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.