Chapter 18:  Many Different Levels to Our Souls  

 Background

Charlie McRoy's journey continues to unfold with more and more complications. The questions he carries never seemed to be answered. He faces all sorts of unrelenting problems; some of which, he creates by interfering.

Celeste ran to the door, swinging it open.

Charlie Braxton McRoy age 13 years, 345 days, as of day before yesterday, had experienced at least 5 ordinary lifetimes in just two normal 24 hour days.

Never in a billion years would anyone begin to believe what he had been through, who he had encountered and what he was facing at the present time. For all intent and purposes, Charlie had been involuntarily thrust into a world of bizarre activity, or so it seemed; yet, he was suppose to conjure up practical, logical and sensible solutions for highly unlikely scenarios. He had been well-known for daydreaming, but this was a little much by anybody's standards. The mysterious BRACELET, which he had stumbled upon and picked up, on the beginning of his journey, seemed to hold more than a clue to his ongoing dilemma. But, even that had become a distant unsettled memory, of sorts.

"Hey, you guys, you are way over the time limit. FRANCO'S real mad." Josette had not seen Charlie yet.

"We've been tied up," Celeste points to Charlie.

"Who in the world of clowns are you?" A startled Josette reacted.

"I'm Charlie McRoy."

"What are you doing here?"

"I guess I'm here to help the clowns."

Josette remained silent. No one was supposed to know the clowns needed help. Josette ignored Charlie's remark.

"Leo, FRANCO wants to see you, now!"

"What am I suppose to tell the old man?" Leo asked. By the tone of his voice Charlie could see he was a little frightened.

"Be cool, Leo," Charlie comforted, "act like nothing's wrong. He knows no more than you tell him. I'll tend to it. What was your master's name, in case I run into him?"

"Judge Doodley." Celeste announced proudly.

"Judge Doodley, right! Sounds like the perfect master's name." Charlie sarcastically thought.

"Not a word about me, got it?" Charlie demanded secrecy from Leo.

Charlie turned loose of Leo's back. Leo jumped into the air, triple somersaulted, landing on his feet.

"WOW!" Charlie exclaimed, "You're good."

"You damn right I am!" Leo sputtered, "All part of my entertaining the customer trade." He dashes out of the door.

The little crippled Ballerina drug one wooden foot as she moved closer to Celeste. Charlie felt odd when she addressed him point blank.

"Honestly, sir, why are you here?"

Charlie could not possibly answer that simple question.

Josette chose not to press for an answer.

"Celeste, your show opens in fifteen minutes."

Celeste glanced at the large silver rhinestone square watch on her left arm.

"I didn't realize it was so late. Please Mr. Charlie McRoy, under no circumstances are you to discuss these papers outside of the Purple Room."

Charlie agreed.

"I'll catch up with you later." Celeste whispered, as she strutted out without Josette.

Charlie looked at her. Josette eyed him suspiciously, without a word; she lugged herself out of the doorway with great difficulty. All alone in a Purple Room, left with a two inch tube of clown papers, which a few minutes earlier, had determined his unsolicited intervention, in a matter of life and death, Charlie stood with the rolled papers staring him in the face. What would he, do now? The only sensible solution was to go and find FRANCO. But, the sealed promise he had made with Celeste was that he couldn't discuss the matter outside of the purple room.

Before Charlie closed the door, "Sometimes, no matter how you want to, you can't interfere." He spoke the words of infinite wisdom, aloud.

"It's really none of my business." He searched the private room until he found the empty chair leg stuffing the tube back inside.

"The number 900 must mean something really important." He mumbled as he brushed by the digits on the doorway as he closed the door behind him.

"Well, what if it does? I know all of this is somehow linked together but I can't decipher it." Certainly aware that everything which had happened to him mattered in a big way, but he didn't know how or why.

He had moved down the hall a ways when an elaborately defined British accented voice caught his attention as he rounded the corner.

"I did the Bunji Jump act last night: I don't want to do it again." A flamboyant clown talked to himself in the gold rimmed oval length 3-dimensional mirror.

"Not especially unusual," Charlie muttered. But, when he observed more closely, he discovered, the reflection in the mirror was talking back to the clown. The two of them were unaware of Charlie's presence.

"This is just too weird." Charlie stood motionless as he silently observed the involved conversation.

"I am much too stressed out to continue with that ridiculous act of jumping from a sixty foot platform with a singing bunji cord strapped to my ankle."

"That's cool," the mirrored refection argued "but, if you refuse to go along with the gig, can you imagine what he'll have you doing next? I shudder to think."

"Frankly, I just don't care anymore." The showy red and white polka-dotted frilly laced pointed hat clown barked, "I am thoroughly fed up with his insidious thrill seeking displays."

"But, you forget one little point, Marlow." The mirrored reflection sighted.

(Marlow, Charlie exclaimed to himself, this little guy must be the clown Selena-LeAnne referred to.)

"His biggest thrills are aroused by a display of emotional response. He possesses an unimaginable demonic devious soul which derives such unimaginable pleasure from our pain. Don't give him the added thrill."

"You want me to keep going along with his ludicrous schemes?"

"What choice do you have? He's a lousy self-serving gluttonous pig. You know that; I know that. But, he's bigger than a half of dozen of us."

"My sanity, dignity, self-esteem, I've forfeited for his benefit. I've come to the end of my rope."

"You have no rope. That's the fact, we all keep forgetting. And, IF we do have a rope he's controlling it, remember?"

"When will it be over? Will it ever be over? Will we ever see our home, again? I'm so tired of all this nonsense."

"They're my words, exactly," Charlie muttered to himself. "I want to go home, too."

"WE can't give up. That's what he wants us to do."

"I know what you are saying," Marlow continued, "I just don't think I can do it again. He's too sick, I tell you. The entire ordeal frightens me so. Last night, he barely tightened the cord. I have no idea when he will instruct the others to...."

The reflection broke in, "You can't let yourself think about those kinds of things. You KNOW the universal agreement, the ONE, he will not break. He cannot purposely kill any of us, whether intentionally or unintentionally; it upsets the balance of things."

"Little does that console me when I'm the one being forced to jump off a sixty foot platform." Marlow quite distraught by this time.

"You must get a grip on yourself, Marlow," the reflection insisted. "You see what you are doing to yourself? He doesn't have to do anything to you, because you are doing it for him. Now, stop it this instant. No more talk of not wanting to Bunji Jump. Don't make waves. Everything is exactly as it should be."

Finally, Marlow spoke after he reflected upon what the mirrored refection had said. "I guess you are right. He won't do anything to annihilate me. He derives way too much pleasure from watching me experience the fear of death."

He bid the reflection farewell and disappeared.

Charlie hesitated momentarily before he ventured in front of the talking mirror. He spoke cautiously but expectantly.

"I've never seen a talking mirror before,"

No response from the reflected glass.

"Of course, there are a lot of things I've never seen before I started out on this crazy journey of mine."

The mirror still did not respond.

Charlie's image was the only manifested person in the mirror. Every movement made by him was perfectly duplicated. Charlie recoiled perplexed by the event.

"Either you talk or you don't talk. But, if you don't talk; how did I hear the conversation between you and Marlow?"

Charlie experienced nothing but utter embarrassment from his own words being reflected back at him.

"What in the world has happened to me? I am standing in front of a mirror waiting for it to talk to me. Get me out of here. I'm going clownfully insane."

Limply, he slid down into the amber carpet directly in front of the oval mirror, since he had no other available options to seek advice.

"Maybe, you just talk to clowns. I sure hope not. I am in such a jam. You seem pretty smart to me; and I was thinking, maybe, you can help me. How about it?" Charlie knew the end must be real near. He had been reduced to begging a 'talking mirror' to help him out of his predicament. He could tell the clowns that the plans were in the making for their return home. Then, they would have some hope. But, then again, he had promised Celeste.

"Why did I intervene like I did? I had no busy whatsoever getting tangled up in their problems. Why did I think I was supposed to determine their fate?" He sat moaning with guilt ridden confusion because of the knowledge he had accrued.

Certainly, it was not his place to interfere. But, it was too late now. He already had done so. Even though he knew of the secret plans, he had to leave the little clowns to their own destiny. He had his own needs to be met and they had nothing to do with the clown scientists' affairs.

Charlie stood erect. "If I meet FRANCO along the way out of here, I will be seeking advice for myself not someone else." He bid the silent mirror goodbye by the wave of his hand.

"I've got to find my own way. I need to escape out of this madhouse. I can't help them and they certainly can't help me." He started down the long mirrored hallway.

"What's your problem Charlie?" A digitized mechanical voice inquired.

"That's the same voice I heard in the castle Charlie affirmed to himself.

He looked around but saw nothing.

"You didn't answer my question."

It certainly was strange answering a voice that had no recognizable physical body.

"I'm not answering your question until you show yourself." Charlie defiantly responded.

"Sounds to me like you've got yourself all bound up. Why?"

Charlie seized the opening, "I'm LOST, that's why."

"You are always lost if you continue looking for something or someone." The much too wise, detached, voice unnerved Charlie.

"No, you really don't understand. I'm very lost. I don't have the foggiest notion where I am or how I got here."

"Who does?" Was the voice being smart or funny, Charlie wondered?

"I don't know how to answer you. But, I really need help."

"Don't we all?"

"Can you help me?"

"Nope." Too short, sweet and deliberate.

"How do you know?"

"Help is the last thing you need."

"I don't need any help?” Charlie muttered.

"Why on earth would the voice tell me I don't need help?" The onslaught of exaggerated thoughts could not be stopped.

"The only possible reason would be because I have to find my own way out. He's judging me, instead of wanting to show me the way. He's acting as if I'm looking at my own way of help out of here and just can't see it."

"Look, the truth is, I don't belong here."

"None of us do."

Charlie caught up in a day dream inside of a mirrored building full of 12 inch clowns when he abruptly realized he had lost part of what the mechanical voice was saying.

"....and if you really needed to, it would be in your face. You always see exactly what you need to at the time, you need to. No need to fret or worry about it; it's nothing but exaggerated wasted energy."

Charlie certain he wasn't going to ask what part of the answer, he had missed.

"I appreciate your time, wherever and whoever you are, but I need to be on my way. It's been a real gas talking to you."

"Charlie Braxton McRoy, you have spoken well. Talking is nothing but the exchange of gases. Be well in your journey."

Charlie did not know if the faceless voice meant for him not to be sick or to be really involved with his journey. He didn't care what he meant. He had heard all he wanted to hear. Another scary, strange, uncanny sensation formed around Charlie while proceeding down the hall. Would he ever get back home? Was he already home; locked behind an invisible veil that prevented him from seeing and communicating with his family? Was he caught in some sort of tenuous nightmare that just wouldn't end?

"Can there be some sort of barrier, (nebulous-film like screen) that prevents me from breaking through to the other side? What is it? Will somebody please tell me what in the world I'm caught up in?" He yelled.

The more unsure thought he placed on his predicament, the more confused he became.

"Just forget about it. Go where ever this trail leads." Charlie commanded.

"It's all I can do," he agreed with himself.

"The clowns, if they really existed, are just another passing phase of my spiraling journey."

He pushed his legs full speed ahead because he was growing weary once more and assuredly did not want nor need to linger any longer. He realized with absolute certainty that if he had allowed himself to, he would have started the crying jag, again.

"What good does that do?" he thought disgustedly. "Doesn't change a thing."

"Hey, you there, don't I know you?" The soft pixie voice Charlie remembered upon entering the mirrored halls called.

Charlie fixed his 'all but too close to crying' eyes upon the direction of the voice. A familiar face, and voice too. Was he ever relieved!

"Yeah, I met you awhile back. Did you make it to your graduation on time?"

"Sure did. It's all official. I'm filled with enormous pride. I did it."

Charlie peered into the lovely face of the graduation clown who looked unmistakably like a REAL little girl, probably about the same age as he.

"You should be. I can't wait until I go to high school. I didn't get your name before." Charlie asked in the form of a statement.

"Melezza."

"I never heard of that name before. I like it." Charlie smiled so big.

"So, are you on the way to see the nightly show?"

Charlie guessed she was talking about Celeste's show.

"No. I can't attend. I must be leaving."

"OH! You can't miss it. Why ever would you want to leave before the grand finale? Stay completely straightway on this hall; you will run into the stage if you don't stop yourself." The young girl acted as if she had to hurry.

Charlie hated that. He had not met many people, on his journey, he liked so much.

"Are you going to the show?"

"No, that's not my slot. I have other business."

"But, will I ever see you again?" Charlie asked sorrowfully.

"If it's meant to be." She slipped past him, never looking back.

Author's Notes: "thank you, thank you, thank you," cleo85 for the marvelous clown painting. I love it! It's perfect for chapter 18 of The Subject of Desire.