Chapter 1: In Your Eyes
“I want to touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes” –Peter Gabriel
Dreaming through the eyes of another man, Alec found himself standing on a creaky platform stage located on the fifty-yard line of a stadium in the Underground City. The platform squeaking loudly enough with every step for him to notice it over the constant snarl emanating from three hundred and sixty degrees of public seating. He was overly self-conscious in his wingtips and suit; terrified his noises might be noticed by the others around him, he tried to shift his weight as little as possible to prevent any further disturbances. Though the ten others onstage with him were not present to judge him (the judges were situated in front and seated slightly below the stage) his utter discomfort of being noticed by any of them was still overpowering enough to claim his attention from the masses demanding the final result of this night’s competition. He listened for any cues, or admissions, or sounds to come from the other gentlemen in his company, nothing could breach the deafening roar from the stands. Alec found himself fighting to raise his heart from the deepest recesses of his chest, but he failed miserably because the force of the furiously impatient audience drove his hopes deeper into him than they had been when he had first slowly scuttled up the ramp from the grass to his elevated placement.
Horrified of his position, Alec forgot all memory of this being his hometown audience. He had been one of the spectators surrounding the field on many different occasions, usually watching a sports match—maybe soccer, maybe football. He would cheer for those within the wide oval of the field. Tonight had nothing to do with sports. The dream in Alec’s mind occurred years ago, when the hero Jonathan Skye was selected from a multitude of candidates, and this specific moment was only a few seconds before the final ranking was to be announced. Alec vividly remembered the glaring floodlights saturating the stage with brilliant illumination and oppressive heat. He remembered the pathetic floral arrangements of daffodils, chrysanthemums, and lilacs meticulously spaced in key locations to focus all attention inward to the contestants of the world’s most important competition; even the greasy, time-stealing announcer presented himself as a lucid memory as he walked around the stage vigorously gripping his mini-microphone as if it fed a life-sustaining, intravenous drip into his bloodstream. He pranced wildly around the stage, attempting in vain to filch attention away from the contestants, but there was a single-minded purpose to the throng of drunkards, worriers, and others standing and shouting to the people below.
All involved had sat calmly through the previous stages, the preliminary social tests, the swimsuit contest, the formal dress competition, the relays and sprints, public popularity core groups, and the impromptu question and answer period. Now, all of those troubles were behind these eleven finalists, and the terminal moment of this suspense was unhurriedly approaching, stalled to make sure the sponsors get their final words in before the public had a result and would summarily lose attentiveness. Cameras moved in and out to give one last facial and physical analysis of the men on the platform to the waiting populace, just enough time for each invested brand to pop their name in every broadcast available or affordable.
Alec adjusted his suit, making sure to maintain the visibility of the logo his corporate sponsor had provided him. Removing a brightly colored handkerchief, he wiped his brow with the logo of a rich software company. Again, looking at his competition, Alec noticed the angel-eyed man to his left doing exactly the same thing, perhaps for the same reason. Alec’s family was now financially secure for whatever remained of their lives. He silently hated himself for resorting to such cheap measures for money, millions of dollars to have a small logo planted on his lapel, and another million for simply using a handkerchief when his forehead became sweaty. Alec knew elsewhere someone was falling asleep without dinner and knowledge of the events transpiring this night because they lacked the funds to access food and information. His brothers and sisters would never have to work in their lives, and his parents could finally quit their jobs and simply follow the dreams they had created when they were still children. All of these things could occur because he was willing to stand in a stadium and wait. Alec felt disgust crawl into his throat and replace the sensation of his heart pulling him down into himself.
The commercial break ultimately ending after a few brief millennia, the announcer began the well-planned speech leading to his announcement. Leaning outward from the stage and swinging from a strategically placed brass pole, in his annoyingly smarmy voice the announcer spoke: “Welcome back everyone, I’m sure you are already anxious, but let me say first that being your host tonight has been the greatest event I have ever participated in. For several years I have been a comedian, but tonight you allowed me into your homes and into your hearts because you knew the historical importance of what we do tonight. The decisions made by our panel of judges [the judges wave at the cameras with this] have been extremely difficult, but I think they have chosen the best candidate.”
He paused for a moment. Alec was certain of the pause, it wasn’t for breath and it certainly was not unintentional, for he knew at that moment every bookie in the country was announcing final placement of bets and the announcer was probably pandering to such interests. The announcer paused for only a moment, but every millisecond he burned was expensive, and the event’s producer was bleeding green in the order of millions of dollars every second, like a fire hydrant opened and allowing water to surge out uncontrolled into the street. Alec counted five seconds of silence, although it may have been considerably shorter because time seemed to be struggling through stasis. Adrenaline seized the brain of the announcer and he had to battle his own jaw to return to his lovely speech: “Our contestants have seen every conceivable test just to be before you at this moment—every one of them is truly a winner for making it this far. All these men standing on the platform before you have earned the right to be the world’s hero, but we can unfortunately only assign the task of finding the Indigo Rose to one man among them. So, wouldn’t you love to find out which one?”
Actually, they wanted to kill him, kill the announcer for every moment they had to sit and wait any longer, kill him and take his little white envelope with red sealing wax across the back. Alec wanted to kill him, as did every man on stage. The event’s producer wanted to kill him and take every wasted penny out of his hide. The sponsors loved him. They wanted to give birth to his children. They loved every second they could have a logo on one of the television cameras, and in the privacy of their offices many Chief Executive Officers were quietly adjusting their pants, fingering the contracts they had made with the announcer to stall as much as he could, and smugly congratulating their own brilliance.
The scoreboard dropped its pale lights for a moment and went black in anticipation for the naming of the world’s hero. The announcer slowly picked apart the wax seal and opened the envelope. He fumbled while unfolding the paper once contained within the envelope, and allowed it to fall to the floor of the stage. Immediately, many members of the stage crew rushed forward in the off chance they might know the selection made by the judges slightly earlier than everyone who would have to hear the opinion of the judges from the mouth of the announcer. They met with stiff resistance from armed security guards, and they returned to where they had come from as the announcer slowly bent down to grasp the slip of paper and the CEOs reached the pinnacle of their excitement. The announcer returned to the microphone. “It is the opinion of the judging panel,” he said slowly and dramatically as if his presentation was as important as the content he would convey, “that the quest for the Indigo Rose should be undertaken by…”
Small arms fire rang out from the audience as a fanatic attempted to make a name for himself in the midst of such tension. He wanted to have his name known to the whole world, to be somebody, but his hopes were dashed as half-crazed audience members encircled him and shattered his body in their rage. The previously contented CEOs choked in unison as the cameras swung around toward the pocket of unrest caused by gunshots, but when the cameras turned back around, as the unknown assailant could not be found in the angry writhing mass, a good mood returned to the rich who stood to get richer. The announcer pushed his security crew away from him as he slowly returned to his feet, stepping over the poor guard who found himself in the line of fire, and coincidentally on television for his first and only time—an achievement his family would celebrate posthumously.
“Sorry about that,” the shaking announcer spurted as if such things were his to apologize for. He began again, “It is the opinion of the judging panel, that the man who will undergo the quest to find the Indigo Rose and rescue all of us from the encroaching Midas Storm is Mr. Jonathan Skye.”
Silence, as ten souls leaked through ten pairs of thoroughly polished wingtips and pained expressions transposed ten previously hopeful and pensive faces. Silence, as the billions of people tuned into one program on thirty different channels slowly grasped the magnitude of what they had witnessed. Silence, as another billion people slept cold and hungry with no conception of how their universe had been placed in the hands of one blonde haired pretty boy with fantastic luck. Alec beamed with pride, tonight he dreamed he was that blonde haired pretty boy, and tonight was his night to shine—at least, until he woke up.
to chapter two
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