Your Head
You float in the same disembodied position that you remember from the drug induced visions that you received in California from the Hupa Tribe elders.
The same thick fog impedes your vision from the full revelations of your memories. Could Kepler be somehow screwing with you? You don’t think so, thanks to the Hupa Tribe elders, you are pretty sure that this vision is not created but is one of your actual past.
The weightless feeling and almost complete lack of feeling on your floating body disturbs you. You grow weary that you could just float off and be lost forever. You try to control your eyes and focus all your thoughts on them as you stare intensely down through the fog. Your eyes hurt like a migraine is about to pop your eyes out of your head. You fight your way through the suffering and intensity on your eyes.
Sounds echoing through your head give you something else to focus on and that sound helps dim the fears of floating away. “I don’t know if I want you back here.”
“What?”
“I want to forgive you... I want to.”
“You know what, fuck you! I’m sick of beating around. Just how about fuck you?” The figure wearing the medical smock and tired body language moves briskly past the foyer.
“What?! Keep it down. You betrayed my trust and now you want to yell at... ME?!” The figure wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt clears a path to the living room by standing aside before getting shouldered.
The medical smock gathers around her waist as she leans back in a deep reclining chair. “I had to get a cab here from the hospital. Does that seem right to you?”
The figure scratches a shoulder, t-shirt getting in the way only briefly, pacing back and forth by the coffee table. “You should have gone and seen your family first. You need a little outside opinion that’s close to this situation. Then you need to apologize.”
Her arms flail in the air and don’t settle back on the smock. “We’re not even talking about the same things here.”
The sweat pants are pulled up to avoid tripping and as a momentary distraction from the anger. “Yeah, you’re just talking about whatever you want to and avoiding the most important subject.”
She stands up and takes several defiant steps towards the nervous pacer. “This is the most asinine behavior you’ve ever showed me. I wouldn’t ever even want to have kids with you!”
The pacer yanks on the edge of the t-shirt and balls up the other fist in anger. With the woman in the smock keeping the distance between them uncomfortably close, it looks that the pacer feels cornered and snaps.
“Fuck me? Fuck you!” There is just enough sense in the room that the girl isn’t punched in the face, but instead she gets an open palmed slap that echoes across the room and leaves a welt on her cheek.
She rubs her cheek and stares darts at her assailant, “You can get out. I don’t want to see you.” She speaks as calmly as one could in a situation like this.
“No. You can get out,” returns the other through gritted teeth.
“No.” She crosses her arms.
First, it’s one swing followed by another. Then objects are picked up off of the coffee table. Both of them get involved in grabbing, smacking, hitting, and throwing. It’s a scene that makes your stomach turn.
Moments later, something pulls you, in your ethereal floating form, out of the room. You grab at nothingness and fog, trying to claw your way into the room to see the resolution. You are floating, helpless and desperate, over the front yard. You see a single figure leaves with a suitcase. Before that single figure leaves your field of vision, you notice a dark, damp substance dripping from one hand and down from the corner of the mouth.
**
Coffee Shop, Arlington, VA
Your eyes open with a start and you stare across the small, wobbly table at Kepler Hawking. You slouch in your seat almost as if you had just fallen a few feet down into it. “Get me back there. I need to find out what happened. What happened?”
Kepler shifts uncomfortably and rolls the brim of the hat around in both hands. “I have no way of letting you see more. I can...”
You point your hand with fingers like a jack knife straight at his chest, “Was that me leaving? Did I...” you lower your voice to a whisper as you lean across the table, “kill somebody?”
“I warned you against digging up your past. You insisted.” Kepler shrugs, almost indifferently. He doesn’t seem to care about your pain or what decision you make.
You drop your stare and lower your hand. Your eyes gaze down at your hand on the coffee table while you take a pull of your luke warm coffee.
You shake your head, thinking, you are a shell of a person now. Who you were before might be someone that you despise. Your only friend in the world has disappeared. You look up at Kepler, “where are you headed to next?”
“There’s an old friend I haven’t seen in quite a while, down in North Carolina. I figure I’m on my way there.”
“I can’t stay here. Let me come with you.”
Kepler rubs his clean shaven chin in contemplation, “No more threats.”
“Deal.”
**
The drive is quiet for a long, uncomfortable amount of time. Kepler has no obvious interest in music as he flips through the different radio stations on the drive and never settles on similar music choices. He never settles on any channel for long. You start to grow annoyed, but considering the situation, you just keep your mouth shut.
You’ll get to the Raleigh area late in the evening, but there will be no awkward motel stays at least. You feel much more vulnerable now. You feel naked, as you did when lost in Central Park alone, what seems like so long ago.
After passing Richmond, you’ve seen nothing but farms and tiny town after tiny town. You could really use a beer and hearty sandwich. Now that you think about it, you have seen one other thing, lots and lots of tail lights. You are glad to not be driving in this chaos of compact cars filled with tourists and pickup trucks filled with local yokels.
“You know,” a crooked crease of a smile curls on the side of Kepler’s face visible to you, “you’re not the only one I’ve used my talents on.”
“Okay. Random. Want to tell me who else?” You sit up in your seat.
The slightest hint of a smile remains, “the strongest memory that I have is from about 10 months ago. I am standing in front of a tall, floor to ceiling, mirror. I’m gazing deeply into it. It is like I am gazing into a stranger’s eyes. I remember standing there, in that quiet hotel room, staring into that image in the mirror.”
“I know I did something to myself. That’s the bitch of it all; I have no idea what it is that I did to myself. I don’t think there is any way that I can ever get it back.
“I’ve got another name, Sean. That’s it. Just Sean. No last name to go off of. You know who else only gives out first names... the CIA. Or someone else like them. What does that say about me? I’ve said too much already anyway on that.
“So you aren’t the only one. There are others too. None have ever asked me to take it back or even remembered to do so. I’ve also tried to leave my card or something with people so they can contact me. I wasn’t trying to hide from you by coming to DC and dropping off the grid. I’m afraid...”
You cock an eyebrow, “Afraid of what?”
“Myself. Those who I used to work for. Their enemies. There are all kinds of variables.”
“So, who is this friend that we are going to see?” You felt a good deal of paranoia about Kepler before, now you almost can’t help but feel pity.
He shrugs, “I think he’s an old friend, but, to be honest, I’m not totally sure.”
He takes the next exit to get gas for the last leg of the drive.
**
Raleigh, NC
Kepler pulls the car onto a parking spot along the curb in front of a meager looking, single level home. Junk sprinkles the yard, adding to the alternating pattern of tall grass and patches of mud.
“So, here we are?” you inquire before unbuckling.
“Here we are.”
You awkwardly follow Kepler up to the door, stepping over a grouping of empty beer bottles set up like bowling pins with a cigarette butt in each.
He knocks on the door and you stand there, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. It takes so long for someone to answer the door that Kepler goes to knock again and you start to whistle off tune.
The door swings open and a colossally tall black man with dreads stands in a haze of smelly smoke. The man’s big eyes go buggy as they focus in on Kepler. “What the hell you doin’ here? Who’s this... friend or trouble?” He motions towards you.
Kepler shrugs at the question and smiles crookedly.
“Not cool man. Your friend can come in. You gotta stay and think about if you wanna really come in eere.” The big man steps aside and you cough as you walk into the house and the wall of smoke hits your nose.
He closes the door in Kepler’s face without another word of exchange between them. You see out the side window next to the door that Kepler just sort of shrugs again and sits uncomfortably in an old rocking chair on the patio.
The big man taps you, “I’m Darren. Man, let’s get down stairs and chill out. You can tell me what’s up, why you’re here and all that. It can get weird. I’m an open dude.”
You introduce yourself on your way down the bare wooden stairs. Darren turns in the cramped space there to give your hand a firm shake. The last stair squeaks audibly, probably near the point of snapping someday soon.
The basement is dank and smelling of old books, just barely, with the smell of weed covering that one up. The number of couches and bean bag chairs down here is almost mind boggling. Another couple of people sit in another corner, drunk and barely conscious.
You find what you believe to be the least tainted of the couches. Darren notices your obvious discomfort and offers you a hit of his bong. You say no, wishing to keep a clear head. Though, after just a few more minutes in the cramped basement, you feel strange anyway.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
You start from that ill-fated day at work and tell him about everything, except for the details of the unicorn.
Darren picks up on your fledgling memories and seems most interested on that topic.
**
“So... lemme try an explain this in terms I understand betta’. Then, if you’ve got any understandin’, um, you should get a flip on things.
You see, your brain and a computer’s system share in common a bit more ‘n you realize. Ya know what a zip file is? That’s the key to all this.” Before you have a chance to really affirm the question, he continues, “Well, thing is, your brain cann’ possibly store all da’ information ya pull in in a day. At least, not at the normal resolution you been seein’ it at. Your squishy bit there is workin’ overtime all the time to store all that data. Your perception of da time is really just what you aren’t zippin’ away right away. So, everything you’ve experienced and everything that your senses have perceived is locked away in dere.
If ya can just figure a program,” he says while gesturing with air quotes, “den you got dis world all figya’d out. Course, that would just about let ya solve the problems of da world.” He sat back smug, apparently by his string of statements and analogies.
You scratch your head, rub your chin, and think for several long moments. Your eyes dart around the room, focusing for a moment on the cushy but cheap and dusty couch you lounge on.
Do you just take the analogy for what it is? You aren’t so sure that the connection this guy is making is correct. You’ve experienced too much in the last few weeks to believe the answers to your problems could be so simply explained.
Do you dig deeper? If you launch a barrage of clarifying questions, you might be able to get a better grasp, in your own head, of what is going on. You could also pick apart his answer as complete and total drug induced bullshit.
With this much theorizing, does this guy have any way to actually help you? You sought out the help of Native American tribal elders only to have your situation defined in a barely fathomable way. You managed to hunt down Kepler and question him to no avail.
You stare across the room and make eye contact for just a moment before the line of questioning in your head makes you feel just as guilty as if you’d asked them all.
He bounces a bit in his chair as he speaks. “What’s got yur tongue? Cat? Spoke out. Say what ya gotta say.”
The curtain that serves as the door to this grimy room ruffles and a hand sticks out to pull it back and out of the way. You see Kepler’s head pop in and when he sees you guys, he makes his way into the room.
**
“I think Kepler could help me in the end. Or something... could.” You nod at Kepler who finds the second least dusty and grimy couch to call his seating place. “At this point, I’m wondering if I want to know more. Sometimes, maybe it’s just better to get a clean slate and make a decision, a change, for the better.”
“Na man. Yur thinkin’ all wrong. You need to learn to forgive yourself. Somebody seems to be after ya for something. You need to remember what dat is man. You can’t remember just one ting and not the other too well. You might miss a detail.” Darren takes a swig of old, warm box wine.
You rub your chin. “That’s compelling. It does make lots of sense. In an ideal world. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.” You play with the zipper on the couch cushion, contemplating, “could end up in a loony bin or prison, depending...”
“Life’s all about risks.” Kepler cuts in. “No, I don’t want to influence you, all these decisions are up to you.”
You point to the cheap wine, “I need some of that.”
Darren points to the stairs, “Up in the kitchen, get some fresh stuff.”
You get to the fridge and, before anything else, take out a cheap beer and down about half of it. You wonder what happened to Mysticalis in its meeting or whatever. You split with it to meet Kepler, and then it just disappeared. He didn’t really seem the type to not be somewhere when he says. You down the last half of the beer. Here you are in North Carolina. You should have stayed for a few more days. You were worried though. What if the family that had bought the home you were crashing in showed up with just you there? You don’t really know what you would have done or what you could have said to not get arrested.
Still, you should try to reach out somehow to see if it is okay. It doesn’t have a cell phone. What are you supposed to do? Just think really hard? Mysticalis Pulchris, where are you? What happened to you? You can send an e-mail to Roger Carson. Myst seems to have some kind of connection with them. You should pass on what you know. Maybe this is just routine.
Your guilt at taking off on a drive to several hours away forces your hand onto another cheap beer. You chug half of that one before you finally remember that you are supposed to bring Kepler and Darren each a beer too.
**
A couple days ago, Washington, DC
Mysticalis Pulchris, the confused unicorn, stands alone, watching a new and good friend depart to confront Kepler Hawking. It isn’t sure whether the wisest move is to send that friend in alone, but it doesn’t have much choice right now.
The time has come for Myst to face the music, or so the humans say. Here, in the heart of humanity, a meeting with the Watchers is inevitable. It can sense the gate. It knows, at least to the vicinity of a few hundred yards, where to go to facilitate the meeting.
It moves with a grace that brings it beyond basic human sight. As Mysticalis bounds rapidly past an elementary school playground, all the kids stop and stare. The teachers there probably get quite a fright wondering what all the kids see that they can’t. The kids will have some crazy stories, but the teachers will chalk it up to something imaginary, as they always do.
Mysticalis finally arrives south of the Zoo, along Rock Creek Park.
Myst looks back across the forest landscape, trying to ignore the sound of distant cars driving down the parkway. The pedestrians walking nearby, and bikers riding swiftly by, pay no mind to the solitary figure, glancing out into the wilderness.
A single pin prick of bright light appears in its peripheral vision, in a grove a dense, tall deciduous trees. The light doesn’t illuminate the tree trunks around the beacon. The light acts as if someone would have to obverse the shining point from the most perfect of spots with the greatest of perceptive eyes.
Mysticalis strolls cautiously up to the light. Although it knew the right place to look and knows what the point of light is, it is still concerned. It has never had a meeting such as this after leaving the Great Tree, final source of life for the world and its Unicorn brethren.
As Mysticalis breaks the plane of the two trees closest to the pin prick of light, the light shines forth and does illuminate the cowled form and the immediate trees. Myst hears a couple of bystanders comment on a shining light until that very light vanishes a moment later. As usual, these bystanders pay the shining beacon no mind and explain the illumination away as a reflection.
Suddenly, popping into existence out of nothingness, another robed and cowled figure appears. This robe couldn’t pass as a coat or jacket in any modern age place. The classic shape of the robe and cape could only hope to fit in at a Renaissance Faire. The cloaked being pulls back its hood and its form is revealed for Mysticalis to see. The horn on this Unicorn’s head puts the younger Myst to shame, if Unicorns were to judge such things. The horn is perhaps a foot or more long and has a perfect spiraled shape, showing countless years of age without damage from battle. All that Mysticalis Pulchris can fathom is that this watcher must be nearing the end of its cycle.
When the wizened Watcher finally makes eye contact with Myst after its long reveal, the fur on the backs of its hands stands up. The hair going down its head, its mane, straightens. “You’ve not been heard from in some time.”
“I apologize, Watcher, the journey has been long and the path of my quest has been understated in the cards that predicted that path.” Mysticalis looks over its shoulder, feeling uncomfortable in the death gaze of eye contact that the Watcher beams at the young unicorn.
The Watcher grabs Myst Pulchris’s shoulder and gives the shoulder a jerk, forcing attention back to the Watcher, “Your purpose is clear, if you cannot understand such a straight forward destiny, you need to return to the tree for evaluation.”
“Here is the thing, my purpose WAS clear. My purpose isn’t clear anymore. The cards showed such a convoluted path because my quest is not what it was... it has nothing to do with what it used to be.”
“Your mission was to kill Mic Hildon and to destroy all that he had touched, all objects, all places, and... all people. Not only did you leave him alive, you did nothing to complete the rest of the task surrounding him. Not for a century has another of your caste failed to carry out the quest.”
“I have yet to fail my quest. You don’t know what my quest...”
“YES!” The Watcher takes a deep breath, straightening its head and neck up into the sky, its horn reaching the lowest branches of the dense tree canopy. “I know just what you are doing. Questioning our very ideals and beliefs... do you think that you are the first to do so? You certainly won’t be the last.”
“True, especially if I have anything to say about it. I will not conceal my questioning of our reality to our brethren.”
The hand on Myst’s shoulder moves to grab its jowls and force a close face to face with the Watcher, “Stop this insanity. I’ve come to warn you of your current course of action. I have personally reviewed your cards and found that if you do not change paths immediately, there will be a tragedy. The tragedy will center on you. Don’t make such a foolish mistake to stain your soul. Your life may end, but your soul will forever be marked!”
Myst reaches up and grabs the wrist of the Watcher’s hand that grasps its face. It grips tightly and pulls its head back from the grasping hand. “In my learning to question... in my learning to observe,” Mysticalis looks up to the tree canopy, “to be an Observer, beings in desperate states can be bound to say anything to manipulate others into a course of action that they desire.”
“Our numbers never grow, they only dwindle. We’ll do what we must to prevent the withering of further roots from the Fallen Tree. One strand is an acceptable loss; the cores of the roots must remain intact. I will take your words to the Watcher Council. Do what you must, follow whatever path you will. Do not, I repeat, Do not tell any of your brethren of this choice.”
The beacon of light reappears and shrinks back to a single point of light as the wizened unicorn steps back from Mysticalis, the youthful questioner.
“And do not think this is the end of our inquiries or demands. Beware... what the Slayers will think of this choice.”
Myst scratches at its mane and throws its hood back up to conceal the unicorn countenance. “What is that?”
Myst leans forward and stares hard beyond the edge of this grove of trees and into some thick shrubs. The pin prick of light pings Myst Pulchris’s eyes, forcing it to shield the light with one hand while still curiously trying to see what is beginning to cause the shrubs to jostle and shake.
Several of the thicker branches snap as a gaunt man with big arms dives out, covered in leafy bits. Myst reacts too slowly to stay out of the creature-man’s grasp. The oversized arms start to choke Mysticalis and, as Myst’s arms reach up to try to relieve the pressure on its throat, the gaunt man with the long, stringy hair throws Myst to the ground with a bone snapping force that might have killed a normal man.
Could this appearance of such a brutal killer be a coincidence right after that meeting? A normal unicorn of the castes would never have questioned.
**
You rush out of the house with your belongings as the dead of night sets in and you think that Kepler has fallen asleep. You are desperate and you don’t exactly believe Kepler after it now appears that he has some agenda of his own as to wiping away your old memories. You might have been a horrible person in those times, but that is just the excuse that Kepler is using. You know somewhere in that cranium something about Kepler Hawking that he wants to keep buried.
You click the door unlock on the keyless entry and throw your suitcase and back pack in the back seat. You get into the car and, unfortunately, the car is new enough that the lights automatically turn on as soon as you click in the ignition. You forget to disengage the parking brake as you rush to peel out of the area. Finally, at the end of the block, after the engine feels totally sluggish, you disengage the brake and haul ass down the road.
Just before you leave sight of the house, you glance back. You see that a couple of the lights are on that weren’t on when you hopped out the front door and closed it a little louder than you meant to.
You’ve got to meet up with Roger Carson and find your true friend, Mysticalis Pulchris. Nothing else will do but to be reunited with a champion and pure spirit such as Myst.
You could go to jail if Kepler decides to report you to the police. You’ll be the ridicule of all your former friends and anybody who held anything against you before. You’ll never have a chance to return to your job and you’ll be the talk of the water cooler. What an embarrassment all of that would be?
There is the big hope that Kepler won’t report you. His secrets and his life might be in danger if he makes too big of a deal and attracts the attention of law enforcement, especially once you cross state lines and possibly involve the feds.
You drive down the roads and enter the highway at break neck speeds. Your mind is in so many other places than on the road. You haven’t looked at the speed-o-meter once since leaving the house. You aren’t thinking about cops pulling you over or deer standing in the road at this time of night with limited visibility.
You miss the easy routine of getting up five days a week and going to work. You miss the two days off where you can just sleep in and goof off. You miss seeing your friends and family. Could they possibly forgive you for disappearing on them for so long with little to no word? Some of them might think you’re dead and others might think you just don’t care about them anymore, or that you never did. You wonder how long you’ve been separated from this marriage or long term relationship that you’ve been learning that you were involved in. Tears roll down your cheeks as the flood of emotions and trauma from your past catches up to you on the long, lonely car ride.
For hours, you fly down the highway. This is the longest you’ve been alone in a long time, since this all started. You are in a complete daze when the low fuel alarm starts to ding at you. You’re in the middle of rural Virginia. You drive by a couple of exits with no gas stations and start to worry that you’ll get trapped out here and that all of this risk will have no reward. Maybe you should just find a hide out here and disappear forever from your fake past, your real past, and your crazy, crazy present.
Just as you worry you won’t have a choice, the next sign finally displays a gas station. The car screams down the exit and you breathe a sigh of relief as you put the car into park in front of the pump.
A few snack cakes, energy drinks, and bags of chips later, you have hit the road with a full tank of gas.
Thankfully, the rest of the lengthy trip is also uneventful. You pull the car off of the road and park on a side street with lots of cars parked along its side. You turn off the engine, yawn, write Roger an e-mail with your phone that you have arrived, and curl up to sleep with a jacket as a blanket and just the car head rest as a pillow.