, let’s get going,” and he urges me away from the wall and I let him pull me with him, glad of the support as the dizziness seems to give way to spots of dots, speckled black and shots of light. 

we stumble through towards the broken wall, over the heaps of crumbled concrete

And once through I find that we have stepped into the part of the dungeon behind the cage, the furthest wall that faces in the direction of the bat stairwell 

****

When we pass the cage, I glance over in its direction. I think how strange it is to see it now, it is like surveying, once again, another past life; it seems I have lived so many life times.... and so many in just this one.... and I notice how now without the computers and without those things I had associated with— but no, I will not let myself think about that, I will not let my mind even tip toe there.... but how void of connection I now feel to it as I look at it passing, wishing now only to quit myself of it, like the rest of my life here.... I don’t want to ever look at this place again

We go up the stairs that leads through to that faux cupboard with the guillotine door, now raised, and as the crew of troopers dressed all in black file through, Willem and I follow last into the old gutted farmhouse I have not walked through in months. And now I glance around and see it too has been cleared of all personal things, even my make shift studio. On the floor, as we walk through, I notice that it is littered liberally in cigarette butts, and notice too there is in the air and the walls, the smell of stale smoke that lingers and along with these unpleasant observations I see on the floor and surfaces of counters and shelving, discarded empty bottles, cans of beer, wrappers and left overs of packages of junk food, all clearly left behind by the visitors who had been living in the barnhouse as our unwelcome guests. 

And I suppose at first, I was in no clear frame of mind so just now notice a certain two others of this group who lead the crowd of troopers out the door —and looking towards them, seeing only now, from out of the farmhouse kitchen window, as they are heading up the hill. Those two whom I am unfortunately more than a little familiar with, whom, I suppose, I should have expected; Smulligan and.... Stina—?

I glance sharply at Willem who presses his hand against my shoulder because my step falters and I stumble,

“Stina?” I ask Willem

He raises his brows and jerks his head towards the door,

“let’s go, Dusk, it’s going to be a long day, I’d like to get this part over as quickly as we can do it.”

I follow him outside and as we head up the hill, I feel such dread knowing we are now going to the barnhouse.... there is such a strange ache inside me at the thought of facing it now, a million mixed emotions .... one like a kind of violation— knowing that bunch of assassins were living there all this time. But it is coupled with another emotion that.... I am not ready to ....feel.... and so, it seems, that portcullis does for me, without much prompting to will it to —as it seems well-greased of late and hardly needs a nudge. 

So as we enter through the back deck sliding glass door, I feel nothing looking into .... what once had been the home I shared with Jörn 

....only.... this is what I tell myself. I say it to myself a thousand times as we go in and have to blink my eyes rapidly to keep them from letting the wet betray me

There are cold distractions to help me, though— on the walls in black spray paint are letters and numbers that make no sense to me.... the couches are covered in spills and stains and much of the furniture is broken. I think of the fight I witnessed on the monitors that day. And then, with a touch of absurdity, I think of what Lisa’s reaction would be if she saw what has happened to her hours labored over her interior design choices. But then, it must only be outright masochism that makes me actually walk right over to ....Jörn’s piano

.... but there I do actually sit down at it.... I stare at the keys in front of me. I think of his hands there. And I think of his touch. And all resolve is destroyed. I put my fingers on the keys remembering his notes.... notes to a stranger .... remember our hands there together 

“We need to do this....” it is Willem telling me this as my fingers play the chord. But the piano is out of tune

“Ok,” I say getting up and don’t look at him

At the dining table Smulligan and Stina have set up office with open laptops and documents neatly arranged and piles of equipment in black zippered bags

It is Stina who begins in a sharp, no nonsense business voice directing ice cold eyes at me,

“sit down, this will take awhile. There are things we need to know,” and she begins the interrogation right away

“Do you mind, Stina?” Willem interrupts, “she’s been under there almost three days, she must be starved.”

But continues anyway with her usual compulsion of arbitrary methods by what ever whim seems to suit her needs, heedless of others opinions and looks boldly  at me, and bluntly asks,

“where is Jörn?”

The shock of her question stuns me and I shake my head, 

“don’t you know?”

“Why would I be asking?” she asks with a sarcastic smile

I look at Smulligan who is also looking at me and waiting for an answer

“How should I know?” I shrug defensively, “you don’t think I’d like to know that too?”

“We think you know,” Stina stares me down

“Do one of those bags have lie detector equipment?” I start to feel angry

“That can be arranged,” Stina smiles, unfazed 

“Come on, she doesn’t know!” Willem protests

“And what authority do you have in this matter?” she looks at him, “I have more than enough reason to believe you know much more than you say yourself,” she says to Willem

“His story checks out,” Smulligan at last breaks his stone faced silence 

“Do you still deny you and he have been intimately involved?” 

I shake my head,

“me and Jörn or me and Willem? Didn’t we clear that question up a long time ago when you asked us?”

For an uncomfortable moment she studies me and then, point blank fires another question,

“where’s the safe?”

I rub my eyes feeling exhausted and now having enough of this line of questioning I say,

“really, go set up the lie detector because if you’re going to keep repeating these questions about things that I would like to know the answers to, then maybe we can save some time.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Smulligan says now

“And how would you know that?” Stina looks at him

“I got a nose for it, I know when people are lying,” he says

“Is that some play on words?” she snaps without humor and fires on, “do you know how serious it is to have that safe floating around out there? And our government does not feel comfortable with the American government getting their hands on that safe! —or anyone else’s!” she looks now at Willem

“I’m not one to quote the Bible, Stina, but maybe first, can I suggest— before your government go deciding what is best for the rest of the world maybe your government should, to borrow the quote, first ‘set their own house in order’ —before making claims of any semblance of law and order,” Willem chuckles and pushes back the chair he has been sitting in and stands up, “until then, I call this meeting closed. Let’s go, Dusk.”

****

He walks me outside out the front door as he talks, 

“all your belongings here have already been packed up,” he is saying as I look around us at the commotion of activity all over the front lawn and in front of the house. There are SWAT team trucks everywhere and a helicopter landed in the middle of the property, which, this alone I find wildly unbelievable but to add to it, I realize he’s heading me right towards it

“Are we going in that thing?” I look up at him as we walk

He smiles,

“ever been in one? It’s fun, you’ll like it,” he says 

“No, I’m afraid of heights,” I am saying but he’s still pushing me towards it

“Duck down until we get up there, it’s rather noisy too so we’ll be shouting!” now already shouting as we get closer 

After Stina and everything else, what’s another hair raising experience, I decide as I’m forced to board the terrifying aircraft. And it must be the exhaustion of the past few days of events that I feel only somewhat dazed when we begin to take off.

I realize it is one of the bigger ones than those often shown on tv and after I’m fitted with headphones that has an attached microphone, making conversation possible on board, Willem explains that it is the kind the military use but this one belongs to the FBI

“I should update you on why this is necessary,” Willem says as we take off, “a few important things you need to know—“

“Ok, but first—where are we going?”

“We’re heading back to New York City— first I want to inform you, it’s all over the news there has been a shooting incident—not that’s exactly shocking these days, so— since the gun shots were heard by the neighbors down your hill, there were reports and you know the media, they couldn’t keep it from going slightly viral through the news sources —but what’s made it really big news is that somehow it got out it may have terrorist connections. So, there’s too much attention on this right now, we need to keep you out of sight, because…. the next thing you need to know is that ….it’s also everywhere —your— connection in this ….because you went missing. They posted your name and picture— because they were saying this was a suspected hostage situation and they were asking the public if you had been seen anywhere and for any information. So now we come to the real big problem: Retnuh and Deiter got away and are currently at large…. no one knows where they are, no one saw where they went—“

“Oh my god!” I let out an involuntary shriek that is a little too loud on the headphones, “he’s out there? I don’t understand, I thought I —“

Willem puts his hand on my arm to calm me,

“it was Deiter—we caught it on the cameras, well, some of it. He was busy knocking out all the surveillance cameras and knocking the system offline when he followed Retnuh after you ran. All we could track of what happened is that Deiter dragged him unconscious from the gym and we had no idea where you were. Maybe they had arranged a getaway car to be waiting nearby, who knows. They vanished….”

For a long moment Willem is quiet as this newsflash sinks into my sensibilities 

I look out through the chopper’s front window screen and then the window closer to me but only vaguely aware of the landscape I stare down at. All I see are tops of trees broken up by occasional rooftops, large bodies of water and mountain ranges outlined by winding roads but they could have been images on a computer screen for all the connection I felt to anything I looked at, far more blown away by what Willem has told me

After awhile Willem says,

“so now, you should realize—you are still in danger. I have arranged for twenty four hour protection and arranged a few other safety measures. When we reach New York, there will be a private car waiting and I will introduce you to your driver who is now assigned to you for your protection. There will be four others in shifts routinely posted outside. We’ll enter the penthouse through the underground parking garage and go straight up, no one will see you arrive or enter.”

“The penthouse?” I look dully at Willem

“Ilya has been informed,” Willem says now and then after a pause he says, “tonight you will sleep there but tomorrow we go to another safe house and again, no one will see you leave. We’ll go out through the underground garage. The windows are tinted, no one will see inside the car.”

“Where is the safe house? And why am I not just staying at the penthouse?”

“Too many risks and that would be the first place they would look for you. There you will pack what clothes and belongings to bring…. the safe house where you will be staying is in the Hamptons. The house is in South Hampton Long Island.”

Noir room within—Part 4/crumbling walls

It is after quite awhile of searching all the walls for any other possible alternative out of here that I start to feel fatigued of this and the feeling of panic starts to take over. 

I think the worst thoughts now 

and I find I start to blame Jörn. I start to feel such anger about him the more I think. 

And out loud I start to yell at the walls:

“Where is he? Why has he not come for me? When it’s all his fault I’m here!” I get so angry that I kick the walls and I say things aloud in anger at him until in the end I am too tired to rage anymore and then in a feeling of defeat I say, “fuck you, Jörn….” 

but there is no more anger left. And I hear it in my voice…. the disappointment …. as it echoes through the empty room …. my voice cracks and without permission, I feel the tears come…. and right there in that empty square where the safe had been, I collapse into a heap and start to cry …. 

“you never came…. you just left me here…. you didn’t ….come for me….” 

and now think of that sky ….with the glowing sun along the horizon of the water; an empty sea and ….no boat came

and as I keep crying knowing my defeat, I think of the hides covered in blood….

“you did not come…. fuck you, Jörn….” repeating the words with that kind of shock of disbelief in a hopeless mumble, as there seems all I have left —is sorrow, “you did not come….” 

He took the safe and left with my codes —and left me with the monster 

and now ….to rot in another dungeon

“I hate you,” I whisper into my hands…. “why did I believe any of those things? He was only ever after the code….” and stretch across the floor within the square…. “I hate you…. for believing you…. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you….” and let my thoughts drift away in exhausted despair and I suppose I must have fallen asleep and maybe I dreamed

****

It is a high pitched sound that starts to invade my sleep, the kind of irritating sound that reaches within your eardrum to an almost painful level

“What is that?” I say to the empty room, forgetting where I am until I open my eyes. And then sharp pain comes when I attempt to move. Cement floors are not very comfortable to sleep on, and the position I chose was not beneficial, and find I quite regret it now as I force myself to move. My glasses are still on my face too which has only made the situation worse to my head where I can feel it has left an indentation above my right ear

but what is that horrible noise? 

I stand up with a sense of renewed panic of being trapped down here as I try to figure out what direction the sound is coming from, as my worst thought now is: whatever it is, there is no escaping what is coming if it is coming through one of these walls.... 

and so, why do I think of ‘The Poseidon Adventure’ just now? And with that, horror thoughts of a pipe bursting through the walls to drown me....

I run to the walls to listen at each one until I locate which one it is coming from. It is the wall adjacent to the lavatory on one side and the entrance I came through on the other just below where the blinking red light is positioned in the ceiling; I can feel the vibration when I flatten my hand up to it .... and I feel it get stronger 

Instinctively, I start to back away

There is a smell.... almost a kind of burning smell. Is it a chemical? It is almost familiar but I can’t really place it .... but I realize it’s not alarming, somehow. And after awhile the smell gets stronger and then I begin to recognize where I would have known it from. It is the kind of smell you associate with construction sites. And I realize, it is cement that is .... being drilled

And as I stand there watching the wall, I notice it starts to crack .... and while this may or may not be good, I look around the room wondering if I should hide somewhere only.... it might just be better to face whoever it is unless— well.... unless it is the person I closed myself in here to get away from

So I go towards the keyboard and move next to it deciding it would be the only defense weapon I have and put my hand on it as I wait, watching from this part of the room as pieces of wall starts to crumble in and fall onto the floor 

Noir room within/Part 3–surfacing (and still no sign)

….it is the recoiling reverberation, like a backward spring-load, resounding in slow motion; this exhausting mental fugue that tremors in waves like an earth quake and becomes a physical exhaustion …. and the next time I check the time on the platinum watch the small hand is at seven

seven what? …. I do not know

but find I don’t care

sunk deep in the morass far far away ….where nobody can reach. nobody can get through these walls

…. nothing comes in 

and they can’t hear the screams…. no, they can’t hear those …. nothing goes out 

we are far away, deep in the morass where it is safe

we have been here before. sunk so deep. and time does not matter at all. there is no interest at all of anything. not even physical needs seem to present any pressing importance …. and yes, there are terms they call this; those scientific labels; psycho-sociological words invented by behavioralists to define and refine what is normal; who play with rats and monkeys and the occasional dog in labs doing their torture games to study and decide for all of us exactly what is —normal 

what if you fling a normal person into an abnormal family in an abnormal society and then inflict a few freakish and violent events— and ask her: why can’t you just be normal? here, take a pill; be like us…. and pretend not to feel until you believe it. like we do. time heals they say. life times too?

I know their words, I studied them and got their degree; their handy DSM, I am more than familiar. 

they decide  

normal …. what is that? who is that? who’d want to be ….? so overrated …. I don’t care for it, I never believed in their conclusions to want a vocation for a field that could not even understand me ….could not even place me in their —statistics …. trail blazing indeed— Dr. Rothschild …. another way to say, you’re on your own, and good luck with that, with a smile of sympathy so they can sleep at night —keep your useless sympathy for those who want it and swallow self pity pills; a mad prescription to normal behavior

Oh Lady MacBeth, scrub it off!

….no, I’m not angry. there is no one to be angry at. I’m not angry. and why be angry when the world is busy shooting everyone up. Left, right, the republic of democracy …. what does it all mean? just delusions and ego over illusions of power but over what? over cheating death? Cheating the living. It’s so boring 

and unkind….

so label me, I don’t care ….PTSD…. fuck all —and the next time I look at the face of the watch it says one

I must have slept and only now do I feel the pressure of my bladder for the first time ….I must be surfacing 

….yet I don’t get up right way from where I’m sat on the floor. where I seem to have found comfort against the wall with the hoodie I’ve taken off, used to soften the corner of the wall and floor. I find my glasses nearby and put them on after rubbing my eyes. I try to clear the cobwebs from my head

and do a perfunctory inventory review of events —but robotically omitting emotion. just thought; think …. but it seems finally my bladder reminds me I’m human after all and in the end makes the exercise increasingly difficult to continue 

I get up and stumble at first as it slowly dawns —realizing I have become weak— my head is weird; and decide I had better remind myself I am still alive. And carefully walk to the lavatory to perform a confirmation of the fact ….that so strangely— is propitious to support evidence of ….

and having done so, go about washing —first hands, face, using my fingers to scrub my teeth…. then stripping down to scrub just using the liquid soap in the dispenser and my hands, standing over the sink ….and then leaning over, wash my hair too. 

the need to wash it all away; to own myself like a kind of baptism

I get dressed again. 

There is no mirror so I use my fingers to feel and sort my hair, pulling some behind my ears and twisting the length of it into a coil and squeeze the excess water out into the sink, then pull the damp weight to one side over my left shoulder to dry and consciously make myself drink two cup fulls of water before I walk back out into the secret room 

and straightening my spine, consciously lift up my chin and look into the room then walk back over to my spot on the floor to sit down soberly to think. and now as I sit there this time, when I look up, I notice a light I hadn’t seen…. that is, I don’t recall —unless I just was too distracted to be aware of it …. red and blinking up in the corner. where the wall meets the ceiling…. it might have been all along…. and escaped my notice

but after a moment I disregard it and stand back up and move to the doorway where I came through. I try to hear through it. But as before, I hear nothing through. I look to the latch and decide to test it —carefully fiddle with what seemed was the latch ….

Only now do I realize it does not open from this side and there is no keypad …. no actual door knob or latch…. and realize there is no way to open it…. and Jörn never mentioned this, and ….the secret wall had never shut with me 

and for the next several moves of the small hand of the watch ….I try every possible way to find some key, some sign …. tapping the locket key to the back of the watch 

but still there is no sign

Unsafe Broken Codes/Noir room within, Part 2

Even as I know I cannot stay forever…. I realize that I do not want to leave. I am filled with terror at the thought.

these walls that are sound proof they keep the world away. I do not want to leave 

……

I slide down the wall until the ground stops me. Here no one can get in…. unless they know the code …. the locks are on the inside 

safe

no knot is tight enough to pull myself into to keep the memory out and the fear never goes away. I press into the wall and cover my eyes …. the smell is on me …. with all the others …. all my enemies who put me here …. I don’t want to leave here …. why must I go? for more? and the shallow reassurance…. they mean no harm when they know what happened but use their traps not hearing anything I’ve said 

and it is awhile that I stay like that ….confusing where I am 

and time and place; strange and unfamiliar. I feel disoriented 

I look around me. It is only when I see the electric piano keyboard leaning against the wall that I start to place myself back into the present 

In an empty spot on the floor I see a kind of square. Like the kind when something is moved and it shows the dust around it.

Slowly it occurs to me that …. was where the safe was

was….

I look around the otherwise empty room now and see that besides the keyboard there is nothing else in it.

I look up at the light above …. and start to wonder what time it is

I reach for my phone now. But I realize after touching the screen and pressing the button ….it has gone dead…. 

it does not yet occur to me if I should worry about this …. instead I remember I still wear the platinum watch …. only—should I assume it is accurate? but knowing Jörn, as I do, I suspect it would be. It is analogue with hands and numbers and it says …. some time after eleven …. and find I don’t know if that means morning or night ….and try to remember 

we were outside and it was still early …. but how long was it that came after ….? 

And still it makes no sense to me.

But where is the safe? 

I stand up, having to use to wall to drag myself onto my feet as it seems every muscle in my body is screaming with pain…. oh there is pain in other places too …. but no…. I must not feel …. do not feel —the smell is on my skin; I intentionally refocus my thoughts away 

only now I think again about the safe. I walk to the spot where it was, where the dust did not go; the neat square it left behind. And then I look at the keyboard and wonder dully about this walking now over to it. It leans sideways on the wall. I kneel to touch the keys …. and remember Jörn’s hands just then

I straighten back up and now wonder about him …. 

And wonder now ….why has he not come? Yet, it seems, he took the safe…. 

And I think a new thought: he knows the code now…. 

he no longer needs me…. is this why he has not come?

I walk around the perimeter of the room that is somewhat dimly lit and go in a circle around searching for another hidden doorway that might not be easily visible as the walls are painted a dark tone that is almost black

when I reach the furthest wall where the light hardly reaches, I find a door with no codes and open it. But it is only a small lavatory with just a sink and a toilet. I look up to see if there are any vents that might lead to somewhere —but there is nothing. 

I look at the clinical looking sink that is clean. There is liquid soap in a dispenser beside it and a another dispenser that has paper cups. I reach for one right now and drink, realizing how thirsty I am. I find it hard to swallow ….and remember the hands …. on my throat. The memory makes me gag. 

I put down the cup and now reach for the soap dispenser and start to wash myself. I scrub the places where the smell seems all over me…. and scrub and scrub …. and I can still feel the hands on me and remember …. remember why the smell disturbs me…. how is it that a smell can immediately take you somewhere in an instant so sharply back? and I scrub some more and remember another memory attached to that very smell …. 

then feel the sick in my throat …. but my stomach is empty and I can only dry heave …. but keep heaving until the pain in my sore throat from those hands forces me to stop

I walk back out and walk back over to stare at that square on the floor 

But where is he? 

Where is ….Jörn? 

….did I only just imagine he ever cared? What if none of it was ever real?

what if it wasn’t …. and I was just a code ….to crack …. just something to add to his collection for his ego 

 



the Noir room within

but I do not look to see, I turn fast to where I know the hidden door is, hidden in a crack in the wall of the gym, releasing the catch of the platinum watch swiftly, ready with the other hand grasping the tiny key that dangles with the platinum safe locket, tap the tip of it against the indentation on the back of the watch’s face and magically it shows itself to where I last saw the real safe hidden, just codes away 

And once within its chamber I slam fast the secret door 

and once enclosed …. there is no sound at all. sealed, not even sound comes through

It is a long time that I stay there, leaning up against it, a long time after I’ve caught my breath and lean my head into the wall, eyes shut tight …. 

within another room ….

where nothing can get inside 

…. where nothing comes in

nothing comes in and nothing goes out …. where nobody can touch me, I belong to me; I am me, I am mine, I belong to me and I am fine. 

I am me I am mine, and nothing gets inside. I am me I am mine I belong to me…. and nothing gets inside 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/the dungeon of hell Scene continues (jmmusechron)

 

“I think it’s time to remind you about how things go with Retnuh, don’t you?” he asks, while we go along the long corridor, all the time keeping sight of his watch.

I guess he’s looking for either some way in to look for the safe or, going with the feeling he’s looking for Deiter, either way, he seems to have some indication of where he’s going and as I am familiar with the underground, I know we are heading in the direction of the dungeon and the cage where I saw Deiter was locked up. 

But seeming doubtful, he says now, glancing at his watch,

“you know the way in, dontcha?” And looks intently at me with those soulless black hole demonic bulging eyes and to emphasize his intent, gathers the fabric of the collar of my shirt into a tight squeeze and slowly begins to squeeze hard, as if to remind me of that night in that dorm room. It does. And I feel the eerie cold chill of fear as my flesh seems to crawl by his physical contact—at the same time I feel sick and can’t breathe. I hold my breath and my nerve —and stare blankly back at him. 

He studies my eyes,

“let’s see if I have to remind you what happens if you don’t do whad I say,” he whispers this moving his face closer to me, “I think you need remindin’,” he whispers into my ear and leaves a vile wet trail on my neck. Then squeezes my throat in both hands and I feel him press into my vertebra in the same place as last time—pressing painfully on the damaged tissues so that, involuntarily I cry out

But I nod and try to make a sound affirming his request as I blankly stare back at him, still holding my nerve.... I keep my thoughts neutral, I force my mind to plan.... to not let him win.... and I think too of revenge 

“You take me to Deiter, hear?” he asks

I nod and again try to make a sound but only a tiny, choked sound emerges. 

He lets go suddenly with a shove and I nearly fall as I gasp for air. But, anxious to move away from him, then not wasting time, quickly look around to gauge how close we are ....I start walking forward.... 

and then things start to register in my mind as some thoughts of a plan ....when I see the wall lamps, recognizing them, knowing what they mark; see looking down the corridor the whole line of them all along the walls.... 

then I think of Jörn .... 

I touch my phone making sure it is still in my pocket —and I think: he will find me.... 

he will come.... I know he will come

and then remember too how he showed me the slight depressions in the walls ....how they indicate where the keypads are hidden; each one opening to secret doorways .... 

and glance as we pass them

I lead him further through the long, winding corridor and then we go around the turns and through towards the catacombs that lead to the dungeon, we follow how it winds around, passing the electric rover, still plugged in where Jörn left it, still charging. 

Then it is a damp, cave-like passageway through to where what once had been the secret distillery and wine cellars during prohibition times. We go down to the next bend and now the fluorescent ceiling lights illuminate the way to the conveyor belts. From there it leads straight into the dungeon.

It seems a million years ago since I last was here, I think now looking at it—even though it has only been one day it seems a million years ago ....but somehow, seeing it again now, fills me with some sense of reassurance as I have come to know every inch of this place so well ....like being on one’s own turf; I know where I can hide, I know the way....

And then, there it is: the cage —now with its prisoner gagged with duct tape and cuffed

And still consider plans.... and glance to the right where the bat staircase is. How it leads outside to that other side-street with the general store front and gas pump ....remembering so many things.... and again, think of Jörn. And absently, I touch the the platinum pedant of the mini safe he made for me —with the tiny key— that still hangs from my neck ....and think too of where the real safe is hiding 

Retnuh grabs hold of me by the collar of my shirt and drags me with him towards the cage towards Deiter tied up but he now has regained consciousness. He makes a sound in his throat from the cage and tries to stand up, but his handcuffs have him locked to the steel unit built into the floor where I’d found the phone charger that day

“Shii-iit!” Retnuh says walking towards the cage and dragging me with him as he stares at Deiter shaking his head, “fuck! That ain’t good!” then, without warning, shoots the padlock on the cage, then kicks the gate open

He drags me with him into the cage, then with a shove, tosses me aside and walks straight over to Deiter and rips off the duct tape from his mouth

“Mutha-fukka! Geezzzuz-fucking-Christ!! What the fuck!” Deiter says with a German accent, rubbing his lip, “thanks all the same, brother,” he says with sarcasm and shoots him a resentful glance

“How the fuck did you git yourself like dat—yo, bro—you may be on yo own unless you gotta clue where they keeps da key,” Retnuh shrugs

“Paper clip,” Deiter shakes his head towards the desk

Retnuh pulls open the top drawer.

And I notice as he does this there’s nothing in it.

Retnuh pulls open the next drawer, but that drawer has also been cleared out. He yanks open every drawer but they are all empty. I watch him as he goes to the one where I usually do the Cabaret orders which faces the other desk, and now he goes over there to look but these drawers are also empty —and I notice that all the computers are gone too.  

“Here’s one,” Retnuh finds a stray paper clip on the floor by the chair.

As he picks it up, I use the moment of his distraction to start inching back towards the gate considering where to make a run for it ....go over all exits in my mind

and wonder too if there is anything I could use as some kind of weapon —thinking of the gun hidden behind the filing cabinets in that secret cabinet assuming it is still there, but I’d not even know how to use it and the chances of me reaching it and moving that heavy unit without notice are obviously nil ....

I keep moving backwards keeping my eye on Retnuh attempting to open Deiter’s handcuffs with the paper clip —then, now I notice too that the ‘graze’ Jörn gave him with that shot appears to be making a pool of blood onto the floor, dripping out from under his sleeve 

I take a careful breath and manage to get all the way outside the gate without notice —and decide— it’s now or never!

And make a run for it!

And as I take off I notice there are boxes in the way of the first hidden door under the staircase .... and then have to make a run towards the next passage that leads back through the catacombs not taking the way that Retnuh dragged me as this way is shorter to the nearest hidden door and force myself to sprint like the devil is chasing me

.... only it is not long before my escape move is noticed 

blocking out fear, I run in a mad dash, think of my advantage: he’s lost blood ....and when I get past the first bend, I head to the first glowing light I see and stop by it, find the slight impression in the wall where to hit —and the keypad opens

Fuck! my birthday? —backwards—? a challenge to any dyslexic —and have to think and know a moment’s sheer panic as I hear running foot steps approaching.... 

Fuck! —fingers shaking— I miss the buttons first attempt! Fuck! and ignore the sound of approaching footsteps 

and this time get the numbers in

the door releases —but just as it does, I see Retnuh has caught up!!Slamming my weight against the door now, it swings open wide —but my timing is not in my favor

Retnuh has made it to the doorway in time to stop it from slamming shut with his foot.... as I run inside....

and he leans on the door for a moment and narrows his demonic eyes at me and realize I am cornered 

Until it occurs to me what doorway I have chosen to run into! It is Jörn’s gym! 

Shaking, I turn to face Retnuh.... and see now that he seems slightly woozy as he stands in the doorway —and now breathless, he stops to breathe to try and catch his breath. He takes this moment to check his wound and I see the bloodstain on the sleeve of his jacket has now thoroughly soaked through his jacket sleeve. He takes off his jacket and then drops it on the floor in the doorway, and leans inside the doorframe; I can see he seems to need the support—he pulls up his shirt sleeve to inspect the gunshot wound. 

Nervously, I feel again for the platinum pendant.... with the tiny key and glance around the room then look back at him....

After a moment, he rubs his face as though to revive himself from the wooziness; the blood loss, clearly, has begun to affect him. He looks around the room sluggishly, observing the surroundings,

“well, well, this underground bunker is sure full of surprises!” but his laugh is weak as he looks around, “a nice little gym he got going on here!” he laughs again, “too bad it don’t lead you nowhere, baby, ’cept te yo doom! Uh huh.... got dat right.... so.... whad ya think yo gonna do now?” 

I glance over at one of the benches .... remembering this was where I last found the platinum watch ....

I see it now .... it reflects it’s weird blue that comes from the overhead light, and look at him as I back towards the bench 

“Where yo think yo goin’? I tells ya.... yo ain’t got no where to run baby.... you are trapped but good now!” he keeps laughing but slightly lumbered in his moves he starts to walk towards me .... a hunter sniffing the scent of prey .... and as he moves into the room, the door slowly swings free of where he had been holding it, but it is stopped from closing all the way by his jacket laying there on the floor

I back towards the bench and feign a faltered misstep to make it seem I accidentally fall to land in a sit on on the bench and reach as though to scratch my ankle .... doing my best to be casual, stealth, in a slight move, get hold of the watch and deftly slip it onto my wrist and jump up to dart further away from him to the next bench that is adjacent to this one.... and put some distance between us and from his evil, heinous eyes 

Then glance around deciding what next....There are various weights laying around, on the floor and some stacked up on shelving.... 

And behind me there’s a wall that faces the wall on opposite side of the room where the hidden doorway is that leads to the secret room with the safe....

only I know I can’t reach it now, he’s blocking the way.... and—I’m trapped....I move now behind the bench staring at him

....and try to glance around for something —anything— I can use.... 

all I need is a long enough moment —a good deterrent.... 

weights.... 

I see a few free weights on the floor by my foot, but the one closest to me, has too many weights on it for me to be able to lift.... I back some more until I hit the wall, then, angling, knowing right now I can move quicker than he can —dart fast to another bench. This one has a stack of bars with weights on grooved shelving on it —I back slightly behind this, then spot a set of free weights I recognize and have used and know I can lift —I wait until he moves closer— and make a quick move for it, without warning, in a swift motion, I grab it in both hands and with all my strength swing it hard right at him, it slams hard against his neck as I release my grip and throws him off balance! 

(to be continued)

since everyone keeps asking me what I look like these days (just not looking for attention), here’s a messy after-workout selfie I just took, so, yeah, I’m still here and that’s me now; same, just longer hair

But for the tether and barbed wire, to know instead just one true friend .... who did not take

Dungeon of hell Noir (the scene after the SWAT team arrive continues....)/ed&jmmusechrn

It becomes chaos across the back lawn, shots fired and single figures in black appear and disappear, scaling the outer barn house walls or crawling behind bushes. When a figure in hunting camo jumps out a window, more shots are fired but I can’t see by who, and all this I take in as I’m pulled backwards towards the woods by the grip of Retnuh Nivek whose arm has me around the abdomen in a vise-like hold. 

I see Jörn in the distance as I am pulled backward, as I watch the barn house shrink from my vision further and further back—see in the distance the washed shade of sunlight slanting across the hilly ground as the canopy of the woods behind me shadows, and seem to enclose me now into its cape of ransom. I try not to think of anything, clear my thoughts and search my surrounding options and gauge my chances of any route of escape while I will away the fight or flight panic to dissipate into something surreal

And then, such inappropriate, incidental details surface my awareness. Awkward discomfort in my shoulders in the cramped grip I’m held in, the sting and taste of fear in my pores and mouth and the dizzying, loud, pounding pulsing sound I hear in my head drowning out all the other sounds all around. Like I’m jettisoned within my own internal reality where time and space seems to begin to alter within its own laws of science.

We continue to move backwards towards the trees as I am held like a shield with the butt of his gun pressed too intently against my abdomen, feeling it bruise into me as it is pointed at Jörn who, in the near distance, advances towards us. At first I saw Jörn freeze in his steps when I first jumped out and surprised him, saw him swiftly move at first to shoot and then suddenly caught to stare at me incomprensibly and then watched as I got caught into the very trap intended for him —but with different and more risky consequences

In this moment, I go over these thoughts....

How he stood momentarily stunned staring at me, aiming his gun in our direction as Retnuh Nivek used his advantage to make me his shield and achieving his ultimate prize aim, I think of the irony that I fall right into his hands and possession, code and all!

But there is no time to dwell over what’s done.... drawn backwards while my very own nemesis is holding his own weapon held in the ready but unable to get a clear shot with me in front, I watch Jörn as he slowly moves, creeping carefully forward as we inch backward

But ....it is almost too much for me.... awash with too much to fully process, and, inappropriately, this taxing of nerves begins to fatigue me; my thoughts steal away. I feel anxiety give into a kind of swoon where I now find myself .... that intoxicated feeling and it is like without choice, it seems I just split off....as it takes me somewhere outside myself—somewhere else.... 

the surreality of the moment of again encountering my long held enemy ....and it throws me somewhere; as if into some other reality; some other awareness. And with it —that sense that —this is so familiar —so much like another time....like this

....and while dulling my present senses, it plays with my mind....and seems to enhance other senses....as it seems to stun thoughts, warping the walls between present and some other present, a melting and exhausting of temporal reason—to a strange but familiar version; a shift in senses.... and invokes some kind of another dimension of —thoughts ....that reawaken horrors, as if buried deeply in the nether zones of deep consciousness that have laid there dormant.... except in dreams

But where is this? 

perhaps it is the fatigue of overwhelming shock which takes me.... 

do you see the horizon .... ? And remember again.... and see it now there before me ....see it overlaid and present, real—so real— that I can touch it— how it looked, bleached of color in the sun and ....I am somehow there hiding, still there.... hiding ....as if I never left—still hiding

Hiding.... to not to be seen by ....those others. The others.... it was the ones who lived in the long houses; I can still see them all; see the mud, smell the fish, there are the buckets and —the ropes.... the angry faced women calling “Loki!” at me, staring back at me shouting, and the old, terrifying, maimed warrior laughing holding the swinging ax.... that taste of fear

.... and such fear .... then running blindly towards the water .... at first to just not be found by them .... and then to drown .... and wanting to ....

but somehow don’t ....and drift .... and then awake, in the cover of shrubs, shrouded and burrowed deep in the gritty earth.... panting in fear and —watching the horizon.... 

watching? ....for? ....yes.... watching; because this I do remember, remember it, like home ....even with its accompanying horror....still long for it.... waiting.... I am watching the water and sky, ever still waiting for that boat 

and as the sun sinks on the horizon, with it such fear, and each day, still clinging to and waiting, each day ....hoping ....for ....it not to.... for the sun to not disappear .... because —then—he would return, he would come ....and so keep holding on ....to that one hope, he would return, he would come; he promised to, he said he would ....he promised ....because yes, he would, he would come.... but what would then come after....

......

And now I stumble over a tangled patch of weedy grass. It is the loud explosion of a gun shot that is fired that jolts me back to the present, the smoking gun reaches my senses as it comes from the weapon pressed against my own hip! 

I look up in panicked fear! Is it Jörn? Is he hit? But,no— the shot missed, I dimly realize in relief as I hear the accusing insult at me spat against the back of my neck —angry at me because it was my misstep that caused the shot to miss his aim at Jörn... and I watch as Jörn darts to the next closest tree for cover behind a thick tree trunk

And as I catch my breath with relief, I feel a wave of dizziness from the pressure that suppresses the air being squeezed out of my lungs by the rough yank that pulls me and I force myself to inhale what little I can, but with it, now get a whiff of the reek belonging to Retnuh Nivek’s own foul breath and mingled with it is the smell of his odious, putrid sweat 

....longing to be free of him, I search for the best means of escape that seem most possible ....with Jörn in the near shadows advancing slowly, under the cover of trees and thick shrubs.... but see that he is too far to reach to take the chance, even if I could shake off the bear-like grip trapping me

Still, gauging my chances, assess the surrounding vicinity, trying to estimate any possible choices.... should I catch him in a moment of surprise, maybe just take my chance now? One quick jab of my elbow backward into his lumbering flesh and shake him off ....?

but deciding against this, resist the present urge to, thinking it would be better to wait for more favorable odds as he’s got a gun and know, I’d not get too far....and even as I suspect he would not necessarily kill me right away, as he still has to get the code, I remind myself .... but I also remind myself bitterly that, I know all too well, he would feel little qualms in shooting me in a less fatal place —until he got what he wanted— and so, decide I would rather forgo another lasting injury to have to live with to add to what he has already scarred me with, which for years has left me with quite enough of a life time legacy of physical pain to have to endure, and I’d as soon as much prefer no more .... 

And so—if anything—it is high time to even that score .... so, I decide that, at present, no, not great odds, just yet but with a renewed and quite sobering and leveling resolve

....as he drags me backward in the direction towards the bunker underground—as if he knows the way— but how could he know that?

so..... my mind races wildly in thought and in madness of the commotion, reason to myself the possibility that maybe it is ‘the mole’ who must have somehow informed him—because someone must have somehow told him something.... for, clearly, he seems to know the way as we are now heading straight in the direction of where the secret underground is.... which would be impossible to know—so how could he even know this if I can’t even figure how to find it? —so, he must have some other reliable source? 

....so now.... I begin to try and piece together some recent impressions; the parking lot at Lake Placid, the man locked in the cage— there must be a connection— and then, I wonder: how much else could that guy know? .... as it seems we advance in the direction right towards the underground with a determined intention ....

 ....and as we stumble backwards, we trip suddenly over a fallen, dead tree-branch on the ground, and it is now when I look down I notice he wears a smart-watch and as it catches my eye I see its screen is open to a gps navigation map and see there is a blinking red dot ....which must coordinate to this location. So, he must then somehow know not just the layout of the property, but about the dungeon also within.... and what else? So then, yes— of course it must be ....the mole in the dungeon cage.... and Jörn of course figured it out—so, that man I saw that day, the one smoking a cigarette who looked at me so oddly in the Lake Placid parking lot—the one Jörn called ‘Deiter’ ....then think— how much does ‘the mole’ know? I mean.... could he also know that the other safe is a decoy? But.... then, I don’t think anyone besides Jörn, and I guess Willem— would really know that —except, of course, there’s the guy who made it and —well, me .... 

And now as we get caught and trip —this time in a much bigger and thicker fallen branch, we do almost fall to the ground, but regaining our footing only stumble, and in this moment of missed footing, things start to happen fast, and while this occurs, I consider opportunities and try to judge just how close Jörn is to us— noticing that he has kept up with us as we have progressed our way backward. And as we move back, I notice too that we have been going at an angle in to the left and so, again, clearly in the general direction headed towards the entrance to underground.... 

and so, it is during this next round of commotion of another revolution of even louder explosions in echoes of staccatos, which now startles me, as they reverberate through the trees —and with all senses dispersed, it is impossible to comprehend where the gun fire comes from, as it seems from everywhere and all at once and all around us; and so rattled by the noise, I lose my balance —this time we do actually fall down— which is when one shot whizzes right at us in the chaos

“You bitch!” Retnuh Nivek shouts at me as he drops his gun. And I try the opportunity to break free, with a sharp jab by the elbows into him, as he reaches to retrieve it, but my attempts to break free are overcome and my breath is cut off roughly by the grip of his hold against my lungs—and added to the discouragement, get a violent blow to the head, along with a spat, “bitch!” at me, after he bends to get his gun. 

Then, a shot wizzes close, just past my ear, 

“fuck!” he says and yanks me hard as I am now pulled suddenly over hard cement and realize he’s found the entrance to .... the underground .... 

“Shit!” he exclaims, “I’m hit! You fuckin’ bitch!” he throws me against the door and grabs hold of me by the neck of my shirt, glaring into my face, “I don’t suppose you have a key to this door?”

I try to turn my head to look at the door he indicates. But not waiting for my answer he points his gun to the locked doorknob instead, and just shoots at it, at which point a piece of the door hits me in the face and I flinch at the impact, as I feel it cut my cheek

He kicks open the door, and drags me in ....

It is by now I am quite shaken, now finding myself enclosed with him....with no sight of Jörn or anyone, and it is only just me with him alone here—and feel a sense of real terror. For this moment I fear— he’s won; he’s defeated me.... and I fear I have lost my resolve to stay strong.... 

but something inside me just cannot let him win....

for.... you see.... I know.... I cannot —will not— be defeated. I cannot let him win. he will not win. He did not the last time, nor will he now nor ever; I will never let him win.... 

and he cannot get inside—we are not here, he cannot reach me inside.... and I will not be beaten

the cell is on the inside, the strong holds won’t be broken

nobody comes in 

He throws me against the wall for a moment to get his bearings, and says,

“don’t get any ideas, baby—I’m not done wit’ yo ass!” then grabs hold of me with his other arm, dragging me into the darkened interior 

It takes a moment to adjust to the dimness within and then 

there is a moment when he stares at me, like the way you see a ghost

Then, he takes me under each arm pit and holds me up to the wall.... and like a demon, he stares his black hole soul into my eyes....

And as he does this, I think about —revisiting the depths of hell— And so, now it is ....only by recalling whatever unconscious power .... I will it to me now. And to myself, will to —remove....far away; the Cell inside.... where she never left; invincible. and all that I know of survival is wrapped in that chamber where no one gets in. where nothing gets in and nothing goes out and all secrets stay. safe inside. the safe is on the inside. safe. and we are not here, he will not win, nothing reaches in. he can’t touch me, I am not afraid of him ....or anyone 

.... that invisible Cell that holds us, this Celf, the strong hold fortress walls, we gather it like a cloak all around where nobody gets inside—invisible, invincible 

and stare back at him unafraid because he can’t touch me

“Lookie what we got here!” his forced chuckles echoes off the walls, as he clutches at his left arm while grabbing me with the right now but then looks at his hand after touching his wound, “shit....” 

as I can see too—there’s blood— but with an evil sounding cackle says, 

“aw, don’t worry, baby, it’s just a graze—I’ve had worse than this in my time— as I’m sure you have too!!— yeah, ol’ Retnuh ain’t done yet, don’tcha worry none ‘bout that!” and chuckles but I can tell that it is forced 

And in a cavalier manner, he goes on to loudly say

“yeah, no worries, baby!! Retnuh, ain’t done yet— and deffo not wit’ you—“ and drags me along, passing the stairway on the right, through the concrete entrance and past the next doorway with the double doors heading down towards the ramp that leads into the long corridor further in, but first stops to consider the double handles and mumbles “hmmm....” to himself, before he digs into a pocket and pulls out a filthy bandanna. Then laughs to himself as he ties it to the handles, 

“buy us some time till we fi-i-i-nd— what we came lookin’ for!” and chuckles again, “come on!” and gruffly takes a hold of the scruff of my collar to yank and drag me along with his good arm. 

And as we go he says as he drags me, 

“Don’t think that I don’t know about your little dumb ass game— that blog you got, like I’m worried? Ain’t nobody who would give a shit would read what you write about me, kindergarten cloak and dagger shit, like I’m worried! Fuck that, trying to expose me? Dumb bitch!—who’s go’in care, anyways?,” and laughs like it’s a good joke, “but —you—think —you think— dat I don’ know, right? Yo bitch, write about me—nobody ain’ ever read it! You fucker—yeah, fuckin’ sneaky lil’ bitch—you think I don’ know about dat?! —spellin’ my name backwards, like I won’ know it’s me you name—tryin’ to expose me? ...spellin’ my name backwards, yeah, I figgered it out —like dat goin’ work?— tryin’a git a word out on me? Huh, bitch? Well I got one for you— guess who gave me da word on yo?!!” then with a more emphatic and nasty tone this time, he says, with emphasis, “yeah, you’ll never guess dis one—guess who done git me da goods on you!? Yeah—you bet! But you knows, dontcha? Jess like da las’ time, you know! don’tcha?!yo o-o-w-wn sista!!! dats right!—yup! she did,  tol’ ol’ Retnuh everything! yup—all your whereabouts, gave me da goods te lead me right to you —and— dat slippery ol’ safe! My, my!!! —yup, she dun!! lead me right te you, she did, how lucky is dat? Uh huh, she done that for her ol’ friend, jus like that night, did ya know that? she tol me you were hiding’ from me in her dorm— aw she hates you! Yeah, baby, it’s gone be just like that night —remember dat night? Or shud-I remind you?.... fuck yeah, lead me right to you then too.... oh,  you bet—she hates you!” he laughs now, “but you know dat, don’tcha? Yup, even back den she did—I know why too—she’s fuckin’ jealous ‘cause your da pretty sis, hates yer ass!!—and time ain’ been good to her— nuh-uh— not dat I care, fuck dat! wudeva her deal is no biznez o’mind ‘long as she help me out here, yup, her bizznes, don’ care cuz I gets dat safe!! — all dat’s wud I care but I bet you di’n’t know dat she want it too! Did I shock yo ass? An’ yo have no idea why!! You don’ know what’s even in it, I mean—or—didja know? Mmm-mm well, I’m-a gon’ tell yo! It’s got da proof of yo parentage—some ol’ test from sum lab in Barcelona —yup, cuz it over dat ol’ will, sum ‘bout who your real daddy is —or didntcha know about dat will?” he stops to look at me and seems to find this especially amusing, shaking his head, “yo didna know dint ya? Ha! Yeah! Dat’s right!—you not know dat! ‘ bout dat secret will! Well, she is a greedy bitch ol’ sista! I’d hate her if I wuz yo— she a greedy bitch, her own sista’! Anyways, some clause but den wit your grampa.... I dunno if dat wud even make no diff— but whateva’ ain’ my bizz like I say....” still dragging me stops to look at me again and says, “yeah, her daddy Mel hated you too, dint he? yup, I remember —wanted you dead that night.... but Ah tells you dat night he dun wantcha dead, mmm mmm, that mutha fukka called yo nigger baby.... but whateva— he paid and I said I fucked you up real good so he better be satisfied wid dat, which wuz too bad cos you and I back den we were kinda friends weren’t we?—back den, yeah, I remember, but he paid me to do da job an’ well, I ain’t one to turn down a good offer—no way, jus bizznizz.... yo.... but,” here he stops to stare at me straight in the eye. He says,

“but—wud happen dat night?? I mean— sum weird shit!—you din’t die, didje—” he stares, “like it wud sum divine innervention weird shit— first yo were dead, I saw it! —but den.... you din’t—like I get up an.... I saw yo.... summen happen, someone wuz in dat room wid us —did ye see it?—why —din’t— you die dat night?” he stares at me now stopping suddenly to look at me, “never saw anathin’ like dat weird shit—it was like you jus rose right outta death....!” he just stares now oddly at me, “I mean, afta— after all I did yo shudda been dead! I mean, I wuz done witch-a....I watched yo ass fuckin’ die—! I know a dead body when I see it and you’d wuz dead!“ he shudders staring and shakes his head  and then after a moment shakes himself out of it and grabs a cruel hold to drag me on, “well, not this time— I gone finish da job dis time....as I tol’ her I wud....” he drags me as he mumbles “  ....boy was I surprised to hear from her.... she hates you....”

I have come to suppose that even the dead ends and the lost and seemingly meaningless years are as necessary, if not more, as the arrival to the discovery of finding the essence of meaning 

it would not be possible to reach that place of some kind of contentment without being sure that all the questions that plague are answered to arrive at the satisfaction of finding acceptance and peace within

the stranger; lost in translations/marker of more notes to e.d.

struggling to define a self, between the pages behind what makes the mortar of the Noir façade

~As work continues on the following scenes that stands for my allegorical map and legend to the center of a Celf, I am caught and trapped over serious concerns over my own responsibility to my personal purpose and meaning in this life in order to stay true to why I work at all on this divine comedy~ (of errors) 

dear e.d.,

but I am reluctant to leave my ivory tower. he tries to convince me to come out to see him before September. he says he wants to see me. am I ready to come home, he asks me.... but what does he mean? 

he tells me it is time to come out of hiding. he says everybody misses me. return to the fold of the band of misfits. 

we talk about growing up as expatriates, being foreign in a country ....only to find we are foreigners in our own country when we are forced to return years later to our own. we do not fit in. we do not understand our country and culture. we compare notes of the failed marriages and relationships. the partners who just don’t fit the mark and I find it reassuring to know it is not just me so lost; we don’t understand them, they are shallow with empty values; they are ignorant and self centered and they don’t understand us. the ones who were there only a short while adjust better coming back, but I guess they were only visiting. only visitors; the ones like us, where even the money here doesn’t make sense— to us that was home but we cannot go back.... we don’t belong. we are foreigners. I never thought I’d end up married to an American, I never wanted to be. such abrasive and misogynistic personalities. caught between the cultures; neither of the other.... and I couldn’t pretend to belong to any other one culture, I’d never be Dutch, I don’t think one slips on a costume and becomes. nor sheds the other. I’m too shy and reserved to be Dutch as they can be quite invasive, and it gets so exhausting having to be outgoing —but so are Americans. 

I don’t know what I am, really, but I suppose as I’m akin to one hemisphere, in particular, I suppose then I could think of myself as generally akin to European, like the friends I knew at school that I became the closest to; they were children of diplomats from other countries and went to our school. also caught between cultures. a stranger. how easy it was just to take a train and be somewhere else within hours, easy to step into other worlds of thought and see through other prisms. no enormous sea isolating you from all that is that other world. 

and I wonder of all the others too; was it cruel our parents played with our internal programming? our experience that made us forever such outsiders. would it have been better to remain among the sheep.... to be an ignorant pig, like Mills questioned, happy in not knowing better? 

and as we compare our experiences and our fond memories of teachers, friends and shared experiences, we agree why reengaging in our presumed patriotic national culture doomed us to fail in our attempts to pursue happiness; blend our requirement of needs of the pursuit among those we meet here. for too well we understand the stigma of the ugly American ....but where do we belong? ....and then I dare to confide to him the wicked and unnameable horrors about my sister.... it comes out in a few words.... everything, the worst; all she did to me.... and find in as few words as, tells me he’s not surprised and reveals to me how everybody hated her at school —feel released. vindicated ....he says to come see him. he says to come home. but where is home? 

....so strange

and with white knuckled grip, I cling to my ivory tower still, anyhow because I built it, brick by ivory brick, as I set my course on my path to escape all the deceivers with false faces; the ivory walls insulated in steel, I trust it, it is what I know and has come to be reliable and all I know ....such a stranger in a strange land.... my dictionary tower, it is what is my home, I know these walls and why they are there. and I could only belong with whom showed a true face, and whom ever could know how to translate the pages because .... surly we know by now I have forgotten how ....somewhere in those crumbs.... dear Electra 

arwyddion a negeseuon

 

ai camgymeriad oedd meddwl ichi fy ngweld?  eich bod wedi clywed y llais tawel. 

 gwnaethoch chi ateb unwaith yn unig.  ond yna dim mwy. 

 efallai nad oeddech chi erioed yno.  

Mae'n debyg fy mod yn anghywir pan feddyliais mai chi oedd e. 

 roedd yn teimlo fel chi

codau a thudalennau rhwng

ond mae'n debyg fy mod yn gofyn am arwydd. ond a yw hynny'n fwy nag y gallwch ei roi?

Noir of demons past (e.d.jmmusechron)

It is awhile that I watch the SWAT team move in, like long limbs of a black widow spider move and curl, progressing across the back lawn in a circle. Up the hill, and closing in, they move all around. I follow the paths of the sides of the barn house as others towards the front seem to mirror this progress

And so fixed am I to the spot staring through the binoculars, that I hardly see what is there before me. Perhaps it is the remote sense from seeing it all through shields of glass and lenses that I don’t really seem to connect. 

I don’t connect with the immediacy that is

And again, like the other time I watched, it is like some action film that I seem not to even believe what I am looking at and, because it takes long for me to register what I am seeing; a slow motion reflex of some kind of disbelief .... 

But—there! 

And it is only because I recognize his silhouette so well—that and the enigmatic way he moves; lithe and menacing at the same time—because I would know him anywhere just by the way he moves, would know anywhere— like his hips, his shoulders, knowing without having to see the details of every line and crease, as if I put it all there myself. Jörn comes from a different direction, from behind the arthropodrical limbs that move as one, he takes a different route, going in an angle horizontally across the lawn and stops beside a shrub at the front corner of the shed-like building that is the sauna

And for awhile nothing happens. Everyone is still. 

and fixed so intently holding the binoculars steady it feels almost fake; like a video game or an action thriller that lulls me deeper into that disbelief of what I am looking at....until I taste it in my mouth. 

I taste it..... it is as if —like a warning

It has been described as a kind of metallic taste and it is because this is what registers to me, I realize  ....that taste is danger and.... I have tasted this before

and maybe it was long ago, for certainly, it has been years.... the alien sensation triggers the reminder of.... what tastes like fear. Yes, I have tasted this before. In a dorm room feeling myself die, the air squeezed out of my throat by hands careless of soft tissue, careless of life, hands with a cruel iron grip that cared nothing for the life it was wasting. And even back then, yes, it was surreal, slipping out of myself, letting go of life, not connected to my body and seeing images of the life I was departing; a cruel father, a sneering killer telling me how that father wished me dead, so why don’t I just die? ....seeing the image of a newspaper of the dead girl found in the dorm room, raped and strangled ....and remember —as I felt life end for me—how I saw my mother holding the newspaper of that story.... about the girl ....in black and white print.... a story in a newspaper. That was me. Yes, I saw it. I saw myself. Dead.... until somebody screamed “No!” ....somebody screamed no.... but that was not me because I had my vocal chords in a vise, but somebody screamed it in my head....and sent me back to myself.... 

Retnuh Nivek.... just now I get a shudder as the taste in my mouth connects with.... the present

Something at the corner of my eye moves! Something ....There in the shadows it emerges from below and closer in the direction of the underground, where I know is mostly dense woods, slightly past the rusted and defunct sewers .... another figure emerges! This one is different from everyone. This one is not dressed in the SWAT clothes, nor is he dressed like I remember the assassins were, this one.... is different

By the way he moves I can see he is older, there is a stiffness to his movements. This one is big and heavy and, although has muscle, it is not so lithe, slightly bent and there is a lumbering quality in how he moves.... no, he is not with the SWAT team— no— this one is not one of ours

and again, like a warning, I taste it in my mouth, something I recognize

and as he moves towards the barn house something finally registers in my head

Jörn can’t see him! 

and because it is clear to me that this bear-like, lumbering figure is loaded down with weapons with one in his hand at the ready pointing towards Jörn I spring into action! I reach for my phone with fingers shaking and type into my phone, 

<look out, there’s someone behind you!> 

—and send it....

but Jörn stays in position where he is fixed and makes no reach for his phone

I bolt to the hobbit door, now glad that I had the forethought to have changed into the clothes Jörn left for me with a pair of my own hiking boots Ilya packed for me. And so in familiar footing, I move fast down the narrow, spiral stairs, through the tree trunk, through the passage, past the rover and then through the hidden doorway that leads back to the dungeon

It is the only way I know how to get there the quickest, and as I bolt through the dungeon, I have a split second to notice— there is someone in the cage— but the cage, with the iron bars, which is never shut, I notice now is and fastened with a padlock. And as I run past I see someone in there tied up and gagged that I recognize from the parking lot at Lake Placid, the one smoking the cigarette who stared so oddly at me.... but at the moment is slumped over a desk and seems unconscious 

I feel a surge of adrenaline and along with it mixed, is panic, as I head through the catacombs that will lead just behind the new imposter heading straight for Jörn but the space of time between having seen this new arrival and getting through the walls makes me afraid of what I may find, fearing I move too slow, force my limbs to move 

When I do reach outside they are much further than I expected and with the aid of the binoculars I can at least see the intruder has still not made his presence known. I decide to go wider around, under cover of trees and shrubs and head towards the sauna.

As unused to this kind of exercise of stealth and fear, I become aware I am in danger of passing out, at turns breathing too hard, between holding my breath and the pain in my shins from exertion after weeks stuck inside. Practicality forces me to calculate my actions, first concern—do not pass out.... forcing breathing to calm until the stars go away along with the black dots that had begun to take over my vision—now move! I bolt to the left corner of the shed building and find the cover of bushes I well know by heart —but by the time I reach the corner where Jörn was, he is already well past!

Shit!—as I can see he is still not aware of the imposter! I run out away from the cover of bushes and shout,

“look-out!!”

but only after having done do I realize what I left myself in for as I feel myself being grabbed from behind and before I can shout again or do anything more, I am pulled right up off my feet with a hand pressed over my mouth,

“well look who I caught!” said with an ....all too familiar evil laugh, with a voice I could never forget ....and a stench of bad breath against my face

“Retnuh ....Nivek ....” but only comes out muffled against his hand pressed to my face

“Sorry, little hussy bitch, didn’t get that—you sayin’ you recognize your old college buddy from da hood? Said I’d finish the job, didn’t I?” and reeking with body odor, his sweat dripping onto me, he laughs again, “you’ve been keepin’ yourself nice and fit, hardly weigh as much as my dawg, nice and fit for ol’ Retnuh, —yeah, I remember, you hussy bitch!”

thoughts and asides; a passing note on the dictionary:

I am not who I was when this chronicle began, as though delivered; it shifted and I shifted

after years of scrapping it; the problems, the blocks I stumbled over —and realize it is because of the antagonist.... that is why this version of my dictionary —the analogy I define myself—works....the levels —Inferno-to-Purgatory-to-Paradiso ....and past....it is shifting; the apparatus is evolving  ....to be defined onto another level, a higher next level evolved.....which I could not reach until —challenged.... to see past

Noir hide of confession (jmmusechron/e.d.)

 

The countdown to 0-eight-hundred hour seems to stretch. as if in some eternal loop, like a lapsing of time and, with it, mounting, comes agonizing tension

I sit sipping the coffee Jörn made me— still steaming, too hot to drink. And with the binoculars fixed to me, I peer out through the trees from the safe screen of the hide watching the stillness of the back of the barn house. 

The sun has long made its presence in the sky —but nothing seems to be happening; no movement anywhere that I can see —not within or without 

.... and the excruciating minutes that barely move each time I glance down at my phone to check the time

I’m no good at this sort of thing. I don’t do anxiety at all well

and each time I get up to pace, I feel sick and just go back to the spot on the floor where I’ve found it is the best vantage point to see what is going on; best spot, low to the floor for the angle it provides and I am there half-sat but with legs and feet ready to spring 

the waiting is so maddening 

and as I have no experience with ambushes —or war tactics .... I have no idea what to expect —and feel uncomfortably ready to vomit ....and just hope Jörn knows what he’s doing ....

 and ....feel myself filled with fears and worry .... 

only now .... does it strike me that this is the first time I am really confronted with the thought of.... what if something happened to him?

what if something happens to him....

and how did I seem always to never have had to actually consider this.... ?

always before there was .... the excuse ....the screen of his spy world mystery; the mystery of knowing what he was up to.... and safe in not knowing ....and then, of course —the times too busy being angry at him. the excuse....

guarding emotions

but what would I do....?

In that suspension of time that takes forever as I wait.... these sudden thoughts consume me.... 

And remember —was it almost a year ago now—?— there was the time I saw him hang from the helicopter —but it seemed surreal through the surveillance monitors ....like watching some special effects action film 

And so....

       .... it makes me wonder about him —now as I sit there.... 

and think about what he said in the truck —that things “usually” go as planned.... 

.... and.... it makes me wonder things.... and wonder too, like— if he’s ever been shot

His mystery —and his scars ....I never have asked him as they seem as subjects closed —as is the poker face he keeps and.... as unknown territory like so many other things about him. Things I wish I could know. wish he would say.... so many things behind that beautiful mask he wears.... of what lays behind....

so the thought grips me now as the nausea sweeps like a wave over me —what if he’s shot.... ?

—or worse .... or else, what if he’s horribly —maimed?

 ....and alone with my thoughts as I am ....here in my hide ....

for the first time confess to myself things I never have allowed myself

 ....like 

those things I never told him. those things.... and not wanting to, my eyes blur and I find myself whispering things .... 

whispering promises....to some silent ....beyond ....

and feel myself seem to step out of myself, as if watching from outside of myself, like I have so often watched in dreams .... watching the shore, waiting .... watching the sun in the sky and .... with it that feeling of ....dread .... 

and again think. things I never told him. never got to say. things I never even said out loud to myself —as if by not—that made it safe. safer.... and yet knowing it wouldn’t matter, I’d still —feel— this. even if the worst occurred....

killed or ....maimed.... but, I know with all that my soul does know about life. about meaning. about existence that.... that even if maimed ....or even death— that it wouldn’t change anything ....of what I feel; it would survive....even life times 

but I suppose it was wrong to suppose that he ever would ....that to him—it would be this way; that he would—could.... no, I was wrong to believe he might

but now gripped with this feeling of dread I reproach myself.... should I ....have said? and now, possibly too late—it ....was pride making me pretend that I don’t care .... pretending I don’t care .... that much. but —does he? maybe not and maybe it’s better not to say unless he does care about me, then the moment lost

No. I don’t know.... and....

why would I matter to him? to him ....I am irrelevant; easily forgotten ....more interested in his espionage, and then, there is his opera, when he gets a free moment 

....he has no time for anything else—he’s a spy—a hacker, like he told me—all he cares about are his spy games, his capers, cracking his safes and codes. And I am i anything more to him than just a code to him? no, I am nothing to him—anyway —and now that game is up, isn’t it? .... I’m nothing, nobody ....now —and no, I could not imagine he would ever consider giving his heart ....and to me....? never, I know better and I should never expect he would. of course I know. who am I anyway.... just a curiosity .... a passing curiosity

and now as I wonder, staring through the lenses focused at the landscape with a sinking faith.... 

and I wonder ....maybe

....he must have been hurt long ago.... found other means to fill what replaces the need of such things.... of course, I’m nobody, nothing to him....

but still....  

what if he should be shot ....?! 

what if....? because, I’d regret it....I know.... even still. even ....if he does not.... I mean, if I never had the chance to....

And watching the lawn, waiting tensely, my thoughts keep wandering into these places I’ve avoided wandering into; wondering all these things I never let myself before .... how many loves has he known? but then, what opportunities has he had to really find someone who was actually capable to know what is hidden within his soul.... so busy spying ....undercover;  traveling around the globe; new philharmonic symphonies, playing concerts; consumed in his opera ....that no one but he knows what it means

 —and so, I wonder—did anyone really ever come close to seeing past the façade? in his alienated world of spies and shallow concert hall acquaintances —was there really ever an opportunity for the chance for him to stumble upon someone capable of decoding him? —anyone either deep or clever enough to know there was even something buried there? 

and ....as this new turn of anguish and self-deprecating torment takes hold of me—I suddenly jump at something I see—there!!—moving in the trees!

I adjust the lens to sharpen the sight—yes! My heart lunges before it pounds like drums in my head as I see, like apparitions move! —the first shadow of change —from the woods—they are there! like an invasion of a small army!—all dressed fully in black! I have to force myself to catch my breath, feeling my pulse become erratic before it rushes too fast, sweeping that strange amphetamine wave over me....

as I watch them start to crawl slowly through the trees, and move across the lawn, holding their weapons ready; like spider legs, closing in; surrounding in a circle towards the barn house.... 

*a footnote in a dictionary of synonyms & symbols

is it for money that an artist is driven to work ....?

but I cannot speak for all artists. and everyone is different. all artists are different.

of course there are many artists whose interest and only aim is to satisfy the current trends. whose purpose to work is to produce what will be a sure sell. (But will be forgotten in less than five years)

I don’t care to judge them, I don’t like to judge. I just don’t look at their work. it bores me

I am just not one of those 

like I have said, Van Gogh is a word in my dictionary; he stands for something symbolic to me

he did what he did; his style was unheard of and thought primitive and without talent. but a great artist expresses moods, emotions, and so many infinite things without a single word. To only see unmixed colors, the visible brush stroke, the crudeness of the thickness of paint you can see is raised right off the canvas as if smeared by a palette knife and it is as if you could touch it just to look at it there on the museum wall; you’d know what it feels like. It looks still wet as if he stands right over your shoulder as though he just painted it. ~It is not my style, but when I saw his works up close, I felt personally touched by them and —moved. This was the thrill I felt standing in that museum in Amsterdam.

today when we look at Starry Night, it is impossible not to feel the magic of the stars and even be in his moment; it is universal; it is infinite  

So, you see, he stands for something to me; call it my poetic license 

in his times he was not respected. he was not in fashion; not trendy. he was thought of as a bum. People wondered why didn’t stop wasting his time 

some may have wondered why he even kept at it

in our ‘modern’ times he is seen as a kind of icon which would be ironic to him. But I think, like Kurt Cobain, it would have appalled him to have become a trend

as Cocteau said, about the nightmare for an artist is to be admired through being misunderstood 

only, I think in Van Gogh’s case, he reset the bar on what is classic

why did Van Gogh keep painting? .... it was his tenuous grip, I think.... on life. I think it was all he really had. his love. his validation. to remind him he existed .... and even though he saw what Rembrandt painted and knew he did not paint the way Rembrandt did, I believe he felt that what he himself was painting came from something true within him and this drove him because it was his own personal expression, his language and it expressed what his soul ached to express. 

I think in this way he was a poet but then, aren’t all artists really? 

what is my passion for the humanities, where does that come from?— the arts; visual, literature, the performing arts (i.e. Sophocles, Shakespeare —another two who carried a conversation), a commentary about life (maybe cautionary) to be continued on .... they are the humanists who document history through all the common emotions with their reactions to life and the times they lived in. They tell a truer history than the events, I feel. They don’t lie or bend facts. I think when Socrates came around to “practice the arts” at the end of his life he saw this.... I feel the arts are the only true reality that can be depended on

I guess I am quite quirky and have been long resolved to accept this, I don’t really know what drives me unless it is my own tenuous grip and still —it is more than this, like a faith and a loyalty to remain attuned to the conversation 

even as I may not seem at the moment to have the means, the power, nor the backing to create what I envision, given these times such as they are, I can’t stop envisioning; it is just who I am, I regret to say. why do I do it? I don’t know. I have always thought in scenes where I tuck my most coveted secrets. screaming undercover of alluring diversions. but still they will not bend to adjust to the fashion, they simply cannot on principle —because that is not where the ideas are born from 

....but I promise, it will be very very pretty, like a film noir* (with the secrets blaring and all neatly spelled backwards to release the demons to the light and they will know)

Film Noir short scene/rude noir awakening after dawn (e.d.noirjmmusechron)

In the night I find it astounding that he can sleep. I lay there for the rest of most of the night apprehensive of the coming day thinking .....and sleep eludes

And find that his slumber is now most inconveniently frustrating as I am now suddenly nagged about things he said ....

and those other disturbing questions.... what has he really been up to these last several months—and more? ....where did he actually go between here before he went to Sweden weeks ago? where did —they—think he was? ....and were they right? And then the other unexpected, most odd, surprise  —how and what does he know about my old diaries....? I threw them away so long ago.... 

then thinking again of what Willem said on the phone recently—what was it again? ....he said.... he knew Jörn for years from working with him on cases—what cases? and that other odd thing Willem told me, how Jörn insisted he be put on the case when he saw my picture. And why did Willem tell me that? 

But how did I have the key, or did he just say that? Safes, locks and keys, codes and hidden doorways, hidden rooms and secret compartments.... when I should sleep keeps me awake .... 

until....

****

I don’t remember falling asleep 

It is some time after dawn and morning arrives. And still caught in a Cold War dream, I am startled awake with a sharp nudge then a shake, and a hot cup of coffee thrust at me before I am even sat up 

Jörn says, 

“here, I made this for you,” and then softens his tone, “it’s how you like it—with honey,” and smiles as if this is just a normal day at the office

I sit up as I notice he is already showered and crisply dressed as I take the cup from him

“I brought you a change of clothes,” he says, “some more suitable things. I asked Ilya to send some of your clothes —I sent a note to her with the Cabaret shipping address when I sent her the key— as I was aware you’ve been pilfering the Cabaret shipments,” he points towards some blurry beyond as I reach for my glasses, still emerging from the depths of morass

“The key....” I say remembering what kept me up all night, “how did you get it?—Jörn, I don’t understand—“

“Duva— I have to go, the SWAT team is five minutes away—it’s showtime,” and turns to leave but then suddenly turns back to me and leans to press his mouth across mine, “remember: no matter what, stay up here and do not leave, yes? —drink the coffee—I’ll text you in a bit....”

And then watch him disappear out the hobbit door

 a fyddai môr-leidr yn dod o hyd i drysor?

ac ydy, mae'n grypt

a fy ngeiriadur yw fy nghaer

dyma'r unig le i guddio sêff

efallai aros i gael ei ddatgloi

beth aeth ar goll y tu mewn

the JM muse chronicles film noir scene continues.... with a slight touch of royal drama

Even as I stare into the blackness of that blank canvas beyond the hide’s window, it seems I see other things. It is a narrow cot. Close pressed alongside him, his fingers woven through mine as— his breathing evens ....in the darkness of the space we share and the heat still between us

It seems I am split between two lives, overlaid as if I have been exactly here with him ....before  

so many times .... 

and it plays with my mind

It seems to even question it now is so long old and merely irrelevant. As too many times I have felt  that sense confirmed

....too many times I have felt that chill with him—especially when we come together, I feel it in his body— and those things he never says, those things he never tells me. I feel it. And often it feels I feel him within me, feel his thoughts, and even know ....I feel him .... even from far away, I feel.... when he is thinking of me

And even after so much time of him away— it is instant as soon as he is near, even when I try to resist ....and even when my mind doesn’t want to trust him.... there is something inside  me that just never doubts. 

Even if I won’t say

But now I do say this instead in the dark, as I lay next to him, having already, to him —exposed all anyway, as I look out at that darkness outside the wall of window into the night,

“Jörn.... on your computer ....” but half lose my nerve and have to stop

A moment goes by where nothing is said. Does he know? ....what I’m about to ask him....?

I turn on my side to look at him, half his face in shadow, lit dimly by the candle.... yet I stare into his face.... as I know it by now so well, every line, every crease, the long bridge of his nose, the outline of his mouth, the slant of his haunting eyes....

I dig my fingers into the silk of his hair to pull it back where it has fallen long across his brow, moving over him slightly to look into his eyes,

“you know, when you told me....when you gave me your password to ....get into those files to —download for you?” I stop there afraid to say more as I stare into his eyes searching 

He just stares back at me. Calm. But his eyes penetrate through me. And still.... gives nothing away

“Well, I saw some things....” I say now. 

It is awhile before I realize I hold my breath. I keep staring into the icy steel, like double edged swords of heat and danger, warmth and ferocity 

And still he doesn’t say anything. He just looks back at me, steady and calm.

“Jörn....!” I nearly gasp from holding my breath with fear, “....you know what I saw....”

After another long moment of just his silence ....with eyes ....that measure me, he makes the slightest move with his head, almost a shrug and says,

“I knew you would see things....” and now when I start by his flippancy he raises one pale brow ....and says more with just his eyes

“When you said they expected you to be ‘more east’ ....” and again I stop myself. And then feel his hand clamp around my wrist like a shackle and watch his eyes grow fierce as he moves to sit up slightly .... “Jörn.... now it seems I think I need to know— I mean— when I asked if it was Moscow— that isn’t what I saw.... but it was definitely ....more east, but slightly more ....adjacent—“ I hold my breath again when I feel his grip tighten but I say, anyway, “is that what you meant?” which comes out in a whisper

“Duva.... listen, there are some things you would have seen which I can see might give you certain cause for suspicion about what I do.... and maybe this is why you were so strange when you first saw me again.... but.... look— I will answer you honestly if you tell me exactly what you want to know because I don’t know what you saw that you are trying to ask me.”

“It was something I found.... something I accidentally clicked on—it was in one of your documents under your company —under JMSmeden.se, Stockholm, Sverige, only— it wasn’t for your platinum work, but it was ....sales of another kind.”

He lets go of my wrist and leans back against the wall and stares out into the night for a long moment. And after another thoughtful pause he looks at me,

“you saw I was selling arms to....” and only infers the rest with a slight imperceptible gesture 

“So it’s true?!” I pull back and stare at him

“I told you I’d answer you honestly so.... look, duva....I told you I wasn’t in Sweden the whole time since I’ve been away—and, no—I wasn’t. I went first somewhere else.... “

“You’re crazy! With everything that is happening, with the virus rampant—you tell me you decide now is a good time to trade in illegal weapons too? Who even has the money for that right now with the recent death tolls !?—whose side are you on?”

“No, I’m not saying that I was just in Syria—Duva, that was an old file you were looking at, that was from —it was a past cover—now going four?—five? years back—at least!”

“A cover....” I say and stop to think.... now remembering all those passports .... 

and so now take a few deep breaths....

well, seems too late —now anyway.... I think, as I take a second to reflect on this.... to decide to not be involved with a spy

A bit too late. Over two years too late. I should know better by now.... and again get that sense of having been in this moment before; déja vu ....and with a chill, see blood on those hides stacked on the floor—and such eyes staring back at me.... 

Yes, I’ve been here before ....I think; I’ve been in this moment with him before ....and yes, I know this feeling too; the danger 

“Does Willem suspect the mole too?” I ask suddenly

“Yes. We know who it is,” Jörn says calmly

“Which is why you want me to stay up here,” I say

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t why I was strange with you,” I say now to him and now look at him. He looks back at me and waits. I say, “I wasn’t ready to trust you again. That’s why.”

After some thought he nods and then asks,

“and now?” but it is something in how he says this; something.... I can taste the spray of the water and feel the lurch of a ship under me just from that glimpse of kryptonite —and with it, that unreasonable sense of knowing ....beyond all doubt —and press my mouth to his, closing my eyes and feel his mouth answer me like a seal of fate; then climb across him to wrap around his hips with a strange fear and need for suddenly remembering what is to come tomorrow ....soon after the dawn

***

it is awhile after when he says, reaching for his phone,

“there’s something I wanted to show you—remember I told you I had another angle for getting the lock-letter code for the safe? I recently found something your sister auctioned off through Christie’s for four grand that once belonged to your mother....” he shows me a picture on his phone

“That’s my mother’s antique secretary! You found it?”

“I bought it,” he shows me more pictures as he says, “you said it had a secret hidden compartment. The people who bought it from your sister said she didn’t have the key— but you did.”

“What are you talking about? The key? I never had it....”

“You didn’t know you had it. It was in a box you tossed into some dumpster where you lived with your first husband in Cedarhurst New York; a box also filled with all your old diaries ....”

the shock of all he says does not fully register as I am somehow more distracted by the photos of the antique secretary as it brings back so many memories .... of my mother 

Then I recognize where the photo was taken,

“This is the penthouse?”

“I had it shipped there —last month. Last week I had the key sent to Ilya and told her where I thought the hidden compartment was —and....she just sent me this before, guess what we found?” he shows me a photo, “....your award for your piano recital with ....the title of the Beethoven piece.”

“The code.”

Personal notes from the Cell inside; shelf notes from the Celf

 

In efforts to search for truth I have found the ability to speak it most clearly through my fiction 

Part of that has to do with how dangerous truth really is

On one hand I could have decided to smile the status quo code, be a cog, and play the American dream game because I knew how, I watched a father do it every day

but one day I consciously chose to walk away because

On the other hand I could recognize the face in the mirror and not despise it and though my pockets are empty I guess it always meant more to know who I am 

I never fit the American dream, I rejected the popular crowd even in school, but then I am reasonably content to go my own way, ok with an allegiance to humanity and the humanities because that is the notion that countries are born from before they decay .... but I can see why it bothered my mother knowing that for me it just never was a choice whether to sell myself for the brass ring 

my stories have always been a part of me, woven in my own drama and all based on a part of me but it’s the allegory I speak in and if I could say it without too much compromise, I would be willing to sell a ticket for it to be heard if addressed to a theatre attuned to the subtlety 

have I just been looking in the wrong direction.... ?

too bad Van Gogh didn’t know he was already successful with empty pockets and a blind society lacking an ear

a muse before dawn (a short quickie) e.d. noir

He says to try to sleep.... 

I have tried a warm shower in the sterile ad hoc stainless steel stall (and as refreshingly cozy as a vertical cow trough)—with the soap from the trunk which afforded more luxury than the narrow shower unit did. It smells of Provence and almost makes me believe I am there with the film it leaves on my skin 

At least clean and human again 

Fixed as I am after looking for distractions in the various trunks on the floor. But they have lost their appeal and instead I stare at the blank canvas that is the hide’s wall of window; right now total black in the darkness

And because I feel like I am in a fishbowl with all the openness and the feeling of exposure, I sit on the floor with just one candle lit beside the cot where I have dragged the last trunk I inspect in order for distraction 

How long before daybreak? 

I keep looking at my phone for the time and in the end decide to use it, as I do, to write my thoughts 

....then at turns.... pace the hide in circles 

....then go to sit down again, huddled on the floor next to the cot and shiver; my hair still damp and my arms pulled out of the sweater sleeves inside the sweater and rock for warmth .... it seems forever I wait 

At some time after two I hear the sound of footsteps treading the stairs and hold my breath watching the hobbit door, pulling my knees up to my chest under the big wool sweater 

.... I don’t know who I expect but I am relieved to discover it is actually Jörn. His presence, a dark silhouette in the round doorway, but I can clearly recognize him by his distinct shoulders and slim hips that taper down to his boots

“Where are you?” he says from the doorway, closing the door and walking towards the candle 

“I’m over here,” I say, waving my hand in front of the candle, “I feel like the light might draw their notice,” and I wave out towards the trees

“No, it’s completely made of black out material, no one can see in. I’ve tested it,” he says coming over to where I am

“So, did you guys work out a plan? Have the feds contacted you?”

He clears his throat and sits down on the cot,

“come here, don’t sit in the floor,” and reaches for me saying, “yes—to answer your question. It.... has taken some convincing but—once I sent them the link to the surveillance footage from the micro cameras I installed on the surface of the fake safe .... they have come around to listening to what I have to say....” he sighs with cautious relief as I move to stand up and now drawing me to him he says, “they will have the house surrounded by o-eight hundred—Smulagan and a SWAT team— they’re asking us to wait as some of their people are still en-route.... I just am uneasy about waiting, but.... the weather being what it is—it’s been sleeting and could go on all night, well into morning,” he shrugs

“Mountain weather,” I say with a shiver and move closer into his body warmth 

“It’s not so different where I come from,” he says into the sweater and moves his hands under the wool and cotton

it has been a long time. It seems a shock to be aware just how long. I have forgotten what this feels like 

but some things come back to you fairly quick. Once reminded 

....I press my mouth against his 

and let it come back to me

The Noir Hide; Electra’s dictionary

And while I wait for Jörn to return, I try to not think of what is actually happening and at first I just sit on the cot staring at the space heater where it sits there.... 

and it is a long time before I feel myself aware of being outside of myself 

of being .... as if .... well.... somewhere —or.... in another sense of time 

....slipping to ....it seems.... repressed memories .... and I think now of Dr. Rothschild as I become conscious of.... the comfort —or—safety .... of being wrapped in the hides 

and it is strange as I really do not like the ....savagery of ....animal skins

it is this alone that draws me to remember something that happened in my psychiatrist’s office when she was trying to regress me to.... remember locked memories, but she had only the purpose to free me from —those things from my childhood and of course what happened when I was older in my college dorm room that night .... it was only for this she had intended to try regression because —I have always had such fears of being able to trust anyone; things like intimacy ....I’ve always erected such walls around me and suffered the backlash of desertion; creating my self fulfilling prophesies of always picking the wrong partners to avoid letting anyone near me and making such disasters of my life 

So she regressed me one day in her office and the last thing I remember of what happened was ....her saying to me “imagine yourself in the most lovely place where you feel safe....” and I really don’t know what happened after that. 

She recorded it.... but never told me what was on the recording 

but I remember how she stared at me after when I —woke up from it.... this was around those first occurrences of those dreams 

I think of this now as I stare at the spot where Jörn has placed the space heater. And maybe it is.... despite my aversions to.... animal skins .... but something jars in my mind as I find this need to search for .... some safe place 

and even as I recall those dreams of the hut and the forge it really is something else I think of. Looking out to the doorway there.... to the sound of the water far in the distance and recalling the little grove ....it was the grove my mind went to; the stunted shrubs and how they looked in the warmth of the sun, that leafy shade of dark green with the warm scent of earth, how the sun lit through to my haven of shade .... on one such summer day .... that strange, strange light that would not set and when night without darkness could not come

It was the way the light of the sun looked .... through the canopy of dark green leaves 

I do think her regressions opened that doorway I had been for so long blindly on the precipice of, searching in the darkness of unconsciousness and thus unleashed my monster giving vent to a tidal wave of emotions I have never been able to name but oddly, it consoled me.... this inexplicable sense of knowing .... the void once held a meaning 

Still, her intentions to heal me in the contemporary manner I guess were just not meant to be 

So this exercise now.... at least works .... to calm me 

remove me

from present fears and nightmares 

I get up now and decide to look at what is in the trunks set around the hide in various spots in a kind of octagonal design that mirrors the circular shape of the treehouse hide.... I find an interesting assortment of camping accessories; dried vegetarian packets of food, oh—tooth brushes, toothpaste, soap .... I take this out and keep looking through ....wool sweaters, some white generic cotton T-shirts, men’s long-Johns.... which can’t be worse then what I’ve been stuck wearing, I’m thinking—and desiring to get out of my Steven Tyler clothes, I shed these as soon as I make this discovery, and without hesitation I’m gladly pulling on the long, waffle textured underwear along with the t-shirt and warm wool sweater —grateful for it as it feels so much softer against my skin then what I’ve been living in.... and with this, a pair of imported woolen hand knitted socks that —all this—feel better than satin damask just now ....

And then make my way to the next trunk.... this one has even more interesting camping gear and take my time going through them.... Swiss Army knife .... flash lights, utility knives .... and things I don’t have any idea what they are .... a gas mask .... then find amongst these ....infrared binoculars—neat—! wow, cool! —it’s like double-O-7 spy equipment, I think ....

and so, well occupied, I sit there on the floor trying to figure out how it works ....So why not try it out? ....on switch .... ? .... a red light goes on.... I get up to look out through the hide’s wall of window and —look into the blurry lenses as I figure out the focus ....

First I just see branches of the web of all the surrounding trees outside .... but nothing exciting that I can see from here.... I guess the birds must be asleep—not even a squirrel in sight. And with the leaves now growing in —even now, despite that it’s long past spring —it is still snowing in the mountains .... but I notice that —I can see, there’s the building—through the branches and.... realize —that must be the barn house ....yes, of course, I realize now and focus better; Jörn said the hide faces our bedroom window there .... and now I try to look .... but.... all I see is the shape of the house and the back deck, and everything it seems still and strangely quiet