Period Read online

  “Just a second.”

  The George Miles Zone is nondesigned, like a high school year book. It’s a square grid of thumbnails, showing “George” in several outfits, locales, and emotional states. Scrolling down, there’s a link to my index-in-progress of characters, scenes, dialogue, and ideas that are supposedly spun off Crane’s “friendship” with George. Or that’s the rumor. Fans have posted their specs, and I’ve just added six of my own.

  “Make Walker call me, Bob. I’m flipping out. I’m losing it. I think I’m going to kill myself.” Then George breathes, and I listen to him and the gurgling computer.

  “Alright,” I say. “But I have to do something first.”

  I turn off the cellphone, write a note to myself, save the updates, close Netscape Composer, shut down my computer, switch off the modem, then walk into the living room, fishing around in a pants pocket.

  EgoreG (sic) lies on the couch, watching Animal Planet. Long story short, he has a malignant brain tumor the size of an alarm clock. Until last week, he studied ballet at the community college. Then a stroke crashed the world, squelched his thinking, and put some new spin on subhuman behavior. It’s given his storybook face the illusion of depth, and left me completely alone with his ass, which is so well built, we used to joke it was keeping him alive, like a huge white corpuscle.

  “Here.” I hand him what looks like his new medication, but it’s not. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

  — If you’re just joining us, we’re in The Darkness. I’m Leon. It’s two minutes after midnight, and I just played a set by The Omen. If you haven’t heard, they’re playing Coven 13 this Friday night. Tickets at No Life, Vinyl Fetish, and Aron’s. It’s their only local show this year, and you definitely want to be there. Okay, I’m going to take some phone calls. Hi, we’re in The Darkness.

  — Yeah, hi Leon. This is Kurt. I don’t know if you remember me from last week.

  — Sure. How’s your witching hour going?

  — Yeah, that’s why I called. I’m kind of freaked. My … my parents are in Mexico, and I’m alone here, and this weird thing just happened.

  — What’s that, Kurt?

  — I was sitting here listening to your show, and doing something else that doesn’t matter, and I saw this thing that was kind of gray. It was hanging in the air, and then it just … moved inside me, like disappeared inside me.

  — Are you loaded, Kurt?

  — No. I mean, yeah. I mean, just a little. I mean, I don’t think that’s it.

  — Okay, how do you feel now that the thing’s inside you?

  — I don’t know. Okay, I guess. But I had this weird idea that it could be cancer. Like that’s how you get cancer. I don’t know if you saw that X Files where—

  — Oh, sure. But that was a guy who was cancer. He was a real person.

  — Yeah, that’s right. Okay. Right, that makes sense.

  — Look, you’re probably just … First, what drugs are you on?

  — Just some pot. That’s what I mean. I’m not really … you know, high or anything.

  — I’ll tell you what. Stay cool, and if you start feeling weird, call back, okay? Promise me.

  — Yeah, yeah. Okay. That’s cool.

  — Alright, thanks, Kurt. Poor little guy. It’s a strange world, that’s for sure. Okay, we’ve got to pay some bills here. I’ll be back in a few.

  Walker saw George at Coven 13, maybe four years ago. He was a guest at some Sony executives’ VIP table. A searchlight stalled on his face just when Walker was scanning the club for a bar. One of Walker’s best poems had been used as the lyrics for “Paraloss,” a minor hit for the Goth band Lestat. At the time, they were recording for Macy, Sony’s artsiest label. According to the guitarist, Macy was little more than a front for the notorious porn outfit, YMAC. Their tapes featured drug-scrambled teen-idol types having bored, unsafe sex inside trendy scenarios. Walker guessed he was looking at Dagger, a sullen pothead who never actually got laid, in Buff: The Vampire Slaves II, III, and V. Walker asked Lestat’s drummer, who couldn’t confirm, but suggested he find the hidden X on Macy’s website, then changed the subject. Late that night, Walker logged on, found it, clicked, and wound up in a cyber-brochure wherein YMAC’s teenaged stars sold their undies and entertained offers.

  ANONBOY

  16: Did you find that webpage?

  MINDMELD

  5: I think so. It says The George Miles Zone across the top?

  ANONBOY

  16: That’s it. That’s him.

  MINDMELD

  5: Let me just get an initial reading here. Think about the subject of these pictures. Clear your mind of everything else. Have you turned off the lights?

  ANONBOY

  16: Yeah. Okay, I’m thinking about him. But can I ask you how this works just really quickly?

  MINDMELD

  5: Do you mean why do I insist on performing my services in cyberspace?

  ANONBOY

  16: Yeah.

  ANONBOY

  16: Hello?

  MINDMELD

  5: Cyberspace is a mystical zone where time doesn’t exist. Binary code is an artificial form of human mental energy. That’s been proven. The Internet has given psychics an enormous leg up in our practice. By simultaneously keeping in contact with you in this Instant Message format, and reading this boy’s energy through these JPEGs, I can create a psychic link between all three of us that would be impossible anywhere else. If we could get this boy into a chatroom with us, that would be optimal, for my purposes. But you say you have no idea who he is.

  ANONBOY

  16: Just what it says about him on the webpage. But I feel like I know him. I don’t want to say too much.

  MINDMELD

  5: We’ll try to circumvent the energy of the person who made this webpage, but I don’t think that will be a problem. I expect a very strong reading. Now let me concentrate, and you’ll hear from me again momentarily.

  ANONBOY

  16: Go for it.

  I stumbled on Period, thanks to a tip from this e-mail acquaintance. He adored the book, and recently shot himself in the head, à la the “George” character. Unlike [email protected], my fascination lies not in “George”’s myriad problems, per se, but in the novel’s tricky, ulterior form. Thanks to the website, EgoreG, and two guests who should be arriving any minute, I’m this close to solving its puzzle.

  “Can you hear me?” I say, and look into EgoreG’s eyes. They’re jiggling over some inky locale that I couldn’t begin to imagine.

  EgoreG nods, or rather the drug nods, and EgoreG’s pale, grave face is moved up and down inadvertently.

  “Help me out here.” Then I grab one of his wrists, and drag him into the guest room, while he lazily kicks over tables and lamps.

  Long story short, Period is about a mysterious house, set in some sketchily rural locale. It’s the work of an artist, “Bob,” coincidentally. He’s obsessed with a younger guy, “George,” who’d killed himself years before in an identical building. “Bob” hopes that by replicating the context where “George” died, the guy might return to the world in some fashion. It’s an ickily heart-tugging quest that defies nature’s laws and conventional logic, but it does end up serving a purpose. Thanks to him, “George” reemerges, better than new. The only question is whether the artist’s success is an example of love co-opting form, as some would have it, or the complete opposite.

  The guest room is my homage to that artwork. This being reality, it’s just a product of black paint, a wooden chair, a mirror I bought at IKEA, and now EgoreG, who’ll pretty much nail Crane’s description of “George” once my drug architects that scared look off his face.

  MINDMELD

  5: I believe I have the energy source. There is difficulty, however.

  ANONBOY

  16: What do I do now?

  ANONBOY

  16: Hello?

  MINDMELD

  5: There is a terrible negative energy here. Hold on.


  ANONBOY

  16: Do I ask you questions, or what?

  ANONBOY

  16: Hello?

  MINDMELD

  5: Ask your questions.

  ANONBOY

  16: Okay. I have so many. I guess the main one is, How can I meet George? Tell him I have to meet him. Tell him it’s important that

  MINDMELD

  5: I’m getting interference from someone named Bob.

  ANONBOY

  16: he see me. It’s hard to explain. Bob? I think the person who does this website is named Bob.

  MINDMELD

  5: Tell me what you know about Bob. I’ll try to isolate his energy, and remove it from the equation.

  ANONBOY

  16: I don’t know anything about him. He does that website. If you looked at any of the other pages, you can tell that he’s kind of a strange guy.

  MINDMELD

  5: Who is Dagger?

  ANONBOY

  16: Dagger? I have no idea. Dagger. Let me think. No.

  MINDMELD

  5: I’m getting a very strange reading. Hold on.

  True to form, Dagger sulked, maintained his distance, and buried his face in a bong. He seemed mesmerizingly studied, a cute poseur doing whatever he could to remain one-dimensional. Then Walker opened the couch bed, screwed his old Betacam onto a towering tripod, and discovered Dagger’s secret. He sobbed, shook, begged for any sign of affection, then reconstituted the moment he came. Walker’s poems were wordy mazes, known for obscuring their point with complex turns of phrase and eerie special effects. But deep inside, they were just goony crap about love, and Dagger’s style seemed to mirror his interests. So Walker strung him along for a year, making half-assed excuses to reshoot their screen test. One night, Dagger didn’t show up, or return Walker’s pages for over a month. It was confusing until Walker switched on the news, and saw that impassive face, outlined in black, with the caption “George Miles.”

  — Hi. We’re in The Darkness.

  — Leon, hey. This is Roman. Uh, Roman Drake.

  — No last names, please. What can I do for you?

  — That’s great about The Omen.

  — It sure is.

  — Hey, do you surf the web?

  — No way. I’m much too paranoid.

  — So you’ve never checked out this website called www.period.com? It’s this weird fan site about that writer Walker Crane? I’m checking it out right now, and you’re mentioned on one of the pages.

  — Oh, yeah. Well, it’s kind of embarrassing, but I named myself after a character in his book. So that’s not me. That’s the character.

  — Wow, that’s pretty funny. So you don’t know this guy? The writer, I mean.

  — Well, we have a … uh, friend in common.

  — He’s got to be pretty intense, or not? I can really relate to that book. It’s just … Wow, I don’t know. It’s pretty sick stuff, you know? So …

  — He’s a complex human being.

  — Does he ever go to Coven 13 or anything? I could see knowing him.

  — Yeah, he does. Look, I don’t know what your sexual orientation is, but …

  — I’m gay.

  — Okay. God, is this the place for this? Oh, Hell. Look, I was boyfriends with the guy he wrote that book about, okay? George Miles. I thought it would be cool, because he was the famous George and all that, but—

  — Wow. Yeah, I saw those pictures of him on the website. He’s a total babe. You really scored.

  — I’d rather not get into that. So I don’t know what to tell you. Crane is a messed up human being, okay? Not cool and evil like you’d think. I mean, he’s a big influence on me, and I owe him a lot. And I should never have gotten involved with George. I mean I totally forced myself on the poor guy, so it’s my own fault, but—

  — So how could I meet that George? I mean, if you’re over him.

  — You’re not listening to me. Okay, look. I’m not the person to talk to about this. A lot of people dig Crane’s book. I used to, until I realized what it was really about. But whatever.

  — Yeah, I’m kind of, uh … Wow. Like a huge fan.

  — Well, thanks for sharing your thoughts.

  — Does he ever go to Coven 13?

  — Who?

  — George Miles.

  — No, he doesn’t go to Coven 13. He never even leaves his room. He’s not like he is in the book. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Okay, thanks, Roman. We’ve got to take a break. We’re in The Darkness.

  I met Henry and Duke in a newsgroup, alt.books.gothic.period. Their take on the novel was lurid at most. Still, we set up a private chat, shared our love-hatred for George, his look-alikes, and their asses, then met for drinks. For reasons that I will explain, they dress, coif, and make up their faces to simulate the average parents’ worst nightmare.

  “So this is George in quotes,” Henry says. He lifts EgoreG’s bangs, then rolls his eyes until I yank down those sweatpants.

  “Tell me you don’t want to swipe him with a credit card,” I say. That line is straight out of Period, and I’ve been dying to use it.

  Henry slips a knife from some part in his leathers, and menaces EgoreG’s ass, which isn’t exactly what Crane had in mind.

  “Wait a second.” Duke frisks the upper half of his costume, unearths an expensive silver Nikon, gets it in focus, takes a picture or two, then signals Henry to lower the boom.

  Henry and Duke have a band, named and styled after the fictional rock band in Period. “The Omen,” as they’re called, are peripheral to the plot, but their music enchants two minor characters, “Leon” and “Nate.” It’s an unpopular take, but I insist “George”’s comeback has nothing to do with the quote unquote power of love meeting art, and everything to do with “The Omen”’s effect on these boys. It’s their related collusions with Satan that cause the penultimate miracle, to simplify an elaborate plot. Anyway, that explains why I’ve upped the original ante and brought “The Omen”’s equivalents into my little equation.

  “So, Bob. You’re staying out of our way,” Henry says. “Because you’re not in this scene, unless I misinterpreted something.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I say, and take a seat on the chair. Actually, The Omen aren’t in it either, but I suppose I’m in shock.

  — We’re in The Darkness.

  — What’s going on, Leon?

  — Nothing much. What’s going on with you?

  — Not much. Can I ask you what you think about the after-death experience? Do you think it’s real?

  — First of all, what’s your name?

  — Oh, it’s Bradley, sorry. I want to know about the after-death experience because my brother got killed in a car accident yesterday, and—

  — Weird.

  — Yeah, it’s really weird. He was cool. He liked your show a lot.

  — What happened?

  — I don’t know. He just sort of hit somebody. Head on, I guess. He drinks a lot and stuff. So … do you think he, like … do you think he’s somewhere? Because I don’t really believe in that shit, I mean stuff. Sorry. I mean I think he’s probably just rotting. I mean fuck it, you know? Oh shit, sorry.

  — Most people think there is something, but I don’t think anybody knows what it is. I think there’s a Hell. I think Hell is the answer to all of our stupid human questions. I think when you die, if you’re cool, you go to Hell and “merge blacks,” to quote The Omen.

  — You do?

  — Yeah.

  — Me too. I think Tim’s in Hell. So, anyway, that’s cool about The Omen playing.

  — Yeah, it is.

  — Are you going to be there?

  — I wouldn’t miss it.

  — Okay, cool. Well, maybe I’ll see you there.

  — Yeah, if anyone wants to come up and say hi, I’ll be wearing a red, longsleeved Marilyn Manson t-shirt and one of those Peruvian skull necklaces you can buy at La Luz de Jesus.

  — Cool. I’ll look
for you.

  — Thanks, Bradley. Good luck with the thing about your brother. We’re going to take a break. We’re in The Darkness.

  When George was found raped, mutilated, and practically dead in the desert, emotion savaged Walker. To fight back, he wrote a novel that gave his poetic devices a job, to rebuild George’s ruins into the cute, inaccessible kid with the nickname. It was all very vague, since he didn’t know who he was writing about. Period flopped, until some band stole the name of his fictional band, and had a moderate hit. Thanks to them, Goth kids investigated the novel, and, having few preexisting beliefs, took its intricacy as enlightenment. They set up websites and chatrooms, stole the characters’ names, mistook their own problems for George’s, and tracked Walker down for the cure. He fucked dozens, then focused on Nate, who bore the closest resemblance. By then, the real George had recovered, in part. He was confined to a wheelchair, addicted to painkillers, half insane, and, most complicatedly, less riveting than his look-alike.

  ANONBOY

  16: Hello? Are you still there?

  MINDMELD

  5: I apologize. The reading is very peculiar. Let me explain. I am reading that there are many energy sources, not just the one. This makes no sense. I have at least four distinct energies connected to these pictures. There is an energy named George Miles. There is one … a very powerful one … I can’t determine its name yet. There is one … Egoreg? Can that be right? There is Dagger. Wait. This is strange. I am getting an unusual reading from you. You are also connected to these pictures. Is this making any sense at all?

  ANONBOY

  16: That’s so strange. Yeah, it does. I didn’t want to say anything, but I have this strange feeling that those could be pictures of me. It’s a long story, but

  ANONBOY

  16: I have amnesia. The police found me wandering around in the woods, and I guess some really bad things had been done to me, but I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know my real name, or where I

  ANONBOY

  16: lived, or anything. But I saw these pictures on the web, and I had this strong feeling about them. And they look just like me, I think.

  MINDMELD

  5: What all of you are doing is tearing him apart psychically.