The Saturday Morning Post #55: The Rêves Part 33

You can catch up with the first installment of this piece here. It started as somewhat of an experiment. It seems to be taking the form of a supernatural thriller, set above and below the streets of Los Angeles.

Farewell, for now

It was a warm and sunny day, but with an uncharacteristic cool breeze that kept them all from overheating in their formal wear — Joshua had put on his favorite ghost-hunting outfit to match Simon’s funeral garb.

“That’s the Hadas,” Preston had whispered to him when they got out of the car and walked toward the funeral home for the viewing and service.

“What?” Joshua asked. Honestly, he was barely holding it together.

“The breeze,” Preston explained. “Otherwise, I’m sure it would be five hundred degrees out.”

“Wait. You can feel the breeze?” Joshua asked incredulous.

“And I can see it. That’s how I know it’s the Hadas.”

The room the service took place in was called a chapel, but this was the non-denominational one they had selected. The man who had set up the arrangements originally had referred to it as their “Secular Sanctuary.”

There were no religious symbols of any kind in it. Nor were the seats arranged in any manner resembling a traditional church. Instead of heavy wood pews and an altar and bema, it was more like a theater, with red velvet seats arranged in tiers in an arc around a semi-circular thrust stage.

As they entered, Preston announced, “We’re still here if you need us,” and then he and Danny respectfully faded from view.

Simon’s favorite songs were playing quietly in the background on a loop. Brent and Drew were already there when Joshua and company arrived, both dressed dapperly in matching and very formal morning wear. They greeted Joshua and gave their condolences.

Joshua thanked them, then excused himself and went to the coffin, which was open. He stood for a long time, just looking at Simon’s face, still not believing that he was gone — for the moment or for good — all the grief hitting him again.

“I’m going to get that motherfucker, honey,” he whispered before kissing Simon on the forehead, and he could have sworn he heard Simon very clearly say, “I know.”

Joshua wheeled around to see that Simon wasn’t there, but Brenda and her family had just entered the place. She saw him and nodded, then brought them over for the introductions.

“This is Joshua,” she explained. “A friend of mine I met on the job. Joshua, my mother Esme, daughter Malia, my son, Samuel, and my husband, Jonah.”

Esme took both of his hands and looked him in the eyes. “I am so, so sorry for your loss, dear. I can’t even begin to express it. Be safe, be well, be in his love.”

“Thank you,” Joshua said.

The kids greeted him with shy and awkward “Hellos,” and then Jonah shook his hand. “I am so sorry about your loss, brother” he said. “When it’s someone you love enough to share your life with… I can’t even imagine. I mean, I’d be devastated if I lost Brenda.”

“Thank you,” Joshua said, trying not to cry again. He distracted himself by doing the intros with Brett and Drew, and then said, “Looks like we’re all here. Well, almost.”

“This is it?” Brenda asked.

“By choice,” Joshua replied. “We didn’t want too big of a deal now, but maybe we’ll have a huge memorial later on.”

A side door opened and Olam escorted in Charity Walters. She would be officiating the services, such as they were, and was ordained in the Universal Life Church, having incorporated as The Holy Church of Dogs Are God, LLC.

She had officiated at Joshua and Simon’s wedding, but she wasn’t just a random fake holy person that they knew. She was also one of Joshua’s oldest friends, and by extension Simon’s. She was more like a sister to Joshua, and they would have done anything for each other — and had, many times in the past.

She wrapped him in a silent hug and they both cried together for a moment, then she pulled away and whispered, “How you holding up, baby?”

“Not great,” Joshua said.

“I know,” she replied. “Shall we…?”

“Please.”

Everyone took their seats as Charity took to the stage. As usual when she officiated, her attire was amazing, and really complimented Joshua’s and Simon’s, in a way. She was wearing a three-piece women’s business suit in a very 1940s cut with a long skirt, in a black and white houndstooth pattern — which was actually a very subtle nod to branding.

She wore white gloves and red square-heeled boots, and the suitcoat and skirt were piped in black, while the vest had white mock-ivory buttons. Her blouse beneath it matched her shoes precisely. Around but under the collar, she wore a white Geneva band, its two tails being somewhat reminiscent of British priests and barristers.

Her hat was a small black cloche with a half-veil in black lace, weighted at the bottom corners with white pearls that held it in place. Her lipstick matched her shoes and blouse.

Finally, she had a long, thin scarf draped over her shoulders to come down the front rather like a Catholic priest’s stole. For this occasion, she had chosen a rainbow pattern that repeated on each side.

The image was powerful, as it always was when she officiated, and she looked like some Golden Age of Hollywood era starlet reincarnated and put in exactly the right setting.

“Greetings, people — of all ages, races, beliefs, genders, orientations, origins, and classes, we have come together today to pay tribute to the loss of an amazing person, Simon Johan Aisling, who was taken from us far too soon.”

Brent put his hand on Joshua’s arm and gave him a look. Joshua just glanced over and nodded a thanks.

“Now, I’m not just officiating here today. It’s been my pleasure to have known Joshua and Simon for — how long has it been now? I want to say since just after college, which was — ” she mumbled — “years ago. And in all that time, I can’t say that I have met a more compassionate, passionate, caring, involved, giving, amazing person than Simon. He was a truly gentle soul but, at the same time, an intellectual and emotional giant.”

She went on with a series of stories and anecdotes over the years, some of which Joshua knew, and some of which he didn’t, and all of it sent the emotions racing through his mind — both joy at the love of a wonderful person he had known, and sheer despair at the loss.

She finally finished up with one that brought out all of the emotions in Joshua. “I still remember to this day the night that Joshua came to me to ask my advice. He and Simon had known each other for years at that point. Probably half their lives by then, since they’d met at thirteen.

“They’d been the best of friends since forever, but he called, I invited him over for dinner, and he was really confused because he realized that he’d fallen in love with Simon, but this was different. They’d dated other people before, and had come out to each other in college, but their relationship had always been platonic.

“‘But it suddenly hit me, Charity,’ he said, and I could see the look of confusion in his eyes. ‘He’s not just my best friend,’ he told me. ‘He is The One.’ So what do I do?

“Now, I’ve never told you this before, Josh, but… what I wanted to say right then and there was, ‘You ask him out, dummy!’ But I didn’t. My minor in social work kicked in, so I talked you through an hour of questions that got you around to your eureka moment of telling me, ‘I have to ask him out.’ Which is how therapy works, by the way.

“So you did, and he said yes, and the rest is history, and if I remember correctly, it wasn’t all that long after that the two of you started a very successful tech biz, and it was because your talents and interests meshed perfectly.

“They say that opposites attract, but that’s not really true. What attracts are people with similar interests, values, and traits. But what holds them together is the meshing of complementary skills and tastes, which was absolutely the case here.

“I’m not going to call anything out, but I know that one of you was great at coding, the other wasn’t. One of you was into marketing and the other wasn’t. One of you loved to do accounting and the other hated it. You were both smart enough to hire business consultants, and so there you went. Hand in hand together.

“And long before most of your friends and family knew you were actually a couple, I was lucky enough to officiate one of the most beautiful and moving weddings I’ve ever done. I am so, so sorry that I have to officiate this ceremony today. I wasn’t expecting to do this for another fifty or sixty years, if at all.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way, because the joy that Simon brought into so many lives needs to be celebrated.”

She stepped aside and video came up on the big screen on the back wall — a series of video clips and photos of Simon’s life, with and without Joshua, most of them from Social media.

There were things here that Joshua didn’t even know existed, like “shot by potato” quality clips from low-res video cams and early flip phones from their college days just after the turn of the century, to photos from the years just before they had met in the late 90s, some of them even clearly taken on film cameras.

The montage ended with some of the high-res stuff they had done between five and ten years ago for their company social media, mostly excited announcements of new product launches in which the two of them engaged in playfully mocking banter and the chemistry between them couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d been wearing lab coats.

It ended with Simon’s name above the dates, 1985 — 2023, and then faded out.

After a bit of silence, Charity returned to the stage. “I’m not the only member of Simon and Joshua’s ‘Family by Choice’ here today, and I’d now like to introduce two men that Joshua and Simon both considered adopted uncles — ”

“Aunties!” Drew called out.

“That, too!” Charity laughed. “Anyway, two older men who were always mentors. Now, for a few words from Brent Rouseau and Drew Weisheit.

Brent and drew stepped from their seats, Brent helping Drew up, then went up on the stage, taking a bit of time as Drew moved haltingly, and finally taking their places. Olam rolled a lectern out and put on the brakes while they moved, so that Drew had something to lean on.

“I could tell you where and when I met Joshua,” Brent started, “But it’s kind of naughty, so I won’t.”

“It wasn’t naughty at all,” Drew cut in. “It was just a party.”

“Yes, but — ”

“All right, a bit decadent, but he was a good boy the whole time.”

“Okay, true. But what I will say is that I quickly realized that he and his boyfriend were a lot more special than I’d thought at first, and Drew and I pretty soon brought them into our inner circle.”

“Both of them really were into old movies and music, and that’s my field, so we really hit it off, and they could listen to me talk about them for hours — ”

“Or you just talked their ears off, dear.” Brent replied.

“It was to distract you from feeding them to death,” Drew said. “If you’d had your way, they’d both be over three hundred pounds by now.”

“I’m southern, dear. Food is love.”

“Food is overrated!” Brent scoffed.

Joshua just stared, chuckling to himself, and he could hear Brenda and Jonah trying not to, while their kids, being kids, were honestly giggly at this marital bickering. It was the comedy relief that Joshua really needed.

They ultimately wound up delivering a really nice tribute to Simon before sitting down, Olam removing the lectern during their exit, and it had done Joshua a world of good, because he knew what was coming up next on the program.

“Now, of course, we couldn’t finish this ceremony without a few words from Simon’s widower and loving husband, Joshua Hunter.”

Joshua stood and went to the stage, Charity taking both of his hands in hers and telling him quietly, “You got this, honey,” before he turned back to the crowd.

“Ha,” he thought. “Crowd.” There were seven people looking at him directly from the audience, two off to the side, and two more hanging out invisibly. He didn’t have any notes or anything really prepared. He took a moment to look at Simon in the coffin, and then just winged it.

“You know, I never suspected in a million years that I’d be here, giving this speech, on this day, so soon. I’m only thirty-eight, and he wouldn’t have been for another three months. No, we were supposed to both live as long as our uncle Drew there — who’s 97, by the way.

“Think about that one. He was born almost sixty years before Simon or I, and he’s still here. Meanwhile…”

He let it hang for a moment, trying to not get too emotional, before he reeled it in and found an anchor. “Meanwhile… 1998. That was only 25 years ago, but it was also in another century and another era. It was a Monday in December, and I remember the date exactly, actually.

“December 14, 1998. It was right before our middle school was going to go on winter break, it was lunchtime, and a bunch of us who had seen Star Trek: Insurrection during its opening weekend were discussing it. And I was quickly realizing that, while my nerdy friends and I had all been huge fans of TNG — um, The Next Generation, that’s the Patrick Stewart series that followed up the William Shatner one decades later — anyway, they are just gushing all over the movie, while I was not all that impressed.

“And I tried to express my disdain and explain why and kept getting shot down until, at one point, this kid I’d never met before who’d been eating lunch at a nearby bench suddenly came over and went, ‘Hey. I didn’t like it either for the same reasons, and I am the biggest TNG fanboy on the planet!’

“I kind of didn’t know I was gay at that point. I mean, I was thirteen, and puberty was in the first year or two of rearing its ugly head, although I preferred hanging out with the guys. And then here comes this one who is, honestly, really good-looking, even then, and he validates me.

“Oh — on the good-looking thing at thirteen, I know that sounds creepy, but when you’re in your own demographic it makes sense. It’s only creepy if they stay good looking while you get older, nod to the major creep moment in Dazed and Confused, with Matthew McConaughey’s ‘I get older, they stay the same age’ quote.

“No, thanks. But what happened in that moment was that Simon and I became friends real fast, spent every recess and lunch after that together, realized we didn’t have any classes in common, then swapped numbers and stayed in touch over the break, and beyond.

“So I suddenly had a school bestie, and that lasted on up into high school, and we even chose the same college — UCLA — and worked it so that we wound up as roommates, and then on the last night of high school, after graduation at one of the many parties — and after we’d locked in on the UCLA thing, he came to me and said, ‘Hey. Let’s take a walk.’”

“So we did. And we were at some house up on Mullholland near the Universal Studios side, so we wandered out onto a dark bluff above the city lights, mostly making small talk until we sat and stared off at the city for a long time, saying nothing.

“Finally, he turned to me and said — and I remember his exact words — ‘Dude, don’t hate me, okay? But I think I’m into dudes and not girls.’

“I just turned and looked at him, and I think my jaw hit my knees, and I said nothing for a while, but I could hear him muttering, ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Really, I’m… sorry.’ Then I finally mustered up the courage to reply. ‘Dude, number one. Shut up. Number two — me, too.’

“And it was his turn to fall silent until he replied with a very timid and weak, ‘Really?’

“’Yeah, man. Really.’ And so we hugged, and kept our secret, and went off to college for four years and had a wonderful time, and even wound up coming out in college to everyone and joining a group called Ten Percent, but never once did we even consider doing anything with each other because… well, honestly, that would have felt like incest and icky. Or something.

“So we graduate college, each of us had had several boyfriends by that time, and several after, and then, one day in July 2009, a couple of years out and after we’d gone to see a movie and then hung out afterwards, it hit me.

“’He is the one.’ And so I called Charity, like she already explained, then I made the date with Simon and we went on it and… our first date was a disaster. Oh, not because of us. Rather, it was because we wound up going to no fewer than three highly-rated restaurants that had actually shut down, mixing up the summer and fall venues of the L.A. Philharmonic, and then getting a flat tire on the way home.

“And none of that shit mattered. We had a great time through it all, and by the end of that evening, both of us knew it, and he actually said it first. ‘Dude… I think you might be the one.

“So that was that,” Joshua said. “Looking back, it really was love at first sight. We were just too immature to realize it. But once we did, then that was it. And it was supposed to last forever, but…”

He looked back at the coffin, then at the audience, and then the tidal wave of emotion hit him. Before he collapsed completely, Charity rushed on and hugged him. Meanwhile, Olam came on and took center stage.

“Thus ends our memorial service. We shall now move to the internment site for our final good-byes.”

Since there were nowhere near enough pallbearers, the casket had been placed on a pair of Boston Dynamics robots (with matte black finishes, of course), which rose to the occasion and proceeded to march down the center aisle and out the doors.

Joshua smiled at this bit. Simon really would have loved it. But the real surprise didn’t come until Joshua and the others stepped outside and into the sunlight.

Preston and Danny were standing on either side of the doors, fully manifest — and Preston had even put clothes on — and when the coffin came out, they took their positions as first and second pallbearers. Even though they could not have supported any of the load it was a beautiful symbolic gesture.

On top of that, there were seemingly hundreds of Rêves, probably all Class I and Class III, lined up along the walk, and as soon as the coffin came down the steps and onto the path, every single one of them knelt and bowed their head.

Joshua was so moved that he almost fell over, but then Pearl and Anabel were at his side to guide him. At least Brenda, Brent and Drew had already seen Rêves, and Brenda’s husband and kids had seen them on TV.

Olam, not so much, and he just stood in the doorway in shock.

At the gravesite, Charity took her place at the head as the coffin was placed onto the green canvas straps that would lower it home.

“I know that the ashes to ashes thing is popular at times like this,” she said, “But I prefer Carl Sagan’s description. ‘We are all born of star-stuff.’ In fact, we are nothing but what was created by the deaths of countless supernovae — motes of dust. So, in the words of another tradition, ‘So mote it be.’ Rest in power, Simon.”

She bowed her head and the robots each placed a foot on the cranks at the top right and bottom left corners of the grave and spun, lowering the closed casket into its final place.

As everyone turned away, Brent announced, “For anyone who would like to attend, we’re having a reception and luncheon afterwards at our place. Ask me for the address.”

Everyone, except Olam, of course, got the address, and so they were on their way, although Joshua hung back for a bit with Danny and Preston.

“So… that’s that,” he said.

“Yep,” they both agreed.

“Only one problem left, then,” he said. “I need to find Peter Lorre for Ausmann, and I have no idea.”

“Are you kidding?” Preston asked.

“What?” Joshua replied.

“If you want to summon a Rêve, you only have to go to their grave and bring a Rêve with you.”

“Are you shitting me?” Joshua demanded.

“No. What? No one ever told you?”

“Um… no?” Joshua exclaimed. “But, wait. I know where Simon’s grave is, so can’t I just — “

“Not yet,” Preston insisted.

“Why not?”

“They only just pulled him out of the freezer and put him in there, okay? It’s going to take a little bit of time.”

“Okay, okay, I forgot,” Joshua said. “So — do either of you know where Peter Lorre is?”

“You can probably look it up on the intrawebs,” Daniel suggested.

“Oh, right,” he said, quickly finding the location. “There he is, let’s go,” he told them.

“Don’t you have a luncheon to go to?” Preston demanded.

“I do,” Joshua replied. “But Mr. Lorre is going to be a guest of honor.”

“Why’s that?” Danny asked.

“I have my reasons. Now just lead the way!”

“Okay, daddy,” Preston replied, and they guided him as he drove to Lorre’s gravesite in Hollywood after a bit of a schlep.

“Now what?” Joshua asked.

Preston laughed and dropped into the ground. A few seconds later, he returned with the Rêve Peter Lorre, who was in full-on bug-eyed Casablanca mode.

“Who is it? Who disturbs my rest? Reek, Reek, help me — ”

Before he could finish that sentence, Joshua had deployed the trap strapped to his wrist and sucked Lorre in, slamming it shut. Danny and Preston both looked at him, alarmed.

“Dude!” they exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But if you want to defeat Ausmann this is absolutely necessary. Trust me. Now come back to the car, and let’s get this party started.”

By the time Joshua made it up to Brent and Drew’s, everyone was well into the meal. Just before they entered, Joshua told Preston and Danny, “Stay visible. I want you to meet them.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Joshua said. “There wouldn’t be two of you without them.”

They looked confused but manifested, Joshua warning Preston before they entered. “Clothes, please. There are kids present.”

“Sorry!” Preston sighed, materializing his funeral suit.

“There he is!” Brent called out. “Naughty boy. Late to your own funeral party.”

“Sorry! I had business to attend to at the cemetery. Plus two friends to pick up. Preston and Danny, this is Brent.”

“Enchanté!” Brent announced, moving to kiss each of their wrists before realizing. “Oh… you’re… I see.”

By this point, the four of them had entered the main living room, and when they walked in, Drew spotted Danny and Preston and gasped.

“My god!” he said, way too loudly. “You actually found that porn star, and now there are two of him?”

“Ixnay, Ewdray. Erethay areway ildrenchay, okayway?” Brent said out of the side of his mouth.

“We do need to talk about the twin thing,” Joshua said, “But later, okay?”

Drew made his way over to them and looked intently at Preston and then Danny. “My god, I can’t even tell which is which.”

“That’s because I made the naughty one not wear his work uniform,” Joshua whispered. “But… I am really hungry and want some of your husband’s amazing cooking. If you want, you can show the boys your library?”

“Good idea,” Drew said. “Boys?”

“Daddy…” Preston leered at him as Danny slapped his ass in protest. They followed Drew off and up the stairs to his inner sanctum.

At least Joshua knew that it was impossible to molest a Rêve.

He spotted Charity, who was chatting away with Brenda, and joined them.

“Hi!”

“Hello,” Charity said. “So Brenda was just explaining to me what all of those… spirits were we saw there. You never told me that you and Simon were involved in hunting them down.”

“We thought it was research,” Joshua said. “We were lied to. So now, we’re involved in stopping the guy who wants to destroy them. Well, we were, now it’s just me… but I’m going to do it.”

“And you really don’t want that job I offered you?” Brenda asked.

“It sounded to me like that job was just what Ausmann had us doing, but on steroids.”

“The terms are probably subject to change if you give them new information.”

“Too late for that, really,” Joshua said. “I think I’m pretty close to what they call in chess and the MCU the endgame.”

“Are you sure?” Brenda asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Joshua said. “A pawn is about to be promoted, and then two queens are going to take out the opposing king. Checkmate.”

“You sound so confident.”

“I am confident.” he replied. “So… let’s just celebrate Simon now, and our victory over Ausmann later. Which won’t be all that much later.”

Brenda gave Joshua a skeptical look, but Charity turned to her and said, “I know him. He only gets like this when he’s about 125% sure of himself. Otherwise, he’s a ball of doubt. Trust him.”

“And… thank… you?” Joshua said to her.

“You know it’s true, silly,” Charity replied, and he did. She could read him like a fucking book. She’d always been able to.

The three of them intentionally turned the conversation away from anything to do with the Rêves and Ausmann and went to hang out with Esme, Jonah, and the kids, who had already taken a trip to Brent’s fabulous dessert bar.

Brenda gave the adults a jaundiced eye when she saw the ice cream monstrosities that Malia and Samuel had doled out way too generously in their bowls, but Esme just rebuked her quietly.

“Stressful event, let them,” she said. “You know you want to, too. No… you know you need to. Go. Gorge. No guilt. No guilt at funerals.”

Brenda turned to Charity and Joshua, who both said almost the same words, to the effect of, “Always listen to your mother,” and very soon they were loading bowls with way too much ice cream in the most decadent flavors, topping them with chocolate sauce, hot fudge, butterscotch, and every kind of sprinkly thing imaginable.

By the time all of them had finished, they’d collapsed onto the various sofas in food comas, the only sound coming from the water running in the kitchen and Brent happily humming to himself as he did the dishes.

“Yeah, I needed that,” Joshua muttered eventually, and Charity agreed.

“Amen,” she said.

“Probably best we be making our move now,” Jonah announced. “The kids are going to be crashing, and we should leave the real family alone for the evening.”

“True,” Brenda said, and she and her husband and mother pulled themselves to their feet. Jonah picked up Samuel and Brenda did likewise with Malia.

“Thank you for the invite,” she told Joshua. “You’ll have to come on down for dinner and game night soon. Both of you.”

“I’d love that,” he said.

“We’re all about game night,” Charity added.

And so the Family Mason made their way out, and then Joshua and Charity were rebuked when they asked Brent if they could help in the kitchen. The two of them wandered back to the living room.

“So, I should be going — ”

“No,” Joshua insisted.

“But I should,” she said, “Because you still have one bit of business left to do, and it probably doesn’t concern me.”

“What? How…”

“You sent your little ghost boys off with the older husband a while ago, and you’re very sure that you’re close to defeating this… what was his name?”

“The less you know the better.”

“See?” Charity said. “I can read you like a book, Joshie. And right now, that book is saying, ‘Strap in for the climax.’”

He just stared at her for a long beat, then finally broke out in a smile and laugh. “And this is why I fucking love you, Charity Walters.”

“I know,” she said, winking and stroking his inner Star Wars nerd — and yes, one could be both a Star Wars and Star Trek nerd at the same time, Joshua and Simon had been living proof of that.

Goddammit, Joshua thought again. Had been.

But then Charity left, and it was now down to just Joshua, Brent, Drew, and the boys, so Joshua went to the bottom of the stairs and called up. “We’re ready for you all now!” he shouted.

After a few moments, Drew descended the stairs, Danny and Preston flanking and supporting him as best they could, and Preston was back in his porn star costume.

Joshua shot them a look that clearly said, “What did you do?” But Danny and Preston both just winked back at him as if to say, “Whatever.”

Drew certainly seemed happy, then he turned to Joshua and smiled. “The boys told me you had an assignment for me,” he said.

“I did. I do,” Joshua said. “Let’s go outside.”

Out on the deck by the pool, with the Sun sinking in the west, Joshua quickly explained everything. How Ausmann wanted to destroy the Rêves, but in order to do that, he had to steal their secrets. But, in order to steal their secrets, he had to find a Class II Rêve who was only known for playing cowardly characters who would sell out anyone else to save their asses.

“Well, shit,” Brent drawled, “Just go find a dead Senator or two…”

“Amen,” Drew exclaimed.

“No, he came up with someone very specific. Peter Lorre,” Joshua explained.

“Who was far from cowardly, goddammit,” Drew exclaimed. “That is absolute slander!”

“I know, I know,” Joshua said. “Which is the whole point of this exercise.” He pulled the trap from his pocket and showed it to them. “Do you remember what happened with Ramon Novarro?” he asked.

“He didn’t seem too happy when he left here,” Drew replied.

“Well, that changed,” Joshua said. “And look at my guys here. Danny and Preston. You gave us the info, Simon and I accidentally made them, and now…? They are the best of friends.”

“Okay, so… what? You want me to split Lorre because I knew him? Is this just some sick experiment?”

“Not at all!” Joshua countered. “No. This is our secret weapon against a genocidal maniac who wants to destroy not only you, but the recently deceased love of my life.”

“Okay,” Drew muttered, still seeming confused. “But how can a B-List foreign star who generally only played creeps and villains convince anybody of anything?”

“What did I just tell you? Remind him of who he was. That’s the Lorre we need. That’s our secret weapon. Understand?”

“What if he doesn’t — ”

“How well did you really know him?” Joshua asked.

“A lot,” Drew finally answered.

“Great,” Joshua replied. “Then you are our secret weapon.”

He raised the trap in his left hand, thumb moving into position to open it.

“What if I can’t split him?” Drew asked.

“Oh, you will,” Joshua says. “I’m sure of it. Ready?”

“Fuck no!”

Danny and Preston flanked Drew. “Don’t worry, dude,” whispering in his ears. “We’re here.”

“So, ready?” Joshua asked, but Drew didn’t reply Neither did Joshua. But then he opened the trap and Peter Lorre drifted out. For a brief moment, he flashed through his more iconic roles before suddenly sticking in place, looking very young and curly haired as he did in The Maltese Falcon.

“Joel Cairo,” Drew said, in awe. I loved that movie. I was about fifteen when it came out, and I saw it a dozen times. Memorized all the dialogue — ”

“You always have a very smooth explanation ready,” Lorre as Cairo said.

“Like that line!” Drew perked up. “What was next…? Oh, right. ‘What do you want me to do, learn to stutter?’”

Lorre looked at him oddly. “You look different, Sam.”

“That’s because I’m not Sam, Joel,” Drew said. “And you’re not Joel. Pete.”

Lorre stared and started to morph through his various characters, finally stopping in what were clearly casual civilian clothes of Hollywood in the early 60s. “Andy?” he said quietly.

“Long time, no see, huh?” Drew told him. “Oh, remember all those times you told me stories about working with Bogart and Greenstreet, and you had me laughing my ass off?”

“I don’t know the lines…” he muttered, a little panicky before swapping back to Ugarte from Casablanca. “Rick?” he pleaded with the familiar drawn-out pronunciation: “Reeek!

“You were always good at learning lines, Pete. Oh — you used to quote your films when we all hung out together, too. Except that you’d exaggerate and make fun of your performances — ”

“I have the transit papers, Rick,” he offered, hands shaking. “Please don’t — ”

“I remember you very well, Pete. Well, that’s what you insisted I call you, but you’ll always be Mr. Lorre to me. A real Hollywood icon, sure, but also a real friend.

“You despise me, don’t you?” Lorre as Ugarte demanded.

“Not at all,” Drew said. “I loved you as a friend — ”

“Follow the damn script!” Ugarte practically screamed before shrinking into apologetic human Chihuahua mode. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sometimes I say things — ”

“That other people wrote for you, Pete.”

“You are a very cynical person, Rick, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”

“I told you. I am not Rick. I am Drew. You knew me as Andy. I knew you as Peter Lorre, but your birth name was László Löwenstein, and you were born in Hungary.”

“Rick. Rick! Hide me — ”

Before he could continue, Lorre’s eyes rolled, he morphed rapid-fire through a bunch of characters, and then collapsed in a puff of black smoke onto the patio.

Joshua grinned at Drew and gave him thumbs-up. As they’d seen before, gray smoke moved away as the first cloud coalesced into character Lorre. The second one approached Drew and took on the form of real Lorre.

“Andy!” he smiled, his accent not quite as strong as on film, though still present. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, Pete. And you?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

He suddenly vanished in a wisp of smoke into the trap Joshua had redeployed, now closing it and pocketing it.

“Why did you do that?” Drew demanded.

“Couldn’t have him noticing his double and getting away,” Joshua said. “He’s the key to the plan.”

“What about the other one?”

“He can go back to Hollywood and hang out with the tourists if he wants.” Joshua turned to look, and character Lorre didn’t hesitate to take the advice, shooting off into the night sky.

Joshua looked at Danny and Preston, and all of them grinned. He indicated the trap in his pocket. “I think I’ve now got the key to destroying Ausmann.”

“Brilliant!” Preston exclaimed, Danny nodding in agreement. They said their good-byes and left, passing a very nonplussed looking Brent in the back slider. He watched them go, then turned to Drew.

“Honey, in the contest between whether this year or 2020 is weirder, I think we’re quickly catching up.”

* * *

image source: Melissa, Peter Lorre — Hollywood Walk of Fame, licensed under (CC) BY-ND 4.0

The Saturday Morning Post #41: The Rêves, Part 19

You can catch up with the first installment of this piece here, or last week’s chapters here. It started as somewhat of an experiment. It seems to be taking the form of a supernatural thriller, set above and below the streets of Southern California.

To sleep, perchance…

Rêves actually did “sleep” — not in the same way that humans did, but they could sort of “power down,” at which point they would lose all physical visibility and substance. A Class I Rêve might be able to detect their presence, while Class II and III probably wouldn’t. Pearl, of course, was always aware of where every single one of them was at any moment, regardless of class or waking state.

But Preston didn’t know that yet.

All he knew was that he had curled up with Danny, who may or may not have been him but who was hella handsome nevertheless, and as they sheltered against the storm they both wound up falling asleep in each other’s arms.

It was a cold and foggy morning when Preston woke up. Okay, to be fair, it was visibly foggy, so he just assumed it was cold, which was something he couldn’t feel, although he and Danny could feel each other. He sat up and listened, and all he could hear was the distant crow of a rooster, and then drops of moisture falling from one level of leaves on the trees to another.

He nudged Danny to wake him — Preston could still see him for some reason.

“What?” Danny asked as he woke up and opened his eyes.

“Storm is over,” Preston said.

“So we lived?” Danny asked.

“No, dumbshit,” Preston replied, smacking his arm. “We’re still dead, but we’re still here.”

“Oh. Right,” Danny said. “So… now what?”

Before Preston could answer, there was a shout — “

¡Quédense. Manos arriba!

“What did he say?” Preston asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Danny replied.

Preston stood slowly, raising his arms.

“Y ¿por qué está desnudo en mi jardín, pervertido?” the voice called out again.

“Oh, wait, I think I knew one word, it’s about me, and it’s not happy,” Preston said, getting a good look at the angry father with the shotgun standing just outside the patio door.

“Tengo tres hijas jóvenes,” the man said, shotgun aimed right at Preston’s chest. “Qué ellas no vean sus cuerpos ni sus partes masculinos y forman ideas pecaminosas, si ustedes no se quitan del mi jardín en tres segundos, les voy a disparar y puedan decir hasta la vista a las nueces.”

On that last part, he lowered the shotgun to aim at Preston’s crotch.

“What did he say?” Danny asked.

“I have no idea on the specifics,” Preston replied, “But I think that the general idea is ‘Run like fuck.’”

“Oh, right,” Danny replied. “But wait,” he added. “Why are we running?”

“Because I get the idea he’s going to shoot us?” Preston answered.

“Right, and…?” Danny answered, refusing to move even as Preston got more antsy.

“I… dude, come on. Let’s not waste time. Let’s go!”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Danny replied.

“What?” Preston barked back.

Danny just smiled at Preston, then turned to the clearly the angry dad, and gave him the finger.

“Are you fucking nuts?” Preston demanded. Danny just grinned and shook his head — and then dad unleashed the shotgun.

And… nothing. Well, nothing happened to them, but a flowerpot behind them exploded.

Preston looked at Danny, confused.

“Dude, we’re already fucking dead,” he replied. “How is he going to do anything to us?”

“Really?” Preston finally asked.

“Really,” Danny replied.

Preston laughed, then turned and marched right up into Dad with Shotgun’s face.

“Look, dude,” he said, “I didn’t want to be here, and I have no desire at all to wave my dick at you, okay?”

Dad with rifle seemed more scared than anything, but Preston pressed on. “On the other hand, I seriously wouldn’t mind slapping my dick on your chin, or you slapping yours upside my ass-cheeks. My name is Preston. What’s yours?”

Preston waited patiently as the dude reloaded two shells with shaky fingers, then fired right at Preston’s chest point blank, this time managing to blow apart a hanging potted plant behind him, at which point he retreated into the house.

There was a long silence, and then Danny just laughed.

“What?” Preston demanded.

“You scared him off, dude. “So… where do we need to be now?”

“I have no idea,” Preston said. “Maybe with my mother?”

“She’s not our moth — ”

“Fake mother, shut up, asshole,” Preston said.

“Okay, okay,” Danny replied. “So which way is that?”

“Follow me,” Preston explained, grabbing Danny’s wrist and Peter-Panning his ass all the way to the cemetery in Glendale… only to find the place empty. Well, not empty. It was full of corpses. They just didn’t see any Rêves around, of any class.

“Notice anything strange?” Danny asked.

“No,” Preston said. “Beyond the lack of visitors.

“Ground’s dry. Everything is.”

“So?” Preston asked.

“You saw the mess the storm left out there. Mud all over the place, some streets still flooded, everything still a little wet.”

“I’m still a little wet,” Preston said, unable to resist.

“Shut up,” Danny replied. “You remember that big flood back home in the summer of ‘10?”

“No,” Preston explained sadly.

“Great, whatever. My point is, during that flood, the cemetery out on Highway 52 was covered with water, and a lot of the graves got washed out. They were finding coffins all over the place for months.”

“Oh. Now I remember,” Preston said.

Danny gestured. “And yet, here…?”

Nothing was out of place, and the ground was still solid, all tombstones intact.

“Weird,” Preston said. “Maybe the flood didn’t get up this far.”

“You didn’t notice the road outside, did you?”

“Oh, right…”

“So what do you think happened?” Preston asked, warily.

“We both already know,” Danny explained to him. “We saw the storm, and what was causing it. There was nothing natural about it. I think it was an act of self-defense.”

“Self-defense, or war?” Preston pondered.

“I guess that definition will depend on who ultimately wins,” Danny said. “Who’s fighting, anyway?”

“Well, we know that the main enemy is some crazy mad scientist from Pasadena,” Preston explained. “What we don’t know is how the classes of Rêve are going to split up.”

“Wait… classes of what?” Danny asked, and Preston sighed.

“Oh, shit, right. I guess no one had a chance to explain this to you. Sit down. This is going to take a bit.”

Danny sat on the marble cenotaph that guarded the buried corpse that he and Preston shared, and then Preston launched into an explanation of what the Rêves were, and how they broke into classes.

The what, as far as they knew, was that they were not ghosts, but rather psychic “echoes” made manifest by human memories. But how close those echoes resembled the originals depended on two factors.

The first: How well did the living beings doing the remembering actually know them in life?

The second: How many living beings remembered them in any capacity, whether they knew them or not?

And so, the three classes.

“What it basically breaks down to is this,” Preston explained. “If you died with a lot of friends and family who knew you, and if they made it a point to commemorate your memory or pass on your stories in any way, then you wind up Class I — an echo of your true self who pretty much remembers your actual life. That’s why recent arrivals are Class I, after all!”

“So I’m not Class I,” Danny pouted, “Since my whole family wants to forget me.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Presteon said. “Now, Class II are the ones remembered by a lot of people who never met them and who died long enough ago that people only know them through cultural artifacts… movies, books, songs, whatever. Or, in other words, celebrities. They come back the farthest from themselves because they can only come back from what people who never knew them experienced of them.”

“But what about a celebrity who died last week?” Danny asked.

“I’m getting to that,” Preston said. “Hey, you met the Marx Brothers, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Not helpful at all.”

“Of course. They would have been in real life, but the echoes you met all came from their films. And you didn’t meet Gummo or Zeppo, did you?”

“Nah. Just the big three — ”

“The Groucho, the Chico, and the Holy Harpo,” Preston said.

“Wow. But, yeah.”

“The last of them died almost fifty years ago, so there aren’t a lot of humans left who knew any of them. So, there you go. Class II. But every Class II started as a Class III for one simple reason.”

“Social climbing?” Danny offered.

Preston laughed. “No, silly. Because even famous people tend to die while they still have a lot of friends and family left behind. So when people die with a lot of people who knew them really well in person and a lot of people who didn’t know them well by proxy, they wind up as Class III.”

“That sounds like a demotion.”

“Apparently there were a lot of politics behind creating the designations. Don’t ask… Fake Mom told me. Anyway, These Rêves are in a weird unique position, because they can remember both their private lives and their public ones, and switch back and forth. Ironically, even though they’re Class III, they are probably most in control of their echoes.”

“So, you’re Class III, then?” Danny asked.

“Actually, no. I am Class II, since most of the people who remembered me never met me, but only knew my porn persona. Why the fuck do you think I keep showing up nude, dude? The same reason you probably saw the Marx Brothers in full costume. This was my costume.”

“Okay, but… what if nobody remembers someone? What happens to them?”

“That one, I have no idea,” Preston said. “I’ve never heard of a Class IV. Although if you’re here because I remember you, I guess that technically you’d be Class I.”

“But if I remember you…” Danny started.

“How can you?” Preston countered. “You didn’t live through my porn career —”

“The hell I didn’t,” Danny cut in. “Who the fuck do you think was there the whole fucking time? And yes that pun was intended.”

“I…” Preston hesitated, then looked into Danny’s eyes, and suddenly everything came crashing back as far as he could remember, and he could remember back to staring at the mobile of pink and yellow stars spinning above his crib and hearing screaming and slapping.

Meanwhile, Danny flashed forward from the moment he’d submitted his proof of age documents — a moment that his old mind had kind of put down the shutters to indicate “You died here,” and suddenly rocketed through Preston’s entire porn career and up until his death.

And damn if he didn’t love every second of the ride.

And Preston got to re-experience everything he had lived from the ignition of consciousness until he signed that contract, and damn if he didn’t love every second of the ride.

When they both snapped out of it, they just looked at each other with new admiration and a stronger sense of security that told them, “You are two separate entities.”

“So… what class are we now?” Danny asked just before Preston did.

“Fuck if I know,” Preston replied.

Then, there was a sudden blast of white light from the Chanler mausoleum, and Anabel strode out, lighting flashing around her hair, and she looked pissed as fuck as she strode right to… she didn’t even know what to think of them as any more. Surely not her sons.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

Danny and Preston stared at her, looked to each other, then back to her and laughed.

“What do you mean, mommy?” Danny asked in a fake-innocent voice.

“I mean that you are upending the order of things at the wrong time!” Anabel shrieked back.

“But wasn’t that your thing, mommy?” Preston replied sarcastically.

“I’m not your mother, you little shits!” Anabel screamed. “And you both know it!” Danny and Preston turned to each other, smiled, and fist-bumped.

“Yeah. We know,” they said in unison.

“So… which side do you want us on?” Danny asked.

“Mine!” she replied.

“Sure,” Preston said, “But you’ll have to win us over. And keep one other thing in mind.”

“What’s that?” Anabel spat back.

“Well, it’s a real riddle,” Preston explained. “What class are we in?”

“That hardly matters,” Anabel said. “Two of you cannot outnumber the rest.”

“No?” Preston asked. “Here’s another way to put it. What if one or the both of us no longer fits into any of your three Classes?”

“That is impossible!” Anabel replied.

“Is it?” Preston asked. “For one thing, I’ve now moved up to Class I, thanks to Danny.”

“Who the hell is this ‘Danny,’ anyway?” Anabel demanded.

“Me. Only he died out here unremembered. And he managed to pick up one little detail from, oddly enough, a Class II, that meant nothing to him until, well, we remembered each other, and it’s this one… and it’s a nice puzzle, really.”

“Spare me your puzzles and choose a side!” Anabel demanded.

“Cool your panties, ‘Mom’,” Preston ordered her. So, we all know how the three Classes of Rêve work, right? Remembered personally, only remembered from fame, or combo. But there’s that awkward other one… not remembered by anyone, and generally commended to nature. Yeah, I think that happens to be right in the middle of Pearl’s territory.”

“What are you trying to say?” Anabel spat.

“Um… I just combined the actual person I used to be with the force you fear the most, thereby proving that there is another Class beyond the three, although calling Pearl’s domain Class IV would be really, really bad form.”

“Stop saying — ” Anabel commanded.

“What?” Preston replied pointedly. “Pearl?”

“How dare you!” Anabel shrieked, but Preston just smiled and laughed.

“Sorry, Mommy,” he said. “What did you expect? I think the game we’re playing here is like chess and gay life. It takes one Queen to defeat another.”

“Stop calling me Mommy, you son of a bitch!” Anabel hissed at him.

That was when they all noticed that the wind had kicked up, creating a slight whistle. Preston suddenly sensed a presence, as if hundreds of warm arms embraced him and he felt he a flow of positive thoughts, as if an endless line of people were marching by to greet him, saying, “You’re going to be okay.”

Then he heard the voice in the rustle of the grass, “Preston, Preston” it seemed to say.

“Yes?” he and Danny both said out loud, and both of them sensed a hint of confusion in the presence around them.

A woman appeared before them, and Preston assumed that this had to be Pearl, or some physical manifestation of the thing Anabel had described as a vast collective. She actually reminded them both a little bit of their real mother back in Idaho, little knowing that the original Pearl was from Southeast Texas, but was in fact a second cousin, once removed, of their mother’s.

She studied the two of them, raising a warning arm to Anabel before she could say a word, then Pearl circled them, completely intrigued.

“This is certainly new,” she said. “Not unexpected, it’s just that we’ve never seen it happen.” She pointed at Danny. “You should be one of us,” she said, before pointing at Preston. “And you should be part of that shallow celebrity class that has decided to turn against us.”

She seemed to be almost beaming as she turned things over in her mind. “But each of you is something completely different,” she explained.

She looked at Danny and told him, “You combine a Class I Rêve with one of us, Las Hadas Silvestres, or Pearl, if you will.” She turned to Preston, “And you managed to somehow go from Class II via Class III to pure Class I but strictly on his memories of you. You’re no longer a celebrity echo.”

“I’m Danny, by the way,” Danny explained.

“And Preston,” Preston added.

“Pearl,” Pearl replied. “But this is about to become a war zone, so we’d best do what they did in London before the blitz.”

“Oh, don’t you — ” Anabel started, but Pearl, not even looking at her, knocked her twenty feet back to land on her ass with a gesture.

“We need to evacuate to the countryside, and you two need to meet your real family. Ready?”

They both nodded and Pearl took their hands. The next thing they knew, they were standing in a clearing somewhere in the woods. Preston recognized it as Big Bear. He’d made a couple of films up here back in the day — Lumber Jack-offs, Bears in the Woods, and one of his favorites, Night on Bone Mountain, which actually managed to be artsy. Come to think of it, those were about half of all the actual films he had made. Winston had been right — nobody really wanted full-length story porn anymore.

He wondered briefly whether Anabel had seen any of them, although he was pretty sure she hadn’t.

All that Anabel had seen as she sat up, royally pissed, was Pearl taking the boys’ hands and then the three of them vanishing in a black wisp, like a puff of smoke blown up a chimney to quickly dissipate in the sky.

Her scream sent every bird within three miles scattering frantically into the air, and set dogs to barking as far away as China Town.

Image: Daniel Lobo, (CC) BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

* * *

The Saturday Morning Post #36: The Rêves, Part 14

You can catch up with the first installment of this piece here, or last week’s chapters here. It started as somewhat of an experiment. It seems to be taking the form of a supernatural thriller, set above and below the streets of Los Angeles. NOTE: Due to a scheduling error, this post did not go up at the usual time of 7 a.m. PDT.

 

Gemelos

The two of them had fled into the sky long before the storm, snaking around buildings, one alternately in pursuit of the other, neither one of them able to even touch or harm the other, but still they tangled like a pair of fighting dogs, two wisps of black smoke in the sky that most people below wouldn’t have noticed or, if they had, would have just put off to exhaust from some business or another.

One of them led off by diving down into the NoHo Metro station, then following the tunnel to Universal City Station. On the platform, they tangled and twisted until the one who seemed to be losing shot back up the seven mile tunnel to come out at Hollywood and Highland.

The chase continued down the tunnel past a bunch of stops until one of them shot above ground at the 7th Street Metro station, and then  skidded just above the sidewalk about two miles to the Los Angeles Greyhound Bus Station, where it hovered, the other wisp hesitating nearby.

The first wisp vanished inside and the second followed until they both wound up in the bus station men’s room, at which point they manifested to each other — Danny, the first wisp, clothed and angry looking; Preston, the second wisp, nude and looking alarmed.

“Who are you?” Danny demanded.

“I’m Preston,” Preston replied.

“Then who am I?” Danny asked.

“I have no idea,” Preston said. “Except I think that maybe you are me. Were me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Danny spat.

“Well, I mean, we do look alike, right?”

“You look like a whore,” Danny said.

“What?” Preston replied. “Work clothes. And you? What are you supposed to be?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Danny said.

“Okay,” Preston replied calmly. “So… what’s your name?”

“Fuck if I know,” Danny shouted. “And yours?”

“Preston LeCard,” he said. “Pleased to meet you?”

“Wait, stop, don’t tell me. I’m Tom Canty, and you’re Prince Edward.”

“Who?” Preston asked.

“Never mind. Unless you tell me that you’re rich or something.”

“Um, actually…” Preston started, then hesitated until Danny’s look made him continue on, “I’m kind of fucking loaded, really.”

“So who stole what from whom?” Danny demanded.

“I don’t know!” Preston said. “Look, this is just as confusing for me as it is for you, honestly. All I know is that I had this great career as a porn star, I made —”

“Sorry, what?” Danny asked.

“You heard me. Porn star. You know? I fucked for a living. And I made mad bank at it, and I loved doing it and, ironically, I was finally taken out by a plague that had nothing to do with the plague that used to take out gay men. Except that I kind of … stuck around? And the last thing I remember was a couple of sexy human dudes kind of … shit. If it had been a porn scene, it would have been really hot, but they basically tried to tell me I’m not who I am, and then bang, there you are. And if the idea of… what? Instant twin brother? Sudden clone? Whatever, isn’t the absolute hottest porn scene idea, then I don’t know what is.”

Danny and Preston stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Danny said, “Okay, great. You remember all kinds of shit. You know what I remember?”

“Um, no?” Preston replied.

“Okay, cool. It’s this. Not so very long ago, I woke up locked in a box with some dude who looks like me. I have no memories at all of anything before this, we both seem to be freaking out, and then we escape. And I have no idea who’s the friend, or who’s the enemy. Or who I am.”

“Well,” Preston said gently, “Apparently you’re me, except before I became the me you don’t know. And that’s the trick, really.”

“Nah,” Danny said. “The real trick is figuring out how I became the you that you seem to be, because you are not me. I’m no whore.”

“That’s kind of what I just said,” Preston replied.

“So you really believe that I was… no… that you were me once?”

“And I believe that I still am you, Danny. Shit… it’s starting to come back to me now. That’s weird. Idaho?”

“Yeah. I grew up — “

“In Emmett?” Preston continued before He could finish, Danny nodding. “I just remember that. And… oh wow… DWsub13M,” Preston said, very surprised. “I remember that handle.”

“Yeah, I did chats with that, so? Anyone on the board could have seen it.”

“Right but your password… Finn23Zack69. Right?”

There was a long silence before Danny said, “How do you know that? Are you a hacker?”

“No,” Preston said. Goddamn, those daddies were right. You are me before I became… well, me. The problem is that everyone remembers me and no one remembers you, but if you just help me remember you — ”

“Then what?” Danny replied, shying away into the corner.

“If you let me remember you so that you can remember me, well… shit. How powerful would you like to be, anyway?”

“I’d rather be alive again,” Danny said.

“Yeah, well, I’d like a unicorn,” Preston replied.

“Shit, you sound just like my sister,” Danny muttered, and suddenly Preston found himself sucked out of the present world and down a dark vortex. At the end of it, he woke up staring at a crappy bus station ceiling, realizing that for the first time since he’d died, he could smell. Unfortunately, what he could smell was the heavy stench of urine, cum, and the over-arching mint of urinal cakes — and then Danny was kneeling above him, looking down and smiling.

“I don’t know where you went, dude,” Danny said. “But I took a little walk around when you vanished, and I ran into some people. Well, I ran into the Marx Brothers and I tried to ask them what was going on, but you can imagine how useful their information was.”

“I’ve met them,” Preston said. “I know. But you can’t blame them, because they’re trapped in their characters.”

“Kind of a reminder of how annoying movie characters would be in real life, right?”

“Except porn stars,” Preston quipped.

“Anyway, next I ran into that dude from the Christmas movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, and he was actually helpful. He explained a lot to me.”

“Yeah, really,” Danny replied. “Hey, I don’t know where you went when you blinked out, duded. But I’m glad you came back. Now, I think I understand, and there’s kind of two options.”

“Really?” Preston said.

“Number one, we just moosh together and forget all this shit and become one person again.”

“Not a bad idea, right?” Preston asked.

“You’d think, but… no. The other option is stay apart, each of us becomes who we really were, because we’re going to need to double up to take on the forces of evil.”

“And who would they be?” Preston asked.

“Oddly enough, it’s a two-front war,” Danny said. “On the human side, it’s some genocidal human asshole in Pasadena. On the Rêve side, it’s the woman who pretends to be your mother.”

And what do we lose if we moosh?” Preston asked.

“Bascially,” Danny replied, “Everything. Oh, right. I forgot to mention the other part.”

“There’s another part?” Preston asked.

“Sure,” Danny replied, “Or didn’t you see the sky where you were?”

Preston shook his head and Danny took him outside where they looked west and saw the lightning. Then he looked at Danny, who just grabbed him.

“So… self-preservation over any stupid argument. Agreed?”

Preston hesitated for a second, then nodded. Just as he did, the storm front swept over them and the rain and hail came down, although it couldn’t touch them. For some reason, it went around them, creating silhouettes in the falling drops that would point them out to any humans there to see them had there been any humans on the streets at all.

But Danny and Preston could see what no human could, and that was that this was no normal storm. They could see the wraith-like presence that was actually controlling it, a darkly luminescent shimmering blue haze that both permeated the cloud and led it.

“What is it?” Preston asked.

“My god, that movie dude was right. He said that the real danger would be if somebody warned… what did he call them? Silvester…? Or sometimes Pearl? Anyway… yeah, that. This is what he warned about.”

“So what does that mean?” Preston demanded.

“We’re all fucked,” Danny replied as he grabbed Preston, held him tight, and the two of them dropped through the ground until they hit the Metro tunnel, then shot up it to Union Station and, from there, into the local highlands above downtown on what were called The Avenues.

The Rêves had their own warning network, although the message was basically to avoid certain areas. Although Las hadas silvestres were not mentioned at all, the idea that the Rêves were in no danger from what was happening was. The main points were to stay out of the Metro, away from Cemeteries, and to avoid Pasadena entirely.

The Avenues actually weren’t that far from Pasadena, at least street-wise, but they were sufficiently above it.

By the time that Preston and Danny had taken refuge in an overgrown backyard behind a very old house in Mt. Washington, they decided that they were going to remain apart for now. As Danny pointed out, “Strength in numbers.”

“Also,” Preston said, “I’ve always wanted to fuck my identical twin.”

“Stop it you,” Danny said, more playful than annoyed. “Okay, we’ll fuck if we get out of this alive…”

“That’s kind of impossible, isn’t it?” Preston said. Danny just smirked back.

Then they did all that they could do, which was just to wait out the passing storm — that is, if it ever did pass.

* * *

Parlay

In a lot of ways, Anabel really appreciated the ironic symmetry in the storm that Pearl unleashed because, just as none of the Rêves ever received any demands or ransom notes from the humans, they and Las hadas could not send their own demands back, at least not in any way that the humans would understand.

All they could do was kidnap the weather and ravish the landscape. And that’s when Anabel realized the irony of Pearl’s words, that they would warn the humans. A sudden but unprecedented storm would not come across as a supernatural warning, at least not to any sane or rationale humans.

The only way that Anabel could warn them was to get herself caught again, and she wasn’t about to waltz into Ausmann’s arms, especially not after she had tipped him off to size being a factor in how effective their traps were.

But, she realized, if she could get Pearl to bring him above ground, away from his laboratory and technology, and place them on equal footing outside, then maybe she could deliver the message.

As soon as she thought it, she heard Pearl’s voice in her head. “Then take us where he’s at, man, and we’ll show him where it’s at, dig?”

Anabel wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination or not, but what did she have to lose? It wasn’t that hard a trip — just under seven miles in a straight line just about exactly north east, and only passing under one isolated mountain on the way.

So she headed from Glendale to Pasadena, even though the storm hadn’t gotten this far east yet, then hovered around where she had come up above Ausmann’s lab. But something seemed wrong. The place was eerily dark, with none of the buildings illuminated, and only the streetlights along the internal roads and parking lots providing any light at all.

She decided to take a chance and go underground, finding that she hadn’t missed Ausmann’s hidden complex by that much, but then venturing in while not manifesting to find it apparently abandoned. As she wandered its halls and through offices and labs, all she saw were empty work stations, all the equipment turned off, and everything bathed in a deep red light that came from LED strips set in the baseboards.

“Well, this is weird,” she thought.

She wandered around until she found a lobby with what were clearly elevator doors, keeping her distance from those, and went to the security station nearby, which had several large metal detectors in a row with double doors on each side and that’s when she saw the sign taped to the first door of the first detector.

“MANDATORY EVAC ORDER,” it read. The rest of it was typical gov-speak gibberish that took way too many words to passively state what could have been simply put: “The weather is fucked, so get the hell out of here. We are shutting everything down.”

And it wasn’t just Ausmann’s little project. It was all of JPL. It was so serious, in fact, that the notice ended with the scare words “SERIOUS FEDERAL CRIME” above some official-looking seal with an eagle on it.

“Ooh,” Anabel thought. “What are you going to do? Arrest me?”

Her other thought was, “I died in the 1920s, and the Federal Government still hasn’t upped their art game at all?”

But if no one was here, then where was Ausmann? How was she going to find him?

Reluctantly — because if anyone would defy the threat of being charged with a federal crime it would be him — she found her way down to his office.

Now the real trick was to figure out where he lived from what was available. The catch was that none of the electronic devices would turn on. Not that Anabel even knew how they worked, but she’d tried to turn on a lamp only to realize that all power had been cut.

That was when Anabel proceeded to do what any good 1920s detective would do, and she started going through drawers. Yes, they were difficult to move, but Rêves did have some ability to manipulate objects.

Most of them were full of random office supplies, way too many Post-It pads, boxes of staples, and promotional pens. Further down, she found file folders of documents that were at least a decade old.

And then, she found a birthday card, in an envelope. The card itself read “Happy Birthday Grandpa!” and her mind boggled at the idea that Ausmann was human enough to have reproduced at least once. But then she looked at the postmark to see that it was only a year old.

Then she looked at the address. Motherfucker lived in some place called the Simi Valley, which she’d never even heard of. But at least she had an address, and that was enough. She couldn’t take the envelope with her, but she could imprint the information on her hand and make it stick, so then she flew back up to emerge from underground, feeling triumphant.

“I found that son of a bitch, Pearl,” Anabel muttered to herself, and it was like a sudden warm and loving wind embraced her.

“Simi Valley?” Anabel heard Pearl’s voice in her head. “Yeah, that fucking figures. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Anabel asked.

“Thirty-five miles west. Where the white people went when the brown and black people scared them. Don’t ask.”

Suddenly, Anabel was flying over a mountain, across the Valley, across more mountains, and then down into a normal-looking suburban area that was already being heavily lashed by the storm. She landed on the front lawn of a perfectly tacky 60s-era ranch house, then heard Pearl’s voice in her ear.

“Go get him,” they said.

“But how?” Anabel asked.

That one didn’t get any answer. She decided on the obvious method, even if it was totally stereotypical, and just walked through the wall and into the living room, where Ausmann and a woman, presumably his wife, sat in silence, the room only lit by the glow of the large screen TV on the far wall, tuned in to the weather report.

Ausmann’s wife looked as dour and unpleasant as he did. “We need to evacuate?” she muttered.

“Ridiculous,” Ausmann replied. “Typical media sensationalism.”

“We’re not that far from Malibu as the crow flies,” his wife said.

“The storm is moving west from Malibu, not north. It’ll never get here.”

The house rattled with a sudden thunderbolt from the south and Anabel decided to make her presence known. She popped over in front of the TV and manifested, being sure to glow for visibility.

“The storm is already here,” she said. As if on cue, lighting began to flash outside, the thunder coming sooner and louder with each moment.

“Get out of my house!” Ausmann demanded.

“We’ve come to deliver a message,” Anabel said.

“We?” Ausmann replied.

“Don’t you hear them?” she answered, gesturing. Now, the lighting was close enough that they could actually hear the electricity scorching the air and almost feel its heat. The thunder came within a split second of the lightning.

Outside at the foot of the driveway, a tree suddenly shattered under a direct hit, scattering bits of bark and splinters of wood all over the place, leaving a split and smoldering trunk and dropping several limbs to the street.

Their conversation turned into a shouting match because it was the only way to be heard, especially after the hail arrived moments later and began pelting everything.

“What’s the message?” Ausmann demanded. “Thor is pissed off?”

“The message is: Leave us alone,” she said. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

“I’d love to be able to,” Ausmann said, “But there are reasons I can’t.”

“Like?”

“Like reasons I can’t tell you. Classified.”

“I don’t care,” Anabel said. “Neither do they. Stop what you’re doing.”

“And are all of you going to stop what you’re doing?”

“All we’re doing is existing,” she replied.

“No, you’ve been leaking into our world despite the agreement you made with us thirty years ago.”

“You’ve been pulling us into it against our will!” she insisted.

“I’m not the one you have to negotiate with,” he explained.

“We’re not negotiating,” she replied.

“Which ‘we?’ The Rêves?”

“We brought someone to negotiate with us.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Who?”

“Who do you think is causing this storm?”

“I already guessed Thor,” he replied. “Should I have said Zeus instead?”

“Stop what you’re doing to us now!” Anabel shrieked over the non-stop thunder.

“No!” Ausmann shot back, stepping toward her, and then she caught a glimpse of what he had snuck into his right hand — one of those small traps, open and ready to spring.

She shot up through the ceiling and crawl-space under the roof and out into the night sky and the crashing hail.

“Tear it down,” she called out to Pearl. “He’s refusing.”

As she headed back to Glendale, the storm intensified, and lightning started to strike the house, blowing off shingles. Ausmann turned and ran for the hidden staircase, seeing that his wife was nowhere in sight.

He headed down to the basement and their hidden panic room, because of course they had one — practically everyone with money in Simi did — and he entered his code in the door panel.

It slid open and he stepped inside, to find that his wife was already there. As the door slid shut and locked again, everything shook and there was a resounding boom. Outside, the power went off, the various monitors showing everything inside the house going dark.

At least the power supply down here was still working, and they had at leasat six weeks’ worth between the batteries, capacitors, and propane powered generators, which they would go through in that order, unless at least two of the solar panels on the roof held and stayed connected, in which case they’d go through none of it.

“Was that a ghost?” Coraline finally asked him.

“Yes and no,” he said.

“Is it gone?”

“Yes,” he replied, staring at the monitors and watching as the cameras went out one by one.

Up top, half of the house was in flames and a sudden gust of wind tore the roof off of the garage and sent it sailing down the street. Lightning continued to pummel what was left standing, and hail the size of baseballs started to drop into the now exposed garage, pounding both of the cars in there until their roofs were practically touching tops of the window wells in the doors.

A couple of bolts of lightning turned a third of the water in the pool into steam, cracking the concrete walls and letting the rest ooze its way out into the ground. Another lucky strike breached the propane canister on the gas grill and sent it rocketing into the air on a jet of escaping fuel. It came back down right into the windshield of Coraline’s SUV.

The escape room held because it was supposed to — it had been designed and built by the same crew that had constructed Ausmann’s laboratory under JPL after all. But it wasn’t too long before all connections to the outside had gone dark with the exception of the underground cable that tied into the internet.

Ausmann streamed the news and watched the “Special Bulletin — Breaking” announcement about the sudden freak offshoot of the storm that was pummeling Simi Valley.

Although, in the morning, there would be only one house in his neighborhood that looked like a tornado had swept it away.

* * *
 
Image source: Gemelli by Jacopo Montano from Atlas Coelestis, John Flamsteed (1729), used under licence via (CC BY-SA 3.0)