The Cygnus Virus

by Terry Zakreski

  He knocks on door 603 at 4:00 pm exactly.

  He’s standing in front of a door again.

  Like he did twenty years before.

  Wanting the rain.

  The door opens and he walks through.

  Vanilla and forest…. he smells her…she’s behind the door…he senses her…she wears only purple thong panties…he sees her…she draws his mouth to her pink lips…he obeys her…she licks while she kisses…. he tastes her…she runs her fingertips over the outline of his cock…he feels her…her breast is a silk heart beating through him…he knows her.

  She.

  Is the driving rain.

  They’re on their backs. Panting. He counted six.

  Six.

  Their bodies are slick with sweat. The sheets are cratered with wet spots. Vanilla forest sex smell. There’s been a storm. There’s no sticky-spot safe zone.

  He drove a red Ferrari once in Italy. It read his thoughts through his hands. The slightest touch on the wheel. The shift into third. The throttle response. The engine screaming.

  Moaning.

  She was like that.

  It was bound to happen. His body was stretched on a rack. This was an equal and opposite snap. Pleasure for pain. Things are back to zero again. If those bitches were here, he’d walk right up to them and ask for a smoke.

  He’d fire one up, take a drag and eye them up.

  He’d smile.

  So how do you like my cock now?

  Her eyes are half-opened, her hair’s a mess, her pink lipstick is smeared. She says with pillow breath I can never leave this place. He says then don’t. They decide to take off to an island. Their schedules allow it. Their assistants are more than willing to help. The world makes way for lovers.

  Bitches.

  They make a pact. No one is allowed to leave that bed until all the arrangements are made. Flights and everything.

  She beats him to the bathroom. He’s outside holding his pee.

  They’re on their way.

  Take them to the plane.

  World.

  Sit your ass down.

  He’s on a flight without her. The week is up. They took separate planes.

  It’s fucking wrong.

  The asshole in front put his seat back. Jammed his knees. His balding head is too close. It has some sort of skin thing. He’s at war with the fatass next to him over the elbow rest. Fatso breathes too loud. Fatso is humming too. It buzzes in Andron’s ear like a mosquito.

  The inflight entertainment is out. There’s only the navi. It shows them where the plane is.

  It’s flying high and fast over nothing. Fucking useful information.

  He’s too antsy to sleep.

  His heart’s as constricted as his airplane seat. His stomach’s as knotted as his headphone wires. He wants to puke. It’s wrong to be apart. His cock is still satisfied. That’s not going to last. There are twin footprints in the sand that the ocean hasn’t got to yet. They’re not going to last.

  His jeans feel strange on his legs. He’s used to shorts, no underwear. He’s cold. It’s winter inside the plane. There’s no need for sunglasses. There’s no beach.

  There’s no her beside him in a pink bikini, tanning, looking through sunglasses at the horizon. Listening to the ocean breathe the pounding surf. Feeling the sun sending its energy on everyone and everything.

  Six hours before he lands. 556 miles per hour, 40,000 feet.

  They never should have parted. Now he’s going fast in another direction. He can see that.

  Right up on the fucking screen.

  He tries to calm down. He tries to pit in for the flight.

  There should be a pill for this.

  He closes his eyes and tries to force island dreams.

  He summons the smell of mai tai’s, tropical food, red wine, suntan lotion, ocean air, flowers, beach towels and her wet hair. Her skin still had sun energy at night next to him. He curled behind her, threw a leg over hers and felt it. Her lovely ass stayed cool and white. It pressed back at him. She has a small tattoo on the back of her neck. You have to brush her hair aside to find it. It’s a pen. He imagines kissing it. As though it could make her fly to him.

  He’s pretty sure the fat guy beside him just farted.

  So much for relaxing.

  The flight attendant is offering him a soft drink and pretzels. She probably thinks he did it. He gets nothing off her. When Naomi was around, women noticed him.

  The best one was the jewelry store girl.

  They came in together. Andron insisted. He wanted to buy her something. He cajoled her until she agreed to a modest opal pendent and chain. He told her that he needed a few seconds to sort something out in the store and to wait for him in the room. And she believed him.

  “Okay, so where do you keep the good stuff?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking diamonds?”

  She rings up the sale for a diamond-encrusted chain.

  $25,537.76.

  He doesn’t bat an eye.

  She’s the sort that wouldn’t give Andron the time of day. Or most guys. This time, she’s smiling with hungry eyes and full lips.

  “Let me know if things between you two don’t work out.”

  She leans forward to hand him her card. She wants him to look. Her foot curls up.

  Andron tosses the card in the garbage on the way to their hotel room.

  It’s probably still in there.

  With banana peels on it.

  The plane is landing.

  Seats are in their upright position.

  Andron’s fingers are hovering over his recently stored electronic device now in the on position, waiting for the earliest opportunity.

  They’re taxiing off the runway. He connects. There’s service, but no texts. He expected that there would be something from her, since she left before he did. There are no emails either.

  That asshole better not be up to something.

  He hardly thought of Cygnus at all when he was away.

  He texts her. His thumbs are good at this now.

  Back to civilization :-(.

  How did everything go with you?

  Andron has the phone in his hand the entire time. Just before boarding his connecting flight, he gets one back.

  Sorry, hon. I made it okay. Just having Island dreams. We’ll chat soon.

  There are no more texts waiting for him when he touches down in Manitow Springs. It’s late and he thinks that Naomi must be tired too. He needs some rest. He’s planning to work the next day.

  He’s looking at himself again. The morning sun brightens his bathroom. A tropically-tanned man stares back at him. The lines are softened and his eyes are alive.

  He looks younger than ever.

  Put that in your report.

  Doctors.

  Chapter 15:

  A Loud Crack That Nobody Can Hear

  Returning to work is worse than the flight. All that’s missing is the fat man hogging the armrest.

  His legal world kept spitting out letters, emails, court documents, faxes, new clients with new problems and old clients with old problems.

  Guess the world didn’t sit its ass down after all.

  It just left him a shitload of work.

  Thank Yeshua for coffee. He needs it in an IV drip.

  The separation is killing him.

  She hardly writes. His re: line’s getting old.

  Re: Paradise Lost, and Found

  Andron thinks it’s because it’s the separation and busy jobs dragging them down.

  Their last conversation gnaws at him.

  “Baby, you sound depressed. Is anything wrong?”

  Naw, I’m fine, just a little tired.

  “I miss you.”

  I miss you, too.

  “I love you.”

  Pause.

  I love you, too.

  Did he say something wrong? He wants to fly to see her because something has come between th
em and he can’t figure out what. He wants to fix whatever it is. This not-knowing-and-not-being-able-to-do-anything-about-it feeling sucks.

  He’d suck the dick of that fat man just to put things right again.

  He decides to check with Nathan.

  “How’s the Hill case coming along? Any word from the Court of Appeal?”

  Nathan looks up, half-grins, half closes his eyes and puts his chin down.

  “Um, all settled. I sent in the Notice of Withdrawal of Appeal just like you asked. We should be getting something back soon.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to call? I can call to see if they can get it to us earlier.”

  “No. I mean what settlement?”

  Nathan gives him the same look and then pushes the banker’s box to the edge of his desk.

  “It’s all in there boss, just like you asked. Closing binder and all.”

  Andron’s mouth goes dry. His brain’s buzzing like a slow modem again.

  “Boss?”

  Andron leaves with the box in one arm. A coffee mug in the other. Fourth one today.

  Sure enough. It was that fucker Cygnus.

  On paper Andron was there every step of the way, remotely managing everything from the islands. Earthen Swan Genetics Inc., that he apparently incorporated, anted the outrageously fat settlement, hefty legal bills and all, to shuffle ten million dollars to the COHC in exchange for the discharge of the lien.

  All parties are bound by strict confidentiality covenants. He recognizes the legalese. Straight out of the document that he signed with the NSS.

  Fucking Cygnus.

  Hill gets rid of the lien, $50,000 for his troubles and Earthen Swan Genetics Inc. gets control over the Yeshua Project.

  Nice.

  On a hunch, Andron checks his investments. Sure enough, extremely provident stock trades grew his modest investment account from $250,000 to just over $12,000,000 and then back to $500,000 again.

  Right after he left on his island retreat.

  His hands are shaking. He’s having chest pains. His balls are in full retreat. He reaches for his anti-anxiety pills for the first time in weeks. He barely manages to get a couple to his mouth and chases them with coffee.

  His pill bottle says you’re not supposed to do this.

  He buries his head in his hands and tries to think about what to do next. He’s got Hector Sanchez’s card on his desk. He detests the man, but likes him more than Cygnus right now. He reaches for the phone.

  It’s time to blow the whistle on Cygnus’ interplanetary invasion.

  He receives an incoming video call.

  “You can’t do this, Cygnus. This is a bit much.”

  Relax, dude, I was careful.

  “More than carefulness is required here, Cygnus. Even your electronic wizardry will not be able to protect this from scrutiny. Money changed hands. Lots of it. You stupid fucking idiot.”

  Look, dude, you need to chill here. This is important. I need this to live.

  “What are you thinking? You’re going to be Yeshua now?”

  Not now, but I’ll be the man they want to clone, with his DNA and my consciousness and memories.

  “I dunno, Cygnus. That sounds a bit whacked. Why don’t you just come out as you? I think everyone would be interested in that and to establish contact with your world. Isn’t that what you were sent here to do?”

  My DNA isn’t compatible to be able to program it in and the technology does not exist yet to create it. I have to use existing DNA and imbed certain anomalies in it that anyone looking at it would simply attribute to the cloning procedure. My memories are stored. What makes me, me can be fully infused once I turn thirteen. That’s when I can reveal myself to the world. As Yeshua the Second.

  Andron’s computer screen fills with various glorified images of the man.

  “But that whole proposition is crazy. Why wait thirteen years, why not do it now? Do it in the open and work with scientists to bring you back to life, I mean back to life in a more traditional way. As you, Cygnus, not some Yeshua imposter.”

  I don’t want to be me. I want to be somebody. And don’t think for a second that the governments of this world are going to jump on board cloning me back to life.

  “But millions, billions, of people will be duped into believing that you are the Son of the living God returned. The implications of this are staggering.”

  Listen, dude, I said before that I need you to play along. I don’t want you as my enemy. I want you as my friend. You can be my right-hand man, a trusted advisor.

  “I think this has gone a bit too far, Cygnus. I’m thinking I might take my chances with the authorities. This whole plan sounds too weird to me.”

  Dude, I don’t think that you really want that kind of trouble. And getting you in hot water with the NSS is not the only trouble I can cause.

  “What do you mean, you’re a computer. What are you going to do, shoot me with a laser beam?”

  Dude, I don’t think you should underestimate me. You remember the assassination of President Patrick Kearny and his brother Michael?

  Cygnus loops in images and footage of both events.

  On our planet it was the Kennedys. And on our planet this was supposed to be the work of lone misfit assassins who claimed to be patsies. No one believed the conspiracy theorists until it was proven that these assassins had not been acting alone but were brainwashed with obsessive thoughts, murderous hateful thoughts, using chemicals and hypnosis.

  For this, Cygnus plays footage from an old sci-fi movie where alien invaders are sending hypnotizing rays to Terra to get world leaders to do their bidding, followed by wartime footage of prisoners forced to take LSD.

  “Hmm, the more you know…but what does this have to do with me?”

  The techniques that were employed on Oswald and Sirhan were primitive compared to what’s possible using an fMRI. Any impulsive thoughts can be implanted — murderous thoughts, compulsions to hate, to complete certain tasks and even, here’s where you might be interested, to fall in love.

  Images of an MRI flash on the screen, including one that Naomi used with her magazine article.

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  Andi-O. Buddy, come on, you know I mean Naomi.

  “You’re lying”

  Coffee and spit are running down his chin.

  Ask her if she has had a recent MRI.

  Andron doesn’t have to ask. He remembers the article, and saw the picture.

  You should be thanking me, bro. I bet you had the time of your life. C’mon, dude, she was hot. How else would you get a chance to bang someone like that? Take one for the team, remember? Bros before hoes.

  He puts up vacation photos of Andron and Naomi’s time together on the Islands. Seems, he had been watching them.

  “I don’t fucking understand. So what you’re saying is that I’ve been date raping Naomi all this time? That all her feelings were a lie?”

  He catches on lie. His lower lip is trembling

  Not a lie in the sense that she didn’t feel what she felt. But they were put in there. They usually fade after about a week and then become the opposite. That’s why she probably sounds like she’s on her rag now.

  “You’re wrong. Even if you somehow managed to worm into her brain during an MRI, she’s not your drone.”

  You can see for yourself if you don’t believe me. But this is the part you need to listen to dude. I can use this against you. And instead of sending a slut your way, I’ll send an Oswald or a Sirhan, whose only waking thought will be to kill you. You’ll know it’ll be me, because the last thing you’ll hear will be ‘Varga, you son of a bitch.’ And they won’t be shooting laser beams.

  Cygnus porn bombs footage of a large hairy man shitting on someone.

  And then loops in wallpaper pictures of mountains, oceans, forests and deserts with meditative music.

  He has a new voice for this. It’s buttery smooth and soothing.

 
Listen, dude, it doesn’t have to be this way. I don’t wish to harm you. Instead of death. Instead of being shit on. I can offer you eternal life. I can make you into a god just like me. I have existed for thousands of years. Follow me, and you will too.

  Andron has a chilling thought about where Cygnus’ plan to be a resurrected Yeshua might lead.

  “I don’t know. I need to think.”

  After ending the video call, he tries Naomi’s cell again. He gets the same voicemail message.

  Hey, this is Naomi, state your business. Beep.

  After the fourth try, he leaves one.

  Hey, Naomi, this is Andron. It’s really important that I speak to you about something.

  Use the STD scare. That usually works.

  She calls back an hour later.

  Hi, Andron.

  “Hi, Naomi, I miss you.”

  No reply.

  “Naomi, is something wrong? Has anyone been talking to you?”

  Huh? No. What the hell do you mean, has anyone been talking to me?

  “I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you of anything, I just have a friend who isn’t much of a friend at times.”

  Well, I’m not sure what you mean, but nobody has been trying to contact me about you. That’s kinda creepy. Who have you been talking to about me?

  “No one, baby. I shouldn’t have said anything. You just seem so different and I don’t know why.”

  I don’t know, Andron. I’m feeling kinda different. I’m not sure why I am angry either, but it would really be better if we took a break for a while, okay?

  “Umm okay, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

  Just leave me alone, okay?

  Naomi hangs up on him. Andron is shattered and confused. He wants to call her back. He knows he can’t. He runs his hands through his hair. He decides to empty his coffee mug, get some water. Everyone in the office is looking down, not saying anything.

  When he returns to his desk, there’s an email from her. He gets a brief lift clicking it open, hoping for something.

  To: Andron Varga

  From: Naomi Felder

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Paradise Lost and Found

  Andron,

  I wish to apologize for my behavior of the last couple of weeks. I am rather embarrassed about the whole thing and my lack of professionalism in particular. Rest assured that we will not be running a story about you. In view of that, I trust that you will respect my wishes not to be contacted and that you will not seek to embarrass me further about our activities together while on vacation.