Between Now and Forever
Page 1
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and visions or used in a fictitious manner, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Margaret Duarte
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Book Cover design Yocla Designs by Clarissa
* * *
Publisher's Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Duarte, Margaret, 1949- author.
Title: Between now and forever / Margaret Duarte.
Description: Elk Grove, CA: Omie Press, 2019. | Series: Enter the between, bk. 4. | Previously published in 2013 by Philophrosyne Publishing, Elk Grove, CA.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019905391 | ISBN 978-0-9860688-8-1 (paperback) | ISBN 978-0-9860688-9-8 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Women--Fiction. | Self-actualization (Psychology)--Fiction. | Spiritual life--Fiction. | Quantum theory--Fiction. | Paranormal fiction. | Suspense fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Visionary & Metaphysical. | FICTION / Occult & Supernatural. | FICTION / Women. | GSAFD: Occult fiction. | Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3604.U244 B47 2019 (print) | LCC PS3604.U244 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23.
Dedication
This book is dedicated in loving memory to my father and mother, Jack and Anne van Steyn.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Winter
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Book one: “Enter the Between” series
Book two: “Enter the Between” series
Book three: “Enter the Between” series
Winter
2001
The fourth path of initiation begins in
the North, the place of knowledge and wisdom.
You know me. I’m the sub. You’ve met me at least a dozen times during your days in school, stiff, alert, nose twitching like a cornered rabbit, hushing and shushing, eyes darting from student to student, looking for allies and finding none. You blushed for me and then proceeded to torment me and leave me as road kill without a second thought, except maybe: Let her get another job, if she can’t handle this one.
At least that would have been my story, if I hadn’t come armed.
I have a special gift, you see, an elevated mental power. Not highly refined, mind you, but something I put to good use once in a while. Use only in case of emergency, is my motto. And this was definitely an emergency.
Chapter One
“WE’VE GOT A NEW sub!”
The short kid with the tall voice bounded into the classroom with the exuberance of a kindergartener rather than the more guarded, image-conscious demeanor of a thirteen-year-old. His backpack hit his desk with an attitude. “Our last sub quit.”
It was hard to tell if he was talking to me or just thinking out loud, because he hardly even glanced my way, too busy twitching and wiggling like a terrier pup.
“What’s your name?” the kid called out, not bothering to check the whiteboard, which displayed my name in large block letters: MS. VEIL.
I pointed to it now, determined to keep an eye on the rest of the students filtering into the room—my chance to observe them before their guards went up. Nothing soft or preppy about these kids. Instead of the blues and pinks their parents had dressed them in not all that long ago, the predominant colors were now black and brown, the texture torn and frayed, accessorized by hoops and chains hanging from the most unlikely places. But their appearance, I knew, was deceiving. West Coast Middle School drew students from the millionaires’ enclave of Atherton and the district of Sharon Heights, which included mansions set around Sharon Heights Golf and Country Club. The spending per pupil here nearly doubled the national average. Their outfits flashed cash, not bargain basement.
“Can I call you Ms. V?” the kid asked.
Before I could answer his question, there came another. “What’s your name?” This from a girl with three inches of belly exposed between low-slung black jeans and a cropped T-shirt.
I shivered. It was January 7, and even in the paradise setting of Menlo Park, the cold still chilled my bones. How had she gotten out of the house dressed like that? Her attire—highlighted by a grinning skull medallion, black fingernails, and spiked black and red hair—was surely against school rules.
I placed a transparency of the seating chart on the overhead projector and started marking plus signs next to the names of students who were seated and quiet.
“Hey, what’re the marks for?” It was the pup again. I located him on the seating chart. Time to give him a name and some of my attention.
“I’ll tell you in a bit, Brad.”
His head jerked and his eyes grew wide. “How’d you know my name?”
I pointed to my temple. “Psychic.”
“She’s looking at the seating chart, stupid.” This from one of the quiet boys I had just awarded a plus. But the plus held. Wyatt, too, was helping me, though he didn’t know it.
As I continued to dole out pluses, more students noticed and caught on, plopping into their seats and pulling out binders and pens.
“What’re the marks for?” someone called from the back.
“You’ll see,” I said.
The tardy bell rang, which had another five kids scrambling to their seats. Those who remained standing, or were still talking, earned a minus next to their names.
“Why’d Jason get a minus?” Brad wanted to know.
“Yeah,” Jason said, looking at the overhead chart and, belatedly, lowering himself onto his chair. “What�
�s the minus for?”
I held up my hand and put my index finger to my lips. No point in explaining. Not with that loud voice blaring over the intercom. “We’ve designated this week School Violence Awareness Week. Activities include opportunities for student discussion about conflict resolution, issues of student diversity, and tolerance…”
Loudness be darned, no one seemed to be listening to the school bulletin, but since this was my first day, I let the transgression pass. My aim was to continue doling out pluses and minuses next to each student’s name, for their reference and mine.
It was also a handy way to take roll.
“Good morning,” I said when the bulletin finally ended. “Time for me to introduce myself and explain what the marks are for.” I had just about everyone’s attention now. Use it wisely, I told myself, or you’ll lose them. “My name is Ms. Veil, and yes, as Brad asked, you may call me Ms. V, teacher, or whatever makes you comfortable, as long as you do so with respect.” Their eyes were still on me, but I sensed an ebbing of interest, as if the room itself had a mood, one I could plug into, draw from, or destroy. “You wanted to know why I was marking the seating chart, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right.”
“Well, when I was in school, I hated it when we had a sub.”
Mumbles and nods of agreement.
“No matter what, he or she always left a bad report, telling our teacher what a terrible class we’d been, when usually just a few students had caused all the trouble. The subs never, ever told the teacher about the students who’d been good, which was just about all of us. So” —I pointed at Wyatt’s name on the seating chart— “with this method, when your teacher comes back, she’ll notice that Wyatt has a plus next to his name, which means he was on task. Codi, on the other hand, has a minus next to hers. Not good.”
“That’s not fair, I didn’t know.” Codi’s ignorance-of-the-law defense spun in the air like a storm cell.
“You knew you were supposed to be in your seat and quiet when the tardy bell rang. Like everyone else who now has a minus next to their name. But don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to make it up before the period is over. This way, you’ll be judged as an individual, not as a class. Your teacher will know exactly who’s been on task and who hasn’t.”
“How?” several kids asked at once.
“I’ll keep giving out pluses for good behavior and adding or subtracting minuses until class is over.”
“How come I don’t have any marks at all?” Brad asked in a high-pitched whine.
“Because you’ve done nothing particularly good or bad. You’ve asked a lot of questions, and that’s okay, as long as you raise your hand from now on and try not to interrupt while I’m talking.”
His hand flew up and pumped up and down like a train conductor pulling a whistle chord.
“Yes, Brad.”
“You look pretty good for a teacher.”
After the class stopped laughing and I reined in my desire to coo and fuss over him and rub behind his puppy-dog ears, I said, “Thanks.”
“Do I get a plus for that?”
“In my heart, you do.”
“That sucks,” he said under his breath, then added loud enough for the entire class to hear, “We’re the remedial class.”
Wyatt stiffened. “Shut up, Brad.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re all excellent students, and I plan to treat you as such.” So far, this had been easy; too easy. Something was up. My clairsentient gut was telling me so. And in the past ten months, I’d learned to trust my gut.
A brilliant white light flashed in front of my eyes. And it wasn’t coming from the overhead. All sense of the world dissolved, including my body. A presence—familiar, beautiful—surrounded me. Your light has come.
Before I could process who or what was communicating with me, another presence forced its way into my head. Watch out, Ms. Veil. The party’s about to begin.
The second voice had come from a female in the room.
Who was she, and what did she know that I didn’t?
Chapter Two
THE OVERHEAD PROJECTOR BLINKED, then popped and blacked out, a puff of smoke leaking from its side. The fluorescent ceiling lights hummed in B-natural and dimmed to an overcast gray. A loud flapping sound had me wheeling around to see the vinyl curtains swinging back and forth, as if the windows had flown open and allowed the north wind to rush through.
“Holy crap!” It was Brad again, expressing my sentiment exactly. However, most of the students, after an initial display of excitement and laughter, were ducking beneath desks and each other. I couldn’t blame them. Their secure, albeit boring, little classroom had turned into a Hollywood movie set, with the animation of inanimate objects, sound effects and all.
I closed my eyes and tried to sense where the turbulence was coming from. Instead, energy drained from me like ice melting. “Earthquake,” someone yelled, but I knew better. This was no earthquake. I opened blurred eyes to more chaos. The world map above the whiteboard rattled in its moorings as if about to crash to the floor. Posters—Mistakes are proof that you’re trying; Life is tough, but so are you—flapped like flags from the thumbtacks anchoring them to the walls. A pencil sharpener whirred in the distance.
The force was coming from the back of the room, I realized, allowing my subconscious to take over. Left side. There. Jason. Of course. He looked like a lone wolf sitting there, with his bushy brown hair—and hazel eyes riveted on me. I glanced at the seating chart. Ardis. Jason Ardis. Again, I felt a drain of energy. My head ached. My eyes felt scratchy. Think love. Think peace. Think joy. I smiled and sent out all the positive force I could muster.
Jason blinked, and the room became still. For a moment, it seemed the quietest place in the world—Hoh Rain Forest in Olympic National Park or Rialto Beach. Then a teacher burst through the connecting door. “What the—”
“It’s Lacoste,” Brad said. “We’re in for it now.”
Mr. Lacoste took in the classroom, his jaw pulsing to an inner script we didn’t share. Apart from the acrid smell of a burnt light bulb, the room appeared normal enough. The curtains, world map, and posters were more or less positioned as before, and the florescent lights shone brightly and no longer hummed. So, I hoped Mr. Lacoste would go back to his classroom and leave the situation to me. But the likelihood of that happening was about nil. Having twenty or more vacant-eyed students huddled on the floor next to their desks didn’t bode well for a substitute on her first day.
“We’re okay,” I said, with a confident smile.
Mr. Lacoste crossed his arms and tilted his head. “So, what’s this, an earthquake drill?”
“A creative misuse of energy,” I said. “But thanks for stopping by. It’s good to know you’re next door in case I need you.”
He nodded but made no move to leave.
I turned my attention back to Jason The Wolf Ardis. “You must be worn out, because I sure am.” Frustration radiated from him like heat from a fire, though his blank expression suggested otherwise. Poker face. Game face. Lack of communication, big time. I took a deep breath, then another. “You put on quite a show. How many minuses should I give you for that?”
Which got Brad, Brave Puppy, going again. “Minuses won’t help.”
I looked around the room. Why weren’t the other students speaking up? They’d slowly gotten back into their seats and were sitting quietly. Had this happened before, or were they simply wondering what the hell I would do next?
“I’m sending for Dr. Matt,” Mr. Lacoste said.
So much for any attempt of turning this into a learning experience. I wondered what part of the teacher’s manual shared tips on dealing with the extraordinary. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take it from here.”
Lacoste’s laugh sounded angry. “Need I remind you that you’re a sub and I know these kids better than you do?”
The students followed our exchange with the morbid fascination of spectators at a boxing match. Arguing with Mr. Lacoste, I decided, would not only be fruitless, but unprofessional. “Then by all means, send for Dr. Matt. Maybe he’d like to listen in.”
Mr. Lacoste pulled in a sharp breath, and the students came alive, shifting in their seats and whispering, probably amazed I hadn’t run from the room crying by now.
“Can you help me out here, Jason?” I asked, using the little time we had left to give him a chance to explain.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Codi. “After what he just did.”
“And what did he just do?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes, looked away.
“He’s a magician,” Brad said. “But he’s never been this good before.”
I zeroed in on Jason, brows raised. So, his classmates thought he was an illusionist, who could move physical objects from a distance. At thirteen years old? Now, that was incredible.
Jason raised his brows back at me.
Wow. I’d made it a point not to let on about my powers. Whatever for? So people could distance themselves, conclude I was a freak, make excuses why they couldn’t see me anymore. Why on earth was Jason taking the risk?
“That doesn’t give him the right to disrupt class,” Codi said. “He was showing off and that’s wrong.”
“I agree, but” —I turned to Jason— “were you aware that things would get so out of control?”
“I didn’t know at first that—” He glanced at Mr. Lacoste and didn’t finish.
But someone else did. He didn’t know at first that you had powers, too.
I scanned the room but couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, a voice with a message meant especially for me. I refocused on Jason. How had he known about my powers? I’d only recently discovered them myself. And then you drew from them, right?
He studied me with his yellow-brown eyes but said nothing.
I could tell Mr. Lacoste was growing impatient with my silence, but the ground had suddenly shifted here. I knew firsthand how most people reacted to the unexplainable—if my former fiancé and adoptive mother were anything to go by. So far, Jason had his classmates convinced that he knew magic, but what if they discovered he had abilities that extended beyond a talented and learnable skill?