Cassadaga Ii: Beyond the Light

By JM Milne

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they are not there.”

After his return to CASSADAGA, reluctant Psychic and Astral Projectionist Bret Wolf, visited the little man for a session of hypnotic regression to try to understand his dreams. While there, he witnessed a dark and mysterious state of awareness and a conveyance he named the Drift. Little did he suspect that he would be drawn into a journey through time and dimensions that would test his physical stamina as well as his unique abilities.
Wolf found himself on a World of darkness, one he knew had to exist. With his adamant sense of balance, positives and negatives had to be equal. One could not have a heaven full of positive energies without the converse. Without the valleys there are no mountains. Somewhere there was an anti-heaven where negatives spirits returned after their lives. Wolf learns along the way that when a soul is taken by another soul, that new soul belongs to the one taking it. It is then sent to the dark world, or as the ancients called it the crossroads or the underworld. But he had been injured by a denizen of the underworld, so his soul now belonged to the dark. Yet Wolf was not defeated as his body was not dead ... yet. He was severely injured but in real time was on life support in a Florida Hospital. His only lifeline, his only chance of escape from this world was in the reincarnated spirit of his mother now residing in his eight-year-old daughter.

“DARK EXISTS BUT LIGHT MUST BE CREATED, IN THE UNIVERSE AS IN THE SOUL.”

“I HAVE TO GET BACK TO MY BODY …”
“YOU CONTROL TIME WHEN YOU DREAM. A FIVE SECOND DREAM CAN BE A FULL DAY TO THE DREAMER.”
JM MILNE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664180352

JM Milne

Jon Michael Milne lives in Wisconsin as spends his time writing. A fiction writer, he has written a variety of short stories and some “sappy” poetry. After a brush with death and having an Out of Body Experience at the age of twelve, he became fascinated with the concept of Reincarnation of the human spirit. Since that childhood episode, he has had two psychic readings and three Past Life Regressions. The results of these experiences are woven into this fictional story. Jon was born in Hawaii and has travelled extensively throughout the U.S. He is a graduate of Towson University in Maryland and is a NAVY veteran. CASSADAGA – Breathers is his first full length novel. Upcoming books; CASSADAGA – Spirit Guides SNAKEMAN

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Copyright © 2021 by JM Milne.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/15/2021

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Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

FOR

PAUL D. MILNE

Brother, life’s best

friend, and the one true Monotee

Cassadaga (a Seneca Indian word meaning water beneath the rocks) is a small unincorporated community located in Volusia County, Florida, United States, just north of Deltona. It is especially known for having many psychics and mediums and has consequently been named the Psychic Capital of the World.

Prologue

R eluctant psychic Bret Wolf called it the drift, but it looked like no more than a swirling illuminated mist as seen through his eyes . . . at least at first. That all changed as his mind got used to it or, more appropriately, caught up with it. He always said his eyes because he had no clue how others—psychics, mediums, or anyone else capable of astral projection—could see it. To call it a mist just seemed too nondescript like a simple answer even though that is how it appeared from the outside. And Wolf had learned in his forty-six years to never assume that what he saw was perceived the same by others. But the drift . . . now that was something special, something magical, like stepping into a dream . . . or a dream within a dream. A dream that controlled time as well as dimensions and the inhabitants of those dimensional worlds. The drift allowed him to travel, to visit and observe, yet he was forbidden to touch or interact . . . or at least that was a rule he lived by.

Small light particles of different colors sped past forming a tunnel as he stood still. When he entered, he melted into the particles, not realizing he was just another dot of light among billions buzzing along in miles per second where a second is 1/86400th of a day. As he moved from side to side within the drift tunnel, the walls moved with him and he could feel himself speeding up. The further he ventured into the walls of the drift, the faster the particles moved, and the amount of time it took to make up a second decreased. Faster and faster the particles raced by as he progressed inward, caught in the tunnel of the drift. As an experiment, he once traveled backward in his own drift time and found the effort very taxing yet only managed to emerge a few seconds earlier from when he had entered. Yet the aftereffects on his physical body felt like the diver’s bends, decompression sickness when gas bubbles of nitrogen form in the bloodstream. Fortunately for him, his partner, the late Jim Pearl, a certified master instructor and owner of Pearl Diving Inc., was able to cram him into a decompression chamber, and he recovered. He had never again ventured back against the flow—at least until he figured out how that could affect his physical body laying stationary while he was mentally in the drift.

Wolf took a last look toward his body past the swirling racing dots and saw himself sitting in the dark on a ledge inside a cenote in east Central Florida. His arms were folded neatly across his knees and his forehead rested upon them. He looked peaceful, satisfied with his decision, and he wondered briefly if he would get back to it, ever inhabit that physical form again and feel the warmth of their love. He knew that was why spirits kept reincarnating, kept coming back to breather form to gain substance—to taste, touch another person, see those you care about, laugh at something you heard them say, and, most importantly, physically feel that deep emotion of love and all the sensations brought with it. So if his decision preserved their breather lives and those of others, then the risk was well worth his personal sacrifice.

He refocused the energy of his thoughts. To move further into the drift brought a nervous anticipation of how far he could go and, more importantly, what lay in store once he got there. And where was there? Where was the light, and what was beyond the light? He paused momentarily to consider it, and he looked further down the tunnel trying to anticipate what lay ahead.

Further into the drift, time sped up and opened new dimensions. These would be inhabited by creatures with higher or faster vibratory rates that would put them out of his range of vision as a breather in time as he knew it. Conversely, if he went the other way, past the baseline of sixty seconds to a minute, time would be slower. His logic told him that was why the creatures he encountered seemed to be sluggish. They operated in a slower time, a lower vibratory rate on their home world. Paradoxes, side by side, he told himself, dangerously quick yet not fast. But how did he know that, and what creatures had he yet to encounter? He knew which direction to move; he just did not know how he knew but melded his being with that of the drift.

More questions invaded his consciousness. Would he feel pressure against him? Would his body feel the crush of heavy weight as he experienced time slowing down like a decelerating pilot? A bright light suddenly blinded him, causing a change in the direction of the drift. He could feel himself being thrown about, changing the pattern inside the drift. Instantly, the colors all turned white, and he became disoriented while moving his head back and forth, unable to get a bearing or even a direction. He felt like he was dropping at a high rate of speed into somewhere unknown.

An unintelligible noise like an underwater cry of panic escaped his lips, adding to his feelings of bewilderment. At the end of the drift tunnel, he could see a spot of light ever changing as the tunnel revolved. Behind it, there was darkness with dots of white that appeared to be stars. On he sped toward an unknown destination in time and space, his trajectory out of his control.

Wake up, Daddy, please wake up, Bethany cried out loud while shaking his shoulders and slowly bringing him back to the present. Wake up, she pleaded again. She watched as her adoptive father suddenly opened his eyes.

Huh, Wolf said as he sat up in bed, and Bethany backed away to give him room. Where’s your mother? he asked, looking around the motel room as if seeing it for the first time and he was lost.

She went to get some coffee, Bethany replied. You were making strange choking sounds in your sleep, she added emphatically.

I’m sorry, little one, he replied, hugging the eight-year-old. I was having a really weird dream.

I know, she acknowledged, I saw it. Thinking that she was talking about him thrashing and crying out, he did not realize until months later exactly what she meant.

Let us get packed, he said. "We need to get back to Cassadaga . . . and fast."

1

"Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there," his daughter had told him. Ask any kid about what’s hiding under the bed or lurking inside the closet, watching them.

Wolf smiled as he remembered his discussion with his daughter that morning, and he knew she was right. He knew because he had seen them, had visited the spirit world, yet he could not prove it. Who could? Kids can’t prove there’re monsters under the bed, but it doesn’t make them any less real, she had emphasized. Perception is reality, he had answered back in confirmation.

Bringing himself back to current reality, Bret Wolf remembered the first thing Dr. Leagen, the little man and resident psychic medium, had asked him, Do you believe in time travel? Because that is why most people visit psychics or mediums. They want to get a look at the future, relive the past, or speak to a spirit no longer among us. He looked around as again he sat in the little man’s reading room at Dr. Leagen’s Spiritual Center in the small Central Florida community of Cassadaga, the place where his adventures had begun the year before. While the reading room had not changed, Wolf’s life had made completely turned around. He had married his spiritual soulmate Jill, adopted Bethany, and, together, they had spent a year traveling around and across the country, finally returning to settle down. The small family decided to split their residence between Jim Pearl’s old houseboat and Wolf’s newly renovated condo on the intercoastal waterway. And while Dad (an acronym for dumbass dog) did not particularly like condo living; the big rottweiler hated being away from Bethany even worse.

Wolf smiled to himself as he thought about kissing his wife this morning and then kissing again on her baby bump, now over seven months along in growing their child. He suddenly turned somber as his mind switched to that of his departed best friend Jim Pearl, whose life had been taken by the negative breather Eddie Smith. He knew he had to visit his grave and suddenly felt guilty for stopping by Cassadaga first. With thoughts still on Pearl, the door opened behind his left shoulder, and Dr. Leagen walked into the room speaking to his mobile.

Yes, yes, of course, ma’am, you can count on me . . . he said and nodded at Wolf. Yes, I am in good standing with the American Association of Parapsychologist, and, yes, I will get back to you as soon as I have something to report . . . yes, yes, good-bye now.

Wolf stood up with his hand out ready to shake the smaller man’s hand in greeting when suddenly the little man caught him off guard by wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist and hugging him. A slightly embarrassed Wolf returned the hug and lightly patted the other man’s back as men often do in greeting male friends.

Mr. Wolf, how wonderful to see you, the little man’s voice was genuine and somewhat proud. And Miss Jill and Bethany? Oh, you must tell me of all your travels, as it were.

Good, really good, replied Wolf and chastised himself for his lack of descriptive responses to the man’s honest questions. You know I’m going to be a father in a few months . . . He looked at the diminutive PhD and realized the man had not changed a bit in the year past. Still short, dumpy, and bald with fringe hair of brown and gray hair surrounding his head. And his ears still looked slightly pointed.

Yes, I knew, replied the little man. "Smokey can’t keep secrets, you know. So, tell me, what brings you back to Cassadaga? You seem a little too uptight for this to be a social visit, happy but tense . . . pensive, as it were. And I know it has been a year, but you must tell me about your experiences with them."

Wolf chuckled, and he could feel some of the tenseness leave his body. He wondered if it was the proximity to the little man, the spiritual town, or just the anticipation of talking about it. Not lost was the little man’s reference to them, meaning the spirits or spirit forms he had encountered the previous year.

I’m afraid that I’ve kind of forgotten things over the past year of traveling—I mean literally traveling, he clarified, driving. Although I have tried to remember details, it has been a strain. I mean, my thoughts have been elusive as if there are forces working from behind or beyond to keep everything secret, trying to . . . lets’ just say, block the experience.

Yes, that is interesting, replied the little man, yet you remember that entire episode from your youth that almost cost you your life.

Yes, the rest of my memories are still intact—Wolf paused and rubbed his chin with his right hand and then continued mid-rub—if not somewhat enhanced. I mean, I seem to have better recall now than I had before. And even my dreams tend to be more augmented.

Interesting, mused the little man. Do you care to relate some of those memories or even a dream? Perhaps that would be just as telling, as it were.

The first one that comes to mind is the dream I had that became the turning point in our travels, the one that made us pack up and come home. Wolf paused and looked slightly embarrassed before continuing. That and Jill being uncomfortable . . . you know, with her pregnancy.

I had assumed that was a contributing factor.

Yes, and the main factor, but, anyway, in my dream, I found myself trying to get into a swirling mass of bright points of light. Until Bethany woke me. And I do not know if it was just a dream or a warning since I could not tell if I was asleep or having an awake regression or precognition. In other words, Doc, I couldn’t control the dream.

Interesting, please continue, the little man coaxed while rubbing his chin.

I sometimes wonder if that is where beliefs in the afterlife got their start . . . a silent memory, like a part of a thought, a glimmer somewhat like a glance behind you. Maybe people had partial memories of something else and tried to recreate it with their rituals. I do not know, just a thought. A lot like catching movement in a mirror and thinking something is there when it really isn’t.

Still the reluctant psychic, I see. Perhaps you were not regressing but seeing the future in your current breather form, but you still have not told me the dream, only the nature of it.

Well, Dr. Leagen, I think the best way to describe it is to say that something or rather somebody was trying to harvest my soul. The little man got up from his chair and began to pace the room.

That is very disturbing, he said through tight lips. Only man harvests another’s soul. He stopped his pacing and looked at Wolf before continuing. You know, of course, that if one knowing takes a life, then he owns that life. Which is why spirits haunt the domains where they were murdered, and so on, as it were. But, of course, you knew that.

Yes, but I had the feeling that this was more of a threat than a message, Wolf responded, like ‘We are here, and we want you to know we can harm you at any time.’ Or something to that effect.

Oh, there is no doubt it was a warning. Throughout history, those with the third eye received and heeded those nocturnal visions, the little man said, sitting back down, and, of course, we don’t know about those who didn’t now, do we? he added as a statement. And, like you, little Bethany has the third eye, and you know it as well as I do. You must encourage it and not repress it, or she will lose it, and that is when your fears will be realized.

You mean they may take her?

Of course, the little man replied, she won’t be able to see them or to protect herself. Her abilities must be grown, allowed to flourish, not forbidden, or they will slowly deteriorate and disappear.

Yes, I suppose so, replied Wolf. I just worry about how accepting her mother will be to the idea. But I do know those warnings, like everything else, kind of dull over time, like that of the angel, said Wolf thoughtfully, almost like thinking out loud.

The angel? The little man sat up a bit straighter, eyes forward with one eyebrow arching, searching the other man’s face for meaning.

Yeah, when I survived my bout with pneumonia back when I was twelve, Wolf replied, not to change the subject of the warning dream.

Oh, of course, replied the little man, but I believe you failed to mention an angel when you recited the story initially . . . He sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and watched the man Wolf squirm a little before continuing. I don’t mean to change the subject . . .

Yeah, I’m sure I did some editing during the telling. I mean, I must have thought it was irrelevant to the outcome, and possibly in the interest of time. Now, I’m not so sure.

Why did you leave it out? Not macho enough, not manly, as it were? The little man’s probe was not meant as a slight but meaning that was not a reason to leave something out that could hold importance. If this man experienced a spiritual visit, one that he witnessed, it would be of great importance no matter an angel or a demon.

Wolf looked down at his hands, suddenly interested in his fingernails while thinking up an answer. I suppose that could have had something to do with it.

And what was the gender of your angel? the little man pressed.

I was sure she was a female, replied Wolf. But she was only this big. He held up his hand with thumb and forefinger only two inches apart. She appeared right after my out-of-body experience when I was deathly ill. I woke up in the morning and looked out the window beside my bed and could see her. She was sitting out there on a limb in the shrubs right outside, and it seemed she was kind of sheltered. It was the dead of winter, so there were not any leaves, but the limbs of that bush were thick. Now that I think about it, I can still see her tiny wings folded behind her but the tips kind of blowing with the wind. I also remember wondering at the time how she didn’t freeze since it was cold, and she had practically no protection.

Interesting. Did she have any interaction with you at all?

No, just every time I looked out, she would raise her head and look back at me. Like I would turn my head real fast, and she would be looking straight down and then suddenly realize I was looking at her and she would look up at me. She did not move anything else. She just sat there on that branch. But she did not sit facing me, you know, with her feet hanging down like on a swing. She sat along the length of the branch with her feet on it and her knees tucked up beneath her chin, as if she were hugging them. I just figured that was how she was keeping warm. Oh, and her back was leaning against a vertical limb. Then, a couple of days after the doctor’s visit and when my fever broke, I looked out and she was gone.

And what did you surmise? Dr. Leagen asked, now looking over the tops of his half glasses.

That I dreamed her up, so she wasn’t real. She was something for my mind to hang on to . . . like hope or faith perhaps, but I don’t know.

Or a messenger . . ., added the little man. Have you seen her since—I mean in any of your escapades where you were in some danger or, shall we say, life-threatening situations? he questioned.

No, never saw her again, replied Wolf quietly as if embarrassed for sharing such a long-held secret.

The little man was silent for ten seconds before responding, I will bet she has seen you, as it were. In fact, I am quite sure she has been keeping a close watch on your activities, perhaps lending assistance where needed here and there without detection.

Well, I wouldn’t know about that since it would have been without detection, right? Reminds me of the airport announcements that ask if anyone put anything in your luggage without your knowledge. Well, if it was without your knowledge, then how would you know if someone put something in there? Wolf smiled at his own analysis.

Yes, I see your point, agreed the little man. Changing the subject back to his initial question, he asked, So tell me about the spirits or the mentors, please, at least what you can remember.

Wolf looked out the window located behind the little man, wondering how to explain what he had witnessed before concluding he could not. Spheres of light or globes of energy doesn’t begin to explain them, he began, more like clouds of charged smoke. They could join, meld, or blend, so there was no distinction where one ended and another began. It was as if when they joined, their essence, or sphere of being, just got larger. And one more thing—they could and did differentiate themselves from positives and negatives as related to energies.

And you have a problem with that? the little man asked emphatically.

Yes, kind of, so just please hear me out? Wolf asked almost pleadingly. I’m a believer in balance, Dr. Leagen . . . the yin and the yang, equal distribution of weight, the balance of the seven chakras. For every action, there is an equal reaction and all that. So I have trouble believing in our spirits being all positive energies and all the ‘Eddie Smiths’ of the world being 100 percent negative energy. Yet when I was behind the veil, all I saw was positive energy, and the negative energy was shown to be an enemy in the form of Smith.

Interesting observation, Mr. Wolf. Perhaps that is where the sacred term ‘you must be born again to enter heaven’ came from. You must be pure . . . be clean or rid of evil or at least forgiven, in thoughts and deeds, ergo, negative energy.

Perhaps, agreed Wolf, but I think it’s more than that. I think all but a few, a very few, have some negativity mixed in with the positive energy that makes up their spirit. That is how there is room to grow, and spirits or souls must grow or at least can return to breather form to achieve that growth, to reach that lofty goal of pure positive energy. Then and only then can their spirit ascend to the next level or dimension, which, I believe, is the equivalent to enter heaven.

Interesting philosophy, Mr. Wolf, and I am in no position to dispute it, and there probably is no one on earth or, should I say, anyone in breather form. Although many would try because breathers will argue anything regardless of knowledge of the subject. But in a nutshell, you are saying we are all a mixture of positive and negative energies, as it were.

Absolutely, and sometimes in our history and probably even now, that negative energy has to be tapped into for survival purpose whether it was killing for food or for defense of ourselves or our loved ones.

Then how do you explain the Eddies of this world, the so-called black energy? the little man countered for the sake of argument.

Probably not 100 percent negative, but certainly it had to be in most of his energy makeup . . . at least to where it was the controlling entity. And then perhaps that negative energy was picked up here as a breather. Traumatic childhood experiences—for example, abuse, witness to abuse, both mental and physical. There is a whole myriad of negative influences out there still . . . existing in our everyday ‘breather’ world. Hell, our prisons are full of examples. Just throwing it out there, Doc.

Perhaps one of us could maybe go behind the screen and converse with a spirit guide . . .

Wolf left the suggestion hanging as they both knew it was a request, but one he was hesitant to fulfill. He decided a little misdirection was in order, a move the little man often employed when he tired of a particular subject. But he had spent a year without using any of his psychic abilities and traveled to where people had no idea who he was, unlike east Central Florida. So he was still somewhat hesitant to reawaken his gifts, if that was indeed what they were, and what the little man desired.

So, tell me, Mr. Wolf, have you traveled while traveling within the past year? The little man chuckled at his little joke, a nasal sound, almost like wheezing. I mean, of course, your ability to astral project.

Haven’t traveled, haven’t foreseen anything or had to use any psychic abilities in any way. You know, I sometimes think that was a one-shot gift. Maybe it was a time of a syzygy or something as equally out of the norm.

Yes, perhaps the sun and planets were in alignment, but I think not. What I am wondering is if you have had any psychic episodes or experiences . . . anything you cannot explain, as it were? asked the little man.

Wolf knew he would press the issue. The little man was not one to watch someone squirm and leave the subject; he merely reworded the question. No . . . not really, Wolf answered him, just a reoccurring thought, like it never goes away. And then, if I am not focusing, it slips back in like in the form of a dream. It was something that happened on the trail while I was searching for Bethany last year.

Please elucidate, the little man pushed.

I don’t think it’s anything, but, OK . . . It happened when I was crossing a small stream. I say crossing, but I was really attempting to jump over it, and when I did, an alligator grabbed my foot when I was airborne. I mean, it was weird . . . For a while, I didn’t think I was going to make it.

I can see where that would be problematic, added the little man empathetically but growing impatient.

I suppose, but I get the feeling that there was something else, something I’m missing. I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing. Wolf looked resigned to his fate, whatever that would be.

Maybe yes and maybe no, added the little man, but have you reviewed the entire story? I do really wish you had taken the time to debrief with me after your . . . quest, as it were.

Yeah, well, we had to get away from the area. The press was hounding us, Bethany could not go to school with her trauma, and her teacher, Mrs. Dryden, was not very much help either. Then there was Dad. He was completely lost and still in mourning after losing Pearl. Getting away was the absolute best thing we could have done for us as a family. A year well spent, finished Wolf while gazing out of the window located behind the little man’s chair.

And did you have these thoughts while you were vacationing?

Not at all, replied Wolf, his eyes returning to the little man. They started the day we returned and went to the houseboat. No problem at the condo, but when we went to the boat to put all the gear in order and get the cruiser out of storage . . . well, that’s when they started, Wolf said while reaching for a bottle of water sitting on the card table in front of him.

And how often do you get those thoughts or feelings?

Wolf swallowed before answering. That’s just it, they never quite go away. You know it’s like the tree game.

The tree game . . . why, I haven’t thought about that in a long time. You tell someone that whatever you do, do not think about a tree. Do not think about the green leaves on the tree or the branches of that tree. Do not think about the dark-colored bark of the tree trunk. Remember, no tree. The little man giggled. Then ask what they are thinking about, and if they’re truthful, they will admit it is a tree, and he giggled again. Good analogy, though.

Yeah, because no matter how much I try, I can’t stop thinking about that particular incident. So do you think it may be the fates? Or perhaps Pearl? I mean, whatever or whoever, they are trying to tell me something.

And maybe it isn’t. Perhaps it is the backup player, the little man said simply.

Yeah, I’m familiar with your backup player theory.

Sounds like that’s what it is, replied the little man.

Do you really think so? You think my ‘faculties’ are trying to tell me something?

"As I have said before, the backup player must be ready to play even if he never gets into the game. I think your gifts are exercising themselves, dusting off their uniforms, or banging the rust off their metaphorical cleats. But they’re getting themselves ready for whatever comes next."

"Next? Are you saying you think there is another major event coming in my life?"

Indeed, Mr. Wolf. I do not think the fates, or the spirit guides for that matter, are finished with you yet—or the breather you, that is. I think what you are having in that, shall we say, awake dream is a premonition of future events. I believe the spirit guides are doing some last-minute housekeeping using the breather Bret Wolf as their warrior. Now that they know that you know, they are there, as it were.

I think you mean as their janitor since, as I’ve told you before, I’m no warrior. I was a helicopter pilot. Seventy-five percent search and rescue, but I did some insertion and extraction missions as well. But certainly not what you’d call a combatant. Wolf was almost pleading now, hands out, palms up.

I understand your point completely, but you wore the uniform, had the training, so, therefore, what would be classified a modern-day warrior. You learned how to think on your feet. Further, you developed your powers to a high level while on your quest to find little Bethany, and I do not think that went unnoticed by the fates . . . or the guides by any means. I honestly believe they are catching up, balancing the books, so to speak.

OK, wait a minute now, hold on, Wolf countered with furrowed brows. So, say that was a premonition of some future event, I still don’t understand the ‘why me’ aspect of it or even what I’m supposed to do, let alone what the entire sequence means.

Mr. Wolf, how many people have you met with the kind of gifts you possess? Take your time, I will wait. That is right, none. Not even Smokey, as talented and gifted as he is, cannot cross over, cannot go behind the veil or duck under it, as it were. In other words, he cannot go to the light, let alone walk around in that world, communicate with those no longer breathing, even communicate with the guides, masters or teachers, whichever title you prefer . . . shall I go on? I mean, most mediums can’t even do that, and I know some really exceptional ones!

But I don’t even know if I can still do that. There’s a chance that was a one-shot deal just like I said . . . just to help eliminate a negative energy being, Wolf argued, and to balance things out with Jill and myself.

And you think he was the only one . . . ? The little man stared Wolf straight in the eyes, one eyebrow raised, letting the question hang.

Stop using logic and common sense, Wolf said, smiling, the tension instantly gone.

You’re the one who talks about the balance, the little man pointed out, positives and negatives.

What you’re basically saying is ‘why not you’ being me.

Shrugging off the statement, the little man returned the smile and pressed on but in a different direction. You said there was more than one vivid dream?

Yes, the following night, I think it was, so I’ll relay it as I remember it. I dreamed that we, the family, were at the beach when suddenly Bethany says . . . Wolf was instantly back in his dream.

Daddy, look, a fin! Is it a shark?

No, I don’t think so, Bethany. It looks more of a dolphin’s dorsal fin, and, look, no tail fin. But it’s big, so it must be a pretty large dolphin.

Is it our friend? The big gray one? she asked.

And that’s when Dad started barking, so I knew it was the large spotted dolphin we had met the previous year. Wolf continued. The large dolphin made a leap into the air, which appeared to be in slow motion, like the first time when he sailed over the bow of Pearl’s boat. He looked me in the eye again, as if he were looking through me . . . again. And I felt his presence, I felt his spirit in mine, and for a split second that seemed like an hour, we were the same being.

And what did you think he wanted? Was it for entertainment . . . or was it a signal to you?

"You sound like Jim Pearl and his dolphin theory of ‘let us mess with the humans.’ Not exactly as colorful as Pearl would have said it, but the meaning is the same. No, I think it was a message, as if he were telling me that we have some unfinished business."

The little man looked at Wolf a few seconds before saying, Wait here, I still have it, and got up from his chair and left the room.

Wolf took this lull in the conversation to stretch his legs out beneath the table. Unsatisfied, he scooted his chair back, stood up, and arched his back before coming to his full height of six feet. The small card table in the little man’s reading room coupled with the folding chairs had begun to feel confining. But he guessed it was perfect for Dr. Leagen, whom he imagined was five feet one at the most and weighed in at a good buck eighty or better. Wolf himself weighed 205 pounds, an extra ten added from the previous year in which he assigned to falling in love with Jill, and not in a negative way. It was common knowledge that men gain weight when they meet someone, fall in love, and settle down. It was as if their body says, Finally, and exhales. Yet he still maintained a flat stomach and athletic build; it just had less definition, and it took a lot more work. His dark hair was shorter now too, no longer shoulder length and almost back to his military cut. Almost. But his piercing blue eyes were as sharp as ever and in rich contrast to the darkness of his hair and short growth of beard on his narrow chin.

The little man returned and unceremoniously, almost clumsily, set the artifact on the table between them. Sorry, the little man said, it’s a bit heavier than I remembered.

Wolf picked it up off the table and remarked, It does seem a bit heavier. But it must be my imagination . . . no way it could have picked up any weight. If anything, I would think it would be lighter since it dried out—I mean not much but lighter. Did you shine it up?

Yes, I did, just couldn’t help myself. It was like every time I picked it up, I just absentmindedly started shining and polishing it. For some reason, it calmed me. I can’t explain it. The little man was suddenly out of words, a phenomenon that did not happen very often.

Wolf looked at the artifact lying on the table and remembered the large dolphin dropping it into Pearl’s boat. Maybe it was forged in the bowels of Mordor, Wolf teased. OK, sorry, but, seriously, I think this thing is solid gold, and, therefore, I might add, extremely valuable. I think we should take precautions from now on just to be on the safe side. I mean, who knows whom Dr. Howard or . . . his wife contacted or consulted about this . . . if anyone since it has been almost a year? I mean, I really don’t like introducing paranoia into the mix, but maybe it should be considered.

I agree totally, the little man said, shaking his head up and down, but you’re right, it has been a year. So, if anyone wanted it, I would think they would have made their move before now. It hasn’t exactly been locked up and guarded or anything such thing.

Or they, started Wolf thoughtfully while rubbing his chin with his right hand, "whoever they are, could be waiting to see what we do with it or where it takes us, and with that knowledge, the monetary value of the gold would be secondary."

Perhaps, the little man said thoughtfully, if such a whoever was organized and well-funded, as it were.

Just throwing it out there, as Pearl would say, answered Wolf, "the gold, they could