Winter has finally passed. The unkempt garden out back grows profanely, as if its "privates" were extending wildly, or like fierce green flames. Vines have overtaken the white-washed gazebo where I'm kicked back in a moldy wicker chair. I'm watching clouds mingle like friendly mollusks gliding around on a big blue plate. This is much better than the manor. Out here I don't have to wonder about the mysteries and the unstable atmosphere of loneliness. It's still lonely out here, though. But at least I'm not alone. I've got Pete out here eating bugs and keeping me company. I've come to really depend on him for my companionship.

The local shops have been really unpleasant as of late. People have been looking at me funny and I'm sure that they're talking about me as well. It's for the best, though. If people find out about anything that I've been up to, all would be terminated. One of the instructions given to me in the files--finally finished reading them--was to "pull the plug" if anyone caught wind of Dr. V's work. I don't know what pulling the plug would do exactly, but it did mention something about setting the device loose. Let's hope that it doesn't come to that.

I got the Benz out and running. Benz diesels are solid as a rock and this one just needed a bit of tuning to get rolling. I still take the Lambi out religiously, but it is hard to go to case lot sales with the thing. That's right, I have bypassed the quaint town center that is Brighton Hill and have taken my business up to Fairrington Heights, who are currently letting the urban set eat up what bucolic charm was left of the place. People come from all over to live where they could still see cows, sheep, and horses. Ironic that there is no rural real estate left for them to amuse themselves with, anymore. Anyway, the big superstores, chain restaurants, and warehouses there have set themselves as the economic "teat" of suburbia and are slowly sucking out the rest of Fairrington Heights' once beautiful innocence. This is a place where people are too superficial and too self absorbed to know their neighbor. This is the perfect place for me to do my business.

After dropping by the mega-shop, or whatever the hell they call it, I had to drop by and see my lawyer about getting more funds from the trust for some landscaping. It was there that I bumped into her, after all these long years.

Sarah Houghman was in town and visiting her father. I really wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to go in there and confront my past emotions for her.

Where do I start the search for Dr. V? I spent some time recovering from that first real trip and

went back and forth for a month, exploring the Gallery, but only dared peek briefly inside the
Ballroom. The temptation to go back in there and die, in the arms of the many waiting mistresses
of times gone by, was too much for me to even try on again. It's for the best, I figure. But,
something tells me I might have to go in there again. However, I don't think I'm ready for that
just yet.

I did find that the paintings are portals into other worlds. Caution is my middle name now. No
more dying for me, thank you. These time facilities have a trace of someone's hand in them, like
it's been collected and put together. I am even starting to doubt that I had even done real time
travel. This was more like Pinocchio's Pleasure Island than anything else--an exhibit of time's
greatest hits--and I'm not talking about the magazine. The question that I have is, who put all of
this together and why?

My search for Dr. V led me back to the day that I first met him. But, I need to go back a little
further than that even. I need to tell you about a girl that I was falling over my boots for. She is
the real reason I'm in this mess in the first place.

Sarah was the daughter of one of my dad's insurance clients. In a small suburb, there isn't much
you don't know about your neighbor and my dad was a "good neighbor" with his job. The only
way to keep his income building was to really have his finger in the batter. This was one of those
canned meetings, where the parents got together and thought it would be a good thing to set me
up with their daughter: She, an academic type; me, a somewhat moody specter. In other words,
the weird boy needed fixing.

That first date with Sarah was rather awkward, to say the least. I made so many awful comments
about my parents around her and she called me on them. I really didn't know what to say, nor do I
ever around girls that I like. But, she was so different from me. Normally, I wouldn't even
consider her as someone that I could hang out with, but I was lured in by a fragment of her. This
fragment tickled my ambition and at that moment of strained aloofness, I couldn't resist her any
longer. My dark image was sucker punched by a longing. Then she asked me what I did for a
living and immediately froze. My only other job before then was bussing tables at a local diner
and I had quit that months ago. My reply was, “nothing”. The word "Oh" came out of her mouth
spinning like a dagger. I swore from that day on that I would never let myself get embarrassed
like that again.

Nothing motivates me better than that swimming pool of lust. I was certain to take about a week
to call her back, to which she gave me non-committal replies and vague assurances. There
seemed to be enough there, I thought, to keep hacking away at her front she put up. The more
she resisted, the more I made a willing ass twerp of myself. I had to get a job, and somewhere
that she hung out at. The ubiquitous coffee house downtown: Sarah’s hangout.

No more than 30 seconds into the interview they asked if I could sweep and clean tables. It turns
out I’d be living out my wildest fantasies of becoming a bus boy after all. The manager filled
me with motivational tripe, you know, all that 10 habits crap. I didn’t know this place would be
so Covey. It was a small price to pay, at least, to get Sarah to notice me.

The day she first showed up during one of my shifts couldn’t have turned out better for me. She
was on a double date: Her friend Kayleen Dobbs was with Shawn Beers, the second-string
quarterback at the big state university down the way. It took me awhile, though, to recognize
Sarah’s date. Hell, it couldn’t be, I thought. It was the “Kase”, Casey Randall. You know a
guy’s a real asshole when he purposely misspells his name, and oh, Lordy, what a meathead this
guy was. Back in highschool, The Kase would go around telling girls that he was “KFC”, which
either meant “Kasey’s Fond of Cunnilingus” or “Kasey’s Fabulous...” well, you can figure out
the rest. The Kase was quite the retard prince: all the other jocks and fellow meatheads kissed
his feet. So, Sarah was sitting there innocently, not knowing what this a-hole was about.

I started cleaning closer and closer, trying to get Sarah to notice something, anything, of me. My
moment had arrived, care of The Kase. Kasey told a real awful, tasteless joke about the Chinese,
as was his style. I at least knew that Sarah had an adopted sister from China, apparently this
winner had no clue. She threw her napkin at his face and he retaliated with, “Calm down, sweet
cheeks.”

Sarah got up and stormed outside. I made like I needed to check the outside tables and caught up
to her. It was real nice to move in at that moment, I must say. The Kase couldn’t have made a
guy like me look any better. I took a chance and approached her. She didn’t really respond at
first, but what other options did she have? If she went back in she’d have to face The Kase. At
least if she talked to me she would appear to be past the situation. So, we sat down and talked.
My manager was occupied for a moment, or so I thought. I sat there talking to her, really getting
in good with her, making an impression, when my manager saw me sitting down on the job. I
was already on probation for various insubordinations, so this was it: fired right in front of the
very girl I got the job for. What happened next took me by surprise.

Sarah took my manager to task and explained that I was only trying to help her out. Well, that
dickhead manager didn’t see her point and I was still f-i-r-e-d! What this did do, however, was
give me the opportunity to give Sarah a long ride home. On that fateful ride home, she said that
she could get me another, better, job if I were interested. I was.

Sarah’s father was an attorney. One of his clients turned out to be Dr. V. This is how it all
started: She gave me the hook up and I became Dr. V’s new assistant. While Sarah stayed at
home, we were pretty close, but she transferred to an out of state college, eventually. We grew

farther apart, as those things usually do, and it seemed that it wasn’t meant to be, for then.

I melted into Marilyn Monroe, 1959, or whatever it was. It seems that a dance is more than what I had bargained for. There was no impulse to leave. Flesh warm and breathing--sensual--just like the real thing. Aroused and feeling lost in a state of ecstasy, I started to feel my body tugging at me. There was still a fine silver tether anchored from my body to my essence, my spirit, me. Can't go now, she's...Jane Mansfield? What ever 1959 was, it offered me my desire. It wasn't just the icons that I knew. There were even more beautiful girls flash-fried into my libido. I'm sure that 1950 would've given me the same thing, I thought, but younger! Something bigger took over me right then. It: A primal force, tapped into the Godstream. Oh, the stuff that went down. This ballroom was all mine now.

"Are those your friends, 59? I want the whole damn decade in on this, alright?" Gimmie some early sixties--girls, over there sit down and take a load off. Hey Fats, play us some of that tumblin' boogie. Where's the Balthazar I wanted? Shit, this is hot!"

However much my body told me to come back, I wouldn't listen. The sensation and sight, naked dancing, pure sex, and then sports reels beamed into my head. Home runs bursting the field lights, with gleaming metallic jets streaking the skies. Holy moley, I'm a friggin' king!

As this fast exchange of vices and fantasies unfolded I started to feel some detachment. Bells and whistles sounding off with urgency in my mind: I'm losing my body; am I dying? Having all these icons and moments of glory at my disposal, I forgot that I was not really there. My body, the battery, was almost dead. My pleasure tripled at the thought of leaving the world completely. Marilyn, Jane, and now Elizabeth Taylor, sucking me dry like lamia in attempt to savor vitality: rape the present with the intent to refresh their static world. The more sensual bites dwelled in my pleasure centers, spurring tremors in my loins. I must go...now! I had totally forgot about my friend Rover, until the last drop of life clung stubbornly to the silver thread.

"R-Rover...I need help."

"I'm here, Will." The inside/outside strangeness that is Rover never sounded better to me than at that moment.

"I've gotta get out of here and back into my body. Rover, it's too hard. I don't want to leave." My words in thought, transferred their urgency to Rover within my mind. The pinup lamia did not suspect my correspondence.
"Will, you need only say the word home, but it is hard."

Not fully appreciating Rover's words, I thought that this would be a simple thing to do, to say "home". I struggled for the words, but my status as pleasure corpse seemed oddly satisfying. I was feeding them. They were happily enjoying me. I had felt pleasure beyond pleasure, and this was the 50's for God's sake. I should orgy here more often, I thought.

I suffered an extreme last gasp of life, real life. The ballroom started to fade away. The pleasure cruise was ending; I was ending. I knew that I was fast approaching the threshold. No more pussy footing around. I mustered up all my remaining faculties and crushed my libido with one simple yet painful word, "Home".

The floor of the ballroom opened up like the gates of some kind of perverse veil. Perverse, in that descending into the veil felt like a slipping sensation of defeat--having to climb back into the womb. I couldn't handle the world that Dr. V had made accessible to me. No wonder he's lost and probably dead, but where is his body?

I came to in a couple of days. The strange light shafting through the top of the sphere had a gentle healing effect. Laying on the floor in a cool stream of sweat and saliva, I noticed that the adult sized diaper did it's job rather well. From this first real trip into the big relative, I nearly died. Is there a better way to go? I still don't know. I must find out all I can about Dr. V.

I'm probably the last person you'd ever want to have a history lesson from. I think it was James Joyce who said something along the lines that history is the nightmare from which I must awake. History, or the past, scares the juice right out of me. Not only did I suffer through what was required in school, but my own past is something that is less than stellar. While my standard mantra "live for today" seemed to cover my lackings okay, with a "hey dude" here and there thrown in for aesthetic purposes, I really don't think that party hat fit me too well. For all my non-effort, something lurked inside me: something begging for more than beer bongs at Jimmy's. I thought about where I'd wanted to go--a destination. I realized that what ever the past could tell me would most likely be misinterpreted by me as a gentle breeze blowing through my head, but this wasn't going to stop me now. Still, I didn't know if there is anything in the past that would be of use to me, personally. Of course that's wrong, so I've found out lately.

My first trip into the big relative was nothing more than a quick spin in the parking lot, so to speak. Dr. V, apparently, had designed some kind of interface to operate this device. It was smart, borrowing from my own intelligence--knowing that I was a virgin to all of this--started me off gently. I liked the fact that "It", the voice, had a familiarity that only I could recognize, whatever that familiarity may be. Fear of the unknown, mitigated by a hungry blob that talks to me while sucking my hands, such a strange thing. It is a beautiful thing, too. Almost too good to be true: although it takes me places, I still wasn't able to travel for long, and trying to find the limits of this experience just might kill me. I didn't know of a better way to prolong travel then, and I'm still trying to figure out a solution now. I digress.

My second trip confirmed to me that V had tapped into powers unknown and unexplainable. The routine was easier than ever. I found that with my first trip, the dialogue between the device and me was rudimentary, robotic. The second time around I found that things were evolving: the device knew more about me, or maybe I knew more about myself. It's like splitting your head open, taking out your brain, and setting it out on the table, holding conversations with it as an autonomous being--time on the couch. With time to reflect on my travels since, each is like a hero's journey--sent off to die and yet returning, despite all odds. I feel guilty, though. What good have I done? I'll have to put that one on the itinerary sometime: do good deeds while out.

I reached a significant milestone on this second trip. What was different this time? Destination: I finally went somewhere other than "?". Where did I go? To be honest, I had some ideas going into the sphere, but as soon as I got talking to "It" I really drew a blank (like I ever knew what time travel was, anyways). This thing sent me somewhere before I even knew what was going on.

"Why are you taking me away? I haven't given you a command yet." I said this with a slight blemish of panic coloring my tone.

"You initiated start up. Will, you must go to the Gallery first." Warm and inviting, no more "HAL" the robot.

"What is the Gallery?" Maybe a trip to the Louvre, perhaps?

"Gallery will be self explanatory, be patient."

Now this is something that I had been dying to ask, but was a little afraid to do so, "What...who are you?"

A slight hesitation, this thing was thinking of a reply. "I am a catalyst and a coupler--a mechanism for transport--servant to Will. No name assigned. What would you like to call me, Will?

I thought of a dog's name, but it fit this thing to a tee, "Rover...I'll call you Rover."

"Rover...."

"Yes, what do you think?"

"Think...think that I am...Rover...Rover is."

Whatever...This is getting a litte too Kubrick for me right now.

Out of my body, straight up the conduit through the big relative. It took only a moment to arrive to Gallery. Gallery is a fascinating place. Here's the thing: gallery is exactly what it sounds like. It's an endless display of art and artifacts. Each scene and object is a living, breathing depiction of a moment in time. Moving through Gallery is fast and effortless. I'm sure that if I had the patience to study these treasures, I could learn something useful.

The ornately trimmed halls and fine drapery, a fabrication of the mind, I'm sure, but all seemingly tangible and real, left me feeling like I'd entered the house of some dignitary. How can one describe a dream? As soon as I felt that I had a grasp of the appearance of this place, I was distracted by yet another more marvelous scene.

Bewildered and awestruck, this all needed an explanation."What do I do here, Rover?"

"Choose a painting, Will." Rover was settling into his new identity, "Come now, I haven't got all day."

"Well, what else is here? Is this it?" Pretty ignorant, I know. All "this" was more than I could've ever of imagined. But, there's something about this place that fuels your greed to the point like that of a starved dog.

"Ballroom...there's a Ballroom, but you aren't ready for this yet, Will."

"I'd kind of like to see this Ballroom, if you don't mind."

"Follow the rabbit."

"Rover, you've got to be joking buddy."

"Alice in Wonderland." Rover said this with a tone of satisfaction, "I thought that you'd like that. Isn't it your favorite book?"

"Ah, no....The cartoon, but that was when I was little." I thought about it and began to understand that Rover was part of me, so why fight. "Nice touch, Rover."

"Thanks, Will"

I had just really noticed the checkered floor at that point, marble and black granite. Again, this place tends to be just beyond my grasp of perception, let alone try to put it into words. The checkered floor was nice, but my attention was elsewhere: Where's the rabbit George...er, Rover? Out of one white marble tile popped out a white, fluffy rabbit. It was one of the most innocent creatures I've seen. The rabbit's turquoise eyes were lit with intelligence, and it's pink nose wiggled with an expression of charm and wit. Transmission of thought past the barrier of different species, a strange cosmic exchange; of course, this is a magic bunny I'm talking about. I felt instant trust in this guide that Rover provided me. Wherever this rabbit flopped down the tile--I followed.

Through magnificent halls with ornate chandeliers, gold leaf framed art and mirrors with statues posing nobly, breaking the space between the portals, I managed to keep up with the white rabbit. The further inward we went, the more I noticed music, and something else: chatting. Is there a party going on somewhere? I thought, I would approach this "Ballroom" with some care. I didn't really prepare myself for an active experience going into this thing...never really knew how to be ready for it anyway.

The rabbit slid to a stop, turned around and looked at me twitching its nose in a communicative manner as if to say, "This place here...this is it", then hopped into a white tile, vanishing. I stood on a balcony peering over a sea of swelling festivity. So, this is where time goes when it dies? It was the best party I've ever witnessed. Amongst the music (they play from all periods--this time '20s Jazz) and dancing, a wild mix of eras made for an interesting display. Eras were represented by shape-shifting Icons of their time as well as objects scattered here and there. You had Howard Hughes dance the Cha-Cha with Joan of Arc. Louie Armstrong and his Dixie band blowing Beethoven's Fifth with a Louisiana stagger, and Beethoven digging it right in the front row. The weirdest thing that I saw was Einstein and a panda bear laying on a pillow together, being fed grapes by Caligula. I thought, when is Fellini going to start filming all of this? What was most fascinating about this place was how nothing seemed out of time or place, except me, the only humdrum thing in there. I was the sole anachronism there. Hiding from this was ridiculous.

"Rover?"

"Yes, Will."

"What am I supposed to do here?" I must confess: I'm not much of a socializer.

"Your supposed to go down and introduce yourself to someone, but be careful."

"I...I...really? I just go down and...."

"Don't be afraid Will, but don't let them use you. They'd want nothing more than you to indulge in their excesses. This is Ballroom. It was made for pleasure. You might want to wait, Will."

Too late.

"I've never seen you here before. What's your name?"

"Uh...Will...er...William"

"I'm 1959."

"You're...I don't know? But, you look like her."

"Marilyn..."

"Monroe...right?"

"Oooh, I just love Satchmo. Wanna dance?"

I can remember staring into the mirror in the master bathroom naked, trying to examine my body for changes...deformities. That first trip sucked about twenty pounds right out of me. There was this flap of skin around my waist that buckled and folded when I compressed my abdomen. It was no longer thick with fat, just thin and loose. My cheeks were hollow and my eyes were sunken in, but all the important bits on the front were still there and working fine (I checked). After seeing what can happen to things that get in the device's way, I was a little paranoid that would suffer some kind of horrid fate, where toes get fused together, or I'd have a smooth Ken doll pelvis. No need to worry, everything that should be there was there. I learned something too, I can't linger in the "big relative" for very long. I slipped into a pocket for an hour, although it felt only like minutes. Anything more would have drained me thoroughly and left me dead. So much for some kind of "Back to the Future" romp: this was superbly surreal, enormously terrifying, and dangerously addictive.

That day started out with manic binge eating, or what I recognize now as necessary fueling for this lifestyle. It sort of comes automatic: your body will not shut off the desire to eat and it knows not to pay attention to anything that is typically considered good for you. I don't know how that is different from the universal dietary struggle, but it was all rather extreme to say the least. My biological motivations have been restructured because of the unnatural stresses inflicted on my body by this seemingly living object that is the device. It demands so much from you, but it gives you so much back. I can only imagine that I'll be reducing my lifespan considerably through enduring these trips. For all that it's worth, I know that whatever time I got left in mortality, I will experience so much more than any other person that I know of. It only takes one trip to know.

My belly was full of food, yet no need to go bathroom, no gas, or anything. I could feel it absorb without protest from my system. After a few last checks on appliances, doors, and windows, I grabbed the magic bean and made sure that it was safely sealed in it's sheath. I then felt secure enough to make the trek down the Spruce Skeleton, into the well, and into the sphere. After doing the necessary combination of turns on the well's crank, I wondered if my clothes would be a hindrance. I left them cast aside by the edge of the well. Slipping into the rising water, I had an acute sense of claustrophobia again, something that I figured would take sometime to get used to. After the process of entry was over, I stood at the sphere's doorway contemplating what I was doing and what might happen to me. Resigning myself to an all or nothing frame of mind helped. This was like a moon shot times a million. I didn't know what exactly the device would do, or what really would become of me...I wasn't really aware of the true capabilities or functions of this thing. I had a strange feeling overcome me, like a fur coat wrapping around my heart. I started to cry. It wasn't because I feared the unknown, because I did. It was that I had a certain knowledge that I would make it through alright. I don't know where that feeling came from, but it was surely helpful.

Once at the bottom of the sphere I set aside the device, then flipped open the trap door to the small compartment. I needed to get the jumpsuit on. Dr. V must've anticipated there being more than just him experiencing the sphere. It turns out that there was a few more of these jumpsuits. These suits are made of a white nylon with a small amount of insulation. The waist and length are adjustable to a degree. There also were some adult-sized diapers in the compartment. This one baffled me for sure. While Dr. V was old, I knew that he didn't have any bladder problems. I thought that It'd be better if I put one on than to find out I needed it when it was too late. The diaper felt remarkably comfortable, once it was on. The suit slipped on rather well, also. I felt like an incontinent flyboy getting ready for a bombing mission.

After securing the trap door to the compartment, I stood at the very center of the bottom of the sphere wondering what to do next. The opening at the top of the sphere cast down its light onto me, but I didn't cast any shadow. This strange light had a calming effect on me...it made it easier to get on with it. Now, I did have the sense to take the sheath off and stuff it down in a pocket, so I would never lose it. My hands caressed the naked device in a manner which I can only relate to that of cradling a baby. I wasn't so sure that it wasn't a living thing. It hummed and purred this time without any of the sudden surprises that I had that first time. It didn't devour my hands either. Something about this sphere tames it, I suppose; it was on standby, awaiting my orders.

"What do I do first?" I called out. There obviously was no one around to answer me, but lately, it seems, something has been helping me out: it has been doing it quietly, but effectively. So, there I was, thinking. This thing reads my mind, huh? No, my thoughts are sent to it as commands. It's passive until I activate it, and then it's still just an extension of my mind, perhaps? Here we go, "ON!" The device obeyed.

Gently this time, the bean sucked my fingers into its body, then consumed my hands and up, over my wrists. No fuzzy overload this time, just smooth, glowing warmth pulsing throughout my body. The bean then took on its chameleon/cuttlefish light show dance. This light infected my body. I was all lit up and pulsing. My feet began to lose their grip on the surface. I thought that I might be falling over, then I realized that I was actually rising up into the air. I noticed that the shaft of light, beaming onto me from the opening at the top of the sphere, was becoming increasingly intense. But, I thought, where was this light coming from? I couldn't see any source--no bulb--no nothing. As my thoughts almost became victim to my fears and curiosities, I looked down and noticed that I had stopped at the center of the sphere.

"Host, what purpose?" An audible prompting came to me clear as a bell, ringing inside my ears. It seemed that this voice was merely a simulation of my own inner voice, but amplified.

I really wasn't sure what to do or why I was really there. Again, my basic knowledge was that this thing had the ability to manipulate time and matter, but I really wasn't aware of what time travel really was. We have a Hollywood definition and a scientific one. I have no idea what Dr. V discovered. Trying to be careful, I came up with a purpose, a reason for using the device, "Travel."

"Host is not ready for travel. Purpose?"

I didn't know what to say. I figured that I might get some information first, "This is my first time. I need help."

"Must complete trial run. Host, state purpose."

"I'm here for a test run...trial run, I mean."

"Purpose: trial run. Confirm?"

"Yes."

"Command accepted. Execute: trial run."

Weightless and full of strange energy, I began to notice that the intense light bounced and swirled around me, but the sphere contained and directed it. The swirling light became so thick around me that I could no longer see the black lining of the sphere. This vortex of light was funneling, forming into a conduit; I was trapped in the eye. A slightly dizzy sensation came over me. I noticed that my body was staying put, but somehow I was beginning to separate from it. Between my body, and what I know now for sure to be my spirit, there was some static tension resisting whatever force was pulling us apart. The separation made a funny noise, an oscillating fuzzy squeal followed by the staticy sensation that I was becoming to associate with the device. A slow ascent out of my body, a rush of cold, then all of my tactile senses suddenly vanished away. I could see my body in stasis, below my feet, but I was still tethered to my body with a stringy web of fine light. I was slowly rising, and loosing sight of my body, but still tethered. This reassured me that I wasn't dead; although, I'm sure that I was pretty much close to the edge.

Why can't my body come with me? I thought. I didn't expect an answer.

"The Spirit has less mass, is more mobile, is safer."

"Huh? Okay." Sounded good, but what did I know? Not much, for sure, I reckon.

Just about then, this realization, that while I felt like I was merely floating along, I could be traveling faster than light. "Where am I going? Just as I asked this question, I received another answer.

"Trial run destination: none."

"How long is the trial run?" I really had no perception of time now.

"Unspecified."

I didn't want to spend too much time flying around in this tube. I figured that I should err on the side of caution and return. "End trial run." I couldn't take any more of the numbness.

"Terminate trial run. Confirm?"

"Yes, I want to go back now."

Wherever I must've gone, it didn't take but a second to descend back into the sphere. I was able to discern, albeit briefly, a connection with my surroundings, while out of my body, that was beyond that of what I've ever perceived in the flesh. I saw the sphere from the outside, as if none other structure were present. It appeared as a living orb of light, harnessing the energy, completing the organism, of which I was part. This remarkable event struck me as blasphemous and unnatural, yet so heavenly and right. Are we meant to do this--man? Exploring my new found crush of intellect, I could not get over Dr. V's genius. I can't understand how even he figured this out?

After settling back into my body, I felt the grip of mortality squeeze me relentlessly. I'm so small...so hungry, too.

These headaches are getting bad. They started after that first experience that I had with the magic bean. It's as if my head was getting bigger, swollen. I was all out of peanut butter and jelly, Doritos, and frozen pizza bagels. My hunger was so bad that I was eating everything I could. Hell, I poured sugar on a stick of butter and ate that. I had a few two-liter bottles of grape soda. To each one of those, I added a couple of cups of sugar. It was like throwing old tires into a bottomless pit--no damn way to feel satisfied. The best dish that seemed to curb my hunger pangs was something that I came about while thinking of The King.

Elvis ate some weird stuff. I can't remember all what he ate (I'm not a real fan), but you always hear stuff--peanut butter 'n' manana sammich, fried chicken dinner, and buttermilk chaser--"thank you...thank you very much." It struck me that you could take bread--a whole loaf of unsliced--open it up at one end, then hollow it out. You get this pocket that you can stuff peanut butter, bacon, cheese, cream cheese, bananas, butter, beef tallow, whatever. Take the stuffed loaf of bread and roll it in egg batter, deep fry it, and viola, it's a little something like that fabled "Goldmine" sandwich that The King would eat. One thing about Dr. V's manor (well, mine now) was that it had a full kitchen with a deep fryer. I can't say what eating 10,000 calories a day must be doing to my health, but the way the device pounds me, I'd be consumed totally if I didn't--death by over juicing. Yeah, you get to slip into the big relative, but it comes at a heavy price. My body is just one big battery now, in constant need of recharging.

The good thing is that I started to venture out of the manor. Even though it's still winter, the sun is out more and the rain has melted most of what little snow that Brighton Hill has received this year. Dr. V has an old Mercedes diesel that I usually drive around, but diesel, well, I can't afford that stuff anymore--even with all the money that I get. I don't know how to budget things, yet. The thing that's getting me around now is Dr. V's Martian Red '69 Lambretta GP 200, complete with black racing stripes on the rear skirts.

When I first noticed it in the garage, about a year ago, it was in dire need of some wrench spinning. He had kept a heavy canvass tarp over the scooter, keeping the dust off of it, but the inside of the engine and carburetor were all varnished by old, gelled gasoline. I'm pretty good at messing with stuff like that, so I spent some of my off time taking everything apart and soaking it in solvent for days, getting it de-gunked. I replaced the fuel lines, fixed the brakes, etc. After putting it together again with new gas and sparkplug, it was tuning time. It took a few days for me to get the timing and carb mixture dialed in; Dr. V was upset that I was messing with it anyway. I'll never forget the first dry pops that I got from the thing, followed by a few wet burps after I poured a little gas down the intake . Next try was it: pure two-cycle ratty-tat ecstasy. Too bad that I didn't have good riding weather then.

The garage is outside, divorced from the manor. There is a tunnel that you can use to get to it, but this time I felt like enjoying what little sunlight the day was giving me and went outside. Breathing in fresh air...I started to feel human again. The whole estate is full of old maples, bare of leaves, and overgrown shrubs (that I've neglected). Opening the barn-like doors of the brick structure let out an odor that had been stifled too long. The garage smelled of oily rags and other various petroleum odors-not a surprise--in fact, a welcome change from my own homebody funk that I've been wallowing in for a while. The cover over the scooter couldn't hide its sleek lines. I quivered a little as I uncovered the machine, sat on it, and twisted my grip on the bars. Why did I deprive myself of this experience for so long?

The Lambi started up amazingly quick. I was a little worried about having to mess with it since I haven't taken it out for months. Rolling out, bouncing down the pavement, and slipping on some wet leaves...that, and the wind hitting my face, made a tingle from my highest follicles to the pit of my gut, radiating outward to my extremities. I was wearing a thick fleece jacket under a Kraut army coat, and a hunting cap to keep the wind out, but still not quite sealed tight enough. Spring never comes soon enough for me.

I like to take a few roads to H&H's Supermarket that snake down the hill. It's a little out of the way, I suppose. Doing the grocery-getting thing is hard with Lambi, so I take a large rucksack with me to stuff my all my goods in. It probably takes a good fifteen minutes from here to get to downtown Brighton. The manor is tucked away, out of sight from most curious eyes. People downtown really never saw much of Dr. V, but were very keen on getting anything they could from me information-wise on what he was up to and his place. I had to think of what I was going to say, or rather, what I wasn't going to say when I got down there.

Speeding down Parrish Hollow, the overhanging canopy of tree limbs breaking up the sun light, my mind started to wander about my first experience with the device. I knew there was more than just destructive uses for this thing. Most of Dr. V's notes were dealing with time, dimension, and space travel. I thought, Do I have the guts to try it out--do it properly? Where would I go? How do I get there? How the hell do I get back? From what Dr. V managed to tell me, I already knew that the device was controlled by your mind. But, Dr. V had a highly disciplined mind and he's lost because of it. Again, I poured over it in my head, If Dr. V's gone...trapped, what chance do I have? The ever increasing problem of hunger took over my thoughts after that.

I'm 6' tall and used to weigh 220 lbs. Somewhat overweight, I'm sure. This constant eating should have me hitting 400 lbs by now, it seems. Back then, I dropped 15 pounds with that brief encounter with the Magic Bean. It's only been a while since and I'm showing ribs. I got scared after seeing the scale go down to 140 lbs., so I don't like to weigh myself much anymore. The thing is that using the device not only burns a lot of energy, but it is like shooting up--I imagine. Going back to this day, again, I started to feel it (the device) calling me about the time that I got to the H&H.

I noticed people looking at me, or at least I thought that they were. I've never felt this paranoid before, and I was beginning to feel possessive and selfish. No one could have possibly known about any of these things that were going on up at the manor, but that didn't matter. They weren't getting nothing out of me! Luckily, the only person that knew me there was the cashier, Nadine. Everything with her was superficial, though; no need to worry about prying. All I needed to do now was figure out what I needed to put into my gutbuster sandwich and what I could fit into my rucksack. I passed a media section and looked at rack of DVD's. "Lord of the Rings," it hit me that my current behavior was somewhat similar to Gollum. But, the reality is that I can't share this with anybody. I certainly don't trust anyone else. Dr. V is gone for good--I'm pretty sure about that one. I knew that I needed to go home directly after I got my business done in town, and once and for all do a trip with the device in the sphere.

Aside from what's happened in the past, let me express how I'm feeling now. I realize, at this time, that my growing sense of power through the device was having an adverse effect on my mind. The temptation to screw with things is too great. I really wonder if all the things that you've ever read about or seen in the movies is true? Is it all theoretical? How can a past that has already happened change the future that you currently live in? It doesn't make sense--not after all that I've seen and experienced so far. I'm really starting to think that my temptations are really inspiration and all my fears of ruining the universe are unfounded. I'm tired of merely observing these different worlds, and that's just what they were. A passage of time retired and went to Florida to die. It's no longer here. It's irrelevant now. Maybe, I can go and use it as my personal playground? I digress...better finish with what I was talking about before.

'Do they make peanut butter in six packs?" I asked the cashier.

Nadine sat at her register and looked at me with some concern and replied, "You're gonna get jaundice eating that junk all the time, honey. In fact, you don't look good at all."

I didn't know how to reply to that, so I didn't say anything at all until I realized that I needed to carry on some facade of normality in public. I had to say something, but I just blurted out what I thought would be a joke, "I'm eating for two, now" and rubbed my belly like a precious gift was growing inside.

"You're sick honey, you know that. Cute, but sick." then she shot a quick wink and a smile back at me. The thing was though, I did tell her the truth. I had to feed my monkey. I had to feed that damn bean. As the last items were going into my rucksack, Nadine held the last pound of bacon and queried, "So, what's it like nowadays up at the creepy castle...doing the Igor thing still?"

I have no beef with Nadine, but I sure as hell was not going to gratify her with any details. As far as anybody is concerned, Dr. V still is that creep in that limestone mansion that hires boys to do his bidding. I guess there were other personal assistants before me, but I'm the only one who's stuck it out. Anyways, I decided to just give Nadine an answer from one of my "everyday greetings and cliche remarks" file then add a sly remark, "Oh, everything's A-O.K., Nayds. Now, I just got to go over to the butcher to get some brains for heir Doctor...we're fresh out." She laughed pretty good at that one. I'm quite the charmer when I need to be.

The cold rushed back into the air outside while I was in the store. The clouds covered the sun and dropped the temperature ten degrees or so. This meant that riding the Lambi was going to be a real sack-cracker. I also needed to get fuel for it too. As I hitched the rucksack to my back and mounted my "Italian Stallion," I chastised myself out loud for my personal negligence, "Dammit! I need to get out more often." Scooter exhaust and a flash of red--that's all they saw or heard of me that day, except Nadine. I did good.

Pete had to be the only sane creature in the house at the time. Dr.V's iguana just roamed pleasantly around the manor, feeling free to explore warm spots and sample some of the native food of the area. I kept trying to organize the house, but I couldn't even manage to change light bulbs, let alone change my clothes. These files were vast and far too complex for me to understand. There were sections on light, energy, time, matter, and so forth. There was too much theory and "V" speak. I could not absorb it all at once. All of my attention was focused on this one thing, yet I felt so foggy and displaced. I gave up drinking to snap out of my inebriated madness. I'm saving my ticket stub, however, just in case I want back in that toxic carnival.

Drinking draped a fuzzy blanket over my mind, making me nowt but a lazy sod, as my english "nanna" would say. But, quitting made me feel so irratible. They say that the first step is the hardest. They would tell me to get out of the house and get some fresh air. They were watching me and trying to analyze me. I wish "they" would just shut up, I remember thinking. Being alone has made one thing clear to me: everyone that you try to shut out of your mind finds a way to get back into your head, one way or another. But, this was more than just internalized cliches from parents and other nagging heavies. Someone was watching me. I could hear them, but my eyes were just to slow to keep up with their pace to see them entirely. I thought that I was plagued with ghosts before, but it was not so. Something that I read in the files started to make sense to me then.

Out of the walls of the study came voices, faint, yet piercing, "Help me...HELP ME!"

"What...who's there? Who--what...help...what?" I didn't get an answer back. Who needs help? Do I know that voice? The cry for help was familiar, but distant still. Clear as a bell, but still too far fetched to sort out. My mind was making things up, weren't they? Something in the files had my mind rushing at the time. As clear as a goose fart on a muggy day to me a minute ago, but now, crystal baby--freakin' crystal! Waves of light, images, bouncing around, coming in and out of focus. What about all this light, time and matter stuff? I'm still not 100% sure, but here's what I knew at that point: whatever Dr. V worked on had something to do with slipping in and out of time and dimensions. I wondered, if unaware, could you mistake the energy of another dimension bleeding through for ghosts and goblins? I felt that all of the flashes of light and sounds in the manor weren't random, as if there was intelligence directing it all. Not ghosts, but something or someone was trapped in-between planes and trying to get my attention.

I really don't know where I was getting this information that provoked my thoughts. It was like Muzak, being piped into my head. Gently fluid--when there was overflow, I didn't feel fatigued--it just rolled warmly over my head. I was seeing a gem from the inside out. It was beautiful, but I could not define its shape or make any connections yet. I was in there, right in my own noggin; however, stewing around with something, someone else. "Dr. V? Where are you? Are you in here? Talk to me! I'm a little teapot short and stout. Here is my handle. Here is my spout. I'm tossin' my nuts around in here, dammit!" I threw myself back into my studies before I had a total crack-up.

The study was a better place for reading and thinking than my room (I went with the "brown" one after all; it has a large closet and bathroom). I was pulled up to a large mahogany desk swinging back and forth in a button-tufted leather chair. The high back and arms of the chair were slick from my perspiration. The green lens from the desk lamp was all the artificial illumination the room needed. The fireplace was stoked and giving off plenty of natural ambiance and heat. This is my quiet and contemplative room where all the important discoveries are made. I'm no Dr. V, but I'm getting by for now. Back then, however, things were coming along haphazardly.

Complexities aside, Dr. V's files made for an interesting read. Not only do they discuss slipping in and out of dimensions, but of time itself. I'm naive. I reason that's why I can accept such preposterous ideas. It's making more sense why Dr. V chose me: I'm ignorant enough to believe in his work. I don't think that any of his peers would've thought him right in the mind, though. Dr. V's whole theory was that the phase and position of time, matter, energy, and light could be manipulated through the device. But, it requires that one has the will--faith to do so first. I thought that it was about time to take the device out and observe it.

The device is rather curious, in that, it does not have dials, displays, or knobs. It has a gelatinous consistency, yet is firm enough to hold it's shape, that of a watermelon-sized kidney bean. You can hear it's inner workings gurgling away like a digestive tract. It has places, cavities, where one thrusts their hand inside in order to join with it. Organic is the term I''m thinking of; very strange this thing. The files explained little about the device. I think that this information was purposely kept to a minimum. But, the device is amazingly intuitive. However, I didn't know at the time how dangerous this thing was until I removed the device's protective sheath. What I know now is that the sheath is made of a non-conductive, semi-transparent plastic. There is a reason for this--a very important reason. My observations before removing the sheath were that of "What's this cool thing in the wrapper?" When I took my present out of the wrapper, I got juiced to the point where my blood, sweat, and tears boiled.

I can't describe just how intense the sensation really was. The best explanation that I can offer is that I felt an immense hot static sifting through my body. Maybe not pain, but an oversaturation of energy flowing into me, like an atomic powered climax, thrown in with a thousand dead legs.

The "Magic Bean", as I like to call it, assimilated my hands into it's body. It felt like I was being eaten by some strange sea creature. The device's membrane sealed itself seamlessly into my skin. My arms were now connected by a blob of glowing, pulsing machine--if you could call it that--biomechanical device. If you've ever seen a cuttlefish before, then you have a good idea of what the device felt like and what color it was when it came alive.

Upon receiving the jolt of a lifetime, I immediately saw the very fabric of reality torn right through. It made a sound similar to a pulse rocket engine, or some interstellar zipper. I can't describe what it was that I saw exactly. I don't think even Salvador Dali himself could have painted this scene. The edges of my world turned in and melted, eventually turning into a white-hot plasma. This trailed off into the other-world like tendrils of cream blending into coffee. But, the most confusing part was that there seemed to be nothing through this hole, just a rip. It was then that I saw a familiar face.

"Dr. V, is that you?" I could see him faintly within this black sea, mouthing words, then me hearing them at a great delay of time.

"Don't come in," he shouted, "I'm trapped...can't move." He strained to stay conscious while uttering some advice, "The device should not leave the sphere, Vill. It's too dangerous--it is not focused!" I was more than flabbergasted at seeing and hearing Dr. V. He was a goner, too.

Panic gripped me all over. I shouted back, "Dr. V, I...I can't turn this damn thing off...what do I do?"

"Think 'OFF', Vill--think hard! It's tapped into your mind. That's how it's controlled."

Off...off...OFF, DAMMIT, OFF!!!

A great release of energy exited out of my body as the Magic Bean let go of me. The tear sealed in an instant; a bead of fire was left after the cauterization was complete. The remaining flame finally disappeared into wherever it came from, leaving part of the study deformed. A vase was fused to the shelf that it sat on, along with pictures merging part way into the wall. This seemed eerily like the infamous Philadelphia Experiment. Clocks throughout the manor were reading different times. I was overcome with hunger, yet completely drained of any energy to get up and do something about it. My flesh lost some of its pigment as well. Dr. V was right about not using the device outside of the sphere. It acts like a cosmic blender.

I left everything in its place...fell to the floor...then slept for three days straight. When I woke up, everything was different. My existence was now meaningful. I am the world's most dangerous man.