Literary Section XI

2 Fools and 300 Sins
Act I: Carnival of Fools
Part I: Invitation...

September 6th, 2028, 18:30

Blast this verdammt weather! I had hoped that the summertime would hold a little longer but it's just my luck: the humidity just had to go up, two days before the opening and the old wound has been acting up like a real bitch. Ah, to hell with it, I will just pop two of the pills that Lisa ever so kindly (and illegaly) provided me with, grind my teeth and bear it. To be honest, I could very well use the weather as an excuse not to show up; maybe it's even for the best. There was good reason I vanished the first time around and even better reasons for my remaining out of anyone's touch. What the Hell was she thinking--...

Still, I gotta hand it to the ol' girl, first for finding me and second for being persistent enough for me to give her a "yah, I'll come by". I used to take pride in my not being surprised, barring exceptional circumstances and she just had to go and become an extraordinary circumstance. I don't much care for the occult but if there was one time I felt a cold, ghostly hand grab me by the balls, it was when she called. Another was when... Well, not getting into that, I'll veer off subject. Twas two weeks ago and I was loitering around the office, not doing much of anything: it was another day I was feeling too old to go after any small or big-time scandal, be it straight, gay, trans, politician, unfaithful blue-collar or whatever. Anna May was gone early (this whole month's been full of dance rehearsals for the play - must make a note not to miss the premiere) and it was the first day that humidity started setting in. I was in pain, therefore miserable and foul and had disconnected the phone as a result, complementing my misery with the company of a bottle of liquor from the old country. Bless my forefathers for being the most determined drunkards in the Mediterranean.

After it became clear that old case-files and long-since-forgotten "glories" would not help my typically unsettling sleep, I left the mess as was (except for hiding the liquor), put the phone back online and went to get my leather coat (older than me and somehow not the worse for it). After I put on my hat and got my walking cane, I was at the door. Phone rings... The vast majority of myself has been cursing me, no holds barred, for picking it up, but that old curiosity that has fucked me over more than once, demanded I did.

"Yah? D&T Investigations. Whoever you are, we are--"

"Grav?" I froze. This voice only had a mild resemblance to someone whom I had known a very long time ago, someone who had been a good afriend and to whom I had not been as good a friend as I might have. Still, it was not so much the resemblance, but more the familiar tone, almost carefree, almost as if 20 years had never gone by; as if betrayal and death had not come between friends and lovers and--. I broke off from my reverie and to my astonishment, I answered...

"Stormy...?" What the hell was the matter with me? Why did something like that come to the fore of my skull after being in the graveyard of my mind for 20 years?

"Yeah, it's me. Oh, I am so glad you recognized me!"

"Yah, sure... Um... How did you--"

"And how have you been my erudite detective?" Christ, this was rapidly turning into a Nightmare Through the Rabbit Hole. 'Erudite detective'? I had not been called that by anyone in years - well, except Anna-May and then I only react tersely to the poor girl.

"Well, I... uh.. good, good I guess. Well, as good as I can after-- You know..." Right, at 46, it is evident I am turning senile. Why did I have and bring up something that all involved would have most likely preferred forgotten?! "I'm sorry, I mean--"

"Hey, no harm done sweetie. That's all in the past now; do not hit yourself over the head about it." Was she cheerful? It sure sounded that way; tired perhaps, but cheerful. This was becoming more surreal by the second.

"So, um, how's tricks? I mean no, I wanted to ask ye how did you--"

"All that can wait until we meet up close." Here we go. Veering off into madness again.

"Look, Stormy. I appreciate the call and all but I really--"

"Please. Hear me out. I won't even try to dig into that thick skull of yours to find the myriad reasons and excuses you want to give me to avoid getting together with the past. I simply called to give you an invitation to the opening of my nightclub. Your name will be given at the entrance, I will give you a date and address and then do as you like - it's not as if anyone could convince you differently, even back then." Ouch, OK, that got my attention all right.

*sigh* "OK, I'm all ears."

"In two weeks hence, at 21:00 sharp, the '302' will open its doors to the public. It is located--"

"OK, wait a fucking second there! This is not even funny Storm. Is that why you called me? To mess with an old man? You know what? I remember, real clear, if that is what you called for - the leg wound reminds me keenly in this weather. So you can just--" I felt something black and sickening at the pit of my stomach. The '302'?!

"Grav, just for moment, shut up. To begin with, I am older than you. Secondly, it saddens me that you have indeed become a paranoid old fart! Do you remember me this cruel? I KNOW who was real cruel, as well as you do. Do you really want to go there?"

"Ah, entschuldigung Stormy. I just... Well.."

"I know what YOU are thinking for once. That's an odd feeling - YOU were the one who always knew too much. However, don't make this something it is not. I am not an Erinye, Grav and God knows you have enough of your own, even though it was not your fault. At any rate, we got into a discussion that I did not want to have over the phone after 20 years. The club is located where Villa Amalias stood. Did you write down the date and time?"

"No, uh... gimme a sec-- wait, THAT huge thing is yours?"

"You' 've seen it?"

"Well, I have seen the 'KEEP OUT' signs and some of the workers. Some of my... less aware informants used to hang out there and there was this whole upheaval about their having to relocate or face incarceration. Well, as much of an upheaval as people who are in perpetual stupor can cause."

"Well, at any rate, that's where it is. Come early, say around... 19:00. There won't be anyone there yet and we can do some catching up; if you want. Besides, I have one of the best places reserved for you, so you can see the opening. It's gonna be something!" Well, I am not really sure what kind of 'something' it's gonna be but I cannot argue there, for a number of reasons.

"Yah, I'll come by. But I won't stay too late. Leg's killing me."

"As you like. Oh, and Grav? You might see some familiar faces there - I wanna be straight with you but please, it won't matter, so do not let that keep you from coming over."

"Right. Yeah... Look, I gotta go now so..."

"I understand. I won't call again. If you come by, all will be as I told you. If you don't, well, have a good life. such as it may be".

"Right. Thanks... I think."

"Bye, sweetie." She hung up and left me there, numb, apprehensive. I guess 20 years did change her some. She was not chewing words, nor was she calling for support. She was doing me a courtesy, that was all. A courtesy I did not feel I deserved and much less, wanted to deal with. Still, if ever there was one thing that got me into trouble and I could not fight against, that was curiosity.

While, a week a go, I suddenly resolved not to go, another visit (this one an equal mix of threat and friendship) made it quite clear that I had only little choice in the matter. Still, I think it's a bloody stupid idea; but then again, most of my life has been a series of stupid ideas.

[To be Continued]

Speedgrapher

Literary Section IX

It's baaaaaaack!Well, after a fashion. As you might remember, the Literary Section had started with Prometheus's story, split into seven parts. After typing in the Aftermath, I had told you that you would have to wait until the sequel had been written by yours truly. Thing is, events have taken an interesting turn with Prometheus and I had to interrupt my writing the promised piece. No, I have NOT given up on it, not by a long shot. However, it seems that if nearly a year has not been enough to produce it, it's going to be a rather long process.

In the meantime, some other ideas have been popping into my head, one of which is a detective story, part noir and part science fiction, told through the pages of a journal-- But I am getting ahead of myself again. Dim the lights and put on the "Temple of Love" by Sisters of Mercy, sit comfortably into your armchair, on the floor or wherever it is that suits your fancy and start reading the mysterious, bloody and ravaging tale, of...

2 Fools and 300 Sins
Act I: Carnival of Fools
Prelude: "Simplicity"

It ran... ran through streets drowned in mud and free-flowing gutter water, as the unyielding, torrential rain drove cold needles in its muscles and plastered its long hair to its slim skull. Still it ran. Sloshing through filthy puddles that near resembled small lakes in these disrepaired streets, it ran. The coppery dye had half bled away these past few days of constant hiding, fearing and - yes - running. It was no sense of direction that led it to its destination but rather, an inevitable web of irony, lies and sins. Oh, yes, there were many sins in this terrible affair, past and present equally. As for the future, for all its self-centered existence, it knew that the prospect of a future was, at best, an optimistic view on things. Still, it ran, as most who are beyond hope and hopelessness will do.

Now, you have to understand, to the mundane eye, this was no scene of elaborate drama, no noir angle, not even cheap horror flick footage. Passerbys who bothered to spare a glance, saw a creature dressed in a peculiar assortment, of what might have once been clothes of dark fashion. However, the days of running and hiding and slumming had turned this - perhaps once - elaborate attire of pins, cute skulls, stockings and frills, into a very impractical hobo's outfit. It is really beside any logical point to discuss what had been an elaboratre hairstyle and make-up, as the only thing visible was a tangled, odd-colored mop and if one spared a second glance, tears and bruises of mascara, the lips bleeding gloss.

Judging from its general stature (somewhat augmented by what looked like utterly ridiculous boots in such a weather), its build and the - invisible in its running pose, arms wrapped around it tight - small bumps of soft flesh below its collarbone, one would call it female. In fact, purely scientifically speaking, it was a woman in her early 40s - however, as it had discovered, science and life seemed to be at odds. No, more appropriately, science had not yet accounted for the sheer, maddening weirdness of reality.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, for it has reached a very old building, at least twice renovated and burned down again, at this particular moment in time, boarded up. The LED-sign has been long cast into darkness and the abuse, both of its history and the weather, have almost completely covered it in a shroud woven of filth and muck. Ah, but it remembers the entrance reserved to the soul-keepers of this place of yore and amazingly, almost in a stroke of ridiculously improbable luck, it yields to its desperate efforts at gaining entry.

After it closes the door to the deafening sounds of the outside world and the sadistic persistence of the rain, it collapses in a heap of aching knees and sore body. Though it knows it must not sleep, as each passsing moment may bring it closer to... Well, its view of what exactly threatens it is so distoretd and unclear, that it would insult the esteemed reader. Nevertheless, its smudged eyelids weigh more than the Earth itself and it sinks into a slumber of unforgiving dreams. However, it is so exhausted, that the dreams seem distant echoes of darkness.

Suddenly it wakes but dares not open its eyes. How long has it been and how closer have-- But in the near-silence of its own breathing, it hears nothing stir, nor drag, nor scratch. It's small comfort but better than none. Still, its eyes remain sealed with dripping make-up and dried-up tears. New tears of despair and perceived injustice wash some of the muck away form the sticky eylids and yet, it squeezes them shut, accompanied by its own moans. Another small eternity passes and it recovers some presence of mind. It has found temporary shelter but not safety - no, safety is an illusion long dispelled. However, the dead and the ghosts of memories from this place are far preferable to what might be closing in.

It remembers the general outline, though the debris has altered it some. It fumbles down short steps, to the - more or less - circular center space. The railing used to have candles; now, if this ridiculous luck holds-- some are still there, quite a few in fact. Wonderful. It sets its heavy load beside it and searches for its lighter. There it is, still working: obediently, it lights up and passes its light to three of the remaining candles. No chance of warmth but the shelter from the rain, the silence and the sudden presence of even these meager flames, gives the hunted a moment to pause and look at the geometric, stylized sign on the zippo. New tears and moans emerge, more briefly this time.

It sits down, shivering, and draws the rectangular object near it. Nothing but the case is wet. The crafty bastard had a way with such things, it thinks, as it carefully opens the case. It removes the black tome from inside and sets it on the dry ground, for fear of ruining it before reaping the secrets inside. It's simple black, with only the occasional blemish of use. A magnetic strip keeps the cardboard covers shut, a Japanese ideogram burned on the front: "Simplicity", he had said. How this thought bings it terror! However, for all its apprehension, it must know, it must witness as only he who did not forget and apparently, did not forgive, could.

The magnetic strip does not resist much, and the covers give their place to creamy-white paper, filled with small, inky handwriting. It is this moment it had longed for, since losing all hope of claiming unlawfully, what it had truly desired. This terrible moment of truth. This man's memories. It closes its eyes, takes a deep breath and starts reading:

September 6th, 2028

Blast this verdammt weather! I had hoped that the summertime would hold a little longer but it's just my luck: the humidity just had to go up, two days before the opening and the old wound has been acting up like a real bitch. Ah, to hell with it, I will just...

[To be Continued]

Speedgrapher