Heroes and Virgins
John E. Spriggs, Jr.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 John E. Spriggs, Jr.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Table of Contents
Chapter. Title
1. The Accident
2. Waking
3. Blue Ridge Beauties
4. Watch and Serve
5. Comparing Notes
6. Kali Begs
7. Instant Replay
8. The Dance
9. Telesis
10. Isle of Green
11. Accident Explained
12. Fire and Light
13. The Assignment
14. Pool of Light
15. Gracie Rettun
16. Beth and Lynn
17. Kali’s Assignment
18. Zeke Adams
19. Piper’s Lament
20. Treasure Trove
21. Telesis Intelligence
22. In Flight
23. The Spire
24. On Station
25. Harmonic Resonance
26. Amber Sphere
27. Maya
28. Solar Flares
29. Discovery
30. Journey
31. Resonance
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Chapter 1 - The Accident
A large black local delivery box truck is traveling north on the parkway just south of the McLean, Virginia exit to CIA Headquarters. The windows are tinted darker than ordinary and prevent anyone from seeing into the cab. The driver pushes the truck slightly above the posted speed limit, clearly hurrying, but not driving excessively fast or recklessly. A red Buick Skylark is traveling south at the posted speed on Old Georgetown Pike as it crosses the Capital Beltway. Jacob Wells, the driver, is dressed in a dark gray business suit. Jacob adjusts the radio dial to Oldies 103.5 FM.
Nan Wells, the passenger, is slightly, but clearly, irritated with Jacob’s selection of music. She briefly eyes him adjusting the radio. Then she gazes outside in a mild funk. The announcer previews the next song to be played - Elvis Presley’s rendition of “Love Me Tender.” Nan rolls her eyes and puts her hand up to her chin. Quietly, but noticeably, she sighs, while lightly closing her eyes. The song begins.
Mary Adams is jogging on the northbound shoulder of Old Georgetown Pike. She is wearing light blue running tights and a red Stanford University sweatshirt. A sleek, dark blue, three-wheeled baby stroller designed for a hardcore runner precedes her as she jogs steadily toward CIA headquarters just down the road. Mary’s radio headset is filled with Elvis singing.
The traffic light turns green at the entrance to CIA headquarters on Dolly Madison Boulevard. The big black delivery truck picks up speed as it passes cars turning into CIA headquarters. The truck quickly moves into the right lane, then turns onto Old Georgetown Pike. Elvis and the volume of the music grow louder.
On this section of Old Georgetown Pike a thick canopy of trees cover the road causing darkened shadows to obscure the jogger running beside it. Ahead, Mary can see the brightness where the tree covering ends. There’s a slight upgrade toward the last bend in the road before reaching Dolly Madison Blvd. She eyes the stretch of roughness ahead before she gets to the CIA campus. She is aware that she has to stop for an inspection by the guards when she gets to the main gate.
The music grows more intense as Elvis puts his heart into it. The bright morning lights bursts upon Mary and the baby. The music, the brightness of the light, the push up the road, the jolting of the stroller, and the speed of that big black truck rounding the bend all converge on Mary Adams.
Jacob sees the jogger stumble and begin to fall. Through the flying dirt and gravel Jacob can see the handlebars of a sleek, dark blue baby stroller lurch to the left. The three-wheel stroller teeters for an instant on the left back tire. It rights itself with the single front wheel pointing diagonally across the two-lane road. The stroller shoots out into the on-coming traffic when the jogger's upper arm and shoulder bump into it forcefully.
Pink covered legs, with stylish white Reebok's, bounce wildly about as the stroller jolts onto the thick blacktop. A small child’s right arm thrusts out from behind the dark blue canvas seat. Bright white shoelaces on the fancy shoes jump up to join a puffy little hand waving in the direction the stroller seems intend on taking. The child’s stubby little index finger further emphasizes the direction of travel when the other three fingers curled inward leaving that little index finger out there for Jacob to see.
The bright morning sunlight and clear blue sky, the black asphalt, the bright white Reebok’s, and that chubby little index finger framed this moment of decision for Jacob Wells forever. “Sh't,” he said, more as an expression of surprise than profanity. “I’m not going to make it,” crossed his mind in that agonizing moment just when his muscles tensed and his relaxed fingers took more active control of the steering wheel.
The light, flowery fragrance of Nan’s perfume blended with Elvis singing, “…and I always will” from the car radio. Nan, as usual, was quietly reflecting on her own thoughts. Absorbed in her irritation over hearing Elvis sing that song yet again on that same old classic rock station Jacob put on when he dominated the radio. The sound of Jacob’s alert caused Nan to hold her breath. A cold, gray slab of granite seemed to land in the middle of her chest, slamming her against the back of the car seat.
Jacob heard Nan gasp, but didn’t look at her. His left hand already was tightened on the steering wheel. His right hand balanced the tension just enough. His foot lifted off the accelerator. There was not enough time or margin of safety to brake hard. Jacob wasn’t breathing now either.
“Can’t go right…No left, big truck…Squeeze through,” the exit strategies whizzed through Jacob’s mind. The glare of the morning sunlight illuminated the front seat of Nan and Jacob’s car. The stroller passed the centerline. Jacob was sitting to the left of the critical dividing line. Jacob could see part of the baby’s arm, wrist, and that cubby little index finger pointing the way to safety. From deep inside Jacob found time in that moment to tighten his diaphragm with half a chuckle as he said, “humph” through his nose and put a slight grin on his lips. The humor of that image struck him just before the truck slammed into his red Buick Skylark.
The chubby little index finger was engulfed in the glare of the early morning light. The chubby little finger disappeared as the bright white light blinded Jacob for an instant. Jacob felt himself catch a breath then gently release it. The scent of Nan’s perfume was only faintly present. There was music, but it wasn’t Elvis.
The white light was still there, but Jacob wasn’t in the car. He wasn’t holding the steering wheel anymore.
Jacob’s eyes were adjusting to the light. “Good morning, sweetheart.” Nan’s quiet but cheerful voice filled him with joy like never before. “Are you feeling better now hun?” she asked compassionately.
Jacob wanted to answer but he couldn’t. It was all so confusing. The stroller. The truck. The light. They were all so vivid and fresh in his mind. What would he see when the glare went away? An ugly crash? A dead baby? Nan torn and injured? But Nan was okay or least she sounded like she was fine. So maybe it would be all right if he just shaded his eyes a bit and looked around.
At that moment Jacob remembered the laugh he was having over that kid’s finger. The humor of the moment caused him to chuckle again. He shook his head and said, “Hey hun, did you see that kid’s finger pointing out of the stroller we almost hit? ”“No Jacob, not really,” she said almost matter-of-factly. “Now why don’t you get up and come over here. We’ll talk about it some more then. Okay? ”“All right hun, I’m coming,” Jacob replied as he started getting up. Confusion and disorientation overcame his intentions so he said, "I can’t quite figure out how I’m situated here, Nan. I can’t see too well with all these lights shining in my eyes.”
“Give it some time. Don’t rush. You’ll be able to see better soon. I’ll come over to you. Okay?” she said in reassuring tones.
“That’s probably best,” Jacob replied with a sense of relief. As Jacob waited for Nan to come closer he asked, “Where are we anyway?” There was a moment of silence that made him more anxious. “Well, sweetheart, that’s a little hard to explain,” Nan said cautiously. “It'll make a lot more sense when you get accustomed to the light. But it’s all right. I’m here now. We’ll sort it all out together.” Jacob felt Nan’s concern as well as her confidence that everything would be okay.
“Nan, the last thing I remember was swerving over the centerline to avoid hitting that stroller,” he commented. “Did the baby get out of the way in time?” Jacob’s own concern and curiosity were getting the better of him.
“Yes, sweetheart, the baby got through alive.” Nan’s answer made him feel better.
“Well, I knew it was going to be close,” he said with a bit of resolve and relief in his own voice. “I did the best I could with what I had to work with.” Jacob tightened his brow and pursed his lips together as he usually did when he was upset.
At that time Jacob felt a light, reassuring touch upon his right shoulder. “Yes, sweetheart," Nan said, "You did the best thing anyone could have done in that situation.
”Nan’s words clearly were sincere and spoken from her heart. Jacob’s furrowed brow and tightened lips gave way to tears of joy and relief. A sense that he had done his best under difficult circumstances comforted him. He felt embraced by Nan and others as he sobbed. He felt arms around him. Hands were laid on his shoulders, back and head. He felt loved more truly than at any other time in his life.
Jacob drifted off to sleep exhausted from crying. He felt love, acceptance, and a well-deserved pride in what he had done. He felt safe at home again.
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Chapter 2 – Waking
Jacob's eyes were closed. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his awareness was that ever-present light. Jacob felt a compassionate, loving, nurturing presence nearby. It seemed rather to be surrounding him or even upholding him while he slept. Whatever it was comforted and reassured Jacob, but at the same time encouraged him to go somewhere else - some place more exciting than where he was now.
The feeling of love and being comforted was wonderful, like he imaged a baby felt in its mother's arms or suckling her breast. Warm and cozy. Wrapped in her protective embrace. Fed by her. Feeling her tender touch upon his forehead as he was nourished and nurtured ever so effortlessly, without any guile or pretense or subterfuge. His sleep was so restful and contented, except for that tiny sense that if he were awake we could be having a lot more fun.
Strange as it may sound, it was that growing sense of anticipation or adventure that brought Jacob to a new level of awareness. His consciousness was intrigued by this notion of "we.” It stuck in his mind. "We" didn't seem to exactly include Nan. "Who are we?" caught hold in Jacob's mind. He didn't really feel his eyes opening, but the light, however, began to change. Like passing oncoming headlights on superhighway lights clicked by each with its own hue and intensity.
Jacob's vision or sight was not like he had experienced before. The light that he had previously perceived as a glaring, bright yellow-white light blinding him during the accident now seemed almost alive or flowing. While alive sight as he knew it was the perception of objects, shapes, surfaces, and colors. The dresser in his bedroom was a familiar shape that went with the other things that were in the room because he or somebody else put it there. Then the light reflected off of his dresser, the bed, the pictures on the wall, and the blinds in the windows. Jacob recognized objects. He saw things when the sunlight illuminated them or when he turned on a light switch in the room. One moment these familiar objects were in the dark, at best they were darkened shadowy shapes with no discernable features. The next moment when the light came on he almost instantly could see them, clearly recognize them, and relate to them in a known context or perspective. But that is not what was happening now. The golden hue of the white light was everywhere. Jacob could not even see his own nose, even though he could feel the tension on it when he squinted his eyes or tensed his eyebrows. The light was not exactly flowing now that Jacob examined it more closely. It wasn't moving or darting about like those strange little translucent floaties seen when you close your eyes.
The light was almost granular like white powdery sand. Jacob felt as though he could reach out and grab a handful of these grains of light and watch them slip through his fingers like dry sand. The light was not rough or coarse. These particles were dynamic, even fluid-like in their ability to shift and morph into a myriad of colors, hues, and an infinite variety of texture-like qualities.
These grains seemed almost alive or imbued with some kind of discernment or even intelligence. He felt connected somehow to these granules of light. Some points of light even seemed aware of Jacob. Jacob related to them as they changed to relate to him. But ‘changed’ is not quite the right word to describe what they were doing though.
It was not like click - one instant they're off and then they're on. No it was more like tuning an old color television. Turn one dial to get a clear picture. Turn another dial to adjust the contrast. Adjust the reds, the blues, and other colors to get the picture just right. Then repeat the process until the picture is just the way you want it.
Now each point of light seemed to be tuning itself while getting feedback from him. Jacob didn’t control the tuning process as much as he participated in it. There were billions of these adjustments going on simultaneously and continuously with Jacob! Billions of these intelligent points of light were tuning into Jacob at any given instant. He was not overwhelmed or frightened by it. On the contrary, it was intensely pleasurable, even orgasmic, as Jacob resonated with or tuned into these beings of light. As the orgasmic intensity increased, Jacob could hear voices of every timbre, quality, and tenor joining together into what could only be described as music.
The impact was as if listening to millions of choirs in millions of churches. Each choir member was singing in perfect pitch and harmony. All were simultaneously orchestrated to relate to, or tune into, Jacob's voice, frequency or persona. The effects on Jacob were profoundly varied, sublime and subtle, yet totally stimulating and provocative. Jacob felt he was being lovingly caressed on every layer of his skin. The tips of every hair and follicle on his body were being stimulated and excited with flickering tongues of flaming light. The shaft of every hair was pulsing with life and energy. Each one penetrated the light that was engulfing, lubricating, and urging it to embrace life. Eager and unconditional acceptance and pleasure were there for Jacob. These uninhibited expressions of love between Jacob and the light were boundless and evocative. They stimulated Jacob to express his own uniqueness, creativity, and love to all he encountered.
The energy within his body and the aura that danced intensely from every energy-center from the top of his head to tips of his toes were revved. Jacob was stoked, like no drug ever could induce. He was vibrating from the innermost core of his genitals to the outer most tips of his fingers, toes, nipples, ears, and lips.
Jacob was an instrument of music, more artfully and masterfully crafted than the finest grand piano or concert violin. He was perfectly crafted to blend and funnel the energy coming to him from the light. Within the core of his being Jacob resonated with the music and added his own uniqueness and beauty to it, as it flowed through every part of him.
Jacob was a source of music from the vibrating tiny air sacs in his lungs to the throbbing, rhythmic drumbeat of his heart. From every joint in his body to every vertebra in his spine, every ligament and sinew, every tissue, every hair coarse or fine, resonated with some speck of light, and joyfully proclaimed their affinity and oneness with Jacob and the light.
The music was not loud, piercing or painful as it grew in intensity. It was not exploding, releasing, or crashing over him like an orgasm. When all the light was acclimated or tuned to Jacob, and visa versa, the purest and finest overtone was created. Unlike the background, white noise of the big bang, these siren sounds were not left over remains from some other more significant event. Rather, the perception of Jacob by the light, and Jacob's perception of the qualities of the light were the most important events in the universe, in all of creation at that moment. Without this particularly important, singularly monumental realization by Jacob and the light, the structure of all cause and effect relationships in creation would have been unalterably changed for all time.
The perfect blending of perception and perceived created, or caused, an utterly unique, totally new sound, blending of light, or being that knew itself as Jacob. He existed and thrived fully and completely within that singular overtone. Jacob cooperated fully and completely in the generation of that overtone. The symbiosis between Jacob and the light now could manifest infinitesimal variations and expressions of his being.
First there was one overtone, and then another, and another. Sensations, awareness, and emotions excited the light and swept through Jacob. A crescendo of overtones began blending into super-overtones as Jacob first comprehended he was now almost awake.
Awake, however, may be an understatement. Jacob was alive and aware of it. Jacob existed in a linear sense of a unique past, present, and future. He further existed in multiple dimensions of light and tones; overtones and super overtones; light, energy, music, and other expressions of love and acceptance. Jacob's awakening was more like a birth or re-birth, a coming out, rather than just another re-connecting after a short respite.
Jacob was now awake and aware of himself in the context of other things surrounding him. He vibrated and consciously existed within an ultra, super overtone so refined and pure that he could hardly breath without feeling on the verge of ejecting his consciousness into the sea of swimming, wiggling, streams of light flowing through him. Jacob felt himself to be a part of, as much as an expression of the ultra, super harmonics within which he existed. Jacob’s innermost longing, though now bided, was to be freely, yet utterly one with the light.
He perceived, or rather was now aware of himself in relative position to familiar coarse sensations. He felt the softness and warmth of a pillow under his head. He felt something covering him like the lightest, finest silk ever made. Something supported him perfectly like the best bed he had ever slept in. But Jacob did not sink into the bed like a 200 pound, 6 foot 3 inch man. He cooperated with the bed matching and distributing his body across the molecules of light that defined the outer, upper supporting surface of the bed. Jacob knew he was lying down. Now he knew he was awake, though not yet completely. A person’s voice is rich in overtones that are not usually recognizable to human consciousness. Higher frequencies feed energy to the brain stimulating it with rhythm, quality, tone, and timbre. In nature, the sounds of birds singing, crickets and locusts chirping are rich in these frequencies that recharge the mind and spirit. The wind and sounds of running water, such as the ocean surf, waterfalls, babbling brooks, and white-water rivers are rich in the tones that enliven us.
In that moment when Jacob gave his life to save another he became a hero. In that moment he became one with the supreme and most sacred syllable, the spoken essence of the universe. In that moment Jacob affirmed the value of our existence and blessed others through his personal sacrifice. In that moment he stepped into the light and entered into a mantra of heroic dimensions and power. In that moment he entered into the eternal silence where our dimension’s expanded consciousness exists. In that moment, in the plexus of his soul, Jacob no longer identified with nor listened solely with his ears, his physical body, or his brain, but was now opened to the consciousness within the droning silence that gives support and substance to the universe.
Now Jacob enters what we call death from another level. He is neither complete, nor perfect. He is, however, a hero worthy of honor and an exemplar who merits admiration and imitation. Jacob is on a hero’s mission that resonates through him. His mission is to open a new millennium in the growth and age of our planet and in the progression or evolution of collective consciousness beyond anything so far imagined.
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Chapter 3 - Blue Ridge Beauties
Nancy Lynn grew up in Alabama in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains around Birmingham. Even as a small child, her auburn hair, with its reddish-brown tint, gave notice to kids and adults alike that this girl had her boiling point, and you didn’t want to be around when she hit it. She reached 5 feet 7 inches tall by the time she was 16 years old and maintained it for the rest of her life. Nan dressed modestly most of the time, but her light body frame, which she maintained throughout her life as well, enabled her to really strut her stuff whenever the occasion presented itself. She was a studious child and an above average student, though not exceptional. She preferred classical music to rock-n-roll, and detested country music. Her dad first started calling her Nan around the time she entered high school. She liked it and her friends thought it was cool, even though her dad came up with it.
One of her fondest memories was walking through a low mountain meadow near her home. It was filled with bright yellow daffodils and fragrant yellow and white jonquils. The morning was sunny, but cool. It was springtime, before the sun got too hot. Dew was still on the flowers, the birds were singing, and the air was sweetened with a potpourri of smells from the mix of wild grasses, herbs, pine trees, and flowers growing lush and full in and around the meadow.
That image, those smells and the memory of that sunny, cool spring air kept Nan alive after that horrible accident where Jacob was killed. She spent so much time in hospitals, rehabilitation centers, and convalescent homes with their horrible medicine smells, sterilized everything, and all those awful sounds of pain, suffering, and death. When an oxygen tube was strapped around her head and stuck in her nostrils, she closed her eyes and tried to remember the smell of those lovely sweet jonquils.
“Oh, God, it was so hard not to cry in those places,” Nan admitted even years later. She tried not to cry when they pulled on her broken wrists in the rehab unit, stretching and flexing them to restore some semblance of normalcy. “But, Lord, that hurt! “ Nan would tell her friends. Nan didn't hate anybody or anything, but hospitals, doctors, and medical specialists truly tested her limits. “I detest even driving by the damned places,” she told more than a few of her friends. And you had better know you were one special human being that was loved by Nan Tankersley if she ever went to visit you in one of those hospitals.
Nan met Jim Tankersley in McLean, Virginia about ten years after the accident. Jim owned and operated a sod farm. He grew decorative flowers and Christmas trees on his farm on the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains near Purcelville, Virginia. Nan and Jim met at a popular garden center in McLean one day. Nan said she liked to “smell the flowers and check out the latest beauties “every chance she got. Jim was delivering a load of sod. He absolutely knew he liked Nan when she walked over to his fresh cut sod, bent over very lady-like, ran her hand back and forth across the fresh green grass, and took a deep full breath of air taking in the smell of warm fresh soil.
Jim loved to laugh and tell anybody who would listen how Nan looked and acted at that moment, "I swear I thought she was going to have a full blown orgasm the way she quivered while taking in that smell. It's like you could see her whole soul light up when she reached the full measure of that breath.”
“Hush up, Jim," Nan would quickly say. "You silly old fool.
"But Jim was no fool, it didn't take him long to figure out how to get onto Nan's good side. Flowers and some friendly invitations to visit his farm did the job. Her occasional visits in the evening soon turned into early morning walks in the cool green Virginia hills. Maybe it was the auburn hair or maybe it was her zest for life after the accident, whatever it was Jim enjoyed the fire in this woman. Nan too reveled in the earthy and thoroughly manly qualities of this big-footed, 6 foot 4 inch Virginia farmer.
Jim and Nan got married with more flowers and friends around than anybody wanted to count. After a while on their beloved farm and flower gardens her broken wrists “didn't seem to hurt nearly as much anymore,” she was heard to say. Nan’s heart mended and she got on with the business of life. Nan loved Jim and that farm more than she thought she could ever love anybody or anything.
Jim died about a year after Nan. He was 86 years old when he died. Nan was 84 when she died. They had a great life together and enjoyed 40-plus years of marriage. They had one daughter, named Beth. Jim liked to tell everybody that Nan and Beth were the prettiest flowers on the Blue Ridge. Nan and Jim were the proverbial two-peas in a pod - a happy and contented pair to the end.
Each of them died peacefully in the same bed they had shared throughout their marriage. Even though it was a year apart, they both died in mid-spring, in the cool of the late evening, just after nightfall. The flowers had been in full bloom for several days. The cool night air fluttered through the curtains in the open windows and filled the room with a potpourri of smells from the mix of wild grasses, herbs, pine trees, and flowers growing lush and full in and around their house.
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Chapter 4 – Watch and Serve
Nan and Jim Tankersley have been dead for about 45 years. A favorite activity of theirs is to follow the dawn around the earth. Together, though not always hand in hand, Jim and Nan follow the rising sun from meadow to meadow, from valley to mountain pass, from fields of corn to forests rich and full of life. Sometimes alone one will pause to embrace or uplift a struggling seed or broken reed. Many times they will join with others to stand within a growing colony of mountain laurels to catch the first glimpse of morning light, to bless and energize some needy bushes or plants, and to add their voices in honor, praise, and gratitude to the life giving light.
Nan, of course, loves to work with the daffodils and jonquils every chance she gets. But she tries not to be too partial towards them. Jim is really partial to the majestic evergreens with their strong distinctive odors, and their flare for symbolism and symmetry. Trees communicate in a lot of ways. Telepathy is just one way Jim communicates with his friends. He loves it when they call him 'Tank,' and greet him fondly with their great barrel-chested, baritone-like voices.
Jim loves Nan. He enjoys seeing dawn from fields and meadows all over the world. Tank, however, always finds time to stand with his brotherhood of majestic pines and evergreens on the highest mountain passes. There they can look through their respective windows to eternity, and learn of it's mysteries, wonders, and majesties to come.
Jim is nurturing, loving, and kind. Tank is a dreamer. He is a seeker of truth and wisdom. The man is a fearless vanguard standing his watch. He is always ready, willing, and able to serve. Yet he patiently bides his time. Tank knows, even though there are some shadows obscuring his certainty, someday soon the time will come when he will get his chance to square his debt with Jacob.
Forty-five years doesn't seem all that long when you're dead. There is so much to do every day. There are so many places you can go by just thinking about it. In the blink of an eye you're there.
Don't get the wrong idea now, being dead isn't all about tending plants, flowers, and trees. Those are just some things that Nan, Jim, and others love doing. It's not a requirement or anything like that. People need nurturing too. Books need musing. Animals need tending. Birds have got to eat. You name it and some dead person has got to be there to help support, energize, make room for, and so forth. The work is endless! Like Jim says, “I guess that's why you've got to be able to get around so quickly.
”Jim also says, “Let me tell you, it's not all that easy getting to where you're needed just at the right time; well-prepared and doing the right thing.” Jim has always been quick to point out, “Being dead isn't like ‘Groundhog's Day’ you know! “ Bill Murray might be able to do things over and over again in a movie to finally get it right, but in the real world, that's not the way things work, whether you're dead or alive.
Sometimes dead people really screw up badly on an assignment. Other times they nail it just right. It's a learning place, a growing time for everybody. New skills have to be mastered. New environments are available to explore. New obstacles must be overcome. There are even villains, evils, and other dark forces to be battled.
What do you think all that prior ‘real’ life experience was for anyway? If you think you're going to retire to some stuffy box in the ground, a stately granite mausoleum, or a pretty urn on the shelf, then you had better re-think your long-term retirement strategy kid. It ain't going to happen that way! You are going to be busy. Most of the time its better than sex and the best vacation or date you've ever had in your life. Other times, however, you are definitely going to find out what its like to take a tough test, break a bad habit, or pull yourself out of the pits. Survival is no longer the main problem because you're already dead.
Another amazing thing about being dead is that there are some dead people that are utterly and fantastically smart. They are truly amazing, even awesome! Pretty much everybody gets smarter when they die, but we’re not talking about your average dead guy. We’re talking about some geniuses that have been dead for a long time and believe me they have been studying and figuring things out with a lot better tools than anyone’s ever seen in “real life.
”If you are tending someone and need to know some fact, or how something works, or why things are the way they are or appear to be, then you only need to come close to forming the question and you've got the answer. Boom, there it is on the tip of your tongue, ready to say it or act on it as the situation requires. Forget those fancy Star Trek computers, dead people communicate faster and better than anything their writers have come up with so far. Hands down. No contest!Nan and Jim, or Tank as he prefers being called, are just ordinary dead people working to make life better for themselves and others. They don't wake up every morning aware of every molecule of light. They don't know a lot about ultra, super overtones of music and light. There are some dead people that most ordinary dead people do not understand, or know what they do, or where they go day after day. Jacob is one of these very special dead people. Jacob is a hero who gave his life for others. In his "real life," he died trying, and happened to succeed at saving another human being’s life. There was "no greater love," than the love Jacob showed for Nan and that baby in the stroller, whom he didn’t even know at the time. Yes, Nan suffered and cried and agonized over Jacob's sacrifice, but she loved Jacob too. “Love Me Tender,” by Elvis Presley was not ever going to be Nan’s favorite song. Jacob was never going to be Jim Tankersley and live on a farm in Virginia or anywhere else. Nan became a better person because of Jacob's sacrifice. Jim and Nan both love Jacob for the gift he gave them. Nan lived through the accident and brought love, beauty, and Beth into Jim’s life. Without Jacob’s sacrifice Jim Tankersley would not be the man he is today.
Tank's brothers of pine and evergreen love Jacob too, and they know, maybe even better than Tank himself, how much Tank loves and needs Jacob Wells. The brotherhood watches intently through their windows to eternity as Jacob goes about his work, his adventures, and his heroics. They watch for him and help him even though Jim Tankersley and they do not always understand why or how it all works.
They watch, so others like Jacob may serve.
“* * * *”
Chapter 5 - Comparing Notes
Nan and Jim stayed longer than usual following the dawn. The day seemed to call for reflection, inspiration, and clarity of vision. There were enough assignments to keep them busy, but not too many. Jim got home first.
"It was really good seeing Jacob again last night," Jim said to Nan as she appeared over by the picture window. Jim is used to dead people dropping in on him all the time, that's just the way things are when you're dead. Most of the time, though, it's not a surprise, you kind of know they are coming, and even give them permission of sorts, for them to appear to you.
"Yes it was," Nan said after a slight pause. "But didn't it seem even stranger than usual?" she asked trying to clarify the situation.
"Well.
.
.
you know how strange these heroes can get," Jim replied somewhat defensively. "It's not the first time he's come back re-living that moment and it probably won't be the last.”
“I know, sweetheart," Nan pressed the issue, "but there was something…” “Something important is going happen," she added.
"Well, there was one thing," Jim said exploring and listening to his own words at the same time. "For some reason, Old Latsch flashed in my mind. It was not like the old tree to do that, so I just let it go.”
“Yes, something similar happened to me. When Jacob asked about Zeke's finger.” Nan paused for no reason apparent to Jim.
"Yeah, what was it? Nan?" Jim asked curiously prodding Nan back into the conversation.
"Hmm…that's the part I don't get," Nan mused absent-mindedly. "I think I'll go over to the Hall of Records for awhile," Nan said just before she disappeared. "I'm going to ask Kali Begs if she will help me look at the accident again," Nan's telepathic message came into Jim’s mind after she had departed.
Jim shook his head, squinted his right eye, and thought to himself, "I wonder why she wants Begs’ help?” Apparently Nan was preoccupied or maybe Jim still was having problems with his thought-projecting technique. Whatever it was his telepathic message was left there just hanging. Not getting any acknowledgements Jim thought to himself, "Oh well, I'm going to go see Old Latsch.” Tank was off again to visit his old buddy in Switzerland.
“* * * *”
Chapter 6 – Kali Begs
Kali Begs had been dead for most of the twentieth century. She was an exceptionally bright child, curious about everything. She loved to follow her curiosity wherever it led her. She lived in a small coastal village named Catterline on the eastern highlands of Scotland. It is a small fishing village with two-hundred or so inhabitants. The Grampian Highlands are on three sides. A lot of farming goes on there. The North Sea is east of the village. Stonehaven, larger village, is located five miles north. The town of Aberdeen is ten miles further on.
Directly south is Inverbervie, St. Cyrus, Johnshaven and Montrose. Hundreds of years ago smuggling by sea was rife in the Catterline area. A coastguard station was built along the cliff to help deter the rascals. 'Smugglers' Bay', with its many tales, is located nearby.
The Caledonian forest once covered much of Scotland. Then a mix of Scots pine, oak, silver birch, willow, alder, rowan and heather ranged far and wide. Now the forest is reduced to a few meeker pockets scattered here and there. The eastern coastal highlands tend to be cool and dry, with winter temperatures rarely dropping below freezing. But the bone-chilling winds off the North Sea are not to be ignored.
The almost constant twinkle in her eyes and smile on her face easily endeared Kali to her mother and father. One day when she was about seven years old her curiosity led her into a nearby wooded area. She loved to explore near her home, but that day she never came back. She was never found, seen, or heard of ever again by any of the villagers. Kali was smart. Her wonder and curiosity did not kill her. Someone else with fear did that.
Kali and Professor Barnes were strolling leisurely along H Street under a full canopy of trees lining Lafayette Park in Washington, DC across from the White House. Kali was covered in a translucent, white and light-violet hued gown, somewhat like a large choir robe. It covered some of her hands and extended to the tops of her feet.
Professor Barnes was covered in a similarly styled robe, but it was much older looking with a strange muddy coarseness about it. Hues of purple, dark violet, and muted gold mingled with and accentuated the coarseness. Kali and Professor Barnes walked casually among the pedestrians and tourists in the park. They did not dodge or weave. They did not have people walking through them. Kali and Professor Barnes simply fit into the world, carrying on their conversation naturally and more effortlessly than the live people all around them.
“You know this better than I do, Professor Barnes, but, most ‘tenders’ are really good people,” Kali said in a serious tone. A ‘tender’ is a dead person that tends to the needs of others that are still alive, like angels but not exactly.
“Thanks for the teacher suck-up, Ms. Begs,” Professor Barnes commented wryly with a smile. “Tenders are good people, generally – that’s obvious – Good! “ he said in a flowing, but still cryptic manner. The Professor was reflecting, commenting, and evaluating her statement, more for Kali’s benefit than for his own.
“You’ve stated something reasonably obvious,” he pointed out. “Now go with it,” Professor Barnes added energetically. He motioned towards the unfolding scene before them and added, “Let the immediacy of your environment and your mind interact with the obvious. You’ll find the simultaneity we are looking for there,” he said rather professorially.
Kali shifted her gaze from Professor Barnes to the people coming towards her. A couple of young lovers were talking and playfully laughing as the sun highlighted them for Kali. The shaded White House stood out amidst its stately trees and green lawn behind its black security fence. Pedestrians and tourists walked along the brightly illuminated sidewalk and closed off section of Pennsylvania Avenue as oblivious to Kali and Professor Barnes, as the young lovers were.
Before she spoke, Professor Barnes picked up with a new train of thought, “You’ve got to go now. Your friend Nan Tankersley needs your help.” Professor Barnes was no longer there. As Kali turned again towards the White House, the smell of jonquils and the giggling lovers passed by her. She saw jonquils surrounding the fountain in front of the White House. She sighed, as the telepathic voice of Professor Barnes said in her head, “Remember what I said. Keep up the good work.
”Kali thought about her friend, Nan. She turned to her left and there was Nan. Kali almost always found Nan to be modest and practical. Nan was wearing a tailored, nicely fitting woman’s gray business suit.
Nan enjoyed being around Kali. To Nan’s right was her old friend Kali. They met soon after Nan died, but Kali freely admitted that she used to walk with her sometimes along the country road behind Nan and Jim’s farm in Virginia. Particularly, she was there during those times when Nan’s wrists ached and she needed to be alone. Kali was smart, and she liked helping Nan sort things out.
Nan knew she wasn’t as smart as Kali, but that was okay, because she appreciated Kali, loved her curiosity, and always felt uplifted around her. By the time Kali and Nan met, Kali no longer looked like a little seven-year old girl. No, Kali looked like a twenty-five year old young woman when they first met, as well as now, forty-five years later. Kali was not modest, to say the least.
Kali was no longer dressed in her learning robe. Now she was covered in a web-like mesh that tightly conformed to every curve and line of her firm, slender, and well-sculpted twenty-five year old body. The mesh did not shimmer, but held a relatively constant color. Now it was a sort of granite-gray color that complemented Nan’s suit. She got it during one of her advanced classes. Kali had not really figured out how to use the suit yet, or exactly what it meant when it changed colors, but she sure did like wearing it.
Nan and Kali were standing near the entrance to the Great Hall of Records. There was a familiarity about the Great Hall for both Nan and Kali. It used to be much busier, with the newly dead and their escorts coming and going doing life reviews. When Kali first died it seemed to be a lot larger and more massive. By the time Nan died, it was smaller, but still impressive with its ornate floors and scenes of life playing out on its large screens.
Now the entrance is more for honoring the traditions of the past. It reminds those who enter of the importance of what is contained in, or now more accurately, what is accessed through it’s portals. Entrance to the Great Hall of Records is now a much more personalized experience. Inquiries are prepared for in advance. You may have gotten the idea to go to the Great Hall of Records as a spur of the moment notion, but let me assure you that it was not. Tenders get messages and assignments that way all the time. It takes most tenders years to get proficient at communicating that way. When they do, however, it is very fast, efficient, and effective. Accessing records has been the toughest problem for ions. Everybody gets smarter when they die, but smarter does not necessarily mean that you’re ready, willing, and able to receive, understand, and benefit from a review of your life. Besides people dying in the late twenty-first century are technologically more sophisticated and demanding than somebody like Kali. She died in the early part of the twentieth century. She died at an early age and had no earthly experience with technology at all. But Kali is smart, so it was easier for her to learn and adjust than for most tenders.
Scientists, both dead and alive, are actively working on new and better ways to store and access data. The Great Hall of Records does not really use cutting-edge technology to store and access life records, but it is still impressive nonetheless. That’s one of the reasons why Nan wanted her company on this visit.
“* * * *”
Chapter 7 – Instant Replay
“Hello, ladies.” A handsome dark-haired clerk stepped forward, nodded respectfully, and greeted them warmly. He was dressed similarly to Nan. Both Nan and Kali nodded in return.
“The accident scene is ready for you examination,” said the clerk as he began his introductory remarks. “Our sources indicate that the relevant part of the scene you seek to examine involves the stroller and child’s hand or finger as it passes the centerline of the road. Is that correct?” he asked politely.
“Yes, that’s correct. Can’t we just get started? Is this really necessary?” Nan asked with a slight irritation in her voice.
“Well, yes, Mrs. Tankersley, it is normal procedure to do so,” the clerk patiently replied.
Nan sighed, and looked at her friend coolly. Kali looked back with a grimace and raised eyebrow.
The clerk quietly continued, “The viewing system is voice activated only. No mental telepathy commands will be responded to by the system. Mrs. Tankersley, your voice is the only one that can activate, control, or stop the system. You may view the scene as many times as you like at whatever speed you choose. You may stop and start it, zoom in or out, and add or remove layers as you choose. Are there any questions?” the clerk paused and looked directly at Nan for a response.
“No, I understand,” Nan replied resolutely.
The polite clerk turned to Kali and asked, “What about you Ms. Begs? Any questions? ”“No, I understand, thank you,” said Kali as she nodded at the clerk.
The clerk again turned to Nan and said, “Just say the word “begin” when you are ready to start the scene. Because of the speed of the event we have slowed it down for you. You may of course adjust the speed to whatever you require. Thank you for your patience and cooperation.” The young clerk smiled and nodded respectfully.
Kali then looked at Nan. The two women smiled stiffly at each other. As they turned back towards the young clerk they found themselves on the two-lane road where the accident occurred. The road was empty of people and vehicles. There were no sounds, no smells, and no sensations of sun or wind.
Nan tensed. She slowly looked around moving her head only short distances left and right. She sighed. Then she looked slowly, but decidedly, to the left about where their car would be. Again, she sighed and said almost under her breath, “This is going to be harder than I thought.
”Kali tenderly stepped forward, put her arm across Nan’s shoulders, and said resolutely, but quietly in Nan’s ear, “You can do it, kid.” The two women hugged, then stepped back adjusting their position on the road.
Nan took a deep breath. Exhaled and said clearly, “Begin.
”Slowly, rather than instantaneously, a big black local delivery box truck began to materialize on the road ahead of the two women. Next Nan and Jacob’s red Buick Skylark appeared. Then the dark-blue stroller appeared, frozen in position on the centerline of the road.
Nan and Kali watched intently, but quietly as these vehicles and objects came into view. The jogger, in her light blue running tights and sweatshirt, was shown lying on the side of the road. The baby appeared in the stroller. The surprised truck driver, Jacob, and Nan each appeared in turn. The scene was set.
Nan slowly paced forward a few steps. She looked at Jacob and herself for a few seconds. She turned glancing at the baby and the man in the truck. Nan walked back to stand next to Kali, clutched her hands together about chest high, and said more as a determined sigh than anything else, “Okay.
”And so the scene played out, over and over again. Nan stopped it. Zoomed in. Zoomed out. Walked around the stroller. Kali asked questions and pointed out details. An hour or so passed. They could not seem to make any sense out of what Jacob was trying to get Nan to see. Both of them were frustrated. They were talking about giving up. Waiting for Jacob to wake up seemed like a good idea. Then Kali said, “Let’s try one more thing before we quit.
”Kali walked over to the Jacob’s side of the car. She put her hand on the top of the car and said, “Here’s what I want us to do. Let’s take you and Jacob out of the car.
”Nan responded cautiously, “Okay.” Jacob and Nan disappeared from the front seat of the Buick instantly.
“Now, said Kali, “you and I will get in the car.”
“What?” Nan said in shock.
“Yeah, yeah I know,” Kali said eagerly, waving her hands back and forth at Nan. “You’ve seen this accident hundreds, if not thousands of times from your side of the front seat over the years. You need to see it from Jacob’s perspective,” Kali explained. She motioned Nan around the car to the driver’s side.
Kali returned to the passenger’s side. She opened the door and got in. Kali was now where Nan had sat during the accident. She leaned over, looked out the driver’s window at Nan, and said, “Now get in…Come on. It’ll be all right, trust me! “Nan reluctantly opened the door and got in the driver’s seat. She leaned forward and adjusted herself in the seat. She put both hands on the steering wheel. Then she moved them back and forth across the top of the slick black surface. Nan tightened her grip on the steering wheel and surveyed the scene in front of her.
Kali positioned herself where she had seen Nan sitting and said, “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Tell me what you see, or think, or feel as we do this. Okay? ”Nan looked at Kali one more time. She slowly turned back, readied herself, and said, “Okay, Let’s go.
”The scene began again to roll forward. “Stop!“ Nan shouted, “This is too close!“ “What do you mean, Nan? What’s too close?” Kali shot out her questions. She leaned forward to better see what Nan was seeing.
“The driver’s side of the car is clearly over the centerline,“ Nan said excitedly. “And, and, the truck can’t get any more left without hitting Mary, “Yes, yes, we know that,” Kali said rather disappointedly while sitting back.
“Yes, we did, didn’t we?” Nan mulled over that thought. “I don’t see how Jacob really could have believed he was going to live through this. There is just not enough room.” Nan said ruefully. She flexed her grip on the steering wheel and said, “Okay, go.
”Just before impact, Kali yelled, “Stop! “Nan had turned her head and braced for impact. Clearly under stress, she cringed and said, “Stop.”
“Now, Nan, tell me what you see,” Kali said excitedly. Nan looked up toward the on-coming truck. “No, no, not the truck. Look at the stroller. Look at Zeke’s hand and finger,” Kali directed.
Nan relaxed some and leaned back a little. “Well, clearly, I can see the wrist and the hand sticking out from the upper side of the canvas seat,” she said. “The index finger looks like it’s pointing diagonally across the road,” Nan described.
“Yeah?” asked Kali.
“Yeah, that’s right. It looks like it’s pointing in the same direction that the stroller is going,” Nan clarified.
“Not to me,” replied Kali.
“What do you mean?” said Nan quickly leaning over next to Kali. Both of them looked at the chubby little index finger from Nan’s perspective. From her side, she could see that the baby was twisted slightly to the right from all the bouncing around. The right shoulder and arm were jammed into the back of the canvas seat. Nan moved back and forth from her perspective to Jacob’s.
Kali watched intently as Nan sized up the differences. When Nan stopped next to her for the last time, she asked cautiously, “So what do you see? ”“When I look at the hand and index finger from Jacob’s perspective,” she said, “the shortened view of the arm and the angle makes it look like Zeke’s pointing this way,” Nan said as she pointed diagonally across the road. That was basically the direction the stroller was traveling.
“But,” Nan continued as she shifted to the passenger side of the car, “I can see from here that the baby’s body is twisted. The arm looks more to me like it’s pointing straight across the road. That is not the same direction the stroller is heading,” Nan said more confidently.
“Hmm? So…if it’s not pointing in the direction of travel, what is it pointing at?” Kali asked with a pondering tone. Nan and Kali followed the line of sight through the front window and on through the passenger’s window.
After intensely peering for a while, Kali asked, “What do you see now?”
“Trees. Pine trees. One of them is pretty tall compared to the others,” said Nan getting into the description process.
“Look at that tall one,” Kali directed. “What do you see just below where the others top out?” she continued.
“I don’t see anything,” Nan said with some confusion, “I mean I don’t see anything that grabs my attention.”
“Right,” said Kali slowly. “Doesn’t that tall pine tree look a little darker to you than the rest of them?” Kali asked.
“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Nan replied more excitedly than before.
“Let’s go over there,” Kali encouraged. She quickly started opening the passenger side door. Kali got out. Nan climbed over the seat separator and jumped out of the same door.
About the time Nan’s feet hit the road, she said, “Move over to that large pine tree, just below the tops of the others.” The scene shifted almost immediately. Nan and Kali were standing in front of the large pine.
“Look closely. Right there,” Kali said pointing towards the trunk of the tree. “It looks like there’s a big bump or fat section to the trunk,” Kali clarified what she was seeing.
“Magnify,” Nan commanded. Nan and Kali peered in. “Closer,” Nan yelled. The darkness grew larger. Nan yelled louder and louder, “Closer…closer…closer! “ Two eyes peered back at them from out of the darkness. “Sniper,” they said in unison.
“* * * *”
Chapter 8 – The Dance
Jim Tankersley knows that trees make great friends! As he likes to say, “Trees are phenomenal! “ Ages ago dead scientists discovered that trees are high tech, multi-functioning, multi-tasking, transceivers that simultaneously and continuously receive and transmit huge quantities of raw data and processed information. Trees are high speed, intelligent, organically networked, self-perpetuating and self-renewing sensors.
Trees absorb, store, retrieve, process, and act both independently and collectively upon data and information received from deep within the earth, across the surface of the earth, from the atmosphere, the galaxy, and from the farthest reaches of the organic bounds of eternity.
Trees are veritable dynamos that receive, transform, and transmit vast amounts of energy, light, and sounds across all spectrums. Trees employ sophisticated, subtle, dramatic, and specific means of communication within and across multiple organic species, and others including, but not limited to, insects, animals, humans, and a myriad of other beings telestial, terrestrial, and celestial. Trees, typically, like and get along well with dead people. However, there is this one little thing that trees are not particularly fond of concerning typical dead people behavior. Trees do not like it very much when dead people pop in and pop out around them. Trees like to see you coming, even though they probably know you’re coming before you do. Similarly, trees like to see you leaving for a while before you disappear. It somehow helps them calibrate your relative time, distance, location, and condition as they monitor your unfolding situation.
Trees are not easily surprised. Tenders routinely receive proper tree etiquette and sensitivity training. They are advised to anticipate some very, very mild irritation from some trees when local tending assignments are likely to bring them close-by.