Here's the latest installment of my current dark scifi project. This is chapter 18. If you're just tuning in, consider starting with chapters 1 and 2. Be advised that this work considers difficult subjects, including suicide. If you're in crisis, please seek help. Help is available here.
Ever since 321, Greg Shabar had been on continuous missions for his spirit guides. Sometimes he could hear their messages with crystal clarity. Other times, he had to look for clues in the world around him to figure out what he was supposed to do next. Today, his guides had led him to Washington DC, to a park called Brickle Park. All he knew about his mission was that he was supposed to "help the boy."
Great, he thought, taking in the park's knot of chess players and its open air drug market. The weather was brisk, in the high forties, and Greg walked the perimeter of the park looking for something, anything, to tell him why he was there. Sensing nothing, he walked up to the chess players and watched a game for a minute. Then he found a bench, wrapped his overcoat around him to conserve warmth, and closed his eyes, attempting to meditate.
"Hey excuse me," said a voice, interrupting his trance before it started. "Sorry, but can I look under your feet? I think I dropped a marker here."
Opening his eyes, Greg found a young man in a colorful wool coat looking at him. Right away, he knew that this was the boy he was supposed to help. "Okay," he said, getting up. He immediately saw a blue marker under where his foot had been. "This what you're looking for?"
"It's a start," said Peter, pocketing the marker. "Thanks. Sorry for disturbing you."
"Hey listen," said Greg. "My name is Greg Shabar and I want to ask you something, but it's going to sound crazy."
"Crazier than me forgetting one of my markers at the park?" asked Peter. "And it actually still being here when I come back?"
"Yes," sighed Greg. "Crazier than that."
"Okay," said Peter.
"Do you know what channeling is?" asked Greg.
"What, like Jane Roberts and Seth?" asked Peter.
"Exactly like that," said Greg. "You see, I channel an entity called Tiku, and Tiku showed me how to communicate with my spirit guides. Now I try to live my life under their guidance to the maximum extent possible."
"Okay," said Peter, becoming intrigued. "How's that working out for you?"
"It's not easy, but I'm living my purpose as fully as I can," said Greg. "Half the time, I feel like a lunatic chasing patterns in tea leaves or clouds. But the rest of the time it's like being part of a cosmic dance so incredible that all I can do is give thanks for the opportunity to join in."
"You ever see visions of the future?" asked Peter. "Or know all about someone even though you've just met?"
"There've been times when I've tapped into possible futures," said Greg. "And sometimes my guides give me little glimpses of what's going to happen. Like today, they told me to take a train to Washington to 'help the boy.' Tell me, do you feel like you might be the boy who needs my help?"
Peter felt dizzy. "Fuck," he said, leaning on the park bench for support. "How do I know you're for real?" he asked, suddenly wary.
"What does your higher self say?" asked Greg.
"You know what?" said Peter. "There's a thrift store a couple of blocks from here that lets you sit and drink coffee or tea. We could go there and talk, but if you try any funny business, I'll make you regret it right quick."
"That's fair," said Greg.
Leaving the park, Peter led the way to Hoot's Thrift. "Hey did you see the new Hope Gazette piece on the Domino Effect?" he asked, making conversation. "It's by Tom Wilkins. You know him?"
Greg laughed. "I met him and Jo Lazarus in New York right before they did the Hunter Domino interview," he said. "Actually interrupted their dinner when I was on one of my missions. Didn't even know who they were until I saw the interview later."
"No way!" said Peter. "You're that guy? They told me about you!"
Arriving at Hoot's Thrift, they helped themselves to coffee from an airpot and sat down on vintage chairs. The store was busy, but not crowded. "Cool place," said Greg. "Pay-what-you-can-afford is a law of the universe. Nice to see that manifest in this way."
"Okay psychic," said Peter, ready to get down to business. "How exactly do you think you can help me?"
Greg looked at the younger man sideways. "Maybe I can't," he said. "Maybe I came all of the way from New York on a fool's errand and our meeting was purely coincidental."
"So then what am I doing here?" asked Peter.
"Maybe ask that question again, but ask yourself, not me," said Peter. "Where would you like our meeting to go?"
"I don't know," said Peter. "It's like, I've seen all of this New Age stuff online, read books, you know. And it's like all of that stuff is geared towards people who have all of the time and money in the world to go on these wonderful journeys of self discovery or whatever. But like, I don't give a fuck about oneness. Or chakras. Or visualizing feelings. I just want to know how to manage the psychic noise. Hard drugs make it quiet, like I'm cut off, but I don't want to be cut off. I just want to understand exactly what's happening."
"Wow," said Greg. "I read you loud and clear. That's something I might be able to help with. In fact, I can't think of anyone who'd be better suited to the task. But that can't happen overnight. And I'm not convinced that you're in a place to learn what you say you want to learn."
"But you came all of the way from New York to meet me," said Peter. "So...?"
"I came to meet someone," said Greg. "But that can mean many things. That's how this stuff works. The psychic part is small and the faith part is big."
"Well, I have faith that not getting my shit under control will lead somewhere I don't want to go," said Peter.
"Maybe that's good enough," said Greg. "Why don't we start with you telling me what kinds of experiences you're having, and I can share the framework that helps me make sense of the non-ordinary."
(Feature image from Pixabay.)
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