Soteria- The Crisis Forge

by Roberto Arcoleo

  Soteria

  The Crisis Forge

  By Roberto Arcoleo

  Copyright © 2019 Roberto Bianchi

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978194996411

  Published by Chandra Press LLC

  www.chandrapress.com

  www.facebook.com/officialchandrapress

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: In a Tree

  Chapter 2: The Hospital

  Chapter 3: Two Weeks Later

  Chapter 4: The Flash – 1945 Earth Time

  Chapter 5: The Discovery

  Chapter 6: The Subway

  Chapter 7: Only A Very Lonely Man Would Take Such A Risk

  Chapter 8: The Apartment

  Chapter 9: A Night of Music

  Chapter 10: At the University

  Chapter 11: A Day Together

  Chapter 12: It’s About Time I Did

  Chapter 13: Blood and Guts

  Chapter 14: A Call in the Night

  Chapter 15: The Note

  Chapter 16: Gabriela’s Dream

  Chapter 17: A Night of Pleasure & Pain

  Chapter 18: The Casino

  Chapter 19: Saya Revealed

  Chapter 20: Observations from Afar

  Chapter 21: Something that You Need

  Chapter 22: Mark’s Awareness

  Chapter 23: The Sunset

  Chapter 24: At the Doctor’s Office

  Chapter 25: Seeing Him Standing There

  Chapter 26: An Emergency Meeting

  Chapter 27: Not All Wounds Bleed

  Chapter 28: Knowledge Comes

  Chapter 29: A New Level

  Chapter 30: Elgert’s Ambitions Move Forward

  Chapter 31: Spinning in an Eddy

  Chapter 32: Concerns Blossom on Eldern

  Chapter 33: Meeting the Band

  Chapter 34: In Her Bed With Her Thoughts

  Chapter 35: Visiting the Doctor

  Chapter 36: Abernathy’s Advice

  Chapter 37: Waiting for Mark

  Chapter 38: Strategy

  Chapter 39: Approaching the Dom

  Chapter 40: The 22nd floor on Fifth Avenue

  Chapter 41: Finding Soba

  Chapter 42: Saya thinks it over

  Chapter 43: Jason Waits

  Chapter 44: Waiting for Mananken

  Chapter 45: A Mother Awaits

  Chapter 46: The Asteroid

  Chapter 47: The Intercom Wakes Them

  Chapter 48: Mananken’s Aid

  Chapter 49: Back in the Apartment

  Chapter 50: Gabriela’s Birthday

  Chapter 51: Saya Waits

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank the following people for their efforts and encouragement in having this book take form: Allison Walters, Mariana Slattery, Catherine Cussett, for their literary prowess, Cynthia Elliot, for her wisdom and encouragement, Siobhan Bledsoe humor and perspective, Neer Asherie for his scientific knowledge, my editor/publisher Erik Evans for his diligence, and most of all my wife Lynn Bianchi for being her brilliant, wonderful self.

  Chapter 1: In a Tree

  It was the Sunday after Easter, and my Uncle Walter was going fishing. I begged him to take me. My mother said no at first, but since I had just received a perfect report card from Saint Patrick’s, she reluctantly agreed. I was bursting with joy about my big adventure. My younger brother was more than jealous. The sun had just come up, and we packed up the old Buick station wagon and hit the road. I was small for an eleven-year-old, but I made up for size with unending energy; my uncle loved having me around. We were mid-way across the Tri-Borough Bridge when the car overheated. The fan belt had snapped, and steam was bubbling from the radiator. We pulled over and stopped near the railings. My uncle jumped out of the car and popped open the hood to check out what was wrong, and with a frown and a firm tone, he gave me instructions to stay put. I did my best to obey, but it felt like an oven in there, and I was sweating like an overworked horse. I was never able to sit still for long, and since there were no cars in sight, after about ten minutes I got out and looked at the tugboats moving down river. They looked lazy as their white wakes spooned strings of foam rippling along the gray water. Strangely, I was at peace when the panic swarmed over me. My heart started to pound. I was unable to catch my breath. The clouds spun, and I felt my legs buckle. It was only the fast-moving arms of my uncle that brought me to the ground safely. I guess I had never been up that high before, but since that day, the fear of falling from high places has been with me.

  So here I am, sitting fifty feet in the air, balancing my skinny ass on this twig of a branch, not knowing how I got here. Okay, I mumble to myself, stop freaking out. Think. I left my place with that strange Asian beauty I had just met named Saya, and then what happened…? Okay, go back to the beginning.

  I left that boring photo gig I did late into the afternoon and was just going to be by myself. It was my twenty-ninth birthday and I was depressed. I was going to have a drink in the neighborhood, head home, roll a joint, put on some Dylan and chill, decide whether I’m going to be a filmmaker or a photographer, and maybe… maybe, I don’t know what. I stopped into the local bar a block from my apartment and was on my second Jack Daniel’s staring down at my glass… “One more year until thirty,” I said talking to my drink. The year I decided I would have to start acting like an adult, or at least make the effort; focus on a career, stop staying high half the time, and definitely stop fucking around like an ally cat. Get a steady girlfriend instead of jumping in bed with one hippie chick after another that I’m always meeting in these grunge east village bars. I was getting even more melancholy and was about to leave when this completely gorgeous Asian walked into the bar and sat down next to me.

  She was young, but different from the usual Cooper Union or NYU types that wandered in there from time to time.

  She pulled out a zippo and looked around. The place was empty except for the two old drunks that never seemed to leave the corner table. She lit a cigarette and in a perky tone said, “Hi, I’m Saya. What’s your name?”

  She looked good, and I was more than ready for someone new. Of course, all my friends tell me that I’m always looking for the answer in the next pretty face. I’m a well-read, self-centered, hedonistic jerk with a few degrees and a high IQ. I know I’m totally wrapped around myself, but at least I feel bad when I’m an asshole.

  It’s that I just love women. I’m obsessed, and honestly can’t get enough, and it’s not just the sex thing, I love everything about them.

  The next second, she turned to the bartender, acting like I was not there, and ordered Vodka straight-up in Russian, then asked him for one of the hard-boiled eggs he had behind the counter.

  “Thomas. But people call me Tommy,” I said, trying to draw her back. She looked a little young for me. I had just spent the last year dating someone who was still in college, and her fickleness and eclectic desires, although fun, especially when she was in the mood for another girl in bed, were even getting a bit too much for me. But this one was different. Special. Not only gorgeous, but smart. I could sense it. “My name is Tommy Martino,” I said again. “Are you Russian?”

  “No,” she said. “But I speak it. Why?”

  She was wearing an almost-nothing white top and jeans, no bra, of course, her nipples pressed against the thinness. Her breasts were perfect. When she leaned forward, she shared a view as the blouse dipped. I was sure she was doing it on purpose. I acted disinterested, but when I looked her in the eyes, I knew she could have anything I had in the world just for the asking. She was ravishing, and in seconds her intensity owned me. At first, I thought it was only the head of my penis talking to my brain, but there was mor
e. Tommy, you are not in her league. You have never met anyone remotely as enchanting as her.

  I knew in a minute she was smart, very smart. You could see it in her eyes. I wanted to say something intelligent, and not seem like just another jerk on the make, so I said to her, picking up on the Russian, “I just finished Anna Karenina. Did you ever read it?”

  “Yeah,” she answered, “but in Japanese, when I was sixteen. I didn’t learn Russian until I was seventeen. She smiled sweetly, but it was obvious she was telling me not to try to impress her. “Listen, I know you are not here looking for a scholar tonight, and you’re really more interested what’s in these clothes than in my head. I don’t have a lot of time. So…”

  “Wow,” I said. “You’re direct.”

  “I think you look good, and you don’t smell too bad.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that, so I said, “Well, Okay.”

  “Listen, I have one day in the city before I go back upstate. I kind of live like a monk up there in the woods by myself. So, if you want to hang out later, write down your address. I’ll ring your bell in a couple of hours. I know you live nearby.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “I just do.” She handed me her paper napkin and asked the bartender for his pen. “If you like what you see… write!”

  “I will give you two long rings and then a short one. You’ll know it’s me. It’s 8:30 now. I will be at your place around midnight. I have to go pick up my VW from the garage, and I have a special meeting with this finance guy. It will take a few hours, maybe.”

  She turned to the bartender and asked for another Vodka in Russian. I realized now that she knew him.

  “My VW is a ‘68, I love it, but it’s five years old now, and it needs a new alternator. The garage is doing me a favor in fixing it tonight so I can get going.”

  I wrote down my address, not really giving a shit about her car, printed it carefully to be sure there would be no mistake, all while thinking, is this really happening? She picked up the napkin and threw back her vodka like a pro. “Four-sixty East 12th, apartment 6 West. I know the building. Okay, see you later.” She smiled devilishly as she smartly left the stool and walked towards the door.

  Before she could leave, I asked, “Saya… Why me?”

  “No reason,” she answered. “You were just here.”

  Saya and I had sex until about 2 a.m., two of the most intense hours I could remember. Never in my life had I had someone say, “I might come back sometime if you keep doing what you’re doing.” I did my best to please. After a while, she got up and got dressed. She was cool; almost indifferent.

  “Gotta go now. Maybe I’ll see you again when I’m around.”

  I said, “Let me walk you to your car. I kind of don’t want to say goodbye like this.”

  “Why?” she asked, then she looked at me sweetly. “Well, I know we didn’t talk much, so if you really want to.” I looked into her eyes and repeated that troubling and forever agonizing word in my head. “Why?” Three simple letters that search for the meaning of everything, I had no answer, just a feeling… a feeling that I should not let her go.

  “I do,” I said, hoping if we could talk some, maybe I’d see her again.

  But it was funny. When we were in the street, we hardly spoke. I took her hand. She looked back at me and said, “There is no future with me, you know, except maybe another night or two like this. I like you, but there is no real future, so please don’t wish for one.” There was firmness in her tone, but it was kind. I felt she was almost wishing she did not have to say it. Then it happened. I saw it coming. The headlights blinded me, and I froze. I was sure it was the end when I felt her arm firmly around my waist, air under my feet. And then she was gone, and here I am.

  ***

  Shit. There is a crowd gathering below me. There are police cars and a fire truck, and a bunch of crazy people yelling, “Jump! Jump!” Are they nuts?

  “Son! Are you all right?”

  What am I seeing? Is there a fireman coming up in the basket attached to that ladder?

  “Son! Just relax. It’s going to be all right. Don’t move. I’m coming up to get you,” hollered the voice of the young, rosy-faced fireman standing in a basket from the rising extension ladder.

  “It’s going to be all right. Just try and relax. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Just let us get you into the basket, and it will all be better. There is a doctor waiting down there.”

  God, I cannot believe how long that ladder can reach. Holy shit, this guy thinks I am trying to kill myself! If he only knew how bad I want my feet on the ground.

  “Just lean forward when I come closer. I can get you if you just lean a little closer. It will all be all right. Whatever is bothering you, believe me, it will feel better when I get you down. This is not the answer.”

  His eyes were sincere; I could read his name above his badge: Patrick Regan, Fireman, Hook and ladder Company 27. He was a burly looking guy, broad-shouldered, and with bright red hair. He spoke with a slight Irish brogue. For some reason, his accent was calming.

  “Relax,” again he said.

  I really wish he would stop saying that. “Sure,” I answered. “Anything you say. Just get me the fuck down!”

  Chapter 2: The Hospital

  Bellevue Hospital Emergency

  Dr. Robert Stein M.D. Psychiatrist

  Intake Report

  Patient: Thomas Martino

  Mr. Martino was found in the upper branch of a tree in Tompkins Square Park at 3 AM on the morning of August 19th. The patient, a white male, 5’ 7’’ in height and a 140lbs, was disoriented and confused upon admission. He had no physical injuries other than some small abrasions on his left arm and a black and blue mark on his right forearm.

  He complained of a slight pain in his shoulder, which he believed was a result of the firemen pulling him into the basket. Police Officer Arnold Sanchez stated that Mr. Martino reported he had no idea how he found himself more than fifty feet up in the tree. The police assumed he was intoxicated. He kept asking about a person named Saya and going on about an ambulance.

  Apparently, there was an accident half a block away involving an ambulance. It was rushing to a call when the driver suddenly lost control of the vehicle. According to the driver, Medical Tech. James Hogan, the vehicle suddenly seemed to be possessed. He stated in his report that he thought he had hit some people before crashing into a light post, but when he exited the vehicle, no one was there. Mr. Hogan is presently being tested for drugs and alcohol.

  The police assume that there is no relationship between the two incidents due to the distance separating them. The driver has also been admitted and is being evaluated. Mr. Martino showed no indication of being struck by a vehicle. The evaluation of the ambulance concluded it was traveling at least thirty miles an hour when it hit the light post.

  Dr. Stein looked away from the report and stared across the room.

  “So that’s him, sitting there on the bench, the one in the blue jeans and polo shirt?”

  “Yes, he was hysterical in the emergency room. We barely managed to give him an examination. Dr. Schwartz had to give him a tranquilizer injection in order to get him into that straight jacket. He’s calmed down now, so we took it off. He kept going on asking about the ambulance hitting him and someone named Saya. The only information we were able to get was his name, but he keeps asking about her.”

  “I need to see his original intake report. Maybe it’s some form of psychedelic we are not screening for or a flashback from an earlier dose. LSD can cause hallucinations for weeks after taking it. I wish they had waited for me before they administered any sedatives.”

  “We were afraid he was going to hurt himself. He is much stronger than he looks. It took two guards to get him into the restraints.”

  Chapter 3: Two Weeks Later

  They kept me at Bellevue for two weeks, mostly pumped up on Valium and anti-psychotics. I could hardly do much more than
mumble. On the eighth day, my friend Jeff contacted a lawyer. That’s how I got out.

  Six months passed before I saw her again. It was around twelve when I heard the doorbell ring; two long and one short. I was a little high, as I usually was by midnight, not on anything heavy, just a few joints and some bourbon. I had been dealing pot again to make ends meet. There hadn’t been much film editing work of late, and I was really sick of the fashion scene, so my legal income had been sparse, to say the least.

  Two long and one short… it couldn’t be her, but it was her ring. I was still haunted about that night. What happened to me after I saw the ambulance coming at us? I had been doing all I could not to think about it. The thought of it was terrifying; those seconds besieged me. Why was I not dead, and how did I end up on the top of that tree? At first, I could not stop talking to people about it, but since all I had been getting was strange looks or dumb jokes about what I had taken that night, I controlled the urge.

  “Sure, Tommy. So how much acid did you drop that night?” was the most common refrain before the eyes would roll and the laughter started.

  Again, it rang, two long and one short. I went to the intercom; my fingers hesitantly pressed the buzzer, and I said, “Yeah, who is it?”

  Her voice came crackling through the old intercom, the same unabashed confidence that I remembered. “It’s me. Let me in.”

  She knew that I recognized her, and she knew that there was not the remotest possibility I would not ring her in. I pressed the buzzer without saying a word.

  When I opened the door, she just smiled, brushing past me as if she owned the place. She was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and another version of that nothing of a top she wore when we met. She had on a baseball cap pulled down, almost hiding her eyes, and no make-up. She looked different, almost boyish. Briskly, she stepped into the living room, lounged down onto my sofa, and said nothing. Her manner was vague, her expression unabashed; there was a strange power of silence within her beauty.