CARLOS & KATRINA

A Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2018

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Chapter 11

Katrina sat up in her large four–poster bed, hugging her knees.  It was a beautiful Saturday morning and the sun's rays were streaming in through her large bay windows the way they always did, usually forecasting another pleasant busy day, but this morning Katrina was feeling very depressed.  She had just woken up from a terrible dream, after her first date with Carlos the night before had turned into one of the most unpleasant evenings she could ever remember having.

Carlos had taken her to a small, inexpensive but nice seafood restaurant, and after a delicious dinner they had driven down to the beach.  By this time Katrina had already made the fully reformed Carlos promise to teach her how to surf as well as play guitar, and he wanted to look at the waves.  Carlos had asked her if she wanted a cold beer and she adventurously accepted, so they stopped at a store and bought two beers before proceeding on to the ocean.  Katrina had never drank a beer before; her father had forbidden her to drink alcohol until she was twenty–one.

The waves were small and poor in the bright moonlight, so they had gone back to Katrina's car to sip their beers in the dark empty parking lot.  Katrina had felt as if she were on some kind of dangerous and exciting adventure with the sportive Carlos, doing things she had never dared to do before.  A police cruiser had actually come down into the parking lot and shone it's bright spotlight into their car.  

Katrina sighed, smiling sadly as she began to replay the event in her mind.

"Everything alright?" one of the officers asked. 

"Oh yes, everything's fine!  We're just checking the waves!" Katrina answered, emitting one of her radiating smiles.  The policeman smiled back and drove away. 

"They're leaving!  We fooled them!" she exclaimed, clutching her bottle.  Carlos laughed softly.  Katrina had taken one sip of her beer and made a funny face, but she held onto it as if it were some valuable, forbidden contraband.  She was nothing like the other girls Carlos had gone out with; she seemed fresh and brand–new to him, more like a little girl than a gorgeous upcoming actress. He was always on his best behaviour whenever he was with Katrina, who never failed to inspire a litte bit of trepidation in him.

Carlos had listened with interest as she told him all about her experiences, how she had been led by the hand into the glamorous world of movies by famous people who had seemingly bent over backwards to help her.  Katrina had gone to great lengths to assure Carlos that the film she was working on was not low–grade or trashy, like most of the movies of the day.  She talked excitedly for a long time as Carlos asked questions and encouraged her, but eventually Katrina had started to feel that she was talking too much about herself. 

"Tell me about yourself, Carlos..." Katrina asked him with a smile. "I want to know all about you!"

Carlos took a drink from his beer and raised one eyebrow.  "Well, after the stork dropped me off at my mom's…" he began, in a solemn tone of voice that made Katrina erupt into laughter.

"No, be serious.  You're so mysterious.  I want to hear about your life!  It seems so much more exciting than mine," Katrina asked, as she attempted another tiny little sip from her bottle.

"No, no, nothing like that.  In fact it's very dull, not worth talking about really... let's talk about your life instead.  To me, hearing about your life is kind of like reading a good novel, or watching a great old movie or something like that... very entertaining!" Carlos said, in a strenuous attempt to divert the conversation away from it's apparent course. Katrina had nonetheless kept at him to open up and talk about himself, but he continued to evade her questions, making sarcastic and self-­deprecating jokes. Finally he had given in and told her a few humorous things about his childhood.  It was after Katrina asked him what his mother was like that his mood slowly began to turn dark.  He had become quiet and brooding, dodging her question as he sipped his beer and looked away out the window.  But Katrina had innocently persisted, unaware of the dangerous path she was treading.

"Oh… she's very ill, really," he had finally admitted.

"Oh!  I'm sorry to hear that!  What's the matter with her?"

Carlos exhaled heavily. "She… well, she has psychiatric problems.  It's very hard to deal with her sometimes."

The few sips of beer Katrina had taken, the very first time in her life she had imbibed alcohol, had made her feel light–headed.  That was why she had continued to probe into his unhappy affairs...  that and the intense curiosity she felt about this talented but very mysterious person she had only just met.  In her gentle, benign way, Katrina had opened the floodgates to something that would have been better left firmly closed.

Carlos began to slowly reveal things about his life that horrified but fascinated Katrina.  It started out bad, and just got worse and worse.  He talked about a father that had abandoned his family and a severely disturbed mother who seemed to be straight out of a nightmare.  A mother that should have been treated, perhaps institutionalized, but never was.  She had psychologically abused him, told him he was stupid, worthless.  She had broken and thrown away his hard–earned possessions.  She had driven away his friends.  One night he had come home from his part-time job to find that she had set fire to their house in a psychotic rage.  She had consistently and self–destructively sabotaged all his efforts to rescue them from the misery she created, including his attempts to further his education.

Like a repressed stoic who kept terrible secrets bottled up inside him all his life, under Katrina's sympathetic prodding Carlos had begun to break down and expel the demons that possessed him.  His mother was just a part of it; he spoke about a fist fight he had gotten into with a Usher boy who insulted him when he was only twelve years old, and of an unbelievably disproportionate vendetta that had followed hard on the heels of that incident.  He recounted some of the sadistic abuses he had been obliged to cope with from that time on, punishment mainly of a psychological and defamatory nature, but which could and sometimes did have other, more violent reverberations. He claimed to be the victim of a vicious "whispering campaign" that appeared to emanate from an incredibly wealthy, suspiciously inscrutable and ultra–vindictive group of Ushers who seemed to control all facets of society, especially the mass–media, and who knew things about him that they shouldn't have known.

Carlos had eventually figured out the whole thing, or so he thought:  his tormentors gathered dirt on their enemies through indirect control or outright ownership of numerous government bureaus, surveillance agencies and other spying organizations; "they" then used their control of the mass–media to psyche their unfortunate victims into believing that they were not only omnipotent and knew every detail of their subjects' private lives, but that they also completely controlled all media, especially television and radio, and could do anything they pleased with it; turning public opinion against anyone foolish enough to denounce them, for instance, or reducing an enemy to public ridicule and disgrace. In this way they could intimidate, coerce and/or blackmail any hard case who couldn't be bribed, eventually forcing them into doing whatever "they" wanted. Worst of all, these privileged puppeteers were brilliantly adept at operating from a stratum several layers above the level where any accountability might occur, leaving designated pawns and lackeys to face any collateral wrath which might arise from their obnoxious lack of restraint -- in short, these entrenched vermin were completely unstoppable, according to Carlos.

As Carlos stared out of the window into the darkness, his voice had grown angrier and angrier as he voided himself of the torments he'd endured over the years from this secret manipulative cult and it's easily–led puppets; common idiots that mocked him in the street, teachers and employers that hindered and downgraded him, surfers that drove him from the water in disgust with their concerted antagonism, even absurdly untalented Usher–manipulated "rock stars" who seemed to have a secret window into his world, and who sang rank, insipid songs that seemed to burlesque the frustrations of his own personal day to day affairs.  He talked about the demoralizing effect all of this adversity had had on him; how all of his misfortunes had caused him to begin using drugs to escape from an overly-harsh reality, and how this excessive, self–destructive habit had further tainted his life.  He had sought out drugs from hardened criminals, rapists, murderers; there had been harassment from the police, illegal searches, raids, arrests.  He had overdosed more than once.  There seemed to be no end to the miseries he had described.  To Katrina's alarm, Carlos then seemed to forget that she was even there; his tone completely changed and he began to use coarse, foul language as he cursed the hateful people who had dragged him down to their own hateful level and had turned him into some sort of wretched, vengeful monster, some thing that he never should or would have become.

Then Carlos had abruptly stopped his raving, as if suddenly realizing that he was losing his self-control and making a stupid repetition of his original mistake, the error that he had paid for so dearly.  A low, poignant gasp had escaped from his mouth, followed by a silence that lasted for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. When he spoke again, it had seemed as if he was on the verge of tears.  

"Oh my god, Katrina!" he exclaimed.  "Oh, Jesus... I shouldn't have told you all these things..."

He turned to look at her, for the first time in over an hour.  "Katrina... I'm so sorry I upset you…" Then he had looked down at the floorboard, going silent again.

Katrina hadn't known what to think or say; she had felt a flood of conflicting emotions as she listened to Carlos pouring out his soul to her.  Her fascination had started turning to apprehension as she considered the possibility that Carlos might actually be crazy, like his mother.  The things he said had seemed bizarre and outlandish to her; it was the first time she had ever even thought about the troubled lives that poverty-stricken people often led.

But although Katrina may have been innocent, she wasn't stupid.  She remembered the drubbing she had received from her own schoolmates, most of whom were Ushers; she recalled things her father had told her, warnings about the factions and schisms that existed within her own people.  She had read one of Carlos' much–ridiculed "conspiracy theory" pamphlets, which he had managed to pass off to one of her friends -- and the more she thought about it, the more the things Carlos had written began to make sense; things like the propensities of certain types of people to do low, despicable things when given power, especially if they could commit their deeds remotely, secretly and with complete impunity.  And there really were spies out there who somehow found out things about other people, the private and secret things that most people tried to keep from the world.

Katrina had come to realize that the same technological breakthroughs which made life easier for her had also made it easier for these sick, contemptible rats to spy on others in a way that would have been impossible in a less technologically advanced era.  She recalled how her own brief mental breakdown had somehow become public property; there were things her schoolmates should not have known, yet obviously did.  Even if a neighbor had heard her screaming and had talked incessantly about it to everyone in town, how could anyone have known about the birds, unless someone had been secretly watching her, continually spying on her? And how had so many people found out about the incident so quickly? Obviously there was some kind of organization, some nefarious network of odious cretins whose jobs consisted of passing malicious gossip, which they could propagate at lightning speed. And the vile excesses which Carlos ascribed to the media and entertainment industry were easily observable and obvious to anyone who possessed even a modicum of consciousness, and a radio or television. All the pieces of the puzzle had started to finally fit together; Katrina's solicitude had quickly vanished, completely superseded by strong feelings of pity and empathy for the tormented soul she had come to know and identify with so strongly.

Carlos was visibly upset.  "Katrina, I don't know what came over me… I shouldn't have told you these horrible things!"  Carlos still held his half–full bottle of beer in his hand.  He had not been drunk, not in the least; talking about his life had simply made him lose complete control of his reserve.

"It's alright, Carlos," Katrina said, softly and gently.  "I've had a lot of experiences with mean people myself. It's alright..."

Carlos sighed and looked away.  "I think we'd better go.  I've gone and spoiled your evening."

He barely spoke a word as Katrina drove him back to where he lived in a dangerous, crime–ridden part of the city that frightened her.  As she pulled up in front of his house, she had felt completely at a loss as to what she should say to him.  It was certainly no time to plan another date, that was for sure.

Katrina left the car's engine running as she turned to him. "Carlos," she said awkwardly. "I need some time to think about all of this..."

Carlos had looked back at her forlornly, registering on her confused expression. Then he opened the door and stepped out into the night.  "You know what, Katrina?" he said dejectedly.  "Don't even think about it anymore.  I should never have told you any of these things.  Just try to forget it.  I'm really sorry.  Good night... drive carefully." 

Katrina drove home feeling confused, sad and depressed.  She had been telling herself all along that she was only going to go so far in her relationship with Carlos, then she was going to suddenly "lose interest" and give him a taste of his own medicine -- reject him.  But now she was beginning to admit the truth to herself; she was still infatuated with the enigmatic musician, even with all his attendant troubles and complexities, and her fascination was growing stronger every day.  

When Katrina had confided to her mother about her lack of interest in the goodlooking, upper–class boys she had gone out with, her mother had told her that she needed to attend more social functions, where she would meet "higher quality" people; then she would fall in love, get married and be happy.  Katrina could see the logic in her mother's advice; her problem was that Carlos was the only eligible boy she knew who fit her conception of what a "higher quality" person actually should be like.  Now Carlos had revealed a side of himself that was frightening and pitiful.

It was late when she got home, and her mother had already gone to bed.  Katrina went up to her room and went immediately to bed herself.  She fell into a fitful sleep and had a terrible dream.

She dreamed that she and Carlos were angels, flying besides one another on great white feathery wings, through a cloudless, beautifully azure sky.  They flew happily about like butterflies over a beautiful green landscape, with no fear of falling.  As Katrina flew closer to Carlos she saw that he had gotten some dirt on his wings, and she laughed as she brushed it off him.  Then the dream began to turn bad; looking down, she saw her friend Jacob Rosenberg walking on the ground far below her, carrying a rifle in his arms.  Sensing that something bad was about to happen, she began to descend on Jacob, but he had already come to a halt and was pointing the gun up at Carlos.  Katrina plunged downward in a mad rush to stop Jacob, but before she could reach him he had fired his gun and disappeared, shimmering like a burst soap bubble.  Then Katrina looked up into the sky and saw Carlos falling slowly, like a leaf falling in the wind from the branch of a tree.  "No!"  She began crying to herself in her dream, then woke up abruptly, feeling an enormous sense of sadness that had persisted throughout the entire morning.

The dream had caused Katrina to admit the truth to herself for the first time; she was beginning to really care for Carlos.  Her superficial plan to revenge herself on him had vanished completely, replaced by an ever–increasing awareness of her own needs and desires, and the immense difficulty she was encountering in trying to satisfy them.  Subconsciously, she began to realize that she had begun to lean more and more heavily on Carlos for emotional support.

Rising up from her bed, Katrina put on her robe and went downstairs to prepare her breakfast, and gradually she began to feel more optimistic and hopeful. Later that morning when the phone rang, Katrina found herself running to answer it.  "Hello?" she answered in a shaky voice.

"Hello… Katrina?" a familiar voice stammered.

Katrina let out her breath.  "Hello, Jacob," she answered coldly. 

"Katrina… I'm so sorry about what happened the other day," Jacob gushed.  "I had no control whatsoever over the idiot that did that.  It happened before I could stop it!  I hope you don't think I had any part in it..."

Katrina considered her response.  She had come to realize that she didn't really need Jacob for anything anymore.  Although he had initially provided the introduction to the people she now worked for, he had nothing to do with her business from here on out.  She had already decided to hire a new lawyer and manager for herself; she felt that she could no longer trust anyone connected with Jacob.

"No, Jacob, I don't think you asked that nut to drive his car into ours.  But I have to tell you, I don't admire your judgment in choosing friends."

"He wasn't a… he wasn't actually a friend, Katrina," Jacob lied.  "He's just someone I happened to be with… he was just giving me a lift."

"Oh!  Forgive me.  When I saw the way you were all laughing together and carrying on, I quite foolishly assumed that you were all close friends," she replied sarcastically.

"No, no… someone had just told a very funny joke, and that's why we were all laughing.  The next thing I knew, the guy was swerving into your lane!  I was horrified!"

"That's odd.  Because I could have sworn the person driving that car was Waffle Shimmerman, Magic Shimmerman's son!  And I seem to remember your remarking on several occasions that he was your very good friend."  The sarcasm in Katrina's voice cut into Jacob like a knife; she had never spoken to him that way before.  Jacob paused.  He had stupidly gambled that Katrina hadn't had time to recognize Waffle, but she had; apparently she had perfect eyesight, as well as perfect everything else.  Now his mind seized on the only option open to him –– to blame Fontana for the incident.

"You're right, Katrina, you're right.  That was Waffle Shimmerman, and he is a good friend of mind.  But there's a reason that he did what he did, and that's why I called you.  Katrina, I believe you're in danger..."

"Danger?  From what?" Katrina rudely interrupted him.

"The person you were with in that car… is a dangerous psychotic.  He's well–known for his irrational hatred of Ushers.  He seems to think… "

"Are you talking about Carlos Fontana?" Katrina interjected.

"That's exactly who I'm talking about.  Carlos Fontana is a…"

"Well!  I wonder if his irrational hatred of Ushers has anything to do with their aiming their shiny new cars at him!"

Jacob was beginning to lose his composure.  Katrina's voice now had a bite to it that actually scared him.  He realized he was no longer dealing with the same person he had known before; her nice, innocent persona had vanished entirely.  Jacob threw caution to the winds.

"Katrina, if you knew what I know about Carlos Fontana, then you'd understand why Waffle did what he did.  Fontana's a…"

"What I'm really wondering, Jacob, is how you came to be such an authority on Carlos Fontana.  I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Katrina said sarcastically.

"We don't!  I mean, he doesn't…" Jacob stumbled on his words, flustered. "What I'm trying to tell you, Katrina, is that I would never associate with such a low person… and you shouldn't either!"  Jacob was withering under Katrina's virulence, starting to say stupid things.

"Oh, this is very interesting!  Jacob, does Carlos Fontana even know who you are?"

"I don't know!!  It doesn't matter.  What I'm trying to tell you is that Carlos Fontana is a…"

Katrina cut him off again. "Let me see if I have this straight, Jacob.  You've never met Carlos, but somehow you've ascertained that he's a dangerous psychotic that preys on unsuspecting Ushers.  So you and your friends fight back by driving your cars into him whenever he enters your neighborhood to stalk you!  I'm so glad you set me straight on this matter, Jacob.  Your explanation has cleared everything up perfectly."

"Katrina…listen.  I'm not basing my judgment of Carlos on idle gossip; It's based on facts, things I can prove!"

"Oh my!  You really are an authority on this person who doesn't even know that you exist, aren't you? I can't imagine where you got your facts, Jacob, or how you managed to come by them!"  Katrina was practically spitting out her sarcasm in his face.  He was losing ground, and fast.  Panicking, Jacob then made a fatal mistake.

"Katrina… how much do you really know about the Ushers?" he asked, in a condescending tone.

"Which Ushers, Jacob?" she shot back.  "There are over twenty major sects claiming to be the Ushers, and still more fighting for recognition.  There are over 50 million Ushers in this country alone. Which Ushers are you talking about, Jacob?"

"I'm talking about the ones that matter.  Katrina, have you ever heard of the Usher Eyes?"

Katrina fell silent.  An alarm had started ringing in her head at the mention of the shadowy, top–secret surveillance organization.

Jacob continued, taking advantage of her pause.  "Katrina, you know my father is a diplomat. Through some of his contacts I have access to certain restricted information.  I happen to know that Carlos Fontana is being investigated by the Federal Police right now for suspicion of seditious activities.  I have friends in high places," he said superciliously, "and they have access to surveillance agents.  I know for a fact that Carlos is involved with terrorists, major drug dealers, homosexuals... Katrina," he went on, "I want to show you a few things that I have; photographs of Carlos... videos... tape recordings.  I think when you see some of these things you'll begin to understand the real Carlos a little better."

As Katrina continued to listen to Jacob malign her friend, things began to take on a crystal clarity in her mind.  Jacob was no mere gossip–monger.  Under pressure, he had revealed himself to be a dangerous and formidable threat to the unsuspecting Carlos, with connections to shadowy underground spying organizations.  The newspapers were constantly running stories about celebrities and prominent people who were being arrested for protesting the unconstitutional military excursions of the heavily right-wing administration that now ran the country, an administration that was pushing hard for another war; what Jacob was saying wasn't beyond belief.  She knew that the well–meaning but hopelessly quixotic Carlos had printed up and attempted to distribute papers he wrote himself describing government corruption, things that could be construed as anti–government propoganda.  In spite of her anger, Katrina felt a chill run up her spine.  Could she be in jeopardy from the Federal Police herself for associating with Carlos?  She suddenly felt afraid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX continue FROM HERE.......

But just as quickly her fear subsided, pushed aside by another emotion that she had felt before.  It was a feeling of combativeness which usually remained buried deep inside of her, something that rarely came to the surface.  Katrina didn't know anything about her lineage, but if she had traced her family tree back for hundreds of years she would have learned that the blood of champions and leaders ran through her veins.  Mayinkan warrior chiefs, Taipangese geniuses, Longfellow nobles… and Ushers.  Cunning, tenacious, artful Ushers.  She possessed qualities such as bravery, spirit, intelligence… and an intense loyalty to friends.  It was all there inside of her, waiting to come out should the need arise.

Katrina's mind began to race as her fear of the government faded into the background.  She was playing a very serious game now, and Jacob was her opponent.  Katrina's late father had been a lawyer, and she knew some things about the law.  She knew that people sued each other all the time in court for things like slander, defamation, infliction of emotional distress.  But first they had to have evidence, concrete proof to back up their claims.  Jacob had claimed that he had things on Carlos, videos and photographs; probably embarrassing videos and photographs.  Carlos could use such things to file a lawsuit against him.  And Jacob had money; he had bragged to her about his many holdings and investments.  If Katrina could somehow get possession of some of the materials he said he wanted to show her, Carlos could get some of that money.  Maybe all of it!

All of these thoughts flashed through her head in the space of a few seconds. Katrina now felt nothing but intense loathing for Jacob; she suspected that someone was spying on her also, someone who had access to high–technology surveillance equipment, and Jacob had just admitted to her that he was intimate with such vermin.  He completely disgusted her, but for now she had to convince Jacob that she was on his side, a stratagem that would require all of her acting skill.

Katrina changed her tone to one of shocked disbelief.  "Jacob... do you really mean Carlos is… is a..." she paused, leading Jacob into her trap.

"I meant just what I said, Katrina.  Your friend Carlos Fontana is bad news.  I know many, many things about him… things you should know too.  Katrina, I'm only trying to protect you!"  Jacob felt his confidence returning.  He was beginning to think he had taken the right course in following Waffle's advice after all.

Katrina let a few seconds pass without saying anything.  When she spoke again, her voice was humble and abashed.  "Jacob… if what you're saying is true, then I… I've been very naïve..."

"Yes you have, Katrina.  But it's not your fault.  It's that damned Mayinkan trickster! He has some sort of strange power over people, some kind of negative charisma… he uses it to malign good Ushers! He does it out of jealousy!  It's not your fault, Katrina.  Don't blame yourself," Jacob repeated.

No… no, I've been very gullible, Jacob.  Carlos has said many things that should have warned me, but… but I was taken in by his friendliness.  Jacob… is he really dangerous?  Just how crazy is he?"  To Jacob's immense relief and satisfaction, Katrina's voice now clearly reflected her new–born fear; it was shaking! He sensed that it was time to go for the kill.

"I think you'd better see some of the things I have, Katrina.  What are you doing today?"

"Nothing... nothing, Jacob. I'm here all alone, my mom's gone out… can you come over anytime soon?"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

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Copyright 2006, 2018 by Charles Adrian Trevino.