Chapter 29-- "The Gauntlet- (The Lion)"

My next moment of consciousness was that of being transported through a large basement. I could see pipes and conduits crisscrossing a couple stories up. Maybe it was the ceiling of a warehouse or industrial building.

"Geh..." I grunted. "Fuggggh." I couldn't quite talk. Lying on a moving platform, I felt like I was on a gurney, on my back. I was rolling through this industrial looking building. Electric whirring. Glancing further up, I tilted my head backwards. I could see Belle's long curly hair hanging over the back of the seat that I was propped up against. I was in a golf cart looking vehicle! The electric whirring was now understood by me and I was travelling backwards through a bleak and basement looking environment.

"Our impressive friend is waking up." It was the Preacher's voice. I cranked my head over and he was driving the golf cart vehicle.

"Freghhhhhh. Schmeeeeghhhhhh."

"Oh, Joe! Perfect timing." Belle exclaimed.

All of a sudden, perfect blue-black speckled sky. Above me, I saw stars and seats, the seats of the field at Mile high stadium! They are unmistakable. The freaking Broncos south end! The jumbotron! What the fuck!? I was in a real stupid dream.

"Oh Christian is a total geek," Belle said.

"Beeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhh," I wailed.

"Shut up Joe. Compose yourself. Don't meet the Lion like you met me." She said.

The Preacher laughed in his Charlton Heston voice and said, "Don't make him feel that way. We really put him through the Gauntlet today. Don't get him all riled up. Oh, look! He's playing X-Box!"

"Okay...Joe. Just breathe a bit more, you'll be fine." Belle said.

"Fahhhhhhghhh, Beeehhhhhhh, I Keeeeyaahhhh yuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Shuggggghhhh meeeyaht topherugh...Sheeeeee!"

The Preacher said, "He needs an hour, at the very least."

"No. He'll be fine," Belle said.

"You're the expert, 12. Aren't you?"

"There is no number after 9. My tree is from 8 as well, old friend," She said.

"Heh! I am surprised to hear you say that yet, don't forget what you just said, witch. You act like you haven't been taking certain liberties? Lucinda and Marcella are becoming quite outspoken. You enjoy their company. You are as old as them, perhaps older." The Preacher spat.

"Don't be like that. Don't speak out of both sides of your mouth, David. It's not nice. You know who I am. You know what we are to become. We are the Bastards, men and women. Don't chastise me. This is just Joe. The Lion will tell him. Don't tell me you're still upset about back then. We made wonderful things. Don't try to make me more than I am. You were there when all of this started."

The preacher sighed as we rolled across the field in this weird golf cart. It was as if I was an injured player being taken back on to the field...of course that never happens, but I had discerned at this point that I was on a six wheeled electric John Deer thing. The same type of vehicle that carted Terrell Davis off during game 4 of the 1999 season, and I was being carted on to the field at Mile High.

Too much!

Great, gaping holes in my memory. Some of them hovered just below the surface of a lake of absinthe. Memories like talking with the Preacher after my vomit explosion. He and Belle were very happy with me after my puke blast. I, quite intelligently, kept on drinking...I could feel it. The hours spent drinking hung on to the fringes of my being and my euphoria was terrible. I was totally messed up, and must have fallen asleep again, but perhaps not from the drug, I think.

This time, it may have been pure booze. I squinted my eyes shut and tried to remember the intervening moments, but could only catch hazy sketches that were impossible.

Speaking of impossible, I was looking at the Bronco's South Stands as if I was a quarterback. (Sigh.) How the fuck did I get here?

Well, good luck for me; I am great on booze. If that is the only thing that is messing my mind up right now, I am at some advantage. To wit: My vocabulary was coming back to me. "PREACHER! Wha da fuhhhh...man?" I tried to move my body to crank around and get after him, but the best movement I could create was a fist into the air meant to turn my body around and at the very least, fuck with his driving.

I was totally unsuccessful. I had no strength and barely propped myself up in the back of this little pick-up truck golf cart.

My speech was returning with every attempt I made at faking sobriety, but I was still completely hammered. I kept struggling, and to my credit, was now winning the battle of my consciousness. My mind remembered that I was infiltrating this cult to exonerate myself, not join it.

Hoping I didn't give too much information while I was totally blacked out, this was to be another of a series of strange and horrific events I was to endure. It seemed as if many hours had passed between my last real memories. The sky seemed to be getting blue, and at this time of the year, that means that it was a little past 5 in the morning, but, I was correctly asking myself, on what day?

Steadying my shoulder against the bed of the John Deer thing, I took a few deep breaths as the Preacher stopped the golf cart somewhere near the 30 yard line on the other side. All I could hear was two dudes rapidly saying things like: "Nice one!"

"Suck this!"

"Oh!"

"Oh! You're my bitch, asshat."

"Nice, Asshat! I'm glad you troll Craigslist"

"Oooooh! FUCK YOU! I win! If this was Mortal Combat, I'd rip your whole spinal cord out of your body like a Predator and show you your whole corpse before you lose consciousness! SUCK IT BITCH! AAAAHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHHA!"

(Defeated) "Psssshhhhh."

I cranked my head around and did my best to roll out of the golf cart's bed. I was confused by what I saw. Somebody was playing Tekken on the northwest Jumbotron at Mile Hi Stadium. It was two dudes. They both had controllers in their hands and were talking mad shit to each other. I fell out of the bed of the golf cart. The grass at the thirty yard line was plush and short. The fall still hurt.

"Heh heh. Who's this numb nuts, Preacher?"

"Uh. He had a bit of a reaction," The Preacher intoned.

"Don't we all?" Said a third voice...Spoiler Alert: Whip.

"Whip! Help him up!" Belle shrieked.

A strong back and arms hefted me up off of the ground and I found myself somewhat hugging a full grown man. He whispered, "Dude, just put your feet under you."

I complied and leaned against him for a moment. The full weight of my body was realized and I felt much better. The preacher was behind this Whip guy and so was a golden haired shirtless bronzed dude muff, sitting there beaming at me with these giant white Chicklet teeth.

Seriously, he looked like a cartoon of Icarus or Zeus or Christ our lord.

Bronzed, blonde hair, ripped and sinewy with bright white teeth, he said, "Did you see that shit? Two triple combos and one little flaw, then I eight hit him here! Oh, lord!" He watched the replay. "And then... SPLAT, SPLAT, WHAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" The golden god looking dude performed the last two punches and the same spinning heel kick that the character on the Jumbotron unloaded on his unwitting victim.

Whip just sighed and said, "How do you even get me to play this?"

The golden god said, "Shit, Whip...you're the only one that'll stay up with me half the time."

Swaying on my feet, I managed a bit of a snort.

"Funny? Can you even talk right now?" Whip said. He was a good looking man with a cleft chin and light hair. He looked somewhat Slavic or German with high cheekbones and a wide forehead. What was interesting about this dude was that even though he was a pretty big dude he said this with warmth and not malice. He invited me into conversation with his mannerisms instead of challenging me. He was wearing a dress shirt and blue jeans with a dark blue blazer as the golden god was wearing the white linen flowy pants with no shirt....

I managed this: "You assholes are playing PlayStation on the Broncos Jumbotron?!" Apparently, I enjoy stating the obvious. My mouth slurred and fucked up, but I left my hand rolling in mid air as if I wanted someone to take over my words...Belle didn't miss a beat.

"Chris! Do you forget that you are inviting people over to meet you for the first time, and here you are playing your PlayStation? I'm beginning to have a problem with you." Belle crossed her arms at the golden god, Chris. He just blanched a bit and shrugged.

Whip threw up his arms and the controller..."OH MY GOD! Thank you, Belle, for saying exactly what I'm thinking! Isn't this just a bit indulgent? C’mon! You think I know shit about Tekken?!"

"Doesn't EVERYONE?!" Chris said.

Whip: Dude. You. Knew. Your. Own. Finishing. Move. Youperformeditandshit!"

Chris: No! That was just a combo; I didn't get to do anything good there.

I piped up, gesturing towards the jumbotron as Whip's girl character continued to get knocked out over and over again from different camera angles. Further, I was gesturing at the long cords that seemingly came out from a turf covered trap door on the ground and fed the PlayStation on a little antique table. "I mean, that'ssss a cool set up!" I slurred.

"You want some!?" Chris yelled, flexing his bare chest at me and indicating the PlayStation and the awesome trap door.

Belle: You have much better things to do, Lion.

Chris: Don't call me that!

Preacher: Seriously, we do have better things to do, Christian.

Chris: Don't call me that, either! Look. You two fuck heads need to go away. Belle, Preacher, take Whip and get the fuck out of here! Joe and I are gonna play some Tekken, and drink some absinthe, so fuck off, all of you! Stop playing with people's minds so much before they get to me. Shit! I'd much rather you not even dose 'em...

Belle: (Scoffs) Well! You know that's not true!

Chris: Shut up, witch! Yes I do. NOW GIT!"

They all filed into the pickup truck golf cart and rolled away wordlessly. I stood there swaying and regarding my new shirtless Christ-looking friend with an arched eyebrow and a renewed sense of horror.

He walked over to Whip's controller and tossed it at me. I caught it and stared up at the Jumbotron. I like games. I like them a lot and I had quite a bit of Tekken experience at this point, Wyatt likes it a lot, and I dated this 35 year old with a 13 year old daughter for a awhile. After a few months, the daughter and I had a better relationship than the mother amd I had. It was all based on video games. Heh. I knew some Tekken. I chose the boxer, Steve Fox and he chose Marshall Law, the obvious choice.

3, 2, 1, FIGHT!

The cool thing about Tekken, is that if you time a hit right, you can counter punch another player, my character, the boxer, is really good at this. So when he jumped into me and I blocked, I counter punched him and combo punched his Law character through a piece of concrete and came after him with a 1 2 3, then as he tried to jump away, I rapid punched, destroying a piece of concrete, and a lot of his health.

"OHHHHH, WHIPPITY POW!" I exclaimed.

Chris grunted and to his credit came back with a flurry of punches and low kicks that tore my guy asunder and then he tossed me into some random piece of breakable videogamery. He jumped after my guy to hit me while I was down but I was too fast, my dude not only got up, but sidestepped and counterpunched him again, and he was going for another wild ride! 1 2 3 4!! Combo and big toss! Joe wins! "BLEAHHHHHHGH!!!!"

I did my best to mimic my boxer's move as I took out Marshall Law.

He reached over at the table next to the trap door that was impossibly coming out of the field and unmercifully produced two more shots of green goo that we, unfortunately slugged down.

Christian. The Lion, he glowered at me and chucked his controller into the air. It landed in the soft grass at Mile High. He plucked a cell phone out of his front pocket and flipped it open.

DWEET! "Miguel! Que se hacien!"

DWEET! (static) "Que?"

DWEET! "No seas tonto...motherfucker"

DWEET! (static) "Okay, okay, okay!!"

DWEET! "Gracias!"

DWEET! (static) "No se tan Malo!"

DWEET! "Okay."

"Only I can mess with Miguel." He said. I nodded. "Come with me."

"Aw, c'mon we got at least another fight in us!" I pleaded, emboldened by my solid victory.

"Perhaps we do, but upstairs!" I shrugged and followed him into a door on the East side of the stadium. "Here's the deal...I don't like to lose." I dismissed him.

"Aw...you woulda been fine...."

"Nope. You were gonna beat me at Tekken."

"Who cares, man?" We started walking in the bowels of Mile High Stadium again, with the ceiling striated with pipes and vent, but this time, I believe we were headed down to the Broncos locker room!

"It doesn't matter, man. It’s just pride." Christian said to me.

"Pride, it's a personal thing," I said. “Often times it just comes down to thinking you’re right all the time.”

"Okay. Yeah,” he nodded. "Maybe, when you know you're right, it's the obsession, the original sin, the negative connotation of the word."

"Last person I knew that was right was my dad," I said.

The Lion laughed.

"What's with you anyway?" I asked. "What's with the shirtless awesome dude thing? It's like 58 degrees out here."

"Heh, heh. You're right. It's out of habit. With most men, I intimidate them, with most women, I intoxicate them."

"It's a douche-move...I can't imagine how you pull it off and still get people to call you whatever-the-lion-fuck."

"The title doesn't much matter anymore, but you are very intimidating with your wife beater and scars.... oooohhhh.... scary!" Again, I was realizing that I was pretty much naked on top and also wet and grass stained. I peered down at my wife beater and it looked somewhere between the end of act 2 and the middle of act 3 of Bruce Willis's original Die Hard wife beater. I laughed out loud at the thought.

"Okay. Sorry, but Jesus, dude. I been through the gauntlet tonight. It was a lot!"

"I know, Joe. You would have never met me if I didn't know that you were in trouble." Christian smirked at me, pushing his shoulder-length blonde hair out of his eyes. He was tan and beautiful, a boxy and hard face with peircing blue eyes, an utter cartoon of himself, but thankfully, shorter than me; he had a crooked boxer's nose with full lips and a small scar above his eybrow that cut into his eyebrow...a beautiful man.

Why is he saying this to me? Why is he smiling at me with giant white chicklet teeth? How does one shave or wax their person to the point of utter hairlessness!?

I looked at him with a secret disgust and jealousy. We were stopped in front of the home team locker room. "That's right, the Broncos!" He whispered to me next to the door and smirked at me again. He pounded on the door, pretended to listen for a reply and he continued walking around the corner.

I was more than a little deflated, because I wanted to see the Broncos locker room but followed him around the corner and into a waiting elevator. The Lion hit a floor and we started upwards.

"I'm sorry, Joe."

"What?"

"This isn't the best way. We know about you."

"What exactly do you think you know about me?"

"Quite a bit...from your own admission." My chest went icy. I wondered what I said in front of Belle and the Preacher that he could have gleaned via fancy cell phone conversation. How destroyed was I in front of both Belle and the Preacher that led me here!? I should play dumb, (Which, so far, has not been difficult.) and continue trying to get information.

We got out of the elevator on a new floor and I just stopped. The Lion-Christian kept walking for a bit and stopped. He turned around to face me and snorted at me. He said, "Look, man. I'm not trying to bust your balls. I know some shit about you, yes. Right now, its time to relax, maybe catch some shuteye, and so let's go. We'll talk a bit like little kids. We'll talk like we're at a slumber party in pajamas." Chris was walking down a giant hallway filled with murals of Broncos past and present, he turned into a door on the righthand wall, it went (DWEET) and he opened the door.

"Heh." I laughed. "I'm in the hall of champions. This is fucking sweet. Where are you taking me Chris, because I wouldn’t mind checking this shit out."

"To my apartment, butthole. You like Fantasy Football?"

"You live...at Broncos?"

He laughed at me..."Yeah. It's the only place that I can fit my car."

"Okey doke. Chris. What do you know about me? And yes…I LOVE Fantasy Football!"

"I know that you aren't quite what you seem to be, and that you admitted to being in a bit of trouble. Does that intrigue you or not?"

"Not."

"I know that you found Jacob, and that he is dead."

"Who is Jacob?"

"I believe that he was posed like a Buddha in his own house; does that ring a bell?"

"Well yahh, ittt seeeeemmmmmms to meeeee that..."

...

Much after that fades into a blur; we were hanging out in the Lion's box seats that looked out over the whole of Mile High stadium. His suite actually had two twin beds and a generous amount of alcohol and food in the mini-fridge along with easy chairs, multiple televisions, a wet bar, an X-Box AND a PlayStation! I couldn't believe it.

More insane conversation, as we drank and talked.

Lion: Why do you think you are here?

Joe: (Coughing, choking on absinthe) Jesus, dude, the last time someone asked me that...

Lion: What?

Joe: (After a moment of consideration) It was the Preacher, and he was about to tell me I was going to barf for a few hours.

Lion: (Laughing) You are NOT about to barf! .... Are you?

Joe: You tell me, weirdo.

Lion: Well it won’t be from the drug...

Joe: (Unimpressed) Great.

Lion: No that only happens once. (Getting up and taking a seat directly in front of Joe) Seriously. Why are you here?

Joe: I'm not really going to skip the obvious here, Chris. You invited me.

Lion: Yep.

Joe: For however many hours I have been at this, (pointing to the absinthe glass in my hand) all of it has deposited me thusly, and I'm going to admit, there are some holes in my memory...

Lion: Its Thursday morning.

Joe: WHAT?! Oh. Fuck. Two Days?! Two FULL days?! WELL THAT'S JUST THE FUCKING POINT OF IT ALL, ISN'T IT?! Why am I HERE?! Because every moment that I have spent in the last TWO FULL DAYS has been under your supervision, and now HERE I AM. SO FUCKING BLOW MY MIND OR SOMETHING, DUDE, CUZ I'M APPARENTLY COMPLETELY RAPT!

Lion: Very good.

Joe: Damn right.

Lion: (Sighing) I am sorry if you feel as if you have been apprehended and are in danger. You're not.

Joe: No. You're recruiting me.

Lion: (Excited) YES! YES! In a way, I want your help.

Joe: (Exasperated) What. Do. You. Want?

Lion: Okay, I'll just tell you. If indeed, you haven't seen enough to believe me, then, you will think me crazy or something, but I believe that you have seen enough, and maybe I can convince you to help me. To join with me. If not, then, well there's no real way to know what they'll do about poor old dead Jacob. Will you have an open mind?

Joe: Try me. I'm talking to a shirtless Jesus that lives in Mile Hi stadium.

Lion: (Smirking) That Belle's a trip, huh?

Joe: I'm not sure I know what you're referring to.

Lion: Cut the crap! (Laughing) You know, HAGFACE! (Leaning over and squishing his face together) BOOOGAH BOOOGAH BOOOGAH!

Joe: (Bored) Yeah, well there's that.

Lion: Ok. Here it goes. We want you to help us against the forces of evil.

Joe: (Rolling eyes) HA!

Lion: (Casually) We are a movement existing in many states and countries and we are committed to stopping several geopolitical corporate entities that are essentially controlling everything. Everything in the world. They own everything. They elect entire governments, cause massive swings in economy, cause natural disasters, start wars, and generally do it all on the back of you and I.

Joe: (Arches eyebrow) Why?

Lion: Why? Why do they do such things? That's a stupid fucking question.

Joe: (Getting up to leave) Nope. Wrong answer.

Lion: (Somewhat desperate) Why does anyone do anything at all, Joe? Money, sex, power, comfort. If you were the one calling the shots, building the world, wouldn't you be happy that you were always right? WHY?! JESUS, Joe!

Joe: (Exasperated. Sitting back down.) Okay. So what? It's common knowledge that this is the case. Hello? Ever watch X-Files?

Lion: Things are getting bad, though.

Joe: What makes you think that you and your trippy friends can do shit about it?

Lion: (Stares at Joe sadly) I don't know.

Joe: What makes this time different then any other time in history?

Lion: (Very confidently) I am here.

Joe: (Slightly taken aback. Sighs) You, huh? Jesus, I hope we’re not hinging life as we know it on your Tekken game, cuz we’re fucked. (Christian smirks. Joe sighs.) What do you mean getting bad?

Lion: I don't wish to shock or bore you with the details at this time. I think we have less than a decade before our country is no longer. You've been through a lot. The winding road that has brought you here is depleting your energy, I can see it. It is very important that you are here, and I want you. I need you, and I know you've seen enough tonight to entertain my ideas, to know that we are on to something extraordinary. Things that are impossible are not. Your individual energy is enough to spawn a universe. There are people that would have you subjugated at the heel of a boot, or at a crash of a stock market, or in the breaking of a levy, or under the thumb of your own indifference! I want you to read this. (He hands Joe a small leather bound book.) It is our manifesto.

Joe: You wrote it?

Lion: I contributed.

Joe: You know, Hitler had a manifesto.

Lion: As I said, this the work of me and a great many people, I have carried it for a time and added to it, and you are to keep it give it to the next person that you will find to be worthy. Always add to it as things are revealed. My copy is mostly current. Now it is your copy. There are political, scientific and metaphysical chapters in there, and once new things are revealed, add your revelations. There are many of these books in our...ahem...cult.

Joe: Ah yes. Funny.

Lion: The Preacher might have seen fit to give you his because you are from 8, but I am giving you mine.

Joe: Whoopdedoo.

Lion: (Disdain and sadness) I am one.

Joe: (Takes a moment) As in 7 less than 8? Alpha?

Lion: Will you read it?

Joe: Yes.

Lion: (Pleadingly) Will you help me?

Joe: (Sighing) I'll do my fucking best.

Lion: (Hugging Joe tenderly) I know that you will.

Joe: (Disengaging) You said earlier that you knew about me stumbling onto, who was it, Jacob? How?

Lion: Let's not dwell. Let's celebrate! To your enlightenment!

(Overbearing Lion toasts Joe and they both slam some more absinthe)

Lion: I know you must be afraid. We will protect you. Let's go fly around and get breakfast, my boy! I promise! I'll put a shirt on! WEEEEEEEEEE!

More blurry memories.

...


Chris and I left in a helicopter that landed in the middle of the stadium. We went somewhere in the Foothills that had a fucking helipad and ate pancakes. I was definitely in some sort of blur out, like a blackout, but with a general memory of weird. I remember riding in a helicopter and wearing those headsets. I remember being very impressed. I remember being very nauseas. Why did I keep drinking that goddamned absinthe!?

I woke up. Here. In very slippery sheets. Nelson's hairy arm, thankfully, was gone. I was alone, grinding my teeth together, wondering if I only had an interesting dream, wondering where that lovely soft and naked woman had gone. Where was Belle?

Like I said, the things that happened that night were told to the best of my recollection, but it wasn't a night. It was twoish nights. It felt like a dream, but really, it didn't matter. Somehow, they already knew. They knew the most important thing. I needed to know who Jacob was, or, at the very least, how they knew I was there for Jacob's last bloated viewing. How did they know so quickly? Had I told them in a ripped blaze, thinking they were my friends?

Did I really sleep in the same bed with Nelson? Was it just a dream?

I was alone now, but not in a place that I knew. Dare I open my eyes? Maybe I should grind my teeth together a bit more and keep clenching my lids shut. Perhaps this is a dream as well.

Dear Reader, at points I will opine about whether or not I knew fantasy from reality. There are moments of time that are lost. So when you judge, just know that at some point, I was trying to find the truth, and got lost hence. The warning about trying to survive, you know, the one where you lose it all, and forget who you are, still stands, and I am sorry if some of the details are hazy, but as I said, it's the best that I can do, and now, as write this, everyone is dead. I wish I could remember for sure, but I can only tell my story from my point of view.

I'll tell you what: You may hate me after this story is done, but I will continue to tell it in the hope that some day you will understand what I have done.

Don't lose yourself. Don't be so ready to impress. I don't know when I lost my mind and told them about the Gruesome Buddha, but apparently I did, and now he has a name: Jacob.

Perhaps this was the right thing to do at the time, and even though, at some point, I had decided to confide in my pseudo-captors about this dark and horrible secret, it must have been the right thing to do.

It's possible that they could help me. It's also possible that they could frame me, but at least I knew where I stood. It appeared that I was on the proper trail, and that now, I have a little homework. I flipped open the manifesto book at some point and glanced at the first page. "The Treatise of the Bastard Party".

A little light reading, anyone?

There is no way that you wake under the influence of substance and doubt the slivers that seem real and tangible, no matter how much you have forgotten, or claim to have.

So, yeah. There was a man in my bed at some point. His name’s Nelson.

And I'm waking up, but I dare not open my eyes. I’m still thinking about my skinny little punk Betty Paige girl.

Jaime...perhaps California is still in our future.

Chapter 28--"The Gauntlet- (The Preacher)"

I can truly say that I don't fully remember the proceeding moments, but far more strange things have occurred since beginning this letter to you my dear reader that I am now far more inclined to trust my first instincts so my recollection, after much personal deliberation, and straining to remember and interviewing the folks who saw me in the height of my amazing 3 day semi-blackout is this:

We walked through a bar. The lights were red and deceiving. Every tattoo was black; every bruise had a chance to disappear into the flesh by pulling the light from the deadly edges of a purple contusion. Oh man, but the flesh was on display. Half naked people made out and outright fucked and copulated in every single way in every single shadowy corner. You could hear cries of ecstasy and grunts of passion from every dark part of this bar. Belle was unaffected, but Nelson cast eyes about the room as if he was trying to catch someone, or maybe just a glance from a horny girl. We stopped to take a piss and there was this girl. She told me that I was in danger. I laughed and blithely said, "You have no idea." We kissed and grinded.

Nelson, Belle and I tried to stop for a quick drink before we entered that smaller room, at the end of the bar. The drink orders were taken, but they didn't arrive. We waited, but then were ushered by three very half-naked girls; drinkless, into this little room filled with cushions and half naked Abercrombie and Fitch models. At the end of the room was a man, sitting on a throne of pillows of sorts. Unlike everyone else in the room, he was alone, fully clothed in more flowy white linens, and untouched.

He introduced himself to me. I didn’t care to give him my name, partly because I was so distracted by euphoria and my surroundings. He asked me questions. Chunks of our conversation are hazy details. Even to this day, his first memory is a bit of a blur, but we did talk a lot, he was very interested in me.

A silver fox of a man, shining grey hair and the jaw line of a fit and thin young man, he regarded me with old eyes. He had very old, wrinkled and wise eyes. Some snippets:

"How do you feel?"

"Amazing." I was reeling.

"Why?"

"Well, if you don't know, than you don't, right?" I wasn't sure if he was privy to my drug use.

"I'm not sure I do, then."

"You look like a square, so why should I care?" I said this like a lyrical Shakespeare stanza, and traced a box in the air. God, I'm fuckin funny.

"Aren't you amazed?"

"Maybe." I said glancing about the room. "Maybe I'm just not amazed by you."

"Well, you should be. Didn't you just say you felt amazing?"

"Yes."

"That's probably a proper description of your current ecstasy, from a person such as yourself."

"Humph. A person such as myself? Wow. You may be kind of an amazing sociopathic asshole
then? Since you seem to be able to ask people to grope each other on command, half naked in your bar, I'm supposed to be like: Oh wow dude, you're so awesome and shit. Cool! Your awesome weird drug makes underage models come into your fucked ass little bar and hang in your chill room? I mean...like...wow."

"Heh. Who is this asshole, Belle?"

"Joe," She said.

"What is so great about him, besides the fact that he has amazing tolerance for absinthe?" He was addressing Belle.

"Don't you judge, Preacher! He thought the floor was grape jelly and that Ito was Sulu from Star Trek, earlier. So what if everyone doesn't have that same awe for you. Perhaps you are losing your gravitas."

"Shut up, witch. If you remember properly, your tree is from 8 as well, or have you forgotten that?"

"No."

"Well then, Joseph? Is that your name? I always prefer calling people by their given name."

"No. Nice try. My given name is Jehosiphat. My friends call me Fat Joe or Fatty Joe Bang McGruffrin. You can call me Phatty J..B...M....Swizz." I crunked out my fingers in a ghetto pose.

"Oh. You are quite hilarious."

"Maybe. I noticed I may be a bit quicker-on-the-uptake than you."

"The scars that are evident on your body do not indicate that, Joseph. Funnier, but not quicker."

I realized at this point that I was only wearing my shitty wife-beater t-shirt and my caterpillar pink scars were absolutely out. What happened to my shirt? At Johnny's house, I changed into a less revealing black t-shirt, with the white wife-beater underneath. The t-shirt under t-shirt thing was a weird habit that I had obtained from Wyatt. He told me that his grandfather had always done it, and fuck all if my memories don't include my grandfather in two t-shirts as well...Anyway, my top t-shirt was gone and my wife beater was in full effect, giving the t-shirt on t-shirt habit an interesting hint of practical legitimacy... My Grandfather must have been a wily bastard.

There was a slight remembrance of pinning that one girl up against the wall near the bathroom? She said I was in danger; she stripped off my shirt and cut fingernail scratches into my back that reeked of jasmine as I grinded into her. Did she cut me? This black-eyed girl, she told me her name was Kudra. I could still smell essential oils ground into my skin. She reminded me of a book I read once. Kudra. Hm.

"Just Joe, please. I said to the Preacher."

"Okay, Joseph. Let's take a walk," The Preacher said.

"My tree is from 8, mystical man, dude."

"Indeed it is. I am 8. Let me show you something."
I shrugged. For some reason I kind of liked the weird old fart. Belle gestured for me to go with him, and I shot her a "No duh" look and followed him through a hallway at the end of the room away from the writhing Abercrombie and Fitch convention.

"Love and lust are interesting things. They are symbiotic, how one can spark the other. Some would argue that they are polar opposites. I would say they are base instinct. People are fond of saying that humans have no instincts, that we have lost them and it is what separates us from animals, but I believe what we so often mistake for feelings, we should call instinct. For what is a feeling but an uncontrollable urge?"

"Heh." I scoffed. "Okay, I get it. You're a super deep dude."

"No. Sorry. I felt like I should explain my voyeurism. My interest in that room back there."

"No need to explain that...You could load the spank bank for years in that room."

"Spank bank?" He stopped walking for a second and peered at me with those icy blue craggily eyes. His jaw tightened, and he continued. "Love and lust are both signs of a healthy human existence. They are instincts that are to be obeyed in varying degrees as we make our way across this planet. They...these instincts, spawn children and progress the species. That room is a celebration...of life.

"Yeah it's pretty hot." I said dead pan as we strolled further down the long dark hallway.
He turned to me again as the hallway opened up into an outdoor atrium, a courtyard in the middle of the building. He said, "I know that you are far more interested in what I say than you are letting on." He grabbed my shoulders jovially. I don't care to be touched very much in a paternal way, but the Preacher somehow did it without making me flinch. "Your walls are so tall, but such walls tumble over easily." He even shook me a bit as he said this, and I smiled weakly and shied away from his gaze. This guy was smushy love.

The Preacher put his arm around me again and ushered me forth as we walked through an open archway and onto a wrought iron balcony that looked out over an impressive courtyard that was somehow nestled between the buildings surrounding us. There was a fountain in the center made of large straight planes of slate and lush gardens with little benches and places to sit. Even though it was night, and I was seeing incredible things, the gardens glowed with their own ethereal aura and there were large floodlights on the roofs of the buildings surrounding that casted a purple tinted light over the whole affair. The floodlights cast a cool light making the interior of the atrium look like evening or dawn without the sun cresting the horizon. I wasn't expecting to walk into to this scene and was surprised.

My jaw just hung open, as the preacher finally approved of my awe. There was a slight mist hovering over the ground. Ivy grew on the walls of this perfectly square atrium in the middle of these buildings giving you the impression that you were surrounded by a verdant forest. As we walked down the iron stairway that clung to the far wall, the air got heavier and denser with each step downward. The humidity was probably three times as dense at the bottom as it was at the top of the stairway. We reached the soft grass and stone paths below. The air smelled of fresh flowers and earth.

I turned to the preacher and said, "Now THIS room is a celebration of life."

He laughed heartily. "Indeed it is, but as it has no ceiling, it is clearly not a room."

We both walked towards the fountain and I sat on a stone bench in front of it. The fountain was a 20 foot tall tiered slate geometric marvel that looked like steps from the side I viewed it and had another kind of waterfall splashing from the other side. The water was held in a rectangular slate cauldron that had to be at least three feet deep. The trickling water reverberated off of the walls surrounding us giving the water a much amplified sound.

I took in the sheer floral beauty of the place inwardly thinking that with all the chemicals floating around in my body right now that if I strode too close to the flowers they may instantly wilt at my presence and die. I felt like a tumor in this place, filled with poison. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath feeling as if I could expel it all with a sigh. My head flopped over into my chest as I gave way to euphoric feeling that I hadn't felt yet. Spinning.

The preacher sat down next to me and again put his arm around me. "Tut tut. Be careful. You'll hyperventilate."

"Whoa."

"You don't realize it, but you're breathing rather deeply. Slow down."

"Ok."

"Joseph. Why are you here?"

"Nelson gave me a card, and the rest, as they say, is history."

"Yes. Nelson. No....the card is really...sort of a litmus test."

"Hm."

"Do you doubt it? What type of person follows tiny print on a card to a website then follows a website to a clandestine meeting?" I smirked at his words. My first thought was a person who is a tad desperate and just a little sad. "Ah, a glimmer of understanding there? Yes, you are a person who deciphers a bit of a puzzle, and despite the fact that the meaning of the puzzle could be dangerous or strange, you still came to meet your destiny, and now you are here with me. Tell me, did you read the rules and regulations that our website offered to you?"

"No, but I printed them."

"I'm assuming you never read it."

"Preacher, it was like 20 pages long, in really, really tiny type!" I protested.

He started laughing at me, "I'm not judging you."

"So what? Did I sign away my first born?"

"Technically, I don't believe that you can do that by checking a box on the internet. No, but you did agree to do some rather silly things." He proffered with a slight chortle.

"Great." I said bleakly.

"So. Why are you here?"

"You tell me, mystic answer man. Furthermore, how bout you tell me why you gotta toy with people like that?" I leveled my eyes at him, trying to look menacing, but the Preacher was glowing. His features seemed chiseled out of stone and ancient, the wisps of hair that had come out of his pony tail danced around his head like white delicate flower tendrils. Any menacing that I was to be doing was for the future, away from the effects of this terrible and amazing drug.

"Oh. Joseph. You are smarter than this, but I'll humor you because you do not currently look to be in a very healthy state." My head drooped back to my chest. No, indeed I felt very intoxicated. "Well. Think about it, Joseph. You are interested enough to decipher the card, compelled enough by the message on the website to meet strangers at a strange location, and, how shall I say...reckless enough not to read the rules and regulations. Pretty simple. You are our kind of people. You fit a certain type of personality profile that we as an organization are trying to attract."

"Organizthathion?" My words were slurring. "Oh man! Are you guyths a cult!? Are you going to ritualisthicly eat me err sun fin!?"

"HA HAHAHAHAHA! Oh, Joseph! You ARE a catch! You're just so yummy! OH! HAH HAH AH AHAHA. I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT! OHHH HOHOHOHOHO!" He got serious and took my head in his hands and looked into my eyes deeply. My head wobbled about and the vision of his face was too much to look at. It filled me with horror. "Tut tut tut...it's okay. What you are about to go through is much like someone who takes peyote. They get very sick before the trip begins."

I squeaked, "Trip...hasn't...begun!?" I was spinning in fractal kaleidoscopes.

"No, my boy. The absinthe helps with the nausea that the drug creates, but never does anyone any favors. This being your first time, without the absinthe your insides would roil and burn. Now you are about vomit and hallucinate most terribly. It is why I brought you here. To this place of beauty. Don't worry. You will survive, and this will be your most serious reaction to this drug. After subsequent doses, you will fare much better."

"WHAT?!"

"You will need this." From his hippie robe he produced a large bottle of water and set it on the bench as he walked away towards the stairs. I spun around to try and catch him, but he was already at the base of the stairs looking blissfully towards me.

"Don't leave me here!" I pulled up my trouser leg and pulled out my .25. While sitting on the bench I braced myself and aimed down the barrel at the Preacher.

"Oh. I rather don't like guns." He was glowing and churning as if he was suspended in water. The ivy behind him climbed the walls and flexed and twisted. He disappeared and appeared up on the balcony. My gun was ripped from my hand. It was just gone. "Let it be." He said from the iron balcony and he flicked a lever on his way through the archway and into the dark recesses of that sexy nightclub. A counterweight was unfurled and the stairway lifted into the air on a pivot and I was trapped in the atrium garden.

Alone.

Strange, moments like these are. This lonely drug blaze. People I don't know. Places I don't know. Will I die here? He said I would not.

I tried to be my father's son. Intuitive, smart and capable. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure my father would never have found himself in a situation like this, because he probably had more of that smart and capable thing going for him. Nonetheless, I began to track back through the Preacher's and my conversation, trying to piece together what had just happened. My mind was spinning as was my head, body and inner ear. My nausea was ever-present and my ass felt like it was melding into the stone of the bench that I was sitting on. If I moved too much, or breathed too deeply, it made me feel sicker and sicker. I just held my head in my hands and tried to think. I clamped my eyes shut and began to drool from my mouth uncontrollably. The barf was close.

My eventual theory was this: The Preacher, Belle, and Nelson did not want to hurt me. This would be a really elaborate way to kill and eat me if they wanted to, and most likely this is not the case, even though this was my current paranoia.

Belle and the Preacher had both spoke of my promise or interest.

So maybe this is the worse part of the experience. Why would the Preacher stick me in a pristine garden to contemplate if I was just meant for ritual sacrifice?

I began to think of my father and what amazing gifts that he had given me. He had paid a lot of attention to me as a child. He taught me to play chess and fix things, use tools and to lust after women and talk to them gruffly. He taught me how to cook, fight, eat and run fast and hit a hanging curve ball. He taught me things that were important and as I became more intelligent and capable, he began to drift away. Why would I hate a father for doing that? A terrible question, but I did begin to hate him for not paying attention and moving in with his new family.

What a terrible son I was. What terrible things had I held him accountable for when he truly performed in all aspects of fatherhood? What a scared little boy I was. And now I still am. Do I get a lifeline call-a-friend right now? I reached into my pocket and pulled out Belle's cell phone and flipped it open, but to my horror the thing was a mismotch of alien looking symbols and lights. It tumbled from my hands.

I felt as if I could be on the edge of death, and how I wished, at this point, that I could be in the basement of my father's house, the one with his new wife and kids, raiding the fridge and silently tiptoeing downstairs to sleep in a warm bed, accidentally dosed by this strange drug. He would know what to do. He could nurse me back to health.

My parents. Oh how if they only knew what terrible things I've done. I have earned their slow disavowment. Yes I have. Perhaps they sense the evil in me to spite their best work.
The insides of my eyelids were a firework explosion of fractals, a rollercoaster ride through my digestive tract. This is the path of your food. It was going the wrong way.

I vomited black bile. It was an explosion of tar colored sludge. I could hear it splatter all over the slate paver stones beneath me. The puke was an impossible amount, as I vomited I felt as if I was in danger of puking my soul into this garden. As I did this I was impressed about how puking could make me feel so light and refreshed and so frightened at the same time. Was I dying? Would I die here without family or friends to know?

What would become of me? The memory of who I am, would it be just an empty casket somewhere? Would I disappear? It was clear to me at this point that I could completely vomit my entire being, turn inside out and end up as a piece of human sludge-matter, scattered on the stones in front of me, to be power washed away by some morning gardener into the streets. The crows would have me then.

The crows.

These terrible and beautiful creatures.

I began to see giant flocks of them above me. I knew they were waiting to come take me out, swarm me and pluck and peck me to death because I was weak and dying. I stood up, to hide underneath the retracted iron staircase, vomited some more and began to walk towards it. I fell over, completely spinning as if in the worst drunken state and smacked my cheek against the grass. It was wet and soft. Possibly with my own vomit. I was so alone and grasped for the last word that I could think of that seemed human and real at this point. I knew I was going to be eaten by the wraiths of my transgressions, I screamed out, "JAIME!!"

I lost consciousness.

Chapter 27--"The Gauntlet- (Flight of the Drunkards)"

Dear reader, do you want to know one of the interesting things about life? It's the fact that as it all crumbles around you, you will find strength. You will find courage and obstinance. You will inexorably try to find a way to live, but it will be at some cost. First, it will be at the cost of all your comfortable ways. Then it will be at the cost of sex, food, water, and shelter. Finally, it will be at the cost of friends and loved ones. To spite them, or perhaps, because of them, you will always try and find a way. The only problem is that you don't know who you are after you make that decision to survive. You just don't know who you are anymore.

Did I wake up in Nelson's arms and fall back to sleep? Currently, I am wrapped up in sexy feeling sheets, wondering if I'll ever find my way out again. I am not really unable to move, but unwilling, wrapped in a sleepy bliss that is unlikely to be fought, but my mind is wrestling over the details of an amazing dream that I had that night previous. As I grind my teeth together, I wonder how much is real, or fantasy.

The Gauntlet:

After having that surreal moment with Belle, she began to scurry around the room and pack a small jeweled bag with tiny items, little pieces of bric-a-brac from the shelves in our candlelit room full of books. She dutifully blew out every candle as she paced and placed herself about the room. I found myself puckering my lips together and empathetically blowing into the air as I watched her do this, but I was becoming increasingly light headed, while she seemed unaffected, bobbing around the room and sticking things in her little rhinestone encrusted bag. Then, she put a couple of books in there. They were small at first and then, larger and larger books began to impossibly fill this small jeweled handbag that she was carrying!

Skeptically, I was still sitting on the stool, waving my hand in front of my face, trying to pull myself together. It was a bad idea, the tracers from my fingertips were at least 6 inches long and my hand was looking like a construction of mirror panes. Drugs err bad. The room was breathing, pulsing walls, pushing in and out and the floor looked like grape jelly. I was afraid to take my feet off of the stool and walk.

Belle took a moment from her exodus and marveled over at me. I grinned and tried to ask her about the mystical properties of her bag, and what came out sounded something like this, "You're so pretty and magic. How did your bag know what you wanted to take? Are we in danger? Why are we leaving so fast? The floor doesn't look traversable...How are you walking like that?" Imagine that kind of babble through a scotch and absinthe induced drug blaze.

Belle kept smiling at me, starting to glow in her linen white dress. She said, "Oh wow. You are so ready for this." I found myself agreeing while teetering on top of my stool. All the while I wondered how Belle was walking on all this grape jelly. She flipped her phone open, "Neeeelllllssssooonnnnnnnnnnn." She sang into her phone. It bleeped back at her after a second and Nelson's voice shot through the room like a static crusted ricochet.

"Yep."

She pushed a button on her phone and it bleeped, "Side on Floyd, heading west," [BLEEP] she said cheerfully.

"Shit. I think I want one of those," I said blandly as I tried to crawl my way up the stool even further. The grape jelly floor appeared to be winning the battle against reality. I was concerned about the floor which was obviously completely untraversable, but was referring to her phone.

"I mean, I never really wanted one before, but that seems really handy." My eyes bugged out of my head at the floor which seemed to be churning underneath me. I tried to retreat further up the stool.

"You want one? Here." Belle strode across the room and handed me her phone. I flipped it open. It made a little tweet sound.

"Scotty! Man, I need transporter power NOW! Grape jelly...winning the battle. Beneath me...a veritable cauldron of...preserves, man! Scotty! Get me...out of here!"

[Bleep] "What? Joe? Is that you?" It was Nelson. Belle just snickered and continued around the room stuffing impossible things in her bag and blowing out the candles that were everywhere.

"Nelson...man. Get me out of here! This is your captain! It's an order from...Starfleet command. Energize! ....Energize Nelson!" My Captain Kirk impersonation was killing; her phone opened up just like a Starfleet communicator thingee! "Whoops!" The stool nearly tipped over. I was almost perched on top of the thing, holding her phone and screaming like an orangutan idiot.

"Push the button," Belle said.

"Huh?"

"Push the button to talk, Captain!"

I glanced down and saw the button on the side of the flip phone and clicked it. It went [Bleep]. "Scotty! Get us out of here, man! Energize!" [Bleep]

[Bleep] (Nelson: without missing a beat, in a Scottish accent no less) "I canna mik ta driver geh annuh fister! Ya canna change teh laws of physics!"

[Bleep] "Dammit, man...you have to...try."

Belle was laughing hysterically as she packed the last of her stuff and the absinthe set up in another bag, "You guys are fuckin stoooooopid! HA HA HA AH HA!"

[Bleep] "Shittlecrift at yir coordinits, Ciptin."

I pushed the button once more. [Bleep] "Mr. Scotty...you...amazing...bastard!" I flipped the phone shut and Belle took my hand and pulled me off of the stool as it fell over into the grape jelly. I began to slog through it as I hit the floor. Belle was pulling on me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"All this grape jelly!" I was up to my thighs and my fingertips slogged through it and I tasted them. The grape Jelly was on my fingers. "It's delicious...wait!"

"Oh god..." She tugged on me even harder and got me through the living room into the kitchen where the floor was much more stable. We hurdled out the back door and hung a left.

"Thank you, " I panted. "What's your name, lady?" Belle just rolled her eyes and bounded out the side gate with me in hand across Floyd St. and into a gleaming white limousine.

"Whoa..."

It was a white stretched town car that had cool blue lighting on the inside. We climbed in the back. Nelson was perched next to the driver's window and had another decanter and absinthe setup next to him along with a generously appointed limo bar of clear and brown liquors. I settled into the back seat with Belle, who was looking so amazingly beautiful with her full and curly blue tinted hair, and her even more beautiful giant translucent blue eyes, high cheekbones, and white-white-blue teeth. She was still gripping my hand.

"Drinks!" I exclaimed. Nelson went about making some more absinthes. "Sulu!..." To my surprise the driver cranked his head around so that we could see him through the driver window and he was of course, an Asian dude.

I winced.

He said, "Yes Captain?" What a cool ass dude...

"Knock it off!" Bella was getting mad, she squeezed my hand. "Ito! To the club!"

Ito just stared for a moment at Belle.

I said, "Sulu! Third star to the left...and on until the club. Warp factor...your discretion."

"Yes sir!" Ito said and rolled up the driver screen. Belle just sighed and laid back into the plush leather seats. She looked as if she was put out.

"What?!” I implored as she was scowling at me. “Sulu's the bomb, lady."

"Don't encourage those boys," She said seriously.

Nelson came across the limo with some more absinthes and leered at us. His features were looking very reptilian and I somewhat recoiled in horror. The blue light was like black light and made his white linen outfit glow and his dead front tooth, not. The two glasses in his hand looked like glowing green nuclear waste, but Belle and I accepted them anyway.

"Something about the absinthe," she said. She was blue and beautiful; the drinks were glowing green. It looked like just about the perfect Captain Kirk conquest.

"Truly, the final frontier." I said. "I need to get back to Earth."

"Okay. Just wait a night. I'll take you back."

We entwined our arms like newlyweds and shot down those generous glasses full of green goo and she kissed me afterwards. It was a deep and liquorice tasting kiss that roiled my insides. My tongue was numb but even so, I felt this slurping wetness that reached far into my mouth. I dropped my glass and crushed one of her breasts in my hand. If I were more prude, I'd feel like a dirty boy, but I didn't care. I felt the chance for the darkest wettest sex that I could imagine.

I needed to feel her. Nelson, no doubt, was not very happy about this.