What was Mark McCord going to do? He thought about it, and, perhaps he was a little jealous, but he wasn’t uptight about anything, so he decided he’d go live in Eva Braun’s body—while his body existed in the shadows of a former ancestor or longtime family friend. The fascinating thing about Eva Braun is that the German public remained largely unaware of her until after she and Hitler died. What kind of an effect did that have on her? Surely it wasn’t her idea—or maybe it was. Perhaps she knew that Hitler was evil, but she chose to see the child that lived behind the amphetamines and the oxycodone. She loved him for what he really was—not some imposter borne from a lack of sleep and a mental illness.
Was Mark McCord also going to access the future by projecting Eva Braun’s voice when he was thinking about something particular? Did he have the patience to regulate his breathing—and, if he was aware of it, his blinking? Did he have the ability to count, and, if he did, would he count in vowels so that he could pick up what was on the other side of the consonants? He didn’t have a talent for it, like Regina did, but he could do it a little, and, in so doing, he communicated with Regina when Regina was in Hitler’s body. But he also made a kind of lightning rod out of himself—he was a ground, or the pathway to a ground, of the German people—and uncertain people in the future that might’ve been projecting themselves onto him!
That is to say that he wasn’t just tapping into some kindred spirit—if not himself—in the future; he was also experiencing fatigue and, on occasion blackouts, that were the result of absorbing the energy of those that sought to escape the present by eating and drinking (not necessarily in that order) and venting. All that venting, whether you were aware of it or not—that depended on how much you could eat and drink—sought the area, like a current, of lesser electric charge. Regina and McCord happened to live balanced lives, and, as such, they were a magnet for chaos that sought, like chaos does, to spread chaos all over.
You had to pay attention, then, because all that venting could take a toll on you, and, if you let it, you could wind up counting and blinking yourself into a manic rage.
Mark didn’t fear, however, that he’d stop liking girls: that happened after he met Regina—she was the only girl for him. But did he worry, on some fundamental level, that he was really a woman—he’d be most happy as a woman—he, in fact, was a woman—and, as time progressed, and such a thing became more and more acceptable, would Regina accept that she was a lesbian? Was Regina supposed to pretend that she was a lesbian just to please Mark’s idea that he really was a woman? How far could the pretending go—or did pretending have anything to do with it? We pretend, sometimes, in order to make something a reality—and you can’t expect people to make a leap without pretending about it first—that was how everything became real. So what, in fact, was the case?