August Moone
Timing is Everything
Chapter 26
Dim Lights, Thick Smoke

Reality, What a Concept
	The pitter-patter of rain was a near constant, interrupted by bouts of thunder and the crack of lightning.  The strong scent of the summer thunderstorm filtered in and about him, rocking gently into the recesses of his psyche, his frapped consciousness--such as it was.
	It was a soothing time fraught with strange episodes of all manners of strangeness.  Misunderstandings, a trek into the dark world of serious debauchery; a historical adventure thru time with side trips to the bizarre.
	The scent of rain laced with the fragrance of a heavy pine forest was soothing; the thunder had moved on, the lightning, too.  Only the scent of the rain filled the consciousness.  There was an awareness of a subtleness not yet understood, it was far too complexing to ascertain (or even get a grip on.)  
	Visions.  That was the most compelling, images began filling every corner of his mind, faces and places.  Scents and tastes that were so vivid, so full of life.  Trying in vain he did to put some sort of semblance to the visions, but this was in vain.  Nothing was constant, nothing made sense, nothing was in order.
	The visions swelled like the waves of a turbulent sea; crashing about and sending up sprays of faces, places, scents, and sounds.  They were all vague, though, seemingly intangible; he struggled to make any sense of the nuance, but there was nothing to grab onto.
	How long this went on he did not know, the scope of “time” eluded him.  Endlessly, suffice it to say, endlessly he could only watch as the “waves” thrust upward to some unreachable apex to finally release some vision of something--a person, a place, a thing, a scent.  He saw desert scapes, old homesteads on a rustic prairie, a water course meandering thru a lush field of lupines and bluebells.
	He could smell that wondrous scent of walking thru a pine forest just after a rain.  He could hear the creek overflowing down a small hill running through the forest.  Birds twittered, chipmunks and squirrels flirted about the boughs of the trees yapping.  It was cool here, almost sensuous.  At least it was relaxing!
	Suddenly out stepped a wolf from behind one of the great pines, he was standing upright like a human, gnawing on a piece of straw and wearing baggy bib overalls.  His great wolfy tail swished behind him, lightning could be seen flashing in his huge brown eyes, he sneered and snapped, narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils.  Then casually he undone the button clasp holding the overalls up, when the dingy blue baggy garment fell away the wolf sported a HUGE pecker!
	The wolf worked the stout pink erection, licking his lips and slowly sashaying out from the tree walking forward.  “Come ‘ere, little piggy!” sparked the wolf, he leered and stroked his schlong.
	Panic filled--no, swelled within, there was naught to do but run.  But he couldn’t.  He tried, oh how he tried, the panic seethed and began roaring and crashing like the waves from the sea onto a lonely beach.
	And suddenly that was where he was, on a lonely stretch of beach.

	At first the beach “scene” was all right, but it was kinda dark and it was indeterminate if whether or not the time of day.  Not that it mattered.  It was cold, that was certain, the salt spray was everywhere.  And for a while he was alone.  Utterly.  A poem came to him, he felt it and was it:
To Be Alone
Leave me alone on a sandy beach
So I can listen to the waves
Lap lightly on the shore
Then without a word move back
Into the sea to come again
Leave me to sit on a rock
Surrounded by the sea
And hear the waves crash on
The Stone wall around me
The ocean is still out a league
The bright moon dances on the
Shimmering glass-like surface
Like a thousand mirrors shinning in the sun
A gull calls out overhead
And breaks the silence in my mind
We are as one in nature
As the gull turns back seaward
The lazy methodic clap
Of his great wings pierces the night air
Then suddenly it heads downward
It breaches the surface with its beak
And hurries off with its prize
The ripples formed move toward me
As each succeeding circle reaches out
The placid moonlight is bounced into my eyes
I am not lonely
I am alone.

	The wind hurriedly wrapped about him, the stingy spray of salt bit into his bare skin.  A storm was brewing.  The waves began to become more turbulent, rising up higher and higher, becoming “totally tubular.”  
	Dark skies loomed obliterating the distant horizon, closing in all around him was the darkness like a collapsing universe.  Again, there was nothing to do but wait it out and see what happened.
	Suddenly, looming up out of the darkness on the crest of a great wave was a ship!  A wooden ship with masts and sails, yet!  It crested the tallest wave and careened sharply downward to where prow was completely submerged and gone from sight; only to return moments later and now the rear of the great wooden vessel disappeared, the prow with its sea nymph icon proudly pointing the way pointing upwards to the angry skies above.
	A mast cracked, lighting flashed in the background, the ship leaned far to the left to whereas a sailor could possibly stand on the bulkhead upright.  Then quickly the ship returned to its proper positioning and the prow once more disappeared beneath the waves.
	Another mast cracked, lightning filled the skies and sprung outward like a spider’s web thru the darkness above.  The wooden ship was brought up onto a high cresting wave and plunged into a sort of unseen cove.  Here it coasted into a harbor of sorts, large cave and disappeared from sight.

	A sudden crack of lightning and a tremendous boom of thunder shuddered throughout his tormented body & mind; he fell, he curled up into a fetal position and clung to life--such as it was.
	It was near instantaneous, but took a while anyways to realize it.  The storm had suddenly abated, abandoned him.  He realized, too, that he was no longer on a “beach” setting, there was no sand beneath him, just grass, yellow grass, wheat grass.
	All around there was dry yellow grass, not actually wheat.  A few trees dotted the landscape, some rolling hills far away, rolling landscape, too.  A clear blue sky above, no clouds of any kind.  There was little fragrance in the air, but it was sweet nonetheless.  The nuance was new, striking, and again--relaxing.
	He assumed it was a ruse, as before previously.
	There was no time to gather his scattered thoughts.  It was time to move, or was it?  Should he stay where he was, or move?  Move where?  He felt at odds, he could not recall much--of himself or anything else.  Nothing made sense, his name, his place, anything.  A huge void swelled his mindset, he only had the “visions”; but that wasn’t enough--where they of him?  His past?  His future?  Or his Present?  
	Or was he dreaming?
	Ah, yes--that was it!  A dream!  He was dreaming, it was the only logical connection he could make.  But, that said maybe--he lacked information.
	To his ears he heard a noise and smelled something unknown.  He was unfamiliar with the odor, but then again it did sort of ring true.  Looking about he saw nothing so he stood.  His legs were numb, and for the first time he realized that he was nude.
	He still could not recall his name, his person.  Where did he come from, where was he, what was this dream all about?  
	The sun baked him, gently but begun to annoy him just the same.  He needed to seek out some shade.  And water.  Yes, water.  And an apple wouldn’t be bad to find, either.
	The odor that had wafted to his nostrils earlier had returned.  He still couldn’t determine it or where it was.  He still saw nothing.  In his mind he desperately tried to get a grip, where had he come from; why couldn’t he couldn’t he see more clearly his plight?  
	And though he saw images clearly before him, in his mind, they seemed less real than other images.  It was confusing, confounding, astounding.  Nothing to do but dismiss them and push on.
	He made the nearest shade and determined that it was an oak.  A huge oak with a boulder nearby.  After taking a bit of a rest in the shade of the tree he scrambled up the boulder to see if he could at least get a better looksee of where he was.
	Nope.  There was nothing but landscape--trees and boulders and dry yellow grass with a clear blue sky above.  A little disenchanted he sat down on the boulder, folded his legs, and waited.
	How long he sat he didn’t know, he felt nothing, though; no sensations of hunger or thirst or pains--further prompting him to believe that he was indeed in a dream.  But if it were true, then it was surely the most bizarre dream he had ever encountered!  It was so real!
	Baring that nothing.  He could “feel” the breezes, smell the various few scents that did come to him.  There were no birds per se, but he heard the clicks and buzzes of insects out in the dry grass.
	The strange odor once more came to him, again he still could not make a determination of what it was.  Then suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw some movement.  Something began emerging up from an obvious unseen slope in the landscape.
	A horse!
	A horse that was rich dark brown having a length of white down its long head.  It loped up the hill, thrusting its head to and fro, whinnying some and sampling the grasses nearby.
	The horse mosied on, coming up close to the boulder.  The horse bobbed its head, shaking it and pranced a bit, seemingly indicating, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

	Riding bareback butt bare assed naked wasn’t the coolest thing to do, his tender nuggets he had to keep held securely protected in one hand while holding onto the long mane of the horse with the other.  It beat walking, though.  With no direction in mind the horse was allowed to wander; seemed like a good idea at the time.
	The day wore on, there seemed to be no discernible detection of time actually “passing.”  The thoughts in his mind continued to roam freely with no particular order about them--continuing to make no sense whatsoever.  It was thought that at length they would, so he stopped worrying about them.
	He could feel the heat of the sun, he could smell the horse, hear the insects, and see all around him.  If it was to be a dream he could not recall one being so alive with such varied sensations.
	Before long, though, they came to where the dry grass-scape segued to a large clearing.  Here there was a great gully, an empty sand bed of a small river.  Just ahead there was a train trestle, a small one being some twelve feet over the dry river.
	Creosote.  That was the lingering odor he had been smelling all this time.  It stung his mind, filled it--and brought him to a time when he was small, a kid, a boy--running amok along the train tracks by his home.  Many days he played about the tracks, watching the trains, being brave to sit under the trestle when a Big One roared just above.	
	
	Flashback to Reality
	Pennies, dimes, nickels, and hand sized rocks he placed on the iron bars of travel.  The train would come and squish them and send the rock pieces flying.  Once the train had come to a stop--being brave he climbed up onto a flatcar, then crossed over the coupler, then rolled underneath a car and out the other side.
	He saw hobos and waved to them.
	Hobos.
	Something loomed there, something dark and disturbing.  Panic set in, fear, fright.  Lightning flashed, thunder roared and filled the air.  It was raining.  The skies were dark and gloomy and home was far away, it was late and he had been too absorbed to notice the fast approaching storm.
	The west bound train 9111 Santa Fe had come to a slow stop, he had counted some 210 cars--fifty flatbed lumber cars and twenty auto cars.  Why the train had stopped he didn’t know.  There were two middle engine pushers, but they were unmanned and ran automatically.  The caboose was still no where in sight--it was at least then a three hundred car-train.
	He came out from under the trestle he had come to call his “fort” and crawl up onto one of the flat cars carrying huge iron pipes.  He crawled into one all the way thru, then into another.  The train lurched and scared him, but wasn’t moving just yet.  He waited a moment and realized that it WAS late, he needed to get home--he had chores to do and homework and super, too!
	Suddenly he was grabbed.  It was a hobo, a dingy smelling gruff man with whiskey breath.  He was dirty and grimy in assorted layered clothing.  Roughly the hobo thrust August to the floor of the pipe carrying train car and began ripping at his clothes.  Young August screamed but was hit in the backside by double fist, the air in his lungs was knocked out of him and the hobo managed August’s jeans down.
	August tried to get his breath and get away from the hobo, but the scrawny derelict of society was stronger and pressed a knife to August’s throat.  Lightning filled the skies like a spider’s web, thunder roared like waves of a sea in storm; the hobo pushed something into August’s body, into his poop chute.  It was painful, it hurt--badly.  The knife blade stung him, too.  There was nothing to do but concentrate, watching the lightning and hearing the thunder.

	A Concept of Reality
	The train lurched and began slowly-slowly moving.  The hobo pushed August off of the train, stood up and began howling, laughing.  August lay still on the rocks as the train moved along, picking up speed.  His asshole hurt like never before it had hurt.  
	He had blanked his mind out about that incident, never to dwell on it evermore.  Oops.
	He sighed deeply, felt the urge to stretch.  Lightning and thunder continued their aggression upon the land, rain continually pitter-pattered on the rooftop.  He felt a little cold and switched on the heater, then pulled himself together.  He sipped the 7-11 coffee again and wondered why he kept torturing himself with their brew--too strong no matter how much one gussied it up with sugars and creamers.
	A country singer blarred on the radio, a station wagon pulled in and parked in front of the store, a woman got out and entered the 7-11, a long tall woman got out and August determined that she was a teenager--ultra skinny body, taller than most teens her age.  She carried a basket of clothes and hurried to the next door Laundromat.
	“Hey folks, Bert Roberts here with you on this thunderstormy rainy night; going to play all your favorites until midnite.  I’ve got a sister who lives up in Minnesota in a small community called Walnut Grove, she says the weather is fine and no thunderstorms no wheres.  Think I’ll have to go there to dry out!”
	Walnut Grove.
	Johnny Cash came on the radio, announced himself and began singing.
	Walnut Grove.  Deadwood, Prairieville, Waltons Mountain, Milwaukee.  Places.  Many places.  A cave, a cove, a desert.  There were peoples, too--many peoples, some he could put names to, some he couldn’t.  There were images of places, peoples, too strange to figure out.
	He sipped the coffee and noshed on the hotdog he regretted getting.  A huge crack of lightning suddenly illuminated the air, the 7-11 store went dark and Johnny Cash’s prison song about a train was suddenly “interrupted.”
	The radio remained silent, all around there were no lights in the downtown area of Flagstaff.  August sipped his too hot too strong coffee and watched the lightning show.

					****

	Tripping
	A Mind Trip; that’s what it was.  That’s what it had to be.  Pure and simple.  Well, maybe not so simple.  The rain continued thru the equally continuing darkness, he turned the heat up a bit more--strange thoughts roamed about his noggin’, none of which made much since.  The thunderstorm was moving off, leaving only the rain.  Lightning flashed off in the distance towards the Painted Desert but the thunder accompanying wasn’t heard.
	He sat still for a long while, occasionally his dulled thoughts interrupted by a passing car sloughing its way thru the nearby flooded intersection.  The thunderstorm had quieted the town, including the radio.  He sighed and sipped his coffee, the long tall teen who had carried the basket of laundry into the now darkened Laundromat had now returned stuffing the basket back into the car.  No laundry tonite.
	The coffee finally got cool enough to drink off, the radio station he had been listening to kicked on--if only for a moment and then was silent again.  Some other radio stations were likewise--except the three Mexican and one rap station, they were up and running.
	The coffee and hot dog were working--on his system.  Cracking a cheek he let one go; that helped alleviate his stomach/bowel trouble but his bladder was still yet to be made glad.  Touching the handle of the door he heard a sound, a sneeze.
	And it wasn’t from him.
	No one was present in the passenger seat of the truck.  August sat back--memories most strange began to flood his mind.  Lights began to flicker on and off--but he wasn’t sure for certain if that was occurring in his mind or in the 7-11.
	Looking over his shoulder he stared at the heavy black curtain separating the cab from the cargo area.  His eyes came to rest on a briefcase-like object on the floor between the two captain’s chairs.  More memories came, there was another sneeze, and the lights in the 7-11 came on.

	It wasn’t a briefcase but a laptop computer.  Picking it up and settling it onto his lap he felt a jolt--a jolt of memories--it was a little more than overwhelming; there were images rushing into his open mind at an amazing pace, confounding him and making absolutely no sense.  Again there were places, peoples, names, dates; all swirling about as one giant conglomerate of mass confusion.  
	And then; he knew.
	August.  He was August Moone.  August Moone of Flagstaff, Arizona, born in 1961, graduating high school in June of 1980.  The current year was 2000.  
	Blinking his eyes, cracking/popping his neck, he opened the laptop on his lap.  The Device.  The Device Item 0110, the Governmental Issue Device Item 0110, absconded from the hidden secretive military base he still did not know where--but he remember how he got there.
	Charlie Dugout.  He sighed, he felt some sadness swelling within him and he couldn’t remember why.  Where was Charlie, why wasn’t he hear?
	Suddenly the radio came back to life--he jumped and squeezed himself into the seat a little more.  The disc jockey babbled about the weather and the loss of power, then the flooded streets and where all the power was out.  August sat still staring at the laptop, the Device.
	Walnut Grove.  Waltons Mountain.  Prairieville.  Places they were, time in a distant memory that was not so faint.  A large lump formed in his throat, a dream?  Had it all been a dream?

	The notion that his epic journey into the bizarre was merely a dream unsettled him.  Greatly.  He had had dreams before, but none like what he had experienced.  Time travel.  Why, that was ridiculous!  1875!?  Could it be possible?  No, that was silly, stupid, ludicrous.  The concept of time travel was in essence possible--but it would require something a little more than mere simple laptop/device.
	Wouldn’t it?
	Or, another thought, perhaps he HAD traveled back in time--it was a possibility, but not in the physical sense--just in his mind--helped along with the aid OF the Device.  That was a more plausible notion, ridiculous and silly and all that but at least it made more sense. 
	He sighed.
	Charlie was dead, he remembered.  The pirate cove.
	Or was he?  At what time, where, had he begun his “adventure?”  that was something to think about and look into.  And the only possible way to know would be to re-trace some of his tracks.  The last place he knew Charlie was would be that hillside, or the cave, or the canyon.
	But that was not without its dangers--the Indians, those Indian fuckers of the Purple Schlong.  The cave had its problems, too; the tunnel bandits.  The closed universe of the military base, the simple trek of making it to the base in the first place!
	Sighing deeply again and let the swarming memories drift about and settle themselves, he would analyze them later.  The radio kicked on with some music, Johnny Cash again.  The lights flickered in the 7-11 store and went out.  The radio followed seconds later.

	The laptop, the Device Item 0110:  it had marvelous abilities, marvelous.  Brain Wave Capturing was its primary functioning, to capture a Subject’s brain waves and then manipulate them--forcing said Subject to give up all his/her dirty little secrets--primarily the strength of his/her forces, the placement of those forces, how many tanks, airplanes, names of generals in charge, the spy network, who’s the “mole”, and so on.
	That was the gist of it, or the primary purpose.  It (the Device) seemed to have some glitches in its initial programming, though--it was determined to be either too powerful, or not enough.  It did things on its own without input or refused to give into to the Programmer’s input prompting.
	It had possibilities that was true for certain but its many setbacks kept it on the backburner.  
	That was until August Moone entered the scene.  It was as much as he himself could ascertain, an object like the Device, why--its severe potentiality of danger in the hands of a Spy, a Thief, a High Brow Crook, or a lecherous pervert, should have kept the object buried and hidden.
	Which only led August to another plausibility.
	This was ALL a dream.  The Device and all of it.
	That sucked.
	Big time.
	He frowned and rubbed his chin--but it felt so real.  But so had the Indians raping him, so had the smell of creosote, the burning wagons, the blisters on his hands from tilling the soil in Walnut Grove.  He heard and smelled and felt everything; the home made fried chicken with butter biscuits from Olivia Walton, the heavy perfume from some woman in Charlottesville, the sting of rubbing alcohol on his tired shagged out body.  Hours riding horse chasing after bandits out of the town of Deadwood.
	All those memories and more filled him, seethed within his soul, his person.  The senses--could they be fooled, too?  Or was that another part of his psyche?  Or was he laying in some hospital bed in some fucked up delirium?  Suffering from some sort of psychosis?
	That was a possibility, too--and unfortunately it made more sense.

	The lights of the 7-11 flickered back to life, the radio did not.  And there was another sneeze that brought August of 2000 back to the here & now, such as it was, or wasn’t.
	His hand came up to the curtain, he held his breath--
	“Hey, and if you are looking for your fellow classmates, call me up here at the station, or call Janna at 555-0110 for details on the class of 1980 of --” and the DJ was once more silenced.
	Classmates.  1980.  Janna?  He didn’t recall a Janna at his school.  He blinked his eyes.  The reunion.  Reunion.  Had that happened?  Had he gone?  When?  Where?  How long ago?  Or not.
	Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else?  Didn’t he have a room, a hotel room at one of those live-in hotels, stay & play sort of places?  His mind sunk down to unbury one of those hidden memories--he had gone to the reunion and banged off on the 24 girls he had had a boner for in high school, then thereafter he had gotten a room to settle down and explore the Device.
	That was the beginning.
	Or was it?
	The lights of the 7-11 flickered and went out again and the radio came on.  Some other country twanger came on other than Johnny Cash.  August parted the curtain and peered into the inky darkness.
					*****

	On the side above the counter containing the mini refrigerator was a light switch.  The ‘51 Panel (Ford) had been completely restored, but not to its original condition--it had been upgraded; having now recreational vehicle features (on a small scale.)  Carpeting and paneling with sound insulation.  Separate air conditioning and heating, sealed doors (back only).  No windows but air vents.  A sink and two captain’s chairs.  
	The light illuminated the rear interior, revealing some “passengers.”  August Moone had been busy.
	Tussed up on the floor was a woman, short dishwater blond hair, emerald loop earrings, high cheek bones, beige slacks off-white blouse, 36Bs.  She was hog tied and gagged and not happy, a little scared but mostly not happy about her situation.  
	Four girls and two boys were there, too; only one boy was unrestrained.  All were clothed, someone had the stench of pee about them.  August looked them over, slowly he recalled “acquiring” them, but most of the info about them was crowded by his “misadventure” into time tripping.
	 
	The woman.  Vaguely he recalled her, he had sit on the floor and stare at her a good long while, causally checking over the others.  He didn’t know them or how they had come to be in his “possession.”  Slowly, though, he realized that the Device had something to do with it, that much he was certain.  His mind was blank, though, a stunning gap was there.  He felt that there was more, more gaps.
	The woman moved about some, August stared at her--she DID seem familiar to him after all.  But nothing definitely clicked.  Nor did the four girls and two boys.  The one boy unrestrained looked at him kind of oddly, August had no idea.  This was not good.
	“Is anything wrong?” the unrestrained boy finally asked.
	There was, but August didn’t know what it was!  “Naw, everything’s cool.” he said.  The girls looked to him, they were cute.  Damn cute.  The youngest was merely five or so, then there was an eight year old with a nine and thirteen year old in the mix, too.  The youngest one had pissed herself.
	August reached for the little one, she recoiled, the others seemed to try and interfere, especially the thirteen year old.  The “woman” unknown looked back and wrestled about, but she was well enough hogtied and gagged and her threats were idle.
	August smacked the woman on the ass.  She settled down, burying her face into the deep shag carpet.  There was a flash memory of the woman, about the woman, but it went just as quickly as it had come--in a flash.  He decided not to worry about it, not right now--he felt that the memory of her (and the others) would come to him, eventually.
	The little girl.  A strawberry blond child, very trim, slim, young.  Her hair gently caressed her very rounded face, dazzling blue eyes, slightly tan skin.  Super small teeth, daintiness abounded her, a blue top with a big panda bear sniffing a daisy on the front.  Simple jeans--with a big “wet” spot at the crotch.
	August stood the child up the eyes of the other surrounding opened wide, they shook their heads and tried to be a trouble.  From out of his pocket he withdrew a small weapon, handheld like a remote but with two silver prongs at the end angled towards one another.  A stun-gun, tazer.  He couldn’t recall how he had come into possession of it, either--or to what its application was.
	He was acting on instinct.
	The kids settled back down and August worked the little girl’s jeans down.  He paused and stared at her, there were mixed feelings, mixed feelings he couldn’t understand.  He knew what he was doing (or had done) was wrong, damn wrong; immoral and illegal.  Kidnapping, assault, and whatnot.  And heavy on the whatnot.
	Down came the child’s wet panties.  Pink they were, little cartoon characters all over them.  His mind began to whir, his cock began to rise.  He licked his lips and gazed at her, drinking her in.  Cocking his head to one side he observed strongly her young naked poon--she was a virgin.
	His fingers went up and down the slit, thumb pressing into the skin; up and down her ass and thighs, his cock growing stronger and stronger.  The thirteen year old was bawling, as was the eight year old--who was the girl’s sister.
	A parking lot.  A big one, a mall parking lot.  The storm clouds had just come, a harried mother scurried her children ahead of her to beat the storm, dropped some bulky packages.  The parking lot lights went out.
	August Moone casually “acquired” the two children, zapping them into silence with the aid of the Device, then plucking them into the back of his panel truck.  The mother screaming and panicking at her missing children.
	Krissy and Hanna.  Five & Eight.  Sisters.  Hanna had dark hair, though, BIG round eyes of brown, long jaw, ultra skinny for her age, nice butt, though.  Beige kiddie slacks.  She bawled and sat blubbering as her abductor/tormentor did his thing with her sister.
	August merely laid the hapless frightened Krissy down, working her pants and panties to her restrained ankles, then applying a moist towelette to her pissy cunny.  He spent a few minutes cleaning her, then sat back to observe Hanna.
	Hanna gulped and stared back.  The unrestrained boy, August checked him; a nice young lad--gouging himself with the heel of his hand, licking his lips, staring at the hapless child on the carpet.
	“You wanna do her?” August asked.
	The boy shrugged.  August stared at him, his eyes narrowed--vaguely he recalled traveling down some lone stretch of familiar road, heading for Tuba City.  The rainstorm was coming in from Utah, up over the mountain Pass and driving deep into the desert.  At a roadside stop along the way just out of the city of Flagstaff August stopped and pulled in.  It was bitter cold, dark, and raining.  Under a cement picnic table was the boy.
	Rusty his name was, Rusty Phart.
	He had a black eye, swelled lips, some other bruises on his face and arms, he had a backpack and was on his own.  He was twelve.
	August couldn’t recall if he had made it to Tuba City or anywhere’s else north from Flagstaff afterwards or not, or if he had already had the 
“passengers”.  His time-line seemed a little misconstrued.
	“Lick her pussy.” August said.  He was not quite himself, but felt another “being” within, his Old Self.
	Rusty hesitated just a moment, then leaned down and “assumed” the position.  He parted the girl’s legs and began flicking his tongue to her young-young snatch.  August watched, his own cock rising and groaning.  The other kids and the woman were in fits.
	Still ticked and miffed about his sporadic misplaced memory he sat back to wait for it to fill him with knowledge.  During which time he found himself fondling the boy’s ass.  He wore loose baggy style jeans, they were new.  The Wal-Mart store, it was not a shopping mall where Krissy & Hanna had been “acquired” but a Wal-Mart.  It was here that August took Rusty in for a new wardrobe.  Rusty was a “willing” son.
	Rusty undone his new jeans and worked them down, all the while continuing to munch/lick on Krissy’s five year old pussy.  No undies the boy wore, so August had easy ample access to the lad’s wares.
	To his ripe smooth hairless lily white ass August fondled, rubbed and caressed before delving into the crack and fingering out the hole.  The swinging/swaying balls were clutched and fondled as well--then lastly the boy’s pre-teen cock.
	Rusty continued licking Krissy’s pussy, spreading the “lips” and getting in deep.  Hanna and the other girls were freaking out, the one other boy was a little scared, but watching the shenanigans with an awe of curiosity.
	August soon eased out his prick and began slapping it against Rusty’s ass.  The tussed up woman flung her head about trying in dire vain to protest.  August paid her no mind and mounted up behind Rusty, guiding his fuck stick into the boy’s tight corn hole.
	It was the lad’s first time, so he clenched up.  August smacked the boy’s ass and eased in gently his schlong.  Rusty engulfed Krissy’s poon wholly and endured the penetration.  August sunk himself fully into Rusty’s backdoor, “reached” around to fondle the boy’s cock and commenced humping.
	No one spoke, most bawled or sobbed or stared in disbelief.
	August humped until that euphoric moment arrived and then he humped furiously to fully achieve it and be gratified by it.  When done he pulled out and looked to the tussed up woman, Charlotte Klark.  TV anchorwoman, newsperson, reporter.  He had a thing for her, (aye, a gooey seven inch thing).  She was on the local tv station and he had been enamored with her, she wasn’t overly striking in beauty, but there was a certain mystique about her.
	And her bashing the local and national perverts had a little something to do with it, as well.
	Early thirties, tall--just at 5’10”, average size and frame, 36Bs.
	She hailed originally from the Midwest, farming country.  She was married and had two children.  She would never be the same again.  Especially after August put Rusty into a new position, angling him about to whereas he was on his backside.  Rusty fully removed all his clothes and held his legs back at the knees.  
	“Lick his hole, clean!” commanded/demanded August.
	Charlotte wasn’t about to.
	So August grabbed quickly the thirteen year old girl and pressed the stun gun device to her stomach.  The teen instantly freaked, pissed herself and went shriveling on the carpet like a cut worm.
	August then pressed the prongs of the electrifying device to Krissy’s glistening wet cunny--then eyed Charlotte.
	The woman was in tears, she was both pissed and frightened.  Disgusted, too, as she had the ungodly task of licking (clean) Rusty’s cum laden cum hole.  She did it, but didn’t like it, she retched and gagged but successfully cleaned Rusty dirt chute of the Tormentor’s cum.
	With that narly task completed, August scooted into position and pronounced his cock, waggling it before the horrified woman’s eyes.  “Suck me.” he told her.
	Charlotte was panic stricken, August waggled his schlong, slapping it against her face and poking at her nose and eyes, rubbing the gooey funky head against her luscious red lips.
	When she didn’t immediately obey or comply, he clicked on the electric gun, Rusty took the weapon-convincer and pressed it to Krissy’s young twat; Charlotte lost all hope and engulfed the funky schlong.

	A great gob of goo filled the woman’s mouth, she was NOT a cocksucker, she retched and nearly vomited.  August thanked her then brought himself up to Krissy, rubbing his cock up and down the child’s pussy.  Her sister, Hanna, was freaking out, begging.  The oldest girl, nearly twelve, Katey, adamantly begged.
	“You wanna take her place?” August asked her.
	Katey balked at that, reeling back and closing her legs.  ‘No.’ she wasn’t really willing to be a proxy.  August rolled the little girl over, caressing her darling firm ripe arse, spreading the cheeks and fingering the dirt chute.  “Mmmmmm, I could go in here, too!” he smirked.  Katey shook her head and pleaded.
	“It’s either her or you.” August said in a condescending voice.
	“You bastard!” mouthed Katey.  August smiled and shrugged, 
	“Yeah?  And you point is…?”
	Katey managed to lay herself down, stretching out her legs.  Her young face full of rage and hate.  Her wrists were bound by duct tape behind her, her ankles bound equally so.  August straddled her legs, she wore semi-tight fitting jeans, simple white undies with flowers.  
	August leered at her, grinning and drinking her in.  In his mind he saw her mother, in a room of some sort--a big room, not a house, but a place.  It wasn’t clear and August let it be, it’d come back to him--whenever.  Back to the task at hand.
	His hands went up the girl’s shirt, finding her small A-cup mounds, squeezing the nipples.  Katey rolled, twisted, and carried on--as she should.  But she was no match for the determined Ultra Tormentor/Pervert Extraordinare!
	The shirt he merely ripped open and then tore the dainty bra off of her body.  The other kids reeled and carried on as they should, Charlotte was a mere lost cause, her hatred had now succumbed to disparity.
	August gave the nod to the one Willing Subject, Rusty.  The nude boy scooted over on his knees, his cock ready for action.  With a simple head nod again Rusty went down and began sucking on the pre-teen’s titties.  August once more fondled the youth’s ass, diddling his hole and then masturbating him.  Rusty gripped August’s rock hard candy and sucked tenaciously on Katey’s breasts.
	Katey furiously thrashed her head to and fro, seriously not into the new task presented her, to SUCK Rusty’s cock.  The thought was not only appalling it was disgusting and disturbing.  But the Convincer came into play, and DID have to be switched on, little Krissy being the recipient of the quickening electrifying pain.  She peed and twitched for several minutes.
	“One more jolt ought to kill her.” August whispered into Katey’s ear, “You want to be the cause of that?” he whispered so close into her ear, laying partially on her, he licked her ear with his tongue as he spoke.  “Don’t piss me off, sweetie, you don’t fucking no how dangerous I can be.”
	The words he spoke were from someone else.  Hew couldn’t determine; he couldn’t determine what was going on.  Sure he was a molester, in the highest degree--any opportunity to molest, kidnap, rape, fuck, etc. he didn’t pass up.
	But there was another part, the violent part that was the hang up.  He felt that initially he himself was NOT violent.  But then, there was a part of him, too, that said he was!
	It was most confusing.  It was like he were two different peoples, emerging now and then at particular intervals or opportunities.  
	Hapless Katey complied with the new task, which was to suck Rusty’s cock right then and there.  All the while her Tormentor went down and begun undoing her jeans.
	Katey thrashed about on the carpet, gripping it with her tethered hands as her mouth was filled with Rusty’s cock, her cunny filled to capacity with her Tormentor’s cock.  August entered the girl, her jeans and panties rolled down to her bound ankles, her legs open at the knees.  She was a virgin but admitted to fingering herself AND her sister, Kellie!
	She farted and sometimes spied on boys in the woods peeing and “playing with themselves.”
	She admitted, too, to cumming--while fingering herself.  She had never seen a boy “cum.”  But she knew that they did, she was up on Sexology.  She was curious about sex and getting laid, but wouldn’t actually go thru with it, she didn’t think.
	Rusty filled her sweet mouth with his cum and August did likewise to her cunny.  Katey vomited the cock spew and then lay convulsing as she succumbed to multiple orgasms.
	Katey.  Katey and Kellie.  And Kevin, too.  They were related.  Brother and sisters.  They had been “acquired” from a church, early in the morning, just before the storm front moved in; it was a Saturday, a special day at the church--though hardly anyone had come.
	A choir was singing, but it was only rehearsal.  In the kitchen teens were making pizzas and lasagna for a special Sunday activity.  Down an open atrium hall at the very far end a room was open for “auditions.”  Puppets.  A children’s pilot puppet program was having an open casting call, bring your hand puppets and come join the fun.
	How exactly August Moone had come into the mix he didn’t rightly know, but the day was cool and he was there.  He avoided the teens in the kitchen, but listened to them, hardly any boys were there but there were at least a dozen girls.  He’d check them later.
	He slinked about to avoid passing the main glass doors leading into the Sanctuary where the choir was practicing.  His destination was down the open hall whereas on either side there were various classes, two stories worth.  At the end there was a large fenced playground with an overflow parking lot beyond.
	A door to a large Sunday school class for young kids was open, a sign board out front with various puppets on it pointing the way into the social gathering of puppeteers. 
	There was coffee and donuts and puppets all laid out on some long desk.  Puppet literature and books were stacked neatly, chairs were provided for “adults”--but those “adults” never showed.
	The only ones present was the one in charge, the children’s ministry director, Patty.  Patty and her three children, Kellie-9, Katey-13, and Kevin-11.  It was a big NASCAR event weekend, a big parade downtown, some shindig at the fair--bad timing for a puppet audition.
	The woman was the main attraction, Patty.  Tall she was, six foot and then some, 36Cs, kind of a high toidy well-to-do woman in very good clothes, pant suit.  She reeked of expensive perfume.  August just wanted to see her naked, laid out over one of the project tables and he behind her doinking her into oblivion.
	And low and behold he did!
	Tied to their chairs were kids, watching as their mother was stripped out of her clothes and position across a table.  A total stranger pressed himself up against her butt and began defiling her.  Their mother was NOT restrained in any way, but she seemed compliant to the sexual attack.
	The Device.  The GI Device Item 0110.
	August shook his head to himself and sat back on his knees.  Katey breathed heavily before him, her young teen cunny “broken,” cum still oozing from her mouth and leaking from Rusty’s cock still poised at her head.  Behind him still between the front seats in the cab area was the laptop, the Device.

						*****

	Memories.  Realities.  Concepts of Time and Placement.  There were gaps in his memory, a fuzzy hold on reality, and the whole concept of time travel and his placement in the universe completely eluded him.  There was no firm grasp on reality, such as it was.  His thoughts were mulled, culled into a persona of Where?  What was real?  And When was it all happening?
	There were several avenues to explore; most of which he had already done and left him with a bad taste in his already well frapped mind.  What was real, what was reality and WHERE on God’s Earth was it!?
	More questions.
	One of his biggest pesky questions was When.  When in time was he?  How far long after the Reunion?  Or had he even GONE to the reunion?  The problem with psychosis was that the Subject was lost in a myriad of conflicting memories, unable to decipher reality from the vague concept of intangible memories.
	He only knew the Hear & Now.  Hear was Flagstaff, Now was--Oh-Dark-Thirty; no power to the section of city he occupied, it was still raining, and he had a cargo load of kidnapped Subjects!
	The Johnston kids, Katey, Kellie, and Kevin.  Their mother he recalled, Patty, he had seen and been captivated by her oddness, she reminded he greatly of Martha Stewart.  (but more refined)  The Device played a factor, it always did.  Seeings as how NO ONE was about (or interested in the proposed Puppet program) August Moone made his move, stealthfully.  
	Seeing the three kiddies helping their mom out really put him into the groove, but the oldest was going to go the nearby church kitchen to help out with the other teens.
	She didn’t make it.
	August “nabbed” her brain waves with the Device and her brother’s, too.  Little Kellie he was unable to get a lock on so brute force was required here.  Mostly in the form of after subduing her siblings then manipulating the mother caused young Kellie to behave and be mindful lest something terrible happen to her mother.
	The mother.  Tall she was, as previously stated, the resemblance to Martha Stewart was uncanny, they could have been sisters!  The Device seemed to be a little askew and not 100% in form, but that was okay, it worked well enough to keep the family in line.
	There were two doors to the large kiddie Sunday school room, August locked and secured them both and moved the sign board from the open atrium area inside, closed the door and quickly settled on making himself a nuisance.
	Patty, like her children, was strongly manipulated into complying, she had her own mind but was unable to control it.  Her mind was controlled by the Device.  Right before her startled frightened children she undressed.  When down to her purple love pats panties August had her stop, pausing.
	The attention was turned to Katey and Kevin.  “Stand up.” August told Kevin.  He was 11-ish, sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, nice looking fart.  He was most terrified, but eyed his near nude mother just the same.  Beads of sweat appeared on the lad’s forehead, and there was a slight “bulge” betwixt his legs.
	“Take his pants down.” commanded the Tormentor to Kevin’s sister, Katey.  The girl looked wild eyed and wasn’t about to comply.  But then there were flashes of Pain and Extreme Discomfort coming to her sister Kellie.  August had the mother turn about and lay out over one of the long conference tables in the room, he swatted her ass and pushed her legs open, tugging the panty down to expose ass flesh.  Another flash filled Katey’s young mind--’Do it or she suffers greatly.’
	Katey unfastened her brother’s jeans and lowered them.
	“Rub his ass.” August chided her.  Little Kellie scooted back into an alcove of kiddie books and toys, it was a cul-de-sac and she wasn’t’ going anywhere, Auggie let her be and continued with Katey and Kevin.
	Patty twisted and tried to break free of the unknown power held over her, her panties had been taken down to her knees and the Stranger was fondling her ass!
	“Take his underwear down.”
	Katey balked at this, she resisted greatly and though he could not directly control little Kellie, he COULD implant an image--an image that made her cry out in dire anguish.  Katey lowered her brother’s underpants.
	“Good.” August said, but was miffed that she didn’t obediently comply with his initial commands, so in her mind she saw terrible things of fright.  She wet herself and curled up on the floor for several minutes.
	During which time August slapped, smacked, spanked, and diddled the mother’s ass.
	Time for some Q&A:
	“You ever play with your brother’s cock?”
	“NO!”
	“Don’t you want to?”
	“NO!”
	“Look at him.”
	Katey tried not to, but the force unknown compelled her and she stared at her brother’s semi hard schlong.  “Keep caressing his ass.” she was told.  She did but was seriously trying not to.
	“You ever been naughty with your brother?”
	The question stung her deeply.  In August’s mind he was reminded of Mary Engalls and her fingering her younger sibling Laura.  Katey was too shocked to reply, she only stared at August with mouth open, hand making circles on Kevin’s ass.
	“You a virgin?” the questioning continued, young Kevin’s tally began to rise and become more pronounced.  August rubbed Patty’s ass, pulling the cheeks open and revealing her dirt chute and hairy snatch.
	“What about you, virgin?”
	The boy slowly nodded, it was true, he was a virgin.
	Both Johnston kids admitted to fingering themselves, though, hard, to the point of “cumming off.”  Kevin was a bed humper, sister Katey frigged herself and little Kellie watched.  Kellie only sometimes fingered her pussy.  All three were farters.  Katey had only recently allowed a beau to fondle her titties and kiss her bare titty flesh.  When his hand went down and tried to undo and get inside her jeans she stopped.
	Kevin.  Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.  Under dire protest he admitted to spying on his sisters--AND mother!  While they were in various stages of undress, or lack there of.  He masturbated while spying on them, he had their panties and often jerked off into them.
	Kevin’s cock was now as stiff as it was going to get.
	The admission of their narly doings was horrid, to themselves, each other, and so on.  Patty had heard her offspring but was more concerned for their welfare (and hers) than their sibling naughtiness.
	“Suck him.” commanded August.
	Katey wasn’t about to.
	Kellie suffered and Katey relented.  She closed her eyes and sucked like a pro.  She was already “practicing” on a cucumber and banana.  She had seen two boys jerking off behind some bushes at her school and watched them suck one another.  “Put your hands on his ass, squeeze tight.”
	Katey engulfed her brother’s schlong and devoured him, his balls rested right up to her chin as she power sucked him into oblivion.  August unfurled his own rock hard organ and pressed it against Patty’s naked ass.  Kellie remained hidden in the small cul-de-sac library, whimpering and carrying on.  She could see her sister sucking Kevin, but nothing more.
	August pressed his prong into Patty’s backdoor--rubbed and poked and then angled into her poon.  “Hold your cheeks apart.” August commanded to her.  The Device was working wonders, he did come to realize that it sometimes had the unmitigated gall to shut down unannounced--and that would be bad.  “Better make this quick.” he minded to himself.  He slid into Patty’s cunt and with her holding her own cheeks he humped madly while son Kevin humped sister Katey’s mouth.
	After the cum spurts oozed out of Patty’s pussy and Katey’s mouth, the cocks were held, fondled, and relaxed.  August checked the Device Item 0110, it seemed to still be working at that was good.  His cock ached terribly, but that was good, too.
	Katey retched and gagged and made many faces of displeasure as she spat out the milky goo from her mouth.  “Fucker!” she said.  She was pissed.  
	“Well, BITCH, you’ve always wanted to know what a guy’s cock tasted like.  Now you know.”
	Katey was still pissed, she was curious about cocksucking, but not her own brother!
	“Come here, boy.” August commanded of Kevin.  Kevin slowly made the few feet to the Supreme Tormentor, he was then directed to rub his hands on his mother’s ass.  The boy held back, not so much as it was a wrong and immoral thing to do, but that his sister Katey was present.
	August took his turn rubbing/caressing the boy’s ass, the boy made small caressing circles to his mother’s firm semi-flabby ass; then he was ordered to his knees.  His tongue to come in direct contact with her funk hole.
	Katey was aghast.  Even more so when August present her with HIS cock.  “Suck me.” she refused.  Kellie suffered, Kellie peed, Katey suffered, Katey peed.
	After Kevin humped his mother’s corn hole August got the uncanny feeling that “time was up.” or about to be.  “Time to boogy.” And at first he was just inclined to boogy to his panel truck on his own and be satisfied.
	But that didn’t happen.  He was somewhat enamored with the Johnston kids, especially Katey and Kellie.  Especially Kellie.  He decreed that he wasn’t done with them, and in retrospect he wasn’t done with their mother, either.  But she had been left, naked and frapped--mind, body, and soul.  Her offspring had been absconded away with under the guise of the many wonders of the experimental governmental mind controlling device.

	Stay Tuned For Book II of August Moone due shortly
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