In My Father's House

An impossible choice is still a choice. Love or leave. Obey or defy. Pick up the sword or die by it. As the years have slowly passed, I tried to pretend that our love did not really matter, that I could continue to live this lonely existence without grieving your absence.

But I have not lived.

As the years passed, the pain that I should have felt in my heart slipped like a creeping illness into my flesh and bones till my every waking moment was filled with physical pain. The thought, ‘I never really had a choice,’ followed me each day like an invisible shadow. ‘I never really had a choice,’ became a mantra, a defense against the darkness of my life without you. ‘I never really had a choice,’ became an excuse relieving me of responsibility till it walled up my heart like a compact with the devil.

But a conventual rebellion was never an option for me. Children with my pedigree do not run away or take unapproved lovers. At least not without unthinkable consequences. My Father’s house has many monstrosities. One at least, that made it impossible to ever leave without my Father dying first.

But Gods do not die conventual deaths. They perish in cataclysms. The Titans cast into the abyss following the catastrophic war with the gods, the old Norse Deities burnt to ash in Ragnarok, ancient orders overthrown by newer and stronger gods till one day they are cast down as well. But through it all one God remains undiminished by time, his realm a byword for the fear of death and eternal flame, his throne the place of judgement from which no one living returns to tell the tale.

I have walked the fields of bones from the upper reaches of His kingdom to its still and horrible depths. There I visited the final resting place of Kronos and the other Titans, the boulders marking their graves surrounded by a circle of ash where the fires they had once lit were dwarfed by the terrible darkness of Tartarus’ dark halls. It was Zeus who cast them into those awful depths, but it was not Zeus who killed them. Eons spent in that terrible darkness did that work for him.

But where is the mighty sky-Father, noble Athena or warlike Ares now? Where are the twelve whose thrones in a brighter age ringed the amphitheater carved from the stone at the top of Olympus? Why did the God of darkness and judgment continue to live and rule millennia after the last of the beautiful Olympians disappeared from the Earth?

But now I am cast out of my Father’s house only to be locked in another.

When the police arrested me and led me to the holding cell, the other women there stopped talking to stare slack-jawed at me. An older woman giggled and said – “What’s the matter with you bitches, never seen the sugar plum fairy before?” As they began to laugh, another woman covered her eyes and shrieked “Make it stop, I can’t see!”

“Come on, ladies,” the officer said as he pulled the door shut, “be good now.”

“Did he call us ladies?” More laughter.

I stood in the center of the room casually taking them in. Even behind the leers and snickers, I could see frightened girls hiding behind their hard eyes. Humans. They encounter someone different from themselves and their immediate response is to fear, revile, or mock.

An older, heavy-set woman stepped toward me with a scowl and put her hands on her hips. “What’s with the granny sunglasses and the devil’s horns, snowdrop?”

Another woman quipped – “I could use a pair of those now. Jesus, your white.”

“Probably thinks she better ‘n us. She’s dresses better, that’s for sure.”

But I did not reply, my facial expression neutral.

“You deaf … and dumb? What are you hidin’ behind those goggles? Are your eyes white too?”

“Show her who’s boss, Rachel.”

I’m bony and thin, my cheeks and eye sockets sufficiently sunken that my head looks more skull-like than human and white as a ghost from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I’d would have done them all a favor by leaving the sunglasses on.

Taking a step toward me, the woman hissed - “Take those fuckers off or I’ll slap them off.”

Like most albinos, my eyes are unusually sensitive to the light, in addition to the sunglasses that I wear both indoors and out, I smear a mixture of charcoal and cold cream around them to reduce reflection. By tensing the muscles around my mouth when I smile it magnifies my already skeleton-like appearance several fold.

Once she was within arms-reach I casually removed the shades and gave her my best skeleton wide-mouthed grin. Stutter-stepping rapidly backwards, she stumbled over another woman’s foot and almost fell. I dropped the glasses to the ground as if I no longer had any use for them and began to walk toward her even as she tried to back further away. In florescent lighting the blue in my irises appear so pale that they are indistinguishable from the surrounding white of my eyes, my pupils contracting till overcome by all my terrible whiteness.

When she hit the unseen wall behind her, I paused. Eyeing her hungrily I whispered –“Are we afraid?”

Moving slowly forward, with little starts and pauses, I only stopped once I was close enough to hear the wheezing in her breath.

“Is thy name in the book? We think not,” I said shaking my head in mock sadness.

“What book?” she whispered.

“‘I saw the dead,’” I whispered, “‘standing before the throne, and books were opened; and the dead were judged from the things written in the books. If anyone’s name was not found in the book of life, she was thrown into the lake of fire.’ Are you afraid of fire?”

Blinking in disbelief, when she finally found her voice. She hissed, “Fairy tales don’t scare me. The things I’ve seen, and the wrongs I’ve experienced? I don’t believe in heaven or hell.”

“Ah … you do not believe because you have not seen. If you visited my Father’s House, you would empty your bowels in terror like every other human who has bent the knee before His thrown.”

Even though she was clearly scared, she kept her angry, steady gaze on mine. I have to give her credit for that. But I still coldly waited to turn away until she defensively flinched. Walking back to my sunglasses, I picked them up. But before I could return them to my face she growled – “Just who the hell do you think you are? They’re eight of us and only one of you.”

I could see the reluctance in the other women’s eyes and gave them a toothy grin. “Are you ready to dance with the devil?”

The detective who had interviewed me after taking me in as a material witness had ordered me to lose the shades as well, but dropped the demand when I pushed my prescription across the table. I was diagnosed as a child with Photophobia – acute sensitivity to light. It’s not unusual for someone who is born an albino. If I spend even a few minutes out during the day without protection the resulting migraine lasts for hours.

Bent over his clipboard, the detective asked -“Name?”

“Soma.”

“Last name?”

“Just Soma.”

He looked up in irritation. “Can I see your driver’s license?”

“I don’t drive.”

“Some other form of identification?”

“I don’t have any other ID.”

“Social Security card? Birth Certificate?” he asked in exasperation.

“The arresting officer didn’t ask me to bring my birth certificate or Social Security card.”

“Okay … fine. You can start by telling me who’s in charge of the Underworld.”

“I am.”

“No last name, no identification and yet somehow you’re in charge of the most successful gentlemen’s club in the metro area.”

“You have a copy of the trust that own’s the club at your elbow.”

“Yeah, but there are four trustees listed. Are you the boss trustee?”

I allowed myself a smile. Under different circumstances I might have laughed out loud.

“There are two working trustees. I am in charge for six months out of the year. When my mother returns from Greece in September, she will take over for the following six. It’s all in the trust.”

“What are the duties of the other two trustees?”

“We meet with them whenever an issue requiring a trustee vote arises.”

“I will need to talk to them as well as your mother.”

“You can try calling them. Their contact information is in Appendix F.”

“Are they local?”

“They’re in Greece.”

“Of course they are,” he muttered. “Do you go to Greece as well when your mother returns?”

“No. I don’t travel.”

“Then what do you do when she’s here?”

“Whatever she tells me to do.”

He looked at me in disbelief before shrugging his shoulders. “We need your help on a missing persons case. Do you know who Michael Konstantinos is?”

“Never heard of him.”

“He was last seen entering your club on Tuesday. He didn’t leave.”

“Your men didn’t find him when they searched the club?”

“Nope. Didn’t find his bodyguards either.”

“Well … you must be mistaken then. Clearly – if they came to the club – they must have left it again.”

He leaned back with narrowed eyes. “You know … there has been a pattern of disappearances associated with your club for a number of years. Lots of rumors too. Ghosts that walk the floors of the club and scare clients – some so badly they never return. A secret elevator forty floors deep that opens to the mouth of Hell. Tales that El Diablo Himself runs the club and uses a fire breathing hound instead of bouncers. I imagine in all the years that you worked there that you have heard more than a few of them.”

“Your confusing marketing with myth. Our clients eat that shit up. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t peddle it. Surely you don’t believe in El Diablo.”

“Let’s just say that I’m on the fence. But I certainly don’t believe that you or your mother are in charge of the Underworld.”

He was right of course. Neither of us are in charge. Dear old Daddy is. That is the genius of the trust. If Father understands anything it’s the power of invisibility. Everyone in city government believes that someone other than the trustees manages the Underworld, but since from a legal standpoint he is dissociated from the business they can only deal with the designated managers of an entity as recorded in the trust’s documents.

Everyone fears the invisible boss of the Underworld and with good reason. More than a few attorney generals in our fair city garnered votes with the solemn pledge to stamp out the adult district’s filth and corruption. But once installed in office the ones with sense quickly find better things to do with their time. The one’s without sense never last very long. If they knew how things really stood, they’d never run for the office at all.

“So … Michael Konstantinos. Two of your staff members told me that they escorted him to your office. Are you sure you’ve never heard of him?”

“I had three separate interviews on Tuesday. But surely the staff told you that we do not take or use client or visitor names in the club – ever. If you have a picture of Mr. Konstantinos handy, I can let you know if he visited my office.” I smiled to show I was trying to be helpful.

He grunted and then pulled a photo from a nearby folder and pushed it to me.

Since the staff had violated protocol, I had to play along. Unfortunately, I had no idea if they had told the detective that Michael and his bodyguards never left my office.

“Yes. He came to the office with four other men.” I smiled again.

“And?”

“He asked to see El Diablo and I told him he had the wrong address.”

Lifting his eyebrows, he asked – “How did he react to that?”

“He laughed and then asked pretty much the same questions about who really runs the Underworld as you did except with threats and more colorful language.”

“And?”

“I sent him and his goons packing.”

“Just like that. Do you keep a howitzer under your desk?”

“I don’t need artillery to get rid of unwanted guests,” I said as I removed my sunglasses. Although the detective was close enough to see the pale color of my eyes, he was as speechless as the women in the cell would be later.

He was afraid as well. Crossing himself, he whispered –“Are you El Diablo?”

I laughed. “Not even close. But clients who encounter me in the halls sometimes mistake me for a ghost.”

“Is that make up and tinted contact lenses that you are wearing?”

“The only make up I wear is charcoal mixed with cold cream around the eyes,” I answered as I slipped the shades back on. “Everything else is me.”

“The horns too?”

I smiled but did not answer.

After a couple minutes of awkward silence, the detective finally found his voice again. “I believe you could have turned them out at that. But unfortunately, the evidence suggests otherwise. There are four rotating cameras in the club but one of them malfunctioned on Tuesday while pointed at your office door and filmed it for eight straight hours. Our review of the recording shows a member of the staff leading Mr. Konstantinos et al to your door and followed by two additional men an hour later. Those two men enter the office and leave with a member of your staff a couple minutes later. But Michael Konstantinos and the other men never leave the office at all.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Nothing malfunctions in the Underworld. If the camera was pointed at the office door for eight hours it was because that is where Father wanted it pointed. Idiot! How could I ever believe that the staff would break protocol? The staff does whatever Father tells them to do.

The interview ended when I held out my hands in mock surrender – “Golly, gee whiz, you got me Mr. Detective.”

After that, he booked me for murder. When it took a full week before Father’s attorney visited, I knew without a doubt that Father was responsible for the malfunctioning camera recording my office door. I was exactly where he wanted me.

“Why didn’t you call?" he asked, "Your Father is worried about you.”

‘Great,’ I thought, ‘now this is my fault.’ “I warned him this might happen,” I replied coolly.

“You warned him that the police would arrest you?”

“Are you here do something useful, like post my bail?”

“Aw … bail. No, I’m sorry, but no.” He held his hands with the tips of his fingers touching – a nervous gesture he uses when he thinks he is being delicate. “Your Father thinks it best that you stay here for now. The Underworld is temporarily closed.”

“Until September when Mother returns?”

“I don’t know.” I finally realized that he was more uncomfortable than I had ever seen him. When he finally asked if I had a message for my Father, he turned his eyes away in embarrassment.

“Sure,” I answered sarcastically, “ask him if he plans on waiting until Mother returns to bail me out of the mess He made.”

The following day when I was escorted to the interview room, the District Attorney was waiting for me.

After the detective introduced him and motioned to the chair, I sat, the District Attorney gazing uncomfortably at my horns.

“Soma … I would like you to share with me what happened when Michael Konstantinos visited your office.

“What … like word for word?”

“As best you can.”

“Okay. After he sat, he told me that he would like to meet El Diablo. And I replied, ‘Surely you’re joking.’

“‘Not at all,’ he said, ‘I’m here to see the Devil. You look like you might know him.’ He grinned at me like he had said something funny. ‘This is the Underworld, right?’ he continued.

“Of course, I told him that the Underworld is a gentleman’s club and not literally Hell.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He called me a derogatory name that I do not care to repeat and told me to find the boss.”

“And you replied?”

“I told him to get the fuck out my office or I’d have him thrown out.”

“And then?”

I shrugged. “And then he left.”

“Michael Konstantinos left just like that.”

“He fussed some and waved his Glock around like he might actually shoot me. But once he realized it wouldn’t get him what he wanted, he left with a warning.”

“A warning?”

“He told me if he didn’t hear from the owner in the next 48 hours, that he would regret it.”

“And then he left.”

“That’s right.”

“Except that he didn’t leave, did he Soma? I believe you were already told that one of your office camera’s showed conclusively that he never left your office. Furthermore, we have confirmation of the same from the staff. I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation you are in.”

“What exactly do you think I did with them?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“How much incriminating evidence did you find in the office?”

“So far, only the recording.”

“I did not kill him or his bodyguards. Would you like to give me a polygraph?” That much was true at least.

“Not at this time. We are still investigating the scene.”

After they returned me to my cell, I wondered what Father’s end game was for me. First the camera and now the staff have corroborated the recording. The only surprise is that He did not plant any evidence in the office for the police to find and lock me up for good. It all was very puzzling.

After I told Michael Konstantinos to get the fuck out of my office, he pulled a Glock from the inside of his jacket and rested it on the desk pointed toward my midsection. “Cut the comedy. I won’t ask again. Get your boss, now.”

The room shook slightly, the bodyguards exchanging nervous glances. As surprised as they were, I was more surprised, surreptitiously glancing at the panic button on the floor beneath the desk to ensure I had not accidentally stepped on it. As the room began to descend, even the boss furrowed his brow before picking up the pistol and pointing it at me. “What the Hell is going on?”

I wondered the same, feeling sorry for him, even as he threatened me. The bodyguard nearest him pulled out his pistol and said what should have been obvious to all of them. “Boss … this is a big, fuckin elevator.”

Standing abruptly, he briefly turned away from me, and gestured toward the doors. The two men nearest to them walked over and tested them, but they wouldn’t budge and don’t have knobs or handles on the inside anyway. “I wouldn’t try shooting them – solid steel. Ricochet.”

He turned back to me and pointed the Glock at my head. He was finally serious. “Stop this thing or I blow your head off.”

“Decided you don’t want to see El Diablo after all?”

“What?” He lowered the gun, his face registering genuine fear for the first time. Just as he pointed the gun at my head again the floor shook a second time. We had arrived. The doors began to slowly open as a hot wind blew into the office and I removed my sunglasses. The lights, which we keep low in keeping with the Underworld vibe, began to dim as the outer darkness began to slip spectrally into the office. In a matter of moments, the light would disappear altogether.

He picked that moment to pull the trigger, once, twice, three times without the answering shots before dropping the useless pistol to the floor as if it had burned his hand.

“Your guns only work in your world,” I said as the last of the light slipped away and the only thing visible in the moment was the animal shine in my eyes. “You’re in our world now.”

As an otherworldly growl sounded, the office walls trembled, and I knew that Father approached with his hound. A moment later his terrible voice shook the Earth itself. “You think you’re ready to dance with the Devil?”

In my Father’s house are many monstrosities and I am not the least among them. Sired in darkness, I do not belong in the bright open spaces of this world. I am betwixt and between, a shadow at the boundary between light and the outer darkness, not fully God nor wholly beast.

Humans call those with pink or sallow complexion white. But my flesh is fairer than the lily – as bloodless as a drained corpse on a mortician’s worktable. Curling through my white hair at the top of my head are two dark horns, the only parts of my anatomy not bleached by my patrimony. But you never saw me in the light, my love, since we only ever met at night.

And without you night has lost its magic.

Full of hidden life and mystery, night was our private playground – hide and seek, flashlight tag, ding dong ditch. It was a secret wish made upon a shooting star, a scary short-cut through the woods as black and devoid of illumination as the grave, the euphoria of true love’s first kiss.

You and I had known each other since childhood and loved each other since our bodies took on the outward manifestation of adulthood. Once Father discovered that we were lovers He told me I would never see you again. “It is forbidden, child,” Mother whispered as my body wracked with sobs. “You come from incompatible worlds.”

And where are you now, David? Do you yet live or are your bones scattered among the thousands surrounding Father’s dark throne? Or did Father simply tell you what I really am?