This, my backyard garden, was a marvel to behold behind my low, one-level ranch house.

Inside the house there was coffee in a huge, open area (in my mind). Carafes perched high upon ledges, and beside each huge coffee urn was a plate with a single piece of pie. It looked like cherry, with a layer of white, probably cream cheese or mascarpone and whipped cream. I heard myself screaming, “Look, there’s fish fillets over here!” I certainly sounded cheery. I was filling a bag with takeaway and giving myself mac and cheese samples, gratis. I stood in a separate aisle now, also replete with multitudinous rich, sweet treats, all free. I wondered what was up and if I unwittingly was trying to fatten me up. But to what end?

I hurriedly went back out.

Ah! Here. High reaching trees cast shadow. Plants below the upper canopy embodied curving forms. All sought to defy description, so varied and unusual were they. Having traveled round the world, I’d not seen any of these species, so I created them. It was perfunctory, my function. Perhaps they were cacti or varietal hybrids. Though the ground was shaded, sunlight (ray? particle?) beams filtered down through lofty branches. Beams beamed down through beams. A dull smile duly lit my lips but did not make it to my eyes. The effect lit up dazzlingly colourful plants to clearly display each hue.

"Across the road, look," I told myself. "Quick!" Panning my head to the left, the garden opposite this bounteous feast for the eyes was nice, neat, and trim. Gesturing back toward the right, I said to myself with a wonderful tone, “I want to live here, to continue to live here.” It was, after all, my fairy land.

Alas, a dead end I’d planted.

The hot dryness seared. It morphed. In my image, the ground belowground shook, causing a liquified mudslide the same way teeming flora in my gut moved, sludging sluggishly at first. Faster it chugged, racing across the desert. Each plant burst and the virus it had contained coursed through horny toads, Gila monsters, sidewinders, and fer-de-lance, filling them with feted glee as they transmitted more vileness than ever before. Even the frilled lizards gained deadly abilities they’d long sought. All these would carry on, for they accepted their tasks to taint with alacrity.

My smile burst through my invisible mask mounting to a bitter, hard laugh. And now my eyes were lit with fire newly kindled from within. I’d made myself and now I’d made my new universe. Not only made, … I had mastered it. I could die, and withal I could do so happily.

Anxiety. It's a funny word. Three syllables, seven letters. How does this word even begin to describe the excruciating worry I feel at this very moment.

I'm fidgeting in my seat, trying to keep my mind occupied and off of the man next to me. He's tall, older. His hair is graying and he is going to be arrested once this plane touches down.

"Do you mind?" He leans forward, reaching for the light I nod, leaning back so he can click the button. A harsh yellow light lit up our row, shedding light on both him and my apparent nerves. "I'm Jeffrey, by the way. What are your plans in Florida?"

I hesitate, unsure of what to say, but then I smile and say, "I'm Candace, its very nice to meet you. I'm actually going home."

He nods before going back to the book in his hands. I look away, grateful he is no longer talking to me. I put in my headphones, letting my music drown out the sounds of the plane and close my eyes. Not that I'd be able to sleep. Epstein's leg was close to mine, his knee bumping my leg every couple minutes. I pull my legs towards the window, it's going to be a long five hours.

#jeffreyepstein #flight #plane #arrest #amatuerwriter #arrests

The worst man is still a man, and one can flip the gender for Nannie Doss or Lucrezia Borgia. The reckoning makes that truth clear. Consider Adolf Hitler in his bunker, when he knew the Reich was truly gone. He died in terror, in pride of his achievements, in love with Eva Braun. Half rabid with fear, he still possessed shreds of that charisma that could have moved and aided millions, had he not chosen to burn millions instead. I heard it all in his voice. He was, to be clear, evil. Thoroughly so. Still, if one read his thoughts as he aimed the gun at himself (and I did), a little part of him imagined another life, painting landscapes along the Rhine. I’d ballpark that part at four percent of him.

I collect them: reckonings. Someone needs to.

That, of course, is why I sat on a 727 about to touch down in New Jersey on July 6, 2019: Jeffrey Epstein’s “Lolita Express.” He took me for a journalist profiling his philanthropic endeavors. They always explain me to themselves somehow; running from the Moscow mob, Rasputin believed me a woman he had “purified” a few nights before.

“You can’t pigeonhole the future,” Epstein said, clinking the ice in his tumbler. “It doesn’t belong to science, or architecture, or art, or technology – no matter what the Google crew would tell you. It’s the nexus.” He pointed his finger for emphasis, then noted the paltry level of liquid in his glass. He raised the finger upward, and the stewardess approached with more pomegranate juice. He never drank; he’d seen too often what drink would do, growing up near Coney Island.

“The future is in the nexus,” he said. “That’s why I’ve given so much to the MIT Media Lab. You have to believe in something. I believe in the future.” The stewardess dropped in more ice cubes. Epstein said, “Thank you, Stacey,” as she walked away.

“You’ve given elsewhere, too,” I prompted.

“I have. I have…” He watched the ice cubes swirl in the deep red. “I made my first donation to Harvard nearly thirty years ago. For Rosovsky Hall, the new Hillel building. My name’s on the plaque there.”

“Does that matter to you? The name on the plaque.”

“No. Sort of…” Another sip, another moment watching the cubes. “Everyone dies, you know. Someday I’ll die. Stacey there. The pilot. You.” Three out of four, I thought. “A man wants to leave something. Something that will last. Matter.”

Buildings rushed by quickly outside the window, but I waited. Questions channel thinking. To truly know a person, one must silently wait.

“We all need to balance the scales,” he said.

He turned to find me when the feds and the NYPD accosted him, but I was already gone, and already he had mostly forgotten me. I’d collected his reckoning; I knew who he was.

There was fear, as always, and anger. A little bit of regret, even on the flight. The question of legacy truly mattered to him; I felt it as he talked of the future. If one listened to his words very closely—and many people had—one could hear that genuine concern and zeal; so loudly that one might not realize how much Stacey’s backside preoccupied him, or recognize how viciously part of him wished to own her.

I’d ballpark that part at 88 percent of him.

I sat there watching, just observing trying to take it all in before the inevitable outcome. There sat Mr. Epstein sipping scotch with a crystal decanter on the table beside him. The Lolita Express was just as tacky as one would assume it would be. Pictures of tropical landscapes adorned the walls and wood panneling encompassed the fuselage. The man seeme dpretty well pleased with himself, seemingly unwawre of any danger. However, we were not alone. I spied two unassuming characters toward the rear of the plane, dressed in smart suits and sunglasses. I contiinued to look around until my eyes fell at last on an old photo album. I picked it up and flipped to the middle. It was less a photo album than a meticulously organized file of Mr. Esptein's exploits with his friends. Or perhaps they weren't friends, merely clients or some combination of the two. There were familiar faces among the many pictures: politicians, titans ofindustry, prominent foriegn dignitaries. It all seemed so casual.

To this day I am not certain how I got onto this plane or why I was there, but no one seemed aroused by my presence. I decided to break the silence, knowing I had precious little time to find the answers tot he questions people would be asking a year from now.

"So" I began " Where are we headed, again?

He looked up, seemingly surprised at the question. "Well, New York, of course. We've got to take care of some business. You must need taking care of, your memory is lapsing already" he chuckled.

" You might be right." I replied quietly. " Will there be anyone meeting us, by chance?"

" Oh sure." He said "But they'll be waiting back at the house. We'll have to make this one quick, I've got to go meet some clients in Europe in a few days."

" Oh I see. So run the plan by me again. You must be right about my memory, I can;t seem to keep it straight." I lied. Hopefully I could find out what in the world we were supposed to be doing in New York. Maybe that would give me some clue as tot he events that I know would transpire.

" Ok, but keep your voice down and come with me to my cabin." I followed him to a provate quarters within the plane. he closed the door, locked it, and sat behind a wanut desk. I could see the room was soundporffed and the door was thick and strong.

" So" he began " We'll meet the car on the tarmac, it'll take us into the city, and we'll meet our fellow guests at the brownstone, right?"

"Oh right, right." I awcknowledged.

" Something's wrong, though." he said ominously. " I've been feeling weak more often, sick even. And now I see it's not just me, you're feeling it too. It seems we won't be able to stave off age and the reaper forever."

" Stave off age, you say?" I asked, without thinking.

" Do you have another way?" he asked sarcastically. " After five hundred years this lifestyle has finally started taking its toll." "Five hundred years?!" I thought to myself. "What in the world is this guy talking about?"

" Do you remember when were just boys in Vienna? So many centuries have passed but I can remember it like it was yesterday." I decieded to play along. "Ah, go one, I'd like to reminecsce."

He looked up and closed his eyes as if he were picuring it all. "We were obsessed, singularly. Why two young men were so worried about mortality is strange, but we could feel the creeping shadow of death even then. That's why I love you, you've always understood that." I kepy my composure but underneath that veneer I was lost.

" Romania. Romania. That was the key. How long we looked. We spent a lifetime looking for a way to live forever. It would have been tragic had it not worked. Who could have believed the storties of the vampires were real. Well, not as people nowadays think of them, but real nontheless. Can you believe that was so long ago, and look how far we've come. And al it cost was the lives of lost young women. But immortality is a prize worth paying a great cost for." My eyes narrowed and I felt my blood pressure increasing. The satisfaction on his face was enough for me to want to jump over the desk and kill him then and there.

" Ah, those were the days." he said smiling. I cracked a smile knowing that this monster would soon have his world turned on its head and find himself behind bars. " And look at this. Finding that secret costus a great deal. But as far as returns on investment, I couldn't be happier. Sharing that secret with the rich and powerful hs made us one of them: rich, powerful, and immortal. What more could a man ask for?" I could feel the plane beginning to descend. " Ah, looks like we're here. Remember we're meeting some important people, try not to forget them when we arrive." I simply nodded and followed him out of the cabin. The plane came to a halt and the staircase lowered. As he apporached the threshold of the doorway he looked back and me, knowingly, smiled, and turned. There was something peculiar about the way he moved. The years were taking their toll on him and I saw the pathetic old man he was at heart as he stooped out of the doorway. I watched as dark cars swarmed around the plane. We all know what happened next.