Dream Alpha:

Dream Alpha: Frank.

A group of us broke into the Federal Compound that housed (what we would discover was the late) Frank Pentangeli. There he lay, in his bath tub, still bleeding from fresh flesh wounds to the wrists. The water was overflowing, doused in blood, so we were stepping into a Swamp. Above him re(a)d, in blood, the epigram “ha provato troppo duro.”

I was told to pull his last trigger. I leant in to turn the water off. My superior informed me that “to turn those knobs will be to put an end to his crusade of poison.” So I did. The hot water shut off easily enough. Then I reached further, that I might cancel the cold.

I found myself alone, within a replica of this restroom. The colours had been inverted. I was in the Upside Down. Strange vegetation covered all the walls, the floor, and ceiling. Bizarre fungal germs haunted the air.

I covered my mouth and discovered that my fingers had transformed into sausages. Before me lay a skeleton, in the exact same pose as Frank had been. He was covered in moss, vines, and ooze. His mafia ring glistened on the pinky that lay upon the floor.

I moved towards the mirror. Through the grapevine I could see myself. I was Pentangeli. I returned to the corpse skeleton. Gingerly I removed the ring. I put it on.

I was in a giant court room. This was the Supreme Court Hearing. The Chief Justice asked me to identify myself. I said “Frankie Five Angels”. He asked me to produce my legal name. I gave it as Francis Pentangeli.

Time seemed to warp. Suddenly I was talking to an other Justice, further to my left hand side, but to what was the right hand side from the perspective of the Judicial Branch. I was asked if I could produce a Corporeal Patronus. I told them I could. I was commended for this and then asked for a demonstration. I told them I would need my wand. It was produced for me. Under strict surveillance, I produced an Owl. It flew around the room and then perched on my shoulder.

The Chief Justice called order in the Court. The Prosecuting Attorney asked me what the Italian phrase over my bath meant. I replied that I wrote it whilst dying, and it was about one of my rivals in the Rosado Brothers. It meant, “He tried too hard.” I explained that the Rosado brothers had infiltrated the Catholic Church and were attempting to corner the market by selling indulgences. So I did the only reasonable thing that a Scorpio could do and pinned ninety-nine* theses to their door. The Court laughed. The Chief Justice told me that while I might find it amusing that I did that, the Court does not.

*Historically, it was an act of insubordination by a Scorpio, following this exact pattern, that produced the tradition of Protestantism.

A witness was produced: my Brother. He told the Court something in Italian which was promptly translated by the Prosecutor. The Prosecutor explained that while the blood was mine, I did not write it. It was written BY one of the Rosado Brothers. As it turns out: after I murdered one of them, the other sought revenge. Finding that I had committed suicide on the advice of Tom Hagen, he wrote the epigram to describe ME.

The remaining Rosado brother was produced to the Witness stand. He spoke passionately about how Frankie had crucified his brother in a Church restroom. The motive was simple: to send a message to any one who seemed all too pious.

Tom Hagen asked if it was not possible that Frank had other motives. Was it impossible that to ascribe a vendetta to Frank that was so childish and daemonizing would in fact only evidence projection on Mister Rosado’s part? Was it not evidence for a vendetta on the ROSADO’s part, equally irrational to the SUPPOSED vendetta of which Frankie was accused, and perhaps EVEN conclusive of the fact that the Rosado brother’s story was at worst a hoax and at best an exaggeration?

Then the evidence came in. As it turned out: the nails I used to crucify the dead twin were of the same brand and make as the nails that I used to pin my theses to the Church door. Only one smith manufactured these nails, and it was an old friend of mine back in Sicily.

I awoke on the floor, dripping wet with blood and water. I could not have been out for long, because mere moments later I was hoisted by two of my comrades in the Invading Party. Very briefly I wondered, deliriously, about whether or not they had let me lay there for that long. But then I realized that they wouldn’t have allowed it on principle, and dreams (and Visions) last a lot longer in subjective time than in “real” time.

A friend of mine had done the honours of turning off the cold water. We had to escape, and quickly. But then I realized that my friends were under arrest. I HAD been out for a long time, after all; the subjective was real. I was informed that two of my comrades, only after they had identified themselves, were permitted to pick me up; the cops, being assholes, might have let me drown or choke on Frank’s Old Dirty Blood.

We were put in the back of a cop car. I was asked to identify, as we began to drive, (I would rather say “we” than “the driver”) the cause of Frank’s death. I mumbled deliriously that he had tried too hard. The officer asked if he tried hard in the right direction. I amended my original statement with a simple “No”.

A trial was held in a court that was a little smaller but yet reminiscent of the Supreme Court from my Vision. The Prosecutor, a dead ringer for the prosecutor from the Vision, announced that on MY account as a witness (I was surprised to hear my name, given lingering delirium.) Frank died by trying too hard in the Wrong Direction. The only sensible retaliation that the Law could produce would be too try even HARDER in the RIGHT direction. He slammed his fist against the podium, which was situated far from me on the right side of the Court Room (but the left side from the Judge’s perspective) on the word “Right”.

We were released from custody shortly after the Joker’s testimony.

Apparently, we were never read our Miranda rights. Our arresting officers were disarmed. We went Home.

Dm.A.A.