Law of the Call

By Orville Burch

John Wilson never connected with his family, or any kids in his class. He felt like he was an alien abandoned on a strange planet. When he was most troubled he would imagine being able to travel into the star field to search for his real parents.

 

When the star field called back, John allowed himself to project into a magical world. Where he could go anywhere he could imagine.

 

In the star field he met travelers, like himself, who taught him how to kill.

 

With just an invisible touch, he could kill anyone, anywhere, at anytime.

 

After killing his parents. John confesses, but no one can believe it is possible. He is taken to a mental hospital. From there he can astral project and kill those who have wronged him.

 

While most detectives seek answers beyond the fantasical tales that John spins, one dectective fears he might be telling the truth.

 

Determined to stop him, the dectective must find his own way to the star field.

 

Law of the Call is a psychological thriller that will take you around the world and to the stars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orville Burch
• Release date: Aug 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201882884

Orville Burch

Orville Burch has dedicated his entire life to peeling back the curtains on the windows of the unknown. Growing up on a rural farm surrounded by forests and streams prepared him for a career in natural science. He earned a PhD in biology, while exploring the natural relationships of community structure. With roots in the tri-racial Melungeon people of the Appalachians, his interests in their life lead him to study with Native American elders and to travel and interact with several African-tribes. This resulted in the development of Warrior-Theme self-help based on ancient wisdom applied to the modern times: I Warrior. His interest in the unknown took him on adventures hunting cryptids, ghosts, and UFOs. He now writes paranormal fiction. He is the author of twenty-five peer-reviewed scientific articles, paranormal fiction, and self-help nonfiction. He currently lives in Pennsylvania where he writes, researches, and investigates the paranormal.

Book preview

Chapter 1.

1996

John often thought running away from home would solve all of his problems. But when you live in the middle of a desert, it is not as easy as it sounds. Nothing was easy. He was trapped. For him, running away had to be imagined. He was good at dreaming and imagining. Better than anyone else that he knew. His father yelled at him for wasting his time. Daydreaming was what his father called it, but it was more than that, more than John could explain. He knew of daydreams; they were meaningless little diversions that he used when he was bored. Running away in his mind was different.

He closed his eyes and his world transformed. It didn’t change into some magical realm with dragons and castles; it transformed from the dusty desert to anyplace he could imagine. Some nights, he would travel the world, visiting exotic places that he thought only existed in old issues of National Geographic. It was more than just imagining these places, he actually visited them. He walked unseen among the people, listened to their conversations, and smelled the flavors of the world.

His body was still in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He was still in his bedroom in the small adobe home that he shared with his parents and two sisters. He was still surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a noisy family life. His mom was busy in the kitchen making diner. His sisters were in their room arguing over some trivial issue. He was still there, but he was also anywhere else he wanted to be. Today, that place was the small Lake Erie community of Huron, Ohio.

Normally when he wandered, he just roamed the deserts around his house. Sometimes, a force pulled on his energy. The pulling frightened him, as if someone was trying to take him into the unknown. When he felt the pull, he would hurry home. The pulsing in his head and the tug on his energy seemed to grow stronger each time he roamed. Often he wondered what would happen if he just flowed. Fear usually triumphed over curiosity.

He watched himself. He saw the thin silver line that arose from his body and stretch beyond sight. He had no idea what that line was called, but he knew that it connected him. It was like a phone line that sent signals out all over the world. He checked on his mom. She was still making dinner, so he had time.

He forced himself to relax, to just float. Floating above his body, above his house, was freedom. He would pretend like he was an eagle, not a care in the world. He felt the vibration in his body. He checked that the silver cord was attached and decided to go with the pull. The desert around his house vanished. He was no longer in New Mexico. Before him stretched Lake Erie. The gulls screamed as they fought over scraps of fish stranded on the sand. This was a beautiful place. He didn’t ever want to leave, but his sister was banging on his bedroom door, calling him to set the table. He allowed his energy to flow back, but before he left the lake, he saw a man walking on the beach. Nothing unusual, except this time the man waved to him. That scared John more than he ever had been scared. It scared him more than the pull. He hurried home.

In all other ways, John Wilson tried to be a normal twelve-year-old boy. He tried to be normal because his parents wanted him to be. His mom cried when he wasn’t normal, his father yelled. Sometimes, his father would do more than yell. But even worse than the yelling, or the beatings, was the look. Sometimes his dad would just look at him with a hollow sadness and disappointment. John hated that silent stare. He never knew how to handle it.

As he placed the table cloth on the kitchen table, he watched his mom. She was humming a familiar tune, swaying to the music in her head. He knew he should say nothing. Just lie low. But the image of Lake Erie and the man on the beach haunted him. More happened than he could recall. Something significant, he was sure, just not sure of what.

Mom, you ever been to Lake Erie?

Lake Erie? One of the Great Lakes? That’s so far away. Did you learn about that in school?

No... Maybe. Probably. I guess. I don’t know for sure.

Maybe we can take a trip there someday.

She always said stuff like that, but they never went anywhere.

When?

I don’t know. Would be really expensive. Maybe next year.

She always said that too, John wondered when that magical ‘next year’ would ever be.

That’s okay. John knew he should say nothing more, but the words started pouring. I was there. I...

You were where? his mother asked absently.

Lake Erie. A man waved to me. I think he wanted to talk with me.

John, please for the love of God. Stop, his mother begged.

But, Mom, I just wanted to share with you. I don’t know how I know, but his name is Henry. Henry Ball.

That’s enough! You know we have talked about this fantasy world of yours. Talked way too many times for my liking. It’s time you grow up.

But Mom, he wanted to talk with me. I think he wants___

John Wilson! She screamed. Stop that nonsense right this second. You have never been out of New Mexico. How could you have been to Lake Erie?

Nina Wilson regretted asking that question as soon as the words left her lips. She was warned not to indulge his fantasies.

I was there. I was there just like all the other times.

Nina threw her hands up in the air and turned to face him. Her eyes burned with a fury. He had seen it before and knew that he was in trouble. But no amount of beatings would stop his visions. They never did.

Go to your room. Not another word, Nina commanded.

The table... John started to say, but his mom screamed at him.

Go!

John sulked off to his room. But he could not get the image of the man out of his mind.

Nina heard the door to John’s room slam shut. She sat at the kitchen table and started to cry. Why did John have to be like that? Her daughters were normal and never gave her a second of trouble. But with John, she was at the end of her rope. She peeled carrots for the dinner salad and cried. Big tears flowed down her cheek and her body wracked in sobs.

John stretched out on his bed with his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes and watched as two detectives approached Henry’s body. He remembered what had happened once Henry Ball spoke to him. It all flooded back to him as he watched the detectives. He saw everything. Heard the waves push and pull sand along the beach. He saw gulls flying low over the body. He smelled the dead and decaying fish. He listened carefully and could make out that the detective in charge was Samuel Owen and the other detective was Carl Grogan. Owen and Grogan. Friends or foes? He committed the names to memory.

The body on the beach was a mystery. The call to the police came from an old man who was walking his Labrador dog along the beach. At first, he thought that he had stumbled upon a man sleeping. As he got closer, he could make out that this was not a usual sunbather. The man had on a dark navy blue suit. Under the suit he wore a white shirt with a button-down collar and a navy blue and red stripe necktie. His shoes were black wing-tips, with a fresh high gloss polish. He was on his back. His open eyes stared off into the sky.

There’re no tracks around the body, Detective Owen observed.

No sign of a struggle either, Grogan added.

How old you thinking?

Fifty or so, Grogan said. Not sure why, but he looks foreign.

I was thinking along that line as well.

Maybe a stow-away who jumped ship?

Yeah in a new suit and polished shoes?

Just spit-balling, Grogan replied.

The two detectives stood a few feet back from the body and carefully scanned the area for clues. They knew to wait for the medical examiner, but they were impatient. Finally, all the pictures were taken and the initial examination of the body was completed.

Dr. Monroe slowly shook his head as he walked up to Detective Owen. This beats the hell out of me. I never saw anything like this.

You know what caused his death... I mean was it natural? Owen asked.

Won’t know that until after the autopsy. I can tell you the cause of death is not obvious. There’s no blood or any wounds that I could see.

You have any idea of how long he was dead? Grogan asked.

Could not have been too long. Less than an hour. For all the world it looked like he just sat down on the beach and died in his sleep.

Maybe that’s all that happened, Grogan offered. It was wishful thinking.

Where are his foot prints? Dr. Monroe said. There should have been obvious prints, he was above the water line. The prints would have lasted a long time. It was as if he was just lowered in place.

They watched as his body was carried off the beach. The beach was now littered with prints. If the mystery man had walked there less than an hour ago, there would have been prints.

You think he could have fallen from a plane? Grogan asked.

Or have been pushed, Owen suggested.

I don’t think so. I’ve seen a few bodies that have fallen. Most from only minor heights. None were in such a pristine shape. I’ll know more after the autopsy, but I’d be surprised if the man fell even from the small maple tree that shaded him.

I guess it’s too much to hope that he had identification, Owen asked.

Yeah or a suicide note, Grogan suggested.

He had some money in his left pocket. The money adds more to the mystery. Two were American dollars, and one was an Egyptian note worth a thousand-pounds. He also had a small coil of paper in his right pocket. That was all.

A small coil of paper? Owen asked.

Dr. Monroe handed a small plastic bag to Detective Owen. In the bag, he could see the small piece of paper. It was a small strip that had been carefully cut from a book. On the strip of paper was: ‘And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.’

Owen read the note and looked at Grogan and Dr. Monroe. They shrugged their shoulders. Any ___

John! Get down here, his father yelled. The harsh tone interrupted his vision. Slowly he got up and walked down the stairs. His father was walking around at the base of the steps. Just pacing back and forth.

Dad? John called.

His father spun around at the sound of his son’s voice. When he saw his son standing on the stairs, his anger softened. John was difficult, but he loved him. He didn’t know how to help him.

Walk with me, he said as he left the house. When John’s father was upset or worried, he diffused his emotions by hunting for cacti. He would walk, slowing, back and forth over their desert property, scanning the ground for different types of cacti. He would then dig them up and repot them or plant them in their cactus garden off the front porch. He walked this desert expanse with John many times. They just walked quietly. John waited patiently for what was next.

John’s father stopped and knelt down. He motioned for John to do the same. He pointed at the small round knob that barely looked much different from a desert pebble.

You know what this is?

A rock?

It looks like a small rock. Actually it is a cactus, often called a living rock.

John looked at it more closely and then touched it. It looked like a small stone, but it had a fleshy feel.

They don’t grow here naturally. They’re from Africa, but some have escaped from house plants. You can find one, now and again. They are good at blending in, they look like the pebbles, so people leave them alone.

Are we going to dig it up? John asked.

No. I wanted you to see one. I want you to see how well they blend. Do you understand what I am saying?

John had no idea what his father was talking about. He thought his father was going to tell him a story of how John was like the cacti, a transplant from some place even far removed from Africa. Maybe his dad knew which planet John was from and who his real parents were. His hands grew sweaty with anticipation, but he shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to spoil his dad’s surprise announcement.

Blending in! Don’t you get it? We all blend in. It’s how we can live in a civil society. You think that I could make a living if I didn’t blend in?

You want me to blend in, be like everyone else? John asked. He was disappointed. His father always told him to be his own person. Now he was doing a one-eighty, telling him to blend in.

John, what can I do? Tell me. Nothing works. It would be one thing if you stood out academically, but you stand out in a way that scares people. It scares Mom and your sisters. Can’t you see that?

I’m sorry, John said, but he wasn’t sure why he should be sorry. He wasn’t in control of his actions.

John, we have no money for special doctors. What am I to do? You tell me?

John didn’t know how to answer these types of questions. So he tuned his father out and allowed his mind to drift back to the mystery man found on the beach in Ohio. How could he explain what he knew and what he could see, no one would listen to him?

John! Damn it, his father screamed. At least you could pretend to listen to me.

John blinked back a tear. If you’re going to beat me, just do it so I can go to my room.

Is that what you want? You want me to take my belt to you?

I... no. I don’t want that. What are you going to do?

It isn’t what I’m going to do. It’s what you’re going to do. We can’t go on like this. You scare people.

I can’t help that I have visions. They come even when I don’t want them to. I try to hold them back, but then they come stronger. 

Enough with the vision shit. Jesus... Don’t you get it? No one wants to know about your damn visions. Just shut up, keep it to yourself.

John felt alone. He had no friends, and now even his family wanted to ignore him. ‘Maybe I’ll run away.’ He thought of places he might go. Maybe there were people like him. Maybe he was an alien. His mind drifted toward outer space and he imagined a space ship landing by their house. He imagined a space family running toward him crying that they had, at long last, found their true son. Maybe my real family is pulling on my energy!

John! his father repeated. Did you hear me?

Yes, Dad, John said, but the word, dad, now rang hollow in his ears.

You know we love you. We just want the best for you. It’s time you grew up and stopped the foolishness.

Okay. John was going to say, Okay Mr. Wilson. He had already convinced himself that the word, dad, was stricken from his vocabulary.

Go to your room. I’ll call you when supper is set.

John took off as fast as he could run over the sand and small pebbles that passed for a front lawn. He went into the house and ran up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door. He had some time before supper, plenty of time to check in on the detectives.

Henry Ball’s body was gone. The beach looked pristine and inviting. It was hard to tell that a body had once spoiled the beauty of the area. John stood where the body had laid. It was a small park along Lake Erie. There were some benches so that people could sit and watch the large freight ships as they made their way to or from Cleveland. It was cool, and the park was empty now. There was no yellow tape marking off the site. He wondered why. There was always yellow tape in crime movies. He couldn’t smell the remains of the man’s body, he could only smell the dried sheepshead that even the gulls no longer picked.

He walked along the beach. Looking. Just looking. Nothing of interest. He found a piece of amber beach glass. Beach glass was just the remains of a broken bottle that had rolled and tumbled along the lake sands until it was polished smooth. He placed it in his pocket. Then, just as he was ready to go home to supper, he spotted a lucky stone. Pure white and rounded to perfection. He knew it was not really a lucky stone. There were no such things. It was really just the otolith from one of the dried sheepshead. But it had a perfect letter ‘L’, so John wiped the sand off of the ear bone and placed it in his pocket.

From somewhere down the beach he heard his name. He turned, expecting to see one of the detectives running toward him. But then he realized it was his father calling him to supper. He would have liked to share the pretty beach glass. His sister Sarah would love it. He also knew that his sister Janie would want the lucky stone. But he was forbidden to talk with these people. So he placed his souvenirs on his desk and went down to supper.

I’m sorry, John said to his mom. I’ll try to be... different... better.

His mom smiled at him, but it was a forced smile that faded to a sad expression.

That night at supper, John listened to the inane muttering of the people that shared his table. The people that once pretended to be his parents. He came to realize that he might hate each of them in their own way.

You excited for your big date? his father asked of Sarah.

Oh dad, she said downplaying the event as if it were just another routine night.

Where are you going? he asked.

Mom! Sarah whined. Make Dad change the subject.

Okay. Okay. So what did you do today?

I found a lucky stone, John said. He then regretted he said it.

A lucky stone? A real lucky stone? Janie asked. Can I have it?

Where did you find the stone, Honey? Nina asked him.

Lake... Lake Erie, he said in a whisper.

Go get the stone. Right now. I want to see it, his father demanded.

John went to his room and got the lucky stone and the piece of beach glass. He handed the stone to his dad and handed the beach glass to Sarah.

It isn’t really a stone, it’s a fish ear.

Yuck, Janie commented. I don’t want to touch no stinky fish ear.

It’s not a fish ear, Honey. Look, it has the letter L for luck, her father said as he handed Janie the stone.

Can I keep it? Please, Janie pleaded to John.

John looked at his father and could see that his father was confused.

Can I please have it?

Yes you can have it.

John’s father wasn’t an expert on stones, but he liked to collect and look at them. He had never seen anything like the lucky stone, or the beach glass, around their house. John, where did you really get them? he asked.

John hesitated. He knew that he shouldn’t lie, but it seemed that was all these people wanted, and were willing to believe. John toyed with his spaghetti, twirling the noodles around the plate, I don’t remember... around here... somewhere, I guess.

Chapter 2.

The autopsy report arrived, Detective Owen said to his partner.

And? Grogan said as he sat at his adjoining desk.

By all indications, the only thing wrong with our mystery man is that he’s dead. Mr. John Doe should still be alive. Everything was normal. He was the picture of health. Nothing points to natural causes at all.

I don’t want to die healthy. Can you imagine wasting all your life eating right, doing right, and dying healthy?

Owen looked at Grogan as he stuffed half a cream centered donut into his mouth and washed it down with sugared coffee. Somehow I don’t think you have to worry.

I’m healthy. In my own way. So murder? Grogan asked.

No signs of that either. No wounds of any kind.

Poison?

No indication of that either. The toxicology is clean. Unless he was poisoned with an unknown poison.

Maybe we will get lucky with the prints, Grogan offered.

The report says that he never appeared to have ever visited a dentist. No fillings or any apparent dental work.

Lucky bastard. I hate dentists. Grogan said. You think we should release a picture, see if anyone comes forward?

Yes. I’m afraid we have little else to go on. See if you can track down anyone at the college that might have an idea of the title of the book. It isn’t much, but while we wait on the prints.

Grogan picked up the phone and started making calls. Owen leaned back in his chair and read the autopsy report for the fifth time. Something was missing. A man does not just float onto the beach and die of no known causes. He started to read for the sixth time when his own phone rang.

Owen, he said into the mouth piece. He listened for a few minutes and then thanked the caller. He looked at Grogan, No prints on file.

Grogan hung up his phone and smiled at Owen. We have a break. Talked with a brain at the community college and she actually recognized the phrase from the small piece of paper.

No shit, Owen said. What’s it from?

Grogan looked at the note he scribbled, From a book called the Prophet written in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran. She’s pulling a copy from the library, if we want to look at it.

Call the radio station. Ask them to tell their listeners to contact us if they find a copy of the book, Owen said as he pulled on his jacket. Then we’ll go talk with the brain.

The brain, as the detectives called her, was actually Lilian Hartmann. English instructor at the Firelands Campus of Bowling Green State University. Firelands, as the kids and locals referred to the campus, was a mile west of the police station.

The campus consisted of four buildings. The main building was artistically built. The front and main lobby was all glass, with windows three-stories high. The building was strategically placed to front a reflection pond and common green-area.

Did the instructor tell you where to meet her?

Yeah. She said take Rye Beach Road to Boos Road. Turn left off Boos and park in Area-C. She will meet us in the lobby.

The woman waiting for them in the lobby didn’t look like any English teacher either detective ever had. She looked more like a blonde pin-up that graced the girlie calendars in their office and garage. Lilian was dressed conservatively, in a navy blue suit. The skirt was mid-thigh, much longer than most girls wore. Under her jacket she wore a white blouse. Her legs were covered in shear hose and her shoes had just a slight heel. The outfit was put-together to look professional, but the entire package just looked sexy. Her long blond hair, a tangle of unruly curls, cascaded onto her shoulders.

Lilian led the way to her small cubicle of an office. It was the size of a medium walk-in closet. A small wooden desk sat squarely in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves that had more books than space. The stacks of books, one atop the other, tilled in an ominous display, just waiting for the right time to avalanche upon them. The passage way from the door to behind Lilian’s desk was tip-toe narrow. She had to wedge her way around the corner of the desk, lifting herself on her tiptoes as she maneuvered the clutter. The motion was not lost on the detectives, nor was it was unappreciated.

Lilian sat at her desk and motioned to the two wooden chairs in front of her desk. The two detectives removed stacks of books off the chairs and placed them on the floor.

Sorry, she said as she waved at the mess of books with her hand, I’ve been doing research this semester, Lilian said.

What you researching, Owen asked.

I’m writing an article on Richard Burton and his____

The actor? Grogan interrupted. You writing about him and Liz?

His name always seemed to illicit that reaction. No. A different Richard Burton. A Captain. A romantic... Lilian trailed off and then decided to just change subjects. I pulled a copy of the book you are looking for from the stacks, Lilian said as she handed it to Owen.

Owen took the book, but his eyes never left Lilian’s face. She smiled and adjusted the long curl that had fallen across her face. Pushing the lock over and around her ear was seductive, not intentional, but the effect was the same.

‘I’m in love.’ Owen thought.

What’s this book about? Grogan asked. The voice broke the spell that Lilian had seemingly cast. If Lilian had noticed her affect, she was showing no hint of it.

Lilian took the book back from Owen as if the mere touch of the book would connect the synapses of her brain and allow her to recall the book in exacting detail. "In a few words, the book is about the uplifting of the spirit. People often read more into it than is there, or was intended by the author. It begins with a man named Almustafa living on an island called Orphalese. Locals consider him something of a sage, but he is from elsewhere, and has waited twelve years for the right ship to take him home. From a hill above the town, he sees his ship coming into the harbor, and realizes his sadness at leaving the