Chapter 4

 Chapter 4:  Rebuilding 

    The nausea passed as quickly as it came on.  As did my moment of disbelief that followed discovering Thomas' note still embedded on the front lawn.  How much time had passed since they burnt my place to ashes?  My thoughts were interrupted by a sense of dead weight that was my body.  I felt a compulsion to examine my ruby laden hand.  The ruby was missing, and a gem shaped crater was all that remained in the center of my palm.  The flesh that remained was gnarled and twisted like a poorly healed burn. 

    I groaned in mourning of my new powers.  Laurie wiped her mouth and wrinkled her face in disgust from the taste in her mouth.  She was looking at me curiously.  Clarence's attention was also drawn to my visible discomfort.  I revealed my hand, and a pair of gasps followed.  With my only discernible ability gone, I became the dead weight in the group now.  It wasn't a tremendously confidence inspiring feeling.   

    After the reaction faded, I noticed Clarence shimmying and rubbing his arms together.  Behind me, I could hear the horn of a car passing by on my street honking vigorously at me.  I didn't need to look to know that the motorist in the car found my nudist predicament amusing.  I had to find clothing as quickly as possible.  Clarence, after grunting with effort, produced his freed hands and the zip tie on his wrists dropped to the ground.  Perhaps he found a sharp object to cut himself free?  He began working on Laurie's ties while I crept over to my ash pile home.  I hoped to find something, anything, I could cover myself with.   

    Our respective tasks were interrupted by my neighbor's door opening and a hearty guffawing from the loud brute.  I could hear a woman's voice from inside asking, “What's so funny, babe?”  He motioned for her to remain inside.  “Stay in there, there are some real weirdos outside,” He commanded her.  He glanced at Clarence and Laurie's attire and made a wisecrack, about “perverts playing doctor on the front lawn.” He stood in the doorway while we scurried around, transfixed by the sight of us all. 

    Clarence managed to break Laurie's hands free before purposefully striding over to my neighbor.  Clarence chatted with him in a low tone while I found a half-burnt armoire to find cover behind.  Unfortunately, the only contents I kept inside were board games that I never found friends to actually play with.  Yeah, that's right, I didn't store clothes in it but used it to store games instead.  At least my Star Wars themed copy of Stratego was still in good shape.  While pondering whether I could challenge my new friends to a game, I saw Clarence point my direction while explaining something.  Did a look of sympathy appear on my neighbor's face?  He glanced at my feeble attempts to hide my nakedness, shrugged, and darted off into his house. 

    Laurie stood nearby me, attempting to provide me with a pitiful screen from any passing vehicles.  Thankfully, it was only one car.  After an uncomfortable minute of waiting, my neighbor returned outside and handed Clarence a cell phone and a pile of clothing.  Clarence walked over to me with clothes in hand, while trying to unlock the phone in the other.  “The password is 1-2-3-4,” my neighbor called out.  Someone get that man a job in cyber-security!   

    I never mentioned my neighbor's name before because I considered him to be an inconsolable douche.  Given that he actually had a decent side to him, I'll say it now – It is Chuck.  Chuck's clothes looked way too big for me.  It was a pair of extremely large cargo shorts that came down to about 4 inches above my ankles and a faded gray t-shirt with the inscription, “Ass Kick'r.”  Thankfully he included a length of bungee cord that functioned as a makeshift belt.  I looked absurd, but at least I had something on.  I waved thankfully to Chuck who gave a slight nod back to me. 

    Clarence immediately began dialing some unknown party on the phone my neighbor lent him.  I rummaged through what was left of my possessions with Laurie as an audience. When boredom set in, she opted to help me paw through some of the ashes to recover anything useful or valuable.  She also spoke to me about some of her friends that she mentioned.  They sounded like survivalists or some other kind of fringe religious group out in the woods of Massachusetts.  She wasn't even entirely sure.  I guess they moved around a lot.   

    Clarence's phone call took at least 15 minutes.  It sounded like logistical details for our next move.  Chuck returned inside his home with his new girlfriend, and Bad Company's, “Feel Like Making Love” blared out of the windows of his house.  I assumed they were playing pinball, and didn't want me to get jealous.   My thoughts were interrupted by Laurie asking me, “Johnny, do you even know what you are looking for?”  I didn't have a clue.  I just wanted to hold onto something that was mine.  Something familiar.   

    “I honestly don't know.” I admitted with a bit of embarrassment.  Her look of stern disapproval was replaced by an emphatic nod.  “I know what you mean,” she said as she revealed something in her hand.  It was a glass jar full of marbles that I kept near my bed.  It was covered in soot and ash but unbroken. “Well, I guess I haven't lost my marbles after all,” I said chuckling at my own joke.  I wasn't sure if the noise that came out of her mouth was a sigh of disappointment.  Or a gasp of panic, realizing just how awful my sense of humor is.   

    I felt a compulsion to keep the marbles. I emptied the contents of the jar into one of the large cargo pockets.  I also found the charred remains of my Zither.  I planned to learn how to play it, after two years of owning it.  That was the bright side of the house fire, I could always blame my lack of focus or motivation on the evildoers that ruined my stuff.  My thoughts were distracted by Clarence placing Chuck's phone on a little plastic table on his front porch and turning to us. 

    Clarence called us in for a huddle up.  “My cousin is coming to pick us up and we are going to head into the city to lay low.  His place is pretty chill, and I doubt they would know to look there.”  He informed us.  We had a plan.  But what if they intercepted the call and were waiting for us?  Who were “they?”  All I could see were problems and traps everywhere I looked.  I think this was why I trusted Clarence to handle this.  My recollection of my first flight demonstrated that I had no clue how to move around when I was being screwed with.  “That sounds like a good plan.”  I agreed.  It was settled.   

    We sat on the lawn peacefully while waiting for Clarence's cousin to drop by.  We watched the clouds go by slowly.  It was nice to appreciate the weather with my new friends.  Clarence pointed out a cloud that looked like a chair.  Laurie spotted one that looked like a dog's head.  And I saw one that looked like a remarkably accurate depiction of the Battle of Gallipoli.  The warm summer afternoon air settled over us and it was almost a disappointment to see Clarence's cousin come by.    

    He was an enormous black man, who appeared to be a serious bodybuilder, who let himself go for a couple years. Yet, somehow, he wasn't intimidating.  Maybe it was his warm smile or charming demeanor.  Clarence's cousin motioned for us to come to the car.  We hurried over.  It was an old silver Cadillac with R&B music playing from inside.  Clarence rode in the passenger seat and Laurie, and I took the back.  As he drove off, I took one last look back at my ash pile.   

    Clarence's cousin turned down the music and made conversation as we drove to his apartment downtown.  “Clarence told me all about you Johnny.  Says you're good people.  My name is Dayton.”  He stretched his arm into the back seat where I shook his hand.  His grip had a certain firmness about it, but a strong softness remained. “It's a pleasure to meet you Dayton.  Thanks for picking us up on short notice.  It's been a weird-” I couldn't quite work out a good time frame to finish the sentence.  He didn't seem to mind.  “And you must be Laurie,” he said almost seductively to Laurie. She grinned and nodded.  Dayton turned the music back up and we arrived at his apartment downtown without incident. 

    Dayton parked behind the tenement complex where he lived.  We exited the car and walked around to the front of the building.  There were intermittently appearing clusters of people that greeted us on our way up.  Dayton seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to like him.  Whatever skill or talent Dayton had for talking to his neighbors stirred up deep feelings of envy within me.  I couldn't talk to anyone in my neighborhood without feeling ridiculed by, or contemptuous toward.  We entered the complex and took a rickety old elevator up to the 11th floor.  He fumbled around the lock and finally let us into his comfortably furnished domain. 

    Laurie, Clarence, and I sat on his black leather sofa.  Dayton sprawled out on his loveseat.  Before he could fully sink in, he suddenly seemed abashed.  “Where are my manners?  Y'all want anything to drink or eat?”  He looked at us hopefully while asking, and I broke the silence. “Yeah!”  The only thing I had eaten that day found itself on my lawn after all.  “I'll take some grub,” Laurie chided in.  Clarence shook his head dismissively.  He seemed a bit preoccupied.  “How about sandwiches?  I got turkey if you want it,” Dayton offered.  Laurie and I graciously accepted our host's hospitality. 

    While Dayton was in the kitchen, we heard a loud knock on the front door.  Dayton looked at us, visibly confused.  He wasn't expecting anyone, and judging our response, he deduced that there weren't any stragglers left from our group.  Dayton called through the door, “Who is this?”  A voice answered him back, “Yo, It's Ronnie from across the hall.”  I guess the two of them were acquainted because Dayton shrugged and opened the door.   

    A large silver handgun was immediately and forcefully thrust into the face of Dayton upon opening the door.  Dayton was stupefied as he seemed to recognize the voice but not the person who followed it.  Then the stranger stepped into the room, and I got a good look at him.  I recognized the curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes.  It was hard to pinpoint the face at first, because it was covered in dark brown shoe polish.   After a moment of staring at the black-faced lunatic, I was hit with a flood of recollection.

    It was Wayne Ackerman.  I knew Wayne from grade school, but I never really cared for him.  He would always try to say silly things in class to get attention.  He would also brag incessantly to girls who were not interested.  I knew his humor was off color...but showing up at an African American man's door in full black face with a drawn weapon?  That just crossed a line.  Wayne sauntered into the living room led by his pistol.  Dayton gave him a wide berth holding his hands up in an effort to appear innocuous.  Wayne began arbitrarily pointing his weapon at each of us in an effort to inspire fear.  I wanted to slap him so badly.  Clarence was livid by Wayne’s display.  “This is how it's gonna be,” Wayne started in a voice, that I think he felt imitated an authoritarian.  “You are gonna sit real quiet and wait for me to tell you when you can leave.”  We waved the gun menacingly to emphasize the need for our strict compliance. 

    Dayton replied in a soft tone, “All right my man, whatever you say.”  Wayne knew that he was trying to placate him, which seemed to piss him off.  “Yeah, it IS, whatever I say,” He remarked while puffing out his chest.  Wayne was by no means a big guy, and I was sure that Dayton could rip him in half like tissue paper.  Wayne found a vacant rocking chair in the corner of the room and sat himself down while pointing the gun at me.  Dayton could see his discomfort despite intimidating us.  He started to get up to offer Wayne a glass of water.  “Hell no, I want your ass where I can see it,” Wayne interjected.  Dayton returned to his love seat.  That reminds me...Wayne was the reason I didn't get that turkey sandwich.  Only a truly heartless monster comes between a man and his sandwich. 

    Wayne looked at me and pointed the gun at me while he spoke.  “There is a crazy high price on your head Johnny.  Like, retire and live on a private island kind of high.  I came to collect.  If your friends don't stand in my way, they can walk.  They ain't worth shit to me.”  I suddenly felt like I was at the epicenter of a criminal conspiracy.  Given my skill set, that was not a good thing.  I tried to change the subject.  “So, uh, Wayne.  Why the blackface?”  I asked as disarmingly as possible.  “Cause it's the hood and I wanted to blend in!”  He said trying to assert an insane form of dominance.

    Dayton looked perplexed.  Clarence was trembling with rage.  Laurie looked mortified.  And I was suddenly certain this was not the Wayne I once knew.  Wayne's face suddenly was engulfed in a wicked grin.  Was there an odd flicker of that strange yellowish glow that I had seen before?  I couldn't tell for sure.  Wayne used his free hand to pull his cell phone from his left pocket and briefly glance at it.  I thought about trying to make small talk.  “Hey Wayne, did you end up getting accepted to Princeton like you always wanted?” I asked.  Well, I didn't actually ask.  I am sure that he was a Yale man after all. 

    Twenty awkward minutes passed until Wayne's phone finally rung.  There wasn't a sound in the room except for Dayton's occasional chorus of flatulence.  The ringtone was an unusually timed series of notes that seemed like some kind of bizarre code in itself.  Wayne answered it with a purposeful, “Talk to me.”  I waited on the edge of my seat, straining my ears to pick up some information.  Wayne just nodded while he listened and gave a few short “yeah's” and “mm hmm's” that got his point across.  He finished his call, pointed the gun at me, and gestured with the firearm for me to get up. 

    “Me and Johnny are leaving.  The rest of you dickwads better stay where you are.  Don't even think of getting up before the count of...71,” Wayne ordered.  We all suspiciously looked at him for a clue as to why such an unusual number.  He seemed attuned to the confusion we shared.  “I just like prime numbers, is all,” he shrieked defensively.   With that clear cut display of insanity, Wayne marched me out of Dayton's apartment with a gun jabbing into my lower back.   

    We moved through the hallway that led to the elevator and right into said elevator.  Thankfully it was empty, and I didn't need to have an awkward elevator ride with this lunatic.  I really didn't want to be lumped into whatever category of racism that his nonsense fell under.  We entered the elevator and when the door closed and I was in that little rickety elevator with him, chills crept up my spine.  I could feel the warmth of Wayne's breath on my neck as he crept up to my ear.  “Someone is dying to have you over for dinner,” he said.  But it wasn't just those words.  It was the fact that the voice that came out of his mouth belonged to my deceased father. 

    The elevator ride seemed like a long panic attack, and the silence that followed out of Wayne’s voice was almost more than I could process.  At some point during our descent the elevator stopped at the third floor.  A middle-aged woman carrying a baby was waiting for the elevator.  Her face was a mixture of horror, anger, and revulsion when I gestured that she couldn't come on the elevator.  She stepped back from the door, and I apprehensively pushed the button to close the door.  Wayne dug his gun into my back to emphasize my powerlessness.   

    We arrived at the ground level and there were a couple people talking in the lobby.  All conversations stopped and their eyes followed us.  One of the younger men wearing a tank top and doo rag approached us with a very concerned expression.  I couldn't see Wayne's face standing behind me, but whatever look he gave the guy scared him enough that he slunk out of the way and pushed himself against the wall.  I knew the gun was still concealed in my back and by the baggy shirt surrounding it.  It wasn't the gun that frightened the man who approached us.   

    Fear, confusion, and suspicion followed us all the way to the parking lot.  No one dared to approach, and Wayne seemed to expect this.  I knew that Wayne had a penchant for the dramatic, but his bravado was astounding.  Not far from where Dayton had parked his car, I saw an old brown Ford SUV that we were making a direct route for.  “Just slide in the backseat and lay down.  There is a blanket back there, cover yourself with it.”  He commanded.  Who the hell was he hiding me from? 

    I briefly considered how to stall him.  I was inclined to believe that the longer he stood out here in that getup, the more likely it would become that someone intervened in this charade.  “Where are we going,” I asked politely.  Wayne's face contorted in fury.  “Does it really matter, if it's the last place your going?”  He replied with the air of a man, who considered his question oozing with profound wisdom.  “Well, I just-” He cut me off with a sharp jab of the gun into my back, probing me to open the back passenger side door of the car to get in.  The door was locked.  What a moron. 

    His vehicle apparently didn't have a remote unlocking mechanism, and he was forced to walk back to the driver's seat side to push the unlock button for me.  He awkwardly kept his gun trained on me the whole time.  I froze for a moment and considered running at full sprint back into the tenement.  He noticed the spark of resistance in me and yelled, “stand there!”  He circled back around to where I was (passenger rear door.) He came at me with the butt of his pistol raised for a presumably uncomfortable session of pistol whippings.  I averted my gaze from him and tried to brace myself for the incoming concussion. CRACK! 

    The sound wasn't accompanied by the pain I expected.  After my courageous flinching, I squinted my eyes open long enough to see my companions standing over Wayne's sprawled out body.  Dayton was panting heavily with a crimson splattered baseball bat in hand.  “Holy shit!  Where did you guys come from? I thought I was screwed,” I cried in a rejoicing tone.  Clarence tilted his head toward the fire escape ladder on the back of the building.  The fact that Dayton made it down successfully and so swiftly surprised the hell out of me.  He was definitely quicker than he looked.   

    Our celebration was cut short by a blood curdling series of cackles coming from the face down body of Wayne Ackerman.  He rolled over and his eyes were glowing yellow, while laughter and deep crimson blood ejected from his mouth.  The group took an instinctive step  back.  Except Dayton, who hoisted his bat in stoic determination.   I guess once you start whacking someone in the head with a baseball bat, it sort of becomes a muscle memory.  Dayton wasted no time and began wailing on Wayne while he was still prone.  Wayne's demonic laughter became garbled by the blood filling his mouth and his teeth shattering.  Wayne's painted face took on the appearance of a morbid, as well as racist Picasso painting.  The rest of us looked on with horror.  Some of the other nearby residents who were spectating began cheering and clapping enthusiastically. 

    Once his composure was regained, Dayton ordered Clarence to help him stuff Wayne's still convulsing body into the trunk of his Cadillac.  I peered inside the windows of Wayne's car.  It was pretty much empty with the exception of the keys on the front seat of the car.  After making short work of the body, Clarence and Dayton motioned for us to join them in front of both cars to plan our next move.  Clarence said to us, “I think the best option for us now, is to split up.  Dayton and I will deal with this clown's body.  I think you two should head for whatever friends Laurie has out in the Stix.”  Laurie scratched her neck nervously.  “I am not sure where exactly they are, but I know a few places to start looking to make contact.  They aren't the easiest bunch to just drop in on,” she said.  “Do whatever you need to,” Clarence retorted.  Laurie shrugged.  “After you two settle in, try to make contact with me.  You can reach me on this ham radio frequency.”  He handed her a scribbled note.  “Wait at least a week,” he added.  He had some kind of plan up his sleeve he wasn't directly stating, but I took an odd comfort in that. 

    I wanted to give Clarence and Dayton a big hug and a tearful goodbye, but it seemed sort of inappropriate.  The cousins nodded to us in unison, and Laurie and I nodded back in unison as well.  Somethings just don't need to be said.  Laurie and I scrambled into Wayne's SUV and started it up.  The music coming from the CD player started to play loudly.  It was one of the tracks from a Kidz Bop album.  Nothing struck me as more Satanic than Kidz Bop.  We were dealing with some real sick animals.  I turned it off and we drove out of the parking lot.  The crowd that had formed by the sidewalk parted and dispersed.  We received a warm exit before zooming up Main Street.  The gas meter registered that we had nearly a full tank, which a welcome reprieve from the ongoing complications.  While casually driving down Main Street, Laurie checked the glove box and discovered a modest size wad of cash.  Mostly 20s and 10s, with a hundred on top of the roll.  At least my concerns about traveling expenses were alleviated.   

    Laurie instructed me to stop at a nearby strip mall so that we could change clothes.  I was pretty contented by the idea of changing out of Chuck's apparel.  I must admit, I would be pretty disappointed by the sight of Laurie outside of her lab coat.  We arrived at a small strip mall just on the outskirts of town.  The sign for “Village Plaza'' was a welcome sight.  Virgil's Discount Apparel was our first destination. “After we pick up some clothes and change, we are hitting that Chinese buffet.  Then we need to go back to Virgil's to get new clothes to fit around the food baby I plan on making,” Laurie happily said sporting an impish smile.   

    The shopping took a couple minutes.  Laurie quickly found a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting tank top that she liked.  I took a pair of khaki shorts and tan polo shirt that matched.  The cashier tried to make small talk with us about the upcoming election.   As long as the candidate didn't have glowing yellow eyes, eat human flesh, or projectile vomit blood out of his mouth, I didn't care.  I think Laurie felt the same way and mumbled, “whoever lowers taxes the most.”  We returned to the car and changed.  I dumped the marbles from the pocket of the shorts into the cup holder in the center console. 

    We hastily walked over to the Golden Flaming Dragon Wok House and the smell of food was intoxicating.  My objections about buffet style melted away.  I would gladly excuse myself  to the bathroom to profusely vomit and refill my belly.  We ordered our plates and did our best to avoid shoveling in the food recklessly.  It wasn't the best Chinese I have had by a long shot, but at that moment, it was the greatest thing I had ever tasted.  I did my best to pace myself.  Laurie seemed a bit more adept at eating carefully.  We each had two full plates.  Pork fried rice, General Tso's Chicken, Wonton Soup, Beef Lo-Mein, and some french fries later, we were nearly ready to continue our journey on the road.  I thought it best that we pick up a few items for the ride.  Laurie agreed with my plan to stop at the nearby convenience mart for the journey ahead.   

    We entered the store labeled Convenience Shoppe.  A dark-skinned man of an ambiguous ethnic origin greeted us.  “Hello, my friends, let me know if you need any help finding something!”  The clerk offered emphatically.  Laurie asked for a road atlas.  I stocked up on sugary caffeinated soda, assorted snacks, and a lighter.  The lighter was covered with one of those plastic wrapped graphics on it.  It had a picture of a bull the word Taurus written on it.  I'm not a Taurus, but I didn't give a shit. 

    Laurie informed me that the journey would take 6 hours on the highway to get to a tavern off the exit.  Apparently some of her friends hang out there, and it was a good spot to make contact with the group.  It was late evening when we made it to the highway.  I guzzled a colorful rainbow of different sodas in an effort to keep myself awake and alert.  Laurie kept me alert by feeding me various bits of sporadic information about her friends.  They sounded a bit xenophobic, a bit paranoid, and somewhat lovable.   

    “The guy who runs the place is David McCallister.  Though, to call him a leader would be a bit short sighted.  Each person has delegated responsibilities but authority is shared in their community.  David owns different properties all over the Northeast.  He runs an exclusive summer camp up in the mountains.  Some people say they brainwash kids there, but I went there, and it was nothing like that.”  Laurie explained.  Her last sentence sounded exactly like the line someone who was brainwashed would say.  I wasn't exactly chocked full of options myself, so I deemed it wiser to ignore that nagging thought.   

    She told me about an odd gesture that was a combination of a hand signal and facial expression that were code that you were friendly to their cause.  I thought it looked like she was having an aneurysm or experiencing some odd psychotic tic when she demonstrated it.  She talked for about another hour about her cult.  I mean friends.  She changed the topic eventually, to something that I had an odd feeling about.  

    “Yeah, I wasn't going to say anything to you before about this...” She said while trailing off shamefully.  I gave her an encouraging “meh,” so that she knew I was beyond such silliness.  “I knew that guy that tried to abduct you at Dayton's place.  We, uh, had a brief fling.”  That bit of information almost caused an eruption of soda from my nose.  That also explained the look of mortification on her face when he burst in.  I immediately regained my composure and pointed out, “I would have thought he would have said something.”  She looked uncertain about that detail as well.   

    “His name was Wayne Ackerman.  He wasn't the same as the last time I saw him.  He was kind of a jerk, but he looked completely out of his mind back there.  We dated a couple years out of high school.”  She explained.  “Yeah, I know.  I went to high school with him.  Kind of an ass, but never so, insane,” I replied.  I think Laurie was a bit embarrassed that I knew Wayne.  I guess he wasn't her favorite chapter in her life.  We gave up on changing subjects and listened to the radio for a while.  She watched the trees zip by as we drove.  It was a comfortable moment of peace since our escape. 

    The drive continued uneventfully into a mild summer rain.  It was around 10pm when Laurie told me that the town where the tavern was located was our next exit.  We passed through the Connecticut state line around 8, and I honestly had no idea where we were.  I was unaccustomed to driving to strange places, and in a dead man's car no less.  Not to mention the fact that my license was missing.  Running into an officer at this point could be disastrous.  The thought of being considered an escaped mental patient did nothing to ease my mind either. 

    We approached the exit, and I saw a state trooper parked by the sign.  I feel like my timing for nervous thoughts was impeccable at that moment.  Laurie noticed the tension radiating off me, and gently put her hand on my arm, which was gripping the wheel in white knuckle fashion.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw the headlights click on, and the vehicle followed us.  There were no other motorists on the road, so I got the very sickening feeling that we would be pulled over.  The police cruiser followed us off the ramp into some small town in a very scenic wooded area.   

    I could tell Laurie was getting nervous because her grip on my wrist began to tighten.  She didn't let go but instructed me to follow Hicks Street for about 30 miles.  Laurie turned the radio off, and we continued to follow the dark and windy road through the woods.  The officer maintained a safe distance behind us but appeared to be going out of his way to follow us.  “What should I say if he pulls us over?” I asked Laurie.  “Just pray he doesn't,” Laurie flatly responded.  I did just that.

    I maintained the speed limit of 45 miles per hour with excruciating care.  I began to wonder if he saw camera footage from the rest stop where we filled up on gas.  Maybe he was working for Thomas.  Maybe he was like the other yellow eyed freaks that makes a habit of tormenting us.  My thoughts of being ripped to pieces by a possessed officer were interrupted by flashing police lights.  I exhaled in terror and pulled over as carefully as I could. 

    Relief doesn't begin to describe the feeling I got when the trooper whizzed past us and sped off down the road. I could feel Laurie experiencing the same sensation.  I turned to her and she did likewise.  We got caught in another one of those moments where our eyes froze in the heat of a moment.  It wasn't like love or anything carnal.  It was something more akin to experiencing a common feeling on such an extreme level that it forms a bond deeper than words can accurately describe. 

    Our journey continued more peacefully as the tension melted away.  It felt like we traveled down Hicks road for an eternity.  The destination of Mark's Tavern was only a few miles down the first intersection we hit.  Laurie laid out our game plan: “I will look for someone who can get us an in.  I just want you to hang back at the bar and get a beer.  Don't talk to anyone, and if anyone talks to you, just tell them you are waiting for a friend.”  It sounded like a close-knit joint. 

    I never had much of an affinity for drinking, but it was a sound plan, nonetheless. She described the owner as a surly man who was quite leery of strangers (I assumed his name was Mark or a huge fan of someone named Mark.)  If he was working the bar, it would be in my best interest to mention her.  Otherwise, if anyone else was bartending, to keep her name out of it.  I was told he was a heavy-set fellow with a prominent tattoo of a shark eating an angel running up his arm.  Classy. 

    We pulled into the parking lot and there weren't many vehicles there, I counted 3 pickup trucks, and two beater cars that were piled into the small parking lot.  Outside the bar there was only the road going onward and woods in all directions.  I spotted a sign in front of the bar that read, “Pink Floyd Patterson: Playing live all this week!”  There was also a graphic of a silhouette of a boxer punching the color prism featured on the cover of Dark Side of the Moon.  I softly groaned at the notion.  I never cared for cover bands.   

    We exited Wayne's SUV and made our way to the front of the bar.  I was a bit nervous honestly.  I don't go to bars much, and this seedy backwoods tavern wasn't the most inviting.  Laurie led the way and told me to wait a couple minutes after her.  I paced back to the car trying to appear as if I had forgotten something.  I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince, as I was the only one in the parking lot.  I made a mental note to make a more thorough search of the car.  It was a tidy car but there might be some more hidden gems in here.  We did find almost $400 in the glove box. 

    After some time passed, I walked into the bar.  It was definitely the hole in the wall I was expecting.  The band was playing a pretty shitty rendition of “Wish You Were Here.”  How I wish they weren't here.  The place didn't seem as rough as I imagined.  Most of the patrons here seemed like quiet simple folk who didn't like a big ruckus when they came to the local watering hole.  I sat down at an unoccupied stool by the bar.  The man standing behind the bar definitely looked like the description of Mark that Laurie had given me. 

    “Hey stranger, never seen you around here.  What can I get you?” He asked in a discerning voice.  “Whatever's on tap.” I replied in an attempt to sound like I fit in.  I half expected him to check my ID based solely on my obviously disingenuous confidence.  He nodded and poured me a glass of some amber swill.  I was going to try to make small talk, but he gave me an out when he went to restock the peanuts. 

    In my periphery, I could see Laurie comfortably leaning against the wall with a beer in hand chatting up a middle-aged couple.  They seemed to be having a fair time, and I suspected she found one of her contacts.  Mark kept a wary eye on me, but I was sure he was confident that I wasn't bringing any trouble to his bar.  I slowly sipped my beer and stared at the clock, occasionally watching the band play off key Pink Floyd.  I strongly suspect Mark didn't pay them anything and they played for the glory of amusing a handful of patrons a night.

    Laurie approached the bar and let Mark know I would cover the tab.  She gave me a sort of head nod signal that told me that we were done here.  He waited for me to finish my beer.  I gulped it down, paid the tab and left a pretty generous tip.  I was certainly glad we didn't have to linger here long.  I walked out of the bar carefully, not showing that I could feel the effects of one beer in my system.  It is surprising how a low alcohol tolerance can affect you. 

    Still, I was certain that I could drive once the initial shock of walking around passed away.  Laurie and I sat in the seat of the car.  When I turned it on the clock notified us that it was just past midnight.  Damn.  Where would we go?  That was when Laurie told me, “Bob and Dana, just told me that they would get us a place at the camp to stay for a while.  It is closed to the kids for renovations or something.  We need to wait a couple days for the arrangements to go through.”  I frowned at the prospect of trying to kill a few days in the middle of Nowheresville, USA. 

    Laurie continued to talk past my obvious disappointment.  “They gave me the address to a motel that isn't too far from here.  They know the owners and said it is a safe place for us to stay.” Clarence told us that Dayton's place was safe, and found myself incredibly mistrustful of what people called safe.  Laurie seemed optimistic at least.  That was good enough for me.  We pulled out of the bar cautiously, and I began my drive in the direction that Laurie sent me.  We zoomed off in the same direction we came from, back toward the highway. 

    The effects of the caffeine were wearing thin, and the beer wasn't helping.  I was getting drowsy, and I welcomed the idea of getting some rest.  Laurie yawned in agreement.  The drive was uneventful, but I kept an eye out for the state trooper that I saw a couple hours ago.  Not another car on the road was present to greet us.  Laurie had a fairly good grasp of the area and was able to turn us down several country roads that led to the motel.  The sign for the Road Stop Inn was a pleasant sight to my weary eyes. 

    The most significant thing I saw was a large scrap metal shaped horse in front of the office.  “How quaint,” I thought to myself.  There were several cars parked in the lot, and all of them looked like broken down shit boxes that were owned by the proprietor.  Maybe he kept them outside to give the appearance that his establishment actually had a number of guests.  We parked near an old Ford Taurus that was decorated with a liberal amount of rust spots.  We exited the car and made our way to the front office, where a light was still on. 

    We entered a dimly lit office where the man behind the desk was watching TV with rapt attention.  He was a stringy pale skinned man with a ratty looking beard with bits of spittle caught in it.  He was vigorously chewing a wad of gum that looked large enough that it caused my jaw to hurt, simply by watching him.  He barely paid us any notice when we walked in.  He reached under the desk and slapped a key on the desk.  “Room number 4 is open,” he told us in a raspy voice between chews of his gum. 

    I wasn't sure if I should have paid him right then or asked the rates, but Laurie scooped up the keys and we swiftly exited the office.  We trudged over to a room in the two story building about a hundred feet from the office.  I counted 8 rooms total. Room 4 was the farthest door on the left side of the building.  It was adjacent to the stairs leading to the balcony that held the rooms above us.  I was grateful we didn't have to climb up the stairs. 

    We entered our room, and I flipped the lights on.  The bulb above us flickered in protest before finally illuminating our surroundings.  The first thing that caught my attention was the revolting yellow floral wallpaper.  Some of it was peeling in places and was covered in the yellowish grime from years of cigarette smoke clinging to the walls.  There was a dingy chipped table, a few plastic chairs, a pair of twin beds that looked like they had been soiled many times, and nightstands that at least looked like they were replaced at some point in the last 5 years. 

    I collapsed onto the closest bed wordlessly.  I heard Laurie check on the bathroom.  I was just about to start letting myself doze off when I heard her loudly exclaim, “Gross! Nasty!”  My eyes popped open.  I sprung off the bed and darted over to the bathroom to inspect what her complaint was.  I got close to the door and was able to see the tail end of a cockroach parade scurrying from the light that Laurie flicked on.  Not unexpected, but not a pleasant sight either. She sighed, said “forget it,” and laid down on the other bed. 

    I returned to my bed, at least convinced that the cockroaches were not from outer space hell bent on our destruction. Sleep came quickly despite the fact that the bed was gross, uncomfortable, and I didn't even bother to pull the blanket over me.  It was hot as hell in here anyway.  While the sleep came quickly, the dream that followed came on slowly.

Chapter 3

 Chapter 3: Revelations 

    Lengthy silence and a breakfast of instant oatmeal (which was surprisingly better than the mental hospital served us) followed our conversation on the floor.  After breakfast, I decided to reveal to the group what I had discovered.  I told them about the research that was being conducted.  I told them the fragments I put together related to Project Balthazar.  Laurie and I had both agreed that continued looking at the photos and charcoal petroglyph rubbings was beyond our emotional capacity.  Clarence wrestled with curiosity after I told him, but he aired on the side of caution.  Or he simply didn’t want to be the odd one out.   

    During my explanations, my left hand became visible to the others.  This drew concerned looks from their faces. “That explains why your hand was so warm when you, uh... we, had our moment,” Laurie posited. Clarence seemed intrigued and put his hand up in a high 5 pose.  I pressed my palm against his.  His face divulged devilish curiosity.  “That’s the gem making your hand so warm?” He asked curiously.  “Yup.” With our collective stories and secrets revealed, it was time to broach the subject that was quickly becoming an unspoken taboo. With all of the tact of a crying 5 year old, I announced my plan. “I was thinking about taking a look in the crawlspace for gasoline or any other supplies that we might be missing.” Laurie and Clarence both exchanged nervous looks. 

    Clarence casually strode over to where the lever-action rifle was located on the wall. He inspected the weapon and was convinced it was still functional, though we hadn't discovered any ammunition. “I thought I might take it there in case we find a raccoon or something,” Clarence declared in a comical tone. I imagined that any raccoon we might encounter at this point in our adventure would be 8 feet long, have glowing yellow eyes, and spray sodium hydroxide from its mouth. 

    Laurie continued to rummage through the supply closet and cried out in delight when she discovered what she had been looking for. It was a box of rounds for the antiquated firearm. Clarence tried (somewhat successfully) to force an expression of enthusiasm. He had two obstacles to confront from my perspective. The challenge of learning to operate a weapon that looked like it would be home at a museum, and the challenge of mustering the courage to face whatever the crawlspace had to offer us. 

    Clarence explained that he wanted to fire off a couple rounds before he felt confident enough to enter in a potentially hazardous situation. He wandered outside by himself.  Meanwhile, I found an old marble ashtray in the living room that I used to determine if the gem was still working properly. I crushed it into a fine powder in my right hand. At least my hulk-like strength in my average body build was still in effect. The fact that I had no way to turn it off frightened me, however. 

    I was clapping the dust from the ashtray off my hands when I could hear the loud “Pop” and “Bang” of gunfire outside. Laurie was observing him from the window. I got the impression that guns made her nervous. I had no great love of them myself. I would like to think a true gentleman would brandish a potato peeler when entering into mortal combat. But I am a romantic. What can I say? 

    Clarence reentered the cabin with the “I just shot a gun” glow. It was certainly the boost he was looking for. We stood together hovering over the old iron handle to the crawlspace. “Laurie. I think you better wait in the other room in case something happens to us.” At first she tried to ignore my attempts at protecting her lady-like delicacy. She thought for a moment and responded, “If something in there devours you, I want to be able to shut that door as quickly as possible.” I was flabbergasted and Clarence got a good chuckle at my expense. 

    I held one of the kerosene lanterns while Clarence pulled the hatch open. It gave him some resistance but finally gave way and opened with a churning creak. Our faces were peppered by dust and mold. I let out an astonished gasp by what I saw. It was a smooth cement tunnel leading down into the darkness with an iron ladder pegs embedded in the circular passage. “Not quite what I was expecting,” Clarence muttered. He flung the rifle's leather strap over his shoulder where the weapon now rested on his back. 

    I climbed down first. Grasping the lantern in one hand and carefully stepping down each rung of the ladder. I wasn't certain how far down this tunnel went but there wasn't enough room to get a good view. I had to descend on faith alone. Clarence was several rungs above me. He was chanting some kind of prayer. I surmised that he had a fear of enclosed spaces. 

    The ladder stretched for what I estimated to be 2 full stories into the earth. The clang of our feet echoed in the small tunnel around us. I could hear Laurie above us calling out to check on us. I wanted to wait until my feet hit solid ground before doing so. And then, they did. The lantern illuminated what looked like a small research laboratory. Despite the use of the word small in my description, the total size of the open room I saw was still significantly larger in square footage than the cabin above us. I took a few steps forward and noticed a large switch on the wall to my left. 

    I could feel Clarence's presence behind me. He made it down safely as well. I turned the lantern on his face to see slack jawed amazement. I called up to Laurie, “We are fine. There is some kind of lab or facility down here.” I shouted upwards. It's incredible!” I added a second later. I could hear the echoing clang of feet hitting the iron rungs of the ladder. “I am heading down there,” she cried out. 

    Clarence took the initiative and flipped the large breaker switch on the wall and the room flickered with the glow of fluorescent lights. This place was amazing. There were 2 rows of lab tables with 3 tables in each row. A pair of stools stood adjacent to each table. I spotted a large metal disk with some kind of enclosure around it. There was an inordinate amount of wires, levers and buttons covering the enclosure. As well as a pair of what looked like a pair of Tesla Coils protruding from both sides of the enclosure. It looked like the lair of a mad scientist or a Disney villain. Probably both. Definitely both. 

    Clarence and I split up to opposite ends of the lab to inspect at what we had encountered. Clarence was pawing through documents that appeared to be maps or blueprints. I headed over to an unmarked metal door and carefully pulled it open. It was locked, but my strength enhancement caused the door to rip through the double deadbolts and hang limply off one hinge. Despite using a bit more force than I wanted to, I found myself getting a better handle of measuring my newfound abilities. 

    Inside the large supply room, I noticed several strange instruments on the floor. The devices were rectangular boxes with a series of digital readout monitors and a multicolored cornucopia of buttons.  They each had odd metal wands tethered by coiled wires on them.  They looked like Geiger counters or maybe some kind of sophisticated anal probe. I discovered a small cluster of lab coats suspended on hangers on the right hand side of the closet. I pulled one of the coats off the hook and ripped off my slimy, sweat covered, and muddy scrub shirt. I threw the lab coat over my bare chest.   

    I exited the closet eager to make an appearance for an impromptu fashion show for Clarence. Laurie had just finished her climb down the tunnel stairs. They both looked in amusement as I did a slight bow and did my best to imitate an intellectual.  “As persons of science, it is our duty to look the part.” 

    Laurie and Clarence wasted no time bursting into the closet to change their attire. After a brief moment, we suddenly looked like a distinguished group of scientists. Distinguished scientists who were living in the woods for a week. Clarence also discovered a box full of rubber safety boots. My boots were a bit too loose. Clarence's boots were a bit too snug. And Laurie's boots flopped around with a solid two inches of unused space in the toe area. Clarence informed us about a saw upstairs that could at least remedy that problem. 

    Clarence told us that he discovered blueprints for a machine of some kind labeled as the “Daedalus Gate.” I didn’t even bother trying to decipher the complex diagram.  He also showed us a map of the area where we were staying and the cabin we were calling home. He drew his finger across the map and noted in a matter of fact tone, “The cabin is here, and it appears, half a click due north of us, is a helipad.” Half a click. What were we now, Marines? “I guess that explains how the scientists got here without any kind of road connected to the cabin.” Made sense. 

    Laurie meandered around the room and moaned in ecstasy when she discovered an emergency wash station. She turned the shower on to test the water. At least it worked.  We all took turns taking showers in the corner of the room, while the others sat in the closet to give each other privacy.  Since she discovered the shower and she went first. In the spirit of Conventionalist Ethics, of course.    

    Clarence pulled the strap around his shoulder and propped the rifle against the wall of the closet by the futuristic looking gadgets I saw earlier.  We sat on the floor and discussed our next move.  “I figured I would climb back upstairs and grab the ham radio and bring it down here where we can give it some juice.  My old man had one when I was growing up, so I know what I am doing,” Clarence informed me.  I could only speculate whether such a machine would work this far underground, but I had no way to validate such a criticism.   

    He continued his calculations, “If you come upstairs with me and use the blanket on the bed as a sack, we can haul food down here and cook it on the Bunsen burners instead of the fireplace.  I am damn sure it is more comfortable to sleep down here than up there. A lot less mosquito at night”  He had a fine argument.  “I could throw down cushions from the couch as well,” I added.  “Now you’re thinking,” He replied with a comforting smile. Our rickety woodland cabin was turning into a real Hobbit Hole. 

    As we debated for several moments about the logistics of our relocation, I could hear the water stop running in the other room.  The sound of flapping skin, limbs, breasts, and hair could be heard audibly in the other room.  No towels.  I guess flailing around to air dry ourselves was the game plan.  Clarence’s face scrunched in consternation for just the briefest moment.  I had a feeling he wanted to tell me something.  Maybe about himself or our predicament.  Laurie’s call of “Almost done!,” in the other room provided him an out from opening up to me.  “I’m next. I just called it.” He announced with a slight wolfish grin. 

    Laurie appeared outside the doorway, and Clarence bolted out the door.  She stepped out of his way as he charged over to the shower.  Laurie sat down next to me.  Her hair was a sloppy pile pulled over her shoulder.  Her pale skin glistened from the moisture still on it, and the labcoat was slightly discolored from the water it absorbed.  Despite these oddly noticeable details, it was the first time I really became aware of her unique beauty.  She frowned when she realized I was staring at her like a hypnotized goon.   

    She broke the tension by speaking.  “I was thinking in the shower about contacting some old friends of mine.  They also have a ham radio, and don’t live too far off.  We might need a new place to lie low until things die down.”  I was dumbstruck for a second and asked “what to die down?”  She exhaled sharply, as if dealing with a mentally deficient toddler.  “Our escape from the mental institution.”  Oh yeah.  I could only wonder what they would tell the press when asked how we escaped.  Maybe something involving an elaborate catapult we built out of bed sheets.   

    Regaining my composure I affirmed her course of action, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.” She scratched her forehead while explaining the major complication to said plan.  “I can’t think of a way for my friends to actually reach us.  There are no trails, paths or roads.  It’s not like my friends own a helicopter.”  My heart sunk.  “At least they’d know we were coming, and that’s something,” I offered feebly.  She sighed.   

    We both heard Clarence singing his heart out in the shower.  He performed a soulful rendition of a breakfast cereal commercial from 15 years ago.  I was sure the folks at Kellogg’s would be brought to tears.  Laurie and I both roared in laughter.  Our gaze met briefly.  Damn, she had the most beautiful radiant green eyes.  How did I not notice before?  We both briefly looked in opposite directions when a wave of awkwardness followed. 

    The awkward silence was broken by Clarence standing outside the doorway still dripping wet.  He gestured to me that I was up next.  I walked past him and he replaced my seat on the floor next to Laurie.  I stripped down and turned on the water.  It was cold and there didn't seem to be any knob to turn on a hot water setting.  How had the others failed to mention this?  When I worked up the nerve to stand under the stream of water. I yelped in shock.  I haven't taken many cold showers before, but I could see why it was a remedy for arousal.   

    The muck and grime slowly peeled off me, though it was a grueling process because of my need to jump out of the water so my eyeballs didn't pop out of their sockets in shock.  I couldn't believe someone would take a shower like this willingly.  I tried to focus on something else instead of an ice cold shower.  Clarence and Laurie were having a loud and heated debate over the merits of either delivery or DiGiorno.  They both offered compelling arguments. 

    I was in the process of washing the grime and dirt from my hair when I heard sounds that stole all interest away from Clarence and Laurie.  It was the sounds of feet clanging down the tunnel and into our new sanctuary.  The others must have heard it too because their conversation ended abruptly.  My heart skipped a beat, and I had just enough nerve to pull the triangle shaped handle of the emergency wash shower off. 

    There I was, standing in the rear corner of the lab, dripping wet, and completely naked when figures entered the room. I recognized their pseudo uniforms.  They were the same types of soldiers that arrived at my house in Humvees and burnt the place to cinders.  For some reason I didn't imagine I would be stark nude when this confrontation inevitably occurred.  The men were armed with assault rifles, all pointed at me.  I could hear one final set of feet climb down from the ladder.  He appeared into view and then faced me.  It was the balding asshole that had a taste for human flesh and tormenting me. 

    Seeing this sick person created a peculiar mix of emotions that stirred within me.  It was something like dread, seething hatred, utter contempt, and sickening curiosity.  He was wearing his signature monogrammed robe (untied of course.)  His disgusting wrinkled and saggy skin fit over his bones like an absurd Halloween costume.  His stretched and bloated belly walked a full 6 inches in front of him.  He clearly savored the feelings he inspired in me.   

    The first look I got from him was a toothy grin revealing a row of sharp teeth.  I swore that his entire row of front teeth was nothing but incisors.  He signaled nonchalantly for his men to storm the closet that Clarence and Laurie were inside before speaking to me.  “Hello Johnathan.” He said with an impish smirk.  He knew I hated to be called Johnathan.   

    “Where are my manners?  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Thomas.  Thomas Balthazar.”  He paused for a moment, and on cue, an involuntary shudder crept up my spine.  “Though, I have taken to using the moniker, Azmorariel.”  Another shudder.  If he kept this up, I would need to see a chiropractor when this was all over.  

    While Thomas was enjoying his own introduction, Clarence and Laurie were dragged out of the closet with zip-ties around their wrists.  The soldiers were dragging them to the back of the lab.  I prepared to leap into action but the sight of Thomas kept me in check.  “Your friends will remain unharmed if you are cooperative,” Thomas assured me.  “What do you want from me?” I demanded while blood began rushing to my head.  “Such impudence.” Thomas replied with a condescending tone.  “What I want is simple.  The gem embedded in your left hand.”   

    Two of the soldiers that remained by the side of Thomas cautiously approached me with their weapons drawn.  I kept my gaze on the real threat.  The soldiers tried to push me onto one of the lab tables behind me.  It was as if a pair of slow moving bunny rabbits tried to push me over.  They grunted with exertion and desperately looked back at their leader for answers.  Thomas frowned and hissed, “I said...COOPERATE!”  

    With those words, it was like being manhandled by some invisible force.  I was flung into the air and landed on my back right on the lab table. I gasped in pain.  It hurt spectacularly.  One of the guards fumbled around a satchel on his waist and pulled out an electric bone saw.  I guess if I couldn't hand over the gem my hand would be over.  I had to hand it to them; they were quite a handy bunch.  OK, I'll stop now. 

    The whirl of the electric bone saw brought an involuntary gasp of panic.  When the blade hit my wrist the machine sputtered and whined.  There was a burst of sparks and with a loud “pop,” mechanical parts scattered around the room.  The guard, who sported an attractive goatee, cursed loudly and stepped back.  The other guard just looked on with confused fascination.  “I hate getting my hands dirty.” Thomas spat in utter disgust.  Hey, that time it was him, not me, who was milking the hand puns.  

    Thomas had the most fiendish look in his eyes when he widened his jaw and moved swiftly to my wrist.  I tried to jump off the table, to move, to yell, or to... something.  I was totally paralyzed by some sort of spell or entity.  Thomas' sharp teeth descended into my wrist.  I braced myself for whatever supernatural pain was coming.  I could feel his sharp teeth digging at my flesh.  Luckily, the gem protected me well enough that he couldn't break the skin.  However, it hurt.  Extremely badly.  I almost forgot what pain felt like over the past couple of days but this made up for it in spades. 

    Thomas gave a quizzical look at my wrist.  This was a man (and I use the term loosely) who rarely experienced failure or results that weren't expected.  He took a step back and entered into a thoughtful pose while tapping his chin rapidly.  Based on what I could read of his expression, he had an answer, but he didn't like it.  “Axle.  Diesel.”  He called out to the guards that stood watching Clarence and Laurie.  Axle and Diesel?  Were these guys soldiers or washed-up American Gladiators? 

    They understood some kind of nonverbal cue and pointed their rifles at the heads of my companions.  “Here is what is going to happen Johnathan.  I am going to release you from your binds.”  I assumed the binds was whatever in the hell it was keeping me frozen in place.  “Then you are going to join your companions inside the Daedalus Gate.  Next, you are going to sit still and wait for the fireworks to begin.  Any sudden moves or tricks, and your companions will die.  Play along, and I can give you a comfy ride back home.”  Thomas explained to me in a calculating tone.  The idea of complying with anything this guy ordered bothered the shit out me. 

    He could feel my righteous indignation fade after a moment.  He watched my resolve melt away, and when a combination of fear and compassion for my friends sunk in, he released me.  I got up and marched over to the Frankenstein machine with my head hung down.  It was a slow walk over to the shiny nickel colored platform where my friends awaited.  Thomas walked over to the machine and started rapidly inputting calculations into the machine.  There was a hiss of pressure being released as the enclosure surrounded us. 

    Clarence and Laurie both pushed as far away from me as possible.  It was like being stuck in a tube that was 8 feet in diameter with a completely nude person was somehow unappealing.  While trying to brush off my self-consciousness, a deep and resonating hum began to fill the chamber.  I can't find the right way to describe the feeling and sensations that followed after the hum very well.  It was like, moving really fast or flying but going nowhere.  It was like, every cell in my body was vibrating in different directions.  It was like, blinking and seeing the inside of a science fiction machine immediately turn into my front lawn. 

    There we were.  Right in front of the twisted ash pile that was my old home.  On the overgrown lawn where my grand adventure began.  Immediately, I was overcome with nausea and what little food was in my belly emptied onto the lawn.  Nausea must have been a side effect of Gate Travel because Clarence and Laurie were both doubled over and puking in the grass as well.  With their hands zip tied behind their backs.  At least they had clothes on. 

    After the symphony of vomiting concluded, I noticed something stuck to the dirt under a pile of my discarded stomach contents.  I pushed aside the vile mess of recycled oatmeal and discovered a note stuck in the dirt.  I wiped away the whitish-tan grime of it and took a closer look.  It looked like a sheet of paper ripped out of a pocket sized notebook.  The words scribbled on it read, “I WILL TASTE YOUR FLESH.” 

How We Continue to Understand Theft.

 The continued complexity of understanding theft as discussed in a previous essay by Maldys Shrubb.

In the previous essay I boiled down the idea of theft to a violation of agreements that parties had regarding the ownership of items.  I expounded on the premises in relation to a theft amounting to a violation of agreements rather than a simple movement of objects.  While moving objects with certain intent is considered theft, it is more commonly understood as theft if the presence of mens rea, or the guilty mind, was found at the time of the event. 

    What I feel that I must continue to explain is the vast importance of the presence of these agreements in all aspects of life and more significantly, the relationship of agreements and things beyond physical objects.  Since theft is succinctly described as a conceptual violation, one can understand that other concepts can become violated as an act that could be considered theft.  For example, if someone told you that they were going to meet you at the park at 2 o’clock, and they never showed up, you could argue that it was a theft of your time.  No physical objects transferred possession, such as the example I provided with the Magic card. 

    In some cases, people don’t consider taking items theft, such as free flyers you might find in public places.  Another thing people don’t consider theft is the concept of gift giving.  Gift giving becomes increasingly complex as you consider the nature of agreements between the benefactor and beneficiary.  Sometimes the arrangement is supposed to be temporary, and the ability or inability to return said gift becomes problematic.  It is because you make the agreement with your neighbor that you will return his weed trimmer that the transfer of the item is not considered theft.  Both parties must agree that this is the case, as most people do not wish their items to be taken without their permission. 

    Intellectual property is a vast domain of legality that encompasses an enormous number of court cases in determining if theft has occurred on some level.  People believe that their labor in creating an idea, pattern, song, etc., is only intended to be bought by means of transaction. This could also mean that someone gets control or credit of it.  Theft of things that are freely available but that someone has some proprietary claim over is commonplace.  Some people believe that theft of this kind is a victimless crime, if you consider the high number of people using file sharing programs that seek to avoid high mark ups by vendors and other corporate interests in the artistic and intellectual communities.  It is considered both thefts to try to sell Rick James’ “Superfreak” as my own song as well as download it illegally. 

What exactly does this mean for the world of theft and to what extent can theft be measured?   Can theft even include a human life (Someone stole another person’s life.)  If a person stole someone's life saving medicine, could you not argue that the cost of the agreement violation was a human life?  Let us say that one person was adept at a computer programming skill that would be deftly replaced by artificial intelligence, we can argue that an algorithm stole that person's lifetime of skill building and labor efforts.  This would push beyond even the simple barrier of the presence of criminal intent when aggregating the total cost of theft.  National identity, culture, livelihood, memories, and familial bonds all become subject to the domain of theft. 

This requires us to place a moral responsibility to determining when theft occurs, and the significance of its inimical effects on a person or persons life.  This brings us to the arduous task of determining value of all things and creating an equitable census for all goods and services that have been, are being, and will be produced by all people.  This is one of the tasks of the Utilitarians which began their inception by the scholarly works of John Stewart Mill and Jeremy Bentham.  The goal of Utilitarians is to determine net good over net harm when seeking any possible outcome.  A very difficult task which can be fiercely debated by lay persons and scholars alike. 

There are two forms of Utilitarianism which are prominent in the philosophical community.  Act Utilitarianism and Rule Utilitarianism.  Act utilitarianism states that each individual act must be weighed as whether it brings more overall good than harm (not necessarily to number of persons.)  Rule Utilitarianism requires that rules or laws be conceived with the same formulaic approach as the previous form of Utilitarianism.  The two are not necessarily separate or incompatible worldviews to leading a more ethically sound life, but rather, two components of an even larger framework.  These modalities of thought must be applied to consideration of acts and even rules as forms of theft. 

With due consideration paid to a reasonably valid ethical system, we must consider how prevention and punitive measure are placed on those who violate the sacred agreements of proprietary rights.  These rights are of course more fundamental in the United States, where private property is considered a cornerstone of our societies’ national identity.   In this country two fundamental court systems have been established to determine rights and restraints on these agreements, both criminal and civil courts.  Criminal courts determine whether the person has committed an egregious trespass against the society at large, and civil courts are used in determining disputes between two parties on the matter of which party is more entitled in their claim that an agreement was violated. 

In determining guilt or whether renumerations are due are based on what is correct behavior for the reasonable mind.  This is based on the belief that what a reasonable person might think is guilt or deserving of entitlement by a jury of peers.  This system for all its merit does have some downsides.  Sometimes the claims of a reasonable person are overridden by sheer emotion whipped up by some silver-tongued demagogue.   Sometimes the valid claims are overridden by deception or unscrupulous legal practices that a clever mind might throw at a given party who might be unable to afford or have time for litigation.  It is just a fact that the court system itself is sometimes guilty of theft itself. 

The decisions made by the court system is upheld (typically) by the executive branch officials and therefore might be unstoppable by a just or unjust party or claimant.  The fact remains that someone may or may not have had their agreement violated in a manner inconsistent with their perceived notions of reasonable standards or justice.  This is just one of those awful facts of life that can occur regardless of what mechanisms of justice are being implemented or what society you reside in.  Again, it defaults back to what most people who support the court system by means of agreements would argue. 

Let us try to examine a more universal significance of the violation of agreements than try to restrict it to the American legal system.  The fact of the matter is that people disagree about what people should control what lands, what political bodies are even valid, and who is considered the leadership in any given place.  These fundamental disagreements can be boiled down to theft if we broaden the context wide enough to validate this viewpoint.  For arguments sake, let us try to view all war and destruction of the world because of theft. One nation views the land as theirs and violates another country's expectations that borders would be respected.  Again, a large-scale violation of agreements.

Theft as a worldwide concept is not even limited to the human species.  Environmental activists and animal rights activists argue that certain human projects are thefts of biomes that are essential for certain species to survive, and that such theft is deleterious to the world’s ecology.  Even the presence of inorganic materials can cause disagreements over which parties can or should control those resources.  Furthermore, there is a massive debate about whether those resources should be taken in the first place.  Does the collective human need for rare earth metals for smart phones and computer screens warrant calling its’ extraction theft?  Can humans even make agreements with the earth if theft is all based on agreements? 

I would say that the agreements still technically fall on the humans to believe and enforce.  It would just fall under the purview of the Utilitarians to decide if there are agreements worth making that prevent the taking of certain materials out the earth.  Two competing species of birds cannot make an agreement over which territory they dominate, the weaker species is simply pushed out of the area, and sometimes even out of existence.  It is only fair for one person to say another that it is theft, since more complex morality questions are reserved for humans on this planet.  Or are they?  Some animals display signs of empathy, compassion, and even the ability to treat the wounded of their own kind. Perhaps they have their own forms of agreements.

    This brings us to the complex questions of whether morality or ethics exist outside the human mind, or if they are a social construct intended to bind the species together for collective good.   What if there existed an alien species which had no proprietary restrictions and all items used by said species were never considered to be owned in the same sense as they are by people?  This might invalidate theft as an intrinsic disagreement with people as a necessity of humanity’s existence (is theft just a natural part of life?).   Some claim that communism poses a solution to the conundrum of the disagreements related to theft, but humanity has yet to see a working model of that paradigm in existence.  

    This essay is a continuation of the previous one that, given additional thought, arose a myriad of questions and state of consternation.  The author vehemently seeks to produce an argument or philosophical epiphany that could resolve the violation of people’s agreements with one another.  Sad however, that so much of our current society functions on that problematic state as a necessity.  It would be as if the fire department’s job was to both create and extinguish fires.  Is there a real impetus for people to resolve this debate or is it the inevitable course that humanity degenerates into bitter fighting over the last of the Earth’s resources? 

    I would rather not end this essay on a dyspeptic note, but I must confess that it is imperative that we see some kind of common action taken to resolve some of the existing disagreements within humanity's scope.  Peacemakers, lawmakers, environmentalists, scientists, scholars, and everyone else (really) do have their work cut out for them.  While I do not advocate an encroaching paternalistic force overseeing all the world’s problems, I cannot abide inaction.   We must find ways to understand the agreements that we make, be flexible when needed, and honor them to the best of our abilities. 

Book Review

 Nexus: A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI.  Yuval Noah Harari. (Random House Publishing, New York, 2024.) 

Nexus, by Yuval Noah Harari is a book that encapsulates the history of information networks that are used throughout the history of humanity, and the relationship between those networks and the people that created them.  Harari’s book is a well written combination of historical narrative and philosophical perspective, which expounds arguments in both support of and opposition to, artificial intelligence.  Harari creates a philosophical background, generates a narrative about the history of information networks, and makes arguments for how these networks have affected humanity.  

Harari’s nascent features of his book elaborate the differences between humans and other animals.  The author concludes that the major difference is the ability for humans to tell stories and then creates distinctions of how people interact with those stories.  Harari asserts that there are objective realities.  Objective realities are described as things that can be objectively observed through empirical evidence, such as a table made of wood or a can of peas.  He then describes subjective realities, which he presented as things that have a relationship that can differ from individual, such as pain or love.  He concluded with the concept of intersubjective realities, which include things like political boundaries or legal systems.   These intersubjective realities are the basis for story telling in both a fictional and nonfictional sense. 

Harari prefaces the historical portion of his book with interpretations of how people view information.  He describes what he calls the naive or populist viewpoint of how information is transmitted and what it could mean for the people using information.  He asserts that information does not necessarily mean truth or power, but that the information must be verified as true and used for a purpose that is justified.  He uses the example of Nazi eugenics information as information that was not actually true, but it still was present existentially speaking.  Over the long-term course of history, Nazi genetics never really granted them the power to overcome the inherent weaknesses of fascism.  He argues that the old aphorism, “knowledge is power,” is the populist or naive view of information networks. 

Yuval Harari then continues his narrative to follow the history of information chains as they existed in a chronological fashion.   He begins with human to story and story-to-story chains, which involve what is considered word-of-mouth in which a story can spread without any direct knowledge of it happening to the people telling it.  He explains the challenges related to this system as they are subject to fallacy, personal flair, or any number of other factors in which the story may change over a temporal or geographic factors.  He then continues to describe the concept of human to document chains. 

Human to document chains consist of the ability for the written word to expand the telling of stories.  In the chapter, “The Paper Tiger,” Harari weighs on the value of documented lists.  He cites an example of how an older relative of his had his citizenship invalidated due to weaknesses in the Ukrainian bureaucracy.  Simply because one has a list or census of information does not make it true, nor does it necessarily empower those that are using the list.  Harari applies a significant amount of scrutiny to bureaucracies and their need to categorize, even in the face of erroneous information.  His opinion is critical, yet he provides examples of how cataloguing information can be of good value, such as in Cholera outbreaks being linked to the water supply in urban areas. 

Harari continues to describe document to document chains, which he describes as the process of persons interpreting documents and in turn producing new documents.  He cited examples of religious scholars interpreting religious texts and then providing their viewpoints for future scholars to debate over.  In the context of historical studies, this is called the historiography.  Harari noted one of the most pivotal machines in the narrative of documents was the printing press.  The ability for mass documents to be printed and distributed.  Of course, like virtually everything that Harari discusses, he points out the double-edged sword inherent with such an invention.  The possibility of dissemination of untrue information for the purpose of harm, such as the “Protocols of Elder Zion.”  This was a text that was printed feloniously as an attempt to create a false narrative of the Jewish people.  The claims were egregious. 

    Harari’s narrative then dissected the key differences between democracies and totalitarian states.  He noted that democracies were functional because of the presence of truth and fairness within the society.   Totalitarianism was the absence of individual liberty, truth, and was rife with injustice.  He attributes the key difference between those two forms of governance by the presence of what he calls “self-correcting mechanisms.”  These mechanisms are supposed to fix any injustice and bring truth where it might have otherwise been concealed.  He cites the United States' effective self-correcting mechanism that can be understood as the function of the press during the Watergate scandal.  The ability for the United States to be able to shine a light and bring down the supreme executive suggests that the system can right itself when it gets overpowered.  Harari argues that tyrannical governments lack these self-correcting mechanisms and that no oversight can be placed on injustice.  He uses the colloquial term of “strong man” governments to describe them.    

    While Harari’s viewpoint on democracies and tyrannies has a great deal of power, I found that it lacked some substantive qualities.  The main objection was that view of government was a bit parochial and forced a dichotomization of how power was shared.  Harari emphasized the importance of self-correcting mechanisms yet there were many lacking details.  For example, he applauded triumph of the thirteenth amendment as a victory of the self-correcting mechanism over the peculiar institution of slavery.  This distracts the reader from two major points.  Firstly, the institution of slavery was in existence for a long period of time, suggesting that the speed at which these mechanisms move is uncertain.  Secondly, given the language of the amendment which allows for slavery as a “punishment for a crime,” ignores the hideous realities of black codes.  The institution of slavery was merely relocated from private to public domain. 

    Harari continued his narrative to describe the inception of mass media and the role it played in pushing the information revolution into the future.  He argued that mass media made both mass democracy possible and mass tyranny possible.  With the ability to spread messages of both truth and propaganda, the responsibility fell on the leaders of governments (be they democracy or strong man) to proliferate information that the public were required to know. 

    The narrative continued from the mass media of yesterday to the social media of today.  Harari warned of the dangers of pushing information too quickly and without restriction.  One instance of the dangers of such information machines was the outbreak of a pogrom in Myanmar due to the algorithms used by Facebook.  The algorithms wanted to “maximize user interface,” which prioritized hate speech of the dominant hegemony in a predominantly Buddhist society.   The hate speech and rantings of persons or groups that incited violence against the Muslim minority were pushed to the top of people’s feed because it drew in interest.  According to the example, outrage and hate was exactly what “maximized user interface.”  This shows some of the inherent dangers with such information networks.  Most people in the United States at the time this book was released (2024) can view that type of example as commonplace. 

    Harari’s primary warning was the presence of the algorithm and the danger that it imposes on the people it was intended to help.   He cited an example of the COMPAS algorithm that has been used by judges to determine the likelihood of recidivism, which by all accounts is frighteningly unfair.  How many other aspects of people’s lives are dictated by some kind of algorithm or artificial intelligence program.  The overabundance of these tools may diminish the interest people have in making up their own minds and deciding for themselves what they want.  It could be the case that even the course of war is pushed onto an AI system for the supposedly best outcome.   

    Harari continues to describe network to network chains of information in which information is passed from one network to another without the presence of human influence.  This demonstrates the possibility of AIs to work or compete and cause all manner of complication to people trying to interpret what is going on.  Harari even cited an example of computers conversing using a cypher system in which two computers spoke to each other in code and a third computer tried to discern what the conversation was about.  The third computer was apparently unable to break the code.  This all suggests the growing and encroaching power of the artificial intelligence and algorithm. 

    Harari admits that convenience and helpful boons can come from AI, but that the use of it in our lives needs to be far more carefully regulated and with the self-correcting mechanisms that he emphasizes.  The artificial intelligence could even form its own network to network chains of information that could cut people out of the loop and generate an artificial narrative of what is going on in the world.  People may be acting on false information that was the product of information exchange of one AI to another.  It might not be some planned machine Apocalypse, but rather the product of machines and people miscommunicating.  

    Yuval Harari does make one point that I found to be a bit irritating.  He argues that AI, algorithms, and other artificial means of silencing voices may be used to remove unpopular opinions or unpleasant voices.   While doing so, he expounded on the need for people to support US involvement in the Ukraine conflict in defense of Ukrainian nationalism.  He asserted that only “professional” historians would be in support of action against Russia.  Using a major book label, he is effectively hammering those voices which are not as well-known as him, while claiming that AI in danger of doing the same thing.  Is it the case that AI is doing what we already do, or is he afraid that people should do the same thing? 

    Personally, I did not feel a strong need for the United States to intervene in the Ukraine because I do not support Ukranian nationalism, nor do I have a particularly strong opposition to Russian imperialism.  While Imperialism is extremely unpopular these days, the notion that every person or group intrinsically deserves its own country is an intersubjective reality that is possible of changing.   I also have no certain idea what sort of agreements those two countries have remaining from the Warsaw Pact, and what they both got themselves into. 

    Overall, I found Nexus to be a book worthy of people’s time and consideration.  There are several descriptive claims about how humans network information that could give insight to the reader and grant them a more expanded view of how humanity is proceeding into the future.  While Harari warns of the dangers of AI more than once, it is certainly on the reader to determine whether that warning is worth heeding.  The historical examples are interesting, Harari’s personal opinions are tempered, and there is sense of greater consciousness gained.  I would recommend this book to anyone who is of fair intellectual prowess and has the time to consider the world we are all approaching. 

 

How Do We Understand Theft?

 The surprising complex ethical questions regarding theft.

    The question of what theft is, seems rather easy when taken at its face value.  The simple answer would be to reply, “taking something that does not belong to you.”  While this is, in many forms true, it is worth understanding how complicated such a simple answer actually is.  I will provide a brief example from an anecdote that took place in my life recently, explain the ethical questions therein, and propose a revision of how people consider the dilemmas related to theft. 

    Recently I was at a hobby shop where I completed my gaming there, and it was time to pick up a pack for participating in the event.  Paying the event cost and playing in the commander night for Magic the Gathering earns the participant a free pack.  I had asked for my pack and promptly picked it up.  It was after picking up my pack that one of the workers in the store said, “here is your [insert card name here]” while speaking in my general direction.  I had forgotten that there was a person behind me, and I thought that the clerk was talking to me.   

    I thought maybe the clerk was being nice and offering me one of his own cards or that it was a give away from the store.  Apparently, the card was being purchased by the person behind me, and I scooped up the card against the wishes of all other present parties.  It was then that I had stopped to consider why such a card was being given to me, and there was a brief moment of silence before the proprietor of the store chimed in and added, “that was not for you.” 

    Much to my opprobrium, I had taken something that I was not the intended recipient of.  I apologized profusely and tried to shake off the embarrassment of the situation.  While no one was particularly rancorous about the turnout of my actions, it did give me cause to wonder over the course of the next couple of days.  I began to puzzle deeply about my actions, the morality or immorality of my actions, the ethical ramifications of theft in general, and to what extension personal dominion or shared perception of dominion apply. 

    When I picked up the cards accidentally had I violated the trespass of theft in a moral (if not legal sense?)  The moments while I pondered why I was given that card was a period in which I was in violation of the code of conduct in that establishment.  Does being a “thief” only apply to the moments in which I had property which did not belong to me?  Is such a perjorative label only applied to a person who makes a living or a long-term habit out of such (albeit intentional) behavior?  It was true that I both committed theft and was a thief while that card was in my possession. 

    Once told about the nature of my mistake, I put the card down with all due haste and many might consider the matter to be over.   Was I absolved purely for my actions because the people present did so?  Not to mention the fact that it was the proprietor, not the clerk or the cards intended recipient, that actually remanded my transgression.  Forgiveness for such a mistake does or does not require universal agreement.   I am uncertain the standard by which one would make such a determination.   

    The proprietor would seem to be logical choice for absolution due to the fact that it remains his property until the transaction was completed.  However, given that store credit or payment might have been made, might put the proprietor's opinion of me as secondary to that of the customer.   The person who was to become the card’s new owner never actually said anything to me about the manner.  Perhaps I was should have been obliged to check with him.  Perhaps, more importantly, I should have been obliged to ask if the card was for me when I picked it up in the first place. 

    This is where the matter of theft and ownership become mired in the social contract of proprietary agreements, that we as humans, are in the habit of making. There must be some societal agreement that the cards in the store belong to whomever owns the store, and that the cards I bring into the store still belong to me.   The particular hobby shop (and others like it) include a nebulous zone of ownership because people bring their own possessions into the store. 

    The person who bought the card, as far as I could tell, was trading in his old cards and purchased a new one.  The store had to agree to remove his property and exchange it with their own.  This transaction is commonly accepted as barter and not in any way theft.  One could also argue that the stores only take a small percentage of the cards retail value in trade and therefore commit theft of another kind.  We also do not know how the customer got the cards that he was trading to the store.  Were the cards his property as a result of opening packs, trades, theft, gifts, swindling old mothers at garage sales?  I do not know. 

    Taking something that both parties agree to, but that one party may have greater need for, may change the fairness of the transaction.  Is not fairness essential to all property agreements?  Is not fairness the corner stone that tells us not to take packs of cards off of the store’s walls and walk out the door with them?  Then why is it fair for the store to give a person 40% of a card’s fair market value to a person, simply due to their willingness?  If I were a person hungry to eat, the store could easily be committing a form of theft for the purpose of making a profit. 

    Let us return to the very earliest part of this story, whereby I took the card that didn’t belong to me.  If I had picked up the card, with headphones in, and walked out of the store quickly enough, we might have had a much bigger problem.  Also, if I simply ignored the comment about the new owner of the card and walked out, then wouldn’t we also have a much larger problem?  This is of course, dealing with the two major issues of criminal intentions, and that of much larger scope of unintentional actions.   I will try to address both without adding obfuscation unnecessarily to the subject at hand. 

    Let us discuss what the legal world refers to as criminal intentions or mens rea, which literally translates as "the guilty mind." Mens Rea characterizes behaviors as criminal in nature or such that it was my intention to do something that is unscrupulous in nature for personal gain.  This would have been considered to be the case if I tried to ignore any attempt of the vendor to return the card, or if I had taken it in the first place, with the intention to deceive all parties into thinking some other version of the events.  This type of behavior is usually antithetical to a valid ethical framework and is often the antagonistic force of the ethics philosopher. 

    The challenge in determining mens rea, lies within several factors, which include whether other people have accurate knowledge of my intentions.  Did they know I thought I was just getting a random free card, or did they think it was a sneaky plan to abscond with a shiny new Magic card?  Furthermore, there is the consideration of why exactly I would have taken it.   What if I wanted to give it to a friend who was just learning to play Magic but didn’t have any money to spend?   Would the presence of mens rea be any less significant or change the outcome in any meaningful way? 

  Now we will turn away from the possibility of an intentional plan to deceive or steal a Magic card.  Let us turn to the world of unintentional action. The actual impact of the mistake I had made can vary with both the choices I made, and blind luck.  I chose to pick the card up and hold my ground for a few moments, allowing time for clarification to be inserted into the situation.  It was a triumph of my better judgement overruling my poor judgement not to ask who the card was for.  How much can we blame people for the damage their mistakes cause, and how much to blame are they? 

    What if, during my attempt to grab it, I ripped it in half.  This scenario could have caused no end of problems with no real intentional malady present.  The card in question was retail valued at $3.00 at the time (May 2025), but if the card was valued much higher, would not the impact of my unintentional theft be a more significant problem?  We can also factor into the equation the issue of Magic cards’ in a dynamic marketplace where even a small valued card could be worth thousands of dollars years later.  Even though I didn’t rip it, I did smudge it with my fingerprints (even if they weren’t especially greasy.)  Theft, unintentional, even for 3 seconds, can have a practical effect with detrimental consequences. 

    Consider how many people pickup items in a grocery store that are cold and set them down in the middle of aisles.  This is enough for them to go bad and become unsellable.  The average person thinks that you don’t steal groceries when you still have them in your basket.  Moving them around the store, even innocently being lazy, still causes damages that someone can be liable for.  Even on a small scale, the cost of destroyed groceries causes shrink, which causes further inflation of grocery store prices, which is passed on to other consumers.  Without leaving the store with a single item in your pocket, you essentially stole $0.00000001 from everyone in that store. 

    This shows that shoplifting is more than merely surreptitiously tucking a candy bar into a pocket.  It shows that the act of theft is far more complex than that.  It is the case that we think of that way, because that is theft in its easiest terms to understand.  The robber with a pistol trained on an elderly woman with the intention of taking unearned money, is a trope that lacks any explanatory power.  Why make so many distinctions or distort what people to consider to be a simple matter?  Like anything, to understand all of the moving parts, allows us to avoid making mistakes that we might be more unaware of. 

    What of the opposite situation?  That would be gifts or donations, that perhaps, someone might not want to be the recipient of.  If someone puts something into your pocket that you might not want, it is colloquially referred to as a “plant.”  Sometimes it is more obviously something that a person wouldn’t want, such as a murder weapon, illegal contraband, or even an offensive doodle.  What if the recipient of a plant decides that they suddenly desire the item in question?  Does this mean that ownership becomes attached to desire? Doesn't the fact that the desire was placed against the will of the person unethical?  This doesn’t constitute theft as many people would call it, but it does get to the fundamental issue at work here.   

    This fundamental issue is agreements of personal dominion.   Personal dominion and agreements generate sphere of understanding or compartments about pairing up items and persons with them.  This is how someone understands and item as “yours” or “mine.”  We make agreements with other people, and we share those agreements with other people in the world.  Sometimes those agreements need to be defended in a court of law, which upholds (from a legal standpoint) which of those item and person compartments we agree is true.  We needed to decide, based on objectivity and impartiality, what reasonably is considered a fair connection between person and item as bound in dominion. 

    Back to the whole reason that this mess got started.  Maybe a court of law would not have prosecuted me for picking up that card, or maybe they would have.  Maybe to make an example of me.  We can also agree that the card never belonged to me, even though I erroneously assumed that it was a gift from the clerk or for patronizing the store.  The false narrative that I constructed leading up to my hands touching the card is the basis for many so-called mix-ups.  Some would also try to hide the presence mens rea as a mere product of the above mistake for cover if caught.    

    In conclusion, I have learned not to take something given to me with being absolutely certain that it was a gift.  If I had asked the clerk, “Is that for me?”  I could have saved myself some embarrassment, the risk of further embarrassment, or the possibility of causing unintentional damage.  This is why we should stop and consider things like this as more than mere ethical commonplace and truly evaluate where we stand on these issues.  People should take just a minute in their day to consider if the things they move around in the universe fall under their moral justification to do so.  They could consider why they have this justification and whether those around them agree with it. 

Edit:  The author erroneously used the term misfeasance in his original version of this essay, which is in reference to a lawful authority, which I, personally, am not.  While the general meaning of the word is synonymous, the subject in question is not.