“The Cainites had apparently entirely abandoned jesus, &, instead, reinterpreted the Old Testament, perceiving yahweh as Evil, since he had created this imperfect world. They exalted Cain, the Slayer, Eve, Judas, Esau, & the Sodomites, whom they believed were bearers of a secret knowledge that they were privileged to share. They even had gospels named in their honor. All of these proto-Gnostics had been punished by a jealous, irrational creator—Hystera, the Primal Womb. True perfection, &, hence, Salvation, could only be attained by breaking every law of the Old Testament. This violation of biblical canon was, therefore, their solemn religious duty. They invoked ‘angels’ whenever they committed one of their iconoclastic acts. They believed that one must follow this course of taboo-breaking through the ongoing cycles of an Evil existence, until they had sinned strenuously enough to buy their way to Paradise!”
“That sure fits our Zodiac profile, doesn’t it, Clarence—”
“Oh, you better believe it, Frank. & the Carpocratians flourished in Alexandria, Egypt. Now they revered Jesus not as Redeemer, but as an ordinary man who was to be exalted solely because his soul had not forgotten that its origin was to be found within the sphere of the unknown perfect god. They totally rejected the imperfection of this created world by identifying with spiritual reality. They laid claim to communicating with demonic spirits, & held power over the material world due to their ‘demonic connection.’ Like the Cainites, they believed that their transcendence could only be achieved by sampling every conceivable experience, even the most sinful. Hence, since this could not be attained in a single lifetime, they espoused the doctrine of the transmigration of souls— i.e., reincarnation! & they were practitioners of magick… Oh, yeah, by the way, many of the Gnostics identified the Twelve Apostles with the twelve signs of the Zodiac, & deified the celestial wheel!”
“Whoa! Carter! You are on to something, here—
“Anyway, back to Brittain per se. For now. They had to let Him walk. No choice. It must have been at least a year later that I saw the report. & it wasn’t like He was the only suspect we had. No way. Over 2,500 good leads. But they all washed. One reason or another.”
“Frank, my contact got wired after reviewing your occult theory in light of the June 21?/June 22? DOB. He checked with a Berkley prof who purports considerable knowledge of the arcane. He pointed out that our boy was born on the Summer Solstice, which was one of the events which opened the ‘doors between the worlds.’ He pointed out, too, that the reversed 6s or ‘69’ of Cancer is positioned on the wheel of the Zodiac directly adjacent to ‘N’ for ‘North.’ If you view that sideways, it becomes a ‘Z’… How d’ya like that…?
“He didn’t run an astrological chart on Brittain. Not his thing. However, he consulted a coupla reference books, & suggested a high probability we will find one or more of the following present in His chart: Mars, Saturn, Uranus, &, most surely, Neptune in the Twelfth House of Cancer. Whatever the Hell that means? He claims it would yield a predisposition for a morbid, secretive, eccentric, reclusive individual fascinated by the sea & the occult, with probable psychic abilities, chaotic & vengeful leanings, who may be subject to bizarre fantasies, self-deception & addictive habit patterns, & might expose Himself to risk through treachery or violent response to feelings of persecution… Whew!
“Other strong possibilities would be the presence of Scorpio Rising as His ascendant sign. In which case, add to His description, ‘sarcastic, skeptical, quick-witted, mechanical skill, will strive to high attainments through subtlety & strength of will or by force, & He will have a penetrating gaze…”
[ 150 ]
“I did it, Lucy. I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Prof. Punk babbles hollowly into the mouthpiece of his cot-side phone.
“What? Not much. Just the last crack split open in the zero level of the Zodiac code! Bear with me. Okay? I uhhh had to free-associate a bit. Expand my perceptions beyond the tunnelvision that mindlocked the top cryptographers of the CIA, FBI, National SEC Agency, & Naval Intelligence—”
He pauses momentarily. “Yes. Of course. That Salinas-area couple broke the initial three-part multiple-substitution cipher. But. No one realized it was simply a ‘drawer’ full of further ‘keys’ necessary in decoding the final eighteen-letter cipher. They all thought it was some ridiculous little anagram spelling out Zodiac’s true name? A bit simplistic, don’t you think, considering? Of course, I do have an advantage. I am perhaps the only living person to the know the answer before beginning its deciphering…
“Why the Hell would I tell you that, Lucy? Knowledge is power. But it’s also fucking dangerous. Okay?”
Another pause. While he listens to the boss lady, he stares at his riot-helmeted reflection in the lather-&-water-stained shaving mirror above his sink. Blue sparks still crackle above its red-painted dome. He’s jerry-rigged a linkup for the receiving portion of the phone: the ear piece is unscrewed, the wires spliced & considerably lengthened, allowing him to insert the lead in the computer jack-hole drilled through the helmet’s surface, & reconnected to the speaker’s gadgetry, now mounted within, scant inches from his ear.
“In any case, I had a sudden flash of inspiration. You see, my old colleague, George Brittain, is, or more correctly, was, the Zodiac.
“NO! I’m NOT CRAZY—” he bellows in indignation.
“He’s the only person I’ve ever met who proved my intellectual equal. No. Shit. He was superior to me. But He had some very bizarre obsessions. His mind was forever submerged in the darkest regions of the occult. He was convinced He was the reincarnation of Simon Magus. A religious prophet. & sorcerer. He also was a necrophiliac &, I believe, an extreme pedophile. Although that term seems most inadequate in His case. There was no love in Him toward children. No. I suppose that ‘pedomaniac’ is more correct. He was driven by a perverse need to use them in grotesque acts of sadistic lust. It held a magickal significance to Him. Yes. He was obsessed by learning the full nature of the crimes of the notorious Gilles de Rais. & by the writings of de Sade. He believed that He had been both of them in previous cycles of incarnation. He was tormented by fleeting visions of those lives. He had once possessed that knowledge. But had forgotten all but vague whisperings in His last rebirth.
“I’m digressing, though. I remembered another obsession of His— He could play word games, particularly Scrabble, hour upon hour. It just came to me. So I set up a word-manipulation program to mimic the ‘letter-trading’ that the game consists of. But, instead of using the seven ‘trading’ letters, I substituted six, taking my clue from the three-part letter & the total of eighteen letters in His associated cipher that purported to expose His name, if cracked. You see, Lucy, the biblical “666” of the Beast appears, in one form or another, again & again in His letters—”
[ 151 ]
“’n’ I’m tellin’ ya’ sure as I stand here, Caldwell, I never seen such a’ nest a’ loonies in all my years,” the beet-faced cop harangues his partner.
“christ, O’Malley, the world’s chock full of those religious nuts these days—”
“Na. Na. That ain’t who I’m talkin’ ’bout. Na. Well, yeah, I am, but it’s th’ other one that really bothers me.”
“Him? Th guy with th’ ceegar…? Shit, He’s just yr avr’g asshole saleman. Bought a goddamn Ford Edsel from some shithead looked just like Him…sonbitch took my goddamn money ’n run, y’ c’n bet yr goddamn ass on that, th goddamn shithead sonbitch…”
“Na. Th only thing He’s ev’r sold is a king-size line a’ shit t’ ya’, ya’ blindfuckin’ flatfooted copper. How in jesus ’n’ mary am I ev’r gonna save these achin’ feet a’ mine ’n’ save a fortune’s worth a’ shoe leather sittin’ at a nice safe desk sergeant’s job ’til I get that pension check with you stumblin’ along with me, I ask ya’, heh…?
“Trust me, pal, ya’ know I got a sixth sense f’r this shit.”
“Shit, O’Malley, His driver’s license was a match with the vehicle registration— Truman P. Gil
more.”
“Plumbin’ salesman, my ass. I’ve seen that sunuvabitch somewhere. Mug book? Th post office wall? America’s Most Wanted? I’ve seen His moon-faced mug somewhere, I never f’rget a christdamn face, I don’t. Yeah. ’n’ that deadpan voice a’ His gave me th’ heebie-jeebies. That ’n’ th face, by god, it rings some kinda bell. He ain’t foolin’ me. Na. I’ve jotted down th’ dirty bastard’s license numb’r, ’n’ ya’ can bet I’ll check this scam out as soon as I can run Him through NCIC.”
“Sonbitch, O’Malley, we don’t have enough shit t’ worry about with six goddamn murders? No. I’ve gotta be stuck with a shithouse crazy partn’r who thinks he’s goddamn J. Fuckin-Edgar Hoover! Christ!”
[ 152 ]
“—Well, Clarence, I believe that Zodiac believes all this hocus-pocus. & if He believes strongly enough, which I’m certain He does, the course of His entire life will have been colored by His perceptions. & that’s no bull…
“So where is He now?”
“Officially? Deceased: a freak fire at one of His trailers. It was way out in the boonies. By the time investigators explored the debris, the body was charred totally beyond recognition. Nothing but ash & dust in the wind.”
“So, He covered His ass, huhhh? When did the tragedy occur?”
“Around midnight on April 31st of ’75.”
“Midnight, again?”
“Yep, Frank, & that’s Walpurgis Night, May Eve, the High Holy Celebration of the witches, neo-paganists & Devil worshippers…”
[ 153 ]
“—Also, I always thought that the cutout eyes glued to His card dated ‘WED. OCT. 28, 1970,’ mailed to reporter Paul Avery, held some secret significance, as echoed in the phrasing ‘from your SECRET PAL I feel it in my bones, You ache to know my name, And so I’ll clue you in…’ On the face of the card He’d written ‘14’ & ‘4-TEEN’: half of 28. A direct reference, I’m sure, to His habit of doubling postage, another clue. Nothing. Believe me, Lucy. Nothing in his letters was random. Each word. Each semantic inflection. Each turn of phrase. Each misspelling. Each reference. Was calculated precisely to impart the wholeness of His secret tauntings. Nothing was simple. Most of His clues were multi-faceted. So I knew from the beginning His choice of the word ‘pal’ was significant. & I figured the ‘eyes’ referred to ‘I’s.’ Now the root derivation of the word ‘pal’ is English Gypsy in origin, meaning ‘mate’ or ‘brother.’ Of course, so many of His clues pointed to things English. No surprise, there, right? How much more direct could He be in His flauntings? English: Brittain? The interested citizen who suggested to the San Fran police that His ‘RUSH TO EDITOR’ referred to a ‘Mr. Rush,’ couldn’t have been more correct. However, who could know, except me, His confidante, that He believed Himself to have been the little-known but infamous Simon Rush, a fin-de-siécle London wizard who knew Crowley & Mathers & the members of the OTO & the Golden Dawn, & who frequented the notorious Hellfire Club…”
He pauses again. This time to regain his breath.
“I’m rambling again. Anyway, the eyes or ‘Is’ were most significant, so I tried, among other juxtapositions, adding an ‘I’ to the end of ‘pal,’ & came up with an interesting choice: ‘Pali,’ the sacred language of the Theravada Buddhist canon, now not spoken but used solely in written religious works. A secret language. By Hell, I’m glad I’ve got my dictionary program. By the way, there were fifteen eyes on the card. This is important, Okay? Brittain loved wordgames & any kind of puzzle. In fact He collected them. Crosswords. Chinese wood puzzles. Rebuses…”
Another pause as Lucy evidently questions him.
“You know, those puzzles consisting of pictures. Like, say, a classic one, though juvenile in concept—juxtaposing an image of a stick of butter with a pair of wings. ‘Butterfly.’ Simple, eh? I suddenly became convinced that this card was a departure from His usual verbal pyrotechnics. Oh, yeah, Lucy, ‘rebus’ comes from the Latin ‘res’ or ‘a thing,’ & ‘rebus’ is the ablative plural…”
Momentary silence.
“Bear with me a moment. Okay, Lucy?” Prof. Punk says, carrying the ruins of his phone over in front of his computer keyboard. “Why don’t you boot up your tube, Lucy, & I can show you what I’m leading up to on-screen…”
He keys to “DICTION” & punches up “a.b.l.a.t.i.o.n.” Then allows another moment for her to boot up. He quick-scans the word, then punches back to his ‘second screen’ displaying a detail from his “ZODIAC” program: a computer-image of the ‘Paul Avery’ card, a doctored Halloween card… “With me? Okay.” He can envision the portion of her Giger print sliding back—biomech removed, exposing terminal.
In any case, ‘ablation,’ in medical terms means ‘the surgical removal of a part of the body.’ In chemistry, ‘the removal of whatever is finished or no longer necessary.’ In geology, ‘the melting of a glacier, the wasting away of rocks, etc…’
Prof moves his cursor to point at the section of the card which shows a skeleton with its genital area covered by a pumpkin. “Ablated, right?” he asks the unseen Ms. Nation. “If you excise the correct portions of a pumpkin, what do you have, Lucy? Yeah, the eyes of a jack-o’-lantern.” He moves the cursor to the group of nine eyes peering out of the knotholes of a board. “I would? Huh? See how He’s written in white ink, ‘PEEK-A-BOO’ to the left of that odd eye, the one peering from a teardrop- or vulvate-shaped knothole, the only one with a dark background? Then, along the right border of the eye, he’s written, ‘YOU ARE DOOMED!’” It must be some after-effect of the LSD & Li Di 9, because, suddenly, every object or image that Prof stares at seems to glow, surrounded by a flickering blue aura.
“Now, Lucy, if Brittain, the Zodiac, intends this card to be interpreted as a rebus, then I think He’d have left some message in a previous missive that this would be the case.” Prof punches to another image, with the notation, ‘JUNE 26, to CHRONICLE.’ & the footnote, ‘SEE MT. DIABLO MAP, INCLUDED.’ Four letters back. Okay? Still with me, Lucy?” He waits for her response.
“See—He mentions his earlier school bus threat. But He deliberately misspells the word, making it ‘buss,’ as in ‘buss fuse.’ So the message is ‘re’ a ‘bus.’ At least, for the most part, right? In this letter, He also misspells ‘annihilating’ in the phrase, ‘by anilating a full school buss.’ So, He has ablated the letters ‘N.I.H.’ ‘IN.?’ ‘North?’ A sideways ‘Z?’ ‘I.?’ ‘Ialbadaoth,’ the Evil male Gnostic demiurge? ‘H.?’ ‘Hystera, the Cainite sect’s female counterpart—the female demiurge…?
“No. I haven’t had time to think through that portion, as yet…”
[ 154 ]
The eyes of Maldoror loom huge & hypnotizing as they stare down into those of the drugged Bible salesman lying on the motel bathroom floor. His head bobs with the fury of His exertions, but His eyes hold those of Truman in their psychic grip, like a serpent capturing a bird within its deadly thrall, willing it frozen, willing it a victim incapable of all normal response to flee… Unlike the hypothetical bird, however, Truman Gilmore is also chained & physically restricted from any chance intervention or distraction that might lead to his escape…
“Yes, You Pitiful Bible Fuck, for every event that has pushed the human swarm beyond some new threshold in its imagined destiny, for every ‘milestone of civilization,’ there has been a far greater impetus toward The Day of Final Judgment, a yawning of the Hell Gates as The Lords of Apocalypse let their waves of laughter boom like thundering surf against the soft sandstone that supports your dreams of a genteel world…
“Mankind’s knowledge but serves an exponential increase toward Armageddon, until he now subverts the very structure of this House-of-Cards existence toward his own destruction. Mankind?” The timbre of Maldoror’s voice shifts sardonically each time He utters this final syllable. “Mankind? Even your pitiful terminologies but serve to deceive your perceptions. Consider, instead, My Word: ‘Mancruel.’ This dream is My Dream, & in My Dream the world is Nightmare. Semantics. Consider
them. They are the First Principles. A Word is a Name. & a Name is the Key to the Essence of any form or concept within the Dream. ‘Night’ has its roots in the Greek ‘Nyx,’ Goddess & personification of the Nocturnal. Though the Sanscrit ‘nakti’ or ‘nakta’ lies deeper yet. Ah. Bible Fuck. But the Key of ‘mare’ is deliciously ambiguous. Linguistic parallels always point to Silver Keys of Meaning to unlock The Hidden Doors of Perception. ‘Mare’ is taken to mean within the context ‘demon’ from the Anglo Saxon ‘mara,’ an incubus. Consider ‘mare,’ though, as the root of ‘maritime,’ whose core unyields the Latin ‘mare,’ the sea. &, yes, the Anglo Saxon feminine ‘mere’ or ‘myre,’ of ‘mearh,’ a horse. It is the night-sea & the night-demon & the night-horse; the dark- or female-side, as the Tao would have it, of The Pale Horse, Death, of whom I am born. Sea & Demon & Horse are One. The Mermaid. She who is the Essence of Female. She who leads us deep into the Realm of Death. Common myth embodies her as a lovely nymphet with warm, luringly bared breasts & human torso & the lower extremes of scaled piscine suppleness & cold, wet, stinking promise. Think. She symbolizes ‘CUNT.’ ‘Cun’ means ‘to know.’ ‘Cunnus’ in Latin is the vulva. The final ‘T’ is but a guttural ending which renders it suitable to the Anglo Saxon tongue…
“Do. You. Enjoy. My. Little. Pun…”
Mal rides the chilling corpse of the dead Heather as the slain girl’s flesh rocks upon its bed of ice in its bone-white coffin/vessel of plastic-lined porcelain. His once-again gloved hands grip the edges of the tub as He thrusts his stiffened length, His bared ‘bone’ into her dark depths while the liquid slapping sounds of waves of flesh-on-flesh of flesh-in-flesh echo all around Him like the rush of tidal rhythmings through the secret caverns of the sea…
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