“I must say that I feel a bit awkward,” Perseus admitted. “At least you’ve had the chance to meet whats-her-name. I won’t know anyone. Not that we’re going there to meet and greet, but still.” He twisted his grip on the steering wheel, shifting on the leather seat. He had the window rolled open a crack, thankful that the fresh night air was cool and crisp.
“You always complain about small talk never leading to anything real,” Scarlett reminded him. “I might want to indulge in a little foreplay, but you can skip all the preliminaries. Shouldn’t you be happy about not being on a first name basis with anyone? I’m willing to bet that you’ll only have to smile, and the girls will be creaming themselves. Who needs words? Besides, Racquel said everyone there is about transcendence. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m sure you won’t be bored to death.”
“What if none of the girls are attractive?” Perseus asked. “Or what if some meathead makes me feel like I’m competing? I don’t want this to turn into a competition or some sad little bang-off exhibition.” Perseus didn’t mind giving voice to his insecurities. Openness and honesty were paramount to his relationship. Vulnerability increased the quality of connection he formed with Scarlett. It was true that these ideas had been Scarlett’s, but he’d adopted them, head over heels for her, and her lovely spin on life.
“Trust me, we wouldn’t be going if I thought Racquel would be letting anyone in that is below your standards. We’re lucky we got an invite.” Scarlett flipped down her sun visor. The illuminated mirror reflected wide set, Disney green, eyes. Some men, when trying to be complementary, had said she looked like a Russian seductress from a James Bond movie. Her father was from Ukraine, but too many times people assumed that Ukraine and Russia were the same thing. They weren’t. The truth was, Scarlett couldn’t have cared less. Why let slip a moment of her time discussing such a boring nuance? Unlike Perseus, Scarlett didn’t mind some small talk, but she certainly used it as a means, not as an end.
“Perseus, you’re a spectacular lover,” Scarlett assured him. He needed support, looking a tad fretful. His sensitivity could be charming, a little neurotic with the whole claustrophobia issue, but charming. Scarlett didn’t mind giving him encouragement. The softness of character balanced his virile bounty of masculinity. She was proud of being the one to teach him how to ditch his sensitive side, crumpled up like his boxers, when it mattered. She smiled at the idea of him slamming into another woman. Her little beast, Perseus, and she couldn’t wait to share him.
As they pulled up in front of the mansion, they weren’t at all surprised to be greeted by a smartly dressed vale.
“Good evening,” said the young man. His smile was dimpled, and his eyes danced over Scarlett’s. After handing them a ticket stub, he sat behind the wheel, and Scarlett raised an eyebrow over the top of the car. Perseus smiled back.
“Did you see that cutie-pie?” she asked, as she watched their Saab’s tail lights float across the white gravel.
“I didn’t know the manikin thing was your cup of tea,” Perseus said. “Nice tux, though. Style points for whoever dressed him up like that.” He stepped from the gravel up onto a slab of slate.
“I hope he’s on the menu,” Scarlett said. “Shame to waste him out here. He won’t have to be parking cars all night, you think?”
Ornate and functional, flat stones were puzzle pieced together as a terraced path that led to the mansion. They walked, elbows linked, up the steps and were greeted by a thin man with a pencil-line mustache. His well manicured slender finger made its way down the guest list. Standing next to him was an ogre, a gorilla sized bouncer with a bald head that shined like a bowling ball under the porch light. He neither looked, nor acknowledged the couple.
“I feel like we’re on the set of some movie,” said Perseus. The thick wooden door had an iron knocker above a thumb lever attached to a black ribbon handle, very rustic looking. As the doorman found their names, and opened the door, they were bathed in dazzling light pouring out of an immense victorian crystal chandelier. It was suspended twenty feet above them in the foyer, and a white gloved butler was there to take their overcoats. He presented them with another set of ticket stubs.
“Ever get people’s coats mixed up?” Perseus asked, a little cajoling to lighten the heft of the formal atmosphere.
“No sir,” answered the butler. He had spoken in such a cordial way that Perseus pressed his lips into a smile. Deciding the nervous bubble lodged in his stomach should be kept from rupturing, and spouting out of his mouth into witless prattle, Perseus took a deep breath, composed himself, and gave a nod, trying to appear a man of culture and dignity.
“Should we try and find Racquel?” Scarlett asked when the butler walked away with their coats.
“I need a drink,” mumbled Perseus.
Before they could wander any further, a stunning woman in a miniskirt appeared before them. It was a strange cut, for a miniskirt, with a train of lace and iridescent silk, orange and green. She walked over, extending her red fingernails to Scarlett. It wasn’t so much of a handshake as it was a gentle brush of fingers between the two women, and then she looked to Perseus.
“Gloria,” she said, her smile unnaturally large. “Everyone calls me Glow.” Somehow, Glow’s smile grew even wider and she continued, “I must say, it is such a pleasure to meet you gorgeous young people. You both look scrumptious.”
“Why, thank you,” Scarlett drew out the last vowel to an ‘oooo’, and the two women scrunched their noses in excited grins--exaggerated, of course, as one would expect in such a gaudy place as this.
Perseus rocked back on his heels, folded his hands behind his back, and told himself that he was charming. He strove to convince himself of this. Relax and breathe--that was all he needed to remember. At least there was plenty of breathing space, but the extravagance of the place instilled in him a foreboding, a surreal gloom.
“Would you like to follow me into the ballroom, or are you meeting someone?” Glow asked, her fingers probing in the direction she felt inclined to usher them.
“Is Racquel here?” Scarlett inquired.
“Oh, you know Rockie?”
“Yes, she said we might have some fun tonight.”
“With her personally, Rockie?” asked Glow.
“Well, we go to the same spa downtown. I haven’t known her a long--”
“Heavens!” cried Glow, her grin angling maniacally. “Don’t I feel the fool. I didn’t know you knew Rockie! Now I simply must get to know you better. I suspect you wish to be on your way to meet her.” Glow clasped her hands and tilted her head. She was glowing.
“Well, this is our first night--our first time here,” Perseus explained. He had stammered, just a slight stumble, never having met a woman who could smile like The Joker until this moment. “Could you lead the way?”
“Sweetie,” crooned Glow. “I can lead you anywhere you like. Shall we?”
“Oh please, lead me into temptation,” Scarlett drawled, and Gloria laughed. It was a laugh one might expect to hear at a high-society dinner table, gracious and almost sincere.
They followed her to the base of a wide white staircase that spiraled with an obtuse twist to the second floor. Both Scarlett and Glow’s stiletto heels reverberated, echoing off the marble steps as they ascended. On the second floor, the hallway walls were adorned with oil paintings. They looked like originals, hundreds of years old, but there was no time to pause or comment. It was all was superfluous--nothing but a frill of foam atop the excited wave of anticipation. Perseus felt his palms growing damp as they turned down a hall that seemed to squeeze in. They walked on and on, endless turns--hadn’t it been hours now? Breathe, relax. The corridors were connected to one another with labyrinthian frustration, and he felt a growing restlessness, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as they paused to wait for a small elevator. He told himself he would be alright inside the hideous capsule, his nerves raw, but then he smiled as two topless girls in G-strings padded by, their bare feet silent on the ornate carpet. An upswell of courage buoyed him, and Perseus knew he could step casually into the elevator now.
“Pers, you’re going to have some fun tonight,” Scarlett promised. She’d noticed that he’d stood a little taller as the girls walked by. His arousal gave her a smattering of warmth, a moist sensation accompanied a ravenous ache of primal longing.
The elevator opened to the third floor, and they walked down a narrow hall. Perseus was in a space he’d created, a guided meditation. He envisioned himself in an open meadow without walls. Nothing but space from horizon to horizon. Breathe, relax. Through two mahogany french doors, they heard the sounds of chatter, and then moaning. As they drew nearer, they realized the chatter wasn’t chatter at all, but a chorus of exaltations.
“At midnight, I’ll be back around,” said Glow. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Scarlett’s eyes went wide with wonder as Glow opened the doors for their entry into paradise. There were bronze, white and black bodies--so many delectably sculpted men and women. The room was a grown-up chocolate factory with a variety of treats to satisfy every palate. Scarlett grabbed for Perseus’s hand and squeezed his four fingers which she’d found dangling limply at his side. She hoped his mouth wasn’t hanging open, but couldn’t take her eyes from the utopia of carnality, the smorgasbord of sinful delights.
Perseus smiled, feeling immensely relieved. The room had a high ceiling. It was bigger than the studio he’d rented in England. It was an expansive space where he knew he could unwind and enjoy himself. “Don’t I feel overdressed,” he muttered.
“Something will have to be done about that,” Scarlett agreed, nearly breathless. When Glow shut the doors behind them, they spotted an attractive couple sitting on a white leather sofa. Other than the couple, the room was replete with penduluming flesh, people smashing together as if the goal were to coalesce into a single organism. They decided it would be nice to pretend it were a normal party, for a moment, before diving in, so they walked over to the couch to introduce themselves to the unengaged spectators.
“Hello,” said the girl, looking up precociously to Perseus. She had her long legs crossed over the lap of her boyfriend, (one should never assume boyfriend in such a place). Perseus’s eye caught on a glittering bit of jewelry in her navel, and darted down to the flaming red tuft below.
“Hello yourself,” Perseus lilted, and graced her with his winning smile.
“I’m Tiffany, and this is--what’s your name again?”
“Jared,” said Jared. He was transfixed, absorbed watching the orgy’s progression on the far side of the room.
“Mind if we join you?” Perseus asked.
“Not like that,” Tiffany said, twirling her index finger in the air to indicate Perseus’s suit.
Perseus took off his jacket, and began unbuttoning his shirt, but Tiffany stood up, and interrupted, saying, “No, let me help you.”
She was tall, only an inch shorter than himself, and he immediately liked her fairy blue eyes, delicate limbs, and graceful movement.
Jared got up and walked across the room to join a miasma of bodies using a purple loveseat in the corner as a fulcrum for leverage. Four of the six girls upon it were flexible and innovative, perhaps former cheerleaders intent on constructing a pyramid, only this time, it was anything but sturdy. None of the men seemed disposed to the gentler touches of lovemaking, and the loveseat rocked like a canoe off the coast of Chile. Scarlett could see why Jared had headed in that direction.
“Is this okay?” Tiffany questioned Scarlett before reaching over to unbutton Perseus’s shirt.
“Is it okay?” Scarlett repeated with a laugh which was both light and confident. “Cupcake, don’t let me slow you down. Just leave a little of him for the others.” Scarlett had let her eyes wander over to Jared and the loveseat again. She glanced at Perseus, who shrugged, permitting her to join in the rucus.
And then he was stripping down, grinning like a fool. His suit was off in a flash, and what followed was intense and concentrated thrusting. Scarlett had been right. Words weren’t needed here, and introductions could lead to--well, this. Long before Perseus came anywhere near climax, he heard Tiffany scream, her vaginal walls tightening in orgasm. He realized that he was much closer to cumming than he’d thought, but was able to get out without spilling over. That would have been tragic.
“Mmm, you’re an animal,” complemented Tiffany. After being flopped on her stomach over the arm of the white leather sofa, she straddled Perseus, and gave him a wet kiss with a darting tongue. She pulled back, placing her hands on his shoulders and asked, “You wanna drink?”
“That sounds lovely,” Perseus said. There was a stack of fluffy white wash cloths, and he guessed what they were for. As he watched the heart shaped tail end of Tiffany make its way to the small bar in the corner, he toweled off his glistening member. Then he licked his fingers and smiled at Tiffany’s taste.
He looked around for Scarlett, and felt his heart leap in alarm. She was in a sandwich, sucking as if her life depended on it, pounded from behind by a guy who was shiny with sweat, his abdominal muscles rippling with every pump. Perseus felt a surge of outrage. His shoulders tensed, and he took another deep breath which wavered as he exhaled.
Scarlett had introduced him to this lifestyle, firm in her belief--a belief which presumed that the juxtaposition of morality and sexuality was laughable. ‘Sex--good sex--is a positive and fulfilling act that harms no one. It’s jealousy. That green eyed devil shouldn’t be allowed to start whispering its nonsense into anyone’s ear. You can choose not to listen; it just takes practice.’
Scarlett and her friends believed in forces beyond the mind. According to them, there were unbodied demigods and demons--incorporeal entities--that influenced and distorted cognitive functions. Tonight was to be an act of rebellion, of defiance to the dark controllers who instilled the deadly vices of fear based thinking. It was also to be some sort of ritualistic offering to the transcendent ones, whatever that meant. To Perseus, call it what you will, an orgy was an orgy.
It was hard to deny Scarlett anything, but Perseus found it exceedingly difficult to quell the uprising of possessiveness. The vice was swift to prod, presenting his ego with the notion that he was being wronged, unjustly so. But hadn’t he just fucked Tiffany? No, this was the mental trap of jealousy, and so he dismissed it. His next breath revolved deeper in his abdomen, unfettered and smooth. Unlike Scarlett, Perseus didn’t buy into all the witchy angel and demon telepathic stuff, but he tended to agree that jealousy and fear never served him.
“I hope you like Jack and Coke,” Tiffany said as she returned, sidling up against him on the sofa.
“Anything to wet my whistle,” said Perseus, “Thanks.” They clinked glasses.
“I usually go for Long Island iced teas, myself,” Tiffany said. “But this adorable girl at the bar thought you’d like this better.”
Perseus looked up to behold a dark and brooding gaze leveled at him. The adorable girl was latina, if he could guess.
“I told her good things about you,” Tiffany said. “Maybe after your drink, I can introduce you.”
Perseus sipped his cocktail, trying not to focus on Scarlett in his periphery.
“You married?” asked Tiffany, noticing his distraction.
“No, I’m not the marrying type,” said Perseus.
“Why not? Marriage can be wonderful.”
“It might be,” Perseus permitted, thinking that Tiffany had chosen a very odd topic to discuss. She tilted her head, prompting him to explain the trace of reluctance in his voice. He continued, “When I look around, most married couples seem to be having a rough go of it.”
“Nonsense,” dismissed Tiffany, with a small wave. She sipped her drink and added, “People in this culture are afraid of being vulnerable and honest about how they feel. About what they want. Unhappy marriages occur when people get stuck in self-made pits, illogically afraid of betrayal, convinced that pleasure with someone, other than their primary partner, is selfish and wrong. It’s the idea of ownership which I find to be the problem, but marriage can be whatever you make of it. It’s all about transcendence and evolution, but you know that. I mean, you’re here.”
“If you evolve together, I suppose marriage could work,” granted Perseus, thinking Tiffany sounded like Scarlett, “but a union like marriage can be tricky when it comes to energy like money. Especially when couples start out wanting the same thing, and then years later, they find they want something completely different. People aren’t static. Marriage could start out as a union between soulmates, but how often soulmates can shift into the bitterest of enemies, willing to fight each other tooth and claw. Courts are a nightmare, and after hearing about it--well, let’s just say my buddy Pete’s hellish divorce strengthened my resolve. Bachelorhood is good. Pete had it rough.”
“Some like it a little rough,” Tiffany teased. “Anyways, I’m glad you say you’re not the marrying type. It would be a pity for some girl to hog you all to herself. Especially tonight. Who knows? Racquel is taking a poll of who the ladies like best. She has something big in mind for the winner. You have my vote. You got me closer to a transcendental awakening than I’ve been in a long time.” Tiffany touched his earlobe, and he smiled.
Perseus finished his drink and thanked Tiffany.
“You want that introduction?” asked Tiffany, glancing over to the girl at the minibar.
“I think I can manage,” Perseus said. He stood up from the couch. It felt strange being completely naked.
“Hey stud,” said the coffee and cream composed girl at the bar. “I’m Candy.”
“I’m sure you are,” Perseus said, gallantly.
“Is it okay if I invite my friend to join us?” Candy asked, and then added, “He’s a little shy.” She indicated a tall blonde man who Perseus hadn’t noticed. He was standing against the wall with a drink in his hand, observing everything with a skeptical impassivity.
“Not to be a prude,” Perseus said, “but could you specify what you had in mind?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Candy said. “I just want his cock in my mouth as you fuck me. Is that alright?”
The night carried on with introductions leading to what everyone was calling transcendental emergence. At one point, Scarlett said she might be nearly finished. Perseus wondered if he should permit himself to blow a load, but was having such a good time refraining, his libido holding strong and steady. His ego was constantly being stroked by praises, and his spirits soared. Here, he wasn’t a ball of frayed nerves. He was a god and knew he could go all night. Several girls claimed him as their favorite dish, a line had formed and he’d not let anyone down. He double dipped, triple dipped, and felt that perhaps he should quit his day job and see if he could eek out a living in porn.
“Do you want to visit the ballroom?” Perseus asked Scarlett, as he toweled off. He was still breathing hard from a threesome which had ended with a girl--what had been her name?--who had screamed so loud that he thought she might be injured.
“Racquel explained that only the most gorgeous people are up here. Should we trust her?”
“Trust her?” Perseus said. Scarlett had asked in the meek and tentative voice that she was so good at. Sweetly naive, it was an impression that Perseus never grew tired of. In truth, Scarlett was as quick as she was cunning, the most self assured person he’d ever met, and playful to boot.
“Trust no one,” Perseus said and winked.
They headed toward the french doors, and frowned. They were locked.
“Ah, it must be to keep the hamburger out and the prime beef in,” Perseus hypothesized.
“Well, Racquel used a different metaphor,” Scarlett remembered.
“What?”
“I forget her exact words, but it was something about finding the man who could help us transcend our mortal coils, or no--I forget. Auditioning studs for--damn, what was it? Something about the best of the best being chosen to lead us.”
“Did she really say, ‘mortal coils’?”
“Yes, but there was something else I’m forgetting,” said Scarlett.
She looked around to find Racquel. She spotted her on one of the enormous beds in a pile of bodies, laughing and stroking everyone around her.
“God, it seems rude to interrupt her,” Scarlett noted.
“Surely there’s something we can twist to unlock it. There must be,” insisted Perseus. He squatted down to look at the handles. Like the front door of the mansion, the iron handles looked custom built. There was a gaping keyhole, through which he could see down the hall. The lock appeared to be a throwback design from the days of castles. There was nothing to twist without a key, and Perseus hadn’t picked a lock in his life.
“I don’t remember Gloria using a key to let us in,” Perseus said.
“Well, what do you suggest?”
Perseus decided to walk over and introduce himself to the cuddle puddle.
“Pardon me, Racquel?”
Her pupils were dilated, and in reply, she reached out her arms for him to join.
“No, I’m sorry to disturb you. Do you have the key?”
She sighed, pouting at his refusal, and said, “Are you trying to escape me? How could you possibly expect me to allow my top stud to leave the stable?”
Perseus smiled, and said, “I’ve had a lovely time, but Scarlett and I would like to take a stroll to the ballroom. You know, mosey about and mingle a bit, if you don’t mind.”
In response, Racquel blinked as if he’d spoken unintelligible garble. Perseus felt awkward with the five sets of eyes fixed on him. Everyone on the bed looked to be in some sort of drug induced haze.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” he said. “But we’d really like to be free to move about, unencumbered by locks and such.”
“And what if I mind?” Racquel asked, a playful smile curving her lips.
Perseus looked over to Scarlett who was standing by the door. Racquel waved her over. Scarlett approached, and though she failed to make it look genuine, she smiled at everyone on the bed.
“Hey Racquel, do you mind unlocking the door?” she asked.
“Where is there to go?” Racquel tittered. “Come Scarlett, I won’t bite, unless you give me permission to.”
“Seriously Raq,” Scarlett said, ignoring Racquel’s reaching hand. “Where are the keys?”
“Glow has them,” Racquel quipped. “She’ll be back around midnight.”
“Oh come now!” Perseus exclaimed, his chuckle ringing hollow. “Don’t be ridiculous. What if there was a fire?”
“This building is equipped with a floor to floor sprinkler system. Top notch, don’t worry about fires. Where are you in such a hurry to run off to?”
“Racquel, could you please call Gloria?” asked Scarlett.
“I’m afraid I don’t have my phone in my pocket,” Racquel said, lifting her leg to expose her nether regions. A couple heads around her laughed.
Suddenly, they all looked idiotic to Perseus. He felt his mood shifting into something beyond annoyance. He didn’t want to play the submissive role of a captive. When it came to role playing, he was always in a position of dominance. Dr. Rosenthal thought that it was a coping mechanism, but far less toxic than alcohol or substance abuse. Perseus’s biggest fear was being shut inside a coffin--buried alive--but there was nothing he could do to keep the nightmare from rerunning itself, night after night. The blackness of the box, the constricting walls, his fingernails clawing grid lines in futility. The difference between the horrors of unconsciousness, and the here and now, was that he could do something and effect change here and now. This fuck festival couldn’t close in on him.
“Am I going to have to call the police?” The tenseness was in his chest and rose in his voice.
“Now, why would you go and say a thing like that?” Racquel asked, still aloof and toying.
Two men who had been sprawled listlessly against her sat up on the bed. Perseus looked at the door. At the moment, there was a lull in the sex, and most people were lounging about like iguanas on sun bathed rocks.
“Excuse me!” Perseus called out. He had tried not to yell. Almost everyone looked over at him, and now he felt that he should find his clothes. “Is everyone here aware that we are locked in this room?”
People looked to one another, their expressions placid. A few shrugged. So they did know, and didn’t care?
“Does anyone know where the keys are?” His voice was beginning to shake, and he didn’t like the way he sounded on the verge of tears. He wasn’t. Was he?
“Darling, don’t worry,” Racquel patronized, “Glow will be up at midnight. Why would you want to spend your last stretch of time in the third dimension with anyone but us? Trust me, you won’t find better company.”
Perseus looked at her, rolled his eyes, and asked, “My last night in the third dimension?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Scarlett. Scarlett looked at Perseus and said, “That was her metaphor: a sacred space for the third dimensional leaves to fall away from the chosen one.”
“Chosen one?” asked Perseus. “Chosen one for what?”
“At midnight, Perseus has a very special meeting,” Racquel said, looking to Scarlett as she spoke. “Isn’t that right girls?”
There were a couple laughs, murmurs of agreement from the girls in the room.
Perseus frowned, and asked, “And what do I get? What if I don’t want a fucking prize? Huh? What if I want to leave and don’t want to hear anything more about your voodoo transcendence?”
“Darling, calm down. Please. At midnight,” Racquel went on, her gaiety unthwarted by his venomous tone, “you’ll find that transcendence required not even the slightest amount of faith or personal volition. Only consensus, and the votes have been tallied. You are the chosen one, Perseus.”
Scarlett looked at Perseus, his face contorting, nearing a menace, and thought about telling him to breathe and relax. It was a silly game, and no one else was reacting adversely to Racquel’s enigmatic proverb about the third dimension. But it was difficult to tell if anyone off the bed was paying any mind to them, and Scarlett knew Perseus was beginning to feel the creeping grip of claustrophobia. She knew how uncomfortable he must have been in the small elevator. His therapist, Dr. Rosenthal, had recommended focusing on his breath, counting backwards from ten, but in this situation, he’d be humiliated if she reminded him.
“Alright, now cut the bullshit, and open the goddamn door!” Perseus’s voice warbled like a heat mirage distorting a desert highway. Whatever hocus pocus sex cult this was, he’d had enough. The large room seemed small, cramped and suffocating.
Racquel laughed an awful laugh, and Perseus walked across the room to pull on his clothes. Someone had folded them, and they lay in a neat stack at the foot of white sofa. As he pulled on his boxers, a few men stood up and walked over. Everything looked strange, slightly deformed as if seen through a fisheye lens or reflected by an ancient mirror, bent with time. Perseus knew he was allowing his emotions get the better of him, but the room felt restrictive. He looked at the men around him, almost yelling for them to back the fuck off. He needed space.
“What are you supposed to be?” Perseus barked. “Guards?”
They didn’t need to say what their eyes affirmed.
Scarlett was looking over at him from the bed, her eyes troubled, a rare wrinkle in her typically fearless demeanor.
“Don’t worry, Scarlett,” Racquel soothed. “You’re not going anywhere. Only the most virile male will be crossing over.”
Scarlett made a sour face, blurting, “Are you that fucking high? Snap out of it, Racquel. I know you must think this is all good fun, but please open the door. I love you, but I’m sore, I’m tired, and I’d like to go home.”
“Midnight,” Racquel maintained, sounding serious, but affable, as if she were coaxing a child to show some patience.
“What time is it?”
Racquel pointed over to a big grandfather clock which was facing out from the far side of the room. It was 11:30.
“This is ridiculous,” Scarlett said.
Perseus thrust a hand into his pant’s hip pocket, felt his phone and thought about retrieving it. He noticed that two of the three men’s eyes had followed his movement, and he decided not to risk it. Nothing untoward had transpired. Not yet, but there was an unmistakable air of hostility which made his stomach knot. Now he did breathe, a deep sigh, and shut his eyes.
“Good,” said one of the men.
“Just take it easy, buddy,” said another, his placating tone was stern rather than imploring.
Green dots swam in his field of vision. It dawned on Perseus that he was experiencing more than an alcohol buzz, more than agitated emotions. He’d been drugged. Not wanting to give himself away, he opened his eyes and smiled at the luddites around him. Their eyes were full of suspicion, as if they were ready to lunge forward and hold him down if he made any sudden move. But where could he run? At least he was in pants. They were naked, and he was wearing pants. Somehow that counted for something, but the room seemed brighter, everything more vivid. Was there water running down the walls?
“Well, what’s another half hour, huh babe?” Perseus called out, looking over to Scarlett. His voice may have been tempered with an appropriate dose of social nicety, but his eyes were frantic. He had intended the look to be a silent plea for Scarlett alone, but Racquel had caught his expression and began to laugh.
“Perseus, my sweet champion Perseus. Why don’t you take a seat?” Racquel caressed the air, her words floating across the room, hypnotically sweet.
The oafs about him nodded in agreement. Perseus decided that despite feeling coerced, he really would rather sit down.
The light in the room was dim and flickered off the white walls, shadows crawling where there weren’t any before. A balloon of giddiness arose in his chest as he sat. The white leather was inviting, a cloud of respite, of comfort. Now all three men were grinning, as was Perseus. He felt himself edging onto a precipice, as if his mind were about to topple into a bottomless pit, making way for something--he couldn’t tell what.
“That’s right,” cood a mustached chaperone, nodding as Perseus looked up. Perseus felt his smile refolding itself, bending up at the preposterous angles Glow’s had. His eyelids were fluttering.
It was only a camera flash of time, a fraction of a second, but the mustached man’s pupils filled his eyes--eyes which had grown big as mason jar lids, and then he reverted back to the form of a naked man with a normal head. But everything was crawling, complex systems of veins and roots creeping up the walls now.
Reality and time convoluted, and fluctuated with his breathing. Perseus succumbed to bouts of inexplicable laughter, and bizarre intervals where he could hear himself babbling. It was his voice, but not his words. People’s heads were morphing, expanding and clarifying. Nothing was is as it should be. A deep and troubling awakening seemed to be tearing at his ineffable core. Wordless instances of rapturous bliss were accompanied by convulsions of soundless shuddering, and then more foreign words, which held no meaning or connection to anything whatsoever, tumbled from his lips. He could feel their meaning, but only as they were uttered, and then the words would be erased, gone from a mind that was no longer his own.
The gong of midnight, as the hands on the grandfather clock aligned, filled the room with a vibration that stripped away the remaining undergarments of the third dimension. Perseus was in a black room, its dimensions etched with green grid-lines like plaid, geometrically precise. There were right angled walls which were more rigid than was possible on earth. It was the coffin of his nightmare, but wasn’t a coffin at all.
Around him, where there had once been humans, Perseus recognized his comrades. He was a member of a hyper-dimensional alien race. Alien, but not extra terrestrial, for his kind had been on earth since the dawn of time. As was the nature of mortality, his human incarnation had wiped Perseus’s knowledge of the nature of reality away, and he’d forgotten who he was. Awareness was coming back in glimpses, for he was awakening, almost fully present in the cube.
Regrettably, part of his consciousness had formed an attached, clinging onto the Perseus he’d recently identified as--the panicking human afraid of being trapped inside the coffin alive. His ego was stubborn and resistant to the transition, terrified and pleading for reason to prevail. The thing he was slowly awakening into, scoffed at his attachment to the residue of humanity. The other aliens suggested that his unease and astonishment were nothing but the emergence from a dream, and Perseus would soon be able to dismiss the illusion for what it was.
Perseus knew these alien creatures were in complete control--had always been in control. As his consciousness found footing in the new perspective, his amazement fell away. Then, like the dawning of an ironic star, an understanding of the third dimension, as a series of carefully constructed lies, presented itself without room for any possible refutation to be made. He could see that his essence had been muddled up in stories which both he and society had told himself about himself. No longer himself, his perception was growing clear, and Perseus was able to transcend. It was as if he’d spent his entire life looking at shadows and imagining color. No wonder he’d spent so many years feeling like there was a vice around his chest. Without air, he could finally breathe freely.
Throughout the remaining years of Perseus’s life, Scarlett brought him flowers. Once a week, in the first months, but she could only manage his birthday in the last decades. He couldn’t see the bouquets. She was certain of that much. His vacant stare fixed on things she could only guess.
Money would never be a concern of hers again, and she knew she was being paid off for being complicit and keeping her mouth shut. The flowers were an oblation to help alleviate her guilty conscience. But with time, she was able to reduce her cognitive dissonance, finding ways to lay the blame elsewhere. At last, there was no one to blame, and no one to miss.
That night, so long ago, when Perseus first started to babble that strange gibberish, Scarlett knew something was wrong. Racquel insisted that it hadn’t been a drug, but some sort of prearranged encounter. She kept saying transcendence, never defining the insanity of it all. And then her Perseus was just… gone.
The hospital bed was of the finest quality, as was the staff, and everything else in the facility in which Perseus resided. The mansion paid for it all. Racquel said it was the least they could do for Perseus. He would be helping them, and what’s more, he wasn’t gone as Scarlett feared. He was everywhere--couldn’t she feel him?
Scarlett never voiced her questions, never broke down in tears, except for the first hour when Perseus had been in transition. The truth was, Scarlett couldn’t afford not to move on with her life. Like all the other of realities inconsistencies, ones that did not fit her paradigm, she discounted what had happened. Except for his birthday, the memory of Perseus was stowed in the back corner of the furthest shelf of her mind. Why let slip one moment of time worrying about what one couldn’t change? The past was best left to brood about itself, or so Scarlett had decreed, even before she left the mansion that horrible night. She was a woman who lived in the present. Besides, there was no turning back the clock--that hideous grandfather clock.
On the end table, she laid the flowers next to the old man’s head. Happy birthday. But what was another year and lifeless boquete to the shell of a man who had once been her beast Perseus? How the ravages of time had let her down, as they had this liver spotted glassy eyed poor soul. Scarlett knew he was locked inside a prison of decaying flesh, and in her heart of hearts, she wished he’d die. For his and her sake. If he would move on, her life would be a little more bearable. Neither Scarlett or Perseus had much longer to live, but too often the vision of him, babbling as he did in the mansion, would slip from that shelf in the furthest corner of her mind with an intolerable crash of rushing emotions, predominantly hopelessness. Just die Perseus, let go. She walked out of the hospital, resolved to keep him from entering her mind for the next 364 days.
As for our hero, with his large gray head and black bulbous eyes, Perseus peered into the workings of Scarlett’s mind from his hyper-dimensional vessel. The cube in which he abided was static, fixed in between here and not-here, but he and his shipmates were boundless in their reaches. Like falling Tetris pieces, they pulled up minds, yanked on synapsis, and jostled fraying dendrites into a flurry, resulting in an inescapable chain reaction, chunks of thought falling into place. Perseus’s crew was busy with the chemistry of consciousness, inciting passions, assuaging fears, and inspiring technological and artistic innovations. Above all, the transcendent ones were careful to hide all traces of their craft.
Perseus no longer remembered the avatar he’d used--the human he’d once been. Having expanded into human consciousness as a whole, his role was strictly influential. Individual souls were similar to strands of thread composing an enormous tapestry. The cloth of time was colored with glorious patterns of bonding, uniting, and splashed with warfare, always revealing itself to be simply perfect in every way.
From time to time, a thread would begin to loosen, and Perseus, or another member of his team, would effectively stitch it back down, guiding the soul with subtlety. The work of thought manipulation was delicate, and it was important that each human incarnation feel at least some degree of autonomy. If the work went smoothly, everyone would believe that the world was as it appeared. Rare individuals could detect Perseus. For the overwhelming majority of his charges, the scripts of code didn’t even register as vague notions or fleeting thoughts. However, there was one individual Perseus wasn’t at all subtle with. He broke the rules to try and get through to her.
Sadly, she never remembered him upon waking. Scarlett and Perseus often met one another in the mansion. It had been crafted by Perseus in a dimension between here and not-here, visited at the times when Scarlett’s pupils darted beneath the blanket of closed eyelids. Perseus’s virtual mansion was everything it had been that night and more. If only she remembered, for when Scarlett slept, she could perceive Perseus and herself, and their souls would intwine, coalescing into a single organism of transcendental awakening.
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