On Schlomo’s Couch

Trying to get some rest and distract himself from the disheveled and somewhat unsanitary looking living room Oculus finds himself in at his new friend’s apartment, he slouches down into the deep couch and takes the opportunity to pour over his “one of a kind . . . gift;”  Andy’s print book.

The images are both engrossing and somewhat disturbing, though he can’t put his finger on exactly why.  The images appear largely unremarkable, almost mundane at times and yet, every minute or so Oculus finds himself entranced, staring, tumbling into deep, bizarre thoughts that are at once detailed but also incomprehensible . . . like dreadful dreams he cannot remember.

The images seem to shift in the corner of his eyes and there is a suggestion of distant, barely audible voices, voices that drone on . . . and on . . . as if delivering a messages or, commands in hypnotic syncopated rhythms.

As thoughts fleet to and fro within his conscience beginning to fall asleep, book in lap, dread lurks in his thoughts about what he had seen earlier that night . . . what had he seen?  Malevolent demon-like blue clown faces, the shadowy star people . . . had he witnessed a murder?  Had anyone else? 

No, he’d seen them before - - the demons . . . something about a cult . . . and that Dr. Madison, he seemed to know about whatever these things were that’d been plaguing his thoughts for months.  As Oculus begins settling on the idea of returning to the Arcadia to pay the Archeologist a visit for more information the frum voice of his new friend breaks the quiet of the room.

“There’s no one in the pictures, I think we need to see Mister Dr. Madison.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

One more thing pressed on his mind about what he saw at the club - - he had to get back there and investigate further . . . had Andy drugged him?

He needed to find out more.

“Schlomo, can I use your phone to call home and check my answering machine for messages?”