E.Nemesis Chapter Six

Rapid knocks, like those against an oak barrel or steal door fall within the pitch of closed eyes and ushers in the nothing. The weight of cold water and too many aspirins fill the void where the darkness creeps in and fills empty lungs with the sting of reprisal. Forgiveness comes with the irregular steps of dancing feet that near from somewhere where closed eyes cannot see. However, the voice is soothing and calms rapacious heart beats that threaten to burst within the chest if a pensive state is not found. Yet it comes, with the words as they unfold. "How are you now?" In not quite his own voice.

"Better." He tries to move, but finds the weight too unbearable to overcome. "Where am I?"

"Don't worry about that now." A cold reassuring smile stems through the darkness. "I'm here."

He does not find comfort in that. "I can't see you." Speaking to nothing.

"Then open your eyes." It states, shifting from one side to the other.

"I can't." Struggling with the effort of sight, but dazzling lights filter through to paint patterns of odic brilliance against a black backdrop. "My eyes won’t open.”

"Don't worry about that. You can see me without them."

"How?" . . . By looking at the energies that envelops us. "How did you do that?" Fear now consumes him.

"Don't need eyes to see... We never did." Just let the calm sooth you and you will see what I mean. "There's no need to be afraid."

"I can see the shifting lights. Is that what you mean?" Yes. "Oh!" His thoughts trail off as his closed eyes continue to look upon the heavens with passive acceptance.

"Where were you?" The voice calls out.

He manages a subtle shift as the voice startles him back into his reality. "The ocean..." He thinks back to the song of the crushing weight of nature’s fury in disguise. She had crept upon him from beyond the sun-bleached sand of the surrounding beach. Her smile was warm and soothing to look at, but she was not pretty by any means. She was rugged and boyish in her mannerism and posture, but he liked that about her. "She's Australian... I think." Not quite sure now. "She likes to surf and loves big waves. I don't know why." He trails off again.

"Stay with me." For some reason, this time he sounds angry.

"What happened?" Confused at the voice's scorn.

"You left me again. Where were you now?"

"Surrounded." The image of a disordered apartment fills him with dread as he remembers the faces, the faces of dying people who found solace in narcotic prisons and artificial altered states. They attempt to avoid the harshness of being that made life worth experiencing. "He was a parasite who fed off his friends and others, so that he can find joy in his life. I couldn't see it at first but when I did, I left." A long silence. "I can still hear him screaming at me. Why?"

"Because you broke the bond by leaving him and the union when you shouldn't have. You must be careful to respect and observe the sanctity of the communion. Where, when entering, it is done with the consent of those participating and a fundamental respect for each other is observed and adhered to without deviation. He broke that trust, but you broke that respect and that could be the greater of the two evils."

"Is that why my head hurts?"

I don't think it works that way.

"It could be."

"What?"

Your talking to yourself again - take a breath and be at ease.

His fingers dance like a mad pianist's on a burning ivory tower with broken steps. "I can't answer them all.”

Who?

"Them." He scorns the voice in his head.

"I'm here." The voice shuffles beside him where the darkness still reaches out, to grip closed eyes.

"What's your name?" The question soars like eagles over dense forests at mountain's edge. The imagery carries itself as he speaks, as though his words had images.

"Shhhh!" The sound falls upon him with a reinforcing hand on his shoulder, like the securing comfort from a soul mate. With the touch he understands and falls at ease with him self and the voices.

"So many people want to talk to me."

I know.

"I can't stop them."

You don't have to.

"But I want to."

Listen to them and they will fade.

"How?" A single tear evades the folds of his closed eyes and runs solemnly down the side of his face and over his left ear then mats into his hair just above the pillow.

"How what?" The hand leaves his side and shuffles over something loose, like paper. A course surface then gently touches the side of his face and absorbs the wetness as it dabs incessantly at his face.

"How do I listen to them all when I can't understand what one says under the flood of all the voices?"

It hurts doesn't it?

"Yes."

"You listen to them like a unit whole, not as individuals within the flood. When you look at the ocean, you don't see the individual water drops that form it, you see it as a whole as an ocean."

"But..."

He's right.

"It's the same." Cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. He did not mean to deny his opinion or query, but it was futile to question something that was obviously clear. "The ocean is a massive water drop and you see it as a whole, as far as your eyes can see."

"To who?"

That's it... Listen.

"What?"

"Something that's obviously clear. Obvious to you because you see it that way but I don't."

You tell him.

"That's true. I never looked at it that way."

"Maybe you should have."

Ask him.

"Okay! How come you know so much about this?"

The voice replaces the tissue at its original location and steps further away, but only for a second then falls closer to the floor.

"You all right?"

"Yes . . . I'm just sitting down."

"Oh!" Embarrassed at his question, he now sinks deeper into him self for fear of further embarrassment.

"I just know."

Listen...

"What will I hear?"

"What ever you want."

He lies...

"Then they tell me what I want to hear?"

"No! You focus on the things you want to listen and the people will talk to you."

Pieces of silver threads dangle from the azure heaven like fingers from a puppeteer's hand that fall and enter into every living being to control and contort every aspect of life. The puppeteer is the collective conscience that stem upward to gather in a union of thoughts and shared life. This is not the pieces but the whole that forms the ocean of thoughts and beings, which we called God. "How far can I go?"

All the way.

"The only limits are those imposed by your beliefs."

"Then I stop believing?"

More like start believing.

"Just listen." Where the voice becomes splinters of many that break though the diaphragm of reality and cascades into images of the ‘everything.’ The layers overlap and collide with the abstract and supernatural and create a collage of pulsing thoughts and singing voices. A choir of noise, both black and white that echoes off the colossal borders of the real and surreal.

"What about past and future?"

They don't exist yet.

"What about them?"

"Wouldn't I see them too? That is, wouldn't I see what will come and what has pasted in other times?"

You're not listening.

"I don't know about them. I only know of what is, not of what could have been or could be."

"Then clairvoyance is a myth?"
Not really.

"They are glimpses into veins of those energies that influence our being, and all beings. They are parts of the collective, only parts."

He's not telling you everything.

"Then we open up these veins like windows to see through the unknown."

"If it were truly unknown, would we know it?"

"You lost me."

"Rightly so. Why do you bother asking questions to things that don't really matter?"

"Matter to you... I want, no - Need to know the why."

"Why what then?"

"Why do I hear and see it now but not before?"

That's it, give it to him.

"You simply never listened, or looked."

"Then that's all it takes."

"Not really."

"What then?"

"Too many questions, just listen..."

"I can still hear the flood."

"That's the chatter in your own mind. Quell it and you'll hear the thoughts and all of everything."

"But do I really want to know that much?"

"Why wouldn't you want too?"

"I need to sleep."

"You do that then, I'll be waiting here."

"You're not going to leave?"

"Where would I go?"

"Look at me!" He exclaims, terror more than anger fills his voice. "Tell me what's going on." He demands where no one listens. "Tell us what you remember."

"I remember the... I can't." Discouragement bereaves him with pain as he remembers the darkness that followed. "The pressure at the back of my head as it pushed me forward, into the front seat. Then your voice and his."

"Who's?"

"The one that sounds like mine - but isn't."

What does mine sound like?

"Yours sounds like mine."

“Where am I?” James opens his eyes, to find a gray washed world drowned within webbing fragments of pulled reality. Pieces of the now flutter in the wind like colored strings to form images, an image of Jennifer. Where the top of her head barely meets the top of the steering wheel, behind the shattered windshield of her car. The heavy rain beats off the crippled shell of the car, where the smoldering wreckage fumes a small plume of dense black smoke from under the front tires. Standing up, he notices the tractor-trailer off to the opposite side of the road, turned over and isolated. Its wheels still spinning, forced defiantly by inertia or a bitter need to commemorate an ill event. ‘What happened?’ The memory evades him, skips insolently among his thoughts, the images, the rivers of blood pouring from Benny’s torn forehead. ‘Oh…’ Where the word, a mere sound escapes his lips within a pure emotion and a tear to usher in his new reality. The shattering memory, the pain of loss and the grief from not being able to prevent it, suddenly floods him. He is quickly jerked into the now by the grim gore of the dead deer imbedded within the front side of the car. The image draws the memory of panic and collision, where words were captured within horror and the pain within emotion. This was what made him sick the last few days. This, this horror of death and loss, this reality that they were taken far before their time, ‘But it was their time, wasn’t it?’ He continues forward, drawn by the outcome, yet repelled by the irony. It was odd, he thought, that they are both dead, when he still lives. It was them who teased him about the seat belt and now… He suddenly turns to trace his path. My voice… He quickly finds his body, nearly torn in two, crushed around a thick tree trunk. ‘What?’ Pausing for a moment to digest this… Reality. He eyes search through the heavy rain, trying to draw an image of what had passed, but only finds the reality of his remains wrapped around a tree. Suddenly, coughing from behind him. “Hummmm…” The sound creeps forth from the throat. Jennifer continues to cough; trying to find air yet only finds the whistling from the air escaping from her punctured lung.

"You're one of us."

He quickly rushes over to her side, noticing her face turn through the various hues of blue. Jennifer needed air, but her lungs are too badly damaged to do the job themselves. ‘What can I do?’

"One is not chosen because of why but because of what."

Like the black raisin in Joyce’s head, he could heal her – fix her enough so that her lungs wouldn’t give up. He had lost Benny, he is beyond saving and now James hopes there is a better place for him. A pale white mask, with blood caked impressions seems to turn toward him, face him at his thought of Ben’s name, without really moving. The action is a mere ripple within the ocean of his crippled, motionless body - and smiles. He returns Ben’s smile, ushering him a silent good-bye.

"But there is no order to it all. We take no active role."

‘Well, I refused your stupid rules and I didn’t take the job. Besides, you are dead.”

“So are you…”

The open wound seems to fit within the image of his mind’s eye. Her broken ribs, piercing her soft tissue of her lungs, now forms a big three dimensional image for him to manipulate. It is weird and unusual, unlike anything he has attempted before. Even with Joyce, the experience was new but, it was familiar and he was comfortable with the expression. But here, he looks within Jennifer’s broken body, visualizing the framework that makes up the whole and begins to heal that which is broken. He will not be able to restore his friend to full, not even to where she could be mobile even. Jennifer will need to figure that out for herself, but life can be his last gift to a friend who has loved him unconditionally for all these years. In his mind, he extracts the stabbing ribs from the fleshy organ. White foam ensues, bubbling as Jennifer tries to force air into her lungs, struggling for life. James smiles, at the realization that his friend stays true to who she is, a born fighter - to the last. Jennifer so desperately clings on, defiantly holding onto her life. He fights the internal injuries that are slowly killing him. But here, now, James helps her find some kind of relief and hope. The wounds suddenly close with a mere thought, as though reacting to a threat or a promise of release. The body has memory; it simply lacks personal will and an ability to displace itself. But now, he can will that memory to merge, close the wound without actually manipulating anything. He watches in aw as the cells recombine and assimilate each other to form a new link. The merger so pure, so true that there is no scar tissue to betray this miracle, he can’t help but feel wonder. With a smile, he listens to his friend find solace in her first breath.

He turns to see the truck driver trying to escape the crippled ruins of his cabin. He pounds several times before coxing it open –it screeching loudly as he opens it, trying to overcome the binding crimps of metal that have formed around the door from the impacted front end. He scrambled out, squinting his eyes through the dense rain trying to gain some kind of sense of the chaos. His face, painted with a red flow of blood mixed with rain obscures his features and blinds his eyes, but he could still make out the destruction, define that lives have been lost. “My lord…” He ushers solemnly, trying to suppress his emotions, just for the moment anyway.

James smiles, ‘At least Jenny will be fine. She will live at least.’ He then turns away, ethereally passing though the dense wreckage of the driver side door. Mater was now irrelevant, life now was irrelevant, but his love for her wasn’t. He moves off, seeking coverage within the tree line. The last thing he wanted to do was spook anyone. Besides, he felt as though he has reached the limits of his usefulness… ‘It’s not easy being a ghost…’ Exchanging a quick glance to his gnarled remains, with a thick stream of tears. “Sorry Mom…” Like a ripple of pure emotion, a wave spreads from him like a sonic emission, to blast through eternity. If she didn’t already, she’d know now… Know that something has gone terribly wrong. ‘I tried not to be like my father… And leave you. I really did try.’ He pushes deeper into the tree line, not feeling connected to the world around him. ‘Not a ghost… An angel.’ He smiles as the driver reaches Jennifer’s side. ‘All will be right now. Good-bye… I loved you.’ A tear for her – can angels cry?

James pushes through the trees, the natural rock garden where only heaven’s fingers have played within the sands, the rocks. This place was alien, like out of a pale dream where the rain never stopped. But he didn’t feel the cold, or the wetness of the pouring rain. He didn’t feel much of anything except for the sense of loss and confusion. ‘Where is heaven?’ He silently wonders. ‘Where is my white light?’ Yet nothing came for him - Only the lonely miles of his seclusion where the darkness turned under the rain. Trees to mountainous piles of eternity’s refuse to the barren plains of his festering misfortune. ‘Why doesn’t heaven want me?’

He looks upward, toward eternity, as he walks amidst the unknown. His eyes always searching for the coming light, yet they find only the deepness within the darkness. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ Always the victim.

“I was…” He thinks back, thinks over the days of his life, “Such a bastard.” He bites his lip trying to find strength within his loss, his betrayed hopes that now rest crippled in his broken shell, for his mother to remember until her last days. A horror to behold, for a parent to see her life crumbled into an unrecognizable mass, with only the curls of my hair to remind her of my identity - Her dead son.

A narrow stream carves its way through the mountains, pushes its way past the vast forest, to mark its will in an unforgiving environment. The pouring rain ripples the waves as they collide, ‘When you look at the ocean, you don't see the individual water drops that form it, you see it as a whole as an ocean.’ He smiles and carries on. The stream acts like an artery, connecting the independent roots of the trees so that they all can feed evenly. Equal distribution, without prejudice or reservation – a true balance. Only human hands corrupt. We experience greed and envy – the mortal sins that kill all, without discrimination or prejudice. Then in that, there is balance… He shakes his head in disappointment and continues along the stream, further into the mountains. ‘Everything’s uphill from here.’ But you chose the destination.

“That voice… The one that sounds like mine.”I never left you.

Silence.

James walks with a smile, feeling not so alone anymore, as he forges through the eternal backdrop that fades into his own greatest fears. “That is what it is… My fear after all.” A true mark of the evolved.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Just that.

“I can’t take this…” You never could.

“My own doubts haunt me, despite my ever growing fear of the unknown…” That’s why you turned him away.

"Who?” Fuck off old man.

He chuckles, remembering back on the confused face of the old man – Eon, from his dream. He was peculiar and definitely strange, in his own way. “But he said there is no order to things.” He lied.

“Then everything’s a lie.” Hence the order.

“That’s not order.” What is it then?

Silence.

“I don’t know…” Then you lie.

“Who the hell are you?” I’m you… Don’t you recognize me?

A near silent crack against the darkness, a sound of a snapping tree limb to distract and make him stop to look – Nothing. “My mind haunts me now…” Patience.

“You never let up!” Shush.

Suddenly, two yellow eyes emerge from the shadows. Its heavy panting betrays its menacing presence, but James can now see through all that – a wicked veil colored by human myths and misunderstanding. “Hi.” More prejudice created out of fear. He smiles, kneeling down to make himself less threatening. It pauses, perhaps due to its own preconceived notion of humanity. ‘We must be the boogiemen under the bed to them.’ His smile doesn’t waver as it slowly limps toward him, favoring it right hind leg. James’s face turns to a sympathetic grimace. Sadness now perjures him in that it wasn’t truly sadness he felt, but a kindred connection. He couldn’t help feel that they both couldn’t stop disappointing those they loved. “Come here.” An order that wouldn’t ordinarily work on an animal, but this time it does – remarkable. With her head down, a show of submission, she steps into his gate, trying not to aggravate the wound any further. He slowly places one hand over her head, sliding back toward her neck. She is young, and inexperienced. With the touch, he can suddenly sense the events of her near demise. He can vividly see her hunt, her exploration of new terrain as her prey evades her. In her attempt to out maneuver it, despite her apparent fatigue, she fell into a human hunting hole – Dug ages ago by fur traders that have gone extinct with the many native tribes of the region. It wasn’t the hole that hurt her, as she tried to claw her way out. But it was the mountain lion that was tracking her that silently prowled up behind her and dug its teeth into her hind thigh. Something must have scared the lion away, for this poor cub to escape so readily… It was he - His presence in the forest that stirred the native life and made them uneasy in their homes.

Her wet fur felt odd between his intangible fingers, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you better.” Better enough to go back and hunt that damn lion. ‘No, just better than what she is now, so that she can return to her pack.’ With his free hand, he reaches back, running his hand along her spine until it reaches the sensitive tears of her hind thigh. With the thought, the wound closes and the infection dissipates. Within that thought, she is better or at least good enough to return home. “At least one of us will return home tonight.” He smiles, not knowing if he truly ever wanted to return home. Oh, he loved his mother, loved Jennifer and Ben. But he hated school. He hated his life… No, he didn’t hate. Hate is a strong word. He just didn’t enjoy it, but not enough to want to die.

As though sensing his doubt, she looks up at him. Her eyes never abandoning the predator gaze, but they do soften enough to show a level of gratitude and in some way, familiarity. Sensing her unease, he watches her back away, turn and then silently move into the frayed darkness where somehow, the rain turned to snow.

“Odd.” A silent declaration, upon noticing the shift toward the icy crystal drops. He squints to see deeper into the black nothingness, only to feel her move away and walk slowly into the dense umbra of the forest. “Where are you going?” Smiling as he watches her fade into the night.

Suddenly, she stops, faces back to see his action only to notice that he doesn’t pursue.

“Okay…” He silently shifts under the snow pour, inching closer to her, only to see her fade again as he follows. “You lead, I’ll follow…”

This night’s sky casts a deep eerie curtain over all the land, shading the remaining life into the bleak backdrop of eternity. If it weren’t for this world, his world would look so alone, in this state of frayed existence. It’s like a prelude to extinction, only colder. But there was no denying the natural beauty held within the veil of fresh air that hung deeply in the blasting storm. He follows her, not really seeing her, but knowing her every motion, movement in the darkness.

She stops periodically, to watch his approach and wait for him to draw closer. She is relentless in her pursuit to lead, as though her single design was to lead him, usher him into his next life.

“Is that what you are doing?” He smiles, as his instincts carry him through the thick bows of tree limbs. He bends and contorts to avoid pocking out his eye of cutting his forehead, but with every step, there was nothing – simply a void where his senses would have guided him. But that’s her role and he quickly realizes… “What am I doing? I’m dead.”

She stops with his proclamation, as though frozen by his words or was it his aversion? He hates the unknown, the uncertain and the unexpected. So much he hated and he realizes that she senses that. “Why do you care?” She simply waits, breathing heavily in the cold rush of the night. “She who never judges… My pillar.” And still nothing, no sense of acceptance or recognition, just patience. “Is that what I’m to learn… Patience?” He shakes his head in wonderment, as confusion now anchors him in time. “I can’t do this.” The semblance of tears evades his eyes, and pours like fluttering feathers in the stagnant wind. Much like nothing, he silently wondered what he must look like in her eyes. “What am I to you?” He quietly asks looking at her darkened formed nearly lost in the shadow of night. “A seething pit of hatred… That’s what I must be to you. But if that were true, you wouldn’t be waiting, fighting against the bitter storm so that I can reach my end destination. That’s what this is. A trek through the river Styx and you are Phlegyas, My guide.” She approaches like his encroaching doom. He watches her, fading in and out against the backdrop of the snow curtain. Suddenly, she reaches for him and digs her teeth into his hand. “Ow!” More out of shock than pain. She silently turns and runs away to fade again, with her tail pointing toward the heavens.

Alone and defeated, he carries on, uncertain of his destination and the limits of his will to keep forging through his doubts. Somehow, he can still feel her close, yet still beyond his capacity to see. She lead and he followed, their expected roles, which he accepted without contention.

‘Every equation has its resolution. It was only in the work that it could be understood.’ From within untapped wells of his determination, he forges on, tracking her every movement. He can sense her failing will, the hunger growing within her belly and the longing she felt for her pack. She wanted to go home, but she refuses to leave him… “Just like Jennifer.” A single tear falls to ice at the mere mention of her name, then a smile at the thought of the rest of her life – a life without him or Benny. But still a life which is more than what he had right now. Or Ben. Maybe his tear was for him, for Ben, his ever-faithful friend, who has in some way found the path to the next life. The mountains silently shifted to dense trees then to a massive barren field, lost under a blanket of gray. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and this was all a dream.” She waits, patiently watching with her yellow eyes against the sprinkle of hope that now rises in the east. “A new day… Go home.” He looks at her, smiling a sad smile – like a prayer for her forthcoming happiness, as payment for her duty. “I understand.” But she simply waited for him to draw closer still. ‘Such determination.’ “Until the last.” She carries on.

She suddenly stops. He watches her turn to face him with the look of completion in her eyes - That look of satisfaction to a good deed turned. He steps closer, watching her tail wag with anticipation, like she knew what lay beyond the new horizon. “Thank you.” He extends his hand to her. He watches her, as she licks him, hungrily tasting him for the first time. But not as food – He smiles and offers a last smile to warm her heart, just enough for her to get home on. She turns and walks away, shortly fading into the darkened horizon beyond the tree line. Fading and then gone forever.

“A new horizon…” He turns and walks toward the rising light. Fear and anticipation stirs in his heart, “Does the ego have a heart?” But nothing seemed to have changed… He was still James, just different. He cannot feel the snow against his skin, but he did not know if he were dressed or naked. He did not know if he actually walked through the snow or simply glided above it. It was all natural to him now, natural and different. But he failed to understand or even care. ‘We never questioned ourselves before, why start it now?’ The light slowly rose in the sky, casting new shadows against the crippled earth – So alone and broken, yet still beautiful and inspiring. “We were given this one chance to make it better… But one chance isn’t enough.” Suddenly, he foot hits against a solid mass lost within the folds of snow. Paused by the pressure and presence, he looks down to look into the veil of yellowing snow, against the new sun. Curious, he kneels down, closer to the distended lump against the leveled horizon. As though driven to excavate, to identify, he begins to remove the layers of yellow and brown to reveal the treasure below. As he recovered more of what was hidden, he begins to realize that it was a shape, a person lost from the world, from his family. Frantically, clinging on to hope, he quickens his pace to reveal more, uncovering the worn jacket, tattered vest and faded paints. Suddenly, the torn face, aged and heavy, locked within the eternal grip of preservation, “Eon.” Exclaiming, upon the recognition. The old man, unchanged from the day they met. His eyes quietly watch the heavens, unwavering and silent. “We’re more alike than I originally thought.” He smiles, looking into the dead eyes. “Rest in peace my old friend.” He reaches down to close his eyes, shut them from the judging eyes of eternity. Suddenly, he feels a sting of realization, a surge of overwhelming emotion and finally the understanding. The memories grip him like a struggling live wire, drawing him into the whirlwind that was Eon’s life. The eons, the life times, the many faces of the watcher all rolled in one as James head engulfs in flames and spites out the images like iron spikes. Gripped in the pain, he screams, shattering the membrane that is reality. The force is enough to tear the earth into a billion pieces, a billion times over and yet, nothing.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To die..."

“Not this time… I’ll give you your life, for mine.”

“Then you have made your choice.”

“No… We’ve made it together.” He smiles.

A single tear rises like the new sun, brilliant beyond compare and more beautiful then creation. He opens his eyes and beholds that beauty like it was the first time.

He rises again, in the dawn of a new day, forgiving the earth for her cruelty and loving her for the abounding gift she has given without restraint. “This will be a new dawn.” He looks down upon the fading remains of Eon and the many. They were all part of one, part of him and have once again rejoined the infinite. He will give them their eternity, their infinity and their new today.

“I hate you for this…” It was the only way.

“But I will love you forever…” We know.

“We are.” We are…

“What will I do now?” Say your good-byes.

“Can I do that?” You can do anything, but it wouldn’t matter.

“But it’ll matter to me.” Yes it will.

“Very well… Then what?” We get back to work.

“Don’t I get a break?” You already had your break.

“Always the Slave Driver.” Always the procrastinator.

“I never had a reason before.” Now you have the greatest reason of all.

“I only hope I will live up to your expectations.” You already have. Now is the doing.

“Now is the doing.” Thank you James.

“Thank you.”

End of Part One

Another piece of digital art I did for this site to represent James and Aeon for E.Nemesis.