Is it me or is Hurricane Gustav trying to find the shortest path to the Twin Cities where the Republican Convention is about to kick-off?
Hey you Evangelical dipshits, God is gonna rain all over your parade. Hmmm…maybe He actually meant it when his Boy was talking all of that shit about turning the other cheek, helping the poor and destitute, and to be nice? Ach…what do I know? I’m just your local unbelieving dead man. It is your religion, not mine, but maybe you Christians should try reading that little book of yours a little closer. That are lots of little nuggets of wisdom allegedly uttered by that long-haired, sandal wearing, do-gooder of a pre-hippie dude that you claim to follow. If more of you actually did that, there would be a hell of a lot less misery in this world.
Ah well, enough of that, for the moment, anyway.
A lot has happened since I met Raxgar in the Alaskan wilderness, much of it worth telling about at some point, but I think it is time to catch the story up to the present day.
The battle in the Alaskan wilderness turned out to be somewhat of a watershed moment in the brewing conflict between the ORC’s and the An’girasii. While the ORC’s lost too many good people that day, including my son Kenny, the losses for the An’girasii were staggering. Three of their most powerful Banes and a dozen Doppelgangers were slain.
Banes aren’t killed very often. But when, on occasion, they are killed, their Spirit finds a new host body and begins the arduous process of modifying that body to suit their desires. That is what happened with the Bane that Drake killed on the tanker ship when he took over my body.
The three who died in that battle with us, however, didn’t just get killed. I absorbed their Spirits into myself, essentially destroying them. This was a crippling blow to the offensive forces of the An’girasii. To make matters worse for the An’girasii, El Diablito used the diversion created by my drawing the Banes and their followers into battle to betray his erstwhile masters. He and his minions snuck into a secret stronghold that the An’girasii had established and stole a large number of artifacts and weapons that the An’girasii had been gathering for their own servants. Among the things he took was an orb that can lead its bearer to where Alexa is being held.
I can’t reveal yet how I know all of this information, but I will tell it when doing so will no longer compromise valuable secrets.
El Diablito and his organization are now the focus of the rage of the An’girasii and their surviving minions which has taken considerable, if temporary, pressure off of the ORC’s.
This brief respite has allowed for the ORC’s to regroup and establish several new bases of operation. I am now back in a rural area just outside of Metro Detroit with my ex-wife and daughter and several of my oldest friends among the ORC’s—including Ravyn, the Frau, Cerrydwen, the Professor and Alora. We are safely tucked away on a large swath of property that the organization has owned and operated for quite some time under an alias that I won’t be divulging here. I will not reveal any more of the location for obvious reasons, other than to give you the name by which we are calling our new home base—the Den.
I use the place as a base of sorts, but spend more than half of my time away on various missions for the Bureau or the ORC’s. Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Wilson was able to settle the situation with the Bureau so that I am now fully restored to my previous position as a Provisional Special Agent. More importantly, I have had my access to the various law enforcement systems restored. I am still free to take on cases as I see fit, but also have to be available on short notice at any time to help the Bureau out with one of their cases as well.
As the strange woman, Me’shwara, had warned, I no longer have easy access to the Shadowland. In the many months since I’ve been back, I’ve only managed to make two short-lived trips, each one consuming tremendous amounts of energy that is not really very easy to store up. I can only shake my head and marvel at how powerful I had become and how much I took that power for granted until I lost it. I now have to get around in more traditional ways. For the most part I travel by way of my black Ninja motorcycle.
Since my latest transition, I have found it easier to move about in society. I’m still the ugliest mug in any given room, by now my skin looks a lot more like skin, even if it is pasty white in color. But I can throw on a hat, some mirrored sun-glasses and a jacket and get by without too much trouble. I still avoid crowds of any sort when I can, but I can mingle freely when I have to.
As mentioned in a previous post, my new body has its full complement of senses. I can smell and taste again, although sometimes I wish I couldn’t taste the kinds of stuff I have to eat in order to build up my strength. In order to be as strong as I need to be, I have to consume a diet of raw meat.
In the last few months I have discovered a lot of information about my new body and how it works. For one, I have a new appreciation for how Drake was able to take on the strongest servants of the An’girasii. Like Drake, I can suffer wounds by weapons big and small, but also like Drake, I have the ability to control my body’s reaction to such attacks on an almost cellular level. In the last few months I have been shot, stabbed, and nearly crushed while investigating various cases. In each case, however, I have been able to absorb the wounds, redirect my energy and resources around the wounded area and keep on trucking. Once the immediate danger is over, I’m then able to heal the damage far quicker than the normal healing process would be if I were a normal person.
Even though I have lost most of my ability to manipulate the Shadow, I have discovered a number of new abilities that also mirror some of the things I watched Drake do. When I haven’t been engaged with cases, I’ve spent hour after hour training to hone the skills that I know that I will need for the coming battles.
In my next post, I will update you on the status of some of my comrades and go into more detail on some of the doings of the other ORC’s.
Showing posts with label Katherine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Katherine. Show all posts
Monday, September 01, 2008
Friday, January 04, 2008
Starting over...
…is never easy.
The band of ORC’s that arrived in the Bat Cave was a tired, wounded, ragged bunch of shell-shocked survivors. The assault by El Diablito’s forces and An’girasii allies had come as a total surprise. Every ORC safe house, stronghold and academy across the United States had been hit in some way on the same night. All told, hundreds ORC members and students had been slain; dozens more were badly injured or missing.
By the time the final tally of escapees and survivors was taken—several days later—fewer than three hundred full fledged members and associates of the ORC’s survived that deadly night. The last census prior to that deadly night had put the membership rolls at just over a thousand members and associates. Forty of those survivors came with me to the Bat Cave.
After a close inspection by Cerrydwen, Ravyn or myself, I created a portal of Shadow that established a link between El Diablito’s dark tower in the Shadowland and another place of relative darkness—the entrance hall to the Bat Cave.
The hall was actually a natural cavern that had been worked on and expanded extensively by the military in the early part of the Cold War. The hall was easily wide and smooth enough for two vans to pass in opposite directions and long enough to hold a whole caravan of vehicles—in fact several aging but otherwise non-descript vehicles were parked along one of the walls facing the opposite direction. They were facing a set of heavy metal blast doors that opened to the outside world. I knew from Drake though that those doors were concealed from casual observation by what appeared to be a storage facility for salt for local highways.
Looking ahead, our way into the Bat Cave itself was barred by a smaller, but equally formidable set of steel doors that were secured both by lock and key and by a combination key pad set bear the handle of the left door.
Between the keys Drake had sent to Ravyn and the combination codes that I had memorized, we were able to open the doors to the incredible refuge that Drake and John Red Bear had secretly spent nearly four decades creating.
Beyond that sealed door was a decommissioned underground military base that was easily large enough to house several hundred people. The facility was comprised of several sections. It was also fully stocked with food and water. But the true bounty of the Bat Cave was found deep inside, beyond the living quarters. The Command Center was a fully operational, if slightly outdated control room full of computers and communications equipment. The Inner Sanctum was even more amazing as it included a vault that held the hundreds of weapons and other items of power that Drake had taken or acquired through his existence.
The Frau, Ravyn and Herne quickly took control of situation.
The Frau immediately drafted most of the able-bodied folks and began to set up a sick ward in one of the larger rooms in the dormitory part of the complex. She gently clucked out her orders to those that could carry them out while she coddled those who were still too shocked to act independently just yet. Moira, though wounded herself, helped out.
Ravyn, Cerrydwen and Zenny Al Farhan had set up shop inside the vault as they began to identify and catalog the surprising large cache of weapons and items that Drake had amassed.
Herne, the Professor, and the pretty gal from the San Diego Circle, Alana Danae, began the process of firing up the computers and communications equipment in the Command Center. Between Herne’s intimate knowledge of the military, the Professor’s computer tech skills and Alana’s expertise in software and network systems, they had the place humming to life in no time.
As everyone else set down to the task of getting the Bat Cave up and running, I finally had time to search out my ex-wife Katherine and our daughter, Jasmine. Katherine was sporting an improvised sling for her left arm, which had been broken in the initial struggle at the Coop, but she was still one of the people helping the Frau to tend to others. Jasmine appeared to be physically unharmed, but her nerves had been badly shaken.
I had come up from behind Jasmine and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Jazz, are you alright?”
She flinched at my touch, but whirled around for a fierce hug when she heard my voice. “Dad!” She was sobbing. “I was so scared!”
“I know, honey. I wish you never had to experience that.” I put my hand on the bottom of her chin to get her to look into my eyes. “Did anyone hurt you?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze glazing over as she looked through me rather than at me. “I…I…think I killed someone, Dad, with my…my…magick.”
“Was it someone who was trying to harm you?”
She nodded. “One of those shape-shifter things grabbed me from behind, it looked like Mom at first, but it just didn’t feel right. The eyes didn’t look right, so when it tried to take me away from the others, I pushed it away. I saw it’s face change for just a moment. I was so scared. When it grabbed for me again, I just sort of felt the magick flow through me. I killed it with a blast of lightning from my hand.” She was looking down at her right hand. Her fingertips were still blackened by soot. “I just did what Mistress Fyre had taught me to do.”
I nodded and pulled her close in another hug. “It’s alright, Jazz. Those things aren’t really people. They’re monsters. That thing would have probably taken you away and stolen your memories before killing you. You did the right thing.”
Katherine stood watching me console our daughter. She gave me a tight little smile and small nod of approval before giving me that look that she had always given when she wanted to talk, in private.
I disengaged from Jasmine and pointed her towards where the Frau was. “Jazz, do you think that you can go see if the Frau needs any help? Sometimes you just need to stay busy to keep from thinking of nasty things like the attack for awhile. We’ll have more time to talk later.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure Ravyn will be very proud that you were able to summon and control that kind of energy.”
As Jasmine shuffled off to go help the Frau, Katherine and I took a small walk back out into the large area where we had first come in, the garage area.
“Thanks, Jason, Jasmine needed that from you.”
I nodded. “It was the least that I could do. Has anyone heard from Kenny?”
Her face tightened up. This was why she wanted to talk to me. “No. He was away at school. I don’t know if he is safe or not. Can you try to find him?”
I nodded. “As soon as I can make sure this place as safe as it seems and Herne and Ravyn give me the all clear signal, I’ll go check on him. I think he’ll be safe enough at that school since it didn’t have anything to do with the ORC’s.”
Katherine didn’t look very reassured. “I don’t know, Jason, the Professor teaches there and I know that Kenny often stays at his house when the Prof is away. He could be in all sorts of danger.”
I reached out and grabbed her healthy hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’m worried too. If he’s in danger or has been harmed in any way, I will find out and get him to safety. You can count on that.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “I know, Jason. I have faith in you. I better go see if my help is needed inside.” She released my hand and went back to the infirmary.
I made my way back to the Command Center.
Herne looked up from a monitor as I walked into the room. The previously quiet room was not a hub of beeping, buzzing, and chattering activity.
“Rusty, come check this out. This stuff looks vintage but it was top of the line equipment not that long ago.”
I walked over to stand behind him. The monitor was an older clunker, with a resolution level that would’ve given me a headache if I had actually had any optical nerves left to be irritated.
Despite its age and its low level of resolution, it was clearly accessing the internet. Herne had pulled up a newswire service.
“It looks like there is a strong PR campaign going on to characterize the ORC’s as some sort of New Age death cult. All of the news agencies have picked up on the various attacks, although the attacks aren’t being depicted as attacks at all, but as some sort of suicide pact.” He looked up at me. “They’ve got to have agents in the government and maybe even the Bureau to have tied all of this up so neatly so quickly.”
The Professor sat at another workstation with his own unique laptop that had somehow survived our bizarre journey. Alana was standing behind him, a look of concern on her face.
Jim looked up form his computer. “They’ve acted very quickly to shut down all of our corporate accounts as well—none of my attempts to access any of them have been successful.”
That reminded me of something else Drake had given me. I pulled out a small notebook that Drake had used to record several account numbers and passwords for the off-shore accounts that he had held in reserve. I held it out towards Jim. “Try looking up these accounts. I think you will find that we’ll have the financial resources to put up one hell of a fight.”
He nodded and took the notebook.
Within minutes, he had logged into the first of the accounts. He whistled in appreciation. “Yeah, there’s more money in this account alone than the ORC’s have ever had in all of our other accounts. It’s a Swiss account too, so we will have absolute privacy with what we do with it. I can make this work quite well.”
I watched as Herne bounced from website to website checking out all of the stories about the attacks. El Diablito and his allies had done a very thorough job of destroying and discrediting the ORC’s.
Ravyn and Zenny soon joined us, notebook in hand. They had heard some of the news already from Herne before. Ravyn’s face was quite grim.
“Rusty, we’ll need to have an executive council meeting as soon as the Frau has seen to the last of the wounded. We’re going to need to take stock of who’s here and what resources we have at our disposal. I think we’ll want to gather as many of our members and associates to us as possible, but we’ll have to screen anyone we bring back to ensure that we aren’t bringing any Doppelgangers or other spies back to our little haven here. I’m afraid we’re going to be working long and hard over the next few days to take full stock of what’s left of the ORC’s and what can be salvaged.”
Herne nodded. “We also need to come up with a plan of action. We need to show these bastards that while they’ve won this battle, they’re going to have a long, hard war on their hands.”
There was no disagreement with Herne’s statement.
The band of ORC’s that arrived in the Bat Cave was a tired, wounded, ragged bunch of shell-shocked survivors. The assault by El Diablito’s forces and An’girasii allies had come as a total surprise. Every ORC safe house, stronghold and academy across the United States had been hit in some way on the same night. All told, hundreds ORC members and students had been slain; dozens more were badly injured or missing.
By the time the final tally of escapees and survivors was taken—several days later—fewer than three hundred full fledged members and associates of the ORC’s survived that deadly night. The last census prior to that deadly night had put the membership rolls at just over a thousand members and associates. Forty of those survivors came with me to the Bat Cave.
After a close inspection by Cerrydwen, Ravyn or myself, I created a portal of Shadow that established a link between El Diablito’s dark tower in the Shadowland and another place of relative darkness—the entrance hall to the Bat Cave.
The hall was actually a natural cavern that had been worked on and expanded extensively by the military in the early part of the Cold War. The hall was easily wide and smooth enough for two vans to pass in opposite directions and long enough to hold a whole caravan of vehicles—in fact several aging but otherwise non-descript vehicles were parked along one of the walls facing the opposite direction. They were facing a set of heavy metal blast doors that opened to the outside world. I knew from Drake though that those doors were concealed from casual observation by what appeared to be a storage facility for salt for local highways.
Looking ahead, our way into the Bat Cave itself was barred by a smaller, but equally formidable set of steel doors that were secured both by lock and key and by a combination key pad set bear the handle of the left door.
Between the keys Drake had sent to Ravyn and the combination codes that I had memorized, we were able to open the doors to the incredible refuge that Drake and John Red Bear had secretly spent nearly four decades creating.
Beyond that sealed door was a decommissioned underground military base that was easily large enough to house several hundred people. The facility was comprised of several sections. It was also fully stocked with food and water. But the true bounty of the Bat Cave was found deep inside, beyond the living quarters. The Command Center was a fully operational, if slightly outdated control room full of computers and communications equipment. The Inner Sanctum was even more amazing as it included a vault that held the hundreds of weapons and other items of power that Drake had taken or acquired through his existence.
The Frau, Ravyn and Herne quickly took control of situation.
The Frau immediately drafted most of the able-bodied folks and began to set up a sick ward in one of the larger rooms in the dormitory part of the complex. She gently clucked out her orders to those that could carry them out while she coddled those who were still too shocked to act independently just yet. Moira, though wounded herself, helped out.
Ravyn, Cerrydwen and Zenny Al Farhan had set up shop inside the vault as they began to identify and catalog the surprising large cache of weapons and items that Drake had amassed.
Herne, the Professor, and the pretty gal from the San Diego Circle, Alana Danae, began the process of firing up the computers and communications equipment in the Command Center. Between Herne’s intimate knowledge of the military, the Professor’s computer tech skills and Alana’s expertise in software and network systems, they had the place humming to life in no time.
As everyone else set down to the task of getting the Bat Cave up and running, I finally had time to search out my ex-wife Katherine and our daughter, Jasmine. Katherine was sporting an improvised sling for her left arm, which had been broken in the initial struggle at the Coop, but she was still one of the people helping the Frau to tend to others. Jasmine appeared to be physically unharmed, but her nerves had been badly shaken.
I had come up from behind Jasmine and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Jazz, are you alright?”
She flinched at my touch, but whirled around for a fierce hug when she heard my voice. “Dad!” She was sobbing. “I was so scared!”
“I know, honey. I wish you never had to experience that.” I put my hand on the bottom of her chin to get her to look into my eyes. “Did anyone hurt you?”
She swallowed hard, her gaze glazing over as she looked through me rather than at me. “I…I…think I killed someone, Dad, with my…my…magick.”
“Was it someone who was trying to harm you?”
She nodded. “One of those shape-shifter things grabbed me from behind, it looked like Mom at first, but it just didn’t feel right. The eyes didn’t look right, so when it tried to take me away from the others, I pushed it away. I saw it’s face change for just a moment. I was so scared. When it grabbed for me again, I just sort of felt the magick flow through me. I killed it with a blast of lightning from my hand.” She was looking down at her right hand. Her fingertips were still blackened by soot. “I just did what Mistress Fyre had taught me to do.”
I nodded and pulled her close in another hug. “It’s alright, Jazz. Those things aren’t really people. They’re monsters. That thing would have probably taken you away and stolen your memories before killing you. You did the right thing.”
Katherine stood watching me console our daughter. She gave me a tight little smile and small nod of approval before giving me that look that she had always given when she wanted to talk, in private.
I disengaged from Jasmine and pointed her towards where the Frau was. “Jazz, do you think that you can go see if the Frau needs any help? Sometimes you just need to stay busy to keep from thinking of nasty things like the attack for awhile. We’ll have more time to talk later.” I gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure Ravyn will be very proud that you were able to summon and control that kind of energy.”
As Jasmine shuffled off to go help the Frau, Katherine and I took a small walk back out into the large area where we had first come in, the garage area.
“Thanks, Jason, Jasmine needed that from you.”
I nodded. “It was the least that I could do. Has anyone heard from Kenny?”
Her face tightened up. This was why she wanted to talk to me. “No. He was away at school. I don’t know if he is safe or not. Can you try to find him?”
I nodded. “As soon as I can make sure this place as safe as it seems and Herne and Ravyn give me the all clear signal, I’ll go check on him. I think he’ll be safe enough at that school since it didn’t have anything to do with the ORC’s.”
Katherine didn’t look very reassured. “I don’t know, Jason, the Professor teaches there and I know that Kenny often stays at his house when the Prof is away. He could be in all sorts of danger.”
I reached out and grabbed her healthy hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’m worried too. If he’s in danger or has been harmed in any way, I will find out and get him to safety. You can count on that.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “I know, Jason. I have faith in you. I better go see if my help is needed inside.” She released my hand and went back to the infirmary.
I made my way back to the Command Center.
Herne looked up from a monitor as I walked into the room. The previously quiet room was not a hub of beeping, buzzing, and chattering activity.
“Rusty, come check this out. This stuff looks vintage but it was top of the line equipment not that long ago.”
I walked over to stand behind him. The monitor was an older clunker, with a resolution level that would’ve given me a headache if I had actually had any optical nerves left to be irritated.
Despite its age and its low level of resolution, it was clearly accessing the internet. Herne had pulled up a newswire service.
“It looks like there is a strong PR campaign going on to characterize the ORC’s as some sort of New Age death cult. All of the news agencies have picked up on the various attacks, although the attacks aren’t being depicted as attacks at all, but as some sort of suicide pact.” He looked up at me. “They’ve got to have agents in the government and maybe even the Bureau to have tied all of this up so neatly so quickly.”
The Professor sat at another workstation with his own unique laptop that had somehow survived our bizarre journey. Alana was standing behind him, a look of concern on her face.
Jim looked up form his computer. “They’ve acted very quickly to shut down all of our corporate accounts as well—none of my attempts to access any of them have been successful.”
That reminded me of something else Drake had given me. I pulled out a small notebook that Drake had used to record several account numbers and passwords for the off-shore accounts that he had held in reserve. I held it out towards Jim. “Try looking up these accounts. I think you will find that we’ll have the financial resources to put up one hell of a fight.”
He nodded and took the notebook.
Within minutes, he had logged into the first of the accounts. He whistled in appreciation. “Yeah, there’s more money in this account alone than the ORC’s have ever had in all of our other accounts. It’s a Swiss account too, so we will have absolute privacy with what we do with it. I can make this work quite well.”
I watched as Herne bounced from website to website checking out all of the stories about the attacks. El Diablito and his allies had done a very thorough job of destroying and discrediting the ORC’s.
Ravyn and Zenny soon joined us, notebook in hand. They had heard some of the news already from Herne before. Ravyn’s face was quite grim.
“Rusty, we’ll need to have an executive council meeting as soon as the Frau has seen to the last of the wounded. We’re going to need to take stock of who’s here and what resources we have at our disposal. I think we’ll want to gather as many of our members and associates to us as possible, but we’ll have to screen anyone we bring back to ensure that we aren’t bringing any Doppelgangers or other spies back to our little haven here. I’m afraid we’re going to be working long and hard over the next few days to take full stock of what’s left of the ORC’s and what can be salvaged.”
Herne nodded. “We also need to come up with a plan of action. We need to show these bastards that while they’ve won this battle, they’re going to have a long, hard war on their hands.”
There was no disagreement with Herne’s statement.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
The Conversation-Part 2
I sat there stunned for a moment, trying to comprehend how a high ranking official of the fricking FBI could be sitting there trying to talk me into taking part in some sort of impossible, asinine experiment that seemed to be part science fiction, part fantasy. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the concepts this dude was talking about.
“I...I...just don’t see how you can expect me to take this shit seriously,” I stammered. “I mean, you did just say magick, didn’t you?”
The bastard leaned forward, his black, beady eyes seemed to glow for a second with an infernal glare (not that I believed in such things, mind you). “Yes. Yes, I did mention magick. Matter of fact, the particular kind of magick that makes this all possible is actually called Necromancy....”
“Jeezus Christ...” I blurted out, “This is sounding more and more like some very bad B-movie.” I was starting to get up to put an end this whole interview.
“Officer Smith, sit down and hear me out. I happen to know how badly you need your bonus this year, but if you leave this interview before I release you, your participation in this program will be terminated, as will your scheduled bonus payments.”
That caught me off guard. I did need that damn money, badly. My wife’s car was on its last legs, and she was looking wistfully at a minivan that cost damn near $20,000. I slipped back down in the chair, and decided to hear the man out.
“Yes, I thought that might jolt you back to reality. I understand that the things we have talked about today are outside of your normal experience, but you will come to understand enough of what I speak of today to realize that there is a whole world of secrets that once revealed, will truly change how you see things.
“The information I am about to reveal to you is highly classified, and will not be discussed outside of this room at any time, with any person not similarly authorized to receive such information, including your wife, or any other members of your family. Failure to follow this admonition will lead to some very serious consequences, do you understand, Officer Smith?”
I nodded, wondering who the Hell would believe me if I started discussing Necromancy, magick, and any of the rest of this shit. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” With that, he whipped out a typed memorandum and placed it in front of me so fast that it would make a Vegas blackjack dealer proud. “Then I will need you to look over this memorandum and sign it there at the bottom. This merely spells out some of your responsibilities regarding the information you are about to receive, and the rather dire consequences for failing to take the proper safeguards with it.”
I scanned through the document, saw that he was indeed very serious. It pretty much spelled out that the entire content of this meeting was considered Secret, and that serious jail time and hefty fines were involved for any unauthorized disclosure. (Of course, you might wonder why I am writing about this now, since this information is still considered Secret--I will discuss that later. You may rest assured that I am in no danger from this disclosure--I cannot, however, vouch for you, Gentle Reader, so read on at your own discretion.)
After taking the moment offered to read through the document, I signed it and handed it back to him, only to see it snatched from my hand and shuffled back into my file faster than I could blink. Something about this dude just wasn’t right. From this moment on, I decided to pay more attention to this guys’ mannerisms and see if maybe he was a product of his own experiments.
He looked back up at me, smiled in his unnerving way, and continued, “This government, and probably the former Soviet Union as well, stumbled upon some rather amazing, and very secretive, research that had been conducted by the Third Reich at the end of World War II. That research included a number of test subjects and a number of practitioners of certain, let’s just call them, ‘Dark Arts’. At first no one could believe that the Germans had actually made any efforts in this direction, but it quickly became evident that not only had they tried their hand at some things, they had actually made some remarkable progress.
“Once that realization set in, it became a sort of scramble through the ruins of the Third Reich to collect evidence, test subjects, and the few practitioners that could still be located using the SS files that had been recovered in the last days of the war. It is believed that a number of practitioners escaped in the chaos at the end of the war before their importance became known. A number of those individuals fled Europe to South America and other remote regions of the world, but a good number of them were captured and secretly transported to London and Washington D.C. for further study by the American and British governments.”
“Wait a minute sir, are you telling me that the Nazi’s were working on this stuff first, and that the US and the Brits actually continued their work?”
That damn smile again. “Yes, Officer Smith, the US and British governments did continue with some of, but not all of, the experiments that the Nazi’s started. But as you will find out in time, if you continue in this program, the things they were working on were just too important to ignore. Of course these governments went about their studies in a more humane manner than the Nazi’s did, using mostly volunteers.”
“Mostly volunteers?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. The original captives from Germany wouldn’t be considered volunteers, at first, but after they were debriefed and their participation and talents were reviewed, most of them were allowed the choice to continue or not in their research.”
“But not all of them, eh?”
His eyes seemed to light up again at this point. “No, not all of them were given the choice. In any event, some of that research has been developed to the point now that we have the ability to preserve the spirit of a person who has been specially prepared ahead of time. We also believe that we can now tie that specially preserved spirit back into a body that has also been prepared for the procedure, allowing that person to live again, in a limited manner.”
“So let me get this straight.” I just had to interrupt. “You are saying that you can hold a person’s soul after they die, and that you now think you can use that soul to re-animate their body? Pardon me, but this sounds like an attempt to make a real Frankenstein. What the Hell happens to this soul if your plan doesn’t work?”
“Yes, we can and have been able to preserve the souls of particular volunteers. We have not succeeded in re-animating any bodies with these souls just yet, but we have been able to communicate with those individuals and released those who wished to be released. As strange as it sounds, we have tried the Frankenstein approach of building a body out of parts, but that has not succeeded. Our research seems to show that the soul needs to have a tangible connection to the body it animates. In our previous attempts, this just hasn’t been possible, for various reasons. This is where you and your fellow teammates come in.”
I sat there stunned, struck by the irony of having played D&D throughout my youth, having grown out of such fantasies by the time I was eighteen, and now being briefed by a senior government official on their intent to raise me from the dead!
“Look,” I said, “I don’t have any intention of dying anytime soon. So if this plan of your involves that kind of volunteering, you can shove it, and your damn money, up your cold, stiff ass!”
He raised a hand to calm me down. “I understand your concerns. We do not have any intention of causing your untimely demise. But, as I have just mentioned, it appears that we must prepare both the spirit and the body of any candidates. You and I both know that being a police officer is a very dangerous line of work. Every officer lost in the line of duty is a tremendous loss to our nation and a tragedy. What we are offering you is the opportunity to be the beneficiary of an extremely valuable life insurance policy. If something were to happen to you in the line of duty or otherwise, this project would allow us to save the spirit you really don’t believe that you have in the first place and bring you back from the dead. If you choose to continue with this program, and you live to a ripe old age and retire from police work, you will have the option of quitting at any time, and you will continue to receive these payments, tax-free, for the time you remain in the program.
“However, if something dire does happen, and you are killed or die in some unfortunate accident later this year, or the year after that, or any time while you are still in the program, you will have a second opportunity at life to be there again for your family. That is what this program is all about!”
I didn’t believe much of what this guy was saying, but the idea of being able to collect an extra pay check and never really have to work all that hard for it again appealed to me.
“So, sir, you are saying that I could continue in the program, collect these bonuses each year, and then quit the program anytime I wanted to? Will you put that in writing?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. Yes, there are contracts that you will be able to review here in this office for as long as you like before signing. If you agree to partake in this program past today, your participation will remain strictly voluntary. As long as you participate as directed by myself and the other managers in this program, you will continue to receive inflation adjusted, tax-free payments that will help you and your family take care of the little extras that make life enjoyable.
“And really, what do you have to lose? I can see that you really believe that this can actually work, and you even doubt the existence of your own soul. You have no faith that prohibits any of this, and if it doesn’t work, as you suspect it won’t, you will have lost nothing and gained a little extra renumeration for your time. You are a very reasonable man, Officer Smith. I am sure that you can see the benefits of your further participation, and just imagine your surprise if the worst happens and we are actually called upon to show you that this works, and you wake up to a new life with a chance to set things right again!”
I had to agree with his logic. Besides, I seriously doubted that anything like this could ever actually work.What harm could come if I just played along, took the money they were obviously willing to give away, and went about watching my ass so I didn’t have to find out if they could actually do it?
Well, I surely learned the answers to most of those questions. Too bad I had to learn the hard damn way!
Next, I will provide more detail on the processes that I had to undertake in order to continue participating in the program.
“I...I...just don’t see how you can expect me to take this shit seriously,” I stammered. “I mean, you did just say magick, didn’t you?”
The bastard leaned forward, his black, beady eyes seemed to glow for a second with an infernal glare (not that I believed in such things, mind you). “Yes. Yes, I did mention magick. Matter of fact, the particular kind of magick that makes this all possible is actually called Necromancy....”
“Jeezus Christ...” I blurted out, “This is sounding more and more like some very bad B-movie.” I was starting to get up to put an end this whole interview.
“Officer Smith, sit down and hear me out. I happen to know how badly you need your bonus this year, but if you leave this interview before I release you, your participation in this program will be terminated, as will your scheduled bonus payments.”
That caught me off guard. I did need that damn money, badly. My wife’s car was on its last legs, and she was looking wistfully at a minivan that cost damn near $20,000. I slipped back down in the chair, and decided to hear the man out.
“Yes, I thought that might jolt you back to reality. I understand that the things we have talked about today are outside of your normal experience, but you will come to understand enough of what I speak of today to realize that there is a whole world of secrets that once revealed, will truly change how you see things.
“The information I am about to reveal to you is highly classified, and will not be discussed outside of this room at any time, with any person not similarly authorized to receive such information, including your wife, or any other members of your family. Failure to follow this admonition will lead to some very serious consequences, do you understand, Officer Smith?”
I nodded, wondering who the Hell would believe me if I started discussing Necromancy, magick, and any of the rest of this shit. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” With that, he whipped out a typed memorandum and placed it in front of me so fast that it would make a Vegas blackjack dealer proud. “Then I will need you to look over this memorandum and sign it there at the bottom. This merely spells out some of your responsibilities regarding the information you are about to receive, and the rather dire consequences for failing to take the proper safeguards with it.”
I scanned through the document, saw that he was indeed very serious. It pretty much spelled out that the entire content of this meeting was considered Secret, and that serious jail time and hefty fines were involved for any unauthorized disclosure. (Of course, you might wonder why I am writing about this now, since this information is still considered Secret--I will discuss that later. You may rest assured that I am in no danger from this disclosure--I cannot, however, vouch for you, Gentle Reader, so read on at your own discretion.)
After taking the moment offered to read through the document, I signed it and handed it back to him, only to see it snatched from my hand and shuffled back into my file faster than I could blink. Something about this dude just wasn’t right. From this moment on, I decided to pay more attention to this guys’ mannerisms and see if maybe he was a product of his own experiments.
He looked back up at me, smiled in his unnerving way, and continued, “This government, and probably the former Soviet Union as well, stumbled upon some rather amazing, and very secretive, research that had been conducted by the Third Reich at the end of World War II. That research included a number of test subjects and a number of practitioners of certain, let’s just call them, ‘Dark Arts’. At first no one could believe that the Germans had actually made any efforts in this direction, but it quickly became evident that not only had they tried their hand at some things, they had actually made some remarkable progress.
“Once that realization set in, it became a sort of scramble through the ruins of the Third Reich to collect evidence, test subjects, and the few practitioners that could still be located using the SS files that had been recovered in the last days of the war. It is believed that a number of practitioners escaped in the chaos at the end of the war before their importance became known. A number of those individuals fled Europe to South America and other remote regions of the world, but a good number of them were captured and secretly transported to London and Washington D.C. for further study by the American and British governments.”
“Wait a minute sir, are you telling me that the Nazi’s were working on this stuff first, and that the US and the Brits actually continued their work?”
That damn smile again. “Yes, Officer Smith, the US and British governments did continue with some of, but not all of, the experiments that the Nazi’s started. But as you will find out in time, if you continue in this program, the things they were working on were just too important to ignore. Of course these governments went about their studies in a more humane manner than the Nazi’s did, using mostly volunteers.”
“Mostly volunteers?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. The original captives from Germany wouldn’t be considered volunteers, at first, but after they were debriefed and their participation and talents were reviewed, most of them were allowed the choice to continue or not in their research.”
“But not all of them, eh?”
His eyes seemed to light up again at this point. “No, not all of them were given the choice. In any event, some of that research has been developed to the point now that we have the ability to preserve the spirit of a person who has been specially prepared ahead of time. We also believe that we can now tie that specially preserved spirit back into a body that has also been prepared for the procedure, allowing that person to live again, in a limited manner.”
“So let me get this straight.” I just had to interrupt. “You are saying that you can hold a person’s soul after they die, and that you now think you can use that soul to re-animate their body? Pardon me, but this sounds like an attempt to make a real Frankenstein. What the Hell happens to this soul if your plan doesn’t work?”
“Yes, we can and have been able to preserve the souls of particular volunteers. We have not succeeded in re-animating any bodies with these souls just yet, but we have been able to communicate with those individuals and released those who wished to be released. As strange as it sounds, we have tried the Frankenstein approach of building a body out of parts, but that has not succeeded. Our research seems to show that the soul needs to have a tangible connection to the body it animates. In our previous attempts, this just hasn’t been possible, for various reasons. This is where you and your fellow teammates come in.”
I sat there stunned, struck by the irony of having played D&D throughout my youth, having grown out of such fantasies by the time I was eighteen, and now being briefed by a senior government official on their intent to raise me from the dead!
“Look,” I said, “I don’t have any intention of dying anytime soon. So if this plan of your involves that kind of volunteering, you can shove it, and your damn money, up your cold, stiff ass!”
He raised a hand to calm me down. “I understand your concerns. We do not have any intention of causing your untimely demise. But, as I have just mentioned, it appears that we must prepare both the spirit and the body of any candidates. You and I both know that being a police officer is a very dangerous line of work. Every officer lost in the line of duty is a tremendous loss to our nation and a tragedy. What we are offering you is the opportunity to be the beneficiary of an extremely valuable life insurance policy. If something were to happen to you in the line of duty or otherwise, this project would allow us to save the spirit you really don’t believe that you have in the first place and bring you back from the dead. If you choose to continue with this program, and you live to a ripe old age and retire from police work, you will have the option of quitting at any time, and you will continue to receive these payments, tax-free, for the time you remain in the program.
“However, if something dire does happen, and you are killed or die in some unfortunate accident later this year, or the year after that, or any time while you are still in the program, you will have a second opportunity at life to be there again for your family. That is what this program is all about!”
I didn’t believe much of what this guy was saying, but the idea of being able to collect an extra pay check and never really have to work all that hard for it again appealed to me.
“So, sir, you are saying that I could continue in the program, collect these bonuses each year, and then quit the program anytime I wanted to? Will you put that in writing?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. Yes, there are contracts that you will be able to review here in this office for as long as you like before signing. If you agree to partake in this program past today, your participation will remain strictly voluntary. As long as you participate as directed by myself and the other managers in this program, you will continue to receive inflation adjusted, tax-free payments that will help you and your family take care of the little extras that make life enjoyable.
“And really, what do you have to lose? I can see that you really believe that this can actually work, and you even doubt the existence of your own soul. You have no faith that prohibits any of this, and if it doesn’t work, as you suspect it won’t, you will have lost nothing and gained a little extra renumeration for your time. You are a very reasonable man, Officer Smith. I am sure that you can see the benefits of your further participation, and just imagine your surprise if the worst happens and we are actually called upon to show you that this works, and you wake up to a new life with a chance to set things right again!”
I had to agree with his logic. Besides, I seriously doubted that anything like this could ever actually work.What harm could come if I just played along, took the money they were obviously willing to give away, and went about watching my ass so I didn’t have to find out if they could actually do it?
Well, I surely learned the answers to most of those questions. Too bad I had to learn the hard damn way!
Next, I will provide more detail on the processes that I had to undertake in order to continue participating in the program.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
The Conversation-Prologue
Friday, February 2, 2001.
That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.
All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.
I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.
I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.
I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.
Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.
The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.
I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...
I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."
Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...
That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.
All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.
I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.
I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.
I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.
Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.
The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.
I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...
I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."
Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Spirit Walking...?
My apologies for the delay in posting, I was unaware that I would be in so remote a location as to lack even cellular service for my new laptop computer.
However, I am now back at our current base camp, and things are much more tech-friendly here.
I am serving with a task force in a remote Western state location. I cannot yet reveal the details of this mission as it still ongoing, and any premature disclosures could bring unwanted attention to our current anti-terrorist activities.
I have however met some remarkable people here. One of the most remarkable is John Red Bear(as usual his name is changed here to protect his identity), a medicine man among his poeple and a very talented scout. When we first met, he was one of the first people to not visibly flinch when he saw my face in the daylight. After the team briefings, but before we left on our assigments, he approached me and asked for a moment of my time. I gladly agreed to speak with him. Once we were alone, he was very blunt.
"Your body and your spirit are no longer one."
I was taken aback for a second, "Yeah, I suppose that would be a good way to describe me right now."
"This body you use, no longer functions well, why do you stay?"
"Hey buddy, this is what I have to work with, what other options do I have?"
He looked at me with deadly serious eyes that seemed to pierce through my body worse than any bullets, "You could leave this clumsy shell and walk free among the spirits. You should be free to roam the lands of the three worlds."
"Look, I don't know anything about your religion, your beliefs, or even what was really done to me to keep my 'spirit' around after I died. Shit, I didn't even belive I had a spirit until they woke me up."
He smiled. "It is not my religion that tells me of the three worlds and roaming of spirits, but my experiences. If you want, I can show you how to free yourself from the shackles of this shell and teach you to walk as free spirits are supposed to."
"I don't know man, this 'shell' is all I got, and I'm not sure I want to leave it anytime soon, I doubt the Pearly Gates would open up wide for my heathen ass."
He shifted his balance and looked me up and down, "Where you would travel is up to you, but I can also show you how to come back to this body and I think I can show you how to be in better control of yourself when you are there."
"Really? You can show me how to set me spirit loose form this body, and to return to it with better control than I have now? How can you be so sure?"
"I can see your spirit even now, and I can see how ill at ease it is within this shell. I can also see that if you do not free yourself from this prison, at least some of the time, your spirit will wither and die, and what remains will be truly dead. I would not see you, or any other spirit, suffer this fate."
I took this in, and felt the truth of his words in the hollowness of my existence since I had been brought back. "What is it like to walk as a spirit, have you done it?"
"I have walked many of the trails of the three worlds since I was a youth. Yes, you can feel things in ways that are beyond my command of your language to describe. Our time now is short, but I will come to you again when there is time to start teaching you what you will need to know."
With those words, he turned and left to rejoin the team that he had been assigned to. My mind was reeling from the conversation that we had just had. It is weird enough to be walking around in the body of an unfeeling robot, but think about being free to walk around as a spirit, or as a ghost!?
My ex, Katherine, was really big into spirits and tarot cards, and all of that New Age crap as I called it. She would probably understand what the heck this guy was talking about, but I had done my best to avoid reading any of the books or the magazines she always left laying around. She was always searching, she said, for her true path. I don't think she ever found it while we were living together, but she sure read alot and experimented with things. Maybe I should get back in touch with her and borrow some of those books. I can just imagine that phone call now, "Hi dear, this is your dead ex-husband, do you still have that book on Native American Shamanism laying around? Yeah, I could sort of use it now..." No I don't think that would go too good. I'd hate to freak her out. I think she has probably suffered enough because of me, although she might have been pleased that I never took her off of the life insurance policies that I had...I did do one thing right, and made sure that Drake made sure she got her settlements from my death.
I am hoping to get together with him again before we head out on the next mission. I don't know how long it will take for him to teach me this stuff, but I am beginning to consider that it might be worth a try.
More reports to follow as time and the mission allow.
However, I am now back at our current base camp, and things are much more tech-friendly here.
I am serving with a task force in a remote Western state location. I cannot yet reveal the details of this mission as it still ongoing, and any premature disclosures could bring unwanted attention to our current anti-terrorist activities.
I have however met some remarkable people here. One of the most remarkable is John Red Bear(as usual his name is changed here to protect his identity), a medicine man among his poeple and a very talented scout. When we first met, he was one of the first people to not visibly flinch when he saw my face in the daylight. After the team briefings, but before we left on our assigments, he approached me and asked for a moment of my time. I gladly agreed to speak with him. Once we were alone, he was very blunt.
"Your body and your spirit are no longer one."
I was taken aback for a second, "Yeah, I suppose that would be a good way to describe me right now."
"This body you use, no longer functions well, why do you stay?"
"Hey buddy, this is what I have to work with, what other options do I have?"
He looked at me with deadly serious eyes that seemed to pierce through my body worse than any bullets, "You could leave this clumsy shell and walk free among the spirits. You should be free to roam the lands of the three worlds."
"Look, I don't know anything about your religion, your beliefs, or even what was really done to me to keep my 'spirit' around after I died. Shit, I didn't even belive I had a spirit until they woke me up."
He smiled. "It is not my religion that tells me of the three worlds and roaming of spirits, but my experiences. If you want, I can show you how to free yourself from the shackles of this shell and teach you to walk as free spirits are supposed to."
"I don't know man, this 'shell' is all I got, and I'm not sure I want to leave it anytime soon, I doubt the Pearly Gates would open up wide for my heathen ass."
He shifted his balance and looked me up and down, "Where you would travel is up to you, but I can also show you how to come back to this body and I think I can show you how to be in better control of yourself when you are there."
"Really? You can show me how to set me spirit loose form this body, and to return to it with better control than I have now? How can you be so sure?"
"I can see your spirit even now, and I can see how ill at ease it is within this shell. I can also see that if you do not free yourself from this prison, at least some of the time, your spirit will wither and die, and what remains will be truly dead. I would not see you, or any other spirit, suffer this fate."
I took this in, and felt the truth of his words in the hollowness of my existence since I had been brought back. "What is it like to walk as a spirit, have you done it?"
"I have walked many of the trails of the three worlds since I was a youth. Yes, you can feel things in ways that are beyond my command of your language to describe. Our time now is short, but I will come to you again when there is time to start teaching you what you will need to know."
With those words, he turned and left to rejoin the team that he had been assigned to. My mind was reeling from the conversation that we had just had. It is weird enough to be walking around in the body of an unfeeling robot, but think about being free to walk around as a spirit, or as a ghost!?
My ex, Katherine, was really big into spirits and tarot cards, and all of that New Age crap as I called it. She would probably understand what the heck this guy was talking about, but I had done my best to avoid reading any of the books or the magazines she always left laying around. She was always searching, she said, for her true path. I don't think she ever found it while we were living together, but she sure read alot and experimented with things. Maybe I should get back in touch with her and borrow some of those books. I can just imagine that phone call now, "Hi dear, this is your dead ex-husband, do you still have that book on Native American Shamanism laying around? Yeah, I could sort of use it now..." No I don't think that would go too good. I'd hate to freak her out. I think she has probably suffered enough because of me, although she might have been pleased that I never took her off of the life insurance policies that I had...I did do one thing right, and made sure that Drake made sure she got her settlements from my death.
I am hoping to get together with him again before we head out on the next mission. I don't know how long it will take for him to teach me this stuff, but I am beginning to consider that it might be worth a try.
More reports to follow as time and the mission allow.
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