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.”

mewn panig!

    Rwyf eisoes yn mygu

    ac yn teimlo dan orthrwm

    mae'n achosi i mi fynd yn isel fy ysbryd

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