He picked up the empty plates and took them into the kitchen. The questions were bursting from Emily’s brain, but she chose silence. She walked to the front door and stepped outside and felt she was in an old western set. It was surreal. Someone had created this attempting to recreate a time period that made no sense. It was as if he had never experienced the west, but felt like he wanted to show what he had seen in a movie. She walked around the house looking for cameras. She didn’t see anything.
It more disconcerting was that there were no wires, nothing electric, no television, no cell phone. Emily looked up at the sky again, and it felt wrong. The light felt off, even though it was a blue sky. There were several puffy clouds. It felt as fake as the western house and the man inside the house. She turned around, and he was standing on the front step. He was looking at her.
She walked back towards him. She stood in front of him and touched his arm. He was real. He smiled at her action.
“I am not a hologram,” he said.
“Do you have a name?” She asked.
“Geoffrey,” he answered. “Geoffrey Eddington Smythe.”
She tried not to laugh, “Is that with a ‘y’?”
He smiled back, “Yes.”
“Where am I?” Emily asked.
“This is your home,” he said, signaling the surroundings. “It is a safe place.”
“Am I your prisoner?” She asked nervously.
Geoffrey looked at her, confused. “No, of course not. But why would you want to live out there? There is nothing for you there. With me, you are safe.”
“How long have I been here?” She asked.
“A week.”
This was a mess she didn’t need. She was trapped in a house with her own personal demon surrounded by images that matched her nightmares, and yet she felt safe. She understood that he did mean it when he said she was safe. It felt claustrophobic. She tried to control her breathing.
“It is easy to be happy here,” he said almost in a whisper.
“Forever?” She asked.
He looked at her funny and walked back into the house. He closed the door, and she stood looking at the closed door, confused. There was a mystery here, and she intended to get to the bottom of it.
TJ56823
Journal 1
Los Angeles extended before him with the overwhelming comfort it gave him. He was sitting in his car on one of the viewing areas on Mulholland Drive. He just received a text from Geoffrey. It said Emily had arrived at his house alive and thanked him for his services. Tristan didn’t expect Emily to survive. It also had a list of purchases that would come shortly to his house. He read through the list, surprised. It meant Emily was staying with him as a guest. His imagination created a scenario worthy of a horror film.
Tristan loved the city. Everything about the city felt right for his personality. It had the darkness, the pain, the power, and the money he enjoyed. Time was ripe for him to expand his life. There was money in his account. He thought about Europe. A short trip to Paris to shop, and maybe meet a few ladies along the way felt right. He took out his cell phone and sorted some things. He drove back down into the city. As usual, it was full of traffic. The homeless filled every available space. Los Angeles was a city of extremes.
A giant billboard showed a movie in the theaters. Tristan had never heard of the film, but he recognized the woman. The memories made him smile. She begged at the end. He wasn’t sure if she begged to stay or begged for him to leave. It wasn’t violence he liked. Well, that’s not true. There was a type of violence that turned him on. It was more feeling he held power over another person. He rarely had sex without the other person’s consent. It would make the game irrelevant. He wanted them to want him so desperately they would do anything for him just to get him to stay. He never stayed. Tristan had never spent the full night with a woman. He always returned to his place.
There were rules to his conquests. Number one. They had to be perfect: beautiful, maybe a little famous, perfectly dressed, perfectly manicured, perfectly educated. Number two. They had to believe they were chasing after him. He played hard to get while showing just enough attention to get them to want him. Number three. They had to reach the point where they were entirely under his control. Once he had them, then he let them go. If it crossed into pathetic, he lost interest. He couldn’t handle tears or whining.
The city was full of hunting grounds. He had a cycle of places he searched for the next prey. He was grateful for the work with Geoffrey paid him well enough to allow him to do this with all his available time. Some people liked board games, other people liked football, and he wanted the chase. His flight left for Paris the next day in the middle of the afternoon. He had time to play. There was a club on Sunset he hadn’t frequented in a few months. It was still early, and he would go find some music at the music store. He liked vinyl. Truthfully, he couldn’t tell the difference at all between vinyl and digital music. His tastes in music were eclectic. If he were honest, not a life goal, he would admit he knew enough about music and vinyl to make him look like the kind of guy who cared about music and vinyl.
As he stepped into the store, he said hello to several employees like long lost friends. Tristan didn’t have friends because he considered them inconvenient. People were useful. He always bought their recommendations, and they would ever let him know when a possible lady was in the room. These were guys who dreamt they might be one day like Tristan. It was impossible. They would stay obsessed with music dating weirdos and dreaming of being a rock star. Tristan had no interest in being a rock star. He just wanted to take the rock star’s wife into bed and leave her wishing she was with him instead of her husband for the rest of their lives.
“In the jazz section, there is a person of interest,” one of the employees said, smiling at Tristan. He noted the man’s name and appearance to make sure he got the commission from the sale.
Tristan headed towards the jazz section and saw the man was right. She was just his time. It might not be necessary to spend too much money at a club. He walked to the aisle, picked up a record next to where the woman was standing.
“Is your passport valid?” Tristan asked.
She laughed, “Where are you taking me?”
Tristan noted she checked him out before responding. He smiled.
“Paris?” He said, laughing.
“That’s bold. Really bold.” She answered. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend walking around the store?”
“I am assuming you have a boyfriend walking around the store. I am asking that you dump said boyfriend for a few days, and join me in Paris.”
She stood watching him curiously. Then she shook her head and looked back at the records again. Tristan waited in silence. He knew it was only a matter of time before she spoke again.
“Do you like jazz?” She asked.
“Not all of it. I like good jazz.” He replied, looking at each of the vinyl records and replacing them with a sigh of disgust.
“There is a club nearby that plays jazz,” she said. “It is good.”
“Not Paris?” He asked.
“No, not Paris.”
“And the boyfriend?” He added.
“He’s out screwing his boss,” she said, smiling.
“I like being a revenge fuck, you know,” Tristan said. “Just in case, I like jazz, I figured you should know.”
They walked out together into the night.
Chapter 5
EB26392
Journal 1
Emily walked around the property throughout the day, not going beyond the immediate fence. Something didn't make any sense about the location. The sun felt wrong, and vegetation felt forced. There were plants unknown to her. It was closer to a beautiful summer day on the East Coast of the United States than California. She fell in California in the desert. It was time to figure out why this made no sense.
Geoffrey watched her from a distance. He looked like he was waiting for something. She could not
fathom what he could be waiting to happen. Patience surrounded him. She didn't want him to notice she was watching him. He did not seem to have the same worries. She would look towards the house, and he would be leaning against a fence watching her actions. The claustrophobia was increasing.
She looked at him, and it was as if animation stopped when he stopped. He didn't look like he was in perfect health. If anything, he seemed very ill and exhausted. Geoffrey waited for some action from her, but she could not fathom what it could be. Oddly enough, she was not frightened. The day before, she prepared to die. When she faced death, she realized there was more fight in her. Walking through the tall grasses and gentle forests surrounding the house, she felt alive.
As the day progressed, she wondered if she would be facing another meal with awkward questions and even more awkward answers from her host. As the sun was setting, she set out back to the house. She was surprised to find a table set outside. It was perfect as if someone was trying to impress her. That brought up some anxiety. She didn't know what Geoffrey's intentions, and she was frightened of herself.
He stepped out of the house with plates of food. She noticed there were no animal products at all.
“Sit, please,” he said.
She took a seat and waited for him.
“No meat,” she asked.
“I stopped eating animals a long time ago. When you have witnessed as much as I have, any form of violence loses its charm.” He said.
“We ate eggs this morning.”
"I keep some chickens. My metabolism requires certain types of proteins, and I can't really go and find supplements that easily." He said.
“Where are we?” She asked.
“In my home,” he answered.
She gave him a look. The answer was almost insulting.
The sun had set, and only a few candles lit the dinner. It was perfect weather. Emily studied Geoffrey. He was exactly as her nightmares. Handsome. Sad. Yet, in her nightmares, he had always been in agony. He had been screaming. The man sitting in front of her was attempting to be charming but was oddly out of practice. He was trying to make himself small, innocuous. It didn't suit him. At certain moments, he would smile. When that happened, there was an unmistakable devilish glint to his expression.
“Are you going to give me any straight answer?” She asked.
“You know all the answers.” He answered.
“I think you think that I am more than I am.”
“Why did you recognize me?” He asked.
“I didn’t recognize you,” she lied.
He smiled again and sat back, closing his eyes. Still, the exhaustion was palatable.
“Are you sick?” Emily asked.
“Just old,” he answered.
“How…”
“Old,” he said quietly.
She looked out into the distant mountains. Even in the darkness, the trees covered the mountains. No desert. She leaned back in her chair and looked up and kept on looking. Then she looked back at Geoffrey. He smiled, and this time there was no doubt he was either mocking or testing her.
Emily looked at the sky again. She had never seen patterns of stars like the ones above her.
“Where am I?” She asked again.
“My home and your home if you want it.”
"I feel like I am in the middle of Beauty and the Beast trapped in a castle," Emily said.
“You are not trapped. You can leave whenever you want. I hope you will want to stay.” Geoffrey answered.
“You are looking for a forever wife?” She asked.
He looked at her sadly.
"If it were that simple… no, I am not looking for a wife at all. But this will always be your home as long as you want it. I have found it wonderful to have a place where I can escape. This house was created for me long ago."
“The decoration?” She asked doubtfully.
He laughed. “Not my idea.”
“The clothing in the closet?”
“I haven’t always been alone.” He answered.
“What happened to them?” She asked.
“They are long gone.”
She had no clue how to continue the conversation. After dinner, she found her way back to the absurdly pink bedroom. She looked through the clothing with more curiosity. There were several time periods hung up in order. She wondered why the clothing had not fallen to pieces with time. What if she was unconscious at the bottom of a cliff, and this was all her imagination?
She put on the nightgown. It made her feel like someone’s grandmother. The images of Little Red Riding Hood crossed her mind, and then immediately dismissed them. If anything, she was the monster. She could never forget that. Emily wished she had a book or some drawing materials. It felt odd trying to go to sleep by candlelight. She blew out the candle and watched the moonlight hitting the wall. There were two shadows on the wall.
She stood up and ran to the window. It had not been her imagination. There were two moons. Neither looked like the moon she knew. She stumbled back and sat on the bed. One moon was smaller and had a purple tinge to it, and the other was brighter blue. The purple one lacked the familiar shadows found in the moon she knew. The other one did have shadows, but no shape she recognized. The purple one was crescent. The other one was at two thirds. She tried to remember the astronomy classes in science. The phases of the moon happened because of the position of the moon and the sun. It meant that the two moons must be at different distances from her location and had different rotations around the planet.
Emily knew she was on a planet, not her own. The only logical explanation was a dream. The moonlight and the double shadows looked beautiful. She walked outside and looked up at the sky, admiring the magic coming from the impossible sight.
She was caught up in the magic when she heard a horrible scream. Immediately, she ran towards it. The cry came from a small cabin at the end of a narrow path surrounded by taller grasses and a few trees. As she got closer, she heard terrible sounds of violence: broken furniture, broken bones. The screaming intensified. She continued towards the sound.
Immediately, Emily wondered if she was actually with a serial killer. Would this be her future? Was Geoffrey killing someone, and she was the next victim? He said he lost his taste for violence. She had no idea who this man was, and of course, she should be afraid. Did she feel fear? No, she didn't. Curiosity. A burning desire to understand why her nightmare had come to life, but no doubt.
Emily walked through the porch and opened the door. She stepped into the darkness. The moonlight and the double shadows filled grotesque shapes in the room beyond. The shadows took the form of extreme violence. She took a step further into the room, holding her breath, hoping Geoffrey wouldn't notice her.
He was alone in the room—the beast. There was nothing monstrous about his body but a psychotic rage moving through it, destroying everything. He was wearing an old pair of sweatpants, and injuries and blood covered his body. He punched so violently the skin hung from his knuckles. She held her breath, wanting to run but not having the courage to do so. She closed her eyes to control her fear and took a deep breath. Even though the violence was not aimed at anyone, it was her nightmare. Geoffrey had a desperate need to destroy himself.
She felt the wooden frame on the door to ground her fear. Then she stepped into the room. Geoffrey turned to face her, and rage left his face replaced with grief. He sat down hard on the ground. She circled him and sat on the ground across from him. The silence felt oppressing after his screams. His body was trembling, and the pain must be unbearable.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked.
He shrugged, “this is my life.”
Geoffrey leaned back and closing his eyes. Emily thought he looked fragile, breakable. She studied his hands on his knees, where the blood dripped on the floor. The metallic smell of blood and sweat filled the room. As Emily studied his injuries, she saw the wounds heal themselves and disappear. She looked up at him.
TJ56823
<
br /> Journal 1
Paris was beautiful at this time of year. Tristan had bought a watch and a new suit and was waiting at a park wearing both. The woman from the record store appeared in front of him. She carried several bags of clothes. Gifts to make her forget the night before. The woman kissed him happily and sat next to him. He barely acknowledged her. He looked out onto the park. Several beautiful women walked by, and he made sure he looked at them, studying their shapes. It was bordering on the pathetic with the woman, but she still had a little fight in her.
“You bring me to Paris to look at other women?” She asked.
“I am only human. It is my biology. What? You expect me to act dead?” Tristan replied.
“Why am I even here?” She asked.
“You don’t want to be here?”
"That's not what I meant. I like you." She said.
Dance of Life: The Belief Chronicles: Book One (Chronicles of a Planet's End) Page 4