Incuvus

By Arm Newman

The novel is a metaphysical, romantic-erotic fantasy inspired by occultist classics and adapted to a modern context in a very original way. Its intended audience is a young demographic thirsty for themes like conspiracy, secrecy, occultism, sectarian power, and magic. The novel takes us by the hand through the most significant events that occur in the life of an uncommon young man named Tristen and how these events change the course of his journey in a totally unexpected way. Meanwhile he finds himself and finds love. All these changes occur around a special characteristic he possesses, even though at the beginning of the tale he is not aware of his power: he is able to enter into the dreams of other people and participate in them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483573120

Book preview

history.

The Interview

It all began in August 2006. It was a calm afternoon, and after a normal day at work, Tristen arrived home. He lived in a modest New York City neighborhood in a clean and sober building with one-bedroom apartments. While he was walking up the stairs to his apartment (number 20, third floor), he remembered that it was Friday, the beginning of the weekend: a weekend just like any other in that he was planning to play online video games until dawn. He quickened his step, as if this thought had given him a reason to arrive home sooner. When he reached his door, there was a notice next to the knob. It looked important; it said it was from the FBI.1 He looked both ways down the hall, searching for the joker responsible, but he found no one. He took his key out of his backpack, opened the door and entered, leaving his things on top of a small cabinet in the kitchen. He took the note in his hand and sat down on an old, worn, dark leather high-back chair. He adored that chair; with the passing of time it became ever more comfortable. He stared intently at the notice, not wanting to miss a single detail, trying to discover the reason behind it, but all it said was, I stopped by your house and would like to ask you a few questions. Please call the following number for Detective Green, Marcus. Tristen couldn’t imagine what the FBI would want to talk to him about. He felt a little nervous, but more than that he was curious. Looking at his watch, he thought now was as good a time as any to call. Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and punched in the number.

He listened to a recorded greeting that let him know he had reached the FBI, and was directed to dial the extension of the party he wished to reach, or wait on the line to speak to an operator. When he heard the voice say FBI, all of his senses were immediately on alert; he could feel his palms start to sweat, and his pulse became palpable for a few moments. He returned to a calmer state when a live operator said:

The hold music started, and his attention was riveted in anticipation. When the music stopped and he heard the sound of somebody about to take the call, Tristen felt that time had stopped. His mind fixated, he felt a surge of disappointment when, instead of the detective’s voice, he again heard the operator’s voice say:

At once he heard a ring tone connecting the call. He waited on the line. The moment felt like an eternity, until at last he heard the detective’s voice:

-      Marcus: This is Detective Green.

-      Tristen: Hello, my name is Tristen Worsley. I am calling because you left a note on my door telling me to call you.

The detective interrupted impatiently and said:

The detective let out a sigh, expressing slight frustration.

Tristen gave him his number and they finished the call. The detective didn’t give a single clue about what he was searching for or what he wanted to talk about. This left Tristen a little worried, but at the same time, the detective’s calm manner left him feeling at ease.

The weekend elapsed without any further unusual events. Although he surfed the web and played video games, the detective’s call continued to occupy his thoughts — not in a worried way, but rather in the same way that a chess player waits for his opponent’s next move. Deep down, he felt that this call had changed his monotonous routine, and that attracted him.

Let me explain to you a little more about Tristen during this stage of his life.  He appeared to be your typical 22-year-old young man, overexposed to too much information and graphic violence on the web: nothing shocked him anymore. He was usually dressed in clean but disheveled clothes, with a messy haircut in an edgy style and a three-day beard. He always wore jeans and T-shirts, a tobacco-green jacket, and canvas tennis shoes, and almost always carried a black backpack, personalized with the catchphrase IN YOUR DREAMS. The slogan was scribbled in black ink and was barely noticeable; it was black on black, so it got lost in the background. On the backpack there was a carabiner clip to hold the skateboard that he would take with him everywhere to get to places faster. The skateboard was personalized with a worn and scratched image of a gigantic Hamza hand that covered the bottom part of the board. In the center of its palm, instead of the traditional eye that wards off evil spirits, he had drawn two pills, one red and the other blue,2 as if the hand were offering them. He was always wearing headphones, even though he almost never listened to music. He liked how they gave him a sense of isolation, and many times he was pleasantly surprised with how people would talk about him, thinking that he was not listening.

In many ways, he was the exemplar of a misunderstood urban guy. But appearances can be deceiving; Tristen was not your average 22-year-old. In fact, he had an above average IQ, always liked to have some interesting reading material at hand, and kept himself informed. He was a self-declared aficionado of Sherlock Holmes.3 He had read each and every one of the Sherlock Holmes novels. He liked to watch documentaries, especially those that talked about human behavior and social experiments. Once, he saw a documentary about how elite snipers were made to run the distance of a half-marathon to find the right spot to shoot from. It turned out that the test wasn’t about physical endurance or shooting skill, but rather a memory test. They didn’t know it at the time, but to succeed, the snipers had to memorize things — small clues along the way. Tristen was so impressed with the documentary that he developed the habit of observing everything in his surroundings. He would analyze every person with whom he came into contact and try to memorize details about them, especially four particular aspects: their shoes, clothes, accessories, and aroma.

When it came to a person’s shoes, he memorized everything about them: the style, the color, the brand, and their approximate value. But even more important was the physical condition of the shoes — how well the owner took care of them. That interested him greatly.

He would pay attention to their clothes, the style in which they dressed, the colors, sizes, and brands; what was hidden and what stood out, and the motives behind the messages they wished to transmit with their dress and carriage.

With accessories: the quality of them, and whether they expressed ideas or status, or if they were only meant to beautify.

And lastly, a person’s fragrance. Tristen had a very well-developed sense of smell, which was a peculiarity. He had olfactory memory; everything he saw, he related to a particular smell.

To put it in fewer words, he paid attention to everything that gave him information about a person and their emotional state. It was a game to Tristen; it was how he occupied his mind all day.

In addition, he liked computer programming languages4 and was also an enthusiast of digital animation.5 What he liked most about the latter was seeing the facial microexpressions6 of the characters, and the idea that complex ideas or emotions could be extrapolated from very simple gestures. Even at such a young age, he knew that body language carries more meaning than the spoken word, and that the body has an inability to lie. The average person can tell a lie, but they cannot express one with their bodies.

Tristen was an extraordinary young man. He had been accepted to many universities; he had even studied physics for a few semesters, but he had left it halfway through. His excuse for leaving was that he wanted to take a short break to save money and pay bills, but the truth was that the traditional teaching model bored him and he thought he learned better autodidactically.

At the time when this part of his story took place, he worked at a dry cleaning business. He never lasted long at any one job, and he was always drawn to dry cleaners and coffee shops. He would memorize the clients’ routines and personalities, and when he no longer found the job interesting, he would look for something else. The money was of little interest to him.

Tristen generally managed to perfectly blend in, to not draw attention to himself, and you wouldn’t even remember him if you passed by, but if you observed him carefully, if you paid attention, you would notice he was attractive. He was slim like a rock star, a little over 6 feet tall, with light brown hair and profound grey eyes. He had a slight smile which was accompanied by little dimples on his cheeks and a strong, masculine jaw. He had a tiny tattoo on the outer edge of his left wrist, in the spot where the cufflinks of a blazer would be: a Native American dreamcatcher, no bigger than an inch, done in black ink.His bottom lip was a little thicker than the top. Incidentally, he had once read that in physiognomy7 — another topic he was interested in — it is believed that the shape of the lips is closely correlated to one’s predisposition for developing spiritually and emotionally, amongst other things. Tristen didn´t much care for that belief, since according to the physiognomy of his lips, he was more connected to his animal and emotional side than his spiritual and intellectual side.

On Monday morning he woke and began his routine, getting ready to go to work at the dry cleaners. His appointment with the detective invaded his thoughts while he drank his morning coffee and ate breakfast. Tristen is the type of person who doesn’t get ahead of himself, not in an emotional way. He knows that such a habit only generates anxiety. But he is constantly exercising his mind with ideas, with possible situations, dialogues, and results. This has always brought him good results when engaging in all the nuances of conversation.

Many people in the entertainment business frequented the dry cleaners where he worked. This was no coincidence; Tristen knew how to speak to people in a complimentary and educated manner, and did so when it was convenient for him, when it would benefit him in some way. He always wanted to have contact with the clients, to be close to them or at least see them, but he didn’t want them to pay much attention to him; you see, he lacked charm He was a quiet and efficient person, qualities sought after by an employer at a dry cleaning business.

He was taking an order from a client when he received the call. He knew immediately that it was the detective. He lowered his glance and pulled his cell halfway out of his pants pocket, just enough to see the caller ID, and confirmed his suspicion. He took the opportunity to take the call in the back room. The detective asked him about his current job. Tristen answered all of his questions without reservations. Detective Green realized that Tristen’s workplace was close to his own, so he suggested Tristen swing by the office to talk. Tristen agreed immediately because this also benefitted him. He didn’t want the detective snooping around in his home, looking at his belongings and analyzing them — as Tristen would whenever he visited some place. They hung up the phone and agreed to meet at the detective’s office. And the day went on without any mishaps for either one.

Tristen arrived to the appointment on time. The afternoon became strangely rainy and cold. At the reception desk he asked for the detective. The young and charming receptionist made him wait for a few moments, and then she led him to a meeting room. The room was blue with grey carpet. A large table in the center was adorned by six office chairs, and at the far end was a mirrored window, the kind that you can only see through from another room if there isn’t a light turned on. All this started to pique Tristen’s interest. He noticed a camera in one of the corners of the room. The receptionist told him to take a seat, and he was so focused on the details of the room that he almost forgot she was there. Then she told him:

Tristen was startled by that comment, so completely surprising and out of place. He didn’t even understand what the receptionist was talking about, but then she continued:

She walked away with a flirty smile and a nice sway to her hips. Her fragrance was delicious. Tristen just smiled and nodded his head. She stopped at the doorway, sticking her head back into the room, and asked him:

Tristen took off his jacket and put it on the back of the chair. He sat down and leaned back so far that he almost fell backward. He had the look on his face of anxiety, as if he didn’t want to be there,