Murphy's Second Death

By Oren Hammerquist

Inventor, scientist, and philosopher Murphy Cayce only dreamed of showing the divinity in humanity. Humanity was not ready. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, but, when reincarnation moves from faith to fact, humanity must face fears they thought were dead and buried. If all souls must go on to Heaven or Hell, then which of the two is this life to the reborn?
His miraculous invention allows people access to knowledge from their previous life, but society cannot function when faith and meaning are replaced with fact and knowledge. Murphy Cayce goes from visionary, to heretic, to prophet, to pariah as his invention spirals out of control with consequences he never foresaw. Would you rather die forever, or live forever; would you rather rest in peace, or live in contention? Is the price for immortality higher than paying the reaper?
Murphy grows to hate his own invention—which he calls Pandora’s Box without a lid. Before Murphy can bring meaning to society, he must find meaning in his own endless cycle of death and rebirth. Before he can save the world from its long dead fears and regrets, he must find a way to face his own eternal nightmares.
In Murphy’s Second Death, the science may fictional, but the social problems the characters face are all very real. This novel is written for genre and mainstream readers alike—anyone who hopes for meaning in life. Dozens of characters and complex interactions drive this world through careful a balance of humor versus sorrow, love versus vengeance, and tenderness versus violence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oren Hammerquist
• Release date: Feb 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311839626

Oren Hammerquist

Oren Hammerquist's work has recently appeared in the Fabula Argentea eZine available for free online, in the Soldier Story anthology available at Amazon in print or digital copy, and in eRomance Magazine, available for subscription at Barnes and Noble, or as back issues on the publisher's site. Oren has been in the Army for seven years, and served in Afghanistan. He is originally from the Seattle area, and is married with three children. In his spare time, Oren is completing his bachelor's degree in criminal justice and paralegal studies.http://www.orenhammerquist.com/#!bio/ct47

Book preview

Murphy's Second Death

by

Oren Hammerquist

Copyright 2013, Oren Hammerquist

Smashwords Edition

This book is also available in print at select retailers.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, I must thank my wife Trisha and my children for making me who I am today, and of course my parents for putting me on the right path.

Thank you to Rick and Rose Taubold for the excellent cover art. www.ricktaubold.com

Thank you to Lucy Carillo and Rick Taubold for their editorial input.

Some (but not all) of the quotations below came from brainyquote.com.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Ouroboros

Murphy Cayce

Cady's Story: Part One

Eric Heller

George and Glenda: Part One

Bridget Cayce

Billy Gant

Murphy's Faith

Byram's Story: Part One

Howard Maven

Sade and Tira: Part One

Murphy's Machine

Murphy's Miracle

Murphy the Scientist

Murphy’s Billions

George and Glenda: Part Two

Cady's Story: Part Two

Murphy the Heretic

Solitary

The Grayson Monahan Center

Sade and Tira: Part Two

Byram's Story: Part Two

Murphy the Prophet

Colors of Law

Kayla

Tira's Conversion

Murphy’s Loss

Vendetta

Murphy's Crucible

Murphy's Problem

Murphy's Hammer

Murphy's Hell

Murphy's Solution

Murphy's Wish

______________

About the Author

Afterword

Poem: Murphy is Reborn

An excerpt from Savage Animals

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Ouroboros

"Dreams are today's answers to tomorrow's questions." –Edgar Cayce

The first time he saw her, he knew they would be together forever, and he knew what that meant more than anyone living, dead, or other. He could never explain it (not to her, not now), but it was true. They would be together forever because they already had been together forever. It was not love at first sight because he knew in his heart that he had seen her before.

It could only be her because it was always her.

You look familiar, he said to the girl—his soul mate. Have we met?

Is that really your best pickup line? she asked him.

The tone of her voice was mocking, but there was a playfulness in her eyes. It was an expression he would be happy to see every day for a thousand years more. She was challenging him, but she wanted to hear his answer. It's only a line if we haven't met before, the young man said. Since I'm sure we have, this would be... a reunion.

She smiled back at the boy, and shook her head slowly. Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that.

Why don't you tell me your name? he asked. It might jog my memory.

She chuckled at him, but they exchanged names.

Well aren't you going to say, 'Nice to meet you?' or 'Can I have your phone number'? she asked him.

I'd love your number, but I told you we've already met, he said.

Uh huh. I'm from a small town, and you aren't one of the less than two hundred people there, she said. I just came to town last month.

You're in college then?

Why else would anyone come to this town?

Well that must be where I've seen you then, he said. I'm in graduate school.

Oh really? she said. Since there are literally four times as many people in the college as my town, I doubt you remember me from there.

I can prove it, he said. You're taking nursing, aren't you?

She eyed him suspiciously, and looked at her textbooks. They were all general education books, and shouldn't have given him a hint. Lucky guess.

Maybe. Or maybe I've seen you before, he said. Or maybe you just have a calming, gentle way about you that that could only be a nurse.

She looked the young man over again. If that's a line it's a good one. You should have opened with it.

So you still don't believe that I know you?

You do seem familiar I guess, the girl admitted. And you seem harmless enough, but I'm sure we've never met.

Not in this life anyway.

Ah, so you think we knew each other in a previous life?

Would that really be so crazy?

There was something behind the boy's eyes. It was intense, it was comfortable, and it might be much more. The thought should have frightened her. Small-town boys didn't come on this strong, but then she had grown up with all of them. The strange thing was that she felt the same familiarity with this strange boy in in the coffee shop as she did the boys in high school. Familiarity, and something else too. She wouldn't let herself name it for fear it would be a four-letter word that only dreamers and poets believed possible at first sight.

No. I don't think it would, she finally said. So how did it end for us in this last life?

Ah, that's the past now, he said. I'm more interested in where this one starts.

You're just full of good lines, aren't you? she asked in a tone she forced to be playful. She certainly didn't want this old friend she had just met to know what it really meant. She was determined to stay a conservative, small-town girl.

The boy smiled at her. It was more than just lines and they both knew it. So what do you say? Do you want to see where this life between us starts? Maybe at dinner and a movie tomorrow?

Yes.

One year later, the boy dropped to a knee and took her ring from his coat pocket. I've always loved you, and I always will, he said. That day I met you in the coffee shop, I knew it could only be you that I could love. And somehow, I always knew it. Please say yes to my next question, or I can't be happy again. Will you marry me?

Again, she said, Yes.

And so their circle continued.

Like the mythical figure of the Ouroboros—the snake that feeds on its own tail—these lovers' loss would always come back again to life and love. It was fate, it was providence, but it was never a coincidence.

It was their reincarnation.

Murphy Cayce

"Facts occupy endless time and space; but the truth comprehending them all has no dimension; it is One. Wherever our heart touches the One, in the small or the big, it finds the touch of the infinite." -Rabindranth Tagore

Murphy sat at the bar nursing a rum and coke. Black ties, name-dropping, and politics were all a waste of time to him. The reason he was here tonight was wearing a ball gown and gliding between groups of socialites.

Bridget Cayce smiled at her husband from across the room. He raised his glass in a toast. To my gorgeous wife and Jack Daniels. She came to him in her gliding, graceful step and placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

You can't just sit in the corner and sulk, dear.

I'm not in the corner, Murphy said. And I'm not sulking.

Well. You've convinced me! Bridget said playfully.

Murphy smiled in spite of himself. I'm no good at these social gatherings.

Then you shouldn't have married a social butterfly, she said. If you hate them so much, why did we come?

Because you love them, Murphy said. Are you enjoying yourself?

I'd be enjoying myself a lot more if my husband would escort me, she said.

Murphy shrugged. Bridget knocked on the bar and pointed at her husband's empty glass. The bartender refilled it.

You'll have to better than that to get me off this stool, Murphy said.

She leaned over as if to kiss him on the cheek, but instead gently bit his earlobe. She stood up, and looked at him with a look Murphy had no trouble understanding. Murphy stood and took his wife's hand. Tease. If you keep that up I'll have to sit down again.

She chuckled as she pulled him to a nearby group, and Murphy suppressed a groan. They were not only professors, but also two members of board of directors and the dean of the university. He didn't care to speak to them when he had to, and he certainly didn't want to talk to them on his own time.

Bridget always warned him that he didn't network enough. His objections that it was nothing but pretending to like people you hated didn't change her mind. She was right; the good positions were far more about who you knew than what you knew.

Ah, Mr. Cayce, the dean said pronouncing his name C-A-S-E-Y, Professor Heller speaks very highly of you. I was hoping to meet you.

It's Cayce, sir, Murphy answered pronouncing his name C-A-S-E. Professor Heller is probably exaggerating, but he has been very helpful in preparing my thesis.

Professor Jackson said, Well if your skill with research is as good as your skill with women I can't wait to see it. Murphy felt his jaw tighten, but Bridget squeezed his hand and thanked Jackson for the compliment. She was used to this sort of thing.

Murphy noticed that Jackson's cheeks were rather flushed, and that he was holding an empty glass. When a server brought a full one a moment later, Murphy began to wonder how many empty glasses Jackson had handed back. And how much of tonight he would remember.

"Yes, Mrs. Cayce has been quite charming, the dean said pronouncing the last name explicitly without the E, and quite humbling. Doctors of Psychology aren't supposed to be taught lessons in the social sciences by nurses."

She's always been the smartest one in the room, Murphy said. That's why I married her.

I'm sure looks had something to do with it, Jackson said—holding another empty glass. Mrs. Cayce [C-A-S-E-Y] is looking quite alluring tonight.

Professor Wallace—sensing the tension—said with a sideways look at Jackson, "Professor Jackson is quite right, Mrs. Cayce [C-A-S-E], and I'm sure that neither his wife nor mine would let us live it down if I did not ask where you bought such an elegant gown."

Professor Jackson looked embarrassed to be reminded that he was married. He took another glass from a server and drank it as he sulked.

Bridget gave him a coy smile and said, Oh, just a little place downtown. But I can't give away my secrets, gentlemen, or I won't be the most elegant woman here anymore.

All the men laughed at this. Bridget was a natural.

Dean William Stevens said, Well hanging out in this circle certainly makes you look young and beautiful by comparison.

Bridget smiled as she leaned against her husband. Why do you think I brought my husband over? I needed someone who wasn't old enough to be my father to talk to.

As the others laughed, Murphy marveled at the way people seemed to revolve around his wife as if caught in her gravitational pull. The fact that she was going home with him was bragging rights.

Stevens placed a hand on Murphy's shoulder. I read your master's thesis. Fantastic work, Murphy.

I wasn't aware that the dean saw that sort of thing, Murphy said in surprise.

Normally, I wouldn't, the dean replied. Professor Heller insists you are the next Immanuel Kant, and is apparently your personal agent.

Immanuel Kant was the most revolutionary philosopher and ethicist since Socrates. No course in ethics would be complete without a look at Kant's theories of the value of human life as an end and never a means, and the paramount importance of duty.

Well, I'm glad he isn't setting the bar too high, Murphy joked.

From what I've seen, he isn't, Stevens said. Keep it up and you'll change the world, son.

Thank you, sir, Murphy said. He felt he should say more, but he was too shocked.

I have a friend who is an editor over at American Journal of Philosophy and Sociology, the dean continued. Would it be okay if I passed it on to her?

Murphy knew that if Dean Stevens was considering passing it to a friend then it was as good as published. Murphy realized his mouth was still open, and snapped it closed. There was only one answer to the question, Absolutely, sir!

Well, now I'm curious, Professor Wallace said. What was this miracle thesis on?

Well, it was a look at the relation of ethics at the societal level to morals at the individual level, Murphy said. My basic contention was that moral structures tend to be a destructive influence when forced upon consecutive generations, and for a society to function properly, an ethical norm must develop outside of the moral impositions of micro-social structures.

After a moment's pause, Stevens said, I told you he was brilliant. Which Murphy knew meant he had been the subject of conversation before tonight.

Professor Wallace asked, So you're saying that morals destroy ethical norms?

That was a part of it, yes, Murphy said.

Well... I am impressed, and not entirely sure I understand what that meant, Professor Wallace said. Then again, if it can't be explained in terms of physics it's somewhat outside of my knowledge base.

The dean laughed, so everyone else did too.

Will you be expanding on that for you doctoral thesis? Wallace asked.

Somewhat. I am making a study on how ethical norms affect epistemological standards in society, Murphy said.

Jackson—more flushed and with yet another empty glass—asked, What good is epistemology these days anyway?

Well, mostly it's good for teaching epistemology, Murphy said, getting a chuckle from the group. Murphy looked at Stevens and said, Maybe I'll try for a dean position. It's been done before.

The dean laughed, and an approving look from Bridget told Murphy it was the right thing to say.

It seems to me like you are talking about human knowledge as determined by an outside source, or from a single pool of knowledge, Jackson said.

Well, I suppose in a way, Murphy admitted. With all due respect, I think you are oversimplifying.

There's already a term for human knowledge from a common, outside source, Jackson said with slightly slurred speech. Akasha.

The dean rolled his eyes, and Professor Wallace scoffed openly.

I think you've had a few drinks too many, Tanner, Wallace said. You're clearly delirious.

It's the force that permeates all things. It's the essence of the shared soul, Jackson said.

It's religious superstition, Wallace said.

Are we talking about Hinduism? Murphy asked.

If you like, Jackson said as he finished his glass and took another from the roaming server. Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, Paganism.... Metaphysics calls it the aether. I was talking more about theosophy.

Tanner, you can't be serious. There is more evidence of Bigfoot and aliens than theosophy, the dean said laughing. It's not even a discredited science; it was never credited to begin with.

Surely with a last name of Cayce, he's aware of the akashic records, Jackson said, still insisting on pronouncing the E in Murphy's last name. What's your middle name, Cayce?

It's C-A-S-E not C-A-S-E-Y, Murphy corrected. And my middle name is Edgar.

HA! There you go, Jackson slurred. His name is Murphy Edgar Cayce [C-A-S-E-Y]. And he specializes in epistemology—in human knowledge—of all things. That's evidence. It's fate!

It's a coincidence and too many glasses of champagne, Wallace said.

There is no such thing as coincidence if there is a single force running everything, Jackson objected.

You should have been a lawyer, Wallace said. Your logic goes in circles.

He doesn't even pronounce his name the same, Stevens added. Why don't you sit the next round out? Or even better, replace it with a cup of coffee.

Jackson scoffed and downed his glass of champagne in a single gulp. The server was on her way over with a new glass, but the dean caught her eye and shook his head.

Murphy, Jackson said, throwing an arm around the younger man's shoulder. Do you really not know your family history?

Because he must be related to Edgar Cayce if his last name is the same, Wallace said with thick sarcasm.

"He is Edgar Cayce, Jackson corrected. He even said so. What do you know about your family history, Murphy?"

The Cayce family came to Britain before the Battle of Hastings. My ancestors came to the America not long after Jamestown. I had relatives in the Revolutionary War—

Do you mean to tell me you don't know about Edgar Cayce, your namesake? Jackson interrupted.

I don't know anyone by that name, Murphy said.

Jackson, just drop it, the dean said.

Aw, it can't do any harm, Jackson said. Maybe it will win him a bar bet one day.

Well you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Wallace asked.

Jackson ignored the jab. In the early 20th Century, there was a guy named Edgar Cayce. He pronounced the E though. Jackson was not only slurring now, but also resting most of his weight on Murphy. He lost his voice, and the doctors couldn't cure him. He ended up at a hypnotist. The hypnotist cured him, but he unleashed latent psychic tendencies.

Another way to put it would be that he had a psychotic break, Stevens said.

The point is he knew things he couldn't know.

Like what? Murphy asked.

He could read a book by simply placing a hand on the cover. He was able to diagnose and cure medical conditions even though he only had a ninth-grade education. He could even do it psychically without ever meeting the person face to face. He was able to use astral travel, and was able to describe people and places he had never been.

Yeah, places like Atlantis, Wallace said.

He also heard voices and referred to himself in the plural, Stevens added. Some would call that an indication of schizophrenia.

Then his second personality was much smarter than he was, Jackson said. To Murphy he continued, He claimed to be able to tap in to the akashic records or akashic library. This was where he got his information, his knowledge, from.

Just because someone believes something doesn't make it true, Murphy objected.

Ah, but if there is a factual support, then it must be correct, Jackson said. Isn't that a maxim of epistemology?

But since he traveled to Atlantis rather than Atlanta, there is no proof, Murphy said. How could he see something thousands of years old?

Reincarnation.

I don't believe in reincarnation.

Why not?

Because there is no proof, Murphy said. "Belief alone does not make something true. That is the basis of epistemology."

But it is true, Jackson said. I can prove it.

This was quite a claim to make—especially coming from a man who was stretching the limits of an open bar—and the circle of people got quiet. Finally, Murphy said, Bullshit.

Jackson smiled at the challenge. He let go of Murphy to grab another drink from a server that had come too close.

Don't you think you've had enough? the dean asked.

I do not, Jackson said as he took a large swallow. "Mrs. Cayce [C-A-S-E], what do people call you as short for Bridget?"

They don't call me by a short name, she answered.

People don't call you Bridey?

She frowned. I don't think anyone has used that name since the 1800's.

My point exactly, Jackson said. While he seemed to think it was an explanation, everyone else was confused. He pointed first at the wife, then the husband. Bridey, Murphy.

Stevens and Wallace both started talking without waiting for the other stop.

I don't understand, Murphy said. What does that mean exactly?

The dean answered, In the 1950's, there was an amateur hypnotist who was experimenting with hypnotic regression. That is where you tell someone who is under hypnosis to go back in their life to when they were younger.

Right, Murphy said, remembering some of his abnormal psychology class, but still glad for the quick refresher.

This hypnotist decided to try to go back even earlier, Wallace said. Before her birth.

Murphy was surprised. Like to her previous life?

The dean nodded. She said she had been Bridey Murphy in her previous life. While this woman had never been to Ireland, she was able to accurately describe parts of the countryside and coastline, to name and accurately describe a church where she had gotten married in her previous life, and even name a couple people who were alive at the time.

Why have I never heard of this? Murphy asked in astonishment.

Because it was proved false, Wallace said. There was no record of Bridey Murphy's birth, death, or marriage; there was no house where she said hers was; and there were no wooden houses in the area aside from the one she claimed to have lived in. She also mispronounced several common names—such as her husband's in that life: Sean as 'see-an'.

The point is that she got some important things right, Jackson said. So it's possible.

I'm not convinced, Murphy said. How does that prove reincarnation or these akashic records you are talking about?

On its own it doesn't, Jackson admitted. On the other hand, if there is an afterlife, then reincarnation is a logical next step.

You can't prove the afterlife, Murphy said. Just because you believe something—

Harry Houdini proved there is an afterlife, Jackson said.

How many bar bets are you trying to help him win anyway? Wallace asked.

Harry Houdini proved the afterlife? Murphy asked dubiously.

Allegedly, Stevens added.

He promised to send a message from the afterlife, Jackson said. "He sent a specially coded message that would only mean something to his wife. If his soul survived, then we can assume that all souls do."

That's a pretty big 'if' though, Stevens said.

Murphy considered this seriously. So you think the Hindus are right? You might come back as a pig.

He makes a good point, Tanner, Stevens said, issuing a challenge. People were always people in their last life in those studies you're talking about. Why doesn't anyone have a past life as a gopher?

What if the soul and intelligence are the same thing? Jackson asked. Akasha.

So you think that this intelligence passes on through a soul to some mystical ether that anyone can draw on, Murphy said skeptically.

Not anyone, just that same soul, Jackson explained. Phobias, talents, likes, dislikes... Maybe they're not random. Maybe they are echoes for a previous life. How else do you explain Mozart composing music at eight, Einstein failing arithmetic but discovering relativity, or Shakespeare writing complex plays with only a fifth-grade education?

They were just remarkable people, Murphy said.

Or very old souls.

There was a long silence where no one talked. Jackson felt he had proved his point, and had another glass of champagne to celebrate.

Finally, Dean Stevens said, Or maybe they were aliens. There is just as much proof of that as reincarnation.

Does that mean you were Jose Cuervo in your previous life? Wallace asked with a laugh. Is that how you can hold your liquor so well?

Jackson was embarrassed now as the other two men laughed at him. Murphy laughed with them, but only for show.

There should be a billion Einsteins if that was true, Murphy said. Which was another way to say, why weren't there a billion Einsteins?

The idea fascinated him. The fact that it hadn't been proven conclusively meant that it was either impossible, or rare. Either was an equally valid conclusion. By the time they left the party, he had added déjà vu and love at first sight to Jackson's list. The theory of a drunk was reborn in Murphy's imagination.

The world would never be the same.

Cady's Story: Part One

"Knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be." -Albert Einstein

Two years, and she still knew the sound of his car. Her subconscious registered the sound first, and, for a split second, she was glad. It was a sound she had heard for eight years of a loving marriage and for one year of a marriage that couldn't be held together with any amount of apology or promise. When the sound reached her conscious mind, sadness, memory, and anger flooded back.

Hoping to be wrong, she left her daily cleaning and rushed to the front window. There was her husband's six-year-old, faded-green, Trans Am. He had parked in front of the fire hydrant again, which had somehow become the subject of several fights. It was amazing how much fuel a ten-dollar parking ticket could throw onto the dying embers of a marriage.

Son of a bitch, Cady said under her breath. She wanted to say more, but her oldest son and daughter were next to her now.

The three-year-old was pushing to get a space. When he saw the man get out, the small boy pointed excitedly and said, Daddy, daddy.

Yeah, it does look like he wants to be daddy today, Cady said. You kids stay here.

She walked out to the bottom step of the porch and crossed her arms. Danny got out and nodded to her without saying a word. Cady thought that, after nine years, she deserved more of a greeting.

The redhead in the passenger seat got out. She was wearing a very short skirt that she had the figure for but not the poise. Cady was just glad her ex-husband's fiancé had at least decided to wear underwear today, but wished she didn't know for sure that it matched the bra. Cady thought to herself that it was Ellie's inability to keep her legs closed that caused the problems in the first place. Although, Danny had done his part too.

Hey, Cady, how are you? Ellie asked happily.

Cady wasn't sure what annoyed her more: the fact that Danny's fiancé insisted on trying to be friends with her, or that the only cordial greeting she got was from her. Hello, Eleanor, she answered grudgingly. She asked Danny, What are you doing here?

I came with Danny, Ellie responded.

Cady suppressed the instinct to burst out laughing, and even Danny closed his eyes in embarrassment.

Well, that clears some things up, Cady said trying to look serious. Danny glared back—undoubtedly, he wanted her to drop it. What about you, Danny? I thought you had forgotten where the house was.

I just need to pick some of my stuff up from the shed, he answered.

Well you could have picked that up on Joey's birthday last month, Cady said. "Why now and not on one of the last six weekends when you didn't come pick up the kids?"

Things have been hectic, Cady, Danny said. "I need some paperwork from the shed for