The Hanged Man, Reversed
Laura shot a look to the doorway as Mike came shuffling in. What is he doing here? she thought. A flush of embarrassment washed over her. "My heavens," Will intoned in his best Southern Belle accent, "It's a gentleman caller. Have we enough lemonade on hand?"
Laura didn't know what to say. "Mike? I thought you were heading for Ohio."
"Well, I was," he offered, awkwardly shifting the huge bouquet from one arm to the other, "But I had a . . . change of plans."
"What do you mean?" Laura asked, ignoring his discomfort.
"I got fired. It's kind of complicated. I'd rather not talk about it." Mike was tangibly rattled, even annoyed. It was shade of emotion that did not set well on his usually pleasant features.
As the awkwardness reified into a pained silence, Christine jovially burst in. "Mike, I'm sorry! We're being so rude!" She bustled up to him. "You've obviously had a long drive. Let me take those flowers and get a vase."
"Would you like something to drink?" Faye chirped. As the Weird Sisters bustled about him, Laura was vaguely reminded of the three fairies in Disney's Sleeping Beauty.
Mike's placid demeanor returned. "Oh, thank you, but no," he smiled, handing the bouquet to Christine. "I'm fine. Just had a Big Gulp." He turned to Laura. "Actually, I stopped by because you said you needed a map of backroads in the U.S. I picked one up for you. It's in the car. I can go get it. . . " he offered.
Laura smiled ever so slightly. "Thanks, Mike." She awkwardly took his arm and moved towards the door.
"Hey, Madame Gilbert!" Christine yelped, as she returned from the kitchen. "Did you bring your tarot cards? I'm expecting a reading tonight. No reading, no couch!"
As Laura shut the front door, she heard Will reply with great ceremony, "Yes, my dear, of course. Madame Gilbert is always prepared to pay the price. The future awaits you. But we must wait for the witching hour!".
As they headed out to the dusty sidewalk, Laura grasped wildly for something, anything to break the awkward silence.
"So . . . how did you find us?" she offered, gingerly.
"Oh, it wasn't hard." He would not meet her eyes. "Will mentioned his friends so many times, I remembered their names. And I knew you were coming to Chicago." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Man! It's cold out here."
"But we aren't in Chicago; we're in Evanston. And he only ever mentioned their first names. How could you have found us?"
Just then, Mike stopped short, his eyes frozen on Laura's yellow Oldsmobile.
"Mike?"
Without a word, he sped across the busy street to the rear of the car. Diving to the asphalt, he hit the ground, rolled, and swiped at the tailpipe. Something flew. There was an explosion, a flash of light, and then a stunned calm.
Faces in the window, then a thundering of feet down the stairs. Will and his harem poured out onto the sidewalk.
"Oh my God! Someone's tried to destroy the Banana Boat! Agent M! My savior once again!" Will cried out, and threw his arms around Mike.
"What the hell was that?!" Faye hollered.
"Are you guys OK?" Holly asked in unison with Christine.
"Yeah, we're fine," Laura replied. "But what was that?" she echoed to Mike.
"It was half-stack glyceride conglomerate--a homemade bomb."
"A bomb! Oh, my God! Who on earth would've done that?" Faye asked.
Christine turned back to the house. "I'm calling the police."
"No!" Mike grabbed her arm. "No police!" She turned in astonishment and looked at him. He released her apologetically. "I mean, it's really not that big a deal. No one was hurt. I'm sure it was just some of those groupies we keep hearing about, the ones who are following the treasure hunt. Just some punk kids." Mike was starting to sweat. "And anyway, if you call the police, it'll just hold you up. They'll want to keep you around for a report, and they might impound the car as evidence. It could end up taking days, maybe weeks."
"But it was a bomb," Laura reiterated. "This is ridiculous. We should call the police. I don't care if it does delay us.
"Laura, I see your point, but this is the second time Agent M has saved our bacon," Will interjected. "I think we should trust him."
"And anyway, like I said, it was probably just punk kids. These bombs are easy enough to make. Your latest issues of Ronin or Soldier of Fortune probably offer adequate instructions for dummying up one of these bad boys. They're time delayed; once the bomb is situated in the exhaust pipe, you pull the tab, which sets off a chemical chain reaction. Within 15 minutes, the whole thing goes up, usually taking the vehicle's gas tank with it. It burns quickly, too--pretty much guaranteeing that it's untraceable. But it's not usually what you use if you want to . . .well, kill someone."
There was a long, tense pause.
Christine's eyes narrowed to slits. "Mike," she asked, "What exactly is it that you do for a living?"
His face froze. He looked to Laura, and then back to Christine. "Oh," he chuckled tensely, "Didn't Laura tell you? I work mostly with surveying and environmental studies for the federal government. That's why I was in Centralia."
"But you've been fired . . . ?" Holly interjected, eyes also narrowing.
"Well, not exactly fired. Like I said before, it's complicated. We've been working with some grant monies . . . and, well, you know how the federal government can be. What with all the shake-ups in Congress. . . It's not certain what's going to happen to our funding . . ." He trailed off, his eyes shifting to the horizon.
Holly and Christine exchanged a meaningful glance.
"So," Faye interjected, "How long will you be in Evanston? Are you staying nearby? It must be hard to figure, what with your current state of semi-employment."
"Actually, I'm not staying. I've got some leads I need to . . . follow up on. Walk me to my car?" he asked Laura abruptly.
As they crossed the street, Mike turned back to the group on the curb. "Nice meeting you all. Take care, Will. I'll keep in touch."
"I'm sure you will," Christine muttered under her breath. Her confederates shot her a mutual glance of assent. Will felt a chill run down his spine.
"I think the less said on this matter, the better," Will said. "For Laura's sake."
"Alright," Holly said, speaking for all three. "But watch your ass."
As Mike pulled away from the curb, Laura returned to the group. She looked ashen, and was a little shaky on her feet.
"Honey, are you alright?" Will asked, his arm around her shoulders.
"I don't know. I just don't know. That was really weird."
Faye started to speak, but was silenced by her confederates' knowing looks. After a sputter or two, she enthusiastically chimed, "Hey! We have a treasure to find! And right now, all we have a whole lot of questions and no answers. We have work to do. Back upstairs."
She continued to chatter as they filed up the staircase. "When we last saw our friends, Will and Laura," she intoned officially, "They were pursuing the mystery to the East in Chicago, involving an electrical storm, a summer day and many other various and sundry half-submerged references. Let's rejoin their quest."
"Freak!" Christine barked, smacking her on the head.
"Not my head!" she whined back, and an air of joviality returned to the group.
"Shall we return to your graciously appointed livingroom for more muffins and further weighty discussion of Simon Waterbury's master opus?" Will asked, his hunger returning.
"No!" Faye commanded. "We have all the clues we need. Now we need research. It's time to go online." She ushered the group into her bedroom and settled down in front of a beaten up, press-board computer table.
"Yay! Turn her loose! She's our little web-head," Christine clapped joyfully.
"Is the modem working?" Holly asked. "I've been having a lot of trouble with the phone line for the last few days. I keep getting this weird mechanical buzzing, and sometimes I hear other conversations. Do you think you'll be able to get through?"
"We can but hope," Faye intoned seriously, turning on the computer.
*********
"Turn off that cell-phone! You're jamming the transmission!" the fair-haired man ordered.
The man in Armani looked up from his call, befuddled and almost wounded. He sheepishly obeyed.
The fair-haired man turned again to the square-jawed man. "Have you got anything?"
The square-jawed man adjusted his headphones, and shut his eyes. "Yes . . . they've logged on." A faint squeal could be heard from the 'phones.
"Notes," the Fair-Haired Man barked. The man with the goatee straightened in his chair, fingers resting lightly on the keyboard of the laptop. "Ready," he responded, not looking up.
"Yes, I've got it . . . it's coming in," said the bull-necked man from across the room. Seated before a computer terminal, his corpulent face reflected the artificial glow of the screen. "First coordinate:
http://www.yahoo.com"
The Bull-Necked Man snickered. This would not be a difficult trace.
The Man in Armani paced over to the terminal and leaned over the Bull-Necked Man, intent upon the screen. Fair-Hair maintained his position by the window. Though his eye scanned the stunning Lake Michigan view, his attention was riveted on the actions within the room.
"Second coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/."
"Third coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/"
"Fourth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/"
This was too easy. They would have a full report in no time.
"Fifth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/"
"Sixth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/"
"Seventh coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/Travel_and_Transportation/"
"Eighth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/Travel_and_Transportation/Local Guides/"
There was a long pause. "They're not moving. Do we still have a connection?" Bull-Neck barked.
"Affirmative." Square-Jaw leaned in as he held the headphones to his ears. "No break."
Fair-Hair signaled to Armani, who was leaning contemplatively against the patterned walls, cleaning his fingernails with his gold card. He snapped to and leaned back into the terminal beside Bull-Neck.
"Wait," he roused. "There's movement. They seem to be backtracking." His pinkie ring flashed as he pointed a manicured finger toward the screen.
"Yeah, here it comes," Bull-Neck affirmed. "Ninth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/"
"Tenth coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/Community/"
"Eleventh coordinate:
http://dir.yahoo.com/Regional/U_S_States/Illinois/Metropolitan_Areas/Chicago_Metro/Community/History."
Square-Jaw winced and pulled the 'phones from his head. "What's that?! I think we're cut off."
Bull-Neck nodded, exasperated. "We lost 'em."
An intercom beeped. Fair-Hair hit the button.
"Gentlemen," the voice intoned. "What have you got for me?"
********
"This lousy piece of crap," Faye hollered, banging the table. "It crashed. Worthless pile a' shit! This always happens during peak hours. Drives me f---ing crazy!"
"Well, maybe if you didn't steal all your equipment, this wouldn't happen," Holly interjected sanctimoniously.
"I didn't steal it," Faye wailed. "Others stole it for me."
"All property is theft," Christine concluded.
"Well, I say we call it a day," Holly suggested. "Your modem is mind-bogglingly slow--even when the whole system isn't crashing. It's not worth pursuing here. I'm sure Will and Laura could use some R&R, and we want our futures read. Let's retire to the kitchen and prepare some tasty comestibles--Faye, you're in charge of the menu--and then we'll settle in for a lovely night of prognostication. We can continue this search at my office tomorrow. I have a decent set-up there," she concluded, smacking Faye on the head for emphasis.
The Three moved as one to the kitchen, and began to prepare a sumptuous repast of Spicy Thai Peanut Noodles, fruit salad and generous glasses of plum wine, drunk from tumblers not unlike Will's and Laura's duck's butt glasses.
After dinner, Will pulled out his tarot cards, and an evening of high-spirited prestidigitation ensued. "Candles?" Will asked, and these were produced. "Ahh, rose-scented, my favorite. Spread them about the room, and extinguish all other lights. I must have only natural light if I am to predict the future!"
They settled in around the small rickety coffee table, leaning in to see the baroque illustrations on each of the fanciful cards. The candles occasionally gutted, throwing the room into darker shade, only to rebound with a brighter glow.
During Will's witty and highly engaging performance, Holly learned that she would soon be partaking of "dirty money and dirty love," for which she was both chided and congratulated. Faye was informed that a tall, dark handsome fellow was attempting to swoop in on a big white horse, but that she was firmly ensconsed in her garden, and would not let him in.
"And how, precisely, am I supposed to leave my 'garden' and finish my dissertation at the same time?" she asked Will tartly.
"Well, I guess you'll just be staying in your garden then. Poor fellow. He's longing for you."
Faye rolled her eyes.
Christine was told that she wanted to 'have it all,' and that a young man with light hair and light eyes would soon be entering her life--a suggestion which elicited a raucous whoop of laughter from all three of the Girls with Glasses.
"Silence!" Will shushed them. "Prestidigitators such as myself must have absolute SILENCE!"
As Laura attended to Will's predictions, she was half-amused, half-anxious. As most of their friends agreed, Will was more performer than prestidigitator. His pronouncments almost always smacked of guided suggestions. Laura often accused him of presenting the world in "Gilbert-vision"--dictating how he felt things should be rather than how they would be. But then there were times when he was eerily accurate. This typically occured when he came up with a spread he couldn't really understand. The cards, usually fruitful cues for Will's aggressive advice, refused to add up to anything he could grasp. Instead, he would begin to mutter in jagged half-phrases, highly allusive fragments that later he had trouble recalling. But Laura remembered them. Those readings made her extremely anxious, for reasons she could not name or understand.
As Will finished Christine's reading, he turned to hand the cards to Laura. She felt the old, familiar anxiety mount. She took the deck from him, and felt an electric shock run through her hand as she touched them. She looked to Will's face. It was a blank. His clear blue eyes, usually sparkling, were dull and seemed to look right past her. She uneasily took the cards from him.
"Now shuffle the cards," he ordered flatly.
Gone was his tone of high ceremony, of thrilling drama, of chatty performative charm.
"With your right hand, cut the deck in three and make three piles, moving from right to left."
Laura followed his orders, barely daring to look at his face.
Will reformed the deck into a single pile, and began to lay the cards in the familiar Celtic Cross, narrating with his usual explanation:
"This card represents you, this card covers you, this card represents what is before you, this card represents what is behind you, this card represents influences that are yet to come into play . . . ."
The words were the ones he always used, but his tone was flat, and his eyes never left the deck. A pall settled over the room, and the candles all sputtered and gutted simultaneously as he finished laying out the spread.
But then he blinked. His unseeing eyes seemed to disregard the spread before him. He pulled the central card from the spread, the Fool, and began to intone, as if from another world:
"He steps out from earth, the ground falls away, but he does not fear. He sees beyond the earth, into space. His sight is true, but it is not believed. It is not understood. He seems to be disengaged from all around him, but he is connected."
The card still in hand, Will swept aside the formation of cards on the table and set the Fool in the center. He quickly pulled another card and laid it alongside the Fool. It was the the Nine of Pentacles.
"She lives apart, surrounded but alone. She is protected but cut off. She has all she needs, and she has nothing. Her back is to the world. She does not know."
Will's hands moved quickly to the deck, swiped the first card, and slapped it facing up on the table beside the Nine of Pentacles. It was the Page of Swords.
"He longs to fight, but is alone. His sword overpowers even him. He looks to enter the fray. He cannot find the others."
Will flipped another card: the Queen of Cups. He placed it beneath the Nine of Pentacles.
"She is so full of love, but she is so alone. She faces the sea, longing for shores she's never seen. The water laps about her, but she dares not enter. Her gaze is down, fearing to see the sky."
Next, he pulled two cards, one from the top of the deck, one from the bottom. The first, the Lovers, he lay to the left of the Queen of Cups. The next, the Devil, he law athwart the Lovers.
"To be open is to be exposed. To love is lust. To trust is to betray. All things turn to their reverse. The chains of love become the chains of sorrow."
Will again pulled two cards from the deck, this time in rapid succession from the top. The first, the Nine of Swords, he lay to the right of the Queen of Cups.
"Night terrors. Sorrows pierce the darkness. Sorrows of the body, sorrows of the mind. Soundless sobbing heard only by the soul. Silent whispers, an inverted scream."
The second, the Three of Swords, he lay athwart the Queen of Cups.
"Mortal wounds tripartite. A satanic trinity, a trinity of betrayal. Heart fixed upon a pin. No blood to bleed."
Will then pulled two cards from the deck. The first he lay above the spread, to the left. It was the Tower.
"Destruction of the state without; Destruction of the state within. Crumbling edifices give way to fiery implosion. The truth will out. The guilty tumble and burn. The strong will remain."
The second card he lay to the right of the Tower. It was the Hanged Man. He laid it down, and then reversed it, inverting the image from top to bottom.
"Hanging down is hanging up. All must be reversed. The hands are tied. To surrender is to triumph."
The candles sputtered once more, and Will's eyes slid shut. Slowly, he opened them. He was afraid.
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