The Eighth Realm: A Paranormal Novel of Eternal Love Within Multiple Universes

By Bill Napoli

This is a paranormal love story spanning eternity. Mike and Cindy, two young lovers, discover that they have literally been soul-mates forever. While weekending in Las Vegas, they have a life-altering paranormal experience which leads them to embark on a search to find and reunite with their eight other soul mates. These ten lovers have lived innumerable lifetimes together, both within this Realm and the seven other Realms that together make up the multiverse in which we all exist. After the ten soul mates are finally reunited, they set out to to uncover the hidden nature of the universe, and to learn their part in it. Their journey takes them from Earth to their eternal home in the Prime Realm. There they discover many bizarre and unorthodox truths about the meaning of life, death, love, and the underlying nature of reality. What they learn will shake their belief-system as they find they can defy all of the normal laws of nature and alter their bodies and even their sexes at will. Eventually the group participates in creating a new Big Bang that results in the beginning of the ninth Realm in our multiverse. As readers follow along in this journey of discovery, they may find themselves questioning and reexamining their fundamental beliefs about sex, love, religion, spirituality, and the true meaning and purpose of life. Whether you agree or disagree with the premise of this novel, you will find the book difficult to put down and even more difficult to forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493185429

Bill Napoli

Bill Napoli and his wife of fifty-one years live in Southern California. They have two children and three grandchildren. Bill is the author of over twenty-five computer training manuals and classroom workbooks, which he uses in conducting computer workshops at several colleges. Star Hoppers is his second novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Look out! Cindy screamed into her helmet mike as she tightened her arms around Mike’s midsection. A red Corvette convertible with its top down suddenly swerved without warning from the passing lane into theirs. It would have sent their Harley careening wildly off the highway had it not been for Mike’s lightning-fast response. Mike adroitly steered their bike into the right shoulder as he gunned the bike to avoid a collision.

Relax, he said calmly into his own helmet microphone. I was half-expecting that moron to do something stupid like that. Anyone who drives a flashy hot Corvette obviously thinks he’s king of the road and thus doesn’t pay much attention to second-class bikers like us.

Cindy relaxed her grip on his chest and leaned back in her seat. It was a pleasantly warm day in the desert. Mid-April was a perfect time for their four-hour motorcycle road trip. The desert wildflowers were putting on their annual show, exploding with vivid yellows, blues, and reds. Mike and Cindy had been thoroughly enjoying their bike trip from LA to Vegas. Cindy’s long red ponytail was blowing in the wind as it hung five inches below her helmet. She absolutely hated wearing a motorcycle helmet. It felt so confining and, even worse, prevented her from experiencing the delightful feeling of the wind blowing against her face. She believed strongly that the mere act of wearing a helmet significantly increased a person’s chances of getting into an accident. She reasoned that in donning a helmet, the wearer somehow subconsciously also donned a false sense of invincibility, believing that with a helmet she would almost certainly survive any crash. As a result, that person took more chances while driving than would be the case if she knew that a crash would almost certainly result in her death.

Cindy had grown up in New Hampshire. There, people over eighteen were not required to wear helmets while riding a motorcycle. She interpreted the state’s motto, Live free or die, to mean that the government did its utmost to avoid restricting personal freedom in such matters. As with most others who had lived in New Hampshire, she believed that if a woman wanted to risk her life by not wearing a helmet, so be it. It was her life. As such, it was her inalienable right as an American citizen to choose to risk that life by not wearing a helmet.

The odds of dying in a crash were thirty times greater on a bike than in a car, but Cindy wasn’t the least bit afraid. She believed that those odds applied to other people, not to her. At age thirty, she had survived many dangerous situations and now considered herself rather unkillable. Not that she was especially turned on by risk taking. She was prudent in everything that she did and always weighed the risks against the rewards. However, she was convinced that she was meant to live every moment of her life to the fullest. As she was fond of saying, It would be a pity to spend your life avoiding all its risks and concurrent pleasures, only to end up dying alone in your bed from a plane crashing into your house. That’s not for me. I intend to leave this life thoroughly exhausted.

Mike steered the bike back into the right lane and slowed enough to allow the Corvette to pull alongside. He quickly glanced over at the car and briefly noticed the two men sitting in the front seats. They were both around thirty-five years of age, of average build, and moderate good looks. If he had expected either of them to wave an apology for the accident they had nearly caused, he was sadly mistaken. The guy in the passenger seat was staring back at him—well, no—not really at him but definitely at Cindy. Cindy had on a clingy loose-fitting white satin blouse. The blouse was decorated with an intricate pattern of little red hearts. The blouse clung tightly to her breasts as the wind blew up against them. The eyes of the man in the passenger seat were fixated on her chest.

Cindy was a beautiful woman with natural flame-red hair, startlingly green eyes, a light complexion, and an angular face that was lightly sprinkled with freckles. Every inch of her was toned and well proportioned. Wherever she went, men were instantly attracted to her. Years ago, Mike had quickly learned during their first weeks of dating that if he left her alone in a restaurant or other public place for the few minutes that it took for him to use the rest room or to pay the bill, when he returned there was almost certain to be some fellow trying to hit on her. At first, that used to bother him, but then he began regarding it as a compliment. After all, he was the lucky guy who was dating the woman that every other man so desperately wished to be dating.

Glancing at the passenger in the Corvette, Cindy immediately noticed the focus of his gaze. Normally, she was proud of the way she looked and of the effect that her rather ample bosom had on almost every man. However, now she was angry enough with the people who had nearly run her down that she wanted to deny even the simplest of visual delights to this guy. Her eyes then traveled over to the driver of the car, and their eyes met. She instantly recognized him. His hair was now longer and somewhat unkempt, and he sported a well-trimmed goatee, but the eyes didn’t lie. He returned her gaze with a look that burned deep into her soul. Immediately, Cindy leaned forward and defiantly stared back at him.

She pushed her ample bosom into Mike’s muscled back, slowly rubbing back and forth in a move that claimed him as her own and emphasized her total rejection of the passenger’s hungry gaze.

Mike, riding shirtless, felt her firm breasts pressing into his back. He had preferred to drive his Lexus to Vegas, but Cindy had brazenly seduced him into taking her Harley by promising to go braless on the drive. Cindy knew how much Mike loved it when she did this. Cindy whispered into her mike, It’s him. It’s that damn guy Airack again.

A cold chill went down Mike’s spine. The fellow had somehow found them again. Gunning his engine, Mike fishtailed out of there and sped down the highway at eighty-five miles per hour. Neither Mike nor Cindy had any idea why this man kept showing up every few months—no matter where they happened to be. In fact, they knew almost nothing about the guy except that two years ago, on their first encounter with him, the man had walked up to them near the finish line of the Long Beach Marathon and had introduced himself as Airack. He had asked whether they recognized him, and when they answered no, he gave them an enigmatic smile and simply walked away. Since then, they had spotted him at least a dozen more times but never in a close-up situation where they could question him. The guy gave them both the willies. They didn’t know whether he harbored bad intentions toward them, but they had decided he was definitely someone they wanted to avoid at all costs. Today, their best bet would be to lose themselves in the Vegas crowds.

Mike felt sad that, precisely when he and Cindy had become inseparable about two years ago, Airack had come into their lives to dampen their happiness. It had taken Mike thirty years to find Cindy (although during all those years he hadn’t any idea that he had been searching for her). His mind flashed back to the first time they had met. It was while he was competing in the Long Beach Marathon two years ago. He had been practicing diligently for several years prior to that event to build up to this, his very first marathon. Before that he had run in five half-marathons, several triathlons, and dozens of 10Ks—but this was his first attempt at running a grueling 26-mile, 285-yard marathon. He considered his doing so to be an extremely significant milestone in his life, so much so that he was even wearing a very special yellow T-shirt that he had custom-ordered for this event. On the front, it read, My first marathon—a ten-year dream come true. On the back, it said, Wind me up if I stop.

At that point in the race, more than ten miles into it, he was feeling very good and was buoyed by the crowd’s wildly enthusiastic, never-ending clapping and cheering. He could still hear the Chariots of Fire theme song playing over and over inside his head. That song had been blaring over loudspeakers at the commencement of the race. To this day, hearing Chariots of Fire played anywhere gave him goose bumps.

As he ran, he held out his right palm from time to time to high-five the hand extended by a child standing on the curb. He was running at a pace he hoped would result in a sub four-hour finish. His breathing was relaxed. He was experiencing a runner’s high, and all of his senses were heightened. He glanced at his jogger’s watch and noted that his pulse was ninety-five beats per minute. Perfect!

At the eleven-mile marker, he glanced to his right and noticed a woman keeping pace with him a few feet away. She had been there for a while, he knew. The runners had thinned out considerably by this point, and so his peripheral vision had caught her running apace with him. He was so engrossed in absorbing the whole incredible marathon experience that he hadn’t turned to see her clearly—in fact, had not paid her much attention whatsoever. Stopping briefly to grab a cup of water from a roadside volunteer at a water stop, he truly looked at her for the first time. He continued to watch as this pretty redhead loped further and further on ahead. Her gait was easy, and her long ponytail bobbed delightfully with every step. Her tall lithe legs were those of a long-distance runner. He noted appreciatively that those legs were attached to a delightful backside that swayed seductively with every step. The runner’s number 1065 was pinned to her back.

Watching her, Mike felt an overwhelming desire to catch up and then run alongside her for a while, perhaps striking up a casual conversation as they ran. Conversations were nearly always easy to start with fellow runners; most were happy to talk with anyone they met along the way, even complete strangers, especially when they were running a grueling, twenty-six-mile trek.

Mike crushed the empty Dixie water cup in his hand and then tossed the cup onto the street, adding his to the hundreds of others that littered the ground near the water stop. He started running again and put on the necessary extra burst of speed enabling him to easily catch up to the woman. As he jogged alongside her, his eyes automatically fell to her breasts inside her runner’s blue-and-red halter top. They seductively wiggled and bounced each time her feet met the pavement. Minutes went by, and he found himself totally mesmerized. Finally, he said, Hi, how are you holding up?

She glanced at him, smiled, and said, Frankly, better than I expected. This is my first marathon, and I didn’t really know how I would feel at this point. How about you?

Same here, Mike said. Might help pass the time if we run together for a while and give each other some words of encouragement if needed. Sometimes that is all it takes to get your second wind.

Sounds good to me, she said. My name is Cindy, and yours?

Mike, he replied. Nice to meet you, Cindy.

Likewise, she answered. Then, noticing where his eyes were focused, she pointed to her eyes and laughingly said, But, Mike, a suggestion. You should keep your eyes up here… this is where my face is.

They both laughed. Mike said, I’m embarrassed. As a rule, I usually don’t do that—at least I hope I don’t. I guess I just slipped into my runner’s trance there for a minute, staring but not focusing on anything in particular. I’ve found myself at times jogging several miles only to later realize that I had absolutely no memory of doing so. That is what I call my runner’s trance.

She laughed again and said, Sure. Right. If you say so.

Cindy asked Mike whether he had attended yesterday’s Long Beach premarathon carbohydrate luncheon.

Yep, wouldn’t have missed that for the world, replied Mike. It was so great to be rubbing shoulders with so many other runners. Were you there too?"

Yes, I was. In fact, I think I saw you there. Your plate was overflowing with spaghetti. More so, it seemed to me, than anyone else in the room. I remember looking at your lean body and thinking how great it was that we could all eat as many carbs as we wanted to at the luncheon without giving the slightest thought to gaining weight.

I know what you mean, agreed Mike. I figure I’ll lose about six pounds by the time I finish this marathon today. That is one of the things I really love about long-distance jogging. There is nothing better to keep off the unwanted pounds. I sometimes eat an entire box of chocolate donuts—my favorite junk food—in one sitting just to keep my weight from dropping too low.

Mike smiled now at the memory, but then he was suddenly brought back to the present as Cindy, knowing what her slow breast massage was doing to him, moved her hand onto his lap, rubbed lightly, and felt the expected bulge grow almost immediately. Whispering into her helmet mike, she asked coyly, Feeling lucky today, are we? Then she giggled and put Airack, the man in the red Corvette convertible, totally out of her mind. So did Mike.

Yes, I am, he replied. As you know, I’ve been practicing and refining my card-counting skills for the past several evenings, and I feel quite confident that I’ll do well at the blackjack tables."

She smiled and then playfully pinched the rising tent in his pants. Good to know. I don’t like spending time with a loser.

An hour later, as they crossed the border into Nevada, the red Corvette was nowhere in sight. Cindy pointed at the shopping mall coming up on their right and instructed Mike to exit I-15 and turn into the mall’s parking lot. OK, he said, but why? I’m anxious to get Caesar’s Palace and try out my luck at the tables.

So am I, but there are certain other priorities we also need to consider. Ginger told me about this mall. She said there is a great boutique here. I want to check it out before we head into Vegas. It won’t take long, and I think you will be pleased that we stopped, she said with a playful glint in her eye.

A few minutes later, after parking their Harley, Mike took out his shirt from the bike saddle and put it on. They walked hand-in-hand into the mall. You could tell they had crossed into Nevada because not too far inside the mall entrance was a row of slots, ranging from penny machines on up to dollar machines. This was a lure for the tourists who wanted to get a head start on their gambling before arriving in Vegas. Mike and Cindy both took out a few quarters and inserted them into two adjoining machines. As usual, Cindy’s machine paid her a small jackpot—$10 in quarters, but Mike lost his entire pocketful of change.

Easy come, easy go. That’s why I brushed up on my card counting. Wait and see. I’ll own the blackjack tables, he said with a confident air. Cindy swooped up her winnings, knowing that her machine had paid out all she would likely get from it. She had fun playing the slots, but she wasn’t by any means a patsy.

Walking on, they passed a store named The Wild Pair. Cindy pointed to the name. That’s us!

Mike smiled broadly and asked, Is that were we’re going?

No, not this time, she answered, but the store name is intriguing. I think they named the store specifically with us in mind.

As they next passed a hot dog stand, Mike asked if she would like anything to eat and drink. They decided to both have a quarter-pound hotdog and lemonade to hold them over until dinnertime. A few minutes later, after scoffing down their lukewarm dogs, they again held hands as they resumed their walk through the mall.

Several stores later, Cindy stopped and said, Here we are. This is the one that Ginger was telling me about. Mike looked into the storefront window and stared at the assortment of mannequins dressed in a variety of scanty bras, panties, and negligees. Wow! OK, this looks very promising! So what do you have in mind to buy here?

Oh, I’m not sure. Just a little something to keep me warm tonight, a flannel gown or some PJs with feet. You know… for while you’re out gambling until the wee hours of the morning. Why don’t you come in with me and help me pick something out? she asked with a smile.

Mike couldn’t manage anything more than a halfhearted grin. "Don’t you think it would be inappropriate having me go into that store with you? I’m going to feel mighty embarrassed. Just the thought of you in one of those skimpy things is getting me excited.

Cindy gave him a little shove and told him to behave himself. I’ll tell you what. If it will ease your embarrassment, let’s go in separately, as two perfect strangers. If you see something you like, you can walk over to me. Just tell me you’re shopping for something for your girlfriend and ask my opinion as a woman as to whether I think she would like it.

Mike thought that was an excellent idea. Strolling into the store separately, they each went in a different direction. At a display table, Mike checked out a mannequin dressed in a very flimsy, silky nightgown. Smiling, Mike looked at the attractive saleswoman who had silently walked over to him. She asked, May I help you find anything in particular?

No thanks, I’m just looking around, said Mike hesitantly.

Quickly recognizing the signs of a man who was embarrassed to be in this type of store, the saleswoman smiled. Just let me know if I can help you with anything. Mike nodded and slowly sauntered over to the table next to the one where Cindy was holding up a red see-through negligee with lots of frills along the bottom.

Mike picked up a skimpy pair of white satin panties. He stretched them between the index fingers of both hands with a questioning look on his face. He looked inquiringly at Cindy. Catching her eye, he said loudly enough for the saleswoman to hear, Miss, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you could help me? I’m really not very good at this. I want to get my lady a little something, but I’ve no idea of her size. However, it seems to me that you and she are about the same measurements. Could you tell me if this would fit you?

Walking over to him, she took the panties from his hands, looked at the size tag, held them to her hips, and said with a smirk, Hmm, perhaps a little large… and somehow the crotch in these seems to be missing. I would keep looking if I were you.

Thank you, miss. He lay down the panties. While I’ve you here, perhaps I could impose further and ask you to help me determine her correct bra size. You and she are about the same—uh, up there. Mike picked up a sexy white satin bra and asked, Is this about the right size?

Cindy took the bra from him, looked at the tag, placed the cups against the outside of her blouse, and nodded. Mmmm, well, this seems a bit small for me. I think you need to take a closer look at that lady friend of yours, sir! If she is built like me, you aren’t giving her assets enough credit. Shrugging and dropping the bra back into the bin he had found it in, he thanked her and walked over to the selection of negligees.

Cindy followed him over to the negligee display and asked with a coy tone in her voice, "Would you like me to