by Anne Rice
I thought about the power of rising out of one's material form. I didn't like this power, and it did not happen to me spontaneously, this astral projection, as it was called, this spirit traveling. Indeed, I had used it so few times I could have counted them on one hand.
And in all my suffering in the Gobi, I had not tried to leave my material form, nor had I been propelled out of it, nor had I even thought of such a possibility.
Indeed, the idea of being disconnected from my body-of floating about, earthbound, and unable to find a door to heaven or hell-was absolutely terrifying to me. And that such a traveling, disembodied soul could not pass through the gates of death at will had been plain to me the very first time I'd ever experimented with this little trick. But to go into the body of a mortal! To anchor there, to walk, to feel, to see, as a mortal, ah, I could not contain my excitement. It was becoming pure pain.
After the switch you will have all of Wednesday night and the full day Thursday. The full day Thursday, the full day ...
Finally, sometime before morning, I called my agent in New York. This man had no knowledge of my Paris agent at all. He knew me under two names only. And I had not used either of these in many a moon. It was very unlikely Raglan James had any knowledge of these identities and their various resources. It seemed the simplest route to pursue.
"I have some work for you, very complicated work. And it must be done immediately."
"Yes, sir, always, sir." "All right, this is the name and address of a bank in the District of Columbia. I want you to write it down . . ."
NINE
THE following evening I completed all the necessary papers for this transfer of ten million in American dollars, and sent these papers by messenger to the bank in Washington, along with Mr. Raglan James's photo-identification card, and a full reiteration of instructions in my own hand, and with the signature of Lestan Gregor, which for various reasons, was the best name to be used for the entire affair.
My New York agent also knew me by another alias, as I have indicated, and we agreed that this other name would in no way figure in this transaction, and that should I need to contact my agent, this other name, and a couple of new code words, would empower him to make transfers of money on verbal instructions alone.
As for the name Lestan Gregor, it was to disappear utterly from record as soon as this ten million went into the possession of Mr. James. All the remaining assets of Mr. Gregor were now transferred to my other name-which by the way was Stanford Wilde, for all that it matters now.
All of my agents are used to such bizarre instructions-shifts of funds, collapsing of identities, and the authority to wire funds to me anywhere I might be in the world on the basis of a telephone call. But I tightened the system. I gave bizarre and difficult-to- pronounce code words. I did everything I could, in short, to improve security surrounding my identities, and to fix the terms of the transfer of the ten million as firmly as I could.
As of Wednesday noon, the money would be in a trust account at the Washington bank, from which it could only be claimed by Mr. Raglan James, and only between the hours of ten and twelve on the following Friday. Mr. James would verify his identity by physical conformity to his picture, and by fingerprint, and by signature, before the money would be placed in his account. At one minute after twelve noon, the entire transaction would be null and void, and the money would be sent back to New York. Mr. James was to be presented with all these terms on Wednesday afternoon at the very latest, and with the assurance that nothing could prevent this transfer if all the instructions were followed as laid out.
It seemed an ironclad arrangement, as far as I could figure, but then I wasn't a thief, contrary to what Mr. James believed. And knowing that he was, I examined all aspects of the deal over and over, rather compulsively, in order to deny him the upper hand.
But why was I still deceiving myself, I wondered, that I would not go through with this experiment? For surely I intended to do exactly that.
Meantime, the phone in my apartment was ringing over and over again, as David tried desperately to reach me, and I sat there in the dark, thinking things over, and refusing to answer, vaguely annoyed by the ringing, and finally unplugging the cord.
This was despicable, what I meant to do. This varmint would use my body, no doubt, for the most sinister and cruel crimes. And I was going to allow this to happen, merely so that I could be human? How impossible to justify, in any light whatever, to anyone whom I knew.
Every time I thought of the others discovering the truth- any of them-I shuddered, and put the thought completely from my mind. Pray they were busy throughout the vast hostile world, with their own inevitable pursuits.
How much better to think about the entire proposition with pounding excitement. And Mr. James was right about the matter of money, of course. Ten million meant absolutely nothing to me. I had carried through the centuries a great fortune, increasing it by various offhand means until even I myself did not know its true size.
And much as I understood how very different the world was for a mortal being, I still could not quite comprehend why the money was so important to James. After all, we were dealing with questions of potent magic, of vast preternatural power, of potentially devastating spiritual insights, and demonic, if not heroic, deeds. But the money was clearly what the little bastard wanted. The little bastard, for all his insults, did not really see past the money. And perhaps that was just as well.
Think how very dangerous he might be had he truly grand ambitions. But he did not.
And I wanted that human body. And that was the bottom line.
The rest was rationalization at best. And as the hours passed, I did quite a bit of that,
For example, was the surrender of my powerful body really so despicable? The little creep couldn't even use the human body he had. He'd turned into the perfect gentleman for half an hour at the cafe table, then blown it with his awkward graceless gestures, as soon as he'd stood up. He'd never be able to use my physical strength. He wouldn't be able to direct my telekinetic powers either, no matter how psychic he claimed to be. He might do all right with the telepathy, but when it came to entrancing or spellbinding, I suspected he would not even begin to use those gifts. I doubted he would be able to move very fast. Indeed, he'd be clumsy and slow and ineffective. Actual flight probably wouldn't be a possibility for him. And he might even get himself into a terrible scrape.
Yes, it was all well and good that he was such a small-souled miserable little schemer. Better that than a god on a rampage, certainly. As for me, what did I plan to do?
The house in Georgetown, the car, these things meant nothing! I'd told him the truth. I wanted to be alive! Of course I would need some money for food and drink. But seeing the light of day cost nothing. Indeed, the experience need not involve any great material comfort or luxury. I wanted the spiritual and physical experience of being mortal flesh again. I saw myself as wholly unlike the miserable Body Thief!
But I had one remaining doubt. What if ten million wasn't enough to bring this man back with my body? Perhaps I should double the amount. To such a small-minded person, a fortune of twenty million would truly be an enticement. And in the past, I had always found it effective to double the sums which people charged for their services, thereby commanding a loyalty from them of which they had not even conceived.
I called New York again. Double the sum. My agent, naturally enough, thought I was losing my mind. We used our new code words to confirm the authority of the transaction. Then I hung up.
It was time now to talk to David or go to Georgetown. I had made a promise to David. I sat very still, waiting for the phone to ring, and when it did, I picked it up.
"Thank God you're there."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I recognized the name Raglan James immediately, and you're absolutely right. The man is not inside his own body! The person you're dealing with is sixty-seven years old. He was born in India, grew up in London, and has been in pri
son five times. He's a thief known to every law enforcement agency in Europe, and what they call in America a confidence man. He's also a powerful psychic, a black magician-one of the most crafty we've ever known."
"So he told me. He worked his way into the order."
"Yes, he did. And this was one of the worst mistakes we've ever made. But Lestat, this man could seduce the Blessed Virgin, and steal a pocket watch from the Living Lord. Yet he was his own undoing within a matter of months. That's the crux of what I'm trying to tell you. Now, please do listen. This sort of black witch or sorcerer always brings evil upon himself! With his gifts he should have been able to deceive us forever; instead he used his skill to fleece the other members, and to steal from the vaults!"
"He told me that. What about this whole question of body switching? Can there be any doubt?"
"Describe the man as you've seen him."
I did. I emphasized the height and the robust nature of the physical frame. The thick glossy hair, the uncommonly smooth and satin like skin. The exceptional beauty.
"Ah, I'm looking at a picture of the man right now."
"Explain."
"He was confined briefly in a London hospital for the criminally insane. Mother an Anglo-Indian, which may explain the exceptionally beautiful complexion you're describing, and which I can see here plainly enough. Father a London cabbie who died in jail. The fellow himself worked in a garage in London, specializing in extremely expensive cars. Dealt in drugs as a sideline so that he could afford the cars himself. One night he murdered his entire family-wife, two children, brother-in-law and mother-and then gave himself up to the police. A frightening mix of hallucinogenic drugs was found in his blood, along with a great deal of alcohol. These were the very same drugs he often sold to the neighborhood youths."
"Derangement of the senses but nothing wrong with the brain."
"Precisely, the entire murderous tantrum was drug induced as far as the authorities could see. The man himself never spoke a word after the incident. He remained steadfastly immune to any stimulus until three weeks after his commitment to hospital, at which time he mysteriously escaped, leaving the body of a slain orderly in his room. Can you guess who this slain orderly turned out to be?"
"James."
"Exactly. Positive identification made postmortem through fingerprints, and confirmed through Interpol and Scotland Yard. James had been working in the hospital under an assumed name for a month before the incident, no doubt waiting for just such a body to arrive!"
"And then he cheerfully murdered his own body. Steely little son of a bitch to do that."
"Well, it was a very sick body-dying of cancer to be precise. The autopsy revealed he wouldn't have survived another six months. Lestat, for all we know, James may have contributed to the commission of the crimes which placed the young man's body at his disposal. If he hadn't stolen this body, he would have hit upon another in a similar state. And once he'd dealt the death blow to his old body, it went into the grave, don't you see, carrying James's entire criminal record with it."
"Why did he give me his real name, David? Why did he tell me he'd belonged to the Talamasca?"
"So I could verify his story, Lestat. Everything he does is calculated. You don't understand how clever this creature is. He wants you to know that he can do what he says he can do! And that the former owner of that young body is quite unable to interfere." "But, David, there are still aspects to this which are baffling. The soul of the other man. Did it die in that old body? Why didn't it... get out!"
"Lestat, the poor being probably never knew such a thing was possible. Undoubtedly James manipulated the switch. Look, I have a file here of testimony from other members of the order pertaining to how this character jolted them right out of the physical and took possession of their bodies for short periods of time.
"All the sensations you experienced-the vibration, the constriction-were reported by these people as well. But we are speaking here of educated members of the Order of the Talamasca. This garage mechanic had no training in such things.
"His entire experience with the preternatural had to do with drugs. And God knows what ideas were mixed up with it. And throughout, James was dealing with a man in a severe state of shock."
"What if it's all some sort of clever ruse," I said. "Describe James to me, the man you knew."
"Slender, almost emaciated, very vibrant eyes, and thick white hair. Not a bad-looking man. Beautiful voice, as I recall."
"That's our man."
"Lestat, the note you faxed to me from Paris-it leaves no doubt. It's James's writing. It's his signature. Don't you realize that he found out about you through the order, Lestat!
That is the most disturbing aspect of this to me, that he located our files."
"So he said."
"He entered the order to gain access to such secrets. He cracked the computer system. There's no telling what he might have discovered. Yet he couldn't resist stealing a silver wrist-watch from one of the members, and a diamond necklace from the vaults. He played reckless games with the others. He robbed their rooms. You can't entertain any further communication with this person! It's out of the question."
"You sound like the Superior General, now, David."
"Lestat, we're speaking of switching here! That means putting your body, with all its gifts, at the disposal of this man."
"I know."
"You cannot do it. And let me make a shocking suggestion. If you do enjoy taking life, Lestat, as you've told me, why not murder this revolting individual as soon as you can?"
"David, this is wounded pride talking. And I am shocked."
"Don't play with me. There's no time for it here. You realize that this character is plenty clever enough to be counting upon your volatile nature in this little game? He has picked you for this switch just as he picked the poor mechanic in London. He has studied the evidence of your impulsiveness, your curiosity, your general fearlessness. And he can fairly well assume that you won't listen to a word of warning from me."
"Interesting."
"Speak up; I can't hear you."
"What else can you tell me?"
"What else do you require!"
"I want to understand this."
"Why?"
"David, I see your point about the poor befuddled mechanic; nevertheless, why didn't his soul pop loose from the cancer-riddled body when James dealt it one fine blow to the head?"
"Lestat, you said it yourself. The blow was to the head. The soul was already enmeshed with the new brain. There was no moment of clarity or will in which it could have sprung free. Even with a clever sorcerer like James, if you damage the tissues of the brain severely before the soul has a chance to disengage, it cannot do it, and physical death will follow, taking the entire soul with it out of this world. If you do decide to put an end to this miserable monster, by all means take him by surprise, and see to it that you smash his cranium as you might a raw egg."
I laughed. "David, I've never heard you so incensed."
"That's because I know you, and I think you mean to do this switch, and you must not!" "Answer a few more of my questions. I want to think this through."
"No."
"Near-death experiences, David. You know, those poor souls that suffer a heart attack, go up through a tunnel, see a light, and then come back to life. What's happening with them?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
"I don't believe you." I reported James's talk of the brain stem and the residual soul, as best I could. "In these near-death experiences, has a little bit of the soul remained behind?"
"Perhaps, or maybe these individuals do confront death- they actually do cross over-and yet the soul, whole and entire, is sent back. I don't know."
"But whatever the case, you can't simply die by going out of your body, can you? If in the Gobi Desert, I had gone up and out of my body, I couldn't have found the gateway, could I? It wouldn't have been there. It opens only for the whole soul."
&nbs
p; "Yes. As far as I know, yes." He paused. Then: "Why do you ask me this? Do you still dream of dying? I don't believe it. You're too desperately fond of being alive."
"I've been dead for two centuries, David. What about ghosts? The earthbound spirits?"
"They've failed to find that gateway, even though it opened. Or they refused to go through. Look, we can talk about all this some night in the future, roaming the alleyways of Rio, or wherever you like. The important thing is, you must swear to me not to deal with this sorcerer any longer, if you won't go so far as to follow my suggestion that you put an end to him as soon as you can."
"Why are you so afraid of him!"
"Lestat, you must understand how destructive and vicious this individual can be. You can't give your body over to him! And that is just what you mean to do. Look, if you meant to possess a mortal body for a while, I'd be dead against it, for that is diabolical and unnatural enough! But to give your body to this madman! Ye gods, will you please come here to London? Let me talk you out of this. Don't you owe me as much!"
"David, you investigated him before he became a member of the order, did you not?
What sort of man is he... I mean how did he become this wizard of sorts?"
"He deceived us with elaborate fabrications and counterfeit records on a scale you wouldn't believe. He loves that sort of connivance. And he's something of a computer genius. Our real investigation took place after he'd gone."
"So? Where did it all start?"
"Family was rich, merchant class. Lost its money before the war. Mother was a famous medium, apparently quite legitimate and dedicated, and charged a pittance for her services. Everybody in London knew her. I remember hearing of her, long before I was ever interested in that sort of thing. The Talamasca pronounced her genuine on more than one occasion, but she refused to be studied. She was a fragile creature, and very much loved her only son."
"Raglan," I said.
"Yes, She died of cancer. Terrible pain. Her only daughter became a seamstress, still works for a bridal shop in London. Simply exquisite work. She's deeply grieved over the death of her troublesome brother, but relieved he's gone. I talked to her this morning. She said her brother had been destroyed when he was quite young, by their mother's death."