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I dozed off for a while. When I awoke, I could see bright sunlight at the top of the tunnel. I looked around but there was no Trisha, no copper door. I wasn’t surprised. Still, I checked the wall carefully and clawed away some of the dirt. Nope. No copper door here. Just daylight and sanity. I looked at the tunnel with some suspicion. I had crawled down the tunnel, with gravity trying to pull me back up. So, logically, I would have to work my way up the tunnel, being careful that gravity didn’t accelerate me along and spit me out to the external world. I tossed a rock part way up the tunnel. It came rolling back down toward me. I stuck my torso partly into the tunnel. No suction. Gravity was pulling me down. So, it was a weird tunnel. No matter from which direction you entered it, it pushed you back. Get out of me! it seemed to be saying. I worked my way through it, and stood up outside in the warm sunlight. It was mid-afternoon. Down below, my car stood on a dirt road that ended at the cliff. For off in the distance I could see a highway with two-way traffic. I sighed, looked for the baseball bat, and took it down with me. I got in the car and tossed the bat against the other door in the front seat. The gas gauge told me I had 1/8 of tank left. I started the car and headed back to the highway. There I turned back in the direction of Los Angeles. At least that part was easy. Los Angeles was always to the west, as long as you weren’t at the beach. I turned on the radio and found a station. They were playing a song by Shocking Blue. I laughed out loud. Venus. Then came the news. "And now the news from KJIZ, brought to you by Dusty Trail Carburetors, the carburetor of the future. "There has been a bizarre new development in the Oral Jerry Swagger case. Early today the body of one of the television evangelist’s employees was found on the front lawn of Swagger’s Pasadena mansion. According to police sources, the man’s throat had been cut and he had been disemboweled with a butcher knife. "A church spokesman, attorney Randy Stader, suggested that Satanists were responsible for the killing." (The voice of Randy Stader.) "We regret immensely the tragic death of Mr. Craig Knowles, and extend our condolences to his friends and associates at this time of sorrow. Mr. Knowles was recently engaged in an important investigation concerning what appear to be a coterie of Satanists linked to the U.S. military, who were believed to be responsible for a wave of cattle and even human mutilations throughout the western part of the U.S. We can only speculate that members of this group took revenge on Mr. Knowles for getting too close to the truth." (The voice of the newsreader again.) "However, confidential police sources tell KJIZ that the Pasadena police are pursuing the possibility that Craig Knowles’ death was the result of a love triangle. These sources speculate that at the time of his death, Mr. Knowles was having a homosexual affair with the older Mr. Swagger, and that he may have been killed by a jealous lover. KJIZ has been shown photographs of what appear to be Mr. Swagger as a young man, engaged in sex with another unidentified man. These sources imply that Mr. Swagger has been a practicing homosexual for much of his life, and that the death of Mr. Knowles has to be considered in that light. While these sources say Mr. Swagger is not a suspect in the case, a note found in the shirt pocket of the deceased reads: "I can’t live without your love." "In other news, Israeli police reported today that they have arrested a group of orthodox extremists who have been planning to blow up the Temple Mount. According to Israeli authorities, the group had hoped the incident would precipitate an apocalyptic war between Jews and Arabs, and hasten the coming of the Messiah . . ." I turned off the radio and drove in silence for a while. Much as I tried to suppress it, the news report on Oral Jerry Swagger was bothering me a lot. Finally, I could stand it no longer and stopped the car beside the road and opened the trunk. Killed by a butcher knife. I checked each compartment of the travel bag for the chef’s knife. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I had wrapped it in protective covering and put it in with the rest of my things back at the Hilton. Hadn’t I? Well, it wasn’t there now. I checked the passing traffic, and waited for an appropriate gap. Then I slipped the axe out of the trunk and tossed it out to the side of the road. I got back in the car and drove on. I entertained myself with some consoling thoughts. Even if I had left the knife in the room, and the maid had found it, there was nothing to connect me to Oral Jerry Swagger. Just my thoughts. And thankfully no one could read those. I had speculated that someone like Oral Jerry Swagger might have killed Parsons. That was all. And I didn’t think that anymore. Except. Except for the notebook. I had left my notebook in the park when the two ghouls attacked me. It was my last entry: Oral Jerry Swagger. It seemed obvious to me now. I was being set up for a murder charge. True, it hadn’t been Oral Jerry Swagger that had been killed with a butcher knife. But my butcher knife was missing. The police had probably found it near the body of this Craig character. The story would be: I was stalking Swagger, hiding out near his mansion. But I had run into Craig, the noble investigator of Satanic matters, and killed him. Look: here is the purchase order for the knife. Look: here is the notebook. Look: he bought an axe also. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what do you think was on this Satanist’s mind? Jesus. The more I fled, the bigger the trail I left behind. My fear has come upon me. Job 3: 25. The land of Uz, I muttered to myself. I drove for a while checking the exits. Well, I have no choice, now, do I? There is nothing I can do. I have to disappear. * * * * * Sheri slept late. She looked at the clock. She was supposed to be at the office in a few minutes. She didn’t move, but instead snuggled a little deeper into the pillows. With Trisha and Hermes gone, Sheri felt at a loss. Her life seemed directionless. As much as she hated to admit it, her purpose in life was basically defined by her roommate and her employer. Who knows? Maybe they were working together. Way out there, somewhere, in Los Angeles. She didn’t really believe that, but the thought left her feeling left out, lonesome, and depressed. Trisha could have anyone she wanted. Leave Hermes alone. Sheri sighed. She got out of bed and looked in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled and her face looked a little puffy. Why can’t I be like Trisha? Well, maybe I can, she thought, with sudden determination. I’ll wear something sexy to the office. Just for me. Maybe the short skirt I wore when Hermes took me to Copa. Okay, maybe I took him, but he had said yes, hadn’t he? But something more than that. What? No panties! Brazilian-style. The thought made her feel moist inside already. And she would leave work early and hit South Street. Maybe meet someone. That would teach Hermes, off on the west coast. And gradually, as she showered and dressed, her natural enthusiasm returned full force.
The Magician is the author of other episodes of the Jack Parsons story (http://zolatimes.com/jparart/Aparmenu.html). -30- from The Laissez Faire City Times, Vol 3, No 27, July 5, 1999 |