The Path to Brightness

By T. J. Riley

Fatima, a young woman, has a near-death experience. When she awakes from a coma and recovers, she has mystical powers. She begins to see auras and experiences life with her new abilities. For the clever character, Fatima, life is about to dramatically change. Follow Fatimas journey as she tries to convince others of the astounding esoteric knowledge she has brought back from beyond the veil. However, there are some that wish to stop her from sharing an ancient secret. A secret that will change life on earth, forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514400906

T. J. Riley

T. J. Riley resides in Harper Woods, Michigan, outside Detroit. She comes from a family of storytellers, starting with her own mother, Sylvia Stone-McDuffie. Her grandsons Rah and Jahi Humphrey are the authors of the Chocolate League, a series of chapter books for children, and her son Mosi Humphrey has won several writing awards. Ms. Riley holds degrees in geography and African history and has been a student of world religions, spirituality, the occult, and alternative-consciousness thinking since age seven. As a writer, Ms. Riley hopes to challenge readers to rethink the legends of creation and the meaning of life.

Book preview

Prologue

Remember. The word was spoken into a breath.

Fatima Wood came into the world on the hottest day of the summer in July. A small hole was on either side of her ears at her crus helix. She was the only child of a woman who was also an only child of an only child—her lineage simple enough to be recited, ensuring remembrance of the ancestors. It was so hot that no one could tell that her mother had a fever after delivering her precious daughter.

The doula laid the newborn on the exhausted woman’s chest. She smells your milk, Mother. The cries will help the milk to come down, kind of like running the water to help you go. She smiled as she laid the newborn between her mother’s breasts.

Fatima, it’s Mommy, she cooed. I love you, baby. I couldn’t wait for you to get here. I just wanted to hold you. And now I am. Here you are, my precious buttercup. Her mother kissed her on the forehead and handed her over to be washed.

It had been a difficult labor. Fatima had turned. The accoucheuse had to work extra hard to get her back in the correct birth position. It took a toll on the new mama. It was feared that there might be internal damage, but they would have to wait to see.

It is so damn hot! Fatima’s grandmother said as she fanned her only child. The baby was asleep in the bassinet near the fireplace. Here were her two babies. She was proud. The lineage of the family was continuing. The recitation of the matriarchal line was ensured. Just as the women before her had done, one day Fatima would stand before the community and recite the names of the daughters of the women in her family starting with herself.

If only the night would fall and with it the coolness of its black blanket. Any relief from the intense heat would be welcomed.

A radio played in the background. That was Earth Wind & Fire, and now for the news. A school bus heading from Urbana to the museum in Chicago early yesterday was struck by an oncoming truck. All the children were killed, but the truck driver survived and will be charged with manslaughter. Now for the weather…

***

The funeral was like no other. Fatima’s mother had played the piano. All of the musicians she’d ever played with came. Many of them had gone on to have professional music careers. Instead of getting up and saying a few words about her, they came one by one and played their instruments. By the time they were finished, there was a full band playing a rendition of Going Up Yonder. Although they had not rehearsed or played with each other before, it sounded as if they were a regular paid group.

That night, Fatima’s grandmother prayed, Please make a way for me to care for my granddaughter until she is able to care for herself. She was on her knees, kneeling against her bed. It had four posts and netting. The gentle lace net was woven with patterns that looked like clouds floating in the sky. It draped down from a leaded stained glass light fixture. The light struck the colors in the light cover and refracted on the netting. She recalled how she would lay her own daughter on her bed and watch her reach for the colors. Now it would be Fatima’s turn.

The happy baby gurgled as she turned. The crib sat across from the dresser. The large room could accommodate the changing table, but she felt it would make things look cluttered. She reached in to pick up her granddaughter and whispered in her ear, Call me Nana, and then kissed her on the forehead.

***

Six years later.

Nana, I’m bored, Fatima whined.

Oh, dear, there is plenty to do. Let me show you a trick. Her grandmother sat her down on the floor. Cross your legs. Now rest your hands on your legs, like this. Nana positioned her hands so that they rested just above her knees. Now… use your mind to lift your arms up. Concentrate on moving your arms, she commanded in a soft voice.

It became a game. One day, while Fatima was sitting on the front porch, she tried it. She crossed her legs and positioned her hands just so. She closed her eyes and concentrated on watching her hands and arms lift up off her lap. It felt funny, strange at first, and then it was like a heavy weight was lifted off her arms. She could feel her hands lifting all on their own. Nana had taught her how to relax her body. She could tell the difference between purposefully using muscles and not using them. While sitting, she’d become aware of every muscle in her body—the ones used daily, and the ones not used enough. She sat there as her hands gradually rose higher in the air. When she felt that they were up at an impressive height, she opened her eyes. To Fatima’s surprise, her hands had barely moved. At the most, they were hovering above her lap about an inch. She could feel the muscles in her arms take control to sustain the pose.

She couldn’t wait to tell Nana. Fatima ran into the enormous kitchen where Nana was pinching and chopping substances, and boiling hot water. It smelled sweetly fragrant. Mmmm, what’s that, Nana? she asked.

Oh, not much, pumpkin. I’m just making some salve for Mr. Greer down the street. He’s got a cold deep down in his soul. I’m just fixin’ something to make him feel better. You can take it to him for me when I’m done. You can be my delivery girl, like Red Riding Hood, but I don’t think we have to worry about any wolves these days. She chuckled. Nana always had some saying or story that had an embedded message or a strange quest for Fatima to do.

No, I mean yes, but I have to tell you something. I made my hands lift up. Beaming with joy, Fatima jumped a little into the air to punctuate the up. I did it, I did it! I finally did it!

Well, isn’t that something. I knew you would. I’ll have to show you some of my other tricks. Nana smiled as she placed the ingredients in a jar and gave it to Fatima to take down the street. Come right back, hear?

Chapter 1

There is no time, there is just as it has always been.

Within cycles there are changes, but the cycle does not end.

—The Knowing of `Galon

Fatima took a deep breath as she walked across the street to the park, which was her shortcut to her apartment. The sun beamed down, caressing her skin with a promise of brown tones.

Summer was her best time of the year. Her long hair turned shades of auburn, and summer fashions accentuated her curves. Its warmth empowered her, fueled her creativity to make her feel alive. As she looked up at the sun in worship, she felt anticipation.

"I’ll take my bath, do my hair, and by the time I’m finished, it’ll be time to go," she thought to herself.

Mr. George was at his usual post. Hey dare, pretty lady, he said, holding the door for her. He had been with the Shepard Arms Apartments for more than twenty-five years. He knew all the tenants and their personal business too. His tall frail-looking frame was deceiving. Fatima had seen this elder lift, tote, and sprint more than any young man did; but he was never winded.

Goin’ to any of da festivities? he inquired in a Southern dialect, its roots long forgotten.

Yeah, I’m going to the Concert of Multi-Colors with Alfred. Goin’ to get ready now, Fatima answered. He was like the uncle she never had. George showed that he genuinely cared for her. She reported the experiences of her days to him as to allow him to vicariously live in the big-city world that he could never enter. Just a Southern boy from Kentucky, he’d been a janitor/handyman most of his life. In retirement, it played out the same. In exchange for shelter, he carefully guarded the tenants at the Shepard Arms as if they were his own family.

Well, have a good time, you sexy thang. He sang the last part as the lyric from the famous song. She jubilantly laughed at his flirtatious flattery as she sauntered to the elevator.

Tonight was going to be fun. Alfred had promised to pick up the tickets and swoop her up by 7:00 p.m. She had just enough time to get ready. If her boss, Mr. Pennington, hadn’t been such an ass, she would have had time to do her nails. Instead, she had to finish a report that his inept nephew couldn’t do. It ticked her off that he hired him in the first place. He didn’t have any of the skills the company needed, didn’t show any real interest in learning, and much of his work was pawned off on other people.

Forget that fool! I’m gonna have a good time tonight. Fatima was again speaking to herself as she firmly slid the key in to open her apartment door.

Her spacious apartment smelled like jasmine, which was her favorite scent. More like a ritual, she placed her keys in the gourd bowl, a gift from Nana. She kicked off her shoes and set them near the door; she then went to her bedroom and peeled off her clothes, stopping in the kitchen to turn on the radio and get a glass of grape juice on her way to the bathroom. She ran water in the tub and placed into it lavender-scented bubble bath salts. The water was now deliciously frothy.

I’ll just soak for a while, she convinced herself as her toes felt the warmth of the bubbly water. It felt so good, and after a few minutes, she felt the tiredness of the day melt away; and within minutes, she fell into a serene sleep.

She dreamed that she and Alfred were dancing on what appeared to be a ship, but it looked more like a huge house. The music was playing, and she could see a table with fancy food for a feast. The captain came up to them and said it was time to go, but they continued to dance until the song ended. Then Alfred flew away and left her on what was now a deck on someone’s home. She could hear children playing. Gliding to the edge of the deck, she looked down and could see several children playing tag below in a wooded field. As she looked down, she saw herself, but she wasn’t in the yard with the children; she was still in the tub.

Her lips were now a funny shade of bluish white. She looked peaceful enough, but this was different. As she hovered above herself, she heard the phone ringing, and there was banging at the door as if someone was trying to break it down; then the lock turned with a click. Unfamiliar faces came rushing in.

She could hear shouts to call 911! and other stray sounds sometimes muffled that would have alerted her to take action or become fearful but did neither. She heard wailing and crying, but she felt no pain. Oh Lord, oh Lord, no, no. Another voice, Get somethin’ an’ cover her up. Don’t want nobody seein’ her naked body like that. The voice was familiar, but as she drifted, they all seemed far away and of no consequence. Get her out the water. Their conversations were like a dance of words. You know CPR? Then it was suddenly quiet.

The paramedics rushed in just as Mr. George and Mrs. Nettie pulled her lifeless body from the tub of cold water. The radio played in the background: "Reports of a solar flare coming toward the earth could cause an EMP disaster, but researchers at the Center for Solar Activity say there is nothing to worry about. The sun has shown more activity than in recent years. But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. This is 109.7 bringing you soft jazz in the evening. Stay tuned for more of our show, but now more news [pause]. A charter flight…"

Fatima realized only then that she had been looking at herself. A feeling of grief gripped her, and then rage. Why? What happened? Why me? I’m not ready to die, she tried to shout. Her voice echoed, bouncing against nonexistent walls that imprisoned her. A familiar voice called out to her that she was in fact not alone, not ready to die. The voice felt soothing. It sounded familiar. Could it be—after so long? Could it be Nana? She called out, looking around to see who had spoken. Who was it that had made her feel such indescribable peace with such few words? Then, with a feeling of being hit by lightning, Fatima opened her eyes.

***

I need to go with her, Alfred insisted, but the EMTs wouldn’t allow him to ride, for insurance purposes. He ran to his car. He didn’t remember getting inside the vehicle as he trailed the ambulance. They weaved through the surface streets to get to the nearest hospital. Cars moved, making a way as if a royal procession were passing by.

The technicians feverishly worked on Fatima until they arrived at the hospital. Busting though the automatic doors, one of the techs shook her head as they wheeled in her lifeless body. There was no reason to rush. Alfred went to the patient-receiving desk but was directed to the waiting room. After twenty minutes, a young woman wearing a hijab came to give him an update—one that he would not want to hear. Fatima had been pronounced dead on arrival.

As the orderly covered her body, preparing to escort her to the morgue, Alfred’s loud wails could be heard.

Got a fresh one for you, Bob, said the orderly as he burst through the bimetal doors.

The pathologist pulled back the white sheet. She was a looker. Put her over there. I’ll get to her in about an hour when the shift changes and Doug gets in.

Okay, you’re the boss. The orderly complied with the instructions.

Doug, the assistant, would clock in and begin the preliminaries. He was a med student at the university. The night before, he’d gone out drinking and was hung over. The night before that, he’d chewed a few ’shrooms and was flashback tripping. He clocked in at the usual time and went into the locker room to change. The pathologist wasn’t around when he came in, but he knew his job and got directly to work.

He washed Fatima’s body, admiring her physique. She had good muscle tone. Nice tits. He imagined her curves and visualized her ass: a tight bouncing booty. A smile came over his face, and he chuckled to himself. Damn, girl. If you wasn’t dead, you’d be my baby’s mama.

Through the doors came the looky looks, he called them. Whenever they had a new body, some of the residents would come down to play. Jeff—yellow-haired, tall, and ghostly pale—always brought some gadget to try out. The hospital had just received compact defibrillators for training purposes. He was eager to try it, but no one had had a heart attack, so the pickin’s were