Kevin was working on the air conditioning on 4th level rooftop with Kirk, while I've been instructed to sunbath on 3rd level jacuzzi terrace with nothing on except a white suede Indian wedding tunic - two long beaded flaps of fabric - with the front thrown back over my head, leaving my body exposed to both men from their perch above. Just the act of putting this on had an effect on me, a baby trigger, prepping for what was coming.
After they'd finished whatever they were doing up-there, Kirk asked if I would give Kevin oral sex...actually he said "blow-job", and at that moment, with those words...the trigger...when I was trying to say no, I was suddenly talking and acting like a young child, like JonBenét Patricia Ramsey..."No, Daddy"! I yelled, climbing like a monkey up the ladder from the jacuzzi deck to the graveled top level trying to get away. Each time Kirk chased me and brought me down, "I sorry Daddy, I sorry! An obviously disappointed and surprised Kevin leaves.
Kirk tells me to be a good girl and do as Daddy says. I'm to take a bath and shave myself in the genital area back by my anus, then to lie on the bathroom rug and clean my
anus out with one of the little blue sponge rollers he'd given me to roll my hair to look like JonBenét's..."Daddy likes everything clean, and didn't I know how unhappy it made Daddy when I didn't do like he said? When I'm done I'm to put on my white lacy night gown, and sit on the little cowhide bench in the living room.
I was trembling and scared, and thought I could hear "The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You" coming in from the vents. Also, back in the bathroom, and this is craaazzzy...I could hear Director John Huston and Actor Danny DaVito discussing women as though they were HORSES!...Monroe and Bardot were discussed as I remember...Danny DaVito?
A police officer friend and I tried to figure out what were the programming tools used...a combo of hypnosis, trauma induced structural disassociation, Rohypnol, GHB, GBL, Ketamine, Ecstasy, Klonopin, Datura or PCP in the marijuana pipe? When Kirk took me to see Guru San, the cult leader who would assess me as Brothel material, I was flyyyiinngg on something wild. That I did not pass, meant I'd be hunted at Ramana, the DuPont's estate in Taos...if I survived that, Costa Rica.
Kirk's apparent narrative had me acting like I'd just been dropped-off by Mommy to stay with him
or the weekend, like divorced couples do. He brings me a mug of cold water while I'm on the cowhide stool - I know something from the freezer was put in it as I heard the door open and slammed closed - An ex wife told me later he kept magic mushrooms there; as he was returning to the kitchen I hold the mug over my head, tilting it slowly, spilling it over my head, like I was trying to dowse myself out of a trance...my arm was not my own...I now know it was Sage...
Well this pisses him off and he gets mad, but mad like he likes to get mad at me, I can't quite explain it, like he was getting off being mad at a little girl, me. He brings me another mug, and I do it again. SAGE does it again...OK, so now he's REALLY MAD "..."Get over here to the couch, you know what you've made Daddy have to do!"... he pulls the white lace dress over my head and has me lay on my back with my legs up over my head, exposing my bottom, preparing to penetrate..."You know Daddy likes to watch..."
I am in a complete panic now, saying in desperation, "Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom". He lets me go to the bathroom, I light the Potpourri in a porcelain bowl sitting on the back of the toilet, and scratch HELP on the bathroom wall with the now charcoal-coated matchstick, Kirk comes in, freaks out, "Is that what JonBenét did?" (How the Hell would I know?!!) "YES" I yell, pushing past him and bolting out the front door, buck-naked.
Running out the condo's driveway towards Comanche road, something in me says "Sarah, you're running nude down the street in public", when another voice, yells "RUN"!
Make it across Tramway's six lanes, remember I'm barefoot, casually sit on the Bus bench, then get up to wrap my arms around the light post, slide down, and...urinate! Then over the wall of a small pueblo home on the corner. I see a saw-horse in the far corner, mount it, and start reciting, no, just like I'm talking, the “Myself to Myself” Odin's Norse poem Hávamál..."I know I hung from the wind-swept tree..." only I say in the old Norse language...clearly not the Ringmaster of this Circus.
Crawl over to the dog's water bowl by the back door, drink from it, growling as I hear someone approaching...I run like...like a Wolf?...to the adobe wall, but before leaping over I spew a bull
et of a spitball at him, God, like 20 feet, then chant "bad man! bad man! as I'm up and over...bet I ruined his evening.
Able to focus on a high-school student walking back from boxing practice across the street, and
run across Comanche to him for protection. I ask for the large ball he is holding to put in front of me as we walk back up to the condo, Kirk watching from the balcony up the hill. I ask his name. "John"...He is as cool as a cat and is every inch my protector...like this happens every day.
Reaching the condo driveway, I see Kirk solemnly standing next to the large garbage can waiting for pick-up the next day...I ask if I'm supposed to get into the can or go into the garage. John silently stares at Kirk as I"m told to go into the condo. He's just saved my life.
When Kirk comes into the condo, he takes me up to clean my cuts in the shower, then puts me to bed. In the morning I'm told to pack as we are going to the airport. I ask to take the pony footstool I'd been told to sit on while being served the drugged water mugs, and he said ok...This is back before 9/11, so I got through the gates with no passport or license, as Kirk had them...I was flying fasterthan the jet, sitting there with my pony stool together running the loudest silence the surrounding passengers ever wish to hear again. Did not receive my I.Ds for another six weeks.
The day after I've arrived home, covered in bruises and cuts, my family made the difficult decision to put me in a local, public lock-down mental ward like "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest; they did not have them take a blood test. The reason they took me there was I had no insurance, and I had been pacing the carpet making a speech in a language they could not understand, except it was Native American...That is now extinct. That Murtagh started a hilarious dialogue as I was secured to the gurney certainly make them feel they'd made the right decision.
I was there five days as the drugs/programming wore off after I was taken to a room which had a large plastic covered bed. The light was turnedoff, and "click" the door locked.
Sage put me through a series of moves which, as a prior Hatha Yoga teacher, where beyond sophisticated and un-repeatable once I was out of there and stable. That was her last appearance.
Us nuts were locked in a large room with a ping-pong table. Murtagh walked up to a gameand did a routine very much like Nicklolson did on Cuckoo's Nest. You remember...pulled it out of his ass and made much merriment in the face of a souless incarnation. A doctor saw me in the hall making a phone call, and had one of the lovely West African attendants bring me to a room...handcuffed to a wheelchair. I won't share details, but my attendant was weeping when wheeling me back as the huge steel doors opened once again upon mayhem.
My brother and a Vet friend of his - the friend had gone back to Vietnam three more times, a real bad-ass - had gone to Costa Rica to find him, Kirk having immediately sold the condo and moving down there according to the hairdresser who on Kirk's orders did my hair like...like JonBenét's.