Next scene: hidden clues, hidden themes; the Beatrice/Virgil duality dichotomy; noir muse

 

‘Willem’ I begin the email.... but then already stuck....

hmmm....

‘I’m not sure if you have lately been in contact with ....’ 

I stop—No. Delete .....but then I put it back....

‘I’m not sure if you have lately been in contact with’ ....

with....?

‘a mutual acquaintance’ ....I tell myself that I should think like spies think, and I remind myself who knows who might intercept the email

“but under current circumstances, well, I’m in an awkward situation and wonder if I might have the opportunity to get your impression of an extremely serious and pressing problem I’m having. 

‘I would be so grateful to hear back by your earliest convenience ....’

and send it.There. Safe and no details ....

then cross my arms in front of me onto the desk and put my head down wondering how do I always end up in disastrous situations? 

.... but then become aware Jörn might be looking at me. from his spy glass.... 

and think of ..... vampire eyes

sometimes teal, sometimes slate, but always kryptonite; I start to fall asleep in the chair staring at the floor to wait for Willem’s reply 

but who knows when Willem will decide to read his emails? I don’t even know what time zone he might be in

so I make myself stand up from the desk to walk around, maybe I need to clear my head I think now, glancing up at the cameras as I pass them

and idly think about my chances of reaching the sauna from here, dreaming of the shower 

and then get an image of myself here stuck in a secret underground in the middle of the mountainous wilderness with a guy in a ski mask and who would ever find me?

....so what are the chances he’s still there, I wonder? —50/50? (how long have I been down here— ?I’ve lost track ?)

....is it worth the risk....? But who am I kidding, not exactly good odds up against a man built like a bull dozer because, despite my roar, unfortunately, I’ve never appeared physically threatening as..... my best offense is to play possum; clearly, I need a body guard 

And, judging by the monitors, I’m guessing there is two more feet of snow since I came down here through the shaft and before that there was already a lot— and based on what the weather report predicts there will be even more soon .... guessing ideas of going it on foot would be a bad choice as it has dipped well below zero (Fahrenheit) quite a lot all week and I don’t think my clogs would get me through the snow drifts 

I leave the cage part wishing for some privacy from the omnipresent voyeur cameras but who knows where else he puts them

And go to the part that is below the staircase where there is an alcove made by the shape of the stairs above it.... i sit down below on the floor where I have made a kind of bed out of broken down cardboard boxes and it is also the warmest spot because a furnace is behind it so a nice spot for a nap as ....maybe then I would know what to do and think better if I did that 

but instead of sleep my tired mind returns to thoughts of Jörn and then .... I think of that day at Lincoln Center —rushing to see him.... to watch him perform ....and find now.... I long for that moment back 

noir; someone to count on (jm muse chronicles, Electra’s dictionary)

 Climbing cave walls ....

even as I know eventually I will start to get weak without anything to eat

.... I pace the dungeon thinking.... and stopping to consider trying to be objective of it all .... between the spy games and my own mission in life .... my own mission....do I even still believe in that anymore ....I stop and sit down on a stack of boxes and reflect on life; wasting life ....was Elan’s life wasted? because it is easier to be objective here.... about that life

....and wonder because maybe it could shed some light on this one 

so was her lesson she had to learn ....? not to trust? I mean,

after all ....?

my thoughts go back to Jörn and his email 

that I only read as far as the subject line —to inform me that besides not having the use of my mobile phone, the landline is off limits 

as hours pass I realize that avoiding his emails are as intrusive as opening them ....for thoughts of him ....although I have done reasonably well so far ....I jump from thoughts about the ski masked guy walking through the barn house watching for the phone light to go on and wondering who he actually is? hired mercenary or.....? But I guess more importantly, what specifically he may be after —I mean, I guess the code—right? but didn’t Jörn crack it? Were the contents examined? what was in the drumtable/safe?

And then wondering who I could ....trust?

well, maybe I don’t exactly need to trust —just an ally would be nice ....but even for this, who I could I even think of now— the police ....? That question boggles the mind there in itself and with society as it is.... the dungeon feels suddenly cozy ....

When it seems the walls mock and judge from staring so long at their empty, expressionless surfaces, my thoughts go in random places my exhausted brain seems to fall back into ....from exhausted thoughts and the sterility of my surroundings ..... to something far from here ..... like those hazy and deep thoughts of ....Elan and the smeden and the cost of a lifetime

they seem to haunt the shadows ....the odd shapes of the shadows made by assembly line orders of boxes that follow hidden turns which give the basement that feeling of catacombs and tombs ....andI then think of bog people 

....the smeden ultimately is the cause of Elan’s life time’s end for her —even though inadvertently because he should not have left her there....

I turn to the screen with the email —still unopened .... and see now Jörn has sent another .... this subject line only says, “Important” all in caps 

but I ignore it like the other....

and try to think instead, who do I know that I could even consider telling I am in danger and need help? So I turn to names through my contacts available through chats and look at names of people I know from my life’s collection of work and school .... as I wonder what I’d say? “hey, what’s up? Um, yeah, there’s a guy with a ski mask after me because I have some secret code....can you pop over and get me, I’m in the secret distillery basement.”

And remain still frozen, poised over the keyboard ....searching names ....going through my entire catalogue of life events right from ....the names on the list and the dim memories they evoke

I look over my last messaging conversations with “people” and as it’s not something I do, and —the list is short; names of people I know or knew once; but of anyone of substance seems to be few and far between and wonder the purpose of having such a forum and ....look again 

at the chat conversation; just the one that is, 

not surprisingly, from my very long ago—first boy friend who has always remained well in touch yet, despite he has always proved reliable in a jam, but—I x out rereading his last chat message and.... keep looking....Jackson....? my UN friend from high school ....I start with a ‘hello’ seeing he’s on

He sends me back a message: 

<hey, red!>

So I reply: <can I ask you something?>

I begin this way still trying to work out how exactly to phrase this .... thinking, as he would be accustomed to serious and potentially dangerous problems as he has shared his Iraq stories with me and so, I think, who better?

so I think it over watching for his reply considering how I might word it ....

someone to count on I think as I wait and as I wait my thoughts go back to Elan’s life....

But.....The smeden ....

would he have been someone for her to count on ....?

was she wrong to trust the smeden ....? 

I don’t know why I ask myself this now .... I mean.... 

of all times —now....why should I only understand it all, now, because, after all, I mean, was it really his fault ....? It seems I see it another way from here

Jackson replies: 

<sure, first—what are you wearing?;)>

I change my mind. I click out of the conversation and stand up to randomly kick something ....who to ask, who to ask.... and pace the cage 

I glance at the screen when I see another instant message pop up from yet another yellowed photo from the social album.... with a message that sadly echoes the last non-related one ....I move the curser to click off social media, then move to log out, sign off and get up to pace back to the cage doorway to stare at the conveyor belt .... 

perspectives .... things you see and different when you look another way

And look up again by the shaft I came through remembering that first day I discovered it down here ....I look up at the guillotine door at the top of the staircase; the pantry false wall.... and think

suddenly....Willem! 

Why didn’t I think of him before?

I move back to the computer to my emails....there are about ten more emails from Jörn all in caps 

but I cover them with my hand not wanting to read what they say and start an email for Willem....

Noir Terror/Does the individual still matter if there is no one to acknowledge your existence? (edjmmusechron)

….to fall out of existence, to not exist; unknown, forgotten or never even seen and not ever again to be known any existence of ....well.... 

in here, in this dungeon that is both a prison and a fortress —how long before someone would search for me ? ….this thought causes that panic button reaction into motion 

I fear a moment of horror to have to face —when there is nothing else left ….and no hope to have to accept ~this is all there is 

to be remembered or gone with no trace, wiped as if that identity never was, that fabric and skeletal frame thar hangs a self .... like it never was and will never be remembered ….

Does the individual still matter if there is no one to acknowledge your existence?

No. you know, without the daylight it gets confusing what time or even what day it is —not that time has ever made sense to me 

and ....if not any familiar connection.... what is left....? to hang a self 

this invisible self 

....a dictionary 

Noir Cell for Celves (edjmmusechron)

And for awhile I sit there still ….I don’t know if it is the surreal reality of some conjured serendipity from a wearied, warped lens of some sleeping monster that causes time to feel so still and so frozen and it makes me shiver as if cold through to my bones and…. I think of Jörn just watching me from a surveillance camera from some other part of the world —like I’m a goldfish in a glass bowl

But I ache to know, what is the world doing out there? I get up and pace to the other side of the cage, searching what I see around me and as covertly as possible, I glance around looking at all the angles where I think I have worked out where the cameras are hidden.... as I know he’s watching me .... and so what does that mean? is it just part of his spy work? or does that mean that he cares or .… how can I not be cynical? My track record with people is just not great—present situation a great example; see what happens? I land in a dungeon 

And —where is he? where is he now .... ? —now—as I sink and steep inside my tunnel vision and feel the walls contour and feel suffocated and squeezed airtight shut within these walls ....

like a padded cell, I think, trapped in a cell …. for celves 

do you hear the best when the noise sounds out all reason? 

if this is Paradiso why does the staircase goes down?

Noir ‘Signs & Messages’ (edjmmusechron)

I spend awhile reviewing the monitors panning the property from the cameras angles I never knew there were cameras hidden. Which leads me to reconsider closer the depths of Jörn’s dedication to what he does 

For awhile I am fixed on the spot standing there staring at the phone on the desk and consider what to do. 

after awhile I sit down at the desk and do the same when I become aware of feeling faint from the exhaustion of hours of anxiety .... I don’t even know what is going on in the world .... in a world that every five minutes something catastrophic happens simultaneously with another and the loss of connection to this world by means of cellular technology can set a tailspin into making one believe one can be jettisoned out of the solar system without this power line connection 

and then I look around at my surroundings .... deep in the quiet catacombs, this dungeon cave .... how long can a human last without nourishment? What if I never leave here? I lean onto the desk and fold my arms and put my head down inside.... and after awhile sit back into the chair and look up at the computer screen that is open to my email page

It is then I see my email refresh right in front of me. There is a new email 

It is from Jörn....

and before I decide whether to ignore it or not I see the subject say: DON’T USE THE PHONE! He’ll know you’re there!!!



From a Noir Dungeon (edjmmusechron)

 

The mind gets up to such strange things alone with just ones own thoughts. At first, it seems sound. As the hours pass, though, the thoughts turn to questions. Then to doubts. Then to thoughts that travel past where the edges of the map don’t continue, 

where you fall off the edge of the globe that is without dimension and flat—where there be dragons 

It seems soundproof inside the underground, no sounds seem to penetrate the farmhouse floors and so, not possible to know what is happening. 

I did not go right away to the cage where the computers are with the cameras and the internet, being too scared to move a muscle or make even the slightest sound. 

Even as I tremble and cannot stop. I have known this kind of fear before. Too often. I’ve been here before in my mind and well recognize this kind of fear ....you would think I would be accustomed by now

It seems that even the tiniest sound I make is amplified in the hollowed catacomb-like cellar-basement ....I hardly let myself move for hours. And after awhile the shaking gets painful.... and with it, that slippery slope, my mind sinks deep to; those monster dark places I’ve known before when living in fear ....and hiding

but after what had to be hours of shaking, I become aware of pain and it is the pain that prompts me to move

Remembering a bottle of ibuprofen in a drawer by the computer I usually use as I work on orders, I force myself to move from the cramped position huddled inside the box on the conveyor belt when I landed there through the trapdoor shaft. 

For hours I had gone over thoughts.... reminded myself that I never knew this basement even existed and thus knew it was well hidden

 ....but then debate with myself with the question —would the intruder think to look in the farmhouse? If so, was it possible to hear if someone was under the ground floor? As I never had the opportunity yet to test this as I was always either alone here anyway or Jörn was with me, so knowing if sounds are audible had not been witnessed yet for myself and I didn’t know if Jörn had ever been there without my awareness when I was in the farmhouse painting. 

Still, as it was so very quiet down here, like a tomb that it was at times quite eerie, I might believe that indeed it must be soundproof —but, the memory of the disguised person wearing the full face mask and how threatening his appearance was left me with a sense of extreme trepidation on whether or not to depend on the assumption 

With my phone now dead there was also the attraction to be drawn to tempt it in order to try and reach someone for help using the business line Jörn installed for Cabaret or his other work—and by way of the internet, I thought it worth the chance if I was careful not to make a sound. I climb out of the box carefully and lower myself from the conveyor belt. 

I go to the gated caged part taking care of every step, minding where I step and keeping every step silent. First to the drawer where the ibuprofen is. It is when I glance up noticing the cameras while swallowing them down that I think of Jörn’s surveillance network. The few times he had been here with me doing work, I had watched him fiddle with the computer programs that alters the monitor to show angles of other live cameras from wherever he had it wired to. And because I had seen him do this before, I switch on the surveillance monitors .... and realize it is already angled and running .... not that this should surprise me as he had recently mentioned this to me a few times but I had not really paid much attention. 

So.... logic would tell me.... as it may be viewed here on this screen, no doubt, wherever Jörn is, so too could Jörn view....

and considering my anger at Jörn, did this make me feel better?

.... the jury is still out on this, I decide 

sometimes the ropes you reach for in the darkness you only know are there when you feel that rope pull you back to solid ground

when you know they are really there 

Solo Noir/basic survival & the importance of relevance (edjmmusechron)

 

I guess world events of recent are keeping the spies of the world busy; Jörn has been away  —he has hardly, if at all, contacted me, and his old excuses seem empty these days.... so maybe it is time for some honesty with myself: I have been fooling myself; believing more can come of things and ....due to my feral instincts, instead of waiting for the inevitable, I now consider possible places to start another chapter. so caught up in thoughts I must not have been as observant as I should have been and making scenarios of plans in my mind, thinking of what or where to go next as.... even I know things are not stable anywhere 

still.... how can it all just be his stressful job? a spy openly after something he believes I have— never mind that he has never promised anything nor even suggested there ever could be a promise....so perhaps it is I am just not relevant to him 

....which is what was going on in my mind and why I was not as observant as I might have been. It was on my way to the bedroom in search of my phone to look something up about possible destinations to move to, and after I find my phone where I left it beside the bed, I leave the bedroom and head to the stairs to go back to the kitchen where I left the laptop to do some work on the computer—I’m not sure if it was the oddness of the sound that caught my attention.... the trash bins outside.... as it is not the day for it. It seemed to carry oddly an irregular tone. 

And just stepping outside the bedroom door I hear it and freeze stock-still.

And then, it was just by chance that I see! — something catches my eye— it was the shocking sudden image as it was reflected off the glass of the barn’s wall-sized window plate .... I see someone in plain sight outside on the grounds by the house! It is someone there or —is it just shadows I see moving....? no, I look more carefully at it as it moves slowly—yes, a man that is!.... it is now more clear as the clouds shift revealing from shadow, an actual image reflected on the glass quite sharp, a darkly clothed figure. I reach for my phone, take a shot of the reflection.... then pull close to view him; heavy set, muscular. And now notice my phone only has 5% charge ....with fingers now trembling, enlarge more, he’s wearing a mask; a full-faced one, not the friendly kind —and dressed completely in black—and drawing a dramatic, if not stunning contrast against the white outside from the fresh foot of snow from the recent storm ....and lending a very clear and a very present, uneasy awareness of the very deserted stillness ....which surrounds the vicinity. In situations like this, a drawback to living in the rural mountains 

I force myself into action when it occurs to me he is on his way to the patio door! time to move and fast! 

I go down the steps, taking extreme care to stay hidden from the window’s line of view and hide behind pieces of furniture as I make my way in the direction of the kitchen. 

I reach the pantry just as I hear the side door click and then slide open, and blocking out the pounding of my pulse in my head, manage to quietly unlatch the trap door and make it through, quickly closing it to fast, bolt it and jump through 

I land in a box on the conveyor belt as I feel my phone vibrating

 —and then it goes dead ....