The Place in Between

by Reverend Steven Rage

  “Grossly Inverse, I should think,” Elron replied. Then he asked: “How severe would you suggest going? Say, with the patient on an elevated FiO2 with ten sonometers of end-expiratory pressure?”

  “PaO2 of 35?”

  “Yes.”

  “At least a 4:1 ratio, maybe even as high as a 6:1.”

  “And?”

  “Sedate the heck out of him, maybe even use a paralytic until he acclimates to the unusual settings.”

  Elron smiled. He knew George was bright. Then Elron frowned, remembering that George’s wife was one of the many that had died of the big Flu. It was so widespread and deadly that nearly everyone’s family was hard-hit by it in some profound way. Then George himself disappeared with the rest of the True Believers a few years after. George Sutton never got a chance to practice his chosen field for even one day.

  Then there was no longer any need for any classes any more. Everyone had much bigger fish to fry than keeping chronically and terminally ill patients alive. What for? None of it mattered any longer. Only the Damned and their scores mattered. And if Elron’s field no longer mattered, then his teaching of it mattered even less.

  The new Ice Age came soon after and everyone that was left alive now fled underground where it was still possible to exist. Staying alive became everyone’s new occupation. And staying stoned became the way to tolerate this new, pared-down life. It was how most people had made lemonade out of the bitter lemons Fate had dealt those that remained.

  * * * * *

  Elron Hunt was crying his little eyes out when he came back from his drug trip. 3D was shocked at his demeanor. She knew the dude liked to party away his sorrows, just like most former professionals now forced to eek out an existence doing sub-par work. She saw that Elron’s penis was chubbing up like a ball park red-hot. He was smiling, strangely enough, all through Elron’s seventy-two second vision she had timed. Up until the very end Elron had appeared to Donna to be so excited and happy. His face had brightened, turning almost red. His breath had quickened. Now Elron put his head in his hands and cried and cried. Donna felt awful. Making customers cry was not why she did what she did. Dang it!

  “I’m sorry, Elron,” she told him, “I thought you would like it.”

  Elron looked at Donna, while he tried in vain to blink away all of his tears. He told her: “I just miss it so much,” he blubbered unabashedly. “It was the best of times. It was the best I ever was.”

  3D looked at Elron, disappointed in the missed sale and making him upset. Elron was messed up and confused and terrified of the very uncertain future. It wasn’t like Donna to willfully infect pain and suffering. The Good Doctor’s medicinals were supposed to provide just the opposite.

  “It’s so cold and bitter now. It’s so pointless,” Elron cried out in true pain. The snot bubbled thick out of his nose and a sheen of hot tears covered Elron’s pained face.

  “I’m sorry, Elron,” she said. “I made a mistake.”

  “No you didn’t,” Elron replied, startling Donna by grabbing her arm. He seemed to be almost in a panic as he asked 3D for some more Crosstown Traffic. “Please?” he added.

  Elron needed it.

  * * * * *

  We feel good. We feel good about ourselves. We have feelings of contentment and adequacy. The new meat-puppet has garnered these wonderfully positive emotions for Us. We could be satisfied at this point, and perhaps We should be. Somehow We sense the need for more shells. We need to find one that We can manipulate and control. Then We can seriously get down with some serious business. It will be time to get to work, time to become whole.

  We have some pretty specific ideas in mind, you know. Darned good ones, too.

  SEX

  “The world cannot be governed without juggling.” John Selden

  Sparkle lay on a bed that was placed squarely in the center of the stage. The tiny sliver of an auditorium in The Balmy Breezes was empty save the lone pathetic customer that paid dearly for the privilege.

  Sparkle was a lovely diva, an egg-laying hen-woman. She was a performer of rare stature and she commanded top Rupee for her sex shows. And unless it was pre-arranged and paid for up front, Sparkle’s shows rarely had an empty seat.

  The lone customer had paid Sparkle more than a pretty penny for this command performance. Sparkle had the egg she’d been building inside her for the last thirty hours fertilized. Weird and gross, but that’s what the cash-wielding freak-job asked for. The customer is always right. The freak paid Sparkle her highest going rate of 15 thousand Rupees cash or a 10 thousand Rupee or Federal Bank Note auto-deduct for the solo splatter show.

  Sparkle was born abandoned, as far as she could ascertain, in or about, the 4th year ACE. She didn’t know her parents, not who they were or even what they looked like. She could not tell which parent was chicken and which was human. Heck, they could have both been chicken Halflings for all she knew.

  Sparkle had heard of other Halflings like her. The rumor mill had accused Hell’s Mouth Determining Hospital of making them. She had certainly seen more and more of mixtures like her. But Sparkle was hatched and born the old-fashioned way. She didn’t know why someone would want to make a thing like her on purpose.

  Sparkle’s earliest memories consisted of disjointed bits of molestation, hiding out, run-away adventures (usually terminating in her getting caught, hurt, or both) and turning tricks to keep body and soul together. Sparkle guessed her age to be about twenty years old, but there was just no way to be sure. It’s the age she tells everyone she is.

  * * * * *

  The battery-powered vibrating probe was strapped tight around her bottom, beneath her hard silver and shiny black feathers. She kept her pay parts covered by a slinky bikini with the feathers. Her wee arm wings were permanently bent and only useful for clutching at a clutch purse. In order to get herself high on the Uptown Girl, she had to peck at and snort it out of a pile she kept in a make-up case back stage.

  The vibrations were grinding deeply into her sex. Her head was snuggled down in a pillow. Her rear was hiked high in the air. The splatter punk of the hour was seated near the edge of the stage. Sparkle was getting nice and sauced down there. Her juices dripped as the paying customer left his chair and dropped to his knees before the stage.

  The vibration bore down. Sparkle began twisting her business, twirling her rump in a tight circle. The man unzipped himself. An attendant, very subtly, opened a bath towel and spread it on the floor as a visual and literal target. He was hoping the customer had surgical strike capabilities, but it did not really matter. At the price he was paying, the customer could have stuck his penis in the mashed potatoes and buttered the whole bowl. Strangely, if asked, the customer would say with an utter assurance, that they couldn’t care less that Sparkle’s current occupation left her less than satisfied.

  * * * * *

  After the Cataclysmic Events (ACE), Christianity had a very brief, very disturbing and unsuccessful resurgence. Since they were not saved by the Christ, and they were not killed by the mutated Avian Flu which reared its ugly head right before, the Day Shorts (as in late and dollar) tried to appease God with works of good. Orphanages and Missions were popular undertakings of this time. Sparkle grew up in one. She also became sexually active following a series of late night molestations. Sparkle then had several affairs with several members of the Clergy, leading one especially despondent Pastor to kill himself. Sparkle was asked to leave soon after. She changed her handle on the spot from Claire to Sparkle and beat clawed feet.

  Sparkle made a decent above board living and a hell of a stack of currency under the table. She was a small, silent pharmaceutical partner with 3D. Sparkle was also considering buying a share of The Balmy Breezes where she peddled most of her services.

  Sparkle had only a very few regular clients. She is way too pricey for most and she was a rare breed of sex worker: Sparkle didn’t have a greedy bone in her body. The Good Doctor was one of those rare regulars that she did like. He sur
e was a strange one, though. Sparkle never knew what she was in for, but he paid her in hard Federal Bank Note currency (much less volatile than the Rupee). More importantly, The Good Doctor let her wander the GRID protected grounds of his farm undisturbed for as long as it pleased her, after servicing him. As weird as he was in the bedroom, he was a complete gentleman outside it. She’d heard the rumors about him, of course. Of how The Good Doctor was specially chosen by Satan, that he was an Antichrist. She didn’t mind. With god the father long gone, being associated in any way with the blessed of the devil could only help her and her Damnation Score. Either way, Sparkle loved it there at the huge farm. Truthfully, she loved it there so much that she would have done Herr Doktor for free to have access to the farm. However, she was far too pragmatic to ever spill those beans. He was silly rich anyway, so it didn’t matter. He paid her well. She blocked out all the ugly stuff, and got to wander the farm in peace.

  Sparkle would go through a break in the purple-hued bougainvillea laced fencing and into the vegetable garden. The Good Doctor, as he’d explained once to her as she was cleaning egg from his penis with her clacking beak, had cloned six inch tall gnomes. The garden gnomes weeded the garden and fertilized it with their fermented urine and dehydrated feces. They bred amongst themselves, now that The Good Doctor had created a starter set. The gnomes regulated their own numbers with well thought out breeding patterns and ritualistic euthanasia and acts of cannibalism.

  The gnomes lived in tiny huts they fashioned out of organic materials and confiscated household trash. They had their huts interspersed throughout the garden, some very well camouflaged so as to be quite difficult to detect. A central meeting lodge was in an overturned fruit tree box. The gnomes cut a square hole in the square ceiling. Sometimes tendrils of wood smoke curled up out of the lodge when they had a wee bonfire going for rituals and celebrations. Sparkle could watch them all day. They hunted insects and pinkies (baby mice) and herded earthworms and salamanders like miniature cattle. The Good Doctor had told their leader that if they kept their numbers under control, they could, within reason, help themselves to the bounty of the farm. They even indulged in an occasional hen’s egg, especially if it was starting to turn. Crazy little beasties, they were. The gnomes did not dig humanoids too much, but they always sent out a contingent when she came to visit. Sometimes, if she had one ready, she’d lay them an egg of her own, gratis, just because she so enjoyed their company.

  Sparkle also liked Billy. He was a Halfling like her, but Billy was made and Sparkle was born. The goat-guy tried on several occasions to coerce her into some sex. He was so sincere, Sparkle couldn’t be angry with him. Billy truly thought a fruit basket and smoked catfish jerky was treasure, but Sparkle couldn’t be had for that. Every time she refused him Billy shrugged it off and then almost instantly was distracted by something cool he wanted to show her. It was kind of sweet, though. Sometimes he showed her things that were wonderful. Billy showed Sparkle the incubation coop where the hatchlings were kept warm and safe. The chicks made her heart soar. When she allowed herself to day-dream this was what they were always about: Sparkle wanted babies.

  * * * * *

  A thin stream of viscous fluid shot out first. When the egg came rocketing out of Sparkle, the customer closed his eyes and lifted his countenance up to receive it. The egg shell cracked and split on impact. The partially developed chick-fetus splattered all over the man’s enraptured face.

  It died as it slid lava slow off his forehead, toward his chin. The gurgled breaths of the premature baby chick struggled in vain to keep it alive. Too sick to cry, its wee heart beat just a few times more before the customer ate all of it. He ate the feathered wings, clawed feet, the hair that grew from its crown and the blue human eyes that popped and squirted fluid as he bit into them.

  Sparkle gathered herself. She left the recital and went backstage to the dressing room all the performers shared. As a star Sparkle commanded a curtained-off corner. She would be left more or less in peace as she cried her eyes out.

  No one noticed Sparkle crying, except for the drug dealer.

  * * * * *

  3D emptied out a gram weight vial of Uptown Girl onto a tray. She placed it down on the counter back stage at the Balmy Breezes. She lined up the finely chopped powder. The strippers gathered around the gram, taking turns sucking up the thinnest sample lines.

  Donna found that it was well worth the cost of a gram, or more, of her goodwill. That way the customers came to her and she didn’t have to chase ditzy, doped out strippers all around the club. After sampling Donna’s Uptown Girl, if the dancers weren’t already sold beforehand, the samples did their job and sealed the deal. And she never had to chase anyone down.

  The performers were burying themselves in Donna’s sample as Sparkle came crying backstage. Sparkle was one of Donna’s silent partners. She didn’t think The Good Doctor was on to her. If he was, Donna didn’t know how angry he would be. Would he view this as industrious on her part, or traitorous? There was no way she could ascertain this without incriminating herself, so she kept this little sideline moonlighting under wraps. There were only a very small handful of silent partners like Sparkle. They did not know of each other’s existence and that’s the way everyone liked it.

  Donna had never seen Sparkle this upset before. It was a trifle disconcerting. Some of the dancers and performers she knew got off on being ogled and paid to do favors. They dug it. Some of them were too drug addled or just plain stupid. They truly did not get that they were being whores. Sparkle didn’t fall in either of these camps. Donna knew that Sparkle hated what she did for a living. Sparkle just didn’t know what else she could do.

  Unloading another gram and some change onto the tray, Donna told the girls that she would be back in twenty minutes to take their orders. Donna left the gaggle and made her way over to Sparkle’s dressing quarters.

  * * * * *

  Sparkle reached down with her beak and angrily tore the vibrating belt from her sex. Crying, she dropped it on the floor. The baby had blue eyes, she thought, sobbing it out in hard, rasping sobs. Sparkle supposed the whole wicked, sick affair will help to elevate her personal Damnation Score. Heck, most of her work was more than creepy enough to keep her score card in good order. But Sparkle surprised herself on how much it hurt her to do those things, especially with fertilized eggs. She wondered how many post-uteri abortions she’d had.

  Sparkle found that she couldn’t care less about the fifteen thousand Rupees cash she made for the gross gig. The pain she felt in her middle matched perfectly her broken heart. Sparkle could not stop weeping.

  * * * * *

  3D knocked on the wall by Sparkle’s closed curtain.

  “Go away,” was her reply.

  “It’s me, Sparkle,” she said, “Donna.” There was a pause and a sniffle before Sparkle invited Donna in. “Sorry, dear,” Donna said, slipping quickly into Sparkle’s private space.

  “It’s okay,” Sparkle told her, “I’ve just had me a day.”

  “Well then, I am certainly glad I stopped by,” Donna told her. “I’ve got something new that you are just going to love.”

  “I don’t know, Donna,” Sparkle began. “I’ve got plenty of Uptown Girl and I’m not ready to go Downtown Leroy Brown quite yet.”

  Donna laughed. “I know you’re squared away with Up, dear. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Sparkle, getting weary, snapped at Donna, “What the heck do you need then?” she asked. “I’m not really feeling up to company.”

  “I’m not here to bother you. I’m here to turn you on to something that is so completely brand new, doll! We call it Crosstown Traffic.”

  “New is it? Where’d you get it, the usual place?”

  “That’s right, it’s from the twins. The Good Doctor has got some brand new gear.”

  Sparkle sat on a folding chair in front of a big stage mirror of shiny pressed sheet metal. She looked at her reflection. Her slightly chapped beak clacked
open and close. The tear stains remained tracked on her face. Sparkle could see Donna in the reflection. Donna was smiling at her. Sparkle didn’t feel too much like smiling herself. Her heart felt bruised and battered. She felt on the verge of another full-on crying jag. Sparkle closed her eyes, pinching them tightly shut. She took in a great big breath and let it slowly out.

  Sparkle opened her wet eyes to see Donna scooted up in her chair. She had a long pinky nail with opaque crystals in it. Donna held it under Sparkle’s nose holes.

  “Why not, I could sure use the distraction.”

  That is just what she got.

  * * * * *

  Sparkle was standing by the milking sheds. She was beneath the GRID protected dome on The Good Doctor’s urban micro-farm. Trailing behind her was a coop full of chicklings. They all looked up at their mother with their big, trusting, very human eyes.

  She was so in love.

  There were five of them in all. The chicklings circled bok-bokking around Sparkle’s ankles. Their feathers were just like their mother’s: hard black and shiny steel. Their human hair was dark and long. It grew out in tufts all over their bodies. Sparkle twisted their hair into easy to care for dread-locks. Their human eyes were all slightly varying shades of blue. The chicklings had tiny fingers that grew out of their bent wings. The fingers wriggled constantly, especially when the chicks were excited. They were happy wee ones in general, so their tiny fingers jiggled all the time.