Читать книгу The First Darkness - Mitchell Boone's Gibson - Страница 4

Mitchell sat quietly with his legs crossed in the lotus position on the silk cushion pillow. Kathy, his wife of seven years, was out shopping for groceries, and his children, Tiffany and Michael, had not yet come home from school. He had planned all day for this moment. For the next two hours, with any luck, he would be able to meditate in complete peace and quiet, which was a truly rare commodity in the Gibson household.

Mitchell had begun meditating when he was a small boy. At first, meditation was the only way that he could get away from the stress of growing up hungry, cold, and poor in the backwoods country house that he called home. Soon, however, he realized that if he went deep enough, he could escape his body altogether and explore the neighboring cities and towns that his family rarely visited. Sometimes, on his nightly out-of-body sojourns, he would peek in on his brothers, Dennis and Chris, as they slept, and contemplate scaring the living daylights out of them with a ghostly nudge. He also wondered what it would be like to make himself appear to an adult, someone he didn‘t know, and scare them just for the heck of it.

After making the costly mistake of telling his pastor about his meditative exploits, Mitchell’s mother beat him with a peach tree switch. He learned to keep his out-of-body travels, and his more mischievous thoughts, to himself. Meditation was to become his very secret getaway from the life that he desperately wanted to escape.

His breaths came slowly as he willed himself down into a well-rehearsed trance. His heartbeat slowed evenly and his thoughts stilled to a calm and placid whisper. He felt his energy begin to center in his chest. The sensation grew to the intensity of a large, white-hot flame that slowly enveloped his entire upper body. Mitchell willed the energy away from his chest and up into his brain. The energy resisted briefly, but gradually submitted as he redoubled his efforts. After a few furtive moments, the flaming energy mass coalesced and obediently rose to his forehead.

Sometimes the energy was more cooperative than others. Over the years, Mitchell had learned to master the art of moving the energy mass to whatever part of his body that he chose. He learned early on that allowing the mass to remain in any part of his body other than the brain was a recipe for trouble. If the energy did not enter the brain, he could not get out of his body. There was no point to meditating if he could not get out of his body.

As the flaming energy mass bathed his brain, Mitchell willed his spirit to rise through the ceiling of his home. His spirit rose with practiced ease and floated over the roof. As he floated, he surveyed the forest behind his home. He had grown to love the countryside residence that he and Kathy called home. They had moved to North Carolina from Arizona five years previously. Phoenix was beautiful, but the congestion, smog, and crime had gotten to be a bit too much. Raising two small children was now their priority, and Summerfield, North Carolina, population 7,018, was perfect in many ways.

Mitchell hovered over the thick grove of pines that draped the two-acre plot upon which he had built his home. The April spring air was warm and sweet and it filled his being with peace. There was nothing quite like floating out of one’s body. Using his astral vision, he looked back into the meditation room and saw his physical body slumbering peacefully. He wished that he could do this every day. Time, however, did not permit that luxury.

Suddenly, he heard a loud explosion. At first, he thought he was hearing the peal of an approaching spring thunderstorm. They were common in North Carolina during this time of the year. He looked up at the sky and saw the fleeting wisps of cloud that dotted the tree line. He dismissed any thoughts of a coming deluge. Then, he heard it again.

The thunderous sound turned into a long wail. The noise rippled through his astral form like an explosion. He strained his senses to find the source of the commotion. Amidst the din, he could make out a few words.

“Help me, I’m trapped!...Help me! Help me!”

Meditation was supposed to be peaceful. The children were not due to return home for at least another two hours, and Kathy had left for the market only minutes before. Her car was not in the driveway. That ruled out family trouble as the source. Mitchell followed the sound and quickly found himself hovering over the rose garden near his front step.

He spied a large black beetle lying flat on its back, screaming as loudly as it could. Its legs churned the air furiously. The little creature‘s lungs were strained to capacity as it shouted and yelled for all to hear. Most humans would never hear the sound. The only reason Mitchell heard the creature‘s cry for help related to a certain Word of Power that he had memorized years before. Unfortunately, in his astral form, all of his senses were heightened and the beetle’s yell took on monstrous proportions.

Mitchell lowered himself down to the beetle. He willed his hand to become solid enough to touch the creature, and he set it upon its legs. The beetle looked at Mitchell, breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and grinned widely at the human who had become his rescuer.

“I thought I was a goner. This yard is crawling with frogs, birds, and cats. You outta do something about it, Mitchell.”

Mitchell could not believe that the beetle knew his name.

“How do you know my name?” Mitchell asked.

“I’ve been living in your yard for two years. Don’t you think I woulda heard your name a few times by now? By the way, thanks for flipping me over.”

“Don’t mention it, friend. By the way, what is your name?”

“You couldn’t pronounce it...humans have a hard time with the beetle language. I speak your words a little better than most of my people only because I am brave enough to go into your house on a regular basis. You got the best cookies in your pantry...oops, guess I said too much, huh?”

“As unsettling as the thought of you eating the cookies in my home might be, the thought of having a conversation with a bug strikes me as a bit more curious...something tells me that you wanted to get my attention. What’s on your mind?”

“Ray...”

“What do you mean ‘Ray’?”

“You can call me Ray.”

Ray the Beetle crawled up onto the lower step and began munching on a pink rose petal that had fallen from a nearby blossom.

“Okay...now, tell me what’s bothering you, Ray. You took a big chance flipping yourself over like that.”

“It’s the ants. They’re driving everybody in the yard crazy. You know what I’m talking about...Those big, black, hairy suckers that eat everything in sight…and I mean everything.”

“We have been dealing with them in the house as well. They don’t listen to reason very well.”

“You telling me! They’re building these mounds all over the forest out here and nothing is safe. You gotta do something.”

Ray the Beetle was right. For the last two weeks, Kathy and Mitchell had tried unsuccessfully to deal with the horde of invaders that had begun to call their kitchen home.

When people talk about getting rid of black ants, they are generally referring to one of two different species. The first is the carpenter ant. The second is the black soldier ant. Black soldier ants (Monomorium minimum) are excruciatingly annoying and fertile pests. A single colony can consist of more than 2,000 ants that are active both day and night. Ants are one of the most single-minded and obsessive creatures on the planet.

Mitchell had not been able to find a good Word of Power that would allow him to negotiate with them without harming the queen or their young. In their opinion, the land, the trees, and the house that Mitchell and his family lived in belonged to them. After all, by their count, they had been there for 26,000 years. According to all their citizens—and Mitchell had spoken to a number of them—they had rights. The Gibson family was lucky that the ants didn’t decide to attack en masse and take the yard by force.

“I don’t know what to do about them, Ray. We are looking at some options.”

“Well don’t wait too long. I’m planning to reproduce in a few weeks, Mitch…if you know what I mean. I don’t want my kids to be ant food. How would you like it if your kids were eaten by a horde of ants?”

“Ray, for a beetle, you have some unsettlingly human elements to your personality. I see your point, however. I will do what I can.”

“Okay, doc. Sorry for the commotion...I had to get your attention. Somebody had to do something.”

Ray finished the rose petal that lay on the lower step and began to crawl stealthily toward the larger bush of roses. He glanced at Mitchell and grinned sheepishly.

“I love these things. Do you mind?”

“Kathy minds, Ray. Take one petal and leave the rest. I will see what I can do.”

Mitchell heard the phone begin to ring inside the house. He felt the familiar heavy magnetic tug of his body beginning to weigh his astral form down. He knew that he couldn’t stay outside of his physical form much longer.

“We will talk about this in a few days, Ray. And by the way, if my roses are gone, I will know who did it.”

“Quit your worries, I’ll spread the word. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Ray the Beetle quickly plucked a large, juicy rose petal from the plant and happily trudged off toward an opening under the stairs.

Mitchell quickly rose above the steps and flew high into the springtime sky. He surveyed the backyard for a few moments and soon saw the source of Ray’s concern. With his astral sight, he was able to see both below and above ground at the same time.

Ants—tens of thousands—were massing in the yard. Ray was right; there were a lot of them. Mitchell would need to do something soon.

The phone rang again.

In a flash, Mitchell rejoined his body, drew in a deep breath, and walked out of his meditation room to the downstairs counter. He looked at the number flashing on the caller ID. This call needed to be answered.

“Hello, this is Dr. Gibson.”

“Mitch, thank God...I was about to hang up. This is Gerald.”

Detective Sergeant Gerald Holmes was an old friend of Mitchell’s. They were best friends from Mitchell’s UNC Chapel Hill days. Gerald was responsible for more than a few raucous parties in their dorm. He had straightened his life out over the past few years and was now the lead detective in the homicide division of Greensboro North Carolina.

“Hello Gerald, I was out in the yard trimming the roses...what’s up?”

“We have had another case you might be interested in. I think you might want to come see this for yourself.”

“Alright, give me the address and I will meet you there in thirty minutes.”

Mitchell placed the phone back in the cradle. He paused for a moment, smiled, and picked it up again. He dialed Kathy’s cell phone number. After a familiar series of tones, he heard her pick the phone up.

“Hi sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

“I got a call from Gerald. There’s been another case. He wants me to come take a look. I might not be back in time for supper. Go ahead and eat and I will get something when I get in. What are we having by the way?”

“Your favorite...fried catfish with wild rice.”

“You know I love your catfish...you know how to hurt a guy, don’t you, my love?”

“I’ll see if I can manage to save you a plate,” Kathy quipped.

Kathy was an excellent cook. They had met during Mitchell’s residency at Albert Einstein in Philadelphia. Kathy was tall at five feet nine inches, and she had won a full track scholarship to the University of Southern California. As a matter of fact, she was the captain of the women’s track team as well as a starting guard for the basketball team. She was strikingly beautiful and had a laugh that won Mitchell’s heart.

“I’ll try to be back before too long.”

“Okay, sweetheart...I’ll be home soon.”

Mitchell hung the phone up and headed back toward his meditation room. He walked toward the far wall and paused for a moment. He removed a large bronze medallion that hung on a thick, black leather cord. The medallion was covered in a series of raised arcane letters that seemed to pulse with power. He held the medallion in his hands briefly and whispered a Word of Power over it as he gently rubbed the letters. The medallion began to sparkle with a shimmering blue light. The glow quickly subsided and Mitchell placed the medallion cord around his neck and hid the object under his shirt. He walked out of the meditation room, grabbed his jacket, quickly scribbled the address that Gerald had given him on a scrap of paper, and headed toward the garage.