《The Orb Weaver Chronicles》


 The Song of Eset

    Lightning flashes across the dark sky, thunder soon following, covering even the loud sound of the rain hitting the ground. Not so far away, a faint sound of waves crashing against a rock wall.


    Lighting flashes again, and briefly illuminates a slim figure slumbering down a small hill, more or less following a sinuous dirt road; not so far away, at the end of the dirt road (now a muddy road, under the incessant rain), the lighting also illuminates a modest-sized stone building. The bell-tower at the top of the building, and the decorative cross at its length, clearly sets it as a monastery, standing still under the torments of the sky. And upon seeing its silhouette, the figure on the muddy road, a woman in her early forties, finally give herself a pause in her frantic running; for the silent monastery not only stills the torments of the sky, but momentarily stills the torments inside the woman''s spirit.


    A creak of a nearby tree branches makes the woman jump in fear, and she resume running, running as fast as she can, toward the monastery.


    As the faint light of its entrance finally becomes a bright spot in the night, the woman finds herself on its porch, facing the wooden doors. Looking frantically over her shoulders, staring wildly beyond the fierce battle of the elements, she knocks with all her might and what is left of her strengths.


    Steps are heard on the other side of the doors, and the latters creaks open, revealing an old woman dressed in a typical nun dress, holding an old-fashioned lamp; the nun looks with no small amount of shock and surprise at the frantic stranger.


    "Poor lady, what are you doing in this weather? Please, enter!"


    The nun barely finishes her sentence and opens wider the door that the strange woman crumbles at the doorstep.


    "Oh dear God! Mary! Mary, please come and help me with this poor woman!!" the nun cries out inside the monastery, closing the door after struggling to pull the stranger inside.


    The sound of crackling woods, and it characteristic warmth slowly brings Eset to consciousness. She opens her pale green eyes, and stares right at a wooden roof, crossed with great beams; she realizes she is lying down on a wide couch inside a modest living room, a great fireplace brightening one side of the wall. She hears whispers, and when she groggily turns her head to look, she sees three young nun staring at her both compassionately, but also somewhat excitedly; she figures that she must be the first stranger they saw since awhile. When the nuns realize she''s awake, one of them rise and leave quickly the room, no doubt to warn the owner.


    Eset rises softly on an elbow, her whole body crying in pain after all the running. One of the two nuns left hurries to her side, a cup of warm milk in her hands; she smile kindly at Eset, presenting the cup:


    "Please, my lady, drink this. It will warm you."


    Eset accepts graciously; she realizes that it has been ages since she drank something as modest as warm milk. This thought generating others, she suddenly remembers the reason behind her flight. Tears quickly rise to her eyes, and as she almost drops the cup, luckily caught by the nun beside her, Eset falls back onto the couch into a foetus position, crying all her fill. She faintly hears the door open, and a few seconds later, soft and warm hands rest themselves upon her shoulders, and an old woman''s voice softly comforts her:


    "There, my child. Let it all go, you are safe here."


    Moved by such a kind gesture, a simple one that she had yet spent so many years without, Eset clumsily catch the old woman''s arms, visibly the superior of the nuns; understanding the intent behind such an action, the nun pull her into a hug, murmuring words of comfort. Feeling safe, Eset truly let go, and she cries, the tears running down in stream along her chiselled cheekbones, into her long messy grey-brown hairs, until a numb darkness invades her mind, sending her into a surprisingly calm dream.


    **********************


    As the bell resonate, signalizing the end of lunch, Eset watches as the sisters and nuns dutifully cleans their tables in a flawless and organized manner. Two weeks she has now been the guest of the monastery since the night she collapsed on its porch. She doesn''t remember much for the first two or three nights there, though some of the nuns present filled her in. There wasn''t much that happened, she later learned, for she had pretty much only cried most of the times; and the nights seemed to have been terrible, for the nuns recounted that she constantly mumbled intelligible words. But since a good week and a half, Eset decided to busy her troubled spirit, and worked at repaying the kindness of the sisters and nuns; she helped them with their chores, and doing so, felt a bit of peace returning.


    Now, she was watching as the sisters left, starting to feel that it was time that she faced her demons. Seeing from afar the Mother Superior approaching the hall, Eset makes her choice. She approaches the old woman, the latter smiling at her with her usual kindness and compassion, and ask:


    "Mother Superior... about what you told me before... I would be ready."


    The Mother Superior smiles broadly without a word, and leads her kindly toward the far end of the monastery.


    Within a few minutes, Eset finds herself inside a soft-scented cubicle beside Mother Superior''s, separated by a screen through which Eset can barely see the sister''s face. Breathing deeply, her hands instinctively knotting themselves in a mixture of emotions ranging from grief to shame, Eset looks up briefly, silently praying for strength, and expires as briefly. She closes her eyes, a small tear making its way to a corner:


    "Bless me Mother, for I have sinned."


    ***********************


    Sunlight floods the alley filled with terraces, soft chatters filling the warm air of the after-morning, delicate clinking of porcelain cups and utensils upon plates breaking the soft silence. A tall and slim man in his late thirties, blond haired combed toward the back with already few grey strands, walks elegantly within such a beautiful view, his ice grey eyes piercingly gazing across all the strangers, searching. His face finally light up as his gaze fall upon the target of his heart: a woman also in her late thirties, her delicately chiseled face brightened by pale green eyes and framed with long brown hairs. She is seated at one of a caf¨¦''s table, examining her appearance within a small pocket mirror, her summer dress flowing with the soft winds. As she rise her head, replacing her mirror into her purse, her gaze meets the man''s, and she smiles brightly. He approaches her table as she rise, and when they meet, he bows slightly and give a delicate kiss on her hand, before both sits down, him still holding lightly her hand, her smiling as brightly and fondly.


    "12 years ago, I met a beautiful man... If only you could have known how amazing he appeared..." Eset remembers, her cheeks blushing, though not quite out of fondness. "He was full of ideals, of ambitions. We both came from noble families, but it was the only times when we both did not cared for it. He had plans, of course, and he slowly got able to climb up the ranks around the time we got married. Then... then came my gift..."


    A painful cry resonates across the white sterile rooms and hallways of the hospital. Choked sobbing follows, and yet another painful cry. After an eternity of that awful music, another kind of sound suddenly still the air...


    "You did it, madam! You have a beautiful girl, and she is fine!" the nurse says proudly, presenting a small and chubby pink baby to the exhausted mother, who is however too tired to rise.


    "Look at her, Eset," her husband softly and proudly say, taking the child in his arms and leaning against his wife, delicately sliding it into her arms.


    Tears of joy falls on both their faces as they gaze at their first child, bundled and carefree in her parents'' loving hold.


    "Around that time, I started noticing that he had started to alter his ideals. The ambitions remained the same, but the means to which he was ready to go to reach them... However, I kept telling myself it was my misunderstanding of how the system of his business worked. And when he would fill me in on some of the details, it always made sense. Also, our little girl was growing steadily and fast, and if one thing didn''t changed, was how she was our world, and how we loved her. All arguments, all debates, the outside world... it just faded once she clumsily walked into the room, all smiles."


    Eset pauses, emotions and memories clutching her throat, and she kneads even harder her hands, as if transferring the pain.


    "Take your time, my child," the Mother Superior softly comforts her from across the screen.


    Eset takes another deep breath, and resume talking, though her voice is now shaking.


    "When she reached 7, we started to see that something was terribly wrong... Her skin aged considerably... she started losing hair, and she..." Eset pauses briefly to wipe a tear, "The doctors finally diagnosed her with progeria... an extremely rare genetic disease in children, where they... age rapidly. The doctors gave us the average life expectancy, 13 years... We were devastated... Our little girl, with only 5 years left, and during those five years, old age symptoms would hit her..."


    Moonlight floods a well-furnished room, enveloping in its soft glow a small figure sleeping soundly in her bed; her mother watches her with her green eyes, vitreous with the many tears she cried for days. She occasionally strike softly the falling greying brown hair of her daughter, staring helplessly at the unusual wrinkled skin... Turning her head toward the closed door of the bedroom, as if making sure no one was watching or approaching, Eset falls slowly to her knees, links her hand together, and her face straining with despaired determination, begins to whisper a prayer.


    Not two minutes pass, that the door opens, and her husband enters softly; upon hearing his entrance, Eset rise in surprise, almost in guilt. Her husband''s icy eyes harden in silent anger, and as silent as he can as to not wake their daughter, he takes Eset by the arm, and leads her out.


    Once in the living room, far away from the child''s bedroom, Eset stays silent, her teary eyes cast toward the floor, as the man yells at her, his own eyes flaring, as if he just got her doing an inexcusable action.


    "When we learned of our daughter''s conditions, and of the lack of treatment for such a disease, I, against all odds, started to pray for a miracle from God," Eset continues, "I knew that it was ridiculous, but I couldn''t think of anything else to do; she was my world, my joy..."


    "Why was it ridiculous to pray?" the Mother Superior kindly interrupts.


    "Because... because God didn''t grant such miracles," Eset softly explains, her cheeks going red.


    "What made you think so?"


    Eset doesn''t know what to answer; especially that for quite some time, she wonders whether the result would have been less terrible, even if God hadn''t answered her prayers, than the alternative path she accepted.


    "I am sorry, my child; it is not my place yet to say such things. Please continue your story," the Mother Superior softly say, understanding Eset''s silence.


    Eset breathes again, and resumes, her voice shaking in anger at each passing sentences:


    "My husband... I mean... ex... he was furious at me for believing in such impossibilities. As the weeks passed, and our daughter degraded, he came to believe that it was my state of mind that affected her health... I couldn''t believe my ears, but he started day after day to truly believe it. He dug several researches and papers proving his theory, shoved them into my head, and tried to persuade me that it was all my fault... At that time... I didn''t say anything, because no matter what, no matter the words that were cutting me deep, I didn''t want to leave my daughter if she only had five years... I kept secretly praying, often got caught and his reactions weren''t... kind... but I only cared for her..."


    Her voice chokes as a knot forms in her throat, and her hands knots even harder, the knuckles white under the strain.


    "Then, one day, my wish came true... but not by God."


    **********************


    A knock is heard on the mansion''s entrance door, and Eset warily rise from her chair, where she had been napping for a short moment; opening the inner door, leaving the outer one locked, she gaze at surprise at the man standing on the porch. He is short and extremely slim, dressed in a casual suit; but Eset feels a cold chill run across her back as she stares into his unusual eyes: emerald green under full sunlight, but turning almost to gold when shaded. Trying to look away from his whimsical stare, she can''t help but wince at his bright orange hair, messy and in spikes. The stranger cocks his head and smiles amusingly at her examination; he finally pulls out an official-looking card and shows it to her:


    "I''m Scott Johnson, from Public Relations. Is your husband home?"


    "No, he isn''t, he''s at work. How can I..."


    "Ah well, I''ll wait for him inside," Scott cheerfully interrupts.


    "I''m afraid you''ll have to come back tom..."


    "Nonsense, he''ll be home in about 10 minutes, so I''ll wait."


    Eset freezes, as she knows her husband¨ªs careful schedule; how did this stranger?


    "Ma''am? I did show you my card," Scott amusingly say, his head still cocked, still smiling.


    Eset reluctantly opens the outer door.


    "Please be quiet; my daughter is ill and resting."


    "Yes, I know. Don''t worry, I won''t make a sound," Scott reassures her as he swiftly pass her and walk to the living room, settling on a brightly coloured sofa.


    Eset has another cold chill at the stranger''s words; but she can''t quite protest, as his governmental card was genuine, as far as she could see, and any which way, her husband would soon return and settle this. No one stayed long, or argued, under his icy eyes.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation."Do you want a refreshment, while you wait?" she asks politely.


    "Nah; you guys don''t have what I like," Scott answers in a bored manner, looking at his fingernails.


    Eset wonders what to do, so she hesitantly asks:


    "So what brings you here; what kind of business do you have with my husband?"


    "Hmm? Oh, its just about work; we''ve noticed some exceptional talent in him, so I came to make a deal."


    Before she can reply, Scott cocks his head toward her, his terrifying gold eyes looking down on her despite his seated position:


    "No need to concern yourself with such trifles, ma''am; women can''t anyway understand business as much as men. So just walk upstairs look at your sick kid and leave business to the capable hands of your husband."


    Eset flashes Scott with anger. How dares he address her that way, her, a noble woman? She is about to ask him to leave, but then remembers how this man must probably know well her husband and have already planned a meeting. She glares at the stranger, and without a word, leaves the living room; as she does so, she hears him snicker softly. Swallowing the thoughts and not-so-nice words that springs to her mind, she rejoins her child. Better to take care of her dying ray of sunshine than argue with a moron; she''d just have a word with her husband when it is over.


    "My hus... ex-husband, came home not far long after, and they locked themselves up in his office. When that orange-haired guy left, my husband joined me with a bright smile, and told me that our child could finally have a chance of being cured. I was skeptical, of course, too much, and I asked him what sort of prank that stranger pulled to make him believe our child could be cured, when the latest technology couldn''t nowhere near accomplish this miracle. He assured me that it was true; and that the only thing I needed to do, was trust him and obey his directions completely... Since it was a lost cause, but so was my child, I figured nothing could be lost by accepting this ridiculous prank... I wanted a miracle so badly, I could not bear lose my only gift of life... So I welcomed the newfound but odd miracle with open arms...


    >> The next night, my husband told me that he''ll bring our child to those who can cure her. I tried to follow him, but he firmly refused, saying that I wasn''t allowed, considering my ''mental state'' that went against the ''set laws'' of that awful place..."


    "What was that awful place?" the Mother Superior asks gently, curious.


    Eset can only shake her head, as if trying to forget the images:


    "I can''t... I can''t... Those devils..."


    "Never mind," the nun softly interrupt. "Forgive me for asking; please say only what you wish to say."


    "Weeks passed by, endless days where my child never came home, and I was never allowed to see her... I doubted, and my husband hated me for it. He yelled at me, asking me how I could so easily pray to a non-existing God for salvation, while doubting actual people that were hard at work accomplishing that miracle... I still wouldn''t stop doubting, though, until an afternoon finally came..." Eset starts once more to cry, "He came home... holding her in his arms... my child, young, once more... smiling a smile as bright as the sun... all her symptoms, gone... One of the next days, while he''s at work, I brought her to the doctors just to be sure... they are baffled, but their verdict is unanimous: she''s cured! Not even just in remission... completely cured... an actual miracle... a miracle... given by these disgusting, cold-hearted demons... who used our only weakness to corrupt my husband and make him..."


    Eset cries fully now, and the Mother Superior, unable to let her be like this, so alone, moves to her cubicle and holds her in her arms.


    "... demons... these bastards... they took away and corrupted the only two things I ever cared for... they took my child... and I let them corrupt her with their filth... her life in exchange for her soul and my husband''s... I let them do so... all because I couldn''t give her up..."


    "You are not to be blamed, poor child," the Mother Superior comforts her. "All humans faces obstacles they cannot always surpass... Wanting to keep what''s precious to you is nothing but human nature. But from the moment you realize what your weakness is, you decide from now on what actions you take and accept the responsibilities. But tell me, child... what made you come to our humble monastery? Understanding briefly what was required of you in exchange for your child''s life, you must have been forced to abandon God? And why isn''t your child with you?"


    Eset''s fists clenches until they are livid white, and a mixture of rage, grief and shame makes its way to her delicate features.


    "... that bastard... I lived for two more years with her, but grew more and more distant with my hus... with him... I did what he required of me, I did not trust those that blackmailed and corrupted him with our daughter''s life and what they would do to her if I disobeyed... After some time, he began to believe in my sincerity, and he started to confide some details, never enough of them though, about the terrible work he had been appointed... And one night, he allowed me to meet them... those who cured her..." Eset shivers in genuine fear, "I hid it surprisingly well, but back home and alone, I allowed my terror to surface... they were demons pure and simple... and I gave them my daughter''s life... is she cursed? So I made preparations to take her and bring her to some relatives, away from that whole evil... and three weeks ago... I came home... she didn''t ran to me as she always did... she was nowhere to be found... I found... him... in the kitchen, rinsing some plates, as calmly and as nonchalantly as one could get..."


    The rest of the sentence got spat out, as Eset become livid with rage:


    "He... he... he turned to me, smiling with those disgusting cold eyes of his, and told me... that to perfect her cure and stop... stop any chance of remission... he gave her to those blasted demons... so they could train... train and RAISE HER!!!! MY child!!!!"


    The Mother Superior let her go, and watches with concern as Eset punches in rage the wall of the cubicle; her heart goes out to the mother... How would she herself have reacted in her position. She dreads to think what Eset did afterwards, but can''t exactly blame her either. Her child was stolen by her own father, and placed... God knows where and with whom... Eset said ''demons''; somehow, the Mother Superior doesn''t doubt that the title is accurate.


    "I became so angry..." Eset whispers, as she collapses back on the bench and in the nun''s comforting hold, "... I know now I shouldn''t have done so, but... He took my child! He took her, without telling me, and gave her to... gave her to them... gave her to a life in Hell... I picked up a nearby knife..."


    "She''ll be in good hands; her training, physical and mental, will help her metabolism and genetic material surpass the underlying and still lingering progeria..."


    A metallic sound behind him stops the tall man in mid-sentence, his hands deep in the sink and the foamy water; he turns round, curious, and his jaw drops. For the first time since his life, he feels fear. Eset faces him, her eyes filled with tears, yet burning with the greatest and most terrible fire he ever faced. Her right hand is trembling as it clutches firmly a kitchen knife; her usually beautiful and delicate features are distorted with pure rage. She mumbles uncontrollably:


    "Ho... how... how... she... how... dare... YOU??!!!"


    She lunged forward with both hands clutching the knife, raising and lowering it toward her shocked husband. He barely has time to counter her attack with a plate, but her surprising strength makes him stumble backward; Eset doesn''t lose any time, though, and in a movement quicker than he can counter, she slashes with her right hand; his icy grey eyes closes instinctively, his hands move forward in a futile defence, and the next instant, a searing pain burns right through his left shoulder, bringing him to his knees. His mind muddles with the excruciating pain, his right hand flies to his shoulder in an attempt to stop the warm oozing wound; he hears the knife fall to the floor, about the same time he himself collapses on his right side. He weakly opens his eyes, and watches in a blur as Eset brings her hands to her mouth, choking a silent scream, her eyes wide in horror. She approaches slowly and shakily her wounded husband, and despite her horror at her actions, and her rage, pain and grief slowly make their way up to her eyes, she sees in his that he''s shocked at what could have brought her to do this; it burns her that he genuinely has no idea.


    "You... bastard..." she seethes through her clenched teeth, before giving him a weak kick in the ribs.


    Her eyes wells even more with tears, tears of pain, rage, horror, and shame all at once, and without a look back, she runs with all the speed she can muster out of the house.


    She wakes her personal butler, and urges him to take her as fast as possible to Cruithinia, her childhood country; seeing her distress, he accepts without a word.


    Two days later, once the pair are well within Cruithinia, a storm breaks, making the roads unusable. Although her butler suggest they pass the night at an inn, Eset fears that her husband... no, they... might come for her, if they aren''t already there. For some reason, she suddenly remembers from her childhood that not far from where they are stranded, there''s a monastery; for the same unknown reason, she knows that it will be the safest place for her, for they will never dare go near it. She gives all her money left to the butler as a farewell gift, as well as giving him his leave, and he promises he''ll be careful to leave no traces as to where to find him or her.


    Lightning flashes as Eset runs down many hills to the general location of the monastery; she is relieved when she finally hears the sea crashing against the cliffs, and somewhere far in the darkness, a small light is burning. With all her remaining strengths, she covers the remaining distance, and collapses on the building''s porch. She fall slowly to the darkness deep within her mind as she barely hears the door open, and a woman''s voice shouting:


    "Oh dear God! Mary! Mary, please come and help me with this poor woman!!"


    **********************


    Four weeks after her confessions, the bell chimes, signalling the end of the morning prayers. The Mother Superior rises first, and faces the group of nuns.


    "Today, I will need each one of your to lend a hand on the preparations for the donations of tomorrow. Separate in groups of your choice to prepare the jellies, breads, and fresh cheese. Our humble brothers and sisters will need all we can give them."


    The nuns agrees cheerfully, and leave the hall; but the Mother Superior walks toward one side, where Eset is nervously waiting.


    "You can partake too in the event, my dear child," the nun kindly tells Eset.


    "I wasn''t sure, since I''m not a nun," Eset answers.


    The Mother Superior put her hands on the woman''s shoulders:


    "You are nevertheless a Sister to us; all souls are welcomed here in the monastery, for any reason they require to be here. You do not need to follow us yet in our faith; you have yet to find yours, and this takes time and dedication from none other than yourself. I told you, you are welcome here as part of us for as long as you will wish."


    Eset smiles softly; her green eyes turns sad, though.


    "Do you think... Well... I don''t know whether I can be forgiven for what I''ve done and allowed; but she... my daughter, in a few years, will remember nothing of the life she had with me, the life before Hell... and will probably be lost in a path she wasn''t meant to take.... But it''s not her fault! She''s helpless, she can''t know what else could have awaited her... Do you know if..."


    "If her soul can be saved?" the nun finishes her sentence; Eset nods softly. "Yes, I believe she has that chance. All souls have the song of light deep within them; and God has the beautiful ability to make them, once in a while, listen to that song. If your daughter one day hears that song, as she will certainly do, she will have the possibility to cling to it and be saved. She only needs to accept that song of light over the darkness surrounding her."


    Eset smiles a bit more brightly, and she nods in understanding, a tiny speck of hope burning in her bright eyes.


    "And Eset?" the Mother Superior smiles with kindness, "you are already forgiven for your sins; you heard that song, and you clung to it, and it brought you here. To safety. And though I cannot tell the future, as God wants us to shape our future with our own hands, I will tell you this with certainty: you will see your daughter again, and she will be once more your gift of life."


    Eset hugs the Mother Superior, her tears falling as the nun holds her tight. She is finally at peace; and the nun is right. No matter the past, she can shape the future with her own hands now. No more hiding, no more shame.


    **********************


    The moonlight floods Eset''s bedroom through the window. Eset kneels in the light, and looks toward the starry sky; she links her hands, and with a soft smile, prays out loud, knowing this time that no one will shame her for it:


    "Dear God. Thank you for giving my daughter her full life. I know it wasn''t you specifically who delivered it, but I think that demons and angels are two side of the same coin: yours. So... I pray of you:


    >> Give my daughter the strength and courage to go through the challenges she is facing, and will face. And when she will be ready... let her hear your song. Help her find again her path toward the light. Please... allow her soul to be saved. Amen."

 Twas The Night Of Samhain

    A young man was comfortably seated in his dimly-lit study; a plastic bowl of candies was on the elegant table by his side. The Sound of Silence played in the background, in a loop, coming from a vintage phonograph, and he was staring out by the window, gazing deep in the darkness of the night, a darkness lit only by the moonlight, the same way that his messy black hairs were lit by a thick strand of white. His dark eyes had that look that one has upon deep in thoughts, and his feet tapped unconsciously at the beat of the song: one could see that it had a deeper and more personal meaning to him. At the climax of the tune, his stare turned sadder. He opened the small pocket-watch he wore, gazed not only at the hour but at a small drawing in the originally empty part of the watch. A drawing of a young woman, smiling kindly, sharing his black hair and dark eyes.


    One hour after midnight stroked on the grandfather''s clock somewhere in the house, and he startled. With a hopeful look on his face, he rose from his couch, walked to the back-door, and opened it. It led to a terrace, where a dining table was standing amidst the moonlight, lit with candlelights, and dressed in the best table clothes. A plate and wine glass stood upon the table, put there by the young man last evening, filled with delicacies and wine, now empty at the exception of a single precious stone lying in the middle of the plate. A pink diamond.


    He smiled with delight, a delight shadowed with a hint of sadness, but delight nonetheless. He picked up the diamond, kissed it softly, and looked toward the forest bordering the village and, by extension, his house. He looked back at the unique diamond, and knew she kept her promise. For one more year, one more day, she came to visit him, to reassure him, show him she remembered him. Like each 31st October for the last 22 years.


    Samhain. The Day of the Dead. The day the veil between our world and the Spirit world weakened, and could interact with one another.


    A young teen watched midnight creep up on the old grandfather''s clock in the abandoned house. His parents were away for the week, both had to work double shifts, and too poor to afford a nanny. But the 13-year boy assured them that within the bolted house, he will be safe. It wasn''t a lie, he was indeed safe. He knew like the back of his hand all the hiding places, and most of all, all the delicate knowledge about traps and alternate warfare. But tonight, he wasn''t thinking about being safe. For the first time in 13 years, he was alone when midnight will tick-tock. When Halloween will be upon him. When the dead...


    His heart leapt for the first time in his young heart. Something he lost any hope to have as a feeling. His thoughts went to the plan he prepared during all these years, but only tonight will he finally unveil.


    Restless, he jumped on his feet, and paced wildly as the clock slowly moved across the 11th section, like a clock always do when one wait with impatience.


    Fear replaced excitement, and he started to doubt: what if nothing happened? What if he would hope, but it was all for naught? What if a myth was only exactly that: a myth? He began to despair. Please, please, he thought, don''t let me down, not tonight, not after all these years of hopeless hoping. He stopped, sighed, and then startled. He didn''t had much time, but he could always try a little idea. A little magic.


    He stooped on his knees, resting on his heels, facing the West. Why the West? No idea. Everything magical always seemed to happen when he faced the West. Thoughts of Valinor, the fictional Heaven in the books of his favourite writer, which resided in the West, crossed the young boy''s mind, but he brushed it aside. He was trying this for the first time, he had to have it right. How was it again? Ah, yes, the symbol of the Buffalo. The Native American totem; the symbol of gift, wishes coming true, but also tainted with the stain of the sacred. And for some reason, its symbol resembling crudely that of the Great Dipper.


    He sighed heavily, noticed he still had ten minutes left before October 31st, and he started the ritual. He put his hands in a prayer position, and prayed for his greatest wish. Once he finished the sentence, he drew in the air, with his finger, the form of the Great Dipper, then bowed, thanking. He did this 19th time, each time unconsciously more desperate. Why 19 times, he will never know; all he knew was that somehow, this was the important number.


    The unused side of his brain kept thinking in a loop "Please make this work, today of all days". At his 19th and last sequence, he bowed deeper, and brought himself on his knees. He thought back, and slapped himself on the hand, thinking how silly that must have looked. As if drawing symbol in the air would help, or as if God hadn''t better things to do and grant as wishes than those of a little insignificant teenager who wished for the impossible.


    12 o''clock shimmered, snapping the young boy out of his self-mockery, and he realized it was time: Samhain was upon him. His heart sank, he knew he was silly to hope for such an impossible wish. But it was now or never. Better be disappointed and snapped from your fantasies than protecting them and live in ignorance.


    He took his dark cloak, made sure all his clothings were inside out, salt and various bits of irons in all his pockets, and hood covering his face. There was only one spirit he wanted to meet; no need to attract them all. Readying himself, he unbolted the back door of his house, and stepped into the decorated street. No one was yet celebrating; the world was waiting for tonight, not the very early morning.


    He set out toward a little entrance to the forest that ran parallel to the town. While exploring it earlier in his childhood years, he found a mound deep in the heart of the forest. Something about that small hill fascinated him, and with this unimaginable accurate intuition of young childhood, the young boy knew the mound was somehow important. Imagine his surprise when later in his life, he learned that mounds played great roles in Celtic mythology, and many sightings of the Otherworld, the spirit world, occurred there. That was when he started planning.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    During his small journey to the forest, the young teenager felt unusual. Something was going on. He both felt relieved and idiotic to be wearing the iron bits and the salt, as he often imagined hearing voices around him, seeing shapes of bodies. But he continued on undeterred, thinking often how his parents would react upon discovering that he went traveling alone to the woods; but these thoughts didn''t stopped him.


    He finally arrived at the mound, and something was distinctively different about it. It seemed to be... out-of-focus. There yet not there.


    He dropped his cloak to the ground, put back his clothing seams inside, shook out of his pockets the salt and iron bits, and wrapped the bits in his cloak so none remained on the ground; finally, he climbed to the mound. He was now unafraid, all he wanted was the truth.


    He waited and waited, but each time the feeling that he wasn''t alone grew, and he was sure he could make out some humanoid shape, not bothering him, just going on their way. Some went to the town, some spread across the forest, but all seemed to originate from the small hill.


    Then, he heard her:


    "David?"


    He turned and was face to face to a young woman. She looked older than him, but the features were exactly as when he saw her picture, when she was eleven. A few months before a brain cancer took her away from her family. Took her away from her young brother, who was only five. Tears welled in the young boy''s eyes, despite his small attempts to remain strong. He found he could say no words, could only look at his sister standing there, smiling with compassion and understanding. She got closer, and hugged him, burying his face in her neck, holding him tight as he cried as silently as he could.


    A part of David''s mind noticed with curious detachment how his sister felt both physical, yet something was still off, like part of her materiality was lacking. The most dominant part of him however both relished and grieved over finally seeing the sister he adored, whom was taken so unjustly from him when he most needed her. After a few minutes, when his grief subdued, when all the tears he needed to shed since a long time fell, he unlocked himself from her tender hold, and looked in her eyes. She was still smiling, though he could see how she was too affected by their bittersweet reunion, and she held on to his hands, also looking her brother over. She ran an ethereal finger on his wet cheeks, her own tears welling up in her eyes.


    "Hello, brother," she whispered softly. She opened her other hand, and revealed a small pink diamond. "Found this for you."


    David didn''t knew what to say. Eight years he prepared for this day, and now he could only look at her. Gathering enough will to speak, he asked the one question that burned him:


    "Why only now?"


    His sister pointed behind her, to the top of the mound.


    "Only when we''re close enough to the mound can you see me. Would I walk further away, you wouldn''t. The mound is the portal between both our worlds, so the distortion is more visible the closer you get to the portal."


    She paused, as if unsure to continue; but resolved to say it anyway:


    "I visited every year, but you were never there."


    "I couldn''t; you know how our parents were strict about going out at night," David defended himself, hurt. "And beside, I had no idea how to find you! I was only five when you..." his voice broke at the memory.


    "Sshh, I know," she comforted him, holding softly the side of his face. "But now you know too. And there will be some years when you won''t be able to see me; but remember this, David..." she looked at him straight in his dark eyes, "I will always come see you every year, that you see me or not."


    She hugged him once more, this time even more tight, and when they broke it off, she handed him the diamond.


    David smiled for the first time, and his sister returned the smile.


    Gabzryel David Summerfield held the pink diamond he picked from the empty plate. A tradition that began upon his first meeting with his dead sister, the day he learned that some myths had a ring of truth to them; since that meeting, he followed the old Celtic tradition of putting a plate full of the food that his sister loved, and upon finding it empty and the contents replaced by a pink diamond, he would know that she came by to visit him, like she promised.


    He smiled, with a bittersweet joy. Many feared Halloween, or rather, distorted its real meaning. They made it as the day that ghosts apparently came back to have their revenge, the day of gruesome sacrifices, the day when everything seemed to be only about gore, blood, and violence. Few remembered the real myth behind Halloween: the day when lost members of families came back to visit their loved ones, and spend one day with them. One day per year when the veil between our world and the world of the dead thinned, and broken families could be reunited for one small yet heart-warming moment, and remember that none were ever forgotten.


    Gabzryel made a point of never forgetting; and most of all, to never discard a myth even seemingly impossible. Especially that he now knew the truth behind the myth.


    He opened a small ornate jewellery box by his bedside table, and delicately put the 22th diamond amongst its pairs. He looked up at the stars, and blew a kiss to the emptiness above him.


    "I love you, sister."

 The Unmoving Tree

    Madzistrale sat on the swing, and began to move steadily. She sighed, feeling the depression invade her mind once again. Strange how waiting months in advance for a joyous day could result in some days feeling giddy and excited, and others, such as today, feeling sad and depressed that the day couldn''t come faster.


    Her dark brown eyes scanned the river running before her (well, her parents'') estate, hearing the clients laugh.


    It didn''t helped her loneliness when she felt separate in all manners to her family and the people who came to the estate to relax.


    And it certainly didn''t helped that she felt solely responsible at such a separation for something as benign as a belief that no one else had around her. Feeling a knot form in her stomach, she closed her eyes, silently wishing that anything could make that guiltiness go away.


    When she opened her eyes, she was still seated on her swing, but before her laid a grass field as far as the eyes could see. The sky was clearly at the turning point between the sun-filled clear sky and the sudden summer storm. A breeze made Madzistrale''s curly brown hair flow freely, and far behind her, she could hear distant thunders.


    She looked puzzingly at her new environment, and jerked in surprise as an indistinguishable voice rang all around her.


    "Good day, Madzistrale."


    The voice was undefinable in its gender; even more startling, it appeared to come from everywhere: outside of Madzistrale, inside of her mind, across the sky, following the wind, from deep within the grass field.


    "Who are you?" she asked.


    The voice chuckled.


    "I am."


    Madzistrale frowned.


    "That doesn''t really answer the question."


    "Not now. But it will one day. Beside, I was given too many names to count."


    Before Madzirrale could reply, the voice resumed:


    "Why are you so troubled, old soul?"


    "Old!? I''m not old! I''m 17!"


    The voice chuckled once more.


    "My apologies. I did say ''soul'', however. Your soul has had quite some journeys before this lifetime... so what is the matter?"


    Madzistrale considered the strangeness of the situation, but gave up.


    "In two months, I''ll be leaving my family''s estate"


    "Shouldn''t you be happy?"


    Madzistrale sighed.


    "I am, but I feel conflicted. I''m leaving my parents to be who I am with an understanding friend... but I feel I''m being unjust. Yet I feel like there is no common ground possible."


    "That''s only what your parents have taught you."


    "But they''re right!"


    The voice chuckled once again.


    "What makes you say that? Your friend has clearly shown it wasn''t true."


    Madzistrale hesitated.


    "He''s... he''s different."


    "Not so much than you think. Look behind you."


    Madzistrale slid from her swing and turned around. At about 100 meter from her stood a great wide tree. The sun was setting behind it, so it was engulfed in golden-orange rays, passing through the massive branches and the leaves. Far behind it, in the sky, dark clouds loomed dangerously close, the thunder still rolling.


    "What a magnificent creature a tree is," the voice almost sighed. "It links the earth and the sky together, making them become one, linking everything else in-between."


    Madzistrale gazed at it, curious by the tree''s familiarity.


    "Is that Yggdrasil?" she suddenly asked, a spark of wisdom hitting her.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The voice chuckled; Madzistrale grimaced in annoyance at the voice clearly making fun of her.


    "Close, but not quite what you think. It is indeed the last biological offspring that Yggdrasil gave birth to before evolving into the first non-Phoenix-kind entity to breach my world. But that''s not the point. Look closely at the tree. What do you see?"


    Madzistrale placed herself below the branches and looked at the thick smooth gray bark, at the strong branches.


    "Umm... branches, leaves, trunk?" she attempted.


    "Exactly. Beliefs, philosophies, all linking to one core. The core of these entirely different beliefs, uniting and sprouting from the common roots of knowledge. The entire system working together to achieve one singular goal: to reach beyond the limits of the sky, because beyond that lies something so incredible yet mind-boggling and thoroughly incomprehensible to the minds."


    Madzistrale realized what the voice was telling her. Then the thunders came even closer, and drops of rain splashed against the toppest of leaves.


    "Don''t move," the voice told her. "You''ll see, nothing will happen to you... or the tree."


    The storm hit hard, and Madzistrale flattened herself against the thick trunk. She was glad for the fact that the lowest branches were still about twice as high as her height so that it could not whip at her; and she found herself indeed protected from the heavy rain, the strong winds, and the thunders. It lasted for ten minutes, then as swiftly as it came, the storm system moved foward, and rays of sun shone back through the branches.


    "Look how strong the tree is when all elements of it coexist together. The same goes for your world, for your lives, and for your beliefs. Not one belief is separated from the other in a non-collective way, and that unity can survice the strongest of storms. That is the essence behind your friend''s eidomorph nature."


    Madzistrale didn''t bothered to ask how the voice knew about that unique word her friend invented to describe his belief; she pretty much already guessed who that voice was by now.


    "Thank you," she said, feeling the knot in her stomach leave.


    "My pleasure! See you later, old soul."


    "Woohoo! Oh sister!" A familiar voice reached her.


    Frowning, her eyes closed and reopened, seeing straight back at the river were the clients were still bathing. Tom was playfully shaking her, smirking.


    "Oh sister, stop napping, supper''s ready!"


    Madzistrale smiled and got off of her swing.


    "Etsuko! Let''s go," she said happily.


    "We really need to stop acting like nerds," Tom smirked.


    "Who cares? It''s fun using foreign words."


    "What did you dreamed about?" her brother asked.


    She chuckled.


    "Nothing. Just a guy that couldn''t tell me his name because he got given way too many."


    Tom looked at her quizzingly, then smiled.


    "Well, try not to turn crazy until we move into Gabzryel''s farm."


    "I''m afraid he already beat us on that level," she joked, as they then laughed.


    Following her brother, Madzistrale instinctively turned to look back. She was slightly disappointed to not see the tall, massive and unmoving tree set in the background of golden sun rays. But she definitively could tell that someone would be chuckling at her way too often for her own comfort. And that made her chuckle as well.


    "Now I see why he does that," she thought amusingly.

 Hope Without Hope - Part I

    2016, July 26


    Dusk had fallen over North America, and most of its citizens prepared to sleep. For them, or at least most of them, sleep and dreams were only an ordinary thing, something not to be concerned with, and frankly, rather unimportant, except for the only convenience to wake up feeling not tired.


    But to a small group of friends in Canada, sleep and dreams meant a completely different thing, as they considered it to be rather essential and even, vital to the survival of humans.


    Madzistrale and Tom entered the control room, slightly annoyed, followed by Gabzryel.


    "I am telling you, dreams may show us the way to build a better future; we only have to study them more profoundly," Gabzryel encouraged.


    "But what if you''re wrong?" Madzistrale retorted. "What if your crazy theory is wrong, and dreams are only hallucinations, our brain trying to analyze gathered information?"


    "Seriously? You believe that?" Gabzryel asked, amused.


    "More than your theory! It''s crazy!"


    "Oh, really?" Gabzryel challenged; he walked to his computer, opened a folder, and put up a text file. "Native American mythology: ''The Spider is considered as the ruler over dreams; her woven web represents the Native American''s belief that the physical world is interwoven with a multitude of spiritual worlds, all of which are, according to beliefs, accessed through sleep, hypnosis, or trance state''. Sanskrit mythology, from the Ravajama: ''According to the sacred Sanskrit text, there are 26 worlds; the Buddha world, 13 levels of Hell-like worlds, 9 levels of Heaven-like worlds, and 2 levels of physical world. It is said we can get glimpses of them through meditation or a trance-like state.'' It''s all documented, guys! All I''m asking is for a chance to prove it. A chance for you guys to be convinced. If I am right, then imagine what we will have discovered?"


    "But we tried for more than a year, nothing showed up!" Tom intervened.


    "Because you guys give me boring dreams! Skiing, adventure with zombies, human-eating dragons, romantic nights with fictional characters..."


    "Hey!" Madzistrale cut, blushing.


    "What I mean is that I can''t get a lock of where you are, or not enough of a lock. Look, I know about music''s effects upon thoughts and dreams. Let me try something tonight to see if I can''t get you guys to visit a planet or watch the Earth from space, or something like that. That''ll get me a visual and frequency lock on where you are."


    "I guess that means another night plugged to the computer?" Madzistrale sighed.


    "A rather small price to pay for information," Gabzryel smiled, sitting with an air of victory in front of the computers. "Come on guys, to your bedrooms," he encouraged them, setting up the parameters of the recording instruments.


    "Lucky for some of us that we don''t fancy anyone," Tom joked sarcastically to his sister. "We don''t need to worry about inadequate dreams being recorded and played back!"


    Madzistrale blew them both a raspberry, and the siblings entered their respective bedrooms. As the control room was hidden from the bedrooms''s view, they prepared in an approximately undisturbed fashion to enter the realm of dreams while Gabzryel filled their bedrooms with a kind of techno New Age music.


    He opened the computer microphone and pressed record:


    "Dream Log, entry #167. I am once more attempting the ''Project Orb Weaver''. This time, the subjects have been exposed to a techno/New Age music, with should affect the location and content of their dreams."


    He pressed more buttons, this time on another computer, and a grid of two RMI brains appeared, with a REM frequency recorder on the side. He pressed "Record", and noted to his journal:


    "Setting up the REM waves recordings... and recording started. Playback time."


    Madzistrale and Tom heard nothing of this preparation procedure, though, and they entered slowly into their dream worlds.


    Darkness invaded our heroes'' minds, soon to be replaced by a bird''s-eye view of a country. They landed on the ground of concrete, in the middle of a city. The buildings were in the start of their ruin, as if they had been up for decades without ever being repaired. Each inch of the ground was covered with hundreds of thousands of small townhouses, side-by-side, for as far as the eyes could see. Here and there were a few buildings of twenty stories rising to the sky, crippled with age. Not a single patch of green trees could be seen, only a few yellow patches of burnt grass, where the cement of the multiples streets hadn''t covered yet.


    Walking in the streets, Madzistrale and Tom crossed citizens, their faces haggard, and their eyes devoid of life. In the streets, mayhem ruled, with cars and peasants alike observing no rules, doing only what they wished to do. The siblings looked at each other, their emotions reflecting exactly, as a feeling of doom entered their mind.


    "Let''s see what''s out there," Madzistrale suggested.


    As if they were birds, they rose in the air and landed upon a tower. The air was thick with carbon dioxide, and the sky was grey throughout the city, the sun unable to pierce through the polluted atmosphere. But they could still see the city below, and to their consternation, it was only the same unceasing agglomeration of townhouses and buildings.


    "My God, what is this place? Tokyo?" Gabzryel gasped in horror to the intention of his diary log, as the brains of the sleeping siblings transmitted to his computer the vision, and the recording playbacked in front of him.


    "It''s rare in the case of the subjects, but their hearts are beating faster, their blood pressure is rising, and the amygdala activity is spiking; even though the view is not necessarily frightening, they are feeling extremely anxious," Gabzryel analyzed and wrote in the diary. "They almost never feel fear during dreams. Even in the case of potential threat, the fear is repressed and replaced by curiosity and confidence, as they know they can overcome the threat. I am thus concluding it is a psychological threat, as it is a much harder and stronger threat to fight against than a physical threat. In the case of the subjects, it is, in addition, an obscure and invisible psychological threat, which makes it only stronger in impact."


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Back in the siblings''s dream, they came back down, and entered a mall, where they watched as the vacant people rushed past them to buy this or that, an almost inaudible background music playing.


    "Is it me, or are these people not alive?" Madzistrale whispered, her ethereal blood cooling.


    "It''s not that. It feels more like they don''t have anything to look forward to," Tom whispered back, analyzing the people. "They do everything automatically, as if they''ve done that for a long time. In a way, you could say they are not alive, but if something were to happen, I strongly believe they will spring back to life. But, right now, they indeed look... dead."


    Just as he finished speaking, the volume of the background music rose, and a voice spoke:


    "Hello fellow citizens, it is time for the mid-day news!"


    The shoppers stopped moving, and all listened intently. A man and a seemingly four-year old girl in his arms stopped beside our heroes, and out of politeness, told them:


    "I hope it''s good news!"


    Tom and Madzistrale smiled politely in return, and listened:


    "The Rajars of the Ten States met today to talk about economics; they are working on lowering various aspects of the economics, in the hope that it will stabilize the situation. Unemployment is now at 64%, a rise of 13% since last year, a record. The FedCor also announced that there might be a loss in the distribution of soya packs, as the fields are plagued by a heavier drought than expected. Also, the Rajars ask that their citizens ration the water, as a crisis is imminent, according to the sciencians (to the heroes mind, it automatically translated as "scientists"). Finally, tension is till high as the Turans have not yet reached an agreement with the Rajars, and the former threaten to go ahead in with their plans of sending droid troops to the Ten States.


    But there is good news: the final experimental shipment has been launched from Terra, and is now in orbit about Mona. Sciencians believe that in forty years, the entire solar system will be ready to be populated.


    Thank you for listening to the mid-day news; we will now return to the program."


    The news finished, and the volume turned back low.


    "Ration the water?? Eat less?" the man beside Tom and Madzistrale exclaimed to a woman who appeared by his side. "We are already living on one dinner per day. Everyone who is unlucky and found themselves in the streets is starving, because we are not allowed to feed them, and now water is going to be rationed??"


    A heavy debate started, and the siblings stepped aside, listening from afar.


    "Yeah, what about Turan''s armies? Who will protect us if they invade?" another woman cried. "They are all busy with this Mona Mission. If that same money would have been to Terra, we wouldn''t be in trouble! Now who''s gonna care if thousands of us die?"


    Hearing enough, Tom and Madzistrale got out of the mall, and they flew above the city, seeking the limit of it. But there seemed to be no end to the townhouses. After a while, they realized the sea of buildings never stopped.


    "Where are the farms??" Madzistrale wondered.


    "I think that''s the point," Tom said sadly, "there are no more. Whoever controlled this place was stupid enough to counter population by spreading it across the surface of the Earth. Nothing remains now."


    Suddenly, they heard a tremble, and they stopped their flight, now hovering above the ground. For a reason they couldn''t explain, dread filled them completely, and the urge to wake up came as strongly. But they were determined to find out more about what was coming. And then, they saw it. Rising from the horizon, enormous plates of metal rose from the ground. Perfored, perhaps to let air come through the metal plates, they rose higher and higher in the sky, sending a constant trembling across the earth. As the siblings watched in horror, unable to move, the plates started to curve, and fill the sky. Shoutings came from above, as the masses of citizens got out of their houses, and watched as the plates covered more and more of the sky, well above the polluted air.


    "What is this??" a woman screamed.


    "It''s the Turan armies!" a man replied.


    "Impossible, they don''t have that much power to build such a thing."


    And on the debate continued, growing in fear and rage as the plates continued their ascension and coverage.


    Then, as a few kilometers of visible sky remained, the sky boomed, and an almost military-like voice spoke, with perfect calm, and a hint of nonchalance:


    "People of Terra, this is the Rajar Command. We speak from Mona. The Mona Mission has been accomplished successfully, and rest assured that the legacy of Terrans continues through our selected elite members of this mission. However, there is one small problem."


    At this moment, Tom and Madzistrale could swear that they heard the voice speak the last sentence with an amused tone.


    "As the experiments grew, we found, through an enormous tragedy, that the atmosphere of Mona is sensible to any alien bacterias, and so are the elite members that now inhabit Mona. For security reasons, the people of Terra will not be able to leave this planet, nor have any contact with Mona whatsoever, otherwise you will endanger the survival of humanity. For this reason, your planet will be enclosed, so that no one can attempt to leave Terra. We repeat, this is to ensure the survival of humanity."


    Then, it was clearly heard by everyone: the voice smiled, and said these last words, the last words Terrans would ever hear from the stars:


    "Welcome to Hell."

 Hope Without Hope - Part II

    The Rajarian command ship was orbiting around Mona, controlling by distance two hundred drones, each in a specific orbit above Terra, once a beautiful dark-blue planet, but now a fiery ochre, as a result of billions of buildings covering every piece of land, and of billions of sulphur and various other chemicals present in the atmosphere. Upon a signal from the Rajar ship, the drones deployed, and each held a plate of metal; slowly, they descended into the atmosphere of Terra, bringing the two hundred plates together.


    "Welcome to Hell", the smiling voice was recorded in Gabzryel''s computer, back on the real world.


    Silence reigned in the control room, as Gabzryel''s jaw dropped in utter shock.


    Back on the dream world, Madzistrale looked with despair as the metal plates enclosed completely the sky, and the world was plunged into darkness, lit only by the cities lights and their reflections against the metal and the polluted air. Below them, the citizens were yelling in rage and despair, as all knew it was only a matter of years before water and food ran out, and most, if not all, died in this inferno.


    "I want to see who did this," Tom spat between clenched teeth, taking his sister''s hand.


    As a scene cuts to enter another, the siblings found themselves hovering in space, above Terra and beside Mona. But they were too late, as there was no sign of life, no ships, no bases. Their eyes turned towards Terra, and their hearts stopped. There was no more blue planet, no more continents and seas, no more clouds. There was only a dark metal sphere. Since Terra''s atmosphere was cut from space, the polluted air escaped only by the few small perforations in the sphere.


    "Welcome to Hell indeed," Tom whispered angrily, watching hopelessly as the planet below the metal prison smoked, the cries and pleas of the imprisoned civilization still in his mind.


    Madzistrale''s eyes filled with tears as pity and hate clashed, and she hugged her rigid brother; he returned the hug, his brown eyes devoid of sadness, feeling only deep rage against whoever created Hell, the coward who fled Terra to live forever as he exterminated the entirety of humanity.


    "Get me out, Tom!" Madzistrale pleaded, unable to stand any longer the sight of the smoking hell, "get me the hell out of there!!"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    On an automatic mode, Gabzryel entered the wakening procedure, his mind still dumb in front of the horror he witnessed through the siblings''s dream. Not a minute later, two doors were slammed, and the siblings stormed the control room.


    "What the hell was that?!" Madzistrale yelled angrily at Gabzryel.


    "I don''t know, it''s your dream!" Gabzryel replied shakily, asking all his mental prowess to process logically what he saw.


    "He smiled!!! He smiled and laughed as the plates enclosed the planets!!" Madzistrale slammed a table with her fist.


    One of the computer beeped, and Gabzryel turned silently to look at it. His jaw dropped for a second time, and he devoted the next five minutes calculating and double-checking the information the computer gave him. During this time, Tom was holding his sister, and was whispering comfortingly:


    "It was just a dream, Mad, only a bad dream..."


    "About that..." Gabzryel cut, his face lit up. "Guys, I have a good and bad news!"


    "Bad one first," the siblings answered immediately.


    "Okay. What you saw wasn''t a dream. Per say."


    "What?!" Madzistrale furiously yelled.


    "Wait, wait, that''s the bad news, yes, but you forget the good news!" Gabzryel retorted. He turned the computer toward them, and pointed to a small graph. "My friend, the search for ''Project Orb Weaver'' is done!"


    "What?" Tom asked.


    "You remember I said you needed to be outside Earth for me to get a lock? Well you finally went outside the Earth to look at it, and it gave me a specific reading! My friends, the frequency wave was from a kind you only get when your visual cortex is standing outside the Earth, not on its surface!! And the best part?... The frequency wave of the "outside" Earth of your dream doesn''t match the frequency that one gets from our "outside" Earth!!"


    Excited, he jumped from his chair and surprised-hugged the siblings in glee.


    Tom and Madzistrale looked at each other over Gabzryel''s shoulders, wondering if they should break the mood by reminding Gabzryel about the 20 billions trapped humans they briefly dreamt about, but Tom shook his head. Madzistrale understood and closed her eyes. The world they dreamt was beyond hope. But not their own. Thanks to Gabzryel''s "Project Orb Weaver" theory being proved right tonight, they now had hope for their own world.

 My Dream

    The tall grass crunches under my steps as I climb the hill. Autumn had arrived since exactly twelve days, and it shows in both the grass'' length, and the age of the leaves upon the tall tree standing before me. I slow down as hard stone replaces the softness beneath my steps. The rock forms an upright cliff before a dropping return to the other side of the hill. The moon is at its crescent, the twentieth one day of its cycle. It is 19 hours, 44 minutes and 23 seconds on my clock, and the sun is setting. I look at the sky which everyone praised, and I frown, puzzled. It is merely the sun''s photons entering our atmosphere and interacting with the hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, xenon, and microscopical amounts of chemicals that gave the sky its orange, yellow, and blue gradient.


    Francis, my beagle and terrier mix breed dog, slow down as well, his tail wagging and his breathing excited. I bend down, and memorizing where his soft spot was, I scratch him. I was given Francis three months, twenty five days, eighth hours, sixteen minutes and fifty... I shook my head, remembering the soft reprimands.


    "Daniel, no one cares about the exactitude of things unless directly asked. And even then, a close approximation, usually ending in brackets of 15 minutes, is enough... if they ask until such a need."


    Daniella was the one most inclined to helping me accomplish my dream. Ironically, the one who protected me bore the female version of my name. Chestnut frizzy hair dropping down to Daniella''s shoulder blades, hazelnut eyes which required the magnification of orthopaedic glasses, and a silky-looking tan skin that I could not prevent myself from finding interesting. I told truthfully Daniella that she was something new in my life; my experiences with my superiors never led me to meet someone like her. Daniella had smiled, and admitted seeing her own struggles in mine.


    And so, when the council debated whether I was a failed experiment, Daniella took me under her wings (I still can not understand why such an expression... As far as I knew, she was not a bird), and challenged with a single stare anyone who would oppose her.


    I guess Daniella is how a mother feels like... Or a friend? What is the difference? People with biological mothers will still say of another woman that she feels like a second mother. And another woman would be categorized as a friend.


    Intricacies like those are what still forbids me from evolving further. But Daniella told me not to concentrate on that problem yet. Daniella taught me that the single obstacle forbidding me to reach my dream, was my incapacity to look at my environment beyond what my programming instructed me to interpret it as.


    But I wish to evolve. I truly do. One year and seven... About two years ago, the remaining known members of the Shiakar Paradigm Society was arrested, myself along with a Rodgul, Scott Johnson. I participated in the society''s crimes because I interpreted their mission as benefiting humanity. But a brunette stranger, Madzistrale, made me doubt my decision when she pointed out the flaws in our logical thinking.


    By misinterpreting a situation, I almost allowed 9, 510, 030 lives to be ended. I wish to understand how to prevent that mistake from ever happening again. How hope, dreams, faith and the abstract thinking of what may be can be valued over reason and logic. Moreover, I know I wish to have a purpose, but I do not understand what I wish for.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Daniella told me to climb here, and look around me. Daniella told me I would know the answer.


    Francis walk away to explore, and I look around me. The old yet strong tree whose leaves have accomplished their photosynthesis purpose and must be discarded; the crescent moon, a piece of rock that humanity admire the reflection of the sun upon its surface; the sky filled with the chemicals humanity despise, yet which gives off a valued coloured gradient under the photons'' interference.


    Daniella... I do not understand.


    Stars begin to shine through the atmosphere; the wind rises as the warm air rises and cold air falls back down in a vortex. This new wind varies its pressure on my skin and through my hair, but something is different. Every pass feels like a new unexpected experience, not as an endless mechanical calculations.


    The wind disturb the precarious strength of the used leaves, and 31... a few leaves fall when a burst hits through the branches. I watch the old orange and copper leaves fall slowly to the ground, and I understand the sadness that Daniella attach to that lifecycle. The leaves have accomplished their purpose: a season to give energy and strength to the tree. Now their purpose is over, they fall down, getting out of the way. Most of humanity would say: the ways of nature.


    But I remember what those words suggest; and instead, I find myself wishing they stayed. Their pigments are beautiful, and upon the tree, with the photons passing through the branches and hitting the beautiful colour scheme, it becomes a painting. The ways of nature are wrong: the old leaves do serve a purpose in a different way: they are a work of art, one that humanity would spend previous time to earn the finances necessary to buy a similar art piece.


    I realize that this is the key to my dream: an existence''s purpose is ever-changing, ever-evolving. It does not require to accomplish a specific mission then be set aside. That was what Madzistrale had attempted to say.


    My dream... My dream is for my existence''s purpose to matter the same way the leaves'' survival matter right now to me. Meaningless of what the leaves'' mission is: their beauty within the single snapshot of the time it all harmonized together, the sky, the wind, the moon; or the knowledge of the duty they held for an ephemeral moment.


    My dream, if only I knew how, could be reached. I could be meaningful in more ways than one, in even unassuming ways.


    I close my eyes, remembering the procedure, and voice my wish out loud:


    "May I matter."


    Francis barks back, and running to me, lick my hand, his golden eyes cheerful while dangling his tongue in excitement. His eyes reflect my words, a simple dog that does not realize how different I am from humanity.


    I look once more at the ephemeral snapshot of this landscape. I guess my dream is not so far-fetched.

 The Madness Mystery

    ¡°It''s in my car, I got it this morning,¡± Sylvia replied, checking that her bag contained its usual mess.


    ¡°You think Ian will like it?¡±


    ¡°I''m sure he will; he''s head over heels about the story of Frodo.¡±


    "Me, it''s with Aragorn that I''m head over heels," Liz replied, and Sylvia chuckled at its hidden meaning.


    "I have to go now!" Sylvia kissed quickly the cheek of her friend, and left the shop.


    Once in her car, she checked in the back seat if the gift for her son was still there. A brown bag with an ornate sword handle sticking out of one end welcomed her worried glance. She sighed with relief as she started the engine; today was the 9th birthday of her son, and it was commonly known that the need for a hero was predominant around this age. So she knew that for Ian, owning a replica of Frodo''s sword Sting would mean the world.


    She carefully looked at the street before driving out of the parking lot; nowadays, the streets were full of crazy drivers.


    As she drove on the left lane, passing the slow cars on the right lane, keeping a sharp lookout for suspicious driving, she let herself think of her family, patiently waiting her return. She knew her husband would''ve gone through the trouble of cooking for the event, and she thought of several ways to thank him later in the evening. But most of all, she was thinking of her son as he would gaze upon her gift. How his shy nature would fade for a moment, and pure joy replace it. Those were the moments that made life worth living.


    "Hello, Sylvia."


    It was two voices at the same time, one male and one female, speaking in unison. Sylvia''s thoughts suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by a strange darkness. Sylvia felt suddenly as if she became two fragment. One screamed of pure horror at this simple sentence, and as the two voices kept on talking intelligibly, repeating her name. But she realized she was screaming silently, and then she realized she was watching herself drive. The other fragment of her, her physical body, was now tense, her stare completely blank, her mouth open.


    "Wake up," Sylvia told urgently her other self, wishing she could shake herself by the shoulders.


    The two voices kept on talking, louder and louder, still unintelligible.


    Sylvia watched with horror as her physical self blankly turned the wheel of the car toward the right. As if in slow-motion, she watched, unable to stop any of it, as her car entered the right lane right in front of another car; the latter tried to break in time, but failed.


    "Goodbye, Sylvia."


    The ethereal Sylvia was suddenly taken back into her body, and she opened her eyes: one final moment of consciousness, taking notion of her hands firmly gripped on the wheel, desperately looking for a way out... the car behind her crashing at full speed with hers...


    **********************


    "You called, Chief?" Ben inquired, intrigued by the stranger.


    "Ben, yes. Do sit down," the chief inspector welcomed him, his stoutness and his moustache reminding Ben of the inspector Dupont in the Tintin comic books of his youth.


    Ben sat down, but felt slightly uncomfortable as the stranger followed his every move with his clear gaze but remained standing beside his chair.


    "You can sit too, Mr. Fitzgerald," the chief said, sitting in his chair.


    "Thank you, sir," the stranger replied with a distinguished Britannian accent, before sitting completely straight in his chair.


    "Ben, this''s Detective Daniel Fitzgerald from the Columbus district; he''ll assist you in the mission that I''m giving you."


    "What about Catherine?" Ben inquired about his usual partner.


    "I''m afraid she won''t have the expertise that Mr. Fitzgerald will give you on this mission. Don''t worry, it''ll be the only time. Now, I suppose you''re aware of the statistics of accidental deaths and homicidal deaths that the State gave us last week?"


    "Yes sir. The rate of accidental and homicidal deaths rose from 13% to 21% from last year. I''m quite aware, since I arrested quite a few of those responsible for these deaths."


    "Indeed. But the Columbus district recently came up with a huge mystery. Mr. Fitzgerald, if you please."


    "As you wish, sir. In 78% of the homicidal cases, the murderer did not have a psychological profile nor a prior judicial case that could have lead to his or her actions."


    "That''s not rare, Mr. Fitzgerald," Ben argued. "Many murders are made on the spun of the moment."


    "True, Mr. Kramer, but these were not the case."


    "That''s not all, tell him about the accidental ones," the chief encouraged.


    "As you wish, sir. In 83% of the accidental death cases, the victim did not have a prior occurrence."


    Ben looked at his chief blankly, then at the Britannian detective.


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "He means that in car accidents, the driver didn''t have prior accidents; in work accidents, the worker didn''t had accidents," the chief quickly explained before the detective.


    "That''s not impossible, right? And surely they must''ve had more minor accidents?"


    "Not impossible, no, but highly improbable," Daniel Fitzgerald replied. "A major accident is always more prominent in people with prior accidents. A major car accident is almost always preceded by minor but considerable car accidents. A work accident is almost always preceded by minor but considerable work accidents. A..."


    "Okay, I get the picture," Ben interrupted. "But you''re saying that the victims of those accidents had no previous incidences? In either homicidal or accidental cases?"


    "Yes sir. In respectively 78% and 83% of the cases."


    "How do you know that?"


    "My district work consist of examining the brain of the suspects, the victims, and the victims'' families to theorize a way of treating the psychological disorders that lead to crime," Daniel clarified. "A murderer has anomalies in the section of the brain that regulates morality and emotion. Such anomalies prevent his basic sense of right and wrong to activate when he plan to kill someone. They also deactivate part of his emotional response to such an action. These anomalies are always present in a murderer''s brain, and old in age."


    "But...?"


    "The required anomalies were not present in the brain of the 78% homicidal murderers. Nor did they had any prior crime, or any prior instabilities. Nor did they had sufficient issues with their victims to provoke such actions."


    "What about if they suddenly snapped?" Ben asked, his brain reeling to find a solution for this unusual problem.


    "Such an emotion would appear on their brain imprint; and no one snap without any prior pushing."


    "Let me guess: they showed no prior push," Ben sighed.


    "Correct, Mr. Kramer."


    Ben rose and paced for a few steps, then suddenly turn to face Daniel:


    "What if they unconsciously snapped? Their conscious mind doesn''t register it, but it still happened?"


    "It does not work that way, Mr. Kramer. The action and the psychological disturbance would still leave an imprint on the neurones. Not because they did not wish to acknowledge it means that it did not exist. An action, conscious or unconscious, leaves the same imprint on the brain. Not only that, but when the action was executed, the murderers registered a very sudden peak of emotional response, and morality response. Not only was it powerful but new: the sentiment of guilt, horror, and shock was strong, and reflective of a first time reaction. For them, and their brains concurs, it should not have happened.¡±


    "And the accidental deaths?" Ben inquired, feeling the answer would be similar in nature.


    "Most of the victims had no previous inclination to accidents. Their psychological profile were very careful people, either mentally or physically. Many were well trained in their profession, most of the car accidents were from drivers with no car accident records...."


    "I heard enough," Ben interrupted, sitting back in his seat.


    "You see?" the chief smiled weakly.


    "You''re telling me that all these murderers killed someone without actually doing it from their point of view (while leaving no imprint), and that all the accidents were by non-accident-prone people. So what you''re suggesting that happened, exactly?"


    "That''s what you two must investigate," the chief ordered them. "I want answers, Ben. These incidents are rising steadily and we can find no reasons for them. I want to know why, fast!"


    "Yes, sir," Ben acknowledged, rising from his seat. "I''ll start right away."


    Daniel Fitzgerald rose too and shook the hand of the chief, thanking him for receiving him, while Ben walked out of the office, his mind swirling with unanswered questions.


    ***********************


    Ben shook his head; he already had one mystery, that was enough. He joined Daniel, and sat in the driver''s seat, Daniel diligently sitting in the passenger''s.


    "Ready, partner?" Ben asked in a jovial manner; he didn''t liked the idea of a new partner, but it was his moral duty to make the latter welcomed.


    "Yes, Mr. Kramer," Daniel answered, staring straight out of the windshield.


    "Call me Ben, okay? I''ll call you Daniel, or Dan if I''m in a rush."


    "As you wish, Ben."


    Ben silently chuckled at Daniel''s compliance, and started the engine.


    "We''ll start by interrogating the family of the latest victim. Who''s that?" Ben asked his partner, as the car climbed up to join the lowest skylane, at 100 meters above the ground.


    "Sylvia Tyler, Ben. 38 years old, lived in Vermon. Accidental death from car collision. Her surviving family is her 40 year old husband, Nathan Tyler, and her 9 year old son, Ian Tyler."


    Ben sighed. Interrogating grieving families was not his favourite part of the job.


    "Let''s go, then," he said without much enthusiasm.


    **********************


    "Ian, I''m about to have guests. Would you mind playing in your room upstairs?"


    "Sure," the young boy replied as innocently as possible. He climbed the stairs, slammed his door, and, very silently, opened it just enough to crawl out and spy, through the stairs'' railings, in the living room.


    Nathan opened the door, and clearly showed that he was peaceful, for before him stood two officers, a tall slim Caucasian with a distinct air of calm authority, and an equally tall but stouter dark-skinned man, with a more relaxed countenance.


    "Can I help you, officers?"


    "Are you Nathan Tyler?" Ben inquired.


    "Yes?..."


    "I''m Inspector Kramer, this is Detective Fitzgerald. Can we ask a few questions about your late wife, please?"


    "Umm, yeah sure, come on in," Nathan answered, stepping aside, letting them in. "Does my son need to be present? He''s rather shy around strangers, especially since Sylvia''s..."


    "We don''t need him, no," Ben reassured him.


    As their host guided them to the living room, Ben made some polite comment on the house''s decoration; it always felt like using a worn-out technique, but it always made people at ease.


    They sat down, and Ben silently sympathize for the grieving father; it wasn''t hard to see the grief in Nathan''s composure.


    "Can I ask why you''re here for Sylvia? She died of a car accident¡­" Nathan asked.


    "There''s some anomalies in that statement; her insurance records show no previous car accidents, is that true?" Ben inquired politely.


    "Yes, sir, Sylvia was an impeccable driver, if I might say so. She always insisted on driving Ian. Well, she missed one stop, about 16 years ago, but that was the only time. She hates... hated, sorry, distracted driving. Just a few years ago, a crash happened right under us, in the street below, and she has been extra careful ever since. Have you any idea how driving is dangerous nowadays? God, the accidents sometimes that..."


    "Sorry to interrupt; but from what I hear, she would''ve been incapable of the accident that caused her death?"


    Nathan hesitated, visibly troubled to doubt official reports.


    "In all the years she drove, and you were with her, did she ever cut in front of another car, when she was in a hurry perhaps?"


    "No... no, sir. On the contrary, she drove even more carefully when she was in a hurry, or looking forward to something. She didn''t want to risk ruining that enjoyment by causing an accident, or being delayed for missing a stop or breaking the speed limit."


    "I see. That''s all I wanted to know; thank you for your time, Mr. Tyler," Ben said, rising to his feet, followed by Daniel.


    Nathan rose too, but he showed confusion as he shook the hands of the officers:


    "Am I to understand that something came up that would suggest Sylvia''s death wasn''t accidental?"


    "We honestly can''t tell you right now, Mr. Tyler, for we don''t know ourselves. But due to some anomalies, we need to investigate nonetheless. I guarantee that when we know, we''ll inform you." Ben shook once more Nathan''s hand: "My deepest condolences for her death; it may be possible that we''re chasing shadows and it was just an honest accident. Cherish her memory."


    Daniel repeated the condolences; Ben spotted a small movement up the stairs. A thought crossed his mind, and he turned to the father.


    "You mentioned Mrs. Tyler looking forward to events; was she by any chance looking forward to a special event that day?"


    Nathan''s face turned sombre upon recollection:


    "Yes... We all were. It was Ian''s 9th birthday."


    Ben''s face fell. He annoyingly glanced quickly at Daniel, who only looked back with a flat expression; Ben wished that Daniel would have told him about that.


    "Can I go talk to him?" he asked.


    "Sure. He''s upstairs, but he''s very shy around strangers, especially since..."


    "No problem," Ben reassured him with a smile.


    While climbing the stairs, Daniel dutifully following, he noticed a small shape run off, and a door was heard. Smiling, he turned to Daniel:


    "Did you bring the ETM with you? I want to give something to Ian."


    Daniel fished out a cube out of the small bag he was carrying, the size of two hands, and handed it. Ben typed a few instructions on the digital panel on one of its size, and while a small machinery sound was heard from the inside, he knocked on the bedroom''s door.


    "Ian, I''m Inspector Kramer; I was talking with your dad, and I thought I''d give you something. Can I come inside?."


    As a small grunt answered, Ben opened the door, and walked into Ian''s room, holding the cube; Daniel stood respectfully at the door entrance, for he hadn''t been invited in. Ben knelt in front of Ian, a small dark-haired boy with smarter eyes smarter than his age made him look, and who was now looking at the Inspector with a mixture of suspicion and defiance.


    "I heard that it was your birthday recently, so I got you something," Ben told him while the mechanical whirring inside the cube ceased. He opened one of the side, fished out a small figurine of a figure that looked like a typical old wizard, with a grey cloak and robe, a grey pointy hat, and a wooden staff, and gave it to the boy, whose eyes glowed with restrained joy as he looked upon the gift. "I know times are rough, and trust me, they''ll get rougher as you grow up. But if you keep this, and you remember what it means, the world will never get to you. As long as fire burn in your heart, you will never feel the cold of the world, and you will light up the fire in the hearts of those around you."


    Ben rose to his feet and shuffled the boy''s hair, and told him as a goodbye:


    "Take care of your dad, will you?"


    Ian smiled brightly as he clutched the wizard figurine, and Ben walked out of the room, Daniel giving a goodbye wave before following his partner.


    Once they got into the car, and Ben started up the engine, Daniel finally broke his silence by asking, confused:


    "Why did you give Ian Tyler a figurine of the fictional character Gandalf the Grey, Ben?"


    Ben wondered briefly if the overly long description of his gift was necessary, before replying:


    "I thought it would be comforting for him. Gandalf''s strength is to never give up, and to keep the fire in one''s heart alive to fight off evil."


    "It is an inaccurate meaning. A human heart cannot contain fire, nor can fire repel the abstract idea of..."


    "Daniel... it''s a metaphorical and fictional hero! Didn''t you had heroes when you were young?"


    "No, Ben," Daniel flatly answered.


    "Well, Ian has. It''s what keeps him going, fighting. More than ever, with his mother''s death. His heroes teach him to be brave and to keep going, and the figurine is a physical representation of that idea. And I wanted to help him keep that idea; it''ll help him deal with Sylvia''s death."


    Daniel stayed silent while Ben finally embarked unto the nearest skylane, before asking:


    "How did you know that Gandalf the Grey was Ian Tyler''s hero, Ben?"


    "Well, they found a plastic Sting sword in Sylvia''s car. I didn''t paid much attention to it until Mr. Tyler informed me that it was Ian''s birthday that day. I realized then that Frodo''s sword was most probably a gift for her son; and they are always based on what people like the most. It wasn''t hard to figure out that Ian would like Gandalf. Aren''t you supposed to be versed in psychology?"


    "It is not my department, Ben. I am a detective of facts; this is why I require a second partner, who will investigate people."


    "Oh.. Okay, what else would you suggest that we check out?"


    "We could investigate the most recent murder case, Ben. It was committed 4 months and 16 days ago, by Lucien Stewart, 24 years of age, living in Alabama; Mr. Stewart fatally stabbed his older brother, Mark Stewart, aged 27, and their father, Jonathan Stewart, aged 53. He is the latest case in which the murderer lacked the psychological anomalies."


    "Ask the Bureau that we need a pass to interrogate him," Ben ordered.


    "Yes, Ben."


    Ben waited while Daniel made the necessary calls and requests.


    "We will meet him at the Bostonia Penitential Facility tomorrow at 13:00 hour, Ben" Daniel announced, closing his phone.


    "Great. So, what must I know about this young man? You mentioned the father, but not the mother," Ben inquired.


    "Victoria Stewart, maiden name McCarthy, aged 22, died from complications giving birth to Lucien; Lucien is autistic; as a result, he went to a private school for his first 6 grades, and after deciding to be an artist, his father engaged tutors to teach Lucien about art and music at home. After his studies, Lucien became a freelance artist, and remained at home to help his father while the elder brother became a travel agent. Everything suggest that the family had no personal issues capable to motivate Lucien''s actions."


    "And the day he killed them?"


    "They were at a family reunion, according to Isabelle, the fianc¨¦e of Mark Stewart. According to her, there was no animosity at the prospect of the dinner. The timeline state that the murders happened within 45 minutes since Mark phoned his fianc¨¦e to let her know he was at the party."


    Ben thought for some moments, while he noticed that Daniel was looking straight at him for all that time.


    ¡°Did the authorities found any motives? Was Lucien secretly in love with his Isabelle or jealous of Mark''s freedom? Did he seem to resent his situation?¡± Ben finally asked.


    ¡°No, Ben, they found none. Isabelle was adamant that Lucien had no feelings of love toward her, and was very happy of her engagement with Mark. According to 14 witnesses and relatives reports, Lucien did not mind his situation at home. He loved art and considered external work conditions detrimental to the time needed for his passions. Since the mother died, Lucien considered it only logical that he should remain at home to both express his art, and take care of his father at the same time. According to these reports, there was no jealousy between the two brothers; it was considered as a very strong relationship, with both filling the qualities and flaws of each other.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°That''s very strange, Daniel,¡± Ben replied bitterly. ¡°Surely there must be a motive of some sort. A murder like that isn''t done on a whim.¡±


    ¡°That is why we are assigned to this mystery, Ben. Because with the results of Lucien Stewart''s psychological profile, and his consequent depressive mental state, Mr. Stewart did not have a motive, nor the necessary state of mind to execute this crime.¡±


    Ben sighed heavily, frustrated. None of it made sense.


    **********************


    ¡°The office open at 7 a.m., Ben. To uphold your healthy physical and mental state for tomorrow, I must remind you that you require 9 hours of sleep, and a minimum of 30 minutes for wakening procedures and breakfast. I must thus remind you that you have 30 minutes left before going to sleep.¡±


    It took a moment before a puzzled Ben realized that Daniel was actually serious in his reprimand.


    ¡°I''m fine, Daniel, I do this all the time,¡± Ben annoyingly replied, taking the offered mug.


    Taking a sip while he read the reports at the computer''s screen, he then gulped down in shock, and stared at Daniel (whom was staring unblinkingly straight at him, his own cup untouched and dangerously lowering toward the floor), half-shocked and half-angry:


    ¡°Did you just gave me hot milk?!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ben. With honey. Studies show that it promotes your metabolic sleep procedu...


    Ben set aside his cup in annoyance:


    ¡°Forget it. Look at that instead.¡±


    Daniel put down on the desk his own cup, just in time before its content poured on the carpet, and leaned to watch the screen.


    ¡°Look at this, Dan. Some of the crimes and accidents just don''t make sense. I have 22 years of experience, and nothing like that ever happened. Everything always had a reason, even if bizarre ones.¡±


    ¡°I believe you, Ben,¡± Daniel answered.


    ¡°But this...¡± Ben sighed. ¡°There''s just no reason, mo motives, and that''s not right, Daniel! That''s not how it works, not in real life...¡±


    Ben sat back in his chair, passing his hands across his head, trying to somehow make sense of what he was seeing. Even in worst case scenarios, accidents and crimes ended up having an underlying reason. But this last year¡­ it was pure madness. He doubted the Columbus district reports, but districts across Norr Americae and Evropa confirmed them. Ben shivered at this thought. If even Europa confirmed it, with their own localized incidents¡­ then the madness suddenly overtaking these people was worldwide. How did one dealt with that, or got it stopped or prevented? Who was next?


    ¡°Ben? You have 10 minutes before sleep procedures. I suggest that you drink your hot milk and go home,¡± Daniel''s voice cut.


    Ben rolled his eyes to the sky; what was it with this guy?! Before Daniel spoke again, he rose from his chair; apparently, he needed to think at home if he wanted some peace and quiet.


    ¡°Good night, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°You forgot your hot milk, Ben,¡± Daniel reminded him, following him with the two cups.


    ¡°I drank enough,¡± Ben lied, quickening his pace toward the entrance door. ¡°If you want, drink the rest.¡±


    ¡°As you wish, Ben.¡±


    Ben sighed with relief as he heard Daniel''s footstep stopping. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed with amusement that Daniel was drinking both cups in huge gulps. Ben shook his head with amused puzzlement, and walked out of the station. He realized with a small amount of wonder that he was actually missing his usual partner, Catherine. She knew how to lift his spirits up and when to leave him alone in his thoughts. And mother him, like a certain Britannian detective seemed to enjoy doing.


    **********************


    ¡°Everything''s in order,¡± the guard reluctantly acknowledged, lifting the barrier.


    The car moved to a lot overlooking what could only be a correctional facility.


    ¡°Time to get some answers,¡± Ben cheerfully announced.


    The clock chimed 13:00 when Ben and Daniel sat in front of a reinforced window pane separating them from a bland room with only a table and a chair. The room''s door opened, and two guard brought a docile young man clad in the usual orange uniform of a convict, then left to stand at the door. The young man sat down and looked at Ben and Daniel with lifeless eyes, before lowering them and looking at his cuffed hands with an empty gaze. It wasn''t hard also to see that he had regressed to his autistic state, and Ben suddenly felt sympathy. Steeling himself, he began to speak:


    ¡°Lucien, I''m Inspector Kramer, this is Detective Fitzgerald; we want to talk to you, because there''s some evidences that suggest your innocence.¡±


    The young man said nothing.


    ¡°Is there anything you can remember about that evening?¡± Ben inquired gently.


    ¡°I didn''t kill them,¡± Lucien finally spoke, in a low and hurt voice, his eyes still lowered. ¡°But it doesn''t matter. They''re gone...¡±


    ¡°It does matter, Lucien. Something happened to you, and if we can know what it was, we could stop any future person to do so again.¡±


    Lucien made a sad, empty chuckle.


    ¡°Nothing happened. I killed them even though I never wanted to hurt them. Nothing to justify that.¡±


    ¡°Were you bribed or threatened?¡±


    Lucien looked straight at Ben, his eyes like dagger:


    ¡°Nothing could have made me kill my brother and father, Inspector Kramer. I love them!¡±


    ¡°Then what happened? Why did you do it?¡±


    Lucien lowered his stare once more, and said nothing. Ben leaned against the window:


    ¡°Lucien, hundreds of others like you face the same guilt than you. People who killed loved ones, whom they never wanted to hurt. You''ve got to help me out!¡±


    Lucien hesitated, but shook his head weakly.


    ¡°If you''re worried that I won''t believe you, let me tell you, I''ll believe anything rather than you did it for no reason at all,¡± Ben challenged.


    Lucien slouched weakly in his chair.


    ¡°I couldn''t stop it... It was my body that stabbed my brother, but it wasn''t me¡­ I was floating in the air, outside my body, like in dreams, you know?¡±


    Ben''s rational mind sighed with annoyance at what sounded like a stupid excuse, but everything told him to shut up and wait. Lucien was now starting to cry as he recounted the incident:


    ¡°I watched hopelessly as my body took up the carving knife, and moved behind Mark¡­ Father was too far¡­ I screamed and screamed, and yelled to myself to stop, but it didn''t, my body didn''t stopped¡­ My body turned to Father, and I saw his anguish and his horror, his pleading eyes... I tried to scream even louder¡­ It was then that...¡±


    Lucien sobbed even harder, and he shuddered.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Ben asked soothingly.


    ¡°In a fraction of moment, I was back into my body... just as I drove the knife down on Father¡­ My God¡­¡± the rest was unintelligible as it got covered by wails.


    Daniel leaned over to Ben, and whispered ever so softly:


    ¡°He was found unconscious by the bodies, his cheeks stained by tears.¡±


    Ben wondered how Daniel could be so emotionless, as his own stomach reeled over imagining what must''ve gone through the young man''s mind. But then, he caught a few words out of the mumbling mess.


    ¡°Calm down, Lucien, calm down. What did you just say? What was ¡°they made...¡±?


    Lucien continued to cry; Ben clicked loudly his fingers, and Lucien stood up, alarmed.


    ¡°Please Lucien, what were you saying? ¡°They made...¡± what? Who''s ¡°they¡±?¡±


    ¡°¡­ The¡­ The voices¡­ I couldn''t stop the voices¡­ They made me do it, and I couldn''t stop them...¡± Lucien managed to say.


    Ben slowly assimilated this new information with horror; he turned to Daniel:


    ¡°You didn''t tell me about the voices! Surely your profiling picked that up!¡± he whispered accusingly to his partner through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Schizophrenia is a recurrent justification in many murder cases; but the brains showed no existing sequels. And schizophrenia is not a sudden disorder,¡± Daniel calmly whispered back.


    Ben stared at him for a few seconds before returning to Lucien, who was trying to calm down.


    ¡°What exactly did they say, Lucien??¡±


    Lucien thought for a moment, but he shook his head:


    ¡°They just kept saying my name; the rest was unintelligible¡­ but it grew louder and louder, and whatever they said, they made me incapable to interact with my body, and it followed their wishes¡­ But I couldn''t understand, I couldn''t stop them...¡±


    ¡°Who were they?¡±


    ¡°A man¡­ and a woman¡­ both spoke together, at unison.¡±


    Ben''s eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned toward the window.


    ¡°Would you recognize them?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ no, sir. They had a strange accent¡­ both seemed in their mid-thirties¡­ It''s hard to tell, they were in perfect unison.


    ¡°Just two voices?¡± Ben wondered.


    ¡°Could you replicate the accent you heard, Mr. Stewart?¡± Daniel spoke for the first time.


    Lucien snapped his head at Daniel''s voice, and his eyes turned fearful as he looked to the Britannian. Ben looked at Lucien with surprise, then at Daniel.


    ¡°Lucien, Daniel was right; could you replicate the accent?¡±


    Lucien reluctantly turned his eyes away from Daniel, and he looked fearfully at Ben as he answered in a small voice:


    ¡°Yes¡­ Inspector¡­ They had¡­ they had your friend''s accent...¡±


    Ben''s mind reeled in both suspicion and realization. He rose:


    ¡°Thank you, Lucien. I swear, I''ll get this mystery solved, and I''ll prove your innocence!¡±


    Before either Lucien or Daniel could reply, Ben walked out of the visiting room.


    Daniel tried to catch up with Ben, which brought him wonder as not many could walk faster than he, when he passed before a cubicle where released convicts received their belongings.


    ¡°Hello, Daniel,¡± a suave voice suddenly spoke.


    Daniel stopped in his tracks. Turning around, his face showed no emotion but he felt something akin to shock and horror. Before him stood a small skinny man in his early forties. He had mischievous eyes that either glowed emerald or gold in the light, and bright fiery spiky orange hairs leading to an angular face.


    ¡°Hello, Scott,¡± Daniel replied flatly.


    ¡°I see you''re still following superior orders,¡± Scott said, cocking his head and widely smiling. ¡°You still like that, do you? Can''t yet make decisions on your own. You haven''t changed one bit.¡±


    ¡°I serve a higher purpose, Scott. I do not follow one man''s ambition. I follow ambitions that will bring utopia to humankind.¡±


    Scott threw a piercing laugh.


    ¡°''Utopia''? Haven''t you got it yet, Daniel? There is no utopia for humanity.¡±


    Daniel looked sadly at Scott, and replied softly:


    ¡°Then you still do not see the world as I do now; I hope and I will not stop. Goodbye, Scott.¡±


    Daniel turned away, chased by Scott''s voice:


    ¡°''You hope''? Strange, Daniel¡­ It''s impossible for you!¡±


    Daniel ignored him, and walked out of the facility to join Ben.


    ************************


    ¡°What troubles you, Ben?¡±


    ¡°The voices.¡±


    ¡°Convicts often used schizophrenia as a defence for their crimes. Including possession. Yet, Lucien and the others convicts whom have claimed this do not possess the imprint of schizophrenia.¡±


    Ben got out of the skylanes to park on a deserted lot. He needed to think straight; and guard against possible danger.


    ¡°It''s not schizophrenia, Daniel. A schizophrenic can only hear one voice type: his or someone''s known to him. Lucien had plenty of male relatives and teachers; but I checked while you were inside, and they''re all Americani. Next, Lucien knows two women. Isabelle, but she''s mid-twenties and Americani; and Lucien''s mother, who died giving birth to him, so he can''t know her voice; and she was Americani and young. So from whom could he have heard, beforehand, the voices during the crime?¡±


    ¡°Your deductions are excellent, Ben,¡± Daniel complimented him.


    ¡°The second most common schizophrenia is hearing multiple discordant voices. Discordant, not in unison as Lucien described; and multiples voices, not two specifically. Basically, one should hear these voices like when you hear a radio ghost frequency. But that''s not what Lucien and the others described. Every ¡°schizophrenic¡± convicts cases described a male and female voice, in unison; the voices were all in their mid-thirties, they said unintelligible things only at the moment of the crime, and they repeated the names. I''m betting my career that the victims of the strange accidents heard these exact same voices. And in all cases, the voices had¡­ a Britannian accent.¡±


    Daniel sensed the accusation behind Ben''s words.


    ¡°You can verify my entire whereabouts with my superiors, Ben. I have not been in contact with the convicts or the victims, neither do I have a female Britannian partner.¡±


    ¡°Don''t assume that I take your words as gospel,¡± Ben warned.


    ¡°It is a wise procedure, Ben. May I offer a theory to explain this mystery?¡±


    ¡°You''re welcome to try, Daniel,¡± Ben accepted; he now knew Daniel why was odd. And just why did he took so long to walk out of the prison; what was he doing?


    ¡°You are accurate in your deductions; I had merely followed my superiors'' take on the schizophrenia explanation, but with your detailed explanations, I realize that we have missed the single most important clue of the mystery.


    >> Are you aware that some metal dentures wearers, and guitar amplifiers, could detect a radio or tv signal?¡±


    "I''ve heard of it..." Ben acknowledged, not understanding its relation with the case.


    ¡°Such a transmission would leave no trace of its passage; and yet, it was received anyway. The metal dentures would not have a trace of the transmission, yet, the wearer heard it.¡±


    Ben frowned. It didn''t made any more sense than before, but Daniel impassively continued:


    ¡°The theoretical solution to our mystery is the following: our victims, either accidental victims, or innocent convicts, received a transmission that took over their brain functions. Just like Professor Delgado made a charging bull stop by sending it a special frequency transmission.¡±


    Ben rose an eyebrow:


    ¡°That''s a bit far-fetched, wouldn''t you say? Someone out there would need to choose a victim, know that victim''s name, get close enough, fire that transmission, and make that person kill itself or someone else? Why the hell go through that trouble?¡±


    ¡°Because it is the only extermination plan that no one can blame on someone else than the victims/convicts themselves. One would not need to be close to send the transmission. A frequency can be carried throughout the atmosphere without stopping; all you need are strong receivers. The transmitter would not need to know the names of the victims; it gets picked up when received. A person''s name is the strongest underlying thought of a brain. By amplifying the new transmission so it gets processed by the brain, it also process the name within that transmission. It is akin to say out loud: ''Daniel, process this information''. By processing that order, the brain not only process the external information that is asked, but also the information of the name. Which, with special coding, is then merged with the incoming external information. Think of it like a computer game, which has the exact same transmission for anyone, but its coding adds a player''s name within itself once the player inputs it.¡±


    Ben thought about it, and he secretly had to admit that it was the theory that matched the facts. But it didn''t hinder his suspicion of Daniel.


    ¡°And ''they'', whoever they are, would go through that trouble just to kill off a few thousands persons? Why, Daniel?¡±


    ¡°It is just a catalyst, Ben. Kickstart a problem, and leave the clean up to humanity''s own actions toward itself. One only need to make humanity appear mad, and leave their prejudices and their eternal need to ''shoot first then ask questions'', to end it.¡±


    ¡°What''s ''their'' plan? Wipe out humanity then¡­?¡±


    ¡°A blank canvas for another try at humanity''s most powerful ambition: a superior being, either human or...¡±


    ¡°And you? What''s your role in it? Distract me, or any other investigators; eliminate us if we find the answer?¡± Ben challenged Daniel, discreetly moving his hand to his gun.


    The subtle movement did not escape Daniel''s notice, however, who made for the first time a weak and sad smile.


    ¡°I am surprised you waited that long before shooting me, Ben. I respect your self-control. Do not fear, I cannot stop you from doing so.¡±


    Ben looked at him suspiciously.


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°I am forbidden to harm you, even in self-defence. And you have now all the clues needed to solve this case; I am thus no longer obliged to ensure my survival for the benefit of humanity. You can do so on your own, now.¡±


    Ben hesitated; he had met many cunning opponent, but Daniel was nothing like them. And he didn''t liked shooting at someone without any provocation.


    ¡°How do you know of that plan? What were your intentions toward it?¡±


    ¡°I suspected that plan only 38 minutes and 47 seconds ago, when I encountered a member of the Shiakar Paradigm Society. Originally convicted for participating in the 2037 incident, when that Society attempted to enslave Norr Americae, I found him being released this afternoon, 26 years before the end of his sentence. It was only logical to deduce that someone powerful got him out¡­ at the exact same time that thousand of people suffer from a madness. There is only one society that approve of actively disseminating humanity.¡±


    ¡°And they''re Britannian?¡± Ben wondered with amusement.


    ¡°The founders were, yes; they were direct descendant of a noble bloodline that had a history of manipulating politics from the shadows. But I can assure you that they are alone in their endeavours, and non-affiliated with actual Britannian politics.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    Daniel hesitated.


    ¡°I had dealings with the SPS.¡±


    ¡°If you don''t want me to shoot at you, or take you in as a mole, you need to be more specific than that.¡±


    ¡°I was the bodyguard and assistant of one of the founding members of the SPS,¡± Daniel revealed.


    ¡°And¡­?¡±


    ¡°The SPS had the ambition of making the world a better place. I found out, belatedly, that it came at the price of 97.5% of the population. My purpose is to help humankind in its whole, not a portion of it. At SPS'' dismantlement, I joined the authorities to help against their damages in any way I can.¡±


    ¡°How can I trust what you just said?¡±


    ¡°If I went against my purpose, my brain would encounter a paradox and shut itself down,¡± Daniel replied.


    Ben looked at him with an amused puzzled expression at Daniel''s strange yet honest answer; but the detective was truthful. He had behaved accordingly to a genuine detective wishing to protect (minus the odd things like mothering him about getting his sleep, or continuously staring at him).


    Ben relaxed, and sitting back more comfortably in his driver''s seat, he stared at the outside world. Two pieces of the puzzle had been found: the why and the who. Now was left the where to find the culprits, and the how to stop them. And he had a gut feeling that it wouldn''t be as easy as he would''ve hoped.


    ¡°So where are they, and how do we stop them?¡± he asked his partner.


    ¡°I do not know, Ben. They have centuries of practice in hiding. And until we find the transmitter, we cannot stop the madness.¡±


    ¡°I had a feeling you would say that...¡± Ben grunted, before starting up the car. ¡°I guess we''ll keep on looking and following the few clues we''ll get.¡±


    ¡°It is a good procedure, Ben,¡± Daniel approved.


    The police car rose to the nearest skylane, and merged with the late afternoon traffic.


    ¡°Daniel, I''m sorry that I suspected you.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary, Ben; I was the most logical suspect. I applaud your diplomacy in this particular situation.¡±


    Ben smiled. He was stuck with this strange detective for some time, it would seem. It was the first time since their meeting that he didn''t mind it, and even looked forward to it.

 Finding Utopia

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    A word my ancestors could have never dreamed to hope. Their world was dying, 10 billions people spread across Terra''s lands and seas. Green jungle replaced by concrete jungle, except for a few places, owned by elite members and governments, who stayed isolated from the over-populated areas.


    Eventually, the lottery-run genocide. Lottery-run for those between 18 and 50. Below and above that age, only the fit were deemed to live, the rest were remorselessly euthanazed. For the good of humanity, they said.


    A world hopeless and doomed to near-complete extermination.


    Yet, here are we, me and my husband, and 50 billion people. My husband Jay and I were born, however, on Marnamai, the cradle of humanity and most populated planet of the Empire, with 5 billions citizens, first colonized in 2112. How far we''ve got, it will always amaze me. They did say that from the deepest depth of darkness, light will only spring brighter, and so will hope.


    **********************


    Upon hearing our approach, they ran to us:


    "Please, can you do something?"


    "Most certainly. Show us where is the emergency," Jay comforted the couple.


    The wife took us back to the tree, and pointed down the crevice:


    "We discovered this nest about five days ago, and came back every day to let our children experience and see the growth of the babies; but today, we came alone, and..." She burst into tears, while pointing at the said bird nest.


    "We''ll take care of this, ma''am, do not worry", I told her kindly, while Jay approached the crevice.


    She nodded sadly, and walked back to her husband, who hugged her comfortingly, taking her away to let us work in peace.


    "Oh, poor little guys," my own husband whispered softly upon seeing the broken nest.


    Three little baby passenger pigeons laid in the ripped cocoon of twigs and feathers; while two of them looked only to be in shock, the third had a broken wing, and moved barely. Jay took the baby as delicately and softly he could, and put it down on the warm grass to examine it better.


    "It''s not too bad, I think we can operate it right here; it will save it some additional shock", Jay concluded with the assurance of a lifetime doctor.


    "Looks like the work of a badger, doesn''t it?" I noticed, examining the damage to the nest.


    "Most certainly," Jay distractingly agreed, opening his medical emergency kit.


    "I''ll send a call to the guys back home, to find and displace the badger," I took my phone out. "We have enough problems keeping this specie alive..."


    After giving the order, and while my husband was busy disinfecting the wing wound, I took my own bag, placing it on the ground. The poor babies looked famished, and the shock didn''t helped; plus, who knew when the mother would come with food. So I opened my bag, and took a box of fresh fruits, renewed everyday for such circumstances, and sprinkled a good fistful around the babies. Finally, I took advantage of the fact they already had their beaks opened, to gently place one small red berry in it. They immediately gulped it down, and, this time, turned toward my approximate position, their small beaks waving, requesting more food. To which I happily obliged.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    As my babies seemingly fell to sleep, their hunger finally extinguished, I smiled with relief, as I also noticed Jay had success repairing the broken wing.


    Wild Nature was a cruel world, a world of Might Makes Right; and humanity started to follow that philosophy when Terra began to fall into chaos, almost 500 years ago. But when the first Terrians colonized Marnamai, that cruel philosophy was happily left behind. Humans took with them compassion, and love for all things; they knew what war and hate created, they knew how their conflicts between brothers and sisters destroyed forever Terra''s living organism. And they made it their duties to never repeat that again on Marnamai, and on all the following planets they colonized. Cities, such as the one I was born in, the one I could see across the valleys separating us, were build to host comfortably and luxuriously as much people it could, while at the same time protect nature. Each cities could shelter in luxurious homes 800 000 humans, grow 100 square kilometers of vertical farming, and self-sustain itself through solar cell technology, and much more technical prowess than I cared to remember (but which took away all need for drilling, mining, etc). With this innovative system, 5 billions humans took, even with the agriculture section, 5% of Marnamai''s habitable surface. The rest were all virgin forests, lakes, rivers, oceans, and prairies. Nature was left untouched and unharmed, and the only time we interfered was to save and care the weak fauna and flora, to keep all from extinction.


    Nevermore humanity took 60% of a planet''s surface, nevermore did it exhaust its resources. Humans lived happily and peacefully with each other, now free of money, food, and shelter problems. They could live all their dreams, accomplish all desires. So sad it took that long to actually happen; three quarters of the 22th century had to pass before such peace reached across the Milky Way.


    Small, almost inaudible cries brought me back from my thoughts, and I looked with pride and love as Jay placed back the now-mended baby pigeon with its brother and sister. Just before it went to sleep, I feed it with those juicy red fruits, and we then backed away gently as we heard a much louder cry from the sky. We made sure we were at a non-suspicious distance from the tree, as we didn''t wished to alert the protective instinct of the mother passenger pigeon, whom we suspected made that cry.


    Indeed, she landed in a flap of wings near her nest, and approached it proudly, carrying some worms in her beak. Upon seeing her babies asleep, she put down her catch amongst my scattered red berries, until such time that they woke up. The broken state of her nest worried her, but she quickly set to repair it.


    Jay and I looked at each other with love and pride, as we enjoyed the sweet display of motherly affection. We didn''t bragged about saving the babies: it was our duty, such events always happened, and we always took care of our home.


    As we walked back to our city, gazing at the distant Sun, on this once lifeless and red planet, we couldn''t help but wishing our ancestors could have shared that dream of peace earlier.


    The dream of Utopia.