Jezebel's Ladder

By Scott Rhine

Amazon Edition

Copyright 2011 Scott Rhine

On the cover:
The
Origamido Butterfly
is design used with permission from Michael G. Lafosse,
and appears in
Advanced Origami, An Artist’s Guide to Performances in Paper
,
Tuttle Publishing, Vermont, 2005.

NOTE:
Approximately 13 chapters of this novel were
e-published previously as the novella
The
Icarus Transformation

DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. Corporations, places, and characters depicted
herein are imaginary and for entertainment purposes only. Any similarity to
real companies, places, or people is coincidental.

To my wife, Tammy, who is
one of the many strong, capable women in my life.

To my son, Pierce, who
helped with the origami.

To my daughter Emily,
who sacrificed valuable play time with me this summer.

Thanks, also, to Katy
Sozaeva, Weston Kincade, DJ Feldmeyer, and Coral Russell for the edits and
proof-reading.

Cover art by
http://www.thecovercounts.com

Jezebel Johnson hadn’t hit rock bottom yet. By 2:00 a.m.,
she couldn’t remember the day of the week. She was stuck in Yesterday, her
second favorite bar, because she had bounced a check in her usual place, and
couldn’t go back. Jez sat next to the speakers so she could feel the beat in
her chest. The pounding music also kept conversation to a minimum. The last
ounce of her Screwdriver had been bitter, but she stared at the empty glass,
wishing for more.

It had taken her five years to work
up from showgirl to magician’s assistant, and another year to work up to The
Amazing Chance’s fiancée. For a few years, they’d had an apartment and a good
life. He’d been a rising star. However, her comfortable home had vanished in a
flash when The Amazing Chance was killed in a car-jacking. Since he’d forgotten
to change his will, their joint condo, bank account, and magic show had all
gone to his greedy sister, Olive. Months later, Jezebel had nothing left of him
except the gold, origami butterfly around her neck.

But she could still rely on her
toned legs and shoulder-length, ginger-blonde hair. When she wore her short,
red dress for a night of forgetting, she never had to pay. It wasn’t long
before the bartender said, “The two guys at the end of the bar want to buy you
a drink.”

She knew she could go home with any
man there, or even the bartender, if she requested a Screaming Orgasm in her
husky voice. The two men wore tan hunting vests and cowboy boots. Their idea of
a good time was probably sex in the back of the truck with the strapped-down
deer watching.

“Long Island Iced Tea,” she said to
the bartender, waving to the hunters with a forced smile. She could nurse it
for a long time, and it even had a little water and vitamin C in it. Maybe the
headache wouldn’t be so bad tomorrow.

The pale, round-faced,
sixteen-year-old boy to her right muttered, “Lady, you need to stop drinking
and get out of here while you still can.”

“Mind your own business,” she
snapped. She jabbed her thumb toward the boy and said to the bartender, “I
thought you were supposed to keep kids like this out.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow as
he slid the tall drink to her.

When Jez looked again, the kid had
vanished. She felt a wave of dizziness. Damn, that usually didn’t happen till
at least three in the morning. Since somebody was already snorting lines in the
ladies’ room, she decided to step out back for some fresh air.

The sudden silence after the
overpowering music felt liberating. The disadvantage to standing on the loading
dock was the noxious smell coming from the open dumpster below her: the
unwanted parts of the all-you-can-eat buffet, fish heads, onions, and rancid
sour cream that had been in the heat all week, garnished with cigarette butts
and beer-soaked napkins.

The kid appeared at her left elbow
again, making her heart run like a startled rabbit. He looked innocent, with a
mop of sandy-brown hair that hadn’t seen a brush in days. He wore a gray,
chamois shirt, and waved his hands in the air as he hissed, “Run! Get out of
here. Those guys dressed like hunters are coming after you.”

The nearest exit from this alley
was three buildings away, and the route was riddled with heel-snapping chuck
holes and rats. The guys buying her drinks had looked like thick-neck morons
but weren’t scary enough to risk needing a tetanus shot. As she started to
object, the boy disappeared. To herself, she said, “It’s either blackouts or
hallucinations; neither one is good.”

Without a sound, the boy reappeared
on her other side. If she concentrated, she could see moonlight through his
form. The shock of the ghostly apparition caused her to drop her purse. She
stared down as the purse bounced off the cement into the open trash container. “Oh,
this can’t get any worse.”

Impatient, the kid shouted, “They’ve
got guns, and they’re going to rape you before they kill you. Hurry!”

Holding her nose, she hopped into
the dumpster on top of some nasty, stained carpeting. When the heel snapped off
her right, candy-apple-red shoe, she decided to use the tragedy for
misdirection. After throwing the broken shoe down the middle of the alley, she
pulled the dumpster lid shut over herself.

Jez heard the blast of music as the
men came out the back and let the back door close again. Next, a nearby gun
made a distinctive click as someone slid a round into its chamber. She held her
breath. A calm, male voice with a Texas drawl said, “She took off that way. You
try to catch her while I get the car.”

Footsteps pounded down the cement
steps and away. Then, she heard a burst of static before the Texan spoke again,
“Control, target is in the wind. Send a unit to her apartment for pickup.”

Between the stress, the smell, and
her alcohol intake, her stomach was on a rollercoaster. The moment she heard
the man go back into the bar, she threw up, worrying that everyone on the Strip
could hear her. As soon as Jezebel was able, she climbed out of the dumpster,
shaking. Her left shoe came off, stuck in something disgusting, so she left it
in the trash.
At least I still have my purse
, she thought wryly, wiping
a brown lettuce leaf off her shoulder.

Down the right side of the alley,
the transparent teenager beckoned to her. She ran, ignoring protests from her
bare feet. Every time she got close to him, he would vanish and reappear a
short distance further. Jez felt like she was in a bizarre dream sequence. Once
on the main drag, he flickered over to a shiny, new, chrome-plated bus that
looked like the home for a rock band, and pointed to the door. Then, her guide
was gone.

Jezebel fumbled open the door and
closed it behind her. Desperate for a weapon of some kind, she grabbed a small
fire extinguisher from behind the driver’s seat. She crouched behind the two
rows of royal-blue seats, waiting for her breathing to slow and for any
evidence of her pursuers.

After a few minutes, she heard
rustling from the back area. Jez clenched her makeshift club and peeked through
the curtain into the main cabin. She saw computer terminals, a big-screen TV, a
sound system, two sets of bunk beds, and the kid who had helped her in the
alley. He was dressed in the same gray, long-sleeved shirt over a heavy-metal
band t-shirt, and blue-flannel pajama bottoms. However, this time he was
definitely solid and sitting in a wheelchair. Electrical cables dangled from his
forehead like dreadlocks, causing jittery sine waves to dance on one of the
monitors.

The absurdity of the pajamas put
her at ease a little. She set the fire extinguisher on the black, rubber floor
and held out her hand tentatively. “I’m Jezebel. Thanks, I think.”

The teen smiled. After peeling off
the last electrode lead, he reached out as well. Seeing the amount of garbage
still clinging to her arms and dress, he hesitated. “I’m Daniel… crap, I mean
Oobie. Pretend you didn’t hear me say that.” He sounded more nervous and nasal
in person. There were also traces of a struggle with weight gain in his face
that she hadn’t seen before. He threw her a hand towel from a pouch on the side
of his wheelchair.

Grateful for the towel, she started
to clean slime from her hands and face. “Thanks again. Now, what the hell is
going on here?” she whispered, afraid the thugs outside might hear her.

“I can’t tell you,” Daniel said,
biting his lower lip.

Desperate, she struggled to find
some way to extract an explanation. “Where are your parents? Maybe they could
help me.”

He rubbed his head, thinking. “I
have guards, but I sort of sent them out on a burrito run. Bad timing.” Then,
an idea lit up his face, and he raised a forefinger. “I have something that
will clear everything up.”

Daniel rolled his chair over to the
work desk and opened a small safe with his thumbprint. He pulled out a sheet of
paper the same width as normal stationery, but a quarter the length. It had
gold threads and shimmered in the dim light from the desk lamp as he slid it toward
her.

Cautiously, Jez took the page from
the desktop. The black letters flickered a little at first, but then became
perfectly clear.

The Collective Unconscious, the Union of Souls:

We all come from the same
over-world and will return there someday. Someone once said, if we closed our
eyes at the same time, we’d see the same thing. That’s close. We do all go to
the same plane, but with different locations and with different points of view.
This multiplicity is important when defining or triangulating upon a higher
truth.

Theta state is necessary for…

Jezebel felt her eyes roll back in
her head as the dream state swept over her. She fell to the rubber mat,
unconscious.