“I can’t tell you that. The time is not right.”

Crouse looked annoyed.

“I’m just following the timeline. It’s not necessary for you to know those details now. You said you found a manifesto. What was in it?”

Crouse silently stared at him. “It was rather incomplete.”

“Incoherent?” Kurt smiled.

“You seem to more about it than you let on.”

“It’s more like this: James wrote in code. More or less. It really annoyed all of us. Mostly his sister Jillian. The two of them had been estranged in the beginning.”

“They were both responsible for starting the Psychic Society.” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice. A subtle hint that a normal person wouldn’t pick up on.

Kurt smiled. “I’ll continue…”

Jillian Perry, the love of my life, grew up like James, naively believing the lies of her so-called betters. She was different. Smarter. She went to school for biology and chemistry. She did very well but found that it wasn’t really the field for her. But even she had a hard time finding even hard science jobs to take her. Odd right?

“Mr. Williamson, your storytelling ability is highly ineffective. You still haven’t told me how the Perrys were able to do what they did.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m saving that for chapter 3, 4, or 5. It’s coming, I promise. I’m just trying to get my rhythm and this ain’t no foxtrot.”

“Ugh… Proceed.”

It’s been said that twins have a higher capacity for psychic phenomena. I’m sure you’ve seen that in your research.

Crouse nodded.

That might account for the twin’s acuity. Jillian admitted that the two could even see ghosts when they were younger. Though James saw full shapes and she only saw shadows. But as time went on, Jillian saw the shadows less and less until she didn’t notice them at all and ultimately forgot about them.

Much was like her relationship with her brother after they graduated high school. James was the weird one. Having very few friends and a magnet for ridicule, Jillian shied away from him and his misery as they grew older and went to separate colleges.

As I mentions, Jillian studied biological sciences voraciously; she wanted to solve the mysteries of human biology and discover how to cure diseases and the various pains individuals felt in their own bodies, both physical and mental. One of her more lofty ideas was to develop a means to permanently increase a person’s metabolism.

But all of that seemed so far away. She was very close to finishing her master’s degree in biochemistry, but with the economy in the shitter, she was having a hard time finding a job that didn’t involve managing high school students and their burger-flipping endeavors.

Patience; the economy will recover soon… When was soon? She went on to her master’s degree specifically to wait out the failing economy, she even took her time and spent four years on her master’s instead of two, all the while waiting tables… Waiting…

It was late. Jillian finished the first half of a double shift at The All-Night Burgers-n-Stuff, and she slid into a booth to enjoy a greasy burger and fries on her lunch break. The best part about working this late, or early, whatever the case, was the lack of people. There was the usual gaggle of drunks and caffeinated punks that strolled in at 3 am, but for the most part, they didn’t bother her.

As she chewed on her burger, calculating the amount of exercise she would have to do to work it off, she looked up to a screen in the corner of the restaurant that was tuned to the news.

Jillian hated the news. It was always miserable with death and disasters. It seemed like not only had the economy ruined her life but everyone else’s, creating a domino effect of events where people just lost all sense of good, falling into fits of violence and greed.

It made her sick to her stomach as she nibbled her burger; she lingered to see what tragedy had struck this time, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Not a funny laugh, but an ironic and cold laugh: the two presidential candidates, who raced to inherit the job of revitalizing the United States had been brutally killed in a hotel room with some no-name bank executive.

Jillian shook her head and tried not to smile. They were the same guy anyway, dressed in a different suit, and wearing a different cologne, but on the inside, they were both going to do whatever they wanted and forget their campaign promises. Same old, same old. Maybe someone NEW would be nominated…

“The investigation continues as to why both candidates were meeting with Edward Burr, an employee of financial giant Stantz and Lee…”

Probably just collecting their campaign money. She took a long drink from her glass of cola. When she felt the buzz of her cell phone on her thigh.

She dug into her pocket and opened her flip phone and blinked when she saw the name: James Perry… A text message? The two hadn’t spoken since a Christmas video chat. James apparently was too busy to spend Christmas with the family that year.

She rolled her eyes and opened it up, her eyes dilated as she read it:

I’ve deposited some money into your account. I want you to visit me in Washington DC; I have a job for you, if you’re interested. I understand that with your future graduation, you are still looking for a suitable position. What I have planned is more than substantial, it will change your life forever, for the better.

Cryptic and weird as ever, she thought, I wonder what he sent me. 

She opened up her bank account on her phone to see a deposit of $50,000.00 in her checking account. She did a double-take. It was 50 grand! She stood up and walked over to the office where the shift leader sat.

“Hi, Jillian,” said the night manager, “I want to thank you again for taking that double. We were hurting for someone to stick around.”

“I quit,” Jillian said, “Thank you for this opportunity. I hope I can count on you for a future reference.”

With that, she walked out to her car and planned her trip to Washington DC.

The Psychic Society: Chapter 1

“Who is James Perry?”

That’s a complex question. To you, James Perry is a terrorist. A man who went on a killing spree that included one president, two presidential candidates, a majority of house representatives, and several others who stood in his way.

I call him an American patriot who saw a failing system, led by spineless, principle-less snakes, and mercilessly struck them down. Po-TAY-to. Po-TAW-to.

But perhaps you want a more complete view of the man you call a terrorist. At the crux of his situation, as I’m sure you can attest to given your fancy attire, the lack of money in his family was of great consequence.

James Perry was born to Arthur and Millie Perry on August 6, 1960. Birthed right behind him, five minutes later, was a twin sister. She was a little smaller than him; doctors were unaware that she was even there until birth. But the major problem that the Perry family had at that moment was taking care of two children. One was going to be tough, but two had not even been on the table until that day.

It’s very easy for elected officials to make rules for everyone, as well as give themselves higher-than-average salaries and furniture allowances when they don’t see the real suffering that they bring on with their leadership. They were dutifully elected to protect the interests of the people and as years went by they created more laws, and more tax codes, that bettered their own lives and crippled regular citizens.

Creating laws that made it illegal not to have insurance for instance. Reagan’s trickle-down philosophy: works in theory but when a large portion of the world’s wealth is tied up in trust funds, it doesn’t seem to trickle down at all. Maybe from heir to heir. Monarchy to monarchy. Business to politician.

People work hard to get so little, and the new monarchy can’t even be bothered to read a bill. Instead, they push it through, with lots of earmarks and extra pork, that has nothing to do with the bill’s title, and that’s that. The end.

Slavery hasn’t died in this country, it’s just called civil duty.

Wow! That was a tangent! Even in death, my master’s will is surprisingly strong. Let’s get back to it.

James Perry grew up in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. His father was a mechanic and his mother was a store clerk. They made enough to get by. Luckily for Arthur Perry, his father started his mechanic business when he turned eighteen and eventually opened up a garage where he serviced vehicles for the neighborhood. Arthur joined him after serving three years in the military, and became an accomplished mechanic, even opening up his own garage. He taught James a lot about cars and how they worked, but James always wanted to be a writer.

He wrote a lot of fiction in high school. Much of it unpolished, he admitted, and he decided to go to college and pursue an English degree. He believed it would be enough to get him a job and allow himself to write in his spare time. He took out a loan, the same as his sister when she went to college, fully expecting a decent job upon graduation. Everyone told him if he wanted to succeed, he needed to go to college. He listened to that and took it to heart, believing the American dream was in his grasp.

It was 1982 when he graduated college. The country was recovering from the energy crisis and James struggled to find a job that would pay him what he was worth, or at least what everyone told him a degree was worth. Some companies told him he didn’t have any experience so they were moving on to other candidates.

Others told him he was overqualified for the position. He worked for a fast-food restaurant in the evenings and a superstore in the mornings. He kept it up for several years. Applying for jobs, being rejected, and continued to work his two jobs. He loved going to interviews.

“It says on your resume that you’ve been working for SuperCenter for five years. Why do you want to leave them? You must like it there to stay for five years.”

James did not know how to answer that. Would it have been professional to shout, “It’s the best I can do because no one will hire me?”

Still even better when he would vent his frustrations, people would tell him he should not have taken out a student loan if he couldn’t pay it.

“Everyone told me that I needed a college degree to succeed in life!”

“You should have done more research instead of listening to what others told you,” they told him.

He hated himself for ever trusting anyone in the first place. The same people he looked up to, to have all the answers, lied to him. He decided it was time to start his own research. He was looking for ways to correct the system.

He saw that education was too expensive and the return on investment was low. There was no necessity anymore for a college degree if no one was willing to pay you for your education. But part of the issue was that the government started backing these loans, so banks gave them freely to eighteen-year-olds seeking their bachelor’s degree in pottery…

Schools took full advantage of this situation and charged more than was necessary for their programs. They paid college professors more and added new wings. They can not be completely blamed for the situation. Why would they not take advantage of the situation?

So they did. The young paid for it, believing it would lead to better jobs and better pay. They lied. And no one is willing to take responsibility for it.

I, personally, did not go to college. All of this frustration flows from my master out of my mouth. Do tell Crouse, what do you know about the aether?

It is everywhere. It is God. It is thought. It is substance. We walk through it. Some of us noticed.

But what is that to you? You are not psychic. You simply obey the dollar, not the higher call. It is as plain as the suit you wear.

“Get on with your story! What does any of this have to do with anything?” said Crouse

It is the beginning. The creation of a terrorist. What was it you hoped to find from me?

“How? How was James Perry able to do what he did? I am under the impression he could fly and shoot senators from blacked-out windows.”

Oh? Yes. That did happen. That is a good place to start since it was the very first act that James did as the Spectre.

That day was a nice one. The Washington Hilton Hotel stood resolute in the afternoon sun…

“Are all the fluffy words necessary?”

Well, if someone wants to read this book later, they may be interested in all the fluffy words. Or perhaps they’ll just skim and get to the good parts. Create your own adventure, you know?

The entrance flooded with cars picking up guests and dropping them off. Typical view for such a lovely building, ten stories high, with a large, egg-shaped garden in the entryway. Sweet scents of daffodils filled the air. Of course, you do not care about daffodils, so I will continue on with the story.

A black Buick pulled up to the entrance and dropped off a well-dressed gentleman, not as well-dressed as you of course, but he looked the part he dared to play. Senator Garvin, a healthy man of 47 who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, gave his driver a smile and a nod as he turned to the Hilton entrance. He walked inside to wait in line at the front desk. It wasn’t long till everyone recognized who he was. Senator Andrew Garvin, the Republican candidate for President of the United States, flanked by Secret Service.

Those in front of the line stood starstruck at his entry. He batted away their aww with a cordial smile and commanded them to continue on with what they were doing. Much to his amusement, they all stepped out of his way, bending over backwards for him. It was intoxicating. He loved it, and he did his best to maintain the most humble attitude he could. After all, he would be elected President and they would be under his thumb.

Senator Garvin did not get into politics to help anyone. He got into politics because his father had. And his father before him. Garvin was as political a name as Kennedy. It was power his family craved. They had several funds set up for their family that accepted money from all over the world. A good portion from USAID, I imagine. Tax. Payer. Dollars. Oh boy!

As long as the Garvins continued to vote whichever way the money flowed, it kept flowing, despite the needs of the American people.

Garvin received the information he needed from the cute blonde at the front. He left his card with her in case she was looking for an internship. He was always looking for new talent to help him get off. But now he had to focus on the deal at hand. He was meeting a very important fellow in room 1013: Jameson Burr, Deputy Director of Stantz and Lee Financial, one of the leading contributors to both political parties, because why have principles when you could own a president?

“Is your commentary necessary?”

Is yours?

Garvin walked down the main hallway to the elevator and proceeded to the tenth floor. He was late. It isn’t prudent to keep Stantz and Lee waiting, not with an election on the line. He arrived on the 10th floor and hurried to room 1013. Secret Service stood at the door as he knocked, and immediately the door opened to reveal the stern, stone-cold face of Jameson Burr.

Short, combed blonde head, with gold-metal wire glasses that didn’t slide down your nose, like commoner glasses, though he still instinctively pushed them in place, probably a habit he maintained as a child before becoming a Stantz and Lee employee.

“You’re late,” he ushered Garvin into the room. It was a dimly lit suite, with a bed blanket covering the windows. Senator Davis, a mild African American statesman, running against Garvin stood up to greet him.

They shook hands and embraced with a couple of shoulder pats like all friends do.

“What kept you? Blonde, brunette, or redhead?” Davis winked.

Garvin chuckled. “Well, you know…”

“Gentlemen, I’d like to conduct our business quickly. We’re behind schedule. Senator Garvin, did anyone see you on your way in.”

Garvin frowned. “Several, including hotel staff.”

Burr sighed. “These meetings are important so that we all get what we want. Tardiness will not be tolerated unless you want the withdrawal of Stantz and Lee?”

“One news conference would put Stantz and Lee under fire, wouldn’t it?” Garvin smiled that white, perfect smile that won elections.

Burr smiled. “We own several news agencies. Nothing is printed or televised without the scrutiny of our people. Why do you think these procedures have gone on this long? You’re not the first Republican we’ve owned.”

Davis laughed a low, breathy laugh. He was an older, distinguished gentleman who had been a Democratic senator for most of his life. He hadn’t contributed much except a lot of pot-stirring. It was easy to point the finger at others and rally the have-nots to your cause. Davis was an expert at it.

He took a seat in a plush, straight-backed chair. Garvin did the same.

“Gentlemen,” Burr picked up two packets of papers from his open briefcase, which lay open on a wooden table in the center of the room. “These are your contracts. Stantz and Lee are backing both of you for the next four years. One of you will be president, the other will still be Senator, both roles are paramount for Stantz and Lee’s future. The contract outlines your obligations to Stantz and Lee, upon receiving your deposits of $100 million, each, you will henceforth make your decisions on our behalf. If we want a certain bill passed, make it happen.”

He handed the contracts to the senators.

“What happens when we can’t get our fellow party members to cooperate?” Senator Davis put on his reading glasses as he looked over the paperwork. “Are we out $100 million?”

“Stantz and Lee requires the utmost cooperation. If any members have a hard time seeing our vision, let us know we will take care of it.”

Davis nodded and smiled. “A lot more where that came from, huh?”

“Senator Davis, all your needs will be met as long as you meet ours. We may require some greasing-of-wheels and hammering-of-nails if you catch my drift.”

“I read you.” He laughed as he pulled out a pen from his pocket and signed his contract. Senator Garvin did the same.

“Now, whichever one of you is President, we will need you to steer the national conversation in the direction that best suits us. Never mind what you promised your voters; they’ll be disappointed but you’ll have to convince them that you know best.”

“Don’t we always?” smiled Senator Garvin. Senator Davis Laughed.

“And the opposing party will call out the ruling party’s ideas as racist, sexist, or whatever rhetoric that fits best at the time,” Senator Davis continued. “Don’t worry Mr. Burr, we’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been walking.”

“And we’ll continue to run this business,” Senator Garvin clapped Senator Davis on the back. They handed their contracts to Mr. Burr and he placed them in the open briefcase. He smiled. These guys didn’t need coaching. They were pros. There was absolutely nothing to worry about…

The window broke, and the sound of glass clattered as it struck the blanket covering. It sounded like an ice cube hitting a hardwood floor. Burr jumped when he heard it and gazed at the window to see a quarter-sized hole of light peering through the blanket.

Senator Davis let out a horse scream. Burr turned his head to see that Senator Garvin was facedown into the white carpet, a gaping hole in his head.

Then another crash. Burr ducked down, but Senator Davis was too slow. He fell to the floor, but Burr could tell that another object came flying through the window, striking Senator Davis straight through his skull.

A bullet?

“Open up!” Secret Service banged on the door.

Blood pooled beneath the dead Senators’ bodies, soaking into the white carpet.

How? Thought Burr We are on the 10th floor. There are no other buildings around to snipe from. And how could anyone see them through the blanket?

Burr crouched on the balls of his feet. Two holes of light peered through the blanket. And more, there was a man standing on the balcony.

Burr yelped. He had to get to the door. The Secret Service would save him! And then he needed to escape. Far away where no one could find him. Not only to escape this menace but to avoid being in the news with two dead presidential candidates.

The man punched through the glass and opened the door. The wind from outside ballooned the blanket for him to step inside the room. Burr grabbed his briefcase and stumbled towards the door. The banging grew louder and he fumbled with the lock and opened it. The agents took one step into the room and collapsed. Burr tried to jump over them, but the man reached out and gripped his shirt collar and flung him to the ground onto his back.

Burr hit his head against the soft carpet with a thud. Dazed, he looked up at the man. He wore some sort of military-styled suit of armor and a hard mask and helmet. The suit looked like sports padding only sturdier, but at the same time, it looked like it breathed, without any limitations. Flexible as if it were non-existent.

The mask was attached to the helmet much like a motorcycle helmet but with some sort of electronic display, showing a smiley face of leds.

He held an M24 sniper rifle in his hands, his finger just outside the trigger well. Even through the mask, Burr could tell his eyes were locked on him. It was an unsettling feeling as if the man could read his thoughts and stood above him in judgment.

He spoke, raspy, with a voice modulator. “Hello, Mr. Burr. You don’t know me, but I’ve been learning a lot about you.”

Mr. Burr quaked as he tried to string a coherent line of words together.

“Shhh… Hush now. I wish you could help me, Burr. I do. I’ve been doing research on you. On Stantz and Lee. On the two senators over there. I’ve come to some conclusions:

“1. You represent Stantz and Lee, but Stantz and Lee represents something else. A mystery I’m hoping to solve.

“2. Those senators are just the beginning.

“I’m going to clean things up. Make things the way they should be.”

Burr shivered on the ground, his briefcase covering his chest.

The man sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit dramatic. Maybe you can help me. I’m going to kill you and in so doing, a path will be laid out before me. Will I proceed down it? Or give up on this mission?”

He pointed the muzzle a the center of Mr. Burr’s head and squeezed the trigger.

“Oh. No, you couldn’t help me. The path was already laid, and we were just passing ships…”

He pulled the remaining agents into the room and slid the “do not disturb” sign on the door.

“To be honest, there is no helping me, or rather help is on the way. Foggy. The fog with lift soon.”

He pulled the briefcase out of Burr’s hand and walked out the door.

On his way to the elevator he saw a housekeeper pushing her cart. She saw Jameson Burr tip his hat and disappear into the elevator.

The Drakonians were first. They came because they saw the star. A new star—never before discovered by their astronomers—just blinked into existence. And other stars, igniting and burning, ones that had been extinguished for a long time. What could have caused this?

Their scientists discussed the possibility of gasses and electrons and all manner of explanations, but the fact was that a new star was born and they didn’t know how.

It was time for an investigation. And being a very organized race, they sent their military and scientists to examine the area that resembled spilled milk.

Their ships were long, and they undulated like sea serpents across the sky. Adam didn’t think much of them. To him, they were just another animal. He and his wife Eve, and several others that YHWH created after the two, lived with the wild things peacefully. All worked together to protect the Garden of Eden where they lived.

Though work was perhaps the wrong word for it. Food was readily available. Shelter was readily available. Companionship was readily available. Everything was at their fingertips and YHWH was everywhere. No one wanted anything.

Adam lay on his back, looking up at the sky, a red fruit in his hand, content as he watched the shapes move close to the ground. Large, flying snakes? he thought as he took a bite of his fruit. They steadily grew closer and eventually appeared to be landing.

Adam swallowed his bite and stood up. These snakes are enormous! The entire village could ride on their back!

They landed somewhere off in the distance. He could feel it. Something large shook the earth. Adam felt where it was and headed in the direction.

“Adam?” YHWH said, “Where are you going?”

“Those creatures, LORD, they landed somewhere over there.” Adam pointed.

“What were they?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like them. Surely you know what they are.” Adam’s confusion spread as Eve and the rest came to the clearing where they spoke.

“I do,” YHWH said. “Do not investigate. I will attend to this matter personally.”

With that, YHWH went in the direction of the aerial beasts. And Adam followed close behind, telling Eve and the others to stay.

He followed close behind YHWH, hoping to see the incredible beasts with no name.

“Adam? You are following me.”

“Yes, LORD.” They were deep in the garden. Navigating trees and stones. Bushes and mounds. Animals came towards them, they were scared, but moving silently, hoping to avoid the newcomers.

A large bear and his family lumbered towards YHWH and Adam, amongst the other animals.

“Ursus,” YHWH called. “Who has arrived?”

Ursus approached YHWH, bowed, and then stood at his full height, eye to eye with YHWH. “Master! There are scaley creatures from outside the earth who landed here in elongated ships.”

“Ships?” Adam asked.

YHWH stretched out HIS hand and Sauro, a lizard the size of Adam’s forearm crawled onto it. “Do they look like this?”

“Yes,” said Ursus. “But they stand, like Adam.”

YHWH was gone, but Adam followed on foot as best as possible to the sight where the animals were running from. It was easy to spot. Ahead, a clearing appeared where one hadn’t been before and an uneasy feeling crept over Adam to where he stopped and hid behind a large tree.

He looked around it, trying to stay hidden from their sight, the lizard men. Strange beings just like Ursus said. They stood upright, just like him, but they were green and scaley with long tails and large wings coming out of their backs.

As Adam scanned the area, he noticed they were all very different. The ones with wings stood closest to the longships, as Ursus called them, which had touched down in an undulated shape, compressed to fit the area.

Most of them were wingless and tailless. Those ones were clearing the area quickly with different hacking tools. The trees fell quickly. The brush was replaced with different structures Adam had never seen before.

“These are the Drakonians, Adam. I made them a time before I made you.”

“Drakonians…” Adam watched in awe as they hacked apart the garden.

“They once served me, but they have forgotten me. I hope you do not follow in their footsteps.”

“LORD, they are destroying your garden!” Adam said as quietly as he could, though his anger was growing.

“Hush now,” YHWH spoke, and Adam was calm and peaceful. “I will deal with this, but I need you to follow my instructions. Do not mingle with them. They will try to make contact, but you must avoid them. Go. Tell the others what you have seen and what I have said. Do not take anything they give you. Nothing.”

Adam leaped from behind the tree and ran back to their village. YHWH kept Adam’s movements undetectable from the Drakonians, and HE approached the longships.

The Psychic Society: Prologue

Darkness. Black all around. It was to the point where Kurt didn’t know if his eyes were open anymore. Blinking gave him no comfort, but he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Living in solitary confinement for several days was nothing. Sure, had he experienced this before he met the twins, he would have gone mad and spilt his guts in a diary or something. No such luck here.

The first day he arrived, he crawled around in the darkened room bumping into a bed, a sink, a toilet and a frosty cooler filled with bottled water. No light inside though. It took him a couple of days to figure out it was a cooler. No pencil, no notebook, even if there was either, he couldn’t see anything.

The room was not very big. It was much like a small barracks room that he had when he was in the army. Probably no more than ten feet by ten feet all around. He spent most of his time in the bed trying to meditate, but it was as if something was blocking him. It may have had to do with the room’s materials. He was certain it was some sort of concrete. They took his shoes for some reason. The floor was hard and cold; no mother earth to reach out to. Nothing to draw any comfort. Just a cold dark room.

Kurt rubbed his head, specifically his third eye where an implanted purple amethyst lodged into his skull. He could feel the vibrations of stone on bone. He winced a little. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to have these stones planted in the skin. Though they amplified his power, there was something about this room that threw everything off balance.

He felt his throat. The lapis lazuli felt like a mole on the skin. There did not seem to be much power emanating from it either. He did not know what he expected. He doubted telekinesis would work here, and he had not yet been able to manipulate the electromagnetic fields of the walls, otherwise, he would have walked through them. It seemed this was the perfect prison for him and even for James, were he alive.

Whoever they were, they knew everything about them… The Psychic Society.

So far, his only guess as to who could have abducted him was the CIA. It made sense. They of all organizations should be able to stop terrorists. He smiled. He was a terrorist. There was no denying that. They had disrupted American dealings for a couple of months. Hundreds of congressmen, dead. Presidential candidates, dead. Bankers, dead. A symphony of exploding buildings in Washington DC, terrifying the public across the United States. Terrorists. The Psychic Society were terrorists.

He sat on the edge of the bed. His stomach rumbled. It hurt. His stomach felt so empty, but he always reasoned that Jesus fasted for 40 days. He was no Jesus, and he did not know how long he had been locked up. His best guess was six days. The gurgling in his gut sounded awful, like a neglected child reasoning with mommy for a snack. A really abused child.

Had this been it? The destination of the Psychic Society? James had told him privately that he would bring about the next generation of psychics. Yet here he was locked up. James had always been right. The American government was destroying America. He, Kurt, would escape to a faraway land as James’s successor.

The second thing James told him was that there was a traitor amongst them, of course, that had already come to pass, and who amongst them had not betrayed James a little.

Kurt had betrayed James. It was not the ultimate betrayal, but he was not supposed to be here. It was supposed to be another. He just couldn’t make that sacrifice. Out of all the blood on his hands, that was one he could not let go and so he made his own decision and went against orders.

A loud thud sounded from above him. It sounded like something heavy had landed on the ceiling, or the floor above, like a massive stone. Then footsteps and voices. Above, light peeked through the cracks of wooden panels.

He began to feel better, the stale air gone from the opening above. It felt like a spell had lifted and he could see with his third eye again. It was him. The one the traitor spoke to.

“Lower the rope ladder,” said the one. Yes, that voice was familiar. The voice of the fanciest gentleman that Kurt had ever laid eyes on. Now he was going to meet him. Fancy, he thought.

A trap door opened above. Kurt shielded his eyes as light poured into his cell. It was beautiful but very intense. His synapses fired off in appreciation and he dropped his arm as the rope ladder tumbled from above.

“Climb up, Mr. Williamson. I don’t want to send these men down there to fetch you.”

Fetch? That’s snooty talk. Kurt peered up, but it was too bright above the door. He sensed several men up there. All burdened with heavy gear. Personal security? Highly trained? He smiled.

He knew it was not his place to escape. He had already botched that part up. He knew that it was his duty now to tell the story of the Psychic Society and hoped that Jillian would be safe where she was.

He grabbed the first rung of the rope ladder. He didn’t realize how weak he was. How many days had it been without food? He pulled as hard as he could and stepped onto the next plank, pushed up, and reached for the next. Exhausting.

“I need help.” Kurt groaned.

“Get up here, Mr. Williamson. I haven’t got all day.”

Kurt struggled up the ladder. It was painful; however, he understood why, especially when he pulled himself onto the wooden floor. The thoughts flooded into his head, and it took a moment for him to focus. He pressed his fingertips into the wood and grounded himself as best he could.

The wooden floor appeared to be a five-foot-by-five-foot square (the opening he crawled out of was about three-foot by three-foot) surrounded by a thick stone material that spanned the room. He looked over to the corner of the room and saw the five-by-five cut of stone that must have covered the area while he was inside.

He pushed himself up. The colliding thoughts of five armed men, each with a rifle trained on him, crashed against his mind. Anger. Lots of anger.

I want to kill him! 

He deserves to die! 

This piece of trash expects us to help him… I’ll help him back into that hole with a bullet souvenir.

He deserved it. Once again, he smiled. I’m a terrorist. I deserve that. And death. Death and rotten sentiment. 

Standing was difficult. He never realized how horrible it was to not have any food. He had a great appreciation for those who fasted longer. His stomach gurgled. It must have been heard by everyone present. Not a flinch in their demeanor. Their hard, vehement stares locked on him, fingers on their triggers, ready to put him back underground. He shook his head and raised his arms in the air.

“Don’t move!” said one of the men.

“Calm down, Sergeant,” said the fancy man.

Kurt turned his head in that direction. Even today, while visiting a horrible criminal, he was all dressed up. He wondered if this was his, a night-out-with-a-serial-killer suit. It was so shiny. So new. The shoes were buffed and polished. White, pristine shirt, black silk tie. He was middle-aged. Kurt guessed mid-40s, with a salt and pepper mustache that complimented his graying hair. This guy was somebody.

Kurt visualized a cord that reached from his amethyst third eye and attempted to link to this man’s skull.

“I wouldn’t,” said the fancy man. “I’m Gerald Crouse. You may address me as sir. We’ve spent the past ten days examining you and your body composition. We have raided the Perry residence and taken all his technology, including his suits and modified weaponry. Your mission failed. The United States will continue its operations, albeit with some finagling of staff… This has cost a lot of taxpayer money…”

Kurt laughed. “You don’t care about taxpayers. I bet you don’t even pay taxes.”

The room was silent, like an inner flinch from all the guards. They paid taxes.

Crouse stepped forward and slapped Kurt across the face. It knocked him down easily. He remembered in his past life that happened often. He was sorry that he was going to go back on the promise he made to himself.

He sat on his knees on the floor.

“Cuff him and bring him to Interrogation room 11,” said Crouse. He left the room. Kurt felt one of the guards snap some zip ties around his wrist and hoist him up. They pushed him out of the room and into a long hallway lined with closed doors. He looked past the walls. Interrogation room after interrogation room. Two-way mirrors. Tables and chairs. All situated the same Law and Order way.

At the end of the hallway, they exited into a stairwell, ascended two flights and entered the third floor. The guards used keycards to access. Kurt smiled. He used to be a security guard. It was interesting to be on the other side of events, cuffed and dragged to a secure area.

They walked down the hallway passing by numbered rooms until they came to number 11. Again, they used their keycard on the door and two of them escorted him inside, the other three remained covering the door.

They sat him at a table with two chairs and took positions in the back corners of the room. Opposite Kurt was a mirror, another two-way. He strained his eyes to look inside. He could see Mr. Crouse inside with a very tall individual.

There was something off about him, like the skin he was wearing was not his. They noticed him looking and Mr. Crouse pressed something in his pocket. Kurt was sure that there was something interfering with his powers because whatever it was, his eyes went back to seeing his own reflection.

He finally got a good look at himself. He was in desperate need of a shave, and upon noticing his face itched. It had been a while since he had a shower. They had given him an orange jumpsuit though, that was nice of them. Hopefully, they were taking care of the clothes he wore the day they abducted him.

Crouse entered the room and took the seat opposite Kurt, straight back, as if touching a commoner’s chair might affect his sensibilities. He had a file in his hand that he set on the table between them. It wasn’t very thick, but it was fun to see. I have my own file.

Yes, you do. Now tell me what your intended mission was.

Kurt opened his mouth wide. It was a mixture of surprise, knowing, jubilation, and all sorts of emotion, except for the one that Crouse wanted. Fear.

He looked annoyed at Kurt’s inappropriate reaction to his telepathy. Kurt smiled. He wasn’t interested in fear. That was the old him.

“Your mission. Your group was called the Psychic Society?”

Kurt relaxed in his chair. They had a name? Were they a club? “We didn’t really have a name. Not one that we used. Did James call it that? It’s not something he ever said to any of us.”

Mr. Crouse seemed unaffected. He masked his disappointment well, but there was that inner flinch that Kurt could easily pick up on. The tiny instance of losing control upon hearing news. No matter how much you master your reactions, there is still that inner reaction that has become easy to pick up on.

“We found a manifesto in the apartment.”

“Really? We were just rectifying a failing system. The beliefs we held were simple. The system is run by shitty people, and we are going to fix it. He had an entire manifesto? That’s cool.”

“He labels the group the Psychic Society. He never used this term with you?”

“No. Never once. You know I’d appreciate a candy bar or something. And can we lose the zip ties? I have no desire to run. It is not the proper time for that now.”

Mr. Crouse, again, controlled his reactions as best he could. He closed the file and set it down, leaned in, elbows on the table fingers pressed together.  “What is it the proper time for?”

“I’m here to tell the story of the Psychic Society. That’s an interesting title. Straight to the point, with a little bit of mystery. Action, romance, tragedy…”

One of the guards standing behind him nearly clubbed him in the head with the butt of his rifle, but Kurt had modified the electromagnetic field of the zip ties and phased out of them.

He stepped up and out of his seat and behind the guard and placed him in a chokehold. The other guard turned his weapon on them, but Kurt shielded himself with his captive.

Mr. Crouse sat in his seat with what looked like a thick coin in his hand, his thumb pressed tightly on it. Kurt could feel it. It seemed to disrupt his thoughts. The thoughts of everyone around him subsided. He felt like a puppet as if something was trying to harness his limbs and drop his hold of the guard. He fought it and smiled at Crouse.

“There is no need for that, sir. I told you; it is not the proper time for my escape. Call off your goon, get me something to eat, and I’ll answer every question you have.”

In the beginning, YHWH created the heavens. All the planets, all the galaxies, were formed by his intelligent design. All the beings that breathe are a testament to His power. But as time went on, they rebelled and even forgot He existed, serving themselves and their gods. Even now they moved amongst the stars doing all that they desire.

YHWH had a group of followers, who, by choice, bound themselves to His will. He designated them The Heavenly Host, and they performed many duties on His behalf. But God wanted a being not bound by duty to choose him over themselves. So He set forth to Earth to create something new.

Now the Earth was formless and empty. YHWH knew that light would be important if his creation was to thrive. As He hovered over the darkness that was Earth, just above the waters that filled it, He said, “Let there be light.”

Overhead a powerful star ignited and the waters reflected the light. It was pleasing to His eyes, the cool blue waters. He dipped his hand in it, but it was void of any life. He would have to ponder how best to fill His oceans. As he moved higher overhead to survey His creation, He noticed that the star above lit one side of the planet leaving the other side dark. He called this phenomenon day and night and set the Earth into a rotation around the star, which He called the sun, to make day and night possible throughout the Earth.

YHWH created the first day of Earth’s life and determined to ponder his next steps for Day Two.

It occurred to YHWH that He needed to create the space between the waters of the planet from the cold reaches of space. So YHWH said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.” And so, a great expanse separated the waters from space; an atmosphere of nitrogen and oxygen, carbon dioxide, and other gases. He named it ‘sky.’

YHWH floated in His new creation. It varied in pressure, depending on how close he drew toward the waters. He smiled as his mind raced on the next days of his new creation, and so ended the second day.

On the third day, YHWH said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let the dry ground appear.” The seas parted and from below the waters the earth pushed upward, a large expanse of dry ground grew, causing the water to east and west of it. YHWH called this expanse land; this is where his new creation would live. It was, however, very bare, and YHWH considered how best to create a space that produced food for his creation.

“Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.” As YHWH spoke, his vision sprouted from the ground. Grasses, fruit-bearing trees, grains, and a variety of other vegetation sprouted from the ground, and the land became lush and green. The multiple colors of fruit and flower blossoms pleased YHWH, and He stretched out on the green grasses, enjoying His creation, thus ending the third day.

On the fourth day, YHWH noticed how dark it was at night, and decided to create a satellite sphere to rotate around the earth, visible at night, shining from the light of the sun. He also ignited several dead stars and created new ones. He did this, saying, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the Earth.” That night He enjoyed the light from the stars and moon, which He had named the satellite sphere, and created the sacred times for His new creation.

On the fifth day, YHWH pressed his hand against the waters and said, “Let the water teem with living creatures,” looking up, He said, “and let birds fly above the earth across the vault of the sky.” And so fish and crustaceans and mollusks and all forms of life appeared in the waters, and all varieties of birds flew above and nested in the trees on land. YHWH shouted to the creatures, “Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the Earth.” And it was so, ending the fifth day.

On the sixth day, YHWH said “Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: the livestock, the creatures that move along the ground, and the wild animals, each according to its kind.” And it was so. All manner of hooved creatures, great and small, creatures with paws, creatures with scales, all kinds of animals appeared and it delighted YHWH. But there was one final creation to make, the whole reason for creating this planet in the first place. He hesitated because He saw the timeline. He saw the treachery. He saw what was going to happen next. He sensed His former creation close by, but He continued anyway because He had hope and love; there was no fear in Him.

“Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”

And from the dirt sprouted the first man, Adam, and the first woman, Eve. He created them male and female, like the rest of his creations, but He set them apart as the greatest of His creation. With that in mind, He walked up to the still-sleeping Adam and Eve and breathed life into them, much different from the rest. With His breath came the love and hope He had for mankind. He gave them that before saying, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the Earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

Then YHWH said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.

Adam realized his creator and smiled. “Thank you!” he said. And Eve as well thanked YHWH.

YHWH smiled and was very pleased with His creation and so passed the sixth day.

On the seventh day, YHWH rested and reflected on His creation. He knew what was coming but He also knew how to handle it when it arose. He blessed the seventh day, instructing Adam and Eve to also observe it as a day of rest, and told them that He would always be within reach for guidance. With that, He floated to a nearby spot to rest and observe. He didn’t want to interfere too much, lest He be seen as a tyrant.

But that did not deter His other creations from paying Earth a visit…