Chapter 19 "Rude Awakening"

I had a dream after we fell asleep. It was about crows. It was about deer. The crows were killing one of their own. One of them had taken ill and the others were ferociously attacking him. The black, floppy, and flapping mass was at the bottom of a grassy hill, so green. People who say that they only dream in black and white are full of shit or unimaginative. I'm not sure which is worse.

On the top of the grassy hill was a small herd of doe surrounding a giant stag with at least ten antler points. He coldly watched the crows as they took the life of their ill brother. I felt like the stag understood the necessity of the crow’s actions but abhorred their kind and their methods. I was transfixed by the squawking, black oily writhing mass that had become the crows' instrument of death. It was upsetting to watch. I wanted to leave this place. I wanted to run away from the harsh nature of this reality. This painful slashing death and the cold stare of the stag, his imperiousness and his power. He had the power to stop this carnage before him and did nothing.

I suddenly became aware that I was dreaming. A wry smile crossed my lips as I realized I could be anywhere I wanted and I floated up. With the altitude came a rush to the head and my vision clouded over white. I woke up. She was gone.

I sat up in her bed and experienced that strange sensation of my surroundings being upset and unfamiliar, like if you were to wake up sleeping sideways on your own bed. I glanced over at her cartoonish snake lamp. She must have turned it on. The room still smelled like like sex and girl breath, the bed still warm. I turned the clock radio, located on the bedside table, towards me. It was 7:38.

Flipping my naked legs over the side of the bed, I called out, "Jaime?"

Silence. A dog barked three times somewhere. The neighbor took a few clonky steps somewhere. Jaime was somewhere, but not here. It was eerie. I stood up and yawned, It occurred to me a man wearing a wife beater and no pants in any situation was fairly comical, but against my better judgment I walked out into her living room, balls and all.

"Jaime?"

There was a stool pulled into the center of the living room, away from the bar countertop on the edge of her kitchen area. The living room and kitchen were all one big room with counters and a raised bar dividing them. Her refrigerator thudded and whirred to life as I looked upon a neat folded pile of my clothes that was on top of the stool. On top of this pile were the dog collar and a note.

Interesting first date.
You are quite yummy.
Eats and drinks in the fridge.
Make me some tacos, sucka.
Lock the knob if you leave.
The card fell out of your shirt pocket, my nordic prince!

Love, Jaime.

I snorted. "Nordic prince...fuck me," I sighed.

Good god, her signature looked like fucking calligraphy. It was illuminated original King James bible shit. She also drew this stylized bass guitar on the note next to her signature that looked like it was made of water or blood...if you were so inclined.

There I stood with my dick out, my ass flapping in the wind, and I sighed like a little girl and read the note four or five times. Out of a strange inclination I sniffed the 1/4 sheet of yellow lined paper. It smelled like her tongue tasted. Under the note was Nelson's card! The chevron. The swinger's connection! It was right at home, camouflaged and yet reflecting silver sunlight on top of my god-awful flashy silver shirt. I wondered if Jaime had any recollection of what had happened last night. My clothes were all there, socks, pants and my distress beacon of a shirt. I glanced to my left. A computer! Internet! Hastily, I pulled on the lower half of my ensemble leaving the shirt and dog collar on the stool, with Nelson's card secured between my teeth, I sat down in front of the computer.

It was on with the warp drive screen saver. I grabbed the mouse and shook it. Windows came up with the username and password screen. The user name was SubSonicSiren...password???

Eh. Shit.

I hit the enter key, and her desktop came up. Sweet! I took a look at her modem. Going strong. Clicked on Explorer and was taken immediately to her band's website. Kitty Mistress. A dank little Ska-sounding rhythm came up as the website loaded pictures and text in front of me. I was so interested in the pics. It took me about a minute to realize that Jaime...beautiful, perplexing and epileptic as she was, was an amazing bass player. She held the whole thing down against some solid but pedestrian drumming and less than nifty guitar work. The singer, however, had a sassy and sometimes achingly lovely voice that had a ton of character. Her lyrics, in this particular song were about douche bags and were acid drenched, pointy, and smart. I gleaned from the homepage that her name was Sonia, and she was really, really beautiful. Shaved head, but looked like a tattooed and pierced, tribal Sinead O'Connor.

I glanced across the room at her microwave. 7:42. Work in 15-ish minutes! Let's hope I will be able to check this stuff out later. The cheveron headband on the dead man was calling to me as I started to get my head around the enormity of this morning. Punch in the website on the card, Red.

http://www.666666999999.org

A simple white screen appeared with a small field in black futuristic looking font that matched Nelson’s card. All that was written was, CARD NUMBER. I was to enter a number. Squinting at the card, I was somewhat confused, and I turned it over. On the back there was a small series of numbers that were dead center in the middle of the card. The numbers were so small that I couldn't read them. Red on silver, just beyond my exceptional vision. I sighed and opened a drawer or two on her desk, not knowing if I'd find anything to help. Looking on top of the desk, I found, sticking upright in a blue coffee mug, the most hideous pair of glasses that I had ever seen. These were black, plastic framed Steve Erkle glasses from a bygone era. I chuckled at both my luck and the mental image of Jaime surfing the internet in her Pajamas with these horrific things on.

Holding these birth control glasses up to the card, I got the numbers.

10999-08-05.

I punched 'em in. The screen changed. It read,

YOU HAVE BEEN INVITED TO SOMETHING WONDERFUL...Those words faded away into another line.

THE BROTHER OR SISTER WHO HAS BROUGHT YOU TO THIS MOMENT HAS FAITH IN YOU...Fade.

YOU ARE NUMBER 10,999

YOUR TREE IS FROM 8

DO NOT FORGET THIS YOU WILL NEED TO COMMUNICATE THIS OFTEN IN THE COMING DAYS

DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE? CLICK YES/NO

"Ah...fuck me in the tits. God damn it, Nelson!"

It is possible at this point that when I click on 'yes,' Jaime's computer will be flooded with viruses, spyware, or I could possibly be directed to some of the nastiest amateur internet swinger porn that money should never buy. Any of this could be behind that single click, but it took me less than half a second to click 'yes' anyway. To my relief the text simply continued.

WE ARE AN EVOLUTION OF THOUGHT. WE ARE NOT THE SAME WORLD ANYMORE.

IT IS OUR RESPONSIBILITY TO USHER IN EVERYTHING THAT YOU HAVE ALREADY KNOWN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.

IT IS A SECRET THAT IS ON THE TIP OF YOUR TONGUE.

AS YOU READ THIS, YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT IT CAN'T BE PUT INTO WORDS.

YOU ARE SPECIAL. YOU MUST MEET US.

DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE? CLICK YES/NO

I clicked yes and another screen came up with legal garbaldy gook that looked to be about 7 or 8 single spaced type written pages. "GAH!" My frustration was peaking and it was starting to stick its unlubricated 'fuck stick', thank you Nelson, into an unhappy place. I clicked on the toolbar and hit print and Jaime's lovely printer came to life and dedicatedly started printing out all of the agreement.

HAVE YOU READ THE AGREEMENT? DO YOU AGREE TO TERMS? YES/NO

Hastily, I hit yes. The screen went blank, then simply read,

3300 S LOGAN ST ENGLEWOOD TONIGHT AT 9PM REMEMBER YOU ARE NUMBER 10,999 YOUR TREE IS FROM 8.

I jotted this down on the first page of the agreement with a stubby art pencil from her blue coffee cup.

YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED TO BE PART OF SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL AND REVOLUTIONARY.

THIS IS THE ONLY TIME WE WILL ASK AND THE ONLY TIME THAT YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO PARTICIPATE.

DO NOT BE LATE.

The screen went white, and automatically redirected back to Jaime's band's website...the song about douche bags started playing again I quickly closed out the screen and grabbed the rest of the agreement from the printer, my shirt and dog collar off of the stool, locked the doorknob and bounded out the door, down the stairs towards work. I pulled my pager from my pocket and found I had about nine minutes to get to work.

If you were to ask Dean, I was already late.