The first time I explained things to Cain, the day I took the bus downtown during a chilly March in Portland, we walked for hours down the waterfront, across the bridges and back over again, pretending to walk towards his home, but then turning around again as more mysteries needed unraveling. He walked his bike between us, a safe barrier to protect him from me, the biggest mystery of all. I suspected he feared mysteries, as he had so often sought understanding through the thousands of books he had read.

He consumed everything he could on magic, metaphysics, religions, and the spirit world, and it took his experiences with Mephisto to actually make him believe.

That night I learned much about Cain's relationship to Mephisto. He had been having surreal dreams that he had barely remembered. They didn't begin to unearth until the night I had caught him putting on the face paint. My appearance had jarred him out of a trance. He soon realized he had been blacking out on a regular basis and adopting the face of Mephisto for a few months--there was no telling what he had been up to during those blackouts. That abrupt awakening began a domino effect of returning memories of dreams, hints of images during his blackouts, recollections of many tired days. Most of all--and he would never admit it--I could see that since that day a little glint had grown in his eye. A little seed of wanting more than the daily grind of life, of wishing he had the strength to take charge of his own destiny and find an adventure in life. Oh yes, Mephisto's handiwork was like the characteristic stroke of a master painter. Wherever he dabbled, you could see the signs. This was the first stage of his painting. Dissatisfaction with one's life, encouraged through unexpected events and collaborations.

Cain looked younger than he had in all the time I had watched him, just as he looked more tired, uncertain, and afraid of the next moment.

With much reticence, he told me the recurring dream that he saw as the marker for his blackouts. He would go to a special cave deep in the earth, where he would manifest books and paintings, a comfortable chair, and find communion with a little puppet on his right hand. He still couldn't recall what the puppet would say to him, little dark snippets of wisdom that would mean more than they appeared. In the dream world, simple phrases could send your mind reeling in their infinite undertones, your spirit could roll over and over on itself in ecstasy over the power of a single word that, when said during waking hours could cause nothing more than a yawn.

As he described his dream realm, I began to feel uneasy. Something nagged at me, and I stopped cold in my tracks. A sprinkle of rain began, glistening on the silver rails separating the walkway from the water. Cain took a few moments to realize I had stopped and turned around with an expression of confusion.

I stared into the glistening waters of the Willamette, where green and orange lights played across the surface in contorted lines. The full moon undulated on the water, the grey skies carrying a vague tint of the small city lights that reflected upward. I could see the dance of faces on their surface.

I remembered an out of body experience of months ago in which I had encountered an unkown man in a cave deep underground. It made me uneasy, knowing that my subconscious had led me to Cain long before I had even met him in person. Was it before I had begun watching him? I couldn't recall.

"What's wrong?" Cain asked in a tone of subtle irritation, as if his annoyance didn't lie in waiting, but in discovering an answer he wouldn't like.

"It's just..." I began, trailing off as my brain turned it over and over, like a word from the dream ethos. Had Mephisto orchestrated it? It took all of my mental capacity to tear through the many threads of that riddle. I had come to wonder at everything in my life, how much of it was my own and how much of it had been written by the wily demon. But this... The chance meeting with Cain in the dream world, his posession of the Mephisto puppet... I looked deep into the eyes of that puppet during my experience, and I saw in them a sort of disgust in being the one not in control.

"Look, Kaitlyn, what is it?" I looked up at Cain and saw true concern replacing the irritation.

I felt a smile stretch across my face. A great laugh escaping my lips, a belly laugh that made me shake. I surprised myself at the level of joy I felt at seeing the chink in Mephisto's armor, my friend, nemesis, and mentor. I knew I didn't really know anything yet, but I had in my hand the end of a rope that would lead me deep into Mephisto's psyche, if I was willing to follow it.

Cain, not fully understanding the source of my mirth, yet carried along with it, let a smirk cross his face. "What?"

That smirk stopped me cold, it was so hauntingly familiar.

I moved around his bike, thrilled by the magic of our moment, by the infinite mystery of the universe. I had never felt so in control while in the midst of chaos reality.

He looked uncertain at my approach. I leaned in, smiling, and whispered, "