Into the Light

Chapter 33. Things get weirder

Chapter: 33

When death is the greatest danger, one hopes for life; but when one becomes acquainted with an even more dreadful danger, one hope's for death. So when the danger is so great that death has become one's hope, despair is the disconsolateness of not being able to die.

Sickness unto Death by Soren Kierkegaard

Soren had daddy issues but who didn't at that time. He also never expected to influence the atheist writing of Nietzsche either but. Soren would have liked him before Friedrich fell off the turnip truck. And again, sit up straight when reading. You dirty dirty apes sure do fall back on bad behaviors easily. Back to the show.

Ms. Braque worries Blake's family might be traumatized by the recent intrusion of the FBI as they left his apartment in shambles. He might have just pulled a Jim Morrison, move to another place mysteriously and then start over like she wished so many times before in the lost days of fragrant reverie of what should be. She hates the fact that she has only been an observer and was never able to be active in framing his life. But now, it is too late.

A discourse in her mind about faked funerals of history flows freely through her thoughts. The conclusion she comes to is that Jesus was the first celebrity to fake his own death to move to France with Mary Magdalene and get away from Roman authorities or it would have been suicide. She had overheard this long ago, and other questions arose. He knew he was going to die and isn't that a no-no, if he did nothing to stop it, it would be a sin, or was it just deus/dei/suicide. He did a good job and got away with it like Jim Morrison.

She resists the urge to dial Blake's parents, a number given to her during his first fiasco when he moved in and lost his keys after a fight with his then girlfriend that left his knuckles grated and bloody. That Stiggy must have been the influence, so sullen, shy and manipulative just like the others. A person who hides their face and hands so much cannot be trusted she tells the empty halls and the tapestries on the walls. All too familiar though. She cannot halt her developing imagination with Blake getting high in alleyways and that strange individual making him sell himself like a Midnight Cowboy. What an awful sight he was the last time she saw him, so withdrawn and his eyes dark as polished ebony as his soul seemed to flicker with red hatred and burnt orange rancor. He had changed

She picks up a broom and slides across the wooden paneled floor and shimmies slightly and refrains. Her grip tightens as she again allows her imagination expand without the shackles of logic or motive. To the universe she supplicates, "I won't tell anyone if I could just let me know what is he doing? I can keep a secret. I should have watched him better but that's up to others now. I must move on."

She slides across the floor and her socks of white gather gray dust as the rest of her clothes fight to stay fastened. The flow of silk and patterns from 1969 frame her and allow enough light to pass through the sheer fabric enough to garner attention but reserved.

Her glide stops as she imagines Blake with long hair and dirty, ragged clothes and she fantasizes about rescuing him for a moment but the horror of reality sets in. She wonders if she should call. Would it be worth it since why would they tell her anything? She only met them once and she was intoxicated but with her thought she reaches forth for a response and hopes that any psychic events will harken her to his plight. She just shakes her head and a tear drops to the floor as she wants to know what happened to him and if he is searching for answers that he finds them. Another worrisome disquiet demand in a wanton irrational world.

As Sarah Demeter skims through her papers, she lets the words speak to her and let intuition guide her eyes and tries to find the patterns. She depletes her search through conspiracy theory web sites and even put up some comments on message boards to illicit information. No such luck, but she is surprised how many people were glad the producer was dead. No connection to Darius or the skinheads though. She becomes hot and radiates a burning sweat as her fury flies like the spirits of the Eumenidies with their echoing cries for vengeance.