white(meat) paper

Rumination

2010-12-08T20:23:00.000-08:00

"So," Jason said as he pulled his sweaty body up from mine in our bedroom. "What do you think?"

"I think you've got the most talented hands in this hemisphere."

Jason slapped my chest. "I meant about the story Karl read us," he laughed.

"Hey, easy now. I bruise easily."

"Liar. And stop avoiding the question."

I thought for a moment before answering. I didn't know what I should say, but I wasn't going to lie to him either. I hadn't told Jason about my dream yet, and now I was even more reluctant to do so because it would almost certainly make him nervous. Everything I did made him nervous. The golden rule in our relationship was that he got to "go first." He had already suffered the pain of losing his parents while he was in college, and would do everything in his power to make sure that I didn't go and die on him, too.

"I think it's creepy because I can see why the Naughty Professor believes it."

Jason's eyebrows levitated. "Naughty? Do you think Karl has a taste for brautwürst?"

"I get that impression, yeah. I mean, I don't get the impression that he and Morgan are more than colleagues, and if I was straight..."

"Yeah, I'd totally be using her hair for reins. That's pretty funny. Wow. Say, isn't his bedroom next to ours? Think he was, you know... listening?"

"I don't know, but next time we should be louder. Just in case he is."

"Dirty boy." Jason straddled my waist and rested his hands behind him on my thighs. "But seriously, that story. Your strange silver box. That bowl. What if they are all connected somehow? Couldn't the whole thing be dangerous if they actually do find this lock of theirs?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I suppose it could be if anyone else is looking for it too. But I also keep asking myself if they'll even find anything behind this lock other than a pile of rocks. It could be nothing, or it could be something. Hell, it could even be buried treasure. I think it's the mystery that's driving Karl, not what's actually behind door number three."

Jason nodded. "I see your point. But why do I get the feeling that no matter what's behind this lock, you're somehow a part of it? I know that silver disc reacts differently to you. I'm not blind to how you react when it's sitting in your hand."

"That's why I called my grandfather earlier," I said. "I'm hoping he might have some answers. He says hello, by the way. He's glad you're still keeping an eye one me."

"Well, someone's got to reign-in the crazy. Might as well be me."

"If that ring on your finger is any indicator," I said, pulling his hands to my chest, "you've lost your chance to opt-out."

"Oh, poor me." Jason leaned down and kissed me on the lips. Then he jumped off the bed and grabbed his clothes, tossing my board shorts at my head in the process. "Get dressed, tiger. I'm tired of being under house arrest."

I yanked my boardies off my face and pulled them on. "Where did you want to go? I doubt Morgan and Karl will let us out of the castle without an escort."

Jason tossed my tee shirt at me. "Already taken care of. And she promised to bring a bottle of scotch with her."

I pulled the shirt on. "Just one?" I realized it was sticking to my skin and pulled it back off. "Need a fresh shirt over here."

"You're a big boy, you know where the dresser is." Jason grabbed my dirty shirt from me and tossed it in the suitcase. "Or, you could just go shirtless. It's not like it's 60 degrees out, and I do rather enjoy showing off a husband with visible abdominal muscles who also happens to have a brain."

"Just for that, I'm wearing a shirt," I shot back.

There was a knock at the door followed by Morgan's voice. "Oi! You two ready for a bumpy ride 'round the island? We haven't got much daylight left today, you know."

Jason tossed me my flip-flops. "Better get that shirt on, then. Adventure awaits!"

We opened the door just in time to see Morgan pop into Karl's room and tell him we were heading out. As we passed his door, he winked. "Have fun, you three, but be sure to get back before dark."

Jason nudged me. "He totally loves brautwürst," he whispered.

Details, Details

2010-12-02T21:49:00.000-08:00

Grandpa Sullivan married a Hawaiian woman whom he fell in love with while stationed on Oahu during World War II. He was lucky enough to escape the devastation of Pearl Harbor, but his family and his sentimental ties to the islands kept him here for the rest of his life.

My father, on the other hand, wasted no time in moving to Los Angeles as soon as he could. Island life just was not for him. Though we visited Hawaii occasionally while I was a child, it had been a good fifteen years since I had seen my grandfather in the flesh. Our family was terrible at staying in contact. It wasn't that we didn't care about each other, we were just very good at being distracted by our own lives.

Luckily for me, grandpa Sullivan had kept up with the times in order to keep in touch with his family. I emailed him to say that we were on Maui and that I had questions about our family's connection to the islands. Within five minutes, he was on the phone.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner that you were coming, Joe? This is such a wonderful surprise."

"Well," I replied, this wasn't exactly a planned trip. I've been asked here by an archaeologist who wants my help. I'm not even sure how long we'll be here."

"Now that's a bit odd, isn't it? Don't you writers usually call upon professors for advice instead?"

"Yeah, especially in my field. t is pretty strange how I've been pulled into this."

"Care to elaborate?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, there's not much to tell at the moment, other than I am apparently part of the mystery this guy is trying to solve." I paused. "And, well... I think our family may have something to do with it. I know grandma Hannah isn't with us any more, but I guess I need to find out anything I can about her."

"Joe, it's good to hear your voice, but I can tell you aren't telling me everything. Well, as luck would have it, I am supposed to be on Maui tomorrow to see some friends. Why don't I come see you when I'm done visiting with the old boys?"

I was about to respond when Morgan walked into the room, saw that I was on the phone, and motioned for me to come out. "That would be great, gramps. I have to go, but give me a call when you're done tomorrow so we can figure out where to meet. I can't wait to see you."

"Me either," he replied. "I don't know how much help I can be, but I'll find out what I can before I leave. Say, is Jason with you?"

"Yup."

"Well, it will be nice to finally meet the... er, wife. Wait. Don't tell him I called him that."

"Trust me gramps, he'll take it as a compliment. See you soon."

I hung up the phone and went into the living room to find Morgan, Jason and Karl sitting together on the couch looking at a photographic map of the dig site. Karl was pointing out different spots and telling Jason what they had found.

"... And here is where we uncovered an entire family that had been buried together. We found skeletons of children with the parents, which suggests they may have all fallen sick around the same time. This wasn't unusual... Oh hello, Joe." Karl looked up from the map and smiled. Come join us. I was explaining the area of our dig to Jason so that he can be familiar with the grounds when we get there. It would not be a bad idea for you to listen in."

"I'm all ears," I replied.

Morgan moved off the couch and sat on the floor opposite us. "It really is an amazing place," she said. "We've found far more there than we expected, and that isn't including the weird bits."

"How many weird bits have you found?" Jason asked.

"More than we expected," she replied.

"but you don't really expect to find things like that bowl at any dig, do you?"

Karl laughed. "No. No we don't. But in this case, I have been looking for clues. I think it's time we gave you a bit more background about why we're here on Maui." Karl stood up and strode over to the bookcase. He pulled out a leatherbound journal and came back to the couch. Morgan nodded and went into the kitchen.

"You gentlemen probably know that most of the tales of the Hawaiian people were only recorded recently. For generations, their myths and legends were passed on orally as songs or, for lack of a better word, poems. It was only when foreigners came to this place that some of these tales were put onto paper."

Jason and I nodded. Karl continued on.

"Now, a great woman scholar was one of the first to collect a large amount of these tales and put it into a book. Several others followed, but logic would dictate that some of these stories have yet to be revealed to most people, even those who study Hawaiian mythology as a profession."

"And I bet that includes the nastier ones," Jason said.

"You would be right to think so," Karl said. "This journal here happens to have one such tale within its pages. It tells a very unfamiliar story of Pele's how would you say... downfall."

"I heard through the grapevine that she wasn't well liked," I quipped.

Karl laughed. "Well, Pele was very much revered by the Hawiian people, but she was also feared by them. Much of their suffering was blamed on her short fuse and passionate disposition. She was, for the purpose of this discussion, a bit of a scapegoat."

"Melting villages with a stream of molten lava will do that," Jason said.

"Oh, Pele was more than just the heart of the volcano, Jason. She was the destroyer, yes, but the wake of her destruction often gave birth to new land. New possibilities. So she was also rebirth. "

Karl opened the journal and began to read. "One night, while walking in the crater of Haleakala with her sister, Na-maka-o-ka-hai. As always, they were arguing. Na-maka-o-ka-hai was convinced that Pele held a secret power over the people of Hawaii that gave them fear and awe of her. Na-maka-o-ka-hai wanted this power for herself, for as a water diety she knew that she could not reach the tallest of the mountains. Her powers flowed down to the sea. Pele's fire rose up into the sky.

"Na-maka-o-ka-hai had called Pele here, away from her home in Kilauea's heart, with the hope it would weaken her ability to win a fight. Pele arrived at the crater as a shooting star, a ball of fire that leapt from Hawai'i to Maui so quickly that the mountain people of Kula feared for their lives. Na-maka-o-ka-hai was waiting for Pele and welcomed her younger sister with a smile and open arms.

"Pele was no fool and resisted embracing her sister. Instead, she asked why Na-maka-o-ka-hai had called her to Maui's home. Na-maka-o-ka-hai flattered Pele with praises of her powers and beauty. She proclaimed envy of her dark, fire-kissed skin. She wailed that the people of the islands did not favor her with the reverence they showed Pele. And Pele, though clever, was entertained by Na-maka-o-ka-hai enough that she became proud and vain above all else.

"And so Na-maka-o-ka-hai asked Pele what her secret was. 'Surely there must be something given to you by father Ku himself that makes you glow with the power of the sun. What is it?' And Pele laughed at Na-maka-o-ka-hai. 'Why sister, it is nothing but duty that makes me glow. It is nothing but knowledge that keeps the people in awe. It is nothing but the blood we share that grants me command of fire. And all this is a key that unlocks the powers to wield the fate of these islands.'

"Pele danced around her sister, leaving footprints of ash wherever she landed. Na-maka-o-ka-hai scowled at her sister and spat at the ground, causing a spring to appear and begin flowing. 'It is something else,' she hissed. 'Our brother told me as much.' Pele laughed. 'Ka-moho-alii is a trickster, like Maui. You shouldn't believe everything he says to you. Even his sharks do not. They do his bidding because they must. Why do you follow his advice?' Pele cocked her head. 'Are you a shark, too?'

Na-maka-o-ka-hai began to lose her temper with her sister. Clouds formed above them. Rain fell onto their shoulders. The drops which landed on Pele instantly became steam. 'I am your elder!' she shouted. 'Do not forget that, or it will be your undoing. I can lock you away under the island in a watery prison if I wished and the people of these lands would sing my name in praise.' At this, Pele laughed so loud that all of Maui shook under their feet. 'Do not challenge me, sister!' Pele said. 'I keep secrets you do not want to be known, and only I can open them to you.' And it was with those words that Pele said too much.

Na-maka-o-ka-hai raised up her arms and brought a flood down into the crater with them. And before she could stop it, the water swallowed Pele and dragged her down the mountain to the Southern the shores. 'You will not!' she screamed to the barren rock at the edge of Maui, 'and I will see to that myself.' A hole opened up in the shallow valley of Kaho'olawe and swallowed Pele up. Water flowed over, and a channel was made where the Kaho'olawe valley once lay."

Karl closed the journal. "And that, boys, is the story of how the barren isle of Kaho'olawe came to be."

"But you think there's another story in there," I asked. "Don't you?"

Karl nodded. "I believe there's more to Pele's argument with her sister. I believe that she may have actually been guarding a power even she feared to use."

"It's the whole knowledge and duty thing, isn't it?" Jason said. "Like she was protecting something."

"exactly," Karl replied. "But here's the thing: I also believe that Joe may very well be in possession of her key."

"But even if that was the case," I said, why are you still digging around on Maui?"

Morgan appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Well, keys usually fits into locks, don't they" She said. "We're trying to figure out where this one is."

Check-In

2010-10-17T22:07:00.000-07:00

"So how's paradise?"

"Far from peaceful, it seems."

"What does that mean? Did you meet that guy Ray wanted you to talk to?"

I lay back on the bed and let my cell rest next to my ear on the pillow. "Yeah, I met him alright. We're staying at his house. He's hot."

"Whore," Laura snorted. "You're there with Jason, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm starting to regret bringing him along."

"Whore. How hot is he?"

"Whatever. And you know I wouldn't. But I am worried that I may have brought him into a sticky situation because of this thing Ray gave me."

"Define sticky before I call you a whore again."

I laughed. "I'm serious, though. I've been here a day and already this whole thing feels a little, I don't know, dangerous. Professor Diessen and his assistant are giving me the impression that they've had unwelcome company around their dig sites. They're showing me weird shit, like indestructible wooden bowls. They're nervous about taking me out there. Diessen has this concerned look on his face all the time. Though, that may just be what he looks like all the time. Hard to say."

"Great. I guess I'm not leaving my apartment for awhile, then. Again."

"I hope you stocked up on essentials. How are you doing?"

Laura sighed. "I'm okay. I don't think anyone is tailing me anymore. I've stopped popping xanax like they're tic-tacs. I think whomever it was must know that you've left for the tropics, and I'm both relieved and worried. But the show must go on, so I'm headed to Seattle tomorrow for a signing. I'm glad to be getting out. Cabin fever sucks."

"Don't I know it. We're under house arrest until they make 'preparations' for us to visit the dig site. Jason is making the most of it though, laying out in the yard in a speedo, hoping to turn his skin a darker shade of Casper."

"Better stock up on aloe vera gel. And poppers."

"I'm afraid to ask, Laura."

"Then don't! Anyways, stay safe. Keep me posted. And do me a favor, would ya?"

"Sure. What?"

"Try not to become what you write."

"It may be too late for that."

"Dammit Joe, I was about to hang up and go pee. Now I have to hold it while you explain what you mean by that."

"Well, last night I had a very strange dream."

"Welcome to my last night. And the one before it. And the-"

"No, it wasn't like an I-drank-too-much-cheap-tequila dream, Laura. This was way worse."

"What do you mean by worse?"

"I mean, I woke up with something that I didn't go to sleep with."

"What, crabs?"

"I'm going to ignore that and just say that I have a bit of genealogy work to do if I want to make any sense of this."

"Okay, now you're freaking me out. What did you wake up with? A black eye? A birthmark in the shape of the Blessed Virgin? Freddy Kreuger's slashes across your chest?"

"I woke up with a necklace."

"Okay, you REALLY expect me to let that one go by? Listen, not only are you weirding me out, but I am about to create the Yangtze river in my kitchen. Isn't your grandfather still living on Hawai'i? Maybe you can get shore leave from Camp Sexy to go see him. In the meantime, I have to pee. And pack. And plane. Call me tomorrow, ok?"

"How could I not? If the days stay as weird as the past one, I'll have a novel on my hands by the time I leave."

"All I care about is you two getting back safe. Don't go killing yourselves or anything. Please."

I stared at the obsidian pendant in my hand, afraid to believe it was real. "Trust me, that's the last thing I plan to do."

Morning Wood

2010-10-17T21:46:00.000-07:00

"Do you think it strange, Mister Sullivan, that this has managed to survive hundreds of years without any signs of decomposition?"

I took the object Professor Diessen handed me during our breakfast and did my best attempt at faking the act of a close and thorough examination. Truth be told, I wasn't even sure what I was holding. "Well, I would imagine that the native islanders would design a bowl that would last..."

Morgan chuckled audibly and gave the professor a glance. "Do you know what it's made of?" she asked.

I shook my head as I turned it over and around in my hands. "Not a clue. If I had to guess based on its weight, I'd say wood. But that's impossible, isn't it?"

"And I would respond that it's not impossible," Diessen replied, "but extremely unlikely given its age. Morgan had it carbon dated the last time she went back to Los Angeles. Would you believe that this bowl is over four hundred years old?"

"If anyone else had said so, no. But here it is, in my hands. Where did you find it?"

"At our most recent excavation site," Morgan replied. "It was a most unexpected find, and judging by how well it was hidden, I don't think it was meant to be recovered. Ever."

"What do you mean by hidden?" Jason asked.

Diessen chuckled. "This wasn't just stashed away in a heiau," he said. It was actually buried about fifteen feet below it. No small feat on an island that's mostly solid rock."

"Sounds like it was either very important," I said, "or very dangerous."

"Perhaps both, Joe." Diessen took back the bowl and slowly turned it over in his large hands. "But what we do know is that this bowl is made from the wood of the native ti tree. A rather complicated series of tests told us that. Sturdy? Yes. But this... It is practically indestructible."

"It's true," Morgan added as she sipped a cup of tea. "I tried to split it in half. The bowl was having none of it."

Jason looked at Diessen. "Maybe a witch doctor put a spell on it or something."

Diessen nodded. "It is possible that this was a tool of the kahuna. But I have my doubt that they were its creators. I more suspect that whoever built that key, as Joe called it, also constructed this bowl."

"I can see how you would think that," I said, "based on their mysterious nature alone. So did this come from Kaho'olawe?"

Morgan shook her head. "'Fraid not. But the heiau we pulled it out from is near the Maui coastline that looks out to the island. Our current theory is that whatever happened on Kaho'olawe was managed from a distance, at least partly."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "That sounds kind of sinister. Like they were testing bombs."

"Yeah," I laughed. "Exploding coconuts were all the rage back then."

"I could make a joke," Jason said, "but it would be in poor taste."

"Don't underestimate your audience," Morgan said with a chuckle. "Karl and I have positively filthy minds. Keeps us from getting bored with our work."

"Getting back to the bowl," I said, "have you two speculated on what it was meant to contain? I mean, something this... strong surely wasn't meant for holding plain old water, was it?"

"Now we're getting somewhere," Diessen said with a smile. He set the bowl back on the table, stood up and went to a nearby bookcase to retrieve what at first glance looked like a well-worn trade paperback. "You may have come across this book yourself, Joe. It's a collection of Hawaiian mythology that I'm rather fond of using for reference. It happens to contain more than a few stories about Pele and all the trouble she caused. While most aren't all that specific on details, these being legends of folklore and all, one in particular talks of a ritual."

He handed me the book. "I'd be curious to hear your thoughts about the bowl after you read the story on page 176."

"I'll make sure to read it today, then." I looked at Morgan. "Are we going to be visiting the dig site today?"

"If you wish," she replied. "It's not very far from here, though I would like to take a few precautions before heading over."

Jason looked at Diessen. "Precautions? Have you had trouble at the site?"

"We've had unexpected visitors," Diessen replied. "They haven't given us any trouble yet, but they look far from friendly. And I'd be lying if I said that I didn't think they were hoping your charming husband would eventually pay us a visit."

Jason turned to me. "What are we getting ourselves into, being here?"

I glanced at Morgan, but I couldn't read her expression. Diessen looked tense. "I don't know, Jason. But I don't think this will be a relaxing getaway."

Dream A Little Dream

2010-01-17T21:15:00.000-08:00

I left the living room, worried that Karl and Morgan were more confused by my presence than ever. But I couldn't leave Jason melting in a tub all night, so I finally excused myself and made my way deeper into the house to find him resting languidly atop the king-size bed in our guest quarters. As soon as I walked in, he opened his eyes and beckoned me to bed. An hour or so later, we finally went to sleep. And I began to dream.

The room glows orange and yellow. Is it a cave? The walls are painted so crudely. The only way is forward, so...

A circular room. Six torches lit and glowing. A pool of lava, calm and steaming in the center. A beautiful slender woman. Skin brown as the Ti tree, hair black as obsidian. Lips red as blood.

"So, you've returned to my home. Did you bring with you what is rightfully mine?"

There's a small reddish pumice rock in my hand. "You mean this? I'm sorry. I found it on a hike. We were here for our honeymoon. I regretted it the moment I got back to our hotel."

Her eyes bore into me. "And you were punished for your deed, were you not?"

How did she know? "Who are you? Where am I?"

She laughs. "So full of questions, are we?" She spreads her arms wide. "We are close. But you must know that others are watching. Waiting. Looking."

"Looking for what?"

She looks at me like a mother does a child. "Why, you of course. You're not like other kane. Do you think any mortal can gaze upon the path? Your line is old. The nui kupuna kane of your kupuna kane knew me well. He worshipped me and kept me safe from my sisters who feared what I would do."

"Were they right to fear you?"

She sighs and moves in close to me, so close I can feel her heat. She radiates warmth like a fire. "I do not beleive so," she whispers in my ear. She moves back a step and smiles warmly. "I love to dance. In the days of old, they would perform so many hula in my honor."

She moves her body to a rhythm that comes from nowhere, yet I hear it inside my body like a heartbeat. She beckons me with her hand to dance with her and I can do nothing to resist. The lava dances out of the pool and surrounds us, but does not touch our feet. Her hips move closer to my own and the lava begins to boil.

She takes the rock from my hands and presses her lips to it. Fire engulfs the stone for a moment and it becomes so small. "You must keep me safe now," she says. "The ki is sacred. The ki must not be used. Even I know this, though my sisters feared I would unleash its power. But, they were fools. And... so was I."

She pulls a hair from her own head and fashions a necklace with the stone. She hands it back to me. "You must go. They are watching you, even now as we dance. My power is great, but it is unseen. Protect me from those who seek to use the ki for their own selfishness. This is the task of the Nui Kahu."

"Nui Kahu? I am no guardian. I'm just an imaginative imp."

She gives me that look again. "So was Maui. He, his Kamali'i and their Kamali'i and you. Do not underestimate your role in this, keiki. Know that the ki is useless without your hand to wield it."

"What about Kahoʻolawe?"

"I have long been free of the prison of Kanaloa's skull. Your companions will find little more than stories there. If you seek me, let the winds carry you to the East and South. Protect the ki and you shall protect us all."

Her movement slows, her dance ends. The lava flows back into the pool...

Scotch and Stories

2010-01-17T18:20:00.000-08:00

"I'm in the living room, Morgan," came a thickly accented voice from the left of the entryway. "Mr. Sullivan, please come in."

"You'll have to forgive me professor," I said as I walked into the room, "but I did not come alone."

Diessen, who was sitting on the couch with a slew of drawings and books on the coffee table in front of him, stood up to shake my hand. I had to admit he was pretty hot for a professor in his fifties. Tall, lean, shaved head, blue eyes and a tan. His khaki cargo shorts and a tank top didn't match my mental image of of a professor at all. He could have easily played Lex Luthor in a Superman porn. He glanced towards the hall opening and nodded at Morgan and Jason. "Hello there. Morgan, please show his... friend... to their room. I'm sure he would like to freshen up and relax after their flight."

"Happy to," said Morgan. "Jason, I hope you like big bathtubs and firm mattresses. Follow me."

"Lady, you just said the nine magic words," Jason replied. He looked at me as she led him deeper into the house. "See you in a few. Momma's gonna have a nice long soak."

He turned his gaze back to me. "You, however, look full of questions. I rather think you'd like to get down to business."

"It's that obvious, eh?"

He smiled. "As obvious as is your close connection to that man there. I trust you love each other very much," he said with a wink. "Welcome, Mr. Sullivan. I hope you had a pleasant trip?"

"Please, call me Joe," I replied. "Any flight that ends on Maui is a pleasant trip in my book." I looked down at the mass of work on the table. "But I guess we should talk about why I'm here."

"Indeed. Please, have a seat." He motioned to the couch as he sat back down. I took a seat at the opposite end. "Would you like something to drink? I was just having a couple fingers of Scotch myself." He grabbed a bottle and two glasses from an end table and poured us each a healthy dose before handing me my glass. "I must remember to always find teaching assistants whose families run distilleries in Scotland." He clinked his glass against mine. "Cheers."

"Cheers, professor." I took a sip of the Scotch and savored the fruits that came to my nose. "Wow. That is one sensual whisky, professor. Both sweet and aromatic."

Diessen nodded. "Yes. And you may call me Karl if you like. You are not a student of mine, after all." He leaned over the coffee table and began digging through the piles in front of him. "Now, let me see. Ah yes, here they are. Tell me Joe, what do you know of the Hawaiian gods?"

"I've read a fair amount of the translations of the old tales, actually. I've always loved reading about mythology. Greeks, Pagans, Christians. This will sound shallow, I'm sure, but I am obsessed with tiki culture. I guess it comes from growing up in Los Angeles. But you know as well as I do that loving tikis is not the same as understanding polynesian religion. A few years ago, we came here for our honeymoon and I decided to learn more about the deities themselves.

"On the drive from the airport, Morgan told me that you were researching Pele, but she didn't dive into much detail other than to say that you had been out to Kahoʻolawe. To be honest, I thought that was a little strange. I hadn't come across any stories that put her there."

"And you would be correct in that observation. I can find no stories of the goddess that take place there either. But I have studied her extensively and have many reasons to believe that she made that island her home for awhile."

"That's intriguing. But Kahoʻolawe wasn't ever much of an active volcano, was it?"

Diessen nodded. "No, at least, not when she was there. But it was safe isolation. You see, I don't think she was there by choice." He casually adjusted himself on the couch to face me. "Take a look at these pictographs that the natives drew in sacred places there. They depict a prison around the goddess, one meant to contain her. Yet this is no prison crafted by the hands of man. The markings..." He pointed to a drawing of six star-like points around a circle containing her image, "suggest a more... powerful involvement. What they were keeping her from doing, I do not know. But I have reason to believe that you possess at least a portion of the answer to that question."

He looked at me with an expression of lust, but it wasn't sexual. At least, I didn't think it was. given his line of study, I figured that Diessen wanted a look at the other thing I was hiding in my pants, so I whipped out the silver box and handed it to him.

"I don't know if this is the answer, but it sure as hell freaked me out when I opened it."

Morgan walked into the room just as he opened the box and took out the key to examine it. "What's that, Karl? Looks like a spot of coin. Don't go spending it all in one place." She stopped by the end table and poured herself a Scotch before pulling a chair to the coffee table opposite from us and sitting in it.

Diessen carefully examined the key for a moment before putting it back in the box and handing it back to me. "I doubt we'd be able to spend it here, Morgan. Tell me Joe, what do you think that silver piece is? The markings suggest it's part of the mystery, but what part I cannot say."

"Wait. You didn't see it?"

Diessen looked at me. "See what? I opened the box and saw the coin. For all I know, this could be merely a token. But the lengths our Friend Ray went to get it to you... I must admit to you that I'm surprised that this thing wanted me to see... seems so insignificant."

I looked straight into his eyes. The kind of intense look that, when used on Jason, would cause his clothes to spontaneously evaporate. But in this case, my intention was merely to denote how serious I was about what I was going to say: "Trust me, this is no insignificant piece of silver."

Clearly the look had its intended effect. Diessen and Morgan both shifted slightly. Morgan looked at the box in my hands. "May I have a closer look?" I handed it over and her eyebrows furrowed. "There's something strange about this box. Why is it so light? It's clearly made of metal."

I nodded. "That was one of the first things I noticed. That and the weird tingly sensation."

They both turned to me. "What tingly sensation?" Diessen asked.

"The one I get when I hold the box in my hands. You didn't feel it? Happens every time I pick the damn thing up. I know it's like, eighty degrees here, but I've been thinking of getting a pair of gloves."

Diessen and Morgan exchanged glances. "I'm not sure what the more intriguing object in this room is," he said. "That box and its contents, or this young man here."

"Okay, now I'm getting a little creeped out," I said. "I really thought you would see this thing and know immediately what we were supposed to do with it. I mean, it was instantly clear to me what this thing is."

"Then what is it?" they said in unison.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure it's some sort of key. I was kind of hoping you'd know what it opened, professor."

Morgan downed the remaining Scotch in her glass in one gulp. "Well this just raises all kinds of questions in my head. Karl?"

Diessen looked at her and finished his own glass. "Me too, Morgan, me too."

The Estate

2010-01-17T17:19:00.000-08:00

Morgan moved quickly along the roads (by quickly, I mean she drove 45 mph) to get us halfway up Haleakala in under thirty minutes. During the drive, she gave me some background on professor Diessen's current project. Apparently, he was hot on the trail of some ancient place of worship for the Hawaiian goddess, Pele. I knew enough about her to ask Morgan why we were on Maui instead of the island of Hawaiʻi.

"Actually, the work he's doing now is in preparation for a trip to the Big Island," she said. "He's been looking at some petroglyphs on Kahoʻolawe, and he believes that Pele's story, and thus, her worship really began here on Maui. So we're doing a bit of work here before moving on. Nearly done, actually. It's been quite fantastic, and not just because of the fine weather and even finer people."

I nodded. "There's a few stories that suggest she arrived on Hawaiʻi from the Northwest, so that would make sense. Isn't one of the theories about how she got there that she supposedly got into a fight with her big sister, and was torn apart?"

Morgan smiled. "You know your mythology. One of the old stories is about that fight, and it was supposed to have taken place near Hana. But the professor thinks..." She looked at me, trying to decide how much to say. "Well, I should probably let him explain it, lest you think everyone you're meeting tonight is conked."

Jason laughed. "You don't know Joe. He feels out of his element if he isn't surrounded by crazy people, myself included."

"Well that's refreshing news," Morgan replied. "And tell me Jason, just what flavor of crazy are you, to be coming along on this possibly-dangerous-but-impossibly-gorgeous adventure?"

"For starters, I get separation anxiety. Also, I have to keep Joe out of trouble. You see, we have an arrangement of sorts. I get to go first."

She raised an eyebrow. "Go first at what?"

"Dying," Jason said matter-of-factly. "I guess it goes back to the separation anxiety. I'd pretty much lose my mind if he was gone forever and probably just take a handful of pills the day after his funeral."

"It's touching," I said, "in a Fatal Attraction kind of way. But I agreed to the deal, so here he is. Jason will make sure that I do not surf, cliff dive, that sort of thing."

"Or drive the Road to Hana," Jason added. "He drives like Evil Kneivel."

"It's very touching, in a way," I said. He's the Kevin Costner to my Whitney Huston."

"Ugh," Jason grunted. "A thousand comparisons you could make, and you chose that pile of crap?"

Morgan laughed. "Well, I can certainly see his charm." She turned to Jason. "Don't you worry about Joe, love. He's in good hands. Luckily for us all, I happen to know a thing or two about keeping people out of harms way." She turned into a driveway and brought the Jeep to a stop . "Right, then. We're here. Best to get inside and show you to the big man himself."

We climbed out of the car and walked up to the house, a modern ranch layout with plenty of wood and glass and light. Morgan opened the door and ushered us in. I couldn't help but notice her keen sense of the surroundings as she glanced about the front yard before shutting the door.

"Professor," she called out. "The guest of honor has arrived."

Morgan Lafayette

2009-07-15T22:43:00.000-07:00

Even at 11:00 at night, Kahului Airport was pleasant and almost balmy. And this was the middle of February, where back at home it would easily be a cool 50 degrees. I stared up at the dark wooden support beams as we made our way through the terminal towards baggage claim. The place reminded me more of a lodge in Yosemite than a place to move on from. There was nobody in sight aside from the people coming off our flight and the nighttime cleaning crew. We must have caught the last plane to the island.

As soon as we walked through the security checkpoint area, I saw her. She was taller than I expected, but Diessen had said it was her face that I would recognize: Eyes as blue as tidy bowl and auburn, shoulder-length hair that framed the rather sharp lines of her face in graceful fashion. We made our way over to her and I introduced myself.

"Good evening, Mr. Sullivan," she said in a light Scottish voice. "I'm Morgan Lafayette, Professor Diessen's girl Friday." She smiled and gestured to the carousels in front of us. "Did you check any luggage, or can we be on our way?"

"No luggage," I replied. "We packed light to be on the safe side."

Morgan cocked her head and winked at me. "That was probably a wise decision. I have a car in the lot across from here. Follow me."

As we moved outside and past the swaying palms on the pickup island, I couldn't resist asking her what she had meant by 'girl Friday.' "I suspect that you're no average UCLA student."

"Oh, I'm not in bed with him or anything," she answered, "But you'd be right about not being average. I go well above and beyond the normal duties of a TA. He sure knows how to make you earn your Masters."

"How long have you been working with him here in the States?"

"About two years after doing time at Oxford. I took a vacation from school to do a bit of advanced studies of my own." She stopped at a black Jeep Cherokee and gestured for us to get in. "It's a bit of a bumpier ride than, say, a Chevy Cobalt from the rental stalls, but that's probably why I like driving it."

"You'll get no complaints from me," I said, offering the front seat to Jason. He shook his head and hopped into the back.

"You two will want to talk," he said as he opened the passenger door and slipped into the back. "I just want to crawl out of this valium hangover." I climbed into the front seat and tossed my bag next to Jason while Morgan started up the jeep.

"Oh I can fix that," Morgan said as she pulled a flask out of her jacket. "A dose of Scotch should do the trick, but I wouldn't take more than one swig if you want to avoid making things worse."

Jason nodded and took a small glug from the flask. I looked at Morgan and asked where it came from. As we drove out of the airport, she gave me a brief rundown on her family's distillery in the Islay region, the name of which I actually recognized from my visits to the local LiquorLand. It wasn't difficult for her to ensure that ample supplies of the family's best 15-year variety were always at her disposal.

"Professor Diessen considers it a perk of my decision to work with him," she laughed. "He doesn't know that I've been billing all of the shipping and excise taxes to the department under the guise of 'educational supplies,' though I doubt he'd mind."

"So where are we headed," I asked as she pulled onto the Hana Highway. "Has your group sequestered the floor of a nearby Hyatt?"

"Actually, no," Morgan replied. "The professor has rented a house about halfway up Haleakala Crater in Keokea. There aren't too many of us out for this particular trip and he finds the setting more comfortable. Security is a little easier, too."

"What kind of security are we talking about here?"

Morgan eyed me briefly before turning her attention back to the road. "Let's just say he's a little worried that he... and you, actually, are being paid undue attention. I don't have much in the way of details."

I got the distinct feeling that she wasn't telling the whole truth, but I knew pressing the matter would get me nowhere until we trusted each other more than we did right now. I looked back at Jason to find that the scotch was doing the trick. He was now wide awake and staring out the window into the darkness.

"We want to retire in Keokea one day," he said. "It's got great views of the island."

"That it does," replied Morgan. "That it does."

Airborne

2009-03-27T22:23:00.000-07:00

The advantage to booking a last minute flight to Hawaii is that sometimes, the only available option is first class. This is also the greatest disadvantage, since the ticket price ain't pretty. But there I was, parked in seat 1B on Hawaiian Airlines with Jason fast asleep in the purple leather seat next to me. When I told him I had to fly to Maui, there was no way he would allow me to go without him. It was his favorite place on Earth. Also, I can't sleep for crap if I'm in a bed by myself. I'm a miserable bastard, as many a book tour had already proven.

Having him along was both a comfort and a worry, though. On one hand, he provided me with a bit of cover in case, god forbid, people were in fact looking for me. But he could just as easily prove to be a liability in such a situation, so I knew it was important to be honest with him about what was going on. I hadn't gone so far as to show Jason what lay inside the box, but he had enough information to know it was significant. He knew it was a good story in the making.

My last book, Painting Death, had been quite the page burner with the Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Steampunk set. Jason was the one who had actually given me the idea for the central character, a guy who was equal parts Doctor Who, The Vampire Lestat and Andy Warhol. Who wouldn't love a time traveling vampire with a talent for painting people's futures and a taste for men ? The book before that, Unseen Earth, was far darker, though: A Neil Gaiman-inspired affair with alternate realities and creepy creatures that weren't quite human. They did rather inhuman things to each other, most of which gave me nightmares during its conception.

Compared to these types of stories, this new adventure I was on had him bored. "Ooooh, a box," he had said when I showed it too him a week ago. "Maybe we should just hit up the Antiques Roadshow and be done with it."

"That's probably not a good idea," I had replied. "Look at the etchings on it."

Jason examined the box somewhat carefully, as I expected he would. My man was no dummy. "This isn't just art, it looks like it could be language. Like Sanskrit, except that's not what this is."

"That was my first impression as well. But I have no idea what language it is, which is why I have to find the professor."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You do know how corny you sound, right? And is it just me, or does this thing feel really light? Like it's made of aluminum or something. But this looks way too old to be made of some fancy alloy." He tossed it back to me without even attempting to open it. "It's starting to weird me out."

Looking at him now, passed out with the help of a valium, I was beginning to feel weird about the box as well. The key inside made no sense to me yet, though I had played with it many times since first seeing it. I would sit at my desk and roll the disc in my hands, as if it were a coin I couldn't decide what to spend on. And the oddest part was that outside of the box, the key was remarkably heavy for something as wide as a half-dollar and as thin as a dime.

We were due to land at 9:00 p.m. Honlolulu time, which was still a good two hours away. We wouldn't be in Maui until 11, but professor Diessen had promised we would be met at the gate by his assistant, Morgan. He had given me a remarkably precise description of her and instructed me to talk to nobody else. Paranoid much?

I looked around the first class cabin. Everyone was preoccupied with either their personal movie players or a cocktail or a book. the flight attendants were just within sight in front of us, talking in hushed voices about who was being a jerk. One of them saw me watching and smiled. "Don't worry," he said with a wink. "We like you two. Nicest guys we've had in first all month."

I smiled back at him. He obviously played for our team, and all I could think was that sometimes it pays to be fey. You never know when a sister will decide whether your experience is going to be good or god-awful. Shameless self-promoting whore that I was, I pulled out a copy of Painting Death and motioned for him to take it. "You guys work way harder than I do. Maybe you'll find this an enjoyable diversion."

He looked at the book. "Did you write this?"

There was no reason to be modest now. "Yeah."

"Thanks, but I've already got a copy." He passed it to one of the other flight attendants, saying "you will not be able to put this down." Looking back at me, he said, "I actually have all of your books. So is this trip business or pleasure?"

"Research, I think. I guess I won't know till the trip is over. Either way, I'm expensing it."

"How long are you two visiting?"

"Honestly, I don't know. This was kind of a last-minute thing and all I really know is that we're headed to Maui to do a bit of digging around." That seemed vague enough.

He scribbled something on a napkin. "Well here's my phone number. My name's Spence. I'm not trying to come on to you or anything, but if you need any advice about the islands, let me know. When you guys fly back to L.A. I'll make sure they take good care of you."

I pocketed the napkin, not sure what help I'd need but happy to know there might be a local Phone-A-Friend that I could tap into if necessary. "Thanks."

Spence stood up. "Don't mention it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to hand out hot towels to a bunch of assholes." He smiled as he turned towards the depths of the galley.

Jason stirred next to me, grabbing my right hand and pulling it into his. I stared out the window at the darkness of the Pacific, anxious to be on the ground and hunting for some answers.

Hunting Diessen

2009-01-09T22:49:00.000-08:00

"Ray Diessen is not an easy man to find," I said to Laura, who was on the phone. "Perhaps I shouldn't have waited two weeks to go looking for him after our little adventure."

"Given the nature of what's inside that box of Ray's," I wouldn't be surprised if he was hiding. Hang on a sec." I could hear Laura negotiating the bill for her groceries at Trader Joe's. After a few seconds, she came back on. "I mean, we don't have the slightest clue what that thing does and I've been freaked out enough to barely leave my home."

"Lucky for us, writing doesn't require too much outdoor activity, eh?"

"Not usually, but I'm supposed to be on a book tour, remember? Rose is so pissed with me right now. She's had to cancel eight appearances and I'm pretty sure that she thinks I've lost my good goddamn mind. I owe her big time."

"Well, have you seen anyone suspicious around your place lately?"

"Only about every six minutes. The only reason I'm at the store is because I ran out of toilet paper. And coffee. Though now that I think about it, I've probably been overreacting. The world does not appear to be out to get me today." The sounds of Laura starting her car filtered through her words. "So back to the diesel guy. You can't find him?

"Diessen, and no. But I don't think he's hiding. I think he's gone off looking. Everyone at the school says he's out on trips to archaeological sites across the state. I keep leaving cryptic messages for him to call, but he never does."

"Perhaps your messages are too obtuse?"

"Hardly." I sighed and took a sip of my coffee. "I mean, I say that I'm a former student of Ray's and that he wanted me to get in touch."

"Joe, not to sound like a paranoid storyteller or anything, but isn't that exactly what the bad guys would say when they called him? I mean, how's he going to know you're the real Slim Shady?"

"Perhaps I should send him an autographed copy of my latest book?"

"That's a start. And it may not hurt to actually deliver it in person, so his TA or whatever can see that the photo on the jacket is in fact of you. Aww dammit."

"What, did you back into somebody?"

"No, I forgot to get toilet paper."

Two hours later, I was walking through the campus of UCLA, a place not ten minutes from my home and yet totally alien to me. The only building I was familiar with was the performing arts center. After checking with seven different secretaries, three map kiosks and four rather handsome students I was finally in the right place: Haines Hall. And Diessen was again on a dig.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" I stared intently at the matronly woman manning the department office.

"Well sir," she stammered, "we don't usually get many clues about when professor Diessen is coming back. He kind of just re-appears."

"It's very important that I speak with him soon," I said to her. "My name is Joe Sullivan, and I'm a writer." I handed her a copy of Painting Death. I am also a very close friend of one of his colleagues. This colleague asked me to speak with him as soon as possible, so here I am."

I paused to see if Laura's suggestion had worked. She opened the jacket, looked down at the picture and then up at me just in time to see me strike a pose. Then she pursed her lips. "You've called here looking for him, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have, but I figured coming down here in person might yield better results."

Normally, that would very much be the case," she replied. "But I'm afraid I don't know when he'll be back. I can, however, try to reach him at his current location."

I raised an eyebrow. "Would it be possible to find out what said location is?"

She thought for a moment, then picked up the phone. "Why don't you hang on a second while I try calling him." She motioned to a row of chairs waiting patiently behind me. I took a seat and tried very hard not to bounce my knee. "Hello, Karl? It's Pamela. I have a young author here who is very anxious to speak with you. He says a colleague of yours sent him to you." She listened patiently for a moment, then looked at me. "Mr. Sullivan, who did you say this colleague of his was?"

"Ray Zepeda," I replied. "From CSU Long Beach."

Pamela turned back to the phone. "He said it was Ray Zepeda from CSULB." She frowned. "Yes, he's in front of me right now. I have a copy of his latest book." She began scribbling furiously on a piece of paper in front of her. "Yes, I'll tell him. Yes, well I'll ask. Hang on." She looked back to me and asked, "Professer Diessen is very anxious to speak with you. How soon can you be in Hawaii?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She gave me a look that I could tell had been administered repeatedly to confused undergrads. "Hawaii. He is currently on the island of Maui. How soon can you be there?"

"Tell him 24 hours or less."

The Shimmering Wonders

2007-10-04T23:33:00.000-07:00

I was hurtling into an endless pit, surrounded by flashing lights and mist. Were they stars? Was I flying or was I falling? It couldn't be falling. For starters, I wasn't scared. And second, I felt the distinct sensation of being pushed, not pulled. I was moving towards something solid and bright, something that seemed to grow before me at an impossibly fast rate. And as I approached, it began to take shape...

I looked up into Laura's eyes. I looked down into the box. It was solid, about three inches deep and lined in a plush red velvet. Lying in its center was a small silver disc with a familiar symbol on it: ∞. Six pinpoint indentations surrounded the symbol.

I picked up my margarita glass and drained it. "It's a key."

Laura blinked. "What? How do you know that?"

"I just do. And it's a very unusual key at that."

"Well now you've perked my interest. Any idea what it opens?"

"No idea," I replied. "But I think I understand why this thing is bad news for whoever has it in their possession. This is the kind of object..." I glanced around the room, searching for the right words. "is the kind of thing Indiana Jones movies are made about."

Laura's left eyebrow lifted up a good inch. "Shit... How the hell do you know this?"

"I can't explain it, I just know." Which wasn't a lie. I had no clue how to explain to her what happened the first time I looked in the box. Did I have some weird connection to this thing?

"So why did Ray give this... This key to you?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to protect it or use it or both. To be honest, the thing kind of scares me."

Laura had started chewing on one of the straws our waiter had brought us. "Maybe you should start by looking in on that guy Karl. He must know about this thing."

"I've half a mind to pay Ray a visit and ask him what the hell he's thinking, giving this to me. oooh, eggs."

My chorizo and eggs had finally arrived and I dug in with gusto. The sweet flavors of sage and pepper heated my mouth. Laura just stared at me while I shoveled the food down my gullet.

"How can you eat that fast?"

"Grow up in a house with two brothers and you learn to eat as much as you can, as fast as you can."

Grow up with a bitchy brother and a bull dyke and you learn to stay out of the way," Laura replied. "One day that'll come in handy." She glanced around and motioned to our waiter. They exchanged a few words in Spanish and she slipped him a pair of twenties. "Almost done there, hungry Jack? We should be on our way."

I grabbed a napkin off the table and quickly wiped my mouth. "Well, my plate's clean so I guess that's a yes. Why the urge to motor?"

Laura shrugged. "I'm buzzed. I want sunshine. Let's hit Pershing Square and mock the tourists."

I nodded and stood up. "Hey, if you're buying breakfast the least I can do is show you a good time. Let's boogie." I glanced around the room and noticed one of the crusty dudes was looking at me. Laura caught me looking and quickly motioned for us to get out.

We stepped into the morning daylight. I looked at Laura. "He was watching our every move, wasn't he?"

Laura looked nervous. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was."

"Let's skip Pershing Square today. Did you drive here?

Laura nodded. "Yup."

"Then let's getthe hell out of here. Quick."

The Mexican Hat Dance

2007-05-06T19:16:00.000-07:00

Laura pushed open the door to La Cita and beckoned me inside. "Age before beauty," she said while sporting her trademark grin that had gotten us into more trouble back in Long Beach than I care to remember.

"I hope that doesn't make me the responsible one," I shot back as I stepped into the dark interior of the bar. As our eyes adjusted to the spastic decor, I noticed we were not alone in our search for early morning booze. At the bar sat two older men of indiscernible Latin origin, four seats apart. Each looked like he was a leftover from the previous night's festivities, which wouldn't have surprised me. They gave me a brief glance and Laura a more discerning review. We took our seats at a table that was about ten feet from the door. It was damp. Hard to say what the source of said moisture had been and I didn't want to think about it. Instead I looked at Laura.

"So," I said.

"How's life in boystown? Are you adjusting well to the move?" Laura put her purse down between her legs and stared deeply into my eyes.

"Aren't we here to talk about the deep, dark secrets of our college professor?"

We are," she replied, "but we don't have drinks in our hands yet. Speaking of which..." She motioned to the middle-aged man behind the bar with a wave and a wink, causing him to immediately put down the glass he had been wiping clean and come over.

"Buneos días, señorita y señor. Can I get you something to drink?"

He stared lustfully at Laura's ample cleavage, as if the answer to his question lay there instead of upon her face. I couldn't help but smile as she too, glanced down at her tits before replying.

"Dos margaritas Cadillac, por favor. Y algunas virutas si usted no importa."

He looked at me and smiled. "Bueno. And for you, señor?"

Laura laughed. "I'm not sure I can handle two mags on my own. Yet. You might want to just order some breakfast."

"chorizo and eggs, please," I said.

"Good choice, señor. It's very delicious. I'll be right back with your margaritas."

I looked back at Laura. "You ordered us some chips, right?"

"You're getting better," she smiled. "And here I thought you were wasting your time in school learning French."

"Luckily the two are pretty similar. But to be honest, I was kind of guessing."

"good guess. So tell me about life with Jason. Is near-marital bliss all that it's cracked up to be?"

"You know, it's not quite what I expected, but it is really...nice."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "Nice? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that living with Jason is nothing like what I expected in many ways. There are pleasant surprises and there are not-so-pleasant ones, but I'm having a wonderful time. For example, I'm not to thrilled about the neighborhood we live in, but our apartment is awesome. Since we live above Sunset, we're sort of halfway up into the hills. Jason calls it the "Swish Alps." We get cool evening drafts, which is good because I run warm and barely sleep with any covers on the bed as it is. And we have a huge patio that I spend way too much time gardening in."

"So then what's wrong with your neighborhood? It's like, one of the most expensive parts of town these days."

"Well, that's half the problem right there. The other half is the people who flock there at night to party. The only thing high real estate prices brings with it is high maintenance assholes who can't drive for shit. And their children." I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to spit. "I love Jason. I love the life that we're making for ourselves. But I really miss LB."

Laura nodded. "Yeah, I miss it to. And for what it's worth, the Valley ain't much better." The bartender swooped in on our table, delivering the drinks and chips. "Just in time," Laura sighed. "You looked like you were about to pull out a gun and go postal. Does WeHo really get on your nerve that much?"

Most of the time, yes. But like I said, there are a lot of good things about being where I am. Jason and I just don't plan on sticking around for very long."

"You're not going to leave SoCal though, are you?"

"I've thought about it, but no. Too hard to leave your hometown when it's so goddamn pretty all the time. All this town needs is a good earthquake to shake the nuts down from their treehouses. Then you and I both will find L.A. far more bearable."

"Joe, that's a terrible thing to say! Funny, but terrible."

"Like so many things in this town," I deadpanned. "But enough about my angst. I want to know what got your knickers in such a twist that you demanded an audience with moi."

"Well your highness, it started with professor Ray and the Rusty Pelican. I swear, I don't know why he didn't just ask for your phone number."

"Enough with the suspense already. And bring me another margarita!" I shouted. Perhaps a little too loud.

"Tequila's kicking in, eh? Good. So Ray and I headed over to the Pelican after my book signing and he promptly ordered us each an L.B. iced tea. He asked about my life and all the normal blabbity-blah blah stuff, then casually started asking about you. So I filled him on on what gory details I knew: doing well, living in sin, throwing a mean brunch during the pride festival. Then he started telling me about one of his friends, a guy named Karl Diessen.

"I figured Karl was some colleague of his, which turned out to be true. He's also a professor, but his specialty is California history. He teaches at UCLA. Anyway, Ray said that he really wanted you to talk to him. Wouldn't go into much detail about why, though he did say it's the kind of shit that you'd write a book about. His words, not mine."

"Well that's not much to go on," I sighed. "Here I though you were going to tell me some creepy ghost story."

"Well, there is a bit more to my tale," Laura said. "But first..." She took a healthy swig of her half-empty margarita. "Ray told me two other things, and only after I pressed him for an explanation. He said that Karl's friends are systematically disappearing."

"That's only one thing, Laura." I eyed her suspiciously. She stared back. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She grinned. "Hell yeah. But I honestly can't wait to see your face when you take a look at this."

Laura reached into her bag and pulled out a small silver metal box about the size of a booze flask. She held it up for me, turning it so I could see the strange etchings that were on what appeared to be the top. She passed it across the table. "Go ahead, open it. I dare you."

I picked it up. It felt like nothing. No, it felt less than weightless. There was a strange energy that I could feel around my entire hand, gently tugging it. "What the hell is that?"

Already with the questions and he hasn't even seen what's inside!" Her words were meant to be comical, but her expression was tense. I could tell she was on the tip of her seat.

I opened the box. And I gasped.

Cantina Surprise

2007-03-06T18:37:00.000-08:00

The hydraulic doors eased themselves open, inviting commuters from miles away into the soupy mist that was falling upon the platform before me. As I stepped onto the cement island that looked out onto the 101, I cast a glance towards the shove of fellow passengers descending the stairs that led to the way out. Their heads were bents, focused on the impending day's work. It was a procession of minions headed towards punishment, and I was glad to not be a part of it.

I made my way down and through the tunnel that emptied into the main terminal of Union Station, an art deco monument to the golden days of a once impressive network that carried people off to all points desired or dreamed of. Now this once glorious station was merely a hub for the trains carrying suburban businessmen carrying them to their corporate prison cells, its mosaic floors wasted on the shuffle of a million Italian leather shoes. A glance upward to the wooden ceiling revealed restoration work in progress to give the old girl back some of her former glory. Lord only knows why they even bothered, given that the folks passiong through her halls had their eye focused solely on the bagel shop. Or the bar.

I passed by the lines of suits demanding their lattes. The working moms hauling their spawn to on-site day care. The transients looking for a way home. I passed the requisite indie film crew, setting up for their Next Big Shot. Then I passed through the giant doors and into the foggy morning proper. I looked both ways before crossing Alameda because you never know who's running late. It was a short walk to Olvera Street, the not-so historical marketplace of the original Angelenos. All was silent at 7:30 in the morning, just the way I liked it.

I was supposed to meet Laura by the fountain at the West end of the street. She was one of the few college friends that I managed to keep in touch with over the years. I suppose it helps that we're in the same business. Had to give her credit for picking this spot, though. It's one of those places I really enjoy coming to, but never find the time to do so. Man, are there plenty of those in this town.

I sat on the edge of the fountain's circular stone base, casually admiring the intricate patterns on the hand painted tiles that adorned its center spire. The sound of approaching footsteps caught the barest wisp of my attention as I followed the lines of color. Heels. Someone in heels was nearing, but there wasn't any hurry to their gait. I looked up to see Laura Garcia slowly appear through the shadows of mist that hung in the cobblestone street. Her long auburn hair materialized first, then her angular jaw and dark brown eyes as she came upon my studying gaze.

I stood up. "You've lost weight."

"So have you," she replied, embracing me close, but briefly. "Have you been eating well?"

"Yeah. But I also smoke more than I used to. More than I should."

"You've got that right." She shook her head. "C'mon, let's take a walk. There's something I want to show you."

"Your new book?"

"I only wish. No, this is better." She turned away, which I took as my cue to follow.

"A story idea. For me this time," I chided as we made our way back in the direction of Alameda.

"Perhaps. you're better with this stuff than I am."

"What stuff?"

"You know, weird shit. I just write mystery novels. You're the one who's into...strange."

"Well are you going to tell me where we're going, mystery lady? Or do I have to wait till the last chapter?"

Laura smiled. "How's Jason?"

"He's fine. Cooking up a storm and keeping me on my gym routine. He still sleeps with the windows open and the heater on. Drives me crazy. And don't change the subject." We came to Alameda and turned right. "Though I dare say I have a hunch as to where we're headed."

"I can't go breaking tradition. That's all I'm saying."

"You and suspense! Jeez."

We turned West at Caeasr Chavez. "It's funny. Did you notice that I never penned a thriller during our time in school?"

"And now you're on the Times list every time you publish. Are you surprised that I haven't hunted you down and murdered you for your talent yet?"

"Like you do so bad. Didn't your last one stay on there for what, eight weeks?"

"Yup," I nodded. "Three spots down from yours, bitch. I bet our professors are alcoholics by now."

"If they weren't already," she mused. "Or have gone and shot themselves out of embarassment. We turn left here." Laura pointed at the corner up ahead, Hill Street. "And speaking of professors, I saw Ray a few weeks ago."

"Really? Where'd you run into him, the Rusty Pelican?"

"A book signing, smart-ass. Mine. Down in Costa Mesa. He showed up, said he really liked my last one, and walked away with the sequel. Signed 'To the best damn writing professor this side of the 20th century,' of course. Gotta show respect, you know."

"Of course," I replied. "Say, are we going somewhere that serves breakfast?"

"If you're on a liquid diet, yeah. By the way, dear ol' professor Ray asked about you. Said he loved Painting Death."

"Serious? How did I come up at your book signing?"

"I mentioned we keep in touch in a professional rivals kind of way. Little did I know that it would unleash a torrential Joe Sullivan love-in. Apparently he's using one of your books in class these days. So in the grand scheme of things, I think you win." Laura glanced around. "Almost there, I think."

The neighborhood was looking familiar. We passed the Civic Center and continued South into the heart of downtown. "So why doesn't he show up to my book signings to tell me this himself? Why go to you instead? It's not like I'm hiding from the world or anything."

Laura stopped and faced me with a confused expression spread across her face. "You know, that's a very good question. Maybe he didn't know you were in town right now. Or maybe he just knew I could get in touch with you fast, if necessary. Or maybe he just wanted to make me jealous. He does have a fondness for quarreling writers, you know."

"He thinks it inspires them, I'm sure. So wait, does this little meeting of ours concern Ray?"

Laura started walking again. "It does, a little. But mostly it's something else entirely. Ah, there we are." Laura pointed across Third Street, where we were waiting for the light to change. "Recognize it?"

Did I ever. La Cita. The tackiest, most beautiful Mexican cantina ever. "Of course." I smiled at her. "Very nice. You chose wisely. And by the sound of things, I'm going to want a margarita in the next ten minutes."

"You very well might," she said as the light changed and we strode across Third. "I know I will."

My Story Begins

2007-01-20T18:12:00.000-08:00

Sitting alone on a balmy morning can be a lonesome and contemplative time for a person. As you sit yourself down on the cool stone bench of the platform, waiting for your train to arrive, your mind wanders to places only visited when your head is clear. You think about random moments from yesterday, maybe last week. You guess about tomorrow, create a picture of your life three months from now. You worry about money and work.

Sometimes, when the train is late, you have time to consider friendships and family. That person you wish you could see just one more time. But it isn't until you get on your train, sit next to a stranger and gaze out at the houses & buildings rushing past you, that you really start to think about what you want out of life.

Sometimes (if you're lucky) the sun hits you right when you exit the train and take the final steps toward your destination. You think to yourself, "aaah. Things aren't so bad." Other times you're greeted with a blast of dry wind that tousles your hair. After you spent 28 minutes on it that morning.

And every now and then it rains. Rain doesn't mean to make the world feel cold and solemn. Rain just happens and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it. What you do with it, however, is entirely up to you. Some folks like it. Others find it completely irritating. I tend to ignore it. I prefer to blame the clouds.

They creep across the pale blue sky, blocking out the sunlight and 72 degrees that usually come along for the ride. Their grayscale wisps fill the sky with a layer of dirty marshmallows and people look up in fear. Suddenly everyone is looking for their umbrella or a newspaper that they can use to keep their heads dry. And if you look closely, their graceful journey across the sky mirrors the shuffle of the people on the platform as they find their way to the buss or subway that will deliver them to work.

But few people study the clouds as they scuttle throughout Union Station. Because people rarely (if ever) look up in this town. It's probably why people look at me funny when I'm out in a place like this. I'm always looking up. And maybe one day I'll figure out what I'm looking for.

* * *

The hydraulic doors hissed open, daring the commuter to venture into the soupy mist that hung in the air surrounding Union Station's train platforms. I stepped out onto the concrete island and glanced at the throng of communters pouring down the stairs to the tunnel that ran beneath the tracks. In one direction lay the buses and escalators to the subway. In the other, the station proper in all its California Deco glory. In my youth I would have headed for the subway on one of my many journeys to Long Beach, but today my destination was far closer. It was just outside the station entrance.

This is the beginning of my story.