Sample chapters from my novels-in-progress


The Moss on a Dead Girl's Skin (sequel to How Do You Deal With A Dead Girl?)

Chapter 1.

 

“Cannonball!” Tadzio yelled as he leapt, tucking his tanned body, knees to sinewy chest, and crashed into the warm lake water right next to his friend, Sandor. Julie and Samantha, both wearing bikinis and slathered in sunscreen, lay on their bellies on the wooden dock and watched the teenage boys frolic in the water. The July sun sat at its apex above them, sending vertical light all the way down to the sandy lake bottom. The water rippled with pondweeds, green upon sinuous green, and silvery minnows flashed between the shafts of sunlight. Fawnskin Lake stretched out before them smooth and glassy, except for the frothy commotion of the two young swimmers at the dock’s edge. Junior year was finally over and the teens were looking forward to being seniors at Crow’s Landing High School in the fall, the graduating class of 2027.

 “You almost landed right on top of me,” Sandor said as he shook out his dark curls and splashed water in Tadzio’s face.

 “Sorry!” Tadzio replied and spat out a mouthful of water. “I didn’t know you were going to be a big girl about it.”

“Tad, misogyny is not cool in any form,” Michael, Tadzio’s older brother's boyfriend, scolded him from his dockside chair beneath the sun umbrella next to the two sunbathers. He turned up the collar on his teal Polo shirt and held his place on his iPad with his index finger. “There is nothing wrong with being a girl. Right Samantha?”

“Sure, it’s cool to be a girl.”

 “See?”

 Tadzio made a face and then dove beneath the emerald water.

“Do you want to go in?” Julie asked Samantha as she stood up and adjusted her bikini top. From the white line beneath it, she could tell her tan was coming along nicely. “I’m totally baking out here.”

“Okay,” Samantha agreed.

The two girls grabbed hands and ran giggling to the dock’s edge and leapt in. Sandor turned away from the giant splash. Ripples went out across the shallow bay.

“Oh, to be sixteen again,” Jayne, their elderly neighbor and the dock’s owner, said as she approached with Ambrose, Tadzio’s biological father. She held a sweating pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade. Ambrose carried a plastic tray with seven glasses filled with chipped ice.

“Not me,” he replied. “I’ve had enough with pimples and puberty. And now I have to relive it all with Taddy.”

“He likes to be called ‘Tad,’ remember,” Jayne said. “Especially in front of female guests.”

“I know, I know,” Ambrose answered and shook his head. “But he’ll always be my little Taddy, even if he is almost seventeen.”

Jayne smiled at him. “Don’t they grow up fast?”

“Tell me about it.” Ambrose crossed over behind Michael’s chair and kissed him on the neck.

“Fresh!” Michael said, laughing. “Don’t let the kids see you doing that. You’ll give them bad ideas.”

“Believe me, they don’t need any help from me. You should see the bookmarks I found on Taddy’s iMac.”

Michael shot his husband a look.

Ambrose corrected himself, “I mean, Tad’s iMac. Hot-Titted Mamas and Big Beavers, Come & Eat ‘Em.”

“Ambrose, you weren’t going to mention that, are you?” Michael said quickly. “You got into Taddy’s private business; that wasn’t for you to see.”

“It’s okay, Worry Wart. He doesn’t know about it and he can’t hear me from over there,” Ambrose said as he pulled up a folding chair next to Michael.

“Didn’t you do things like that at his age?” Jayne asked as she placed the lemonade on a small table.

“Like what?” Michael asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, hide magazines under your bed?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t the kind with girls in them,” Ambrose said and winked at Michael.

“I suppose it’s different if you have daughters,” Michael said obliquely.

“Why?” Jayne asked.

“I don’t know. They express their sexuality in different ways, I guess.”

“I didn’t,” Jayne said. “I had a muscle builder magazine I kept hidden beneath my bottom sock drawer.”

“It was probably one of the one’s that Ambrose liked,” Michael said laughing.

“Of course it didn’t have naked pictures in it, just muscle men flexing for the camera. I had a crush on this dark-haired fellow named Joe. He looked like he was really nice.”

“What was the name of the magazine?” Ambrose asked.

“Oh, now you asking about something from the Stone Age. I can’t remember that far back. Men’s Physique or something. You know I’ll be eighty-three next month?” Jayne asked as she brushed back her white bangs with a stroke of her right hand.

“Really? Where has all the time gone? That means it’s been ten years since Tad and I moved up here,” Ambrose said wistfully.

“And you met me,” Michael added. “Married me and moved me in.”

“How could I forget that?”

“Like you forgot our eighth wedding anniversary, Mr. Brainiac.”

“He’ll never let me forget that one,” Ambrose said to Jayne. “I was busy refinancing the business. I’m sorry! It’ll never happen again.”

A girl’s loud cry came rushing across the water to the dock sending a wave of panic over the group. Julie was trashing her arms around and screaming. Samantha and the boys swam to her side to try and help.

“Something bit my foot! Get me out of here!” Julie screamed and paddled wildly.

Ambrose jumped up and ran to the dock’s edge. He could see a faint trace of blood tinting the water. Tadzio and Sandor were now holding Julie’s arms and leading her through the water to the safety of the wooden dock.

“What was it? Did you see anything?” Michael asked as he arrived next to Ambrose.

“I don’t know,” Sandor said. “I didn’t see a thing. She just started screaming.”

“Grab her hand!” Ambrose ordered, as Julie was lifted from the water.  “Everyone out of the lake!”

Jayne located a beach towel and rushed over to the injured girl. “Put her on this. Let me look at your foot. Which one is it?”

“The left one.”

Julie’s face paled as she lay down on the dry towel. The wound dripped a long trail of blood that dappled the sun-bleached planks. Jayne moved the girl’s leg around so she could examine the injury. Two semi-circular bite marks ran just below and above Julie’s left heel. From the distance between the teeth, the unknown fish had an almost human-sized bite.  In fact, the bite marks themselves looked rather human, the same incisors and canines. “I wish Ozzy were still alive. He could tell what kind of fish this was from these teeth marks,” Jayne said to no one in particular.

“Wrap it up in this towel,” Ambrose said. “Michael, go call an ambulance. She might have to have stitches.”

“Stitches?” Julie gasped.

“We don’t know that for sure, but we’d better have someone take a look at it,” Jayne said. “You don’t want to get an infection from the lake water, do you?”

Julie grimaced and held the wrapped towel tightly to her heel.

“That bite looks so weird,” Samantha said as she sat down on the dock next to Julie. “What about that ghost of an Native American girl who is supposed to live at the bottom of this lake? You know the story. Do you think she did it?”

“What?” Sandor asked.

Ambrose looked at Tadzio and then at Michael and Jayne. “I’m sure it was just an alligator gar.”

“An alligator?” Julie asked in a panic.

“No, an alligator gar,” Ambrose corrected. “It’s a nasty fish that likes to bite people.”

Tadzio walked away from the commotion and stared into the dark water beyond the dock. He adjusted his red swim trunks. The sun was very hot on his bare chest. Just then he thought he caught a glimpse of what looked like a pair of legs swimming off beneath the expanding ripples about ten yards away. He rubbed his eyes. The glare was very bright off the water; it was hard to make out anything in the distance. Was it just a reflection? Had to be. There’s nothing in the lake now but hungry fish. Tadzio snapped out of his reverie.  Poor, Julie, he thought, that bite looks like it really hurts. With that he turned and walked up the concrete steps that lead to the front of Jayne’s house and the ambulance that would arrive there at any moment.
 


Phaethon

 

1.

 

Jacob Ganz heard the distant rumble before he felt it.  Just a little quake, he thought, semi-awake. Then his thermo-bed shook for a second. He turned over and pulled the felt coverlet up to his stubbled chin.  Jacob shifted trying to find that comfortable spot again as he folded and unfolded the thin pillow beneath his head. 

“Jacob?  Jacob are you awake?  I’m sensing movement on your bed,” SUSI asked with her simulated voice.

Jacob ignored her mechanical prodding.

“I have an urgent message from General Habesha, code 925-R, hull breach warning.”

Jacob sat up slowly. 

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“5:54 am.”

“What, this early? Why’s she sending it to me?  I’m not the engineer.  Why didn’t she give it to Wiseman?”

SUSI did not respond.  Jacob rubbed his palms across his sticky eyes and placed his feet onto the cool pod floor.  He looked at the empty whiskey bottle on the bedside table.  Of all the things that had to be rationed; alcohol was food, was it not?  He shook his woozy head.  His osocat, Cindy, uncurled her wooly body and leapt from the mattress.  Jacob watched her brown and white stripes disappear under the bed.

“Would you like to hear the rest of the message?”

“No.  Call Habesha for me.”

“One moment.”

The digital image of an Ethiopian woman appeared midair in front of Jacob.  She wore sleeping gear and didn’t look too happy to be disturbed.

“What is it, Jacob?”

“Why I am checking on a hull breach?”

“You’re in charge of monitoring Delta sector.”

“But I’m the science officer.  Why not get Wiseman to do it?  That’s his job.”

“It’s in Delta.  Wiseman is all the way over in Upsilon.”

“What’s he doing over there at this time in the morning?”

“Do I have to remind you that this whole project is running critically behind schedule?  The first settlers are due here in a week.  We won’t get a single share if this biodome isn’t fully operational by then.”

“But I’m the science officer.  I don’t know anything about hull safety.”

“Just do it, Jacob.  You’re part of the Maintenance team.  It’s your responsibility.  There are only twenty of you staying on.  You better learn this stuff now.”

“Which, for the record,” Jacob interrupted. “I think is crazy.  That’s just too few of us to take care of a dome with a 20-mile circumference.  Even with all this 4-D automation.”

“Use your math skills, please.  It has a 6 mile radius so that’s a 18.85-mile circumference dome, to be exact.”

“Close enough.”

“Be that as it may, that’s how The Tetradome Corporation is doing things.  This is their phase of the project, so they’re the boss.  Now, get going.  The area has already been repressurized and sealed off.”

“What am I supposed to do when I get there?”

“Report back.”

“Why don’t you check the surveillance video?”

“Whatever happened out there cut the power to the hull sensors and the cameras.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Listen, Jacob, this is an order.  Quit stalling. Follow the coordinates to the estimated breach point, then report back.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacob said and paused.  “But what if it’s something major?”

The general stared blankly at Jacob, clearly losing her patience. “I very much doubt it will be.  It’s probably just a short from the quake.”

“What if it causes another delay?” Jacob said sarcastically.

“Phaethon is going to open on time even if I have to kick all of your asses personally.”

With that, General Habesha blinked off.

“And a lovely good morning to you, too,” Jacob said as he stood up.  “Okay, SUSI.  Send me the coordinates.”

“One moment.”

Jacob felt the infoband on his left wrist buzz with receipt.  He tapped its screen and gazed at the multicolored map, getting the general idea where the breach occurred.  I guess she’s right; it’s walking distance from here.  He tapped the screen again to close the map.  Cindy came out from under the bed, sat on her tailless rump, and began to howl for her breakfast.  She stood up on her hind legs and scratched at Jacob’ pajamas.

“Hey, lady!  Be careful.  I’m not a scratching post!”

Cindy stared up at him with feral yellow eyes.  Her round face was more cat-like than bear-like, but that was the genetic mash-up that produced her kind.  She was extremely intelligent and could walk upright on her brindled hind legs, as she did right now, walking out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. 

“If only you had thumbs, I’d really be in trouble.  SUSI feed Cindy.”

“One moment.”

Jacob heard the processed kibble clinking into the feed bowl below the kitchen counter and the sounds of Cindy beginning to eat.  He pulled off his sleep clothes and headed for the recycled water unit for his morning shower.  After quickly drying himself off and dressing in his uniform, Jacob went into the plastic–lined kitchen where SUSI had his meal waiting in the hydration chamber.  He pressed the red button and in fifteen seconds, a tray with his breakfast appeared from a thin aperture along the silver bottom.

“What is this today?”

“Tomato/soy/brown rice cake.”

“That’s not what it smells like.”

Jacob looked at the rectangular slab and noticed half of a large green caterpillar embedded in the side.  Just the top half, bulging eyes and sharp black legs.

“I thought Rin fixed that.  I’ll have to tell her the caterpillars aren’t getting ground up enough.”

“Do you want to send a message to Rin in Food Production?”

“No, SUSI.  Just talking to myself.  I’ll see her later any way.”

Jacob grabbed a mug and placed it into a metallic wall dispenser.  A draft of green tea trickled down into the receptacle.  He carried the warm mug as he lifted the cake to his lips and ate it in quick bites.  Cindy had finished her meager food ration.  She circled over to him, looking for attention.  Jacob was the only one in Maintenance with a pet.  At first, he’d been violently allergic to cats, but then he had experimental nasal filter implants that trapped and removed the allergens. Four others in the dome had the implants done, too,  at the same time Jacob did.  With recirculating air, it was important to monitor the pollen, dander, spores, fungi, and bacterial counts, all possible irritants.  That was one part of Jacob’s Maintenance job, and who better than someone who had allergies to do it?

“Come here girl,” Jacob said as he sat down at the kitchen table and patted his lap.

Cindy obliged by jumping up and curling onto his muscular thighs.  He ran is fingers through her thick fur.  She purred loudly.  Jacob touched the screen on the wall next to him.   No newsfeed or email awaited him, just more intra-project messages.  Only his department was ahead of schedule.  That’s why Habesha was making him do this.  And apparently the whole Phaethon complex was still cut off from the other settlements.  I thought the Installers fixed that before they left.  I can see why Habesha is pissed off right now.  How can settlers live here if they can’t even communicate with Outside?

 

Jacob took the quickest route.  He crossed through Delta Sector’s highly decorated courtyard:  next to its ceramic fountain and tiled murals, between preassembled benches awaiting settlers, and potted ferns and exotic palms, and along the empty, but soon-to-be-active, storefronts beneath the wide glass ceiling.  Phaethon’s dome consisted of see-through solar panels that continuously charged all the settlement’s electric cells and let in life-giving sunlight while filtering out harmful UV light.  Jacob had watched with interest as the glass panels were installed over the last few months.

Early-morning stars were just beginning to fade as the sky did its inky dissolve. As he got rear his destination, Jacob thought what he saw must be a visual distortion.  After all, the sun hadn’t quite come up; it was still pretty dark.  He walked closer to the far structure the coordinates indicated, a glassed-in janitorial unit. In the dawn light, it looked like some sort of black, triangular craft had crashed into the dome.  It couldn’t be more than about seven or eight feet across from tip to tail and about two feet thick.  There were no distinguishing markings on its surface. The front tip had pierced the metaconglomerate part of the hull that ran from the ground up five feet to where the solar panels began.  Jacob peered through the insulated windows into the pressure-sealed unit.  Tawny rubble was scattered all over the floor.  The black tip of the object stuck midway into the room.  The nose cone had broken off, exposing a dark, narrow opening.  Jacob lifted his info band in front of his suit.

“Call Habesha.”

“One moment,” SUSI’s voice answered from Jacob’ wrist.

A few seconds passed as the transmission reached its destination.

“What’s up?” General Habesha asked as she looked up at Jacob.

“Sir, something crashed into the dome.”

“What?”

“See for yourself,” Jacob said as he aimed his left wrist at the black ship.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know. It looks like some kind of vehicle.”

“I hope this isn’t an unscheduled safety test.”

“That doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen used in a test.  Wouldn’t they let you know if there was an inspection coming up, even an unscheduled one?”

“Of course, but they may be testing us to see how ready to react we are.”

“You should let someone know about this.  Call your boss.”

“Oh, I will.  Heads will roll if this sets us back any more!”

Jacob looked into the sealed storage space again.  He noticed the pressurized door on the far side was hanging off its frame.

“Sir!  This room is not sealed.  The collision must have knocked the other door from its hinges.”

“What?  Quickly, go in and see what the rest of the damage is.”

“But that black machine is open!  What if it let some sort of contaminant into the dome?”

“Now, you are just being paranoid. The air filters will have destroyed any toxins already.  You know that.  It’s probably a new kind of drone the corporation is testing.”

“I don’t like this at all.  Why don’t you have Wiseman come here?  He can tell you if this wall has lost its structural integrity.”

“Jacob, you are there now.  Go into that room and then get back to me!” General Habesha snapped as her image disappeared from the infoband.

“Yes, sir,” Jacob said into the air.

He approached cautiously.   The broken door was dangling outwards, partially open, clearly pushed by some great force. Jacob pulled the unhinged door fully open.  He grabbed a pressurization suit from the storage locker and quickly put it on, just in case. That would keep out any foreign particles. Then he noticed it; the strange wet trail of footprints running from the open nosecone across the room and continuing right through the doorway.  He whirled around and looked out into the silent courtyard behind him.  The trail led away toward the shops.  Jacob suddenly felt very hot and dizzy in his full-body suit. 

“Call Habesha,” he said to his infoband.

“One moment.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Listen, someone was hiding inside of that thing,” Jacob said, looking out of protective facemask at his wrist.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said:  Someone was inside of there.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, but there are footprints leading out into the courtyard.”

Habesha paused to consider this. “Just one set of footprints?”

“It looks like it,” Jacob said as he studied the fresh trail.  “But they’re big feet.  It’s weird.  That nose cone is so small.  Who could fit in there?”

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Follow them and find out!”

“And then what?”

“Identify who is spying on us!”

“This is really an issue for Security.  Get O’Neill to do it.”

“You’re there.  Everyone else is busy right now.”

“This is not my department.”

“Jacob, I’ve got Singh on the other line with a gas leak.  Talk to you later.”

“But, I don’t,” Jacob started to say just as the general’s image once again disappeared from the tiny screen.

Jacob grit his teeth unconsciously.  He brought his left wrist up to mouth level.

“Call Habesha!”

“One moment.  I’m sorry, that party isn’t receiving calls right now.  Do you want to leave a message?”

“Ugh!  No.  No message.”

The trail of footprints led Jacob across the courtyard to an empty storefront.  From the look of it, it would be a women’s clothing store when the settlers got here. Jacob approached and saw that the shop door had been propped open with a paint can. Someone is working in here.  The footprints went inside.  He glanced through the large shop windows.  The ceiling lights inside blinked on and off a few times, and then came back on.  Typical!  Now that the Installers are gone, the circuit goes!  Beneath plastic sheets stood empty clothing racks and four or five undressed female mannequins.  The sound of metal hitting metal came from inside the store. 

He saw it.  A white shape moved quickly back beneath the track lights.  Jacob couldn’t quite make it out.  It didn’t look like a person. The chill ran up his spine as he moved closer to see.  The overhead lights blinked off again, throwing the store into semi-darkness.  Something turned around and moved sideways in the back of the store.   Its shape was rising and falling as if it were somehow expanding and contracting.  The silhouettes of strange limbs could be seen against the dark walls. The overhead lights came back on again and Jacob witnessed the intruder.  The being was four feet tall, completely white in color, and resembled a hairless ape.  It removed the plastic sheeting and stood admiring one of the mannequins, studying the shapes.  Its thick neck began to stretch upwards, bluish veins and arteries rising to the surface, as its whole body began to elongate to take on the contours of the female figure.  Its eyes and mouth receded and its face became as blank and smooth as the mannequin’s. Jacob froze. Then he noticed something else, Ortiz was lying on the floor, a paintbrush dripping in his right hand.  Jacob could see Ortiz breathing.  He’s alive! Slowly, Jacob moved over toward the front door.  The white creature was posing, its smooth body completely mirroring the curving forms of the mannequin. The lights flickered off again.  Jacob ran to the door and kicked the paint can out of the way.  He slammed it shut and pressed his infoband to the doorframe.

“Lock!”

The deadbolt loudly clicked.  It’s trapped inside!  Jacob turned to run to safety behind the large courtyard fountain when a loud banging came from the shop glass behind him.  He looked back and saw the pale form of the alien-as-female-mannequin standing at the window, both of its fingerless hands pressing against the glass.  Haloed by the darkness behind it, a pair of black eyes and a large red mouth emerged from the blank mannequin face.  The alien stared right at Jacob.  A huge smile passed across its lips as it exposed rows of pointed teeth.  It looked like it was laughing at him.  The creature pointed its hand at Jacob and then back at its open mouth, then its stomach.  Jacob knew, as a scientist, this was the most important moment of his whole life.  An undiscovered alien life form was communicating with him, but he did not like its message. Jacob only sensed malevolence.

The overhead lights came on.

The horrid being suddenly twisted back upon itself and began to morph, its thin limbs sagging and its white skin flushing bright pink.  Something like dandruff was falling from its body to the floor.  Its bulbous head began to cave in.  Its red mouth contorted in a silent scream. The rippling chest began to collapse, its skin sloughing off all around it like powdered sugar.  Jacob watched as the creature literally disintegrated in front of him. Every last bit crumbled like cake flour onto the ground.  It must be a reaction from the oxygen.  Air must be corrosive to its skin.  I bet it didn’t see that coming! A fan in the ventilation duct inside the store turned on.  The foreign substance must have triggered the air quality sensor. Jacob came closer and saw the small pile of material the alien had become.  It continued to disintegrate as he watched; breaking down into smaller and smaller molecules, until, finally, the intruder was all gone.  Its last particles drifted upwards on the air current like a wisp of candle smoke.  Jacob knew this vent would pass the bad air through UV lights, industrial scrubbers, and then into the furnace next to the green houses before being released outside the dome.  No need to worry about contagion. 

Or was there? 

Jacob remembered the ship.  He left Ortiz lying on the floor of the shop and headed back to the crash site.  When he arrived there was no alien craft to be found.  That’s impossible!  Only twenty minutes have passed!  There’s no way Habesha could have moved the ship in such a short time.  Jacob walked up to the diamond-shaped hole in the hull.  Polluted air was flooding into the structure from the spent world outside. There was the composite rubble on the ground, but not a trace of any vehicle.  With the foreign object removed, the jagged hole began to close itself up as sensors reactivated and molecular simulators started to make the structural repairs.  Jacob was relieved; he didn’t want to deal with Hoarders trying to sneak in through a hull breach looking for electronic refuse, food packages, and unattended children.  He shuddered thinking about the situations they’d had at Apollo and Hydra, all those missing kids and the oblivious settlers killed and then quickly gutted and skinned.  Even with those tragedies, no side arms or any other kind of weapons were permitted in the domes, by penalty of exile. 

The black ship must have disintegrated as well, or flown back remotely, Jacob thought.  In either case, it was going to be a huge problem for Habesha.  This whole place would have to be quarantined. Tetradome will have to come in and manage it.  As he left, Jacob was able to get the broken door roughly back into position.  This is someone else’s problem now.


The Sundial's Shadow

    The loud electric snapping noise woke me up.  It came from somewhere over in the cold darkness to my right.  And even before I opened my eyes all the way, I could see a faint, blue-white light coming between my half-closed lids.  
    That’s strange, I thought.  It’s the middle of the night. Where is that light coming from?
    I glanced sleepily sideways at the red glow of my digital alarm clock.  3:15 am.  I opened my eyes entirely and I saw, to my complete surprise, my best friend Jennifer standing in the middle of my bedroom looking down at me.  I threw back my orange comforter and let my feet drop to the carpeted floor.
    “Jennifer?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my palms.
    Jennifer’s image flickered in front of me: her long blonde hair parted down the middle and tucked behind both ears, her white nightgown shimmered, her delicate hands and long fingers floating at her sides, her bare feet hovering about 4 inches off the carpet.  She was glowing with some kind of translucent energy.  Her spirit-light cast moving shadows across the bedroom walls and on the ceiling.  It was like watching that scene in Star Wars when Princess Leia appeared from R2-D2 and said, “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi!”  
    “Jennifer?” I asked again, watching her ghostly figure twist and scintillate, still not believing what I was seeing. Jennifer stared at me with her piercing blue eyes and smiled.  She began speaking, but no sound came out of her mouth.  Her lips were moving, she gestured to me with her hands, but I couldn’t understand it.  I thought I saw her mouthing my name:  Todd.  And then, just as quickly as it had started, Jennifer’s image dimmed, flickered like a bad light bulb, and blinked out completely, leaving only the early morning darkness all around me.  I reached over and turned on my bedside lava lamp, that only a week earlier my single mother, Eddie, had bought for me.  She thought it was “funky.”  I sort of hated it, but I needed a lamp, and what could I do about it anyway?  I was only thirteen, an eighth grader; and I didn’t have a job.  Eddie had all the money.
    What on earth just happened here?
    In the vibrant orange light of the lava lamp, I noticed something else.  The rosy quartz crystals I kept on my nightstand, next to my Rubik’s Cube, looked like they had fused together.  Jennifer and I had been collected them all last semester (Really, we’d been shoplifting them from Small Wonders in Peacock Alley.  So far we hadn’t been caught!)  The crystals were now neatly arranged in a perfect three-sided pyramid. As I looked more closely, there still seemed to be a kind of residual glow coming from inside the miniature crystal structure.  Tiny blue and white sparks danced through the quartz prisms and then faded out. I reached over and poked the crystals with my index finger.  They slid part making a loud clattering noise and came to rest on the nightstand.  
    Now that’s really weird!  Quartz isn’t even magnetic!  Those crystals can’t stick together like that!  It’s impossible!  And since my ghost, Leroy, isn’t around any more, I don't know how it could have happened!
    I rubbed my eyes again and glanced around the silent room.  
    Had I been having a waking dream?  
    Outside my small window the sky was inky black with only a scattered handful of stars.  I had been quietly constructing a symphony out of night sounds:  the mechanical rhythms of the hall clock, the first crickets chirping from the community garden, the distant whoosh of early morning traffic on Hawthorne Blvd. It would still be a few hours before the night began its indigo dissolve and became its morning pinky-blue.  I reached over and clicked off that stupid lava lamp, pulled my legs back up under my warm comforter, turned over, and went back to sleep.
    As I drifted off, I thought about all the crazy things that went on last semester at Malaga Cove Prep School.  So much had happened to both Jennifer and me during Winter Semester.  We played one of the best concerts of our lives under the direction of our grumpy conductor, Dr. Gundham.  I had been finally advanced to First Flute, First Chair in Orchestra class!  Jennifer was also now First Clarinet, which meant she sat directly behind me.  Jennifer helped me solve the complicated riddle of the famous picture book, The Masquerade, which led me to the hiding place of a solid gold rabbit sculpture.  Everyone was talking about it here on Palos Verdes.  I was now even more of a celebrity around Palos Verdes, California.  Not only was I the local musical prodigy who had won a Julliard Young Musician scholarship, but now I was also the winner of an international treasure hunt!  I’d even been interviewed on the ABC TV News about it!  But that’s not all:  Jennifer and I had been involved in a supernatural mystery involving a ghost!  His name was Leroy.  Jennifer and I summoned up his spirit in a séance one afternoon not knowing who he was.  Only after objects moving about by invisible hands, wooden doors slamming by themselves, disembodied voices speaking to us, and a paranormal dual between Leroy and an evil incubus (who had been harassing both Jennifer and me) did we find out our friendly ghost’s true identity.  But our ghostly companion, Leroy, left us soon afterwards and I really didn’t know if he'd ever come back.  Jennifer and I missed him.  He had been our protector.
    The 1982 Spring classes at Malaga Cove Prep School had already started last Monday.  We both were in our final semester there.  And now this otherworldly projection of Jennifer showed up in my bedroom at three o’clock in the morning and my quartz crystals formed themselves into some kind of electrified pyramid!  
    What could it all mean? I wished Leroy were still here so I could ask him! And what would happen next? 
    It looked right now as if this semester was shaping up to be just as crazy as the last one…

 


Near Wild Heaven

Excuses are the handiest things:  part lie and part truth.  It’s the balance that makes them believable.  If art imitates life, then making excuses is an art.  My friend Tim calls in a PETA bomb threat when he doesn’t want to go to work at Horton’s Furriers.  He’s lucky.  I have to tell my boss at library things like, “I’m trapped in the middle of a race riot right now.  Bricks are flying. Storefront windows are shattering.  I can’t make it in today.”  
Now that is an excuse.  
But I am getting ahead of myself.  Let me go back to the start:  It all began with a red helium balloon, sperm-tailed, aimed at the ceiling of a West Hollywood dance club.  I was at Revolver, a discotheque favored by “in-the-know” gay boys.  I had a sociology assignment:  Observing Body Language.  
I hadn’t noticed him at first, the cute guy with the balloon.
I was re-reading my messy notes on a yellow legal pad as I sipped at a very watery gin and tonic (my new favorite because the tonic water glowed in black light.)  
I know, cool, right?
Deee-lite’s “Groove Is in the Heart” pulsed from speakers strapped onto the walls and rafters.  Strobe lights blinked and spun around in their sockets like epileptic eyes.  It was very difficult to read what I had already written for my body language assignment.
Then he caught my attention:  the strapping man in a seersucker jacket, in stark contrast to the rest of the 20-something guys on dance floor who wore The Gap’s new rugby shirts.  
Why is he holding a single red balloon?
I quickly incorporated this new situation into my research.
Mid-to-late twenties, maybe five or six years older than me, tall and skinny, broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair slicked back and bobbed below his ears, strong jaw, really nice eyes.  Talking to no one.  Formal coat and slacks.  Did he just come here from work?  Why is he holding a child’s balloon?
“Do you want another one?” The cute Latino waiter tapped my shoulder.
“Yeah, same.  Gin and tonic.”
He has “the loner” vibe.  Is he single?  Maybe he’s waiting for someone.  Is the balloon a birthday gift or an anniversary present?  He’s watching the gyrating dancers.  He’s not looking around for anyone.  He doesn’t have a drink. Maybe he goes to AA? 
Dr. Wilde’s sociology project was in two parts, observe/record and then full disclosure/follow-up:  I had to approach my subject, let him know I had been observing him, and get his information.  The waiter returned and placed my second drink next to me.  The ice cubes shifted, as if sensing my restlessness.  I paid up, tasted the drink quickly, and carried it with me as I headed over through the fake marble topped tables to my subject.  I had on tight black jeans, a white, ruffled tuxedo shirt and black rosary beads, black cowboy boots, my fire-engine red hair spiked up.  
Hey, it’s April 1, 1992. My look is the height of alternative music decadence!  Ok, so maybe my look needs an update.  It’s not the 80’s anymore.  
I folded my notes tightly beneath my left arm like a sad wing.  
The helium balloon bobbed in the breeze from the air conditioning.  
“Nice balloon!”  I began, shouting over the throbbing bass line in the music.
“Oh, thanks.”  
“Who’s it for?”
“The balloon?  I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” I puzzled. 
“Some 18 year old asked me to hold it for him while he danced.  I don’t know where he’s gone off to now.”
“So he left you holding the balloon?”  I said returning to my notes and adding this new information in a fast scribble.  “And you are going to wait for him here until he returns?”
“Yes.  Is this some sort of questionnaire?”
“I’m sorry.  I’m Matt, Matt Dempsey.  I’m doing a sociological observation exercise for my class.  I’m studying your body language, taking notes, coming up with conclusions based on your stance, posture, clothing, etc.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It’s just a project from college.  I couldn’t help notice your balloon.”
“Yeah.  It looks like that kid isn’t here anymore.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”
“Why not let it go free outside?”
“Not a bad idea.”  
We stared up the long white string to the red balloon tethered at the other end.
“Let’s go out.”
“I’m not dating right now,” he said without missing a single beat.
“What?” I shouted over the blaring speakers.
“I’m not dating right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said, ‘Let’s go out.’ But I don’t want to date anyone right now.”
“I meant outside.  Let’s go outside and set the balloon free.”
“Oh!  Sorry.”
God that was awkward.  But, that settles it.  He is really handsome, too.  I kind of like him already.  You know when you meet someone and there’s that creative spark?  That bit of biochemistry that draws you in, blood iron to the heart’s dark magnet.  I was feeling it right now.
 “What’s your name?”  I asked.
Just then Annie Lennox’s new song, “Why?” came on the sound system, cutting me off.
“I love this song.  Do you want to dance, Matt?”  
“Sure,” I replied without revealing my total surprise.  “Let me put down my drink and notepad.”
I reflexively followed him out onto the dance floor, which had cleared out since “Why?” was a slow song.  My mysterious gentleman turned to face me and lifted up my right hand gently with his left and wrapped his right arm around my small waist.  
I moved closer to him, striking a waltz position.  
This is so crazy!  If he doesn’t want to date anyone, why is he dancing with me? I’m supposed to be doing a homework assignment.  This isn’t why I came here tonight!
Annie Lennox crooned her torch song as I leaned into this gallant stranger, our feet keeping perfect time.  
We moved like one body.
We danced without speaking.  
His body felt warm and inviting.  I watched my reflections twisting in his hazel eyes.  They were smiling at me.  A million things ran through my head.  We took several spins around the hardwood floor. I was tipsy from my second drink and totally perplexed by his behavior.  
Oh, well, Matt.  Enjoy it while it lasts.
The song’s aching chorus finally came to an end.  He stopped before me and bowed.  
God is that corny!  Who is he, Prince Charming?
“I still need one more thing from you for my homework.”
“Ok.”
“For statistical purposes only, mind you, I need your name and phone number.”
“Here’s my card,” he replied as he produced a tan colored piece of paper and slipped it into my hand.
“Let me get my notes.”
I turned, putting the card into my front pocket, and strolled across the dance floor to the table where both my gin and tonic and my yellow legal pad awaited my return.  I picked up the drink and swallowed the last of it.  I lifted the pad and tucked it away again under my arm.  Turning around, I was shocked to find this charming man had abandoned me.  I surveyed the club quickly, looking left, right and center.  
He wasn’t here anymore. No hazel eyes.  No balloon.  I didn’t find out what his name is.  Wait a minute!  Duh! He gave me his business card.
I fished it out from my front pocket.
Julian Miro, Film Maker
I rushed across the club and out the revolving front door.  I looked along the sleeping cars parked on Santa Monica.  I couldn’t find him anywhere.  No traffic pulled away.  The usually busy street was empty.  Out of the corner of my eye, like a forget-my-not, I saw the red balloon tied to a sapling just waiting for me.  I walked over and undid the tiny knot.  
The balloon drifted into the black sky like a prayer.
Oh, Julian!  Where for art thou, Julian?
I turned and pushed the revolving door and went inside for another anemic cocktail at the bar.

Diary excerpt:

 Liquors polish my liver; make it soft as the skin on a child's wrist. Every swig of Campari, Drambuie, Stoli whittles me thin as a stick.  I am somehow alive, in spite of tequila, the knots in my veins, an alcoholic rosary. I pray to lose the thirst, chase liquid spirits from my clasped glass. In the white toilet bowl in the morning, I don't look down, my piss fermented in the damaged casks of my kidneys. My life pours out, awful and sallow. In spite of this, by evening time, I’ll be mouthing down martinis, a sequence of daggers, the plot against my spleen.   And try as I might, I never die, but linger, an after-taste.

 


Limboville

 

Sally Moon’s daydream shifted once more; she was now reclining in the plush leather backseat of a hired limo.  She watched the firm ass of a thug-faced garbage man as he rubbed around an overflowing trashcan, opening the lid with one gloved hand and removing a large unremarkable vase with the other, and then slamming the lid down again.  
The limo started up and pulled away from the ever swallowing gutter.  
Today, Sally’s clothing emphatically said “uptown” with no argument.  The Kenzo dress she wore was a swish of slimming silk in an unconcerned black, slit up both sides.  She raised a yellowish flask filled with imported Dr. Raushka’s 40 proof  “liquid vitamins” to her crimson lips to wash down a dancing pair of Vicodin.  
What a kick!
Sally opened the automatic window and screamed “Bitch” at a startled blonde jogger, who stopped and stared blankly, sweat dripping across her white Nike swoosh.  As the shiny limo drove on, the dazed runner hissed something and scurried down a filthy alley.
 "Let's go home, please,” Sally decided aloud.  
It’s time for brandy and conversations about Anderson windows.
The hustling streets were garlanded with posters of that foul Madonna.  A sick wind blew rotting newspapers around.  To the left, a transient urinated sweetly in a doorway, covering the steps with a golden veneer.    Red pots like mouths on window ledges vomited geraniums.  
Sally waved goodbye, obliquely, to no one.  
“Put your foot on the gas, Hutt,” she told the obedient driver.
Sally gave him plenty of time to make the U-turn.  She swigged her amber flask, peered out on this scene, these ever-so-urban addresses.  The promise of  the winter fabrics collapsed in the Vogue in her lap.  A hush of low hanging branches scratched along the car.  If a boy had come to the back window, he’d have said to her, “Gimme a dollar.”  
Those drunken ladies and their singing children in this Spanish neighborhood. 
Movie stars shed their billboard rinds in the breeze.  
Sally Moon was not scared, not in a pinch.  She didn’t care.  Sally looked like a Neiman Marcus ad:  thick lipstick, the best, young shoes and clutch.   She played with a fragment of a lunar meteor dangling from her left wrist.  
To her right, street herds merged before her in the passenger side window.  Savages on the sidewalk, framed with advertising, chanting.   Out of the rabble, a handsome man appeared in the crowd Sally felt like straddling.  He loosened his cheap belt and his hand darted to his button fly.  He pulled at it like a villain in a moody portrait, hunger turning through his body, as Sally was pulled away. 
A few more miles.  
No matter where she went these days, Sally never seemed to arrive. 

The dream vehicle turned a corner and Sally was standing again in the center of the Carter Memorial Hospital waiting room, her mind racing.
What am I doing back here again?  
A pair of voices continued speaking from behind her.
Darling, it’s like giving a known criminal his bail. 
Sally, this is strictly about Tim’s alimony, remember?  
Sally turned and saw no one.  Her Blahniks clacked on the polished hospital floor as she headed out through the Admitting foyer.  She pushed open the glass lobby door to have a cigarette.  Once on the sidewalk, she lit a Dunhill up, and pawed Saturday night’s sleep from her eyes.  
I’ve never been a wholly perfect citizen.  Je ne sais quoi.  I’ve got to shake free of this rotten poker hand.  
Sally exhaled iron smoke furiously.  
Voices continued to spring from the air around her.  But Sally was alone; she couldn’t locate any hidden speakers. The unseen persons seemed to be answering her thoughts.  For some reason it seemed perfectly natural to Sally.  
The bleak reality is you’re that way, Schluffen.  
You’re the nightgown on the ceiling.  
Screw it! 
“Who said that?”
You’ll have to keep it a fair fight in those iron courtrooms, Darling.  
But you never intended for it to get so, what’s the term?, constipated.  
Sally was suddenly filled with happy visions, imagining her soon-to-be-ex-husband, Tim, being stabbed to death along an Italian marble corridor.
 Except it wasn’t Wednesday yet.  
José Menendez, whom she hired to do that particular deed, was nowhere near to the soon-to-be-dearly-departed Tim.  That death hadn’t happened.  When it did Sally would still be in bed, a hand over her face, unable to take a look at herself in the bedside mirror.  
“Now Sally,” she said aloud over the puzzle of disembodied voices, “Make plans.  Small plans.”
 Nothing to worry about.  You’ve always been strong at business.  
Even though we both know that you are now incapable of being young again.  
“I’m still… innocent,” Sally replied. 
 It won’t just blow over this time.  
“My skin is appalling.  For that I should be arrested.” 
Oh, sure.  They’ll be jumping to put the cuffs on you.  

 


Samples from my unpublished poetry books