For Centuries More

by Ethan Johnson

  James turned away from Aubra and tried to fix his gaze firmly upon Gene. “Okay, okay, fine. What am I looking at?”

  “A bad person.”

  “Says you.”

  At that moment, a Gene muttered something under his breath and a black shape emerged from his forehead. It floated away like a wisp of smoke, and lowered to the ground, creeping around as if searching for something. It turned sharply and headed for Aubra. She crossed her arms and stood stiffly before the approaching the shape. When it was less than three feet away, she spoke firmly. “Go away.”

  The black shape stopped and turned toward James. Aubra called out to him to follow her lead, and he did his best to speak firmly. “Go away.” His voice and outstretched arm trembled.

  The shape paused, then continued its advance. James stepped backward, and the shape followed him. It moved faster as he increased his pace. He started to panic and called out to Aubra. “Uh, little help here?”

  “Don’t touch it. Tell it to go away, and not to bother you anymore.”

  James swiveled his head and tried to ignore Aubra’s nakedness. “Oh, simple as that, huh? Can’t you do something to it?”

  Aubra shook her head. “He made it for you. It will follow you until it does its job.”

  “It’s job? What’s that supposed to mean?” He floated across the yard, and the shape stretched itself out to encircle him and prevent any path of escape. Once the ring was complete, it began to form a sphere to cut him off completely.

  “Tell it to go away, now! Don’t let it touch you!”

  James calmed himself in the face of certain disaster and summoned up the strength to speak firmly and forcefully to the shape as it blotted out the afternoon sky. Go away, and never come back. You are not wanted here.

  The shape completely blotted out the sky. James felt as though he was being suffocated as an intense wave of depression and punishing lack of self-worth closing in on him. He had few friends prior to being sent off to Eddington Manor by his well-meaning parents, who were sold on the idea by Horace Steele, who spoke highly of their son’s intelligence and gifts, which he would harness to produce a future leader, one the world sorely lacked.

  Flattered at the description of their remarkable child, they took out a second mortgage to further his education. He found it difficult to make friends at the manor. Other than Mr. Steele’s tutelage and the mysterious Countess taking an interest in him, Aubra was the closest thing he had to a peer-level friend, and she was nine years younger than he was, and in his estimation as the darkness closed in around him, doing precious little to come to his aid.

  Upon seeing the dire predicament that befell James, Aubra cried out skyward in an act of desperation. It had become clear to her in recent days that she knew things that James did not, but the limits to that knowledge left her helpless in his time of greatest need. She called out a single name: Ajax. A bright light appeared, and a man dressed in Greek warrior garb emerged from it. He was a towering vision in flowing robes and shining armor. His eyes peered out from under a great helmet, and he looked from side to side.

  Who calls for Ajax?

  Aubra waved to him, and he rushed to her side. “Please help my friend. I don’t know what to do.”

  Ajax marched over to James, who laid on the ground in a fetal position. A black shape covered him completely. Ajax crouched down beside him and held a hand out just above his incapacitated form. He took care not to touch him in his present state. He pulled his hand back, and waved Aubra over. He looked up at her sadly and shook his head slowly. I cannot help this one.

  Aubra gasped and began to cry. “But you’ve taught me so much. There isn’t anything you can’t do.”

  Ajax patted her shoulder. Oh, little one, you have learned much, and there is much more to teach you. This will serve as a lesson, then, as you must understand the limits we all have, and why. Who is responsible for this attack on your friend?

  Aubra stuck out her bottom lip and pointed at Gene, who hauled a pile of lumber away toward the tool shed.

  Ajax nodded. Then it is he who must make amends.

  Aubra brightened up. “Are you going to punish him?”

  Ajax laughed and shook his head. No, but you might teach him the error of his ways, and the harm it is causing to your friend. It is he who created this problem, and it is he who must set it right.

  “What should I do?”

  It is best to understand the problem. What afflicts your friend? A black thought-form. And from where did it come? From that man, there. Your friend was not able to overcome its power. He shall not perish, which is good news to you… and to him, but the man who issued the thought-form must undo the damage it is causing.

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Ajax smiled. Love is always the best answer. He reached down and took Aubra by the hand. They walked back to her physical form, which sat beside James, who had a troubled look upon his face. Take care of your friend.

  “Thank you, Ajax.”

  I am always at your service. A white light appeared, and Ajax vanished inside of it, leaving Aubra alone beside her listless body. She returned to it, and her eyes snapped open.

  She squeezed James’s hand, and talked softly into his ear. “James, come back.”

  James kept his eyes closed, and mumbled, “Why should I? It’s hopeless. I’m just going to mess everything up and everyone is going to laugh at me.”

  “I won’t laugh at you, and it’s not hopeless.”

  “What do you care, anyway?”

  “You’re my friend. Come back and sit with me.”

  James opened his eyes and looked down at Aubra, relieved to see her fully clothed. He noticed that he was in his usual school attire as well. “Wait, we’re friends? Since when?”

  Aubra’s mouth curved into a smile and she kissed his cheek. “Why not now?”

  James felt a load lift from his shoulders, and a tingling sensation in his midsection. It felt strange, but somehow comforting. He looked at Aubra’s smiling face, which normally was impassive at best or glaring intently at worst. “Yeah, okay, sure.” This was not what he expected when he shipped off to boarding school.

  Aubra leaned against James as they sat on the floor, realizing the lesson that her spirit guide Ajax had imparted. She had other plans for Gene.

  CHAPTER 16: STANDBY

  Jacqueline returned to her office from the executive conference room and set her leather organizer on the edge of her desk. She stepped around to her comfortable high-backed chair and tapped a key on her desktop computer. Her monitor slowly returned to full brightness, and after unlocking the screen saver, she sat on the edge of her chair and let her eyes dart around the screen in hopes of spotting anything of interest. Her new email indicator was all but lodged permanently on her taskbar. She had looked at all her relevant emails an hour ago, but she dutifully launched her email program to review the new arrivals.

  The messages were varied in size and scope, but overall nothing grabbed her attention. She slid her cursor up to the top right-hand corner of the window to close the program, when a message caught her eye. It was from J. Robert Caldwell, Esquire, her personal attorney. The subject line read, in part, “Privileged and Confidential.” Well, that’s Rob for you, she thought. But why was he sending an email to her business address? She opened the message and read it with great interest. She sat back in her chair after the first read-through.

  The message concerned a legal matter in Chicago, involving her brother Marc. He was being sued for damages relating to an apartment fire, his car had been impounded after being found in a private towing company lot, and he was leaving a trail of unpaid bills in his wake, without the benefit of being seen or heard from by any known personal or professional associates.

  Robert recommended that Jacqueline arrange for a consultation with himself and his team to discuss options, including mitigation of potential exposure. She rubbed her temples as she contemplated that part of the message. Exposure, how, exactly?
By being a blood relative? Possibly. Perhaps the landlord would list her as a responsible party in a lawsuit, casting about for money wherever he might find it. But she came to an unsettling conclusion as she read an ominous phrase toward the end of the message: Other serious charges have come to light and you may be compromised.

  Did this mean Phillip was blaming her for what happened to his parents and their condo in Dubai? He never returned any of her calls after initially reaching out to her for assistance with identifying Marc and his strange associates. Word got back to her that Phillip had spent weeks in Dubai afterward chasing down leads but coming up with precious little that pointed to hard answers or evidence. Perhaps now he was lashing out and airing out his frustrations through litigation. She shuddered at the thought.

  She leaned back in her chair and swiveled toward her oversized window. She tapped her fingers on her lap as she observed a row of skyscrapers against a backdrop of a dimming sky. Her silent contemplation soon led her to a resolute path forward. She swiveled back to her desk and dialed an extension on her desk phone. A young female voice answered over speakerphone.

  “Yes, Ms. Winstead?”

  “Chelsea, I need you to book air fare, lodging, and a rental car for me. I’m going to Chicago this weekend, leaving Friday, returning Sunday.”

  “Right away, Ms. Winstead. Anything else?”

  Jacqueline paused. “Yes, make it refundable. I’m not 100% on this yet, but I want a solid baseline. Send the confirmations to my personal email as well.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thank you, Chelsea.” Jacqueline disconnected the call and stepped away from her desk. She walked over to the window and looked out upon the city. More arrangements would need to be made, and Richardson wouldn’t like it, but she believed Lauren very well could have some critical information that could locate Marc, or, as her attorney would certainly appreciate, mitigate her exposure.

  No, Richardson wouldn’t like it, but he’d respect her reasoning. She never was one for sitting idly by waiting for things to happen; She preferred to happen to things. She’d get answers, no doubt about that. Including one that nagged at her all day: what sort of office would hire Lauren?

  CHAPTER 17: RUSH HOUR

  Though she had some challenges with the learning curve that accompanied her change in locale and employment, Gracie liked her job at Modern Roofing Supply. Unlike her time at the skating rink, which faded further into her memory as the whirlwind of changes kept her largely focused on the present, she didn’t perpetually have one foot out the door during business hours. It was strange working in an office, but her co-workers were easy-going and took the time to help her acclimate. With each passing day, she thought about Warren less and less. Some days she considered sending some sort of message rubbing it in that she was in a big city now and doing great, but others, like today, she barely remembered his name.

  However, after her morning meetup with Annabella, and her spur of the moment dinner date that she had no idea how to prepare for, she felt antsy for quitting time. She needed time to figure some things out, like what to wear. She also wanted some time alone to read through the barrage of texts—and photos—that Annabella (as Trixie) has sent her throughout the day. Gracie was relieved that she managed to keep herself together in the face of overwhelming lust and temptation, but her libido needed attention and simply would not be ignored.

  She declined an invitation to stop by Claddagh’s for a drink with some of her co-workers, especially Hal from Service, who seemed interested in a bit more than just a friendly drink. She ran her fingers through her hair. I should have taken Trixie up on the haircut, she lamented. Maybe he’d take the hint, but then again, maybe he’d become more determined. She shuddered and walked quickly to her car.

  She was just about to put the car into gear and speed down the street when Cathy flagged her down. Gracie pressed down harder on the brake and lowered her window. “Hey.”

  Cathy coughed, and looked concerned. “Hey, are you sure you don’t wanna come have a drink with us? They got good drink specials, if you’re worried about money.”

  Gracie gave her a wave. “Sorry, hot date tonight.”

  “Okay, well, I wanna hear about it tomorrow.”

  “Um, yeah, sure,” Gracie said, closing her window. Cathy coughed once more and watched Gracie drive off.

  Gracie felt bad about not sparing a half hour with her co-workers for a friendly drink. They took a chance on hiring her with barely enough experience to answer the phone, let alone everything else they were teaching her to do. And the money was good. She looked at her phone and considered pulling over and looking up the bar. She saw a blue indicator light blinking, and when she slid her thumb down the screen to check, she saw a notification that she had five unread messages from Annabella. Gracie glanced up in time to see the car ahead of her pulling away through the intersection, leaving her behind and looking foolish for not paying attention. She gunned the engine and made it through just as the stoplight turned red. She exhaled with relief and resolved to leave the phone alone until she got home.

  As she drove along, she smirked at the realization that the best way to hit every green light in town was to have a competing interest that could not be acted upon. She had hoped for a fresh red light so she’d have a moment to catch up on her messages, when the light would turn green at that instant if it wasn’t already, or some other fluke would aid her travel time. An ambulance provided one such anomaly as it blared past her from behind, giving her fellow commuters a chance to clear a few intersections until it turned right and headed down to a nearby hospital.

  Gracie had less than five miles to go. Her co-workers seemed to measure everything in minutes. She laughed to herself as she remembered the confusion that ensued when she said she lived 15 miles from work. When she gave the town name, Linda in Customer Service brightened and determined that she lived “40 minutes away.” Gracie shrugged and didn’t think so, but much depended on the train crossing, which she now approached just in time to see the warning lights flash and the barriers lower. Normally she would have sworn and pouted as she waited for any number of trains to pass by. Now she hoped for a slow freight train loaded with cement, for all she cared. She slid the car into park and scooped her phone up from her passenger seat.

  Annabella had been busy. The texts ranged from tame and innocent, such as asking for assurances that the place Gracie had picked out for dinner was going to be quiet and intimate, to much racier stuff, such as Annabelle posing suggestively around the salon.

  Gracie felt herself ache, desperate for some relief before her big night. Waiting at the train crossing was not the best option, though she surmised that a young man in a delivery van beside her with a prime viewing angle might not agree. She angled her phone away from the window, unsure of what he could—or did—see.

  She typed a few messages back of her own, starting with:

  4:45 PM: NICE!

  And ending with:

  4:46 PM: Still need to know where to pick you up

  The train finally cleared the crossing and Gracie tossed her phone aside. She put her car into gear and did her best to be part of the fortunate ones that made it through. As she rolled over the second set of tracks, she felt a thrill shoot through her, knowing it wouldn’t be long until she was back home. Gracie looked up in the rear-view mirror and let out a relieved laugh as she saw the warning lights flash once more and the barriers come down.

  Ten minutes later, she was parked beside her apartment building. She picked up her phone and checked the time: 5:53 P.M. She figured she had just over an hour before she had to be ready to leave for her date. Gracie slammed her car door shut and hurried into the apartment building, then took the stairs two at a time. She reached for her front door and slammed her arm into it. She swore and shook the knob. Agnes never locked the door when she was home, and she knew Gracie’s weekday routine. She fumbled around for her keys and pushed the door open in a huff.

  She found Ag
nes stretched on the sofa, wearing a tan t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, with a pizza box on the floor with a slice left and a half-empty 2-liter bottle of cola. Gracie put her hands to her head and tried to reconcile what she was seeing with her predictable, boring sister. “What the hell, Agnes? What happened?”

  Agnes looked up sleepily and shrugged. “I got hungry.”

  “You think?” Gracie stumbled toward the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. “You ate my candy?”

  Agnes belched, causing Gracie to wonder if she had entered the wrong apartment. “Sorry. Got hungry.”

  Gracie pulled the refrigerator door open and let out an exasperated sigh. “And you drank my soda?” She marched back into the living room and glowered at Agnes. “What is wrong with you?”

  Tears streamed down Agnes’s face, and she turned away, burying it in the sofa cushion. She mumbled something into the sofa.

  Gracie took a step forward. “What was that?”

  Agnes heaved a sob and raised her head slightly from the cushion. “I don’t know.”

  Gracie looked at her pathetic sister and felt a blend of rage and pity. Agnes had no business eating her food, but she wouldn’t normally do that. What changed? She tried to tamp down the urge to tear her sister’s head off. She walked over to the sofa and crouched down beside Agnes. Gracie put her hand on her sister’s shoulder, which shuddered while she wept. “Hey… hey, I’m… sorry. I didn’t know there was anything wrong. I wish you would use a cell phone like the rest of the world and give me a heads up, you know?” She looked over at the pizza box. “I’ll clean this up.” She picked up the pizza and the soda bottle and carried them into the kitchen, setting them beside the sink.

  Gracie got the urge to check her phone: 6:10 P.M. She didn’t have lots of time before she had to be out the door, and she really wanted “alone” time. She looked at her bedroom door, then over at Agnes. She slumped her shoulders and walked back over to Agnes. She crouched down beside her once more. She did this for me, she thought. I can’t bail on her.