Spirits

By Todd McNamee

What if a you had the power to read and influence other people's minds? Would you hate this power if you had to do certain things to acquire it? What would you be willing to do? How far would you go?

Spirits is a compelling novel about a man with psychic abilities that have been enhanced by the government. Over time Sean's gift has become a curse due to a combination of the constant barrage of telepathically hearing the multitude of people around him every day and the horrific things his government requests of him.

The novel begins with Sean's profound struggle with alcoholism and regrets for the things he has done. He is contacted by a group who inform him that they need his help to fight a coming evil, a rogue agent with his same powers who is not afraid to use them to create his own army of mind slaves.

Sean acquires other allies along the way, including a ghost and a coven of witches. But it all depends on whether he can hold it together long enough to save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329404359

Book preview

Spirits

Spirits

Spirits

By Todd McNamee

Fox Flame Publications 2015

Copyright © 2015 by Todd McNamee

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2015

ISBN 978-1-329-40435-9

Fox Flame Publications

1500 NE 15th Avenue, Ste 343

Portland, OR 97232

Dedication

To Fiema. My love, my life, and my biggest fan.

.

Then I will breed from her a child mightier than all the kings of the earth—Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law

But we carry the weight

wearily,

and so must rest

in the arms of love

at last,

must rest in the arms

of love.—Allen Ginsberg

Chapter 1

His first thoughts were of fear. He did not know what that was. There was only energy. He opened his eyes and the world opened to him. Not that he could see much through his own eyes then. But he could see through the eyes of those around him. It was all very easy then. And each pair of eyes looking at him was filled with fear, though he did not have a name for it then. It jarred him, being around that much intensity. Later he discovered that even though the people around him were often afraid, other people that were distant were often not afraid. It took years to realize it was he that people were afraid of. From that point on he made care to remember to be kind to those around him.

And then there was air. And light. And his mother. He loved his mother, though he did not have words for love then either. She also had fear in her mind. But it was different from the fear of the others. She was afraid of losing him. The others, they were afraid of him. He wanted to tell them it was okay. He wanted to assure them that he did not want to hurt anyone. He just needed to be fed. And loved.

Already he knew that though they feared him they were not a threat. How could they be? There was nothing any of them could possibly do him. Not unless he let them. Everything was perfect. Just the way it was supposed to be.

He found himself crying. Not because he was upset, he simply wanted to take in more of the air. The sweet air. He was free from his home. But this was home too. The whole world was his home. His mother held him close to her breast. He was warm and happy and alive.

He checked in on his mother often. He worried about her. He worried about his father too, though not in the same way. But he was happy. They would be reunited soon.

Sean stumbled drunk through the back alley. He smelled something rotten, but he wasn’t sure if that was the garbage on the ground or if it came from him. He had been fired that day.  His wife had also thrown him out and he knew she would never let him back.  He'd been inside her mind and the answer was very clear.  There were many thoughts, some of them quite loving. But they were overpowered by her thoughts of wanting him out of her life. With a weaker mind, Sean could have used some of his tricks to make her do what he wanted. But she was nearly as powerful as he was. I need to stop drinking, he thought.

He would have liked to think that he was drunk at that moment because of all this difficulty. Many people drank when they were experiencing difficult times. But the truth was he was drunk like this all the time now. Every day. It was a part of him. He wanted to shut out the noise in his head and drinking was the only thing that worked.  He wondered how his father felt. If the old man had considered quitting before he died. All Sean knew was that he had died drunk. Sean knew because he had killed him.

But that had been a long time ago. Sean had not seen any of the surviving members of his family for many years, not since he joined the agency. His mother always blamed him for what happened, even if she could not understand how. Sean blamed her for a few things too.

He heard gunfire, and he saw the impact of the bullet on the wall just behind him. It had been close. That should have hit me, he thought. Those bastards don’t miss. Why don’t they just kill me? Are they trying to keep me alive on purpose? He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he was taken alive.

Next he heard the sound of a man gag and then fall against a dumpster. Sean saw his legs thrash and then stop. Sean walked towards the sound and saw the young man lying dead in front of him.  The corpse couldn’t have been older than twenty two.  The crew cut told Sean that the man was military.  The Agency wouldn’t have sent one of their own, he thought.

Sean expected a hit. He welcomed it. No one quit the agency. It just wasn’t done.

You're welcome, said a voice.

Sean recognized it at once. It was his wife. Linda, Sean said. Baby.

The leggy woman in black stepped to where Sean could see her.  This doesn't change anything, she said.  You need to get out of town.  They're going to kill you otherwise and you're too fucked up to defend yourself. Go somewhere. Take time. Hide. Spend time in the woods. Whatever you need to get over, go and do that. But do it now because they are going to come after you again and I might not be able to stop them next time.

She still loves me, he thought. After I did everything to drive her away. Why couldn’t you just let them kill me? Sean said.

You want to live, said Linda as she approached into the light, her black hair covered her eyes, her pale face glowed in the dark. They may not be able to read your mind right now, but I can. I always could. Some part of you wants to live. It’s buried. But it is there. I want you to live too.

Sean had to take a moment to think about it. But Linda was right. He wanted to live. But after what was done to him, he didn’t know how. Drinking was the only thing that helped. He wanted another way to make the thoughts stop, but there was no other way. He would never find out if they got to him first. And they would keep trying. Okay, Linda. You’re right. I’ll disappear.

She smiled at him. The way she used to. The way she did when they were young and in love and thinking they were on the way to a great adventure. It was pretty amazing for a while there, wasn’t it? she said. 

Sean nodded. Pretty fucking amazing, he said. Sean headed towards the Max station where he would catch a train, get to the city limits, and then on to a new life. They might kill me, he thought. And the booze may kill me. But it won’t be today. Today I’m going to hide. Just the way they taught me. Then I’m going to heal. Then I’m going to fight.

Chapter 2

It started just like any other day. Hannah finished all of her chores for the day and enjoyed some time on the front porch basking in the light of the full moon. The floors were scrubbed and the dishes were done. There wasn't much to do since she found Ethan hung from the rafters in the garage a few years ago. Her daughter was grown and moved out to the country just a few years before. Despite some initial empty nest feelings, Hannah had adjusted to her absence with a resolve and a bit of relief. It was just Hannah and her German Shepherds and she liked it that way. Her entire life she had wanted some peace of mind far from the company of other people and now she had it. One of the dogs pawed at her jeans. She turned to him and said Hector, you know that I don't have anything for you right now.

The dog cried a little. I swear, you are just like a man, she said. If you don't get what you want, you pout until you do. Hannah walked back in the house and into the kitchen. She reached up in the cupboard and pulled Hector down a dog biscuit. Now, don't you be telling your sister about this, she said. You know that they'll just go nuts and want some themselves. It’s bad enough that I’m spoiling you.

The dog barked once and raised himself up on his haunches. What did I just tell you about keeping quiet? she said. Just like a man, she thought. Do them one favor and they want to tell the world about it. And then they never shut up.

She returned to her front porch so she could watch the sun set and drink her tea and put an end to the day. It had been a good week. Her painting went well and she had a line on a buyer for some of the larger pieces she thought she might never unload. The gallery show had also gone well the month before and things moved in the direction she envisioned so many years before. If this keeps up, she thought, I can finally quit waiting tables and paint full time. Hannah almost never thought about Ethan and the way his body swayed from the rafters in the garage. The smell of death that pervaded the whole house for weeks afterwards no matter how many times she cleaned.

She worried about her daughter. Vivianne was on the other side of the world, studying international economic policy in Taiwan. Ethan had traveled extensively when he was young as well and Hannah knew that part of Vivianne’s interest was to follow in the path of her father. You can’t change a Daddy’s girl, she thought. It seemed that since his passing, she only grew closer to her father, no matter how he died.

Shades of pinks and oranges colored the sky as Hannah sat down in her favorite chair on the porch. The seasons changed and soon there would be nothing but overcast skies day after day and Hannah wanted to enjoy these last days of summer as much as she could. Orange sunlight lit up her garden and she reflected that soon she would have to harvest all of her belladonna and other herbs she used for her potions. She loved the fall, but dreaded the coming winter. She loved the sun, even though as a natural redhead the sun did not always treat her so kindly.

In the past few years, ever since she moved into the area, word had spread about her talents. Hannah did not know how people knew she could create potions and make charms. She had certainly never talked about it with anyone. Hannah hated talking about it with most people and, at this stage of her life, wanted nothing more than just to be left alone. 

But people came anyway. Not many, but there was the occasional love-struck teenager or widow who needed to win the love of a particular man or woman. Then there were those who wanted a winning lottery number or a charm to help them get a promotion. There were also those who were sick and had run out of traditional cures. Hannah could not save them, but she could give them something for the pain. Most of Hannah's cures were meant to counter the side effects of the medicine the traditional doctors gave them. She never asked for money, but people would give her gifts as trade. All four of her chickens came from thankful members of the community.

There were times when she wondered if she was on questionable moral ground by doing this. She did not give away any trade secrets to those who asked. She made it very clear that anything she did was not to be taken seriously and that patients should follow their doctor’s advice and not hers. She also told the lovelorn that they needed to take better looks at themselves before they started searching for someone else. But she also had a daughter in a foreign exchange program on the other side of the world and every little bit helped. Hannah understood what it felt like to be in distress and not have any answers.

The sun faded behind the mountains and now she had both dogs with her on the porch. She scratched Sheba behind the ears and Hector sat close by with his ears up, looking for signs of danger in the distance. Their noses pointed straight ahead, sniffing at the air. The dogs had been good companions for her. She'd always had dogs and always had big ones. Some people speculated that she had them for protection, though that wasn't the case. Hannah had plenty of protection if she needed it. Symbols were carved over the front door. Bones were buried in the front yard. Crystals were placed strategically in every room. The dogs were to keep back the loneliness and to give her someone to talk to.

A well-meaning relative once attempted to get her a gun. You don't need to actually use it, he had told her. Just get a shot gun and have it around. It makes enough noise that it will scare off anyone that might give you trouble. The person giving her this advice was Mark, her late husband's brother. He was a marine and had gone into police work after his time in the service was up. Hannah was of the opinion that Mark thought most problems could be solved with the right gun. He would use a thirty-eight to cure cancer, she thought.

I'd probably end up shooting myself, she said. And then what good would it do?

I’m just saying you should do something, he said.  I mean, you're all alone in that big house you bought in the middle of nowhere.  I would feel better if you were a little closer.  I know we didn’t spend as much time together as we should have when Ethan was alive.

Stop it, she said. This isn’t about Ethan. And I’m not living in the middle of the ghetto. I live in the middle of nowhere. Who is going to bother me out there?

The world isn't as safe as you think, said his wife, Tina, the model of a suburban housewife. She gave Hannah a sad look whenever they met which made Hannah want to stay far away from her. Hannah did not need her pity. I saw a story the other day about teenagers killing a woman living alone. They ended up beating her to death.  It was just supposed to be a robbery and someone panicked and now she's dead.

Hannah said nothing. Tina lived in fear. She believed what she heard on the news which seemed hard for Hannah to understand. Hannah never watched the news anymore since Ethan had died. There didn't seem to be much of a point. Hannah was done with tragedy. She could not possibly tell them that no man could possibly hurt her after what she had been through. You can’t break what’s already broken, she thought.

Let's face it, said Mark. You aren't exactly conventional.  People in small towns aren't as open to newcomers as people think. People want things to be the same.  You've lived in the city all your life. You have tattoos all over you. You swear and don't fit into anyone's idea of normal. You'll do fine, I'm sure. I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt.  Out where you're moving, everyone has a gun. It wouldn't be the worst idea if you had one too. I can teach you how to shoot it.

I have the dogs, she said.  Anyone who wants to venture past two full grown German shepherds won't be afraid of much. Having a gun won't help me scare anyone off.  They would come at night, if they came at all, she thought. And I have the moon.  And the Goddess. Not to mention the ghosts. And a few other surprises. But how can I make them understand?

But that was some time ago. All that mattered now was waiting on the front porch.  It was her favorite time of day. Hannah did not wait for the sun to set. She waited for the moon to rise.

Hannah was different from most people. Not in the obvious ways, such as her many tattoos of runes and words in Tibetan and Greek. It was something she could never explain to anyone. She had a vocation. Having this separated her from the rest. She had a purpose. Hannah was meant for something and those around her seemed to pick up on this from the moment they met her.

Having a purpose did not hamper her much. Knowing you have a role in life and actually doing something about it are two different things. Hannah had turned her back on her role many years before for the easier life of being a wife and an artist and a mother.  She felt she could serve Goddess that way. In her heart she thought it was the best thing she could do. She turned her back on what she knew was fate and thought she could do so without consequence. Fate thought otherwise. Her years of being a normal wife in the suburbs ended in tragedy. The Goddess was now all she had left. The only other thing keeping her going was her rage and she had plenty of that to fuel her for years. It had been with her so long she could scarcely remember having any other feelings.

The moon was full and orange and beautiful and Hannah said her prayer to the Goddess, Diana, as she had for many years, nearly as long as she could remember. She remembered reading Greek mythology when she was just a little girl. Those books were her favorites, though she sometimes read Egyptian or Native American mythology as well. An older woman that lived nearby in her old neighborhood had turned her on to it.  It was in the middle of the suburbs in Seattle. The woman was friendly, a poet of some stature, who taught literature at the university. The woman had rows and rows of books and Hannah used to visit her daily and go through her library.

This did not always sit well with her parents who wanted her to interact more with the other children in the neighborhood. They worried that she did not make friends easily. Hannah did as they asked, though it was obvious that Hannah could run faster and punch harder than any of the boys. It was also obvious that she would be prettier than any of the girls. Someone with a different personality could have used these advantages to become popular. But she could barely speak when she needed to.  Words didn’t come to her.  She preferred to be alone. Hannah did not care and wondered why anyone else did. She was happy with the old woman's books.

One entire shelf was covered with books on mythology. Most of these were about the Greeks or the Egyptians. I think you'll like this one, said the poet one day. It was a collection of the Greek stories. It was easier for Hannah to read than some of the others and fully illustrated. Most of the books on the shelf were critical reviews of the myths.  They wanted to know what the meanings were behind everything. They seemed to miss the stories themselves and the simple truths there. Hannah did not understand why anyone would want to ruin a story that way. Scholars always make things too complicated, said the poet. They never have any fun. The poet sighed. I guess I'm one of them too. But the jokes on them. I only do this to make a living. When I'm alone, I have the stories just to myself and don't give a rat's ass what they are supposed to be telling me. A good yarn is a good yarn. That's what all the words in all the books are saying.  ‘Come on inside.  Listen.’

And Hannah remembered reading about Diana. Orion had seen her bathing and Diana turned him into a stag and his own hunting dogs killed him. Hannah liked that story. She liked that Diana was the protector of young girl like herself. Hannah also liked to think of Diana riding the moon across the sky with her chariot drawn by wolves. It all made sense to her. Ever since she could not look at the moon and imagine the chariot in the sky. A few months after reading the books and dreaming of Diana, she had her first period. Shortly after that she was contacted by the others. 

It was in early autumn and Hannah felt miserable all day. Her cramps bothered her. Her mother explained to her what was happening but that did not make the pain go away. The only thing she remembered about that conversation was that she was cycling with the moon now. She bled on the full moon and she looked out her window at the moon and it was a harvest moon that night. It was one of those nights where the moon is dark enough orange that it could almost turn to red. It was easy to imagine that the moon was bleeding too. She was delighted that she and Diana could have something in common. She felt connected with the moon in a way she never did with any person. It did not make her body feel any better. She prayed to Diana and asked her to take the pain away. Diana never responded.

She went to the poet's house the next day and walked in the door, carrying the books she had just finished and ready to grab some more. Hannah knocked on the big wooden door thinking about what book she was going to read next.

The poet had company. There was an older man and a very young, very blonde woman there. They were both dressed in black. They beamed when Hannah came in the room. Hannah was suspicious immediately. She distrusted adults who smiled too much. Hannah, said the poet, "I am so glad you are here. These are friends of mine who would like