Apotheosis

By Ross Friedman

A narcotics task force police officers risk-taking heroics to keep the public safe can take the very thing away from that person that they are trying to protect, which is life. Tom Maxwell is a man who comes from a background that almost inevitably led him down the path of trying to preserve life. He was forced to witness the terrors of substance abuse and the outcomes of the darkness that shrouds it, which was death.
The son of a science teacher could not escape the questions that drive and inspire scientists. He had heard the word hypothesis more times than any classmate at a dinner table, that much he could guarantee. But the most intriguing hypothesis of all time to the greatest of scientists will always be the imagined solutions or possibilities to the questions that mankind cannot answer.
What happens to us after we die? Is there such thing as a soul? Is there a religion that is right? Why is space too large for us to reach the ends of it? Are any of our archeological finds and understanding of mankinds history truly accurate?
The answers to these unknowns are the top-shelf beverages, the high-end cigars, and the top-performing engines of the most sophisticated minds in any of our cultures throughout history. They are the crme de la crme of placing your mark in history. If a scientist was to ever accurately propose or discover the answers to any of these questions, well, he or she would have done the impossible. They would have achieved the goal that perhaps has led us to where we are today. If we were able to answer the unanswerable, then what would become of motivation, belief, faith, and imagination? Maybe the beauty of the unanswerable questions of mankind is that they are that way by design. Not being able to answer certain questions makes us motivated, keeps us dreaming, and enables us to have passion.
As in any puzzle that we try to solve, love always complicates the pathways that we choose, and Tom Maxwell finds himself in a bind. Fighting the same fight of his past, when his love chooses an addiction too familiar to his adolescent life, leaves him damaged. He finds himself living a life where his decisions and actions depict who he will become. A hero is only a hero when his actions and timing are aligned with a heroic outcome. A dead man with the wrong timing is not branded with the champion insignia the way that a dead man with the right timing is labeled a hero.
Tom faces a world filled with the need to master and understand timing. He will need to learn why our existence needs balance and how we grow at a pace spaced out over time, by design. Life will throw him into a cyclone of sink-or-swim type of learning, which will force him to protect the fate of mankinds future. He will be challenged to learn a new way of life and protect the intention of lifes very design, the way that God had intended for mankind as mankind attempts to redesign their destiny.
He is forced to learn the past of a scientist and will struggle with control issues regarding fate. Love will complicate him, birth will give him greater purpose, understanding other peoples perspectives based on their histories will challenge him on being able to pursue their demise, because life is never black and white. It is always complicated, and people are the way they are because of what theyve been through.
A hero sometimes becomes legend because over time they ceased to exist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483626956

Ross Friedman

Ross Friedman is a father to a son and a daughter as well as a loving husband of his wife for five years. He is thirty-three years old and works in the mental health care field. He is from New Jersey and was educated by Rutgers University for his bachelor’s degree and received his master’s degree from New York University. His never-ending pursuit of learning had landed him in a world where facts helped to act as the catalyst of imagination. Thus, the outcome of this is that Apotheosis became his first novel.

Book preview

ONE

I KNOW WHY you are here, President Adams, said Ajay as the president’s tall, strong frame continued to glide toward him, walking over the clay-colored sand. My mind is made up, sir, he said to the president, raising an arm, motioning what would be understood as body language indicating the word no, while sitting on the black granite chair that had been carved to his liking, which was located in his position at the gate that had been his for time beyond typical comprehension.

Mr. Mehra, if I were nonevolved, I’d suspect that you were reading me. After all of these years we’ve known each other, I would hope that we have a relationship absent of reading each other regardless of evolution, spoke the president with his deep baritone voice. The president looked off past Ajay into the distance and took in a deep breath while enjoying the view of the sunset’s orange gleam onto the desert mist, blowing light amounts of sand past the horizon. I want to change your mind, sir, he continued. But I know that you’re at an impasse. I trust you have found your replacement, but I must say… that word hardly fits the function, he finished and looked straight into the eyes of Ajay.

Mr. President, Ajay replied, I will orient one last one, just one, and then take my journey to the gate. A man, no matter where from or when from, must know when his life has reached the point of moving on. And no, I wouldn’t read you, Ajay spoke to the president with his soft, soothing tone that so many had come to love. He adjusted his loose-fitting white cotton traditional-style Indian clothing as the wind grew stronger. The wind started to flap their clothing to the extent of making a clapping sound. What was left of his gray hair blew in the wind as he held on to his wire-framed glasses to prevent them from flying off into the sand. The president took notice of his stature and replied, Dear Ajay, you still portray yourself as an older man… nearly blowing away from the wind! Why not be a strong younger man and withstand the forces of nature? He chuckled while smiling at Ajay.

It is not natural that way. I have learned in my time that the last way of life was the right one… natural progression, Ajay replied while adjusting his open-toed sandals. He continued, One more, Mr. President, and then I must go. But I am honored to have your presence here on my last day. President Adams granted him a nod and paid him compliments as he ran his hand through his thick shoulder-length black hair. He turned toward his escorts and motioned to them that it was time to move on. One last one, he said over the noise of the wind, and then Daygon will lose their blessing known as Mr. Mehra… I wish you well, old friend.

TWO

T HE DARK BLUE narcotics task force jackets and bulletproof vests were worn by all of those that were going in. In a fury of surprise-style arrests recently made by this team, it was just another case. But each case held its own risks. Tom Maxwell crouched down with his back against the faded, brittle brick wall of the uptown apartment building targeted for a raid in New York City today.

The soles of his feet lay flat on the sidewalk, and his jacket crumpled at his waist. The day was hot, and the city was loud. His adrenaline made it hard for him to concentrate. Thoughts racing, heart pounding. Think, c’mon, think. Logistics, entry points, exit points, safety off on the weapon, he thought. The eyes of this police officer appeared to be focused on the sidewalk. He checked his vest for appropriate fit and waited for the lead officer to give the command. He gripped his weapon tightly and noted that his weathered thirty-six-year-old hands looked like that of an older man. They looked like his father’s hands; when did that happen? They were dirty, rugged, and thick. These last few raids were tough. The organization knew that the police had taken three operational locations down this year. They were getting smarter on both ends and more lethally violent in the efforts to protect their investment in the narcotics. His heart was pounding so fast that he felt light-headed. The beat was pulsing so that he could feel it in his back. Deep breathing, he muttered to himself, remembering the advice of his senior officer about being prepared to enter a dangerous situation. There was sweat dripping from his chin as the weight of the clothing and equipment, paired with the anxiety level, was pushing his body hard in this heat. With the barrel of the weapon pointing toward the sky, he leaned his forehead against the gun… he was now lightly panting. Ready? he heard in the communications device in his ear.

Affirmative, he responded.

The signal was given, and the officers simultaneously broke down the front and back doors, with sniper lookouts peering into the apartment’s windows. No time to think about fear now. Tom immediately raised his body against the bricks and rushed from against the brick wall past the five-foot-high chain fence, through the back door of the run-down apartment, onto the 1970s-style vinyl flooring in the kitchen with his weapon drawn. There was at first an eerie silence and calls of clear from other team members. The curtains in the kitchen, where Tom stood, were clearly not those selected from today’s tenant. He paused to listen.

In an instant, gunshots were heard with screaming, and a portion of the wall adjacent to his body was torn apart at such a rapid speed that the debris was blinding. Automatic weapons decimated the windows, walls, and items on the countertop. Crashing, snapping sounds surrounded the room and echoed over new pops of the guns’ releases. It was blind fire intended on warding off the intruders clearly… but Tom was unable to determine from where. He rotated his body against the far wall, his eyes squinting in reaction to the glass, smoke, and dust flying through the air and onto the floor, not knowing which direction the bullets were coming from. So many people were screaming between the police, the dealers’ army, and witnesses that the chaos seemed to triple based on the noise alone. Tom rolled across the vinyl floor, against the kitchen cabinets—glass crunching, mixing with chunks of drywall with each movement—and still breathing heavily as shots were fired and returned toward the front door. He didn’t know that in the hallway lurked two more suspects on the move to the back door. As they rushed past with their automatic weapons facing forward, they opened fire into the room before they even entered. The sniper rifles dispatched bullets into the assailants from across the street through the windows; the weapons of the suspects discharged rounds in multiple directions. As Tom returned fire, holding his gun with both of his hands, he took the stance of one knee on the ground and felt his head snap backward. The zipping sound of the bullet traveling swiftly through the air into his head occurred simultaneously as his loss of balance, and he was swept backward. There was no sensory information interpreted by Tom except a bit of concentrated light surrounded by darkness giving off the sensation of motion. He knew he was moving. He felt like he was falling for too long. Falling… but could not hear, feel, smell, or taste. Tom thought of screaming for help—had he just died? Falling… faster… faster, and falling into a narrowing darkness surrounding pin streams of light until there was… nothing.

THREE

T RAVELING AT WHAT seemed like a rapid pace over a long distance in a short amount of time that started in the instant of a fall, Tom was able to think clearly about what he was experiencing, but thinking was all that he could do. He was surrounded by darkness. His eyes could see nothing, process nothing; he could smell nothing, touch nothing, taste nothing; and he was steadily dropping like someone who was skydiving. He could sense speed but hear no wind. He could sense the fall but not sense the ground, sense the movement but not in any context, for the swift, silent speed seemed poetic, and alas, he was able to see multiple beams of light directed to a predetermined course. As he approached the beams of lights, they were then seemingly followed by a whooshing sound similar to the effect thunder gives after the lightning in that they are together but can be sensed apart. The sound now changed into one that was wet and resonated echoes of flowing water. In an awkward, stumbling ending, Tom staggered through a circle of light and found himself setting his bare feet onto what felt like hot sand. It gave way to the weight of his step, sand secreting through every opening in the distance between each toe. It was gritty in those gaps, smooth under his sole, and warm.

The sun was blaring down on his face, and he was barely able to open his eyes. The feeling of the heat on his face encouraged him to tilt his head up toward the sun and take it in a bit. He wiggled his toes and wondered if he was dead or not. Where am I? he thought. What is this? He held his left hand up high to block the light and take in what surrounded him. It was quiet.

He was somewhere else now. Dead, and sure of it. He could see that he stood in some sort of desert under an immense carved stone archway with hieroglyphic drawings on each of the sides. It was a doorway of some kind that brought him here. As he turned back to see the archway, he touched the rim of it and noted that all around it were pictures of what looked like clusters of stars drawn by his six-year-old cousin, figures depicting mankind, and directional lines with arrows. It was made of some kind of rock that seemed finished—smooth to the touch, with a texture that made it feel as if it were glazed.

As he took another step forward into the heat, he looked back to the direction of which he first entered and could see archways positioned for hundreds of yards. Each archway had rocklike chairs facing them and people sitting, waiting in them. Some even had people walking toward the arches as if to speak to those entering through them. Tom turned and looked for the chair facing his. There was a man sitting in a seat, watching him, dressed in all white with thin wire-framed glasses and a shaved head—Indian maybe, or Arabic, fifties? Sixties? Hard to tell. He turned away, back toward the doorways, wiping up sand in the turn. The archways themselves gleamed in the center of a different sort of light; some bright, others dark. He turned and touched the light behind him, and this too felt as hard as stone.

Yes, Mr. Tom, I am sorry to inform you that what you have perceived as life is now over, and you are now moving on in a new form of energy. You know this concept that you thought of as energy that you learned of in school, which could never be created nor destroyed? Ajay said out loud in his Hindu accent, over the wind, gesturing for him to come closer. Tom thought to himself for a moment, looked at the other doorways, and watched as others spoke to these people in the chairs. He seemed a bit confused about how this Indian-looking man seemed to know his name somehow, only next to hear this same voice now inside of his own thoughts. My name is Ajay, and I am called a gatekeeper. I am here to make sure you understand what just happened.

How are you doing that? Tom said aloud in a stark tone.

My apologies, Ajay spoke aloud as he walked slowly, standing upright with his arms swinging in the opposite direction of his legs in a fluid motion. It has been my practice for a few hundred years now to only do that once to a new person without their permission so that they understand that the evolved can do it to the nonevolved like you, as well as read information stored in your mind. It is a great lesson to help you during your time here. Soon enough you’ll learn to think differently around the evolved… but you can never get rid of your information or hide it from them, Ajay said, now standing inches away from Tom and pointing his weathered long pointer finger that was light brown and unable to fully stretch it out to the center of Tom’s forehead.

Come now, you have much to discuss with me, and I plan on telling you a lot because today I plan to leave this place, he said to Mr. Maxwell with both of his hands up in the air, spreading away from each other in a gesture of a half circle. Tom could see the reflection of the sun in the glasses of this man. He looked down at himself and noticed that he was wearing soft black cloth pants and had no other attire on.

Ajay observed Tom evaluate the pants, then gestured toward Tom to follow him, and they began their descent down the dune into what seemed to be a barren desert. I do apologize, Mr. Tom, for entering your mind, but it has become my practice over time to truly display the dangers of Daygon to you, Ajay shouted over the wind.

Daygon? he questioned.

Daygon is where you are. Evil exists no matter what form of life you experience, my friend. Good or bad… they all come here, and as beautiful as this form of life can be, it can also be quite dangerous. Do not be fooled. The evolved will surely be entering your mind at times when you least desire, Ajay said loudly.

Well, instead of shouting, why don’t you just talk to me that way then? Tom halfway joked but logically knew it would be a better way to listen. Okay, you can hear me much clearer this way, Ajay said into Tom’s mind. But personally, I find it rude to invade the mind. Welcome to Daygon. The energy you understood to be your life has been moved here through the portal gate. That is what happens to all life when it dies on Earth. You will see the same bugs, animals, and plant life here. The energy is released from the body and transfers here.

Tom stopped him by raising his hand toward his chest. But this is my body, isn’t it?

Ajay continued without acknowledging the question, insinuating that the answer was coming as he grinned and made eye contact with Tom after he had asked it. Then again when it is released upon death, it is transferred again. The energy cannot be destroyed.

Tom spoke out loud, Can you hear me if I think back?

Ajay spoke into his mind, No . . . not until you evolve. Then we can talk without words of sound.

When do I evolve? he asked.

No one really understands how it works yet, and if I did, I’m not sure it would be wise to share that information. Few things you should know—for example, we cannot reproduce here. That is a treasure of your last life only. There are no children born, only children transferred. The only birth here is when the gates open. For example, do you see that boy there tending to the camel? Ajay pointed toward the bottom of the dune where a water station was set up. He came here after dying as a boy. Ajay crouched low, bending both knees, and they were quiet for a few seconds. Apparently, his name is Rick, and he died from cancer at age nine.

You read his past? Tom inquired.

Yes. Again, I only do this during the orientation of a new one here . . . I do not believe in doing it in my personal life. It is a teaching method.

Tom said, It is wild that I can hear you.

Ajay went on to explain, Life or energy here does not exist as it does on Earth. I, for example, have lived on Daygon for several hundred years. Six hundred, to be exact. Now, however, it is my time to move on. You . . . are my last student.

FOUR

T HE ORANGE SUN’S heat seemed to lessen as the evening drew nearer. The wind was far less powerful and, at this point, was more intermittently blowing as a breeze. Ajay now was speaking out loud to Tom, which at the moment seemed more considerate, To answer your question, friend, it is my time to go because Daygon has reached a critical mass. Your time here should prove to be quite exciting. Hopefully you won’t suffer the same fate you did as a police officer. He smiled and gestured toward Tom with his elbow as a joke.

If you think I don’t mind you reading my past… you’re wrong, he replied.

Most feel the same… just making sure you change your way of thinking around the evolved, Mr. Maxwell, Ajay said while placing his long slender hand on Tom’s shoulder. Regardless of how long they’d actually known each other, Tom was comfortable around Ajay and suspected that most people were. He had a quality that lowered your blood pressure, a tranquility, a nonthreatening aura—it reminded Tom of scented candles that his former almost wife, as he came to refer to her as to his friends, would burn to relax. He still would stop and smell them in the mall when he saw them after she had gone, for it secretly reminded him of her, and he would rather enjoy the memories, slipping into circa 2005: New York City, small apartment, Chinese takeout, candles burning, dinner together on the dinner slash kitchen table. But to anyone else, it just looked like some guy smelling a candle. He missed her now though. Her concrete perspectives would make sense of all of this, this… desert with the old man. But we all make our choices.

Ajay watched as Tom’s expressions seemed to give away that he was trying to convince himself of something, an argument with only one person, yet there was no clear winner. Anyway, let’s discuss the gates, or portals, as we call them. They are the ones that you came through. Our scientists are close to deciphering the keys to the portals functioning, or so they claim for the last 150 years. Soon we will understand how they work, Ajay said.

They being the ones I saw? he asked.

No, Tom… not just those, there are many types of portals, both dark and bright, entries and exits. Energy does not die. The soul does not die. His Indian accent bellowed the o in soul, rendering a somewhat celestial effect, and Tom’s thoughts raced, wondering where all the souls he had lost went. Were they here? Ajay went on, From here, some move on to the unknown, leaving Daygon through the exit portals, while others move on to the island if they are killed as nonevolved. There are portals all over Daygon, though it is only a fraction the size of Earth. But rather crowded… I guess you are used to that being from where you are from… hey? Ajay looked at Tom’s face as they walked side by side through the sand, searching to see the victor of the internal argument. No clear winner yet, he thought. You cannot die here. If you do die as a nonevolved, your energy will transfer through to a portal to the island, where you will be trapped until you evolve. The island houses our criminals as well. If you evolve at some point, your energy will transfer for you to leave the island, landing you through the portals of entry, like the one that you just came through, in one of the four cities. If you are evolved and not on the island, a portal may open for you one day to leave Daygon, Ajay said.

So how do you know it is your day to leave? Tom asked.

Too much knowledge for me to share, my friend, he replied as they continued walking. Our scientists are also on the verge of understanding the evolution process, or so they claim for the last 150 years, Ajay again glanced over at Tom, who was watching his feet drag through the miniature dunes and ripples of the sea of sand. See, when I transferred from Earth to Daygon, I was just like you, Ajay said as his skin suddenly lost its wrinkles, his hair grew dark brown and full, and his body weight filled out. The evolved can change their appearance, he said into Tom’s mind. But then I evolved, he said out loud.

Tom stood in amazement. Where am I? he thought.

The mastery of the portals and the evolution will be dangerous, and I cannot stay to see it through. The knowledge is quite dangerous. I prefer simplicity. He motioned toward his garments as an example to Tom. The planet of Daygon is at critical mass. Earth people are reproducing too fast and passing through the portals too fast for us to keep up. We are overpopulating this planet, draining her of her resources and room, Ajay telepathically spoke while laughing out loud as they continued walking through the sand. Well, heck, the scientists are even growing new planets now for us to move to because there are so many of us. They call it seeding a planet. It grows into one that is habitable for us. They wish to master the portal knowledge, making it easier to travel to these planets. They will build new ones. Think of the danger if the portals were to be reversed and someone evolved like me was able to return to Earth and read minds, change my appearance, and use technology from Daygon on Earth. Ajay then turned his appearance back to the old man. How would you, the policeman, catch me or even stop me? At one point I was part of the political system here and the president knows my opinion, but I am too old now and want to leave before the critical mass truly arrives. Right now, Tom, there is one type of portal into Daygon . . . which you saw . . . one type of portal into the island and two types out of Daygon . . . the bright and the dark. That is all we know, or are led to believe as the general public anyway. They continued to walk side by side through the paths, kicking up sand into the air with each step. Tom was sweating, but Ajay seemed to be accustomed to the heat. There wasn’t even a bottle of water in sight. No bodega, no corner store, no vendor, vending machine, water fountain… nothing.

Tom looked around, thinking about his life on Earth, his mother, his family, friends, regrets, and fun, feeling dizzy. It was too much, he was spinning. This was death? He felt ill and put both of his hands on his knees, leaning over as he began to mourn his own passing with a stream of vomit. Ajay watched for a moment and said out loud, Life lives on, Tom. Let’s keep walking. Look, we are almost to the city of the East, and Earth continues to exist in the same time and plane as Daygon. You can see it with our technology. Your loved ones may cross paths with you again if you stay here long enough. Here, drink some water. He pulled a small bottle from his brown leather satchel, offering it