No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11

"Perhaps another time. I see our time is up. Are we still scheduled for next week?"

Marcie nodded.

"Have you guys set a date yet? I don't recall you mentioning it."

They eventually had settled on a date – about five months out, putting it around the Thanksgiving holidays. The cascade of thoughts triggered during the session came back to her as she left Patti's office.

As a girl, Marcie, like her friends at that age, had planned all sorts of weddings for herself. Bride in white, flowers, beautiful church. As she got older her tastes and focus had changed – she didn't spend much time in churches any longer, a white wedding might be interesting, but if money were no object, what kind of wedding would she plan?

Carole was only too happy to brainstorm with her. They discussed venues – why inside a building? Why even in this city? Why not Paris – charter a flight? Their imaginations brought them to a truly white wedding – Antarctica, for example, and back again. At night, in bed, Marcie fantasized about a completely naked wedding, until she imagined what most of the guests would look like...not to mention the photographs and what she would tell the kids. Kids. She thought about kids a lot since the proposal...but she couldn't go there at the moment.

Monty was completely unfazed by any suggestion Marcie brought to him – no matter how outlandish. As a game, Carole kept pushing the limit to see when he would balk, but he only smiled.

As she drove away, her thoughts returned to the topic of their "improbable pasts." Monty hadn't really considered looking at pasts far outside the 1^st standard deviation on the Gaussian curve, but she had suggested they give it a try, not during one of the standard sessions, but instead of watching TV or reading the newspaper.

"What other couple do you know," she asked him, "can use an infinite number of pasts as a form of entertainment...with themselves as the celebrities?"

He tolerated the idea, but was extremely cautious about it. "Look. The couple of times we did it had a profound impact on you...you vomited just last week if I remember correctly, right? And you really want to risk looking at the 'long tail' as an entertainment?"

She scoffed at his attitude, suggesting he was getting old. In spite of her needling, she agreed it was not something she would take lightly. In the end he did it.

"But how do you do it?" She asked, the first night other than a session they had cuddled together in front of the screen. "It seems like the inputs are just one factor, but every time we do this, you concentrate for a moment and then fiddle about."

"You remember when you came back to the house the first time after learning about the gizmo? You remember I mentioned 'Forsight?' How gurus over the years have struggled to achieve it, but with the gizmo we might be able to shorten the time frame?

"I'm one of the lucky ones who has been able to achieve it to a limited degree. I've noticed the effect has strengthened in the past year or so – a result I attribute to the gizmo as much as 25 years of dedicated study. It's one of the things I use to help isolate the scenes of interest. Kind of in reverse – I can focus my forsight on a date in the past and sift through the highly probable ones.

"It gets really tricky though, the further out from the center of the curve. I talked with some of the PhDs at my office about it and they think they have an idea why. I'll show you. Pick a date and pick a spot on the curve far away from the center."

She took the control and entered the date of the party he'd thrown – the time she'd first hallucinated about being dominated. He raised an eyebrow when he saw it, but didn't say a word. She moved the red line way off to the right – as far as the display would let her.

"Okay," he said, shuddering slightly. "Now – we are so far outside the realm of probabilities that we really are playing with Schrödinger's cat. Out here, you have an infinite set of possibilities. For example, out here it's possible all of the molecules in the house's air are isolated to one corner of the living room." He saw her reaction. "Seriously – it's those kinds of unlikelinesses you're trying to watch. We might be having a party with aliens. You might have won the lottery. The problem out here, is that I don't have any good way of telling what is more or less appropriate – everything is so topsy turvy it all 'looks' like noise to me. In other words, forsight doesn't do much good when the outcomes all look...impossible."

She wasn't sure whether he was asking her to move the needle back or was still just explaining how he could help isolate the more relevant pasts. She kept still, waiting.

"Still want to see what this roll of the dice brings up?"

She nodded.

"So, before we actually watch a past, let me show you another reason why it is so damn difficult to isolate something that might be relevant. This," he pointed to a control off to the side, "is the fine tuning knob, if you will. Normally, no pun intended, when we're in the center of the curve, fine tuning allows me to change minor variables for a date – most of the highly probable past remains the same, but it allows us to see variations on the theme. It's what we used in the first few sessions to vary the results, you remember?

"But out here on the long tail, what appears to be minor variables may be the difference between alien invaders and intelligent viruses. Let me show you." He flicked a control and a set of numbers showed up below the graph several decimal places out. She watched the 10^th place number rapidly switch among several different values and the numbers out further were practically a blur they changed so frequently.

"See that? Not only is it having trouble stabilizing on a specific value, it is swinging wildly through hundreds of 'minor' values. If we were to just say 'go' and see a scene, we'd be unlikely to capture it again (without saving the setting). Out here, even one of these minor deviations represents a massively different past. Does this make any sense?"

She thought about it for a moment. "It feels a little like a system in chaos, yeah? Like in Trigonometry – as you try to get to the Tan of 90 degrees the system moves to infinity. This is like being very close to that value – any tiny change in the angle towards 90 actually swings the Tan of that angle very far away from the prior value...like that?"

He laughed. "Well, I never would have thought of it that way, but that's as good a way of explaining it as any. It's much different from that, but the feel of the system going into chaos is exactly right. Anyway, I've never spent any time out here – I've never seen any value in it...but I can see you are hell bent for leather, so let's give it a shot. But." He stopped again, his face a portrait in melodrama, "I'm going to put this into a 'dead man switch' mode. It is possible the past we see is so outrageous it causes our senses to essentially black out. Even though we might be 'unconscious' some part of us would still be 'watching' the past, continuing to cause damage. The thing will turn off if our finger comes off the button. It was a safeguard we put in for other reasons."

She was getting a little nervous now, not completely understanding what could possibly harm them from a simple replay of an outrageously improbable past, but she wasn't nervous enough to back out. "Let's do it!" Her enthusiasm belied her uneasiness.

They watched what appeared to be a completely normal opening to the party – she arrived, the guests were in the living room milling about. The house was virtually the same as it was today, some different furniture, a wall painted a different color. As they followed her through the living room, she took a different turn in this past, heading onto the deck instead of into the kitchen. The scene unfolding in front of them was like something out of a Fellini film: set up in the back yard was a complete circus, literally. Elephants, an emu or ostrich, a cage of lions, along with all of the roustabouts, tenders, keepers, and the like. A ring with a ring master, lights, a tight rope. The whole thing. There were dozens of people watching, both from the deck and down below.

She turned to him and laughed. The feeling was one of pure childish joy – not a scent of anything ominous. "Should we try it again?"

He felt they were playing Russian Roulette, but he stopped the scene and pushed the button again – the random motion of the numbers ensuring they wouldn't be even close to this past again.

This time when she arrived, the house was completely dark. There wasn't a party going on at all. She knocked but no one came to answer the door. There were few cars in the street. They moved the camera into the house to see if anyone was there, but it was dead calm – as if she'd come on the wrong night. And then they heard giggling and laughter coming from his bathroom. Moving the viewpoint into the 'grotto,' Marcie was struck dumb by what she saw. Monty was in the shower with three gorgeous women, each servicing him in one fashion or another.

She slapped his hand forcing the scene to stop. "That was awful!" Her gut was wrenching, not so much because of the sexuality but because of the feeling of the past – it just felt completely awful and so wrong.

"Out here," he mused, "it's possible our own emotions and fears affect what we'll actually see."

She looked at him wondering if it was his emotions or hers that might have conjured up that last past. "Again," she insisted.

He pressed the button a third time. Again, she arrived at the party, this time in full swing, but most of the guests were in costume. She had arrived with a trench coat, one which she quickly removed, to reveal she was almost completely naked – her nipples covered with tassels, her pubic area covered with a fig leaf.

She giggled at the outfit, and then giggled again when a woman entered the living room from the right wearing nothing at all except a fanned headdress of ostrich feathers.

As in the first past, this one felt playful and whimsical, not threatening. "What do you suppose is the meaning of ostriches? This was the second time it shows up..."

He couldn't begin to decipher why these pasts were appearing over any others, but he once again suggested their own psychological state may influence what was selected. He made a mental note to suggest to Patti another possible therapeutic application.

"More?" He didn't want to continue. Even though she was amused, he could sense a much more foreboding element to all of these pasts and he was concerned she would be hurt by them.

She yawned. As odd as they had been, it wasn't nearly as dramatic as he had led her to believe. "Nah, I guess I'm getting tired. But you have to admit, they weren't, for the most part, all that outlandish."

He didn't argue, nodding his head to the side and shutting down the projector.

* - * - * - *

It wasn't the only time she had suggested it. It was an itch that kept coming back. She just got a kick out of seeing such strange scenes.

He acquiesced again, perhaps a week after, and again she picked a spot almost at the end of the curve, only this time to the left instead of the right.

"It's really circular," he confided. "The display doesn't do it justice – but where you have it now is virtually the same as where it was the other night."

She got it, but left it there.

She picked a random date – one she knew was after they had started dating, but not one with any significance she could think of.

She was approaching the house, the viewpoint from her perspective in the car as it arrived. She parked it in the driveway. Marcie swung the camera around to see her face. She was concentrating on something but didn't appear to be concerned the house was dark with no one home.

She kept her keys out as she walked up to the door. The image froze.

"Are you absolutely certain you want to continue?" He held the control, his finger over the switch.

"Why? What do you think is going to happen?"

"This will be really unpleasant. I can assure you. I can't tell you what, but I can guess – death, perhaps murder. Rape. It's not pretty."

"How can you be sure? Is this forsight something you expect I'll be able to do sometime?"

His mouth was a thin line. "Probably. If you don't cum for 25 years." He smiled slightly at her annoyed look. "Seriously, I suspect you can already feel something about it. Just close your eyes and let the sensation of what you're seeing...have seen...reveal itself."

She sat back, dropping her hands to the loveseat and relaxed. Except for a slight acidy stomach she didn't feel anything in particular. She focused on her breathing, letting the day wash away. After a few moments she felt a kind of blackness in her consciousness, by her ears. They tingled a little and then as soon as she focused on it, it stopped. It wasn't anything like what she had felt watching her succumb to his ejaculation. She opened her eyes looking at him shaking her head. "Nothing really. A little blackness around the edges; some tingling in my ears...and oddly my nipples?"

She shook her head at his suggestion that may be all she could count on at this point. "It could have been a mosquito buzzing, my imagination. Really? Blackness around the edges, a tingling and my nipples are sensitive...and I'm supposed to know that means this scene is fatally dangerous?"

"What can I say? Imagine it wasn't just 'blackness around the edges' but something so profoundly distressing it slowed your heart beat or made your leg ache or something so unpleasant it was a clear sign you had no good reason to watch it."

"So...what do you feel? Do your legs ache?" She noticed he didn't have a hard-on for once.

"My stomach...and no, it wasn't the food I ate. Here. Feel this." He took her hand and put it on his abs, pressing down.

"I love how you keep in shape – Abs of Steel."

He wasn't amused. "You're making fun. This is serious. Look. I'm telling you what you're playing with here is not just a parlor game – this is real shit you're about to see. My stomach is tensed up not because I've been working out, but because it's sending me...us...a clear signal."

He could see she wasn't in a mood to be convinced. He made one last attempt. "Alright, we'll watch it for a brief moment, but again, a couple of weeks ago you threw up just because you had swallowed my cum. That was bad but it was a walk in the park compared to this one."

"Okay, you've got me convinced and more than nervous. But will it actually do me harm? Will it injure me somehow?"

"Psychologically? Emotionally? Probably no more than a really bad nightmare. Is that how you want to spend the evening?"

She wondered if he had other plans. She reached her hand down to stroke him through his trousers. She thought she could a feel a little twitch. "Would saving a damsel in distress be something you'd want to do tonight?" She leaned over and kissed him, pressing her fingers into his zipper placket.

"I doubt you'll want to have sex after watching this. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe watching mayhem and rape will turn you on. I'm ready to be surprised."

She wrinkled her face up at the thought she might be that kinky, that this was 'territory she'd want to explore,' but she'd learned so much about herself watching these pasts that surprised her, anything was possible. "Let's just do it for a few minutes and then we'll stop. Promise."

She kept her fingers on his crotch, pulsing through the fabric; he kept his fingers on the dead man switch and continued the scene.

She didn't seem concerned the house was dark. It was as if she had expected it. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door, flipping a switch to light up the entry. Nothing happened. She toggled it again but still no light. She closed the door quietly and put her keys away, concern revealed by moonlight dimly reflecting off the pool outside the entry. There was just enough light from the full moon to distinguish the furniture from the flooring. She made her way carefully through the house to the kitchen, hoping to call the power company, find a flashlight or something.

She didn't make it past the dining room.

It was darker there, in spite of the floor to ceiling glass. She bumped into the table and swore quietly, rubbing her shin. As she began to make her way again she stopped. Seated at the table was a figure, naked, with a hood over his head, his arms not visible, but she presumed tied behind his back. Perhaps she had heard a muffled sound in response to her injury; she didn't have another moment to process it before a shadow separated itself from the darkness and two hands grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her into a chair.

"Well. What do we have here? I thought you said she wasn't with you anymore? Ah...Montrose, you are not a very good liar."

She was going to scream but before she had time to even think about it a towel was shoved in her mouth and another hood was put over her head. Her attempt to shake herself loose from her assailant was useless. He was obviously much bigger than her and the element of surprise had eliminated most of her options once she entered the room.

"Now," he continued, an obvious humor in his voice. "You've really given me a nice gift here, Montrose. I think I will enjoy peeling this little piece of fruit before I slice it up."

He had her tied into the chair in moments; her squirming did nothing to slow him down. Within a minute her legs were immobilized as well.

A knife flashed in the moonlight and Marcie watched as the man, a face appeared dimly every once in a while but she didn't recognize him, sliced her clothing off unceremoniously. There was nothing sexual about it: it was as if he were preparing a meal, removing the inedible parts to get to the juicy meat inside.

The nausea suddenly hit her but she kept it down. There was something she needed to see, something drawing her in like the proverbial flame.

"She has very nice nipples Montrose. You certainly know how to pick them, eh? I wonder how they will taste, hmmm? And you know what I'm driving at."

He was shouting through his hood, but the sound was muffled. Her past-self was squirming ineffectually, her breasts bouncing dimly in the moonlit room.

It was as the attacker placed the edge of the knife against her breast that Marcie's eyes rolled up into her head and she blacked out.

* - * - * - *

"Are you satisfied?"

She looked up at him, disoriented. The pain in her nipple sent an adrenaline rush through her; her hand swung up to feel for her injury only to end in surprise to feel she was completely intact. And surprised she could feel her nipple at all – she must be undressed. She tilted her head up off the pillow and saw she was lying naked in the bed, clammy and wet.

"What....?"

He brought a robe and lifted her up, coaxing her arms through the sleeves as if she were recovering from surgery.

Her stomach felt awful and the pain in her breast was very real. "What is going on?" The memory of her attacker, of the insanity going on upstairs in the dining room...she almost wretched, until she realized she didn't have anything in her stomach.

"Oh, I think you're done with that," he said a little annoyed. "Let's get some tea in you, and perhaps you can help me clean up a little."

She had never heard him so short with her. She began to put the pieces together. "I threw up?"

"Thankfully it wasn't an expensive dinner."

Much later, after a couple cups of tea she looked at him sheepishly.

"Can we call it enough for now?" He asked, his hands reaching for hers across the peninsula.

She nodded. "I'm sorry. I really thought I could handle anything...I'm an idiot. Thank you." The last added quietly to try and communicate her contrition and respect for his prior warnings. "Well, at least I learned something else tonight – mayhem and rape are not a turn-on for me and thankfully not for you either." He returned a grim smile and nodded to the room downstairs reminding they had some cleaning up to do before going back to bed.