Read Online Rescue From Planet Pleasure by Mario Acevedo - Free Book Online
Authors: Mario Acevedo
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, dark fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, 978-1-61475-308-7
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out how to access and control the psychic world, then the bean counters and lawyers will get to work.”
“That’s fucking scary,” Jolie replied. “If that happens, then when you dream, expect to pay for access to the psychic plane like paying for an Internet connection, plus all the related bullshit. Paranormal pop-up ads. Subconscious spam.”
She shaded her brow and scanned the horizon. A Cress Tech tower materialized in the distant haze.
“Remember Phaedra’s sketches?” Jolie asked. We had found the drawings in her home soon after she’d disappeared. “She had drawn the psychic plane as an enormous room lined with doors. She could see and project her thoughts through those doors. What if it’s possible for someone to physically travel through them?”
I answered, “Coyote did a lot of strange disappearing acts when we were together in Los Angeles. One time he opened my car door and dropped into traffic. I was sure he was gonna get trampled by the cars behind me, but when I looked back, he was gone.”
Jolie turned towards me. Her eyebrows arched over the tops of her sunglasses.
“Later,” I continued, “renegade vampires blew up Coyote’s pickup—hoping to get me—and instead incinerated him. Or so I thought until three days later, when he showed up in the back seat of my car, famished and covered in soot. After mooching a meal and beer, he disappeared again.” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that. I had looked away for a second and then he was gone, like he’d never been there. Nothing left except for discarded burrito wrappers and empty bottles of Löwenbräu.”
“And don’t forget Marina’s disappearing act,” Jolie added. She stared at Coyote. “So it’s no wild leap to say they know how to transport through the psychic plane?”
I knew he was listening. I talked loud to engage him. “What worries me is what if the government also finds out how? I don’t know much about psychic powers, but what I’ve seen scares the hell out of me.”
“No shit,” Jolie added. “Don’t forget Phaedra’s mind blasts.”
Coyote stopped abruptly, faced us, and scowled. “You two pendejos sure talk a lot. And you’re forgetting about another bunch of culeros fucking things up.”
Jolie and I halted. Who?
“The aliens.” Coyote scratched his crotch and resumed his run. “And you’re right about me being in a hurry. Vatos , it’s a race against catastrophe.”
Jolie and I stared at Coyote as he trotted away. We were now close enough to Fajada Butte that against the horizon, the rocky formation looked as big as my fist.
I thought back to what he had just said. Aliens.
Great.
Or course I knew that at some point our operation involved the aliens. After all, they held Carmen captive.
But the whole cabronada —the aliens, Phaedra, and Cress Tech—pivoted around the psychic world.
About the only thing I could piece together—from my experience with Coyote’s Houdini hocus-pocus—was that access to the psychic world might open shortcuts between points in deep space.
We reached the narrow dirt road we’d been on yesterday. Thin clouds of dust blossomed to the south and to the northeast. I wondered—but not too much—about what had happened to the Texan and his Porsche sedan.
We came across a barbed-wire fence with a placard from the National Park Service that warned against trespassing onto Fajada Butte. Coyote levitated to scale the wires like he was walking up steps and dropped to the other side. Jolie bent her knees and sprang over the fence as if her legs were super Pogo sticks. I followed Coyote’s less athletic example.
He glanced to the sun, put his hand up as if to gauge the sun’s height above the horizon, and then checked his Rolex. He started running with Jolie and me at his heels.
A quarter of a mile farther, we scrambled down Chaco Wash and up the other side. Fajada Butte loomed before us, imposing and portending mystic secrets, like another Mt. Sinai.
In
“That’s fucking scary,” Jolie replied. “If that happens, then when you dream, expect to pay for access to the psychic plane like paying for an Internet connection, plus all the related bullshit. Paranormal pop-up ads. Subconscious spam.”
She shaded her brow and scanned the horizon. A Cress Tech tower materialized in the distant haze.
“Remember Phaedra’s sketches?” Jolie asked. We had found the drawings in her home soon after she’d disappeared. “She had drawn the psychic plane as an enormous room lined with doors. She could see and project her thoughts through those doors. What if it’s possible for someone to physically travel through them?”
I answered, “Coyote did a lot of strange disappearing acts when we were together in Los Angeles. One time he opened my car door and dropped into traffic. I was sure he was gonna get trampled by the cars behind me, but when I looked back, he was gone.”
Jolie turned towards me. Her eyebrows arched over the tops of her sunglasses.
“Later,” I continued, “renegade vampires blew up Coyote’s pickup—hoping to get me—and instead incinerated him. Or so I thought until three days later, when he showed up in the back seat of my car, famished and covered in soot. After mooching a meal and beer, he disappeared again.” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that. I had looked away for a second and then he was gone, like he’d never been there. Nothing left except for discarded burrito wrappers and empty bottles of Löwenbräu.”
“And don’t forget Marina’s disappearing act,” Jolie added. She stared at Coyote. “So it’s no wild leap to say they know how to transport through the psychic plane?”
I knew he was listening. I talked loud to engage him. “What worries me is what if the government also finds out how? I don’t know much about psychic powers, but what I’ve seen scares the hell out of me.”
“No shit,” Jolie added. “Don’t forget Phaedra’s mind blasts.”
Coyote stopped abruptly, faced us, and scowled. “You two pendejos sure talk a lot. And you’re forgetting about another bunch of culeros fucking things up.”
Jolie and I halted. Who?
“The aliens.” Coyote scratched his crotch and resumed his run. “And you’re right about me being in a hurry. Vatos , it’s a race against catastrophe.”
Jolie and I stared at Coyote as he trotted away. We were now close enough to Fajada Butte that against the horizon, the rocky formation looked as big as my fist.
I thought back to what he had just said. Aliens.
Great.
Or course I knew that at some point our operation involved the aliens. After all, they held Carmen captive.
But the whole cabronada —the aliens, Phaedra, and Cress Tech—pivoted around the psychic world.
About the only thing I could piece together—from my experience with Coyote’s Houdini hocus-pocus—was that access to the psychic world might open shortcuts between points in deep space.
We reached the narrow dirt road we’d been on yesterday. Thin clouds of dust blossomed to the south and to the northeast. I wondered—but not too much—about what had happened to the Texan and his Porsche sedan.
We came across a barbed-wire fence with a placard from the National Park Service that warned against trespassing onto Fajada Butte. Coyote levitated to scale the wires like he was walking up steps and dropped to the other side. Jolie bent her knees and sprang over the fence as if her legs were super Pogo sticks. I followed Coyote’s less athletic example.
He glanced to the sun, put his hand up as if to gauge the sun’s height above the horizon, and then checked his Rolex. He started running with Jolie and me at his heels.
A quarter of a mile farther, we scrambled down Chaco Wash and up the other side. Fajada Butte loomed before us, imposing and portending mystic secrets, like another Mt. Sinai.
In
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