The Way

by Janet Parsons

  Toby’s voice came through the headphones. “You ready, songbird?”

  Beth nodded. Ready as I’ll ever be, she thought.

  Toby continued, “I’m going to count you in, and, here we go, ‘Dreams’ take 1, And 3, 2, 1…”

  She heard the opening bars as Likely began to play them and the backing of the other instruments. Closing her eyes as Logan had instructed her to, she allowed her mind to wander back to the original memory and the kind and wise words of Judy Harlow. She took a deep, belly breath, closed her eyes and let the words float out towards the mic.

  “A single thread can change your life,

  You don’t need rope to survive,

  Spin it strong and get it right,

  Make a change, it’s in your sight,

  Don’t give in, count the signs,

  Don’t let go, you’ll be fine’

  And hold on tight with all your might,

  To the web of your dreams,

  Make a wish, take a chance,

  Live your life, make a stance,

  Be brave and true, it’s up to you,

  There’s so much you can do,

  Have faith in dreams, they’ll conquer fears,

  Take a breath, save your tears

  And hold on tight with all your might,

  To the web of your dreams.

  Always know I’m with you in that brave heart of yours,

  Close your eyes and think of me

  Now and forever more…

  And hold on tight with all your might,

  To the web of your dreams

  Hold on tight with all your might

  To the web of your dreams”

  The lyrics came easily to her and she did not need to look at the sheet on the music stand. Beth opened her eyes as Likely played the last bar. He looked over to her and gave her two thumbs up, then she heard Toby’s voice clearly through the headphones. “You did good, songbird. You did good. Your honeyed tone takes it to extremes of sweet and Likely’s accompaniment was perfect. I’d say you’ve earned a one take wonder title as well. I’ll mix both tracks down and you’ll be right to go public…and hand them in.”

  “Yes, handing them in to class is as public as we’ll take it, Mr. D.J.” Beth thanked him and Likely and headed off to her next class.

  Toby had a free period, so he stayed in and mixed the two tracks and then uploaded them to a memory stick. With the talent he’d just recorded, these songs weren’t just going to stay in class; he’d work out how to get Beth and Likely to agree later to his plan.

  CHAPTER 12

  Subterrain

  “For every prohibition you create, you also create an underground”

  – JELLO BIAFRA

  In New York City, directly under City Hall Park, lies the City Hall Subway Station, an elegantly constructed architectural masterpiece, with stunning tile arches and curved walls, colored glass skylights and grand brass chandeliers. When commissioned in 1904, the station was touted to be the centerpiece of the new subway system. However, in 1941 the doors were mysteriously closed to the public. An unidentified buyer had deemed the curved tracks unsuitable for the newer trains and paid a large sum of money to move the train traffic to the nearby Brooklyn Bridge Station. Still used as a turning circle for the Number 6 train today, passengers can marvel at the magnificent construction yet are forbidden to alight from the train.

  That is unless you are Fȍe or a member of the Bureau. Zie Monde was both of these. He stood about six feet tall, and his shock of light brown hair sat straight up over his high forehead, adding an inch or two depending on how regularly he had it cut. He had pale gray eyes with fair eyebrows, and sported pronounced frown lines between them, defined cheekbones and quite distinct lines around his long thin nose, and a fixed, glacial, expression set on his face. Zie was head of the Bureau and the owner of City Hall subway station. Standing under the great, round, blue and black patterned stain glass window of the domed roof, Zie rapped at a large, square stone floor tile, in a distinct pattern along the outside and into the center with his serpent-headed cane, the rubies in its eyes glistening, as the light from above reflected off them. From the sides of the tile sprang up four foot steel walls, forming an open lift. The tile swiftly moved down through a lit metal shaft coming to a smooth halt, then the walls disappeared and Zie stepped off the tile and into the boardroom. Enormous bronze walls, back-lit top and bottom with a subtle red glow, were inlaid with the Fȍe insignia. The black ceiling, was lit up with a stunning fiber optic galaxy lighting. A massive octagonal glossy black table stood in the center of the room. In the middle of this, a smooth, round pool of red mercury-like substance glimmered. Seven of the black high-backed chairs were now occupied. The meeting starting time was 8pm and all the other attendees had arrived by 7.30pm to ensure things ran smoothly.

  Zie Monde was many things; punctual and unforgiving two of them.

  “Looks like my little Lilith’s renovations are coming along, Degarl, she tells me she has some newly acquired pieces to add to her collection. Have Synan sort out exactly what they are and how they are to fit in here. That daughter of mine is relentless,” he said, taking his chair. It was unique, differing from the others as it featured a carved serpent identical to his cane entwined around the upper arch. He clapped his hands and two Myrmidons appeared. Their wide-browed insect-like faces featured two large eyes, slits as nostrils and their small mouths made a thin line half way up their narrow, pointed chins.

  “Would anyone care to join me in a glass of green before we begin proceedings?” Zie asked around the table.

  A unanimous “Yes please”, of course was the answer. Had Zie not requested a beverage, no one else would dare ask for one. The last member of the Bureau who had bucked the unspoken protocols had met with an unfortunate accident when leaving the building.

  “Bring eight shots and whatever is left, bring that in a jug, my new jug with the exquisite handle.” He gave his directive to the Myrmidons, and they made a light clicking noise, their antennae wavering as they scurried back through the doorway to the bar room. They returned in a few minutes, one carrying a shot glass in each of his four hands and the other carrying a tray with the remaining four glasses and a decorative bronze urn. The handle was indeed unusual, as it was the actual hand of the recently departed Fȍe member, dipped in some kind of super resin. Blue and green vapors sputtered out through the spout.

  The Myrmidons distributed the glasses and Zie raised his in the air. ‘Ar Eagla Na Fȍe.”

  They all drank together and the Myrmidon closest to Zie refilled his glass from the urn and worked his way around the rest of the group. After they had finished, the Myrmidons removed the empty glasses, leaving the urn on the table, and quietly scurried away.

  Zie’s eyes flashed around the table as he began, “The headlines from every type of media are screaming that we are definitely heading in the right direction.” The centerpiece of red mercury sprang to life in 3D hologram fashion, showing a news stand and flashing to TV screens with headline banners running across the bottom.

  “Look at these words, ‘Fear, Violence, Terror, Murder, Racism, Bloodshed,’ and look at people’s faces. Truly, they are thinking it’s all going to hell in a handbag. This is just a tiny sample of the evil that the globe is currently being saturated in. Really, we need to take the time to savor these victories.” The horrific imagery ceased as the liquid settled back into place and he continued, “Right, on to proceedings then shall we? Let’s start at my right; I want a brief accurate update of your sector on the Omega order. We will then open the table for any questions or further discussion. Randall, over to you.” Zie gestured to his right.

  Randall Murda’s round red face glowed. His cropped, thick, gray hair was gelled into a short, neat helmet, and a thick gray moustache formed a horseshoe, meeting the first of his chins. He wore a navy suit jacket with gold buttons that looked stretched to their limits across his chest and belly, set to pop at any given movement. His thick se
t voice began. “As we have just been privileged to a preview, I am pleased to report that the sections of media we have been actively pursuing major shareholder status in, including the television networks, web news platforms, print media and several of the larger movie studios, are reaching the scheduled saturation point of 73%. This has us right on track to achieve the 81% target. I have sent you all a memo outlining the latest in the configured reprogramming reality shows that the masses will be able to watch and download within the next eight weeks. These follow the proved path of D.R.F. (Desensitize, Reprogram, Fearmonger) and great inroads have continued to be made this past decade, as the results are showing in all the aforementioned information media. You will all be impressed with the array of celebrity talent I have persuaded to assist in this latest activation.”

  “Excellent news, Randall. I now introduce our newly appointed member Professor Cragg, a retired Harvard man who lectured in Environmental Science, specializing in Geology. He takes over the role in our Unnatural Disasters sector from John Gordon, who as you know, didn’t make it home from our last meeting. Luckily he’ll be able to keep his hand in matters.” Zie glanced at the urn, his thin lips contorting in a smirk. You could almost hear the fear lumps in several throats around the table being swallowed. John Gordon’s grisly end served as a fitting reminder to those present, that Zie did not tolerate any kind of mistake, let alone give second chances.

  “The Professor had thought he had gone into semi-retirement, just teaching the odd high school senior class, but this week I’ve managed to secure his services here at the Bureau, to oversee the continuation of John’s strategies. You’ve been getting to know my Myrmidons the last day or two, haven’t you? No report is required from you this evening as you have quite a bit of data to get through, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I am working with the Myrmidons on the “Fault Line Phase”. What an interesting race they are. It’s a shame I can’t bring one into class, but I understand this project is a top government priority and the Omega Project is ‘strictly confidential,’ so as agreed, not a soul knows I am here.”

  Zie listened with amusement as old Professor Cragg had no idea what agreement he had entered into, because he was under an obedience hex. He was needed only for his scientific mind.

  “Well played Professor, on to you now Poppy, how is our social media and marketing sector progressing?”

  Poppy Von Flett’s perfectly set 1950s magenta bouffant hairstyle set off her dramatic arched brows and heavily lined, false eyelashed hazel brown eyes and stunning dark complexion. Tapping her magenta nails quietly on the table, she answered in her southern drawl; “Well Zie, you know me, I am trawling over every social medium, mining for the fast tracks and my little ol’ Silicon Valley office is just abuzz with our latest development—it will out-tweet, out-face, out-snap, out-insta all its predecessors. We are using Neutrino Intelligence, which for those non-scientists, means particles which move faster than the speed of light.” Poppy batted her eyelashes and continued, “We are still working on a name, but rest assured, it will be a force to be reckoned with. I will notify you of the anticipated launch date as soon as we iron out the last few glitches. Trust me, bad news will never have an easier or faster ride.”

  “Bravo my dear, so much more than just a pretty face, aren’t you? Franklin, how is the Sector of Sound travelling? Do you have an update about our sponsorship at the Global Music Awards yet?”

  Franklin Underscore was about thirty-five years old, around 5 feet 10 inches, (without his inbuilt soles which elevated him to six foot) and built like a Mack truck. Almost entirely covered in ink, he had latched onto the tattoo phenomenon so vehemently to escape his comfy, suburban, middle class upbringing and nondescript look, that it would be difficult to find a square inch of bare skin left. He wore his bleached blond hair painstakingly arranged in neat cornrows across his scalp. His voice had changed since his love of steroids had taken over and a slight lisp, assisted by his numerous lip and tongue piercings, now intermingled with the squeak, making it difficult for the uninitiated to take him seriously.

  Zie Monde did take him seriously and never commented on the appearance because Franklin (a.k.a. Ef U – his rapper name), delivered all his hellbent schemes on time and with a voracity fueled from his overachieving desperate quest for notoriety. He was a completely self-driven, self-obsessed narcissist and the amount of havoc he produced, making its way through the airwaves, into the ears and minds of the public—was astonishing.

  “I have two more meetings to secure the main sponsorship which will buy the majority of prime screen time for the acts under my label and sway the votes in my favor. As you may have heard, my new album, ‘Ef U Knighted’ has held the Number One spot for nineteen consecutive weeks and I am managing to have it played on all major radio stations with the new cryptic encoding, I mean the hardcore, uncensored version, in 43 states. Winning.” He leaned back in his chair, attempting an arms-behind-the-head power pose, but the high-back chair tilted and he scrambled to hold onto the table.

  Zie rolled his eyes and the other table members had to bite their cheeks to stifle their laughter. A typical try-hard move from the ‘Hardest of Tryers’.

  “Winning indeed. Keep it up Franklin; now onto the good word from our preacher. Spin, how are your numbers? I read the stadiums on several of the key states are at capacity for most services now. From this I take it that the recruiting program rolled out over the past few years has begun to pay off.”

  Spin Garrett’s spray tanned complexion was pulled taut as a snap on latex glove, over his once defined cheekbones, that had been filled so many times that his face had now taken on a chipmunk shape, jet black dyed hair and white tombstone teeth to contrast. He spoke in a long, loud Texan drawl. “Well Zie what can I say? We have the mighty forces on our side and the amount of revenue that’s pouring in through our S.M.S. Fund, that’s Save my Soul, for the Professor here, as he is new to our terminology. Our conversion rates are causing an uproar in just about every known organized religious group. The new techniques of subliminal mind control are startling. Even die-hard resisters are coming into the fray like little lambs. The revenue is ensuring that our advertising for the second phase will outperform any other spiritual or religious institution that thinks it has a foothold anywhere, across this country. That little lady of mine, Goldie, has already begun to plot the next series of preaching events for a global scale. I’m thinking I’m gonna get that girl a raise.”

  “Yes, you do that, now while we are on the topic of finance, what news from our banking sector, Baozhai?”

  Baozhai Li, immaculately dressed in a steel gray Chanel suit, her sleek dark bob falling in a glossy asymmetric thick fringe across her beautiful, fine features, was known on Wall Street as the ‘Mosquito’, after the tiny, deadly insect. Baozhai did not have blood on her delicate exquisitely manicured hands, but she had single handedly masterminded and orchestrated the 2008 Global Financial Crisis (GFC) to destabilize the global economy, with brutal success. Her knowledge of encrypted internet banking codes and the formulas to disrupt them without a trace was undisputed. The last five years she had turned her attention to the European economies with the same fervor, resulting in another steady wave of currencies weakening, leaving a trail of confusion and desperation.

  “As the headlines in our friend Randall’s News Services are indicating, the uncertainty and panic of the initial GFC wave is in the ripple effect stage on a global scale. I have sent the forecast for the next quarter to you, Zie. What I am keen to know is how our colleague Degarl is tracking with his election campaign. As I have mentioned to you, I need some coding information contained in the Department of Treasury, and his presence as Governor in the big league will make that almost effortless.” She folded her slim arms, looking over at Degarl for his response.

  “Yes, we are all interested to hear the campaign update Degarl,” Zie continued, “Lilith had mentioned you were a little distracted and I assured her, you and I will sort
out that issue. If you go back seventeen years to where the Fȍe successfully severed the old Faeble, you will see it is puerile and superstitious to show devotion to that myth, and it will not be tolerated.”

  Degarl’s eyes flashed back at his father-in-law, his jaw tightening, as he worked hard to suppress his emotions. Speaking in a low voice, he said, “I assure you, it’s neither puerile nor superstitious, as the repercussions if you do not take me seriously will—”

  “Enough! Lilith is right, you are like a dog with a bone. I will speak to you after the meeting. Now, onto the campaign.” He held up his palm to Degarl.

  Degarl knew better than to press the issue and switched straight into his political role. “Commissioner Garnet has committed to seeing that his Special Forces are kept up to speed with my campaign trail for Governor. The only serious competition at this stage is Linda Morgan, but we have been able to purchase the databases of most of her larger supporters and have inundated them with some cleverly engineered video snippets taken in her early college days at a certain infamous frat party. With the help of Poppy’s team, these will be going viral right about… now.” Degarl paused and glanced at his watch then continued. “The fall-out from this move, is that we will most likely see her step down, leaving only a few weaker candidates in the competition. Lilith has organized the trail to conclude with a massive rally and fundraising event to be held at our beach house, and we’ll be pleased to see as many of you there as possible.”

  “Yes, your attendance and support is necessary. Any inabilities will have to be ratified by me, so you had better have authentic and viable excuses if any of you think you cannot attend. That about wraps it up for this evening’s proceedings, unless anyone has any questions?” Zie looked around the table. “No? Excellent, you all may be excused. Degarl and I have a little matter to discuss.”