And for the next several days at moonlight, the holy man would enter their chambers and chant hymns in the tongue of Nain and place the seal of unity in ochre paints onto their heads and bless the prisoners before departing. On these nights, the priest’s eyes would turn white as lightning and his chantings were like a demonic serenade and when the ceremony was over he would wash his bear skinned cloak in the blood of an unknown creature and drape it over his shoulders.
“Blood will cleanse our land,” the holy man said to Wade.
“Who’s blood?”
“You will see.”
“Ours?”
But the priest departed and said nothing and then the Saranian girl entered the chamber and offered the men unleavened bread and meats and wine. Wade took of the wine and drank and then thanked her and asked of the ring. She heard him but said nothing.
“Do you understand me?” he asked her but she stood bewildered. “I’m Wade,” he said and thumbed his chest.
The girl nodded. “Sela,” she spoke.
“Sela,” Wade repeated. “You are beautiful.” He gestures to her face. “Very beautiful.”
The girl again faintly smiled and bowed and then swiftly left the chamber. Sitting in the back, Sheridan chuckled to himself. “You certainly have a way with the ladies,” he jested towards Wade.
“I have a plan.”
“Oh I know you have a plan. And I can see it’s working.”
“There’s a reason why they’ve kept us alive for this long.”
“Of course. They’re gonna make us a part of their blood ceremony. See? You’re not the only smart one here.”
“Do you see any other way out?”
“I don’t. So keep working your magic.”
After finishing the bread and wine, Sheridan was fast asleep and Wade laid awake listening to the ceaseless chanting and drum beats before it all faded away into the night. And minutes after it did, Sela returned to the chambers and offered him more bread and then she took the dead hermit’s ring and placed it back into his hand.
“No no,” said Wade. He took her by the left hand and slid it onto her finger. “This is for you. Something to remember me by.”
Wade returned to the cage and women brought them meats and furred blankets for the nights ahead. Sheridan remained cowed under the coverings and caked in dried blood with his hands shaking at the faintest echo of chanting monks and the hollering of warriors. Not wanting to stay silent, Wade informed Sheridan of his visit to the prophet.
“Will he let us go?” asked the older man.
“I don’t know,” said Wade.
“Then what will happen to us?”
“I can’t say.”
Sheridan gnawed on charred deer meat and drank water while Wade stayed seated with back towards his fellow prisoner. “What is this place? What are they doing here?” Sheridan asked.
“I reckon they’re hiding from the nighthawks.”
“And what of Josea?”
“He’s a charlatan.”
“Of course he’s a charlatan! I mean what’s his angle?”
“What’s the angle of any charlatan? He claims he sees visions of Jonny. That’s what brought him up here.”
“But we can’t be far from the Nain.”
“We ain’t. It can be seen from Josea’s temple.”
“Is that what you’re aiming for? An escape?”
“What other option we got?”
Another young woman of browned skin and dark hair flowing over her exposed breasts brought the night’s food wrapped in hide cloth and she handed it to Wade. Wade took it and asked her her name but the girl meekly looked down and didn’t answer. Before she left, Wade called for her. The girl turned around and he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring taken from the hermit and he offered it to her. She cautiously approached the cage and reached out her hand. Wade placed it into her palm and he clasped her fingers into a fist and he held it. “Thank you for the food,” he told her. She briefly made eye contact and flashed a faint smile then departed.
“Where do you think she came from?” asked Wade.
“I can’t say for certain,” said Sheridan. “Possibly from the Sanalands to the west.”
Randy finished his glass of scotch and paced around the basement. At that moment there was nothing I wanted more than to be done with this charade so I looked at Dale who was unbothered by this tension. “Well Randy,” I declared, “I don’t forgive you. So let’s stop pussyfooting around and get this over with.”
Randy stopped pacing and looked at the Madam and her eyes drifted to the floor. Then he sighed and poured another glass. “You know what this means don’t you?” he asked me.
“It means in a matter of minutes we’ll dead and buried,” I said plainly.
He swallowed the scotch whole. “But what about your friend there?” he asked, referring to Dale.
“Oh, me?” said Dale. “Yeah I’ve know that this was coming for a long time.”
I could’ve been wrong but I thought I saw a small tear streaking down Randy’s cheek. Whatever emotions he might’ve been feeling, he concealed them well with his following statements. “Okay then,” he said, “but I won’t do it here. This is my home. I wish that I could have given you a better ending but I must have you two escorted to the desert and shot. I’m very sorry.”
“Shove your apologies,” I said.
Randy signaled to the driver and the driver briefly left the room. A moment later, Old Jim stepped out from behind the door with his six shooter ready. “Jim!” I gasped.
“How’s your aim dad?” Randy asked him.
“I may be old, but I can still shoot the pecker off a…”
“Alright alright,” Randy interrupted him. “Take these men out to the desert and have them killed.”
“Dad?!” I shouted.
“Yeah, Old Jim is my dad. Which makes him your grandpa I suppose. I thought it was obvious. You’re both named James. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road…”
Christ, I thought. It was obvious. But it didn’t matter anymore. Old Jim and the driver approached us and took us by the arm. “Hello James,” Jim said to me.
“Jim! Papaw!”
“Papaw,” said Jim. “I remember my papaw. Legend has it that his dick was two feet long and he strangled Wild Bill Hickok with…”
“Dad!” Randy interrupted. “Enough with the stories! We have a job to do!”
“And where are you going?” I asked Randy as he was picking up several Manila envelopes.
“I have a meeting with the Vietnamese in an hour. Sorry that I can’t make it.”
“So a meeting with the Vietnamese is more important than the death of your own son?”
Randy stood motionless at my challenge. “But this is a very important meeting,” he said.
I shook my head. “How typical of Randy,” I said rhetorically. “He can’t even look his own son in the eye.”
He slammed the glass onto the tiled floor and it shattered into a thousand pieces. The Madam was startled by the sudden burst. “Alright! Goddamn you!” he shouted. “If this is what you want then I will grant you your last request! I will, by god, journey with you to the desert where you will meet your demise!”
“Thanks Randy,” I said. “That’s very sweet of you.”
Randy didn’t know what to make of Susan. He sipped the scotch mere feet from her face with her eyes bowed to the floor. I turned my head to see a tear stream down her face. Though this was the moment she had been waiting for, nothing had prepared her for it. “I don’t think I know you,” Randy said.
Susan palmed her eyes and lifted her head to face him. When I looked at Randy, I could tell he was genuinely perplexed. “Where is my mother?” Susan managed to squeak out.
Randy squinted his eyes and took another sip. He lowered the glass and placed it in his left hand. “Darling,” he said, putting his right hand to her cheek, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand your question.”
“Where is MY mother,” she repeated.
“If you could tell me who you are, perhaps I could help,” he said, taken back by her sudden forcefulness.
“Susan.”
“Susan who?”
“Susan Brucetti.”
He took his hand off her face and had another sip. “Brucetti?” he asked and swallowed hard. “I believe a Lyonette Brucetti was under my employment many years ago. Is that your mother?”
Susan nodded and lowered her head again. Randy’s face began to blush and he nervously scratched his head. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen Lyonette in some time,” he explained. “Last I heard, she was living in Chico with her husband. I apologize, but I haven’t been keeping close tabs on her.”
“You’re a liar,” Susan said.
“Pardon?”
“You’re a liar. You sold her into sex slavery.”
“W-why would I do that?”
“Because that’s the kind of man you are!”
“Susan, sweetheart, I think you have the wrong idea. You see, Lyonette and I were lovers for a very long time. I loved her. Why would I sell someone I love into slavery?”
“Then why would she abandon me?!”
Randy turned around and refused to face us. He sat his glass of scotch down and rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry Susan,” he said, “had I of known, I would have done something.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had a child together. A girl.”
Susan looked at me with wide eyes. No words came. In real time I could see her heart sink to her feet and Dale shook his head. “Told you it was a mistake,” he uttered under his breath.
“Goddamnit Dale,” I said.
“What was a mistake?” asked Randy, still not facing us.
“Forget it,” I said.
“I’m gonna be sick,” said Susan.
Randy picked up the glass again and ignored the comment entirely. He turned around and leaned against the table. “Susan, my dear, I think you should leave,” he said. “I don’t want you to be a part of what’s about to happen.”
Susan quietly nodded and the driver took her by the arm and escorted her upstairs. She never looked back at me. She was defeated.
When she was gone and the shock wore off, I looked at Randy. “Two damaged children,” I said. “That’s your real legacy.”
So the fat, scraggly therapist lumbered into the office and plopped his large ass down in his chair. He picked his nose and wiped it on his shirt then took out a paper and pen. “So you’re not here for insurance purposes because the studio wants to make sure you’re mentally competent to direct movies? You’ve missed the last 47 appointment,” he asks.
“Correct,” I say.
“So why are you here?”
“Cuz I need drugs.”
“Well I’m not a psychiatrist. I’m only a therapist. Did you want to talk about anything?”
“Talk? Why would I want to talk to you? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That’s what we usually do in therapy.”
“No shit? I guess I never considered that,” I said. Then I pondered for a moment. “Well I guess I’d talk about being rejected by a woman I loved.”
“That’s good,” the therapist said as he scribbled notes. “So what happened?”
“Greta. She just didn’t love me back.”
“You mean Great Gerw-“
“Yes, her. Please don’t say her name.”
The therapist nodded and let out a loud fart. Then he readjusted in his seat to look all therapist-like. “Rejection is a very traumatic thing,” he said. “Would you care to tell me more about yourself?”
“Like what?”
“Like what was your family life like?”
“Hmm. Well my mother was a street hooker in Belgrade and my father was a Cambodian arms dealer. I caught meningitis when I was 3 and don’t remember anything until I was 42.”
“Mmhmm. And what is your love life like?”
“Well as you know, I’m pretty famous. I’ve been nominated for 53 Academy Awards, I am the world’s 6th richest man, stood trial for war crimes, and am a high priest in the Church of Satan. So I can pretty much sleep with anyone I want, assuming I can get my dick hard.”
“Sure. But have you ever loved anyone James? Has anyone ever loved you back?”
I was stumped. “I never pondered this question doc,” I said. “You’re really good at your job.”
“First off, I’m not a doctor. And secondly, I want you to think hard on this. You seem very mentally stunted with numerous untreated disorders. I’m honestly surprised and a bit depressed with humanity that you’re as successful as you are. So I want you to visit what I call a ‘love coach’,” he explained as he handed me a business card. “I’m just a piddly, poorly-paid therapist. There’s not much I can do. But this guy is the best in the business.”
I looked at the card. “Dick Warburton: Love Specialist,” it read.
“Will this make Greta love me?” I ask.
“To be honest, I don’t think anyone can love you James. But this guy can certainly help.
“I’m in an open relationship,” Sam explained to me on her break.
“Hmm,” I said with some disinterest as I gnawed on some fish sticks. Then it occurred to me. “Wait, what? What does that mean?”
“It means that my husband and me are free to sleep with other people. In fact, he’s probably being sucked off by his mistress as we speak.”
I scratched my head. “I don’t get it,” I replied. “So Are you fucking anyone else?”
“Well, not exactly,” Sam paused. “I’m usually too busy working here.”
I was so confused. “Does he at least wrap it up?” I asked. “What if he picks up STDs or knocks someone up?”
“My husband raw dogs hookers all the time,” Sam said. “Besides, he fires blanks anyway. We’ve tried to have children before but the doctors say his guys don’t swim. He’s as dry as the Sahara.”
“Shit,” I answered. “That’s the exact opposite problem I have. I have eight children and have only had sex eight times. Doctors have called me a marvel of modern science. Too bad my dick don’t work.”
“Really?” asked Sam. “Can you at least cum?”
“Oh yeah, I can cum soft,” I explained. “I’m like a goddamn faucet, I mean, I can BLAST some ropes if you know what I mean. Doctors tell me that I need to jerk it every so often or else my balls will swell up to where I can’t sit down. But I don’t know, I haven’t been horny since Malcolm Butler had that interception in Super Bowl XLIX.”
“So you haven’t came in nearly 10 years?” Sam asked. I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“Nope. I’m like a ticking time bomb. Next time I bust, it will be a sea of jizz. That’s why I can’t sleep on my stomach.”
Sam put down her can of Diet Coke and grabbed me by the lapels. “Pop a viagra and fuck me!” she ordered. “I wanna drown in that sea of backlogged semen!”
“Woah woah woah!” I retorted. “Where can I find a viagra at THIS hour?”
Sam cooled her jets and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was a little pushy.”
As she sighed, I took her by the hand. “Look,” I explained, “I get it, you want a child but you can’t because of your husband’s deadass balls,” I said. “And I’ve got all the sperm you need and then some. But I have had sex in years. I don’t even remember where to put it!”
Sam nodded her head.
“So please,” I continued, “give me some time to think about this. Mind you, the answer is yes because I’m filled to the brim with semen and I am about to erupt at any moment. But I need time to process this.”
“Goddamn Mr. Ree!” I said while gazing upon the bodies of nine hired guns; their brains were splattered across the dusty Elkhorn street, “I thought you were only decent with a rifle!”
“Heh! I guess I’m better than I thought,” he replied.
“Billy Friedkin and Dickleburg managed to ride away,” said Sheriff Oppenheimer, “we gotta get these bodies off the street.”
Right then the town’s undertaker, Fred Ward, stepped out of the whore house wearing only his long johns. “Sorry for disturbing you on your day off,” Oppenheimer said to him.
“Oh it’s alright,” Fred replied, “I got the whiskey dick anyway.” He immediately began loading the bodies into his carriage.
“When Dickleburg returns,” the sheriff said to me and Mr. Ree, “he’ll bring an army.” He then looked back over the carnage in front of his office. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, “this went worse than I was expecting
The three of us rode back to Oppenheimer’s place where Maybelline and Malachi were waiting. “Thank goodness you are all alright!” Maybelline declared. She strutted right past her husband and hugged me. “I don’t know what I’d do if you were killed,” she said.
Oppenheimer spoke up. “Maybelline, bring me a bottle of scotch,” he ordered, “come on men, we have work to do.”
We all went out to the barn where Oppenheimer removed the tarp over his time portal device. He began scribbling down some equations on a note pad. “According to my calculations,” he said, “we’re gonna need five tons of gold to get this thing operational.”
“That’s a lot of gold,” I replied.
“And we have very little time to get it.”
“Any idea where we could find that much in such short of time?” asked Mr. Ree.
“The average prospector will only find a fraction of that amount in his or her lifetime,” Oppenheimer responded, “but…”
“But what?” I asked.
“But, the mother load is here in Elkhorn.”
“Where?”
Right then Maybelline brought in the scotch. Oppenheimer opened the bottle and started chugging. “It’s under Mr. Rockwell’s land,” he finally stated.
“So what’s the big deal?” I asked, “we’ll just go over there and take it under the cover of night.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“How do you know it’s there?” Mr. Ree inquired.
Oppenheimer took another swig of scotch. “Because history says it there. One of the largest gold deposits of all time is there.”
“I thought you said history is slightly different in this timeline. It might’ve been there in our timeline, but there’s no guarantee it’s there now.”
Oppenheimer closed the bottle and straightened himself out. “That’s the risk we gotta take,” he said.
I shook my head. “I don’t understand this time bullshit,” I stated, “it’s either here or it’s not. You’re the scientist. Make it make sense.”
“Time isn’t necessarily linear,” Oppenheimer explained, “it’s more like a color wheel. Our timeline might be orange, for example, but the one we’re in now might be light orange. There are some similarities between the two but there’s no telling where the timelines might diverge. To make make matters worse, even if we could get the gold, time is not only a color wheel, but it’s an INFINITE color wheel, seemingly. Pinpointing your EXACT spot on the wheel would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. No…worse…a needle in an entire universe!”
“So we can only hope for the best,” Mr. Ree responded.
“Precisely.”
Malachi wondered into the barn. “Are you okay daddy?” he asked while rubbing his eyes.
Oppenheimer kneeled down before his son and held him in his arms. “Of course I am,” he said, “everything will be alright. You and your mother shouldn’t worry.”
Maybelline picked up Malachi to escort him to bed. Mr. Ree and I stood silently while we watched the small family comfort each other. After the mother and son left, Oppenheimer kept his back facing us. “Dickleburg will stop at nothing to get what he wants,” he uttered, “if anything happens to me, I want you two to take my wife and son to whatever timeline you end up in. Being there will be safer than being here.”
After he turned around, the sheriff and former scientist wiped a tear from his eye and picked up a shovel. “Tomorrow we’ll ride out to Mr. Rockwell’s land,” Oppenheimer stated, “and we’ll pray to god that we’re in the right timeline.”
“I can’t believe they granted you a conjugal room,” Susan said.
Bill was busy setting the candle light and pouring wine. “And they gave me alcohol too,” he replied, “maybe things aren’t so bad.”
Susan pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him square in the eye. “I’m not having sex with you, Bill,” she said, “besides, I’m already seeing someone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because it’s John.”
Bill looked down at the ground and shook his head. “Goddamn it,” he uttered.
“There was no good way to tell you,” Susan said.
Bill walked over to the window then glanced at the small Christmas tree in the corner. “Well Merry Christmas to me,” he replied.
“But I did bring you a gift,” Susan said as she dug through her bag. She pulled out a picture of him and his grandfather at Mount Hood some 15 years earlier. “I know that this was the last picture of your grandpa before he passed,” she continued.
Bill took the photograph and turned his back on Susan. He was silent as he recalled the memory of that day. After several awkward seconds, Bill spoke up. “I haven’t seen this picture since the day it was taken.”
Susan said nothing.
Then Bill turned around. “Why John?” he asked. “Don’t you two have a history? Isn’t the government watching you two like a hawk?”
“Maybe,” she replied, “but I don’t care. I think we always had feelings for each other.”
“But you guys aren’t up to the same old shit again? You just got out of prison for Christ sake!”
“I don’t think I should discuss this with you right now.”
“You are! Fuck. I hope they don’t have this room bugged!”
Susan threw up her arms. “Let’s drop it,” she yelled, “I was hoping this would be a happy visit. But obviously you’re not mature enough for this conversation.”
Bill began drinking directly from the wine bottle. “I guess not,” he replied.
The two uttered nothing for a few minutes. Finally, Susan stood up. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” she said, “you seeing me probably isn’t good for your rehabilitation.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“I wish you luck in the future,” she continued, “when you’re released, if you know what’s good for you, please don’t reach out to me. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
Susan knocked, then a prison guard unlocked the door and let her out. Before she exited, she turned around. “Merry Christmas, Bill,” she said, then departed.
Bill held the bottle of wine in one hand, and the photograph in the other. Then the prison guard stepped in the room. “You still have access to this room for a few more hours,” the guard said, “do you wish to stay here?”
“No,” Bill replied, “please take me back to the cell.”
So here it is, the post that started it all. It was originally published in early August of 2021.
As the new year approaches, I just want to reflect on how I’ve changed as a person and as a writer. Which really isn’t a whole lot when you think about it.
So onto 2023! Have a Happy New Years and thank you to everyone who has followed me on this journey.
I love you 😘
They say Rome wasn’t built in a day.
They say you can’t count your chickens before they hatch.
They say you can’t shit where you eat.
They say I should seek therapy because everyone’s worried about me.
They say I have a drinking problem and that I shouldn’t mix downers with downers.
They say I have crippling debt and that I am months away from homelessness
Hi I’m James. And maybe they’re right. What do I know? Well let me tell you a little about myself.
I was born outside of a Denny’s in Scottsbluff, Nebraska in either late 1979 or 1981 depending on who you believe. I attended Norhwestern on an athletic scholarship, but was suspended for PED usage, and, in the words of the university, “cockfighting”.
So I hit the road. I hit up every strip club and drug den from Baton Rouge to New Orleans. I learned a lot about myself on that trip. I learned that sometimes growing up means putting your pants on one leg at a time. Sometimes it’s about changing your pants. Sometimes your pants just aren’t long enough and you accidentally expose your wiener.
But the most important thing in life is this: show up to court on time and pay all of your fines.
So I actually know quite a lot. And if you stick around, you might learn something too.
“Forget it, Bill,” Susan said, “I’ve consulted with attorney after attorney and they’ve all said the same thing. Just play ball, take the treatment, and you’ll be released. The Reformed Department of Corrections will provide you with a job and assistance once when you’re released. And when you’re deemed fully rehabilitated, your criminal record will be expunged. It’s not like it once was.”
This was the first visit Susan paid to Bill in some months. The guards stood back while the two shared a table in the prison cafeteria. “That’s not the point,” Bill replied, “I’m being treated as a common criminal, which I’m not. What are they saying about me on the outside?”
Susan said nothing.
“That bad, huh?” Bill chuckled, “What happened to the world, Susan? Are we not allowed to be human anymore? This is everything we fought against!”
“We lost, Bill,” Susan said, “Sure it has taken time getting used to that. But I survived the rehabilitation process and things aren’t so bad on the outside. Some people know who I am and the things I’ve done, but everyone trusts the process. It’s like it doesn’t matter. I’m fully reintegrated.”
“You sold out, in other words.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill.”
After a moment of awkward silence, Bill reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. “Did we ever fuck?” he asked.
Susan gave out a throaty laugh. “We got drunk and fooled around once or twice,” she said.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?”
“It would have never worked.”
“I know,” Bill lamented, “you were always too smart for me.”
“You were always preoccupied.”
“Now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life here. My loss.”
Susan stared into his eyes for a few moments while she clasped his hand. Finally, she stood up and straightened herself out. “I handed the package you requested off to the guards,” she said, “Goodbye, Bill.”
Bill exhaled. “So long, Susan.”
He watched her walk out through the gates and out of his life. Then the guards escorted him back to the cell.
Minutes later, Junior, the senior day shift guard, walked up to Bill’s door. “Good news Bill,” Junior said as he handed him Susan’s package, “I don’t know what you want with all this leather, but it cleared security. Because you’re not on suicide watch, it was approved by Dr. Effington. Of course, it can’t leave this cell. You will be checked each time.”
The Internet Ruined Everything 