noir modest proposal/e.d.vol.1jmmuse

As Jörn and I head towards the back courtyard, it escapes my awareness, somehow, until much later —how at ease he walks through the back and towards the house as if he….? uh, well, like I said, it did escape my notice….

and we walk through the back way, where the hedges are shaped like trophies and then past the Grecian statues with ….my thoughts on what he wants to talk to me about —and ….as I recognize dully looking over, at first just two or three, then I realize there are others there….

“could you do the coffee?” Jörn suddenly turns to me. He seems to be guarding my vision to keep me from seeing who else may be among the group

“Jörn—“ I hesitate, while trying to see behind him, “you want —me— to do the coffee —and then what? Tiptoe and leave it twenty yards away?”

He gives me a blank stare, as if he’s lost the plot —and then laughs, but too cool, of course, I see right through it,

“no, I meant I’ll meet you in the kitchen and then I can take it in.”

I head off and find my way to the kitchen, and only about now do I start to wonder about those other things ….

I find I wish I had spoken to Gerald …. and I wish …. there had been a moment alone with Jörn 

before having to face the firing squad to …. say things

….because there are these moments I find I am overwhelmed with such a sense…. I feel him within myself ….as I’ve always have ….long before I saw him that day for the first time ….

but I wish he would say…. I want to know what he thinks ….he never says …. he never confirms anything at all ….and then I have felt as if I am out of my mind…. it surly then just must have all been in my own head and so then I must be crazy ….to believe ….there is this —that memory; that life and ….bond there between us…. because so many times it has felt I can feel him when he is not there ….reaching for me ….I feel him in my mind speaking to me just like I know what is behind the awkward silences that sometimes happens because I hear him somehow…. I just wish he would say it out loud and to my face —but he confirms nothing, he says nothing 

his silence devastates me 

Do I believe him to be the cool spy even when he is off of work? Do I believe him to be the composer/artist and actor of many talents even off the cameras behind his own scenes? Does he ever face himself in the mirror and ask —“did I know her once before? Did I recognize it? Or even —do I feel in a place even deeper than the heart?” But mostly…. does he feel? and ever admit to himself that ….I matter to him? And do I really think he is capable ….of deep emotion? anyway

I stand staring at the French press confused….

….And have to remind myself —why? am I —making coffee…. 

I fill the giant kettle that weighs a ton and put it to boil, then go in search of coffee…. 

and then with my back to the room I hear someone open the door as I start to scoop coffee into the glass coffee pot

She says, 

“What are you doing?” and I see Stina is walking right to the 19th century antique silver coffee pot and setting it under the space odyssey coffee maker

I want to say the same back to her but then she seems to know what she’s doing, as I see by how she drops in a few pods and presses a button.

So I walk back to the stove and shut it off.

“Walk with me,” she says now 

The shock of her statement of demand sets me off balance 

She gestures with her head toward the kitchen door that faces the beach

“But the coffee….” I say

“He can get it. You’re not his slave,” she half glares at me in the way to obey her as she glances, imploring, like: out the door and now!

We go the opposite direction of the back courtyard. Instead she leads me to another part of the beach, past the lifeguard post where she spots a bench and motions me there

We sit down

“I don’t want to waste time. So I will be blunt with you,” Stina says in her usual ‘friendly’ way, as I take note with amusement that, today she has pulled her hair back into a severe sweep and is wearing unexpected brightly colored high heels, “what are your plans?” she now asks

“My plans?” I look at her searching for a clue what she means by that

“Yes, for your future. What are they?” and she looks at me frankly

“Why is it your business?” I ask and laugh, “this is not your jurisdiction!”

“No but Jörn is,” she says. 

Her eyes go cold

Something shifts somehow. I feel another conversation. So I wait and watch her face

“And by default you are my business,” she says this like a battle strike

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite following you,” I tell her

“I need him back in our country and it seems we have an obstacle in our way. So I want to know what you want, what your plans are —you understand?”

“No—it is still —actually, even more hazy….unless you are talking about a different Jörn, because—in case you haven’t noticed —he does what he does. I’m not your obstacle, he is.”

“Then you are fooling yourself but that is not my business and now let’s try to change the dialogue, I think, yes? I know you are some self claimed starving artist on some hippie mission—what is it? You want to save the earth? We have Greta Thunberg,” and there is a weird pause 

and then smiles or maybe it’s indigestion

“Ok. La-di-da,” I say

“What if you had a sudden mystery backer who would fund your project?” she says now 

“Is this a joke? You forget Jörn is not short of cash so if it’s a question of me looking for money, don’t you think I could just try asking him if I really wanted to do —what—what do you know about my project anyway? It’s a bit too dry for you as it’s to do with humanity and I don’t get the feeling you have explored the subject—so exactly what are you suggesting?”

“You have too much pride —I don’t think you would ask Jörn. That is why I think you would consider doing this because you would be doing something to earn the cash,” she says

“So you don’t think I have business ethics or personal ethics? Are you asking me to spy on my boyfriend for you to pay me to fund my project?”

“Not spy. Babysit.”

I have to laugh,

“have you met Jörn? Babysit him?”

“Did you know Jörn is now on a mission to go after Retnuh Nivek? Which is putting at risk another operation we now have in place that takes precedents,” she watches my face before she then says, “we could sweeten the deal —as I am aware he has been working on an opera. There is an orchestra I know he wants to play his music because I have heard him mention it. I could arrange their involvement.”

Noir Denouement; tying up loose ends/with intro to Electra’s dictionary Vol.2: ‘the Will (& power of’)

 

Introduction (structural explanation) 

As I have drawn upon Dante Alighieri’s premise of the three levels of the Divine Comedy (my intended use with allegory of Paradiso as having the characters —and their story’s meaning— reach a higher awareness of something beyond the temporal life; the previous Inferno and Purgatory were first reflections on the past, then the focus turned to events and journeys taken to shape the destinies, respectfully) it makes sense it should follow that I now turn to, another favorite, and appropriately, a contemporary of Dante; Giovanni Boccaccio by referring, for my own interpretations, with his Decameron while an obvious choice, had always been my plan upon following the conclusion of E.D. Vol. 1 (was this perhaps portended?) even before our current day plague hit 

******************************

Electra’s dictionary; JM muse chronicles Vol.1/Tying up loose ends Noir part 1

Leaving the pier we don’t speak and as we walk, both within our silences…. I do not feel tension from him, somehow, because I can feel his mind those times when he is not in his spy world. This part of him I know instinctively because, through all the times, of things that have happened between us, there has always felt to me, a sort of compass between us. I just don’t always pay attention to it ….too distracted by those ways he triggers my nerves sometimes 

Even though I know he is angry at me—I do feel that…. but there is something else that feels is even bigger than now, bigger than us

I think it is the waves as we walk. I think it is the sky and the seagulls; their cry overhead…. he does not say anything …. but I feel his mind 

I feel it the same way I have felt it listening to him at the piano; the notes he chooses when he plays ….I feel his thoughts

I feel the things he does not say. I know where his thoughts go. I always have…. and I think I am a guilty party here because, I think I have ignored what I heard his mind say…. and said so many times. And you can hear it in his music. I know he goes back to that hut, the same as I do. I cannot ignore how he always arranges the furniture …. just like that little hut; how can he know unless he too was there? I know why he chooses not to say…. but I realize what I have been guilty of. So very guilty. I heard it just now in his voice and—until then ….I did not realize ….I have been punishing him. I did not realize this. 

And in my silence as we walk, this I think about. 

And Gerald’s meaning in his texts

Because …. I did not have to be punishing him. I did not see that. But I think I couldn’t see this because I was so sure he would let me down 

…. I think it is my self-fulfilling prophesy —assume he would; or will him too? A defense mechanism I long ago developed to toughen against an inevitable blow

I realize only now that he has been punishing himself, he has felt that lifetime’s guilt for not reaching in time. The sun that wouldn’t set. The promise not broken…. to be back before the midnight sun. But it did not set. It happened anyway. But it was not his fault. She did not want him to go but he was forced to—that’s life, isn’t it? It isn’t fair, it is often tragic 

Why should two souls meet again? I wonder…. Why—when there are other life times and other loves? 

Sometimes the mind plays tricks, as thoughts are swayed by senses, like how the ocean breeze touches your face in that particular way, and the shoreline looks so like another…. like the time she ran into the waves when they spoke of her mother and he brought her from the water and then built a fire, when something changed forever between them, spoken through a language of their own

And as I see the outline of the red tile roof up ahead…. I think about what he just said to me on the pier; how I am not capable of trusting him and I look up at him now as we walk. Should I care about whatever it is he found in the secret compartment ….?

I stop walking and reach for his arm,

“Jörn….” gripping the sleeve of his shirt to stop him and when he stops he looks back at me and I search his face, search his eyes…. looking ….until I see —yes, it is there…. the same eyes, “I’m sorry,” I say to him ….like a message long from the past….because I want to free him ….and remove what burden he’s carried that was never his fault, it was just life 

At first I think he does not understand. That my meaning is lost on him. 

But then he shakes his head and looks towards the ocean,

“but you are right…. how do I expect you to know….?”

And he starts to say something else when someone calls out to us from the house and we both turn to see Michèle running,

“excuse me—we saw you arrive! You have people waiting now for you at the house, I was sent to get you.”

Jörn sighs and looks at me,

“more unfinished business, duva—I was expecting them tonight,” and with a note of apology in his tone he puts his hand on my arm and says, “let’s talk after they’ve gone.”

“They?”

“We have guests,” Jörn says with sarcasm, “Punch and Judy and—“ now looks at Michèle, “is Willem here as well?”

“He is. They are waiting in the back court,” Michèle says

“Tying up loose ends,” Jörn says to me by way of explanation, “no doubt I’ll be raked over the coals for not consulting them for my choice of action in regards to the safe— let’s go, duva and get this over with.”

avez-vous déjà été là? ou j'imaginais que tu étais là ?

Je ne pouvais pas tolérer que la vie doive l'affronter à nouveau invisible. Je sais que tu me vois. J'ai vécu si longtemps sans être vu par personne. Je craignais de quitter ce monde sans jamais avoir été vu par personne. et je craignais qu'en quittant le monde, aucune trace de mon existence ne soit connue de qui que ce soit.Je ne pouvais pas tolérer qu'il soit oublié par too. Ce serait comme si je n'avais jamais été….être oublié de toi

Electra’s dictionary; of chests without treasure & pirate legends ….noir (e.d.jmmusechron)

To some Legend is a story, to others a list of symbols on a map, to another legend is key ….to a dictionary 

Michèle stops first at the nearby drugstore off Main Street to let me pick up a few basics before heading to the safe house. He walks in with me, but as we pass the front line of people checking out, I glimpse at the magazine tabloids and see the letters that spell out “hostage” but that isn’t what caught my eye. It is the photo. Because it is a photo I know. Of myself. And though the mandate of mask wearing has been dropped, I find myself reaching into my hand bag for the one I happened to grab from the package I had seen in the penthouse kitchen before I left and decide to put it on now as I notice some gaping stares.

I look up at Michèle as I do this and whisper,

“you would think with all the celebrities that come here people here would be better accustomed to showing a polite respectful observance of space,” I search for the aisles I need, quickly grabbing shampoo, body wash, and some other basics and cannot be out of there fast enough, slamming the car door shut as soon as I slide in. 

Michèle pulls off down the street and I hardly notice what I see beyond the reassuring familiar shops that have been there forever and the shaded sidewalks with heavy limbed trees in front of those classic billion dollar homes we pass as again my mind is recalling other summers here walking with my mother into those very shops.

It is not until we are down an old familiar street I used to often walk, by the beach that, I am pulled from those balmy memories. It is the road with the tall hedges where you cannot see anything of the vast property that lurks behind except for the massively long rooftop with its defining red Spanish tile reaching its highest pinnacle somewhere in the center in that great mystery. But this is exactly where Michèle stops and gets out to enter a code into a security keypad at the black high iron gates and the gates start to magically open as he returns to the car and gets in

“Don’t tell me this is the safe house, Michèle?” I say now to him as we drive through 

He glances at me from the mirror,

“yes, but it is where it will be for you. There are five guarded security people right now there. But don’t worry, you will have privacy. They will be staying at the guest houses and will stay out of your way but they will be close by if the need arises. Are you so surprised?” when he asks this now, he turns to look at me from the front

“Of course I am!” I say as we drive down the long gravel path that leads to the incredibly grand front entrance that has massive steps leading up and now have to ask, “where is the person who lives here?”

But now he shrugs,

“I cannot say for sure, but he is not here.”

“And he doesn’t mind I am going to be staying in his house?” I ask as he slows to stop in front of the entrance

“I am sure,” he says now 

And after I step out onto the gravel path, Michèle takes my suitcases from the back trunk of the car and then leads me towards the entrance,

“we have all been instructed to give you complete privacy,” he now says as we mount the brick steps up to the front door and as he unlocks it, and pauses to hand me the keys he says, “I’ll just put these for you in the bedroom, which is this way, mademoiselle!” he says with a fliratatious smile

“You are too kind,” I say with a laugh and follow him, shutting the door behind us

The cool interiors sweep around in a breeze coming from somewhere outside as we step inside and right away, I am in awe of the architectural beauty, after my eyes adjust to the dimness of the interiors, lit only by natural light from all the tall arching windows. The floors are terracotta and spread throughout the wide open entrance and onto through the following rooms that lead off of the wide entrance; the hallway all flanked by tall red-clay, vase shaped pots holding, I notice, bunches of eucalyptus, cattail, heather and pussy willow, their earthy and warm nuance of scents lending an atmosphere of welcome. We pass a sitting area that I see leads outside to a court beyond tall arching doorways and past their distance comes the unmistakable sound of ocean waves.

At the end of the wide hallway, unlike the usual hacienda, there are stairs leading up to another floor and once at the top I follow Michèle down another hallway

Michèle stops inside a room and waits for me patiently as I catch up. I have barely noticed the room when he puts down the suitcases and says,

“I will let you settle in. I have sent a message to your phone so that you have the number to reach me, whatever you need, if you need to go somewhere, I am at your disposal.”

“Really?” I hold back a snicker, “well, is that necessary? Can’t I just go walk downtown? It’s not that far!”

“We’d prefer not. You may still be in danger,” he sighs 

“Oh….” I say feeling the disappointment of the loss of freedom and look out towards the window 

“We can, however, watch you from the beach from the tower. It is a private beach for residents, which is why this location was the most favorable.”

“Yes. I see….”

“I will leave you here,” and he starts to go. He stops by the door just outside of it, “feel free to help yourself to what is here. The kitchen has been prepared for your stay here so, all that is at your disposal too.”

And then he leaves. And now I look around the spacious bedroom. There are two wide arched windows and between them an arched door that I only now realize leads out to a balcony 

I walk over to one of the arched windows in the room where it is possible to see the beach and look out. And immediately I am hypnotized by the sound of the ocean and watch the waves. A private beach. After a few moments I see Michèle walk across the lower property and head out towards the beach, then disappears from my view. 

I look down from the window and see that the bedroom overlooks the court below. From here I can see there are topiary gardens outlining beds of flowers, climbing rosebushes that wind around statues that as they flank, they mark the entrance to a small labyrinth made of manicured lush green hedges 

I turn from the view and sit down on the much too big, dark, heavy-wood, four poster bed ….that looks like it belonged to some Spanish pirate— and then I think: oh, from a dungeon to another ivory tower

****

“I have some news for you,” Willem stops by, as promised, a few days later

I invite him into the large kitchen built for a full service staff, with too many ovens to count and a lot of unidentifiable kinds of equipment cluttering the intimidating pantries. But the ‘contraption’ intended to make coffee I long gave up on, so instead have opted to using the dependable French press and, as I serve it for Willem, using the heavy hunter-green cup and saucers with the gold trim, I glance up to notice he digs into the messenger bag that he walked in wearing, slung over one shoulder. 

He takes out his tablet and sets it up on the marble prep island which dominates the room. I bring the coffee over, dragging two tall chairs after and then walk towards the industrial sized stainless steel refrigerator,

“you take milk?” I ask but when he does not answer, more involved in what he’s looking for, I find a porcelain pitcher and pour some milk in and bring it over

“Here it is,” he says now and taps on the touch screen as I go about putting honey in my cup, “this is an email from Jörn— everybody got one of these....”

“Everybody? Who’s everybody?” I ask him

“Stina, FBI—Smulligan.... CIA.... Interpol, KGB, you name it, they got it....”

I stop what I’m doing as I watch Willem move to tap open an attachment of the email but —then, he just waits holding his finger over it as he says,

“it’s a video of him.... with the safe....” Willem studies my eyes as he says, “he’s opened it....” he stares at me for a long moment

I hold my breath looking back at him as he says now,

“he’s gone to a nearby island off Long Island.... he went there to—“

But I gasp cutting him off, 

“to destroy the weapons!” and cover my mouth in shock. 

I sit down in the nearest chair but grab Willem’s arm,

“oh my god!” then put my face into my hands and then whisper through my fingers, “when was this?” 

“This morning.”

I pull my head from my hands and look up at him. Finally, I say,

“and....?”

He moves to tap as he says,

“Just watch, Dusk—“

“No— wait! Just please tell me first.... please, Willem....”

His eyes soften and he half smiles,

“no he did not blow himself up or get himself contaminated with chemical weapons, if that is what you’re worried about.”

And only now I see something there exposed in his eyes as he searches my face. And then, after a moment he kind of nods to himself and makes a clicking sound in his mouth, as if somehow just having had a question answered, and now goes to tap the screen.

For the next forty-five minutes we watch together. First the process of opening the safe, using the series of codes. Jörn, wearing a safety jumpsuit and goggles now shifts the focus through a microscope-like lens that shows a peep hole of the “lock-letter” grooves that line up and the puzzle like edges fit into each other. And then the angle of the video shifts to show the other part of the safe’s ‘key’ —using the base of the safe’s sibling; the matching wood stained drum table designed by the Dutch windmill maker, with the base, its pronged four legs that insert into the cut out grooves of the base of the chest safe. A click snaps as something has released in an eerie haunting echo that now vibrates chillingly through the kitchen

And feeling sick, I now watch as Jörn opens it like a treasure chest, split in half —and inside, reveals a tripped ticking bomb that by this opening of the chest has set off. It is some twenty minutes as he solves the wiring and safely removes it. There are jars beneath it and sets to task over each one and through every step he is explaining his course and what each thing is and what he is doing

....when each object is neutralized and destroyed, Jörn drags both safe and table into a room and steps outside the chamber and shuts it off behind a thick stainless steel door with a locking lever, and through a lens that records the chamber’s interior, both objects are reduced to ashes

And by the end of it I am left too shaken to say anything. 

I don’t even notice how much time goes by before Willem finally says,

“why don’t we go for a drive to East Hampton and get some coffee there. I think this lot has gone cold.”

*****

I spend the next few days in a strange and uncertain daze.  Sometimes walking downtown reluctantly allowing one of the plain clothes heavies to follow several discreet yards behind me to see again the old, familiar town where, no doubt, I have left one of my celves to haunt the streets…. But when this gets too tedious having that sense of being walked on a leash by a body guard, I find I prefer the illusion of freedom of walking up and down the beach, stretching my legs and reacquainting myself with the feeling of being out in the open sunshine and air, feeling the warm sand under my feet and looking out into the ocean. Stopping to write. Sometimes to sketch…. 

I have always found watching waves and water so healing to my soul, the sound of the waves so reassuring and the gulls overhead. I spend hours looking out into the sea, looking out into those depths, searching the distance and the beauty of the sky, the salty smell of the sea. 

And my moody thoughts evoke some deeper place I’ve been avoiding…. emotions

There are so many emotions wrapped in these sensations ….thoughts of my early youth with my mother in Florida…. how we’d go out on her giant raft to ride the waves together ….and I’d lay looking up at the sky for hours till I fell asleep…. memories of beaches and sunshine…. memories to ….even before those days…. like those memories of Jamaica, on those beaches with her …. and the soft feel of the pink sand where I spent the first year of my life at the Halfmoon hotel where that year we lived; it belonged to her best friend’s family…. years later I’d listen to her stories of her jet set world, her wild friend at their resort hotel in Montego Bay; how my mother did love the sun and the beach, being here now, I remember Southampton with her, she had a house on Leo’s Lane which was right by Adams Lane…. And as I think of her and my being here, I think of how it seems to have come full circle — like of a layer of a Divine Comedy…. this labyrinthine journey…. in search to find…. towards some center —of a Celf 

But only after a few days of this I start to realize …. I had the dream again …. and for days now, I have been hearing music within my thoughts …. as though, like some invisible current pulling me

and, no, it is then not the memories of my mother that I find my soul reaching for here on this beach

And should it really startle me to realize that my thoughts have been long lingering down other phantom avenues of some place 

that long ago was —once home. 

And so, I wonder now, as it seems to have long dawned upon me, this realizing….

….

how long has my mind been going in my half-awake/dreamy thoughts back there to visit?

But lately, it is with a more peaceful sense that I find I now end up there as I go. And with such certain memory that until now, when before I could not really fully let myself accept or truly acknowledge….

That I do feel the warmth of the sun —that I —do—that I can—feel now again —as it was ….then ….and know…. it is not as dream but as —memory

And even as now I look out to this present ocean, as I do now in this moment in time, I am not breathing the smell of salt sea air

no…. somehow— whether it be strange —it comes to me —so poignantly sharp— a very different scent of sea ….that I smell

And so, even more strange—but then, really, is it so very strange after all? That it should come to me with music, and it is —his— music …. which is like that of a heavy stage curtain that alters the setting and sense of everything —and dominates the backdrop of my mind ….as sharply and intensely —it comes to me now

like a ghost’s tap on the shoulder, with its eerie whisper from the shadows and with it more buried emotions to unearth and chase me and catch me up 

….but it has been there all along

hasn’t it? 

And always….in the background

      always playing …. 

the heavy yet warm sound of his haunting music that —in those early days saturated my sleep and dreams and blended with the shadows on the wall of his bedroom. It presses indelibly inside the recesses of my mind, that image of him, sat at his piano…. those haunting notes …. and watching the mad flight of his hair flung wild as he slammed on the keys, the shadows reflected on the wall ….the pounding of keys

his unfinished opera…. 

I think of this now and feel inside me this incredible ache

And even under the warm sky, I get a chill and shut my eyes. I think of his hands and remember their touch; so unlike any; fingers that, though strong, have the adeptness of an artist that is accustomed to hold fine things…. not to warp or break

But the wind now, brings me to myself, as if reminding me to be aware; with its reckless trait that comes of a sudden from the ocean without warning, its unpredictable roar— but don’t care to bother to heed it and with eyes closed, I can still see the memory, not dreams, of that pirate with the vampire eyes; his long silken hair blown across and distorting his war scarred face ….and that little hut with the forge that was home….but the chill is warm and so are the kryptonite of his eyes

And finally, only now…. do I reach to pick up my phone 

to open my text messages to Gerald …. and reread his messages….

After awhile of looking out into the sea, I get up and walk along the shore letting thoughts go where they will

There is a small pier a little further up the way where I like to go and sit on the edge and sometimes I write into my phone sitting there…. thoughts…. more thoughts of the legend 

and that is where I head now, and set out to do and dwell within that room inside where it is always safe and nobody can enter without my permission and get lost in my words for awhile

There are a few boats that come and go from the nearby houses along the beach; their long graceful shapes, like beautiful ornaments that decorate the water, yachts with their wings of sails ….

watching over the sea, ever watchful on the horizon 

For this view of the water, with those boats and sails, I would only choose watercolor for my medium, not oil

for their light buoyancy would demand nothing at all heavy 

as oil and water do not mix —and like the unforgivable ocean, there is no room for error in a watercolor; there is only one chance of its lifetime

And so as I look up now, I think this, wishing I had with me a paintbrush, rough paper and a set of watercolor pans as I see one beauty nearby as it moves across the line of the horizon —but then it appears to stop, as if just for me, it poses for me to paint its portrait 

This one I have not seen before. This one is slightly bigger than the others that I’ve seen. 

And I watch from the distance of my pier, I watch as it seems to drop anchor as I stare into the horizon —and now see a man on the boat ….now climb down into a dinghy, and with the sun brilliant, high overhead, blazing so bright that it blinds me, it catches reflection off the water and—I catch my breath —with sight of the gold of his hair….

It is a slow approach, and as I watch the boat as it eventually nears, moments later, the sun seems to dim and to fade, as it dips in its descent from the horizon 

I stand up now as the little dinghy boat nears…. 

When the dinghy reaches the pier, he ties it to the pole, and pulls himself up to stand just a few feet away from me and then just stares at me with those eyes 

After a long moment, finally, he says,

“….did you really think it was all just for the code?”

But it is hard to hold his gaze, how he looks at me when he says this. And it causes a strange rush so that I lose my balance, and start to feel dangerously seasick, and stumble backward,

“I-I have not known what to believe, Jörn….” and look down from the fury there of his eyes to stare, instead, at the floor of the pier

“And my opera—you think as part of some cover that I just conveniently made up that whole opera thing?” and as he asks me this, pulls my head up by my chin, to look at him, “duva….?” but I still keep my gaze at the pier, so he half shouts at me, “look at me!”

And now when I raise my eyes to look up at him, defensively I say,

“you don’t make it easy, Jörn!—it’s not as if you ever…. say….!”

He lets go my chin and shakes his head with a kind of shrug and then glances in the direction towards the house, 

“and you don’t either, duva…. and for the record—I did came back….”

After a tense moment of silence he sighs now and says,

“Uh….there’s something else you need to know about and no one else even knows about this….something that I found when I opened that compartment in your mother’s secretary. But then, it may require something from you that I seriously doubt you are capable of….”

“Something you found in the compartment? What?”

He shakes his head,

“I’m not sure if you’re ready for this…. Or ever will be….”

“Jörn! About my mother or— me? Or who?”

“Like I said, I don’t think you’re ready for this as… it may actually require you trusting me and ….” he shakes his head doubtfully

“What are you talking about?” I ask staring at him

He shakes his head,

“it’s been a rough week and right now, I could use a stiff drink so …. you’re welcome to join me back to the house—that is, if you should feel so inclined to decide it’s safe to —you know, be in the same room with.”

 thema gudd arall

Mae geiriadur yn lle da i guddio iaith;  mae'r diogel yn air arall am loches

Electra’s dictionary/nearing “the Safe Noir” denouement of Vol. 1 (e.d.jmmusechron)

 

And after he leaves …. that stunned feeling seems to stay with me. It is awhile that I realize I am still standing in the spot he left me at, staring at the exit he left from …. with the feel of his mouth still on my lips. And everywhere else it laid its claim to possess 

And I actually say out loud to the empty room, “what just happened?”

as I am not at all sure what his visit achieved ….except to spin me around ….so confused now 

“I’m such an idiot,” speaking again to the empty room, this time in a whisper 

I look at the dining room table with the kale salad hardly touched and three days of hunger forgotten …. “that’s why I’m dizzy,” at least I tell myself that. And automatically go take the bowl from the table and decide to take it with me to eat somewhere else as Jörn’s ghost still lingers here smirking at me

my phone…. I think now…. because I feel like I need some distraction back to reality, reason —or—rather, some form of present or presence of mind. And of course, when I find it, it is where I left it —next to the phone charger Willem gave me as— I realize it’s still dead….

like a malfunctioning robot, I grab phone and charger with my bowl and fork and wander around the huge empty halls aimlessly, searching for a direction to go, and end up back in the bedroom where I left the suitcases. After a moment of looking at them as if they’re aliens, I head, naturally, to the bathroom and put down all objects on the mirrored table next to the marble bath tub. Then after plugging my phone in to charge, start the water and now see a happy surprise placed on a tray on the tub’s marble ledge; bergamot and eucalyptus

“she remembered….” whispered again to no one and pour in some of both 

and watching the water fill up, sit on the ledge eating the salad still wondering what just happened…. 

do I believe him?

should I? 

After days in that room staring at the spot where the safe was and ….hating him. For leaving me there. 

But Willem…. ?

and I see again the memory ….the dream…. of the empty sea, the sun in the sky …. but then …. the most painful part recalls me again …. it was the same look in his eyes ….when I heard it this time in his voice

My phone makes a vibration sound and startles me back, and as I realize my bowl is now empty —I guess I was hungry after all, but I don’t remember eating. 

I put the bowl down and look at my phone and see there are some dozen messages that all come up over the last app it was left open to— my music app left open to my Beethoven playlist. I must have accidentally opened this during the run-in with Retnuh Nivek outside the underground —so it must have been playing that whole time because I notice the volume had been turned all the way down…. so…. that’s why, my phone had no charge, I start to realize now

Again, like a robot, I look at who all the text messages were left by…. 

among them, I see several from Gerald:

<I hope u r ok. I had a vision last night and now just saw on the news report. Your pic is everywhere saying you have been taken hostage. But I am getting a strong feeling they are wrong and that you are in a “safe” place because I keep seeing the word “safe”. I will be sending you safe vibes. Please reach me if you can. I know you are in a dark place but have faith>

The next one from him says:

<whatever dark place you are in, have faith you will be found. this is part of why you met again. to right a wrong>

And the next message after this:

<I saw you were found, it just came on the report. Text me, I know you have doubts>

I turn away

By now the water has filled and I don’t want to think anymore. And after I get in, I decide to spend the next couple of hours in its warm depths not thinking of anything

 ….and reach to listen to Beethoven, it begins with “Emperor, concerto number 5 in E flat major, opus 73” 

to blast everything away…. I gladly fall into another’s past 

****

When Willem comes to see me off in the morning, meeting us in the parking garage by the nondescript black car, he says,

“I wanted to let you know Retnuh Nivek was spotted,” and pauses here to look at me and watch his words register. He continues, “by some reliable inside people…. in a —hospital— in Cairo. So, you can at least breathe easy he can’t do any harm now. You’ll be vindicated to know, he has suffered some debilitating injuries ….and will be out of commission, it is safe to say—indefinitely. And with my men watching you and with Michèle here—you’re in safe hands. It will be good for you to spend some time on the beach.”

And for a moment his news startles me enough to —forget what I first had meant to ask him….about Jörn

But after this I only stare at him

He puts his hand on my shoulder and then smiles, reaching to embrace me and after he does, I look up at him

“Willem….”

He sighs,

“yes, Dusk—I know you are angry I didn’t tell you about Jörn…. try to enjoy the Hamptons. I promise to stop by and say hello.”

Then I am ushered into the car and he shuts the door

It is a long drive from the city to the Hamptons and once we leave the congestion of the city, the dullness of the monotonous expressway lulls my thoughts. Because I have not seen these expressway road signs for so long, it takes me back to another time. What was it I said about layers? It seems now they strip off with each one we pass. Like lifetimes. Maybe Willem is right, I think, it would be a nice change to see the beach again…. and I stare out the window 

And then it is hours later when again, stripped of more layers, with a sunny sky overhead, we reach Southamptons’ Main Street …. and here it is impossible to not think of my mother. My favorite memories of her are here with her

 Ydw i erioed wedi cwympo mewn cariad go iawn?  

Ni allaf ond ateb hyn yn wir trwy ddweud; dim ond fy nghariad go iawn a allai fod yr un yn unig sy'n gallu adnabod y gwir fi;  yr un sy'n trafferthu ceisio gweld heibio'r fersiwn ei hun ohonof i, yr hyn maen nhw'n meddwl maen nhw'n ei weld;  y ddol powdr wirion honno, y ddol wedi'i thorri allan y maent ond yn ei gweld ond yn anffodus nid yw ond yn camliwio;  gwybod i beidio â cheisio cicio i lawr y waliau ond eu parchu a gwybod sut i ddarllen y codau a pham eu bod yno ac yna aros am fynediad y tu mewn….  hyd yn oed fel y dymunais amdano - na, nid wyf erioed wedi dod o hyd i unrhyw un yn deilwng

A major theme in ‘the Dictionary’ behind its purpose

What is behind one of the underlying themes of the Electra’s Dictionary’s purpose; in order to define, examine and find enlightenment:  

~from a psychological analysis and assessments perspective (and understood as the ‘whys’ and ‘wherefores’ backstory detail)~

The psychological symptom known as “fear of abandonment” is commonly discussed, diagnosed and addressed as the reaction an individual has when someone they depended on deserted them either physically or emotionally or both. Often someone who has gone through this experience develops a trait in their future relationships with others. A most common symptom is often the reaction to cling very tight to others they become emotionally close to. But it depends, I would say. I believe it would depend on the age the individual was when the first experience occurred that had caused the initial emotional trauma.

I suppose this is where some veer off the main road of what may be considered the “norm”. 

In the cases where this occurred very early in childhood or infancy would have a much different effect on the individual. So many variables are involved. In those very early years, within the first months of life, then in the very first years of life, the brain chemistry is only beginning to form in the cerebral passages. These are the physiological cause and effects that contribute to the formation of the stop gap in thought, the formation of the physical shapes where the chemicals of the brain pass through and function as thoughts and responses; triggers and emotional reactions.

As because the individual is as particular as every snow flake, so are the physiological forms, the chemicals of the brain, the reactors, the reactions. 

Instead of need for attachment, some withdraw, as can often happen in cases of early years; some in trauma can become catatonic and display no reaction to the outward environment and stop talking.

sometimes there are anomalies. some individuals somehow are simply born with a tenacious, instinctive defense mechanism; a drive of survival that is inborn regardless of the trauma. 

but the side effects are often drawbacks ….others find them hard to relate to, get close to, and most of all—impossible to control or coerce. It is possible to be observed as reclusive, stuck-up, unsocial, closed and in the extreme, social misfits

Issues of abandonment can be misunderstood and take many forms. But the behavior is not the choice consciously made by the individual. It is simply the method the individual found that allowed for the best technique to survive. 

It is possible to imagine that at a very, very early age any such anomaly may choose to simply never have to depend on anyone. and never has. and in this way not ever let down the walls or open the portcullis 

and find safety in the self-fulfilled-prophecy-philosophy; by always finding the means to insure they never encounter anyone who counters their defenses by never finding anyone clever enough —to get through them

Electra’s dictionary; vampire noir & the deadly weapon

But at first, it seems, I can hardly react. And I suppose a part of me feels the rage at him, but he is clever to throw me off guard, using his element of surprise.

At first I just sit there at the table rather stunned. I did not expect to ever see him again….and stunned of words and thought, I can only stare at him ….

And a part of my observing mind absorbs every detail of him ….without realizing I do…. and part of my mind tells me I should be shouting in a rage at him ….but I don’t. Because I am too caught within the kryptonite; those haunting eyes, their power disarms me. He wears black, his shirt open and as always, neat as a pin; even his jeans look crisp and his Italian leather boots look polished to a high gloss. How dare he look that way? ….as I think of how I must look ….after—what? three days and washing in a sink with liquid hand soap. And I suppose it is this thought that ultimately triggers my anger 

I shove back the chair and jump to my feet,

“you show up now??? How dare you?! You never came! I hate you!!! What are you doing here?”

“Listen to me—“ he starts to say

“Listen! Why? What excuse have you got? And anyway, now that you have the code what do you need me for?”

“För fan i helvete, the code! I went after you!—“ he starts to walk near me but I back away

“Yeah, I bet—then why was I there all alone with that monster! I hate you for leaving me there! Fuck you, Jörn! How could you have just left me there as you did?! How dare you! I hate you! How dare you stand there lying to me now —you went after me—? As if!”

“Djävlar! Duva!—listen to me! Just listen to me! —I did go after you! I couldn’t get through the double doors! I had to go around the other way! But by the time I reached the dungeon —the cage was empty!”

And for just a moment the tone in his voice and his expression stops me from shouting ….and I start to think.

“I thought they took you!”  …. I hear something in his voice…. I don’t think I ever heard before…. and it somehow shocks me into silence. I just stare at him 

But after a moment, I shake my head, 

“I don’t believe you! You took the safe! I saw! And do you know what happened after being left with thst monster and then just left to rot?! I’m left to deal with your chaos! Smulligan and Stina cross examine me ‘where is Jörn, where is the safe? you’re lying, we know you are!’ like I know where you’ve gone and what you’ve done with the safe? ‘Oh we know you’re his fuck toy, so you better tell us what we need to know!’ And you just left me there to deal with it all! I was crazy to run out there to warn you about Retnuh, not realizing you were going to just leave me to deal with him too!! I don’t know why you’ve come back, I don’t think they’re done with you! And like I’m going to lie for you this time?”

he says, 

“Just listen, duva—after you did that and he dragged you to the underground, how could I guess at that point what happened? —the entire surveillance system was shut down—that happens to be Deiter’s specialty, he has installed thousands of those, he knew where they’d be by the monitors …. Duva…. “ he keeps talking, and his words flow out in a babble, “I didn’t know what was happening …. I thought they took you. I went back through to the catacombs running up and down them, I didn’t see where he took you, Deiter was gone —and I couldn’t find you on your gps….”

“Oh,” I say as I think now, and look down at the floor, “so it doesn’t work if my phone is out of battery….”

“No, it doesn’t…. So when I caught sight of them —Deiter and Retnuh —by then they had already fled the underground, they were already in the woods and they were heading down the hill. It was hard to see them clearly from where I was, but I could see Deiter —and that he was dragging something…. I didn’t realize Retnuh was knocked out….from where I was, I could only get a glimpse and just could see the shapes of them in the distance —and ….all I could see was ….it just looked like they were dragging something. And I thought that —it was you ….they were dragging….” he pauses a moment before he continues,”I watched what happened later from the recording—but it was much later, Duva when I checked the footage…. I can access the security recordings by my phone, it’s a program I built myself so…. So—I saw what happened in the gym….” and as he tells me this, I look up at him and stare into his eyes. He says, “I saw…. right up until Deiter took a bullet to the cameras,” he attempts to walk closer to me but I back away and go behind the chair at the table as I think about what he says,

Jörn takes a second to breathe and then to let out a breath. And I feel his eyes on me, he continues, “but it was much later when I got to look at the recordings…. by then I was miles gone trying to track them on foot…. And only later…. much later ….I realized where you had gone. It was me who told Willem that’s where to look but I couldn’t send him a message right away because it would link Willem to my whereabouts and —our two favorite people ….would see on his phone if we’d made contact ….“

“Yeah, our two favorites, right up there with Punch and Judy,” I say, “so let me guess—you were on the run from them because you made off with the safe? And then left me to cover for you—and thanks for that!!! Now I look like your accomplice, they don’t believe me, you dropping in tonight won’t help matters, they already think I’m lying! Next I’ll be wanted by the FBI because of you!! Obviously they think I’m involved like I’m some kind of terrorist!”

He half laughs when I say this and now I look up at him

“You laugh?”

“They don’t think you’re a terrorist,” and he starts to smile as if it is a funny joke

“No? How do you know? You weren’t there getting the third degree! They think I’m some kind of lying terrorist!”

Now he does laugh,

“you, duva? You could never be mistaken for one.”

“Then why were they questioning me like we are some kind of Bonnie and Clyde?”

“They just think you’re—“

“Covering for you!” I raise my brows at him in accusation and when he doesn’t refute it and casually shrugs, I say, “and what am I going to be doing when they question me now? You think I will cover for you this time?”

“You won’t have to ….” 

It is in his tone that he is up to something 

“Why? What do you mean?” I ask him

“I can’t tell you now ….”

And only now it hits me,

“you told Willem to bring me here first, didn’t you? We could have driven straight to the safe house tonight….” I look at him and try to read him, “you wanted to reach me first for some reason…. and …. you don’t know where the safe house is….?”

He turns away and I would swear he hides a chuckle when he forces a cough. What is so funny? How can he laugh right now? I’m too angry to see any humor in this but then…. “then Willem….” but I stop as I think about things, “…. he knew you were ….here…. duhhh…. so he purposely didn’t come in….”

He walks over to me and tries to reach for me but I back away,

“you can’t stay angry at me forever,” he smiles 

“I can! I don’t believe you, Jörn! You’re lying! I still think you meant to leave me under there! —you just want something—is the code not working?” I ask him backing away

But he’s smiling, 

“what do you think I want, duva?” he asks as I am backed up until I hit the wall. He leans up against me

“You can’t fool me! I hate you for leaving me there!”

“You don’t hate me,” he smiles and puts his fingers through my hair and holds me to the wall with his fingers caught in my hair, “you could never hate me. And you’re right ….I do want something….”

I turn my face away when he moves to put his mouth on me,

“You want me to lie for you. No, it won’t work, Jörn,” I tell him

“That’s not what I want, you really can be so obtuse,”he says and grabs hold of my face with both hands, “you can’t resist me….” and covers my mouth with his ….and at first I do resist. But then forget why, and after a lingering moment, held up against the wall, with his mouth kissing me, he says into my ear,

“it’s too bad I can’t stay ….” and moves his mouth to my neck, “which is too bad….” and takes liberties pulling away the fabric of my shirt from my shoulder to put his mouth there, “but, unfortunately, there’s still something that needs to be done ….so, I’ll have to get back to you on this….”

Eye Spy; flying back to NY (e.d.jmmusechron)

 

I look out from the helicopter and watch how the landscape scenery changes gradually. It is like layers. And I wonder if I am putting them on or taking them off. I realize it is change that I want and seem to crave after the months locked away, locked down, locked up 

yes, I think, I want and crave change and .... freedom. 

I sometimes wish I could fly and wish to know how it is to feel the freedom of spreading your wings and soaring with the wind. I used to have flying dreams all the time. For one year of my life, every time I dreamed, I was flying

I think it was always freedom I craved. Not in the way people talk of freedom, I mean it in the wild way, the way mustangs run wild. Sometimes it has felt I could almost know it on the back of a horse. I think that is my problem with society. My mother always told me I was too wild.... I don’t like restrictions, I would have detested wearing corsets and riding sidesaddle. I would have detested that life —but it might not have been too bad as a peasant, out on some misty moor

It is when things I look at from the window become congested with closer houses and the highway roads that are visible like a road map and are staggered with highway signs and dotted by more and more cars, that I realize it is putting on layers but sometimes it is easier to hide that way and have the distraction of static to absorb the blows in place of speech and conversation 

I would not want to face a New York City crowd right now though, but I don’t mind observing it from far away. 

This last year has jaded people. I wonder if it is just time for a new Renaissance. A birth of beauty. This world is in sad need of beauty. And not the kind manufactured, it needs to come from somewhere raw, somewhere real, from a place that has been exposed to the worst brutality and emerges like a shining star

And this I think about as I long to run away

****

It is the landing that jolts me. I look around and see Willem leaning over talking to the pilot. He turns to me

“You fell asleep,” he tells me as the engine dies down

And my head is still fuzzy when we get out. I have trouble comprehending all he says. Something about tomorrow, the body guards, Ilya....

“She said she left things for you in the fridge. Things you like,” he is saying

“Oh, that’s sweet,” I say as we walk, “she’s very nice, I’ve missed her.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable, you’re leaving tomorrow,” Willem reminds me as we get into the waiting car with tinted windows. It is not a flashy car, but the kind that would go unnoticed, black and of some nondescript make which I know was the intention, and I’m grateful it’s comfortable inside when he says,

“this is Michèle, you’ll be driving out to Southampton with him tomorrow in this car,” Willem refers to the driver who is dressed like a chauffeur with the hat and uniform, “he is one of our French recruits, so don’t be fooled by his sweet face —he’s a trained lethal weapon.”

“That’s good to know. Hello, Michèle,” I shake his hand as he reaches back from the front driver’s seat

He smiles and tips his hat,

“I promise not to be too terrifying, it will be a pleasure. Do you like the Hamptons?” and his accent gives whatever he says and the name a more romantic sound, he says, “‘amptons” and stresses the second syllable 

“It’s been awhile, it will be nice to see it again,” I say and sit back 

But for now, this is just a short drive and once we head down city streets, with the sun beginning its descent overhead, I soon recognize, we are nearly there .... but how different Manhattan looks —and feels; like a plague has passed through and with it a civil war; it is a different vibe somehow

“Are you coming with us tomorrow?” I ask Willem when he goes up the private elevator with me

“I’ll meet you here before you leave, but there are still things I need to do. We’ll talk. And I need an excuse to get to the beach,” he says

I shake my head,

“I’m not sure about the beach, I remember it being closed to the public.”

“Then I think you’ll like the safe house you’ll be staying at,” Willem smiles with a wink and we get out. Outside the penthouse door there’s someone waiting, dressed in black, tall and muscular, “this is Patch, he’s on first watch.... oh, I almost forgot—your keys,” Willem hands them to me and then digs in his pocket, “and your phone charger. Make sure you plug it in. I’ll leave you here.”

And once through the door and closed behind me, I lean against it and look around. 

It looks as if I never left it. Everything remains exactly how it was. I notice my suitcases have been left right by the door. I pick them up and walk towards the bedroom and once there look around at the old Art Deco styled room from Ethan Rhys-Jones’ era. Exactly how I left it. I put the suitcases down.

I walk through the main hall and through to the large living room that leads to the dining area where I know the kitchens are, but something first catches my eye. Not everything is exactly how it was. Something that had not been there ....now is... 

The antique secretary that belonged to my mother.... and remember why it’s there. I go over to it and stare at its magnificence and —find myself thinking of who brought it there.... I touch the high polished dark wood, its rich stained color as lovely as I remember it.... but I don’t want to think of him

Remembering what Willem said, I go towards the kitchens and find the stainless steel all shined immaculate. I open the refrigerator 

“Clever girl,” I say aloud when I find what she left for me. There’s a kale and quinoa ginger salad with chick peas and tofu wrapped in a porcelain bowl for me with a note that says, “welcome home”

I take it with me to the dining room and go to the excessively long walnut table and sit down, suddenly aware of how hungry I am and, as I eat, from the shadows —it seems, an apparition appears…. standing just a few feet away from the window

“Hello, duva.”

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