Only in my Dreams

Posted: February 10, 2015 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Sometimes this happens to me in the night (dreaming) and I have to get up and write it down. Not often, mind you, but often enough that I’ve learned to go with it. This involves one of the characters from my upcoming publication, MURDER IN ELYSIUM, which is slated for publication late this year by Cinco Puntos Press. So, hot off the press from the strange, cobweb-filled mind of Yours Truly:

Mucho Love was only ever afraid of one thing. This one thing was foyers that had multiple exits. Once when he was seven, he’d nearly gotten himself irretrievably lost in such a room after the ritual hanging-of-the-coat in the foyer closet. The closet began underneath the stairs in the house of the people his parents were visiting, and Mucho Love—or Michael Lee Harper; which was his real name—had become intrigued when he found that the width of the interior of the cloak closet far exceeded the wall against which from the outside it appeared to be buttressed. No, the cloak closet continued and wrapped itself around in the darkness and emerged into a disused downstairs bathroom that itself boasted, oddly enough, three exits. One of those exits took a very young and impressionable M.L. Harper into a quasi-living room area complete with Franklin stove and a couch enclosed in a framework of dark Masonite with gold lame that itself had odd cabinets set on each end that likewise led…elsewhere. At this point, with the adults chatting away in the now distant wood-paneled foyer and making sounds that bounced around in hollow places and somehow morphed into an alien language, and while finding that the home of these disturbingly odd and perhaps distant kinfolk, had no actual end within its maze-like walls, Michael Lee Harper began crying. What had begun as an expedition into the dark and the unknown had somehow become a descent into hell.

But this was at age seven, a virtual lifetime ago.

When he first entered it, the home of the Childresses was like that mobius-loop house from long ago. And to top it off, the Childresses were dead.

Mucho Love—he knew that’s what they called him behind his back; sort of a bad joke, because of his tough, take-no-crap exterior and his propensity to make unpopular snap judgments that had the potential to end with people waking up on the floor with blood coming out of their noses—was certain that life itself was a mobius loop. The secret was to figure it out such that he could control it, and like Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim, go back in time at the moment when he was too close to death for comfort and relive portions of his life, thus achieving some semblance of immortality. The Childresses, apparently and however, had not discovered the answer to this arcane mystery. They were both deader than Napoleon Bonaparte, George Washington and Emperor Ming.

The call had come in from a neighbor who had been woken up by the multiple gunshots in the middle of the night, had brooded about it for several minutes, then called it in.

Mucho Love had been an officer in the Elysium police department for the previous nine years. He’d seen his share of bodies. Few though, had been like this.


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