by S S Bazinet
His act didn’t work. The beast stopped and stared at him, tilting its head with a narrowed gaze that clearly showed no fear. After a moment of observation, its conclusion was certain. It loathed what it saw. It moved even closer, breathing deeply and rhythmically. It sent fiery tendrils of smoke into the air as it exhaled.
Arel had his second realization. He was no match for Carol’s pet. And somehow, astral body or not, he could die if it used its fire on him. The thoughts rendered both his mind and his posturing body practically immobile.
I’m going to be burned to death! God, no!
He held up his hands in surrender, trying to retreat, trying to escape the dread that was taking over.
Wake yourself up. Get your astral ass out of here. Now!
The creature seemed to be encouraged by his submissive gesture, not to leave him alone, but to glory in its ability to intimidate him. As he stumbled backward, it moved ever closer. The smoke coming from its nostrils was getting thicker. Small flames began to escape from its cavernous jaws.
Seeing the fire paralyzed Arel’s body completely, but heightened all of his senses. They came alive, not in the moment, but in some distant past. He remembered the smell of burning flesh. Screams of agony and shrieks of torment filled his ears. He could feel his skin blistering.
The bedroom faded away. A new and sinister scene took its place. He was the main act. He was the object of torture and persecution. He was helpless, trying to scream out in agony, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t move or save himself. The vision was so real, so completely vivid, that he found himself in the midst of a firestorm.
Twelve
MICHAEL STOOD AT the bottom of Arel’s king size bed. Abrigail sat on its plush covers, holding an icy compress to Arel’s brow. She glanced up with questioning eyes.
“Michael, I know this isn’t helping much, and I know his situation has nothing to do with the physical, but what else can I do? He’s burning up.”
Michael observed the crimson color of Arel’s normally pale skin. “I’ve tried to reach him, but I can’t. He’s barricaded himself into a place so deep inside, it’s impossible to breach.”
Abrigail’s gaze swept over Arel’s immobile frame as he lay on the gold sheets. “I’ve never seen such powerful shields around a human before. I know that Grace never meant to harm him, that she was only protecting Carol, but she must have been very frightening to cause this kind of reaction.”
“Arel’s enhanced abilities are surfacing. When he saw Grace’s projection as a sort of dragon, his fear response must have escalated exponentially. It altered his perception. He viewed Grace’s presence as a lethal threat, and a fiery one at that. His fear of being burned triggered parts of a past life memory.”
“You’re not talking about—”
“Yes, I was able to get a glimpse of what’s going through his mind. He’s terrified of what happened to him.”
“He wasn’t supposed to access that memory. He’s not ready. We both know that.”
Michael moved to the side of the bed. He placed his hand on Arel’s heart, evaluating the vessel’s performance. It was beating too fast, much too fast. And it was weakening. “It was the one recall that I thought was buried deep enough not to be exposed for quite some time.”
Abrigail gave him an imploring look. “You’ve done all you can for the physical part of him. And I know that you’ve tried repeatedly to reach him on other planes, but you have to try again, Michael. You have to get through the barrier. He’s not going to last much longer.”
* * * * *
When Arel opened his eyes, he wasn’t in Carol’s bedroom any longer, but he knew he was far from safety. Fire, bright and alive, was everywhere, surrounding him with its hiss and crackle, reaching out with fiery hands. There was no escape. The intensity of the heat was so extreme, he was sure he’d soon explode into flame himself, dry kindling on a bonfire.
In panic and desperation, he held on to a heavy tarp that he’d discovered. After he covered himself, he lay on the hot, barren earth. He curled up, making himself as small as possible, hoping that the end was quick. In a daze of near hysteria, his mind blazed in and out of consciousness, losing all sense of time or place.
“Arel, answer me! Arel, where are you?”
A voice called to him from far away. It was so muffled that he didn’t recognize it, couldn’t hold on to it. He kept falling back into a void, a black place under the tarp that was suffocating. But at least he couldn’t see the fire as long as he stayed hidden. After a while he didn’t hear the voice anymore. Holding himself tight, he knew he’d imagined it.
* * * * *
This was Michael’s last chance to reach Arel. The man’s life force was failing. His powerful mind was creating a scenario that was scaring him to death. Michael had to find a way through the walls of fear that surrounded him. Without Michael’s quick intervention, Arel wouldn’t survive.
“Arel, answer me!”
Michael used their close, if not always cordial, bond as a compass. When he discovered a fragile trail of energy that still existed between them, he knew he’d had his first break. He was drawn to another plane of consciousness and quickly found himself in the middle of a firestorm. He continued to call out as he made his way through the dense smoke and flames. The inferno spread out as far as he could see. He was amazed at Arel’s ability to manifest so compelling a depiction of his fears. Arel was also shielding himself at the same time. It was an unfortunate situation. All of Arel’s reserves of strength were waning as he literally battled against himself.
Abrigail is right about you being very strong in some ways, my friend, too strong for your own good.
Michael began to cautiously draw on his own powerful energies to counteract the fires, knowing that he had to be careful. If Arel decided that Michael’s power was alien or hostile, he would dig in even deeper, deeming Michael as his enemy too.
“Arel, let me in, it’s Michael!”
He used the sound of his voice as an indicator that a friend was near. As he called out, he kept going forward. He also sent great waves of blue radiance to his surroundings. It illuminated his path and the area with a cooling energy. He became a calming shower of light as he forged through the inferno. Fortunately, as he advanced, there wasn’t any opposition. His authority began to quell the flames as he passed.
“Michael?” Finally, a weak, failing voice answered back.
“Yes, I’m here.”
A moment later, Michael felt the barriers go down. Acting at once, he transported to the spot where he’d heard the voice. It was stifling hot, but in the middle of a ring of blazing fires, there was a form on the ground with a covering draped over it.
“Arel?”
Michael knelt down and lifted an edge of the tarp. He sighed with relief as soon as he saw what lay beneath. There, cringing in fear, barely able to breathe, Arel looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.
“My poor child, there you are!”
Arel slowly lifted a hand in his direction. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
* * * * *
As soon as the tarp was lifted, Arel’s first thought was that Michael brought a cool breeze with him, driving out some of the oppressive heat and bringing a bit of oxygen. He was able to breathe a little easier. Greedily, he tried to take in a great lungful of the stuff and coughed.
“Take it slow,” Michael advised. “You’re safe now.”
Arel nodded, slowing his intake, grabbing onto Michael’s sleeve like a safety line. “Where were you?” he wheezed.
Michael flung back the tarp completely and stared at him with a deep frown. “I was trying to find you, but you hid yourself so well.”
Arel had never seen Michael look so distressed. “I had to hide to escape the flames.” He looked around and saw that fires were still blazing in isolated areas around him. “Where am I?”
“I’ll explain it later. It’s time to go home now.”
Arel tried to move,
to get up from where he lay, but he had no strength. Michael helped to get him to his feet just as a fire flared up out of the ground. It was only a few feet away. He clung to Michael, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the flame. The longer he stared at it the hotter it got. He tried to scream as it flared out at him, but there was too much smoke.
Michael reacted at once. He pulled Arel closer and shielded his eyes. “Don’t look at it! You’re safe now.”
Arel hid himself, trying to draw on Michael’s strength. “Don’t let them destroy me.”
“Who? Who wants to destroy you?”
“People, the people who live in this ghastly world.”
“Those are thoughts, feelings inside of you. I’ll protect you until you understand the truth, unless you shut me out.”
Arel opened his eyes and searched Michael’s face. “Is that what I do?”
“Lower your shields when you need me.”
Michael whispered the words in his ear, but Arel felt like they were going much deeper. In a flash, he saw himself barricaded behind thick walls.
“Oh yes. I see it now. I do shut you out, but I don’t know any other way. I’m so scared.”
“I know a way,” Michael said quietly. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll talk about it.”
* * * * *
After getting Arel back from his fiery dreamscape, Michael sat in the frail human’s bedroom. Arel’s troubles weren’t over yet. He was still unconscious. He lay on the bed with Michael on one side and Abrigail on the other. His body was still and wasted, looking like he’d been beaten by his father again.
“At least his fever is down,” Abrigail said as she removed a wet compress. “But he’s so weak.”
“We’ll be able to help with that part,” Michael said as he ran his hand over Arel’s brow, cooling it as he always did when allowed.
“What about Grace and the memory that she rekindled?”
“I’ll try to cover up the entire episode with Carol and Grace. He’s not ready to face any of it yet. If I can help to push it back into his subconscious, it’ll give him time to recover.”
“Will he let you?”
“I have a small window of opportunity. After saving him when he was so scared, Arel trusts me right now, but that probably won’t last very long.”
Abrigail smiled. “You did an amazing job finding him in spite of his shields.”
Michael stood up and sighed. “But I don’t know how to slow down what’s happening to him. The process is moving so fast. He barely made it this time.”
“His abilities are already surprisingly powerful.”
“That’s true, but he doesn’t know how to use them properly. Unfortunately, they’re reinforcing and intensifying his fears. His body can’t handle that kind of emotional stress.”
“Arel seems to know that,” Abrigail said as she picked up Arel’s bony hand. She held it close to her heart. “He said something about becoming an immortal invalid.”
Michael shook his head. “He was wrong. His concept of immortality was flawed to begin with. Now, at this in-between stage, his life is more at risk than he could possibly imagine.”
Thirteen
AREL OPENED HIS eyes and immediately closed them again. His entire body hurt. Every muscle and joint ached. He grabbed hold of his pounding temples. Had he been fighting alligators in his sleep?
What the hell happened? How did I end up like this?
Still holding his head, hoping it didn’t fall off his shoulders, he climbed out of bed. He tried to remember if he’d had any dreams, but his mind drew a blank. He couldn’t even remember going to sleep. When he tried to recall what he’d done the night before, his mind kept slipping, as if he was navigating on ice. But he didn’t have the strength to worry about it. All he knew for sure was that he was still exhausted, consumed with body pain and his head was killing him.
It was an effort to drag himself to the bathroom. Once there, he had to support his weight by leaning on the vanity. With a heavy sigh, he lifted his eyes to the mirror and gasped.
Damn, I knew I looked bad, but this is ridiculous.
His eyes were sunken and blood red, and his skin was almost the same color.
This is a new twist. What will Michael say about this one?
He grabbed his brush and tried to run it through his thick, unruly hair. He was struggling with the tangles when he noticed that his hand was barely able to hold on to the brush. In fact, his whole body was now vibrating unsteadily. He threw the brush on the vanity and started out of the bathroom.
And I thought it was bad when my hand shook.
It didn’t matter. Who cared if he shook? Who cared if he was too thin or too red? Michael claimed that he did, but Michael didn’t count. The angel had to say things like that.
Once he was back in the bedroom, he glanced at the clock. He squinted to make sure he was seeing the time correctly. He couldn’t believe that he’d slept all day. How was it possible to get that much sleep and still feel so bad? But he had to keep moving. Carol would be waiting for him in the chat room in thirty minutes.
What did we talk about the last time?
He couldn’t remember their conversation, but his stomach did a flip-flop. He suddenly felt nauseous.
He half staggered his way to his office and dropped heavily into his chair. As he reached for the keyboard, a horrible feeling of dread made his headache pound harder. He needed to go back to bed, but he wasn’t one to bail out on a friend. He started to type, saw the gibberish coming up on the monitor and paused. His fingers were out of control and shakier than ever.
“Great, how am I supposed to type with these hands? And my stomach—”
He took a couple of deep breaths and got a flash of clarity.
It’s Carol. Every time I think about her, I’m sick.
How could he have imagined that an online friendship was a good idea? When he thought about an evening conversing, he wanted to throw up. He’d have to make the chat session as short as possible. By tapping out a letter at a time, he managed to compose a message for Carol. He even had a few minutes to spare. He used them to do more breathing. Instead of feeling better, he kept swallowing back bile and the feeling that he was headed for disaster.
Finally.
He groaned out his gratitude when the monitor announced that Carol had logged in. As soon as he saw her name, he used an unsteady digit to hit the send button.
“Dear Carol, I’m sorry, but I’m too ill to talk tonight. Please forgive me. Until tomorrow, Mike.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He logged off at once and put his hands on the desk to steady himself. Hopefully, with Carol out of the way, he’d calm down and his body would relax. He waited for relief, but the queasiness only got worse. His anxiety was building too. As the minutes passed, he became fixated on a vague but certain feeling that Carol would somehow be his ruin. She would search him out, find him and . . . .
That’s as far as his mind would go, but his body seemed to know that whatever happened, it was going to be very bad.
Dammit. I bet this isn’t about Carol at all. It’s the damn, blood thing again.
“Michael!” He yelled out the name with as much volume as he could muster. “Michael, get down here, now!”
* * * * *
Michael walked into Arel’s office and took a seat on the sofa. He had worked on Arel’s wounded psyche while his friend was in a receptive, sleep state. Afterwards, he’d deliberately stayed away. He didn’t want to set off any alarms again. Arel’s paranoia was very close to the surface. Anything could trigger it. When he heard the tone of Arel’s summons, he knew there was more work to be done. In spite of his physical infirmities, Arel did have the ability to sound like a drill sergeant ordering around a recruit. “You wanted to see me?” he asked quietly. “Did you sleep well?”
Arel glared back. “What do you think? Look at me.” He held out his hands for inspection. “I can’t stop shaking! And check out my skin! I’m like something
out of a horror movie.”
Michael eyed Arel silently, not offering any reason for Arel’s tremors or the fact that he looked like he’d fallen asleep on a blazing hot beach in the middle of August.
Arel let out a huff of disgust. “What’s going to happen next? Brain aneurysm?”
Michael exhaled a bit too loud. He didn’t think Arel’s brain should have any problems. It was Arel’s heart that caused him concern. “If you could go back to bed for awhile, I think it might help.”
“You need to come up with something better than bed rest. I want an explanation.”
Michael hesitated. How could he tell Arel what the problem was? How could he explain that Arel’s cellular makeup was still flushing out the powerful scenario where he’d been burned alive? Michael had done what he could to repair the damage that Arel had suffered, but a part of Arel was very busy trying to challenge his intervention. It was the part that didn’t trust Michael, and it was active again. It was searching out Michael’s angelic work, his attempt to repress the dream terrors and a past life recall. It was treating Michael’s involvement as a foreign act of sabotage.
You’re dismantling my work, Arel. You’re looking for trouble, literally.
Arel sat up impatiently. “Don’t just sit there and stare at me, tell me why I’m like this!”
“Perhaps you’re worried about Carol.”
“Carol?” Arel’s red complexion edged towards a bright crimson as he gasped out the name. “It’s weird, but I no longer think of her as sweet and innocent. Every time she comes to mind, I get the feeling that she’s something rising from the depths of Hades.”
Michael understood the connection, and the reason for Arel’s body temperature soaring again. Carol’s threat to seek him out and Grace’s fire-breathing image had merged in Arel’s subconscious, magnifying his fright.
But I can use your fear to help you this time.
The thought made Michael smile inwardly as he got up and went over to the desk. He stared at Arel with a calm determination. “Do you want Carol out of your life? Would that be helpful?”
