The Paradox

By Johanna Kristin Ellerup

"Meanwhile, the protagonists’ individual stories enthrall, as Billie displays an ability to see others’ auras and David stumbles into a romance. More than half of the novel leads up to the moment that joins these two. But tension rises in the final act, which returns to the story’s beginning and entails an evil potentially aimed at Billie and David." — Kirkus Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Johanna Kristin Ellerup
• Release date: May 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005164218

Johanna Kristin Ellerup

Johanna Kristin Ellerup is a Doctor of Pharmacy who lives in a quiet suburb in NY with her senior father and assorted and numerous beloved pets.

Book preview

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Apart from obvious references to public figures and/or events, the names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to people living or dead are purely coincidental.

2022

Johanna Kristin Ellerup

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, nor in any language without the express written permission of the author.

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my parents,

Johanna Kristin Sigurjonsdottir Ellerup

and

Frode Kristinn Ellerup,

family and friends.

It is also dedicated to all those,

regardless of religious or spiritual background,

who continue to have faith.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter_One

Chapter_Two

Chapter_Three

Chapter_Four

Chapter_Five

Chapter_Six

Chapter_Seven

Chapter_Eight

Chapter_Nine

Chapter_Ten

Chapter_Eleven

Chapter_Twelve

Chapter_Thirteen

Chapter_Fourteen

Chapter_Fifteen

Chapter_Sixteen

Chapter_Seventeen

Chapter_Eighteen

Chapter_Nineteen

Chapter_Twenty

Chapter_Twenty_One

Chapter_Twenty_Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter One

AND SO IT BEGINS…

The sound of the fifth trumpet echoed throughout the sky landing on human ears like a slight buzzing or ringing. Social media outlets reported an uptick in tinnitus among it’s varied members as thousands of people sought homemade remedies for symptoms doctors couldn’t detect. The students at this particular University campus were not affected …directly.

Why do I even bother trying? the professor berated himself, as he brutally shoved the multitude of term papers into his comfortably worn shoulder bag. The auditorium, filled to capacity minutes before, gratefully escorted the remaining fragments of students to the great outdoors.

They think they know so much more than everyone else, he hissed. He mentally recalled each face, each mouth as, during the lecture, they repeatedly interrupted each scientifically proven theory and each carefully constructed and explained experiment. With meticulous brutality, the faces probed, questioned, and accused until he heard himself make mistakes, contradict himself, and finally, lastly, blatantly lie.

Alone in the auditorium, he simmered and seethed in his anger; nourished it with vengeful visions; stroked and caressed it with foul words and gestures.

As an elemental being, existing beyond the scope of human detection, I am the only thing in the auditorium that could see the mist.

I felt it. It swirled.

Swirled around his head and feet simultaneously, rhythmically and, quite literally, passionately. Every inhale dragged it deeply into his lungs, where it caught briefly before filling the entirety of his being.

There was no way that it could be so complete in form and function.

So perfect in its evil. So pure in its ability to corrupt and destroy.

This is only possible if it’s sent from heaven itself.

*********

The lawyer stood at the corner bus stop as she did countless times before. The hearing for her court case was uptown, and the ride was a quick and painless one. However, this one bus ride would be different, so very different. As the bus pulled up to the curb and she assumed her position on the sidewalk, her mental state was focused and clear. She took a deep breath, pushed back her shoulders and straightened her spine as if to project a confidence she desperately needed. She must defend her client, her personal opinions irrelevant here, and she’ll do it, ruthlessly if need be. As she stepped onto the awaiting bus, an icy cold gust of wind caught the nape of her neck and back temporarily pushing her off balance. This is, of course, a literal metaphor. Viewed from the outside, her posture visibly changed as she walked toward the back of the bus. Her steps became slow and deliberate. The swirling grey mist undulated around her as if breathing in time with her form; she inhaled it and exhaled her. She sat at the back of the bus and looked glassy-eyed out the window as if her entire life had been vacated from existence.

For all practical purposes, it had.

As will everything else.

*********

Margarette’s grandson lay cradled in the arms of her sleeping husband, and the two lay enveloped in the ancient porch chair. Seated across from them, she put her book on her lap and placed an old and worn hand upon it. Gently tapping the book cover with her fingertips, she allowed warm visions and memories to fill her mind. That chilly spring day when she and her husband first met. The rainy summer day when they met again after the war. The first time she knew he loved her. Each memory held together a lifetime. Her hand carelessly caressed the smooth book cover as more memories filled her thoughts, and the light wind played lazily over her face. Soon her breath slowed as deep sleep etched itself onto her face.

As I look up from those three on the porch and cast my gaze out over the green expanse, I see it. The translucent orbs that advance en masse towards them appearing as a grey mist. The same entities the old woman Miriam had previously warned me about are stretching their way toward the porch. Margarette’s happy memories filled with love and strength must have drawn them to her. I stand, for want of a better term, alone as the mist quickly draws near.

I watch as her grandson stirred.

First, he looked to his grandfather. Satisfied that he is sound asleep, the small boy adeptly slid off the old man’s lap and walked toward his grandmother. He placed his head quietly over her sleeping face, his eyes within inches of her mouth. Then, his face contorted to an expression unlike anything I’d ever seen; an unnatural twisting of features as to make him unrecognizable as human. He rose, content with himself and coming events, and turned towards the porch steps. He stood on the topmost step, lifted both arms outward to shoulder height and waited for the mist to arrive.

*********

Even though Indyra woke on time, there was always so much to do before she went to work that every minute carried more weight than it should. Her son’s lunch, prepared the evening before, lay ignored on the kitchen counter as she alerted him yet again of the time. Her eldest daughter, although awake, had not yet appeared and, if the past were any indicator, she wouldn’t until her mother was hoarse from screaming. Every morning was the same. If only she could leave on time for once, she would avoid most of the traffic and not arrive at her desk frazzled, she thought to herself. Yet, this morning would be very different.

As I watched the mist slowly slide in through the doors, windows, and ceilings, the family moaned and complained as they did every morning. It seeped its way over the furniture and fixtures as the family finally gathered together and loudly left. Within minutes, the mist covered everything in the house like an invisible festering mold, awaiting the family’s return and completely unseen by the human eye.

Of course, I saw it, but I could do nothing about it.

Or so I thought.

*********

Rock music blared from the SUV’s radio as the passengers danced wildly in their seats. The driver took a large gulp of the alcohol from its soda bottle disguise, then sang or rather screamed a distorted version of the song while driving much too fast. It always amazed me, in my human form, that teenagers were capable of multitasking at times like this but not while doing chores.

Apparently, it amazed me in this form as well.

The car gyrated in forward motion echoing the chaos within as it approached the still mist that hung suspended like a curtain over the roadway ahead. No occupant saw it as they continued in their excess. Usually, passing through a light white mist is akin to driving through a cloud where the visibility ends at some point external to you. This mist was a multilayered membrane where, from my planar advantage, I saw grey orbs, translucent and grey whirlpools, quivering open circles and lines, elements that snaked through the membrane many times, and particles joined to form larger elements that folded onto itself as I was squeezed and stretched throughout all in an instant. This dynamic membranous cloud didn’t evaporate as we drove through, as a typical mist would. It remained unchanged as we physically traveled through it.

Once on the other side, the SUV continued until it didn’t.

For the occupants, nothing would ever be the same again.

Chapter Two

ENTER THE SOULLESS ONE

The fifth trumpet was followed by a governmental report of a large coronal mass ejection to hit the earth within 10 minutes with a G2 geomagnetic K-index of 6. Some drag, and possibilities of aurora sightings down to Idaho is the sum total of the public warning. This warning quickly disappears into all the other geological alerts.

A young woman’s body lay still on the pavement as more and more people gathered around the scene and I undulated between them. Several feet separated her dead body from the living, her open sightless eyes from their vision, her beat-less heart from their fluttering ones. After calling 911, the driver of the car that hit her and some passersby maintained their distance in abject horror and shock. Blood from the victim’s cracked occipital lobe threaded its way through the jagged pavement forming a coagulating circle under her head. Some bystanders held their families closer, some gave the sign of the cross and others knelt in silent prayer for the voiceless victim splayed on the ground before them. Voices could be heard shouting from the crowd when the sirens neared as the victim’s bladder released its last.

The police and emergency team, with a defibrillator, balloon mask, and gear in hand, cleared the short path through the crowd with proficiency and skill, as did the mist.

The mist had insidiously slithered between, and enclosed itself around, each shocked spectator like a boa ensnaring its prey. Once trapped, I felt the person’s soul shift, like a grand object slowly grinding to a halt, pause for a moment eternal, only to gradually reform in the opposite direction. I also felt something else. A heaviness that quelled my vibrations as if requiring much more energy than I could amass. The heaviness oozed through the mist as if aimed at a particular object. That object was…

My attention was drawn to a small disagreement that started amongst two of the spectators. Within seconds, little arguments scattered throughout the crowd and lured in other passersby. As the emergency team neared the dead victim, two police officers attempted to simultaneously subdue and disperse the suddenly inciteful crowd.

I drew myself towards the self-directed devastating heaviness and instantly realized its target. I watched in bewildered awe as one emergency responder approached the victim, and the other walked to the victim’s opposite side. They looked at each other dismally for the briefest of moments as the mist now swirled around them all. The first responder knelt to initiate a check of the victim’s vitals when, as I approached, the heaviness slid underneath the victim.

As the fervor and commotion increased around the scene, the responder lifted the victim’s left arm to check for a radial pulse as he moved to place two fingers on the jugular. Suddenly, the victim’s hand grasped the responder’s forearm. The responder stared at the victim’s lifeless body as the horror of awareness overcame him. His partner stuttered questions as she moved closer to the body and the heaviness engulfed the lifeless form completely. The dead victim’s body pulled itself up, hair matted with freshly streaming blood, and turned it’s formerly sightless eyes to the kneeling responder.

The responder’s face registered pure terror as all comprehension exited his being. His partner continued to stutter, as she too dropped to her knees to begin the assessment. Her mutterings were incoherent and deafened by the various fights that broke out in the crowd. As the police called for back-up, punches were thrown, and the shattering of glass and breaking of bones could be heard amidst the hatred and cursing.

The lifeless victim straighten itself to a standing position, using the shoulders of the two responders for leverage. The second responder continued to mutter incoherently and interacted with the vacant spot where the victim had laid as if still there. The first responder was pulled to a standing position by the lifeless victim, using his arm to stabilize herself as she surveyed the warring crowd.

As I hovered within inches of the responder’s face, I watched as the victim’s lifeless face turned and drew to within inches of his. Her soulless eyes, the swirling depths, and tumult of which I could never fathom, focused on his as she placed one hand on each of his cheeks. With breath fouler than a mere mortal can bear, she whispered from a throat with no voice, It is begun.

images/image-1.png

Chapter Three

ROLL THE TAPE BACK DECADES

Miriam - The Old Woman

Miriam typed the last word of the op-ed piece for the Times, saved it to the floppy disc in her brand-new Commodore 64 and printed out a copy to mail. She had become quite adept at using her PC’s word processor at the expense of her old trusted Brother typewriter, which sat temptingly on the other end of the desk. She felt empowered at the sight of both as if their dual presence heralded a certain level of literary achievement.

There was still time before her husband would return and she had one more pressing thing to do. She arose and sat in the comfortable old chair across from her desk adjusting herself just so. But there was something out of place. She pulled the footstool from the side of the chair and placed her feet upon it