M Stands for... Something

By Caleb Owens

Roger is a lazy guy that only takes one thing seriously, his weed, until a chance encounter with a reincarnated Aleister Crowley motivates him to lead his friends in solving a murder mystery. He must overcome his laziness and apathy in order to solve the murder of Dodge Avenger.Roger gets help from his friends to search for clues about Dodge’s life that may lead to the murderer. Roger nevers discovers the truth behind Dodge’s death, nor does he learn of the nefarious and ill-fated legacy Dodge leaves behind as the offspring of a beetle and an alien. Instead, Roger discovers what is truly important, embracing failure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387375981

Book preview

M Stands for... Something

M Stands for… Something

A Novel by Caleb Jackson Owens

Published 2018: Lulu.com, Caleb Jackson Owens - All Rights Reserved

Dedicated to my loving wife, whose support made this possible. To my children, easily the brightest children in the entire Universe. To my fans, Mom and Ian. To all the authors I’ve read, I copied a lot of your stuff and stole your ideas.

Chapter 1

Dodge Avenger woke on his last day completely unaware of his impending death. How could he possibly know that a small object projected from a planet neither he, nor his species, had ever seen would shoot through the white of his eye only to tumble around haphazardly inside his skull? The Sun shone brightly behind the clouds that day. They peeked through and beamed directly into his bedroom that morning. A coin size beam right in the eye foreshadowing what was to come. What would normally present a primate with an uncomfortable morning or a bad mood, gave Dodge something to smile about. He loved the sun and he loved when it showed up to welcome him to another day. Which it usually did. Living in Southern California afforded Dodge a lot of Sun. It’s good that he appreciated it since he only had an hour or so left to enjoy it.

He rolled over pushing the blankets off himself, scooted his legs and butt off the bed and stood up. He stretched his hands towards the ceiling, yawning to push out the tightness and the years. He scratched himself, took a swig of water from the end table and walked clumsily to the bathroom. Finished, he pulled a piece of toilet paper, wiped off the rim of the bowl and flushed. He turned the shower on and stepped in before remembering that he'd just flushed. Eyes still closed, he recoiled from the ice water and clenched his teeth. He gingerly poked his hand under the flow, waiting for the temperature to change, then eased himself back under the flow, immersing his face under the showerhead. This was the last time he’d feel the pleasure of warm water pouring over his face, through his hair, and over his body.

Dodge hummed to himself a song he'd had in his head for the last few days, a jingle from a carpet commercial. He wasn't going to work today and for this he was happy. He'd decided to call in sometime before getting up in the split second after waking up. It was a decision that came from waking in such a great mood. He’d call in sick after breakfast, he decided. But he’d never have the chance.

How could anyone expect him to pine away inside some grungy office today, when the day was so brilliant? The answer was, because he lives in place called Pasadena, California. It's always sunny in Pasadena. If it being sunny was an excuse to not go to work, you'd only work three or four days a year. 

He stepped out of the shower, dried off and thought about the cases he was working on, none of which seemed so important that he felt guilty about missing work. He thought about his love life and the lack of any real relationship for years. He thought about sex and how he'd just like a guy to hold him really close, to feel the scruff of his five o'clock shadow, warm breath on his cheek and the power in his arms. Dodge sighed, knowing those things would remain in his memory for now, for today anyways. But, maybe not, he told himself. Maybe he'd go for a walk and meet the perfect guy. Maybe he'd go to the grocery store and while leaning over to touch the avocados for ripeness, another guy would reach over to touch the same avocado. He smiled at these thoughts, though years of living told him they weren't likely. The touch of a man, the breath in his face and the heightened pulse he felt before that first kiss would never be experienced again by Dodge Avenger.

He pulled on some sweatpants and a T-shirt and took rice cereal from the cupboard. He poured the milk first. While slowing pouring the cereal he noticed a lady bug sitting on the edge of the counter just to the left of the bowl. He finished pouring, pushed his spoon down over the crisps to submerge them in the milk. Taking bowl and spoon to the table, he looked back to the ladybug sitting there. It pleased him to see the ladybug. To think of the ladybug. That was because he couldn't hear the ladybug screaming at him.

What the fuck are you doing with your life, you insolent bloody nitwit? This is what you've become? I expected you to be ruling... something by now. Anything, really. You're not even... even... you're shit! That's what you are. You've amounted to a great pile of horse shit, Aleister Crowley said. The Dark Mass held at his funeral hadn’t worked exactly as planned. The sacred scarab, a symbol of his mystic knowledge, became the vessel he’d chosen for reincarnation. But, things rarely work out as planned. Now he lived out the years as a ladybug with a bad attitude. Wake up, he shouted. I am of the line of Kings, mystics of the universe and you, my only child born of mysticism and magic, born of the lineage of Kings and the spawn of an off-world woman, do what? You eat fucking rice cereal and live in this... this... rat hole? Aleister was just sputtering now, though Dodge couldn't tell. The only noticeable change in Aleister's appearance was a few wings fluttering about.

Dodge thought of how reading the funnies while sucking down some sugared milk would make things perfect. Cereal and the morning paper, just the way to start the day, he thought. Usually he'd read the paper at work during his regular time in the last stall of the office's bathroom located at the end of the hall near a sign that read:

The law offices of Smith, Smith, and Steinberg would like to remind associates that signs are a wasteful use of the office budgetary allowances and therefore any changes or requests for new signage will need approval from at least two senior partners before said request could be reviewed by the senior partners. Any questions regarding said requests can and should be forwarded to the associate liaison to the partners within an employee’s department.

withWith a second sign posted below it:

Departmental liaisons to the senior partners for each department are listed in employee handbooks.

andAnd a third sign to make everything totally clear:

Employee handbooks are available on the company wide network in the /G/Drive, under Employees, then Files, titled Employee HB/2. Do not use Employee HB/1 or Employee HB since both have been revised. Do not use Employee HB/3 or Employee HB/4 as these revisions have been retracted based on further analysis.

Reading the paper at the table while he ate breakfast was far superior to doing so when he was hunching down on porcelain. And having the lights turn off every few moments until he waved his hand around was bothersome. He got up, glancing momentarily at the ladybug and headed to the door completely oblivious to the magical might before him.

Aleister, the ladybug, the master of mysticism, head of the Ordo Templi Orientis, world renowned mountain climber and illusionist, continued screaming. He cared not one jot, not one tittle, if Dodge could understand him or not. I was supposed to birth an almighty king! You were meant to be the ruler of the universe, claim your place on the throne of magic that I made for you! You silly twit, you're not powerful. You were supposed to have power over the six elemental powers, hold sway over the universal ebb, claim knowledge of the gnostic arts and turn the delicate sex to your will. Where are your minions? I ask you, where are you goddamn minions? he ranted, stopping when he heard a loud thump from the front of the apartment and felt the counter shake from the impact of something large hitting the ground. Oh, great, what now? he asked as he fluttered off the counter, around the corner, coming to a halt shocked at what he saw.  From the floor, he looked across at the top of Dodge’s head. He fluttered up and looked down to the body of Dodge Avenger. Get up you lazy bastard! he yelled.

But, Dodge would not get up. Dodge would never get up again. He'd be lifted, later, when the coroner arrived and incorrectly ascertained the cause of death as a stroke. Dodge’s bloodshot eye, and the coroner's hangover made it an easily mistaken determination. He saw the bloodshot eye and Dodge's greying hair, noticed a slackness to the left side of Dodge's lip and called it. But, not before going through procedure and taking him back to the office for further analysis. Analysis consisting of a ham sandwich and a television episode of Parks and Rec. It was an easy report, formulaic really. And how could the coroner know that a tiny object had shot into the Earth’s atmosphere, hit Dodge in the corner of his eye and bounced around a few times in his skull before coming to rest firmly planted in his cerebellum. How could the coroner know, how could Dodge or even Aleister Crowley know, that a Nistorian named Zeffat from the planet Zzzz had created a small device and propelled it across the universe uncounted years before to test his Loop-de-Loop Universe Theory?

Get up you lazy oaf! You've got to perform the black rites to bring me back so I can complete the work that you so irresponsibly never started. Gah! I have to do everything! he furiously fluttered his wings. Wait, are you dead? You are, aren't you.you? You complete waste of human flesh. I have half a mind to sell your body to medical examiners, I do. Do as thou wilt... except for bloody dying, Lord! What now? Think, Aleister, think. Hmmm, this isn't an accident, that's for sure. I'll need to find out who did this. Even if I am able to find another suitable host for my ever so powerful and mystical seed, a woman who had the stamina and fortitude to withstand the might of my being inside her, there'd be too much risk that whoever this malevolent killer is would only strike again when the time was right. I shall find a minion, a human, to follow my bidding and investigate this nuisance. Before fluttering off Dodge's forehead, Aleister took one last gaze at the dead body he sat on, You were a waste of effort, Dodge Avenger. A pure waste of my mystical prowess.

He flew off in search of a minion. He needed a human. Someone easily taken control of and who wouldn't be missed from their everyday activities. As a ladybug, traveling was slow. Aleister recognized the living space Dodge had occupied as part of a larger unit that included other living spaces. It seemed reasonable to him there'd be a suitably simple person within this collection of units that would suffice as a minion. A gust of wind pushed him back into Dodge’s apartment through the open door and he turned in mid airmidair to see what was happening. A young woman in a string bikini with a towel slung over her shoulder stood over the body of Dodge Avenger with a look of disgust.

Well, well, what do we have here, said Aleister. A tiny miny to strike a match? Huh, a little lamb looking for her sheep, is she? A slight little trumpet to help blow the cold wind away, right? Ah, if only I was in my human form, she'd make a suitable delicacy for a black rite or two. He started to flutter towards her.

The nearly nude woman stood looking at Dodge's body, Eww gross. Then pushing him with the bottom of her sandals, Are you like ok? Jesus. Alright old man, don’t let the party stop. She stepped over Dodge and stopped at the manager's apartment to let him know that her neighbor had gotten, shit-faced drunk and passed out in his doorway. Then she headed to the pool. She kicked her flip-flops off, laid out her towel on the reclining chair, sat and leaned back, flipping open her magazine. I have to do so much around here. It’s like I’m the only responsible one around here, she thought to herself.

Aleister fluttered upwards to the deck above. The next level overlooked the pool. Being Southern California, the walkways had no walls and tenants could see clearly from one floor down or up to the next. Aleister looked down at the pool, at the girl he’d seen just a moment before. Looking around the upper level, he sees a larger person walking along the passageway deck and stopping at a door on the right, the corner apartment. This tall, chubby man knocked sheepishly on the door then turned to take full notice of nearly nude woman who just arrived. Aleister zoned in on the chubby man proceeding to flutter menacingly towards him. Best to go inside to wait, don't know how this human will react to their will being crushed and made to do my bidding, he thought, gliding past him as he knocked and into the open window aside the front door. Inside he found another human, sitting in the dark smoky room with a glowing box filled with tiny blue people prancing around inside it. Aleister came to rest on the coffee table among dozens of plastic containers and glass instruments that he wasn't totally familiar with but were reminiscent of tools he'd used decades before. Aleister watched as this human’s gaze stood firmly linked to the glowing box and decided to make him his minion, as it was obvious his mind was only partially there anyway. Human, he loudly declared. Human, your will is destitute and your mind is in slumber. You will do my bidding. I demand it! The human didn't stir. Human! Your mind and body belong to me now, you will do as you're told!

The large chubby man was still knocking at the door outside. The knocking would grow quiet when his gaze turned towards the pool and more enthusiastic as he remembered what he was doing. The combined racket of his knocking and the chatter of the little blue people in the glowing box irritated Aleister, breaking his concentration. Confound this noise! It must be responsible for the failure of my mind control on this wretched human, sitting here slothful and barbarian-like. By the gods, he reeks of piss and onions.

The knocking grew furious.

Would you answer the bloody door, already!already? Aleister shouted at Roger and his incapable ears. Roger stood up and stomped towards the door, pausing a moment to take hold of a small Louisville slugger that sat on the bookshelf near the door. It worked! Hah, yes, answer the door minion! Your mind and body belong to me now, Aleister announced, misunderstanding Roger's action for obedience. Roger raised the bat above his head, quickly opening the door. The resulting gust of wind pushed Aleister off the coffee table onto the rug.

Aleister shook and twitched back onto his tarsi, reflexively wanting to stand up tall. He demanded to know who was responsible for such insolence. He resigned himself to fluttering back onto the coffee table. There, he found himself alone with the glowing box. Neither human was in the room. He thought back to his commands, wondering if he'd inadvertently instructed his minion to do something or go somewhere. He could recall nothing. Just as he'd taken flight and headed for the door, the chubby human and the curly-haired minion came back into the room talking about taking bites of something or other. Ah, there you are minion! Yes, we've work to do in order to find out who killed my son. Off we go! But, the curly haired on sat back down on the couch instead. The chubby one sat across from him.

Dude, my bowl's broken, man, the chubby human declared. This confused Aleister as there were no bowls in the general proximity that he was aware of... His minion only nodded and reached for a plastic container from the coffee table.

No, minion, we must depart, Aleister said. Why are you not doing my bidding? Is it that something else has taken control? Is it this foul blubbery mass sitting across from you.you? I must have underestimated him. He is a worthy adversary, I see. So be it! I shall take control of his mind as well. I'll have two minions to do my bidding. Blubbery human! You will do as I command! You are mine to control, human. You are mine in mind and body now. You will do as I say. Now, since that is complete we can get back to the issue at hand. We must seek out the foul mystic who perpetrated the murder of my son, my heir to the throne of darkness and light. I command both of you to stand and walk out the door, Aleister started fluttering towards the door expecting his minions to follow. Minion, open the door! I command you, he said turning back towards the two unfortunate minions. They hadn't budged from their seats. The curly haired one was busy rolling a joint.

What is this? Is this marijuana, the green goddess of the West? Imbibe my young minions if it will relax your minds. It will only allow my commands to reach you more easily. Yes, excellent. Imbibe the green weed. Fools, for your mind and bodies will belong to me! Yes. They will belong to me.

The glowing box of small blue people went blank and neither human noticed. The screen went from black to pure white. Words began forming in the center, turning from white to grey to blue. Aleister turned towards the screen not recognizing the significance of the picture changing. The first word to become readable was Thelemite.

Ah, what is this? A message from a fellow of the Order or from the perpetrator of this evil? The message becomes clearer, Aleister said in shock. The words on the glowing box became sharper. They read, Thelemite. Don't Panic.

Don't panic? Is that the message? Is that all? Of course I won't panic. I am the leader of the Order, the founder of Thelema I do not... his words were abruptly cut off by a clumsy foot slamming down on top of him as the chubby minion leaned back and let the high wash over him.

Chapter 2

A tiny teapot shaped spacecraft lazily orbited Betelgeuse, a short six hundred and forty-two light years from a miniscule blue planet, home to a population of advanced primates. The majority of these primates were usually occupied with finding food, companionship and shelter while the minority was occupied with the marvels of pretty flashing lights, smooth skin, playing games, and scavenging for things they didn’t need. These primates often wondered if there was any intelligent life in the universe. Strangely enough, they hadn’t conclusively shown there was any intelligent life on their own planet.

Within this teapot sat a few dozen of one of the most intelligent species in the entire known universe, the known dimensions, and within the foreseeable future timeline as it is known and documented by the Interstellar, Interdimensional Timeline Foreseers and Timeline Investigation Unit. Unfortunately, they weren’t regarded so highly on this tiny little blue planet. They were often smashed, fumigated, and ignored by the primates, the seemingly dominant species on the blue planet. Two uniformed and armored beings stood watch near the spout staring at a hologram monitor projecting the life stats of a very important primate on the tiny blue planet. They fluttered their wings and manipulated the controls with their spurs.

These armored watchmen were called Dung Beetles on Earth, the planet they were watching over, because of their proclivity to roll pieces of dung into a ball, crawl inside the dung, live in dung, evenand even eat the dung. This was commonly looked down upon by most primates. They were, incidentally, also placed along the lower rungs of beetle society for the same reason. They were worker beetles, much like the Rhinoceros Beetle was used as muscle, theand the Dung Beetle did clean-up. This wasn’t a clean-up job, however. And they knew it, only having taken the job because they were paid in some high quality dung.

Why were they watching just the one primate? This crew and this craft were specifically chosen for one task, to watch over this single primate as closely as possible and to ensure this primate didn’t mess things up for the beetles’ research on terra or ruin their plans or the Intergalactic Council’s plans. They’d taken it upon themselves to keep a careful eye on this tiny blue planet for many years, especially this one primate. They couldn't decide on how best to use the planet. They wouldn’t actually make the decision, but their recommendations would carry a lot of weight with the council. They’d long ago infiltrated the planet and watched it evolve, watched the fauna and flora evolve, watched these simple primates stand upright and speak. They’d stopped caring  forcaring for the primates directly after an aerosol can of pure death for them and their kin was created. They had a strong relationship with them at one time, but all things come to an end. Some on the Council argued that the Earth should be strip-mined, blown up and the minerals sorted out. Others thought it would make an excellent interstellar convenience station for family trips to the Horsehead Nebula. A small primate village could be maintained as a theme park for visitors. Whatever it would become, the risk of destruction was real, not that they cared if the planet or if its inhabitant ceased to exist. They only cared whether these primates - who only recently come down from the trees, mind you - started mucking around. Luckily, this primate they were watching had no idea what he was really capable of.

And then all of the primate’s vital stats flatlined.

What happened? Chuck asked.

How the Hell should I know? He was standing there a second ago, bent over, stood up and bam, he hits the floor, George said.

What about his vitals, did you see anything, maybe a spike or a jump in something?

I’m telling you nothing happened. He was standing there, he bent over to pick up the folded paper left outside his door, he stood up and, bam, he hit the floor.

Well, do we do anything?

The Tag and Track Game monitor was blanked out, no blips, bleeps, beeps, or zizzazes. Zero action meant zero life. The target was dead, or the tag had been removed or destroyed, or the Tag and Track Game monitor system had malfunctioned.

Well, we do what the guidelines tell us.

And what do they tell us? Chuck asked. It’s probably this damn system! Why’d we’d go with something so cheap?

‘CauseCause the Council’s cheap, duh. Just let me grab the troubleshooting manual. They say, hold on. Let me see. They say, get a technician to check out the monitor system, get a crew on the ground to check out the target and file a report to System Command, stamped by the Surveillance Department, after the monitor’s been checked by a technician, but before we send the ground crew, right before you file the request for a safety inspection of the host planet, and, yeah. That’s it.

Oh, is that all? Do we have technician onboard?

Of course not, that’d make way too much sense. Shift ends in almost two hours. Should we tell someone?

It’s stuff like this that makes me hate my job, Chuck said. Dung or not, this shit isn’t worth it.

Let’s go back through the log and check things out, OK, maybe we can get a read on something, George suggested.

I guess it’s worth a try. I’ll make contact with one of ours on the ground and get them to write up a report of what’s taking place, just in case it’s something we need to know.

Might as well cover our options. I’m guessing the Tracker broke down; this thing’s older than my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

Hah, more like your great-great-great-great-great-great-great- grandmother, Chuck said.

Yeah, right. Right? But, not your great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great- great- grandmother.

No, that’d be stupid.

Yeah, that’s just dumb, George agreed.

... I’ll get that report. Chuck input the request for the report.

"Yeah, I’ll try and figure