The Ghostwriter's Words

Sara: Respect your Elders

Sara saved the best for last, and there he stood, in his full regalia, a large, muscular, and intimidating man, wearing his studded black bodysuit that molded to his torso, arms, and legs emphasizing his powerful physique. Its intent was to intimidate and inspire terror in his victims and reinforce his own sense of power, control, and superiority. The outfit appeared to be a single piece, exposing only his fingers and genitals. Sara's first impression was leather, but the perfection of its conformity to his body led her to wonder for an instant whether it might not be body paint. Then, as he stepped forward and extended his hand toward her, she saw that her first impression was correct. It was the finest leather but couldn't conform to the same precise flexibility as the living flesh beneath it. The mask stretched tight against his skull. Only his eyes, nose, and mouth were exposed. She also noted the circular patterns of holes covering his ears. Then there were his ridiculous pair of black, studded, heavy-metal rock band boots with four-inch platforms to make him appear even larger and more intimidating.

She knew the man far more intimately than he could imagine. She thought she might know him better than he knew himself. She knew that the inspiration for his mask and outfit were remnants of the recurring childhood nightmare that had surfaced from his subconscious as he'd matured, morphing into the twisted adult fantasies which drove his sick, unrestrained compulsions. He didn't remember the dream itself, only the terror of waking from it, uncertain whether it had only been a dream or if someone or something was standing alongside his bed. The tight bands of terror wound around his chest had prevented him from taking a full breath. His limbs paralyzed with fear; he'd lain unmoving, unable to turn or open his eyes to face the horror his imagination had conjured, terrified that the presence he'd sensed would be real and aware that he was awake.

Sara had replayed that nightmare for herself while gleaning through the repressed memories of childhood abuses that were its origin. She felt empathy for the abused little boy who'd lain in his bed, sick with terror. But, as for the man..., she'd also replayed the final horrendous, nightmarish moments of his victims - those still in possession of their Magick Hats - to the bitter end, the desperate fight for air, intruding darkness, then nothing.

Both were invasions of privacies that Sara had once sworn she would never violate. She'd promised herself she would never step through the backdoors she'd built into the firmware of the Magick Hats she'd designed, except in the most extreme circumstances. But his victims were dead, many of them centuries earlier, and their final memories were mere echoes recorded forever in Virtuality, no longer the sacred contents of living minds. Contrarily the Father's violations of these women were atrocities that she'd concluded invalidated any claim to his right to the privacy of his thoughts and memories.

Sara tried to discern the man's expression beneath his mask from what she could see of his sneering mouth and glaring, intense eyes. It had been centuries, many now, and Sara assumed the man had long forgotten, but she had seen him without his ridiculous mask and outfit on several occasions. She recalled the handsome face and fake smile his fictional persona presented to an unsuspecting world.

All those clandestine Immortality ceremonies for his eventual victims had been private events for himself and them alone. No one was to know about them so that no one would feel slighted and jealous that he hadn't offered them the same. So, there were no official records of these ceremonies to be found. Other than his eventual victims, only he, the Father, had been there to witness and personally administer The Sacrament of Eternal Life, knowing none of the recipients would survive long enough to enjoy that promise of forever.

However, there were records, perhaps the only flaw in the Father's otherwise meticulous evil scheme. These events were archived forever in Virtuality, as experienced, seen, heard, felt, even smelt and tasted, along with the accompanying emotions felt by him and any of his victims still wearing their Magick Hats. If he'd wanted to ensure there'd be no future echoes of these events, he should have thought to remove his Hat and those of his victims. But he hadn't. He'd wanted to retain those for himself to relive again and again. So those echoes also remained for anyone who knew where to look, which Sara did since she'd been the author of key elements of the most recent software releases.