earth calling after i hung up, i turned to jim. “we need time. i think we should get out of the state.” “sure, sure. whatever you say.” he was looking out the window at nothing, smiling, drifting off. “can you drive your car?” i asked him. he turned to me with a goofy smile on his face. “i don't see why not.” we'll have to go back to l.a. so i can drop off the porsche and pick up my car.” “fine.” he was staring out the window again. “then maybe we can head down to mexico.” “right . . . good . . . yeah . . . . . ." “and then we can stuff our heads with spinach and surf jupiter.” “uh-huh,” he nodded absently, “sounds good . . . ” sundown/lights out a few hours later, jim had come down enough to relate to this world. we checked out of the motel, and i followed him up the coast highway. i didn't want to take the freeway, because i thought that the traffic might be too much for him to handle. it was a nice drive- a beautiful deep orange sunset over a deep blue and lavender ocean. we had just come out of laguna, heading north, and were passing by the riding stables on the beach side, when a car came up from behind, started to pass on the left, then swerved right into me, i jerked the wheel violently to the right in an attempt to avoid it. when i came to, i saw a young cop walking toward me. the entire front of the car on my side was crumpled like a tin can. i looked up and focused on his eyes. “how do i look?” he scrutinized me briefly. “not too bad.” i pulled a rag away from the side of my head. how did that get there? it had blood all over it. “where's my lawyer? call my lawyer,” i heard myself say. x-ray the words came in a well practiced sing-song. “okay, take a deep breath.” pause “now, let it out. and don't move and don't ever breath again.” i heard the x-ray camera click twice beside my ear. “just kidding. you can breath. now just move your head a little to the right- chin up a little- a little more. that's right and take a breath and breath out and hold it and don't ever breath again.” click click “okay, just kidding. you can breath again. now we gotta take a couple more- so just take it easy and . . .” i could see my face reflected in the highly polished, round chrome dome of some alien medical apparatus next to the table that i was lying on. i looked like shit. e.r. while i was lying on the bed in the emergency room waiting for the doctor to come and stitch me up, jim was standing next to the bed, talking a mile a minute. “christ! i can't believe it! i saw the whole thing happen in my rear view mirror. those fuckers just ran you right off the fucking road! i couldn't fucking believe it! i saw you swerve and hit the tree. jesus christ! i threw a u-turn immediately. i saw those two government goons get out of their car and start walking over to you, so i jumped out of my rig and ran over. the blonde one was reaching in the window on your side - to finish you off - find the stone- i don't know what- the other one was walking to the other side of the car. i grabbed blondie and we started grappling and fell on the ground and started rolling around and by this time people started gathering around and i heard a siren coming our way so yik and yak jump up and take off.” he handed me a plumber' business card “this fell out of blondie's jacket.” he continued talking- jabbering- repeating himself- glancing around nervously, while i read the back of the card. it had magnus' address on it and under that it read- tuesday, 5:00 pm. that was tomorrow. “- fucking believe it! those guys were going to fucking kill you! that's fucked up!” he was hissing in my ear. “it saw it all in my rear view mirror. we were just going along -“ “excuse me, sir,” it was a red haired female doctor in a white smock, “you'll have to wait outside while i stitch up your friend here.” as jim left, she continued talking. “you're a real lucky man.” she was feeling my head up by the right temple. it felt like jello. “you've got a hematoma here the size of a softball. you're lucky it's all on the surface and not under the cranium. it should go down in a day or two. you'll have a big nasty bruise for a few weeks. other than that, i'll just have to stitch up this cut and we'll be able to let you go. you could have been killed.' you're real lucky.” i held the business card tightly in my fist while she stuck the horse needle full of anesthetic into my head. after leaving the hospital i was still a little shaky, so we checked into a motel in del mar. jim was still blabbering going over and over what had happened. i think he had a slight case of shock. he had all the ear marks. i know i did. i sat down heavily on the anonymous motel bed and felt my head for the thousandth time. it was soft and squishy. clearer and clearer when i awoke and got out of bed the next morning, i was stiff all over and had a queasy sensation just below my diaphragm. my brain translated it as apprehension. i was afraid that i had taken on more than i could handle. i was also so angry that my hands shook. i looked in the mirror. outside of the stitches high up on my right cheek, my face was clean of any marks of damage. it had been less than twenty-four hours since the accident. my eyes were clear- the irises pure white. somehow, i looked younger. were there less lines on my face? was i seeing more effects of the stone? the stiffness of my body was evaporating as i stood there. i heard the old woman's voice. “. . . would tempt christ. you'll see.” unhinged by the time we checked out and were heading up to l.a., i had gone through a thousand mental scenarios of revenge. it was all that i could think about. i wasn't very stable. it was somewhere around long beach that it finally came to me. the ultimate retribution. perfect justice. it was a madman's scheme. i gave jim directions to magnus' house, sat back, and gloated at the thought. when we got there, i had him park out of sight, up at the viewpoint that i had used before. i snuck down to the house on foot, stone in hand. it was 4:15 as i made a circuit around the house, i realized that magnus was there alone, sitting in the living room, reading what appeared to be legal papers. he was pale and drawn and looked ill. a car pulled down the driveway and he got up with effort to greet it. when he walked out the front door, i slipped in through the sliding glass doors, went over to the stereo cabinet, opened the doors, put the box, with the lid open, behind the amplifier, closed the doors and ran outside. i could hear felker telling his men to come back and get him in a half an hour. he and magnus started talking business as they walked back into the house and sat down. i couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was obvious that neither of them was very happy. it only took about a minute before things began to happen. suddenly, magnus sat bolt upright. his eyes went wide. “shit!” felker was still talking, but his speech was becoming rapid and scattered. “shut up!” magnus yelled. “shut the fuck up!” felker stared at him blankly. “it's the stone,” magnus continued excitedly. “it's somewhere nearby. can't you feel it!” “what are you talking about -“ “the stone, you idiot! it's somewhere right around us. if we don't find it now and get it back in its box, it will take over. he stood up and started glancing around the room. “what do you mean,” felker sputtered, “take over? how - what . . . ?” “christ! stop and look at yourself!” felker stopped. he was shivering. his face was flushed. fear suddenly entered his eyes. “i feel weird. what the hell's going on?!” magnus had already started to walk around and ransack the room, ignoring felker's desperate question. “just start looking for the stone!” he was screaming. felker started to stumble around in a daze. he stopped and looked at magnus. he stood there, grinning stupidly. “you have to tell me what's going on . . . i'm losing . . .” he didn't continue his statement verbally. he just stared in magnus' direction. magnus froze then, turned, and stared back at him. questions and answers flickered between them silently. i could see it in their eyes. the telepathic function had kicked in. “but that's impossible,” cried felker, laughing, “everybody know that . . .” the rest of his thought passed over to magnus mentally. they stood there for a few seconds- felker, not familiar with his new condition, communicating in weightless thoughts and broken sentences, laughing half the time - magnus, all to aware of what was happening, glaring silently at felker, trying to communicate the seriousness of their situation. the government man could stand no longer. his knees began to buckle under him. he managed to make his way over to the couch, where he plopped down, limbs splayed out in all directions, grinning from ear to ear, staring off at nothing. magnus tried to fight it. he moved in slow motion over to the stereo and just barely fumbled open the cabinet doors. he was staring right at the stone, but he couldn't move. he stood there and stared transfixed in a trance. i came in the sliding glass doors, hurried over to the stone, closed the lid of the box, hoped that they were under deep enough, went out onto the porch, and ran up the hill. i was smiling. i wondered what they thought of being each other. i made it quickly back to the car. jim was waiting with the radio on. “how did it go?” he asked. i glared at him maniacally and laughed nastily. “perfect.” with a joint dangling from his lips, he head rocked back slightly and he chuckled. “give me a hit.” at first, i didn't know what he was talking about. then he looked at the box. i opened the lid and waved the box near him. his eyes dilated immediately. i felt a rush of clarity and energy. the stupidity of what i had just done hit me like a blow. i closed the box and looked over to jim. i never realized that he could smile showing so many teeth. “thanks,” he sighed. my mouth opened but it had nothing to say. the plan we stopped to get something to eat at an italian restaurant up on sunset. it was the kind of a place where spaghetti had three names and people were so busy watching each other that they dropped food in their laps. “so, now what?” jim asked. he was talking to me, but he was watching a tall, protruding blonde dressed in a yellow print bolero jacket over a blue crepe silk dress. she like to wrap her tongue around her pasta. “christ,” i exhaled quietly, and sat back, and felt the muscles in my face and shoulders drop with fatigue. i rubbed my face with my hands. “i don't know. i wish i did. I mean . . . do you have any idea what we got here?” “yeah. we got our finger in the fucking socket.” “what i mean is, what the hell do we do now? what happens with this thing? do we just turn it over to our local, friendly, responsible, all knowing authorities and go home and forget about it? or what?” “authorities? you mean like felker?” the blonde had finished frenching her italian. “christ, i mean . . . what are we going to do with it if we can't trust anybody else? hide it? throw it in the ocean? keep it for ourselves and end up like magnus?” his eyes were looking directly into mine, past the candle on the table. they lit up. “i think i'm getting an idea. open the box and give me a hit. it helps me think clearer.” i looked at him in disbelief. “c'mon, c'mon,” he looked around, “no one will know the difference.” i looked around now. after we had first come in, been scrutinized, and passed over as unknown, no one seemed to be paying any attention to us. i reached down to where i had set it on the wooden captain's chair next to me. i looked over to him, and he nodded. i opened the lid and, with attempted nonchalance, reached across the table with it and waved it in front of him. he sat erect, as did i, and his pupils dilated, leaving no color in his irises. as i brought the box back and closed the lid, i saw its effects ripple outward from us to a half of a dozen tables in our near vicinity. people sat up. conversations derailed into streams of consciousness. smiles appeared suddenly. many of our neighbors started laughing. some just giggled. a couple of them were howling in complete and total mirth. the rest of the crowd in the restaurant turned their heads, craning to see, afraid they were missing out on something. the people around us finally managed to get their more extreme behavior under some semblance of control, but fits of giggling and bits of crazily animated conversations continued to break out sporadically. after that, the whole restaurant seemed to light up and speed into the rest of saturday night. “i think i've got it,” said jim. his head cocked to one side like a rooster. “remember steve benedict?” sure, i remembered steve. we had dropped out together in the seventies. we had rented an old cabin at the mouth of a canyon in northern arizona in return for helping a rancher run his cattle. the last time i saw steve, we were on horseback, scrambling through razor sharp mesquite, rounding up yearlings for the spring branding and cutting. “this sucks.” i remember him saying. “i mean this really sucks. fuck this. i'm getting out of here. i'm going to l.a. and be a movie star.” i just laughed and said. “yeah, yeah, sure. the heat's getting to you. better drink some more water.” “you remember?” jim asked again and i was back in the restaurant. “yeah, yeah, sure.” “okay, then. here's my plan . . .” talk show “okay, okay! i'm convinced. i've got this crazy inventor scheduled for the last ten minutes. i'll just bump him into next week, and put you guys on instead. you're probably full of shit about your rock here, but it'll be fun having you on the show anyway.” he shook his head. “jesus, look at you two! it's been a long time.” he was looking at us in the brightly lit mirror in his dressing room, his broad shoulders draped with a white make-up cloth. “hey, remember those goofy comedy bits we used to do?” he laughed. “maybe we ought to try one today.” steve had always reminded me of a cartoonist's version of a hero. dudley do-right, clutch cargo. dark, curly hair. strong, heavy jaw. straight nose. glinting blue eyes. head cocked in a dramatic angle. lady killer smile. his well-muscled, gay, make-up man danced around him on his toes, daintily applying his mascara, telling him how good he looked. jim jumped in. “yeah, that's a good idea. remember this one?” he paused, cleared his throat, stood up straight, and cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. he reached down inside and came up with his best basso profundo. “and now! meglomania studios presents! the most spectacular macho movie of all time! charles bonson and sylvester baloney in! the man too stupid to die!!!” steve cracked up. he got up out of his chair, animated, spun around, and came over to jim. “right. and then we could do the one -“ a knock on the door. “thirty seconds, mr. benedict.” “shit. okay. you guys just wait in the green room. david, here, will throw some make-up on you.” he pulled off his make-up cloth and started for the door. “this is going to be fun!” jim looked at me and smiled. the green room we waited for forty-five minutes. the room was large, but somehow, at the same time, confining. the four other guest talkers sat around a large coffee table, engaging in small talk, trying to impress each other. there was a jewish doctor from miami who was there to promote his ability to make anyone look like the celebrity of their choice through plastic surgery; a young, giggling female porn star who was trying to become a main stream movie star; a huge, black man who was retiring from the nfl and was going to talk about his ufo abduction; a small, rumpled inventor with glasses who thought he was going to demonstrate his combination cell phone/vibrator; and us. i leaned over to jim and whispered in his ear. “hey, listen, man, i don't know about this. i don't know if this is such a good idea.” by this time only the inventor was in the room with us. “i'm getting scared. i'm thinking that we should just destroy this thing.” jim looked at me. i went on. “yeah, maybe it's got all this incredible power and all, but look what it turns people into. jesus. i think we've been exposing ourselves to it too much. it's affecting our judgment.” he thought for a minute. “okay. i don't necessarily agree with all of that. i like what it does. but i'm beginning to think this may not be the best way to go. i'm starting to get a weird feeling, like a premonition or something.” i felt a surge of relief. “great, c'mon. let's get out of here.” we stood up, left the room, closed the door quietly behind us, and headed down the over lit hallway to what we hoped was a rear exit. the best laid plans . . . the hallway turned to the right and there was a metal door with a red exit sign over it. an thin old man sat on a tall stool reading a paperback book. he barely glanced at us as we came up to him and pushed open the door. crossing the alley toward us and coming up the steps were magnus and cutter. we jumped back inside and pulled hard on the door, slamming it shut. “god-damn it!” i exploded. we ran back down the hall. “where the fuck did they come from!?” we passed the door to the green room, took a turn to the left, and ran into the floor director who had talked to all the guests earlier. he was holding a clipboard and had a headset clamped over his bald dome. “ah, steve's friends. right. we're ready for you.” he grabbed jim by the arm. “this way, please.” “no. no.,” jim tried to pull away. “we - - we're not” “don't worry. you'll be alright once you're out there.” jim looked at him like he was speaking swahili “no. you don't understand -“ he was looking over the director's shoulder. i followed his eyes and saw magnus and cutter bearing down on us like bullets. i looked at jim. his eyes rolled back and came up lemons. by this time, we had moved into the wings. the stage in front of us was flooded with light. steve sat smiling, behind his desk, yapping happily with the audience. the other three guests had moved over on the obligatory couch leaving two seats open close to the desk. “ - old friends of mine, so, you can't trust anything they say. ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome curtis embrey and aunt jim!” the floor director literally pushed us both out onto the stage. jim was so nervous that he started laughing. i felt unreal. steve was shaking my hand. there was a roaring sound. hands clapping. steve took the box out of my hands. he was smiling and talking. “- must be the magic stone that they were telling me about.” he opened the box, took the stone out, and held it up to the camera. “can we get a close-up of this thing, dave?” i was sitting down. i heard jim next to me. “steve, no, you can't-“ i turned but couldn't see them. i squinted at the blinding lights. i saw the stone on a monitor. it was starting to glow. steve sat down and turned toward us. he put the stone down on the desk. it grew brighter. he looked at me. he opened his mouth to speak. his pupils were dilated. his eyebrows shot up. and he kind of squealed. i heard the director moan. “what the hell is -“ then he giggled. i saw magnus in the wings grabbing cutter and turning back down the hall, running. he knew what was happening and was getting out before it was too late. scattered thoughts began to find their way into my head. the stone's influence rippled through the audience in waves. i could feel it- hear it- it was chaos as people began to read each other's minds, call up forgotten memories, see past their social programming. everyone was talking and laughing at once. i turned to jim. he gave me a look that said help. the young porn star and the black football player were staring at each other in shock. i reached over . . . i looked around at the crew. i was losing track of what were my thoughts and what were those of other people. i caught myself thinking that i needed to focus the camera. i fought against the tide of humanity that was sweeping over me. i reached over in slow motion . . i reached over to the box . . the box in my hand . . hold it. fingers around it. now the stone. “- i wanted to touch your . .” left hand to the bright stone. “curtis, get us out of - !” “- never knew you felt -“ “- when i was three-“ thoughts - memories an overload of human experiences and emotions disappearing boundaries between people and things a growing relaxation and peace and joy. i fought it with everything i had. i was halfway into the trance, but i had the stone in the box in my hand. i ordered the body that i was in to stand up. it responded fluidly and weightlessly. i grabbed jim's body and pulled it up. the noise in the theater was dying out. some kind of critical psychic mass had been achieved. the whole audience was going under, sitting quietly in their seats. i pulled jim with me. we walked down off the stage and up the main aisle between rows and rows of middle-class americans in a trance. the air was charged with the electricity of three hundred unleashed central nervous systems. trying to make it up the aisle was like running in a dream. like walking under water. we finally made it into the lobby and then out onto the street. the air was thick was smog. the street choked with cars. radar we crossed the street to the parking lot where we had left jim's car. it was a shit brown, 83, four door buick sedan. i hoped to god that magnus and cutter hadn't seen it yet. we got in. magnus and cutter. christ. i had forgotten about them. i looked back at the front of the theater. “jim, get down.” we both sank low in the car. peeking over the dash the windows of the cars parked next to us. i saw magnus come around the side of the building and stop, standing on the sidewalk on highland. he scanned the immediate area like he had x-ray vision and within twenty seconds was looking right at us. i felt like an idiot, all scrunched down in the seat, peering over the dash. he starting crossing the street and reaching inside his ever-present windbreaker. “give me the keys and stay down,” i hissed at jim. he handed them to me absent mindedly as if he was waking up. i started the car. magnus started running toward us. i pushed the accelerator to the floor and jerked the wheel to the left. we shot out of our parking slot, clipping a mercedes next to us. the rear wheels chattered sideways and burned rubber. magnus was forced to throw himself out of the way between two other cars. as we passed him, he started firing. i heard one of the bullets hit the trunk with a dull thud. another came through the rear window, passed diagonally through the car, and crashed through the windshield on jim's side. the sound of it whistling by made my teeth ache. keeping my head down as much as possible, i ripped a right hand turn out of the parking lot onto highland. we went over the curb, and the rear end bottomed out with a bone jarring crash. we ran a yellow light at franklin, went up the hill, and slid up an on-ramp onto the freeway, westbound. the sun was going down directly ahead of us. the freeway was full of commuters. second thoughts i think we fucked up, jimbo.” i looked over. his eyes were normal. he was sitting up, lighting a marlboro. his hand was shaking, slightly. he forced a grin that came out more of a grimace. “you may be right, dude. but unless we neutralize magnus somehow, it's not going to matter what we do with the stone. he's going to be coming at us -“ “curtis!” catherine's presence suddenly jumped into my head. “oh, my god,” i felt her say, “it worked. i can feel you.” it was like the time at the motel. she was inside me and vice versa. it wasn't so much that i was hearing her words, as i was experiencing the projection of her emotional being that would have translated into those words. the intensity of meaning and feeling were much deeper, more complex, and continually shifting like shadows of leaves in the wind. for a time we embraced in some non-physical way, in some non-physical space. swam in each other. my body relaxed. there was a softness in that non-space. there was a knowledge that we belonged to each other- knew each other in a way that no one else would ever know. suddenly, she was gone. “-everything he's got.” “what?” jim looked over to me with a funny look on his face. “huh?” i hesitated. then i blurted it out. “catherine was just here - mentally, i mean. she just contacted me. it was really - “ “you didn't tell her where we were going, did you?” “what do you mean?” i asked. “just what i said.” “no-“ i stumbled, “no, i don't think so- i mean it's complex it's subtle - but it's alright, it's alright. she's - he looked at me. “you thought that before.” he was right. phase 2 of plan b we turned south at the 405 freeway, went over the pass that separates the san fernando valley from the l.a. basin, and headed for laguna. somewhere around redondo beach, in an old industrial area we pulled off the road to get some gas. it was an run down station without any of the new push button computerized pumps. as i got out to start filling the tank, i knew things had gotten way out of hand. they were too dangerous- too complex. i wanted desperately to simplify the situation. dark thoughts ran through my head. i watched jim's back as he walked toward the men's room. the tall, ungainly, oil refineries in the distance spewed their smoke into the gray sky. when i was done pumping and got back behind the wheel, the gas station attendant in a forest green jumpsuit brought back some change and handed it to me through the window. my hand reached forward and turned the key. the engine turned over and came alive. jim was still in the men's room. i looked at the box on the seat next to me. i looked out to the on-ramp and the freeway beyond where the cars ripped by like an invitation. the engine idled. it was so simple. one man. one stone. so simple. i looked back at the box and put the car in gear. the passenger door opened. it was jim. “okay.” his voice seemed loud and jarring as he slid in, sat back, and lit up a joint. he took a deep drag and waved it in my direction. “want a hit?” “ah - no thanks . . . i'm good.” he smiled. i looked at him. seconds ticked by. “well,” he said, after a pause, “you ready?” “oh- yeah.” i lifted my foot off the brake, and we drifted out of the station. laguna my mind was shorting out as we wound through laguna canyon. sparks of conflicting desires were arcing across empty spaces. it wasn't good. jim turned down the radio, and suddenly we were there. it was dark. it was beautiful. stars filled the sky and fell into the ocean. across the street was a public beach empty except for some kids running and laughing along the waterline. the temperature was perfect. like an air bath. the sound of the surf was continuous and soothing. people strolled leisurely around the mildly lit streets in between the bars, restaurants, and evening shops as if there were no troubles anywhere in the world. we turned left on the coast highway and drove slowly, south through the town. everyone was healthy and beautiful everyone was well dressed. everyone had apparently everything they needed. it was like the twilight zone. just past the main part of town jim instructed me to turn left at a street called nyes place. it curved back around under the highway and dropped down toward the beach. incredibly expensive and well appointed houses were stacked and packed like jewels on bracelet all around us. at the bottom of the street we turned right onto ward's terrace, an alley wide street that was a half a block long. we parked in a no parking zone and got out of the car. once again, i could hear the surf just below us, coming in with reassuring regularity. houses crowded around us lit up like crystal. the place hummed with some kind of sparkling quality- something hard to define, rich and effervescent - like expensive champagne. i noticed jim standing, with his eyes closed, taking it all in. he opened his eyes, sighed, and looked happy and sad at the same time. “it's still got the magic. but you should have seen it back in the day . . “ he said and started walking down a driveway to the sand. it was a california dream beach. thick white sand three hundred yards long curving away to the south. just down the way a large group swooping, diving seagulls were circling a rugged set of rocks the size of a cathedral twenty yards out in the crashing surf. the rocks were lit by a set of search lights on the beach. the white winged gulls screamed and squawked as they wheeled, spun, and dove for food. eight foot waves smashed against the rocks and sent curling white foam into the black sky in slow motion. jim turned right, trudged across the sand to the second house down, and walked up the stairs to the door. i followed. it was one of the older houses on the beach, a large, white wooden structure probably built back in the twenties. it had obviously been remodeled with no one worrying about how much was being spent. the whole beach side of the house was windows. warm light spilled out onto a quiet, empty porch. the chemist jim knocked. someone yelled from the inside. “come on in!” we entered, went through a small entry way that was both a beach shower and a laundry room, and came out into a large living room with cathedral ceilings thirty feet high. a hearty looking man in his forties was sitting on an over stuffed red couch under a two story, ornate red and gold, moroccan tapestry. he stood up as soon as he saw us. “jim!” he boomed enthusiastically, “i wasn't expecting you till later!” he crossed the room in a half a dozen strides and took hold of jim like a lost relative. he was about six foot three, about forty eight, and about 220 pounds. he had shaggy salt and pepper hair and a beard to match. in the middle of all the hair were two, clear, ice-blue eyes. he wore baggy levis, a white shirt open at the collar, and bare feet. when he talked to you he leaned over and came inside your personal space. he was inclined to reach out and touch you. his name was parc davis. he was a phd in est. he was a straight arrow. he held a handful of degrees in molecular biology and chemistry. after we had been introduced he said, “so, that must be the famous rock.” i was startled. i followed his eyes and realized that i was holding the box tightly in my hand. with a searching look. i knew that he could see that I was spooked. he registered that information and then spoke again. “well, gentlemen!” he said, full of good cheer. “you made the evening news.” he walked over and picked up a remote on the mantle of a large, stone fireplace. he turned off some ethereal space music that had been playing and turned on the large flat screen t.v. on the wall opposite the couch. “i caught it on the five o'clock edition and then recorded it when they repeated the story at six. it's pretty wild. here. take a look.” he hit the play button and an asian woman's face appeared on the screen. she was obviously the anchor woman on an l.a. channel. “and today, on a los angeles t.v. talk show something truly bizarre happened- or did it? bill racine has the story.” they cut to a slick young male newscaster standing in front of the theater. “indeed, carol, that is the question. just what did happen today on the steve benedict show? no one seems quite sure. from what we can piece together, two last minute guests, claiming they were in possession of what they said was the legendary philosopher's stone- complete with the power to change lead into gold and keep its owner forever young, caused havoc with benedict, his guests, crew, and audience, before they apparently walked out of the studio and disappeared into thin air. as you will be able to tell from the following clip, it's obvious that something very strange happened here today.” they cut to the show. the sound of applause. “ -welcome, curtis embrey and aunt jim.” the applause swells. jim and i stumble in from the wings, blinking blindly in the lights. jim glances back over his shoulder. steve shakes my hand and grabs the box. “and this, i suppose is the magic rock that they were telling me about.” he opens the lid, takes out the stone, and looks off camera. “can we get a close-up of this thing, dave?' the stone fills the screen and starts to light up. they cut back to steve, jim, and i. steve puts the stone on the desk where it begins to glow more brightly. jim and i look awkward and confused. we twitch nervously in our seats. steve turns toward us to start his interview and goes blank. a stupid smile sweeps across his face, and he emits a high-pitched squeal. in the background, the audience is starting to disintegrate into loud talk and laughter. the camera does a slow pan diagonally upward and stops, out of focus on the hanging lights above the stage. suddenly, the young newscaster is back on the screen. standing next to him is a white, middle-aged man in a sky blue leisure suit and horn rimmed glasses. “mr. benedict and the producers of the show were unavailable for comment. we were, however, able to question a few members of the audience.”: he turns to the older man. “sir, would you identify yourself.” “sure thing, son,” said the man in a thick texas accent. “my name is lloyd huggins from beaumont, texas. my wife i are out here on vacation.” “mr. huggins, you were at the show this afternoon, can you tell us what happened?” “well, i don't rightly- i mean I'm not exactly sure. you see, these two peculiar looking men came out on the stage. then mr. benedict pulled that there stone out of its box, and then it seemed like the whole place kind of went crazy, people laughin and talkin, and then - then, i don't rightly know- i mean, all of a sudden, i believe i was readin my wife's thoughts-“ he looks off camera with an unsettled look on his face that looked like he had just been caught pissing in public. “and i'll tell you what son, i don't know what the hell happened after that. i think I passed out.” “thank you, mr. huggins. and now we have another member of the audience.” a young, black boy wearing a baseball cap backwards steps forward. he has a smile on his face bigger than his head. “parc,” i said painfully. he looked over at me. “had enough?” he asked. i nodded, and he turned it off. so conscience doth make . . . i stood up and walked out onto the darkened porch. the gulls down the way circled theatrically around the spot-lit rocks. the waves came in and crashed on the shore with a subsonic, dull, thumping sound a soothing, timeless peace pervaded the whole beach. it was a feeling of relaxation that comes just before you surrender to sleep. it came to me that i never wanted to leave- not ever- i just wanted to stay and rest. i reached out in my mind for catherine- reached for her essence- concentrated on her image. slowly, like watching the hour hand on a clock i began to feel something indefinable coming up in some deep area of my consciousness. suddenly, it was jim's emotions, not catherine's, that came into my head. they were those of worry, of uncertainty, of affection. they were accompanied by words. “dude, what's the matter?” i felt his hand on my shoulder and came back to the real world of the porch. i looked at him, and it all came spilling out. “are you kidding? you saw lloyd huggins from boxcar texas or wherever the fuck it was, for christ's sake! what the hell do you think is wrong?” i was still holding the box. i turned away, leaned against the porch railing, and looked back out to the dark sea. “who are we to unleash this thing on the fucking world?” he was silent then, looking down at his shoes. finally, he looked up and spoke. “who are we to deny it?” i looked over at him and our eyes locked. “yeah, that's easy for you to say,” i snapped, “you don't really give a shit.” his eyebrows shot up, and a look of surprised recognition came over his face. “yeah . . . you're right there. i guess i'm not much help when it comes to moral dilemmas.” i smiled involuntarily and then laughed. “jesus . . .” just then parc stepped out onto the porch. “hey, you guys want to see my lab?” the lab he pointed to a hunk of gray metal the size of a refrigerator that looked like a cross between and satellite and a safe. “that's the electron-spectrometer. i just got it last week.” the walls of the room were line with equipment- some i recognized, like computer terminals and keyboards- some i didn't. it all hummed and blinked and twittered. in the middle of the room was a black topped counter, eight feet long, with two stainless steel sinks in the middle. gas outlets were fitted every two feet along the underside of the counter top. a rack of vials and beakers hung over the whole thing like wine glasses in a fern bar. as parc was trying to explain the whole setup, jim interrupted him, laughing, “remember that first batch of acid we made up?” parc smiled. “up to a certain point.” he stopped and his eyes got wide and goofy looking at his old friend. they both broke out laughing, remembering. when the laughing died down, they both looked over at me. after a long pause, parc spoke up. “well, curtis?” i looked down at the box. decisions affecting others wear the weight unborn by those touching just one's own life. consequences ripple out with unknown ends to unknown destinations, changing strangers as well as friends. no one can ever see far enough ahead to judge the ultimate merit of his actions. we move through this life like a blind man, lurching along by touch and instinct. “curtis?” i looked up at parc. there were no answers in his waiting eyes, only questions. i handed the box to him. he put the box on the counter. “i'll just need to scrape off a few grains.” “be quick about,” said jim, “or you'll be watching the walls breath.” parc opened the box, took the stone out, and scratched one of the facets with a scalpel like knife. some dust fell into a petri dish. the stone started to light up in his hand. i felt a bolt of physical energy and mental clarity rush from the base of my spine to the top of my head. “whoa-ho,” parc stuttered under his breath, as he managed to get it back in the box and close the lid. “holy shit, gentlemen!” his eyes were wide and shining. rip tide we left parc setting up his equipment and started down the stairs to the main part of the house. when we reached the landing that looked down on the living room, i stopped. i felt weightless. i smiled a real smile for the first time in days. “i've got an idea. let's take a walk down on the beach.” “sure,” said jim. we walked past the gulls, rocks, and spot lights into the dark beach south of the house. a cold, wet, salty mist sprayed across our faces. we kept to the firm sand just above the shifting water line. jim cupped a match in his hands, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. he looked out at the large waves crashing almost right on the shore with the earth shaking thump of mortar fire. “there's a bad rip tide out there tonight,” he said, raising his voice to be heard. “okay,” i said, “let's really check this thing out.” “what do you mean?” “i mean that both times we experienced this thing, it blind sided us. we had no idea what was going to happen. this will be different.” “you think?” “fuck it. we've come this far. let's see.” he laughed and put the cigarette out. “light me up.” i opened the lid, placed the box on the sand, and kneeled down beside it. jim sat down next to me, and crossed his legs. we were in each other's minds almost immediately- speechless- no need to speak, we knew each other that well already. then came the awareness of each other's body. even though we were the same age, his body felt older, stiffer, more decayed, but somehow internally stronger. i felt the pain in his back where he had had two vertebras fused. it was a constant, dull, throbbing ache. we relaxed into each other- exploring with mental senses the dimensions, boundaries, and qualities of the space that we floated in together. i was still the same, knowing myself, but being someone other. having achieved some kind of mysterious union, we started to spread out as one thing. the previously perceived barriers that separated us from our surroundings fell away- known now only as artificial mental constructs with no substantiality in the larger reality. we experienced and became the deep churning ocean flexing restlessly on the unyielding shore- being both the surging crashing waves full of sand and kelp, wet and fluid, and the infinite grains of sand, each totally separate in its uniqueness but yet making up the one thing that was the beach. we began to lose bodily consciousness, existing only as energy and awareness. the sound of the ocean faded away and was replaced by a loud electrical humming. i could feel us slipping into the same experience that i had that night in the motel in phoenix. suddenly, however, there was something that was reaching out and stopping us. there was a weight- a darkness, a constriction preventing us from going further. there was fear. we opened our eyes at the same time, and, at the same time, realized the same thought - trouble. i grabbed the box and we scrambled and ran back to the house. hail, hail . . . “parc! parc!” yelled jim as we ran into the living room. at the top of the stairs parc appeared from the back of the house with a gun at his head. cutter, magnus, and catherine followed him. “good evening, embrey. i see you're still hanging around with your punk peter pan. you should upgrade the quality of your acquaintances. really.” magnus looked like his mother that day on the porch when she died. he was drawn, sunken, and lifeless. he moved slowly with great pain and effort. cutter looked worse, if that was possible. like someone's nightmare. his eyes rolled wildly in his head, showing white much of the time. his hands shook. he smiled widely, with clenched teeth and jaw muscles standing out from his head in large knots. he was talking to himself about being the greatest thing since dinosaurs. his hair and suit looked like he was standing in the middle of a wind storm. catherine was beautiful. she was dressed like she was going to a party- slinky black dress, with thin shoulder straps, cut low in the back and front, clinging tightly to the curves of her body, until it stopped just above her knees. black stiletto heels clacked down the wooden stairs. she looked imploringly at me. “got a date tonight?” i asked her. “don't be bitter, embrey,” magnus answered for her, “love is a passing condition. take it from one who knows.” they had reached the bottom of the stairs. “why don't we all sit down and rest?” wheezed the big man, and he collapsed on the red couch. he pulled his .45 out of his windbreaker and motioned for parc and catherine to sit down with him. he pointed the gun in my direction. “i'll take the stone now.” i walked over and set the box on the coffee table in front of him. he opened it immediately and quickly inspected the stone for any damage. he closed the lid. “cutter. go to the lab. destroy everything in it.” he spoke slowly, looked in the smaller man's eyes, and enunciated each word carefully. “do you understand? destroy everything.” “sure, sure, mr. magnus - i'm good at destroying stuff - i'm the greatest destroyer in the world. i'mbetterthanhitler. better than the atom bomb. better thananything, you just waitandsee. you'll see.” he ran up the stairs. “i had to give cutter a taste of the stone when we had it. i'm afraid his exposure was too much for him,” he said wearily, “small minds tend to overload. it's not for everyone. you'll excuse me,” he breathed heavily, “i must recharge my batteries. it will just take a few seconds.” he opened the box. sounds of breaking glass and tearing metal came from the upstairs. it sounded as if cutter was taking a sledge hammer to parc's equipment. the stone started to emit light. as it did, magnus reached out and caressed its surfaces- rubbed his thumb over the top-most facets. he sat back then and relaxed. everyone in the room began to feel its effects. no one spoke. the only noises were the waves outside and the sound of cutter's demolition. the intensity of his violence seemed to be escalating. magnus started reaching forward, apparently to close the lid, but he couldn't quite make it. a look of wonderment swept across his face. his gun hand dropped to the couch and stayed there. he stared off at nothing and smiled beatifically. by this time, the rest of us were opening up. i reached out to jim mentally, and together, we imposed our will on the room. parc was too carried away by the rush of the energy to do anything. catherine was reaching out to me with emotional promises. i tried to shut her out, not knowing if i could trust her. upstairs cutter was reaching some kind of hysterical frenzy. he was screaming to himself. i stood up went across to the coffee table, and closed the lid of the box. i reached over and felt for the pulse in magnus' carotid artery. there was none. in his weakened condition the final dose must have put him over the edge. it tended to confirm what I already suspected. full exposure to the stone took you to a state of consciousness on the other side of physical death. i didn't have time to consider the implications. i reached over and closed his eyes. he was still smiling. “amazing,” i said under my breath and started to take the gun from his dead hand. “you won't need that, embrey.” i spun around. “we have the situation well under control.” it was felker and his robots. i should have realized that they would be right behind magnus. felker motioned to graves, who came over and grabbed the box. whitney covered the room. he held his gun calmly with both hands. the noise upstairs finally stopped. cutter came babbling out onto the upstairs landing. “mr. magnus! mr. magnus! i did real good - realgood! you should comesee!” he froze when he saw felker and his men below. with the speed of the insane, his right hand slipped into his sport coat and came out holding his pistol. he almost made it. with the speed of a machine, whitney lifted his gun and blew a loud hole in cutter's chest. the small man was thrown backward against the wall. he bounced forward, came crashing through the railing, fell through the air, and landed in an awkward broken boned heap on parc's expensive floral print chinese rug. . . . and let my dreaming go. i felt catherine suddenly slide into and around me like an invisible snake- under my skin, embracing me, coiling around me like an emotion mist. i looked across the room to her. she was sitting erect, staring at me. she gave herself to me then. totally. i heard what she was thinking. “i knew if i stayed close to magnus that he would find you.” there was no doubting her. lying was impossible in this state. i looked quickly around the room. nothing had changed. we had been in some no-time. felker was by the fireplace, off to my left, with the box in his hand. he gestured to graves. “check the upstairs.” the dark man turned automatically and took the stairs two at a time. whitney stood next to his boss and held us all at bay. parc was still sitting on the couch, just beginning to come around. jim was standing by the door to the porch, leaning forward on the balls of his feet, waiting for a cue. i reached out to him. the connection was still there. telepathically i told him to wait, and then i opened up enough to include both he and catherine. i was beginning to gain some control over the experience. we all reached out together to parc. his mind was still blown open like a jack in the box. i became the focal point of all of our energies which grew in strength as we merged. power multiplied within me within seconds. the change in the interpersonal chemistry in the room shifted, subtly, rapidly to the point that felker began to look uneasy- eyes darting around the room to each of us. he called out. “graves! what the hell are you doing?!” at that moment, he was vulnerable. i slipped inside his head. his conscious mind was on the defensive, enclosed in walls of fear. my intrusion was pushed down into a subconscious level. it was there that i saw i could work. i opened up to him then. joined with him. became one with his dreams and memories. joined with the child in him. i remembered with him. he was four years old when he discovered that there was no way out of this life alive. he was sitting on the sidewalk outside his grandparents home in chicago, on spaulding avenue it was a warm, green, breezy summer day. he was playing on the warm cement with his favorite dump truck. an orchestra was playing the song, “tenderly” on a radio inside the house. it came drifting out an open window with its white lace curtains rippling in the breeze. it hit him like a physical blow- out of nowhere. he was going to die. eventually. nothing could stop it. his mind reached out for alternatives. there weren't any. he was going to die. he was too stunned to even cry. felker's eyes flickered in my direction. i left him then. he looked at me curiously, as if, perhaps, he knew me from somewhere, sometime, long ago. he shifted nervously on his feet. “graves!” graves appeared on the wrecked landing. “there used to be some kind of a lab up here. looks like the little weasel really trashed it. nothing left but broken glass.” “alright, get down here. we're leaving.” whitney looked at him sharply, incredulously, still holding his pistol out straight at shoulder level. “you're not going to leave them here, are you?” “let's go,” said felker impatiently. “you can't leave them here alive!” whitney's knees were bent slightly, hands tightening on the gun, ready for the executions. felker turned on him, suddenly, viciously, and backhanded him across the face with a loud popping sound. “don't tell me what i can and can't do!” he was on the verge of snapping and he didn't even know why. i did. to kill me at this point would have been like committing suicide. we had merged on a level that he wasn't consciously aware of, but it affected his decisions anyway. it put him in an almost schizophrenic state of mind. his emotions came out in a rush. they came out all over whitney. felker reached out, grabbed the man's esophagus, and squeezed tightly like a claw. “don't ever fucking tell me!” he pushed whitney toward the door. “move it!” just before he followed his men out of the living room and out of the house, he threw a glance at me over his shoulder. his look held fear, confusion, and recognition. then they were gone. i went over to the window and watched them trudge across the sand. catherine came over and pressed herself against me. i watched the stone in felker's hand. “shit,” said jim out loud, “there goes one great high.” i turned and looked at parc, who was now just putting back on the suit of his separate self. “is that right, parc?” the chemist stood up shakily and walked over to the window next to us. he watched as felker and his men started walking up the driveway to the street above. parc smiled. “just before magnus got here i had analyzed the crystalline ' and chemical composition of the stone. by now, its on a thousand chat rooms and bulletin boards, all over the net. jim stared at him and made a strange sound deep in his throat. then he laughed and howled at the same time. “you made it in time!?” he started dancing around the room. abruptly, he stopped and looked at parc. “you made it in time!? are you sure!?” davis nodded and smiled shakily. “it's a done deal.” jim let out a long scream that rose in volume. he danced around parc, grabbed him in a bear hug, and emitted a series of weird animal noises. jim's elation shot through us all. exhilarated us. we were the joy. it ran through us like a river. all at once, it became glaringly obvious that we were all still connected. thoughts and emotions were jumping between us like sparks. before it could go any further, each of us pulled back, quickly, reflexively, into our own shells. but it was too late. something permanent had happened. there was still an inerasable current of emotional union humming through us in the background of each of our formerly separate personalities. we stood there in shock - with cutter's crumpled form on the rug. with magnus' smiling corpse on the couch. i looked over to catherine, and i was her, looking at me, looking at her, looking at me. our faces smiled. there was nothing else they could do. who can understand these things? we are the fact and the fiction. 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