After aimlessly walking around the parking lot for over a few hours, Tim the Printer Guy saw Fred’s car. The Mercedes glided over like a chariot to escort his sweaty, beaten-down peasant self away from the mundane, feathered, retail nightmare and back to a world of possibility. Though Cage’s hat rested in his computer bag as a cherished relic of his once beloved men of PaperClips, Tim the Printer Guy felt the past wash away. His failure to impress the statuesque, god-like beings of beauty was insignificant to the fruitful optimism of this new friendship. As the car stopped in front of Tim the Printer Guy, he smiled, knowing that Fred sat behind the tinted glass. He leaned over and stared at his own cheerful reflection as the passenger side window rolled down to reveal Fred Shudnow glaring at him with something akin to contempt.
“Hey friend, thanks for picking me up!” Tim exclaimed.
“Just get in,” Fred sternly commanded.
“So where are we off to?” Tim the Printer Guy said, as he threw himself in the passenger’s side.
Fred did not respond for a moment. He let a wave of silence wash over Tim and smother some of his excitement. “I want to see this apartment you live in,” he said, driving out of the lot.
“Oh, yeah, I guess we could go there,” Tim the Printer Guy said. “Though it is really dilapidated, so I don’t know if you would want to see that…”
“Did you use my money?” Fred asked, interrupting Tim’s jumbled response.
“Your money?... Yeah, it worked out all right, thank you!” said Tim.
“Good… Because you are gonna have to work off that payment.”
“Yes, I know that. I am willing to do whatever you want me to. I can help with those cameras around your house, I can do yard work—”
“Paint me,” said Fred.
“Excuse me?”
“You are a painter, right? I’ve always wanted a portrait of myself,” Fred elaborated.
Tim the Printer Guy thought about Fred’s latest request and was tickled by the chance to showcase his artistic prowess again.
“Then I will have to get my paints!” Tim exclaimed.
“You know you are welcome to stay at my house for a while,” Fred reminded him.
“Thank you, how long will you let me stay with you?” asked Tim the Printer Guy.
“As long as you need.”
Tim the Printer Guy was starting to feel exuberant, and began to think about what this could mean for him. Would staying with Fred mean that he could find a new job? Even escape from Skeeter and his father and perhaps find the strength to become an Adonis himself? Tim did not know what to say. He just looked at the floor with an excited smile on his face.
“Where is your apartment at?” Fred asked. “I want to get your things together.”
“Okay, I can show you where to go.”
Tim began to lead his friend back to the apartment, where he lived. Knowing that Skeeter monitored the place, he was sure to have Fred park his car away from the front entrance.
“Would it be alright if I leave you here for a bit? I got a few more errands to run and I assume you need some time to pack,” said Fred. “I could come back later tonight to get you.”
“That sounds good, thank you again,” said Tim, opening the door and getting out of the car.
“Hold on,” said Fred, “take this.” He took Tim the Printer Guy’s phone and entered a new contact for himself. “That’s my number. Give me a call when you’ve got all your things together.”
Tim the Printer Guy took his phone back and sauntered to his apartment. There was wind in each step as he made his way inside. A small mouse ran out past the door and down the stairs—possibly, trying to escape the smell. Tim found a pile of clothes and paper towels on the floor to throw himself on. He was finally in the mood to relax and sprawl out to reflect on this new opportunity. No more would he have to worry about Skeeter, or printers, or ProSales, or the Adonises…
What did Tim the Printer Guy need to pack? As for clothes, most of what he had were the uniforms that Skeeter provided: powder-blue polos with the ProSales logo and khakis. Then his mother’s kimono, and also his cherished, white lace chemise—the only article of clothing that truly was his own. Wanting to feel it draped across his skin, he put it on and looked at himself in the mirror.
An infectious giggle rolled through his stomach as he twirled around and imagined himself in a field of flowers, dancing to the sounds of the trees, rustling in the wind. He could see nothing but flower petals of many different colors and shapes, surrounding him and filling his nostrils with their sweet scent.
“Hee hee hee,” Tim the Printer Guy said, twirling in ecstasy.
Dazed from all the spinning, he collapsed back on the pile of polos and smiled wide. Tim looked around at the apartment again and just laughed.
“Adonises, ProSales, Skeeter… Hahaha,” he laughed more—hardy and boastful. “I have a new friend, someone I can rely on, and he will give me the time to create again.” Tim bragged.
He got up again and danced over to his backpack, which sat by his discarded clothes. Unzipping the top, he was met with Cage’s hat yet again—worn, soft, and all the while beautiful. Tim the Printer Guy felt its touch take hold of him—his last remnant of the Adonises. He set it down on the floor in the middle of the room next to the kimono, still folded and left untouched from when Tim wore it last.
“Don’t worry mother, your boy is coming home,” he whispered.
Tim then grabbed a lone canvas, which was laying in the corner of the room, blank and ready for this moment. He looked around for some paints—whatever was needed to match the colors of the hat. Though his attraction to the Adonises was ending in Tim’s mind, he felt that all this emotion and happiness needed to be captured; a final goodbye picture for the scrapbook of his past. Cage’s hat was so precious. Despite being owned by someone who had crushed Tim’s heart, it was a very fine article of clothing. It was faded maroon, and had a shield in the center, reading, “Seattle Space Needle.” It must be from some faraway land that Tim could only read about. The logo had stars around a silhouette of a city skyline. For a moment, he got wistful, fantasizing about visiting the city with Cage—taking tours and having the young man show him the sites. Yet, all those possibilities were gone, filling Tim again with melancholy.
He began to paint, unloading his emotions onto the canvas. Relaxation came with every stroke of the brush, and different colors collided together in a beautiful depiction of Cage’s hat. Taking some artistic liberties, he painted the hat laying in that same field of flowers from his fantasies—dormant, untouched by man and one with nature. Tim the Printer Guy stepped back to admire his piece. Cage’s hat looked so exquisite, gently touched by the sun and gleaming heavenly.
Tim then thought about the nubile Adonis and how much he might miss his precious hat. His eyes lingered for a moment at his artwork, then moved over to the hat sitting on his apartment floor surrounded by all the trash. It seemed sad, missing the familiar strands of hair that it so gracefully sat upon. Tim the Printer Guy could not feel sadness anymore, not when his life felt so promising. He searched for more pills. Tim needed to subdue the waverings of doubt that were beginning to plague his mind, so he sifted through the pants he was previously wearing, but there was nothing. Then, he returned to his backpack and stuck his hand through every crevice, but still nothing. Tim’s heartbeat started to increase and his hands began to shake. The thoughts of regret towards the theft of Cage’s hat was nothing compared to the overwhelming anxiety brought by the realization that he had no pills.
Tim paced around the room, looking for something, anything that would calm his nerves. He took deep breaths and thought about his mother, but that only started to manifest more anxious thoughts of the possibility that he may never return to her arms. Tim the Printer Guy then clutched his mother’s kimono, ruining its folds, desperately seeking comfort in its touch. Not feeling the instant of relief, he moved his attention onto the hat, wanting to gain control over the item that sent him into this spiral. He clutched it tight and stared deep into its stitching. That is when he saw something caked within the inner lining: a white powder which gave off an electrifying, potent smell. Breathing it in, almost put Tim the Printer Guy in a calm, zen-like state, so he thrust his sweaty, nervous face into the cap and took a bigger whiff. Tim exhaled with a moan and soon felt the anxiety wash away. With each strong inhale of Cage’s hat, he felt more of the mysterious powder enter his nostrils.
What is this powder? Tim the Printer Guy thought to himself, feeling a bit drunk after the many inhales.
He fell to the ground and dropped the hat, looking blankly at the ceiling. The beige plaster was riddled with cracks and water stains. There was a small spider making a web in the corner, mesmerizing Tim with its intricate patterns. The geometric swirl of silk put him more at ease, reminding him of when he would carefully sketch the webs in the garden to show his mother in his youth. She used to think they were eye-catching, and young Tim the Printer Guy felt special—that he could achieve anything. He then rolled his head over to find the hat again, but it was nowhere to be seen. Tim sat up, rubbing his face and breathing normally again.
He was drenched in sweat and in a sobered state, still trying to find his balance to stand. Soon enough, he was on his feet and reflecting on the dizzy spell that had sent him to the floor. The hat was nowhere in sight—it was not in the room at all. Panic again started to creep into Tim’s heart as he frantically looked around for the hat, throwing things out of the way and checking behind his piles of clothes and trash. He stopped, confused and frustrated.
“Looking for this?” a voice asked from behind.
Tim the Printer Guy turned around. There was Bandaged Cage, standing in the middle of the room with his black kimono, the hat perched upon his bloody bandages.
“Oh, it’s just you,” said Tim, unamused. “What do you want with me now?”
“I see you have taken this hat. Not ready to fully purge them from your life?” asked Bandaged Cage.
“Well,” Tim said, turning his attention back to his painting, “it is a lovely hat, and it's not like I could return it to him. I don’t think he wants to see me.”
“Don’t you think he would still want his hat back, despite it all? It seems that you should try to make him happy even if he may not want to see you.”
“I cannot take the rejection anymore. At least I will have this relic of beauty no matter what he might say or do. I know it seems selfish, but for my sake, I cannot return to any of them.”
“So you leave them with an oni, with no one to protect them. You have brought shame to your family and yourself.”
“You don’t know what shame is!” Tim snapped. “I have not seen my family in years. I brought them shame when I first left—when I lost my scholarship! I had nothing, and my mother got me into that school all for nothing. Years went by where I refused to even think of them, and then my mind was caught up by those men of PaperClips, with their beauty and seemingly kind spirits. They made me believe, for a while, I could have all of that love of art back—they gave me inspiration. But they began to reject me, and stomp on my heart. Now, I have a friend—someone who actually allows me to paint and builds me up in a way I had never had since mother! Why can’t you understand that I am happy?”
Bandaged Cage took a solemn breath and angled his head toward the floor. “I can understand,” he said. “I understand that you may feel happy and you may think this is what you need, but you will waste your creativity on this man. The Adonises are pure, devine beauty, who should not be left with an evil such as Adem. He is making them act in that way. It is his laziness that corrupts their mind!”
“Even so, I am not strong enough to return to them,” said Tim the Printer Guy. “This is the last time I will ever think about the Adonises, and right now, it may be best to just throw that hat away.”
Bandaged Cage glided over to Tim at a great speed, and slashed at his face. Tim the Printer Guy fell down to the floor in tears.
“Why can’t you go away, and leave me alone!?” Tim shouted at the spirit.
Bandaged Cage stood over the fat man, dripping blood on his balding head. “I lost my face, my eyes—you do not know that pain!” shouted Bandaged Cage.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Tim the Printer Guy felt rage swell up in his soul, as he got up from the floor and stared at Bandaged Cage with an intense focus. He took a deep breath and then screamed at the top of his lungs, readying his soul to fight. Tim again, called upon jigen-ryu, hoping to smite the spirit once and for all.
“You do not know who I am!” Tim yelled as he launched himself at Bandaged Cage. His chemise fluttered in the wind, and with fury across his face he, once more, flung his hand at the spirit with all his might.
Tim the Printer Guy plummeted to the ground, missing him entirely. He got up fairly quick and looked around to set up another strike, yet Bandaged Cage was no longer in the room.
“C’mon, don’t run out on me now! You coward!” Tim yelled.
He searched all around the room, yet there was no sign of the meddlesome yōkai. Tim the Printer Guy eventually grabbed the front door and flung it open.
“Where are you!” he screamed again.
Bandaged Cage was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Tim found himself in the middle of a lush forest. It seemed to be that he had been transported far from the apartment complex. He looked up, awestruck, at the tall pine trees. Was he still hallucinating, or did Bandage Cage use his magic to bring him into the ethereal world? Tim the Printer Guy walked out into the forest and found a clearing, which was reminiscent of an old memory.
“What is this? Where am I?” Tim askedhimself.
A gust of wind slid through the trees and hit Tim through his chemise, exposing his flesh to the natural world. He tried to bring down the garment to cover himself, but it was no use; the wind was intrusive and further attempted to remove the lingerie from his body. Tim the Printer Guy ran back into the trees to hide from its grasp, but it continued to chase him. He closed his eyes and kept running, tears dripping down his cheeks.
“No more!” he cried.
Tim the Printer Guy soon found another clearing, free from the wind and shame. He stood before a great body of water and a lone mass of land—Penn Island! Tim the Printer Guy was back at Red Flow Lake, during the day this time. Along the shoreline was a large wooden torii gate. It was painted a bright orange and stood somewhat submerged in the water. In the Hachiman style, with sharp fins coming from the sides, it stood over twenty feet high. Tim the Printer Guy walked towards the structure, developing a small anxiety from its vertiginous height. Looking through, he saw himself—a younger version of himself, standing on a rock in the middle of the water. Young Tim was holding a large boulder over his head and trying to maintain balance, while standing on one foot—this was Raijin’s Trial.
A tear came to the present Tim the Printer Guy’s eye. He turned his head away from the sight as he could not bear to relive those painful memories.
“Stay still!” shouted a disgruntled, inebriated voice from the shore.
Present-day Tim heard his father give the young version of himself the bombastic, “constructive” criticisms that he was so fond of.
“Keep holding that boulder! Feel the pain in your spine, like lightning strikes. Raijin will not accept weakness!” his father shouted.
Young Tim struggled. His knee was shaking and crushed by the weight of the boulder. “I can’t,” he squealed. “It’s too much.”
Tim the Printer Guy heard a loud splash. He turned his head and saw that his young self had fallen into the water, dropping the boulder as well.
“You are weak gaijin!” his father shouted. “You still have no right to be called my son!”
Young Tim popped his head back out of the water. His long hair unfurled from his bun and floated alongside him. His eyes were full of rage, deeply frustrated and ashamed of his failure, but mostly because of his father.
“I am not your son—you said I was adopted! I will never be your son, so why do you force me to do these things?” he yelled.
His father was silent. He allowed the young Tim to swim back to the shore and collect his thoughts.
At his father’s feet, young Tim coughed up the water that got into his lungs and panted, trying to regain his stamina. “Why can’t I be normal, like the other children?” he asked.
Tim’s father continued to look out towards the lake—towards the island. His posture was stiff and his expression became stoic, reflecting on something deep inside himself.
“There is no such thing as normal, gaijin,” Tim’s father said softly.
“Mother wants me to be a painter. She told me that I am very talented—that I don’t need to fight. She said the bushido was not my path,” young Tim continued.
“I met your mother before the war,” his father said, still looking at the island. “I went to Taiwan on important matters. We sought to bring our ways to them—to keep them as citizens of Japan. Throughout my time in the service, my friends and I would seek out fun and drink. We had just come back from a wild time in Nanking. I found myself in a dingy Taiwanese club that the soldiers would go to—a small shack just away from the village we were stationed. We were all drunk on sake and wanted to see the young women dance for our amusement. There were many pretty girls in Taiwan, but they never struck a chord with me—just some pretty faces, nothing more. That was until I saw her.” A tear trickled down his father’s face. “The most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. She danced late into the night, once the place cleared out a bit. I was coming down from the sake, slowly grounding to the world around me. Her beauty was hypnotic, sobering, and sensational. Her face was different from the rest of the girls we met. It was stronger, more refined and almost statuesque.”
Young Tim found stability again and continued to listen to his father’s story. The rage dissipated as the thoughts of his adoptive mother, a beacon in both of their lives, put the boy at ease. Present-day Tim also listened intently.
“After I took her away from that seedy place, I wanted us to have a child of our own,” he continued. “She told me that it was impossible. She had not been entirely truthful with me about one thing.”
“What?” asked young Tim.
“That she possessed the biology of a man,” said his father.
Young Tim was confused. “Mother is not a woman?” he asked.
Tim’s father slapped the young Tim, making his cheek bright red. “She is a woman! I vowed to give her a son, but I ended up with you! You continue to be a failure and a disappointment!”
“Then why do you continue to take me here?” asked young Tim.
His father stood tall, casting an imposing shadow over the fetal, young Tim. “Maybe the island will incite something within you,” he said.
“Will I ever get to see it?”
His father looked over to Penn Island and thought for a moment. “No,” he said, solemnly. “You must never go there.”
“Why?”
“Don’t question me!” he shouted and slapped young Tim again.
Tim the Printer Guy turned away and walked back out of the gateway. He no longer wished to hear his father’s harsh words. This was a moment that Tim almost forgot about—learning that his mother, the most beautiful thing he ever knew, could not bear a son of her own. For years, he tried to prove himself to her even more so. She would always remain his muse, no matter what biology she had; she was a beautiful and caring woman. After that revelation, Tim the Printer Guy looked at his father with more hatred. Knowing that he cared for her, yet treated her so harshly, gave Tim a fractured understanding of the world. Why did his father drink so much? Could he not fully accept his wife—the most beautiful thing he had ever seen?
Tim the Printer Guy walked back into the forest with his head down. He found a large tree to rest his back on, then slid down into a fetal position and began to cry.
“Why did I leave her?” he asked himself. “She is alone with that man…”
Tears filled his eyes and he soon developed into a wailing mess. He cried and cried, clutching his knees and listening to the wind howl just above him. Eventually, Tim the Printer Guy finally stopped and wiped away some of the tears. He looked up and in front of him was another torii gate. He stood up and walked towards it, curious to see what was inside. Poking his head in, he saw a cold, sterile room, one with office chairs and even fluorescent lighting. It looked like the counselor’s office at Tim’s old college—another painful memory to be sure. He felt his heart race as another version of himself ran into the room to meet a woman dressed in modest business attire.
She was wearing glasses and had a navy blue pantsuit. Her hair was in a tight ponytail on the back of her head, and her stern face gave Tim the Printer Guy an uneasy feeling. The young Tim entered the room ecstatically. His hair was still lush and youthful, though he did not have his ponytail anymore. This was after he’d defiantly cut it off and run away from home to pursue art.
“Ms. Keegan, you wanted to see me?” asked young Tim.
“Yes, please sit down Tim,” she began. “I have to go over a few things with you that have come to our attention.”
Lorraine Keegan was someone Tim the Printer Guy could not forget. She always had the most stern way of carrying herself. Tim had talked with her many times while attending the Chicago Art Institute, and every time she was so cold.
Young Tim was confused. “I hope there isn’t anything wrong. I have been working hard and my professors say that I am—”
“Yes Tim, I know,” Lorraine cut him off. “I heard that you are a fine student—quite talented. We just discovered a few things about your transcript.”
“My transcript? I was homeschooled…”
“Even so, we still require a transcript which your parents can get through a separate institution. It appears your mother listed a lot of classes and credits here, but did not provide much, if not anything else that proves you earned those credits. Also, this transcript, which still needs to come from an approved institution or umbrella school, looks to be forged.”
Young Tim was distraught. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Well, you are indeed a good student, and this really should have been dealt with when you applied, but sometimes things like this slip through the cracks and we have to go back and rectify a few decisions made,” said Ms. Keegan. “Seeing that you did not actually finish these credits, you technically do not qualify for the scholarship.”
“You are kicking me out of school?” asked young Tim.
“No, not at all. We are extremely sorry for this miscalculation and will allow you to stay admitted. I understand that you are an impressive student and have been doing well in the classes you are taking. We still require that you take these prerequisites before getting your degree.”
“How much will it cost without the scholarship?”
Lorraine Keegan slid a piece of paper over to young Tim. He opened it and was stunned by what he saw—it was more money than he had ever known to have existed.
“I… don’t think I can afford this,” he said, pushing the paper back to her.
“Well we do have some payment options that you can look at.” She handed him a pamphlet. “These can provide ways of getting around the fees, and you can pay them later, after you graduate.”
Present-day Tim the Printer Guy ran out of the torii gate that showed him this memory. His heart was racing, and sadness and pain started turning to rage.
“Why are you playing these games? Show yourself spirit!” Tim the Printer Guy shouted towards the treetops. “I am calling for you, Bandaged Cage! You want me to suffer and relive the anguish again? Then, come down here and fight me!”
Tim turned around and saw the spector.
“You!” he shouted, charging at Bandaged Cage with all his might.
Tim slammed into a tree as the spirit flew to the treetops and out of his way.
“Coward!” screamed Tim the Printer Guy. “Come down here and fight me!”
Bandaged Cage started to run away from Tim, jumping across the treetops. Tim the Printer Guy chased after him, not wanting to lose sight of that meddling apparition. He moved swiftly, gliding through the forest with immense speed, though Tim kept up the pace. Branches and twigs flew up into Tim the Printer Guy’s eyes. He tried to maintain his vision on Bandaged Cage, but could not help but turn away to focus on the path in front of him, riddled with shrubbery. They were both closing in on another opening in the forest—at last! Tim the Printer Guy quickly snatched a piece of a branch while he was in pursuit. As they came to the small opening in the brush, Bandaged Cage lept an incredible distance to get to the other side of the gap. In what almost seemed like slow motion, Tim hurled the branch at Bandaged Cage as he was flying overhead.
Connecting to the back of Bandaged Cage’s bandaged head, the branch caused him to plummet to the ground—it seemed he was now unconscious.
“Now I have you!” Tim exclaimed, running over to the downed spirit. “I will now see who or what you really are.” Tim the Printer Guy began to unwrap the bandages around his head. Slowly, he pulled back at the wrappings and at first did not see anything but more gauze underneath. “What is this magic?” he said.
“Yowamushi!” a voice shouted from behind him.
Tim turned and was met face to face with Bandaged Cage, now wearing his black kimono and in a fighting stance. He looked back down at the body he thought was the spirit, but all that lay before him was sand. Tim the Printer Guy stood up and glared at Bandaged Cage, who appeared to have teleported. The two were silent—air, heavy, both waiting on the other to make the first move. Tim the Printer Guy looked down at his hand and saw that he was holding the piece of branch that he had struck Bandaged Cage with. He closed his eyes and meditated for a few seconds, knowing that the rage inside his soul was building, compelling him to face this demonic trickster head on. Bandaged Cage raised his hand and his nails grew once more into long dagger-like claws.
Tim the Printer Guy let out a sharp, warrior’s cry, and charged at Bandaged Cage, branch in hand as if he was holding a katana. They collided, and Tim took the branch and swung it at the spector. Though Bandaged Cage seemed to not have eyes, he could sense the strike against him. With a quick sidestep, he avoided Tim’s attack and brought down his long nails to slash into the branch. The two then had their backs turned to each other: Tim the Printer Guy holding two pieces of the branch, and Bandaged Cage still locked in his stance.
Tim’s rage intensified. Spinning around, he glared at the back of Bandaged Cage’s head.
“Why can’t you see that I am happy!” Tim shouted as he charged him once more.
The sound of his footsteps, again, awakened an impulse in Bandaged Cage. He jumped up over Tim the Printer Guy’s head, dodging his attempted attack. As he flew over Tim, Bandaged Cage’s kimono playfully caressed his face, mocking him for his failure to connect. Tim the Printer Guy, worn down and embarrassed, gave one more warrior's cry. He turned back to the spirit who was facing him and charged once more. This time, Bandaged Cage quickly reached into his kimono and threw what seemed to be white powder in Tim the Printer Guy’s face.
“Nete kudasai,” Bandaged Cage whispered softly.
Dazed, Tim stumbled around, feeling more and more numb. “You… trickster…” he slurred. “Get back over here and fight…” Succumbing to the tiredness and inability to feel his body, he fell down to the ground unconscious.
* * *
Sometime later Tim awoke. He was now laying on his stomach in the parking lot of his apartment complex. The sun was rising over the telephone lines, peeking through trees and other buildings. The air was still cool and the ground was damp with equal parts sweat and condensation. Tim knew it to be morning. He rubbed his face and sat up, slowly coming to.
“What day is it?” he asked himself. “Was I out here all night?”
Tim the Printer Guy found his way to his feet and stretched. He looked back at his apartment building and saw a few people peeking from their blinds at him. Tim looked down and saw that he was still in his chemise, covered in dirt and asphalt. He slowly walked up to his apartment and through the door, rubbing his head and his face to regain clarity. On the floor was his phone, with at least twenty missed calls from Skeeter, and five missed calls from Fred.
“Shit!” Tim cursed, realizing that he was supposed to call Fred once he was done.
He began dialing Fred's number while ignoring the calls from his boss. That whiny scum will never have to hear from him again. As he punched in the first couple of digits, he heard a knock at his door.
“Maybe that’s him,” Tim thought to himself, opening the door.
Yet, it was not Fred to carry him away from this life. Skeeter Skeeterman stood in front of Tim the Printer Guy with rage in his eyes.