Chapter Eleven:
November 13,
My visions and impressions have become progressively stronger. Perhaps that's because I need to understand what must happen before it's fully set in motion. I will have to experience future lives-and deaths.
I sense that it's not only important that I live as each of these incarnations, but is also important how I die. My approach to those events; my attitude, somehow matters.
November 16,
The first life is becoming clearer to me. I will be taken captive and kept as a prize. I will be held for a period of time and cultivated as livestock.
First, they will bind me, naked, on a horizontal pallet. My cage is a solitary cell: no other victims are held with me. The bonds are inescapable, allowing only enough movement to keep my circulation normal.
Their goal is to produce a product laden with as much meat as possible. This means that the captive must remain completely restrained as to have no exercise at all.
Yet, because of their beliefs one activity is frequently generated during captivity. They keep the captives-at least the males-sexually active. They don't mate their victim, but stimulate him to climax and sometimes attempt to produce that sort of engagement in a way experienced as violent and painful.
Beyond that exception, though, physical activity is restricted and the captive remains immobile, on his back to facilitate the fleshing out of the body for the time of harvest.
From here, I fear it. Yet, I know if the effort to solve the delusion does not succeed, that I must accept-indeed embrace-this fate.
Sam thought about his vision of the cannibals and tried to remember the details. It had been quite frightening and yet it had revealed only a fraction of what he had just read. I can't let this happen to Patrick! He could not recall ever having failed a leap, but that did not lessen his terror. He felt almost as though he were in danger of experiencing the torment. Perhaps that was because he was inside Patrick Marland and very much experiencing the other man's life right now.
November 24,
The nature of the visions puzzle me.
I will live in other dimensions, where events I'm used to thinking of as terrible will happen to me.
I almost understand why. From this life perspective, I indeed fear it. Yet, fear-though present-isn't what I feel most strongly in those lives.
In the first, I still don't know how I'm taken captive. I do know that I begin to feel a perverse need for what will happen. My surrender of the psyche aspect of self is total and early.
As I'm being held and cultivated, I begin feeling eager to serve the use well; and even early on, desire for consummation of the purpose. During this term, if left alone, my entire being begins yearning the time of serving their ends-even though I know I will not only be killed, but it will be a painful protracted experience.
In the more immediate, I feel intense desire for having my body successfully prepared to best suit their needs. My need is so strong that the bonds that restrain me trouble me most because they limit my ability to cooperate with my keepers. My eagerness to surrender becomes overwhelming and never diminishes.
I welcome the arrival of the actual preparing of myself as food.
I feel a fine irony in this life, with my desperate desire to be both fully cultivated to best serve and also to come to that end. If the first stage is implemented successfully, they will extend the time they keep me alive-almost doubling it-to develop the meatiest possible livestock.
Yet I feel a need for that, too, and thus become increasingly alert to the subtle sensory signals that drift to consciousness each time the fellow in charge performs the periodic inspection.
November 26,
Before long, the desire to fulfill the needs of the captors affects all I do. I must be force fed through tubes to be plumped up. These tube feedings occur two ways: insertion into the esophagus; and-intermittently, and seemingly specifically to develop the abdomen area-through the naval [If Sam Beckett reads this, he may wish that the project check records for any medical procedures using similar techniques.] I willingly take the tube into myself, though I know the substance they will pump into me will stuff my body so fully as to engender pain.
They want well-ripened, but not fatty, livestock, and the diet is designed to produce that.
They are an odd society, mostly primitive with some modern technology and anatomical/physiological knowledge. I don't know where I am, but suspect another place, another dimension.
November 28,
Upon the final, painful evaluation of the flesh, the instructor tells me I will live two more days, undergoing preparation for the harvest.
Preparation on the last two days includes three main processes: the continuation of sexual activities, internal and external cleansing of the body, and the seasoning of the meat.
The worst is the indescribably intrusive and painful act of cleansing, of internal purgation and evacuation. As soon as one is determined ripe for harvest, one is no longer fed so that this may be accomplished. The rest I cannot even write, here, but have in some way experienced in psychic revelation as most unpleasant and distressful.
Some of the forms of enforced sex are also unpleasant-even painful at times, but for the most part, these experiences
occur as I've become accustomed: not my choice but accepted as fact surrendered to and physically satisfying if not pleasant in a personal way.
The third activity, though, evokes sensual pleasure that results in ecstasy at times. The rubbing into oneself of the special herbs that will act as seasoning. Whatever they do for the meat of all livestock, they induce pleasure in the subject when the prey is treated. It takes but a single such occasion before I become desirous of such event, even though I realize these are preparations for my slaughter.
I have become anxious for that outcome long since and am more than ready for the consummation of that fate.
Sam looked up from the journal, sickened by what he had just read. He knew that his own world had had its share of horrors, the Holocaust, concentration camps, and the prospect of nuclear war, but no amount of exposure to such knowledge could lessen the repulsion he felt. He closed his eyes, trying to gather inner strength. Sybil, he thought, how would you handle this situation? Would you tell me that it's as inevitable as my leaping from life to life, collecting souls in my eyes? Sam waited for a long moment, trying to will a vision.
Be strong, Sam, Sybil said. Beckett could not see the gypsy, but her words were as crisp as though she were in the room with him. If Patrick must go through these other lives, then it is with a purpose.
Opening his eyes, Sam looked down at the journal, not to read the words, but to just look at it. The hardbound book felt foreign in his hands, like it belonged to another world.
"Patrick wants me to read it," Beckett said aloud. Never before had he had so much trouble making himself do something that needed to be done. He sighed heavily and began reading the next entry.
December 5,
Last night's visions baffle and trouble me more than those that have come before. The voodoo religion believes in "living dead" and that is what happens to me.
Boiling me alive is the first stage of preparation. Somehow, I know how long it takes-twelve minutes of agonizing burning before I succumb to death. When death comes, the psyche vanishes into oblivion. But not for long.
My psyche awakes bound to the body, which is now on a slab, as the boiling ends. Soon, I realize that though I am conscious, I am physically dead. I have no mobility, but I experience excruciating pain as they finish preparing my body. Yet, somehow I derive pleasure from it. I am aware, sentient, and so I fear.
Those in charge of the tribe begin gutting my body. I feel the knife penetrate just below my rib cage and the preparer slice my body open from there to my pelvis. Next comes the removal of my innards. Those deemed edible will be cooked separately from the main body; those deemed inedible preserved for other uses by the tribe.
Sam stopped reading midway through the entry and wiped his brow. The thermostat in the house was only set at seventy degrees, but Sam was perspiring as though it was the middle of summer. He felt dizzy and rubbed his temples to ebb the headache coming on. After a long moment, he forced himself to look at the journal again.
Despite my awareness of pleasure, I am unprepared for my intense reaction to the preparer closing his fist around the first of my internal organs and subsequently cutting it loose.
The greatest torture now becomes the need to have each step begin to unfold. When one organ, or other internal portion of my body, has been removed, my desperate need for the next excision to commence is unimaginable.
Once all my organs are removed, my pleasure has become so intense that I feel titillated at the prospect of the next phase when the chef in charge will prepare the heart and lungs, which are the prized elements of their cuisine. Next, he closes my body with pins as one would a chicken.
I'm left desperate for the commencement of the next stage, though I know instinctively that I will begin to feel distress now. I'm desperate even for the distress.
December 8,
It seemed far too long after the gutting before I felt my body being moved. Almost instantly, I'm facing downward.
The second cooking stage is a barbecue and to accomplish that my body must be run through with a spit. I feel a strong need for the rod to penetrate and become one with my eviscerated corpse.
They cannot logically know I am still in some way able to feel this. Yet, it is almost as if they do. The skewering progress is slow, enhancing my ecstasy.
Yet, it is not this, but the next phase, when my body is hung above a fire and cooked, that makes the slowness an agony. I experienced something while being backed that should mean pain, but brings unimaginable pleasure instead.
Sam suddenly felt the need for a drink. Taking the journal with him, he went downstairs to pour a double scotch from the wet bar in the living room. He found Meg working at the coffee table.
She looked up from the pile of books and papers to ask, "How is everything going?"
"This journal is a bit more intense than I expected," he admitted. Though he had not drunk much since his college days, Sam managed to down the scotch quickly. After he finished the drink, he still felt tense and very unwilling to read any more of the journal.
"Go easy on that stuff, Sam," Meg said as she began closing her books and putting them in a pile. "I understand how the contents of that journal must make you feel, but don't you think you'll regret it later if you become drunk now? Let yourself relax. Read the journal slowly, and try to tap into the strengths of your past hosts."
"Thanks for the advice. You sound a lot like Patrick right now."
"I'm flattered. And on that note, I better leave you alone." She picked up her books and papers. "I'll see you in the morning."
Once Meg had disappeared up the stairs, Sam poured himself another scotch, this time with ice and with plans to drink this one slower-Meg was right that he shouldn't try to get drunk. Beckett went to the sofa to read more of the journal.
December 9
With the skewer protruding at both ends, I find myself again on my back. They bind the extremities to the pole, which gives me intense pleasure as when the process began. The foreman binds my ankles, crossed, over the top of the pole, then place my arms over my head and bind my wrists in a similar fashion.
I knew what to expect-somewhat, but not precisely-next. Still, the pleasure sensation came as a shock wave as the preparer fastened my penis to the pole-and did so by piercing the tip and fastening it. It felt unlike anything in physical life.
And when it was done, I felt in need of nothing so much as the process of undergoing the next phase of the cooking of the body I had inhabited less than four hours ago.
December 13,
The worst experience is the rapes. Certain things are valued in their cultures, and this is one. They believe consumption translate to action, to inclination. The male organs are valued in their flesh food only after the heart and the brain. In the ideal, male livestock is sexually as active as possible (but denied any actual female mating) throughout cultivation, most ideal if death and sex occur simultaneously. The enforced act is often painful and always unpleasant.
That is not so of the sensual, but not sexual attentions given the body-including the male parts. Those produce not only pleasure, but often ecstasy as they treat the body with concoctions that open pores to allow full absorption, then with growth enhancers and herbs that will help season the flesh of the body for the dining.
When the cooking is done, the dead carcass I had animated is taken from the grill and laid on a slab. The first course will consist of the heart and appropriate external flesh.
December 16,
The sensations do not end, even after the consumption of all the body deemed edible. The "trainer" had told me of the fate of the rest.
I wonder if I will feel pleasure, pain, some of both, or if I will reach oblivion-or some other afterlife form-before.
I know what to expect, though. The bones will be pulverized, ground to fine powder. Those organs deemed inedible (such as lung, spleen, pancreas) will be burnt to ashes. The ashes and powder that result will be scattered into the fields around the village in the belief they will enrich the land. As with all they do, they will prize most-and keep separate-the remains of the sexual-reproductive parts. This will be reserved for some use specific to the chieftain's own garden.
December 20,
Intermittently for nearly a year after the tribe buries my remains in the fields, my psyche has awakened, knowing of being dead. My bones were pulverized to powder and the inedible organs burned into ashes.
I cannot leave this "body" until two special things happen. They come in the springtime. A special plant grows at the spot where my remains are buried. Then two babies are born to the tribe, both fathered by the chieftain on the first night my body fed them.
I know that I will fade into oblivion for a short while before I will be reincarnated into the next life. As I see it from here, I will become a harem girl, destined for execution on her lord's order.
Perversely, I feel peace as I write this. I also feel some connection with the man who will leap into my physical body. The intense feeling of traveling from one life to another; I can only admire Sam Beckett for what he's forced to do. If he reads this and does not know what to do, I cannot hold this against him.
HE has sworn to me that if Sam Beckett leaps in, he will not be entrapped. Sam Beckett will be permitted to leap out if my death becomes unavoidable.
Why would Patrick's soul need to remain in this dimension for so long after death? Beckett wondered. He didn't understand why Patrick wouldn't immediately enter into a new life or at least spend a while in some type of purgatory. What was the purpose behind his remaining in the cannibals world? How could it possible effect change in that world?
December 22,
There are blank spots in my visions of this future life, yet they are so few and so vague that I must conceive it inevitable that I shall die and go on to these bizarre future lives.
But if that's so, I should see no blank spots at all.
I can do nothing but hope and pray that this man, Sam Beckett, will come through. He is the only one who can alter my destiny.
I can't understand how to interpret the blank spots. They mean Sam Beckett can succeed, but they are so restricted so limited, the chances seem tenuous.
December 27,
I'm already beginning to feel the pull of those later lives. I'm feeling a strong desire for that leap-in to happen even though I know that could mean waking up in the body of someone-in some future life-who will be the prey of cannibals without ever returning to my own body.
He must know that I see a possibility of him leaping into someone in the circumstance in each of the lives.
It is nearly time, I suspect. Yet, too, I know I must finish this record first, so Sam Beckett will have this data to draw upon.
Someone grabbed Sam by the shoulders and he nearly spilled what little he had left of his scotch. He turned to see Meg standing behind him.
"Hey, why don't you put that journal down," she said, gently prying it out of his hands and tossing it on the coffee table, "and take me out to lunch. You look like you could stand to get out of the house for a while. If you read too much of that journal in one stretch, you could risk experiencing a PSI overload."
"You're right of course," he replied.
Meg smiled at him triumphantly. "Great!"
Al entered the Waiting Room only seconds after Sam sat down to read the journal. He spoke with Gooshi briefly, getting the affirmation he desperately needed: Sam's body was still in good physical health.
He then stepped into the room where Patrick, in Sam's body, was relaxing on the couch drinking a cup of coffee. He seemed unperturbed by the events taking place during his time. Al found this not only perturbing, but shocking as well.
"Sam found the second journal," Al said. "What is so important that you had to keep a separate journal?" Al relit his cigar and puffed on it while waiting for the psychic's reply.
"The second journal documents the visions and dreams I had about future lives I will have to live if Sam's mission is unsuccessful."
"What about Sam?" Al asked, pointing an accusing cigar at Patrick. "What effect will reading this journal have on him? It won't cause another incident like the one that sent him over the landing, I hope."
"I won't lie to you and say that there are no dangers to reading the journal. That is why I told Sam that under no circumstances is he to let anyone else read the journal and that includes Raymond. I must assure you that I would not have told Sam about the journal if Another incident like the falling wasn't more likely to happen if he doesn't read the journal. He needs to be informed, so if anything does happen, he'll be able to combat it. My first couple of visions about the cannibals were forced upon me. I know how frightening that can be. I don't want Sam to have to go through it again any more than you do."
Al nodded his acquiescence. He walked across the room, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Puffing heavily on his cigar, he took a long moment before turning around. He expected to see concern or impatientness on the psychic's face, but instead Patrick looked upon him with equanimity.
"After I had two visions of the cannibals I began to realize that they might bear significance on my own life, so I began looking for more visions. I strongly advise against Sam attempting the same until he has learned how to use safety barriers. His psychic abilities are not fine tuned yet, but either Meg or I could teach Sam how to use safety barriers. If any visions do come to him, Sam needs to be careful. If he doesn't feel prepared for one, he can force them away by concentrating on the people he's encountered during past leaps, as I told him during Levels. They are his strengths."
"But leaping causes him to have a swiss-cheesed mind. What if when faced with some demon's incursion, he can't remember anything?"
"To paraphrase John Lennon, he'll get by with a little help from his friends. I think you know what you need to do, as do I."
"Be there to remind Sam. That's why I'm called the project observer, of course. Ziggy says that the second Levels increased Sam's chances of success. I want to know if you agree."
"Knowledge always comes better armed than ignorance. Sam asked the right questions, and I gave him honest answers. He'll be facing the demons with the best possible odds. I did not seek out visions relative to failing Sam." Patrick brought his hand to his face and began rubbing his beard in contemplation. "Now in retrospect, I realize I probably should have."
"I'm not sure I understand. How can you fail Sam?"
"If I don't direct him properly on how to handle any psychic activity that might arise during the time he spends as me, I will have failed him more than anyone could predict."
"Can you do that now?" Al had never felt so flustered by any leap before, not even the time when he'd tried to win Beth back.
"I'm afraid there isn't much time-and the conditions must be right. I will try, but you must reassure Sam that his best chances are to use his past hosts as barriers against evil spirits." Patrick shook his head. "I spent so much of my time screening for possible failures during the future lives that I was blinded to any other possible failures."
"What made you suddenly realize your mistake?"
"Sam's vision of the cannibals. I should have realized that his link with me might drastically enhance his psychic abilities."
"Then when he leaps out of you, will his psychic abilities tone down?"
"Quite probably."
Al sighed with relief and puffed at his cigar. "That's good."
"I don't want you to get the impression, however, that Sam will lose all psychic abilities. The knowledge and abilities that he is gaining through this leap will greatly aid him in future leaps. If I did not believe that, I would not be so willing to take all the risks I'm taking."
"But he won't have evil spirits baring down on him in the future, right?" Al asked nervously.
"I sincerely hope not. You should know I can't promise you that with absolute certainty, though. If you've dealt with this Zoey in the past, there is a chance that she will continue to pop up from time to time."
"We'll just have to be ready for her then." The project observer jotted his cigar in the air as if punching some unseen enemy."
"That's the spirit, Al! Tell Sam that I've considered his suggestion to do a third Levels. I believe that talking directly with Karen could help me uncover the specific events that carried out from the moment the demons entered their lives. Sam must realize, however, that Karen is just as likely to have gaps in her knowledge as the living."
"I'll tell him." After a long silence, Al asked, "What about Sam's dream about the soldier named Matthew? Sam seems to think that it was a warning of some sort. He thinks that Matthew, or God, or someone high up there is trying to point out some connection between Matthew, Ben, and myself."
"We can rule out Matthew, himself."
"Oh?" Al asked as they gazed into each other's eyes.
Patrick took on an air of assumption, not bothering to explain his comment. "I think God is lending a hand. HE wants to see Sam succeed just as much as we do."
"If God is willing to help Sam through his dreams, then why does he allow such possibilities like those future lives you say you must endure if Sam isn't successful?"
"That is not for us mere mortals to understand. God has a higher purpose, and we, as his children, must abide by it." * * *
"Thanks for talking me into getting out of the house for a while," Sam told Meg as they pulled into the driveway of the Sheffield home. "I needed the company."
"I'm glad I was available," she replied coyly.
"I really didn't mean it like that. You were very pleasant company. I agree with what Patrick said about you."
"What did Patrick say about me?" Her expression changed from annoyed to expectant.
"Ah. . .I probably shouldn't have even mentioned it. He wrote about you in his journal, and I really have no right to share his personal thoughts with anyone."
Meg sighed heavily. "I wish you hadn't mentioned it either. Now I'm going to wonder if he likes me or not."
"Oh, he likes you," Sam replied unable to keep a grin off his face. "So do I."
He turned toward her, and Meg returned the smile. Finding her charm irresistible at that moment, Sam leaned over and kissed her. She was obviously having similar thoughts about him, because she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Her sweet smelling perfume mingled with the strawberry scent of her shampoo. Bathing in her essence, Sam did not want to break free of her embrace.
Finally, when he could no longer hold his breath, he ended the kiss and gulped in air. Still they clung to each other until finally, with a gesture, Meg let Sam know that she wanted to go inside.
"Oh, you're back," Raymond said from the living room couch as they walked through the door. He was watching a movie on the television. "I was beginning to get a bit antsy being alone in the house."
"Al said that Patrick didn't like the idea of you being alone in the house right now," Sam replied. "Did anything happen?"
"You could say that! For a while, the lights were flickering on and off like crazy. Whoever or whatever was causing it seems to have gone away for now. I managed to get some of the activity captured on video."
He reached for the remote on the coffee table and used it to begin playing the tape he'd left in the VCR. Still standing, Sam and Meg watched the recorded phenomenon.
"You didn't experience any negativity like when I fell over the landing?" Beckett asked.
"Surprisingly, no. The entity had to realize that I was alone in the house, but it only seemed to want to scare me, to tease me."
"Maybe it wanted Sam to return," Meg suggested.
"That still leaves us with the question of 'why me?' The only answer I keep coming up with is that demons are at work here. They know who I am and what I'm here for because of my encounters with Zoey."
"That must be quite unnerving," Meg said. "You continue to help people from leap to leap, but you're never sure when Zoey might undermine your efforts."
"We won't let that happen," Raymond said with conviction. "Between the four of us, we can stop her and any demons she has working for her. We have God on our side!"
Holding out her hands to each of them, Meg clutched both men's hands. "We have our strength, and if we have trouble finding it, we can rely on each other as strength boosters." For a long moment, they stood still and the confidence between them grew almost tangible. Then Meg finally released her grip and stood back. "I think I'd like to write about this. Do either of you mind if I write a personal portfolio about you? I won't mention names."
"I think it's a good idea," Raymond replied. "If you'll let us read them, It could help us keep a perspective on what we're doing."
"That's a cool idea! I have no problem with that. I think I'll get started on it at once." She dashed toward the stairs.
Sam followed her, saying, "Meg, could I talk with you for a moment first?" She stopped at the landing, allowing him to catch up. "I think we need to talk about what happened in the car."
"We will Sam. I need time to think. Let me write up some notes, and then we'll talk later this evening. Okay?"
Sam nodded. "I think I can keep myself entertained for that long."
She reached out and touched him lightly on the cheek before turning to walk into her bedroom and close the door. Glancing down at the living room below, Sam noticed that Raymond had returned to his movie. I think everyone's going to be just fine for a while, Beckett decided and went to his own room in hopes of finishing Julian's House.
That night over the dinner table, all three of them behaved complacently, barely talking to one another. Raymond asked how Meg's portfolios were going. Sam's was coming along fine, but she hadn't begun Raymond's yet other than a few jotted notes. Sam felt eery about the mood that was pervading over them, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to talk with Meg about what was happening between them, and he couldn't do that with Raymond in the same room.
It was Meg's turn to wash the dishes. Sam waited until Raymond left the room before approaching Meg. "Give me a half hour to finish cleaning up the kitchen, and I'll join you in your room where we can talk in private."
"Okay," Beckett said, awkwardly feeling like a schoolage boy. Why was he so nervous? Could it be because he was having real feelings for Meg? He was in Patrick's body, Patrick's life! He could not stay here indefinitely.
Sam squeezed her gently on the shoulder before leaving the room and heading upstairs to his bedroom. He sat at the desk and stared at the journal he'd left setting there. He still had a few entries to read. He felt afraid to read them. What if one of them causes me to have a vision? he thought. I don't want to have one now, while I'm waiting for Meg!
She knocked gently before entering the room, but did not wait for his reply. "Oh Sam!" she said as he stood and took her into his arms. "This is unplanned and so very unexpected. I'm not an impulsive person. I always think things through very carefully."
They kissed.
"Have you thought this through?"
"I've thought about it. I can't think of anything else!"
They kissed again, this time their lips lingering longer.
"This is totally the wrong thing to do," she said even as she allowed him to lead her to the bed.
"I know," he responded as he began to undress her.
Sam could barely recollect any past lovers; he only knew this moment, here with Meg as he explored every crevice of her body, seeking out her pleasure areas. She wanted him. He wanted her. Pleasing each other, they passed away the remainder of the evening.
