The Middle Man [A Broadway Romance]

by Gregory A Kompes

  We stood there, very close, silent.

  Patches and Aristotle made another pass, continuing their circuit from the front hall, up the stairs, along the hall, down the back stairs, through the kitchen, and back to the foyer. They were having a great time together.

  Malcolm held out his hands, offered the dog's leash and a tennis ball. His eyes were still focused on the floor.

  "What is it, man? What's going on?"

  "Sorry," was all he said.

  I went into the bedroom. Retrieved my pocket watch. Flipped it open. I gave the watch six winds, I checked the date: Tuesday.

  When I turned around, Malcolm blocked my path.

  "Malcolm, take a step back."

  He did as told, his eyes still focused away from my own. I took the leash and ball, ignored him, headed out of the room. My team buzzed when I hit the stairs. I ignored them. They buzzed harder when I reached the foyer. The dogs flew past, making another circuit.

  "Hi honey," I said to Ariel.

  She got up and rushed to me. "You look great, Duke!" Ariel hugged me tight. "Well rested. Did you color your hair?"

  I touched my temple. "Oh, strangest thing. I got up last night, woke up in the middle of the night. When I got a drink of water I was, well, like this."

  "It's like you've turned back time or something. Like you've had surgery."

  The dogs rushed up, panting. They sat, obedient, waiting for leashes.

  "Come on, I need to be out of this house," I said, clicking Aristotle's lead in place. Ariel did the same for Patches and we four headed outside. My team buzzed full throttle. "What!" I shouted.

  "Duke? Are you okay?" Ariel asked, stopping short on the street.

  I could hear them, as if at a long distance, calling me to their place. "I'm not coming. I'm in my place. I'm physical and I like it here," I said to the air.

  Ariel raised her hand to her throat. "Duke," she said. Tears slowly dripped from her eyes. Both dogs tried to pull away. I grabbed Patches' leash, held tight. "Duke, you've got to come to us. This is really important," she said in a voice not her own.

  "Stop," I said to my team. I knew it was them.

  "Duke, go into your home, into the kitchen storeroom, come to us." Ariel said in that voice.

  "Stop! You have no right to take control of someone else to get to me," I said, seeing fear in Ariel's eyes.

  I'd never witnessed anything like this in connection to my team. I didn't believe in possession. I'd been told by them years ago that it wasn't something they did. They told me there weren't any evil or dark spirits. They just didn't exist. There weren't any unfriendly ghosts, either. Everyone in spirit had full knowing, they were all positive. That was the message my team gave me over and over. But this, their hijacking of Ariel, and the ghost who continued to haunt me, proved all those statements wrong. What was I supposed to do? I hated that my friend was freaked out. I hated that they were using her for this. I wanted to ignore them, head with Ariel for the park, sit on a bench with my friend, have a coffee, throw the ball for the dogs. That's what I wanted. That was my intention for the morning. I wanted a break from this chaos, from this craziness, from being the middle man.

  "What you want doesn't matter at this moment. We really need you," Ariel said for them. Her fear was gone. Her tears were dried. She had a look of contentment I'd never seen on her before.

  I took her arm, lead her and the dogs back into the brownstone. The dogs panted. I unleashed them both and they headed upstairs. I expected to hear them bound across the second floor and come back through the kitchen. They didn't. There was no sound from them.

  The look of contentment remained on Ariel's face. I ushered her into the parlor, helped her sit. When I looked at her again, her eyes were closed, as if she slept.

  The storeroom off the kitchen was emptied. Not only were the bags and boxes of food and supplies gone, so were the shelves. In their place was my office chair. It defied explanation.

  Sit. I heard clearly in my head.

  I sat.

  Close your eyes. Count to three.

  The phrases made me smile, reminded me of Sammy Davis Jr. singing, “Pure Imagination” from Willy Wonka.

  Close your eyes. Count to three.

  I did as instructed and was whisked to their non-physical place. I felt lighter this time, more connected. I was alone.

  "I'm here. Muriel? James?"

  They didn't respond. I spun around. I didn't feel elation like before. There weren't other lights whizzing past, playing. There weren't any groups of light anywhere. I looked down toward our planet, there was a bright area. I focused on it, saw it clearer, focused more. The general was being held at gunpoint. I could hear him thinking my name, calling on me.

  Duke, get me out of this, he was thinking over and over. Why hasn't it gone as I wanted, as you said it would? he asked in his mind.

  I looked closer. I listened. I knew. You haven't done as I told you, you altered the path. You were too greedy. You've killed too many people. As I thought the words, I could see lines of dread forming around him in all directions. Hundreds of spirits, not yet detached or unfocused or whatever it took for them to separate themselves from their physical lives.

  What should I do? What could I do? I focused more on the situation. There was a man, young, handsome, standing not far off from General Samovar. He was physical, not in spirit. He had the look of a leader: charismatic, intelligent. I focused on him.

  Getting what you deserve, old man. Your time is over. Our time is here.

  Pedros. That was the man's name. As I knew it, he looked up at the sky.

  "What can be done? How can we wrench the power for ourselves this time?" the man asked toward the heavens.

  I knew stronger than anything I've ever known. "Pedros," I said.

  He looked startled, yet craned his neck to hear more.

  "Pedros, walk to Samovar, use the gun you took from the man, shoot him. Say, after you've done that deed, 'I claim victory for us, the people.' As you say those words, you will have full support of the masses. Call them to peace, lead them back into the city. Those that followed the general will know it is over, they will gladly lower their weapons."

  He smiled, walked toward the general, followed my instructions. The people, nudged by those in spirit, followed, did as I said.

  Time lapsed quickly. With each step he took, each word he spoke, I was with Pedros, feeding him ideas, words, actions. Finally, he stood on a dais, searching his mind for the words. They came to me, I knew them. He said them as I thought them.

  "I stand before you, temporary leader of a now free people. We will not be threatened any longer. We will not be murdered any longer. We will, in short order, hold free elections. We will, in short order, receive support from nations around the world. We will, in short order, lay claim to the wealth and vast resources of our beautiful nation. We will use these resources to better our lives and those of our children. We will no longer live in fear. We will live together in peace, supported by the world."

  The huge crowd before him cheered, then chanted: “Freedom! Freedom!” The speech, recorded on someone's cell phone, was broadcast live and replayed over and over on the internet.

  I was once again aware of being physical, in my chair, in that little storeroom. How much time had passed? I was hungry, starving really, and thirsty, yet also feeling great.

  Duke, we had no choice. For some reason, unknown to us who know all, you were the only one able to do this job, to make this connection, Muriel and James said in my head as they surrounded me with their light and love.

  "How much time has passed?" I asked aloud. The sound creaked from my throat. I needed water. My legs wobbled as I attempted to stand. I fell back into the chair. I tried again, but couldn't get up. With great effort, I inched the chair on its castors toward the door, unlocked it. Using the door jamb, I thrust myself up, braced against the solid wood.

  The house was quiet. Absolute quiet. After a deep breath, I propelled mysel
f toward the sink, regained my footing, turned on the flow. I let the water run cold, drank with a cupped hand, the other holding tight to the counter for stability. My strength returned with the cool water. I grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and tore off the skin, pushing the soft fruit into my mouth. It tasted sweet and delicious, so I took a second banana from the bunch and ate that more slowly.

  "Malcolm," I called, my voice still a squeak.

  The butler didn't appear.

  I tried different names: "Sam? Ariel? Aristotle?" No one answered, no one appeared, not even the dog. I felt a little more solid and walked through the house. Everything was quiet, in perfect order.

  Malcolm came into the hall. His robe askew, only one slipper. "What is it, Sir?" he asked. Do you need something? Is something wrong?"

  "What day is it?" I asked.

  He gave me a strange look. "Tuesday, Sir."

  "Tuesday morning or Tuesday night?" I asked.

  "Very early Tuesday morning. It was Monday night and now it will be Tuesday all day. You're meeting Ariel for the dog park in a few hours, Sir."

  He was back to calling me "Sir." Had the day not happened. Had weeks passed?

  "Is there anything else, Sir?" Malcolm looked through small, slatted, sleep-filled eyes.

  I reached to him and he took my hand. I surveyed his systems, no poison, no ill health beyond his age.

  "No, nothing. Go to bed," I said. I watched Malcolm slide his feet back toward the stairs. I felt sorry for him, having to make his way up to the third floor of the house. I waited until I heard his footsteps on the stairs before I turned on the light, opened the storeroom door. There, as before, were shelves of food, stacks of napkins, and a large supply of paper towels in their shiny, plastic wrappers. No chair in sight.

  I went upstairs, looked in the bedroom. Sam snored softly. Aristotle raised his head from his own spot at the foot of the bed. I held my hand out, indicating he should stay. The dog dropped his head, closed his eyes.

  In the office, I closed the door before turning on the light. Everything was in its place, including my chair. I sat down, turned on my computer. While it booted up I called on my team. "What has happened?" I asked of them. I could feel them with me, but they were silent. I looked online for news of the war, of the general. The day was Tuesday. The digital time: 4:44. I read a small breaking news item: "Overthrow of Overthrow," the headline said. A young man, Pedros Templar, took over the revolution and within 36 hours killed General Samovar and reclaimed the country for the people. I clicked the link and watched the video of my speech.

  The phone rang; startled I answered, "Duke Donovan."

  "It was you in my head," Pedros said. "I'd know that voice anywhere. How?"

  I thought for a moment. What a strange, out-of-body, out-of-mind, out-of-this-world experience. I offered the best answer I could: "I don't know." After a moment’s silence, I asked: "How did you find me?"

  There was a long pause. "I found a small scrap of paper with this number. When I saw it, something told me to call."

  We sat on the phone mute, both confused by the recent events. I thought about the time difference. "What time is it there?"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry to call you so…early. It's evening here. It's been a hell-of-a-day." Pedros spoke in perfect English. He was strong, confident.

  “You were going to ask something?”

  The man on the other end paused. "It's strange. I have no idea what I've done or what to do next."

  "It's all good. It's as it's supposed to be," I said, feeling a knowing about the words I spoke. "Think of this as a correction. You've got a long road ahead, but everything seems to be lined up in favor of your success."

  "How do you know these things? Will you be in my head again?" His fear and skepticism obvious.

  "Pedros, may I call you that Mr. Templar?"

  "Of course," he said. I could feel him urging me to move beyond the pleasantries, get on with the information, yet I could also feel his thought: “How do you know my name?”

  "Pedros, I don't know. I don't know how I ended up with you in the first place. I have to be honest; I'd offered some advice to the general. Sadly, he chose not to follow any of it. Greedy for power. Greedy for money. He took what I told him, used only some of it, and well, we see how that turned out for him."

  "You can see the future?" Pedros asked.

  "No, there is no predestined future, it can always be changed. I can see snippets of possible outcomes based on where you are right now."

  “Will you have me murdered as you did the general?”

  I thought about this for a moment. While I hadn’t pulled the trigger, I’d certainly offered the advice to do so.

  “Do I need to be worried about you?” Pedros asked. “If you could do it to him, you could certainly do it to me...unless...”

  “I don’t believe I personally hold all that much power.” The thought frightened me. “I’m simply at your service.”

  "So, what do you see for me, for my country?" His tone changed, to something more businesslike.

  I thought about the arrangements, about my payment. My team gave me a clear "NO" on that this time. They did that sometimes. They pulled me back, expected me to just offer information without an exchange.

  "Mr. Donovan," he said.

  "Please, call me Duke," I said. "Give me a moment to connect with my team.” I turned my attention to knowing. "Pedros, this all looks very good. You need to be seen frequently. You need to allow the people of your country to talk to you. Maybe through a blog, or comments online, a Facebook page or on Twitter. You need to restore electric power and water services as quickly as possible. This is essential. You need to pardon all those who worked for the general and the leader before him. You need to get the woman in charge of the paper involved.” The name, Silviana, came into my mind. “Silviana is the true leader, the next elected president—"

  "My wife?" Pedros asked.

  I smiled to myself. "Yes, she's the next president of your country. She's the person with the true talent and ability to lead your nation."

  That was it. No more information came.

  "Can I call you again?" he asked, his voice distant.

  "Of course. I'm at your service, Sir."

  "How do I pay you?" he asked.

  "Hmmm." My team buzzed a strong "no" on payment. "Let’s not worry about that now."

  Again his tone changed: “I think we’re going to be good friends, you and I, Duke.” There was something sinister in the way he said those words.

  “I hope so, Mr. Templar.” I felt we’d crossed a line during the call and I chose to walk the more professional like with him. He was a client now, or would be. He was the husband of a soon-to-be world ruler.

  We rang off.

  While still confused by all that had happened, I started to accept it. I've never really understood how all this psychic intuitive stuff actually worked. I’m connected, my connection was changing. With the stronger connection, my skills and abilities were also increasing, evolving. There's so much about our universe that we just don't know or understand. There are powers that are greater than ours, greater than our physical strengths. Somehow, I'd tapped into yet another something new.

  The sun was coming up, slowly casting a glowing light on objects in the office. Because of its position, the crystal ball Harry gave me glowed blue from the early morning light. I watched it change from that dark blue to a lighter shade. It seemed to be drawing in more and more light as the sun rose. When I heard the knock on the office door, the ball was fully lit, clear glass.

  "Yes," I said.

  The door opened, Sam stood there, naked. "Come back to bed. I have an early day, but thought you could fuck me, you know slow and easy."

  My cock stirred. A little sex sounded wonderful. I was feeling healthy, content again. I grabbed two Diet Cokes from the small office fridge, handed Sam one, popped open the second. The cold liquid tasted good. He didn't open his, but carried it into
the bedroom. I enjoyed the way his ass cheeks moved, up, down, up, down, inviting me toward them.

  As I removed my robe and enjoyed the vision of Sam’s lank, muscular body sprawled out before me, his ass slightly raised off the bed waiting for me, I asked my team: “Is he really poisoning Malcolm?”

  They responded: “He’s trying to poison you against Malcolm. It’s not physical but emotional. And, because you aren’t following his manipulation, it has the potential to turn into violence. It’s time for this relationship to end.”

  I eased onto the bed between Sam’s legs. He raised his ass a little higher. I touched his puckered hole and it gasped open. I leaned in, licking that spot, tasting Sam’s musky morning scent tinged with copper. He moaned and pushed into my head. I cupped his rounded cheeks, supporting some of his weight and greedily lapped at his opening with my tongue. My cock grew hard, pre-come slickening the head.

  “Mmmmmm....Fuck me,” he whispered.

  I wanted to reach for the bottle of lube in the nightstand, but didn’t want to move from my current position. Instead, I continued to lick and lap at his inviting hole, getting it as wet as I could. I reached under his waist and stroked his cock, feeling his own wetness growing.

  “God, I’m going to come,” gasped Sam.

  I pushed my tongue into his ass while I pumped his cock tight and hard in my fist. My labor produced fruit. I caught as much of his come as I could and lubed my own rock hard dick. Once slick, I positioned myself at his entrance and gently began pushing myself into him. It was Sam who rushed the process. Without words or sound, he quickly enveloped me in his hot ass.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, clenching his cheeks and holding me inside as he lowered his ass.

  I went with his movement until I was fully laid out upon him. I wrapped my arms around his strong chest, cupping his pectorals in my hands, feeling his hard nipples pushing against my palms. He relaxed as I kissed his neck and I began to roll gently into him, soft movements filled with a host of emotions. My desire grew. My love for him returned. I questioned whether it had ever left me, even when I thought he’d been slowly killing Malcolm.