Anonymous Realm

By Linda Picinich

She finally meets the man of her dreams. Problem is, he's already dead.

Paige is an average woman with an average life in New York City. Her apartment, her job, and her love life are all consistently mundane, and she yearns for something extraordinary. She wonders if she will ever find her perfect man, a man just like John Rockford, the esteemed and benevolent son of New York’s prominent unofficial royal family. But Paige’s dream is shattered when she learns of John Rockford’s sudden death. 

Then the extraordinary begins. No sooner resigned to her familiar reality, she encounters a stranger claiming to be the restless spirit of none other than John Rockford himself, trapped between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. Skeptical, yet intrigued, Paige soon finds herself questioning the scope of possibilities, and growing increasingly sympathetic toward the lost soul who jumps from body to body on a quest to return to his own. 

Drawn to the mysterious entity and the thrill of adventure, Paige sheds her autopilot skin and embarks on a precarious mission to help uncover the truth behind John Rockford’s alleged death, recover his body, and resurrect the one man who brings her very own soul to life.

PRAISE FOR ANONYMOUS REALM:

“Just read it! Wow! What an amazing story! Touched me on so many levels.” 

“5 Stars!”

“Awesome!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Picinich
• Release date: Oct 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781386163060

Book preview

For my son, John.

PROLOGUE

Itried my best to ignore the people on these New York City streets shouting out to repent while holding signs saying that the end of the world was near, or (I’m ashamed to admit) the homeless folk who flanked the sidewalk begging for a handout.  Yet I encountered them on my walk home from work every day.  Occasionally I’d toss some spare change into their outstretched frayed paper cup, change I would otherwise be saving toward my next purchase of designer shoes.  For the most part it was out of guilt for my imbalanced priority, but there was a comforting satisfaction knowing that perhaps I’d contributed to them finding the one thing they prioritized most of all—a home.  Much like the stray cats that also accompanied these city streets, the reality of them nomadically roaming around—lost, searching, desperate to find residence—disturbed some part of me deep inside, and the thought was almost too much to bear.  It was easier to push the scenario out of my consciousness, and continue on with my life in pure oblivion.  Before long they all lost their individuality and simply became part of the city landscape.  It is with great irony that I reflect upon this aspect of myself now, about how I was—who I was—before a homeless stranger of sorts challenged me to open my eyes, my mind, and my heart, and let it all in, risking to be forever changed.

CHAPTER 1

My apartment was only a few blocks away from the office, although enduring the walk during inclement weather made these city blocks seem like miles.  I tolerated the rain despite its inherent ability to instantly transform my hair into a ball of frizz because it was an indication of spring, and a sort of rite of passage toward fairer weather to come.  I stopped once on my way home today, to pick up a pack of gum at the bodega outside my building. 

Evening, Carl, I greeted the familiar face.

Good Evening yourself, Paige.  What’ll it be today?  Just got the latest edition of that fashion magazine you like so much, Carl replied, flashing his salesman smile at me and pointing to the new, glossy magazines tucked neatly into their allotted slot.

Just a pack of my usual, thanks, I said as I reached into my bag for my wallet.  Burdened by my umbrella, I contorted awkwardly to search the contents of my pocketbook.  After fumbling around for a few seconds, I felt the curve of my wallet and pulled it out, yanking out my keys, a pen, and some loose change in the process. 

Dang it!  I muttered, and bent down to retrieve the collateral damage from the rain soaked pavement.  As I stood up I noticed the headline blaring out from the daily newspaper; John Rockford: An Angel on Earth and Perpetual Giver.  John Rockford was the handsome son of one of the wealthiest families in America.  Grant Rockford, John’s father, earned his rank among the Fortune 500 when he founded one of the largest and most prolific financial institutions on Wall Street 40 years ago.  The endeavor catapulted the Rockford family status from working class citizens to New York City royalty.  Although raised in high society, educated by only the most prestigious schools, John had remained extremely personable, and very well liked by the general public.  He gave generously to charities, supported workers’ rights efforts, and volunteered often with community beautification efforts.  That was until 24 hours ago.  The otherwise seemingly fit and healthy avid jogger suffered a fatal heart attack during a routine visit with his physician.  Due to the quick responsive efforts of the astute Dr. Wayne Lipton, John was immediately put on life support so that his organs may be donated to those in need, as John had expressed in his living will.  

Dr. Wayne Lipton had gained his popularity for being one of the brightest and best physicians and surgeons with a penchant for saving lives, no matter how dire the condition of the patient.  His gleaming reputation put him fast on the Rockford family radar, making him the family’s personal physician of choice, and granting him the unofficial royalty status as well.  His highly public profile led him to hire a team of bodyguards whom he scattered around the perimeter of his office building.  And not just any bodyguards.  Dr. Lipton kept stringent tabs on who he employed.  They had to take his prescribed multitude of vitamins, consistently pass his quarterly physical exams, even pass frequently issued random drug tests.  Anyone who failed to meet his standards was immediately terminated from his position.  The doctor often traveled with his security guards which was evident in any of his public appearance photos.  Surely between Lipton and the Rockford’s there would have been at least one posted outside John’s St. Luke’s Hospital room at the time of his unanticipated demise. 

I sighed in surrender to the realization that the world would now be void of quite possibly its last decent and moral inhabitant.  In my opinion, John was the ideal standard by which all other men were judged; altruistic, humble, established, and extraordinarily beautiful.  He was a man that practically every woman would want, and every man would want to be.  I had put this man whom I had never actually met so high up on a pedestal that I had inadvertently sabotaged my chances of ever finding happiness in a relationship with anyone with less integrity, humanity, or ethical fiber.  I would consider it settling.  My friend Susan considered it being realistic, and liberating myself from an idealistic fantasy.  Losing John Rockford veritably shook New York City and any last shred of my romantic optimism to its core.  How could this have happened?  How could someone who took such good care of himself and no known prior health problems suddenly drop dead from a heart attack?  It was difficult to accept a sudden fatal incident like this happening to even us regular common folk, never mind to a highly esteemed public member of society. 

I grabbed the paper and placed it on the counter.  This too, Carl.

What’s this world coming to when even the dead can’t rest in peace?  Carl announced more than asked.  $3.50.

I didn’t mind paying slightly more than I would have for a newspaper and a pack of gum at the large local discount store.  The convenience and personal courtesy of this bodega well made it