Chapter 9
Seth rushed over to Isaac as soon as his mentee got off the elevator. “How’d it go, kid?” But it didn’t matter how many questions Seth asked him because Isaac’s answer was always the same: silence. Isaac was unreachable. He couldn’t hear Seth, not with his heartbeat throbbing loud in his ears.
All Isaac could focus on was the park he had dreamed about. He pushed his way through the building, desperate to get outside, but Seth grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.
“What’s wrong? So, you bombed it. No big deal. We expected that, right? It’s called a ‘learning curve’ Now, you’ll be ready for your next interview with a studio head. Oh! Hey, now!” Seth choked on his words, alarmed at the vacant stare he found when Isaac turned to him. “Stop that!” Seth shook Isaac until his eyes rattled around free.
“This is it. This was the setting of my script!” Isaac said once his eyes settled to a stop.
“Your script? Oh – You’re script. Right. No shit. What are the odds?”
“Yes, from my script. You don’t recognize it? You used to work at the exact place I dreamed about and you didn’t tell me?” Isaac yelled.
“Woah. Hold up. I plead ignorance. To be fair, I never read your script.”
“Are you kidding me?” Isaac’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Careful, Isaac, you’re looking a little Slytherin there in the eyes; either that or you’re appropriating Asian culture, neither of which is cute. Time to pull it back. Calm down.”
A tirade of curses built up in Isaac’s throat, but he swallowed them. In his heart of hearts, Isaac knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had lived on the west side of LA all his life. He should have known this was the setting of his script. Somehow, his mind never made the connection. It was Century City’s fault, Isaac reasoned. There was some sort of magic at work. All of the buildings were constructed in the same uniform style with the same glittering metal, rendering the city nothing more than a shimmering mirage whenever viewed from afar. It was almost as if the city was designed to be camouflaged by the LA sun.
“Tell me everything you know,” Isaac demanded.
“I know three things in life: two plus two equals four, Tupac isn’t dead, and the first piss after a good jerkoff session is often better than the jerkoff itself.”
Isaac felt his skin harden at Seth’s crass joke. This was no laughing matter. Frustrated, Isaac’s thoughts slipped away, and his fist flew through the air. Seth dodged Isaac’s punch easily, but his smile came even easier.
“Hey, sorry for partying, Isaac. It’s going to be okay. Whatever’s is going on, I can assure you it’s not the end of the world, so take a breath, big dog.” Seth put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder to help ground him. It worked.
After a few long breaths, Isaac admitted, “I need help.”
“Agreed, but you’re in luck because I’m here to help. That’s sort of why I’m here in the first place, if you remember.”
“I remember, but I haven’t noticed much in the way of help since I met you,” Isaac challenged.
“Tough criticism, but fair. Come here.” Seth directed Isaac to an outdoor table with an adjacent heat lamp. They were outside Craft restaurant, which, according to the bronze plaque affixed to the wall beside them, was a restaurant owned and operated by one of the judges of Top Chef. Isaac sat up a little bit straighter with this knowledge.
The patio where they sat overlooked the triangle park where professionals dressed in pewter-colored suits and flamboyant dress socks hurried here and there under the shadows of the metal skyscrapers. A waiter buzzed by their table, and Seth ordered two beers.
“Tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine,” Seth offered and Isaac obliged, doing his best to retell his script from memory. And whenever the opportunity presented itself, he’d point out the details of their location that matched 1:1 with his dream.
“Consider me intrigued,” Seth said once Isaac finished. The waiter delivered the two beers, and Seth drank from them both, double-fisting them. “Before I buy into the idea that you dream in premonitions, have you considered that maybe, just maybe, you dreamt this up because you drive by here all the time on your way to Dr. Rousseau’s? That maybe this is your subconscious playing tricks on you?”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
Seth took a sip of beer, deliberating. “Good. Next question: Have you ever visited the Annenberg Space for Photography?”
“No.”
“It’s a photography museum.”
“...”
“I figured you weren’t in the know because if you were, then you’d know that’s the place you dreamed of, the one with the pictures, or photographs as they call them in the culture.”
Isaac’s eyes brightened. “You have to take me there.”
“Happy to, but lemme finish these beers,” Seth said before chugging whatever remained of them, drawing looks of contempt from the other patrons on the patio who were used to polite company. “Let’s fucking go!” Seth slammed the empty beer glasses down for emphasis.
“Now?”
“Yup. No time like the present.” They didn’t have to go far to reach the Annenberg Space for Photography, their destination lying directly across from the restaurant on the other side of the business park. The two of them followed in the footsteps of 30 schoolchildren who walked hand-and-hand in a daisy chain up the stairs leading to the museum while their chaperones humped enormous lunch coolers.
Isaac felt violated. It was surreal for him to watch a place as sacred as his dream be intruded upon by John Q. Public. This was hallowed ground. He had to stop at the threshold of the museum’s front door, holding out a hand, testing for some sort of invisible barrier or membrane, a boundary between this world and the next, but there was nothing there aside from a curtain of chill coming from a commercial air conditioner.
Ahhh. The inside of the museum was identical to how Isaac imagined his script, structurally speaking, but the mood was different. The dread he felt in his script was nowhere to be found. Instead, what he thought was some sinister temple of doom or twisted science laboratory was a legit photography museum with cheery guest service associates, courtesy citrus-infused water carafes, and 3-hour parking validation for the low, low price of $4.50, or $5.50 if you’re a Slytherin. But wait, there’s more! The other difference from his script was the photos. There was no horned beast from his script. No sexed-up baby either. Instead, there was a sexed-up woman. On display was a Helmut Newton exhibit. Or that’s what Dan, the day’s docent, said. Isaac and Seth were tagging along on Dan’s school tour, eavesdropping on the presentation.
“The history of the Annenberg Space for Photography began with the birth of Walter Annenberg, a humble man who eventually became a captain of industry and presidential power-broker. Owner of Sunnylands, the Camp David of the west…” is how Dan led off his tour. He further explained how Walter Annenberg sold off his Pittsburgh publishing company (famous for TV Guide and Seventeen) to begin his incredible charitable foundation, which funded the museum where they stood today. But, of course, none of the school children had heard of TV Guide, leading to chuckles amongst the adult chaperones. Kid these days, am I right?
Isaac tuned in and out of the tour as they walked along the halls. He was studying the photos. They bothered him, not understanding why everything was the same as his dream except for the images on the walls. He racked his brain until he found the only solution that made sense: this was proof of the existence of the multiverse. He had dreamed of a parallel world to his own. There was no other reasonable explanation.
The docent broke up Isaac’s thoughts, “If you’re wondering why the halls of the space for photography are shaped so strangely, it’s because the architect designed the museum in the shape of a 35mm camera. As we walk, we trace the film's path through the camera. In a moment, I will lead you through our digital gallery. That’s where you can see the aperture of the camera design. Questions?” Dan asked. He was a small and sad man doing his best to hide his weak chin with a beard and his male-patterned baldness with a buzz cut. He pointed to the raised hand of one of the kids.
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“That man is wearing a saddle,” the boy observed.
“Good eye,” Dan complimented the boy before launching into a lengthy discourse on the photo’s interplay between the theme of masculinity and the symbol of studded leather. Still, Isaac was distracted by Seth arguing with an exasperated chaperone.
“How could you bring middle schoolers here? It’s criminal,” Seth demanded. His moralizing surprised Isaac, who would have never confused him with a prude. But the chaperone was unfazed by the charges, shrugging them off, saying he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. A free field trip was a free field trip. Most of these kids had never stepped foot in a museum before, and the stuff he heard on the bus ride over to the space for photography would make Helmut Newton blush.
Isaac wished everyone would quiet down. He needed to focus, trying his best to follow the steps of the characters from his dream. But Dan did the work for him, ushering the tour into the digital gallery so they could watch a documentary about the exhibit. The room didn’t look like much at first, unique only because there were two movie screens opposite each other, but then Dan directed everyone’s views to the ceiling.
Isaac yelped, seeing the blue light beam from his dream, the one that threatened to vaporize the taller figure who stood below it. Everyone stared at Isaac, disturbed by the inhuman sound he had made, but Isaac paid them no mind, hypnotized by the swirling blue light above him. To Dan’s credit, it did look like a 50-foot wide camera lens with giant aperture blades swinging out from the center, but Isaac knew better. This was a death ray.
“Any questions?” Dan was wrapping up his tour. None of the children raised a hand, anxious to start watching the movie.
“I got one,” Seth shouted to the children's groans, “How do you sleep at night?”
“I’m sorry?” Dan replied.
“What’s this?” Isaac interrupted Seth, pointing up at the death ray above him.
“Good eye. As I said earlier, the space resembles a camera lens from a bird's eye view. You can also see the same shape in our logo.” He pointed to the logo stitched into his shirt, which was a spiral bent into the shape of an eye.
Isaac scoffed. “That’s only what you want us to think!”
Dan looked around, nervous. The kids were ready to riot. “Can I speak to you two separately?” He led the kids to their seats, copycat directors’ chairs, with a wave of the hand before pulling Seth and Isaac aside, putting on his best aim-to-please smile. “Now, what would you gentlemen like to know?”
“The truth!” Isaac screamed through gritted teeth.
“Shut the fuck up!” one of the kids shouted. The movie was starting, the title flashing: “The Annenberg Space for Photography presents Helmut Newton: White Women • Sleepless Nights • Big Nudes.” The boys in the audience cheered.
“Gentlemen, I’m going to have to ask you to stop disturbing the viewing experience for our other guests. I hope you’ll understand.” Dan steered Isaac and Seth towards a back room empty of people. “Now, how can I help improve your experience at the Annenberg Space for Photography today?”
“Tell us everything you know,” Seth demanded.
“I can do that.” Dan looked relieved. He took a performative breath, “It all began with the birth of Walter Annenberg, a humble man who eventually became a captain of industry and presidential power-broker—” he began his script from the top until Seth cut him off, unnerved by the tour leader mimicking himself.
“Enough!”
“Have you ever had a cat come through here? He’s white and about the size of a bread box. Answers to Captain Flapjacks,” Isaac asked.
“I apologize, folks, but we don’t allow any animals into the space unless they’re of the service variety.”
“What about Super Jesus or the actor who plays him? Has he visited the museum?”
“I apologize, folks, but it’s the policy of the museum to be discrete about guest visitation, a privilege that I will also kindly extend to you. So enjoy. I do wish for you to return for our next exhibit.”
“How often do you change exhibits?” Isaac asked.
“Every six months. We feature all forms of photography at the Annenberg Space for Photography: war, nature, fashion, and you name it! So you can always find a reason to return to the Annenberg Space for Photography. Plus, we offer the best parking rates in town.”
“They’re good rates,” Seth agreed.
“Best in town.” Isaac found himself nodding along. “Last time I came here, I remember seeing a huge photo of a toddler in a tiara. You ever have a show like that?”
Dan stared at Isaac while he processed the information. “Beauty CULTure was our most recent exhibit. However, it did not feature a Toddler in Tiara, though that was a common misconception our guests had. What you’re referencing is a Lauren Greenfield photo.” Dan then told Isaac the exhibit dates, and after Isaac did some quick mental math, remembering to carry the one, he realized that those dates overlapped with the session in which he first told Dr. Rousseau about his dream. He congratulated himself on figuring out the clue. He had dreamed of an event in the past.
“Sir, are you all right?” Dan inquired after watching Isaac’s knees buckle. “Sir? Relax. You’re in good hands. Everyone at the Annenberg Space for Photography is CPR certified.”
Isaac was in a whiteout. All six of Isaac’s senses flooded his system, forming a bright white light that blew out his consciousness. Sure, he had known there was something strange about his script, but he hadn’t known he was clairvoyant, a prophet, or a god until now. It was one thing to dream up the cat, but now he knew he could dream up events, too. What other secrets was his dream hiding from him? The implications were as numerous as they were staggering. Was all of Dr. Rousseau’s Hogwarts bullshit true? Was he a wizard? Whatever he was, he was determined to use his powers, whatever they may be, for good, remembering the one moral lesson that had ever stuck with him: with great power comes great responsibility.
When Isaac awoke from his reverie, Seth was getting into it with Dan about who would think of the children. In response, Dan gave an unwavering smile that was glass. This guy seemed brain-dead. Cold-blooded horror flowed through Isaac. If vampires were real and wizards were real, then why not zombies? And if zombies were real, then where would it end? Aliens? Bigfoot? Werewolf Hitler? His spiraling thoughts were jammed to a stop when an employees-only door opened from behind him. He turned. Through the swinging door was a familiar sight, the service elevator from his dream. Isaac nudged Seth, who nodded with understanding.
“I’m glad I have been of service to you, gentlemen. If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask. But before you leave, do not forget to get your parking validated.”
Seth and Isaac reassured him that they would do so. Satisfied, Dan returned to the front desk to greet the next school tour. When Seth and Isaac were finally alone and could hear no one approaching, they pushed past the “Authorized Personnel Only” door.
Isaac jumped in fright.
“Hello again, gentlemen!” Impossibly, Dan was waiting for them in the elevator bay. “I know our space can be confusing, given that the design mirrors the interior of a 35-millimeter camera from a bird’s eye view, but this area is off-limits to guests. Therefore, per our guest code of conduct, I’ll have to ask you to exit back to the gallery. Otherwise, it will be the preference of this establishment to have your presence outside our premises.”
They were caught, and that was that, so they left without a fight. Isaac dragged his feet while walking away from the museum. He was so close to returning to the place of his lucid dream only to be turned away by some two-cent tour guide. Seth had other ideas, however, redirecting Isaac away from the parking garage elevators and towards the back of the museum.
“More than one way to skin a cat,” Seth said. Then, with a showman’s flourish, he revealed the backside of the freight elevator, the one Isaac had seen behind the employee door. “Much like you, it goes both ways,” Seth joked, hitting the “down” button on the double-sided elevator. When the doors opened, a janitor and his sanitation cart made room for them to enter.
Once inside, Isaac pressed the same floor button his characters had pushed from his dream script. The elevator shuddered to a start. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Isaac told himself to stave off the surrealness of the moment.
“I can. That’s what I’m here for,” Seth said. “I’m your quarter-life crisis midwife, and you’re about nine months pregnant. The time is now.”
“It is,” Isaac agreed. “I’ve got to deliver.”
The janitor gave a queer look.
“I hope you learned a valuable lesson here today, Isaac. Never forget that Dan guy from the Annenberg. You got that? Never forget him.”
“Yeah?”
“You think he ever saved a cat in his life? No fucking chance.”
Isaac smiled to himself, proud.
Bing! The elevator came to a stop. There was a rush of activity as the doors opened to reveal the same cavernous loading dock from his dream. So this is where Century Park hid their vast array of service workers. Delivery drivers, construction crews, maintenance men, and Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf baristas all zoomed around in a craze like rats in a maze. Isaac had to thread his way through them while he followed where his feet were taking him.
Right foot, left foot.
Left foot, right foot.
Right foot, left foot.
Isaac’s feet did not lead him astray, stopping in front of a non-descript door. Behind it was the long, long hallway from his dream, the one with the motion-sensitive lights, the one where the taller figure ran for his life.
What was Isaac doing? He needed to check himself before he wrecked himself. Isaac knew what guarded the gold at the end of this rainbow. The vampire. He should be running far, far away, but his instinct for flight, which had served him reliably for years, would not engage. Seth was the one to thank, responsible for having Isaac’s back and pushing him forward. First, he calmed Isaac down with the irrefutable argument that vampires aren’t awake during the day. Then, for an added layer of security, Seth reached into his jacket and produced a shotgun-sized loaf of garlic bread from Jon & Vinny’s. To ward off any vampires, they each shared a bite of broken bread before moving through the hall, open-mouthed to emit as much garlic breath as possible. But as they pressed on, going left and right, this way and that, doing their best to navigate the labyrinthian halls, Isaac became more worried about finding a minotaur than a vampire.
“Here it is.” Isaac finally whispered to Seth. They were outside the room where he had last seen the taller figure from his script, but there was no time to revel in the moment. From far down the hall, there was a commotion heading their way, security, so Isaac and Seth took the plunge, diving into the room, but it wasn’t a room at all, only a vestibule to another door, an odd door, a door he had never seen before. This one was wooden, marking the first natural material they encountered in the entire business complex, which was made up entirely of metallic design elements. It was inlaid with strange, foreboding markings. The feeling of dread from Isaac’s dream returned to him. He stared at the symbol, the rune, mesmerized by it, confounded.
image [https://i.imgur.com/LfXTYdP.png]
Behind them, the door to the hallway went bump! bump! bump! The clamoring from down the hall had arrived. Isaac held his breath, stifled his movements, and quieted his mind, doing anything and everything he imagined Anne Frank would do, but, just like her, it wouldn’t be enough. They were ratted out by an alarm, the sound coming from Isaac and Seth’s pants. Beep! Beep! Beep! They fumbled for their cellphones to turn them off, but they were too late. Another Amber alert blew their cover. This little girl was abducted from the Grove. Seth lept to the wooden door for an escape, but it was locked. They were trapped. With no escape possible, Isaac could only prepare for a confrontation with the vampire. As the door opened, he put his fingers together to form the shape of a cross.