Disenchantment 15

Part II

January

Provocation Problem Planning Persuasion and Preparation

 

 

 

As Mark drove along the Interstate 5 freeway in a southbound direction, he had decided to turn on the radio, wondering if anyone actually listened to traditional radio outside of their cars anymore. He almost opted for music in the form of a CD, but he enjoyed music less once he opted for sobriety and thus decided against it. And instead turned on the news.

 

It was New Year’s Day. In years past, he would be nursing a hangover. One of the best things about quitting drinking, in his mind, was whenever he realized that he felt physically fine and knew that he wouldn’t at that point if he had still been hitting the bottle. It was great to feel physically fine, but as time dragged on, he usually only felt physically good, emotions and such being in a different category.

 

He had gone to the concert in the park the night before, primarily to see Oren and his band. Oren, the only reason Mark had bothered to support the nonsense, had failed to show up. His bandmates had called in a much worse singer than him, the guy they called on rare occasions when Oren couldn’t make a gig, and he was no Oren. You could say he was able to remember the lyrics to the songs, and he had good timing. That was all that you could say about the guy. Stage presence, any sort of vocal range, or even a tolerable voice, all seemed to be completely alien concepts to Oren’s replacement. It was funny, the band only had a substitute singer. If any other member of the band was indisposed, Oren could simply play the man’s instrument.

 

At the concert, Mark had looked around the park and noticed all the people drinking, technically illegally, but still overtly evident. Even though he resented seeing the blatant disregard for the law, for his selfish reasons, he didn’t really blame the people who wanted to drink and have a good time while listening to an AC/DC cover band that was great with the exception of the singer, nor did he blame the police for letting the illegal activity continue, as Mark did believe that people should be allowed to do whatever they wished as long as they weren’t hurting others. He did resent having gone to support his friend who not only didn’t show up, but didn’t tell him that he wasn’t coming. Mark had usually avoided situations where people consuming alcohol were present.

 

The news issuing forth from his car’s speakers was about the weather again, which was the primary story on the news most of the time these days. It was fucking hot. What else did they really need to say? Instead of just hearing the words as background noise, Mark actually listened for a time.

 

“...with Venice Beach completely gone and the water level now at the streets of both commercial properties and residences, but they are not alone. This is happening all over the United States and even the rest of the world. All up along both coasts, residents are preparing to evacuate. In addition to Los Angeles, other major cities are being affected by the rising tides: Seattle, Miami, New York, Honolulu, are all set to be majorly hit by this. The governor of Louisiana today suggested that New Orleans be evacuated and only hours later, the president declared the suggestion to be mandatory.”

 

“Holy shit. This is getting serious,” Mark said aloud. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but it was too much for him, and he turned the radio off, not wanting to hear more about it. Most things were slowly becoming a little too much for him. He was intelligent enough to know that just because he was forcing himself to be ignorant to facts, didn’t mean that they didn’t exist, but only meant that he didn’t currently have the stressor affecting him, sort of just procrastinating the bad feelings.

 

Twenty minutes later he pulled onto Acacia Street. It had been a few years since he had bothered to drive down this street, his old neighborhood. There had been a time when he was happy, after a long day of work, to pull onto the street, see his house, know that he would soon be with his family, wife and son. Mark almost felt a surreal and sickening feeling in his gut now, looking at all the houses lined up, pretending not to be mass-produced on a grand level, using different paint jobs and relatively personalized front yards in an attempt to hide the fact that there were only four different models of home for as far as he could see.

 

The man’s home that he was going to visit stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the well-groomed houses and manicured lawns of those around it. Large clumps of uncut grass stuck out in patches randomly dispersed throughout the yard, while the rest was either dead and yellow, or just brown dirt. The old grey paint was pealing off and it seemed that the owner didn’t care in the least. It was an eyesore when Mark used to be a resident, now Mark could care less what the guy did or didn’t do with his property. Even if he had still lived in the area, Mark couldn’t see himself giving two shits what the guy did anymore. He was a different person, back when he cared.

 

The guy lived on a corner of a T-intersection, technically on a different street, a cul de sac, than Mark had once lived, but he could still see his old house as he got out of his car. He stood for a moment, looking at it. It looked nice, well taken care of, and he knew that Kris didn’t do that. She would never do yard work, as she considered it beneath her. Maybe she was paying someone to take care of it.

 

Just then, a man walked out of the house, toward the mailbox. Mark then noticed an unfamiliar truck in the driveway, next to Kris’s sedan. Ah...okay then. She’s got herself a live-in. Good for her. Probably hard to fuck everything that moves when you live with someone. Maybe she’s calming the fuck down? Who gives a shit what she’s doing? You know you don’t.

 

Just as Mark was about to remove his eyes from the man, he was noticed. The man waved at him. Mark tried hard from a distance to see if he could recognize the person, but was fairly certain that he didn’t know him. Uncertain what to do, Mark just stood there for a few moments. The man then started waving his arms in an exaggerated motion, smiling wide as he did so. Mark finally raised an arm and produced a feeble wave. You’re a friendly fuck, aren’t you? Poor fool. That’s my house. She’ll chew you up and spit you out again, idiot. That finally brought a smile to his face.

 

Mark wasn’t enjoying his trip down memory lane and decided to do what he came for. He felt a slight sense of foreboding as he approached the house. Something was off, not just the fact that the place was falling into disrepair, but it felt like something didn’t belong there. Mark shrugged off any ill or unusual feelings that he was getting. He could never trust his gut anymore, not since he was a child, his perception had been off since his drinking days, which is what got him in trouble back then.

 

He listened as he hit the doorbell, trying to ascertain whether or not he could hear it inside the house. Normally when one rings a bell, he or she can hear it echo within the domain, but he also knew that that wasn’t always the case, some of them were not as loud and it was possible that it was ringing and he couldn’t hear it. After waiting a few moments he put more pressure behind his index finger as he rang the bell once again. After counting to twenty without hearing the slightest sound within the house, he knocked on the door. It was a thick, wooden door, and he wasn’t so sure that his relatively light knock could be hear well inside, so he rapped much harder on it.

 

Mark listened hard, and still couldn’t hear anything from within. The sounds of children playing and yelling in the distance came to his ears, as well as far away traffic sounds from the nearest main street, Seco Canyon Road.

 

After waiting a few moments, he was beginning to think that he had wasted his time for that particular morning. He could catch a movie, or go spend time with Eddie. He would, of course, attend a meeting later in the day. What a useless existence, he thought. Maybe he could swing by Oren’s place and see what was up with him and why he didn’t attend the concert the night before. He thought he knew why; Oren had probably gone back out to search around beside the road again, instead of doing his job.

 

He could always hit the bar, right? No. No you can not drink. His frustration getting the better of him, he gave it one more attempt, and pounded, as hard as he could, on the door about ten times. That one certainly made some noise.

 

As he was about to turn away, he thought he heard some shuffling from within the house. The lense of the peephole was dark, but that was always the case in sunlight. One could usually only see light, from the outside in, at night.

 

“I know you’re in there. You need to answer!” Mark wasn’t sure why he yelled that. It was probably his frustration with the situation. He had actually surprised himself a little with that.

 

He heard a chain lock engaging, and a bolt lock being switched, then a pasty-white face slowly appeared through the crack in the door. “What?”

 

“I would like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay.” Mark noticed a barely perceptible odor of musty stagnation coming from within the house. It was far from overpowering, but uncomfortable to the nose nonetheless.

 

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

 

“Hey man, I never said you did shit, okay? I just have some questions that I thought you might be able to answer.”

 

“What questions? Why me?”

 

“Well, we’ve met before. Do you remember me?”

 

“Did you ever find your kid?”

 

“No,” said Mark, and sighed. He didn’t need those emotions coming up right now, but he couldn’t always control them. “So, you do remember me?”

 

“Yeah, what of it? The cops were here constantly with warrants when your kid disappeared. All you fuckers thought I took him.”

 

“Look, the police were investigating it, not me. I never knew if you did anything or not.”

 

“There was that fucking detective too. You didn’t hire him? He harassed the shit out of me too. Did you hire him?”

 

“Actually, I didn’t. My friend did.”

 

“Well, you never apologized for accusing me.”

 

“Look, man...I never accused you. The cops just investigated you, right? You were never charged with anything.” Mark was often easily frustrated and this guy was no exception. He hated stressors as they seemed to affect him much more than regular people. “You never offered condolences when my son went missing. That was fucking painful!” Mark caught himself, and calmed down some. “Look, a child was missing, and from what I understand you weren’t cooperating. However, I had no control over what the cops were doing, okay?”

 

“Whatever. What do you want?”

 

“I have some questions.”

 

“Why should I answer them?”

 

“Look, man, I...just want to help my friend, and you once told me that you were into mythology. I just have a few questions about some names.”

 

“You don’t have fucking Internet?”

 

“Well, I thought you might get something out of this too.”

 

“What would I get out of answering your questions?”

 

“You said you believe there is a higher power and modern religions don’t have it right, yes?  A friend of mine had a supernatural experience, or...at least he believes that he did.”

 

The man appeared less guarded for a time, then spoke: “What names? What belief? Sumerian? Native American? If it’s Native American, which regional area? Even if it’s ancient, beliefs were constantly changing and shifting. If you look at ancient Egyptians, there was a long process that shifted and ultimately shaped what we know of their beliefs today. It took thousands of years, and they evolved even more when the Greeks and Romans got ahold of them.”

 

“You believe that older religions had it right, correct? Did you decide which group had it right, had their gods correct?”

 

“No, but I’m leaning toward the Norse gods now, or at least studying them in much more depth.”

 

“Why the Norse gods?”

 

“Call it a theory...call it a premonition.” Just as easily as he had opened up, he suddenly got suspicious again and seemed to emotionally pull away from the conversation, a cautious gleam in his eye. “I don’t give a fuck what you call it. What names did you want to ask me about?”

 

“Well, have you heard of Thanatos?”

 

“That’s Greek. That’s simple shit. That is the most well known of all the ancient beliefs. You seriously don’t have Internet?”

 

Mark ignored the jab and continued asking questions, “Is he the Grim Reaper? Or the Greek Grim Reaper?”

 

“No...yes...possibly. I can see how you might think that, but it’s complicated. I suppose on one level he is. He is one of the gods of death, the god of peaceful death. His sister, the monster Keres, she is the goddess of violent death and disease.”

 

“There’s another name I have, probably Greek too.”

 

“What name? What is it?” The man was quite visibly eager again to talk. Mark had piqued his interest and he knew that he wouldn’t have to pry any more information out of him.

 

“Have you heard of Epiales?”

 

“Yes, sleep...no. Sleep is Hypnos. Uh...Morpheus is dreams. I haven’t studied Greek mythology for a while. I had abandoned that.” He thought for a few seconds, his face heavy with concentration. It quite suddenly occurred to him as his face lit up again: “Epiales is the god of nightmares. I’m pretty sure. I can look all this up, restudy it. But, you have to tell me more. What’s all this about?”

 

“That’s fine. Let’s talk. Can I come inside?”

 

“No, that’s not good.”

 

“Uh...want to go out for coffee?”

 

“I don’t like.”

 

Mark wasn’t sure if he didn’t like coffee or didn’t like going out. “Well, can you recommend a place where we can talk, so we’re not just standing on either side of a door in the heat?”

 

“You can go around back, I’ll let you in through the side gate. It will still be a little hot, but there’s shade, and a place to sit.”

 

“Fine.” Mark would have very much preferred going inside, somewhere with air conditioning. He didn’t really care if the guy, who was quite obviously a strange person, masturbated to pictures of dead cats, or ran around nude and painted in goat’s blood, but he had to take the conversation, even if it wasn’t in comfort.

 

Five minutes later Mark was sitting down and explaining Oren’s story to the man, and he was very, very interested in all Mark had to say.

 

 

 

*****