All Hallows Eve

Once upon All Hallows Eve, I'd just ingested my Aleve,

Whence came a tapping at my door, a tap tap tapping,

A damnably intrusive rapping tapping, rappity dappity tapping...and nothing more.

Of course, I opened the goddamned door, and there stood monsters, three or four.

Wee ones, they, bedecked in hideous array as tiny ogres, I must say,

They held out baskets, expecting pay by way of treats, or tricks they'd play.

I thought, OK, if that's the game we play this day, you'll get your treat and then away

From here to stray no more to my front door at this late hour as before.

In each ghoul's basket I therefore did place an apple, which afore

A needle I'd embedded in its core, with hopes this bother nevermore would come a'tapping at my door.

And yet next day to my dismay a rapping sent my nap astray, two strapping cops led me away.

Heartlong

The head is good, but the heart will take awhile.

Reason understands the whys, but reason never lies,

Oh the ego had its fling, and the world seemed to sing,

So easy then to smile, as stars conspired to beguile,

Then the joker showed its face, made the hand give up its ace,

Now the head knows what it should, but it'll take the heart awhile.

Chapt. 42 (1st draft -- The President Goes Under)

President Morewitz swallowed the capsule and promptly dropped the glass of water, which shattered into a wet spray of shards on the wooden dais.

“Oops...I'm OK, I'm OK. It hasn't started working yet. I don't think!” Grinning, he stepped clumsily backwards off the dais as Ruth and Geddes rushed forward. Morewitz had regained his footing by the time they reached him. Chuckling, he led them into an alcove behind the curtain. The space was occupied by a steel cot and a couple of folding chairs. Morowitz sat on the cot and motioned to the chairs, but before either Ruth or Geddes could sit something mechanical jerked the curtain up and rolled it into the ceiling exposing them to the floodlights and the president's son peering at them through the camera's viewfinder. Geddes waved him away.

“You can turn that off now, Bradford,” Geddes said. “Show's over.”

“No no, leave it on, Brad! I want the world to see the whole thing live.”

Ruth leaned in and said quietly, trying to keep her voice from the sound pickup, “Not a good idea, Geoff. There'll be a stretch when nobody looks very presidential.”

“I don't care, Ruth. I believe I've already shown them that side of me.” He laughed. “I can't imagine a better way to demonstrate how this stuff works.

“Besides, you're going to join me aren't you? Have you taken yours yet?”

“No, Geoff. Changed my mind.”

“Whatsa matter. 'fraid we'll start singing Auld Lang Syne? No, wait, Eve of Destruction! Hahaha.”

“Oh, Geoff.” She nudged Geddes. “Thanks a bunch, Al. You didn't have to put that in the book, you know.”

“So when will this stuff kick in? Should I be lying down? It sounds in your book, Al, kinda like an LSD trip?”

“You ever done acid, Mr. President?”

“No, Al. They asked me that many times once I got into politics. I've been with people who were tripping. When I was at Yale. At least I assumed they had taken acid. I think they called it windowpane.

“Frankly I was afraid to try it. I smoked some marijuana – oh, and I did inhale hahaha – but the other stuff, the windowpane, if that's what it was, well, they just got too weird for me when they were on that stuff.”

“There are similarities, Mr. President. The first time I took it unknowingly. Thought I was losing my mind.”

“I know. I read both books, Al. You called them fiction, but I suspected at the time there was more truth in them than not. So has Vulcana made you a...a better man?”

Geddes shrugged and, trying to keep his face deadpan, turned to Ruth. She met his eyes and shook her head. Morowitz interrupted her as she started to speak.

“That's an unfair question, Al, and I apologize for putting you on the spot. I know we're still live, although I can't imagine every station is still carrying the feed, but...”

“It's OK, Mr. President. It's a perfectly valid question and, double entendres aside, I really don't feel any different, except obviously a little older and...well, even more disappointed. I'm not sure Vulcana's given me any new insights or mental abilities. Maybe I was too old and set in my ways.”

“You're a goody two-shoes, Al. Vulcana doesn't affect goody two-shoeses...is that right? Two-shoeses?”

“Ruth, jeezus.”

Morowitz remained seated on the cot, but his face wore a puzzled expression. He seemed distracted, staring at something behind them. Before Geddes could turn to see what it might be, Dr. Knoe appeared at his side. Her intriguing scent – a subtle marriage of fetching and dangerous – reached him first. She touched his arm and pushed him gently out of her way as she moved nearer the president.

“Mr. President,” she said, in the protective voice of a mother to her child, “are you comfortable?”

No response.

Chapt. 41 (1st draft - Getting Down To It)

The scene in Joe Secord's office surprised both Secord and Trueblood with its illusion of a collegial bull session. After hearing Bart Gladstone's shouts over the phone as they arrived at the White House, Trueblood expected to hear mayhem in the office soon as they reached the corridor. Maybe find Bart spinning around doing his Kung Fu kicks with the others ducking or waving weapons or cringing on the floor. It seemed ominous that the door was ajar, and Secord pushed it open cautiously as if expecting to see corpses scattered about. He stood in front of Trueblood, blocking his view. He entered and stepped aside, and Trueblood saw Bart perched on a corner of Secord's desk, arms folded, looking thoughtfully at Roger Chapman and The Undertaker. Nobody was facing the TV monitor, where President Morowitz was still addressing the world. There was no sound. Bart turned and looked up at Trueblood.

“Shoot out the speakers, Bart?”

“He's just babbling now.”

“Your expert here couldn't shut him down. We got tired of listening to him.” This was The Undertaker. He kept his eyes on Chapman, who returned the favor. Slumped in their chairs, the two appeared to be conducting a low-key staring duel. Chapman shook his head, his face showing disgust. After a last hard look at his adversary, he raised his gaze to Secord.

“Ain't no way to shut 'em down, 'less you can shoot down the satellites.”

Secord shrugged and turned to Trueblood.

“We have any idea what he's talking about now?”

“I don't care anymore. He's killed himself. No threat to us. Anybody who's not laughing himself silly is asleep.” The Undertaker.

Trueblood: “Well, Mr. WACKO, I hope you don't mind if we wish to hear him?”

“Why bother?”

“Curiosity, if for no other reason, but if it's going to bother you...” he nodded toward the door.

“C'mon, Harry. We're on the same team here, after all.”

“I'm surprised to hear you say that, Bart, after your little go 'round with...”

“Hahaha oh, that! Just a little misunderstanding. Everybody knows ol' Bart can get a tad overbearing now and then hahaha. Gave us both – me, anyway – a well-needed workout hahaha.”

“A little sore today?”

“Not as bad as I thought I'd be. Good thing I try to stay in shape, huh.”

This brought a stretching of The Undertaker's perpetual smirk. “You do realize,” he said to no one in particular, “that fool will never again see the inside of the Oval Office?”

“At least that fool can dance hahaha. How long you think Kudlow will last in there before the media calls it 'zombie apocalypse'?”

“Vice President Kudlow at least will do what he's told. There's no election coming up. No need now for charisma.”

“You might be thinking, 'OK, he's finally got some balls. Why should he risk everything by taking some drug that hasn't been proven yet?'”

Four heads in the room whipped around to face the TV monitor. The fifth, Chapman's, was already there, as he'd been the one who turned the sound back up.