Lost

He woke up on a parc bench. Totally in a daze. Hair disheveled, tie askew. Tie? He never wears a tie. And he always takes utmost care of his person. High maintenance guy. To the hairdresser every week, as his boyfriend would testify.

He could not comprehend the headache or what he was doing on that bench considering that he did not drink nor did he touch drugs. Or maybe. There was this meeting at Margo's mansion. A big affair, lots of top notch lawyers and business people.

He could not go home the way he was. His boyfriend soon to be husband would not understand. Of course he'd have to call, make an excuse, say that he'd overslept at the mansion and would soon be home. Problem was he did not have a clue as to where ''home'' was.

He felt in his pocket, could not find his top of the line G-14 model phone, wondered if maybe he'd left it there.

He managed to get on his feet and straigthened himself out. Looked around and tried to orient himself.

The craziest thing occured to him. While there was some sort of fancy coffee shop across the street, he only remembered the place as being occupied by a maker of jet packs where he purchased the latest for his wild week-end crossing such as the Thames. His lavish lifestyle permitted such. And extreme sky diving from stratosphere like height in pressure suits,

He'd flown there barely a week ago on the Jetstar special. Barely 50,000$ first class return.

As he bent down to tie his shoe he noticed the blood at the cuff of his pants. Shock Something was very wrong. Where did that come from. The mansion again? He would have to get back to Margo,s place. or maybe first there would be some sort of indication of wrong doing on the electronic board. Normally one at every inrtersection. Something else wrong. No electronic board to be seen. What was going on? He thought he was going mad.

He decided to get a cab. None in site. Across to the coffee place, then. Maybe he could find a G phone.

''What will it be'' asked the young man kindly"

''Excuse me. How long has this shop been around? I remember Jet Pack Joe being here?''

''Jet Pack Joe? Never heard. We've been on this corner for twelve years.''

Peter was totally stunned. This was not possible. He felt like he was in the twilight zone. ''Excuse me, another question, please. You've heard of Margo's mansion, that sort of big castle on the hill?''

This time it was the barista who looked at him oddly. ''There is an old mansion on the hill. Never hear of it called by such a name. Been abandoned for ages. There was a murder there decades ago, so nobody wants to buy the place. Some people think its even haunted, so you can imagine.''

''Murder? What sort of murder? I mean there are so many strange things like the Pollock murder of 2045''.

This time the barista looked at him as if he had misunderstood. You mean 2005, don't you?''

Peter made as if he'd stated wrong, his head elsewhere. But he did not want to appear crazy and left it at that.

He asked if he could use a phone to call a cab. Done, he was shocked to see one of these petrol guzzling thing pull up. Almost choked the air out of his lungs.

He asked to be driven to the mansion. The driver politely refused, saying that he would drive him to within a block of the place and no more.

''You mean because of this murder of way-back-when?''

''Ya. You ain't frum around here, aire you?''

Peter figured it was best to agree. ''Just visiting'' he said. ''Tell me about this murder?''

''Oh a totally dradfull theng, ya kno. Family kindly invites a strenger for a night and he kills them all. Father moother, two beatifool gurls and a lad. Knifed them all to death.''

He could not believe this. Still he asked to be brought to the corner suggested, paid the fare with some old pieces he found in his pocket and walked to the mansion. Total disbelief. The sumptuous mansion of the night before was a ruin.

But all of a sudden he had a flashback. The night before.

The argument between the cross dresser (a gorgeous Marylin of yore) and a fellow who (s)he found toooooo aggressive, his hands all over, a glass being cut, himself interfering and the aggressor falling to the floor, blood spweing out of his head and him ending with blood on his trousers.

He was musing thus as a police car slowed down and stopped by his side. ''Problem, mister?'' ''Yes officer, there was a crime here last night''. ''Last night? No action of any kind since twelve zerozero five. Unless maybe some squatters who would have dared step in but I doubt that. Scary as hell in there even in day time. You"re sure you're ok? Oh, I look at you, I noticed these red stains on your pants. You're hurt?''

''Oh, no. Sloppy eater. Spagetti sauce, you know'' he replied , trying to make a joke out of this. He did not want to make things worse by saying that yesterday was 2045 for him and immediately be placed in a straight jacket.

This was just tooooooooo insane. He explained to the cop that he was a journalist and wanted to have just a quick look around the place, a follow-up story on the brutal murders. ''Understood. Just be careful. Lots of pitfalls around that place''.

He walked to the front of the mansion, peered inside. All in ruins of course but still beautiful round staircase, a library in the corner, still full of dust covered books. Lovely chandelier. A grand piano.....amazingly like the one he'd seen the night before. Music from Machner, a brilliant composer on the rise. And that flashback of the body hitting the piano before hitting the ground. The police was called, they were all questionned and released. But he did not go very far as he wished to console the beautiful CD Marylin, so they found their way upstairs and, oh yes, now he remembered the lovely heat, the hugs and the caresses, her lips on his manhood. The drinks and perhaps, for some reson someone had spiked it. He had no clue in regard to how he'd left the place and found himself on that bench. But of one thing he was certain: he had cheated on his boyfriend for the first time and that is most likely why he was in no rush to get back home.