Blackwater Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  Ray thanked him.

  Denny’s face grew serious. “You doing anything right now? You want to have a coffee or something? Or a drink? It will only take me about fifteen minutes to get out of here. And we could talk about the other stuff.”

  “I wish I could.” He did, in fact, but his head ached from all the fruitless digging and the lack of sleep. “But I’ll stop by. In the next day or two.”

  “Absolutely. I’m here almost every day. I’m sure we’ll find your camp.”

  Ray tossed the book in the passenger seat. Shit. They’d looked at maps, local newspaper archives, and property records, and they’d searched online. Nothing he could relate to the fuzzy imagery from the dreams—the camp with its enormous barracks, the machines, the ever-present doctors, and the terrible but unknowable things that happened in the woods.

  Kevin had better get home soon. Knowing Kevin had answers was driving him nuts. And now he had another day or two to kill, knowing the answer was somewhere nearby. It wasn’t just unfair, it was torture.

  Chapter Six

  The road clung to the side of a mountain, snaking along the edge of a steep crevasse. Ray hunched forward in the seat, certain that at any moment he was going to rocket over the flimsy guardrail to his death. He wasn’t used to real darkness—there was no such thing in the city, with its grids of streetlights and always-on signs and streams of headlights. The car’s high beams sliced the blackness, insects streaking through the cones of light like sparks from a fire. Damn, there were a lot of bugs out here.

  He turned at the address marker and came to an open gate. The property was enclosed by a high iron fence. A camera on one of the columns blinked red like a curious, disembodied eye. Lily had told him to look for a gate, which he had pictured as rusty and swinging on squeaky hinges. Not a ten-foot-tall gate and camera security system.

  The Corolla rolled down the tree-lined asphalt drive and slowed as he approached the end of the driveway. A wall of bushes and grasses lined the circular turnaround at the end, and until he drove past them, he didn’t notice how they concealed a line of enormous SUVs, luxury cars, and two shiny black limousines. Ray parked in the shadows and checked himself in the mirror. At least he had shaved.

  The house was enormous and almost featureless, with a few windows on the upper floor. Lisa had studied architecture, and this looked like a home he’d see on the cover of one of her glossy magazines, all sharp lines and concrete. The lawn was immaculately landscaped, lush with spiky grasses and bright flowers. Two marble statues guarded the door, a monkey and a bull. The monkey’s teeth were bared, and the bull had its head against the ground and one hoof bent at an angle. Ray rang the doorbell. Midnight. He looked down at his jeans and hiking boots. Christ. He had worried about being overdressed.

  The door opened. Thumping bass notes rolled out.

  Lily was wearing a tight, sparkly T-shirt and a short black skirt. “I knew you’d come.” She reached for his hand and pulled him through the doorway. The air in the dark entry was thick with pungent incense. Lily hugged him, and her breasts—no bra, sweet Jesus—pressed against his chest.

  Bodies moved in the smoky room beyond, illuminated by scores of candles. The deep pounding music shook the floor.

  Lily’s pupils were enormous, almost obscuring the emerald irises. “Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand. “You’ve got some serious catching up to do, boy. Let’s get you a drink.”

  It was a far cry from the sedate gatherings he was used to, or even the booze- and pot-fueled dinner parties of Lisa’s New York friends. Lily led Ray past a fat, balding, middle-aged man lying facedown and naked in a pile of satin pillows. A heavy gold chain as thick as Ray’s thumb wrapped around the man’s thick neck and coiled on the pillow against his face. Two curvy blondes, both in pink kimonos, ran their hands up and down his oily, hairy back. He looked up at Ray, laughed gruffly, and said something—it sounded Russian—that made them both giggle.

  She pulled him through another candlelit room. Two young men with military buzz cuts sat straight-backed against the wall, faces blank, full drinks in hand. They stared empty-eyed into the distance. Hammered. Another man, naked, with a long gray beard and his face painted yellow and pink, stood in the center of the room, wrapped in gauzy red fabric, his eyes closed. He murmured to himself and swayed, lost in concentration.

  Oh, man, what have I gotten myself into now?

  Lily got them drinks and led him into a long, quieter room lined with paintings and sculptures.

  “Nice, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said. He lifted his drink to his lips. Pomegranate. And something vegetal and bitter. Tasty, though.

  She smiled at him. “We can talk here. I feel like there’s so much we need to talk about.”

  He nodded. She was sweating, lightly, and he could smell it underneath her perfume.

  “I haven’t met anyone like you in a long time. I’m sorry if that sounds weird.”

  “No, no,” he said.

  “But it’s true. You’re interesting—I knew that when I first saw you. You have a special energy about you.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “I’m serious,” she said. “I’m a very good judge of character.” Her gaze drifted from Ray and her face brightened. “There’s Crawford.” She walked over to a tall, long-haired man silhouetted in the doorway. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered something in his ear.

  A twinge of instantly shameful jealousy.

  Crawford walked across the room, his eyes catching the candlelight. “Hello, Ray,” he said, extending his hand. The nail of his little finger was longer than the others and curved. “So very nice to meet you. Lily wanted to introduce us.”

  Ray shook his hand. Cold and damp. Skin milky white, like Lily’s. His unnaturally large eyes dominated his face, and his long black hair, woven with strands of gray, hung over his shoulders.

  “Hi. Thanks for … having me.”

  “It’s a great night, Ray. A beautiful night.” His pupils were dilated, too, like hers.

  “Yes,” Lily echoed. “This is a very special night.”

  Ray nodded slowly.

  “Do you want to roll with us, Ray?” Crawford asked.

  Ray looked to Lily. “Roll?”

  “Ecstasy,” Crawford said. “A special treat for my guests. I like to make sure everyone has the best time possible at my gatherings. Keeps the tribes happy.”

  Lily nudged him. “Come on, Ray,” she said. “Have some fun. The night is young.”

  Ray hesitated. He’d taken Ecstasy once, in his last year of college, and it had been glorious—like a year’s worth of therapy rolled into one night of music, fueled by plenty of joints and a sexless but intensely sensual group massage. It hadn’t been weird or hallucinogenic for the most part, unlike his one and only LSD trip with Kevin, just warm and uplifting and fun.

  Lily had invited him, and it seemed, if he played his cards right, that he could spend the night with her. And maybe the only way he could endure the weirdness of Crawford’s Felliniesque circus would be to take the drug, let it loosen him up and take the edge off. He hadn’t done anything stronger than pot in over twenty years, but it didn’t seem like he had much choice if he wanted to have a chance of seeing what she looked like beneath that skirt and glittery top.

  Lily pouted.

  “Sure, what the fuck,” he said.

  “Good man,” Crawford said. “Don!”

  An overweight middle-aged man in a satiny black shirt appeared in the doorway.

  “Don—magic man. An E for our friend Ray.”

  Don waved his open palms in front of Ray, then his left hand darted behind Ray’s ear. When it came back into view, his fingers held a clear gelatin capsule. He waved his right hand, reached behind his back, and brought forward a glass of water.

  A magician. Ray laughed. He took the capsule and held it up. It was three-quarters full of an off-white, crystalline powder.

  “Don’t worry,”
Crawford said. “It’s as pure as it gets. The real deal. One hundred and fifty milligrams of copacetic dynamite.”

  Ray looked at Crawford, then Lily. He dropped the capsule on his tongue and washed it down with the water. The music—electronic-tinged jazz—accelerated, as if on cue. Lily started dancing, her hair swinging. In another room, someone howled.

  “Welcome to the party, Ray,” Crawford said. “Come see me later—I’d like to talk to you about a few things.”

  Lily led Ray around the enormous house. His stomach fluttered, the pre-drug anxiety that he now recalled all too well. Crawford was an art collector. Ray didn’t know a lot about art, but Lisa had taken him to plenty of galleries, and he recognized a Bosch, what might have been a Brueghel, and a definite Kandinsky. A marble statue of a satyr with an erect penis stood at the foot of the staircase, goat-hoofed, dancing, and playing a flute.

  “This is the gallery. Crawford’s collection is … well, look—come here. Touch this.” She beckoned Ray to a squiggle-covered rock tablet mounted on a Lucite stand. “Go ahead. Touch it. Guess how old it is.”

  Ray touched the stone. “Well, it looks like … I don’t know. Hieroglyphics. But older … right? Pre-Egyptian?”

  “Much older. It’s Akkadian. From Sumeria—the city of Shuruppak. You just touched one of the earliest pieces of human writing. A prayer to Ninlil, goddess of grain and the sky. Over five thousand years old.”

  “Damn,” he said.

  “And that one.” She pointed to a worn, nearly featureless, curvy piece of dark stone with a feline head. “Labartu. The ultimate bad mother.” She ran her fingers along the eroded figure. He studied her delicate face as she lost herself in the contours of the stone. “She’s my favorite.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Powerful women turn me on.” She pulled his arm. “Come on. Let’s go outside.” She said outside as if it were the most exotic place in the world.

  “Look at the stars,” Lily said. “Are you feeling it yet?”

  They had retreated to the gardens behind the house, and she was cradling Ray’s head in her lap. “God, yes.” He took a deep breath. “Jesus. I forgot about this. It’s intense.”

  “Just let it work its way through you,” she said, stroking his face. “Let it find where it needs to go.” Her fingers traced his cheekbones, then his ears. She kissed his forehead. “You’re a sweet man, Ray. And very special. I think we’d work well together.”

  Ray’s teeth clenched. The entire world was in motion, flicking back and forth, up and down. The stars in the sky were zigzagging streaks of light. His back was melting into Lily’s damp, warm legs. “What?”

  “You’re here for a reason. You know that, don’t you?” She stroked his face. “You came back because they wanted you to come back.”

  The world zipped forward and backward in sharp staccato bursts. Ray closed his eyes, but even the insides of his eyelids were zooming in and out. “I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time … I’m … I don’t understand what you’re saying. I’m fucked up.”

  She sighed. “Shhh. It’s okay.” She kissed his forehead again. “You’re fine. Just breathe. Breathe deeply. Come on.”

  He inhaled the brisk air. Exhaled. Her fingers rubbed his temples and worked their way down to his jaw. He could just lie here, staring at the swirling stars, feeling those strong fingers against his skin, massaging the contours of his bones and muscles. He followed her words and breathed deeply, in and out, until the stars stopped jumping around. Finally he exhaled and everything righted itself.

  “Come on. Let’s get up.” She shook his shoulders and pulled him to a sitting position. “You’re getting lost in your head. You need to move. Circulate that energy.” She pulled him to his feet. The world shifted and then solidified. Blood sloshed and energy pathways opened. She was right. It felt good to stand up. She put her hands on her hips. “Take off those silly boots.”

  He struggled with the laces and she helped him. His feet felt like they’d been liberated from a dank dungeon. He wiggled his toes. “Jesus. Thank you. Oh my God, that is so much better.”

  She held out her arms. “See all this? It’s a night-blooming garden. It comes alive in the moonlight.” She pulled him to a dark cluster of vines. “Smell that,” she said, closing his eyes with her fingertips and pushing his face forward into a bell-shaped white flower.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “Datura. Angel’s trumpet.” Her fingers slid through his hair like electricity. “A visionary plant.”

  He inhaled deeply. Visionary. Like you.

  She led him through the gardens, which extended far behind the house. The easy Ecstasy glow had overtaken the jittery come-on. This was the feeling he remembered—a loss of fear and an unabashed openness. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I was wigging out back there. I’m feeling more normal now. My eyes are still flicking back and forth like crazy.”

  “Nystagmus,” she said. “It happens with E.”

  “Yeah. It’s still happening, but not as much.” He breathed deeply. “This feels really, really good, Lily. Goddamn, this feels so good. Thank you. Thank you for inviting me.” His teeth squeaked as they scraped together.

  “Stop clenching,” she said, massaging Ray’s tight jaws. “It’s my pleasure, sharing this with you. He has one of the most specialized gardens in the world—there’s nothing like this anywhere else, on this scale. This much green magic.”

  Crawford. He was all she thought about.

  Her voice rose in pitch. “He trained with a brujo in Mexico, and a vegetalista in the Amazon. He learned their songs, the icaros they use to paint pictures in the air. And he trained as a chemist. He made this Ecstasy, in fact.” She danced to the distant beat from inside the house, eyes closed, swinging her arms from side to side.

  “Doesn’t he worry about … the police?”

  “He doesn’t have to worry. He has friends in all sorts of places.” Lily stopped swaying and put her hands on Ray’s shoulders. “He likes you,” she said. “I can tell. When I met you I knew you were perfect for him. For us. We could have a lot of fun together. Stuff you can’t even imagine.”

  Ray cocked his head, perplexed. Was she suggesting a threesome? “Like?”

  “He has a gift for finding people like you. He has lots of people who work for him. You should come and work with us, Ray.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean. What kind of work?” Even with the Ecstasy short-circuiting all the negativity in his brain, the thought of working for Crawford gave him the creeps.

  “Well … like manifesting things. Making things happen. Connecting people. Reshaping reality.” She closed her eyes. “The Great Work.”

  “I … I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You will. But we have plenty of time to talk about specifics. I want to have some more fun while I’m feeling this good.” She reached into a pocket inside her skirt and pulled out a glass vial. “Let’s snort some 2C-B and go swimming.” She put her arm around him and pulled.

  Ray held her arm. He was still a little unsteady. “What’s 2C-B?”

  “More fun stuff,” she said, tugging at him. “Let’s go. I feel like getting naked.” She poked him in the side. “Race you to the pool.”

  He followed her through the fragrant forest of night-blooming flowers toward the blue glow of a swimming pool, feet slapping deliciously against a pathway of cool, mossy stones.

  Lily laid out a line of the drug on a table beside the pool.

  “Ouch,” he said after he’d inhaled it. “Fuck!” His left nostril was aflame. “Shit. Shit!”

  Lily snorted a line herself. “I know,” she said, her face wrinkling. “It burns. But just wait. It’s worth it.” She grimaced, clenching her fists.

  Ray sat back against his chair. It was hard to sit up. As the pain subsided, everything around him started to sparkle and scintillate. The candles scattered around the pool exploded into brilliant gems.

  She was feelin
g it, too, her eyes widening in astonishment. “That’s nice, isn’t it? 2C-B makes everything so much more beautiful, especially on top of good E,” she said. “It’s sensual and I think it makes the world … more alive. Or allows us to see how alive it is.” She pulled off her shirt and her bare breasts shook, nipples hardening in the night air. “Crawford says it’s the ultimate aphrodisiac. It makes you want to fuck the whole world.”

  Lily pulled off her skirt and stepped out of her tiny black panties. She dove into the pool, barely breaking the surface, and swam to the opposite side. She surfaced and blew her nose loudly into her hands. “Come on. Get in. It feels great.”

  She was a blue nymph, glowing ultramarine in the pool lights. “Do you ever slow down?” Ray asked.

  She splashed him. “Never. Take your clothes off. Get naked and get in.”

  He sat up, tracers of light tracking with his eyes.

  “Get in, Ray. Come on.”

  He struggled to speak. His head was fucked up, but something deep and sober was screaming at him to stop—just stop. The ball was rolling down the hill way too fast. “I don’t know. I think I just need to sit here for a minute.”

  Buzzkill. Bzzzt.

  Lily swam to the edge of the pool. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid to take your clothes off?” The tips of her breasts hung just below the waterline. She laughed. “Ray, I’m asking you to go swimming. I’m not trying to fuck you.” She splashed him again. “Come on, get in. I promise I won’t even touch you.” She sank beneath the water.

  Ray blushed, cursing himself. He’d screw up his chances if he kept flaking out. He pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt. Lily’s slender, fishlike form rippled beneath the surface. Fuck it, he thought, dropping his jeans and shaking off his boxers.

  The water was warm. Every inch of his skin exploded with shocked pleasure. He opened his eyes beneath the surface. The bottom of the pool was tiled with a mosaic of grinning satyrs and dancing women with short, wide swords. He looked toward the surface, disoriented, momentarily unsure which way was up. The water felt thick, like viscous gelatin—a gel that stimulated every pleasure receptor in his skin.