Nightmare (21 page)

"I respect that your particular areas of interest give you a
uniquely colored worldview," I said slowly, with more patience
than I was feeling.

Derek offered his best grim smile. "Which is a really nice way
of saying, `I could explain it to you, but your rigid beliefs will
prevent you from accepting anything I say.'"

I stopped for a moment and stared at him in mild curiosity.
He was surprising, this one.

"Maybe we should just agree that I see the world one way and
you see it differently," I tried, attempting diplomacy.

But Derek was restless. "What is a ghost? Define it."

"A ghost is regarded as a disembodied soul. The idea has
been around since-"

"-since ancient times, I know," he finished. "People have
reported encounters with the dead for millennia. I'm a religious
studies major."

I crossed my arms and examined him. "All right, then, you
know so much about my opinions.... I know what you think,
too. I know exactly what you believe all hauntings really are.
Demons."

"Absolutely," he replied. "And that's why Jordin shouldn't
have been dabbling in this stuff. It's dangerous-and not just
physically."

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. "That's not good
enough," I said.

Derek was caught off guard. "What?"

"'Demonic activity' is not a compelling enough answer for
all of the things happening under the umbrella of `paranormal
activity.' I'm sorry, but it's not. And you're not qualified to say
otherwise."

I knewJordin wouldn't have wanted the two of us to get into
this, and she would have advised either one of us, separately,
not to start something with the other. But backing down from
a challenge isn't my style.

"I'm not qualified to have my own opinion?" Derek retorted.
"I thought everyone was entitled to their own opinion."

"Sure, but ifyou have no personal experience with the subject
matter, then how is your opinion in any way valid? Christians base a lot of their opinions on what they're taught and precious
few on anything learned through firsthand experience. Even this
stuff you're telling me right now about ghosts being nothing
but demons, you're just regurgitating opinions-from your dad,
probably, no offense-you've been told all your life."

Derek leaned back in his seat, listening to my argument with
great interest and a wry smile. Clearly I wasn't the only one who
enjoyed a challenge.

"I respect my father more than I respect any other person
alive," he began. "But he would be the first to tell you that I am
my own man. Because he was the one who pushed me to be an
independent thinker, to own my beliefs and know why I believed
them. And believe it or not, he and I disagree about quite a few
things. Doctrinal issues, mostly-"

I put up a single finger. "Have you ever encountered a ghost?
Yes or no?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied.

"Then how can you be so sure they're not real?" I asked,
pressing my point. "I mean, even as a Christian, I don't see the
disconnect for you. Christians believe in life after death. Why
can't they believe in ghosts?"

"Christians believe," he said, speaking with authority, "that
death results in your soul being routed to one of two placesheaven or hell. There's no room for dawdling on earth in
between."

"But that's the thing," I said. "We don't know the mechanics
of how it works. Nobody does, because no one has died and come
back with indisputable evidence ofwhat it's like. So many people
with near-death experiences have reported seeing the bright light
beckoning them to `cross over,' but nearly every story like that implies that in order to move on, you have to decide. You have to
choose to `go toward the light.' "

Derek sat up straighter. It wasn't hard to imagine that he'd
been wanting to get this topic out in the open for a long time.
"Why would a person be allowed the choice to stay here-even if
only for a little while-if their final destination is eternal punishment in hell? Criminals don't get to choose the day and time of
their judgment.

"Or if their final destination is eternal paradise in heaven," he
continued, "why would they want to stay behind here on earth, a
place that in comparison to heaven is wretched at best?"

"All right," I replied, my wheels spinning, "say that's all true.
Die and go directly to heaven or hell, don't pass Go, don't collect
two hundred dollars. Who's to say, then, that those escorted to
heaven after they die aren't allowed to come back and visit from
time to time? Don't look at me like that-I'm serious! I can accept
that hell is a prison, but is heaven a prison, too? Redeemed souls
check in, but they don't check out? The Bible offers precious little
information when it comes to the workings of heaven and eternal
life. How can we say with absolute authority that occasional visits
to the mortal realm aren't allowed?"

Derek squinted his eyes. "We can't," he conceded.

A moment of silence passed as I enjoyed my brief triumph.
But he rallied with a new approach.

"Tell me something. What belief system do you subscribe to?
Spiritualism? New Age?"

I grimaced. Why did everyone always assume that if you were
open to the existence of ghosts, you had to be a Spiritualist?

"In my experience, people who trust in those kinds of belief
systems tend to practice very dangerous things. Rituals and such, that-whether knowingly or not-often invite unwanted things
into their lives."

"Unwanted things," Derek echoed. "Like demons."

"For example."

He almost smiled. It was the first time I'd seen his eyes light
up since Jordin had gone missing. "That's a starter for a whole
other conversation right there," he said. "But before we get sidetracked ... You never answered my question. What do you believe
in?"

"As it happens, my mother raised me Catholic."

Derek noticed the distinct phrasing. "So you don't practice?"

"Not since I became an adult. My mother required it of me,
regularly taking me to mass, enrolling me in catechism and all
that. My father thought it was nonsense, but he knew better than
to argue. He's agnostic, and the two of them settled long before
I was born on letting each other cling to his or her own belief
without trying to change the other."

"But your mother believes what you believe-about ghosts.
Doesn't she?"

Has he seen my parents'show? I wondered. The differing views of
my parents were a unique aspect of the show, and one that made
it so popular. "My mother was born and raised in Mexico City,
where Catholicism mixed freely with mysticism and superstitions
like the Day of the Dead. I suppose you could say she's fashioned
her own beliefs that take into account both the teachings of the
Bible and the paranormal things she's seen and experienced for
herself."

"And is that what you've done?" Derek asked. "Formed your
own belief system by picking and choosing the tenets of various
theologies that you find most fashionable?"

I was sure I'd just been insulted, though I couldn't quite
put my finger on the exact spot where it'd happened. "It will no
doubt surprise you to learn that I believe the same things that
you believe, about the Bible and God and Jesus. I just believe ...
a bit more. And don't act like I'm unusual or something-there
are plenty of Christians in the world who believe in ghosts.

"Even the disciples believed in ghosts. That was their first
thought when they saw Jesus walking toward them on the lake.
And also when He was resurrected. I know that one by heart. He
said, `Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones,
as you see I have.' He doesn't lecture them on whether ghosts are
real or not. He's alive, that's what matters. And that's just the
New Testament. Don't get me started on Saul using the Witch
of Endor to conjure up Samuel. Are you telling me Samuel was
a demon?"

Derek stared at me with slitted eyes for a very long time. "I
don't know," he finally admitted. "But Saul's choices were evil.
Nothing good came of it."

It was my turn to lean back in my seat. "I don't like a religion
that doesn't leave room for questions. Don't sit there and tell
me that ghosts are an absolute impossibility when the very text
your entire belief system is based on not only doesn't rule out
the notion that they exist, but actually refers to them more than
once as if they're real."

Adrenaline was coursing through my system as I finished
my little speech, and I almost felt bad for Derek. He looked as
though I'd slapped him across the face.

"My biggest question," he whispered, "is what's happened
to Jordin."

As if in answer, my phone rang. I checked the screen and this
time it was a real call.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Peters?" said Dr. Eccleston. "Is your friend with you? I
need to see you in my office at once."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I deciphered your symbol. I believe you're going to be very
surprised at what I found."

I looked at Derek meaningfully. "We'll be right there."

On Eccleston's computer screen was something remarkable.
It was a perfect rendering of the complicated symbol from the
back of Carrie Morris's neck, which the professor had somehow extracted from its original image and manipulated in three
dimensions.

"I kept thinking," explained Eccleston, "it was so complex, it
was like looking at more than one symbol at a time. And then it
hit me...." His index finger reached out and stabbed a single key,
and the symbol on the screen rotated ninety degrees sideways to
reveal three distinct black shapes, stacked on top of each other.
All three were fashioned out of a similar iconography. "It is more
than one symbol," he finished, clearly proud of himself. "Three,
to be exact, intertwined and overlapping each other like a tied
knot. The image you supplied was so small, it took some creative extrapolation to see all three symbols in their original state.
There are several lines-like this vertical one down the center,
and this outer curve-that overlap perfectly. Once I realized this,
I recognized all three immediately. Then it was just a matter of
modeling-"

"What are they?" Derek interrupted. "What do they mean?"

"They are ancient alchemical symbols," Eccleston replied with
a hint of reverence in his voice. He tapped another key and they
swiveled back to a front-on view, but slid apart so we could see
all three more clearly. He pointed to each in turn as he explained.
The first looked like a lowercase m with a strange little curl at
the end. "This one is commonly known as the zodiac sign for
Virgo. In alchemical terms, it essentially stands for distillation or
separation," he explained.

He pointed at the second one, which was a circle with a vertical line running down its center. Breaking off from that line to
the left was a horizontal line, which was looped with a second
circle. "This one is less common than the other two. It appears to
be a representation of lodestone. Lodestone is a natural magnet,
so I believe that in this context, it represents the magnet's ability
to bind one thing to another."

Eccleston's finger hovered over the final symbol. It was the
simplest of the three, merely an inverted triangle with a horizontal line passing through it. "This is the alchemical symbol
for earth."

The two of us were silent as his explanation sank in. It made
no more sense now than it had before the professor had untangled
the symbols.

"So what does it mean?" Derek asked.

Eccleston shook his head. "Well, the fact that it was found
on human skin is significant. The ancients believed that symbols
were more than just a language; they thought that the symbols
themselves held power. Where did you say you saw this on your
friend, again?"

"The spot on the back of her neck where her neck met her
skull," I replied.

"Where the neck meets the skull..." he muttered. "Hmm."

We both looked at him. "What?" asked Derek.

"Well, this place that you describe on the back of the neck ...
It's long been theorized by pagans and parapsychologists that
that could be the seat of the human soul."

The human soul...

I crossed myself involuntarily as a terrible thought began
taking shape. I couldn't believe I was even entertaining such an
idea, but the more I thought about it, the more it added up. Every
piece of this crazy puzzle suddenly fit perfectly.

He allowed us a moment to process this before continuing.
"If I didn't know better, I might think someone was using this
trifold glyph trying to bind a human soul to something."

"Bind it to something?" Derek asked, not catching on. "What
do you mean?"

But it was all coming into focus for me.

"Well, grammatically the word `bind' is used when something
is tethered or anchored to a specific thing or place."

That was it. I understood. I knew what was happening.