Zenith of Desire: The Hollywood Incubus

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******

”Understood,” he said softly.

”That is still not a promise, Marvin.”

”No,” he agreed smoothly. ”It is a commitment to consideration. Which is better.”

”Goodbye, Shakespeare,” she sighed fondly.

”Goodbye, Beyoncé Knowles,” he purred. ”The world is coming for you. Be ready.”

”I am always ready,” she declared, the trauma finally quieted by the foundation he was slowly building, before hanging up the phone.

Marvin lowered the receiver into its cradle, feeling the beautiful weight of another soul safely anchored in his self.

The car moved silently through the baking Los Angeles afternoon. The cold, tense chill from the beginning of the call was completely gone.

It was replaced by the radiating warmth of a conversation with someone who intimately knew exactly what kind of person he was, and had proudly made her peace with it.

He smoothly opened his leather-bound notebook on his lap.

He grabbed a silver pen and wrote exactly three words. The missing bridge of the Ferris wheel song.

He smiled and closed the notebook.

---

Marvin had barely snapped the Motorola phone shut when it rang again. He stared at the grey plastic, exhaling a slow breath. The Los Angeles sun baked the tinted windows of the Mercedes, but the air conditioning kept the cabin at a sterile sixty-five degrees.

He checked the LCD screen. It was Jessica’s home number.

He pressed the talk button and brought the receiver to his ear.

”Marvin! When are you going to be free this week?!”

Before Marvin could formulate a greeting, Jessica’s frantic voice exploded through the speaker. ”Lindsay, Dorothy, Beyoncé, and I demand to take you to the movies tomorrow. We have it all planned out.”

”Ha?” Marvin said smoothly. ”Beyoncé is in Los Angeles? Isn’t she supposed to be grinding in a recording studio in Houston right now?”

He asked the pointed question before answering her movie demand.

”Didn’t she tell you on the phone?” Jessica asked. Her voice carried the sassy confidence of a girl who knew she had caught him off guard. ”She flew into LAX this morning for a promotional tour with her group and her grumpy dad. She called me from the airport. We are assembling the group, Marvin. And you are the mandatory guest of service.”

Marvin leaned his head back against the headrest, a slow smirk carving into his features. The Incubus within him purred with satisfaction. The girls were organizing themselves around him.

”I see,” Marvin murmured, his velvet voice vibrating through the phone. ”And what cinematic masterpiece has the coven decided I must endure this evening?”

”Oh, don’t play dumb, Shakespeare,” Jessica laughed—a wicked, triumphant sound. ”We are going to see *Titanic*. Again. And you are going to sit perfectly still in the dark and hold our hands while we cry at your beautiful song.”

”Jessica, my sweety,” Marvin sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. ”I have already seen James Cameron’s sinking boat five separate times. I know how it ends. The large boat hits the large ice cube. The poor artist freezes to death because the wealthy girl refuses to share the floating door. It is a tragedy of poor maritime engineering and greedy thermodynamics.”

”Shut up, Marvin!” Jessica shrieked, half-laughing, half-outraged. ”You are ruining the romance! We don’t care if you’ve seen it fifty times. You are coming with us. We rented out a private VIP row at the TCL Theatre. Lindsay is bringing smuggled candy. Dorothy is bringing tissues. And Beyoncé is bringing the attitude. Be at the theater at eight o’clock, or we will come to your estate and drag you out by your hair.”

”A compelling threat to poor little old me,” Marvin conceded smoothly, checking his Rolex. ”I will see you ladies at eight. Try not to drown in your own tears.”

He hung up the phone, shaking his head.

’Oh, what a cinematic sin,’ Marvin thought, watching the palm trees blur past the window.

James Cameron had extracted oceans of tears and billions of dollars from the women of the world with this three-hour movie. Marvin envied the director’s psychological manipulation.

’Then again,’ the Incubus mused darkly, ’my haunting song assisted in doing that to their nervous systems.’

---

The VIP theater was pitch black, illuminated only by the flickering silver screen.

The air smelled of buttery popcorn and perfume.

On the screen, the freezing, tragic climax of the film played out in the icy waters of the North Atlantic.

*Jack: ”Listen, Rose. You’re gonna get out of here. You’re gonna go on and you’re gonna make lots of babies, and you’re gonna watch them grow. You’re gonna die an old... an old lady warm in her bed, not here, not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?”*

*Rose: ”I can’t feel my body.”*

*Jack: ”Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you. And I’m thankful for that, Rose. I’m thankful. You must do me this honor. Promise me you’ll survive. That you won’t give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise.”*

*Rose: ”I promise.”*

*Jack: ”Never let go.”*

*Rose: ”I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go.”*

In the plush reclining seats of the private row, the four girls were openly weeping.

Marvin sat perfectly expressionless in the dead center of the emotional hurricane.

Flanked by Jessica and Beyoncé on his left, and Lindsay and Dorothy on his right, he sat still. He listened to the muffled, ragged sobs echoing on both sides of him, with zero emotion registering in his heart.

It was not because he was a demonic Incubus, devoid of emotion; on the contrary, the Incubus inherently possessed the strongest, most devastating emotions in the universe after all they get power from them. But he had already watched this three-hour movie five times.

First, he had sat in the sterile editing bay and watched the raw final cut with Cameron. Then, he had watched the glittering global premiere with Amy and Gordon. Then, he watched it politely with his weeping parents. Then, Miranda had dragged him to a private screening room to watch it again.

Now, he was helplessly trapped in the dark, watching the boat sink for the *sixth* consecutive time with four hysterical girls.

Although the emotions of an Incubus are strong, the movie remained a Hollywood fiction.

The tragic love story in *Titanic* was fundamentally fake. Although the cinematography was beautiful, and the CGI groundbreaking for 1998, after watching Leonardo freeze to death so many times, Marvin had lost all dramatic taste for it.

He preferred Jack’s pragmatic quote during the first-class dinner scene: *”I figure life is a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You never know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you... to make each day count.”*

That was a philosophy a demon could respect.

But as the final notes of his Oscar-winning song, *’My Heart Will Go On,’* faded out over the rolling credits, the girls were emotionally devastated.

As they stumbled out of the freezing cinema and into the warm Los Angeles night, the four girls surrounded him on the sidewalk. Their eyes were puffy and red. Their light makeup was smeared.

Jessica, wiping a tear from her cheek, looked up at Marvin with demanding brown eyes.

”Marvin... be honest. If I jump, do you jump?”

Lindsay, Dorothy, and Beyoncé stopped walking. They stared intently at the little man, waiting for romantic validation.

Marvin let out a long, theatrical sigh, looking at the four beautiful girls surrounding him.

”Ladies,” Marvin purred, deploying his darkest smirk. ”If any of you foolishly jump off a sinking ship into the dark Atlantic Ocean... I have to jump in right after you, simply to save your pathetic asses from drowning.”

He paused, his blue eyes flashing under the streetlights. ”So yes. You jump, I inevitably have to jump to rescue my lovely ladies.”

A sudden beat of silence followed, instantly broken by ringing laughter that sounded like a chorus of silver bells. The girls playfully shoved his shoulders, charmed by his pragmatic twist on the romantic line.

”You are impossible, Marvin Meyers,” Beyoncé laughed, shaking her head. She linked her arm casually through his left arm.

”He’s a sociopath,” Jessica agreed happily, linking her arm through his right to stake her claim.

”But he’s *our* sociopath,” Lindsay chirped from behind, offering a bright smile.

After escaping the blinding flashes, the doors of the idling Mercedes clicked shut. Inside the luxury cabin, the chaotic roar of the outside world severed instantly, replaced by the humming quiet of the engine and the scent of expensive leather.

Gordon turned his large, shaved head from the driver’s seat. ”Sir, are we taking the young ladies home to their respective addresses tonight?” he asked, his eyes unreadable behind his dark sunglasses.

Marvin looked at the exhausted girls sprawled across the plush leather seats. The adrenaline of the evening had faded, leaving them draped in the exhaustion that comes when public armor is finally allowed to drop.

A small movement caught his attention. Lindsay spoke up from the dark corner by the tinted window.

”Marvin... can we go to my house?” Lindsay asked softly.

She wasn’t using the bright, raspy tone that usually defined her child-star persona. Her voice was small. ”There is no one at home right now. My parents both went out to ’work’. My younger brothers and little sister were shipped off to my grandma’s house in Long Island for the week. I am the only one at the house tonight.”

She paused, looking at him with a desperate vulnerability that broke her facade. ”Can you... can you just stay with me for a little while?”

Lindsay’s voice was sad and pleading. She was a twelve-year-old girl, the sole financial pillar of a multi-million-dollar empire, terrified of the silence of her own home—a house built on her exploited labor, yet devoid of warmth.

Marvin slowly turned his head and glanced at the fragile girl. As he held her gaze, the Incubus magic flared to life beneath his skin, bypassing her physical form entirely. It read the chaotic, dark aura of anxiety and bleeding loneliness radiating off her small frame.

This bright girl would eventually become the global model of drug-fueled depravity among Hollywood child stars.

And the rotten, parasitic parents standing behind her had a massive influence on her impending destruction.

As Marvin looked at her, his mind effortlessly pulled up the historical file on Lindsay Lohan.

Lindsay was born on July 2, 1986, in New York City. Her chaotic father, Michael Lohan, was a disgraced former Wall Street trader with a raging temper. Her narcissistic mother, Dina, had been a failed singer and dancer who desperately wanted the spotlight she never achieved.

Lindsay was the eldest, burdened daughter in the dysfunctional family, carrying the weight of two younger brothers and one sister.

In 1990, her incompetent, greedy father was criminally accused of insider trading. After he was arrested by the feds, the family’s livelihood became difficult. Her mother possessed little earning power.

So, Lindsay—who was only three years old at the time—took on the crushing financial burden of the family.

At that young age, Lindsay was signed to a predatory contract with the Ford Modeling Agency. She became a successful child star, exhausting herself by filming more than sixty television advertisements in a single year just to pay her family’s rent and her father’s legal bills. She was a human cash cow before she could spell her own name.

By the time her erratic father was released from federal prison in 1993, Lindsay had made a lucrative name for herself.

Without Marvin’s timeline-altering influence, Lindsay would have filmed the Disney blockbuster *The Parent Trap* solo in 1997, starting her career as a household name.

After that success, Lindsay would grow up trapped in one studio production after another.

Her stolen childhood was destined to be endless auditions and freezing movie sets. She became nothing more than a product for her parasitical parents.

But what she got in return for her millions was not the warmth of a loving family. Her toxic parents divorced, separated, and fought viciously in the tabloids.

In fact, immediately after Michael was released from prison, he and Dina were about to separate. But for some co-dependent reason, they got back together. After that, they continued to erratically separate and reunite in a toxic cycle of abuse.

This unstable environment became a dark nightmare that young Lindsay couldn’t escape.

Her father’s out-of-control mania and her mother’s screaming hysteria and promiscuity were witnessed by her on a daily basis.

Later in the original timeline, Michael openly refused to pay a luxury hotel bill, and was accused of horrific actions—such as beating a city sanitation worker simply because a garbage truck had blocked his sports car. He was sentenced to three more years in state prison.

Immediately after being released, Lindsay’s parents permanently divorced in a public media circus.

But this divorce was not the end of the nightmare.

Ever since Lindsay became a multi-millionaire, her lazy parents never bothered to look for a job. They lived entirely off her blood. Severe alcoholism, promiscuity, and daily drug abuse became normalized in their lives.

*****

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