�Do you believe in immortality? Now I�m not talking about vampires or ghosts or any of that nonsense, just the immortal soul? I didn�t but that was before I di��
�Matt tell them about��
�Shh Jess, I�m trying to get an air of mysticism here, right. Do you believe in immortality? I didn�t but that was before I died.�
�We Died!�
�Yes Jess We died but that�s a different story.�
�Back in November of 2002 I begun to self harm. In November 2003 I cut a horizontal line across my chest, just above the nipples, then a vertical line from the bottom of my neck all the way down to my navel (this does have some relevance later.) It was a very crude and very bloody cross. In November 2004 I was murdered.
Somewhere in between all that�
I knelt, wretchedly clinging to her pale cold body. Her eyes, once full of love and joy, were now lifeless and cold. It was hard to believe that the mutilated corpse I now held was once my friend, my lover and my soul mate. It occurred to me then that it wasn�t all as bad as the scene depicted. Someday we would be reunited, of course. It was the someday that hurt the most. Where? And when? Those questions ran through my mind for weeks. I knew the answer to the latter; the former was a mystery, soon to be revealed.
I had little left to live for. Jess was my life. She and a man named Benjamin Rose were the reason I was born (seriously they were the reason I was born.) What kept me going was the thought of seeing Rose punished for his crimes and my new officially unofficial job with the West Yorkshire Police. A job where�
I watched silently from the shadows as the figure held down the struggling man and sliced his throat. A sight many would find gruesome, but for me it was just another day, just another murder, just another murderer. It had been eight months since she had died, and still that question bounced around my head, When? Closer now, I knew, but when?
The figure stood and looked down to admire his handy work, he seemed pleased, almost smiled in fact. Then he looked at the shadows where I stood, I almost swore, thinking I had found someone with sight (There had been only one other with sight, since Rose, he had seen me and shot himself.) I hoped this one didn�t see. He studied the shadows a little while longer then ran, not from me, I knew that. I followed, at first he did nothing but run, seemingly in whichever direction his feet took him, but eventually he tired and slowed. He stopped to catch his breath, and then lit a cigarette, that was when I realised he wasn�t the one I was looking for. His aura was different, similar but not the same; it was the smoke that tarnished it, sending rivets of grey through the dark blue of his aura. I would still have him, oh yes I�d have him but he wasn�t the one. I followed him until we reached a street, I stood at the end and watched as he made his way down, he paused, dug into his pocket and then opened a door. The next day he was arrested for murder.
I must add�
In order for me to catch a suspect I had to be there, I had to see a murder taking place. I could of course view a suspect's memories (a trick Frank had learnt me) but the problem with memories is they are never full moments, always snippets of periods of time. So much can the memories be tarnished by an individual that only a feeling is present, regret, anger, sorrow or in this case excitement.
After I had witnessed the crime I would come back, and ring Thom Bryan. (My partner in all of this.) �
He was the investigating officer in the Rose Bud Murders, which is when we met. I had been a little worse for wear the second time we met (grief can be a terrible thing) that�s when I told him about my astral visits. (If I�d have been of sound mind, maybe I would never have told him and maybe just maybe I wouldn�t be dead) at first he was very sceptical telling me that it was the alcohol talking, in fact he disregarded it completely until a week later when I showed him.
I had him sit at home as he normally would on a Sunday and asked him to act as normal as possible. Until 3 o�clock came, at that time, specifically at that time, I wanted him to go to the bathroom (a room where you could not see into from outside his home, just in case he brought it up later) and to do something completely out of the ordinary, something so stupid you wouldn�t expect anyone doing it. So he did, he walked into the bathroom (I watched in my astral state from the corner behind the door.) he first took off his shoes and then his socks. He then proceeded to flush his socks down the toilet (he only succeeded in blocking it) with that done he placed his shoes back on and returned down stairs. I returned home myself and picked up the phone.
At first he was astounded as to how I knew but still sceptical, it took a lot of convincing but eventually he came round to the idea that I wasn�t bullshitting him. From there we met several times and we discussed the possibility of me being able to help in some investigations he was currently working on. The rest is boring but as you know I got a job.
� He would then assemble a task force and they would acquire the right papers and then they would visit the home, or work place of the suspect. Arresting him or her on suspicion of murder or rape or whatever. After that my work was done, the rest was real police work like combing the house for evidence asking friends and family about the suspect and his/her movements on the dates of the crimes. And hopefully just hopefully we would get enough evidence to convict the suspect.
(There had been only one time when we hadn�t acquired enough evidence to convict a suspect so we had to release him, of course we watched him � or the police did rather � and as luck would have it or fate, the suspect had revisited a crime scene � one we didn�t know existed � to check on a body. So we got him eventually.)
So basically that was how the job came about, now onto my death�.
Thom sat across the table from me; in a small caf� we often visited for work purposes (somewhere quiet and inconspicuous.) between us, on the table, lay a grey folder containing black and white photographs of a crime scene. I thanked god for small mercies, glad that they were black and whites. I doubt I�d have been able to withstand a full colour scene of that nature. The photos were of a man crucified, and I don�t mean Jesus. This man was a balding middle-aged business man (I got that partly from Thom and partly from the photos) the naked man hung loosely from the cross, which was fixed to the wall, his crowned head down turned. From the lower half of his left rib cage protruded a spear (I guessed.) his chest and back (visible in later pictures) were covered in deep long gashes a result of whipping, I would later find out. His private region was covered with cloth � again I thanked god for small mercies � Thom had told me that the penis had been removed; the lower half of his body was again covered in deep gashes. Until we got to the feet, this was the strange part, if the rest wasn�t strange enough for you, the reason it was strange was that there were no feet. The legs joined as you would expect them to in a crucifixion but the feet were not nailed to the cross. Instead there was one nail through the right shin and into the wood, and then a second nail through the left shin into the right. I felt sick looking at them, and a deep sense of foreboding swept over me when I looked at them, as you can guess I didn�t look at them for long.
�So, what do ya think?� Thom asked.
�I think that�s sick, and that I won�t be ordering that sandwich any more.� He laughed; I had a tendency to make jokes when I was upset or emotional, as you know.
�Yeh, I know, but what do you think?� he asked again.
�I can work with that.�
And that�s how this whole thing started �I can work with that.� I hated Thom at that moment; I hated him for the deep foreboding I felt in the pit of my stomach. He hadn�t done anything of course but it was someone to blame. We left the caf�, Thom went back to the station, and I went home to sleep�
I lay huddled in the corner of a dark room, shadows passed around me, but I paid them no mind. I was concentrating on the shear terror that resided in my heart (or my astral heart, or whatever.)
It wasn�t uncommon for me to have �Astral Nightmares� or �Night Terrors� (use whichever terminology you like). What was uncommon for me was the fact that I knew it was an astral nightmare but I could not wake myself up from it. If you know anything about astral projection (OBE�S) you will know that just thinking about being back in your body, usually gets you there and wakes you up.
Gradually the terror subsided allowing me to concentrate a little more on the �world� around me. As I shifted my perception from myself to the �world� the shadows that moved around me became clear. I could now see that they were people, two in fact. The first, a tall gaunt man stooped beside me.
�Wakey, Wakey sleeping beauty.� He said in a sweetly tone that spoilt the macabre tone of the scene. I tried to focus completely on his face, but when I tried to do so his face blurred. (Like on a digital camera when your subject moves.)
�Come on now, we didn�t bring you all the way down here so you could sleep.� The second figure�s muffled voice came from the shadows. I tried to concentrate on him again I could not.
The first figure picked me up (this is where I really began to worry) from the floor. I stood, barely, and sort of swayed for the short time I stayed there.
�Now, would you please come over here to the table.� The second figure said, again from the shadows. The first swept a hand towards the table, as if to emphasize which table he meant (there was only one). I felt myself walk/stumble towards the table, unable to control my movements.
I reached the table and stretched out a hand towards it, as if to steady myself. When my hand passed through, it re-emphasized my astral state. I fell through the table and into my body.
I woke with a start remembering everything I had seen. Remembering everything I hadn�t experienced before. Damn, I didn�t know it was even possible. First off it had to be either the most vivid dream I had ever had, or the strangest OBE I had ever had. For somebody to see me was normal for someone to touch me was absurd, you can�t touch nothing, can you? The possibility of time travel never occurred to me then. It would later.
I didn�t tell Thom about my night time excursion. I didn�t want to unduly worry him; I mean he only knew as much about Astral Projection as I told him. And how could I explain something I didn�t understand. So I kept it to myself, and that�s something I don�t regret.
We met this time at my place (I had moved out from my parents home when I got the job with the police). I had wakened again around four that morning from that same OBE. I had it 7 times before I died, each time more frightening and more horrible.
�God you look terrible.� He said as he sat in the chair, closest to the window. Which he opened when he smoked and closed when he finished.
�The late nights are catching up, I suppose. � I half-heartedly replied.
�You got anything yet.� It was just like Thom to get straight into business. I told him what I knew, which was basically nothing. He stayed a while longer then left for work other work. I promised to try my best and get the info he needed. Apparently there had been 2 others since the day in the caf�.
1 Day Prior To My Death.
I hovered in front of my body. Looking at it gave me great comfort when I was in my astral form. I would hover and watch for around a minute or so before any astral travel. More of a ritual than a necessity.
I once had an experience where I could feel both of my bodies, and my perspective shifted from one to the other. It was nauseating but I stayed because I hadn�t experienced it before. Eventually the shifting of perspectives settled, into both of my bodies. I opened my Physical eyes and looked upon my astral self, and at the same time I looked upon my physical self with my astral eyes. The feeling of nausea tripled almost sending me reeling in both directions. It made my astral self sluggish and made my physical self even more so. It was as though a lead weight had been strapped around my heart. The feeling past on both sides when my astral body left the house. I had actually read about a similar experience in �Astral Physics� By Robert Bruce sometime before, and I believe that it is called the infinity effect.
Anyway I hovered a while longer in front of myself and then left by the back door (it�s funny that even though you can pass through anything in the astral state, you still tend to use doors). I flew up the street close to the ground smelling the damp road and turned the corner flew down that road occasionally flying up over the houses and then back down. I turned right on to Main Street (where my parents live as you know) and sat beside the post box. It was the very same post box Frank Sat beside when I met him, on my very first conscious OBE. This again was comforting in both my astral and physical body. And seems as I had been having a rough ass time in the astral world at the moment I wanted all the comfort I could get. I sat and reminisced about old times (I won�t bore you with them here) then I moved on.
I remembered I was supposed to be working so I slowed and then came to a stop in front of an old terraced, and what seemed abandoned, house. I noticed that I wasn�t quite in my part of town anymore. I quietly wondered how I had arrived there. I realised I must have been wandering as I have said I did on such occasions.
I had a quick look around, conscious of the fact that very few people would be able to see me, but also conscious of the fact that entering someone�s home without permission is illegal. I entered through the door, feeling and tasting the old battered wood.
I stood in a little corridor; the only light was the fluorescent orange glow of the streetlight that filtered through the little windows of the door. I stood there for I don�t know how long (time has little meaning on the astral planes) listening to the house. It settled around me and I settled around it (so to speak). I was aware of it in away that only the astral state could bring. I felt the whole house around me, not just the room I stood in . I felt the damp within the walls and smelt the old dust that lay under the new dust on the mantel. I could hear the mice scuttle underneath the floorboards and�
I sensed, felt, heard and saw the two figures in the cellar. I was now stood at the top of the stairs leading down to it. I could hear the muffled sound of the two men talking. Usually I would have been able to hear the conversation in full but that old fear again resided in my heart. I slowly stepped down once, not wanting to move but unable to stop myself. And again and again, and I stopped again listening to the voices.
I stood in front of the cellar door and passed through it. I could feel the old oak, I became one with it. Knowing that at some point there had been a fire in the cellar, knowing that on the other side would be scorch marks along the lower half of it.
The two men stood hunched over the table looking at something. I knew what it was but felt I absolutely necessary for me to go and see it. I moved hesitantly, as if the sound of my footfalls would alert them to my presence. They didn�t. I moved round to see the table. But now that I had arrived, I didn�t want to see what was on the table. I looked from one man to the other studying them.
The First, the tall gaunt man from before, was older than I had previously thought (not that I could tell with the blurry vision I got before). I�d have guessed then he was in his early 50�s. I would find out later that it was closer to 70. His hair was still dark brown not greying, and you might easily assume that it was a �Just For Men� job, but you would be wrong. I told you about my extra sensory abilities, well that�s how I know. The second man shorter and heavier than the other showed his years more; surprisingly he was twenty years younger. His hair slightly receding and greying was slicked back with what I knew was brylcream. The pair reminded me slightly of Laurel and Hardy, an older Laurel and Hardy but still.
I turned my head towards the table, noticing how old and scarred it was. It was solid oak, painted at one point in its lifetime with white paint. Which now only showed in patches across the surface. In the middle of the table lay a folded black silk cloth, on top of which was a stainless steal surgical dish.
The dish was covered in what could only be dried blood and in its centre laid a small slab of meet. What was that? At that point I had forgotten what it was and decided I would take a closer look. Leaning forward over the table (momentarily forgetting that I could just walk to the centre of the table and look) I moved my head closer. And closer still until it dawned on me what it was. It was in fact a penis, the businessman�s penis to be exact. I self-consciously recoiled then and almost toppled (if it was possible) I brought my arms out to steady myself. My arm momentarily past through the stumpy mans chest. I corrected myself and stood still. Aware of his eyes upon me. He looked and seemed to study me, up and down, his eyes (I thought) connected with mine and it sent a deep chill through me. Then his eyes passed through me, then around the room. He turned back to the table and slammed his palms down on the table, sending a draft along the table (the senses were that good, it�s something you have to experience to understand). The draft sent a pamphlet fluttering down to the floor. I turned my attention towards it.
Finding Jesus Reborn.
The headline screamed out at me, and then a series of 30 bullet points. I remember them all but I will only tell you the most interesting.
� The New Christ Shall Be Marked With The Cross
� The New Christ Shall Be Both Spirit And Flesh
� The New Christ Shall Find You
� The New Christ Shall Be Both Male And Female
� The New Christ Shall Offer Himself To You
� The New Christ Will Return After Death
They, I thought were the most interesting points this was after the fact. I neither understood then nor wanted to. I left with the memory of all these things and woke with cold sweat seeping into my sheets.
The Day I Died.
Again I used my judgement, and decided not to tell Thom the whole truth about my previous nights adventure. He came round (as he always did) and I told him of the house I had visited and about its general location. Knowing that it would take him and his task force a long while to find one particular terraced house in hundreds. Why didn�t I just tell him where the house was? Well to be quite honest I have no fucking clue. I still don�t know, even on this side. If I had have told him, I wouldn�t be dead because I would never have left the house that evening.
I sat again at the post box comforting myself with the memories of Frank. After a short while I carried on. Walking down Main Street, passing my house quickly, so as not to be seen by my mother. I crossed over to the corner (where the shop used to stand) it�s owners long gone. The fire devastating more than just our lives it would seem.
I arrived by bus in the general location of the house. I walked for around half an hour until I found the road I was looking for. The foreboding in my stomach heightened every time I took a step.
�What the fuck was I doing?� I asked myself.
�I don�t know.� I answered.
Oh I knew what I was doing alright. I might have been trying to hide the fact from myself but I sure as hell knew what I was doing. I was going to confront serial killers. Why?
�Because I�m nuts.� I whispered.
No not quite. I wasn�t nuts, not quite. What I was, was curious. I wanted to know about the OBE�s I wanted to know why I felt such terror when I had them. I wanted to know if this was the answer to the question I�d been asking over and over. When?
I stood in front of the seemingly abandoned house. Looking at that old battered door. I could just describe what I felt and sensed the first time I visited (in my astral state) as I felt and sensed the exact same as I had then. My senses were a little less acute now but you know what I mean.
I gripped the handle. Not bothering to look around to see if anyone was watching, I pushed the door. There was a moment when I thought the door was locked, then, as I knew it would, the door opened with a horror movie creak.
I stepped in and closed the door behind me. I tried to sense the house, as I had before. I failed to sense anything other than my own heartbeat racing. I closed my eyes and steadied myself, consciously slowing my heartbeat and my breathing. I had the urge to turn around then and go home, but as I said I was curious.
I slowly walked down the small corridor noticing that all the adjoining doors were now open. I had a quick look in the first.
The room was dark, the curtains closed. In the centre of the room stood an old sofa, littered with old newspapers and unopened envelopes. There was a smell, it reminded of something. It reminded me of the old barge Jess and myself used to go to. Memories flooded back to me of the times we had spent there. We had made love for the first time there. It was tidy then. I had made the effort to go round with the broom and the air freshener. In an attempt to make the place remotely habitable. I guess it was when I�d done. Jess loved it. I think. I turned from the room and carried on down the corridor. Not bothering to check the other rooms. That was my mistake.
The next events are recollections of both my physical self and astral self. It should be easy enough to differentiate between the two if you can�t I�ll tell you.
I stood at the top of the stairs that led to the scarred oak door. I couldn�t sense anything but I thought I knew they were down there. I stepped down a step. And felt a heavy thick thud at the back of my skull as the plank of wood connected with it. I dropped to my knees and half turned to try and save myself from tumbling down the stairs. I failed and lay at the bottom the stairs, my leg jutting out from the knee at an unnatural angle. I lost consciousness.
The figure stepped out of the room at the top of the stairs. It was the stumpy one. The scarred door opened beside me and the other man peered down at me. He grabbed me by the arms and dragged me into the cellar. He dragged me to the corner and slumped me there. I watched this from the doorway. The stumpy guy walked through me, and I saw that a mild shiver ran through his body. He turned round and dismissed it.
I looked up from the corner I laid in. the tall gaunt man strode over to me and stooped.
�Wakey, Wakey sleeping beauty.� He said in that same sickly sweet voice.
�Come on now, we didn�t bring you all the way down here so you could sleep.� The second figure�s muffled voice came from the shadows again. I tried to concentrate on him like I had in the OBE. I realised now why there faces had blurred. I was slowly loosing consciousness again.
Laurel, the tall gaunt one, picked me up from the floor. I momentarily returned to my body as I swayed there. I slumped in the gaunt mans hands. It seemed I had no fight in me. I had an amazing freedom whenever I wasn�t in my body, and when I returned to it I felt nauseous.
Laurel held me there in his arms. As though we were locked in a lover�s embrace. My arms around his shoulders his around my waist. The only thing that spoiled the scene was the thick blood that trickled down the back of my neck. Hardy the fat stumpy one came round the table to help his friend.
They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me across to the table where they lay me down. I watched in discomfort as they tied my arms and legs down. And cut off my clothes exposing my body. It seemed pretty obvious to me at this point. That they had been waiting for me and I had come, how stupid of me. It was easy to assume what was going to happen next. I wished I had told Thom everything now. I wished he were here.
They injected my body with something, what, I don�t know, perhaps morphine. I returned to my body. And entered a bliss of complete darkness. The only regret I had when I woke was I didn�t stay there.
I looked down from where I stood (or thought I stood). I saw the two men kneeling in front of me. In my incoherence I thought I had grown another two feet, as I was higher than I normally would be. The drug they had injected me with, hadn�t worn off completely, I could not feel my body at all. I could only move my eyes. I looked down upon myself. I could see that I hadn�t been brutalised like the other victims. Or hadn�t been yet. I was naked apart from a piece of cloth around my waist, I couldn�t tell if my manly hood was still intact but I assumed it was. I looked up and saw that the crown of thorns was upon my head. I past out again, and entered that bliss of darkness.
I woke to a sharp cracking sound. For a brief moment I imagined myself in my bed, the branches from the large chestnut tree that stood proudly in my garden tapping against the windowpane. The image was quickly dispelled when I opened my eyes, and saw the piece of leather coming towards me and felt the sharp ripping pain across my chest. Making the crude cross that had marked my chest resemble a branch from that proud chestnut. Again the piece of leather flew towards me, my body vibrated with its force. I now fully realised the predicament I was in. (it seems the drug I had given had warped my mind a little). My hands ached I moved my head to view them. And saw they were bound at the wrist to the cross and in the centre of the palms protruded a nail, well more like a lump of sharp metal. I looked down towards my feet. Thankfully I could not see them, I say thankfully because I could not feel them. The reason, they were not there. Another of those great pieces of metal was sticking out from my right shin. The leather hit me again and again, but the pain was dulled. I was drifting back into unconsciousness. I looked at my tormentors. It was the stumpy man that was whipping me. The tall one stood back and smiled at me. Seemingly pleased that they had found there Christ. I tried to smile back at him. Pleased that I had found my death. I fell into that blissful darkness I woke once after that, to the sight of Thom staring up at me. I passed with great joy.
After that I remember very little of my early death-life. I have brief recollections of extreme light but that�s about it. The earliest memory I have is of walking through a great plane of fields, the birds cheerfully singing and the cool wind flowing over me. I basked in the glory of it all my senses buzzing with their newfound sensitivity. I turned to see Frank walking beside me.
�Hello Frank.�
�Hello yourself. How�s life treating you?� he laughed that old laugh of his. I looked again and saw nothing but field, where frank had stood. I guess he just wanted me to know that he was okay, and let me know that I was going to be okay. When I saw Jess stood beside a large chestnut tree I knew that we would be okay.�
And we were
For a while�.