She flowed through the interstice, still rejoicing, gloating actually, about her victory over her brother. The game had been inordinately long and complicated, but a deft realignment of three massive singularities had finally breached his defenses. It cost her dearly, after all, moving black holes the size of typical solar systems required intense concentration–concentration that diminished her presence and left her parched. But the spoils of victory were worth the temporary loss. By mutual agreement with the entire family, victory allowed the unfettered harvesting of one human essence.
Exiting the gap in space-time near Earth, just outside of Chicago to be precise, she realigned to perceive time in human fashion and took on the appearance of a middle-aged, slightly balding, marginally overweight man. I shall be … Roger, she thought as she started walking toward the skyscrapers and noise.
Several hours later she found herself standing on a busy street corner, debating within as to which hospital she would visit this time. Mercy and Northwestern were favorites, but she had always wanted to try Rush, especially in the early twenty-first century. Her brother had described a painting inside that the artist had, quite inexplicably, left charged with residual artifacts of her essence. “It smells,” he had explained awkwardly, using colloquial euphemisms, “like she poured her soul into the canvass.”
“Could you gather anything?” she had asked excitedly.
“Didn’t try,” he said with that self-aggrandizing tone he often took. “Didn’t seem appropriate.”
Arrogant as usual, but he’s right, she thought as she entered the lobby. She went directly to the far wall and started to enter a side door that would offer quiet access to patient floors.
“Hey buddy! You see the sign? It says ‘Do Not Enter.’”
She turned to face a security guard pointing at the door she was about to enter. It would be easy to adjust the guard’s thinking and move on, but the family would know and they had all agreed to be as non-invasive as possible.
“I’m trying to visit my…,” she said with a gravelly, baritone voice. A quick scan of the current patients revealed several potential candidates. She decided to keep her options open for the moment. “I’m trying to visit my grandfather. They said he might not make it through the night.”
“Sorry to hear that, but you still can’t go in that door. Tell you what. Go talk to the pretty girl at the counter and she’ll help you find him.”
“Thank you,” she said as she lowered her eyes and walked away.
Several minutes later she had a strong candidate in mind as she thanked the receptionist.
“You’re welcome, Roger. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“I just know my grandfather will remember tonight forever,” she replied as she turned toward the elevators.
Minutes later she eased open the door of Kris Totem’s room. No one else was there as she slipped inside and faced the nonagenarian. The overhead light was off, leaving the softer illumination of the bedside lamp and several monitors. Deep wrinkles told the story of a long life, while the lines around his mouth whispered of constant laughter. Perfect, she thought as she sat in the chair beside the bed. He won’t physically last another hour.
The minutes ticked by slowly. One nurse came to visit and was surprised to see a new face in the room. “I didn’t realize Mr. Totem had a son,” the nurse said as she checked the monitors.
“Grandson,” Roger corrected as she allowed tears to well up in her eyes.
“I’ll get you a blanket and pillow,” the nurse offered softly.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “Has he been in much pain?” The concern in her voice was real. Pain often made the transition sharper, more forced than a peaceful death.
“Mr….? the nurse began.
“Just call me Roger,” she said.
“Roger, your grandfather has a way of making everyone laugh. If he’s awake, he’s smiling and asking all the girls to marry him.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you for that. He does laugh a lot, doesn’t he?”
“He’s contagious,” the nurse chuckled. “You know, if he were fifty years younger, I might just take him up on that proposal.”
“If he were fifty years younger then none of us would have ever met,” she sighed slowly.
“I know,” said the nurse. “But it’s still a pleasant thought. There’s so much sadness in the world and being around someone who can still make you laugh is a treasure.”
She stood and walked over to the nurse and gently took her hand. “You are a kind soul. There are such good things in store for you.”
The nurse sensed the sincerity in Roger’s voice and took a deep breath. “You say that as if you know what the future holds.”
“As sure as my grandfather makes you smile, you will experience incredible joy ahead of you. Never doubt that.”
There was a moment of awkward silence before Roger said, “Say, do you know where a certain painting is? I was told it was somewhere in this hospital.” She went on to describe what her brother had seen. The nurse knew immediately what she was talking about and told her it was on the floor beneath them, not too far from the elevators. She thanked the nurse and, knowing she still had some time before Kris transitioned, went down to see the artist’s work that was so noteworthy.
She inhaled deeply as the unmistakable sensation of the artist’s essence filtered through her senses. Two stick figures, one with a triangular lower body and the other much smaller, were standing beside a blue stick house. The essence wasn’t trapped in the painting or lingering nearby, rather it permeated the watercolors on the page, leaving a permanent trace of itself. She glanced down at the nameplate and smiled. That’s why, she thought as she read:
Me and My Mommy by Allison Durant, age 6.
A small note appended said, “Allison passed away two weeks after creating this work of art. May it remind us all of what is truly important.”
The experience was pure joy and she smiled broadly as she returned to the hospital room. A thin, blue blanket and flat, white pillow had been deposited on the chair. She looked at the old man and realized it was almost time. She realigned to an appearance Kris would appreciate, wings shimmering with a golden glow, as she stood patiently beside the bed.
Kris gasped and opened his eyes. “You’re an angel,” he said quietly as he gazed at her.
She smiled and said, “Kris, it’s time to go.”
“So soon,” he said with a weak laugh.
She took a step closer and put her hand on his. He rolled his wrist slightly so he could grasp her fingers. “I’ll be with you,” she said. Her voice sounded musical and light and full of hope.
The old man studied her face and saw beauty and perfection. To see her was to trust her and so he relaxed and waited for the inevitable. It took another thirty seconds for death to claim his body. The nurse had silently returned moments earlier, only to stand transfixed at the sight of wings and the golden glow.
She turned to the kind nurse and said, “Remember, good things are in store for you.”
The essence of Kris Totem left his body and floated aimlessly above his still figure. She guided it toward the window and slid through the wall with it as they left the hospital. While interstices were available anywhere, and any would ultimately do, she wanted the particular one just outside of the city. So she ushered the essence of Kris onward.
This was the critical time. If an attack was to occur, it would be tried in the next few minutes. Her family had experienced such attempts before. None had been successful, the attackers were always too slow or too weak or too confused.
The desired gap was in sight when they attacked. Had she not been vigilant, they would have succeeded, but she was prepared and their arrows of condensed, five-dimensional, open-ended strings were absorbed with minimal pain. The strings would affect interstitial translation, but the computations were well within her capacity.
As she and the essence of Kris entered the rift in space-time, she heard them curse her. “You have no right to his soul,” they wailed. “He belongs with us!”
“He belongs where I’m taking him,” she replied defiantly and effected the first translation. She emerged over 120,000 light years and fourteen centuries away. The odds of them tracking her were beyond astronomical, but she still made two additional translations before finally resting.
The essence of Kris was beginning to pulsate with eager anticipation. She decided that now would be a good time to convince him of his need to remain calm. With a red-tinged nebula framing the background, she allowed part of her mind to slide through the quantum fluctuations surrounding the essence. A small tweak adjusted their mutual perception and she, in her earlier form, was standing on a flat rock beside a much younger version of Kris, looking through empty space at the vast nebular clouds. It’s much easier to respond to him than initiate the conversation, she thought as she waited for him to speak.
Kris gazed at the incredible sight before him for several minutes before finally turning to her. “Is this heaven?” he asked.
She smiled, anticipating the question. “No, Kris, our journey is not complete.”
He nodded and looked back at the nebula as he continued, “I thought the moment I died, I would be with God.”
“Time is not what you’ve always assumed,” she replied cryptically.
Kris looked at her directly, and tilted his head in concentration before saying, “I can believe that, but I still wonder why this journey is necessary. How long will it take?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “We just took fourteen centuries to get here.”
The surprise on his face revealed genuine confusion. “That’s incredible! I don’t remember any time passing at all.”
She smiled at the old man and said, “In this realm, we travel freely between any time and any place. As long as you are with me, you’ll never be lost.”
Kris nodded and then said, “Then we might as well keep going. I’m ready to reach my final home.”
“We’ll be there soon, Kris. Much sooner than you think.”
At her lead they reentered the gap. Kris had a very brief, very vague sense of traveling at an unbelievably high rate. Entire galaxies seemed to sweep by in seconds and then fade out of view. Then she began talking.
“Share your memories with me, Kris,” she said earnestly.
“Glad to,” he replied. He thought for a moment and then said, “I remember the first time I held my daughter. She was so beautiful.” He paused as the poignancy of the memory swept through his disembodied mind. Kris had always believed that feelings were rooted in physiology–chemicals interacting with hormones and receptors–yet, even in this disembodied state, the thought of his infant child produced emotions as powerful as any he had ever felt. He thought he would burst with joy and be crushed with sorrow, all at the same time. It was as if he were experiencing these emotions in their pure, unadulterated form.
“That was wonderful,” she said as she inhaled deeply. “Kris, if you will allow me, I can access your memories more directly.”
“Will it hurt?” he asked calmly.
She shook her head slowly, “No. It won’t hurt at all.”
He thought for a moment and then asked, “Will I be aware of it?”
Such good questions, she thought. He is as bright as his great-great-grandson, Sam. She smiled as she remembered gathering Sam’s essence. It was one the greatest experiences she had ever had.
“Yes, Kris. You will relive each of the moments I access.”
He was silent for nearly a minute before saying, “Then you can get my memories directly.” He instantly found himself once again holding his daughter. He looked around at the delivery room, going through the motions of a script written a lifetime earlier, but also quietly detached. It was as if he was a stranger in his own body, watching things happen, but not in control.
Time passed as their journey continued and she accessed memory after memory, sharing all the details of Kris’s multifaceted and long life. Chances are they would have continued in the same fashion until every memory had been replayed. But the others found them.
It is incredibly difficult, but not impossible, to track and then trap someone in an interstice. The fact that they had just accomplished both was a source of incredible shock to her. She quickly examined the parameters of the trap and realized it was sufficient to hold her for a short while. However, she would escape eventually and banish them in the process.
They realized the same thing and immediately started trying to separate the essence of Kris from her presence. Their words were meant as a distraction, but they also affected Kris.
“How much have you stolen?” one dark, malformed entity said as he pulled at her connection to the old man.
She resisted the pull easily and focused on subtle weak points around her. “I have stolen nothing,” she said defensively. “Kris gave me full permission to share his memories.”
A second one with a grotesque visage said, “Does he know that sharing his memories with you leaves him without that memory any longer?”
She was silent as she worked feverishly against the foundation of the trap. It wouldn’t be much longer.
“Does he know what will happen after you have harvested his final memory?”
She very nearly reverted to her natural form in her desperation to escape the trap. Then suddenly she was free and the other entities were cast away one by one, flung to a place that would take them lifetimes to return. The last one to go reacted quickly though, managing to inflict a deep wound before disappearing. It was once again just her and Kris, but their questions had not gone unheard. And as they resumed travel, Kris asked, “What they said … are my memories gone? Can they be restored?”
She was very careful as she responded, “Crossing the bridge will be easier if you’re unfettered by thoughts that pull you back.”
“Bridge?” His virtual face looked puzzled.
She paused, realizing the full extent of her wound. She needed to return to the family for help, but the desire to finish with Kris was powerful, and his memories would mask the growing pain until she could be fully reconstructed. So she smiled and said, “The bridge connects this physical universe to your destination.”
Kris contemplated her reply briefly and asked, “Is that heaven?”
“Some call it that. Now, let’s continue sharing your memories as we travel.”
Kris replied immediately, “I think I’ll keep my memories until I see the bridge.”
There was a mixture of resolve and trepidation in his words that she did not want to hear–her anger was sudden. Had she been weaker, she would have forsaken tradition and agreement and taken from Kris that which he would not give. However, there was still a chance he would change his mind. Show him the bridge, complete the journey, and everything will be fine, she thought. Kris saw none of her anger, nor the internal struggle she briefly experienced. Instead she replied, “That’s understandable given what you’ve just experienced.”
Kris smiled in relief, “It just seems like my memories are who I am. Without them I’m nothing.”
She didn’t reply, rather she focused on finding the right gap, which she did quickly. The translation was effected and soon they faced a nondescript circle of pure white floating freely in starless space. With no frame of reference, it was impossible to judge scale and determine the size of the circle, but it seemed large to Kris. A very thin aura of cobalt blue pulsed slightly around the edge of the circle, while periodic streaks of soft pink ran through its interior.
“What was your daughter’s favorite color?” she asked as they drifted toward the gateway.
Kris relaxed and said, “Purple, for some reason she loved lilacs. We painted her room this soft shade of violet with white trim before….” He trailed off and then exclaimed, “I said I wanted to keep my memories and now I know something is missing. Something about my daughter.”
“You said you would keep them until we arrived at the bridge,” she reminded him.
Kris grew agitated, “How do I know what I said if my own memories are suspect? I want to keep them!”
She tried once more for a subtle and trusting approach, knowing that memories freely given yielded the richest harvest, “Kris, you are at the beginning of another level of existence. Memories would serve as anchoring points, drawing you back to a life you need to abandon. Going through the bridge without shedding those weights will spoil what lies ahead for you.”
The circle was so large now that it seemed to be a white wall rushing toward them. There was still nothing to indicate absolute size, but it was clear that the bridge was enormous.
“I think I’ll take that chance. I’d rather spoil some of heaven than forget Anne’s smile.”
Patience was no longer an option as she forced herself past the barrier defining and containing Kris’s mind. Memories extracted this way were dull, tainted, and not as rewarding, but they were better than nothing. She experienced the muted joy of a fulfilling marriage, and the numb shock of Anne’s life being taken by a stranger.
Kris realized what was happening as wide gaps grew in his past. His very identity was evaporating and he was helpless to stop it. He tried to scream, but he had no real body. He tried to resist, but he was overpowered.
She nearly had everything when another group of misshapen ones appeared. One attacked her directly and she felt its sting as she flung it away. Individually she could have handled them, but they swarmed and, in her weakened state, she fell. The onslaught was furious, full of rage and revenge, as they quickly diminished her to a fraction of her original capacity. Then they withdrew and ushered what remained of Kris to their side. He floated toward them, but then turned back to her and asked, “What is happening?”
One of the grotesque figures pointed a crooked finger at her and said, “She and her family take by force or lies that which does not belong to them.”
She looked at her enemies and said, “The memories we harvest are flavor and spice to an existence that is otherwise stale.”
Kris studied her for a moment, he no longer knew who he was or anything about his past, but his mind still functioned perfectly. “What are you? And for that matter, what am I?”
She laughed and said, “You are the essence or consciousness of a human. Some call it the soul.”
“You aren’t an angel,” he exclaimed. “You’re the devil.”
She ignored him and kept explaining, “The human brain has incredible capacity, but that’s not what sets it apart from other animals. The neural net that develops in a human brain also begins to make connections through the quantum substrate that forms physical reality. This is what gives humans self-awareness and free will and allows the mind to continue after the body dies.”
“There’s more to existence than just physics,” countered Kris.
Again she ignored him. She knew she was dying as she continued, “If humans spend enough time together, parts of their minds can even become loosely connected through the substrate, linking them in ways that transcend physical touch. Of all life we have ever encountered, humans are unique in this way. And that makes their memories so rich and vibrant. As we harvest them, we briefly experience that transcendence.”
Kris floated closer to her and asked again, “What are you really?”
“The origin of my species is unimportant. Our technology gives us incredible control over the physical universe,” she paused briefly to reassess her condition. Nothing had changed and death was still imminent, so she continued, “We would have been satisfied had we never found the gate, or the human minds or souls passing through.” She gazed at the looming wall of white behind the grotesque figures.
Kris followed her gaze and asked, “”What is the bridge then?”
“We don’t know,” she replied flatly. “We couldn’t penetrate it, so we traced the human minds back to Earth. It wasn’t long before we realized we could harvest memories and enrich our own existence.”
The same malformed being that had pointed the finger earlier spoke, “And we are the result!”
She looked at the twisted and crooked creature and said, “Yes, even though all memories are gone, there is an instinct toward the body that eventually creates the forms you now possess.”
“You deform us and keep us from our destination.”
“Not true,” she protested. “You can still go through the bridge.”
The dark, twisted form replied, “We don’t want to go through like this. We want to be normal again.”
She started to reply, but Kris interrupted, “Give me back my memories!”
She looked at him dispassionately and said, “I cannot. If it’s any consolation, I will be dead shortly. You keep existing after death, but we have no idea what happens to us. We probably just cease to exist.”
“Come,” said the grotesque one, “leave her and join us. We fight against them for the sake of other humans, and this proves we can win.”
Kris nodded and followed the crowd away from the white circle. As they departed, she heard him ask one of the other creatures, “I think I like the color purple, do you know what that means?”
Time passed for her as death drew near. Exactly how much is uncertain and probably meaningless in her current condition. But finally the end was upon her when he emerged from the white surface. He was human in form, but his substance was made of the same white material as the bridge. Light streaks of pink raced around his body as he drew near. He studied her for a moment and then said softly, “Gabby, it’s time to go.”
“So soon,” she said with a weak laugh.
He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be with you,” he said. His voice sounded musical and light and full of hope.
