by J. R. Rain
I also knew Anthony hadn’t fully come to terms with the fact that he had, in effect, switched bodies with another entity, an entity he fully controlled. Hell, I wasn’t fully used to it either, with Talos. That the entity he became seemed to be an unstoppable warrior that wielded a fiery sword and stood nearly ten feet tall was all sort of badass that, at present, was lost on my son. He would come around, I knew. Someday, he would understand that in our world—the world of freaks and monsters—that it was kill or be killed. And he had lived to fight another day. Nothing wrong with that.
Then again, that my thirteen-year-old son would have to live by such a motto was a terrible price that I paid every day, over and over and over...
At present, I was sitting in my minivan—not very far from where I had just downed a smoothie in record time. My windows were cracked enough to let in the fresh air, but not so much that anyone could overhear the conversation I was about to have. That is, a one-sided conversation, with me doing the talking and my hand doing the writing.
Who did the writing remained to be seen. In the past, it had been everyone from my spirit guide named Sephora, to a highly-evolved master named St. Germaine, to even an entity that I considered Mother Earth. So, truthfully, I hadn’t a clue who would come through—or if anyone would. Since I hadn’t used automatic writing in a while, I wasn’t sure who I was plugged into these days, quite frankly.
I kept a small notebook in my purse, not for automatic writing, but for taking statements. I clicked on my pen and opened my small notebook to a blank page. I moved the pen to the top of the line and closed my eyes and heard a small breeze force its way into the cracked window. The same breeze then moved over the skin of my arm. Of course, I could have been sitting here with the windows rolled up, but I liked fresh air, even if I didn’t have to breathe it. Fresh air was comforting and, well, yummy.
The bitch inside me didn’t like words like yummy or fresh. I could sense her discomfort, like a curmudgeonly old woman trying to get comfortable in a new recliner.
Hey, you picked me, lady, I thought.
Indeed, greater forces were at work as to when and how and why I was chosen to be a vampire. In the big picture, I was the perfect confluence of bloodline and reincarnated witch and, well, I was also kind of a badass in this life too. In the smaller picture, I had been set up by my angel and an old vampire for reasons unknown to me this day. Of course, that same old vampire was now dead, thanks to a silver arrow from a vampire hunter named Rand. But my angel was still around. Maybe I would ask him someday.
Either way, I had been viciously attacked and seemingly left for dead. But I hadn’t died. Quite the opposite. I had lived, and, from all appearances, I would live forever. Or, rather, had the potential to live forever. A silver bolt in my own heart would readily put an end to any talk of immortality.
“And then what?” I asked. “What happens to me then? When I die?”
As I asked the question, I emptied my mind. I even locked away Elizabeth good and tight. I didn’t need her influence. I needed real answers. It was time.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there in the front driver’s seat, just outside the YMCA, with the occasional person walking by, sometimes accompanied by the rattle of a dog’s tags on his collar, or the squeaky wheels of a stroller. I was reclining back, but not all the way. The notepad was positioned on the center console, my hand hovering lightly over it. The hovering over it part was what kept me from falling asleep, no doubt. This was midday. I should have been asleep.
More time passed and I nearly gave up on the automatic writing. Maybe it didn’t work for me anymore. Maybe it had never worked. Maybe it was always just my own subconscious talking to me. Or maybe it had been Elizabeth talking to me. No, it hadn’t been because previous sessions had dealt with love and forgiveness and hope. Anyone who cringed at the word yummy would flee for the hills from the word love.
I had just made the decision to sit up when my hand twitched. I knew that twitch. I’d felt that twitch in years past. I waited and focused my breathing and calmed my mind further, and, after a few minutes, my hand twitched again. Then again. And now I felt a slight pressure as the tip of the pen was guided down to the paper, and my hand went from twitching to flowing as the words came out.
I cracked my eyes open and saw two words at the top of the page, two words that flowed in beautiful penmanship. Perhaps even perfect penmanship.
“Hello, Samantha.”
Chapter Nine
“Hello,” I said aloud, feeling a little foolish talking to my hand.
A strong tingly sensation came over my entire arm, and I watched, with amazement, as words flowed from the pen and into my notebook. “You have some questions for me, I see.”
“Questions, concerns, complaints...”
“Complaining only brings more of the same,” wrote my hand, after being galvanized by what was, in essence, small electrical impulses firing upon various muscles primarily in my forearm. The sensation was not unlike when Kingsley massaged my arms, his touch surprisingly soft, considering his skillet-sized hands. Of course, Kingsley’s hands didn’t stay long on my arms or shoulders—or on anything that wouldn’t be hidden by a bikini.
The difference here was that I could actually see the muscles in my forearms being stimulated. I watched them undulate and quiver and spasm and pulse. All while my pen flowed, seemingly with a mind all its own over the notepad.
I said, “Well, I either complain now or forever hold my peace.”
“And forever is a long time for a vampire.”
“And even longer for a dead vampire,” I said. “First off, with whom am I speaking?”
“A good question, Sam. I go by many names.”
“Well, pick one, preferably one that I can pronounce.”
“Let’s go with Jack.”
“Jack?”
“Yes.”
“Just Jack?” I asked.
“I could pick another—”
“No, Jack is fine. We’ll go with that. So, Jack, what are you? An angel? My spirit guide? A highly-evolved master? Father Time?”
“Yes,” wrote my hand.
I waited, but apparently, that was all I was going to get.
“Just ‘yes’?”
“Yes.”
I thought about the implications. “You are all of these things?”
“All of it and more.”
“You are... God?” I asked, and now I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I had gone mad. Who talks to God? And through their hand, no less? Crazy people do, that’s who.
More words appeared on my pad of paper: “What if I told you we are all God?”
“I would say that’s some New Age gobbledygook.”
“Then I’ll just say this, and leave it: there is a very good chance I am God.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s the best answer for you, now. After all, only crazy people talk to God, right?”
“Er, right.”
“So let’s just leave it that I could be God.”
“Or you could be the devil.”
“The devil exists within God, Sam. As do you.”
“So the devil is God.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Are you playing with me?”
“I’m softening a difficult concept.”
“That the devil is also God?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“Most people believe the devil is a fallen angel.”
“In such cases, they would be right.”
“Because what they believe is true for them?”
“In essence, yes.”
“The devil told me he came into existence because he was summoned into life, to fulfill a need.”
“That would be closer to the truth.”
“Does the devil tempt man?”
“The devil seeks to continue his existence.”
“So, he needs to tempt man, he needs to promote evil. And he needs people to believe in him and hell
.”
“A complicated existence, to be sure.”
“A group of people can really summon an entity into existence?”
“A group, yes. And sometimes just one.”
I blinked at the words on my page, realizing I had been speaking and writing in a sort of trance. I couldn’t figure out that last bunch of words and let them go.
“He seems particularly powerful,” I said.
“He has as much power as he is given.”
That made sense, but I circled back to one of the original statements. The neat thing about automatic writing was that I could just go back and read through the dialogue. “You said you were softening a difficult subject. The subject was that the devil was you.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“Is this because all things come from you?”
“Indeed, Sam.”
“All people, all life, all heavenly beings—”
“I prefer to say all nonphysical beings.”
“Nonphysical—and everything else in the Universe—”
“Multiverse,” my hand wrote, effectively cutting me off. “There are far more universes than this, Sam.”
“All of this and more are from you?”
“Funny you should say ‘more.’”
“Was that the wrong word?”
“It was very much the correct word. I am ever evolving, Sam, as are you. As is everyone, including the devil, including your universe itself. You could say that the very purpose of life is to expand into places not yet known or believed or conceived.”
“But aren’t you, you know...”
I tried to wrap my brain around the concept, and paused. My hand waited patiently. I tried again, “But don’t you know everything? Don’t you already know what you will expand into?”
“A common misconception.”
“So God doesn’t know the future?”
“God is aware of potentials. God is delighted when God is surprised.”
“Who the hell can surprise God?”
“The surprise is in the potentials, Sam. And when one potentiality opens, hundreds, if not thousands more spread from that. And they continue spreading as each life is lived, as each decision is made, and as each and every person grows into his own. Everything expands, Sam. It is the point of existence.”
“You said that. And darkness helps the expansion?”
“Even darkness expands, or what is perceived as darkness.”
“And it all expands within you?”
“That is safe to say, yes.”
“This is weird.”
“Tell me about it.”
I laughed and reread the words on the page before me. So many questions. Finally, I settled on, “So you sort of oversee everything?”
“Not quite, Sam. I immerse myself into everything.”
“But don’t you, you know, have a say in what’s going on in your playground, so to speak?”
“My greatest joy, Sam, comes from watching the expansion of life, without interference.”
“Well, I think you might want to step in and sort some of this crap out.”
“What crap, Sam?”
“Life. The creeps out there. The evil bastards hurting other people. The dark masters who control and kill and destroy.”
There was a pause. I’d gotten myself a little worked up. I was suddenly sure I wasn’t talking to God. How could God not take a more active role in the lives of people, mortal or otherwise?
“Sam, let me begin by saying that yours is a free-will universe, a universe based primarily on attraction.”
I had some idea what “He” was talking about, but I wanted to hear it from “Him.”
“Which means?” I asked.
“It means people get to sort it out themselves, without interference from me.”
“You are here now. Is that not interference?”
“You are asking the big questions, Sam. I am here to give you the big answers.”
“You’re saying that no one else can provide me the answers I’m seeking?”
“Your questions are without precedent.”
“You’re telling me no one has asked these questions before?”
“Few, and those who did didn’t do so with the expectation of receiving the answer.”
“Because this is also a universe of attraction,” I said aloud, “I attracted the answer. I attracted, in essence, you.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“And it is not interference if I am seeking you out.”
“You did not seek me out, Sam. You expected. Seeking and expecting are two different vibrations.”
“I was just looking for answers. I wasn’t looking for God.”
There was a pause, and I nodded.
“Except we are all God.”
“Aspects of God, yes. Children of God, yes.”
“And sometimes the answer needs to come from the source itself.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, speak the question that’s heaviest on your heart.”
“You already know it.”
“Stating the question prepares one for the answer. It paves the way, so to speak.”
“Fine,” I said, and collected my thoughts. “When I die, do I...” My throat clenched tight. With my free hand, I reached over and cracked the window for more air. I suddenly needed it for reasons I couldn’t explain. Old habit, I thought. I noted two homeless guys who had gathered on the sidewalk in front of a bakery not too far from me. They were already hunkered down and sleeping. How long had I been sitting here? Surely no more than ten minutes. But maybe longer.
Refreshed and cleared-minded—or as clear as I could make it—I said, “If I die, do I cease to exist?”
Chapter Ten
One of the homeless guys held an empty McDonald’s cup up above his head, even though he appeared to be sound asleep. He had no takers. People pushed babies by—or jogged or walked by, his cup ignored.
My hand twitched and twitched, spelling the words: “First of all, Sam, I am going to give you some information that you did not know before.”
“Well, duh,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking. And did I just say ‘duh’ to God?”
“You did, Sam.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Is that a question or an apology?”
“Both?”
“You did it again. And you were right: that was a ‘duh’ moment. I should have elaborated. I am going to give you information that was not asked, but relates to your question. Such information could be misinterpreted as me interfering.”
“Look, God, or Most High, or Almighty, Jehovah, Hosanna, the Big Guy in the Sky... whatever your name is. This whole not interfering business was your idea. Not mine. If you want to help me, feel free. Lord knows I need all the help I can get.”
“The Lord does know, and you don’t need as much help as you might think.”
“Is that your idea of a pep talk?”
“It is truth, Sam. You have within you all the answers you will ever need.”
“Except the answer about what happens to me when I die.”
“Oh, it’s in there.”
“Then why am I talking to you?”
“Because you don’t believe it’s in there.”
I thought about that, and shrugged. “Okay, you got me. I guess I don’t believe it’s in there.”
“Which leads to my earlier statement.”
“The part about you giving me information that might be construed as interfering?”
“Yes, Sam. That part.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, looking at the pad of paper. “Or eyes.”
Triggered by the softest of electrical impulses, my pen spelled out: “First off, you give the entity within you too much credit.”
“How so?”
“You attribute your great strength to her, and this is a fallacy.”
“And what’s the truth?”
“Much of your strength is yours alone, including your abilit
y to connect telepathically and to teleport, among other things.”
“I don’t understand...”
“You have been selling yourself short, Samantha Moon. You believe you are beholden to her because of the gifts she has given you. In truth, she has given you very little.”
I opened my mouth to speak, closed it again, then said, “I just assumed...”
My hand jerked, my fingers pulsed. “Of course you assumed, Sam. And the entity within you allowed you to assume. She wants you to recognize her as something greater than you, so great as to bestow upon you supernatural gifts, along with her darker needs.”
“So the darker needs are all hers?”
“Mostly, Sam. It is, however, a true symbiotic relationship. She has awakened the darkness within you, too, and you don’t necessarily hate it.”
“Is that wrong?” I asked. “To not hate one’s dark side?”
“There is no wrong or right in a free-will universe, Sam.”
“But liking the dark feels wrong.”
“Your experiences in life have helped you define that feeling. The entity within you finds the darkness appealing, exciting, intoxicating. She can’t understand why you do not see it as she does.”
“Because I feel love, too,” I said.
“She feels love, in her own way.”
“A love for darkness,” I said.
“In essence, yes. And she would not be wrong for having that love.”
“For her,” I said.
“Yes, Sam. But she is you, too. And she has considerable influence over you.”
“Fine,” I said. “That still doesn’t explain all the telepathy and teleporting, my strength and speed—and all things weird and freaky.”
I sensed the entity—God, perhaps—nodding his great head, although that was surely my imagination. “You died ten years ago, Samantha Moon. You are alive only today, thanks to the tainted blood you consumed, blood that both killed your physical body and held you in a sort of suspended animation, long enough for another entity to slip inside.”
“Elizabeth,” I said.
“Indeed, Sam. But something else occurred, as it does with all of those of your kind, and those like you. Your soul also poured into your physical body, completely and fully.”
“And it wasn’t completely and fully in my body before?”