The Sick Horror at The Lost and Found (13 page)

“
I’m wet, Matt,” she
breathed. “When you catch, are you going to fuck me?”

I could see her hands moving along the
sword. She moaned softly through the organ speaker.

“
Osiris.” She took in a
sharp breath. “The little ridges along the grip …”A pause. A
breath. “Good exercise for the muscles.”

When I moved from my position, I lost
sense of where she was. I slowly crawled down the center of the
floor. All of a sudden I felt something. She heard me. She stopped
breathing. It was the loose end of the cord tied to one of her
wrists. Then I could see it – the red battery light for her camera.
She heard me and we both lunged for it at the same time. She pulled
the camera away from me, so I grasped at the cords. I got them just
as she blinded me with another flash. She put her foot on my chest
and forced me to the ground, but I wouldn’t let go of the cords. I
pulled hard and she toppled on top of me, naked.

This is all very graphic I know. I am
not a porn writer but it is hard to convey just how the hell I
would have done what I did – commit a serious crime that would get
me time in the closest thing to hell – unless you knew how María
has this ability, this ability to seduce you into turning off your
rational mind. It is like she does it to herself, too.

We were set to have sex and she
stopped. She killed the momentum. It was like the details of some
ritual in her mind were more important than the sex. She turned on
the lights and made me help her push the marble altar between the
pillars, the wooden pillars with the globes. She bent over the
altar, and with her cords, I tied her legs to the base and her
wrists around the pillars. Once she was tied, she told me to turn
out the lights.

Now most people would be pissed if
they were having sex and the girl called out another guy’s name. It
started as a whisper but then she didn’t hide it. As she climaxed
her voice reached shouting level that brought me to reality. Images
of a Panamanian jail almost destroyed my orgasm. She was calling
out, “Osiris, Osiris!”

Then María did it again. She flashed
the camera and I fell back in temporary blindness. I heard her pull
off the microphone and stumble around. I groped around for a
moment, looking for my clothes. Suddenly I heard a crash – breaking
glass. I jumped to my feet and smashed my toe against the altar on
my way over to find my underwear and pants. They weren’t there.
María must have tossed them aside.

Then there was the blaring of a siren
-- very loud.

“
María!” I shouted. “Cops!
María, cops!”

I found the light switch and then
jumped into my pants that had been thrown across the floor,
stuffing my underwear into my jeans pocket. If I get hauled off to
jail in Panama, I thought, at least I have to go with my
clothes.

I recklessly ran past broken glass at
the top of the stairs and stumbled down to the kitchen where I had
entered. It wasn’t the cops, not yet. María had pulled the plug on
the sink.

There was a happy face
below the note she had written there before. And another
note
: I bet that’s a face from the ancient
gallery you never wore before… I love you.

Outside, Maria was stuffing robes into
her bag. “No time to wallow in the mire,” she said, “Let’s
run!”

Second in the Cock
Fight

By Steve Banks

Poopy Pants,

Gabriel hasn’t come to work in a
while. Could he be sick?

Minor setback on the zip-line. Came
down when we were looking for Papa Smurf and clipped a backpacker.
Looked pissed. But that might have just been because of the way his
face was cut. Idiot… he needed plastic surgery before the zip-line
clipped him. “Hahaha,” I laughed when he said he would sue. I don’t
even own the place. You should have seen the look on his face when
I told him that.

O.K. some errors were made but if
there is a law suit we can find people to blame.

P.S. what is your address there in
Canada? Do you have addresses in Canada? Do igloos have house
numbers?

P.P.S. Good new! We found Papa Smurf.
Turns out Gabriel had taken some people to town for the cock
fights. Well, they dressed Papa Smurf up as a rooster. Good news…
he came in second! But, bad news too I guess… Gabriel says it is
not so good to come in second in a cock fight. And here’s me… I
thought a cock fight was two dicks making a dive for the anus in a
threesome. I learn something new every day.

P.P.P.S. Patrick I will no longer make
fun of you… it is like poking a stick at a Down syndrome
baby.

P.P.P.S. I fart in your general
direction.

New Employee

By Steve Banks

Andrew,

You should see me now. I
got the cigar and accent now with the Panama Hat and wife beater.
Snap my fingers and say, “
Luz, una
margarita más por favor
.” Now all I need is
the cocaine. Wait…

Luz wears a tight little French Maid’s
uniform now. Billed that to you.

Looking for cleaners that can fit
through the door, so we started interviews. Here is the girl I
interviewed at a cool little bar called La Esmeralda:

Can you speak English?

Sí.

Why is the letter C in the word
yacht?

Qué?

No C, C,
bitch.

How do they get the Caramilk into the
Caramilk bar?

Anal es mas dinero.

How do you feel about this
uniform?

Muy bueno.

If I were an animal what animal would
you want me to be?

Grrrrr.

Have you met Papa Smurf
yet?

I can smurf yes. I smurf real good.
Grrrr.

How do you feel about reporting people
who do soft drugs?

I having to go.

Can you fit through this
door?

Does Patrick really need to come
back?

Steve

P.S. Like you have never smelled your
own dental floss. Why on earth would you eat yuka?

If I could only screw her while she is
on top of me and I had to keep eating a bowl of her shit then I
would. And she stops riding when I stop chewing. And I would do it
with a smile... you wouldn’t? I would eat her inner labia after
that doctor from doctor 90210 removed. Hell, I’d eat it a week
after it was removed.

Return of the Blue
Bus

By Mathew Hope

Consciousness is the road
lit by the waking mind. The rest is darkness. The life of the soul
reaches beyond the consciousness into the night. To find the light
we venture into the darkness. The shaman can guide us through the
darkness in ritual, or, as Freud said, we can ride the “king’s
highway, the best route into the unconscious” and be our personal
shaman through lucid dreaming. And when we truly understand our
unconscious, when we have touched it, then we feel true freedom.
Then we become a whole person.

I looked down at the palm of my right
hand and saw the crown. I knew I had entered my dreams with
control. It was like greeting an old friend.

María appeared in the distance in a
white robe, the wind blowing through her hair and her arms spread
open like she was welcoming the wind. Or maybe me. She smiled and
then gestured for me to follow her up a flight of stairs. Above the
stairs was a stone lintel with the words Novus Ordo Seclorum
engraved upon it. I followed behind her up the stairs but after a
bend in the staircase I saw that it was a little girl, not María,
that I was chasing. She stopped and stared back at me with such a
sad face, that of a little dark-haired girl in a tattered blue
dress. Tears drove clean trails down her muddy cheeks. She ran to
the top of the stairs and a vast wilderness opened up. As soon as I
arrived, the trees began to wilt and die. They turned to ash and
blew away. Now there was nothing but desert and two tall pillars.
The little girl in the blue dress looked so sad, like she wanted me
to help her. Suddenly a third pillar rose from the ground and the
girl hid behind it, watching me shyly. At the top of her pillar was
a crescent moon, and on top of the pillar to her left was a five
pointed star. On the top of the pillar to her right was a
shimmering cup. I thought it must have been the Holy
Grail.

I look down at my hand to make sure
the crown, my dream symbol, was there. When I looked up again I saw
that the three pillars were now people – angry looking people with
weapons and Roman helmets.

“
Do you have the word?” one
of them shouted.

I looked up and he belted me on the
forehead with a kind of wooden hammer, like a gavel.

I fell to my right knee. When I
regained focus I could see I was in what looked like the courtyard
of a great temple with high stone walls.

I got up and saw a door to my left. I
ran to it. Another man hit me on the head. I saw a door to my right
and ran to it.

I saw María. She was wearing a white
robe, billowing in the desert wind, and her arms were outstretched,
waiting to embrace me. Then they turned to the sad eyes ... sad for
me. And they were for me. A snake wound between her feet. I felt a
sharp burning pain in my groin then a blunt thud on the back of my
head. I tried to look at the palm of my hand but everything went
black. I have never experienced going black in a dream before. Like
I was dead. I was frozen, I couldn’t move. Petrified in fear. At
first I heard nothing. Then I heard the sound of a bus, followed by
the sound of children singing, getting closer … the blue bus of
children from the Volcano.

I woke up struggling to breathe. I
reached beside me in the bed for María. She wasn’t
there.

Dream Analysis

By Dr. Mike
Anderson

Dear Mathew,

Thank you for your email. I know we
will see each other again next week for the next phase of our
journey into the collective unconscious, but since you felt the
urgency to share with me the details of your dream, I thought I
would respond promptly in written form.

Mathew, please don’t take this as if I
am passing judgment, but my limited experience here has taught me
to exercise caution before considering engaging in activities
contrary to the law in countries such as this. As a Freemason, it
would have been quite possible for me to arrange a visit to the
Rosicrucian temple. You see, our fraternal orders, at the core, are
one and the same. Rosicrucians are but Freemasons that believe our
philosophies and rituals are owed to a much more distant period in
antiquity – ancient Egypt. Let me start at the beginning, for the
beginning is the end of your last lucid dream, the dream you have
asked me to help you interpret.

If you recall, the ancient Egyptians
worshipped the gods Isis and Osiris. Isis was widowed but used an
artificial phallus, the obelisk, to fornicate with her husband and
give birth to Horus, the reincarnation of Osiris. Horus was the son
of the widow. This was depicted in the fresco at the Rosicrucian
temple and the story María chose to depict with her painting on one
of the walls at The Lost and Found.

What I didn’t explain was that this
myth, if you will, was preserved in ritual through the Cult of
Isis. The reason it resonated beyond ancient Egyptian culture was
because it addressed a primordial fear, death, by unlocking an
archetype of the collective unconscious: the resurrecting
god.

The cult traveled across many lands,
but each culture adopted it with slightly different metaphors and
symbols. The Greeks translated Egyptian hieroglyphs and gleamed
information essential for learning the arcane practices of the
cult. Dionysus, the dying and resurrecting god of ancient Greece,
substituted for Osiris. The Greeks of the Dionysian cult erected
theaters for the performances of the cult’s mysteries. Theater,
after all, is simply ritual with an audience. The members of the
Dionysian/Osiris cult became the most skilled builders of the
Mediterranean. But beyond that they were rumored to possess symbols
with which they concealed the mysteries of the soul and the secrets
of human regeneration. King Solomon needed their skills to complete
his temple. But an obvious contradiction arose. Could the
monotheistic Jews of the Yahweh cult and the pagan resurrection
cult build a temple together?

Solomon hired Hiram Abif, who like
Horus was known also as the son of the widow, to build the shrine.
So charismatic was he that when he converted to the cult of
Dionysus/Osiris, so too did the Jewish builders. The Cult of Osiris
then became the cult of Hiram Abif. They shrouded their mysteries
in the symbols of the construction of the temple so as not to upset
the cult of Yahweh – the symbols of building tools like the compass
and level. That’s right, Mathew, the cult of Hiram Abif is the
Freemasons.

Many modern Freemasons believe their
institution has a direct linear link to the building of the temple
and have produced volumes of documents to prove this. I believe the
point is moot. It is more important that the building of the temple
began the codification of philosophy, belief and ritual that was
considered heresy by any religious tradition that claims its
priesthood is the only road to salvation – the only conduit to God,
so to speak.