Walking out of This World

Twenty One

My body is shaking. Something is gripping my arms. "Wake up, John. It's time for breakfast!" Ringo is saying.

I drag my eyelids open. "What...Yeah...Okay," I stutter.

The warm water cascading on me from the shower head throws another wake up call through my body. There's something different in there. Something has shifted...no yellow light. It's like I'm feeling what it's like when that first surge of electricity fills up a dark light bulb and it springs to life.

The dinning room is stuffed with chatter and clatter. A line of men and women are watching loads of steaming scrambled eggs being shoveled onto empty plates, shiny little sticks of bacon join the party and are topped off with freshly buttered brown toast.

I slide a cup of coffee onto my tray and head for the farthest table. I'm hoping long hair and bushy beard don't give me away.

"John. Are you in there?"

The words send a jolt of surprise through my body. I look up to witness Grace slide into the adjacent chair. Her black hair and brown cheeks show off soft eyes. A lavish smile completes the picture. There's that unmistakable glint of light in her eyes.

"Yes." A smile breaks out and squeezes my face.

Her eyes are now looking deeper into mine, like she sees something that demands a closer study. "Yeah. I see it. There's a little glint of star light," she says.

A raucous cluster of noises takes command of the room.

"Give it back!"

"In your face!"

Chairs clatter, bodies scatter! Two tall guys are sending eye-bullets into stone-set faces.

One of the bodies leaps onto the table and flops over the other.

I see Paul racing from the front desk...sliding to a stop. Grace and I join him, a careful distance from the scrum.

"Hey!" Paul yells. "Let's just knock it off!"

One of the shaggy guys wraps his right arm around the neck of the other and drags him off the table and up to a standing position. Light glints off the blade of the knife protruding from his left hand, threatening more injury.

"Nothin's getting' knocked off except Tex's head!"

"Okay...just put down the knife so we can find out what's happening," I hear my mouth saying. This is me, John, stepping forward. Why?

I walk up close to the seething bodies. The captive is shivering and the captor glares—yellow glow! I ever so slowly raise my right hand. This impulsive act is rising up from somewhere from the deep.

There's a rising power claiming everyones' attention!

"I'm going to ask you to give me the knife. But, if you want to escape the consequences of your actions...repeat after me loud and clear."

"What!" A rotten-egg blast of air escapes his mouth.

"Do you want to live past this moment?" I ask.

The age lines grabbing his face tremble. He's thinking about it now.

"Do you hear the whisperer?" I ask, my eyes burrowing into the yellow retreating behind red lines streaking through his eyes.

"How do you know that?" He asks, recognition of some hidden truth grabbing at his face.

"I've been there and it doesn't lead to any good result," I reply. My voice sounds firm.