Mary asked the detective, “I always thought you identify a relative in the morgue.”
           “It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. DeMille. He reached out to shake her hand but seeing her emotional state, withdrew it. He said, “Because you’re a celebrity, Commissioner Regan thought you’d prefer to avoid publicity by coming here. I think he’s right since what you’ll see won’t be pleasant.”
        Mary reached for her husband, “Josh, I’m afraid.”
     “I don’t believe it’s necessary for Ms. DeMille to be here for this, I can identify Dante, if it’s him,” Josh said to the detective.
        “We require next of kin, Sir, but even you’ll have a difficult time with this scene. Please follow me into the next room. I suggest you hold on to her. I’ve had this assignment for more than twenty years but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
        The detective walked to the door, opened it, and beckoned the couple to enter. Mary DeMille’s husband followed her into the room. She trembled when she saw the scene before her. Josh watched his wife’s eyes roll to the top of her head as she sank to the floor like a limp towel, shrieking, “That necklace! That necklace!”

        Dante woke up sitting on the floor, but not in the hotel room he was in when he passed out. He looked for his sister but saw no one, nothing! Just glaring light!  The place had no walls or ceilings. He wondered if he was in the endless, all white Bonneville Salt Flats because he saw 360 degrees of nothing; no sky above him, a vast void. Puzzled as to whether he was dreaming, he heard the cadence of footsteps in the distance getting closer and closer. It reminded him of the opening scene of the movie, “Lawrence of Arabia”, when all the viewer could see was a dot in the distance. The sound got louder and a figure gradually appeared.
         Dante, in his forties, thought the man might be in his fifties or sixties. He studied the man’s darker skin and judged him of Mediterranean ancestry. Well dressed with a jaunty walk and an air of a person used to being in charge, he greeted Dante with a smile, “Welcome Dante DeMille. I’ve waited an eternity for this moment. You’re my success story.”
        Dante’s instincts turned negative as he appraised a Victorian dressed peacock. He wasn’t aware that he’d curled his lip at the sight of a black fingertip coat and brocaded vest. It gave him the impression his visitor was from another era. Pompous ass, he thought staring at the man’s tailored moustache and goatee so meticulously hair-sprayed in place.
        What a weirdo, he thought watching the man stroke his goatee whenever he spoke. He imagined him to have a mirror in his pocket to often check that every hair was in place and every article of clothing as it was when he first dressed.
        Dante asked, “What are you talking about? Who are you? Where am I?” He’d been so preoccupied with his situation he wasn’t aware he was nude until he saw the man’s eyes scan his body. “Where are my clothes?”
        The man deepened his gravel voice, “Questions, questions, questions from my pet project.”
        “Pet project? Are you freakin’ nuts? Who are you? What am I doing here?”
    “Don’t you realize all good things come to an end?”
         “What in the world are you raving about? Who the heck are you talking to? I don’t see anyone. Why is it so freakin’ hot in here?”
        Dante’s host sneered and chuckled at his agitation. He stopped stroking his beard and became serious, raising his voice, “Could it be you’re so scared you’ve developed a case of prolonged constipation? Oh boy, I liked that one! That’s probably because you’ve realized that you’ve changed your permanent address without advising the post office? Fabulous! I loved that one even more! Ha, ha, oh, ha, ha, ha, ha…”
        “Are you nuts? Where’s Demi?”
       “Am I the one being interrogated? The man leaned his head back again and laughed, “You don’t remember what you did? Now you’re suffering from convenient amnesia. Oh, my boy you’re priceless, priceless! Oh, this is too much.”
     “You bastard, Dante roared,” Dante’s face showed menace as he moved toward the man, confident that no older man, several inches shorter and maybe 40 pounds lighter, was a match for him. He grabbed for the man but a force he’d never experienced pushed him backwards. He staggered and fell on his back.  “Who are you? What are you?”
        The man walked toward him saying, “Come on, boy.”  He chuckled again. “I think…I have at least five names in your language – maybe more.”
    “My language?”
        “You still have no idea? You must have a clue.  Haven’t you heard the expression; payback is, ha, ha, ha, ha? I rest my case.”
        “What the hell…?” Dante couldn’t finish his sentence. “What am I doing here?”
        “The super stud, Mr. Narcissus, himself. They all called you The Pharaoh. Oh, you’ve come a long way, baby. Let’s see how you got here.” He changed his expression to an impish smile and with a tilt of his head, said, “Wait, I’ll show you.”
        He clapped his hands and what Dante at first thought was an endless two-dimensional movie screen appeared out of nowhere. His eyes opened wide when he stared at three-dimensional images. The surface he was standing on moved and Dante fell to one knee. He was on a conveyor belt watching scenes unfold.
        “Hey, you whatever you are, what’s going on now? Are we going into the Tunnel of Love?”
      Once more laughing louder than Dante thought necessary and with a grotesque sneer on his face, Dante’s tormentor yelled, “Oh, what a masterpiece I’ve created; wonderful, wonderful. I have to pat myself on my back. Mr. DeMille, please forgive me for bragging. Let’s start the show in Quebec in March of 1930. That’s Father Marcel talking to some children.
        “What do I have to do with them?”
        “You’re about to meet your grandparents when they were young.”
        “My grandparents? I know my grandparents!”
        “You do? Oh, I forgot. To answer your question, Dante DeMille, this is your life.”