F01.justanswer.com



INTERSECTIONmichael g farleyChapter OneJack first saw Carrie and Marisa at the 7-Eleven on Orchard Lake Road. It was a few minutes after eight on June 21 and the night’s chance to heat up after a full day of scorching summer sun. It was the longest day of the year, the summer solstice.The City of Orchard Lake and a host of other Detroit suburbs teem with multi-million dollar estates dry-docked on slivers of private waterfront across dozens of inland lakes. Twisted roads and lives dotted the shorelines and exclusive, gated neighborhoods spiraling from their shores.The car business was good.When Jack passed the girls the first time they were leaning against the bike rack, its thick metal bars bent from endless car bumpers. Jack threw out a quick hey, punctuated it with a nod and worked his way into the store. He wasn’t sure if he knew them or not. At least he made contact. The gated world was small; the girls didn’t respond.Inside, he took the first aisle to the refrigerated case. Pulling the foggy glass door open, he fished out a six-pack of Heineken and palmed the neck to make sure the chill went all the way through. Satisfied, he moved to the checkout, laid down a fifty and stole another view of the girls through the window. Carrie and Marisa folded knee-deep in laughter.Jack made direct eye contact as he angled toward his black BMW 325 xi on the far side of the parking lot. He was sure he made eye contact; anyway, it didn’t matter. Jack had plans for the evening, starting with a drive to Plymouth Park to wash down some Xanax with the Hineys, smoke a joint and watch the stars until the sun came up. At dawn, he’d go over to Jordan’s to hang out or hang himself. It didn’t matter.It was a typical day.Jack plunked the beer on the back seat and took his place behind the wheel. He raised his eyes to the rear view mirror and it returned a reverse image of the front doors, adjusting to the right he made his way to the girls. One looked Jack’s way. Pawing at the steering column seeking the ignition, Jack twisted the key and engaged the soft purr of the BMW’s engine. He took his time, revving and over-adjusting dials on the dash then checked the mirror–the girls were cutting across the parking lot.Jack positioned the mirror forward of their path and pushed a Pilate’s Decision CD into the player. The display came to life. He watched as the girls crept into view, then selected the track and put the laser to work. Warmth covered him as if steam. Eight balanced speakers spilled the offering beyond the confines of the car.Locked up tight. Hidden deep. Obscured from view.In equal balance between unknown and closest to,Breathes the soul of the dream we all feel,In prison guarded by the fear we conceal,Motivation to make it all real.The song delivered its dose, injecting instant relief to the inner Jack, like he knew it would, just like always. Jack leaned against the seat, closed his eyes and dove in headfirst.A single spark is all it takes to ignite,The fuel to bring the achievement to light,Creating friction as it burns in the cold,Vapor trails filled with blood running bold,Reveal the secret of the dream to be told.I.O.U. for thisI.O.U. for thisI.O.U. for this . . .Marisa placed the weight of her elbows along the BMW’s roofline, just above the driver’s side door. Jack’s door.I.O.U. for thisI.O.U. for thisI.O.U. for this . . .“Hey!” she shouted, attempting to battle eight speakers.. . . Fantasy.Jack twitched and reduced the volume to a level allowing dialogue, yet delivering the requisite ambiance.“You bought some beer in there, right?” she said, posing a question needing no answer. “Do you think you could, like, get us some too?” Marisa shot a quick glance at Carrie hanging around the rear quarter panel, twirling her hair. Jack reached over and turned the volume dial counter-clockwise, forcing the message from Pilate’s Decision further into the din.“I lost my wallet.” Marisa giggled. “Whatever, so, do you think you could help us out?”She was playing it cool now, as if it didn’t matter. There was a shit-ton of guys willing to help her out, this wasn’t her first rodeo.Marisa leaned in, framing her head and upper body within the window, the edge of her silky pink bra visible at the depth of the wilderness that peeked between her skin and shirt as she bent forward.Jack drank in the view.Marisa’s wide, pale blue eyes sedated. Her golden hair danced in its own intimate breeze, her skin bronzed and flawless. “Sure, what the hell,” Jack conceded, as if there was a question whether he would buy the girls beer, or a car for that matter. “What do you need?”“A twelve. Amstel Light. And some vodka.” Marisa shuffled back toward Carrie as Jack opened the door. He moved past the girls and started across the parking lot. He didn’t ask for money. “We’ll figure it out when I get back, it’s no big deal,” he said over his shoulder, playing it cool and adding a pinch of what Jack would interpret as swagger.Jack re-entered the 7-Eleven and made his way to the cooler, pulled out a twelve pack, and grabbed a fifth of Absolute on the way to the register. He stopped to eye the condom display; too many varieties. Jack found comfort in the standard Trojan. He reached and slid the package off the steel peg.That was rich.That was Jack.Chapter TwoMark remembered the sound of the scanner as it logged everything he could find on the rock group Pilate’s Decision. Mark was immune, but he’d catch up fast.With just six recordings under their belt, Pilate’s Decision was already firm in the annals of rock-and-roll history. The group’s following grew exponentially yet they maintained their proprietary, cultish soul. They twisted an old story new and pushed it hard enough for the poison to seep into worlds beyond their core competency: civil disobedience, aggressive environmentalism.The difference between Pilate’s Decision and the shithouse full of cookie cutter A&R department fodder was beneath the angst, a more telling undertone breathed. Pilate’s Decision pulsed as the score for the miserable little lives kids were trying to pound their way through, the perfect storm of anger in search of opportunity. A fuse that stood ready, willing and able.After trudging through the fucked up logic of parents liking the same music as their offspring, here comes a wave of fresh, stagnant air. Something they could own for themselves, and reinforce the universal law that says the generations are separate, as they should be.The group sold three hundred thirty thousand copies of a release without music, just a booklet and a siren. A basic, standard issue, any town USA police siren. And it was everywhere; schools, malls, on the freeways crisscrossing Los Angeles and the back roads of D counties outside Sioux Falls. On street corners, television news reporters poked microphones high in the air, soaking up the wails, beaming them to the living rooms of parents trying to understand. On a good summer night, it sounded like a full-on disaster: earthquake, tornado or other catastrophe. That was the point. There was a disaster, and Pilate’s Decision played its anthem. The soundtrack for the youth of America, white, black, brown, yellow, straight, gay, jock, poser, geek, piggy, dork, freak, nerd, brain, hustler, whatever. It was unbiased; an equal message to kids with lives taken away, and those with lives handed to them on a silver platter. ?Pilate’s Decision was the perfect incentive. The perfect motivation. The perfect excuse . . .Chapter Three“. . . Ladies and gentlemen, you must believe that to be true.” Mark paused. “You must believe that to be true.”Federal Court. Detroit, Michigan. The start of another Southeastern Michigan summer day, it wasn’t even lunchtime and already eighty-eight sticky degrees. A day that could give a nun an attitude, and even though no one needed encouragement, the city was brimming with it.Not only was Mark a gifted attorney as measured by the financial result of his craft, he was a pioneering barrister manipulating all to reach the only worthy achievement: victory. He was the best and everyone knew it, from anxious defendants to peers spending too much time talking behind his back. As Special Counsel, he was on the other side of the legal battle for a change.Regardless, he would prevail, he was sure of that.Mark walked from behind the mahogany table leaving a CD in its jewel case as the only inhabitant. It wasn’t important now.Mark Phillip Hanley was important.What he would say was important.Mark swept the jury box; deliberate and methodical, making sure his eyes and their eyes were the sole point of light in the entire universe, if only for this single slice in time. The tired, dark brown eyes of Ella Johnston, customer service representative from the regional natural gas utility; the deep, questioning eyes of Ben Lape, retired mechanic for the Department of Transportation; the sexy green eyes of Marilyn Smith, suburban homemaker, volunteer and occasional purveyor of fine Russian vodka over shaved ice in the early afternoon.And Mark’s eyes. Cobalt disks moving from dark, pensive tones on their edges to warm, inviting centering hues, eyes that got that young buck every girl he fancied from sophomore year in high school to this day. Eyes that could conceal the truth, and eyes that could be the truth.“Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you something about Jack. And I know we’ve heard testimony, and more testimony, about his actions on the evening of June twenty-first.”Gallery chairs squeaked as spectators and family members repositioned themselves. There was a strong showing from the press. They didn’t squirm like those with skin in the game, but they’d feel it just the same.“But we’re not talking about what and how . . . We’re talking about why.”Mark motioned with his right hand to Jack Fryman. Twenty-four eyes looked at Jack from the jury box.Of course, they did.Jack sat to the left of his counsel, Allan Fink, an extremely competent practitioner. Short in stature but with a stern, business face that added inches to his height, musty dark eyes, and a matching black mustache so thick it never seemed to move, even as he spoke. That was Fink. He came from one of the largest firms in town, and although the case was a bit outside their usual pocketful of contracts, finance, and counsel for General Motors and an ocean of feeder companies, they were the best around. And Jack’s old man was a very good paying customer. Experience, network and resources should be enough. It always was before.Fink was supported by the finest staff money could buy. He was metered, consistent and redundant to the point that a jury might accept his reality if only because it seemed so old.Jack Fryman was different. His dark blue suit, white shirt, and red, white and blue patterned tie no more than twenty-four hours away from the rack at Chadwick’s Men’s Store, where they had been hanging in expectation of the right young man of means. He didn’t look like a criminal; more like a young republican.“So let’s talk about Jack.”Mark rubbed his face, a thought-provoking burnish starting at the lower jaw. Oh yes, something is on the way people of the box.“We’ve heard a lot about Jack. That he comes from a well-known family, a family that has made their home and conducted business in the area for three generations. We know the tremendous success of the family financially. We’ve heard testimony as to their social involvement and philanthropic efforts. Some of you may have even seen their names or faces in the newspaper. A charity ball or political event perhaps, a glimpse into a life most of us don’t experience.”Mark eyed foreman Ben Lape, their eyes meeting in a beam of understanding. Ben was paying attention, wanting to do it Mark’s way.“But like you and I, Jack has a private side, a family side.” Mark stuttered on family as if it wasn’t correct. “Although, given the demands of their public lives, a side of life that’s difficult to maintain. Heck, it’s difficult for everyone,” he lamented with a reassuring, regular guy smile. “And like you and me, our families have a myriad of circumstances that confront us every day; good things, bad things, fortunate things, unfortunate things.” Mark cocked his head, “every day,” he repeated, ensuring all connected to the universal harmony. “And if we have learned the skills, if we are capable, we can celebrate the fortunate, and survive the challenging.” Mark breathed deeply. “But that’s not easy. In fact, it’s one of the hardest things to do.” Another short pause. “But why is so difficult?”Outside the sandstone facade of the courthouse, the heat notched another five degrees. Inside, the weary air conditioning system fell further behind and on a day like this, it would never catch up. Like that kid in gym class running laps. He’d go every week but never got any better or faster or made up any ground. And he’s still trying to catch up today, but it’s not gym class, it’s the real thing; work, family, kids, wife, life. Keep running you loser, you’ll catch up one day.“Well ladies and gentlemen, it’s difficult because not everyone has the experience. Not everyone learned the skills.” Mark’s eyes squinted in dedication to the words. This was as loose a summation as one could muster, but what everyone in the box needed to hear. How can you argue against family? After the meticulous Mr. Fink and crew, no one knew what the reality was. They needed a trip back from the intellectual technical analysis and busloads of medical professionals speculating in gross academic terminology why old Jacky was a victim and not the guilty, testimony that intimidated and confused.“We know Jack came from a family that . . . well, a family that had the resources to make sure he and his brothers were more than taken care of as they matured.” Collars loosened. The knots of ties slid lower around necks. “It’s obvious,” Mark continued, “through the testimony we’ve heard about his formative years that Jack had a sheltered and, shall we say, well-managed experience growing up.”Mark shot a glance at Jack and gained the stone face of his father Robert sitting five feet and an entire galaxy away. To Robert’s right sat Jack’s mother, a well-tucked and tanned woman of fifty-something. To call her Jack’s mother referenced the legal relationship only. Other than the painful inconvenience of birth itself, Cynthia never put into practice the typical duties associated with motherhood. Her long, thin face was stark and emotionless, eyes trying to see through the landscape that lay out so openly for all to see.“But, we know some families have a difficult time just being a family along the way, gaining the experience to face what life throws at us. When math got tough Jack’s father had the teacher reprimanded, when his Spanish wasn’t up to par, he was caught cheating. He spent the holidays skiing in the mountains of Colorado and summers in Harbor Springs. He never held a job or did a chore. He got a new car on his sixteenth birthday. And when he was caught dealing drugs,” Mark flexed his eyebrows, “the charges somehow just went away.” Mark was being lax here. It sounded almost random.Fink was desperate to catch up.Mark stopped and turned toward the jury. “When I was a teenager, my father told me a story about a girl who some said had gotten pregnant, although I think my father said, in a ‘family way’. Mark walked toward the jury. This was for them. “Anyway, when school let out,” Mark continued, “this girl’s father packed up the car and took her away. No one saw her the entire summer but come fall, there she was, registering for classes as if just another day. No one knew where she’d been or what happened, and she went on to graduate from high school.” Mark faced Jack, standing half way between the jury box and the defense table.Jack looked up.That’s right, Jack. Pay attention.“For the longest time, I tried to understand why my father told me that story.” Mark slid his fingers over his cheeks again, determined to have the jury get the most out of what he was thinking. He moved closer to Jack, looked him straight in the eyes. “And I couldn’t figure it out.” Jack was sitting up straight now and tilting back, waiting for the punch, understanding it was close. His father sat transfixed, his mother still craning beyond, unable to rationalize the setting. The beam was on and this time it was Jack about to understand. “But here’s what I think now.” The jury glued on Mark. “I think it was a family taking care of family. Good. Bad. Right. Wrong. True or untrue. Just like you or I take care of our own families.” Mark paused. “That’s what a family is for.” Mark shrugged his shoulders.“It didn’t matter what people thought, what they believed, or what the situation was, it was just being taken care of by the family, for the family. That’s all. I think it’s just that simple.” Mark’s face was flush. “It has nothing to do with money. It has nothing to do with one’s position in the community. It has nothing to do with how important one thinks they are.” Mark barked the lines with perfect inflection, staring down the jury, forcing a connection. “Jack had housekeepers and nannies and a professional meal prepared for him every night.” Mark was rolling, the intensity in his voice rising. “Who hasn’t dreamed about growing up rich, privileged, never having to worry about the next payment? How much easier would our lives be? How much better would our lives be?” Mark was leaning forward, his body language clear. “Who hasn’t dreamed of such a life?” Mark delivered the line in a tone making it difficult to determine if he was angry or running out of breath. He didn’t want the question to sink in: the quick answer was the one he needed to plant. “I’ll tell you who hasn’t dreamed of such a life,” he continued, channeling the jury back to the young man of means in the clean, new suit, “Jack Fryman.” This time a serious pause, let them think about what Jack had, what Jack always had.“Here’s what Jack Fryman dreamed of, ladies and gentlemen. Jack Fryman dreamed about a mother who would wake him up for school with a warm, gentle, loving hug. Jack Fryman dreamed of a brother he could depend on when the tough kid at school called him a dork and spit on his lunch tray. Jack Fryman dreamed about a father who would put on an old pair of pants and paint stained shirt and show him how to cover a tight end running a post pattern.”“Jack Fryman dreamed about being a family.” Mark swept the length of the jury box, squinting. “And Jack Fryman dreamed of a father who would tell him a story that didn’t make sense,” Mark counted to five in his head, “until he needed that story to make sense.”Mark scoured the gallery for non-believers.“This trial isn’t about determining the single, overwhelming force that suddenly caused Jack to behave the way he did.” Mark made sure he put enough emphasis on ‘single’ to keep driving the point home. “There isn’t a switch. There isn’t a door. There isn’t one thing. Human beings don’t act in the manner Jack did because of one thing, they act in such a manner because of a hundred things, or a thousand things. Or more likely, the lack of things.” A cold thin sheet of sweat covered Mark’s body. “This trial is about the power to overcome . . .” Mark paused, searching for that well-rehearsed word, “life!”“Life.” He repeated in confirmation to judge and jury. “Jack didn’t have the experience to cope. He wasn’t built that way. He wasn’t taught. He didn’t have the skills.” Mark pressed his lips together and breathed deep through his nose. “But that does not give Jack Fryman license to act the way he did. It may be an explanation, but it is certainly not an excuse for what he, Jack Fryman, did. It does not relieve him of his responsibility as a member of our society; his responsibility as a human being.” Mark’s tone had reached the point every child knew: the argument is over. “Jack Fryman knows right from wrong.”Mark glanced at Judge McNaughton, her eyes peering over the rims of her glasses and listening as intently now as on day one.“So Jack had a difficult time.” Mark looked him straight in his eyes. “Well, I have news for you, son. We all have a difficult time.” Mark turned to the jury, “and most have a more difficult time than you, a lot more difficult.” Mark sensed the inner smiles of the jurors, and gave them time.“So the issue that faces all of us in this room today. All of us who have been here for the past four days, two hours and . . .” Mark glanced at his watch, “eighteen minutes, is this. Should we excuse Jack Fryman from his responsibility as a human being, because one single incident drove him to betray the inherent good in all of us? Doesn’t that sound . . . ?” Mark searched for the perfect word, “absurd?” he spit. His eyebrows lifting in affirmation as the word spilled from his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t make sense.”Mark moved to the table and grabbed the CD. He held it up and walked the plank in front of the jury. “Are we to believe that Jack was strutting along on his merry little suburban life, happy and content and just as normal as can be, when he picks up a CD from Pilate’s Decision, the same CD as I have in my hand now.” Mark pried the case open and danced the disk on his index finger. He practiced this move; the entire exercise had to be smooth, effortless. “A CD that over five million other kids have. Five million kids, just like Jack.” Mark squinted as he gazed at the innocent, silver disk, “And because of what he hears on this CD, recorded by individuals he doesn’t know, he savagely, brutally, unwillingly murders not one, but two vibrant young girls?”Mark’s disbelief was obvious; the pause perfect.“Ladies and Gentlemen, you must believe that to be true. You must believe that to be true if you return with anything less than guilty as charged.” Mark turned on the beam and made direct contact with Ben Lape.“In your minds, and in your hearts, and in your souls,” he continued in military cadence, “each one of you knows what drove Jack to do the things he did. And each one of you knows it wasn’t Pilate’s Decision.”That’s all he needed.“Don’t allow the responsibility for Jack Fryman’s actions to be secondary to anyone or anything else.” Mark motioned toward Jack, just in case someone might forget what he was. “Don’t allow your responsibility as a member of this jury, a member of this community, a member of our social family, to be secondary to anyone or anything else.”Mark moved toward his chair, placing the CD in the small wastebasket at the table’s end. All the world’s a stage. He hoped it wasn’t trite. He only needed those who saw it to understand the defense just didn’t play.He’d get it.He always did.Mark stood behind the table and leaned forward, hands folded in front. “On behalf of everyone involved in this extremely important proceeding, I thank you for your patience and dedication to justice in our community.”Mark sat down and checked his watch.Twenty-one minutes.Exactly.Chapter FourThe Obsidian Black Metallic 560 SEL slid along Jefferson Avenue heading from downtown Detroit; its nose pointed toward the Gross Pointe’s, some of the more prominent old money residential enclaves dotting the shores of Lake St. Clair. The verdict was in; it was time to play.Even with the air conditioning blasting max, Mark sensed the building storm on the other side of the safety glass. It was over ninety degrees again today. Those on the open street felt as if caught in a sudden downpour, soggy and clammy under clear blue skies. A good dose of Michigan humidity made you think about breathing; it ceased to be the natural bodily function carrying on without passing thought. Breathing was thick, and you were aware of doing it.The drive east on Jefferson Avenue from downtown offered a Petri dish of the haves, have not’s, and the “I’m going to take the shit from you’s.” Its three lanes moved parallel to the Detroit River through the city before snaking its way along the Lake St. Clair shoreline north to the mouth of the Clinton River.Mark passed Mariner’s Church, the bells of which sing twenty-nine times for the crew of the Edmond Fitzgerald each November in honor of their violent death off Whitefish Point in Lake Superior in 1976. The once elegant Jeffersonian Apartments and Whittier Towers stand in reverie of bygone times, each desperate to rekindle the romance of their earlier, more conspicuous role in the life of a growing, prosperous city.Marquette Street ran from Jefferson to the water and spilled into the parking lot of the Roostertail nightclub, the address honing the Motown sound live on stage after laying down four-part harmonies at Barry Gordy’s Hitsville recording studio not far away on West Grand Boulevard. The Roostertail gave the world the likes of the Supremes and Four Tops on Motown Mondays. You could feel the power; sense something happening. It was a movement, a feeling, a birth. The same Pilate’s Decision was instigating now.Mark turned his attention to the present day. He shuffled through a stack of CD’s until hitting Pilate’s Decision, his choice more than strange. Mark had already consumed all the Pilate’s Decision required. He played, listened, studied, and dissected every song, scoured sheet music and trade reviews and immersed himself in rock gossip. He read every lyric, poured over CD jackets and liner notes. He had done this and more until he was sick and confused and convinced none of it made any sense.But here he was, trial over and client exonerated, and he was taking a run at Pilate’s Decision the way it’s meant to be heard: loud and mindless.No hidden message.No over thinking.No motivation.No direction.No orders.Mark believed that if on the other side of this legal joust, little Jackie would be nestled in the care of expert medical professionals in a five star, temperate, luxurious spa of inconvenience. One suited for such a young man of means. There was enough incentive, direction, and opportunity in these songs for a fucked up loser like Jack to think he was something he wasn’t. That he could do something he shouldn’t. That he could do something like he did. Mark filled the vacuum inside that 560 with some hard-core get your ass fired up mindless crankin.’Hey, little sister,I wanna be your mister.(resister, resister, resister, resister)Time to play your silly games,Time to call me by those names.(resister, resister, resister, resister)That’s me banging on your door,That’s you asking me for more.(resister, resister, resister, resister)There’s no one here that you can tell,It’s time for you to ring the bell.(resister, resister, resister, resister)To the untrained ear, Pilate’s Decision offered little more than the standard fare. Their work was dark and gothic, forceful and complex. It was rough, edgy, and balanced by flows of syrupy distortion, thick and winding overdubs and layers of soundscapes, some barely recognizable but part of its soul. It was alien, spiritual and mystic. Compositions ran long, restricting radio play and stoking their cult status, laborious scores with extended, bolero-like redundancies that were, as Fink was adept at pointing out, hypnotic–not unlike Fink.Problematic time signatures layered with everything from an octet of bassoons to household appliances–blenders, washers, dryers doing their thing, major intersections at peak hours, conversations of unknown language. A cacophony of buzzes, whirs, and hums giving buoyancy to angst-ridden lyrics with gritty refrains and a sticky chorus. Nothing was taboo. The outer edge never defined because it didn’t exist in the eyes of Pilate’s Decision. If it did, they found it and pushed it further. Desperate people do desperate things, and so it was with each new recording.You could do what you want, say what you want, and be what you want because no one had the answer–and by the way, no one cares.Not your government.Not your school.Not your friends.Not your parents.No one.These are kids whose parents planned every minute of their lives so they didn’t have to be bothered.These are kids whose parents let them do whatever they chose so they didn’t have to be bothered.These are kids that don’t give a shit.Hey, you little bitch,It’s time for us to switch.(resister, resister, resister, resister)There’s a new face on this clown,There’s a new man here in town.(resister, resister, resister, resister)So say your prayers and don’t look back,Don’t try to guess-you don’t know jack.(resister, resister, resister, resister)Say your prayers and don’t look back,Don’t try to guess-you don’t know jack.Track number one from Resister, the title track and one of the big triggers for Jack, according to Fink. Unfortunately, that was jack with a small “j.”Mark continued on Jefferson Avenue toward Belle Isle, resting in the middle of the Detroit River and splitting the flow between Detroit and Windsor, Ontario. Its nine hundred acres of green were the focal point of outdoor activity for members of the growing automobile industry in the early 20th century and beyond. A bit of country right in town, and even though surrounded by the belching stacks of the industrial revolution, it maintained its charisma.The island is also home to one of the most exclusive private clubs in the area, the Metropolitan Boat Club, a diamond in the rough summer playground for the area’s social elite, big boats and big money–and Mark Hanley on this fine afternoon.Chapter FiveMark came to a rolling stop at the foot of MacArthur Bridge, eased to his right and motored up the slight incline as the traffic light flickered to green. Half way across he gazed west toward Detroit, then northeast toward Lake St. Clair, even though surveying water conditions from this vantage point was meaningless. This part of the river is sheltered by the countries that define its shores; it’s just the waterway to get to the big lakes. Mark did it for momentum. He slid down the back slope of the bridge, followed the road around the island to the club, and pulled up to the valet. He popped the trunk as a perky attendant hustled to the driver’s side.“Good Afternoon, Mr. Hanley, how are you today?” she said, grabbing the driver’s side door.“I’m OK. I’m better than OK.” A widening slice of blue sky opened as the door spread away. “Can you grab my bag?” he asked as he popped the trunk and swung around to the pavement. Standing outside the car, he drew in the fresh air. It was ten degrees cooler on the moated land. The water would be perfect.Mark took another long drag of air. “Here you go Mr. Hanley,” the girl said, squinting from the sun, “enjoy the water.” Mark traded a crisp, twice folded twenty for the bag and wished her a nice day in return. Although the chances of having a nicer day than Mark hit the big board at slim to none.Mark beat the door attendant to his job. As he entered the club, he checked his watch, its gold hands registering a few minutes before 3:00. Mark headed for the lounge.“Good Afternoon Mr. Hanley, it’s a pleasure to see you.” The voice belonged to Harold Ballick, main lounge bartender since the main lounge was the main lounge, maybe before. Harold was every bit the personification of the club itself: strong, trustworthy and reserved. Aside from being the confidant for members, Harold was a man of the water, a sailor. Make that the sailor.He knew the waters, the weather and the vessels, understanding the skill of every yachtsman by the look in their eyes, the tone of their voice, the feel of their hands. He was seldom wrong in matters of the water and at a club of this caliber, it wasn’t such a big deal. It was the expectation.At age sixty-three, he was as solid as the tan and sweating college-bound dock boys polishing the sixty-foot trophies floating in their slips. His eyes a Caribbean blue; even Marks were no match. In fulfillment of the stereotype, Harold had lost an eye, and although no one knew the true story, it was widely agreed he had lost it at sea, man against nature. How could it be otherwise? The polished imposter was so perfect, so matched, only those knowing the legend beforehand would suspect the forgery. His hair a frothy white in sharp contrast to tanned, weathered skin not beaten by the elements, just strong. This man took what Mother Nature threw at him and wore it respectful of her power.“What’s your pleasure today, Mr. Hanley?” Harold said, leaning in to receive the full description. His head tilted, leading with his ear.Mark spoke in a tone saying his thoughts were somewhere else. “I think I’ll have the usual today, Harold.” Harold paused.“Kettle One with a twist?” he said not with confidence but hope, his voice floating upward as he finished the description. The game of determining the ‘usual’ had begun.“No, I don’t think that’s it, not today.”The ‘usual’ was alcohol; variety and flavor variable. Today the game was over quick.“Plymouth?” Harold played. Their eyes locked in mutual acceptance even before the fresh lime kicker. “Harold,” Mark said, “that’s perfect.” Harold delivered a wink and moved to the center of the bar, relieved the volley was over so quickly.As Harold mixed, Mark rang the head dockman, “let’s get the DreamCruise ready to rock-and-roll!” he barked. Mark couldn’t see the face of Jonny Harris, but he felt the roll of his eyes. “When will you be here, Mr. Hanley?” he asked.“Well, the fact is, I’m in the lounge,” Mark glanced at Harold who was squeezing the fresh lime around the rim of the glass, “so I shouldn’t be any more than thirty minutes or so.”“OK, Mr. Hanley, we’ll do our best.” The head dockman paused before asking if he wanted the bridge canvas stripped. “I think so,” Mark replied. “It’s a beautiful day, although I’m still going to check here with Harold on the weather.”Harold nodded as he centered Mark’s drink on a leather coaster featuring a diagram of a half-hitch knot awled into its face, one of a dozen variations on the club’s roster. Mark had the whole set.Harris didn’t care for Mark. Even though feelings between member and nonmember at private clubs are guarded, no one can deny their birthplace. There was any number of reasons, the most spirited the fact that Jonny was a sailor and Mark a power boater, a stink-potter. In the end, however, everyone knew Mark was the member.“So what’s it going to be today Harold, rain going to kick up later? I don’t feel like getting caught out there if I can help it.” Mark swiveled in his chair and took a ‘welcome to the party’ gulp. It tasted good. This is the new usual.“I think you’ll be OK, Mr. Hanley,” Harold said, wiping the bar with a navy blue towel featuring a monogrammed Boat Club crest. “You may see some big boys off on the horizon, but no storms for a few days, it should be perfect.” Harold paused. “At least that’s what the weather service says.” Harold always added the disclaimer giving the impression he was only a messenger.Predicting Great Lakes weather is problematic. Both chunks of Michigan are massive peninsulas surrounded by some of the largest bodies of fresh water on the planet; mix in the jet stream with Northern Canadian winds and you never know what will happen. As the saying goes, if you don’t like the weather in Michigan, just hang around for five minutes. The winds will blow up a storm in an instant on either of the closest Great Lakes, Erie and Huron. Lake St. Clair, not a Great Lake but a goddam good one just the same, sat between the two larger bodies connected by the Detroit River on the Erie side, and the St. Claire on the Huron.Mark absorbed another good percentage of gin, swishing it around his teeth as if mouthwash, numbing his gums. “That’s good news,” he offered.“I saw you on TV,” Harold said. “Congratulations on your victory.”Mark tipped his glass toward Harold, “Thank you.”Mark finished his cocktail as Harold mixed a traveler before the request, motivation for the foresight landing somewhere between superior club service and the opportunity to move members on to other amenities as efficiently as possible.Harold wished Mark a peaceful cruise.***Mark needed the water. He needed the blessing of fresh air, have it envelop him; the warmth from the star and the laziness of a day severed from dry land, the ripples reflecting with an intensity affording only the swiftest glance. Mark required all the motionless percentage of the planet could neither provide nor comprehend.Chapter SixIt wasn’t difficult to get the girls in the car, even for Jack. It was a BMW, so it wouldn’t be an embarrassment, and it was still early. The girls didn’t have anywhere to go right then. They were out because they didn’t want to be in, and it would be great if they could hook up a ride to the party now. And Jack, whatever his last name was, was one of those kids they knew, or knew someone who did–not a total stranger, just one from the sea of the privileged swimming around the same crystal bowl. Old Jack fit the plans–and he didn’t ask for money.The conquest gave Jack a little juice. He felt powerful. Maybe there would be a change in his plans. He was the man of the hour, at least this hour and he had two, count ‘em, two ladies in his car. At least one wore a nice, soft pink bra–saw that with his own eyes.Jack reversed the BMW from the parking spot and piloted his cargo north on Orchard Lake Road. He headed for Plymouth State Park, his original destination, situated in a discrete cove on the east side of Cass Lake. His fares weren’t sure where they headed, but so far, the subject hadn’t come up, they were busy playing the Kevin Bacon game Marisa style, and it wasn’t long before the connection was secure.“How about a beer?” Marisa asked, sitting sidesaddle on the leather passenger bucket, one leg crossed underneath the other. She could see both Carrie and their new chauffeur. Carrie took up residence in the back seat behind Jack. Marisa raised her eyebrows at Carrie knowing she wouldn’t go for it like Jack.Marisa fished behind the seat for the beer. As she leaned back and twisted Jack did his best to catch another glimpse. He imagined soft, perfect skin.“Where are the stupid fucking things?” Marisa barked.Carrie was no help; she wouldn’t have any. “So where are we going?” She spit out. For Jack, it had all the attitude one would expect from a suburban princess spawned by some greedy lawyer. She was special and unimpressed by riding around with this loser, even if he did know Justin Enright. Carrie didn’t have to settle. And this was settling.Unsettling.“So?” she pressed.“I don’t know, let’s go somewhere and get wasted,” Marisa said, returning the attitude.Jack agreed. “Sounds good to me.” Anything would sound good to Jack.“I don’t even want any, so you guys figure it out.” Carrie said while prying at her small leather purse. “Just make sure we don’t miss the party, everybody’s going to be there, and that includes me.”Carrie liberated a murky reddish-purple lip-gloss from her bag. As she tensed her lips to apply its magic her eyes met with Jack’s in the rear view mirror; she cut him a patented teenaged ‘whatever’ expression before continuing her business. Jack sensed the pressure and unable to deal with it, changed channels to concentrate on Marisa.“Hey, I’ll have one,” Jack said, breaking the flow of attitude streaming from the back seat. Jack hit the play button and cranked the volume: time to raise the divide in this stretch, drown out the vibe from the back seat.Pilate’s Decision continued.Frozen solid by how little it can take,Thaw the weakness from the strength of embrace,The laws of nature. Gravity. Attraction.Magnetic pull. Fusion. Interaction.Ockham’s razor. Equal opposite reaction.I.O.U for this,I.O.U. for this,I.O.U. for this . . .. . . Fantasy.The pair nodded in harmony as the time signature grew in complexity. Jack continued on Orchard Lake Road until he veered onto South Cass and wrapped around the eastern end of the lake. He knew instinctively where Parkview Drive emerged and directed the BMW toward the entrance.Jack and his fare moved to the small wooden guard shack marking the official entrance to the park. He pointed to the season pass sticker in the corner of the windshield and the young guard motioned them forward, her Department of Parks and Recreation khaki shirt hanging limp in response to a long hot summer day. She was more than ready to be home, and with her report close to finished, she didn’t care if they had a pass or not.The shack diminished in the rear view as Jack maneuvered onto the dirt and bark road tunneled by massive arching Oak and Maple. They moved past parking lots, cutting deeper into the park. Trees and brush grew in profuse clusters allowing for only the occasional stab of sunlight to pierce their path. Eventually Jack came to rest behind a bluff overlooking the lake. The trees thinned enough to reveal the azure water between thick green of leaves and dark chafed brown limbs with elbowed branches.This was the perfect spot, in Jack’s opinion. Close to the water yet secluded. He was no stranger here. The small area for parking vacant, visitors long departed.Jack pulled the nose of the BMW to the edge of the ravine that ran to the water. He swiveled in his seat to face Marisa and angled a beer high in the air, draining it quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carrie and Marisa exchanging glances in equal anticipation; Carrie’s a clear ‘when will we get out of here’ and Marisa’s an equally readable ‘chill’.Jack reached for another brew as if there were a time limit. Marisa worked the bag over as well but placed a distant second to Jack. The level in the Vodka bottle lowered in tandem. Within the cocoon of the BMW, the anesthesia worked its magic and the chasm between Jack and Marisa sank with the sun. In the safety of waning social apprehension emerged a more civil and understanding world, one familiar to Marisa, having fun and going with the flow, what she did best. It was, however, a remote, alien world to Jack; but one he was committed to exploring.This wasn’t simply more important to Jack; it was infinitely more important to Jack. He assessed what to say, how to say it and silently rehearsed at breakneck speed to make sure he didn’t fuck the whole thing up.The diaries of Jack and Marisa recanting the events of this encounter would read differently. Marisa’s sure to detail the free ride and booze but hard pressed to add the name Jack to its pages. Jack, however, would write long and hard and as eloquent as he was able, detailing every nuance, each movement, and Marisa’s words with chronological precision. Stamp in iron the subtle looks and inviting gestures: the clear message lying under the billboard of body language.“Are we going to sit here all night?” Carrie interrupted, sick of hearing Jack and Marisa babble on about nothing.“Why, what else is there to do?” Marisa shot back. Jack nodded his head in subservient approval and then twisted the top off another bottle.“Anything but this. This is boring,” she added. “I’m going for a walk. You guys are boring.”“I think you’re boring.” Marisa volleyed with perfect emphasis and a wonderful little smirk. The type evoking a “wipe that look off your face,” from adults, but between Marisa and Carrie acted closer to the glue holding them together.“So go ahead.” Jack prodded, tapping his beer against Marisa’s and filling the car with a soprano pitch. Carrie locked eyes with Marisa as she lifted the handle and pushed the door open, leaning back in at the last second to grab her purse. To the casual observer, one might assume Carrie was upset, but she enjoyed the separation.“I’ll be back in a while.” Carrie said, “Try not to puke, Jack.” It was a razor blade and Carrie enjoyed the cut. No need to re-shoot, she read her line as scripted. It sounded like she meant it.Carrie shut the door hard, not a slam but more than a standard shut. She moved to the rear of the car and then crossed its bumper before heading down the sloping path leading to the water. There was no beach below; no room to lie out and catch some rays, the area more for seclusion, a first kiss, or a smoker’s secret hideaway. The small dock at the end of the pathway had seen better days but remained a quality launching pad for cannonball or jackknife and a great place to snag Sunfish.Carrie cleared the trees at the bottom of the hill and moved along the shore to the dock, strolling past the BMW thirty feet above. Jack and Marisa could barely see her as breaks in the trees obscured the image into a puzzle with too many missing pieces.Carrie couldn’t believe Marisa was wasting time with this loser. Not so much that it was Jack as much as it wasn’t someone else, someone worth the time. It was very much her style to get the ride, but they achieved that long ago. It’s as if she was digging in, on purpose.As if she didn’t want to go to the party.The atmosphere inside the BMW flourished. Jack was more comfortable with Carrie out of the picture; it seemed the same for Marisa. The drinking moved at a last call pace for Jack. Marisa massaged her buzz forward in seasoned increments while her charm infiltrated Jack like oxygen; sharing stories, likes and dislikes, matters couples deal with.Jack stretched his hand to the glove box and returned with another cartridge, the first joint of the evening. Carrie’s exit wobbled in his head: try not to puke, Jack. He was aware of drinking too much too fast. He didn’t have the experience with alcohol as he did other escapes, but the joint would help.Jack balanced his shortcomings against his stowaway, a receptive young girl and the proud owner of the softest, pink undergarment ever seen. It was too perfect to change a single nano of what was tracking so well. Everything was perfect–except Carrie, her words discarded gum sticking to his consciousness. ‘What a bitch,’ Jack lamented. If I’m going to puke, it’ll be from looking at you. A smirk cracked across his lips until Carrie’s echo hit him right between the eyes.“So, you never told me where you live.” Marisa pried, bending the conversation to an area traditionally explored earlier.“Over on Long Lake.” Jack offered as if captured military. He wasn’t going to spend time on where he lived. Fucking buzz kill. He was here to forget that. They still had beer, vodka and the rest of the joint. This was all the home he needed.“How about you,” he countered.“Over by Green Lake, in Lakeshores. My Mom got the house when my Dad split. It’s just me and my younger sister.” Jack felt as if someone flipped a switch. “My mom does real estate so she isn’t around too much; at least she doesn’t bother us.” Marisa shrugged her shoulders and her head lowered as if hydraulic, enthusiasm hissing away.“When did your old man leave,” Jack asked, eerily jealous.“About six years ago. He had a girlfriend I think. At least that’s what my Mom said.” Marisa thumbed her hair from her eyes and took another gulp. “I guess I don’t blame him. My mom can be such a bitch; she drove him crazy I think.”“That’s cool,” Jack said, eyes widening as he projected Marisa’s script on his own drama.“What’s so cool about it?” Marisa’s tone said she was paying attention to the conversation. It made sense to Jack; a smooth peg fitting a perfectly gauged hole in his world, a pitted rusty sewer-top in hers.“I mean, you know, maybe everything will be OK.” Jack tried to spit something out that sounded human, like he cared. Shit, just about every adult Jack knew was divorced or acting like it. There was no shortage of bitter suburban socialites driving convertible SEL’s and scheduling facelifts while their husbands wrote the checks. Maybe one short.“Yeah, well whatever, it sucks though.” Marisa didn’t want to spend any time here either. Her face wore a coat of show.“What about you, what’s your story?” Marisa said in a ‘looking for a fight’ tone.“Me? Not much to say. I live with my parents. They’re pretty fucked up.” Jack fished around for another bullet. Would this make three? His hand moved sloppily. The alcohol anesthetized him enough to deliver minimal dirt on his family, and wonder how the subject got back to his side.Jack turned toward the water. The sun had almost set, leaving only the last gasps of weak light fending off the darkness. Acclimating to the dusk, he peered through the trees and saw no one on the dock. Carrie was gone, moving from her perch on the water as Jack and Marisa discussed their dysfunctional back-stories.Jack accepted another stream of vodka and it scrubbed against his throat, reaching his stomach with a twitch, a confused landing right between moths and something with more meat. He was alone with a Victoria’s Secret model and Carrie the bitch may be on her way back right now. That would fuck everything up. Everything. Jack shifted in his seat as his insides jumped frantically.He played the scenario in his mind and at the same time managed to carry on a conversation with Marisa. It was only a matter of time before it all came together.Jack executed a covert security check on the protection selected from the second aisle at the 7-Eleven, all ready for action and prepared to call into service. Skillfully, Jack moved the subject back to a more manageable place. He needed to dig deeper, get closer to Marisa. Time was not on his side. His stomach folded.“So, you got a boyfriend?” There, he said it. Spit it out knowing that any girl was capable (and usually motivated) to taunt a suitor like Jack.“Do you know Jake, Jake Neil?” Marisa said.There it is. As usual. Hit the replay button on the machine.Oh, I’m sorry. Did you think I’m interested in a loser like you? You pathetic little delusional fucking freak. Do you know who I am? Don’t you know what fun it is to pull you along like a puppy on a leash? Get real!The punch was a low blow, a true sucker punch. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t hear the bell to start the round. There’s supposed to be a fucking bell!Pilate’s Decision pounded into the chorus.The thin line in between,Water and the steam,Silence and the scream,Nightmare and the dream.Jack’s face paled as the chorus screeched forward. A bolt of heat spun from inside his soul, slamming against his skin. His stomach churned. It made sense, a girl like Marisa not having a boyfriend? No fucking way.The thin line in between,Water and the steam,Silence and the scream,Nightmare and the dream.I . . . have been deceived.O . . . ver achieved.U . . . made me believe.. . .This fantasy.“But,” she continued, “I haven’t seen him this summer. His family has a place in Charlevoix so he’s up there. His parents don’t care if he stays here or there.”The words wafted as if smoke. Five. Six. The count swelled inside his head. Seven. He was groggy but somewhere deep inside felt hope. Blood flowed to his extremities, the numbness faded, and life returned to his cheeks.“That’s a drag,” Jack offered in true counsel.“Oh well, whatever.” Marisa offered. She looked straight into Jack’s eyes at the exact moment whatever left her thin, moist lips, the neck of the beer bottle resting at the edge of her bottom lip, ready for another hit but hesitating. Jack had seen enough real life socio-sexual drama to get the message. He peered into Marisa’s eyes, his blood circulating as it should, plus a little more. He leaned forward, gaining confidence, a new strength and power. Marisa didn’t move; she just sat there. Jack leaned forward. What would she do?Jack looked deep into Marisa’s eyes waiting for the inevitable. Warm blue eyes surrounded by perfect skin, perfect everything now closing in slow motion, her head tilting as her lips broke the weak, moist seal bonding them together. The beer bottle lowered to rest on her leg. Jack’s entire being was racing, inching closer and closer until his mouth touched Marisa’s. Gently. Delicately. Experimentally.Then Marisa’s tongue pierced his lips aggressively.Marisa danced her mouth wide and locked on his. Eyes closed, breath quickened as she began a routine performed many times before. Jack felt the rage. It was immediate and relentless and slammed against the inside of his shorts. It hurt like hell, and close to exploding right this minute. His stomach churned.Marisa’s tongue was on a mission, she was truly blessed. Exploring, changing tempo and style, increasing pressure in random patterns made the adventure even greater than Jack imagined. The blender in his stomach moved to mince. Marisa’s lips continued to dance as Jack timidly moved his hand up the side of her cool, cotton summer shirt. He crawled his way to her breast and brushed its side with his thumb once, then again.She didn’t do a thing.Jack felt relief mixed with panic at the green light and inched his hand over her faultless breast. Marisa’s lips pressed as he explored. Jack slid his hand across the soft fabric. He wasn’t aware he was breathing. He didn’t have a clue where he was and only a drunkard’s misty notion of what he was doing.If possible, his raging boyhood grew stronger within its prison as the vortex that was his stomach pushed to its limits, churning warm beer and Vodka into foamy, swirling froth. Of course, he hadn’t eaten dinner, not at his house. The last thing was a Yeros at Big Mannie’s with Trey, around two. Or was it yesterday? There was nothing but beer in the barrel. Marisa continued to work on Jack, leading the way as she moved her hand and placed it on Jack’s lap; first on his thigh then crawling to his zipper where his penis fought like a drowning man.Marisa’s hand squeezed and retracted.This was a new experience for Jack. Even in the age of friends with benefits, Jack was on the outside. Way outside. More kids were having more sex but the same old sticky collection of losers was never invited for all the same reasons. Jack was a charter member. He had a wallet full of prerequisite; so did everyone else.Marisa ran the palm of her hand along the bulge. Jack was too scared to move any part of his body knowing he was on the verge; if he could just shut his mind off, reload and go back to start. He closed his eyes to concentrate on anything but the award-winning girl with a soft pink bra whose hand was rubbing his tool with confident, meaningful dexterity. His father. His mother. Himself.For a moment the strategy seemed to work, Jack sensed a slight retreat, but it was a trick. His body convulsed. His stomach and every nerve cell in the neighborhood jolted as his penis jerked, its muscle locked in near fatal spasms as it released the long standing pressure on the inside of his shorts. Close behind, the top of the blender that was his stomach blew off its sealed harness sending a foamy, warm mixture straight north as if an erupting volcano, forcing its way through mouth and nostrils. It sprayed across the dashboard to the passenger door, the projectile moving as if a laser and interrupted only once by a young girl in a soft pink bra.Marisa shrieked. “You fucking asshole!” Each word choked with emphasis. “You fucking complete total fucking asshole!” she added, in case Jack didn’t get the message. She screamed again but this time only a desperate “aaggghhh” left her lips, delivered at the top of her lungs. The first handful of “fucking assholes” was an innate response. When given the chance to add something of her own she could only scream inaudible. Her outstretched hands floated from her sides in shock, approaching as if she had no idea where they came from.The door behind Marisa swung open, filling the car with a wave of humid but fresher air, and revealing a startled Carrie. A startled Carrie thinking she was on another rescue mission, but what could be the funniest thing she had ever seen–and she called it!What lay before her was beyond repulsive and dwarfed gross. The sight of this complete geek, nerd loser blowing his confidence and a bunch more all over the inside his perfect little birthday present was too much. Try not to puke, Jack rang in Carrie’s head as she began to laugh. It was the same thought piercing Jack as he struggled for understanding.For the first act of this circus, Carrie wasn’t even aware Marisa was part of the show. The dome was a WWII military searchlight fixed on the tragedy below, the car filled with the stench of a rookie’s session with overindulgence. It was bad, real bad. A genuine New Year’s Eve amateur night blow out!“You fucking asshole . . . what a fucking fuck asshole!” Marisa screamed and surveyed the situation, hands still outstretched and unable to touch the poison. She breathed through her mouth as Carrie’s laughter echoed in the car. Carrie stepped back from the door to relieve herself from the stench and give herself enough room for the panoramic view, then buckle over weak-kneed. She couldn’t catch her breath and even if Marisa was her best friend, it was just too much.And the party was tonight!“Shut up you bitch.” Jack said, trying to wipe the remnants off his chin, “shut up.” Jack knew all was lost. Carrie laughed even harder, moving toward the front of the car by the edge of the ravine sitting between the dark lake and the darker comedy.Jack and Marisa shot from their seats as if someone screamed, ‘ready, set, go!’ They staggered around the car looking to the ground and then themselves as they tried to gain perspective. It was a wreck, a grill-to-grill faceoff with a Freightliner on Highway #101, staggering around the wreckage in complete and total shock. Marisa not believing this could be possible. Jack believing it was far too possible.“Shut the fuck up.” Jack said as he moved to the front of the car. “Quit laughing and help clean this up, this is bullshit.”Carrie looked at Jack with one eyebrow raised high. “Do you actually think I’m going to touch any of this shit? You’re out of your fucking mind!” She said in half conversation/half laugh. “Get real, puke-boy.” She said sharply. Jack moved close and grabbed a good helping of her hair in his sweaty fists, “quit laughing,” he said, and then he jerked his hands. The force snapped Carrie’s head, “quit laughing,” he repeated. Even with Jack’s aggression, Carrie couldn’t stop. The sight of this zero with his stained pants and car full of puke was something you couldn’t pull off on a Hollywood set.Jack tightened his grip and snapped Carrie’s head again. The smile and laughter ran from her face. Jack was more than just embarrassed. “Shut the fuck up!” he said, twisting her hair around his fists, thousands of strands together as bridge cables pulling at the roots. This time he wasn’t just yelling; he was warning. The fire behind his eyes hot and angry and the last thing Carrie saw as he snapped her head again, and released his grip. Carrie hit the ground with a thud. She sat on the gravel and dirt kicking at his legs, missing wildly.“Leave me alone you nerd. You little puking piece of shit. Did you have fun?” Now Carrie was serious, launching punches far more painful than any physical punishment could offer. This was a full syringe of lethal princess venom. Jack reached down and pulled Carrie to her feet by her hair until she stood, crying in pain.“Stop it you asshole!”“Leave her alone!” Marisa yelled, still trying to survey the damage. She had brushed most of the larger components of Jack’s delivery after several squeamish attempts. Jack had eaten lunch after all.“Yeah, leave me alone, barf boy.” Even in pain and possibly danger, Carrie couldn’t help pouring on the gas.“Fuck both of you,” Jack said as he looked back at Marisa and then grabbed Carrie’s face, digging his nails into her flesh and pushing forward as if a faith healer.The isolation. The hopelessness. Fucking everything. All the reasons driving Carrie to pile it on drove Jack to bury it. He released his grip and Carrie spun, arms outstretched, grasping to keep balance as if on a tightrope, but she was too far gone. Her knees buckled. Jack sensed weakness and pushed as hard as he could. Carrie careened over the edge of the small cliff, tumbling head over heels in one complete rotation before slamming into a tree a dozen feet below. The leaves filtered the weak glow of moonlight but Jack could see an outline of what was the heap of motionless teenager. Legs outstretched, awkward, head, arms and torso limp.“What did you do you crazy fucking . . . you knocked her out!” Marisa moved to the front of the BMW and curled her hand under the fender to steady her view. She shot a quick look at Jack before shuffling down the hill, latching onto tree trunks and branches to keep from falling.“Carrie, Carrie! Are you OK?” Chapter SevenBy the time Mark made his way to the dock Harris and crew had left. He arrived later than predicted but they would have been gone regardless, Mark knew that much. Jonny always brought more help than required and Mark always seemed to have the DreamCruise prepped before other members. This wasn’t good member service–this was bad member avoidance, the less time Jonny spent with Mark the more opportunity he had to keep from saying something well deserved, yet nonetheless inappropriate.Standing port side, Mark surveyed the crisp teal and shimmering white Sea Ray. He stepped aboard and a wave of tranquility glued to his body. Ever since he could remember, the water delivered the same euphoria. The sparkle of frothy crests atop deep blue-green rollers and the sky on fire at sunset compelled him; the only place he felt at home. It was a strange religion but one that delivered the inner peace he craved–balance to life on dry land. It was this way long before his world grew to a complexity requiring the escape. Mark didn’t experience a similar level of reward anywhere else on this rock even though most assumed he ruled the arid portion as well.Mark flipped the blowers on and heard the soft hum as they cleared the engine hatch of harmful vapors. Sinking below, he surveyed the salon, reloaded Harold’s traveler, and then moved to the head. Inside, his eyes fixed on the horizontal hold that ran length wise above the mirror. It was out of the way storage but any designer worth his salt puts a hold in every inch of usable space. This was no exception. Mark slid the door aside to reveal the small, flat storage area. His hand fished inside, passing two bottles of suntan lotion before landing on the cool metal lockbox. Pulling it clear of the cabinet, he sat on the head and popped the lid, inside was a small plastic bag filled with a chiseled white rock and a healthy snow of white powder.Mark grabbed the rolled Franklin that occupied a small cylinder of space within the box. He rotated it between his thumb and index finger, then peeled apart the seal on the bag and plunged the twenty dollar straw inside. He lowered his head and connected with relief. Drawing hard with his right nostril, he pulled the white powder into his system, repeated the procedure with his left then leaned back, tilted his head skyward and closed his eyes. Breathing in deep and holding the atmosphere in his lungs as long as he could, Mark helped send the white powder’s message to the far reaches of his need. The inside of his eyelids danced in a kaleidoscope of light. He resealed the plastic zip on the bag and returned the Franklin to its bed next to half dozen joints and a handful of Vicodin. He snapped the lid tight and returned it to the hold, then checked the mirror before heading back to the water.The topside brightness assaulted Mark’s eyes and his lids slammed shut in protection. Even his Ray Bans were no match for the intensity piercing the open air, as if eyes medicated by the ophthalmologist. Mark absorbed more gin, the prickly spirit puckering the inside of his mouth. As he swished the cool liquid, he cracked the aperture of his eyes and let in a modest amount of sunlight. He felt his way aft and took up residence on the wraparound bench, leaning his head against the soft leather and peering skyward, absorbing the rays as if a plant. His eyes remained closed, accepting the lake air. The alcohol circulated within his veins, collaborating in the perfect waltz with the pure white powder.This was heaven.***Mark opened his eyes to the shape of a woman, her silhouette outlined in charcoal against bright yellow sunshine.“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” the silhouette chirped.“Permission granted,” the captain replied, grabbing her hand to guide her aboard.The woman moved below while Mark untied lines. He made a final topside check before lifting the spring line off its cleat and eased the DreamCruise forward. At forty-four feet and a few inches shy of fifteen at her beam, it was a tight fit but Mark was up to the task. Coaxing the vessel from its slip without tickling the wooden pier, he danced the throttles into action; port forward, starboard reverse, spinning on her center point until the bow pulpit faced the river.For such a perfect day, especially a Friday, it was quiet. He had little navigational concern and once clear of the no wake buoys he tilted the DreamCruise southwest toward Lake Erie.Reese grabbed both rails on the steps leading from the cabin, pulling herself up next to Mark. He shot a quick glance her way then returned to his duties. As usual, Reese was the perfect water toy. She grabbed Mark’s glass without asking and dipped below.“So, how do you feel now that it’s over?” Reese shouted.“Not any different.” Mark lied, “one is over and another begins. Hopefully a bigger one. The best thing is the money. It’s always good when it’s money.” It drove Reese as well. “This one was a bitch. But I’ll tell you, it opens a whole new place for me.” Mark held the DreamCruise in a line dead centering the river.Reese returned to the sunlight, carefully ascending the steps without using the rails, extra cautious not to spill a drop. She handed Mark his version and stood with her elbow against the console gazing at her captain, auburn hair dancing in the wind, cascading over her face.“Well, I’m glad it’s over. The whole thing was creepy. Freaked me out,” she said. “Maybe because I took a hundred rides from guys like him when I was younger.” Reese took a long draw from her cocktail and closed her eyes, mentally placing herself in the familiar situation. “There’s some fucked up people out there,” she added.“Yes there are.” Mark agreed.“I saw you on the news,” Reese said with a tint of adolescent infatuation. “You looked good.” There was a long pause, “and you still don’t know how you got the case?”Mark shrugged his shoulders. The corner of his mouth turning up in a cocky Elvis-like grin: it said he got the case because he was the best. And it didn’t matter if the subject was more than a few degrees off the center of his expertise. He always got the job done, no matter what.Mark pushed the throttles forward, lifting the craft out of the water and sliding through rollers that would give most others an uncomfortable ride. Mark and mate churned past Windsor Casino to port, the Renaissance Center in Detroit starboard. Nine minutes later the DreamCruise crossed the unmarked dividing line where the Detroit River morphed into Lake Erie. Lifting his head above the windshield Mark accepted the strength of the wind on his face. On a typical cruise, he might pilot the craft to Kelly’s Island or Put-In-Bay at the western end of Lake Erie. A great play land for the water set. Either island was perfect; their heads peeking from the water distanced enough from land to create the illusion of safety, the water inviting and shallow, as were the islands.They could take the Detroit River to Lake St. Clair. There were beaches, marinas, restaurants, and bars. It’s where the water people and the land people mixed, where you went when you wanted to be seen or didn’t care.Mark continued to absorb his other world as he captained the DreamCruise into Lake Erie toward destinations unknown. He wasn’t interested in parading his trophies up and down the Nautical Mile and he didn’t want to be stowed away on any of the islands. He would take aim at Reese in some lonely part of the lake, floating aimlessly amid the soft waves, spellbound. Chapter EightJack stood at the top of the hill deciding whether to leave or stay. It was over. Marisa reached out to Carrie and tried to lift her head, gently moving her chin up from her chest. Bending down to peer into Carrie’s eyes, she slapped her face, just like in the movies. It was a weak slap. Marisa didn’t expect it to work.Marisa’s voice quivered. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God. I don’t think she’s breathing! She’s not breathing!” Marisa was screaming now. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” She chanted. Panic electrocuted her nervous system. Skin prickled with adrenaline. “Oh, no! Oh my God!”“Shut up. Quit screaming.” Jack warned, hopping from one foot to the other, slip sliding down the hill where Marisa continued to scream and Carrie sat motionless.“She’s fucking OK. She’s faking.” Jack said in triage. “And quit fucking saying oh my god!” He added with authority.Marisa tried to pull Carrie forward from the shoulders but she didn’t budge. Jack grabbed Carrie’s shirt and pulled, trying to move her forward and lay her down, but she didn’t budge at all. Jack and Marisa jerked lightly, then with more strength than necessary.Marisa leaned in and peeked over Carrie’s shoulder. She moved her eyes down the slope of her back, fixing on two broken branches linking her best friend to Mother Nature. At first she thought just leaning on the branches but now she realized her best friend in the world was impaled; one above her waist and to the left of her spine, another a little higher and right next to the ridge of her backbone. Maybe not next to it at all. Rich, gooey, syrupy red liquid covered her lower back and puddled at the base of where she rested.“Oh my God,” Marisa said softly. “Oh no. No.”Marisa repeated the SOS in triplicate before taking a breath. Shaking, her glassy eyes stared into the darkness, searching for relief. Jack stood next to Carrie with a pale, blank expression glued to his face. He didn’t say a word. He looked at Carrie and then Marisa.“She shouldn’t have laughed,” Jack said, shaking his head. “She shouldn’t have laughed.” He wiped his mouth, trying to remove the thin layer of humiliation still covering his face, eyes fixed on the ground, head swinging in a non-verbal no.Jack looked at Marisa, and then put his arm around her shoulders.“What are you doing?” Marisa screeched, disgusted. “We’ve got to call an ambulance or the police or something,” Marisa ordered, pushing him away, gaining as much distance as she could.“We don’t need to do anything,” Jack answered. He moved back to Marisa, gripped her shoulders and pressed his face against hers to rekindle the scene from the car.“What are you doing you freak? Stop it! Stop it you fucking lunatic!” Marisa struggled to free herself from his hold. Jack pressed, pushed, and reached down between her legs awkwardly. Her legs convulsed trying to stop, kick, and run all at the same time. Jack held on, balancing on the angled hill. He pulled her close and pushed his lips against hers, returning the lesson Marisa gave only moments before. She could taste his sour, stale breath and slimy sheet of bile that had recently used the same passageway. She was going to be sick from the tang magnified by the fear she was beginning to understand; he didn’t care about Carrie. He was trying to attack.Jack spun on Marisa and threw her to the ground, face first, not five feet from where Carrie slumped motionless, her back glued to the spikes that held her captive, the blank stare on her face unseeing. Jack bent down and placed his hand over Marisa’s mouth just in case she felt the need to continue her ridiculous screaming. This was neither the time nor place.Pilate’s Decision was on stage. The show continued.Hey, you little bitch,It’s time for us to switch.(resister, resister, resister, resister)There’s a new face on this clown,There’s a new game here in town.(resister, resister, resister, resister)Jack scavenged along Marisa’s stomach for the snap, “don’t say a fucking word, resister,” he whispered, then undid the snap and lowered her zipper. Marisa gagged as he grated her shorts over her thighs, desperate to comprehend the nightmare. Jack pressed her face against the dirt floor and gazed at the matching pink underwear. That was a nice touch. Marisa was like that.“Don’t say a fucking word.”Jack kept Marisa’s face against the ground, forcing minute pieces of Mother Nature to carve visible, painful tattoos on her cheek, chin and temple. Jack yanked her underwear down to the ankles and then set upon the task of relieving the pressure he felt again. He pulled his pants and underwear down in one swift motion, and tossed them aside. So say your prayers and don’t look back,Don’t try to guess-you don’t know jack.(resister, resister, resister, resister)With one quick thrust at Marisa, Jack plunged toward his goal, missing wildly. He aimed himself again with the same result. And that’s when it happened. That’s when he exploded. Sharp stabbing pains catapulting from deep inside his crotch to the core of his stomach, delivering what remained of his seed on Marisa’s back.It happened again.It fucking happened again.And there’s no one here that you can tell,I’m calling you from deep in hell.Jack screamed. “Fuck! Fuck!” He sprang to his feet. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this.” He paced in small circles around his victim, shaking his head and pulling his hair with both hands. “I can’t fucking believe this.” He shrieked even louder. “Look what you did!” He was leaning over Marisa now, her face covered with a mixture of mother earth, human tears and spray from Jack’s mouth. “Resister!” he screamed. “Resister!” Again, just in case she missed it.Jack reached down, twisted Marisa’s hair around his fist and stood her up. Marisa choke-cried as Jack pulled and her wobbling legs danced for strength. Upright, she looked at Jack: his eyes pointed and dry, breathing heavy. On the ground not far from Carrie, Jack’s pants lay in a heap. Jack let go of Marisa’s hair and she fell to the ground.Marisa looked through the salty film in her eyes. Jack stood with his head and eyes fixed beyond the trees, pointing toward the dotted sky as if howling at the moon. As Jack stared, Marisa reached and in one swift motion gripped the limp little boy who moments before sought to be her master. She grabbed his penis and testicles in a single clamp and squeezed as hard as she could. Then she yanked with a force she was convinced would rip the entire package off his body.Jack cried in a mix of horror and surprise. Head and eyes catapulted from their sky view to the bolts of terror below his waist. Instinct took over, and he brought his hand down in clenched fist to the side of Marisa’s face, but her grip remained committed. The blow shook her feet from underneath, causing her to slide further down the hill. Still, she held on to little boy Jack, adding even more pressure as she pulled and twisted. Jack’s knees buckled in compensation, trying to minimize the anvil pulling at his testicles. His arm and fist a pendulum again, connecting with her temple. Marisa absorbed the blast and her face went numb. The pain moved through her in waves to the point of submission. As her eyes dimmed her grip released, and Marisa slithered further down the hill.Jack keeled over, clutching his stomach and rolling back and forth, full fetal. Marisa got to her feet as soon as she could maintain anything close to balance, slipping and short hopping further down the hill breathless and scared. Ducking under tree branches, she reached the cool lake and slipped in.Marisa was comfortable in the water. She could swim. If necessary, she could swim from here to the Sea of Japan–and in one breath if that’s what it took. Anything to get away from the freak she hoped was scavenging around the hill trying to find his balls.The lake felt cold, but she was unsure if it was the water or the fever of a body close to its boiling point. Regardless, the absolution restored a temperature tolerable for human beings. Marisa invited the healing fluid to envelop every part of her body, covering her in a blanket of security she knew would stay with her even if she moved.In the small forest above, Jack moved to the top of the small cliff and his car, closed the doors and took the long path down to the beach–Carrie’s path. He scanned the park as he walked. No one was around. Jack had to find Marisa.He knew she was in the water.He hoped she couldn’t swim.Chapter NineA single gull flew high above, gliding then flapping its wings once, then again for loft. Hunting its next meal, dark eyes pierced the green-gray water to view its menu. Once in its sight, the gull fell like a bomb, swooped into the water and plucked the unsuspecting meal from its leisurely swim.Mark felt the gull’s shadow cross his body, his eyes closed, sensing the feeling was unique to him. If not, humanity would have transformed the lake into a soggy parking lot; solid with rafts, barges, waders and every Johnny the Baptist come lately.The DreamCruise swayed in silence pushed by a weak summer breeze. The engines long shut down and cooled off with nothing in the air except the air itself. Mark moved below to check the twenty-dollar straw. He sat on the forward berth, motionless, exhausted from Mother Nature and the works of man. The Pilate’s Decision case was behind him. Finally.Mark hovered in the perfect mathematical center between sleep and recognizable but foggy consciousness. A slight move to one side triggering acknowledgement of whom and where you are; a slight move to the other nothing greater than an untrusting assumption of one’s last thought. It’s as close to weightlessness as is attainable by man.Mark was as content as last time he was aboard–until he felt his weight tip the scale at five hundred plus, not a sideshow freak, just his same one hundred eighty-five pound frame with a density beyond human capacity. His entire existence dead weight; the way a limb acts when starved of blood and falls into a thick, numb coma a simpleton’s assessment. Nerves lost the ability to communicate. He only felt the anchor pulling him into the darkness.***Mark cracked his eyes enough to break the seal but not let a significant amount of light through the aperture, a self-induced sunrise. The boat rolled port to starboard accompanied by the light slap of waves at the water line. He estimated the time at seven or seven thirty. Could it be later? He wasn’t sure. Reese would have woken him by now. She wasn’t a stowaway.Mark pried his eyes further apart. The cabin, usually fed light through the three large hatches on the forward deck was dark and musty, like a photograph fading over decades. Maybe Homer was wrong, maybe the storm was here. He slunk lower; taking inventory through the foggy, yellow din. The world around him blurred. He shook his head and scanned the interior; the clean leather and fiberglass lines of the Sea Ray gone, replaced with orange and tan striped fabric cushions and dark, polished wood trim. She buoyed in the water as if a quarter of her weight, bullied by the push of weak waves.Mark squeezed his eyelids tight then flexed them wide as he placed his hand's palm side down on the cushions and slid off the berth, his bare feet landing fast, legs quaking.“Reese? Are you there?”There was no answer from the deck or anywhere else. Centering his feet, he stumbled along the keel line, pausing to study a matched set of ornate brass nautical lamps extending from the port and starboard walls amidships. He looked at his feet; toes pressed against worn wood plank flooring.He wasn’t aboard the DreamCruise.“Reese?” He said, without confidence. He moved forward in baby steps. “Reese?” he repeated as he trudged his way to the wooden steps leading up and out of the cabin, his legs condensing accordion style as he climbed the steps. With eyes peeking over the threshold, he panned the deck as if a periscope, stretched his legs, and let the fresh air cascade around him. To starboard the captain’s helm but not the sleek, conspicuous Sea Ray style he left. She was an old vessel. The wheel a traditional pilothouse spoke model seen on the walls of nautical-themed home libraries. Seats covered in thick, striped vinyl with stiff hard-angled wood trim.Up on the deck in the open sunlight, he could feel the sticky air and spy Cumulonimbus forms laying claim to the blue, eating it up and leaving dark matter in its place. They were well off but they’d arrive quickly. He could outrun them in the Sea Ray but he certainly couldn’t outrun them in whatever antique scow he found himself on now. Mark steadied himself as the vessel pitched, the weight of his body swaying as the craft offered only toy-like resistance to the water’s motion. He could see a coast with structures dotting sandy beaches that seemed to stretch on forever. It looked familiar, but every shoreline from a similar vantage point looked much the same. He could hear the distant wail of a police siren, just audible above the soft breeze, and the low guttural rumblings of the clouds in the distance. The motion of the craft lay claim to Mark’s stomach in a manner never experienced.Fifty feet to port, Mark heard noises, human noises. It seemed the clatter of good times, but maybe not human voices at all. Gulls can beak out some realistic human chirps. Mark listened close. The splashing told him these were not birds unless he’d stumbled upon a Pterodactyl. The sound helped him home in until he saw a boy and a girl in the water. They floated together then parted, playing a game of cat and mouse, diving underwater to obscure location and then trying to dart away. Ten yards beyond, the water morphed into the light, sandy-green hue of a sandbar.“Hello!” Mark shouted. “Hello, out there!” He raised his hands and waved. The two continued their game. “Hey, you out there,” he yelled, sure his words had carried the distance.No response.Mark turned and looked toward land; the shoreline what one would expect. The alternate view offered nothing but water, interrupted only by the shadowy mole of an island. It was difficult to pinpoint much personality between the lake and the clouds. The water was fresh, not salty or brackish. He continued to peer out over the surface to get his bearings, concentrating on the dark smudge of an island in the distance. This was familiar.Scanning the horizon in the opposite direction would reveal the massive cooling towers from the Fermi nuclear power station in Monroe, carving two symmetrical hourglass shapes into an inordinate section of sky, but they never materialized. The towers weren’t there.The swimmers scuttled to the sandbar and stood up, Mark’s suspicions confirmed when he saw a young woman rise from the deeper water and a man, not a boy, close behind. The sky continued to abscess, infusing more anger into the wind and water, demanding attention. Mark moved aft and steadied his hands on the wooden stern rail. In its center, a single flagpole rose, a triangular red white and blue cloth flag bearing the letters “MBC.”“Mark.” The sound seemed to float above him. “Mark,” the voice said again. He looked to the sandbar, watching as the pair grabbed and pushed each other in the water, splashing wildly but sending no sound now.The voice again, “Mark,” this time closer. The pair drifted from view, replaced by the silhouette of a woman. Mark stretched his eyes, and the vision morphed into Reese, she was on her hands and knees above him, leaning in to kiss him awake. He drew in a deep breath as he took in the clean, sleek lines and bright appointments.Mark forced a smile. Reese remained on her hands and knees, breasts scarcely restrained by slight material as she leaned over. Mark pulled her head close to his and kissed her lightly before plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth. Reese accepted without reservation and returned the favor while reaching back to undo her bikini top. The fabric slid off and came to rest in a silky heap at his side.Mark knew where he was.Chapter TenStanding at the edge of the gravel road, the two-story structure stood as proud and strong as it ever had.The green shingle roof, seasoned from years of beating summer sun and sharp winter sleet still offered contrast to the six-inch white slats belting the structure. Five small steps interrupted the rear porch at its center point, a screen door stood at the ready.Margaret scanned left then right before sliding her foot on to the first slab of cracked concrete marking the path to the door. Her car cooled along the north edge of the property parallel to a handful of mature trees, Oak, Poplar, and Birch. She stood at the point where grass met gravel equally, neither earning the upper hand.Where the road ended and grass began was insignificant. Few traveled here. It was four turns off the main drag and linked by obscure country roads zigzagging their way between cornfields and cattle pastures to the water. Either you meant to be here or you’ve created a new threshold for lost.Margaret stood still, gazing at the structure, rekindling its heritage. A light breeze kissed her skin and she closed her eyes to the gentle rustle of the Weeping Willow standing three stories strong to her right, the fingers of its longest branches dancing on the last few feet of Lake Erie. The lighter hues of a sandbar in the distance as light waves washed against a sandy shore. Swiiiiiiish. Silence. Swiiiiiiish. Silence. Swiiiiiiish. Silence. Mother Nature’s own bolero in soft, easy, perfect time.***Margaret rolled to her left, opened her eyes and focused on a small wood framed window centering a white wall. The lower half distanced from its sill sixteen inches, creating a screened portal to the great outdoors. A thin cotton shield hung over the window’s expanse, brought to life in a light breeze, dancing in whimsical, free expression.She lay on a cotton-sheeted bed gathering thoughts, or more likely, enjoying the lack of thought. She was at peace, her mind and body absorbing a fresh lake breeze, the hypnotizing soundtrack of the water, rustling trees bursting with wildlife blanketed by the warmth of the sun. A natural tapestry unable to describe, only respectfully experienced.Those blessed with the opportunity cycled into its simple, innocent power as if an orbiting planet subject to the laws of nature; powerless to defy its mystery. A numbing anesthetic that rounded the hard edge of life; she wondered if others shared a similar understanding. Her senses strengthened and awareness staged a compelling argument; the smell of the lake and air she could taste, voices, and a motorboat skipping across waves. The familiar sounds of splashing water and laughter. In the distance, dogs barked and gulls cawed.Margaret swung her legs over the edge of a bed and wiggled her toes before lowering herself onto the floor. Her feet pressed gritty sand as she stood and faced the breeze.Shuffling to the window and pushing aside the thin curtain veil, she closed her eyes, breathed as much fresh air as she could, and held it in to receive the full effect, never wanting to lose its remedy. Her eyes panned over the front of the property and the lake washing its small waves over the sandy beach.This is the summer home.Sound pierced the silence from somewhere below as Margaret moved to the stairway. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” It said. The voice confused.“Oh.” Margaret said, shaking her head, and breaking the hold her rest had on her. Focusing in the general area where the voice originated she forced a groggy “good morning, or afternoon. What time is it anyway?”“I don’t know, maybe three-thirty or four, somewhere around there.” The response came from Russ Garner, she realized now. He stood at the bottom of the stairway holding two sparkling martini glasses, each filled to the brim and sporting a single toothpick centered through alternating green olives and white onions. He wore a massive panoramic smile and his response followed by his trademark laugh as if on a tether. His teeth were large and white, shining from the broad smile that seemed to stop only because it ran out of face. He was a big man at six foot six, with olive colored skin and deep, rich black hair. His trademark bellowing yuck made those within earshot feel good just by hearing it. It was a genuine, innocent emotion, a man’s laugh from a child’s perspective.“You’re late,” Russ offered as he lifted the two glasses in mock toast. “Everyone’s here. Come on down before you miss any more.” The laugh followed as expected and appreciated.Margaret descended the wooden staircase splitting the structure down its middle. The stairs groaned as it took the weight of its passenger, even under Margaret’s petite frame barely tickling one hundred-ten pounds. “John?” Silence. “John?” she repeated, then moved off the landing and peered around the kitchen entrance to the waterside porch.“Hey everybody, here she comes,” John announced, “finally up and around I see.” John turned to face Margaret as she approached and delivered a loving glance to his wife.“Here I am. I can’t believe I slept for so long.”Margaret reached the edge of the porch and gazed outside where the grass gave way to soft sand. Beyond lay a grouping of massive boulders, each smooth to the touch, polished by Mother Nature over the millennia. The boulders were a hedge against the lake’s relentless mission; each selected and positioned with calculated intent creating a random network of miniature streams and tide pools that would shrink and grow with each passing wave. This minor civil engineering feat kept the lake water running underneath and around the rocks fresh and alive.The boulders led a double life of comforter well as protector; their unique placement creating a natural outdoor patio less extravagant than anything the Flintstone's had, but the same concept, Mother Nature creating natural lounge chairs, tables, and couches.Margaret turned toward John. He was a charismatic mixture of mystery and integrity, powerful and confident but never overbearing. Strengths he owned for himself; not a force willed on others, and balanced by an engaging and precision-timed wit, the life of the party, the perfect host, the perfect guest.Another beautiful sun-drenched afternoon blanketed the Canadian shore. The water, with only the top few inches stirred by the wind created a glistening diamond pattern as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, triangular shadows interrupted the jewels as sailboats labored in the weak wind, traversed by darting, deep mahogany planked rumrunners at full throttle.John pulled Margaret close, giving her a strong hug and delicate kiss to seal the delivery.“It’s about time you got here. You can sleep anytime, but you don’t get too many days like this. Besides,” John continued, “we were just about to take the boat out, and I know you wouldn’t want to miss that.” John shot a quick glance around the porch, everyone accepting the joust. Margaret didn’t like boats and wasn’t shy about her opinion.“I think I’ll pass. The water looks just fine from here.” Margaret answered. “Where’s that Martini you were so proud of before?” She said in a dreamy, soft cadence.“I think it would be perfect . . . right . . . . . . . . about . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . now.” Her voice trailed off, each word spoken with less force.Margaret cracked her eyes apart. It was late afternoon. She was sitting in her Chrysler outside the summer home; her face sunburned.Chapter ElevenJack scanned the water’s surface. The way a predator did. He moved as if on a swivel, eyes squinting, unsure if he acted this way because he’d seen it in the movies or if this was how he was right now. One thing for sure: he wasn’t concerned. He was in charge, looking for his girl, Marisa with the soft, pink bra. He panned over the water. With each pass, his field of view widened, and then he slipped in by the small dock.Marisa remained motionless, accepting the fall in temperature afforded by the cool blanket of liquid, the lake soothed, helping to exorcize the poison. She trembled but not from the cold. A full body tremor that grew its roots the way a fault line sends waves of destruction to the surface. It rose from a place she never knew existed, a place that said her sassy little fucked up life is truly fucked up now. There’s some real shit out there and it’s worse than the shit you already think you’re in. Right now, that shit is Jack.Marisa could out-swim just about anything short of a fish but she didn’t move. She stood twenty feet off shore hidden in the moonlit shadows of massive trees and deep, murky nighttime water. She prayed Jack would turn and run like a frightened, helpless, pathetic animal whose testicles were destined to spend the rest of eternity in a jar filled with chemicals at the Mutter Museum.Lowering deeper in the liquid as if a croc, the top of the waterline tickling her upper lip, Marisa breathed silently through her nose, moving her eyes searching for predators.Predator.She never heard him.Jack grabbed Marisa from behind, his forearm jamming her lips hard against her teeth. She could taste warm blood. Uniform pearly whites from years of orthodontia now sharp as knives, betraying.Jack didn’t speak a word, he pressed harder, twisting her head from the force. His right hand angled across her chest grabbing at her breast. They were standing in almost five feet of water, feet sinking into the silt with Marisa’s added weight, her legs kicking in pathetic, drugged slow motion under the water, their power gone.Jack didn’t say a thing. He didn’t hear a thing–except the show. The greatest jam ever and he was sharing it with his girl, Jack and his girl in the front row. Sonic waves from skyscrapers of JBL’s pounded their way through the audience. Eardrums quaked. The fine line separating ecstasy and pain was a concern for most, but not Jack. He sought the line itself. Jack held his girl close. The wall of speakers that served as the backdrop pulsed as the jam continued, intensity notching skyward with every measure. A sea of fans jammed against the lip of the stage. Sweaty torsos and flailing arms pushing, shoving, and punching their way forward, gasping to share the stagnant main floor air.Security maintained authority for as long as they dared, but vacated the four-foot dry moat designed to shelter the performers from those who love them. Sections of gate once linked in a wall of sanctuary now lay on the ground, trampled by the pulsing mass desperate to bore inside the music. Jack could see their faces strain; pushing forward, attempting to force understanding by proximity. But they all failed.All but one.Jack heard with precision. Every note. Every chord. Like the ring in a bell, just like Chuck Berry said. Jack wasn’t confused like those losers pushed about unwillingly. He knew they didn’t get it, he could see it on their faces.But Jack understood. This was for Jack.Pilate’s Decision never stopped, launching into one of Jack’s favorites, Conduit . . .Down in the cellar, ‘neath the sea,A place for you, a place for me,Resting so safely away from the roar,Don’t be afraid, open the door.Open the doorOpen the doorOpen the door.Unlock the heavens and unlock the floorThey’re one in the same when you open the door.The mass of humanity swayed in gelatinous rhythm. Pilate’s Decision jammed on with superhuman energy, snapping guitar strings, powdering drumheads, smoking twenty-four-inch woofers and reaching a crescendo unknown since the big bang. No one could expect to survive.No one, except Jack.Can’t you just feel the safety inside?Down in the deep, no reason to hide.Everything’s perfect, everything’s grand,Everyone’s part of this rock and roll band.Playing so safe in the midst of the roar,Don’t be afraid, open the door.Open the doorOpen the doorOpen the door.Here in the comfort of where we all started,Breathe it in deep your mother’s warm-hearted,Feel the soft liquid here in the womb,Breathe the soft liquid here in the tomb.Unlock the heavens and unlock the floorThey’re one in the same when you open the door.Open the doorOpen the doorOpen the door.Jack tightened his grip and pulled downward. Marisa fought, but she was no match for Jack. No match for the power Jack had been given.Here in the comfort of where we all started,Breathe it in deep, your mother’s warm-hearted,Feel the soft liquid here in the womb,Breathe the soft liquid here in the tomb.Unlock the heavens and unlock the floor,They’re one in the same when you open the door.Open the doorOpen the doorOpen the door.Jack opened the door for Marisa.Chapter TwelveMargaret heard the telephone and shook the cobwebs away; there were four, maybe five rings. The sun was still baking the city dry. She cleared her throat and scanned the room.“Hello?” Her voice was surprisingly strong.“Hi Mom, is that you?” The query let Margaret know her voice wasn’t as strong as she thought.“Yes, it’s me. How are you, is everything OK?”“Everything’s great. I called earlier but there was no answer. We wanted to know if you wanted to come over. Tom has the air going full blast and the kids are in the pool. The water’s perfect.”“It’s kind of late now. I fell asleep on the couch. This heat, it knocked me out.”“I know. I can’t get motivated.” Peggy said as she pinched the phone between her ear and shoulder, motioning with both hands for the kids to shut the sliding door separating the kitchen from the pool.“Did you do anything today or did you stay inside to avoid the heat?” Peggy continued, returning to her work in the kitchen.Margaret paused, trying to decide if she should tell Peggy she’d been to the summer home. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to bring the subject up and listen to Peggy who would assume their roles reversed, concerned Margaret had driven that distance as if incapable or unauthorized. “I was out for a while,” Margaret offered.She had no rational idea why she made the trip. She didn’t understand it, other than something she had to do. “Actually, I took a trip out to the summer home,” she said quickly.The revelation surprised Peggy. “You what? You went by yourself?” Somehow, Peggy felt the heat of the summer inside the comfort of her home. She didn’t care, but it was unexpected. “What made you go?”“Oh, I don’t know. I felt like going, so off I went.” Margaret spoke over an adolescent rumble she hadn’t experienced in the longest time.“Well, how was it? Did you find it all right?” Peggy shot questions at Margaret as if a quiz show.“Oh, it was no problem at all; like I was there yesterday. I made all the right turns.” Margaret said proudly. “The place is in really good shape.”“Tom worked like crazy fixing it up.” Peggy offered her comments with a dusting of pride in the job her husband had done. “Did you see the kitchen?”“Well, I didn’t actually go in; I couldn’t get the key to work, but it was still nice to see from the outside.” Margaret didn’t like to lie, even little ones, but she was not about to detail what happened or didn’t happen at the summer home. “I thought maybe you changed the locks.”“I don’t think so; in fact, I’m sure we haven’t because I used the old key last time. Anyway, the next time you go, let us know. The kids would love it and Tom and I could drive us out. Maybe even swim out to the sandbar.”“We’ll see. Maybe next time, although I don’t think I’m in any condition to go to the sandbar. I wouldn’t make it that far.” Margaret switched the phone to her other hand.“Well, let us know anyway,” Peggy said, then paused to change the subject.“Did you see Mark on TV? He won that case, the one about the band and the music. I didn’t follow it too close but you couldn’t avoid it. Everyone said he did a great job. He must be good.”“I guess he must be.” Margaret offered, unsure if Peggy appreciated the duplicity. Mark was good at his practice for sure. Any mother of a child whose potential lived untapped would trade for an ounce of the success Mark had achieved. Margaret just wasn’t sure about the elevated meaning of the word.Mark coursed his life differently than anyone in the family, secure in the fast lane and picking up speed. His drive more intense than anything Margaret had known, but it was his life, he makes his own choices. Mark’s zest for accumulating wealth was an obsession, yet most only saw the tip of the iceberg. That was enough; a little Mark went a long way.“Have you talked to him lately?” Peggy asked, regretting the question.“No. But he’ll probably call to see if I saw him on TV.”“I’m sure he will,” Peggy said. She’ll be on the call list too. “This was a big case. I’m glad he won.”“I’m glad for those poor young girls,” Margaret stopped, her remaining thoughts drifting in privacy.Margaret and Peggy continued their conversation until she heard the rumble of what appeared to be a regiment of kids screaming in the background.“Just a minute, Mom,” Peggy said. Margaret couldn’t track the confusion that followed. “Mom, can I call you back? These kids are bringing the pool in the house and . . .” Margaret heard her daughter’s voice trail away as she attempted to stop the onslaught in her kitchen.“Take care of your kids. I’ll call you later.”“Maybe we can get together.”“Alright, you take care.”Margaret placed the phone in its cradle. She was tired, but not seeking sleep. Maybe just rest her eyes. Her thoughts followed the trail back to the summer home, her skin burning as she reached over to the small table and wrapped her fingers around her rosary without looking.Chapter ThirteenPlans for the party had been in motion for months. Karyn’s fortieth and originally a surprise at the hands of her sisters and a few close friends. Mark played along in passive management but functioned as banker and proponent of spending whatever it took to make it special. It needed to be a good show: and as little work for him as possible.Given the number of planners, it was only a matter of time before Karyn’s role changed from being surprised to acting surprised. Unlike most, she didn’t mind the milestone. She was comfortable in her own skin and if she did complain, it was only the obligatory cliché.The Ma?tre de from The Lark was there spying the layout, his artisans setting up three additional bars, one in the house and two poolside.Don’t want to go too far for a cocktail! Mark thought, even though water would dangle from his hand throughout the party; a present for Karyn. He managed at least one DUI as far as Karyn knew, countless nights away from home, more missed events than she could tally, and the pattern was growing tiresome.It was almost three when Mark skipped up the back stairway and made his way to the master bedroom. Cutting through the walk-ins to the dressing room, he saw Karyn at the mirror. Just showered with a dusting of makeup, she floated in reflection. The slap of Mark’s heels on Italian marble snapped Karyn from her trance. He stared at her reflection in the mirror.He wondered what she knew.Mark held the small jewelry box in his hand as he leaned on the doorway; a gift he wanted to give before the party. The fact it was a Rolex would not impress Karyn as much as Mark. Any watch can tell the time of day, some can tell the time of life.Mark’s voice broke the silence. “What are you thinking about?” he asked. Karyn’s head twitched in response.“Oh, nothing. Just getting ready.” Mark moved to the vanity and grabbed her hand. He pulled her up and gave her a hug. Their embrace held as Mark’s fingers slid down her back, rubbing the silk panties first on the outside, and then slipping his fingers underneath the elastic band. Karyn pulled away.“Don’t start that now,” she said with a wicked flex of her eyebrows. “We’ve got too much to do. People will be here any minute,” she giggled as Mark continued to squeeze her tight and kiss her neck. Mark took a small step back and delivered the box to Karyn.“Happy Birthday, honey.”“What is it?” Karyn asked as she slid the ribbon off the maroon box from Christopher Vogel Jewelers. She flipped the top off to reveal a small, leather case. As she peeled it open her eyes returned to Mark, this time less dry. “Oh, Mark,” she said as she lifted the timepiece from its box. “It’s beautiful. It’s just beautiful.” Karyn draped the band over her wrist. It was beautiful. The clean smooth gold was cool to the touch.“Mark, this is way too much. I don’t need a watch like this.” She shot a glance Mark’s way and then returned her eyes to her wrist.“You may not need it, but you have it now,” Mark replied. “Besides, it looks good on you.” Mark helped Karyn snap the links together.“Do you like it?” He asked, pushing for compliments.“Of course I do.” Karyn wrapped her arms around his neck and held on longer than she had in quite a while. Neither spoke.“Happy Birthday,” Mark whispered.Mark skipped down the staircase with an odd grin on his face. He strolled by one of the inside bars and made a cursory evaluation of the opportunity. It was quite impressive. He moved to the great room, it was dotted with the signs of a party about to be, trays on stands, white linens, and staff in tuxedoes.Outside, torches stood at attention and a platform where the DJ would be cranking out requests–anything but Pilate’s Decision, sat in the corner draped in black.Mark walked the pool area and stopped at another bar, a twin to the ones inside. The Grey Goose was in the same location.Everything was perfect.***The party was a party from the first tick of the clock. It was still a surprise for the guests, and in a matter of forty-five minutes, nearly seventy people were milling around. There were introductions, casual conversations, billows of laughter, and rounds of hugs.Karyn fulfilled her end of the bargain by acting surprised.Kids moved in small packs, the first to hit the pool and separate the population into classes, Mark Jr. and Tara in and surrounded by cousins and friends. It was safer in the water.Mark Jr. was seventeen and closest to his father’s branch of the tree: good looks and spark with the ladies. Tara, just fifteen, was more like Karyn, engaging but mysterious. Auburn hair fell to her shoulders. Aqua blue eyes; skin with a color best described as warmth. Tara’s smooth physical lines were a sharp contrast to Mark’s chiseled frame.The balance of those attending was a blend of aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, work associates, college friends and more friends, seasoned with enough staff to make sure no glass was half-empty and no plate half-full. Karyn was the center of attention and played the role with panache. She looked spectacular. If it were a group of total strangers, one would be hard-pressed to identify the party as a fortieth birthday for her.Mark made Karyn 3 Vodka and Cranberry’s already and it was only six-forty-five. He spotted Karyn on the steps leading upstairs; she was getting her bathing suit. Good news. Mark headed to the liquor cabinet in the kitchen, grabbed the Goose and poured another healthy waterfall into his plastic water bottle.With water in hand, he worked his way back to the great room where the standard party dynamics were firmly entrenched; the older folks avoiding the heat in the comfort of the cool air and soft furniture in the great room. Poolside at the bar was the largest group of contemporaries. The in-betweens, not ready to dive in and not ready to sit inside and yack about arthritis, scattered about looking for a home.Karyn returned to the party in her pool attire scattering the kids and relieving the awkwardness of who would be first. No doubt, those inclined to swim would follow and whether one brought a bathing suit or not was a non-issue; the Hanley’s had a well-stocked cabana. It was on its way to becoming a good party.“Sure is a hot day,” Mark thought; glancing to the left side for the actor’s direction where it said take a nice, long fulfilling gulp from the water bottle. He moved his body sideways to squeeze between two cousins who lifted their drinks like a drawbridge. He emerged on the other side where his mother Margaret sat with his Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Mike on the white leather sectional forming a massive sweeping, rounded corner “j”.Uncle Mike stood to shake Mark’s hand and give him a good old pat on the back. “Mark, how are you my boy. It’s good to see you!” Mike was Margaret’s cousin. Tall and thin, he wore his clothes crisp and pressed; the creases of his pant legs holding strong even in the humidity. His hair was thin and white and lay bonded together by some invisible agent that was on every young man’s grooming shelf when Bobby Darrin sat atop the Hit Parade. The smile was permanent and his porcelain white teeth were straight like a picket fence.“How are you, Mark?” Kathleen added in a sincere, motherly tone, “This is a wonderful party. There are so many people here and Karyn looks just beautiful. You’d never guess she was forty.”“Thank you.”“I keep hearing your name all over the place. And not just from your mother,” Uncle Mike added as he shot a quick smile at Margaret. “Every time I open the paper, it seems there’s something in there about you.”A broad smile cracked across the faces of both Mark and his mother. Mark’s driven by ego, Margaret’s by awkwardness.“Well, they just don’t leave me alone. I wish they didn’t know a thing about me, it would sure make my job easier.” Mark offered the explanation but nothing could be further from the truth; he relished the publicity and thrived on it. It was necessary. It fed his ego, stuffed his wallet, and he was the master of it. Exposure was a vital tactic in his professional bag of tricks.“We were just talking to your mother about the summer home, a little reminiscing. She took a trip out there this week.”This was news to Mark. Although anything about his mother would be news to Mark. He had little knowledge of how she occupied her time but would never envision it involving the summer home. Mark looked at her not with concern, but with doubt. It didn’t fit into Mark’s reality.“What made you take a trip out there?” He asked, leading the witness.“Oh, I don’t know. I started thinking about it and just decided to go.” Margaret looked directly at Mark as she talked. She wasn’t embarrassed about her trip, Mark wasn’t her father and if she wanted to drive to the summer home or the moon, it was her business.“So, how was it? Was it the same?” Uncle Mike asked.“Well, I guess it was. It was certainly in good shape. Peggy and Tom have kept it up so nice.” Margaret’s eyes turned away from Mark. He expected the answer to be she’d never made it, but that was not the case. Margaret scanned the great room for those wanting to hear as if a schoolteacher making sure everyone could see the storybook.“We had such wonderful times there when we were young,” she began.“Oh, did we ever.” Uncle Mike chimed in, “did we ever!” His face lit up like a bug zapper as he interrupted, “remember the time John and I had the boat out in that storm?”Mike was on the road to another long and boring tale that would eke out between his perfect teeth. Mark could feel it. He looked over his shoulder for an escape, unscrewed the top to his Dannon and let the painkiller sift through his own perfect teeth.“Does anyone need anything?” he asked, delivering a counter interruption after seeing no other opportunity for escape.“No, I’m fine.” his mother replied. Uncle Mike and Aunt Kathleen nodded as Mark spied pool-party Karyn. “Thank God,” he thought, excused himself, and zigzagged his way to the birthday girl.“Time for the pool!” Mark announced, even though most of those who could hear him were destined to stay dry. The pool crowd was already outside and inching closer to determining who would be the first to accidently fall in.Mark felt strong as he ran up the stairs two at a time heading for the bedroom. He pulled off his shirt and slacks, replaced them with better party clothes, and then paused at the vanity for a quick check. By time he made it poolside several early birds were already swimming. Next-door neighbors Tom and Lindsay were floating in the deep end. Karyn’s roommate from college made her way across the length of the pool followed by her latest; Patrick or Peter or Pavel or whoever the flavor of the month was. Karyn’s sister and husband dangled their legs over the side near the hot tub, acclimating themselves for the full plunge. The kids made their getaway.Mark stole a quick glance at Karyn as she stood in frivolous conversation with a neighbor deciding how she would get in the pool. Both looked more like students on spring break. Mark made his way to the patio bar and ordered a last-call sized vodka and cranberry and placed it at the edge of the pool by Karyn.Inside the comfort of the great room, Mark’s mother began detailing her adventure to the summer home as Mark hit the water–the biggest splash of the day. Chapter FourteenMark telegraphed the order as best he could; concentrated on the message and sent it more than once. He struggled to open his eyes, the process deliberate and agonizing, as if lids infected with chronic arthritis.Intermittent stripes of pressure laced his back and legs in equal distance from each other. His mind traveled in search of recognition of their source–a chaise lounge, ordinarily a comfort but now the straps serving only to gain his skin, digging. Mark regained more of the world around him. Maybe he fell asleep or most likely, passed out by the pool, not the first time and definitely not the best.It must have been one hell of a party.The pain emanating from the core of his skull overtook the placebo delivered by the fresh air. Blood traversing his cranium scraped veins as if barbed. The hum of music floated through the atmosphere, warped like an old 78.He clamped his lids together seeking the lifeless state from which he emerged. “Too much water,” he agreed with himself, recalling the lore of intoxication by ingesting a planet sized quantity of H2O. Quicker with vodka. He focused everything on piecing together the previous night, anything to help frame the scene he found himself in now.The facts: he was outside, so chances are good that Karyn, and everyone else, figured he had a bad batch of water. Or a good batch, depending on perspective. If history repeats itself, he made a dozen trips to the library for some dust as well.He breathed in futilely, trying to ease the pleurisy, but the air was pathetically unable to meet the challenge. The sky emerged azure with a slight pasting of silky white. It would be another scorcher, no question. Two birds entered Mark’s screen high above, chasing and darting in the early morning light; outlines of their sleek bodies in silhouette against the dawn. Red painted the view closest to the horizon.Mark peeled his legs off the lounge and the straps fought to stay attached. He pulled harder and placed his feet on either side of the lounge, they landed on sand.Sand?Mark flexed his brows, trying to register his environment as he leveled bloodshot eyes toward the horizon.He wasn’t by the pool.He glanced to his right and to a giant weeping willow lazily swaying its arms in the wind. He’d been here before. It was the summer home.If he peered over his left shoulder, he would see its elevation, he was sure of that. Whatever it looked like today if it was today. He swung his right foot over the chaise lounge as if unsaddling a horse, re-planting both feet on the sand and accepting the challenge. As expected, the summer home stood large and proud. The white wood slats, green shingles and black shutters balanced by clean, clear windows covered by silvery screens. His eyes were in focus; the place looked like a million bucks. The trees, shrubs, and flowers all full, healthy and bursting; manicured as if a photograph. Ivy crept up a trestle.Mark stared as if in a trance, his eyes locked. It was soothing and pleasing as memories rushed him in a flood of color. He couldn’t feel the pain now. He couldn’t feel anything, except . . . he wasn’t quite sure.The hint of a smile driven by the discovery of sentiments long abandoned cracked across his lips as he stared at the structure. Sand oozed between his toes and there’s no other feeling like it. Mark turned to peer into the great expanse of Lake Erie where the water threw a light chop. It was clear and a deep, rich blue-green, the panorama overdone in color, aroma, and sound. The air was more than crisp and clean, it was virgin, medicinal. The soundscape not only that of water, but all who depend on her goodness for their existence; birds and wildlife of all varieties, creaking branches and tickling leaves, insects from the boisterous cicada to the tiniest burrower approached with similar station, and the sound of people.Mark narrowed his field of vision, eventually scanning the outline of two human forms in the water. It was the man and the girl. Behind them, a large boat rocked.“Looks like an old CrisCraft.” Mark heard himself say. The boat held captive by an anchor dropped from the bow, stretching and slacking with each rocking motion.Mark drank in the rich wood lines and deep polished decking in larger wedges with each passing wave. He had no thoughts other than enjoyment of the impeccable restoration–until the pain. Until someone blew the break whistle and the production lines fired up as if motivated by a volume incentive. This was not ordinary pain. This was not extra ordinary pain. This was something wrong.Revulsion took his strength and that’s when it happened. As if an icicle driven straight through his chest, his breath a memory, his body folding around the pain, desperate to smother it. The icicle jammed deeper, twisting and ripping soft tissue, the cold of the dagger betraying the pain that followed. His legs buckled and his stomach convulsed attempting to expel the poison infiltrating his defenses. The icicle probed, twisting, tearing maniacally at his insides. The warmth of heavy blood filled his mouth and nose, coagulating.Mark’s forehead wrinkled in response to the pain, lids and brows struggling to cocoon his eyes. The sand was as unforgiving as any scorched by the mid-afternoon summer sun in an unknown tribal village on the equator. The shadowy outline of a boat rolled in wavering jump cuts as Mark stumbled forward on the beach heading for water, his face washed in terror as he slid over the sand, now shards of glass. The only thought was relief in the cool liquid of the lake.He moved pathetically in Saturday afternoon matinee monster gait to the damp and hard packed sand resting just feet from the lake. He felt the instant relief from the minute amount of liquid squeezing between his toes as he forged forward; the coolness of an exorcism as he moved deeper, covering knees, thighs, waist and chest. The voltage of reprieve was staggering; the pain chased and replaced by cooling absolution. He breathed deep and readied for the final plunge.Mark’s head broke through the water with the force of a missile. He gasped desperately for air to replace the syrup filling his lungs; a massive breath that would fill ten times the two he called his own. His hands followed his head, shoulders, and torso as they shot from the water and flailed. He had no expectation but continued in pure hope and innate determination until he felt the sting. Separating his lids without chasing the water from his eyes, Mark held on to the side of the pool. The image of Karyn falling from the sky and into the water entered his screen, the diving board bouncing in smaller and smaller wavelengths as Margaret finished her story.Chapter FifteenKathleen and Mike slid into Margaret’s driveway a few ticks shy of ten. Margaret had been to church at eight o’clock, the early service she liked best. She was waiting at the door; the least she could do for traveling to the summer home accompanied by others. Margaret climbed into the back of the Lincoln, greeting Kathleen and Mike as she slid across its massive leather seat.“Good morning.”“Good morning.” The pair replied in stereo, both twisting their heads to make eye contact with Margaret, surprised she was ready to go without so much as the offer of coffee.“That was quite a party.” Kathleen said, “Mark and Karyn certainly have a beautiful home. It was good to see everyone in one place. I can’t believe how big everyone has gotten,” she continued, “and Mary’s kids; I think the last time I saw them they were in diapers.”“You’re getting old, Kath,” Mike added. “I may have to turn you in for a younger model.” Kathleen rolled her eyes and Margaret smiled, fully aware that Mike had been singing the same tune for years, but the absurd proposition was still enjoyed.“I’ll tell you what. I think it’s going to be a fun day. I haven’t been to the summer home in maybe fifteen years. I did drive by though. When we played golf over at, oh I forget the name of the course now; they changed the name.” Mike piloted the car onto the Lodge Freeway, heading south toward downtown Detroit and the bridge to Canada. “Anyway, we drove by on the way. You take the same road to the course, so we took back roads until we found it.”“The timing is perfect, too.” Margaret offered, “We can have an early lunch at Duffy’s.” All three paused after Margaret’s lunch announcement, each lost in their own memory. Duffy’s Tavern perched on Front Street in Amherstburg, and you’d scoot right by if you didn’t know about the freshest smelt dinners in the entire province. “Thanks for thinking of taking a ride out here today, Mike. It’s a good idea.” Margaret fully intended for Mike to continue to think the trip was his idea. She had dropped enough hints at the party. With Mike and Kathleen in tow, maybe the lifeline she needed would make itself known. Tangible proof she was in the world accustomed.The trip from the restaurant was short but seemed to stretch on. Mike eventually pulled the Lincoln to a rolling stop not far from where Margaret herself had parked only days before. Mike leaned his chest against the steering wheel, peering out the windshield as if attempting to spot a plane in the sky. The vantage point gave him the full view from foundation to roof peak.“Oh, look at it!” he said excitedly, “she’s in fine shape. Fine shape.” Mike swung the car door open and exited without taking his eyes off the building. “Fine shape,” he repeated. Mike stretched his arms above his head as he faced of the property, toes barely on the weedy grass.“Oh, it does look wonderful Margaret. The kids have certainly taken care of the place. I don’t think it looked this good thirty years ago.” Kathleen grabbed Margaret’s elbow, and the two moved slowly up the concrete path to the door. Mike had already walked under the wooden trestle covered in vine toward the water. If it weren’t for the vines, the trestle would have been kindling long ago. “Come out here, girls. Come on out in front. The water is high. It was never this high. Some of the big boulders are even under water,” Mike shouted from thirty feet in advance of the girls. He stood atop one of the first large, smooth boulders and shielded his eyes with his hand as a visor to scan the horizon as if an explorer.Kathleen made her way waterside and joined Mike on the first rock. It was large enough for both to stand although she held his arm tight for security. They scanned the horizon in partnered solidarity as Margaret stepped silently toward the back door. She reached the bottom step and paused before positioning the key between her thumb and forefinger, then continued her journey up the stairs. She reached the top, placed her hand on the knob, and slipped the key in the lock. It entered freely, invitingly.Margaret twisted her hand, freeing the bolt. It slid away from its holster and with a push swung open, revealing the interior of the back porch that ran its width. Warm, soft light cascaded from the doorways fed by sunlight entering the windows on the waterside. Speckles of dust danced wildly in the breeze. Margaret placed her foot inside and moved onto the porch. She walked cautiously, shuffling slowly to the large sitting area. It ran the length of the summer home from back to front porch and had a massive, ornate fireplace too big for the room centered in the wall to the beach side. The light entering from the windows to the side of the mammoth hearth darkened its soot-covered facade even more.Margaret turned and moved to the window. The wooden floor creaked underneath her feet. There was no sneaking around then and no sneaking around now. The floor announced your location. Margaret took a deep breath and gazed at the sandy beach stretching all the way to the massive weeping willow. There was much less beach now. Lake Erie was coming, a little more each year.Margaret watched from the window as Mike and Kathleen walked hand in hand along the beach, as if the trip was for them. They were off in their own little world, feeling younger and more alive with each step. The summer home did that to you.As Margaret gazed out the window, she wondered what made her come back. She certainly didn’t live in the past. She moved on–especially from the summer home, each stage of her life presenting a new and different chapter to embrace. Still, the pang suddenly burned inside. Now, watching Mike and Kathleen move along the beach, she knew she was powerless to avoid its gravity.Margaret shuffled to the front of the summer home where the porch opened up to the lake through six oversized windows. The white wicker furniture, a fixture from her youth, sat stoically. She remembered the snapping noises they made when you landed, buffeted only by the adult on whose lap children would seek comfort.Margaret heard the telltale creak of the wooden floor behind her as she looked out over the water. “No sneaking around here,” she thought. Mike and Kathleen had finished their stroll along the beach.“Hello Margaret,” a voice said.Margaret froze.She stood on the front porch eyeing the lake, paralyzed by the sound she could never hear.But it was a voice she heard.Margaret stopped the thought as soon as it entered her mind, giving it no opportunity to take root. It sounded so real.“That’s just crazy,” she affirmed, then traced its origin to its logical genesis: her own imagination. No doubt whose voice it was. She had heard it a million times over the years played on the old phonograph of her memory, smooth, soothing, comforting, always the same, always the perfect memory.It was her husband John’s voice she heard.She was sure of the voice but consumed by the fact that its wavelength reached her ears not from within but very much outside, two simple words that tightened skin and attacked her cocoon of personal security. She could feel the presence.Margaret stood her ground, eyes fixed on the water, accepting its hypnotic authority. She didn’t dare turn around to face the cruel and insensitive ruse her mind was busy constructing. At that moment, she realized why her presence at the summer home always played out within the confines of the memories she carried with her, until recently.She knew why she hadn’t come back. It was all too real, as she knew it would be. A torrent of sharp memories with full baggage swept through her, igniting every electrical connection within her system. This was the past and not where Margaret chose to live. Good or bad, right or wrong she lived forever in the now and in what’s next. The past was a wonderful old cedar chest full of memories but that was all. Margaret fought her imagination and managed a small foothold of confidence as words penetrated the confines of the summer home again.“Margaret,” the soft voice offered, jarring her back to reality, or non-reality. She wasn’t sure. “Please don’t turn around. Just listen.” The voice spoke slowly and softly, pausing, hoping Margaret was willing to accept what he would say. Hoping she would choose to hear his voice.The words shocked Margaret, as if John was standing in the room behind her, not just the echo of her name but a specific direction.“I saw you the last time.” Margaret heard. “And I watched you leave.” Margaret felt the slight brush of musty air on her arm. She stood in the most secure of traps, reliving a time in her life she craved to a degree still requiring vigilance. A life she knew was gone. Maybe it was her quick and strong resolve to cope with John’s death. It was so efficient. Maybe it never closed, never sealed.Margaret knew she had to leave. She knew she had to head toward the bridge as fast as she could. Gaining strength, she lifted her head, scanned the softly churning water one final time and turned to face what would be an empty summer home and the door that would deliver her freedom. She gazed through the open floor to the archway for the kitchen, in the wooden doorframe stood a man. Light from the windows washed over his shoulders, obscuring his face and body into a mixture of soft grays.Margaret was unsure if she should be frightened of an intruder or terrified there wasn’t.“It’s me, Margaret,” the voice said as the vision from the doorway grew from a soggy blend of grays to tans and flesh, the image sharper with each step forward. Margaret’s breathing labored and a wave of prickly sweat covered her skin. Her legs concrete on the wooden floor. She stood with a blank stare washing her face as the man with the voice slowly reached out and wrapped his arms around her.In a split second, Margaret landed on the memories she had relived a thousand times before–memories now cold and dead by comparison. Her eyes locked tight as she rocked slowly in the mirage of her deepest, most personal loss. Slowly, Margaret lifted her eyes and gazed into the deep, familiar orbs of her husband John. He held her tight and delivered every bit of everything he had ever been. Even more. Tears streamed down her face as if never having the opportunity.She held on tight.She held on tight to what she had lost.She held on tight to what she had found.She had no choice but to accept its electricity, strength, and humanity. She could not speak. John remained silent as well, knowing his grip on Margaret physically was all he could communicate. Margaret held on until a cold breeze replaced the warm embrace, and then opened her eyes to an empty view of the summer home.Chapter SixteenMark left the office early and drove straight home for the first time in weeks. Karyn was in the kitchen preparing dinner for three. She turned to Mark as the kids forced a casual nod from the table.“Hi, honey. You’re home early,” She chirped.“I know.” Mark fished through the stack of mail centered on the island. Not that he was looking for anything.“You didn’t call. What happened at the doctor? Did everything go OK?”“It went great for the doctor. He probably made five grand and told me nothing more than Mark Jr. could tell me.”Mark Jr. looked up from the table. “Yeah, but I’d only charge half that.”“Well, good luck trying to collect.” Mark volleyed back. “I’ve made my last donation to the AMA.”Karyn focused on her salad, pushing the roughage back and forth in the bowl, peeking under leaves as if there were something new to find. The kids ate quickly as usual, and silently, as unusual. They focused on MTV, which continued broadcasting through their meal, and as luck would have it, the second video was Pilate’s Decision. If it weren’t for the events of the last year Mark would have passed the stream of anarchy vomiting from the television without recognition, but it was Pilate’s Decision, and Mark had no choice.He knew the video, seen it a dozen times, another epic rock drone and some of their best stuff according to critics. The sound oozed with visuals nothing more than a tattered, weather-beaten Jared in a small, wooden lifeboat adrift in stormy seas juxtaposed against live performance footage. The skies surrounding the craft were pudding, a living, breathing entity wanting to swallow Jared whole. Mist, fog, and wind moved in and around, swirling and sweeping. Drapes of shimmering rain pelted the only living thing in the storm’s path.There was no computer animation, effects, multiple locations, choreography, props or scantily clad women. Its simplicity was deceiving and Mark recalled it being their most expensive video to produce.The filming took place during an actual storm courtesy of Mother Nature. Jared had demanded that level of authenticity. Camera angles a blend of underwater and over-water shots combined with footage from Jared’s perspective and balanced so perfectly in the final edit that the viewer wasn’t sure if Jared was weathering the storm or if the storm was weathering Jared.The location was the far northwestern corner of Lake Superior, where the group and crew spent days waiting for the perfect backdrop to appear. They rehearsed angles and cuts, segue ways and blocking waiting for their stage, but when it arrived, it was as if it didn’t understand it was a shoot. Gusts tossed equipment and operators as if playing crack the whip. Jokes centering on the Edmond Fitzgerald funny only hours before now hung from the yardarms of their minds like nerve-severed limbs. The storm was not a prop. This living, breathing attacking animal didn’t give a shit about whatever a music video was.It was what Jared wanted: another instrument.The storm worked for hours, pounding the crew and tossing the fifty-two foot ship serving as the base of operations about like a plastic toy in a bathtub. Its fury grew so strong that one tech nearly drowned. The union made a big stink, saying it put their crew in grave danger and that the entire episode was irresponsible. There were more than enough ways to deliver the same impact from inside a comfortable sound stage. Even if true, there wouldn’t be a single member of the crew that would change their participation, even Jim “Big Boomer” Dawson, the tallest boom mic operator in the business and the only one, as far as anyone knew, to nearly drown in Lake Superior filming a Pilate’s Decision video.Mark poured a drink, raised the crystal glass to his lips and accepted the vodka with eyes closed and head cocked. He swished the clear liquid around his mouth, soaking his gums, then placed the glass on the marble bar top and poured another. His eyes moved across the kitchen, pausing on Karyn as she continued to excavate her salad. He was waiting to hear that tone. Karyn offered nothing as Mark continued his surveillance, eventually landing and locking on images thrown from the television.All alone of the sea, no one hears but you and meIn the deep where coldness grows, keep the faith and no one knows.Mark stared at the screen and felt the heat. Like an electric stovetop grate curling its way around and around, morphing from black to gray to pink to red, crawling along his spine.He was powerless.The glass slid across the imported marble, leaving a long streak of moisture. His eyes never left the screen as he moved to the table and took a seat. His vision glued as the world surrounding the Sony mingled into the din of the storm itself. Jared continued droning in the midst of the gale.Tide is rising, can’t you see, the cleansing made for you and me.One man’s pleasure, one man’s pain, one man’s loss, one man’s gain.The secret of the deepest cold will forever be untold,It’s just for you and just for me,All alone and of the sea.Mark glued to the images growing from the TV. He felt the hot squeeze strengthen as the virus entrenched itself in his circuitry. It reached the boiling point and sent sharp, razor-tip shards catapulting within his skull; each pushed to fulfillment by powerful heartbeats pulsing from his chest. Beneath the razors, a relentless pressure vied for attention, enveloping Mark’s body in an invisible toxic membrane between skin and muscle.Mark was oblivious to what was going on. He sat frozen in the chair unaware of his surroundings, of his family, of anything. He was not in control.He had no choice.The scenes from the video seemed to reach out and touch him. He could feel the pain stab the base of his head, bouncing like a laser in his skull but without the velocity to break free. He scanned the kitchen in slow motion and heard the muddled voices of his wife and daughter. Deep, slow, groaning sounds that were not words, as if a tape player running out of battery but trying like hell to grab every ounce of energy. Mark looked to the clock on the wall, his view making the trip long after the pain carved a new fissure. His eyes fixed on its face without blinking. He never lost the link but nothing moved. Not the big hand, not the little hand, not the sweep of whatever hand it is that counts sixty for every tick of the big motherfucker. It didn’t move. Nothing moved.He stared at the clock for what felt like hours. Then, like a massive, rusted machine pushing over a ten-ton length of pure iron, the second hand lurched forward one small notch. Mark saw the entirety of its movement. He watched its long journey through the mechanized transition logging one short second.Mark pivoted his head toward the muddled voices. He could see Karyn standing at the kitchen sink, a quarter turn of his head pulling her into blurry and wavering center screen. As she turned and walked, he witnessed the trail of her body chasing behind her; a fading vapor of blues, topes and ambers following like the tail of a comet. Her mouth moved in slow motion, expectorating deep, indecipherable tones in a language that did not exist.The pounding inside his head intensified and a violent shiver stormed through his body.He was dying.There could be no other explanation. He wasn’t dreaming, and he wasn’t asleep. He was in the kitchen of his home and his family was there but didn’t notice anything as they continued with their slow-motion life. He felt nothing other than the dying organs inside his body, and Pilate’s Decision.Tide is rising, can’t you see, the cleansing made for you and me.One man’s pleasure, one man’s pain, one man’s loss, one man’s gain.Mark felt the weight of his skull pressing, pressuring, teetering. He closed his eyes to regain composure. His lids shut in painstaking anticipation, covering his field of view and drawing the curtain on Jared who now stood in the little boat, pushing his chest forward, forcing his work through the violence. The viciousness of Mother Nature obscured Jared to the point that fleeting shadows were the only evidence of his existence.The rage grew, and Mark felt the rain sting his face, his balance fleeting as his strength evaporated and he fell to earth with a thud. Chapter SeventeenMark was in the midst of acquiring a deeper voice when his mother dragged him to a funeral home for someone who died in a dark and warn corner of an unknown address; said he needed the experience. It was the first time he saw a dead body.The funeral home was in the design of a large, early twentieth century residence. The roof peaked in angles and gables that gave the impression it was larger than it was. It was in deep in the city, parked in a neighborhood whose decay was beginning to decay. It needed paint, gutters, and landscaping but most of all a handful of blasting caps. It was as homey as a funeral home.The spirit of décor inside matched the outside, only darker. It creaked and threw shadows. The room that displayed the body was cavernous with few visitors. Mark’s mother pulled his sleeve as she moved forward and stood in front of the open casket. The body aged as Mark drew closer. He wished he were somewhere else. There was no sign of the cross, tears or expression.Mark had relied on two neighborhood allies to prepare for the visit. Toby, a swollen, perpetually dirty kid who lived two blocks over delivered the ultimate dead body mission. “If you move their hand a little, sometimes their muscles just snap and their hand will shoot up like it was saluting a fuckin’ general.” Toby offered. “My cousin did it once, I swear to God, and it scared the shit out of everybody. You can ask anyone. It was hilarious.” Toby chuckled as he spoke, his puffy skin rolling as he recalled the mirage. Blood rushed to his head, brightening the small mountains of acne covering his face.Toby offered his sage advice with great zeal, wanting it to happen. In the working class neighborhood that raised Mark, Toby and his family were there on a stretch. His old man worked hourly at one of the tool and die shops feeding the big three, his lunch pail devoid of any nutrition. Instead, he would fill the scratched and dented silver thermos with whatever intoxicant he could find. If that thermos could talk, it probably couldn’t.By nightfall and a few boilermakers after dinner, Toby would take his rightful place in the pecking order between his Mom and sister, and receive the release of the day’s fury from his father. Toby always got the worst of the physical end, but his Mom and sister paid a higher tab in places that rarely heal. Toby didn’t have a chance of being anything more than another version of his father. That was a lock.Mark never took Toby’s advice and after that day, never set foot in a funeral home again.He had not entered the Wykowski Funeral Home when John lay cold, motionless and pale in his silk lined resting place. In a suit sent to the cleaners and then delivered to the funeral home where a respectful mortuary science student pulled it over the lifeless body, trying to make it fall just right.He was not at the funeral home to breathe deep the floral scents that painted nostrils with its presence.He was nowhere when his family held on to each other in desperation, trying to generate the strength to make their way through to the next moment.He never saw his mother standing watch over her newly fallen husband for two full days, accepting the condolences of the close and not so close as they knelt and prayed for Margaret, and most likely, Mark as well.Mark never saw.On that overcast day, Mark tucked himself away in one of Eight Mile Road’s finest motels. Twenty-eight dingy rooms with cheap art prints held by rusty screws driven through crooked frames; the carpet riddled with cigarette burns.It would make a good funeral home. Chapter EighteenOpening his eyes, Mark found himself on the leather wraparound in the great room; the cold sweat once covering his body now dry, leaving an epoxy sealing every pore. Karyn was by his side with a damp cloth and a glass of water.“Mark?” she said. “Mark, are you OK?” He could see her lips vibrate. “Mark?” she repeated, attempting to jar him back into reality.“I’m here.” Mark said as he sat up. The effort took everything his muscular frame could provide. “What happened?” He asked, trying to connect the dots between where he was now and where he last remembered being, in the kitchen. He rubbed the back of his neck as Karyn offered the glass of water; Mark’s hand dipped six inches as he took hold. He lifted it to his lips with effort and drank in a small portion. “You fainted. Passed right out! You fell right on the floor in the kitchen. We thought you were dead.” Seeing the father of your children slither to the floor like liquid and lay unconscious in a motionless heap was contrary to everything Karyn knew.“How do you feel?” she pressed, convinced the episode wasn’t over. “Do you have any pain? Any pain in your chest or arms?” Karyn used the common triage for a heart attack.“No, I don’t have any pain.”“Mark,” Karyn said in a tone of not believing a word. “Are you sure? Don’t be macho. Something is wrong. You don’t faint away like that without good reason. Did you eat today? Did you have lunch?”Mark confirmed that he had lunch.And felt fine all day.And nothing happened at the office.And he did not drink.And didn’t do anything else.What he didn’t tell Karyn was that he stood by like a bag of rocks watching Jared repeat his refrain in a raging storm until he felt that same force wash over his body and suck him into that fucking boat right along with him.But that was before.Mark sat on the couch with his faculties increasingly intact and a tank of fury pumped into his engine. He realized his condition might not be physical at all. He was fit and every test negative.It was inside his head, and that angered him more.The closest any medical guru came was stress, the catchall of ailments. But Mark wasn’t stressed, and no one would convince him he was. His work came easy; too easy at least once. Mark and Tara didn’t take guns to school or sneak away to get gauged or have eat shit tattooed on their foreheads. Karyn wasn’t bonking the tennis pro or sitting in the house all day creamed on Prozac. He could pay off his mortgage with the cash he had in his safe; his friends were friends and his girlfriends were invisible. He got high because it felt good and he was living the dream at a level most could scarcely imagine.Mark knew which battles to enter and which to avoid so he made his way upstairs and stripped to his shorts. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, but the comfort of the bed soothed. Mark fixed his eyes on the overhead fan. He followed a single gossamer blade as it rotated and each time he felt himself drifting away, shook his head back to reality. He would figure this out.Thoughts traveled to the day he was tapped as Special Counsel. It was a big day. No one knew the exact circumstances that led to the assignment, but it was widely believed that Xion put a tremendous amount of pressure on the local prosecutor’s office. It was thought the entertainment conglomerate needed someone local from the onset, someone familiar and visible to log face time with the media against Jack’s prominent family. Music and its message are still entrenched in the minds of many. If Mark defended that little piece of shit, you can bet your bottom dollar he’d have gotten off; that it was someone else’s fault, no doubt about that.That’s when it hit him.His appointment was defensive, pre-emptive. Get in bed with the best first! Mark smiled.The strategy employed by Jack’s father was as transparent as the man himself. He would tap the finest bank of attorney’s he could corral; the entire process a formality and another in the long line of victories for those operating ostensibly within the law but clearly above it. It was obvious that Pilate’s Decision held Jack hostage. Returning his eyes to the fan, a smile cracked across his lips. He could have pulled it off. If anyone could, it was Mark.The Pilate’s case was the most lucrative opportunity ever handled. There didn’t seem to be any limit to the money Xion A&R threw at the case in an effort to reach the desired verdict. It was that important. Mark’s eyes grew wide at the recollection. He felt the breeze from the ceiling fan. He had no pain and even though he made a contract with himself he wouldn’t fall asleep, he violated that covenant. At its most pragmatic level, the process of losing consciousness is a message from your brain to every organ, muscle, and fiber: time to reboot.Mark lacked the strength to fight and wafted into a deep, sound sleep.***On the sandy beach, the young boy sat with right leg crossed underneath his left perched in a triangle where his chin rested. The sun was three quarters to the west on a steamy summer afternoon and the boy’s back took the full brunt, darkening even more the deep bronze hue earned from many days just like this. His hair short blonde spindles standing at attention one-quarter inch from his scalp in the standard buzz.An array of Mussel shells scattered in front of the boy; all split in half at their natural hinges and clean of living organisms. Deep purple, sapphire and magenta pearl-coated interiors glistened in the sunlight and the boy moved them across waves of sand and let his imagination power them as beautiful, mahogany powerboats with seek, smooth lines and loud gurgling motors. The beach offered no one other than the small boy.The horizon was home to a wisp of clouds causing no alarm; the breeze light but steady, moving over the boy in one continuous sweep. He rubbed his eyes, breathed in deep and felt the air sting his lungs, then stood and brushed the sand from his legs and in his mind traded his vision of powerboats to something even more exciting.Piracy!The scourge of the sea bent to pick up his driftwood sword, pointed it skyward and claimed this discovery as his land.The pirate scanned the area for vegetation to sustain life for him and his weary crew. They were cold and hungry, and needed to return to health before famine got the best of them–or an invading force did the same. If any previous expedition had made shore there was no sign they made camp. If he were to defend this land, all would be eager to lie down their lives for their shores. Finely carved razor-sharp weapons of shell and stick would make sure of that.Turning toward the water and the vast expanse of nothingness that had delivered him, the pirate raised his driftwood scope. Its length extended due south as he scanned the horizon. No surprise attack from the sea could mount if he kept vigilant.The sea could play tricks on the most experienced of seamen; one must be able to distinguish between threats mounted by waves, clouds, and horizon and the threats mounted by warriors using the same for cover. The pirate continued to scope the line where water met horizon, logging the genesis of each swell until the hair on the back of his neck stood straight on end: a small, dark spot on the western horizon. This was no cloud; nor was it a wave or island. He moved the scope back and panned right again. His hands steady as he stopped dead on the emerging vision.A ship!Sailor’s eyes strained for detail, colors, crew, weaponry. The pirate retreated to the woods behind the beachfront, camouflaging himself among the brush, orders for his crew to do the same spoken with leadership.Focusing his scope the image emerged clear. A ship, anchored off his shores. Between his refuge and the ship, two from its crew splashed in the shallows of a sandbar–one trying to head toward his claim.“Alas mates, we’re to battle today. Ready your arms and prepare to fight for your land,” he said to his small battalion, instilling the courage and strength he embodied. The crew, an eclectic mix of the adventurist, outcast and criminal would do well under his example. Of that, he was sure. Raising the scope to his eye, the pirate surveyed the ship. His view was not of a warship; the vessel presented itself with no grenade or cannon hold. To take their shores they would have to do it by hand. Man to man. Pirate to pirate.Along the transom its identity feathered into focus and the letters, T I U X crept into view.The pirate repeated the letters to himself but they made no sense. The sentries continued to move in the shallows, scanning the beach for anyone who may resist their landing.The pirate crouched behind the small trees undetected, waiting.“T I U X” he whispered. Chapter NineteenThe weather still hadn’t broken. The forecast called for clouds to mount throughout the day until bloating full and relieving their energy as early evening storms. Stagnant lifeless air replaced with the cool, refreshing scent of a cleansing summer rain. Everyone heard the forecast for weeks but the clouds never presented their grand finale; even though television weather teams tried their best to make it happen.Margaret approached the summer home with strength and purpose. She turned the key in the lock as if entering her home in the states, forcing her dream to put up or shut up. In the center of the porch, she pulled the rusted chain that hung from an unshaded forty-watt bulb. The filament dusted the area with light.“So far, so good,” she thought. Margaret moved along the back porch toward the kitchen. Her eyes wandered in exaggeration, darting and scanning. She squared her shoulders to the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks, her breath stolen. Volts of adrenaline charged nerves. Her eyes received the image and her brain delivered its interpretation: John was standing in the dining room. Beyond him on the front porch stood more, all leaning toward the windows and craning their necks evaluating a storm.Everyone remained in place as if Margaret wasn’t there. No one reacted to the scrape of the door as the screen swung open; no one heard the creaking of the wooden floor. She wasn’t sure if she was even alive.Margaret stood as transfixed on them as they were on the storm. It seemed like hours before John offered his insight when the squall would hit and how intense it would be. Margaret could hear the rumble of thunder as the billows cartwheeled in their direction.A lightning bolt tore its way to the horizon at the far end of the lake where the blended grays of the water oozed into the blended grays of storm clouds. The crack in the sky leaked intense white. Margaret swept her eyes from side to side, awaking her peripheral vision in an expanded reality check, her mind registering detail and weighing it against memory.The long, thin streams of rust colored erosion leading from the faucet’s drip.Detail.Margaret moved waterside as one of the women turned to place her glass on a table, her eyes meeting with Margaret’s in a direct and unbreakable beam. The woman lifted her head but maintained her lock on Margaret as a broad smile pulled her lips wide. The color in Margaret’s face blossomed as tears pooled.“Margaret,” she said, barely audible, her head tilting. “Oh Margaret,” she repeated, this time alerting the rest of the group. Margaret shivered from her innate warning system. She was unsure if she could handle the trick, even though she knew its genesis.The sound she heard filled her with warmth. The voice belonged to Sarah, Margaret’s dearest friend. A voice silenced by a cancer that would place last in a race of snails. Margaret felt the same coldness in her palms as when Sarah slipped away, yet there she stood not twenty feet away, alive, breathing, and delivering that quirky, loving smile that was Sarah’s alone.A conundrum of memories filled Margaret’s reality good and bad, just as life itself. John moved behind Sarah and placed his hands on her shoulders.“We’re glad you came down Margaret,” That was it. That was all he offered, no explanation, no reason, no anything. As if just another day and Margaret had slept through the first of the party.The balance of the group turned to face Margaret and offer a hello before returning attention to the storm. The thick clouds were larger and tumbling more earnestly now. Margaret’s eyes bloated with heavy tears as she recognized those on the porch, memories of their funerals playing in her mind. It was the last point of contact making sense and memory confirmed the final disconnect. The people watching the water were dead. Margaret stared as they continued about their business, whatever it was. They spoke as if this was happening.“Margaret. You look great,” someone offered. “Just look at this storm, it’ll be a big one,” from another. Margaret had no idea who was talking, her mind unable to link the sounds with the images.Rain slapped the face of the summer home. The gap between sharp bolts lighting the sky and deafening claps of thunder shrunk with each passing assault. No one said a word, carrying on as if not dead at all.Margaret felt lightheaded as the storm continued to push. Its path would soon cover the boulders out front with frothy, churning green lake anger. It spun with resolve but had time left to brew so the crowd moved to other activities, confident a quick glance would update the storm’s progress. Bill and Russ made their way to the table and waited for John to continue their game of Scrabble, which in Margaret’s estimation had been going on for about twenty years.Margaret crossed the threshold that marked the porch and sat in the white wicker chair. She leaned back and closed her eyes in tactical execution of the strategy that would deliver the familiar images of her own living room when reopened. The chair creaked familiar, not a groan as if the weight even as slight as Margaret’s was too much, but a comforting acceptance of its visitor. The only language the chair knew.Details.Breathing in deep, Margaret invited her consciousness to absorb the full offering. The aroma was every bit the summer home. An odd mixture of cedar and crisp lake air that can’t be defined other than recognition of the intangible essence giving each cottage its unique personality. The wind slammed against the elevation harder now, and Margaret heard the shutters trying to hold on. She kept her eyes closed tight, frightened of opening them up; her mind torn in equal anticipation between the hope she would see the familiar walls of her stateside home or her husband John.Margaret recalled no detail other than neither came to fruition. ***The TIUX bobbed in the water, rolling port to starboard and back again. Its bowline attached to the Danforth embedded in the sand tightened and slacked with each pitch.The two sentries remained off starboard but didn’t advance. The pirate watched, frozen among the small forest giving him cover. His ship moored in the shallows of the lagoon behind him, well hidden by the massive trees that grew strong lapping up the lake’s moisture.The sentries didn’t advance, and that made the pirate uneasy. Was it the sentries playing a game with him? Watching as he hid in the brush, assessing the perfect time to make their move?The dress of her crew was strange; not the cloth of any sovereignty or privateer, as if deliberately concealing identity by removing any recognizable culture communicated by their clothing.The pirate calculated the situation, playing the myriad of possibilities inside the war map of his mind. Chapter TwentyMargaret pushed the screen door open and could smell the sweet, smoky aroma of bacon. She arrived at the summer home early this time and its presence lingered. The black iron skillet angled against the wall above the sink, a small bead of water dangling from its lip waiting to make the final plunge. The smell of breakfast did little to cause her to rethink the situation; it was an aroma, maybe a memory.Maybe there was nothing at all.She rounded the corner and moved to the dining room; John was sitting at the table. His glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, eyes fixed on the Scrabble board laying the final tiles for Question and seventeen points.Margaret moved forward and touched his shoulder timidly. It was a test; another footfall into the unknown and one more of her senses brought into the fold. She wasn’t sure if her fingertips would pass clear through or press against flesh.The touch was physical. Bolts of reality traversed the edges of her skin to her head and heart. John’s flinch was natural, jarring him from the link he had made with the game.“Margaret, I didn’t hear you.”“I’m. I’m sorry,” Margaret stuttered. Her senses, the ones she relied on in the real world, were failing, again. She struggled for perspective. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she offered.“That’s all right. If you hadn’t, I might have stayed here all day and not enjoyed this beautiful weather. It’s going to be a great day, I can just feel it.” John stood up. “You missed a wonderful breakfast,” he added. Margaret’s eyes locked on his in a squint; an awkward moment wrinkled by the absence of words. John returned a reassuring look that seemed to beg the question. He knew what she was thinking. He knew her curiosity and quest for balance and understanding, yet she stood motionless, unable or unwilling.“Margaret.” John started, breaking the silence. “Margaret,” he repeated, this time bringing her into focus. “You’re not dreaming. What’s happening is not a dream.” The words were both exhilarating and defeating. For this to be reality meant she was standing with John as if never gone. “I don’t think I can explain it, but I can tell you it’s true. I am here, and you are here,” John moved toward Margaret. He touched her arm and motioned her forward. They moved to the window and watched the lake as one.Margaret was too afraid to speak; knowing whatever words spilled would be inadequate. The dream world thrives on tricking the mind. Falling, knowing you’re falling, watching the vertical landscape race by like unspooling film until the calloused skin on the soles of your feet pass through the top of your skull at the speed of sound–or wrapped in the arms of a deceased spouse.John was cautious in his choice of words; careful to offer Margaret the respect she deserved. He understood the pain delivered by a wound ripped open a second time.“I’m not sure how to explain it. When I first came downstairs Joe was sitting at the table staring at the lake.” Joe died in a car accident fifteen months prior to John. “That’s the first thing I remembered. I came downstairs and there he was.”Margaret moved her eyes from John to the lake. She had a million things to say but remained incapable of voicing anything.“It was so natural to see Joe I didn’t think about being here too.”“I just, I don’t believe this.” Margaret dribbled out, even though it was a sincere thought. Who in their right mind would believe any of this? Her first complete thought finished as she connected with another, starker reality.Is this what happens when you die?A cold sweat covered her skin as if fire retardant on a runway in advance of her second thought: they say you never hear the bullet, the sound lagging in compassion. Never knew what hit you. Margaret was a blank canvas as she strained to recall the shot. She imagined herself cold and alone in a hospital bed, the red line on the monitor repeating its horizontal message. She could taste the sour grit of asphalt and dirt and blood and bile as she lay in the bottom of a drainage ditch along a country road obscured from the semi’s rolling by at seventy-five miles per. Maybe kilometers. How else could she be standing on the porch of the summer home talking to her dead husband?“It can’t be true. You died John.” Margaret cocked her head to peer into his eyes and deliver a message inconsistent with its recipient. She was searching for truth. “You did die John. You did die.” Her voice trailed off and blended with the soft cadence of waves.Margaret sensed she wasn’t dying even though the thought dug into her consciousness. She was alive and John was alive. He never died at all.Surprise!This was more ruthless, pounding the previous mind games into humiliated submission. Margaret shook. Such an existence would be infinitely more difficult to cope with than spending quality time with a deceased spouse. As if never distanced, John read the thoughts deep within his wife. “I passed away Margaret.” John reached out and took her arm, steadying her as they peered at the lake. “I don’t remember anything about it, but I did die. I’m sure of that.” John rubbed his chin as he spoke. This wasn’t easy. “I think it’s the same as when we’re born. We don’t remember a thing but we know it happened.” John glanced at Margaret and then pushed his eyes to the lake. “I don’t remember anything.” John paused. “Until now I never thought about it. I came down the stairs and sat at the table.” John turned to face Margaret. “That’s what it’s been like for all of us.” John lowered his head as if embarrassed by the words, his own lack of understanding.“Margaret,” John started, “Do you know how . . .” he paused to select his words. “How you got here?”Margaret felt her power extracted, retreating through the miles of circuitry responsible for delivering its charge. John grabbed her arm to give her strength and guided her to a chair in the center of the porch. It creaked in sympathy as Margaret sat down, but she never heard a sound. Her mind attacked by memory as if buckshot, each historical event regardless of size or scope or importance now recalled with impartiality. She remembered snippets of each time she visited the summer home but couldn’t lock on what happened just prior. What drove her back? Had she been gone since the first visit?Margaret’s mind was an open and salted wound as thoughts disappeared as quickly as they came. Adrenaline delivered an uncomfortable, sticky itch in her veins. She wasn’t sure if she would faint or if she already had. Her breath snatched in desperate spurts that said the next draw might be the last.Maybe she already had her last.Margaret gained enough momentum to speak. “John,” she started. “I’m not sure what to say, what to do. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if I’m . . .” Margaret closed her eyes to capture strength. “I think I should go. If I can go. I don’t know if I’m just going to wake up.” Placing her palms on the arms of the wicker, she lifted herself up. The chair snapped and this time registered clearly.“This is difficult Margaret. I don’t know how to help you other than to say I’m here. And this is as real as any feeling I have ever had.” John’s eyes were deep and sincere. He was speaking from the most guarded place he owned. “Every day I wake up to the fresh lake breeze. The waves rolling onto the shore exhausted but always delivering their promise to the sandy beach. I breathe in deep and taste the fresh, cleansing air. I can hear life!”Margaret faced John, and without a word, reached out and hugged him long and tight. Her face striped with tears as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. The scent of his skin and the warmth of his being and everything she sensed said it was John, not a dream John but the real John–a living John.Chapter Twenty-OneThe trip to Los Angeles was a late addition to Mark’s schedule; his attendance requested at the release party for the new Pilate’s Decision record. Steph Ryan, the Pilate’s manager made the call.According to Steph, it was to be a full rock-and-roll riot fitting of the industry and group, and a visible notice to all that the first amendment is very much alive and well. A stadium-sized announcement that the artists spewing whatever drivel they want are innocent of any influence they may impart upon their lemming-like fans. For the machine that is the music industry the timing couldn’t be better, the long awaited release from one of the most powerful forces in the business on the heels of a decision protecting their right to deliver their art the way they choose. The buzz was penetrating and the money would be flowing. Mark, Karyn, and a virtual who’s who of the music and entertainment industry would attend the party at an industrial warehouse by the shipping docks. The paparazzi would be there in droves.Mark anticipated the festivities but anxiously awaited the celebration that was his alone with delivery of his personal bonus. The schedule included a visit to the law offices of the record company.The flight was uneventful. The first-class cabin full, Mark and Karyn in the second row, Karyn on the window, Mark the aisle.Mark had already downed his pre-flight cocktail by time the ground crew retracted the gangway. As the Airbus pushed back, he closed his eyes and leaned against the seat. Karyn held his hand, a statistically irrational response to the ultimate airline failure. She wasn’t frightened, just aware that her entire existence was in the hands of someone she had never met. Faith in God is blind; faith in whoever was driving this rig didn’t earn the same respect.Karyn’s hand wrenched harder as the pilot pushed the throttles and the massive bird thrust itself down the runway, wings swaying as the plane lifted into the blue, cloudless sky. “Are you feeling OK?” Karyn asked once the landing gear rolled back into the plane’s belly. Her hand released its grip and joined its partner in her lap.“I’m fine. Why?” Mark replied without looking. It had been a roller coaster since the trial ended. “Just checking.”In the beginning, Mark declined the invitation. The lure of final payment was a nice card, but every penny was due him and if it not deposited into his account for another ten thousand years, it would have marginal effect on his lifestyle. That would never happen; it’s just that he’s not pressed to make the mortgage on the doublewide.Mark understood his recent challenges infected him more than imagined. The episodes continued to abscess, bleeding side effects. It was an understanding that placed Karyn by his side as the airbus traversed the vast cornfields of the Midwest heading toward the City of Angels.Chapter Twenty-TwoMark motioned to the flight attendant for another scotch. Karyn tagged his order with bottled water as she unfolded the table from the center armrest.“Well, the party should be fun.” Karyn offered with a smile. “We’ll be just like Hollywood celebrities.”“That’s right,” Mark said, more impressed with his celebrity. “And I’ll be landing the big deal when they hand over the check.” Mark was smiling in anticipation of the money even though the protocol for delivery was odd. There was no reason for Mark’s personal appearance, but it was a nice touch. The party was icing on the cake.“You better bring back something from the guys in Pilate’s Decision or the kids may never talk to you again.” Karyn was thinking about her family as usual; not that this was a random thought; the kids, friends, neighbors, cousins, and just about everyone else were a constant drone throughout the trial.Mark was ready for another payday and more than ready to meet Jared Anderson, lead singer for the band Pilate’s Decision.Despite the media circus, legal ramifications, the cost of time and the importance of the right decision by those with a significant financial stake, Mark had yet to meet Jared face to face. It was an ugly scenario gnawing at him throughout the proceedings and beyond.From Mark’s perspective, the group, or any member was unimportant–a widget with a Les Paul. Not only did he not need their input from a legal standpoint, he didn’t need it from any standpoint. He couldn’t care less about their motivation, politics, religion, personal habits or anything else. He couldn’t care less about them as people if they were people at all.The only possible result from involving the “artists” would be a disaster. The last thing Mark needed anywhere near a jury was an illiterate, tatted, pierced freak on the witness stand trying to convince twelve normal human beings he was just like them.Mark didn’t even play the CD Jared sent to him at the onset of the case.But Mark wasn’t the only barrister to fail to use the band members: Dr. Finkenstien didn’t either. The depositions from Jared were a revelation. Satan himself took the legal stage as an articulate, well read, well-spoken intellectual, as skilled in dancing around the questions as he was at his art. His IQ most likely matched those of his inquisitors, manifest with an air he was pulling off the hoax of a lifetime. The best Fink could do was rely on the final take–the songs themselves, to provide cause without confirming intent from their wily source. Fink pushed the proceedings to another plateau separate from the artist and onto the genre itself.The plane sailed at thirty-nine thousand feet and Mark grew eager about meeting Jared, intrigued by his mystery and the knowledge he absorbed over the course of the trial. He wondered if his assumptions were correct, if Jared fit the description or if he was so freakish, it became the only viable strategy. Regardless, his second greatest achievement would be Jared’s personal thank you for reinstating the opportunity to convince weak, self-conscious teenagers to follow the seeds planted in his art.“Have you given any more thought to staying?” Karyn asked. “It would be good to take a few days, go down to La Jolly maybe.” Karyn leaned closer and added the feel of her hand to her suggestion. “We could just relax for a couple days. The kids will be fine.”Mark cracked his eyes and threw an inquisitive look. Karyn suggested the idea before, but it had not developed into a plan. It served to demonstrate her concern. Rest was one answer; give Mark a chance to reboot. The opportunity to do it away from the center of his universe made sense to Karyn, understanding it wouldn’t take long for Mark to get back in the saddle with his next case.“I don’t know.” Mark answered. “I’m not sure I can spare the time. People depend on me.”The irony was lost on Mark but not Karyn. Mark was talking clients, the gaggle of neophyte lawyers he employed and his overcompensated victims. Not Karyn. Not his kids. Not his family.“Let’s see what happens. If we stay, we may want to go to Carmel. Stay at that cliff side, I don’t remember the name.” Karyn wasn’t sure if he was leading her on or if weighing the idea but she knew you didn’t just pop in to a fifteen hundred dollar a night bed-and-breakfast in the cliffs overlooking the pacific. Chapter Twenty-ThreeMark was the first to exit the gangway as the airbus unloaded at LAX. Their driver stood outside the security gate as expected. A tall, graying man in his fifties donned in the appropriate wardrobe: black suit and tie, clean white shirt pressed. His tanned hands holding a “Hanley” sign.Ted, a transplanted Floridian escorted Mark and Karyn to the black Lincoln stretch at the curb. He opened the doors and cocooned them inside where the temperature was a perfect sixty-eight degrees. The car was record company property, not the typical Saturday night rent a party by the hour stretch. A magazine rack held six or eight trade rags, Billboard, Maximum Rock & Roll, Vibe. The cabinet under the TV was home to a dozen DVD’s; artists in the record company’s stable and movie sound tracks by the same based on a cursory inspection.Mark slid the burled wood door to the bar open, revealing a well-stocked mobile tavern. Glenfiddich, Kettle One, Crown. Glancing back to Karyn he grabbed the scotch, cracked the seal and poured a glass with three ice cubes. He didn’t care.He heard Ted close the trunk, then open the door. He slid in and adjusted the mirror, connecting eye to eye with Mark. “I see you’ve found the refreshments, so there’s no reason for me to take you through that.” Ted cracked a large, broad, white toothed grin. Mark could only imagine the passengers that sat in these seats and the stories Ted could share. The driver for one of the largest entertainment conglomerates in the world has probably seen more out the rear view mirror of this rolling palace than an entire floor of teenage boys at the detention center could conjure up in their wildest imaginations. You could most likely snort the bar top and numb yourself blind.“Mr. Steinman has made arrangements for your hotel. We’ve already checked you in. I’ll make sure you have your luggage and anything else you may need. Sunset Place, that’s the hotel. I don’t know if you’ve stayed there, but it’s very nice. Quiet and private. You’re likely to see one of our most celebrated locals there.”Ted steered from the airport onto the freeway. They were heading to the law firm that handled affairs for the record company to meet with Arnie Steinman, Chairman of Xion A&R Inc. Mr. Steinman had a busy schedule and Mark’s slice of pie was 3:00 pm.As if following a script, Ted coasted to a smooth stop at the entranceway of the building with five minutes to spare.“Here we are,” Mark said as the door opened and a young man in his early thirties greeted them.“Good afternoon, Mr. Hanley. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hanley,” he said, adjusting his suit, making sure it fell perfect over his toned frame. “My name is Thom; I’ll be escorting you upstairs.”The building was new, with a massive three-story entranceway surrounded by thick, gleaming white marble. The guards at the security station nodded as they made their way to the elevators. Thom passed two open lifts but kept walking to the far end and an elevator marked The Top. Karyn shot a quick glance at Mark. Mark returned a wink. Thom slid a magnetic card into the slot below the words and the doors opened; he repeated the drill inside and the doors closed. There were no buttons, no floor designations, no poster announcing the grand buffet, only the slot for the magic back stage pass.In one swift move, the elevator catapulted its passengers skyward. Mark wasn’t sure how many floors there were but guessed at least thirty. The car came to a smooth stop, and the doors disappeared to either side, revealing a massive atrium.Mark had made a fortune, he could stop working altogether if he chose. In his genre of legal peers, he was at the top, but what the open elevator doors exposed was a different world, the lobby a javelin passing clean through his understanding of the spoils of victory. This wasn’t rich. This was wealth.And Mark never heard of the firm.Numerous queries exposed little more than a partial and selective client list and a scant reconnaissance of their history. They had reached a level of success equaled only by the mystery surrounding it. Their financials, reputation, press, record and everything was succinct and impeccable. They were the cream of the crop of a small batch harvest.Karyn was the first off the elevator. Mark followed over the threshold and into the lobby, dwarfed by walls of pure, rich mahogany. The depths of color and richness of tone were breathtaking, and interrupted only by the most compelling works of art. Picasso, Maxx, Bennett, Munch, Degas, Lennon. All original and illuminated by a single wash of soft light so respectful it appeared as part of the works themselves.The lobby lowered into the floor by three steps of pure marble carved into an octagon shape. Sculpture rested on granite pedestals and soft classical music filled the space in a misty fog. The wall facing them sported floor to ceiling windows, a service bar to the side and four square tables with antique armchairs; deep leather cushions and ornate arms and legs adorning each. A man sporting a wide grin approached with hand outstretched. He was short with silvery hair made even more intense by the dark, tanned face it domed. His dress impeccable; slate blue three button with a deep maroon tie in a half Windsor. He screamed money and power. This was the boss. This was Arnie Steinman.“Mark!” the man said, reaching forward and shaking his hand with firmness and enthusiasm.“Mr. Steinman, I’m glad to meet you,” Mark said, returning the handshake with equal zeal. “My wife, Karyn.” Mark turned as Karyn moved forward and extended her hand. Arnie grabbed it with both of his and delivered a warm, embracing hello.“I’m so glad you could make our little celebration,” Arnie said as they stood in a human triangle. “This would not be possible if it not for your outstanding efforts. You are a talented and skilled counselor, Mr. Hanley. I hope you are aware.” This was nothing new to Mark, he lived on praise and was used to the expectation. It was a welcome sound to Karyn’s ears. She was fed plenty back home from the local media and neighbors and friends, not to mention Mark. Over time, she invested less and less of her personal consideration of his success, but now thought his talents might be inspired if recognized by such a successful organization. Karyn gazed at Mark in a way she hadn’t in a long time.“I trust Ted picked you up on time. You didn’t have any problems with your flight, did you?”“No, Delta got us here without any excuses.” Mark forced a smile; airline comments were pedestrian.“Well, that’s wonderful,” Arnie said. “Now, let’s get down to business. I apologize for having you come to the office before you’ve had the chance to get to your hotel and freshen up, but you’ll have plenty of time for that before the release party. You have my word.” Arnie directed the oath at Karyn, knowing his beautiful companion would appreciate the time after a long flight.Arnie grabbed Mark’s arm and steered him from Thom and Karyn; a clear signal they would continue business in private. They headed toward the large windows overlooking a sprawling Los Angeles.From behind a dark paneled wall emerged a young man walking in perfect human symmetry dressed in crisp white tails. He approached Arnie and Mark.“May I get you a cocktail, sir?” he asked. Arnie tilted his head in deference to his guest. “Thank you. I’ll have scotch, please,” Mark said. The waiter acknowledged Mark’s order and moved his eyes to Arnie, “The usual. Thank you.” With that, the white formality disappeared. Mark glanced over his shoulder to see Thom leading Karyn on a gallery tour“Mark.” Arnie started. “Everyone here is extremely proud of your efforts. We’re very grateful.” He spoke with a soft and even cadence that bred confidence. “What you have accomplished was no easy task. More importantly, it will have a profound impact on our futures. Indeed the future of the industry we serve.” The man in the white tails returned holding a tray with two glasses, each sparkling with crisp, clean liquid. Mark and Arnie reached for their orders and the waiter slipped behind the paneling again.The pair turned to the window, taking in the full city view. “Anyway, Mark. I wanted the opportunity to meet you face to face. Tell you how grateful we are.” Arnie smiled. His eyes genuine in their warmth as he raised his glass in a toast, meeting with a pitch so perfect it could only be the finest crystal.“Thank you, Arnie. It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Mark replied. “I believe it could have gone either way, and I’d be having this drink for a completely different reason.” Both understood nothing could be further from the truth.“You’re far too humble.” Arnie offered. “In any event, I’m sure you’re eager to collect your fee.” Arnie reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a thin leather case. He opened it to reveal a draft for one million dollars. Arnie handed it to Mark with a smile. “With our respect, admiration and sincere thanks,” he said. Mark took it in his hand and beamed.“Thank you very much, Arnie,” Mark said as he tucked the envelope into his Kenneth Cole, making sure it went in flat without fold, spindle or mutilation. Mark raised his glass in toast, “Needless to say, I am at your service should you ever be inclined in the future,” Mark added, ever perpetuating the quest.Arnie looked at Mark with a keen eye, “And who knows what the future holds? We may well have the need as you may. In today’s world, I have every confidence we will be called upon again.” Arnie paused, and then changed subject. “The release party this evening will be an affair you will not soon forget.” Arnie spoke with raised eyebrows. “I’m confident it will be nothing like you have experienced before.”“We’re both looking forward to it.”“Jared wanted to make sure he had the chance to meet you.”“That’s great, well, great for my kids. I’ll be important. At least for a while.”“You will be at that. I’ve been in this business a long time, Mr. Hanley. You’d be surprised by the power these artists hold over their fans. You’d be surprised by the power they hold over us.”“They’re steering the ship,” Mark added, trying to understand the importance but communicating reference.“But they must be managed. If it were up to them most would sail that ship into complete obscurity. I’ve seen it a thousand times. It happens in spite of our efforts to the contrary.” Arnie silently calculated the cost of lost opportunity. “The boys in Pilate’s Decision have a good handle on themselves. They recognize their role and opportunity. That’s why your efforts were critical.” Arnie tilted his glass to his lips and let the last streams of liquid drizzle into his mouth; eyes focused on the city below. He wasn’t talking to Mark; he was talking to himself. Mark afforded the proper time for the thought and its residual weight to pass before continuing.“I do have one question if you could answer it for me,” he said.“I’ll do my best. Nothing too difficult I hope?”“No, just some clarification for my own personal knowledge.”“Shoot.”“Why me? How is it you sought me for representation? By the looks of this place you probably have more talent in your research clerks than most firms have in seasoned practitioners. Why wasn’t this handled by your own people?”“That’s a fair question,” Arnie acknowledged. “A question I thought would have been proposed earlier, but nonetheless a fair question.” Arnie turned to place his glass on the tray held by the silent waiter who made his way back. Mark downed the last of his and handed the glass to the waiter.“Your involvement was a stipulation mandated by the group. Actually by Jared,” Arnie said. “He was adamant you be retained and given considerable autonomy.” Arnie’s eyes were intense, and he stared straight into Mark’s as he spoke. His lips pursed as if trying to stop the words from leaking through. Mark was unsure if the look was anger from being coerced or embarrassed they might not be any different from the teenage sheep they influence. A penetrating tension held his body still.“Strange,” Mark said. “I’m not sure how he’d know who I was. I’ve never come in contact with him or anyone related as far as I know.” Mark’s natural skepticism took over as he questioned the disconnect. “And I’m fairly sure he doesn’t read the Law Review,” he added.“I’m not sure, Mark. He had a great deal of confidence in you and was unyielding from the beginning.” Mark grew more confused as Arnie spoke. “Non-negotiable.” Arnie paused, deciding if Mark needed further explanation. “From our perspective, we had no choice other than acquiesce. It had little to do with ability. Your performance and skills are well documented; even more so now.” Arnie raised his eyebrows in support. “But you can understand the need to protect our investment. Jared could have quit. Just up and left. Stop recording, stop writing, stop everything. Hell, they might even say they purposefully influence their fans. They’re artists. It’s part of the wardrobe. It’s part of the show.”Mark understood the influence the business had on the artist but as he listened to Arnie, he began to understand the influence the artist had on the business. Arnie viewed these kids as nothing more than widgets, another subject for your average Stanford MBA with a law degree. They were products like an automobile or a rock of crack. The main difference was that they were alive and bent on presenting exponential levels of challenge.Arnie’s assessment was interesting but failed to explain how Jared came to recommending Mark. What Jared knew. “I understand why, Arnie. Anyone in your position would do the same to protect the investment, but I still don’t understand how. How did he know me, Mark Hanley? I’m two thousand miles away, nowhere near the entertainment industry; it doesn’t make sense.” Mark was experienced enough to read between the lines and lines this far apart didn’t need much experience.“It didn’t make much sense to us either. But we did our discovery, even orchestrated a few innocent tests for you and your staff just to make sure if Jared pushed as far as he could, we would not find ourselves in a position of vulnerability.” Arnie reached out, grabbed Mark’s forearm and squeezed. “I think the bottom line is things worked out. Your skills were more than adequate for the task. We were able to prevail. The end certainly justifies any consternation we may have had with regard to the means.”Arnie’s tone stiffened. He was not in the mood, nor the position to justify any of his decisions to Mark. His services were necessary; he achieved the desired result, and received compensation as agreed.“In any event,” Arnie continued, “you can ask Jared yourself tonight. The whole band will be there. You should be honored.” Arnie turned toward the foyer. “Well, I believe we’ve delayed you and your lovely bride long enough,” Arnie’s voice carried across the room; a signal the meeting was over. With Arnie’s obligation met, the pair returned to the atrium and Karyn and Thom. “Mrs. Hanley, let me say it has been a pleasure meeting you and your talented husband.”“Thank you very much, Mr. Steinman. Thank you for your hospitality. I’m looking forward to the party.”“Yes, I’m sure it will be just grand. I, unfortunately, will be saying my goodbye’s now. I won’t be able to attend the festivities. On my way to London this evening, can’t avoid it. Sometimes you have to take care of business. I’m sure you understand.”Karyn nodded her head. She had lived it for the past seventeen years; broken dates, broken promises, missed events, dinners for one. The orbit of Mark’s universe differed from Karyn’s. They managed to intersect, but weren’t pulled by the same gravitation.“That’s too bad,” Mark added, “I was looking forward to spending more time with you.”“I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity another time.”“Well, I hope so.”“We’ll just make it happen, then.”“We’ll just make it happen.” Mark repeated as he reached out to shake Arnie’s hand.“Ted will take you to your hotel to freshen up. He’ll pick you up for the party. You will have full access to the vehicle for your stay so if there were anything you would like to do, just ask. And enjoy yourself this evening, Mark. You deserve it.”“Thank you again, Arnie. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”With that, the elevator door slid open, revealing a buttoned up Ted ready to transport his fare. By the time Mark and Karyn were inside and the doors curtained their view, Arnie hunched over his phone onto another piece of pie.Inside the limo, Mark leaned toward Karyn. “Want to see something?” he said. Karyn looked puzzled, unsure what Mark was up to. “Take a look at this,” he said as he reached into his Kenneth Cole. Karyn eyed the draft and then Mark.Money wasn’t important to Karyn, but the sight was something to behold no matter who you were. It didn’t look real, but it was. Mark returned the case to his pocket without saying a word, but the look covering his face spoke volumes. Chapter Twenty-FourMargaret spent the thickest part of the night in a volley between consciousness and uneasy shards of rest, between confidence in the reality of her life as she had always known, and uncertainty of that same confidence. She sat on the love seat in the living room, the house was silent, photographs surrounding her as still as their name implies. They offered no consolation.Everything about yesterday had been routine.Except spending time with my dead husband.That was out of the ordinary.It wasn’t Déjà Vu. None of this ever happened before. Margaret thought it could be mental fulfillment; a projection her mind felt necessary to stoke. Theatre laid out for her, a private screening for an audience of one. Her imagination delivering a sincere version of an alternate reality she may long for, recognized or not.She wanted to call Peggy at a little after seven am but the ring of a phone at that hour would push the panic button. She’d wait for a more respectable time.Sitting at her kitchen table at three ticks before eight sipping the last of her coffee, Margaret realized she had not had contact with anyone since her last visit to the summer home. No neighbors, phone calls or boy scouts collecting bottles.And she knew why.She was as gone as John.Her time had come. Her frame of reference shackled by the luxury of her partner welcoming her to the next place. She fixed her eyes on the phone.Go ahead, it teased, dial a number. A deep, rich, soothing voice. Dial any number, and punch them in nice and slow.Margaret heard the voice clear. The phone stared back. Then she dialed.Listen to the rings. One. Two. Three. How many before you know there’s no one home? Four. Five.“Hello?”Silence.“Hello,” the voice said with more authority.Silence.“Is anyone there?”Margaret pressed the receiver against her ear and the mouthpiece to the bottom of her chin. Her mouth hung open, an expression caught somewhere between relief and terror. She heard the words, understood such inquiries are customary, but the fear she would hear the same question even louder, as if volume mattered, froze her solid.The earpiece buzzed its solid tone when Peggy disconnected. Margaret sat with her end of the bargain glued to her ear until the piercing words of the recording told her to hang up. The voice brought her closer to clearer thought as she returned the phone to its cradle, still consumed with the reality she might be . . .Margaret jumped, the telephone shrill filling the room.How many rings before you know there’s no one home?Margaret picked up the receiver at five, but didn’t say a word.“Hello, Mom? Is that you? Are you there?”“Peggy, is that you?” Margaret forced in a weak, uncertain voice. She was doing something she didn’t want to do because she feared the result, and approached the task with all the enthusiasm one would expect. “Did you call? The phone rang, but no one answered. I was just getting up.” Peggy yawned, not registering the confusion in her mother’s voice.“Yes. Yes, it was me. I called, but I didn’t hear anyone answer.” Margaret replied with as much confidence as she could muster. “There must be something wrong with the phone. It’s fine now.” Margaret’s voice gained strength, pleased that Peggy accepted her simple words. She didn’t care if she understood them or not, only if audible.“Why did you call so early, is everything OK?” Peggy asked.“Oh, everything is fine. I’m sorry I called while so early. I couldn’t sleep. I guess I’ve been up so long I thought it was noon.”“I’m up. Tom and the kids are still sleeping, but I’m up.”“Well, I won’t bother you. I was just checking in, making sure everything was OK. Are the kids all right?”“Oh, they’re fine. Driving me crazy, but they’re fine. It never ends.”“Peggy,” Margaret began “have you been to the summer home lately?” The transition was abrupt. “Is everything ok over there?” Margaret would have liked it smoother, but she had less concern as of late.“Tom was there last week. He didn’t say anything to me. He went to cut the lawn, I’m sure it was fine.” Peggy answered with matter-of-fact simplicity. “Renters were there the week before and everything was fine. Why do you ask?”“I was just curious. It’s good to know everything is OK.” Margaret said.“Why the interest all of a sudden?”“Oh, no reason. Like I said, just curious. It’s been such a long time since I was there it kind of got me thinking. I want to make sure it’s still a good place for you and the kids. I hope it is.”“It’s wonderful. The kids love to go. They bring their friends and Tom’s even learned how to relax out there. You get him out on the water and he’s a different person.”“That’s great. We had wonderful times out there. I’m glad we still have it.”“I am too. But you should be out there.” It had been a while since Peggy broached the subject; a mystery she didn’t understand but over time learned to accept. “You could spend the entire summer out there if you wanted to.”“I don’t know about that.”And the kids would love it.”“So the last time you were there, everything was OK? Nothing seemed out of place?” Margaret pressed.“No. Not at all. Everything was fine. Why do you ask? Did you notice something?”“No, I was just thinking, trying to remember. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Get started on your day. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can get together if you’re not too busy.”“That sounds good. I’ll give you a call.”“OK. Take care.“You too.”The phone lines disconnected in unison, severing the conversation and securing Margaret’s connection to the world she knew best. Chapter Twenty-FiveTed stood in handbook protocol outside Sunset Place. The sleek Lincoln newly washed and just as clean on the other side of the smoky glass windows. Bar restocked, ice refreshed, air ionized.The stretch idled outside the hotel striped by a handful of sunshine tentacles knifing through thick palms. Inside, Mark and Karyn enjoyed a pre-party cocktail in the small garden at the center of the hotel property; a lush square bounded by the hotel on the north and west sides, a pool on the south and a small terrace restaurant on the east. Strolls through the grassy garden were peaceful and slow. Opulent trees and plants delivered a tropical feel. Hummingbirds fluttered their wings in a blur as they drew precious nectar from the hearts of summer holly.“We should get going,” Karyn said, “the car is probably here already.”Mark raised his eyebrows. “Let me finish my drink.” Karyn would leave a half-full glass of opportunity, but not Mark. He killed the last of his vodka and swished the relief through his teeth and over his gums.“Ready?”“Sure, let’s go. This should be fun.”Ted grabbed the handle and opened the door for Karyn. She ducked and slid into the back seat facing forward. Mark followed. The interior was cool and fresh with soft lighting. Mark poked into the bar and leaned in to take inventory. Ted put the car in drive as Mark poured a vodka.“Can I get you something?” he motioned to Karyn.Karyn decided to play. “Sure, what do you have over there, bartender?”“Everything you need: Hendrix, Chivas, Inner Circle, Wine, even a Croft’s Port if you’re so inclined.”“Excuse me, Mr. Hanley,” Ted interrupted, “but there are some additional selections in the cabinet just above your head. In case you don’t find anything to your liking.” Ted made eye contact with Mark as he spoke, showing little concern for Karyn or the road. “The combination is 123. Not very imaginative, but that’s what it is,” he said smiling.“Thanks Ted. We’ll take a look.” Mark leaned forward and spun the small cylinder, the movement of the car making it awkward.“Honey, I think I’ll have another wine.” Mark slid back on the leather bench. “OK. Let’s see what we have here,” His hand submerged into the lower hold adjacent the ice. His fingers read three bottle tops. He pulled them up one by one before elaborating with the reserve of a sommelier.“First, we have a wonderful California Chardonnay, oaky with a hint of vanilla. Next we have, ah, a rare and well-healed Cabernet, full bodied with beautiful legs.” Mark described the wine and the woman who may choose to drink it. It impressed Karyn. She chose the Cabernet with the caveat it be delivered personally by its steward. Mark made good on the deliveries. Ted glanced back at his fare as Mark leaned close and whispered into Karyn’s ear. “Can you imagine what Ted has seen in the back of this rig?”“I can’t even imagine,” Karyn said, “and I really don’t want to think about it.” Her eyes thinned into a troubled gaze. Mark moved close to his bride and toasted their glasses, filling the car with a light clink in perfect tone. He kissed Karyn on the lips. Moving his drink from right to left hand, he paused for a sip during the exchange and let his hand move to the inside of Karyn’s thigh. “What are you doing?” She pushed his hand away and delivered a mischievous smile. “You can’t do that here, what would Ted think?”“I don’t care what Ted thinks,” Mark said. He wasn’t disrespectful. He didn’t care. He understood the role of driver and clarity of his mission. Karyn looked spectacular, bathed in sleek black that flowed behind in deference as if liquid. The neckline plunged to reveal perfect skin and a teasing hint of the prize that lay below; her neck laced by a single strand of white pearls. Mark moved his eyes to her thighs, then to her legs and to the black heels strapped tight to her feet by three thin bands of leather, the effect was breathtaking. She is a sincere, natural beauty that some would kill for and others endeavor to attain through meditation, medication or surgery. You can’t buy this breed of elegance, quiet confidence, and soft innocence; it happens only through the wonder of nature itself. Mark was rich, even in the City of Angels. It seemed a long time since he had such thoughts.“Is everything OK back there?” Ted asked as he leaned his head over his right shoulder. “You can adjust the air if you’re uncomfortable.”“Everything’s fine,” Karyn said. “How long of a drive is it.”“Not too long, about fifty minutes. As long as the traffic is smooth, which is never.”Ted returned his attention to the roadway as Mark leaned in to reestablish his dance with the cabinet lock. This time he placed his drink in the holder and leaned in close, determined to get it the first time. He dialed the numbers and watched the door release from its lock, then strained his eyes forward to look inside. He pulled his head back and replaced it with a sweeping hand until he felt something pushed by his exploration. Mark palmed a small wooden box. This was not a liquor cabinet.Mark leaned back. Opening the case, his eyes lit up as the black silk interior highlighted the small glass cylinder housing an ample supply of clean, white powder and a half dozen perfectly rolled joints laid side by side as if sardines. Mark’s eyes lifted to meet Karyn’s in a bizarre cross, even for Mark. Karyn leaned over and peeked inside the box, no poker face here. Mark closed the lid and pushed the box back into the cabinet. There was plenty of time.The trip took well over an hour. Once inside the industrial complex, Ted snaked his way around building after building until they pulled up to what was once a warehouse. The fact they were in a stretch bore no weight; they were just one in a long line of chauffeured and exotic vehicles. Mark peered through the dark glass at the chaos that surrounded. Fans stood five deep opposite the entrance. Police manned their posts and private security rubbed shoulder to shoulder along stanchions leading to the entrance. The earliest fans managed squatter’s rights closest to the ropes.“This is a bigger deal than I thought,” Mark said as he pushed his face close to the window.“I guess so,” Karyn added, taken in by the Hollywood of it all.Mark leaned back, resumed his role as celebrity; calm, cool, and collected in the back of his car waiting his turn. The sea of fans pressing against the ropes inched closer as another vehicle delivered their fare. Mark and Karyn would soon fall under their discerning eyes and be subject to their scrutiny.Who are they?Mark would relish the attention. A smile spread across his lips as the limo rolled to a stop. Ted moved to the back door.“I think we’re ready,” Mark said.“Let’s go,” Karyn replied. Mark exited and stood outside before reaching in and offering his hand to guide Karyn. He surveyed the area in three sixty, then stepped onto the black carpet.Chapter Twenty-SixThe staff shuffled guests through the entranceway and away from the crowds with speed. On the other side of the doors emerged a gateway to another dimension, a dimension not in advancement of the ones we recognize, but askew, and inhabited by a bizarre civilization. Mark checked over his shoulder to see how far they had travelled, trying to rationalize the difference between where they found themselves now and what they left on the other side of the doors.The hallway seemed to live forever. A round passageway ten feet in circumference and covered in a silky grayish fabric from top to bottom and side to side. Angles and linear planes customarily found in architecture nowhere to be seen, obscured by eruptions of rounded boils of pulsing textile. The impression of contraction along its distance was no illusion as throbbing blobs encroached with each step as if mountaineering through a diseased artery. Mark and Karyn sludged forward until a young man emerged through the cloud of fog. He looked like a magazine page; physical features carved in stone. The man, washed in the same wan tones as whatever covered the walls, floor, and ceiling hung from the top of the artery upside down without a hair out of place. Looking closer it was difficult to tell where he and the globules from which he emerged began. Mark and Karyn gave their names with hesitation, as if suddenly lost to them. The page in the catalog motioned them forward to another, this time a female in matching grim palette. “Pilate’s Decision welcomes you, Mr. and Mrs. Hanley.” Then she took their hands and sprayed them with an invisible mist. “Please enjoy yourself and if there is anything we can do for you this evening, please let us know.”“Thank you,” Mark said as he cocked his head in bewilderment.“Yes, thank you very much.” Karyn mirrored, keeping her eyes on the page.The two slid further down the artery until forced ninety degrees to the right and a solid wall of intense red brilliance. A curtain of bloodshot motion-filled sprays and sharp flickering beams obscuring whatever lay beyond. Mark and Karyn held hands and pushed their way through; it felt as if the wall imposed gravity. They emerged in yet another universe. The area stretching out before them a bizarre cacophony of light, sound and aroma mixed in an eerie clamor, every beam of light a clear funnel of unnatural snowy brilliance in differing radii and angle. They shot from the ceiling, floor, walls and every other conceivable location in an arbitrary and confusing network. Karyn felt as if miniaturized, placed on a tabletop amid a game of pickup sticks. The intensity of the white deepened the voids that fell in random geometries between them, making it difficult to judge where to walk. The effect deceived, requiring Mark and Karyn to inch forward.“I didn’t expect this,” Karyn remarked as she continued to scan.“No one would expect this,” Mark added. “This is . . .” Mark searched for the right word, “fucking weird,” he spit out, shy of adequate description but affording it the zest it deserved. There were no tables, only giant boxes, about three feet square, painted black. Dozens and dozens of them, some stacked in twos or threes and placed in random fashion around the room. At the opposite end of the warehouse, a solid wall of stacked boxes rose from a massive stage. They seemed to reach the sky in a black rectangle sixty by one hundred feet at least, each box an individual component combining to create a solid wall.Mark looked down the length of his body and watched his legs just below the knee vanish in a swirling miasma of gasses and millions of steel-like, reflective shivering confetti. Each step taken with balanced caution, leveraging rational thought against the apparition of a fluid and risk-filled sinkhole where footing sought purchase. The mist of fog cast a gauzy film as if an inoperable cataract, its effect triggering those with glasses to apply a good cleaning in the attempt to wipe the blur away.The area was already thick with people. Most blended in conversations of twos and threes, then morphed into fours and fives as if antibodies gaining strength. Servers slid between beams as guests sampled hors-d’oeuvres and traded empty glasses for full, spilling hugs and kisses around the room as if Uncle Antonio’s retirement party.“May I get you a cocktail, Mr. Hanley?” The sound broke Mark and Karyn’s concentration, or more appropriately, their failing comprehension. They turned in the direction of the voice and the disconnection grew. A woman dressed in solid black and wearing a pasty white mask that removed all expression from her face. More than lack of expression: there wasn’t expression to begin with.“Sure.” Mark said, “I’ll have a Vodka on the rocks; the best in the house. Double.” he added.“Mrs. Hanley?” the pierced corpse asked.“Oh. I’ll have.” Karyn paused, “how about a Cabernet. I’ll leave it up to you.”“I’ll be right back with your decision,” the frozen mask said.Mark and Karyn ventured deeper into the abyss. The scene playing out before them bullied their senses. Eventually the server caught up with their drinks. “Thank you,” they replied as the mask handed off their order and each took a large helping.They swam between the beams unnoticed; making every attempt to blend but any more than a casual glance would expose the opposite. Various human forms dotted what was once a warehouse floor but were motionless, some in groups, some alone. They didn’t move at all. The lights and billow of fog gave the impression of mannequins but they were real, living people stilled in time. Some were holding cocktails; some stuck as if flash-frozen in the midst of conversation, mouths carved in verse. Sharp flashes of light cracked through the room. Not fast enough to strobe but invasive and unexpected.The difficulty in establishing logical sight lines obscured the ability to recognize the sounds filling the room. They were natural sounds; wind and thunder and rain swirling in audio drapes, surrounded by a deep reverberating pulse, the way they portray dinosaur footsteps in movies, but the pattern random. The sounds gained intensity although it may have just been the acclimation process. A siren, imperceptible at first, now harmonized with nature’s own soundtrack. The individual effects were subtle on their own but in combination, more than able to convince everyone they weren’t in Kansas anymore.Mark and Karyn wiggled their way around the groups of frozen bodies until approached by a man who introduced himself as Taylor Mansfield. He stood six foot seven at least, towering over Mark and Karyn with a strength of presence well beyond the physical. He was a lifter. Thick black leather pants covered his legs and a black leather coat hung in a straight line from his shoulders to the cloud of gasses and shrapnel.From his head streamed long strands of rich black dreads to the middle of his back. The lengths bound in small, thin braids dotted with silver rings. His teeth were orthodontist straight and contrary to his physical aura; a broad, warm, engaging smile crossed his lips; a contradiction consistent with everything else on this planet.“Hello Mark. Hello Karyn,” he said. “I’m glad you were able to make it.” Taylor leaned over as he spoke, lowering his head and placing it between Mark and Karyn. “I’m from Xion, I’ll take you to our private room,” he said over the mounting sounds in the main area. A smile inched across Mark’s face; they were more important than the bodies milling about the room–and those not milling.Taylor led them across the main room weaving with familiarity between the blocks and people frozen or otherwise. Mark and Karyn followed in mimicked gait, careful to take what was the only safe path. He led them to an area behind the stage and the hint of normalcy returned to their environment. The muffled sounds of the larger festivities minimized as doors closed and a fresher, more natural air washed over them both. Mark could see the bar at the far end with three men leaning against its edge offering their backs to the balance of the room. This exclusive location featured a handful of box tables far enough apart to allow conversations to remain discrete. Women, beautiful women, occupied most of the tables. Mark knew where he was: the gold circle, right where he belonged.“Just a minute, led me get Jared,” Taylor said as he moved toward the bar. They could see him lean over and talk to the person at the far right who he assumed was Jared, although he couldn’t see his face. The conversation was brief and followed by the quick death of one drink and the acceptance of another before the mystery guest turned to follow Taylor. “Jared, this is Mark and Karyn Hanley.” The four stood together in a small crescent.So this is the famous Jared Anderson, Mark thought to himself.“Well, it’s finally good to meet you,” Mark said, immediately running a physical assessment as they stood face to face for the first time. He would be more than able to pick Jared from a lineup two hundred strong from the images burned into his memory, but a personal glimpse reveals so much more–and so much less.Jared was no more than five foot seven. He wore a black T-shirt, faded blue jeans and Docksiders without socks. The cuffs of his jeans frayed at the heels.“It’s good to meet you too,” Jared said as he extended his hand.“My wife, Karyn.”“Nice to meet you,” Karyn chirped. She hoped her voice reached Jared in a tone unlike the schoolgirl she heard in her head“If my kids knew I’m shaking hands with you right now they would,” Karyn shifted her weight from one foot to another, “well I’m not sure what they would do. Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting us to the party. It’s great.” Jared acknowledged Karyn’s complement with a warm grin, understanding great was most likely not her first thought.Jared stood loose and relaxed as he took a sip from his drink and looked toward Mark. The pause was awkward. Mark was no stranger to wealth, power and influence. He rubbed noses with hundreds who could buy and sell Jared with the mad money in their home safes, but there is a tangible asset attached to the aura of power Mark could taste.Jared wouldn’t be noticed in a crowd of two if he was standing on the street, but Mark felt the power as if another had joined their quartet. He wasn’t sure if drawn to the feeling or repelled that it emanated from Jared.“Well,” Jared said to Karyn. “It’s going to get crazy, I can promise that,” then he cracked a smile as forbidden as it was inviting. Karyn was incapable of framing what a rock-and-roller’s version of crazy might be, but Mark had it up like a barn-raising. One thing for sure, it would frighten Karyn, and Mark would lack the capacity to remember it.Jared locked eyes with Mark.“I’m glad you could be here. I think what you did is important for the art.” Jared spoke with authority. “There are artists with compelling subjects to communicate that might not have the opportunity if we allow inappropriate and illegally dictated boundaries.” Jared’s confidence and demeanor of a graduate school professor was well rehearsed. “Not unlike so many other times in our history. Religious. Political. Social. It’s all the same,” he said, “as they say; history repeats itself.”Mark and Karyn glanced at each other as Jared spoke, not only surprised by his intellect, but his focus and belief in the relevance of his work as it rolled in the much larger social wheel.“It happens all the time. Just like in music, there’s not that much that’s new.” Jared took another helping of his drink as Mark looked on. Not only was he pleasantly surprised at what Jared said, he was unpleasantly surprised he downed his cocktail faster than Mark while saying it.“I guess I should be glad to be part of sustaining the art,” Mark said with pride, although this pride wasn’t driven by the freedom of expression delivered by our founding fathers and challenged by Pilate’s Decision. He didn’t understand Jared’s expression at that level. He understood what a good Motown tune would do to the girl he was trying to drill, and that’s as far as it got.“This whole thing is important for all of us.” Jared continued, “This will be a big release.” A gleam surfaced in his eye. “I think of all the work we’ve done so far, it’s the most important. Certainly the most difficult. Worked on it for a year. I hope we got it right.” Jared put emphasis on hope, and stared at Mark. Karyn excused herself and headed to the ladies room. Mark took a large gulp of his drink while scanning the inner circle. There were some strange ducks in here too.Mark wasn’t interested in Jared’s music or how difficult it was; he was interested in hearing Jared thank him from his own lips. Thank him for making it possible to be at this freak-filled party celebrating the release of the next series of motivational tapes.“When will it be released?” Mark asked.“Hopefully soon.”“Well, I’m sure it’s going to be big,” Mark said. “It will if my kids have anything to do with it.”“Actually, I have a pressing of I want to give you. One for you and one for your kids. It’s called Psalm 69” Jared motioned for Taylor to rejoin the group and deliver the discs. “Thanks, this is great.” Mark said. “I’ll be a hit.”“You’re the only one outside the band and producers that have a copy, so protect it with your life,” Jared said, smiling. “You should give it a listen; I’d be interested in knowing what you think. You might even like it,” he added.“I got to know your music pretty intimately,” Mark said as he took the CDs from Jared. Mark was polite. “Is it like your other work?”“It’s definitely a Pilate’s release.” Jared paused before continuing, “But it’s different. After all, that’s what everyone expects, right?” The expression on Jared’s face said he was not only proud of the position Pilate’s Decision had attained; he relished its recognition.“I guess it’s a little more complex. Not just the music but everything that went into it.” Jared looked down as he spoke.“So, let me ask you something,” Mark blurted, unable to pay any more attention. If Jared were unwilling to spill it, Mark would seek the answer. “How did you know who I was? How did you know to ask that I be your counsel and represent you during this whole thing?” Mark spoke conversationally but looked at Jared with cross-examination eyes. The query lay out as if there were more to come.“How do you mean?”“I mean, how did you know me? We’ve never met as far as I know, and my specialty isn’t in the entertainment business. So why me?” Jared looked at Mark with uncertain eyes. It was clear the question surprised him.“I’m not sure what you mean,” Jared said, trying to key on what Mark was after. “I wasn’t involved in the legal issue at all. In fact, the strategy was to keep us away from the entire spectacle.” Jared sipped his drink. “It didn’t matter who was representing us or if we were represented at all. The music is the music and whatever anyone reads into it is out of our control and honestly, immaterial,”Mark stared at Jared. He was sure Arnie told him Jared made the request. Mark recalled Arnie’s words. He made sure he understood. Mark prided himself on being a keen judge of character, without it he would never have attained the success he had. Now, standing face to face with Jared, he had little confidence in his ability, unable to tell if he was telling the truth or deliberately toying with him, something he did not enjoy in the least.Mark was the one who played the games.The discovery made Mark uncomfortable.“The legal issue was never an issue for us: judged by a system that doesn’t apply to what we’re doing? We weren’t worried or even in recognition of any ramifications. Whatever the implied intent assumed just didn’t matter to us.” Jared’s voice grew thick as he spoke. Not louder, but stronger. He meant what he was saying. The music is an apple attempting to be governed by a societal orange. It wasn’t above it; it was beyond it. “Our business is music, not the music business. Whatever happens outside our creativity is what happens. We’re not responsible for anything beyond the art. The same way a car company isn’t responsible when someone runs a red light and broadsides a bus full of kids.”“So you didn’t recommend anyone to represent you?” Mark bore in.“No. Like I said, we didn’t even care.”“That’s strange. Arnie said you requested me. I was impressed my reputation had reached the west coast,” Mark cracked a plastic smile. “Anyway, everything worked out no matter how it happened.” Mark raised his glass in a toast to Jared, seasoned enough to know when the well was dry.“I hope so,” Jared replied. “Only time will tell.” Both accepted the last sip of their drinks as Karyn returned.“Listen, I apologize, but I have to run,” Jared said. “I’m out of here before they want me to meet any more people. Not my style.” Jared’s lips pasted a smirk. “But you two have a good time. It’ll be nuts later on if you’re into that.” Jared’s eyebrows arched regarding the events to follow. He was, however, sincere. Mark and Karyn tried to imagine how much party Jared had logged in his career, each formulating distinct versions; Mark’s with a twinge of jealousy and Karyn’s with an equal amount of pity. Jared was smart, no question. He spoke with a calm and intelligent flavor, considering his words before employing them.Jared shook their hands, wished them well and slipped behind the wall. Chapter Twenty-SevenWith Jared gone, Mark grew weary of the specimens in this Petri dish, especially since his mission failed. Jared’s exit gave him all the encouragement needed and he made the appropriate contact.He didn’t know who the fuck you were.The thought spanked receptors in his mind. It joined a lumberjack sized helping of thoughts making little sense in isolation and exponential lack of logic in combination. Mark was impatient with uncertainty. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, “go see what else is happening.”“You want to leave already? This could be fun.” Karyn said, enjoying the fruits of the vine and comfortable away from the other side of life with Mark. “Let’s at least have another drink and walk around. Who knows who we’ll meet? Who knows who’s here?” Her senses told her the scene on the other side was growing more bizarre by the minute. Even secure within the confines of the inner circle she could hear the drone growing thicker.Mark conceded to the drink. They moved to the private bar, got their cocktails and walked to the main room. The return attacked their senses and the sweet bouquet of incense coated the inside of their noses. The commotion forced upon them was too much information to process. The only thought was they were further out of place now.The few normal persons noticed earlier were gone, fulfilling their obligation and leaving as soon as proper—or possibly killed and eaten. Mark and Karyn absorbed the action as they snaked through the room in search of a vantage point placing them in the role of observer versus participant. The video wall now displayed massive images. Horrific visuals of man’s greatest failures; starving children, the Holocaust, pollution, Hiroshima, balanced by images of mountains, clouds, oceans, crop circles, lightning, rivers, caverns, sunrise, sunsets, waterfalls, the Nazca Lines. The video wall seemed to pulse.“Hey man, how’s it going?” The voice came from behind Mark.“Great. How are you?” Mark replied, fearful that he may know someone. “Do I know you?”“It’s me!”“I’m afraid I’m not who you think I am,” Mark said in a voice mixed two parts inconvenience and one part fear.“Aren’t you Tommy Winthrop from Concert Lighting & Effects?”“No. I’m not. I’m Mark Hanley. I’m an attorney.” The words left Mark’s mouth with pride.“Oh, sorry about that, man.”***Mark and Karyn found an elevated location to watch the turmoil. It felt safer. Everything had intensified, from the air to the rumbling soundscapes to the lights, some of which were now moving and throwing geometric patterns around the warehouse in undisciplined strikes. The boxes scattered about the floor and making up the stage wall blinked and pulsed in a prism of colors, adding to the assault. Mark and Karyn approached their drinks as if anesthesia.Eventually the individual boxes began incorporating numbers and letters with the images in random, throbbing bursts. Velocity increased, making the entire room a blur of visual intensity complimented by a crescendo of auditory chaos until letters and numbers began freezing in their boxes. One by one, letters added, combining to spell out words, the first: Pilate’s Decision. Once locked, the screens went into spasms again. Random numbers interrupted; 15, 7, and the pattern continued chaotically until more numbers and words appeared–Psalm 69, Intersection, Observe, Question . . . 6, 9, 19, 8 . . . 13, 1, 18, 11.Mark and Karyn took their eyes off the screens to inject another healthy sample of their drinks. The floor below was crowded. Some of the frozen people now moved about the area expressionless, adding to the confusion. The video wall continued to command attention, speeding through its exercise then slamming into new words vertically and horizontally as if a crossword puzzle. Words built by the letter flashed north and south, east and west until intersecting and locking at a common letter. Supreme and Conduit crossed at the ‘u’, ‘Intersection’ and ‘Question’ crossed at the ‘t’.When their cocktails were history, Mark and Karyn’s eyes met with the same understanding: time to exit stage left. The pair worked their way through the sensory attack and pulsing wormhole in reverse. Ted idled just off the entrance. How he managed a spot so close was unknown but Mark was pleased they wouldn’t need to search, especially since they were leaving earlier than expected.Ted caught sight of the pair and made his way around the vehicle double time to open the door. “You’re leaving already?” He asked, unsure if they were taking a breather.“I think we’ve had enough,” Mark said with a grin.Karyn added her two cents. “Actually, it was fun. Definitely one of the strangest parties I’ve ever been to.” At its simplest level, Karyn enjoyed a break from the routine. The pair positioned themselves on the back seat once again. Ted slid into his seat and leaned back through the open partition.“Where to? It’s still early.” Ted added a sly little grin. “This is Los Angeles. A summer night in LA doesn’t end until the next day.”“Let’s drive,” Karyn said. “See some of the city. Where’s the best place to watch the sunset?”“Well, you’ve come to the right place. We have an endless supply of perfect sunsets here, but we better get going.”Ted shifted into drive, peered out the rear view and headed away from the warehouse. Mark reached over to the bar and grabbed the wine. He poured Karyn a glass and returned his attention to the upper cabinet where the small container discovered on his previous expedition waited.Mark smiled as he sat back; confident Karyn had enough alcohol to buffer the disappointment. This was a special occasion; on the way to a romantic California sunset had to warrant leniency. Chapter Twenty-EightInside the summer home, Margaret realized the events of past visits were in full dress again; the first floor abuzz with preparations for a summer meal. As she entered, she heard familiar voices in the kitchen where Cathy and Sarah stood shucking ears of fresh corn. They stood at the sink laughing and talking, laying the clean yellow-white ears on the counter and grabbing another without a lapse in conversation.“Hello everybody.”“There you are. You’re just in time for dinner.” Cathy said, craning her neck to make eye contact.“Where is everyone else?” Margaret asked, “Are they outside?” Margaret’s questions came with more confidence than any previous visit. The shucking stopped. Cathy and Sarah faced Margaret.“Of course not,” Cathy said before the pair returned to their job. Margaret crept behind the two women toward the dining room, recognizing the blip on the radar screen. She crossed the entranceway and the rest of the crowd came into view, the men huddling around a shallow, square barbeque grill. Margaret inched forward to make sure she saw what she saw. Those were the men, but the grill was inside, on the lakeside porch. Four aluminum legs held a black basin; coals hot and red distorting the view above in wavy bands. Wooden frame windows spanning the length of the waterside open wide, hooked to their ceiling anchors. Men surrounded the steel pit with drinks in hand, poking at the coals.Margaret moved through the dining room to the porch, eyes focused on her environment and the grill full of smoldering coals inside the summer home. Beyond the windows, the sun was enveloping the entire geography in a sweet early evening blessing. The water calm, sand clean, and breeze timid.The grill was inside.When she first arrived, the fact that any parking space was hers for the choosing didn’t spark a second thought. She didn’t expect her husband to drive an SUV back to the world he had departed years before. She was the only one able to pull that off. What she knew was that whatever was happening took place within the confines of the summer home alone, where Margaret sought eerie comfort.She approached the men. “Hello everyone,” she said, as upbeat as she could. “The coals look perfect. What are we having for dinner? I saw Cathy and Sarah getting the corn ready.” The men poked at the fire without losing concentration. Margaret chirped on until Russ let go with the menu.“We’ve got burgers ready to go on.”“Sounds delicious, I’m starving!” That was true. In her quest to forestall the inevitable, she neglected two outstanding opportunities to waste time eating.“So are we. It’s late.” someone said. “We lost track of time.” John took two steps back from the grill and positioned himself next to his bride. “Yep. Just a beautiful day,” he added.“Did anyone go swimming? How was the water?” Margaret asked, trying to lead the conversation to the obvious on such a beautiful summer day. The men at the grill intensified their concentration as the question sank in the air. Bill crouched at eye level to make sure the coals were perfect. Margaret could feel John’s arm tighten around her waist as he leaned over with a big grin. “Of course we didn’t go swimming,” he said. That was it, no explanation, reason, or clarification.Of course we didn’t go swimming.John looked at Margaret, his face crowded. Margaret pushed on with confidence as her dream began unraveling layer by layer.“Why not?” She pried. “It’s a perfect day. And the beach; it’s as clean as ever.” Margaret moved her eyes through the window and across the sand. John chuckled nervously. This was his responsibility. “I can’t believe you didn’t take advantage.” Margaret said, continuing to press with a flavor resting somewhere between innocence and provocateur.“Margaret,” John started, “It’s such a great day. It’s perfect from right here,” he said with pride. “You don’t need to go outside to enjoy a day like this.” A smile cracked his lips as if punctuation. John didn’t look at Margaret, only to the blue-green hues and small ripples that danced outside the summer home. A hypnotizing gawk as the water took hold. “It’s perfect from here,” he said, mesmerized.“The corn is on!” Kathy shouted from the kitchen, cracking the atmosphere that held John and the others captive.“We’ll be ready,” someone shouted back. John moved to the table, grabbed the platter and placed the patties on the grill. “Burgers on the fire!” Thick, black puffs of smoke furled upward as grease ignited fire spouts below. The men bent back to avoid the haze and let the coals do their job.Margaret worked her way back to the kitchen and opened the cabinet door; inside, shelves supported a loosely matched array of cups, plates, and glassware. She grabbed the plates the same as ever, knowing right where they were. She knew the patterns. She knew the chip in the yellow dish.Detail. Chapter Twenty-NineMargaret couldn’t recall a meal tasting so good or having such an enjoyable time. Simple conversation, laughter, and understanding wrapped up tight in a quilt of warmth and security. She sat fully absorbed by the fantasy, jumping in with both feet and little caution. It felt right.The conversation traveled to the far reaches and returned safely within grasp. It worked its way down flowing rivers of imagination and beached itself on the shores of memory. It felt good–until the pinprick. “So, what do you think Margaret, how do you like it here?” The words poked with more weight than their innocence should warrant. All looked at Margaret, waiting for her response.“What do you mean? It’s beautiful.” Margaret responded quickly but with full understanding of the words. “I wish the weather was like this every day,” she said.“What makes you think it isn’t?” Joe asked.“Isn’t what?” Margaret asked.“Perfect.”Russ jumped in, “Every day is like this, except when the storms come.”Margaret’s mind raced. The quiet confidence of her dream reality challenged again. The comfort she worked so hard to achieve teetering between freedom and servitude. There was a long pause.“But . . . well . . . we can’t leave.” John said. “We can’t go outside.” His head lowered as the words left his mouth. Margaret’s eyes locked, waiting for him to raise his head, waiting to look him the eyes.Margaret sensed a change in the atmosphere and pushed for answers. “What do you mean you can’t go outside?” The group had regressed, sitting as if adolescents under the interrogation of an overbearing parent.“If you try to go outside,” John said, “you have to wait.”“What do you mean wait? Wait for what?”“We don’t know, you just . . . you have to wait.” Everyone nodded.“I don’t understand. Are you outside? Where do you go?”“We don’t know. You can’t describe anything other than it’s intense. The feeling is . . . I can’t explain it. You just have to come back. Come back to the summer.”“It’s summer every day,” Sarah added, “but . . .”“But what?” Margaret pushed.“I don’t know. Its . . . we don’t know why we’re here. We know what we are. We know we . . . died,” she finally said. The others looked at Margaret in confirmation of Sarah’s words.“At first we thought this was heaven,” Russ began, “a safe place from our earthly life,” he paused as he searched for more words.“I was the first one here,” Joe said proudly. “I just woke up one day upstairs. That’s all I remember. I knew exactly where I was but I had no idea how I got here.” The others listened as Joe detailed his arrival. “I didn’t come downstairs for hours. I sat up there listening to the storm.” Margaret heard the words and searched for a clue, any explanation for what was happening. The relief of having the opportunity to vent their situation to someone was visible on their faces.“I finally came down and everything was just like it is now,” Joe continued, “that was a long time ago.” Margaret looked at John as he took a sip of tea, she could see concern on his face.“Eventually, Cathy came along.”“What do you mean came along?” Margaret asked.“I was here one morning having coffee when Cathy came downstairs. I didn’t question anything. We were just having a cup like any other morning. It was stormy out.”“What happened then?”“What happened? We had breakfast and watched the water, read and played Scrabble. Didn’t even think about why we’re here or why more show up.”“And the same thing happens every day. It’s the same.” Russ added.Bill interrupted, “then John came up with the idea of going outside. It never occurred to us that outside was anywhere we would go. We looked at each other as if we discovered a new planet.” Awkward was visible on the faces of those in the room, even Margaret, embarrassed by an oversight so obvious now.“John was the first one to try, tell her John.” All were eager to have the story rehashed. John put his cup down on the table and began.“Somehow I got the notion to see what was outside. It came to me as soon as I got up but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even understand what I was thinking let alone how the others would react.”“When he first brought it up we all looked at him like he was crazy,” Russ said. “We had no idea what to think.”“Anyway, I volunteered to try it and we all made our way to the back porch.”“So what happened?” Margaret asked, unbelieving.“Well, I remember I stood at the door for the longest time. I wasn’t even sure how to open it let alone what I should do if it did. Anyway, eventually I turned the handle and pulled.” John stopped his story suddenly as if that were the end, The Tale of the Mysterious Opening Door! “I just closed my eyes and crossed the doorway. I remember I didn’t look back. I knew I’d probably talk myself out of it if I looked at the others. That was it.”“And?” Margaret prodded, hoping to land on any portion of the story that made sense.“And I had to come back.”“But what happened when you went outside? What did you see? Where did you go?”“I don’t know. I didn’t go anywhere. I just had to wait.”“Wait for what?”“I have no idea. You just have to wait, and all you want to do is come back to the summer. I can’t explain it. You just have to wait.”“That doesn’t make sense. You don’t see anything or hear anything?”“Nothing. Nothing at all. I can’t explain what nothing is but I know I’ve experienced it.”“And it’s the same for all of us,” Sarah added.“You’ve all tried to go outside?” Margaret scanned the table to receive nods of confirmation.“The same thing happens every time. Just like the same thing happens inside.”“But you can see the beach and the water from inside.” Margaret was beginning to question the group in a solid line of logic even Mark would appreciate.“Oh, we can see everything as clear as ever.” Russ grinned at his observation. “We see freighters in the distance, water skiers, sailboats and fishermen in the morning.“Every now and then a boat comes in to swim off the sandbar,” Joe added. Margaret frowned and pushed her chair back from the table. Its legs squeaked. She moved toward the living area and let her hand trail across John’s shoulder, just to make sure. The other side of the windows was beautiful, with a soft breeze and cloudless sky. In her entire life Margaret couldn’t recall one comparison in terms of its similarity, only its difference, the parts that weren’t the same.It’s warmer than yesterday.The tired comments played non-stop. She had no idea who said them or when or where but she knew with legal certainty they’d been mouthed a thousand times. However, never anything that suggested complete and full redundancy, a mirror image in every detail.Margaret stared out the window and sought the variance that signaled it was indeed a different day. She looked to the willow and saw as its branches sipping the moisture. The beach was clean, no debris or seaweed. It was just as she remembered.Bill hesitated and then asked. “Margaret. Can you go outside?” Everyone stared. They knew she seemed to show up at the strangest times even if no one said it aloud. She was rarely at breakfast and sometimes it felt as if she were hiding from them for days.Margaret turned to face the group, and then closed her eyes to capture her thoughts. She knew the obvious answer but needed to review the logic to make sure obvious was the answer. A chronological recap to confirm she didn’t just show up one day; that she did remember clearly the drive over and where she parked. She remembered all the other trips and the one with Mike and Kathleen. She remembered leaving and all the life happening outside the summer home, paying bills, going to church, Hiller’s Market on Thursday. She read the morning Free Press every day and the small banner in the upper right-hand corner added one digit each day just as it should.“I can go outside. I don’t think I’m . . .” she nearly said the word but stopped short, “like you. I can come in and go out.” Margaret answered with more confidence than she possessed. As she looked at the table, she knew her new status as volunteer was carved in stone, the message clear without anyone saying a word. Margaret would see if she had to wait.Whatever power placed her inside would be no stranger than the power keeping the others from the outside. “I’ll do it,” she said, kicking up the spirit that defined her so well.The others pushed creaking chairs back from the table and followed Margaret, trailing as if children. She moved through the kitchen without hesitating and waited for the others to gather before continuing on her quest. The group formed a small semi-circle behind her close enough to see, but distanced enough to back away if needed. They were all ready to see Margaret make the trip outside and more than ready to see her return without having to wait.Margaret grabbed the doorknob and felt its chill. “Here we go,” she said energetically before opening the door and placing her feet on the threshold. She pulled the door closed behind her and descended to the walkway.It seemed darker now. She looked to her Chrysler then peered back through the porch door; no one was there. She looked more intently, bending her head to focus her vision but the result was the same.“There’s no one there,” she whispered to herself.She wasn’t sure what to do. Wasn’t sure what was happening. Maybe all she needed was to hit the clear button and reboot. She followed the foundation of the building toward the sand as if an inspector, peaking through windows, desperately hoping to see signs of life, hoping to see everyone following her every move. Each vantage point offered a new angle but the same view: a lonely and hollow interior staring back in silence. She stood still at the edge of the property and took in the full length of the beach, her concentration producing crow’s feet around her eyes.Brown seaweed littered the dark sand where the last waves disappeared and changed its light sandy hue ugly. The long fingers of algae pushed randomly by the waves; the patches of beach not covered by seaweed littered with broken shells, dead fish and an eclectic mix of contemporary refuse.Margaret turned back to continue her inspection and received the answer she knew was there. Chapter Thirty“Where is she?”“I don’t know. Can anyone see her?” Cathy and Russ crowded the windows and strained to see Margaret as if small children in the shadows waiting for a peek at St. Nick.“Can anyone see her?” Joe repeated. “She was right there.” The tone of voice was unmistakable.“I don’t see her,” Bob shouted from the great room window overlooking the beach. “Who’s at the back door? Can you see anything?”“Nothing at all.” Someone reported. “I don’t see her and I’ve been standing right here ever since she left.” Each in the group reported from their observation point to the same unfruitful conclusion. Margaret was nowhere to be seen.“If she had to wait, it won’t be long before she’s back inside,” John said, confused why she hadn’t returned already. It was obvious she had to wait like everyone else.When Margaret pulled the porch door open, she saw Bill guarding his post.“You’re still here,” Margaret said.“So are you.”“I couldn’t see anything inside at all.”“We watched you go out the door and then nothing.” The others returned to the back porch once they heard the conversation.“I looked inside but didn’t see a thing. I walked around the waterside. Could you see me out there?”“We didn’t see you at all,” Sarah said.“You walked around?” John asked as he arrived from his post. “You were outside?”“Yes. I was outside, but I couldn’t see anyone inside. I even put my face up against the window but I still couldn’t see anything. There was no one.”“You mean you could see everything? You didn’t have to wait?“I don’t understand this at all,” Margaret said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about when you say wait.”“But you saw the summer house, right?”“I was outside but . . . Margaret stopped as a fuller picture revealed itself. “It was different.” She walked to the great room and the first window along its wall. “The beach was messy and . . .” Margaret panned as much of the area as she could, then paused as her emotions gained control. “This is too much,” she spit out, “I need to leave. I need to go home.”The look in John’s eyes was unmistakable–she was home. This is where she is supposed to be. What other explanation is there? The unsaid plea from John was inviting, but no match for the starkness of other realities forced upon her, and for the second time that day Margaret left through the back porch door. Chapter Thirty-OneKaryn sat on the beach looking toward the water. “This is just beautiful,” she said, then closed her eyes to feel the last of the warmth from the sun, the sweet vintage running through her veins, head swimming in dreamy half-consciousness. “How would you like to have this every day?” She posed.“No wonder no one works out here.”“I’d do the same thing if I could,” Karyn said.“You wouldn’t last a week. You’d be so bored you’d lose your mind.” Mark said in full recognition that aspirations of securing employment as a beach bum resulted from good wine and a great sunset. Mark shook his head and gulped a super-size portion of his cocktail, closed his eyes and leaned back.“Would you like to live out here?” Karyn asked.“After today’s payday, I think I could handle it. There’s a whole new ocean of opportunity out here.” Karyn tilted her head to see if he was serious or not. “I’d have to be on the water, though. Malibu or someplace like that.”“None for me thanks,” Karyn volleyed. “I like my seasons and our home and friends,” she said, “although I could live next door to Tom Cruise.” Karyn followed her thoughts with another sip of wine. She knew she could handle the lifestyle. She also knew it would put little boy Mark in the biggest candy store in the universe.“I don’t know. I could get into acting. I’d be a star!” Mark said with a slight chuckle, and interrupted only by Karyn’s whose was louder and longer.“You certainly would think you were,” Karyn said with a smile.Mark closed his eyes, tighter this time. He could sense the waning sun and feel its effects even as it neared the horizon. The breeze was soft and brackish and the waves crashed harder than the Great Lakes. More powerful to be sure, but holding the same promise of untold adventure and mystery mixed in a strange recipe of addiction and treatment. Mark knew the comfort and peace no matter where he found himself and he cracked his eyes to make sure Karyn was still with him. He watched her hair dance in the wind and stared to catch the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Mark closed his eyes in anticipation, inviting the west coast sunset to add its legend.***The pirate never edged from his position, waiting for his enemy to make shore. His eyes focused on the sentries with an eagle’s intensity. They did not advance. He could see them and study their movements, the female the aggressor, attempting to force her way toward land and ignite the battle that waited. A battle the pirate was prepared to enter, the battle he was born for.The male breached the female’s commitment each time, yet her efforts remained undiminished. She worked hard to start the fight, and the pirate wondered if the male had detected the size of his militia. They could retreat not in fear, but in recognition of their need for reinforcement. With the sea as their stage, they enjoyed the benefit of mounting a new aggression beyond the horizon, attacking swiftly and forcefully. The pirate would have no escape other than retreating deep into the woods and relinquishing control of his shores.If they were to battle, he must now be the aggressor. He must be on the offensive; eliminate any possibility his enemy could amass the reinforcements needed to overtake his land. A good pirate has a plan; a great pirate has plans.He made his way to the midpoint on the beachhead and took position behind a stretch of driftwood. It was the largest piece. The pirate had positioned flotsam and jetsam on the beach for such an occasion, understanding it would provide cover for him and a rough landing should an enemy make land.He slid his length parallel behind the log, wiggled himself into the sand and strived to produce a natural, uninhabited environment. The pirate peered over his cover randomly, allowing him to calculate any encroachment. The heat and the comfort of sand worked to fatigue. He struggled to keep his eyes sharp and mind focused as he motioned to his buccaneers to flank the beach. Chapter Thirty-TwoThe peacefulness was overwhelming. Karyn and Mark on their small sandy crest absorbing everything the California sunset could offer. Karyn sat straight; her face pushed forward to meet the last of the sun’s magic, Mark at her side. By time she took notice, Mark’s face splattered with oily sweat, interrupted by mountainous veins throbbing with each thrust of his heart. He lay motionless except for the disfiguring twitches in his face.“Mark,” Karyn said.“Mark!” she said again, closer to a scream.No response. ***The next time the pirate lifted his head over the driftwood, the male was pushing the female toward the TIUX. They were retreating into the security of their ship, coming aboard aggressively, the male forcing the female below. “We’ve been discovered,” the pirate mouthed. He felt a wave of energy pulse through his body driven not by fear, but anticipation.They know we’re here. What else would inspire so swift a retreat?The pirate lay motionless contemplating his enemy’s strategy. They could arm themselves and return with reinforcements from within the TIUX. They could make sail only to return with their entire flotilla and ordinance the likes of which the pirate had never seen. TIUX was a vessel from a land unknown and the possibility of advanced warfare itched.The pair pushed their way to the transom, across the deck roughly and below. The pirate was running low on options, understanding the chance of defending his land grew weaker with each moment he allowed his enemy to conspire.With the sentries below, the TIUX showed no signs of life. She looked abandoned; a ghost ship, but the pirate knew better. Chapter Thirty-ThreeKaryn swung around to leverage herself over Mark, grabbing his shoulders and shaking, lightly at first, then harder. She didn’t know where he was, but knew where he should be: on the beach with her.“Wake up, damn it!” she yelled, the hues in her face blending into the sunset. The words sprang from the top of her lungs, attracting a group of beach combing gawkers.Karyn screamed. “Help!” Then she slapped his face hard, leaving the red imprint of her hand on his cheek. “Somebody help!” She yelled again as the crowd made a small semi-circle around them, relieved to be observing the trauma instead of experiencing it. Mark’s chest rose and fell in ocean size swells and in perfect time, deep breaths and long exhales. His face bent and contorted double time as Karyn scanned the circle of onlookers wondering why there wasn’t a doctor in the whole bunch. ***The TIUX had a short life as a ghost ship. Without invitation, war chants from below decks penetrated the pirate’s awareness–screams the likes of which he had never experienced. The shrieks of savagery? The pirate was unsure. The only thing he knew was the need to execute his plan before the warriors in the TIUX brought their aggression topside.The pirate moved to the far beachhead under the security of the Willow whose leafy dance obscured his movement. The shrieks emanating from the TIUX continued, chilling his blood, words undecipherable.His plan was to lead a platoon of his most ruthless warriors to the vessel and board her silently. If the TIUX was to make a move, the pirate reasoned it should have done so long before, when the smell of surprise hung thick in the air. If the warriors from the TUIX would not tempt their destiny where all could bear witness to the pirate’s dominance, then they would lose such opportunity. Power goes to those who take it, and the pirate was not about to be ambushed under the cover of darkness.The pirate would make the decision for them.The pirate would take their ship.He would take their ship as violently as any conquest, and leave no one to dispute the chronicles penned by historians incapable of imagining such description if untrue. He would send the message to all who sail the seas and all who stand cowering on her shores.Cries of horror emanating from the ship’s interior continued to assault the pirate’s ears.Chapter Thirty-FourKaryn felt a brush against her shoulder. She watched as one hand, and then another pushed through toward Mark. The hands cupped his face as if warming cold winter cheeks, holding steady and allowing no movement. Karyn focused on Mark and the hands, the flesh underneath creeping from fire to something one might consider human as the veins pulsing in his temples retreated into invisible rivers.Mark cracked his eyes apart and met the green flash of the sunset, sending sharp shrouds of pain through the center of his skull. “What the fuck?” he said, angered. “What’s going on?” he mouthed again as he viewed the halo of beachcombers. “What happened?”“Mark, are you OK? Can you hear me?” Karyn asked louder than necessary.Mark sat on a crest of sand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m fine,”“I thought you were having a heart attack!” Karyn said for the benefit of the circle. Experience had conditioned her to mask the reality of whatever Mark’s existence had become. A heart attack was infinitely more palatable than detailing even in generality whatever alien force was truly at work.“I’m OK,” he repeated. He looked around the circle again, this time adding as much attitude as he could.Having regained minimum composure, Karyn leaned in and gave him a hug. “Oh my God, Mark. What’s happening to you?” She was aware their west coast retreat was no retreat at all. What was with them back home was with them again, on the beach where they sat in the midst of near tranquility only moments before.The crowd had thinned in proportion to the recovery, not to mention the message from Mark’s expression, and for the first time Karyn gained a full understanding of what happened. How fast Mark landed in the hands of agony and how fast he was brought back by the touch of a stranger. Karyn slumped in exhaustion and scanned the area until she found the hands that pushed their way to Mark. Karyn followed arms and shoulders to the face of Jared Anderson.The change in expression on Karyn’s face was instant. “You’re . . .” she began. She had recognition but the connection confused.“Sure. I’m Jared, from Pilate’s Decision.” He crouched next to the pair in a frozen squat thrust.“What . . . How did you get here?” Karyn asked, as if emerging from anesthesia. It was familiar but nowhere near understandable.“I’m staying on the beach. I don’t live around here. I was walking the shoreline when I heard the commotion.” Jared spoke as if chance encounters such as this were routine.Karyn moved beyond the strangeness of the encounter and onto whatever he had done to Mark, for Mark. “How did you know what to do? What did you do?”“I have a brother.” Jared began. “And he would have these seizures when he was a kid, bad ones.” Jared’s eyes squinted at the recollection. “We never knew what caused them. Anyway, no one knew what to do but sometimes if you held him still, let him sense there was something safe and secure he would stop.” Jared’s eyes met Karyn’s. “I really wouldn’t know what to do other than that.”Karyn stared at Jared. “Well thank you. Thank you very much,” she said, extending her hand.“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m not sure I did anything,” he said with a splash of humility. “But you’re welcome just the same.” Jared met her hand mid-way and shook it firmly, “I’m glad I was on the beach.”“Not as glad as I am,” Mark said. “Thanks.” His voice was hoarse. “That was weird. I mean, strange. We were watching the sunset and then all of a sudden . . . I can’t believe you were on the beach,” Mark said; the pure chance of their meeting gaining favor in his mind.“Well, it’s not that strange,” Jared said. “I spend a lot of time on the water.” He spun around on his heels and sat on the sand. Pulling his knees to his chest, he wrapped his hands around, locking his fingers and staring out at the pacific.“When I’m in town I stay on the beach. It’s a pain to get around but I’m more comfortable by the water. The management company makes the arrangements.”“Well, we’re glad they did,” Karyn said.“Yeah. I usually don’t stay around here. It’s too crowded for me.”“Any port in a storm,” Mark added.“Any port in a storm,” Jared aped with a smile.Jared was staring at the horizon, trying to locate the thin line between dusk and ocean. “There’s something about the water, isn’t there?” Jared began, “it’s spiritual, healing.”“I feel the same way. When I’m on the water it’s as if I’m on a different planet.”“I think it is different. Maybe not a different planet but something happens out there.” Jared continued to scan over the crests. They were calming down from the usual mid-day furor and crashing with less violence after spending the day in their quest to reach dry land.Mark paused. “Well, thanks again.”“I don’t think you were in any danger,” Jared said. “It was like you were in a trance. When it would happen to my brother sometimes I couldn’t even hold him still he was shaking so much.”Mark said. “Actually, I was having a dream.” Karyn stopped what she was doing. Had she heard Mark correctly? “It’s one I have often.” Karyn couldn’t believe her ears. Here on the beach two thousand miles from home, sitting with the lead singer from a rock-and-roll band he neither understood nor appreciated, he spoke honestly. She couldn’t tell if he was letting out or reeling in. “It’s strange. Sometimes I can’t wake up, can’t get out of it.” Mark’s head fixed on the sand below where his fingers made small circle impressions. He spoke as if talking to himself. He took a deep breath. “I feel OK now.” Jared continued to stare out at the ocean. Karyn and Mark weren’t even sure he was paying attention anymore. Mark stood up and brushed the sand from his pants.“Are you sure you should get up?” Karyn asked.“I’m fine.”“Maybe it’s the fresh air,” Jared said.“I don’t know,” Mark gained a foothold and continued to brush the sand away, returning to areas visited to work the grains from deeper in the fabric.“Thanks again,” Mark said as he reached his hand out for Jared’s. “And thanks for inviting us to your party. I hope you do well with the record.” Jared stood with Mark and Karyn surrounded by an air that felt more like friendship than the ships passing in the night they were.“I think its good work. It’s important for us to make the music we need to make, what we’re supposed to do. Even if it’s not what others think we should do, even though it’s difficult for us.”“Well, I’m sure it will be good,” Karyn added, attempting to bring closure to the conversation and concentrate on Mark. “I think we should get back to the hotel.”“The hotel?” Mark shrieked. “It’s still early. I’m ok.” The feeling surprised Mark as much as Karyn. He felt as if nothing happened.Chapter Thirty-FiveJared looked straight into Mark’s eyes. “Why don’t we walk the beach? Maybe you need some fresh air, get your blood pumping. There’s no better place than here.” Jared spoke as if delivering a prescription. He moved his eyes to Karyn.“That’s fine with me,” she said, “if you’re up to it Mark”“Maybe I need to keep moving.” He concurred. The color had returned to his face and he had no reason to believe his legs wouldn’t work, but experience mandated caution just the same. “So far so good,” he said, stretching. “I’m OK,” he added. He felt strong following Jared’s lead toward the wet, hard-packed sand where shore met coast. They headed south parallel to the surf.There was a long pause before Karyn broke the silence. “So where are you from Jared?”Jared pondered the question as if he wasn’t sure. “Actually, I’m from earth,” he offered mid step. Karyn and Mark looked at each other with matched skepticism. If they disassociated Jared from the stereotype, the link was re-established.What the fuck am I doing with this complete lunatic? Mark thought.“I think I meant someplace more specific, like Des Moines,” Karyn said, playing along.“In that case, I was born around the 45th parallel somewhere between the Grand Banks and the Bay of Bordeaux; on the high seas in the middle of the Atlantic.” Jared’s grin said he was proud of his birthplace.“Is that true?” Karyn probed.“It is. My parents were from Ireland, a small village, Castle Island in the south. There was nothing in Ireland for them. When my grandfather died, he left the farm to his older brother; my Dad was seventh in line so his share wasn’t big enough to work. He saved what he could and spent in on a new life.”“That’s amazing,” Karyn said. “Why didn’t you go to Dublin or a bigger city in Ireland?”“It was the same in the city as it was in the country; not much opportunity. My father had a relative in the states that could give him a place to land and get started.” Jared stopped at the water’s edge and looked out to the horizon, the sun gone. He filtered a handful of wet sand through his fingers.“So my Dad and Mom packed up and set sail. They never thought they’d be hiding a stowaway.” Jared smiled as he finished his tale, continuing to lead their walk along the beach.“Well, that’s one way to get a free ticket.” Mark offered.“Yeah, well they’d have rather paid. The ship’s log didn’t list me and didn’t list my mother as pregnant for some reason, and I was early. It was a big mess when we got to port.”“Was there a doctor on board to deliver you? I’m surprised you didn’t get sick or even worse.” Karyn said, growing more engrossed in Jared’s life voyage.“Oh, I was sick from being born on the water. But nothing happened until we got off. Couldn’t sleep or hold food down or control my balance or muscle movement. Not that you have any balance as a newborn, but I guess I was acting weird even for a baby.”“Your parents must have been worried sick.”“I know they were. It seemed like it took forever before I was normal, whatever that means.” Jared smiled.“I think you’re the first person I ever knew with land sickness.” Mark offered.“You’re right, and it’s not pleasant.”“When we first arrived, they wouldn’t let us off until everything was cleared up. I had to stay on board with my mother. Anyway, it took a while to get on land.”“Maybe that’s why you’re attracted to water.”“Could be.”The trio reached a small inlet on the beach where the waves had eaten away the sand and created a miniature tide pool. “So where do you live now?” Karyn asked.“For the last three years I’ve been living north of Portland. I have a place on the ocean.”“It must be beautiful.”“The scenery is, that’s for sure. The house isn’t anything special, but it’s comfortable and secluded. I put in a studio; gives me a chance to write.”“Is there a Mrs. Jared?” Karyn pried.“I’m pretty much a loner.” Mark understood Jared was a loner whether by choice or not. He also knew he wasn’t necessarily lonely.“Before that, I lived wherever I fell asleep; first in a van, then a bus and eventually some hotels. Being a musician isn’t easy.”“I wouldn’t think so. How long were you on the road before you made it?” Karyn smiled at her familiarity.“About seven years touring by ourselves and making our own way. Once we got a small following we opened for other acts and made a little money.”“Didn’t you get tired of the road? It has to wear on you.” Mark asked.“I thought about giving it up, more than once. When you’re out there with no money and no sleep and barely enough food to stay alive you start to think. It’s even worse when what you do isn’t heard the way it should be. Sometimes you think it’s hopeless, that there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. That’s when it’s easy to think about giving it up.”“So why didn’t you,” Mark asked.Jared stopped to look at Mark, measuring if his instincts were right. Did he want an answer? Did he need one? “Because of the music!” Jared volleyed, his tone obvious.“I wouldn’t have the patience for all the bullshit,” Mark said, kicking a mound of sandcastle left on the beach, “especially since you have no idea whether it’s going to pay off or not. You could still be wandering around without a penny in your pocket.”“That’s true. But it’s not about money,” Jared said.“That’s what everybody says, but that’s after they get the green.”“I never did this for the money. If that’s what I was after I wouldn’t have chosen this career. I’d have become a doctor or a policeman like everyone’s parents want them to be.” Jared mouthed the words with none of the sass expected, the words themselves sending the message. “I might have even been a lawyer.”Karyn laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I just can’t see you as a lawyer. I don’t think you’re the type.”“I know you’re not the type,” Mark added.“Yeah. I think you may be right on that one.” All three smiled at the mental image of Jared the Esquire.“I think sometimes careers choose us and not the other way around,” Jared said. “I never thought of anything but music, didn’t even consider anything else.”“So you knew you were going to be a musician when you were young?” Karyn asked.“I can’t even remember when. I just knew. Like the decision was made for me.”“How about you Mark. Did you always know you’d be an attorney?”“Me? No. When I was younger I was sure I’d need an attorney, but I never thought I’d be one myself.” Mark shook his head and smiled.“When did you know that’s what you wanted to do?” Jared dug.“When I found out it was paid for.”“Who paid for it?”“There was a trust set up by my father, but only for college.”Karyn looked at Mark with squinted eyes. She didn’t know how Mark paid for college but she knew he wasn’t surviving on mac & cheese and hard-boiled eggs like everyone else. Karyn maintained her stare as she and Jared learned the innocent secret at the same time. A smile crept along her lips as she realized Mark revealed it for no other reason than it was the truth. There was nothing to hide.“That’s cool. Maybe they knew I would need your services one day.” This was as close to appreciation as Jared had been. If this was his accolade, he was going to jump all over it.“Well thank you very much,” Mark said.“No. Thank you.”“So what are your plans now that this is over?” Karyn interrupted.“Well, now it really gets busy. We’ll be on the road to support the release. We’ll be out for just under a year playing the major markets here, South America and Europe. Then we’ll take a break before we circle back and hit the smaller markets. Then off to Asia.“It takes that long to play for everyone?” Karyn said.“And that doesn’t include the time it takes to write new material, shoot promos or take care of the business end of Pilate’s Decision.”“It sounds like a lot of work. More than I thought.” Karyn admitted.“It sounds like a lot of fun.” Mark volleyed. “Travelling to the world’s greatest cities and probably staying in the finest hotels, parties and chauffeurs and whatever trouble you can get into, if you know what I mean.”“Well, that’s what a lot people think, and a lot of artists take full advantage. But being out there isn’t all that glamorous.” Jared’s face took on a serious expression. “And we approach the whole thing differently than most. We’ve been doing it long enough to know how to survive.”“So when will you hit the road?”“First, we’ll hole up in the warehouse where the party was and rehearse; get comfortable with the material. Before that, we’ll do everything from set up and tear down to loading and unloading trucks. It’s mostly for the crew, but we depend on it too. We’ve rehearsed the material so we’re ok on the set list, but we need to run through the entire show with full sound and lights and effects. The box video screens, lights and the other props at the party are part of the stage set.”“You probably appreciate the tranquility before you find yourself in a different city every night,” Karyn added.“That’s for sure. It doesn’t take long before you forget what day it is. The people you deal with and the fans become one big blur.”“So do you sleep in a bus or hotel or what?” Mark asked, gaining curiosity.“We have buses to get us to the arenas and back but we’ll sleep in hotels and travel to the next city by plane unless it’s drivable. We have our own 737. It’s older, but we had it retrofitted.”“That’s a big plane,” Mark said, surprised they traveled by air and in their own aircraft. “It must cost you a fortune.”“It’s not cheap but it’s the best way to maintain strength and stamina on the road. Like I said, it’s not easy work. It’s a physical occupation and the stage is usually about one hundred and ten degrees under the lights. We play hard for almost three hours. The plane lets us get out of town fast. You wouldn’t believe what a fan will do to get to us. The sooner we get gone the better.”Karyn’s curiosity tingled. “What do they do, the fans?” “Everything and anything. They’re waiting at the venues no matter how early we get there or how late we leave. Then they’re at the hotels and sometimes airports, but we fly into smaller ones if they can handle a 37. And they always have a scam to get them through security; delivery person, girlfriend, manager, hotel employee, medical staff, minister, DJ, relative, mother of our children.“It must be a pain in the ass,” Mark said, recognizing the nuisance.“It gets to you after a while. Things you take for granted, like going out to dinner or a movie or just in public. The only reason no one noticed on the beach tonight was it was getting dark, and I walked with my head down. I got looks but not strong enough to approach me.”“I can’t imagine not being able to go to the mall,” Karyn said in cliché.“And I’ll bet that Karyn is just as recognized at the mall as you.” Mark added, the tired observation bringing a smile to Jared’s face, and raised eyebrows from Karyn.“It’s weird being out there for so long without any significant breaks, a few weeks every couple of months or so. You forget where you’re from because you’re not paying the monthly bills or cutting the lawn or getting the mail or anything normal; whatever normal is.”“So what do you do to keep your sanity?” Karyn asked.“Depends on where you are. Most of the day fills with interviews or appearances. I don’t go out after like some of the rest, so I’m up with the early crew. Sometimes we go into a studio and mix new material or record new tracks. Before you know it, its afternoon and time for the sound check. Once you’re there we’re locked in so we have dinner and the show.”“It sounds like a lot of work,” Karyn continued, “most people think rock stars wake up twenty minutes before the show from an all-night party and get pushed out on stage.”“That happens, but we’re dedicated to what we’re doing. If you look at the major acts surviving over the years, you’ll find they take the work seriously. I know we’re more serious, and we haven’t been at it all that long.”The trio walked for thirty minutes along the beach under darkened skies. Karyn maintained a conversation sounding more like family. She could break barriers and replace the void with a warm sense of trust and comfort. It delivered an insight into the vulnerability of human nature and a skill that both intrigued and frustrated Mark, in his line of work that talent would be immeasurable.Idle conversation wasn’t Mark’s style, especially with Jared. Karyn kept the pressure off. For all outward appearances, Jared was the opposite of Mark, but he sensed his commitment to convincing them he wasn’t different after all. Let them understand he wasn’t a freak, alien or drug addict. And even though they spoke as if old friends, Mark understood Jared was not your average Joe.“How about a drink,” Mark proposed. “I’m thirsty.”“I don’t know; it’s getting late,” Jared said, “besides I’m not much of a drinker.” Mark recalled the cocktails he watched him conquer at the party and knew his response was more excuse than truth.“Well how about coffee or dessert?” Karyn said.Jared locked eyes with Karyn. “Well maybe a coffee. Let’s head back to my hotel. They have a private terrace so we won’t have to worry about being bothered.Karyn wasn’t interested in having Mark rekindle the party flames, but her curiosity had gained momentum. “Besides, when I tell the kids I sat and talked to Jared from Pilate’s Decision I’ll be important. And I intend to take full advantage.”“Let’s start back,” Mark said, instilling motivation for their new plan.The walk along the shore in reverse was quicker when driven by purpose. Karyn and Jared continued to dominate the conversation, mostly on the band and the road and any other tidbits of tabloid fodder she could unearth. Mark contributed to the conversation in a frequency saying he was still around but not interested.What he was interested in was his own tabloid fodder. Mysterious Dream Consumes Counselor the front-page headline screamed. Chapter Thirty-SixThe terrace on the second level of the hotel provided the best of all worlds; a light ocean breeze, attentive staff, the finest spirits, and an exclusive clientele delivering freedom from the average psychotic fan. Karyn selected another red while Mark and Jared opted for a single malt and Irish coffee respectively. They sat first in silence, content to acclimate themselves to the flawless southern California evening.“So, did this case turn you into a rock-and-roll fan?” Jared started, before taking a slow lingering sip.“Well, I’m not much of a music person.” Mark answered. “Karyn is the musician.”Jared turned his attention to Karyn, “you play?”“Not in a long time. I used to play piano.”“We have a grand. It sounds unbelievable when she does.” Mark boasted.“You should play more often,” Jared said to Karyn, “it’s good for you. It’s good for the soul.”Karen smiled. “Well, it may be good for your soul but the way I play it wouldn’t be much inspiration to anyone.”“I’m surprised you don’t play more,” Mark said then turned toward Jared, “she comes from a musical family; her father was a violinist for the Detroit Symphony. She was brought up with music.”“Is that true?”“My father was with the symphony when I was young, but that’s a tough way to make a living when you’re trying to raise a family, so he got a real job as he would say.”“That’s too bad. But music is a real job,” Jared countered.“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that he had bills to pay and kids to feed and not enough time to make his music career cover everything.”“That happens most of the time actually. What do you think of today’s music? What do you think about bands like us?” Jared inquired. Karyn slid her eyes over to Mark hoping to send the message she would answer first, before he had the chance to marginalize Jared’s vocation.“I don’t know much about the music today other than what I pick up from the kids and hear them play. I can tell you you’re right up there at the top. They love your songs and I think they’ve gone to every show you’ve played in the state,” Karyn said, giving credit where credit was due.“The only thing I can tell you about today’s music is that I’ve had enough of it.” Mark said. “No offense Jared, but I listened to more songs from more bands than any teenager alive during this whole thing–and yours specifically.”“I can imagine. It’s easy to get burned out,” Jared said as he stirred his coffee. He was aware of Mark’s assessment of today’s music and the general disregard he had for it, such is the case with things not understood. “Even if you liked it to begin with,” he added with a smile.“Maybe I should be a critic.” Mark offered. “I certainly know the material.”“Oh that would be perfect,” Jared said. “That’s all we need.” The joke enjoyed by all. “I’ll tell you something though, critics don’t have a clue what we’re trying to accomplish. Critics center on how the material fits into today’s scene, which is the furthest from our intent.”“What do you mean?” Karyn asked.“We’re not trying to fit in. We’re not trying to give anyone what’s expected or what they can handle. We’re trying to do the opposite. To push forward, create a new experience. We’re lucky we’re influential enough to do it the way we want. And yes Mark, you can read that as we have the money to do it the way we choose.” Jared looked at Mark as he let go with the economics. The golden rule wasn’t lost on Jared; he understood how things worked and what it takes to make things work his way. He didn’t do it for the money, but he used every bit of it.“And not only with the music but our shows, publicity and all the social areas we’re involved in.” Mark listened close. It was an angle more consistent with his geometry and a welcome image of Jared understanding the real world. Still, he wasn’t convinced Jared’s motivation came from anything other than gold.“You can’t expect anyone to believe it’s more than rock-and-roll.” Mark started. “They take it for what it is. They’re not interested or sophisticated enough to pick up any expanded experience, even if there was one.”“I think you have a legitimate point. But there’s more to it than that.” Jared could play the game too, compelled to defend his art many times. “It’s no different than other occupations,” Jared began, “yours, for example.”Mark straightened in his seat at the pending comparison between the pseudo occupation of rock-and-roll musician and the United States legal system, the most intricate and sophisticated in the world. Mark welcomed the debate with open arms and looked at Jared as if to say bring it on.“Those in the legal profession push interpretation of the law. Isn’t that how it works?” Jared sipped his coffee and looked at Mark.“We only apply our skills within the system defined by our laws. The changes come from the people. There’s never a shortage of creative ways to try and break the law and get away with it.”“That’s true, but the rules change so they can’t get away with it,” Jared replied.“That’s right.” Mark agreed. “They don’t get away with it.”Karyn interrupted, “I’m not so sure the world of music and the world of law run along the same tract, music is creative, emotional. It’s an art. The law is, well, the law is the law.”Jared smiled. “You don’t have to do anything but read the newspaper to see there’s an awful lot of creativity in law.”Mark erased the last drops of his single malt and traded it for one better equipped. Jared and Karyn followed suit. Mark turned to face Jared and deliver his response with the confidence he had his victim where he wanted him. “But we don’t invent it. We don’t start from scratch and create it.”“Either do we. We work within the laws of music, instrumentation, the same rules of scale and tone and tempo.”“I understand the framework. I don’t think the process is comparable. And I don’t think the significance is comparable.”“I guess it’s just in the way we interpret our realities,” Jared said, comfortable with his argument. Mark offered nothing to change his view. He didn’t need acceptance or confirmation from anyone other than an audience and even that wouldn’t be a deal breaker.“So is this new experience ever realized?” Mark asked. The question pointed. Jared stared back with squinting eyes.Karyn sensed the awkwardness. “What do you mean by that?”“I think he wants to know if we’re sitting at this table right now because of Jack Fryman.”“Well, we are, aren’t we?” Karyn answered.“But are we here because Jack had a whole new experience?” Mark asked.“How can you even think that,” Karyn blurted in disbelief. Did Jared think that’s what Mark was asking?“It’s a fair question.” Jared said. “We know it’s on everyone’s mind, whether admitted or not.”Karyn jumped in. “Well I don’t know how anyone could think that. It’s way too much. Besides, don’t we know your music had nothing to do with what Jack Fryman did to those poor girls? Wasn’t that settled in the court?” Karyn sipped her Cabernet, her senses dulled into a sleepy state of a simple interpretation of the world around her. The elixirs chosen by Mark and Jared functioned in opposite fashion, focusing concentration and opening a deeper, more sophisticated interpretation of that same world.“Mark, I can only tell you two very important things about this entire ordeal. The first is that Pilate’s Decision had nothing to do with Jack Fryman and what he did. Jared leaned forward in the chair. “We were pissed about it from the beginning. It’s insane. This music message thing is an urban legend, as if we have magical power. It’s crazy.” Jared shook his head in disbelief as he recanted the story spun so many times, a story planting its roots long before Jared or the satanic gyrations of Elvis Presley. “But think of it from our point of view. For us to stand up against every parent with a whacked-out kid and try to convince them it was most likely their fault, that they left their kids vulnerable? That’s futile. Those minds were made up long before we came around.” Jared spoke with strength and resolve. “We were just the next steak on the grill. And we wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.” Jared’s face had moved one or two hues up the color scale as he spoke, unable to mask his feelings. “Anyone who gets in that argument is going to lose.”“I don’t believe your music had anything to do with Jack Fryman. It was a part of the fabric that helped him construct a significantly skewed view of the world, but it wasn’t the reason,” Mark repeated in recapitulation of the trial. “Like you said, you were there to provide an excuse.”In Mark’s reality, he could prove Pilate’s Decision was the direct cause of Jack’s behavior. He was comfortable with his creativity from either side.“And the second point?” Mark asked, challenging Jared to fulfill his original statement. It was easy for Mark to keep the bullets in proper order no matter how many times they were indented for subservient points, he was curious if Jared visualized a similar flow.“The second point is that few have understood.”Mark weighed the statement. Although prepared for Jared to drop the other shoe, this was not the style envisioned. His imagination saw Jared lean in close, cocooning them in the triangle of trust as he let them in on the little secret they already knew: it was about the money, power, sex, drugs, and payback to a society that spawned anger and earned retribution. They were just playing a game and shoving it right up the ass of mainstream America. It was time to come clean the way you do in those private little client attorney meetings when no one else can hear.Mark leaned back in his chair and drained the last of his cocktail. His lips pursed together in disappointment that Jared continued this tack, and believed it as well.“You mean there’s more? A secret for your fans?” Mark said with no mitigation of tone.“Mark,” Karyn said.“What? I’m sorry Jared, but I don’t think it’s there. No offense, but there’s no special secret in rock-and-roll. If someone digs something out of it, it’s what they were looking for in the first place, and it’s close enough to work, just like Jack.”“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Jared began, “I don’t think I’ll convince you otherwise right now. But just the same, I’m going to believe some will get the point. I’m going to believe you will. If I didn’t, I’d be forced to do all this for reasons I’m really not comfortable with.”“Good for you, Jared,” Karyn said as she tipped her glass to the edge of his, ringing in tones of harmony.Jared leaned back in his chair and accepted the comfort of its design. The battle not lost by any stretch of the imagination, it remained in the same position as when first given birth. A battle never entered is a victory in Jared’s reality; a battle never entered is a loss in Mark’s.“I really need to be going,” Jared said. “How do you feel Mark?”“Like nothing ever happened,” he said smiling.“Well, that’s good. I’m not sure I helped but I’m glad I was on the beach.”“We are too,” Karyn added. “And it’s really been fun talking to you. I’m not so sure anyone will believe it, but it was certainly enlightening.”“It was for me too,” Jared said as he pushed his chair back.“Jared, I hate to be a total geek but can we get a picture with you? I can’t let the opportunity pass by.” Karyn giggled at the thought of parents hanging out with their kid’s favorite rock star.The trio stood at the edge of the terrace with the pacific as their background and Jared Anderson wedged between Mr. and Mrs. Mark Hanley as the server mouthed, “Say Pilate’s Decision.” Chapter Thirty-SevenThe front wheels of the jumbo jet made their way to the yellow tape and stopped in position to receive the gangway. Mark’s cell vibrated in tandem with the crack of the forward door. “Hello,” the voice on the other end said, “This is Commander Mathew Stevenson of the United States Coast Guard. Is this Mark Hanley of Bloomfield Hills Michigan?”“Yes it is. What’s this all about?” Mark motioned to Karyn to skirt a group waiting to board the next flight and take the moving walkway.“We’re just calling to let you know we’ve retrieved your vessel, and it’s at the station.”“What vessel? You mean my boat?”“Are you the owner of the DreamCruise, registration number MC 71569198?” The Commander asked.“Yes, that’s my boat. Why do you have it?”“We’re not quite sure if it was stolen or what happened to her, she was reported adrift early Sunday morning outside the middle channel by the ore carrier M. J. Reilly. We responded and found no one aboard.” As odd as it was, Mark weighed the information calmly.“What is it?” Karyn asked. Mark held the phone against his chest. “Someone stole the boat and the Coast Guard found it in the middle of the lake,” he said to Karyn while joining their driver at the luggage carousel.Mark returned to his phone call. “Do you have any idea who stole it?”“Right now we don’t have any indication it was stolen.” The Commander said. We have her at the station in Woodhaven. There’s nothing to indicate forced entry. It doesn’t appear anything is missing, at least not any equipment or electronics.” Mark connected the dots quickly in his mind. He didn’t give a shit if every piece of high-tech gear he once had was now duck taped to an aluminum fishing boat. He was more concerned as to how deep the inspection may have gone. “Your family indicated you were out of town on business, is that correct?”“Yes. We were in California. We just got back; we’re at the airport now.” Mark moved away from the grinding carousel as Karyn pointed out suitcases to the driver.“Is there anyone else that could have taken her out?” the Commander continued.“No. No one. There isn’t even anyone that knows the combination to the locks other than the maintenance service.”“What about other family members or fellow boaters?” he said.“No. The vessel is registered to my firm but no one else is authorized.” Mark answered quickly knowing even if authorized, they still wouldn’t go near her.“And your family?” he asked.“My family? No. No one in my family would . . .” Mark stopped mid-sentence. “What time did you say you found her?” he asked.“We received the first call from the Reilly at 12:42 am.”Mark tucked the phone against his chin. “Karyn, you talked to Mark and Tara this morning didn’t you?”“I talked to Tara. Mark was still sleeping. Why?”“But he was home?”Karyn shook her head in confirmation, “he was on the couch downstairs. Tara said that’s where he crashed,” she said with flexed eyebrows.“Good,” Mark said to Karyn before returning to Commander Stevenson.“I have no idea who’d take her. It was locked up safe and secure when we left for California.”“We’re at a loss as well, Mr. Hanley. We’ve had no missing person or any other report in the last six days.” Mark knew what the ‘other’ report meant. “If it was a theft, chances are they got scared and just left her. It happens. Today’s pirates aren’t as brave as they used to be.”“What do I need to do now? How soon can I get her back?” Mark asked.“I don’t see any reason why we can’t have her released tomorrow. We’d like to have you inspect her to see if there’s anything missing or anything left aboard that isn’t yours. If we can’t find anything we’ll log it in as adrift and have you sign the papers.”“What time can I come down?”“I’d say early afternoon, maybe one or so. That’ll give us enough time to fill out the paperwork. She’s got a full tank which is rare; fuel is usually a pretty good reason to get on someone else’s boat.”“Tanks were full?” Mark asked.“Whoever took her looks like they abandoned her quickly. You know the Wyandotte Station?” The Commander asked.“By the bridge, right?”“That’s the place.”“I know how to get there. I’ll see you at one. If I need to call you can I reach you at this number?” Mark asked as he looked at the display screen on his phone, “the one you’re calling from now?”“That’s the one.”“I appreciate you finding her and getting her back.”“That’s what we do. And you’re lucky. That’s a lot of boat you’ve got there. We’ll see you tomorrow,” the Commander said, hanging up without hearing Mark’s reply.“Someone stole the boat?” Karyn asked as they slid into the back seat of the limo.“Can you believe it? How could someone steal a boat from a marina without anyone noticing and then leave it adrift in the middle of Lake Erie?”“It was just drifting?”“Out by the channel I guess. Some freighter noticed it and called it in late Saturday night, well Sunday morning actually.”“And no one was on it?”“Not a soul. And according to the Coast Guard, nothing was stolen.”Mark sighed; the conversation during the remainder of the drive home was sparse. The California rest originally planned now letting their bodies know it was just the opposite.Karyn gave little thought to the plight of the Dream Cruise. In her estimation, those weren’t rare occurrences given one of the most popular activities aboard was alcohol. Karyn never considered the difficulty of scuttling it away from her slip at the marinaMark gave little thought to anything but the plight of the DreamCruise. How can a boat as conspicuous as the DreamCruise be secreted from the marina? Not to mention left to float aimlessly in the middle of the lake on a summer Saturday night. It was ludicrous, just firing it up in the slip made everyone take notice.Even Jonny Harris would check it out. No matter how little he cared, it was still his responsibility. That would be the first call. Maybe one of his scrubbers decided a quick cruise was in order just to make sure she was running ok. With the skipper in California, it would be a great time to land a couple of young mermaids on her deck.But there was no one on board.If spotted from the freighter’s bridge, it must have been full inside the channel for them to take action. The motorized debris in their path never stops; they disappear under the bow or launch themselves like missiles from their wakes without a passing glance from the ship’s captain. But they noticed the DreamCruise.Mark was looking at Karyn who sat with her eyes closed; body motioned into near sleep by the vibration of the road when the thought hit him.Reese.Who else knew the combinations? Who else could board and pull it off as if they belonged there? Who else could move through the pre-cruise checklist with a sailor’s efficiency? Who else knew he was out of town and who the fuck else could have done it?Mark hoped it was the pimply faced virgin willing to go to prison for stealing a floating strip club if he could have a shot at one of the neon thong wearing beauties clinging to dockside bars like zebra mussels. It was possible, but the odds weren’t good. Even money was with the frequent stowaway who knew how to tie lines and twist the dockside power cable locked.But no one was aboard.Mark sidestepped the thought and closed his eyes. ***The pirate locked on his enemy’s ship, inching toward the water. He made it to the hard-packed sand where the waves spent their last breath and watched his toes, ankles, and knees penetrate the liquid, obscuring feet into blurry ghosts.The lake was crisp and cool but warmed as if a bath. The friction of the water where the pirate’s body broke through the surface imperceptible, as if made of liquid himself, one with its form and moving no different from the small ripples surrounding him. He would use the water to his advantage in the new role of aggressor. His enemy would not determine his fate. He was in charge. Anyone can make history; the pirate would write it.The bottom of the lake was devoid of shells, rocks or debris. It’s clean sand rolled in small motionless waves under feet, their pattern broken by his path. He moved deeper into the lake inch by inch, interrupting his trek in regimented cadence to scan the surrounding waters. When the lake rose to the pirate’s neck, he bent his knees, lowering himself until the water barely tickled his nose. Eyes scanned the surface. The way a predator did. Chapter Thirty-EightMark arrived at the Coast Guard station at twelve forty-five and stood on the floating steel dock making a cursory inspection when Commander Stevenson approached. “Mr. Hanley, I presume?” he said with a grin and extended hand.“That’s me,” Mark replied. “Commander Stevenson?”“Right.”“Nice to meet you. We’ve got the paperwork nearly completed so we can climb aboard and take a look.” Mark scanned the port side before boarding, her canvas stripped and the gangway to the salon open.“We took another peek this morning just in case we missed something,” the Commander said in defense of the DreamCruise being open. Mark checked the aft deck with a quick pan and moved to the helm; the keys for both engines tucked in their slots waiting to be twisted into life.“Where did you say she was adrift?” Mark asked again.“Just outside the middle channel when we got to her; full in the channel when the Reilly came across her. I’m sure that’s why they radioed. Lucky she didn’t get swamped.” Mark walked through the procedures burned in his memory for making way and began flipping switches and turning knobs. The fuel tanks were full, oil pressure on line, trim tabs locked at the same mander Stevenson leaned against the starboard lifeline as Mark worked his way around the craft, allowing its skipper a discrete privacy akin to a morgue. A young recruit slipped aboard and joined the pair. The two exchanged nods before Mark moved below and looked to the hold where he kept his party favors. He glanced back to see if anyone was joining him below but the two were busy talking.The hold was locked tight.The galley and dining table were clean and neat, and the refrigerator held no more or no less than recalled. The pantry and other holds offered similar familiarity. It looked as if just serviced. Mark backed away but remained in semi-shadow as Commander Stevenson moved to the gangway entrance and blocked the sunlight.“Everything looks fine so far,” Mark said, making his way aft to the master suite where pillows, comforter, and vase with flowers sat just like in the brochure.“Everything’s ok in here,” he shouted before closing the doors and walking into the salon amidships. Mark continued to rotate as the inspection moved forward past the wraparound bench surrounding the galley.“I think everything’s ok. It almost looks better than I left it.”“That’s what we thought too.” The commander chuckled. “Nothing to see, not better than you left it.”“You think kids from the maintenance company could have taken her?” Mark asked.“We asked when we talked to a Mr. Harris, is it? At the Boat club?”“You talked to Jonny Harris?”“He didn’t know the boat was stolen of course, why would he think that? Anyway, he wasn’t at the club over the weekend, but the staff checked out, and no one could recall when she was last in her slip.”Mark rejoined the Commander on deck. “I think everything’s in order,” The young recruit departed but left the paperwork.“Well I’m not so sure it’s a crime, at least it’s not anything we can log in on the violation code.” The two moved to the aft table to add their signatures to the report. “I don’t see any reason you can’t take her back to the club now Mr. Hanley.” The Commander tapped the papers together, “if we hear of anything we’ll let you know.”“I’d appreciate that, and thanks for keeping her safe, I’d hate to lose her,” Mark said with concern.“I can understand.” The Commander shook Mark’s hand and stepped from the vessel to the starboard side dock, stood where the blacktop ran to the edge of the slips, and gave a salute. Mark returned the gesture, started the engines and reversed the DreamCruise free of the wooden piers.Mark recognized the full emotion of the violation as he babied the DreamCruise like an octogenarian in a Fleetwood on Collins Avenue. He was still observing, listening, sensing, and trying to rationalize how the DreamCruise had become a Lake Erie bobber.Reese fed the mystery. He didn’t believe it was Reese, by choice or force, but his logic was sound. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out,” she said. “It was such a beautiful weekend I loaded her up with naked men and a case of Merlot. I couldn’t help it!” The playful answer was very much to her liking but not Mark’s. It served only to reduce his options for a logical explanation.The DreamCruise entered the open waters under the regained captaincy of Mark Hanley. The lake was populated by those depending on it for their livelihood, the recreational crowd back at work earning the capital to return the following weekend. Thick black belches of freighter smoke rose above the trees banking the channels. He intended to return the DreamCruise to the club and make his way to the office but once at the helm he was less committed to that schedule. The bow of the DreamCruise dead centered the mouth of the channel, following the path that must have been taken only a few days before. He slid the vessel through the water, allowing the rollers that converged where the channels met to rock her at an uncomfortable pitch. He juiced the engines to push through and continued down the channel.The weather band detailed the next forty-eight in metered tenor as Mark neared the location where the M.J. Reilly reported the DreamCruise. The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, he thought to himself as he pulled the throttles to neutral. There was nothing to observe as he sat adrift under the umbrella of another sunny afternoon. He let the craft accept the influence of the water as he scoured the surrounding openness. He felt the weight beneath him pivot until the wind centered him broadside and pushed the boat by its length, compass reading East South East.Mark was unclear what his experiment would reveal, but something is always gained by returning to the scene of the crime. The criminal’s motivation a morbid fascination with their work, knowing they stood right under the noses of those in pursuit. Pursuers were aware. Whether by design was unclear and unimportant; it was just something that happened.Mark scanned the horizon three sixty. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he looked just the same. He moved to the aft bench and sat, trying to understand the circumstances, not only how his boat left its slip and drifted with no one aboard, but also how it survived. The fact she wasn’t t-boned by a Cigarette or swamped by the Reilly was nearly supernatural.Mark stood, scanned the water and walked toward the steps leading below. The compass maintained its heading as he shut the engines down and added silence to his research. He heard the soft pats from the waves as they pushed broadside against the craft. Not intending to check any of the more important holds while at the Coast Guard station but now, surrounded by open water, it was time. He fished through each but saved the best for last. Mark unsnapped the lid and registered its contents as he remembered, then he sat on the forward berth and put the white powder to use.He was sitting upright on the forward V in a semi-daze recalculating the possibilities in his mind when it happened. Every molecule of oxygen catapulted from his system in one instantaneous gale, the sour drone of acid filling his lungs matched only by the punctures marking its entry. His lips parted, gasping for air as if a fish in the Sahara, eyes wide with fear, mouth agape. He slid from the berth, curled semi fetal on the floor, his eyes filling with spicy moisture, delivering a pain filled Dali-style view.The agony was staggering and rendered him incapable of relieving even the slightest percentage, each insignificant movement tightening the straight jacket of torture. He was giving birth to a ball of molten lava wrapped in barbed wire and the hope was that he would die soon if that wasn’t already happening. His vision shortened in distance and aperture until it arrived at a single dot of fuzzy grey nothingness, locked in straight and parallel to the floor. The physical remnants of the wrecking ball that slammed into the center of his gut balanced by the fear that another would soon follow.Whoever had taken the DreamCruise was the perfect stowaway.Mark expanded his line of sight inside the cabin; careful not to broadcast he had emerged from unconsciousness. He held his breath. There was no sound inside or out, his natural field of view was broadside amidships; fear hovered above him. He felt as if he would gag.Mark held his breath and listened. There was no sound.He strained his eyes toward the stairs leading topside without moving his head. Silence maintained its hold on the DreamCruise. Mark held his breath and listened. Nothing.It was never Mark’s style to be a sitting duck, and it wouldn’t be now. He struggled to hear movement, breathing, anything to alert him what could happen next. He heard nothing. Gaining courage, he rotated his head to scan more of his environment, letting his eyes move toward the bow and revealing nothing more than stillness, no stowaway. His head crept along in reverse path at a sloth’s pace hopeful it may escape detection. Nothing made its presence known. No feet. No noise. The threat was behind him. Hidden.“Ok,” Mark said as strongly as he could. “Whoever you are.”Silence.“Don’t hit me again. I’m not going to do anything.”Silence.Mark took in a breath of the stagnant air and coughed. “Let me sit up.”Silence.“I’m going to sit up.”Silence.“Just don’t fucking hit me again.”Mark waited, listened but sensed no one. He pivoted on his side, lifted up on his hands and knees and waited to feel the weight of the world on his back. Nothing. Mark gummed his movement enough to fish for the solid metal post used as a fifth leg for the table extension. He pulled the weapon from its hold; grabbed it with both hands and spun on his back, prepared to defend against the evil surely waiting. Mark clenched the pipe between outstretched hands, waiting for the stowaway to strike. There was no attack, only more silence.Muscles tensed, nerves an itchy trigger finger as he rotated inside the cabin like a periscope but found nothing. He moved up to a crouch and made another sweep before poking the weapon through the opening to the main deck, waving it back and forth in non-surrender aggressiveness. The race between confidence and anger intensified. The gap narrowed. No one was going to stow away on his ship and beat the shit out of him while he was the captain! Mark re-gripped the base of the metal pole like a cleanup batter with the bases loaded and took the four steps leading topside.In stark contrast to the stale cloud below, the topside breeze hit him square in the face. Mark turned and took in a view of the Hanley summer home. Chapter Thirty-NineThe Border Guard at the Ambassador Bridge pounded out the usual citizenship survey. “And the reason for your visit to Canada?” He asked as he ran the license plate.Well, funny you should ask. Actually, I’m going to spend time with my husband and some friends at our summer home. It’s just outside Amherstburg. And you know some of them have been dead for years! I can’t tell you how nice it is to see them all, and we have a lot of fun when we’re together. And here’s an interesting note: they can’t go outside. Not one of them. I know it’s a beautiful summer day and we’ll be right on the beach, but we’ll stay inside and play scrabble, barbecue on the front porch. Anyway, we won’t be getting into any trouble inside, officer; I can assure you of that!“Just a day out at the summer home,” she said.“Do you have anything to declare?”“Just me,” Margaret answered with a smile.“All right then, you have a nice day.”Margaret inched her Chrysler forward, turned at the stoplight, and moved along the Canadian coast, Detroit skyline to her right.Tugs pushing barges dotted the river’s flow and a massive ore carrier sat low in the current waiting to empty its holds. The road swung away from the river toward Amherstburg.Amherstburg grew from a sleepy village to a homey residential community boasting a mall, car dealerships, movie theaters, chain restaurants and two schools. The lakeshore, once thick with massive trees cowering from the winds, was now interrupted by waterfront homes. Margaret had grown familiar with the curves of the roadway and drove with confidence. She watched landmarks float by as if they hadn’t aged a single day, the old boatyard, Allerton’s Restaurant, Coast Guard Station.Margaret checked the rear-view mirror, tapped her foot against the brake and pulled to the right of the roadway. Tires crunched on the small rocks and sand making the shoulder, coming to a rest in front of Smith’s Fruits and Vegetables stand.In days gone by the stand was nothing more than a ten by fifteen-foot plywood box constructed with little direction. Coats of paint sloppily applied over previous efforts on weathered boards held secure with rusted nails. Today, Smith’s was closer to a store. Still, the fruits and vegetables were fresh each morning; just-picked corn, strawberries, blueberries, cucumbers, peppers, and melons all rushing with flavor. Margaret reached for an ear of corn and pulled the husk half way down before stopping, realizing the message it sent. This wasn’t corporate store #7263 with sweet corn from half way around the globe; this was handpicked from a field not fifty yards from where she stood. In the end, Margaret’s bag held half-dozen ears of corn, cantaloupe, and a container of blueberries and strawberries.“I remember this stand from years ago,” Margaret said to the girl behind the counter as she took in a panorama of the farmhouse and fields.“My grandmother and grandfather started it,” she said. “They’re dead now, but me and my brothers have taken over.” The young girl looked seventeen. Probably younger, it was hard to tell nowadays. The overalls and work boots donned by her grandparents replaced with tight shorts and T-shirt with a design Margaret thought best not try to decipher. She paid by credit card and left a tip for the young girl.How times have changed.Margaret steadied her purchase on the passenger seat and pulled back onto the highway, tires bouncing over the blacktop edge. Even with windows open, she enjoyed the freshness escaping from her new passengers. Three turns later, she landed at the corner where a small general store, Walt’s, once stood. Walt was short in stature with a leathery face sporting a half days growth in random weak greys. His store was gone now. Walt was gone as well.Maybe.Margaret tucked her car into the clearing next to the woods. From the driver’s seat, she could see the beach and lake, the summer home to her left. The day was calm, barely any movement at all. She reached across the seat and grabbed the sack from Smith’s. She couldn’t tell if anyone was inside as she moved toward the back door, but it was of little concern, the door was open.Margaret wasn’t sure what to expect, but she was expecting something. The quiet day, the stop by the farm stand, her Chrysler pulled in a little deeper. She pushed the screen door open.“Hello. Is anyone here?” There was no response. Margaret moved to the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter. “Hello?” She said again, growing concerned too soon. This time her greeting met with the response needed. “We’re out here,” the voice responded. A male voice, John’s voice.Margaret walked through the kitchen to the front porch. “Hey everyone, Margaret’s here,” Russ said to the group. Each of the guests, if that’s what they were, turned to welcome Margaret.“I stopped by and picked up fresh vegetables and fruit from Smith’s.”John looked confused. “That’s great,” he offered. “We were just talking about dinner.” The grill sat on the porch.“It’s a beautiful day,” Sarah said as she walked toward Margaret, taking her arm and moving her toward the front windows. “It was a lot calmer earlier. Like glass, not even a ripple.” The women stared over the expanse of blue-green arm in arm. John worked his way to the front and stood to Margaret’s side.“We’ve been watching that boat out there,” John said. “It motored up and anchored about an hour ago. We thought it would hit the sandbar when she came up, but they threw anchor and she’s still in deep enough water.” John smiled as he spoke; the others nodded in agreement.Margaret scanned the water. She panned her line of sight, reeling it in until she reached the dark, moist sand that marked the end of the water and beginning of sandbar.“Where’d they go?” she asked.“Who?”“The people in the boat. The boat, where did it go?”John locked eyes with Sarah and then Russ who had moved over to join the small group. “They’re inside. Down below I guess. We saw a man and woman earlier.”“No. I mean where did the boat go?” Margaret put emphasis on boat to make sure all understood what she was asking. It was a short, insignificant exchange but already confusing. The boat wasn’t there, so where did it go.“Well,” John started, and then paused, “it’s there, right off the sandbar.” Margaret moved her eyes from John to the window, looking to where the blues and greens of deeper water bracketed the tans of the sandbar.“I . . .” Margaret started then paused, this time longer that John did. “I don’t see anything.”“Well it’s right there as clear as a bell. It’s a good size boat for being in so close.” John continued to describe the vessel that wasn’t there. “The wood is double plank. You can tell where it meets the water line. It’s nice.”Margaret stood by John as her confusion mounted. She had entered the summer home as she had any other time; took her fruits and vegetables and put them on the counter as anyone would. She called out for her husband and friends, and they were there.“John, I don’t see the boat. Do you still see it?”“It hasn’t moved at all.”“It’s right there,” Sarah added, growing tired of the game. Margaret looked again but saw nothing except Lake Erie as the others added to the description.“Can’t tell where it’s from.” Russ said, “but I can see part of her name, it starts with T. Maybe a wind will push her broadside so we can see the rest.” Margaret grabbed John’s arm and motioned him away. They moved to the window by the fireplace and viewed the length of beach to the willow.“Can you see the boat?“It’s right there, right where it was,” John answered.“Why can’t I see it? The only thing I see is water. And the sandbar. No boat at all.”Margaret continued to look, but the exercise was futile. There was no boat. Whatever John and everyone else was looking at was somewhere else. Sometime else.And they can’t go outside.“John, what kind of boat is it? What does it look like?”“Well, it’s twenty-six, maybe twenty-eight feet. Large fore deck, longer than most but running the length of the cabin and forward to the bow. I can see the windows and just make out the lights in the cabin. I can see teak. It’s beautiful against the white planking. It doesn’t look like it’s spent much time in the sun.”“How big did you say?” Margaret asked, hoping to hear at least two hundred feet, confirming one mirage viewing another.“Maybe twenty-eight. It’s hard to tell from this angle,” John answered, unaware of the trap.“Can you see anyone?” Margaret pried.“No. We saw a man and woman earlier. Margaret looked at the area where the boat was visible to John, using his description to project the image everyone else saw.“I don’t understand why I can’t see it,” Margaret said as she continued to peer out the window. Then she said, “and I don’t understand why you can’t go outside,” as if tacking a line item to a Senate bill. Margaret moved from the window and sat on the couch.“I can’t explain it. I can see the boat as clear as a bell. We all can,” John said as he reached the couch. “As for going outside, well, we just don’t.”“What do you mean you don’t?”“We don’t need to.”“But to be outside in the fresh air. To swim or who knows what else. Don’t you want to experience that again? Don’t you want to feel it?” John and Margaret looked deep into each other’s eyes. These were obvious questions.“Margaret, we’re content. We don’t even think about it. There’s nothing we feel except love and health and, and good.” John was struggling for words that equaled the innocence of how he felt. He couldn’t explain it, and remained confused why she asked.“John. In all the times I’ve been here. Recently, I mean. No one has ever asked about their families. You haven’t asked about Mark or Peggy or your brothers and sisters.” Margaret spoke as if the game was over, “Or me,” she said. “You haven’t asked how I am, how my life has been, how I’m doing. What I’ve been doing! Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what’s going on in the world?”Margaret’s mindset changed as she broached the subject. She found it incomprehensible no one was cross-examining her like Mark. If she appeared in the future, she’d have so many questions heads would spin. How could the entire world outside the summer home not be important to them?Or do they know?Margaret offered the question in cadence with her previous, but stopped as soon as the meaning entered her consciousness. She spun as much of the past as she could. If John knew, if he was aware, if he understood, the possibility was beyond terrifying.“Margaret,” John said, intending to interrupt her thoughts. “The only thing we know is this place. We only know where we are and what we do right now.” John stood and paced.“I don’t know how to explain it. We all have our memories, powerful, meaningful memories. No different from you.”“But what about your family? Don’t you wonder what happened to them, what they did or what they’re doing?” John stared into space as Margaret continued. “If they are healthy, or married, or . . .” Margaret paused, never saying the next word, the thought freezing her in her tracks.“Margaret. We’re happy here, I can’t describe the feeling or why we don’t think about the outside. It’s what we have that makes us who we are. Our life together and everything it stood for are the most important memories we have. But that’s all we have. It’s all we need. Whatever else there is, isn’t part of who we are, we’re beyond it.” John struggled in explanation. “But it’s ok. There’s a sense of . . .” John stalled as he searched for the right words, “peace,” he said with a crinkle of his eyebrows. It wasn’t enough word. “Everything is ok.” John’s face tensed as he accepted the inadequacy of his thoughts.“Then why are you so interested in that boat? The one that’s not there.”“Margaret.” Russ said from the porch, “Why don’t you go outside and talk to them.” The others nodded in agreement, “maybe you’ll see it when you’re outside.”“I don’t think I’ll see anything outside if I can’t see it from here,” she said, uncomfortable with her role in the game. “And why the interest? I thought what happens outside the summer home didn’t matter?” The silence in the air penetrated. She looked at their blank faces.They didn’t know the answer.“We don’t know, Margaret.” Bill said. “Never thought about it.”“It’s just that we are now.” Sarah chimed in.Margaret could sense their curiosity was as big a mystery to them as it was to her. Not one at the summer home was ever deceitful or untrusting when alive and whatever they were now had not changed that trait.“I’ll go,” she said, bringing smiles to the faces of all. Margaret walked through the living room toward the back porch as the group followed shoulder to shoulder.“Try to see the rest of the name on her.”“Yell out to them to see what they say,” Sarah added.“Be careful,” John said as they reached the back door, his eyes meeting Margaret’s as they had so many times before.“I’ll be back in a jiffy with a full report,” Margaret said before pulling the screen door open and descending the steps. She didn’t look back as she made her way to the soft sand. She was on a mission. Her feet sank into the weakness of the beach, and she stared toward the sandbar.There was no boat.Margaret drew in a deep breath and prepared to report her findings to the group without straining her eyes or moving to better her vantage point. There wasn’t a boat whether she was inside the summer home, on the beach or in Apollo 16. Chapter FortyMark didn’t call Jonny Harris. There were a dozen reasons why he should, the most appropriate being the failure to keep member’s assets safe, but he didn’t call. Instead, Mark prepped the DreamCruise alone with Karyn. Mark revealed nothing of the trip from the Coast Guard station. Karyn remained unaware of him beached on the sandbar outside the summer home after an attack by a stowaway evading detection by the United States Coast Guard.The weather was pristine and reported to stay that way for the next seventy-two hours. Harold concurred, giving Mark the confidence needed. Mother Nature never bothered Mark the same way it did Karyn. On a calm day, she’d find something threatening, even though she had never been in rough water by a sailor’s estimation.The day was picture perfect, forcing Karyn to accept the warm embrace with less resistance. The sky was blue and cloudless; few sailboats would toil in the weak wind. Gulls swooped as usual, but their glide slower, smoother, as if enjoying the day as well. It took Mark and Karyn a leisurely two hours to get the DreamCruise ready to launch. By late afternoon, they dropped the final line and headed downriver toward Lake Erie. There wasn’t a finer feeling on earth.Mark stood full face in the wind above the bridge. The warm air spread across skin as the breath of God, hair cowering in the breeze as the finest watercraft purred underneath.On dry land, there’s no thought given to the solid beneath your feet. It’s just there. Dry land is pathetic in its subservience to man, standing by and allowing it to be bullied while delivering the merest of consequences. Water is a breathing, living, soulful entity. Anyone with the sea in his or her veins knows this all too well. It’s alive and powerful and in charge. It delivers little consistency or reliability and revels in the danger of spontaneity, each day, each hour a moving target. It’s volatile and violent or peaceful and harmonious on a whim. It sweeps you into warm arms, seduces the hardest of critics and then throws them about as it pleases. Every captain worth his salt respects the water and those that don’t pay the price. That’s the way of the water. On the bridge, Mark relished the power bestowed by the living, breathing liquid. It was all that humbled him.Mark needed the water to re-establish a trusted reality, and this time he needed Karyn as first mate to bridge those worlds–plus Mark knew the odds were in his favor for Karyn suggesting they find the summer home.The cruise through the river to the channel was lazy as Karyn sat aft taking in the sun and feeling the breeze. She looked comfortable but Mark wasn’t sure she sensed the power, hoping she was as vulnerable to the water as the land was to her. Mark injected the twins with more combustion forcing the craft to plane out. He centered the bow pulpit in the channel and bent southeast past the third marker.“Karyn!” Mark yelled from the bridge. “Karyn,” he said again. She was tired, succumbing to the fresh air already. It never took long for Mother Nature’s sedative.Mark turned the music lower. “Where should we head?” He asked.“I don’t know. This is nice.”“We need a destination, a waypoint.”“Do you want to go eat somewhere? We could go to a nice restaurant and have an early dinner. Miss the crowds,” Karyn said into the wind.“I’m not hungry yet. Let’s get into the lake and then decide.” The fact that Karyn was seemingly enjoying the cruise was important to Mark; she turned and took in the view. Mark felt better knowing the water was doing its job.Mark could see Isle St. George starboard and Kelly’s Island forward. Visibility was good as he pulled the throttles back, digging the massive “V” of the hull deep into the lake. The churn of the wake caught the transom and pushed them forward, leveling the craft in the calmer waters of the lake’s western midpoint.“How about a drink? Mark asked.“Sounds good. I’ll get them.” Karyn made her way below.“Gin and tonic,” Mark shouted as he snapped the throttles into neutral and twisted the ignition keys. He headed aft to the wrap-around bench as Karyn returned from the galley. The aft section of the boat was an open-air floating living room with soft seating, table with deep recesses for drinks, refrigerator, sink with potable water and an icemaker with Tim Allen capacity. Karyn placed the drinks on the table and took her seat next to Mark.No one spoke as they tilted their heads, absorbing the sun as if a plant. Mark’s arm draped across Karyn’s shoulder as she rested her hand on his thigh, legs curled underneath. The light rocking motion propelled both into the long-forgotten security.“This is beautiful,” Karyn said. “I’m going to fall asleep.” Karyn reached to take a sip of her drink. Mark remained silent as if he hadn’t heard Karyn, but no doubt he had. There was nothing else to hear.The DreamCruise and its crew rested in equal distance between the United States and Canada. The only sound was the soft, nearly imperceptible wisp of a feeble wind. The only sight was whatever pulsing explosions of light danced on the inside of eyelids.Mark understood.***The pirate was a periscope, his head rotating to capture a view of the surrounding lake before continuing his trek. He’d be under water until reaching the incline of the sandbar. For that time, he was most vulnerable. With dedication, the pirate held his breath and slunk into the water, eyes making one last connection with the TIUX.Fully submerged, the pirate’s legs and arms pedaled without creating a ripple, inching forward until his toes met the grade of the sandbar. He could hear the muffled war cries even under the water. If vulnerable to their hostility, that time had come. The pirate braced himself, pushed his head through the surface and took in a closer view of the TIUX. There was no enemy waiting. The pirate took a deep breath, his exhale crawling without sound.Creeping up the slope of the sandbar the pirate lowered his body at the same time to avoid detection. Wading port side of the vessel, he pushed his ear against the wooden hull and listened. The screeches continued merciless, and with the wooden boat as a conduit, the pirate took the full brunt. Chapter Forty-OneCaves hold profound mystery and wild expectation for their prospectors. Deep, winding caverns spread in a massive nervous system snaking within the earth itself. Each brave explorer, stumbling upon a new crevice, found a virgin set of uncharted passageways forcing their way deeper into the planet. Stalactites and stalagmites growing by centimeter over millennia revealed in their splendor to the very first explorers without knowledge of observance.Many souls lost their lives deep within Mother Earth, victims of the very maize they traversed, unable to reverse course. Moving deeper into the soul of the planet, thinking they were soon to see the light of day, the caverns became inner-space black holes.Not dark: no light at all.A hand of pure alabaster first generation Irish derma inches from the eyes of the trapped was unseen. The only reality was faith it was there because your mind told you your hand rested at the end of your arm and your arm angled in the general direction of discovery.Any with the experience welcome the blindness if it means relief from the silence. The poor souls finding themselves consumed by Mother Earth were painfully aware they could hear all too well.The first hours bring the sound of a faint drip from a fresh spring; cool, lifesaving water sitting just feet or miles away, its sound echoing through the earth undiminished by distance. In the beginning, the sounds are a welcome break, a touch of reality to convince them they remain part of this mortal coil. One can hear the shifting of the earth itself, the bowels of the planet digesting its million-year old meal, sound rumbling through solid rock and injecting the most desperate of fears into the bravest of men.Mostly though, the trapped heard nothing other than whatever vibrations they could generate–the shuffle of feet on the rocky bed, the muffled scrape of denim against walls. Screams echo but find no exit.Eventually, the human ear goes about its business with increasing focus, straining to pick up any sound it can. Unable to latch on to inner-outer space, the ears turn their search closer to home. At first, a gentle beat, then a droning flow of patterned ambience.Over time, the ears become a stethoscope forced to listen to the motion of blood pumping autopilot through veins and arteries.Over time, the sound approaches a threshold compelling one to shutter their ears in a vain, pathetic attempt to make it stop, but it didn’t work. It never worked.Get out of the house, the call is coming from inside!If the silence deep in the bowels of Mother Earth was a black hole where few escaped her hold, then where Mark found himself now was a portal as well; this one a conduit for all the good in the universe.As Mark sat on the bench fully sedated by Mother Nature, he wondered if Karyn knew. It was a strange concern for Mark, one he rarely considered on the behalf of others, but Karyn was different. He hoped she understood but lacked the faith she did.Mark felt the heat tighten his skin. The breeze swam across his body soothing, cooling.Silence on the water is different from the silence inside the earth. The silence on the water is the opposite, and the fear is not that you couldn’t make it stop; the fear is that it would stop. It always did. Chapter Forty-TwoMark was groggy and in the same position as when he first sat down. Karyn sat beside him quietly but aware of the imagined danger in her surroundings. She was willing to appreciate the sedative but unwilling to give in to its full resolve.“What an awesome day,” Mark finally said, although it wasn’t clear if he was talking to anyone in particular. He felt refreshed and alive even though his body was in a slow, syrupy fog. The sun, air, and water were doing their job very nicely, thank you very much, delivering the harmony he came to expect. The gin wasn’t bad either.“It’s nice. That’s for sure.” Karyn replied. “You could get lost in time out here just floating around,” Karyn’s eyes met Mark’s. “We should have spent time out here with the kids when they were younger and we could drag them along. Now we’re lucky to see them at all.”Karyn reflected on her words unsure if she believed them or not. When the kids were young, it was Karyn when they got home from school, got in a fight or not asked to the dance. Karyn took them to soccer, basketball, birthday parties, and family get-togethers. It was Karyn being a mom, and when needed a dad as well. Mark was socked away building the firm. “It comes to detail; thinking of something the other guy didn’t. The guy who digs deeper gets the win.”Karyn knew the logic by heart.“Well, we didn’t have the Sea Ray or the time to use it back then,” Mark countered from habit. The Sea Ray wouldn’t come around until a tidy little accident with a vintage Corvette at the annual Classic Car celebration called the Woodward Dream Cruise. It earned Mark the Sea Ray and its designation.Karen continued. “We could have spent time at the summer home, we never use it.” Mark let the statement go. Karyn was right; they didn’t take advantage of the summer home. Karyn never knew why it sat like the wallflower at the high school dance; it was part of the family as it had been forever, and it was available most all summer long. She couldn’t remember when Margaret was there, and the times Mark, Karyn, and the kids were there could be counted on the hand of a butcher named Lefty. When the kids were young, she’d join Peggy on occasion but always with the feeling of guest rather than family.“How about another drink?”“Sure, why not.”Mark surveyed the water and the small mounds of land he could view erupting from the depths. He sensed the wind; it was nothing to consider. The slightest of clouds were building on the horizon, they were far off and harmless, the typical afternoon build.Mark descended the steps to the galley and made good on his offer. He didn’t ask what Karyn wanted, assuming another Bacardi and Coke. He slid fresh limes around the rims and plunked them in before moving topside, meeting Karyn mid stairs.“Where are you headed?“I’m going to use the bathroom and make us a snack. I packed a few things to munch on,” she said. Each traveler moved sideways to make way as Karyn’s breasts rubbed against Mark’s arm.Karyn had smuggled a nice array of snacks on board, Black Diamond Cheese, fresh Asiago bread, dry salami, hummus, grapes. She sat the tray on the table and sat next to Mark, leaning in and settling against his chest. She filled her lungs with fresh air.“So, do you think you’ll slow down now?” The question arrived in perfect stereotype. “We certainly have enough money to be comfortable. Besides, it’s time to start teaching your young associates to survive on their own. It’s like having kids; you can’t do everything for them. They need to make their own decisions.” Karyn wasn’t looking at Mark as she spoke; she was staring at the water.“We’ll see. This whole Pilate’s Decision thing was so big. I felt like I did when I first started the practice; every day a new adventure.”“I could tell,” Karyn said.“It was weird. That’s for sure,” Mark said, not directly entering into the intended discussion. “It’s been a long time since I’d been so deeply involved in a case.” Mark took another hit, “maybe the money,” he offered, knowing it was redundant the moment it left his lips. Money was his motivation. He was geaked by the pursuit but there was something extra with the Pilate’s case, a ‘B’ side.“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Working with the band and everything else made the kids king of the hill. Do you know how cool it is to have that CD?” She asked rhetorically. Mark heard the question and understood but remained less competent on how cool it was.“Mark Jr. has been having his friends over to listen. He’s milking it for sure.”“Just like his father,” Mark said with a grin.“Have you listened to it?”Mark’s face crumpled. “What, the CD? No. I don’t even know where it is.”“Well, from what Mark says, it’s awesome. I think you should listen to it.”“Why?”“I don’t know. Jared was excited, and he did ask you to take a listen. I think he’s intrigued by you. I think he likes to get you going.”“He already got me going.”“Mark said it’s weird, but that’s what they expect, I guess.”“I can only imagine.” Mark said, “I studied their shit day and night for a year, and I’m still not sure what they were saying, although I know it wasn’t kill two girls.”Karyn’s face soured. It was something she had worked to forget ever since the case became a part of their lives. It was nonhuman: senseless, brutal and evil. The stereotypical rich kid with no link to reality scared Karyn the most. Not that her kids were out of whack, just that there were dozens of Jack’s around.“I guess I’ll have to listen to it. I’m kind of an expert on those guys.”“Well, I’m just glad the whole thing is over.” Karen said.“I’m just glad it’s over and in the bank,” Mark added, putting the exclamation point on with a serious gulp of gin and a mischievous upturn of his eyebrows.“I don’t even know what I did with that CD.” He said, then retraced his steps when they returned from California, but couldn’t pinpoint where he put the disc. “So what do you want to do? Should we cruise for a while? I don’t feel like going to the islands. It’ll be too crowded by now. I can’t stand waiting for some floating junkyard to leave so I can get a slip.” Mark spoke with newfound energy and a quickened pace as he deliberately blocked the road his mind was beginning to take.“I don’t feel like it either. I’m not in the mood to put on make-up.”Mark stood up and faced Karyn as she sat. “I’ve got an idea,” he said as he reached out and grabbed her hand.“Oh yeah, what is it?”“You know, as Captain of this ship, it’s my responsibility to make sure the crew is satisfied in every regard, lest we have a mutiny! I certainly can’t afford to have an uprising on my records. The King won’t stand for it. I’ll lose my Captaincy.”“Tell me, what does the captain have to take care of his crew way out here on the high seas?”“Oh, I don’t know.” Mark the Captain said as he, once again, surveyed the vast nothingness surrounding him.Karyn paraded her hand across Mark’s bathing suit. “With the captain’s permission, I think the first mate would be happy with this,” Captain Mark stood at attention as the first mate edged her thumbs inside the elastic waistband, pulling downward to reveal a captain more than ready, willing and able.Mark was completely naked and standing astern with drink in hand. “There’s nothing better than sex on a boat.” He said. Karyn didn’t hear. The warm summer air drifted over every inch of his mind and body. He couldn’t care less. This was his ship. These were his waters; he’ll do as he pleases.Karyn resisted the obvious culmination of what she started topside. “Let’s go downstairs, or below or whatever it’s called,” she said as she took Mark’s hand and tried to pull him forward. “I don’t want to do this out here. Someone will see us.”“There isn’t anyone for miles. You’re out on the open water.” Mark responded.“I’ll get sunburned in places that aren’t supposed to get sunburned.” Karyn giggled as the words left her mouth. Mark persisted, drawing her close and delivering deep, long forceful kisses. He managed to remove her clothes and there, on the deck of the DreamCruise, in front of Mother Nature and whoever may be watching, they made love.For Mark, it was standard operating procedure. It took Karyn nearly the entire time to stop worrying about who was watching. The boat itself was foreplay enough for Mark but Karyn was unimpressed. She needed more time, not to ready herself, but to let herself go, exorcise the rationale of how the stereotype should behave. She reached a place close enough to where Mark found himself effortlessly each time he stepped on board and at that moment, Karyn stopped looking over her shoulder.***Mark stood aft in nothing but the wind. Karyn sat in silence on a beach towel draped over the leather bench with her head back and eyes closed, completely naked and exposed in full. Her cocktail resting on the table, its ice cubes a distant memory.Maybe she does understand, Mark thought to himself.“I don’t think it’s fair that my pecker should be hogging all the sun,” Mark said as he turned around to slip on his shorts. “What do you think?” he asked Karyn, jarring her out of her thoughts.“Oh. What? I have to put something on. I can’t believe I’m sitting out here stark naked. And put that thing away.” She said as she scurried to grab her things.“Don’t tell the captain what to do. I’m going to keep it around just in case we need it again.”“Good luck. Your crew will mutiny for sure.”Karyn dug through her bag in search of her Traverse City sweatshirt. Even though the sun was still throwing its weight around, the chill began working its way into the air; and not only because she was recently required to spend every ounce of heat she had involuntarily. Out on the water without the blacktops and humidity of the city, it got chilly fast, like a liquid desert.It would be a disservice to say sex with Mark was good. It was the best in a long time and felt as if making love. It transcended the physical burden to which she had grown accustomed. The Pilate’s case made the act opportunistic and functional at best. It was something you did because it was something you did and Karyn relinquished as infrequently as she could.Today was different. Today was not the same. Karyn sat and thought more seriously than she had since the flames of infatuation first ignited. Was it the peacefulness? The water? Was it the case being over? Was Mark different? Was she different? Was it her secret desire to make love in the open? She hoped her thoughts weren’t so simplistic, deep inside, she knew it wasn’t as juvenile as that. If it were, they’d be having sex in the back seat of the car on the way home. She sat happily, content, fulfilled. The gentle rocking of the boat moving her in perfect harmony to the slow dance she felt inside. Chapter Forty-Three“Where do you want to go?” Karyn shouted from below. The hum of the fans said the DreamCruise would soon spring back to life. Mark was at the helm switching the weather band to double-check the wind and wave report. Karyn made her way topside and repeated her question, “So, where are we off to? Are we going back in?” she asked. Mark looked at her in disbelief.“Are you kidding? This is the best time to cruise. See the sunset, lights on the horizon.” Mark continued to check gages and managed to throw Karyn a smile. All hands on deck knew Karyn’s aversion to any respectable speed on the water, even if that’s where the smoothest ride lived.“Nice and slow,” Karyn said. She paid attention during the Coast Guard Safety classes taken when they towed their first boat behind their rusty Jeep. She learned the mechanics of navigation and the language of flags, lights, markers and rules underway. She earned her certificate and was prepared to take the wheel but didn’t intend to do so voluntarily. She was a passenger and all those tidbits of life at sea provided by Poopdeck Paul with the ill-fitting uniform and corrugated acne scars was simple insurance. It was bad enough being in the middle of nowhere having to watch out for every lunatic as far as the eye could see, let alone reverse fifteen feet of beam into a slip with an inch to spare while fifty drunken sailors pound Depth Charges on the deck of Sinbad’s assessing your ability. No thank you.“Where should we head?”“Let’s not go too far. I don’t want to be far away when it gets late.”“Don’t worry. I know this water like the back of my hand. I’ve got radar, GPS, charts, ship to shore and an EPERB mobile transmitter. You can’t get any safer than that.” It was the perfect analytical answer but one that didn’t deliver confidence. All that equipment on board told Karyn the opposite story.“How far is the summer home?” Karyn asked. “Why don’t we see if we can find it?” Mark looked forward without acknowledging the idea.“I’m not sure we could find it.” Mark lied, “It’s hard to pick out structures on the beach, and there are a hundred cottages along the shore.”“I thought you were the captain?” Karyn smirked. “It should be easy for someone with your experience.” Mark allowed the trap, but no guttersnipe would challenge this captain! Not on his ship!“I’ll find it, don’t worry,” he said as he fired up the engines one by one. “We’ll head over to Colchester and get inside the bay, and then we can just follow the shore back. I think it’s easier to find from that approach.“It’s not far is it?”“It’s closer by boat than car.”“Sounds like fun, let’s see if we can find it.” Karyn repositioned herself in the seat for the ride.“I have a pair of binoculars below, in the hold above the pantry. We should get them out.” Mark had a mission and a job needed doing, even if his plan from the start. He wasn’t sure what they would do when they found it other than listen to Karyn say they should have used it more.Mark was more than capable of finding the summer home from the water. He’d do it in the midst of a raging nor’easter with no electronics, and nothing would change that under the crisp evening dusk. Karyn delivered the binoculars and took a seat beside Mark on the bridge. There was barely a splash of light in the sky as the DreamCruise pushed its way toward the Canadian shore. Chapter Forty-FourFrom the standpoint of our planet’s life cycle, the coastline of Lake Erie hasn’t changed at all.From the standpoint of a sailor bound by the confines of their personal life cycle, that same shore has indeed changed. Man-made additions modify its complexion, delivering a shoreline pockmarked with teenaged angst. Temporary additions with no effect on the path Mother Nature is on, but noticed by those whose small window of reality was happening now. Just ask Skeeter down at Duffy’s, he’ll tell you how things have changed.Mark captained the DreamCruise to Colchester point, arriving from their mid-lake location in twenty minutes. Colchester is a great landmark; its treed land mass jutting into the lake before it pulled back and headed west against Ontario. You could sneak your craft inside along the shore and follow the smooth beaches until the lake gave way to the river. The point offered refuge, cutting the wind and easing a pounding storm from the south or west.Mark held tight to the shore at a crawling speed. He began the search miles downstream from the property, ensuring the opportunity to gain his bearings. Any sailor would do the same. They would pass Currier Beach, then Simon, and then President’s Beach, Mark at the helm, standing tall, proud and in charge of his ship and crew under the moonlight. He had more coastline to cover, but he knew where he was.Karyn moved below and now pulled her slicker out of the hold. The sun had retreated for the day, and the drop in temperature was worthy of attention. A good first mate, she asked Mark if he needed his gear but he was busy plotting their expedition. Karyn returned fully zipped with two fresh cocktails.“Where are we captain?” She said with renewed enthusiasm.“We’re close. This is all familiar.” Without taking eyes from the shore, Mark held his hand out and relieved Karyn of the fresh gin and tonic. “We’re almost to Currier Beach. As soon as we pass the inlet and Simon, we’ll be at President’s Beach. Then we have to find the right place.” Karyn watched as the shore gave way to a rustic inlet, barely visible in the darkness.“We’re out of light except for what the moon gives us,” Mark said.“At least it’s behind us,” Karyn added.Mark shot a quick glance at Karyn. It was an astute nautical observation. Mark leaned the DreamCruise closer to land, the readings from the dash in sharp red and orange, the depth finder still registering over twenty feet. Between the DreamCruise and shore, the gray outlines of swim platforms and boatlifts emerged.“We’re close now. The first places are coming up.” Mark pulled the throttles back and snapped them into neutral, leaving the craft to drift under its own forward motion. He grabbed the binoculars and scanned the first set of structures. “I can’t see it yet. But I think I remember that A-Frame, so I think we’re close.” Mark passed the binoculars to Karyn for her to gain bearings. She focused the lenses and landed on the same cottage. “I see it.” She confirmed. Mark put the levers back in gear and juiced the throttles, straightening the craft and moving it parallel to the shore. “How many away was it?”“I don’t know many but we’ve got to be close,” Mark said. The gentle sounds provided by the wind and small ripples told them they were in a very peaceful place. Mark panned with the binoculars. “If I can spot the big brick place, we’ll have it.”The typical daytime activities on the beach were over for the coastline Mark scanned. Most had gone inside or back to their homes in Windsor or stateside full of sun and sand and good old Canadian Ale. Those that stayed would be preparing for the evening’s bon fire. None lit yet. Mark continued until he swept across a massive willow. He was sure it was the right one, larger and stronger than all the others. Its great trunk bent toward the lake. No fear of Mother Nature here: it accepted all she gave.“I think I’ve got it,” he said, moving away from the willow and up the beach. Karyn watched as Mark stopped his movement, locked on what was the summer home.“Are you sure it’s the right one? Can you see it clearly?” Karyn asked.“I think so,” he said. “But there’s lights on inside. It looks like someone’s there.” Mark stepped down from the captain’s position and moved aft for a better view. He handed the binoculars to Karyn and settled on a natural look. “I can’t believe anyone is there. Unless we have the wrong place,” he said.Karyn adjusted the binoculars and followed the same path as Mark, traversing the beach and eventually landing on the structure. “I think it’s definitely the place. And you’re right, there’s something going on inside. I can’t see any people though.” Karyn moved further aft and stood next to Mark. With the naked eye, she could see the white light bleed from the windows and spill onto the lake in shimmering reflection.“I’m going to come about and move in from the other side. We should be able to beach on the sandbar.” Mark engaged the engines and looked over each shoulder before pushing the throttles. He was on a mission and jacked the engines up, causing Karyn to grab hold of a lifeline. Arcing the DreamCruise in a half circle, the summer home with lights aglow passed starboard and then aft before Mark completed the full swing. The nose of the DreamCruise pointed at the center of the home as Mark inched toward the sandbar. “I can see better now, but I don’t see any people. Could the lights just be on?” Karyn asked.“I don’t see how. Who would be out there and leave the lights on? Unless someone was working on it. Maybe Peggy is having work done.”“On a Saturday?” Karyn inquired. “And it’s late.” It made no sense.The buzz from the depth finder startled. They were at five feet approaching the sandbar. Mark raised the outdrives, pushed the throttles forward, and angled the massive V of the bow into the heart of the sandbar. They felt the rub on the underside as Mark punched both props to secure their landing.“That ought to do it. We’re not going anywhere now,” Mark said, cutting the engines. He needed to hear everything around him; maybe even what was happening at the summer home.“Can you see anyone inside?” He asked.“Not a thing. Here, take a look.” Karyn handed the binoculars to Mark without taking her eyes off the suspect.“I’m sure it’s the right place, no question. Maybe it’s a bunch of teenagers. If it’s anything like it was when I was a kid. We were always breaking into places when no one was home.”“You did?”“We were teenagers.”“Weren’t you scared of getting caught?”“We didn’t even think about it. Besides, they were all people we knew so it was kind of ok.”“Oh, I’m sure they’d have felt the same way.”“We didn’t do anything. We were mostly after beer. OK, always after beer,” he said through a wide grin.“At least you had a good reason.”“The best.”Karyn watched as Mark peered through binoculars, spilling details of his adolescent larceny. “There were always places unlocked and well stocked. If anyone knew anything they didn’t say, besides, some of the beer got to the kids of who we stole it from. We had a gang from all over. Michigan, Ontario, some year-rounders, some from other states.” Mark stepped down from his perch and moved further aft. The DreamCruise, securely impaled into the sandbar, allowed them to move and improve sight lines. “I can’t see a thing inside,” he said, then continued in reflection, “I wish I could remember all the names. There were Scott, Billy and two Mikes. One was, oh shit, what was his name? I can’t remember, but his parents would buy him all kinds of shit to bribe him to be a good kid. He had all the toys: a car with a big stereo, a Glastron with an eighty horse Johnson. That thing would fly. We had to put sandbags in the bow to keep its nose in the water.”Mark stared at the summer home some sixty yards away as the crow flies, but twenty-five some years in a truer measure.“I don’t think they did well with the bribery, at least not with us as friends.” Mark smiled as his mind walked the beach and dirt road behind the properties to the clubhouse and the kids he hadn’t seen or thought of in forever. Karyn stood on the border of his personal space convinced he had no idea she was there.“We would load that boat and head to Crystal Bay. You had to get there early to get deep in the inlet, or you’d have to throw anchor in a shitty location near the mouth. You’d pick up wake if you were late. If Mike’s parents knew we had all that Canadian Ale, cigarettes, and whatever else out there they would have cut him off forever. We never got caught though. We never got caught.” Karyn watched Mark as he continued to unearth his summer memories. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard him speak in such a simple, innocent manner, without an agenda.Karyn, aware that Mark was somewhere else, took advantage. “Weren’t there any girls in your gang?”“Girls?” he said, “Oh there were a lot of girls on the beach. They wouldn’t hang with us during the day. I guess they weren’t interested in firecrackers or dissecting whatever prehistoric gilled creature would float up on the shore,” Mark paused, “but they were there when the party started.”Karyn had never seen Mark so calm, and she wasn’t sure what else.“They would have dances down at the clubhouse on Friday nights,” he continued, “the young kids would jump around like idiots and spill orange soda all over the floor. The same dorky parents chaperoned while the cool ones stuck their heads in between cocktails. Everybody knew each other.“I’m sure you had fun with your summer girlfriends,” Karyn pried.“Well, I did manage to learn a lot in that department. There’s something about the beach and the lake. Like you had another existence. More than different, it was separate.” Mark strained to recapture the feeling as much for himself as Karyn. Although she was aware, she would never understand. You couldn’t live vicariously when it came to the water; you had to experience it firsthand.“A lot happened on this beach.” Chapter Forty-Five“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Margaret announced to the Scrabble players, “they’re almost done.” The women smiled; grilling was the man’s department and dishes fell to their better halves. Tradition that may not be appropriate for the time Margaret arrived but certainly appropriate for the time she was experiencing now. Margaret dried the last drops of moisture from the tile countertop before rejoining the group. There was little activity to join. “That was a wonderful meal,” Margaret said as she sat down next to John.“Yes it was.” John agreed. “Yes it was.”The breeze from the water made its way through the front screens and washed over them as gentle and soothing as a kiss. It was cooler without the energy of the sun but the difference transcended that simplicity, there was a secret to the winds making their way through the darkness. Not the gusts from western storms or the cool north in autumn, those were obvious; it was the run of the mill, common flow that remained the most mysterious, a slow narcotic blinding you to all worlds. Everyone absorbed as much peace as they were able.“If I sit here any longer I’ll be asleep.” Margaret announced to the group.“That’s the point,” Sarah said without opening her eyes. Margaret stood and walked along the porch, gazing out each set of screens. She stopped at the last set and breathed in deep. “Well,” she began, “at least I can see the boat now.” She didn’t concern herself with the fact she couldn’t see it before, it was there now and she was part of the gang. The group remained in their trance except for John who stretched his eyes open at the sound of Margaret’s words.“What was that?” he said.“I said I can see the boat on the sandbar now. Why couldn’t I see it before?”“Margaret, the boat left, in the afternoon,” John said.Margaret looked toward the sandbar to make sure the water wasn’t playing tricks on her. She knew in the darkness the laws of perception often bent–sometimes even in broad daylight. Skyward, stars millions of light-years away appear touchable and the moon able to rein in by its sparkling reflection on the water. Running lights from distant freighters and halos of glow from shoreline towns dotted the horizon. Even seasoned skippers can lose bearings at nothing more than a swim’s length from shore. And a watercraft detailed earlier in the day can appear to some through the thin thread of hope–but not this time.This time Margaret saw the boat. She moved her eyes up and down and side-to-side as if human radar, eliminating other potential causes for the glow and shape. There was a boat on the sandbar now just as there wasn’t one earlier. That was Margaret’s reality, and one she was not prepared to relinquish.“You’re telling me you can’t see the lights?” She asked John with an urgency that pulled the others from their activities. Russ moved first. His height gave him the ability to lean over both John and Margaret and add another pair of eyes to the collective periscope.“I don’t see much out there, but I definitely don’t see a boat,” he said, followed by his trademark chuckle.“I don’t see anything either, honey,” Cathy added. Margaret looked back to see the others nodding in agreement. There was nothing there, at least not a boat. She turned again, but the image was clear, running lights and outline of cabin windows.“Well it’s out there, I can tell you that,” she said with pointed confidence.“Does it look like the one there earlier?”“I don’t know. I never saw the boat earlier.” Margaret continued to stare. “No, I don’t think it’s the same. This one looks newer. Modern.”Margaret stopped in her tracks as the words spilled from her mouth. This was becoming a B-movie. She couldn’t see the boat earlier and now everyone else sat unable to recognize the vessel she had in her sights. Such irritating simplicity eroded her patience; slapped in the face with the disjointed logic of what she was trying so hard to accept.Chapter Forty-Six“Don’t you have a spotlight?” Karyn shouted from below.Chapter Forty-SevenMargaret watched the beam make its way from high above the sandbar to the face of the summer home, a powerful and focused white pipe of intensity. “Now I know there’s something out there,” she said with authority.“Why, what is it?” John asked.“The light.”John moved closer to the window, pushing his face toward the screen. “What kind of light?”“You can’t see it? It’s a spotlight from right over the sandbar.”“I don’t see a thing.”Margaret watched as John struggled to see the solid line of white light against the dark sky and inky lake. Joe joined in the hunt but retreated with no evidence found. Margaret fixed her eyes on the beam as it crept along its elevation, then centered on the corner of the summer home and moved to the waterside porch. She waited for the first sliver of white to shine through the window.“There. There it is, right on the window,” she said as it centered the screen. The others looked over their shoulders. Margaret moved to the edge of the screen and placed her hand in the path of the beam but stared only at pale, dim fingers.“The light doesn’t shine through.” She said. “It doesn’t come through the screen.” By the time Margaret was mid-sentence, John was placing his arms on her shoulders in comfort. Margaret didn’t notice.“Margaret. We can’t see any light out there.”Only Margaret saw the beam retract to the area above the sandbar. Chapter Forty-Eight“Why don’t we call?” Karyn said with measurable enthusiasm. “Isn’t there a phone inside? We could call.” The suggestion was obvious.“I don’t know if there’s a phone.”Karyn dismissed the lack of interest. This was becoming an adventure. “Why don’t we call Peggy? We’ve got the cell and the ship to shore,” Karyn said as she stood up next to Mark.“When did you become so nautical?” Mark asked, “Ship to shore?”“I paid attention at the Coast Guard classes. I never needed to use anything I learned until now. Anyway, let’s call. Maybe it’s them. Where’s the phone?”Karyn headed below to retrieve the cell in the duffle bag. She pressed the button to activate the screen and dialed Peggy’s number. “There’s another reason you should be glad I’m here. You wouldn’t know Peggy’s number if your life depended on it.”“That’s because my life doesn’t depend on it.”“No service,” Karyn said with the lift of an eyebrow. She looked at the screen but there was nothing to learn, they were outside range. “Anyway, maybe it’s your Mom.” Karyn said.“My Mother?” Mark repeated with amusement. “I think you’re chasing some bad leads inspector. Even if she was there she’d be gone by now.” Mark paused. “She’s not at the summer home.”“I can’t believe you’re not interested in finding out who is. Aren’t you curious?”“I don’t think it’s any big mystery. Maybe Peggy or my Mom was out earlier and forgot to turn the lights off. Remember she said she’d been out before? Maybe the next generation of teenagers is carrying on the tradition of acquiring some fine Canadian ale.”“With all the lights on?” Detective Karyn shot back.Mark smiled at the oversight. “Yes. With all the lights on, you have to make sure you get the right stuff.”Karyn focused her energies on the case. “Maybe it’s the neighbors,” she said to herself after a long pause. She craned her neck to assess the activity at any of the surrounding properties but garnered no support.“Well, what should we do now?” Karyn asked in desperation. She exhausted the trails presented and looked for help from her disinterested partner.“I think we should sit here and enjoy the night. You keep your eyes on our suspect, in case they try to make a run for it.” Karyn accepted Mark’s volley. “Maybe we’d be able to see something if we smoked a joint,” Mark said, recognizing the brilliant piece of investigative work.“I’m sure you would, but I’m on duty,” Karyn answered. Her response made Mark take more than just casual notice since it didn’t meet with immediate personal disappointment. The door opened and Mark crossed the threshold. He repositioned himself on the aft deck bench, stretched out long and offered to share the peace pipe with Karyn, but she refused without taking her eyes off the summer home. If possible, the night grew more peaceful.Drawing in one last, long drag Mark felt the heat on his fingertips before tossing the roach overboard. The silence regained around him, interrupted only by Karyn rustling through the holds below. He didn’t look or ask as he exhaled the last of his remedy and replaced it with an invigorating draw from Mother Nature’s cool fresh lake air. Mark closed his eyes.Let’s see what you’ve got.***The shrieks and war cries forced upon the pirate’s ears earlier were, in an instant, replaced with a macabre silence. The pirate was confused as to the message the stillness sent.Were they listening? Ready to attack?The pirate remained hidden, sticking to the craft under the slight curve of its length. He moved hand over hand aft until bending around the transom: TIUX displayed in gold letters juxtaposed against deep rich wood.Chapter Forty-NineIt came to Margaret at 4:20 am with a mental tattoo akin to November 22, 1963. From a deep, sound sleep, she moved to the other side. Her room was dark, thick drapes covered windows. She saw the red neon outline numbers on her clock a dozen feet away and watched the zero morph into a one, confirming the forward movement of time.Whatever piled on top of Margaret required all her energy, and whatever held her prisoner was gaining more control. Thoughts infiltrated her consciousness without invitation or provocation. She concentrated on managing her time with scientific efficiency, filling it with redundant and meaningless activities and all the busy work she could muster. Year after year of routine and predictable life experience, daily schedules, and understandable consequences makes for a logical and balanced existence. Eating buttery fresh corn on the cob with her deceased husband and friends didn’t fit into any logic she had ever known. It made no sense. Until 4:20 amThis is happening.The only way it makes sense is that it’s happening.People hear voices all the time. Some predict the future, calculate mathematical equations faster than a Cray computer, or play Chopin flawlessly with IQs barely above a child. Others see ghosts and recall past lives as if reporting for Eyewitness News.There are endless flora, fauna, microbes and life that carry on in their own reality every day without a clue we’re even here. Is their existence less real? Is it possible the living things dismissed by our arrogance; that Conifer tree, the Cicada, the wind itself, watch as we plow through our lives but dismiss it because we’re not capable of comprehending? Margaret felt the prickle in her veins; adrenaline stabbed and relieved her of any foggy remnants of sleep.4:43.Margaret’s thoughts turned to the only place she felt could deliver the balance she craved. She would rely on her faith for guidance and strength as she had so many times before. Margaret believed her savior as real as her hairdresser. What was thought two thousand years ago when five loaves of bread and two fish fed five thousand? The sick cured and Lazarus raised from the dead?That was reality. It happened. Her faith told her so.Her thoughts full circled to John. Was John a reality? One only she understood? Even if she accepted that her husband, who had been dead, is right now sleeping in a bed just outside Amherstburg Canada, there remained a larger question.Why?What was the reason? Does this happen to everyone? Is this happening to anyone else?Margaret repositioned herself on the bed, its cotton sheets warm from the heat of her thoughts.Maybe this happens to everyone but no one ever tells.Margaret tallied how many times she talked to Peggy, neighbors, or Mary from the coffee shop. How many trivial subjects? How she would smile, nod her head, laugh or show concern as if she were listening while the most important subject scratched from deep inside. Yet she kept the secret.5:03 am and her life was an Escher drawing moving in all directions but getting nowhere, always returning to start the maze again. This is where Margaret found herself on another summer Saturday just before dawn. Today however, she will face the day not with the need for resolution, but with the resolve of acceptance. John was a part of her life again regardless of form or fantasy. He is alive, warm, thoughtful, charismatic, and loving. Her friends were not friends to the end, but beyond. She moved into a stage of life that may well be universal but clandestine in the purest sense.But they can’t go outside.The thought was stark and cold.They can’t go outside.When first swept into the web she had no thoughts whether John or the others enjoyed the outdoors. Never considered if they experienced headaches, played golf, drove cars, used the phone, or went to the dentist. Whatever the second biggest question might be is distant and irrelevant in light of the first.***By time the sun made its appearance over southeastern Michigan, Margaret was in her nook midway through her second cup. Only the crumbs from an English muffin remained on the small china plate as she sat and replayed her visits to the summer home. Her experiences grew familiar by redundancy but made little contribution toward determining if events are happening or generated by her own fancy.WJR Radio confirmed another beautiful summer day, not as warm as it has been but clear and cloudless. The previous week brought two early evening tornado watches that never upgraded to warning. Grasses yellowed and flowers wilted.Margaret poured the last of her coffee. It was more than she’d usually have, but being awake so early extended her coffee hour. A typical weekend would be filled with tasks and errands left undone because she ran out of week the day before. This Saturday however, was wide open.***The ship was quiet.They knew.The thought cut through the pirate like a sling blade. Would he fall victim to the surprise of attack? Was it he led into a trap he intended to set?The pirate motioned for his warriors: he would need them now. Right now. He raised his hand in signal, but nothing more than the lake stared back. He was alone with the TIUX, covered by a silence that seemed to drape the entire universe.Chapter Fifty“Well, it’s about time.” Karyn said as she split the drapes. “Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s almost 12:30. I thought you were dead!” Karyn moved around the bed straightening covers and fluffing pillows.“12:30?” Mark was groggy, “you’re kidding. I haven’t slept this late in . . . I’ve never slept this late.” Mark remained motionless. Karyn pulled the curtains full away from the windows to let out the dark.Mark stretched, same as any other morning, but it wasn’t morning, it was afternoon. If on trial for sleep abuse, the prosecution wouldn’t be able to produce more than a handful of priors, long periods of hibernation unnecessary and the cure for consumption best dealt with by the hair of the dog.“OK, here’s the latest.” Karyn chirped, “I talked to Peggy, and they weren’t at the summer home, and as far as she knew no one was supposed to be there. No renters either. And no one was working on it.” Karyn was bubbling with crime-scene-investigator swagger. “I talked to Peggy first thing. She had no idea why the lights would be on.”“What about my mother? Did you get her downtown to grill her on what she was doing last night?” Mark was back in tune with the program, leading Karyn as he fumbled with the toothpaste.“Funny you should ask,” Karyn said. “I talked to your mother right after Peggy, and she said she hasn’t been there since she went with Mike and Kathleen.” Karyn walked to the edge of the bathroom as Mark brushed his teeth under Karyn’s reflection in the mirror.“What?” He said, not listening.“Well, this is strange. She sounded nervous when I was talking to her.”Mark stopped brushing. “You’re not trying to tell me you have a hunch, are you? You watch too much TV.”“No. All I’m saying is that I have enough experience figuring out when someone is telling the truth or not.” Karyn let that little gem sink in. She knew it wasn’t necessary, but it would get Mark’s attention. “You seem to forget that we have two teenaged kids who could put you and your little beer smuggling delinquents to shame,” Karyn tried to buffer. “Anyway, she sounded strange on the phone, and she tried to change the subject right away.”“Maybe she has a boyfriend out there,” Mark said.“Don’t make jokes. This is serious. Don’t you care that someone could be robbing you or living there? Like a squatter.” Mark stopped shaving and spoke to Karyn’s reflection in the mirror. “First, it’s not my property. Last night was the closest I’d been to the place in years.” Mark turned to face Karyn. “Second, we don’t have proof it was the right property. We may have been at a completely different beach looking at a similar structure.” What she was getting now was a closing argument, and the facts were not piling up the way she envisioned. “Finally, I think my mother does have a boyfriend over there, and it’s Mike whatever his last name is because he has the boat and the car and a bunch of beer.”“Well, I’m glad you are taking this so seriously,” Karyn said as she dipped her head.“I don’t think there’s anything going on. I think the lights were on. You didn’t see anyone, right?”“No, I couldn’t see anything. But just the same, I think it’s weird.” Karyn sat at the vanity and combed her hair as Mark removed his T-shirt and boxers and made his way to the shower. He let the spray run over his face, filling his mouth and squirting it out between tightened lips. By the time he finished, it was one-thirty and in Mark’s estimation the day was wasted.“Hey,” Karyn said as they met on the stairs, “your mother is coming over for dinner.“My mother?”“Yes, your mother. When I talked to her this morning, I asked if she wanted to come over.”“I was going to go down to the club. I don’t think I closed the boat up last night.”“You don’t have time. Why don’t you have them do it? That’s what they’re paid to do.” Mark knew it would be quite a trick to bug out now, especially with his mother coming to dinner. “Besides, I don’t know what else you could do. You ran around that thing last night for forty minutes like you were on a game show.”Chapter Fifty-OneMark Jr. blasted into the kitchen and tossed his dish from lunch in the sink. “Dad, you’re not going to believe this.” Mark raised his eyebrows and waited for the other shoe to drop. Even with more sleep than one needs to face the week Mark guessed he would be ill-prepared for whatever teenage logic was about to be laid out before him, most likely resulting in a financial obligation on his part.“Guess who called this morning?” Mark Jr. said, fidgeting. “Guess who called!”“I haven’t got a clue. Did you get a good deal on replacement windows?” Mark asked.Mark Jr. shot back with a few ounces of his own sass. “Yeah, how’d you know? Come on, take a guess,” This is serious.“Just tell me.”“Jared Anderson.” Mark Jr. said with a clear take that tone.“Jared freaking Anderson. He called to talk to you, but he said not to wake you up.”“Jared Anderson?” Mark mumbled. “Really?” Mark tried hard to put the entire case in off-site storage. There was nothing of value for him with regard to Jared or Pilate’s Decision; he already had what he needed more than a million times over, yet here it is again. “What did he want?”“He asked if you gave me the CD.” Mark Jr. beamed with pride, “and if I liked it!”“He wanted to know if I gave you the CD?”“Yeah. He asked me what I thought of it.” Mark Jr. was impressed with his elevated status.“What did you tell him?”“I told him it was awesome. Are you crazy? He wanted to know what my favorite cuts were. Can you believe it?” Mark Jr’s voice intensified as he relived the conversation.“He wanted to know if you liked it.”“I haven’t even listened to it.”“You have to listen to it! It’s unbelievable.”“I’ve had my fill.”“You better listen to it because he’s going to call back.” Mark’s eyes lifted.“Call back? What for?”“To make sure you listened to this one.”“He said he wanted to make sure I listened to this one?”“Yeah, that’s what he said. They’re kicking off the tour here and he’s going to hook us up with back stage passes. Is that fucking incredible?” Mark Jr’s enthusiasm reached a level where the f-word was the only fitting descriptor.“He said someone would contact us. This is awesome.”“You and your friends will have a great time.”Karyn entered the kitchen. “Oh yeah?” she said, “I talked to him too, but Mark made me promise he could tell you first. Anyway, I told him we’d love to go.”“We’ll see how my calendar is,” Mark said. “I can’t believe he called. It’s not like we’re long lost friends.”“Who cares? It’ll be fun.” Karyn said. “Looks like you’re still part of the rock scene honey.”Mark wasn’t done. “So you talked to him too?”“Yep.”“What did he want with you?”“Well, he asked about you. If you were feeling alright.”“Really?”“Yes, he did. He said he’d been thinking about you and what happened on the beach because it reminded him of his brother.” Karyn slipped the plate into the dishwasher and closed the door. “He wouldn’t get an honest answer from you.”“Well, that’s right. I don’t understand why he’d care.”“I don’t know either, but it was still nice he called.”“So that’s all he wanted?” Mark asked, digging. In his legal history, hundreds of clients called after the fact but a grand total of none called his home and talked to his family.“He just asked if you listened to this one like Mark said.”Karyn delivered the message without a thought as to its double life. If she was going to be a detective, she had quite a bit of work to do.“He asked you too?”“Yeah, you know what?” Karyn asked.“What’s that?”“I think he’s grateful for what you did for the band, and it’s the only way he knows how to repay you. It’s the only thing important enough to him.” Karyn leaned against the counter as she spoke, not allowing any other activity to minimize her observation.“Why would it matter to him? He said himself he didn’t give a shit about the case.”“He said that, but I don’t think he meant it. It was just an act. They were scared to death. Who wouldn’t be?”“I wouldn’t,” Mark replied. “There was nothing to be afraid of. It only made them more popular.”“Well, I still think he’s more than relieved. Anyway, it wouldn’t be such a big deal for you to listen to it.” Mark looked at Karyn confused. Why would she care? It’s not as if he deserved a thank-you card. He was a client and a strange one and an ‘ex’ one for that matter. If the rock star fantasy intrigued Karen it was fine, but she didn’t need to drag him along. “And why did he ask if you listened to this one?”The words scratched into Mark as if by chisel. He tried to recall exactly how Mark Jr delivered the line, where the emphasis was, on what words. Once is a fluke; twice is a trend.He said he wanted to make sure you listened to this one.Mark remembered the day. The CD from Jared arrived with a hand-written note stuffed into a simple paper sleeve. He didn’t play it; there was too much risk in an unsolicited delivery after discovery.And he didn’t want his kids to hear it.He tossed the disk and never gave it a second thought–never tempted to review the new hit single “Look Who Made Jack Kill Two Young Girls.”Mark tucked himself behind the newspaper until Karyn left before making his way to the library. He closed the door and scanned the room, then began fumbling through drawers and shelves, peeking under stacks of paper as if rocks hiding night crawlers. He stood back, surveyed the area again before drawing the key and unlocking the doors to his cabinet. He was sure the CD Jared had given him in LA was somewhere between “that’s where it is,” and “how did that get there?”He said he wanted to make sure you listened to this one.Mark continued the search for the disk, walking his hands through desk drawers and brief cases, reminding himself of the rationality of his actions. The disk was in the room. He could feel it.His mind began a chronological review independent of the physical search he was conducting, how he attacked the case with a vigor and focus well beyond his usual obsession. He wore the badge of arrogance on his selection as counsel in an area so far out of his expertise the only way to deal with it was to assume the ego.But he never met the group.Mark sat in his leather chair trying to remember. His office screaming that someone other than he had been there. Papers, books and files typically sitting in military perfection were scattered recklessly about the room.He wanted to know if you listened to this one.He didn’t listen.And Jared knew it.Mark smiled when it finally hit him. He tucked Psalm 69 next to a Bible on the top shelf of his library bookcase.That was the last thing he remembered. ***The Pirate held on to the platform.No sound.He held his breath and creaked his head above the transom anticipating the surprise. None came. He surveyed the deck for anything he might use as a weapon. Even with foil at his side, any warrior seasoned in battle understood weaponry is lost in the struggle. There was nothing aboard he could spy that would add to his arsenal; he would need to keep his sword at all costs. The pirate forced his hand tight against its hilt, the silence in the air screaming as if steam whistle.They knew.The Pirate was infuriated, his options few and animalistic, the strength once inspiring now betraying.His choices were clear although not equal; flight was neither an option nor consideration.Chapter Fifty-TwoMark’s awareness emerged slowly; in his hand was the new release from Pilate’s Decision, Psalm 69. He flipped the jewel case over, scanning its words and images. The front panel was washed in black and interrupted by a series of words in contrasting white letters, each in its own box like a crossword puzzle. Like the video wall at the release party. Vowels and consonants seemed to ooze from the darkness, words on the face intersecting at common letters.The back featured a photo of the band, legal notices, publisher, record company, copyright, barcode. Mark scanned each side but kept the disk safe within its home. Who cares, he thought, even though he was doing exactly what Jared wanted him to do–just like all the pathetic Jack-holes. Here he is with Psalm 69 in hand, digesting the cover, checking the track listing, and consuming it as a fan.“This is fucking crazy,” Mark said aloud, attempting to convince himself the disk was unimportant. Suddenly, the entire ‘Paul is dead’ phenomenon assaulted Mark’s memory: the frenzy and the fans, the backwards vocals and Abbey Road cover, the ‘28 IF’ license plate and Revolution #9. It was pure genius.The second time he could recall thinking of it was sitting on the main floor of The Palace watching the performance of a very much alive Paul McCartney.Mark peeled the cellophane off the case in an effort considerably more difficult than his rehearsed scene from the trial. He lifted the security strip off in broken slivers until he could pull the clamshell open. The disk was printed solid white with Psalm 69 and the same crisscrossed words squeezing out in reverse of the cover. Mark snapped the disc from the star in the center, placed it in the CD player and pressed play. The drawer retracted, and the machine sprang to life in a growing ambience of wind and rain and thunder. Sounds like more of the same, Mark the reviewer thought.The CD held ten tracks, starting with Psalm 69 in the first position. The others held no meaning by their titles and didn’t appear held together by any theme. It wasn’t a Rock Opera, just standard stuff. “Conduit,” “Soldier,” “Xebec,” “Naturalaw,” and “Believe.” “Intersection” was the final track. Mark slid the booklet out from under the plastic tabs. He skimmed through pages quickly, without registering detail: lyrics, writing credits, players, instrumentation, publishers, one page for studios, producers and sound engineers, a gatefold with photos of the band.Mark scanned the dedication page close: maybe there was a specific barrister listed at the top of a long list ranked by importance. That’s why Jared wanted to make sure he listened to the disk, so he’d stumble upon that very special thank you presented in the best way he knew how–but there was no mention of a Mark Hanley.Psalm 69 continued to track through, its fury growing. It seemed to drag on, much like their other material, until it morphed into a fading, tattered wisp of its earlier assault.The band pounded into their second offering with vigor. Mark shuttled the volume down and leaned back in the chair, following the lyrics through two verses and into the chorus. He studied the CD case while Derrick tortured his Strat through a seventies-era guitar solo.Mark compared the words that crisscrossed the cover and matched them with what he could remember from the release party. As the laser traversed the disk, he grew angrier at the recognition of what he was doing; his rational stance betrayed as he sat and afforded Pilate’s Decision far more consideration than warranted. He was convinced there was nothing but remained unable to dismiss the intrigue. Whatever message they mistakenly feel is destined to affect social order was read into, not read.Mark sat as the next song; Question offered its first chord. He fumbled through lyrics discovering nothing meaningful beyond the inane music itself. The page for Intersection was blank, offering a lifeless stare back, no lyrics, credits, players or instrumentation. Mark heard enough of Question. Grabbing the remote, he pushed the advance button all the way to its tenth digital groove, Intersection. He returned his attention to the gatefold of band pictures, a mixture of live shots and behind-the-scenes images. They looked like one big happy family.The display blinked but didn’t move forward. Mark pushed the track arrow back one, then up to ten. Neon zeros blinked in mechanical pattern. This is already irritating. He closed his eyes to block the tease while flipping the booklet back and forth between his fingers. His eyes opened to the track marching forward in time as designed and already at eleven seconds but without sound. Mark pressed the remote to peak the volume but there was nothing but the hum of electronics. He brought the volume back to its original setting as the timer hit 20 seconds, and then retreated to zero.Mark stared at the player and the counter began its journey again, this time making it to nine seconds before returning to zero.“It must be fucked up. Not tracking correctly.” Mark said aloud. He watched the cue, counting along as it logged its best effort at 21 seconds before returning to zero. The player offered no telltale clicks or whirs typically partnered with tracking malfunctions. The digital readout counted as before, this time humiliating all earlier attempts by topping off at 24 before slipping back to zero.Mark let the machine continue its pathetic effort to latch on, but the result was the same; it never got it. It hiked to 20 and 9 for the third time and Mark moved to the player, bent close and listened. It offered nothing more than another advance to 21 then 24 before returning to the starting line. If it’s a problem with the disk, it’s burned in there just like one of the tunes, he guessed.20.Suddenly, Mark felt like Wile E. Coyote hit in the face with a frying pan.9.Maybe it’s not the machine. Maybe they’re fucking around.21.Mark bore into the chair with a smirk on his face.24.Maybe they’re just fucking with the lemmings.***The pirate breathed deep and moved his head excruciatingly slow, eyes sliding over the open deck. It remained quiet.Palm side down, he lifted himself silently and placed the weight of his feet on the platform. Moisture eked from beneath his toes as he crouched in silence, tucked behind the gunwale. The Pirate heard no signs of impending battle.He stared in silence until the sound broke through. He couldn’t fix on it exactly, but it was behind him.Chapter Fifty-Three“Mark.” A voice said. “Mark.” He heard again, “time to stop working.” Margaret opened the doors to the library. Mark fought to acclimate himself to the present. “Oh, I wasn’t working; I was just . . . Mark stood up and met his mother in the middle of the room.“Did you see Karyn?”“Yes, she let me in. She didn’t know where you were, so I was in charge of finding you.”“Let me turn this off and we can go sit outside by the pool. It’s not too early for a cocktail is it?” Mark received a polite smile from his mother but an overwhelming confirmation from himself.***Mark’s assumption that Karyn wouldn’t don her detective persona was either fully imagined or flatly ignored. “So what do you think about the lights being on at the summer home?” She asked. The trio was sitting at a tall cocktail table near the deep end of the pool. Karyn started the conversation without encouragement. “The more I think about it, we were definitely at the right place,”“I have no idea,” Margaret said. “And you talked to Peggy?”“Yes, they weren’t out there.”“I can’t imagine who would be there,” Margaret said with little interest, and then looked away. Mark and Karyn locked eyes.“I don’t know why I’m so curious.” Karyn chirped, “I just think it’s strange.”“How did you see it anyway?” Margaret asked.Karen began her recap. “We were out on the boat and decided to see if we could find it. We drove along the shore until we found the right beach and eventually the summer home. It’s hard to see at night.” Karyn grew more excited as she spoke. “We stopped on the sandbar to see what was going on.” Mark listened but never took his eyes off his mother. Nearly twenty years of questions aimed at the guilty and innocent gave Mark keen insight into the frailty of human behavior, and he sensed weakness.“I don’t know who it could have been,” Margaret repeated. “But I’ll tell you the place looks great. When I drove out with Mike and Kathleen,” Margaret added. “I can’t believe you don’t use it more often.” Her voice brought Mark back to the conversation and away from track #10. “It’s really a wonderful place.”“Mark, you had so much fun when you were a boy. You’d sit on that beach and play in the sand all day with nothing more than shells and sticks and things you found washed up on the shore.” Margaret talked smoothly as if a recording. “You had quite an imagination. You were always shipwrecked or a freighter captain or a pirate.” Mark flexed and looked at his mother as ‘pirate’ left her mouth.“I can see Mark as a pirate,” Karyn giggled, no reaction from Mark.“If you could have half the fun we did you’d be out there as much as you could.” Margaret continued. “The parties are wonderful.”Present tense.Margaret derailed her train of thought as soon as she gained recognition, “we had a great group of friends,” she lamented.“Mark, do you remember the time you took the row boat out with, who was that, who were you with? Anyway, the waves were kicking up, and you were trying to ride over them as if a whaling expedition until you took on too much water. One of the neighbors had to take their powerboat out to rescue you.”“I don’t remember anything except getting into trouble,” Mark said.“Oh, I remember that too. John was so upset. He had a great respect for the water, and he knew how quickly things could turn from bad to worse. When you finally made it back to shore you dragged that boat up on the beach, and you had the biggest smile on your face. You didn’t have a clue you were close to drowning.”“Now that I can imagine,” Karyn said, learning he flitted with danger, even as a child. “And I think someone should check out the lights. Even if they were on because of an electrical problem, they at least need to be turned off.” Karyn continued to plan the next phase of her investigation.“I’ll accept that as volunteering for the job,” Mark said, knowing it was her original intent. Neither he nor his mother would fight her for the task.“That’s fine with me; I want to see what’s inside. We couldn’t see anything even when we put the spotlight right on the window.” Margaret dipped her head.Karyn excused herself to prepare desert.Margaret sipped her drink. “So, how are you feeling, Mark?” She asked. “Did the doctors find anything out?”“Not a thing,” Mark said, frustrated. “They want me to take more tests, but I’m sure they’ll add nothing except more bills.”“Well, maybe it’s a virus.” Margaret offered, knowing how often that diagnosis played.“You could be a doctor,” Mark said.“Karyn said you had an episode in California.”“When did she tell you that?”“When you got back, we talk you know,” Margaret said slyly.“Oh, I bet you do.”“Don’t worry; she keeps me up to date even if you don’t have the time. And there’s nothing she won’t tell me.” Margaret said with a quick lift of her eyebrows.“Anyway, I feel better, maybe because the case is finally over. I can get back to work on the others.”“I don’t think working harder is the answer,” Margaret said.“It’s not harder; smarter, use my time more efficiently, try to get out on the boat and enjoy the summer.”“That’s what you need to do; enjoy the time you have. How many have told you to slow down?”“I didn’t say I wanted to slow down, I said I want to spread my time out, get on the boat. I’m not going to die,” he said. The words caught Margaret soberly. Mark was not going to die because he would simply not allow it–but what if it didn’t matter.“I don’t like boats. John had a boat, more than one, and I never liked any of them.”“I don’t know why. It’s like anything else, all you have to do is know the rules and you won’t have any problems.”“Well I don’t think the water has any rules. It seems to do whatever it wants, whenever it wants, to whomever it wants. I’ll pay my respects from the shore, thank you very much,” she said. “But I do miss the fresh air. I realized that when I went back.”“Why did you go out there anyway? You haven’t been there in years. You don’t even like to talk about it.” Mark framed the question conversationally, but it was difficult to take the cross-examination out of the cross-examiner.Why, didn’t I tell you? I can’t believe I forgot to mention it. John is out there. He never really died you know. And remember Cathy and Sarah and Russ? They’re all out there too! It’s just like old times! I haven’t seen any of them since, well since their funerals. But they look great. I can’t tell you how much fun we have. Only, now here’s the strange part; none of them can go outside.Margaret resisted the urge to spill everything, each individual detail from fragrance to embrace and everything in between. She hadn’t rolled down the slope far enough to believe it was the truth, but it was happening. The courage to relieve her of the burden was no match for the nightmare of how others would receive it.Especially Mark.No, it wasn’t going to happen. Margaret would stay on the beach.“I’ll tell you the truth.” Margaret said, “I don’t know why.” She looked deep into Mark’s eyes not as his mother but as one seeking common understanding; their link reduced to the thinnest thread defining them.“What did you do out there?” Mark dug.“I don’t know. We do different things.”“What do you mean we? I thought you said you went alone?” The slip laid out for Mark like a ball of yarn to a cat.“I did, but I also went with Mike and Kathleen,” she said.Take that Mr. Prosecutor!“So you went by yourself and with Mike and Kathleen?” Mark queried his witness, establishing chronology.“I’ve been out more than that.” Margaret was beginning to resent the questions. “Why the Spanish Inquisition?”“No reason, I just think it’s odd you’re going out there so much.”“Oh, I haven’t gone that often and it wouldn’t matter if I did. I just thought it would be good to visit, and I enjoyed it so much I went back.” Margaret kept her eyes focused on her glass as she sipped. “And I’m glad I didn’t sell it like you wanted to do.”“You would have made a killing.”“Well, I’m glad I didn’t,” Margaret said with resolve. It was clear to Mark the summer home was important to his mother now, and he was curious as to the recent motivation. “I’ll make sure it stays in the family because you never know who’ll need it.” Margaret smiled. She knew Mark would never understand even if he sat on the porch with John grilling indoors and looking out at the sandbar for a boat that wasn’t there. She was well aware Mark interpreted need in financial terms: a lakefront savings account.Margaret’s simple life pushed to the pinnacle of what a human spirit could withstand. With each experience, her acceptance and vulnerability grew. She gave more, accepted more, displacing cognitive reasoning and solidifying a new reality, drawn deeper into the fabric of life across the border and increasingly powerless to resist the addiction.“Well, it’s your place, I guess,” Mark said.“It’s our place,” Margaret answered.***Mark didn’t take part in idle chitchat after dessert. Margaret offered no more information and Karyn stopped once she closed the deal. Mark’s concentration focused on his library and the CD, Pilate’s Decision and Intersection and . . .The voices of Karyn and his mother blurred as he moved to down the hall to the library. Inside, he hit the power on the player, sparking it to life. Then he hit the eject button, retrieved the disk and spied both sides, unaware of what he was in search of. He blew on the disc, slid it back into the player and punched the last track.Silence played as the neon timer counted twenty.***The pirate understood his opportunity thinned with each passing moment. The silent ship screamed danger. He lifted his head hydraulically, waiting for the punch. Above the gunwale, his eyes slid over the deck to the opening of the gangway. The expanse was uncluttered. Puddles of moisture dotted the decking. There were no arms or caches of ammunition, and he breathed a guarded sigh of relief.The pirate had no choice; he lifted his right leg and placed his toes on the wooden planks. He followed with his left until he was fully vulnerable on the deck of the TIUX. Chapter Fifty-FourKaryn weathered the interrogation by the Border Patrol, concealing her true mission. She didn’t need help from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to crack this case.The mid-morning traffic was light and the scenery drifted by in a blend of curiously remembered and never seen. Karyn pulled the nose of her Mercedes onto the grass outside the summer home after only one miscalculated turn.She looked at the property. It was as she remembered, and in great shape. She recalled Peggy talking about the work Tom had done but thought his efforts concentrated on the interior. Looking now, she knew he worked on its elevation as well. Tom was a whiz at all things mechanical, he tinkered with the best and relished the fact that few would expect a CPA to have such skills.Karyn hit the remote locks and walked to the beach side. Even though she expected the horn to confirm the car’s security, she jumped just the same. The beach was a beach to Karyn, sand and shells and driftwood. Off shore, she followed the small waves in reverse to where a color change indicated sandbar and where they beached on Saturday. Karyn moved to the front, raised herself onto a boulder to add leverage to her view and took in the full panorama. She breathed deep and felt the difference between air and fresh air.Karyn let her eyes slide over the water in solitary focus until she felt a twinge: she had not taken a good look at the summer home other than her quick view of the back porch. As she stood now with the property behind her, it appeared she should have looked deeper. That is prudent investigation technique. Karyn spun and took in a view from the lake’s perspective, its face weathered from Mother Nature’s punches. Beyond immediate recognition, the view offered nothing more than an empty home. With external survey complete, she made her way to the back and up the porch steps with confidence, pinching the key between thumb and index finger.The door was open.Not open wide, but not closed. About two inches and unnoticed from the car; Karyn’s detective work went from the tingle of fantasy to the sting of reality.There could be someone inside, she thought, backpedaling. Given the fact that those with legitimate legal access were accounted for, she understood whoever might be inside was most likely not ready to welcome her in for tea. Karyn moved down the remaining stairs in reverse; her view widening. Each step opened more of her crime scene for examination, the windows on either side of the door, the full porch and the angled rooftop. The view as quiet and content as any empty space.What she could see told her the lights weren’t on now. The back porch, slivers of the kitchen and great room were dim, yellow, and lonely. She reasoned through her next move. She didn’t come this far not to go in, but she never expected a greeting. The bordering cottages showed no signs of life. Karyn recalled Mark’s antic’s as a teen. If someone was inside, it was most likely kids looking to get into trouble, and if it’s one thing kids don’t do its close the door behind them. Karyn’s logic worked; this was not the place a deranged squatter recently escaped from maximum-security prison would wait for a victim to knock on the door so they could continue their cereal-killing rampage. This was a lonely summer home in the middle of nowhere on a massive body of water. Karyn nurtured the confidence to continue with her investigation, unaware a deranged squatter recently escaped from maximum security would employ the same line of reasoning. The odds, however, were very much on her side as she regained the steps and reached to push the door further apart. It fell away with an arthritic creak.Karen leaned her face toward the opening. “Hello. Is anyone here? You have company, is anyone home?” She moved her footing on equal ground with the porch. “Hello?” she said again, pushing the door open another six inches. “Hello. It’s Karyn Hanley,” she announced as if it mattered.She stood in silence, listening. Technically, both feet were inside the property, but fixed. She scanned as much as she could through the limited range allowed, and without moving her eyes, bent and grabbed a metal bucket resting near the doorway. “Anyone home?” she said loudly and waited for a response. Hearing nothing, she flung the bucket through the archway leading to the kitchen. It was a tough angle from where she stood, but it hit the linoleum with a tin ring, followed by a deeper thud as it bounced awkwardly beyond the kitchen doorway and out of sight. Karyn waited and listened. There wasn’t a sound.Anywhere.Craning over each shoulder, Karyn followed the path the pail had taken. Growing confident no one was inside; she continued to call out regardless, inching under the doorframe to the kitchen and gaining a sight line running the length of the summer home to the lake. She crept through the kitchen to the threshold of the dining room, peered around the wall and trained her ears again, not a sound.The rooms were clean, and fixed as if a photograph. An open book rested on the side table and a scrabble board in mid play centered the dining room table. Evidence of life. Karyn broke the seal of the doorway and inched into the dining room where she took in a zoomed view of the waterside porch to the charcoal grill in the corner.The light switch responded with a snap and the bulbs in the chandelier came to life. “Power works,” she said to no one, and then flipped the switch off. Cautiously moving through the dining room and onto the waterside porch she stopped again to listen for any sounds other than those of her own construction.It had been a while since she’d been inside the summer home, but chronology had little impact, it felt good. There is something about a cottage, impossible to describe but easy to understand. Karyn walked the lakeside windows and took in the action of the water and discoloration of the sandbar. She didn’t expect her observation to yield any learning, but she looked just the same. The charcoal grill resting at the north end of the porch was uncovered and the familiar shapes of gray cubes disintegrated into dust at the touch of her finger. She sat in the wicker chair not sure what she expected to see, but convinced she hadn’t seen it.Chapter Fifty-FiveKaryn stayed longer than intended, especially without discovering any hard evidence. Nothing explained how the lights were on or off.No one was inside.But someone had been.Why wouldn’t it look that way? It was a summer home, a cottage, a place where people gathered to enjoy the lake. It would look stranger with no evidence of life. Karyn swam through the lore she heard from Mark’s family and friends over the years. She moved vicariously through memories as if an extra-terrestrial, floating above and observing, swaying smoothly in and out. It was the laughter and happiness she remembered most; the broad grins storytellers could not keep from their faces as they relived details. This was her understanding as she listened to Mark rekindle the misty memories of his own history at the summer home.She sat in the wicker lost in someone else’s experience. She could feel the soft summer breeze wash over her and deliberately took in as much of the fresh lake air as she could, never considering the windows were open to the screens. She could hear the metronome of the waves.The next sound was as loud as a fire alarm. It smashed the bond Karyn built between her, the waves and the breeze. It was two pm and not only was Karyn not where she was supposed to be, she wasn’t even in the right country. She rose from the chair and checked her watch as it beeped for the second time. This wasn’t the Rolex. It was her everyday sports version, and she needed to make sure it read 2:00 pm and not the 12:00 she last remembered. “A timer!” She said aloud.Karyn scoured the wall sockets for the timer she knew was there. It was such a simple explanation. The lights on a timer letting everyone know, especially any young mobsters with the legend of Mark Hanley in their souls that someone was home. The lack of investigatory prowess was embarrassing. Often times the complexity of detective work is in understanding the simplicity. She moved systematically around the perimeter of the first floor checking each switch and plug with little regard to her schedule. She looked in closets, the utility room and checked the fuse panel. Each lead failed in similar fashion. She repeated her sweep on the second floor understanding its futility, and then found herself back downstairs no further along in solving the case.Leaning against the dining room table, Karyn glanced at the scrabble board; there were four racks in play and a good amount of intersecting words. Lettered wooden tiles scattered on the table lying in wait. Karyn checked her pocket for the car keys, impressed with “anxiety” and “xebec” played at the “x”. Chapter Fifty-SixKaryn started as soon as the door cracked open. “I was at the summer home. The lights were off.” Margaret didn’t respond as she held the door. Karyn moved with purpose.“You went out there?” Margaret asked, “Today?”“I want to know why the lights were on. Aren’t you curious?”“I don’t know. Not as curious as you, I guess.”“That’s probably true. Anyway, don’t worry because I’m on the case!” Karyn accepted the frivolous impression her newly found occupation revealed. She was never one to engage in flights of fancy or meaningless pursuit, but this was different.“It looked like someone was there.”“Did you see anyone?” Margaret asked, frightened of the answer.“Not a soul,” Karyn replied.“So why do you think someone was there? Could it have been kids?“I don’t think so. At least if they were they were well behaved.” Karyn stopped her report suddenly, “I didn’t check the refrigerator,” embarrassed by the noticeable admission. Margaret looked on as Karyn talked to herself, but offered nothing in evaluation of her investigation skills.“Anyway, there were dishes in the sink. And the whole place smelled fresh, not closed up.” Karyn logged her findings to little more than a warm body, her report in strict accordance to TV detective protocol. Margaret listened patiently, waiting for Karyn to let loose with the bomb; the big break in the case to send the guilty to the chair without a trial. Years of listening to her children had given her the ability to absorb whatever tale spun with complete expression anonymity. When the big break came, she was determined to show no emotion. She would sit unfazed like so many other completely innocent defendants cloaked in guilt.“There was a Scrabble game in play and the charcoal grill was in the corner of the porch. There were old coals in it. It smelled, like steak or hamburgers. I think someone was there and pulled the grill inside when they were done.” Karyn smiled as she finished her report with admirable attention to detail, except that the fragile gray coals were still intact even after dragging the rusty grill all the way inside.Details.“How about iced tea?” Margaret offered.“That would be great. I’m so thirsty.” Margaret poured two iced teas and sat. “Anyway, I didn’t get anything done today that I was supposed to do. Time seemed to fly by.”“Did you get the key from Peggy?” Margaret asked.“Well, here’s another thing I forgot to mention. When I got there, the door wasn’t locked.”“It wasn’t locked?” Margaret repeated, working her memory hard. Who would lock the door with a full crew inside? It didn’t make sense.“It was cracked about two inches. Mark would have a field day if he knew I went in there.”“Mark? I suppose he would.”“Margaret,” Karyn said, deliberately pausing before continuing. “Were you at the summer home on Saturday?”Point blank.Margaret stared at Karyn as if she hadn’t heard the question, as if someone pulled the plug on her power. A sick feeling consumed.Here it comes. Here comes the break that will smash the case wide open!And what a wonderful piece of work. A quick recap of facts that when summed up equaled no evidence. A change of subject to gain confidence, a cool drink to sooth and just when you thought it was safe, just when you thought you made it through comes the sting of the punch.Margaret didn’t reply. She sat and stared blankly at Karyn with no idea how to respond.She knows.The thought pounded. Why bring it up now? Why slip it in so late? Why didn’t she say it in the beginning?She knows.The thought froze her in her tracks, a deer in the headlights. “Why? Why do you ask?” Margaret dribbled out. It was the perfect median answer; not a yes that said she lied before or a no confirming she was lying now. It volleyed the pressure back to Karyn. If she was going to bring it up again, if she was going to press until she got her answer, then Karyn would come clean, prove what the reality was“I don’t know. Someone’s been out there and I know you’ve been there recently,” Karyn gave her the opportunity. Margaret had no idea what to do.She knows.Margaret sipped her tea and eyed Karyn, waiting. “I found this in the trash.” Karyn finally said; understanding Margaret might need coaxing. She leaned across the table and handed Margaret the tiny slip of paper.“It’s a receipt from a store with your name on it.”The words left Karyn’s mouth in a soft, compassionate tone, not the aggressive slam-dunk I have you now flavor Mark would use. Karyn’s interrogation was less concerned about Margaret being at the summer home than why she felt it necessary to conceal. What made her think she needed to hide? She was too strong and independent to acknowledge childlike reprimands of safety and age and everything else her kids would throw around; that would be an incentive. She attempted to stay casual. “You know I’ve been going out there.” She pushed the paper to the middle of the table without looking. “But what about Saturday?” Karyn said as she reached across and grabbed Margaret’s hands.Smith’s. The receipt from Smith’s.Details.Margaret remembered tossing the receipt in the rubbish container without a second thought. She even talked to the young girl, “imagine taking a credit card at a roadside stand.”She knows.Margaret was incapable of interpreting the conversation any other way.She knows.Margaret’s eyes began to swell with heavy, thick tears. She fought to stop their progress; knowing if they realized their potential, they may never stop. It was Mrs. Hanley in the Kitchen with the Receipt, and she knew it was only a matter of time. “What is it Margaret? Why didn’t you say you were out there?” The exchange was uncomfortable.“It’s OK if you left the lights on,” Karyn chirped with eyebrows raised. Margaret cracked a half smile but singularly in a mirrored response to Karyn.Margaret wiped her eyes with surprising strength, stemming the pipeline of tears.“What is it?”“I don’t know.” Margaret finally creaked out. “I’ve just been thinking about the summer home and everything that happened when I was younger and . . .” Margaret paused for strength, “I started to spend a little time.” Margaret’s response could have been the standard company line but Karyn sensed there was more. A few visits, even a hundred to a place that holds so many memories should be a joy, not whatever Margaret was reluctant to share.“So, what’s wrong with that?” Karyn said in support. “It’s your place and I know from the way you’ve talked, it’s a great place. You should be out there. We should all be out there.“I know. It’s a wonderful place. Margaret looked into Karyn’s eyes seeking the deep visual confirmation of understanding she needed, “Karyn. I haven’t told anyone this.” Karyn reached and held both hands out to Margaret. They met with warmth, security and a basic humanness as rare as it was required.Margaret believed.She believed she had the strength to do it. She believed she had the confidence to relieve the burden, speak freely of John and Sarah, Russ, and Cathy, the Scrabble game, grill, the boat she couldn’t see, the fresh air, beach and willow.How she spent hours feeling more alive than she ever felt, living days at the summer home as if they weren’t memories. As if happening for the first time. The warmth from John and the smell of his individuality, how they laugh as if children and relish the simple value of friendship. How she was there on that Saturday, saw the beam of light tickle the screen, and then disappear.She believed she had the strength to tell her how skin would tighten around her frame after a day spent entirely inside, how the air was fresh and clean and never a mosquito, fly or spider.She believed she could express what it’s like to have reality loosened to the point that it flails like a flag in a hurricane gale. How she got on her knees and prayed that the single weak thread holding her would find the steel. She believed she had the strength to say how it felt to look into the faces of her children, friends, neighbors and clergy and lie. How it felt to wage this battle alone, dancing epileptically between the relief of confession and the prison of secrecy. She believed she could express how wonderful it felt when she and John participated freely and passionately in the very act of life itself.She believed she had the power.Margaret held Karyn’s hands and looked in her eyes, then took a final breath. “Something happened to me at the summer home,” she said. Karyn kept her eyes locked with Margaret’s as she listened, unwilling to move them anywhere else. She understood this was difficult, that was obvious, but the expression on her face and tightened grip were unexpected.She believed it was time.Margaret rehearsed the words silently for the millionth time. She had memorized the script to the point its vowels and consonants became nothing more than audible data points, and she hoped when the time came, they would release from her with that same technological sterility.“What is it Margaret?” Karyn asked, not from authority but from kindness.“I’m not sure how to tell you.”She believed it was time.“Just say it Margaret, it might be easier if you just start.”She believed it was time.“Something happened to me at the summer home . . . I was . . . raped when I was a young woman.”***The words escaping Margaret’s lips filled the room with a gummy vapor one could taste but held no oxygen. A burnt, oily stench covered skin and hair and slithered down her throat as if an Asp. It penetrated tissue and bone as if everything ever known and understood instantaneously revealed itself as a spectacular and pathetic hoax.“Oh my God!” Margaret said in shock, her words fresh, crimson blood pouring freely from the cut of a surgeon’s scalpel. The words hung in the air. “Oh my God,” she repeated; then cupped her hands to her face and began to shake.What had she done? These weren’t the words she rehearsed.She felt as if speaking in tongues, vowels and consonants nothing more than audible data points released with technological sterility.“I’m so sorry Karyn,” she said. “What have I done?”“It’s Ok, Margaret. It’s OK.” Karyn moved next to Margaret and put her arm around her shoulder, but she was unaware. “It’s Ok,” Karyn repeated as she tightened her blanket of comfort. Margaret sat in stunned silence, exhausted. She didn’t have the strength to consider any reason for the words she heard herself say.Margaret shook her head. “Oh my God, Karyn. I’m so sorry.” Margaret flexed within Karyn’s grip with just enough commitment to say thank you but it’s over. Too much said already.Margaret looked around the room for security, her breathing labored, adrenaline dedicated. Karyn tried with everything she had to get her to let it out. The curiosity in her role as a detective occupying her in such an adolescent manner now replaced with the realization this was no game at all.Karyn strained to absorb the weight of the burden, how could anyone hold something so cancerous inside without it ripping through skin, rendering hopeless any broken and bleeding spirit remaining? It was a violation making those knowing cower in helplessness. How could she carry on day after day, year after year?Karyn couldn’t measure the gap between Margaret’s strength and her own.I wanted to tell you I’ve been spending time with John at the summer home.Chapter Fifty-SevenMark didn’t place a single telephone call the entire time he spent in the office; didn’t send one message, talk to a client, judge, dockman or wife.He didn’t call home at six-thirty or at eight, and the thought still hadn’t crossed his mind at nine-fifteen when he pulled into the drive. The house was chilled. Mark made his way to the kitchen.“Where have you been?” Karyn asked, concerned.“Where do you think?” Game on. Mark thumbed through the mail. Karyn got the message. She’d have gotten it if she were in a coma.“You could have called,” she volleyed back; weary of the whipping post for no reason other than proximity “I was worried. I had no idea if you were OK or not.”“I’m fine. I didn’t have time to call,” Mark lied. Her patience chaffed, but today was inexcusable.Does he know?Mark made his presence known without as much as a wink of eye contact, feeding Karyn the standard line; but what bothered him had little to do with the firm. He didn’t give a fuck; if it weren’t for him, they’d all be shitty little ambulance chasers scratching at inner city wrought iron gates trying to get work. What bothered Mark was the same-old nagging toothache called Pilate’s Decision. The firm was another game where he played deep, dirty, and landed on the backs of tokens with authority. This other game, which was supposed to be over, was still in play.He couldn’t push it out. And the harder he tried the more he failed.What bothered him as he finished off another scotch was the same scenario forcing him to teeter between fulfilling his curiosity and killing it altogether. Mark took his single malt to the library. He hadn’t seen the kids and didn’t care. He didn’t know where Karyn had gone when she left the kitchen and didn’t give a fuck about that either.Mark punched the power button and shuttled to track #10, Intersection.20, 9, 21, 24 was the last thing he remembered.***The pirate moved a single step forward, delicately applied his weight, and waited to hear the groan from the deck.Silence. He took another step as gingerly as the first, stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, he crept further along the port side deck toward the helm.He had an oar’s length to go before reaching a position where he could sneak behind a forward seat and spy a slice of what seethed in the hollows of the ship. The pirate slid his feet soundlessly, foil to the hilt. He slithered up to the gangway, crouching to obscure the movement from his enemy. The pirate waited, gathering strength before risking a full view.Chapter Fifty-EightThe click from the library door shook Mark, but he offered no response. The door swung open, revealing Karyn. “What are you doing?” She asked, upside down. “Mark, what are you doing? It’s seven-thirty in the morning.” Karyn was showered, dressed, and ready to start the day even though sleep came in fleeting shards of rest. She was alone the entire time; that was OK. She wasn’t crying for lack of company.Karyn was now right side up in Mark’s periscope. “Have you been up all night?” She knew the answer. Mark turned without speaking.The Scotch bottle earned the recycle bin, and the twenty-dollar bill could be flattened back into commerce. The growth on his face was as ugly as the shirt gumming to his skin. In Karyn’s estimation, Mark hadn’t looked like this since he was a teenager, if then. His crisp physical persona and magazine wardrobe as far away as Marisa & Carrie were from prom. He’d be right at home on the Cass Corridor, somewhere below down and out. He smelled much the same.Karyn moved deeper into the library. “What have you been doing?” She knew at least part of the answer, the part that said he was whacked out on booze and coke. What she didn’t know was why it was so obvious. Mark spent most energy concealing what he did–until recently. Karyn saw the steel of his eyes surrounding exhausted. His skin smeared with grease and whatever microbial floating debris unlucky enough to fall within his gravity. She couldn’t avoid it any longer so she finally asked. “Did it happen again?”Mark paused and thought what a great fucking question, what he said was, “I’m fine.”“You don’t look fine. You look like shit.” Karyn said. “You can’t stay up all night snorting coke and drinking. Are you crazy?Mark tried to help. “You forgot the weed.”Karyn exhaled. “You need to take a shower and get dressed.”“I wasn’t up all night doing coke and drinking,” Mark started before Karyn finished talking.“Really?”Mark wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew enough to deny, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. He looked at the CD player and remembered 20, 9, 21, 24.Karen turned to leave. “Have you ever heard of a xebec?” she asked.Chapter Fifty-NineMargaret sat in the third row of St. Michael’s Church thumbing her rosary. She was the lone parishioner. It wasn’t a Sunday or Holy Day of Obligation; the priests were safe within the rectory or spreading the word in the community. The church itself, thank God, was open to those seeking refuge from the harsh outside world, and for Margaret, the harsher world inside.She worked her way to a large bead and began mouthing The Our Father for what seemed like the millionth time. Her rhythm improved with each round. Velocity increased and the words fled her mouth as if a turnstile. She prayed for Karyn and the weakness she felt for imposing her burden on anyone else, even if not her choice, but the confession didn’t relieve the pain of her past–it revitalized it. Brought it front and center as if the desire to be free suddenly dwarfed her long-standing ability to keep it in prison.Her words to Karyn were paralyzing. There was no logic as to why they wretched from deep within. She prayed for the reality of her life to shelter her from the reality of her life. She just didn’t know which was which.***It was only a matter of time before she fell victim to temptation and finished the drive to the summer home. The thought she wouldn’t make the trip conquered by the fact she found herself praying in a church sitting conveniently in the Province of Ontario. For Margaret, the visit was less spiritual than functional. With prayers unanswered, she began to recognize the bitter taste of disappointment. She needed her pleas answered in this world, not banked for salvation in the next, and she would gladly withdraw everything in her heavenly IRA if it meant the truth now.Chapter SixtyThe best place for Karyn was anywhere but the library. She turned and walked away offering no other words. Mark remained in solitary confinement.Did she say xebec?Mark swung the door closed from his knees and grabbed the dictionary. Fingertips left oily prints on the paper as he climbed the alphabet to page 968 where Xebec waved safely between Xanthus and Xenogeneic. Mark reached for the CD case to check the cover revealing the songs Anxiety and Xebec, like he thought.Like he knew.He sat and brought the book closer.X, x, eks, the twenty-fourth letter of the English alphabet, representing the sounds ks, gz, z, ksh, gzh.Xebec, ze-bek, n. Sp. xabeque, from Turk. Sumbeki, a zebec; Ar. sumbuk, a small vessel. A small three-masted vessel having both square and lateen sails.Mark read in triplicate and with disappointment in Jared. What a simple clue for the lemmings. If he had no knowledge of what a xebec was, it was surely true none of the losers plunking down their coin would either. He visualized Anyteen USA heading for the X’s to get close to Jared and Pilate’s Decision and understand what they were trying to say; underdeveloped minds assessing their work by the finality of their simple discovery. It would be as big a revelation to them as it was childish for Mark. Nearly everything Jared did had something to do with water. He was born on a boat in the middle of the ocean and if he had to take the whole affair a step further he’d bet his floating bassinette had lateen fucking sails.Mark scanned the CD cover for more neophyte clues but the balance was common. Pushing his eyes to the dictionary again, he scanned the words above and below Xebec to check for derivations but found none; a Xebec was a Xebec. Xanthous, the word above was “of the fair haired type,” and Xenogenesis below was “the production of offspring entirely unlike their parents.” The small vessel Xebec sat in the middle.Mark tried to relieve the sticky membrane delivered by falling asleep after gargling with a fifth of Scotch.Don’t forget the weed!He was a foul specimen for sight, smell, touch and undoubtedly the ears if one waited long enough. That was of little concern as he sat with a dictionary, the Pilate’s CD, no more coke, Karyn snooping, the machine unable to play Intersection, his boat left adrift, and Jared calling to make sure he listened to this one, this one and, “mother fucker!” Mark said aloud. He slammed the remote on the desk, hoping it would act accordingly. Force it to stop or force it to play. He stood and rubbed the stubble on his face and wiped his pants greasy.“I’ll tell you what Mr. Rock Star. You want me to figure this shit out? I’ll figure it out and shove it right up your ass.” Mark spoke as if challenging an insignificant public defender, as if someone were listening.Mark stood and went for another piece of the puzzle. He grabbed the Bible and began thumbing through its pages, finding the new Pilate’s Decision namesake on page 586.Psalm 69For the director of music. To the tune of “Lilies.” Of David.1?Save me, O God,for the waters?have come up to my neck.2?I sink in the miry depths,where there is no foothold.I have come into the deep waters;the floods engulf me.3?I am worn out calling for help;my throat is parched.My eyes fail,looking for my God.4?Those who hate me?without reasonoutnumber the hairs of my head;many are my enemies without cause,those who seek to destroy me.I am forced to restorewhat I did not steal.5?You, God, know my folly;my guilt is not hidden from you.6?Lord, the?Lord?Almighty,may those who hope in younot be disgraced because of me;God of Israel,may those who seek younot be put to shame because of me.7?For I endure scorn?for your sake,and shame covers my face.8?I am a foreigner to my own family,a stranger to my own mother’s children;9?for zeal for your house consumes me,and the insults of those who insult you fall on me.10?When I weep and fast,I must endure scorn;11?when I put on sackcloth,people make sport of me.12?Those who sit at the gate?mock me,and I am the song of the drunkards.13?But I pray to you,?Lord,in the time of your favor;in your great love,?O God,answer me with your sure salvation.14?Rescue me from the mire,do not let me sink;deliver me from those who hate me,from the deep waters.15?Do not let the floodwaters?engulf meor the depths swallow me upor the pit close its mouth over me.16?Answer me,?Lord, out of the goodness of your love;in your great mercy turn to me.17?Do not hide your face?from your servant;answer me quickly,?for I am in trouble.18?Come near and rescue me;deliver?me because of my foes.19?You know how I am scorned,?disgraced and shamed;all my enemies are before you.20?Scorn has broken my heartand has left me helpless;I looked for sympathy, but there was none,for comforters,?but I found none.21?They put gall in my foodand gave me vinegar?for my thirst.22?May the table set before them become a snare;may it become retribution and a trap.23?May their eyes be darkened so they cannot see,and their backs be bent forever.24?Pour out your wrath?on them;let your fierce anger overtake them.25?May their place be deserted;let there be no one to dwell in their tents.26?For they persecute those you woundand talk about the pain of those you hurt.27?Charge them with crime upon crime;do not let them share in your salvation.28?May they be blotted out of the book of lifeand not be listed with the righteous.29?But as for me, afflicted and in pain—may your salvation, God, protect me.30?I will praise God’s name in songand glorify him?with thanksgiving.31?This will please the?Lord?more than an ox,more than a bull with its horns and hooves.32?The poor will see and be glad—you who seek God, may your hearts live!33?The?Lord?hears the needyand does not despise his captive people.34?Let heaven and earth praise him,the seas and all that move in them. 35?for God will save Zionand rebuild the cities of Judah.Then people will settle there and possess it.36The children of his servants will inherit it,and those who love his name will dwell there.He finished the Psalm and closed the Bible. Not only did the passage irritate, it was so long it should have been a gospel, according to Mark. He wasn’t going to invest the time. He was willing to play the game at a level suited for the rock and roll set, but there’s no gain in digging deeper, it was already beyond the threshold of ROI.Guess what Jared: there’s nothing to find anyway.Mark pressed the remote. It didn’t respond to his previous aggression, most likely out of fear. He watched the display come to life and then pressed the random tracking option to change the flow of tunes. The track numbers flitted aimlessly until locking on #7, Soldier.Mark read the words as Jared brought them to life.Soldier what do you believe?That your life’s not there for trading, that your soul has not been waiting,To be added to the scale and tip the weight.To be remembered for your sacrifice,To be carved into a statue for the square, to be missed by those who didn’t even care,To be added to the scale and tip the weight.Soldier, what do you believe?Your enemy’s misguided?Their vision’s undecided?Your life is not worth trading?Their souls have not been waiting?To be added to the scale and tip the weight.Soldier what do you believe?When standing face to face against another’s marching race,Spilling blood and stealing breath, leaving silence leaving death,That the power that you have has served you well yet once again,That the virtue of your mission proven by their fallen men.Soldier what do you believe?That your life has not been traded by the path that’s been created?That your soul has not been weighted by the actions you feel jaded?That the hand of God was with you as you exorcized the hate?Or is it you that simply added to the scale to balance fate?Chapter Sixty-OneThe ring from the private line in the library shook Mark from Jared’s hold. It was nearly eleven thirty and caller ID proclaimed Mark’s office, most likely concerned no one heard from him. He listened to the rings with no intention of answering. Instead, he stared at the phone and visualized the pathetic future clerk paid to infringe on his fucking time and let it go until the phone did its job. “Mark, this is Larry. We were wondering if you’re on the way to the office. We have a meeting set up with the Chancellor Group. Call me if you get this message.”Mark offered no response and returned his attention to the current case. The CD tracked forward as he paced the room followed by thoughts of xebec and psalms and Karyn and pirates and everything else. He paraded his tongue inside his mouth in an attempt to lessen the consequence of his binge, the standard protocol of brushing never crossing his mind. He was tired of the game and its childish insignificance but was incapable of disassociation. Grabbing the mouse, he brought the desktop to life. He typed Pilate’s Decision in the keyword box, the screen blinked once before revealing the first of 63,253 matches.The Evasion: Pilate's Decision sermon, The Evasion: Pilate's Decision.?Delfeayo Marsalis: Pontius Pilate’s Decision, a jazz recording inspired by the pare Prices and Read Reviews on Jazz instrument Trombone Music.Profiles of Joseph Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate, key figures in . . .Pilate’s Dilemma, an essay from the Free Church.Mark advanced screens and the results grew in obscurity.Pilgrim United Church of Christ.Radio Sermon # 21.He hit pages in the teens and twenties.Untitled Document . . .Mesmerized by Modern . . .Returning to the search window, he added ‘Jared’ to the task, shrinking the list to thirty-five thousand. Then he keyed +Anderson and sat back in his chair, watching as the screen failed in record speed.Pilate's +Decision +Jared +Anderson didn’t return a single full match. He entered album names and group members in a wide matrix of combinations before changing search engines and rebooting. Each drill achieved failure.During the trial, Mark and his staff monitored the group’s web activities daily and covertly participated in chat rooms. They blended into the fiber of the fan base and everything relative to lifestyle, opinions and thoughts, but no link appeared.Mark slammed his fist on the keyboard, sending the screen into microchip driven chaos before fully yanking the chord out from the power strip. The monitor popped, sputtered and died. Mark stood and wiped his desk clean with his entire arm, sending the mess to the floor. Then he pointed the remote bullseye to the player’s receptor and selected the final cut again.Reestablishing juice to the computer, Mark skipped error check and keyboarded Psalm 69 in the search box. His net filled with over a half million matches. Not one linked to Jared or Pilate’s Decision.“This is insane.” No way the internet isn’t loaded with everything Jared and Pilate’s Decision. He saw it himself. Mark yanked the entire power strip from the wall and let it boomerang into a glass shelf.20.Sliding the chair back, Mark went to the shelving to finish the job, pounding the strip against the lone corner of glass still held in place.Mark heard nothing but the familiar whir of mechanics as the machine desperately tried to latch on until the phone shattered the monotony. The caller ID frame lit but the origin unknown. Mark stared as it began its fifth ring.9.“Hello,” Mark said after nearly an FCC sanctioned delay.“Hello, is this the Hanley residence?”“Who’s calling?”“It’s Jared Anderson, is this Mark?”“Jared Anderson?” Mark said, although what he heard was Jared Fucking Anderson.21.“Yeah. I can’t believe it’s you. I was going to leave a message. The dates for the concert are set. You’re going, right?” Jared talked as casually as a dental hygienist’s reminder call for tomorrow’s cleaning. “I didn’t think anyone would be home, you especially.” Mark stood mid-way between the shattered glass and 24 bragging in neon. He listened to him speak but dedicated his concentration to understanding just what the fuck was going on. His library was a hairball gagged from an alley cat under the blinking neon lights of a disease spreading tattoo parlor. He could smell the sticky mixture of oil and cheap wine and vomit from that crackhead laying in the gutter until he realized it was him, and for the first time in his life he was speechless. There were a million things to say but not one with the balls to step up.“I’m working here today,” he finally spit out.“Another big case, no doubt. I don’t know how you do it. It’s got to get to you after a while.”Mark paused before responding. “Let me ask you something. Why is there nothing on the internet from you guys? Your website doesn’t come up. The band doesn’t come up. Nothing.” Mark asked as if it were a crime.20.“You were looking?”“Let’s just say I stumbled across it,” he said. The tone was clear: he didn’t intend to tell Jared anything. He wasn’t on trial here.“You won’t be able to find much until the release,” Jared answered. “Check this out: we blocked everything, especially the fact that new material is on its way. You should be honored; you’re only one of a handful of people who’ve even heard it.”9.“So what’s your point? Don’t you want everybody to know what you’re doing?“Who says we have to get there the same way as everyone else?” Mark paced in front of his desk as if marooned. “Who says there’s not big news just because the corporate PR machine isn’t activated?”“But I couldn’t find anything on you guys.”“We only hid what we could, stuff we control. Maybe you just missed it.”Mark rolled his eyes. He didn’t miss a fucking thing, and he certainly didn’t miss it because of Pilate’s Decision.21.“Why doesn’t the last track play?”“You’ve been listening!” Jared said. “That’s great. What do you think?”“About what?”“About Psalm 69. The new material.” Mark could feel the expectation on the other end like a child on Christmas morning.“It sounds the same,” he replied. Mark purposely let the message sink in the quicksand, relishing Jared’s disappointment.24.Mark suppressed the urge to scream over the receiver and have it penetrate Jared’s eardrum as if a syringe. Whatever Jared was attempting would not find endorsement here. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction that Pilate’s Decision was anything more than another run-of-the-mill socially inadequate gang of rock-and-roll misfits preying on the innocent, and who gives a fuck what I think?“Oh. I can’t believe that. You haven’t listened hard enough.”“So why won’t the last track play? It just goes to twenty-four seconds but never gets beyond that. And there’s no sound.”“I have no idea,” he said. Mark couldn’t believe anyone less. The scenario grew from bad to worse to whatever lay beyond while Mark moved from an intimidating ass-kicking motherfucker to a pathetic follower of things that didn’t matter. If Jared didn’t know why the track didn’t play, he should anyway.20Mark contemplated his response and toyed between verbatim and crawling through the phone line to wherever this freak was to choke the living shit out of him. Mark didn’t care about the material, show, tour or the fact that Jared was treating him like some hick town disc jockey stuck in a cornfield trailer interviewing the big rock star“There’s no lyrics to Intersection.”“No lyrics?”“None.”“Maybe you need to listen to it.”9.“It doesn’t play. Whatever, I don’t really care.”“Oh I think you do. I think you’re beginning to get it.”“Don’t flatter yourself.”“Oh, I’m not. But there’s more going on than you think.”The clear unmistakable image of Jack Fryman filled the movie screens that were Mark’s eyes.“Come on man, you’re into it I can tell. I told you.” Jared’s excitement was obvious. “It’s what we do,” he added in a softer tone, his point closer to understanding. “Listen, I have to run. Got an interview in five minutes. Make sure you’re open for the show.”21.Mark stood in the library and felt the pang of apprehension coat his insides.Karyn looking for xebec, beached on the sandbar, staying up all night doing what he couldn’t remember, Intersection cycling through the same pattern and Jared on the other end of the line and . . . Mark was too seasoned to accept his recapitulation as serendipitous. It just doesn’t work that way. There’s always a reason.“And I don’t know what to tell you about the disk. Try playing it again, sometimes they get stuck. These digital boards file data bits and numbers that correspond to the notes we play and log them in their own language. A B-sharp in analog is a B-sharp, but it’s a crazy algorithm in digital. It’s probably just trying to figure out the translation,” Jared said dismissively. “Shit. I have to go. I hope you’re feeling better. We’ll see you at the show, and if that disk doesn’t figure out what it’s supposed to do you can always go buy one!”“I’ll be the first in line.”24.Chapter Sixty-TwoJohn was sweeping the kitchen when Margaret came through the back door.“Margaret,” he said, leaning the broom against the wall. “I was just cleaning up a bit. I hoped you’d come down.” John smiled and moved closer.“Here I am.”“Well I think today is going to be a special day. I don’t know why but I felt it from the minute I got up.” John wrapped his arm around Margaret’s shoulders and led her through the kitchen into the dining area.“Margaret’s here,” he announced to the group. Margaret took a quick inventory of her dead friends. The roster was the same, activities consistent. “What should we do today?” John asked. He threw the question as if they had a choice.“What should we do today?” Margaret aped, her response quick and short. “What do you do every day?” If anyone misread her point, they wouldn’t fall victim twice. John looked at Margaret and then scanned the group with eyebrows flexed.“What do you mean, Margaret?” Cathy asked.“I mean it’s always the same. You wake up or whatever happens and then you sit around and look at the water all day–from the inside. I don’t think you could do anything else if you wanted.”“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Russ added from the porch. Margaret rolled her eyes as they moved to the great room for a more private dialog.“I’m sorry John, but I don’t know what to do. It’s wonderful to be out here with all of you but it’s not real. It can’t be real. Think about it.”“I don’t understand.”“You don’t understand? John, you died. And so did everyone else here.” Margaret looked into his eyes and waited to finish her thought. “Except for me,” she said. John moved his eyes around the room.“But you’re here with us.”“I know that, but why? And why are you here?” John moved to the window and recharged himself with a wide panorama of the water. Margaret felt the distance growing between them.“I think we’re here to help,” he said without turning from the lake.“Help? Help what? Help who?” She pressed. Margaret’s voice gained an octave, eager to follow any clue. “Me?” She asked, “Are you here to help me? Why would you be here to help me?” She asked. “What do I need help with?” Margaret forced eye contact. No one said a word.John faced Margaret, the look in his eyes unmistakable. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”“What do you mean?”“You never let the summer home go. Never sold it but you didn’t come out after . . .” the thought floated in the atmosphere.“Others, but not you.” Margaret looked into John’s eyes hard, trying to muscle her way to an understanding.“You’ve seen others? You’ve seen Tom and Peggy and renters?” She asked.Cathy chimed in. “We don’t see them like you, just a presence, a sensation.”Margaret queried in near panic. “Did they see you? Do they know you’re here?”“They have no idea. They just come and enjoy the beach and the summer. This is a lonely place without visitors.” John said softly. Margaret walked to the front porch and sat on the armrest of a wicker. Cathy gazed at her as she collected thoughts. “Margaret. This is a very special place. This is a healing place.”“But you’re dead. You’re not real. You can’t be.” Margaret looked around the room for confirmation but received blank stares as if children unable to understand the simplest of concepts. “And you can’t go outside.”“That’s true,” John said, “we can’t. But you can.”“He’s right, Margaret. You can.” Bill added.“So? Of course I can. That’s where I live. Outside the summer home,” she said with determination.Now who doesn’t understand?“I have a whole life outside; with a home and garden and book club and grandchildren and friends.” Margaret stopped her listing on friends. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it like that. You, everyone here is so important to me. And you have no idea how wonderful it is to enjoy your company and feel your hugs and laugh and relive all the times, all the fun.” Margaret tilted her head south, fighting tears. “I’ve never felt so filled with awe.” Margaret stopped to sniff back the emotion. “And you have no idea how hard it is to leave, fearing the next time I’ll be met with the stale aroma of a home locked up tight. How devastating it would be to lose you for a second time.” Margaret scanned the porch as the words left her lips. She wasn’t sure if any could understand what she was saying, what she was feeling. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. There’s no reason, no chance for me to make it fit. I can’t tell anyone.”John rested his hands on Margaret’s shoulders, “I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer,” he said. Margaret stared back with an intensity she was unaware she possessed.“What do you mean by that?” She asked, “I won’t have to wait much longer? What’s going to happen?” Margaret stood up and scanned the room; fear creeping into her psyche. “Wait for what?” She was nearly begging now.Margaret felt the eyes of the world on her, except for those closest. Russ and Bill moved awkwardly to the dining room to continue playing Scrabble. John walked Margaret along the front porch, each drinking in the view and feeling as if their feet sunk into soft sand. They moved back to the great room, extending their view of the beach. John leaned against the fireplace mantel and crouched parallel to Margret’s vantage point.“John, we don’t know why we’re here. Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it make you think?” John peered over Margaret’s head before responding. He wasn’t quite sure why he was concerned about their privacy, but he checked just the same.“I don’t know Margaret. I don’t know why we’re here and I don’t know why I don’t think about it. It’s the same as being inside. We don’t think about going outside because there’s no reason. We couldn’t feel any better or more content.”“But why?”“We don’t know, but we don’t have a choice. We couldn’t do anything differently if we tried and we don’t know how to try. It’s just the way it is for us.”“Why can I see you? Why can I go back to my home with a tanned face after sitting inside all day?”“I have no idea.” The pair shuffled awkwardly in place, providing the opportunity to break eye contact and take a breath. They spoke as if exposing their souls, no secrets or thoughts unknown.Russ added the letters ‘sect’ to a previous play inter, “Intersect.” he said loudly, “that’s 11 points.” John and Margaret smiled.“Did you look up Xebec?” John shouted. “We sure did.”“And?”“And you were right. It’s a word, you got every point.”“Let me know when it’s my turn.”John and Margaret returned attention to their conversation. John took two steps along the fireplace and reached for the wooden lighthouse themed frame holding a single photograph.“Remember this?” John said.“Our engagement party.” She said as memory sparked. “I can’t believe this is still here.”“Look how many of us were there,” John said. The frame was full to its borders with guests. The image beamed a bright and sunny summer day.“That was a great day.” John said as he pulled the image close to his face “I don’t remember anyone coming by boat, do you?”“Boat? No, I don’t think so, why?”“Look over your shoulder, there’s a boat out on the sandbar.” Margaret took the frame and slid it close for inspection. She moved her eyes along the heads of guests like a bouncing ball over a nursery rhyme until she recognized the vessel in view–and stopped cold. Chapter Sixty-ThreeThe dial tone rang in Mark’s ear. He maintained his stance within the confines of his suburban flophouse, his mood growing from pathetic abuser to angry victim. He was pissed at the realization of caught in the very web of misperception he relied on so heavily. An interconnecting highway of clover leafs, bridges out, and dead ends, sucked into the draft created by Jared fucking Anderson. If he needed any proof, he could just hit star 69 and pay the toll.Mark pushed the open button on the player and removed the disk. Holding it high above his head, he inspected its silvery coat for anything that might interrupt its play. He was confident if any foreign substance or mar had found its home, it would be right where Intersection began its voyage. He tilted the disk to reflect what little light there was in the library, but its geography offered only a mirror facade until he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a grim visual distortion. He slid the disk back in its home, and then toggled to track ten.20.“Mother fucker.”9.“Fuck you.”21.“I’ll tell you what, you can take your digital fucking data points and your B-sharp and whatever needs to be translated and shove it up your . . .” Mark stopped dead in his tracks, the thought slamming into his mind an embarrassment to his intellect.He slapped at the track button, reloaded at track ten and began to count.A, 1. B, 2. C, 3.“Alpha numeric code? What a simple fuck.”L, 12. M, 13. N, 14.Mark had no knowledge it was even him counting in time with the neon numbers, yet his meter was flawless.Q, 17. R, 18. S, 19. T, 20.Mark waited for the gas to change form.A 1. B 2. C 3. D 4. E 5. F 6. G 7. H 8. I 9.He followed the bouncing ball through number nine in seconds but no further than the ‘I’ its language suggested. An entire lifetime inserted into the count as he waited. He could hear the machine wind fast and then slow to the elimination of any sound before retooling at zero.Mark watched the display dance all the way to lucky letter 21 before returning to zero. Mark struck the face of the player with his entire fist. Laid that motherfucker down!Mark had been compelled to recite the alphabet on two occasions for local authorities without a single thought as to what number each letter twinned, but he knew X was number twenty-four without any count at all.TIUX.***The pirate grabbed the port side bench and peered around its wooden frame. His eyes followed the contour until drifting to the corner of the open gangway. He tilted his head to extend his view and waited for signs of aggression; there was no response.The pirate moved hydraulically. His view sunk, accepting the very soul of the TIUX, the wavering image of a motionless human shape centering his screen.It was the female.Chapter Sixty-FourKaryn considered the fact Margaret’s phone rang endlessly each time she called; the first from the bedroom and the second from the kitchen forty minutes later. She anticipated Margaret wouldn’t answer; she wouldn’t either. Turning north onto Woodward Avenue, Karyn headed to Lone Lake Road to avoid traffic. Once she made her way to Telegraph Road, it would be a clear shot to Margaret’s home. The drive was a non-issue. At least make sure she’s safe–and maybe close enough to help.Karyn peeked in Margaret’s window after a short stay at the front door. The kitchen and section of living room she could spy returned stillness.She knew where Margaret was.***It was early afternoon when Karyn answered the drill from the Immigration Officer. She cleared even with her obvious display of impatience. Regardless of Margaret’s whereabouts, she would inspect the summer home again, this time checking the fridgeKaryn swung her Mercedes to the left just past the corner where Walt’s Country Store once stood and slowed. She didn’t want to roll into the scene like a TV cop. She drove the remaining quarter mile respectfully and in deference to the peacefulness in the row of lake houses before spotting the bumper of Margaret’s Chrysler.Karyn stopped and leaned to the passenger side for a closer look. The car idled as Karyn reviewed her options, but there was only one.“Margaret?” The voice was strange, not from the usual group. “Are you here?” Margaret placed the photograph on the mantle, turned without moving forward, and saw the shape through the kitchen archway.“Margaret? Are you OK?”She was alone now; John and everyone was gone, his essence a phantom.“Karyn? What are you doing here?”“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Karyn moved closer. It was an awkward exchange and she gave Margaret space. “To be honest with you, I was worried,” she said, “about you.”“Worried, about me? You don’t have to worry about me.” Margaret said with masked politeness.“I know that. I couldn’t reach you so I thought you might be here.” Margaret and Karyn met in the dining area. Karyn noticed more words added to the game, Conduit, Supreme.The pair walked to the porch. “It’s taken me a long time to come back,” Margaret said. “I can’t explain any of it.”“It’s OK Margaret. You don’t owe me an explanation.” Karyn looked at Margaret as she stared out at the water, her eyes seeking comfort.“It was right before I was married . . .” Margaret started, “I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t stop it . . . or change it.” Margaret was speaking to herself. “I . . . did the best I could . . . got pregnant right away so I could stay home . . . be safe. I couldn’t stop it.” The words drifted from her as if in a trance. “I never thought . . .”Karyn pushed back the tears. “I don’t know how you held everything inside.”“It was a choice,” she finally said.“What do you mean a choice?”“It was the decision I made.”Karyn wasn’t sure how to respond.“But why?” She pressed. Margaret didn’t say a word. The information flow had dammed up, she said too much already.I meant to tell you that I was spending time with my deceased husband and friends.Chapter Sixty-FiveMuscle cramps gave way to numbed dead weight as Mark’s body failed into a free fall in distance wildly inconsistent with his six foot four frame. He was tumbling down an infinite abyss. The drop would last forever with the exact memory of each gory nanosecond burned into his consciousness. This was happening. When Mark pulled his eyes apart, he was on the floor of his library, drool leaking from his mouth. His view stretched to the player where its pattern repeated. Scanning the horizon, he landed on the CD case resting at an odd angle against the wall. The player continued its trek until reaching 24 and then it stopped.This time it didn’t return to zero. It hummed and whirred. Then it moved forward.For Mark, the time it took for the laser to move from the twenty-fourth tick to its twenty-fifth was equal to the formation of the Grand Canyon. Cold sweat layered his skin and deep quakes ravished through muscle, the smirk that turned the edge of his mouth upward in reaction to the song’s progress now replaced by the lack of ability to control physical function.There was nothing but the music of Pilate’s Decision.Mark heard the introductory notes from Intersection in bonded relation to the lava he felt oozing inside. He lay as if encased in concrete, unable to move as volume grew and the group began their journey in earnest. His stomach lurched, pounding its anger against the back of his throat, a colony of fire ants gnawing at nerve endings.He was dying.No, he was being killed.The sensation of thick, sloth-like liquid pooling under his cheek proven as red sparked the edge of his ability to perceive. His vision fractured, revealing an expanse of floor from the perspective of the horizon leading to the CD cover. Insignificant specs of debris no larger than grains of sand and fibrous tumbleweeds of unknown material undetectable from above rose along his sight line with authority. Shards of zigzagged safety glass emerged as shimmering icebergs.A Kevlar straightjacket held him in place as Jared and the boys moved through Intersection. Mark pushed his eyes skyward and could see the neon numbers move effortlessly in anticipated gains, swimming in carbonated waves of motion. He labored to lock onto the world on which he once depended, his effort delivering sporadic results as he drifted between semi-consciousness and dark amnesic gaps under the spell of Pilate’s Decision. The sideshow fun house mirror view bent and warped, and he felt his body pushed about in lazy motion. The sound danced in and out of dominance with each gentle roll.He was in water.His body a congealed mass of fresh water jetsam without will or influence, his field of vision the CD case double exposed through the liquid. Images blended into a palette of lights and darks as the timer marched forward.***The pirate crouched to spy a closer view of the sentry. With squinted eyes, he took in a stronger look and stumbled back in shock, legs clomping on the deck. It wasn’t possible. He stared at the female again, to make sure, but there was no question. His flesh went pale.Without warning, the deck scorched his feet, the burn excruciating. He lifted one foot then the other, pivoting to relieve the pain but it was fruitless. The pirate headed aft to the healing relief of the water. He was no more than two steps beyond the gangway when he felt the sledge pound the center of his back, pouring him onto the deck. Stomach side down now, he crawled pitifully toward absolution. The pirate grabbed the starboard gunwale, rose up on wobbly legs and felt the agony again. It was worse than the previous, splaying the pirate over the side and into the depths.Chapter Sixty-SixIn an instant Karyn froze, eyes stretched wide. “Oh my God, Margaret. Does Mark know?”Margaret stared without movement, her eyes leaking tears.Chapter Sixty-SevenMark the pirate sank in the water, crimson streaks of sinew and blood trailing in a misty cloud as he wafted to the bottom. The dark apertures that were his pupils swelled to their white borders. Limbs dragged behind in twisted round angles pulled by the bulk of his weight until he landed on the sandy lake bottom, his view to the north and the outline of a vessel in the water, TIUX screaming from its transom, Intersection imposing on his awareness.Pilot ready, fuse is lit,Hair is tangled, stench of shit,Breathing hard, blood is pumping,Sleep escapes, hours jumping.Mark felt the MOAB through his entire being.Spotlight rises, stage is set,Deck is stacked, placed is bet,Numbers tracking, seal the fate,Intersection, question bait.Without choice, Mark locked on the CD cover, where the words Intersection and Question crossed.Seed is sown, no turning back,Times compel, another tack,Words reveal, what others lack,Within the souls who don’t know jack.Jared mouthed jack and Mark felt the stab pierce the toughest part of his gut.Nothing’s going to change the plow except the harvest of the vow,Correct the sins that men allow,Mark my fucking words right now,Mark my fucking words right now.Inasmuch as I would like to say that this could flow another way,That all of this a bad mistake, that somewhere there’s another take,There’s not, it’s all decided, cold hard fact is that it’s guided,Not the first time or the last that one must choose the role that’s cast,There’s nothing new it’s just the text from one existence to the next,And crossed inside is fate’s collision, second choice: Pilate’s Decision.Mark’s cheeks puffed like a blowfish as he struggled to hold mon letters, not the same,Different tack, not to blame,Change the outcome, accept the dream,Be the conduit, reign supreme.Mark’s eyes pulled to Conduit and Supreme crossed at the u.Accept the challenge, parallel sign,Accept the verdict, parallel line,Feel the tingle, drown the hate,Xebec and anxiety wait.Xanthous . . . of the fair-haired type . . .Xebec . . . a small vessel . . .Xenogenesis . . . production of offspring entirely unlike their parents . . .Above the surface, fail the test,Below the surface, water blessed,Question answered, hear the voice,Seal the pact, make the choice.Mark stared at the wavering images of intersecting words overexposed on the cover of the CD. Conduit and Supreme crossed at the 21st letter making the sound “oo.”Mark’s mind raced, imagination flexing his intellect. “X”, the 24th letter of the alphabet making the sounds ks, gz, z, ksh, gzh. Mark put the sounds together; gzoo, ooksh, zoo, ooze, then locked on Intersection and Question crossed at the twentieth and ninth letters of the alphabet, creating the sound “CH.”20. 9. 21. 24.TIUX.Choose.Chapter Sixty-EightIt was a lifetime before Mark accepted his first swallow of water. Its cool deceived.Nothing’s going to change the plow, Accept the harvest of the vow,Correct the sins that men allow,Mark my fucking words right now,Mark my fucking words right now.Mark’s body fought naturally, flexing and pushing core muscles in an effort to reverse the water’s course, but it was too late.Inasmuch as I would like to say that this could flow another way,That all of this a bad mistake that somewhere there’s another take,There’s not, it’s all decided, cold hard fact is that it’s guided,Not the first time or the last that one must choose the role that’s cast,There’s nothing new it’s just the text from one existence to the next,And crossed inside is fate’s collision, second choice, Pilate’s Decision.Stomach muscles convulsed, pulling a river of liquid down his throat. His insides lurched and the lake stabbed his lungs, choking their natural function.Seed is sown, no turning back,Wind compels, another tack,Words reveal, what others lack,Within the souls, who don’t know Jack.The image of Jack Fryman swayed in the water, the pain as if shards of glass radiating from his chest infecting arms, legs and skull. Thoughts sprinted and images churned in what was left of his consciousness.Nothing’s going to change the plow,Accept the harvest of the vow,Correct the sins that men allow,So mark my fucking words right nowMark my fucking words right nowMark my fucking words right nowMark my fucking wordsright nowMark my fucking wordsright nowMark my fucking wordsright nowMark my fucking wordsright now.Mark held on with everything he had, his face crimson, veins bulging, eyes rolling.Inasmuch as I would like to say that this could flow another way,That all of this a bad mistake and somewhere there’s another take,There’s not it’s all decided cold hard fact is that it’s guided,Not the first time or the last that one must choose the role that’s cast,There’s nothing new it’s just the text from one existence to the next,And crossed inside is fate’s collision, second choice: Pilate’s Decision.Chapter Sixty-NineBending legs for spring, Mark gathered every bit of his strength, closed his eyes tight and shot straight north through the surface of the water, launching Tara high in the air. She fell to earth in a perfect dive. Mark swept dark hair from his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled.Karyn and Mark Jr. watched from the sandbar.Margaret and John watched from the summer home. EpiloguePsalm 69, the new release from Pilate’s Decision debuted at #1 on Billboard Magazine’s Top 100, and remained there for 21 weeks. End of Side OneIntersection Copyright ? 2018 by Michael G. Farley. All Rights Reserved.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.?Cover designed by Michael G. Farley?This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.? ................
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