“Ding, ding,” went the speaker above the Residents elevator. It opened automatically.
The woman stepped inside as if she owned the building. She reached out to tap in a code. I quickly followed her inside. When she finished and looked at me with a superior expression, I stepped over and entered the code Ansgar had given me. I stepped back. The screen that showed the levels of the building lit up. She was headed to the fourth floor. My code had lit up the top tenth floor. Surprise showed on her Anglo face.
“You’re going up to tenth?”
“Yes, I am,” I said calmly, putting my hands behind my back and hoping my groin did not react to the deep cleavage that showed at the top of the woman’s scarlet red dress.
She lowered her nose. But her manner stayed aloof. “No one ever goes up to Mr. Knutson’s floor. Unless they are female.”
I gave her a half-smile. “Well, you are clearly female. I can assure you I am male hetero. So this is your day to be surprised.”
Her lips pursed in an expression of distaste. “That tie you wear is . . . is not seen among people who live here.”
I almost laughed. “Well, clearly I do not live here then. But I am a guest. Are you a guest?”
Fury flashed through her aura like a dark red dagger. The dark green of jealousy and resentment followed. She lifted her perfectly sculpted nose and turned toward the elevator door.
“I live here. Sir. It is proper to show respect to residents of this tower.”
Irritation flashed through me. I thought of saying ‘respect must be earned’ but held back. I did not want her chattering about me more than she would after seeing my Arizona Alligator Lizard tie.
“Thank you for informing me. Good day.”
The door opened with a low ding. She walked out in a prance that declared her as a Resident of the building. The door closed on her buttocks, which were clearly outlined by the tight skirt she wore. Relief flooded through me.
“Ansgar?” I thought upward. “I’m heading your way.”
“So I noticed,” came his gentile thought, which carried a brief hint of amusement. As if he had been observing the interaction of the woman with me. “You are fortunate to escape from Mistress Marjorie Eloise Hopkins, of the famous Hopkins Millinery fortune.”
The elevator came to a stop. The door opened. Ansgar stood there, dressed in his fine Brioni silk suit like when we’d met at the Railyard. His curly black hair almost shone as if it were greased, when my nose told me it wasn’t. His black Van Dyke beard and mustache looked perfect. His hazel eyes, though, had the sparkle of curiosity in them.
“Welcome to my home, Jack Hansen. Come in and join me in enjoying a view of Central Park.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I followed him through a room that resembled a study since there were book-filled shelves along all four walls. Some benches sat below the shelving. Soft classical music by Rimsky-Korsakov filled the air. We then entered a brightly lit room filled with lavish brocade sofas, chairs, cushions and recliners. Two recliners faced a wall that was plate glass from ceiling to floor. My mind scanned the entire floor of his home automatically, telling me no one else was present in the place. I sat in one of the recliners while he sat in the one next to it.
“Properly done, that scan, young Jack. My following of your news after our meeting yesterday tells me the police are still focused on the café robbery.” He turned to face me, his expression amiable. “Are you taking care of that detective?”
“Yes. I made a big donation to the Fraternal Order of Police like you suggested. And last night I made a donation to the Day With A Cop event that teams a young teen with an officer for their patrol day.” Memories rushed through me. “I also bought an expensive painting from a Canyon Road gallery, by way of its online website.” My scanning of this room’s walls as I entered had shaken me at the richness of the paintings on the wall. “Though what I bought does not compare to your Two Sisters On The Terrace by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Which I think dates to 1881.” I frowned as I looked away and noted his other original oil paintings. “And I admire your paintings by Cezanne, Van Gogh, your Danae by Rembrandt from 1636, or the Ship Of Fools by Hieronymous Bosch from, I think, A.D. 1500.”
Ansgar smiled easily, giving me a nod. “Your appreciation of fine art does you honor. But you missed the sculpture of the Bacchante with Grapes over there.”
The sculptures of Auguste Rodin were a favorite of mine. I had a coffee table book of them that showed them in brilliant color and near three-D dimensionality. I spotted the Rodin sitting behind Ansgar, in a corner of the sun room that we sat in. It was a bronze of a young woman’s head, her hair composed of vines and grapes. Surprise hit me.
“Ah. I thought the Bacchante was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”
He gave a casual shrug. “They have a reproduction on display. The original is mine. Has been for 70 years or so.”
The recliner in which I sat was incredibly cushy and comfy. Soft enough to fall asleep in, what with the noonday sun pouring in and bringing with it warmth, a clear blue sky and the green of Central Park. But I had come here for a reason.
“Ansgar, last night when I was having beers with my café buddies, I found myself wanting to help them when they asked about how I had gotten rich in just three days.”
“Yes?” he said, his voice deep and rich and full of patience.
Would I ever be less impatient than I had been most of my life? Had my quickness to ‘fix stuff’ been an issue with Sally? Well, we were working on being friends. She would share. I would share. And we would both enjoy each other’s company. Which was a circumstance far better than the past.
“Well, as I thought of helping them get money, I had a flash of what will happen this Monday on the New York Stock Exchange. I saw the stock of a mining company in Australia increasing twelve-fold. So I told them to buy stock early on Monday, before it goes up. It seems I now have precognition.” I faced him, briefly noticing how my normal eyesight did not need time to adjust to the move from bright outdoor light to less bright room light. “How did this happen? And how should I use this power?”
His black eyebrows had risen a bit when I told him about the stock going up tomorrow. Now he nodded slowly. As if suddenly having a new psychic power was quite normal.
“Jack, some of our powers do not present themselves until needed. You needed a way to find money. Your ability to see the near future happened. In my experience and that of other Transcendents, what happened to you is quite normal.” He paused. “Would you like a beer? Or some wine? Scotch on the rocks or neat?”
I did not feel thirsty. Which was unusual. I often drank water or pop during the day, especially when I’d done hard work. Which is what teleporting one’s body across a continent is. And my stomach felt hungry.
“Yes to a beer. And maybe a donut or something to eat. My gut is telling me it wants energy.”
Ansgar chuckled, then stood up. “Yes, I heard. Back in a moment.”
I looked down at the green swath of Central Park, with its two large blue patches of lake waters. At the far end was the zoo. In the center was the broad grassy expanse that lots of people enjoyed for picnics and suntans. My aura vision partly overlaid what I saw. A few bubbles of blackness showed amid the thousands or normal, happy or busy people auras. Evil was present there, just as it is present everywhere in the world. I sighed.
“Here you go, Jack. A Tuborg and a ham and cheese sandwich.”
I looked away quickly and up to Ansgar. Who was holding a plate filled with the sandwich and a beer. I took them, one in each hand. “Wow. Thanks for the sandwich, Ansgar.” I chomped a bite out of it, chewed, then swallowed with a slug of the Tuborg. “And this beer is icy cold. You are the perfect host!”
Ansgar smiled, sat down in his recliner and then fixed a musing gaze on me. “And you are a perfect student. You are willing to admit your mistakes and to ask for help when it is needed. And you are open to learning all the time. You will make a fine Transcendent, Jack.�
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“Really?” I put the plate on my lap, sipped at the beer, then took a deep breath. “This morning I met with the woman pastor who leads the church that my friend Leroy attends. She was very friendly, very smiling and very upbeat. My friend told her about my Healing, last night, of his hearing loss and his diabetes. He asked her if what I could do was a blessing from God.”
My host’s attention had sharpened when I mentioned my new Healing. Now, true curiosity showed on his face. “And what did this pastor say to your friend? And to you?”
“She said it was indeed a blessing from God, the Goddess or the Creator of the universe. She also said such blessings are very rare. And that what I did with this blessing was up to me. She cited Free Will.”
He chuckled, then sighed and closed his eyes. “Ah, yes. Free Will.” Ansgar opened his eyes, his hazel vision penetrating deep into me. “Every Transcendent believes in Free Will. Which is why we try to let humanity chart its own course, versus us becoming pseudo-dictators. It is also why we all support the preservation of humanity. While some of us do it out of convenience, since none of us are good winemakers, all of us see the value in Free Will. Which is also why there is no controlling council among us. We each do as we choose.” My mentor looked me over. “Do you believe your psychic powers are God-given?”
“I don’t know,” I said, telling him the truth. “The sudden onset seems miraculous. My friend Leroy and Pastor Lydia clearly saw my new abilities as a miracle. But as a former archaeologist, I believe in science, in facts, in the reality of the five senses. Yet, nearly every day I make use of something beyond the normal senses. How do you explain what we can do?”
“I don’t,” Ansgar said softly, his gaze shifting out to look at Central Park. “I give thanks for the fact I live longer than most. I have Healed a few persons in my long life. I have also eliminated some truly evil persons in this part of the continent. And I stay in touch with the other 23, now 24, Transcendents. Tell me, Jack, has your scientist lady been in touch with you on her DNA and blood analysis results?”
“No. Not yet.” Had Claudia called and left a message? I had been ignoring calls and even voice messages due to the media focus on me and the café. “I will give her a call Monday and see what she says. Then I will call, uh, send you a letter on her results,” I said, correcting my intent as I recalled Ansgar’s warning to trust nothing electronic. “If there is a major surprise I will port here and tell you in person. Okay?”
“Okaaay, my young student,” Ansgar said, a playful tone to his voice. “As to your question about what should you do with your precognition ability, my advice is, do it very rarely. Foretelling the future inevitably draws public and official attention. While your barrier field will protect you from drug darts and more serious weapons, still, you do not want to have to disappear to the Arctic or to Mongolia. Be openly rich. Be a supporter of the arts. I’ll send you an email with a list of modern artists worth purchasing. And avoid using your powers in a blatant manner. Be covert.” He smiled broadly. “Or be rich and splashily notorious, which is the path I’ve chosen since 1704.”
That last comment brought me to a question I had wondered about last night, after my friends left.
“Ansgar, what is the longest life any Transcendent has lived?”
He looked sharply to me. His expression was no longer relaxed and casual. Instead, it was alert, nearly predatory alert. All too similar to Warren’s inner persona.
“Young one, perusing personal details about any Transcendent is a quick way to experience psychic punishment.” He licked his pale lips. “From my own knowledge I am aware of a single Transcendent who lived to the age of 1,507 years, before passing away by his own choice. I am 315 years of age. A few are older than me. Most are younger, having only appeared since A.D. 1800. Now, is there any other guidance you need?”
My mentor’s sudden predatory reaction puzzled me. No one could kill us. Not even another Transcendent. Then why had he reacted so sharply? My impulse side pushed me to confront him.
“Ansgar, why did my question set you on edge?”
His aura was the usual brilliant white surrounded a massive core of light red. Other colors swirled through it, betraying a variety of emotions. A brief flare of black appeared as he thought about lying to me, then it vanished. His face became calm, sober and intent.
“Jack, privacy becomes more and more important to every Transcendent the longer they live. What we each know about the other is freely given. None of us try to read another’s mind without their permission. Which you have not done beyond talking to me in the elevator. I knew you were already here, of course. The sudden white flare of your aura was as bright as a second Sun. And two suns do not normally appear in Central Park.” A half smile showed as his lips curved slightly. “My reaction came from worry for you. One of us is willing to use our powers to cause pain to a Transcendent who gets too nosy. Who intrudes into our personal affairs. A Transcendent mind can cause pain in the mind of normal and in the mind of another Transcendent. So, be warned. Give proper respect to any other Transcendents you meet.”
Amazing. And plausible. Since no blackness showed, he was not lying. He was telling me the truth. Or at least part of it. And his advice made sense.
“Thank you, Ansgar. I appreciate your concern for me.”
He nodded quickly. “Good. Now, back to the pastor. What was your reaction to her comment on your powers being a blessing from our Creator?”
Ahhh. Ansgar was very curious about the source of our powers. He wanted to hear what Claudia had found. And also hear what I would do in reaction to Lydia’s words.
“Ansgar, I have decided to be a Soldier for Life, like the Archangel Michael, and also be a Healer of Lives, like Archangel Gabriel.” I held up my empty beer. “What can I say? I want to preserve life. And preserving life always means confronting evil. What do you think?”
Something new showed on the smooth skin of his face. While many moods could show on anyone’s face, the face of Ansgar now held a single mood. Respect.
“I think you have chosen well, young Jack. This dual path will be hard. Challenging. And often frustrating. A few of us have done as you are now choosing. One of us chose severe action in World War II. She convinced a German general to plant a bomb in Hitler’s bunker in east Prussia. That evil man survived. Until he suicided as the Russians arrived above his Berlin bunker.”
Wow. I had read about that attempt to kill Hitler. Now I knew what another Transcendent had tried to do during the worst world war in humanity’s history. Which left me with a question.
“Is she still alive?”
Ansgar sighed. “She is. And you will not know her name unless she shares it with you. Her regret over her failure to prevent more millions of human deaths still echoes inside her.” His mood became calm. “Which is why we all value personal privacy. That said, I wish you good fortune on your life path choices.”
I had earned respect from the man who had come to me to offer guidance and answers on why I had been . . . cursed and blessed with psychic powers. Maybe I could handle these powers. Or at least make smart choices. I had not shown all of my powers to my buddies or to the pastor, or to Stella and Claudia. It seemed that was the way of wisdom. And the route to whatever personal privacy I could manage. Still, being alone was no longer possible. Or desired. I had friends. Buddies. I had people who cared about me and who knew I could do good things. It was time to face my future without use of precognition and to just do the best I could.
“Thank you, Ansgar. I will see my way out.”
“Go in grace, young one.”
I took the elevator down to the bottom floor of my mentor’s tower, since I wished to visit parts of Central Park I recalled from my youth. I had enjoyed that time with my sister Jane and my parents. Maybe I could again relive that early joy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My walk down East Drive in the park took me past many places I recalled from the visit with my parents. I passed by
the North Meadow on my right, crossed the 97th Street Transverse, took the Bridle Path along the west side of the Jacqueline Kennedy reservoir lake, crossed over the Gothic Bridge, and kept going south. The Bridle Path took me past The Great Lawn where sheep used to graze, past Turtle Pond, over the 79th Street Transverse and into the wooded part of the southern third of the park. I was aiming for the Loeb Boathouse, where I planned to rent a rowboat and take myself out to the middle of a sunlight blue wing of The Lake.
Recalling a map I’d seen shortly after entering the park from Fifth Avenue, I headed for the start of the Ramble trail. The trail would take me to lower trails that would lead me to the boathouse. But the Ramble was famous for being a fully enclosed ‘wild forest’ area of the park. It was a place where one could pretend to disappear from sight of high rises, roads and other artificial things. Being surrounded by Nature was an urgent need. I turned down the trail, feeling anxious to escape the distant car honking, the yells of discus tossers, the sound of amplified music coming from boomboxes and the sense of being surrounded by crowds. While my persona sense always told me whenever people were near, I wanted to focus on the yellow-green glows of the trees, shrubs, grasses and a few flowers here and there. I noted a few mushrooms growing out of the bark of nearby trees. No one else was on the upper end of the trail, which consisted of a stone paved walkway that was no wider than a sidewalk. After crossing over a seemingly wild creek via a bridge with handrails, I sensed the presence of five people ahead, just past a turn in the trail that was out of view from the low bridge. Blackness enclosed all five persons. Should I head back? Avoid confrontation?
Killer Geezer Page 18
