Thursday, September 7th, 06:00hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
Agent
Conboy watched Hunter exit the Palomar building through a pair of
binoculars. Conboy bolted upright in the passenger seat of the black
Chevy Tahoe.
“There! There we go,” said Conboy, “the whore of Babylon in the flesh.”
“Which one?” said the driver.
“Psychedellic socks and suit,” said Conboy, “that’s our candyman.”
“Candy?” said the driver.
“Get
with the program, Martinez,” said Conboy, “psychedelics, dose, let’s
go. Out of the vehicle. Follow him on foot. I’ll drive.”
****
Thursday, September 7th, 06:00hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
Hunter
walked down Pacific Avenue. He tapped the screen on his smartphone then
placed it back into his pocket. He wore a Bluetooth earpiece.
One man followed him on foot. The black Tahoe cruised slowly behind them.
“Welcome back Mr. Underwood,” said the voice from his Skype mobile phone app.
“Journalism,” said Hunter.
“Now dialing, Journalism.”
“Hello, Hunter?” said Darryl, “Oh, thank god it’s you, man.”
“Look, I don’t think I should come to you after all,” said Hunter, “We’ll have to figure something else out.”
“Maybe
we can finally go out to the shop,” Said Darryl, “Hunter, there isn’t
much time left for this sort of thing. I mean, not if it’s going to be
any good. I have to touch it, see it, feel it. I want to uncover the
humanity here and give this story a heart, the authenticity and the… and
the dignity it deserves, that every human story deserves, man.”
“Hunter?” said Darryl.
“Yes,” said Hunter.
“How do I get there?” said Darryl.
“Meet me at my mother’s.”
****
Thursday, September 7th, 06:00hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
“Alright
then,” said Darryl into the cell phone held next to his lips. He stood
with his hands on the wall in front of him. His pants and skivvies were
around his ankles. “What time should we meet? How soon?” he said.
“Right
now,” said Hunter, “give me thirty minutes.” One of the corn-fed bikers
pushed the speaker button on the cell phone. He was wearing latex
gloves. “You’re right,” said Hunter’s voice,
“let’s give it the dignity it deserves...”
“Bless
you, man. You’re doing the right thing,” said Darryl, “I’ll see you
there.” Darryl exhaled. Ghost pressed the end button on the cell phone
then closed his buck knife. He slapped Darryl on the back then gave
him a thumbs-up.
“You’re a lucky man, Darryl,” said Ghost.
****
Thursday, September 7th, 06:15hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
Mariposa
drove through the Santa Cruz Mountains. She turned off the two lane
highway onto a private road that ran the perimeter of the Lexington
Reservoir. A rowing team glided across the surface of the lake down
below. The private road snaked through the trees, climbing the hillside
through the mist, to the black gates of the old Agnews Mental Research Institute.
Bushes were unkempt. Leaves covered the ground. The place looked
abandoned. The security keypad at the gate however, was high tech and
stainless steel.
Mariposa removed her badge and swiped it against the security pad. She entered a PIN.
The gate opened. Mariposa drove into the compound.
Inside,
the facility was clean and bright. There were no windows, just
fluorescent-lit halls and a security desk. The guard at the desk looked
up from his array of video monitors.
“Madame Butterfly,” said the security guard, “aren’t you a little early?”
“Help me, oh god, somebody help me!” said a male voice behind a door somewhere.
“You know Mariposa means butterfly in Spanish,” said the guard.
“I know, John,” said Mariposa.
“Is that like a Mexican name?” said John.
“It’s Farsi,” said Mariposa. She turned down a hallway and stopped in front of an elevator.
“Really?” said John.
“No,”
said Mariposa. She stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind
her. “That was total harassment,” she said through her teeth. The
elevator descended. Mariposa looked at her watch.
6:30 am.
The
doors opened. The basement was a vast expanse filled with rows of
filing cabinets. Mariposa knew exactly which row and which cabinet to go
to. She knew the contents of the file that she was pulling from the
drawer, from the folder marked MK-U106. She’d known about it for some
time now. She just wasn’t sure that she was going to give it to him.
But why should it even matter?
Hunter
loved Mariposa. And they were fortunate that she worked in a position
to be able to help them like this. Hunter loved her. He just needed this
one last thing, one last thing and they could escape and leave all the
madness behind them. Mariposa thought about how much her feet hurt. She
thought about the black Chevy Tahoe and she thought of Hunter standing
naked, wearing only his nerdy glasses. She smiled. Her hands trembled,
holding the file folder.
“I quit,” said Mariposa. She tucked the file into her purse. She closed the cabinet and headed for the elevator.
****
Thursday, September 7th, 07:00hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
“Oh yes! Oh god what a load…” said James. He collapsed on top of Vera’s back.
Vera
laughed. She was glowing. “James, you have such a filthy mouth, you
know that?” She reached back and slapped his ass then wriggled out from
underneath him and off the bed. She closed her robe and tied it. “I have
to get organized. This place is getting out of control.”
“Did you hear that?” said James. His eyes went wild.
“Hear what, darling?”
“That voice.” James sat back on his heels on top of the bed, looking about himself.
“And what did the voice say?” Vera brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“That I should kill you and then kill myself.”
“James, stop it. Have you been sniffing those bath crystals again? You know that cannot be good for you.”
“Shut the fuck up! There it goes again!”
“James…” said Vera. She ran and embraced him. “James please, darling don’t do this. I love you.”
James growled like a wild animal into Vera’s bosom.
“Please,”
said Vera. She rocked James back and forth. He continued to growl.
“Please, you asshole, I need this!” Vera punched the top of James’ head.
She grabbed a bottle of Charles Schwab chardonnay and tried to beak it over the back of his head but it didn’t work.
“Ouch!” said James, “Okay I’m sorry. I’m just tripping, Vera, shit.”
“Get it together, James. My son Hunter is coming to see me this morning and if he sees you acting like this, he will not take kindly to you, James. I hate to tell you, darling, but it’s true.”
“Get it together, James. My son Hunter is coming to see me this morning and if he sees you acting like this, he will not take kindly to you, James. I hate to tell you, darling, but it’s true.”
“What’s true?” said James.
“Your
character, James. We both know you come from very low moral fiber, but
the good news is that it’s alright, darling. I’m okay with it.”
“With looking down your nose at me like I’m low class?”
“With
being addicted to you, James. The way I feel when I’m with you… I won’t
give this up for anybody, not even you, James, so please, darling,
while my son is here stay up in this room, alright?”
“Like Ann Frank?” said James.
“Like my Viscount de Valmont? Like my lover?”
James’ eyebrow spasmed.
“Jesus, Vera, how do I always let you talk me into such kinky situations?”
“You’re a kinky boy, James.”
James covered her with kisses and caresses.
“Listen
mister, you’ve had the milk. You’ve bought the cow or the cow’s bought
you, so to speak, James, your little Dyonisian ways aren’t cheap,
darling... If mommy doesn’t do something about it today we’re broken
against the rocks... Do I make myself clear? Or do you actually think
some milk is going to come out of that if you keep on rooting? The teat
is dry, my dear. So stay up here, right here in this room, and do not
make a sound. If you do, when I get back, I’ll let you do what we talked
about the other night. Would you like that, darling?”
“I was hoping we could,” said James. He rubbed his amphetamine-induced erection.
“Once
I get some money, I can get you some real drugs again. Until then, keep
your nose out of my bath crystals, James, that stuff is downright
scary, darling. Google it. It’s bad news.”
“Yes granny,” said James.
“That’s not what you were saying last night.”
“I sure wasn’t.”
The doorbell rang.
“My
baby boy,” said Vera, “James, stay put.” She pointed a finger at him
then closed the door behind herself. Vera worked through the columns of
cardboard filing boxes in the hall, pushing her way to the staircase.
Her heart raced. “Just a moment!” she said. Vera looked into the mirror
at the top of the stairs. She really was glowing. Her breasts were
flushed and glistened with perspiration. She closed her robe again and
tied the sash. She examined the wrinkles at corners of her eyelids. She
frowned.
The doorbell rang.
“Yes, I’m coming, Darling!” said Vera. She opened the door.
“Good
morning, miss Underwood,’” said Darryl. He wore jeans and a leather
jacket. A press pass from the San Jose Mercury News hung from his neck
by a green cord. He carried a duffel bag that had Lica printed on the
side of it.
“I told you I have nothing to say about my late husband,” said Vera, “Now, please be gone.”
“Miss Underwood, your son Hunter asked me to meet him here this morning.”
“Hunter?” said Vera.
A
primer-grey cargo van pulled up to the curb blaring dubstep music.
Sasha and Poppy climbed out of the van. They danced beside each other on
the curb.
“I hear that Alfred Hitchcock was pretty inspired by this place,” said Darryl.
“Excuse me?” said Vera, “Sasha, turn that music off!”
“They say the house on beach hill was the inspiration for the Bates motel in Psycho,” said Darryl.
Yes,
that’s true,” said Vera, “my late husband knew Hitch when he lived in
Scott’s Valley. He had a place there. Of course I was too young at the
time to have known either of them. I was practically a child when I had
Hunter you know.” A dozen Harley Davidson motorcycles roared past the
house, up the street.
“Would you mind terribly if I waited for Hunter inside?” said Darryl.
“Yes,
I would mind terribly,” said Vera, “Sasha! Get over here.” A black
Chevy Tahoe pulled up and parked across the street. Hunter materialized,
walking up from the sidewalk.
Good
morning, mother,” said Hunter. He kissed Vera on the cheek then walked
inside the house. Everyone else followed him. Poppy shut the door behind
them and locked it.
****
Thursday, September 7th, 07:00hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
Mariposa watched the numbers above the elevator doors light up.
6th floor
5th floor
4th floor
She tapped her foot. “Come on…” she said.
3rd floor
2nd floor. The elevator stopped. The doors opened.
“Well good morning, Mari,” said Dr. Lovbaum, “you’re here early, and going up?”
“Yes, doctor,” said Mariposa.
Dr,
Lovbaum held the elevator door open with the side of his shoe. “I’m
glad you are here though, Mari, I was just thinking about you. Do you
have a moment?”
Mariposa swallowed. “Yes, of course, doctor Lovbaum.”
“Please,
Mari, call me Charles. It’s nothing really, if you have a second
there’s something I need to ask you.” He led her down a hallway. They
walked in silence. The only sound was their footsteps echoing off the
passage floor. They passed a restroom.
“Charles, I need to use the restroom real quick,” said Mariposa.
“Yes
of course, right this way, Mari,” He guided her firmly by one elbow.
They passed through a pair of doors, beneath a sign that read
Psychosurgery. Only one light was on, above an empty operating table in
the middle of the room.
“Mari, have you seen Hunter lately? I’m concerned about him,” said Dr. Lovbaum.
“Actually,
Charles, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” said Mariposa.
Chrome surgical instruments sat on trays lined with blue paper. “He
really hasn’t been himself lately.”
“Then you have seen him,” said Dr. Lovbaum. Personnel walked up and down the hallway now.
“No, well, yes, just not lately,” said Mariposa.
“Mari, what are you doing here?” said Dr. Lovbaum, “Really…”
“There
must be a hundred ways I could answer with that question, Charles,”
said Mariposa. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The tribal
spike of a tattoo peeked out from her collar and disappeared into her
hairline at the base of her neck. Tiny hairs stood on end with
goosebumps, “Define doing. What am I doing? Or are you really trying to
ask me who am I doing, Charles?”
“All
of the above,” said Dr. Lovbaum. He stepped closer to Mariposa. He
glanced down at the handbag hanging from her shoulder. He looked
directly into her eyes.
Mariposa
kissed him on the mouth. It was horrific but she didn’t know what else
to do. Dr. Lovbaum kissed her back, panting, groaning and exploring her
mouth with his tongue. Her eyes widened. She looked franticly over his
shoulder.
What to do?
What to do?!
What the hell am I going to do?!! she thought.
“Quick,
follow me,” said Dr. Lovbaum. He took Mariposa by the hand and led her
across the room to a secure staircase. He swiped his I.D. and entered an
access code. His palm was sweating. They climbed the stairwell. He
looked back at Mariposa over his shoulder and smiled. “I want to show
you something, Mari,” he said.
At the top of the stairwell he opened a red door. They walked into hall lined with many doors. He opened one.
“Here we are,” said Lovbaum, “take a look…” He shut the door behind them.
Mariposa
looked through a large viewing window. In the room below, a man lay on a
table in leather restraints. A tube was inserted into his throat.
Medical tape secured it to his lips. Gauze bandages covered his eyes.
“What is this?” said Mariposa.
“It’s therapy,” said Dr. Lovbaum. He joined her at the window. He stared straight ahead. “This man is clinically insane.”
“Charles,”
“Let
me finish,” said Lovbaum, “I’m in love with you, Mari. I have been for
some time. If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The man on the table groaned.
“I don’t understand, Charles,” said Mariposa.
“Hunter cannot not be allowed to do what he intends to do, Mari, it’s insane.”
****
Thursday, September 7th, 07:30hrs. Santa Cruz, California…
“I’m leaving,” said Hunter. They all listened. The living room had been cleared and the couches dusted off.
“I realize that I have obligations to many of you but this is something I have to do.”
“Where on earth are you going, darling?” said Vera, she crossed her legs on the couch. Darryl glanced.
“Indonesia,”
said Hunter, “Mother, you’ve already met Darryl. Sasha, Darryl is a
journalist. He’ll be coming with us to Burning Man. Mother, there’s
something important I need to ask you.”
“Sweet holy fuck!” said a voice, somewhere above them. There was a thud. Everyone looked up.
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s nothing,” said Vera. “What did you want to ask me?”
“I want you to talk to Darryl, mother, please,” said Hunter, “just this one time, and I’ll pay you for it.”
“How could you possibly ask me to do this?” said Vera, “Haven’t I suffered enough, Hunter? What could be gained by it?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“You find me that cheap, son?”
“That’s all I have until I make my trip,” said Hunter.
“I need twenty.”
“For what?”
“for bills, darling, what do you think all these boxes are filled with?”
“Okay, just talk to him,” said Hunter. He kissed Vera on the forehead then walked over to Sasha.
“I need to see you in private,” said Hunter.
“Let’s go up to my room,” said Sasha. He smiled.
“You’re such a slacker,” said Hunter, “look at this place.”
“Don’t
start,” said Sasha, “you don’t even know the half of what it’s like.”
“Where are you two going?” Said Vera.
“Upstairs,” said Hunter.
“I
have a few questions for you about Hunter’s father,” said Darryl, “May I
call you Vera?” He took out his voice recording pen and a pad of paper.
“No,” said Vera, “wait, Hunter, you can’t go up there it’s a mess, sweetheart.”
Hunter and Sasha looked at each other.
“and?” said Hunter.
“and
I’m very vulnerable right now, show some compassion for pity’s sake,”
said Vera, “or is that all the compassion twenty thousand dollars will
buy someone these days?”
“Mother,
I’m giving the money to you.” Hunter walked back downstairs. “If I’m
purchasing anything with it it should be compassion for me and my
predicament.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, darling, I’m giving you what you want aren’t I?”
“I don’t know, mother. Are you?”
“Ask me,” said Vera, “Ask me anything.”
“What happened to my father?”
“Sit
down then, and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell all of you, damnit,” said Vera, “just
please, in the name of god, everyone sit the hell down and listen to me.
You at least owe me your full attention. I feel like you’re trying to
remove the bloody interview from me like a cyst.”
“Alright, I’m sorry,” said Hunter. He returned to the couch and sat next to Sasha. Poppy walked toward the staircase.
“I have to use the restroom,” she said.
“Sit!” said Vera. Poppy returned to the couch.
“Sorry, Vera,” said Poppy.
“Alright,”
said Darryl “I like this. This is a very organic moment right here and
I’m going to proceed with all of your permission, because we’re all open
and safe, we’re open for this right? This is just a gathering of human
beings telling each other human stories, nothing more.”
“Just get on with it,” said Vera.
“When
was the last time you saw Hunter’s father?” Darryl set the recording
pen down on the coffee table between them then sat back down on the
couch.
“It
was at Ken Kesy’s party, on Perry Lane at Stanford,” said Vera. “The
school had just sold the property. Rome was burning. At least for us it
was. This would be the last party in Avalon. We all knew it would
happen, eventually.”
“We?” said Darryl.
“We poets
and fiction writers,” said Vera, “ testing the limits of our
imaginations. It was as if we could shape the very world with words,
though they were made of clay.”
“Nice metaphor,” said Darryl.
“I am a poet, darling, of course it is,” said Vera.
“What happened at the party?” said Darryl.
“Who happened at the party.” said Vera.
“Who happened then?”
“Kesy happened,” said Vera, “he was our sovereign at Camelot in those days. After the success of One Flew Over the Cookoo’s Nest, Kesy could do no wrong. But more importantly, he had proven to Jack that they were right about the research.”
“What kind of research?”
“That’s how he’d done it,” said Vera, “Kesy and the big Indian, telling the story through the Indian’s perspective in One Flew Over the Cookoo’s Nest. It all came to him while he was on experimental drugs. They were experimenting on Kesy at a research facility in Menlo Park.”
“MK-Ultra,” said Darryl.
“I have no idea what that is,” said Vera.
“It was funded by the CIA,” said Darryl.
“Where’d you hear that, Wikileaks?”
“Wikipedia,” said Darryl.
“Well,
you can’t rape the willing, darling,” said Vera, “and whoever it was
that was experimenting on Kesy, Kesy was the one pushing the envelope.
All in the name of fiction.”
“You mean fame,” said Hunter.
“Fame is a fiction,” said Vera, “just look around you, Darling.”
****
