Authors: Brandt Legg
“That explains the floating sensation,” I
said relieved.
“Yes, it’s a bit choppy today. Anyway, Crowd
asked me to keep you out at sea until you healed enough. You’ve come a long way
since you arrived. I thought you were dead, and I guess you were very close but
Spencer--”
“Spencer’s been here?”
“Many times. I’m sure you wouldn’t have
survived without his healings.”
“What day is it?”
“Time’s a funny thing.”
“How long have I been on your boat?”
“Well, those are two different questions,
aren’t they?”
“Not normally.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“You said I’ve been here since Thursday? So,
two days?”
“Yes, but Spencer did something because
he’s been here once a day every day.”
“So.”
“He’s been here sixteen times.”
“You’re the sixth mystic, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not even the first mystic. Listen,
you had a severe head injury that affected your vision. Spencer did a lot of
stuff and said we could take the bandages off once you woke up.”
“What are we waiting for? Why can’t I move
my arms?”
“They were both badly broken. Crowd said
they were tied behind your back and you landed on them . . . falling off a
cliff.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Spencer did healings on them too, but he wanted
both arms to remain immobile for at least forty-eight hours, which by my clock is
up. By his time, it’s been a couple of weeks.”
He untied the straps, and although my arms
felt like gliding through jello, they functioned.
“Spencer worked on your leg, too. Want the
bullet? It took him a while to get it out.”
“He did surgery?”
“Well, not with any instruments.”
“No, of course not.”
“Let’s do your eyes now.” He slowly
unwrapped the cloth from around my head and then pulled the tape from the pads
over my eyes. I opened them cautiously then blinked several times to shake the
blurriness. It sounded as if Trevor gasped.
“It’s like I’m wearing someone’s prescription
glasses.”
“You’ll be fine. Give it a little time. I
need to run topside for a few minutes. Next room over is the galley. There’re fresh
clothes on the chair; they should fit.”
After he left, I climbed off the bed and
tested my leg. It wasn’t even sore. I wondered where Amber was while putting on
the new clothes. Sam was Fitts. He killed my dad and Rose. They were unbearable
thoughts. Stacked nearby were the precious gold box, blue stone, mausoleum key,
and my wallet. I put them in my pockets. Soon my eyes were good enough to find
the galley. A well-stocked fridge tempted me with fruit juices and my favorite
sodas. I grabbed a Coke. Trevor hadn’t returned, so I wandered into the next
room.
We were on a small yacht. One of the
bedrooms was an art studio with spectacular paintings lining the floor, hanging
on the wall, on easels, even suspended from the ceiling. Trevor had signed
them. They all depicted water scenes--islands, coastal shores, and seascapes.
“You found my work. I want you to have
one.”
“Really? Thanks. And not just for the
painting,” I turned to look at him. “My God, you’re Rachel!” The concentration
camp’s reeking stench suffocated the tiny room.
“And you’re Erich.”
“When did you know?” I asked, recovering.
“As soon as the bandages came off, I saw it
in your eyes.” He didn’t hide his tears. “I discovered my life as Rachel twelve
years ago. My parents were killed by a drunk driver coming across the median
when I was in grad school.”
“Oh man, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “It really roughed me up. A friend
suggested a psychic. My parents came through and told me to forget about the
law degree and follow my heart. After a few more sessions, the psychic
suggested regression. And boom, there I was trapped in Dachau with you. This is
my first incarnation since Rachel.”
I searched his eyes. “So, why a boat?”
“I was never comfortable around people but
didn’t know why until I saw that past life. I needed freedom to move all the
time. An RV is too much like a railcar to me.”
I nodded, remembering Erich and Rachel’s
last train ride.
“After getting on the water, I never wanted
to go back on land permanently. I took most of the money my folks left, bought
this boat, and took up painting. A gallery down in La Jolla does pretty well
with them. That’s where I first met Crowd. He approached me about eight months
ago and told me something about my mother only I knew, then he asked me to meet
with Spencer at Brookings Harbor.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“A couple of weeks later I went. Spencer told
me about someone who could bring positive changes to the world. He explained
that much of the inequality and suffering we face on this planet is due to
human inventions such as greed, judgment, fear, corruption, war. I didn’t need
convincing. He said this person was our best hope and that in about eight
months he would need my help. The person he was talking about, of course, is
you.”
“I didn’t even know Spencer until a few
weeks ago.”
“Time’s a funny thing.”
“Spencer makes me sound too important. I’m
just Nate.”
“He said people wouldn’t be following you
as much as your story. A lot of people know something’s wrong, that we’re
missing part of ourselves. All you’re going to do is show us how to find that.”
“Oh, is that all,” I said sarcastically. “Spencer
thinks I can save the world.”
“If you could have seen the torment in his
face when he first saw you--he was destroyed. The tortured look didn’t leave
his eyes until the fifth visit. We weren’t sure you would make it.”
“Yeah, but was it Nate he was saving or the
savior?”
“Just because you’re a teenager doesn’t
mean you have to act like one. Get that chip off your shoulder. Grow up.”
“I’ve grown up a lot in the last three
weeks.”
“Then I’m glad we didn’t meet until now.”
“Why are you so touchy all of a sudden?”
“Because you’re not Erich.”
“No. The Nazis murdered Erich.”
“Part of him is alive in your soul, Nate.
Find that part. Erich would have taken Spencer’s challenge and never looked
back.”
“I know he would have. I
was
Erich.
But Nate’s not as brave.”
“So you’re afraid? That’s why the reluctance?”
“I’m terrified.”
“Of them killing you?”
“No, of succeeding. Changing the world
sounds like a bumper sticker, but look through history at the times people have
truly changed things. Even the small ones were painful. Imagine what this would
be.”
“Yes,
imagine
.”
We were quiet.
“So, you want to tell me which painting you
want?”
“I’m sort of on the run. I’d have no place
to hang it.”
“I’ll keep it for you. Choose.”
I studied them and was drawn to one of a
stormy sky over rough seas with a cluster of rocks sticking out of the water.
“Why that one?”
“I don’t know. It just pulled me in.”
He smiled. “It’s called ‘Endure,’ and it’s
for you.”
64
Up on deck we were still far enough off the
coast that everything looked undisturbed, a thick line of green trees and rocky
cliffs on the horizon.
“No one knows I’m alive? My mom’s probably
called the FBI by now.”
“I believe Crowd was going to get word to
your mother. Here,” he handed me a pair of dark wrap-around sunglasses. “You
still need to take it easy on your eyes.”
“Why do you call your boat
Ninth Wave
?”
“It’s after an 1850s painting by Aivazovsky,
depicting a violent storm during a night when a ship sank leaving seven
survivors clinging to a piece of wreckage. The sea remained very rough, but a
rising sun promised the slightest wisp of hope. Still, they had to deal with
the ninth wave, which threatened to engulf them. You know, waves are in series,
growing until they peak at the ninth. It’s been called one of the most glorious
seascapes ever painted, but for me it is more. It’s where we are, the human
race--we’re facing the ninth wave.”
“I can see why you defend Spencer.”
He smiled.
“I should contact my brother and friends
now.”
“No way from here.”
“I can do it over the astral.”
“Incredible.”
I readied myself and then was looking at
Dustin.
“I heard a rumor you might be alive,”
Dustin said with a smile. “You are alive, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and you’re looking better than me
for a change.”
“It’s Bà’s black liquid. I’ll get
you a bottle.”
“Maybe a case.
“Mom, as usual, is worried. Everyone has
been. Now, hopefully, you’ll get patched up and come back here because you’re
taking all the attention away from me.” He laughed. “Hey, can you see my TV?”
“Sure.”
He switched a few channels. “Here you go.
It’s been on a lot.”
I shuttered as the screen showed a photo of
Sam, even though the caption said “DHS Agent Sanford Fitts.” The anchor said
Fitts was working on a national security threat in San Francisco when he was
strangled by the alleged terrorist. They cut to an exterior shot of the White
House and announced the president had issued a statement calling Fitts a hero.
The president had promised to apprehend the suspect whose name was not being
released so as not to jeopardize an ongoing investigation. A spokesman assured
viewers that Fitts had foiled any planned attacks, and there was no longer a
danger. They kept showing images of the Golden Gate, which seemed to imply the bridge
was somehow a “target.”
“Don’t believe anything you see on TV,” I
said.
“But, that’s Sam! That explains why the
guards never let me see him. Even the beating was started by one of the others.
Was Sam always Fitts? I mean, always an agent?”
“I’ll tell you everything in person.”
“When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know what home is anymore, but
I’ll be in Ashland tomorrow.”
Afterward, my plans to contact Amber and Kyle
on the astral were forgotten, as I was completely exhausted. I stumbled back to
bed and collapsed.
When he woke me, we were docked in
Brookings Harbor. Fourteen hours had elapsed. It was just before dawn on Sunday.
“Your ride is out there. It’s a friend of
Amparo’s.”
“You know Amparo?”
“She betrayed me too, remember? She hunted
me down a few years ago and begged forgiveness.”
“Did you?”
“How could I not? The feeling was so
empowering that I forgave everyone for anything. I’ve been regressed many times
just to look for people from past lives to forgive, even the drunk driver who
took my folks.”
“How’d you know my clothes size, the sodas
I like, even breakfast wraps?”
“Spencer gave me specific instructions . .
. eight months ago. Kind of spooky. But he also told me you might not come.
Your survival was never written in stone.”
That revelation stopped me. I should have
been dead. If not for Spencer, Lightyear would have gotten me weeks ago, and
going over the cliff certainly would have ended differently. Trevor was right; I
may have grown up a lot but not enough yet. I hugged Trevor
and Rachel
.
I slept most of the three-hour drive to
Ashland, waking a few times after nightmares where Fitts was still alive and
holding Amber.
65
Sunday, October 5
Bà answered the door at Kyle and
Linh’s house and studied me with concern. “You need wolfberry and horsetail. I
bring to you. They be so happy to see you. Upstairs.”
Amber’s kiss was quick, but her arms
lingered around me and her tears wet my face. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do
this again,” she said softly.
I opened my eyes and saw Kyle beaming; Linh
was smiling, too, but already wiping her own tears. During a hug, I kissed her
cheek. “I didn’t want to cry,” she said.
“I might not have recognized you if you
didn’t,” I teased. It made her laugh.
We sat down in our regular positions,
facing each other across the triangular table; the only difference was Amber
next to me.
“Your mom let us know you were alive. But
we didn’t know anything else. Amber told us what happened on the cliff,” Linh
said. “How did you survive?”
“I need to hear Amber’s story first. It’s
the only way I can clear the fog.” I stared at Amber. “How did
you
escape?”