Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (25 page)

John sighed and said, “I had an interesting run in with some evil spirits when you were taking care of the grave.”

“Evil spirits? Like ghosts?” asked Pete, as he looked around the barn, as if he actually expected to see what John was talking about.

“Spirits for sure. One of them was evil, and she . . .”

“She?” interrupted Pete, clearly surprised by the notion.

“Yeah. A woman, and she was a bad one. She was controlling a big group of spirits, and they were busy working on the kids,” said John.

Pete nodded and said, “Can you tell me what happened . . . from the beginning?”

John sat on a bale next to Pete, cleared his throat once, and then recounted the entire story for his friend. When he finished, Pete rubbed his eyes and said, “Wow. I . . . I don’t know what to make of it. I mean, I’m still coming to terms with your other out of body stuff. And now you’re exercising demons.”

“I see I made a mistake,” replied John, and he stood to leave.

Pete also stood, and put a friendly hand on John’s arm. “That’s not what I meant to communicate, brother. I’m just . . . I don’t know . . . coming to terms with all of this. You’re right,” said Pete, as he slapped the book in his leg pocket, “I’m reading this to help my mind cope with the strange spiritual quality of our lives. Do you think there’s some evil force walking around out there, like the guy in The Stand?”

“Randal Flagg . . . the Walking dude. Good question, but it wouldn’t surprise me. If there is, he or she hasn’t been revealed to me yet. And if so, well, who’s to say it will be our job to hunt him down and stop him. It’s not like we’ll detonate a nuke in Vegas to blow him away.”

“What? Is that how the story ends?” asked Pete, shocked and somewhat disappointed that John may have ruined it for him.

John dropped his head to suppress a smile and said, “It’s a good story. One of King’s best I think. You should finish reading it no matter what I say.”

Pete grunted and said, “I will, if you promise not to spoil any more of it.”

With a nodded commitment, John said, “The interesting thing about evil though, the real thing is much more scary and interesting than anything I’ve read. You remember my account of hell?”

“I remember that one demon impaling you on his spiked skin,” replied Pete.

“That was real, Pete. I was there, living it, feeling every pain as if it was real. And if that place is real, what does it make this place? And Heaven, that’s a real place too, only light and alive and powerful. Much more powerful than hell . . . that’s for sure. I’m just saying, life is a lot more complicated knowing what’s on the other side.”

“The other side of what?” asked Pete.

“The veil I guess. I don’t know what else to call it. A barrier, maybe. Either way, I can see things now that I used to never be able to see before. Most people live in and around spirits, and they have no idea what’s happening around them. We’re so wrapped up in our physical existence that we give no notice to our spiritual senses. I’m beginning to wonder what’s more real, this life or the other,” finished John.

“This one’s real. I guarantee it,” replied Pete.

“It’s real to you because it’s where you are. But if you could see the other side, you would think differently. On the other side you can communicate without words, know things with a desire to know, and travel anywhere with a thought. It’s . . . to your point . . . unreal. But unreal because this is all we know.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pete, as he leaned forward to listen intently. John knew his friend was sincerely interested, but he could tell he was also a bit skeptical. How do you tell someone about an orange if they‘ve never seen or tasted one before. As for being a skeptic, John was one as well. In fact, he was still trying to come to terms with all he’s seen
and done. He really didn’t know what he was trying to explain to Pete, other than he knew he needed him to believe.

“I mean, what is real? If you see something with your mind’s eye, actually picture something in your mind, does that mean it actually exists? On the other side, I can create things with my mind . . . real tangible things, like a sword. But everything I see here, exists on the other side as well. This rock,” said John, as he picked one up from his feet, “exists on the other side as well, only it’s represented as energy. It looks like the same rock, but it’s not as solid as it is here.”

Pete silently considered John’s words for a moment and asked, “How do I look on the other side?”

“Hmmm,” replied John, with a knowing look at Pete. “That’s a good question. People are represented many different ways. For instance, the energy that constitutes our spirits radiates light or darkness depending on our works. Some people are very bright, and others are dark. Of those who are light, they radiate light like personality. There’s a lot of variety, but there’s also similarity.”

“What does mine look like?” asked Pete.

“I’d have to step out and take a look. To be honest with you, I haven’t had a chance to look closely at everyone. I’ve seen Jenna and the kids, and a few others, like the bikers, but that’s about it. Jenna’s light is tinted purple, with gold rays around the edge. I don’t know what it means yet, but I’m sure I will with time. Adam’s is a shade of green, and Abby’s is light blue, like the clearest sky,” said John, as he wiped a tear from his eye. Talking about the kids’ auras opened a sensitivity in him he didn’t realize he possessed.

“Can you look at mine?” asked Pete.

“Okay, sure,” replied John. “But I’ll have to relax more than this. Let’s push some bales together so I can lay back.”

Pete pulled down two bales from the stack and laid them next to John’s to form a flat surface. “Will that work?” he asked.

“It should. But keep an eye on me. I’ll be out of sorts, like being almost asleep.”

“I got your back,” said Pete, and he slid his bale to sit close to John. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was very curious to see John in action, if in action meant him sleeping. Pete chuckled to himself and sat silently. He watched as John’s breathing grew shallow and regular. His eyes moved behind his lids and Pete wondered what that meant.

A moment later, from his relaxed position, John said in a very low voice, which was little more than a whisper, “Oh crap.”

Pete didn’t know what to say, but he said something anyway. “What do you mean, oh crap?” he asked.

With a very low voice, John said, “I got this. Just a second, Pete. I’m a little busy here.” A few seconds later, John added, “Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, Pete grabbed John’s closest hand and held it firmly, and was pleased that his friend gripped him back tightly. He didn’t know what was going on, or why John would need his hand, but he complied and hoped his friend wasn’t falling off the deep end. He could only imagine what was happening on the other side, as John called it.

Occasionally, John would twitch, as if hit by some kind of invisible Taser, or mumble words he didn’t hear or understand as if he was talking to someone very near. Pete listened, and tried to discern his friend’s words, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he should be worried or amazed, because he had never before seen such a thing. More minutes passed, and John continued to lay on the bales, talking as if to himself, and gripping Pete’s hand solidly, sometimes even squeezing it painfully when Pete was caught relaxed.

Finally, after more than ten minutes of uncertainty and concern from Pete, John released his hand and allowed his arm to drop. Pete watched John’s hand plop into the dust and hay on the floor and wondered if his friend had expired. If it wasn’t for John’s rising and falling
chest, Pete would have thought it so. Still, he dared not talk, on the possibility that John might still be involved in whatever it was he was doing.

With his eyes still closed, John said, “I’m fine, Pete. You can stop staring at me now.”

“I wasn’t staring . . . okay, I was staring. What the hell was that all about?”

John sighed and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes, sneezed once loudly, and said, “I’ll pay for laying on this hay. I never was good with it. Now it’s in my hair and nose. I’ll be sneezing for weeks.”

“That’s what soap and water is for,” replied Pete.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, there are no working showers around here.”

“Quit your complaining. We have water, and soap. You forgot what it’s like to be a soldier?”

“You’re right. I was complaining,” replied John, as he swung his legs around to face Pete.

“So, you gonna tell me what just happened. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to break my hand.”

John looked at Pete’s hand and said, “Sorry about that . . . but who’s complaining now?”

Pete snorted a reply and asked, “Well?”

“Well,” said John, “there was a bit of activity present.”

“What do you mean, activity?”

“I mean, spirits. They were running amuck, it was a pretty big fight, too. By the way, you handle yourself pretty well on the other side,” added John.

“I do? I mean, of course I do. And what exactly is it that I did . . . do?” asked Pete, with a tilt of his head. He handed John his water bottle, and John took a long pull before handing it back to Pete.

“Apparently the witch . . .”

“Witch?” interrupted Pete.

“The woman evil spirit, the one I had to deal with earlier.” When Pete nodded, John continued, “Well, she must have had reinforcements or something. How do you feel right now?”

“What do you mean?” asked Pete.

“I mean your body. Do you feel any pain, anywhere?”

Pete arched his back and said, “My lower back hurts.”

“Your lower back always hurts . . . like mine,” snorted John. “I’m talking about other pain, or feelings, something just a little different.”

John watched Pete perform a systems check, flexing his shoulders and arms, then his legs. He turned his head, this way and that, and did the same with his trunk. “I don’t feel any different,” replied Pete. “Why? Should I?”

“You were hit twice, once on the left arm, and once on the back, here,” said John, as he pointed to the spot on his own back with his hand, “between your shoulder blades . . . at the base of your neck.”

“What do you mean, hit?”

“I mean just that. This barn, and everyone in it, was under attack when I stepped out. We had help, but it was a full blown battle. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m surprised you don’t feel anything. Your arm was almost severed, and that spear in your back went almost all the way through you.”

Pete shouted, “What?” and stood up to look around the barn.

“Shhh. You’re gonna wake the entire neighborhood. And you’re being cared for right now, so sit down and stop making a fuss so she can finish,” teased John.

“You’re kidding me . . . right?” asked Pete, hopeful.

John shook his head and watched his friend wince and begin to rub a spot on his left arm, just above his elbow. “Its right about here then, isn’t it?” said Pete.

John nodded again, but this time up and down, and added, “I was beginning to think you were too dense to feel anything.”

“Well, I don’t feel the spear,” replied Pete.

“It’s already been removed, and the wound healed.”

“That fast?”

“That fast,” answered John.

“There must be good medics on that side.”

“The best,” replied John. And if he squinted just a little, he could still make out Brittany’s form as she worked on Pete’s arm. She smiled at John, and he smiled back.

“What’s so funny?” asked Pete.

“Nothing,” replied John. “Just watching Brittany work on you. She’s very good. One of the very best.”

“Did you get wounded?”

“Was about to, but I deflected it. When I stepped over the fighting was almost done. I mean, they stopped fighting when I stepped over.”

“Who else was fighting with you?” asked Pete.

John silently considered his friend’s question, and with his head cocked as if listening to someone talk nearby, he said, “Your guardian angel, and mine, and a few others . . . the ones now assigned to the kids.”

“What can you tell me about mine?” asked Pete, as he resumed his seat on the bale next to John.

“Only that he’s a relative, someone three . . . no, four generations back. I’m hearing he’s on your dad’s side, too. Straight back, father to father. That makes him your great-great-grandfather. Do you remember his name?”

John could see Pete considering his words, and also see the emotion well up inside his friend. He wasn’t sure why the news was affecting him so powerfully, and then realized that Pete’s relative was making a connection with him. John looked and saw Pete’s relative facing him, forehead to forehead, right hands clasped behind the other’s neck. It was a deep and bond making connection, and John was also deeply moved by it.

Pete innocently wiped at one of his eyes and said, “His name was Peter, like my grandfather. My dad broke the name chain, or I would
have been the fourth in that line of names. He was French I think, and came to America in the early or mid-eighteen hundreds. That’s all I know,” said Pete.

John looked at Pete’s great-great-grandfather and saw him give a thumb’s-up. “He said you’re right,” said John.