Disclaimer:

This is fan fiction. Though the characters involve real people, this does not recount real events. The rating on this story is NC-17. If you are not 18 years of age, please do not read!

D A R K N E S S I N V I S I B L E

P a r t O n e

© Radiantbaby, 2000

* * *

Vision is the art of seeing things invisible. - Jonathan Swift

Voici mon secret. Il est tres simple:"on ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux"(It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.)

Antoine de Saint-Exupery - from The Little Prince

* * *

I don't know exactly when it happened or most importantly how, but I came to the realization one day that I was invisible.  To clarify, I am not speaking of the figurative sense either, like Ralph Ellison's lead character in Invisible Man.  I mean truly, physically invisible.

It all began last week when I awoke to my wife searching the house for me.  I slowly woke up as her voice rose through the halls, surprised I had slept so late, yet waiting for her to come upstairs and greet me.  She had been out of town the last week on business, having taken her two children with her, and had returned that morning.  She called for me and I answered, but for some reason I quickly found she was unable to hear me, so she called out for me again.  I scrambled from the bed and rushed downstairs to her, thinking perhaps she was playing a game or a joke on me.

When I saw her, I immediately saw that she was frantic. She quickly sent the kids outside while she continued to look for me, or at least some sort of note containing my whereabouts.  "Here I am sweetie, so happy to see you home," I said wearily, stretching my limbs as I walked towards her.

She didn't acknowledge me, laying down her things.  She angrily grabbed her cell phone from her purse and punched the numbers quickly.  "John, I have no idea where you are, I thought we had plans for breakfast.  Please call me when you get this message, I'll have the cell," she said in a sarcastic chipper tone.

But I am here.

She got the kids ready and then left a few minutes later to take the kids to school.  About a half an hour later she returned still looking for me.  She called a few people for leads, but came up empty handed.  "Damn it John, you could have at least told me you were going to be out," she groaned aloud, finally slumping down on the couch.

But I am here!

She might not have even noticed my absence on any other day.  The thing is there are times when I am invisible to her anyway.  Don't get me wrong, I know she loves me, but there are times when she is caught up in the other aspects of her life and career that I fade into the background.  Being "gone" on the day she came back from her trip was very unusual for myself, though.  Ever since our relationship had gotten to the point of inclusion in each other's day-to-day lives, I was always there to welcome her home.  It had become almost routine, even.  She would come home and I would take the kids to school.  She would then be awaiting my return in the bedroom, letting me take the stress from her through a sensual act of making love.

"I am here, silly, do you not see me?" I asked, waving my hand over her unregistering gaze.  "Come on, Gela.  No more games, I am right here," I pleaded desperately.

Now was my turn to panic, the joke wasn't funny anymore and if I were simply dreaming, I was not waking up at all.   I looked over her head across the room to the mirror in the foyer and only saw the reflection of her on the couch and...not me.  I waved at the mirror, but there was simply nothing that was me reflected there.

At first I thought that I might have died and maybe I was some sort of apparition, but how did I die and where was the body?  Besides I would have thought if a death was involved, I would at least remember something.  I reflected on the prior evening and found no answers.  All that came to mind was patting around the house in my underwear, sneaking a bit of chocolate ice cream, and then falling asleep to some movie on the telly.  Nothing remarkable there.

* * *

The next few days were an absolute nightmare.  It began with long waits for me to arrive from my wife -- which resulted in a worried call to the police -- and then her packing up and leaving to stay with family in Texas. She lamented to friend after friend on the phone as to my whereabouts, one moment telling them how angry she would be once she finally was to speak with me, to the next when she would fall to pieces, worried about what might have happened.  It was torturous to watch and even more tortuous as she had to deal with telling Zoë and Travis and then Bean that Daddy had to leave and "do some things out of town."

Then I think that the next worst thing was the news reports. Every channel from the local affiliates to CNN to especially MTV broadcasted pictures of me and phone numbers for the public to call if they had any ideas as to my whereabouts. Of course from what I could gather from what people were saying, the only phone calls that were coming in were from either distraught fans on the verge of suicide or false leads from people seeking their fifteen minutes of fame. So there it was, night after night, Kurt Loder sneering about how “sad” it was that I was missing. I was truly in Hell.

The people then began to arrive one by one at the house; in the beginning it was mainly the Durans. Let in by the harried housekeeper, Simon was the first to come by. He sat alone in the living room as the reporters outside swarmed around the half exposed windows, vying for the perfect “grief” photo opportunity. Simon seemed too consumed with his feelings to even rise and close the curtains, but one of the detectives did for him, annoying the paparazzi and photojournalists. Sadly I was getting more press as a missing person than I had gotten in years. Even the sales of the merchandise on my website had apparently skyrocketed with usual rush of everyone trying to get a piece of you in the midst of a tragedy.

Nick was the next to come, accompanied by Warren. Nick had two bottles of wine in the space of a few hours and Warren simply paced around. Warren flipped through the channels on the telly, second by second, never ceasing until Simon’s voice finally bellowed over the chaos telling him to stop. Also that evening came Roger and Andy, arriving together like Nick and Warren, everyone seeming to naturally pair off except for Simon, the way it always was these days. In the past, Simon would often pair off with me, but since I’d left Duran, he seemed to often be an odd man out. It made him seem that much more alone sitting there on the couch, staring at the wall. Still, I had to almost laugh at the sad irony that this was the first time in many, many years that we had all been together in the same room and none of them even realized it. The tension was certainly in the air with old wounds and ancient arguments, but the circumstances that brought everyone there in the first place remained the main focus despite it all. Most times I would reel in the attention, now it only depressed me.

More police officers came and took statements from everyone, trying to see if I’d perhaps skipped town and one or more of them were in on it. There was obviously no evidence that suggested such, though, and honestly, I had hardly spoken to many of them in such a long time. I think I had spoken to Simon last and that was well over a month ago. The realization of this made me hurt even more. How had so much time passed that some of my oldest, dearest friends had now become strangers to me?

According to statements from my wife, the police verified that all of my belongings were in place, even the travel related items such as my shaving kit and my suitcase. Most importantly, out front, my car sat still parked in the driveway and my keys were lying on my dresser. Had I been abducted then? That was another concern, though there was no evidence of a struggle on the property and detectives combed the neighborhood for any more leads. It seemed to everyone that I had simply just vanished into thin air. Funny thing was, I basically had.

My disappearance quickly made international news and the fans began to flock from all over the world in a vigil outside the house. It was candles all night long and weeping all through the day and was actually pretty moving considering. Sometimes I would just sit with them, wanting to calm them and assure them that I was perfectly fine, just a bit…displaced? My heart would ache just watching them before me -- questioning, mourning. It was painfully obvious the effect that I’d had on their individual lives. I mean it is something I have always been pretty aware of, but never this intensely. As morbid as it sounds, I suppose I had often toyed around with the idea of what reaction would be like when I die. When I was stoned out of my mind I’d often wonder what the headlines might say or if anyone would even care. I suppose I underestimated things.

Then the anger started to set in. I cannot stand the feeling of helplessness and the whole situation had me wallowing, no make that drowning, in it. It is ironic that a secret wish I’d had many times had literally came to fruition. So many times, I just wanted to hide from all the public scrutiny and, in the past, the chaos of fame. That is a lot of the reason I moved to Los Angeles in the first place – it was fame more on my terms. Here no one really takes much notice of me. Actually, that is something that my ex-wife Amanda doesn’t like about this city and she often, because of that, makes the trek back to London to luxuriate in her press coverage there. Still in the supreme comedy of errors that is my life, in my invisible state, I found myself to be the most visible person in Los Angeles! John Taylor was the name on everyone’s lips, from talk shows to coffee house chatter. Wonders never cease.

Anyway, I was angry. I was depressed. I was absolutely, fucking terrified. I walked around my yard for what seemed like hours, cussing and crying, stepping through the pockets of fans, detectives, friends, and passers-by, until I reached a far point of the property. It was a quiet garden area where I often went to just think, meditate, or write. It seemed to be a vacuum as well for when I was upset, leading me out to its solace many a night when I’d be lamenting about the crisis of the week. I stood upon a large rock that I often would sit on and just let out a loud scream -- a primal scream. It was rather gratifying actually, a technique I’d culled from therapy for tension relief (and to say that I was “tense” would have been a great understatement). More importantly than any catharsis, though, was that just afterwards I was startled by a timid voice from behind me, “John?”

I turned quickly on my heels to see its source, seeing a young woman standing there looking at me with a rather confused expression. Her eyes were slightly reddened from recent tears and she grasped tightly to the strap of her purse on her shoulder, obviously nervous.

“Do you…see me?” I gasped.

“Umm…yes,” she replied, looking down and blushing a bit.

It was the first time that I realized, embarrassingly enough, that I was still only clad in the boxers I had worn to bed the night before this all began. I mean, I was able to actually see myself the whole time, but frankly I was a bit too distracted by everything else that was going on to take much notice. I reached up to my chin and neck, feeling the stubble growing there, and found myself now worried a bit about how unkempt I really looked.

“Where have you been?” she stammered, jolting me from the thoughts rushing through my mind. My heart raced, now consumed with excitement that all this drama could now end.

“Right here, luv.”

I hopped down from the rock, moving to hug this poor fan in my excitement. When I reached for her though, my arms passed right through her. The two of us gasped in shock. “Oh my God,” I groaned, holding my stomach as I immediately started to feel nauseous.

“What just happened?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I don’t know anymore,” I whined, feeling the tears build again, trying to repress the rising sobs in my throat.

She slowly reached for me, her hands passing though my arm. She looked at her hand quizzically, “Are you…dead?” she gasped.

I sat down wearily on the rock, my hand on my forehead. “I…I don’t think so. I mean, I would know, wouldn’t I?” I whispered, closing my eyes tightly.

She sat down next to me, replying, “I would think so, but then I have never been in this sort of situation before. Do you remember anything that might have caused this?”

“No…I just woke up the other day and no one could see or hear me anymore. You are the first person that has seen me in days, I wonder if you are the only one…” I trailed off, rising and walking back towards the crowds on my lawn.

The girl followed behind me with reticence, but I was happy to have her behind me. She gave me solidity in this world of mystery I had dropped into. I held my breath, waiting to see the ecstatic expressions on everyone’s faces and the cameras snapping dozens of photos. Who cared if no one could touch me? At least they could now see me, maybe they would be able to touch me soon, too.

“Hey there, Christie,” one girl looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

“Hey,” the girl behind me - Christie - replied.

I turned around and Christie looked at me confused, biting her lip. I leaned over the girl that was sitting, waving my hand in front of her face. She didn’t even blink.

“She can’t see me…they can’t see me!” I yelled, waving my hand to emphasize the group of kids sitting on the grounds who were completely unaware of my presence.

“I don’t know why,” she mumbled, looking at the ground, flinching a bit from my anger.

“Hmm? What did you say?” the girl who was seated asked Christie.

“Umm…I just said…I think I am gonna cry,” she replied quickly.

“Oh, sweetie, I know, we are all upset,” the girl assured her.

“I think I need to take a walk,” Christie said to her, walking back towards where we’d just come from, presumably where we could get some privacy.

“Where are you going?” I asked, following her.

“I just want to go somewhere where they don’t think I am looney for talking to an…apparition of John Taylor,” she whispered.

“Oh,” I answered, sitting down with her on a swing out of sight from everyone.

I just sat there quietly for a few minutes, burying my face in my hands. What else could I do or say? Every thing that I knew my life was I found passing slowly through my grasp and I didn’t know how far it was going to go before I would finally lose myself completely. Also, speaking of grasping, how was I able to grasp a doorknob and open a door or, for that matter, even sit on a rock or swing, yet be unable to simply touch somebody?

I pulled my hands from my face, raking my hand through my hair and looked over at my companion, Christie. “So, it’s Christie, is it? Don’t you live in San Diego?” I asked softly, trying to make light of the situation with small talk.

She laughed a little, “Well, I have been in San Diego to see you live, but I am from somewhere else, actually.”

“Oh…okay,” I replied, knowing I’d seen her before from somewhere, but also caught up in the memories of all the faces I’d seen, all running together in my head like some sort of collage.

It’s funny I suppose, I should remember more of them -- the fans, I mean. The way they follow me from city to city, always there like some sort of security blanket. It is a rather interesting dynamic when this large group of people knows you, yet you do not know them. Some of them stand out though, but even those few sometimes seem like strangers to me. Still, this stranger beside me would now have to become more to me. I needed someone to confide in or I was going to go absolutely insane.

I reached my hand out slowly to attempt to touch Christie’s arm, but, alas, it passed right through again. “Damn, I just don’t understand! If I can’t touch you, why am I able to touch anything at all? See, this chain? I am touching it,” I groaned, grabbing onto the chain of the swing.

“I don’t know, maybe you are trying too hard, or on the other hand, maybe you need to concentrate. It could all be in the perspective. You expect to touch the chain, sit on a swing, etc. -- but perhaps a part of you doesn’t believe that you can touch people,” she offered.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” I mumbled.

I looked at my hand quizzically. It certainly didn’t look any different, but then again, I didn’t feel different at all. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to remember what the feel of another’s skin was like, trying to just remember what it was like to touch someone. I slowly moved my hand back towards her arm and…passed right through it again. “Fuck!” I bellowed, clenching my hand into a fist.

“Maybe it will take time,” she offered, softly, trying to ease my anger.

“I don’t have time, I need things to get back to normal! I don’t know what is going on, but I want it to end, dammit! I want it to end!” I said, grabbing onto her arm in desperation.

I think it took us both a moment to realize that I was actually touching her and actually once we both did, my hand slipped through her again, now transparent as it had been. We both looked at each other, filled with shock, surprise, and joy. It was a hollow victory though. I couldn’t touch her again as I kept trying, but that one touch gave me hope. Perhaps the nightmare would be over sooner than it seemed.

* * *

“I should probably go, I am sure that my friends are getting worried about me. I just need to get back to them. Don’t worry, we are just camped out in the yard like everyone else,” she finally said after what seemed like ages of silence.

The sun was beginning to set and the excitement around the property was easing up, only to re-ignite the next day as it had every other day. “Please, come and talk with me tomorrow,” I whispered urgently.

“I promise I will,” she replied with a sweet smile.

I walked her back over to her friends who were, as she had feared, worried about her welfare. “Hey girl, we thought you’d gone missing as well!” one of them chirped.

“No…I just needed some time alone,” she replied.

“Good night, Christie,” I whispered.

She nodded slightly in my direction, so minimal that only I would have noticed. Good night.

* * *

I went back inside the house, slipping in behind a police officer as to not arouse any fear by opening the door on my own. The atmosphere was just as sullen as it had been when I’d left it, quickly reminding me why I had left to go out in the first place. The grief in the room hung like a heavy blanket, covering everyone and everything.

They all had waited, every one of them. I must admit I was a bit surprised. All of them had been at an arm’s length for the last few years, always being as pleasant as publicly expected, but still a bit false at times. I suppose I am just as guilty of it, but frankly it is difficult to not put on airs when the world expects you to be a certain way. Nick and I friends forever? Sure. Simon over at my house for dinner regularly? Whatever you say. Sadly things are not so picture perfect and many times, in the middle of the night, I feel as though I am the loneliest man in the world.

Nick had his head against a pillow on the arm of the couch, his eyes heavy lidded with weariness, drunkenness, or most likely a combination of both. Simon was in his cell phone, seeming to be speaking with his children, evident in the dulcet tone of his voice and the way his eyes sparkled just so. I was proven correct when he covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Roger that Saffie had drawn up a “missing persons” poster of me with her crayons and posted it on their front door. I was moved to tears.

Roger just sat flipping idly through a magazine, stolid as ever on the exterior, though his eyes conveyed his fear and concern. He seemed to, just like old times, anchor everyone in the room, as if everyone was on the brink of hysteria, but his presence kept it just bubbling beneath the surface. Andy and Warren shared a stifled conversation about technical guitar bullshit, neither of them letting themselves get too emotional about everything – Andy with the “short man” syndrome and Warren with his “muscle man” syndrome.

I sat with them for a while until each of them finally succumbed to sleep. I glanced at the clock, my eyes oddly able to see clearly without any visual aid. It was 4:30 in the morning. Years ago, when we’d all be together, we would still be awake at this time – usually well drunk or high, of course. Nowadays I am lucky to stay up later than midnight. Yes, early to bed, early to rise makes Johnny a happy boy…or something like that. In the low light of the room, I looked at the photographs on the mantle – my wife, my children, my parents. All of them seemed to be of another world now. It seemed that just when I was starting to get that whole family thing right, something had pushed it further from my reach.

I walked outside, opening the door as quietly as possible as to not wake or startle anyone. Outside the soft air of the cool Californian evening swirled around me, and the moonlight bathed the grounds, full of tents and sleeping bags, and the wind was full of the soft sounds of the breathing of all at rest. I slowly made my way over to see my new friend. She was in a semi-opened tent with three friends, barely stirring in a deep sleep. I sat down on the grass just outside her tent and watched her for a bit. A part of me was hoping that she would wake up. I know it was a bit selfish, but I was retreating more and more into myself and I needed somebody to pull me back to Earth before falling into oblivion.

It had always been that way, I suppose. It probably started as a child, when I would just sit in the corner of my bed and retreat from all my insecurities. It was safe deep inside myself, but even then I knew that it wasn’t entirely healthy. Still, I created my own little world in which to retreat into, a world that was later magnified by drugs and alcohol. The funny thing with celebrity is that oftentimes the public thinks of you as pretty well adjusted when it comes down to it all. Not to say that the public doesn’t usually see the vices – actually they often revel in them, keeping tell-all biographies flying off the shelves at bookstores – but lots of times they don’t see the insecurities. I, for one, am absolutely riddled with them, especially my shyness. That is what made me more prone to introvert and made me have to seek out alternatives.

Music was my first ally, pulling me out of the coma of my mind. It was safe, too, at least in the sense of playing and listening to it. I suppose that is why in some ways I decided to make it my life. Of course in my naiveté I didn’t see that was just the half of it. Obviously there is more to the music business than music.

“John?” I heard her whisper.

I opened my eyes, wiping the tears from them. “Oh God, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just…I was just lonely,” I whispered back.

She unzipped her sleeping bag, crawling out of the tent. “Come on,” she whispered.

We walked quietly through the yard, until we were away from everyone again. I sat down on the ground, twirling the blades of grass between my fingers. “I really am sorry, I feel awful for waking you. I just can’t sleep, my heart is racing and my mind is racing. I can’t even calm myself,” I apologized.

She sat next to me, clad in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. It made me feel a bit more comfortable with my obvious lack of attire. “Ssh, it is alright. You obviously have a lot of your mind,” she soothed.

“I just keep thinking that this is all just a dream and I am going to wake up, but I just won’t, you know? And this morning, I woke up invisible, what if I go to sleep and something worse happens this time? What if I just cease to exist or something?” I questioned, stricken with worry.

She sighed, “I don’t know, John. I am sure no one knows for sure, but the fact is you have to get some rest whether you are invisible or not. You can think more clearly when you are rested and perhaps once you get to that point, maybe you might be able to figure out what has happened.”

“And what if I don’t? I suppose you could sell the story to the Enquirer or something. ‘Invisible Rock Star Cursed to Walk the Earth Forever’ or some other nonsense,” I groaned. “Christie, I just want things to be normal again.”

“I know, John. I know.”

We both lay back against the grass, staring up into the sky. The smog of the city inhibited any real star gazing, but just lying there helped calm me. I don’t know how long we were there, I just remember finding it amusing that I was with someone for so long and not speaking. Still, it felt the most natural and I let the silence of the night wash over me. I was beginning to become sleepy finally, the exhaustion of the day finally taking its hold. I began to thank Christie for being there for me when I heard light labored breaths beside me and looked to see that Christie had fallen asleep beside me.

“Christie, luv, wake up. You should go to sleep in your tent,” I whispered softly in her ear.

She sat up slowly, wiping her eyes a bit, and then got up, almost as if in a trance, and walked back to where her friends were asleep. I followed behind her quietly to make sure that she made it back all right and then made my way quietly back into my house.

The only sounds inside were the ticking of an old clock downstairs and I felt as if I were walking in time with it up the stairs to my bedroom. There was yellow police crime scene tape throughout the room and around the bed, but I simply stepped around it, curling up on my bed. The last thoughts I had were wishes for the nightmare to end, but it was when I fell asleep that the nightmares really began.

* * *

I have always been a bit prone to nightmares, I suppose. Ever since I was a boy, I would wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. My Ma would always come rushing in with a moist towel and wipe off my face and hold my shivering body until I fell back asleep. She was always my anchor in those frightened moments, her soft heartbeat calming my own fast one. I remember that she would always hold me to her and stroke the nape of my neck to ease the tension of my weeping. It always worked without fail. Even years later I would try to get a girlfriend to do the same, it just never calmed me like she did.

This night was not unlike those, except I was left all alone to fight my demons. Over the years, the dreams had seemed to intensify with my past drug use, to the point where I would find myself doing more and more cocaine to stay awake and escape them. I got sober about four years ago, but unfortunately, the nightmares continued to be strong.

In this dream, as in my waking hours, I was invisible. It wasn’t a new feeling actually, taking me back to the halls of school, where I had always felt invisible. If the kids in the school noticed me, it was usually negative, causing me to run home with broken lenses on my glasses, a bloody nose, or just crying. It made me sink more and more into the background to protect myself, something I tried to use later in my adult life, but hiding from the public eye isn’t always so easy.

The dream actually began in my past, as I walked across the grounds of my grammar school. Children ran all around me, not noticing me at all as I approached the building. Once inside, I gasped a bit as the people in the halls were indeed the same people whom I had gone to school with, many of which I hadn’t thought of for many years. What surprised me most though, was the familiar laughter of my own daughter filling the hall. I looked through the crowd to see my daughter on the shoulders of a young teenage girl, a girl whom I had been greatly obsessed with when I was young, Sasha. I slowly approached them, calling out for my daughter Atlanta, but neither of them acknowledged my presence.

I got right up to them and they still did not see or her me. I began to yell, like I had done earlier when I was awake to try and be heard but there was still nothing. One of the boys around them, poked at them, asking, “You seen, Nigel?”

“Why would you ask me that?” Sasha replied.

“Seems to follow you around like a dog that one,” he chuckled, walking away.

“Well, he is a silly boy, that one, a silly boy!” she called out after him.

“Silly boy,” Atlanta echoed, with a giggle.

My heart sank. “Bean, time for dinner!” I heard my wife Gela’s voice from the end of the hallway.

I saw her standing in the doorway as Sasha let Atlanta down and she went running towards her. “My name is Atlanta!” she whined.

I ran after her, following them through the door into a room that was the kitchen of my house. In the kitchen, Gela was setting the table for dinner, the chair that I usually occupy blatantly empty. They all ate quietly until Travis asked when I was coming home.

“We don’t know, honey. It has been months,” Gela replied sadly.

“But I am here!” I cried, slamming my hands down on the table.

All of them looked around, seemingly shaken by the loud slam on the surface of the table, and then went back to eating as if nothing had happened. “Listen to me, I am alive and I am here!” I screamed.

None of them reacted.

I ran over and slammed the kitchen door. All of them looked over towards it, but again resumed eating unfettered. I began to tear apart the kitchen, screaming and crying, until I woke myself up. I shrieked loudly, tossing in the bed as the bright morning light burned my eyes. Police officers made their way around me, crawling over me trying to take notes. It frightened me even more than the dream, here I was screaming at the top of my lungs and the scene went on around me as if I didn’t exist. What was worse though, was that I had woken up to a new day still invisible.

I laid back, trying to calm myself, shutting my eyes to the murmurs filling the room. Christie. Thoughts of the fan I had met the day before flowed over me. She calmed me, even when she wasn’t present. I let myself fall back into the oblivion of sleep, this time thinking of Christie. I imagined myself going back outside to search for her. I finally found her at a nearby friend’s house taking a shower. I moved quietly through the house, still unseen by everyone, and found myself upstairs in the bathroom. I could see her washing her hair through the glass doors of the shower and I just stood there, waiting for her to finish.

I tried to divert my attention from her nudity and simply gazed at the patterns on the floor tiles. She finished her shower and came out. I was worried that I was going to startle her with my presence so I tried to adopt as innocent a look as I could and turned my back to her for privacy. I waited a few moments for her to acknowledge me. When she did not, I finally said, “I know that it is rude of me to be here, I just needed some company. See, I had this terrible nightmare and I just got a bit shaken up…”

She still did not acknowledge me, so I turned around. She was just there drying herself off, completely oblivious to me. “Christie? Christie, can you hear me?” I asked, now becoming a bit panicked.

She continued along as if I hadn’t even spoken. My heart began to race as I rushed over to her and tried to touch her. The strange thing was that I was able to! She jumped for a moment as I grabbed her arm, but quickly eased up, asking, “John?”

I tried to answer, but she still couldn’t hear me. I walked over to the mirror, still fogged up by the steam, and wrote, “I am here.”

She gasped, “Why can’t I see or hear you?”

I exhaled on the mirror to fog it up again, so that I could continue to write. “I don’t know, I am scared,” I wrote this time.

“But you can touch me?” she asked.

I walked back to her and brushed my palm against her cheek and she shivered slightly. I stood before her, taking in her beautiful nudity, finding myself compelled to touch her again. I stroked my hand through her hair and a soft moan escaped her lips. I felt my groin stir and almost as if in a trance, I leaned in to press my mouth against hers. The kiss was electric, a latent desire for her rushing through me as if a current. It was strange, I’ll admit, especially glancing past her in the mirror and only seeing her and not me in the kiss. I slid my hands over her body, caressing her soft skin, resting them finally on her breasts. She moaned against my mouth and I awoke with a start.

I sat up and looked around me to see the people still milling around me, taking notes with their mini-cassette recorders, still completely oblivious of me on the bed. My heart was beating madly in my chest and I could feel the flush of embarrassment and a hint of shame warming my whole body over the erotic dream I was having. My cock throbbed achingly against the soft material of my boxers, urging me to touch myself for relief from the heady desire pulsing through me.

There was something entirely bizarre about masturbating in front of a group of about ten detectives without them even having the slightest clue as to what was happening on the bed in which they were checking for evidence of my “disappearance.” Honestly, I thought I’d experienced about everything when it came to such situations, leading to an almost boredom over the last few years. I was certainly wrong. I let myself fall prey to the situation at hand (pun unfortunately intended), to the strange eroticism of it all. Flashes of my dream entered my thoughts as I stroked myself and I tried to will them away as they made me feel a bit guilty. It was no use though and my orgasm came quickly, leading me to call out as the intensity of it surged through my body. Still, everyone milled around me, unaware.

N A V I G A T I O N :

Continue onto Darkness Invisible: Part Two?

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