Chapter 25 – Fictitious Wings

Weaver

I opened the door to the place I'd inhabited with my brothers since the day I was born in this mortal realm. Till the day I'd left after she had moved to another state.

It had been a decade since I'd returned to this dwelling. Our home looked fairly the same although the wall clock that covered the hole I'd caused years ago had been replaced by an oversized brass, pearl and ebony Nova clock that went with the contemporary atmosphere. The scent of chocolate chip cookies from an open jar wafted in the air.

Francis and his sweet tooth. The kid had an appetite for all mortal delicacies. He had adjusted so well to this world. He was now a freelance web designer. My young brother enjoyed creating web sites, having an outlet to channel all his concepts, and he had a relatively strong portfolio. His clients admired his surreal creativity.

Markus was a certified software engineer turned public interest lawyer. Predictable. He relished the attention he drew in the courtroom. But he also willingly took on matters pro bono. Not so predictable. But with Markus, I was certain there was an underlying motive. At the rate he was going with his growing list of clients and an even bigger following, I wouldn't be surprised if he became a goodwill ambassador or if he ran and won the next senatorial election.

Francis and Markus both thrived the past decade. I wagered they made Mother proud. I was yet to hear from her or Father since I'd moved out.

I had found the tunnel to Thanatos and Freud though. I was amazed to have stumbled upon the two having coffee together. Freud was having coffee and cigars.

Freud was wearing a three-piece suit, a tie and his iconic round, wire framed glasses. He also carried a pocket watch connected to a gold chain. Thanatos merely wore a dark robe that covered his entire body from his wide shoulders to his feet. I wasn't sure if he even had feet since he seemed to be floating.

Regardless of the fashion they favored, I owed them. They had helped me deal with my demons. It had been an interesting education—learning psychology from Freud and Thanatos.

**

They first let me undergo a modified Rorschach test. I initially balked at the thought of being subjected to an assessment devised for mental patients, but Freud intentionally spilled his cup of coffee at my feet, and I saw Selene's form enveloped in my fiery wings. The dark stain on the ground rose and I heard Selene cry in agony as she was engulfed in my flames.

"No!!!" I screamed. I dropped to my knees and tried to grab hold of the shadows, but they evaded my touch. Selene's cries continued and I could do nothing to save her. I could only claw at the asphalt as the inkblot grew into a harrowing illusion.

"You are dreaming, child," Freud consoled me as the shadows disappeared. He touched my forehead and closed his eyes, seemingly trying to get a hold of the visions that had plagued me. He opened his eyes again and elatedly said, "But dreams are the royal road to the unconscious."

I looked at the neurologist in confusion. He had a glimmer in his eyes that made me wary.

"His defenses are lowered in this sphere and all the emotions he had repressed are crossing over," Thanatos gruffly stated.

"Help me control these monstrosities so that I may not hurt anyone," I pleaded.

The father of psychoanalysis and the god of peaceful death looked at me and deliberated on their next project. Freud smiled and told me, "Follow us, child."

Thanatos had to remind me that I was a deity living among mortals and though it was at first difficult for me to perceive human sentiments or accept the reality that mortals were mortal—that they would eventually perish—I soon learned to acknowledge these facts.

There was one rough incident though where I decapitated Thanatos when he stressed that Selene was mortal and she would eventually die; therefore, I had to control my responses now because Zeus knew how deranged I'd be when faced with her demise. True enough—his statement resulted to his losing his head.

Fortunately, he was the demon personification of death.

Ironically, for a god of non-violent death, he brutally severed all my appendages right after he had reattached his head. He abandoned me, limbless, and I was left to Freud's tutelage.

Freud clucked his tongue as he woke me up from my nightmare. "You should control your emotions, child."

"I should control my emotions?" I snapped as I rubbed my joints where my arms had been wrenched from my shoulders. "You could tell your partner the same. And you do realize I am thousands of years older than you, infant."

The psychotherapist looked at me, put a lit cigar to his lips, and pulled the smoke into his mouth before drawing it to his lungs. Then he calmly told me, "Yet here you are with so much to learn."

I wanted to shove the toxic cylinder up his nose. Didn't chain smoking lead to the cancer that ended his studies? Yet he was not bothered by this.

I stared at him.

Of course. Unlike my sorry self, Freud recognized and made the most of his current state. Whereas I, a god, couldn't even tell reality from dream. I also conceded that it had been juvenile of me to call him an infant.

I reined in my emotions. I looked down at my feet, duly chastised.

"Teach me," I muttered.

Freud chuckled, equally astonished and amused. "For a deity, you have a very human death drive—what with your knack to engage in risky, self-destructive choices when interacting with the god of death. But you're also remorseful. Uncanny. Come on. Let us assess the manifest and latent contents of your dreams."

We spent the following years mastering dream-work, how to alter my horrifying fears and forbidden wishes into non-threatening figures and concepts I could control in the dream realm and in reality.

My brothers had chosen their human careers. I told Freud that once I'd learned to control my visions, I would join the HR team in a corporate sector.

Thanatos immediately revealed himself when I shared my plans.

"I had thought you've learned to control your death drive," Thanatos groaned, thinking he had failed as a mentor.

"I was merely jesting, demon," I told Thanatos. "It is good to know that you care."

Thanatos scowled, tore off one of my arms—by this time, I had gotten used to his rather intense reactions—and had Freud wake me up in another tunnel. One with a gallery of my sketches of a woman with long black hair.

"I surely hope that is not your mother," Freud told me. "I enjoy working with Thanatos, but I am not sure Sophocles and I would make a great team."

"Didn't you develop the theory of the Oedipal Complex?" I asked.

"You aren't a boy under five," Freud retorted.

"That I am not," I agreed. I looked around at the sketches I had drawn the past years. "And I like this idea. Thank you for leading me here."

I would open a gallery and call it Cognac Coal.

If my brothers made fun of the name, they could kiss my ass.

**

And here I was after a decade, finally convinced and confident that I could control my dreams. That I would not harm anyone. That I would not scorch my brothers.

That I would not hurt her.

How I missed her. I missed her more than I'd missed my wings ages ago. My wings could now materialize on impulse, but they could not bring me the warmth a touch of her hand could.

I had explored the different tunnels since I'd managed to control my visions. Sometimes, I'd add an image to a person's dream, but no longer out of arrogance but respect. Since Erebus and Nyx hadn't shredded my wings or taken my access to the tunnels again, I'd assumed I was finally learning the lesson they'd wanted to teach me.

So I'd cautiously treaded the dreams and admitted that humans were reasonably inspired even without our meddling.

I had explored the different tunnels, but I was yet to remove the barricade I'd created to her universe.

Soon. When I was ready. When I deserved to.

Yet I knew the clock was ticking. Thanatos had made that abundantly clear. Selene's time was short.

That very thought gave me an anxiety attack. My shadows grew restless at the idea.

I needed to relax.

I went to the fridge and took out a tub of salted caramel ice cream. I walked to the rec room and was pleasantly surprised to see that my brothers had upgraded the furniture and equipment. There were recliner chairs, game tables and a complete, wireless home theater system.

I plugged in my flash drive and plopped down on the La-Z-Boy. The house was empty. I had my ice cream. It was the perfect time to finish the movie I'd been watching. I switched off the lights as I turned on the screen.

The movie was about a team of cybernetically enhanced soldiers. Team Genesis. It wasn't the most original name because it was obviously ripped off from the best-selling book of all time and the characters in the movie resembled some of the personalities from the apocalypse, but I found the story riveting. It was impressive how the writer developed the plot and key roles. I couldn't even predict how the story would end.

I had once said that this world had reached its quota in terms of trilogies, but I wouldn't mind watching a sequel of this movie.

I had to confess I had copies of the sequence of films about the scarred wizard as well as the series about vertically-challenged ring-bearing Halflings. The mortals had become more creative the past decades. Or perhaps I was simply more open-minded.

Nevertheless, Team Genesis was extraordinary. I wonder if Francis had already seen it.

The only thing I disliked about the story was the supposed leader of the team. Gabriel Hamilton had the perfect hair, the perfect face, the perfect built and the perfectly fabricated black wings. I had a feeling the director placed the spotlight on the dark angel to attract more female viewers. Personally, I'd focus on another fellow and his pet, Penance and Plague. Penance was a hulking man cursed with the plague—everything he inadvertently touched did not just die but decomposed in an instant.

I was watching the scene where Penance accidentally leaned on a cow and the beast decayed before him. Penance's belly grumbled loudly even as he watched in horror as the ungulate withered before him. Penance frowned at Plague, the barbed pest that had positioned itself on his shoulders.

"Couldn't you just turn your targets to beef jerky, bug? I'm starving and you're letting so much go to waste," Penance growled at Plague.

I laughed. Penance was definitely better than Hamilton. Sure, he was blighted. And those spikes on his shoulders weren't exactly attractive. But he was a novelty.

I wished I could find the tunnel to his creator.

I had finished my ice cream and I had reached the last part of the movie. Penance was surrounded. All he had to do was reach out, slaughter everyone and escape, but his conscience debated with his instincts to survive whatever the cost.

Kill them. Kill them.

My own pets were chanting. I was surprised that my shadows had escaped their cage and were as captivated as I was. I didn't agree with what they were droning. Although it was just a movie...

Oh, who was I kidding? These were my shadows and they were a reflection of my own thoughts. I wanted Penance to execute Hamilton whose chiseled jawline was getting too much airtime.

"Kill him," I snarled just as the closing credits rolled. As suspected, there would be a sequel.

"I guess you're not a fan of the Commander," Francis said as he switched on the lights. My shadows immediately vanished, but not before Francis got a glimpse.

"Welcome home, brother. I see that you have learned to control your emotions," Francis told me as he reached me. I stood up and gave him a quick hug.

Francis looked at me, surprised. I realized it was the first time I'd initiated such human contact. He grinned and asked, "What's not to like about Gabriel Hamilton? My movie date last Friday almost forgot I existed."

"I doubt that, brother," I replied. Who could ignore this elven mock up? "Anyway, I think the anti-hero here is more relevant than the typical Gaston."

"Is it that? Or does the Commander just remind you of another winged person who irks you whereas you find the troubled, afflicted brute relatable?"

I frowned at Francis. I didn't expect an examination on my first day back. "Did Freud and Thanatos ask you to quiz me?"

Francis chuckled. "Of course not. I'm just happy to find you so fascinated with a mortal conception. I'd been watching you the past half hour and you didn't even notice me. Neither did your shadows."

"Well... it is a pretty decent movie," I said.

"Just decent?" Francis asked.

"Fine, it's brilliant. And if I'd seen this film ten years ago, I'd be threatened. I would've started questioning our purpose," I replied.

"But now?" Francis continued.

"Now, I would be interested to find the tunnel to the writer who conceived this masterwork and commend him and learn what inspires him," I answered truthfully.

Francis looked at me, grinning. I was starting to find him annoying. He was no longer twelve. I could beat him up and not have Child Protection Services after me.

"You have no clue, do you?" Francis said.

"What are you talking about?" I retorted, trying not to lose my patience.

"A thousand and twenty seven years old and still incredibly dim," Francis muttered.

I growled. I just got back and this little one was insulting me. My shadows started to emerge, but I doused them. I could school some respect into Francis with just my hands.

But just as I was about to lunge at Francis, he spun around and said, "Let's go."

Okay. I didn't expect that. "Where?"

Francis was already opening the door when he told me, "We need to buy you a coat. I'm glad you've burned your flannel shirts, but your current look isn't going to work for the black tie event we're attending tomorrow."

A/N: It's my birthday today so I thought I'd give myself a break :) I miss you guys! I will get back to writing when I've closed all pressing matters (in the real world). How I wish solutions would "materialize on impulse." :)

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the chapter and the song :)