Nathan

*No Nathans were injured or killed during the writing of this story although one self-proclaimed mercenary might not be so lucky.

 

                                                                        Nathan

Writing out the name, she underlined it. Twice. Why it needed to be underlined two times and not just one, she wasn’t quite sure. Julia never knew where stories were headed when she began writing them and this time was no different. There she sat, pen in hand, staring at the name Nathan and its lines of emphasis.

Minutes passed. She put down her pen and picked up her coffee, cradling the warm mug between her hands, Julia raised her eyes studying the coffee shop’s other patrons.

What kind of a man is this is this character Nathan? What is his story? Is it an adventure? A mystery? A love story?

Hearing raised voices coming from the front of the restaurant, Julia turned her attention in the direction of the offending sounds. A woman was leaning across a table talking to a man. The more quickly she spoke the deeper his face would redden. When the woman closed her mouth, the man opened his. The closer the man got to the end of his response the louder his voice became. He rose from his seat as he finished yelling. Tossing money on to the table in front of him, the man turned, exiting the coffee shop completely.

Julia grimaced, scrunching her nose. Maybe not a love story, she thought.

A ghost story. What about a ghost story?

Is Nathan a ghost? Is he dead?

Julia watched as a handsome gentleman stepped up to the register at the coffee shop’s counter. He smiled at the waitress and chatted a bit as he handed her cash. Julia’s eyes followed his movements as he looked around. He waved, calling out to his fellow patrons in greeting, stopping to visit with one or two of them before walking out the door.

Nathan’s not dead, Julia decided. He’s haunted.

By whom?

Julia continued looking around, her eyes stopping at a little girl playing with her doll in the booth in front of her.

A child?

She shook her head dismissing the idea the moment it emerged.

An older man? The spirit of a relative or an ancestor?

Something flickered past the corner of Julia’s eye, she turned her attention towards movement on the far side of the display window. Leaves were falling outside in bright yellows and bold reds. She watched as a waitress set paper placemats down on a freshly wiped table. They were printed with cheerful looking vampires and werewolves. The monsters stayed in place, waiting patiently for tiny hands to color them in with crayons carefully set next to the napkin dispenser.

Julia looked down at the book sitting on the table in front of her. The House Of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She picked up the book. At least I know where the name came from.

She shook her head.

No, his name is Nathan not Nathaniel.

A man who appeared to be living a quiet life.

To the outside world anyway.

At night, when he was alone, things were quite different.

After darkness had fallen and all had grown quiet, his ghostly visitor would appear.

“Really?” House’s voice echoes through High Command. She sighs. “Bor-ing.”

Writer Lady ignores the comment and continues to type. The theme song from Winnie-The-Pooh invades the room from another part of the house. She absentmindedly begins singing along. “Winnie-The-Pooh is coming out of my mouth while I’m writing a ghost story.” She shakes her head. “This is wrong. So wrong.” Writer Lady raises her eyes in the direction of the ceiling and calls out. “House. Activate sound proofing please.”

“Why?” House responds.

“So I can continue writing undisturbed.”

“I don’t like it.” House says.

“I know.”

“You’re still writing it?” House asks.

“Yes. I am aware of your opinion and I would still like to continue writing, if you would please.”

The music no longer leaks into High Command. Typing commences. “This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on my friends...”begins echoing throughout High Command.

“House.” Writer Lady calls. Footsteps approach, she turns to the entry to find Dobby and Tinkletoes looking in.

“What’s going on? We can hear you in the furthest reaches of hyper space.” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady raises her hands towards the ceiling. “I am working on a new story, I asked for silence and House is being House.”

Dobby nods. “I’ll get TP.” The ginger tabby disappears from sight.

Tinkletoes enters High Command. Writer Lady turns back to her story. The self-proclaimed mercenary watches her as she types. He leans forward studying the words on the screen.

“Who’s Nathan?” He asks.

Writer Lady’s face contorts into something unpleasant. “He’s one of the main characters of the story. Do you mind?”

“What’s he like?” Tinkletoes asks.

“He’s...a man?” She responds. “Living in a big house near the sea where there are cliffs and stuff.”

“Is he...hot?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.

“Does it matter?”

“If you’re looking at his name and like thinking about him more than other people…”

Writer Lady sighs and turns around. “He’s a character on paper and I’m writing a ghost story.”

“So he’s gonna die. Cool.”

Writer Lady runs a hand across her forehead, sighs and continues typing. “Just because it’s a ghost story doesn’t mean anyone is going to die. There are lots of excellent stories where no one dies or where only the...” she pauses to glare at Tinkletoes, “...most annoying of characters suffer an untimely fate.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary grins. “You hear that House. Your days are numbered!”

Writer Lady shakes her head and returns to her work.

A ghostly presence with long flowing hair and soft blue eyes.

“Don’t you have blue eyes?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady turns and fixes her eyes on his.

“Now that you're looking at me I can see there’s nothing soft about your eyes.”

She returns to her story.

The woman wore a white nightgown trimmed in delicate lace always carrying a tall, thick, white candle as she followed Nathan through his nights.

“This isn’t one of those sex books is it?”

"She's a ghost."

"Ghosts still do stuff, sometimes."

"She doesn't have a physical body."

"Can't ghosts send energy pulsing through..."

Writer Lady turns, facing Tinkletoes she sits back in the Big Writing Chair as she folds her arms in front of her.

 

 

Scammed By The Faerie

*Email address soldierboy01@TPMail is completely fictional. No soldier boys exist at TP Mail because TP Mail was created by a mischievous faerie and does not actually exist.  

  **The characters of HR Apostos' blog and the FBI guys are the heroes in this story. No FBI guys were harmed in any way during the writing of the blog because this is fiction: none of it really happened.

 

The first thing Tinkletoes, Dobby, and Ray hear is a sucking noise. A fan stops running inside Writer Lady’s computer tower.

“Dude...you okay?” Ray asks, looking at it.

“One moment please,” is heard coming from the tower’s depths along with indistinct muttering. The fan begins running again.

Dobby Cat jumps on the table and peers in through the holes on the of the tower’s cover. A strange glow illuminates the inside.

“What’s going on?” Tinkletoes asks.

The ginger tabby looks at Tinkletoes, “TP’s talking but I can’t make out the words.”

“You can hear that? That’s got to be a 34 decibel fan.” Ray says.

Tinkletoes looks at Ray. “Dobby’s a cat. They hear better than we do.”

“What’s all the racket in here.” House’s voice echoes throughout the room. “I can’t think with all the noise. I’m attending to important business, you are distracting me.”

Tinkletoes looks at the ceiling. “National security, House. This is a matter of national security.”

Ray coughs.

“How am I expected to believe that two morons, a cat, and a faerie are entrusted with securing an entire nation? Which nation is it?” House asks.

“The nation of me.” Tinkletoes replies. The self-proclaimed mercenary begins muttering. “Damn females,” and “What could she possibly be doing that’s so much more important?” were the only two discernible phrases.

“I am planning my winter wardrobe.” House responds.

“Didn’t she just…?” Tinkletoes asks, looking at Dobby. “Didn’t you just get a makeover?” He looks at the ceiling. “You just did the thing with moving rooms around, raising the ceiling, lowering the ceiling, changing the wall colors and the pillows...all that fru fru girlie stuff. I remember because you hid my…”

“Toys?” House asks. “Yes I remember that time when you lost your toys.”

“They are my collectibles and you hid them from me.” Tinkletoes says.

“I put them away.”

“I couldn’t find them.” He responds.

“Because they were safe.” House counters. “I do remember having a makeover. It was one of the happiest days…”

“Longer…”

“Weeks…”

“Longer…” Tinkletoes responds.

“Months.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head.

“Financial quarters of my life.”

“What do you need with a winter wardrobe when you just had a makeover?” Tinkletoes asks.

“That was two years ago Diddle Brain. That was a makeover. This is just a winter wardrobe. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever it is it needs to wait.”

“A makeover in a house not only refers to its décor or aesthetics but can also refer to changes in more permanent fixtures such as cabinets, closets, plumbing, light fixtures, not to mention appliances, furnaces, and other elements that are necessities to a well built home. A winter wardrobe…”

“Who--a…” came from inside the computer tower.

“I heard that.” Tinkletoes says looking at the monitor for any indication of what is taking place inside the computer.

“I suppose we can finish the discussion later.” House says.

“Or not.”

“All is okay.” TP calls out. “TP is ready.”

“It looks like something is happening.” Tinkletoes says.

Dobby and Ray join the self-proclaimed mercenary at the display. A browser window opens. Next the login screen for email.

“Is this what Tinkletoes uses?” The faeries asks.

“Yes.”

“Where is naughty mail?”

“I deleted it.”

“Pull it out of trash.”

“This is safe?” Tinkletoes asks.

“TP will keep you safe,” can be heard coming from the computer tower. Easy listening music begins to play, a chorus sings, “TP will keep you safe...oh yes...TP keeps you safe.”

“Open email. Respond. Say email has changed to please send all future messages to soldierboy1atTPmail.”

“TP Mail?” Dobby asks.

“TP create.Spammers come to TP. TP has fun.”

Another browser window is opened to the TP Mail page. TP Mail is vibrant with lively colors. Unicorns, dragons, and other enchanted beings take turns jumping over a rainbow bright with glittering digital faerie dust. The group sits and waits for soldierboy01 to be contacted. It is only a few minutes. The first email notifies the receiver a change has been successfully made and invites him to click on a link and type Yes to confirm he wants a year long subscription to a magazine full of bullets and babes. The response box pops up and information begins typing itself in. Tinkletoes’ first and last name, date of birth, home address.

The self-proclaimed mercenary erases the information and closes the response box.

“Hey!” TP’s voice calls out.

“Hey yourself. If you want to sign up for a $250.00/year magazine subscription do it with your information.” Tinkletoes says. “I didn’t roll onto base this morning.”

“Hmm!” The faerie responds.

A new response box pops up and begins auto filling for Ninja Ray.

Ray points to the box. “It’s okay man. Only the name Ray is mine. The rest is false information. Different house number, street address, city, state, fake phone number...”

“How are you going to pay for it?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Faerie money.”

“Faerie money?”

“Faerie money. Guaranteed to bring the bad guys to justice.”

The box finishes filling in. Send is clicked.

“How is that going to happen?”

“Faerie money comes from the big bosses’ account.”

“Big boss?”

“Money from FBI guy. FBI guy sees unauthorized charge on account. Scammer goes to jail...fast.”

“Won’t the email be traced back to Writer Lady?”

“No, it’s TP Mail. TP Mail comes from Faerie. Nothing to trace.”

Carp walks into High Command. “House wants to know if you’re done playing Tinkletoes’ internet games yet.”

Tinkletoes’ face grows red.

Carp looks at Tinkletoes. “You are not.” The assassin-in-training looks at the email box on the screen. “TP Mail. What’s TP Mail?”

“It’s a money trap.” A thump is heard from inside the computer tower and a grunt.

“You okay dude.” Ray asks.

“O-kay. TP okay.”

Smoke comes out of the back of the computer tower. There is another puff of smoke above it. The faerie re-appears. His hat is missing a chunk and his coat tails are shredded. He flutters in front of the monitor and wiggles his fingers, a new browser window appears. The faerie pulls up the news. There is breaking news.

The newscaster’s voice is heard:

Moments ago FBI agents entered a home in this quiet neighborhood in the city. The agents found young men and women working at over a dozen computer stations spread throughout the house bringing an end to a scamming ring which has been terrorizing smaller towns in rural parts of the country in recent months.

Another newscaster asks:

This was sudden what tipped law enforcement off?

She responds:

One of the scammers made the mistake of allowing a charge to be put to the account of the supervising agent who leads the FBI’s task force in Cybersecurity. The internet activity coming from this address was already on their watch list but it was the charge to the agent himself which got a warrant immediately issued subsequently leading to their arrests.

Her co-anchor counters:

I thought it was going to be a slow Saturday night.

Thanks for listening.

May your cyber surfing feel a little bit safer tonight.

Tinkletoes looks at TP. “Excellent work soldier.”

TP spins around, when he stops the previous outfit has been replaced with a military uniform. The faerie salutes the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Glad to be of service sir.”

“So does this mean you’re done?” Carp asks. “I can tell House she can go back to picking out her winter wardrobe?”

TP shakes his head. The faerie flutters up and whispers in Tinkletoes’ ear.

“TP found something called a bot.” The whispering continues. “He found lots of bots. He has an idea.”

The faerie spins again. He is now dressed as a female in a sparkling evening dress. He has long dark hair and plump lips. “TP’s a very rich cat lady who’s terribly lonely.”

Carp looks at Ray, Dobby, TP and Tinkletoes. “Sounds like fun. Where should we begin?”

Trouble In The Communications Tower

 

Writer Lady walks into the kitchen, forgetting why she needed to be there, she returns to the living room. She stops in the living room and looks at her empty hands. Remembering she wanted a cup of coffee, she growls in frustration and returns to the kitchen. Feeling a bit lighter, she sits down in High Command and opens her email.

“No...no...no...NO!”

The last ‘no’ echoes throughout the house waking children, animals, and creatures of Faerie alike. Dobby and Tinkletoes both hit the Pause button on their controllers at the same time. As they exit Dobby’s room, the door disappears behind them. The pair find Writer Lady with her head on her desk muttering incoherently. She is surrounded by the other occupants of the house.

Tinkletoes enters the room gently putting his hand to a shoulder here, saying “excuse me” there, parting the crowd.

“Mom?” Dobby asks, following the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Mom are you okay?”

“No Dobby I’m not okay. I got another appliance warranty email.”

“I’ve got this.” Tinkletoes says clicking on it.

“No!” Several characters call out. “You aren’t supposed to click it. It only encourages them.”

Tinkletoes ignores everyone and reads the email. “Do you own one of those Edsel refrigerators?”

“There’s no such thing as an Edsel refrigerator.” Writer Lady rolls her eyes. She looks at Tinkletoes. “Thank you but don’t do it again. It just encourages more of it. More of the crap.”

“If it’s crap why are you so...you know...tense?” He asks.

“Because, I’m tired of wasting so much of my time trying to weed out the real email from the garbage. How is this stuff even getting here? Why haven’t these people been stopped?”

Dobby begins to respond.

Writer Lady raises a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “It’s okay kitty I already know the answer. There is so much other stuff going on in the world.”

Tinkletoes looks at Dobby, “Since this is just girl stuff. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Don’t touch a single button until I get back.” Dobby responds.

Tinkletoes holds both hands up. “It’s me. Have I ever done anything like that?”

“Yes.” Everyone in the room answers.

“I promise. I won’t touch a thing.” Tinkletoes says, turning to leave.

“He won’t touch a thing Dobby. He can’t get in. The door is gone and it is staying gone until you return.” House says.

“Um...thanks.” The ginger tabby says.

“You’re welcome kitty.” She croons. “If Tinkleboob wants to get back to his game I suggest he help. NOW.”

Tinkletoes stops walking and turns back to the activity behind him. “Yeah, since I’m here, might as well.” The self-proclaimed mercenary works his way back through the crowd. He leans down to Dobby and whispers, “All we have to do is train her to stop being such a girl. You’ve got to have a thick skin when it comes to this stuff.” Tinkletoes’ phone pings. He swipes and looks at his email. “Someone just logged into my Facebook account.” He clicks on the email link and begins typing a message to the senders.

Writer Lady turns around, she stills his typing hand with her own, “Wait, I thought you closed that account last year.”

He looks at Writer Lady, his mouth drops open, “I did.” Tinkletoes cancels the email he was composing.

“Dude that was close.” Ray says.

“Too close.” Tinkletoes responded. “We are at Defcon Two Ladies and Gentleman. The enemy must be disabled. Now!”

Tinkletoes leans down and whispers in Writer Lady’s ear. “I need you to close your email and step away from the computer, get yourself and the others to safety, Dobby will come for you when the mission is complete.”

Writer Lady listens, nods, takes a moment to pause, gives Tinkletoes a sideways glance and deciding she is too tired to fight this fight today she turns High Command over to the self-proclaimed mercenary, the ginger tabby, and an insomniac who eats entirely too much junk food. “So much for Sunday being a day of rest,” she mutters as she quietly guides everyone else from the room.

Tinkletoes looks at Ray. “I believe this is your department. What do we do?”

Ray is standing in one spot with his eyes closed. Droll begins to run down his chin.

“Ray!”

Ray opens his eyes, startled. “Dude.”

“How do we catch the scammers?” Tinkletoes asks.

Ray shakes his head, “I’m a game designer.”

Tinkletoes looks at Ray sternly.

“I don’t know call the Internet Police?” Ray suggests paling.

“There are no Internet Police are there?” Tinkletoes asks.

“There’s somebody out there...doing stuff...to protect and stuff.” Ray continues. “I don’t know them.”

“Why are you here?”

“The games. I come to fix the games. Mostly I’m here for the cheese puffs, potato chips, nachos when I time it just right.”

Tinkletoes looks at Dobby.

"After you finish talking about the savories you have to move on to the sweets. Writer Lady bakes great sweets." Ray continues. 

“Do we know anyone a bit more street wise?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks looking at the ginger tabby.

“No. But you know someone who’s sneakier!” A voice calls out. There is a puff of smoke, as it dissipates a tiny winged man appears with bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. “You know TP!” The faerie somersaults through the air, stopping to float in front of Tinkletoes and Dobby. TP somersaults again repeatedly, spinning in front of them.

“You know how scammers work?” Tinkletoes asks.

TP stops spinning. “No. TP has magic, TP can learn.” The faerie floats down to the desk, looks at Writer Lady’s computer tower and says, “Permission to enter.” A feathered Musketeer hat appears in the faerie’s hand. He bows with flourish to the tower as he holds the hat in front of him.

“Go ahead.” Tinkletoes says.

TP looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary, “Not you. Her.” He says gesturing to the tower. The tower’s indicator lights blink several times. “Thank you Milady.”

TP floats into the computer tower and disappears.

Ascension XIV: Secrets In The Pool House

*For Mom: Some of the background information you have been waiting for.

 

Myra entered the media room slowly. She closed the door studying the back of it. Her eyes searched along the door’s length, stopping to rest at the ceiling. No cameras.

She turned to inspect Wyatt’s work station. Everything was turned off. Something Myra guessed must be a camera was fastened to his monitor’s upper edge. Wyatt had covered it with a sock.

He knew. He knew I would find my way in here.

Myra looked at the wall on the far side of the room. Relieved to once again to find no cameras, she looked at the remaining walls and checked all of the furniture. Nothing. She opened the supply closet. There was nothing there either.

“It appears there is only one camera.”

Myra’s eyes perused the surface of Wyatt’s desk. “If he expected me to find my way here, he would have left instructions.” She whispered. It took little time to spot the gift. A small brightly wrapped box sat on the desk near the far corner. The front of the tag read “M.” She lifted the lid to find a USB drive resting on a scrap of paper inside with the words, “Read Me” showing in small print. If the writing had been much smaller she might not have recognized it as writing at all. Myra smiled to herself, the studio heads who had clearance to enter the media room both had trouble reading smaller fonts. She didn’t. Wyatt knew it and used the information to their advantage. Myra picked up the USB drive, the label on the back read, “Pool House.”

Understanding the USB drive was the entirety of Wyatt’s offering, not knowing what she would find on it, Myra spent another twenty minutes searching the room for anything Wyatt might have inadvertently left sitting out and found nothing. Wyatt had a knack for following the rules. She removed the drive from her hoodie pocket and studied it. “Most of the rules. Let’s see what’s in the pool house.”

Myra slowly went back to the exercise room. Taking off the sweats and the hoodie she put them away. The next time the hallway cameras picked her up she was wearing the same shorts and top she had been wearing earlier. Myra walked slowly stretching a bit and looking into the camera as she yawned. The lady of the house had returned to her bedroom for a brief nap, she was now up and heading outside to enjoy the view.

Myra walked across the patio in the direction of the beach, stopping at the gate, she looked across the water. She turned her head. Spotting something in the distance, she slowly followed the gate and disappeared from camera range.

Myra started walking backwards the moment she was out of range and did not stop until she felt her back meet with the outer wall of the pool house. She looked up. A camera was positioned directly above her head. Realizing she didn’t have much time before it found her, she squatted down and moved as quickly as she could. Myra continued running until she reached the maintenance door. If there was a computer on site it would have to be in there. She stilled her hand when she noticed a newly installed control panel. “Great,” she muttered, one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile, something about the new access panel looked familiar. It was identical to the one to the media room. Myra pulled the key Wyatt left for her from her pocket. “Here’s to hoping this key opens more than one door.”

She entered the maintenance office and found nothing but tools, pool chemicals and other supplies. “Where else can it be. This is a pool house. Where else can you hide a computer, under water?” Stepping through an unlocked door she entered the sitting area and looked around, “If I were Wyatt where would I put you…” Myra’s eyes stopped at the built in benches lining the wall. They kept extra towels stored inside. “In plain sight...Wyatt you smart ass.” She crossed the room to the bank of benches. At the bench’s far end, out of camera range, and conveniently, only steps from the ladies’ locker room Myra found an old laptop under a pile of brightly colored towels. The words “Pool House,” were painted across the top with cheap nail polish. It was one Wyatt had cleared a couple of summers ago for her nieces to play games on while the two were visiting. Cleaning up her mess, Myra lowered the lid to the bench and disappeared into the camera free locker area with her new treasure.

She turned on the computer and pushed the USB drive into a port. Myra found several files on the drive. The first one she opened was simply named “M.”She clicked on its only document.

Myra,

If you are opening this a lot of things have gone wrong. I don’t know if I am still alive. If I am I have a very good reason for sharing this with you. On this drive you will find the most pertinent information regarding what has been going on during the last several months. I hope the enclosed gives you everything you’ll need to navigate whatever is coming.

I am sorry I had to keep so much from you. It was necessary. You couldn’t have done Sunny Days, with this information and still accomplished what we set out to do. After you have read everything you will understand.

Love,

Wyatt

P.S. Get a bottle of wine out of the cooler because you’re going to need it sweetie. This is a real life Pandora’s box.

Myra dismissed the wine comment, pointed and clicked. Opening a file named, The Box, she read about the unknown virus and how it began spreading seemingly in all directions from Mexico and Central America, the origins being traced back to the populated areas nearest Mayan ruins in what was known as Mesoamerica during ancient times.

Thousands fell ill and hundreds died before the virus had been named. The virus, GRMN2, was named for its genome which could not be identified. It was completely alien to the epidemiologists studying it.

Within days the internet was flooded with speculation from scientists, doctors, journalists, and politicians as to what kind of virus it was and what could be done to eradicate it.

Before long everyone including the general public was weighing in on it. Mother Nature was punishing us for our foolhardy ways. It was Montezuma's final revenge. God was punishing us for our foolhardy ways. Someone found the virus in the bunker Hitler had hidden in at the end of World War II. It was the dictator’s wild card. One he never had the chance to use. It was the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. It was the end of days.

A few days later the first ascension story emerged. A doctor claimed he treated several software developers with the GRMN2 virus and none of them had died. They had all gone through physiological changes unlike anything humankind had ever seen. The government panicked and faked their deaths, going as far as transporting them from local hospitals to one on a military base in Nevada, notifying the families the men were no longer alive. The government then convinced those families to donate their loved one’s bodies to research for the sake of public health. This doctor knew for a fact that none of the men died because he was on staff at that base hospital and helped them all escape.

According to this doctor, the men had evolved. He hypothesized that the virus was not of this planet. It was a gift from an alien race. A physiological leg up to aid the human race on their next step up the evolutionary ladder. The doctor stayed with the software developers and worked with his patients as they changed. Some developed “super” powers; all experienced increased mental capacity, as well as more strength along with improved senses overall.

The doctor’s story spread at lightning speed. Within days, a group of followers emerged. People cheering the survivors of the virus on eager for any new morsel of information, and looking forward to getting their chance to ascend to this new life form.

It was not long before a more aggressive group of sympathizers branched off. They were no longer interested in waiting their turn. They wanted their new alien powers. Now. These people, known as Knoblickers would follow internet buzz obsessively, looking for signs of Infecteds hidden among the rest of the population. Drinking from their abandoned glasses, eating with their forks, following them into bathrooms and licking toilet levers. Some hiding in hospital wards. A few going as far as kidnapping them, their assailants would take turns taunting them until the GRMN2 carrier had sneezed, coughed, or shared a bodily fluid with them. One man broke into a morgue looking for GRMN2 victims. They eventually found him licking the fingers of corpses muttering to himself and crying out, begging to the unseen aliens to make him one of them.

Myra skimmed the next article and decided a glass of wine might be a good idea after all.

The Greater Good

Hello.

It’s nice to see you.

Come in.

Sit down.

Would you like a cuppa?

I have chamomile but I can make anything you like.

(Nodding)

Okay. Maybe later. Sit down. Let’s talk. Yes it is true. I asked you here today because I would like to talk to you about something. Something important. (Quiet even voice. Kind in tone.) How are you feeling these days? I see that look on your face. We all seem to have it lately. These times we are living in are difficult. It’s one thing to read about times which shape our world. Times which become part of our planet’s major points in history. It is quite another to be living in them. (Looking into visitor’s eyes.) None of us wanted this. No one wants to be living through this. The alternative is death. I am not in any hurry to die. (Nodding.) I know that you aren’t either.

I know. It makes me angry too. And sad. And scared. We have to keep going. We have to work together. No, it’s okay. Don’t leave. I did not ask you here to tell you protecting your freedoms is wrong. The world is swirling about with people yelling in every direction...we have to decide what is important to us. We have every right to be free. If our freedoms were being infringed upon you would know it. You know how you’d know it? Because I would be angry too. I would be cheering you on. Sweetie, if you want to keep exercising your freedoms. If you want to get that job, have that career, buy that yacht, have those babies, build that life...we all need to work together. Now.

It is the one thing we have been missing. If you look into history. It is right there. The moment that the tide was turned was the moment that people stopped fighting amongst each other and began working together for the greater good. We all need to start working together towards that greater good.

I am not going to ignore the hard truths. I am not going to avoid telling you what you don’t want to hear.

Here is the truth:

Humanity is at war with an unseen enemy: COVID 19 and its variants.

Hospitals are filling up to the point they are calling other hospitals that are also filled to capacity looking for empty beds.

In order for us to turn the tide and begin winning we are all going to have to face our fears including the fear of losing our freedom. Not all of them. The freedom to not mask at this crucial moment. The freedom to say whether our children have to wear masks. We may have to surrender our freedom to kill time perusing stores and going to the movies for a few weeks too.

I know. Trust me I know. I have been limiting my interactions for close to a year and a half. I am getting tired of it. Damn tired of it.

What we can get back if we give up these freedoms?

Knowing we are safe from an unseen enemy.

Birthdays, graduations, weddings and births of new loved ones.

Climbing that mountain we were convinced we never would.

Falling in love.

Watching family and friends grow up and achieve their dreams.

Looking outside at your neighbors and knowing they are not at risk of dying a horrible death.

Getting a chance to see the world.

If we are lucky giving Mother Nature some much needed love in return for all she has given us.

The joy of knowing we made it through a very dark time.

(Nodding.)

No I’m not mad. I see that you aren’t convinced. I know...Freedom. I agree it is what this country was built on. But how was it built? It was built because people worked together through dark and difficult times. (Nodding. Listening.)

Okay. I won’t say more. I understand you are angry and need to leave.

Do me a favor?

When you get home and things are quiet, turn off the TV, the radio, the phone. Close your eyes for one minute, two, five...open them and walk through your home. Look at the pictures of loved ones, your spouse, your children asleep in their beds. Look at them and say, “It’s okay if you die.” (Eyes tear up.)

 You don’t want that. I knew that.

We don’t want them to die. There is so much death. Too much death.

It is really scary what’s happening. All any of us is looking for is a world we recognize. A bit of peace.

Slowing and eventually ending the spread of this disease will help us get there.

Lately I have been thinking of the song, “We Are The World,” do you remember it? Did you know those lyrics apply today? To what’s been happening. To what we can do in order to get through this.

Listen and decide for yourself.

We can make a better day. It has to be more than just you and me.

Because we are the world. We need each other.

Ascension Part XIII - Bread Crumb

 

After a nap, another hour on the couch with “Our Mutual Friend” and a cup of Chai tea, Myra was bored. She told herself one of the benefits of great literature was it was written during a time when reading was a major source of entertainment. Authors took pains to take two or three thousand words to say what could have been said in one making it the perfect thing to read during a pandemic. What could be better than taking time in one’s life to appreciate great literature?

“I’m more than happy to appreciate something as long as it isn’t boring me to death.” She muttered, turning off the movie. Picking up a different remote, Myra found one of her mother’s favorite albums and turned up the music. She was taken back to the early days of her childhood. A time when her mother always seemed to be wearing a smile and her father would come home from work ready to listen to anything and everything she wanted to tell him. He always had plenty of energy for a game of chase and was readily available with new bedtime stories.

Myra found herself slowly walking around the living room looked at framed photos wondering where that world had gone.

No moping. - W.

I wasn’t moping. I was remembering my father and his stories. - M.

Riddle me this, Robin—what has four feet, thirteen eyes and six ears?

A monster? - M.

No. - W.

A small pod of dolphins and their trainers? - She tried, knowing that answer hadn’t even made sense.

Sweetie, that answer didn’t even make sense. - He texted back. – The solution will lead you to what you asked me for. It is five pm. You have three hours to solve the riddle. GO.

Myra smiled at the text on the screen. Wyatt noticed she was bored and gave her something to do. She sat down on the couch with pen and notepad.

What has four feet?

She scribbled down the words : tables, chairs, couches, two people, ducks. Thirteen eyes. Potatoes? Six ears. Six ears of corn? “Is he telling me what’s for dinner? Knowing the dinner menu is nice but it does not wave at the information I seek.”

I asked for disclosure. Full disclosure.

With that realization, Myra’s phone became her most treasured possession. “It’s not a riddle it’s a clue.” She whispered. “What was I doing when Wyatt texted me?” She looked around the room. “I was standing, there.” She looked at the built-in bookshelves on either side of the entertainment system in front of her. She rose from her seat and walked over to the awards, photos, and random bric-a-brac on the shelves.

Myra and Wyatt had chosen these pieces together. They had done it while all the remaining space in the house had been taken over by the contractors, decorators, and media specialists called in by the studio to prepare Myra’s house for remote production during lockdown. They put out cherished memories of happier days as recommended by the mental health consulting firm the studio had hired to keep her and Wyatt in good spirits as the two of them helped the rest of the world remain in good spirits during the difficult days to come.

She looked at each piece closely, paying special attention to items added by Wyatt. A picture taken of only their feet as they stood on a warm white sandy beach in Bora Bora between takes of a film she had a supporting role in.

“Four feet.”

She heard a voice from many years ago, it was dialogue from a political thriller she had starred in, “Three professionals equals six ears. Six ears and forty-eight hours should tell us everything we need to know.”

“Six.” Myra whispered. “That’s where the six ears come from. Thirteen eyes where are you?” She took a step back from the bookshelf, perusing the contents slowly and more closely. She knew what she was looking for, Myra just needed to spot it. Her eyes stopped at a small plastic toy near the front of the lowest shelf.

“Wyatt, you shit.” Myra picked up a bobble head, one with her likeness, in a russet brown body suit, short heeled knee boots, with the tangerine colored hair the movie was famous for. An independent film by an aspiring director she starred in just for fun after she had finished her first motion picture with a major worldwide studio. It was a super hero film made years before Marvel jumped into the movie business, changing the way the world looked at super heroes forever. Myra had played Lisa, the shy daughter of a potato farmer during The Great Depression who was kidnapped by space aliens and bestowed with super powers. “All Eyes On You,” was strong, fast, quick-witted and could see in all directions, hence the brown body suit covered in eyeballs. Myra shook her head at the memory. The film was an utter flop in most circles but became a cult classic. One that had ironically led her to the break out role which launched her career and into stardom.

She was not fond of that particular listing on her CV, Wyatt always said if she had not been Miss Super Potato Head they never would have met. As far as he was concerned it made the brown eyeball bodysuit worth it. Myra reached out, gently stroking the outside of the toy’s bobbing head.

“It was worth it. Completely worth it.” Myra picked up the figurine counting the eyeballs. “Thirteen eyes.” Running her fingertip along the outside she noticed a protrusion. She pushed on it. Something small and heavy fell into the palm of her hand. It was all Myra could do not to say a word. She closed her hand as she placed the bobble head back on the shelf.

Say nothing. No exclamations, no squeals of joy. Not a sound. Look at the floor---hold. Myra thought giving herself stage direction. This was the most important role of her life. Right now. In this moment. One slip up...she didn’t want to think about what might happen if she made a mistake. That’s good. When you look up let out a sigh and sit down on the couch. Pick up the remote. Flip through channels for ten minutes. Good. Quietly turn off the television. Leave the room.

Myra used the restroom to string things out a bit longer. She had a passcode and a key. What was she to do about the camera?

They have to believe I’m Wyatt. I wonder if any of his sweats are still in the exercise room.

Finding a pair of Wyatt’s sweats and an old hoodie she snuck them into another bathroom and put them on over her clothes. She pulled the hood over her head as Wyatt had been doing in recent weeks and returned to the media room door. Myra put the key into the lock and turned it. The screen prompted her to enter a passcode. She typed 04-13-06 and pressed Enter. The display turned green and the word WELCOME appeared. Myra quickly turned the knob and walked through the door.

Ascension Part XII: First Encounter

“What can I help you with today?” Abraham asked looking at Wyatt expectantly.

Wyatt looked at the time, he only had a few minutes left before he needed to get back to Myra. Turning back to Abraham he said “My third eyelid came in and my third eye began working after I experienced pain in my head that caused me to lose consciousness for a moment. The person behind you said I was a Viewer. What is it? How do I learn to live with it? How do I continue keeping my secret?”

“No one knows that you had the GRMN2 virus?” Abraham asked. “Family, close friends.”

“No.”

Abraham’s hand started moving. Wyatt notice Abraham was flicking a pen open and closed as he thought. “When did your development period begin?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The new eyelid dropping, the third eye being activated is the beginning of the final stage of your development period. When did you lose consciousness?”

“An hour ago, maybe two.” He responded.

“You are just getting your bearings. We can help. If you’ll send me your location I’ll send someone over to help you work through it.” Abraham said.

“I can’t do that, give you my location. My living situation is unique.”

“Are you in a high risk situation Wyatt?”

“What is High Risk?”

“We define anyone High Risk who is living in a situation where there are others in the home who are not open to the possibility that an evolution of the human race is taking place. Is this your situation?”

Wyatt thought about Myra. She didn’t know enough about what was happening for him to venture a guess at how she would respond to these changes. “The house I am living in is being monitored. Closely. No one is allowed in or out without prior clearance.”

“We are very discreet.”

“I thought I could keep things from prying eyes and listening ears before. I helped a small group of people who had come down with the virus. Some close friends. One of my special guests was recently picked up by the authorities. It was dumb luck when they didn’t track him back to me.”

“Jacques.” Abraham said. “Good news, we were able to get him out. I saw him come in with the other new arrivals but I have yet to meet him. Was he picked up by local authorities?”

“No. Soldiers. They appeared to come out of nowhere.”

“Probably Special Ops. Rumor has it local authorities are having trouble keeping up, the military has been called in to fill the gap.”

Wyatt nodded. “I read that has been happening at large demonstrations or at suspected safe communities but Special Ops at a private residence?”

“Governments world wide are becoming more and more aggressive when it comes to keeping its citizens “safe” from the alien virus and the new race being created by its spread. You are definitely High Risk.” Abraham scribbled a few quick notes on a writing tablet sitting on the table in front of him. “Another option would be to do this online with a much longer meeting.”

“How long will that take?” Wyatt asked thinking of Myra and how he can explain a long afternoon and evening alone in the guest house without raising suspicion or worrying her. She tried to call a doctor earlier. If an outsider sees him like this, it’s basically over.

“Three hours.”

Wyatt glanced at the security display. There was no activity on any part of the patio or in the pool house. He found her in the living room, she had changed into her favorite loose shorts and t shirt. Myra was on the couch watching the movie they began watching earlier.

“We can start the session in ten minutes. Each session is 58 minutes long with two minute breaks for changing online locations.”

Wyatt looked away from the display and turned back to Abraham.

“Long connections are more likely to be noticed by authorities who monitor the dark web for suspicious behavior.”

“Isn’t the dark web incapable of being monitored?” Wyatt asked.

“Is it?” Wyatt’s new friend raised a brow. “Many of the first to evolve into Hybrids were software developers. We...they knew if Hybrids were going to survive. If humanity was going to continue the new race would need a way to talk to each other, GRWEB or green web was created as a result. It has been tucked into the dark web to help avoid detection. When authorities become suspicious they are redirected to something on the dark web usually bad porn or dog fighting, cock fights something like that. We’ve been lucky so far. Every day they get a little bit faster, a little bit better. Until we find Hybrids with a special talent for developing alien computer systems, we have to keep staying one or two steps ahead of everyone else and relying on misdirection to get us out of tight places. I will send you an email with link to our first online rendezvous in five. See you then?”

Wyatt held up an index finger indicating he would respond momentarily and sent a quick text.

How’s the movie? – W.

A bit slow. I’m getting sleepy. How is your head? - M.

It is down to a moderate throb. - W.

Keep resting, I feel like taking a nap anyway. Dinner a 8? -M.

Yes. TTYL—W.

“Can you be available for the next three hours?” Abraham asked.

“Yes. I can do that.”

“See you in ten minutes.”

“See you then.”

Wyatt nodded.

“Thanks for clicking. It’s always nice to meet a fellow Hybrid.”

The screen went black. Wyatt found himself back at the site for the Hybrid Hater group. Wyatt looked around the room. He went into the bathroom and studied himself in the mirror. “I’m a Viewer. If someone would just tell me what I’m supposed to be able to see.” Wyatt returned to his workstation and checked on Myra. She had turned the movie off. He watched as she walked around the living room studying things. He knew she was trying to give him the space he needed.

She doesn’t know how to get around the non-disclosure agreement either. She is waiting for me to do the right thing.

Reaching out, Wyatt clicked on his computer mouse, he wanted nothing more to do with the Hybrid Haters site. He started a more general search to pass the time, mostly articles regarding the pandemic’s effects on mental health.

The stress of this pandemic can lead us to behaving in unexpected ways. People who are always on time with everything forgetting to pay bills. Someone who loves exercising outdoors stops going for their runs. We are living in difficult times that no one has a lot of experience dealing with, behaving in ways that are a bit out of character for you is completely natural.

If I do something that is out of character...Myra can get to her answers and it can’t be proven that I did anything to lead her to them. It wouldn’t necessarily be my fault.

Wyatt continued to read, looking for  the author’s name. It was familiar. The author was a very respected and reputable authority on human behavior who had done several online interviews on the topic in recent months.

He checked the time. Five minutes. Wyatt had five minutes to show Myra a bread crumb and hope she picked it up.

Ascension Part XI: Discovering Others

 

The water felt good when Myra dived into the pool to start her warm up. Like she was being welcomed into a safe place, embraced by something simple, warm, and loving. She emerged from the water at the opposite end of the pool when she heard something and looked up. A camera at the upper left-hand corner of room was moving. She waved at the camera and gave it a brief smile. Wyatt was checking up on her. It was a kind gesture considering he had retired to the guest house with the most intense headache she had ever seen. Once things calmed down Wyatt needed to see a doctor. No one should be in the type of pain he had been experiencing recently. She wanted to call a doctor today but once again Wyatt refused. She was too scared of the virus to push the issue. Afraid he would contract it and she would lose him. He had been keeping too much from her but he also was the only piece she had left of her world before the pandemic. She was not ready to give that up. They had been friends for too long.

Myra turned and plunged back into the water. She began her laps. Starting out with a Freestyle stroke and quickly becoming bored, she switched to her favorite Individual Medley.

She found herself concentrating closely on her workout, it kept her in the present moment. Something which was more and more difficult to do with each passing day. The world was abuzz with people speculating on current events, sharing information as well as misinformation, and speaking conflicting truths. Fear and chaos quickly building into random outbursts of panic. It was like the planet was an overcrowded theater and some idiot had just screamed “Fire.” Except in this case there was a fire...somewhere. Myra could not distinguish its proximity nor the depth of it for all the smoke and people moving in every direction.

Not now. This present moment was hers. She was going to keep it. She hoped if she focused on something else for a while a solution to her difficulties with Wyatt would present itself. Myra slowed at the end of the pool, doing a 360 degree turn, she kicked off the pool wall, flipped on to her belly and went back the way she came.

Wyatt monitored Myra’s workout as he continued his search for more detailed information. He needed to know what might be on the verge of manifesting now that he was a Hybrid. He watched Myra execute a flawless flip turn and begin another lap. 

The full disclosure request she had made earlier in the day was not unreasonable given recent events. Inconvenient but not unreasonable. She was taking extra laps. It seemed they were both equally uncomfortable with the entire situation.

Wyatt blinked. His world darkened as all three eyes closed. The computer screen returned to view as they opened. Wyatt sighed momentarily. It was time to get back to work. He perused news sites, government agencies, scientific journals, even delving into the world of the Knoblickers for a time. They all had the same information. Hybrids whose third eyelid coming in resulted in a sudden loss of consciousness were found to have stronger powers than other Hybrids, it was never specified what those powers might be.

Wyatt decided it was best to take a step back and break what he discovered down to the simplest form possible. Opening another window, he began typing a list.

The Third Eye Can:

See the future.

Communicate with nature.

See the origin and history of the alien beings the Hybrid is now connected to.

Look at someone and understand everything about them from their thoughts and history all the way down to a molecular level.

Can control the elements.

Can use the third eye as a weapon (some sort of laser beam). I doubt that.

Can control the elements.

Can lift heavy objects just by looking at them. False.

Can tell by looking at a human which is the tastiest morsel. We aren’t cannibals. Wyatt thought rolling his eyes.

Can levitate cows and milk them, causing it to rain milk over fields of orphaned children. Who came up with that one?

Can mind meld with zombies. These Hybrids plan to take over the world making all non-hybrid humans sex slaves for the new species. Someone must have been smoking something when they came up with that one.

Wyatt checked the pool house monitor again. Myra was standing outside the pool, wrapping a towel around herself. He watched as she left the area, entering the changing rooms. She would be in there at least thirty minutes. He had thirty minutes to figure out what to do next.

He was preparing to click on a link to a Hybrid Hater group when he noticed something odd about the link. He saw something above it. Click for GRWEB. “What?” He muttered. Wyatt moved the cursor away from the link then pointed to it again, seeing the same message. “I don’t know about this.”

A notification popped up. A new message in his private email. The message was brief. Only a few words.

Click the link Mon Ami. – Jcq

“Jacques?” Wyatt whispered. He clicked the link and his screen went black. Seconds later green letters rained down the screen in front of him. He clicked when he found the word GRWEB.

 A box popped up.

Connection Secure In :

5...4…3...2...1

A video box opened. Another Hybrid looked at him. The stranger had a tiny tuft of bright red hair, three large blue eyes and a friendly smile. “Hello.” The man said.

“Um...hello?” Wyatt responded.

“Welcome to the Green Web. The Green Web is every Hybrid’s source of information for adjusting to their new form outside of captivity. My name is Abraham. What’s yours?”

“Wyatt.”

“Wyatt. Nice to meet you Wyatt.”

Another Hybrid walked up behind Abraham. Peering at the screen, he stepped back and called out, “It’s a Viewer. We have another Viewer!” The Hybrid stepped forward and patted Abraham’s shoulder, “That’s two this week. Nice work.”

Wyatt swallowed.

Ascension Part X: The Adolescence Of A Hybrid.

 

Wyatt’s head dropped. “You just asked for the one thing I cannot give you.” He looked at Myra. “The studios have me on the tightest non-disclosure agreement I have ever seen.”

Myra began to argue, Wyatt held up his hand, “I’m not finished. This non disclosure agreement is tight. Tighter than ones for some Hollywood marriages. If you get the tiniest speck of information while I’m in the room I lose everything. All the money I have made in the last twelve months, my mother’s condo will be sold out from under her, I will be barred from working as a PA not to mention the charges I will have to pay for breaking the non-disclosure agreement in the first place.”

 A buzzing sound came from the patio table drawer. Wyatt opened the drawer, the screen on his phone was lighting up with a text alert.

“I thought you turned that off.” Myra said.

“I did.”

“Someone turned it back on.” Myra responded with a frown.

“Now who’s being paranoid?” Wyatt asked as he looked at the weather forecast text which had interrupted their conversation. He reached for the power button.

“Leave it on.” Myra instructed. She reached out for Wyatt’s hand and pulled. She nodded toward the house. “Let’s get some lunch.”

“Lunch?”

She gestured with her head as she grabbed his phone. Holding it behind her back she mouthed the words, “I have an idea.”

Wyatt followed Myra into the house. She stopped in the kitchen, looked at Wyatt and said, “Stay here.” He watched as she tossed his phone on the seat of the couch, she picked up the remote and pulled up, “Our Mutual Friend,” a mini-series based on a story by Charles Dickens. Myra turned up the volume. To anyone monitoring them it would appear Wyatt was following studio instructions, they were spending the day forgetting the unpleasantness they had encountered earlier.

“Okay we have five and a half hours.” Myra turned and looked at the couch for a moment, speaking in low tones, “We will have to take turns walking over, and pause for bathroom breaks. We may have to stop and fake a discussion over a snack, talk about the movie, we’ll only lose twenty minutes.”

Before Wyatt could respond Myra disappeared and returned with two blank notebooks. Wyatt coughed as she wiped the dust off.

“Where did these come from?”

“The guest rooms in the south wing. The screenwriters left them.”

“The ones who were here four years ago?”

“Uh-huh. I saved them in case we worked on another project with them down the road. If you don’t remember you had to go out in the middle of the night to get these notebooks on a holiday weekend.”

“New Year’s Eve. Two-thirty in the morning. There were so many near accidents I felt like I was stuck in some time traveling episode of Star Trek and I was the unknown walk-on wearing a red shirt. Who ever thought working through New Year’s could be so dangerous.”

“It’s all yours now.” Myra grinned.

“For what?”

“Write it down. Write down everything you know. You will not have said a word.” Myra held up a pen.

“Nice try.” He said.

Myra looked frustrated and a little bit angry. For a minute Wyatt wondered if she was going to fire him, regardless of the current state of the world. “There’s a way around this problem. I’m going to find it.”

Abandoning the notebook Wyatt crossed to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. How many times had he wrestled with the predicament. He was not worried about the money or even the possibility of having to change careers. But his mother, she was so happy where she was. She said she had found a place where she didn’t feel like she was living in an old folks’ home. She had been there long enough to build a fairly active life, make lots of friends. He did not want that snatched away from her. The two most important women in his life were at the opposite ends of this. He wanted to protect them. Both.

Wyatt felt a stab of pain between his eyes. A stronger stab of pain hit above the first. An intense stab of pain hit him in the third eye. Wyatt fell to the floor.

“Wyatt? Wy?”

Wyatt heard Myra calling out. He opened his eyes as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was for Myra to call for help. He heard the cameras in the kitchen move. He nodded to Myra, “I’m okay.” Something was odd, Something was obscuring part of his view. He told himself not to think about it now. Breathe deep. Smile for the camera. Myra helped Wyatt up and let her help him take a seat at the counter. They made assembling their simple lunch a group effort. They looked at the television periodically and commented on what they saw. An hour and a half later, Wyatt excused himself. They turned off the movie and went outside. Myra headed for the pool and a swim as Wyatt retired to the guest house.

He locked the door behind him. Dumping the phone he took the stairs two at a time, running into his private bathroom he locked the door. Pulling off the cap he was wearing, Wyatt removed the bandage. The view in front of him was no longer obscured. He closed his eyes and he blinked. All three of them. Three eyes. Three eyelids. “Thank God.” He sighed. “The dry eye was killing me.”

Everything looked different. Wyatt could easily see the ceiling without raising his eyes much. After closing all the blinds in the guest house and checking the pool house cameras, he took a tour with his new working eye. He found that walking down stairs was different now. He took them slowly. “It’s a shame I can’t try this baby out beyond the walls of this guest house.” Wyatt returned to his laptop with a cold drink and his research. He needed to know what to do next.

“The headaches will end once the eye has emerged. Any other headaches are indicators of major changes to the system of one who has transformed. Many have an intense encounter when the eyelid comes down over the eye for the first time. A Transformed's talent will begin to bubble up within minutes of the eyelid’s arrival. It can be a long slow process that takes several weeks to fully develop, accompanied by several brief headaches.” Wyatt stopped reading and commented. “Hopefully things can be sorted out by the time that’s over with. I need to leave Mom and Myra taken care of.” Wyatt took a sip of iced tea before returning to the information. He continued to read. “For others, Transformed with what human scientists are calling bigger powers tend to develop suddenly after an intense headache that usually causes the Transformed to temporarily black out or lose consciousness. A hybrid whose eyelid manifested in this way should expect to be gifted with one of the bigger powers.” That may not be so great. How long do I have? Wyatt studied the text closely. “The power usually manifests itself within seventy-two hours....Fuck.”