A Union of Souls, Chapter Twelve
Ami watched the mysterious and odd man, Whistler, seat himself behind one of the office desks. He removed his hat and placed it carefully on the desk, leaning back in chosen seat and propping booted feet on the desk. She and Adam were alone with the odd man; everyone else had gone downstairs to Angel's apartment after Whistler's assurances that he needed to talk to Ami and Adam alone. He could explain things, he claimed, "If you two kids are willing to suspend disbelief for a little while."
Ami didn't trust Whistler; she knew that Adam didn't either. And she didn't know whether to be comforted or worried by the fact that Angel and his co-workers were wary of the man as well. However, lack of trust aside, they both wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. If he had answers about her resurfaced dream, or about that mysterious woman, Ami wanted them.
But, most importantly, what they wanted to know was what Whistler knew about them – and how he knew it.
"Who are you?" Adam demanded. Ami allowed Adam to take charge of the situation. He tended to be better at this sort of thing than she was. Maybe if he had taken charge in the other room instead of allowing her to bumble out, they wouldn't be talking to Whistler right now.
Fat chance, a voice inside her responded.
"Is that what you really want to know 'mate?'" Whistler said the last word in a very bad Australian accent, which Ami got the distinct feeling was done simply to annoy Adam and rattle his cage just a bit. Which made no sense at all. Why would someone who claimed to want to help them want to also annoy them?
Of course judging from the man's earlier behavior, chances were good that this was just a natural personality quirk.
"No, what you really want to know is what I know about the two of you and how I know it." Whistler tapped his heel against the desktop and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes flicked back and forth between Adam and Ami, and he smiled in faint amusement. "You know, you two can sit down any time now. This might take a while. Besides, I'm going to get hell of a crick in my neck looking up at you."
"What do you want?" Ami asked from behind Adam.
"It's not what I want. It's what you want." Whistler shook his head. Sliding the seat backwards, he pulled his feet off the desk and stood. "And you want answers. You want to know all about my boy Angel – who really is one of the good guys by the way – you want to know what you're doing here, you want to know about to me. Mostly you're terrified about what I know about you."
"What do you know about us?" Adam asked carefully.
"The Tomorrow People. The next step in human evolution." Whistler deposited the hat back on his head as he strolled around the desk. If he noticed the startled looks that Ami exchanged with Adam, or Ami's sharp intake of breath, he gave no indication. "I have to say, you bunch of kids make me think that there is some hope for mortals. Humans spend way too much time killing each other for religion or land or something even less significant – and you call us evil. Strange world, I've always thought that.
"Anyway," Whistler hopped up on the desk and folded his hands in his lap. "Tomorrow People. You teleport, you read minds, yadda yadda yadda. Did you ever stop to think that you kids would really make a great teen tv show? Ordinary teens with extraordinary powers. Better than that hormone angst ridden Dawson's Creek crap anyway—"
"How do you—"
"They told me." Whistler pointed at the ceiling. "Right before they told me that I had to get to LA and see what the fallen angel was up to."
"God told you?" Ami's voice was riddled with sarcasm and skepticism. If she had been wary of this man before, it had faded the moment he said the last words. "So, I guess that would make you a prophet?"
Whistler snorted with derisive laughter. "You give me way too much credit, little girl. Nothing of the sort. Although I guess some people do call it God, Allah, Buddha. Whatever you want to call it. Sort of the guiding force of the universe. I personally just think of them as The Powers That Be."
"The Powers That Be?"
Whistler moved his eyes from her to Adam. "Is she always this skeptical?" He paused, studying Adam for a moment. "Oh, I see. You don't believe me either."
Adam folded his arms across his chest. [He's delusional or --] Adam's telepathic voice trailed off, yet Ami knew the unfinished thought. He was either delusional or he was telling the truth. And either way wasn't a good thing when he knew about the Tomorrow People.
"Trust me, I know where you're coming from. I didn't exactly believe it when They told me about you kids either. I mean, teleportation? This isn't the Sci-Fi Channel now is it?
"Guess what, kids? This is your wake up call. All that stuff that you thought was made up just to scare you as a kid – ghouls and goblins, vampires and witches and demons, it's all real. It's real and it's around us every single day. All those things that you think are only in horror movies or Stephen King novels really do exist. The powers of darkness trying to take over the world as we know it. It's happening now. And you two just landed right smack in the middle of it." Whistler paused, his eyes sliding past Adam to linger thoughtfully on her. "Or at least you did."
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Fear was gone now, replaced by a growing frustration and annoyance. "You haven't said one thing that makes a word of sense since we entered this room. All you've done is talk in circles and cryptic riddles about good and evil and monsters and 'The Powers That Be,' and you expect us to just swallow it? You're delusional or you're mad or you're – you're –" She trailed off in mid-rant unable to find a word to finish the sentence. Or rather, afraid to finish the thought. Because if he wasn't mad and he wasn't delusional, he was telling the truth in his own bizarre way. A truth that was obviously far stranger than fiction.
"Or what?" The tone of Whistler's voice changed. It was soft, yet held a note of challenge that was almost menacing in its softness. "You can't even think of any other reason that a perfect stranger would show up and tell you these things, can you? And yet, you still can't open your eyes enough to embrace the truth?"
"And what truth would that be?" Adam asked.
Whistler kept his eyes trained on her even as he slipped off the desk and answered the elder Tomorrow person's question. "They want you."
Something about his eyes, about the way he looked at her made every hair on her body stand on end, and she took an involuntary step backwards under the intensity of his gaze. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural.
He wasn't natural.
That was it. Reaching out tentatively to brush against his shields and his psychic aura, Ami instantly recoiled. Sharp, intense, passionate – akin to what she felt from Angel, but also so very, very different. Powerful and dynamic, a kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation like nothing she had ever seen before, made her snap her shields tightly in place, releasing a loud yelp.
He stared at her and she knew that he knew what she had just done.
Adam turned to her in concern, "Ami?"
"Oh, she'll be fine. Just a little startled. She took a peek," said the man – no, not a man – creature. "I warned you that you may not like what you see."
"You're not human," Ami breathed the words, feeling goose pimples rise all over her skin. "You're not human."
Whistler smirked. "Pretty and perceptive. Nice combination. You're right, I'm not human and I'm not going to deny it. But that's a moot point for now. The real point is that I'm here because of you. Because They think you're important and They sent me here."
"What are you?" Adam demanded.
"I'm supposed to help you help my boy Angel," Whistler ignored Adam's question. His attention was fully focused on Ami and now; it was as if the other Tomorrow Person had ceased to exist. Certainly, he was no longer anyone or anything of import in Whistler's way of thinking. The look in his eyes was one of deep knowledge and wisdom, and something about it terrified her. "Ami Jackson, you've been chosen, whether you like it or not."
"This is ridiculous," Ami stood behind Adam, clinging to his arm. She wanted to do nothing more than teleport away from this man-creature and this madness, but she remained firmly rooted to the spot. Because deep down inside of her, his words touched her. His words held the ring of truth that her inner voice could neither ignore nor deny.
"Is it? Why? Because life is full of choices and free-will? Nothing is predetermined?" Whistler asked, stepping closer. Adam insinuated himself between them, and the man-creature stopped, but his attention on Ami never wavered. "That maybe your Christian mythos, but this is the real world. A world haunted by darkness that you cannot even imagine in your worst nightmares. Nothing is totally free, and that goes for free-will as well. Some people walk around in their little bubbles of reality and think that, but that's just not the way it goes. Some thing's are meant to be and there's nothing that you or I or anybody else can do to change that.
"And some people are chosen by Them to do what They want and they don't have a choice in that. You're one of those people. You may think that you came here of your own choice, but everything that has ever happened to you in your life has been planned by Them. To bring you here, to this point, to this now. They marked you the day you were born, and They will interfere with you until the day you die because that's how They work.
"You can try to walk away if you want, but it won't work. In the end, you will do what They want willingly or you'll do it kicking and screaming. But you will do it. Or you'll die trying not to do it. And the way things are shaping up around here, you'll die a lot sooner rather than later."
There are moments which are defined as soul-truths. Those moments of insight when a person looks inside herself and sees all the truths as they are meant to be seen with no disguises, no decoration and no sugar coating. Moments of acknowledgment which are pivotal, forever changing a person's life, forever marking that place and time as a dividing point. A point where there is no longer a backwards, or even a fork in the road. A point where there is only forward.
As Whistler spoke, Ami reached that moment.
A memory, forgotten and buried until now came rushing back.
Suddenly, she was nine again.
*****
This was to be their last trip to the islands, or so her mother said. Nana was dying. She knew that Nana had been sick -- the last time they visited the island, her Nana had not been well. But she refused "real medicine," as Ami's mother said, and now she was beyond help.
Ami didn't want to be here. Her mother said that this was home, this was where she had been born, but Ami barely remembered this place. She barely remembered the open house with large windows where she had cried as a baby and toddled around. London was her home; had been her home since she was four -- which was for as long as she could remember. Ami didn't like this place, with its little altar and funny statues, she didn't like the feeling she had of always being watched. And she didn't like the way this place made her parents argue and fight even more.
"She's dying, Sherri. You should respect her wishes," her father spoke to her mother in hushed tones, acting like Ami couldn't hear him. They always did that before they started yelling at each other. The whispering as they darted furtive and secretive glances in her direction. She wished they would just yell and scream and get it over with. "She's your mother."
"I don't need you to tell me who she is," her mother snapped back. "But I won't listen to any of that voodoo nonsense that she calls religion. And I will not have her poisoning Ami's head with it. God only knows she did enough of that before we got off this god-forsaken island."
"Sherri, just this once. Even your sisters are --"
"Weak willed, Robert. That's what they are. That's what they've always been. You've never agreed with her religious beliefs, why start now . . ."
Ami walked away from them. She heard that argument too many times before. From the moment her mother had started packing their suitcases, for most of the plane ride. She knew how it would go -- her father would tell her mother she was wrong; her mother would stalk off muttering and wondering why her own father -- Ami's grandfather -- had ever allowed her grandmother to persuade him to move the family back to the island when Ami's mother was a teenager.
She stopped walking a few paces from the 'dying room.' That's what she thought of it as. She didn't like going in there. She didn't like seeing the woman in the bed -- all dried up like a shriveled husk. That wasn't' the Nana from her memories. That wasn't the Nana from her pictures.
"Don't be afraid," one of her aunts stepped up beside her, taking her hand. "She wants to see you."
But Ami was afraid. Deathly afraid. Even walking with her aunt holding onto her hand, she didn't want to be in the dying room. The smell of the incense and the candles was nearly strong enough to make her sick and the feeling of death was everywhere. The dead were everywhere too. She saw glimpses of them out of the corners of her eyes -- nondescript shadows and images that would fade the moment she turned to look. Her mother said it was all her imagination, but it didn't feel like imagination.
"Little treasured one, come to me," her grandmother spoke in an odd dialect of French and English that Ami could barely understand. Her mother never spoke French -- well, hardly ever -- and Ami remembered little of it.
She approached the bed reluctantly, but feeling that she had little choice in the matter. She was compelled by dark clear eyes that seemed out of place in the wrinkled and haggard face. "Hello, Nana." Her voice was a whisper.
Dry, parched hands reached out and took her smaller ones. Ami tried not to recoil from the touch. That would be rude. Still, she bit her lip nervously.
"The Loa brought you back to say good-bye. That is good of them."
Ami simply stared in confusion at the old, dying lady. She didn't know anyone named Loa. She would have to ask her mother about it later.
"You belong to them, little treasured one. You are theirs, they have simply allowed us to know you and love you. Your life will be different. You are touched and you are blessed. And so are we for having known you."
"Who's Loa?"
Her grandmother gave a soft, amused smile. "The spirits that are all around us. They are a part of everything. They watch over you because you bear their kiss. Someday, they will talk to you, and when they do you must listen. To be chosen by the Loa as an emissary is an honor. Never forget that."
"That's enough mother," Ami had not heard her mother enter the room. "She's just a child. And you need your rest."
"She's blessed, Sherri. I've told you before. And we are honored--"
Ami missed the rest of the conversation as she was swept out of the room, a violent coughing fit overtaking her grandmother.
That was the last time she had seen the woman alive.
*****
"Stop it, you're scaring her." Adam's words, and the comforting touch of his arm around her shoulder, pulled Ami from her memories. She realized that she was shivering, two solitary tears racing down her cheeks.
"She's only scared because she knows that I'm telling the truth," Whistler responded. "You can't protect her from this. You can't protect her from what she knows deep down inside."
[Ami?] Adam's voice was echoed by several others. They had all locked onto her emotional jarring.
[It's okay. I'll be fine,] Ami reassured her fellow Tomorrow People. Then to Adam alone, [I believe him, Adam. I can't explain why right now. But I believe him.]
Adam's dark eyes scrutinized her for a long moment. She could feel him wrestling with all the questions he had, all the explanations that he wanted that he had not yet received. She saw his worry and his reservations, and she knew that there was nothing she could say to alleviate either of them.
"You still haven't told us anything," Adam said at last, turning to Whistler. "Anything useful or important."
"But I finally have your attention, don't I? And your belief?"
"You have Ami's."
"Hers is all I really need." Whistler turned and walked towards the office door. "Now, we need to pow-wow with Angel and the Watcher. I think we can put all the pieces of this puzzle together."
"What are you?" Ami asked unsteadily. "One of the Loa?"
Whistler gave a soft chuckle, "Better than a prophet. But still not quite. I'm a demon. And not one of your Christian mythos demons that is waiting to torture helpless souls in Christian hell. I happen to like your world the way it is, and would like to keep it as is."
"You're a good demon?" Ami nearly choked on the question, it sounded so totally absurd.
"Let's just say that I'm on your side," Whistler jerked the door open and motioned for them to follow him. "Come on now, I imagine that they're getting quite impatient downstairs."
"What about my dream?" Ami demanded. "You mentioned my dream."
"I don't know anything about your dreams, little girl." Whistler gave a shrug. "Lucky guess. They like to communicate through dreams. I guessed that I guessed right."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: In vodoun (not 'voodoo') religion, the Loa are the immortal spirits of the ancestors or archetypal representations of the natural world and of moral principles, such as love, death, war, and the ocean. They are analogous to the Catholic saints or to angels in Christianity.
(source definition: Voodoo Information Pages http://www.arcana.com/voodoo/encyclopedia.)