Reptilian Eyes

By Ian Bar

In this gripping sequel to Ian Bar's first novel, Enmeshed Within, our antihero, Jimmy, returns. He discovers his constant battles with psychosis and addiction are the result of a global intelligence organization's psychological experiments on children. The Agency is determined to squash any whiff of opposition.

Intimidating commander Thelonious takes a special interest in Jimmy because, as a recruiter for The Agency, he brought Jimmy's father on as an operative. Jimmy makes the shameful discovery that his father consented to The Agency's treatments; to repair the damage, he undergoes Thelonious's mind-altering experiments. During this second round of psychological torment, Jimmy gets to know the Reptilians who live deep within the bowels of Hollow Earth.

The Reptilians are accusing The Agency of breaking the terms of the Covenant made long ago between the Reptilians and ancient Humans. The Reptilians implore the Archons, the solar system's governing body, to allow them to return to their home planet, Mars. Jimmy's extraordinary metaphysical abilities make the Reptilians' return possible, but that move may also decimate life on Earth's surface.

What will Jimmy decide? Will he support the Reptilians and ultimately destroy humanity? Or will he choose humanity despite the corruption of The Agency?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Bar
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986446226

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

OLD ACQUAINTANCE NOT SOON FORGOTTEN

The smooth round sun seemed to squeeze pebbles of bleached hotness from the concrete of Main Street. Trees sighed, exhausted. Leaves dangled limply. A choir of cicadas chattered. A fitting hymn for a blistering season.

Tucked away from the swelter, afternoon drinkers occasionally swiveled on barstools and stared out the tavern widow. Those well-rehearsed drunks who could be found stationed at the bar at all times of day. Their faces had that leathery, rugged look, sculpted by years of consuming hard liquor.

Bathed in the comfort of Jay’s air-conditioned tavern, these hardcore alcoholics knew the time would come to confront the sweat-filled discomfort outside.

A stranger entered, lean, cool, and clean, unfazed by the summer heat. Astonishing, considering the new arrival wore a gray wool suit, a well-pressed white dress shirt, and a double-knotted blue-gray tie. There wasn’t a trace of sweat showing in his neatly combed silver-white hair.

Coming out of his office in the back room, Jay said underneath his breath, Fuck. Thelonious? After all these years?

Jay slipped back into his office. If the situation developed into an awkward and unwelcome reunion with Thelonious, it would come to him. He would not force the issue.

The stranger did not take notice of Jay. Instead, he headed toward a barstool, sat down, and stared vacantly at the long rectangular mirror behind the bar.

Debbie, the shapely but somewhat plump barmaid, placed a small white towel in one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. She brushed back a portion of her shoulder-length black hair, and, in a robotic manner, pulled a bottle from a shelf and poured the man a drink.

No words were spoken. Why would there be? Debbie didn’t know the man, and yet she seemed to know exactly what to serve him. It did not occur to her how odd this was.

A man wearing an orange trucker hat looked at the new arrival sideways. New in town, buddy?

The question floated on the air. There was a pause. The mysterious man remained stoic, barely acknowledging the orange-capped trucker. There’s nothing new, came the man’s response.

Heat don’t bother you? the orange-capped man asked.

The man winced. Doesn’t. He took a sip of his drink. "No. It doesn’t bother me. Heat and cold act on matter. Nothing matters. Be nothing."

The orange-capped man smirked. Be nothing? The hell you been smoking? Man, ask a simple question …

The man in the wool suit didn’t respond. He drank his gin and tonic and smiled coolly at his reflection in the mirror.

Tell you what, the orange-capped man said, refusing to let it go. Damn well wish I could be nothing. Save me a whole lotta shit from the IRS and my two exes.

The heat baked patiently outside. There was a tacit sigh in the air. The man in the wool suit smiled wryly.

Orange-cap shouted at a fellow drinker, a half-balding man with his remaining gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. This guy’s a real hard read. Betcha he’s a helluva poker player.

The ponytailed drinker simply shrugged and shook his head. Sipping his drink, he also stared at his reflection gazing back at him from the mirror.

The man in the wool suit finished his drink and looked at Debbie. Is my friend Jay in the house?

Debbie calmly pointed to the back door.

Good. Been a long time. It’s time to play catch-up. When did Jimmy last pay a visit?

Jimmy don’t come around here much, Debbie offered.

Hmm. The man seemed to ponder. Too bad. Would have liked to share a drink with my pet project. The man then winked at Debbie and placed a twenty on the bar. Keep the change.

Debbie smiled. Thank you. Appearing to contemplate, she added, Pet project? Why is that?

The man raised his drinking glass toward her and smiled slyly. Long story. Perhaps another day.

She tilted her head and blinked with stunned curiosity.

Hey, orange-capped man shouted, not disguising his drunkenness. Don’t you blink, mister?

The man in the wool suit laughed. Never found it necessary.

Proceeding to the back room, he turned and gazed at the man wearing the orange cap. Does the heat bother you?

You bother me, orange-capped man said with a smirk.

Good. The man didn’t wait for an answer but turned to enter the office where Jay sat behind a small desk, contemplating the door.

Jay peered at the man who suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was blunt. Jimmy doesn’t need you any longer. Let him heal.

We’ve much to discuss, Jay.

Leave my son alone. He no longer belongs to you.

You both made a pact. You know the rules.

I made a pact, Jay affirmed. Not Jimmy.

The least you can do is listen to my proposition. Besides, the many years since then—not performing services for The Agency. But you know you still belong to The Agency. Therefore, so does Jimmy.

Jay puffed on a cigar. Jimmy still thinks he’s the Second Coming … thanks to you. Yeah, he still believes shit like that, even as he’s about to collect disability checks.

The man in the wool suit took Jay’s cigar and puffed on it. When it’s time, we’ll manufacture the Second Coming. Jimmy is particularly important to us. And just who is this woman in Atlanta he’s running around with? She’s asking many questions about his past. If Jimmy suddenly overcomes his amnesia regarding confidential objectives, we wouldn’t want him divulging too much. Would we?

Jay stood and snatched back the cigar from the man in the wool suit. He probably met her at Narcotics Anonymous. And that’s one reason, you son of a bitch, I advise staying far away from him. Leave him the hell alone.

My greatest pleasure was making Jimmy a drug fiend, the man said with a hint of reminiscence. At one time, I even thought he’d die a junkie. Nah. You and I both know that is impossible when The Agency is involved.

He’s done with you, Jay said, pounding a hand on the desk.

No. He’s not. The man paused, turned away, and then slashed at Jay. You’re never done with us. We’re aware of you, even as you forget yourself falling asleep.

Thelonious. The Agency made my son into a drug-addled psychotic.

You still owe us. The allegiance you made to us is far more than signing on the dotted line. Back in the day, you trusted The Agency. You signed Jimmy over to our care. Let us finish the work. Leaving it halfway done is counterproductive for all those concerned.

Yeah, Jay said, with a wounded look. I don’t blame him if he never forgives me for turning him over to that special unit of military doctors. I believed in the objectives of The Agency back in the day. Luckily, Jimmy remembers little of those military experiments from his childhood.

Jay puffed the cigar and stared, not focusing on anything. Jesus. I must have been insane back then, brainwashed by decades of following orders and rising in the ranks.

Don’t attempt to be so conciliatory, Thelonious said. "The Agency is much more powerful now since your days as an operative. A certain they, which we’ve long had a secret alliance with, will be revealing itself soon."

They? Jay repeated, before puffing on the cigar.

You’ll find out. In due time. You should thank me for giving you a heads-up.

"And what do they have planned for Jimmy?" Jay asked, scowling, trying to maintain a strong front.

Don’t know. What I do know is that Jimmy is one cog in this new mission.

Jay challenged him. You appear so confident, Thelonious. But you don’t fool me. You’re also just another cog in the vast wheels of The Agency.

Well, Thelonious said with a smirk. That’s gratitude for you. Although your parental concern is admirable, no one is beyond our tentacles. The Agency is on the cusp of becoming something beyond ordinary intelligence-gathering and liquidating problematic threats. We’re global. Nations only serve as proxies to our cause. We even keep them in the dark about our ultimate aims.

Jay looked disgusted. The Agency is always promoting itself, even if a third of it is lies. Civilians keep their feet on the ground and deal with reality.

Thelonious’s demeanor changed. You don’t really know what I’ve become or what I may appear to be. But imagine living much longer than any human could possibly conceive of. Jimmy has that potential.

All I see is just another spokesperson for The Agency, Jay said, tilting his head. Someone who spent too much time in the upper echelons of military intelligence and formed an unhealthy and way too high opinion of himself. Jay grunted. Along with devious ambitions.

Thelonious was direct and stern. I know where Jimmy is, but I came due to your many years of service to The Agency. This is a courtesy call.

Jay paused and looked down at the floor before glaring at Thelonious. My God, he almost whispered. You placed wires on his head and submitted my son to electric shock treatments, feeding LSD to a ten-year-old like gumdrops. When you told me that my son was unique, I never dreamed that you would use him as a guinea pig at that level.

Dreamed, Thelonious said with disdain. What does that mean? No connection to reality? You spent enough time with us to know there’s more to it than that.

Thelonious walked about the office before turning and slamming his hands down on Jay’s desk. Leaning forward, he said, Times are changing, and The Agency needs Jimmy and others like him to instigate that change.

Leave him alone, Jay tensed, almost ready to leap out of his chair.

Thelonious stated with indifference, Jimmy is nothing more than a conduit—an extremely important one—but only a conduit.

He’s my son, Jay said, brushing back a plop of hair across his forehead. Don’t you think I’m capable of feeling some remorse for what I allowed you to do to him, even if unwittingly?

Don’t feign ignorance. You know that we kept an eye on Jimmy during his stay at the psychiatric ward. He will surely prefer the challenging stimulation we will apply to him, as opposed to the inept rehabilitation they attempted at the ward.

Jay stared again at the vacant walls. It’s always beyond us.

Always, Thelonious repeated.

Tomorrow had to come, Jay said softly.

It never ends, Thelonious said. Do you think Jimmy’s visit to the Social Security Department is an accident? Don’t you think The Agency has people well-placed in every government department—at all levels? You should know better.

Yeah, Jay said with one raised eyebrow. And I always thought Jimmy would one day figure this all out for himself.

It is now impossible for Jimmy to live within normal society. Sooner or later, his memory will return, and with it, all the information that will make him feel further alienated among the common masses.

Even if it steals his soul, Jay said, contemplative.

Thelonious said nothing and approached the door.

Where are you going? Jay inquired, not looking at him.

Thelonious laughed. Just wonder what your customers will say when my eyes nictitate, or should I show them my third eye, translucent and all?

Thelonious, Jay stated quietly. He is my son. I will protect him this time.

You’re alive, Jay. If your son had achieved the goal we had originally intended, you would not be sitting there comfortably smoking a cigar.

After all these years, Jay said with astonishment.

We always knew where you were. But don’t give yourself over to self-importance. Thelonious paused at the doorway and looked out at the customers. They will never realize or even acknowledge that we live among them. We’re the unseen hand, but we manufacture the scripts they play out in their frivolous lives.

You know, Jay said, seething as he squinted at Thelonious through cold, steel-blue eyes. Jimmy might outsmart you. Your experiment may smack back at you.

Thelonious’s hands dropped to his sides. Looking up, he shook his head. You know how committed an operative is to missions authorized by The Agency.

Jay gazed with amusement swimming in his eyes. Jimmy has explored many demons, and might be that little trained dog you mistakenly thought was under your absolute control.

Thelonious’s short sigh dissipated almost as soon as it was delivered. I don’t think of Jimmy as a trained dog. I hold him in higher regard.

A pause ensued, filled with uneasiness. Jay glanced around the room, appearing to avoid looking at any definite object. And what of Jimmy? he asked slowly.

I will reveal to him more secrets, more unknown knowledge, because he’s paid the price and deserves that.

Jay winced, as if from a sudden pain. More drugs? More shock treatments? How much more can he stand? Fuck, I’ve witnessed my son massaging his chest, as if his heart were about to explode. I was waiting for a shotgun recoil in the emergency room, brought about during his first attempt at cold turkey.

Nonsense. Jimmy loves the drama, but the chance of a full heart attack has passed that boy. Now he merely suffers from irregular heartbeats. He must return to us to find the proper rhythm suited for his talents.

Thelonious then looked out across the hall toward the barroom, and with piercing eyes seemed to slice up the tavern crowd into metaphorical pieces. Turning back to Jay, he dropped his air of superiority and spoke earnestly. But you? I reveal nothing more. Your time has passed.

Jay remained stoic. I served what I thought was a greater cause. Now I feel shame. A new experience for me. But as bad of a man I’ve been over the years, I’ve learned something: my son is my lifeblood.

Thelonious said with a shrug, I care not a whit about you reestablishing a bond with your son. I’m as cold as reptile stares. You have served your purpose, and so it’s time to shed old skin.

Thelonious then closed his eyes and spoke as if summoning a spirit. In the top left drawer of your desk, I believe there’s a semiauto Glock 19. Pull it out for me, Jay.

Jay found himself complying with the command. His eyes became vacant, as he held the gun before him. Thelonious walked over to Jay and squatted before him. Point the gun barrel at my forehead.

As if in a trance, Jay complied.

See, Thelonious observed. You have the perfect opportunity to blow a hole in my head. A bit messy, I admit. Perhaps overdramatic. But you won’t do it until I give the command. Your finger is on the trigger, but it dare not twitch a muscle until I authorize it. Quite a trick, huh? I find it insulting that you consider this the act and prowess of someone who merely trains dogs.

Thelonious held his ground for a while, squatting and not moving from the gun placed squarely at his forehead. Suddenly, he straightened and walked about the office. Jay did not budge, still holding the gun in the position requested by Thelonious.

Now, Thelonious commanded. Place the gun to your temple.

Jay complied and spoke in a hypnotic tone. Once fear becomes one’s only reality, there’s nothing left to lose. Then one realizes that fear is only a response to an illusion.

Thelonious stood in the doorway of Jay’s office, gazing out at the tavern crowd. Yes. We taught you that. You should also remember: we don’t ask questions for the purpose of obtaining information but simply to measure the responses of our targets.

An ominous silence descended. Thelonious seemed to sniff the air, and then spoke uncaringly, Jimmy does not know how to love, so he lets others lead the way. He does not know himself, so he invents angels and demons that could be one and the same. He invites courage, and yet, he doesn’t know quite how to act on it.

Looking around, appearing to contemplate, Thelonious then noticed Jay was still complying with his directive. You can put the gun away now, Jay.

Shaking his head out of the trance, Jay placed the gun back in the drawer. More games, Thelonious?

Just a demonstration.

Rubbing his upper lip with his index finger, Thelonious appeared to be speaking to himself. Yes. What is it? It is as if Jimmy must confront an unholy alliance beyond us, enduring both euphoria and turmoil. Just what game is he playing? Or is he only fodder for the gods? Or is some other entity watching over him?

Raising an eyebrow, Jay observed. So there are those pursuing you, as well?

Yes. They know of us, and vice versa. Sometimes their plans seem more hidden than ours. These entities view us as their creations, just as we view your kind as our creation. Lately these other entities have taken the view that your species is also their creation. There’s a battle raging beyond your simple reality. You’re not prepared for the details.

The jukebox in the tavern suddenly cranked up some Southern rock song from the ’70s. People cheered the choice.

Thelonious quickly cocked his head left and right. His rather long purplish tongue swished against his upper lip. We will wait and see how Jimmy reacts at a crisis point—when the final denouement is clear.

And if the crisis never comes? What then?

Appearing reflective, Thelonious responded without looking directly at Jay. Once Jimmy suspects the depth of the information that has been hidden from him, don’t be surprised if he walks right into our arms, placing the electrodes on himself. Knowledge, the more obscure, serves as the best temptation.

Thelonious stared with curiosity out at the crowd of people in the tavern who were becoming enjoyably raucous. It’s always the opposite of what we think, he finally said. I seem to represent the darkness, only for others to see the light. Jimmy embraced evil as a form of defense, only to realize his inability to distinguish between good and evil.

With a sense of confidence, Jay observed. You really don’t know, do you?

Know what?

What Jimmy’s going to do? How he’s going to react? That’s why you came to see me first. I’m nothing to you, but you still need me to gauge the reactions of my son. It’s the first time I’ve witnessed uncertainty in you.

Look, Thelonious said, redirecting the conversation. Just have peace of mind he might now want to kill me instead of you.

Jay bellowed with laughter. I think he’ll want to kill us both, if and when the entire story of his psychosis is revealed.

You’re probably right, Thelonious said, after pondering the point. But as I said, The Agency has new powers. I’ll give you a little demonstration.

A hot breeze abruptly kicked open the door of the tavern, and Thelonious appeared to glide out of the room and travel up to the mahogany bar without moving his legs. He stopped before the orange-capped man and deliberately blinked. With each eyelid swish came a clicking sound.

Be as it is, Thelonious began. Be as it may. Be it something no one can say. Be it never the same. Leave them so perplexed that they go insane.

With that, a hot, dry sullen wave of dust blew out the door of the tavern, and Thelonious seemed to disappear within it.

Holy shit, someone gasped among the stunned choir of people.

The heat of the day hardly took notice. It blazed away relentless and unrepentant.

Jay stood in the doorway of his office. Don’t worry about what you thought you witnessed, Jay yelled. All smoke and mirrors.

Jay, someone shouted. Is that a magician you’re gonna hire to do a show here?

No, came the terse response.

Why not?

Because he sucks.

Seems pretty damn good to me, someone else shouted.

That’s because you’re easily impressed. Now leave me be. I have work to do.

Ignoring the crowd’s continued conversations on the matter, Jay puffed on his cigar and sat back down in his office chair. He immediately began planning to see his son. He was determined to get to him first.

CHAPTER 2

THE PONDERINGS OF LYDIA

Lydia adjusted her dress as she sat in the sunbaked driver’s seat of her Toyota Corolla. Her black leggings became difficult to endure against the heat penetrating the car windows on the ninety-plus-degree day.

Why am I wearing these black leggings on such a scorching day? So damn hot. She sighed. Even by Atlanta’s standards. She had just shaved her legs. They were smooth enough. Then why had she chosen to wear leggings?

They do go well with this dress, although maybe not best for the summer heat. I like how the dress feels brushing against my thighs. Hope it cools down tonight. I wonder if anyone after the AA meeting will be going for coffee later. Nice night for midtown cafés. Maybe a movie. I do want company tonight.

She placed the key into the ignition and started the car, but before putting it in drive, she fixed and fluffed her shoulder-length auburn hair in the rearview mirror and squeezed her lips together.

Oh. Think you’ll impress Marcus? Something about him. Always seeming to court me, but never acting upon it. Always hanging with his friend Bernard. Not an impossible obstacle … nevertheless …

Lydia backed her car out of her apartment’s paved parking lot, guiding it down the narrow one-way driveway walled in by buildings and plastic garbage receptacles. When she reached Virginia Highland Avenue, people were strolling down the street—couples, families, young professionals. In her past stoned/drunk life she had never paid any heed to driving with safety in mind, for herself or others, but now she was as careful as she would have been guiding a razor blade across her eyebrows. Her car slowly shifted out from the driveway alley and into the flow of traffic.

The image of Jimmy’s face popped into her head. Oh shit, she exclaimed. I hope that asshole’s not there tonight. Oh, shouldn’t say that. He’s suffering from the disease of addiction just as much as me.

Lydia suddenly jumped on the brakes. At the last minute she saw a woman in a red, knee-length spandex jogging suit, pushing two young children in a three-wheeled double stroller. The woman was obviously still aware of being quite desirable, even as a young married woman sporting her love of jogging in the evening. Another woman in white running shorts and a blue tank top was jogging beside the woman in red, her pale white legs not quite as shapely as her friend’s, but youthful in appearance.

Lydia sighed impatiently. Probably very close friends. Discussing with each other in choosing a proper nanny for those two toddlers trapped in that death-machine stroller.

Lydia faintly smiled with embarrassment as if seeking forgiveness for her faux pas. OK. Don’t play it up, ladies. My bad, I know.

The women briefly acknowledged Lydia, and then they stared straight ahead in pursuit of exercise. Their chins pointed outward as if embracing a nonexistent wind.

These professional people follow protocol like royalty—and for what?

Lydia tried to erase her negative thoughts. She repeated the AA mantra to herself: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Do not accept the things that you can’t change, change the things that you can’t accept.

Lydia paused, remembering that the last sentence was not part of the AA creed. Damn you, Jimmy! Why does he sing that? Why is he so obnoxious sometimes? She drew a deep breath and relaxed herself. Try this again, she said with determination. Do not accept the things that you cannot change, change the things that you cannot accept. Damn it! That’s not what I meant!

Lydia paused and pondered, gazing at the people enjoying the evening despite still roasting beneath a relentless, sweltering sun.

Jimmy goes to the AA meetings, but I doubt he’s serious. Announcing he’s an alcoholic and never mentioning the drugs. He’s an addict. A manipulator. Son of a bitch has it down to a science.

Lydia glided past the open taverns on Virginia Highland at the twenty-five mile per hour speed limit. She watched people sitting at their leisure outside taverns and coffee shops, and she thought about the times when she had been drinking in those same taverns until sunset and darkness had drifted into early morning hours. Sometimes she would take her companions on her one-night stands up to her apartment to shoot cocaine into each other’s veins, at times mixing it with heroin.

Fearing a potential trigger was about to set her off on her old path again, Lydia became alarmed. She could visualize the tacit excitement from everyone in the room hoping to board the coke train and make believe life was one big rush. She could feel the warmth that followed shortly after she pushed the drug into her bloodstream.

Her heart dropped as she surrendered to the moment of weakness. Now I have something to share at the AA meeting. Or is it an NA meeting? Why do I forget these things?

Lydia came to the traffic light at the corner of Virginia Avenue and Ponce de León Road. People crossed in front of her, including the elderly Beatrice in her electric-powered wheelchair zooming through the crosswalk ahead of everyone else. Ah. You go girl. Gonna make that meeting on time. That’s the spirit.

The light turned green, and Lydia quickly turned onto Ponce de León Road and took a quick right into the Methodist church’s parking lot. She passed Beatrice and gave her a smile and a wave of hello. Beatrice waved back, but then leaned forward and buried herself in the controls of her electric wheelchair, attacking the pavement with fervor.

Lydia laughed to herself. Beatrice is into the spirit of the meeting. She’s an inspiration.

As she found a parking spot Lydia saw Marcus standing near the door and engaging a group of people awaiting the start of the meeting. Everyone seemed happy as Marcus conducted the conversation. He wore a black nylon T-shirt and brown cargo pants with tan suede hiking shoes. His hair was starting to grow back on his once completely shaved head.

How could someone who supposedly had lived a life of hard drugs and drank massive amounts of alcohol be so fit and fine-looking?

Checking her black skirted dress and lifting herself up from the hot, sticky car seat, she tried to inconspicuously pull the clinging leggings away from the crack of her ass.

Damn, Southern heat. Bullshit. I mean, seriously.

She quickly got out of the driver’s seat and went around to the passenger’s side of the car, pretending to look through the window for something inside. Tilting her head, she quickly checked her reflection in the mirror and fluffed her hair.

Well, ready as I will ever be.

She walked toward the door of the church’s meeting room, where Marcus was holding court.

Oh my, Marcus shouted out. Lydia, you sweet thing.

As always, his friend Bernard, standing next to him, confirmed with a smile and nod of the head.

Lydia smirked a suggestive and flirtatious smile, coupled with a feline shyness to show gratitude for the compliment. Her gait was timid but subtly suggestive. In reality, she was somewhat embarrassed and caught off guard.

Fine day for a meeting, Marcus continued.

Every day is a fine day for a meeting, Lydia replied, hoping her played-up excitement would distract from the perception that she was perhaps overdressed for the occasion.

Lydia sighed to herself. Perhaps I’m trying too hard. It was a delicate balancing act she had to perform. She wanted to zero in on Marcus but not make it too noticeable.

My man, Marcus, Bernard spoke up, just wants to ensure he’s the man of the hour.

Lydia playfully placed both hands on her hips. Feeling challenged, Bernard?

Damn, Lydia, Bernard retorted. Challenged by his sorry ass? The other day watching a movie with this brother, I had to explain everything in five different ways.

Lydia winked at the entire entourage gathered about. Five different ways? Sounds like you were also bullshitting your way through it, Bernard.

Well, yeah, Bernard admitted. That too. But he didn’t know the difference.

And neither did you, Lydia quipped.

Knowing what would happen next, she faltered. Bernard hugged her, and as she fell limply into his soft squeeze, a smile flitted across her face.

****

The voice of her therapist suddenly popped into her head. Lydia, why do you place your relationships in triangulations?

It’s a game, Lydia had stated as a response. Men want to perceive women as prey because then they can deny that they’re really looking for validation instead of conquest. As for my female sexual partners, they simply desire a sexual savior.

The older female therapist had learned long ago to cut to the quick with Lydia. Would it be that they merely want release from the sexual tension that you enticed in them?

Lydia looked out the counselor’s office window and stated in a near whisper, I can forgive them almost anything, except when they choose to become abusive. The verbal abuse is just as bad as the physical.

Of course, the therapist said. No one should condone such behavior. However, when they go verbally supernova, do you realize they might have recognized your covert narcissistic tactics? Mind you, I am not stating you should tolerate the abusive situation, but to consider how these situations arise.

You’re not being fair, Lydia had replied. But she had stared out the window, contemplating what the therapist had said to her.

****

Lydia landed back in the present and scanned the faces of the members of the group gathered before the door. Who was her competition for Marcus tonight? There was Susan, but she was past her prime, although shapely and alluring.

Hmm. There was Satie, but Lydia had her down as a deeply committed lesbian. Lydia and Satie shared a brief period as lovers but were now good friends. The drama and abuse at the hands of asshole men had made a heterosexual relationship a nonstarter for Satie; although she had male friends, the friendships were distant and guarded.

Bernard, on the other hand, had a sensitive side. He was a father who loved his children but hardly ever saw them. During a get-together at a nearby coffee shop Lydia had witnessed Bernard break down in tears because his ex-wife would not allow him to come to the high school and watch his son perform and sing opera. His son had a superb baritone voice and had been accepted into a highly prestigious music school.

But Marcus. Always elusive. An alpha male. Lydia would listen as he told countless tales from his alcoholic and drug-addled days, but there was something beneath his veneer that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Two-thirds of what he revealed was the truth, with the rest thrown in to ensure he left an impression.

Then there was Jimmy. She knew him as a regular at AA meetings, and through his sharing, everyone knew that he had been ordered by the courts to attend the AA/NA meetings. The other AA group members were tight-lipped about further details concerning his encounter with the law. There was something in his past—a crime of manslaughter that had been later reduced through his father’s connections, and a question about whether Jimmy might have had a psychotic breakdown.

Although there were others in the AA/NA groups who had questionable transgressions due to brief periods of insanity affiliated with the disease, no one in the groups completely confided in Jimmy. He didn’t give a shit. He was misanthropic through and through. He was friendly, and even at times showed genuine compassion bordering on altruism for fellow members, but then became distant again. On top of that, he would say the most outrageous things to test people.

There was also a vulnerability one could detect brewing somewhere deep inside him. But if anyone recognized it and went beyond his comfort zone, his eyes became dark—a whirlpool of impenetrable blackness and a clear indicator of his disdain. Group members backed off. After all, he had the reputation of taking someone’s life. He was unpredictable. Prone to callousness and sometimes cruelly judgmental. He made friends in the group, but they were either helpless derelicts or those with criminal pasts. In short, he seemed to dislike the centered members of the group, appearing to deem them poseurs.

One day, when Lydia met Bernard at the Bistro, he was talking with Jimmy. After formally being introduced to Jimmy, she discovered that this bad boy had a cutting dry wit and quirky way of viewing the world.

A few months later she was passing by the Bistro when Jimmy was ordering something from the counter. She stopped in to say hello to him, and they both decided to visit a nearby park together. Lydia found the experience rather enjoyable. There was something not quite right about Jimmy, but at the time, he had been charming and a great conversationalist.

His idiosyncrasies had an intelligence about them. His weirdness was seductive, once she realized his eccentric rants were his way of flirting with her. Lydia accepted the challenge, and not only held her own, but countered. Her assessment was validated by Jimmy’s wry smile when he recognized that she knew how to call him out on his bullshit.

One day, Lydia found the courage to ask about Jimmy’s past and the specifics regarding his legal troubles. But before she could speak, and as if he could read her mind, Jimmy smiled knowingly.

It’s all right, Lydia. I’ll tell you about it.

He looked out over Piedmont Park, pondering. Countless starlings burst forth from a group of dogwood trees, disturbing the summer stillness. The birds swarmed, overtaking a patch of sky before descending on another set of trees drooping in the heavy humidity. The evening sun was slumbering toward the horizon. Conversations from other parkgoers drifted by.

All I knew was that my lover and muse was dead, Jimmy said. The DA wanted to charge me with vehicular homicide. My lawyer got the charges reduced to involuntary manslaughter. He paused. My father’s connections—well—he convinced the court that I would be deemed unfit for trial due to my mental incapacity.

So what were you charged with?

The court considered the possibility that I was too mentally incompetent to stand trial. A psychiatric evaluation was done, and it was decided I should spend at least thirty days in a psychiatric ward. Thirty days became four months. When the case went back to trial, the medical team told the judge I suffered from schizo affective disorder.

Jimmy stopped and stared at her. Lydia felt he was assessing how she might be handling his account of the story.

I was placed on probation for a length of time not yet determined, on the condition that I take clozapine to counter my hallucinations—and that under no circumstances was I to partake in alcohol or street drugs.

And you failed to adhere to the conditions of your probation, Lydia responded.

Yes, Jimmy said, matter-of-factly. I violated the terms of probation and became convinced that my father was responsible for my lover’s death. My father owns a warehouse serving major industries, and two taverns, one of which has female dancers—one of whom I fell in love with.

What was her name?

Carla, Jimmy stated dryly.

Lydia was troubled. And she was blunt. Jimmy. How could anything that ended so tragically be considered love?

A small breath of exasperation escaped Jimmy. His face turned stone-cold serious. How can you ask me such a question? Your troubles with addiction involved putting a needle in your arm. The clientele you had to deal with involved transactions with some fairly corrupt individuals.

Fair enough, Lydia conceded, but added, I may have had one-night stands, but I never convinced myself that I loved them, or that they were anything more than mere lovers.

You’re lucky to think like that, he said. Jimmy began to pace about. Lydia stood her ground, unintimidated, waiting for an honest answer. Jimmy stopped and turned to look directly at her. His eyes narrowed.

"I knew Carla intimately. Listened as she told me about how her mother had abandoned her and left her to the foster care of her mother’s adopted parents. Being twice removed from