It was a nightmare—it had to be. Dead people don’t return.
I don’t know if you’ve ever had a night terror so real you were afraid to go back to sleep, but as I sat trembling on the edge of my bed I realized for me sleep was out of the question.
I put on my sweater and jeans and headed downstairs to make a coffee. Somewhere between the bedroom and kitchen I decided rum hot chocolate would best console me—preferably with lots of rum—and I’d light a big fire in the den to warm me.
A light rain was falling and the windows were dark mirrors hosting pale reflections.
I felt vulnerable and totally alone. Meg and I had just broken up and my two best friends were thousands of miles away—Cam in Vancouver and Keith in Edinburgh, Scotland.
I could phone Meg—but no, that would be incredibly needy—and besides, the nightmare was directly related to our breakup.
It was all about my relationship with Victor Kingsley.
“He’s an evil man, Steven—why can’t you see that?”
Meg’s eyes were dark and desperate and her fingernails were digging into my wrist.
I got up and began pacing the room, trying to put distance between us and to sort out my feelings. I needed to find the right words to calm her fears.
“You’re saying these things,” I told her, “because you think Victor’s a Satanist—he’s not. Victor has been all over the world and he’s picked up some strange ideas in his travels, but he’s not some kind of demon worshipper, Meg.”
She wasn’t buying my story. We were in my den with only the light from the fireplace flames illuming the room, and I had to admit—in the flickering shadows everything seemed strangely ominous.
“What will it take for you to break off your friendship with this man? He seems to have an unnatural hold over you.”
I sat down beside her and took her hands in mine. “Look Love, I know you’re concerned but Victor is my mentor—he’s introduced me to the writing community—without his contacts and he opening doors for me, I’d never have gotten recognized.”
“I don’t believe that—I know The Darkness would be published regardless—you didn’t even try to send out queries.”
“Why would I when Victor offered to publish it through his press and to give me a very generous advance?”
Meg pleaded with me. “I don’t like what you’re turning into, Steven.”
I grew defensive, “And what am I turning into?”
“Victor Kingsley—that’s what you’re becoming—a clone of him.”
“Is that so bad?”
“It is for me—and for us. I detest the man.”
“Then, I don’t think we have anything more to say.”
We ended it like that—Meg driving away into the night leaving me desolate and defiant and turned to stone.
Victor knew I envied his powers—his occultish gifts—I think he also knew I desired Loren, his live-in assistant.
Loren was dark and mysterious and her somber charms enticed me away from Meg’s arms. I think that pleased him.
“You can’t choose it, my friend,” Victor said, “You have to be chosen.”
“But how does it happen?” I asked. I was full of wonder and envy at his charm, his urbanity and his wit.
“Well, I’ll tell you how it happened with me. I was levitated out of bed and brought to my basement where I met my spirit guide, Thomas, and received a brand on my flesh.”
“Was it painful?”
“Excruciating at the time, but now I scarcely remember. It was my initiation, so to speak—but look what it’s gotten me.” He swept his hand in a grand flourish that encompassed the lavish great room, the awards case filled with his achievements in the arts, and ironically, Loren, sitting bemused opposite us on the couch.
“If you’re chosen, Steven, you can have it all.”
I glanced over at Loren, her eyes dancing with strange fire.
“Can’t I do anything to make it happen?”
“Just be a good disciple for now—sitting at a grand master’s feet is the best place to start.”
I went home, my heart on fire, longing to be him, and dreaming of Loren, or someone just like her.
