by Weston Ochse
“You can’t perceive your own energy, just the energy of others.”
“And those over there?” he asked, pointing but not seeing his hand.
“Those are the things inside of you.”
He felt a hush descend upon him. There were four of them and it looked as if their heads were pressed together in a private conversation.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
“They won’t know where they are or what this place is. Because they are attached to you, when you enter the astral plane, they enter as well.”
“Is this… is this how it was with your… your…”
“My possession? It was, but much more, much worse. But I didn’t have travelers. I only know what Father Emmett told me about them.”
He stared at the blurry shapes for a moment, wondering which was the warrior, which was the Berber, which was the little boy, and which was the suicide bomber. Of course, any being capable of creating an alternative life for him to live inside of his own head must have some kind of supernatural power, or at least abilities greater than his own.
He stopped himself, the anxiety washing through him in a cataclysmic rush.
Finally, he asked, “How did I get here?” He was unable to turn away from the figures.
“I brought you here.”
“But how?”
“You practiced trying to leave your body. Know how I know?”
“How?”
“Because you unlocked your chakras and never locked them back. You have got to lock them when you are done or things can get to you… entities can come inside. Not that you don’t already have that problem, but it’s important to remember. In this case it allowed me to help you, otherwise you might never have known your body was moving on without you.”
Your body was moving on without you.
“That’s such a terrifying concept,” he said.
“What’s terrifying is that you didn’t even know your body was hacked. You might never have known. But I knew it all. I was witness to the hostile takeover of my body and watched as it did things at the behest of the demon, me unable to do anything to stop it. And that was also terrifying.”
Anger surged through him. “Know what’s terrifying? This. Know what else? Six months in a cistern thinking I was living a life instead of soaking in a thousand years of other people’s piss and vomit. Going into a building stacked with a bunch of other guys, only to watch two of your best friends get shot in the face or eat a grenade or explode into a spray of crimson fucking mist because they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He paused, then added, “Listen, I appreciate that some fucked-up shit happened to you, but we can’t continue trying to one up each other. I’ll just give it to you here. Being possessed by a named demon wins you the my life was the worst fucked-up award. Now relish it and move on.”
She stared at him, her face impassive, then nodded. “Of course, you are right.”
“Good, because I don’t like this whole thing. In fact, I want back into my body.”
“That’s going to be quite easy at this point.”
“What do you mean?”
“The reason you see the four is because when you came out, they did as well. They are attached to you and your essence can’t go anywhere without them. Basically, I show you how to reenter your body and everything goes back to the way it was.”
“If it was so easy to do, then why didn’t you do it to yourself?”
“Because I had a no-kidding demon inside me who’d spent eons perfecting the ability to stay inside someone else’s body. These things inside of you are probably as surprised as you were about where they ended up. They might not even realize what’s going on. Back when you were in The White, you were a light in the darkness and they just ran to it.”
“The thing who took control of me knows what’s going on. Is it still inside of me.”
“I think it is. I can’t see it, which worries me. It means it’s done this sort of thing before. One of those has control over it or is being controlled.”
He thought about it. The fourth entity. He knew there was something different about it and he said as much.
“I think you’re right. You know, we could go over right now and touch it to find out what it is.”
The thought petrified him, but he was willing to do it as long as she was here with him—how silly was it that a Ranger wanted his hand held by a nun who couldn’t be a hundred and twenty pounds, soaking wet.
“But you’re not ready,” she said. “Like I said, there are conventions you need to follow or you might find yourself never able to get back into your body. If that thing knows even a little of astral combat, then that’s more than you know, so no… we shouldn’t touch it.”
“Then get me back inside, please.”
“Okay. Here’s how you do it. Reach behind your head. Yes. Just like that.”
He reached back to where his head should be and felt something that was both cold and hot at the same time. It had length like a rope.
“Did you feel it?”
He nodded.
“That’s the sutratma, or the silver cord. It is the connection back to your physical self. Think of it as a long spool of almost impossible to break thread that connects you to who you are.”
“Almost impossible to break? What happens if it breaks?”
“Then you stay here. No sutratma, no body.”
“Jesus.” He felt how thin it was and how flimsy it seemed. “It seems pathetically easy then to get stranded here. “
She shook her head. “It can’t be severed because it really doesn’t exist. But it can be ripped out of your head if someone knows what they are doing. Ecclesiastes 12:6-7: Before the silver cord snaps, and the golden fountain is shattered, and the pitcher breaks at the fountain, and the wheel falls shattered into the pit. And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God, Who gave it.”
“The Bible talks about astral projection?”
“Of course. Now concentrate. Think of your third eye chakra. Touch where the silver cord touches the base of your skull. Imagine you falling backwards back into your body. Clear your mind of everything and concentrate on nothing but that third eye. That is your doorway. That is your way back home. The third eye. Your body. The silver cord. And whatever you do, keep your damned chakras closed.”
He remembered the first time he’d HALO’d out the back of a C141 at 30,000 feet. They had a tradition of walking backwards off the ramp and falling backwards into the sky. Letting the heavens embrace you, as they called it. Boy Scout did just that. He imagined himself on that ramp, walking backwards towards the rush of wind and darkness, ready to let gravity and the elements grab hold. Only this time, it was to be his third eye that would grasp him.
He backed away, his eyes closed as he imagined falling.
And let it happen.
Chapter Fourteen
Camp Pendleton Command Center
“WELCOME BACK, SLEEPY head,” McQueen said, kneeling beside him.
Boy Scout’s head roared with a headache like none other. He wanted to get up, get something for it, maybe a bottle of scotch, but he remembered what Sister Renee had told him. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, closing each of his chakras from the crown to the root, imagining each of them like a lock that was snapped into place with only him having the keys. It wasn’t easy to visualize. But he forced himself. Finally, when he opened his eyes, Preacher’s Daughter was there as well, standing over McQueen.
Then Boy Scout noted what they were wearing– full out combat kit—as if they were ready to go out on assault.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “One moment you were leading us out the door, the next you were flat on your face.” She grinned. “You’ll probably have a black eye.”
Boy Scout struggled to a sitting position and felt his right eye, which was beginning to swell. “This just in. I’m tired of being used. I’m not a fucking Buick and I don’t want
anyone driving me.” He glanced down at his chest and saw his own combat kit—chest rig, body armor, ammo carriers full. “And why the fuck am I wearing this getup and what third world country are we about to invade?”
McQueen’s eyebrows pinched as he frowned. “Maybe you just hit your head, boss. You should lie back down.”
“I definitely hit my head.” He held out a hand. “Help me up, please.”
Both McQueen and Preacher’s Daughter held out a hand and helped him to his feet.
When he stood, he experienced a moment of dizziness, but that soon passed. “What time and day is it?”
They looked at one another, then back to Boy Scout.
“Jesus, do I fucking stutter? How much time has passed since we’ve been at China Lake?” he demanded.
“China… Boss, we’re not at China Lake. We’re at Camp Pendleton. We left China Lake two days ago.”
He groaned and rubbed his head. “How long have we been here?”
“A day,” McQueen said. “Maybe less.”
“And how long were we at China Lake?”
“Three days,” Preacher’s Daughter said.
“That means I’ve lost three days,” he said, staring at the ground. “And I don’t suppose Charlene turned up.”
“Charlene?” Preacher’s Daughter asked.
“You mean that red-haired girlfriend of Narco’s from the fugue?” McQueen asked. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You know she’s not real, right?”
Boy Scout was feeling anything but all right. Part of him wanted to scream. After all, how could he be sure that this was reality and not some entity-induced fugue? Or worse, what had been waking him up in the middle of the night? What if they’d never left Afghanistan and were still stuck in that miserable cistern?
“It appears that an entity inside of me has been in control for the last three days. If it hadn’t been for Sister Renee, I wouldn’t even be here.” He spied a chair and sat heavily. “Now, tell me why we’re here, what were we about to do. And where is Poe?”
McQueen’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, boss.”
Preacher’s Daughter snapped her fingers. “I knew something was off with you.”
“Next time that happens, tie me down and bring me back.”
“Bring you back how?” she asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
They spent the next thirty minutes detailing what he’d been having them do over the last few days. He was amazed to discover he’d ordered them from China Lake to Pendleton and hired Noaks on as their personal transportation export. Poe had cleared the way for him to land on the marine base and have access to the airfield, which Noaks was very psyched about. He used this opportunity to replace some older parts in his helicopter that the marines had in inventory.
Boy Scout had ceased to be in control of his body when he’d tried to astral project that first time, which made him less than eager to do it again. That said, the entity had fed him some correct information, probably while figuring out how to create an alternate reality for Boy Scout. All the information Poe had provided about facial recognition and ALPRs was true and accurate. Where things started to run in a parallel reality began with the introduction of Charlene. Everything from that point on never happened. The timeline was off as well. What he thought had only been an hour or so turned out to be three days. Evidentially the entity could manipulate his perception of time, which was not a good thing at all. Or maybe time was a construct of the physical world, and once separated from it, time ceased to have an effect on him.
Just as he was wrapping up, Poe came in, a perplexed look on his face. “Come on. We’re already late.”
Preacher’s Daughter gave him a look that said, this is not the situation you think it is.
McQueen said, “About that.”
Boy Scout said, “We’re not going anywhere.”
Then he spent five minutes giving good Lieutenant Poe the CliffsNotes version.
The man’s only response when it was all over was, “Fuck me. I never had any idea.”
Boy Scout curled his lip into a snarl and said, “You barely know me. These galloots didn’t have any idea either.” He perched his chin on the steeple of his fingers. “My question is why did it want us to move here? Why are we kitted up? What’s the op?”
“The dervishes have clustered at their consulate on Wilshire Blvd,” Poe said. “You figured—I mean, it figured that it would be a good opportunity to take them all out in one place.”
Boy Scout stared at his crew with wide, unbelieving eyes. “And you all agreed? I can run tractor trailers through the holes in that logic. Jesus on a pogo stick.” He turned to his second. “McQueen? Seriously?”
The big man stared at the floor.
“And don’t give me shit like it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He turned to Preacher’s Daughter. “And you—you’re the smartest one of us. Why did you agree to it?”
“You seemed to know what was going on.” She began to tick her fingers. “You knew they were going to regroup. You knew when it happened. You also wanted to get them all together and try and kidnap one of them during the raid.” For one of the only times he’d ever seen her, she looked flustered. “Dammit, we just trusted you.”
“And who was going to conduct the raid?” he growled.
“We were,” she said. “The four of us.”
“And Noaks, I suppose.” Boy Scout shook his head. If it didn’t already hurt, he would have slammed it against the wall. Now it was his turn to tick off questions on his fingers. “Why would we attack a force of equal or greater size than ours when they are in a fixed position? Why would we put all of our assets together? Why would we attack a protected diplomatic mission which is essentially Turkish soil? Why wouldn’t we try and separate them and capture them one or two at a time and interrogate them? Huh? McQueen?”
“Now that you put it that way, you make a lot of sense.”
“Now that you… Okay, listen to me and heed my words. You two need to think and wonder if I am the Boy Scout you know at all times. You need to realize that I have things inside of me and I can’t be trusted. Everything I say, look at it critically. Apply the Military Decision-Making Process. MDMP.” He looked round at his mollified crew. “Do you understand me?”
They merely stared at him.
“Fucking nod or break dance or something.”
All three nodded.
He stood. “Okay, now we need to figure out why it wanted us to attack the consulate. Poe?”
Poe nodded.
“Can you get on your assets and find out if there have been any deliveries to the consulate lately. Look for a large box. Something like a twelve-foot coffin.”
“Sure… uh… are we looking for a vampire?”
“Worse.”
“Do you really think they have another one?” McQueen asked.
“I’d bet your paycheck on it.”
“I’m not getting paid right now, boss.”
“Then I wouldn’t lose anything if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
“Do you think the thing inside of you wants the daeva?”
“I think it might be afraid of it. That’s why it wanted me to try and kill it, and might not have cared if I died trying.”
“Why would it be afraid?” she asked.
“Because I think the thing inside of me was a creation of the daeva. I remember when it spoke to me. It didn’t even know who made us. One minute they had their own race of beings, the next we were there. It said that we were shadows upon the world, bringing darkness wherever we went.”
Chapter Fifteen
Camp Pendleton Command Center
BOY SCOUT NEEDED his own information. He found a computer terminal, and after getting the right logins from Poe, searched the internet for what he knew would be there. He’d actually been to the bird market in Kabul before and had run surveillance routes through the closely confined quarters of the birds, their sellers, and thos
e who were part of the fighting circuit. He’d also heard about a bombing that had occurred in the late 2000s, but didn’t know the specifics. So, he used the Great Oracle of Google to assist him. It was all in knowing which words to use, and sometimes in what order. His first few tries didn’t provide any information, but did get him to an article about the Taliban using real birds and fitting them with bomb vests.
He almost laughed out loud. If only they knew how to weaponize homing pigeons, that would have been the perfect weapon.
After another five minutes, Boy Scout found a short article. The attack wasn’t listed as terrorist-originated, but an Afghan-on-Afghan crime. Boy Scout knew the truth of it from the memory he shared. Six people had died in the attack. A village elder, his driver and bodyguard, a vice-principal of a madrassa, two bird sellers, and the boy. No motivation was listed in the article, but one witness said that the killer had been a troubled boy from the elder’s village.
The boy’s name had been Mohammad Poya. The way Afghan boy names were constructed meant that the first part of the name was the subordinate name and was usually that of a famous person. The second part was the proper name, and how the boy was generally addressed. A quick check told Boy Scout that Poya meant one who is consistently searching for something. He had no last name, which was no surprise. He was a simple kid from a mountain village. So that would be Boy Scout’s approach to him.
He fired off a quick email to Sister Renee to let her know his plan, then returned to his room.
He thought about telling his team, but he knew they’d be against it. This was just something he needed to do.
He settled himself on the floor again, naked, sitting on a towel to soak up the sweat as he unlocked each of his chakras to release his energy. When he got to his Third Eye chakra, Boy Scout hesitated. He knew he wasn’t ready for what he was about to do, but he didn’t have the time to plan and practice. He needed to get it done quickly. The problem was it was like building an airplane in mid-flight. If he wasn’t successful, he’d crash headlong into the ground, or in his case, maybe never be able to return to his body. Instead of quitting, though, he took a deep breath and willed himself to leave by his third eye. In a whoosh, he found himself once again in the black and white world of the astral plane.