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About Tehuti
I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.
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My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.
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Tar! :) |
7: Wakeup Call Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.
WAKEUP CALL
THE FIRE WAS tall and it was blazing hot, curling and wrapping itself around him on all sides, hissing and undulating like a living being. He looked down at himself, wondering wildly what on Earth was going on. He was an adult now--how could this be happening again?
Damn it, he screamed in his mind, as he very rarely swore, at least in real life, this was fourteen years ago. Fourteen years ago! What am I doing here again?!
When he tried to yell he heard only laughter, and turned to see behind the wall of fire the vague, shadowy outline of a creature--no, a person--with a goat skull on its head. As he instinctively backed away the figure came closer, stepping through the fire, to stand before him; and he saw to his horror that it wasn't a man wearing a goat skull on his head, but rather some hideous monstrosity with a goat skull for a head. As the thing beckoningly held out its arms to him he heard its maniacal laughter, and himself screaming--
And the phone ringing?
Damien rolled over, rubbing his eyes as a shrill ringing cut through the air, shattering the dream. He groggily reached across and switched on the lamp while he searched for the phone with his other hand. It was one of those novelty phones, shaped like a red Lamborghini Countach--just like his own car. (It was one of the few ridiculous luxuries he allowed himself.) He picked it up and put it to his ear, running his other hand over his face as his heartbeat began to slow. "Yeah."
"Damien, I have to talk to you," his uncle's voice said. Damien stirred awake almost immediately. He'd had an idea it would be his uncle, as he was the only one he'd given his private number to recently. However, there was a serious note there he didn't like. "It's very important."
"Important enough to call at--" Damien glanced at the clock "--two in the morning?" But he knew already it must be, and more. Even with the short length of time they'd known each other he knew his uncle wasn't a frivolous person.
"This Derrick fellow you've met," Father Damien said. Of course Damien couldn't tell but he was holding up the occult symbols book and staring at the sign for Scorpio, the M with the spiked scorpion tail. He ran a finger over the symbol as if to trace it. "I believe he knows more than he's telling you."
Damien sat up all the way, rubbing the corners of his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean is his necklace. That letter on it. The M with the tail."
"Yeah, I saw it too. What about it?"
"M doesn't stand for Maria or Melissa or whatever his old girlfriend's name happened to be. That is, if he even had an old girlfriend. In fact it's not even a letter at all. It's a symbol."
An uneasiness, gnawing at him like some small rodent, grew in the back of his head. "What kind of symbol?"
"An astrological symbol." Now Damien started to get the same cold sinking feeling his uncle had gotten on seeing the sign. "It's the symbol for the sign of Scorpio."
Damien swung his legs out of the bed, facing the opposite wall and the shelf holding his Grammys. The two awards glinted at him in the dim light. "Are you telling me Derrick's with them?" he asked. "He's with Scorpio?"
"I'm not saying that," his uncle replied. Damien tried to tell himself to relax a little. His uncle wasn't jumping to conclusions so easily. "But I am saying that you should watch out, Damien. He's not all that he appears. He knows something we don't."
"Yeah, don't worry, I will," Damien said. I certainly will! "But what should we do?"
"That's not what I'm sure about. I suppose it's up to you. But, Damien--"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you do, please, think first. Will you do that for me?"
Damien smiled slightly. I guess he does know me better than I know him. "Sure, Uncle," he said. "Sure I will."
Father Damien had the feeling Damien would be thinking, thinking obsessively, and none of it would be the kind of thinking he himself would approve of. There was nothing he could do about it, however. He just sighed to himself. "Good night then, Damien. And take care."
"I will, Uncle. You too. Good night."
The phone clicked as his uncle hung up, and Damien placed the miniature Lamborghini back on its stand. He got up and went to the wall, picking up a Grammy, and then sitting back down on the bed. He traced a finger over the plaque, reading BEST POP DUO/GROUP PERFORMANCE W/ VOCALS: "SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU," RADIOACTIVE. He saw his reflection, warped and tinted gold, peer out of the miniature gramophone's horn.
"What would you do?" he asked it, then, as if irritated that it wouldn't answer, set it aside, lay back and closed his eyes and, with a sigh, eventually drifted back to sleep.
**********
Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WAKEUP CALL
THE FIRE WAS tall and it was blazing hot, curling and wrapping around Damien on all sides, hissing and undulating like a living being. He gasped and abruptly leapt back from it, throwing his arms up before his face and wondering wildly what was going on--how had he gotten here--wasn't he just somewhere else--? He racked his brain trying to remember, but he couldn't--it was as if he had always been here--and that thought frightened him almost more than the fire itself. If this was the way things had always been, then wasn't this the way they would always be?
"Why am I here again?" he yelled, at the fire, as there was no one else to yell at. "Why won't you just leave me alone?" A begging note that he would have detested on any other occasion entered his voice, and he sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around his head. "Why won't you leave me alone?"
Silly, they won't leave you alone if they think you're "special."
The voice wasn't his own, though it seemed familiar. Damien managed to drag his head up a little and peer between his arms, his visible eye wide and fearful. The wall of fire had retreated somewhat; and what's more, a figure was standing beside him. The wall of fire surrounded them and so when he tried to see who it was, all he saw was their silhouette, but it was a vague feminine form, and she appeared to be looking at him. He sensed her smiling--even though he couldn't see her face--and she down one hand to him. Still keeping one arm over his head to protect himself from the flames, his other hand snaked out to take hers. To his surprise her fingers were cool and dry, unlike his own.
"Special--?" he echoed, the roar of the flames suddenly seeming dulled.
Of course, silly. Remember? Special people, special treatment. If you were anyone else, they could just shoot you like they shot Uncle. He wasn't special to them. But this has been a special family for a long time, hasn't it? You remember this so well--you forget everything else?
"I don't want to remember," Damien whimpered, gritting his teeth.
Silly, your memories are always going to stay with you, whether you want them to or not. And as if to illustrate her words, the fire briefly faded and instead he found that they were in a large empty room. Damien dropped his arm and glanced around quickly as if to gain his bearings. He saw several doorways, and the only ones there were himself and the strange woman. He grasped her hand even tighter.
"They're gone," he said. "We can make it out now if we hurry!"
And you said you didn't remember, she replied. You spent so much time in this place, too. A sad note entered her voice. But you can't run away from it, because this was a long time ago, and it's already happened.
The flames came roaring back to life, even closer this time, and Damien yelled and leapt to his feet. He pulled the woman's hand but astonishingly, she didn't budge one inch, and he nearly fell over, her strength was so immense and unexpected. She stood like a statue, and might as well have been one, for how the fire seemed to not be affecting her at all.
"You have to run!" he shouted. "Before it gets you!"
Silly, she said yet again, still with the sad note. You can't run from something that's already over with. And the light from the flames grew brighter, and Damien at last saw who he was talking to.
His twin sister Lilu stood in the firelight, her left hand clasping his, and in her right hand she was holding a large red rose up to her chest. As soon as their eyes met she smiled, and her smile was just the way he remembered it. "I have to go now," she said, seeming almost cheerful, "and you have to face this until it's done."
"Lilu--?" Damien blurted out, then shook his head and tugged her hand. "Come on! I can't leave here without you!"
She pulled her hand free of his, again with a strength and lack of effort that he found astonishing, and shook her head. "We already made it out of here," she said, "but some part of you hasn't. Besides..." and her smile returned "...I belong elsewhere."
Damien felt dampness on his fingers, and looked down to see that they were red, even in the firelight. When he looked up at his sister again, she still smiled, but the large rose that she held was dripping blood down onto her hand and staining the clothing that she wore. He opened his mouth--he didn't even know if he planned to call to her, or to scream--when a tongue of flame lashed out at him, driving him back, and when next he tried looking she was gone. He held up his arms again and peered at the fire, tears in his eyes, only to see another vague shape within the fire itself. His heart leapt into his throat and even though it terrified him, he took a step toward the fire, cupping a hand to his mouth.
"LILU!!"
Her voice didn't reply. Instead he heard an awful, grating laughing sound, and the shape in the flames resolved itself into that of a man wearing a goat skull upon his head. He strode closer, growing clearer, until he stepped out of the flames themselves, and Damien saw now that it wasn't a man wearing a goat skull but rather some bizarre composite monstrosity with a goat skull for a head. It held out its arms to him in a beckoning gesture, still laughing hoarsely, and in one of them he saw a dripping heart.
What, did you want this back--?
Damien let out a scream, but the creature's laughter drowned him out and it was as if he had no voice at all. He screamed and screamed without effect until the monster's laughter reached a shrieking pitch and hurt his ears, growing into an insane ringing--
A telephone--?
Damien's head jerked up with a gasp and he pitched backwards so suddenly that he felt himself falling backwards into space. He let out a yelp and leaned forward, only to wince when his jaws clamped together, a jarring feeling shooting through his body. The brief sensation of vertigo left him and he opened his eyes and blinked them in confusion. He looked around. The fire was gone--in its place was his small desklamp, the bulb still burning hot near his head--and instead of a field or a huge empty room, he saw his own room, and clasped in his fingers was not his sister's hand but a pen. He looked down at the lyrics he'd penned--who knew how long ago--and barely even remembered thinking them up. It was like looking at someone else's writing, only their hand matched his own. He found this a bit unsettling, to say the least.
The ringing sound came again and again he jumped. Full realization returned and he found that he was still sitting in his chair before the window, where he'd dozed off some time ago--it was dark outside now and he could hear crickets--and his telephone was ringing. At some point the sound must have worked its way into his dream--he'd had that happen before, though never in so dramatic a fashion, and he mentally cursed himself for being so jumpy and ridiculous. He shoved the lyrics out of the way and reached out for the phone--a novelty shaped just like a miniature red Lamborghini--and picked it up, wedging it between his ear and shoulder as he tried straightening things out and getting himself together. "Hello--?"
His voice came out sharp and hoarse and he winced. "Damien?" his uncle's voice replied, and he made another face at the note of concern he heard in it. "Did I call at a bad time? Kat said you like to stay up late..."
"Kat--?" Damien blinked. "Hey, this is my private line," he suddenly said, still not fully awake.
"Yes, Kat and I exchanged numbers the other morning and she said you have a private line that you reserve for people you know so you don't get pestered. She said I should have it. Was that a mistake? I can call you back at a better time, I'm usually not even up this late myself..."
"No, no," Damien interrupted, letting out a breath as things finally started to make sense. "It's okay...I just dozed off. Actually you couldn't've called at a better time." He shuddered when he remembered Lilu holding onto the bloody rose.
"Oh. Is it the nightmares again?"
Damien blinked again. "Huh--?"
"Kat said that sometimes you wake up from nightmares and that they've been getting worse lately."
Damien ground his teeth and made an awful face. He was about to inform his uncle that he was fine, and he'd have to tell Kat to mind her own business, when Father Damien added, "It's only to be expected, of course, what with all the things you've been through, so I imagine she worries."
Damien let out another breath and sagged in his chair. "Yeah, well..." A tiny part of him was on the verge of spilling it all, not just that dream but the other, even worse, one that he sometimes had, but he forced himself to say, simply, "I was just having some trouble writing a song is all." He winced; lying to a priest for some reason felt really, really bad.
"Ah," his uncle said, not in the least sounding like he believed him, but he offered no argument like Kat would have. "Well...I do hope that gets cleared up. I'm sorry I called at such an hour..." Damien glanced toward the clock and was surprised to see that it was just past midnight "...but I thought it might be important."
"Are Ez and Harvey asleep?"
"Them? Oh, of course." Damien raised an eyebrow; his uncle sounded like he'd actually forgotten about them. "They fell asleep a long time ago; I can tell because nobody's running around upstairs. No, this is about that fellow from the restaurant, Derrick What's-His-Name."
"Grant," Damien said, and let out a snort. "So the two of you really don't know each other, huh."
"Huh...? No, should we? You don't sound surprised."
"Well, it's just that when we first met he said he'd talked with you before, but at DQ he did a 180. I didn't bring it up because I thought it might spook him." He shoved the chair back from the desk. "So--what is it? That's important enough to call after midnight?"
"He said we knew each other...?" Father Damien trailed off for a moment or two. "I was only poking at him when I asked if I'd seen him before. He must've known you'd catch that so why did he bother?" He seemed to shake this off. "In any case...this wasn't really about that, though I guess it might be related...I was going to say that I think he probably knows more than he's telling you."
Damien snorted. "No offense, Uncle, but I think anybody could've picked that up...if on the other hand you could tell me what he knows..."
"That necklace of his. You know, the M with the tail?"
Damien cut himself off. "The M? Yeah, I remember that. He nearly lost it at the river. What about it?"
"You saw how he didn't want to talk about it much..."
"Well, he said it was from an old girlfriend, so I figured it didn't go that well. They must've broken up or something. I don't know why he'd be crazy enough to keep wearing the thing..."
"M doesn't stand for a name," his uncle interrupted. "It's not even a letter at all."
Damien furrowed his brow. When is M not a letter--? he thought, but before he could ask this the voice on the other end said, "It's a symbol."
He felt a bit of uneasiness began to gnaw at the back of his mind like some small rodent. "What kind of symbol...?" he asked.
"I guess you're not into astrology," Father Damien replied, "because that's what it is. An astrological symbol. The symbol of Scorpio."
Damien turned in his chair, away from the window, as if somebody might be looking in at him and reading his lips as he spoke. "Are you telling me Derrick's with them?" he whispered hoarsely. "He's with Scorpio--?"
"I'm not saying that. Don't jump to conclusions, Dami." Damien took in a breath and let it out, making himself relax--a little. "It could always be a coincidence. But I really don't think so. At the very least, I think he knows more than he's telling you, and even if he isn't with them, you should try to watch out. He's not all that he appears. He knows something we don't, and he has a reason for showing up now of all times."
"Don't worry, I will," Damien said, running a hand back through his hair. He turned back toward the desk. "But--what do we do, then? Do we just ask him?"
"If he knows something, and he really does want to help us, then that might scare him off," Father Damien said. "So no, don't try that. And I know that it's in the very front of your mind and if it were daytime you'd be right out of there and doing it, but please don't go out and try to press him, either. Even if he slipped up once he's not stupid and he probably won't do it again. I can't control what you do...but whatever it is, please, think first. Will you do that for me?"
Damien felt a flush creep into his cheeks. I guess he really does know me better than I thought, he thought, but said, "Sure, Uncle...promise. But what about you? This was enough to keep you up this late, are you planning on something?"
"I'm not sure," Father Damien said uncertainly. "Obviously being furtive around people isn't much in my nature! I guess I'm going to have to just settle for digging around a bit on my own."
"Digging for what--?"
"Well...information on this 'Derrick Grant,' of course. If that's even who he really is. Goodness! I'm starting to sound so devious!"
Damien's mouth twitched at the note of dismay that entered his uncle's voice. "Don't worry, Uncle, you're the one who told me to be on my guard, remember?"
"Yes, well, all of this talking behind people's backs doesn't suit me that well. I hope all of this goes away soon." Damien heard a sigh. "Anyway...tomorrow I plan to start trying to look some things up, and if I can't find anything, then I'll start asking around. Somebody out there has to know who Derrick Grant is."
"You're doing this on your own--?" Damien asked.
"I suppose I can enlist Harvey and Ez to help me with the small stuff. But after that I intend to call the babysitter back. They hardly need to be involved in all of this, poor things."
"Listen, how about I stop by there tomorrow and help you out too. Then we can go out and start asking around together. Two heads are better than one, and besides, I'm getting the feeling that gossip isn't really your thing."
"Well..." He got the feeling that his uncle didn't really wish to impose on him, but could think of no argument against that line of reasoning. "All right," he finally relented, "though it isn't gossiping!" he made sure to add. "It's just...expanding our available information. There's nothing inherently wrong with that."
"Seek, and ye shall find," Damien said, and laughed as soon as he heard a protest begin on the other end. "Okay! Sorry. I couldn't help it. It's just that I think we've been hanging out together too much and I'm starting to rub off on you, Uncle."
"Too much--? No! There's no..." The priest's voice trailed off, then he said, much more quietly, "There's no such thing as too much. Just...try to get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning...all right?"
"Sure," Damien said with barely a thought, but before he could pull the phone away from his ear he thought he heard the murmured words, "Without so many nightmares this time," but when he said, "Huh...?" the other end of the line clicked and buzzed. His uncle had hung up already. Damien frowned a little, wondering if he'd heard right, before deciding that it didn't matter either way and setting the phone back in its cradle. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, shuffling the loose papers before him into some semblance of order--Kat was always chiding him on how messy he could be--and then turning off the desklamp. He made his way to his bed in the dark and flopped down on his back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before a glint of light from off to his left caught his attention. He turned his head.
Over on one of the wall shelves, the light from an approaching car was glinting off the surface of something goldish colored. Damien recognized the dim form of the Grammy Award which he used as a sort of bookend/paperweight and, as the car swept past, he even caught the faintest bit of his own reflection in its surface, as far away as it was. He silently stared at where it had been, darkness now taking its place, when another car passed and he saw the bit of warped reflection in the gramophone again, staring back at him.
"What would you do...?" he asked it under his breath; then, as if irritated that his own reflection wouldn't give him an answer, he put an arm over his eyes and let out a sigh, attempting to get back to sleep.
This item is NOT looking for literary critique. I already understand spelling/grammar, and any style choices I make are my own. Likewise, I am NOT seeking publication, so suggestions on how to make this publishable are not being sought.
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If you have any questions about the story or anything within it, feel free to ask.
I do hope you enjoy! :)
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