15 Minutes Past Sagittarius

There were no windows which opened to the outside world anywhere in the prison, yet even there one could sense that the sun was setting. It wasn’t as easy to block the sounds of the outside community, too, but the warden covered them with elevator music, playing interminably throughout the sterile halls. Intentionally so or not, the hollow music also served to dilute the passions of the inmates. It was the evening prior to Jacob’s execution. This was a twenty first century city, governed by a benevolent aristocracy, and Anna and Brian were there to see to the proper performance of the customs and rituals of the event.

 Brian was Prince of the City. His office was all but fulfilled, his lieutenants having identified, captured, convicted, and imprisoned the monster Jacob; only the execution itself remained. Princess Anna had an equally important function to perform in her capacity as High Priestess. The condemned were offered a last taste of relative freedom and a few hours of normal human experience - as much as could be obtained within the confines of the prison grounds. Indeed, Anna probably originated this tradition; the unity she brought to the city would have been less genuine if it didn’t extend even to death row, and such was the depth of her vision that even the most heinous of human monsters could find no darkness to shield them from her loving gaze.

Whatever the custom’s origin, the damned were indulged their liberty by the temporary transfer of their spirit into another body, and such a thing could only be accomplished with the presence of the Priestess as catalyst. It was more than trivial symbolism that, just as a corrupt soul could be transferred to a healthy host, even so barbaric a thing as an execution could be given a humane skin. The officials and the representatives of the community and the media gathered in the lounge adjacent to the warden’s office before going to meet Jacob for the rituals. The forms of routine were there, but tension betrayed the city’s need for reassurance that the monster had in fact been destroyed.

Brian remarked to Anna, “We’ve never had anyone like Jacob here before. Do you really think the transfer is appropriate for him - I just don’t believe there’s anything human about him at all. It seems too risky.”

Anna answered, “If we don’t reach out to everyone, it’s a little less sincere when we extend to anyone. It’s not ours to judge whether our efforts do or even could bring any good results for another soul.”

 Brian observed that the golden aura about her face gave her a remoteness akin to the Sun - seemingly small in the distance, and yet her light defined everything in the room. Even her eyes were of so transparent a Mediterranean blue that it didn’t always occur to one that they had sight - unless they were caught directly in her gaze and found themselves within the clear depths. The group proceeded solemnly to Jacob’s cell.

Jacob was a serial killer. He wasn’t the ordinary murderer - someone who’s character was weaker than his passions. He wasn’t even the ordinary serial killer. The profile of such monsters is that they’ve sustained some great injury to their psyche, resulting in an emptiness which craves satiation with human blood. They feel a profound lack of intimacy with others, and some demon within them translates that into an issue of Power - never mind that intimacy is of the essence of Beauty. Such wretched souls usually carry some shreds of a normal psyche; it’s voice is too weak to confront their demon directly, but will find some way to signal others - help the police - to recognize their devil and stop him. Jacob didn’t fit the profile. In his late thirties, at first glance one would take him perhaps as a member of some academic community. He had that look of a researcher. In another time he might have found his way into an administrative role at a concentration camp, where he could conduct his experiments of terror on a helpless population. His was no perversion of the beast, but rather of an intellect too abstract, too detached to appreciate any distinction between the hypothetical and the lived experience of his victims. If one found grounds in his particular fascination with doom and dread to speculate that there had indeed been some ancient horror done to a child Jacob, the rational machine which thus developed in compensation was in complete command of the adult psyche.

 And there was only the most remote chance that some fragment of common humanity within him set the wheels in motion for his identification. More likely, he simply got careless, choosing at last a subject with whom he could be connected. Jacob had been administrator at a health club. He’d also taught a yoga class there. In that capacity he’d selected his last target - to all appearances, a healthy, sincere young woman. Master at psychic manipulation, he’d used her fantasies about yoga masters to first tear down her self esteem and then make her utterly dependent upon him to reshape her. With cult-like logic, he’d brought her to willingly participate in a satanic ritual of her own death. The detectives had interviewed Jacob about her simply while gathering background on this latest victim. When they learned from others in her yoga class that she’d had a much more involved relationship with the instructor than he had divulged, they began to examine him more closely, and soon enough became certain that they’d found their killer.

When the prison party approached Jacob, they could see no trace of anxiety in his face. Not exactly amused by the sobriety of the group, it seemed more that his curiosity was aroused by their attitudes, that his intellectual fascination with the human reaction to mortal dread could even include himself as a specimen.

Anna addressed him, “Jacob, you have been condemned by the city. Yet we offer you one last opportunity to live for an hour like a normal man. Do you wish to accept the transfer of your soul into another body?” Anna had that indefinable beauty some few women accomplish which makes it impossible to assign an age to her - she appeared to have the wisdom it takes fifty years to develop, yet there was also something adolescent in her eyes. She makes no demand, yet people behave more decently than their norm in her presence, perhaps because her gaze makes them feel more decent, more beloved.

 Such charm had no effect on Jacob - it doesn’t matter how lovely one might be if another simply lacks the organs of sight. He blinked away his contempt for the word, “normal,” by quipping, “My soul? You still believe in those?” He smirked at the group’s indignation for his disregard of ceremony before confirming, “Yes, I look forward to the transfer.”

 Following protocol, the group walked Jacob to the room where the transfer would take place. Brian showed an inclination to walk ahead, to lead Jacob like he would a whipped dog, but Anna quietly touched his hand, drawing him back to walk alongside the condemned as though he were a peer. Jacob took note of the influence which body language had, both that of Brian and Anna. The procession began, the monster Jacob managing to lead by half a step, Brian to his left, Anna to his right, and the others trailing behind.

The other prisoners lined the corridor outside their cells, witnessing that the damned was indeed receiving his promised right. Normally the hallway had that clean, anemic brightness of whitewashed concrete block, but the thick rows of convicts on each side darkened the passage, giving it the atmosphere of a decaying tunnel beneath some ancient castle.

Passing Winston, Jacob said to him in a matter-of-fact tone, “Look out for strangers - once I’m in the other body, I’m going to seek you out and cut your throat.”

Winston was just another inmate, and had probably done nothing to earn Jacob’s disfavor, or even his notice. Jacob simply selected him with the randomness of a researcher taking an arbitrary rat from a cage on whom to study the psychic effect of impending doom. Winston was quite a large and powerfully built black man who had always possessed confidence in his ability to defend himself. But all the populace knew that Jacob was no ordinary felon, that if he made a threat it was certain to be fulfilled. Even as they shuddered for Winston, they felt personal relief to be passed over.

Anna ushered Jacob into the room where the ritual was to take place. The one who’d offered to be host body was alone in an adjacent room - it offered some measure of privacy to the volunteer in so intimate a procedure that the damned didn’t meet his host prior to the transfer. Brian, the other officials, and the reporters walked around the corner to the observation room on the other side.

 Such was the authenticity of Anna’s priesthood that the damned would usually enter their trance as soon as they stepped into this room - the mere suggestion of what she would accomplish was credible enough of itself to accomplish the task. But, developed and hardened personality that he was, it took longer with Jacob. He looked about the room, noting the feminine taste in the burgundy chair and matching divan. Lavish as they were in so ascetic an environment, they were appropriate to the service of the Priestess, and her furnishings somehow always fit naturally in their setting. After Jacob elected to assume his place reclining on the couch, she took her seat. With a final glance telling her that he was choosing to submit to her spell rather than succumbing to it, he closed his eyes.

 Anna began to chant. Her voice was gentle, timeless, and crystal-clear. It filled the space between them. Imperceptibly, his heart adopted the pace of her tambourine. There was just an anxious moment in which he drowned in the air which had just left her lungs, and her melody dissolved into his bloodstream. Her golden silhouette became orange through his closed eyelids. Jacob entered trance.

Opening his eyes again after an eternal moment, he knew that he had successfully transferred; he was now in the adjacent room. He felt heavy at first - clumsy while his will settled more completely into this host body and learned its coordination. Oddly, his host had been lying on his stomach during the transfer. He felt the presence of his host’s personality, contained and sleeping in a corner of this foreign psyche. The presence was more distinct than Jacob had anticipated, but he dismissed it as simply part of the alien experience. In Anna’s city there was always some altruistic soul with a sense of civic duty and tradition sufficient that he would volunteer to be host. Not a trait which Jacob respected.

 Brian led the gallery back around to Jacob’s door once they’d witnessed the transfer, and opened the door to usher Jacob back out into the hallway. Anna joined them to walk back past the other prisoners who were still in their ranks along the walls, witnesses now to the completion of the rite. The procession maintained the ceremonial dignity of silence, and Jacob hadn’t yet tested his voice in this new body. He took note that the reverence the prisoners accorded Anna now had a touch of awe, a murmur even of fear, seeing what she had accomplished.

In a movement so swift that Brian had to take a second look at its consequences to be certain of what he’d seen, Jacob turned and slashed Winston’s throat as he passed him. As though they’d already accepted the inevitability of this, other than the initial shock there was only minimal reaction among either the procession or the inmates. Winston dropped to his knees, his moan muffled in the gurgle of blood in his trachea.

 Brian motioned silently to a pair of guards to take Winston to the prison clinic for what care could be provided. Anna took note of the depth of Jacob’s darkness. There were no guidelines as to how to respond to a criminal act by someone during the hosting. The transfer was to be of such short duration, and confined within the prison compound, that such a thing simply wasn’t anticipated. It didn’t even evoke Brian’s police instincts. Winston was just an inmate, after all, not someone with citizenship and its concordant rights within the community. In any event, the demands of ritual during this time kept any reaction suppressed - Jacob was in his evening of liberty and would be indulged.

The public formalities observed, the prisoners were for once anxious to return to their cells, and the procession left Jacob alone in his liberty. Had the damned any family or friends, he would be allowed a visit - even a conjugal visit - but Jacob had no such connections, and was free to just prowl about the prison grounds as he wished.

Brian waited in the lounge for Anna to spend her moment with Winston. When she returned, he said, “We’ll never agree about capital punishment. I understand your perspective, that all belong to the One Spirit, and all are valuable to Her in a way that we mortals can’t understand. But surely Jacob is the best example yet that, if indeed we are all One, such an element as he within the Spirit surely contaminates us all, and shouldn’t be suffered to live.”

Anna answered, “I understand your perspective, too, that the ideal should bend its knee to the sometimes harsh realities of this world. I have no argument in defense of his life. It’s not Jacob, but rather the next to be accused who concerns me. Practical justice is decided by men, and so long as that’s true there will always be room for error and corruption to slip in, for the spoken legalisms to conceal mortal judgements based on personal malice, envies, politics, or prejudice. Whatever you argue is accomplished in the execution of the guilty, it seems impossible to balance the death of ten corrupt souls against risking even one innocent. Yet, even if we disagree, I don’t compete during the performance of your office.”

Jacob was acclimating to his host. He began to appreciate the power and grace of this body, and entertained a certain respect for the host who’d developed it. He’d never intended to surrender the body back to its owner. Others among the damned may have also had such fantasies, but their relationship with the body would soon begin to deteriorate - within a few hours they would feel it as a growing sleepiness, and when they awoke they would do so in their own bodies, to wait out their final moments. Such was the cohesion of Jacob’s personality, however, that he had the strength to sustain his integration within his host, probably even through sleep.

It hadn’t occurred to him that the attributes of his host might affect him, and yet the very style with which this body seemed inclined to move impressed him that the influence of body and soul could be reciprocal. He’d intended to resume his old way of life once he’d taken possession of his host. And he would be free of the legal system because the penalties of law applied to his old body, not this, and there’d never been occasion for the government to prepare a response to the theft of a host body.

But he recognized a primitive attitude at some instinctive level within his flesh that he realized would make him different in some way. It wasn’t the personality of his host - he could sense that safely bottled up by the mysteries of the Priestess. No - Jacob began to appreciate that consciousness was bidirectional. There was indeed some spiritual something which could form an affinity for a body, yet was independent of it - not just his restrained host, but Jacob was himself obviously some such thing which had been moved from his old body to this. But there was also that consciousness of an entirely different character which rose up organically from his new genes. As he was only just now integrating within this body, it was quite noticeable to him - an instinctive and powerful awareness, clearly indued with the passions and the motivations of life. In some ways his host body was like himself, except that this flesh had none of that abstract curiosity with which Jacob had so perversely toyed with his victims. No, this consciousness was immediate - too primitive to be self-conscious, but distinctly aware of its own internal needs and the relevance of what it sensed in the environment through which Jacob now strolled. And it felt good to walk - as though it were his feet grabbing the Earth’s skin which powered the planet in its daily spin.

Acutely aware of this unexpected element in the transfer, it was thus less startling that it might have been when Jacob’s thought, searching through this flesh, realized that his host was a tiger. No - a tigress, because she - they - were pregnant. He felt the fetus within himself, felt the instincts which developed and nourished it. Of course he’d assumed that his host would be a man - not that much was ever said or written about the liberty of the damned, but in fact he’d never heard it specified that the condemned would be indulged his freedom in a human body. Past the initial surprise, Jacob felt a wave of respect, even admiration, for the choice the Priestess had made for him. Now he had a label for the instinctive consciousness of his new body. The High Priestess must understand him quite well to blend him into a creature of such power and majesty that she was a law unto herself, that morality was at last dismissed as simply whatever interested him. In the end, his diabolic experiments with people had left him dissatisfied - people bored him with their preoccupations with yesterday and anxieties about tomorrow, with the petty worries about their ties with others - family, friends, work. Now a tigress, he was Nietzsche’s Superman, and all reality was defined in terms of his thought, his fascinations.

 Brian was becoming restless in the lounge. “The transfer should have been over hours ago. I warned you that Jacob was like no other we’ve ever imprisoned here. I don’t think he’s going to surrender his host. It’s past time - we should go find him.”

 Anna said, “The tradition doesn’t allow us to interfere with his liberty.”

 ”And yet the hour of his execution approaches. What will be the consequences if he does not return?”

Anna answered, “The time and your duty are clear. Your law makes no allowance for these circumstances.”

 And so the execution was uneventfully performed on Jacob’s comatose body at the appointed time.

 Jacob stretched out atop the wall next to a guard tower. He looked into the streets below, into the rough, decaying neighborhood around the prison. It occurred to him that he would need to find an abandoned house - somewhere he could deliver his cub, safe from the neighborhood dogs during his hour of vulnerability. He thought contentedly of the days and weeks ahead, of nursing his cub, the life flowing from his breast to its hungry mouth. He looked about for a route down to the street, realizing that he shouldn’t take the leap the tigress would normally accomplish quite easily, for fear of jarring the developing cub too violently.

That last protective impulse jolted Jacob back into a more familiar sense of who he was. He couldn’t resist these maternal instincts, yet they repulsed him even while coursing through his mind. His old self wanted to continue his experiments, to dissect life, yet now he also hungered for experience, and to live. The self-giving instinct of this animal consciousness was something Jacob could not abide. Life had become important - not specifically his life, but life itself, now flowing through him into another. The attitude inhered in the flesh itself, in its genes, and could not be driven out so long as it comprised a living organism. Jacob could not endure becoming such a creature, and so while he still could he chose to let himself drift away, drift to sleep and surrender his host. His revulsion at the feelings that were becoming his outweighed even his certainty that his own body no longer lived. Jacob found it preferable to resign himself and dissipate into nothingness. As if this spirit of darkness could choose to ignore the first rays of sunrise penetrating him at the last.

Brian had stayed with Anna throughout the night, anxious about the outcome of Jacob’s transfer. At dawn they walked to the cafeteria together for breakfast. He said, “As worried as I was about the transfer, it made the execution itself that much easier - my staff was spared having to look into the living eyes of the man they were strapping to the table.”

 Anna had been notably quiet throughout the night. She had probably remained linked in some way to the transfer, so long as it was sustained. Now that it was over, Brian noticed that her skin was becoming luminous again. How lovely she was. Wishing to change to a less formal, more personal conversation with her, he said, “What are you drinking, anyway? You seem to be really enjoying it.”

 Her eyes sparkling and lips straining to conceal wisdom’s mischief, she replied, “Tiger milk.”

Robert C. Flanders

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