Spectatre



. She lay down the Spectator: The Moon. The card of herself in these odd readings she felt compelled to lay out. It was strange to her how her tarot cards would summons her even though she really didn't believe she was at all good with them. On these recently not-so-rare occasions her readings were very precise and biting. She would not only feel and know what her cards were telling her, but she would be instantly transported wherever to watch and hear the events as they unfolded. This time, however, was to be different. She was to be a part of it, and she may die. She KNEW.

. Her hands quivered as she placed the Atmosphere card. It would tell her what the general happenings surrounding this situation were, the feelings involved, the basic outlook. The King of Cups reversed. She was there, she would no longer be aware of setting down cards; the events were in motion . She wondered if the superstition concerning death in one's dreams causing death in one's sleep was true, and if she could consider this dreaming. Quickly distracted from this idea, she walked down a dimly lit hallway ... green, beige, and black tile floor with painted-white cement brick walls. Her eyesight was bad; she'd left her glasses in the car. There was no time to get them although she wasn't in any recognizable hurry. Her urgency seemed focused on the knowledge that she'd been told in the past that the place she wanted to go now was down this hallway and to the right. That basis for her urgency didn't make sense, yet the feeling was real and growing stronger.

. EXACTLY.

. "... seething subtle slimey scum,..." alliterated a voice from down the hallway and to the right. She stopped walking to listen. The poem wracked on. She traced the words carefully in her mind, not really concentrating on them, per se, but on the vast amounts of idiotic alliteration which made this particular poem so fantastically bad. The male voice which a part of her recognized ceased reciting and there were light clapping sounds.

. "Chalk that down as a really PATHETIC one, Scott," remarked another male voice. This voice she knew well. And after a short silence, "Anyone else? Or shall I torture you all with some of my own work?"

. "Go ahead," agreed Scott, "It couldn't be any worse than mine."
"Fine, especially since I've already written myself in as the next reader. I call this one 'Three of Swords' -- which, as you may know, is a tarot card:

. "My love it seems you come to me

. With my heart in your hand and swords of three

. How they relate I shall never know

. As down deep within my soul they go ... "

. She continued her walking. Soon she came upon the doorway from which this rhyme emitted. She stopped at the threshold and looked within.

. There was a smallish group of people sitting around a carpeted cube on other carpeted as well as padded cubes serving as table and chairs. The reader looked up at her. He'd stopped his reading to stare awhile, then removed his red-tinted glasses.

. "Geana?" he asked, utter disbelief in his voice.

. She merely closed her eyes and opened them again. It had been meant as a blink, but it had taken a considerable amount of time longer than she expected.

. "What?" said the rest of the group in unison -- save one -- after snapping out of the hypnotism created by listening to the reader's poetry. The one who had not spoken kept looking down at his hands, apparently unaware of any change in the room. The reader stood and took one-and-a-half steps toward her, awakening that last person who then glanced at her in complete surprise and promptly leapt up, screaming, "AAAH! What's that?" He abruptly sat back down to resume looking at his hands, "Never mind."

. Scott said, "That's our Ben; always under-reacting!"

. "Geana?" Asked the reader again.

. She didn't know. She didn't know how to answer him. Her lips moved of their own accord, she tried to speak from her perspective beyond this vision as well, yet neither she nor the person she was presently could make a sound.

. A few uncomfortable moments passed until another member of the group spouted, "Perhaps we ought to do something about this situation, Warlock, instead of just standing around, not talking about it."

. "Brilliant suggestion, Julius," remarked Scott.

. "Shutup you two; she wouldn't be here unless it was something important." Warlock hissed. TRUE. She was angry.

. "What do you recommend?" Questioned another of the group who was wearing a ski cap.

. "Um... well, we could invite her in to listen awhile or --"

. NO. She thought sharply at herself and somehow shook her head to the same effect. She felt stuck inside jello: sluggish, weak, and trapped; it was beginning to really annoy who she was.

. "Let's go about this objectively, then," Ben said, standing immediately. He marched to her and held out his hand, "Good day, my name is Ben, and I'd like to know what the hell you want."

. FUCK YOU, said the other part of her mind as he grabbed at her hand. There was a shock not unlike electricity that passed between them, causing her to recoil in pain. Ben dropped to the floor, apparently half-dead.

. "Oh well. Can't say I didn't try," were his delirium words.

. This was definitely not right. Something must be going wrong with the reading. She attempted to rip herself away from this waking-dream, but the 'summonsing' grip was much too strong. Her visionary self was pushed back a step by her efforts and could not make the audible noise her lips shaped.

. As the group watched Ben regain his composure, there was a common sigh of relief. Warlock walked toward her quickly now. "My God! Geana!" He paused, making the conscious decision to refrain from touching her, though this decision obviously caused him some confusion, "I heard there was an accident on Main Street. I heard you died." He was somber, half-reaching to take her hands, though his eyes were elsewhere, following someone who walked toward them from behind her.

. I DID. Both of her tried to say and could not.

. She was paralyzed and in flames, or so it felt. A male voice spoke from just inside her head. "Someone drove a Le Mans onto the lawn out there. They left keys in the car and the lights on, too." It was a direct accusation disguised as information. Then she was freed and there were footsteps receding. A flash of the layout as she in the vision swayed with the attitude of fainting. She strove for control -- knowing there could be no escape yet -- and noticed that it was her strength which kept them from falling.

. "Thanks," Warlock said after him, shocked, staring at her. He reached out once more.

. NO! She was pulled back another step, now completely in the hallway. The group behind Warlock was a mix of indecision until the one known as Scott picked up the notebook Warlock had read from and began the piece again. Scott watched them while reading. It was unmistakable that he was pretending nothing unusual had taken place for the benefit of the group, but that he was on full guard.

. Geana she tried, distracting them both. Geana she didn't know what to say. Warlock stood down the hall, gesturing for them to follow, curious and concerned about their inattention. Unaware there was more than one of them.

. OH MY GOD I'M DEAD. She forced Geana to move toward Warlock. It was slow. Be calm . Why are you here ?

. "Geana, my god! What can I do?" He seemed to be taking this well. She was surprised. But, then again, she was taking this well, too. Geana was having a serious problem, though being dead gave her a fine excuse.

. I'M DEAD, she mouthed the words. But you're here . Why would you have come here ? She noticed that Geana had been significantly upset with Warlock previously, but now was not, lost in confused horror.

. He had reached out to them, and was now almost touching them. A heat was building within the visionary form, its discomfort had been her warning. She pulled them away once more. "What--? How can I help?"

. Geana was panicking, the words flowed through her head with no clarity of purpose. What did you want to say to him ? It was a wild guess. She didn't know anything about ghosts, and had never imagined she'd be possessing one. But she could not get free and she could feel herself weakening. Soon she would have no control within this vision, and what would that do?

. SHUTUP! Geana grabbed her head and began sinking to the floor. Footsteps. Warlock knelt to touch them. She did not have the strength to make Geana move away this time. The tremor as his hand reached through Geana's arm and shoulder shook him into a sprawling position. It felt as though there were chains hanging within their form, and those chains were thrashing violently. All happenings around them remained clear, in fact glaring. She held onto her awareness, trying to use the odd and painful sensation to brace herself against their uncertain mental state. This couldn't go on for much longer. She should really try to get out of it again.

. "You okay?" The guy wearing a Campus Security coat asked Warlock.

. "Yeah," he looked at Geana and then the guard. "Yeah," the guy could not see her.

. "Good. Well, that car's still out there. Were you on your way to take care of it? You're the only ones left in the building. I'll have to call the police -- "

. "Yeah, yeah, I'll take care of it," Warlock interrupted. Then, "What kind of car is it?"

. The Security guy looked at a notebook he'd been carrying, "It's a lime green Le Mans, license PQZ 481." Warlock recognized the vehicle, nodding.

. "Yeah, I'll go move it. Sorry for the delay." He stood as if they weren't there. BASTARD. Geana was recovering.

. She saw the spread of cards again briefly: Two of Pentacles, Page of Cups, Ten of Swords. She hadn't yet finished the layout. There were still things that needed to be done. Or said. Or something. Then, if she remained alive, she would be released from this vision. What did you want to say to him ? she tried again.

. Geana stood behind Warlock. When the guard had gone around the corner, he turned to them. Geana raised an arm to strike at him, but she was able to stop this. Warlock sensed something then. I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD! The spirit's lips had not moved, she made sure of that. Why are you so angry ?

. "What's going on here?" He looked closer. He considered the situation, however he might be perceiving it, then said, "Let's go out to the car. Maybe there's something there that can help us."

. Scott came out of the room with his coat on. He could see Geana. "I turned the meeting over to Julius. I thought you might be able to use some help." NO. DIE. Why did you bring a car ?

. Geana struck again without warning. She was unable to stop it. Geana's hand went into Warlock's stomach, the discomfort of this contact much greater to him than it was to her. Scott pushed Warlock out of the way, then supported his weight.

. "Look, now," Scott began chastizing the ghost. "You're dead, and we're only trying to help. If you're going to be a bitch about it, then ... then ..." he was uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

. "Scott," Warlock gasped, but was recovering. "There's more going on here than your run of the mill haunting." He threw Scott a knowing glance which spoke volumes concerning the discussions they would have later, "We've got to get out front."

. Without questioning, Scott began to help Warlock along the reverse of the route she had taken to get to the meeting room. Geana struggled to either kill them or understand what the hell was really happening -- having dismissed her own death as some sort of an hallucination. Follow them, she advised Geana, for she could not do it alone ... not while fighting Geana's homicidal wishes. Don't hurt them yet , she hoped that "yet" would come to never. Geana seemed pleased with the idea that whatever had been hampering her was now, apparently, going to work with and possibly help her. YES.

. The gouges in the grass were clearly visible for the full 100 yards between buildings from the street to the stairway at the door. The Le Mans steamed and warbled, its lights a dim glow. The front wheels of the car were on the third step from the bottom. Scott was amazed at the view. He whistled at it.

. Warlock turned to them, also quite surprised to see what had been done with the car. He wanted an explanation, but was lost for the proper question.

. Tell them , she said as if she knew what she was saying. You're almost out of time , she had no idea if she was lying.

. Geana pointed at the windshield. Scott and Warlock turned their heads to see, Scott moving down the stairway. The windshield was intact. This had not been the car of the accident in which Geana had died.

. Show them , she urged. When Scott and Warlock had seen enough, but not understood, they looked back toward her.

. Geana went down the stairs and pointed again. Into the front seat. She tried to see what was there, but she was stuck with using Geana's eyes ... which were intent on Warlock. Geana was furious once again. Move away . They won't trust you not to hurt them yet . Geana believed her.

. Scott went to the passenger side of the car. Warlock leaned through the driver side window and grabbed something. "Scott!" He had Scott's attention. Warlock turned to Gina and held up the sheaf of paper spattered with blood. "Is this it?"

. Geana jumped at Warlock, the jolt from this tackle knocking the papers out of his hand. Scott climbed over the hood of the car to try to save his friend. She had been caught by surprise again and was presently just along for the ride. Scott kicked Warlock out of the way, then faced her and Geana. In the now customary flash she saw that the last card had been laid: The Tower. Scott's rage struck them as tangibly as a fist. Geana's reaction was to begin raising power from within her wraithlike form. Another surprise. Perhaps to both of them.

. DIE DIE DIE! Geana tried to swing at Scott. She barely managed to stop the strike. Inches from Scott's face. Scott defended himself instinctively, pushing at the spirit. He hit. Geana had somehow become tangible.

. They were flung back from Scott and the car. Geana went in one direction, and she in another. She landed near the papers. Geana was disturbingly close to Warlock. Scott was stunned, staring at his hands for half a second, then noticing the strange side-effect his shove had apparently had on Geana.

. She could tell that Geana was intangible again. She could tell that both Scott and Warlock could see both of them. Geana seemed to be in shock. And Geana was dissipating.

. The vision, too, began to fade, but she did not want that. She didn't want to be tormented forever trying to understand this. She was made of lead now, not jello. It took every bit of strength she could gather to sit up. Scott and Warlock were approaching her now.

. She happened to look down at the papers. They were a manuscript. At the top in a spider-like script was written: "Final draft? What do YOU think?" At the bottom was neatly typed, "G Warlock, 5th revision." And written, "Please return ASAP."

. Scrawled across the title, paling as each moment passed, was Geana's reply: "Just get the damn thing published." 1