The Real

by James Cole

  In a flash Jeremy knew where to look next. If Dr. Nevins ever had the occasion to publish any of his research, or even shared in a publication, all Jeremy had to do was search the library’s scientific publications resource site. After navigating to the appropriate page, Jeremy typed the name Nevins, Ray into the search field. When the reference listing popped up on his computer screen, Jeremy’s eyes immediately locked onto the third-listed author.

  Raymond C. Nevins, A. Maurice Anthony and Claire Wales

  The phylogeny and a newly-discovered variant

  of the purple lotus of the Nymphaeaceae family

  (American Journal of Botanical Studies. 1971;66:55-62.)

  The full article could be viewed online in exchange for a hefty charge. Though Jeremy could have read it free of charge at the library, he opted for expedience over economy.

  The first few pages of the paper were concerned with the very boring subject of classification and nomenclature of the family of plants called Nymphaeaceae. After that, the subject matter became more interesting. Just as the title of the paper indicated, Dr. Nevins and his group discovered a new variant of Nymphaeaceae, but that wasn’t the noteworthy part. What caught Jeremy’s eye was that this plant – a lotus, whatever that was – had been discovered growing in the wetlands of Sticks River National Forest.

  Claire’s name was listed as one of the authors because, as the article revealed, it was she who conducted all the field work. She was the one who discovered the purple lotus of Reefers Woods. Though interesting, this information did little to advance Jeremy’s understanding of Claire’s role as the hippie queen. However, it seemed reasonable that it was the field work that brought her to Sticks River National Forest in the first place. That, Jeremy theorized, began the cascade of events that led to the founding of the commune and culminated in the deaths of Claire and her friends by burning.

  Chapter 15

  Saturday, November 8

  On almost any other Saturday night Jeremy would be with Jinni, but tonight she was out of town, having gone to attend a friend’s wedding in Atlanta.

  Over the past several weeks, he and June burned the midnight oil as they tried to better understand Jeremy’s condition. They were sure his mitochondria were producing more energy than would be expected, and they succeeded in isolating a sample of his mitochondrial DNA, the blueprint for his mitochondria. Strangely, the initial result indicated his mitochondrial DNA to be nearly four times larger than is normal. June wanted to repeat the assay to verify or to refute that unlikely result. Knowing June, she would probably be finished with the task, come Monday.

  The excitement of that project had kept him occupied all week, but now the time had come to pay the piper. He had to study. Grudgingly, Jeremy drove to the library, shuffled inside to a secluded spot in the stacks and laid out his notes. He stared vacantly at the first of a long list of reactions to memorize, but he could not concentrate. His mind was a blank.

  Forbidden thoughts – thoughts of the angel and her kiss – seeped into the void. All week Jeremy had done his best to push the strange and stirring incident at the bar from his mind. But now, with Jinni conveniently out of town, temptation beckoned. Well Jeremy remembered the dark angel’s mention of a certain establishment she frequented.

  Most Saturday nights you can find me there, she had said, in what could only be an invitation for him to do just that.

  Maybe tonight would be a good time to check out this Bar Nowhere.

  Jeremy faced up to his dilemma. On one hand there was the intrigue of the angel’s kiss, her mysterious vibe and the exquisite excitement of the chase. On the other hand there was Jinni. He hated to sneak around behind her back, but what could one tiny excursion hurt? Odds were he wouldn’t cross paths with the angel again anyway, and even if he did, what could possibly come of it? Girls like her didn’t date guys like him. She was too cutting-edge, too much of a wild child to go for him. In all probability, if she were at the club and if he garnered enough courage to approach her, he would quickly discover that she wasn’t interested in him after all. At the very least, he might learn what possessed her to kiss him, a complete stranger, like she did.

  He left the library without a plan except to check out this place, this girl, and to talk to her if she were there. If his memory served him right, Bar Nowhere had only been in operation a few months. It was located downtown in the old warehouse district. Jeremy chose to walk from his apartment, in part because it was a nice night, but primarily so his car could not give away his presence at the night club. This was a clandestine affair. He approached from the north, passing the old boarded-up church and its dark steeple that poked defiantly at the night sky. The muffled beat of the music summoned him on a primal level, like a savage to some ancient, midnight ritual.

  The first doorman checked Jeremy’s license and grudgingly gave the okay, all the while mumbling how young Jeremy looked for his age. A second doorman took his money for the cover charge and rolled a rubber stamp across the back of his hand. Jeremy glanced down to see a little cartoon gargoyle in heavy black ink grinning up at him. He followed a group of tittering girls down a narrow, wooden stairwell, by necessity, in single file. The girls wore tight clothes and hair gel, with their tattoos and pierced body parts on full display. They seemed barely able to contain themselves as they rattled down the stairs and through the painted glass door at the bottom.

  Beyond the door beat the heart of an alternate world. Thundering music and laser lights shot intricate, ever-changing designs over every surface and person present. An odd, metal apparatus installed with rubber nozzles and portholes, about the size of a large beach-ball, hung over the center of the dance area and belched white puffs of a musky smelling incense while tendrils of vaporized dry ice crept along the dance floor like ghostly fingers. The otherworldliness of the dance club was made complete by the patrons themselves, strange children of the night who lurked in the dark recesses and writhed like snakes on the dance floor. Jeremy would not have been surprised in the least to find them hanging upside down from the ceilings as well.

  Feeling conspicuously out of place, Jeremy wormed his way through the crowd to the bar on the opposite wall and slapped down a five for a beer. As he scanned the crowd, he wondered how he would identify the girl with the raven hair, even if she were here. After his eyes adjusted better to the flashing lights, he noticed an arched passageway secluded on the far side of the dance floor, and beyond, an ornate spiral staircase. Jeremy followed one particularly buxom young woman who seemed not to mind that her position on the vertical staircase and her short shirt afforded everyone below a perfect view of her thong underwear.

  The basement dance area just vacated shared a vaulted ceiling with the upstairs portion of the bar. The upper room was crowded with people sitting around the tables and on the couches and stuffed chairs that lined the back wall. Along the side wall was a massive bar of black mahogany, tended by a little bald man who scurried with practiced efficiency from one mind-numbing concoction to the next. Curtains of the movie theater variety, dark and heavy, obscured what scant view of the street that might have filtered in through the painted windowpanes.

  Jeremy stepped up behind a dark-complexioned, boyish man as he vacated his barstool.

  “Excuse me,” Jeremy muttered as they exchanged positions, their faces in proximity. Jeremy hesitated because his face rang a bell, although he could not remember from whence the bell of familiarity tolled. Intending on letting it drop, Jeremy moved past, climbed aboard the barstool and ordered another beer.

  “Mr. Spires, right?” asked a voice from behind.

  It was the boyish man.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Jeremy still could not place the face.

  “Trey,” he obliged.

  No one referred to Jeremy as Mr. Spires except for the students he taught, and then only the ones who didn’t know him very well.

  “Hello, Trey. Please – it’s Jeremy.”

  Instead of
a traditional handshake Trey offered his fist. His shoulder-length hair was unkempt, yet fashioned as if styled by some rock star’s hairdresser. A silver earring dangled from one ear lobe and a simple silver loop decorated the other. Trey was hip.

  “You were one of the teaching assistants for general chemistry lab last year, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Jeremy said. “And the year before that and this year too.”

  “It’s so cool to see you out partying,” said Trey, as if somehow this astonished him.

  “Yes,” Jeremy said. “Even chemistry nerds have lives.”

  “I guess,” Trey replied, suddenly distracted.

  Jeremy followed Trey’s gaze to see that she – Jeremy’s acquaintance from the Singe show – had arrived, having just ascended the spiral staircase. She wore a slinky, skin-tight, black spandex outfit, cut low at the neckline, and black fishnet hose. The bare skin of her belly shone through a web-shaped hole, with the ring of her pierced navel, like a golden spider, the centerpiece of the web.

  Trey asked, “You know her?”

  With the exception of the angel’s wings, she was dressed almost as she had been last Saturday, on Halloween. This was definitely not your typical co-ed.

  “Not really,” Jeremy replied. “But I’d like to.”

  “Well, good luck,” Trey said with a wink as he turned to leave.

  Jeremy glanced down at his own conservative blue jeans and golf shirt. Up against the dark angel and her radical attire, he really did look like a stuffy chemistry nerd, but what could he do? He was quite sure his closet was absent any black spandex, spider-web outfits. As he considered whether to approach her or, in his insecurity, maybe just slip out unnoticed, she suddenly looked his way as if she sensed his gaze. Jeremy turned away, but too late; he was caught. She made a beeline to where he fidgeted.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile. “Remember me?”

  “How could I forget?”

  The DJ, whom Jeremy had not noticed before now, introduced a song that erupted from the sound system even louder than the preceding tune. Jeremy had to lean in close to her face to hear her and to be heard.

  “Mind if I sit down?” she asked.

  “Be my guest.” Jeremy watched keenly as she slid up a barstool and got situated atop the high seat. She was even more awesome than he remembered.

  “So what’s going on?” she asked, as she engaged him with her eyes.

  Jeremy felt an overwhelming urge to compliment this beautiful creature so that maybe, just maybe, she would stay awhile. “You know I was hoping you would be here,” he said. “I have to say your approach last week made quite an impression.”

  “Approach?” she asked, for some reason not catching his meaning.

  “You do remember last weekend, don’t you? The White Russian, the way you kissed me?”

  “I remember the White Russian, but it was you who kissed me,” she contended with a playful glimmer in her eye.

  “Yeah, right, I think we both know you laid one on me, then left me standing there like a stuttering idiot,” he shot back.

  “It was just my way of saying thank you.”

  “In that case, maybe I should buy you another…”

  Her dark eyes held an expression that Jeremy read as something akin to longing, excitement, and boldness all wrapped up in one.

  “Yeah, maybe…” she said without committing one way or the other to his transparent proposition. After a measure of silence, she added, “You know, I was pretty messed up the other night. I’m not usually that forward.”

  “Well, you certainly got my attention,” he said. “Are you here with anyone?”

  “No, I came alone,” she said and then added with a sly smile, “Say, that sounds like a pick-up line.”

  He didn’t remind her that she had posed the identical question to him last weekend. “You should know,” he said. “I imagine you’ve heard them all.”

  “Now, Jeremy, what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, putting him on the defensive.

  “I’m just saying you are an attractive girl and in a place like this I’d guess that you are propositioned by a good portion of the eligible male sector – a compliment, right?”

  “Whatever,” she replied, her eyes averted.

  “Hold on,” Jeremy said, his mind catching on something she said. “I didn’t tell you my name. How’d you know my name?”

  She responded without hesitation. “I’ve always known you.”

  “Huh?” he asked dumbly.

  “Just kidding. I guess you must have mentioned it last weekend.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jeremy said, but now he doubted himself. “I know you didn’t tell me yours.”

  “It’s Monika, with a ‘k’.” She turned up her drink and slammed the empty glass aggressively onto the table. “Wanna go for a ride?” she asked.

  Her car, an immaculate, 1969 Mustang convertible, was parked directly in front of the old boarded up church next door to the dance club. With the firing up of the engine, a nervous excitement ignited in Jeremy. This wild and beautiful woman had picked him when she could have chosen any one of a hundred males inside, a fact made obvious by the busload of attention she commandeered as they left the bar.

  “Monika, why don’t we swing by my place and pick up an ice chest and something to drink. My apartment is right off the Square.”

  “Sounds good,” she said nonchalantly. “Show me the way.”

  Thoughts of Jinni seeped from hidden depths and bubbled to the surface of Jeremy’s conscience. What would her reaction be if she could see him now?

  Something made Jeremy think of the carnival-themed pinball game he used to play with an old friend in a dark redneck bar in another town. Always late night, always the same carnie voice emanating from the machine:

  Ya spin the wheel, ya take ya chances…

  *****

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Jeremy asked as he showed his new acquaintance inside. “I’ve got beer, iced tea, water – or maybe you’d prefer a White Russian?”

  “Water please, bottled if you have it. Where’s your bathroom?”

  After raiding the fridge, Jeremy turned on the stereo in the living room, plopped down in the recliner, and took a deep breath. He needed time to weigh the pros and cons of this situation, but tonight, time was flying.

  Monika marched back from the bathroom. She sat down and crossed her legs jauntily. The overstuffed couch accentuated her diminutive frame. If not for her cool confidence and the sophisticated smile that graced her face, she might be mistaken for an audacious teenager.

  “Nice place you’ve got here, Jeremy. Live alone?”

  “All by myself.”

  “Do you know what it is to burn?” she asked, out of the blue.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  Without directly addressing his first question, Monika posed another. “Have you ever heard of the Unreal?”

  “The Unreal? I’m not familiar... ” Jeremy felt acutely uncomfortable in his ignorance.

  Monika did not immediately expound, preferring instead to let him twist in the wind.

  “It’s a party drug,” she finally said, “- the latest thing.”

  “Oh,” he said, chastised. “The latest illegal thing, no doubt?”

  “I really wouldn’t know about that,” she replied, brushing the question aside.

  From nowhere, Monika produced a capsule that she laid on the coffee table. It rolled in a lazy semicircle and then back again as if moved by some invisible force.

  “Why do they call it the Unreal?” The word sounded foreign coming from Jeremy’s mouth.

  “I don’t know where the name comes from,” she said. “Maybe because it’s unreal how good you feel after you take it.”

  Jeremy held the transparent capsule up for a more intimate examination, as if maybe he could answer his own question if he looked hard enough. The fluffy powder inside possessed a lavender tint, and when he sniffed it, he
detected a subtle sweetness like perfume. Jeremy wondered if some of Monika’s smell had rubbed off on the capsule. The thought struck a provocative chord within him.

  “So, um, what are you planning on doing with this?” he asked.

  “Why, I’m planning on taking it, of course. I didn’t pull it out just so you could smell it.” She smiled deliciously. “What did you think?”

  Monika spoke to him in an easy, familiar way, like one might address an old friend. Unfortunately, Jeremy could not reciprocate her laid-back vibe; he was wound up as tight as a tick. He retrieved his beer from the table and was surprised to find that it was empty. He didn’t remember finishing it off but, in his nervousness, he must have downed it.

  “What was that you said about burning?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s just kind of a code name for the drug. If someone asked you, for instance, if you feel like burning down the house, it would mean the same thing. Really, any reference to burning or fire might carry the same connotation.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Being here with this girl was like being led to a foreign land where everything is unfamiliar and strange, but it was a place Jeremy desperately wanted to experience and understand.

  She bit her lip seductively and asked, “You want to take some?”

  He expected the question but was still ill-prepared to answer.

  “Wanna burn?” she added.

  “I don’t know, Monika. What’s it like?”

  Monika’s face shone with an inner radiance, her eyes dreamy as if she could see heaven itself. “It’s impossible to describe but it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Love, peace, understanding, empathy, fearlessness, and oneness with the world – the feeling is impossible to explain, but I want to do it.” She looked at him with longing eyes. “I want to do it with you, Jeremy.”

  “It sounds like fun and all, but I don’t know…”