Landis, Jonathan
JOURNAL ENTRY 08

It's still pretty dark in the room at the end of the medical wing. The same dull orange bulbs are giving off their subtle haze when light from the bleached white corridor floods in as the doors open. Belial steps in with five Ziz wearing decorative scarves and jewelry and a human assistant with a stethoscope around his neck. Belial, wearing his ceremonial headdress, steps to the front of the group and tells me to uncover the cages. Stepping cautiously through the dark, I peel the velvet sheets from each box, revealing the young, famous women inside.

Agares approaches Lindsay Lohan's cage, Buer approaches Ashlee Simpson, Dantalion approaches Katherine Heigl, Demogorgon approaches Mary-Kate Olsen, and Raum approaches Anne Hathaway.

Zagan and Zepar scurry from cage to cage opening the front gates of each one. Belial meanders about the room, examining each IV bag carefully as the human assistant places new bags on each pole. Belial lowers his upper half in front of a cage opening and cocks his head to direct one large, yellow eye at the woman inside.

"It's time," he sings.

"Time?" The woman repeats drowsily, the drugs taking a noticeable hold of her already.

"Time." Belial says again. "Get undressed."

"Get undressed." The woman says in a dopey, emphatic way, nodding and pulling the top of her hospital gown over her head.

Belial ventures to each receptacle with his assistant, adding new medicine bags to the IV poles and asking each woman to undress until they're all dangling nude on their suspension wires.

I can't help but think of Corrine. For a brief moment there is a tinge of apprehension and then pity before the image of these women on all fours jogs my memory into the same dark territory. Once Corrine's face replaces each Hollywood visage, I find myself wishing the very worst on each and every one of them.

"We're ready, Doctor," Belial assures them.

The doctor begins removing the rear panel from the first cage, where Anne Hathaway's eyes are very much awake but somehow vacant. The doctor lifts the speculum dangling on the back of the cage, and I turn my head and try not to listen to the noises.

"Johnny Boy, hit the music," Belial whispers. I lift my head and see the Ziz standing behind each cage. The women inside dangle naked, some of them mumbling, others smiling absently, cruel speculums prying them open, catching and reflecting the dim glow like disco balls.

"The music, Johnny Boy," Belial reiterates.

I turn and use my fingers to search the wall for the CD player.

"Ladies!" Belial cheers. "Because of each of your courage to throttle her own destiny, we can begin the first phase of the Nephilim project."

I press Play on the CD player and "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by The Beach Boys comes blaring from the overhead speakers.

"You've all asked yourselves one of life's most important questions: 'What's in it for me?' And you had enough insight to recognize the importance of fame. But what is fame but a fragile flickering candle unless you gather enough firewood? Yes, ladies, true fame burns like a roaring fire. True fame is power. And power is what?"

A few half-hearted mumbles and some high pitched giggling come from the women.

"Yeah," Belial nods. "Exactly. All right, boys! Love is in the air!"

Amidst the entire drug-addled commotion and surf music I take a seat toward the back of the room and open a brown paper bag. I'm trying not to think about Corrine. Sometimes the sound of pain sounds like the sound of pleasure, and sometimes the sound of pleasure sounds like the sound of pain. I'm much more familiar with the sound of pain.

With the five women screaming in pain or pleasure, I sit there and eat my sandwich.