World War S 1-2: The Silence Begins - The Servants of the Dragon

By Stephen Paul Thomas

In the near future, the world stands on the brink of another worldwide economic and social crisis. People look for understanding through occult practices, so that mediums and fortunetellers have become wildly successful in helping them escape reality. There are no more churches, and established religion is a thing of the past. Christians must now gather in secret.
In this fragile era emerges Josh Heartley, a young boy with astounding prophetic abilities. Though Josh had a heart transplant in his early years, it doesn't slow him down. He is a light for everyone around him, and he can often tell future events with supernatural clarity.
During an accident, Josh has a Near Death Experience and finds himself in the middle of a spiritual battle that goes back more than two thousand years. Dr Julie Bond, conducting a research study involving Josh, hopes to unlock the secret behind NDEs and their ties to the human soul. She soon suspects the key lies within this very special boy.
Stephen Paul Thomas's thrilling novel is based on shocking real-world events of a thousand-years-long demonic occupation told through exciting storylines, unexpected twists, and many historical examples.
"Thomas (Cluster, 2015) deftly paints a world in which Christians have been backed into a corner by the belief systems of other cultures—like that of Linda’s ancestral village in Central America—and by demons. These demons, including Karnelo, the “lust-addict spirit,” have been possessing people for hundreds of years, using human tools to instigate everything from the Inquisition to organized pedophilia. Thomas’ prose presents the complex story evocatively, as in the line “Linda’s chest rhythmically lifted and sank, like water in the mighty ocean, which kept its secrets in the dark deep.” - Kirkus Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Articity Publishing
• Release date: Jul 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9786155756047

Book preview

Stephen Paul Thomas

World War S I.-II.

The Silence Begins

The Servants of the Dragon

The World War Spiritual series

Book 1. and 2.

Brutally good

Prophetic...

The reality of the demonic...

Genious...

(Readers opinion after the first foreign edition)

www.articity.com

www.stephenpaulthomas.com

www.worldwarspiritual.com

Stephen Paul Thomas

World War S

I.-II.

World War Spiritual

The silence begins

The servants of the dragon

novel

The World War Spiritual Series

Book 1. and 2.

Stephen Paul Thomas: World War S I.-II.

The silence begins

The servants of the dragon

(World War Spiritual Series Book 1. and 2.)

2017

ISBN 978-1978271616

translated by

Istvan Tomasovszki

Copy Editing

Paige Duke

Original Edition:

Stephen Paul Thomas: World War S - Spirituális világháború

A csend kezdte

(Spirituális világháború-sorozat, első kötet)

ISBN 978-963-89985-4-5

2015

Stephen Paul Thomas: World War S - Spirituális világháború

2. A sárkány szolgálói

(Spirituális világháború-sorozat, második kötet)

ISBN 978-963-89985-9-0

2015

© 2017. Articity Publishing and Media Ltd.

© 2017. Istvan Tomasovszki

Cover design

Istvan Tomasovszki

www.worldwarspiritual.com

www.stephenpaulthomas.com

Available from Amazon.com and other retail outlets

Available on Kindle and other devices

The silence Begins

Book 1.

open your third eye, then it begins...

1.

It’s your turn now, said Josh, laughing while he hit the back of the front seat with a paper trumpet.

They were driving back from Morristown, from his grandmother’s, cruising on the 124 to join the evening traffic going east to New York. Josh’s Granny Ruth had thrown him a surprise birthday party; she’d planned everything very carefully. When you pass ten, you realize you can’t have any more single-figure birthdays, said Josh, the blond-haired son of Linda and Benet Heartley, in his precocious style, waving his hand in resignation. Linda loved this premature talk of her little prince, he really had the gift of the gab; that’s why she kept a diary of his wisecracks. For these tiny moments she could even stand Josh’s antics, like when he reduced the paper horn to a pulp, smashing it against her seat.

All right, she surrendered, her voice reflecting her exhaustion after the long, rushed day. Granny Ruth could not handle all the preparations by herself, so Linda had helped her. Meanwhile, Benet had taken the young guests and their dads to the riding school, letting the women get everything ready. But this is the last one, she made Josh promise, for the sixth time, that they would not continue the quiz. I have it. I have a specific car brand in my mind …

American?

No.

European?

No.

Then it has to be Japanese, Josh smiled into the mirror to show his mother that he was sure about his answer.

You got it, smart aleck! said Linda, smiling back. She couldn’t get enough of the view of her son’s beautiful face. What a nice guy he’s gonna be, she thought. She was already jealous of those girls who would someday fall madly in love with him.

Then I have two options, pondered Josh, touching a forefinger to his lips like somebody racking his brain for an answer. Either Honda, or Toyota!

So close, so close … nodded his mother.

The family car, the Ford had just arrived at an intersection with a green traffic light and crossed through, sweeping toward the entry for Highway 24.

Then it’s a Toyota! And I can even tell you the colour; it’s a white Toyota you had in your mind! shouted Josh, lightly tapping his father’s head with the paper trumpet for emphasis.

In one swift movement, Linda unbuckled her seatbelt to grab the irritating toy. If you don’t use it as intended, I’ll take it away!

If we make it home, I’m gonna get you! said Benet, pretending to be angry, turning halfway to Josh.

It was at that exact moment that something rammed into their side with brutal force.

Benet thought he ran through the red light at the next crossroad. The oncoming vehicle crashed right into the front left door, where Linda sat. The car tumbled with the force of the collision, slid onto its top, and ended up in a shop window. Josh burst headfirst through the rear right window and fell onto the pavement splintered with glass and lost consciousness. Linda’s shaking body was stuck between the dashboard and the remains of the windscreen—which had shattered into a spiderweb—laying in a pool of blood.

Strangely, Benet could barely feel pain, only a twisted ankle and maybe sprained neck muscles.

He tried to pull his wife out first, but that fragile and beautiful woman, who was now hovering between life and death, was stuck in the wreckage beyond help. Those lips that he loved, shiny with lipstick and blood, were only gaping now. Benet recognized the words she wanted to say; Go … Josh…

Jesus! Josh … shouted Benet.

The boy wasn’t in the car anymore. Benet had just realized that he was in the middle of the intersection. He lay there like an orphaned rag doll. His limbs were unnaturally twisted.

Josh, get up! yelled Benet at the top of his voice, but the boy didn’t move. The door didn’t want to move either, the lock mechanism was clearly crushed, so he raised his uninjured leg and kicked out the window on his side.

It seemed to take years to get out of the car. There was dead silence on the street, broken only by the strident noise of his car’s still-turning wheels. But he saw lights quickly approaching from the highway.

They’re coming this way, the thought struck into Benet’s mind. He dragged himself on his double-swollen ankle towards his son. He had to get to Josh before the lights reached his son. The streetlights aren’t on here and nobody will be able to see Josh, Benet thought.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he saw the familiar outline of an eighteen-wheeler barrelling down on them. It came from the opposite side of the highway, but he should have been able to see its light earlier. Benet had a feeling that this truck had switched on all its beams at the last second, just before the intersection, as if it were trying to creep up on them. At the same time, he could see the driver pulling the string and heard the blast of the rich bass horn—Get out of my way!

Oh, my God, stop him! said Benet, his last invocation; there was no time for anything else. He covered Josh’s body with his own, waiting for the several tons of monster-machine to sweep them away. Then everything went black.

Benet regained consciousness on the stretcher. A cop was looking at him, standing in the circle of emergency workers. His badge dangled from his jacket pocket, reflecting the glaring red-blue emergency lights of the police cars and fire trucks into Benet’s eyes with every little movement.

My family … said Benet, lifting his hand towards the policeman, but the paramedics pushed him back.

Everybody is on the way to the hospital, you can relax now, said the cop. The flashing lights gleamed in the drops of sweat on his dark brown skin. Lieutenant John Levi. I was out on another case when I bumped into your car accident. I came from the highway, and after I stopped I immediately called the paramedics. They’ll take you in, and we’ll talk again when you’re better. Hold on! he said, nodding before he disappeared in the whirl of activity.

The paramedics slid the stretcher carefully up onto the rails, into the back of the ambulance. The sterile inside of the car slowly swallowed him as he saw the receding details of the accident scene.

Then his head fell to the side. He watched as the EMT climbed in and pulled the doors slowly shut.

At the last movement, before the terrible gate to the nightmarish, outside world finally closed, he noticed the wreckage of the other car involved in the incident.

It was a white Toyota.

*

Salome Sue Richardson could not calm down. She was always like this when she had to visit a client. But this visit was more important than any before; the reality show—and her future—depended on it.

Not that she couldn’t live without this media fuss; actually it annoyed her sometimes, but she was mercilessly used to the success, like an addict. She felt like everything looked all right on the surface, but the deep chasm beneath was stormy. The main problem was that she was unable to calm this abyss because the situation was out of her control. It was up to outside and unruly forces.

Let’s call a spade a spade; it all depended on the spiritual realm.

They were trying to record one of the episodes of Medium on Call, a reality show now in its sixth season. Her producer was a patient man, and Sue did not sense the spirit of the shadow-world running around his head, but she clearly saw that his point of explosion was not that far off.

They had run behind the cameras for two days already, waiting to catch some real action. It hadn’t been like this in the last five seasons. The clients had been queuing up; the fortune-tellers and mediums were very popular in the 20’s, especially around 2025. All of them wanted to know where to go next in a world so out of joint. The governments could not stop the runaway horse of inflation. The uncontrolled wealth appeared to reach apocalyptic proportions in contrast to the rampant poverty.

Why this one? she pondered. Why does it have to go bust in the sixth season? It’s just not working. Before, when she popped into a bar and looked around, she could immediately contact the spirits; she worked all the time, even when she didn’t want to. The spiritual world didn’t let her rest. And now—it was so funny to say it—there was deadly silence.

Are you ready?

Oh, shit, Sue jumped. You almost killed me! she bawled at Jim, her producer, when he burst through the door. This isn’t working either, she thought about her precognition skills. Until only recently, she could feel it when somebody stood in front of the door, about to knock. Before that person lifted up his hand, she had already shouted, Come in. So nobody felt obligated to knock on her door anymore, they just came right in.

Salome, I thought you knew I was coming … said Jim, confused. In his eyes, Sue could see not only surprise, but dismay too. It was the clear projection of that feeling that nothing was the same as before. He only called Sue by her great-grandmother’s name when he wanted to be formal.

I didn’t feel it this time …

Nevertheless, will we try today? If you want, you can rest on the weekend, and … he said, gesticulating, trying to curb the anger and stress that had just accumulated, that was accumulating in him too …

I’ve explained to you already; it doesn’t matter whether I’m tired or not. The spiritual world doesn’t rest either. They have no bodies, they don’t get tired, don’t need to eat and sign contracts.

They don’t even need to perform their contracts, said the producer seriously and turned on his heals, leaving Sue alone.

Damn it, Jim! Sue shouted after him.

She buried her face in her hands, smudging the makeup that her assistants had put on her half an hour ago.

Hilarious, she thought, now I’m no different from those ordinary television fortune-tellers. I, the great-granddaughter of the famous medium—who even solved many mysterious murder cases for the police. The Internet is full of her old séances, and all practicing mediums around the world look to her as their master and paragon! I’ve brought shame on her …

Or I’ll just be simply normal after all these years of being a medium. It’s only a question of viewpoint. I’ll be an everyday woman without any spiritual ability.

I have to go, at least try, it might work. I just need to decide, and it will be done …

Three impatient knocks came on her door. Jim must have passed the boiling point, he probably had given vent to his rage somewhere—Sue didn’t need to use her clairvoyant abilities to establish that. She stood up, fixed her lipstick, and penciled her eyebrows.

Great-granny Salome and spirit of all ancestors, don’t leave me alone now! she said loudly to her reflection in the mirror. But the vibration and jostling she’d felt many times before, coming from the spirits around her, was no longer present. Her lipstick fell from the dressing table with a hard thud, rolling under the heater. There were many old lipsticks dying in that grave, waiting for their red destiny, inaccessible.

Ugh, not again … she whispered and stepped out from her luxury caravan.

*

Lieutenant John Levi was still thinking about the accident, though he’d already driven to the address he was originally called to. I definitely need to visit them, he thought. He would have done so even if he hadn’t promised the injured man.

He remembered it clearly: coming from the east, from the wide-curving exit of the highway. He hadn’t switched on the blue emergency lights yet because the road was somehow more deserted than most evenings. His car swept through two red lights without encountering any traffic, when he reached that specific intersection.

The high beams switch had been having problems for weeks, so he couldn’t switch them on immediately. He was distracted by that stupid plastic switch, he couldn’t find it; so he switched on the collision warning system instead, which he normally wouldn’t use and always had switched off when he was driving. While he was fussing with it, he felt suddenly as if his brother Paul had pushed him on his shoulder, saying in his deep voice, Look out! His brother definitely could not have been there, since he lived in another state, but everything was so realistic; he could even see light shining on his hand’s brown skin, smell the sweet fragrance of it. All of these impressions were so familiar from his childhood, when they had spent those long hours playing together. Their mother had the same sweet-smelling hands; it must be the fragrance of love coming through the pores, he’d always thought. Paul was remarkably like their mother, in that sense of love anyway; he became a Presbyterian minister. John trailed far behind him in that respect—he would never be like him.

Paul—or one of the angels he was always referring to—probably had sensed there was a problem, because he jerked his head up due to that miraculous push. That’s when he saw the small black heap about five meters in front of him. There were no marked outlines, just limbs lying on the pavement. As if giant, human-sized marionettes had gone for a walk after the evening show of some puppet theatre, and just decided to take a rest in the middle of the road.

The anti-collision system braked in a fraction of a second and made an avoiding maneuver with the steering wheel. The police car skidded on the remains of the car parts scattered on the road. The smoking rubber created a huge white cloud covering the whole windscreen. While it dissolved, he tried to compose himself.

If he hadn’t switched on the anti-collision system accidentally, he would have crushed them to death. Only the automatic system could avoid an accident at this speed, he thought, I might need to use it more frequently. My brother’s saving angel won’t be here all the time.

He jumped out of the car and lifted the man’s body; a boy lay beneath him. The man was not in serious condition, but the boy may have life-threatening trauma. Blood ran out of his ears, which signaled intracranial injury. He called the emergency line immediately, meanwhile he ran to the car resting on its roof; there was a woman in severe condition trapped inside the wreckage.

The driver of the white Toyota was conscious. John asked how he was, but he just kept repeated the same sentence, Where is the hitchhiker?

But there was nobody with him in the car. John looked quickly around but there was no trace of anybody who might have flown through the windscreen.

Then everything had moved so fast; backup arrived with a fire truck and ambulance, and he had to go to the next case.

John … John! his partner Raymond, the forensic detective, called him when John was still sitting in his car inside the police line, staring at nothing. Who knows how long I’ve been sitting here, realized John, watching the running film in his mind.

Couldn’t sleep? Or is it a new girlfriend?

No, answered John, confused, shaking his head. I just hope that family didn’t die in front of my eyes. I hope they all survived.

Are you talking about the accident on the 124? They just reported it to us. Terrible. But I’m sure you won’t like this one either, said Raymond, pointing up to the building. Do you want Jill to cover for you?

Jill is pregnant, John cast a reproachful glance at his partner. She should stay in the office. What’s up, man? You haven’t been that heartless before …

I haven’t been that old before either, answered Raymond, heading towards the building. And the older I get, the more I hate being buried with work.

True. With the 42% increase in the crime rate, I can see that.

And that’s just violent crime … added Ray.

They groped their way up in the dim light of the building block’s staircase on South Street. The broken floor mosaic was covered in the crumbled, musty paint that had fallen from the wall. Doors cracked open on each floor and neighbors peered out at the uniformed officers.

Did you check them? John pointed to the withdrawing, indistinct figures behind the doors.

We’ve started. Put a uniform at the top and one at the bottom. They should meet in the middle soon.

You always did have a thing for symmetry, smiled John. If you could, you’d arrange the corpses into some kind of geometrical shape before you take your pictures …

Fool …

They finally reached the flat—the crime scene. There were four technicians in white overalls in the bigger room, looking for fingerprints and DNA samples on the furniture.

Uhh … that was the only word John could groan after seeing the scene.

Uhh, right. I expected your usual ‘No way’. You haven’t deviated from that in years.

This is the version for very special cases. What is this? Spontaneous combustion?

I have no idea, but whatever combustion it is, it only affected part of the body.

A bookcase stood at the corner of the poorly furnished living room. The spines of the books, along with all the titles, got scorched. The curtain—slipped sideways on the slanting curtain rod—was also sooty. The globe of the floor lamp looked like cowhide with its black patches. There was a rusty brown armchair, its insides totally black. A carbonized pile of human remains sat in the middle of the armchair cushion. In front of it on the floor there were a pair of polished shoes, resting still intact.

But at the armrest, they could see—John had to lean forward because he still didn’t believe his eyes—a human arm ending at the shoulder. The fire consumed the rest of the body, only the right arm stayed intact.

I’ve never, really never … John shook his head.

I know, you’ve never seen anything like it before. And you’re not the only one, said Ray, holding medical tweezers in his hand. It looks like somebody severed it from the body with a sharp tool, though there’s no definitive separation line. All the muscles and bones got scorched, but from this line something called a halt to the fire.

Do we know the … owner of this arm?

The tenant’s name is William Ridmoore. According to the database, his last workplace was a construction site in New York. We have his cell number too. We called him, but there was no answer. But I don’t think this is his body.

Why?

Look, this is a quality suit, and there’s a starched white shirt below. Our friend, Will, wouldn’t wear stuff like this. A worker like him wears a checkered shirt and jeans.

I see. A stranger burned to ashes in his flat. Any flammable material?

Nothing. According to our specialist, the fire started inside his body.

I knew it. Just to make it more difficult to solve, mumbled John and pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of a technician’s case. He crouched to the side of the armchair and picked up an object, which he’d noticed sticking out between the floor and the bottom of the old-fashioned chair.

A fountain pen, he said and lifted it up closer to his eyes. With initials ‘B.A.’ It’s not a modern one, its varnish already cracked, although that could be from the extensive heat, he added and looked around. I don’t see any paper …

Are you suggesting he was making notes when a glowing ember fell out of his pipe and burned him to death? asked Raymond smiling.

Most cases of spontaneous combustion come from smoking while dozing.

But none of them are making notes in the meantime …

I’m just thinking out loud, and you’re making fun of me.

The paper could be in the charred pile, said Ray, softening his joking attitude. We’ll look very carefully, it might be there.

Right, nodded John, stepping to the shelves sinking below the weight of the books. So, Mr. B.A. came to visit Mr. Will Ridmoore, when Ridmoore suddenly had to leave—to buy something for dinner—meanwhile his friend, or his relative dozed while he was smoking …

Or Will’s fiery anger set his friend ablaze …

John ignored his friend’s teasing, it was their usual game. If they were in the mood, they bantered back and forth like a couple of kids. But John wasn’t in the mood today.

There’s a patrol station in front, he said, pulling the curtain aside. If there’s a security camera facing here, then I need the recording. But I’ll take care of that.

We’ll take DNA samples and check all B.A. initials in the database for a match.

Good idea, said John, stepping closer to the bookshelves. Did you see this? All of these are Bibles. He pulled them out one by one. Some with scorched bindings could not hold the pages together, and they fell to the floor. John picked them up, flipping through them. This is Slavonic, I think. And this one is German. This contains Cyrillic letters.

Our William might be quite religious.

Or he’s a linguist.

John’s head started to hum sharply, as if somebody had hit him with a baseball bat. This second shocking case was too much for today. The accident itself was more than enough.

I have to go to the hospital like I promised. I have to find out what happened with that family. Collect everything you can, and be extra thorough.

Why do you always say that when you leave? That’s the job, man, said Ray, grinning. He wanted to stir John from his tiredness.

John dug him in the ribs, signaling that he understood the pointed remark. He threw the gloves on the case and headed to the staircase.

*

Julie Bond had spent the first half of the uneventful night shift browsing through files of Monday’s patients. Beyond her regular shifts at Memorial Hospital, as a young novice ER doctor, she worked as a psychologist in her own private office. Her patients tripled when she moved to Morristown. In this morally and economically falling world, more and more people needed psychotherapy. She often repeated her favorite expression when she was with her friends; the psychologists and psychotherapists had made the world collapse, in order to have enough clients for the rest of their lives. She had enough patients in her private office that she could even give up the job in the ER—but she was fond of that job as well.

These calm Sunday evenings, like today, were not the real trials; there were only two broken hands, a hyperglycemic case, and a few patients with elevated blood pressure. Nothing had happened in the past thirty minutes, only a few patients came in for bandaging—the nurses took care of them.

She checked her next day’s schedule; two in the afternoon, two in the evening. She planned to sleep until noon, then take a quick run around the Golf-and-Leisure Centre, followed by a light lunch. Then she would pop into the Hospice Centre to quickly go through the files of her patients there—she hoped that most of them would still be alive. She had started pro bono work for them a year ago—she wanted to give psychological help to the terminally ill patients to honor her mother, Lucy, who had died in her arms of cancer. It was such a peaceful and glorious moment, when my mother left, she thought.

But her father, Joe, spoke of a completely different experience after the burial ceremony. He said that when Lucy had surrendered her breath, the room had flooded with light; suddenly a tunnel-like opening had appeared at the other end of the room. It wasn’t like the usual daylight—as this had happened on a sparkling, sunlit summer afternoon—but more like a warm, strong, omnipresent light source. It seemed as if the light had been alive; an immensely strong love radiated from it. Joe had said that God’s love might be like this.

He also described that Lucy had a new, iridescent body that sat up in bed, and slowly floated towards the tunnel. On her face—which was not as clear in this form as on her real body—Joe had seen a peaceful smile. He had not seen what or whom she was smiling at, but it seemed that the light itself was what had given her so much pleasure. Then suddenly, he was shown pictures, running like a movie; it looked like the streaming love, which was dressed in this glorious light, projected this to the couple from Lucy’s life. Of course, Joe found himself in most of the picture—of all the bad and good experiences—as they had spent many years together. At the bad memories, or when Lucy had made a mistake in her life, the movie stopped for a moment. Joe could feel the forgiveness radiating from the light in these pauses, which had rinsed through their hearts. But at a certain moment, Lucy had to depart, leaving Joe with only this experience left.

Lucy had become a Christian a few weeks before her final day. After the visits and discussions with the local pastor, she had decided that she would accept Jesus as her savior. Joe had looked on this change skeptically; for him, having been a doctor all his life, the illness was always an illness, and mortality was simply the end of the physical life.

But he changed his way of thinking at the moment of Lucy’s death. The strange experience had rushed through his mind like an intense, life-changing waterfall, suggesting that his own soul was some kind of living, separable entity that could live after his body died. He had become a diligent churchgoer and had soon been baptized.

Julie was amazed at the change in her father, as she was not part of the Shared Death Experience. She was on the side of rationalism; as an ER doctor, she only believed in medicine and the quick intervention of resuscitation. The holistic view and other New Age hocus-pocus left her cold; she found those things repulsive. She didn’t like the liturgical, religious actions either, she thought that all those things were mere substitutes and distractions. Actually, she judged all metaphysical problems, which weren’t connected to the physical medical treatment of fixing the body, by the same standard.

Maybe that was the reason why she had studied psychology in her postgrad; she wanted to know what was going on in her father’s and other converts’ minds. Julie found the mental process that Freud only called pathological symptom interesting. According to Freud, Joe should have been sick, but in reality he was healthier than ever; he had recovered from the alcoholism, and he had reconciled the previously bad relationship with his daughters. Julie’s younger sister, Lauren, had been shocked when their father appeared on her doorstep—shaved and dressed in a clean, well-creased suit. The next surprise came when she realized that he hadn’t turned up in his shiny, polished shoes because he had run out of his pension for the month. On the contrary, he had brought gifts to his grandkids.

Due to this family experience, Julie dug deeply into all available research material; she had read all published documentation about the Near Death Experience. It had not been so hard to find something about it, as the paranormal had flooded humankind like a tsunami in the past decades. All those who didn’t believe in these new experiences were alienated or regarded as religious fanatics. Of course, Joe had argued many times: we should know that for more than two thousand years, these had been recorded in the Bible—the false prophets, clairvoyants, and mediums would multiply in the last days. It was a fact; the unseen and mysterious metaphysical world was stretching its hand to this side more and more.

Julie was not in the grace to experience an event like a Near Death Experience. She had read that it happened to many people, irrespective of their religion or worldview. Except her. That was why she offered her services and help to the Hospice Centre, she thought she might get a chance to go through the same experience many other nurses had; she would see the loving light, what Joe had described. Julie had been with many very kind people in their last moments, but it had never happened to her. I’m immune to the unseen world, she thought. I might need to believe in it first.

Julie had bad experiences when she had worked in the Emergency Room; sometimes the medical science left her feeling lonely and helpless, and she was not able to recompose the human wreckage into living bodies again. She could not get used to death; but it had become an everyday event for her. Her dad sometimes said that she must concentrate on life more.

But the tangible evidence, perfect for study, attracted her so strongly—she wanted to prove scientifically that the soul was something that existed independently.

When she had heard of one of her patients’ Near Death Experiences, she suddenly realized what she had to do. This man, who had a terrible accident with a train while stuck in his car, said he had left his body. He had flown above his car and followed the rescue operation closely. He had seen when the firefighters tried to free his body from the badly destroyed car. He had wanted to touch their shoulders as they worked, to stop them and tell them everything was all right, but his hands had gone through their bodies. They could not hear him, which had irritated him. He wanted to say that he didn’t need to be rescued anymore. Then he had climbed up again, hovering above, enjoying the bodiless state, until the emergency workers had resuscitated him. Julie wanted to base her scientific experiment on this flying-like experience.

She had changed the operating room No. 3 in Emergency for the purpose of the experiment; after consulting several psychologist colleagues outside the hospital, she had placed the copy of several simple geometrical drawings and paintings on top of the medicine cabinet on the far wall. They seemed high enough that nobody could see what was up there. Only Julie and her other ER colleague, Sarah, knew about the experiment. They had to keep it confidential if they wanted to see scientifically correct and valid results, otherwise the patients might discover it.

Everybody is hungry to know if there is a place of transcendence for their souls. Especially now, when the world crisis has swept away the remaining moral conviction of humankind, she thought. The weaklings will join the apocalyptic sects, only the strong can stay mentally normal. I don’t see this apocalypse, though, only a steep slope that has to peak at the other end.

Due to this period of moral downturn, the hospitals filled with terminal patients, homeless, and even insiders who escaped into the arms of Death from the wide-open mouth of Chaos. Julie and her colleagues had saved some of them in operating room No. 3.

But there were no results for her experiment up to now; nobody had yet had an NDE.

Suddenly, her beeper went off just as her colleague knocked on the door.

There was a car accident, multiple severely injured coming. There’s a family, the dad looks mostly all right, the mother and son are under resuscitation. Which one do you want in No. 3? The one in more serious condition? asked Sarah Kilmer, her ER colleague, sticking her head in the doorway. According to their previous agreement, they always rolled the most serious patients in for the experiment, but there were two very serious cases now. So Sarah offered the choice to the leader of their experiment.

You know what? No, said Julie, taking her white lab coat and picking up a pair of rubber gloves. Let’s not judge this time, let’s leave it to fate. Let the paramedics choose.

So be it! nodded Sarah, opening the door, letting Julie go first. I don’t know when we’ll have the breakthrough, maybe this is the time.

I don’t know, said Julie, shaking her head. I don’t even know if we’re doing the right thing. We might be focusing too much on this experiment.

You shouldn’t feel guilty. I always forget our experiment when I work in No. 3. It only crosses my mind before I enter, but I’m totally for the patient once inside.

If only I felt the same, Julie breathed a sigh. It’s because of my mother. The memories are still too strong, too fresh.

Do you want proof that she’s well on the other side?

Maybe I do.

Is what your father sensed not enough?

Julie wanted to give the answer nourished by her anger: that a hallucination of a befuddled alcoholic was not evidence. But finally she gave a different one: A scientist wants something more.

Meanwhile, the paramedics arrived; the first two ambulances brought the seriously injured. They were tirelessly trying to keep the blood circulation and the oxygen flow up until they reached the operating theatres. Two complete teams were fighting for the lives of the two patients.

Julie took over the little boy from the paramedics pushing him through the emergency entrance.

Limb injures, possible skull fracture, and hematoma in the cranial cavity. Also, possible spine fracture. We started resuscitation eight minutes ago, his heart has restarted once already, but stopped after several beats, said the blond doctor and let Julie take over with the respirator.

Understood, she said and turned to the first operating theatre. Good job, everyone. Thank you. So we’ll try to restart this small heart. She raised her hand to the defibrillator.

The boy probably had an open heart operation, the paramedic doctor added when Julie saw the long scar on the boy’s chest.

Or had a heart transplant, Julie concluded, putting the two electrodes on the right place. So we’ll give another shock to this already broken heart. I hope it won’t be the last one, she said, feeling the boy’s chances weren’t good. Step back!

The fragile body became strained when the electric shock hit it, and then relaxed again, but the long continuous line on the monitor didn’t want to turn into pulsating peaks, indicating the rhythmical beat of the heart. Julie tried again after a short pause.

After the second attempt, the heart kicked in and started to work again.

Give him potassium and take him to the CT, Julie instructed, recovering her breath after the difficulties of restarting the heart. How much has it suffered in its life? she wondered. How many times has it been restarted?

Sarah was right; in the heat of the battle for the heart, she didn’t even know which operating room they had been in. She didn’t care about her experiment anymore. Those documented Near Death Experiences were only bullshit, a phantasmagoria, random pictures generated by the high-pitched, weary nervous systems lacking oxygen.

Nothing more than that, Julie thought and left operation room No. 2. She looked into No. 3, where Sarah was still fighting for the life of the boy’s mother.

Nothing more, just the last handhold to grab the life for the imagination.

*

I’m Salome, Sue introduced herself, shaking hands with the couple who invited her into their flat. The crew had already been here two weeks ago to discuss every detail. They had checked the house to choose the best location for the shoot. The living room looked ideal for it. They closed the curtain because they wanted the necessary obscure ambiance, but Sue hated when they faked the production. She was not some circus magician or a witch from the corner who used these mystical elements. The scepticism of the crew led to these basic errors, when they thought this job could only be done in a half-dark room with fingers touching each other, prepared for table-moving. Damn it, no! Her medium talent worked anywhere and with anybody. Up until now …

Oh, we are so delighted, come inside, please! chirped the middle-aged woman in a high-pitched voice. "I’m Jill, my husband is Sam, and we feel privileged to have a huge TV-star, like you, visiting our humble home."

Sue was under the humble roof of the biggest, neatest mansion of the neighbourhood, which was surrounded by land measuring several hectares. There was a swimming pool and a tennis court in the garden. Sue could sense that special superiority, which radiated from these two people and came from the fact that they had no financial problems in the middle of the current economic crisis. They were in Texas, the land of oil. The reserve had already peaked and was racing downhill, riding to depletion, but the machines were still thirsty for fuel. And these people squeezed the last drops out of their oil well instead of investing in new energy.

Thank you, said Sue, worried that she did not see any movement in the spiritual world. She wouldn’t have any success today either, though it was obvious that these people had strong roots in the unseen world. Where can we sit down?

Here, in the living room, said the husband, guiding her eagerly. Your team has already prepared everything.

Sue sent a scathing look towards her producer.

All right. What can I do for you?

Her hosts looked at her with round eyes. What are you asking me for? We’ve seen the whole last season, and you already know why you’ve been called into the house when you enter …

Blah-blah-blah. Spirits of the shadow world, where are you?

Look, Jill, it differs from one case to another. What you see on TV is the final cut, said Jim, the producer, from the background. Let’s start again, OK?

All right, said the woman, becoming friendlier. Do we need to go back to the door?

You don’t need to. We’ll edit the recording.

Blah-blah … Where are you? It won’t work today …

What can I do for you? asked Sue again mechanically.

Salome, we have the greatest respect for you and your work, started Jill, sugary. This demure attitude repulsed Sue. She had just lost her inner eye to see the unseen world, otherwise she might have recognised the mighty spirit of vanity standing behind the woman.

Yes, I understand, thank you, smiled Sue.

The question is about my husband’s great-grandfather. Some time ago, he forbade his successors to sell his lands. But the oil wells are dry on that land, and we don’t need it anymore. We would like to ask his opinion about selling it.

Damn! I’ll have to lie …

I see, let’s sit down at the table. We may be able to interrogate the spiritual messengers, suggested Sue off-handedly, but Jim saw the tension behind Sue’s mask. But, at least, he was happy the cameras were rolling.

Sue set her usual tools in place: a notepad, a pen, and a digital voice recorder. The hosts were sitting in front of her with real excitement and expectation in their faces.

I’ll be a complete idiot, thought Sue, like some market fortune-teller. The only thing missing is the crystal ball. Those swindlers, crooks, cheap impostors, who wanted to be my unworthy successors in the last six year, are sneering at me now. The big Salome is ending in failure in view of the whole world.

So, I sense that your great-grandfather is very relaxed, bluffed Sue. She pretended to be concentrating on the fragments of messages popping into her mind from the other side. But it didn’t look very convincing. The problem was, she never lied when she was working. I don’t feel that he would object to the deal.

The couple gazed stupidly at Sue first, then to the crew. Then each other.

Oh … said the great-grandson, Sam, confused. Is that all?

Sue looked around like she was trying to find something that could help, anything that could give her some information about the great-grandfather; but she was in a hopeless situation.

That’s it, she said finally with a puzzled expression and stood up. So, good-bye, and all the best with selling the land, she said, heading to the door in front of the stupefied hosts. She didn’t look back, just pulled the door closed behind her.

Don’t stop the camera! Come with me. I’ll make this woman’s life miserable! Open a live channel, we’ll broadcast the rest immediately! Jim told the cameraman and stormed out of the house.

Look, this was not in our agreement! he shouted after Sue as he caught up to her near the caravan. You can’t just close the show with this sentence!

Why can’t I? I have been working with you nonstop for five years. You can imagine; I’m tired of it, Sue broke out.

OK, I can accept that you got tired of this. But what was that scene in the house just now? Are you just playing us for fools? Have you just been pretending your abilities for all these years? Are you even a real medium?

Sue had almost stepped into the caravan, but she turned to stone at that last sentence. She felt that those powers she worked for wanted to burst open from inside her, but they couldn’t find the way out. Her eyes were burning, her muscles bulged, and her hand pulled into a fist. Ooh! She could just hit him.

What do you want? she asked with lunatic eyes, turning to Jim. Do you want me to curse you?

Do whatever you want, just be spectacular! You’re live now! smiled Jim, pointing to the cameraman behind him. You are broadcasting into every home now, and you have to do something without any postproduction.

Sue felt that Jim was just doing this to boost ratings. He wanted to strain her into some dirty game that she couldn’t play.

You pitiful, dirty wretch, she said finally, and closed the door.

She could still hear Jim commentating on the events loudly, turning to the camera; "The Big Silence of the Spiritual World started on Season Six, Episode Six of Medium on Call. And on what day, can you guess? On the sixth of June, which is of course the sixth month of the year. Don’t you find these many sixes too much of a coincidence?"

Turd … mumbled Sue and lit a cigarette. She looked into the mirror, where a tortured small girl looked back with red-rimmed eyes. Her face was bloated, her skin had changed colour, mottled with nasty red spots. The stress wanted to find its way out.

Or maybe it was something else, from the deep …

Her mobile ceased her torments when it rang. It was Sidney Grimm, her apprentice.

Don’t worry, nobody can make a connection with the spirits now, she consoled Sue. You’re not the only one. I’ve seen you live, and it wasn’t your best performance.

The last one wasn’t a success.

No. We can’t give up. Something has happened in the spiritual world, and we have to find out what. All channels got silenced.

I don’t care. My family will be happy to have me back.

"You know very well that you can’t just simply pull out." Sidney strangely emphasized the last words of the sentence, as if the apprentice was warning her master. Sue had already felt that strange shiver about Sidney that was giving her the creeps now.

You may be right, whispered Sue and cut the line.

The film crew had already started packing outside. Sue stayed alone in her caravan-sized empire without any spiritual supporters. And she felt terrible.

2.

John Levi arrived at the hospital looking haggard. If he could, he would have visited the Heartley family tomorrow, but he was too worried about them. He prepared himself for everything; the mother and the boy had very little chance of surviving. John had found them in a state that only his brother Paul’s God could have the power to keep them alive.

I’m Lieutenant Levi, I’m looking for the family that had a crash an hour ago, he said at the desk, showing his badge.

The Heartleys, right? asked the nurse, looking at the list. Their doctor, Miss Bond, is coming right now; she’ll be able to give you all the information you need.

Julie overheard that they were talking about her.

I’m Dr. Julie Bond. What can I do for you? she greeted John, raising her hand.

Nice to meet you, Doctor, I’m Lieutenant John Levi, Jersey County Homicide. I was the officer who found them after the accident. I promised the father that I’d stop by.

The situation is not promising. The mother and the son are still in critical condition. The husband had a narrow escape with lighter injuries, but we’re keeping him under observation, because he lost consciousness. You can see him if you like, he’s in the second to last room on the right, at the end of the corridor. He knows everything about his loved ones, so you can speak freely with him.

John saw the tiredness in Julie’s face. Hard case, he said to the woman. It was not so hard to sympathize with her, as he also felt like a suit of old clothes, sticky with the squalor of life.

I see you’ve already been through some of these.

I could tell some stories too, but we would end up in some kind of stupid game—who’s seen more terrible cases. I mostly see the ones you can’t fix.

I see, said Julie, pursing her lips. She found the man, and his intention to visit the injured, nice, even if he wasn’t a traffic cop.

Did they bring the other driver here?

Yes, he’s on the opposite corridor. He has a broken leg, crushed injuries to the chest …

And what about his passenger? asked John, hoping that the paramedics had found the mystical hitchhiker.

There was no passenger, smiled Julie. I have to go. If you want to have a little chat, just hop into the canteen for a coffee later on.

All right, I’ll probably do that, waved John, heading towards the rooms.

John found the man in his room with a plastered leg and a neck brace. He was trying to sit up.

I’ll help you, offered the lieutenant, jumping closer. The man grabbed his hand and pulled himself up. He had a strong, confident grip.

Thank you. You’re the lieutenant from the crash site, aren’t you? he asked, and they introduced themselves.

I hope the best for your family.

I very much appreciate that, said Benet Heartley. Can somebody bring my mother-in-law up here? She walks with difficulty …

I’ll send someone for her, John reacted immediately, giving the address to the centre. She’ll be here in less than ten minutes.

Wonderful. We’ve just been at her place, celebrating my son’s second heart-birthday.

John looked surprise, so Benet continued.

You know, exactly five years ago, my son went through a heart transplant. The problem with the heart was from a birth defect, which was unnoticed until he was four. He got his new heart the next year. There were a lot of complications, but he survived. His body didn’t reject the donated heart.

He’s a strong guy.

He’ll be a great man if he … he said, his voice choking. Linda and I … he started and then stopped again, because he thought about the others who were fighting for their lives at the moment. I feel so bad that I ran that light.

I can come back later, if you don’t want to talk about it now …

No, please stay. I need to talk myself hoarse to someone. So, Linda and I always thought that, as unlucky and sick as he was, he would be a very special boy. And so he is; he had a big heart with immense love and caring. I have to admit I see all my weaknesses dissolving and disappearing when I’m with him, explained Benet, swallowing his tears, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell him that.

Let’s hope so.

But starting last week, something strange was happening with him. He was always different from kids his age, but he started to flood us with this strange wisdom recently.

What do you mean?

It was almost … prophetic. He warned us before his fifth heart-birthday, a week ago, that he had to tell us how much he loved us. He did it in spite of the fact—and these were his words—that he knew Linda almost divorced me because of my behaviour. So he rapped my knuckles for not being a good father.

Uhum … I see. John couldn’t say much about this, as he lived the boring but fairly comfortable life of a bachelor. He loved his brother’s children as his own, but he had never thought to take up the burden of raising a child. So he hadn’t done that before? Did anything happen that might have triggered this behaviour?

I have no idea. He must have felt the accident was coming … And one more important thing! Benet’s face brightened. He actually told us the brand of the car that crashed into us.

What?

"He was always playing this guessing game with my wife, using car brands. I remember clearly that he said a few seconds before the accident—you were thinking about a white Toyota."

This is really a strange coincidence, nodded John. He didn’t like the spiritists, they were on every channel and corner nowadays. But this boy wouldn’t do this for a few minutes of fame on the news, would he? thought John. He probably does it for a little attention. Although, he had all his needs met; his parents took extra care of him because of his sickness.

I can’t believe this is only a strange coincidence. We’ve had a lot of strange coincidences connected to him in the past.

Sure. You’ve aroused my curiosity about him. I hope I can speak with him as soon as possible, said John, smiling encouragingly.

Yes, we’ll make it happen, nodded Benet. I don’t need any more signs or warnings to put my life back in order; it‘s enough. My family is more important than me. I just want them back.

John couldn’t say anything; he just nodded in agreement. If he had a family, he would put them first too.

How did you stop that truck?

Benet’s question struck John even more than the strange coincidences.

Which truck?

The one that ran right for us. I shielded Josh with my body. It was so close I thought it knocked me unconscious.

Which direction did the truck come from?

From the city.

So it came opposite me, but I didn’t see him, stated John, opening his arms, uncomprehending.

But it was there. Its full beams were on, even those high-performance ones on the top. The guy pulled the horn like a madman in the driver’s seat, as he sped towards us.

You just keep surprising me, said the lieutenant, raising his eyebrows. First there’s a missing mystical hitchhiker, now there’s an eighteen-wheeler vanishing into the mist …

The driver of the Toyota might have seen it, if he didn’t lose consciousness. His car spun and faced towards the junction.

You’re right, said John, standing up. I’ll see you again later. I really do hope the best for your family.

At the other end of the corridor, there were two policemen standing in front of the room.

Hi guys, Lieutenant Levi from Homicide. Why is there a guard on him? Have we already charged him with something? he asked his colleagues.

The traffic department is conducting the official inquiry, and according to the traffic cameras, the driver of the Toyota, Mr. Jack Kaminsky, drove through the red light.

John had his newest surprise.

The man in the other car said the opposite … John stopped, raising his forefinger. His brain stopped, on overload; the pictures of the accident and the unclaimed arm had mixed in his mind. He should go to sleep. OK, I also need those camera recordings.

When John entered the room, he saw the lanky, old man in the bed. John immediately recognized his face; he could not forget those troubled eyes, when he’d asked, "Where is the hitchhiker?

Mr. Kaminsky, I’m Lieutenant John Levi. We met at the scene of the accident. I called the ambulance, and I was the one who helped you out of the car.

I’m very sorry, but I don’t remember much about what happened after the crash, the man said quietly. His eyes were looking at John from a deep, black ditch. His pointy noise punched a hole into the air, and his greyish, thin hair hung around in a confused tangle.

And do you have any memories from before the accident?

The furrows on the man’s forehead deepened. It looked like it took real effort to bring back images from the past, blocked by the shock.

I stopped at the gas station on South Street. I popped in for a pack of cigarettes and wanted to continue towards the country club on the 124, he said finally, brushing his head.

Is this the station next to that empty plot?

Exactly, that one. Do you know it? he asked back.

John nodded. Damn, he knew it. The flat, where they’d found the remains of the burnt man, faced that station.

It is too much for today, John thought. I have to slow down, otherwise my mind is gonna spin out of control, throw out half of the important information.

And then that man came, the driver continued. He said he needed to go to New York. I offered to take him to the highway entry, because I was only going to the country club. I work there as a night warden.

I understand. And where did your passenger get off? asked John. He anticipated the answer, which was totally a match for this mad case.

He didn’t get off.

I remember, you were looking for him after the accident.

I was looking for him … whispered the old man, staring at the ceiling, because I need him. He is the only one who can prove I didn’t cause this accident.

Why do you think that?

Because he was the one who caused it. I saw the red light and started to slow down, but he suddenly put his leg on my side of the car and pressed the pedal down. And I couldn’t stop him.

John couldn’t say a word, because he felt this story somehow had some significance beyond the border of reality.

So you are saying, sir, that a stranger deliberately forced you to go through the red light, causing a fatal accident?

Exactly, nodded Kaminsky. He looked more relaxed, having told someone the truth.

John tried to imagine the situation, thinking about what the motive could be. But he could not see anything sensible, only a huge screw-up. It was a mighty screwed-up case with many threads, which would give him a constant headache to solve.

The Revenge of the Unclaimed Arm—what a perfect title for a crime story, he thought. This could have been the last stroke of the pen for that arm. He might have written on that paper, Unravel this!

The security camera of the gas station, he brightened as the solution flashed through his mind. Sir, would you recognize that person if I bring a picture or a video of him?

I’ll never forget that last bizarre smile on his face before the crash. I don’t want to see him again, if it’s not necessary. But I can only clear myself if you find him.

I’ll try, but I’m not in charge of this investigation, said John, shaking the man’s hand. I wish you a good recovery, I’ll contact you later on.

John was almost out of the room, when he turned back for one last, important question.

Mr. Kaminsky, did you see a truck coming from the city? Big one, eighteen-wheeler …

The old man didn’t bother to answer. He closed his eyes, signalling to John that he’d had enough interrogation for tonight.

John called headquarters when he was in the corridor.

Who did get the Heartley crash case? I see … Is he still on duty? Would you connect me with him?

He went out to his car, got in, and started the engine. Only minutes ago he’d been totally exhausted, wishing for sleep, but the new information stirred him up.

Hi Pete … I’m John. Want to hand this case over to me?...Why? Because I have nothing to do … No—no. It’s just I have some information that will surprise you too. Can we discuss this over coffee somewhere?

*

Julie arrived home from the nightshift, feeling as if she herself were a casualty of the same accident. Her arms fell beside her body like bricks, sinking into the couch’s soft cushions. The cool leather surrounded her and relaxed her tired muscles. She sank so deeply that she thought she would never be able to stand up from it. She and the couch melted together like one