Shakespeare in the Limelight

All the Many-Worlds' a Stage

Celia and I were brought back to the estate. When we arrived, we were separated. The acolytes took me into the lab and put me in a holding cell. I was down there for a few days, fed very little. They let me out only after Claudio convinced them that I tried to run only to save Celia from being beheaded by El Carnala.

That night, I met Jessica in her room for a glass of wine and, again, whatever else we could think of. I guess that's part of being indoctrinated into a cult; brainwashing takes effect, and everyone gets a kind of magical do-over whenever the needle skips the groove.

And like Yogi said, it was deja vu all over again, Jessica again got called away to the lab. After I finished my wine, I nodded off to sleep while waiting for her return. When I finally woke, I looked at the clock on Jessica's dresser; the hands read close to midnight. She had been gone for over two hours, and I had to take a piss. As I was heading to her bathroom, I passed the closet and the distinct smell of formaldehyde hit my senses.

Jessica was in one of the few estate rooms with a walk-in closet. I pulled a switch dangling from a lightbulb, and the closet's interior lit up. I immediately let out a high-pitched scream. A very dead Jim Damsel was tied to a lawn chair in front of me.

He was wrapped in thick plastic, and rigor mortis had set in (Season 5, Episode 22, Frankie & Scratches: Sniffin' the Stiff), but what was stiffer than the stiff was the massive erection poking through a purposeful hole cut in the plastic. Undoubtedly, the entire Alaska property venture was a fabricated work of coercion.

"I guess the secrets out. I'm just not a crazed sex addict; I'm also a total necrophiliac."

I turned around to face Jessica. She held a syringe high in her hand and immediately injected me in my neck with a drug that made me weak in the knees. As I toppled to the floor and slipped towards unconsciousness, I could hear her say to someone, "Prep him for surgery."

I found myself on a surgical table with NG tubes stuck in my nostrils. Standing over me was Jessica in a surgical mask and scrubs. She looked hot, like a masked psycho-sex bandit.

"Sorry about this, Scooty, but our timetable got pushed up unexpectedly. How are you feeling?"

"A little drowsy."

"Yeah, that's the sedative I injected you with. It'll wear off soon."

"Hello, Scooter." Standing on my other side was Father Sky, also in surgical scrubs, a mask, and a frock.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Well, the lab made a curious discovery with the monolith earlier today."

"Discovery?"

"Yeah, Scooty. When we made love earlier, I noticed that funny tattoo on your ankle."

"I told you— I got that in Amsterdam when I was drunk. It was on a dare."

"Yeah, I know, Scooty. But, well..." Jessica switched on a large monitor above the surgical table: on it was a live feed of the monolith. Jessica hit a button on a remote control, and the camera switched to a close-up of the monolith's shattered stone ankle; tattooed on it was the same tat that was on my ankle— "Farts are Free."

"This is crazy. I'm sure it's a coincidence."

Father Sky peered in my face. "Looks pretty self-evident to me, Scooter. That monolith is you, my lad. There's no way a culture that old would have any concept of modern English or an idiom such as farts are free."

"How would you know what they charged for a fart in the stone age?!"

"Look, I know you're scared, Scooter, but believe me when I say we only have your utmost well-being in mind. There's also other proof, and it involves your hair."