CARLOS & KATRINA

A Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2018
________________________________________________

Chapter 19

Katrina kicked off her shoes and fell back on her bed, her head landing softly on a huge fluffy pillow. She had just arrived home on a Friday night after another exhausting but rewarding work day, and once again found herself with no desire to do anything other than throw together a quick dinner. But first she needed to rest for a little while, and recharge her batteries.

Picking up her television's remote control, she turned it on to watch the news. Katrina's late father had always been mindful of what she watched on television, forbidding her to partake of things like certain comedy and late night talk shows, rock music videos, etc. Even after her father's death she had continued to observe his rules, more out of force of habit than anything else. Feeling dead tired, Katrina clicked on the only evening news program her father had approved of. Closing her eyes and listening to the sound only, she began to think about other things as world events flashed by on the screen above her. By and by Katrina drifted off to sleep, with the television still blaring.

She awoke with a fitful start to the sound of mocking laughter coming from the t.v.; the mean jeering had been causing her to have bad dreams. Lying on her back on the bed, her thoughts gravitated to the subject that had been occupying most of her attention after work; the case of Carlos Fontana vs. Jacob Rosenberg. It had been over eight weeks since she had last seen Carlos; apart from the brief telephone encounter with his mother, her calls had gone unanswered, and she had heard nothing from him whatsoever.

"Katrina!" a voice from the television shrieked out. The news program had ended, and a "forbidden" comedy show was now playing. One of the characters apparently had her name. Katrina smiled, shutting her eyes again; her name wasn't very common. In fact, she had only met one other person named Katrina in her entire life.

As she absent–mindedly listened to the comedy skit, she thought again of her late father's abhorrence of the entertainment industry. He really had been too adamant; the show that was now playing seemed harmless enough to her. Katrina opened her eyes and began to watch the comedy program on the overhanging t.v. screen in front of her. It was one of those newish animated films where the characters looked amazingly like three–dimensional, real–life people. A beautiful, dark–haired cartoon character named Katrina was sitting on a large four–poster bed with an elaborately carved burnished wooden frame, just like hers; she was holding her hands to her head and looking around.

"Who said that?" the cartoon character cried out in distress.

"The birds, Katrina! It's the birds!" shrieked an offscreen voice.

"Oh no! Not the birds! I HATE BIRDS!!" The cartoon Katrina jumped up from the bed and began running in circles around the room, her arms spinning comically around.

"We're talking birds, Katrina! We can see you!"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" The cartoon Katrina ran over to a large, fancy bay window exactly like her own, and frenetically began to throw things out of it. "Have that, you stupid ugly birds!" she screamed.

Katrina sat bolt upright in her bed, staring at the television screen in horror, as her skin began to crawl. The television show was mocking her temporary mental breakdown, just like her schoolmates had done! This couldn't be happening; it was too insane. And they had re–created her bedroom down to the last detail; how could they have known what the rare, ornately crafted furniture inside her room looked like? Someone really had been watching her, inside her own room -- they were probably watching her right now! Some kind of organized operation that spied on and tried to psychologically break people, just like Carlos had tried to warn her about. It was absolutely incredible, unbelievable... she would not have believed it could be possible, if she weren't seeing it with her own eyes.

But why her? Why was she a threat to them, whoever they were? She could understand her schoolmate's jealous campus hazing, but why this? As she continued to watch with rising trepidation, the truth was becoming too clear to deny.

The cartoon continued on. "Katrina! Here comes Carlos!" sneered the offstage voice. "Don't you want to doll yourself up a bit?"

"Carlos? Ooooooooh!" The cartoon Katrina instantly produced a huge hairbrush from her pocket and began to furiously brush her hair; then she applied lipstick in another lightning move, flinging the rouge tube away and turning to her left with an oversized smile distorting her face. "Hi Carlos!" she beamed.

"Hi, Katrina!" A raggedly dressed, dark–skinned cartoon character wearing a large, wide-brimmed Mayinkan hat entered the scene from stage right.

"What did you bring for me today, Carlos?" cooed the cartoon–Katrina.

"Just this, honey!" Carlos magically whipped out a banjo from behind his back and began strumming some simple chords, while singing out in a strained, high–pitched voice... "My dog has fleas..." As the painfully shrill rendition continued, the pre–recorded laughter soundtrack rolled on for ten seconds before the cartoon ended and a fashionably dressed emcee came on the screen, doubled over in a fit of conniptions. Making a great show of composing himself, he turned to face the camera.

"How about that Katrina girl, huh? Does that dame know how to pick Mr. Right, or what?" The laugh–track rolled again as the emcee strutted about the stage. "And her taste in music is so... eclectic, isn't it? I can certainly see why she likes him!" More tumultuous laughter immediately followed.

"Ok, folks, that's it for Katrina and Carlos. Time to move on now to some, er... slightly more talented musicians? Let's hear it for Billy and the Bashers!" This comedy show apparently also featured musical entertainment, as well as cartoons: the latest upcoming rage–rock bands.

Katrina numbly clicked her remote control, and the t.v. went blank. She sat motionless for a very long time, in a state of something like shock... she still couldn't quite believe what she had just seen. She had recently undergone two very painful experiences: first losing her beloved father in the car accident, then temporarily losing her sanity. Now she felt the same sense of dread coming over her again, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and vulnerability that completely drained her self–confidence. A shudder ran through her body as she contemplated the insanity of her situation.

What could she do about people who could control what everybody watched on television? Or people who could see her, and put her on their televison shows? Nobody could help her; nobody would believe it if she tried to tell them what was happening to her. They would throw her in the looney bin! How was she to contend with such an overpowering force, all alone? For the third time in her life Katrina was feeling completely defeated, scared and utterly despondent. She sank back onto her bed and closed her eyes, trembling, as crazy frightening thoughts once again began to take control of her mind.

After a very long, tormented interval, Katrina lifted her head. The bedside alarm clock told her she had been incapacitated for over an hour; she hadn't even been aware of so much time passing. As she sat up in her bed again her eyes began to wander about the room, and came to rest on her beautiful new guitar sitting on it's mahogany stand in the corner. Her thoughts immediately returned to Carlos, as they always did whenever she looked at it or picked it up to strum the easy chords he had taught her.

As she gazed on its sublime beauty, Katrina began to remember all the things Carlos had written and said about secret societies; how they controlled everyone and everything, and the methods they employed to do so, including threatening and intimidating their enemies and pawns using the various media they operated. With a gasp she realized that it was really true, everything he had said! There was an explanation for this madness, and it was simple to understand. It was the by–product of a corrupt cabalistic system that had spawned hideous monsters in its quest for complete global control. Everything she had read in Carlos' "propaganda" pamphlet about the dangers of letting the "wrong" people have power was now making perfect sense. The "wrong" people had fixated on her now, and had blatantly exposed themselves.

Carlos knew! He knew through direct experience, having gone through this himself for years; he had been a victim of the same machine that was now coming after her, and Jacob's persecution of him using pictures procured through mysterious sources was a perfect illustration of that machine in action. No longer was she dealing with a single opponent in this chess–like game; Jacob was in league with powerful people who seemed to hold all the cards, and they were winning. But as Katrina thought of Carlos' words, she began to take heart again; he knew what was happening to her!

She wasn't all alone after all! And as she realized this truth, her submerged indomitability slowly began arising once again, and she began to recover her spirits. She was not alone... Carlos was on her side. He was her ally; he would be her fellow soldier in arms. But where was he? She needed him... right now. Their enemies were attacking them, and they had many important decisions to make -- they needed to map out a future course of action if they were to fight back against these sick but very formidable people.

Katrina's superb mental equipment was kicking back in, as it always did whenever she was in trouble or had some challenging problem to deal with, but this time things were deadly serious. This was not some difficult script she had to learn, or an important final examination at college; Carlos' reputation was at stake, as well as her own future well–being. As she lay back on her bed, her mind once again began to race. A battle plan was starting to form in her mind; she had some idea now as to what she should do next.

Katrina jumped up from her bed, and stretched her body; she was feeling better. She was famished by now, and it was time to prepare her dinner. Putting on her most comfortable slippers, she walked out of her bedroom and down the wide hall to the stairway. As she padded down the stairs, Katrina's courage was steadily returning, building; she was feeling stronger with every passing minute. By the time she reached the kitchen she was back to her old self again, walking with a spring in her step, and even smiling as she took some salmon filets out of the refrigerator.

Carlos was subject to the same demons that were plaguing her, and they were no doubt affecting him the same way. This might actually be of benefit to her; the pressure might break down whatever was compelling him to stay away. He would probably feel the same way she did, would want to see a friendly face and talk to a sympathetic ear. The more she considered this eventuality, the more she convinced herself of the certainty of at least one thing:

Carlos would be coming back soon.

***************
________________________________________
Copyright 2006, 2018 by Charles Adrian Trevino.