Chapter 2-Crimson Dreams
I can’t remember all of it. I remember blood-so much blood. I was on my back in the alley. I could hear the chirping of birds or frogs? It couldn’t have been frogs. Not in the city but that’s what I heard. The brusque croak of a frog. Who knows. It was probably in my head. My aforementioned head was a jumble of images in those first few hours. I think I dozed off for awhile. That part I know happened. I dreamed of Olympus or at least my place in it. I dreamed of Hermes. His golden hair was cut short and he was waving that caduceus as if to strike. He had been frowning and then I saw the souls behind him. He was still guiding them. Even now in a descended state he was perfect in form-doing what he does. I think he said something to me but what it was I have no idea.
I passed out and woke up at least three times and every time my eyes snapped open with icy panic I wondered if I’d actually died. That’s a peculiar sensation. You know? Not being sure whether you’re alive or dead. I half expected some horrifying visage of modern death to scoop me up in its arms like dead flowers. As if I was some brittle fauna shaded under the black sky with an interstitial sense of doom.I remember my white dress shirt covered in blood and the smell of the alley pungent in my nostrils. At some point I screamed. I can remember that too. I leaned back against the alley wall and screamed and screamed for what seemed like hours. Nobody came. Not at first. I was avoided and ignored. When I gave up- my voice crackling like lit tinder in my throat, I sat against the cold wall and stared at the alley mouth with my shredded shirt and soiled khakis and tried not to bleed out.
Where had they gone? Would the girl come back and finish what she started? During those terrified late-night hours, I memorized every crag and line of the alley wall. I stared at the wet street in the night air and felt twisted with blind violence. I coughed and spat and banged my skull on the alley to stay conscious. I listened to sleet slap against the brick-faced buildings. I cried out and cursed until finally a movie theater door banged open and a stream of people came to the alley mouth. A group walked with hushed whispers and splattering footsteps down the alley, eyes darting back and forth as if to ward off any unseen horror that might lay in wait.
Because I was cut to ribbons and close to passing out (my dress shirt was now a sticky color of refined oil), I barely noticed when the group came upon me. A face hovered close to my own. I don’t know what she saw or thought at the time. Maybe she thought I was already dead or soon to be. All I can say is that when she crouched next to me everything I saw was a blur like opening your eyes underwater. I could hear the shouting and gasps. I knew that something was happening. Somewhere in the back of my mind I expected an ambulance but everything was muddied and I was numb in shock. I didn’t even feel cold. She squeezed my hand and I tried to squeeze back but my muscles wouldn’t respond. I was like a statue-something carved in the alley for decorative purposes or maybe an art installation. How ironic would it have been to end there in that alley. The great Plouton, the ill-famed giver of wealth; he who receives many, dying in a cold alley in New Los Angeles. Thinking back now it seems funny but it wasn’t at the time.
I passed out before they got me in the van. I heard a voice close to my ear saying something and I watched detached like a passersby as my body was scooped up into the air and carried to the alley mouth. I heard the clanging rattle of the sliding door then all went gray and then black. Again I dreamed but it was fevered and nonsensical. I saw disparate images of a cave and a dim blue fire. I saw Persephone walking down a trailed path into a gilded forest. She was alone and her back was to me. She had grown her dark hair long down to the waist. She wore a dress that clung to her hips and stretched nearly to the ground. I could almost smell her perfumes. At the sight of her I was paralyzed with joy; even with her back to me I knew it was her. I called out. I shouted and finally I shrieked but she didn’t hear me or if she did refused to look back. Maybe she was commanded not to. Was that right? Could that be true? I jerked my head side to side but their was rumbling underneath. The earth opened up and an invisible hand spread lifeless fingers into the air and brought sickness.
I came to in the van kicking and screaming like a newborn. I saw street-lamps shooting past one after another almost in line with my own heartbeat. There was shouting and cursing. The woman from the alley was pressing rags against my chest and somebody else had my legs lifted in the air. I tried to breathe but it was ragged and hurt. I looked up into her face and I saw some combination of rage and blind will. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth scrunched into a line. Her clothes were soaked red and sticking to her. I felt the van veer right and everything was thrown against the side. There was a sudden stop. There was more shouting then the van door was thrown open and banged to the side. I was grabbed by my arms and legs and pulled out. Then, again, everything went silent and with exasperation, and affection-I mercifully lost consciousness.
You’re probably wondering how I got in this situation. How I came that close to dying; and though it was mostly my mistake, I can’t take all the blame, as it was like providence or some kind of divine inspiration that led me into that alley.
They say that coincidence is a chance occurrence of unrelated events. Some random variable that leads to an unforeseen outcome whereas synchronicity is a kind of coincidence that holds a meaningful connection that stretches beyond chance. I say those explanations aren’t false exactly, but incomplete. I say that chance has nothing to do with it really. At least not in this day and age. I say(and maybe I’m bias in this regard), that there is fated intention that moves past pure chance. Call it divine will or destiny but intention is what structures what we call coincidence. It was this divine intention that led me to the alley and also explains, by the way, my behavior that night. I remember, earlier in the evening, eating an early dinner at a Greek restaurant downtown. I can’t remember the name of the place but that’s really the least important detail in this story. I sat outside at a glass table, sipping a burgundy wine in between bites of red meat cooked for hours so that it melts like butter onto your tongue. I heard the screeching wail of tires at the intersection in front of me and looked up to find a bright pair of steely eyes speeding toward me and then the automobile struck a fire hydrant, shuddered with a gasp, and stopped just feet from where I sat. I stared at those bright eyes until they went dark. I remember waiters shouting in modern Greek. A few patrons that had been seated next to me whispered to themselves. A few shook their heads. I wouldn’t have thought anything of the event had it not led me to the alley not twenty minutes later, but after the alley I had plenty of time to think it about it and know what it meant. You see, that wasn’t coincidence but neither was it purely synchonicity. The eyes that rushed toward me-bright as they were, were those of the chimera. I even thought I saw the serpent’s tail trailing behind to slap out at the street. There was a divine intention in that event-something meant just for me.
I knew it for what it was. How could I not? If the night had gone as planned, it would have been just another near miss in a city full of barely contained tragedies. I would have taken a cab back to the motel and went to sleep. But clearly the iron drenched air of that night is in many ways still present in my nostrils. There had been rain that night and a warm wind whipping down from the inland valleys. These winds were called ‘devil winds’, and were responsible for a flurry of fires every year due to their strong gusts. I left the restaurant taking care to avoid the chimera that still lay smoking and hissing at the fire hydrant. I jogged to the intersection and crossed the street and bowed my head to the desert swollen winds. Cars sped past, their tires sloshing in the rain-soaked street, and above our heads neon signs with their colorful plumages were beacons of divine intention.
“Do you want your picture done,” A street artist said at the curb, turning his easel to show a black and white caricature of my own face done in charcoal. He was a large man on a small stool. He had brown skin and smooth, wide cheeks, and save for his damp clothing, seemed perfectly comfortable with the wind and rain. Though the picture had obviously been done when I sat outside the restaurant, the rain had caused the charcoal to dissolve and my face was smeared freakish in liquid ink. Above my right eye was a bleed that ran all the way down the paper. My mouth and chin were dreamlike as if only partially rendered. But the most unsettling thing was my neck and shoulders were erased completely so that my head appeared to suspend wholly in empty space.
“I’ll give it to you for five dollars,” He said with a good-natured smile. He took the portrait off the easel and shook water off causing more ink to splatter across the page. Now my suspended head appeared to be in a star-filled sky. I was reminded of Nyx and searched my pockets for some cash or loose change at the very least. I pulled out a couple dollar bills and a handful of quarters and dimes and handed it over.
“I’ll come back tomorrow and get a proper portrait done,” I said.
He looked exhausted and his hands slipped on the fresh parchment when he fitted it onto the easel. My portrait was tossed onto a stack by his side. For some reason, I couldn’t take tear my gaze from it. Even though the rain had started to let up, ink still oozed down the page. My face now was barely recognizable. I crossed the street and ducked under a hotel awning and blew into my hands. The air was damp but still remarkably warm. I caught sight of a cab a half-block ahead and headed that way with my hands in the air waving. Then I stopped. At the adjoining block and across the street from a movie theater was what looked like a giant cavernous mouth. There were no streetlights on either side so if you looked at it just right you got the impression of a gaping maw; something you’d see in the jungles of the rain-forest. I don’t know how long I stood there. I do know the cab left and there was a few more but like my portrait of dissolving charcoal, I couldn’t pull my eyes away. This was divine intention. I was supposed to be standing at this curb at this moment. I crossed and stood at the alley mouth and looked inside but I didn’t see anything at first. There was just the hard tinging of rain on metal. I caught sight of a steam vent about halfway in and then I saw two shadows moving lazily down the alleyway.
I like to think of myself as a rational person. I’m not too impulsive although I have done things without thinking all the way through of the consequences. It’s worked for me. Oh, you probably know the story. Yes, I did abduct Persephone. No, I didn’t feel bad about it. Yes, she became my wife. Being impulsive proved to be a boon in that circumstance. Before we go any farther, I don’t want to cloud your judgment trying to justify what I’ve done. But neither do I want to be painted as the villain. When I went blind and deaf into that alleyway it was more about curiosity than anything else. I wasn’t going to hurt the girl. Even when I saw they were alone-just the two of them. I wouldn’t have hurt her. I know that sounds like the ravings of somebody who would have but, as I said, I’m not a villain.
In the alley, I tried to breath normally but there was a smell. You know what I mean. Poverty comes with a stench. It smelled like somebody dropped off a year’s worth of garbage and let it sit in the hot sun, and then tried to cover it up with warm rain. The buildings’ walls were lacquered slick, rats scurried just past my shoes, and with every step I took, dirty water soaked my socks and my feet grew sodden. So, I was on guard. If was just those two and me. They were alone but so was I. I wouldn’t have hurt her.
When I got a little closer to the pair I could smell their perfumes. I don’t know why I remember this but there were two distinct smells both of them floral. The taller one walked a step ahead of the shorter one. I could tell they were young-not children, but neither of them had reached their twenty fifth year. They were small in stature not at all imposing. In fact, they were dainty and likely weak. The short one ran a hand through her hair and took that opportunity to glance back. It was sly as a fox and she caught sight of me. I try to imagine what she’d seen in that second. My body was framed in the lights of the city. I still hadn’t plunged deep into the alley at that moment. She probably saw a black silhouette or maybe thought it was a signature shadow. Where I’m from shadows were seen as representations of the soul and underworld. The shade a weak copy of the living physical self. That’s why I called them shades.
I stood at attention when she looked back. There was a few seconds when I almost couldn’t move. I felt the rats cross over my shoes; the constant dripping and wheezing of air vents blew like train whistles; the wind kicked in a huff then went still. As I resumed pace I wanted to get closer and see them. It’s hard to explain why: call it curiosity. Or maybe in my bones-somewhere deep in my soul I knew what I would find. I tried to think of fate and what that meant and this day and age. There was some answer there in those two young women. They were supple and I was pulled.
I increased my pace. Now I knew it was unmistakable. Just from the splashes from my footsteps. Now the taller one looked back and I saw her body grow stiff. I don’t know why but I threw myself against the alley wall and lurched close to the street. My breathing had grown shallow. I felt the waves of a chill impact my whole body. It started at my feet and slithered up my body and into my head. I felt the stirrings of sudden catastrophe. Do you know that feeling? The kind of instant misgivings that borders on panic. I like to imagine that I’m beyond the spiraling of terror. I remember times long past-memories that became myth and were passed down. I am the steward of a place that housed the dead. I built the sunless dungeon with its iron gates and pit of torment. I couldn’t be brought to terror yet there I was. My body was wet and cold. I shivered all over and echoes of catastrophe burned in my mind.
Then the tall one stepped just right into the light of the moon and I saw her hair. Even in the sharp turn, just that split second of illumination, I saw the color red. My stomach lurched inside of me. I stumbled up but remained hugged against the alley wall. The red hair was her calling card. A shard of the past that she wore with a posture of authority. The witch-goddess. Hecate. I knew that was the reason for the uncertainty I’d felt-the terror. The witch goddess was at the crossroads. But who was with her? I stayed shrouded not yet willing to approach.
“Do you hear that?” Hecate asked. Her voice was pitched high in the alley. I stopped moving and just listened. The other one said something but it was short and direct. I couldn’t make out the words. I continued forward and was close now. They were unaware I had gotten to them. From my place in the shades I studied Hecate’s face. She had a woeful, troubled expression. Her cheeks were sunken and her lips pressed tightly. Her eyes were fixed in front of her and glassy. I bent to the waist and pulled from my pocket a kerchief I’d used to wipe rain from my face. I would cover the mouth of the shorter one to keep her from screaming until Hecate recognized me. I couldn’t have them panicking and running off like wild deer. Hecate! Here! My bowels twisted in my gut as I came very close now. Still they didn’t turn. I had the favor of Tyche on this night! Chance was at my side and I came behind the short one and covered her mouth with the kerchief and yanked her into the dark.
I heard her muffled scream when I pulled her to the side and away from Hecate. She looked startled, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Her body went rigid like she was rooted to the spot. The shorter one kicked, her head thrashing against my chest. I tried to quell her fear and made to shout at Hecate but she bucked and the back of her throat slammed against my throat. I coughed and went to a knee and she twisted like a serpent in my arms. I almost lost her and had to grab her by the waist. Again, I tried to get to Hecate but the short one was quick. Her fingers dug into my cheek and grazed down drawing blood. I swung her away but my hands were wet and I lost hold. I heard the bottle break. It was a sharp, splashing crack that echoed through the alley. Without a word I tried to back away. The shorter one looked at it, then at me. She lashed out. I felt the glass puncture my chest but there was no pain at first. Just a deflating kind of pinch. The air was knocked from my lungs and I fell. She crawled astride me and plunged the bottle again into my midsection. One. Two. Three. It happened as fast as a snake strike. I tried to speak but my throat was chafed and my tongue felt swollen in my mouth. My eyes blurred and I tasted blood on the roof of my mouth. It was about that time that I started to fade in and out. I started to spin and could only lay my head flat against the pavement.
I know Hecate recognized me. I said her name more than once. “Hecate, help me. The cave cannot be left unattended.” She didn’t respond. Her large, pale face stared down at me. “Hecate! Get help.” Still in a trance, her expression was wary, not quite there. She backed away until her back was at the opposite wall. I tried to sit up but I was so weak and tired. Though I had thought of Hecate since descending, and wondered whether she’d made herself to the city, I hadn’t purposefully sought her out. To find her in this alley on this night was something like providence but not the good kind.
I never found out who the shorter woman was. To this day, I have no idea. I have to assume she was descended. That, of course, makes the most sense given she was with Hecate. But who she was-I haven’t the slightest idea.
They ran off at about that time. I think I dozed off for a few minutes because when I came to the alley was empty. Thinking back now, in unguarded moments, it occurs to me that perhaps I made a terrible mistake. Sure, I was reckless-I’d admit that. I shouldn’t have grabbed the shorter one and covering her mouth with a kerchief was stupid. Hindsight is twenty-twenty after all. It’s easy now, after the fact, to chastise my actions but no one ever expects to have a broken bottle turn your body into bloody ribbons. It was the last thing I expected. And to see Hecate. It was almost impossible to imagine her living a descended life in the city. Persephone and I-even Hermes and I-had talked of the eccentricities of the witch-goddess but these were parts of herself that she couldn’t see. Her tendency to erupt in anger was something she didn’t recognize let alone reconcile. Her spurious demeanor had always been a mask-a fake smile or insincere laugh. I had no idea what she would do for money. I couldn’t see her selling her body for pleasure. Nor could I see her taking up any kind of real trade. She was closed-in, a bird too stubborn and prideful to be caged.
So I lay there in in a stinking puddle of my own blood but-once unconsciousness came- it all came back vividly in my dreams. I saw again the shorter one with her gleaming, haughty eyes. I don’t feel the cuts when she lashes out but, feel her hot breath on my neck instead. I hear the low growl almost like a rumbling in her throat. On the other side of the alley, I see Hecate’s terror-stricken face under the light of the moon. I see her hands clasped in front of her as if to pray and I hear the joyless crack in her tone when she says they have to leave. Yes, I lay there and I know that death is near. I stare at the alley mouth and wait for Charon. I wonder what I would say to the ferryman. Would he recognize me? Would he know what to do about the cave. Once or twice, I thought I saw his long, gray beard, and grim bearing. I imagined him speaking at me reproachfully, scorning in his criticism. “How could you end up like this? How prideful you are! Did you not think before you acted? Your brother will be mad with rage! Fool! Senseless!” Then I jolt awake and my body is on fire and I’m shivering with sweat. All around me is mindless noise-a jumble of cymbals and drums and bony-pale I will myself to keep breathing. I focus on the exhale mostly wondering if my soul (if we have such a thing) is being loosened onto the world. I cover the wounds on my chest and stomach with my hands but I can’t put any real pressure there. I try to speak but my voice too is barely a whisper. I shiver and I soak. I wait for Charon. I have nightmares and my head is swollen and my body is battered. I repeat the same night again and again.
In the alley, I tried to breath normally but there was a smell. You know what I mean. Poverty comes with a stench. It smelled like somebody dropped off a year’s worth of garbage and let it sit in the hot sun, and then tried to cover it up with warm rain. The buildings’ walls were lacquered slick, rats scurried just past my shoes, and with every step I took, dirty water soaked my socks and my feet grew sodden. So, I was on guard. If was just those two and me. They were alone but so was I. I wouldn’t have hurt her.
When I got a little closer to the pair I could smell their perfumes. I don’t know why I remember this but there were two distinct smells both of them floral. The taller one walked a step ahead of the shorter one. I could tell they were young-not children, but neither of them had reached their twenty fifth year. They were small in stature not at all imposing. In fact, they were dainty and likely weak. The short one ran a hand through her hair and took that opportunity to glance back. It was sly as a fox and she caught sight of me. I try to imagine what she’d seen in that second. My body was framed in the lights of the city. I still hadn’t plunged deep into the alley at that moment. She probably saw a black silhouette or maybe thought it was a signature shadow. Where I’m from shadows were seen as representations of the soul and underworld. The shade a weak copy of the living physical self. That’s why I called them shades.
I stood at attention when she looked back. There was a few seconds when I almost couldn’t move. I felt the rats cross over my shoes; the constant dripping and wheezing of air vents blew like train whistles; the wind kicked in a huff then went still. As I resumed pace I wanted to get closer and see them. It’s hard to explain why: call it curiosity. Or maybe in my bones-somewhere deep in my soul I knew what I would find. I tried to think of fate and what that meant and this day and age. There was some answer there in those two young women. They were supple and I was pulled.
I increased my pace. Now I knew it was unmistakable. Just from the splashes from my footsteps. Now the taller one looked back and I saw her body grow stiff. I don’t know why but I threw myself against the alley wall and lurched close to the street. My breathing had grown shallow. I felt the waves of a chill impact my whole body. It started at my feet and slithered up my body and into my head. I felt the stirrings of sudden catastrophe. Do you know that feeling? The kind of instant misgivings that borders on panic. I like to imagine that I’m beyond the spiraling of terror. I remember times long past-memories that became myth and were passed down. I am the steward of a place that housed the dead. I built the sunless dungeon with its iron gates and pit of torment. I couldn’t be brought to terror yet there I was. My body was wet and cold. I shivered all over and echoes of catastrophe burned in my mind.
Then the tall one stepped just right into the light of the moon and I saw her hair. Even in the sharp turn, just that split second of illumination, I saw the color red. My stomach lurched inside of me. I stumbled up but remained hugged against the alley wall. The red hair was her calling card. A shard of the past that she wore with a posture of authority. The witch-goddess. Hecate. I knew that was the reason for the uncertainty I’d felt-the terror. The witch goddess was at the crossroads. But who was with her? I stayed shrouded not yet willing to approach.
“Do you hear that?” Hecate asked. Her voice was pitched high in the alley. I stopped moving and just listened. The other one said something but it was short and direct. I couldn’t make out the words. I continued forward and was close now. They were unaware I had gotten to them. From my place in the shades I studied Hecate’s face. She had a woeful, troubled expression. Her cheeks were sunken and her lips pressed tightly. Her eyes were fixed in front of her and glassy. I bent to the waist and pulled from my pocket a kerchief I’d used to wipe rain from my face. I would cover the mouth of the shorter one to keep her from screaming until Hecate recognized me. I couldn’t have them panicking and running off like wild deer. Hecate! Here! My bowels twisted in my gut as I came very close now. Still they didn’t turn. I had the favor of Tyche on this night! Chance was at my side and I came behind the short one and covered her mouth with the kerchief and yanked her into the dark.
I heard her muffled scream when I pulled her to the side and away from Hecate. She looked startled, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Her body went rigid like she was rooted to the spot. The shorter one kicked, her head thrashing against my chest. I tried to quell her fear and made to shout at Hecate but she bucked and the back of her throat slammed against my throat. I coughed and went to a knee and she twisted like a serpent in my arms. I almost lost her and had to grab her by the waist. Again, I tried to get to Hecate but the short one was quick. Her fingers dug into my cheek and grazed down drawing blood. I swung her away but my hands were wet and I lost hold. I heard the bottle break. It was a sharp, splashing crack that echoed through the alley. Without a word I tried to back away. The shorter one looked at it, then at me. She lashed out. I felt the glass puncture my chest but there was no pain at first. Just a deflating kind of pinch. The air was knocked from my lungs and I fell. She crawled astride me and plunged the bottle again into my midsection. One. Two. Three. It happened as fast as a snake strike. I tried to speak but my throat was chafed and my tongue felt swollen in my mouth. My eyes blurred and I tasted blood on the roof of my mouth. It was about that time that I started to fade in and out. I started to spin and could only lay my head flat against the pavement.
I know Hecate recognized me. I said her name more than once. “Hecate, help me. The cave cannot be left unattended.” She didn’t respond. Her large, pale face stared down at me. “Hecate! Get help.” Still in a trance, her expression was wary, not quite there. She backed away until her back was at the opposite wall. I tried to sit up but I was so weak and tired. Though I had thought of Hecate since descending, and wondered whether she’d made herself to the city, I hadn’t purposefully sought her out. To find her in this alley on this night was something like providence but not the good kind.
I never found out who the shorter woman was. To this day, I have no idea. I have to assume she was descended. That, of course, makes the most sense given she was with Hecate. But who she was-I haven’t the slightest idea.
They ran off at about that time. I think I dozed off for a few minutes because when I came to the alley was empty. Thinking back now, in unguarded moments, it occurs to me that perhaps I made a terrible mistake. Sure, I was reckless-I’d admit that. I shouldn’t have grabbed the shorter one and covering her mouth with a kerchief was stupid. Hindsight is twenty-twenty after all. It’s easy now, after the fact, to chastise my actions but no one ever expects to have a broken bottle turn your body into bloody ribbons. It was the last thing I expected. And to see Hecate. It was almost impossible to imagine her living a descended life in the city. Persephone and I-even Hermes and I-had talked of the eccentricities of the witch-goddess but these were parts of herself that she couldn’t see. Her tendency to erupt in anger was something she didn’t recognize let alone reconcile. Her spurious demeanor had always been a mask-a fake smile or insincere laugh. I had no idea what she would do for money. I couldn’t see her selling her body for pleasure. Nor could I see her taking up any kind of real trade. She was closed-in, a bird too stubborn and prideful to be caged.
So I lay there in in a stinking puddle of my own blood but-once unconsciousness came- it all came back vividly in my dreams. I saw again the shorter one with her gleaming, haughty eyes. I don’t feel the cuts when she lashes out but, feel her hot breath on my neck instead. I hear the low growl almost like a rumbling in her throat. On the other side of the alley, I see Hecate’s terror-stricken face under the light of the moon. I see her hands clasped in front of her as if to pray and I hear the joyless crack in her tone when she says they have to leave. Yes, I lay there and I know that death is near. I stare at the alley mouth and wait for Charon. I wonder what I would say to the ferryman. Would he recognize me? Would he know what to do about the cave. Once or twice, I thought I saw his long, gray beard, and grim bearing. I imagined him speaking at me reproachfully, scorning in his criticism. “How could you end up like this? How prideful you are! Did you not think before you acted? Your brother will be mad with rage! Fool! Senseless!” Then I jolt awake and my body is on fire and I’m shivering with sweat. All around me is mindless noise-a jumble of cymbals and drums and bony-pale I will myself to keep breathing. I focus on the exhale mostly wondering if my soul (if we have such a thing) is being loosened onto the world. I cover the wounds on my chest and stomach with my hands but I can’t put any real pressure there. I try to speak but my voice too is barely a whisper. I shiver and I soak. I wait for Charon. I have nightmares and my head is swollen and my body is battered. I repeat the same night again and again.
