Who Will Get My Records When I'm Gone?

At any family gathering, my wife and kids know that somewhere around the half way point of a bottle of excellent Dillian Vineyards wine, I will bring up the same subject: who will get my record albums when I’m gone?

All my life I’ve loved music. If I could figure out how to do it there’d be music on this blog. I started off buying comedy albums in the early 60’s when I was about 12. This quickly graduated to folk music, folk rock, rock and roll, jazz and a little classical thrown in for good measure.

Until their demise in the mid-80’s I bought hundreds of records. During my wild years I apparently gave a lot of them away to friends. My ex-wife made off with all my Fleetwood Mac albums. How many I haven’t a clue, but it appears to have been a lot. 584 of them remain. They’ve been encased in protective vinyl sleeves, cataloged in a database, and sit in a sturdy wood cabinet solid enough to withstand the blast of a low-yield nuclear weapon.

Each album holds a memory for me. I can pull one out at random and most of the time remember when I bought it and relive the pleasure I had listening to it. They have been my friends and allies during good times and bad. Ever faithful, they haven never passed judgment on me or my life. I love those records even though I don’t play them much anymore. I have about the same amount of CD’s that are more convenient and frankly sound better, but CD’s don’t have the same emotional hold over me as vinyl. I don’t fret over their future.

But I am painfully aware that I’m getting older, and when I pass the albums will remain. Who will watch over my old friends when I’ve gone to the big Auto Mall in the sky? Will they be cared for? Cherished? I know this sounds stupid, but I fear, really fear that they will end up at a thrift store, sold off to strangers who can’t possibly realize the tales of my life that these records hold in their vinyl and cardboard.

While in the grip of Zinfandel, I warn my loved ones that if my records end up in a garage sale I will haunt them. I’d like to be serious about this, but I can’t imagine asking God to grant me shore leave to go poltergeist on my family because they gave away my copy of “The Jimi Hendrix Experience”. Somehow I don’t think the universe works that way.

All inanimate objects, with the possible exception of a Chrysler product, have the potential for immortality. That doesn’t mean I think my record collection will be around in 2000 years like a bunch of mummified cats in an Egyptian tomb. But it does mean that they have the potential for being around for a while, at least into the 22nd century when my life and essence will finally fade from the memory of my predecessors

So far no one in my family has shown any interest in vinyl records. I can only hope that some grandchild will have a little geek in him or her, and discover my treasure trove of rock and roll and Bob James jazz albums.

A couple of years back I purchased a brand new turntable and two cartridges. My wife thought the purchase was silly since I have rarely used it. What she doesn’t know is that I bought it with the future in mind; a time when someone who shares my DNA might venture into my cabinet, pull out a record, and listen to a piece of me.

Thinking Of Winter

I’ve been thinking about winter lately. I’ve always been the type that romanticizes the seasons, even though out here in California the weather is rarely extreme. No snow, for example. In the depths of summer I often think about winter--just as in the middle of winter I think longingly of summer. But while driving home down Highway 113 one night as the sun was setting and the headlights of my aging Nissan starting to take hold of the night, I thought of the winter season ahead and the sound of cars on rainy streets. I thought, what a lonesome ound that is, the swishing noise that, if your standing at a curb, changes tone as the car rolls by like the redshift of light in the cosmos.*

As a kid, I remember opening up the window in the bathroom at the rear of the house on Lark Street. On winter nights if the wind was right, I could hear the cars on busy East 14th Street five or six blocks away. Swish, the sound of tires going to where I didn’t know.

I was a weird kid. The world around me astounded me, scared me. I couldn’t comprehend the idea that I would someday leave Lark Street and strike out on my own. The distant sound of the rain and cars seemed like a world a million miles from mine and a reminder of the mystery that is life.

When you’re a kid your life is surrendered to your parents. They direct where you go, what you do, and why. You’re just along for the ride. For what seems like an eternity you do nothing but live in the now with little responsibilities or comprehension of the world around you.

I remember wondering where electricity came from. You plugged something into the wall and presto, you had power. Back in those days people didn’t think a lot about where their energy came from. In a time of seemingly endless abundance it didn’t matter. My dad once went on a campaign to have us kids turn off the lights when we left the room. I couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about.

We were six people living in an 1100 sq. ft. house with one bathroom. I was the youngest. My brother was ten years older than me, so by the time I became aware of things he was out of the house hanging with his friends. He was an enigma. (Did he haunt the streets on winter nights, his car splashing in the night?) That left me with two older sisters who both loved me and tolerated my presence.

Being the last child born had its advantages and disadvantages. I was the youngest, therefore I was someone to protect. Not that it mattered. My parents did their best to keep the harshness of life at bay from all us but especially me, the baby. They were lucky people, my parents. They never argued, and they raised four decent kids. The few heavy incidents of my childhood, like the time my brother came home with a tattoo, are etched in my mind because they were so few and far between.

Swish. The sound of rain. The sound of tires lifting water from the streets and throwing it out into the world. It’s a sound that I remember well, and to this day when I hear it, I am taken back in time to a place where everything seemed perfect and the outside world a million miles away.


*In physics (especially the physics of astronomical objects) redshift happens when light seen coming from an object is proportionally to appear more red.

Irby

I met a man at the 4 Corners named Irby. He was standing outside the entrance as I parked my Chevy at the side of the road. It was early evening. The sun had just disappeared on the horizon, but the lights of the café had not yet claimed the night. I had told my wife that I was going to the local McDonald’s for a burger--something I had really intended to do, but twenty minutes later I was sitting in front of the “cosmic coffee shop” as my mind had lately been calling it.

Irby was a man of about seventy, I’d guess. He was dressed in faded overalls and wearing what I thought at first glance was a battered John Deere hat. But as I got closer, I could see that it had a saying on it: “Love is like two dreamers dreaming the exact same dream.”

I smiled, and he spoke. “Ever notice that Marie Osmond looks like a high-price hooker?”

I paused. Here is a guy I can relate to. “Ever notice that no matter when you turn the TV on Valerie Bertinelli is there hawking something?”

“Perhaps they should have a show together.” he said thoughtfully. “Kinda kill two birds with one stone.”

I laughed and stepped onto the broad covered porch that protected the entrance.

“I’d be careful in there,” he said, his voice lowering. “Betty Jo is on the warpath.”

I peeked in the window, but Betty Jo was nowhere about. “What’s eating her?”

“Some people came in a bit ago that weren’t supposed to be here.”

“What do you mean, weren’t supposed to be here?”

“They weren’t invited,” he replied. “Name’s Irby by the way,” he said, holding out a huge callused hand.

“David,” I replied.

“I know, I know. I’ve heard of you.”

He’d heard of me? I didn’t recall ever mentioning my name to anyone during my visits to the 4 Corners Café. The place was either empty or filled with farmers who didn’t even seem to notice my existence. As for Betty Jo, she could give a shit who I was or where I was from.

“That’s not exactly true.” Irby said with a smile.

Had I spoken? Or had the man just read my thoughts?

He opened the door. I stepped in before him. The place was empty except for the two of us. Whoever the unwanted intruders were, they were gone. Irby gestured toward a booth, an invitation to sit. I’d never sat at one of the booths before. I’d always planted my ass on one of the red vinyl stools at the counter.

I sat, and when I looked up Betty Jo was glaring at me an order pad and pencil in her hand.

"Just coffee, dear," Irby said

“Coffee and a piece of apple pie,“ I said.

“When you going to step up and order a meal?” she demanded.

“Now, Betty, be nice,” Irby said. Betty Jo turned away.

“You’ve got to excuse her,” he said. “Her bark is bigger than her bite, as the saying goes. But make sure you don’t make her bite. Hurts like hell.”

“Irby, you are the first person I’ve ever spoken to in this place.”

“Well, I hear you’re not much of a conversationalist. That’s kinda why I’m here.”

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I’d always suspected that there might be consequences for hanging out at the 4 Corners Cafe. I mean, the place wasn’t like going to Denny’s...

Betty Jo returned with our order. She looked down at me; her wrinkled face looking more like a prune than ever, then turned away.

Irby stirred sugar into his coffee. “How did you come on this place?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“What brought you here other than that truck you drove up in?”

“I, I saw the sign. I’d driven past it for months on the way to visit my daughter up in Plymouth. I didn’t notice a restaurant at first. Just the broken sign and the phone booth. There was something about it... Then one day I looked down and discovered there really was a restaurant here. So I stopped and came in.”

“How many times have you been here?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Dozen times, maybe more. It gets—“

“Confusing,” he said, finishing my sentence.

“Yeah. I guess you can say that.”

I glanced up at his hat. It now said, “Got the werewolf split, when the moon's full I howl at it.”

“Coming here ain’t free you know,” Irby said.

“I know. But I always pay my bill. Say, is Betty Jo complaining about my tips?”

“Got nothing to do with money, and you know it.”

Strangely, I did know it. Knew it from the first time I opened the door and heard the bell above it announce my arrival. Knew it the first time Betty Jo poured me a cup of hot joe and looked at me as if I were a bug.

“So what are you saying?”

“Nothing much, my friend. Except to say that the 4 Corners doesn’t need any publicity, and we know you’ve been writing about us.”

I had no idea blog readers frequented the place. No Wi-Fi here, I was sure of it. There was nothing in here that was built after 1979 that was for sure.

Irby signed. “You’re welcome here but be careful. Some people aren’t too sure about you or your motives.”

I opened my mouth and discovered I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry, and the words felt like sandpaper as they failed to make their escape. We sat in silence for a time. I poked at my pie, but my appetite was gone.

“Go home to your wife,” Irby said. “Think about what I said. And come back when you are ready.”

Ready for what? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t.

I found myself standing. I reached into my pocket for some money. Irky raised his hand. “This one’s on me, my friend.” He smiled broadly. An oddly welcoming smile as if I was now a part of the family. “This one’s one me.”

Down the road there was a wreck, a terrible wreck. Car in the river. Fatalities. As I passed it I shivered. Could they…? I stopped, the question unfinished. It was not to be asked because I didn’t want to know the answer.

Back home, Trish didn’t seem to notice that I’d been gone a couple of hours. She never did. That was what is like when you went to visit the 4 Corners Café.

Later, I went into my bathroom, closed the door, and looked at myself in the mirror. "David," I said to my image, "Maybe you're making a big mistake."

I keep rewriting my previous post, trying to clarify my memory of that evening. More than once I’ve tried to delete it, but I just can't--even tough it feels dangerous to me, and I have a creepy feeling that it might be dangerous for you, too. But as I said, I can’t delete it. There’s something in it that needed to be said. And though it doesn’t want publicity, I don’t think the café wants it deleted either.

So I’m going to keep on plugging and try to write about something else. Something to distract me. Something to prove to you all that I’m a clever bastard and worthy of your time. Something that won’t make you think, “This guy is losing it!”

One more thing: It's been almost a week, I haven't seen anything in the local papers about a car crash into the river.

Two Tickets To Eternity

I have two granddaughters: Brooke, who’s a little over two and now April, just over a month old. They are, quite simply, the loves of my life. Having grandchildren is an oddly wonderful thing, and it’s taken me a while to figure out why. After much contemplation, I have come to the conclusion it’s because they are my two tickets to eternity.

Having grandchildren is different than having children. The enormous task of getting my two, Laura and Joe, to adulthood was a daunting one. Like many people, my life has not gone smoothly, and I once hit hard times that nearly brought me down. There was little time to appreciate the fact that my two offspring made sure that a part of me (and my wife, Trish, of course) would live on.

I think this is because my children's lives are in the vicinity of my own. By this I mean that they will live many years past our time on earth, but the grandkids, well they are something else. They might live to see the 22nd century, and their children, my great-grandchildren surely will.

As I think about my own ancestors, I only have a vague idea of who they were and where they were from. My grandparents and great-grandparents were from the Azores Islands and the island of Madeira. I know their names. I know where they were born. I know they were probably poor people who sacrificed all to immigrate to Hawaii in the late 1800’s to make a better life for themselves and their children—and me.

But that’s all I know.

Now my granddaughters, if they are ever interested, will know a lot more about their past. They will not only know the names of their grandparents, they will see color photographs and videos from when they were young. And if they deem it important, they will be able to tell their children and the children that follow about us. And my wife and I will all live on through them.

I don’t know why the hell this is so important me. I know that their interest in me—if any--will be more of a curiosity than anything else. And it may not be until later in their lives when the prospect of eternity faces them in the eyes that they might care about those who came before them.

I come from humble beginnings. I have lived a simple life. I’ve loved. I've listened to a lot of rock and roll along the way, and I've tried to do the best I can to be an honerable person. I have a sense inside of me that the universe is vast and wonderful. And the day is coming when I will discover all the truths it has to offer. I want my children and grandchildren to remember me my wife and to have productive happy lives of their own.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

David


4 CORNERS CAFÉ UPDATE: I have elected not to go to the café or even drive past it since the incident with Irby. I now take a different route through Walnut Grove when I go to visit my daughter. I feel like I’m living an episode of “The Twilight Zone”. It’s not a good feeling. I also think that the café is not through with me. I think it’s been knocking on my dreams. More than once I have awakened in a cold sweat not knowing why. And just last week I swear I saw Betty Jo in Lira’s supermarket in Rio Vista. I turned the corner of an isle with my basket, saw her still wearing her uniform. I jerked back, and when I managed to look again she was gone. Had I really seen her? Don’t know. But I sure as hell care.

The 4 Corners Café And Beyond

So I guess you’ve been wondering what’s been going on with that damn café. After the conversation with Irby and the paranoia that followed, I laid low for a month or so, thinking that I had stumbled upon something terribly evil. Now I’m not as sure about the evil part. I suppose it does have a healthy dose of that, but there seemed to be a lot more going on there. So much so that it got me hankering to investigate.

During that time I hallucinated the café everywhere. It started with the slow curve after crossing the narrow bridge that leads into Walnut Grove. The sign on top of the store says “Boon Dox”. For years my mind has always seen at as “Boom Box”, a joke that always makes me smile, but has long worn off with the rest of my family. One day in late November I rounded the corner and instead of “Boon Dox” I saw “4 Corners Café”. Surprises like this are not good for a man my age or physical condition, but when I shook my head the sign had returned to its perplexing normalcy.

So what was it, a trick of the mind or a friendly reminder that I am helpless against the forces behind the café? I’ve never been able to figure out which. In the weeks that followed I saw that café’s sign everywhere: old abandoned gas stations, a boat repair shop on the side of the river, banks, department stores, In-Out Burgers. In my dreams. I saw it so much I was sure that I was doomed.

After much contemplation I felt I had no choice but to take a little visit to the 4Corners Café itself. So one Tuesday morning, I loaded myself into my aging Chevy truck and trekked up river. I left while Trish was taking a shower. I didn’t tell her where I was going. Somehow I felt it didn’t matter. When I eventually returned she wouldn’t say a word, probably not even noticing that her husband of thirty years had been gone most of the day.

Twenty minutes later I pulled the truck over across the highway from the café’s wonderfully enigmatic sign. The abandoned bird’s nest I had photographed in the spring was gone. A victim of a winter storm, I proposed. There were two old trucks sitting in its small parking look, a battered 70’s Datsun King Cab and an older Ford F100. I used to sell those trucks when they were brand new. Coincidence?

Got out of the truck. I looked up and down the empty road and started across. The crunch of pea gravel greeted me as I stepped onto the parking lot. I tried to clear my mind. I stepped onto the porch and opened the door. The bell above it tinkled a greeting. I counted eight people inside: six sitting at the booths, an elderly couple at the counter. I looked around for Betty Jo. She was nowhere about, nor was Irby. I breathed a sigh of relief at that; the old coot freaked me out. No one took note of my arrival. It was as if I was invisible. I moved to the counter and sat down. I nervously pulled out a menu stuck between the napkin dispenser and a catsup bottle. I opened it, glancing at the invitation to enjoy their delicious chicken fried steak, or BLT sandwich.

A hand placed a coffee cup in front of me.

That was when the fun began.

I first thought it was the young waitress I had encounter a few months back, but it was someone else. Brown hair in a pony tail, slender build, hazel eyes flicked with gold. She was not beautiful, but there was something compelling about her. In the back of my mind I asked myself if I had seen her before.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

I watched as she filled the cup.

“What can I get you hon?”

“Got any pumpkin pie?”

“Sure.”

She went to the display case and cut a healthy slice. “Whip cream?” she asked.

“No thanks. I’ll take it straight up.”

She placed the pie before me but didn’t leave. “Where have you been, buster?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“Where have you been? Did Irby scare you off with his stories? We could give a crap what your write in that pathetic blog of yours. No one reads it anyway.”

I ignored the insult. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

I looked at her closely. In a moment it clicked. It was Betty Jo, a young vibrant Betty Jo.

“What the hell?” I said.

“Looking’ good, aren’t I?”

Silence.

“Oh, I saw you taking a healthy once over. Did you check out my new and improved ass?”

“But how…?”

“Fringe benefits. Comes with the job. Comes with the café.”

I said nothing. Words had left me.

“Eat your pie, hon. Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

I could think of nothing else but to do as she said.

Betty Jo left me to tend to her other customers. I watched as she delivered burgers, coffee, and cleared dirty dishes from a booth. On the juke box Zeppelin was playing “How Many More Times.” The music was weirdly out of place with the farmers and retirees that populated the café. It occurred to me that I’d never seen a young person in the café. In the times I had visited my fellow diners were always my age or older. I wondered what that was about.

The pie was delicious. I wanted another piece, but my diabetes said no. Eventually Betty Jo came back and refilled my cup.

“What the hell is this all about, Betty Jo? It’s driving me crazy.”

Betty Jo laughed. “Oh, the writer doesn’t understand, huh? That’s a hoot! You mean that creative little mind of yours can’t figure it out? Such a waste, just like the way you wasted your life selling cars and pretending you were happy.”

“Ouch.” I said.

“So you want to know, so I’ll tell you. See that hallway that goes to the back?”

I looked to my left and saw the hall that led back to the restrooms and storage area.

“She that door at the very back?”

I nodded.

“Beyond that door…

…is death.”

About The Door

“Death? She said death?”

I nodded.

Irby chuckled. “Well, technically she’s correct. A little melodramatic but correct. I hear you can get your ass killed pretty easily on the other side of that door.”

We’d been talking for about a half hour, I’d guess. That morning as I left for work there was a note tucked under my wiper blade: “Foster’s. 8:00. Irby” it read.

The note surprised me. I figured Irby was only a 4 Corners Café phenomenon. In my mind I doubted he even existed beyond its doors. Foster’s Big Horn was a convenient meeting place. The bar was only two alleyways away from my living room. Wait. Irby knows where I live? The thought was unsettling, but what could I do about it? Still I wondered why the proposed meeting was here in Rio Vista and not the café.

“’Cause we’ve got things to talk about in private,” was his reply to the question. He was staring intently at a gigantic mounted moose head as he talked. Foster’s boasts one of the world’s largest private collections of animal trophies, most bagged by the late Bill Foster, a Great White Hunter long gone from this world.

“So what’s it all about, and what does it have to do with me?”

“You know, my friend, you didn’t choose the café. It chose you. Just like it chose me and all the other poor schmucks that go in there for pie and coffee.”

Irby paused. After about thirty seconds I couldn’t stand it anymore. “So what are you saying? Why did it choose me, and what does it have to do with that freaking door?”

“I don’t know why it chose you. You’re going to have to look into your heart for that one. As for me, I was leading an aimless life out here in the delta, living on a run-down twenty-two foot sailboat in an equally run-down marina out on the loop. I was fishing too much, drinking too much. I’d abandoned my family and everyone else to brood about how much I’d fucked up my life. As for you, who the hell knows why it wants you. To be honest, I don’t give a crap.”

“Do people actually go through that door? Do they go there to die?”

"Since I’ve been going to the café, I’ve seen eight people get up from the counter, stop to take a leak, and go through that door. Two have come back.”

My jaw dropped, my mouth went dry. I waved a finger at Paul the bartender for another round.

“What did the two that came back say about it?”

“Bill Mackenzie wouldn’t talk about it except to say that he’d never been so scared in his life. He left the 4 Corners, and I never saw him again.”

The second person was a woman named Rita—oh, shit I can’t remember her last name. That’s what happens when you hit seventy; you forget things. Irby looked at the moose again.

“And…?”

“She said that on the other side she was a man. She said there was what she called a “great trauma”. Didn’t elaborate. She said when it was over she was offered a second door. She passed.

“That’s it? That’s all she said?”

“Yep.”

“Not a hell of a lot to go on. And you’re telling me that the café wants me to go through the door?”

“I don’t think the café cares that much about you. It’s like a bus stop. The door is the express line to something. I don’t know.”

“So you’ve never been through the door.”

“Me? No. I touched its handle once, but I didn’t turn it. Like everything else in my life, I’m just a chicken, afraid of my own shadow. That’s always the way it’s been.”

Irby might see that in himself, but I, for one, didn’t. I didn’t know this man, sitting there in those same faded overalls, but it seemed to me that there was more going on there then failure.

“So why did you call this meeting, Irby? You and that damn café are confusing the hell out of me.”

“I’m just here to tell you what the door is all about. You won’t get anything out of Betty Jo. She’s more interested in her new and improved set of tits than givingyou the skinny.”

“So I’m supposed to go through the door?”

“You don’t have to do anything. The door is there. Go in, go out, it don’t make no difference. It’s just that…if you have a hankering to prove yourself you might consider it. Just be forewarned that you may not come back. You may not want to come back.”

“For someone who doesn’t know anything about the door, you seem to know a lot about it.”

“Been going to the 4 Corners for years now. I listen closely. I pick up on things. That damn door is like a loaded gun put up the side of the head of a guy thinking about ending it all. It calls you, it scares you, it’s just there.”

“So that’s it then? You came here to tell me about the door and its possibilities. You claim in might change me; you claim it might be a death sentence. So Betty Jo was right. Beyond the door is death.”

“More like the promise of death, in equal amounts of life thrown in with good measure. As for yourself, what kind of life have you led? What kind of life do you have left before you? Are you happy with the way things have gone so far? Or will you go into senility thinking there was more—much more.”

Irby stood to leave and threw a twenty on the counter.

“Irby, the people that went through the door, how long were they gone?”

“Well like the café itself time doesn’t work the same way it works in this bar. Bill was gone about an hour, I’d say, but when he came back he said something about being there for a week. Rita was gone a day and a half, but on the other side she said months went by. So I’d say if you do decide to take the trip, wear comfortable shoes.”

Irby smiled. “Take care of yourself, David. See you around.”

And with that he went out the door and left.

Should I, or shouldn't I?

I’m not one to air my dirty laundry in public, especially not on a blog. Let’s just say that without the love of my family, I would have nothing. I’ve made a few dubious decisions in my life, my choice of careers just one of them. I didn’t discover I could string words together in an entertaining fashion until well into middle age, a tad too old to abandon my obligations and live the life of a writer. Generally speaking, I’ve never been satisfied with the way things have gone, but then again, who is?

So the 4 Corners Café is offering me something. Maybe death, maybe something else. My sense is that it may be some sort of redemption, my Mount Everest so to speak. So the question is: do I do it? Do I put on a sensible pair of shoes, drive over to the café, and walk through that door? Or do I count my blessings, my children, my wife of thirty hears, my two beautiful granddaughters?

What’s your opinion, all two or three of you who graciously read my words? What do you think? Should I, or shouldn’t I?

Whatever I decide I’ve got to do it soon. My window of braveness is a small one.


David

I've made up my mind. I'm going to walk through the door. If I come back I will write down what happened. Wish me luck.

David

Writing About The Door

I’m sitting at the bar at Foster’s Big Horn drinking a beer. I have my battered notebook and pen, and I’m trying to make sense of the situation. So far the page is blank. Over the last day or two I have gone back and forth about what I should do. Should I tell you what happened? Or should I just shut this damn blog down and pretend the whole thing never happened? It's all been so freaking bizarre!

Well it’s self evident that I got back okay. I was in a state of semi-shock for a couple of days, but it's begun to wear off. I still haven’t sorted through all of it to figure out what exactly happened and more importantly what it meant. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it. Irby has been absent, making me once again wonder if he even exits. Then there’s the story itself. How do I write it?

Here’s the thing. Don’t laugh. When I went over there I was a woman. The events that unraveled were so strange that I find myself unable to comfortably write about it. The first thing is just saying, “I was a woman”. You see I wasn’t a man trapped in a woman’s body. I wasn’t just witnessing what was happening to me like I was watching the female hero in a movie. For a brief time I was a woman. I had the thoughts, fears, and desires of a woman. How do you write about that? How do you convey that when on this side of the door I'm a man?

I started writing down what happened, but it sounded ridiculous! I kept using the first person “I” and it comes out so weird that I have deleted the text three times! When I use the word “I” I’m thinking of myself, David Teves, a 61 year old man, not some young female thrown into an improbable adventure. What the hell do I do?

Second beer. Things are jelling a little. I got into a brief conversation with a tourist who was gawking at the animal trophies as if they might jump off the walls and attack him. I started thinking about what a member of PETA would think if they stumbled onto this place. I had a conversation with Howard, the owner of this establishment, about the Beatles. Howard is a big Beatle fan. So am I when my mind isn’t screwed up.

Third beer. Made up my mind. I will tell you the story about what happened up to the time I walked through the door in the present tense. I will tell you what happened on the other side of the door like I was writing a story about another person. That’s the only way I think I can pull it off without sounding like an idiot. Then the end part? I’ll think about that when I get there.

Give me a couple of days to begin. Be patient with me. It may take a few days or weeks for the whole damn thing to unravel into something coherent. And don’t worry. I promise it will be worth the wait.

Fourth Beer.

Through The Door And Beyond

I awoke early. As was our morning ritual, Trish and I drank coffee and watched the news together. A couple of days before, I told her I wanted to go on a little road trip. This wasn’t unusual for me. Each year I take at least two or three solitary trips either to the mountains or the seashore to clear my mind. It was okay with her as long as I promised to be careful. She knows that my driving skills aren’t what they used to be.

Be careful. Could I keep such a promise? I wondered. I was suddenly aware that what I was about to do was something both incredibly selfish and stupid. I have a responsibility to her, my wife of thirty years. I have children, grandchildren to think of. Yet, I guess I was just hell-bent determined to be stupid. I kissed her at the door. Nothing dramatic, just one of those “I’ll see you later” type kisses that long married couples exchange like handshakes.

I decided to take my work car, not the truck. The truck is really Trish’s, and taking it didn’t feel right. So I drove my aging Saturn across the Rio Vista Bridge, a half-mile span that crosses the Sacramento River. I made the left turn at the light and followed Highway 160 the twenty miles up river through Isleton and Walnut Grove to the 4 Corners Café.

I pulled into the gravel parking lot. The rusting sign greeted me like an old friend. It was a cold, bright day, a great day for the ultimate road trip. From inside I could hear Patsy Cline singing “Crazy”. I laughed.

The bell above the door rang, though the place was empty. No Irby to wish me a farewell. No going away party for David Teves. The new and improved Betty Jo looked at me from behind the counter. I could see on her face that she knew what I was about to do. I sat silently before her. She poured a cup of coffee and presented me with a healthy piece of apple pie.

“Going away present,” she said. Her face was expressionless.

I drank the coffee, but only nibbled at the pie. Not good for the diabetes. I giggled at the thought. My diabetes, my high blood pressure, my illregular heartbeat, my general state of depression may not be relevant in a few minutes. I decided not to think about it any longer. No use dwelling on things. No use being melodramatic. It is what it is and nothing more.

I slid off the stool, nodded at Betty Jo, and walked toward the rear of the restaurant stopping briefly at the restroom for one last pit stop. When I finished my business, I washed my hands and glanced at myself in the scratched mirror. My hair is still mostly black, though my beard is gray. My face is lined and cracked, the face of an aging man. It was my father’s face staring back at me, though I have my mother’s narrow eyes. I forced a smile and said, “Its show time!” to my reflection. I exited the restroom, turned right, and went to the door. Its handle was ice cold to the touch. I turned it, opened the door, and went in.

At first there was nothing. Along the back wall metal shelving held big restaurant-portion cans of coffee, pie filling, and the various condiments needed for a healthy farmer’s lunch. I stood still and waited for what seemed like an hour, though I knew only a couple of minutes had past. Perhaps this was just a false alarm. I looked back to the safety of door. It was gone. Then I felt myself falling, falling though endless nothingness--

--into a body not my own.

Ellie Awakes

Ellie Lewis opened her eyes. Sunlight was streaming through a window, falling across her face. She blinked hard. The window was dirty, framed by limp, worn drapes imprinted with the wispy ghosts of flowers. For a moment she thought, who am I? Where am I? She rose with a start, springing upright on a squeaky, lumpy bed.

"Ouch!" she cried, grabbing her head. She moaned softly and rubbed her throbbing temple. Her mouth tasted stale and bitter, and for a moment she feared nausea would overcome her.

She steadied herself and looked around. She was in a small, disheveled room filled with shabby furniture. Pale green walls rose in a slow oval to form a cracked, conical ceiling. From the end of the room Ellie heard the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door.

Ellie looked down at herself. She was lying naked under a white sheet. “What the hell?” she said. She wasn’t… But the thought that had begun to form in her mind of someone else, someone very different from her, faded just as a dream evaporates when you awake.

A flimsy bed stand stood crookedly beside her. On it a clear, glass ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Some had the faint impression of red lipstick.

Ellie couldn't remember ever smoking, nor if she had ever favored red lipstick, but she had the sudden revelation that she couldn't remember anything else, either. She felt certain her name was Ellie, but beyond that, there was nothing except for vague faces floating at the edge of her memory.

Next to the ash tray was a half-full glass of a foul, muddy-colored liquid. Ellie didn't have to pick up the glass to guess its contents. The reek of cheap whiskey was thick in the room.

"You've overslept," a voice within her said. "You should have been back hours ago,"

The sound of water stopped, and the door opened. A man emerged. Ellie tensed, her nakedness doubling her feeling of vulnerability. She clutched the thin sheet against her breasts and held her breath. The man was dressed in loose-fitting charcoal slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. He tossed a sodden towel carelessly into a corner and moved assuredly across the room. He picked up a white, long-sleeve shirt from the dresser.

Ellie couldn't move, couldn't speak. She sat absolutely still and watched as the man buttoned his shirt and pulled up a pair of bright yellow suspenders.

"Hope to see you around, doll face," the man said, grabbing his coat and tie. He looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror. A satisfied smile indicated he was feeling pretty good about himself. "Not every day a guy screws a royal whore. I'm just glad I got to nail you before it was too late."

He reached into his pocket and produced a wad of colorful bills. "Godspeed, thanks for not rolling me," he said. "Between you and the hootch, my head was swimming pretty good." The man looked at his pocket watch. "Lords of Mercury, look at the time! I've got to get back to my berth before The Reckoning."

He tossed a bill on the table. "Here's an extra twofer for being such a great sport," the man added. "Buy yourself something pretty." he said with a satisfied laughed. "Better do it quick if you plan on enjoying it!"

Ellie gaped at the man as he adjusted his narrow black tie. He didn't seem to mind her silence. Royal whore or not, his business with her was over. Already she was fading from his memory like the cigarette butts in the ash tray. The man opened the outside door and without a look back, he was gone, leaving Ellie blessedly alone.

She sat for the longest time, trembling under the sheet. It was late in the day. Almost too late, she thought for reasons she couldn’t remember. Outside, the sun looked tired and golden. In her solitary room each moment seemed to tick away like a single picture frame of time. She tried not to think. She tried not to move. The world she found herself in felt so unbearable, she couldn't take it all in. She waited patiently for it to change, like a dreamer waiting for the next dream, but it didn't change and Ellie began to fear it never would.

Her return to reality occurred for strictly biological reasons. She had to pee. Slowly she stirred from the bed and stood groaning on painful pins-and-needles legs. She looked down at her nakedness. The sight startled her. Another thought, “I’m not…” teased her mind. Her body seemed foreign, strange. Could anything now be remembered or believed?

She noticed a black bra and matching panties hanging from the bedpost. A red and black dress was draped over a chair, black pumps askew below it. Ellie looked at the clothes and wondered what woman had bought them. Not her, she prayed! Surely not her!

She limped her way to the bathroom hoping that all evidence of the man who had left her the twofer was gone. Inside the door frame her hand found a light switch. She flipped it on, and a bare bulb blazed. Ellie squinted, her headache flared. Water was dripping into a rusted porcelain sink. A small cracked mirror hung precariously on the wall behind it. To her right was a grimy shower stall, to her left, a toilet. Against her better judgment, Ellie looked into it. A pale, translucent condom floated like a dead fish. She quickly slammed the handle and watched it flush.

She looked into the mirror. The image in the split reflection made her gasp. It was a heavily made up face. Small black rivulets of mascara had cascaded down her cheeks. Her lips were smeared with garish red lipstick. Ellie cringed. The man had spoken the truth. She was a whore!

"What have I become?" she asked the mirror. "Oh, sweet Lord, what have I become?"

Ellie wanted to survive this, and crying like a wounded child wouldn't help her cause. With great effort she shoved her despair deep within her and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. She went to the toilet and quickly did her business. Then she filled the sink with hot water and scrubbed away the makeup. When she was finished, she dared a second look. Water dripped from a surprisingly youthful face and a strange thought took hold. "This is what I looked like forty years ago," it said.

Ellie turned away. She stepped back into the bedroom and dressed awkwardly. She found she couldn’t exactly remember how to put on a bra. The red and black dress fit her a little too snugly (she struggled with its zipper), but she guiltily admitted its smooth, silky fabric felt wonderful against her skin.

Ellie spotted a large black bag below the bed stand. She dumped its contents onto the bed searching for clues to her identity. There was a small oval mirror, a makeup kit, lipstick. Under a bottle of perfume was a pair of black nylon stockings still wrapped in its package. None of the brand names looked familiar. She discovered a money clip, straining with a thick wad of colorful paper money. A fresh pair of panties. A box of condoms.

Ellie picked up a coin about the size of a nickel. The stern face of a woman was stamped upon it. The face looked at her accusingly. On the flip side was the number twenty-one. Twenty-one what, she wondered. Cents? Pesos? Rubles? And below the number was a name. "New Colony," Ellie read aloud.

She stared at the coin as if it might speak to her, to tell her what twenty-one meant, to tell her what any of this meant. She wanted it to reveal where the New Colony was and how she had gotten here. But the coin did not speak, nor did the money she pulled from the gold clip. With the exception of a bill she recognized as a twofer, all were multiples of seven: fourteen, twenty-eight, and at least two bills with the designation of seventy-seven.

The front of each bill was adorned with more grim, unfamiliar faces. The rear displayed engravings of large, black horse-like creatures with huge membrane wings, soaring over a city skyline. Ellie stared at the bill, pondering its meaning, then squeezed the money back onto the clip and put it back into the bag.

Under a pack of foul-smelling cigarettes, she discovered a flat, plastic identification card. "New Colony" was written across its top in large block letters. To the left was a hologram image of her looking sullen and unhappy. To the right was a name and statistics.


"Ellie Lanore Lewis," she read aloud. "Unit 28 Mercury. Limited Access Only. Prostitute C."

So there it was, spelled out for her to see. The name Ellie Lewis seemed false to her. It was not her real name, she felt. She was someone else. "28 Mercury." An address, possibly? "Limited Access Only" meant nothing to her. "Prostitute C." Well, she already knew that, but seeing it in writing greatly unsettled her. She stared off into the distance wondering what this all meant. It was a mystery. A sad, dreadful mystery. She gathered up the other items littering the bed, and tossed them into the bag.

Time passed. The setting sun added to her depression. Ellie had to force herself to move. She went to the window and looked out. Across a narrow alley was a long row of squat rooms, twins to the one she had found herself in, she guessed. Was it some sort of sleazy motel? The alley was still and vacant. She felt terribly alone.

She turned from the window. Another tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand, looking momentarily like a lost, forgotten child. She picked up the black bag and went to the door. There she paused and looked around the room one last time. On the table sat the lone twofer. Ellie started for it but stopped. Her days as a whore were over, she told to herself, and she boldly went out the door.

The Reckoning

Ellie stepped tentatively into the alley. The nearly spent sun cast the rooms in a shadowy, golden glow. Between the rows, crumbling pavement had been haphazardly repaired with coarse gravel. Her eyes followed the trail of quilt-work patching until it ended at a street.

Ellie looked at the street apprehensively. She knew there was nowhere else to go, but fear gripped her. She had to force herself to move, walking stiffly past the lifeless, sullen rooms. Some had tattered drapes drawn tight against the world. Others were thrown open; their hazy windows staring empty yet defiant.

Ellie approached the street timidly, stopping apprehensively at the end of the alley. She found it alive with activity: people bustling about, shopping, working. But something was wrong. To Ellie, it seemed as if these people were racing about in a near panic. She could see the tension etched on their drawn faces. One overweight woman, clutching a bag stuffed with groceries to her bosom, broke into a frenzied trot, nearly staggering down the sidewalk until she turned the corner and out of Ellie's sight.

From up and down the street came a cacophony of sounds. The shuffling of feet, hasty goodbyes, shouted warnings. From the shops came the sounds of slamming doors and iron security gates being lowered into place.

Ellie turned at the braying of a horn. From up the street an eerily silent automobile barreled past her, its occupants grim-faced. As it passed, Ellie noticed a large, crimson stain on the pavement in the middle of the road. Her eyes locked onto it and her heart began to race. Blood. Its edges streamed out in violent streaks like the rays of an evil sun.

"Godspeed, you must hurry, miss!" a man's voice urged from behind her. "The Reckoning is almost upon us!"

Ellie turned with a start, the stain in the road forgotten. For a split second she thought it was the man from the room, but it was not. He was a shop keeper dressed in a dirty white apron. He was a big man, his dark, greasy hair parted in the middle. He was wiping his hands on a towel.

Again, Ellie was unable to speak.

The man looked her up and down appraisingly. When his eyes finally reached to her face, she saw a flash of disgust. "Hurry, you crazy whore! The Reckoning! Do you wish to die?" He turned and scurried away.

Ellie blinked. The word whore had roused her. "28 Mercury?" she blurted out after him. "Please, sir, do you know of such a place?"

The man turned briefly. "It's around the corner, crazy whore!" he spat. "I don't know why I wasted my time with your kind! Be food for the Nazgul for all I care!"

Ellie watched him rush away, unnerved, but she had felt the urgency in his words, the raw emotion they conveyed. Something terrible was about to happen. These people were more than just afraid. They were scared to death.

"The Reckoning," she whispered. The man in the room had mentioned it as he left, now this man, too. It sounded ominous. She was in no condition for ominous, but she couldn't ignore it now, could she? The man in the apron had been rude, but he had not been lying. The Reckoning was coming and whatever it was--it was bad.

The street was almost empty now, and as Ellie began to hurry toward a place called 28 Mercury. She hoped she was not too late. The sun was now below the horizon, and within minutes it would be fully dark. The Reckoning was tied to the darkness, her mind told her as she ran. Something to do with the dark…

Sirens filled the air; low, growling howls that ascended the scale until they reached a high-pitched whine. They awakened a deep, instinctive fear within her, a soul memory of another time and place. "The Reckoning!" a voice within her cried. "The Reckoning! Any minute, any second! Now!"

Panic engulfed her. She ran as wildly as the others now, her black bag bouncing against her hip, a scream choked in her throat, still unsure of where she was going. Her panic should have invited death, but it didn't. Somehow Ellie found herself standing in front of a heavy bronze-colored door. Its highly polished surface glimmered even in the failing light. On it the number 28 was mounted in large, hefty numerals.

She lunged toward the door. "It will be locked!" her mind chimed in strange harmony with the siren. You will be locked out to face The Reckoning alone!"

She leaned her full weight against the door, and to her dismay, it slid open as smoothly as a well-oiled gate into a flowery garden. She fell forward, sprawling onto a massive foyer. The door closed behind her with a bang. Ellie yelped with surprise. She raised her head from the tiled floor to see a pair of black, thick-soled shoes standing in front of her.

"Godspeed, that was not very smart, Ms. Lewis," a woman's voice said with a smirk. "In less than a minute the door would have locked automatically, and you would have prematurely perished."

Ellie looked up. It was a stout woman of about sixty, short gray hair, a deeply lined face. She wore a limp gray dress with a white collar.

"Ms. Lewis, we here at 28 Mercury pride ourselves in observance of all laws of the New Colony," the woman said. "I am proud to say that in the eight years I have managed this facility, not one of my people have succumbed to The Reckoning by accident. Not a one."

Ellie held her breath. Behind her, heavy cylinders clanked loudly as the door locked. The woman looked at Ellie and frowned.

"When we allowed you your limited time here, it was under the strict understanding that you would abide by the rules. We allowed you here even though your kind should be at 42 Mercury with the rest of the riffraff. Now, aside from the fact that I find you and your present occupation personally repulsive, your presence here came in the form of a command. A command from Her Excellency the Mission Controller, no less. Humph!" the woman added for emphasis.

"Still, your residency, even if temporary, is nonetheless probationary. Command or not, you may find yourself out on the street where you belong. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Lewis?"

"Yes," Ellie replied.

"Yes, what?" the woman demanded.

"Yes--ma'am?" Ellie replied, as she climbed heavily to her knees.

"Better. The evening meal will be served in one unit. If you wish to attend, please be sure to shower and change those tawdry clothes. Do you understand, Ms. Ellie?"

"Yes, ma'am, Ellie replied.

The woman turned and started down a long corridor, her black shoes clicking across the spotless tile floor.

"Ma'am?" Ellie called after her.

The woman stopped, the echo of her shoes lingering for a long moment. She turned and glared. "What now, Ms. Lewis?"

"Which, which, apartment is mine?" Ellie asked nervously. It was a dangerously revealing question, but she had no other choice.

The woman sighed with disdain. "Godspeed, you are a pitiful creature, aren't you, Ms. Lewis?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Ellie replied. "I suppose I am."

The woman turned away. "91, Ms. Lewis," she called as she walked, her heals once again clicking. "Berth 91."

Ellie watched the woman until she disappeared through a doorway, then pulled herself up on shaky legs. She looked back at the door that had delivered her to 28 Mercury. It had shut and locked with a dreadful finality. What was this Reckoning? Ellie wondered. What horrible things were going on outside that door?

Ellie pushed her sweat dampened hair away from her eyes. Tears once again threatened, but she willed them away. Fanning out to her left and straight ahead were two more hallways. She considered which way to go.

"Straight ahead, Ellie" she told herself. "Hold your head high and go straight ahead."

The room numbers were once again multiples of seven. Midway down the hall, Ellie found berth 91. She dug around in the black bag, found the identification card, and slid it into a slot above the doorknob. How she knew this would work, she hadn't a clue. There was a soft click and the door opened. Overhead lights flickered on automatically. It was a small room, long and narrow; no more than ten by thirty feet, painted a pale shade of yellow (Like his suspenders, she thought). There were two opposing doors at the room's middle, right and left.

Ellie entered apprehensively. The room revealed itself as an amazing example of efficiency; everything compact and cleverly planned. At the rear of the apartment, a narrow bed was recessed into a wall, across from it a retractable table and two folding chairs.

The door on her left, she discovered, led to a tidy kitchenette. She glanced in briefly then turned to the opposing door. It was a bathroom. Ellie dropped her bag to the floor, and mesmerized, entered the room. Everything that had occurred since she had awakened in that seedy room was forgotten. She quickly threw off her clothes and stepped greedily into the shower. She needed to wash away not only the grime that permeated her body, but the filth and heartache that was lodged within her.

Ellie took her time. She washed herself carefully, shampooed her hair, then stood hungrily under the hot, soothing spray. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was two people in one. The other person, the one lurking at the edge of her memory, was not remotely like her, but somehow in their hearts the two were the same. They were like twins joined in a weird cosmic dance, and for reasons unknown, a part of each life had leaked into the other.

She reluctantly stepped from the refuge of the shower. Before her was a large mirror mounted above the sink. The mirror was bordered by small decorative drawings of the same odd-looking birds that were on the currency. She counted seven across the top and seven more down each side. On the counter top were all the things a woman needed to ready herself for the day: toothpaste and brush, deodorant, make up, a hair dryer and a brush and comb set.

She looked down at herself feeling uneasily like a voyeur. To add to her unease, she found her nakedness pleased her, as she was sure it pleased the men she apparently serviced. She sensed then she was a woman who could arouse intense passion, both in herself and in those around her. The knowledge filled her with a strange mix of power and sadness.

Ellie carefully toweled herself and combed out her long brown hair. In a cleverly concealed closet she found ample clothing, some blatantly sexy, the trappings of a whore, others practical, even utilitarian, in design. Ellie selected a modest, light blue jump suit and slipped it on over simple, white cotton underwear. On the closet floor she found a comfortable pair of shoes. She laughed. Comfortable shoes. Why did she find the concept so funny?

Once dressed, the image of her as a prostitute began to fade, but she knew this feeling of well-being would be transitory. She needed to solve the mystery she found herself in before she went mad. She looked around the apartment hoping to discover any clues. At its far end her eyes locked on a window covered by a strong iron shutter. Ellie stared at it wild-eyed.

"The Reckoning," she whispered with a shiver. She went to it feeling both repulsed and compelled and placed an ear against its cold steel. Screaming. She heard distant screaming and the trampling of feet. There is mayhem outside, her mind told her, and cold panic. Terror in the streets that leaves blood stains in its wake.

She ran her fingers down the shutter's unyielding steel until they found a latch connected to a long safety bar. She toyed with it, testing the pressure that would be required to release it. What terrible secret did it hide?

"Godspeed, get away from that window!" a male voice said from behind her.

Ellie whirled around. There was a man, no not a man, a teenager perhaps, standing in the doorway. He was slight, surely no taller than her with closely cropped black hair. He wore thick glasses framing an acne scarred face. He was looking at her with concern.

"Who, who are you?" Ellie stammered. "How did you get in here?"

The young man frowned. "He's, he's, sorry, Ellie," he stuttered. "The door wasn't shut. Benny saw the light, so he came in."

Ellie looked furtively around the room and cursed herself. The thought of a hot shower had mesmerized her so much she had forgotten to secure the door, forgotten about her safety. Her mind raced. She had to be careful how she spoke. She had to be careful not to let this young man know she was a fraud.

"Tell me who you are and what you want or I will call the authorities," she bluffed in the boldest, most confident voice she could muster.

The young man looked at her oddly, wondering if Ellie was joking. "Why, he's Benny," he said, pointing at himself. "Benny Knuckles. He lives across the hall in berth 98. You and Benny are friends," he added hopefully.

Ellie relaxed a little. In spite of his odd way of speaking, the young man didn't appear to be a threat.

"What's wrong with you, Ellie?" he asked with genuine concern. "You okay? Benny thought you'd still be asleep. Did some guy hit you or something?"

Ellie ignored his questions. "Benny Knuckles, you say? Is that really your name?"

The young man shrugged and looked faintly embarrassed. "Who'd make up a name like Benny Knuckles?"

Ellie felt bad for teasing this young man. "I suppose you're right," she said.

Benny pointed at the steel shade. "You weren't really going to open the window, were you, Ellie?" he asked grimly.

"What if I did?"

Benny stared.

"What if I did, Mr. Knuckles?" Ellie demanded. "Tell me, what would happen?"

Benny cleared his throat. "Well, it's still early. It's said they leave the mountain nests until the sun is fully down. Probably nothing would happen. But then again..."

Ellie took a step forward, urgency prodding her. She wanted to know more. She needed to know more, and she damn well would know more! She stopped. Something had caught her eye. In the kitchenette, a square message board was mounted on a wall. Tacked to it was a badly worm photograph.

"Oh!" Ellie moaned with dim recognition. Benny and The Reckoning were forgotten.

Ellie went to the photograph, her arm outstretched, fingers anxious with anticipation and yanked it from the message board. She held it close, tears welling, her lips trembling, her fingers moving lovingly over the image. It was of a little girl in a bright yellow dress. Yellow like the color of her room, the color of a stranger’s suspenders. Her precious smile broke Ellie's heart. She had long ringlets of golden hair and sea green eyes that gazed at the camera with innocence and love. Ellie felt weak in the knees. There was something wrong. One thin leg was strapped in a heavy steel brace. She was sitting awkwardly on a bench, her injured leg looking uncomfortable.

Ellie looked at Benny. "This girl," Ellie said hoarsely. "Who is she?"

Benny paled. He looked as if he wished he had never entered the room.

"Tell me, Benny," Ellie said fiercely. "Who is she?"

"Why, it's, it’s your daughter," Benny Knuckles stammered. "Or at least that's what you've told Benny. Don't you remember her, Ellie?"

"Where is she?" Ellie asked. "Where is my daughter?"

Benny gulped hard. He didn't want to answer that question. Maybe he could dash back to his room and hide. But he liked being with her, even in the grasp of her despair. She made him feel alive and meaningful. The gulf of silence grew, and he knew the question would not go away. Ellie would not be denied the truth even if it was horrible. He had to answer.

"She's..." Benny stopped and began again. "Why, she's dead, Ellie. Don't you remember? She's dead."

Ellie & Benny

"Dead?" Ellie asked dully.

Her lower lip began to tremble, and Benny Knuckles felt his heart melt for he was in love with her. He had fallen the moment he saw her on that first day. He was walking home for the noon meal when he spotted a Hooper limousine parked in front of 28 Mercury. Mistress Grissom was standing at the top step looking even sterner than usual. Benny followed the track of her disapproving gaze to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.

Ellie stepped unceremoniously out of the limo. She stood at the curb looking like a small, frightened child. A tall, ill-tempered man dressed in a governmental tunic, gruffly grabbed her bags from the trunk and tossed them onto the sidewalk. Then with the slam of the door, the limo whisked away.

When Benny entered the fray, Mistress Grissom was giving Ellie the first of what would be many lectures, preaching to her about how unworthy she was to be allowed a berth at 28 Mercury, accusing her of so many misdeeds that one might have suspected she was the spawn of a Nazgul.

Benny knew he should stay clear, keep to himself, and avoid the wrath of Mistress Grissom. He knew it would be best to leave this woman and her troubles alone. But he just couldn't help himself. She had the face of an angel--and legs that could turn the head of Iscar himself. How could a man, even a man as unworthy as Benny, resist? Without a second thought he crossed the street and picked up her bags.

Benny Knuckles was nineteen years old, six years younger than Ellie. He had lived alone at 28 Mercury since the death of his parents three years before. The boarding facility was a convenient place for Benny; only three short blocks from the Glenn Institute, where he worked as a janitor like his father before him.

From the beginning of his relationship with Ellie Lewis, Benny was realistic. Though neither he nor Ellie was blessed with a Sacred Name, he knew a guy like him could never hope to win a girl as gorgeous as her. But on that first day, his simple act of kindness had cemented a friendship of sorts. Benny was determined to nurture that friendship, to let it grow as far as it could, regardless of the dangers. But he soon discovered that Ellie Lewis was a sad, complex and amazing creature, a woman Benny found endlessly fascinating.

"Dead? My daughter is dead?" Ellie asked once again, bringing Benny back to the present. "How?"

Benny cleared his voice. "Why, you've never told Benny. You told him she had passed on, but you never explained how. Benny never thought it would be right to ask."

"And her father?" Ellie pressed, her voice rising. "What of him?"
"You've never mentioned him, either," Benny replied, lowering his head.
This was not exactly true. There were rumors, and Ellie had said something to him, something in passing, something she assumed he hadn't heard. Benny paid attention to everything that left the luscious lips of Ellie Lewis, even when the words carried a tinge of terror.

"Why don't you sit down, Ellie. Smoke a cigarette, relax."

"I don't smoke," she said absently, her eyes glued to the photograph.

Godspeed, Benny thought. She doesn't smoke? Since when? By anyone's standards, Ellie Lewis was a chain-smoker.

A loudspeaker in the hallway announced that dinner was being served. Benny had never been more thankful to hear it. Something was seriously wrong with Ellie--some sort of breakdown, and he felt that no matter what he said to her, it would have a bad result.

"Let's get something to eat, Ellie," he suggested hopefully.

"Eat?" Ellie said, as if the word was foreign to her.

"Yes, eat. You know, as in food?" Benny made a spooning gesture to emphasize the point.

Ellie couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. It might have been days ago at someplace impossibly far away. The memory of apples came to her mouth. She felt hollowness inside her, but she wasn't sure it was hunger. She looked down at the picture in her hand. The little girl looked back at her with the brightest smile she had ever seen, and both eating and Benny Knuckles were once again forgotten until she felt a firm hand on her wrist.

"Come with Benny, Ellie," Benny said evenly. "You'll feel better if you eat something."

Ellie looked at him, her pretty face a point of confusion. The rational part of her, buried deep inside for the moment, knew he was right. She should eat, regain her strength, and try to make sense of this place. But the non-rational part of her wanted to sink into a chair and stare at the image of her dead, forgotten daughter.

In the end she allowed herself to be guided by Benny Knuckles. He found her I.D. card on the floor, and after securing the door, led her down the hall to the dining room. Along the way he consoled her in low soothing tones. Ellie couldn't comprehend his words, her shock was still too great, but she knew that this young man was someone she could trust. The thought comforted her greatly.

Except for a bank of tightly shuttered windows, Ellie found the dining room bright and cheerful. Around several round tables men and women sat eating and engaged in casual conversation. Each table had place settings for seven, she noted.

Her attention was drawn to the ceiling. From it hung paper birds of various colors and shapes twisting in slow circles in the air currents. Ellie starred at them, spellbound. It wasn't so much that they were birds; everything in this world seemed to be related to birds and the number seven. There was something about the paper, something about the crisp, exact folds that reminded her of someone...

"Ellie," Benny said.

Ellie continued to stare.

"Ellie," Benny insisted.

Ellie looked at Benny with a perplexed look on her face. He smiled tolerantly, grabbed her by the elbow, and guided her through the room.

"There go the twofers!" someone called out as they passed.

A few laughed at the joke, others didn't seem to notice. Benny glared but said nothing.

"What is this thing, twofer?" Ellie asked.

"Benny will explain later," Benny said.

"But--"

"Forget about that now, Ellie. Benny will answer all your questions later."

Along the side wall was a long, cafeteria-style serving counter of metal and glass. Benny grabbed two trays, slid them across the counter rails and grabbed two bundles of eating utensils wrapped in cloth napkin.

"What's good tonight, Midgey?" Benny asked a petite woman working behind the counter.

The woman turned at Benny's voice. She was a short, plump girl. Her face was wide and flat with dark slanted eyes. The word Asian entered Ellie's mind, a word that set off another elusive memory of another place and time. The woman offered Benny a radiant smile. It was a look only another woman would recognize. Ellie knew in an instant. Midgey was in love with Benny Knuckles. There was no doubt about it. Benny, however, seemed completely unaware.

"Godspeed, got a full menu tonight, Benny, with harvest time in the Outer Territories and all," Midgey replied. The woman smiled thinly at Ellie, a look Ellie assumed she often received. "Got to cheer people up with The Reckoning here and all." She swept her hand broadly across stainless steel containers piled high with food.

Ellie breathed a little easier. So far the room and the people in it approximated normal. Everything was reasonably recognizable, even comforting in its own weird way. At least it seemed that way until she took a closer look at the food. None of it looked even vaguely familiar. The various meats, stews, vegetables, and what might have been some perverted version of a pasta dish looked wrong both in color to texture.

"Yech!" she mumbled.

Benny ignored her comment and ordered food for the two of them, hungrily pointing out dishes that looked disgusting to Ellie. Midgey looked obviously displeased by Ellie's presence. They took their trays to an empty table in a corner. The residents of 28 Mercury watched them with leering interest, some murmuring nasty comments before returning to their evening meal.

"What the hell is this?" Ellie asked, pointing toward a particularly vile looking dish on her tray.

"Something special from Midgey she put aside for me. It's called videre," Benny replied. "It's a fish from the Great Sea. Try it, Ellie. It might help you remember."

"How could it do that?"

Benny smiled crookedly. "The word videre is an ancient word. It means, ‘to see’."

"Why is it called that?"

"Perhaps you will understand after you have tasted it."

Ellie looked apprehensively at the gray-colored fish. It looked slimy, stewing in murky, dark green gravy like a dead slug. It had an unpleasant, musty smell that reminded her of day old cabbage.

"Oh, God," she whispered.

Benny smiled. "Trust me, Ellie. It tastes better than it looks."

Trust. That was a terrible word, for trusting was something Ellie Lewis felt she had done a little too much of during her life. But trust, or more precisely trust in Benny Knuckles, was all she had at the moment. She cut off a small piece of the videre half-expecting it would squirm under her knife blade, and slid it into her mouth. She chewed it apprehensively, expecting the worse. Her eyes widened. To see... Of course...

Videre was a magical food, for it didn't possess a taste of its own. Instead, it borrowed the tastes loved by those who ate it. For Ellie the taste changed with each bite, and it awakened a deep, lusty hunger within her--and a very odd memory: The taste of a hamburger eaten at an old roadside diner with a cold beer on a picnic table next to it. They were going camping, she remembered, late May in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Except that in this memory she was a man with a wife and two young children. He was an ordinary man with a loving family, a kind and funny man, yet so achingly unsure of himself...

The memory faded as quickly as it came. In the next bite it was a piece of chocolate eaten while lying in bed next to her lover. The father of the girl, she was sure of it. He smiled at her and then faded from her sight. What had happened? What had happened?

As Benny Knuckles watched her, a tear trickled down her reddened cheek like a glistening wound. He wanted to reach out to her, but he was afraid. Had he made a terrible mistake? "Ellie, are you all right?"

Ellie looked at him, her eyes glazed with tears. "Oh, Benny," she said. "I don't know why I'm here. I’m not even sure I belong in this world."

"Why of course you do, Ellie. You were born here, raised here."

"Maybe so, but still, I don't belong."

She put down her fork. She could not eat any more. It was simply--too much. She looked at Benny her blue eyes strengthened by resolve. "Show me The Reckoning, Benny," she said. "Show me now so I will know."

"Benny can't--"

"Yes you can," she insisted. "Maybe these others can't, but I know you can."

"How would you know such a thing?" he asked defensively. "Why, you don't even know me."

"I know this. You're an outsider, Benny. Just like me. Everyone thinks you're worthless, just like me. But you know things, don't you Benny? You know things these others would never guess, don't you?"

Benny stared at her for the longest time. Ellie was right, of course. The others did consider him worthless, he without a Sacred Name, he the son of a humble janitor, as worthless as the lonely twofer.

"Return to your berth," he said. "Benny will come to you at the fourteenth unit after the others have gone to bed. Benny will come and show you."

"Thank you, Benny! Thank you!"

"Ellie, you must promise Benny you will not open your shutter. Do you promise?"

"Yes, yes, Benny. Whatever you say. Thank you!"

Benny frowned. "You thank Benny now, but will you later?"

"I don't know Benny. We will just have to see."

The New Colony

The Reckoning was not only a physical reality; it was a visceral part of life in the New Colony. It was as inescapable as the terraformed air the children of the Lords of Mercury breathed each day. But as Benny left for Ellie's berth, he realized her lapse in memory was forcing him see things anew, to see things as Ellie soon would--and the thought of it filled him with unease. In a disturbing kaleidoscope, the sorry history of the New Colony tumbled through his mind.

Humans were not native to the colony. They had traveled here long ago, thousands of cycles at least, from a magical place, a heaven known as Mother Earth. Where it was and why the humans had left there was unclear, burned and buried beneath the wreckage of the Great Disaster.

They had come here to live, a planet not quite compatible of human life, but a planet that could be conquered, molded, and seeded for human development. The warm, blue-green world that became the New Colony was a planet teaming with life both on its single great land mass and surrounding sea. It was, simply put, a vast reservoir of protein, and to the great relief of the humans, there was no sentient life to pose serious competition.

So the people of Mother Earth came in their vast interstellar crafts, suspended above the pure atmosphere of the New Colony like giant, robotic birds. On a vast plain on the eastern side of the land mass, between a high range dubbed the Celestrial Mountains and the Great Sea, they constructed sealed, seven-sided living areas called cones where they would live in protection until the thin oxygen content of the planet rose to a compatible level. Then the cones would be opened and used as the core buildings that would launch a new society.

The cones were spaced at logical intervals across the breath of the colony connected by an intricate series of passageways. On the western edge was a special cone, used as a combination nursery and educational center. There the colony's children spent their days while their parents completed their new home. And it was there, near the end of the second Mother Earth year after the ships departed, that the near total destruction of the New Colony occurred.

It began with the reoccurrence of a childhood disease thought extinct and a simple cut on the wing of a tiny, frightened bird that laughingly resembled a horse...


This time the door to Ellie's berth was locked. Benny Knuckles knocked lightly, wondering what she had been doing since he left her four units before. Had her confusion passed, and was all this now unnecessary? Or was she once again lost in the worn photograph of her dead daughter?

Ellie cracked the door. Benny could see she was still dressed in her loose-fitting jump suit that failed to conceal the lithe, strong body underneath. Looking at her, Benny felt his throat tighten, but he managed a smile.

Ellie smiled in return. "Come in, Benny," she said. "I've been waiting."
Benny entered warily and looked around. The shutter was still down. Thank the Lords for that! He turned to her and spoke. "Benny will take you now," he said, looking into her eyes.

"Where?" Ellie asked.

"To a place where you might see The Reckoning."

"Let's go," she said resolutely.

"There is an added danger, Ellie, because of the blood from your cycle."

"How would you know about that?" she demanded, her sense of violation renewed. It had begun shortly after Benny had left her over dinner. It filled her with panic because for a long moment she didn’t know what to do. But instinct took over. She found tampons in the bathroom, and after an awkward few minutes she had taken care of this situation.

How had Benny known? Her face flushed. Was he watching her?

Benny sighed. "Benny is sorry. He forgets you cannot remember. Every woman in the colony begins her cycle on the first night of The Reckoning."

"Why?" Ellie asked. "Why is that?"

"It is a mystery," Benny replied truthfully.

Ellie swallowed. "I don't care about danger. Let's go."

"Your memory. Has any of it returned?"

Ellie sighed. "No. Nothing more since the dining room." She looked at Benny carefully. He was her only friend here, and she needed him. His intelligent face showed nothing but infinite patience. Ellie didn't recognize his love, but she did know he cared and that meant everything. "Thank you, Benny," she said.

"As Benny said before, don't thank him yet," he replied. "Not remembering can be a blessing in the New Colony. Most people would love to forget the terror that comes with life here. The truth is hard and unforgiving. Before this is over you may not like Benny. You may no longer be his friend."

"Don't worry, Benny. No matter what, I won't blame you. It’s just that I must know the truth."

He looked at her sadly. "Then Benny will tell you some of the story first, so that you will understand...”


Yes, they looked liked tiny horses, and they were named Nazgul by those born of Mother Earth. The name was a joke, taken from a long destroyed ancient book. The name was not mentioned in the Sacred Book, but it remained one of the few things the people of the New Colony remembered from their beginning.

As Benny understood it, the Nazgul were once harmless creatures as curious about the colonists as the colonists were of them. They were elusive, nocturnal animals. For most of the lunar cycle the Nazgul were nowhere to be seen, gone to their nests in the far off Celestial Mountains to the east. Then, shortly after the moons became full, they would appear; fluttering by the hundreds in the low oxygen environment. They seemed attracted to the newly constructed cones, swarming around them like insects hovering about a light.

During the New Colony's first hectic cycles, terraforming the atmosphere for human compatibility was the first priority. Unfortunately, as scientists predicted, the process killed up to thirty percent of the native life forms. This was considered an acceptable risk for the New Colony had sufficient diversity of animal and plant life to survive the transition. Harried New Colony biologists spared no time to study the Nazgul and their ways, for the tiny creatures were not expected to survive.

Horses. The Nazgul resembled tiny horses with wings. Oh, how Benny Knuckles would like to see a real horse like the one Lord Sheppard is pictured riding in the Sacred Book. They were to have them, he knew. He had actually seen the damaged vile carefully preserved at the institute's museum. Their seed had been brought here to be revived by some now forgotten miracle, but they had perished along with the other animals sent with such loving care across the galaxy. But Benny knew that to compare the Nazgul to the graceful, noble horse that once roamed the plains of Mother Earth was blasphemy.

The story of the changing of the Nazgul is not a written one. The memory of the event was so terrifying that no one dared it. One does not wish to revisit hell...


Benny led Ellie from her berth down the darkened hallway and past the quiet dining room. At a locked, unmarked door they paused. Benny produced a pass key attached to a large white tag. Ellie noticed the name Midgey was written on it. Beyond the door was a narrow flight of stairs. Ellie followed him up, her heart in her throat. With each step the tension that had been building in her since the discovery of the photograph mounted.

Up and up they went until they finally reached a high platform where a heavy door blocked their way. Ellie tugged at Benny's shirt. "Where are you taking me?" she pleaded.

Benny replied in a low, solemn voice. "28 Mercury, and all the other dwellings in the New Colony, are sealed until The Reckoning is over. No one goes in or out. No one. Even for an emergency. If a fire were to break out here, no one would come to our aid. If anyone attempts to open an outside door, or a secured shutter, the room is cut off, its inhabitants left to fend for themselves. Their fate doesn't matter, for even if they survive, the penalty for disobeying the laws of The Reckoning is death."

Ellie shuddered.

"Benny is taking you to the bell tower," he added. Then surprisingly, he laughed.

"What's so God damn funny, Benny?" she asked incredulously, her hands defiantly on her hips.

"What so funny is that there are no bells in the New Colony. No one is even quite sure what a bell is."

"Then why build a bell tower?"

"In the Sacred Book, one of the Seven went to a place called church before his journey of discovery. He described beautiful bells in a high tower. Our fathers assumed that such towers were made to protect the people from harm, so they built them hoping to ward off the Nazgul. Later, they were abandoned and sealed off."

"Why?"

"Because the towers did no good. Whatever magic they had on Mother Earth, they could not stop the Nazgul." Benny looked at the door then back at Ellie. "Are you sure you wish to see?" he asked.

"Yes," Ellie replied without a hint of reluctance.

Benny nodded grimly and unlocked the door. They entered a shadowy room. Benny quickly closed the door, cutting off all light except from one source: a pale glow pouring through the thin slats of a window at the far end of the room.

"You may look through there," Benny pointed.

Ellie turned toward the window hungrily, but before she could take a step, Benny put out his hand.

"Please, let Benny complete the story before you look. It will help you understand."

"No--"

This time Benny restrained her. "Just a little more," he said. "Please."

Ellie relaxed against his grip, her shoulders sagging with resignation. "All right," she said. "But hurry."

"Ellie, what you see here won't tell you more about your daughter," Benny cautioned. "It's more like looking into a nightmare."

Ellie looked at him blankly. "I woke up this afternoon to a nightmare so if this is another, bring it on! What have I got to lose, anyway?"

Benny regarded Ellie for a long moment pondering the wisdom of bringing her here, but as the wind rattled around the bell-less tower, he knew it was too late for second thoughts.

"The terraforming took a long time," he continued. "An entire generation had grown up in the domes while the slow process took place. A third generation was born before its completion. But the day came at last. The people of the New Colony would soon enter their world without cumbersome oxygen gear and live their lives as free men and women.

"The Mission Controller was to have the honor of being the first to step out of the dome. The zealots now blame him for what happened, for he was not blessed with the name of the Sacred Seven, but for many generations, blame was rightly placed on The Two.

"The Two," Ellie repeated. The number sounded odd, given that everything she had encountered in this world was a multiple of seven. Everything. Ellie bet that if she had opened the box of the condoms she found in her black bag, she would have found seven of them lined up in a neat, foil wrapped row. Yes, everything was seven, everything except--

"--Twofer?" she asked.

"Yes," Benny replied. "Even they are honored in a terrible way, forever disgraced, yet still a part of us."

"What happened, Benny?" Ellie asked. "What the hell happened?"
"The night before the opening ceremony, The Two went to the air lock. It was decorated in banners, ready for the morning festivities. It is said they did it on a lark and meant to keep their adventure a secret. Only they would now they were the first to witness the full moons and the dazzling starlight outside the confines of the cones. They entered the air lock and stepped into the New Colony night.

"The rest of the story is hazy, but we do know this: the Nazgul were not all dead. A handful still survived, sick and dying yet still bound by primordial blood tides to continue their ancient trek from the mountains to the wide, flat valley that was the home of the New Colony. Under the full moon they came, the pitiful remnants of a species and for the first time met a human face to face.

"It is said that the Nazgul were peaceful creatures by nature. Even at the end they were tame, airy animals. When the humans saw them they were not afraid. They were enchanted. They had stumbled out into a land of wonder, their natural defenses dulled by a lifetime living in confinement. Freedom of movement clouded their judgment. They were like children, and when they reached out to touch--"

"They were bitten," Ellie completed.

"Yes," Benny replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "The Nazgul, infected by some human disease, turned into monsters. Monsters that drink human blood. Monsters that come by night and never die."

The revelation stirred something in Ellie. It tugged at her soul and made her legs feel leaden. "They drink blood," she repeated.

"Yes," Benny replied. "Only one, the biggest one, eats the flesh."

"How many are there?" Ellie began. "Oh, I suppose that's a stupid question. There are seven, aren't there? Like everything else in this crazy place. Seven of everything, seven of these--things."

"Yes," Benny replied. "There is more to the story, Ellie. Much more. But Benny has told you enough for now."

Ellie turned toward the slated window. For all her anxiousness, she now hesitated, for now the window loomed like on evil portal. She thought of her forgotten dead daughter, of the shock and sadness of this world. Would the images outside this window be the final piece that would unlock this nightmare? Or would it simply push her over the edge into the abyss of madness?

There was only one way to find out.

Ellie felt as if she floated to the window. Her body had numbed about her, leaving only hungry eyes. Though it was night, it was not totally dark. Sitting above the horizon were the two rising moons. Their combined light provided an eerie, dirty glow. She looked out through the narrow slats and gazed across the expanse of the New Colony. Many of the conglomerations of buildings were obviously parts of the original air-tight dome system. Others had been built later, easily identifiable by their useless bell towers. As a whole, the city was a virtual hodgepodge of architectural styles. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, if you ignored the deserted streets.

Ellie found it amusing in a strange way. All this talk about colonizing a new world, terraforming, had a futuristic aura to it. It brought forth images of a gleaming hi-tech world populated by scientists and visionaries. But Ellie had awakened this morning in a filthy, rundown room, and the New Colony itself was a confused, chaotic place. The colony was old, very old, she now realized. The disaster that had created The Reckoning had occurred in its long, dim past, and had left its people a legacy of all encompassing fear.

Ellie waited. Except for an insistent Northerly wind, the world outside was as still as a photograph. Benny stayed beside the door showing no interest in sharing her experience. Why did the Nazgul come here anyway? Ellie wondered. Apparently they did not have the ability or the interest to break into the living areas, and since the residents were only in peril if they ventured outside, how could they induce such terror?

The first hint came with the shifting of the wind. Ellie thought she could hear far off cries carried on the breeze. Wails of pain and fear. The sound of death. Then there was a smell--the smell of blood.

"Nazgul," a wicked voice whispered in her ear.

Then from out in the distance, Ellie saw three of them. If these incubi resembled horses, it was a twisted, distorted version of that noble beast. All grace and beauty had left them. They were flying on long bat wings, screaming as they crossed the lonely rooftops of the New Colony like birds of prey.

Ellie suppressed the urge to scream. There was something visceral about the animals, something primordial that tore at her gut. Even from a distance she could see they were huge, easily twice the size of the biggest Earth horse. She felt the overwhelming urge to flee, even though she was safe within the solid bell tower of 28 Mercury.

"Why, Benny? Why do they come here?" she asked as she gawked.

"Don't you know, Ellie?" Benny asked sadly. "Can't you remember?"

Ellie shook her head, ashamed of her ignorance.

Benny spoke again, almost in a whisper. "For the next two nights, they will come. They come, Ellie, to feed."

Before Ellie could react she spotted a fourth Nazgul rising from below her and to the left. Ellie gasped, for it was bigger than the others. Much bigger. And it was carrying something in its mouth.

Ellie's eyes widened. "No! No! Please God, no!" she cried. Her body began to shake, and the room began to swim. Her words of despair were the second to the first thing she would remember before she passed out. The first was an image that would be forever etched in her mind. For lodged in the gaping maw of the Nazgul was the bloodied stump of a human being.

Revelation

They were called the Celestial mountains, for they towered above the New Colony like the peaks of heaven. For thirty Mother Earth years, as the New Colony molded its new home, the colonists could only look at them with wonder. It was said that the perennial snow that graced their peaks was encrusted with diamonds, and they might have been, but no one now living had ever seen a real diamond. The one thing they did know for sure was that the mountains were a symbol of mystery and romance mixed with a terrible evil. They held the beauty and the ugliness of this precious new world in their image, but diamond peaks or not, they were also the home of the Nazgul...

On their last trip to the New Colony before the coming of the first Reckoning, the seven remaining Nazgul encountered two unprotected humans. The two species looked at each other curiously. For the humans, the small flying horses stirred instinctive memories of a home planet they had ever seen. For the Nazgul, the scent of these strange, wingless creatures, whose minds whistled with complex, frightening thoughts, made them crazy.

One imagines that the Great Disaster began with a battle, but that was not what happened on that fateful, double-moon evening. Nazgul approached human; human reached out to touch with the wonder and stupidity of a child. Torn wing. Scratched face. Alien blood mixing with alien blood. Confusion. Infection. And the history of a world so carefully chosen as the last hope of a dying planet was altered forever.

Who changed the Nazgul or the human? Both. The last of the Nazgul mutated in more ways than a simple infection would suggest. It was, in a fashion, like the piece of videre that Ellie Lewis tasted in the cafeteria of 28 Mercury. The Nazgul became like human memories. Human nightmares of vampires on a full moon night.

And what of The Two? They completed the nightmare in an act of feverish sabotage designed to kill all those who would dare change the planet to a copy of Mother Earth. They tried to kill them all, and they almost did, except for the forty-two children and three nurses housed in an isolated dome.

What saved the remains of the New Colony? A hitchhiker on a great galactic cruiser oddly named Chicken Pox.


"Bullshit," Ellie said, but without much enthusiasm. The remark was made more as a defense than a statement. She was lying on her couch feeling woozy. Benny had placed a cold wash cloth across her brow.

Benny smiled. "An odd expression. What does it mean?"

"It means that first you expect me to believe that a little squirt like you carried me all the way back here from the bell tower, and then you tell me that the New Colony was saved because of Chicken Pox?"

"Bullshit means all that?" Benny replied with absolute seriousness on his face.

"Oh, God!" Ellie exclaimed.

Benny sat there looking perplexed. At last, he spoke. "Ellie?"

Ellie was rubbing her temples, trying to sort out the shittiest day in her life. "What?" she said.

"Benny likes that word, 'bullshit'."

"That's great, Benny," she said, wishing he'd leave her to fall into blissful sleep.

"It's a much greater word than Chicken Pox."

"This is true, Benny," Ellie said, her voice now sounding far off.

"Ellie?"

"Yes?" she replied after a long pause.

"This whole thing is bullshit, isn't it?"

"I suspect it is, Benny," Ellie said as sleep gripped her in its arms. "I'm beginning to suspect it is."

Benny watched her silently for the longest time. He watched the swell of her breasts until her breathing slowed, and he knew she was asleep. After a time, he covered her with a blanket, secured the berth, and left her. Let her sleep, he reasoned. Maybe rest will restore her. But as he went to his own birth he couldn't help but think that Ellie Lewis would never be whole again.

****

"Benny, why do I work as a prostitute?" Ellie asked sadly, her eyes downcast. It was morning. They were drinking a New Colony version of coffee, a bitter brew called Kuva that tasted terrible but still managed to please the senses. Benny had brought it from the cafeteria in two thick mugs.

Ellie saw that Benny was uncomfortable with the question, but he was powerless to avoid it. She had come to realize that she had a power over him, and though it left her with a tinge of guilt, she felt obliged to use it. He squirmed in his seat, not wishing to answer.

"Benny," Ellie said, pressing.

"You are not working as a prostitute," he said, sounding as if the words had been pushed out of him. "You are serving your sentence."

Ellie was too stunned to speak.

"The New Colony is ruled by the Mission Controller, a person blessed with a Sacred Name, and granted power in the name of the Lords of Mercury," he explained. "The current Controller is a woman, Her Excellency Wilma Schirra. She wields the power; she possesses the name and authority."

"What does that have to do with me?" Ellie asked woodenly.

"They say you disgraced her son, the chosen successor."

"How did I do that?"

"They say you--seduced him."

"I what?"

"Benny does not believe any of it, Ellie," Benny said hurriedly, "but you must remember your last name is Lewis. It is not a Sacred Name, nor is mine for that matter. In that, we are like The Two. For us and those like us, the New Colony can be a very unpleasant place. The fundamentalists would have us all thrown to the Nazgul if they had their way, or return to the dark years of slavery, or at the very least banished to the wastelands beyond the Outer Territories. But there are those who don't agree. Those who would like to see the colony ruled by reason and truth, not superstition. The balance of power is fragile. Very fragile."

"That's all very interesting, Benny, but it's just more bullshit to me. Tell me, how did I come to seduce the Mission Controller's son?"

"You have never told Benny exactly, but..."

"But what?"

"Given what you have hinted and what Benny has learned from the whispering of others, Benny can imagine."

"Tell me what you know, Benny."

Benny gulped. "You are sure of this?"

She looked at him with stone cold eyes, and Benny knew that this wonderfully stubborn woman would not be denied. And as Ellie listened, the final pieces fell into place. Her mind opened, and she remembered the horror and the heartache. She remembered it all, and the truth made her shake with unbridled emotion...


It was the eve of Slayton's Day, and there was to be a grand party. The Great House was alive with activity. All the servants were working fervently in preparation. Ellie Lewis was there, fresh from a communal farm in the Outer Territories. She worked hard that first day, hoping to build a better life in the rarefied heights of the New Colony.
That was where he first saw her: lithe, beautiful and naive, the perfect ornament for the Great House. She was fussing over the long table that would celebrate the feast that evening. His name was Virgil Schirra, the only child of the Mission Controller, the next in line to rule.

He was a young man with everything: the looks, the shrewd personality, the iron will to rule the restless colony. And rule he would someday, but for the moment, as his eyes beheld the young, enticing image of Ellie Lewis, he knew he had something sweeter to conquer.

Was it rape? Or simple seduction? Was he an evil monster, corrupting the fruit of the colony, or was she a common temptress? The truth did not matter, for Ellie would be in the wrong no matter what the facts revealed. Virgil Schirra got what he wanted, but never did he dream he would contract a virulent disease that night. It was a disease of the heart that no man can ever conquer, for it was illusive as the stars, illusive as the Nazgul. It was a disease called love.


"Oh, God," Ellie moaned, clutching her hands to her chest. Tears quickly filled her eyes and spilled in a mournful cascade down her cheeks.

"I remember it all, Benny," she said in a whispered gasp. “I remember it all!"

Benny sat silently, waiting, feeling entirely helpless.

"He loved me," she said. "He wasn't supposed to, he never dreamt to. My virginity was a prize. That was all I was to him. A prize for him to selfishly take. But he fell in love with me, I without a sacred name, and God forgive me, I fell in love with him!"

She looked out into the distance and shuddered. It looked to Benny as if she had forgotten he was in the room, forgotten everything except a tragic memory now sadly remembered.

"He found a place for us, a secret hidden place near the edge of the colony," she continued. "It was just a small cottage with an enclosed courtyard, but I was happy there. He came when he could. Always alone. Since his mother was healthy and would rule the colony for many more years, Virgil's duties were light. No one was supposed to know. No one!"

Ellie's face became ashen as her memory deepened. "It all began to unravel after the birth of Emily. She was born at the cottage. There was a doctor there, thank God, one sworn to secrecy on pain of The Reckoning. And he was a good man, but Emily--she, she was not perfect. There was something wrong with her leg. It was deformed, twisted. She would never be normal. Virgil was devastated...

"Our fantasy of domestic bless continued for three years. We began to fight about Emily. His mother, the colony, would never accept her, but I pretended that someday reason would rule, and we would become a real family. I was such a fool! One night, when he was away, the police came for us. They took Emily and dragged me off to jail. I never saw her or Virgil again."

Ellie was quiet, remembering her grief. "In secret I was summoned before The High Commissioner. I was called the defiler of the royal seed--not worthy to live. I was condemned to be cast out during The Reckoning. But first I would have to suffer.

"In the tradition of The Two, I would be allowed to live two more cycles. Then, on the first night of the third Reckoning, I would be cast out to be taken by the Nazgul. Until then, I was commanded live like a whore. I was given a place here to sleep by day, but during the night, I would be all that was dirty, all that was vile!"

"This is your second Reckoning here," Benny said.

Ellie nodded. "On the next one, I die." She took a sip of her drink, looking deep into the depths of the black liquid as if it were a magic ball. "I accepted my fate. I told them I would go willingly to my death, as long as they spared my Emily. And I thought they would. After all, she was half the blood of Virgil!"

"The brace," Benny said.

"Yes, the brace," Ellie replied. She began to cry. "Oh! Oh, God! Emily! My sweet, dear Emily!" she wailed and fell into Benny's comforting arms.


The New Colony was a pure land, a land prepared by the survivors of the Great Disaster for the Lords of Mercury to return. Those not up to the task faced the Nazgul. That was the law.

If a stranger were to walk the streets of the New Colony, he would notice two things. First, for a community as old as the colony, the population was not very large. Even taking the farming land of the Outer Territories into consideration, the entire human population of this healthy planet seventy odd light years from Earth, was not more than 77,000 souls.

And the second thing one would notice is that he would encounter no one with a disability. No one blind. No one deaf. No one with a missing limb or other disfigurement. No one in a wheel chair. No one on crutches. No one without a sacred name over seventy-seven years old.

And more importantly, no little girls with a metal brace on her leg, no matter whose blood flowed in their veins.

It was just the way of this world.

One teeming planet whose population was limited to a mere 77,000 when millions could have thrived with room for more. One planet who worship the seven Lords of Mercury. One planet with seven seemingly immortal Nazgul to feed on those not perfect, those cast out, those who dared question the why of it all. The New Colony once could easily argue, was nothing more than a quaint subdivision of Hell...