Children of the Program

by Brad Cox

  “Leave, I said!”

  “When was the last time you felt alive? When was the last time you and mom danced, gazed into the western sun and drank from the wine of truth or simply threw caution to the wind? Life was meant to be lived. We are meant to find love and no one in this house is doing it, or they stopped short of ever trying.”

  Mr. Backer opened the heavy front door and leered into Rand's longing eyes. Without pause, Rand accepted his fate on the cruel streets, grabbed his fedora and bag, and crossed the Backer threshold, knowing it could be the last time. The phone rang, stilling his father's raging heart. The door abruptly slammed.

  “Hello?” asked Mr. Backer.

  “Hi, is Mr. Rand Backer available?” asked Grayson.

  “Are you with the university or are you one of his tripping desert friends?” barked Backer.

  “I am a friend, yes!”

  “Who is this?”

  “Please just let him know that I called, and that our website is up and running. He'll need a password to access it,” tip-toed Grayson, sensing the man’s disapproval. “I can give you my number if you have a pen.”

  The phone slammed!

  Rand was a lifer. He didn't intend to disappoint the uncompromising will of his parents, but knew his purpose was far greater than blind allegiance. The magnitude of The Program had all but eclipsed the drab and mindless moments of his past life. Even the simplest of relationships would quench his longing appetite for seduction. Absolution from the physical plane meant ushering in a new age of hope and peace. It was a message he wanted to scream from the rooftops, even falling deaf.

  chapter 14

  Downtown

  After settling into a crummy Roadway Inn, in Burbank, California, I began siphoning help wanted ads from various local musician listings in prominent newspapers like the L.A. Weekly and L.A. Times. I also generated roommate leads from nearby telephone poles, college billboards and guitar shop bulletin boards. Ash and I both sought employment, though, the lavish treasure she earned from her divinely inspired paintings was enough to hold us for years to come. There was a certain allure to bathing in the illusion of struggle, knowing we'd survive. Our bond blossomed, making Edinburgh seem like a distant memory.

  The hours I spent penning my early recordings in my Dad's basement studio had prepared me vocally and instrumentally to engage in genuine conversations with area musicians. I was drawn to any and every aspiring Hollywood-based rock n' roll outfit who was looking for a guttural crooner. Ash did her best to stay motivated, but quickly became more emotionally attached to our forbidden relationship than her paintings or the dictates of The Council. She'd occasionally invite college girls over from the UCLA campus and set-up body painting expos in our quaint hotel bedroom, but was quickly fading from the lush goals she once held for her perfect life. We agreed it would be prudent to keep our eyes peeled, focused on potential love interests, but navigating jealousy, while keeping an open dialog, under a traveler's roof, on her dime, was a laughable proposition. Regardless, I was comfortably entrapped.

  I eventually settled on a rock group in The Jungle of the Playa del Rey. It was located just off the beach and provided a paradise of inspiration, a view to die for and sturdy nightlife. At dusk, heaven itself reflected off of the Pacific Ocean and poured into the windows of my soul. It was a constant reminder that this life was not my own, though I preferred the escape of pretending it could be. Ash came to practices and parties to make sure I wasn't getting too caught up in a world that didn't include her. It wasn't long before her body painting hangers-on became a regular part of our bizarre practices and the masquerading performances that followed. The unique nature of our band's live show drew large crowds. Overnight, Ash's hobby took on a lucrative life of its own. Everyone wanted to be body painted. The fans longed to watch hypnotic girls dance upon black lit stages in a fleshy fetishy environment. We were content to provide the soundtrack.

  Ash and I became unstoppable, but I was bound to find temptation — even love!

  Our days in the shoddy Roadway Inn were short, but remain an adored memory. There was something special about the simplicity and nonchalance of living within a hotel means. The housemaids and lobby attendants became our family, though we still stayed in touch with our baffled parents, as did our web designer, Grayson, who was busy keeping our spiritual family rooted. After finding a new place and settling in Malibu, we made a concerted effort to keep The Program privy to our precarious exploits.

  +++

  “Hello, Love,” batted Ash, after dialing Elisa from her new land line.

  “Hi! I'm incredibly glad you called. So, where are The Program love birds nesting these days?” asked Elisa. “Grayson said you might still be in Los Angeles, which means you're literally roosting in my backyard!”

  “We are! We're in the Malibu Hills. I'm not sure if you've heard the Hollywood buzz about our body paint n' rock n' roll shows, but we've been drawing tremendous crowds and making ridiculous money. We're considering taking this experiment on the road. It's a far departure from the walls of class I grew up on, but we're surviving. Even my parents seem supportive — go figure,” said Ash.

  “We'll definitely have to get a few cold drinks on Sunset! Can I go on tour with you?” asked Elisa.

  “Of course! But, only if you agree to be my canvas.”

  “No. So, aside from wanting to see your darling unpainted faces, I'm curious if I should be concerned about something,” she paused. “Ever since we left the desert, Magnus won't stop calling. He seems rather obsessed. I've tried to blow him off, but it's not working.”

  “Maybe it's a crush? An unshakable crush can happen — it does happen! God, look at us.”

  “I thought he was a really cool guy and maybe he is, but he said he can't live without me and that we are destined to be together. Obviously, we're not meant to be together. We're in The Program,” Elisa concluded with exasperation. An awkward silence sustained. “When I told him to stop calling, he seemed really upset — even angry! I haven't heard from him since. What if he shows up at my apartment? It's freaking me out. Should it? Am I being paranoid?”

  “It sounds like a crush. Did you tell Grayson?” asked Ash.

  “I haven't. I didn't want to panic, which is why I was hoping to reach you!”

  “How about those bloody drinks?” bolstered Ash, dismissing her uncomfortableness.

  Ash and Elisa tirelessly talked for hours. I writhed on the overflowing bed, opening piles of fan mail, occasionally stumbling upon the sentimental treasures sent by my son-sick father. His bountiful care packages forced me to stop and assess my trail of familial wreckage. Watching Ash comfortably traverse my haphazard mindset, and glide through our beautiful new home, made me question if he'd also prayed for her delivery. I could barely conceive how cosmically my life had changed in her presence.

  The guitar beckoned, inspired by her silhouette. Adjusting my view, I strategically faced the room's broad bay window, clicked the record button on my struggling handheld studio and tearfully strummed my soul's grateful response. Hours marched by, before I snapped to and decided to follow suite and connect with a fellow Programmer. Ash was long tucked in, but the recorder stirred.

  +++

  “Icarus?”

  “My man. I'm working The Program!” he joked, elated to connect. “Let me cut to the chase, I've been with a couple lassies. I even liked a couple of them, too. It's perverse, I know. For some reason they've all risked my unprotected advances. I'm liable to end up with a lion's share of sexually transmitted diseases, before this is over, but it's all in the name of love. Right?”

  We laughed.

  “That's it, love! What else is spinning?”

  “I heard Juno has a beautiful new boyfriend and is already trying to have a Crystalline baby,” he laughed, inflecting a sarcastic tone. “That ginger oozes love. If anyone can find it, it will be her.”

  “True!”

  “I've tracked down just about everyone. I haven't h
ad much luck with Rand, and of course that motorcycling maniac's information isn't available, because he was too cool to stick around. I digress. So, every time I call Rand's house, his father hangs up on me.”

  “That's strange.”

  “Apparently, Grayson is hitting the same wall! Have you tried?” asked Icarus.

  “I haven't! Maybe I can call and tell his father I'm a professor from a prestigious Athens university. I can leave my name and your digits. There's no sense throwing up red flags with a U.S. phone number.”

  “That's actually brilliant.”

  “By-the-by, you're actually the first person I've even reached out to!”

  “Honored,” returned Icarus.

  “Ash and I were living in a hotel, so we really didn't have access to a computer or dial-up, but Rand seemed pretty buttoned up when we met. I'd imagine if he's had a change of heart, it's not going over too well. Nobody is that rigid, unless they're raised to be or hiding something. The problem is, if he gets himself kicked out, he'll be MIA-permanently!”

  “I've considered that myself.”

  “I have to go, but I've been meaning to tell you, you should probably avoid the sun.”

  “Very funny.”

  +++

  After a brief break in the action, I dialed Germany.

  “Is Rand Backer available?”

  “Who is this?” barked Mr. Backer.

  “It's Mr. Neco of the National and Kapodistrian University in Athens. Did he receive our letter?”

  “We did not!” said Mr. Backer. He was suspicious, digesting my tone and noticing my forced inflections.

  “If you can have him call, when he becomes available. I will leave you my number.”

  “Thank you! I didn't realize he'd been looking outside of Germany.” His voice calmed.

  “We may be able to offer him a partial scholarship in our faculty of history,” I furthered.

  “Thank you! Thank you.” proclaimed Mr. Backer.

  +++

  Grayson's website, and tenacity was a godsend. The thought of becoming isolated in our journey was a real possibility. Though his rebel heart had carried him toward the sun, my heart wept for Dez. Trying to breathe new life into a fallen world isn't a pressure suited for a boiling mind. This wasn’t a mission we were expected to face alone. We were connected in life and in death. No love interest would ever fully palate the magnitude of our calling, without assuming we were all just a little bit crazy — maybe we were.

  Ash and I continued our body paint n' rock n' roll gig for months. She seemed lush with enthusiasm, and my rock n' roll dreams were finally being realized. It seemed win-win, except for the part about us not living the way we were called to live. Our show was taking us up and down the California coast. Endless, were the sands of time. There had been posh offers for a full-scale tour, but neither of us were ready to commit to a life on the open road, and were in no condition to do so.

  We were content to seek fulfillment in The Golden State. Our act got us invited to exotic parties for rich fetish seekers. Downtown Hollywood was thirsty for smut, and built on the bones of those overdosing on these lush brands of entertainment. The elite paid handsomely for Ash's services. Raves brought out the club kids, strange cases and designer drugs, all vying for a chance to sink their sordid claws into our quaking relationship. If the drugs didn't destroy us, the sex would. We watched masters drip molten candle wax on female bondage slaves, like children watch baseball games. I can still visualize the memory-blinding strobe lights, and the breathtaking lasers, splashing neon colors upon black rooms. The dungeon-themed bathrooms were dimly lit with black lights and the stalls were littered with the sexual deviance only witnessed in hardcore pornography. The Kings & Queens club, in East Hollywood, was our vice and main source of income.

  Paranoia, weight gain, depression and apathy were laundered through excess and quickly masked by the punk culture eclipsing us. Empathetic hangers-on were still eager and willing to take the brunt of our growing delusions, but our poisoned well of sanity was running dry. Ash's art became sloppy and my increasingly bizarre stage performances became riddled with rants and nonsensical drivel. That is, if I bothered to show. Our parade of lust was becoming a monkey business.

  chapter 15

  eyes of merlin

  “We're going to need money,” said Dez.

  Exhausted, fawning and resting in a tiny make-shift couch bed, covered in foliage and debris, she rested, while he plotted. The still moonlit sky brought out the wolves in his mind. They shared an old sleeping bag, but rarely made love. She often melted into his arms and stared toward the trailer ceiling, longing for a connection and to someday become his only mission. Dez, blinded by intent and an acute demand for dominance, made her advances an unwelcome distraction.

  “If we can get more people to understand the deceptions of our government and what's going on under these very grounds, we can raise money,” he huffed. “We need a computer, acid, and reliable transportation for starters!”

  “How about we just make our own entertainment, tonight?”

  “The government is trying to end the purity of our species and all you can think about is sex! Ironic. Get off of me,” screamed Dez, in an uncontrollable rage. He frequently slipped out of his charming guise, gaining an unhealthy level of comfort with Crystal. Outbursts scared her straight and silent. His undisputed eruptions only encouraged his verbal abuse and extended the boundaries of his control.

  “I'm sorry, we can start looking tomorrow,” she added, calming the quaking beast.

  Dez's charisma couldn't be overstated. As the hot summer days passed, the cool evenings and sunsets offered relief and atmosphere to their acid laced bonfire gatherings. He'd strum his acoustic guitar and hypnotize his followers like a Christian revival. His vibrating strings swayed, dancing in the angel dust inspired tracers. Dez and Crystal repeated the cycle of drawing in unsuspecting strippers and nomads from the dugouts of New Mexico. Before long, groupthink reigned supreme and his hunger for power and the intent of his message became increasingly more sinister. Crystal never left his side and felt empowered by his fame. Her loyalty inspired the faith of others.

  “Our dependence on capitalism hooks our lips and quashes our voices. We're left hanging by the rod, hoping to someday be released from the hands of their green-eyed motives. Like slaves, we fuel a big machine — a machine they designed and we maintain. We need to create our own law, and banks, and harness the materialistic beast that tempts our very essence with desire. The all-seeing eye mocks our independence. We are more than drones, or disposable pounds of flesh. To steal their money is to barter for freedom and reclaim what was hijacked from birth. Should they try, let no hand hold us down,” said Dez.

  “That's right,” shouted a drifting follower.

  “We're not stealing to hurt the bar, convenient store or gas station owners, we're stealing to someday protect the human race from a future threat and this attack that is threatening our way of life. I only ask you to help me. We should only steal what we need to grow. No one is to get hurt. You run before you fire! We cannot risk a robbery drawing attention to our circle,” Dez furthered.

  After his pounding sermon, a string of robberies sprinkled fear throughout the neighboring town. Weeks passed, and the drugs dug into their minds, like moles. Avoiding identification, the expanding group raised enough money to purchase a used vehicle, a few military grade weapons and a new computer. The blotted out windows in their 1996 Chevy Conversion Van offered a safe-haven from the outside world and ample protection from the law. They continued to meet in Dez's backyard sanctuary, intent to follow his drug-addled visions — producing results reinforced their adrenaline addictions and rank.

  “I'm sure there is a lot we can learn about these children with the indigo eyes. These alien hybrids are already amongst us. Use this computer as a gateway to their doorsteps. Be diligent. Scour the Internet for information and take detailed notes. There are literally hundreds of sites on the topi
c and blogs about those who profess to be special or enlightened. It'll be important for us to find these families and to know what we're truly against!”

  His eyes slipped into his skull like a possessed lunatic. His tripping minions, followed. Weeks of acid, plotting and brainwashing served to inspire their cry for revolution. Even Dez was starting to believe his rhetoric. He only regressed to his distant time in the desert, to combat his vivid memories and recall the dictates of The Program. Flashbacks made his anger bleed upon the sand. The drugs amplified his neurosis, increasing the frequency of his lucid dreams. His sense of urgency was magnified.

  “I found a website called Children of the Program,” said Crystal, still awake from an uncomfortably long bout with ecstasy. “It seems to be password encrypted. It's got an indigo background. Didn't you say the government hybrid operation was called The Program?” Her voice droned, falling from lofty heights and landing upon his resting ears. “What do you think, dreamy eyes? Do you think you can hold it together for a couple more minutes and check this out?”

  In elation, Dez sprung to attention. Clearing the counter of old cigarettes butts and beer cans, he aggressively leaned in and obstructed her wondering view. His wide eyes were like saucers and his mouth frothed like a rabid animal. He was confident he knew exactly what she'd pulled from cyberspace. “The heavens always have the answer, don't they? Try typing: painted, program, council or lords,” he paused. As he anticipated, nothing opened the temperamental site. He slapped the monitor to diffuse. Her shaking hands could sense his tensing anxiety. She feared further disappointment. “Try, Arizona or desert,” he furthered. Excitement had quashed his aggravation. Her keystrokes were slow and deliberate. She knew a missed letter would amplify his blood pressure. Before she could blink, the desert themed website opened. “It's a goddamned miracle!”