Issue Two of Eight

Episode 2:
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The Slip of the Tongue
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Early February, 2112
It ends with blood painting the street red, like lipstick.

Bodies strewn all over the building in front of the blood blemished road. The building was an apartment. There were eight tenants in the building at that time.

On the ground floor, owning the compound, was Benana Turin, the landlady. She loved to smoke menthol cigarettes, played with cards, and had a pet cat called Query.

Just above her room, on the second floor lived the Wenackin couple. Harry and Elma were live-in partners who shared the habit of sharing beds. They claimed to be a polygamous couple, as ironic as the term seemed to be.

Also on the second floor was Noel Diaz, a wanna-be artist who had been playing with oils and brushes in his life, longer than he had been dating. His formerly brown hair that highlighted his country features was now mottled with greens, yellows and grays.

Skipping a few floors, a reclusive man known as Copper lived in the attic. Ms. Turin claimed that Copper was a very kind fellow, minding his own business, always paying the rent on time and never complaining about the other tenants. Once, he even offered Query some milk.

The Wenackin couple, though, like the Boroughs, believed he was a serial killer. Or worse yet, as Mike Borough conceptualized, "A rapist pedophile with the delectable taste for aged youngsters." Obviously, Mike was one of those writer wanna-be types. His sister, Shelly, on the other hand was the head-strong feminist who only allowed Mike to live with her because he begged for her help. She believed Copper was gay.

Then there's Julie Redmond who was into computers and videogames. She was a college student, taking up photography. She came from one of those wealthy families from Beverly Hills.

Of course, she never admitted to this.

But the whole fourth floor, renovated, repainted, and refurnished for her was quite a clue.

Lastly, the fifth floor was taken up by Dr. Ruth Isthet, a psychologist. She had been living here for quite some time.

Take note: Had been living there.

But for now, we see the building, standing there at the corner of Abad and Mellington Avenues. The streets are a bit damp with the slight drizzle. The benches nearby are empty. The buildings are all silhouetted by the brighter lights of the road.

And on the top of the building, which in the end shall be painted with blood, is a caped figure. A man.

I guess I don't need to say who it is.

January, 2112
According to Webster's Dictionary - Mask (mask) 1. n. any of several coverings for the face, worn as a disguise, as protection, or to filter air breathed in or out | a disguise or method of concealment, under a mask of friendship | a likeness, esp. a cast of a face | a hollow model of a head, worn by ancient Greek and Roman actors or by participants in a carnival procession | a respirator, especially one throught which an anesthetic is inhaled... and so on and so forth.

But to Gabriel Brendan, a mask is a sure sign that what he dreamt of was not simply a stereotypical figment of one's imagination, but something frighteningly real and physical.

And to make things seem worse, it was in the possession of his shrink.

"How did you-," Gabe's voice trails off, his fingers sliding across the smooth cheek of the white hollow face. He raises the mask, using both hands now, then hesitates, as if wanting to wear it, but fearing what he might see if he looks through the eyes of the mask.

Dr. Isthet walks to Gabe, calmly takes the mask from his hands, then motions him to sit down. She makes a quick glance to Kirsten, and, seeing her already sitting down and quiet, begins to explain, "As I said, my father sent this to me a long time ago-"

"Did he-" Gabe excitedly asks, interrupting her, then cutting himself short upon realizing what he just did, "Sorry... go on."

"He was a stage actor. He loved the arts. He took part in many theatrical productions, both on Broadway and in lesser groups. Phantom of the Opera, the Kissing Toad, Camelot, Les Miserables, you name it!" a smug smile, weakens, then dissolves into a very noticeable frown, "But he was also into illegal substances and-" a hesistation, "was addicted to a few."

Kirsten nods slowly, adding, "Almost all those greatly successful in the arts succumb to drugs. Maybe it's simply because they need something new to experience. Or perhaps its connected to the need of escaping the real world somehow."

"Hon, let her finish," Gabe mutters, his eyes still transfixed on the Mask held between Dr. Isthet's palms.

"I write," Kirsten tells him, "I know stuff like this. Writing requires you to read a lot, you know. Not like you read anything other than your occult books and spirit tomes," The tone of the last few words clearly indicated sarcasm.

"Yes," Dr. Isthet painfully admits, "He did it for escape. He claims that the theatrical world shall never reach a vision that he wishes to recreate."

"A vision- that is somehow connected-"

"To the Mask, yes."

Kirsten rises from her seat, walks up to Gabriel, and reaches out to hold his hand. He takes it, holds on to the warm limb like a child afraid of the night, and raises his eyebrows to Dr. Isthet. "Please, explain..."

"My father was gay. Not that all people in the theater business are gay. Heck, there are even more gay people in Congress than there are on prime time television!" Dr. Isthet laughs out, then excuses herself by covering her mouth with her hand and continues, "He claimed that he once dreamed hearing something outside his room. He, in his dream, rose, ran to follow the noise, and learned it led him to the roof. There he saw a vision of this maginificent man. Caped. Masked. Floating just beyond his reach. And when he awoke, he found himself still standing on the roof, hands crossed over his chest, pants wet with the sweat of his pleasures."

"So how does this connect to me?" Gabe asks, genuinely confused.

"Hon-" Kirsten begins then freezes, a thought creeping into her. Writers tend to read a lot, right. And writers, needing to make living and breathing characters for their stories, learn to embody a character. To take in a personality and use its traits, skills and viewpoint to better take hold of the persona. And while listening to Dr. Isthet's story, she did this, accepting the good psychologist's father as the persona. In this, she realises something that connects the persona to the masked man. Something that might connect Gabe too. Although, Kirsten hopes not. "Are you gay?"

A scowl of absolute insult covers Gabe's features. And a split-second before Kirsten can apologize, Gabe is already five steps outside the room. "Gabe!" Kirsten calls out as she grabs her purse, apologizes to the doctor, and heads for the door, "Gabe, will you wait a second!"

"Fuck you," Gabe cusses, then slams the outer door closed. He continued walking down the hallway, eyes focused on the elevator. Kirsten catches up with him, gasping and irritated. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What kind of a question was that?"

"Gabriel," Kirsten firmly replies, using Gabe's full name (something only done when pissed or extremely annoyed) "All you had to do was say 'No'. But nooooo, here you go over-reacting like some guilty and defensive shmuck. What, let me guess, you are gay, aren't you!"

"You of all people should know the answer to that!" Gabe yells and slams his left fist at the elevator console. The Ground, second, and fifth floor buttons lit up. "Gay my ass..."

"We're trying to help here-"

"Help? You call this help?"

"Looking at all possible -"

"Me gay? You think that's possible?"

"Gabriel, will you shut the fuck up for a-"

"NO!"

"No?" Kirsten replies, then falls silent, shocked to see the ferocity of Gabe's words. She has never, in their five years of living together, seen Gabe this angry. This fierce. This dangerous. "No," Gabe continues, "This matter is settled. Okay?"

He doesn't wait for her reply. He gets off the elevator, walks to the car, then looks at her. "Hurry up and drive."

Mid-January, 2112
Who would have thought that the two would actually tie the knot?

Gabe stands, his suit casting a sleek exterior to his lanky body, and waits by the altar. His lower lip trembles every now and then. A small drop of sweat clings on precariously on his right earlobe. A pair of clammy hands comfort each other before his waist.

The church pews are empty, except for a few friends and close family members of the two. The priest, an old balding man whose nose twitches every now and then, bends close to Gabe and, in a voice as weak as a whisper, asks, "Are you sure she is decided on this, my son?"

With a smug smile, Gabe looks at the Priest and nods. Then looking away, Gabe forces down a gulp and yells in his head, *Get on the fucking aisle, Kirsten.*

Around fifty feet away, behind a door and sitting before a mirror, sits Kirsten; her hands trembling, her eyes wide open. She holds the white veil in her hands and stares at her reflection. She looks at the way the light casts shadows on her face and how the curves of her lips seem to contour her face. Then, she hears a knock on the door and leaps from the stool to open it.

"Kirsten? Sten???"

"Coming," Kirsten replies, then cracks the door only a little inch open. Peeking out and seeing that the person outside turns out to be her cousin, Bianca, Kirsten opens the door completely and pulls her in.

"Kirsten, what in the world is wrong with you?"

"Bianca, are they all waiting out there?"

"What do you think? This is YOUR wedding for crying out loud!"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"From the way you're acting," Bianca retorts, "No." Kirsten tosses her an icy glare, then lifts the white veil and places it over her face. "Fine, let's go."

Upon standing though, Kirsten suddenly feels the strength of her legs give way and suddenly, she finds herself falling like a doll toward the ground.

Bianca catches her, supports her with her shoulder, and rests her on the seat again. "What's wrong? Kirsten, don't tell me you're that nervous? Come on, Sten, this is it! The day you've been waiting for!"

"Bianca, I'm... I..."

"What?"

"I'm not sure-"

"Not sure? Kirsten, you're been with Gabe for what?"

"Four..."

"Four years now and-"

"Four years and seven months..."

"There you have it! Four years and seven months! You've probably been in bed with him and having fantastic sex more times than I have been able to give myself an orgasm... and now what's your problem?"

"I'm not so sure I want to get married yet."

Bianca nearly bursts out laughing. So it seems, the two cousins have more than just blood in common. "You what?"

"I'm not so sure I want to get married yet."

Suddenly giving her cousin a playful slap on the back, Bianca pulls a stool before Kirsten and sits there. "Not ready yet? Really? After nagging him for God knows how long and all those long-distance calls early in the morning telling me about the things you'd do to him once you get married, you tell me you're NOT READY YET?"

Kirsten simply nods. This time laughter can no longer be held back. Kirsten pulls the veil off again and looks at her cousin's face. Laughing. Teary-eyed. She wants to punch her face. Tell her its serious. Scratch her eyes. She watches as Bianca covers her agape mouth with her hand and struggles to hold the laughing back.

"Listen here, Kirsten, either you stand up and walk down that aisle or I'm gonna go out there, tell them all the bad news, and give Gabe a night to forget you by bringing him home to my place. You got that?"

Bianca rarely lies and Kirsten knew since day one of her relationship with Gabe that Bianca always envied her. She imagines Gabe grunting and sweaty, pushing in and out of her cousin, and Bianca enjoying each and every inch of his burning pressure. She imagines bumping into the two in someplace, a grocer's perhaps or maybe the mall, and thought what would it be like to pretend that she isn't hurt. Kirsten then smiles and realizes something. *Hurt? Why else would I get hurt unless I did love Gabe. What the hell am I doing just waiting here?* She nods, then rises from the stool.

"Finally got to your senses, Sten?"

Kirsten fixes the veil over her head again. "More than you think." Bianca walks to her cousin, smoothening the folds on her white gown, and asks, "You getting married, Sten?"

"You betcha. Nobody fuckes with Gabe but me," Kirsten threatens playfully, "You got that?"

"Clear as crystal," Bianca replies as she pulls the door open. "Now go out there and chain Gabe to you before i tear his pants off."

He sits beside a great mirror that he recovered from the alleyway not to far away. He stares at it, running his hands through his long hair.

Again a lizard approaches him, struggling for his attention. He ignores it and reaches one hand towards the glass. The glass of the mirror, a body mirror large enough to reflect one from head to toe, glows an amber hue. Then in the looking glass, He sees the image last reflected: A woman, standing naked before it, her hair a mess, her body damp with a light coat of sweat and at the bed behind her, a snoring, naked man.

He watches, again with the excitement formerly unknown to him, as she walks closer to the mirror, staring at her own reflection. Although in this point of view, He feels as if she is looking into his eyes.

Or rather, she is looking into her eyes.

Her.

For slowly...

The lizard, in its amazement (in as much as lizards can be amazed) watches.

He changes...

Into her.

Mid-January, 2112
Gabe feels pretty fine. The smile that brightens his face is nearly impossible to ignore as it highlights each and every contour of his face and reveals two dimples formerly unseen by anyone else.

He is actually awake at 5:30 in the morning. Cooking breakfast. The Holo-tube projects the replay of a late-night show called "Past Unsolved," an entertaining production on events in the past that remain unsolved. The blonde transvestite host laughs horribly like a woman and is as burly as a man.

Whistling a tune from TOROS AMI, a solo female dummer, Gabe continues to scramble the eggs and watch the tube. He hears a small "ting!" and walks towards the microwave, hitting the open key with his elbow.

The aroma of fresh bacon suddenly tempts his hunger and causes his stomach to grumble its apprehension. Gabe decides against scooping a piece of bacon and instead places the bowl of scrambled eggs on the counter. He then pulls the bacon out from the microwave and transfers the aromatic synthetic meat onto a plate.

Again his stomach growls. Louder this time.

Early February, 2112
But not as loud as the moaning done by Benana Turin. Do you remember her?

She was the landlady, bloody and gasping Benana Turin.

The one with a cat named Query. The one whose face is popped open like some gigantic pimple, blood pouring out of her wounds like some macabre fountain of crimson. The one whose cat now whimpers beneath the bed as two feet approach. The one whose cat hisses angrily as a pair of bloodied hands, wrapped in some sort of translucent leotard-like garb, reach for her bleeding head.

Yes, that Benana Turin.

Although to tell this now means we're going too far ahead.

Mid-January, 2112
He/She now stretches her arms before her, looking still into the mirror. He/She watches as she walks back towards the bed, then pulls the covers back. He/She stares at the man, lying there like a snoring corpse then watches as she bends low, kisses him on the cheek, then on the lips. She plays with his hair and finally, when he awakens and grabs her onto the bed, He/She suddenly feels jealous and angry and scared and forces the mirror to smash against the wall behind it.

The shards of glass break, falling onto the ground like a rain of silver.

The lizard retreats.

He/She reaches for his/her mask.

Mid-January, 2112
Gabe gets the breakfast ready, then heads for the door to their room. He turns the Holo-tube off and muses to himself that after how many years he's finally married. But before he can turn the Holo-tube off, he freezes. The mask appears on the tube and the transvestite host suddenly tells him more than he wants to hear.

"Sometime ago in the 20th century, this figure was seen creating a scene in America. The police, the public and the world of fashion were astounded to find themselves the audience to one who until now remains to be... an Enigma."

Gabe checks the broadcast info. It is still "Past Unsolved" and not any of the spoof channels. He feels faint.

"The Enigma, as the press called him, suddenly became the hero as villains appeared in various places in the United States at that time. One of the most peculiar things about the Enigma is the fact that both HE and his villains were all seemingly based on an old comic book line with the same name, written by the late Titus Bird. Titus was a gay writer who struggled to succeed to produced a comic book but utterly failed, consumed by the larger competitors and by the lack of support at that time."

Gabe freezes, paralyzed in shock. The figure in his dreams was real. The figure in his dreams existed.

"What shocked the nation was when hundreds of teenagers, dubbing themselves the Enigmatics, committed mass-suicide as supposedly inspired by the last issue of the supposed comic book."

"Mass suicide?" Gabe stares at the screen, its image turning fuzzy, "And then what?"

"They claim that they found a code hidden in the issue of the Enigma comic book. The line, "And then what?" uttered when the ENIGMA faces a villain called the Rich Cat on the roof of his factory. The line is the reply given by the ENIGMA when he begins to confront the Rich Cat on why his existence is unnecessary."

"And then-" Gabe stops himself, realizing what he has been saying.

Mid-January, 2112
He/She lands by a window, his/her hair flailing about against the wind. The glass rattles a bit. He/She peeks through the window and focuses his/her eyes.

Inside He/She sees a woman sleeping. She is partially buried in the gray expanse of a comforter that hugs her body from the January chill.

He/She motions at the window and, soundlessly, it rises open, bringing his/her flowing cape and the icy touch of the wind into the room. She stirs a bit, giving a slight moan when the breeze touches her nape, and turns to lie on her back instead.

He/She comes closer to her, his/her body trembling now from an unexplainable source of anxiety. He/She stares at her, now baring her breasts as the comforter stretches and pulls down its fabric against her weight. She smiles, unconsciously (or perhaps because He/She wanted her to), then leans her head against the side of the pillow. The comforter slides, revealing space enough for another person on the bed. He/She walks closer, drops his/her cape, which collects itself on to the ground like a coiling snake, then joins her in the bed.

Gabe remains stuck to the tube, unable to look away. He feels the paralysis spread to his waist. Then arms. Then face. Soon, he finds himself unable to even turn his head, as if some force holds him in place. He feels his eyes begin to well up with tears, having not blinked for a few minutes now. He feels his heart begin to pound in his chest faster and faster. Harder. Then he sees on the screen a collage of images. The Man called the Truth, Victor Lamont, dressed in a brutally honest leotard as translucent as glass. Victoria Yes, an American model transformed into the entrancing Envelope Girl. The HEAD, a mishappen levitating villain with a bulbous head with the penchant of eating brains, formerly Roger Cliff, a salesman with no criminal record. The INTERIOR LEAGUE, a group of misfits with the ability to cause someone in a household to go insane simpy due to the manner they rearranged the furniture. Then, there's the ENIGMA.

He stares into the image. Into the eyes of the man who was and until now remains to be an ENIGMA.

And bursts into tears upon glimpsing something.

In the eyes of the ENIGMA.

End Issue Two

-------- PLEASE READ THIS!!!
Hello!
This is my first "editorial" and comments portion. In hopes of reaching out to my readers more, this portion shall be the place where I talk about anything related to TEG, to my life or to comics in general.

Today, I talk about life in general.

Did you know that the adage, "Fact is stranger than Fiction" is so true? Yes it is. For example, I know of three men (all bisexuals) who got into a 9 month long threesome only to find out that two of the three were simply in it for certain personal reasons and only one was truly emotionally attached to the other two. I know of a friend who had attempted suicide so many times that he can now "predict" when someone else is also planning to do so. I know of a girl who once became a nymphomaniac only to lose her urges the MOMENT she got a boyfriend (why, I shall never know!) But the point is, FACT is stranger than fiction.

And I guess this is simply because of one reason: FICTION IS BASED ON FACT.

Well, I'm obviously blabbering here so you people out there who actually read this, please... EMAIL ME SOME COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS! That way, we can fill this with more interesting things for the readers!

Thanks~!
Tobie Abad :-)

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Enigma was originally published by Vertigo,a trademark of DC Comics. Others, if any, are not mentioned as a challenge to the said owners nor as an insult. The artwork and text found in this site are all original by the owner of the site. The author of this fanfiction assumes NO ownership over the comic character ENIGMA. All other characters are created by Tobie Abad. This page is not intended to challenge or claim ownership of the character ENIGMA which is copyright of DC Comics. Written by Tobie Abad tobito@hotmail.com Comment and reactions are welcome! In fact, appreciated!

Read the next issues of The Engima Grows .