by J. R. Bowles
After a long discussion of computers, software, and communications--two hours and three drinks, Jackie looked at her watch. Oh, she thought, I've been so wrapped up I missed my 10:45 boat. It was after eleven and she had better call Bernie and Zolar and tell them she was back. She had forgotten she had promised to call them as soon as she reached port. Then she had to find a place to be alone before midnight. She could kick herself for letting this guy mesmerize her with all his charm and intellect.
“I'm sorry,” she said looking at her watch again: “Could I use your phone? It's a local call.”
“Sure,” John moved so she could sit near the phone.
“Room 240, please,” she said into the phone.
“Hi, it's me, we got back early.... No, I'm going to be all right. I'm staying on the ship tonight. I'll see you in the morning.” She paused. “Okay, I won't forget.” Bernie had reminded her it was getting close to twelve, and she assured him she would be alone. “I've got to be going.” Jackie added, “Miss you too,” and hung up the phone.
She turned to John and Billy and said, “I've got to be going now. Thanks for an interesting evening. Billy, I'll see you later.” She reached to shake John's hand. She knew she had to go, but she had the feeling she didn't want to. He sure was magnetic, she thought. She glanced at her watch: 11:35.
“You keep looking at your watch,” Billy commented. “Is something wrong?”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just a habit.” she lied.
“Well bye, hope to meet you again, John,” she said to him as she picked up her bag and started for the door.
“Jackie,” Billy interrupted her departure. “He's the One!”
“What?” Jackie's mind didn't grasp what he was saying.
John looked blankly at Billy.
“He's the one Jackie. I knew you were part of it when I saw you today on the mess deck.”
Jackie slowly stared at Billy, and then at John, trying to grasp what he was saying. It slowly seeped into her awareness that it was almost midnight and she was with strangers. She swayed and would have fallen, if Billy hadn't been close enough to catch her.
He moved her to a chair and lowered her ever so gently.
As her mind came back into focus, she thought she was going to be sick; fear was overcoming her.
“Billy, what's going on?” John demanded.
“John, I have to tell you I'm involved in what's happening to you. We don't have time to talk about it now, but Jackie's involved too.”
“What?” John's face became a mask of shocked confusion.
“What are they saying?” Jackie's mind tried to grasp what was going on. It was her turn, my God, she was next--what could she do? She wanted to run but her legs felt like rubber. They wouldn't respond to what she wanted them to do. And she wanted to run like hell!
“Him,” she cried silently. He was the Anti-Christ, the Avatar, but how? He seemed so nice—more than nice-loving, even?
“Jackie,” Billy spoke softly, “Relax, you knew this was coming. John's more confused than you are. Just look at him.” He glanced at John, who had sat on the edge of the bed and was beginning to slide onto the floor.
Billy's presence dominated them both. He had taken control of the situation. “This has to happen, there's no stopping it now. You are destined, I was chosen to replace one of the seven of you, but you were born for this moment.
He didn't respond.
“John,” she whispered tenderly.
His eyes flickered.
“John, John, John... .”
Far away, John heard his name being called, a sweet heavenly whisper, John, John, ... John.
Suddenly there he was again, alone in the abyss, and he heard it, the sound, the word, it was an explosion, it was the word which created everything, it was the sound of an explosion, it was the movement of everything that existed.
Again he was dying, falling apart. He was being cast out into nothingness, everything was chaos.
And through the chaos he heard, over and over, the sound, it moved him. It shaped him, it was a sweet vibration moving him gently, caressing him, it was a word, a sound, a rhythm, soothing him, healing his pain.
There was nothing but the sound, nothing but the vibrating energy that became a word, repeated over and over.
It was a pattern, forming, and he saw the entity that set it into place; it was a word, and the word was everything that exists. It had been him, he had become the word, and the word had become him, it was his name. All around him everything changed from material shape to fluid energy, vibrating into a multitude of life.
His own body had become the sound.
CHAPTER 31
“Bernie,” Zolar called. “Wake up, Bernie.”
“Oh, man, what was that?” Bernie slumped further down in the hotel armchair.
“That was our Jackie, wasn't it,” Bernie stated flatly, an admission of the obvious.
“Yeah.” Zolar cleared his throat. “She was the throat. It should have been the spleen, but the throat was next.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Do you think she's okay? I mean, they won't kill her afterward or something?”
“She's okay,” Zolar reassured him. “That's the spleen opening that's the dangerous one. That's the opening of the destructive power of the universe.”
“Why didn't she tell us what was going on, when she called us?”
“I don't know—unless she didn't know what was happening. I just don't know.”
“When you say the spleen's the dangerous one, what do you mean?”
“The key to opening the spleen, the person used, will be in danger of dying. The spleen is destruction but it's also the greed center. It is the cycle of life and death. It creates but also destroys. Like birth and death. It is centered on the greed factor of all beings. The true definition of greed is desire. Whether it's desire for wealth or just the desire for living. All existence stems from greed.”
“Wait a minute; you're telling me greed is desire?”
“Yes, basically it is. If there was no desire then nothing could exist. Greed is analogous to many things. All greed stems from selfish motivation.”
“Living is a selfish motivation? You lost me there.”
“Our life energy attaches to these shells we live in. It's hard to explain. It's like telling you sugar is sweet, and then trying to explain what “sweet” is. Until you experience it, you can't truly know what sweet is.”
“Okay, I'll accept it for now.” Bernie shrugged. “You said the spleen is dangerous; well, this was the third opening, so that only leaves four more--and there's still you and me. That means one of us could be in danger.” Bernie jumped out of the chair as the realization seemed to hit him. “Damn it, why didn't you say that before? You let Jackie leave, knowing good and well she could have been hurt or killed. Damn you, what the hell were you thinking of? Why didn't you tell us before?” Bernie's face was red; had clenched his fists by his sides. He was on the verge of punching Zolar.
“Are you finished?” Zolar asked calmly; his brows rose in exasperation. “If it was to be, it would be.”
He paused, watching Bernie's reaction. “Don't you see? It wouldn't matter what we do; the openings will occur. I thought the spleen would have been next, but somehow the throat was opened. I don't know how, but someone changed it. But it was only the time of the opening which changed.”
Bernie opened his mouth to interrupt, but Zolar waved his hand in dismissal of any protests and continued.
“There's only one thing that can change this now. Since the very first center was opened, nothing can stop the events, unless someone kills the Avatar, our Mr. John Star.” Zolar mused for a moment. “Well, I guess Jackie knows our Mr. Star now. What I wonder is when will we see her again. But John Star cannot be easily killed. I know it can happen–I just don't know how, and with each opening it will become increasingly more difficult to accomplish.”
“Do you think Jackie will even c
all us?” Bernie grasped at that aspect of what Zolar had said. All of his anger had been defused with the question.
“I don't know, but I don't see why she shouldn't.”
CHAPTER 32
The room was dark, except for the glow from Mindy’s cigarette. Mindy sat watching Jamal sleep, and smiled. Poor Jamal; he had been with her all day, tagging along like a love-struck puppy. One sick puppy, she thought. He looked so peaceful she almost regretted using him the way she had; but she really had no choice, she told herself. She would not be stopped, and anyone who got in her way would regret it.
Jamal had wanted to bed her all day, and had pestered her to the point she was ready to kill him, but she couldn’t. He was one of the paths, and his path had not been shown yet; she also needed him to access the other paths. She had kept putting the sex off, knowing that she must wait until the time the path could be seen. Only then would the joining of bodies be, and she would have access to the opening. That was the only way she could experience them, at least for now. His power was growing, and he didn’t know it.
She understood Jamal so much better than he understood himself. His motivation for hating the whites. She hated them too. They were always taking, as if everything material belonged to them. They would steal it or buy it–-anything to have whatever they wanted–-and they used her people. They used the black man, the yellow man, they used everyone; they even used each other. They had no sense of fairness. It was their desire which made them so evil.
Her people had learned the ways of the white man, to survive in his world.
The great Cherokee nation had learned to survive, by selling their heritage to the white man. Oh, how she had hated it, her parents dressing her in beads and braids, in her moccasins, so the whites would pay to have their pictures taken with a real live Indian. Spit formed in her mouth.
She remembered the day John Fleuric's parents had visited them at the tourist trap in the Smoky Mountains. It had been her Grandfather who had later explained who he was. She still kept the picture her Grandfather had taken that day.
She had to pose with little Johnny, so his parents could take his picture, so the sweet little thing could show all his friends he had been with Indians. She hadn't smiled for the picture; she never did, she hated it. Then her Grandfather had pulled out his camera and taken additional pictures, and had got the names and address of the people, in the pretense he would send them additional pictures at no extra cost. She wondered if he had ever sent the pictures.
She sighed, reflecting on her Grandfather. Her ashes hit the carpet. She absentmindedly stomped on them with her bare foot. She looked at the smear on the rug as if it were meant to tell her something.
Her Grandfather had been their spiritual leader, and he had no grandsons to pass the knowledge to, so he had taught her the ways of the spirits and the paths. He had the sight and had seen the power hidden in the little white boy.
How excited she was, the day she went with her Grandfather to Roanoke, Virginia. He could see the powers of the sweet mother earth, and had followed the veins of the mother's power to the focal point where they had built a hospital.
This place, Roanoke, had been called by a different tribe, “Big Lick', because of the natural salts nature gave to the deer in the form of a salt lick.
He had spent many years, tracing several of the mother's energies to that spot where the white man had built the hospital. The Shenandoah Hospital, yes; even the blind white man was able to sense the healing powers of that energy crossing.
She had sat in the old station wagon while her Grandfather and his brother broke into the hospital and stole records of children born the same day as Fleuric. She knew them all; all of the children born that day. Her Grandfather had recalled the day when the stars had shone together, which enabled him to find records. The flames of the hospital as it burned where beautiful in her eyes. Even at that age, she had wanted the white man dead.
John Fleuric, your power will be my power, and then I will kill you.
Jamal stirred in his sleep, reaching out to feel her body next to him, grasping at empty air. With her mind she lulled him back into a deeper more tranquil sleep.
He was to have been the next path opening. She knew the order in which it should have occurred. That had been why she had chosen him: he was the destroyer. She needed the power of destruction. For some reason, she fretted, the throat had opened, but why? Was someone on to her?
Would the constructive power of the throat cause her problems, when the destructive force took over?
She smashed her cigarette into the tray and crawled back into bed. They wouldn't stop her.
CHAPTER 33
The phone rang three times before John managed to answer it. “Hello.” He groaned; his own foul breath reflected back into his nostrils.
“Good morning, Mr. Fleuric. This is your morning wake up. “
“Thank you.” He responded flatly and hung up.
It had taken him three rings to answer because Jackie's head was lying on his numb arm; he eased it out without waking her. He had awakened on the first ring, but it had taken him a moment to realize who the girl was and to clear his confusion enough to finagle his arm free.
He thought about events of the earlier hours. He glanced over at Billy asleep on the other bed. They were all fully clothed, he noted and felt a sense of relief.
It was seven a.m., and he had a morning meeting at eight. He showered, dressed and woke Billy.
“Billy,” John whispered so as to not awaken Jackie, who still slept soundly with a slight husky snore.
“Yes.” Billy came alert immediately as if from practice.
“Shh!” John indicated, using his index finger pursed against Billy's lips. “She's still asleep,” using the same hand and finger to indicate Jackie.
“I have a meeting that'll probably last all day and I have to attend a social gathering this evening. I'm afraid I won't be back until late tonight.” John's face was tense with concern and hints of worry. “I still want to know what's happening and what part you and Jackie are playing.” John spoke slightly louder than he had intended. “Do you think Jackie will still be here when I get back?”
“I don't know,” Billy answered, but he already knew the answer; she would most definitely be here. “See you later, John.”
As John left the motel and walked casually along the edge of the golf course, he heard a trumpet being played over a paging system all over the base. He glanced at his watch and noted it was 8:00. He kept walking but as he looked around, he noticed the few cars that had been moving had stopped in the middle of the road; the people who had been walking had stopped and were facing the golf course. The ones in uniform were saluting the golf course. The trumpet music finished and everyone became reanimated. He shook his head in curiosity.
John entered one end of building 400. The building was close to a block long and looked like it was built well over a century ago.
“Good morning, Mr. Fleuric.”
“Morning, Mr. Paulus, is the Commander in?”
“He's expecting you.”
“By the way what was that trumpet music about--and why was everyone stopped and facing the golf course?”
Paulus laughed. “That was morning colors. At 8:00 each day the flag is hoisted, and at sunset they take it down. On a military base you come to attention for colors. They weren't facing the golf course, the flag is on the other side of it and they were facing the flag.”
“Oh,” John nodded awkwardly, “That makes sense; thanks for the explanation.”
“No problem. Sir, Commander Smith is waiting.”
John sighed, dreading the long day. He had met the Commander yesterday and had ended up in a heated argument with the man.
“Come in, John.”
“Morning, Jake.”
“Coffee?”
“No thanks.”
This morning as John looked at Jake he could sense the man's deepest desire: Not to do a good job, his desire wa
s to look good at all cost. He was the type of person who would step on anyone's back to get where he wanted, even if it broke the back. Strange he hadn't sensed this yesterday when he had met him.
John didn't have the energy to argue and rehash the same details today that they discussed yesterday.
“Let's go back to where we were when we disagreed yesterday.” Jake leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him as if he were ready for confrontation.
“No, let's not.” John's stated emphatically. His patience had run out. “I'll explain it again and you will agree.” He didn't give Jake the opportunity to comment; he just stared at him.
Jake remained silent. In his career of over twenty years he had never been so awestruck as he was by this man sitting across from him, and he had to deal with many ranks of people, both military and political. He remained still.
* * *
“... and finally all vessels will have computers that will coordinate and plot courses in conjunction with the sensors on the buoys, pilings, and other vessels.”
John stood and added unconditionally, “You will accept this package and the price.”
John's wait was less than a New York second, when the Commander answered. “We accept.”
“Jake, it's been a long day; I'm going over to the officer's club, have a bit of supper and then attend the function they are having. I imagine I will see you there.”
“Yes, you'll see me there.” Jake responded as if it was the only answer he could give.
The Officer's club was directly across from the motel, so John started to stop and see how Billy and Jackie were doing but changed his mind; later, he thought.
Interesting, he mused, how the motel was close to the Officer's Club. That's so they can get liquored up and stagger over to the motel and get laid. His stomach quivered at the sleazy imagery which had ran through his mind but he knew he was right; he didn't know how, he just knew.
CHAPTER 34