| A MetaFictional Epic (and work in progress) by Joseph Kerrick |
| Chapter 1: FRUSTRATIONS AND FANTASIES There was hardly ever a rush hour any more, and traffic flowed smoothly on the Golden Gate Bridge at 5:30 PM. One of the northbound cars was driven by a man named Kirk, whose career as a software designer for a major media enterprise in the City had begun a couple of years before things had changed so drastically. He could still remember fretting and fuming in the hideous gridlock. Now the drive was smoother, but life was more precarious in many other ways. Kirk was listening to the news. The well-modulated voice of the female announcer could have been chanting a lullaby to soothe children, though she was saying: "There has not yet been a terrorist attack today, but no one is ready to breathe a sigh of relief, since catastrophic attacks occurred on today’s date in each of the last two years. On May 4, 2022, oil and gas pipelines and aqueducts were dynamited in strategic locations throughout the western states, resulting in a months-long impact on the lives of a hundred million people. Then last year, May 4th was marked by the global-scale irruption of the so-called 'Riotous' computer virus, which disabled so many key systems in government institutions and the private sector that it certainly lived up to its name -- riots occurred in many countries because of the extended breakdown of survival- level services." *God*, thought Kirk, *it's been over two years since I got laid!* The news story had triggered the memory that his last relationship had ended shortly before the first May 4th attack. He was now 29 years old, and the most terror-laden thing in his immediate life was the prospect of reaching his next birthday as a loveless, lonely sexual reject. He switched stations and found some brittle techno-pop to match his mood. It sounded like they were doing an evil post-punk parody of the classic hippie anthem which all succeeding generations loved to hate. "This is the dawning. . ." rasped the vocalist as if his throat were being slit while spewing out the words. Then the refrain was repeated over and over to the raucous sounds of heavy machinery and metal-wrenching devastation: ". . . of the Age of Aquarius, the Age of. . . ." But wait a minute -- Kirk listened more closely, and realized that the old lyric had been changed, or perhaps updated. The performer was actually singing (or howling): "This is the dawning of the Age of ASTARIUS, the Age of Astarius. . . ." So it was that Kirk was momentarily distracted from his own natal-phobia as he recalled that May 4th was supposed to be the birthday of a mysterious personage named Astarius, who was believed by some to be the Antichrist. A more popular theory was that the name was a convenient pseudonym for a cluster of neo-apocalyptic documents which had been circulating on the Internet for some years, probably authored by any number of isolated crackpots. No one outside these circles had ever heard of Astarius, until some unknown bunch of disgruntled nuts had decided to launch a terror attack in his honor. A half-hour later Kirk got off the freeway at the town of San Rafael, where he lived. The area was still considered upscale, but now it was much more of a sliding scale than it used to be just a few short years ago. Today was Thursday, and he decided to stop downtown and hang out at the weekly farmers' market and street festival. It was a good place to meet women -- or as good a place as he could hope to find, given what he sometimes ruefully thought of as his congenital geekiness: a tragic and possibly incurable birth defect. In a condominium not far away, a woman named Jennifer was also preparing to go to the street festival. She was very pretty and well-proportioned, yet she too was frustrated and dissatisfied with her love life. In her case, there was no lack of suitors -- if we may use such an anachronistic word for men salivating for her affection. The problem was that none of them were up to snuff; even the glamorous hunks invariably turned up fallow, either in bed or in the simple ability to form an emotional bond, or both. Complicating this problem was Jennifer's fear that she may have chosen the wrong career. She had an artistic flair, and had hoped to express it in the lucratic realm of advertising. But now, even though her company was one of a select few that remained afloat in the economic depression that had gripped the world for the past five years, she was having a terrible time staying focused on her work, or even interested in it. Sheer boredom and ennui made it increasingly difficult for her to drag herself through the monotony of her workaday life. The TV was on as she rummaged through the closet for something to wear for what she feared would be yet another fruitless expedition into no-man's land. "Aren't there any good men left in the world?" she complained aloud. At that moment a male voice on the tube said the name "Astarius". This snagged her attention like a fishhook or a nettle on a bush. She looked at the screen and saw a map of the United States and Canada; most of the turf was colored a dull yellow, but the land was rent with violent red gashes in several places. The voice-over explained that these were enclaves ruled by lawless bands of domestic terrorists and home-grown warlords. The largest bloody blotch was an unsightly amoeba in the northwest, with pseudopods treackling out through Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, British Columbia, and Alberta. "Here," said the announcer, "is the biggest nest of terrorist factions. Many of them are white supremacists who claim that they have 'liberated' the region from government control, and declared themselves to be a separatist republic which they call 'Thule'. Some congressmen have called for the use of tactical nuclear weapons and 'smart bombs' to rid the area of this infestation, but the protests of local residents and lawmakers have so far prevented this extreme option from being implemented. Those in favor of drastic military action cite the claims of certain terrorists that their leader is the man called Astarius, whom some also credit as the mastermind behind the May 4th attacks of the last two years. In rebuttal of the government assertion that no such person exists, a communique appeared on a terrorist website saying: 'Astarius is alive and well and living in Thule'. The Secretary of State refused to comment when questioned about this issue at a recent news conference." A commercial came on, and Jennifer turned back to the closet. *Hmm,* she thought, *maybe I should wear my bright red mini-dress with the fluted skirt. Or would that be too extreme for the farmers' market?* She tried it on and found that it still fit perfectly -- despite her bouts with emotional depression, she had not gained an ounce of extraneous weight. To maximize her southern exposure, Jennifer slipped into transluscent white thong panties. She was aroused at the very sight of herself in the mirror -- she lightly rubbed her pubic region with one hand, and carressed her bare derriere with the other. *Do I really want to go out in this?* she thought; *I'm nearly naked, and maybe a little bit past the legal limit.* The television interrupted her thoughts again in a timely manner. On the screen appeared a montage of family-album photographs of women, all of them young and pretty. The voice-over said, "These are a few of the missing persons who are believed to be kidnap victims of terrorists holed up in the lawless areas of North and South America. Experts speculate that the predators want to replenish their numbers over several generations, and so they are abducting fertile young women and forcing them into sexual slavery." Jennifer gasped at the horror of it, and her heart leapt in compassion for the hapless girls. But then something clicked in her head, as if the channel had been changed with a remote control. She had switched into erotic mode, and now the plight of the nubile young abductees seemed infinitely stimulating. She imagined herself to be one of them, with ski-masked terrorists storming into her condo, tying her up, and carrying her off to the barbarian stronghold. She had an urge to lie down and masturbate, but resisted it in the interests of getting to the street festival. *Who knows*, she thought, *maybe some terrorists will be stalking around incognito*. She laughed at her little joke, slipped the long strap of a small purse over her shoulder, and sauntered out the door. Chapter 2: LE JONGLEUR Kirk was sauntering down Fourth Street, looking decidely less sexy than Jennifer. He had come to San Rafael two years before the worldwide blowout in 2017, and thus could remember when the street fest and farmers' market was a genteel affair of well-heeled Bobos and their spoiled children -- the little ones as well as the sulky teens and twenty-somethings with their nose-rings, tattoos, and dreadlocks. The "farmers" at the event in those first couple of years were mostly Latinos peddling actual produce from their family plots, supplemented by a healthy dollop of sophisticated entrepreneurs striving to become the next Ben & Jerry with their organic blackberry pies, patented pasta salads, and other gourmet delicacies. Now, however, in these leaner and meaner times, many of the former high-rollers had slid down a slippery slope to the point where they had converted their gargantuan manicured lawns and flower gardens into farmland for sheer survival. Now the irony had come full circle, as the bourgeoisie collapsed back into peasantry, and the erstwhile bohemians were scrambling to keep body and soul together. It was sad to see people in tattered finery standing behind counters stocked with scraggly vegetables, haggling desperately over pennies, perhaps ruefully remembering their bygone profligacy and extensive credit lines. Kirk's new clothes and casual demeanor marked him as one of the few who were still prosperous, and thus he became the target of many piteous or aggressive efforts to get him to buy the wares of the merchants. He enveloped himself with a mental cloak of invisibility, and simply kept walking along, oblivious to it all. At length he found something that caught his interest: a man and a woman in costume were preparing some kind of performance in the town square, and a crowd of onlookers was gathering in an expectant semi-circle. Kirk wormed his way to a front-line spot and got a close- up look at the couple as they laid out a series of props. They were both dressed in colorful spandex bodysuits; that of the man was cerulean blue emblazened with a pattern of golden suns. One of them was positioned exactly on his groin, giving the impression that the clearly- visible shape of his phallus was generating the solar light and fire. A higher sun was over his heart, and a third formed a collar around the hole where his head stuck out. Smaller suns radiated up and down his well-muscled arms and legs. The woman was a stunning platinum blonde who made Kirk gasp at his first good look. Her tights were black, bedecked with shimmering stars and planets. On her crotch was a big silver moon, and Kirk practically had apoplexy when he looked closely and beheld the perfectly-limned shape of her vaginal lips, as if inviting the male viewer to kiss her in this intimate region. Evidently she had shaved her pubis to provide a better view through the all-revealing lycra. Furthermore, over each nipple was a silver star -- *the better to see you with*, thought Kirk, as he stood there falling madly in lust with the lady thinly cloaked in the raiment of the night sky. Soon everything was ready. The man mounted a unicycle, and stood there pedalling in place with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. The woman did a pirouette ending with a presenting gesture at him, and said in a resonant voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, children and puppydogs, people and sheeple, gods and ghosts and all sentient beings: I proudly present the master of balance and lord of light, his incendiary majesty APOLLO -- le jongleur extraordinaire!" The man was impassive for a moment, then did a double-take saying, "Who, me?", and pretended to fall off the unicycle. He went into a snappy comic routine with feet on the ground, which quickly won the empathy of the entire assemblage, even Kirk -- and especially Jennifer, who had come along and joined the crowd on the other side of the circle. In the course of the performance Apollo remounted the unicycle and juggled tenpins, hoops, and flaming torches while pedalling round and round; but what impressed Jennifer even more than his balance was his sheer mastery of the audience. He got ordinary nerdy people to assist him in such things as tossing him hoops and holding the lighted torches, encouraged when necessary by his comely female assistant, whom he called Diana. She joined in the juggling at strategic moments, as they tossed torches back and forth, he from his mobile perch on the unicycle and she from the ground. The couple went into a routine where they elicited the assistance of children. Jennifer was amazed to see overly-protective Bobo parents get charmed into allowing their kids to be taken up into the arms of Apollo as he did seemingly dangerous stunts on the unicycle. Every one of them was set back down upon the ground unharmed, sometimes to the notable relief of their clearly ambivalent fathers and mothers. Then Apollo said, "Now I need an adult volunteer. Any takers?" A number of people raised their hands, some of them timidly, some eagerly. Most of them were women, including -- to her own surprise and embarrassment -- Jennifer. Apollo's eyes scanned around the crowd and stopped at her, then looked her up and down. "Are you sure you want to?" he asked. She said, "Yes!" in a voice so loud that for a moment she thought it came from someone else. He beckoned her to him, talked to her in a reassuring way, then stooped down and instructed her to climb onto his shoulders. "Now wait a minute!" she said, but he was so self-confident and persuasive that in the end she obeyed. Diana took her hand for a moment to steady her as Apollo stood up, and then there she was looking down at the crowd, with his head between her thighs and her bottom being displayed as he pranced around. She was so aroused that she was sure she would have an orgasm, if only she weren't also mortified at being made such a spectacle! "Okay", said Apollo theatrically, "now we ascend to the next level." Diana handed him the unicycle. "No!" said Jennifer. "You're not going to ride that thing with me up here!" "Listen," he said imperiously, "if you don't want to fall, just hang on." He raised his right hand over his head, and without thinking she grasped it for dear life. In the next second there was an *oomph* and a smooth elevation, and suddenly the view was two and a half feet higher. Apollo held up his left hand now, and Jennifer took it with hers. And there they were, circling around the inside fringe of the crowd, Apollo pedalling the unicycle and Jennifer riding on his shoulders. She was exhilarated while still terrified of falling, but gradually it was all whelmed up in the realization that she was ABSOLUTELY HELPLESS to do anything but hang onto his hands and maintain her seat on his shoulders. Obviously he was comfortable pedalling around down there, and could keep going as long as he liked -- and she was completely at his mercy. If she tried to wriggle loose or protest, she would fall. And of course she was powerless to conceal her flagrantly exposed body from the rivetted gaze of the entire throng. After what seemed an eternity, the ride ended and Apollo let her down, assisted by Diana. He thanked Jennifer and added, "If you ever need a lift again, just let me know." The crowd laughed and applauded, and Jennifer returned to the ranks of the audience, feeling almost like she was slipping out of the arms of her lover after a passionate fuck. Apollo got back on the unicycle and wheeled hither and thither as an acrobatic dancing partner to Diana's ballet steps. Suddenly she swooped up onto him, stepping into his cupped hands and alighting on his shoulders. Jennifer blushed at how clumsy she must have looked by comparison. Then, carefully but gracefully, Diana stood up on Apollo's shoulders and he pedalled around in circles and figure-eights to the wild applause of the crowd. Jennifer recalled that she had seen similar performances in the circus, but here it seemed more spectacular, probably because it was so close-up and intimate. The two of them capped it off with a tandem juggling act on the unicycle. Chapter 3: THE WORLD AND THE WAY IT WOULD BE When the show was over Jennifer milled around with the crowd, debating whether to seek further conversation with Apollo. He and Diana were packing their equipment into a vehicle; several people approached them in turn, and the pair had lively interactions with everyone. She was just about to step forward when a male voice said, "Hi, Jenny." It was a perfectly commonplace thing to happen, but Jennifer jumped with a start, so intensely had she been focusing on Apollo. She turned and said, "Oh hi, Kirk." "I loved your performance," said Kirk with a smirk. "Um, thanks, I guess." "Best bareback ride I've seen since Lady Godiva." "You prick!" "I wish I had HIS prick," said Kirk shrugging nonchalantly in the direction of Apollo. "You noticed it too," said Jennifer. "It's hard not to, with those tights. But of course it's not just a matter of size." "Right, I remember from our relationship that you're well hung." She sighed as Apollo vanished from sight around the side of his vehicle, a medium-sized RV. They were probably leaving -- she had missed her chance. "So what has he got that I haven't got?" said Kirk. "You know damned well," said Jennifer, "even if there isn't an exact word for it." "Machismo, charisma, panache, Yang." "Yeah, that's it! See, you do know." They walked together down the street amidst the crowd, which was still swarming liesurely along through the street festival. They sat at an outdoor table in the food-service area, and talked about the forlorn state of their respective lives. The mutual sob-session picked up their spirits a little, and after awhile Jennifer said, "Y'know, it's really ironic -- here we are bitching when we already have what so many other people are desperately trying to get: good jobs, reasonable security, decent places to live." Kirk looked like he felt a twinge of guilt. But then he jutted out his chin, looked her in the eye, and said: "I'd give it all up in an instant if I could get what I really want instead." "And just what is that?" she asked ironically. "Love?" "Well, yes -- but REAL love, sexual love. A permanent relationship with a beautiful, high-calibre woman." "Like maybe, ahem, Diana?" "Yep. And tit for tat: what has she got that you haven't got?" Jennifer flushed momentarily with anger and jealousy, but then became suddenly deflated and looked depressed again. "You're right," she said, almost crying. "If Apollo has more Yang than you, then Diana sure has lots more Yin than me. I'm nothing but a skin-deep tease and amateur tart." "Aw, I'm sorry," said Kirk; "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." He pulled his chair next to hers, and they sat each with one arm around the other, partially comforted by the memory of past warmth. At length Jenny said, "So what's a couple of losers like us to do in this bad ol' world?" "Hmm -- would YOU give up your nice, safe life for somebody like Apollo?" "Would I ever!" "Hold on -- I mean if it were REAL, and not just fantasy. What if you had to suffer and go through rugged training and take life-and-death risks?" "Damn you, Kirk, you have a way of spoiling everything! Okay, I guess I'd be kind of scared to do that in actual hardcore reality, but. . . well, if he were really the right man, and really wanted me, he wouldn't take no for an answer!" Kirk laughed and pinched her ass. "You fucker!" she squeeled, and almost slapped him, but couldn't help laughing herself. She kissed him on the cheek and they both stood up. "It does help to have friends you can talk to," said Kirk. "Yes. I'm glad I ran into you." "Should we press our luck?" "You mean a date? No offense, Kirk, but neither of us needs another run through that mill. Good friendships depend on knowing just where to draw the line." He sighed. "I guess you're right. Well, see you around." "Good night." They walked off in different directions, and neither of them noticed that they were being observed by another couple standing casually on the other side of a knot of people hanging out. Apollo and Diana exchanged a knowing look. He nodded silently toward the retreating figure of Kirk, and she immediately set off and followed him, while he himself strode purposefully after Jennifer. Chapter 4: SLEIGHT OF HAND AND EYE Kirk strolled aimlessly around the festival for a bit before heading back to his car. At a busy crosswalk he was surprised to see Diana. She had evidently slipped a miniskirt over her tights, giving the illusion of decency; but it was slit on both sides, and thus looked sort of like a loincloth. It stimulated Kirk to a slavering voyeuristic lust, even more than had the sight of the lycra-limned labia which the skirt now concealed. Diana was handing out fliers to the passersby. He approached her and took one, and was surprised again when she held eye contact with him for a long moment, as if trying to communicate a telepathic message. He glanced at the flier. It advertised an appearance of Apollo and Diana at the Sonoma County Fair the following month. She said, "Do you ever get up to Sonoma?" He was nervous, and stuttered: "Um, yeah, well, sometimes." Then he collected himself and said, "Heck, to see you I'll make a special trip!" She broke into a wide smile that warmed the cockles of Kirk's heart -- as well as the heartles of his cock. "How sweet!" she said. Then she appeared to do a double-take, and exclaimed: "Oh, you're Kirk -- I know you!" Now Kirk was flabbergasted. "How do you know me?" Diana smiled slyly. "Let's just say we have a mutual friend. Or maybe I'm psychic!" "I believe it," said Kirk. "Maybe it's no accident that you were here today and we met. Do you believe in Higher Power, destiny, divine intervention -- y'know, that sort of thing?" "I think I'm beginning to!" Kirk was thrilled to be the object of Diana's attention; he felt swept up in her powerful positive energy with its luscious erotic component. "Here, let's talk for a moment, okay?" She beckoned to a couple of chairs on the sidewalk, and sat him down facing her. She took both of his hands in hers and spoke while looking directly into his eyes. He felt like he was in some kind of magnetic loop and couldn't look away or remove his hands even if he had wanted to -- but of course he didn't want to. He wanted the magical moment with this glorious female creature to last forever. "Kirk," she said, "Apollo and I are not just itinerant performers. We're part of something bigger, a whole movement of people who are unhappy with the way life is lived in this society." It took him a few heartbeats to digest this strange news, and then he said, "I'm unhappy with it too, but. . . like, well, what can you do about it? Life is life." "No! Life DOESN'T have to be this way. Human beings were NOT meant to live like robots in a mechanical hive. This civilization is not natural -- in fact, it's an abomination on the face of the Earth." He was stunned by her intensity, and said: "All right, I feel exactly that way myself sometimes, especially after a bad day at work. But again, what can we do about it? We can't just opt out of civilization -- I mean, it's all of a piece, all over the world." "NOT ANY MORE." She was blazing with energy as she said this -- he could see the glow of a fiery aura around her, even though he was utterly unpsychic himself. He was so shaken that he would have fallen out of the chair if she hadn't been holding him. She evidently perceived this, and switched to a softer tone: "Kirk, there ARE people who have opted out -- lots of us. We're building new communities, real ones, human ones. They're not primitive at all, but they're much closer to nature than anything you've ever known." "And. . . you live there? I mean, when you're not travelling around?" "Yes. I know this must all seem strange to you, but are you interested in finding out more?" He felt afraid and uncertain. He broke eye contact, but she tightened her grip on his hands, and he looked at her again. "Listen," she said, "we're going to be in town for another day or two. Would you like to get together tomorrow?" "You mean, you and me and Apollo?" "No. Just the two of us." "Yes, I'd love to! Here, I'll give you my address and phone number." He fumbled a pen and paper out of his pocket, and scribbled the information. "I'm usually back from work by six, or six-thirty at the latest. Is that okay? If not, I can take the day off, it's no big deal." "The evening will be better for me. Seven-thirty?" "Yes, that'll be perfect." She took his hands again and said, "Breathe with me. Do you know how to do that? Just match your breaths with mine." "Okay." They sat with their eyes melded and their breath in sync, and Kirk began to feel an overwhelming sensation. He suddenly discovered that he had a full erection, a state that was highly unusual for him in any situation other than being naked in bed with a woman, or masturbating. People were flowing past them on the sidewalk, but he became blissfully unaware of the presence of anyone except Diana. The dyadic vibration built up to a crescendo, and they went into a mutual spasm of rapid, heavy breathing, all the while maintaining eye contact. Kirk felt himself being pulled into the eyes of Diana as into a cyclone -- but it was a warm and joyful maelstrom. If only he could let go of himself and be swept wholly into the vortex, he would be in ecstasy forever. Diana blinked, and the feeling began to fade. Kirk realized that what he had just experienced was possibly the greatest pleasure he had ever known -- even in sex. "Psychic orgasm," said Diana. "Did you like it?" Kirk sat speechlessly agape. She laughed, and took something out of a small satchel which she had at her feet. She handed him what looked like a magazine and said, "This booklet has the basic message. Maybe you'll find it interesting. See you tomorrow." It was all he could do to raise his hand and say, "Bye!" When he finally lost sight of her in the crowd, he looked at the publication. The title was in large letters in a dramatic font: *THE RAM OF GOD*. "Now who or what is the Ram of God?" he thought. He opened it up to the first page and saw the name "Astarius". Chapter 5: MAGIC MANTRA As Jennifer walked back up the street through the crowd, she noticed that Apollo's RV was still parked in its spot. Her heart leapt -- he was still here! She approached the vehicle; there was no one in the cab, and the rear doors were closed. Sooner or later he would have to return; she waited, trying to look like she was doing other things. She browsed the nearby vendors' tables and pottered around, and soon the striking figure of Apollo came striding down the street. Throwing pretense to the winds, she intercepted him and said, "Hi." "Well, if it isn't my beautiful riding partner," he said. "Do you want to audition for a permanent role in the act?" "I'm not talented enough -- at least not at that kind of stuff." "So what do you do?" "I'm an artist for an ad agency." "Sounds like fun." "It's not -- well, not any more. I need a change -- something more challenging, and less. . ." "Commercial?" "Right." She was going to say "slutty", but had hesitated. "What kind of artwork do you do exactly?" "Here, I'll show you an example." She led him across the street to the Rafael Theatre, the local art cinema. It was Classic Science Fiction Week, and below a marquee-poster for *The Day the Earth Stood Still* was a small ad framed in glass. It featured a stylized painting of the theatre against a melodramatic background of searchlights and stars. "This ad appears in most of their promotional literature," said Jennifer. "That's a fine rendering," said Apollo. "I mean, given the nature of the medium. Have you ever tried your hand at something purely creative?" "Yes, but it was always a botch. I have the technical skill, but not the vision and motivation." "Hmm. And what would it take to inspire you?" In her mind she shouted: *YOU!* Aloud, she said, "If I knew, I'd be a real artist instead of an ad slut. Oops, that time I said it!" Apollo laughed gently. "Don't be so hard on yourself -- you're doing your best to survive, just like everyone else stuck in this rat's nest of a society. You're not aware of any alternatives." "You mean like alternative cultures? My parents took me to 'Burning Man' when I was twelve, and I got a load of the bohos -- and lots of other people into all kinds of bizarre lifestyles and weird trips. After that one creepy week in the desert, I knew that none of that stuff was for me." "No, that's not what I mean. Have you ever thought about how our ancestors lived?" "Ancestors? Which ones? I mean, how far back?" "Far enough to live naturally but not as primitives or brutes." "So do you live like that yourself?" "Yes, and so do a lot of other people. We do it together." "You have a. . . a commune?" "We have a country." Jennifer was utterly nonplussed. Apollo looked at his watch and said, "Uh-oh, I have to run. But I'll still be in town tomorrow. Would you like to get together and, um, talk some more?" "Yow, I sure would! Where can we meet? Or would you like to just come to my place? It's right near here." "Why, thank you for the invitation -- I'll be delighted. Would the early evening be all right? About 7:30?" "That'll be wonderful!" She gave him her number and address. "Okay. Sorry to rush off like this, but we have to get rolling by nine PM." "Do you have to be somewhere else tonight?" "Nope, just away from the downtown area." "But why?" He looked over her shoulder and said, "Klaatu barado niktu." "Huh?" He gestured at the marquee. "Have you ever seen that flick?" "'The Day the Earth Stood Still'? I love it! Oh -- what you just said was the secret code that Michael Renee told the heroine so that she could activate the robot to rescue him." "Right! Would you like to try some magic?" "Magic? Like what?" "At exactly 9:12, say aloud 'Klaatu barado niktu'." "You're serious?" He nodded, and she said, "Okay, I feel silly, but I will. At 9:12. Can you say the words one more time so that I'll be sure I have it right?" He did, and she repeated it after him: "Klaatu barado niktu, Klaatu barado niktu. Oh my God, this is exactly like that scene in the movie!" He said, "You ain't seen nothin' yet!" Then with a wink, he turned and loped up the street toward his vehicle. Jennifer peered after him, and saw that Diana was waiting for him. They were obviously in a great hurry as they got into the RV, and Apollo drove it swiftly away down a side street. Jennifer went back to the town square, where she had ridden on Apollo's shoulders in the performance. Now a band was playing electronic music there, and a lot of people were dancing, dining, or just hanging out. Feeling foolish, she found a seat and waited for 9:12 PM. Her watch was very accurate. When the moment approached she felt awkward about saying the words aloud in the midst of the other people; but then she thought of Apollo, and in a loud, sonorous chant she said again: "Klaatu barado niktu!" All the lights went out and the music stopped. After a long, deafening second of deathly silence, the plaza was suddenly filled with shouts of alarm, cries of astonishment, and the wailing screams of children. After a minute or two of pitch- black pandemonium, there came loud voices saying: "Police officers! Everyone stay calm! Stand or sit where you are! Everything will be all right if no one panics!" Then the cops started shining their flashlights hither and thither, and sirens could be heard nearby. Soon a floodlight mounted on a vehicle was shone onto the plaza, and a modicum of order was restored as frantic parents searched for their children. Jennifer had sat rivetted to her seat through the whole thing, her mind in a tumult of roiling thoughts: *He knew this was going to happen! How did he know? What made it happen? Somebody must have done it on purpose! Who did it? Why did they do it? And how did Apollo know?* Someone in the crowd had a radio tuned into the news, or perhaps an emergency bandwidth. They turned up the volume in the public interest, as an announcer was saying: ". . . massive power failure throughout the entire Western United States. Government sources have not yet had time to make an official announcement, but this is clearly an act of terrorism. And while it's impossible at this moment to know, or even to imagine, who could have sabotaged the infrastructure on such an unprecedented scale, the timing certainly points to the shadowy network claiming allegiance to Astarius." Chapter 6: LEAP OF FAITH Kirk dressed in his casual best for his date. . . er, meeting with Diana. She arrived exactly at 7:30, and when he opened the door his heart immediately began to palpitate (along with other parts of his anatomy) at the sight of her. She was wearing a thin blouse with deep cleavage, showing off her large breasts even better than the bodysuit had done. Her skirt was almost knee-length, but it had a long slit partially toward the front, and as she walked across the room and sat down, Kirk caught little flashes of white panties. She was shod in high-top pumps with short but spiky heels. The sexiest thing about her, though, was her aura -- she veritably radiated erotic energy. They hadn't got past the first couple of spins of idle chit-chat when he realized that he was becoming seriously aroused. It was clearly visible beneath his thin summer pants, and he felt embarrassed -- he wasn't accustomed to such a situation when he and the girl were still clothed and hadn't even touched each other. He made an involuntary movement with his hand to try to cover it, then clumsily took the hand away. Diana giggled in a way that made him feel reassured rather than ashamed; then she glanced at his erection and gave him an incredibly provocative smile. Suddenly he felt every inch a man. "When did you get your power back?" she asked. He was about to reply, *The moment I saw you,* but then realized that she was talking about the electricity. "Just about an hour ago," he said. "That was the longest outage here in years, but even so, we're lucky. On TV they said that most of the West is still blacked out. Isn't that an incredible thing?" "Yes, and I have a feeling there'll be even more serious breakdowns to come." This seemed to confirm his worst fear. She was connected with the Astarius group, whom the authorities blamed for yesterday's attack. Could this beautiful, sexy, scintillating woman be a terrorist? "I read your booklet," he said -- "*The Ram of God*." She smiled. "Any comments?" "Well, Part One has a pretty interesting poly-sci analysis, and some nice turns of phrase. Then there's also a strong -- what would you call it? -- mythological element." "That's a good thing to call it. Of course, some myths have a deep truth all their own." "Yes, I recognize that. Anyway, Part Two struck me as a really strange amalgam of stimulating erotic writing, poetically-expressed spiritual ideas, and violent, hell-raising rhetoric. I honestly don't know what to make of it." "If only you could see it as all of a piece, you'd understand." "So there is a real, cohesive philosophy behind it?" "Yes, but it's not just intellectual. It's visceral, integral, all-encompassing. *The Ram of God* is a natural expression of a worldview that's so different from the mainstream that average people think it's weird. Well, WE think the mainstream view is weird, and perverse, and degenerate. And sometimes all it takes is a simple, basic paradigm-shift for a person to switch from one to the other -- from 'it' to US." Kirk whistled. "And what does it take to make such a shift." "Some people do it intellectually, some morally -- and some sexually." "Sexually?" "Sex is pretty basic, don't you think?" "Um. . . yeah!" "Kirk, would you like to make love with me?" "Wow, I sure would! Er, that is, I mean. . . ." "Don't be shy. Let's just do it." And they did. Diana got up from her chair, sat in Kirk's lap, and kissed him on the lips. They made deep, mutual penetration with their tongues -- and from that point on, Kirk's body, and many of his long-repressed instincts, took over. His inhibitions melted away like butter on a red- hot griddle. He manhandled Diana in a way that shocked the remaining vestiges of his conscious mind. He squeezed her and kneaded her like silly putty, and all the while she gasped and sighed and moaned, clearly enjoying every outrageous violation. He literally tore off her clothes, and when he stopped for an instant, astounded at his own excess, she encouraged him: "Don't worry about it -- I've got lots more. That's what they're for! I mean, what good is a slinky dress if a man doesn't rip it off?" Kirk's eyeballs rolled, and he became possessed by a primal frenzy. He picked up Diana, tossed her over his shoulder, carried her into the bedroom, and threw her down on his bed. He ripped off his own clothes, and pounced on her. His protruberant prick quickly wormed its way into her salivating pussy, and in a trice he was humping away like gangbusters. She seemed to be utterly bereft of her conscious senses as she gyrated rhythmically under his thrusts -- yet somehow she managed to grab hold of the hair at the back of his head, and caused him to open his eyes and look her in the face. For the first time in his erratic and haphazard love-life, he found himself in eye-contact with a woman in the very act of fucking her. He was astonished at what he saw in the eyes of Diana -- an immense, terrifying secret known only to lovers and to the fully enlightened Avatars of God. In the next reality-shattering instant he fell all the way into her eyes, and was lost to himself forever. Kirk ceased to exist; from now on there was only this timeless, heart-pounding ecstasy of the ONE which is ALL. But then, inexplicably, eternity ran down. Somewhere in the recesses of a vast, gargantuan space, a thought was reverberating off the walls: *Fuck, I guess I shot my wad. . . !* He opened his eyes again, and there was The Woman. He was shaken at the sight of her, for she had melded entirely into him when they had become the Great I AM. Now suddenly here she was again as the Other, in her glorious alterity and femaleness. He reached out and touched her again, and was surprised when his hand encountered solid flesh, rather than passing through a phantasm. "You're real!" he said. She nodded tearfully, and embraced him with convulsive passion. Chapter 7: MASTERPIECE When Apollo came to call on Jennifer, he was not greeted as warmly as Diana had been by Kirk at the same moment across town. As they sat down to talk, Jenny was clearly very troubled. She said, "My company was closed today because of the power blackout. I've been here all day, agonizing about whether or not to call the police." "And why didn't you?" "How do you know I didn't?" "Let's just say I have a hunch." Apollo was smiling benignly and appeared to be at ease -- not at all like someone who was worried that officers might leap from the closet or hallway and arrest him. "Okay, you're right. Anyway, I tried to distract myself by doing some artwork." She showed him a large piece of posterboard on which had been rendered an image in acrylic, inks, and other media which he could not distinguish because they were all so harmoniously blended. It was a picture of a flying saucer that had landed; a hatch was open, and two figures were standing on the silvery rim. It was obviously based on the scene in *The Day the Earth Stood Still*, except that the spaceman was Apollo. He had his helmet under his arm just like Michael Renee as Klaatu, but his spacesuit was as skintight as spandex, and the musculature of his body was painted in vibrant detail, including a full erection. His comrade was not the robot Gort but rather Diana, looking just as exquisite as Apollo. Both of them had radiant auras. The spacecraft was surrounded by the military, just like in the movie, except that here they had heavier weaponry. Tank cannons, missiles, and artillery were all aimed at the two people on the saucer's rim, but they stood there fearlessly. Apollo's right hand was raised, and in its palm was an eye which glowed with a light of its own. The real-life Apollo stared at the painting wide-eyed. After a long scrutiny he said, "This is incredible! I feel. . . humbled to be the subject of such a beautiful piece of work." His manner made it evident that he was completely sincere. "Thank you," said Jennifer. "It's the best thing I've ever done." He looked at her, surprised. "Really?" "I could show you some of the others, the ones I didn't destroy. But they're botches. Even the best of them would look pathetic next to this. This is why I didn't call the cops." Again he appeared startled. She continued: "As impressed as I was by you yesterday, the fact is that I don't really know you. There would have been no logical reason to feel that I was. . . betraying you by telling my suspicions to the police. But when this started to happen" -- she touched the edge of the painting almost reverently -- "I felt I would've been betraying myself." With a gentle touch he got her to sit on the couch next to him. The painting was on the coffee table in front of them. He said, "Would you like to tell me about your fears?" As if responding to a cue, she blurted out: "How did you know in advance about the attack last night?" "Attack?" "C'mon, don't play games. 'Klaatu barado niktu'!" He laughed. "Okay, I guess have to apologize for that. But I'm being completely serious now. To call something an 'attack' implies violent military action. People are assaulted, habitations are bombed." "In the movie, the electricity didn't go off in hospitals or other places where innocent people would have died. Was that true in real life over the past twenty-four hours?" "No. Unfortunately, the technology that could accomplish such a thing is still in the realm of science fiction. Or at least it's beyond our own present capabilities." "'Our'? So you ARE part of the terrorist network that caused the blackout?" "In war, the propagandists on both sides paint the enemy as evil and call them dirty names." She looked puzzled. "What does that have to do with. . . ." She thought for a moment, and said, "Oh -- you mean like 'terrorist'." He nodded. She became distressed. "Apollo, this is not just a matter of semantics or propaganda! Lots of people have died as a direct result of the blackout -- probably thousands." "And how many have died as a direct result of military action by the United States and its so- called allies over the last forty years? Probably millions." "That's not the same thing!" "How so?" "Well, um. . . they're the government, for God's sake!" "They're not MY government. And I know for a fact that they're not acting on the will of God." She looked shocked. "Don't tell me that you're. . . how can I put it without using loaded words? Religious. . . ." "Fanatics? I guess that depends on your own relationship with God." "I've never had a relationship with God, only with real live flesh-and-blood men." "That's what I'm talking about." "Huh?" "I can show you better than I can tell you. Want to see?" He touched her lightly on the thigh, a simple caress -- yet it had an effect on her similar to when the electricity had come back on an hour before, and her apartment had burst into light and sound, dispelling the darkness and uncertainty in one glorious stroke at an unexpected moment. Now she felt as if she had spent her life in the cold and dark, and suddenly the power had returned, and everything would be all right. |
| Chapter 8: THE SECRET SOURCE OF LOVE Jennifer was talented in love-making, and had done it with a lot of men -- but with Apollo she felt as if she were experiencing the act of sexual love for the first time. The feeling was like being embraced by Leviathan and swallowed into the sea. The massive tentacles of the monster somehow forced their way into her vagina, thundered up through her womb and into the quick of her, then fructated all the way up her throat, popped out of her mouth and eye sockets, and sprouted a thousand polyps, each with an eyeball of its own, staring out into the infinite fathoms of the deep. And there she was, skewered like a piece of flotsam, hardwired forever into the belly of the abyss, her neurons resonating with the heartbeat of the planet, or perhaps of the cosmos itself. When she could stand it no longer she screamed for mercy, and suddenly everything dissolved into a shimmering liquiditty of love and languor. Gradually the blob of ecstatic plasma recoagulated into the naked body of Jennifer. She found herself entwined with the magnificent limbs of a man, and after staring into his pellucid blue eyes for a long time, she remembered that his name was Apollo. Now she believed without reservation that he was the original God who had borne that name in Greece, for he had kindled the Sun inside of her. Somewhere far away was a pounding sound. She tuned it out, and pressed her lips to Apollo's, sucking at his tongue to try to recapture some vestige of the fading glory. The sound returned, an urgent hammering. "Jennifer", said Apollo gently, "perhaps you'd better answer the door." With a herculean effort she focused her mind enough to remember the concept of "condo", a place you got into through a "door", and that if someone outside wished to get your attention, they knocked upon the door. She stumbled out of the bed and groped into her robe. "Help me," she said to Apollo -- she could barely stand on her feet. He got up and shimmied into his pants, and they walked arm in arm to the door. Jennifer fumbled it open, and there stood a middle-aged woman with a concerned look on her face. "Oh hi, Margaret," said Jennifer to her neighbor, trying her best to sound casual, but succeeding only in producing a throaty whisper. "Jenny, are you are all right?" asked Margaret, nervously eying Apollo. "I thought I heard you scream." "Who, me?" said Jennifer, sounding genuinely confused. Apollo squeezed her shoulder, looked at her with stern affection, and said, "Well, you did." "I did?" She was so obviously befuddled with love that now Margaret began to smile. Jennifer became slightly more lucid and said, "Gee, I guess I. . . er, we, um, got a little carried away. I apologize for the, uh, noise an' stuff." Now Margaret could hardly suppress a giggle. She said, "Oh, that's no problem at all, believe me, dear! I just wanted to make sure that you were all right. And since obviously you ARE. . . " -- now she glanced up and down at Apollo's body with a twinkle of appreciation and a definite smattering of envy -- "I'm the one who needs to apologize for the intrusion." "Oh, not at all!" said Jennifer. "Thanks, um, for your concern. This is, uh, Apollo." "Pleased to meet you!" said Margaret, smiling almost salaciously as they shook hands. Then she said, "Good night," and vanished swiftly back inside her own doorway. Apollo and Jennifer returned to her bed and cuddled naked together. "What just happened?" she asked. "Your neighbor was worried about you." "No, I mean before that! I know we made love, but. . . wow, I feel like I met God or got abducted by aliens or something. GOOD aliens, that is. Or maybe God himself is an E.T." Apollo carressed her slowly and sensuously as he said, "Maybe. Or maybe God comes to us through the bodies and hearts and souls of our fellow human beings." She thought about this for several long moments as she returned his caress and kissed him. "If that's so," she said at length, "then some human beings are better at embodying God than others." His eyes brightened and he said, "Yes." "No man ever took me where you did just now. What kind of man ARE you, Apollo? I could easily believe that you're some sort of God -- for real." He shook his head. "No, I'm a man all right. I hope it doesn't sound immodest to admit that I have special qualities. . ." "THAT'S for sure! It would be dishonest to deny it." "But I'm still just a human being who has been favored by nature -- by the grace of God or by Dharma, whatever you want to call it." "Are there more where you came from?" "Ah, that's a good question. There are some others who have a quantum of Vril equivalent to mine and Diana's. . . ." "Vril?" "That's our word for the special quality. Not everybody in our community has it, though the percentage is lots higher than here in Electrotopia." "Electro. . . ? Oh, never mind, I can guess what that means. Go on." "Okay. In Thule, which is the name of our community, there's a whole sliding scale of Vril, just like in other places. The big difference is that we openly recognize Vril and do our best to cultivate it. Whereas the hallmark of this civilization that's spawned the New World Empire is that it absolutely denies the existence of any such thing as Vril, by any name." Jennifer lay silently for awhile with her head on Apollo's chest. Then she sat up again and said: "But Vril is a human quality? As opposed to divine or miraculous?" "No, they're not opposed. When it hits a certain quantum, Vril verges into divine manifestation. Miracles occur, at least in the sense of events unexplainable by material science." "Wow! So are there people like that in Thule? Like, somewhere between Gods and human?" "There are a handful. And there is God himself, incarnate as a man." She became confused again, and puzzled. "Are you really being serious, or facetious?" "Completely serious, I assure you." "So how can God incarnate as a man? Is it, like, the Second Coming of Christ?" Apollo chuckled. "There have been any number of comings, over the centuries and millennia. This time he has taken the name Astarius." "Oh, my God! Oops, no pun intended. So you're saying that God has returned as a terrorist. . . er, revolutionary leader who wants to destroy world civilization?" "Have you ever read the Book of Revelation?" Jennifer pulled slightly away from Apollo, stared out the window for a long moment, then said: "Dammit, I see your point. Christians believe that Christ will pretty much destroy the world when he comes back -- except for the Elect who believe in him." "Yes," he said. "There are very similar prophecies in Hindu scriptures, about the Avatar Kalki. And then there's the ancient Nordic concept of Ragnarok." "But why?" "The world basically destroys itself at the designated time of the cosmic cycle. The civilization collapses from its own corruption as well as the greed and power-lust of its leaders. The main task of the Avatar is to assure that the human spirit survives the cataclysm, and to create the new form that it'll take in the aftermath." "It's still pretty scary, Apollo. Why can't Astarius just arrange a peaceful transition from the old Aeon to the new one?" "Why don't you come and ask him?" "What? Really? You mean you want me to come to Thule?" "Yes -- with me." She returned to his embrace, hugging him and kissing him. "Yes, oh yes! I love you! I'll go with you to hell if I have to." "It's more like Paradise," he said -- "wait and see." Chapter 9: TRUSSED They spent a long, langurous time basking in the aftermath of passion, but finally Apollo departed in the wee hours. The next day was Saturday; Jennifer had agreed to pack up the bare necessities she would need for a trip, and be ready to go by 10 AM. The idea was that if she found Thule to her liking, she could come back and make the formal arrangements for her permanent departure later, including notifying relatives and disposing of the rest of her possessions. As for her job, she would have to take the risk of leaving it immediately without notice, even though if she changed her mind it would be difficult or impossible to get it back. As talented and valuable as she was to her company, the global depression made it a drastically lopsided employer's market -- there were many thousands of qualified people who would kill to take her place. After a few scant hours of sleep, Jennifer arose and began her preparations. She put on a print dress that was *moderately* modest by her standards, a one-piece shift with a hemline slightly above the knee and just a hint of cleavage. As she went through the act of packing, disturbing shadows of doubt crept across her mind about the whole venture -- she began to wonder if she were making a sensible choice, or even a sane one. She had been carried away on the wings of passion, and made a commitment to a man she hardly knew, who was involved with extremely questionable people, to say the least. By the time she snapped shut the suitcase, she was thinking: *What am I doing? Am I crazy?* At that moment there was a knock at the door. She opened it, and there was Apollo, right on time, beaming at her with a big smile as he said, "Are you ready?" She beckoned him in with an uncertain gesture, and he quickly grasped that something was amiss. She said, "I'm not sure. Um, I mean, I'm all packed and everything, but. . . ." "But you're having second thoughts." "I. . . well, um, but. . . oh dammit, yes!" "That's perfectly understandable. It's a big step -- a leap into the unknown. Anyone would feel scared and uncertain." "Yes, that sure is how I feel!" She sat down on the couch; he sat beside her, but did not physically touch her. "So," said Jennifer, nervously clasping her hands in her lap, "what can we do? I still feel as strongly about you as I did. . . well, a few hours ago. If only you weren't involved in such a wild, dangerous. . . ." Now he stretched out his arm toward her on the back of the couch, but still didn't touch her. "If I were an ordinary man," he said, "involved in ordinary things, you would not have such strong feelings for me." She met his eyes for the first time since he arrived; her arm brushed against his, and as if impelled by an electromagnetic force she embraced him. "What am I going to do?" she said, weeping on his shoulder; "I want so much to be with you, but I can't -- I just can't go off on this crazy trip. I'm not cut out for that kind of stuff. I guess I'm just too. . . too ordinary myself." Apollo gently nudged her to arm's length, and with his hands on her shoulders and his eyes riveting into hers, he said: "You have what it takes to grow beyond yourself -- to break out of your little mechanical cocoon here, and fly. I know that once you're out there with us, you'll flower into someone spectacular -- you'll become the kind of person you've always dreampt of." She was still teary-eyed, and after a moment she shrugged out of his grasp, hung her head forlornly and said, "I'm sorry -- I can't. . . I just can't do it." "That sounds pretty final." "Yes." "I'm disappointed." After what seemed like a long silence he said, "Could I see your painting one more time before I go?" Jennifer brightened up. "Why, yes -- I'm delighted you asked. Let me get it from my studio." It took her a couple of minutes to carefully dismount the painting from the easel -- she had added some finishing touches which were still wet. "Here it is," she said as she reentered the living room, but then did a double-take as she saw that Apollo was gone -- he was no longer on the couch nor anywhere in view. Before her mind had a chance to spin out any logical explanations for the vanishment, she was grabbed from behind and a strong hand was clamped over her mouth. The painting fell to the floor, and then Apollo quickly wrestled Jennifer onto the couch face down. His hand momentarily came loose and she started to scream, but it was choked off as he twisted her arm painfully behind her back and said, "Quiet, or it'll get worse real fast!" He pulled her other hand behind her back, and bound her wrists with a plastic handcuff. She gathered her wits to the point where she was about to scream again, but at that instant he wrapped a cloth around her mouth and tied it in back of her head, then brought the ends around again in front making another loop and another tie behind, resulting in a gag so secure and effective that no sound could escape but a tiny muffle. He sat her up and she looked at him terrified, but he became gentle again -- in a soothing voice he said, "Jennifer, I really care about you -- just remember what happened last night! That kind of thing can't be faked -- what we have between us is real. I'm so sorry that I have to do it this way, but you leave me no choice. You're ambivalent, which is natural, but I know that the deepest part of you wants to come with me to Thule. And after we get there, you yourself can decide whether or not I really violated your will." She was in such a state of confusion and fear that she hardly noticed that he was tying her feet together as he said this -- but then when it was finished, her reeling mind registered that he had used a cord from her own drapes to do it. Likewise the gag was a decorative strip that had hung from a doorknob on a cupboard. Obviously in the short time she had been gone from the room, Apollo had swiftly gathered the tools he needed to tie her up -- except for the handcuff, which he must have had in his pocket. Suddenly she remembered the story on the TV news about how the terrorists kidnapped young women -- and her fantasy about having it happen to her. Now it was real, and terrible, and she ruefully excoriated herself for having given her unwitting consent to the deed, even in thought. Apollo continued to talk in his deep but mellow voice, sounding supremely poised and infinitely self-assured, as if he knew for an absolute fact that he was carrying out the will of God by doing this to her. Meanwhile, he took some articles of clothing from her closet, cut them into strips with a wicked-looking knife, and twisted these into makeshift ropes. As she tried futilely to wriggle away, he wrapped the ropes around her arms and bound them tightly to her sides; then he tied her knees together. Her eyes were big frightened question marks; she wanted to ask why he had to truss her so thoroughly, like a fly getting webbed by a spider, but of course she could not. She also wanted desperately to ask what would happen if, after she was taken to Thule, she did decide that her will had been violated, and that she did not want to stay. Apollo said, "I'm going to have to leave you here for a short time while I go down to the vehicle and get something, and bring Diana up to help. So I have to make sure that you don't get into trouble." He picked her up in his arms, and despite her distress she couldn't help noticing how easily he did it, as if she were a sack of feathers. He set her down on the rug, then lifted one side of the couch and threw a rope under it so that the ends stuck out in the front and back. He set her back on the couch in an upright sitting position, worked the back end of the rope under arms and around her breastbone, tied this behind her, then tied the other end to her feet. The result was that she was now bound securely to the massive overstuffed couch. He looked at her as if admiring his handiwork and said, "That should do it -- you won't be able to wander around and you won't be able to make any noise. How does it feel?" She wanted to yell at him in rage -- he was really adding insult to injury. She squirmed around inside the bonds, making angry sounds that were muffled by the gag, but the only result was that one of her breasts popped out of the top of her dress, which had been ripped in the struggle. This distressed her, even though she had been naked with this man in bed not long before. She gestured with her eyes and mumphed against the gag, trying to call it to his attention, but he acted as if he did not notice. She felt humiliated and frustrated at her utter helplessness. "I'm sorry," said Apollo; "I know you don't want to be like this, but since you have to, please let me know if any of the bonds are causing you actual pain, beyond the general discomfort of being tied up. Are they?" This expression of concern mollified her enough to take stock, and she found that nothing actually hurt -- so she shook her head and grunted no. "Good," said Apollo. He sat beside her and put a hand softly on her bare shoulder. She wished he would adjust her dress under the ropes to cover her breast, but she could feel his vibe from the touch of the flesh, and despite herself the fear began to melt. He said: "I know it's hard to believe right now, but I love you -- and I promise that no matter what happens, you won't be harmed. Do you believe me?" She looked into his eyes, and nodded yes. He kissed her on the forehead, a long, lingering kiss; she distinctly felt warm, loving energy being transfused into her. He got up, searched around till he found her purse, and took her keys from it. "I won't be long," he said, then went out the door and closed it behind him. She heard the latch close, and was alone. |
| TO BE CONTINUED _________________________________ © 2003, 2004 by Joseph Kerrick This document may be retransmitted electronically for non-commercial purposes, as long as this copyright notice is included. For permission to reproduce in hardcopy, please contact me at: GriffinUR@aol.com |