situation since it had a mystery about it. Just returning from a tour with his band, Ice Control, he could barely keep his eyes open, due to the red-eye flight earlier that morning. He would try another time and find a way to connect with the neighbor.
*****
Thomas Powell sat in front of his grand piano, a purchase he had made—when was that? The year 1898 in London proper; yes, that was the year, a time before the last merging. And now it was here, in his flat on Acre Lane, a little street off Remington, a short distance from City Road. I am what you would call an immortal moving through the centuries, changing locations as soon as discovery seems imminent. My story begins many moons ago, or perhaps I should say, many moons to come. I was taken during the years not even thought of yet, years that still offer hope and release from the current turmoil we live through each day. Who knew that there is an intelligence controlling the universe—who knew! As it turns out, one really needs to audit actions performed within each expression we call life. I certainly had no clue, because after fulfilling a life of excessive drinking, eating, and of course, a multitude of sexual partners, male and female, I found myself in the company of what you might call the dark one. It was instant and had no chance of bargaining. My human soul was ripped from my being and forced into servitude for the other side. To clear my great wrongs, my contract was simple: harvest the souls of anyone caught up in tragic demises. Interference with the destiny of anyone slain was not allowed, and at the chosen time, I was required to turn over my collection to free myself. It didn’t help that I had already participated in the taking of souls during my last life span. I’m not proud of this time spent taking advantage and removing whoever got in the way; it just never occurred to me that I was doing something wrong.
This task would be completed in the physical form, and I was given exquisite tools to accomplish my mission. Every location where I appeared provided well-stocked living accommodation, and I would closely interact with the residents of the era. Until suspicion of my true purpose became so great, I was able to harvest the unknown, causing a reign of terror and confusion, after which I was pulled from that scene to move to the next. Not all exits were smooth and easy. During the French disruption, I was caught up in the panic and found myself on the business side of the guillotine. This was mostly due to the fact that I had close connections with royals and riches. What a surprise it was, for all those looking on at that final moment, when the blade went clear through. I remember looking up from the basket at what was my body. What a relief, I thought. My mission is finally over, and it’s only been a little over two hundred years. To my surprise, I suddenly felt a rushing sensation and a slight dizziness—I was reattached. The mob was out of control and running in all directions. I’m not sure how, or who might have helped, but I soon found myself released from the bonds of the death machine and moving quickly away; it was time to move on. I am never quite sure of what century I will land in. At times I have appeared several hundred years before my current expression, and then forward a couple.
One side effect of this reentry into the life stream was that sleeping was nearly impossible. Awake times would last weeks, at which point I would experience a near-blackout condition, and several days would be required to recharge; I called this my rapture. I believe this would be the correct reference: “rapture, contentment, transport, bliss.” For this was the only time I felt separation from the great weight hanging around my neck. That weight was an amulet no more than one simple inch flat and round like a small pocket watch. When I received the object from the other immortal, the final words spoken to me were “First door on the right.” Perplexed, I questioned the words; however, she had already gone into the void. A rare and unknown material made up this talisman; the surround was carved with an interweaving Celtic design. Inset was a precious semiclear gemstone which generally glowed a deep blue; this object never left my person. It was not heavy as in physical weight; it was heavy in spirit, for this was the vessel that held all the souls collected over countless millennium.
A benefit, living on the line between the real and the unknown, was that if he willed it, he could transport himself to places only known to him. He was safe from the “dark one,” who he thought couldn’t access his thoughts or actions. On this gray morning, filled with relentless rain, the front room transitioned into a field of leafless scrub oak and sagebrush. The moment became clear and crisp, and in front of him was his piano ready for his escape. He was glad when he was pulled to the other side, that he was given the ability to master any musical instruments; he could match and surpass any artist of any age.
His fingers flew ever so gently over the ivory keys, so accurate and precise, and it lasted for hours. Suddenly, as if awakened from a deep sleep, he heard a noise. He thought that he had heard this several times before on other escapes; he sat still and quietly listened. There it was again, a knock, then a rap on his door. The brightness of the dream diminished, and the gray and pounding of the rain returned. Looking toward the door, he wondered if he could just sit quiet and let this pass; no, the knock continued. Breathing a sigh, he moved toward the sound, not knowing that this was the destiny he had been searching for, ever since he was taken from the living. Slowly opening the door, he was confronted by an unexpected and strange sight. I recognized him, Thom thought to himself, the leader of a popular music group. The man was tall, had long dark wavy hair and eyes so bloodshot one would think he had been in a car wreck. The neighbor had just turned to go when he heard the click of my lock opening. Turning, he bounded over, and we were face-to-face at the opening of my doorway. He stood at least six foot three, and to my five foot five, I felt like a hobbit for sure. He held out his hand and introduced himself, “Hello, I live across the hall, and for the past few weeks, I have heard you playing.” My shock was that, most of the time when stepping into my escape, no one could hear or experience my expression—no one except other immortals. He continued, “My name is Clark, Clark Thompson.”
Still shocked at the situation, I responded, “I hope that I haven’t disturbed you. I can really get out of hand without realizing it.”
“Not at all,” he continued. “I’m in the music industry, and any chance I can, I want to hear good music.”
I introduced myself, “My name is Thomas Powell.”
“It’s good to finally meet you,” he responded. “I don’t want to sound rude, however, I just returned on a flight early this morning, and I really need to get some rest. Are you going to be around in the next few days? Perhaps we could grab a meal and get acquainted?”
Nodding my head, I said, “Of course, when you have recuperated, ring me up.”
“Brilliant. I will do so. Ciao.” On that, he turned and, within what seemed a couple of steps, returned to his door and disappeared.
*****
A week and a half later, Thom was out on a trip to the local market when a tall, dark-haired man in a hoodie approached. It was Clark, and he was looking rested from their previous encounter. “How about some grub?” he said, almost completely hidden from view in his hoodie. Thom decided at that moment he needed to have some interaction with another; it had been too long, at lease a hundred years or more.
“Sure, where would you like to go?”
Around the corner, they found a local pub that, according to Clark, “served the best breakfast around.” A television was screaming the news as they entered: “Authorities have concluded that this was a terror attack. Everyone is asked to stay away from Victoria Park until further notice.” Clark moved ahead and walked toward a back area, where the two could have a quiet moment. (Thom kept his eyes fixed on the breaking events.) Their conversation was light at first, and then with a stroke of luck, they both landed on the subject of having to tolerate most or all the people they had to be around each day.
“I have the most difficult time being in large crowds,” Clark stated. “I am part of a somewhat successful music group. However, most of the time when we return to the hotel, after two or so in the morning,
