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Out Of Mind » MEMBER ADVERTISING & BLOG FORUMS » T.S. "Tray" Caladan » VIOLET by Tray Samuel Caladan

VIOLET by Tray Samuel Caladan

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1 VIOLET by Tray Samuel Caladan on Mon Nov 09, 2015 9:27 pm




by Tray Samuel Caladan
It was a bright and clear day that December 6th, 1941 on the streets of Beverly Hills as tons of ‘beautiful people’ walked and drove their cars without knowledge of what really happened in the world. Forces of nature could not be conceived by the shallow people in fashionable clothes that marched from one store to the next. The war in Europe stood at a great distance. The popular consensus was that America would never be touched by the madness that transpired overseas.
A slick, streetwise private ‘dick’ had a reputation in the area of North Bedford Street. Chris Vega was a handsome man that could have had about any woman he wanted. Instead, his life was wrapped up in daily work where he spied on husbands for wives and spied on wives for husbands. Detective work that he once thought was exciting had boiled down to photography behind trees and bushes. He dreamed that he worked for the feds on important cases of international espionage. But he knew the government would never pay as much as the ‘Hollywood-types.’
He was bored. He also desired to be a racecar driver one day after retirement. There were various racecar photos in both front and backroom.
Then she walked in the door.
Vega was in the larger backroom. He pressed the intercom button and responded to the cheap buzzer. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Ah…someone to see you, Chris. And she’s a…”
“She’s a what, Jas?”
“You’ll see,” the detective’s receptionist/secretary stated in a sexy way.
“Hmm. You know the procedure, toots. Have’er fill out the short form and send her in.”
“Aye, aye, boss.”
In a minute, the most attractive blonde the P.I. had ever seen entered the backroom. She wore a very violet evening dress and it was only 10:10 AM.
Chris Vega was floored. He was a good actor and kept his cool. He knew the next guy would be ‘butter in her hands.’ He, also, would be a lump of warm butter with her perfect arms around him. But he wasn’t going to let this “looker” know it.
A deep, breathless, dreamy and scared voice from the ‘vision’ in dark purple said, “Mr. Vega, I want you to help me. Some men are following me.”
The detective thought to calm her tension with a flirtatious joke. “Really? I can’t imagine why.”
She sat. Her gown crinkled. She said softly, “You’re too kind.”
Chris sat behind the desk and replied, “You don’t know me, doll.” He lit an unfiltered Old Gold cigarette and offered her one. “What’s yer name, kid?”
They smoked and the smoke lingered in the air.
“Violet…MISS Violet Luyten.”
“Like the dress?”
“And…and the flower, Mr. Vega,” Violet declared through her worries and fears.
Chris saw it in her gorgeous blue eyes. He got down to business with the next question. “Now who’s chasing you, Miss Luyten, and for what specific reason? If you know or I should ask: What do you know?”
She waved the cigarette and looked up as if toward Heaven. “It’s like I dream; or as…as if I had been drugged and can’t remember.”
“You know your name; can’t be the victim of amnesia…or not total. Go on.”
“I think…I think mob boss Flo Ross is involved…”
“Kingpin LA boss of organized crime?” He perked up more.
She had tears in her big eyes as if the criminal had done unspeakable things to her. She was desperate and shook a bit. Violet put the cigarette out in a filled ashtray. “Yes.”
Chris Vega was very interested in the case. He said, “That means his right-hand man and enforcer, Zinny Wolf, is involved too.”
“Yes! I see wolves. I see wolves, Mr. Vega!” She rose from the chair after the exclamation.
He also responded; got up and lunged at her.
They met and embraced somewhere to the side of the desk. It was a warm and tender embrace, too affectionate for strangers who had just met. She needed the comfort and he complied without the slightest complaint. The feeling was divine.
“Have we ever met, Mr. Vega?”
He held her even closer and tighter. “You know, kid…that I woulda remembered.”
She sucked in a large breath and he closed his eyes and smelled her hair.
Then Vega also had the weird feeling that he knew the lady from somewhere, but failed to remember.
The smoky ecstasy was shattered by the intercom’s buzzer. The hug ended.
Chris silently mouthed the word: “Fuck.” He answered.
“Yes, Jas? Good timing; what?”
“Someone just phoned and wanted you…sounded worse than… I, uh, said come in at 1PM…that alright?”
“Good. Bye.” He clicked her off and saw that Violet was ready to leave.
“Surely there’s more? Miss Luyten? That’s not much to go on.” He put out his cigarette.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mr. Vega. I have to leave…NOW.” The girl did not walk out; she ran out as if the devil himself chased her. By the time Chris whipped passed his secretary and made it into the lavish hallway, Violet pushed passed people and opened the big front doors to the building. She was gone in a flash.
Vega thought: That was a glorious sight, but now what? He wandered back into the front room of his office as if the last few minutes almost hadn’t happened. Violet left no address or phone number on the form.
Jas remained behind her desk, dumbfounded as well.
“She make an appointment?”
Jas Procyon answered and chewed gum, “Naw boss, nothin’.”
Chris was distraught. It was not because he had no clue how to get ‘the goods’ on the crime boss or even how to protect the ‘damsel in distress.’ It was…
“How am I gonna see her again?”
Jas shrugged under dark bangs. She held an empty expression and blew a bubble that popped.
Life’s no Bed of Roses, then again: You wouldn’t wanna lay in a real bed of roses.
On the same day, 1 o’clock rolled around and in walked the client who had called earlier…
The intercom’s buzzer woke the young detective from a short nap. He heard his receptionist when she said…
“You’re not going to…uh, believe this, Detective.”
“Just send him in.” The man gathered himself together. He got to his feet and was not prepared for what walked into the backroom:
She looked like Violet only a brunette that hid behind dark glasses. This woman appeared older by possibly 10 years. She hunched slightly and seemed far more nervous and scared than the previous client. Every bit of skin was covered in layers of grey clothes, except her face. Her persona or aura exuded not a drop of sexiness. This was one tightly wound woman sure that her life was soon over.
She introduced herself as a school teacher whose name was Rose Teegarden. Miss Teegarden told the exact same story as Violet, except with more emotion and intricacies as if more was remembered. Her voice was high, not deep and breathless.
Chris Vega acted cool and drank in the information without any critical skepticism.
Am I being played? Was this the same girl or a twin?
She relayed details where Zinny Wolf’s racketeers had kidnapped her. She believed they had false information on her; made a huge mistake and mistook her for someone else. She said she was raped and beaten, although there were no marks of any kind on her face.
Miss Teegarden also refused a smoke with the words, “Ugh…never; wouldn’t dream of it.”
She wanted a body guard desperately and said she’d pay “Big Money.”
On a teacher’s salary of an unmarried woman?
The detective felt very little attraction for the frightened brunette. She appeared to still have the ‘gams’ and ‘boobies’ under all the grey clothes. Chris Vega clutched her not and refused the body guard job. His answer was, “I don’t do body guard jobs, Miss Teegarden. Anyway, it’s not me and any army here; look around. I mean, I know a few guys…but…”
She CRIED with her head in her hands.
Oh Christ!
“Look. Here’s what you have to do, lady…What’s yer first name?”
“Rose; that’s nice. You have to go to the police and tell them exactly what you’ve told me. Everything you can remember. Whatever Zinny or Flo or anybody did to you, you TELL them, Rose. There’s yer army that can help you; save yer money.”
The older gal said the most bizarre connection of words that threw the private investigator for a loop. “I have this…uh, feeling, I guess…”
Rose Teegarden or Violet Luyten or whatever her name was said, “The gal they’re looking for, NOT ME…knows Top Secret shit…and I think the feds are running the Mafia.”
Vega put his cigarette out after those concepts hit his ear. He filtered everything else out. He concentrated. He even turned his back on this most intriguing of women and fiddled with the Venetian blinds. Was his ‘cool-act’ a coping-mechanism for when real, true excitement flowed through his veins?
He heard the door SLAM!
“Oh, no. Not again.”
By the time he reached the elaborate hallway and peered down its length, he once more saw the wide doors that swung open to North Bedford Street. “I think someone’s fuckin’ with me,” Vega said to himself in a low register.
When he returned to his office, Jas popped her bubblegum and commented, “You sure have a way with the ladies, Chris.”
He didn’t laugh and was lost in thoughts. He said to his secretary, but it was more for the universe in general: “This is my greatest case! And I don’t have a clue where to go with it?”
Jas had the perfect answer. “I wouldn’t worry, Detective. (pop) She’ll probably come back in a few hours as a redhead, ha.”
He laughed at that. Then the investigator asked himself, “Maybe that was her older sister? What, she doesn’t know of Violet? What are the odds?”
Jas seemed less dazed and clearly said, “She had plenty o’ time to dye her hair black and, and uh…dress-down like she did.”
Vega lit another cigarette. “I think yer wrong there, toots. This one was older, yeah, older. Her skin didn’t…didn’t glow like the other one. They gotta be related. Ah! And one called while the other one was here. Do you remember, Jas? Was the voice on the phone HER voice?”
“Ah…I dunno.” Jas pulled out a file and smoothed her red nails that matched her red lips. “I’m bettin’ she’s a ‘nutzi.’ You know, having you on?”
“Yeah, but who’s puttin’ her up to it, kid?”
Detective Chris Vega saw the late hour and opened his liquor cabinet with keys and grabbed his favorite elixir in the entire world: Bourbon! He downed a few swigs. The time was 3:30 PM; the day was about over.
What else could happen?
For only the third time in a whole day, the intercom buzzed. He replied and heard Jas’s voice: “The redhead is here. I, uh, was gonna say you’ll never believe it, Chris…but I think you will.”
Before his laughter stopped, the poor wooden door exploded open with more force than it ever experienced before! In flew the most powerful, overwhelming, female presence (by far) that the man had ever encountered in his 23 years on Earth. The radiant redhead had Violet’s fantastic face and amazing eyes (only green). She was energy. If Violet glowed, this gal was a supernova! She wore a red ‘power suit’ that the PI had never seen on a female. Black boots finished an outfit that was ‘out of this world.’ The girl was a chatterbox that hardly let another person communicate.
Did I see the character in a Joan Crawford movie or was it Rosalind Russell?
“Lily…the name’s Lily Barnard! Heard about you, Vega; heard yer GOOD. Need your personal skills on a big case, Vega. You won’t believe how high up this goes, boy, higher than the sky. You really wouldn’t believe me if I came right out and TOLD ya! So why go into the gory details, right? Hey! Does the girl get coffee? I’m not asking her to do windows, eh? MAN, could I go for a tub ‘o coffee now! Above Top Secret! Can you believe that? This place isn’t bugged is it? NO F-ing cream, hon, did you hear that? Just a ton of sugar in mine! Okay, bet you are bustin’ to know what this is all about, huh? Didja…”
“Oh were you about to say something? I’m all ears! Want yer feedback, input; yes indeedy. Hey did we ever meet? You almost look familiar, Vega…very strange…”
Maybe there was an opening?
“Your name’s Lily?”
“Then again, this whole affair is strange with the Mafia running the government and the aliens running the Mafia and so it goes; doesn’t stop there, kid. HEY! Out there in the front room! Black coffee, no cream and make it hot now, PLEASE…”
No, there wasn’t an opening but the (stepped-on) detective made one. He reached into the top desk drawer where there was probably the most important tool-of-the-trade, outside of a concealed weapon. The essential tool was duct tape. He muffled her speech with it as around and around it went across her luscious lips again and again.
Lily Barnard froze. She went into semi-sleep-mode and allowed her face to get wrapped tight.
“That’s better.” Chris noticed his receptionist left. He thought it was too much drama for her. “Now…” He inhaled and then exhaled. “You will tell me what is going on in a calm and civilized manner, Okay? Lady you don’t need coffee, ha, ha. You need those little pills that put you in slow motion, you know? If you can’t function like, like a…normal human being…then I can’t help you, dear. So I hope you know Morse Code ‘cause yer gonna have to pound out your story like a horse! What can I say? I could say: a horse with great gams and a great butt.”
She shocked the good detective who had the aroma of bourbon. Her fingers, like razor-sharp blades, sliced through layers of duct tape. It was too casual; no one was that powerful. Was the situation colored by the alcohol?
Calmly, both sat on a black couch that was against the wall and under the largest photo of a racecar.
“Yes, Chris. My name’s Lily,” she said peacefully. The incredible creature in red (flames) completely toned down and dialed back her act. “I am sensitive, very aware and your question concerned my name. This will make you happy; you ask, I’ll answer. Agreed?” She smiled.
He again hid a deep ‘feeling’ or familiarity with her. Vega matched her smile with his. “Good. I would ask you if you want to smoke, but I see yer already smoking.”
“Ha! Good one, ha, ha. You are a funny man, Vega. I like that in a man. I once had a wild experience in Vegas with a Tall White. You know what one of them is? Have you been to Vegas, Vega?” She revved her motors and was about to tangent again.
He stopped her. “Ah! Ah…slow,” Chris directed. He loosened another of his top buttons on his white shirt and shook his head. He decided not to smoke in front of her.
“Hee, hee. Oh, forget what I said about TWs.”
“Exactly. Ask away or should I tell you what this is about?”
“Tell me what this is about,” Vega stated with certainty. “Wait, do you know Miss Teegarden and Violet and why do you look alike and have names of flowers?”
“Good questions, my man. Here are good answers in reverse: There is a reason we are named for flowers, which you will discover. They, Rose and Violet, are not twins but made from a process that won’t be developed by your governments for the next twenty years. I am different; I am a ‘Lily’…”
“What’s that mean? How do you know this?”
“You will find out soon,” she replied. Lily completed her response with, “And I can tell you with all my ‘heart’ that this involves you as well as life forms off Earth, the war to come to the U.S, time-travel and a destructive power that you could not possibly imagine, Mr. Vega.”
Her emerald eyes convinced the man who was also highly perceptive. He still had his doubts. “Or…Miss Violet, you are utterly insane?” Chris was playful and crossed his eyes for her.
Instead of a laugh, she was serious. “Oh, it’s time,” Lily Barnard suddenly remembered as if she spied a clock.
She leaned across the couch and kissed him very hard SMACK on the lips!
The guy wobbled and had forgotten what heaven was like. He pulled away from her on the black couch. Chris was a molten pool of putty with red lipstick smeared across his two lips and down his neck. Vega took a few breaths and came to some sense of ‘normality.’ Today was an incredible day and it wasn’t over yet. There could not be any more big news, could there? “Anything else you left out you might want to tell me, lady?”
“Let me compute…” The impassioned ‘Woman in Red’ said in a sophisticated voice and manner, “Your job is to convince President Roosevelt to go against orders from Britain and the Columbians and NOT allow his troops to be killed at Pearl Harbor, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?…Pearl Harbor? What’s that?”
Lily continued without a response to his questions. “Before you catch your flight late tonight, there is someone you must see today…now in fact. He will have more answers you seek.”
“Who? And why are you talking differently? Flight?”
“Your friend, the smartest man on Earth,” Miss Barnard replied.
“The Professor! The college is only a few miles away. Hey, hey, hey, how do you know my secret, that he’s helped me out from time to time?”
Then a horrific expression filled her face as she sat. Her head turned and then turned the other way as if something that threatened her approached. Lily acted as if she was at another location and involved with dark things around her space or dimension unseen by Chris Vega in a backroom on North Bedford. “Oh, no. No! NO!! This can’t be!” she screamed in terror.
He grabbed her and felt an electric sensation. At first she was solid. Their eyes met and she lost total cohesion. The ‘lady in red’ with such a strong presence was entirely gone.
Chris held onto only air. “My God, Lily.” After he inhaled and exhaled a few times, the young man said out loud, “I do have a way with women.”
The east section of LA was owned by the Wolf Brothers, Zinny and Vinny. Their illegal operations included gambling, prostitution, bootlegging, the old protection racket and bingo. Small time crime ran rampant in exclusive neighborhoods, but was nothing compared to what criminals could do when they organized. Profits, money and financial gain were the motivation for well-dressed thugs that rolled along fancy streets in fancy cars.
The motives of ‘puppet-masters’ on a much higher level were a very different story. Their agenda was CONTROL and the maintenance of secret domination over time.
The corrupt business enterprises of the Wolf Brothers could have only emerged into existence under the ‘umbrella’ of the larger Ross Empire. Florian Ross or ‘Kingpin’ owned the north, south and west sections of the City of Angels. The ‘Scuttlebutt’ from those in-the-know to the planet’s top bankers was that Ross’ true ‘empire’ stretched to international accounts and beyond.
Inside a clean, shiny room with a tall ceiling and wood walls that would of made the Oval Office jealous, a small ‘mob’ meeting was about to happen. Zinny and Vinny were ordered and appeared before the ‘Godfather,’ the boss. They walked into the splendid, spacious room and sat in the two wide, comfy chairs placed in front of the most expensive desk on Earth. An even larger comfy chair stood behind the enormous desk.
Flo enjoyed a bit of drama. He was dealt drama, so he dished it out to those under him in the ‘chain of order and control.’ The big chair was turned around and its thick back blocked the view of the boss. Then he swiveled the chair and Flo faced the boys directly.
The boys never knew what they got when the big chair turned. Once, the old guy seemed young and not an old guy at all. Another time, he was stark naked. This time, the boss was handsomely dressed in his normal and very expensive suit.
“Glad you boys are here, glad you, ah…could make it, you know…here.” Flo’s hands shook as his good arm waved along with his words.
Vinny (must always dress ‘cheaper than his brother’) usually said the wrong thing. “Well, waaa would’ve ya done if we didn’t show?”
Zinny covered his face.
They were accustomed to the nonsense that spewed from the mouth of the younger Wolf Brother.
“Called yunze guys here for…for ah, ah specific reason; something important, boys.”
“Waa?” Vinny Wolf stopped. This was about the time he would be told to: “Shut up!”
Zinny sincerely asked the Godfather, “We’re dying to know, sir.” The older brother closed his eyes and thought he also said the wrong words.
“Bet ya didn’t know…I have a boss.”
“Whaaaaa?” Again, Vinny let out a shout that expressed how confused he was. He was confused a lot.
“No,” Zinny said. “Youse never said anything like dat before, boss.”
The dumber one did not understand or maybe he did. “Da boss has a boss? Then he’s not da boss.”
It took a moment, but the Godfather rose to his feet.
Zinny asked, “Boss, where ya goin’?” Flo never was on his feet whenever they had previously met in the special room with a tall ceiling.
“I, ah…I tink it’s time to let you two in, ah…in on a little secret.”
Vinny instinctively asked his stupid question. “You have secrets, boss?”
He was ignored.
Flo made it to the back wall and was soon surrounded by Wolf Brothers. A large door that seemed too heavy for the withered Kingpin to open suddenly opened automatically when he lightly touched it. A ‘hiss’ of air pressure had completed entrance not into another room, but into a ‘gateway.’
They entered…
Vinny’s mouth was opened wide but nothing came out.
Both brothers’ huge eyes beheld a dome ceiling hundreds of feet high and an area of space far, far larger than it should have been! The real building/mansion was not expanded into the stratosphere, yet the DOME created a ‘false reality,’ which the boys assumed was somehow a part of the big house.
Zinny was astounded and remained silent for the moment and in 100% awe.
Vinny said the first thing that came into his small mind, “Look at those tits!”
The other two laughed.
On the massive, curved walls were (computer) designs that any of LA’s Cosa Nostra of 1941 would not be familiar with. In the very center was a round and raised stage-area and at its center was a ‘desk.’ The middle was far away and the boys barely observed a big chair that was turned away from them.
“What’s goin’ on, sir?”
Flo instructed them to grab hold of the railing that stood a few feet from them and led all the way to the center of the dome. Flo went first. When he did, he seemed magically or miraculously, but really scientifically, ‘pulled’ onstage in a split-second. The Godfather was effortlessly transported to the desk. He waved at them.
They joined him in a ‘snap’ by the ‘rail’ method of transportation.
Zinny told his brother, “Remember, Vin: it’s just a dream, yeah, dat’s it. Keep in mind, it’s just a…”
Vinny finished the sentence, “…Dream.”
Flo Ross told the boys, “I, uh, ha…want yas to meet someone…my b-boss.”
The eyes of the Wolf Brothers shifted to the back of the really Big Chair. They would not have believed what was truly on the other side of the ‘chair.’ They were not permitted to see, but they heard a demonic voice that was so horrendous it made the ‘Voice of Oz’ sound like a whisper.
The boys fell to their knees like frightened children (something out of the Bible), while the old boss was used to the ‘Voice of the Devil.’
The Wolfs shook all over and especially their heads, which made the sign for ‘yes.’
Flo explained that his ‘life’ on Earth would be terminated soon and the boys would be in charge of the organization. But there was a higher ‘master-controller’ in the center of it all. Flo scared the boys even more when he introduced his boss as, “Number Two.”
Who or what could possibly be above the Voice from Hell?



2 Re: VIOLET by Tray Samuel Caladan on Mon Nov 09, 2015 9:28 pm


Detective Chris Vega confronted his old friend after classes at the university were over. There was time for talk now as students emptied the Science Room. Formulae and equations, right and wrong, were scribbled on all the blackboards. Books lined the walls. Professor Jaffe was more at home with his books, diagrams, charts, star maps and instruments than back at his modest home in Burbank. His wild, white hair stuck out in every direction. Pleasantries were exchanged and the PI showed the famous teacher and ‘smartest man’ the names on a piece of paper that he knew had an odd connection.
What were the special ‘answers I sought’ that Professor Jaffe would provide? Why was I here?
“My boy, this is extraordinary!” the brilliant scientist expressed in utter joy. He saw the puzzle, connection, pattern and ‘ghost in the machine’ immediately. “Do you know what you have here in the ladies’ names, Chris?”
“Yes! Absolutely…they’re flowers. Why I came to you, sir…the question is: Where do I go from here; where does that lead me? What is the significance of flowers?”
The super brain was so incredibly intelligent that Jaffe saw no flowers in the words. The obvious had no interest in him to the point of blindness. He saw the subtle, intricate pattern behind the pattern. “What flowers? These are stars,” the Professor declared.
The Professor was fascinated. “You’re a sharp lad, Chris. I admire your keen powers of observation. But for this, you’d need a telescope…or star charts to understand.”
“Star charts?” Vega reached for his unfiltered, Old Gold cigarettes and then changed his mind. He was flustered and realized, “I may never smoke again.” Chris tossed his pack and Zippo to the class floor.
Professor Jaffe was pleased. “Goot. Now look here, my boy.” The shorter, wider, older man opened the ‘Big Book of Astronomy’ that had its own pedestal.
“Still don’t understand…”
“What amazes me is these stars are within our stellar neighborhood, eh? Ten or maybe less than twenty light-years away…ha; all of them.”
“What stars, you mean real suns?”
The great teacher lifted tabs from the edge of the alphabetical pages and showed the investigator each one. “Look, Luyten’s Star…it’s real. Now we check…” Jaffe hit the “T” tab for ‘Teegarden.’
“Professor, yer not going to tell me there’s a star called Teegarden?” he asked in wonder.
“Not only that, it’s called Teegarden’s Star; Luyten is known as Luyten’s Star; ‘Star’ is their second name.”
“Wait a minute, that’s not true for Barnard? Oh my God, it is! I’ve heard of that one in something I’ve read…Barnard’s Star,” the PI suddenly realized.
“That’s a famous one. You said those were her names, the girl?”
“Yeah…what a…”
“Don’t say coincidence, my boy. The Universe doesn’t like coincidences…or accidents.”
“Let’s sit,” Chris suggested in a semi-shattered condition.
“Let’s.” Jaffe smiled broadly. (Vega always had an interesting puzzle or question for him). The old man with ‘crazy’ hair pulled out a pipe. “Funny. You quit and I just took up the pipe, a rare blend.” He lit the bowl and inhaled a few times.
Chris was deep into his thoughts. His words rambled. “First name flower, last name…star. What could it mean? I was told I’d find out and, and I oddly have a plane to catch tonight, ha.”
“Well, look at your name.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“VEGA! Ha, ha.” More smoke came out of the scientist with messed hair. He was very elated, yet relaxed and happy. His eyes were extremely glassy. “You didn’t know your last name is a bright, blue star? Vega is one of the brightest. I may have to change my opinion on you, son.”
“Yeah, yeah, I think I knew that. Space isn’t really my place, you know? At least I don’t have a flower for a first name.”
The Professor blew a smoke ring and said, “No, Christopher is not a flower.”
“Ah, my name is Christano. I’m Italian.”
“Ha! Ha! My boy, you ARE named after a flower!”
“‘Christano’ means ‘chrysanthemum’ or commonly called ‘mums.’ Ha. What…are you going to argue with the smartest man on Earth? HA. I can show you in a book.”
“No, no, I believe you. I’m only wondering: Is this why she said I was involved or why the girls maybe felt compelled to, to come to me? Somehow I’m involved, but how…and what to do?”
“I am getting more ideas.”
“Please. If you have any theories, I wanna hear them, Professor.”
“Only to say your ‘friends’ Flo and Zinny are also flowers and stars.”
“What? NOW I don’t believe you.” Chris was bothered, agitated and wondered if his old friend played a joke at his expense.
“Florian is the masculine of ‘flora.’ Ross is a star. There is Ross 154, 248, 614 and so on.”
“How can Zinny be, oh, ZINNIAS! I just got it! I hate to have something right in front of me and I can’t see it! Ha. I guess you’ll tell me that Wolf is a star too?”
The Professor gave the correct answer with, “424, 424A and 424…”
“…B,” the PI replied with way too much on his mind. “I shudda been a cowboy…”
Professor Jaffe smiled and almost blew white smoke in a triangle shape. The great physicist to philosopher did not expect the next questions.
“How do I get FDR to warn his men at Pearl Harbor? Also, ah…how could this involve the Columbians?”
“Ever see the end of a Stooges short…or a dollar bill or the Statue of Liberty? There is another group of Columbians you do not know, my friend. Where’s your flight to?”
“Well…D.C….HUH!” the detective gasped with a realization of a new shocker as he headed deeper and deeper into the ‘briar patch’ called truth.
Hours passed and the detective was at his shabby apartment. He had a high class office in a high rent district and it was ‘all for show.’ No one saw his ‘personal life’ where he lived with the squalor and the cockroaches in downtown LA.
I can save money on the smokes. Maybe I should quit the bourbon too?
Christano’s thoughts turned to more important matters: I might actually get that audience with the Commander-in-Chief because of the recommendation by Professor Jaffe; they were expecting me in Washington.
“Hell I was gonna end the day at 3:30 and then go to sleep.”
The phone rang as the last item was placed in a suitcase.
“Yeah? No time!” he shouted at the receiver. He thought it was a ‘crank’ call.
(It was Jas who never disturbed his ‘disturbed’ and dark evenings, unless it was a vital emergency).
“Chris, trust me on this. Yer gonna wanna stop at 13615 Maple Drive in Cholame on the way to LAX.”
She heard the news and didn’t want to ‘spill the beans.’ The Detective had to see for himself.
“Right.” Vega had time and would do as she suggested. “This better be good.”
Jas was serious and replied appropriately, “No, Chris. It’s not.”
When the detective arrived on the scene, he saw police cars and many people outside around a small, grey house in the dark. It was chaotic; a few cop cars had their red lights that spun. Yellow tape cordoned off areas and kept people away from the house for the most part.
Chris saw a fat police detective he knew: Hargitay.
Officers collected samples outside, but many other ‘boys in blue’ collected evidence on the inside.
This was big, whatever it was?
He went up to the main man who was surrounded by a few uniformed officers.
Detective Hargitay recognized the Beverly Hills ‘PI to the stars.’ They never got along, for obvious reasons. “What the hell are YOU doing here? You’re the last person…who paid ya to spy on this place?”
“Hey, Hargitay…I am doing youse guys one big favor with my presence here, for yer beeswax. I am on a federal case; right now on my way to see the President of these United States on an important and very secret, government mission. Espionage, eh?”
The chubby, bald and not well-paid police officer busted out with laughter, “Ha, HA! That’ll be the day. Hit the road and fuck off, Dick!”
Chris reached into his pocket that used to hold his smokes and it now held a special note. The note had a golden, embossed seal. He was cool and gave it to Hargitay.
“My good buddy, Jaffe, has one of the seals…kinda like the ‘Stamp of God.’ As you can plainly read…I’m on my way to Washington on important business, like I said. So whadda ya have here?”
Reluctantly, the veteran enforcement officer took the good-looking lad into the bedroom of the cute, cottage-like house.
“They said she was a schoolteacher. Teegarden was the name. This is far more gruesome than what was done to the Black Dahlia.”
That lovely, scared like a rabbit of a brunette with a high voice and glasses that wanted a body guard, was strewn across the entire bedroom. Blood was spattered everywhere, on four walls and bits of her were no larger than golf balls. Few officers remained in the bedroom for any amount of time. No one had ever seen a single murder victim that was this ‘chopped up.’ The bloody damage seemed like the result of a machine such as an electric chainsaw. It was a total mystery why anyone would savage a simple teacher who seemed to have had no enemies. The cops only knew that the ground up remains belonged to the owner of the house.
Vega ran out in a panic and offered nothing to the investigators. Who would believe him?
Hargitay commented and laughed to no one. “I knew the pussy couldn’t take it. Yeah, pretty boy will be a big help to the feds. Ha.”
The Detective, connected to flowers and stars, swallowed down a cup of needed coffee. He sat alone in an airport coffee shop that was located in the District of Columbia. The time was 6 in the AM on December 7th, on the day of ‘infamy.’ Chris scratched his head. There was no time for sleep and he couldn’t anyway. He was tired, but driven or compelled. He had about 6 hours to get in front of the President and somehow…convince him?
Vega laughed with a thought about the coffee he had just finished. He thought about her, the fiery red one. She was funny. He chuckled and giggled to himself: If whatever slaughtered Teegarden ever tangled with Lily, I feel sorry for the killer! She could handle herself. Ah, but…
What about beautiful, innocent, blonde Violet? Where was she?
And I don’t see the Mafia connection, except that they are pawns in the overall power-play?
Chris thought more about events to come as he viewed the travelers in motion that suspected nothing. He worried: The U.S. could enter the war and there was the possibility of millions of deaths like in World War I. And with a new means of incredible destruction beyond imagination, even more deaths?
Franklin Delano could disperse the whole Navy fleet that happened to be stationed at Pearl Harbor (the PI discovered). Why? Chris loved a mystery and riddles wrapped inside enigmas. Wasn’t it suspicious that most of America’s Navy was at Pearl, right now? Someone in National Security had to know outside of my weird, inside information? Simply expand the fleet in all directions; leave the same area or spot and be ready for a Japanese invasion. Could we really be caught off guard like this or was it Europe’s plan all along? Who staged the ‘theatre’ of war? Who else wanted the U.S. to join the madness?
For the moment, Chris Vega buried his questions and needed to think with clarity. A helicopter would land at Gate 13 within the half hour and whisk him off to meet with Roosevelt on this day of days.
Then he saw her and could not believe his eyes. Only a minute ago, he thought of her and coffee. The red one! Chris ran over to her table where she sat. He had forgotten about the bag he carried that he left at his table.
Vega sat right next to her with force and shook her cold, clammy hand for a minute with might and vigor.
The ‘firecracker,’ spit-fire redhead played it cool, too cool.
Chris went into an imitation of her and acted like a maniac on amphetamines. “Lily! Lily Barnard, you old cow! How the fuck are they hangin’? How’s Trix? Hey, ya ever been to Niagara Falls? No? That’s not what I heard. Heard you were there with a Tall White; that’s the talk on the street, babe. Any-who, Betty Boop, IT-girl, speak-easy…could be right, could be wrong; but spare me the gory details, toots! Or maybe we DO wanna know every in and out…Niagara Falls!”
A few others in the shop were aware of the young man’s antics in front of the ‘hottie’ and passed it off as ‘young lovers.’
He was out of breath from the quickness of speech and ‘powered-down.’
“Okay, Okay, Mr. Vega…you’ve made your point.” Lily was not buzzed on coffee. She had a paper cup of water in front of her and took small sips. She seemed very relaxed. “You’re a funny man, Detective.” She smiled and showed off her big, green eyes. She winked.
The perceptive PI noticed that something was wrong and it was in her eyes. Something was different. He asked, still in a good mood: “Did you like that?”
“No.” Her facial expression and even body language changed to a demeanor of darkness and EVIL. The red and black (Nazi) colors only enhanced her aggressive ‘look.’ She smiled again.
This time, Chris felt its chill. He got the impression that her bright eyes could kill. The normally quick-witted investigator was speechless.
Miss Barnard, who was not Miss Barnard, spoke. “You’ve mistaken me for the other one, Mr. Vega…the one who disappeared in your hands? Yeah, I’m another one made to look like her, you see?”
“You’re not, Lily?”
“Oh, I’m a Lily,” she answered. “But I’m not a clone who loves mass quantities of sugar in coffee, your Lily. I’m the one who killed the Teegarden clone.”
“You…what’s a clone?” the exhausted man on adrenaline exhaled.
“Cut her up pretty good, huh?” Lily slammed her artificial arm down hard and the sharp, extended nails cut deep into the tabletop’s Formica. The blade slashed one inch from Chris’ fingers.
He hardly flinched. “‘Killed’ is too kinda word for what ya done to’er,” he firmly said with rage on his face.
Lily said a (genetically) true statement. “She was used up.”
“What?” Christano was pissed and more pissed. He sensed there was a ‘fight’ in front of him.
I want to kill this…what? Machine-bitch?
She felt it too and hit him with a pre-emptive strike. Lily grabbed his collar tightly; pulled him into her and crashed her head into his!
The force sent the young man back and he flew more than ten feet.
Quite a few of the general public observed the spectacle and did nothing.
Chris was groggy, in pain and had a lump on his head. He was prone on the shop floor.
The audience laughed when the strong girl in red with black boots picked the man up and dropped him down in his seat. A few applauded. The couple were soon ‘old news’ and people returned to their business.
“Look, kid…” the red machine said with sincerity. “Shut the fuck up and listen, Detective. I WANT you to get on that helicopter and meet with FDR.” She had become calm again.
“You do?” he asked, dazed.
“Yes, sir. You turn his little mind around. Go against orders, I say,” was stated with a fist pump. Then she really blew his mind. “Did you know I slept with FDR? I was softer then.”
This was big news.
“Franklin! Our President?” The private dick put the pieces together. It was at this moment when he remembered the President’s wife…“Oh, Eleanor…I…I could never see what he…” was expressed with understanding from the man. “But hey! Let’s get back on point…”
She stopped him with the ultimate truth, “It does not matter if Pearl Harbor is bombed or not. We win either way. The Games are fixed, Detective…bought and paid for, Mr. Vega.”
“Whaddo you mean: Doesn’t matter if Pearl Harbor gets bombed or not? I would say it does matter, sweetie. And what games?” He was confused in many departments. One question answered led to a wider circle or web and only the presence of many more questions. “Don’t you have feelings?”
‘She’ honestly answered with a computer-bank of data totally accessed, “No.”
“Wait, Lily, please. Answer me this. When the other one, my Lily screamed and disappeared, what happened?”
Lily (#794) replied to his directive. “She understood that the Archons, my bosses, can only WIN. It is inconsequential what you do or the President. Your Lily found the other time-reality and I’m afraid it is lose/lose for the good guys. There’s another world, Chris.” Her green eyes glowed. “A real one…the real one, and this ain’t it, Honey.”
He felt that the ‘demon,’ she-devil, some spawn of Satan in a red suit, spoke the truth.
Her voice held sincerity. Inside her gears and wires, she believed her side had won. Dark Lily changed. This Lily no longer exuded a sinister attitude, but a down-to-Earth and very real one. She was excited as if she’d made a major discovery. “Look around you,” Lily coaxed. “Isn’t it amazing? You can touch it and touch it and none of it is solid. Nothing’s solid, man.”
Chris viewed as a curious child and tried to see what the robot saw.
“None of this is real, Chris…honest to whatever God you believe. Look closer; take a good look at the details. Haven’t you ever wondered about the nature of the universe? Nothing’s real and the Archons know this.” The red, humanoid cyborg with the designation of ‘794’ might have been ‘off her gyros’ or right on the money. She, very casually, finished the water in her paper cup.
Was she insane and a whacked product of malfunction?
“You know kid; I’m tired and I have to get psyched up to meet an important man…”
“Tell him ‘hi’ for me.” She smiled, batted her eyes and blew a kiss with those luscious red lips. “I think it’s his birthday…”
“Stop! No jokes!” The private investigator pounded the table. “You have to answer two things for me, please.” He insisted and was very serious. “Why kill Rose Teegarden? And two, will Violet be alright? Is she safe?”
“I think that’s three but I’ll answer all three, honestly. Teegarden remembered exactly who she was and what had happened to her; not allowed, Chris. Same goes for Violet. Violet is not safe and will not be safe in this time-line. Sorry.”
“What?” The PI was frantic. “I think I love her.”
“C’est dommage,” it said in French, a language he knew not.
The federal helicopter was soon to land.
“Ever hear of…” the hot android continued.
“…Sacrifice?” the mechanical ‘Devil’ said to the Angel and winked again.
He looked her in the eyes and demanded, “Exactly what do you mean, sacrifice?”
Inconsistent Lily, who alternated between good and bad (positive and negative) and even parallel worlds, said, “Oh! Here’s one…what if I said it was Violet’s death…or the many Navy men at Pearl Harbor?”
“Say again?”
Lily asked with authority, “They all die or she dies? Which one, Chris? Pick.”
“The world doesn’t work like that, Lil.”
“Don’t be too sure when you are dealing with magical forces out of this world.”
“Aliens? Ah, and time-travel also?”
“Franky will fill you in, hon.”
Chris felt an electric sensation in the air that he had experienced before.
Lily went to kiss him, but before that happened: She disappeared into thin air.
Only two children and a teenager witnessed the quick disintegration of a red robot into nothingness. No one believed them.
When Chris Vega returned to his table, someone had stolen his suitcase.
“Huh. Maybe she’s right…nothing matters.” His sore eyes saw sunlight through large windows and the brightness hurt. He only wanted to sleep. He hoped he was sound asleep in that other world, wherever it was, real or not and be wrapped in a perpetual dream state.
Maybe this universe was the dream? I only know I want to end up inside one big, delicious, Violet Fantasy.
“Great. There’s the fed ‘copter. It’s black; shudda known. I’ll catch a few Zs on the way.”

The importance of the Mob and mob bosses was simply for control of the masses. The Organization was placed in charge of things (beyond politics and drugs) in a grand deception perpetrated on Earth. As ‘Mickey’ in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice waved a magic wand and created an illusion that got out of hand, the whole planet would be under a spell of pretty law and order and security. In truth, there was chaos and some order with only an illusion of freedom and liberty.
Organized crime secretly infiltrated regions completely unknown before. Tried and true, red/white and blue, mom and pop industries were now invisibly controlled:
~The future will include the miracle of Television, which will not be used for education but for mind-control, brainwashing and propaganda.
~Movies, films and the cinema will further accelerate mind-control, brainwashing and propaganda. ‘Stars’ will be created, owned and controlled so that their followers do the same.
~Sports will be merely ‘entertainment’ and totally manipulated from the top down while the public believed the lie that Sports were legit. ‘Friendly competition’ was really a war agenda.
~Music will also gain power and influence in the New World Order. What will be used to ‘sway’ nations to peace with more ‘prettiness’ will eventually only mask the agenda of war.
In one form or another, in one language or another, an organized (occult) Spider Web hung over the planet and dominated every aspect of Earthly life. It could be called the Mob, the Order or the hierarchy of the universe. The concept was for a few banking families to generate massive amounts of money and enormous amounts of control while all the commoners not in-the-know were fleeced of everything.
But who watched the Watchers; controlled the Controllers and ultimately pulled the strings of different mob bosses and their Bosses? Who was Number One?
At the Gateway mystically attached to LA’s ‘Mafia Mansion,’ one more encounter occurred significant to ‘The Order,’ chain-of-command and who would lead the Mob in wartime.
Flo was not far from one reality where he croaked among his prized tomato plants. In the present, he was already at the special ‘desk’ inside the special dome with the really Big Chair. It was turned so that #2 or the large one (with amplified Voice) went unseen. Three comfy chairs were in front of the phenomenal desk and a wrinkled Godfather rested in one of them.
Flo’s boys, who really were his biological heirs, rode the rail-transport and were next to him onstage in an instant.
Caped Zinny was in a great mood; Vinny, not so much.
Zin said, “Heeeey, dat never get’s old boss! Yeah! Ha, ha.” Zinny was under the impression the ‘Keys to the Kingdom’ would soon be his. He would be in control of virtually the entire planet while he, of course, served a Higher Master. There was a minor problem: his stupid-ass brother! Another prince vied for the throne of power.
Flo cleared his throat while the boys sat and wondered why they were called again so soon after the last meeting.
“Hey, Boss. Excuse me, sir?”
Flo looked into his son’s eyes.
“Is he here?” Zinny’s eyes darted to the Big Chair.
The boys screamed, but held their ground in the soft, padded chairs.
The Big Chair moved a few inches and then stopped. View of ‘the Thing’ remained blocked.
Flo nodded and the boys listened. “Time, time is s-short…and I, I have to decide between you two…”
Zinny laughed so hard he needed both hands to cover his mouth. He quickly ceased and immediately acted cool and nonchalant about it.
Vinny slowly turned and strangely looked at his brother in the other chair. He didn’t get the joke. The ‘dumber’ one was silent.
“I wantcha…Zin…”
“Yes, sir?” he answered with huge respect for the old man.
“Ah…uh, I’m Okay.” Flo took a breath. “You…you tell me about ya brother? Vinny, pison, your blood. Why s-should he not…” The Godfather used his one good arm that helped his words come out. “…Ya know…takeover?”
Zin jumped out of his chair and rumpled the most expensive suit in LA. His white cape fell to the ground. “SIR! Yuz want me to tell’ya why he shouldn’t rule YOUR empire?!”
Flo sadly covered his face with the hand that moved and nodded. “Maybe we…we do this every year?”
Zinny shouted, “Like Christmas!”
Flo disagreed, “No…opposite.”
Zin misunderstood, “We TAKE things from each other!” He punched the air. “Yeah!”
Godfather only shook his head in shame and then it hung straight down. His hand went up and a finger made slow circles in the air. “Go on…talk about ya brother.”
“Oh, boy.” Zinny punched the air a few more times like he was a professional boxer as he hovered right behind and over the quiet Vinny. “Outside of him makin’ me look good with my splendid attire (smiled)…an, an, makin’ me look like a JAFFE…he’s a nincompoop! Look at’m!”
Vinny took the ‘barbs’ of brotherly love in stride. He was a sight: He sat there and shrugged; made ‘stupid faces’ that was not hard work for him. From the comfy chair he giggled; got serious when he thought he was falsely accused then realized he wasn’t. Vin sinned like Dillinger on pep pills and every last detail of STUPID MOVES were laid before the boss who had Bosses above him.
“He likes little boys! He plays with trains. He has to ask me how to use a flashlight. He wondered why there weren’t INSTRUCTIONS on a friggin’ pack of cigarettes! He once thought mercury was good for yuz, if ya drink it. But, but besides the ‘lunacy,’ hey dat’s a good word boss…besides all the retardo-crap…Vincent Antiny Spumoni Wolf has squandered; blown; wasted; gambled away a fortune!!” Zinny stared at the Godfather for a second. “You think he made WISE bets…or, or good investments?”
Flo with face still covered by hand shook his head slightly for ‘no.’
“How can he be runnin’ the Treasury? Boss! He’s the Stupidest Man in the World.”
Vinny shrugged once more as if to say: Yeah, ya got me pegged.
Zin again looked at Flo then back to his brother in the chair. “I wanna KILL him! Oooh, ya…I hate’m!” All the while Zinny pantomimed knives, swords, stabs, clubs, punches, a noose, poison, guns, Tommy-guns, strangulation, dynamite and other sorts of nasty things that came only inches from his palooka brother’s thick skull.
“Ya know why he’s not talkin’? Told him I’d kill’m if he spoke outta turn again. And I would, too; Father, forgive me.”
“Boys…boys…Okay, I, I’ve decided…”
Zinny was super excited with very wide eyes. “You HAVE?”
Flo confessed, “It, ah…wasn’t so much a…a…hard choice, but a sad one, my son. Number Two?” The Godfather made it so both hands covered his face. He couldn’t watch.
An animal roar echoed through the dome as the Big Chair swiveled with force and revealed:
A 9-foot tall, dark green LIZARD-humanoid in sparkled clothes that walked on two strong legs, leaped at the boys! It ate one of them in their entirety in less than a minute and down to the last bloody bones.
When the rub-out, whack-job or simply a delicious meal was over for the Lizard, it burped; said nothing and returned through the Gateway.
Flo blocked the horrible sight from view and moved closer to his son, the dummy.
Vinny froze like a solid statue, petrified in a soft and comfortable, but blood-spattered, chair. He also had spots and streaks of Zin’s blood on him.
Kingpin Flo passed the ‘torch’ onto his son with the words, “I love you my, my s-son. You are the per-perfect man…for the job.”
Vinny remained in ‘lobotomy-mode’ or a catatonic state and stayed that way for a good, long minute. His face was sad, empty and bloody.
Flo looked on.
Then a small thought sparked inside of Vinny Wolf and he came to life. He smiled.
In one parallel world that was also virtual (but in 1080p)…seven sleek, white life-pods were activated. Small lights blinked ‘on’ and systems were fully charged. Nutrients and stimulants were automatically pumped through tubes and into the pods, located on a silver spaceship. Seven pod lids or seals hissed then opened with a burst of air pressure inside a round, shiny, clinically-clean room. The life-pods radiated from exact center within a bright room that appeared designed for the pods. Computers and very advanced equipment and screens were elegantly positioned on the curved walls. Every device monitored what was contained inside the tubular and flattened pods.
One of the ‘podlings’ was fully revived ‘days’ sooner than the others. The podling retrieved the ‘jumbled’ information stored in the ship’s computer and carried out other functions on instinct. The first one revived was the ‘responsible Captain.’
[The face of the podling/Captain was not viewed].
The spaceship was recently stolen from the Archons and recently cloaked and recently nicknamed ‘Hope’ by the new Captain. ‘She’ hid from detection, away from a hellish universe that had its good moments. The unseen Captain was the only one of the ‘seven’ who functioned at maximum. The Captain was the only one who pushed buttons and powered up the silver Archon disk, more than 100 feet in diameter (when visible and physical).
The craft was well out in space. They were safe; they were all safe.
When the Captain returned to the monitor station or med-lab or the Pod Room, she checked the readings on the walls from various sensors and machines. Top priority first; then the lesser systems were noted and recorded.
There was a lot of work ahead: to unscramble the information and learn what really had happened to the special crew from the foggy memories in their brains.
“Wait!” Her head turned and then turned the other way as if something that threatened her approached. The Captain acted as if she was at another location and involved with dark things around her space or dimension invisible to any observer. “Oh, no. No! NO!! This can’t be!” she screamed in terror.
The Captain was not one of seven onboard Hope. There were only six. One of the life-pods had been empty the entire time and she only now was made aware of the fact.
The specimen or one more famous, iconic personality abducted from Earth through time went missing. This was very bad: designation on the life-pod was coded ‘JASMINE PROCYON.’
Back at the Gateway ‘desk,’ on the strange stage and under the big dome, the Godfather had fallen asleep in his comfy chair.
Vin Wolf, puppet-heir to the entire Ross Empire of Earth, remained motionless with a sick smile plastered on his face. He remained motionless when Flo (before nap) pressed a button and the ‘Voomba’ machine electrically eliminated all the blood and guts. Vinny just stood there and got mechanically cleaned, lost in happy dreams.
Something dark woke inside Flo Ross. He jerked and reentered the ‘land of the living.’ He informed his quasi-comatose son (the Prince) that big Lizard or ‘#2’ had returned. In fact, the monstrous creature was with them now and sat in the gigantic chair that faced away.
Big Chair swiveled slightly…
Vinny was sure that his short reign as King was terminated and the happy, simple, very happy and very simple thoughts were all that his administration amounted to…this was it…
The terrified man flung himself up on the desk, on his knees, directly in front of the un-swiveled Big Chair so he can die without delay! The Prince who almost sat on the throne figured the creature was hungry again and wanted another meal. Vinny screamed and screamed even louder! The poor soul went from oblivious peace and tranquility to horror, terror and panic…
Then the Big Chair swiveled and right in front of the little Mafioso sat a girl way too small for the chair. She was completely naked. This was not just a ‘girl.’ She was the hottest, sexiest most feminine, erotic creature anyone on the planet had ever seen.
Vinny’s major SCREAM stopped, eventually. Eventually, he gazed and registered a young, exquisite woman with…
…The blackest and softest, long hair in the world. She had the most perfect body on Earth without the smallest blemish. She smiled a devilish smile under curved bangs while the rest of her hair flowed to an extreme length. She held a long, thin, black cigarette-holder and lit a red cigarette with her fingertips. Jasmine had small fangs within the reddest red lips. She smiled directly into Vinny’s eyes and captured his soul. ‘It’ exhaled smoke without a drag on the cigarette.
Vin’s mouth was never more open. What a pleasant surprise; this was his kind of woman. “Look at those tits!” He went from heaven to hell to heaven. The dolt or ‘monkey’ of a man nearly died right there. He slowly looked over to his father with tears of joy.
Flo expressed a few words. “Meet ya new w-wife, Number 2.”
Mr. Wolf asked the first thoughtful question in his life. “Sir…can, can all women do that?”
Flo Ross once again had his hand over his face. He paused a long time and then very slightly nodded for ‘yes.’



3 Re: VIOLET by Tray Samuel Caladan on Mon Nov 09, 2015 9:29 pm


Chris Vega faced many more surprises when he met President Roosevelt on the fateful day after all the official ‘red tape’ was cleared. There was time as a large clock in the Oval Office displayed that the ‘now’ was slightly before noon. The Japanese attack would not happen for hours. Vega sat and joined the ‘sitting’ President. (FDR lost the use of his legs as a war hero in World War I).
Important papers, phones, files and packages of microdots covered the President’s desk. A 21-inch color TV was set-up, but was not on. A black box stood on top that was unknown to Chris.
After the ‘Commander of the Naval Fleet and more’ was fastened into his wheelchair and a security team left the Office, the Detective could not comprehend the first important words from Franklin Delano. The words were, “We know of the attack, son.”
The quiet moment in this part of the White House was short-lived. But this meeting had to happen.
Vega, subconsciously, assumed his info had to have been wrong: Britain cannot order an emancipated colony and sovereign nation into their war if the free people of America chose otherwise. Chris was wrong.
FDR told the young man, “The only question is…what to do in the next minutes?”
“Do we stand together as a country and fight the Military Industrial Complex which has moved to militarize the world; madness that spreads like wildfire, out of control? Where do we draw the line between forces of order and chaos?” FDR sat extremely tall and said beautiful words.
In a short pause, Chris ventured a small question, “I hope yer not askin’ a cowboy like me, sir?” He was coy, ducked his head down and smiled.
They both laughed under the tense situation at hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Franklin continued. He had seen the encounter with Vega numerous times and they played out differently every time. It fascinated the President to have it occur in the ‘now’ directly in front of him and not viewed on a 2D screen. President Roosevelt stated, “I’ve decided what to do, which course to choose. We do not know how it will play in this reality, at this present time. I’ve chosen the hard Road to Peace. I’ve chosen…to not fight in the ‘European Conflict.’ European Conflict, my ass. It’s a goddamn War! I don’t like what I’m finding out about it, Mr. Vega. Like…who’s really in command?”
FDR rambled a bit and said, “No more Oceania.”
“Something I read.” ‘Franky’ smiled with charm; at times the man was very unlike a president. “It might prove to be very wrong and costly along these lines; we don’t know yet. It will be unpopular to the extreme right. I only hope a less bloody road will be traveled.”
“They could assassinate you, sir.”
“Ha, ha…already have.” FDR undid the lock and skillfully maneuvered the best wheelchair to a spot where he also viewed the TV screen.
“Watch.” Franklin fumbled a little with the remote, wireless control to the set.
“What is that?” the investigator was not cool this time. Television was unknown to him.
The set was turned on when the President pressed the right button.
Chris pulled his chair closer to the screen and Roosevelt and examined the remote from a few feet away.
“This is called Betamax.” FDR pushed the first button on his recorded ‘show.’ “We’re not allowed to give this to the public in the next 40 years.”
“See these tabs on the buttons and something written on each one?”
“Yes. You have time to explain, sir?” Chris asked without an understanding of the presidential ‘movie.’
“Ha. Time…that’s funny. Imagine audio tape…”
“I use a tape recorder,” Vega added.
“Yes tape recorder, but imagine a PICTURE like a movie reel. I can go to various points on a movie, a special pre-recorded movie, made just for you to see on TV…how about that, Detective?”
Chris did not believe his entire day; this was one quality dream that couldn’t be real!
The first film clip came on the screen, which was not immediately recognized by Vega. He said, “You know, sir. I love films. You don’t really have to SHOW me. I’d believe what you say.”
The 32nd President’s solemn reply was, “No you wouldn’t, Christano.”
The newsreel presented the 1939 New York World’s Fair with wild ‘Tales of Tomorrow’ and fantastic techniques and inventions and innovative processes that would change the dark/poor world and ugly remnants of the Great Depression. No more labors, drudgery or even a workforce necessary when Technology and Science will build Utopia…Just Imagine…
“If only money and resources were spent on construction and not destruction. Why not?”
“Sir, you said dey killed you?”
“Ah,” FDR pressed one of the buttons. The Beta tape jumped to a particular point.
Chris saw a wonder that could not be possible. It was the most accurate representation he had ever seen. This was an intricate, detailed Hollywood-like movie of the President’s assassination…
A black and white film displayed not FDR, but the death of President Abraham Lincoln 80 years ago!
Chris pulled his seat closer to the 21-inch screen. Lincoln was shot. “Who did this?”
The President informed him, “It’s not a film, Chris. No production company did this. It’s not fake…or this?” Another button was pressed on the remote device.
The ‘video’ image showed almost the same pictures at the start of the previous film.
“Sir, excuse me, but you jus’ played this. I think you hit da same button, sir.”
“No. Watch,” Franklin corrected the young man.
Lincoln was again seen in his box at Ford’s Theater with a slightly different arrangement of people in seats and things on the wall.
John Wilkes Booth barged in as before and one of the men or guards lunged and deflected the shot. The bullet missed the President. Booth was caught; did not leap off the balcony, break his leg and shout, “Death to all tyrants!” but stood trial and was executed.
“How could dis be real and not a fake production? What ya shown me makes it more implausible: two histories, Mr. President?”
“Ha. Far from only two, Chris…one more…ah, here we go.” Another button was touched.
Onscreen was displayed an international press newsreel from 1920 with sound and Technicolor. It showed Germany won the First World War.
Chris jumped to his feet as his mind was on overload. “Okay these are real, sir. Aaaaaand so much more ya haven’t shown me, Okay…how, Mr. President? How’dja get this? How was this really done…I gotta know.” Chris was earnest, had big eyes and opened ears.
FDR suggested, “Ever read H.G. Wells, Mr. Vega?”
“I like him…ah, oh! Martians!” Then the PI asked a serious question, “You think the Martians are involved, sir?”
Franky laughed. “Good one. No, they’re not,” the President said factually. “Time Machine…”
Chris understood and then of course, he did not. “The Time Machine! Ooooh, huh! You mean that’s really real, sir?” Chris was like a boy at an amusement park or at the ’39 World’s Fair: of 2039, he thought!
“…Since the thirties here on this planet. There are many ways to time-travel with time-tunnels, vortexes, hyperspace or SEE into the past and future. The process does not have to be via machines, even by ‘Magick’ and Witchcraft I’ve discovered, Chris. Hitler’s doing it right now.”
“Wow, Hitler. Wot’s the future hold, sir?”
“Here’s one you won’t believe.”
“Ha!” He slapped his knee. “Shucksy-loopy.”
Shown on the screen was a montage of televised news broadcasts from the 1960s. The Detective was amazed at new designs for war weapons, missiles, vehicles, jet aircraft, etc. that was employed in a country called Vietnam. The color images mesmerized him.
“Twenty years in the future, one of the time-lines I know of showed an old U.S. President named John Kennedy that also had an important decision to make between right and wrong and between war escalation and the ways of simple peace and love. He chose peace, integrity, honesty, fairness, liberty, freedom, human rights and was much like Abe Lincoln…” FDR smiled with a tear in his eye.
“Let me guess what happened to him. They killed’m.”
“You’re good. Would you like to see the death of Jesus Christ?”
“You have his death on film?”
“Yes, but it’s not a good copy.”
“I will take that as a joke.”
The President gave away in his face that it was not. “I won’t show you my death, but there are other Franklin Delanos I saw; some lasted only a term; a few 3 terms and one was a 5-term president.”
Chris asked what he thought was an important question. “What’s Hitler doin’ lookin’ into the past and future?”
“We’re all learning from occult techniques. They, the dark side and forces above them, are trying to change the future for ultimate and ruthless and secret control, eternally. We’re trying to stop them; learn from history in good ways by already seeing it before it happens in the now.”
“That’s too much. Wish I knew my part in…my role in the drama? Why did I learn all this today? Why am I here? You’ve told me everything; I’ve told you nothing, sir.”
“I’ve shown you far from everything, Christano. That’s a flower, you know?”
The President pushed the worst button of all the ones with tabs. The TV displayed in color a large city in utter ruin as if a monstrous force, wind, fire or ‘Hand of God’ swept through and toppled buildings for many miles in all directions!
“One bomb did that damage. Our country did that to another country, Chris. We burned innocent women and children in an instantaneous flash of fire. Then we did it again and we didn’t have to do it at all, God. I…” FDR inhaled and exhaled a big breath. “…I don’t want that to happen here.”
On cue, the color panorama changed to another vast city that was virtually leveled and reduced to ashes. Smoke was seen and the specter of death hung over the city and inside the Oval Office. Chris was told this was the same country that was about to bomb us in an hour and a half.
“I have to understand better, Mr. President. Yer sayin’ these are separate worlds and each got a…a variety of possibilities?”
“Yes, look again.” Franklin remembered it was almost the end of the videotape and what was on it. “Here’s a split screen of the same two Japanese cities and they’re fine, undamaged and the year was 1946. No Bombs.”
“And that’s the result yer workin’ toward; is that the picture, sir? Yes? I don’t wanna hold you up. Don’t you have an important phone call to make, sir?” The Detective squinted and rubbed his head.
The President laughed and rolled back into position behind the messy desk. He locked himself into place. “You won’t believe what future wonders you haven’t seen, son. I can start the ‘Age of Aquarius,’ a time of peace and love and no war…earlier, much earlier than in other realities and one that will actually last with a little conference call to my generals. We’re not joining Europe. We will not fight. We will rebel against war and fascism and power bosses; turn the other cheek; protect our land; one world or none. Ha. I love what Chaplin said at the end of ‘The Great Dictator.’ History will prove me right, Christano.”
“Ha, ha…saw that one and…History will prove ya’ll are right, Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Gandhi and a few others don’t wanna embarrass you by namin’. But sure wish you’d make that call! I dunno what ya’re waitin’ for, sir?”
Roosevelt answered precisely, “I’m waiting for 12:42. It’s only 12:39.”
Chris sank his head down and chuckled. Of course. “Ha.” He walked toward FDR and shook his hand vigorously. “Been a real pleasure, sir.”
“Same here, son.”
Chris turned his back and marched toward the hallway where he entered. His arms went out that expressed the ‘lunacy’ of this famous day that won’t go down in infamy, but was one great leap for humankind. He scratched his head.
Before he exited the Office, the President said a strange thing to him. “You’ll find what you’re looking for, Chris.”
He thought of her, the blonde one. “Do you happen to know…?” His words stopped with her in mind. Chris smiled.
Franklin only responded with, “Where ARE you going?”
“Into a very long sleep.” Chris gave a cute salute and left.
A minute more passed and the timing was right. The Commander-in-Chief called his generals; battleships and destroyers were dispersed and deployed; the Japanese planes were shot down and millions of Americans did not die over years of Europe’s War. The New World Order Industrial Complex was fazed out of power by global popular demand: People were sick of ridiculous war. America led the ‘New Way.’ Monarchies, kings, queens, lords, governors and mob bosses in all forms were made extinct much sooner than would have normally occurred.
The greatest, most beneficial change in this FDR’s time-line was that atomic power and nuclear weapons were never developed. Far superior alternatives and measures were created instead. Jaffe’s recommendations for atomics and particle beams (under wise fail-safes) were never conceived in this universe that begun their peace and love earlier than most. Peace survived.
But just before FDR made the timely phone call on December 7th, he was sad and said, “It won’t matter. There’s always balance; save this world, ruin that world…always balance…”
The tired detective slowly plodded his way to an arranged D.C. motel called ‘the Hideaway.’ He planned to sleep the rest of the day and not be carried by the ‘winds of fate.’ Chris inserted key, entered apartment and immediately sensed something was off. What was wrong?
He turned and spied what was thrown on a corner chair. The violet in the violet dress was of such richness and deepness in the man’s eyes. She was here! He smelled her, her hair. The dress was an incredible calling card. Chris Vega hesitated with his normal brain functions.
How could she possibly be here and have found me? Was this my ‘happy ending’ or confirmation that nothing was real?
He walked into the bedroom like a curious zombie.
On the motel bed was the sweetest, juiciest, sexiest, most beautiful blonde in the universe. And she was nude, facedown. She kicked her curvy gams back and forth like an elongated child. Her big, red lips blew him a kiss and she seductively said, “Remember me?”
“Oh, baby.” The man dove into perfection, personified. A brilliant ‘angel’ rescued him and touched him and loved him. Vega found the energy. He made love to a purple goddess and was fabulously reborn in the process.
Hours later, he showered and wondered why he was alone under the glorious flow of warm water. When Chris returned to the bedroom, he encountered another impossible dream. Or was it a ghostly nightmare?
Rose Teegarden, in thick/black glasses and not sunglasses, casually sat on the bed.
Rose Teegarden was dead.
Her words were the same as Violet’s first words only expressed differently. “Remember me?” She pushed the eyeglasses closer to her face with an index finger. The older brunette version of Violet was still wrapped in grey clothes. Then she added, “Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Vega.”
“How can it be you? You were hacked to mulch by Red,” the puzzled PI exclaimed.
The ‘school teacher’ stood up tall and coldly asked, “You mean this one?”
Rose instantly changed appearance to red Lily. The intense scarlet power suit and black boots were back!
Chris was speechless.
Whatever it (‘she’) was that morphed in the Hideaway Motel, it was not a human being. Lily ‘clicked’ into her character as the fiery go-getter, ball-buster of a ‘dame’ in a man’s (film noir) world…
“You want answers, kid? I’ll give ya somepin’ to talk about, Jack! HERE’S yer answers…”
Vega watched and wondered in total bewilderment.
“…Yeah, I lied ‘bout the clone sisters, so SUE me! Ya freakin’ secretary slash receptionist was right all along ‘bout me, son of a bitch! How’d she know? I’m EVE, 3 in 1; they’ll make a movie ‘bout me. Ya think it’s hard to replicate DNA, in just the right amount to fool yer Keystone Cops? Ha! And a recorded phone call? C’mon, man! Love IS blind, eh?”
The sensitive investigator realized the tension in the room increased. He calmly moved closer to his black jacket. Dazed, Chris looked up and said, “So…there’s no Violet…no candle at all?”
This Violet became violent. She smashed a metal bedpost and bent it. Lily quickly pulled out a long knife and threw herself at the Detective with a crazed look in her green eyes and a scream~
Chris grabbed a gun from his jacket and FIRED!
The bullet cut through ‘her’ softness at a moment that the alien did not expect. The creature was not prepared and was caught at a time of vulnerable density.
Before the Thing melted…she transformed one more time into sweet, blonde Violet. She shivered; appeared weak and near death with blood that poured from her heart. “Why, Chris?”
The bullet also pierced his emotional psyche.
There was no Violet, yet I love her.  
In this particular reality, a world had averted years of a major War and tremendous catastrophes associated with the global insanity and chose the ‘hard Road to Peace.’
The PI from 1941 had a personal and private ‘Day of Infamy.’ His world, his future, his unique hopes, dreams and desires were viciously destroyed. Was it one big Cosmic Joke on him? Chris Vega, a changed man, SCREAMED into the black abyss of the universe:
“To all other Christanos out there! I hope ya happy!”
In a parallel world that was also virtual (higher resolution of 1080p while previous universes were 720p), the unseen Captain was now viewed and wore a silver jumpsuit. She was in a tight embrace and hard KISS with the dreamiest guy onboard, also in a silver jumpsuit. Tongues touched again and again in a silky, tender, warm, wet flush of slow electricity. Each of them had finally found the other one, the perfect pair of young lovers. The moment was real and magical.
The body of the ‘true Marilyn Monroe’ was first to have been revived on the Archon’s silver ‘Collector’ saucer. She was the Captain. She only had partial memories of her past on Earth and since, but she regained far more knowledge than the others. This MM was magnetically attracted to the ‘gorgeous hunk’ or ‘true James Dean.’ She knew that the minute they were alone and conveniently separated from the rest of the crew, she’d be all over him and he’d be all over her.
He knew the same.
“Mmmmm,” he said and could not get enough of the snoggin’. He wanted to stay in their lovely isolation forever. “Mm.”
“Hey, big guy; stop! You know it’s time to find the others.”
“Ha. Do we have to?” He squinted and pursed his lips.
“We agreed on the time. Don’t you think they should know what I know, lover boy?”
He replied with a permanent smile, “How’d you get so smart, Mare?”
“It’s Mary.” She changed and blinked those big, blue eyes. “Okay, whatever. The answer is: computers, Okay? Let’s go…Jim.”
“Ha. Hey what the hell’s wrong with Jim?”
The pair went off together toward med-lab.
The Hope spaceship remained on ‘auto-pilot,’ cloaked from the rest of the world.
What began very long ago as a galactic ‘Social Engineering’ project on humans by the ancient Archons, turned into an extremely profitable enterprise on a cosmic and dimensional level.
Star systems within 50 light-years of Earth (depends on universe) had received broadcasted TV signals and human stories that emanated from the blue/green planet for numerous decades. Countless worlds ridiculed Earthlings; laughed at Earthlings; were utterly disgusted by Earthlings; marveled at Earthlings; were fascinated by Earth (Teran) people or were completely apathetic to the ‘stage play’ frequencies in space. ‘They’ placed its Moon in orbit and studied Tera closer.
Teran cinema, through television signals, had also been beamed out into the galaxy at light-speed. Unimaginable numbers of alien and humanoid life forms were aware of the Earthly ‘theatre’ when one considered other Earths and infinite parallel worlds!

  • Marilyn Monroe
  • James Dean
  • Marlon Brando
  • Bettie Page
  • Sylvester Stallone

…And other famous, legendary ‘stars’ were also famous and legendary across astronomical numbers of solar systems.
Archons and many omnipresent ‘lesser Archons’ (minions) have abducted Earthlings through time for a wide range of purposes. The very famous celebrity-icons were FOR SALE to the ultimate Movers and Shakers…such was real Power in the Universe. One problem was: DNA supplies of the specimens ran out and could not meet universal demands for the bio-products.
When the couple who were instantly ‘locked-at-the-hip’ arrived in the clean, bright, medical facility known as the Pod Room, the whole crew was there except for the ‘missing’ one. Here was where it began for the little group. All 6 were supposed to think up names since no one knew their previous identities or much of their lives before ‘woken’ aboard the Hope saucer out in space.
‘Mary,’ leader and teacher and plugged into the computer somehow was the one ‘Marilyn’ biologically activated prematurely. She downloaded the mainframe (fried during theft of saucer) and charged or powered-up other systems. Ship’s computer designated her ‘responsible Captain’ who also restored the rest of the crew, minus one.
Everyone was dressed in the same style silver jumpsuits. The crew or what was left of the ‘collection’ consisted of:

  • 2 other Marilyn Monroes
  • 1 James Dean
  • 1 Marlon Brando
  • 1 Bettie Page (missing)
  • 1 Sylvester Stallone

The ‘real’ Stallone was a very young teenager and when ‘Dean’ and Captain were the last ones into the lab, he said with a sly grin, “Hey! Hold hands you lovebirds. What were you two doin’ up in the tree?”
‘Dean’ had lipstick on his lips and his light hair was messed. The smile said everything.
The crew knew automatically that both were bonded. And when the pair entered, they found that the two other couples, young and old, had also appeared to ‘pair off. Each couple happened to be very close to the other (arranged mates?) and engaged in conversation. The overall impression was that the three Marilyns had found their matches: ‘Brando’ with the older, brunette Marilyn and ‘Sylvester’ with the youngest Marilyn of all, a redhead with freckles.
“Have you chosen?” the Captain asked the two couples who mostly leaned against the smooth, white life-pods.
Almost all of them murmured for ‘yes’ except for the oldest guy with a bit of a receded hairline.
Mary took command and pointed to each of the special crew of prized specimens. “Tell us; speak! Sound off; don’t be shy about it. I’m Mary, that’s Jim…”
A few repeated those names at a low register along with: “Hi.”
“Or Mare?” Jim tossed in and laughed.
The Captain frowned.
The two other duplicates or other Marilyns outside of the Captain spoke:
“I’ve decided on Norma Jeane…I don’t think any of us need last names,” said the older one.
The extremely young Marilyn expressed along with a giggle, “Call me…Jayne, he, he.”
The older Italian guy, who only had eyes for Norma Jeane, popped out with, “Jane?”
“Uh, huh…with a ‘Y’”
The young Italian got right next to his partner and added, “She’s no plain Jane, yo’ know what I mean? Oh, aaaah…I want y’all to call me…”
“Oh, no.”
“This’ll be good.”
“Ha, ha.”
Rocky asked the group with amazement, “Hey, what’s so funny?”
Virginal MM with freckles or Jayne replied, “I like it.”
The ‘true’ Marlon made hand gestures and said, “Ah, ah, you don’t look like a Rocky, kid.”
“Whaddo you mean, eh?” he asked with sharp aggression and walked closer to the ‘old’ guy.
“Rocky’s a fighter’s name, you know? Ya could never be a contenda. You’re too small: just a scrawny, punk kid.”
Rocky was mad as hell and yelled, “I should break yer ass for that crack, big tough guy!”
“Oooh,” The thin-haired guy mocked fear, enlarged his eyes and made a few side to side movements and did not forget the hand signs. “Yeah I’m real scared…of a 10-year old.”
“Hey I’m not TEN!”
Norma Jeane chuckled.
“C’mon, children,” Jim joked. “I wish I hid under a cowboy hat. Dude.”
Rocky pointed at the oldest man and asked, “Let’s hear your name, ya fat palooka? I’ll bet it’s, it’s a…ha, ha, Byron ‘r something like that.”
Jim frowned.
“Oh!” Rocky kept up with the verbal jabs. “I know…it’s…Marion. Maybe Arnold? Ha!”
Everyone looked to the old man, who was not that old, for his name choice.
“Well…?” Mary tried to coax it out.
The boy again picked on him with, “Yeah, I’ll bet he couldn’t think o’ one. Right, old man?”
Norma Jeane defended her man with, “He hasn’t decided yet.”
“Yeah…I ah…got one…”
The guy went into hand gestures and frustration and small gyrations and nearly exuded bullets of sweat on a ship where the environment was optimally perfect. His face made faces.
Rocky made fun again with, “Ah, c’mon! Look at dis guy. You believe him?”
“Mm…ah, Brad, no, no, um, uh…Mar…?”
“It IS Marion.”
“What? Is that it? Was that Method Acting? Ha,” Jim commented.
“Mark, ah, yeah, that’s it. Call me…Mark.”
Rocky had his own hand gestures for the guy while another hand slipped around little Jayne. He was a smooth kid.
The silliness nearly concluded.
“Okay. Come to order, gang. I found our dossiers burned to zilch,” Mary said and got everyone’s attention. “BUT, I was able to decipher the language marked on the equipment, tables and life-pods…with the computer’s assistance. It means I know when you were born; when you were abducted and then of course we know your age when abducted, meaning your age now.”
“Abducted?” the kid questioned.
Mark volleyed a few barbs back at the boy: “Hey, Zalaam, Jamoke, Bakala, Stunaad; where you think we are, kid? We’re in space!…I should whack you.”
Young Rocky said, “Oh…now you come up with names?”
“Really, stop it guys. I think you want to hear this. I can’t put it up on screens for you because you don’t know the language,” the responsible Captain said. “I’ll read off what I know and anyone tell me if anything rings bells or is familiar, Okay?”
“Here goes.” Mary stared at a computer screen and read the data. “I’m 22, born in 1926. I remember a considerable amount of my life and so will you in a short time…”
“No questions. Later. Jim was born in 1936 and is 23 years old. Norma Jeane was born in 1916 and is 32.”
“Old gal,” Mark joked, looked at her and sweetly smiled.
NJ returned the smile with affection. “I can remember bits and pieces…of planet Earth.”
“Okay, what do we have here?” Mary continued. “Janey was born in…”
“Jayne,” the little girl ‘Marilyn’ insisted, adamantly.
“Okay, Jayne. You were born in 1936 and little Rocky…”
“Sorry.” Mary went on and said, “Rocky was born in ’46, which makes him 13 and Jayne is 12 years old.”
“I knew I wasn’t 10,” Rocky said calmly.
Captain read more off the screen in front of her. “I also know the gals were taken in ‘48 and for some reason the guys were taken in 1959.”
“Wonder why that was?” Jim asked his Mare as they placed ‘all kidding’ aside.
She suggested, “Well, they weren’t random. Odds are high it worked this way with seven out of seven.”
Jim was curious. “Maybe they were interested in abducting girls one year and then grew tired of them, ah, and then…wanted boys another year? I dunno.”
Rocky expressed his heart and looked at the three girls. “Hey. Can ya blame them, whoever they are…for taking you three sistas to the stars?”
The Captain corrected him and informed the others: “We’re not sisters.”
“You’re not?” Rocky and others were confused.
Jim asked sincerely, “Who saved us?”
“Not who gathered us. Who got us outta jail? Who revived you, Cap, and who ah (looked around)…seems to be, ah…watchin’ us now, eh?” Jim winked. “Sight unseen?”
Mary glared at the 7th Pod and attracted the attention of Mark.
Mark walked over to it and commented, “We have a seventh little Indian, boys and girls. Hmm. You think this one did it?” he asked Mary.
The Captain’s face was very fearful and tense and then she relaxed it. “Yes and no. Born in 1923; she would have been 25 at abduction…”
Rocky spoke without much thought. “She? Another girl should be here? Great.”
Jayne turned to him and did a ‘slow burn.’
“Heeey. The more the merrier.”
Jim said, “That woulda been a real monkey wrench.”
Mary divulged a shred from their passed lives on Earth. “I remember her. Her name was Bettie Page.”
Mark recalled and smiled and said, “Pin-up girl; she was something.”
Jim also remembered a portion. “Brunette. Yeah…bangs, huh. But, kid?” He turned to his dream girl. “I saw terror on your face for a second, explain.”
Mary said in a whisper, “She’s dark, possessed. The computer told me.”
Captain continued softly with, “But there’s an ‘angelic’ side to her too. Maybe she’s our saving grace and Ghost in the Machine? Two in one.” She bit her lip.
Jim scratched his head and then shook it a bit. He was pleased to be under the protection of some type of ‘angel,’ good or bad.
“What a black rose,” Mark expressed and marveled at Bettie’s beauty again.
Mary quickly replied, “Funny you said that, Mark. I was just about to mention the flowers and star designations and what this is all about.”
Rocky responded, “Finally! Bottom line! I like this girl, yo’ know what I mean, Jim?”
Jim asked his lover a serious question. “You said star designations, Professor? I mean, Captain.”
The Captain suggested, “Maybe you should find a place to sit, because this will floor you guys.”
They did and their leader was ready to transfer to the crew what the computer told her.
“Love to learn the way-out stuff, yo’ know what I mean, Rocky?” Jim imitated the boy and received a few giggles.
Mary inhaled and stated, “‘Star designations’ refer to whom or what ‘Cosmic Consortium’ bought us in our stellar neighborhood. We were given flower names; we became models, probably like butterfly specimens to a collector…”
Immature Rocky was ready to interrupt.
Mark caught it and sternly told him, “Don’t interrupt.”
No one did.
“…These…aliens kidnapped us and have a process to duplicate us; that’s why we’re not sisters. They sell us, like to the highest bidder!”
“Slavery,” Mark whispered.
“But there was a big problem…”
“…They can’t…hm, trying to say it so you understand: We run out…we get used, used up and no good anymore to them, ah, and we can’t be replicated, like bad copies.”
“Go on.”
“This is the hard part to believe…”
Most of the crew laughed loudly, except for Rocky who was stunned.
“They go through time; it’s what happens when Greys and Lizards and Tall Whites and others are involved…”
Jim expressed, “What a trip, man.”
The Captain explained further. “Look at my duplicates here…”
“Ya,” said the young boy.
“Apparently my model was, ah…very famous…and the first to get used up, I mean from the original they had.”
“Understandable,” Jim remarked and smirked.
Mark nodded and sighed with a hand gesture.
Mary said, “They could go to other points in time or reality and snatch what they considered another ‘Marilyn.’ My younger and older look-alikes here are from totally different universes.”
Jim excitedly shouted, “Collect the whole set!”
“Yeah, I misspoke earlier. We were all taken from one universe in time except for my duplicates. The ‘Archon’ aliens they’re called had to go elsewhere. I was never a redhead or brunette, folks. That’s not hair dye.”
“Love it!” Jim stood up and pantomimed as if he had a lasso and twirled it a few times.
Some of the other crew members got to their feet.
Norma Jeane spoke as if more information was clearer through the haze. “I remember the First World War shown on live television.”
Mark Brando furrowed his forehead. He thought of, “I remember…December 7th.”
More data streamed to them since each were psychically tuned to the spaceship’s computer and would completely remember who they once were in time. The other two Marilyns had distinctly different Earth histories to tell the others.
Jim moved closer to his dream girl and smiled again. He tilted his head and bizarrely stared. He suddenly recognized her as if for the very first time. He slapped his knee.
She twisted her head and raised her blonde eyebrows. “What?”
“Mar-i-lyn Mon-roe!” Jim semi-screamed as a ‘Misfit’ who only now put the pieces together; Love was blind.
She laughed and replied with a blown kiss. “In the flesh; well, one of them anyway.” She shimmied her top and her breasts swayed from side to side inside the silver suit.
“Wow. Wow.”
A few remembered Marilyn. Soon their real Hollywood lives would flashback in vivid detail and each would be able to recall the sordid things in their past and the tremendous things.
“I still don’t, ah…understand…” Before Brando launched into more of ‘the Method,’ he decided to simply say it. “I remember the young actor. I remember this Stallone kid, here; has potential…”
“Who?” Rocky Rambo asked.
“YOU, ya big dummy.” Marlon returned to his question. “But you said the guys came from same universe, right?”
The Marilyn made Captain agreed.
“Mary, I remember him older. Doesn’t make sense; help me understand,” Marlon sincerely asked the leader.
She answered correctly, “We were replaced…and controlled…and owned.”
Dean howled at the Moon, wherever it was.
Soon to be Sylvester expressed, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
Brando was quick and slapped him with, “You are.” He then put his arm around the quiet Norma Jeane. She was out of this world.
Jayne stared innocently and blankly beyond the curved, white walls and far from the little lights and machines that she did not comprehend. The freckle faced, sweet redhead asked a profound question for her age: “Where’re we goin’?”
Much later, James Dean heard another extremely deep and provocative question from his Marilyn Monroe when they were once again alone. She wondered, “Did we dream? When we were locked in our chambers and asleep? I think we did. What do you think, Jim?” It was the first puzzled look on Mare Monroe’s face.
Jim kissed her, laughed and said, “I never want to sleep again.”
Inside another (720p) alternate universe, Chris Vega was a cowboy.
In another world, he was a tormented Hollywood actor…
…And in another: a near-sighted scientist with glasses.
Probably the one realm he enjoyed the most and brought him the greatest happiness was the life as a racecar driver. Christano was never a professional in this particular ‘story’ he adored. He rode fast cars, safely. What made his ‘fast lane’ life so lusciously exciting and fun was the passenger who rode ‘shotgun’ on his cross-country travels.
She was Violet or Marilyn or Rose Loomis or any number of ‘loves’ who had stolen the shy Rebel’s heart. Her blonde hair contained a few light brown streaks, which only made the girl absolutely real.
They were happy. Sunglasses and big smiles were on both faces. They were off to ‘see the Wizard’ at Giant Niagara Falls, East of Eden…I don’t know, “Third base.”
Bright, morning sunlight enhanced the widescreen, letterbox, Technicolor setting or time-reality where an easy, yellow-bricked road stretched endlessly to the big horizon.
The young couple turned behind them and laughed for the cameras.
Chris Vega or James Dean or Cal Trask floored the loud, white Porsche Spyder and it blasted off at high-speed into the far distance under a spectacular, silver sky.
~ end ~
Copyright 2015 Tray Samuel Caladan

~ Reasons for certain things placed in ‘Violet’ ~

  • ~ Violet’s first entrance into Vega’s office mimics her early, walk-on role in the film ‘Love Happy’ with Groucho Marx. Groucho’s word ‘understand’ was changed to ‘imagine.’ 
  • ~ With all 3 ‘Marilyns’ who appeared before the Detective, we have the ‘3 Faces of Eve’ (mentioned later) and all in one; or are there 3 different girls? Each had to look, sound and act distinctly different. Good job, MM. 
  • ~ The Lily persona was taken from strong female characters in old films where the dialogue was fast and furious. 
  • ~ Town of Cholame was not on way to LAX, but where real Dean crashed his Porsche Spyder and died. In the story, it was where Rose Teegarden was killed. 
  • ~ Einstein’s character was named Professor Jaffe for Sam Jaffe who played an Einstein-like role in the film ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still.’ 
  • ~ Idea of a Dream was said by Violet & Zin to Vin, which was what reality was.
  • ~ ‘Hargitay’ refers to Mickey Hargitay, Jayne Mansfield’s husband who was not fat. 12-year old MM redhead must have admired Jayne by taking her name. 
  • ~ We have many parallels between JFK & FDR (only presidents known by 3 letters), each with a war crisis and then throw in Lincoln for more parallels. Chris names off great men of peace (Jesus stated earlier) and weirdness of calling Roosevelt “Mr. Kennedy” when WE know the image is OUR JFK. Weird & cool! 
  • ~ Viewers see how hard it was for characters to remember their own names: Sly did not remember ‘Sylvester’ and went elsewhere. Brando misinterpreted Marlon for ‘Mark.’ Dean and NJ got it right and main Marilyn (Captain) went with ‘Mary.’ When Sly named names, he referred to the Duke (Marion) & Arnold and when he said “Byron,” Jim frowned. Dean’s middle name was ‘Byron.’ 
  • ~ The overall strangeness of the world ‘Violet’ presents is that the U.S. President decided to take time off and do a film with some big stars, his friends: MM, Brando, James Dean and even young actor Sly Stallone. During credits, there’s Jack Kennedy and others flubbing their lines and giggling and we see the ‘reality’ behind the scenes during the shooting of ‘Violet.’ 
  • ~ The fact that we get to see the real James Dean and the real Marilyn Monroe find each other and live happily in more than one reality [but not in Detective-reality]…is something EVERYONE wants to see ~ also talking about cinematic audiences off-Earth ~ 

2015 Tray Samuel Caladan

Thanks to Tray for sharing his work here


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