Issue One of Eight

Episode 1:
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The Birth of Reason
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It begins with a small sound. A bell. A small bell tolls in the darkness. Then, the confines of the room begin to form, become visible, as the flame of the candle grows steady.

We are looking at a man. No, not just any man. The man whose face tends to be hidden beneath the mask. Yes, that mask.

His name is Enigma.

Or rather, he is called Enigma.

He sits on the floor, a blanket covering his legs and a single candle flickering its light from the corner. He holds a small piece of paper. The light from the candle flickers again. The paper becomes visible for a split second, revealing it to be a torn page from a comic book. A very old one.

He places this piece of paper on his palm. Then kisses it. And kisses it. And kisses it. He closes his eyes, shrugs, then looks at the paper again. The paper has the smell of mold and dust. He closes his eyes again, tighter this time, and kisses the paper. He mumbles in the darkness, perhaps to himself or maybe to his lizard companions, "Together... I could be anyone he wanted."

A sound alerts him of something in the room. By the time he glances to the side, he has already identified its distinct smell, its possible length depending on the split-second lapse between the sound of one foot fall to another and its possible age based on its quickness in moving. It is a lizard. He shoos it away. It remains. He closes his eyes and mumbles again, "Together..."

January, 2112
Gabriel Brendan is sitting in front of a jukebox. His dreadlocked hair is a bit mottled due to the cold wind from outside. A pair of eyeglasses hangs on his blue sweater. The books he borrowed from the library rest beside his lap. The weather is a bit colder than normal here in Fresno.

Gabriel feels the presence of an entity nearby once more. He looks around a bit hurriedly then shrugs, telling himself, "Better lay off on the spiritualist shit soon. I'm starting to belive that there are ghosts!" He peeks outside the glass doors of TGI Friday's Restaurant & Bar and finds the street outside filled with people and kids of all sizes, yet none matching the one he is waiting for. "What is taking Kirsten so long, dammit?"

Kirsten Bergham arrives around fifteen minutes later. Her hair, a long black coat that delicately frames her face. Gabe stares at her, ravishing and yet demure in her black gown. "Sorry," she tells him, "I nearly forgot that you wanted me to pick you up. Did you wait long?"

"Not really," Gabe muttered then reached for a hug. "So, what have you been up to?" he asks her then squeezes her cheek playfully, "And what's with the dress?"

"Oh nothing," she mutters, then smiles.

"Nothing?"

"You wouldn't understand," she says again with a bigger smile this time, then kisses him on the cheek. "Hey, you hungry? I'm starving for a burrito."

"Stop changing the topic," Gabe replies with a smirk, "Whats going on here?"

"Oh, alright..." Kirsten smirks then takes a few steps back. "Its an attempt to capture the mood of a woman who knows she's beautiful and desired by many. I'm trying this new technique I learned from that writing seminar I attended last summer. You like it?" she asks, striking a playful pose. Gabe feigns lack of interest then asks, "Beef or Chicken?"

"What?"

"The burrito, Beef or Chicken?"

"Oh you!" Kirsten giggles then gives Gabe a playful jab on the shoulder, "Maybe I shouldn't have passed by and headed straight home instead."

"Hey! No fair getting personal. It's not my fault I can't drive."

"Come on," she tells him as she heads for the car. She turns to see him still standing there, admiring her. Sticking her tongue out, she satirically strikes a sexy pose and asks, "Think I could make it in those beauty pageants?"

"Nah, you'd be better of as one of those Spice whatevers!"

Both share a laugh and enter the car. Kirsten starts the engine, turns on the radio and asks, "Well, where does the master wish to be brought today?"

Gabe shakes his head and asks instead, "Depends on whether or not you still want a burrito. Or would you rather have something else more filling?"

"Sheesh," Kirsten mutters as they drive past a fastfood joint and enter the freeway, "Don't flatter yourself, Gabe."

"A guy can only hope."

The man we saw earlier (yes the one muttering to himself) has been playing with the candle for quite some time. He has distinguished the fifty-nine different shades of colors that are produced by the candle's flame and can be seen with the naked eye. He is bored once more.

And in boredom, he recalls the past.

He sees himself staring at a hideous mostrosity. Pillars of flesh and muscle tower from different angles of the thing's back. Long sinewy nails extend from her fingers, like tentacles reaching out for the kill. A baseball cap adorns her head, covering a balding scalp and casting a shadow over a face twisted with hate.

He sees himself reaching out to her, fingers cupped, and thumbs out, expressing care and acceptance to the fullest body language can speak.

He stops. The lizard breaks him from the reverie and begins to pat on his hand. He glances down, sees the reptile, then grabs it with his right hand and tosses it away.

It stops in mid-air, hovers, then lands beside him.

He looks at it, then pauses. His fingers instinctively reach for his lips. He closes his eyes, then smiles. The lizard watches as he stands, the blanket falling away to reveal him, a naked and sweaty skeleton hidden beneath the sheets. He walks past the reptile, heedless of the voyuer, and approaches the hole on the roof.

The rotting, moldy wallpaper with its red and orange and yellow eye design watches him carefully as he walks past it, until finally he sees the sunlight peeking into his underground haven. He looks out, inhales deeply, and comes up with seventy-five different adjectives to describe the air. The lizard floats to his side and lands on his shoulder. He scoops it up suddenly and swallows it. Then he turns to catch his mask as it suddenly launches from the ground to land on his hands.

Again, he looks up, pauses, and then wears the mask.

January, 2112
Kirsten and Gabe are having dinner while watching a game show on the tube. Kirsten's meal is a microwaved lasagna sided with leftover mashed potatoes and a glass of orange juice. Gabe, on the other hand, enjoys his potato chips and french onion dip.

"Gabe?" Kirsten suddenly asks him, as if an attempt to get an answer to slip by while his conscious mind is too busy solving the word puzzle on the show, "When are you gonna propose to me?"

"Huh?"

"You know? As in finalize things? It has been a few years."

"What was that hone- Magellan! I knew it! Magellan!"

Kirsten stabs a fork into her mashed potatoes. She pushes out of the chair and takes the orange juice with her as she walks towards the bedroom. "Forget it," she mutters, "I'm going to bed."

"Bill Gates, dummy! Jesus H. Christ, who else owns Microsoft... uh you were saying honey?" Gabe asks, honestly interested and concerned, but only receives the silent closing of the bedroom door as a reply.

Four hours later, it is nearly dawn. Kirsten awakens to find herself still alone in the room. Gabe's side of the bed has not been touched. She rises, stretches and heads for the toilet. Not finding Gabe there, she walks, limping every now and then, towards the door and there she hears the television play a commercial.

"Gabe, are you still awake?"

"Hi honey," came the weak reply. Kirsten finds Gabe sitting on the floor, his arms embracing his legs. His eyes are sunken and bags underline his eyes. It becomes apparent that he had not slept, yet is on the verge of falling asleep.

"Honey, what's wrong? You need your rest. Come on, lets go to bed."

"No..."

"What do you mean -"

"No... no. I'm fine..."

"Honey? Whats the matter?"

"Nu... nothing.. alright, I'm coming with you," Gabe reluctantly replies and rises, reaching for Kirsten to wraps her arm around his shoulder reassuringly. "What's bothering you?"

Gabe does not answer and instead leads the way as he limps, supported by the now awake and very concerned Kirsten, to the bedroom. Upon lying down, he immediately places his arms around her, nuzzles his face into her hair and asks her, "Aren't you sleepy, hon? Get some sleep."

"Dear, wha-"

"Shh... good night."

Kirsten reluctantly nods then closes her eyes. Sleep overcomes her worry and soon she begins to dream. Gabe, on the other hand, is no closer than to sleeping than before. And this is not due to insomnia. Rather, due to choice.

He watches as they flee, like rats, tripping over each other and scrambling for the street. He looks down and sees the product of his handiwork. A bum lies on the ground, crying and muttering thanks. The smell of lighter fluid is still in the air. He bends down, reaches for the man's cheek then asks, "Who am I?"

"A hero," the bum tells him, then closes his hands over his face, "Are they... still there? Are they coming back?"

He looks at the man, flailing his arms over his face in fear. He recalls the past. A similar scene. He panics. He hovers upwards, followed by a glowing, hovering green lizard, and vanishes in the night.

January, 2112
Kirsten and Gabe are sitting in an office. It is a well lit office, a Van Gogh hangs on the west wall. A small plant box adorns the empty wall beside the door. A few framed certificates and diplomas hang on one wall, while a caricature of a woman hangs on the opposite side. Beneath the drawing of a chubby, expressionless woman is the name "Ruth Isthet" and a small unreadable signature.

"So, how long are we supposed to wait?" Gabe asks Kirsten, impatient and annoyed, "Why are we here again-"

"For the nth time, Gabe, this is for your own benefit. You have been having the same dreams for the past few nights now. You've been lacking sleep. You're losing weight. There is a problem and your subconscious knows it."

"Honey-" Gabe starts, yet gets cut short as he yawns, "This isn't a psychological thing."

"Then what is it? One of those spirits coming to haunt you?" Kirsten irritatedly retorts then shakes her head, "I know you're really into all that mumbo-jumbo spiritualist thing but I'm sorry, I fail to see any probable or even conceivable reason why there would be a ghost, if they do exist for that matter, haunting you."

"I'm not saying that-"

"Excuse me?" a female voice interrupts Gabe. Looking up, the two see the woman who's distorted caricature hangs before them, to the left of the real flesh and blood counter part. "You may come in now."

"A shrink. Twenty eight years now and never... not even once had I ever had to visit a shrink. Why, not even in highschool did I ever have to speak to the guidance counselor! This is-"

"Honey," Kirsten interrupts him, her voice steady and demanding in its own way which Gabe understands. He, in response, gives her the silence she unverbally requests from him.

The woman who invited them in walks behind the desk now, pulls out a few folders, placing one of them on the out tray, another on the table and the last one somewhere behind the table. She slides her finger across her very short and well combed hair and clears her throat.

"So," she asks them both, "Lets begin. My name is Ruth Isthet and I understand you need someone to talk to."

"Like hell I-"

"Gabe," Kirsten replies again. She has become fluent in the language of unverbal communication between lovers, so it seems.

"I've been having dreams, okay? Fine? Happy now."

"Go on," replies Ruth Isthet. Gabe looks at Kirsten, his eyes yelling out "Why me!" The woman called Ruth stands in the way and tells Gabe to relax. "Close your eyes. Lie down if you wish. If it will make you feel more comfortable."

"Alright," Gabe mutters, "Where do I start?"

"Well, let's try the beginning," Ruth Isthet remarks, "Unless you want to be different and begin with the end."

"Alright, the beginning then," Gabe shakes his head. Kirsten immediately sits beside him and begins running her fingers through his hair. He senses her genuine concern and yet knows it would be fruitless to even attempt to explain to her that this shrink can not help him one bit. After all, what do psychologists know about spirits?

He hovers above the construction site, eyes darting to and fro behind his magnificent mask that clings to his face in a nearly impossible manner. Yes, he's hovering above the ground. If Superman could do it, if the Green Lantern could do it, why not him, right?

But he is observing a scene right now.

A sign hangs in one corner of the building: Plums Contemporary Arts and Paintings.

A crowbar resting on the wall; a van is parked at the front, rear doors open and engine running.

He watches from above the ground, his feet barely touching the top of the street light. His purple and black cape flutters with the wind. His mask seemingly glowing in the darkness of his silhouette.

Through the doorway, a pair of figures, both dressed in black exit, dragging with them a framed painting. He watches as they struggle, heave, cuss and sweat as they approach the van.

"A robbery?" he asks aloud as he begins to descend. He lands gracefully, as if in a dance motion, then raises a hand. The two find themselves suddenly rising from the ground, hovering and weightless.

One of the robbers panic, screaming obscenities, and draws out a gun. The other simply closes his eyes and begins to pray out aloud. He watches as the first raises a shaky hand and struggles to aim the gun at him. A threat is uttered. Followed by another. Then a cuss. Then another.

He shakes his head and follows-through his hand, tossing the two into the pavement. A crunch follows the first as he hits the gutter and spreads his blood and face on the corner like butter. The second, on the other hand, lands on the trash bin nearby and creates a clatter. He lands, motioning with his left hand. The first one rises again towards him. He reaches a hand out, touching the guy's cheek and bends close, his lips so close to the bleeding lips of the burglar that you'd think they were about to kiss. "You were threatening me for this?" he asks the burglar and levitates the painting to come into the light.

The gallery is known to hold unique and extensive collections of fine ceramics, art glass, fiber art and paintings. Rotating guest artists also tend to be on exhibit in this small gallery located in Fig Garden Village, 5096 N. Palm. Tonight, is the night for guest artist Zerchy Poe who has an obssession towards the illustration (and according to him, liberation) of the female anus.

"It... its worth... thousands in the.." the burglar chokes out an explanation while drooling blood and spitting out a few teeth.

"Pathetic," He replies and releases his hold over him. He drops to the ground, hitting the pavement with another groan and suddenly looks up, straight into a spotlight from a helicopter.

The steady beat of the helicopter's rotors soon enters his senses and from atop it, a voice ampified by speakers, "We have you surrounded. Raise your hands into the air, now!"

He looks at the helicopter and sees the insignia on its side: the police. He recalls the trouble he went through before with them and knows it would do no good to try and talk to them. They always had one reason or another to mention as an excuse to try and bully you around. As he sleekly raises both hands into the air as requested, he comes up with twenty different and perhaps better replacements for the current agents of peace and order and by the time his palms are visible, the helicopter begins to spin out of control.

He rises, this time toward the rooftops of the skyscrapers, and, as he rises, he sees the red and blue flashing lights from the road come closer, their sirens wailing like hungry banshees seeking sustenance. He is gone before any of them could even realize that the helicopter was landing not to its own accord.

January, 2112
It all began with a dream. It had to be a dream. What else could it have been, right?

Gabe begins his tale: Let's hear it in his own words, shall we?

"I first had the dream when I was ten. That of course, was eighteen years ago. When you're ten, and a bad dream wakes you late at night, the dream lingers in your head, you know. And when certain things in real life seem similar to the dream, you recall it more and more.

"There was this man in the dream. He's about this tall," Gabe stands, raising his hand to just a little above his height, "and has a very well built body. The sort a guy like me would've loved to show off to the girls nearby. Anyway, he also had long hair, perhaps until around here," he illustrates with his hands and reaches for the base of his neck.

Gabe notices that the room seems to progressively get warmer. He feels himself beginning to get a bit damp from sweat. He can feel his left leg tensely tapping against the carpeted floor.

"Go on," Ruth Isthet gently tells him, a pencil rolling between her lips.

"Well, in the dream... I was watching him from my room back when I still lived in New York. I was standing by the window when I saw something dark move outside. I knew something was wrong 'cause our house, well, our apartment was on the fourth floor and there wasn't any fire escape or ledge for anyone to walk about just outside our window.

"I peeked and found myself staring at him, that man I've mentioned. He was hovering in front of his window and the pane opened by itself to allow him in. It was weird, seeing this hovering man, wearing some sort of a cape yet barefoot, hovering four floors from the ground."

"What were you feeling? In the dream, for example, what did you feel upon seeing this? Were you even aware you were dreaming when this first happpened?"

"Yes, I-" Gabe pauses, reconsiders, then shakes his head, "No. I remember now. I didn't know I was dreaming. I thought and believed that what I was seeing was real. As real as Kirsten here sitting beside me. Or you there listening to my boring dream. Is this making any sense even?"

"Just continue telling us about your dream, Gabe." Ruth calmly reminds him.

"Okay, I was there... watching this man hovering, when the wind suddenly blew, revealing that he was naked beneath the cape. And he entered the window, removing his cape and turning to close the window. That's when I saw it."

Kirsten, unable to control herself, giggles aloud. Gabe turns to her, a bit annoyed and frowning. Kirsten raises her hands apologetically, "Sorry! I couldn't help it. First time you told me that dream, I thought you meant you saw his...thingy."

"Was it that which you saw, Gabe?" Ruth asks, still seemingly detached yet interested in his story.

"What? No! Of course not! When I said 'it', I meant the mask he wore. I saw the mask he wore."

"A mask?" Ruth asks, suddenly bending forward as if to hear better.

"Yes, a mask. It looked sort of like this," Gabe, suddenly quite determined to make himself clear, grabs the psychologist's pen and pad. He begins to scribble on it, eyes peering thru half-slits, as if in an effort to focus the image he so desperately now tries to recall. "It was something like this..."

"I see," Ruth remarks upon seeing the sketch. Gabe watches her expression change from detached to sudden surprise. A face that she immediately hides and replaces with a calm, disinterested look. "He was wearing this mask?"

"Yes," Gabe answers, his voice a bit hesitant, why he isn't quite sure. "He looked straight at me, smiled then said,`I'll be checking on you again sometime,' and then the window closed as the curtain drew itself over the glass. Both moved at the same time, almost as if some invisible hands had closed them."

"That's it, right?" Kirsten asks Gabe aloud. Gabe merely nods. "He's been having this dream again for the past few nights now," Kirsten offers to explain.

"Its been... what's the term..." Gabe asks.

"Recurring," Kirsten replies.

"Yes, recurring lately. And the dream has become more and more vivid each night. It's kept me from sleeping at times, simply because I can't stand going to bed and knowing that I'm going to dream that blasted dream again and see-" his voice trails off.

"Yes?" Ruth asks, "Was there something you haven't mentioned?"

Kirsten looks at Gabe questioningly, "Is there, hon? We've talked about this before and you never mentioned anything?"

"I... ah... No... not really," Gabe stammers.

"To properly evaluate this, I need to know each and every detail, Mr. Brendan. I need to know each and every symbol that had a part in this dream. Without these, I cannot make a proper interpretation."

"Oh fuck, none of you are going to believe me anyway," Gabe curses, then looks around, "You happen to have a cigarette?"

"Gabriel!" Kirsten suddenly shouts out, her voice louder than usual. Kirsten rarely verbally expressed her anger or any other negative emotions, but now seems to be an excemption. "You mean to tell me there's something that you have NOT told me after all these years? And what do you mean a cigarette? You never smoked in your entire life!"

"I'm tense, dammit! It seems to help in the movies..."

"Jesus, Gabe, the movies?"

"Calm down Ms. Brendan," Ruth coos Kirsten then turns to face Gabe, "Please, Mr. Brendan, tell us."

"It's Bergham," Gabe replies.

"What?"

"Bergham," Kirsten smirks, "You meant Ms. Bergham. We're not married," then a slight pause, "yet."

"My apologies then," Ruth offers a weak smile, "Please, Mr. Brendan. The missing elements?"

"I've seen him."

Kirsten finds herself staring at Gabe, mouth agape and eyes unblinking. Ruth Isthet on the otherhand, remains silent and penitent. "Go on," she asks Gabe.

"Wait, you mean-" Kirsten comments only to be interrupted by Ruth Isthet, "Please, ma'am, let us let the man finish what he has to say. This is important. Save your comments for later?"

Kirsten nods then looks at Gabe, "You've seen him in real life? Where?"

Gabe closes his eyes, wets his lips with his tongue then replies.

He stares at the mirror. He recalls how one night he decided to check on the world beyond his "world" and stared into a mirror. Instead of his square jaw or long hair and piercing eyes, instead he found himself staring at a sleeping man. The man was naked, and huddled close to a naked woman. Both seemed oblivious to his voyeurism.

He reached for a lizard nearby, kissed its head, then tossed it through the mirror. It passed through the glass, the mirror's surface rippling like a watery surface before shimmering back into solidity. He watched as the lizard landed on the bed, crawled towards the man, and stopped just above his head.

The man awoke with a start. Perhaps from a dream.

He saw the man look straight at him. Through the mirror, too. They looked at each other, both momentarily seized with a brush of fear at the fact that both now perceived each other's presence.

His fear turned into fancy.

The man's fear turned into terror.

The man began to scream, reaching for a pillow and tossing it to the mirror. It struck. He saw the images spin. Then turn black. He knew the mirror was broken.

January 2112
"I see," Ruth Isthet nods, then rises from the chair. She slowly walks to her desk, the small sketch Gabe made of the mask placed with Gabe's slowly growing file.

"What now," Kirsten asks intently, "I mean, none of this really happened right? Hallucinations? Phantasms? Maybe you only thought you awoke, Gabe, but were still dreaming and-"

"Hon, I was awake."

"But seeing his face through our mirror? I mean, I recall you broke it a few nights ago, but you said it was because of a bug you tried to scare off by tossing the pillow at. Another's face through the mirror? That's impossible!"

"Hon, there are many things you don't realize that are true. Many things most people tend to ignore for fear of learning to be real. Trust me, I saw the face."

"Doctor, is my fiancee losing his sanity?"

"What?" Gabe explodes, "You actually think I'm going crazy?"

"Yes!" Kirsten replies tactlessly, "What better way to explain it?"

"There are many possible explanations!"

"Name one!" Kirsten's eyes are wet with tears. She feared this moment would come. She knew that it wasn't healthy that Gabe submerged himself in literature that claimed that spirits existed and that ghosts walk the world. Sooner or later, she knew that Gabe would begin believing in those mythological things.

"Ms. Bergham, please," Ruth Isthet suddenly remarks, breaking into the two's argument, "Your fiancee is NOT going insane."

"Not?" Kirsten replies, unsure.

"No," Ruth explains, then pulls open her drawer. She pulls out a small paper bag that is sealed with tape. An intricate letter 'T' adorned one side. "This was sent to me a long time ago. By my father."

Inside the bag is the mask, each and every detail mentioned present.

End Issue One

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 [email protected]
Comment and reactions are welcome! In fact, appreciated!

Read the next issues ofThe Engima Grows.