Andy stared out into the night sky clutching his glass with both hands. His body shook slightly as he stared into the amber liquid. Twenty years sober and life had come to this. His face twisted into an angry grimace as he hurled the glass against the wall. Rage exploded inside and he rushed across the room, grabbing the bourbon bottle by the neck. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room as the bottle burst sending shards of glass across the fireplace mantel.
It had been six weeks to the day since he’d gotten the call. He remembered it like it was yesterday. The late night call, the deep voice on the line telling him Vincent and Brandy had been killed in an auto accident. They were on their way home from Las Vegas, driving through the desert on I-15 near the Utah Border. Andy’s mind drifted back to their last night together. Brandy, glowing with the success of the first two shows, Vincent quietly smiling as she recalled the nervous moments as she heard the ring announcer introducing her to the crowd. The sound of their laughter, the emotion in their voices, the memories of friendly conversation washed through his memory like a burst of cold spring water.
Andy slumped into a chair and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what felt like years. There had been so much to do. Now the finality of what had happened came crashing down around him. The production company was sold. The gym was closed; the promotion deactivated. The women who’d been a part of it had gone their separate ways. Some chose to continue wrestling. Others left the business. There was nothing left for Andy to do but go on with his own life.
Cold rain was pouring down making it nearly impossible to see. Andy peered intently through the torrent of water washing across his windshield. Up ahead he could see a sillouette near a highway sign. Suddenly he realized it was someone standing on the edge of the freeway. He braked to a stop, leaned over and pushed open the passenger-side door. A woman aproached, threw a tote bag on the floor and settled into the seat. Andy glanced at her in the dim light, a look of shock and amazement on his face. Unable to speak, he sat staring at the woman sitting next to him. She was soaking wet, with expressive brown eyes, dark blond hair and a wide, warm smile. The woman returned his gaze for a moment and then spoke. “Thanks for stopping! I was beginning to think I was going to drown out here.”
Andy remained speechless. Finally he regained his composure enough to answer. “No need to thank me. This’s no place to be in a rain storm. I’m sorry about staring at you. It’s just that you remind me so much of someone real special to me. The resemblence is damn well uncanny!”
The woman nodded and extended her hand. “No need to apologize. I’m just glad you stopped. My name’s Shilo.”
Andy shook her hand, his mind still reeling as he struggled to regain his composure. “Nice to meet you, Shilo. My name’s Andy. Where you headed?”
“Into the city and anywhere I can find a room for the night.”
“Well that shouldn’t be too difficult. You’ll probably want a place near downtown, being as you don’t have any transportation. Are you from here?”
Shilo turned away for a moment before she answered. “I lived in the city once but I’ve been many places.”
Andy sensed she preferred silence. He reached over and tuned in a late-night jazz station. Shilo smiled slightly as she listened to the music. Andy wondered what she was thinking, but remained silent. A few minutes later he parked in front of a motel. “This should be a good place to stay. It’s not expensive, but it’s clean and comfortable.”
Shilo retrieved her bag and opened the door. “Thanks again for the ride, Andy. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” Before he could answer she disappeared into the motel office and he slowly drove away.
Thoughts raced through Andy’s mind as he drove. If he wasn’t certain Brandy was no longer alive he’d swear it was she, not Shilo who’d been with him moments before. They looked identical. Their voices were identical. Everything about Shilo was exactly as he remembered Brandy. It was an eerie feeling that continued to haunt him as he fumbled for his door key and entered his apartment.
Andy slowly undressed, preoccupied with thoughts of Brandy and Shilo. He sat on the bed smoking a cigarette and staring into the darkness. Her parting comment reverberated through his mind. “Why would she say she’ll see me again?”
He stubbed out his cigarette, and slowly drifted off to sleep. Somewhere in the night Andy could hear the sound of a long, lonesome train whistle. Much to his surprise he found himself in the desert, standing on a boarding platform in front of what appeared to be an abandoned railway terminal. A mixture of fear and fascination coursed through his veins as he saw a sleek, black locomotive appear, pulling seven rail cars behind. His eyes widened with surprise as the train slowed and came to a stop near where he was standing. A tall, stately looking conductor stepped down from the first rail car and motioned to Andy. “All aboard sir.”
Andy’s expression mirrored his confusion. “Where am I? And where in the hell am I going?”
The conductor smiled reassuringly. “Not to worry, sir. All is as it’s meant to be. If you’ll board now, we’ll be on our way.”
Andy walked slowly up the steps of the railcar and entered. It was a dining car, beautifully appointed with silver utensils on each table and a spectacular view from every window. He took a seat and a waiter appeared. “Would you like coffee sir?”
Andy nodded, still trying to assimilate his surroundings. A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a pitcher of coffee, a cup and saucer. Andy stared out the window as the train began to gather speed, the abandoned terminal fading from view. He poured coffee into his cup and gazed out into the desert. Andy was deep in thought and nearly leaped out of his chair when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to startle you my friend. May I join you?”
Andy turned to see a tall man standing next to him with flowing, grey hair, eyes that seemed to see into his soul and a reassuring smile. “Yes! Do join me. I could use the company.”
The man slowly settled into a chair across the table from Andy. He reached out and shook Andy’s hand. “My name’s Andrew and you must be Vincent’s good friend, Andy?”
“You know Vincent?” Andy exclaimed.
“I do. I know Vincent and Brandy quite well. Vincent and I have been friends for a very long time and I;ve had the good fortune to know Brandy for some time as well.”
Andy fumbled in his shirt pocket and extracted a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He stared at the table, slowly lit a cigarette and exhaled a long plume of smoke. Andrew peered at Andy, waiting for the inevitable questions. Andy finally spoke. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know why I’m dreaming all of this. I do know I miss my friends terribly. Why them? Why did they have to die?”
Andrew hesitated before answering. In a quiet voice he responded.
“You’re in a very special place. This isn’t quite a dream, though it is much the same. Vincent and Brandy aren’t dead in the sense you perceive. Spend your time here in the desert celebrating their life and the friendship you shared with them.”
Andy smiled slightly and nodded. Memories seemed to spill out one and then another as he sat silently reminiscing. Gradually the words came pouring out as he shared his memories with Andrew. Suddenly Andy felt the train slowing. Andrew stood up and smiled. “We’ve reached our destination, my friend. It’s time for us to go.”
The men walked down the corridor and stepped onto a worn boarding platform. Andy stared at his surroundings, a look of puzzlement and apprehension showing in his eyes. “Where in the hell ARE we?”
“This is a place known as Boiler Bay, Andy. It’s a place of special significance and where Vincent and Brandy’s future was born. Andrew began walking and Andy followed close behind. As they crested a hill overlooking the ocean, Andy spotted a rustic cabin near the water. He was intrigued. He could feel a strong presence settle around him. It was as if Vincent and Brandy were standing next to him. Andy and Andrew entered the cabin. Andy came to a halt as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A man and woman were seated at a table across the room. “Vincent? Brandy? My god! Is it really you?”
Andrew smiled. “It was, Andy. Now I’d like you to meet your new friends. This is Shilo and Dillon.”

The room evoked a kind of visual cacaphony. Notebooks and sketch pads were scattered across a massive mahogony desk, interspersed with two overflowing ashtrays, a cup half full of cold, black coffee and scraps of paper filled with unintelligable scribbles.
Next to the desk was a computer table with all manner of equipment stacked on it. The shelves behind the table were stuffed with manuals and hard-bound books of all size and description. A countertop ran the full length of one wall and was strewn with various pieces of hardware and gadgetry. A chalkboard contained a patchwork of strange looking formulas and calculations.
At the center of this intellectual vortex sat a tall, thin man wearing a rumpled shirt and faded trowsers. His hair was long and unruly and he peered at his notepad through wire-rim glasses. His work seemed to devour him. The street noise reverberating through the room had no effect on his work. Anthony was lost in a world of math symbols and electronic components.
Months had faded into years as Anthony continued to pursue the vision that had haunted him for as long as he could recall. His religion was robotics and his holy book the notebook filled with sketches, printouts and illustrations of all manner and type.
Mark Jernagan, a wealthy investor who managed a highly-regarded venture capital firm approached him and offered to finance research and development of Anthony’s project. It was, on it’s face, a simple, straightforward business arrangement.
As time passed Anthony and his team of researchers painstakingly developed his theories and after a series of failed attempts a prototype emerged. A crude reflection of true human nature to be sure, but Anthony’s creation exhibited amazing capabilities. Anthony named his creation Basil and spent countless hours devising the programming necessary to refine the robot’s functions.
The day slid slowly into night and Anthony leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on the desk and his eyes closed. His body’s need for sleep overtook him and he felt himself slowly slipping into that strange, recurring dream he’d encountered several times in as many weeks.
Anthony found himself once again alone in the desert, staring up at the star-laden evening sky as moonlight washed over him like mist from a distant ocean. There it was, as if on cue, that long, loud sound in the distance. The sound of a train whistle. A few moments elapsed and into view came a sleek, black locomotive pulling seven railcars behind. A furious burst of sight and sound swept around Anthony and suddenly he found himself aboard the train and seated at a table in the dining car. Across from him sat a man as big as a bear with long brown hair, bushy beard and eyes that seemed to see into his very core.
Anthony smiled nervously. “Hello Vincent. Once again you’ve startled me out of a year of life expectancy.”
Vincent’s expression shifted slightly as the hint of a smile appeared. He nodded and turned to peer out the window exhaling slowly as he pondered something unknown in the night. “It seems your research has produced some amazing results, my friend.”
“It has! I can’t begin to tell you where this could lead. It really is amazing!” Anthony could scarely contain his enthusiasm and excitement.
Vincent’s eyes reached out and gripped Anthony’s consciousness. “Make no mistake, Anthony. I know well where your creations can lead. I’ve been a spirit guide far longer than you can imagine and with time comes wisdom learned over many lifetimes. I’m suggesting to you the convergence of science and human emotion can be a dimension with unfathomable consequences. Move forward with a measure of prudence and forethought.”
Anthony appeared puzzled. “So you’re suggesting I abandon my research?”
“Not in the least. Just give thought to what is requested of you as theory becomes reality.”
The sound of telephone ring tones roused Anthony awake. It was Mark, anxious for an update on the robotics project. Anthony gave him a brief recap, speaking in animated tones as his creation, Basil, listened intently from a chair nearby. The conversation terminated and Anthony turned to his robot with an excited smile. “Basil! It’s time! Within hours you’ll have received the programming necessary to give you human emotion. Not only will you have the ability to calculate and reason, you’ll have a full range of human feelings. Happiness, joy, anger and sadness. All important stuff to be sure!”
Basil’s expression was as benign as ever. “As you wish Anthony.”
It was well into the early morning hours before the programming process was completed. Anthony was anxious to revive Basil and test his work. Basil’s eyes opened and as his eyes focused on Anthony it smiled. “Hello Anthony. I feel positively immortal!”
Anthony grinned. “I shouldn’t wonder, Basil. You ARE immortal.” Several hours passed as Anthony continued conversing with Basil, amazed and fascinated by how human Basil’s characteristics had become.
Another day of testing followed. Basil’s functions were working amazingly well. Anthony was ready to give Mark and his associates a demonstration. At the end of the week, Mark and his entourage arrived at Anthony’s office. Basil greeted them with a cheery smile and a friendly demeanor. Mark was astounded. “This is simply amazing, Anthony. My god! Basil seems so lifelike. Hell! This is BEYOND amazing.” Mark and his business associates were absolutely giddy with excitement.
Months of testing and additional programming passed and Basil was proving to be an incredibly valuable invention. Anthony embarked on the second phase of his research, which was to create a female counterpart to Basil. At last one late and stormy night on the second day of December, Basil’s female counterpart became reality. She was what many would surely consider a physically perfect female. Tall and shapely, with facial features that magically blended a cornucopia of ethnicity. Victoria, as she was named, was a creation comprised of science and art and innovation.
As days passed, Victoria and Basil became inseparable. At first Anthony found it amusing, but as time passed he found it increasingly difficult to continue his research. Basil and Victoria both exhibited unruly behavior, choosing to be alone together for increasingly long periods of time. Judging from the sounds eminating from their quarters it was abundantly clear they were taking sexual activity to an entirely new level. At first Anthony honored his self-imposed directive giving his creations complete and total privacy as they explored their sexuality together.
For several weeks Anthony continued allowing Basil and Victoria all the privacy they needed. Early one morning he woke once again to the shrieks, growls and squeals of their love-making, Anthony decided to indulge his voyeuristic craving and quietly watch as they tore into each other. It was amazing. Anthony was astounded by Victoria and Basil’s voracious appetite for sex. It appeared neither had the ability to become totally satisfied. Each orgasm drove them to another, more powerful, all-consuming crescando of pleasure, which would then drive them to experience another. He was unsure what caused them to finally cease their incredibly intense behavior. They simply stopped, sat up, dressed themselves and left the room as if nothing had happened. Anthony was reasonably certain they hadn’t seen him watching, which would rule out a sense of embarrassment. Still, he was both fascinated and puzzled. And he was thoroughly aroused by the sight of Victoria. The images of her lovemaking pushed all other thoughts from his mind and made it nearly impossible for him to work.
Anthony was consumed with obsession. He had to experience Victoria for himself. It should be a simple process. He, after all, was her creator. And that’s where the problem lay. Victoria’s sexual preferences; her every fantasy, every like and every dislike were rooted in Anthony’s mind. It would be like making love to himself. Anthony giggled slightly, considering how it might take the concept of masturbation to an entirely new level. As he sat lost in fantasy he felt a hand on his shoulder. He lost his balance and nearly tipped backwark out of his chair, only to be caught by someone next to him.It was Victoria and much to his surprise he found himself cradled in her arms. It was a bit disconcerting and for a moment Anthony found himself speechless. He recovered his composure at last. “It’s okay Victoria, you can put me down now. I’m quite alright. You just startled me.”
“I didn’t intend to frighten you. I can’t find Basil and I wish to do sex. Basil and I always do sex at 17:30 hrs. It is what I wish.” Victoria’s expression illustrated her determination to have her way and Anthony was unsure how to respond.
Here in front of him stood his partially nude female creation. She was all that attracted him to a woman and it was becoming impossible to remember she was a highly complex appliance rather than human. Anthony reached out and took her hand, pulling her body close to his. “It’s not really doing sex, Victoria, but rather something to share. Would you like to share with me?”
Without a verbal response, Victoria grabbed Anthony by his arm and led him down the hall to her room. Once inside she tore his shirt from his body, buttons and pieces of cloth scattered across the floor. She pushed him onto the bed and removed his shoes and trousers. Anthony felt a mixture of arousal and apprehension. Victoria was like an animal. Words were replaced with gasps and grunts and growls as the flames of passion quickly elevated her body to the boiling point. Within moments she had coaxed a magnificent, if not premature ejaculation from Anthony. Now she was intent on her own physical satisfaction. Anthony tried to scream but was unable to draw a breath. Victoria’s arms and legs surrounded his body like snakes squeezing their prey.
Victoria sat upright, peering intently at Anthony’s lifeless body. She said his name over and over again, but there was no response. She kissed his lifeless lips but there was no response. Tears spilled from her eyes as she realized what she had done. She screamed loudly and fell forward crying uncontrollably. Suddenly she was roused by a hand gently touching her neck. She turned to see a man standing over her. His long hair and bushy beard frightened her momentarily but his eyes seemed to calm her as she stared into them without blinking. “It seems unintended consequences have occurred here, m’lady. Perhaps I can be of assistance. My name is Vincent and I’m here to assist you in completing your journey.”
Victoria’s face mirrored her confusion. “Journey? I am travelling to a destination? How can that be? My creator never explained that to me.” She turned and burst into tears once again as she realized she was the cause of Anthony’s demise.
Vincent smiled slightly. “It was never Anthony’s place to explain, Victoria. It is I who will lead you. It is I who led Anthony. Now close your eyes, take my hand and we’ll be on our way.”
Victoria obeyed, closing her eyes as she put her hand in Vincent’s. Suddenly she heard the unfamiliar sound of a train whistle. She opened her eyes and looked into the distance, watching intently as a sleek, black locomtive appeared, pulling seven rail cars behind. Vincent looked down and gave her a reassuring smile as the train approached. It was magical how his gaze calmed her fears. The train came to a stop near the boarding platform and a tall, stately conductor stepped down from the first rail car. He smiled and nodded at Vincent. “All aboard my friend. Andrew awaits you and the lady fair.”

There's a 32% Chance You've Been Abducted By Aliens

Even though you have a few alien abduction signs, you're almost certainly in the clear. However, if aliens ever do come to your neck of the woods... they'll probably be coming for you!

The calendar says it's "Hump Day" but in the old captain's world it's the last lap around the track for another week and I am DEFINITELY look'n for the checkered flag. In the words of Stevie Ray Vaughn I ask, "Are ya'll ready to parrrrtaaayyyy?" When the mornin' comes I've got a breakfast date with my lady, Mrs Morgan and then we're off to FINALLY buy a mini-tiller. No longer will she have to tend her flower beds on hands and knees. Now she'll declare war on all that grows as weeds from an upright position! For those who might be wondering . . . there ARE still other endeavours she'll continue to do on hands and knees but it has NOTHING to do with weeds in the flower bed!

   
    This was originally posted shortly after I came to the Stream about two years ago.

    No one really knows how long the railway’s been running. It travels from Chago Canyon to destinations known only to those who  choose to ride. Cargo on this train is like no other. It is an odd compendium of high hopes, broken dreams and desperation by the gallon. Few riders board and fewer still ride for long. Fare is a sack full  of sadness, a  pocket full of optimisim and a raggedy, leather-bound journal. A recollection of sunny days, dusty country roads and an occasional midnight rendevous with the woman that works her magic down by the Ranger Bar & Grill.
    I learned about the Hitchcock Railway in a ramshackle roadhouse just north of Las Cruces. I took a seat at the bar. The bartender reached under the counter, drew a Colt .45 and aimed it directly between my eyes. With an expression completely devoid of emotion he stood staring at me. “Whatcha gonna have?” He asked.
    It was an unnerving moment. I remained still on the stool, shifting my gaze from the firearm to his face. He slowly lowered the pistol and grinned.  “You’re either courageous or crazy!”
    I didn’t bother to tell him. I was neither. I ordered a shot of rum and a glass of beer. “Elixer of the gods”, I told him.
    “Oh? And what gods would those be?”
    I didn’t respond. They’d long since left the station and I doubted they’d  return anytime soon. I sipped the rum and chased it with a swallow of beer. I could feel myself slipping slowly into abject oblivion. It was where I wanted to be. Where I wanted to stay.
    There was a strange aura to the broken-down bar. As I sat consuming my drink I realized the bartender had disappeared. I emptied my glass and he reappeared. I ordered a second round and then a third. Now I saw him, then I didn’t. I remembered the stories I’d heard of the shapeshifters living in the desert. Maybe it was true. He might be one. As he set me up a fourth round of drinks, I waited for him to disappear. Instead he held out his hand and introduced himself. “My name’s David. And you are?”
     I told him my name and  explained I was just passing through. Mostly I was just looking for peace of mind. “I know you are and I know where you can find it,” he replied.
    The next morning David and I left for Chago Canyon. “It’s where you need to go.” David was emphatic.
            The warmth of the desert sun and the wind blowing in my face mixed with the engine noise from his Indian Chief and my old, swayback Harley to create a tonic for my soul. Nightfall aproached and we pulled off the highway. I scavenged some mesquite for a fire and  pulled my stash out’ve my saddle bag. I offered David some, along with a pack of papers. We sat next to the fire, smoking and sharing our histories. We’d both ridden down the same long, lonesome highways and had both stood at the same crossroads.  As the smoke took effect we laughed at nothing in particular. An hour later I was sleeping soundly.
    The early morning sun roused me awake. David was sitting on the ground crosslegged and staring at the horizon. I scowled at him. “See any ships Ensign?” 
    He smiled. “Yup. Two. They’re just off the starboard bow.” I grinned broadly, appreciating his perceptive ability.
    It was midday when we crossed the desert toward the mountains and was nearing sunset when we arrived at Chago Canyon. David and I shared a meal of flatbread and smoked salmon washed down with lukewarm water. I reached for my saddlebag and pulled out my stash. David shook his head. “Not tonite, my friend. Time’s not right.”
    I lay staring at the night sky. The moon was full and smiling. David propped himself against a rock outcropping and fell asleep. I pulled my harmonica from my shirt pocket and began playing. The notes riccocheted down the canyon walls. Gradually I drifted off to sleep. It was nearing midnight when I felt David shaking my shoulder. “It’s time.”
    We walked silently, David in the lead. An hour later we came to an opening in the rocks. “Now you wait,” he instructed.
   
    I heard a train whistle on the wind. I turned to my new friend. He was gone. Off to my right I saw a gleaming black locomotive pulling seven rail cars and a caboose. I was confused. There were no rails. How can this be? I wondered to myself. Amazingly enough I felt no fear. The roar of the engines subsided and I heard a deep, booming voice. “All aboard that’s coming aboard!”
    “Where are we going?” I shouted. “I need to know.”
    The response was slow and deliberate. “I doesn’t matter. The destination’s always the same. It’s the journey that matters. It’s yours. The destination is death and the destination is always mine.”