1- maurice JANUARY 1983

The sky would get pink and the cars would just flow down the highway, it made Hefferton feel nice. He had the best view out the window from his barstool in the corner, this was his stool. Everyone knew. Several times these past few months when he entered the casino bar area, there would be someone else sitting in his chair and they would see him and immediately get up and give him his seat back. They knew. The windows were big. Between drinks he would go and stand at them, looking at the cars flowing, the weight of the booze felt good in his stomach. What a day. Finally, a good day. A relaxing day.

“There’s a phone call for you, Hefferton.”

“No. What. Why.”

Hefferton was taken through a maze of hallways to the office where he took his calls. He took many calls here, in this tiny bright room. The walls were yellow and the mustached man who managed the casino handed him the phone (Hefferton remembered his name but, at the moment, forgot). “Please close the door when you leave.”

“I know.”

Hefferton held the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

The voice at the other end hissed. “Are you drunk?”

“No. I am winding down, I have been recruiting all day, running meetings searching researching finding and exploring-”

“Hefferton, I’m here.”

His stomach dropped. He looked out the door.

“When will you be here?” She asked. Here. Oh. There.

“At the property? I am still working, I will need a few more months.”

“Are you just getting drunk. Playing your games?”

“Rose. No. I am working to assemble your team. The best team. Warriors!”

“How many?”

“Hm?”

“How many spiritualists have you recruited, Hefferton?”

“Oh, let me just double-check-” in his head, he imagined throwing her off a building.

“Hello?” 

Hefferton had not recruited anyone. Not one person. “I have recruited seven people, Rose Rowd.”

“SEVEN? THAT’S IT?”

Hefferton hung up. He immediately regretted this. He picked the phone back up, instinctively. Put it down. Got up and left the tiny room.

He paid his tab, went up the elevator back to his hotel room. He was sick. He should not have hung up on Rose Rowd. This was bad. He was in serious trouble. He wondered if she would somehow get him thrown out of the hotel. Oh god, no. He had to get ahold of her and apologize. But he was specifically not to reach out to Rose Rowd, only she was to reach out to him. 

Hefferton took the elevator back down to the bar. He promised himself he wouldn’t gamble tonight, so he got blackout drunk instead. When he woke up the next morning, the last thing he remembered was riding the elevator back down to the bar. Concerning.

He took the elevator down to the bar-

The elevator stopped. Opened. Three elderly women entered. Their perfumes combined with Hefferton’s stench. It was an awful elevator ride.

As he turned the corner and entered the bar area, he immediately noticed a man in his seat. A short, bald man wearing an ugly hat. 

He approached the man and stood behind him. The man did not turn to him. Hefferton cleared his throat. The man continued eating his disgusting sandwich. He tapped the man’s shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, this is my seat.”

The man looked to the side, not even bothering to turn around entirely toward Hefferton. “There are many seats open.” 

“Yes and none of them are my seat, the one you are sitting in is mine. Please move.”

The mustached man who managed the casino approached. “There’s a call for you, Hefferton.”

The man with the disgusting sandwich smirked. “Well, I guess you’re busy.”

Hefferton hated this man. He walked through the maze of hallways with the mustached man. He had previously been allowed to walk to this room by himself, without accompaniment; but one morning, after Hefferton had blacked out, the mustached manager was all the sudden very stern with Hefferton. From then on out, he would walk with Hefferton in the hallways to take the call. He would watch him suspiciously from afar. He no longer smiled when he brought Hefferton his drinks or steaks.

He entered the tiny room. The man handed him the phone. He saw a name tag on his jacket reading STEVEN. “Thank you, Steven. I am sorry for what I did,” Hefferton said, yearning for the warmth of Steven to return. Steven sternly nodded and closed the door. 

Hefferton was still drunk from the previous night, and perhaps slightly from the shot he took with his coffee that morning. A headache zapped him as he held the phone to his ear.

“Rose, I’m sorry about yesterday, I believe there was a connection issue.” Hefferton clenched the phone, his hands were sweaty and he wanted to vomit. There was a crackling at the other end. “Hello?” 

Rose Rowd’s voice sniped into his ear: “Your funding is pulled. You will return within a week. I have gained access to receipts. I have seen what you are spending my moneys on. You will return with the seven spiritualists you’ve assembled and any more you can get, and we will discuss punishment upon your arrival.”

Hefferton puked into the mustached manager’s typewriter. 

“Yes, sorry, I hear you- Rose, I will need more time, I do apologize but-“

Hefferton’s headache intensified. His eye began to feel fuzzy.

“I do not have time for you. Get back here. Go to Marge and get back here by Tuesday.” Click. 

The mustached manager entered the tiny room. “Are you done?”

Hefferton handed him the phone. Got up, walked through the maze of hallways.

The man with the disgusting sandwich was still at his seat. Hefferton tapped him. “Please move.” The man tried to flag the bartender. Hefferton grabbed the man by the collar. He yanked him off the chair and slammed him onto the hard floor. The disgusting sandwich flew across the room. 

The man screamed and yelped like a seal while Hefferton sat down in his chair. The commotion around him began to quiet as he went to a different place in his head. He closed his eyes, felt the air in his nostrils. He would need to leave the casino. He would need to leave probably right now. He would need to find another hotel. He would need to do this with the small amount of money he had left over. Steven stood next to him. “Hefferton, you need to come with me now.”

Hefferton felt sad he would have to leave the casino. He felt especially sad he had to do a lot of work now. He had not recruited a single spiritualist for Rose Rowd. 

“Hefferton, you need to come with me. Now.”

There was a loud noise. It was freezing. Hefferton opened his eyes, he was on a couch by an open window- he looked around- he was in another hotel room. Not as nice as his previous hotel. It was dark outside and he heard crickets. A door opened at the other side of the room. A silhouetted figure walked out, buttoning up their shirt by a mirror. 

Panic plunged through Hefferton as he tried to recall how he got here. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the bar- he was being yelled at about something, he forgot what. Did he puke on someone? Was his odor too bad? Oh. No, he had assaulted a man at the bar. He remembered that now. More panic. 

The silhouette walked into the light. He looked familiar. Oh, yes, it was the man he assaulted. The man with the sandwich from earlier.

“You ready to head out?” He asked, placing his ugly hat atop his bald head.

The cool wind blew through the window crack as they drove down a dark rural road. Hefferton put his fingers through the crack and felt the wind, it felt nice. The short bald man drove the car, hunched over in a booster seat. He had not said anything to Hefferton since they walked to the car from the motel and began driving. For a moment, he considered asking the man what happened and confessing that he did not recall any of the day’s events. But there was a tension in the air that made Hefferton reticent to speak.

The bald man reached over Hefferton’s knees, he grabbed into the glove compartment, he almost fell over into the passenger seat as he pulled out what appeared to be a crystal ball. 

The wind whistled through the crack as the car sped up. Hefferton couldn’t make out anything through the windshield. The man clenched the crystal ball tightly.

Eventually, the car began to slow down. Gravel shook around under the carriage until they came to a stop. The bald man exited the car and closed the door. Hefferton tried to open his door but it hit a wall. He attempted to squeeze out but couldn’t fit. They seemed to be parked in a garage. “Hello?” Hefferton yelled out. “I am stuck.”

He climbed over the center console the driver’s side, opened the door, and fell out onto the pavement. Getting to his feet, he tried to gather his surroundings. There were stairs in front of him. He walked up, one by one, squinting in the dark. At the top, a door. He felt for the knob, turned it, pushed. Nothing. He smacked himself in the face, just because he was very annoyed and wanted to do that. He walked down the stairs again, slipped and hurt his knee. He gave up. Walked back to the car, opened the driver door and climbed over to the passenger seat. He waited. What else was he supposed to fucking do. What did he get himself into. Where was he. He began to sob. He missed the casino hotel. He missed the ravioli they’d serve on Wednesday, the feeling of walking back to his room, drunk and with winnings. He loved that casino hotel. 

The driver door opened again. The bald short man entered and started the car. 

“Hello.” Hefferton said. “What is your name?” 

The bald short man turned to Hefferton. 

“I am very drunk. It is dark. I don’t remember how I got here. I threw you on the floor earlier today, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Please help me.”

The short bald man handed the crystal ball to Hefferton. It was heavy, it was warm, and the man’s name was Maurice. 

Maurice and Hefferton had been driving for three days. They were on their way to a festival. Maurice had not pressed charges against Hefferton after he threw him on the ground, and this spurred a delightful conversation between the two by the police van. Hefferton would quickly realize this meeting was more than coincidence: Maurice was a psychic and potion master. When he learned that Hefferton was connected to the Rose Rowd, he eagerly presented himself as the solution to Hefferton’s problems. 

This was the second time Hefferton had broken down in tears, asking to be reminded where he was. Maurice, yet again, patiently explained what had happened. He did not include the fact that he had met Hefferton not once, not twice, but three times before their interaction at his stool. In truth, Hefferton was paying for Maurice’s stay at the hotel casino. 

Maurice Gelban had been visiting Des Moines for a convention when he saw Hefferton’s advertisement in the newspaper at the diner. SEEKING PSYCHICS, MEDIUMS, HEALERS. ROSE ROWD PROJECT.

And thus began Maurice’s endeavor. It was not an unfamiliar tact for Hefferton; he was used to people using him to get close to Rose Rowd. It’s why he put her name on the ad.

Maurice had met with Hefferton over a month prior with an enticing promise.
“I have ten psychics. Ten. I give them to you.”

Hefferton’s drunken eyes lit up, sort of. He gripped Maurice’s shoulder. “Take me to them. I would like them. I’ll have them.” 

“They are all waiting for you. We drive to them tonight. No more than seven hours.” 

“Of course. Let me go get ready.” While Hefferton packed his things in the hotel, he sobbed. He had been at the Mara Hotel and Casino for two and a half months. While some may see his actions as a dereliction of duty, he knew he had needed this. As tired and sick as he felt, he knew he was actually renewed, whole again. He loved it here.

He walked to Maurice’s room, the one Hefferton had forgotten he paid for. “Let’s leave tomorrow. Wednesday, maybe. I need more time to pack.”

Hefferton’s bender intensified, his sense of time hastened. Forgetting entire nights was one thing, a normal thing really, but to forget entire days? It was wonderful. Hefferton was not burdened by anything, his life had become a playground. He’d wake up each day, pour liquor into his coffee and chug it with a biscuit. Walking into the hotel’s unglamorous casino floor, he was in another realm, a realm of control, joy and pretend. 

It was over a month before they found themselves on the road, driving toward a festival. They were an hour from the festival, Hefferton rambled on in the back seat, laying down and sobbing. Maurice was used to this behavior, it was not atypical for empaths. Those who are good at feeling tend to be only good at feeling, and Hefferton fit this bill. His only other skills seemed to be drinking and forgetting. Maurice took the last exit of the trip, off the vacant highway to a rural dark road. It was the last stretch. He pressed his foot on the gas. He could not wait to get rid of this oaf. He had a plan. A long plan, in that he had been working on it for a long time and also it would take a long time to achieve. Every mile he drove, every turn he took, every headlight that flashed his eyeballs, he was getting closer; closer to her, the woman he had been seeking his entire life.

2- company JANUARY 1983

She touched the deck railing, it was smooth like she requested, it smelled like wood polish like she requested. There were many frequencies here, she tried to tune in but struggled to do so over the nonstop rambling of her companion, Suane; a tall, masculine woman with short frizzy hair, she wore a camouflage jacket and was now going on about the type of wood used or the grass or something. Suane had spent the past four months constructing this property, this headquarters, in the middle of a vacant grass field, under her command. Suane spent these months living with one of the construction women she hired, which was odd and suggested poor character.

Rose Rowd looked out over her new property. The morning light spread across the field, casting a gentle pink, reaching toward a lake in the distance. The property was peppered with four blue dome structures, most of them on large dolly structures, ready to be moved around by Suane’s team of construction lesbians. These were buplins, nodes in a web of energy. Once placed, set and filled, they would pulsate with the property. 

She did not want to be here, on this property, in this state. She was busy doing other things, better things. But she had been summoned by this place. It had called her and told her she must come. Rose Rowd had been summoned by realms, by several cats, by the grave of her dead father, but never had she been summoned like this. It was not a single voice, but a mass choir. It traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles.

As she stood on the deck, sniffing in the pleasant smell of wood polish, some of Suane’s ramblings broke through her focus, she had said something about staying over the night.

“What.” Rose Rowd blurted. “What do you mean? You wish to stay over here?” 

“Just for the night, if that’s alright, I am flying out of—“

Rose Rowd was disgusted. This was not acceptable. She needed to be alone with the vortex for days, weeks maybe. Why the hell would Suane need to stay over? She was rambling on about it, but Rose could not pay attention. Her explanation did not interest her, so she turned her attention back to the property. She watched the construction workers refer to the map Rose had given them, they looked stupidly at it, confused.

Suane was not chosen arbitrarily for this project, she had been selected. It was an honor to lead a project such as this, for Rose Rowd herself. Yet Rose did not feel her gratefulness; it was as if Suane had no idea who Rose was at times, as if she had no idea the magnitude of their undertaking. Still, she did the job adequately, so fine, whatever- but this? Asking to stay over? This was too much. 

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning Miss Rowd.”

“What about that worker you’ve been staying with?”

“Beck left last night, Miss Rowd.”

“You may sleep on the couch, the one downstairs and furthest away from the bedroom. When will they leave? When will they be done?”

“Should have the buplins set up within the next few hours.”

“You will have them positioned, I am setting them up.”
“Uh-huh, yes Miss Rowd.”

“Whatever, fine. I am eating supper alone, though. Do not join me for my supper.”

Much to her dismay, as she enjoyed her leftover spaghetti  supper later on, Suane trotted into the dining room with pizza boxes and took them through the room, out to the back porch. Rose Rowd listened as the horde of lesbians all congregated around the pizza eating loudly, disrupting her peace. She didn’t even want her spaghetti supper anymore, she was furious. 

Walking outside on the property, she felt the wind blow up her nostrils. She knelt down, touched the grass. She didn’t need to touch it to know it was soaked with dew. Hm. Wetter than last time, even. She wiped her palms on a hankie. She walked further on, looked up at the deck where they all ate their pizza, glared at them. Outrageous. This was to be completed. Whatever. It would be over tomorrow, she would begin her work in peace tomorrow. 

She went to her room. Closed the blue curtains and sat at her desk. She had specifically asked for her desk to be set up with her utensils and devices but no, of course nothing could go well today, everything was to be as painful as possible. She went to the boxes of her supplies lining the wall and pulled one. Everything fell. Terrible, awful day. She hated today. She was about to call for help but stopped, she didn’t want to be around people right now. She heard the lesbians guffaw from the deck. She saw what she was looking for among the scatter- a grey clip device with a knob at the end. Plopped in her seat, grabbed her telephone - the one thing that had been installed as requested. Tipping it over, she looked pulled the plastic flap underneath, clipped the grey device to the phone. The phone’s fuzz began to shift as she turned the nob slowly, then quickly back and forth. She dialed the number and tuned to her frequency- she winced her eyes shut, ow, annoying, until she overcame the discomfort and felt herself lift. That feeling was cut when the harsh, annoying voice of Donna Heshley came over the line. “Rose, it is so good to hear from you- have you arrived?” Her voice was boisterous, awful, a sense of artifice bled off every syllable. Rose Rowd was in no mood today.

“When will you be here?”

“I am on standby for you, Rose, I am at a hotel in Bell. I will be there tonight.” Ugh. No. Please, no. 

“No, you will not.”

“Oh, ok, when would-“

“You will stay at the motel and shut up. You will wait for my command. Perhaps you can go eat a plate of fucking cookies.” She slammed the phone, regretting this decision, as she had many important orders to give Donna. It would be odd to call back after insulting her, so Rose Rowd waited in the silence. It wasn’t silence, though, of course, the lesbians began to move throughout the house, every one of their steps producing a creak that sent shivers. Why was the floor creaking in a new house? What sort of amateur work was this? “Miss Rowd, Miss Rowd?” She jumped- it was Suane on the other side of the door. 

“Miss Rowd, something is happening.”

When she made it outside, she saw all the workers congregated around a spot in the distance. Rose Rowd did not need to walk on, for in that moment she saw what they saw. Coming out of the ground was a strange brown root, bent and withered, surrounded by a bubbling pink goo. “What is it?” murmured the lesbians to each other excitedly. Kneeling down, Rose Rowd pressed her hand to the goo. It was moist, thick, hot like a car seat roasted in the sun. Pressing her hand into the goo, it began to harden and crack around each of her fingers, a tingle radiated all over her body. 

When she whipped the wet goo from her hand, it lobbed off in a few large chunks. A restlessness zapped her hand, she began to clench her first repeatedly, spastically. This discomfort would remain in her right hand for the remainder of her time in this realm.