Children of the Program

by Brad Cox

  “You'll need to shout! Who is this?” asked Neco, paginating about the Lion's Den club in Studio City, California. The background noise roared with club kids panting for sub-kicks and pulsing house loops.

  “It's Benjamin! I needed to talk with someone from our circle. You were the first person who came to my shattered mind. Do you have a moment or are you at a rave?” asked Ben. “And, what is that?”

  “Actually. What's going on, Ben?”

  “Zane and I have been together for several lifetimes! We never left The Program, because we were in love. We would simply die and wait to be reborn into another vicious cycle. We always promised to reconnect during every lifetime. It was really that simple, except,” he said, pausing.

  “So, you deliberately stayed in The Program?”

  “I guess you could say Zane and I were a lot like Ash and yourself. We figured, since we couldn't conceive a miracle child of our own, our love would never have to end. I can't handle the idea of not having her in my life. We've had far too much history together.”

  “I'd love to say I understand, but I don't.” Neco was interrupted by a litter of fawning kittens. Gulping saliva and whiskey, he continued his investigation. “How do you know this? Have you actually spoken with her? Where are you?”

  “Yes! I'm in Dublin. By the way, I saw Grayson's update on the Children of the Program website. It looks like you and Ash have one hell of an act going in Hollywood. I trust that's what I'm hearing?” asked Ben.

  The club beat waxed and waned with the rhythm of Neco's racing heart. “Ha! We did. I really can't get too deep into it, right now! I'm somewhat distracted and really haven't had a chance to process everything or even sleep for that matter,” said Neco, coming down from an ecstasy high. “The long and the short of it is, our lifestyles caught up with us and we hit the proverbial wall. I lost everything.”

  “What do you mean, you hit the wall?” asked Ben.

  “We tried to keep an open dialog about The Program. We agreed that we should allow ourselves to seek out compatible love interests, but the undercurrent of her tone suggested otherwise. One night, she walked in on a rather explicit party I was having with four of her painted dancers,” continued Neco.

  “I take it things didn't go too well?”

  “I should have known better, but the drugs, my hormones and The Program clouded my feelings! She freaked out and immediately flew back to Scotland. Unfortunately, I haven't talked to her since. I'm actually surprised she hasn't called Grayson to update the damn website. I don't know, maybe she's embarrassed.”

  Ben was taken aback by Neco's candor. He understood the temptation he was under, but knew he'd inadvertently saved himself lifetimes of distress. “Neco, I understand. You can always call me! I'm sorry. Luckily, these things have a way of working themselves out. I won't tie you up any longer, unless you desire to be,” joked Ben. “Just promise you won't slip down the rabbit hole. You're one of the few friends I've got out here!”

  “Promise.”

  +++

  Ben wasn't the only Programmer looking for a connection. Excited, Rand pulled the crumbled receipt paper he found at his parents’ house and dialed the scribbled number. He waited with anticipation, and reeled over the possibilities. Without being able to see the Children of the Program website and unfamiliar with the foreign phone exchange, he could only speculate on who might answer. His dirty clothes wouldn't allot him much investigative computer time in the community library — he looked like a bum! The payphone rang, torturing him with its tenacity.

  “You've reached the great and powerful Icarus,” said an uncomfortably deep and arrogant voice.

  “Oh, thank heavens! This isn't a recording, right?” asked Rand.

  “No, no,” said Icarus.

  “I'm on a phone, just outside of Kassel, Germany. What's the name of The Program's website?”

  “Rand! We've been looking for you. It's Children of the Program, all one word, dot com. The password is: 'Desert.' I take it you've been home. Your father is charming. Did your parents give you the old steel-toed boot when you got in?” asked Icarus.

  “Yes! I couldn't restrain my excitement, nor take their archaic ideals. Truth be told, they were going to kick me out, sooner than later,” pitched Rand. He longed to share his revelation, hoping Icarus might catch the hint.

  “Why, in this lifetime, would they kick out a perfect specimen like yourself? You seem like a parents' wet dream! Did your studies slip because of the insane visions? Did you fail to acquire a scholarship to a premier German university?”

  “Nonsense, I'm attending a school in Athens, remember?” joked Rand. “No, it's nothing like that! Thing is, I'm actually afraid I might be trapped in The Program, permanently!” Rand began to tense, anxious to deliver the news.

  “Why would you be trapped? I mean, we're all sort of trapped, but, why you, specifically?”

  “Because, I'm gay!” Rand paused for a reaction. He was invigorated with freedom. “How can I have a Crystalline child with 'The one I hold most dear,' if I don't fancy the love of women? If memory serves, I've been at this game for a very, very long time! I'm what you might refer to as a...”

  “Lifer?” asked Icarus.

  “Yes.”

  “I don't even know how to respond. I'd give you a child if I could,” joked Icarus.

  “Thank you! I'm going to try and find a nearby computer, but can I get a few of those phone numbers from you? Can you also let Grayson know that my heart's beating, and that communication will be difficult, because I'm tragically homeless?”

  “You got it. Stay safe out there and please don't hesitate to call.” Icarus made sure Rand had everything he needed before cutting the telephone line. He was perplexed with how to console him, but was generous with his support. “Some people struggle with their physical demons and some are just dealt a difficult hand,” Icarus thought.

  +++

  Magnus was a victim of his own device. Smoke escaped his blackened lungs like winter's chimney. He eased back his recliner, injected a lethal dose of cheap heroin and dulled the mania. The thought of living his dark existence without Elisa became increasingly unbearable. His nights grew longer and the sun set sooner. He was unshakably depressed. Scores of one night stands came and went, but nothing muffled his ache.

  The Chicago Public Library offered a Gateway to her doorstep and was the only drug capable of piquing his distancing spirit. He'd gaze at her profile on the Children of the Program website, lust over her image and replay their short moments together. He spent hours scouring the Internet for the missing pieces of her back story. Toggling between screens, he was intent to obsessively refresh his browser, hoping Grayson might have added a morsel about her or updated the news section. He had her home address, telephone number, details on where she went to school and the names of her immediate family. He had enough to be dangerous. His obsession started playful, but without reciprocation, he seethed, assuming her perfect existence had moved on without him.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” said Magnus, clogging her answering machine. The further he slid down his spiraling fantasy, the more depressed and unaware he became. A boy with little hope was given the power to give back to The Program and avoid an anguishing future, if only he'd turn the channel from unrequited love.

  chapter 18

  Cadence of the sun

  Once his skewed mind settled and sober body safely landed on American soil, Simon regressed to his more cynical view of The Program. He bustled through a crowded terminal and traversed a myriad of displaced exit signs, all pointing toward the eager and under-worked ground transportation area, before emerging from the Albuquerque International Sunport. He was even more disoriented than when he'd landed. The patronizingly bright sun wasn't helping his gelatinous mind. Had he not known better, the climate of the Midwest would have easily fooled him into thinking he'd never left. Almost on cue with his exit, a white van crawled onto the jam-packed receiving curb. The back doors
flung open.

  “That's him! Get him,” said a familiar voice.

  “I hope I'm not being abducted.”

  “These are a few of my comrades. If we were going to abduct you, we'd have worn masks with large black eyes and brought laser guns. I apologize for the entrance. We're doing this for your protection — not ours,” said Dez.

  “Fair enough.” Simon was confused by his logic, but content to get stoned with his new friends.

  “Give him a deck of cards! He's going to blow your mind,” said Dez.

  “It may be too late! I think our minds are pretty far gone, as is.” Simon spent the rest of the drive entertaining junkies. Arriving at the compound site, a famished Simon was distressed to find the shambles of a junkyard, which Dez and the gang called, "su casa." The grounds were littered with tents, half-naked pedestrian eyes and rogue animals. It looked like something out of the 1960s and wreaked of death and suspicion. “I'm going to need a little time to digest all of this. Your overly-tinted van windows obliterated my entire sense of time and space. I've been tipsy, sick and disoriented more times than I can count, today. Typically, I do the blindfolding. Regardless, we need to find real food, and fast,” said Simon.

  “10-4. I was planning to take you to a burger joint up the road, you know, to catch up! There's also a strip club, not too far from here, where my girlfriend works. They serve wings, fries and a decent view. If you're willing to go a little further, we can hit-up the usual fast food chain restaurants or my favorite hole in the wall diner. It's your call,” said Dez.

  “Charming. Let’s hit the diner.”

  “Done.”

  “OK, so tell me about this group you've assembled, and where you're heading with all of this,” said Simon.

  “I left Arizona in a rotten shambles. All of my suppressed memories broke me. It's like the ghosts of times past have returned to haunt my waking days; dare I say, worse than those pesky birds. Heading back, I stopped into a seedy strip club and invited a few entrepreneurs back. I wasn't entirely sure what my intentions were, but I knew I wanted female companionship. I started telling them my...” Dez paused, “Our story. They were intrigued and content to stick around. I was resurrected twice that day. I never looked back.”

  “So, they know about us? They know about The Program?” Simon asked, fighting suspicion.

  “Not exactly! Who in a million years would believe this? Our story goes beyond the realm of comprehension. It makes the wicked alien abduction theories, sightings, and mounting government conspiracy cover-ups, surrounding this-here New Mexican state, seem like a historical lesson; a prose that our children will someday read about, and take as the factual origins of the Badlands. Our group aims to expose these Crystalline children, Simon! I sold it the only way I knew how, by interweaving theories. In short, that our government has been experimenting with alien-human farming, engineering or whatever.”

  Simon deliberately held his tongue. “Please, go on!”

  “In a nutshell, I told them these children are aliens, that they threaten our genetic purity and that I need their support in awakening the public. No one is going to believe that the gods have come down from heaven and impregnated these bodies with special children,” continued Dez.

  “Yes, heresy, if I've ever heard it,” snarked Simon.

  “Simon, my group has already expanded into various cities across the U.S. We plan to go international. People are concerned. The word is spreading — fast. We even have our own website!”

  “There might be a shred of truth in there, but you do realize you've started a cult, right?”

  “It's not a cult.”

  “You're right, it's not a cult! But, it's nice to see you've finally made some friends out here,” added Simon. Simon and Dez pulled into the old Eagle Diner on Interstate 40 and entered with affected swagger. They pulled up to the bar for a fill up. “I take it you found Grayson's site?” asked Simon, between ordering his feast and sipping a pop.

  “Yes, by happenstance or fate. My girlfriend is always around. I have to view the website privately, to temper any suspicion. Our relationship wouldn't work out too well if she knew the whole back story, but I really don't know how else to spin it.”

  “Sure. Every successful relationship is founded on manipulation. You don't want to risk her trusting you. It would be over for sure!”

  “Funny. I've written everyone's information down. If we can make the world aware, we can seriously disrupt The Program. We might even be able to stop it! It'll certainly make people think twice about these special kids being born. I plan on staying in The Program. They can't kick me out unless I procreate, right?” said Dez, rhetorically.

  “Nice! So, you want to rule the world? Everybody does, you know,” said Simon.

  “Not exactly. No more than you. You're here aren't you?”

  “Yes, as I understand it, unless you have a child, you're not going anywhere! Judging by your approachable demeanor and lavish property, I don't imagine you're in danger of finding Nirvana. Does The Mickey Mouse Club have a name?”

  “Not yet!” Dez became increasingly annoyed by Simon’s candor, but remained intent on lassoing his prey.

  “The thing about the desert is, you can always count on it! It's consistent. It's relentless. It has an unmistakable rhythm to it. Before the first bead of sweat falls, man's instincts are hypnotized to survive. It tricks our eyes into seeing things that aren't really there.” Simon paused, pulling a suicide king from behind Dez's ear, followed by a fork. “It's a true magician. It can strike fear without drawing a single word and steal the breath of a careless wanderer. With your group chanting this urgent and admittedly crazy plight to the unsuspecting world, you can use what the desert already knows to leverage an advantage. You become the rhythm. The magic. The Cadence of the Sun.”

  “I love it! I'm just looking for some solidarity. I'm not trying to mislead anyone. Sometimes, the truth isn't always what it seems. You of all people should know that. With your understanding of magic, we can literally put a spell on these people! It's going to take a little bit more than my campfire sermons and tripped out musings, on the beat up acoustic, to be a force to be reckoned with,” said Dez.

  “I'll think about it! I have my own issues to deal with, but I'm up for meeting everyone. I take it you heard Juno is getting married?” asked Simon.

  “No, I hadn't.”

  “She was probably the ripest apple on the tree! She'll be out of here, lickety-split,” said Simon.

  “I'd sure like to lick...”

  “Don't! Just don't. Look, I saw a hotel on the way over. Can you drop me off?” asked Simon.

  “You can stay at my place,” offered Dez.

  “No offense, but I need a hot shower and good night's rest! You really didn't expect me to sleep in your lawn with those vagabonds, did you? Actually, scratch that, there was a little offense intended.”

  “Those are my people!” quipped Dez.

  “What time does the Cadence rise?”

  “Just be ready around 11. I know where you are!”

  His years of magic had served him. Simon wasn't easily manipulated by Dez's wiles. Even in exhaustion, Simon’s mind was far too grounded and clever to get lost in the dark web Dez was attempting to spin. Simon continued to use distracting humor to derail Dez’s dizzy dialog, before finally being dropped off at a local motel.

  “I'm glad you know where we are. I don't. I don't even know where you are, for that matter,” said Simon.

  Dez reached over and slammed the van door shut. Simon was left laughing and staring toward dusty taillights. On the way home, Dez stopped off at the striptease to reevaluate the unexpected turn of events and to soak his mind in liquid courage. Knowing Simon wasn't the only one capable of putting a spell on people, he lured a few new burlesque queens back to his lot. Left small, he needed to invigorate his sense of control and smite the taste probity had left on his razor blade tongue.

  “Simon doesn't have the stomach for this,” he
thought.

  His vengeance was smoldering.

  Arriving home to a bustling fire pit and the anthems of his tribe, he could feel the booze rattling his calm. “Be quiet, all of you!” He was exhausted, frustrated with his failed evening. Giggling, an animated lass tripped the wire, sending his patience over the edge. “None of this is yours. It's mine!” He screamed, grabbing the guitar and smashing it into the pit. His congregation of mice scampered toward their makeshift tents. He stormed the trailer to find Crystal engaging with another girl. “Is this what you do when I'm not around? Are you whoring yourself with this tramp?” The girl ran from his fury and left Crystal to tend his rage.

  “I don't know what's gotten into you. You've been gone all night! When you do come home, you show up with strippers, without your Israeli friend and in a maddened frenzy. What is it, baby?” Crystal asked, trying to calm the storm. “You can tell me. You have to tell me. I love you!”

  “I'm sorry. I owe everyone an apology. I went out with Simon and he mocked me. He mocked us! I tried to open our door to him and he kicked it in. He pissed all over me and my prayers for tomorrow. He knows everything,” said Dez.

  “He knows what?”

  “He knows about our plan to inform the world, about the website, our reach — everything! He's at the Best Western, a few miles from your work,” said Dez. “I swung by the club and tried to wash down his barbs with whiskey. I felt defeated and needed a little decompression time. He made me feel foolish for trying to warn others. There's no chance he'll follow us. We could have worked together and led our future in the right direction. I wanted to feel like all of this still meant something and we could branch out!”

  “Of course it means something. Look at all of those people out there,” added Crystal.