"And that's when it ended. That's when all the confusion, the fear and the scent of oranges ended. That was when the big joke that Life wanted me to experience ended and left me alone in the cold and indifferent presence of the desert." A box of tissue was handed towards Kristen, and with a weak smile, she said thanks and pulled out one piece. Its scented pink surface glanced the area above her cheek to wipe away a wayward tear. "I felt empty. Hollow. Dead. Nothing seemed to be functioning in me. Not my body. My head. Nothing at all. It's almost as if you just died with everyone else who..." The words were choked by tears. The camera zoomed closer, and the audience empathically sighed. Jezebel stood from his chair and sat next to Kristen on the couch. "Oh, you poor poor thing," he muttered in his estrogen-risen voice, "Maybe we should give you some time to compose yourself. We'll be right back after these messages." The eNigMa grows -------------------------------------------------------------------- THE DCFuture Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind ENIGMA and other DC characters that may be used here, and ALL related characters and retains complete rights to said characters. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author. Issue Eight of Eight Episode 8: -------------------------------------------------------------------- Alternative Lifestyles -------------------------------------------------------------------- The transvestite was laughing. He had never seen his ratings skyrocket overnight. For two months, Jezebel had been worrying that his show, "Past Unsolved," would never make a mark on late night holo-tube. With a flamboyant smile, Jezebel gives his lipstick a boost of color, then turns to his producer; a middle aged, heterosexual non-smoking, alcohol-dependent, relationship challenged, tactless man named Howen Kisp. "So, what do you think Howie?" Jezebel asked with a magnificent undertone of pride, "We finally got the ratings we deserve?" Kisp faced the transvestite and smiled. With a folder opening in a snap, Kisp illustrated how Jezebel had beaten each and every other show being aired that hour in 269 channels. "We're done something never before accomplished in network history." "And that means?" Kisp could not find the strength to say anything. Jezebel squealed and stared right at Kisp. They hugged each other, hopping and yelling about how they have made a mark in the industry and how they shall be richer and more famous than ever before. Kisp visualized the house he always wanted to buy, and began to laugh with his 80% alcohol breath. Jezebel saw his body finally becoming the perfect one he always dreamed. The two began to dance, hands interlocked and tears falling from their eyes. Rich! Famous! Successful! There was nothing else to want in life now. They kissed. Jezebel pulled away suddenly, eyes staring straight into Kisp's. "What did we just--" but the question was cut short as Kisp pulled Jezebel close once more and whispered to the transvestite's ear, "I may be straight, but this definitely calls for celebrating," and with a wink, he was heading down the hallway towards the lift. ----------O---------- Kristen sat alone in the bar, ignoring the techno music that was blaring in the place. Smoke was drifting lazily about, like a heavy haze that reflected the developments her life had gone through. Although the events that spun her life into chaos happened so fast, the weight of the changes have pressed down on Kirsten so much as to make her feel as if it never ended. Leather heels clicked against the redwood floor. A painting nearby caught Kristen's attention; it was more or less five by five feet and was filled with paints swirled to form new colors. All shades converged to the center of the work: a black hole lacking dimension or hue. Beneath the work, in copper letters was the title "The Birth of Reason." "Interested in Poe I see," someone remarked, most likely having noticed the way Kristen had stared at the work. Kristen had not moved for at least a few minutes. "I always found him absurd." Glancing to the new arrival, Kirsten found herself looking at a young blonde woman, perhaps around 16 or so, wearing a pair of tight fitting brown jeans and a vest which at first seemed to be made of denim but turned out to be one of those designer silk labels. Kristen shrugged and mumbled some sort of comment about not really being here to look at artwork but her sentence never reached its ending. The shot of vodka sailed into her throat and purged the words as she swallowed it with a grim look of detachment. "Still, few people in the world make a female anus look anything like this." The last statement caught Kristen off guard. The vodka sprayed out between her teeth as she gagged out of reflex. People in the bar turned their heads towards the two, wondering what was happening. The blonde waved her hands towards them and called out, "Nothing to see, and no, she didn't puke or anything. Relax, everyone. Just the usual reaction when people notice assholes." A tissue presented itself before Kristen, who was wiping off vodka that dribbled down her chin. With a mumbled thanks, Kristen cleaned her face, then surveyed the mess she created. There were droplets tossing distorted reflections all over the table. A nearby ashtray was damp as well. Kristen could feel the shame rise to her face, flushing her cheeks red. "Don't worry about the mess," the blonde woman said while maneuvering to sit beside Kristen. *Thanks, but I'd really like to be alone, you know* Kristen told herself, not wanting to say it out loud and be seen as rude, *After all it's not like you--* "I own the place," the blonde said, "And since you're with me, the mess is no problem. I make a mess most of the time too anyway." "Kristen Bergham," and with an open hand, "Nice to meet you, Ms?" "I know you are Kristen," the blonde answered, ignoring Kristen's attempt to get her name, "I saw you. You were on holo a few days back." Kristen recalled the reason for her being on television, and her depression kicked back into gear. "Sorry," the blonde apologized, realizing she just reminded Kristen of what she struggled to forget through alcohol, "Everyone always says I can be so tactless. Slip of the tongue and all that, I guess. Forgiven?" A weak smile was the only reply Kristen gave before slumping her head on both palms, elbows supporting the weight into the table. The blonde lit a cigarette and asked Kristen, "Hey, I might own the place and all, but I hope you don't mind if I smoke." Another pang of pain. Another recollection. *Are you intentionally doing this?* her thoughts screamed, but on her face was an immaculately honed facade of contentment. "No problem at all. Just don't blow the smoke towards me." The blonde smiled and took a puff. "Second hand smoke kills, eh? Noted. I'll be sure to keep the smoke from going your way. Listen, if you need to talk or anything..." "No, not really," Kristen heard herself respond before even thinking. She began to wonder if she did want to talk to someone about it. The interview she did for "Past Unsolved" was to get the money she needed to start her life over. After all, 2 months had passed since the events in Arizona and since the only person who had a steady paying job was no longer around, much less, alive, to earn the keep, Kristen decided to swallow her pride and dive headlong into quick cash through world wide humiliation. But she never really "talked" about it in the show. Perhaps give a nice "eyewitness" recollection of the events. Or summarize the verbal exchanges and the recollected dreams that were experienced the past few weeks. But she never really found herself given the chance to talk about what she felt about the events, or who she wanted to believe in, or what questions the recent occurrences have raised in her paradigm of religion, science and chance. "I don't know. Maybe. Sort of. I can't really tell." "Well," the blonde replied with a smile, "Maybe you need some help to decide. I heard one can actually think better by not thinking at all at first." Kristen found herself starting to smile at the irony of the statement. "No really," the blonde retorted and pointed to the painting, "Take that painting for example. What do you see in--" Kristen gave off another gigantic bout of laughter that again people nearby turned to see if they were okay. Or perhaps horribly drunk. The painting of Zerchy Poe. The artist who professed a unique obsession towards the liberation of the female anus through illustration and sculpture. Kristen shook her head and found herself unable to stop laughing. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks. The blonde girl offered another tissue and continued her counseling. "See, even assholes have their purpose. Feeling better?" With an enthusiastic nod, Kristen replied yes and took a better look at the blonde woman. She wanted to say something but then realized she didn't know her name. Her mind raced for a way to raise the question. Part of the hesitation of asking someone their name is revealing the fact that you don't know it. The other part is the fact that they know yours. "All you have to do sometimes is just let your mind wander. Just let it go free. Let things happen. I even heard that's how one can touch Divinity," the blonde began to babble then noticed the table. Other than the countless droplets of Kristen's earlier spasm, it was empty except for Kristen's glass of half-empty vodka, an ashtray (which the blonde brought with her) and Kristen's purse, "You wait here. I'll check it there's any other table available. Let's transfer to a less wet area," and before Kristen could reply in any manner, she was gone. ----------O---------- Kisp and Jezebel were in the black stretch limo that was cruising down the boulevard. Although many adore Fresno for its weather, and quiet life, the city has its own share of a nightlife. One which these two have decided to submerge themselves in, even for just one night. Blacks, Purples, Pinks and Greens. These were the colors that Jezebel had layered on his face. The blacks were placed to magnify his eyebrows, and to submerge his evidently present Adam's apple and squarish face. Purple shades enclosed his eyes, with pink giving highlights to his eyelashes and cheekbones. Green, on the other hand, were his lips. To Kisp, Jezebel was obviously a flaming gay, cross-dressing, ever self-conscious and worry wart vid host. To Jezebel, however, he was just being himself. "Do you think I should add more pink?" Jezebel asked as he ran the brush across his left cheek, balancing the shade. Kisp shook his head and reached for the door of the mini-freezer in the limo. "Add more color, and I tell you, you'd look more like someone who was in the morgue... or Mardi Gras." "Perfect!" Jezebel squealed, "So I'm either Anne Rice material or that fag in the ancient Romeo and Juliet movie by what's his name?" "Ancient? That movie's not that old," Kisp retorted, being a man who loved the movies of the 1900s. They were very hard to find, not to mention expensive to have retouched and reformatted for holo-tube format. But they were a part of movie history that Kisp kept close to his heart. "And the what's his name was Baz Luhrmann." "Oh I thought it was by Shakespeare." "That guy is long dead!" "Of course, they were made in the 1900s! I'm not that dumb!" "The movie was made in the 1900s, but it was written... arrgh!" Kisp found it useless to try to explain. Either Jezebel was toying with him again or really had no idea who Shakespeare was. Unlike Kisp who held on to the 1900s, thereby remembering a lot of the people who were supposedly famous then, Jezebel was a lovechild of the new century, and cared only about his show. "Who's this?" Jezebel's voice broke Kisp's mental discussion with himself and pulled him back to reality. "This guy looks awfully cute!" Kisp glanced towards Jezebel and realized what the transvestite had between his hands: It was an old and heavily worn but still kept blue leather album. Kisp reached for the thing with a snarl and yanked it forcefully out of Jezebel's hands. Jezebel, surprised at the aggressiveness of her producer, let go with a start, sending Kisp painfully back against the seat cushion. "What's wrong with you, Kisp?" Jezebel screeched like a harpy, "First we kiss and you say it's okay. Then you go all angry at me for the Romeo and Juliet thing. Finally, you act the dominatrix act when I find this old book of yours." "Well--" Kisp began only to be interrupted. "Now, I am not dumb, honey. No way, you heterosexual piece of mule's ass. I know you're not gay cause if you were we would have been living a beautifully "F r" lifestyle for months ever since my show began. Secondly, I know that Romeo and Juliet was written during the 16th century by William Shakespeare, born in 1564, baptized in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire and the third of eight children. And last but not the least, if this thing in your car is supposed to be private and all, then why the fuck do you leave it out in the open for my faggoty ass to notice and try to peek in to?!?" Kisp remained silent, caught unawares by Jezebel's outburst. He stared at his friend, whose make-up simply heightened each muscle that throbbed or moved on his face, and raised both hands in surrender. Jezebel fought the urge to smile and raised an eyebrow to push the issue. He wanted to hear Kisp apologize and he was definitely going to get it within the minute. "Sorry already," Kisp explained and bit his lower lip, "I have to say though, you surprise me more and more Jez. This.. this was totally unexpected. I never knew you even knew that much about Shakespeare." "Actually," Jezebel confessed, "I just made that thing about Shakespeare up. I don't know crap about him at all. Is he gay by any chance?" ----------O---------- "A cold shower," the blonde girl replied to Kristen when she tried to sneak a "what's your name question" by asking what she would hate the most for some weirdo on the street to ask her for in a deserted alleyway. "Cause we both know what that means!" Kristen faked her laugh pretty well and simply played along with the conversation. The blonde was evidently getting more and more tipsy by the moment, which at first gave Kristen a panic at the thought of paying for the bill. The blonde woman may have claimed to own the place -- and they did transfer to a private drinking section in the bar which Kristen never knew existed -- but if the bill was handed in her direction, Kristen had no idea how to foot it. One thing was for sure, eight margaritas (with four being downed by Kristen) and 3 sex on the beaches were definitely more than enough for just two people. Not to mention a large footprint on the bill. "Why so quiet Kris," the blonde asked before taking a sip of her fourth margarita, "You're not still bothered by.. well... the problem are you?" The two had been talking about so many things that whenever the topic threatened to touch on sensitive issues Kristen would rather not hear, they're refer to it as "the problem." "No, of course not," Kristen said, and realized a second later how true her response was. "I don't feel that bothered by it somehow. Actually," she said with rising confidence and wonder, "I don't feel bad about it at all." "Good," the blonde woman replied, "I thought I was going to go worry about you all over again." Again? "I mean," the blonde girl continued in her rising drunken stupor, "I've been enough of a worry wart all my college years to actually start doing that again. Look at you, you're all grown up now. You don't need little old me. Nobody needs Debbie Upon hearing the name, Kristen was unable to say anything. The blonde woman sitting before her was no stranger it seemed. In fact, what Kristen thought was their first meeting at the bar never really was a first meeting. Rather, it was like a reunion of sorts. A comeback. A reconciliation with the past. And yes, this Debbie Sutton has some story to be told that intertwines with Kristen Bergham's past. And You thought you knew everything already. ----------O---------- "No, dear old friend William, as far as I know, isn't gay. But someone very important to me was." "Was?" Jezebel raised both eyebrows now, not getting what this was leading to. Kisp reached for Jezebel and pulled him closer. Jezebel gave an audible gasp, his mind racing. It was no secret between the two that the transvestite always had a liking towards his Producer. Although Jezebel was more gay than simply a transvestite, he wanted to keep the label since it had more "punch" in his view. As Kisp guided Jezebel to sit beside him in the confines of the limo, Jezebel began to enumerate in his head the many fantasies and positions he had planned to share with Kisp once the opportunity arose. And although biologically speaking, something (or rather someone's thing) had already arisen, things didn't even come close to Jezebel's expectations. Kisp turned on the light and opened the old blue leather-bound photo album. He slowly began to turn each page carefully and, even if each had been treated to prevent damage and aging, acted as if he had in his hands the original copy of the Bible. "What is it?" Jezebel asked, dismayed that his dreams would remain that. "This was a distant relative who I admired," Kisp began, his hands stopping to prop the album and reveal a long-haired man with a moustache and unkempt stubble on his cheeks and chin. He was standing before what seemed to be a park filled with crowds of people. There was a prominent letter e painted on the billboard 10 feet above the ground. Balloons. Cotton candy. Masks. It seemed like some sort of Mardi Gras. Beneath the picture, written in a ballpoint pen was the message, "Doing fine in Pacific City, Titus" Jezebel stared at the picture and a connection made itself known with his sudden scream. "Oh my god! You're connected to Titus Bird? The Titus Bird of the Enigma event? You mean you and Titus were related. Oh wow. Oh wow! OH WOW!" Kisp sat quietly on the chair, eyes still focused on the album. Jezebel noticed Kisp lost in his thoughts and immediately quieted down. A lone finger ran from the top of the picture down Titus' cheek. "Yep," came Kisp's voice, weak and breaking. He cleared his throat and continued, "Titus Bird and I were kinda, you can say, of the same blood. He was actually in the family tree of my father's side. Well, actually, he wasn't but I was able to find out he was." "I don't get it," Jezebel reached for the album gently and gingerly turned the page closer to him. He stared at the picture, then back at Kisp. "What do you mean he was not but was?" "The family didn't want anyone to remember he was part of our family. The family name, Kisp, was actually the maiden name of my grandmother. My grandparents decided to have the maiden name kept instead. Less to be embarrassed about, they said. Less to explain in the future." "Then why?" "The show?" Kisp gave a smile, "Why coverage of the Enigma Event for 3 months in 'Past Unsolved?' The answer is actually very simple Jez. Come on, try to tell me why." Jezebel looked at Kisp and hoped for the best. "This is your way of coming out?" Immediately seeing the laughter that burst out of Kisp's face through an initial smile, Jezebel knew he had to give it up. He didn't even need to hear it, although Kisp did mention it anyway. "Jez, in as much as we've been working very very well together, and in as much as you are a good looking guy and a great friend--" "Stop!" Jezebel interrupted Howen Kisp, "Don't even think of saying it in my face. I can't face rejection when I'm in my 'I'm successful mode.' It lessens the joy." "No problem," Howen replied and suddenly embraced Jezebel. Again Jezebel was caught by surprise. He was unable to return the embrace before Howen disengaged. A little trickle of dismay, soon forgotten when Howen grabbed his shoulder to catch his attention. "Well?" Jezebel stared at Howen and then realized something that he was proud to have been a part of. Years ago, a man named Titus Bird braved ridicule and the possibility of being ostracized by his family to proclaim his identity and show others that there is nothing to hide in the closet. In his drug-influenced stupor, he wrote his thoughts and transformed his fantasies and views into a comic book which many read and appreciated. And although he made a mark, created a controversy, and perhaps even began the Enigma Event, the family that he was part of disowned him and struggled to erase him from history and memory. But someone did remember. And the memory was not only recalled, but shared for many to recollect. And as fate would have it, Howen Kisp was a holo-tube producer and had the funding and connections necessary to spread the word faster. Titus Bird was remembered. While no one remembers the Kisps. "All things come around?" Jezebel asked. "All things come around." ----------O---------- Kristen was looking at the bar, its lights flashing once, twice, then shutting off. The cold air reminded Kristen that it was early in the morning and that it was best she head home already. Still, she remained at the front of the bar, staring at the second and third floor of the building. Earlier, she was surprised to discover that the top floors of the building were actually residential areas for the people who worked in the bar. Debbie had gotten so drunk that she was no longer capable of standing up from her own chair. And when Kristen called for one of the bartenders to help out, she was tossed a key instead and told to just bring the owner upstairs to her room. Stuck with both an unconscious woman and a key in her possession. Kristen didn't feel it would be right to leave behind someone whom she was close to during her college years drunk on the couch. When they reached the upper floor with Kristen bearing most of Debbie's weight, Debbie leaned close to her former college buddy and with a sheepish grin leaned forward for a kiss. Kristen found herself receiving the kiss, and even initiating the lashing of tongues. The two suddenly forgot about the door, drooping the key to the ground and holding each other close like lovers tend to do. Debbie was moaning heavily, while Kristen kept her eyes closed, focusing instead on the taste of Debbie's tongue and the sensation of hands kneading her breasts which seem to have been neglected for so long. Now, Kristen stood in front of the bar, watching as its chipped wood and electrical wiring became visible with the rising of the sun. She stared at the window of the bar and noticed her reflection looking back at her, its colors hued red by the rising sun. Her makeup was a bit smeared on her face; remnants of passionate kisses exchanged while intoxicated. She hated make up but for some reason had found herself placing it on yesterday morning. It was necessary for the show. She wanted to look at ease with what had happened. A mask of indifference. "It's to fulfill fantasies, you see. Yours. Mine. Ours. Theirs. Anyone with a bit of flesh that goes red with lust and sex when properly motivated. The Mask allows you... or me... or whoever is fucking with the damn Enigma to be whoever he or she wants." A shaft of bright sunlight broke through the reddish clouds and struck at the window, reflecting and hitting Kristen's face. She covered her eyes and turned down the road, heading for her hotel. There were few people up and about this earning morning in Fresno, but to Kristen it didn't matter. The possibility of being mugged was far away from her mind. What stood prominently in her thoughts was the question: What am I now? A wife? Though she has no husband to claim hers for life. A writer? Though she had no new writings to share with the world. A woman? Though she enjoyed the pleasures of touch with another female earlier. What is she now? ----------O---------- "A Lesbian?" Jezebel was laughing out loud, "You mean you thought she was straight and hit on her?" Both men erupted into laughter almost simultaneously and found it difficult to pause the reflex to finish their drinks. The limo had just picked them up a few hours ago and, on Howen's orders, was bringing the evening to a conclusion by sending the two home. "You mean you couldn't tell?" Howen shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at Jez, "You telling me you knew she was one? And didn't stop me?" Jezebel hooted and gave Howen a hug, "Ah, guilty as charged, you can cane me if you want." With another shake of his head, Howen finished his martini and raised both legs to the chair opposite the one he was on. He gave a small stretch and cracked his knuckles with a smirk. Jez noticed that Howen's eyes were getting pretty droopy. The martini glass suddenly rolled off between Howen's fingers and fell to the bottom of the limo landing on the padded interior with a muffled thud. Jezebel rose from his seat, transferred to the space beside Howen and picked up the glass. He rapped at the tinted glass between the passenger compartment and the driver and called out, "Can you just stop the car at the curb. I think you'd just better bring Howen home instead. He's too tired. I'll find a taxi or something." The car slowed down and Jezebel stepped out of the car. The sun had already peered from beneath the horizon and cast a burning brightness across the clouds. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes and began to walk down the street. Glancing to and fro occasionally, Jezebel hoped to find a taxi in view soon. "Jezebel!" a voice called out and Jezebel heard the sound of wheels stopping their rotation against the gravel. He turned and found himself looking at the woman who rose her ratings waving at her from inside a taxi. Quickly, he crossed the street and yelped a greeting. Boarding the cab, Kristen asked where Jezebel lived and told the taxi to bring them there. Jezebel noticed the make up smeared on her face and surprisingly remained mum about it instead. ----------O---------- Howen was fast asleep in his home by the time Kristen and Jezebel reached the transvestite's flat. They had been tossing jokes back and forth and sharing bittersweet memories like people used to do when they were younger. The minute the sun rose triumphantly across the sky, the two had long been inside the flat, both tired and nearing sleep. Jezebel had numerous times thanked Kristen for agreeing to have the show. Kristen, on the other hand, found herself staring at the transvestite as his eyes crept to sleep. He too wore a mask, it seemed. Although his was a mask ironic in nature. His mask didn't hide who he was. Rather, it revealed who he really believed he was beneath the true face which he felt was false. Like actors, the all wore masks in this world. Some to hide themselves. Others to present something better. While a few wear masks meant to reveal who they really are. But Kristen knew something remained true. Life is never a stage. In as much as we'd like to control it and have set roles, things have to happen by themselves. She walked to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and washed every trace of makeup off her face. "So you kissed her?" she remembered Jezebel asking her in surprise. She stared at her reflection and smiled. Her lips were a bit sore from the rough kissing. But even if she felt the sex spiders toss and tumble in her when she kissed Debbie, she felt nothing emotional attaching her to her former friend. Debbie and Kristen were close friends during their college years. So close in fact that they had a mutual understanding. One that did include sleeping together when loneliness struck. But it never was anything emotional. It was merely best friends with benefits. But Kristen knew she was straight. She was happy she was straight. And when the Enigma confronted her about her wants and desires, she held on to her beliefs and never let them go. She walked back to the room and shook Jezebel in an attempt to gently wake him up. Jezebel moaned an irritated sound then snuggled deeper into the sheets. I'll be going home, Kristen explained, then walked out of the flat, shutting the lights along her way. If there was an enigma in life, Kristen thought, it wasn't why the enigma existed. It was why it could never be understood by others when the answer to unravel it was so simple. The End ------- Enigma was originally published by Vertigo, a trademark of DC Comics. Others, if any, are not mentioned as a challenge to the said owners nor as an insult. The author of this fan fiction assumes NO ownership over the comic character ENIGMA. All other characters are created by Tobie Abad. This page is not intended to challenge or claim ownership of the character ENIGMA which is copyright of DC Comics. EPILOGUE: ------------------------------------------------ A lizard rose into the air, having watched Kristen walk out of the flat of Jezebel and ride a taxi. The lizard rose higher into the air until it flew past the buildings and zoomed away from the city. After what seemed like minutes, it ascended and headed for a small open window in a run down shack out of town. The scent of candles was everywhere and had this lizard the sentience to complain it probably would have already done so. The lizard landed on the floor before a white satin sheet that was crumbled and obviously recently slept in. The lizard scanned the room and found the room's occupant sitting on top of the empty cabinet. The little baby stared back at the lizard and gave a giggle. With intelligence in its eyes, the baby motioned and the lizard hovered close to it. The baby's maw opened and the lizard was swallowed whole. A laugh, innocent like babies laughter always sounds, and then a satisfied smile. The baby crawled into a sleeping position and closed its eyes to sleep. Written by Tobie Abad tobito@rocketmail.com camelot@info.com.ph Comment and reactions are welcome! In fact, appreciated!