Category: #SoulTravel

Chapter 24 – Completing the Maze

“Jazz, Jazz, Jazz,” Corso shook his head. His voice turned silky. “I am your advisor. It is my job – I think I can say my calling – to step in when you’ve gone astray. And what have you done to your hair? I’m not sure I like it. You look quite a different person. It’s as if you’re attempting a disguise. As Mr. Quinn how that works out. You really require professional intervention at this point, but hasn’t that always been the truth about you?” He turned to Chase.

“I see you have been hanging around with quite a bad element, Mr. Quinn the housebreaker. Mr. Quinn the burglar. Mr. Quinn who lives – rather tragically I must confess – on the edges of other people’s lives with other people’s things on other people’s money. When will you learn that you are a free agent, Mr. Quinn and not my shadow-doppelganger? Jazz, it grieves me that you are so impressionable.

“Put down your fists, Mr. Quinn. Did you wish to duke it out? Never let your mouth write checks your body cannot cash. Why don’t you let me explain my proposition before you land yourself in the slammer? I’maware that you can be bought; you’ll see my plan is lucrative. I’ve prepared a spreadsheet for your delectation. If you’ll sit down — and calm down — I’ll show it to you.

“Do I look dangerous here? Trust me that I’ve come in peace. Now as for you, Jazz, I’m aware that cash can’t sway you or you’d actually have some of it. No, you are motivated by – “ he paused delicately, “I think we’ll call it love. Love, love, love, love, love. Who am I to say it can’t exist? Sit down, Mr. Quinn.”

To my astonishment Chase sat down. I hesitated, unsure of what to do. I wanted to believe Chase was playing a deeper game – collecting evidence as he had the first time I’d seen him with Corso – but there was a crushed look on his face that hadn’t even showed around his father. Could anyone be that good an actor?

“This is win, win, children.” To emphasize, Corso leaned forward and Chase flinched as though the other man’s penumbra touched him. Observing his advantage, Corso threw out his arms. “I will lay my life wide open for you, since that’s what you so desire. Tell you all my secrets.” He thumped his chest. “Here’s the first; I am the master key that opens all the doors.” Behind the saturated silk of his voice I heard the scorpion hiss with a sting in its tail.

“You have no right to be here,” I challenged. “Get out!” Took every ounce of my non-existent courage, I have to say.

His face assumed a sorrowful mien. “I was so afraid you would start without me,” he sighed. “What can I say to persuade you that I am the multiplier in this equation?”
“I can take you,” asserted Chase, his voice rough and gravelly as an unpaved road.

“That would be lovely,” soothed Corso. “By all means let us bench- press each other for the delectation of the fair maiden.” He gestured at my poster. “This is so quaint, Jazz. I’m hoping once you’ve memorized it you’ll loan it to me. If only I had known, every time you said “Oh, Bosch” that you meant Bosch with a “c”. We would have gotten on much faster.”
“Go to hell,” I returned. Feebly, alas.

“Jazz, we’re already there,” croaked Chase.
Oh God, I thought. He’s still set on killing him. Throwing him out the window, like Howk’s body in my vision? I’ve got to do something. But what?

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Quinn,” snapped Corso, exactly as if we were still in class. “You are just a beginner. Give me a child at the age of seven…then give me another. I’ve plumbed your depths.” He laughed dismissively. “Frankly, Jazz deserves better than you.”
“We know what you’ve been up to, murdering Miss Howk,” said Chase. “Did she kill your wife for you?”

A smile broke over Corso’s face. “What fun this game has been,” he sighed. “You advance a pawn, I advance a rook. Rook kills pawn. If I’d had any idea what a pleasure it is having stalkers I’d have tried it long ago. So gratifying to see the pair of you so aroused by my spoor.”
““You made all sorts of mistakes,” I said angrily, out of control and aware I shouldn’t be doing this. Should we show him our hand? But the temperature in the room was just too high. I wanted to throw every weapon I could find.

“I don’t think so,” said Corso. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do. On the other hand, one likes to leave a signature behind. You know Jazz, there’s always more than one suspect. Can you think of anyone who wants to show off for you and thus secure your trust? Is there no one you can think of?” He spoke loudly, as iffor a hidden recording device. “Poor Miss Howk disappeared wearing your scarf, after all. They told me at the Health Center that you seemed angry at her for some reason. Did you take her for a rival?”

What a master of smoke and mirrors! As if Chase and I didn’t recognize truth when we tripped over it! “You are ridiculous,” I challenged, flinging out the biggest insult I could think of. “What will the dean say about the way you exploit your students? Don’t tell me there isn’t plenty of evidence.”
“I’m going to tell you something very shocking,” Corso admitted lazily, rising to his feet and peering out my eighth-floor window. He turned his back upon the world to perch upon my ledge. “The internet is full of porn. It’s hard to tell one slave from another. So really, only the slaves can testify they were present at their own comeuppances! Does that sound likely to you? The compensations of continuing just as we are, are enormous. I do wish you’d let me show you.
Isn’t there anything you desire? Mr. Quinn has a nice shiny car. What do women want? Let me see…hmm…women want men!” He laughed out loud. “I think we’ll guarantee you that! This poor slave, if you require him. Don’t you see yet, you won’t catch flies with threats, adorable little Jazz? Time to try your famous honey instead.” He sighed luxuriously. “Infamous honey, perhaps I should say. Enjoyed by all.”

I knew the urge to physically attack was just what Corso wanted, so instead of advancing, I retreated, wondering how I could prevent Chase from wrestling with his demon. I walked to the door and turned on the lights. Because right then I saw it all. I had something Corso never had, or if he had, he’d willingly surrendered it. The connection Chase and I had forged to the infinite answered all our questions. With my room’s fluorescent lights lit, the room became a stage. I knew that Bex and his rifle were out there somewhere.

“You are such a bastard,” spat Chase, staggering to his feet. His face was so drained of blood his freckles stood out like plague spots. Separate, we couldn’t fight him. How could we come together?

“Oh, come, come,” said Corso, throwing his arms out to embrace the universe, “I gave you what you wanted. I brought her to you, didn’t I? I brought all of them. Turn about is fair play. I’ve upheld my part of the bargain. Now it’s your turn to share.”

I shouted at Chase, “Transitional objects!” and threw him to the floor in a flying tackle. Chase’s eyes met mine in a suddenly full comprehension. I saw the Corso-induced glaze disappearing from his brain as I mouthed, “Window.”

Was that crack the window breaking? Crack-crack-crack. Firecrackers. Or bullets. Eight shots, or four shots and four echoes? Who can say? We were face down on the floor in that hug that was our gateway to the universe. We felt, rather than saw, Corso stagger, looked up to see his face express astonishment at his own mortality. He was not immortal, lilies blossomed redly on his naked chest.

His power sucked out of the room along with his body. Chase leaped to his feet and when I rose to stop him from following the cascade of shattered glass I saw on the library roof what I expected to see; the glittering motorcycle jacket, the gleaming long gun.

I pulled Chase down and held him as hard as I could.
“What a monster,” said Chase. “Hold me.”

I held him. “You’re mine,” I told him. “And I’m yours. You have to stay with me.”
I felt the tension in his body ebb as we both awakened from our long sleep. We had never been able to fight him separately but together we were invincible.

The sound of sirens gave us courage to lean out and look out upon the new world. The snow had started falling, and snowflakes gathered on Corso’s naked chest where he lay shattered below us in the parking lot. He was human after all. The flickering lights came closer; a symphony of color and music playing in our honor. A few distant walkers huddled around the dead man, taking cell phone pictures and shouting.

“It’s great to dream,” said Chase, “And it’s wonderful to be awake.”

I kissed him hard and he kissed back. “Come on,” said Chase. “It’s time to free the others.” The skin crinkled around his blue eyes as the spirit – my spirit — danced within him.

Chapter 23 – Together

We awoke cuddled together at the foot of Chase’s bed, wrapped in his comforter. Chase was moaning.

“Too late,” he said, “too late.” I kissed him and ran to the kitchen for coffee. Caffeine and aspirin. When I came back he was holding his head.
“Bad one,” he said.

“Except we found her!” And I felt fine. I was beginning to see the psychic pain engendered by our flights was different according to what we went in with and how we could process what we learned. See? If there’s always progress, there’s always hope.
“Maybe Bex will loan me his gun,” moaned Chase.

I made him drink bitter instant coffee. Our roles were reversed from my “spontaneous combustion” at Hadleigh. As log as there were two of us, we could help each other through anything.
“W don’t need Bex for anything and we certainly don’t need guns,” I insisted.

Chase rolled coffee around his mouth as if was a fine wine; then ruined the effect by gargling. “Well then what the hell are we going to do?”

“Maybe we can’t get Corso for everything,” I asserted, acting brave for Chase’s benefit, “But we can make a start. The sex thing is bad. He’s involved with his students, so even if he tries to blame us, they’ll do something to him. Maybe they’ll lock him up.”
“You’re willing to have the world…see that?”

“I think the world may be already seeing it.” Although it would be just like Corso to play gatekeeper so he could make money. Off of us. Besides, we owed the others something; at the very least to make sure “dream lab” never happened again. “We’ll go to the Dean. Remember, he said dream lab was recorded. He has to show them something. ”

“He’ll just say the equipment malfunctioned,” sighed Chase, rubbing his jaw as if soul flight dislocated it. “How about this, I promise we’ll do whatever you think is right.”

“First, walk me back to my room so I can get my things.” It would only take moments to pack it up and never return to that “sick building”. I admitted the unmentionable. “I’m scared of Bex.”
“Let’s go.” He struggled to his feet, rolling a bit as we came together. Steadying each other. “And then I’ll fix that window.”

Darkness was just settling on an ordinary – to everyone else — Sunday afternoon. Students strolling, linking, hailing one another and hooking up. It looked safe. It looked as if all we had to fear was each other. That’s what the maze-master wants the mice to think.

“Let’s don’t wait until it gets too dark,” I angsted in full Foreboding Mode.
“I’m ready. Thanks for the “to go”. He flourished at me his plastic cup.

We crossed the quad without a problem, though I felt people looked at us strangely. Because we walked so close together, marching hip to thigh in a solitary unit? Inside Hadleigh, I allowed myself to unravel a bit as the hiss of automatic doors closed us in.
“One down,” I said aloud.

I might sigh with relief, but my inner bell was gonging, and I’ve learned to ignore that at my peril. Something was wrong but I couldn’t tell what. Still, here at Hadleigh we were surrounded by students; the night security guy had even taken over the desk. Phones in every room, cell phones in every pocket.

First warning: elevator out of order. That was the first bad thing. And the freight elevator was in service. We waited for it quite awhile.

“Eight floors is not so bad,” said Chase. “No pain, no gain.” Tossed his coffee cup into the trash.
He said that so lightly, then saw me wince.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that we’re fighters now. Can’t afford to ditch training just when you’re approaching Final Contest. “ He took my hand. “Come on, I’ll race you.” As we chased up the stairwell he shouted. Facilis descensus averno!”

“You got that right,“ I puffed. Going up is so darn hard! It’s so much easier to let your muscles go limp and slide. But…better up than down.

At every floor the fire doors were propped open – illegally, but it lent me confidence. Heartening scraps of music could be heard at every floor; Snow Patrol, Hands Down, Vampire Weekend.

Speaking of Vampire Weekend, there were so many people around. Nothing can go wrong in a big crowd. Right? Unfortunately most of them were hollow-eyed revenants fleeing Saturday night crime scenes for parietals. With their piss- stained hair and their bile-stained clothing they were not good advertisements for the party-hearty lifestyle. Somehow we never get to see the “after” photos. Corso’s zombies. I imagined the mark of Corso on every forehead.

I believe they shuddered as much at the sight of us as we shuddered at the sight of them. Because we were going up, like fireman, while they fled the burning building? Maybe we are all just ghosts to each other anyway.

When I exercise I can’t talk. So I have to think. If shame is felt only by the haunted, that’s damned unfair. Gives the thin edge of the wedge to those like Dr. Corso who applaud a guiltless super-race. Confidence and entitlement – those most envied of attributes — shine out around him like a magical light. At least two corpses in his wake plus a genocidal wave of shame. And what of bodies unrecovered?

“We’re dead to him already,” I gasped aloud.

Chase knew exactly what I meant. “If so, he’s wrong,” said Chase, hardly showing the effects of an eight-storey climb, “I was dead but you brought me back to life.”

“He’s the dead one”, tolled my inner bell. I took off my shoes for the last three flights. I think now I can say I’ve officially had it with stiletto heels. It’s kitten heels from here on out, unless Chase begs. I wished I could say something light, to conceal the fact that I was puffing too hard, but I was puffing too hard.

“And I don’t even smoke,” I said, unlocking my door.
Chase proclaimed our new mantra “Facilis descensus–,”

“Avernum!” Corso finished triumphantly. He lay stretched at full length upon my bed, shirtless and exposing his perfect six-pack. “So glad you’ve been keeping up with your Virgil, Stevie. You’ve got to be careful to get the declensions right. Excuse me, I mean Chase, of course.”

How was he able to suck every scrap of power out of a room and use it to fuel his own personal generator? Reading glasses perched upon his nose and my laptop perched upon his thighs. He turned his shining face to me and said, “I must apologize for checking your work, Jazz but it did get a bit dull waiting for you. Unfortunately, there’s no work here. There are, however, lots of other interesting things. JazzOne makes a terrible password. How’s the chemistry going?”
No, no, don’t close the door; don’t lock us in with the monster. But these damned heavy, soundproof, fireproof doors – so unlike poor Miss Howk’s – close by themselves.

I was still holding my shoes; should Ithrow them at him as if he was a dartboard? I flushed; feeling him effortlessly read my every thought. I could flee down the stairs, but I’d never leave Chase alone to face the dragon. I saw his shoulders set in that familiar wrestling stance; but Corso wouldn’t crumble like Bex; this was real-time, and my room is deficient in vases to throw. And besides, if we marked him it put us further in the wrong. My brain seemed frozen. I was long past having clever things to say. All I managed was, “How did you get in?”

Chapter 20 – Revenge

“I’m so sorry,” said Chase. “He’s a monster. But I’ll get even with him. I’ll get him eventually.”
“Slow down,” I said, braced against the dashboard, scrabbling for my seatbelt. “Put your seatbelt on.” He was driving like a maniac.

“He never pinned me,” said Chase, grinding his teeth. “It’s a question of how low you’re willing to go, and no one’s ever willing to go as low as him.” Which father was he talking about now? In some perverse way, were they both the same to him?

The car raced upward through the gears. I tried attaching Chase’s seatbelt. He rocked in his seat, rejecting restraints.

Probably not a good time to bring up what we had just seen, right now, when I was in fear for my life. Before my eyes danced raucous headlines; framed gothic visions of Mom and Annika viewing my shattered corpse. How could they know that before my death my body had been stolen, my shell invaded by hermit crabs and passed around like an intoxicant? If I had been beamed into outer space as an alien plaything then what was left for me? Who was I now? Could I ever get myself back? I had never felt so separate from Chase; with this dissonance our flying must become destructive and destroy us both.

My panic boiled into words. “Tell me it’s not real! The sex tape he showed us?” Corso’d deliberately banished our souls, disinvoked the spirits he had no use for…
Chase turned to me the stricken face of a drowning man going down for the last time.

“Of course it’s real,” he said. “Don’t you see it explains everything? Sexsomnia. I knew it was something like that. If you flood the hippocampus it can’t make any memories to retrieve. He did always want to be the only brain in the room.”

“You mean…he rufied us?” I was as disgusted at myself as at Corso. Madder, if anything. I knew Corso was a snake. Why had I taken the chance when deep inside I could see perfectly well how dangerous he was?

“He must have used something extra to jumpstart the acetylcholine flood, to overcome sleep paralysis. Maybe propanolol. That’s been found to erase adrenalin-fueled memories. We were sleepwalking.“

“This is your fault,” I yelled angrily, bracing my body against the tinted window. “You led us there; we were lambs to the slaughter.”

“You’re right.” Chase looked sadly at me with terrible eyes. “It’s all my fault. They always say they’ll let you go if you bring another one. I’m a hellhound. Someone better put a stop to me.”
But he was also putting a stop to me…Obviously a very bad time to stage a fight — angry, scared, insulted as I was.

“Don’ t you see at least it’s the evidence we’ve been looking for? But to tell them we have to survive. If you don’t slow down Corso will win.”

Once again I’d found the magic incantation. Our speed slackened. Then Chase said, “I can’t slow down with that guy on my tail.”

I checked my side mirror. There was a silver car right behind us as if hooked to our bumper. At first I thought it must be Cutter Farrell looking for payback, refusing to give up, then I saw the unmistakable grinning face extend outside the window a long, black gun.

“Oh, my God, it’s Bex!” I cried. Who let Bex in? Who was allowing Bex to steer? It could only be me.

The shot was synchronous with a muzzle flash and Shelby’s back window exploded. A tree flew up suddenly in front of us. Panic clogged my brain to slow motion as I tried working out the problem. We flew all right; separate and upside down. I felt my own teeth shatter as they telescoped into the dashboard; Chase shot through the windshield like an astronaut and the whole back of the car reared up to flip us over. Tree branches grasped me upside down and warm blood flooded my eyes. I heard rather than felt the bones in my body dissolving; veins and sinews shredding, yet somehow I was speaking.

“Wake up.” I pleaded. “Hold me.” The part of myself that Corso didn’t want was talking to the spark of Chase’s essential self as we struggled back to life.

Chapter 18: The Ninth Circle

Zoya appeared at the foot of the stairs carrying a bottle of wine. “Sweetie,” she said, “I need your help with this.”We followed her into the dining room.

Winter darkness turned the windows into mirrors, multiplying a thousand-fold the chilly light of red and silver candles. Pelmets and chandelier festooned with holly; mistletoe and evergreen looped with golden ribbon. High backed chairs sat before complex place settings of multiple plates; amethyst crystal and violet chintz-patterned china. Under a glass dome sat a white coconut cake decorated with careful icing flowers; lilies rioting with orchids, because sugar has no season. Absence is not presence. The emptiness made me shiver.

“You look lovely in Cyanne’s clothes, by the way,” Zoya told me, her eyes moistening as if Cyanne had gone forever and would never come back. “You remind me of her, though your coloring’s so different. Snow White and Rose Red. Did you see the scrapbooks? I’m the scrapbooker; I put them together. That’s why we need such a big house, because I save everything. I’d love showing you those books; maybe tomorrow afternoon. They’re all in Cyanne’s room. We can have tea and a good cry. ”

“God, Mom, not the scrapbooks, please,” moaned Chase, as he deployed a silver and ebony handled wine opener.

“Looking forward to it,” I promised. I would have pinched Chase if I’d been close enough. Zoya and I would cry and Chase would wear the bear costume! That would be better than cake for me, but one must honor the steps of the hostess’ dance. Rely on Jazz to change the subject.
“Are you the pastry chef?” I asked Zoya.

“I make everything,” she said. “I embroidered this tablecloth. And the napkins.”
Loaded with lace. They were exquisite.

“Mom was raised by nuns,” said Chase, popping opening the wine. Christmas wine from Lebanon, I noticed. “They beat her into submission.”
His mother squared her shoulders and rapped him lightly with a tinseled and berried silver cake knife.

“No blasphemy, you heretic. The past is past, and it’s my birthday. Bring in the wine,” she commanded, “Unless you think it should breathe.”

She put a hand to her own throat. Self-choking? “My yoga teacher has to always remind me to breathe.” She ran back toward the kitchen, like a convict under electronic monitoring who’d strayed too far.

Chase captured me in the doorway beneath the mistletoe and we felt each other’s heat, skin flushed from a bubble bath, from love, perhaps also from some nebulous but contagious fear. Rose Red. My next archetype?

Chase was in no hurry to join his mother.

“I want this moment to last forever,” he muttered huskily. That’s what I thought. Sacred moments.
“Isn’t it unlucky to bake your own cake?” I murmured to Chase.
“That’s a rumor started by people who hate to cook,” he told me. “She’s making her own birthday dinner, too.”

Extra obligation to enjoy it? Anticipatory shudder, at the mounting pressure.
“She loves to cook,” Chase reminisced. “Not that she eats. My Dad hates her lumps and bulges – though he likes them enough on other women. She loves bringing people together. And nourishing them.“

What would Chase make of my amiable but haunted mother, my over-eager sister and our cramped apartment? Let’s admit it, families are impossible. No one plays by anyone else’s rules. We were of the tribe that didn’t cook, venturing out on celebration days to one of those horrible sneeze guard factories where uncontrolled children throw meatballs at each other.

Granting the birthday wish for togetherness, we joined Zoya in the kitchen. The kitchen was welcoming and warm; not threatening like her dining room with its fish forks and demitasses. This obviously was where people would relax if given a choice. The comfortably padded barstools had backs and brass rails and the ceiling offered hanging copper pans like low-hanging fruit. There were enough knife racks, cherry cabinets and gleaming granite for “chef’s delight”.

At the center of a ring of gas burners, wearing a black apron dotted with pink hearts, the fire priestess herself officiated over a quintet of bubbling pots. Seeing us, she rattled a pair of wine glasses from an overhead rack. This brought up to five – I counted — the total stemware for which I would be personally responsible this evening.

“I hope you like Welsh rarebit and Coquille Saint-Jacques,” she said, flushed with an outer heat and an inner excitement that made her rouge stand out in patches. “It’s so hard to keep the rarebit from separating.”

“Yum,” said Chase, bellying up to a barstool. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to start eating now.”
“Of course,” said his mother, pushing a mighty trough of fruit, cheese and pâté directly beneath our noses. “I hope you like this wine, Jasmyn. We could have champagne, if you’d rather.” She used her foot to open the wood-paneled refrigerator behind her, revealing a wine bin.
“Jasmyn is nineteen,” I said, trying to make a joke of it.
Zoya stared at me uncomprehendingly. In her world people never turned down booze. “But surely you’ll toast with us?”

So they were one of those families, people over whom the nation’s alcohol laws hold no power. Friends of mine had parents like these, who thought nothing of putting a keg key in a kid’s Christmas stocking. In such families age and time are blurry concepts. Nothing a man ensconced in his castle should have to bother about, anyway.
Churlish to refuse.

“Is it rude to ask for ice?” I queried, operating on the theory that less is more. I would have added seven-up if they’d let me.

“Yes,” said Chase.“Oh, give the girl some ice,” Zoya told her son irritably. “Don’t be so
doctrinaire. This is a party. People can have what they want.”

Why is that never, ever true? Chase the negotiator said, “At least try it without,” so I surrendered to his ministrations while he poured me a dram. They watched like a pair of cats as I sipped. Not bad. It smelled like cinnamon and tasted like berries.

“Wow,” I said, feeling the magical flush radiate throughout. Off to the races. “More please. It’s delicious.”

Chase poured out for both of us.

“To life!” cried Zoya, lifting a full highball glass full of what I could only hope was iced tea. She was standing right next to open flame. I looked around helplessly for a fire extinguisher. On the other hand it was her birthday. And she was the fire priestess.

“To life!” we echoed and drank. I was ready to toss my glass over my shoulder like people in the movies, but I would have been the only one. The others refilled theirs. Remedial again. Jazz was already falling behind.

While we picked at the cheeses, Zoya made salad.

“I usually pick my own watercress,” said Zoya, “There’s a wonderful patch in a brook right down the hill. Too bad it’s not in season. Now we must rely on South America. It’s so dangerous, don’t you think, all this Third World dependency.”

OK, whose mother isn’t strange? I liked her. I felt Chase’s pain evanesce rippling me. “I think lately all the worlds have mixed together,” said Dreamweaver Jazz. “You know, now geisha makeup comes from China? Think how that must upset the Japanese.”

“They deserve it,” said Zoya. “So what have you two been up to? What have you been doing at school that’s so important?”

Chase and I looked at each other with wild surmise. What version of our activities could be socially acceptable?

“We’ve been busy with a research project,” said Chase finally. Guardedly.
“My,” his mother encouraged, “That sounds exciting.”

Apparently that was all she needed to hear. Formalities dispensed with she turned to me and unleashed her pent-up question.

“So, Jasmyn, where did you go to high school?”

Chase made a warning noise in his throat, presumably directed at his mother, but I saw no reason not to answer. I chose to assume she meant the place I’d graduated from.
“Archbishop Cavanaugh.” I knew she’d like that.

Zoya brightened visibly. “You’re Catholic?”

“Er, no,” I admitted awkwardly. Maybe I should have taken Chase up on his offer of a mendacity tutorial. Can inability to lie render me socially impossible?

19. An Evening at Home

The house was miniature Norman castle, hands down the most imposing building on the cul-de-sac. Upturned floodlights embedded in the lawn showcased a virtual stage set. You’d have to sleep blindfolded to get any rest under these conditions. Were we staying for Christmas? Details seemed fuzzy or were missing. I could only hope my room would be at the back of the house; in the servant’s wing. Otherwise it would be like sleeping on an airport runway.

All that raw newness made the house seem thrown together overnight, like a fake-front Disney castle. A “Potemkin village”. Is this the kind of house that bankrupts build? You didn’t need to be psychic to intuit disastrous cracks, fundamental leaks, yawning chasms beneath all that stucco and stone. Or is this rental maze jealousy spilling over?

“I better warn you I’m unpredictable around money,” I told Chase. “Everyone I’ve ever known has been broke. ”

“There are so many levels of brokenness,” said Chase, holding my hand.
The ornately carved front doors opened in a central turret; a sort of castle keep, guarded by stone lions. I imagined them swiveling blank orbs to inspect as I went past: “Who goes there?” in some foreign tongue, but a door opened before Chase could ring. The tiny, shriveled figure standing there could have been any age from child to grandmother.

“Hi, Mom,” said Chase. “Long time no see.”
“Steven!” she breathed out in a great rush ofjoy, embracing him in a mighty hug. Finally turning to acknowledge me.

“I’m Zoya,” she told me shyly. Rigidly coiffed, heeled and pearled, she was heavily made up and had unlikely red hair but her eyes were soft and gentle. When she reached out to embrace me I could feel her birdlike bones. I couldn’t hug back because I was holding the damn plant so I just stood there like a lump of baloney. It would have been an excellent moment to unload our gift but it was far too big for her. Chase could have warned me!

“This is for you,” I said, demonstrating the cactus, making it do a little dance. “Happy birthday.”
She touched it uncertainly, as if it might bite her.
“Oh, dear,” she said sadly, as recalling past distress, “I suppose I’m just like this plant. Prickly and ancient.”

Gift-giving is loaded with symbolism all right; we just forget that sometimes its unintended symbolism. Chase did try warning me about that, but I insisted on behaving as if we were in my world where uncertainty equals fun surprises.

“That’s not it at all,” said Chase-Whose-Real-Name-is-Steven, rescuing me from the suddenly unbearably heavy present, “You’re the lady who blooms even in winter. It’s going to have three blossoms, see? A Trinity, like a shamrock. That’s why we thought ofyou.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Stevie,” she patted his shoulder, so moved she could hardly speak. “Such a gift for words.”

A look flashed between us that spoke more than words, but Chase’s voice was robo-speak. “I’m called Chase now. Remember, Mom?”

Zoya said fiercely, “Chase is a disgusting name. It doesn’t mean anything! Steven was your great-grandfather’s name, and your great-great grandfather’s. “
Chase sighed, the put-upon son. “Primitive tribes give their children temporary names, until they are old enough to say who they are.”

I could certainly see the flaw in that reasoning. Why should we emulate primitive tribes?
Zoya darted forward to grab Chase’s hand. “Oh, what have you donetoyourpoorwrist?” Shefeltaroundherbosomforapairofglasses, tried dragging him beneath the chandelier, but effortlessly he pulled away. Probably he had been too big for her since toddlerdom.
“I was tied up to something,” said Chase. “Jazz got me loose.”
Another look. I may have blushed.

His mother glanced back and forth between us, trying to smile but making disbelieving throat clicks. “Oh, sweetie,” she sighed at length, “I never can tell when you’re teasing.”
Like many tiny women, she scurried when she walked; and like many thin women, she kept her shoulders hunched protectively forward against a permanent chill. She lectured the plant as Chase unloaded it on the hall table; “You behave now.” I stole an opportunity to look around.

On either side of the staircase stood two life-size white plaster statues like a pair of sleep-struck guests. This could only be Chase and his sister on the cusp of puberty. Some people have their baby’s shoes bronzed; this family was more ambitious. They apparently subjected their offspring to full body-casts. Untouched by time or fate, with clear eyes and perfect skin, they lent a scary threat to the entryway, as if anyone stepping beyond this point risked ossification. Behind me I heard Zoya whisper intimately to her son, “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s the best birthday present I could ever have.”

But Chase wouldn’t let his mother forget about me. He propelled me forward. “Meet Jasmyn Suzino,” he said.

“Jazz.” I tried hard to look nice and unthreatening, as opposed to, say, psychic and weird. But honestly I wished myself elsewhere. How did I become captive in Chase’s life story exactly? This dream felt very unlucid. Is there opaque dreaming? I once asked for a cloak of invisibility in my Christmas stocking. Oh, to be a fly on the wall, and figure out the dance before you’re asked to join in!

Zoya gave me the once over, then she gave me the twice-over. She walked around me like I was the Statue of Liberty. A full seven-twenty. Was it the name? Make up or lack thereof? Filthy clothing? Because I seemed to be wearing unprepossessing black jeggings and a weightlifter’s sweatshirt. Was I just too “ethnically diverse?” I felt crazy unprepared, just like Soliz in her naked dream.
Now she peered beyond me as if questing for my retinue. “Aren’t you staying the night? I don’t see any luggage.”

“No luggage,” said Chase. “We had kind of an incident at school. A woman jumped out of Jasmyn’s window, so the police won’t let her into her room. I thought she could borrow from Cyanne.”

Another flashed exchange of looks – challenging from him, warning from me. This was only going to get more difficult if Chase insisted on being one of this dream’s unmanageable elements.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Zoya, “How terrible. Was it your roommate? Was she badly hurt?”

I had to let Chase answer for me.“It was a school nurse, actually, and we barely knew her. She was
killed.” He seemed to take malicious pleasure in this recitation.

“Oh, my God!” Zoya’s hands flew up to her heavily powdered cheeks. “Why would anyone do such a thing? Why couldn’t you stop her?”

“Don’t you think some people are better off dead?” Chase queried lightly. “We weren’t there, Mom. I swear we had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

Zoya glanced uncertainly from one of us to the other. “You’re joking with me, aren’t you?” she queried. “You know I hate it when you tease about serious things.”

“Well, I do need fresh clothes,” I croaked, the cat-got-my-tongue turning frog. Frogs need water, and I needed a bath. “I hate showing up at your house looking like this.” In our next OBE I’m doing all the steering.

“Well, you’re welcome to borrow anything of Cyanne’s,” said Zoya. “She’s at school in Tennessee anyway, and she’s got way too many clothes. I’m always telling her. Think of the starving Africans! She buys things and then decides she doesn’t like them! What a flibbertigibbet! It’s like she’s a different person every morning!“

She chased us up the stairs shaking a dust cloth, “I hope you won’t go back to that university, Stevie. It sounds most unsafe. Or will they give you both an automatic A?“
“Urban legend, Mom.”

“At the very least they should give you the rest of the semester off. Give Jazzelle the tour, Steven. I’m working on dinner. It’s going to be fabulous.”

On the stairs I muttered bitingly, “Trouble-maker.”

“I’m more of a rabble-rouser really,” said Chase. “So much rabble. So little time.”