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.”