Spectral Vibrations

by Mercy DeSimone

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Dixon

  Turning into the back parking lot, I pull up next to an unfamiliar Ford Explorer parked near the stairs that lead to my mother’s private apartment above the store. Frowning slightly, I wonder who could be visiting at this hour, before shaking my head and pulling out my cell phone. A few rings later, Martina’s sleepy voice demands, “What’s wrong?”

  Feeling like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, I fire back, “Why do you assume something’s wrong?”

  “Dixon,” she pauses, “it’s 7:30. Why else would you be calling me at this hour?”

  “True. I need to see you. Alone.” I pause into the significant silence waiting for a response.

  “Give me five minutes,” she groans before hanging up on me as I wait, glancing periodically in the rearview mirror and tapping my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

  Finally, the door at the top of the steps opens and a man appears running his hands through his shaggy hair and squinting in the morning sun. Ahhhh.... it seems Marcus bought a new truck. I wasn’t sure he and my mother were still ‘benefiting’ from their friendship, but Marcus was a good guy.

  The owner of the town’s music shop, he apparently caught her interest one day while playing a native tune on his wooden flute. Being only about fifty-six to Martina’s seventy, I thought he was a bit young for my mother. She simply said that anyone whose lips could play a tune with that type of delicacy was not a man to be overlooked. I quickly ignored that TMI and kept my thoughts to myself. Knowing her ‘friend’ was only fourteen years older than me was something I didn’t really want to explore, but once you get older and start playing the numbers game you develop more of a tolerance for such things. Some things just don’t need to be examined that closely.

  Pulling a pair of Raybans from his pocket, Marcus runs lightly down the stairs, glancing my way and lifting a lazy hand in greeting before slipping into his truck and backing away. Waiting until he’s completely out of view, I pop my door open, glancing back to the top of the stairs where my mother now stands in a pair of soft sweat pants, a man’s v-neck t-shirt, and a pair of fluffy bunny slippers waiting for me to come up. Her brows raise slightly as she watches me head to the back door, then pinch together in concern as she scrambles down the stairs when she sees the body I’m pulling from the backseat.

  “My God, what happened?” she exclaims as I gather my unconscious passenger in my arms. “Who is that?”

  “I have no clue,” I say as I head for her steps, letting her run ahead of me as she starts up the stairs backward, trying to watch my progress without tripping herself.

  “Mother!” I say sharply, snapping her out of her reverie. “Please turn around and watch where you’re going. I can’t carry both of you,” I say in exasperation. It’s rare I use that word, or that tone with her, but she knows that means I’m truly worried. Turning quickly to run up the stairs ahead of me, she pulls the throw off the sofa, draping it lightly over our visitor before sinking to the floor next to her.

  “Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she says softly, watching the woman’s soft breathing and wincing slightly when she sees the bruise forming on her shoulder.

  “Dix, there’s a tube of Arnica in my medicine kit. Grab that for me.” Her hands lightly dance down the woman’s body as mine did, feeling and flexing joints softly, searching for other signs of injury.

  “Why did you bring her here? Why didn’t you take her directly to the Urgent Care?” she asks as I cross the living room from the kitchen, her medicine kit in hand. “Do you know how she got the bruises?”

  “I wasn’t fast enough to catch her when she fell,” I admit sheepishly to my mother’s back. “She startled the hell out of me, and by the time I reacted I was only fast enough to keep her head from bouncing off a rock.”

  “Well let’s thank the Goddess for small favors, then,” she says, sending a small smile my way.

  “Do we know who she is?” As she glances my way again I shake my head at her before swallowing. “You’re not going to believe this, but...”

  Something in my voice must have caught her attention as Martina swivels back on her heels and turns my way in encouragement.

  “One minute I was alone...” I hesitate, “and suddenly, she was just there.”

  ”“What do you mean, she was just there?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but it was like she just appeared out of thin air.” I realize I sound a bit desperate; it sounds crazy even to me. I can’t imagine how stupid I must sound.

  Martina’s eyes go wide before a shuttered expression quickly crosses her face and she turns back to the ‘patient’ murmuring, “Well, isn’t that just a cosmic joke.”

  I must still look a little spooked because she reaches for my hand, squeezing softly before saying, “Let’s not worry so much about the ‘who’ for now and just focus on the ‘what’ she needs in the moment. How long has she been out?”

  Calculating rapidly in my head I estimate, “It was just about dawn when she appeared. It took me about fifteen minutes to get down the canyon with her, another fifteen to get here. So, thirty minutes max.”

  “Poor thing,” Martina runs a hand lightly along her cheek, “she’s going to be traumatized when she wakes up and finds herself here.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask watching our guest intently as her eyes suddenly snap open and a sharp cry issues from her throat before she starts flailing on the couch as if fighting for her life.

  Tanzy

  Awareness seeps back into my being and I feel a flutter along my cheek before realizing that I’ve come to rest on something spongy and soft. Opening my eyes, I see two alien beings staring at me and immediately begin to flounder to my feet, trying to get away from their alarmed stares.

  Strong hands grasp my shoulders and a burning sensation works its way through my consciousness as they push me back down, and a cool hand entraps mine, tugging me back. My hands shake in the grasp of the other being who is clearly femme in origin, while a male being is pinning me to the surface.

  Hushing noises begin to filter through my panic as my internal translation unit starts to kick in, deciphering words and phrases that give me pause. “It’s okay,” bass tones reverberate in my head, while lighter, alto notes continue to create shushing sounds to soothe without words.

  Reluctantly, I settle back into the sponginess and swivel my head from side to side trying to take in my surroundings. This enclosed space is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Swaths of color echo from soft surfaces, draping across boxes of light, across amorphous shapes that appear to be perches anchored to the floor, like the one I am lying on. Crystals are strung from ceiling encasements that refract light and make me smile slightly as something looks, if not familiar, at least comforting.

  The room is dim, although shards of light peek from the boxes draped in color and I focus on the light, regulating my vibration by fixating on the sight. The male follows my gaze, rising as if following my silent suggestion, crossing the room and moving the colorful drape until the room blazes with light.

  Sighing in relief, I sink further back into the softness before turning my gaze to my companions. The femme has an aura of pink around her which I’ve never seen before. I’m not certain how that’s even possible. It’s as if a Violet and Indigo had joined but become almost completely Unlightened, the color bled away until only a small corona remained. By all rights, this being should be close to death, but clearly her vibration is still strong and vibrant.

  Turning toward the male, I’m speechless. A soft, emerald glow emanates from his body, completely capturing my gaze. I’ve only seen a green aura once before, when I met Jaden, and he’s the last tuner born in centuries. How is this even possible? Where am I that a green tuner is standing over me, holding my hand, and.....

  Holding my hand! In horror, I realize that I’m not feeling his vibration. I’m feeling his touch. My body is anchored and every sensation seeping throu
gh my pores is from actual contact, not from being translated through my silica.

  Pulling my hand from the femme, I raise it softly in the light, turning it this way and that, looking for the translucence that refracts from my silica, marveling at the opaque mass of my derma that now has weight and texture. Lifting my other hand, I stroke my cheek, feeling the softness on my fingertips until a light quivering sensation nudges at my fingers, and a small sentient being forces itself under my other hand that now rests on my chest.

  Small, beady eyes gaze at me as its nose twitches in agitation as if trying to sense my essence. Whatever it is, it reminds me of the way that Karma nestles next to me and I suddenly feel a sense of comfort. Closing my hand softly, I caress the small being, feeling the body quiver and pulsate, before gathering it closer to my heart, allowing my vibration and beat to calm its agitation. I can sense its inner turmoil and focus my vibration to match and smooth its pale green aura, marveling again at seeing the rare color reflected yet again. The reminder distracts me as I suddenly remember there are two other beings in the room, and I’ve been as unaware of their feelings as if I were back to being a plain healer instead of an empath.

  Lifting my eyes, I’m conscious of the concentrated stares directed at me as I wonder if they can sense my feelings even though I can’t sense their own. It’s rare that I interact with other Empaths; there’s too much residual emotion that makes it difficult for us to not drown in the other’s runoff unless you have superior control. When you absorb that much emotion from others, it’s difficult to avoid releasing it without a ritual cleanse.

  My fingers twitch as they softly stroke the small being resting on my chest. Focusing my breathing on the task, I try to calm the panic rising in my chest and threatening to overwhelm me, carefully keeping my eyes averted from the strangers staring at me. It's as if by avoiding eye contact I can pretend that I'm back on Krysalis with Laz, resting in my suite. I really don't know what the etiquette is for situations such as this. Especially since I'm not even certain what planet I'm on.

  The male's structure, so similar to Laz's, makes me think I might be on Earth. Beginning to shiver slightly, I find myself yearning for the comfort of his vibration, and for Jasper's strength. I can't help but fear the worst, that Jasper sacrificed himself so that I could escape, but I refuse to believe it without proof. He's proven time and again how hard he is to kill. I know that if there is breath in his being, he will be searching for me as soon as he's able.

  "Good Light," the femme says softly in the traditional greeting, as my eyes quickly fly to meet hers. Reaching toward me, her hand gently rests on the crown of my head and I feel a sense of comfort flow from her being to mine. Closing my eyes briefly, I blink to find her gazing at me with a gentle expression, patiently waiting for me to speak.

  "You know the language," I ask wonderingly as a small smile stretches her lips.

  "Percutiamus fœdus in pace,” (let us meet in peace) she says lightly, before removing her hand from my head to grasp my hand. "Is your translator working?"

  Nodding my head, I continue to stare, gathering my thoughts for the questions sure to come.

  "Do you know where you are?" she asks as I shake my head, opening my mouth to reply as the male looks at the femme in surprise.

  "What was that?" he asks, a look of disbelief on his face.

  "That is the typical Krysalin greeting," she says, winking at me before turning to look at the male, who now seems utterly confused.

  "I have no clue what that means, Mother." His voice is dry and seems a bit impatient as he looks between us, his eyes searching my face for some type of acknowledgement of her claim.

  "I daresay there's a lot you don't know, Dix," the femme replies before concentrating more fully on me again. "My name is Martina. This is my son, Dixon."

  I tilt my head slightly, searching for the translation for the word 'son', when my eyes open wide in disbelief as it finally registers. "He is an offshoot!" I say in awe, my eyes searching his being eagerly, trying to gauge how recent his existence. "Are there others?" I ask reverently, hoping that means that wherever I am, it is a planet rich in Obsidian.

  "Oh, there are others," she says with a slight twist of her lips. "Just not mine."

  Staring at the male I can't help but reach toward him as if to insure that he's real. Laz and I have worked so long to find ways to bring new beings to light, and here one stands before me in the flesh; not a wish or a dream, but a physical being.

  As our hands touch my body tingles as a vibration flushes across my nerve endings. Surprised, I begin to pull back as his hand grasps mine more firmly, his thumb stroking softly across my skin sending shivers throughout my being. The strangest sensations are assailing my senses, as if something has crawled under my skin, caressing it like fur from the inside, making me want to curl up into the sensation and bask in the attention.

  The being named Martina watches our locked hands sadly before sighing and lifting her eyes to mine once more.

  "What is your name?"

  Still transfixed by the hand curled around mine, I take a moment to recenter my thoughts before lifting my eyes to hers again. "I am called Tanzy," I say breathlessly as the hand grasping mine begins to softly disengage, causing the faintest whimper to escape my throat. The small entity nestled on my chest shifts, startling me for a moment before nestling more firmly against my sternum.

  "As Martina said," the lyric baritone echoes in my ears, "I'm Dixon. And that," he gestures with his chin to the small entity, "is Squeazel. If you'd like me to remove him, I'll be happy to take him away." He grins at me as my hand moves to cup protectively around the small, furry mass before shaking my head again.

  "Squeazel," I breathe the name softly, earning more twitching as his nose sniffs the air as if scenting my words, before burrowing back into my body.

  "Can you sit up, or do you wish to continue to rest?" Martina's words drift across me as my eyes grow heavy again. It's as if my body has finally recognized that I'm in no immediate danger and as much as I want answers, the trauma from the flight and arrival here begin to overtake my senses and pull me under.

  "Rest for a while," Martina whispers even more softly. "There's plenty of time for answers later." Drawing back she puts her arms around Dixon's shoulders and begins to lead him from the room, murmuring softly, as his head turns back to glance at me worriedly before following her out and leaving me in peace.

  Chapter Forty

  Dixon

  "What the hell is going on?" I hear the growl in my voice as my mother narrows her eyes at me, a reproving expression crossing her face as if to remind me who I'm talking to. "Sorry," I immediately say contritely, "My brain is having trouble catching up here."

  "I think we could both use some coffee first," she says crossing to the kitchen sink and grabbing the carafe to the coffee maker. Looking at me meditatively, she says,"Dix, there are some things you need to know."

  As if that wasn't obvious from the moment I brought the girl, Tanzy, here. Watching her measured moves I bide my time, slouching at the small 1950s dinette table, the red formica cracking at the corners and showing gaps in the surface. I've offered to buy her a new set a million times but she always refuses. She claims that there are too many memories tied up in these pieces to discard them. How something that came out of a thrift store could contain anything more than enough germs to formulate a gallon of penicillin is beyond me. But Martina has always been sentimental that way.

  Then I remember sitting here every day at the table working on my homework as a child while she cooked and chatted about her day. This was the place we spent every evening together reading, or playing games. More than any other place in this apartment, the energy tying me directly to this table is as comforting as having my Mother's arms around me when I was a child. It represents home and safety.

  So much of my time was spent with my mother. I missed the memory of my father, but in many ways he was like a shadow in my life. I barely remember his
features, mostly just the deep tenor of his voice and a sense of contentment when he was around. I remember tagging along as we would hike into the mountains searching for rocks and minerals, bringing back items for Martina that caught our imagination. The way he would stroke my head and hold me to him in such a way as if I needed his protection, from what I couldn't imagine. I don't remember ever telling him I was afraid, or that there were monsters under my bed. It was almost as if he feared something from which he felt the need to shelter me. Like the monsters were his instead of mine.

  I still remember the sense of devastation when he was gone; Martina's sad, resigned smile as if all the light had gone out of her life. Except for me. I always felt like the center of her universe and any time she seemed sad or depressed all I had to do was touch her to make her smile again. She was the one constant in my life, especially since Suzanne's death, and I wanted to hear whatever it was that suddenly brought that old sadness back to her face.

  "It's been forty six years since..."

  "Mother. For God's sake, this is not Titanic!" I say, annoyed at her melodramatic tone.

  Glaring at me, she begins again. "It's been forty six years since I met your father. I was hiking up near Bell Rock when a man suddenly stumbled into my path. He was injured and disoriented, and the look of pure terror on his face is one that I'll never forget."

  Pushing back in surprise, I stare at her as the words begin to sink in. "What are you talking about? You met Dad at the hospital." My eyes widen slightly as a feeling of bewilderment creeps in.

  "At least that's what you always told me," I say uncertainly.

  Sighing, she pulls a chair away from the table before sinking down and resting her head in her hands for a few moments, as I sit in stunned silence.