Chapter 14

14: Calliope Baxter was a middle-aged woman with sad eyes.  She had been troubled for quite some time now, but didn't know who to talk to.  Finally, she decided that she couldn't hold it in anymore.  She approached Barney Abbot at the table where he was having lunch.  He invited her to have a seat and join him.
  "It's good to finally speak with you, Barney.  My name is Calliope."
  "Well, it's certainly nice to meet you, Calliope.  Would you like any of these curly fries?  They're excellent."
  "No, thanks.  I'm not very hungry.  You see, actually I have something that's been bothering me since I heard it when we first came to this hotel."
  "Oh, I'm glad you came to me.  What's on your mind?"
  "It's about your son."
  Barney put his curly fry down, picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth.  He re-oriented his body to focus his entire attention on Calliope.  "Did you know Daniel?"
  "No.  But I need to know.  Kenn had said he was the Good Friday Killer."  She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Is that true?  Was he?"
  Barney inhaled deeply and let his breath out through his nose.  He never broke eye contact with her, but his countenance now reflected deep regret and emotional pain.  "Yes, he was."  His eyes welled up with an unexpected tumult of memories.  He took a sip of his soda to wet his suddenly dry throat.
  Calliope's eyes now focused on an imaginary point somewhere behind Barney's head.  A flurry of conflicting emotions contorted her face several times before she could speak again.  When she finally found her voice again, her cheeks weren't dry.  "Three years ago, my husband, Maxwell Baxter was on his way home from work.  He never made it home.  I spent that entire night calling every police station, hospital and friend in Marble Cliffs.  The next day, his car was found at the bottom of a wash.  His body was found several feet from the car behind a creosote bush.  A cross was carved into his chest and his body was completely drained of blood.  Everyone said it had to have been the Good Friday Killer.  My husband's killer was never found."
  "Yes, that was his M.O.  I'm sorry for your loss."  Barney knew the words were nothing compared to what this poor woman had been through.  "I tracked my son for years.  I took the job as senior editor of the newspaper so that I could use all the resources available to expose his terrible acts and hopefully bring him to justice.  He was always way ahead of me.  Seeing him here was the first contact I'd had with him for years.  I didn't know if I should kill him or hug him or both.  I was well aware of the atrocities he had committed.  It only hurt more that he was my son.  When I found out that he was filled with the spirits of the Collective, I didn't know if I could trust him, but I decided to give him a chance.  His sacrifice very well might have saved us all.  It doesn't erase anything he had done in his past, but that was his cross to bear."  Barney and Calliope sat silently for quite some time, each in their own world.
  In the ball room, Mendoron, the Collective military specialist, was training a group of people with some combat techniques.  Knowledge in hand to hand combat was going to be a matter of life or death in these grim days.  The Collective had an understandably fluid style of fighting.  For some it was difficult to learn, but Mendoron had an almost uncanny patience.  Through diligence and practice, all who wanted to learn became better with each little step along the path to mastery.
  In room 742, the Maine Eleven Company was setting up its equipment.  Jeffrey turned to Lowe.  "What up, chiznickel?  Hey, what did you say your uncle's address was again?"
  Lowe wasn't expecting the question so he took a second to respond.  "Um, lot 1408 at Casanova Mobile Homes."
  Jeffrey grabbed a nearby napkin and scribbled on it hurriedly with a hotel pen.  He started a sentence mid-thought.  "And you're staying in room 742, right?"
  Lowe looked at Jeffrey.  "Yeah, so?"
  Jeffrey continued.  "Well, if you subtract 742 from 1408 you're left with. . .666.  Spooky, huh?"
  Lowe punched Jeffrey on the shoulder.  "More like kooky, dumbass."  Just then a knock came at the door.  It was Lume, the Collective musician.  Jeffrey couldn't take his eyes off her.
  "Welcome to a Maine Eleven Company jam session.  Won't you please join us?"  Jeffrey bowed.
  Lowe shook his head.  "Jeffrey, you old smoothly."
  Jeffrey blushed and punched Lowe in the shoulder.  "Is everyone ready?"  Carrie nodded.  Alex gave a thumbs up. Lowe hefted his bass and slung it onto his shoulder.  Jeffrey tested his microphone once or twice.  Lume stood in a corner by the entertainment center.
  Carrie got a mid-tempo beat going.  Lowe started in with a smooth groove.  Alex strummed a chord progression to fit the bass line.  Lume closed her eyes.  She put her hands up and added an orchestral flourish to the musical endeavor.  Jeffrey let the beat permeate his senses.  As images filled his mind, he gave voice to them.  This spontaneous rapture of harmonic melodies continued well into the night.

Chapter 13

13: The five men were seated comfortably in Samuel Wine's living room.  Sam had a trick he wanted to show his guests.  "I found this out one day totally by accident.  I was on the phone with a friend and I was walking around my apartment while I was talking.  When I passed by a certain area in my living room, I heard a voice on the line other than the person I was talking to.  I asked if my friend if he heard it too.  Hell yeah he did and no, it wasn't coming from his side of the line.  It sure as hell wasn't coming from my end.
  "It was an EVP, an electronic voice phenomenon.  It was actually two distinct voices.  One voice was crying and kept saying the word no over and over again.  The other voice kept yelling at the first voice to shut up!  My friend and I were freaking out.  Never in my 45 years of living had I encountered such a thing.  The next day I decided to see if it was still there.  I called my friend again and he agreed to try to find the spot again.  I moved around the living room until, sure enough, there it was.  The crying and everything.
  Sauro looked disturbed and tried to shake off the creepy feeling.  Once he had sufficiently composed himself, he asked the question that he believed was on everyone's mind.  "Do you think those voices are connected to the hauntings in this place?"
  "No.  Those voices are what are called an imprint.  Sometimes, when there is an experience that brings about strong emotions such as fear, sadness or trauma, it can leave its mark at the spot in which it occurred.  For all we know, the people I heard on the phone are still alive.  A haunting, however, does involve the spirits of the dead who have not passed over into the light for some reason."
  Mickey shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.  "Okay.  Whatever.  But then what is going on here?  This place is haunted, but by whom or by what?"
  "I was getting to that.  I've only been able to get so much from down here.  If I went to the apartment on the fifth floor, I would be able to get more from touching the walls.  I also should try to communicate with the spirits that are stuck there.  I haven't done any of this yet because it wouldn't have been safe to do it alone.  It's only because of my spiritual awareness and knowledge that I've survived this haunting."
  Randy looked uneasy about the prospect of going back up there.  "Do we have to go there for your mojo to work?"
  Sam put his hands up.  "Don't worry.  We don't all have to go.  Perhaps if you and Ben want to stay down here, Mickey, Sauro and I can go up there.  But first, let me tell you what I've figured out so far.  I've been able to distinctly identify six different entities up there.  There is a young man, a young woman, an old lady, a little boy, a dog and a dark entity."
  Randy raised his hand.  "I've seen the old lady.  Her name is Ruth Verdi.  I also saw the dog and the dark one."
  Sam grabbed a notebook and a pen.  "Ruth Verdi, you say?"  Randy nodded.  Sam spelled the name out phonetically for future reference.  "Now, my story starts about three months ago.  I had changed from a daytime schedule at my job to an afternoon schedule.  My alarm clock used to wake me up every morning at 8 sharp.  Of course, when I switched schedules, I wanted to sleep in a little.  I figured I could wake up at noon, have lunch and still have plenty of time to get to work at 3pm.
  "Now here comes the weird part.  No matter how much I wanted to sleep in, I kept waking up just around 8 anyway. The first few days, I figured it was because I was so used to getting up at 8.  I thought perhaps that my body just needed to adjust to the new schedule.  But day after day I woke up around 8 o' clock.  I started noticing that it wasn't just 8-ish like I had thought.  It was consistently 8:14 I would wake up.  I tested it.  I'd wake up and immediately look at my clock.  8:14 every time.  I didn't understand what was going on until the spiritual disturbances began.  Then it clicked.  A significant event must have occurred at 8:14 in the morning.
  "I still have no idea what that event was, but I can't shake the nagging feeling that it's important.  It may even be the spirits trying to communicate with me.  That's about all I have so far.  Now, we must get up there for me to get more clues and piece this story together."
  Sam, Mickey and Sauro opened the door which led to the hallway, went out and closed the door behind them.  Ben and Randy stayed at Sam's apartment and tried not to worry.
  Meanwhile, at the hotel, a rescue group arrived with Lowe's uncle, Singh Ho Ping and his boyfriend, Bolly Wotso. Bolly was a half Samoan, half Ethiopian midget of medium build.  When Singh saw his nephew, Yong Lowe, his eyes lit up.  "Well, potato I have!  It's my favorite nephew!"  He reached up for a hug.
  Lowe stooped down to hug his uncle.  "Uncle Singh and Aunt Bolly!  I'm so glad you're safe!  I was so worried.  How are you, my avuncular compadre?"
  "I'm doing alright.  It's good to see you're OK.  How are your mother and father?"
  Lowe's head drooped.  With a trembling voice, he said, "They got into a car accident and they were both killed."
  Singh's eyes watered up.  "Oh, my dear, sweet, beautiful Ling!  My heart is ripping!"  Lowe embraced his uncle in a huge bear hug.  They both cried together for a while.  When Singh could breathe evenly enough to speak again, he realized he should also help his nephew mourn for his father.  "Your father, Tom, was a wonderful husband to my sister and a good father to you. I will miss him greatly."
  Lowe remained silent for a little while longer, but finally spoke.  "You're the only family I have left."  They held each other for comfort and then went to Lowe's room to rest.  It had been a long day.

Chapter 12

12: Temeron, the elder Collective had a group gathered around him who were eager to learn more about the religion of the Collective.  "It's called the Hierarchy of Sypraxus.  To begin with, it is important to note that the more solid something is, the less you need it.  Food is the least needed, then water, air and finally your spirit.  Life follows the example of these different states of matter.  Sypraxus is the ability to change at will between the different states of matter.  This is only possible through a deep understanding of the three stages of life. 
  "We all start in innocence.  For the Collective, we call that the solid stage.  During that time of your spiritual development, you are in ignorance and bliss.  You do not take notice of the problems of the world.  Some may even be in denial that problems even exist.  You are only in touch with your needs.  You tend to be more real. It takes nothing to be innocent.  You don't want anything to change.
  "The second stage comes when we start to notice the problems in the world.  We might become disillusioned or disenchanted.  We call that the liquid stage.  Everything seems to be bad.  We lose our innocense and begin to be aware of wants as opposed to mere needs.  We may become superficial or even hateful.  It takes your five senses to reach the second stage.  You want the world to change.
  "The third stage is enlightenment.  We call that the air stage.  At this stage you begin to have hope.  You begin to recognize that there is more than your eyes can perceive.  You begin to be aware of others' needs.  You become more deep.  It takes faith to reach the third stage.  You can be calm and at peace.  You want yourself to change.  Unfortunately, some people never get past the first stage.  Most people never get past the second stage. For some reason unknown to me, some people want to go back to the first stage after having reached the second. I must confess to you that I have never met anyone who has truly reached the third stage.  It would take an incredible amount of love and faith to reach the third stage.  The Sypratic Tome promises that there will be someone who will reach all states of matter: solid, liquid, gas and spirit.  We await their arrival eagerly."
  In a different part of the hotel, Jeffrey was sitting in front of a microwave reading a book.  Alexander approached him, intrigued by the wonderful aroma emanating from the microwave.  "Chuptu?" he asked Jeffrey.
  Jeffrey looked up from his book.  "What did you say?"
  "I said, what are you up to?"
  "Oh.  I'm microwaving some popcorn that I won in the raffle.  Want some?"
  Alex's eyes lit up.  "Sure, sounds good.  What are you reading?"
  Jeffrey showed the cover of the book to Alexander.  "I'm reading about a guy named Pavlov who trained his dogs to salivate when he rang a bell."
  A really confused look came across Alex's face.  "That's weird."
  Jeffrey shrugged.  "I guess it depends on how you look at it."  At that point, the microwave beeped.
  Alex rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation.  "Alright!  Popcorn's ready!"
  Jeffrey sighed and shook his head.  Then he put the book down and pulled the microwave door open to retrieve the bag.  Lowe walked into the room just as the two of them were munching.  He looked downcast.  With all the rescue parties coming back with survivors they had found, there were many tearful reunions, but there were still many loved ones missing.  One of those was Lowe's uncle.
  Jeffrey offered Lowe some popcorn, but Lowe was in no mood for any.  "Lowe, they did send a search party in the direction of your uncle's home.  You did give them his address, right?"
  "Yeah.  Him and his boyfriend live at Casanova Mobile Homes lot 1408."
  Jeffrey did a double take and suppressed a laugh.  "Casanova Mobile Homes?"  After a second, he shook it off.  What he was thinking wasn't appropriate to say at the moment.
  Alex swallowed a mouthful of popcorn.  "So your uncle's gay?"
  Lowe looked at Alex for a moment.  "If you laugh I will seriously hurt you."
  Alex shook his head.  "No, I won't laugh.  There's nothing funny about homosexuality."
  "Well, my uncle is a lesbian stuck in a man's body.  You see, he's gay, but his body just doesn't know it yet. In order to fit in with the homosexual crowd, he has a boyfriend for now until he can have the sex change operation.  Think of it as a reverse 'fag hag', as much as I hate that term."
  "I look forward to meeting him.  What does he do?" asked Alex.
  "He's the singer for a midget metal band called Bawdy Flies.  You know that T-shirt I wear that says 'Asian midget trannies are people too'?"
  "Oh yeah, I think that shirt's hilarious."
  "Well, it's not supposed to be funny.  It's my way of supporting my uncle.  His name is Singh Ho Ping, but his stage name is Urban Confucius."
  Alex's eyebrows went up.  "You uncle is Urban Confucius?  Dude, I've heard of him.  He did that one Christmas song or something.  I once saw his band perform dressed as female elves."
  "So you've heard 'Don We Now Our Gay Apparel'?  It was a minor local hit.  Got some air play."

Chapter 11

11: Mar stood outside the Wolf Cub Elementary school.  He had observed the Defectors for an entire day now.  These people were in desperate need of direction.  This man, this Richard Finestra as he was called, had no real leadership skills, but he seemed to revel in the power of his assumed position.  Once Mar showed up, Richard would not be willing to give up his place at the top.  There was one very simple solution to that.

  The gutter by the curb offered him a way onto the school grounds.  He had decided that a dramatic entrance was the approach he wanted to take.  The playground had a system of lawn sprinklers that were set to a timer.  Richard was currently sitting in a lawn chair right beside one of those sprinklers sipping lemonade.  Showtime.

  Moments later, a noisy spray of water gushed forth from the sprinkler and formed up in mid air into Mar's body. He looked Richard in the eyes and said, "Richard Finestra.  My name is Mar.  I will now be leading the Defectors."

  Richard's eyes went wide and his glass of lemonade fell with a dull thud onto the grass, splashing onto his leg. At the same time, his chair tipped so far back from his involuntary leg jerk that he fell backward.  As soon as he was able to scramble to his feet he ran for the door to the main school house.  Mar entered through the garden hose.  If it was a chase Richard wanted, Mar would be more than happy to oblige.

  Richard was hiding in the kitchen.  Mar quietly snuck out of the sink and tapped him on the shoulder.  Richard bugged out and fled, looking for another hiding place.  Mar was going to toy with him for a bit before engaging the kill switch.  Next, Richard chose the janitor's closet on the second floor.  This was too easy.  Mar came out of the utility sink and tapped him once again.  Richard actually let out a yelp and ran some more.  He ran up the stairs to the third, uppermost level and hid in a classroom.  One small problem.  There just happened to be a bathroom which opened into the classroom.  Easy pickings.

  Mar was through with games.  He sprayed out of the toilet and grabbed Richard by the ankles.  Richard struggled free, but fell backwards and went right through the glass of a window.  Mar watched as he plummeted three stories to his death in a shower of wood fragments and glass shards.  A guy named Finestra being defenestrated.  Mar just couldn't resist laughing at the irony of the whole thing.  That was a goddamn masterpiece and fuck it all, no one was around who could appreciate the true genius of it.  Mar sighed, shook his head and headed downstairs on foot to address his new army.

  The Defectors shied away from his approach.  There were many questions.  "Who are you?  Are you Rend?  We thought you were dead.  Why did you kill Richard?"

  Mar put his hands up to silence the crowd.  "No, I'm not Rend, though he was a good friend of mine.  I was sad to see him go.  I've been watching everything that has been going on.  I know about the Collective, about the Untaken, the Revenant and about you guys, the Defectors.  I figured it was about time to step in and take the reins.  My name is Mar.  I'm your leader now and I want nothing more than to destroy every last one of the Collective and the Untaken."

  At this, there were several nods of agreement.  The tension seemed to ease just a little.  "Now I killed that motherfucker out there because I didn't like the way he was running things.  The Revenant are an asset to us.  They can take care of the Untaken if there are sufficient numbers of them.  Richard was mindlessly destroying so many of them without even thinking about the fact that he could be using them if he was smart.  If he had a plan. If he had a goal.  If he had two fuckin' brain cells to rub together.  He also took you for granted."

  Heads were nodding more vigorously now.  Mar could see that he had them in his grasp.  "He should have been training you to fight so that you could mount your own attack against that damn hotel.  Well, that's what I'm here to do.  We will be a formidable army by the time I'm through with you.  Now let's get to work."  A small round of applause materialized and vanished quickly, but Mar could still see some fear in their eyes.