Fathom by Mikel Parry
Chapter 8 - Boogie Nights

CH-BOOGIE NIGHTS

“Yo, watch it, man! You ’bout took my head off!”

Demo shook his head, trying to flush out the fuzzy balls of confusion in the attic of his mind while someone rubbed his shoulder as they passed by. His eyes slowly adjusted, and what he saw before him was beyond belief; a far reaching city filled with old styled buildings, neon signs, and cars that looked more like boats with wheels than actual automobiles. There was something very strange, but at the same time very familiar about it all.

“Far out threads, man.”

Demo glanced over to see a, tall, skinny woman blow past him on extremely old fashioned roller skates. Her tight, bell-bottom jeans flashed a brilliant yellow that contrasted starkly against her bloused, long sleeved purple shirt and turquoise necklace. Looking past her, this new world continued to unfold. It was filled with afros, men with long hair, floral shirts, funky headbands, and a color scheme reminiscent of his great-grandmother’s living room. Where am I? Or better yet, when am I?

Suddenly a large group of people stormed the streets, chanting loudly.

“One more step, one more day, we ain’t gonna stop till we get our pay!”

“Equal opportunity for all races!”

“Down with the man! Down with the plan!”

The group was mostly made up of African American men and women, with a few Caucasians mixing in on the outskirts. They held picket signs with lively messages and drawings. Some depicted a strange, big-nosed man in various comical scenarios. Demo didn’t know what to make of it. Who wasn’t getting paid? What races were they talking about? Who was the man, and what plan did he have? These questions came to Demo’s mind, betraying his lack of knowledge about relevant history. He wanted to reach out and ask someone what was going on. This was becoming more and more preposterous by the second. How am I supposed to work in this? How am I supposed to find Spencer in a massive city from yesteryear? His thoughts were interrupted by a young boy who bumped into his side, sending a stack of newspapers scattering all over the ground.

“Hey, watch it, mister!”

Demo spun around to see the boy desperately trying to pick up all of the newspapers he had been carrying. Without thinking, he began to help as people passed them like cars on a freeway.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Here, let me help you pick those up.”

The boy frowned.

“Now I’m gonna be late. I sure hope they don’t get too angry.”

Demo forced a smile.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just tell them you ran into some guy on the street.”

The small boy shook his head no, ignoring Demo’s comment completely. This made Demo feel horrible for ruining the young boy’s day. As they finished picking up the papers, the boy looked at Demo queerly as he scanned him over carefully.

“You sure have a groovy looking suit, mister.”

Demo looked down at his worn, old suit realizing just how out of place it must look. What was old to him was still futuristic to the boy, whoever he was.

“I work at the bank. I’m new.”

This made the boy crack a tiny smile. Then without warning, he was gone, disappearing into the flowing river of bodies.

“You’re welcome,” Demo mumbled aloud.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Sir, is everything okay? Was that boy bothering you? Been a lot of petty thefts of late.”

Demo turned to see two officers standing behind him. Each had a wonderfully groomed mustache that jutted out from the sides of their faces. Their uniforms looked more like historical relics than law enforcement garb. Behind them sat their giant, boxy car, parked tightly against the curb. Demo tried to respond but found himself stumbling over his words. Why am I always running into pairs of cops?

“Down with the man, you filthy pigs!”

It came so fast there was no time to react; a sugary shower of soda thrown by someone now running away as fast as they could. The two cops gave chase, leaving Demo alone with his mouth wide open. This place pulsed with tension and excitement. Figuring Spencer out was going to be the challenge of a lifetime. Time . . . just how long he’s been here was a mystery; he hadn’t been paying attention. Glancing down at his arm, he realized he didn’t have a watch. Yet one more thing he wished he had learned to keep on him. But he had a much bigger problem right now. He was drawing a lot of attention to himself. This was evident by the confused stares he was getting.. I better get some new “threads”, ASAP.

Ducking into an alley off the main street, he tried to think up some sort of plan. He needed something, anything, to keep him from sticking out. He had seen what most men were wearing, and as ridiculous as they looked, he needed to assimilate, but how? He instinctively reached into his back pocket looking for money when he realized he only had a credit card, the only thing he ever carried. He had a gut feeling that his modern payment method wouldn’t be accepted at any store in this time period, let alone in Spencer’s head. Spencer’s head—that’s where he was—he had to remember this. Everything around him was constructed from either memory or pure imagination. He needed to play by Spencer’s rules to find him and finish the job.

Thinking it over carefully, he came to an almost obscene conclusion, one that would require him to digress to an almost childlike state. He couldn’t control Spencer’s world, but perhaps he could control his own. He needed to believe in it; not just see it. He needed to convince his own subconscious that it was as real as the world he had come from. He needed to use Spencer’s rules to bend his own reality. It had to be subtle. He closed his eyes and envisioned one of the men on the street. Bell bottoms, kooky shoes, a tie-dyed t-shirt, and hair . . . It was the hair he struggled to imagine so he latched on to the last image he had. He needed to fully immerse himself, to leave the Demo he knew behind and become someone different, someone groovy. It was a struggle, but he finally felt at peace with it. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he saw. His raggedy, futuristic business suit had been replaced by a wonderful arrangement of hipster color. A bright white, collared shirt left open sent a thrill of sensation cascading down his chest. Looking down, he saw his fashion montage included faded brown pants with flared bottoms. A nice leather belt with shoes to match, and a thick mustache affirmed his new place in the Fathom society. He was rather pleased with himself and his ability to adapt so quickly in order to blend. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the street.

“That’s one cool cat,” said a man to one of his friends, seeing Demo for the first time.

“You sure are one far out dude. Like, totally digging your look,” said another.

Demo was shocked. He had done his best to blend in but was still receiving far too much attention. What’s their problem? he wondered. I don’t have time for this.

Ignoring his fan club, he walked down the street away from them, his hands deeply buried in his pockets, his eyes darting back and forth. I must look like a complete stiff, if stiff is even the right word.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Demo’s nerves rang him like a boxer taking hits. Had he already been picked out? Was he going to be stuck in this memory of a city forever? He traced the voice to a beautiful woman standing outside of a shop filled with t-shirts and knick-knacks of every kind. Her long blonde hair went well past her waist. Her vibrant blue eyes scanned Demo carefully, looking more befuddled by the second. Demo did what he always did and responded incorrectly.

“I’m a new bank . . . I mean, a bank, I’m new at. I’m new.”

The woman cracked a smile.

“I’ve never seen any banker dressed like that.”

Demo cringed. He fought the urge to switch back to his more familiar and comfortable clothing. He had to stay in character, no matter what.

“Oh, I mean I’m on my way to the bank. That’s right . . . I like, totally am, like on my way to the coin house. Gotta keep working for the man, you know.”

The woman tilted her head, grimacing slightly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Demo, why do you suck so much?

“Just visiting from out of town, on a . . . on a business trip.”

His new friend laughed out loud.

“Just how far out of town are we talking here?”

Demo shrugged.

“Like, way far out there.”

The woman winked at him. Instantly, his insides turned to Jell-O.

“You can say that again,” she said, glancing over his shoulder.

“But between you and me, I’d stay clear of any banks around this neck of the woods. Word on the street is the local gangs are planning something big. I’d just chill out somewhere safe if I were you. It’s been really weird around here lately. Wouldn’t be taking any strolls at night, if you know what I mean.”

Demo’s jiggling gut solidified and was replaced by a stack of bricks on his chest. It was getting late.

“Gangs? What exactly are you talking about?”

The woman waved both of her hands in the air as if trying to put out a fire.

“Chill out, man, chill out. Like, it’s no big deal. I’ve probably said too much already. Just keep your head on straight and I’ll catch you on the flip, alright? It was nice meeting you and all.”

Now it was Demo’s turn to grimace. Catch me on the flip? What’s wrong with these people?

She, pointed him away from her general location, obviously hoping to lose him. He complied by walking away. He decided to dwell on Spencer, rather than her sudden dismissal. He hadn’t had the proper time to analyze him thoroughly anyway. The circuitry that contained the facts he was after had yet to be opened. He had to wing it. He knew enough about the blood legacy murders to know that miscreants from all walks of life shared certain virtues with this killer. It was very likely that Spencer got his start the way many murderers do; as a hired gun or mercenary. Or worse. Thinking about it made him sick. He knew he had to put himself in the last place he wanted to be; with the dark devils in the city’s underworld.

First, he had to find the right place, find the right degenerate, and then hope that Spencer would show up too. It was a long shot, but time was of the essence in both worlds and it was the best he had.

Walking down the street, the odd sense of familiarity was replaced with his own thoughtful recollections. He knew this city. It had changed drastically, but a few things had thankfully remained more or less the same; the historic courthouse, some of the towering skyscrapers, and a few of the restaurants suddenly gave him the warm fuzzies. This was home. Demo shook his head at such a ridiculous idea. How could this feel like home when he was sitting inside of someone else’s head in a time he had forgotten? He needed to be very careful, less he forget his place in this.

“The Godfather . . . Have you seen The Godfather?” a man carelessly asked his friend as Demo passed a street-side coffee house.

“Not yet, but I’m going to. I’d be stupid not to check that out.”

The Godfather? Demo stopped by the coffee shop for a moment to listen in.

“I’m heading down to 5th Street—maybe we should all meet up there—who knows what might happen?”

The other man nodded while drinking his coffee.

“You got it, man. Somebody’s gonna be sleeping with the fishes tonight.”

Both men laughed as one of them got up, said goodbye, and left. Demo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Somebody’s gonna be sleeping with the fishes tonight? Could they be planning a hit? How could they talk about it so openly? But this could be a potential lead. He needed a direction, and now maybe he had it. It wasn’t like him to try and tail someone, that was Bob Cat’s realm, but it needed to be done. He was searching for a needle in a stack of needles, so he had to take some risks.

At first it was extremely difficult for him to follow the man and go unnoticed. He was trying his best to fly under the radar, but he kept getting stared at by just about everyone he passed. What’s their problem? He mixed spurts of sprinting like an idiot to catch up to his quarry was with playing it cool in an effort to dissolve back into the scene. The man he followed kept up a steady pace; he definitely knew where he was going. Demo had to admit that he had probably walked these streets many times before in the future. Or was it the future? Just how exactly could he describe it?

His cluttered brain clamored on until the man made an abrupt stop at an alleyway. Without hesitation, he disappeared from the sidewalk and was out of sight. Demo panicked. He had just lost visuals of his target, and what was worse, it was into another dark lane. I hate alleys so much! Forgetting to blend in he bolted forward, trying to catch up to the mysterious man. He clumsily carved a path through the people, upsetting them as he went. He needed to find this Godfather and start asking some questions. His time must be running shorter by the second. Time . . . was that even relevant when you were sitting inside somebody else’s head? Was his new notion of time just a figment of his or Spencer’s imagination? He couldn’t get caught up in a hamster wheel of thought. He needed to focus. Scraping his shoulder as he went, he twisted around the corner and into the alley.

As always, it was dark and filled with shadows. Why can’t they ever put lights in these things? Although he knew that this was somehow all a dream, the sting on his scuffed up shoulder felt all too real. If that could manifest, he’d hate to see what a heated piece of lead between the eyes could do. But his biggest problem was the man he was following; he was nowhere to be found. The alleyway didn’t have any doors that he could see and was innocuously filled with the inventory of all alleyways; garbage, rats, and dumpsters. Looking around, he didn’t see any fire escapes or ladders. Lax on all the codes back then, I see. This led him to conclude that the man he was looking for must be inside. Demo shivered at the prospect. Even in what was nothing but a memory, the fear was real; but he had to do it. For all he knew, he’d be ripped back into reality any minute. Reality—what a funny word that was to him now, especially since everything around him seemed as real as real gets—even the dingy odor of the aged infrastructure played into the fantasy.

Taking a deep breath, he moved further into the alley. His arm began to itch, a useless indicator of his level of stress. For once he ignored it, doing his best to look like he knew what he was doing. . His leather shoes scraped against the ground, dragging loose pieces of garbage with them. Looking at the trash, something caught his eye; a flimsy, stained piece of paper that had almost floated away. On it were various advertisements, articles, and a bold headline on top:

FIVE MEN ARRESTED AT DNC HQ. IS THE WATERGATE LEAKING?

Demo paused. Watergate . . . I know the name, but not much of the real story behind it. He wished now that he’d paid more attention to all the contrived education he’d received. Reaching down, he diligently searched for the date the paper was published. Strangely enough, he found nothing. Flipping it over, he found something even more surprising; a jumble of nonsensical words and blank space. What the hell is happening? Demo’s train of thought was suddenly derailed by a pair of voices.

Ducking behind one of the dumpsters, he peeked around the corner like a child spying on his parents. Had he been seen?

“You got the stuff?” someone said from the shadows.

His voice rang a bell. If Demo had heard it right, it was the voice of the man from the coffee house.

A second person answered, “Chill cat, chill; of course I do. Like always, on time, and delivered with pleasure.”

Two shadows shook hands in the dark, sliding a small plastic bag from one to the other.

“I’ll catch you on the flip side, brother. Let’s keep this whole thing ice cold, as always.”

“Right on, man; I can dig it.”

Demo watched as one of the mysterious men disappeared into the darkness and headed off into another adjoining alley. This was his chance. He needed to act quickly. Preparing to move, the adrenaline rang in his ears. It was normally Bob Cat’s job to wring people out. He knew, in reality, he didn’t resemble a wringer in the slightest. But maybe with the right modifications, he could at least represent some authority. He tried to conjure up the costume that would make the most sense. His wild thought process kept leading him to old movies that reminded him of the world he was temporarily stuck in. He dug deep and came up with the best he could do; a concoction of modern day policeman mixed with a Burt Reynolds in Boogie Nights. Or am I thinking of a different movie? No, Boogie Nights is exactly what this is like. With the right amount of thought, he pulled the outfit from Spencer’s mind and onto himself. He felt powerful for just a moment before again realizing that this wasn’t his world, and he had absolutely no control over it. His little tricks were purely survival tactics now. He stepped out saying the only thing that came to mind.

“Hold it right there, cat! Officer Hooker, freeze!”

The man froze in place, his jaw dropping to his chest. Immediately, Demo felt completely idiotic. Where had that come from? Decades of reruns suddenly coming together to utterly humiliate him? He needed to say something, as he realized his stupid mistake. He had forgotten a gun. He just asked a man with probable ties to the underworld to hold still, and he had no gun to persuade him to comply. Can I even conjure a gun? Probably not the best idea. The anti-climactic moment came as expected; the man took off running. Demo let out an enormous sigh of frustration.

Why did you have to run?

Demo began chasing the man through the darkness of the narrow passage. The clacking footsteps of shoes against pavement echoed off the faceless walls. He tried to imagine himself as a skilled Olympic sprinter, but it just wasn’t happening. They ran on, occasionally knocking over well-balanced piles of garbage that would topple to the ground leaving cluttered piles marking their path. Demo gasped for air, continuing past his comfort zone. It was strange to feel so exhausted in what was supposed to be nothing but a dream, but the burning and churning of his lungs made it real enough.

“Stop! I just need to talk to you!” huffed Demo, pleading with the man who was increasing the distance between them.

Demo watched the man dart around another corner when a sick, sinking feeling settled in his gut. He was on the verge of losing him. What could he possibly do now? The man would soon be out of sight and he’d have nothing to work with. Then it hit him. This might be Spencer’s world, but he still commanded his own consciousness. He could use Spencer’s rules to become whatever he could fathom. Fathom was truly a poignantly name for such an incredible device. But it didn’t grant him god status; if Spencer singled him out, he’d be nothing more than a prisoner on an eternal death row. But he had to try—he had to believe—it was time for his skills to be put on full display.

“Alright, let’s play this game.”

The rules were being set by the world around him. Conjuring up minor changes in appearance was one thing, but he didn’t want to press his luck by making waves. He wasn’t an expert on the topic of mind-sharing but had a hunch that suddenly turning himself into a fire hydrant would have him pegged in a heartbeat. This meant that, at least for the time being, there wouldn’t be any superhero antics forthcoming. He was very much just a regular Joe walking down the street. So what could he use here? As his pace continued to decline he had a sudden insight. I know these streets. I know the nooks and crannies. I’ve spent years in this place. Well . . . years in its future. As the man was reeling out of sight, Demo thought about what he had seen so far. He was looking for landmarks, things that drew a map for him to follow. A smile took over his face as he turned and headed back the other way. He had a plan now and was going to catch his mystery man.

Leaving the alley, he glanced over at a nearby parked car to catch a glimpse of his reflection. So many things were suddenly making sense. The man that stared back at him was him, but outfitted in a horrible mesh of bad fashion and police uniform, topped off by a giant afro. You’ve got to be kidding me. When he changed his imagined hair style from sloppy spaghetti to groovy chick magnet, he must have fixated on the afro he had seen earlier. Now he was a Caucasian male dressed like a drag queen cop with a beautiful globe of hair. It’s a wonder he hadn’t been arrested already for escaping the loony bin. Looking around, he realized it was too late to change. People were already staring at him. He couldn’t risk this. His gangly legs carried him as fast as they could toward his final destination. It was also an alleyway, but one that cut through to the last place he’s seen his prey running. He also knew that between the man and his salvation were various obstacles that made progress extremely slow. He knew that the man wouldn’t risk back-peddling for fear of running into his ever diligent pursuer. His odds of catching up seemed pretty good; then again, the man was more than likely just a shred of imaginative consciousness created by Spencer to populate his bustling mind, and who could disappear at any moment. But he had to trust his instincts. The man would be there.

After passing what seemed to be miles of blank, confused stares, he darted into an alley that he hadn’t visited in ages. The densely packed buildings created a maze that made traversing them difficult. Darting the wrong way due to panic would be a horrible decision. Fortunately, years of chasing bad guys and sneaking around had familiarized him with the sprawling gauntlet. He made his way down the snaking path trying to avoid another dumpster. As he jogged around it, a homeless man awoke from his daytime slumber.

“I ain’t squatting. I’m just taking a nap!”

Demo looked at the pile of rags and dust that were barely discernible as a man.

“Squat all you want. I couldn’t care less. Just take it somewhere else. I need this dumpster.”

The man let out a heavy sigh, making it known that he wasn’t happy. But Demo was a man in uniform . . . sort of. Once the man moved on, Demo pushed the dumpster with his weight. It moved, and he rolled his eyes upwards in gratitude, finally having a bit of luck in his otherwise luckless endeavor. Now, he waited. Rolling the dumpster to the end of the alley where it connected to another part of the maze, he peeked around the corner. He almost jumped out of his clothes in excitement. There was the hunted man, scaling a fence. Once over it, his mad dash resumed. The pounding of sneaker on pavement echoed loudly. Demo’s timing had to be right for once. If he missed, there was no plan B—or was it on plan C now? Demo’s mind wandered for an instant before something brought him back.

“I forgot my things!”

It was the homeless man. He stood inches from Demo’s back. Could your timing seriously be worse? Demo’s face tightened in disgust. This was the last thing he needed right now. Soon his prey would blast past and maybe never be found again.

“It’s a big, black plastic bag, and I’m not leaving without it!”

Demo wanted to scream. Instead, he flung open the top of the dumpster and quickly looked inside. At the bottom was the black bag the homeless man wanted. Like the klutz that he was, he attempted to reach inside. He shifted his weight to one foot as he stretched, reaching for the bag. He had forgotten how easily the dumpster had moved. His weight propelled both he and the dumpster haphazardly forward. Aloud crash and a brief moment of commotion ensued before he was able to assess the situation.

Demo patted down his quirky clothing, trying to free himself from the filth that he’d fallen into. He looked around and saw an enormous mess of toppled boxes, piles of trash, and right there, in the dead center of it all, the mystery man who appeared to be struggling to come to. Demo hastily put all the clues he had gathered together. If this was Spencer’s dream, then the Godfather might be Spencer himself. Right now, he had to work on this tough guy; he had to become Bob Cathy Briar. Swallowing a glob of nervousness, he pounced on the man and grabbed him by the collar.

“I heard you at the coffee shop. I saw you in the alley. I know what you were planning to do. I need you to take me to this Godfather! And I need to see what that other guy gave you! Nobody’s going to be sleeping with the fishes tonight! You hear me? Nobody!”

The man’s eyes grew as wide as a full moon in a clear night sky. He looked completely capsized in a sea of confusion. Demo, however, did his best to remain stern despite his ridiculous appearance.

“Tell me what I need to know! I don’t have time for this. Please!”

Demo pulled back a fist. Had he just said please? Demo, you idiot! Bobby never says please!

The shock on the man’s face finally wore thin and he began to respond.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I wasn’t doing anything, dude . . . like, I was just going for a walk.”

Demo snapped back.

“I saw you take something from your buddy. Give it to me or things are going to get very weird.”

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The man looked bewildered.

“Weird? Man, I don’t know what you’re on, but fine; just take it and leave me alone!”

He shoved a small plastic bag at Demo, who made one more demand.

“The Godfather, where can I find him? I need to know now, or else!”

Demo did his best to look insane but came off more like a goofy-eyed nerd. But whatever he did, worked.

“Down on 5th by the deli. You can’t miss it. Now please, man, just leave me alone! You’re a freaking nut case!”

Demo released him, feeling content about his interrogation skills. The man squirmed free and bolted as fast as he could. Without hesitation, Demo stood up and began running in the direction of the street the man had given him. He blasted past the homeless guy who was rummaging through the dumpster like a raccoon. In his mind, a timer was just about to start beeping. Half an hour to do all that he had just done didn’t seem possible. Who knows when he would ever have the chance to access the same memory or dream again? He had to make the most of it. As he continued on, things around him seemed slightly different than before. Smaller points of detail seemed to be missing. Sounds were more generic, smells were starting to fade, and the resolution of things was becoming more and more shaky. It was as if the world around him was being deleted. But he didn’t have time to contemplate this new strangeness; he needed to get to that address.

When he finally arrived at his destination, his sides were burning madly. He was heaving for breath but had made record time. What he saw made tears come to his eyes. He had sought out the Godfather, and the Godfather he found. There, written on a marquee, were the times the Godfather was playing. Inside the box office sat a young man who was staring at Demo’s circus garb. Demo slapped his hand against his forehead forcefully. How could he have been so stupid? Was he really this ignorant? In all the hustle and bustle to catch his suspect, he’d never stopped to think about it clearly. The Godfather was a damn movie. It’s a movie! A stupid, stupid movie! He felt like throwing up. All his work and effort had led him to nothing. Pulling the bag the man had unwillingly given him from his pocket, he opened it up and took a whiff. Grade A, 100% marijuana—the good, old stuff that smelled like certain brands of carpet cleaner. . Great. He’d stopped an imaginary man from going to the movies high on cannabis. He hung his head as low as low could go. This case was a nightmare. Despite his woes, he had the eerie feeling that he was being watched. Glancing around, he didn’t see a soul. In fact, he’d been so caught up in his personal dilemma he’d neglected to see that the once packed streets were now almost completely barren. Sheer terror suddenly gripped him. What was happening? Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark, shadowy figure disappear behind a building. They must have been watching him the whole time.

“Who’s there? What’s going on?”

No response came. But what did come, was earth shattering; and nothing Demo could have imagined prepared him for it. The details of the buildings began to fade, and with it, the words on the theatre. The young man in the building completely vanished. Within a few more pounding heartbeats, the world began to rip itself apart, disappearing into a massive storm of electricity and space. Demo could feel himself shrink from the horrific terror that now gripped him ever tighter. The only thing he could think of was to run. Turning sharping, he ran, feeling a torrent of chaos nipping at his heels like the very hounds of hell. Pieces of the world flashed around him deconstructing into nothingness. The street he was running on heaved itself skyward, throwing him down with great force. Had Spencer finally come? Landing on the almost liquid ground, he hit with a rippling thud. Sharp bolts of pain racked his body rendering him utterly immobile. His heart was ready to explode. He would soon be forever a prisoner in the mind of a killer. If something was going to happen to save him, it had to happen now. And then it came. Despite the unmitigated pandemonium all around him, a new sensation took precedence. A great churning ball of energy was growing in his head until it could grow no more. Right at the precipice of unbearable pain it released, sending the energy out through his body. Now, the process that had brought him here in the first place was running in reverse. As the world around him collapsed, he could only hope that he’d made it in time.

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