“So, Lucyna have you made any new discoveries on your travels?” Arlo asks.
“Unfortunately, no.” The lies are slipping so easily from my mouth. I feel as though I’m coated in them.
“Well, I have been considering doing the same for some time myself. Next time I shall come with you. If you have no objection, of course?”
I fix my eyes ahead. “Of course not, Arlo. You are always welcome.”
“Time for me to go,” says Rosamund.
I’m relieved at the conversation break, but not welcoming Rosamund’s imminent departure as it will leave Arlo and me alone and I fear I won’t be able to keep my pretence up for much longer in that circumstance. Why did I not consider how hard this would be before coming?
Rosamund nods at us both respectively, then vanishes from sight. Momentarily, I find myself wondering where she is going to. Which human will she be taking to Heaven? Unexpectedly, I feel awash with sorrow and I very quickly quell it.
Arlo begins to walk through the arena and I follow along.
“I believe Rosamund is missing out on much learning there is to be done from humans. I find there to be distinctly much more to them than the categorisation she gives them. Do you agree, Lucyna?”
I can feel his eyes on me, a very surreal experience.
“Yes. I am inclined to agree with you, Arlo.” Much more than you realise, I silently add.
“And that is why I spend my time with you, Lucyna. We think alike.”
And you, Arlo, are my friend, my dear friend, I find myself wanting to say, but instead I simply answer, “Yes, we do.”
My mind is swamped with guilt. I’m sure it is covering me in some obvious way. I glance sideways at Arlo as we walk on in silence, and feel an instant swell of affection for him. It throws me.
Instantly I find myself wanting to tell Arlo my troubles. They're practically bursting out of me. I want to unburden this guilt I have, rid myself of this internal conflict, seek his advice. Because, more than anything, I want help; I need help.
But my rash thoughts are quickly dampened as I know I never will, never can. I’m too ashamed and afraid to do so. I know I wouldn’t be able to endure the consequences of my actions.
I’m all alone in this.
I wish things would go back to the way they were before I ever saw James. I wish I had never met him.
But do I really? Do I really want to go back to what now seems an empty existence since experiencing the phenomenon of feelings?
Do I truly want to walk away from James? Never again see him.
That thought alone fills me with consternation.
“When is your next bring, Lucyna?” asks Arlo, breaking me from my reverie.
“Very soon, Arlo. Minutes. You?”
“In twenty minutes. I’m going to Thailand. Such a beautiful place –” but I can’t hear him any more, all I can hear is the name that’s now echoing around my mind, the name of my next bring, the one that has pinned me to this stony floor.
James Maxwell Harrison.
I feel sheer and utter horror. Hysteria practically leaps up and grabs hold of me. It’s so overwhelming, momentarily I don’t know what to do with it.
Arlo, noticing my abrupt stop, turns back and looks at me with curiosity. “Lucyna?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
No. It can’t be. Not him. Not James.
Arlo’s eyebrow arches in confusion. “Lucyna?” he reiterates, taking a step toward me, awakening me.
“Time for me to go, Arlo.” I desperately try to make my voice sound even. “I shall see you soon.”
I don’t wait for his response. I have no time.
My next actions are beyond me. My thoughts are erratic, scattered. The only thing I know for sure is that I have to save James. Nothing else matters. Just save him.
Instantly I’m there, looking at a burning car which is entangled with a tree, and trapped inside is James.
There’s ninety seconds left before he’s scheduled to die.
What do I do? Can I save him? Can I stop what God has set in motion? Surely not, I have no such power to override God’s will.
But, James.
Eighty-five . . . eighty-four . . . eighty-three . . .
Without warning, an odd sensation suddenly ripples right through my very being and then something overtakes me. Before I know it I’m at the car, yanking the door open, pushing back the air bag and pulling at James’s limp body. He’s stuck. Frantically I search around to see what’s trapping him. It’s his seat belt. I tug hard but it doesn’t give way. I follow its lead to the end, press a button and hear a click. It unravels in my hand. Taking hold of James, I put his arm around me and pull him from the car.
I half carry, half drag him down the gravelly road, his feet scraping along as I do so. Then once we’re a safe distance from the car, I carefully lay him down on the ground and sit beside him.
Then it hits me.
I’m holding James. Physically touching him. I have carried him.
How?
I look down at myself and see a human body, skin covering every part of me. I’m wearing clothes. I look at my hands. I have fingernails. I’m solid matter. I look like a human.
What . . . how . . . how did this happen? How did I become this way? Questions are spilling from my mind.
Stop, Lucyna, there is no time for this.
I quickly gather myself together and look down at James. His skin is covered in black soot and he has some cuts on his face. A large one near his hairline has blood trickling from it, the blood clotting into his hair.
What should I do?
Reaching forward, I gently place my fingertip on the cut. Instantly a tingling sensation shoots up through my finger.
I jump back startled.
What on earth was that?
Curious, I again reach forward and place my finger on James’ face, wondering whether it’s his blood that causes this tingling sensation, or just him. But the moment my skin meets his, the same wondrous sensation once again presents itself, running up my finger into my arm.
Am I touching him? Is this what it’s like? Can I now feel James?
Curiosity burns every part of me.
I keep my finger on him, marvelling at this wonderful experience, letting the sensation swill through me. Then, as if slapped around the face, I suddenly realise that James' precious time is still ticking away in my mind. It hasn’t stopped. Why? I mean it should, shouldn’t it? Have I not done enough to save him?
Forty-one . . . forty . . . thirty-nine . . .
Don’t die, James. Please don’t die. Don’t leave me here all alone. If you do, then this was all for nothing.
I take hold of his body and shake him, vehemently ignoring the sensations it creates in my hands, and will him to wake.
He’s not waking up.
Panic stricken, I shake him again - but nothing.
Twenty-eight . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . .
“James, please don’t die,” I beseech.
What do I do? I am completely and utterly out of my depth.
I lay my head on his chest in resignation and his warmth radiates through me. My face is ablaze. Wait, I can hear his heart beating. Yes, it’s definitely beating. He’s got a good, strong heartbeat. I feel a surge of relief. That’s a positive sign – isn’t it? But if he’s going live, if I have managed to save him, then why is his time still counting down?
Sixteen . . . fifteen . . . fourteen . . .
Maybe I haven’t saved him after all. I feel a sharp pain shoot right through me.
I trace my now-human fingers across his forehead, running them into his hair, something I have longed to do.
I can’t lose him. I can’t.
Making one last ditch attempt, I again take hold of his body and shake him with all my might. “James! Wake up, please!” I yell out.
Eight . . . seven . . . six . . .
His time is fast approaching its end. What if he dies here, what will happen? What will I do? I couldn’t bear it if he was no longer here. How could I take him to Heaven and part with him? Never again see his beautiful face.
The thought terrifies me.
I don’t know what else I can do, so now I’m literally willing him to live. “James,” I whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”
Two . . . one . . . zero.
Disconsolately, I lie down beside him, look up at Heaven, and plead with the only one who has the power to save him. “Please, God, I beg you. Please don’t take him from me.”
Everything seems to stop. The wind stops blowing through the trees. Animals stop scurrying around. There’s not a sound in the air. It’s so quiet. So serene.
Then I feel James stir and I scramble up to my knees.
His eyes flicker open and he looks up at me with his dark eyes.
“I . . . know . . . you,” he mumbles. Then his eyes roll back into his head, and his lids come heavily to a close.
Chapter 4
Being Human
I know you.
I know you.
What on earth is that supposed to mean?
He knows me? How does he know me? He can’t know me. Of course he can’t, it’s impossible. He was delirious. That’s it. He didn’t know what he was saying – did he? No, of course not.
I look over at James from my seat in the far corner of the dimly lit room. He’s sleeping peacefully. He hasn’t woken yet, not since he uttered those haunting words in any case.
We’re at the hospital. As I very quickly discovered, I no longer have my abilities in this new form of mine. No extra sensory perception. No transporting in the blink of an eye. All my abilities are seemingly gone.
So I had to sit there on the roadside with an unconscious James and wait like any other human until a passing car found us. Luckily we weren’t waiting too long.
The human rang for help from his mobile phone, told us an ambulance would be there soon, and waited with us until it arrived. And it did, very quickly, as did a whole host of other humans - policemen, firemen.
James was brought to the hospital in the ambulance. The police wanted to question me about what happened. I wanted to come to the hospital to be with James, so they drove me here in a car which, might I add, was a really strange experience, and they questioned me on the way.
I told the policeman who sat in the back of the car with me that I had been walking along the road when I saw James’ car crash into the tree and instantly set itself on fire, that I pulled him from the burning car and carried him down the road, then waited there until we were found.
The policeman wrote down everything I said. He asked for my name and address. Panic ensued and I had to think fast. The only thing I could say was that I didn’t have one, which is pretty much the truth now. He looked me over and asked if I was homeless, to which I promptly replied I was. He wrote something else down, and then his whole demeanour toward me changed. No longer was I the heroic human but someone he suddenly viewed with mild disdain. He asked if there was any way to contact me, and I knew I had to say something so I said that he could contact me through James. He regarded me with a raised eyebrow and said “but I thought you didn’t know him”. My immediate response was that I don’t, but after saving his life I felt an obligation to stick around and make sure he was okay.
I could see the policewoman who was driving the car glancing at me in the rear-view mirror with a very sceptical look in her eyes. I don’t know whether they believed me or not, but right now it’s of no regard as I have far bigger concerns, like the fact that I have inadvertently taken on human form, that I now somehow look like a human not only to myself but they can see me too. I’m solid matter. Human but not actually a human. No functioning organs – well no heartbeat for starters. That is a pretty important thing for a fully-functioning human body, so I’m obviously not alive. But I’m here and still me, but not me. I can touch things, actually feel and touch them without my hand just passing through. No longer do I see a blaze of light that sparkles. Now when I look down all I see is a human body. So this does this mean I’m no longer a Bringer? But not human either.