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1
2The American Book of the Dead
3Henry Baum
4
5Published: 2009
6Tag(s): "apocalyptic fiction" "science fiction" speculative fiction
7
8The American Book of the Dead
9[a novel]
10Henry Baum
11Backword Books
12
13Copyright © 2009 by Henry Baum A Backword Book
14ISBN 978-0-578-02693-0
15Library of Congress Control Number: 2009932759
16All rights reserved. The ebook of this novel is free to distribute, but not to
17alter in any form. You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the
18author or licensor, as stipulated by a Creative Commons AttributionNoncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. If you read this
19book for free, please consider donating to the author @ backwordbooks.com or
20theamericanbookofthedead.com.
21This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products
22of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely
23coincidental.
24The chapter “Gentleman Reptile” was published in a different form in a single
25volume by Cloverfield Press (www.cloverfieldpress.com).
26Edited by Erin Stropes. Thanks to Clifford Pickover and Tom Baum for
27additional editorial help.
28Front cover illustration from Confrontations: A Scientist’s Search for Alien
29Contact by Jacques Vallee, used by permission.
30Cover design by Cathi Stevenson @ Book Cover Express.
31
32Introduction: Eugene Myers
33The year was 2020. Except as I write this the year is 2008. Let’s just say it’s
34written in hindsight. 20/20 hindsight. Believe me, you’ll forgive me a bad pun by
35the end of the book. I live in a time when violence is a religion, God is dead, and
36humor is something grandfathers used before the war. Fitzgerald claimed irony
37was dead in The Beautiful and Damned. If by dead, he meant reborn, he would
38have been more accurate, because the true age of irony didn’t die for another
39ninety years. Somehow Fitzgerald was wrong about many things: no second acts
40in American lives? America was about to begin the biggest second act in the
41cosmos.
42So I am sitting at a desk in Los Angeles in 2008, a young man with a new
43family trying to make ends meet. I am also a man of fifty, a teacher, waiting out
44the apocalypse. I am also a man of indeterminate age feeling sagely and
45satisfied. There are three people writing this book at once. A triumvirate of past,
46present, and future. A trinity even, but evoking the Bible is both boring and
47overblown. I haven’t earned your trust yet.
48Is this book merely the product of a young man’s overreaching imagination or
49is he onto something? He is a deeply flawed version of myself—this is saying a
50lot because I am also deeply flawed. He is just beginning, as a man, as a writer.
51He is starting the novel with the idea that he might, finally, justify his life. The
52novel will take him years to complete and only parts of it are accurate. Which is
53where I come in. I take this flawed young man’s rough draft and revise the shit
54out of it, a complicated form of self-criticism. He has no idea it’s happening
55because I am like a ghost. I am both a product of his imagination and a mentor.
56Nobody ever said inspiration could be defined.
57So if the young man in 2008 is writing this book and you—his elder—are
58helping him, he’s not a prophet at all. Really, he’s getting Cliffs Notes from the
59future. True and false. First, he had to bother to ask. He had to know which
60answers to look for. I am proud of him; he’s closer to me than a son. I could not
61write the book for him. In short, it’s a two-way street.
62I forget that you don’t know what I’m talking about. There’s so much to cover,
63there’s almost no place to begin. Simply, War World III happened. Great, another
64World War III novel. Not true, WWIII really did happen and this book comes
65from the future, across space and time, things now mastered, only because World
66War III happened and those who were left inherited not just the earth, but space.
67And by the way, please don’t classify this book as science fiction. File it under
68history, or a memoir of the future. Fiction, fine. But not science fiction. For you
69
70purists, this is not a cop-out, I am all for science fiction. But if it is considered
71science fiction, it will be considered a lie, speculative, which it isn’t. If it is seen
72as fiction, it might be seen as closer to life. In the end it is not prophecy, because
73prophecy is a prediction of something before it occurs, and this is something that
74has already happened. I am less a seer than a witness.
75Maybe I should start at the beginning. 2001. September 11th. It was why I
76started this book in the first place. I was sitting on the couch with a cup of
77coffee, watching the early morning news. I had spent the morning walking the
78dog around the neighborhood—I bought myself an egg sandwich and an orange
79juice, someone eagerly handed me an election flyer: I felt like I belonged to the
80timeless city. I was waiting on the couch to pick up my then-girlfriend who was
81arriving on the 9:00 train from Florida. I had forced her to leave because I
82thought I needed the space to write a novel. I wept like I never had before when
83she left for the plane. I know now it was a kind of mourning for our unborn
84daughter. Proof that maybe I do have some premonition in me. I wrote a hundred
85or so pages, all the while hard-up and lonely and begged her back. She was
86living with an ex-boyfriend who had become a cult member, a follower of the
87Falun Gong movement. I write these details because they don’t seem real
88exactly. Rarely does my life seem interesting enough for fiction. Perhaps on that
89day everybody had an equal story to tell.
90Sitting on the couch, drinking coffee, wondering about the day to come. Out
91of the corner of my eye a low-flying wavering plane, as if struggling.
92Now, this was a daydream I’d had before. Often sitting in my 3rd floor
93apartment with its rare view of the NYC sky, a sliver of the Empire State
94Building, I would fantasize that a plane was flying too low. God, it’s going to
95crash, I would think, maybe even with a slightly drunken sense of hope—at
96least, then, my delusions would have some proof. Once I even heard an
97explosion, surprised to hear the next day that nothing happened. I knew every
98trajectory of planes in the sky. I hated planes. So when a plane was flying south
99as low as the buildings, I knew this was wrong. Something was about to be
100realized.
101I didn’t run to the window. I didn’t want to see it crash. A BOOM. Oh no, I
102said out loud, something people did in movies, and felt slightly awkward, like I
103was trying to prove grief. I went to the window. The World Trade Center was out
104the window to the left, twin overseers of my neighborhood. Imposing,
105thoughtful, indifferent, romantic: New York City buildings. They always seemed
106like a fiction, a white smoky haze about them as if superimposed against the blue
107screen of the sky. They were just too tall.
108A black smoking hole in building, jagged and fragmented, as surreal as the
109
110buildings themselves. Many people must be dying in there. I went out on the fire
111escape to watch. Felt guilty, like an audience, came back inside. Got my camera,
112took one picture, which I still haven’t developed. Checked the news. Still
113interviewing somebody about a book. Another boom, a cloud of fire, and an
114excited shout of “Whoa” from the Chinatown onlookers. They were shocked but
115entertained—not despicably, I suppose. Life is boring, uniform, redundant, and
116this was something different. It was even magical, in the sense of seeming both
117fake and uncommonly alive.
118I had to leave for the train station. I wasn’t going to risk the subway. I hailed a
119cab and rode uptown with a smiling Pakistani man who spoke with an
120embarrassed, maybe grateful smile that this was likely an act of terrorism.
121I tell this, as if it needs rationalizing, because it informed the rest of my life.
122Immediately, it influenced my life with my girlfriend. The following month we
123conceived a child, then married on Halloween—which when the marriage is
124faltering loses all its irony and seems like a terrible mistake. To live a mild life
125and then to be thrust into war, to understand in however small a way what people
126throughout history must have felt, gave me the kind of empathy that might only
127come once and can’t be repeated. Also I was part of something that was the
128beginning of the end of the world.
129Throughout my life I often felt like I was living in a shell of the better past.
130The sixties, the Beat Generation, the Lost Generation, punk rock—I was too
131young for all those things, and so the past seemed to loom over my life like a
132successful older brother. It’s a stupid, lonely, one-sided battle to be in
133competition with the past. Finally, on September 11th, I felt part of the
134consequential present—a present that my heroes may have labored through. Men
135who had gone to war and lived to write about it. The irony was that I would
136eventually live through the worst war of all. And so all that time I spent
137lamenting the valuelessness of the present was wasted time, even if I was right.
138It turns out that my love of the past was a kind of premonition—I was idealizing
139the past because somehow I knew the future was going to be fucked up beyond
140recognition.
141The worst part of Sept. 11 for me—beyond the tragedy, the loss of life, but I’ll
142admit I am too self-centered to be permanently empathetic—was the fact of
143seeing a nightmare actually come to life. A writer’s job is to believe in made-up
144stories as if they were true. If it wasn’t so, there would be no energy to write. But
145this was something I’d imagined actually coming to life. A plane hitting a
146building, the aftermath, fire. And if I tried with all my soul to believe in
147something I was writing, I was still protected by objectivity—the knowledge that
148I am God of my world, and I can change it as I please; nothing is permanent. The
149
150God of our lives was doing as he pleased that day. From that day forth I had the
151disturbing sense that some illusions might be real.
152After September 11, Stephanie and I fled New York. This might seem like
153cowardice, and I confess to it. But I always found New York a dangerous place:
154both dangerously self-affirming and self-destructive. Either way, capable of
155snapping. Add to that the threat of daily suicide attacks and it was enough reason
156to leave. A walk through Soho wasn’t worth it. It was hardly worth it before the
157attacks.
158We moved to Willamette, South Carolina on a whim. I always wanted to be a
159Southern writer and live in small-town South. I quickly learned the obvious—
160that to be a Southern writer you have to be Southern. My naiveté can be
161amazing. The same could be said about my time in New York. I lived in New
162York for ten years trying to recreate the will of past writers, not realizing that we
163were living at the beginning of the future and not the continuation of the past.
164Stephanie quickly got pregnant, in October, a September 11th baby (called the
165Doomers, not the Boomers). Out of this environment—a new baby, a failed
166writer—I started writing a novel. The book outlined everything that was
167terrifying me at the time. My dreams were filled with images of the end of the
168world. Dozens of planes crashing to the ground a night. Explosions, broken
169buildings, people in rags fleeing and banding together. In one of these dreams I
170heard names—survivors, I told myself in the dream. I woke up and thought,
171“There’s a book in this.”
172Here’s where it gets confusing. I hear derisive laughter. “Metafiction on
173steroids,” it was called. Long story short, it’s the book you’re reading. So
174where’s the confusion? The book was about a writer in his fifties working on a
175book. In the future the book has yet to be written, even if it was written in the
176past. Complicated, but it solved one issue: the older writer is not aware of the
177book that has already been published because in his world the book has not been
178written. But wait—I hear people say—you’ve been talking as if the war has
179already occurred and the novel has yet to be conceived. Here’s my answer: time
180doesn’t exist. All of these different stories are happening at once. Makes enough
181sense to me, not to a number of detractors, including a fair number of publishers
182who rejected it, saying it was “awkward” or “it doesn’t work.” Consider this a
183preemptive strike because at that time I was very sick of not getting published.
184Which should bring us to where I was when I first conceived the novel. My
185daughter couldn’t live on hope for much longer. She was just born, on the day
186John Coltrane died, among other things. My wife was working—supporting us—
187as a legal secretary. I lived by the blanketing delusion that hope was as good as
188money. My wife disagreed, rightly. We fought daily, nightly, about money, our
189
190doubt as parents, we woke the baby, made her cry, made us cry; there was
191crying. Terrible times and the punchline is that my wife was working for a
192divorce lawyer.
193The lawyer’s name was Geoff Smith, a fat, deep-Southern man. Mean and
194gracious at once, as if Truman Capote wasn’t gay. No real point in describing
195him, just giving you a glimpse…
196So I struggled at home taking care of the beautiful 11-month-old girl, Sophia
197Margaret. Most of all wanting to be a full-time writer—one who had once
198believed that he was being overseen by writers from the past, a great harem of
199dead writers, saying, he’s our man. Extra-sensory pretension, but that is what
200young writers must feed on or else wither in the doubts thrust on young,
201sensitive men—the feeling, sometimes, that every cell on earth is female. So I
202stayed home with the baby, taking care of her as best I could. Which isn’t to
203throw into the mix that I was a bad father. I was a good father. I could fly into
204brief rages when she wouldn’t leave me alone. Normal human anger, right? Or
205the hypersensitivity of a future genius? I was still clinging to selfaggrandizement—what other defense did I have. Why do I mention this?
206Because out of this environment came this novel, and out of the novel came
207Other Things.
208Let me get to the plot of the novel I was proposing. A writer uncovers the
209secrets of the UFO conspiracy, secret societies, and life after death, all of which
210lead to World War III spearheaded by a fundamentalist Christian president. In
211short, everything that eventually happens.
212All in all I was not such a good man to be around. Everywhere I saw both the
213potential for God and the potential for apocalypse. I believed UFOs were
214everywhere. I believed in the imminence of war. I believed that humanity was
215primitive, ignorant, past saving. The book was causing my marriage to fail—a
216form of personal apocalypse. I didn’t know which came first, my dissolving
217marriage or my obsession in the dissolving world.
218Everything wasn’t dire. The book was coming easily, usually a good sign. I
219felt like I might be onto something. It turns out I was channeling these ideas. In
220the hierarchy of inspiration, channeling is somewhere below divine inspiration
221and somewhere above blind luck.
222Before this becomes unintelligible, I’ll cut ahead. The Myers family (my
223name is Eugene Myers) was living outside Los Angeles. I was teaching a college
224creative writing course. I’d written enough by this point that I got a job teaching
225a course in autobiographical fiction (irony!) Not a great school, and the position
226didn’t pay much, but it was a job. Still trying to write, still plugging away. At 25,
227struggling as a writer was romantic, at 50, irresponsible. My life at the time
228
229should be some proof that my young self wasn’t embellishing. If he was being
230dishonest, he would have made me a success. But I cannot deny who I am: a
231moderately successful writer who can barely pay his bills on a professor’s salary
232and is still trying to write that one novel that will allow him to die satisfied.
233What can I tell you about the world today? The death of art is a good way to
234talk about the death of the world. When I was in my twenties, the 19th century
235was just one century away, lingering like a god behind us, a giant monkey on our
236backs—Dostoevsky, the Brontës, Flaubert, a modern Bible. The 20th century
237was much less imposing. For all the war, technological breakthrough, etc. the
238century ended in an artistic fizzle. Regrettably, the 21st began with the same
239fizzle, which never ended. It turns out that fizzle was the sound of a wick
240burning out before the great dynamic explosion of war. People had stopped
241trying, as if they had been struck with some tragic premonition. It’s all going to
242die, why bother? A kind of rational apathy that is only undepressing in hindsight.
243Instead of a great economic depression leading up to a war, there was a great
244artistic depression, which is almost to the world’s credit—that art had any impact
245at all. The past masters seemed clued into a greater light, but with God dying
246there were fewer clues. And it turns out that the lack of good art is as bad a thing
247as poverty. It fucks with the basic ether.
248They say that every generation romanticizes the one that came before it,
249unrealistically. But for us it really was the last decade. The world really did suck
250more than it ever had. You cannot imagine the alienation one feels when
251witnessing the world fall apart. Longing for the times of McDonald’s and bad
252movies, to bring back those you hate, is a complicated mental process, especially
253for a born misanthrope. Misanthropy was supposed to fade with age, wasn’t it?
254Only if the world improved with age as well, which it didn’t. Misanthropy
255wasn’t just a product of envy, condescension, vanity, and immaturity, but
256survival. While we lived in a world of rational apathy, we also lived in a world
257of rational cynicism, even a rational desire for the apocalypse. Armageddon was
258a form of ambition, an antidote. Play Arvo Pärt’s Tabula Rasa and you’ll see
259what I mean.
260I have to admit, during those years leading up to the Big One there was
261something electric in the air. Impending doom can be exciting. Actual doom is
262something else. Like the difference between drug addiction and drug withdrawal.
263I didn’t know we were close to the end. I was still thinking about Dickens and
264Dostoevsky, Mozart and Beethoven, Lennon/McCartney, as if past achievements
265would somehow save us. They were proof, weren’t they, that the human race
266was worth saving? They were proof like DNA evidence is proof—irrefutable,
267perhaps, but invisible.
268
269The point of this prelude is to give some backstory. I never hoped for any of
270this to come true, no matter how much I thought humanity deserved it. One
271question I hear out there—if this is so important, why spend the time to write a
272book? Shouldn’t you send it to the president? You must be asking that
273facetiously. I think you know that most people won’t believe me. Some will,
274though, and I hope to find some of you by sending this out into the world.
275It does seem trivial to use a literary medium to describe the end of the world,
276like using a billboard to tell the news. What can I say, I’m a writer so I chose my
277medium. I am also making the vain attempt to sum up the end of the world, as if
278my far-sighted eyes are the window in. I guess I’ve just summed up the limitless
279ego of the writer. Even in the face of genocide, he tries to make a case for the
280beautiful uniqueness of his life. But what choice did I have in the face of the
281Great Oppression—the death of God, science, love and hate—except to believe
282in myself.
283
284Chapter
285
2861
287
288Gentleman Reptile
289“There’s something wrong with me. I’m attracted to every one of my female
290students. Every one. This should be illegal. And they like it, they know.
291Professor Myyyy-errrrs, they say. Such a sexy name I have. I didn’t hang around
292with girls like that when I was their age. I dreamt of it. Of course. But I don’t
293even think there were girls like this when I was in college. It’s like they’re
294always naked. I never sowed my oats, do you hear me? I married young, I
295thought it was a mature and literary thing to do. It would make me a man. And if
296I got divorced, it would also be a literary thing to do. I’d be another Mailer. But
297—cruel joke—I don’t want to get divorced. I have failed a lot in my life and I
298don’t want to make a legal document of my failure. So I look at every young girl
299and wonder what it would be like. I’ve been adulterous a thousand times over
300just by looking at them. Eighteen is too young, they should raise the age to thirty.
301Help me doctor, help me, I even want to sleep with you.”
302I was talking to Sharon, an English professor—beautiful, a lesbian since birth.
303Smarter than you. Inappropriately dressed in tight seventies basketball shorts.
304Red hair, blue eyes, her skin pouted. Imagine a playmate from The New Yorker.
305Every sane man’s dream.
306“You’ve got a problem,” she said.
307“Hell yes, I’ve got a problem. What do I do?”
308“Maybe you have to sleep with one of these girls. Then you might see how
309young they are. Like sleeping with a child.”
310“Maybe it would be the most profoundly erotic experience of my life. Then
311what?”
312“Maybe you’ll have to teach her more than you think.”
313“In this day and age? And besides, I’m a teacher.”
314“You’ve got an answer for everything.”
315“It’s a problem. It either has every answer, or no answer.”
316“It’s a fairly dull problem, Eugene. Professors have always been tempted by
317this and many have gone through with it. More have gone through with it than
318been caught. And most of those who have been caught haven’t been fired.”
319
320“You’re not much of a help. So you think I should go through with it?”
321“Yes.”
322“I know I’m just looking for approval. If I beat off, the problem will go away.
323But it always comes back, like hunger for Chinese food.”
324“I’m leaving.”
325“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
326She looked at me with amusement and disgust, like a mirror. Then she wrote
327something down on a notepad, as if making a diagnosis. She stood up and stared
328at me intently for a moment. In her look: softness and respect and some lust.
329They should sell how that feels. And then she took off her top. She stood there
330with poise, as if I’d offered a piece of my life and she was offering me a piece of
331hers.
332“What do you think of them?” she asked.
333“They’re nice,” I said stupidly.
334She walked around the desk, hand trailing along the edge, and sat on my lap.
335Sweetly, not aggressively like a porn star out to avenge her life.
336It became blurry at this point. I saw flashes of her smile, her acceptance. This
337wasn’t going to last long. “Can I go?” I said. My clothes were still on.
338She smiled. “Yes,” she said.
339And I did. It was my first wet dream since I was fourteen.
340#
341And now I was fifty. I was lying in bed next to my wife. Stephanie, beautiful.
342The woman from the dream was my wife when I met her, at 23. Mixed with a
343girl who walked her fashionable dog around our neighborhood, also around 23,
344wore tight basketball shorts, naked with clothes on. Probably didn’t write for The
345New Yorker. I wrote down the dream immediately in a notebook beside the bed,
346which was something I’d been doing lately. One time long ago, I dreamt the first
347scene of a novel, woke up, and didn’t stop writing until the book was done. So I
348was trying to force inspiration. A quick analysis: the dream was about a more
349hopeful time when I was convinced of my future, but now the future was here
350and nothing like my faith. Mostly, the dream told me what I desired. I knew that
351already.
352As I was writing, my wife woke up.
353“What are you writing?” she asked.
354I almost told her. She wouldn’t take that as adultery, but immaturity. She was
355half-right. “A dream about work,” I said. “I’m hoping it will spark a story.”
356“Oh.”
357
358“At least I got some pages down,” I said, hopefully.
359“At least.”
360There was terrible emphasis on the word, “least,” which fueled me to write
361with more pristine detail the lesbian professor straddling me with worship. It’s
362not a very good marriage.
363#
364At the time I was working on a novel about the end of the world. One thing
365was true about that dream: I saw an apocalyptic amount of lust in my students’
366eyes. I had been wondering how to put that into words. I settled on the main
367character discovering his daughter doing porn online. I was the father of an
368eighteen-year-old so this was my worst nightmare come to life. Writing was like
369a prayer, a way to ward off disaster. If I wrote it, it couldn’t actually come true
370because that would be too much of a premonition.
371So which came first, my desire for my students or the novel? Both, no doubt.
372Writing was a form of therapy and method acting. I was trying to write a new
373Lolita, a vain attempt to shock people. Fifty years old and I still hadn’t lost the
374urge, probably because it hadn’t been done for so many years.
375I should explain where the world was. This was a world Nabokov hadn’t
376considered. The last sexual taboo had been destroyed on the 8th of January. That
377was the day a midseason replacement sitcom, “Stick it to Me,” went on the air. It
378was the first pornographic sitcom. Full nudity, full penetration, full money shots,
379all on free prime time. Once the internet entered the television business, the
380networks had no choice. SITM wasn’t the highest rated show ever, that wasn’t
381the point. Pornography was on TV. Soon after, you could see girls sucking off
382men in broad daylight, a crowded street. TV doesn’t cause violence, TV doesn’t
383cause promiscuity, some shout. That only applies to intelligent people, of which,
384we all know, there aren’t many. Most others looked at TV as if it were an
385advertisement for reality.
386I’m not against porn. Many porn stars had interesting stories to tell, I’m sure.
387But for all the empowerment porn stars may have claimed, they had no control
388over how porn was regarded—as a joke, as loveless, as discarding human
389feeling. The only thing that sitcom empowered were the networks and television
390executives who probably raped for sport.
391I would be lying if I said I didn’t watch SITM myself. Everyone did at some
392point. It was like watching an erotic car accident. I could never claim to be a
393fully evolved man.
394I went online to research the book—no, really, I found it angering,
395
396disappointing and arousing, which was a potent kind of fuel. Watching these
397beautiful, meek girls slowly emptying themselves. Thumbnails, pictures, movies,
398words like “Slut getting a mouth blessing.” I browsed briefly, saw a link for a
399movie clip, “Teen Girl with Glasses Schooled in Cock” (I loved girls in glasses,
400just look at my wife), and clicked on it, and then there she was.
401Sophia. Our daughter. I clicked stop quickly, my hand trembling. A freeze
402frame remained on the computer screen. My daughter was sitting in a school
403chair in some sort of classroom with a teacher, some man, pointing to the word
404“Cock” scrawled on the blackboard. I didn’t have to watch it because I knew
405what would happen. My heart felt deeply alive and dead at once, almost like
406when she was born and my wife had an emergency cesarean. Like feeling your
407soul.
408You asshole. You petty scumbag. All this time you were being playful about
409somebody else’s daughter. But also, I had predicted this, so I was proud for a
410moment, before realizing that my daughter was doing porn. Mostly I was
411thinking, Can’t I go back in time?
412What does one do in this situation? I drank whiskey from the bottle in my
413desk. I don’t drink often, but I kept it there. I stared at the picture of her on
414screen. It was similar to staring at the first edition of my first novel, turning it
415over in my hands, thinking it might evaporate. Almost as if I hoped it would
416disappear because my life would never be the same. I stared at the screen hoping
417to come to terms with the picture of my daughter. This is similar to a drug addict
418trying to cure himself by overdosing.
419“She’s still alive,” I muttered to myself, as if I’d heard she was in a car
420accident and I needed to rush to the hospital. “She’s still alive.”
421I kept staring at the picture. I couldn’t help myself. There was something very
422powerful about seeing her on screen. It felt significant in a way I couldn’t yet
423guess. Like this might solve something I had been avoiding. An important
424judgment. I wanted to know more. I pressed play.
425“You’re good to me,” she said, as it ended.
426To be honest, the worst thing about seeing my daughter was that I felt
427something besides disgust, fear, regret—positive reactions, considering. No,
428there was something else—I won’t say titillated (I have to be careful here, as
429careful as I would have to be with my wife, please be patient), but at the very
430least, affected. The best way to describe seeing my daughter in that position was
431not with pure sadness, but also fascination. A kind of fantastical fiction, the
432worst dream realized. It was similar to the way people reacted to September
43311th, any tragedy. Wow, some thought, it’s impressive, even moving. Watching
434my daughter, the porn star, was like witnessing an act of terrorism on our family.
435
436Hurtful, sickening, faith-destroying, but so ambitious in its degradation—and so
437personal—that I could not look away. The future was a violently fucked-up place
438that any of this was an issue.
439#
440I wasn’t sure if I should show my wife the movie. I had been so devastated. I
441could just tell her about it. But she would demand to see it. And really it was
442something she needed to see. She had a much better chance of talking to Sophia
443about it. Some things a father cannot talk about with his daughter. Even someone
444who likes to believe he’s honest.
445I would have to be careful with the way I broached the subject with my wife.
446What was I doing looking at girls online when I just happened to find a video of
447my daughter? Had I watched the video? This, after all, could reflect very poorly
448on me.
449I had to wait an hour for my wife to get home. In these situations, an hour can
450feel like trudging through mud—and I mean that literally. I felt like I was getting
451dirtier by the second. I moved to the living room, away from the office. The
452scene was still alive on screen like a camera looking into our house. I drank the
453whiskey slowly. If I was drunk, I couldn’t effectively defend myself.
454My wife normally got home from work at five. I should have waited at least
455until Stephanie had walked into the house before I told her. She didn’t even have
456a chance to go to the bathroom, hang up her coat, have a drink. But if I have
457something to say, I cannot keep it a secret.
458She walked into the house looking overcome, as if anticipating bad news.
459Sometimes it seemed like she could be psychic—at the very least she had a sharp
460woman’s intuition. She would feel a crushing anxiety, only an hour later to be
461struck with bad news.
462“Everything all right?” I asked her. The door hadn’t yet closed.
463“Yes.”
464“You sure?”
465“Yes.”
466Annoyed. Get out of my face, she was thinking. I am not very good at setting
467up stories. Which was why I jumped into it.
468“I have some bad news,” I said.
469“Can’t I sit down at least?” she said.
470“Of course, sit down,” I said. But that was a lie. The ball was rolling. “I have
471to show you something.”
472“What?” As if putting up with the whims of a child.
473
474“Please come upstairs,” I said.
475“OK,” she gave in.
476“This is terrible,” I said, a pathetic warning, as we walked up the stairs, me
477behind her. I watched her clothes ascend: a thick, dark-maroon, flowered skirt,
478one of my favorites, with a black cardigan over an off-white shirt. She always
479looked nice when she went to work; a woman.
480“Come into the office,” I said. I opened the door, methodically, as if it opened
481into someplace that was not my office.
482“What is it?” she asked, as if to say, “This better be good.”
483“I discovered this on the computer today,” I said.
484The web page with our daughter was still on screen. “You’re good to me.” Her
485eyes closed…I don’t really want to describe this.
486Stephanie stared at the picture of Sophia. “What is…” she said, but she knew
487immediately. She started crying and I felt regretful: hers was such a more honest
488response.
489Stephanie was too hurt to even ask why I had happened to come across the
490video. “Leave me alone,” she said and I left her in the office. I don’t know if she
491watched the movie. The experience killed her, briefly.
492#
493When we had Sophia, I finally felt like I finally belonged to the world. I had
494been given a window into real passion and experience. No longer could I say
495that I didn’t know what it was to be alive. And our daughter was beautiful,
496intelligent, happy. An eager artist, she loved to read, we thought we had done
497everything right with our daughter. So what would make her do this almost a
498month to the day after she had turned eighteen?
499She was in the last semester of high school, but technically legal. She would
500be going to college in the fall at the same school where I taught, on a discount. I
501couldn’t afford better— a whole other blow to my ego and a different story.
502I sat in the den downstairs waiting for the next thing to happen. When Sophia
503got home from school she went straight into her room. It did not feel like my
504daughter had come home. Not a stranger, an imposter. My wife and I converged
505immediately in the upstairs hallway, without planning it, and walked silently to
506her door. Never in my life had I felt so much like a parent. That is, so selfrighteously moral.
507I knocked on the door gently, not a bang.
508“Yeah,” came a small voice.
509I opened the door.
510
511Sophia saw us both standing in the doorway, looking deadly. Her eyes went
512wide, already assaulted.
513Stephanie started right in: “Have you heard of Librarywhores.com?” she said,
514which sounded foolish spoken out loud, like a punchline.
515Sophia looked incredulous, but not guilty. It was possible that she didn’t know
516the site. It occurred to me that she might not even know that the movie was
517online at all. Which was thoughtless in a whole different way.
518“No,” she said, feigning disgust.
519“Your father found…your father and I found some pictures of you on the
520internet today,” Stephanie said.
521Sophia was beginning to understand. “So?” she said, sounding thirteen.
522“They’re awful pictures.”
523Sophia glanced at me with a look of horror, as if I was looking at her naked
524right there.
525“So,” she said again, her only defense.
526“So,” Stephanie said. “I don’t even know how to put this. What the fuck is
527wrong with you?”
528My wife looked like a rabid dog that’s just learned it’s dying. Instinctively, I
529wanted to jump to my daughter’s defense, “Hey, now, wait a minute.” But I
530thought it was better if I stayed out of it.
531“What…how…” Stephanie trailed off. “Explain this.”
532Sophia looked at me again with a “Does he have to be here?” look. Stephanie
533gave me the same expression.
534“I’ll leave,” I said.
535“No,” Stephanie demanded. “She needs to be embarrassed as fucking
536possible.”
537The “fucks” were having their effect. Sophia was beginning to tremble, break.
538Part of this lecture, I now realized, was an act of sadism on our part. To make
539our daughter feel as bad as she made us feel.
540“Sophia,” I broke in. “This is a terrible thing you’ve done. You’re smarter than
541this.”
542“It’s not that big a deal,” she said. “Everybody’s doing it.” She regretted
543saying that—she was smart enough to realize that it was flimsy reasoning,
544especially to people like her parents. “You guys, it’s just different now. This is
545what people do these days. It’s just an activity. Doing it in front of a camera isn’t
546different than doing it normally.”
547I thought she might have a point. Maybe this was progress. Maybe taboos
548needed to be destroyed utterly in order to not matter anymore. Just not by my
549family.
550
551“It’s just an experience, you know,” Sophia added.
552“Experience, my foot,” Stephanie exclaimed. Sophia and I shared a smirk. But
553then I composed myself. “We’re not old cranks if we think that having sex on
554camera isn’t a good learning experience.”
555“Let me ask you something?” Sophia asked, poised, ready to be facetious.
556“Yes,” Stephanie said, ready not to listen.
557“Are you against porn?”
558Reluctantly, “No.”
559“So what’s wrong with me doing it?”
560I followed her logic. I was almost proud of her.
561But her mother said, “That doesn’t matter. I like to think in our family that we
562prize intelligence over ignorance. And to have sex and broadcast it for everyone
563to see is ignorant.”
564Somehow, even though at the beginning of this discussion I had never before
565felt more in the right, Sophia was making me feel old, out of touch. I still felt
566like it was a regrettable thing for her to have done. But here she was in front of
567us: bright, alive, lucid. She wasn’t dying, she wasn’t broken. Watching the video
568of her had been, in a way, like watching her be murdered. But it wasn’t murder,
569it was sex. I guess I was proud that she was so confident and undeterred by us
570confronting her. She was the same person she always had been.
571Her mother, though, was not going to budge. And I thank her for that.
572“It’s ugly,” Stephanie said. “And I like to think that people in this family
573understand beauty.”
574“You can only understand beauty when you witness ugliness,” Sophia said.
575She sounded so much like one of my students. “Dad has written about that same
576thing, you know. He even wrote a novel about a porn star.”
577“This is all getting too philosophical,” I broke in, because I could see that we
578might lose the argument. “This isn’t only about beauty, or intelligence, or
579experience, Sophia, or what I’ve written as fiction. It’s about something just
580being plainly wrong. Murder is illegal for a reason. I’m sure to murder someone
581would be a significant learning experience, but that does not make it right. The
582world is disintegrating—it is becoming more of a stupid, terrible, violent place
583and it is better to not contribute to it. I know when I was younger I liked to write
584about violence, even about sexuality. But that was when violence and rampant
585sexuality were not so common as they are today. Believe me, Sophia, you know
586I’m no conservative. I just think that with the world heading where it is, it is
587important to fight the good fight.”
588“What can I tell you,” Sophia said.
589This had somehow become a no-win fight. I had figured Sophia would recoil
590
591in remorse and humiliation, but she hadn’t. It was like an argument about grades
592or a broken curfew, nothing so consequential. She sat in her desk chair limply,
593unchanged. Which prompted my wife to say, “Sophia, do you understand, this is
594the end. I don’t know if I can think of you as my daughter anymore. Nothing is
595ever going to be the same. You disgust me. As a woman and your mother and as
596a human being.”
597This crushed us all. Sophia’s brown eyes got both angry and tearful.
598Everybody was dying. Sophia stood up and walked past us, down the stairs and
599out the front door, so we couldn’t see her crying.
600Stephanie and I stared at each other, drunk with despondency. A black shade
601over our daughter’s room. Nothing was said. Everybody needed to be alone. We
602parted.
603#
604I was left alone in Sophia’s room. Feminine, smelled good, clean, like fresh
605laundry. Sometimes I thought it might be the room of a young lesbian. There
606were more pictures of women than men. Marilyn Monroe, Bettie Page. I
607respected her love of the classics. Better big-breasted women than forgettable
608teenage boys. Not that I would have been disappointed if she were a lesbian, it
609would just be nice to know who she was. No, finding her online was as bad as
610could be, a murder of what remained of the innocence in my life, which I held up
611as evidence that the world could again be what it once was.
612The air had lightened a bit with the women gone. I surveyed what had
613happened: I predicted something in my writing. That, or I somehow allowed it to
614happen by writing about it, gave her license, which was never something I
615wanted to face.
616I didn’t know what I was looking for in her room. I just wanted further
617evidence of who I’d created, and that she had a life beyond that movie.
618On the desk, a diary. So common and gentle a thing. Old-fashioned, hopeful.
619We had bought it for her. There was no lock on the diary, which at this point I
620saw as symbolic. No lock on her diary? Of course not, this girl keeps nothing
621safe or sacred. This was a stretch because if she cared anything for symbolism,
622for meaning, she wouldn’t be fucking on a computer screen, probably for money.
623Did it make it worse or better if she was paid?
624I justified the absence of a lock as an invitation. I opened the diary and began
625to read.
626Much of it was intelligent, thoughtful, as I knew she was. Dry, factual, mainly.
627There was an assessment of one of my own novels, which made me intensely
628
629proud, flattered, even embarrassed (as if she had caught me naked) for a brief
630moment, but then I remembered why I was there.
631I skipped to a page toward the end. It turned out to be the most telling page of
632the diary, as if I still knew my daughter.
633“I have to write this down. I feel so weak. Every guy I come in contact with, I
634just want to kiss. I wonder how women don’t just want to jump on a guy and
635start kissing him, pulling down his pants or whatever. I know this sounds unfeminist but what am I supposed to do when I actually tremble when I see every
636guy? I’m talking every guy. Maybe it’s because I’m young and I’m supposed to
637be procreating or something. I just want to have sex with every one of them.
638Even old man [sic]. There must be something wrong with me, cause I’m fucking
639horny. Old or young, I just want to have the experience.”
640She sounded just like her father.
641#
642This story should be a lesson to you. The future in store is a madly messed-up
643place. True, 2008 is hardly different. This could happen in 2008 as easily as
6442012, as easily as 1972 for that matter. The difference, perhaps, is scale. In the
645past, chastity was an issue, now it existed for no one. I sound like a Christian,
646don’t I, decrying how Satan is taking the souls of our children? I think that gives
647a bad name to Christians. Satan—or what he commonly represents—is no good.
648The reason I bring up Christianity is because episodes like the one with my
649family were the reason an arch-right Christian named Charles Winchell was
650elected president. I would have even voted for him if I hadn’t sensed—like the
651minority—that he was a complete lunatic.
652
653Chapter
654
6552
656
657President Wind Chill
658Charles Winchell was a diplomat’s son. A born politician. He gave speeches at
659three years old, they said. He was many different men at once, a kind of wellreceived schizophrenic. Charles was his presidential name. He went by Chuck to
660the unions, Charlie to the ladies, and Charles at the convention. And he had a
661different accent, a different style of speech, to fit every name.
662It was not surprising that Winchell was able to get elected. The scene with my
663daughter should tell you something where the world was residing when Winchell
664was running for president. We were in need of a dictator. The world was so
665uncontrollable that people were increasingly open to fascism, on the left and
666right, because the alternative wasn’t working.
667Sex wasn’t the only taboo that had been broken—and by broken I mean
668destroyed utterly. Violence too had become so commonplace as to be—not
669normal exactly—but tolerated, the way one tolerated months of rain; you could
670complain, raise your fist at the sky, but there was really nothing you could do.
671Along with the casual sex came casual violence. This I will not blame on TV.
672The media maybe, but that’s too simplistic a scapegoat. For all the media’s
673emphasis on bad news, they were reporting on things that actually happened.
674Soon, there was nothing but bad news.
675It began with the school shootings. I had watched the shootings become more
676commonplace with a sense of dread and fascination. I was as alienated as a kid
677could be in high school. I hated everyone, everyone avoided me. But even in my
678darkest rage I did not fantasize about killing every last one of them. Might have
679to do with my particular brand of insecurity: I believe both that I am better than
680everyone, and that everyone is better than me. So the school shootings to me
681seemed like a kind of demonic possession, religious, a mixture of sickness and
682ambition that was once left to the Hitlers of the world. But school violence—like
683Hitler—was only the beginning.
684I don’t know exactly when it happened. There wasn’t a moment, a collective
685epiphany, some final act of violence where everyone said, Fuck it, why be safe?
686But soon perfectly normal people were walking into a Wal-Mart and gunning
687
688people down. Going postal became a pastime. You couldn’t go to the market
689without being afraid. One of the basic tenets of sci-fi literature is to take things
690that are happening in the present and exaggerate the hell out of them. It’s like a
691quantum theory of society—if something happens once, on a small scale, it can
692happen everywhere all the time. I mention this because it might appear that I’m
693using a literary device. Sure, school shootings. What’s next, a shooting a day?
694School bombings? School warfare? Tragically, yes.
695But even talking about guns and pornography is provincial. Although
696anything that is provincial to America seems to affect everything—to say
697otherwise is like saying an alcoholic father doesn’t affect his children. On the
698world stage, things were even worse. Climate changes, many small wars over
699food, more terrorism. AIDS was cured, but then there were new diseases like
700panspermia, a virus with arms and legs that acted very much like it had a
701conscious intelligence, invented who knows where. The highest-grossing group
702was called Sickle Cell, with their album Sick Sells. I won’t get into everything
703right now. I don’t want to overload you with bad news.
704Really, it’s no wonder Winchell got elected. Try to imagine the humiliation
705and heartbreak. People seemed to be losing their humanity, as if in preparation
706for a major war.
707Charles Winchell came into this environment. The world needed a change,
708and fast. New policies had been tried time and again, but our basic system was
709broken, so the planet continued to die, people’s malevolence did not go away
710and we limped along with small progress and bigger problems. Winchell was a
711member of a newly created party—the Unitans—a sort of valiant attempt to
712destroy gridlock and divisiveness. People welcomed the new party. Even I would
713have voted for him if it wasn’t for his creepy emphasis on Christianity, his eyes
714which managed to be large and beady at once, conniving and charming. He was
715everyman depending on who was looking at him. If you wanted a bad-ass, you
716got a bad-ass, if you wanted thoughtful, you got it. Of course, this was
717“thoughtful” to people who didn’t think—I’m not sure the man read, ever, except
718for his Bible. But he gave the appearance of graciousness, and in that day and
719age that was enough. And this was not slick, former-actor, politician’s-son
720graciousness—this was where he even got me. The man talked like a person. He
721sounded like a cross between an aggravated football coach, a successful car
722salesman, slightly Southern, from St. Louis—and also something completely
723original, indefinable. He actually memorized his speeches so he wouldn’t look
724stiff and mannered. He was said to have a photographic memory. On talk shows
725he would say things like “Don’t be stupid.” He even used bad language, with a
726fatherly twinkle in his eye, saying, “I know we all talk like this, so what does it
727
728matter? It doesn’t fucking matter, right? They’re just words. We have more to
729worry about.” His use of bad language was what got liberals on his side. He
730admitted that he liked women, did some drugs in college, and loved movies. I
731thought it might be good for the country to have a president who spoke his mind,
732who seemed human, no matter what his ideas. It might humanize the country.
733Because at the time, it wasn’t as if any legislation was having any effect. People
734were screwing and killing each other in broad daylight. Maybe what the country
735needed was a good scolding by a good, hard-talking Christian. Something had to
736be done. If nothing else, he was entertaining.
737By writing that last sentence, I am admitting partial responsibility for his
738ascendancy. By liking the man, I helped get him elected. I contributed to the
739illusion of his charm. But what did it matter when he was, basically, the only one
740running. The Democrat, an Asian woman, got fewer votes than a city mayor.
741Everyone wanted this man elected. Perhaps America had a collective death wish.
742A desire to wipe the map clean and start over. People had lost faith in God and
743country. Chuck Winchell was the best man for the job: a businessman, a
744preacher, a mechanic, an actor, a lover, a salesman, every American. He would
745resurrect “In God We Trust.”
746His most innocuous slogan was “Chuck is Good Luck.” But the one that he
747threw out only so often was the heart of his campaign—the heart of the man
748himself. He told us that he was running on the “Apocalypse Ticket.” Not
749literally, he said with his smirk (was it smug, diabolical, or earnest? Only God
750knew.) What he meant by “Apocalypse,” he assured us, was that the old ways
751had to go. After all, the Greek word for apocalypse, apokalupsis, meant “to
752uncover,” “to disclose,” “to reveal.” There was so much violence, so much
753casual sex, we needed a complete overhaul. Who could argue? “I’ll invoke the
754Bible if I have to,” he said. And then he would say (and this is where he charmed
755people), “And I won’t apologize for using the Bible. Hell yes, I’ll reference the
756Bible. Screw church and state, we’ve got some real problems at stake. The Bible
757is a book full of goodness and wisdom. As are the Bhagavad Gita, the Torah, the
758sayings of Confucius for that matter. Wars have started because of it, but more
759people have been personally resurrected. The Bible is a salve for these immoral
760times.” Out with the old, in with the nuclear, one cynical pundit quipped.
761Somehow, the Apocalypse Ticket struck a chord with people. Things did need to
762change, boy did they, and the apocalypse was only a metaphor, right?
763If only. It turned out everything the new president was shouting about was to
764be taken literally. The man did not have a capacity for irony. Which—ironically
765—was exactly the kind of thinking he was trying to kill with his apocalypse. The
766casual, smirking attitude towards violence, sex, everything. Give him credit, the
767
768man was sincere in a deepening ocean of insincerity: people had forgotten how
769to believe, and he was going to bring back their faith. Even if it meant killing
770them.
771#
772Fast forward to the oval office, two years in.
773Things weren’t going as well as President Winchell had hoped. The world was
774falling apart and he was being blamed for it. For most of his presidency he was
775disliked. His initial charm had worn off. It had gotten him elected, but his
776election had solved nothing. No speech or town hall helped. Some said he went
777too far, others said he didn’t do enough. This didn’t match well with his
778personality. He’d always been a sensitive soul. A dark look from his wife could
779send him down for hours. In fact, he was a man for whom there wasn’t enough
780praise in the world. One insult overshadowed everything that came before it, no
781matter who it came from, no matter how red a neck. So what would such a man
782do if more than half the country hated him? Half, Christ, he had a 93%
783disapproval rating.
784People were just angry about the state of things, he tried to rationalize. They
785were afraid. He was an easy target. All the same, he didn’t become president to
786be hated.
787He needed to regain their devotion. He needed to do something permanent to
788help the country. What was the point of discussing another health care or
789education bill? They didn’t do much good anyway. The world didn’t just need
790another bandage. It needed to be baptized. The time had finally come.
791Five men sat in the Oval Office. Chief of staff, VP, NSA, SOS and SOD. Gray
792and overweight men, none of them looking particularly healthy. It was early
793morning, the furniture looked like your grandparents’ place. The office didn’t
794look historical anymore, it looked old and used. The men sat in this boardroom,
795sunk back in chairs, as if part of the fabric. They loved their boss, but work
796wasn’t exactly fun. It’s not fun to be hated by 350 million people. More than
797that: the world. Even if you never read an article, the op-eds that read like
798obituaries, you felt it like pollution. They were as ready as Charles for what he
799had to say. President Winchell started:
800“All right, people, we’ve been here two years and nothing’s happened. I’m
801sick of it. You ever see a movie about the presidency? Nixon, Kennedy, Bush,
802whatever. All that slow camera movement, swelling music, as if every moment
803is profound, loaded with history. I think I can speak for most of us when I say
804that that’s not how it feels. Am I right? This place is like working in an office.
805
806An office that’s like a museum, but sometimes I just don’t feel the romance.”
807He picked at a small scab on his upper right cheek. He’d been playing tennis
808and hit himself with his racket. The small humiliation had been reported.
809“What am I getting at?” he said. “It’s time to start history of our own. It’s time
810to feel like we’re part of something. And this something is going to be like
811nothing else in American history. We’re going to change the course of the
812fucking universe.”
813He paused to make sure that his audience was listening. They were, of course.
814Not just because they were paid to, not because he was the president, but
815because they had come to adore him, bordering on worship, the way a suicidal
816jumper might border the edge of a cliff. They were in the business of defending
817him and their relationship had become like a marriage in which the country was
818their dysfunctional child. Even though they were a closer witness to his flaws,
819his temper, his indiscretions, this increased their love for him. They saw that he
820was human—he was one of them. But he wasn’t one of them. He had presence.
821The air seemed to part when he entered the room. He was a speechmaker, despite
822the bad reviews. His moments of humanity illustrated just how profoundly
823different he was.
824“We’re all Christians here, am I right? Real Christians, who believe every
825word of the Bible. Of course, that’s why I put you here. Now, I don’t know why
826any good Christian president has not done this sooner. We all want Jesus here,
827right? We all want a thousand years of peace. For too long, we have been trying
828to prevent a nuclear war. We’ve had to debate tooth and nail to go to war.
829Vietnam and Iraq screwed us up where this is concerned. The peaceniks think
830this is an example of how war can go wrong. What they don’t understand is it
831was the most peaceful thing that could have happened. It’s kept another world
832war at bay. But that’s all behind us.
833“We’ve discussed this before, as a hypothetical, an abstract. It’s always been
834in the back of our minds and plans, but never truly made reality. It’s time for us
835to usher in the Second Coming of Christ. The New Testament says Christ will
836only come after a worldwide calamity. It’s our job to make sure that happens.”
837He turned and addressed the window, which reflected him back. “It’s a shame it
838has taken this long. The ACLU and the non-religious have kept us from our
839natural human duty. It’s time to test who’s been bad and who’s been good. Of
840course, we will be protected fifty feet underground. That will be our rapture.
841Proof that what we’re doing is right.”
842There was a dark, calm silence. Clouds even passed in front of the sun. It had
843become cinematic, as promised. If there could be music, it would have sounded
844like the final movement of Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony.
845
846Derek Whitehead, Chief of Staff, raised his right hand and said, pragmatically,
847“This has been prophesied in the Book of Revelation.”
848“That’s right,” Winchell said. “We are not doing anything that is not supposed
849to happen. Anything else?”
850“This will be the most important event in the history of mankind,” the NSA
851said, soberly.
852“That’s what I’m saying.”
853The five of them were starting to looked pleased now, enticed. A change from
854the sober gravity that usually prevailed during these meetings. They all seemed
855relaxed, even relieved. A kind of dumbfounded joy, “Why didn’t we do this
856sooner?” Suddenly, their lives had purpose. They’d always felt like chosen men
857—no matter what they did they were a part of history: they belonged to the
858United States government. But now they were sitting on the throne of God, the
859only being higher than the president of the United States of America. They were
860members of the final American government. They would be responsible for
861everlasting peace.
862I do not know what this could have felt like to them. Imagine all the pride in
863the history of America felt in one rush. They suddenly had proof of God, they
864were the most important men to have ever lived, they had jurisdiction over the
865earth, they were absolved of any guilt or doubt, they were free. I don’t know, it
866must have been fun.
867
868Chapter
869
8703
871
872Before War
873You might read that last chapter and think it’s a deranged parody of paranoia. I
874thought so as well. It doesn’t take a great leap of imagination to call a politician
875a liar and corrupt, or even dangerous. Instead of referencing historical events to
876write my work of fiction, I invented. I was exorcising my worry by writing the
877novel. It is only in times of peace that you can write about war with a sense of
878irony.
879At the same time, it did occur to me that Winchell was trying to bring about
880the apocalypse. There had been no direct evidence, just mountains of indirect
881evidence, such as his “Apocalypse Ticket.” He had yet to make a speech, saying,
882“I am going to start the apocalypse to usher in the Second Coming of Christ and
883one thousand years of peace,” etc. Mostly because he would have been
884immediately impeached, assassinated, or both. He was doing it by the book, so
885to speak. One world government, seven years of the Anti-Christ, the Mark of the
886Beast—there were a lot of rules to the apocalypse.
887Aside from working on the novel, what mattered to me most was finding the
888person who violated my daughter. To meet the man who was holding the camera.
889It was evidence of something I’d created coming to life. I’ll admit it, I wanted to
890regain that feeling—it was like participating in my own fiction. I wanted to see
891where that led. In a way it felt like avenging my daughter’s murder. Though I
892knew she would get over it. People got over terrible sex the way they got over
893the death of a loved one, even if it stayed with them. One time with a girlfriend
894she started weeping in the middle of sex because it reminded her of being raped.
895A terrible moment, one that raped my memory, but we’re both still breathing.
896And it’s hardly the worst thing that’s happened between two or more people. Or
897even alone.
898I was compelled to meet the man. That strip of film was evidence of my
899failure as a father. Finding her attacker wasn’t really very fatherly either. Selfinvolved again, I was going to avenge my failure. It was all I could think about.
900I couldn’t find a name or an address attached to the LibraryWhores site. It
901took some strength to go back there. Sophia’s picture, a headshot, was on the
902
903front page. It wouldn’t be surprising if the site took in videos from all over
904America.
905Sophia lived at home and hadn’t been on vacation or even a field trip in some
906time. The video was obviously made very recently and made somewhere in
907town. With no name and no address, I didn’t know where to look.
908My first thought was to go to her high school. Maybe he hung around the
909school like drug dealers or perverts hung around elementary schools. I knew it
910was one guy because I’d seen him in videos with other girls: I recognized his
911cock. This was the kind of detective work I had to do.
912I went to Sophia’s high school—named after a president I knew nothing about
913—at the end of my own school day after classes had ended, around one. I parked
914and walked around the school once, a collection of brick buildings and a wide
915expanse of grass. Most of the school was meant for recreation. I was looking for
916a sleazy man in a trenchcoat. Didn’t find him.
917And then I saw someone. He was standing by the fence behind the football
918goalposts. It was a big campus, old, very nice. Home of the Lions. The man
919wasn’t wearing a trenchcoat, but he was smoking a cigarette, alone, which
920looked deviant. No one smoked anymore.
921I approached the figure with no clear idea of what I was going to say. I hadn’t
922really thought this through because thinking might have made me stop. He was
923wearing a beige button-down shirt tucked into his pants, holding a dark-navy
924jacket. He saw me and his mouth twitched a little bit, maybe nervous to be
925seeing someone out here beyond the fence. It seemed like we were the only
926people within miles. It felt like a desert. This remote part of the school wasn’t a
927great place for him to be finding anyone. Or maybe it was the best place.
928You can’t really walk up to someone and start talking, really. I’m not a smoker
929so I didn’t have a good in. And “Can I bum one?” didn’t feel like a good comeon, especially since I had the urge to strangle him. I didn’t want to owe him any
930gratitude.
931I reached him. He seemed attractive in person, boyish to women older than
932him, but masculine to girls younger than him. A good combination for what he
933was doing. I had to remind myself that this guy could have been anyone. I so
934wanted to believe he was the one.
935He was still smoking. I was standing, hands on the fence, gazing at the
936football field and the school buildings in the distance, as if looking for
937something. Directions, I thought. I could ask for directions.
938“Is this Buchanan High School?” I asked.
939“It is,” he said. I couldn’t place the voice. A voice that said “Take off your
940top” with a slight laugh, as if saying, I know this is a little bit wrong but don’t
941
942worry, it will be fun.
943“Good,” I said. “Nice looking campus.”
944He nodded and shrugged and looked straight ahead.
945This was about to end, just like that. I’m not the kind of person who can start a
946conversation out of the dark and charm up information.
947“You live around here?” I said.
948“Not far,” he said. A slight look of annoyance, and frankly, I didn’t blame him.
949“Look, do you make videos on the internet?” I blurted. It felt liberating to
950finally say it. “I’m looking for someone who does.”
951He looked at me with disdain. “Videos. No, I don’t make videos. What kind of
952videos you talking about?” He smiled then, slightly but devilishly, as if he knew
953exactly what I was talking about.
954“Porn videos,” I said and regretted it. I had been so obsessed that I had
955forgotten how this looked. I was suddenly objective and realized I looked like a
956sweating pervert looking for action.
957“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I have to get back to
958work.”
959He began walking away.
960“It’s you,” I called to his back. “You’re the one who does it.” I started walking
961after him, violence stirring.
962He turned back sharply. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
963Please leave me alone.”
964He took a left through a door in the fence and started walking towards the
965school, a fearful look my way. Almighty, he was a teacher on a cigarette break. I
966felt like a violating idiot.
967I stood by the fence for another ten minutes, as if on my own cigarette break
968and the air was smoke. I soon came up with a justification: what my daughter did
969was so ugly that it only created more ugliness in its wake; i.e. I’m a victim.
970Always more comforting than believing a stranger thinks I’m hateful.
971Worse yet, I was back to square one.
972I went back home and wrote all this out. Another form of justification. If I
973turn the experience into words, I have the chance to make it seem useful, even
974literary. Usually works while I’m writing, not so long after.
975But a funny thing happened while I was writing. I was struck with the
976suspicion that the teacher was my man. I couldn’t shed it. This might have been
977wish fulfillment, another way to curb embarrassment, but I was convinced it was
978something I needed to investigate further. Maybe I was getting a little too
979enamored with my powers of prediction. But what was the worst that could
980happen: I’d be embarrassed twice.
981
982It seemed a little tidy that a teacher had made the video, but not impossible.
983You could never see his face. Anyone who could identify him by his cock alone
984had another set of problems.
985I went back to the same spot the next day. He was there. I would have been
986worried about coming back to the spot where I’d been questioned by a deranged
987porn addict, but there probably weren’t many places for a teacher to smoke in
988peace.
989I approached him like the day before. It was just me and him. It was a nicer
990day, bluer.
991He didn’t recognize me right off. He looked at me like he couldn’t quite place
992the face, maybe even grateful for the recognition. The sky was blue and I was
993wearing a light-blue shirt. The day before I’d been dressed in shades of brown,
994like a good professor. As I got closer, he recognized me and frowned bitterly.
995“Look,” he began.
996“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I countered. “Listen to me for a second, please.
997My daughter was found on a pornographic website. I thought maybe she met the
998man in charge of it at school. So I came looking for him. And then I saw you.
999That’s all I am. A concerned father. I’m sorry how I came off.”
1000He seemed relieved, even interested. A good story for his cigarette break. “I’m
1001sorry about that,” he said. “That’s gotta suck.”
1002“Yeah,” I said. “So, you don’t know anyone who hangs around here who
1003might be involved in something like that?”
1004“Not really, no. She could have met him at the mall, the beach, any number of
1005places.”
1006“I know. I thought I’d try here first. She’s here every day.”
1007“Yeah, but if I was one of those guys I’d get her when she’s feeling a little
1008looser. On the weekends, when they’re more ready to experiment. Besides, I
1009don’t think he’d be hanging around a high school. Odds are most aren’t over
1010eighteen. If it were me, I’d go to the community college. You see those girls?
1011They dress like porn stars.”
1012There was something very weird about this answer. As if he knew what he
1013was talking about. As I mentioned before, these were sex-obsessed times, so it
1014shouldn’t have been surprising. Still, I got the feeling, or maybe it was a hope,
1015that he was toying with me.
1016“I’ll check the community college,” I said.
1017“Hell, check the university,” he said. “It’s not much different over there either.
1018I’m sure you know that.”
1019He smiled at me. What did he mean by that? I never told him I worked at the
1020college.
1021
1022“It’s a college, not a university.”
1023“Whatever. Girls seemed ready to play from every walk of life.” He paused.
1024Thought about smoking, then didn’t. “It’s enough to make you hate all girls,
1025until you remember they’re so good to look at.”
1026This was him. This was the guy. What were the odds that the first person I
1027talked to was the one, but it just hit me. His hatred, sexuality, indifference. It was
1028him.
1029“It’s you,” I said.
1030“Not me,” he said. “But I can understand you being really upset about this. I
1031couldn’t imagine a girlfriend doing that, let alone a daughter. That’s fucked up.
1032Shouldn’t happen.”
1033He looked me in the eyes then quickly looked away, as if the power of our
1034different forms of regret was too much. He stared straight in front of him. “I
1035shouldn’t be saying this,” he said. “But I know someone who might be
1036involved.”
1037#
1038That someone was his brother. The teacher, named Joel, pleaded with me to
1039not tell his brother where I got my information. Joel was having a crisis of
1040conscience. “A boyfriend finding out is one thing. Happens all the time. A father
1041is something else. Weird to think all those girls have parents somewhere.”
1042It was just a coincidence that my daughter went to the same school where he
1043worked. She wasn’t in his class. He taught physics, my daughter didn’t take
1044physics. She’d taken one year of chemistry to fulfill a requirement and then she
1045was done.
1046He insisted that I wouldn’t go to the school board to get him fired. He said he
1047knew what his brother was doing but he wasn’t involved in any way. I said I
1048wouldn’t tell anyone but, of course, I wasn’t sure this was true. First I had to
1049confront the man. For what, I didn’t know. My daughter was safe, she hadn’t
1050been kidnapped. At the same time, I felt like I was getting part of her back.
1051His brother, Frank, did indeed work outside the community college. Either
1052that or he put an ad in the local weekly looking for models. I remembered that
1053Sophia had taken a class at the community college to help pad her application to
1054college. She was studious. The class was “Memoirist Fiction.” Too ironic to
1055matter at that moment.
1056“Just look in the back of the weekly,” Joel said. “There’s an ad you call and
1057then Frank gives you the address, once he establishes you’re up for what goes
1058down.”
1059
1060Who was I going to get to make the call? My daughter? Not likely. My wife?
1061Even less so. They didn’t know what I was doing and I didn’t want them to.
1062They might stop me. This obsession didn’t have room for an accomplice.
1063“Just give me the address,” I said.
1064“OK, whatever,” he said, with a sweep of the hand, as if his indifference were
1065an excuse. He gave me the address.
1066I left immediately.
1067#
1068The house wasn’t far off. It was a nice house, though not too nice. No shiny
1069black cars in the driveway, everything wasn’t glossed and newly painted. I
1070hadn’t stumbled upon the lair of a porn king. But it was nice enough that any
1071visitors would be impressed that the owner was legitimate. It was a house I
1072wouldn’t mind living in. Off a fairly busy avenue, but on a street with little
1073traffic. The front entrance was flanked by tall shrubs so the front door was
1074conveniently shielded from the street. I didn’t know why I was taking in all these
1075details. I was usually only observant in retrospect. I was seeing this with pure,
1076objective clarity. Never did I do that in my own life—the way people often did in
1077novels, thinking reflectively about each moment as it happened. It was a strange
1078experience—both concrete and unreal. I felt like I was entering a crime scene;
1079that is, I felt like I was entering someone else’s history and making it my own.
1080I rang the bell.
1081No answer.
1082I waited, doubt forming. Rang again.
1083Finally, I heard shuffling.
1084A man answered the door. He wasn’t holding a camera. He looked like Joel,
1085but older, thicker. More of a jock than a teacher. More like someone who’d
1086abused himself, bloated.
1087“Yeah?” he said, sleepily.
1088Suddenly, I feared him. This man was capable of anything; strangling me right
1089there. It felt like being intimidated by an infant. But I had to press forward,
1090however thoughtlessly.
1091“My name is Eugene Myers,” I said. “My daughter, Sophia, was on your site.”
1092I checked for his reaction. He might have winced slightly, but mostly he was
1093expressionless. “And?” he said.
1094“And I want you to take it offline. I also want you to delete every copy.” I
1095hadn’t been entirely sure what I was going to say but that made perfect sense.
1096“All right,” he said. “How much you going to give me for it?”
1097
1098“Don’t bother,” I said. “My daughter’s in high school. I don’t think you want
1099me going to the authorities with information that you’re soliciting high school
1100girls.”
1101Still no expression. Angrier maybe. “How old is she? Your daughter.”
1102“She’s eighteen,” I said reluctantly.
1103“Doesn’t matter if she’s in kindergarten, nothing I’ve done is illegal.”
1104“You don’t understand. I’ll plaster your address all over town. I’ll send it to
1105every newspaper in the area, every church. You won’t be able to work here
1106again.”
1107He slackened then. He was briefly furious but I could tell what he was
1108thinking. What the hell did one girl matter? There were hundreds of others and
1109there would be hundreds more. Why take the hassle? “All right,” he said. “But
1110you’ve got to hold up your end of the bargain. Don’t tell anyone about this.”
1111“OK. When are you going to delete everything?”
1112“I’ll do it right now. Come inside.”
1113I hesitated, obviously. This was the sleaziest man I’d ever been close to. He
1114seemed like the kind of guy to collect weapons. Don’t forget I’d seen him have
1115sex with my daughter. And this was where she did it. At times it was hard
1116enough to deal with my daughter having crushes over the phone.
1117But I wanted to get this over with. I reminded myself that he was just a dumb,
1118half-slept man in his house. Not a monster, not a demon. I stepped inside.
1119I recognized some of the front room. A black couch where the girls first sat. A
1120half-stocked bar. Hardly any furniture in the house. This was like living a
1121reenactment. Traveling the same route through the house as Sophia, except
1122without a camera in my face, shyly saying, “What’s the camera for?” but
1123knowing full well. In some sense, I deserved this.
1124I expected standing lights, some evidence of a professional photographer’s
1125studio. All I could see was a handheld digital video camera lying on the bar. He
1126had good business sense, I’d give him that.
1127“In here,” he said.
1128The computer room was bare except for a desk strewn with bills and trash, a
1129gray couch, and a tall TV shelf. It smelled like sex in there, like old sweat. Or
1130maybe I imagined it.
1131He sat down at the desk with a groan, and he almost seemed like any
1132businessman who was sick of his job. “Let me find the file. Should be easy.” He
1133sounded helpful, but also defeated that he had to go through this. He found the
1134file quickly, called “Lila,” and dragged it to the trash. “The file’s been uploaded
1135so I’ll have to delete it from the site. People might have downloaded it already so
1136there’s nothing I can do about that.”
1137
1138“Whatever you can do,” I said, and felt too conciliatory. There was something
1139perversely curious about watching him work on the computer. Even privileged.
1140Like I was getting a behind-the-scenes tour. How I could have felt pride in light
1141of what I was doing, I don’t know. It was fascinating to me that so much power
1142—the breaking of lives—could be achieved by one slob at a desk.
1143“Is there any hardcopy anywhere?” I asked.
1144“Not really. It goes straight from the camera to the computer. See, I’m deleting
1145her and replacing her with a girl from next week. You know, it’s no big loss. We
1146didn’t get a lot of emails about her.” He smiled and snorted and looked back at
1147me and smiled again. “That’s it. Easy. I can show you the main site.” He opened
1148up the site, his piece of the world. “She used to be there,” he pointed to a picture
1149of a blonde girl, someone else’s problem, “and now she’s not.” He looked back
1150at me. “By the way, how did you find out about this? Did someone tell you?”
1151I didn’t answer.
1152He saw my expression.
1153“Oh shit, did you find it yourself? Oh shit, that’s funny. That’s twisted.”
1154“Cool it. You make these sites for people to look at them. I looked.”
1155“Yeah, but I mean, were you like beating off to your own daughter?”
1156I saw something in his face then. I saw what he really was. It could’ve been a
1157hallucination, but I saw a flash of a satanic caricature: red face, knobs for horns,
1158cloven feet beneath the desk. The personification of a father’s rage. Lasted a
1159second. There was something else there as well—a loneliness, a fat sort of
1160weight as this guy sat in a lonely room, a self-hatred so deep as to be
1161unconscious, but still encompassing, the white walls of the room as gray as rain,
1162as if light died here. It could’ve been just a father’s hope, but it had the same
1163effect. I pitied him a little, almost in a fatherly way, and I hated him less for
1164doing that to my daughter. She was, after all, old enough to know better, but
1165young enough to be easily seduced. I saw this young man as seduced as well, but
1166by something far more permanent and damaging. Even his success seemed like a
1167punishment.
1168“We done?” I said.
1169“We’re done,” he said.
1170Our business was over. “Good.” He walked me to the door. I could feel his
1171weight hanging over me.
1172“You better not tell anyone about this,” he said.
1173“I won’t tell anyone,” I said.
1174“Really, remember,” he said.
1175He lifted up his shirt, a long t-shirt that advertised a brand, and there was a
1176gangster’s cliché. Under his shirt, the end of a handgun stuck out of his right
1177
1178front pocket. He nodded and smiled joylessly, the whites of his eyes seeming as
1179yellow as his teeth.
1180I opened the front door, then turned back to get a final picture of the scene.
1181Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone in a hooded sweatshirt running
1182towards me. I couldn’t see his face, almost as if he didn’t have one. I was tackled
1183to the ground. Then it felt like a brick came down on the back of my head. My
1184brain felt loose in my skull. I blacked out…
1185
1186Chapter
1187
11884
1189
1190Number 1 Dream
1191Picture a house. Light-brown wall-to-wall carpeting so the floor looks like dirt,
1192though it conceals footprints. That sounds grim, but it’s not. The house just feels
1193used, stained, because there’s been a lot of life here. Kids’ marker drawings on
1194the wall that can only be removed with a coat of paint, the house feels cluttered
1195even when it’s clean, cracks in the wall where there was once a picture. A thread
1196hangs down from the straight-backed chair, chair legs chipped but colored in
1197with a brown marker if you look close enough, flowers of some kind on the
1198windowsill, a petal falls undramatically. No nightmare, but not exactly a dream.
1199It seems familiar.
1200Travel through the living room slowly and silently like a tracking shot into the
1201kitchen. It’s brighter in here, seen more daily life, less avoided. The wood
1202tabletop of the kitchen table is slightly concave, a small TV on the countertop,
1203kids toys on the countertop and floor, a squeak toy, maybe these are dog toys,
1204four cereal bowls on the table. In the middle of it, a woman who is a reflection of
1205the house. She looks part tired, part pragmatic. She’s cleaning patiently. She
1206surveys the breakfast table, ambivalently, as if she wants to keep the bowls on
1207the table as company. She looks under the table and sees a mountain of Captain
1208Crunch underneath one of the chairs. This didn’t fall from the table, it was put
1209there; somebody’s project. She barely changes expression—pragmatic still, not
1210exhausted. Maybe if she knew that someone was watching she would have
1211affected a look of exaggerated bemusement, but she’s alone and has no need to
1212act. She’s not the type to perform for herself or imagined people, or even God,
1213though she’s entertained the thought. So she gets to work and picks up the mound
1214of cereal with two hands and carries it to the sink.
1215I hear my voice then. It must be how schizophrenics hear other voices. I’m not
1216talking to myself as I normally do, with no lag between when something is
1217thought and said. This is another voice—my own but from somewhere else.
1218Eerily, like my voice is detached from my mind, saying:
1219“This is Miranda Goodling. 400 Riverside Court, Irvine. Remember her name.
1220Miranda Goodling.”
1221
1222#
1223I woke up on my back, woozy, the worst kind of drunk. I felt like I’d been hit
1224in the head—no better way to describe it. My thoughts were thick and
1225compressed. It was hard to form words. “Stephanie,” I said. I wasn’t sure if it
1226came out right.
1227She was sitting in the corner watching TV forlornly, as if watching a story
1228about me. She shot to my side at the sound of my voice.
1229“I need to throw up,” I told her.
1230She handed me a plastic trash can with a band-aid stuck to the bottom. “They
1231said this might happen,” she said, apologetically. Her voice was as reassuring as
1232gauze.
1233I threw up, which burned my throat and stomach, but cleared my head, and I
1234realized what had happened: I was attacked and now I was in a hospital room,
1235walls turquoise and gray.
1236“How you feeling?” she asked. “Do you know what happened?”
1237I pictured the shadowy figure who hit me, faceless like a wraith. It wasn’t the
1238same person who erased the video, it was an accomplice, waiting in the back all
1239that time.
1240“I was assaulted,” I told her. “On the street,” I added.
1241I didn’t want to tell her about what had happened. Like I said, I felt I deserved
1242some kind of beating for not being a better father. I did what I needed to do, he
1243did what he needed to do. And I thought telling her could make it worse.
1244Pressing charges seemed like an additional humiliation, if not dangerous for my
1245family.
1246“Someone dropped you off,” Stephanie said. “They don’t know who. It’s so
1247strange.”
1248“It is strange,” I said.
1249“They say you’re going to be all right. It’s a mild concussion. You might feel
1250out of balance for a day or two.”
1251“OK.”
1252“What were you doing out, anyway?” she asked. No hint of accusation.
1253“Just going for a walk,” I said. “Thinking about the book I’m writing. On the
1254bright side, now I have something to write about.”
1255#
1256The city looked different on the drive home: more awful. The realization of
1257
1258what had happened was settling in. Assaulted by the man who had basically
1259raped my daughter—if not literally, then raped her conscience. I felt forsaken.
1260What else was the world going to throw at me? Relatively speaking, I knew I
1261was doing all right. I had never lived through a war, been abused, sold into
1262slavery, etc. Discovering my daughter online and then having my head kicked in
1263was a paradise compared to many other people. But they were my problems. I
1264stared out the window at the L.A. city—a collection of decaying strip malls, one
1265of the least attractive cities on earth, populated mainly by people who wanted to
1266be someone else, except for those who bled success, more abuse than reward. If
1267so, I belonged here, dead like this city. Grim, but I was rattled.
1268We were trapped behind a large black SUV that had failed to signal it was
1269turning left, blocking the entire lane so we couldn’t pass. People just didn’t give
1270a shit about other people.
1271“Do they just expect us to know why they’re suddenly stopping? They’re just
1272totally fucking selfish. Not signaling is a sign of the apocalypse.”
1273“Settle down, Road Warrior,” my wife said, smiling. “You need to take it easy,
1274that’s what the doctor said. Let’s get you home so you can get some sleep.”
1275Then I remembered. The woman from my dream. The housewife, Miranda
1276Goodling. It was as clear as any vivid memory when it finally hit me. In fact,
1277more so. I had a terrible memory. One of the reasons I thought I wrote fiction
1278was to invent stories and characters because I remembered so few from my life.
1279Other writers could remember vivid details of their childhood, stickball in
1280Brooklyn. My own life was mostly bland and eventless. Might have contributed
1281to my enduring faith in the future. I could watch the dream replay in my mind
1282like a movie you’ve seen several times, committed to memory. I could picture
1283the woman, her kitchen, her name.
1284“I had the strangest dream while I was out,” I told Stephanie. “It was an
1285everyday scene of a woman doing housework. Then I heard my own voice
1286telling me her name and address. It was so strange because it was so normal.
1287What do you think it means?”
1288“It means you’re dreaming of other women,” playfully.
1289But I was intrigued. Recently, I had been struggling with where to take my
1290novel. Part memoir about my own life, part paranoia about the president’s life. I
1291considered writing about my family fleeing a war, but that felt hackneyed and
1292done. This dream could be a potential plot. It wasn’t much—the image of a
1293woman cleaning her kitchen. But the writer contacts her and finds out that she’s
1294a real person. It was a premise.
1295I kept this to myself. My wife had been through my flashes of enthusiasm
1296before. My promises of a better life. But at least the world didn’t seem like it
1297
1298was coming to an end.
1299
1300Chapter
1301
13025
1303
1304The Diplomat from Utopia
1305It is actually quaint that I even had these sorts of problems to deal with—
1306struggling with a novel, struggling with my family. Even though people were
1307screwing and breeding like rats, a trip to the supermarket could kill you, San
1308Francisco was partly under water, life still managed to be normal, like a high—
1309or a low—that came on gradually. People went about their lives eating, sleeping,
1310shitting, breeding in no particular order and if things got rough, people had a
1311tragic aptitude to deal with it and move on. Perhaps if we didn’t adapt so well, so
1312many terrible things wouldn’t be allowed to happen. In this way, evolution really
1313was against the spirit.
1314You’ve gotten what fueled me. Here’s what fueled President Winchell: his
1315father.
1316On the eve of the inauguration, the elder diplomat had a talk with his son. The
1317talk depressed the hell out of the president-elect and filled him with a renewed
1318sense of purpose. The diplomat told him that everything he thought he knew—
1319everything that he had campaigned on—turned out to be a lie. As the president
1320stood at the podium taking his oath, millions of eyes were on him, each person
1321thinking they knew his motivations. Basically, nothing that he said had any
1322relation to what he believed. The presidency was merely a vessel, like the body.
1323What his father had told him was the meaning of life.
1324“Son, I have news for you,” the diplomat began. They were sitting in the
1325library of his father’s house on the bank of the St. Louis River. A fire played in
1326the fireplace. Benjamin Winchell drank warm brandy out of a snifter, leaning
1327back in a thronelike chair which towered two feet over his head. A horribly
1328uncomfortable chair that didn’t seem to fit a human body, but Benjamin
1329Winchell looked comfortable, as always. There may as well have been a
1330purebred named Scruff lying at his feet to match the look of comfort in his eyes,
1331the kind of relaxation that only comes with actual power. Charles Winchell sat
1332across from his father in a smaller chair with a lower back—of course—armrests
1333at an uncomfortable height. A mightily expensive chair to be sure—brought over
1334after the French Revolution—but small. Charles Winchell had no problem
1335
1336feeling like a strong man: a feeling as if he’d bed every single woman on planet
1337Earth. The presidency could do that for you. But when faced with his father he
1338was more than just diminutive—a result of being drilled with honor and respect
1339for your elders by the career military man—the president-elect was awed. The
1340hell-like light of the flickering fire, the swirling of the brandy in the wide-bodied
1341snifter as if he was Atlas turning the globe, the look of both amusement and
1342brutality in the man’s eyes, which you could never read correctly and so always
1343put you on edge, and, Jesus, just the sheer knowledge the man possessed. He was
1344the only politician Charles had ever known who read everything: alternate
1345histories, mainstream histories, classic and contemporary fiction, biographies of
1346jazz men, quantum physics, on and on. It made Charles revere his father with
1347fear, respect, and regret for his own inadequacy. The son was astute enough to
1348realize that this was how you were taught to regard God.
1349“I’ve been waiting to tell you this, Charles,” Benjamin said. “You’ve gotten
1350hints, but never all the details. During the campaign might have been messy.
1351Something could have slipped. Your election was an inevitability, of course, but
1352certain information cannot be released to the general public. Not yet. Now that
1353you’re in power, we can tell you.”
1354Benjamin paused. He looked at Charles skeptically. “You ready?”
1355Charles nodded.
1356His father looked suddenly at ease. “All right. A major thing I have to tell you
1357is this, Charles: death is not a punishment. It is a release. There are many things
1358that have been hidden from people over the centuries but this is the main one. I
1359have been to the other side, Charles, and it is beyond majesty. Imagine all the sex
1360and knowledge and art ever created in this world felt in one moment,
1361compressed onto the head of a pin. Words can’t touch it, so I won’t even bother.
1362I won’t go into how I got there, just trust me. You’ll get to see it too. Do you
1363know what it means if death is not to be feared but sought after?”
1364“Not entirely,” Charles said, which he regretted because it was a rhetorical
1365question.
1366The diplomat sneered, his eyes almost closing. “Of course not,” he said. “Not
1367yet. Imagine if people were to know with certainty that death was not the end,
1368but a pathway to bliss better than any drug. The day after this word got out, there
1369would be mass suicides. People would drop out of work and search for ways to
1370die. In short, it would be the apocalypse. There would be no one left. Do you
1371see? It would mean the end of war. What would war be if we knew that we were
1372helping somebody by killing them.”
1373“You could have a war of torture,” Charles said. “You could bring people to
1374the brink of death instead of killing them.”
1375
1376Benjamin looked pleased. “I like the way you think, Charles. Some of the
1377biological weapons being created these days are meant to do just that—disable
1378people without killing them.”
1379“That was just an idea. Why not just put an end to war. War’s to be avoided,
1380right?”
1381“In theory,” Benjamin replied. “It is also necessary. Human beings are a
1382warlike species. They like to fuck, fight, love, and hate. All of these things need
1383to exist—and screw the Buddhists—trying to ignore these instincts is just a form
1384of repression. Dangerous in itself. But I’m getting off the subject. We don’t just
1385need war to exercise our aggression. It is necessary for the progress of the world.
1386War is progress. Remember that. It is going to be the slogan of your presidency.
1387Charles, you are going to be the last president. Everything from the Sumerians to
1388the birth of Christ and the retooling of Christianity has been leading up to you.”
1389He paused, looking almost unsure of himself. “There’s a lot I’m not telling you
1390here. So much that I’m not even sure where to begin.”
1391“Tell me this,” Charles said. “How do you know about all of this?”
1392The diplomat shook his head somberly, as if remembering a death, and said,
1393“I’ll start there.”
1394The diplomat talked for six hours.
1395“I’ll tell you the true story of what’s been going on for the last five thousand
1396years. You want to hear the most terrible thing? The thing that would make most
1397conservatives blush and cry? All the conspiracy theorists are right. There is a
1398conspiracy going back thousands of years. That’s not telling you a lot. You must
1399have picked up as much from dinner table conversations growing up.”
1400“Certainly.” He had, but even if he hadn’t he would have lied. The dinner
1401table conversations about political power and defense contracts had never
1402seemed like a revelation. To most children what their parents do for a living
1403seems like the whole world. If the kid is listening to his father talking about
1404building cars for a living, he thinks building cars is the center of the universe.
1405The difference with young Charlie Winchell was that his father’s profession
1406actually was—if not the center of the universe, then at least the center of earth,
1407which wasn’t so inconsequential, it turns out, when it came to the entire
1408universe. It may be that every father is God to his son, but Benjamin Winchell
1409actually ran the world.
1410All of the above was thought in the flicker of an instant, second nature. The
1411diplomat was still talking:
1412“The UFO buffs are right. There is a massive government conspiracy covering
1413up the entire phenomenon. Sweeping it under the rug with bullshit fronts like
1414Condon and Blue Book. Poor naïve Vallee thought he was actually uncovering
1415
1416something. Read his journals, the man may have been a prophet and a genius.
1417Let me get to the point though. Roswell happened. Every political action in the
1418last three thousand years has been done to deal with the UFO question. Every
1419religion is a way to describe the infinite, right? People think UFOs are just the
1420latest manifestation of some kind of perennial vision. If this was Fatima, they’d
1421be seeing the Virgin Mary. Not true—UFOs are real and the last manifestation
1422before the end of the world.
1423“But this is not what gets conservatives all riled up. There’s nothing a
1424conservative hates worse than a liberal. Likewise, there’s no one more liberal
1425than a hippie. All our plans were almost laid to waste in the sixties when the
1426counterculture discovered LSD. You see, they were right. Everything on earth is
1427bullshit and all that matters is what exists behind matter, blah blah blah,
1428consciousness, God, magick, whatever you want to call it. What they did wrong
1429is they found their utopia too soon. They were undisciplined. Timothy Leary said
1430tune in, drop out, and would have created a nation of raving homeless people if
1431America truly listened to him and dropped out of society. It would have been
1432anarchy. No food getting produced, everybody just lying in bed smiling at the
1433ceiling. That’s not progress, that’s apathy.
1434“Which is where we Republicans come in. Our methods might have seemed
1435harsh. Killing students in Ohio. Beating up peaceniks holding out flowers. Cops
1436didn’t know what we were up to, and they’d rather beat someone up than not.
1437That’s their job, to enforce. But the powers that be knew that we were onto
1438something much larger than putting an end to the small demonstrations to a
1439minor war. Everything we’ve been doing has been leading up to the big one—the
1440apocalypse. You think you came up with that campaign slogan by accident?
1441Lesson one, nothing in this world happens by accident. He knows when you are
1442sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows when you’ve been bad or
1443good—and we’ve been bad in order to ensure a long-term, larger good. But it
1444takes time. War is a growing pain, as is ignorance. Am I making any sense?”
1445“Partially.”
1446“Yeah, I’m trying to tell you the history of the world in a chapter. At least that
1447shows that you’re paying attention. We are now at the final stage. The Mayans
1448talked about 2012 being the end and they were right, they were just off by a few
1449years. They were right about everything—even eating each other. Remember, if
1450everyone’s immortal what’s it matter if your body gets eaten? Now 2020 is here
1451and you’re president, which is no mistake. We’re going to bring on the end of the
1452world and usher in a paradise. We’re going to make this world evolve, whether it
1453likes it or not.”
1454He looked weak for a moment, rare for him. His voice became quiet.
1455
1456“There are just too many people around for what we want to unleash: spiritual
1457and technological evolution. We’ve tried to control the population by other
1458means. Wars, diseases, not spreading around the wealth. Keeping some people
1459starving. Hell, we could spread the wealth but it would have led to a worse
1460population explosion. Socialism makes more logical, spiritual sense—the laws
1461of nature made political. But we aren’t ready yet. Too often socialism becomes
1462totalitarianism. So we kept it at bay. But nothing we did worked. And now the
1463earth’s dying. We need to kill people off to save the planet.
1464“We’ve got it: alien technology. We could have had free energy, saved the
1465planet years ago. But the same technology would have killed us off in the hands
1466of dimwitted terrorists. They could have wiped America off the map with one
1467bomb. They could have traveled to other star systems. That’s exactly what we
1468didn’t want. We’ve done well keeping major ideas secret. Made UFOs seem like
1469a laughingstock. Created fronts like SETI. What do you think SETI does, sits
1470around all day listening to silence? Of course not. We started wars so we could
1471filter billions of dollars into black projects, the only projects that really matter.
1472Back-engineering technology, building bunkers. If people knew the secrets
1473behind the UFO issue, they would know about the coming calamities. They’d
1474tear us apart. Contact alone would lead to hysteria, daily investigations, people
1475abandoning faith, total upheaval that would be out of our control. If there wasn’t
1476such a thing as journalism this wouldn’t be a problem. There were two major
1477things that we learned from in the last century: The War of the Worlds and
1478Watergate. In short, the media has more power than the Pope.
1479“It’s sad, but the only way to save the species, and to help us reach the next
1480level of consciousness, is to do away with the human population. In truth, it’s
1481only sad because people think it’s sad. Really, as I said, the billions who need to
1482die will be going to a much better place.”
1483He stopped and looked at Charles with an expression like what he’d just said
1484was normal. Charles felt a creeping sadness. Not about all the people that might
1485die, but about his father’s fate. The talk actually strengthened Charles’ own faith.
1486He’d found God despite his father and was treated like a rebellious teenager as a
1487response—worse than that, he was ignored. He knew his father wasn’t a
1488religious man. An agnostic transcendentalist, he called himself. Charles had
1489found Christ on his own, without guidance, when he was in college his first year
1490away from home. He had spent his days in the college library reading the Bible,
1491the history of religion, none of it assigned. He began going to the college chapel
1492without telling his father, as if he was doing something illicit. This caused his
1493belief to deepen, as it was one of the first and only things he’d discovered on his
1494own—separating himself from the tyranny of his father who seemed to know
1495
1496everything. It had prepared him for this moment, he realized now. His father had
1497one way to describe the infinite, but it was misguided. Of course death didn’t
1498exist, that was called heaven. The question was who had domain over the
1499afterlife. Charles peopled his cabinet with true believers because he agreed with
1500only parts of what his father had told him. The apocalypse would come, but on
1501Charles’ own terms.
1502“So what you’re saying is the Bible isn’t true?” Charles inquired, a shade
1503weakly.
1504“It’s all true, every religion,” Benjamin replied. “All true and all false because
1505each religion claims it’s the answer. God exists, but it’s universal. Believe me, I
1506don’t want to see New Agers rejoice, but they’re mostly right. Whatever you
1507want to call it—Vril, the collective unconscious, the ether, the Force, or God—
1508it’s out there. The problem is religion, the problem is dogma. People think
1509they’re different and they’re not. We’ve got to start a religious war so people will
1510give up on religion once and for all.”
1511Charles didn’t believe a word of this, but he said, “OK. Let me ask a question.
1512Every religion has some sort of messianic figure. Who is the messiah who is
1513going to usher in a thousand years of peace?”
1514“We don’t know,” his father answered. “Of all the questions we have had
1515answered, we don’t know what form the messiah is going to take. We don’t even
1516know if there is going to be a flesh and blood messiah. The messiah might not
1517even be human. We just know that a major war is inevitable and out of war will
1518come lasting peace.”
1519“Another question: if we instigate a religious war, proving everything in
1520Revelations to be true—why would people abandon religion?”
1521“Because the final revelation will be—after the war is over—that we are all
1522God, and that is the only religious principle that matters.”
1523“One final question, why not just give people this revelation without a war?”
1524“Because we’ve fucked things up beyond measure. People believe in Satan,
1525people believe in horribly grotesque, base and debasing things. Giving them the
1526power of the infinite wouldn’t work. This is my one regret: without these people
1527out of the picture, the collective consciousness of the world cannot change for
1528the better.” He threw up his hands. “We had no choice. It’s what we were told to
1529do.”
1530“I’m sorry, who told you this?”
1531“They did. The people from the other side. The dead. The Ufonauts. Earth’s
1532true allies. They’ve told us what needs to happen if we ever hope to evolve as a
1533species. We have to burn away the forest in order to save it.
1534“America is hanging by a thread. Have you watched the news lately? It’s a
1535
1536nightmare out there. This was what we wanted to happen, but still. Hard to
1537watch, even if it was the only way for the human race to reach the next stage of
1538evolution. A steady degradation that would make world war an inevitability, a
1539self-fulfilling prophecy. Meanwhile, everyone had to keep living by the insane
1540delusion that this was the way it should be. They had to keep going to their jobs,
1541watching TV, shopping, voting, unaware that the world was disintegrating by
1542design. All leading up to World War III.”
1543Benjamin Winchell sat up and took a deep breath as if he was taking in all the
1544air from the room. “I’ve got good news and bad news for the conspiracy
1545theorists,” he said. “The good news is they’re right. The bad news is they’re
1546right.”
1547
1548Chapter
1549
15506
1551
1552Number 2 Dream
1553A place to get drunk or kill time. It’s a dive bar, but without any character,
1554making it a true dive. Paint chipping off the bar from people picking at it
1555absently. Stickers ripped off the mirror behind the bar, leaving a faint trace.
1556Imagine a bar in a strip mall, thrown together so people could just have a place
1557to drink. Except this isn’t a strip mall, it’s on a street in a northeastern Ohio town
1558called Warren. Incidentally, this was the place of my wife’s birth.
1559So who am I looking for? I focus on the guy at the bar. Not a low-life, just a
1560drunk. Picture Charles Bukowski without any talent. He’s talking to the
1561bartender, who would throw the guy out for not shutting up, but the guy spends a
1562lot of money. People listen to him, smiling at first at the eccentric, then shifting
1563and frowning when he doesn’t stop. He buys drinks for himself and other people,
1564almost as rent.
1565He’s talking to the bartender, talking through him: “They’ve got all the power
1566they want, that’s the funny thing.” He says his s’s as sh, so see is shee. I don’t
1567feel like transcribing it. “The power is all right there in the middle of the earth.
1568All the magma underground could create superheated steam (shteam), better
1569than any nuclear reactor. Cleaner too, better than wind power. But they don’t tell
1570anyone about it. Almost like they want everything to die. It’s by intelligent
1571design. That’s the funny thing.”
1572Then my voice, the same as before: “This is Bob Banski. 100 Newton Street,
1573Apartment B, Warren, Ohio. Bob Banski.”
1574“Yeah, they’re trying to bring about the apocalypse. Prove both the Bible and
1575the Mayans right. That’s the funny thing.”
1576#
1577Morning, sitting up in bed. My wife was getting dressed. She was irritated,
1578she’s late, I was in bed to be there for the rest of the day. No class today. I was
1579borderline unemployed. That didn’t stop me, though. It never did.
1580“That’s twice it’s happened,” I said. “Twice. First the housewife in Irvine and
1581
1582now the drunk in Ohio. Each time I was told their name and address.”
1583I picked up my notebook on the nightstand. On one page I’d written the names
1584and addresses. On other pages, I’d written every detail I could remember from
1585the dreams—embellishing some, I’ll admit, but I still wasn’t clear about the line
1586between dreams and imagination. They both made up stories.
1587I checked the names again, like they were friends, or colleagues. “Miranda
1588Goodling and Bob Banski. I remember the dreams clearly. I’ve never
1589experienced anything like it. A recurring dream with a different cast of
1590characters. Something’s telling me to contact these people, like they’re
1591significant in some way.”
1592Stephanie was half-listening, still getting dressed, answering distractedly,
1593“What? You think they’re real people?”
1594“I called information for the woman in Irvine,” I said. “There’s an M.
1595Goodling, close enough. This could be real, Stephanie. Imagine, this could be
1596real.”
1597I wanted her to believe me. To relive the optimism she once had about our
1598future. Something I haven’t yet mentioned: she was fading from me. Taking care
1599of me in the hospital was an interruption, but she had come back down to earth. I
1600think catching our daughter online had stripped her of whatever faith she may
1601have had in the reliability of our life together. Sophia had moved out. Not on our
1602orders, but because she couldn’t face us. My wife was grateful because her only
1603child had become an example of her failure, as it had for me, but on a deeper
1604level, in that it had affected her faith in me as well. My trip to the hospital wasn’t
1605much of a help; it was a reminder.
1606She said, “Don’t you think it could be a coincidence? Maybe you’ve met this
1607woman before.”
1608“No,” I said, too emphatically, as if fueled by doubt. “I’ve never heard of her
1609before. This means something. It has to.”
1610Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. I regretted it immediately.
1611Stephanie stopped getting dressed and eyed me with concern, like I was
1612breaking. I’d just suffered a concussion, maybe this was the thing to finally make
1613me lose it. But that’s probably projection because her concern quickly turned to
1614annoyance, as she said, “I have to go to work,” with stress on the word work, as
1615if it was the opposite of delusion.
1616#
1617I drove to Irvine. Probably against doctor’s orders, I couldn’t remember. I’d
1618been taking Vicodin, so obviously I shouldn’t be driving. And there was question
1619
1620about whether or not my homely white Dodge, named after a cloud, could make
1621the drive. So all in all not responsible. I felt jumpy as I drove the freeway south.
1622Equal parts excited and feeling ridiculous that I was believing my own fiction, a
1623point of no return kind of feeling, like I was being adulterous to sanity. But as I
1624got closer, I became more determined, which wasn’t to say any less deluded. It
1625was an experiment, at the very least, and if it turned out to be false I could just
1626rewrite it later as something more interesting.
1627I pulled onto her street: an average suburban neighborhood, houses with front
1628lawns that blended together. Kids toys, baby swings in front of many of the
1629houses. Formless and functional. I didn’t recognize the front of her house
1630because I never saw it in the dream, but it wasn’t far off from what I’d imagined.
1631I parked awkwardly and nervously—the tires hit the curb, scraping the
1632hubcap. A gardener saw this and smiled, a terrible smile. I crossed the street
1633quickly, without looking left to right. As I made it up to her front walk, I realized
1634how poor I looked. Sweating from the drive, unshowered, dressed in old clothes
1635—rushed away from home after days being bedridden. I hadn’t thought this
1636through very well. The hem on my right pants leg was coming undone. A faded
1637button-down shirt not tucked in, proof of how I regarded myself. And I couldn’t
1638quite stuff my shirt into my pants on her front lawn. But here I was, and I wasn’t
1639about to drive home. So I rang the doorbell, careful to not look at my reflection
1640in her front window. I felt like a salesman of a useless product—someone
1641unwanted at every home on the block.
1642A woman answered the door. Was it her? You tell me. I’ve described her here,
1643which was just how it felt to me: seeing something imagined, but still lacking
1644clarity. Like trying to picture what a fictional character should look like in the
1645flesh; slightly hazy. Why an actor who played the character from a book never
1646seemed quite right. For one thing, she was brunette, not blonde. I’ve mentioned
1647how vivid the dream was, but seeing her was not immediate confirmation, as if
1648the dream lost clarity once it became real. Still, I was fairly certain it was her
1649because she was still a woman in her thirties, with a similar expression of
1650ambivalence.
1651“Are you Miranda Goodling?” I asked.
1652“Yes,” she said.
1653“My name is Eugene Myers.”
1654I stopped. She stared back at me blankly. I was half hoping that she would
1655recognize me, for whatever reason. That this would be handed to me, and I
1656wouldn’t have to work. But she hadn’t been expecting me.
1657Still, I asked, “Do you recognize me?”
1658“No,” she said.
1659
1660“Are you sure? You haven’t had any dreams where I appeared?”
1661I was objective enough to realize that was a horrible question. Not to mention
1662how sweaty and desperate I looked as I asked it.
1663“I’m sorry,” I said. “That doesn’t sound too good, does it? The thing is, I had a
1664dream and you were in it.” I paused. “That doesn’t sound too good either.”
1665“I have to go,” she said, closing the door, justifiably.
1666“All right, I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “It was nothing racy, believe me. I’m not
1667like that. Something in the dream told me to contact you, a stranger. I know that
1668sounds crazy, but it’s true. I’m just trying to make sense of it.”
1669“OK…”
1670I reached for my wallet, which made her tense up, as if I was reaching for a
1671weapon. A terrible sight, seeing her cringe; I felt like I was raping her day. “Just
1672please take my card. Contact me if you have any strange dreams or anything else
1673out of the ordinary.”
1674I handed her a card out of my wallet—a card from the college with the
1675designation of professor. Looked respectable enough. She looked at the card
1676with unfocused eyes, probably wondering where she could throw it away.
1677“I’m really sorry to bother you,” I said. “Really. I’m sorry,” I said again.
1678I turned and walked the other way, heading back to my car with quick, hard
1679steps, as if to show her I cared enough to leave her alone, but more trying to put
1680this stupid encounter behind me. I longed for sleep.
1681I got back to my car and looked back at the house. Miranda Goodling was still
1682standing in the doorway, looking puzzled, which was almost encouraging,
1683though she probably just wanted to confirm I was leaving, or to read my license
1684plate number. I waved goodbye. She closed the door without waving back.
1685#
1686I went home feeling like dirt. I didn’t feel at all turning what had happened
1687into a better story. Making up a story about Miranda Goodling seemed like an
1688increased insult to her. I was encouraged that the dream had been right about her
1689name and address, but right now it wasn’t going to amount to anything. I just felt
1690uninspired, broke. Nothing good was going to come from this. So I turned on the
1691TV, the news.
1692The newscaster—an Asian woman who’d rounded her eyes and plumped her
1693lips so she looked like no race—spoke half-smiling about a disaster: “A major
1694typhoon is set to hit China and parts of Southeast Asia. It’s said to be the biggest
1695storm to hit mainland China in over 150 years. Already this storm season is the
1696worst on record… ”
1697
1698An idea. I ran to the phone and dialed.
1699Stephanie answered. “Howard Friedman’s office.”
1700“Stephanie,” I said. “I’m going to Ohio.”
1701“What? Gene?”
1702“Yes. I have to take a trip to Ohio.”
1703“Why? What’s there?”
1704“There’s someone I need to meet.”
1705She paused. I could hear bitterness in the pause, her breath changing. She said,
1706“This isn’t about those dreams you’ve been having, is it?”
1707There wasn’t a good answer to this question. “Yes,” I said.
1708“Gene, we can’t really afford this now, can we?”
1709“I’ll put it on the credit card,” I said.
1710Obviously not the answer she wanted. For some reason I still don’t know, she
1711hated debt more than violence. Like her soul was in debt. And we were $28,000
1712in debt. But it was the only answer I could give. “It’s research for a novel,” I
1713said, knowing that was little rationalization, then added, “It could turn into
1714something big. You have to believe me, Stephanie.”
1715“I don’t have to believe anything. Enjoy Ohio.”
1716She hung up. Justified, like Miranda Goodling, which I used as my own
1717justification—I needed to do this to prove what these dreams were about and
1718turn it into something that might save our life together. So I threw clothes into a
1719bag and bought a plane ticket I couldn’t afford, knowing that by leaving I was
1720breaking totally with responsibility. I was both ambitious and admitting my
1721failure; it felt both liberating and empty. All I could do was move forward.
1722#
1723I’ve mentioned that I hated flying. On the flight, the weather was bad, the
1724plane was rocking. I clutched the armrests, muttering audibly, begging not to die.
1725The woman next to me was visibly annoyed, more with me than the flight. I
1726closed my eyes, hoping to make myself unconscious. But sleep was not going to
1727come, not here, and I was desperate for it—not just to take me off this plane, but
1728because I was becoming addicted to these dreams. They were like a religious
1729experience. Dreams were normally better than reality, even bad dreams, because
1730they purged your anxiety, while still being only a fabrication. Even though these
1731dreams might not be real, the hope that they could be was more inspiring than
1732the possibility that they weren’t. Like when I was writing a book I could ride the
1733illusion that it might turn out well, until it was done and I had to face people’s
1734indifference, much like I had faced Miranda Goodling’s indifference today. I’d
1735
1736much rather live on hope than face what’s real—probably the best diagnosis I’ve
1737ever given about myself. Each dream renewed my faith in myself. But if I forced
1738the dreams, they never came. If I took sleeping pills, that didn’t work. My mind
1739needed to be open and not hung on a desperate prayer about having another
1740vision. I had to not think about dreaming, which was nearly impossible because
1741my hope for these dreams was taking me over.
1742So instead I grabbed my notebook and started writing, quickly, nearly
1743unintelligibly, trying to lose sight of myself, to approximate a dream, and to
1744create another chapter.
1745
1746Chapter
1747
17487
1749
1750Number 3 Dream
1751A New York apartment. I know it’s New York without being told. I can feel it
1752because I’ve lived in a place like this before. Grates on the kitchen windows that
1753look out on the dirtied brick walls between apartment buildings. I had an exgirlfriend who lived in a place like this. Almost exactly the same. One of the most
1754romantic periods of my life, six months long. She left me for an ex-boyfriend,
1755then left him soon afterward, never to return to me.
1756The living room’s lit by one candle burning in a kind of translucent rock
1757sitting on the TV—a New Age rock that’s supposed to clear the room of toxins.
1758Two girls—early twenties—are sitting on the living room floor. The Velvet
1759Underground is playing “Pale Blue Eyes.” The young woman I’m there to see
1760really does have pale blue eyes, shockingly round, like small lights. They’re both
1761beautiful—fashion model beautiful—thin and bony and otherworldly. I imagine
1762them to be models because there’s nothing else they could be, they seem bred for
1763it. I’ve never spent time with women like this. Apologies to my wife, who is very
1764beautiful, but these girls are another species, every feature magnified. Their eyes
1765are even wider because they’re pinned, high.
1766I understand what is happening in this room. I’ve been around junkies enough
1767in my life. Done it myself. The pride in their wide eyes, as if they’re
1768accomplishing something. Which they are, partly, but what you learn from dope
1769you learn quickly and the rest is redundant. I don’t know where they are in the
1770process, probably somewhere near the beginning. They’re still healthy-looking,
1771not pallid, still excited as they snort, don’t shoot, another line. They might even
1772be at the stage where they’re proud of being dope sick, it’s the furthest over the
1773edge they’ve ever gone. They’ve become part of a culture and a history, and
1774they’re not yet grimly indifferent to how it makes them feel.
1775I’ve witnessed conversations like this one too:
1776Model #1: “I love snorting heroin off a Velvet Underground CD.”
1777Her friend taps out a small mound out of a bag and makes a line with a debit
1778card.
1779Model #2: “I know. It’s, like, so appropriate. He was high while he did all this
1780
1781stuff. You know what’s also really good? A Nirvana cover. Did you ever hear him
1782in interviews? His voice was croaking all the time. I heard he even nodded out
1783during interviews.”
1784Model #1: “That’s cool. John Coltrane’s good too.”
1785Model #2: “Yeah, John Coltrane. But I don’t really like jazz. Makes me
1786nervous.”
1787Model #1: “Oh, I don’t know. I like the ’50s stuff. It wasn’t so jumpy. And they
1788were all high.”
1789Model #2, breathily: “Yeah.”
1790Model #1, breathily: “Yeah.”
1791Then I write: “Dominique Blair. 412 East 8th St., Apartment 5, New York City.
1792Dominique Blair.”
1793#
1794I looked up from the notebook as if I had been in a trance, surprised to find
1795myself on a plane—the deafening hum in the cabin, people staring straight
1796ahead, wasted with boredom. I felt like I’d just screamed what I wrote. But
1797everyone was silent and involved in their own space, paying no attention to me. I
1798felt slightly high, my head spinning and alive; this was why I wrote.
1799Immediately, I checked the girl’s name and address on the computer terminal in
1800front of me. I did this quickly as if to avoid thinking about the possible
1801consequences. Dominique Blair, New York City. She was listed. Christ, she was
1802listed.
1803Something’s happened. It was ominous, perplexing, but I was comforted, like
1804my future’s been decided. As if I’ve finally gotten the recognition I’ve wanted
1805all my life, even if I willed it myself. My imagination was finally paying off. At
1806the very least this was proof that I should be taking this trip, and this book was
1807becoming more than I’d hoped. I didn’t even feel the plane’s turbulence as we
1808headed towards Ohio.
1809#
1810I rented a car and drove to Bob Banski’s apartment. The apartment complex
1811looked like a dumpster. A discarded air conditioner, half a tire, how did that
1812happen? The place had a pool but it was empty, filled with a puddle of water and
1813debris. It didn’t feel dangerous, just deserted. I walked up the stairwell and
1814knocked on his front door, no answer. I peered into the dark apartment. A
1815newspaper on a coffee table, a beer can in an ashtray, no different than outside
1816
1817the place. He wasn’t there, not much I could do. I peered in the window again. It
1818looked like a place no one wanted to live.
1819A woman, white and fat, walked down the outdoor hallway carrying a plastic
1820bin of laundry, watching me. She stopped at the next door: his neighbor.
1821“I’m not trying to rob the place,” I told her.
1822“If you were, you’d be stupid,” she said, deeply unsmiling. “There isn’t
1823anything in there except beer cans and a thirty-year-old TV.”
1824“Do you know where I can find him?”
1825“Probably at Cutty’s, if he’s not dead.”
1826Right, the bar from the dream.
1827“Where is it?”
1828“Take a right around the corner and you’ll see it.”
1829“Thank you.”
1830She called to my back, “If he’s not there, try the gutter.” She was smiling now,
1831pleased with her poetry.
1832The bar was right around the corner, as she said, like he’d chosen the
1833apartment because the bar was ten steps away. I hadn’t seen the outside of the
1834place, only the inside, but it’s what I’d pictured. Not that this type of
1835confirmation was necessary anymore. But I wanted to remember the details.
1836Anything from this point could be part of the book. I really was living my own
1837fiction. It was a purposeful kind of narcissism. As if everything was put there for
1838me, and every detail had the possibility of literature. A couple of neon signs out
1839front, no windows, a black door, pretty grim.
1840Opening the door poured an uncomfortable amount of light into the bar.
1841Patrons eyes scurried away. It was like night inside. There were fewer people
1842than in my dream. An identical couple wearing football jerseys sat at a table.
1843Bob Banski was again hunched over at the bar.
1844I didn’t have to be as careful with him as I did with Miranda Goodling in a
1845quiet suburb. I walked right up to him. He was staring at his two drinks, a
1846Rolling Rock and a straight whiskey. He didn’t turn his head as I approached.
1847“Are you Bob Banski?” I asked.
1848He turned his head slowly and took a second to focus on me. He was pretty
1849well drunk. Oddly, it was like seeing a celebrity who’d fallen on hard times.
1850He’d appeared in my dreams, so he had a different kind of light around him, like
1851he was being watched by everyone in this bar.
1852“I am,” he said.
1853“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
1854“Funny, I’m usually the one talking at other people,” he said with a kind of
1855regret. “Who are you?”
1856
1857“Gene,” I said.
1858“Gene as in Eugene or Gene as in genial?” He laughed gruffly at himself and
1859continued, “or Gene as in congenital or Gene as in genitals—”
1860“Gene as in Eugene,” I interrupted. I wasn’t irritated, he could be anything he
1861wanted and I think he could sense this.
1862But he was hurt that I cut him off. “So what you need?” he said, dismissively.
1863“I’ll come right out and say it,” I said. “I dreamt about you.”
1864“That’s sweet,” he said.
1865“It’s true. I had a dream about you that told me your name and address.”
1866“That’s strange. Who do I sue for invasion of privacy?”
1867“I’ve been having some powerful dreams lately,” I replied. “I’ve dreamt about
1868people I’ve never met, real people. You were in one of them. So I came to see
1869you. Does superheated steam sound familiar to you? Drilling into the ground for
1870power?”
1871The bartender stepped into our conversation. He was a young guy, looked like
1872a quarterback who’d taken the job part time and gotten stuck there. He’d been
1873listening. “That’s all he talks about lately,” he said. “I wish he’d shut up about
1874it.”
1875Banski swiped his hand at the bartender. “Fuck off, Ken,” with an emphasis on
1876Ken, as if it might not even be his name. The bartender moved away to the other
1877end of the bar, grinning. Banski got quiet. “You’ve heard about that too, huh?
1878Powerful stuff. We just need to drill a hole in the ground—”
1879“I dreamt it, Mr. Banski. Do you see? It actually happened in this bar and a
1880voice told me to come contact you.”
1881Banski picked up his whiskey and stared at it. “Well, why the hell do you
1882think that is?” he said, nearly worried.
1883“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to make some sense of it.”
1884“So you came here to make sense out of nonsense.”
1885I was starting to feel deflated.
1886“Just kidding,” he said. “You’ve got my attention. Believe me. Here, I want to
1887show you something.”
1888He reached down to the floor and picked up a battered red backpack, stained
1889with ink from pens that had broken apart inside. He took out a wire-bound
1890notebook, much like the one I used, and paged through it. The notebook was
1891almost completely full, front to back, top to bottom on every page. I nearly felt
1892envious. This guy worked. Both our writing was illegible to anyone but
1893ourselves.
1894He held up his notebook and said, “You know how some people can’t throw
1895anything away? They fill their houses with shit. Old receipts, fast-food cartons,
1896
1897junk mail, whatever. I’m the same way with thoughts. If I think something, I’ve
1898got to get it down on paper. Why else you think I drink? Cause I can’t be
1899thinking new thoughts all the time. Look here,” he pointed to a section with his
1900dreams: the headings said Dream #1, Dream #2, etc. “These are my dreams,
1901every dream this year. I record every waking and sleeping thought.”
1902He didn’t seem proud of this. He seemed relieved to be admitting it to
1903someone. A reminder that this guy wasn’t some abusive drunk, he was very
1904deeply wounded. He seemed grateful to be talking to me, which was particularly
1905sad, like I was the first willing audience he’d ever had.
1906“Have you dreamt anything like this?” I asked. “About people you don’t
1907know? Or even me coming to see you?”
1908He looked up and whispered some words, as if reading something written on
1909the ceiling. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “All I seem to have these days are
1910apocalypse dreams. Planes crashing, falling from the sky. Bombs dropping,
1911people fighting in cities and fleeing. I don’t even have to write them down
1912anymore. I don’t record old thoughts, only new ones. And the dreams are the
1913same every time.”
1914“That’s interes—”
1915“Here’s the thing, though. I don’t think they’re dreams at all. The third time I
1916had the same dream, I started thinking: these dreams are real. I think they’re
1917about what’s coming.”
1918“So how do you think I tie into this?”
1919“I don’t know. But I do know this. Dreams are as real as matter. You’ve been
1920dreaming about me? Maybe somebody is dreaming about you and everything
1921you see here is somebody else’s dream. God or someone else out there in the
1922wilderness.” He pointed towards the door like it was looking back at us. “It’s just
1923the life that some demented mind chooses to show you. You ever think about
1924that?”
1925“No. I haven’t.”
1926“Of course not. No one does. People spend all day at a computer box. Come
1927home and look at a TV box and live in another box.”
1928“So you think outside the box,” I said.
1929“Very funny. But it’s true. You know how people wake up and say, ‘I just had
1930the strangest dream’? The strangest dream is being alive.”
1931He grabbed his pen out of the wire binding and found a blank spot in his
1932notebook and wrote down this last thought. As I watched him there, I saw myself
1933—a man furiously scribbling, as if to explain why he exists by inventing
1934something that doesn’t, determined to prove that he is sane.
1935Believe me, I was also encouraged. Somehow my hope for what these dreams
1936
1937might become had turned into reality. But now I had to deal with what that
1938meant. What this may have confirmed was that the chapters I’d written about
1939Winchell might also be true. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself—desperate to
1940be taken seriously. But if my writing about Dominique Blair was real, it was
1941possible the other things I’d written were true as well. Which was a real fucking
1942disaster, not a point of pride. I never wanted World War III to happen. OK, that
1943was a lie—even I thought depopulation might be necessary or I wouldn’t have
1944conceived the idea in the first place. But that had the comfort of theory, not
1945reality, and now those ideas were possibly coming to fruition, which was never
1946the intention.
1947I talked to Banski some more before he passed out asleep right at the bar. He
1948told me he had a lot of money—most of which he’d never spent because he
1949didn’t like where it came from—from family. He didn’t expand on that. But he
1950did offer to fly me to New York to meet the model named Dominique and get
1951some answers from her. Put all together, my future rested on this drunk and a
1952junkie supermodel somewhere in New York City, both products of my
1953imagination.
1954#
1955I hadn’t been back to New York since I last lived there. After Stephanie and I
1956moved to Willamette, South Carolina following 9-11, we went through a
1957withdrawal from city life. We decided on Los Angeles. Stephanie had grown up
1958in Florida. She wanted to move to a place with good weather, but without the
1959rednecks of her childhood. I also remember in there my promises about moving
1960to Hollywood. There’d be more work for me there, I said. I’d gotten the teaching
1961job soon after, not much more.
1962So this was how I returned to New York, my old life. A crusade to find a
1963junkie supermodel conceived in a stream of consciousness on a plane flight. The
1964city hadn’t changed. I’d expected most of the dirt cleared away, as if by leaving
1965I’d taken the dirt with me, but it looked the same. I was glad to be back. We’d
1966never really made a home in Los Angeles. My most creative times were in New
1967York. In New York, you could feel a part of history, in L.A. abandoned by it. I’ll
1968spare more talk of process. Probably not much more interesting than hearing
1969about someone else’s dreams. Which meant this book had more than a few
1970problems.
1971Dominique Blair lived off Tompkins Square Park. The front door of the
1972apartment building was wide open. I climbed the stairs to apartment 5, my heart
1973beating weirdly. I was nervous like I was 14 going over to a girl’s house for the
1974
1975first time. Which didn’t happen as early as 14, but for the sake of argument.
1976Meeting her was more strange to me than meeting the people from the other
1977dreams because I’d willed it myself, it wasn’t thrust on me. With her, I
1978controlled my future. I could hear music coming from the other side of her door.
1979Portishead, suicide music for supermodels. I knocked, there was no answer. I
1980knocked again. Nodding out, I thought in a fatherly way. Now what: I wasn’t
1981going to go back home. I didn’t even have a hotel room yet. So I tried the door
1982and it was open. Did I will this to be or was it open before I got there? Yet to be
1983determined. I thought maybe I could write out what I wanted to be true, but
1984something told me this was a mistake and wouldn’t work.
1985I walked into the apartment. Same scene as before, but now I was inside it.
1986Candles burning, almost dark, music playing. No friend this time, but there was
1987Dominique on the couch, nodding out. I called her name, no response. I went
1988over to the couch and shook her hand, which fell limply. Her eyes didn’t open.
1989She was out, bad.
1990I went into the kitchen and filled up a white plastic bowl with cold water and
1991dumped it on her face. She didn’t stir.
1992“Shit,” I said. Then dialed 911.
1993#
1994I sat in the emergency room, waiting. Light blue linoleum, fading to gray. The
1995guy in front of me—fat, two chairs wide—was listening to something on
1996headphones and singing loudly, cluelessly off key. No people being carted
1997through, screaming and bleeding, stabbed. It was dull in here, a waiting room.
1998I’d never witnessed major violence firsthand, even during these times, and I was
1999half hoping to see something dramatic. But the room was full of people
2000unanxiously waiting for others who were hurt. It was like the DMV—something
2001you had to get done.
2002The doctor who’d taken Dominique after I checked her in—riding in a cab
2003behind the ambulance, wondering if she was being revived, a terrible drive that
2004now felt like it was months earlier—stepped up to me. “Are you Ms. Blair’s
2005father?” he asked.
2006That hurt, I hardly felt that old. “No,” I said. “I’m a friend. How’s she doing?”
2007“Aside from being a heroin addict, she’s doing fine.”
2008“She’s not dead, then?”
2009“Unless she’s the living dead. You can see her if you want.” His indifference
2010was palpable, an expression like fading fluorescent light, like the rest of the
2011emergency room. “Follow me.”
2012
2013He brought me to a curtained-off area with a scuffed floor. Dominique was
2014lying in bed, actually looking like the living dead, as if recently raised from the
2015grave, ashen and damp.
2016The doctor left us.
2017“Are you the one who brought me in?” she asked, voice croaking.
2018“I am,” I said.
2019“You saved my life,” she said.
2020I hadn’t thought about that. I guessed I had. I was more selfish—I rushed her
2021to the hospital to save my own life. I was not so altruistic. Just like a junkie to
2022steal from me, I had thought. I was invested in what she could tell me and
2023actually pissed that it had to be postponed. Her resuscitation was for both her
2024and me.
2025“I’ve never shot up before,” she said. “Really. We just snorted. Everyone told
2026me that was half-assed, not the real thing, so I wanted to try it. I even left the
2027door open in case something happened.”
2028“That doesn’t make any sense. What if somebody didn’t come by?”
2029“I didn’t think about that. I fucked up.” She looked down guiltily. She looked
2030thirteen.
2031“Do you have any family nearby?” I asked.
2032“Not in this country. I’m an army brat.”
2033“What about friends?”
2034“All my friends are junkies. The doctor said I should stay away from them.
2035He’s probably right.”
2036“Probably. So that leaves…me?”
2037“I guess so,” she said. “Who are you?”
2038“I’m Gene.”
2039“I’m Dominique.”
2040“I know.”
2041We shook hands. Her hand was weightless. “If we ever get married this is
2042something we can tell our kids,” she said. “But we’ll have to wait until they’re at
2043least three or four.”
2044“I’m married, but thanks,” I said.
2045She smiled, some of the life coming back. “Now what do we do?” she asked.
2046“Now you go into a methadone program and I’m going to take you out for a
2047cup of coffee.”
2048#
2049We were sitting in a Polish diner on 1st Avenue. Everything was beige,
2050
2051including the waitresses. Sharing a plate of potato pierogies with fried onions, a
2052hangover meal back in the day when I attempted to be an alcoholic (I thought
2053that’s what writers did) but never took to it. Patrons were looking her way, or so
2054I imagined. In the past, she’d be the type of girl to make me feel annoyed and
2055neglected, as she sat with a guy who was beneath her. And now she was sitting
2056with me, older and married, but experiencing something I’d once desired for
2057myself.
2058She took a bite and closed her eyes, as if meditating. “This stuff is lifegiving,” she breathed out.
2059“I’ve never had a meal with a supermodel before,” I said.
2060“I’m hardly super,” she said. “I’m barely even a model. I haven’t worked for
2061months. Not since…” She looked around the restaurant. “I hope nobody sees me
2062here. I can’t face my life. It’s a good thing you came along. I was about to run
2063out of money. Who knows what would happen then.”
2064We ate silently for a bit. She looked stricken, as if finally realizing what had
2065happened to her.
2066She turned that expression on me. “So, I am grateful and all, but there’s this
2067elephant in the room. What were you doing in my apartment?”
2068Somehow this had slipped my mind. “Right,” I said. “I almost don’t want to
2069tell you.”
2070Her eyes widened fearfully, but then she slackened as if she didn’t have much
2071fight in her. “You’re not dangerous, are you? The reason I came here is because I
2072sensed you were safe. I normally have a good intuition for these things.” Then,
2073dismissively, “Even if I am a junkie.”
2074“I’m not dangerous,” I said. “I was coming to visit you for a reason.”
2075I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the list of names and addresses. “This
2076is probably going to sound ridiculous,” I said. “But you see this list? I’ve had
2077dreams about people I’ve never met. They both turned out to be real. And then I
2078wrote about you. I’m a writer. I didn’t dream it, I wrote out a scene where you
2079were doing dope in your apartment and you turned out to be real. That’s why I
2080came to see you when I did.”
2081“Are you psychic?” she asked.
2082“Not usually, no.”
2083“It doesn’t sound ridiculous. Not if what you say is true. I’ve believed in
2084weirder things and had no proof. You’ve got that list. Let me see it.”
2085I handed her the notebook. She read through it. “Just three,” she said, with
2086disappointment.
2087“So far, but I’m anticipating more.”
2088“Who’s Bob Banski?”
2089
2090“A drunk living in Ohio. I contacted him and he believes me. Miranda
2091Goodling slammed the door in my face and I don’t exactly blame her. Every time
2092I go to sleep I think there are going to be more. If I start writing, I wonder will it
2093come true? I feel like I’m losing my head. I can’t quite tell what’s real or
2094imagined anymore.” She studied me as I talked, then said, matter-of-factly, “I
2095don’t think you’re lying. And this would be a pretty fucked-up thing to make up.
2096What do you think it means?”
2097“I don’t know. That’s why I came to see you.”
2098“But what do you think it means.”
2099“I don’t know, that we’re part of the list for a reason. That we should all get
2100together. We’re connected in some way.”
2101“That’s what I think too,” she said.
2102“Do you?”
2103“Yeah. Part of the reason I trusted you is because I feel like I’ve seen you
2104before. In a dream, maybe. I’m just crazy enough to not think that’s crazy. It’s a
2105big universe out there and in here.” She touched her temple. “And there’s a lot
2106more than we can see with our senses. It’s why I started doing dope, you know?
2107To feel God. Because I can’t feel it otherwise. But I know it’s out there. I know
2108it.” She was nearly yelling, desperately. Other customers were glancing over. She
2109settled down some and went back to her food, lifting her fork. “You seemed
2110familiar somehow. Like I met you in another life and forgot about it.”
2111Her response was similar to my own. Looking for answers to unanswerable
2112questions. Why anyone turned to religion. She was a dope addict, so I shouldn’t
2113push her too quickly into this, because an addict could trade one addiction for
2114another. But I was grateful that someone else believed me. If she didn’t believe
2115what I told her—someone I’d invented—then this was more complicated than I
2116could possibly handle.
2117#
2118We entered my L.A. apartment, having flown from New York on Banski’s
2119dollar. It was a good scenario for Dominique—able to get out of New York and
2120clean out. She packed a small bag and we headed straight to JFK. I hadn’t even
2121been in New York a day.
2122I’d left town to my wife’s objection only to return with a beautiful younger
2123woman. No real way to explain Dominique to my wife. I was bringing home a
2124fantasy, in more ways than one. But like I said, Dominique had justified my new
2125life’s work; she was proof. This meant I was an asshole because I was going to
2126possibly damage our marriage, make my wife jealous, and she had a tendency
2127
2128for it. But I always did put my writing before my marriage, which was why the
2129marriage was difficult—I prioritized writing and I wasn’t successful. Dominique
2130was a kind of proof of success, but she also proved that I was self-obsessed, even
2131if she justified that obsession. Nothing that would make my wife very happy.
2132“Hello,” I called awkwardly as we entered the apartment. “We’re—I mean I’m
2133home.” No answer. “It’s Saturday, I don’t where she is,” I told Dominique.
2134Dominique walked tentatively into the living room, looking around at the
2135books, the Persian rug, etc. Stephanie walked briskly into the apartment from a
2136back entrance. Her knees were dark with dirt. It was an apartment and the
2137landlord hired gardeners but Stephanie liked to work in the small flowerbed in
2138back. It was sad, honestly, one of those promises I’d hoped to fulfill—that one
2139day I’d get her a real garden.
2140She looked up and shrieked when she saw me standing in the front
2141entranceway. “Christ, you scared me. You didn’t tell me you were coming
2142home.”
2143“Surprise,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
2144I leaned in to hug her, which she returned, and then she saw Dominique
2145standing by the bookshelf. Dominique was still half-eyeing the books.
2146“Steph, this is Dominique,” I said. “She needs to stay here for a little while.
2147We can pull the couch out.”
2148Not much of an explanation.
2149“OK,” Stephanie said, incredulously.
2150Dominique approached Stephanie. She was a head taller and put out a long
2151arm to shake. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Myers. Thanks so much for letting me
2152stay here.”
2153Stephanie eyed Dominique’s hand. “My hands are dirty,” she said, holding up
2154a hand that wasn’t dirty. “Flowers.”
2155“We met in New York,” I said. “I’ll have to explain this to you later.”
2156“I guess you will,” Stephanie said.
2157#
2158Stephanie and I were in the bedroom, door closed. Dominique was in the
2159living room, knowing full well what we were talking about. Stephanie stood at
2160the foot of the bed, unrelenting, and she hadn’t yet said anything. I lay on the
2161bed, over the covers, which was a stupid position to be in—I appeared lazy. I sat
2162up on the edge of the bed, as if this would help.
2163“She’s a nice girl,” I said.
2164“Yes,” Stephanie said, bitterly. “Very nice.”
2165
2166“Stephanie, it’s not like that.”
2167“Of course it’s like that. I know you. Just looking at her is being unfaithful.”
2168She was right, of course.
2169“Nothing happened and nothing will happen.”
2170“That’s not the point, Gene. It’s all part of this crazy scheme you’ve got
2171going.”
2172“It’s not a scheme. It may be one of the most amazing things that’s ever
2173happened. To me, to anyone.”
2174“All I know is that you get hit over the head and suddenly this new idea comes
2175along. You have a tendency to believe in things for sport.”
2176She was right again. But so was I.
2177“Stephanie,” I said. “I’ve dreamed up three people, all of whom turned out to
2178be real. One of them is sitting in our living room. Doesn’t that count for
2179anything?”
2180She had to concede this. She slumped a bit.
2181“C’mon Stephanie, welcome me home.”
2182I put my arms out and she hugged me. But I could sense that something had
2183broken in her. She wasn’t coming along this time. Maybe because I had finally
2184found some success, she could relent and let me go, satisfied that I’d be taken
2185care of, but sick that it had taken so long.
2186I lay down on the bed, beat. And I slept.
2187
2188Chapter
2189
21908
2191
219212-12
2193A warehouse. It looks like something out of a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie, a
2194fake set. A table in the center of a dark and echoing room. The middle of
2195nowhere. A collection of men—seven or eight—holding guns and looking tough.
2196As if trying to look tough, as if acting out what they’d seen in a movie. They are,
2197after all, terrorists, and not very bright, so maybe they’re proud of this posture.
2198The central guy is better looking, better dressed. Frat-looking, wearing a suit
2199without a tie, black hair, blue eyes. His name is Duncan Taylor, but everyone
2200calls him Taylor.
2201He’s laid out a map of the world with tiny red x’s for each location—what he
2202calls pressure points. 400 men across the world. Tens of thousands of dollars
2203raised and spent. Bankrolled by church groups, a writer of End Times books,
2204members of the Winchell administration, as well as Russian and Pakistani
2205Islamists—people who wanted their own type of apocalypse, but Taylor didn’t
2206care, whatever helped to bring about the Second Coming was fine with him, no
2207matter how alien a faith, no matter how dark.
2208“It’s finally here,” he says. “Tuesday.”
2209“Just like 9-11 was a Tuesday,” says a second in command, Tim, a man with a
2210neck that’s thicker than his legs. He works out on steroids and meth.
2211“On election day,” Taylor says. “People don’t remember that. I’ve been in
2212contact with all our men. They’re ready to go, at 9:11 a.m. So people know it’s
2213coordinated. Truck bombs on every major continent. Sniper fire will cover the
2214rest.”
2215“Sniper fire’s brilliant, Taylor. It’ll scare the shit out of people. It’d scare the
2216shit out of me.”
2217“That’s the idea. People will be afraid to go outside, go to the supermarket.
2218Like the school shootings all around the world at once.”
2219“Be proud of the plan, Taylor.”
2220He looks like he is, like he’s already won. I’m sickened, like humanity’s
2221poisoned. It’s like reading a true crime book that you hope won’t come true, even
2222though you know it will, but you keep reading. This feeling is going to stay with
2223
2224me for months afterward.
2225I speak the words, as usual: “This is Taylor Veil. 1850 Wright Rd., Plymouth
2226Idaho.” But when I do I realize that I’m not watching the dream from a distance.
2227I’m in the warehouse, standing at the far wall. My voice echoes. The men turn
2228around.
2229“What the fuck is that?” someone shouts. Two men run in my direction.
2230“Someone spoke over there.”
2231I don’t have time to understand what’s happening. They’re on me.
2232“Who the fuck are you?” Gun in my face. “You picked the wrong place to be.”
2233They pat me down, each grab me by an arm, and bring me to the table in the
2234center of the warehouse where Taylor is waiting.
2235Taylor yells at the men, “How the fuck did he get in here? Did you forget to
2236lock the fucking front door?”
2237“Are you kidding? We have every entrance blocked off and guarded. I don’t
2238know how the hell he got in here.”
2239“Where’d you come from?” Taylor asks me.
2240“I am…” I begin and then I stop, startled to hear the sound of my own voice,
2241confirmation that I’m here. It’s not detached like before. I’m dazed—it’s both as
2242unreal as a dream and as concrete as waking life.
2243“What, you can’t speak? Who are you?”
2244“Don’t know what this is, Taylor, but he’s seen everything,” says the guy with
2245the thick neck.
2246“Yeah, I guess he has,” Taylor says, calmly. He picks up one of the guns off
2247the table, aims it at the center of my forehead, and fires.
2248#
2249I woke up.
2250“Oh fuck,” I said in bed. My hand went to my forehead. My head was damp—
2251from sweat, not blood. I checked my heart rate. Beating quickly like it was
2252running away from my body, but I was alive. The worst experience of my life. I
2253lived through my death.
2254I got out of bed, legs uneasy, heart still beating terribly. My wife lay unmoving
2255in bed, asleep. The darkness in the room felt threatening. Anything could be
2256lurking in here. I had just entered my dream, who was to say the opposite
2257couldn’t happen: men from my dream ending up in my bedroom. I walked
2258slowly, as if to not disturb the air, into the living room where the streetlights
2259were pouring in, slightly comforting. Dominique was asleep on the living room
2260couch, jaw dropped, arm dangling off the side. Also comforting—I would not
2261
2262have to face this alone. I tried to wake her and she didn’t stir. Dead out—shades
2263of being overdosed on the couch of her New York apartment. She didn’t do it
2264again, did she? Nothing seemed reliable. I shook her again and she woke, eyes
2265jumping to see me kneeling beside her.
2266“I had another dream,” I told her.
2267“What was it?” she said.
2268“Bad this time. Terrible. I died in the dream. They shot me. They saw me,
2269somehow they saw me. A dream about terrorists. I think something terrible’s
2270going to happen.”
2271“You’re still alive, Gene. If you know how you’re going to die, you can
2272prevent it.”
2273“That’s not the point. They’re planning something awful. Bombs, sniper fire.
2274Another 9-11. Worse.”
2275“Jesus. Maybe it’s just a dream.”
2276“But it was the same as the other ones, except this time I was inside it.”
2277I was beginning to calm down some. Speaking the experience out loud made it
2278more implausible, like I was describing an actual dream. At least I was sharing
2279the burden. As with any dream, it had faded the longer I was awake. Then again,
2280I also wanted this out of my memory and I kept getting flashes of the men,
2281flashes of the possible tragedy, based on images of past tragedies. Up to this
2282point, the dreams had been sort of fun—a writer’s fantasy of what his
2283imagination could achieve. But I didn’t want to see anyone actually die, no
2284matter how many people I might make die on paper.
2285“I have to tell somebody about this,” I said. I looked over at the TV. “But you
2286know what? Who is going to believe me? I dreamt a terrorist attack. It’s
2287ludicrous.”
2288“It could still be a dream, Gene. You still have regular dreams, don’t you?”
2289“I hope so,” I said.
2290I spent the rest of the night lying on the floor next to the couch where
2291Dominique slept. Fetal, hardly sleeping, not sure what would happen if I slept
2292again. It was unfaithful to my wife sleeping in the other room. I had woken
2293Dominique, not my wife, after the dream. But I was feeling weak, a target while
2294I slept, and I felt stronger next to someone who believed in me. I was smart
2295enough to get back into my bed before my wife woke up.
2296In the morning, the light of day was another comfort. The night before seemed
2297like a lifetime ago, cleansed by sleep. Dominique and Stephanie were talking in
2298the kitchen, drinking coffee. I didn’t know what to make of that. They stopped
2299talking when I entered, as if I’d broken into a conversation. They looked guilty, I
2300felt accused. I worried that Stephanie had confronted her about where I had slept
2301
2302the night before—which, now that the dark had cleared, I realized I had basically
2303slept in the same bed with another woman.
2304“Hello,” I said weakly.
2305“We were just talking about you,” Stephanie said. “About this dream you had.
2306How you feeling?”
2307“Better,” I replied. “I was just so worried last night. I think all these dreams
2308are messing with my head. This morning it feels like it might just have been a
2309nightmare.”
2310“That’s good, Gene,” Stephanie said. “I’m glad to hear it.”
2311She was mostly glad, I imagined, that I wasn’t believing my own hype, I was
2312putting these foolish thoughts behind me. No time to be railing against her;
2313moving on. “What’s on the docket today?” I said.
2314“I’ve got to be at work in a half hour,” Stephanie said.
2315“It’s a weekday?”
2316“Yes, it’s a weekday.” Darkly.
2317“I’ve got that appointment, Gene, remember?” Dominique said hopefully.
2318Right. She had to go to the methadone clinic. I’d neglected to tell Stephanie
2319that part about Dominique.
2320“Dominique’s on a methadone program,” I told Stephanie. “I need to take her
2321to the clinic…I guess I didn’t mention that.”
2322“No, you didn’t. Well, I hope you’re going to be OK,” she said to Dominique
2323politely, but stiffly.
2324“I’m doing much better. Thanks, Mrs. Myers.”
2325“Stephanie,” she said, more stiffly.
2326“Stephanie. I think I just needed to get out of New York.”
2327Stephanie glanced at me, as if nothing more needed to be said than a glance,
2328and left the kitchen to get ready for work.
2329“Your wife hates me,” Dominique said.
2330“She doesn’t hate you, Dominique. She hates me.”
2331#
2332I still had a job. I dropped Dominique at the clinic and went to the college to
2333teach my one class. It was nearly impossible to concentrate. A girl read a terrible
2334story called “Cat and Mouse,” about the “battle between the sexes,” and I didn’t
2335have the heart or will to criticize her. I was normally a fairly mean-spirited
2336teacher, impatient, taking revenge for my lack of success, as if it was my
2337students’ fault. At the climax of the story, someone in the back of the room said,
2338“Holy shit,” which was out of place because the story didn’t warrant it. There
2339
2340was something in his voice too—fear, sadness, disbelief, everything you’d
2341expect.
2342“New York is gone,” he said. “It’s gone.”
2343He was looking at his cell-V (vision/voice) in the back of the classroom.
2344Everyone had one so they turned on their TVs. I pulled one out too. The only
2345footage was from high above, thousands of feet up, clouded by smoke, which
2346made it a little unreal. From high above, obliterating a city seemed less
2347consequential, like killing thousands of ants underfoot. It also made it seem like
2348it might not be happening. The mind had a powerful drive to not believe stuff it
2349didn’t want to be true. Especially if there was limited evidence.
2350There were other reports of bombs at the Tokyo Stock Exchange, the London
2351Stock Exchange, and sniper fire at malls and tourist attractions around the world.
2352It happened, I thought. Goddamnit. I gathered up some papers—the girl’s
2353story—and a book I’d assigned—The Motion of Light in Water by Samuel
2354Delany—as if I needed them right now, and headed out the door. “Go home
2355everybody. Go where you need to be.”
2356Some got up and left, but most stayed where they were, watching their TVs,
2357surrounded by their friends, wanting to share it together.
2358“Be safe,” I said and left.
2359It didn’t occur to me at the time that I might not ever see these kids again. I
2360was thinking more of my own family, of getting home.
2361Outside the classroom I found my daughter, Sophia. She was running up to the
2362classroom, eyes wide and hollow. I hadn’t seen her since she moved out. We
2363hugged immediately. It was one of the more beautiful experiences of my life.
2364Just knowing that her first thought was to find me. Recently I’d thought
2365something in our family had died, but it hadn’t, which was really a huge
2366oversight on my part—the doubt, the conception that things could die
2367permanently from one act. I was old enough to know that anything faded with
2368time. It was pretty stupid of me to put her recent experience in black-and-white
2369terms. But it was easier and safer to write her off than face her knowing that
2370she’d never be the same. These were the thoughts that hit me in a flash, the
2371gratitude that I still had my daughter. I didn’t feel selfish, as if discounting all the
2372suffering that was going on at the moment, just grateful that everyone wasn’t
2373suffering. I loved my daughter with the immediacy as the day she was born.
2374“What are we going to do?” she asked.
2375“I don’t know yet, Sophie. I don’t think anything’s going to be the same after
2376this.”
2377“Are we going to stay in L.A.?”
2378“I don’t know where else is going to be any safer.”
2379
2380I took out my phone and dialed Stephanie.
2381She answered, “Howard Friedman’s office.”
2382“Stephanie, it’s Gene. You hear?”
2383“Yeah, I heard,” she said.
2384“Sophia is here. We’re headed home now.”
2385“Howard wants me to stay here and finish up some paperwork. We have work
2386to do.”
2387“Today? He wants to do divorce law today?”
2388“Yes.”
2389“OK, please come home when you can.”
2390I hung up. Somehow this affected me as deeply as the news from the world.
2391That some lawyer wanted to finalize the death of a marriage…and that my wife
2392was willing to do it.
2393On our way back home, I picked up Dominique. I introduced her to Sophia,
2394they shook hands. It was a strange meeting. It occurred to me belatedly that
2395Dominique wasn’t much older than my daughter or any of my students. She
2396seemed older. Her personality seemed fully formed, perhaps because she had
2397bypassed college and gone straight to work. Sophia sat quietly in the back seat,
2398watching the traffic. “I should have told somebody,” I said to Dominique. “I
2399should have fucking told somebody.”
2400“Who? The news?” Dominique said. “Like you said, no one would have
2401believed you. And there wasn’t enough time.”
2402“I should have tried. People are dead. I just didn’t want to believe it to be true.
2403I feel dead myself.”
2404“This isn’t your fault.”
2405“Even if it’s not, it’s a terrible day.”
2406As we were driving, Washington D.C. was hit. The news said, “We regret to
2407inform you…” Most politicians were dead, they said, though some may have
2408been hiding in underground bunkers or had the time to flee. The president and
2409the cabinet, it was thought and hoped, were somewhere underground or perhaps
2410weren’t in D.C. at all. He gave a statement about New York from somewhere,
2411speaking nothing but slogans (“We’re all New Yorkers now and forever.”) Shots
2412of D.C. showed the city devastated, but, strangely, the Capitol Building was still
2413standing, as if it was made out of some other material than the rest of the city.
2414L.A. was mostly spared. There was sniper fire on Hollywood Boulevard, but
2415no bombs. Maybe they’d failed to work. There was a lot of conjecture and
2416guesswork. The news showed cell phone camera footage of people fleeing the
2417Mann’s Chinese Theatre, a person getting shot. After the footage of New York, it
2418seemed slight. The city looked as it usually did on the ride home. People were
2419
2420still sitting at outdoor restaurants, talking on cellphones, driving as if to
2421somewhere other than shelter. They should have all been in mourning, or at least
2422afraid. Pedestrians appeared more apathetic than defiant.
2423We pulled into my driveway and got out of the car. I looked left to right, up in
2424the sky, as if sniper fire was going to rain down on us, as if we were being
2425watched. It was enough trouble to get my key into the lock. When we got inside,
2426I was the most grateful I’d ever been to be home.
2427I went to the computer and switched to the news (the computer and the TV
2428worked on the same network, though mentioning this feels trivial). New images
2429of the devastation were coming in. Imagine New York City after Hiroshima. The
2430city was dead and gray. I can’t say much about it. It’s like describing a corpse, a
2431soul that’s no longer there, and even slightly feels like it never existed. It was
2432like something was cut out of you. You’d get a flash of a landmark, the way
2433you’d get a flash of a person’s smile, and just start weeping. This was worse,
2434somehow, than a parent dying: part of the world, something everybody shared,
2435not just part of your life.
2436The news also showed driver’s license photos of the men from my dream:
2437Taylor, Tim, and others who were nameless but not faceless. All dead now. It
2438was confirmation, but unnecessary, almost an afterthought. The news said, “It’s
2439now confirmed that the gunmen were part of the same network, a fundamentalist
2440Christian sect bent on bringing about the biblical apocalypse. Strangely, the sect
2441joined forces with Islamic fundamentalists intent on bringing down American
2442interests. More details are emerging.”
2443“This is a nightmare,” I said to Dominique and Sophia. The curtains were
2444drawn, the apartment was dark except for the TV. “I almost want to go to sleep
2445again, see if there’s any better news there. There might be more logic when I’m
2446asleep.”
2447I looked at the TV again, a repeated image of New York, gray as ash, not even
2448burning.
2449“Fuck this,” I said. “I can’t take it. I need answers.”
2450I ran to the bathroom and rifled through the shelves and found an old bottle of
2451sleeping pills, past expired. I took six quickly and swallowed them with water
2452from the sink. Then I got a bottle of whiskey out of a kitchen cabinet and started
2453downing it in front of the TV, as if the images would help me drink quicker.
2454I started to get blurry and passed out, just as I saw footage of the president
2455making a speech from a press room somewhere in the U.S.
2456
2457Chapter
2458
24599
2460
2461Time of the Americans
2462“Do we know who executed the bombings?” the NSA asked.
2463“A very organized group of cells. There’s possible Iranian involvement. Even
2464the suggestion of involvement gives us just cause.”
2465A group of four were playing golf at a course in the Southwest, untouched by
2466recent events. The course had been cleared of people so they had it to
2467themselves: the Winchell father and son, NSA, and chief of staff. The group
2468walked up the fairway.
2469“It’s terrible that it’s come to this,” Chief of Staff Whitehead said.
2470“Terrible but necessary,” Benjamin Winchell replied. “Everyone must know
2471that what we’re going to do is just. The only way to save the planet, and indeed
2472the human race, is to kill it off. At this rate we’re going to die anyway, with the
2473planet dying as well. At least with a new world war we can eliminate major
2474human populations and start over with a more manageable blank slate. Don’t
2475worry, everyone. We’re talking about utopia, the real American Dream. It’s why
2476this country was founded. Francis Bacon called it the New Atlantis. He was
2477more important to this country than Washington.”
2478“You’re full of shit, Benjamin,” the NSA interjected—uncharacteristic of her,
2479at least in any public appearance I’d seen. “Global warming was done on
2480purpose. It’s just that the monsoons, pandemics, and wars weren’t effective
2481enough to control population growth. People just like to fuck too much.”
2482Definitely out of character.
2483“Yes, Liza, I was trying to save face.”
2484“With who?”
2485“With myself. If you think killing eight billion people is going to be easy,
2486you’re crazier than I am. Even if we know death is not the end, the suffering
2487that’s going to be unleashed will be horrible. But let’s not talk about that.”
2488There was silence. Benjamin Winchell looked regretful. Not a caricature of
2489evil, human. More startling than if he had been cold and indifferent because it
2490made his plan seem like it was necessary, not diabolical.
2491President Winchell stayed back from the group, pensive and slightly nauseous.
2492
2493His life was in chaos. He was not a man without a soul. He didn’t like to see
2494millions of people and entire cities die. Even if this was by design, it pained him.
2495It cannot be easy to be responsible for the death of millions of people, even if
2496you wanted it to be so. The small amount of footage he’d seen on the news was
2497profoundly distressing—so, like most, he changed the channel. “A thousand
2498years of peace. A thousand years of peace,” he repeated to himself. Only a divine
2499being could take this kind of guilt, and Charles Winchell was human, no matter
2500how much he believed he was doing God’s work.
2501Let me make something clear. Winchell was not a bad man. He was not driven
2502purely by malevolence. He was the common denominator of everyone’s most
2503basic hope—a little boy’s dream of a cowboy or an army man. Charles Winchell
2504had a kind of innocence. Winchell was a child. Appropriate because America
2505was regressing.
2506His father was the weightier of the two—more practical, less driven by
2507feeling. Colder, unempathetic, Benjamin Winchell did not see the world as
2508comprised of people. He saw the earth, the countries, the cities, the businesses,
2509and the future—with individual people very far down on the list. Except for
2510those he knew personally. Then you were meant to be alive.
2511Benjamin Winchell chose an iron to take his shot. “It’s a shame we’re not
2512going to be able to play golf anymore,” he said.
2513“Why not?” asked the chief of staff.
2514“Even if this course isn’t blown away, the roads coming here are going to be
2515impassable. And who’s going to mow the grass to such a fine level? This might
2516be the last game of golf we ever play.”
2517“That’s sad. Terribly sad.”
2518Benjamin Winchell scoffed, as if at a child. “I hope you realize how decadent
2519it is to care about losing your golf game.”
2520The chief of staff looked immediately contrite. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
2521The NSA took her shot. Not far, but straight.
2522“Not bad,” Benjamin Winchell said. “For a heterosexual woman, you’re a fine
2523golfer.”
2524Liza fired back, “For a cancer patient, you’re not bad either.”
2525Benjamin laughed appreciatively. He had a recent battle with prostate cancer
2526—a battle that he had won, though it had been humbling. “After this we head to
2527the compound,” he said.
2528“In New Mexico?” the NSA said.
2529“Ours is in New Mexico. You’ll be in Montana.”
2530“Yes. I just got my orders.”
2531Benjamin Winchell stepped up to take his shot. “We’ll be in touch throughout
2532
2533the operation. In addition to the remaining leadership around the world. It’s
2534better to not have us all in the same location.” He shot and made the green. He
2535was always a good athlete, good at whatever he put his mind to. “Really soak in
2536this air. No air underground can ever compare to it. No matter how much climate
2537control or plant life they put down there.”
2538“So what’s our next move?” the chief of staff asked Benjamin.
2539His son was fairly hurt. This was his father’s operation more than his own. He
2540rationalized that it made it easier—less of a burden. But they didn’t always look
2541to him for direction, even if he was the president, and even if they believed in his
2542ultimate purpose for the war. His father was that commanding a figure.
2543“We retaliate,” Benjamin answered. “Hard—damn the political consequences.
2544We show that 12-12 came through Russia, we bomb Russia. They bomb back.
2545No one will be sure who is doing the bombing, but there will always be
2546blowback. China gets involved. Europe may just come to their aid to make sure
2547we don’t go nuts. That’s the way we’ve designed it. This thing has to be
2548complete or it’s of no use. If they don’t get involved, we’ll conduct the war
2549ourselves if we have to. Most leaders are on board. Everyone realizes this is our
2550only option.”
2551“How long do you figure it will take?”
2552“The war? Not long. War’s easy when you’re not trying to stop the worst from
2553occurring. They debated bombing Hiroshima. For us there is no discussion. It
2554will be a perfect storm of atomic, biological, and other weaponry. Everything we
2555have at our disposal.”
2556The chief of staff took his turn. His shot sliced wildly off to the left, against
2557the wind. “I’m terrible at this game,” he said.
2558
255910
2560Chapter
2561Interpretation of Dreams
2562Over the next week I had a barrage of dreams. Several in one night. I’d wake up
2563feeling like I’d slept eight hours only to see that 20 minutes had passed. Soon I
2564didn’t even have to dream anymore. I wrote blindly, just writing names and
2565addresses, confident that this was coming from somewhere other than myself.
2566Yes, I realize how horribly presumptuous this was to consider, but I didn’t think I
2567was divinely inspired. It was too practical. This could just as easily have been
2568orchestrated by a teenage alien playing a prank, which may be no less
2569presumptuous. There were people from all over the country—all American for
2570some reason. Maybe people from other countries were having the same
2571experience, I didn’t know. All sorts of people—all religions, races, but not all
2572ages. No children, everyone was at least 18. The choices didn’t make particular
2573sense. No one seemed exceptional or even exceptionally average. They were just
2574other people: a woman named Janet Friedman, a 4th grade teach in Orlando; Jim
2575Posner, a movie critic in North Carolina; Sarah Baer, another housewife in
2576Duluth; Portia Farrow, unemployed in Seattle; Willard Gomez, a minor-league
2577baseball player outside of Phoenix; Steve Simpson, a bank manager from upstate
2578New York. And so on.
2579I’m being modest. I was deeply proud of having these experiences. In weaker
2580moments, I thought I might be one of the most significant men alive. I was being
2581given a window into the president’s true intentions. I was a kind of prophet.
2582Then I’d sober up and realize that the world was coming to a close. Millions of
2583people were going to die. My faith in myself had only been restored by everyone
2584dying. Another joke by whatever force that liked playing with me.
2585I kept writing, though. I wasn’t looking to sell the book any longer—
2586obviously not, sell to who, for what posterity? Now the book was just a chronicle
2587about what was happening. Getting the events down was somewhat cathartic.
2588Turning it into something better, softer, than it was in life. Somebody had to
2589chronicle this and in a few years there wouldn’t be many writers left. Writing
2590was, if not beautiful, then concise. What was guiding me through this was the
2591conviction that I would survive—as would the members of my group. I was
2592
2593writing about these people so I seemed a strange choice to be killed off early.
2594Especially with the chronicle unfinished. One of the reasons I continued to write
2595the book was survival. I told myself I wouldn’t die until the major work of my
2596life was done. That’s a different ambition than posterity, or even money. I was
2597writing to keep myself alive.
2598The phone rang as I wrote. It was Banski. I knew this before I picked up—but
2599don’t read into that more than you need to. I received very few phone calls. Even
2600though I was connecting with new strangers, I was still detached from the world.
2601Few friends to speak of, few contacts. In some way, I’d invented a social life
2602with these dreams.
2603“I’m in L.A.,” Banski told me.
2604“We’ve got to start doing something about all these names,” I said.
2605“That’s why I’m here. I got plenty of money. My family’s defense contractors.
2606I tell you that?”
2607“Yes.” He had, in another screed about alternative energy. This time about
2608zero-point energy, which could power the world cleanly and save the planet, but
2609could also create a bomb that would destroy half the earth. Information backed
2610up by Benjamin Winchell’s lectures. Banski talked for four hours.
2611“Might make some life out of bloodmoney,” he said. “We should get everyone
2612together from that list. Might tell us something.”
2613Call waiting beeped. I didn’t predict this call. “Mr. Myers,” said a small
2614female voice. Distant, as if she didn’t want to be heard. “This is Miranda
2615Goodling. You came to my house the other day? Do you remember?”
2616It was a shock, but a nice one. “Of course. Mrs. Goodling. Good to hear from
2617you.”
2618She spoke slowly. “You told me to contact you if anything strange happened.
2619You know, dreams or something else. And I’ve been having some bad ones.
2620Mixed up with everything that’s happening, I wanted to call you.”
2621“I’m glad you called,” I said.
2622“Could I meet you somewhere?” she asked.
2623“Don’t bother. I’ll come to you. How’s today? In a couple of hours.”
2624She agreed. I clicked back to Banski. “Banski, I got something going on.
2625Where can I reach you?”
2626“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m sleeping on the streets.”
2627He hung up before I could inquire any further.
2628#
2629I headed to Miranda Goodling’s front door feeling very different than the last
2630
2631visit. No longer a broken mess, I was in more control of myself, even with the
2632world falling out of control. I didn’t look much better—still disheveled, still
2633avoiding how I appeared, still existing in my own mind. But I was confident, a
2634renewed romance for life, as if it loved me back. Part of me believed the world
2635could still be saved and I might be the one to save it, and this book would
2636amount to something better than myself. Miranda Goodling opened the door
2637looking demure, but grateful. She smiled mildly and wordlessly let me into her
2638house. The dream had faded from my memory so I couldn’t entirely remember
2639her home, but frankly I didn’t care anymore. These smaller details were starting
2640not to matter.
2641“Please, sit down,” she said.
2642I sat on the couch in front of a TV that was playing an animated show I didn’t
2643recognize. She turned it off with the remote.
2644“I’m grateful you called,” I said.
2645She breathed in deeply and let it out, as if steadying herself. “I’ve been having
2646some strange dreams, nearly every night,” she said. “About world events. About
2647what appears to be the end of the world. And not stuff that’s already on TV.” She
2648pointed at the TV like it was a kind of enemy.
2649“I understand,” I said.
2650“Other stuff’s been happening too.” Her eyes grew larger and she stopped
2651herself.
2652“What is it?”
2653She never met my eyes as she talked. “Well, it’s like my dreams and real life
2654are getting mixed up. Like the other day I was looking at our cat, Sam, and his
2655eyes were bright red. I thought it was a trick of the light, but as I got closer it
2656stayed that way.” As if on cue, the cat strolled by outside on the porch. The cat’s
2657eyes were normal; it looked bored and indifferent. “And then today, I was sitting
2658on the couch where you are now. The wall over there,” she pointed to the wall by
2659the fireplace, behind a cabinet with a collection of bells (my grandmother
2660collected bells as well, from all over the world). “The wall just disappeared. And
2661there was a city street. Abandoned, there was trash blowing around. I
2662approached the street and the wall became whole again.” She shivered slightly.
2663“Does that sound like anything you’ve heard of?”
2664“Not exactly,” I responded.
2665“I’m not crazy. I know that,” she said, as if trying to convince herself. “And I
2666think I can tell the difference between a hallucination and real life. I could smell
2667it, you know? The trash. Cold air came into the house. It was real. I’m scared,
2668Mr. Myers. It was real.”
2669She started crying, hand shielding her eyes, shuddering, weeping with fear. I
2670
2671couldn’t imagine how this must have felt to her. The world was falling apart,
2672cities being destroyed, millions of people dead, and now her immediate world
2673was starting to disintegrate. Me, I longed for this. I wanted to hallucinate,
2674wanted the walls to melt away. It was totally alien to her, difficult to confess, and
2675so believable.
2676I put a hand on her shoulder, which she accepted.
2677“I’m so sorry about this, Miranda,” I said. “This has got to be difficult.”
2678“It is. It’s not like I can tell anyone about it. I don’t want to be locked up, or
2679have my kids taken away. I remembered your card so I called. What do you think
2680this is?”
2681“I don’t know yet, Miranda,” I confessed. “But you’re not alone here, know
2682that. A lot of people are having these types of experiences. Our plan is to have a
2683meeting with people from all over the country who are having similar
2684experiences. It could explain what’s happening. Do you think you’d be up for
2685that?”
2686Miranda nodded, shyly, like a girl who’d scraped her knee and was being
2687offered ice cream. I don’t mean to be condescending, but being so powerless did
2688make you feel like less of an adult. I was feeling partly helpless too—not
2689answerable to parents, but to some force I couldn’t see, even if it was my own
2690creation.
2691I told Miranda I’d get back to her as soon as we were ready for the meeting.
2692She was appreciative, a weight lifted. The promise of answers was enough of an
2693answer.
2694“As long as I’m not crazy,” she declared.
2695“You’re not crazy,” I said. “The world might be, but you’re not.”
2696
269711
2698Chapter
2699The American Cell
2700President Winchell gave a few speeches that didn’t say much of anything. He
2701said he was going to go get the thugs responsible for 12-12, and other things
2702you’re probably familiar with. “I will not speculate on who did this until all the
2703facts are in. But we all know the War on Terror never really ended. There will be
2704a swift and deliberate response.” He mentioned that Russia was a major target, as
2705were Pakistan and parts of China.
2706He said one other thing. At the end of the speech he said he wanted to change
2707America’s motto from E Pluribus Unum, “Out of Many, One,” to Ordo Ab Chao,
2708“Order out of Chaos.” The new world will be better than the one before. New
2709money would soon be printed.
2710The speeches, unsurprisingly, didn’t do much for Winchell’s standing. People
2711wanted his head. Pundits thought his days in office were numbered. Those on the
2712right said there was no way to stop the bombings any more than you could stop
2713every convenience store from being robbed. Bad analogy, other pundits yelled.
2714This could have been prevented.
2715They were all wrong. This could only have been prevented if there were other
2716people in office. Winchell’s administration were responsible for the bombings.
2717Of course, they had help: the American cell and Russians and Pakistanis who
2718carried out the attacks. Americans weren’t the only ones intent on bringing about
2719the Second Coming. There was a wide network of people who were happy to see
2720this come to fruition, even if they died in the process. The pundits didn’t know
2721this. For people who were supposed to inform the populace, they were the least
2722informed. They only reported what they were allowed to know, even if their
2723criticism shined a bad light on the administration.
2724The Winchell family and administration were now at the Winchell compound
2725in New Mexico. It was far away from major cities where most of the damage
2726would likely occur. It was unclear, as of now, how many senators and
2727congressmen and others had left D.C. Though many had been warned.
2728Even if the current situation was planned, war was unpredictable, even to
2729those at the top. It was a shame too. Even though life after the grave might have
2730
2731its advantages, being alive for it had a greater fulfillment—the difference,
2732maybe, between witnessing a baseball game in person or reading the box score.
2733A fulfillment that would ultimately make life after death that much more
2734fulfilling. Yet another justification: suffering through life would have its reward.
2735The homestead—which was named Mount Megiddo, but most often called
2736The Compound—had everything they needed. It was the White House nobody
2737knew about. A small underground village. There was a tall electric fence around
2738the property and a surveillance system that ran on generators, though very little
2739of the compound could be seen above ground. Several back-up generators,
2740which weren’t needed because the generators ran on water, and they had plenty
2741of water: both an indoor well and rooms full of bottled water, for when the
2742groundwater would be undrinkable. Benjamin Winchell believed in redundancy.
2743The appliances ran on a combination of wind and solar power, another reason to
2744be in New Mexico. It was ironic, really: the compound was a liberal paradise. A
2745sub-basement was stocked with enough canned food to last eight years. Frozen
2746meat that wouldn’t last nearly as long, but long enough. Weapons, if needed.
2747Tanks. A private runway and mid-sized plane. It was also a survivalist’s paradise.
2748The underground compound spanned an area as wide as a train station. There
2749were medical facilities, research facilities, a media center, racks of new clothing,
2750even a collection of stores, as if to give some continuity with the world upstairs.
2751There was also recreation: pool, tennis court, weight room, everything you’d
2752expect at a resort; no masseuse though. As more people arrived, so would
2753doctors, scientists, and other types. Though Benjamin Winchell felt that he knew
2754enough about medicine to self-diagnose. This place wasn’t meant to be an ark
2755preserving the great men of America—it was mostly a command center, padded
2756with the comforts of home.
2757Most of all they would be safe and they would be calm enough to make
2758rational decisions. If panic set in, the bunker was equipped with a small
2759pharmacy, including anti-depressants and opiates, which Benjamin Winchell
2760preferred. It was also an easy way to kill yourself if it came to that.
2761They were sitting in the living room in the main house aboveground.
2762Windows were open for as long as that was possible. The house was something
2763like an overgrown cabin, modeled after Will Rogers’ home in Los Angeles.
2764Wooden walls, a Persian rug in the center. The room was fairly dark, as if always
2765being lit by a small fire; it smelled like wood. Benjamin Winchell sat in a thick
2766suede chair, studded with gold. His feet rested upon an Ottoman. Charles was
2767sitting at the edge of the couch, as if waiting to meet his date. His mother,
2768Barbara, walked in and out of the room, separate from the discussion, his wife
2769was sleeping upstairs, and his closest confidant, Chief of Staff Derek Whitehead,
2770
2771sat on the couch next to Charles. The vice president was said to be coming soon.
2772Other people would go to bunkers of this kind, though none as nice as this one.
2773Many were connected to each other via narrow passageways. Mount Megiddo
2774was isolated.
2775They had spent the last week holed up here—a family together like they
2776hadn’t been in years. They ate meals, walked the grounds, even played tennis. It
2777was alternately exhilarating and dull, much like some vacations. The promise of
2778something that wasn’t yet occurring. They watched the news, monitored the
2779growing war online. A collection of private satellites could broadcast video when
2780the media was no more. There was a room for this, a theatre with ten monitors,
2781more if needed. His father wanted to monitor everything. Not out of sadism—not
2782completely—but this was war and it needed to be monitored, even one as final
2783and chaotic as this one. He didn’t want everything destroyed if he could help it:
2784just the people, not the landscape.
2785The decision about how to go forward hadn’t yet been decided. They would
2786retaliate, and hard, but first they needed to instigate the second phase of the plan:
2787set this up as a religious war. This was going to be a careful disaster.
2788But the longer they waited, the more it seemed like they could lose control.
2789“I’m not happy,” Charles said. “People hate me. There have been calls for my
2790impeachment and assassination.”
2791“You’re here,” his father said. “There’s no way they can touch you. And
2792there’s never going to be an impeachment proceeding.”
2793“That’s not the point. I’m afraid it will hurt our plans. No one’s going to listen
2794to what I have to say. And I don’t like reading about it.”
2795“So don’t read about it. Don’t watch TV. I’m surprised at you, Charles.
2796Everything they write is based on a fiction. Just remember that. Everything they
2797say is based on half the story. Like monkeys talking about God. No one knows
2798what they’re talking about.”
2799“But they think they do. That’s what matters.”
2800Benjamin sighed, more like a huff. “Jesus, Charles, did you think this would
2801make people happy? You were prepared for this. You knew this would happen.”
2802“There’s a difference between preparing for something and witnessing it.
2803People are suffering out there. Children are suffering. It’s a disaster.”
2804“I understand,” Benjamin said calmly. “But the next year is a blip in the scope
2805of the universe. We’re witnessing the next Big Bang here. Once the world
2806changes over, all of this will be forgotten. Editorials don’t matter. They’re lucky
2807they still have a newspaper. Even 100% disapproval doesn’t matter. Everything’s
2808going like we thought it would and no one said it would be easy.”
2809He was right, of course. Charles spoke otherwise to save face. As if speaking
2810
2811doubt out loud was a sort of penance so he could move on. For every death, for
2812every suffering, there was an equal joy somewhere else in the world. His father
2813had taught him that. The greatest tragedy could be turned into the greatest
2814prosperity. He had said that in speeches. We have to be strong now that it’s here.
2815This is what He wants.
2816By “He,” Charles meant both God and his father. There was something that
2817Charles Winchell wasn’t telling his father: he didn’t believe him. Benjamin
2818Winchell claimed that all religions needed to be replaced by a universal, oneworld religion: the Bible was the path to make this happen. But if it was the path,
2819it could be true. The Christian Jesus may have been different than the historical
2820Jesus, but belief had made him the one son of God, and belief could transform
2821the world. His father had taught him this as well: thoughts were as real as matter.
2822The idea of Jesus was as real as whoever he might have been two thousand years
2823ago. And so instigating a biblical apocalypse meant that the Bible was the
2824irrefutable word of God.
2825All of this nonsense about UFOs and hidden technology was just that:
2826nonsense. His father said humanity was seeded by Saurons, evolved dinosaurs
2827who genetically engineered human evolution. Was his father kidding? He had
2828yet to prove it. It would have been laughable if it hadn’t come from his father.
2829Charles didn’t like defying his father. He wouldn’t have become president
2830without his father’s guidance. Maybe this was God’s plan—to break away from
2831his father and finally become his own man, like Jesus breaking away from the
2832Jews. Maybe his father was being steered by Satan, the serpent. Maybe that’s
2833what these Saurons literally were. For the first time in his life, Charles thought
2834his father to be wrong, which was worse than witnessing his father crying. It was
2835a kind of patricide.
2836President Winchell would follow his father’s plans, but only to a point.
2837Benjamin Winchell had said that the president needed to start a religious war in
2838order to usher in a non-religious, universal peace. This didn’t make much sense
2839to Charles. Either way, this meant that the Book of Revelations was prophecy.
2840There was going to be a worldwide calamity, fire and brimstone, that led to years
2841of peace. The Book of Revelations was true and Charles Winchell was in charge
2842of making it a reality. He would usher in the time of the Anti-Christ and create
2843world peace.
2844Many people didn’t realize that the Anti-Christ wasn’t evil like Hitler or bin
2845Laden. The Anti-Christ is charming and beloved and makes good on seven years
2846of peace. Charles Winchell was this man. Then came Armageddon, the 144
2847thousand saved and carted away, and finally the Second Coming and new
2848kingdom.
2849
2850Incredibly, President Winchell was going to play the role of Anti-Christ so the
2851world could usher in the one true Christ. What nobody knew was that Winchell
2852was going through one hell of an identity crisis—probably the worst case in the
2853history of mankind.
2854
285512
2856Chapter
2857God Bless America
2858“My fellow Americans, I greet you from an undisclosed location. These are
2859troubling times for all of us. Believe me, it pains me to make this address, but
2860the world is on the precipice of a major U.S. invasion. It has come to our
2861attention that the attack on our citizens and our allies abroad was the work of
2862men with connections to terrorist sympathizers in the Iranian government, as
2863well as officials in the Russian government. It is the latter that is most troubling
2864because Russia has been an ally since the end of the Cold War. We have reason
2865to believe that munitions are being transferred between the Russian underground,
2866Iranian militants, and terrorist cells throughout the world. We have determined
2867the best course of action is to cut off the munitions supply at its source: Russia.
2868Unfortunately, the Russian president has been unwilling to halt the transfer of
2869arms across his borders. Diplomacy has failed. For this reason, we have no
2870choice but to forcefully stop this aggression from occurring. We will not wait
2871until the worst happens, much worse than the violence we have seen already. I
2872urge people to watch the footage of the recent bombings over again. It may help
2873to strengthen your resolve as we head towards this military engagement. Our
2874goal, of course, is lasting peace. But as was the case in World War II, sometimes
2875peace can only be created through war. Let me close with some scripture.” He
2876placed his hands together as in prayer. He said this more deliberately: “In
2877Exodus, it says, ‘The Lord is a man of war.’ So even though times will be hard,
2878you must know that we are doing God’s work. This will indeed be our exodus
2879from humanity’s slavish devotion to violence. Our walk through the desert is
2880almost over. I ask you to pray for our country in these coming weeks. Thank you
2881and God bless America.”
2882I turned the TV off. I’d been watching the broadcast with Dominique and
2883Stephanie. I didn’t care to hear how the pundits spun the speech. Their opinions
2884were irrelevant. “That last segment is going to fuck people up,” I said. “They’re
2885going to start believing this is a religious war. Even if that is the point. This is
2886Armageddon.”
2887“You don’t know that,” Stephanie said. “It might be short-lived.”
2888
2889“Did you hear the man? He referenced World War II. This is not going to end
2890quickly.”
2891“No, it’s not,” Dominique said, showing some impatience with my wife as
2892well.
2893“Stephanie, are you going to admit the fact that something very fucked up is
2894going on?”
2895“I guess I just don’t want to believe it, Gene. That the end of the world is upon
2896us.”
2897“Believe it. It’s happening.”
2898“OK. I believe it. Now what?”
2899“Now, I don’t know. We try to survive.”
2900“I’d rather live than survive,” Stephanie said. “I’d rather enjoy what’s left than
2901fear what’s coming.”
2902“That’s a lovely sentiment, Stephanie,” Dominique said.
2903“Thank you,” she said curtly. “I understand what you’ve been going through.
2904This speech is confirmation of every fucking thing you’ve been talking about.
2905But what can we do, Gene? What can we do?”
2906She was tearful and I felt guilty, as if I’d made this worse for her. If she wasn’t
2907living with a doomsayer, she would at least be able to live out her life with some
2908hope that things might get better.
2909“I don’t know, Stephanie,” I told her. “We can let people know what the
2910president is up to.”
2911“And if that doesn’t work?”
2912“We can try not to die.”
2913#
2914The next morning I woke up to the radio alarm playing the news, which was
2915never a good idea. Waking up to bad information. The radio told me: “The
2916president has worked quickly since his speech outlining attacks on Russia and
2917Iran. Reports are coming in that Moscow and Tehran have seen bombing in
2918civilian areas, in addition to munitions depots. There has been a general outcry
2919from normally-steadfast allies such as the UK and Canada.”
2920“A nightmare,” I said out loud, as if to remind myself that I was awake. Since
2921the dream in the warehouse I had to literally pinch myself to make sure I was
2922awake. It didn’t always work. The line between dreaming and waking was
2923becoming blurred. My dreams were as vivid as life, my life more dreamlike.
2924But then I woke up again. Lying in bed, news playing—same newscast. “The
2925president has worked quickly… ” I got out of bed, muttering to myself, “A
2926
2927nightmare,” almost ironically, as if ironic detachment would somehow ground
2928me. Dreams weren’t big on sarcasm. But really this was terrifying: because if I
2929couldn’t tell the difference between my waking life and my sleeping life, then
2930my world really was coming to an end, regardless of whether or not I died.
2931I walked half-asleep into the living room where Dominique was splayed out
2932on the imitation Persian rug, surrounded by letters and envelopes. She was
2933confirmation that I was surviving, at least, if not awake.
2934“I’ve been up all night,” she said, excitedly. “I’ve got it all together. The letter
2935to the dreamers informing them about what’s going on. All we need is a plane
2936ticket for each person. Think Banski will come through?”
2937“He said he would.”
2938“Good. We need to act quick. Planes could be grounded soon. Who knows?”
2939“Thanks a lot, Dominique. We’ll do what we can.”
2940“We’ll do more than that,” she said, determinedly. She was becoming quite the
2941good foot soldier.
2942I almost believed her. I had to. If gathering these people together didn’t solve
2943anything then I had no other option except to die. I’d kill myself before
2944witnessing world war firsthand. People talked of survival instinct. Mine was
2945negligible. My plan was to break into a pharmacy, steal codeine and other pain
2946killers, and permanently anesthetize myself. Forcing heaven while living through
2947hell.
2948There was a knock at the door, which was an abrupt and terrifying sound. We
2949never got visitors and I was half expecting government men at any moment, like
2950I was being watched throughout this whole process. It was another possible
2951comfort—that I wasn’t alone, if only from a distance. Or I was important enough
2952to be monitored, every paranoid’s fantasy.
2953I opened the door. Before me was a homeless guy, bearded, brown with dirt,
2954staring fixedly at the ground. Maybe this was a person from the list who’d made
2955a pilgrimage here—I’d been expecting that as well. He looked up from the
2956ground and I saw that it was Banski.
2957“Christ, Banski, what the hell? Are you OK?”
2958“I walked here,” he answered.
2959“But you look like shit.”
2960“I’ve been learning about Los Angeles,” he said. “Best way to learn about a
2961city is outside, not in any hotel.”
2962This was a man who could afford $1000 plane tickets for 75 people.
2963“You want to wash off?” I asked. “We’ve got a bathroom.”
2964“Yeah, I could use a bathroom,” he said. He looked down as if seeing himself
2965for the first time, slightly embarrassed. There was a hole, somehow, in the top of
2966
2967his shoe. Fingernails black with dirt like they’d been bruised. He reeked so it
2968stung. “But later. Where we at with everything?”
2969“We’ve got the correspondence together,” I said. “All we need are plane
2970tickets.”
2971“I’ll get you the money,” he said.
2972“Good, thank you. I’ve also been in contact with a woman who’s been having
2973some strange experiences. Like her dream life and her real life are blending
2974together. She’s been hallucinating, but they’re not quite hallucinations.”
2975“I’m not surprised,” Banski said. “I’ve been working on something.”
2976He rummaged through his bag: past ketchup packets, half-and-half, napkins,
2977and sugar, to his old notebook. “In here,” he said, holding open the notebook,
2978which was more battered than before, pages wrinkled and stained. “I see what’s
2979happening here. Evolution’s coming. The Mayans were right: there’s going to be
2980a global change in consciousness. Only they got the date wrong. Actually they
2981didn’t, but back in the seventies an alien race helped us divert a hit from an
2982asteroid by changing the earth’s orbit. It’s partly why the environment’s all
2983fucked up, but not entirely. It changed the timeline. But they were right about
2984beginning the Age of Aquarius. The Second Coming of Christ and thousand
2985years of peace amount to the same thing. We’re going to enter the dream world
2986where our minds control reality. These dreams people are having are just flashes
2987of what’s to come. Telepathy, conversations with the dead, traveling from star to
2988star without moving. Everything that’s been kept from us. Our spiritual
2989birthright.”
2990“I hope you’re right,” I said.
2991“Of course I’m right,” he said, grimly, like I was too stupid to ever believe
2992him. “I’ve never been wrong about anything. That’s my curse. This whole war is
2993about the transformation of the species. The new evolution. Count on it. I’ll see
2994you later.”
2995He started heading down the front stoop, his backpack slung over his
2996shoulder, still open.
2997“Where you going?” I asked.
2998“To write,” he said.
2999I watched him take a right turn down the sidewalk, hunched over, nearly
3000dragging his back leg like Igor. A cat passed by his feet in the opposite direction
3001and he paid it no mind. Our neighborhood was full of strays. This cat was fat,
3002orange, and looked pregnant, lumbering. As it passed by our house it stopped
3003and looked at me. Its eyes were glowing red. I looked away and then looked
3004back again. Still glowing red.
3005“I think I’ll ignore that,” I told myself.
3006
3007#
3008The meeting of the dream subjects was a week away. Dominique and I took a
3009trip to our local park. People were picnicking, jogging on a track, a Little League
3010game was playing, and so on. I didn’t begrudge anyone this. It wasn’t entirely
3011apathy to be enjoying yourself while the world was coming to an end. They
3012didn’t have the same evidence, though there was plenty of evidence, but what
3013were you supposed to do with your two-year-old child except take her to the
3014park, make believe everything was fine, because to that child everything was
3015fine. You couldn’t just hole up and wait. In this way going to the park was both
3016comforting and impossibly sad. Evidence of life and evidence of what would no
3017longer be.
3018We sat on a bench looking out on the playground, as nice a day as there could
3019be. The sky was blue and cloudless, as if to demonstrate that life could still be
3020peaceful.
3021“I can’t believe this is all going to be gone,” Dominique said, echoing my own
3022thoughts. Really, there wasn’t much else to think about. “People are just living
3023their lives as if nothing’s happening.”
3024“Let them,” I said. “They can’t possibly know what’s going to happen. It’s
3025almost better that they’re hopeful until the very last moment. Fear isn’t going to
3026help them any.”
3027“Shouldn’t we at least be telling people about what’s going to happen?”
3028“You know that most of them would think we’re raving lunatics. People just
3029don’t want to believe what we know. So they won’t. And if they believe us, then
3030what? They’ll be powerless to stop it.”
3031“At least they’ll seek shelter.”
3032“You know that nowhere’s safer than any other. Believe me, I’ve thought
3033about this. It’s a fucking tragedy. Everyone you see here will be dead. And
3034maybe they won’t die quickly. That’s the worst of it. Kids are going to die and
3035their parents are going to have to watch. Or the other way around. That’s all war
3036is. The worst nightmares made real.” I stopped. I was shouting and my voice was
3037carrying. A few parents were looking over, which may have been the intention—
3038some way to tell them and get this off my conscience. “Believe me,” I said, more
3039quietly. “I’ve felt like the whole place needed to be wiped off the map. We’re a
3040horrible species in many ways. Strangely enough, this war is a perfect example.
3041But it was only an idea, never a reality. Now I’ve never felt so in love with the
3042human race.”
3043“It’s like that song by David Bowie, ‘Five Years,’” she said. “‘All the fat
3044
3045skinny people, all the tall short people. I never thought I’d need so many
3046people.’”
3047“That song’s about the end of the world?”
3048“Oh yeah, it’s my favorite apocalypse song.”
3049I almost laughed. We were silent watching the kids play.
3050“One of the worst things,” I said, out of the silence, “is that somehow I’m
3051responsible for the survivors of this stupid war. That our dreams are going to
3052lead us somewhere. Maybe I just want to believe that this war has a happy
3053ending. That I’m capable of something beyond myself. It’s exactly like…”
3054I trailed off.
3055“Like what?” Dominique asked.
3056“Like something I used to fantasize about. About being well-regarded. A
3057success. Important. Wish-fulfillment.”
3058It was even in this book. I could no longer tell what was imagination and what
3059was premonition. The book itself was a kind of dream—from a part of my brain
3060I didn’t quite understand. I was at the whim of my imagination, just as I was at
3061the whim of dreams. I was never so objective that I knew what I was going to
3062write before it came out. I wasn’t that good a writer. But part of me always
3063thought the apocalypse was necessary because the world sucked to shit in so
3064many ways. So much needed to die, if not literally than figuratively, which was
3065half the equation. Perhaps people didn’t need to die, but thoughts did. And
3066people were the representatives of thoughts, they made thoughts reality. I am
3067speaking in the abstract here. I am not advocating genocide. The sadness and
3068pain erupting from genocide was strong enough to become like another
3069atmosphere. The indifference to genocide added another layer, so the first layer
3070could never be cut away. At the same time, this world needed to start over. The
3071bad was outweighing the good, which was not pessimism but the absence of
3072repression. I won’t say I was grateful for what was happening, but I did think it
3073was inevitable. We’d managed to postpone it for a while and here it finally was.
3074So many thoughts needed to die and it didn’t seem like there was any way to
3075rewrite human behavior except by shocking the shit out of it. Humans responded
3076to a kick in the ass. A species that could produce the Holocaust, child porn, war,
3077murder, and rape needed reworking. Our world was a nightmare, a tragedy a
3078second. Something had to be done.
3079Most every religion had its eschatology, science had made it a reality. I wasn’t
3080anti-science, not in the least—but technological progress had built the bomb and
3081killed the climate, helping to prove ancient prophecy. Was that just an accident?
3082Or a realization that came from somewhere much deeper? I would say the latter
3083because I liked to believe there were no accidents—everything is synchronicity,
3084
3085not just interesting coincidences. But that’s off the subject, mostly. Armageddon
3086seemed built into the human system, like death itself. It could have manifested
3087itself as an internal rather than external apocalypse, a collective change in
3088consciousness, but that would never happen because people weren’t open to the
3089possibility. With fewer people, it might be possible to finally transform the
3090human race. There were just too many people, too many dangerously selfdefeating thoughts, like a bad marriage comprised of billions of people—half
3091trying to sabotage the other half out of resentment, envy, anger, and everything
3092else married couples go through. Just look at me and my wife.
3093All this may have been a kind of demented hope on my part. To give meaning
3094to the tragedy, even to give it a religious significance. Hey, maybe we’re going to
3095be in for 1000 years of peace! But that didn’t give enough credit to the depth of
3096my belief, or psychosis: you choose. On the one hand I felt like an evil dictator
3097bent on world destruction, on the other hand I thought that the only way to
3098achieve lasting peace was to kill most of the race off. Neither was a good choice.
3099“The meeting will help answer some of your questions,” Dominique told me,
3100by way of epilogue.
3101“It better or we’re even doomed than I thought,” I said.
3102#
3103Around seventy people were milling around Miranda Goodling’s back yard. It
3104seemed more or less like any party—though these people were different ages and
3105ethnicities, all between the ages of 20 and 50, and didn’t entirely seem like
3106people who should be socializing; too many walks of life. It was more like an
3107A.A. meeting, with some nervously eyeing each other, some grateful to be there,
3108some loud laughter, as if laughter would drown out the uncertainty. But everyone
3109was generally in good spirits. It appeared to be most of the people on the list.
3110No one knew me yet. They didn’t know that I’d dreamt or written about each
3111and every one of them. I wanted to keep it that way. It occurred to me, seeing
3112everybody together, that this could become a sort of religious gathering. I had
3113dragged all these people to this place, during war, each having witnessed
3114millions die, and I was the person to potentially save them. Presumptuous again,
3115sickeningly so, claiming to be a savior, even if their own dreams were proof that
3116this was not all my invention.
3117I was standing awkwardly by the food table—chips and dip, vegetables and
3118dip, party food. Miranda Goodling walked up to me. She looked radiant. She
3119looked pregnant, like new life was inside her. A totally different person than the
3120one who had been beaten by these experiences. I would learn later that she had
3121
3122literally been beaten by her husband—over this, over everything. He had since
3123moved out, leaving the kids with her.
3124“It’s a good turnout, Mr. Myers,” she said. She always called me Mr. Myers,
3125though I’d asked her not to. “It seems strange to have normal party food. This
3126isn’t a normal party.”
3127“People gotta eat,” I said. “Thanks for all the work you’ve put in.”
3128“It doesn’t feel like work, you know? It feels like survival.”
3129The doorbell rang and she walked assuredly into the house. A man stepped up
3130to me, around my age. Didn’t look much different than me, actually, but less
3131Jewish. Sort of like the person they’d pick to play me in a movie. Every feature a
3132little bit sharper, wearing a better suit. I had decided to wear a suit that day, not
3133sure why. The only time I wore a suit was to weddings or funerals.
3134“Are you Eugene Myers?” he asked.
3135“I am,” I said, a bit hesitantly. “But don’t say that too loud. I’m concerned that
3136people might turn this into a tent revival. They’re so afraid, they’re liable to
3137believe anything.”
3138“I’m one of them,” he said. “As soon as I got your letter I knew I had to be
3139here. I’ve been having the worst dreams. Broken cities. And I know it’s real. I
3140can sense it’s premonition, not just imagination or paranoia. You normally wake
3141up from a bad dream and think, ‘Thank God it was just a dream.’ I wake up and
3142think, ‘Thank God I’ve got some time left before this happens.’ Your letter, it
3143was like another sign.”
3144“I’ve had very much the same experience,” I said.
3145“Except you heard names, right? Of all of us? I never got names.”
3146“I think we’ve each dreamed something different.”
3147“That sounds about right. I’ve been talking to people. One guy said he saw
3148himself holed up in the mountains. Like a mountain suburb. And the weird thing
3149is he saw people at this gathering in the neighborhood. He saw me there.”
3150“That’s interesting.”
3151“Comforting in a way.”
3152“We’ll get everyone’s stories together and see if it forms a narrative.
3153Everyone’s going to write out as much as they can remember from their dreams.
3154There’s a journal in the front hall.”
3155“That’s a good idea. Get it in writing. Like we all have a contract together. I’m
3156Geoff, by the way. I’m an entertainment attorney, normally.”
3157We shook hands. Firmly, like this really was some kind of strange business
3158arrangement. Another partygoer stepped up to us. A middle-aged woman with
3159wide glasses, wearing a crystal necklace and feathers from her ears. She looked
3160like a New Age librarian.
3161
3162“I overheard,” she said, “that you’re Eugene Myers. My God, I can’t believe
3163I’m meeting you.” She squealed and slapped a hand to her cheek, dramatically,
3164mouth agape. I got a bad vibe from this woman—a kind of insane earnestness.
3165“In the real flesh and blood,” she said. “You’re like a prophet, know that?”
3166“I’m not a prophet,” I said, flatly.
3167“Oh yes you are. You were witness to all our names, saving us. It’s like you’ve
3168got a more vivid window into the other side. You’ve gathered this flock together.
3169Like a priest.”
3170“I’m just one person,” I told her.
3171“No, you’re not. You’ve been singled out. We all have. Thank you so much
3172for your gift.”
3173She gave me a kiss on the check and gazed at me like no person ever had. Not
3174lust or even love, but a look like she was eating me and ready to be eaten. A lot
3175in those eyes. Both violence and surrender. A kind of self-rape.
3176The woman named Portia Farrow walked off. Geoff looked at me, smiling
3177slightly, eyebrows raised.
3178“You better watch out,” he said. “You don’t want this turning into a religious
3179cult.”
3180“No, I absolutely don’t,” I said. “I’ve got to address these people.”
3181Miranda Goodling’s back patio was raised up from the backyard by a few
3182warped wooden steps. I got up on the porch and shouted, “Hello, everyone.
3183Please be quiet,” and everyone was immediately silent, staring up at me,
3184abruptly at attention. I had been wrong. They knew who I was, but they were
3185keeping their distance. Some were looking at me the way Portia had done
3186minutes earlier, both demanding and submissive. This was the first speech I’d
3187ever given: “Thank you all for coming here. It was courageous of you to come
3188during this difficult time, many of you leaving family behind. But I think all of
3189you know how important it is that we met each other. We are all part of a puzzle
3190that we are only now putting together. And let’s be clear about this: no piece of
3191the puzzle is more important than any other. We are all equals here, parts of a
3192whole. So everyone enjoy yourself and get to know one another. We have a lot to
3193learn from each other. Thank you.”
3194I wanted to get the hell off that stage. There was applause as I stepped down. I
3195stood on the faded grass, alone but watched. Was this fame? Is this what people
3196desired? It felt like a violation; of both them and me. I never in my life wanted
3197this kind of attention. Somehow getting external confirmation for something I
3198once desired—people’s recognition—felt much less healthy than keeping it
3199private. A man, Indian, wearing wide glasses, walked up to me through the
3200group, a blank smile on his face. The kind of mild smile that seemed like it could
3201
3202become violent. I was limp. He took my hand and he kissed it. I pulled my hand
3203back. My lip twitched nervously. He walked backwards, slightly bowing, as if
3204curtsying. This opened the gates and several more people came up to me. One, a
3205guy in his twenties who looked like a teenager, touched my forehead with his
3206palm, as if this was a kind of prayer.
3207I backed away and ran into the house. I asked for this, I thought. First thing
3208that came into my mind. This was what I wanted. Effortless, empty worship.
3209This was my fault, my own self-importance becoming manifest. My arrogance
3210and my weakness. I needed to get out of there.
3211I ran to the front door and startled my wife who was just entering the house.
3212“Jesus, Gene, what’s wrong? You look terrible. How’s the party going?”
3213“Not as well as expected,” I said.
3214“Why not?”
3215“Some people think I’m a saint.”
3216She shook her head, disapprovingly. “Well, you finally got the adoration
3217you’ve been looking for,” she said.
3218“I was never looking for this,” I said. “I’m not prepared for it.”
3219“No one’s prepared to be the center of the world.”
3220“That’s real fucking helpful, thank you.”
3221I ran out the door and escaped my own party.
3222
322313
3224Chapter
3225Book of Revelations
3226Charles Winchell needed to get down to work. A select few knew of his personal
3227plans—which he had termed the Revelation Operation. The chief of staff, VP,
3228attorney general, and a host of others. His own generation, not his father’s. They
3229all believed the Bible to be as real as God. Most importantly, the plan conformed
3230to what his father wanted—the Order of the Ages declared by America’s
3231forefathers. His father would have no idea of the plan until it no longer mattered,
3232at which point he would bow down to his own son.
3233First, Winchell traveled to Dubai and was instrumental in creating a new
3234Middle Eastern coalition—The Union of Middle East States, a name that could
3235only have American origins. TUOMES, or Tombs if you were cynical. It was a
3236group of ten Middle Eastern countries, including Israel, and, as the broker of the
3237deal, the United States. The world was ready for it—it’s like the entire world
3238said at once, Enough of this shit already. We couldn’t carry on the way we were
3239any longer. President Winchell was a hero overnight. America was once again a
3240world savior. Winchell had started the war and had just as suddenly stopped it.
3241This was better than retaliation, this was peace. We had turned a corner.
3242A note on where the Middle East was at this time: several years earlier, in late
32432012, a Middle Eastern terrorist named Sahib bombed a synagogue in Israel.
3244100,000 people were killed. This was thought to possibly bring about Word War
3245III, but the president at the time quelled the violence with diplomacy, much more
3246tenuous than the new coalition. Since then there had been terrible fighting in the
3247Mideast, but it was mainly quarantined—they fought amongst themselves.
3248Believe it or not, things had not changed much in the last 20 years. The degree of
3249death might have been different, but the reasons were the same.
3250After that bombing, there was a major drive to change the human system,
3251much like there was now. Sahib claimed he had been inspired by a fictional
3252movie about terrorism in which the same thing occurred. There was a push to
3253censor negative movies and negative music. The 2012 president claimed these
3254were a form of pollution, as damaging to the planet as carbon dioxide. He was a
3255proponent of one-world government and a unified one-world religion. A liberal
3256
3257utopia. The plan didn’t work. It created a nation of conspiracy theorists. There
3258were revolts. It was called un-American, by both sides, and for good reason. The
3259drive towards enlightenment was met with hostility—people just didn’t want to
3260be told what to do. It was this early failure in trying to remake American
3261consciousness that had inspired Benjamin Winchell to install something
3262permanent.
3263The new situation was much more dire than 2012. More people had died and
3264it didn’t seem like a solution was possible. As soon as he started the Operation,
3265Winchell’s approval numbers started going up. And why not? He was promising
3266and delivering world peace.
3267I saw the Middle East coalition as part of Winchell’s plan. A ten-state cartel
3268came right from the Book of Revelation. It was one of those things that had to
3269happen. This didn’t turn me into a Christian convert, however. Actually it had
3270the opposite effect. I was trying to explain the prophecy in rational terms.
3271Though I had to admit there was always a nagging issue: a person aiming to
3272fulfill prophecy might be the prophecy itself.
3273There were fundamentalist Christians of all denominations who saw the new
3274events as prophecy fulfilled, but they got the schematics wrong. No two
3275denominations could agree on the Anti-Christ. Some said it was Charles
3276Winchell, but not many, only the fringe who were never taken very seriously.
3277Basically every world leader or movie star had been targeted as the Anti-Christ
3278at one time or another. Not to mention a cadre of New Agers who said this was
3279proof that a new consciousness was coming. The Age of Aquarius was almost
3280here. Let this happen. An institute in California was taking in converts and
3281recruits by the thousands.
3282There were just too many circulating ideas. The plan could get away from
3283them. President Winchell wanted to give people certainty. The time of
3284interpretation was over.
3285And so President Winchell gave the speech of his life. He stood in the press
3286room in the Compound, which looked no different than the press room at the
3287White House, except without the press. The speech was co-scripted by Benjamin
3288Winchell. President Winchell looked a little windswept, like he’d returned from
3289a hard vacation, but still presidential. It was watched by more people than any
3290program in the history of the world. It pre-empted everything, even the internet.
3291It showed on every website. Due to Winchell’s recent success, people listened:
3292“The time for hypothesizing is over,” he began. “For too long we’ve had
3293pundits yelling back and forth at each other, trying to gauge the political climate.
3294Predicting elections. Determining how a scandal will affect the voters. What’s
3295the next step after a bombing. This is no different than sports commentators
3296
3297trying to predict the outcome of the World Series. They are usually inaccurate,
3298based only on an educated guess, and trying to fill up space. The days of
3299uncertainty are now a part of the past. What I give you today is literal prophecy:
3300for the first time in human history.
3301“It is time to remake our world population. We have all lived through terrible
3302events. We all have seen that humanity needs to change. If it does not, we don’t
3303have a chance as a species. Presidents don’t usually talk in these terms, but that
3304is how our world has changed. We are fighting extinction, not just each other.
3305“Certainly, the peace in the Middle East is an enormous positive. I don’t wish
3306to minimize that. But how long do you think that will last? We have proven in
3307the past that we will do horrible things to each other. To think it won’t happen
3308again is denial—something we humans are very good at. Take a look around
3309you. Have you led a peaceful life, or one interrupted by suffering and
3310disappointment? Do you despair at the homelessness, immorality, violence, and
3311basic degradation that have overtaken our whole planet? Are your neighbors as
3312welcoming to you as much as you’d like? Are strangers friendly? Or are people
3313sullen and afraid of one another? We have become an ugly people, capable of so
3314much more. It is much easier to be cynical than positive, so that is what we have
3315done.
3316“My goal for the remainder of my presidency is to change this cycle once and
3317for all. Not through a slow reworking of Middle East politics, or better
3318diplomacy with Europe, trade with China, and all of the other minor issues that
3319have been the distraction of presidents in the past. No, I want to change the
3320human soul. I want permanent peace. Not the tenuous peace written up in a
3321treaty. I don’t want to just delay the inevitable war, but bring the inevitable
3322peace.
3323“How is this possible? you ask. The answer: a Second American Revolution. I
3324am going to say things that no president has dared to say except in the privacy of
3325the Oval Office. I am going to be completely honest and forthright about my
3326intentions. Here it comes. Take a deep breath everyone.” He took a deep breath
3327of his own as if to demonstrate. “I am the Anti-Christ.”
3328He paused as if letting this bit of information roll over every single person.
3329You could almost sense waves of thought spreading across the entire globe after
3330he said this. Anger, belief, exultation, fear. A slight, comfortable smile came to
3331his lips.
3332“That’s right. Men on both sides of the aisle—the Vatican, prominent
3333Protestants, Muslims and Jews—have deemed this to be true as well. I don’t
3334want there to be any confusion about this. I am him. And what this means is that
3335the Bible is indisputably real. As real as our country and the earth.
3336
3337“Do you know what is so beautiful about this? If the Anti-Christ is here then
3338that means the true Christ is soon to return. Without one there cannot be the
3339other. That is how the system works. So believe in me. The sooner you do, the
3340sooner He will arrive.
3341“Look deeply within yourselves. Do you feel like something has been missing
3342your entire lives? The answer, of course, is yes. This is what you have been
3343missing.
3344“I am the Anti-Christ, the first phase in what will lead to the complete
3345transformation of the human spirit and civilization. True, lasting peace. This is
3346joyous: it is finally here. Thousands of years of history have led to this moment.
3347You are all fortunate enough to be a part of it. Rejoice.”
3348He paused again, now looking serious, but a shade condescending, like a
3349teacher of unruly children.
3350“I know some people will doubt me. That is healthy. I am not asking for blind
3351faith. This is, after all, an outlandish statement. I realize that. But remember: I
3352am the president. I am privy to information you do not possess. I know the truth
3353of our origins, why America was founded, and where this country will
3354eventually lead. I am not a man shouting about the End Times on a streetcorner. I
3355am the leader of the most powerful country in the world. America is predestined
3356to make the Second Coming of Christ a reality.” He swiped his hand as if batting
3357a fly away. “If you want proof, I will give you proof. Look outside. Wherever
3358you are, it will be daylight, bright blue skies. Look now.”
3359The skies were indeed blue, everywhere. It lasted a moment, but it was
3360enough. Like a lightbulb in the sky blew out one final time. It was startling, to
3361put it mildly.
3362“After this is all over, the result will be beautiful,” he continued. “Eden before
3363the Fall. Before we split into the fractured world we see now. Without the
3364violence. Without the environmental degradation. Without the hate. No fear, only
3365love. Heaven on earth. I hope you will come with me for this historic encounter
3366with the Infinite. God bless you and God bless the United States of America.”
3367President Winchell let out a breath as if he had been holding in his breath
3368through the entire speech. The camera was switched off. So were the network of
3369satellites that—somehow—mimicked blue skies. Winchell looked at his
3370audience in the press room: his father, his mother, his chief of staff, and the VP
3371who had recently arrived. They applauded. “I ad-libbed a bit, but I got it across,”
3372President Winchell said, smiling.
3373“You did well,” his father said.
3374#
3375
3376It’s amazing how words can be apocalyptic. It’s also amazing how profoundly
3377stupid people can be. The Anti-Christ of the Bible was a false prophet—
3378someone who steers people in the wrong spiritual direction. Not to mention the
3379Anti-Christ is only mentioned four times and the language is ambiguous. This
3380didn’t stop people from following Winchell. Even if he was the Anti-Christ, he
3381would still bring them to the promised land, right? Many were excited. Never
3382mind that he could have been wrong, or dangerous. Never mind that the blue
3383skies could have been a trick of technology. What was worse, living in this world
3384of constant war or the possibility that there could be eternal peace? Winchell was
3385seen, by many, as a savior.
3386Of course it would be ridiculous to suggest that everyone immediately
3387believed what Winchell was peddling. Including many Christians. He was called
3388a heathen, deluded, insane. Every name in the book, but it didn’t matter. Like his
3389father had said, the president was in charge. There was no Congress to impeach
3390him. No laws to stop him. He could claim, and do, anything. The rest of us, no
3391matter how much we protested, were at the whim of his beliefs.
3392On the other side of the ocean there was more vocal opposition, and talk of
3393military intervention. The feeling was that America was already bringing about
3394the apocalypse, though much more slowly—through environmental destruction,
3395cultural imperialism, militarism, and everything else people complained about.
3396This was merely the end of the line. But other countries were in a bind. I could
3397just picture the boardrooms of world leaders: We can go to war with America
3398and take down the president—where was he anyway?—but wouldn’t that just be
3399playing into his hands? Giving him the Armageddon he’s after? And if we did
3400that, maybe it means he’s telling the truth. It’s lose-lose.
3401Yet many powerful people in government were also on Winchell’s side. Even
3402if the Anti-Christ was a fake, the war was something that needed to happen.
3403Christianity wasn’t the only religion with an eschatology. Hopi, Mayan, Islam,
3404Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity: they all talked about the end of the world
3405leading to a new consciousness. Winchell’s Christian posturing was just a front.
3406A method, not a reality. And so many leaders played along.
3407For example, Benjamin Winchell talked to the prime minister of the UK:
3408Bradford “Duke” Ireland. Duke Ireland sounded like the name of a porn star but
3409he was liked for many of the same reasons as President Winchell. A straight
3410shooter. Didn’t skirt around the issues. He could speak to both the working class
3411and the aristocracy, even if—by some magic force—they were in the same room
3412together. Intelligent enough to be respected, profane enough to be trusted as an
3413equal. Currently, he needed to be appeased.
3414
3415“What the hell are you doing?” Duke said. He was talking to Benjamin
3416Winchell via a telecam on an internet-satellite link-up. The elder Winchell sat
3417alone in his office in the Compound, as if he was the last man on earth. The
3418room had glossy white walls like wet, white lipstick. He’d meditate on those
3419walls as if they were both solid and melting. A mostly empty room: desk, bed for
3420naps, and his private stash of books—the majority on spirituality, UFOs, secret
3421societies, theories about the apocalypse.
3422“I thought we were going to do this slowly,” the prime minister said.
3423“There’s no such thing as slowly. Either we do this thing or we don’t.”
3424“It just feels like too much too soon. Suppose no one believes what the
3425president is saying?”
3426“They will. Enough will. But even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. Those who
3427don’t will always be thinking in the back of their minds: what if he’s right?
3428People have witnessed cities destroyed. They’re scared, unhappy, looking for a
3429way out. Unhappy people believe.”
3430“But what if we’re wrong, you know? What if this doesn’t need to be a literal
3431war? What if it is meant to be a gradual evolutionary transformation? Forcing
3432people into it doesn’t feel quite right.”
3433“Haven’t we already had this conversation?”
3434“Different now that it’s here.”
3435“Look, the planet is dying whether there’s a war or not. We’re taking the war
3436to the planet before it wages war on us. There need to be fewer people if we’re
3437ever going to live as a collective and enlightened civilization.”
3438“I realize this, but Armageddon is coming anyway, via environmental
3439collapse. We could just wait for it.”
3440“Then people will feel like victims, forsaken. As if they have no part in it.
3441People debate that climate change isn’t man made—there can be no doubt about
3442why this war has started. People have to be in control of the apocalypse or there
3443will be no desire to change the human system. Their beliefs need to be
3444transformed. And besides, do you really want to see another Ice Age? We want
3445to preserve the earth while we still can. If World War II was not the war to end
3446all wars, we need to conduct ourselves differently. We are doing this to save the
3447species, not kill it off. Keep remembering that. It’s violent and it will be horrible,
3448but we’re in labor here, always painful. We’re giving birth to a new human
3449race.”
3450He was very convincing. Not one cell of his body showed any doubt or
3451remorse. He was only here to help. The prime minister signed off: troubled but
3452sated.
3453Benjamin Winchell was right. Many people did believe in the president’s
3454
3455speech. The speech did as much to American society as bombs. Hysteria, as you
3456can imagine. Suicides, mass conversions to Christianity, churches raised in
3457Winchell’s name, a rise in lawlessness as if the president’s actions justified any
3458bad behavior, a great hostility to the U.S., basically a total disintegration of the
3459past. The nightly news was really just a report on how the speech was affecting
3460the local city, country, and world. There was no other news. The pundits
3461blathered on—some for, some against, but they were increasingly useless. The
3462people who defended Winchell said things like, “It’s metaphor,” or “It’s the best
3463thing to happen to common man.” The people against Winchell said: the Bible is
3464a myth, it contains stories of older cultures, don’t take it literally. But they were
3465powerless. Opinions didn’t matter in a time of such psychotic certainty. We were
3466all spectators now.
3467#
3468Charles Winchell stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He avoided
3469mirrors, normally. Even his reflection in a building window as he was walking
3470by. If this seems like an impossible quirk for someone who was on TV most of
3471the time, he admitted it. Early in his political career, he watched his televised
3472speeches over and over again. He watched how his eyes moved, how the twitch
3473in the corner of his mouth betrayed what he was actually saying. Saw how he
3474was aging. Saw himself through other people’s eyes. Hated himself, really.
3475Instructive, but he chose to never watch footage of himself again if he could help
3476it. He rarely watched the news. Instead, he received printouts of important news
3477with pictures of himself excised. This insecurity started in adolescence. At 14 he
3478had contracted acne, terrible acne. He would stare at himself in the mirror,
3479meditating on how ugly he had become. He thought if he could overcome his
3480pubescent self-hatred, he would be invincible. Never materialized. And so he
3481began to avoid mirrors because he was stronger without the reminder. A glance
3482at his complexion was a slap to his soul. The habit never completely wore off,
3483even into his 20’s, 30’s, and 40’s. What this did for him was to not think of
3484himself as a body, but a mind. A soul separate from a body. Not quite entirely
3485living among the human race. It was helpful, in a way, causing him to spend
3486more time looking inward than outward. He believed it had prepared him for
3487what he was doing now.
3488He stared at his face, the contours, the cheekbones. He was a handsome man,
3489he would give himself that. Women had always liked him. Men less, actually. It
3490was his softness, though that had gotten harder with time. I should grow a beard,
3491then I’d know. He picked up a book he’d gotten from the Compound library—a
3492
3493coffee-table book of Renaissance religious painting. His knowledge of art was
3494poor. It was something he thought he should study, but never did. He started with
3495Da Vinci’s Last Supper—why not start at the top? Yes, there definitely was a
3496resemblance. Charles was thicker around the face, more well-fed, but he did look
3497like these older pictures of Jesus. That couldn’t be an accident. There are no
3498accidents. I am him.
3499Who was to say that the Anti-Christ and the Messiah couldn’t be the same
3500person? After all, the Anti-Christ would be the one to set the stage for the
3501Second Coming; they were two sides of the same coin. A perfect duality, like
3502man and woman in the same body. Anti-Christ and Christ. Charles was the most
3503exalted person to ever live. Divinity is within me and watching me. I can feel it,
3504pulsing like breath. My God, this is so beautiful. So much power I have—over
3505people’s minds, over the future. He paused. It’s a burden, in a way, the
3506responsibility, but I have been chosen to do important work. Even these
3507thoughts, these words, arrive as if ordained. That is proof enough. I will change
3508the world. Thank you.
3509He smiled lovingly at himself in the mirror. This was the first time in his life
3510he was comfortable staring at himself for such a prolonged period. Body, mind,
3511and soul had become one—each supporting the other. He was whole. He touched
3512his cheek, his smile broadening. He looked back down at the painting. There was
3513never a picture of Jesus laughing, until now.
3514
351514
3516Chapter
3517North of Sunset
3518“So what do you say in response to the majority of people who see recent events
3519as proof of the Book of Revelations coming true?”
3520It was an interview show, an interviewer I’d never seen before, bearded and
3521slovenly looking. A cheap set—public access programming gone mainstream
3522because that’s all that was left. A priest was talking.
3523“My only answer is that it is not following the Book of Revelation exactly.
3524And to clarify, it is Revelation, singular, not plural, though that’s not how it’s
3525normally spoken. If events are not following the text exactly, the entire structure
3526falls apart. The president has made his claims but there are other missing
3527elements. Where are the seven years of peace? Where is the rebuilding of
3528Solomon’s Temple? Where is the battle in the Holy Land? So while, yes, these
3529events are highly troubling, there are many missing elements for biblical
3530scholars.”
3531“That doesn’t seem to be stopping people.”
3532“No, but people have been making these comparisons for years, even
3533welcoming evidence of a new Holocaust. I think if most people look outside,
3534they’ll regret ever hoping for war.”
3535We sat at the bar, already past drunk, glaring up at the TV. Dominique, Geoff,
3536and myself. The bartender stood watching as well—gruff, fat, the bar’s owner.
3537“Rock on, Father,” Dominique said.
3538“You mind if I turn this off?” the bartender said. “It’s depressing.”
3539“Whatever helps you get by,” I replied.
3540The bartender switched the channel, past a barrage of bad news—reporters in
3541front of fires, collapsed buildings. Lunatic Christianist fringe groups thought
3542nothing of setting bombs all over America to hasten the Second Coming. Their
3543greatest claim was toppling Seattle’s Space Needle with the force of forty times
3544the Oklahoma City bombing. Winchell might have inspired a sense of calm
3545between countries, but he couldn’t control average people. I’ve already
3546mentioned how the world was disintegrating with violence—Winchell’s speech
3547gave everyone, even normal people, new license.
3548
3549“Thanks for staying open,” I said to the bartender.
3550“If there’s one thing people need to do now is drink,” he said. “And I’ve got
3551nowhere else to go. Don’t know if I’d be running toward someplace worse.
3552Might as well stay somewhere I know. This might be the last time we’re gonna
3553stay open.”
3554I was surprised by just how normal this was: drinking in a crowded bar while
3555the world died outside. The events had not changed us totally. Sharing the
3556experience with other people provided a comforting kind of confirmation: that
3557we weren’t crazy, everybody else was. It was why the group of dreamers all
3558decided to stay together in Los Angeles—some at my place, some at Monica
3559Goodling’s. We actually went out seeking possible danger—not safety. The safe
3560thing would have been to stay at home, never go out in public. But you became
3561sort of addicted to sharing the experience, as well as addicted to the adrenaline
3562and the sense of righteousness when something terrible happened. And you
3563wanted to share that righteousness with other people. I’m not being a prick—we
3564all had this experience. Comforted by communal despair. So we drank in a bar
3565and the atmosphere felt slightly normal.
3566“Where’s Stephanie? Is she coming?” Dominique asked me.
3567“She didn’t want to come. Too dangerous these days, she said. Didn’t want me
3568to come either. But I don’t think I’m going to die now, unless my dreams are lies.
3569In which case, fuck it.” I held up my glass. “More sir, please.”
3570The bartender gave me a refill. He wasn’t charging, by the way.
3571“That party might have just complicated things,” I added.
3572“People need you now, Gene,” Dominique said.
3573“Need me? I can barely stand up straight without my knees buckling. I’m
3574terrified. I’m mortified. I’m no leader. I—”
3575There was a huge explosion outside. It cracked the glass windows of the bar
3576and sent bottles and glasses crashing off the shelves. It sounded like it was right
3577next to us. My head and body pounded, as if the explosion had broken something
3578open inside me. There was silence like a vacuum in the bar, some faint shouts
3579outside. We walked cautiously to the entrance of the bar, knowing what we
3580would find. None of us wanted to open the door, but knew we had to. As bad as
3581the world was, we hadn’t been subjected to violence directly, and now it had
3582finally reached us. The door was opened and we poured outside.
3583A supermarket across the street had been blasted out—an Israeli market called
3584Glatt Mart. A gaping hole like a mouth in front. Nothing like what you’ve seen
3585on TV. That’s what struck me—the total disaster of this scene, far removed from
3586what had been revealed before, as if my window to the world had always been
3587censored. I’d read about body parts littering the area after other bombings.
3588
3589Disregarded it because I couldn’t picture something like that was possible.
3590Didn’t want to believe it so I didn’t commit it to memory. This was evidence of
3591everything I didn’t want to face. Cars burning, body parts, blood—children,
3592men, women, undiscriminating. The scene was soulless and demonic, as if
3593reality itself was dead, or didn’t deserve to live. Someone thrown clear so he
3594broke through a manicurist’s window across the street. A kind of absurdity: this
3595couldn’t actually be real.
3596We watched, frozen and silent, numbed. Then empathy took over and we ran
3597towards the building.
3598I didn’t know who to help first. As I stepped towards a burned-out bus, I saw
3599Stephanie running up to the scene as well—her eyes wide with a terrible fear, a
3600look as horrifying as the dead bodies lying around her. She ran up to a body and
3601stopped. She hesitated and then turned the body over and mouthed, “No,” but
3602nothing came out. I didn’t have to see who it was. Our daughter, Sophia. She
3603wasn’t overly battered, but she was gone. Stephanie looked up at me as I reached
3604them—her fear turning into a feral kind of judgment.
3605“You did this,” she said.
3606“What?”
3607“You made this happen. You did this.”
3608“What do you mean?”
3609“Writing your book. This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.” She
3610was screaming at me from somewhere deep within her, as if speaking for all the
3611dead. “You’re sick and a coward. You fucker. This is your fault.”
3612“Stephanie, I—”
3613“Fuck you. I’m leaving. It’s over.”
3614She turned and walked in the other direction, slowly, dazed, as if life was
3615draining from her. I watched her go but didn’t chase after her. I knelt over our
3616daughter. I touched her shoulder. She didn’t move. This was too easy, that
3617someone could die. My mind went silent. I felt strangely indifferent, like I was a
3618coroner. This wasn’t registering.
3619Then my legs stopped working like they were no longer made of bone and I
3620collapsed over her body.
3621#
3622The next morning. I lay in bed periodically crying, overwhelmed by guilt. I
3623hadn’t moved us somewhere safer. I was being lazy, always lazy. Her face, her
3624voice. I’d willed her death into being, like Stephanie said. I didn’t deserve her
3625and now she was taken away because of my selfishness. Stephanie had left. She
3626
3627may have been killed in that blast as well. She would not survive the loss of her
3628daughter. I killed them. I murdered my own family. That’s how I was feeling.
3629Dominique came to the room and stood in the doorway. She had been helpful
3630throughout the morning, checking in on me, leaving me alone for the most part. I
3631didn’t want to share this grief.
3632“How you doing?” she asked, carefully.
3633“I keep repeating the night in my head,” I said. “Did I really do this to her? Is
3634this my fault?”
3635“None of what you’ve written is what you want to happen.”
3636“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Obviously I don’t want her gone, but her
3637death makes sense for the book. It makes more sense for the book than for my
3638life. I’ve done this to her. I’m a terrible asshole. I made this happen.”
3639“I can’t believe that, Gene. You wouldn’t dream of that happening.”
3640“Even so, she was probably on her way to meet us. I lured her out of the
3641house. She wanted to come earlier—I wouldn’t let her because I said it wasn’t
3642safe. We fought about it. The last words we had were a fight.”
3643“Those aren’t your last words,” Dominique said. “What you thought about
3644each other are your last words.”
3645“That’s a nice hope, thanks,” I said. “We need to get these people out of here.
3646It’s too dangerous.”
3647Dominique waved a piece of paper in her hand. “That’s why I’m here,” she
3648said. “Someone told me about a dream he had last night. He saw addresses of the
3649houses where we should be staying. They’ve all been abandoned by tenants who
3650were seeking safety somewhere else.”
3651“Do you believe him?” I asked.
3652“He was told addresses just like you were told names. He gave me the list.”
3653She approached the bed and handed me the list, along with a map with x’s on
3654the addresses.
3655“North of Sunset,” I said. “These are all very nice houses.”
3656“We can retire in style,” Dominique said.
3657#
3658On the way to the neighborhood, we stopped off at an army surplus store.
3659Geoff and I went. I was grateful for the distraction. I had a project to occupy me.
3660And I was relieved to get the hell out of my house, every crack a reminder. It felt
3661good too, responsible, as if no one else in Los Angeles was showing this kind of
3662responsibility. A sense of superiority was one defense.
3663The city was still moving, even with yesterday’s news about the bombing, one
3664
3665of several. There were people driving in the streets. Stores were open. Some
3666walked. Maybe they were all overcome with a frenzy of terror, but on the outside
3667it looked much like a regular day. Fear had permeated everything, but it didn’t
3668make people motionless, and the fear may only have been my perception.
3669Miraculously, movies were still playing in Westwood. Classes at UCLA looked
3670like they were open. Kids with backpacks. Like I said, it was much like any
3671other day. What could you do: sit at home and wait to die? No, you kept being
3672alive. There were a lot fewer people, like the Christmas holiday when many
3673skipped town. But those who were there did not seem to be weighted by fear. It
3674was comforting, even if fueled by denial.
3675At the Federal Building, a crowd was protesting. Signs in the air: Winchell is
3676Insane, Honk If You Love Peace, The Apocalypse Will Not Be Televised,
3677Impeach Winchell, World War III is Not The Answer, and so on. Some
3678Christianists, far fewer, were also intermingling: HE is Coming, Relax and Let
3679This Happen, Praise Winchell, and so on.
3680We parked and watched this for a few minutes. Some honking from passing
3681cars. Some screaming between the Christianists and protesters. All in all, it was
3682like any other protest, a way to not feel pointless.
3683We drove on.
3684We rented a moving truck—one of the few left on the lot—and bought a long
3685list of items. It was like preparing for the strangest kind of party. Cost was no
3686object because we could combine the entire group’s bank accounts, and money
3687might never again mean anything. We got cash out of the bank in case nobody
3688was taking credit. At the supermarket, we bought boxes of candles, water, first
3689aid such as disinfectant, bandages, fever medicine, many vitamins, crates of
3690canned food—every type of bean you could think of, chili, vegetables, pre-made
3691pastas, nutritional bars, powdered drinks, weight-gain drinks, cases of liquor,
3692candy, coffee, and cigarettes for potential trade, something like being in prison.
3693At the hardware store, we bought every type of battery, flashlights, a generator.
3694At the army surplus store, there were more people stocking up.
3695A man, by himself, looked like a bank teller, nervously browsed the camping
3696supplies. He held up a jar of something.
3697“What the hell is liquid smoke?” he said. He looked through me, as if I were a
3698ghost. “I don’t know,” I said. “But you might need it.”
3699He nodded, as if a ghost had silently answered. This was the first fear I’d seen
3700that day—not indignation, fear. At the market, it had been brighter, less grim.
3701People were not shopping frantically, they could have been shopping any day of
3702the week. We efficiently went about our business. I’d load up a cart, pay for it
3703and load up the truck, while Geoff did the same. At the darkly lit, army-green
3704
3705surplus store, with fishnet mesh hanging from the ceiling, as if in a bunker, it
3706was a reminder of what we were trying to avoid. We bought gas masks, a strange
3707purchase, heavy-duty clothing, an axe, knives—hunting, Swiss Army, I really
3708didn’t know what I was doing, camping gear of every kind—I’d never been
3709camping either so this was all foreign. Tents, sleeping bags, portable cookery,
3710more. Finally, I bought the most foreign of all: four guns and ammo. The guy at
3711the front desk, around 50, looking both angry and bored, a lifer, told me, “I don’t
3712give a shit about the waiting period. Government laws don’t mean a thing
3713anymore. If he’s going to go by religious laws, I’m not going to follow federal
3714laws.”
3715“I can follow that,” I said. “You’re lucky to be here,” he said. “I’m betting you
3716this is all going to be gone by the end of the week. People are too stupid to stock
3717up early.”
3718“Anything else I need?”
3719“Radiation pills. Weapons. Food. That’s all that’s going to matter.”
3720This didn’t shock me. It was too much to take in. More, this felt like an
3721unfolding cartoon. Stranger than fiction was every other moment. We filled up
3722an entire twelve-foot truck. Cost us $43,500. Cheap considering it was the best
3723money either of us had ever spent. I realized later not everyone could afford this.
3724“Do we need anything else?” I said to Geoff as we were driving away.
3725“Think we’re done.” We were both exhausted, like it was the first real work
3726we’d ever done, mentally and physically extinguished. I looked at the people
3727walking on the streets, the cars passing. Someone stepped into a fast food place.
3728Fast food? I thought. You should be stocking up. A woman held hands with her
3729son, as if they were just walking home from school. All these people might be
3730dead soon and they were walking around as if this wasn’t a problem. “I feel like
3731we should do more. Xerox our shopping list or something. Buy people supplies.
3732Help people get prepared. I don’t want to see more people die.”
3733“There are fourteen million people in this city,” he said. “There’s not much we
3734can do.”
3735“It just seems wrong.”
3736“It is wrong. This is a time for people to take care of themselves. If they can’t,
3737it’s their problem.”
3738I nodded absently. We drove on.
3739#
3740We drove the truck full of supplies to the Brentwood neighborhood.
3741Dominique was pulling up just as we arrived. She got out of the car with Sam,
3742
3743the guy who’d dreamt about these houses. Sam was wiry and sweaty—creeped
3744me out a bit, like a guy who did too much yoga. They were both looking up at
3745the house like tourists. It was a Spanish style mansion, sunk back from the street,
3746shielded by tall shrubs. In front there was a black gate with a keypad lock. “We
3747have the combination, right?” I asked.
3748“Yes,” Sam said. “2-3-6-6-5.” I typed it into the keypad. The black gate slid
3749open. We walked onto the grounds—a stone-lined flowerbed, white ivy-strewn
3750trellis, lights in the ground, idyllic—to the front door. Geoff tried the door, it was
3751locked. “Door number two,” Dominique said.
3752I turned to Sam. “You dream anything about this door?”
3753“That we have to break in.”
3754“How?”
3755“Fuzzy. I just remember broken glass.”
3756“Fair enough.”
3757I picked up a small potted plant and smashed a window by the front door. I
3758was able to unlock the window and crawl inside, cutting my arm close to where
3759you slit your wrist for suicide, then let everyone into the house. The inside of the
3760house was tasteful, but super-rich. Very feminine, flowered vases, pictures of
3761flowers, antique trinkets everywhere, expensive and carefully done. If you had a
3762lot of money and a lot of time.
3763“A real dream home,” Dominique said. “Very funny,” I said. “A lot of us will
3764be comfortable here.”
3765Dominique jumped onto a long white couch, arms splayed out comfortably. “I
3766could get used to this,” she said.
3767“Don’t get too comfortable, Dominique,” I said. “The owners of this house are
3768going to die, if they’re not dead already.” I walked over to the mantel and picked
3769up a picture from a collection of family portraits. An older couple with their two
3770sons. Other pictures showed young children. “An older couple with
3771grandchildren. They probably took off to their vacation home. Took the whole
3772family, thought it would be safer than staying in the city.”
3773“That or they’re going to come back tonight and be very surprised,”
3774Dominique said.
3775“No, they’re not coming back. We belong here. It’s time for another dream.”
3776#
3777The time had finally come: to figure out why we had all come together. I was
3778still writing, but I’d reached the end of what could be accomplished alone. I even
3779wrote a new chapter where President Winchell died, but Winchell was still alive.
3780
3781Which was actually a relief—it made me feel better about my possible
3782involvement in my daughter’s death. I couldn’t actually manifest reality. My
3783powers of perception were limited. There had to be a reason why these particular
3784people were all having prophetic dreams. A collection of army cots were spread
3785across the living room. The furniture had been moved to the side to make room.
3786The house was dimly lit, just past dusk, the same night we all moved into the
3787house. We wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. I addressed the group:
3788“I don’t know exactly how this is going to work, but I do know that we have
3789the power to do something extraordinary if we work together. Just concentrate
3790on reaching out to each other—try to be lucid in your dreams. I know many of
3791you have this ability. Try to connect our dreams together. Maybe our purpose
3792will be revealed to us. We all came together for a reason. Let’s find out what it
3793is.” The entire group lay down as one on the cots we’d just bought that day. It
3794was eerie, shades of a suicide cult lying down together. Was I asking them to kill
3795themselves? I had no idea what was going to happen. I had some faith that I
3796wasn’t going to kill all these people, that would be too cruel.
3797Somehow, I was able to sleep in these conditions, we all were… I found
3798myself in President Winchell’s bedroom. It was dark, Winchell was asleep alone
3799in bed. The entire group then began to appear around the bed, one by one, as
3800everyone started to dream, standing in the wings around the bed. Some were
3801flickering in and out, like a lightbulb with inadequate electricity, but most were
3802in the room.
3803Winchell’s back was to me. Geoff handed me an army-grade knife we’d also
3804just bought at the army surplus store. It was lying next to him as he slept. I
3805quietly approached Winchell’s bed. Could I do this? Kill someone, thrust a knife
3806into a person’s body? I wouldn’t have the opportunity to find out because
3807Winchell’s eyes suddenly opened, as if he’d heard a sound, or woken from a bad
3808dream. As soon as he woke, we all immediately faded from the dream. I woke up
3809on the white couch. Everyone in the room began to slowly wake up as well.
3810“Well, that was interesting, but it didn’t work,” I said to Geoff, lying nearby.
3811“I think it’s time for plan B,” Geoff said.
3812“What’s that?” I asked.
3813“I don’t know.”
3814
381515
3816Chapter
3817The Hot War
3818Winchell’s fragile Middle Eastern peace lasted all of seven weeks, not the seven
3819years of the Book of Revelation. With control of the Middle East, and the oil, the
3820U.S. was accused of despotic imperialism: by allies. A coalition of Chinese,
3821Russian, German, and French forces joined together to strong-arm America into
3822allowing equal control of the world’s resources. Winchell knew this was bullshit,
3823and so did the coalition—they had access to advanced technology, both human
3824and alien made, that would make oil obsolete. But oil was what we had at
3825present, and in the midst of a potential world war the world military powers
3826weren’t going to suddenly start manufacturing new machinery. There wasn’t the
3827time. In addition, cutting off oil would have led to a whole other type of
3828apocalypse: economic—too prolonged, uncontrollable, and uncertain. It would
3829affect the rich as well as the poor.
3830This was a war of ideas as well. Many Europeans and some Americans
3831thought a literal world war was unnecessary. The apocalypse was only internal
3832not external. The Americans in charge thought otherwise. So World War III was
3833finally waged to stop the Americans from going forward with their plan for
3834World War III. It was a war to stop a war. On both sides this war was about
3835controlling fate. The occultists on one side wanted to reveal information
3836gradually—they had faith that humans could evolve without the trauma of war.
3837The Americans wanted everything now. Two sides to basically the same issue: it
3838was a war over the right way to bring about evolution.
3839Troops didn’t have to mobilized, not like past wars. This war would mostly be
3840fought in the air. No hand-to-hand combat, save what civilians did to each other
3841—which was significant, and factored into the overall war plan. Islamic militants
3842worked with American militias within the U.S. The American rednecks didn’t
3843care who they were fighting with, they just wanted the American system to die.
3844A new breed of Weathermen, called the Forecasters—comprised of pro-worker,
3845anti-globalists—were said to have joined the militia. An internal hemorrhage
3846that only helped Winchell’s cause. Random bombings of Federal buildings,
3847freeways, fast food restaurants, and even hospitals, actually brought people into
3848
3849Winchell’s camp. People with such a disregard for human life must be stopped.
3850These internal acts of terrorism gave Winchell the authority to fight a war within
3851the United States, in addition to fighting the growing threat from other countries.
3852Meanwhile, Russia was trading arms with Islamic militants bent on taking
3853over Israel. During this period, Winchell preached disarmament for all sides.
3854Israel complied (as part of the TUOMES treaty). In effect, this made Israel more
3855vulnerable to takeover. You had to believe that every bad thing at this point was
3856done by design. But it made Winchell look like a peacemaker and the opposition
3857unruly. Winchell couldn’t have scripted it better. The world was a complete mess
3858with people unsure of who they were fighting and why, they just knew it was
3859necessary.
3860Israel was invaded by Iran using Russian ammunition—considered an act of
3861war by Russia. Jeremiah 30:7—the “time of trouble for Jacob.” Winchell read
3862this passage again and again, on the air and to himself. America bombed Russia
3863into oblivion. Russia’s allies—Germany and France—joined in defense of
3864Russia. China, which was rumored to have been involved in the bombing of
3865New York and D.C., began mobilizing into Europe. It was World War III.
3866Given that D.C. and New York were already destroyed, the Axis Forces—yes,
3867called that again, but more often called the Forces—had to find alternate targets.
3868Bombing D.C. would have been target number one, but it was gone. The Forces
3869had another major problem. A war usually ended when the side with the greatest
3870number of casualties surrendered. But without any ground forces, this was
3871difficult to achieve. Soldiers weren’t even located at bases, they were spread
3872throughout the entire world. Many reserve troops hadn’t even been called up.
3873Private corporate armies couldn’t even be located. So where exactly to bomb? In
3874this war, fundamental strategy was meaningless. More importantly, mounting
3875casualties meant nothing to the Winchell administration: that was exactly what
3876they wanted, for both sides. America had become one massive suicide bomber,
3877every death a martyr and expendable. If there never was retaliation, it wouldn’t
3878have been inconceivable for America to start a general bombing campaign—
3879America against the world and against itself. If they so believed in an idea, there
3880was no way they were not going to make it happen. It was more efficient,
3881however, and more socially effective, if the world war was indeed a World War.
3882What the Forces needed to do most was take out Winchell. Once Winchell
3883was down, a new, less fanatical, government could take his place. But no one
3884knew where Winchell was. The New Mexico compound wasn’t a vacation home
3885like his place in the Miami—his favorite place because of the turquoise beaches,
3886so unlike mainland America. The Compound was Above Top Secret. Even if a
3887bomb was dropped on or near the Compound, it could withstand the impact. It
3888
3889was designed to outlast nuclear invasion. The alternate strategy was to level
3890America, as if we all represented our president.
3891The Forces first bombed Miami and the Keys, most likely because that was
3892where they thought Winchell was located. This so outraged Americans that many
3893Americans who did not support Winchell came to his side. Horribly maddening
3894because this was exactly what Winchell desired. But patriotism and the urge for
3895retaliation go a long way. Even though I knew what Winchell was up to, I
3896thought, The fuckers, go get ’em! There may be no way to grow up in a place
3897and not feel this way—just as you felt the insults of family more deeply.
3898And so there was retaliation. You just couldn’t let that kind of aggression
3899stand. It was learned that the Axis Forces were meeting outside Paris. Bombs
3900were dropped, leveling the city. It was seen as a way to end this war once and for
3901all—called a “peace bomb” to kill the warmongers—but really it was more of a
3902kickoff.
3903The Axis Forces and the U.S. attacked supply depots, bases, nuclear arsenals,
3904and so on. Many military installations were in or near major cities. It didn’t do
3905much good because it would literally take a handful of launching pads and
3906submarines to do what they needed to do. The fallout after the bombing would
3907kill as many people as the bomb itself—through disease, hunger and violence.
3908President Winchell did have something of a conscience. He wanted to
3909minimize the aftereffects of war as much as possible. War was far worse for the
3910survivors than those who died instantly, so the plan was to kill instantly as many
3911people as possible. The bigger the war, the better.
3912#
3913Winchell monitored the war with his father and cabinet from the war room in
3914the Compound. They received computer and television data via personal
3915satellites. They had a bird’s-eye view of anywhere in the world, down to ten feet
3916off the ground so you could read license plates, or even people’s expressions.
3917The uplink showed the war in real time over fourteen different monitors in the
3918war room. To the Winchells, the war was so far a success.
3919“The war is progressing well,” Benjamin Winchell said.
3920“People are on board,” the VP agreed. “You know who’s going to survive
3921this? People who don’t watch TV. Primitives. People who watch TV are going to
3922panic and demoralize. For some, the world won’t be any different.”
3923“We don’t care about them. We care about the people whose lives have been
3924altered. Who come from the modern world. Those are the people who will shape
3925the new society. Primitives already have their religion. Moderns don’t.”
3926
3927“China is about to get involved,” said Defense Secretary Seacroft. “They have
3928a citizen army of a hundred million. They could land on our shores at any time.
3929Word is they want to be in control of the population after the war’s over.”
3930(More people had arrived at the Compound since the war started. It was now
3931seven people. Benjamin Winchell, his wife, President Winchell and the first lady,
3932the VP, the defense secretary, and Chief of Staff Whitehead.)
3933“Let China invade,” Benjamin Winchell said. “The East needs to become
3934involved. We need to touch every corner of the globe. If soldiers invade, we
3935bomb them right back. I’m pretty certain China knows this.”
3936“Have you been in touch with Admiral Fu?” the VP asked the defense
3937secretary.
3938“I have not,” Seacroft replied. “This information comes via a satellite
3939intercept. Though it could be a decoy.”
3940“Does it matter?” Benjamin Winchell said with frustration. “Stop thinking like
3941the 20th century. If they invade or if they don’t our strategy remains the same.
3942The hint of mobilization is enough reason to invade. That being said, I’d rather
3943not fight them on our own soil. Cleaner that way. I’d rather Americans died with
3944other Americans. Easier to manage after the fact.”
3945“True,” the secretary said, “but I think the A.F. [Axis Forces] are going to give
3946up on trading bombing cities back and forth. They are going to want to occupy,
3947rather than merely destroy. Possibly as a way to take the country hostage in order
3948to negotiate. Then we’ll have to deploy our ground forces. The worst thing that
3949could happen in this war is for the A.F. to stop their bombing campaign. What
3950happens if we have to fight on the ground?”
3951Benjamin Winchell paused, pensively. “Then we’ll amp up the bombing
3952campaign. On our own soil. Get it over with as fast as possible. This war
3953shouldn’t take five years. Hell, it shouldn’t even take a year. This isn’t even a
3954war, it’s an operation.”
3955“Operation is the perfect word,” President Winchell jumped in. “We’re trying
3956to heal the sick.”
3957His father looked slightly disgusted. “Kill the slogans, Mr. President. I don’t
3958need them.”
3959Charles darkened.
3960The secretary of defense glanced at Charles, who was stewing like a teenager.
3961“But what if we lose the people?” he said. “What if everyone turns on the
3962American government? More people are joining the militias. That might distort
3963our message in the long run.”
3964“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Americans believe in America, they’ll
3965side with us. The main media centers are down so no one’s going to be reporting
3966
3967exactly where the bombing is coming from. They won’t know who’s bombing
3968and may even think it’s necessary. A poll before the war showed that most
3969Americans believe in the Revelation myth—especially now that it appears to be
3970coming true. By the time anyone begins to have doubts, the operation will be
3971over. In the end, they’ll believe in God and country like no one has ever before
3972experienced.”
3973#
3974Charles Winchell’s wife was crying. He approached her cautiously. Amy
3975Winchell had never been the best politician’s wife—she was the president’s
3976Achilles heel. She was not a woman who spoke her mind too often, who said
3977inappropriate things. It was worse than that: she didn’t care. She would rarely sit
3978beside him at speeches. Mostly, she stayed indoors, reading. Sometimes she
3979came with him to speeches, sitting right behind him, looking sullen and bored.
3980She was labeled a depressive and got medication for it, but it didn’t seem to do
3981much good. The president and his wife were strangers to each other. Charles
3982liked nothing more than giving speeches and feeling the will of the electorate.
3983She didn’t and he couldn’t understand that.
3984Actually, she was well-liked by the voters, just not understood. “Enigmatic”
3985was thrown around every time she was mentioned in print, which wasn’t so
3986negative a word. She made clay sculptures in her spare time, some of them nude.
3987She was mysterious, which was better than being polarizing. Women admired
3988her, men saw her as the quiet, inhibited woman that they wanted to know but
3989n
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