“Were the tourists freaked out?” I asked.
“Some of them,” Paul said. “But for most, it was like we were putting on a show. I think the sea lions were more upset, all in all. They certainly raised a ruckus.”
“Did you know Jason already?” I asked.
“No, no. I mean, I sat with him in your waiting room that one time—you don’t forget a guy who looks like that—but I just thought he was part of a gay couple waiting for therapy.”
I laughed. “Jason and the rat-faced guy? They would have been a wildly unlikely couple if they were gay, wouldn’t they?”
“Well, my gaydar told me about Jason—I’m gay myself. I don’t think he’s out, but he’s totally gay. Anyway, I only knew his name out on the wharf because he introduced himself right before the sirens chased us all off.”
“Ah,” I said. After a brief silence, while everyone digested Paul’s news, I turned to my mother. “Did they have you in the back of a van or something?”
“Are you picturing a white Econoline like your uncle had when you were a kid—that one that smelled like hay inside?”
“Actually, I was. They always use something like that in the movies.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Sid. First, they kept me at a rather nice B&B by Neary’s Lagoon, and then during the exchange on the wharf, I was stationed on a bench by the surf museum on West Cliff Drive—with a minder, of course.”
“You don’t seem too shaken up by your experience,” I said.
“What’s the worst thing that could have happened?” she said. “I’d die? I’m looking forward to finding out what’s next. Also, the bench was a great spot—very scenic, with scads of darling dogs passing by. And the Maori man who sat with me—I think it was Tommy T.—does he wear cowboy clothes?”
I nodded.
“Well,” she continued, “he told me a fascinating story about how his first marriage ended. Did you know that some women are addicted to enemas?”
“I did not,” I said.
“Me neither,” Sam said.
These kidnappers didn’t sound much like the thugs I’d escaped from in the Bay of Islands. Maybe Tommy T.’s overseas crew was more reasonable or he was hesitant to screw around in a country where he didn’t have cops on his payroll. More likely, my mother’s ability to get along with anyone had prevailed. It was one of the reasons she’d been such a successful therapist and teacher.
“It takes all kinds, said the lady as she kissed the cow,” Paul said. “Our mother used to say that.”
“Boy, there’s an idiom from a more innocent era,” I said. “Nowadays, there’s probably a cow-kissing porn website.”
I was struck by how ordinary the tone of our conversation was. We could’ve all been cousins at a family reunion or work colleagues discussing a clueless boss. Perhaps everyone at the table was either sufficiently evolved or had been desensitized to the point that life or death outcomes—whether for an individual or an entire world—constituted casual topics.
I decided to ask a few direct questions and get as-direct-as-possible answers. My mother could fill in a lot of blanks if she was willing.
“So is it up to me to save the world?” I asked her. “People have been telling me that.”
She laughed. “We’re a little full of ourselves, aren’t we?”
“But isn’t the world in crisis?” I said doggedly. “I understand I can help improve things—and I won’t go into the details with Paul here—but don’t we need to do something special to keep it all going?”
“Now isn’t the best time to go into that, Sid—as you said. You and I will have to have another private chat soon.”
“What about Bhante’s relics?” I asked next.
“What about them?” She seemed irritated by my question.
“Do they exist? Are they really Buddha’s remains?”
“I believe so,” my mother said. “Are you double-checking on things that Dr. Bompiani told you?”
“And Bhante,” I said. “I guess I should’ve done this before. Here’s another question. Do you know if I’m the reincarnation of somebody?”
“You definitely are,” Sam said.
“Who?”
“Whoever you were before.”
“I agree,” my mother said.
“Me too,” Paul added.
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re a very helpful group. Paul, here’s a question for you. Was all that just a song and dance back in my office? If my parents are such an important part of RGP, why did you need to go through all that ‘testing’ to ‘discover’ me? Didn’t everyone already know who I was?”
My mother answered for him. “The members of RGP didn’t care to take it on faith about you. We needed to satisfy everyone that we weren’t acting out of nepotism—that you were legitimately who we told them you were. We’re a democratic organization at heart, despite our need for hierarchy. We don’t proceed without a consensus.”
Paul spoke up. “I certainly wouldn’t want my sister risking her life on your behalf if you were just the fantasy of proud, deluded parents.”
I turned to my mother again. “What about Dad? Where is he?”
“On his way,” she answered, “with your friend Chris, whom I’m looking forward to finally meeting.”
I took a sip of water, which prompted Sam and my mother to drink as well.
“Dad’s really blind, huh?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” my mother answered.
“And those dogs really help him?”
“Yes, I don’t know what he’d do without them.”
“And you see three of them?” I asked.
My mother cocked her head in a characteristic manner. This was her what-are-you-getting-at expression. I got this a lot when I’d start to work my parents for permission to pursue dubious activities.
“Yes,” she said. “How many do you see, Sid?”
“Five, actually. I see five.”
“That’s interesting,” she said, leaning forward to peer at me more intently. “What did the extra two do? Did they act different than the other three? Was there anything remarkable about them?”
“Yes. The extra two suddenly disappeared when Dad and I left the old temple in India. And of course, it’s odd no one else sees them. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t think they’re regular dogs,” my mother said. “I think they’re spirit dogs, Sid. One is probably your father’s and one is yours.”
“Come on,” I said, “that’s ridiculous.”
“I have a spirit animal,” Sam said.
“Really?” I asked. I’d never believed in anything along those lines.
“Yes. I could sense she was with us on the cliff in New Zealand.”
“Isn’t that a Native American thing?” Paul asked.
Sam nodded. “But it’s real.”
“Sid, look around,” my mother said. “If I’m right, and you have the ability to see the spirit world, you’ll see your dog here. Our spirit animals follow us—guide us—protect us. They’re always with us. It’s nothing spooky. They’re just beings without bodies—beings that embody certain qualities that we might need. And particular animals represent various human attributes—courage, loyalty, or whatever—so those are the guises that these beings use.”
“What’s your animal?” I asked her.
“It’s a red-winged blackbird,” my mother said. “I met her in a vision—on a retreat in Santa Fe.”
“And yours?” I asked Sam.
“A jaguar. I call her Maria.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll give it a try. I’ll look for my dog.”
“Use more than your eyes,” my mother suggested.
I tried it. At first, all I saw was the room, the koi pond outside, and all the rest of ordinary reality. Then I unfocused myself—tried to sense instead of just seeing. Perhaps I could open up to receiving whatever was out there.
I saw the dog. He gradually materialized outside—on a flat gray rock next to the pond. He was plowing his
nose into the water and snuffling, trying to catch a fish.
It was definitely one of the two that had disappeared in the ruined temple—this one had lain just to my right on the dirt floor. He was a medium-sized hound mix, jet black with three vaguely diamond-shaped patches of white.
“Holy shit,” I said. “Sorry, Mom. He’s right over there.” I pointed.
Everyone looked and then shook their heads.
“We can’t see him,” Sam said.
“I don’t think he knows he’s a spirit,” I said. “He’s trying to eat the koi.” Just then the dog sat up, swiveled his head, and winked at me. “No, wait,” I said. “He does know.”
Chapter Thirty
When we all finally pushed our chairs back and stood, the spirit dog raced across the lawn and leapt through a closed window. The glass didn’t break, and he wasn’t hurt. He was just inside now. He looked quite pleased with himself.
The dog trotted beside me back to my room, where I’d planned to check my email. When I reached down to pat him, my hand went through the image I saw. He wasn’t there enough to touch. But I was sure that I’d patted him at the Temple—not one of the three real dogs, but this one.
I settled into a modern office chair behind a red Chinese-style desk. The dog padded past me and lay down on the bed.
I decided to name him “Spot.” Why not?
“Hi, Spot,” I said, turning to see his reaction. There was none. He gazed at me evenly from across whatever was between his realm and mine. Distance? Time? Probably it was something more incomprehensible.
I decided to just go ahead and turn the computer on. I couldn’t pet Spot, feed him, or take him for a walk. So I might as well go about my business as though he wasn’t there. Which he wasn’t, of course.
For a moment, I noticed how easily I’d accommodated this latest weirdness. It didn’t seem worth thinking about further, though.
I’d received dozens of emails from friends and extended family, all wondering where the hell I was. I sent out a group reply that attested to my current well-being, but I didn’t attempt to describe any of my recent adventures. How could I possibly explain any of it in a paragraph or two?
I’d also received emails from Chris, Lannie, Bhante, and Marco. I’d given my address to Lannie back at the family’s bed and breakfast in Howick, New Zealand. I don’t know how the two older men got hold of it—maybe from Chris.
Chris’s email read “Marco turned out to be a dick. He’s definitely way spiritual, but he’s still a dick. Your dad—if that’s who he is—persuaded me to go with him and his cool not-quite-seeing-eye dogs to wherever you are. He won’t tell me where. See you soon, unless this guy is really a serial killer who had plastic surgery to resemble the guy in your old family photos. Love and kisses. Yer pal, Chris. PS: Your dad/the serial killer is phenomenal at bribing people to let him take his dogs places that don’t allow dogs. The man’s an artist. Right up there with Marco.”
Lannie’s email was several days old. It read “I continue to grow. Thank you for your help. I need to tell you about a vision I had this morning. I think it’s real. An old Indian man with a big nose and a funny mustache floated up in the air in front of me while I was making eggs for a nice woman from Canada. He spoke my dialect of Cantonese, and he said you could trust the diamond dog and that this dog has been helping you all along. Who is this diamond dog? Are you okay? Where are you? Warm regards, Lannie.”
The one from Bhante was shorter: “We are still hoping to work with you to help the world awaken. Please reply as soon as possible. Your servant, Bhante Wimalaratne.”
Marco had an interesting email address: [email protected]. His message read “Remember in the beginning—when what I said didn’t make sense to you, and I told you to ignore that and pay attention to how things turned out? Remember who you were then and who you are now? Remember how you experienced yourself when you were with me? It’s all unfolding just the way it needs to. All is well—doubts and all. Love rules. See you soon. M.”
The “see you soon” concerned me, but I decided to put that aside and answer Chris and Lannie.
I reassured Chris that my dad was my dad since I wasn’t sure if he’d been joking or not. And I validated his perspective on Marco, employing more elegant, non-dick language. I decided not to risk telling him where I was, but I did tell him I thought he’d like it here. I finished by describing my Hawaiian shirt and telling him that I had an invisible dog now.
I thanked Lannie for helping me at her house and in the email. I told her that the man who had appeared in her kitchen had been Meher Baba, even though he was dead. I also told her that I was safe and the diamond dog lay near me as I wrote. By the end of this short reply, I was crying again. I felt profoundly connected to Lannie, although I’d probably never see her again. Just thinking about her made me cry.
I decided not to contact Bhante or Marco. Exposing myself to another round of their cleverly packaged words might lead to backsliding and signing up for further manipulation. It had been hard enough to escape their clutches before. In fact, I’d never truly escaped anything. I had either been rescued or had foolishly jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
Alone in my room—except for Spot—my internal energy began to assert itself again. No longer supported by the intense energy field of India and no longer drawing on anyone else’s, as it had with Marco, I sensed that for the first time, I was experiencing it—and myself—in an unadulterated way, just as it was.
Purer and clearer than before, it was like an accomplished soprano’s voice, projecting only the exact pitch of a given note, with no added texture or overtones. The energy was also slightly less strong than I remembered, and distinctly less buzzy. I felt calm and poised as it coursed through me. I was aware that immense power was on tap—that what I was experiencing in that moment was just the tip of an iceberg. The episode with the motorcycle-riding Maoris had opened my eyes to both my ability to draw on the energy, and the versatility of it. Apparently, it could heal, awaken, or stun as the situation called for. At some point, I’d been affected by it in all those ways myself.
Sam stopped by to let me know we couldn’t sleep together under RGP’s roof. She stood in the doorway and looked great in worn jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and a pair of my mother’s flip-flops. Her long blond hair trailed across her shoulders. She also looked tired; I could see lines at the corners of her eyes that I’d never noticed before. But she was still grounded. There was a solidity to her that never seemed to falter.
“Okay,” I said. “No sex.”
“Well, you could act a tiny bit disappointed, Sid.”
“Sorry. I guess just looking at you seems sufficient.”
“That’s sort of sweet. I give it a B plus.”
“I didn’t know I was going to be graded,” I said. “I thought this was a pass or fail deal. I firmly believe grades are overrated. I think what really counts are all my extracurricular activities.” I raised my eyebrows and tried to leer at her.
“I do too,” Sam said. “Very much. But those activities are exactly what’s not happening tonight.”
I felt relaxed and playful with her, and I liked it. I had an urge to show her Marco’s email, so I did. “Do you find that last line alarming?” I asked when Sam was done.
“ ‘See you soon’? I suppose so—a little. But what was he supposed to write? Good luck to you in your hidden location where I can’t screw with you? That lacks Marco’s customary panache, don’t you think?”
“Good point. I’m just aware of who we’re dealing with here. He’s capable of amazing things.”
She took my hand and held it gently. We sat side by side in chairs in front of the desk. Spot seemed to be asleep on the bed.
“Let’s take a look at that—what Marco can and can’t do,” Sam said. “I think I know a little more about it than you do. What have you observed about him that seems remarkable?”
“Well, he’s psychic, right? And not like anyo
ne else I’ve ever heard of. He’s not guessing the gender of an unborn baby or which playing card you’re holding. He’s plucking exact numbers and thoughts out of people’s heads.”
“A real psychic can predict the future,” Sam said. “Marco just reads minds and makes inspired guesses about the future—and only sometimes, and only with some people. It’s random snippets—nothing all that useful. Sure, it’s amazing at first. But it’s not a reliable tool he can use against anyone. It’s just not as powerful as he wants you to think it is. And it’s only a side effect from taking drugs. Marco didn’t advance himself on a spiritual path and earn this ability. He is very developed spiritually—I’m not saying he isn’t. But the mind reading is all about enhanced brain chemistry. Anyone who took the same pill for long enough would be able to do it, too.”
“Like my mother?” I asked.
“She didn’t get to finish the med trial, so no. Otherwise, yes—that’s what I mean.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked. “I’ve spent more time with Marco than you have.”
“Your mother. Andrea knows a great deal about how he operates. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. She says he was arrogant, elitist, and controlling before the med trial, and that now he’s still all those things. And all that’s overshadowed by the much more dangerous personality changes the drug cocktail triggered.”
“I’ll ask her about all that tomorrow,” I said.
Sam took her hand back. “My elbow hurts,” she said.
“You’re such a complainer,” I said, shaking my head. “First it was…well, I can’t think of anything else. And now it’s this whining about your elbow.”
“What else?” Sam said.
“What else have you complained about? I told you—I can’t remember.”
“No, Sid. What else have you noticed about Marco?”
“Oh. Well, I gather I don’t know anything for sure.” I thought for a moment. “He can’t make people invisible, can he?”
“No.”
“Can he transfer his energy at will?”
“We don’t know,” Sam said. “It’s possible. Basically, if you can do something, he probably can, too. So look to yourself for answers about that. But you’re the only one who Marco has deemed worthy of receiving any of his energy so far. So it’s hard to say.” She smiled wanly. “I need to sleep.”
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