(knives)
cut — had some drying blood on her face and hands and arms — but apparently nothing serious. She was a little dizzy and disoriented, but felt herself quickly overcoming that.
The worst sensory inputs seemed to be coming from around her.
Lizzie carefully braced herself, trying not to land her hands on anything
(knives…)
sharp, charred, or burning, and positioned herself for a better look. She looked for the pilots, but saw no signs of life from the flight deck, which looked quite bashed in, when one of her hands landed on something soft.
The President!
Lizzie quickly scrambled to the former President, who, she now saw, along with his body guard, lay lifeless in a twisted mass among the wreckage. Lizzie tried to move him, but his body behaved in a weird, unnatural way, part of it wedged tightly and unable to move.
Charred.
His back broken.
“Damn it…” Lizzie said.
It was amazing how light he felt, even under all that wreckage. Older people always got lighter. Felt good on the scales, she was sure, but the mechanics of osteoporosis weren’t anything to look forward to.
Travis!
Lizzie spun around, looking for her rescuer.
“Travis!” she called, “Trav—”
He, too, remained in his seat, but both he and his seat had been totally uprooted from the aircraft’s deck. He — his legs — were the “interesting thing” she’d slid past on her way down across the floor.
As she looked to him, she saw that he and his seat had not only been ripped from the floor, but were also twisted up in the wreckage. As she forced Travis and his seat back to better examine him, a startled cry escaped her. A large sliver of contorted metal had screwed itself into Travis’s chest about where his heart should be. It reminded her of
A bayoneting?
Lizzie bent down and touched him.
He was cold.
Or as cold as one could be among a fiery wreck. Again, she squeamishly reached for him, checking for a pulse… this was a mere formality… as expected, there wasn’t one.
“God damn, Black!”
Lizzie allowed herself to fall back against the bulkhead, angrily kicking at wreckage and slamming her fists against the enclosure as she slid to the floor. Took in the smell and full scene of destruction. Psychically reaching out, she didn’t feel anyone still hanging around.
They’d all quickly departed, and that was good.
Better to move on than stick around the scene of your passing. People died for a reason, and part of that reason was to move on. Good for them. But—
Why her?
Why was she to survive? And why had the others who’d rescued her from Black have to die? All these people she didn’t even know… had given their lives to save her.
Why?
Why had she been so worth saving?
Wouldn’t she soon be caught anyway, given Black — or whomever — would soon, surely, send rescue aircraft, search teams—
Mommy, the tiny voice whispered, it’ll all be all right. We’ll help you. Help you remember…
Lizzie closed her eyes and was barraged by images flying far too fast to make sense of, especially now. Slowing down the psychic barrage she was able to delineate the images… images of the compound from which she’d just been rescued… but also saw in that very same Blue Ridge Mountain location other “centers”… nongovernment ones… metaphysical ones… similar, but different…
Schools? Institutes?
For whom?
Us, the ghost-child responded.
Lizzie saw a school of uncommon instruction for a whole new breed of… saint? Psychic?
Humanity?
Saw the person who ran it… a woman who felt…
That’s you, Mommy, the ghostly child said, giggling.
Me?
You’re gonna direct and lead this school… and it will become a new place of learning… enlightenment. It will echo across the planet — consciousness itself — on a scale yet unheard of. We will come… to learn, to grow… become the new breed of humanity… and we call you “mommy” because you’ll be like a mother to us when we arrive… and because you’ve always wanted children…
As Lizzie’s heart swelled with emotion, she saw that The JFK Center no longer seemed to be there… or was, at one time, but had been… abandoned? Saw other versions of institutions… existing in the same location? It didn’t make sense.
Different times… different probabilities…
But what of Black?
He’s gone, the girl said, her tone changing. Burned too many bridges. Was a very bad man. We don’t have to worry about him anymore.
“What about… the man… the One With No Name?” Lizzie asked, slowly, stiffly getting to her feet. She leaned against the bulkhead for support. A smiling image of the Man With No Name entered her mind. Yeah, he’ll be fine.
Lizzie peered ahead into the still-smoking cabin where, she was sure, were what remained of the pilots entangled in tree branches, electrical wire, twisted metal, and shattered Plexiglas.
You probably don’t want to go in there, the girl said. It’s not pretty.
Okay.
Lizzie again examined herself. She seemed to be in one piece, no worse for the wear, though she did hurt all over and had a slightly banged-up leg. It was hard to straighten up into a fully upright position. Her side still hurt, but she could manage.
You’ll be okay, Mommy.
Think so?
Know so. We’ll help you find your way home.
I’m gonna need that, since last I remember, my home had up and disappeared…
We’ll find you a new one.
Lizzie chuckled — which also hurt.
You should probably get going. Men are on the way. Helicopters. They may not work for Black, but that won’t help you much right now.
Lizzie turned to the torn-open bulkhead and looked back one more time to Kennedy and Travis.
“Sorry, gentlemen… but thank you for all you’ve done. I’m honored. Sorry I have to leave like this — but I’m sure you understand…”
Trying to smile, but wincing instead, she turned back to the bulkhead. Studying her best means of escape, she grunted a little in pain then made her way through the Learjet’s open wound. Slowly picking her way through the jagged breach, she landed on soft-and-spongy forest humus, which surprised Lizzie in its actual emotional impact. Crying out, she carefully straightened up and looked around. Curls of smoke, sputtering electrical shorts, and small fires continued to pop and spit sporadically from the wreckage. The sun was just beginning to peek up above and beyond the cover of trees and distant hills. She turned to watch it, wiping away her tears.
A smile formed across her face.
The pilots were fine.
Travis, Kennedy, and Morris, Kennedy’s bodyguard — all fine.
She knew this.
But the situation… the situation would stick with her forever, and she would miss them — and the others — who died to get her out of there.
Maybe she should start up that school.
What else did she have? She certainly wasn’t going back to her old life, that of a phone psychic. It was about time for her to quit mourning, quit worrying about why me — she knew why me. Start a new life — a new direction.
A new breed.
Yes, she would establish that school… do something good for all of humanity this time, not just unhappy, lonely callers.
She needed to quit hiding from life and put herself out there.
She’d be fine — she knew this, too.
Lizzie looked up ahead, and saw her ghost children. They stood at the edge of the crash site, where the woods were again thick with trees. They smiled, waving for her to hurry.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she said, making her way toward them. “But, if we’re going to be doing this school thing, we’d better get some ground rules straight,” she said, a
s she limped from the wreckage. “No more bossing me around, for starters, and tell me the whole story — no more leading me along with all kinds of vague generalities…”
Yes, Mommy, the children said, giggling playfully, as they led Lizzie Gordon through the forest…
And into her new life.
About the Author
F. P. Dorchak ©2016
(Jan C J Jones, Photographer)
F. P. (Frank) Dorchak writes supernatural, metaphysical, and paranormal fiction. He is published in the U.S., Canada, and the Czech Republic with short stories, five novels, Sleepwalkers, The Uninvited, ERO, Psychic, and Voice, and his first short story collection, Do The Dead Dream? An Anthology of the Weird and the Peculiar, which won the 2017 Best Books Award for Fiction: Short Stories.
Website
http://www.fpdorchak.com
Blog Sites
https://fpdorchak.wordpress.com/
http://fpdorchakrealitycheck.wordpress.com/
Psychic Page 35