LifeGames Corporatoin

by Michael Smorenburg

  Nancy was silent, inexplicably fearful beyond the story she was hearing.

  Catherine shook her head in disbelief of what she had to say;

  “Every time I woke, I could swear that I’d smell his after-shave in the bedroom. My conscience playing tricks on me, I guess. I think of myself as sexually liberated, gracious… I act it out, but the old demons of childhood…” she left it unsaid.

  She paused, clicking her juice-stick on; the tip glowed to life and a pencil line of cherry aroma joined the smoky tones of Patsy Cline’s voice as it massaged the stumbling piano chords of Crazy, the melody waltzing a pas de deux with the hearth’s crackle and dancing tongues of flame.

  “I’ve read all the psychology and jabbering about ‘Suppressing the learned inhibitions from my conscious mind.’ I can even believe that this sort of a fling is bound to scratch away the surface of what I actively want to feel and believe,” Catherine was putting on a brave front, showing pragmatism.

  Nancy was silent, unable to add anything, and not trying to. In the absence of consoling words, she offered her touch, running her fingers through Catherine’s hair.

  “The odd thing about the smell was that I’d washed thoroughly when I arrived home. I didn’t want any reminder of the memory near me. My clothes went straight into the laundry downstairs, and I went directly to the shower without touching or sitting on anything else. After that, I had a quick snack and a whisky to unwind, soaked myself in a bath of salts for an hour. The whole time in there I had the bubbles going so it really got me as clean as can be.”

  Nancy heard “bubbles” and thought Jacuzzi. She loved jet-baths and hoped for a try-out some time.

  “Nothing, absolutely no smell could have survived that. Hell, I hadn’t even touched Ken… but somehow…” her voice tailed off.

  “Foul balms,” Nancy said it absently to herself.

  “What? Bombs?” Catherine had only just heard the mummer.

  “Balms… sorry Cath, Ken’s after-shave—he uses too much.”

  “Dreadful, isn’t it; Yetch… off-putting.”

  Catherine had previously enjoyed his scent, but by association, she felt revolted by the thought of it.

  “Well at least you’ll be off the hook for the next seven days, he’s in Russia from Tuesday,” Nancy consoled Catherine.

  “Good news at last!” Catherine sighed.

  Nancy’s diversion had given Catherine a chance to momentarily cast off the shadow of dread that had become her constant companion.

  What she’d omitted to tell Nancy was that the reek of Ken was still constant and persistent to her.

  Worryingly, she’d realized that it was strongly associated with her recurring nightmare of him. It seemed to manifest during the later hours of the night and on into the early hours of the morning.

  What Catherine had also omitted to tell Nancy was that where Ken had meekly accepted his sexual advances turned down in reality, in the nightmare, he was far more insistent. She felt as though he was beginning to possess her.

  She cuddled closer to Nancy.

  Jacky would be away on a five day international flight and Catherine had no intention of returning home to not sleep… alone.

  Chapter 17

  “I seek the salvation of many good souls, Eminence,” the ritual of introduction was almost at its end.

  “Bendito Seas, my son,” Fernando bestowed his ceremonial blessing.

  “Your Eminence, I am a man eager to learn more from what your great wisdom can teach. I beg your patience with me, for I am your humble and devoted servant.”

  Leon was carefully attempting to unwrap the Bishop’s fragile trust, baiting Fernando in order to verify an interesting fact that he’d gleaned from the recording of their previous session.

  Fernando’s voice twanged with threat in response, the irrational personality constantly seeking any opportunity to seize control, “You would serve me before Good?” he accused.

  “No, Sire! I serve only God, but in so doing I serve yourself as is His Emissary.”

  Fernando had followed but not taken the bait so carefully set for him. Instead he’d crossed himself with ritualized formality and, eyes to the ceiling, muttered Latin payers.

  Still, Leon was pleased that the conversation had shifted quickly onto the subject of God, since it was in the definition of the word ‘God’ that he sought to uncover something that appeared to be of significance.

  He decided to risk asking the direct question, cautiously conjuring all the humility that he could;

  “I notice, Eminence, that you speak of Good, whilst when I mention the word God, you do not correct me? How can this be?”

  Fernando smiled for the first time since Leon had become acquainted with the man, “They are one and the same, my son.”

  It was a beautiful smile; it spoke volumes of love and peace, yet it was an entirely different expression from the smile that Roger would offer from the mask of that same-shared flesh.

  “Thank you for your patience, Sire. I ask in good faith why your earthly brothers in the church speak not of the Good, as you do. Rather, they term the word God as I do?” Leon studied Fernando, carefully tailoring every word according to the minute eddies in the man’s mood.

  The priest showed no change in outward emotion, yet sadness began clouding his eyes as he answered;

  “Because, my son, these men of the cloth are but human, and like yourself, they speak only what they are taught. The books given unto them contain words depicting high ideals, but with the passing of time rigid words betoken many and varied realities. Inevitably men will not understand a word to betoken the same as its scribe had intended. Therefore, the ancient writings, which have become incomprehensible to the populace, will require interpretation. But men of power find benefit in dividing, not in uniting. Good is such a word, it transcends interpretation… God is not.”

  Leon remained silent, allowing the truth of Fernando’s wisdom to soak in. He maintained his silence in respect to the solemn prayer that Fernando offered up in Latin to Good, that all men may unite in their beliefs.

  When the Bishop had finished his prayer, he continued with his explanation;

  “In your time the mere mention of the Almighty has become a tool of seduction, dividing the Nations of the Earth. Should it not be enough that the name Good defines that essence that all can invest their faith into?”

  Leon was fascinated by the uncluttered logic of this otherwise suspicious man. He was puzzled how such clear thinking could emanate from one so dogmatic in his suspicion.

  “But Sire, was this not also true during your time on this Earth?”

  “It has always been true. Que Dios nos bendiga… The Beast has always sought the souls of men,” Fernando’s eyes sank to half-mast.

  “Forgive me Sire for I require your great knowledge in order that I might fight all that is evil. If all men do truly believe in good, then how can the Beast profit from only the name upon their lips?”

  Leon had found that he needed to keep Fernando talking, giving the man time to brood always degenerated into ferocity.

  “When the name a man gives to his Creator dictates his character, then another name for that same Creator, when it comes to another man’s lips, will cause a taking of arms, one man against his brother.”

  Fernando was speaking carefully, laboring over his words.

  “When leaders have fallen into the camp of the Evil One. When all the populations of the Earth are roused to murder for names only… in that time, men’s hearts will be devoid of reason… they will not possibly be in a position to support Good any longer. All will be lost.”

  The rational Fernando covered his eyes with his hand in a manner of much introspection. When the hand was removed a transformed Fernando had taken its hold;

  “The times in which you live are like none that have gone before!” he began to thunder.

  “Evil has many tongues within every home. Evil grips your leaders and the Anti-Christ will unite men un
der a false banner,” He gasped for breath.

  Leon wanted him to continue speaking, the images so vivid and instinctively true.

  The priest found his breath.

  “Those who follow this earthly decoy will drive the shackle-pins of their own bondage deep into the Earth. And this Earth shall become the final abode of their bondage.”

  To this point, the monologue had been excited yet neutral but now the Father was becoming incensed; he fixed his rabid eyes suddenly smouldering with all the fires of Hell onto Leon and his voice was deep and threatening;

  “Men like yourself assist darkness more than you can know! Beware, for evil puts on its finest face and wears the turban of Good! The true testimony of Good has been anointed with the balm of lies.”

  Fernando’s body began to convulse with rage and Leon knew that he would soon have to bring the ranting to a halt.

  “Those that joust on your fine steed will soon bring un-surpassed Evil to bear on good. With their souls in bondage they will turn their actions against their own salvation!”

  The commotion had grown too great and grudgingly Leon was forced to return Fernando back into the deep recesses of Roger’s mind.

  Chapter 18

  Leon hawked the session’s recording past his usual sources of opinion.

  “That’s got to be television, Leon. That part about tongues in every house,” Nancy was delighted to find an apparent ally in Fernando. She had instantly been convinced that Fernando was expressing a cryptic opinion of television’s power to influence public sentiment.

  Leon and Nancy became sidetracked, discussing the thorny issue of the power of the media in general.

  “On which side of Nostradamus did your Bishop live?” Andrew asked with his tongue firmly in his cheek.

  Leon ignored the jab; “What do you think of the last part of the session, old chap,” Leon had been keen to hear Andrew’s sage advice. “What do you think?”

  “The fine steed business?” Andrew used the question to buy himself time to think.

  “That’s the part, that’s it,” Leon encouraged.

  “A steed for jousting to him would mean a place to practice? Or possibly an animal or mechanism to practice on?”

  “Could be, old chap… could be.”

  “Your offices,” Andrew continued, “What your company does. You provide a place for people to train. They’re trained to fight in the Nostradamus Armageddon. True?”

  “True… too true.”

  “By the way that I interpret it, you continue holding trainees in bondage with your hypnosis. It’s probably that fellow of yours and his megalomania; he’s the type that always wants to dominate everything, don’t you know? Probably got something subliminal stuck into your programs… bending minds to his will! Too bloody rich and powerful by far.”

  It was a thought that had crossed Leon’s mind, yet the idea was ridiculous. Even for Ken, it would be too big a dream.

  Leon also glossed over Andrew’s opinion of Ken. His words had clearly been aimed to ensnare Leon into passing public judgment on his employer.

  “Turn their actions against their own salvation? Now, what do you make of that, old chap?” Leon ventured.

  “That’s a piece of cake, old fruit. Obvious!”

  Andrew scoffed triumphantly.

  “Your participants will gladly follow whoever or whatever organization allows them to practice what they’re trained for. They’ll put aside morals and own best interests. How many individuals who would otherwise be passive, are you training to drop atom bombs on their fellow human beings, sanitizing it with your clever tricks? And how many of them will ‘just be following orders,’ when they are called upon? And of course you carry the culpability, you have a hand in making them efficient at it as never before. Will you be any the less guilty of your own destruction?”

  Leon pondered the hard-hitting analysis. There was plenty of savvy in it, but the scale of irrationality was beyond proportion.

  After he’d left Andrew he took out some time to quantify the sheer volume and the status of individuals that LifeGames was training.

  He mentally went through a list; All of the world’s elite military forces, with the prospect of the lower levels of soldiery soon to be on the books… Most of the world’s top politicians and lawmakers… Prominent businessmen and academics… Pilots would be less influential in the greater scheme, yet they remained vital for the modern migration of populations, and now university lecturers and school teachers too.

  Reviewing the evidence, as improbable as it was, he was forced to concede that total world domination by ‘Ken-the-Terrible’ could, in the not too distant future, be a distinct possibility.

  The vision remained disturbing and he decided to test the hypothesis on Ken at the next opportunity.

  “Ken`o… you got a minute to spare? Just a minute.”

  He played the recording to Ken and they discussed various aspects of it before Leon casually dropped the question;

  “How about world domination? What if we put a subliminal in the sequence to get the participants to react to a trigger, don’t you suppose we could… you know… influence them to our needs.”

  Ken really liked that idea, he said so—that old tickle that made him dab at his eye suggested something sinister; “That’s a great idea, Leon! I’ll make you my assistant when we take over.”

  “That’s all, thanks. I must run along now, Ken’o, must run along,” Leon leapt to his feet and hurried to the door.

  “By the way, Leon,” Ken called after him. “I’ve been having the most vivid dreams.”

  But it was futile, Leon was in a world of his own. With a few hops and skips, Leon was gone; gone off in his own world out the door.

  Chapter 19

  The fire was burning in its hearth and the boxer-dog was asleep, his breath gently slapping at his jowls.

  The two women were naked, curled together in a passionate embrace. The delicate smell of washed bodies blended with the dancing light and whispering flames; the scene a symphony of harmony. The couple’s every sense aroused, stirred to a velvet smooth consistency.

  Their limbs entangled, they were one.

  Then Catherine caught that unmistakable waft on the air. Her body jolted, rigid with fear.

  Nancy gasped, startled by the lurch of the woman in her arms.

  The sudden commotion woke the dog, its head turned toward them, it had Ken’s face.

  Catherine leapt to her feet, her eyes blind with terror. It took Jacky several minutes to calm her hysterical sobbing and bring her out of the nightmare.

  “I’m taking you to a doctor!” Jacky resolved.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Catherine insisted.

  “I don’t care, I’m taking you!”

  Catherine shivered and shook violently throughout the rest of that long and sleepless Sunday night.

  Come morning Jacky bodily dragged Catherine out of the house and into the car, determinedly resisting all of Catherine’s refusal to be taken across town to their practitioner.

  Although, when Jacky had arrived home at noon on Sunday, Catherine had claimed to have had an early night on Saturday; yet she was utterly exhausted, shattered, as if she hadn’t slept for a week.

  “Honestly, Jacks. I went out to dinner with a client, then I curled up before midnight and slept like a baby.”

  Catherine’s account was entirely true, it was dinner with a client, and she had slept like a baby, just not in her own bed—she’d bunked over at Nancy’s house. Nancy and her had talked until just before midnight when both had fallen asleep in front of the fire. At dawn they had awoken in front of cold ashes.

  Catherine had experienced the best night of uninterrupted sleep that she had managed since waking on Wednesday morning.

  Jacky was distressed, she wasn’t buying any of it.

  “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you look so washed out.”

  “I don’t know? I’ve been like this since you left.”<
br />
  “But Wednesday morning you were fine,” Jacky was vexed.

  “I know,” Catherine slumped in despair, “I’ve been suffering constant nightmares, every night. I find I’m dreading going to sleep.”

  “But why? …Why the nightmares? I’ve never known you to have a nightmare, Cath. Never.”

  “It must be the stress, I don’t know…. Work’s rough at the moment,” Catherine was finding it brutally difficult to keep her secret.

  “It must be! I’d never imagined you’d let it get to you like this.”

  As Jacky spoke she was coaxing the car into an open parking bay outside of the doctor’s rooms.

  “Is it something I’ve done? …maybe something that’s happened to you?”

  At the speculation Catherine tingled with fright, an adrenaline bomb bursting in her gut. By a wisp of thread she dangled over the cliff of confession;

  “No, Jacks!How can you be so silly? If it was anything, anything at all, I’d tell you. I… I don’t have a clue what it is.”

  “That’s a very good reason for this professional advice,” Jacky swung Catherine’s own logic against her.

  “I don’t need this,” Catherine argued crossing the threshold. She hated doctors.

  “Come on!” Jacky beckoned firmly.

  The doctor ran a course of elementary physical tests.

  “You’re as fit as a fiddle,” he pronounced, writing a prescription for a course of sleeping pills.

  The prettily coloured pills made matters much worse, trapping Catherine in her nightmare. She fought like a shark in a net, thrashing and kicking, lashing and biting, Jacky battling to control her.

  She was in a world of her own, the powerful sedative denying her the relief of consciousness. She battered Jacky, convinced she was the attacker.

  “This can’t go on… please, Cath, this can’t go on…” Jacky repeated, tears cascading down her cheeks as she rocked Catherine deliriously in her arms, consoling her through the night, “…this just can’t go on!”