Chapter 15

The next few days flew by like minutes, and thanks to the retrograde amnesia kicking in, I was no longer Dimitri Davenport. I will never be Dimitri Davenport again. I understood my place on the River of Styx. All of ours. Our family, floating toward a new world unseen.

Even though the cabins were separated by sex, our father allowed Number 4 (Aries) and I to rest together during nap time in the day, but never at night. Father says that the darkness of night brings about the devil and will glamour me, spiraling my desires into disloyal territories that he cannot allow. Anyone caught in that spell will be thrown overboard, and reborn in the River of Styx.

That's what happened to Number 6, AKA Patchy beard man, early on when I was in my coma for three days. Number 6 didn't take well to the 'conditioning,' he went mad and nearly killed Ramses. He kept screaming at my comatose body, rambling about code words. Afterward, he attempted to jump in the shower with Aries.

When Ramses subdued him, he stabbed him with a ball-point pen that Apollo left out by mistake. For that act of violence, he was tossed into the forgiving ocean, and the entire family held hands and prayed, watching the sea eat him. This process is called 'De-programming,' when he returns back to this world, maybe he'll be ready then.

I gained such praise for my speech during Divine Evaluation that I begged father to allow me an encore performance. I enjoyed preaching as much about the old me as I could remember, though it's becoming vague and cloudy each time. Even in my past life as Dimitri, my memory only spans the last four years.

When we entered the meeting room, and Ramses removed the 'consciousness flow,' he whispered in my ear.

"Are you all the way gone"

I merely shook my head and walked unchained to the center. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed Ramses shooting me a disappointed look. But the warming smile of Number 4 (Aries) caressed my soul, and I felt no fear. Her face is the face of God. I have no doubts, but I will never tell father. He'll never know that I worship someone more than him.

Number 3 (Raena) was by far the prettiest of the family, our precious jewel. At times, I noticed Apollo's gaze on her longer than accepted, but due to his position, it seemed allowed. Father said we must remove desires of the flesh to transcend limits of the flesh.

One night, Number 4 (Aries) admitted that Apollo snuck in their room. Number 1 (Helen) wasn't there. She sleeps with father in his chamber. Apollo groped Number 3 (Raena) in her sleep. He whispered to her 'I want my tongue to taste, what my hands have touched.' In the darkness, she heard three voices and a one-sided struggle. Whimpering followed next, combined with a whirlwind of movement. Everything shaking violently, got her guessing she would be a casualty of war.

Number 3 (Raena) was fine, once Number 4 (Aries) opened her eyes. Zeus was wrestling Apollo, protecting Number 3 (Raena). In his rage, he nearly broke Apollo's arm. Our father's wrath was a mighty one. I remembered that during my second turn for Divine Evaluation.

"Morning family, how does the day feel to you I am here to tell you who I once was. That ghost I left on the shores of depravity and sin. Before the father revealed to me who I really am," I orated.

Father nodded his head in appreciation. I continued on.

"The past me, the old me, was a lonely man. A perverted man. Consumed by a love affair with conspiracies, computers, lies, nothing but lies. I was poisoned with misinformation. I spread it to others, like a disease, a virus. I spied on women for pleasure, lurking in the shadows deep. Abandoned my fellow man in times of need. I once was lost but now am found. I had no real family, no… well, I did have at least one friend…I remember drinking and smoking amongst others. I remember laughter and pain but good pain. I…I remember…remember…"

Father's voice seeped inside my brain and took over my own conscious. Speaking from within me.

"It's ok, tell them your truth…"

"…and I remember how wonderful it felt to finally have purpose in life. To be among you all, as we make this new world our home. A world unseen."

The family clapped for me, Number 4 (Aries) shot out that piercing whistling noise by putting two fingers in her mouth. Father stood and gestured his hands down to lower the volume of enthusiasm that overtook the room. Ramses reapplied the 'consciousness flow' to my wrist, and I was back to being bound to the others. One chain between us all.

Unfortunately for me, the 'consciousness flow' went in chronological order. So there is a man between me and Number 4 (Aries). The crypt keeper looking man. That man was Number 5 (Cliff). His face was only capable of two expressions, either a blank, stone look, or forced wide smiles, like a toy that changes when you squeeze it. I think he only smiled, so we knew he was alive. Sometimes when he breathes, I can see his ribcage, a walking skeleton he was. Also, his stroll held an odd, goofy rhythm like he operated off bluegrass music. Last night in the cabin, I attempted to converse with him, connect with my newfound brother. But he just smiled at me and struggled to keep his eyes open. Right before he fell asleep, he murmured, 'The food is killing me.'

"Me too," I replied jovially, trying to add some light humor.

"No, you don't…" he responded, as he coughed in his hand.

"You need a tissue, Number 5"

"He needs to go," said Number 2 (Hoover), from his bed, butting into the conversation.

Number 5 (Cliff) shook his head, and opened his palms to me, to show me, for me to understand. And I did, looking at the droplets of blood placed below his fingers.

"Is the food poison" I questioned.

"The food got something in it. Something that father uses to go into my dreams, my head. But Number 5, hmm, he was sick before he got here, I can smell it on him," revealed Number 2 (Hoover).

Our day-to-day routine was a simple one. Father, at times, can be a simple man. We prayed at least thirty times a day, but real prayers, not the ones provisioned by the outsiders. There's no catechism involved. The shared sound of unison prayer is more uplifting than a newborn's laugh. Truly awe-inspiring.

The men fish early in the morning after father stops the boat and takes it off autopilot. Afterward, all of us would clean so the stench of fish would vanish. More than once, my pole would snag one and plunge right into the ocean, flying through my grip like my hands were coated in baby oil. I sometimes thought that the River of Styx was trying to pull me in, not the fishing rods. Father would continuously remind me of the holders on the side of the boat, and every morning I wouldn't use them.

"That's the third pole you lost. Do you think it's easy to acquire items deep into the ocean" father would say.

Eventually, my grip tightened, and he showed me how to cast beautifully. Watching him demonstrate the form was like seeing a warlock conjure an orb between his hands. Magic and grace infusing itself into simple body movements.

"The key to any good cast is to let the snap of the wrist go fluid, and listen to the whistle of the line as it soars. The longer the sound, the deeper you will go. Do not be afraid to hear it for a long time, you will need to go as deep as possible."

Number 2 (Hoover) would consistently cast and reel in lightning fast. The motion amused him, he envisioned himself diving into the water with every flick and then reversing time. After his laughter won over his duty, Apollo would scream on him. Number 2 (Hoover) would let his pole sit, following the berating, until his line shook with the prospect of a snagged fish. Father only showed us the ropes a few times, where to place the weight, and how to skewer the bait. After that, we were putty in the hands of Apollo.

There were visitors from time to time. It seemed uncanny that we only saw people when fishing. They all looked like pairs of fraternal twins. Necks made of rubber they had, always looking right at me, unblinking. While standing, or casting, their eyes were fixed in my direction. And they caught nothing. Sometimes they'd get close, a few yards away and drop their lines. I'd wave, and they'd wave back. I spoke, but they never responded, just eerie smiles. Father would scold me when he saw me waving at them. He'd tell me, "It's a mirage," and every morning, I'd forget.

A few times seabirds would squawk above, as the salt in the air tugged at my nostrils. Sunbeams cooked the melanin on my arms and head. The distance of the ocean stretched immensely, leaving behind a notion of complete abandon. Here on these waters, in the River of Styx, you belonged to it. There isn't anything to manipulate, and when the ocean wanted too, it'd take away all sound. In a flash, drifting in silence, listening to the man next to you breathe, mimicking his pattern. Whenever the emptiness of noise raptured Apollo, he would doze off, and Number 2 (Hoover) would approach me for mindless chatter. By that point, the visitors were gone, they only acknowledged me it seemed. Anyways, Number 2 (Hoover) had an eagerness to talk today. So…this time, he chose his words carefully.

"Hmm…you think we'll catch a man in this water Think we could pull em in" Number 2 (Hoover) questioned.

"Well…I don't know. The odds of hooking a body…I mean, out here We got nets."

"No…I got it backward. What say we put a man out there," said Number 2 (Hoover) as he glanced back at the sleeping giant Apollo.

"Say the poles can't pull him in, and the nets are gone. Think that can happen" he questioned.

"Maybe," I responded.

"Think on it, sleep on it. It's just us out here, remember"

His genius clue mixed with my panoramic scouting of the main deck, revealing to me that Number 5 (Cliff) was nowhere in sight. Father must've kept him below.

That night, I ruminated on what Number 2 (Hoover) was alluding too, all the while staring directly into Number 5's (Cliff) face, as he drooled on his pillow. My eyes shifted to Number 2 (Hoover) quickly after, but he was sound asleep. Pity, I was ready to conspire.

The next morning I had the biggest catch of the day. Number 2 (Hoover) had to help me. Together we snatched a baby shark into the air, cradled it by the net, and tossed it in a bucket.

"A shark You can't eat no shark!" belched Apollo.

"Why not" I returned.

"Shark is good, that'll do. Good to know there's sharks out there," observed Number 2 (Hoover).

"What did I just tell you" barked Apollo.

"Shark will do just fine, keep catching em," added Ramses, half his body showing on the main deck, the other half below.

Apollo lowered his head to Ramses and circled back to us. Number 2 (Hoover), and I knew that Ramses held authority over him. Plus with his busted arm, he was no true threat, just a talking head.

"Fine…" he admitted.

Thirty minutes later, Number 2 (Hoover) and I caught bass, and enough baby sharks to feed on for days. Number 5 (Cliff) wasn't on the main deck that morning either, two days in a row. I started to believe his absence was good luck. When he was around, you could feel his pain in the atmosphere, father wouldn't have wanted that.

Number 5 (Cliff) had fallen too ill to even hold a fishing pole. It was to the point where he needed to be quarantined. Father said if he gets any worse, we may have to offer him to the River of Styx to heal him. To 'de-program' him.

On the third day, Apollo was in rare form. He spouted nasty, hurtful words at us all day on the deck, and then hollered about his arm. Once his insulting was done, the way he stared into the water, gave off a vibe that he was reconsidering his place in the family. Being trapped between master and slave is an ocean all to itself. Since father didn't believe in modern medicine, Apollo had to figure other ways to fix his injury, but to no avail. It had taken on a reddish color, with a line around the bicep. At times, the pain got overwhelming for him, and under his breath, he repeated that it felt cold, despite us drifting into the heart of July.

Usually, during our fishing, the women stayed inside the cabins and tend to wash the monochrome sweat clothes or preparing other food. Applesauce and bread, and father blesses the plates secretly in his room before he serves it to us. Depending on how the fishing goes, we may or may not eat any fish at all. But Apollo, Ramses, and father, never ate what we ate. Many afternoons I spent drooling over the smell of the fish cooking on the stovetop grill. Ramses was a shaman at seasoning.

The meals are usually followed by more praying, then pills for seasickness, which became noxious for Number 5 (Cliff), and finally nap time. My favorite part of the day, where Number 4(Aries) and I connect. I was eternally grateful to father for allowing this. He says that Number 4 (Aries) and I have been kindred spirits for over a million years, and only now have realized it. It proved that father wasn't all rancorous, there was kind-heartedness involved.

Honestly, we don't nap at all. We stare at each other for the duration, cautiously shutting our eyes in case someone sneaks in. The warmth emitted from beyond the wall of her physical plane hexes me into obsession every time. I become her servant willingly.

"I missed you, Number 1 (Helen) is so bossy. She believes that father loves her the most. She claims there was the first voyage, and that this is the second. Oddly, she only says it in her sleep. Like she's stuck in the same dream every night."

"No one could love her, not even herself," I responded.

She snickered under her breath, and a few snorts freed itself, which added to the laughter.

"When this is over, where do you think we'll go Will father let us be free"

"I don't know his plans, but no matter what, we will be together."

"What if father plans to kill us For the greater good, like a sacrifice"

"…pray he doesn't."

"If he does…I am prepared to die."

Her eyes matched the conviction in her voice, and my body felt like it was oozing lava through my chest, and a terrible tightness in my pants. I kept Apollo as my example of what can go wrong if I act on my heart's desire. Father was right, I do feel as though we've been destined to be together since man's creation. Adam and Eve emerging from the primordial soup.

"I'll die with you."

After nap time is Divine Evaluation, it's practiced every day until you can no longer remember your past life. Till all you know is who you are now. Who father says you are. Then sleep in the cabins. Guys in one, the two women in the other. Ramses and Apollo sleep in the meeting room or on the deck, depending on the weather.

On this particular night, insomnia was puppeteering me. The chant from the speakers, 'God wants all of us' must've played three hundred times. While agitatedly rotating from one side to the next, I noticed Number 5 (Cliff)'s arm dangling from his bed. A green, foam substance leaking from the corner of his mouth to the floor. Some landed on his arm, a slow, thick lime liquid, looked like moss on a thin tree branch. I had never seen him that bad before. By tomorrow, father is going to offer him to the River of Styx, I'm sure of it.

"Cliff heard The River of Styx every night, more than anyone else. He wished to be baptized. In secret, he talked to it alone."

JOURNAL ENTRY #017 OF JOHN VINSON

I left court pondering what, if any, positives I had in my life. Two more lefts and a right brought me to a bar.

The ONLY advantage of being a drunk is that when your friends drink with you, they always spill the truth. Too much liquid courage fills up their gas tank, and honesty leaks like a wound. A friend on the inside drops the ball.

Second clue, a dead body. Number 6, branded on the back of his neck, found washed ashore. The second voyage is definitely underway, four years later, but the boat could be way out by now. His body looked like it was underwater for days.

My little birdy tells me the vessel is a 2006 Tuzla Trawler, a bit modified with four cabins instead of three, and a few generators for heavy electronics.

Word is that Number 6 was a mole. There's an internal play for some of the guys who were working on the 'Black Horse' case. The connection between the darknet site and money laundering through bitcoins. It would explain how Ken Williams financed it all.

I tell my friend I appreciate it. He slurred back to me that he has a plan. That he wants that Zeus son of a bitch dead. But doesn't tell me what the plan is. I'm sure this is his way of protecting me. Because when he looks into the husk of what I've become, he can still see the pain of losing Jasmine. He's a good friend, he doesn't blame me.

P.S. It looked so ruby-red when my vision came back. Sitting there in the toilet. I thought it would've overflowed from the way it felt. Like throwing up razor blades. My body's breaking down.

JOURNAL ENTRY OF #018 OF JOHN VINSON

I got back to the case after Scarlet left. A man has needs. Even if it's from a streetwalker, I busted four times while on the force. She's strutting free these days, and it shows in her walk, letting her tail feather sway in the wind. She betrayed her former pimp in Miami, resulting in three casualties. Cadillac Randy was so mangled that his family of whores preferred a closed casket. I forget the details, something about a searing coat hanger. Scarlet never batted an eye at the funeral and delivered a memorable eulogy. But who am I to judge

The scene of the crime, Byzantium. Took longer to scout, my legs felt sandbag heavy after Scarlet. My eyes, dry as the Sahara from staking out the place. Dodging ultra-serious, dickhead cops is a nuisance. I once was them, so I understand them. I have my ways for limbo-ing under 'Do not cross' tape.

The charred building swarming with fire police and normal cops alike. My buddy Lewis (my little birdy) grants me access inside. Lewis lost an eye a little while ago in a major drug bust deep in the west side. He never seen it coming…I know, that was terrible. As much as I love him, that new glass eye he has freaks me out, I feel like he should go full-blown pirate, skull and bones over the eyepatch. Since then, Lewis has been involved as a shadow officer, says that he's connected to the case with his partner, a female who underwent the sleeper cell experiment with her husband. He actually attempted to court her, post-procedure, only to be rejected. He said, even though the memories are implanted, the heart remembers who you love. I think Lewis makes poetic excuses.

Forensics say that there's a strange substance on the floor in random places, surrounded by broken wine glasses. A liquid containing LSD, mescaline, valium, you name it. A 'real' cocktail. So, why the shooting if everyone's doped up Maybe a few refused, caught wind of it and …curtains. Even more, information flowed down the pipeline when the force discovered that the owner of the place, Bishop Gordy, hadn't visited the property in years.