The Return

by Christopher Pike

  "But I thought I would have more time to goof off over here. I mean, there's still so much I need to learn before I go back."

  "No. You know all you need to know. Also, I will continue to watch over you while you're on Earth. I will guide you, have no fear." He paused and briefly closed his eyes. "Besides, Jean Rodrigues is ready to take her fall. I see her now. She stands on a balcony overlooking the city much as you stood on a balcony before you left your body. Her mind turns to God. She prays for help."

  The Rishi opened his eyes and there was much love on his face. "We have to help her."

  "But there are a few things that still confuse me. When we first talked, I assumed Peter was also talking to someone like you, a great teacher."

  "Yes. He talked to me. But he saw me in a slightly different way and he called me Master."

  "At the same time we talked?"

  The Rishi smiled. "Time is time to me. It is all the same."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "Many of the same things I told you. I answered his questions. But we did not talk about Wanderers." He paused again and studied her in that gentle penetrating way he had. "I see what is in your heart, Shari. You want him to return with you."

  I nodded. "Yes. Is it possible?"

  "A better question would be, is it advisable?"

  "You don't think it is?"

  "Trust your intuition, Shari. What do you think? Or better yet, what do you feel in your heart would be best for him?"

  I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. But I sense the issue of his suicide is a problem, after all. More of a problem than I realized before we went into the light. Is that true?"

  The Rishi nodded, and for once his expression was grave. "Human life is the greatest of God's gifts. Because it is only in a human nervous system that a man or woman can realize God. Even the angels in the highest heaven have to be born human to attain perfection, to become a Master. To purposely throw away such a gift is an unfortunate mistake. Don't misunderstand me—Peter is not damned because he killed himself, despite what certain religions might say.

  He will learn from his mistake and go forward like everyone else. It is simply that his suicide slows him down. He doesn't have all the opportunities open to him at present that you do. Naturally, though, these will be his in the future.

  God forgives all mistakes even before they are committed. It is important that we are able to forgive ourselves."

  "But didn't Peter do that before he stepped into the light?"

  "Yes. That is why he was able to follow you. You helped him in that way, as he helped you in other ways. But the consequence of his suicide will still be there when he returns to a physical body. There is a term for this—karma. His suicide created difficult karma for him."

  "How will that karma take shape?"

  "It can take a variety of shapes and forms."

  "But you don't want to tell me?"

  "Many of these things are up to Peter. As far as I know, he hasn't said anything about wanting to return to the physical right away."

  "Because he doesn't know I have to go back. You said I am to return in a few minutes and I feel a lot of pressure. Can the three of us talk about it before I return?"

  "There is no pressure, Shari. If you don't wish to go now, you may go later. It is simply that the time for the change is auspicious for you as well as Jean. But another auspicious time will arise. It always does. But certainly the three of us can sit and talk together before anything is decided. I can bring Peter here now."

  "In a moment. I wanted to say that if you feel the time is ripe, then that's good enough for me. I'll go and quit whining. I really am grateful that you set this all up for me. But I wanted to ask you—how long will I be on Earth? You said I'd write stories that millions will read. Does that mean I will live to a ripe old age?"

  "No. It may be that you return for only a short time. I spoke of this period of transition that is fast approaching on the physical plane. Just as many Wanderers are incarnating on Earth to help with the transition, many with negative vibrations are also returning to stop it. They will not succeed, but they can upset the plans of many men and women of good will. In particular, they dislike Wanderers and attack them when they have the chance."

  I shivered at the idea. "Can they spot a Wanderer?"

  "Many of them can. Many of them are highly evolved, but in a negative way. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but it is not. One can evolve either positively or negatively. The interesting thing is whichever way you choose you end up merging into the divine. The divine is all there is. But the negative path takes much longer and is no fun. There is no love on that path. Those of negative vibration crave power and dominance. That is their trademark. You can spot them that way. They try to place themselves above others. They feel they are especially chosen by God for a great purpose. But God chooses everybody and all his purposes are great." He paused.

  "One of the negative beings might kill you. It's possible."

  "But can't you protect me?"

  "Protect you from what? Death? There is no death. I have nothing to protect you from."

  I nodded. "If they do get me, then I'll be back here with you. That won't be so bad. But I would like to help humanity as much as I can while I'm on Earth.

  What else can I do besides write my stories?"

  "Meditate. I will guide you to a genuine Master. Do service. Service performed without the expectation of reward brings a glow and richness to life. Study people who are always helping others. They are happy. You will have a happy life even if it doesn't last forever. That is my promise to you."

  I bowed my head in gratitude. "Thank you." I sat back up. "And now I suppose the hour grows late. Please have Peter come."

  CHAPTER XII

  MY IDENTITY CRISIS was over, even though I didn't know I'd had one to begin with. Jean Rodrigues's memories were still there as clearly as was her body, and so was I. The fusion of her life with my soul brought me no confusion.

  Although I could not clearly recall everything the Rishi had told me, I remembered him well and trusted that he would not have put me in a body where I didn't belong. Before I did anything, even as I stood up from Jimmy's desk, I thanked him again, as well as said a prayer for the original Jean Rodrigues. But I knew she was well because she was with him. My Master.

  I turned off the computer. I could read the rest of it later. Stepping onto the balcony that adjoined the apartment, I saw my brother sitting three stories below beside the pool and staring at the water. I remembered how I had sat beside him in the car after I died, while he drove from the morgue to the condo where I had been killed. How he had pulled off to the side of the road and wept.

  How I had wanted to take him in my arms and tell him everything was all right.

  And now God had given me that chance, I thought, and here I was crying. The pool was practically right beneath me. My tears must have been landing on his head. He looked up in my direction.

  "Have you changed your mind about reading it?" he called up to me.

  I shook my head.

  "Has it upset you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Do you want me to come back up?"

  I nodded.

  I was sitting at his desk when he came back in, studying the picture of my past incarnation. Honestly, I couldn't decide whether I looked better then or now.

  One thing for sure—Jean had bigger breasts. I was glad I hadn't gone out with Jimmy and let him touch them or anything. I would have just died.

  Now what was I supposed to do? It took me two seconds to make a decision. I had to convince him who I was. If I didn't, I knew I would spend the rest of my life regretting that I hadn't at least tried. Also, I believed the time was ripe for revelations. I believed the Rishi had moved Jimmy to let me read the story.

  That was why Jimmy had gotten emotional around me, something I knew he seldom did. I believed the Rishi's grace was all around. I couldn't get over how I had been dead and was no
w alive. I was so happy.

  "What's wrong?" he asked quickly. "You look like you've been crying."

  I set my picture down. "Yes. But that's all right. Please have a seat. I have something to tell you. You're not going to like what I say at first. You're going to get angry and order me to leave. But if you'll let me continue, then something wonderful will happen. Something beyond words."

  He studied me quizzically. "What are you talkingabout?"

  "I haven't read all of Shari's book. I don't need to. I know it from beginning to end. But I don't want to talk about particular incidents in the book. You could always say I happened to glance at a particular part and know what happened.

  Or else you could say I somehow got ahold of a copy and read it beforehand in order to confuse you."

  He sat down on the couch. "You are confusing me. What are you talking about?"

  "Jimmy, what do you think of me? I don't mean am I pretty or interesting or boring or crazy. I mean, is there something about me that you find familiar?"

  He hesitated. "Yes."

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do I remind you of anyone?"

  He lowered his head. "No."

  I understood that he was saying yes. But that it was not possible for him to say yes to his suspicion because what he suspected was not possible. Besides, the entire subject of Shari Cooper was so painful for him. I realized I'd have to punch a hole through that pain if I was to stand any chance of convincing him that I had come back from the grave. I took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy.

  "I'm going to list a few events that happened between you and your sister. Only you two knew about them, no one else. None of them is discussed in her story.

  What I want you to do is just listen as I talk. Don't try to form any conclusions.

  Can you do that?"

  "Yes. But you already said that you never met my sister. How can you know anything about us that isn't in the book? Have you talked to her friends? To Jo?"

  "No. Even Jo wouldn't know the things I'm about to say. Please, just let me talk for a few minutes." I paused for effect. "On Sharps first day of high school she locked the number of the combination of her locker inside her locker. She was so embarrassed she didn't tell anyone what happened. But she came to you at lunchtime and asked if she could borrow some money to buy something to eat because her lunch was in the locker, too. She made you swear you wouldn't tell anyone what had happened and you kept your promise."

  "No. I told my mother what had happened."

  I jumped in my seat. "You told Mom? Why the hell did you do that?" I stopped myself. Nothing was sacred, I thought. "Never mind. Let me take another example. On the night of your first date with Amanda, just before you went to pick her up, you entered Shari's bedroom and asked your sister how far you should try to go with Amanda. Like should you kiss her or just hold her hand—

  those kinds of questions. And Shari told you with a perfectly straight face that you should try to have intercourse with her before taking her to dinner. Do you remember?"

  Jimmy sat up. "Yes. How do you know that?"

  I raised my hand. "Be patient. When you were fifteen and Shari was thirteen, your parents took you for a trip to the desert. The two of you woke up early and decided to hike to a nearby rock formation. But what neither of you knew was that distances are deceptive in the desert and that the rock formation turned out to be five or six miles away. By the time you got to it you were both exhausted and thirsty. Then, on the hike back, while climbing through a dried ravine, you heard a rattlesnake in the nearby shrubs. Both of you panicked.

  You jumped out of the ravine and left your poor sister alone with the snake.

  She peed her pants. The rattlesnake looked at her and just crawled away.

  Afterward you both realized you had behaved like cowards, and you made a secret pact not to talk about what had happened." I paused. "You never told anyone about that incident, did you?"

  "No." He was getting annoyed. "How do you know about it?"

  "Let me tell you one more incident, and then I will try to explain myself. This happened after Shari died, but it is not recorded in her story. It did not happen between you and Shari but between you and Mrs. Parish. Listen closely here, it might sound a little confusing. After it became known that Amanda had killed Shari and that she was in fact your real sister, and not Shari, you went over to visit Mrs. Parish, Amanda's mother, who was in reality Shari's mother. While you were there you both talked about how great Shari had been. Toward the end of the conversation you made a touching comment. You said, "I think the things I loved most about Shari were all the things that made her different from me. In a way I'm grateful she wasn't my blood sister because then she wouldn't have been so different. She wouldn't have been who she was, which was the greatest sister in the world." After that you asked Mrs. Parish not to repeat the remark because you feared it would get back to your parents and they might be hurt by it."

  There was a strange light in Jimmy's eyes. It was kind of scary, actually. But so is the fine line between fear and hope, pain and joy. It was as if I were being guided directly by the Rishi right then. I knew I had to take Jimmy to a place where he was about to explode before I hit him from just the right angle. I believed I was closing on that place fast.

  "How do you know that?" he asked softly, his voice thick with feeling.

  "Because I was there with the two of you when you spoke about Shari."

  "That's impossible," he said flatly. "We were alone in her house. Amanda was under arrest at the time. How did you know about what happened in the desert?"

  "Because I was there."

  "I don't understand."

  "In each of these incidents, I was there."

  He spoke with exaggerated patience. "No, Jean. You weren't there. I would have known if you were there."

  "Then how do I know these things? You explain it to me."

  "I don't know. You must be lying. You must be a friend of Jo's. Shari must have told Jo these things and Jo told you."

  "The phone is right there. Why don't you call Jo and ask her if she knows a Jean Rodrigues?"

  His fear increased, as did his anger. "How do I even know your name is Jean Rodrigues? Why are you talking about these things? What are you doing here?"

  "Do you want me to leave?"

  "Yes." He stood. "As a matter of fact I do,"

  "Not thirty minutes ago you left me alone to read your most private computer entry. Now you're kicking me out. Sit down, Jimmy, I told you what I had to say would make you angry."

  He sat back down. "I'm going to give you another three minutes."

  "Good. That should be enough. If you were to call Jo, you would discover she knows no one who fits my description. If you were to call Mrs. Parish, you would learn she has never repeated your remark to anyone. Mrs. Parish is an extremely sensitive person. She would say nothing that might hurt your parents."

  "So you know her at least? You're admitting that?"

  I had to take another breath. "I know her in a manner of speaking. I know all of Shari's friends. I can tell you about them at length. But they do not know me. There isn't one of them who would recognize me." I paused. "Strange, isn't it?"

  "Yes. If it's true, but I doubt it is."

  "Why do you doubt it? Think about what I've just told you. Think about the things only you and Shari could have known."

  "That's not true. Shari didn't know what I said to Mrs. Parish. She was dead at the time."

  "No. That's what I'm trying to tell you. She wasn't dead. She was there in that house with the two of you!"

  He stood again and pointed at the door. "I want you to leave. I don't know who you are or what you want. I just want you out. Now."

  I stood and walked toward the door. But I stopped in front of him, I had to stop. He was my brother, after all, my big brother. My Jimmy. I stopped and rested my open palm on his chest and looked up into his eyes. He didn't brush me off. He a
ppeared to be transfixed by my touch, my eyes—there was a hint of green in them somewhere, I thought. Not that it mattered since he was color-blind. He had not been able to see the color even before I died. How could I hope that he would now? Still, I stared at him and I felt so much love for him that my own vision began to blur and he lost definition in my sight. Then I couldn't even tell what he looked like.

  It was then, however, that his face appeared to soften, and not just because of my tears, but perhaps because the old saying about the eyes being the windows of the soul was true. It was then he finally reached up to pull back the curtains a little. He reached up and squeezed my hand in that moment.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "It is me standing here. Just me."

  "It was me lying there," he whispered, quoting from my story. "Just me." He brushed a tear off my cheek.

  He shook his head sadly. "It can't be you."

  "I haven't forgotten you. How can you have forgotten me?"

  He got choked up. "It can't be you."

  I shook his hand. "Look at me! I'm here in front of you! What does it matter that my body has changed? It's still me."

  He wanted to walk away, but I wouldn't let him. I held on to his hand as if it were a lifeline to safety. His head fell forward as if dragged down by weights.

  His eyes blinked at the floor. His anger was all gone now. There was just pain and a ray of hope.

  "But you're dead," he said pitifully.

  "Was I dead when I sat beside you that night and wrote my story? Jimmy, what was that story written for? To let everyone know that death does not exist! How can you have forgotten the main point of the stupid book?"

  He shook uneasily, almost talking to himself. "But I didn't write it. I was asleep.

  I didn't know what I was doing. I just woke up in the morning and it was there."

  "I wrote it!"

  "It can't be. It can't be you."

  "It is me! Look at me, Jimmy! Just look and you'll see. I've come back. I came back for you."

  He looked up. I had the window at my back. Perhaps the light from it reflected on his face. Perhaps an angel brushed a wing over his forehead. I don't know.