Chapter 104: Siren Draws the Curtain

Sun, December 13, 2074 10:15 am: Caliente Manor, Middlebourne, Pleasantview



Siren knew this man. For thirty-two years, she had known him. When he smiled like that and nothing was funny, it was not out of warmth. It was out of reluctance. Pure, unadulterated reluctance.



"Where were you last night?" It didn't do to wish him a good morning anymore. She had spent too many mornings pouring him a cup of coffee and pretending. It took every ounce of concentration that she had to fake not being able to hear him stroll through the service entrance just before dawn, so seamlessly that he might never have left home. Troy's own personal dawn was getting later everyday. One of these mornings, Siren thought, he would return so late that he would meet himself sneaking out.



"I thought that you were asleep." His smile fell. He sounded distant. Maybe he was replaying recent events beginning with the moment that he left the stark white sheets of his marital bed with its unyielding mattress and cold, dispassionate spouse. If Siren ever had any illusions about their marriage then they were lost now, leaving her with nothing but an inference that tortured her like a fact. She had imagined it a thousand times. The woman that Troy sought after laughed with ease and made it her business to charm strangers. She was loud and carelessly beautiful. Young. Siren suspected that she was twenty-one or so with little to no respect for authority figures or social mores. She was a master of some esoteric creative pursuit. She could hold her liquor. She was crass and anti-intellectual but made up for it with a natural cleverness. And this above all else-- She made men like Troy feel like shrinking violets. Either by accident or design, Troy had finally found such a woman. Siren might have thought of herself as obsolete if she could think of herself as ever having been current. "I'm sorry." Siren dismissed his apology with a shrug.



"Save it for Laurie. You were meant to be helping him study for his pre-calculus exam. As it was, I had to try to help, and you know how miserable I am at math. It was the blind leading the blind." Troy looked away, perhaps recalling the commitment that he made to their son. He had disappointed the kids on more than one occasion over the past six months, and for every time that they had been neglected, she had been abused a dozen times more. Siren knew that she ought to be angry. She ought to be livid, but she could only hurt for but so long. Now that she was finally ready to confront him, she discovered that as much as she wanted the catharsis of lashing out at him, all that she could feel was grief. The look in his eyes said that he felt it too. "We made a pact, and you broke it."

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked, and it was genuine. He could no longer meet her gaze. Siren stepped in closer, determined to get him to look at her. He would not have the luxury of hiding, not now.



"You know, I never asked you to be anything you weren't."

"Si--"

"Shut-up." Here was the bite of finality that she had learned from him long ago. She often wondered how much of her nature was a mimic of his. She wondered too how much of his nature had originated with her. Marriage had not forged the union between them, nor love, nor family. They were one from the moment they first locked eyes and perhaps further back still. If he hurt her, it only served to punish himself. "I gave you two conditions, and that was all. I wanted you to be safe, and I didn't want to know about it. You swore I never would."

She was close enough now to see hairline wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the sleep trapped between his lashes. His breath came in short spurts. It occurred to her that he was ashamed and more than that, he was terrified.



"I don't know who she is, and I don't care. I just want it to stop." That was only partially true. She did care. She cared very much. She wanted to see this woman. She wanted to look her in the eye. There was a need in Siren to realize the full scope of her own inferiority. If she could only know who the woman was, her circuit of bitterness could be complete-- from Troy, to his lover, to her inadequate self.

Troy nodded, still looking at the floor with his jaw clenched. He was too much of a coward to argue, too much of a coward to even face her. Part of her wanted to reassure him that she would eventually forgive him just as she always had. It was irrational to want that, but she did. Here was the mercurial little boy who would throw such fits of rage against their parents that the neighbors would call the cops. Here was the young man who ignored her so thoroughly that she was left feeling as substanceless as the air. Here was the slightly older young man that sure as hell had fucked her mother. Siren only ever bit her tongue and tried to forget. She did this for him because she loved him. She did this for him because she knew that deep down, he was trying his hardest to suppress thoughts and urges that were beyond his control.

There was an emotional turmoil to Troy that never died down. Even when he seemed to be happy or at peace, there was always that trace of unrest just below the surface. Siren could only guess at where this came from, and she would probably never know for certain. She suspected, though, that what he carried with him was the impetus behind any number of his sins. Troy never made mistakes or acted on impulse; he did everything with great purpose. It was what made him so culpable now as much as ever, but the pain behind his very measured existence was what made him human.



It was all so clear to her now. The rejection that she felt, she had yanked into her life with the clawing need of a hurricane separating rooftops from buildings. Troy had never wanted to be her husband, and perhaps never should have been. She knew this man. He was the catenulate sorrow that she had been dragging behind her for as long as she could remember.

December 3, 2057 9:38 am: Tellerman Farm, Middlebourne, Pleasantview (Seventeen Years earlier)



Troy closed her bedroom door slowly, peeking through the crack as though he expected to be followed.

"What on earth are you doing," Siren asked. He placed a finger to his lips, apparently listening for something. All that Siren could hear was the dull murmur of the television set downstairs and Lydia singing a nonsense song at the top of her lungs.

"They don't know that I'm here." Troy was whispering and double checking the door. Siren gave him a look. It was the sort of look that said he had finally gone off the deep end.

"So what if you're here?" Siren couldn't begin to guess at what he had done now, but she had thought his youthful misdemeanor days to be long behind him. Troy rubbed the back of his neck, and the light reflecting against his glasses changed. Siren could see the dirty smudges and fingerprints on the lenses from where she sat. It was not like him to be that untidy, particularly in a place to close to his direct line of sight as his lenses. "Has something happened to you?" Troy furrowed his brow in mild alarm.



"What? No, nothing. It's just Mom. She tried to talk me down at dinner last night. You know how she is. It's like she has telekinesis sometimes. She just knew I would pull something like this." Siren tilted her head back. It was also not like Troy to fumble so much with his words. Then it dawned on her that she remembered the bright yellow shirt he was wearing beneath his hoody. She'd told him that it made him look like one of those lemon drop candies that Isabella used to eat when they were little. That was yesterday.

"Troy, have you been to bed at all?" His eyes widened as though he were caught off-guard by the question. He shook his head and swallowed.

"I didn't make it home last night. But before you say anything, well, don't say anything." Troy sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, his back hunched. He cradled the back of his head with his hands. He looked so small. Siren had to curtail the desire to tip him onto the bed, take his shoes and fold the blankets around his frame. She placed her hand on his knee, and he raised his head, startled. "You can't marry him." His voice was shaking. Siren did not know what she thought that he would say, but it was not that. A sudden wave of adrenaline made her gasp and let go of him.

His reaction to the engagement announcement had been politely congratulatory, placid even. She did not have the time to scrutinize it then. After the toast was made, the entire family swept her and J.L. up in their arms. Jan cried like a baby. Lydia was doing some sort of a celebratory dance with Adelaide. Terry and Remmington shook hands and laughed together like old friends. Her mother and Dina were already making wedding arrangements, while Don was slapping J.L. on the back and doling out unsolicited relationship advice. She did not even notice when Troy disappeared, cat-like into the night.

"Don't." She did not know where this plea came from, but the conviction of it seemed to resonate throughout her body, dispersing into the space around them. Troy took her by the hand. He leaned over and sighed into her hair.



"You'll hate each other before the end," he said. Siren shuddered. There were things about J.L. that she could not suffer, but only Troy knew this for certain. It had taken her three days to accept his proposal, and all the while she imagined herself listening to his self-aggrandizing stories at every meal for the rest of her life. Siren had to walk on egg shells when she had even the most banal of conversations with J.L. Anything that she said could be magnified or taken out of context. The tantrums and silences that followed from him repulsed her so badly that whenever he touched her, all that she could see was his bloodshot glower. He was only ever a victim, only ever right. He dominated every discussion because only his perspective mattered. He was a good, patient and loving father, but that was due to the fact that he saw Lydia solely as an extension of himself.

"It isn't about me, Troy. Listen, this family is not what it was five years ago. Aunt Dina has forced us all kicking and screaming into her world because it was best for your father's career. I don't think any of us regret it, but there you go. We're playing by their rules now. My daughter can't be someone's illegitimate child."

Troy linked his hands behind her back. The fabric of his hoody was cold, even through her clothing. She wondered if he had spent the night in his car, or if he had wandered the streets like he used to so many years ago. He fretted over her so.

"I would never let anyone mistreat her. You know that," he murmured. He was drifting off to sleep on her shoulder. Siren stroked his hair. It was curly and wild on its own but he kept it gelled as close to his scalp as he could manage.

"Even so. People talk," she said.

"Let them. We're stronger than that. You don't have to do this." His chest rose and fell. Siren supposed that it was a poorly suppressed yawn. She pulled him closer, and he adjusted his position until she was enfolded completely. There wasn't much that she wanted from the universe. She never had Troy's ambition, or her mother's passionate theatrics, or Terry's staunch determination. She only wanted two things, and the first was for her daughter to grow-up safe, surrounded by the people who loved her. The second was a fantasy.

Troy pushed away from her then. His eyes were so tragic that she had to turn away. If he were more awake and alert, he would have never allowed her to see him so unguarded.

"You know, I'm not settling for him. If I can make Lydia happy, then I can be happy." Siren fidgeted with her skirt in her lap, and Troy clasped her hands in his to still her movements. "Oh god, you should have been her father," she choked. Crying in front of him only ever made her feel infantile and absurd, a left over emotion from the days when he would crush her to his chest until a curtain was drawn against the light of the world and only the two of them remained. If he was shocked by her outburst, he gave no sign. He wiped her tears with his fingertips.

"I might still be," he said.

Chapter 102: Sabina Leaves No Trace

Sat, December 12, 2074 11:14 pm: Dewilliker Preparatory Academy, Rawling Hills, Pleasantview



This shallow bank of snow, pock-marked with browning weeds and twigs was the last thing that Sabina Pleasant would ever see. Fog rolled over the hillside, erasing the distance. She dug her naked heels into the raw earth beneath the snow. This was not waiting. This was the quietus, cold and unending. This was where her wants came to die and her along with them.



When she considered it, her entire life had been spent in want-- just one circuitous desire after desire carouseling up and down, decadent and glittering. Even now, she wanted. No matter how hard she tried to divorce herself from her frozen body, the world never eased from view. She wanted death to come like a desperate lover, clawing her free from her shell in search of some deeper intimacy. She wanted to emerge from that shell beloved, exalted. She wanted to be found in the morning propped up against the gate with her snowbound hair tangled around the iron bars. She wanted her death to be a message that only Troy could read.



Troy would mourn with the heart of a reluctant murderer. For him, she predicted wailing and gnashing of teeth. He would break from the silence that so often accompanied his suffering. Then Sabina would come to him, cloaked in light. He would feel her even and most especially when he was alone, when he was weak, when his bullshit veneer began to fracture. He would know how she loved him, and he would take comfort in that. Then someday, death would enfold them both in his immaculate wings, and there would be nothing left to drive them apart.



Footsteps in the snow stop just behind her back. A figure falls to its knees as though collapsing beneath the weight of some insurmountable burden. His hands warm her back through her thick hair, underscoring how cold she truly was.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice cracked from lack of use. With some effort, she pushed herself onto her knees, grabbing the gate for balance though she found that she could not fully close her fingers.

Those black eyes peered at her through the bars, a window into the chasm. Troy also wanted and wanted, so much so that there was nothing to him but the wanting. How she could have ever expected someone like Troy Tellerman-Caliente to give and not withhold, she did not know.



"I heard you calling me," he said. And the fog lifted as though pierced by the rays of an unborn sun. There would be no shelter for Sabina here, nothing to stand between her and the exposed midnight.

"You think I'm a stupid, melodramatic kid for being out here like this." Troy cupped her chin in his hand, brushing her lips with his thumb.

"No," he said. "If I lived above this fence, I would be sitting right where you are. I'm rather fond of this fence." He'd meant it to be solemn, she knew, but it came out so silly that they both laughed. Troy rested his forehead against hers, and everything went still.



Tonight's visit was his admission. It was his oath. It was the I love you that she would never hear. In the morning, only the imprint of his body in the snow would remain, and she would eventually lose that too. Strong winds were coming. They would leave no trace.

Chapter 87: Macaulay Makes An Exchange

Weds December 9, 2074, 6:39 pm: Caliente Manor-- Middlebourne, Pleasantview

Laurie entered the sitting room in much the same way that he entered any room-- Obtrusively. The brass doorknob punched the wall with a deafening crack upon the initial swing inward, then slammed shut behind him with equal gusto. Macaulay braced himself to be toppled over as Laurie launched his body at the chair like a walrus being pitched from a diving board. The impact took Macaulay's breath away.



"Slowest arrival ever! Your Aunt Donna must drive like she's 90." Laurie locked his knees around Macaulay's waist, rocking him from side to side as he teetered. Macaulay winced. There was an ache in his chest that was too weak to be pain but too uncomfortable not to be pain. He wedged a hand between himself and the grinning typhoon of a boy on top of him.

"I think you broke a rib," Macaulay said.

"Only one? I was aiming for the whole set." Laurie lifted Macaulay's shirt out of his pants and peered underneath to inspect his work. Macaulay laughed, tugging his shirt down. There was something very alien about the feeling of his skin being exposed in someone else’s house.

"Would you get out of there?" Laurie placed a hand over Macaulay's heart, pressing him against the chair.

"No way, I have to make sure your rib is truly broken before we call the paramedics. Which one was it? Was it this one?" Laurie ran his fingers over the crest of an individual rib, knowing just how ticklish Macaulay was. Macaulay laughed and tried to twist away with limited success. "Or was it this one?" Laurie repeated the experiment on a lower rung.



Macaulay lifted his back in an attempt to distract Laurie with a kiss but fell several inches short of his mark and flopped back onto the cushion. Laurie snickered. His eyes seemed to say that he knew what Macaulay was up to. He removed his hand from inside of Macaulay's shirt, and brushed Macaulay’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Macaulay closed his eyes. He thought sadly that he had waited too long to tell Laurie how he felt. Each day brought them closer to separation. He should have held him when they were both coughing up pond water and shivering more out of nervousness than cold.

"You're lucky you're so good looking or I'd have tickled you to death just for kicks. It would be such a waste to murder the cutest guy in Pleasantview for no good reason." There was a certain amount of sincerity in his voice but all that Macaulay could do was laugh. He thought that only Lavinia had ever shared Laurie's opinion about his looks. Even his sister called him a "blue-eyed chimp with a head like a grapefruit".

"There's a ton of better looking guys than me," he asserted.

"Name one." Macaulay fidgeted with the kite-shaped knot in Laurie’s tie. It seemed cheesy to say that he rarely noticed anyone apart from Laurie himself, however true.

"Well, Ian, for a start." That was honest enough. Laurie scrunched up his features in mild distaste.

"You think Ian is handsome?" Macaulay did not respond but his bashful smile must have spoken volumes. Laurie appeared to be lost in his own appraisal just before he recalled in horror, "Ian gave you mouth-to-mouth!" Macaulay's smile widened. He had not forgotten. Laurie resumed his tickling assault through Macaulay's clothing. "You are in so much trouble!"



The door opened. It happened just slowly enough that Laurie managed to climb down off of his perch and Macaulay righted himself in the chair before the entire form of Laurie’s father came into view. Maybe Mr. Caliente had not witnessed the tell-tale physicality of the scene but he had probably noticed them shifting their posture during the instant that the door was cracked wide enough to see only sections of their bodies in motion. For a moment, Mr. Caliente looked perplexed.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Good evening, Mr. Caliente.” Their greetings overlapped, both sheepish mumbling. Laurie offered his father a valiant smile and Macaulay followed suit.



Mr. Caliente unnerved Macaulay under most circumstances. He had a presence that was so big it could blot out the sun and if you were unfortunate enough not to guess his movements before he made them, you might find yourself trampled underfoot. Macaulay was very familiar with the looming overhang of Mr. Caliente's sole and the deep shadow that it cast.

"I got a phone call earlier today from the Board of Trustees at Pleasantview Youth Boarding. They want to rededicate the school in honor of your Grampa Terry."

"That's great news, Dad." Laurie remained chipper and finally, the colossus allowed himself to smile.



It was earnest, even happy. He looked like Laurie. Macaulay tried to commit this image of Troy to memory, in case he ever needed to depend on it for support if they came into conflict.

"Don't stay down here too long. You boys are meant to be doing your homework."

"We won't." Mr. Caliente excused himself without another word. Laurie leaned into Macaulay until their shoulders butted.



"So," Laurie paused as if to gather his thoughts. "Did you bring it?" It took Macaulay a second to remember just what Laurie was referring to. When the realization struck him, he began rooting around in his pockets, astonished that he could have forgotten. His ascot was crumpled and clinging to the lining of his pocket. Once he had a hold of it, he yanked it out with one motion. He handed it to Laurie, who rested it gently on his upturned palm. Laurie gave Macaulay his ascot in exchange. The two of them spent a time examining the ties. Laurie's was off-white and speckled with little orange stains.

"Do we have to wear them or can we just carry them on our person somewhere?" Macaulay had to ask. Laurie sucked his teeth.

"You should wear it sometimes but the more important thing is that you live with it. That's the whole point. I want to have something that you took everywhere with you and that you did everything with. I want it to smell like you by the time I get it back." That prompted Macaulay to bury his nose in the ascot and indeed, it did smell like Laurie's soap.

"What do I tell my grandmother when she asks why I'm wearing a dirty tie?" Laurie shrugged at the question.

"Tell her that you're borrowing it from your boyfriend because it reminds you of him, and that he eats curries. A lot of curries." Macaulay laughed.

"I think I will tell her that." Macaulay folded the ascot into quarters and held it in his fist. It seemed too sacred a thing to be stuffed in his pocket like his own tie. "I'm going to miss you so much." Laurie leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek.

"So what's the story behind this one?" Laurie smoothed Macaulay's ascot out on his thigh.

"What makes you think there's a story?"

"The stitching has green stuff on it." Macaulay laid his hand over Laurie's, tracing the seams.

"This is the tie I was wearing when you found me. I always know it because of the algae." The stains were faded now. Laurie must have really been looking.

"I should have thought to give you the one that I had been wearing too."

"No, it's easier to tell them apart this way." Laurie stuck the ascot in the interior pocket of his jacket. He rested his head on Macaulay's ear.

"Will you really tell your grandmother about me?" Macaulay warmed at the thought. He climbed onto Laurie's lap and draped his arms over his shoulders.



"Are you kidding? I'm going to tell everyone that I meet about you-- My family, my classmates, random strangers on the train. I'm going stand on street corners in the middle of the night and yell things about you to anyone who can hear. How could I not?" Laurie's face refused to settle on an emotion. He looked pleased and alarmed, maybe even a little ashamed. Macaulay knew what he was thinking. He hadn't said a word to his parents yet. Of course, he had his reasons, the biggest one being sheer dread. He was hurt that Laurie couldn't find it within himself to stand his ground against a parental explosion, if necessary. They couldn't hide forever. Then again, his father might already know. Macaulay was disheveled enough for Mr. Caliente to have noticed.

"I love you, Cull." Laurie's voice was barely above a whisper but it had been brave of him to say it first. Macaulay laid his head on Laurie's shoulder. He resolved never to move from the spot again for as long as he lived and longer.

Chapter 72: Troy Dreads the Waking

Thurs, December 3, 2074 12:10 am: Capp Suites- Camden, Pleasantview

There was something wrong with him. Something deeply, psychologically amiss. Why else would he be lying on a hotel bed, his head still buzzing with post-coital bliss, Sabina’s hand trailing up his arm? What time was it? Shit. Three hours had elapsed since he left the house to take Enoch and Macaulay home. What would he say when he got in? Car trouble? Siren wouldn’t believe that. He would have called if that had been the case. In any event, car trouble was not an affliction that Troy ever suffered from. He took better care of his cars than he did his children. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Shit! What would he say?

Sabina rolled onto her side, yawning. Her tussled hair fell into her face and she made no attempt to brush it aside. Troy allowed his gaze to slip downwards over her small breasts and across her ribcage as her chest compressed with each tiny intake of breath. She was beautiful in the way that a fawn is beautiful. She had the same delicacy. The same elusiveness. He had held her. He had felt her shivering beneath him but she was not his, not in any concrete way. Once a certain amount of trust is engendered, a fawn might eat from your hand but that act alone would not make the fawn yours, would it?

Sabina laid her head against the pillow, smiling contentedly. Just watching her move arrested him. She could do anything or nothing at all. He knew-- He knew that what brought him here time and time again was no more than a lack of self-control, a general disregard for Sabina’s feelings and a blasé attitude towards his marriage. He knew that he was only there because he was a bastard. Yet, there were moments where he might have sworn that there was more to it, as absurd as that sounded. But Sabina was just a kid. Troy found his underwear beneath the covers and pulled them on. He had to go home. Tossing the sheets aside, he sat up.



“You okay to get back to the Academy?” He could have phrased that better. He could have brazenly offered to drive her himself.

“I’m fine. Are you leaving now? You always leave too soon.” Troy slid to the edge of the bed, deigning not to respond. His undershirt was drenched with sweat and the scent of her lotion. Her taste lingered in his mouth. There was no alibi in the universe that would explain away the evidence. He decided that he wouldn’t lie to Siren but that he wouldn’t tell the truth either. He had been out. That was all.

Sabina wrapped her arms around his waist when he attempted to stand and planted her chin on his shoulder. Being near her put him at ease with the world and at odds with himself. He was thrilled. He was revolted. He had to go home. Her lips brushed his jaw line. Her cold nose was pressed against his cheek.

“I love you, Your Honor,” she said. Troy’s throat constricted. He couldn’t decide whether the declaration had been weird or marvelous or both or neither. He wrung his fingers unconsciously. No person, no situation ever made him anxious but this woman—this girl—terrified him. “I love you and I think you love me too.”

Troy closed his eyes and exhaled. He lifted her arms gently from his body and stood up. Sabina inched over to where Troy had been sitting. As irrational as it was, he thought that he could feel her disappointment washing through him. Maybe if she hated him, they would both be better off.



“Troy, you have to talk to me.” He stopped what he was doing.

“What do you want me to say?” Sabina clasped her hands between her knees. She looked so young. “What could I possibly say?”

“Tell me what happens next.” Troy ran his hand through his short hair, clawing aggressively at his own scalp.



“I go home and fall asleep next to my wife. That’s what happens next,” he spat.

“You know what I mean.”

“Let’s not complicate things, Sabina.”

“Complicate things? You can’t be fucking serious.”

“We shouldn’t even be here right now.”

“So what's your point? We are here and I don’t regret being here. Should I? Do you?” Troy swallowed hard. Truth be told, he did not regret it, not a moment of it. He had reached the point in his dream where he dreaded waking. That was all.



“I regret it for your sake,” he murmured. Troy started to reach for his shirt when she jumped up, holding him from behind.

"You know what I think?" Sabina hooked her thumb into the shoulder of his undershirt and pulled him backwards against her chest. "I think that Troy Tellerman-Caliente has never regretted anything a day in his life. I think that a big part of the reason why we keep ending up here is because you want to know just what it feels like to royally fuck something up, to feel that much more human." Troy twisted out of her grasp, reaching down to pick-up his sweater.

“Don’t contact me,” he said. “I won’t try to contact you and we will not be seeing one another often under other circumstances.” He pulled his sweater over his head. “Siren and I are unenrolling the boys from the Academy.” He found his wallet and the remainder of his clothing beneath the bed. Even knowing that this was potentially the last thing that he would say to her for a very long time, he allowed the silence to hang between them, interrupted only by the sound of the door closing as he left.

Chapter 67: Troy Walks A Road Paved With Pedestrians

Tues, December 1, 2074 4:02 am- Caliente Manor; Middlebourne, Pleasantview

When Troy was in his late teens, his mother signed him up for figure drawing courses in a somewhat misguided attempt to foster his development as a well-rounded individual. Although he had initially been resistant to the idea, he soon found an appreciation for the organized system that was the human anatomy. The average person is seven heads tall. In one point perspective, the eyes are located half way down the head. The tip of the nose is half way between the eyes and the chin. The opening of the mouth, half way between the nose and the chin. The eyes are separated by the space of one eye. The corners of the mouth line up directly with the centers of the pupils. Troy could drop a line, bisect a torso and plot its symmetry.

One evening as he was packing his toolbox, his instructor pulled him aside. You've an excellent grasp of the mechanics of drawing, Mr. Tellerman she said. Your compositions are dynamic. Your line quality is superb. Your sense of scale and proportion, meticulous. But I am afraid that your work is almost clinical in its objectivity. You see an arm and indeed, you draw an arm.



Thirty years later, Troy still scrutinized everything from a standpoint that was "clinical in its objectivity" but was only just now starting to understand the formulaic sterility that it produced. Was he really so tedious as to arrange his ties by color and stick to a skin care regimen and monitor his calorie intake and filter the water that he bathed in? Was he really so hardwired to evaluate himself by what he owned that when considering the blandness of his lifestyle, his consumer habits were first to come to mind? Or is asking that question too self-aware? Is it a bad thing to be self-aware? Is that how he got to this point? Is self-awareness a road paved with pedestrians?

Siren curled her knees up to her chest and exhaled audibly. Troy rubbed her back with the flat of his hand the way he had when she was a little girl, so terrified of the dark that she would hiccup herself to sleep. Nowadays, it was Troy who lay awake.



When he could sleep, he no longer dreamed. It was what he imagined death to be like-- Just a perfect and empty state of not being. What was cleaner, more organized, more symmetrical and unified than that? And yet, for a man with absolutely no imagination or intuition, he desperately missed dreaming. In his dreams, nothing had a predictable statistical outcome. His dreams were absurd and contradictory and farcical and ugly. And yet, they were all the more concrete for it.

Reality was artifice. Reality was a finite thing that could be measured by the depth of his wallet and the length of cock. That was reality. His dreams had no respect for size or dimension.



No, that wasn’t entirely true. He did have his wife. He did have the kids. He collapsed down onto his back and Siren nuzzled up to his neck. She kissed him lightly where his jaw line and his throat met. Unlike everything else in Troy’s life, there wasn't an ornamental or frivolous thing about her. And he yet he still treated her with less care than he did his fucking suits.

Chapter 64: Phoenix Is A Peculiar Philosopher

Mon November 30, 2074 1:33 pm- Lothario Hall, Rawling Hills, Pleasantview



Dina crossed and uncrossed her legs, her expression going increasingly sour. Phoenix tried to focus on something other than bristle of her skirt lining as it glided across her stockinged thighs, supposing that there was a special circle of hell reserved just for men who had the odd thought about women related to them by marriage. He cast his eyes to the ceiling. To the floor. To Troy’s polished loafers. At length, Dina broke her silence though it seemed to pain her to do so.

“You’re dreadfully tedious boys and I never liked either one of you,” she said.

Troy leaned forward on the sofa and Dina’s posture relaxed. It was extraordinary the way people responded to his every gesture as though lured in by bait on invisible wires. Not even Dina was immune to Troy’s mysterious powers of influence.



“I have here seated beside me the very honorable young man that you yourself have hired to advise you on your finances. He has combed through your personal income and expenditures, your portfolio of assets and even your company’s financial forecasts. He has provided you with his professional analysis of these documents and prescribed a budget that will keep your head above water. You are in trouble, Deen. And though it may be a bitter pill to swallow, I am strongly recommending that you take his advice.” Troy’s rapid speech was punctuated by a gentle click of his tongue, just as a machine might register a task with an auditory cue. Dina scoffed, plunking back into the chair.



“Are these billable hours, Mr. Caliente?” she sighed. Troy narrowed his eyes, poised for defense.

“Of course they aren't.”

“Then you’re not here as my solicitor. You’re here as my nephew. And as my nephew, I am disinclined to take your recommendation, however articulate," Dina drawled. Troy drummed his slender fingers on the armrest.

“I could of course send you a bill if that’s what it takes to make you see reason."

“Troy, don’t you have a skirt to lift?”



There was a knock at the door. Phoenix was grateful for the interruption, having long since learned to keep out of Dina and Troy's squabbles. Even now, the two of them made him feel as superfluous to their conversations as an intruding child. Dina turned to the door, exasperation etched into the creases between her brow.

"Come in!"



Dina's Townie maid kicked the rug from under the jamb with little ceremony and wiped her free hand on the wall to clean it of some unseen substance. She was a witless-looking creature with simultaneously deep and bulging eyes. Francesca drooled onto the breast of her apron, leaving little plumes of baby spit all over her front.

"Dr. and Mrs. Hadit Davenport here to see you, ma'am," the maid announced, patting the baby somewhat forcefully on the rear. Dina leapt from her seat, her expression transfigured from tart to delighted.

"Haddie!" An older fae man stepped into the room at the sound of his name. He clasped Dina's waist and kissed her on either cheek, mumbling Phoenix knew not what while Dina tilted her head up to listen. There was something uncanny about Dina prancing and giggling, her dour severity lost in a sea of smiles. Troy tapped Phoenix on the arm.



"We'll continue this conversation later," Troy said under his breath.

"How have you been, my girl? You are keeping well, yes?" Hadit trilled, stroking Dina's cheek.

"Oh absolutely not. This past month has been dreadful but I am happy to see you. This is my grandson, Phoenix Goth. He's Cassandra's eldest. And Troy you know," Dina said, guiding Hadit to where Phoenix sat with a gentle tug of his sleeve.

Phoenix offered his hand for the fae to shake and their palms clasped, Hadit said airily, "Your mother was the smartest woman I ever knew. Never do I have a problem but I think, 'Ah, Sandy would know how to fix it.'"

Phoenix's stomach lurched. Unnerved, he retracted his hand slowly, his stare fixed on the supernatural green of Hadit's eyes.

"I never knew my mother," he said.



"Please Haddie, have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?" Dina's face was so close that Phoenix half expected her to kiss him again. Hadit turned and pinched the tip of her nose, making Phoenix's skin prickle. To see a man look so fondly on Dina was to see Don's corpse exhumed and parading around like some kind of pointy-eared escape artist.

"First, I introduce you to my consort. She was behind me one second ago. Nephele! She must be playing with your little granddaughter." Dina hit Hadit playfully on the arm.

"You old rake! Why didn't you tell me that you married?"

"Well, it was sudden decision so I tell you now." The hard clacking of a pair of high heels turned everyone's attention to the door. Phoenix was not sure about what he expected to see emerging from the hallway just then but whatever he had expected, it was not this.



Hadit's wife was so beautiful that Phoenix scarcely knew how he would be able to think on anything else ever again. He traced the swell of her ample hips as she passed by. And though he could not claim to have had the inclination before, Phoenix's thoughts raced with the possibility of spending a few weeks on the shining riverbanks of Veronaville.



"I introduce to you my consort, Nephele Capp-Davenport. She is recent graduate of Royal Academy of Theological Sciences. Summa cum laude in cursu honorum." Dina cocked her head to the side, her gaze traveling ambivalently downward. Phoenix braced himself for one of her backhanded compliments or strained pleasantries. But instead, Dina merely extended her hand to the girl.

"Dina Goth-Lothario. It is a pleasure to meet you, Nephele. And what cursu honorum did you study in school?"

"Ontological Inquiry. Discourses into the nature of existence. It is nice to meet you also. Hadit speaks very highly of you."

"Yes, well Hadit likes his women conventionally pretty and frigid to the point of inertia."

Phoenix could not see her face from where he was seated but Nephele's tone did not betray the least offense when she responded, "Does he indeed, Mrs. Lothario?"

Troy stood at this point, discreetly pulling Phoenix's jacket while he did so. Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward and childish in the sway of his gangling body. Part of him wanted to mutter a few poorly constructed excuses and run from the room rather than having to converse with a woman so intimidating. But Nephele, in a flutter of hair and gold brocade, turned her attention directly past Phoenix. As if sensing the alpha male in the room, she extended her hand to Troy.



"Nephele Imine Kent Capp-Davenport. Et ihora?" Troy took her hand and kissed it.

"Troy Tellerman-Caliente. Tsu hem Ashkay non-ir shün mah."

Phoenix hadn't understood a word of it beyond the name but Dina evidently had. She rolled her eyes and droned, "Don't let him fool you. His Ashkay is fluent."

Nephele smiled prettily at him, tilting her head upward in a gesture that gave Phoenix the full view of her long neck. He wondered how accomplished, how witty, how handsome or rich or simply lucky a man would have to be for the opportunity to run his lips down the cool length of her throat.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Caliente. We met with your brother earlier today. He was very charming."

"Not the word that I would use to describe J.L. but thank you just the same."



"Troy, if you're done cradling my guest's hand, I should like to introduce her to Phoenix so that we can all sit." Troy dropped Nephele's fingers as though they had been on fire.

"Of course. My apologies, Dina."

"Good. Phoenix Goth, Nephele Davenport. Hadit, if you would." Dina swept her skirt taut and gave Hadit her arm. Clasping her by the elbow, he helped her into her seat. Dina lowered her body slowly, age having made her brittle.

"There is nothing I would not do for such a pretty and inert girl."

"Be careful. I don't know what your wedding vows were but I'm liable to help you break them."



Watching her pull her hair from her neck, Phoenix briefly considered whether he should help Nephele into her chair. But the action would seem to imply something about feminine weakness and in any case, the moment passed while Phoenix pondered.

"So what brings you to Pleasantview? Vacationing amongst the salt of the earth?" Troy sat with his arm propped jauntily along the backrest. Hadit shook his head.

"Oh goodness, no. We're here on business." At the sound of Dina's second favorite word, her joyful little smile returned.

"Really? What sort of business?"

"Ethanol! I am thinking about expanding into the production of natural gases."

"And why would a conservative old codger like you want make ethanol of all things?"

"I do anything where I see simoleon signs. Riverblossom does not yet have the corner on this market."



"That's because the production costs outweigh the profits. No one buys alternative fuels in this part of the world," Dina said, waving her hand dismissively. Hadit leaned in towards her.

"They would if cars with flex-fuel engines were more... What is the word I want here? Ah, sportier. But I make a digression. This ethanol would mainly be for export to some smaller countries." Dina snorted in disbelief.

"I wish I had your balls," she said. Hadit's eyebrows rose.

"Why settle for the wishing?"

"I didn't mean that literally."



Hadit smiled wickedly as though his English were not the problem and Dina shook her head. Racked with unfortunate mental images, Phoenix involuntarily cleared his throat. Hadit turned and parted his mouth to speak but was cut-off before he began.

"In my culture, Mr. Caliente, a man does not stare at a woman so," Nephele scolded.



Phoenix shot a cursory glance in Troy's direction. He was blinking innocently and shifting his weight to correct a posture that had grown too relaxed.

"Is there a particular way that you would prefer me to stare at you?" His voice was placid but the midnight blue of his eyes threatened danger. It occurred to Phoenix that maybe he was missing something from this conversation.

"Not at all, if you would. I am a wife and a daughter. Maybe someday a mother. These are sacred offices, you understand. And as such, our men show a certain amount of deference. On what side of your family are you fae, Mr. Caliente?"

Phoenix's head snapped in Troy's direction. He had been acquainted with Troy from early childhood and never had this detail of his ancestry come up. Troy eased back into the chair and crossed his legs at the ankle.

"On my father's side. His great-great-grandfather was a Davenport, incidentally."



Nephele clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Well... Even so far removed, certain rudimentary practices should have been passed on to you. Did you at least receive magical instruction growing up?" Troy's eyes widened in derision.

"Oh absolutely not. My father could hardly be bothered to teach me softball, let alone whatever it is you people get up to," he said. Nephele knitted her brow and pressed her lips nearly into a pout.

"Well that is a shame. Your magic is your birthright, Mr. Caliente."



Phoenix thought to cut into the conversation here but could not imagine what he would say. Dina smirked in a sinister, Dina-like way and Phoenix could feel the sharp prongs of her personal amusement aching to lead the conversation into more treacherous territory.

"You have to understand, my dear. Troy is a skeptic and a heathen," Dina chimed. Troy shook his head.

"I think the word you're looking for, Dina, is atheist," he said.

"Oh?" Nephele's expression contorted into one of naive curiosity. Phoenix noted her eyes which were brightly colored but fully human in their construction. They drank Troy in with a wonderment usually reserved for children watching circus animals preform tricks. Troy smiled uncomfortably.



"And now Mrs. Davenport, it is my turn to ask you not to look at me that way," he said. Nephele did not break her stare.

"I've never met an atheist before," she said. Troy shrugged in response and Nephele plowed on. "Why are we here if there is no God?"

"It is an irrational jump to look at the world around you and assume that there is a why."

"Then how do you explain the fact that we exist at all?"

"Happenstance."

"Don't you find that to be an unsatisfying answer?"



"On the contrary. If I placed a tooth under my pillow tonight and found a simoleon there in the morning and you told me that a fairy who collects teeth left the money, that would be an unsatisfying answer. There is no knowledge to be had of fairies so your explanation is no information at all. On the other hand, if you told me that my wife took the tooth and switched it for the cash, that would be satisfying. Puzzling and a little intriguing but still satisfying. There is plenty of knowledge to be had about my wife and based upon that knowledge, I can deduce that it is possible though rather improbable that she would exchange my tooth with money. First we determine that a) a switch was made and that my wife exists, then b) that she made the switch. Only then can we c) ask why there was a switch at all. There are far too many assumptions being made when you start off with a why."



"And fae magic?"

"Psychokinetic abilities that result from a genetic mutation. Faes are evolutionary anomalies, Mrs. Davenport."

"And Proximus Deus?"

"Partlings like you and me, shrouded in myth and superstition."

"Troy, this conversation is getting to be rather inflammatory and insulting," Dina interjected. There was something about the look on her face that told Phoenix she was more entertained than insulted. Nephele shook her head, never daring to glance away from Troy.



"I'm not insulted. I find you interesting as a specimen and symptomatic of our increasingly secular society but I think that my faith would have to be shaken on some basic level for me to feel insulted." Troy gave her a stiff smirk.

"That was never my goal, Mrs. Davenport. Only telling you what I know and only because you asked."



Phoenix, who had all the while felt like an outside observer to the proceedings, must have done something to draw attention to himself because Nephele turned her entire body towards him, clasping her hands in her lap.

"And what do you think, Mr. Goth, as a human brought up to lead a purely secular existence?"



Phoenix almost choked. In all of his twenty-one years, never had anyone asked him such a question.

"Well I- I'm an accountant, Mrs. Davenport. All I know is numbers. I- Well I did have religious studies in school but I was about a straight C student so I can't claim to know anything about anything. I sort of vaguely remember being taught something about simultaneity and infinity that made perfect sense to me at the time and seemed to explain things but I really don't know. Now I just tell my kids that if infinity is a mathematical certitude, then we have to accept that every ascertainable truth is true for all values of 'true', that every possible occurrence will happen once."



"So if there is a God, there both wasn't and won't be?"

"I don't know. I guess it depends on how you define possibility." Nephele inclined her head towards him.

"Being an accountant makes you an peculiar sort of philosopher, Mr. Goth."



Phoenix opened his mouth and closed it again, finding only more of nothing to say.

"I have been called worse, Mrs. Davenport."