Three hundred years ago in sleepy St. Augustine, Florida, people believed in ghosts based on the evidence but they didn't understand how the spirit world works. Now, many of those people are ghosts who want to help us understand. They're called the Shadow Breakers.

But some people don't want to understand what happens in the afterlife. They don't believe they can understand so why bother? Others prefer not to understand because they want the thrill of being scared by ghosts. They're more interested in entertainment than information.

"I don't worry about it," a friend of mine once told me. "The mystery will resolve itself when I die." Her words are wise, but what about planning the trip? Isn't it possible to know more about our destination before we leave to go there? How carefully we plan a trip to Disneyworld. We know all about the theme rides before we get there. But what about the afterlife, what are its themes?

Some people leave these details up to priests and spiritual leaders, who hold their hands into it, but they can only do the handholding just so far. Many of those authorities make their living selling salvation because they prefer to sit on a tuffet and eat a muffin than to peer into the bucket. They aren't reliable sources of theme information because they don't want to look behind the screen of the rational into the strange world of the irrational and see what's going on. They're afraid of what they might see or how it might affect them. Perhaps it will unsettle them in their comfy lives of illusions or perhaps it might make the illusions unnecessary. Either way it constitutes change, and who wants that?

In old St. Augustine of long ago, change happened often and suddenly, even though Spanish and, later, British soldiers patrolled the streets regularly. We can see them still on Aviles Street, half-mad Spanish soldier ghosts armed with muskets, the knives that killed them still sticking into their chests or backs. As they stagger down the street to frighten the carriage horses and tourists, they cause a rational person to wonder if they're playing a role, especially when they do it right on cue at certain hours of the evening when carriage loads of tourists pass by. Scare-the-tourists seems to be one of the themes enacted by the ghosts. What in the world is going on in this sleepy little town that never sleeps?

In the old days the people feared sudden death when pirates freely came ashore, sometimes to murder them and ransack their shops and homes, sometimes just to get drunk and party. How would you know the difference until it's too late? Today in St. Augustine we don't fear marauders as much as we do price gougers, nor do we expect to be ransacked and murdered by pirates. But some things are not that different from the old days. They had cafes, shops, clothing stores, junk stores, bars, and merchandise meant to entertain, entice, and separate folks from their money, and so do we. Their pirates got drunk and partied and so do ours. Some themes never change.

Our pirates are a bit more polite than their predecessors. Not long ago I was slipped a drug in my drink in a bar on St. George Street and then robbed by friends of the bartender/pirate who slipped me the drug. They got twenty dollars for their crime but were considerate enough to give me a ride home so no other harm could come to me. Now that's what I call thoughtful. They had nothing to worry about because the drug prevented me from seeing their faces. I suppose those pirates had gotten tired of working in the restaurants as underpaid servers when bounty was all around them for the taking.

When nighttime comes and the shops close, when nothing ever seems to happen, St. Augustine can become dangerous if one strays off the path of clean family fun and wanders into the dark alley of the pirates and smugglers. The ghost tours are the clean family fun here. At night when the ghost tours go out, the ghosts come out to greet them. And strangely, right on cue.

On the ghost tours some things happen that many people don't believe can happen and other things happen that many people wish would not. This is a story about that, a story about life and the afterlife. It is a story about ghostly St. Augustine, about modern day pirates, madmen, and heroes, about relationships that go beyond the reach of time, about the eternal Creation built on the foundation of love, and about a rational universe that exists almost as a stranger to us. The story begins when we go on a ghost tour. By we I mean you, me, and Jeanette, my long-time friend from Atlanta, Georgia. Just so you'll know, I don't need a ghost tour to find ghosts. I have plenty of them on my own but I like to see the ghosts perform on the tour -- right on cue.

We leave the Muy Bonita Hotel to join the ghost tour that proceeds down St. George Street, a narrow street built long ago and paved with red and brown bricks, a street typical of downtown St. Augustine with all its antiquities. We love the coquina and tabby buildings, the period-piece horses and carriages, the brick streets and everything else it takes to make us believe we have left our crazy modern world behind and escaped into the peaceful life of another time and another place. Nevermind it wasn't so peaceful.

Tonight, we enter a different world on the ghost tour, the world of the living gone on to become the world of the dead. Ghost Tour might also be called Ghost Pursuit. Why do we pursue it? Because we love to let go of the rational world and venture into the irrational world of ghosts and spirits but we want to do it in a structured, controlled, and acceptable way.

"How do you know we'll see a ghost?" Jeanette asks me.

"Because I saw it in a dream," I answer, as though that will convince her. She is convinced. Jeanette is an accomplished woman in her fifties and proud of who she is. I choose to be that way myself -- proud of who I am. Isn't that a catch phrase from the '60's? I don't remember where it comes from but it's something we've lost touch with.

The world is spinning, and everywhere around us is evidence that we're not in control and that we don't have reason to be proud of who we are. If we're proud then we're egotistical or we're just being defensive. But how can this be? Can't we be proud without being self-important, or am I thinking about self-worth rather than pride and ego? Where is the dividing line between necessary feelings of self-worth and pompous feelings of self-importance?

As the solver of an ancient artifact I have to face every day that I'm proud of what I've accomplished, I might make the history books with what I've accomplished, but I might die before I get any recognition for it. This tampers with my feelings of self-worth and it also bursts the bubble of my self-importance.

In the world we live in, if we judge ourselves by the standards of others we make a big mistake. But how do we reconcile that with personal desire for recognition from those same others? Everyone wants to perform and hear the applause. All the world's a stage, a great writer once said, and he spoke the truth. We take turns being on the stage and being in the audience. We have to learn to be proud of our performance even when it's unapplauded.

As I walk along thinking these thoughts, day passes into night. We stroll with the ghost tour in the twilight down St. George Street. To our left is the Episcopal Church, a quaint old structure with new covered walkways. The tall lamplight on the front lawn makes our bodies cast shadows on the wall of the yellow stucco building across the street. I notice my shadow is shorter than some. One man in particular is casting a long shadow. Curious. Just then, I see something break my shadow. It's the ghostly face and body of a woman.

"Did you see it?" I ask Jeanette.

"See what?"

"I just saw a ghost."

"What did it look like?"

"The face and body of a woman broke my shadow on the wall. She looked straight at me."

"Wish I'd seen it," says Jeanette.

As we walk past the Episcopal Church toward Artillery Lane, we hear the clip-clop of horse's hooves come from behind us and around us to the right. We all move over to the left and walk single file on the tiny sidewalk that is barely wide enough for one person. As the black horse goes by pulling a pretty carriage it peers at me with one big brown eyeball peeking from behind a blinder like it knows me. Attached to the side of the carriage is a gaslight lantern that swings back and forth, sending rays of yellow light into the twilight. Just for a moment it seems we have slipped back in time to Victorian England, to the time of gaslights and the sound of horses' hooves on old, brick streets.

The man directly behind us, the one with the long shadow, whispers, "Jack the Ripper."

"I love the atmosphere of Victorian England," I reply, turning to speak to him. "When you're down here at night, you can't tell what century you're in."

"And evil doesn't know or care either," he says, "especially when it's...Jack the Ripper." He whispers menacingly. Jeanette smiles at me as if to say, 'There's one in every crowd and we just found him.'

I take Jeanette's arm and try to distance us a little from the man behind us. "If we go a block or two towards the bay onto Aviles and Charlotte Streets, you'll swear you're in Old England. When the fog rolls in from the bay, spooky shadows are everywhere. We'll walk over there after the tour and you'll see what I mean."

The tour guide, trying to reclaim our attention and overhearing me mention spooky shadows, tells us about a ghost cat that used to haunt the house across the street. When the house was renovated last year the cat apparently took off. The residents up and down the street claim to see it in their homes.

"Pffth!" says the man close behind us, making the sound of a cat to frighten us and make us jump. Jeanette just raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes a little. The tour guide takes us further on until we cross over Bridge Street and come to a stop in front of 260 St. George Street, the first really haunted house on our tour, according to our guide. We gather around her, a young lady dressed in the costume of the Spanish Colonial period. She is holding an antique metal lantern that swings in her hand. The candle isn't much light but it's the only light we have.

On this dark night with only a little moonlight, it's difficult for us to see anything. If not for the lights in the old building we would be almost completely in the dark. When I turn to look behind me, I can just barely make out the life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary at the Catholic School. The white statue almost glows in the dark. Just as we stop in front of the haunted house, a young man exits the building and grins at us as he passes by. Obviously, he considers us gullible tourists.

The old two-story, A-frame building, now a apartment house, has a broad front porch, a couple of rocking chairs, and a plaque on the wall that says, "St. Augustine House." Dark green columns support the porch. The beige stucco building is much longer than it is wide. If we look through the glass of the front door, the guide tells us, we can see the long hallway and the apartment doors on both sides. The hallway extends from the front of the building all the way to the back. In the middle is a hump where the two houses were seamed together over a hundred years ago.

St. Augustine House was built as the first Catholic nun's school for girls. Up in the small third story, not visible from the street, are the tiny wooden cells where the nuns slept. It couldn't have been pleasant, the guide tells us, but they were used to giving up comfort in service to the Virgin Mary.

"St. Augustine house was at one time the Winter home of Al Capone," the ghost tour guide tells us. "He lived in one of the rooms and his gangster friends took up residence in other parts of the house. The building is said to be haunted with gangster ghosts."

The cat man, now standing beside Jeanette, asks, "Well, is it haunted with gangster ghosts?"

"Yes, certainly," the tour guide says. "We know this because of the stories told by the residents of the house."

Just at that moment the same young man returns and grins at us again when he hears the guide's comments. He passes by us, commenting, "If it had gangster ghosts, I would know it."

"Ohhhhhh," says the lady to my right, in disappointment. "I was hoping for some apparitions."

"Well, hang in there," says Jeanette.

"Take it from me, no ghosts here," says the young man, walking past us.

"And just who are you?" asks the cat man.

"I'm Stephen," he says over his shoulder as he continues up the steps to the front porch.

"Well, thanks, Stephen," says the cat man, sarcastically. "We really appreciate your valuable input on our ghost tour."

"I liked him better as Jack the Ripper than Walter Cronkite," Jeanette whispers to me about the cat man.

Just at this time I decide to add something to this strange mix of anticipation and disappointment. "I used to live in this building about three years ago. I was sitting in one of those rocking chairs one night when a ghost tour just like this one came by telling about the gangster ghosts. I remember thinking, 'They'll tell the tourists anything. If there were gangster ghosts in the building, I would know it.'

Then, one night about two months later I had a dream. You know how you can come awake in the middle of a dream but still be sleeping?" Several people nod their heads, 'Yes.' "I came awake in the middle of my dream to find myself hiding in my clothes closet from two gangsters who were in my bedroom. Suddenly, they snatched open the closet door and shot me with machine guns! It scared me so bad I woke up. After that, I never doubted there were gangster ghosts in the building."

Silence. Everyone is digesting my scary story. A woman on the far side of the group speaks up. "I've lived in this town all my life and I can tell you, there are no such beings in that building. I'm on the city commission and I know some history of the place. First of all, Al Capone never lived there in the Winter or any other time of the year. Oh, he might have spent a night or two there with friends one year, but that was it. I don't mean to dampen your spirits, but this is just one of the many ghost hoaxes we've developed in this little town to entertain visiting guests and encourage them to keep returning. Sorry about that, folks."

"Then what are you doing on this tour?" asks the cat man. "Seems to me you would be somewhere else right about now than standing here with us fools."

The city commissioner smiles, obviously not at all bothered by the man's challenge. "I'm just walking home. I live on the other side of St. Francis Street. Excuse me, I'll leave. I don't mean to be a party pooper."

"Well, you are a party pooper," says the cat man.

"I don't care what she says," I reply. "I saw two different kinds of gangster ghosts in that building, the Chicago kind and the Cuban kind, and I also saw the ghost of one of the little girls that attended the nun's school. So I know the place is haunted, period." I try to look directly into the eyes of the city commissioner but she turns and walks down St. George Street toward her home.

"We saw what we came to see," says the nervous tour guide. "It's getting late; let's move on."

Jeanette whispers to me, "I didn't see what I came to see."

We follow the guide toward St. Francis Street. Her lantern casts a single ray of light onto something protruding from behind the shrub on the other side of the narrow street in front of the Catholic School. None of us see it and if we had seen it we might have believed in gangster ghosts in the moment. The cat man would have whispered, "Jack the Ripper." There, pale as moonlight on a dark night, was the sweet young face of a dead woman. Carved on her forehead in jagged letters were the bloody words, 'St. Aug.'

We hear people say, "My mother didn't love me." But what about the other way round? What about all the mothers who loved as much as they could but their children rejected them? How painful that must be. What if that mother is a Mother-in-Spirit, like the Virgin Mary? How does she feel when her children reject her?

Once upon a time a little girl heard her mother calling but she did not come, she rejected her. She heard her mother's voice but she ran instead in the other direction. Why did she do that? Now we see her lying at peace on the side of the street behind some shrubbery. Who is she? Why did she experience such a terrible death? Is she like another girl who had a similar experience?

Once upon a time in this other girl's life she heard her mother's voice but ran from it. She became addicted to crack cocaine and she never could undo it. She was always lost in a haze and never knew why she did anything in her life the way she did. She smiled at some men one night. They looked like they might have money for her if she was nice to them. She learned this was a way to make a living in the world, being nice to men, so she went in this direction. She got pregnant and the baby was born equally addicted to crack. The baby was raised in foster homes. What happened to that child?

EverReady, the young reporter for Ghost Witness News, is busy making notes as the pygmy black woman sits on a bed of fire. Surrounding the pygmy is a group of pale white individuals who are just as unusual as she is. They are in front of St. Augustine House on St. George Street, in the exact position as the other ghost tour and at about the same time. Mesmerized by this lady, they see she is burning in a fire. She stokes the fire with small pieces of wood and then demonstrates how the flames leap up over her thighs but don't burn her at all.

EverReady is moving quietly around the group asking questions. "Are you enjoying this demonstration? Will you come to see it again? Is it in the tradition of 'The Fire that does not Consume,' or do you find it boring? What would you change about it and how would you make it more exciting?"

The pygmy finishes her act and sits now on a bed of cool black coals. The man directly opposite her in the audience complains that the demonstration lacks a salamander. The feisty reporter overhears the remark and moves quickly to the side of the grumbling man.

"Do you think a salamander would make it better?" she asks him.

"Of course," he replies. "Anyone knows that the fire that does not consume has a salamander going in one side of the furnace and coming out the other without being burned. That's the whole point of it. The metaphor has nothing to do with a little lady sitting on top of a campfire and not being burned."

"Is it a metaphor or a symbol?" asks another man standing close by.

"It's metaphor, Jack," says the first man.

"It's a metaphorical symbol," says a third man.

"Ok, Larry," says the first man, laughing. "You show us the path to compromise."

"So," EverReady says to the first as she eagerly makes notes, "you prefer to have the metaphor authentically enacted rather than creatively demonstrated."

"Absolutely," he replies.

"Can I quote you?" she asks excitedly.

"Of course," he says. "I'm George Truax and this is my wife Mavis Davis." But he didn't notice that Mavis isn't there beside him. Instead, she is just walking up to their group from the direction of Artillery Lane.

"Mavis, where were you?"

Mavis answers in rhyme, "Down the street in a tour group like ours comes a woman I recognize I think, because her shadow is short and sweet. I broke her shadow, and our eyes did meet. It's her, George, I'm sure of it. The Empress is on St. George Street!"

"She must be on a ghost tour," says George. "Did you see any long shadows with her?"

"One was long, I left it alone, but another did I see that frightened me."

"I hope you didn't bother to break the long shadows. It doesn't have any effect."

Mavis replies, "Long shadows casts by them are dark souls and can't be broken by enlightened ghosts."

"That's right," says George. "As for me, I'm a little worse off from this performance." He laughs.

His wife turns to him, shaking her head slowly left to right and comments, poetically, "George, dead for three hundred years, can't refrain from finding reasons to complain. Seems to me he would discern that people are entitled to their turn at metaphor. That's how we learn."

"Right," says EverReady. "After all, it is performance art."

Jack says to Mavis, in rhyme, 'They can try their hand at symbols too, but to clean up the mess, they'll need a road crew."

Several people laugh at Jack's rhyme, but George isn't going to be sidetracked from giving his opinion. He looks first at his wife and then at the reporter. "Ok," he says, "here's how I feel about it. I'm on a ghost tour and I want to be entertained in a way that I'm expecting, not bored to death. You take all these tourists in town, for example. They go on ghost tours and they expect to see ghosts, and we give them ghosts. And if we don't give them ghosts they get performance art, instead. Now, we're no different. We ghosts go on a ghost tour and we want to see the proper metaphors and symbols. I want my money back. I did not pay to see a lady sit on a campfire. I want a salamander that goes in one side of a furnace and comes out the other."

Mavis says, "Are you making a joke? You didn't pay a dime, but even so, you invoke your inner critic all the time."

The pygmy sitting on the bed of coals produces a salamander and tosses it over to him. "Here's your salamander. If you can get a performance out of her, good luck to you. She refuses to perform tonight, so I'm just doing the best I can without her." George catches Sally Salamander in his hand and places her on the ground where she runs back to the pygmy and jumps into her pocket.

The pygmy continues, "I'm going to perform my art the way I want to, with or without Sally. If you don't like it you can try another ghost tour. This one is about the fire that does not consume, and as you can see, I was not consumed. Now, get your own salamander and go do your own reenactment." The pygmy knows performing salamanders are hard to find, even as she tells George to go get one.

Before he can respond, George sees a strange figure materialize to everyone's left, causing all the heads in the ghost tour to turn and look. Coming slowly into view is a pale yellow, young woman who is weak and confused.

"What's....what's happening?" she rubs her hand across her forehead. "I'm going crazy I think. My head hurts and I don't know where I am."

"New girl," George says to EverReady. "Now, there's a better story for you. Go over there and see if you can find out what those words say etched on her forehead."

Mavis says, "St. Aug say the words there as you are well aware, the same as the other four. George, don't tease EverReady anymore."

EverReady moves quickly behind the group and approaches the girl, but before she can ask questions, the girl begins to cry.

Mavis says, "George, put on your savior hat. The great rescuer, the great hero. To the Bored Players she might go and get mixed up with them and we can't have that. So guide her, take her hand. She looks distressed. We'll take her home where she can rest, where she can plan what she wants to do next."

George does as his wife commands, as he has done for the last three hundred years, and takes the new ghost by her hand and leads her close to the group.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He puts his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

"Louise," she sobs.

"Well, Louise, welcome to the Astral Plane. St. Augustine is a little bit tight right now for places to live, but we'll find a nice spot for you."

Mavis mouths the words to George behind Louise's back so she doesn't see and hear them. "Tell her there's room, to be brave, for she can always live in her grave..."

"Oh," mouths George in reply, "I hope we can come up with something a little better than that."

Mavis replies, "Let's ask our realtor Gary Gravestone. He'll know where to find her best home."

"Ok," agrees George. "We'll consult Gary."

EverReady makes a few notes about the new girl but decides to stay with her original story entitled, "Performance Art on St. George Street. How good is it?"

When Chief of Police Warner Thompson arrives at the scene of the crime, a small group has already gathered. Like the two groups that preceded them the night before, they're interested in the woman in the center. But in this case, the woman is dead and bears no resemblance to the costume-attired tour guide of the first ghost tour or to the pygmy performance artist of the second ghost tour. Though this group is gathered in an official capacity and not to be entertained, they are nevertheless entertained in a morbid way by the corpse of Louise.

"Ok, let's get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible and, Johnny, go down there and block those tourists from coming down the street!" Chief Thompson points to the entrance of St. George Street at the intersection of King Street. Warner is a little ruffled from this disturbance of murder. He hoped to spend part of the morning talking on the phone to his broker. Now this.

"Looks like it's another one, chief," says Tommy Lassiter, Assistant Chief of Police.

"Don't say that!" snaps Warner, the irritation in his voice coming through at a higher decibel than he intended. He breathes out to relax his voice. "It is not 'another one,' as you call it, Tommy. I've told you before, we don't have a serial killer in St. Augustine and we are not going to have one, not as long as I'm chief of police."

Warner could be this way, but still it gives Tommy a slight indigestion to think that, once again, he is going to have to suppress not only evidence but also the crime itself. "How we gonna handle this one, chief?"

"The same way we handled the others. We're going to take the body to the morgue and then bury it."

Tommy thinks the Chief is unrealistic but he understands in a deep genetic way the reasons why. They are both native St. Augustinians from old families. Tommy's heritage is Minorcan and Warner's is Spanish. In fact, Warner's family on his mother's side came over with Pedro Menendez in 1565. On his father's side is Indian blood. Warner retains the swarthy complexion of both his Spanish and Indian heritage and, with his height and physique, he is what women call tall, dark, and handsome. For a single man in his mid-fifties, he is blessed with that mix of dark good looks combined with police authority that just naturally calls women to his side. But, he has never been in love. Oh, he's been married but time teaches the difference.

Tommy believes Warner has a strong inclination to protect the town of St. Augustine, and they share a deep knowing that all things pass away in time and are forgotten. He believes Warner's motives are natural and innocent, that Warner is hoping this is one of those things that quietly passes away. He knows Warner's life is uncomplicated and he also knows Warner believes himself to be the proper person in charge of this town, and that he wants to keep it this way.

Tommy thinks Warner wants to be the one who keeps the peace and quiet of the sleepy ancient village, not the one who disturbs it. A corpse lying behind a shrub on St. George Street doesn't rate to change what they both know is four hundred and fifty years of unalterable tradition, not on Warner's watch and especially not the corpse of a hooker. Yes, he understands Warner very well and for that reason he doesn't bother to argue the point that it is unrealistic and even smug for Warner to think he can sweep under the rug the murder of five young women. But the first four are safely secured under that rug, so they must make room for one more.

"No reporters," Warner tells Tommy. "You got that?"

"Got it," Tommy dutifully replies.

"We don't want this getting out. We don't need a bunch of tourists running scared that some nut case is going to murder them and carve St. Aug on their foreheads and we sure don't want them playing Sherlock Holmes detective. We want them to do what they do, enjoy themselves and spend money. Got that?"

"Got it," Tommy nods his head 'yes.'

"Ok," says Warner. "Now let's get this cleaned up."

Dagon-Jah sits at his pottery wheel and makes pottery all day long, then awaits his master's entrance into the little hut to bring him the evening's meal. He hopes his master doesn't notice he is not making the commission pieces but is instead working on a creation of his own. It's a piece of pottery he hopes will earn him fame and fortune. Then he won't have to be an apprentice anymore. He can be a master. He hears Jah's voice tell him how to build the piece according to certain dimensions. It could be the masterpiece of his time. They might come from miles around to see it.

But what if they don't come? What if his masterpiece goes by the wayside with all the other pieces of pottery? If that happens he won't hear the applause he longs to hear. The voice tells him, "Don't worry about that, just create it. Give it to Daedalus. He will know what to do."

He works secretly on his masterpiece. It is a small round disk made of red clay, only six and a quarter inches diameter. He makes it small so he can hide it from his master. Because it is so small the work is very detailed. The disk has two inscribed sides, each with a big spiral of five rings.

The spirals are divided into 60 line segments, 30 on one side and 30 on the other side. Divided among the line segments and covering the disk on both sides are 240 tiny pictographs etched using 48 different designs. 37 are intended to appear identical and are repeated; 11 are single etchings into the clay. Dagon-Jah made the little designs and etched them precisely on both sides of the disk. He keeps this design invention a secret. It is only for his masterpiece and for nothing else.

But what if his masterpiece goes unrecognized? What then? Must he let the sands of time wear it down and erode it away? No, there must be a way to keep it safe. If he bakes it in the sun like the rest of the pottery, it will break apart over time and be lost. What can he do to preserve it for all time? He must preserve it, Jah's voice tells him. He must think of a way to keep it safe. It is too important to lose.

Months go by while secretly he builds a furnace to harden the disk so nothing can hurt it, so water cannot damage it, and if it is dropped it might not even break. When the time comes, he builds a fire in the furnace and stokes it with wood until the flames leap up and the wood becomes fiery coals. He puts the disk inside the furnace and watches as the fire burns the disk but, miraculously, the disk is not consumed by the fire. He tells no one of his invention of the kiln. It is only for his masterpiece.

By way of creating his masterpiece he has invented two technologies unheard of in the Bronze Age and he keeps them both a secret. They never will find out. He is one of the greatest inventors of his time, but he doesn't realize it because it's not what he set out to do. He only means to make his masterpiece so he can become a master.

The year is 1600 B.C.E., nearly four thousand years ago. The place is the town of Phaistos on the island of Crete in the Aegean Sea.

Something is going on in the spirit world that few people understand, but most people also don't understand their purpose in life. For dramatic example, once upon a time a little boy was born and his name was Jesus. What was his purpose in life and why was he born?

My point is, once we discover our purpose then we are charged with the heavy burden of achieving it. Whatever our purpose, surely it is achievable or we would not have it for a purpose. And at least we can be assured that most likely our purpose will not be to get up on a cross and became a universal symbol of human suffering, death, and resurrection. That's a tough act to follow but, as it happens, some people are charged with following it.

These people are living examples of human suffering and they show us by their response to it how they transcend it. Or how they succumb to it. The idea is that if we have that experience we will also have in hand the lesson on how to handle it. And it doesn't always follow that the person who shows us the way is the good guy. Sometimes it's the bad guy, so it also becomes as a spiritual trial for us. Will we accept the truth that rides in on the dark horse? But let's not worry about that right now. Let's just live our lives the best we can, plan our trips to Disneyworld, and hope for something good to happen.

On this day when Jeanette and I are drinking coffee and having breakfast the morning after our ghost tour, when we are living our lives as best we can, I am enjoying the Open Boat Cafe and looking out onto Matanzas Bay. There, floating sublimely on the Bay's dark green water and securely moored where porpoises play -- oh to be porpoise and to know your purpose -- are beautiful yachts, sailboats, dingys, houseboats, and fishing boats of all types and sizes. One of my favorites looks like a pirate ship. At night it sails around the bay on ghost pirate tours. We're thinking about sailing on it.

"People live on those boats," I tell Jeanette. "I don't know how they do it but they do. I've met some of them." Jeanette glances up from reading the paper, the St. Augustine Herald. She is trying to find some interesting local news.

"Claustrophobia," she diagnoses me. "That's why you don't understand it."

"You think? I was wondering how they get online. I like the computer and electricity. I wasn't thinking about tight spaces."

"Why do they feature national events on the front page of a local newspaper?" she asks, just as the server arrives at the table with more coffee.

"Because," I answer, "nothing ever happens here."

"Not true," says the server, whose name tag says 'Linda.' "Something is happening here but no one is talking about it."

"What?" Jeanette and I both ask.

"Look on page six of section A," says Linda. "I'll be back with your breakfast."

Jeanette turns to section A. "Oooooh, I love a mystery..." She peruses the page but says, "I don't see it."

"Let me see." I try to grab the paper from her.

"Wait a minute!" She laughs. "Oh, here it is." A pregnant pause punctuates the moment.

"Well?"

"Oh my god. Someone's been murdered. It says, 'Murder in the Moonlight. A young woman was found dead on St. George Street, her face carved with the words, 'St. Aug.' She had been strangled.' How gruesome. It goes on to say that four other young women have been found in the same circumstances in different parts of downtown, also with those words carved on their foreheads. They were all younger than thirty and all rail thin, apparently prostitutes using crack. Here in this little peaceful town? I can't believe it."

"Let me see!" I insist she hand me that section of the paper.

"'It is not known who the killer or killers may be. Police are refusing to share information or evidence they might have that could lead to the capture of the killer. Assistant Chief of Police Tommy Lassiter said yesterday that little or nothing was known about the murderer but that he and Chief of Police Warner Thompson are investigating it."

"Can you believe that article is buried on page six but the whale story is on the front page?" says Jeanette.

"Well, it is understandable. If I were the mayor of this town or one of the city council members, I wouldn't want the words 'serial killer' in large type on the front page of the local paper, would you? Here comes Linda. Let's see what she says."

Linda arrives at our table, her arms covered in plates of food. "Linda, what about these murdered women?" I ask.

"Nobody knows." She unloads our breakfast onto the table. "The police aren't talking. Everyone is beginning to suspect they're suppressing evidence because they think the killer is someone on the city council, or maybe it's the son or relative of someone on the city council."

"And they would hush that up just because the killer is related to a city commissioner?" Jeanette is surprised but I am not.

"You know, it's a old town and people go way back," explains Linda. "They don't want St. Augustine to become known as the home of a serial killer, for one thing, and for another, no one wants to believe that anyone here related to a city council member could actually do something like that. It's an old place with reasons to cover up the dirt that goes on."

Jeanette and I sit in contemplative silence. "You know what? They will cover up a lot less." I decide to tell her what happened to me recently. "Not too long ago I was riding my bike down King Street when some kids in a car came by and shot me with a BB gun. In the state of Florida, that's the same as being shot at with a real gun. It's a criminal offense. I got the license plate and went to the police station and reported it, but nothing was ever done about it. When I pressed the issue, I was told that the kid that did it was the son of a city commissioner and that the case had been dropped."

"Why didn't you push a little harder?" asks Jeanette.

"Why? I wasn't hurt; I was just ticked off. I said to the policeman, 'I understand. I come from a corrupt little town myself.' He gave me a stern look, which told me my BB hit his bull's eye. At least it made me feel better."

Linda comes back just in time to overhear my story. "It's not really a corrupt little town. It's a peaceful little town that doesn't want any problems. But it's crazy to try to sweep under the rug a local serial killer. I don't know why they do that except that the women were all hookers addicted to crack and so therefore not representative of the general population. They probably just prefer someone kill them anyway, sad to say. More coffee?"

"It's crazy," I tell Jeanette between bites of my excellent breakfast. "It's not like murder hasn't happened here. What about that city council member, that woman who got her head whacked off in her own front yard in broad daylight. The guy who did that, another city council member, got off scot-free. Ok, maybe he didn't do it, but a friend of mine who was born here says everyone knows he did it.

Going further back than modern times, villains have been coming ashore here for centuries and killing people. I mean, come on! Matanzas, the name of the bay right there with all those pretty sailboats and yachts, means massacre in Spanish. That ought to tell you something. A statue of Pedro Menendez is right out there in the center of town just like he wasn't a mass murderer. He killed a bunch of religious people called Huguenots and no telling how many Indians.

Sir Francis Drake, who we were all taught to admire in history class, was little more than a pirate. He came ashore here and practically burned the place down in the 1500's and killed a bunch of people. Then, about a hundred years later, another English pirate, Searles, came ashore and left sixty people dead in the streets. So anything that happened here under the umbrella of history is not called murder. In fact, in this town mass murder masquerading as history is mass marketed, even celebrated. My point is, the town has a history of murder and a history of sweeping murder under the rug. But the lingering energy it creates, you can't sweep that under the rub. Eventually, it will come out to haunt you."

"Yep," says Linda, taking away our plates.

"You know what I think I'll do?" I tell Jeanette.

"Oh God, what?" she laughs.

"I'll write a book about it."

"About what, the history of St. Augustine?"

"No, about the serial killer and the women." I take a long sip of coffee. "I'll write a book about it and a screenplay about it and then I won't have to find a roommate to help keep the bills paid. If I can solve a four thousand year old artifact mystery, I can solve a murder mystery."

"If you would just publish your findings on the Phaistos Disk you wouldn't have to find a roommate, anyway. Why don't you do that? You spent eleven years trying to solve that thing and finally did, and now you're not going to publish?" Jeanette leans over the table in my direction for emphasis and says, "What's that about?"

"Maybe I just can't keep the faith because I don't think it would work, anyway. Few people know about it or care about it. Besides, I'm done with it. I solved it and that makes me happy. I never did it to make money. No, I'm talking about writing a book that sells, that makes a little money so I can publish if I want to and so I don't have to always have a roommate. It's a great idea!" I'm trying to sell both of us on the project.

"It's certainly better than having to find a good roommate. Didn't you see that Hitchcock movie, 'The Lodger'? They thought he was Jack the Ripper and he was living in their house. That's the position you put yourself in when you're looking for a roommate. You don't know who the person is, not really."

"I use my best judgment and I have a strong sense of survival."

"Ok, but how good is that? Everyone tries to give a good impression when they want something from you, so of course they're going to be on their best behavior just to get in your house. And then what? What if they decide to strangle you in your sleep? It scares me, Grace, and it ought to scare you. You say you have a strong sense of survival, but the definition of survival is the instinct to avoid death. I think that's what's at the back of your mind. You're connecting with that and it's the real reason you want to stop getting roommates and not just because you don't want to share your space."

"No, I'm not worried at all. First, I trust my judgment about people, and second, I have my guardian angels. I can call on my guardian angels and they'll come help me."

"And they'll do what? Jump on some guy that's jumping on you? You're kidding, right? They're angels, they're spirits. They can't do anything if something happens. What are they going to do, rap on the wall real hard, blow some cold air through the place, what? It's not the same as a human man getting physical. You know it isn't."

"I know some of their names. I call them when I get really desperate and they come and help me. They've done that before. I called on them twice when a roommate got drunk and was harassing me."

"And what happened?"

"They showed up all around me and they also sent two friends of mine, Josh and Aaron, two big guys only twenty and twenty-one, to help me."

"They did?"

"Yes, they did. First, the angels got in a circle around me and on both occasions Josh and Aaron knocked on my front door."

"And then what happened?"

"Nothing happened. Josh and Aaron showed up and the roommate left. That happened twice. A couple of days later, the roommate moved out. So you see, I have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, ok," Jeanette says, a little reluctantly. "What are the names of your guardian angels. You said you know their names."

"Some of them. One of them is named George."

"What, no last name?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure about his last name. But he's there a lot. I can hear him telling me, 'George.'"

"And who else?"

"Well, Jack Tolvey and Larry Welch."

"Jack Tolvey and Larry Welch? These are the names of your guardian angels? Whoever heard of angels with names like that? These are people names not angel names. Someone's pulling your leg."

"No, they're not. They just have these names. Maybe they were human once and now they're angels. We can become angels when we die. This is one of the lessons they teach me. I mean, this is the lesson. According to how we live our lives, we can become angels after death."

"Ok, so if something goes wrong you're going to call on Jack Tolvey and Larry Welch to come help you."

"No, I don't call that way. I call on the Praetorian Guards. That's what they're called."

"You're talking about the Roman guards to the Emperors." She starts laughing.

"It's like play acting. I'm the Emperor, I mean the Empress, and they're my guards. When I call they have to come because I am the Empress. They came one time as Zulu warriors with shields, which made me the Tribal Chief, but I couldn't relate to that although they were powerful and they formed a circle of shields around me. But now they always come as Roman guards."

"I give up. You go ahead and write your book so you won't have to roommate with a murderer, and if you happen to do that, then you call on George and Jack and Larry to come help you," she laughs.

"And then there's Gary." I laugh along with her.

"Who's Gary?" She grins at me and plays along.

"He's a friend of mine who lives in his grave at Le Leche Cemetery."

Jeanette laughs and I laugh with her. "And what's Gary's last name?"

I know she'll love this. "It's Gravestone, Gary Gravestone. He's a ghost realtor." We both crack up.

Linda appears, looking a little ashamed that she overlistened the entire conversation. "I don't know about living in a grave but I do believe in guardian angels. I think they can have people names. Maybe that's what makes them personal to us, the people names. Who knows, maybe they don't really have those names, they just claim to have them so we'll feel comfortable with them. Well, here's your check. I hope you enjoyed your meal."

"Leave her a big tip," says a little voice in my head, so I do.

George takes Louise by the hand and leads her away from the ghost tour to a cottage right downtown in the Slave Market, where there used to be held slave auctions during the time of the Civil War and long before. Now, the sidewalks meander under the big spreading trees, and vendors and wooden benches grace the carefully landscaped flower gardens and freshly mowed grass. A gazebo stands in the center of the park where musicians play on special occasions. The cottage is in the same location as the gazebo.

Mavis is talking gently in rhyme to Louise, asking her about her family and where she came from and what she did in life that she really loved to do. Louise is crying and incoherent but she begins to feel comfort from the care and concern shown her by George and Mavis. She wants to know how she came to be with them and what is happening to her.

George answers her questions with, "Let's talk about that later, shall we? Right now, we just want to get you home so you can get yourself cleaned up and get ready to go have some fun."

Mavis says, "It's better she doesn't see...you know... remember to be..."

George interrupts her. "I will." He passes his hand across Louise's forehead and, magically, the words 'St. Aug' disappear. As Louise arrives at the cottage in the square, she begins to feel better. George is hoping that Mavis can make her look a little better. Louise is all washed out and extremely pale, as any ghost might be, but there is no reason she can't be brighter. Mavis can fix that. She is excellent at that and she did a wonderful job with the other four girls, who are now players in their own performance art group called, the 'Cut Ups.' Hopefully, they will accept Louise into their group.

Just as George and Mavis arrive at their cottage, they are greeted by StumbleBlock, the leader of the Bored Players, who pops up and comments sarcastically, "Oh, look. It's Louisa May AllCutUp."

"StumbleBlock," says George. "Can't you feel any compassion anymore? Did you ever feel any compassion? When was the last time you prayed, tell me?"

"Prayer is for humans, not ghosts," replies StumbleBlock, knowingly. "If I was to pray, I would ask for more applause when I perform my act and that's about it. What else is there to pray for?"

"What do you want?" asks George, suspiciously.

"I just came to see if little Louisa May AllCutUp wants to join the Bored Players. It's a nice offer I'm making and very thoughtful, I might add."

Mavis says, "Louise is busy right now, be gone. She has a few things to do and she needs time on her own. She doesn't know if she wants to become one of the Bored Players like you."

"Oh, I see," says StumbleBlock. "You don't want her to join us. You want her to join the Cut Ups. You don't fool me. The Passion Plays are always your favorite."

"The Bored Players must be getting some serious competition from the Cut Ups," says George to StumbleBlock. "What's the problem, their act a little more realistic than yours? You know, Block, performance art, to be really good, has to have some level of reality. You take a group like the Cut Ups. They're getting attention because their act believes in them and they believe in it. They reproduce the manner of their deaths and everyone is enlightened by the story of their lives. It creates a gestalt that involves the audience and it also forgives the killer, which makes it an act about divine forgiveness. It's working at a bright level of light and it elevates the audience to higher levels of knowledge of the Creator. It lights up the whole realm when they perform it. The Passion Plays are like that. Everyone can relate to feeling strong emotions.

But what do the Bored Players do?" George continues. "Conflict plays, that's all. Now who wants to see continuous conflict?" George thinks he may have made a point with StumbleBlock but he doubts it. It is difficult for anyone or anything to make a point with StumbleBlock.

Then Mavis says, "And, really, how many times do you think you can kill that dragon and people will not get tired of watching it die? With that play you offend the Saint, and I know that happy he ain't."

Mavis is also unhappy with Ralph Dragon for playing the part in his own death at the hands of MetaphorMan, who plays the part of Saint George. MetaphorMan rides in dramatically on a horse played by GoryGuy that is led by John Simpleton. He impales Ralph Dragon with a spear played by GermyGirl. Ralph roars and flips over backward onto his spiny back and flails his four flat feet in the air. It's almost comical but not quite. Mavis gives StumbleBlock a disapproving look.

"What about the Shadow Breakers?" sneers StumbleBlock. "They don't seem to be getting many stage calls lately. Are the Shadow Breakers breaking up?"

"You wish," says George, who understands StumbleBlock's dislike of the Shadow Breakers. He's continuously rejected as a player so of course he's resentful. But the problem with StumbleBlock is that he refuses to remember why he's always rejected.

As Mavis takes Louise by the hand and leads her into the cottage, StumbleBlock gets the last word when he produces onto his body a costume of tuxedo and tails, shiny black top hat, and spiffy walking stick. He sings after Mavis in a tune resembling 'Puttin' on the Ritz', "Mavis Davis, young and crude, left her home without her snood. Went back to get it and to her surprise, her husband was killed before her eyes. She died next a bit perplexed, then she and George were laid to rest. But not inside the city gates, for they were Protestants not Catholics. Did you forgive your killer, Mavis?" taunts StumbleBlock as Mavis enters her little cottage.

"Ignore him," says George, closing the door behind them. "He's still confused about what happened."

Warner Thompson nearly spits when he sees the article on page six of the newspaper. "Tommy!" he yells. "Get in here!"

Tommy appears with his statement prepared. He knows Warner wants to know how the news leaked out and why he talked with the reporter. "Boss, I don't know how it got out. I've been trying all morning to find out. I have my suspicions, though. It's that nosy reporter, what's her name, Mary Evers at the Herald. She's always snooping around the place asking questions and looking for leads. I think she must have talked to one of the girls up front. I don't think any of the force talked to her. It must have been a girl up front."

"You talked to her."

"But not until she already knew just about everything."

"Find out which girl talked to her and fire her! We can't have our people leaking stories to the press. Did you brief them like I said?"

"I did, I did. I told them that another murder had been committed. But, Warner, we can't expect them not to even tell their families. I think that's how it got out and we got no control over that." Tommy hopes Warner will be reasonable but he seldom ever is when things don't go his way.

Warner sits back in his chair, his arms behind his head, to give it a think. "Ok, Tommy," he says quietly. "I'll think of something. You do the best you can and I'll do the best I can, and maybe something good will happen." Tommy leaves, relieved he is not facing a hot-tempered Warner. He hopes his coffee is still warm and that his wife calls soon with news about his son's swim team results.

Warner, on the other hand, is getting restless. Something is speaking to him, a small voice in his head, and it's saying something he doesn't want to hear. The voice tells him, "The time is coming." He knows something is up. He trusts that little voice in his head, although he never tells anyone about it. He trusts it and he thinks it trusts him. The voice seems to direct him to stand up and look out of his office window at the tourists in the Slave Market. He sees a woman walking down King Street in a lascivious way, obviously a prostitute, right in the middle of town in broad daylight. "The time is coming," the voice whispers to him.

Gladys Kurtz has been a city commissioner for ten years and still she loves the work. She loves to participate in decisions made about the city. She wants only to live and work in St. Augustine but she has two obsessions that go unnoticed by all, thanks to her ability to keep them concealed.

Her personal life is no one's business, she often tells herself. People might judge her harshly if they knew but she doesn't intend that they will ever know. She also knows that because of her elevated position in the city authority no one will ever know as long as she is discreet and as long as she controls herself. And they might even help her cover it up. But she intends to be discreet while she stands as guardian at the gates for her precious little town.

"I sacrifice myself," she says aloud. "And I deserve to do whatever I like whenever I want to."

Gladys has the unenviable distinction of being the direct descendant of the city commissioner who stood trial for cutting off the head of his fellow commissioner, a woman who had devoted herself to removing him from his position. "She deserved it," Gladys says aloud to herself. "But I will never do anything like that if anyone jeopardizes me and my position. He took it too far. She deserved it, but he took it way too far."

Gladys did what no other in her family could do. She erased the blemish of murder from her family's name and for that reason she stands as heroine within her clan. She reclaimed their position within the city council and she did it honorably. She is to be admired and respected and so she is.

"Life is good," says Gladys. "Life is good."

Gary Gravestone's Home

"Gary Gravestone here. I was the best realtor in St. Aug when I was alive in the Physical Plane but I had a slightly different name. I still am the best in the Astral Plane."

"Gary!" says Mavis. "How merry!" She is fond of him because he enjoys making rhymes with her and because he knows all about local real estate.

"Hi Mavis, hi George." Gary shakes George's hand. "What can I do for you?"

"Gary," says George. "We have another one of those situations for you. Louise here is a new arrival and of course doesn't know the lay of the land, so to speak. She isn't sure where she's going to live and we're hoping you can offer a few suggestions."

"Sure. Be glad to help out. First of all, where did you live before?" he asks Louise.

Mavis says, "Gary, dear, I don't mean to interfere but Louise is a little bit dumbstruck. Show us the listings somehow and Louise can talk later, not now. Let's review the preview if you don't mind. We'll tell you her choices some other time."

"Ok, let's do that." He produces a television screen onto the wall of the cottage and begins mentally projecting a slide show of places to live in St. Augustine. He prefaces his slide show with, "Of course, if she wants to she can always save her Reality Bytes and live in her grave. After all, it belongs to her. She can look around first. Some nice older places are coming available as citizens begin to pass over." Seeing the look of alarm on Mavis' face, he regrets right away his words but continues with the slide show. He glances quickly at George, who nods his head, 'continue.'

"Let's begin with some of the more inexpensive properties." He glances at George for approval. George knows Gary is going to show them some graves as a possibility for Louise. He hopes Louise chooses something else but he knows Mavis approves of graves as homes as does Gary, who gets his name for living in his grave when he could live anywhere. Some ghosts like tight spaces and that's why they choose their final resting-place as their homes. But older graves have more built-in conveniences than newer ones, so Gary of course recommends the older graves that are coming available.

"Judge Stickney's grave is coming available," says Gary. "It has a lot of conveniences and I for one would not mind having the place."

Mavis adds, "It's a nice spot in Huguenot."

"How much does that grave go for, Gary?" asks George.

"It's discounted because the coffin is no longer there, but the Judge added some nice replacement illusions. It's reasonable at thirteen Reality Bytes. It features built-in electrical socket illusions and also some television illusions."

"Not bad," agrees George. "What else you got?'

"I have some graves that were occupied by people who died of tetanus and cholera, but I don't recommend them. Sometimes, those illusions get loose again and they can really upset the stomach. The properties are cheap, though."

"No, let's skip over those, Gary. We can help Louise out if she comes up short of Reality Bytes. I think she can afford something better than that."

Mavis says, "Reality Bytes she has plenty of. It's how to spend them she's not sure of. Since she came awake in the plane and showed she remembers her name, I have seen her Reality Bytes in her aura."

Louise speaks for the first time. "What are Reality Bytes?"

George and Mavis are thrilled to hear her take an interest in their conversation and in her new life.

"Reality Bytes," explains George, "are what you get for your life's experiences when you convert over to the next plane. Louise, you have some extra bytes because you..."

"Stop it!" commands Mavis. "Let's drop it!"

"You have extra bytes," continues George in spite of his wife's warning, "because you earned them by how you died."

Louise's face takes on the look of surprise and then the look of astonishment as she suddenly realizes she died but she is not dead.

"You faced a terrible reality head on and now, because of it, you have some extra bytes."

"Oh," says Louise, smiling and a little dazed. "I'm happy about that."

Gary glances at George. They all know George misled Louise a little about how she got the extra Reality Bytes. It isn't that there is a reward waiting for having been murdered, but just that some legal ramifications are involved that usually result in the person being compensated with extra bytes, depending on the circumstances of their death.

"Let's continue," says George. "What about Tolomato? Is anything available there?"

"Yes," replies Gary. "I was just about to mention a property in the shady part of the cemetery."

"Not the Bishop's House?" asks George.

"No, the Bishop is still there, bless his heart, shining his light and holding mass. I have some information about the Bride's grave. It seems she's thinking about passing over soon and there is the possibility -- I don't want to get your hopes up -- but there is the possibility her grave will become available. It has some wonderful conveniences and illusions! It has a mirror and a dressing room complete with a bridal gown. It has a small kitchen, some appliances, and even a little pantry. And all quite reasonable, I'm sure."

"Wow," says Mavis. "That grave is a house!"

"I'll have to check with the groundskeeper but I'm willing to bet some bytes that we can secure that property for about what it takes to move into a tomb at Le Leche."

"With plenty of room," says Mavis. "I love your tomb."

"I do too," smiles Gary. "But tombs will not be available there for a long time. Everyone wants to live near the Virgin's chapel so of course the tombs are exclusive. You just have to be lucky enough to get one, unless you can find a tombmate situation. Oh, by the way, I was able to get my computer set up and I finally got onto the Internet again."

"You know, Gary, you could hire yourself out for extra bytes if you wanted to, setting up computers inside graves. Have you thought about doing that?"

"Yeah, sure, but I'm convinced people need to learn how to do that themselves and, given enough time, they will. It's a matter of intent and focus, not wiring. Of course, MaliciousCode does that kind of work on the side, but I'm not sure he ought to be doing that."

"I'm getting tired," says Louise. "Can I rest now?"

Gary leaves with a promise to return at a later time and bring back some projections of rooms coming available in some of the old houses on San Marco and St. George Street. They go for much more, of course, but they are well worth it when you take into consideration that Louise won't have to produce illusions to create the comfort she's accustomed to. Louise replies that she is not accustomed to a lot of comfort. Mavis assures her she can stay with them in the extra room until she finds a place she really likes.

Dagon-Jah carefully packs the masterpiece in his roll-away and stows it on his back. He has high hopes of finding Daedalus at the Palace of Knossos. He will make the journey on foot in two days. With the festival of Dio-ysis coming up, it is a certainty he will have companionship along the way. Good companionship is always pleasant for Dagon-Jah. He is a talkative person when away from the potter's wheel. It will be a nice break from work.

His master, a good man, gives him leave to attend the festival and the bull sports at Knossos. Dagon-Jah of course does not reveal his real mission — to show Daedalus his masterpiece. The master might want to see it and then he would insist on knowing how it was created. Dagon-Jah destroyed the kiln after creating the disk. He had to be sure no other work of art would ever be created using his secret method. It would be a sacrilege.

He sets off on his journey to Knossos and soon meets a man he begins to admire. It is a fellow potter named Ja-Ra. This man wants to know what Dagon-Jah has in his roll-away that is so special. He notices how Dagon-Jah keeps touching it and adjusting it. Dagon-Jah is tempted to show him but he doesn't. The man admires Dagon-Jah for his reserve in revealing his secret. He is an honorable man. They both are.

They soon are joined by a sailor named Theseus, who falls in step with them. He inquires after their health and whether they plan to stay for the bull sports. Dagon-Jah says he hopes to stay. Ja-Ra also hopes to stay. Next, they are joined by a young woman named Ariadne, a bull leaper, on her way to Knossos to perform bull leaping in the central court of the palace. The men admire her courage and physical strength. She hopes to find a friend in Knossos, an athlete who taught her how to leap bulls. These newfound friends walk along under a beautiful blue sky. Stretching out all around them are the pale plains and rocky, gray plateaus of Crete, wonderful against the blue sky.

As they camp that night near the rock and shell path, they tell stories to the group and everyone pretends to be amazed, out of politeness. But when Dagon-Jah tells his story, the amazement is real.

Dagon-Jah was educated in a Cretan pottery factory in Egypt. One day the pharaoh come into the factory to select pottery. Dagon-Jah can't remember a day in his life that stands out as much as that day.

"The pharaoh stood tall among us, as though elevated by his great soul. When he passed by our group, he stopped and admired the piece I created. He reached out his hand, all covered in rings and bracelets of green and red and blue stones, and he touched my piece of pottery, selecting it as his.

His touch alone elevated me instantly to status of apprentice, and I was given a choice where I wanted to work. I chose Phaistos. I had been there once while working on a sailing ship. I was born there but was taken away as a baby to be raised with my parents in Egypt. My choice was to return home. I presented myself to my master who required I demonstrate my skill as a potter. I won his approval. I have a gift, they say. The pharaoh saw it in me."

Everyone is silent. Dagon-Jah had seen the pharaoh! He had been selected out by the pharaoh! It was more than any of them could imagine. They gained a new respect for this man who is so simple, carrying only a roll-away on his back and no stick or wand. They see him with new eyes.

On the second day, the road to Knossos becomes filled with travelers on the way to the festival. Many of them carry trumpets made of large sea shells. They will blow them during the festival to call Dio-ysis, the god with the bull's foot, out of the water. Many of them also carry a long thyrsuses, a wand made of bamboo and wrapped in ivy with a pine cone at the top. They carry it in honor of Dio-ysis, who also carries one, and in honor of the ancient oracles at Dodona, who carry the wands.

When the trumpeters evoke Dio-ysis at the festival, the gaiety will swell and fill the palace. Only the white bull will be oblivious, for everyone else will laugh and play and drink the wine of the god. Dagon-Jah begins to regret not having a trumpet or a wand but he reminds himself of his reason for going to Knossos.

"Ur Nammu will come," says Ariadne. Ur Nammu is the new god the people create as they turn away from the old gods.

"And so will his daughter, Ur Darukin," says Ja-Ra. "Ur Troda, his son, will come too. Him I worship."

Dagon-Jah says nothing. He is not a follower of the new gods. He still worships Jah and Re-Ah, the old ones. Re-Ah is the dark goddess of the deep night sky. She is the mother of Jah, the god of the created world. She shines above as the blue star. She looks down on Dagon-Jah and smiles at him. She encourages him to hear the voice of her son Jah. She is always watching over them and she always will be. Around her in the sky are the other shining ones, the shields -- the planets. They revolve around her and keep her safe.

Dagon-Jah will visit her cave when he leaves Knossos. Her cave is on the Earth and also in the night sky. He can see it shining up there, her sky cave. He will make an offering to her of a special piece of pottery he created just for her. It is a smiling woman wearing a flounced skirt with her blouse open at the top. Dagon-Jah is very good at small pieces of pottery and tiny models of large things. He is used to making pottery like this. Perhaps Re-Ah will like his piece of pottery and do him a favor. She will help him become a master instead of just an apprentice.

Dagon-Jah cannot understand why the people follow the new gods when the old ones love them so much but he says nothing of this to Ariadne, Theseus, and Ja-Ra, whose name tells him he also worships the Egyptian sun god. Dagon-Jah wants none of this. The daytime gods are for fools. The nighttime tells the truth of the old ones.

Jah is the loving god, the kind god. He is the one who cares for them and hopes them well. He is the one who sends friends to guide Dagon-Jah and watch over him. These tall friends he calls Watchers because they tower over him at night and watch him. They make sure no harm comes to him, but they never sleep.

As Dagon-Jah sleeps, he dreams of the fame that comes from being the greatest potter of his time. As he dreams he sees the Watchers guarding him in his sleep. They stand so tall above him their heads touch the midnight blue sky and their eyes twinkle like stars.

When you judge people you never know what is at the heart of them. Oh, you might think you know but you don't. But it's a way to know what's at the heart of you. Here is my position when I share my home with a stranger. I want to believe that they mean well but I learned the hard way I could be wrong. I don't think I'm wrong on this occasion, though, when I accept as a roommate the young man we saw on the ghost tour, the one that passed by us claiming there were no ghosts in St. Augustine House.

"There are some ghosts here," I tell him, in jest but not really. He looks at me like he knows I'm teasing him, that there could not possibly be any ghosts in my home. "I'm in the heart of St. Augustine," I explain. "Practically every house here is haunted. Don't you believe that?"

"No," he says politely. "I mean, hey, what's a ghost anyway but a concept we have? It's not a human being gone on to some other existence. I've never seen a ghost and I just don't believe in them. But if you say there are ghosts here, then I'll go along with that because I really want to move out of my apartment and into a house. And you gotta nice house."

I have to laugh. I like his honesty and he is attractive in a mysterious way that is hard for me to define. It's just the way he glances at me from under thick dark eyelashes. His black eyes are beautiful and his tan has shades of gold. He's tall but not too tall and well built as though he's been working out at a gym. He seems fit and he appeals to me sexually, but I suppress that because I'm at least thirty years older.

"So, what's wrong with St. Augustine House if it's not the gangster ghosts chasing you away?"

"I'm just tired of the place. It's old and creaky, the plaster is crumbling, the plumbing leaks, it has a dank, musty smell, and the landlord is absentee. He's in Miami so he can't be bothered with the problems. The rental agent next door is pretty nice, him and his wife, but they can't fix things that the landlord doesn't want fixed, and he basically doesn't want anything fixed. That building is a hundred and fifty years old. I want to live with some new construction and I'm tired of living by myself. I like a little companionship when I get home, you know, someone there, not just empty rooms."

"I used to live in that place, Stephen."

"Really? Which apartment were you in?"

"I started out in number 3 and ended up in number 1."

"How 'bout that! I'm in number 1."

"I should tell you that I'm usually home because I'm a writer, and writers have to stay home if they want to get any writing done. I'm investigating the recent murders of the young women. I'm writing a book about it." I thought I would throw that out there, just to test the idea on someone. You get a new idea, a new project, and you want to test it out. His reaction is favorable.

"Oh, really? How interesting. How's your investigation going?"

"I haven't started it. I just wanted to see your reaction. I'm not sure I will even do it but I'm seriously thinking about it."

"Oh, go ahead on." He smiles. "I like the idea and who knows, you might even solve the case. Wouldn't that be cool?"

I like him a lot already. I ask him one more qualifying question before I accept him as a roommate. "Where do you work, Stephen?"

"I'm the assistant manager of the Moonlight Restaurant."

"Oh, nice place. Well, good. If you want to, you can move in today."

"Sure, let's do that," he says. "Here's the rent and the deposit."

"I'll write you a receipt." He tells me his last name is Allger so I write the receipt to Stephen Allger, but I notice he looks at it a little too long, like maybe I misspelled his name. "No," he says, "that's the correct spelling." He smiles at me as he pockets the little piece of paper. "I'll be back later today with my stuff."

"Ok, here's your key." I give him the key to my home and he leaves. What a nice guy. He seems peaceful and calm and probably we'll get along just fine. I call Jeanette in Atlanta to let her know I made a good choice in a roommate, and she seems happy with that.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "He's the assistant manager of a restaurant downtown, so he has references. And he paid his rent a month in advance."

"Uh oh," says Jeanette.

"Uh oh what?"

"Uh oh, he paid his rent a month in advance."

"And that means...?

"In Hitchcock's 'The Lodger,' he paid his rent a month in advance."

"So, what does that mean? I don't get it."

"It means that no one ever pays their rent in advance unless they have to, and if they do, there's something suspicious about it. That's how Hitchcock built suspense in the minds of the audience."

"Ok, I get it. I don't think it's suspicious but I get it. So when the lodger turned out to be Jack the Ripper, I guess he didn't get his deposit back?"

"The lodger wasn't Jack the Ripper."

"See there. Oh, I forgot to mention he's the guy who came out of St. Augustine House at our ghost tour, and then went back in. You remember, the..."

"...one who doesn't believe in ghosts," she finishes my sentence. 'So how is he going to like living in your haunted house?"

"He says he will believe in ghosts if that's what it takes for him to live here." We both laugh.

Buoyed by Stephen's enthusiasm about my new project and book, I decide to ride my bike downtown to deposit the money and to see what clues I can come up with about the last murder. At least I can find out where the woman was killed and even ask a few questions at the courthouse.

I feel the excitement you feel when you begin a new project and I hope it will be enough to help me meet the obstacles, the kind that can dim my enthusiasm. Everything seems so easy in the beginning of things, but doesn't it always happen that when things get tough, the enthusiasm wanes? I don't stop to think what might occur if I stick my nose into this business. It doesn't occur to me that I can't predict the obstacles I will meet. But I don't think about that; I think only of the joy of a new project and all its creative possibilities.

JuicyGirl wants to expand the Cut Up's act to include sex in the Astral Plane but the other girls don't want to. So when Louise comes along and applies to join their group, JuicyGirl is motivated to accept her but only as long as Louise can be counted as a 'yes' vote for her new idea.

"Just think how it will seduce the audience away from the conflict plays," she campaigns to the others. "It will totally involve them in our performance and they might even give up on conflict if they can count on sex."

"But it was sex that got us into this situation," says SillyGirl.

"And that's a bad thing?" replies JuicyGirl, prepared to debate to the end her point of view. "And you're wrong, it wasn't sex, it was crack, and I'm not talking about including crack into our act, so don't get that mixed up in your silly head."

JuicyGirl can be convincing. In life she was just as smart as she was addicted to crack, but her intelligence factor was not enough to help her out of the maze she was in when crack ruled her completely. Now, she is enjoying being alive without being addicted, and she is about to actualize, for the first time, the depth of her intellect and her artistic talents.

TraumaGirl doesn't agree with JuicyGirl and can be daunting when she doesn't agree. "I don't want to relive that part of my life, if you don't mind," she argues. She knows the rules. She doesn't have to act out any part of her past life that she doesn't want to. But JuicyGirl reminds her that it is no good trying to suppress things that are unpleasant unless it is something like an addiction to crack, which is ok to forget about.

"That's the point of our act," she reminds TraumaGirl. "You can't suppress this vital part of our lives. You know what happens if we do. You remember what Mavis told us."

"What happens?" asks TraumaGirl. "I forgot."

"Exactly," says JuicyGirl. "You'll forget. We'll all forget. We have to include sex or we'll forget that part of our lives." She glances quickly at TraumaGirl to see whether she has won her argument. She almost has but not quite.

"So what if we forget?" says TraumaGirl, who doesn't enjoy acting out the fun parts but only the traumatic parts. "I don't mind forgetting about that part. It wasn't traumatic and it wasn't all that great to me."

"But sex is part of who we are," JuicyGirl argues, producing at the same time a pedestal to stand on, for effect. She got her name because she likes to act out the juicy parts, and this new idea suits her sense of drama. "Without sex incorporated into our act, we lose the sense of who we are and where we came from. We stand to lose our sense of self-worth," she says, dramatically. She notices TraumaGirl is subsiding to think about that last comment. She feels she has won TraumaGirl over to her side with her secret weapon, the knowledge that ghosts can forget their human past lives.

That only leaves SillyGirl, who she knows she can win over, and ActorGirl, who is interested in acting out anything, no matter what it involves. Now, with Louise on board she can artistically actualize sex plays to compete with the Bored Player's conflict plays. And it will be exhilarating to defeat StumbleBlock, who is always lurking in the shadows to spy on them.

She turns to Louise and says, "What do you want your performance name to be? I am JuicyGirl and this is SillyGirl, TraumaGirl, and ActorGirl. Why don't you be..."

"Wait!" says Louise. "Let me decide. I choose to be LoverGirl." She might also have added a second name, CleverGirl, because she has just been clever in selecting a name to put her in the good graces of JuicyGirl, who obviously is the guiding force of the Cut Ups. She also knows she can change her name later if she wants to, Mavis told her.

"I love it!" says JuicyGirl, jumping down from her pedestal to spin in a circle, so pleased with Louise for taking a name that fits so well into the new act. "Great choice, LoverGirl!" And that is how Louise became LoverGirl and how she became JuicyGirl's new best friend.

Mavis doesn't enjoy debating George about his spiritual path, and George likes it even less, but when you have been married for over three hundred years, you just have to put up with things.

"Why must you keep going through that portal alone? Do you have permission to go through so often?" she asks him. Mavis only speaks in rhyme when other people are listening. She always wanted to be a poet, but her physical life was cut short. Now that she found her rhyming voice she speaks in rhyme most of the time.

"Of course," he replies, a little exasperated with his wife for continuously asking that question. He notices she sometimes forgets she already asked a question. That's a small problem with Mavis, these days. She has been in the Astral Plane so long she tends to forget her purpose for being there. He hopes to avoid the discussion about leaving the plane because that can start a debate between them. They stayed this long because Mavis wants to stay and make her rhymes and because she's afraid to go forward. She's afraid of forgetting who she is and that she's a poet.

"The Saint gives me permission to travel through the portal," he reminds her. "If he didn't I wouldn't do it."

"But what's so important? What is the Empress doing that is so important to the Saint?" Mavis has to be told the same answer over and over, and it is beginning to worry George.

"She's writing about the Cut Ups," he says. "But it's more than that. She's writing about us, all of us, and how we live our lives now. The Saint feels it is important and he wants to ensure she has the proper guidance."

"But I'm afraid for you to go alone. What if you don't come back?"

George suspects that Mavis's real fear is that he will develop an attachment to the Empress. "The portal is a two-way door; you know that, Mavis. We go through that same portal as the Shadow Breakers and we always come back. There's nothing to worry about." He changes his mind about the real issue and thinks now is a good time to talk about it, despite the debate that might ensue.

"You know, honey, we've been here a long time, three hundred years. We're on our last year here. We can't stay here. We have to either go back or go forward. People can only go back or forward. Remember how it was before we got here?" Mavis reluctantly nods her head, 'yes.' "We knew we couldn't stay human forever. We knew there was a time limit, didn't we? Nobody wants to leave their plane of existence, Mavis, but eventually they have to, eventually the body has to drop off or else there is no progress made, no soul evolution. And now, just like then, our bodies have to drop off. Do you want to talk about that?" he asks, with true concern for her feelings.

"No," she replies, flatly.

"Ok," says George. He decides to take up the subject later. The Saint already spoke to him about moving forward, but if Mavis doesn't get an understanding about it and if she doesn't start to lose her fear, she might become a Go Back. Being a Go Back is not bad because you can only go back so far, but in their case they will be separated, and they don't want to be separated. He takes her hand gently in his and kisses her on the cheek. "Let's go look for Louise," he says, "and see how she's coming along with the Cut Ups."

Warner Thompson normally can't be bothered by locals dropping in. He usually lets Tommy handle it, but this one is different, Tommy says. This one is investigating the murders and is writing a book about it. Warner knows he has to handle this himself.

"Let her come in," he says, mentally preparing himself for the barrage of questions coming his way. But when she enters the room, he feels a change come over him that he can't explain. She isn't young and beautiful, which often causes a change to come over him that he can explain. She's about his age and attractive, but there's something about her that's as mysterious to him as that little voice in his head.

"Hi," she says, holding out her hand to shake his. "I'm Grace Courage. I'm wondering if I can speak with you for a moment about the recent murders."

"Sure," he says, uncharacteristically nervous. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I have an idea to write a book about the serial killings, and I'm just hoping you can put me on the right path. You know, get me started in the right direction."

Warner normally would put her on the right path out of his office, but there is something about her that connects with something deep inside him and for the life of himself he can't see what it was. So he has to just run with it until he can understand it better. He's like that, never shying away from something intriguing, but at the same time always trying to get a handle on it. This time, however, he feels like an open book.

He watches her carefully as she politely waits for him to speak but he knows he seems a mute. He must look strange, even disoriented. He doesn't know how to stop this feeling. It's this woman, he thinks. She's doing it somehow. But what is she doing? The little voice in his head whispers, "The time is coming."

"I can't be much help to you because I don't know much about it," he says.

"Are you handling the investigation yourself?"

"Yes, I'm supervising the investigation but I'm not out there turning over stones, so to speak. My officers are on that detail." It stuns him that he tells her the truth.

"Have they discovered anything?"

"No." He wishes he had more control over himself. Giving straight answers to straight questions about police matters is not within his nature, yet here he is like a puppet on a string.

"Would you mind keeping me informed if you come up with something? My situation is this. I want to write a book about these murders and I hope to make some money from it, just to be honest with you. You see, I'm a writer and not a financially successful one, but I'm trying to be. So I figure if I can write a great book about the serial killings, then I can publish another book I want to write and I can also stop getting roommates. I'm just hoping you can point me in the right direction so I can take the right slant in my book that will help with the sales."

She must really be naive to think that a chief of police in any town is willing to supply her with enough material to write a book about an ongoing investigation. But something inside of him suggests that he guide her at least a little, if only to keep her under control. He can't have her running all over town asking a lot of questions and spreading around information about murders that he is trying to keep under wraps.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "If I come up with anything that I think you can use in your book, I'll let you know."

"You will?" she says, excitedly.

"Sure." He almost laughs out loud.

As she leaves his office, he hears Tommy asking her what the chief said, and he hears her tell Tommy the chief is going to give her whatever information he comes up with to help with her book. Tommy laughs out loud, and that is when Warner knows Grace realizes she has been conned. But the little voice in his head says again, "The time is coming."

Gladys Kurtz is just leaving her cozy office when she nearly bumps into the woman she saw on the ghost tour, the one who insisted gangster ghosts haunt St. Augustine House. She tries to avoid her but she is practically side by side with her, so there is nothing to be done but to be pleasant. "Hi," she says.

"Oh, hello," says the woman. "I remember you. You're the one on the ghost tour. How are you? I'm Grace Courage." She extends her hand.

"I'm Gladys Kurtz. Nice to meet you," she lies. It doesn't hurt to make friends with people who can vote you in or out of office, and she is a master at politicking and is used to shaking hands with people she could care less about. "Seen any ghosts lately?"

Grace laughs and says, "Every day. How about you?"

"Not recently," says Gladys, a little sarcastically. "What are you doing, shopping?"

"No, I was just talking with the chief of police."

"Oh? About..."

"About the serial killings." That stopped Gladys in her tracks.

"You were just talking to Warner Thompson about the serial killings. And what did the chief of police have to say about that?"

"He said he would help me any way he could, but then the assistant chief of police laughed so fast when I told him what the chief said that I realized Thompson isn't going to help me at all and was just feeding me a bunch of bull. In fact, I bet he tries to stop me from writing my book."

"Oh, you're writing a book. I see. You're writing a book about the murders and the chief of police is going to try to stop you. Well, I can help you."

"Can you? What can you do to help?"

"I can find out some things for you. I'm influential around here. I can help you get that book going if you like. How would you like a little collaboration from a woman on the inside?"

"That's great. It's nice to know everyone on the city council isn't trying to hush up the murders."

"No, of course not. Here, let me give you my phone number, and you give me yours. If something comes up, I'll give you a call. Or you can call me if something comes up. Don't worry, I won't let Warner stop you from getting any information you're entitled to get, as a citizen." Gladys always feels good when she is getting in control of some part of city government, and this is one of those times when she really feels good. Now isn't it lucky she ran into this woman? Fate works in mysterious ways.

Gladys gets in her car and drives out to Nine Run Road, a deserted dirt road off Highway 213, where she is secretly meeting a man. Her two reasons for meeting him are, one, he has something she wants and, two, he has the name of a man for her to call. This is the part of her life she thinks no one is entitled to know about, and she intends to keep it this way.

Out on Nine Run Road, she turns down a small lane that looks like it hasn't been traveled in years. She rounds the curve and stops behind a screen of scrub oaks and palmettos. She doesn't want anyone to see her and even more important, she doesn't want the man to find her until she scouts him out and makes sure no one is with him. She gets out of her car and walks back down the lane a little until she sees his car go by with only him inside. That's all she wants to know. She backs her car out of the lane and goes to meet him on the other side of the highway where he waits at their usual rendezvous.

Jimmy Dobbs has been a pimp one way or another all his life, and he's good at it. He knows how to get a girl going in the life and he also knows how to keep her going. If fear of him is not inducement enough, there is always the addiction to crack, a profitable business he runs on the side. The two businesses work well together, and Jimmy is making money coming and going. When his girls work hard for him, he works hard for them. But there is no rest for the weary when Jimmy gets going on crack and gets business lined up for his girls. And if they get tired, then he just gives them some crack and that takes care of that.

But something is going bad wrong in Jimmy's business. His girls are turning up dead and with some kind of bizarre knife carving on their foreheads. The truth is, he lives in fear that the finger of the law points in his direction. His only defense is that he stands to ruin himself if he kills off his quality goods. He knows he can use this logic to talk himself out of a murder rap, but what about the crack? The Man is involved and The Man doesn't want even the smallest trail leading to him. The Man will do anything to keep his identity secret. Jimmy knows The Man considers him to be the link between the dead girls and him. This scares Jimmy nearly to death just to think about it. He makes a promise to himself that if anything comes up about it, he will leave town so fast and go so far that by the time The Man discovers he's gone, he won't ever find him.

He starts putting back money just in case something like this happens, and he cuts back on his purchase of crack to do it, telling The Man he needs less now because his girls are dead. The Man tells him he had better get him some new girls. Jimmy is worried and he is making plans.

Sometimes in a person's life, events outside their control begin to take root in their immediate reality. This is what happened to me. But this is the irony of life we learn to accept. When a television production executive makes up her mind to produce the hard work of eleven years of your lifetime, it is an exciting thing. Unless she doesn't tell you about it until it's too late.

The producers of National Journey TV hold their monthly production meeting on the first Thursday of each month. This month is no different except that they are a little strapped for programming several months down the road, so they are depending on their production manager to come up with something for them to get started on. But what he comes up with baffles them.

"But what is it?" asks Meryl, the veteran programming genius of their group. "I've never even heard of it, and if I've never heard of it, then it doesn't exist in the mind of our viewers, either."

"It's the coolest thing anyone ever found in a ruin. It's a famous artifact in archeology," says Stan, the production manager. "It's something from the Bronze Age that no one can figure out. It's got a lotta potential for a one hour time slot."

"Ok, what's the potential?" says Meryl.

"You know, it's a mystery, so the idea behind the production is that the mystery might have been solved by this lady." Stan pretends he doesn't really care if Meryl buys the idea, that he's just doing his job in providing something for the committee to talk about.

"What's the mystery?" asks Jonathan, the junior vice-president presiding over the meeting.

"The mystery is, somebody in Crete a long time ago, about four thousand years ago, created a clay disk and put some hieroglyphics or picture writing on it. An archeologist found it about a hundred years ago and since then, everyone's been trying to figure it out, you know, like Egyptian hieroglyphs." Stan takes another sip of coffee and pretends to be making notes.

"Everyone who? Some lady figured it out?" asks Meryl. "Ok, what did she come up with?"

"Why don't you go look it up on the Internet. It's world famous, Meryl. It's no small thing." Stan enjoys toying with Meryl because he knows she hates it.

"Stan..." Meryl says, in a threatening voice.

"Ok, she came up with some geometry that was hidden on the thing, and the way you found it was you took all the little images stamped on the disk that were exactly the same and you connected them with lines and that revealed the hidden images." Stan doodles on his pad.

"A four thousand year old connect-the-dots puzzle?" asks Meryl, incredulous.

"Yeah, that's right. Well, not entirely. There's more to it than that, but essentially, yes. It's a maze puzzle, and she figured out how to solve it, and then once you saw how the maze worked, you could see how to read the writing, well, how to read the little pictures and what they meant. That was the debate for about a hundred years, which direction to read the pictures. But no one could work that out because the pictures are in a double spiral and that distracted them from seeing that it was just a simple maze puzzle. You know, it's like they couldn't see the forest for the trees. It's based on the universe. It's real complicated but, then again, it's not."

"So she figured out how to do the maze puzzle thing and that solved the century-old debate about how to read the little pictures?"

"Right," says Stan.

"And a woman did it," muses Meryl aloud.

Stan knows all along this is the hook he needs to get Meryl interested -- the woman angle. He gets a bonus if she produces an idea of his and he learned from many years of working with her that there are two things he needs to do: one, don't look desperate and, two, make it a woman thing. Meryl and Stan are like fish in the corporate sea. Meryl becomes a shark if the fish looks desperate, but if it swims in slow circles it pulls her right into the net every time.

"Where is this woman who did this?" she asks. Stan tries not to let the smile creep onto his face.

"She lives in St. Augustine, Florida."

"Oh, really! I love St. Augustine!" Meryl mentally begins to plan her trip. She makes a few notes about the production team. "You know, St. Augustine is the little ghost capital of the world."

"What about New Orleans?" asks Jonathan. "I thought that was the ghost capital."

"Too much voodoo," says Meryl. "St. Augustine is the sweetest little place. Nothing much happens there except ghosts. To have some lady living there who solved a world famous puzzle, that's something. What say we get this thing rolling? We can go down there, get a couple of interviews with her, and see what we can do with the disk thing."

"Wait a minute," says Jonathan. "We've got some other issues. Let's put it on hold until I talk with Tom and Fred." Jonathan always has to check things out the Tom, the senior VP, and Fred, the CEO.

Meryl is visibly disappointed but Stan knows that once she makes up her mind to produce something, no power on Earth or any corporate board is going to stop her. Putting the Phaistos Disk on TV is a done deal, and he is already planning how to spend his bonus.

When Stephen moves in with me he has only a few belongings, which makes me wonder what he has done with the furniture in his apartment. I would ask him but I don't want to pry into his personal business. If he wants to tell me then he will. But he doesn't so I let it drop.

His manner is so nice I begin to feel happy about having him in my home as a roommate. He talks about cooking for us and also about getting some movies to watch. I wonder if he isn't being just a little too nice on my account, but I don't mind any of it because I too like companionship, and he seems like a great companion. His hours, however, are long, as they usually are in these restaurants downtown. But he seems energized, never tired, and this gives me hope we will enjoy each other's company.

"So, what have you been up to?" he asks.

"Oh, I've been researching the murders like you encouraged me to do," I reply. He smiles that beautiful smile.

"What did you come up with?"

"I went downtown to the police station to talk with the chief of police to see if he could offer any guidance."

"And did he?"

"No. He seemed like he was going to help me, but then after I left his office I talked with the assistant chief of police, who laughed out loud when I told him the chief was going to help me. So I gathered from that the chief was just bluffing."

Stephen thinks for a moment and then says, "You mean, he's not going to help you."

"It's more than that. I got the impression he wasn't even trying to solve the murders and that he didn't want me to know that. So instead, he told me some malarkey about how he was going to keep me informed."

"Are you serious? He's not even going to try to find out who's killing those girls?"

"No, I don't think so or, if he does, he's not going to do much about it. He's not going to let it get out. He doesn't want anyone to know about it."

"Why, because he did it?" Stephen asks the obvious question.

"You know, I thought that myself, but I can't believe the chief of police is actually a serial killer."

"Why not? Every person has more than one side to their character. Good and evil naturally co-exist within us if we let them," says Stephen philosophically. "Maybe he's a crazed war hero. He's used to saving lives by killing and that's why he likes his job, it lets him do both."

"I don't know. He doesn't seem like a killer to me."

"How does a killer seem to you?"

"I guess a killer looks like a killer or acts like a killer."

"If that were true, then all the murderers all over the world would be in jail." He laughs and I laugh too. How do you identify a killer, I wonder?

As if reading my mind, Stephen replies, "Fingerprints, DNA samples, bloody footprints, that's how."

"Did you just read my mind?"

"No, I just followed the train of the conversation." He really has a beautiful smile. "Are you going to continue writing your book?"

"I guess so but it worries me a little. If nothing is being done about the murders, then I feel like I'm tweaking the nose of evil. I mean, if I step outside the boundaries of my safe life, impoverished as it is, it could be dangerous."

"Possibly," agrees Stephen.

"I have this dream about financial security that I think the book will help me achieve but at what price? Oh, I forget to tell you, I ran into a woman that was on the ghost tour who said she could help me."

"Really? Who is she?" he asks.

"Her name is Gladys Kurtz. She's a city commissioner."

"And what did she say?"

"She said something about how she is an insider and she can get me information that I am entitled to have, as a citizen."

"Good. Maybe that will be the break you're looking for. If she comes up with something that you can go back to the chief of police with, then you'll have something to push him with, and maybe he'll tell you something that otherwise he wouldn't"

"Right. That's a thought."

"Did she offer anything right then?"

"No, but she gave me her phone number and she got my phone number."

"That sounds promising," he says. "What's her name again?"

"Gladys Kurtz," I pronounce her name carefully.

"Gladys Kurtz," he repeats. "Hmmmm. Good work, Grace."

Everyone loves encouragement and feels great about the person who gives it to them, and I am no different. I really feel great about Stephen.

In the Astral Plane are people known as "FoundDeads," the name indicating they were found dead without any explanation of what happened. Sometimes, a FoundDead gets attached to their physical body while waiting for someone to find them. They just naturally don't want to pass over until somebody finds them dead. It's something to do with a high need for closure.

Many FoundDeads are heart attack victims like my grandmother, who was found dead by her daughter, and like my father, who was found dead by my brother. But my father didn't get attached to his body because he wasn't found dead too long after he died while putting on his shoes, and because my mother, who preceded him into the afterlife by only two and a half months, helped him to pass over quickly. He took care of her in life and she took care of him in death. (Sometimes, you have to wait until the end of the story to understand what it was all about.)

In the Astral Plane are many names indicating how people died. The Astral Plane is filled with DumbWaiters, who are people forced by law to tough out to the bitter end a terminal disease and who didn't know there were alternatives. In the local St. Augustine Astral Plane are many DumbWaiters but very few TakeAbreaks, who are people that found out their alternatives and opted for self-deliverance or euthanasia over dumb waiting. There are few TakeAbreaks in the Astral Plane because euthanasia is against the law. But suicide isn't.

In between these two, the DumbWaiters and the TakeAbreaks, are the BraveSouls, people who embrace the death passage as a valuable life experience regardless the pain and the suffering. They might also have a religious belief that prohibits suicide as an answer to dumb waiting. My mother was a BraveSoul. I guess I will either be a FoundDead or a BraveSoul. I think I'll just let it fight over who gets me.

Two FoundDeads in the Astral Plane are the twin brother filmmakers, Sparse and Scarce, who get their names from their filmmaking techniques. Sparse likes to film plenty of action with sparse dialogue, and Scarce likes just the opposite -- plenty of dialogue with scarce action. When Sparse and Scarce hear about the sex plays scripted by the Cut Ups, they begin making immediate plans to film them. The twin brothers are the perfect duo for the job.

In the Astral Plane something is always happening. Like on Earth, where conflict reigns supreme and filmmakers never lack for material, the Astral Plane is any filmmaker's version of heaven. In many ways it is the mirror image reversal of Earth but still with plenty of extraordinary characters, plenty of action, and with nearly the same themes as hold the citizens of Earth in thrall.

Sparse will focus on TraumaGirl, who likes a lot of trauma and little dialogue, and ActorGirl, who also likes a lot of action and little dialogue. Scarce will film JuicyGirl, who likes a lot of dialogue, and SillyGirl who likes a lot of silly dialogue. Neither Sparse nor Scarce know the potential of LoverGirl, so they will wait to decide who will film her.

StumbleBlock is taking the news of the sex plays badly. He decides to send MetaphorMan over to the Cut Ups to see if they can be talked out of it. At least they might be talked into delaying the plays until the Bored Players can finish their series of conflicts plays in which Saint George kills the Dragon, "over and over ad nauseam," says Mavis, "The play belongs in a museum."

Warner Thompson, no matter had hard he tries, can't stop thinking about Grace Courage. He decides, against his own best judgment, to find out where she lives. He can drive the patrol car by her home and perhaps catch a glimpse of her, maybe learn a little more about her. When he next encounters her he will be smoother, more in control, and most of all, more attractive to her. He can't say why he needs things to be this way, just that the little voice in his head is guiding him in this direction. He calls a friend of his at the hall of records that he hopes can help him out.

"Why don't you just look her up in the phone book, Warner?" asks Scott, a little bit amazed at the chief for not thinking of this himself. Warner is glad Scott can't see the blush come over his face.

"Yeah, sure, Scott," says Warner. "Thanks."

"Call me back if you have any problems," says Scott, wondering what has come over the chief.

The little voice in Warner's head is trying to say something, but this time he blocks it. He doesn't want to hear the little voice right now for fear of what it might say. He just wants to see Grace again. He looks in the phone book and, sure enough, there is her name, number, and address. Off he goes to drive by her home to catch a glimpse of her or at least surmise something about her by seeing where she lives and how she lives.

Grace is just taking out the trash when she sees Warner go by in the patrol car. He is looking directly at her when she looks up while depositing the white plastic bag of trash into the rolling plastic bin by the street. He pretends not to see her, but she sees him quickly turn his head away so that he appears not to notice her.

"How odd," she says aloud.

When Stephen comes home from work, she tells him about seeing Warner drive by.

"What do you suppose he was up to?" muses Stephen.

"I don't know. He pretended he didn't see me, but I saw him look directly at me. I got the impression, just in the moment, that he came down the street to see where I live, and that he doesn't want me to know it."

"Interesting," says Stephen. "Listen, I've got a great idea. What are you doing tonight?"

Grace can't help but smile. "Oh, nothing much. Why?"

"Let's go out and eat. Want to?"

"Sure," she answers. "Love to."

When a young man in his twenties asks a woman in her fifties out to dinner, it's cause for celebration. It erases all her fears about aging and loss of sexual attractiveness, and as long as she makes up her mind to just enjoy the compliment and the dinner, there is no reason to worry about anything else. At least, that is how I am thinking about Stephen's dinner invitation. But in the back of my mind somewhere I must be thinking about it in other ways, considering the amount of time I spend getting ready and preening myself in the bathroom mirror.

When it is time to go, I am perfect enough to step out onto the stage of a theatre and not just walk down the street to Seafood Dave's restaurant. Every wave of my long curly hair is tortured into place and the blemishes on my face are forced to comply with the standards of Lancôme -- they must simply disappear or be despised by me. They wisely choose to hide under the makeup.

My clothes, too, better not show a wrinkle or they will find themselves back in the dryer, tossed around and around in hot air until they give up and go straight. As for my shoes, they know better than to look anything less than brand new, else they may disappear forever under my bed or into the dark depths of my closet.

No woman ever terrified her ensemble as much as I have today or ever frightened her hair and skin into place as I have. I am a work of appearance art, a fifty-five year-old woman who regressed her image into that of a thirty-five year-old. As long as nothing falls out of place or gets ruffled, I am good to go. I repress the fact that my dinner date is a man young enough to be my son by an extra ten years. Have I forgotten he sees me everyday in my sloppy clothes and no makeup? The mind works in strange ways when the romance bug bites.

The restaurant is filled with locals and tourists, and we sit at a table near the bar, ordering drinks from the waiter who meets us to pull out my chair. I am so focused on sitting down with a youthful bounce rather than a middle-aged slouch that I don't look around to see if I know anyone. That explains why I don't see Warner Thompson sitting at the bar, but Stephen sees him.

"Look, there's your friend," he says in a teasing voice.

I glance over my right shoulder to see Warner quickly turn back to face the bartender, as though he doesn't see me.

It seems strange that Stephen recognizes Warner. "You know Warner?"

"Saw him in the paper one time," Stephen quickly explains.

"Oh. You never mentioned it before."

"No reason to."

The drinks arrive at the table at about the same time Warner does. "It's Grace Courage, isn't it?" he asks, giving the impression he isn't sure it's me.

"Yes. How are you?"

"Take a chair," says Stephen.

"Thanks," says Warner, sitting down beside me to my left. "I just thought I would say hello and find out how your book is coming along." He seems genuinely interested and I try not to glance at Stephen.

"Slow. It's coming along pretty slow. I don't have any more information than I did before about the serial killer." When I say 'serial killer' I look into his face as intensely as I can without being too obvious. I just want to see his reaction. But he's cool and gives no reaction at all. I notice how handsome he is.

"I have a bit of news for you," he says. "If you want to come by my office tomorrow, I'll fill you in on it."

This takes me by surprise. Does he really intend to tell me something about the murders? Seems unlikely. Then why is he inviting me over to his office? These questions must have played out on my face because I notice a slight smile come onto his face as he watches me.

"Oh, I apologize," I say. "This is my roommate, Stephen Allger. Stephen, this is Chief of Police Warner Thompson."

"How do you do," says Stephen politely.

"Nice to meet you," replies Warner, equally politely. "Well, I will let you good people eat your dinner in peace," he says, rising from his chair. "See you tomorrow, Grace." And with that he leaves.

Our dinner that I looked forward to seems anticlimactic. Somehow, the glowing fuzz is gone and a hollow feeling remains. But as always in St. Aug, the food is great, as is the service. The short walk home in the moonlight is pleasant and I began to feel once again those old youthful feelings of silly excitement when going out on a date.

Gladys Kurtz can't be bothered with city business today because she has something more important to do at her home on St. George Street. She calls in sick to her secretary and stays home to enjoy the addictions she cultivated over the years. At the rendezvous on Nine Run Road she got what she wanted -- a little package of white rocks and the name of a wealthy man.

With her long black hair flowing down her back, her schoolmarm glasses removed, and wearing a see-through negligee, she becomes the antithesis of her city commissioner personality.

"You look so different," the man says. "Why do you dress up like a dowdy old spinster when you go to work? Look at you now. You are an alluring woman, Gladys. I don't understand it."

"Some personas want to be concealed," she says in explanation, knowing he won't get her meaning. But it doesn't matter as long as he has the money she wants. She looks at him seductively, removes what little remains of her clothes, and says, "Welcome to St. Aug."

Jimmy Dobbs has been down on some dark streets late at night trying to find some new girls. But he can't find any because they are all afraid of getting killed. The word isn't supposed to be out that a serial killer is running loose in St. Augustine, but down on the streets where it counts to Jimmy, everyone knows about it and most of the doors are closing in his face.

But Jimmy knows if he keeps going he will find some girls to work with him. It's just a matter of time and them running out of either money or crack. He patrols the neighborhoods more often than the police, and this gives him the opportunity to get his new girls going. He drives down the peaceful streets late at night and early in the morning. The crack keeps him energized until he finds two girls walking along in that mysterious way that he is a genius at recognizing. He knows it when he sees it, and he stops his car alongside them and invites them to get in.

They are careful not to just jump right in the car with Jimmy until they figure out who he is, but in only a few seconds they recognize him. After some conversation between them, in which he assures them he is not the killer and that they need not worry about that, he offers them some free crack, and in the car they get.

Once a girl gets into the car with Jimmy, she's a goner. He owns her from that moment on and whatever happens to her in life after that is directly attributable to him. She puts herself in his hands as though he is her father, but she lacks the knowledge or discernment to judge him quickly enough to see he is her ruination. At that time in her young life, it doesn't seem to her that anything can ever ruin her and she feels the power of invulnerable youth. But wicked people exist in the world and they are opportunists as well. Jimmy is one of those people, and the girls don't care or notice because they believe they have all their lives stretching out in front of them and that there is nothing they can't handle. But they are wrong.

Gary Gravestone returns to the little cottage in the Slave Market with more projections of properties coming available in St. Augustine. One thing about Gary in life is that he was right on top of the real estate market, and nothing has changed about that. The only difference is that more properties are available, and if you don't have a prejudice about living in a grave, you have so many choices. Gary knows every grave in town, whether they are funky or not, whether they are occupied or not, and he also knows the tenants and what their intentions are regarding leaving the plane. He has some good ideas for Louise and he wants to talk them over first with Mavis, who he especially likes. She isn't home so he gets together with George and reviews some of them on the screen he produces for his mental projections.

"Now, here's one, George, I really like." He projects an image of St. Augustine House onto the screen.

"Isn't that place haunted with gangsters?' George protests.

"Sure, but they don't bother ghosts, only people. They have some machine gun illusions, but nothing that Louise can't see through. They have been successful in frightening away some physical world tenants but, all in all, it's a nice old building with plenty of space in the attic, and cheap as they come. If she doesn't want to live in a grave but would prefer a house and would also like to save up her Reality Bytes, it doesn't get any easier than St. Augustine House."

Gary really knows real estate, George thinks. "If that's your recommendation, I'll pass it along."

"It's not the only property I list," he says. "Another great place on San Marco, in the seafood restaurant, is coming available soon. Catalina, in the upstairs bathroom, is planning to pass over. Louise might like to take the space. It's a famous haunt, so she'll have lots of tourists come through to frighten, and she can start by practicing on the hostesses. Catalina says they get absolutely hysterical sometimes when she appears. The bathroom has two nice mirrors, a couple of toilets, a couple of sinks, and of course this running water will really help her regain her energy."

"Ok," says George. "That one sounds better to me but I don't know if Louise wants any guests right now. I'll check with Mavis about that."

"Fine," says Gary. "Just passing it along."

"I know you," says George. "You're holding something back. It must be something pretty good, too. Let's have it." George is wearing his big smile that Gary likes to see. They have played this real estate game before.

"Right," says Gary. "Here it is, the primo spot, the number one super spot, the best of the best, and it is coming available soon. Are you ready for this?"

"I'mmmmm ready," sings George.

"It's a large, private, waterfront room in the corner of the old fort!"

"Not really! That's exciting! Who's leaving?"

"It's the left corner room," says Gary.

"You don't mean..."

"Yes. He's ready to go and he just let me know today. I have the exclusive listing. Louise can have it for twenty-two Reality Bytes." Gary is obviously excited.

"Wow, that is something! A waterfront room in the old fort belonging to him all these years, and now Louise is getting it. The energy in that room is wonderful. And for only twenty-two Reality Bytes. She has more bytes than that, Gary. She can have the room, decorate it however she likes, and still have plenty of bytes left over. I know Mavis is going to go for this. Whatever you do, don't mention it to anyone else." George makes Gary promise, but Gary already made up his mind not to tell another soul.

Louise is going to get the primo spot on San Marco, a waterfront room in Castillo De San Marcos. People come from all over the world to see it and Louise will have her choice of people to whom to appear, and they'll be thrilled to see her. It's a ghost's dream come true. Neither one of them say anything about the ghost pirates that live in the fort because they both know how to handle them and they will teach Louise.

Dagon-Jah, Ja-Ra, Ariadne, and Theseus admire the vast Palace of Knossos, its four-story tall rooftops covered with bull's horns, its levels supported by long rows of upside-down Doric columns. The two-story Phaistos Palace is huge, thinks Dagon-Jah, but nothing to compare with this. Surrounding the palace is a carefully designed city of two, three, and four-story adobe townhomes decorated with rooftop patios, tiled floors, and painted with gay frescoes. The city streets are filled with sophisticated people wearing beautifully designed, colorful clothes. Many women are topless in their ankle length dresses, as are many men in their mini-skirts. The sophisticates mingle in the town and walk along roads paved with pebbles and shells. The Palace of Knossos and the city surrounding it are a shining metropolis in the Mediterranean Bronze Age.

Knossos Viaduct

As the group approaches the palace, they cross over an expansive stone viaduct built over a flowing stream. The viaduct leads to the southwest entrance. Crowds of people cross with them, some carrying litters with bejeweled ladies inside, some walking with their children, some herding sheep, and some casually strolling along the promenade. The country people entering the palace are less stylishly dressed and wear shirts, blouses, or tunics and long pants. They come from the local countryside or from some of the other ninety towns and cities of Crete.

"Daedalus designed this bridge," says Theseus, in a tone of respect.

"Daedalus designed this palace," says Ariadne. The huge palace is built in a square around the continuous activities of its vast central court, where it hosts fashion shows, art fairs, markets, and rodeos. The palace has eight hundred rooms and covers six and a half acres.

Ultra-modern in the Bronze Age, the palace has indoor plumbing with bathtubs and flushing toilets. Beneath the palace in a subterranean, labyrinthine plumbing and drainage system, water flows throughout in clay pipes large enough for a tall man to stand in. The Queen's bathroom, located in the Royal Apartments, has five entrances and walls tiled in blue dolphins and spirals. The Queen enjoys a garden tub and steam room. The palace architect, Daedalus, took special care in designing the Queen's bathroom. She is his patroness, although he serves the King as well.

Dagon-Jah and his traveling companions enter the palace only after stopping at one of the bathhouses to wash their faces, arms, and feet. They enter the palace through one of the shield rooms, its walls painted with blue, red, and yellow spirals and hung with huge Figure 8 shields. The entire ceiling is covered with interweaving blue spirals. In the corner, on a three-tiered tiled platform, stands a six-foot tall double axe, symbolic of the reign of the labyrinth kings. Dagon-Jah sees the Figure 8 shields and the double axe and thinks of his masterpiece and smiles. The four companions gather around a large incense furnace in the center of the shield room and are attended by a priestess who fans the incense to cleanse their spirits so they will be clean on the inside and the outside.

They enter the palace along a walkway supported by upside-down Doric columns painted red and black. Beautiful murals and frescoes cover the walls, large scenes depicting blue monkeys eating fruit and blue birds on limbs of white flowers. One of the larger murals is of a man gathering saffron, his dark brown body blending beautifully with the red and white background of flowers he bends over to pick. A masterpiece, thinks Dagon-Jah, who then is reminded of his own masterpiece. The columns and walls are covered in mazes and spirals that tell stories with images in continuous representation. Dagon-Jah stops to ask directions of a guard.

"Tell me, where can I find Daedalus?"

"What is your name?" asks the guard.

"Dagon-Jah."

"And what do you want with the King's inventor?" asks the guard. He is magnificent with his crested helmet and his ornately engraved sword. The engraving shows dogs chasing a lion. His shield is engraved with a battle scene showing Egyptian chariots. He is dark and his dark eyes seem to penetrate Dagon-Jah's soul. No one would dare refuse to answer the guard's questions.

"I am told to see him," says Dagon-Jah.

"Who told you?"

"Jah told me." The guard looks closely at Dagon-Jah. The name Jah is like a password.

"I will take you." He leads Dagon-Jah through the crowd that parts to let them pass. They enter the building opposite the great facade of central court where hundreds of people mill about talking. They walk up a covered walkway supported by columns. Ten steps lead to the room at the top.

The guard knocks on the door with the hilt of his sword, and a small, delicate man opens it. Could this be Daedalus? How could such a small man be so widely known?

"This man, Dagon-Jah, is sent by Jah to see you," says the guard to the small man.

Daedalus nods his head 'yes,' and Dagon-Jah is shown into the most remarkable room he will ever see. It is huge and filled with all kinds of devices he can't understand. Against one wall are giant wings made of white paper and at least ten feet tall. Against another wall is a device like a miniature chariot. Charts and maps cover the walls, and near the center of the room is a table upon which rests a big model of the great pyramid. Scattered throughout the room on the floor are pieces of clay plumbing pipes and fixtures, and in the center of the room is a big box shaped like a bull and painted white. Along the far wall and gathering dust is a giant miniature of the Palace of Knossos.

The astonishment Dagon-Jah feels shows on his face. Daedalus laughs. "Here," says Daedalus, "look at this." He hands Dagon-Jah a tiny miniature of the entire Palace of Knossos, so small he can hold it in both his hands. The tiny replica is true to every detail. Even the murals are there and the tiny bull's horns top the palace all the way around.

Dagon-Jah is afraid he will drop the replica and hands it carefully to Daedalus. As he does he sees leaning in a corner a mummy, its moldy face partly exposed. He cannot help but stare at it.

"The mummy can teach me much about the human form and mechanism," explains Daedalus. But don't tell anyone," he whispers to Dagon-Jah. "It's a sacrilege in Egypt even to unwrap the mummy. To dissect it is against the law of the land. I would soon be a mummy myself if they found out."

Daedalus offers Dagon-Jah a seat and calls an attendant, who serves them bread and wine with olives. After giving Dagon-Jah time to refresh himself, Daedalus says, "Dagon-Jah, why has Jah sent you to see me?"

Dagon-Jah smiles with pleasure. "Because I am Dagon, name of the fish-god. I am a follower of Jah. His name is Jahoveh but his friends call him Jah. His sign is that of the fish. He saw me making pottery shaped like a fish so he spoke to me. He gave me his name and he told me to make an image of his masterpiece. He told me how to make the furnace to preserve it and he told me it would not be consumed by the fire. He told me to take it to you. I have only done as Jah has told me to do."

'What is Jah's masterpiece?" asks Daedalus.

"Jah's masterpiece is the fire that does not consume the disk of the world. He created the fire, then he created the disk of the world and he put it into the fire. The disk of the world is burning and so are all the people and things on the disk, but they are not consumed. This is Jah's Masterpiece." He removes the masterpiece from his roll-away.

I call it 'peering into the bucket.' It's a scrying technique of mine. Most scryers use crystals balls or reflective objects but humans come with our own equipment to help us see the spiritual beings gathered around us. Some people call them guardian angels and others call them spirit guides. People make all sorts of attempts to connect with them and communicate with them, and they spend all amounts of money on psychics or on equipment to help them to do that. But we are all born with our own equipment, which I call a bucket. All we need to do is close our eyes and peer into the bucket.

I am peering into the bucket the morning of my visit to Warner Thompson in his office. I want to see the guardians around me when I call them in. No way will I go to that office without some guardians. Who knows what Warner Thompson has planned for me, and I have suspected him of being a killer so often I am beginning to be afraid of him. Reason tells me he won't murder me in his office, but what if he wants me to ride in his patrol car? Couldn't that be what happened to those women? They got an invitation from him to ride in the car and they trusted him. Maybe he offered them a ride home. They got naively into his car and that was the end of them.

I call on my guardian angels to come to me, the ones who call themselves the Praetorian Guards, the Roman Guards to the Emperor. The first time I heard their name I asked them, "If you're the Roman guards to the Emperor, then who am I?"

"You are the Empress," One of them said, the one named George. I gather from that we are all role-playing and my role is that of the Empress. I like my role; it makes me feel safe. If I am the Empress, then they have to come when I call.

When I call them I call as the Empress, and here they come. Then, I close my eyes to see them by peering into the bucket. The bucket is that black space you see when you close your eyes and look straight out in front of you. It's like a dark theatre screen with nothing on it but it has depth, which is why I call it a bucket. Eventually you can project images into it once you know how and once you understand what you are doing and why.

Sometimes, images will just automatically appear on the screen when you're falling asleep and you reach that strange twilight zone of half-awake, half-asleep. These are hypnogogic images of the hypnogogic state that is the moment a shift in consciousness occurs as a result of the interaction of different frequencies of brain waves -- awake waves and asleep waves. When this happens you are experiencing a range of alpha waves and theta waves that are said to have a frequency range of 5 -12 Hz.

If you are pulled into the bucket by these frequencies -- I call it falling into the bucket -- at this point you will experience an astral projection. The bucket will lengthen into a spiraling tunnel or a deep cave -- really a portal into another dimension -- and you go through the tunnel. This is part of the near-death experience people describe. At the end of the tunnel is a white light, and sometimes it moves like a beacon. Whether you are dead or alive, if you go toward this light you will enter another dimension called the Astral Plane, also known as Limbo and Purgatory. It is considered to be something like a rest area before you continue your journey to Heaven if you are dead. Different theories exist about how the journey picks up from there.

Traveling through the tunnel into the next dimension is an exhilarating experience, especially if you happen to be dead. If you are alive going toward the light, then you begin to have dream-like experiences. The pulsing sound of your heartbeat eventually pulls you back out of the tunnel and back into your body, whereupon you awaken and hopefully recall your experiences in the Astral Plane. But if you are dead, then you don't have a heartbeat and you don't return to your body, thankfully. You awaken into your new life instead.

I believe many people who die in their sleep, my grandmother included, actually will their hearts to stop beating so that they don't have to return to their bodies. My guardian angels have been teaching me how to control my heartbeat. Hindu yogis traditionally are trained in this technique so they can control the exact moment they pass over. It's an idea worth considering.

When you peer into the bucket over and over, eventually you will see something. First you will see pulsing color. I first saw slowly pulsing, cobalt blue light. After awhile, the blue light began to rotate like a beacon. A friend of mine uses beaconazul as her email name. In fact, that's how we became friends. I saw her email address and emailed her to tell her I know what the azul beacon is. It's that cobalt blue light moving like a beacon. Sometimes it's a purple-blue light, other times it's purple. People see all the colors, but usually their personal bucket is like a paint bucket with a certain color, or frequency ranges of colors. That makes it also like a radio transceiver.

After several years of meditating on the blue light, which sometimes becomes a pure purple light and eventually becomes all the colors of the rainbow, I began to see the faces of my guardian angels where the blue light used to be. Sometimes, the black screen seems to me more like my shadow, and the faces break the shadow as their eyes look directly into mine.

Now, after years of effort, I see whatever I want to see when I peer into the bucket. Sometimes, I want to see the light because I think it has healing properties, so I project it onto the screen or into the bucket and sometimes I project the faces of my guardians so I can see them break my shadow. I also see different living things like birds, animals, trees, houses, stars, temples, boats, pyramids, etc.

If I am really serious when I call on my guardian angels I can call on them as the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius, but I save that name until I am really worried or frightened. I have only called that name twice. The rest of the time, when I want to feel more courage or when I want to feel protected by spirit or just want to feel the companionship of spirit, I call on the Praetorian Guards without using the other name.

Today, I called out loud, "Praetorian Guards appear! Your Empress needs you!"

"Stage call for the Shadow Breakers! Stage call!" announces DontBugMe.

"The Shadow Breakers have a stage call!" announces MaliciousCode. These two citizens of the Astral Plane call out in all directions at the top of their voices and use the blue beacon so all the Shadow Breakers will see and hear them.

"Stage call! Get your costumes on. The Praetorian Guards are due on stage in five," they call out, turning the beacon in a circle so that the cobalt blue light penetrates all the shadows.

In the Astral Plane are people known as ThrillPill, which just means they took too many pain pills by mistake and it killed them. They weren't trying to commit suicide, just get high. DontBugMe and MaliciousCode are ThrillPills. Their history of reckless behavior bars them from dressing in the costumes and appearing on stage to play a part, but if everything works out well, and when some of the Shadow Breakers go forward, parts will become available and they hope to be cast in those parts. But it might take as long as two hundred and fifty years. They don't mind waiting. They can work as light and sound technicians until then.

They made the big decision to work as technicians with the Shadow Breakers rather than play parts ready made for them with the Bored Players because they hope their psyches will evolve. Their decision automatically makes them enemies of StumbleBlock, however, who always chides them about what he sarcastically calls their 'real important jobs.'

The Shadow Breakers work under the direct patronage of Saint George, the same saint whom the Bored Players enjoy portraying as a dragon killer. The group knows that George Truax has the ear of Saint George and speaks telepathically with him nearly every day. So when DontBugMe and MaliciousCode were asked to make a choice, they took into consideration the Saint's presence among the Shadow Breakers.

DontBugMe knew he needed the presence of a saint in his life, which had been one of total rudeness and complete inconsideration, and MaliciousCode needed the presence of a saint in his life on account of all the computers he maliciously destroyed with his cleverly conceived computer viruses. Joining the Bored Players would have put them in about the same position they were already in when they arrived in the plane, and they were smart enough to know they needed to go forward and not go back.

"Stage call for the Praetorian Guards," they both call out, turning the blue light. Hearing the Saint's voice is an honor and worth the wait of two and half centuries, if that's what it takes to join the players. The main benefit of their job is hearing the Saint's voice tell them to announce stage calls. That is as close as they can get to the Saint -- he speaks to them but they can't speak to him -- and they are thrilled about it.

Meryl waited about as long as she intended to before pitching her corporate fit. She wants to produce the vision of the lady in St. Augustine and, admittedly, if the woman lived in Cleveland or somewhere else, she probably wouldn't be so interested. But a trip to St. Aug? Yes, that's where she's headed.

Meryl knows Jonathan has been dragging his heels about speaking with Tom and Fred regarding the production team's trip to St. Augustine and she also knows why. Jonathan wants to ensure he is included on the crew and not left behind in New York City. But he is taking too much time, and something might go wrong if no one gets in touch with the woman to let her know their intentions and that they mean to make a television production of her work. Negotiations are involved, contracts need to be signed, permissions need to be gotten, and reservations need to be made. Someone should be working on this right now!

Jonathan knows he needs do a few office memos, create a little minor discussion in the break room, and just generally wiggle his way into the crew that's going. As a junior vice-president, he will in effect be a fifth wheel. He has no technical knowledge about the equipment and he won't be needed to do anything, so it's going to take a little time for people to get used to the fact that he intends to go.

Meryl doesn't want to go over his head with the senior VP and the CEO, but after all these years she knows them well and she will, if she has to, talk directly with them about the production. She decides to give Jonathan a few more days, and then if nothing has been decided, she will go straight to Tom and Fred herself.

The Shadow Breakers begin to assemble instantly upon hearing the call and seeing the light. They prepare themselves by producing their costumes directly onto their bodies, with only a few approved variations. They are all trying to appear the same in terms of dress, which includes knee high, lace-up leather sandals, knee length metallic skirts made of down-pointing Roman swords fastened together at the waistline, and shining broad swords sheathed in metal casings. With their gleaming shields in place, they are the image of the Praetorian Guards of ancient Rome.

"What about going as Zulu warriors this time?" Jack Tolvey suggests to George.

"That act didn't play well, remember?" says Larry Welch. Jack agrees that going as Roman guards is probably better although he longs for a little diversity in costuming.

George is the general and so his sword is cobalt blue and he can make it spin, but he only makes it spin if commanded by Saint George, and the Saint only commands him to spin the sword if the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius tells him to.

If George is commanded to spin the sword, he holds it tip point up in his palm and, with his mind, makes it spin. It produces a beacon of blue light of a finer frequency than the blue light beacon used by the group technicians. This frequency connects right away with Saint Michael the Archangel, who instantly appears holding a spinning, blue cobalt sword that matches George's sword, only much finer and spinning much faster. But this has never been tried so it is really only theoretical. They would wish it to actually happen but that means the Empress is in a terrible situation and a state of emergency, and no one wishes for that.

The Archangel appears with his sword if called, but only the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius can call in the Great Protector, and only the Empress can call in the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius. They were Jewish mystics in the time of Jesus who are now guardian angels in the Divine Plane. When they come in they inhabit the bodies of the Shadow Breakers and take on the costumes of the Praetorian Guards. The experience of having them in body is greatly talked of and much desired. Their presence elevates the consciousness of everyone involved to the Divine Plane. This is the only way anyone knows to suddenly go forward by six planes while still anchored in the Astral Plane.

The Empress called in the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius twice before, so twice the Shadow Breakers were in the Divine Plane long enough for them to get a good look at it and to experience how it feels. It is much talked of because they describe it as "beyond bliss." Both times when the Empress called, it turned out to be false alarms, so the mystics did not see the need to call in the Archangel.

Had the Archangel come in to serve them with his powers, his presence would have elevated everyone's consciousness one plane higher to the Creator Plane. But they would only experience it for an instant because the plane is too fine for their bodies, and protections are in place so that they won't by chance glimpse the Creator. The experience would be so intense it might injure them. Their minds would be scrambled because they would not be able to comprehend the concepts involved. If their minds got scrambled they might have to seek treatment at the Illya Arotina Hospital for the Mentally Insane in downtown Utopia in the Astral Plane, and no one wants that.

All the Shadow Breakers yearn to see and experience the Archangel and the Creator Plane, but the chain of command is important and must not be broken. It reaches all the way from the center plane to the outer planes, where the Creator grants that the great Archangel be available as a GodSend should a human being on the Physical Plane require it.

This is the system that originally caused the Great Debate when it was first set in place. Some of the archangels questioned being at the command of an inexperienced human in the center plane, comparing it to an Emperor being at the command of a servant. But the Creator showed them that the way to remain in command is to serve. The Archangel Michael went down on bended knee in support of the Creator.

Eventually the archangels understood and acknowledged the beauty and perfection of the Divine Plan of the Creation, an infinitely spiraling circle composed of ten perfect rings. Five of the spirals are nested in the other five spirals, and all are separated and bonded by infinity with all the rings connected together by the angels. Beyond the Creation is an incomprehensible reality that only the Creator knows because the source of consciousness is transcendent of human concepts, including the concept of "source."

Not everyone in the Astral Plane understands it that way and few in the Physical Plane give it much credence anymore. The way George explains it, when anyone asks, is that if they understand they can worship the Creator by worshipping a frog, then they understand the Creation. StumbleBlock commented that they might as well worship a frog, for all the good it did them to worship the Creator. Mavis commented that worship wasn't necessary, anyway, that the Creator really only wants them to be the best person they can be. That's how George knows Mavis is destined for the Honorable Plane if ever she realizes to let go of the Astral Plane.

The most mysterious and miscomprehended being in the universe is the Black Madonna, but we will all come to know her. She resides in perfect stillness beyond the Creation in the Realm of Primal Darkness. She is the Great Mother, the ancient goddess with a thousand names. When we glimpse her, we see her face and skin are coal black because she symbolizes the deepest part of ourselves, the part that resides at the dark center of the greatest mystery of all -- the mystery of life and death.

From nothingness she brought forth a child so there would be more to love, and that child is the Creator. The Black Madonna is the quintessential goddess who gives Love to all levels of the Creator's Creation because she knows she is needed at all levels. But she does not go there herself; we must go to her. In ancient times she was perceived to be the entire galaxy of the Milky Way.

The Black Madonna shows us that anything is possible in the kingdom we create by demonstrating to us that out of nothing can come a child who will go forward and stand for the Truth. Her child we call the Creator, the polar opposite of the Black Madonna. Where she is female, he is male. Where she is dark, he is light. Where she is inaction, he is action. Where she is Goddess, he is God. Through their interaction and their knowledge of Love and Truth, they bring into existence the Creation and all the beings within. The Love of the Black Madonna for the Creator is what motivates the Creator to create. Mother's love inspires the child; unto the mother we return. This is the primal archetype of the universe.

In existence at one time or another, mostly in Europe, are four hundred and fifty images of the Black Madonna. Most are found in churches, chapels, and sanctuaries, some in museums. Most are made from wood, some are stone. Some are paintings, a few of them attributed to Saint Luke, some are frescoes, some are icons. Some were originally black but were repainted white. In a chapel in Switzerland, she is called the Lady of Truth. What is her Truth? In a church in Belgium is a painting dated 1676 of the Madonna with black face and hands holding a white child. The Knights Templar were devoted to her. The list of her devotees is long.

The Black Madonna brings us the knowledge of the time when the universe was nonexistent except for being simply an idea. Within us is a deep knowing of that dark void of nothingness, and many of us run from it. But there is nowhere to run. We must turn and face it, go into it. We must go into death and the void. In the end we must go into the Black Madonna. The Virgin Mary is the symbol of birth into this world. The Black Madonna is the symbol of birth into the next.

When I peer into the darkness of my bucket I know I am peering into a great goddess who lives deep within me and far beyond -- the source of my consciousness. When I fall into the bucket I travel through the cave of her spiraling birth canal into the night. Through her I glimpse the vasty deep of the far reaches of silence. Through her I see what lies ahead -- darkness. More darkness. Then light.

The Saint likes the way George explains the Divine Plan, so he grants that George teach classes about it called Divine Planes of Reality. George teaches the classes as the Saint guides him. He teaches three levels of class – Advanced, Expert, and World Class. George hears the voice of the Saint when he teaches the classes. He hopes he is conveying the information as clearly as he is receiving it.

In the Advanced Class, George teaches that the planes of reality are eternal and infinite in duration, and so are all the people and all the things in the plane, but a person can stay in each plane for only a limited period of time. Because each plane is more wonderful than the one preceding it, the time limit a person can stay is longer than the plane before. In the Advanced Class, he teaches the planes from the perspective of being somewhere above them and looking down onto them. From this perspective they appear as concentric circles organizing in a spiral.

The Physical Plane, the least wonderful of them all from the perspective of the other planes, has the shortest time limit so that no one is asked to extend their experience of it when they could be in the next plane instead. Yet people cling to the plane as though it is all there is, as though they can somehow extend the time limit. But the Creator fixes all this by making the planes, one after the other, more wonderful, more expansive, finer, and of longer duration. George tells them that it usually is not until a person experiences their body dropping off and then reawakens into the next plane that they begin to lose their fear of death.

The Physical Plane, the center circle of the spiral, is of shorter duration than the next plane that circumnavigates it. Lasting only for a hundred years or so, it hardly matters whether a person is in the plane for five years, for fifty years, or even a hundred years. Only the experience of the plane matters.

Circumnavigating the Physical Plane is the Astral Plane, which lasts for approximately three hundred Earth years, but here the meaning of time begins to change and also the definition of space. The Astral Plane gets its name from ancient times when people looked up at the stars and thought that was where they went when they passed over.

George and Mavis are in their last year in the Astral Plane, whereas Louise has only just arrived. StumbleBlock also is in his three hundredth year, but his problem is that he can't remember what he did in the Physical Plane that causes him to be so unhappy in the Astral Plane. If he doesn't remember he will become a Go Back, and if he does remember he might choose to become a Go Back, anyway. In all of the planes, a person can make one of three choices: they can go forward anytime, they can wait until the end of the time limit, or they can go back one plane to relive that experience for whatever reason but usually to try to improve upon it.

Some people, however, are repeating a back and forth, life and death cycle involving the Physical Plane and the Astral Plane. This is because they have issues that they think can only be resolved in the Physical Plane and also because they haven't awakened to the existence of the other planes. In ancient times people imagined that, if not enlightened, they could get trapped in an eternal Earth-Moon loop that only could be upended by the Savior, who acquired that title because of this ability.

Circumnavigating the Astral Plane in the next spiral is the Beautiful Plane, which all describe as simply beautiful. In the Beautiful Plane are the Green Mansions that cause many, upon seeing them, to mistake the Beautiful Plane for the Heaven Plane. The enjoyment of exploring the mansions is part of the wonder of the Beautiful Plane. Sometimes the Creator plays the role of a youth in the mansions, and this allows for the chance to personally experience the Creator without being harmed by the experience.

The Beautiful Plane is of infinite duration, as are they all, but the time limit there, in relation to the plane immediately preceding it, is something like three thousand Earth years. Those in the Beautiful Plane experience the virtues of Truth and Beauty and distribute them throughout the Creation.

Circumnavigating the Beautiful Plane is the Honorable Plane, which Mavis desires as do many of the people who prioritize being honorable above all the other virtues. The duration of the Honorable Plane is thirty thousand Earth years. Those in the Honorable Plane are distributing the value of Honor throughout all the Creation.

Circumnavigating the Honorable Plane is the Co-Creator plane, which exists as a mirror image of the Creator Plane and therefore is the child of the Creator Plane. It accounts for the words of Jesus when he said, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." The Co-Creator Plane, though seeming to exist infinitely, has a time limit of something like three million Earth years.

Circumnavigating the Co-Creator Plane is the Serene Plane, which lasts something like thirty million Earth years and is of long duration to serve the Creation's desire for serenity. In the Serene Plane, the landscape is vast and calm, and all those within the plane are so serene that their minds expand out into infinity and their experience flows out of them and into all the planes in all directions. Because of the Serene Plane and the beings there, we can connect with their serenity and anchor it in the Astral Plane and the Physical Plane.

Circumnavigating the Serene Plane is the Heaven Plane, where each one's desires are completely filled on all the levels of their being. Those in Heaven, so completely fulfilled, share with the entire Creation their joy, so that the plane becomes legendary and each of us longs to go there. But the Heaven Plane, like the rest, has a time limit as well -- something like three hundred million Earth years.

Circumnavigating the Heaven Plane is the Love Plane, which is composed entirely of the Virgin Mary and her Cosmic Sisters. The Virgin Mary is called the Queen of Heaven because of the position of her plane in relation to the Heaven Plane. The time limit is three thousand million Earth years.

The Virgin Mary is called by many names throughout the Physical Plane, throughout all of time. To be in this plane is to be in the arms of the Great Mother. The experience is indescribable, and the only way we know how to achieve it while anchored in our respective planes is to call the Virgin Mary into our lives. When she comes she brings the entire Love Plane with her and we are awash in the wonder of her love. She serves all the planes in all directions.

Circumnavigating the Love Plane is the Divine Plane, filled with angels, some who were once human and others who never were. In this plane the beings can see the Creator without being injured. The time limit is thirty thousand million Earth years.

That completes the Advanced Class and gives the students plenty to think about. Some of them need a hundred years or more to grasp the concepts, and the Astral Plane provides them the time they need. They might have missed this in the Physical Plane, where life is oriented so much toward the physical than the spiritual. On the Astral Plane they have another chance to assimilate this information.

In the Expert Class, George teaches about the Creator Plane, and this requires a depth of understanding for both the teacher and the students. Circumnavigating the Divine Plane, and the final circle in the perfect spiral, is the Creator Plane. It stretches out infinitely but also has a time limit because the Creator grants that God is not separate from the Creation, thus is subject to the same laws of perfection. The Creator Plane could stretch out sublimely for all eternity but that the Creator loves to be involved in the Creation. When the beings on the Physical Plane connect with the Creator Plane, it gives the Creator the opportunity to experience time in another way than just infinite.

Beings on the Physical Plane have a special relationship with the Creator. They are the mirror image reversal of the Creator -- they long for the eternal and the Creator enjoys feeling mortal. This is one reason why the beings on the Physical Plane are empowered to call the Creator into their lives and into existence where, from the perspective of the Physical Plane, the Creator seemed not to exist.

But only the Creator can exist-not and then return to existence over and over when called, and this is why the Creator is God. Only God can both exist and exist-not. When the Creator exists-not, experiencing a self-imposed time limit of the Creator Plane, the Creator Plane also exists-not, but when the Creator exists, so does the Creator Plane.

When the Creator Plane exists-not, the nine perfect circles of the spiral form an eternal Universe free to create as it chooses, lacking a Creator but having a Co-Creator Plane. But when the Creator Plane exists, it joins with the Co-Creator Plane. In the Expert Class George teaches the planes from the perspective of being somewhere alongside them and looking at them from the side. From this perspective they appear as a spiraling double helix like two interweaving DNA strands.

When the Creator and the Co-Creator Planes merge, they form the shape of a horizontal figure 8, the symbol for infinity. The figure 8 encompasses the Creation, encircling and separating the remaining eight circles of the spiral of Creation into two equal spirals of four circles each. It bonds them together within the realm of eternity. When the Creator and the Creator Plane merge with the Co-Creator Plane, this realigns the Creation back into an eternal state of perfection.

When the Creator Plane and Co-Creator Planes merge, the first four planes of reality -- Physical, Astral, Beautiful, and Honorable – and the second four planes of reality – Serene, Heaven, Love, and Divine -- are circumnavigated by the flowing Creator and Co-Creator Planes. They make the shape of a figure 8 when they cross over between the fourth and sixth planes of reality. The parallel worlds are bonded together by the Creator and Co-Creator Planes, creating an inexhaustible, ever-flowing river of experience.

Overriding this entire system is the value of free will. When the Creator Plane exists-not, all the circles of the spiral are seemingly merged into one spiral of concentric circles. The idea is that, if the planes and all the beings within them can come up with some configuration for the Creator and the Creator Plane that is more perfect than the one available, they are welcome to do so. But always in the background of nonexistence, and visiting his Mother, is the Creator, who can be called back into existence to realign the Creation so that those experimental creations can be corrected and the Creation can exist again in a state of perfection.

The Creator agrees to exist forever in a state of nonexistence if ever the Creator and the Creator Plane perfection are surpassed by a creation of the Creation. As it happens, the Co-Creators are prolific at coming up with imperfect gods to replace the Creator and together they rearrange the creation in a thoroughly self-serving and thus imperfect way. The Creator is not concerned at all about this because the Creator has many remarkable assistants to help keep the Creation perfect.

This completes the Expert Class, and with all the doodling and drawing going on, the students need many years to figure out how the system works and whether they can perfect it somehow. They are invited by the Saint to go off and try to come up with ideas to perfect the already perfect Creation. Many of the students conceive of interesting alternative plans. George reminds them it is possible for a person to grasp within their mind the entirety of the Creation. When they do they might see it as a butterfly or a moth rather than a horizontal figure 8.

This is where the World Class Class begins. Anyone who has taken the Expert Class and understands the concepts is invited to enroll in George's World Class Class, which is about the Creator's assistants and how they function to ensure the Creator always returns to existence so the Creation can exist in a continuous state of perfection. The class also explains how the assistants hold the Creation together in the Creator's absence by working one-on-one with the Co-Creators.

George begins the class by telling them, "The archangels in the Creator Plane have an overview of the entire system and therefore can instantly locate themselves at will throughout the Creation wherever they are needed or wherever they perceive the Creation to be falling below the Creator's level of perfection. By the power of their minds they connect themselves together and overlight the entire system, stabilizing it, and keeping it perfectly balanced. When they connect, they are arcs in the eternal forms of triangles, rectangles, quadrilaterals, various polygons, and other advanced geometrical formations that produce universally recognizable images, such as stars, boats, caves and pyramids. The production of these arcing geometrical forms makes the archangels transcendent of the Creation, and this is where they can do their best work.

When Michael connects with Rafael, for example, a straight line is created. When Gabriel connects with Michael and Rafael, an ideal form is created that vibrates in a certain color and in the shape of a triangle. When Uriel joins the formation, a rectangle is created, and so on. Since their activities are happening within the parameters of a spiraling, eternal system they have available to them all the geometric formations creatively possible within the concept of a perfect circle."

The students are asked to conceive of the individual archangels as actually being entire legions of angels, rather than one individual, although the entire legion comprises one vast being or group consciousness. The archangel Rafael, for example, and all the legions of angels comprising the archangel, can be called in as one individual, as the archangel we know as Rafael. But within this archangel are the legions of angels of which it is composed. The same goes for the other archangels. Just as the Creator and Co-Creator Planes can circumnavigate and hold within them the entire Creation, so can the archangels hold within them the entire Divine Plane and all its angels, having the mirror of itself in the Honorable Plane.

In the mirrored reality of Creation, the Creator Plane has its mirror in the Co-Creator Plane. The Divine Plane has its mirror in the Honorable Plane. The Love Plane has its mirror in the Beautiful Plane. The Heaven Plane has its mirror in the Astral Plane, and the Serene Plane has its mirror in the Physical Plane. Because of this mirrored reality, the planes closer to the center of the spiral, and separate from the outer planes, mirror the more wonderful outer planes but to a lessor degree.

When the angels as a certain group spread themselves out over the Creation, they become that particular archangel. By their continuously shifting and fluid positions, the archangels hold in a perfect spiral the eternal Creation. If the students glimpse with their minds an archangel, they might see it as having wings because the archangel holds within it the perfect pattern of the entire Creation when the Creator exists and when the Creation is bonded into the two great spirals. One of the wings is the knowledge of one realm, the other wing is the knowledge of the other realm, and the archangel, whose mission it is to hold it all together, is between them. The archangel might also appear as a peacock, with the divine realms of the Creation fanning out behind it as the glittering feathers.

All of the planes, though vast and spread throughout creation, are subdivided into segments, with the exception of the Physical Plane. It exists in all physical levels of the Universe and is automatically subdivided. For example, the physical plane of planet Earth is separate from the physical plane of another planet somewhere else in the universe. The beings on both planets are bonded by having physicality in common but are separated from each other. Travel between them is possible but it takes physical equipment to achieve it unless astral travel is employed. People on the planet Earth and on other planets are accomplishing both modes of travel.

The Astral Plane is automatically subdivided into segments and although it extends throughout Creation it has a local population. For example, the St. Augustine Astral Plane has a distinct personality than the New Orleans Astral Plane or the Savannah Astral Plane or the Paris Astral Plane, yet they all have in common the same plane of existence, and travel between them is possible. Just as in the Physical Plane we are born in one physical location but may choose to move to another, the same holds true for the Astral Plane. We die in one physical location but on awakening into the Astral Plane may choose to move to another. We can also make that choice on the other planes.

As we move into the next three planes, the subdivisions continue but are based on different values. For example, one part of the Beautiful Plane is Beautiful, another is Very Beautiful, and another is Very Very Beautiful. The same is true for the Honorable Plane and the Co-Creator plane.

The five planes following these also are segmented but not for comparative reasons. The Creator also is an architect and locates the planes within an overall blueprint. The subdivisions allow for matrix mapping and, from the point of the view of the Creator and especially the archangels, this makes things a lot more manageable than they might be without the subdivisions.

For example, the archangels can navigate more fluidly to "Spiral 4 of the Creation' than to 'somewhere within the Creation.' They can move more fluidly to 'Spiral 4, Segment 3" than they could to simply "somewhere within Spiral 4." In the first five spirals of Creation are approximately 30 segments and the same is true for the second five spirals of Creation. Within these 60 segments are 240 specific locations, 37 of which are exactly identical and exist in several different planes. 11 are unique locations existing in one plane only. The archangels can move more fluidly to "Spiral 4, Segment 3, Section 3A" than they could to "Spiral 4, Segment 3.

Once an individual has called the Creator into existence, they self-activate their Soul Number and become an eternally identifiable part of the Creation regardless of where they are in the various planes. This soul-numbering system is based on a 60-soul system in which there are only 60 different soul types, and each soul type exists both archetypally and architecturally as one of the separate segments of the Creation. Each segment therefore is an aeon or "vast soul" in a divine realm of the Creation.

Number 33-14, for example, is soul number 33 of soul type 14. This actually locates the origin of the soul, segment 14, as well as the specific soul who is calling. It helps if the archangel knows the soul number of the soul type calling. From that and by using DNA code identification, they can instantly identify the individual soul. Then, they travel that soul's spiraling DNA strand to connect with that soul. Inside that soul, as part of the DNA strand, is the matrix blueprint of the entire Creation as well as that soul's segment origin.

When the archangel appears in that individual soul's spiral segment section, they have done it by coming from inside the person and out through them to the outside of them, where they appear as projections. The ancient Hebrews called them Wheels because they are spinning, sparkling light, and they also called them Galgalin, the word based on a Yiddish word for pupils of the eye, because it seems they come through the pupils of the eyes to enter the Physical Plane and where there is the possibility of actually seeing them with the eyes.

The archangels can move more fluidly to "Spiral 4, Segment 3, Section 3A, Soul 33-14, DNA Long Code" than they could to "Spiral 4, Segment 3, Section 3A." How the archangels can identify each individual by DNA code is astonishing, considering the first chromosome alone is sixty thousand letters long. The Saint says they may soon offer classes on this subject.

"So," George concludes, "we see that the Creation is a universe based upon a rational order and has a comprehensible intellectual structure. Let us say the Creator is momentarily in non-existence," George further explains, continuing his examples, "and the archangel Michael is in Spiral 9, Segment 2, Section 2B, and Rafael is in Spiral 3, Segment 4, Section 4E, and Uriel is in Spiral 6, Segment 1, Section 1C. When their minds connect they form a perfect triangle and bring into perfect alignment those three circles, and everything in between. Their connection creates ideal forms or archetypes that are the union of the archangels, who have their title because they are the angles creating the arcs of vibratory color and sound that we know as the universe. They take the Creator's numerical concepts and, with arcing geometry, turn them into planes of reality, also called domains for living.

Without the archangels," George likes to joke, "the universe might be just an infinitely long spiraling string of numbers with us trying desperately not to fall off." He waits while the chuckles subside.

"The truth is," George says, "we exist inside the archangels and they exist inside us." On seeing the big expressions of 'Huh?' appear on the faces of the students, he decides to let that drop. Maybe later on he can offer another series of classes – Advanced World Class Class, Expert World Class Class, and World Class World Class Class. It amuses him to think of it. The idea that we are the angels that compose the archangels is a little too much for some of the "fallen" to grasp.

"So when we call on the archangels in emergency situations," George likes to tell his World Class Class, "we better have an emergency, because they are busy holding together the perfect Creation, both when the Creator exists and when the Creator non-exists. They do this by reading an inconceivably long string of numbers generated by the Creator. The failsafe," George tells them, "is that only an angel can call an archangel into their spiral segment section, and only an individual who has called the Creator into existence can become an angel.

Now here is where it gets complicated," George tells them, and the students laugh. "When the archangels appear, and when we project them into our plane of reality, they do not appear as triangles and rectangles or other geometric forms. Instead they inhabit the forms we are familiar with on our plane, the ones we project as human beings. They take the form of human beings and their size is limited only by the space we give them in which to appear because they are vast beyond all conception.

Although they appear as human, nevertheless, they are eternal angles-of-arc. The value of their presence is simply that wherever one of them appears, everything surrounding it becomes instantly aligned into perfection within the original parameters of the Creation. The archangel who appears acknowledges the individual whom they come to serve as the Creator in the moment, or the Co-Creator. With this system in place, each person has the opportunity to be the child of God in the Co-Creator Plane because what happens, in effect, is that the archangel upon appearance brings with it the Divine Plane to the plane of the Co-Creator in the moment. At that instant, and for the duration of the archangel's presence, the individual on that plane is the Co-Creator whom the archangel has come to serve."

Needless to say, George's classes spark a lot of discussion and that satisfies the Saint and makes George feel wonderful as well. The students usually go off to think about it for a couple of centuries. When they get it firmly in their minds they usually opt to move forward into the next plane.

Dagon-Jah removes his roll-away and opens it. He takes from it his masterpiece, a tiny, clay two-sided disk, and hands it to Daedalus. Now it is Dagon-Jah who could laugh at the astonishment on Daedalus's face but he is too gratified to laugh. Inside him well up feelings of joy.

Daedalus does not speak for nearly an hour. He studies one side of the disk and then the other. He traces the spiral on one side with his finger and then he tries the other side. He runs his finger across the raised images. He has never seen anything like this, not in Crete, not in Egypt, and not in Byblos. How could it have been done? And what of the hardness? How had it got so hard? All these thoughts run through his mind as he inspects the disk. Finally, he speaks.

"Did you create this?"

"Yes."

"How was it done?"

"I molded the clay and drew the spirals. I etched the images into the clay and made the impressions. Then, I made a hot fire inside a house of bricks and got it so hot the wood became burning coals. I made a stand to hold the disk inside the fire and I placed the disk on the stand. I baked it until I thought it might burn up, but it did not. I pulled it out of the fire, and there it is as you see it. Then, I destroyed the brick oven."

"Dagon-Jah, who are you?" asks Daedalus.

"I am a pottery apprentice with my master at Phaistos. Some of the pottery here was made by my hands. Much of the pottery painted with spirals was made by me."

The Masterpiece of Dagon-Jah, Sides 1 and 2

"Only an apprentice," says Daedalus in disbelief. "You are a master." Dagon-Jah feels the wonderful warmth of recognition. "I hope you will stay with me a few days," says Daedalus. Dagon-Jah is overwhelmed with happiness. To stay with the famous inventor Daedalus is greater even than seeing the pharaoh. He gratefully accepts.

"I want to solve this maze on your masterpiece," says Daedalus. "At the end of tomorrow if I have not solved it, will you show me how?" Dagon-Jah agrees, filled with joy that the great inventor has seen his intention of creating a maze puzzle.

"Good. You may examine my collections while I solve your maze puzzle." The kindred souls settle in to enjoy their time together, Daedalus with the maze and Dagon-Jah with the wonderful inventions.

One day passes and still Daedalus studies the disk but cannot solve the puzzle. He begins at the center of the spiral on one side and tries to go to the other side, but is cut off from the outside spirals. He cannot move from the center of one side of the disk to the center of the other side without being blocked. He cannot escape the maze. Must I put on wings and fly out, he thinks to himself? Finally, he asks Dagon-Jah to show him the solution, but before he does he calls his son Icarus in to view the solution.

Dagon-Jah takes Daedalus out to central court where there is plenty of sand. He clears a small area of shells and rocks, then smoothes it over and pours water onto it. Very carefully he stamps one side of the disk into the sand, then turns it over and stamps the other side, overlapping them at the matching line segments. Daedalus can see right away the shape of the Figure 8 shield. Now, he sees the solution to the maze.

The solution to Dagon-Jah's maze puzzle

He starts in the center of the spiral on side 1 and with his finger traces the spiral around and around until he crosses over from spiral 4 of side 1 to spiral 5 of side 2, then goes around and around until he reaches the center of side 2. Then, he traces the spiral back until he crosses over at spiral 4 of side 2 to spiral 5 of side 1 and goes around and around until he returns to the center of side 1. It was there all the time, so simple it was impossible to see.

Dagon-Jah tells Daedalus, "This is the Disk of the World. It is the Masterpiece of Jah, who created it. Here is the world of Earth," says Dagon-Jah, pointing to side 2 of the disk. "These are the five levels," he says, pointing to the five spirals. "Here are all the people and all the things of Jah. Everything Jah creates is holy; the people, the children, the priests, the guards, the trees, the plants, the grass, the crabs, the fish, the vultures, the eagles, the flowers, the thistles, the ivy leaves, the rams, the bull's horns, the bull's hooves, the pigs, the dogs, the wildcats, even the wildcat's roar is holy." Dagon-Jah points to the pictographs on the disk, identifying each one for Daedalus.

"Everything that is not alive in Jah's world is holy too; the pillars, the saws, the spindles, the water, the temples, the mazes, the pyramids, the oxen yokes, the boats, the caves, the hoes, the axes, the caskets, the pottery, the shells, the roads, even the forks in the roads, even the hats the people wear are holy." Dagon-Jah points to these images on the disk as he explains them to Daedalus.

"Here is the world of Heaven. All the shining beings in all the levels worship Jah and Re-Ah." Dagon-Jah points to side 1 of the disk and the 5 spirals. "Everything in Heaven is the same as in Earth but has gone to be with Jah and has become stars in the sky."

Daedalus cannot speak. Nothing is so stunning as this. The simplicity of it is remarkable to him. He cannot imagine how he missed it. Then, Dagon-Jah shows him how to draw the lines from identical image to identical image to see the images hidden behind the spirals. Now they come out to surprise and delight Daedalus. As Dagon-Jah draws the lines to connect the images, he tells a story about each image. He stamps the disk into the sand over and over to tell the story and to draw the lines.

The Goddess protected by the shields

"This is the story of Jah," he tells Daedalus. He shows Daedalus how to connect the shields to see the goddess Re-Ah is a star in the sky when her son Jah is born. She comes as a star to announce the birth of her son. All around her are the shields.

"Jah was born in a cave," he tells Daedalus, pointing to the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. He shows Daedalus how to connect with lines the guardians to see the cave of Re-Ah where Jah was born, so lowly a birth for so great a god.

The cave where Jah was born

He shows Daedalus how to connect the pyramids to see the pyramid of Jah. "This is Jah's home in the sky," he says.

Jah's pyramid the sky

Jah's pyramid with door

He shows Daedalus how to connect the golden fleeces to see the pyramid of Jah with the trap door at the bottom. "Jah stays in his pyramid for twenty star years." Dagon-Jah points to the pyramid image with twenty dots in the center. "Then, Jah leaves his pyramid through the door at the bottom and goes to his mother. See her just beneath the door?" He points to the mother with the baby on her lap.

"Jah sails his sky ship to his mother in the dark sky. His ship is Argos. Jah has many sailors." Dagon-Jah shows Daedalus how to connect the fruits to reveal the image of Jah's ship, the Argos. "These are the oars the sailors use to row Jah's ship," says Dagon-Jah, pointing to the tiny oars.

Jah's ship, the Argo

"When Jah holds the two worlds in his arms, they are Jah's shield." He points to the Figure 8 shield of the two sides joined together. "But when Jah leaves his pyramid through the door to go to his mother, they are two worlds. But Jah's mother sews them together while Jah is away." He shows Daedalus how to connect with lines the four images of Jah's mother to see her hold the worlds together.

Jah's Mother sews the worlds together

The tools Jah uses to create the world

Jah's tools

Jah's toys and playthings

Jah's toys and playthings

Jah's toys and playthings

Finally, Daedalus speaks. "Jah told you this?"

"Yes."

"He told you to make this model of the world?"

"Yes. The world is the Masterpiece of Jah."

Daedalus says nothing, only studies the impressions in the sand. He surrounds them with guards so that no one will walk on them and destroy them. For Daedalus, nothing remains of the world but these ideas expressed by Dagon-Jah's masterpiece. He can only imagine what joy to have Jah's voice giving these instructions to create this miniature of the world.

"What else did Jah say?" asks Daedalus.

"Jah told me he will come to the Earth and become one of us," says Dagon-Jah.

"When will Jah come?" asks Daedalus.

"Soon, before twenty star years." Dagon-Jah points to the image of the little boy wearing the Golden Fleece. "This is Jah when he comes to be one of us. He will be born in a hut this time and not a cave. His mother will sew the hut together for him." Jah shows Daedalus how to draw the lines to see the hut where Jah will be born on Earth.

The Birth Hut of Ja-Sus

"Then, Re-Ah will be a bright star in the sky again to tell of the birth of her son so they will follow her and protect him as before. Jah will have a boat when he is born and he will have sailors as before. He will have his tools to build things, as before. He will go to Egypt and see the pyramid. There is a door to a room at the bottom, built for Jah when he comes. He will go see it."

"What will Jah's name be when he is born again?" asks Daedalus.

"He name will be Ja-sus. It means Jah is born."

"What will Ja-sus do when he comes?" asks Daedalus.

"He will come to Earth to tell about his father in the sky, who is Jah. He will be as a son to Jah like a little boy but he will also be Jah. He will tell how Jah loves us and how we must try to love him if we are to live with him. He will teach this but not everyone will listen because they create their own gods who lead them into fighting each other. But this is why Jah is far away, so he does not mind being ignored by his people. His mother loves him, and I love him, so he is happy. He comes down to us to find more people to love him. He wants to be friends with more people."

"I want to take you to the King," says Daedalus. "I will make a time for you to show him your masterpiece." These are the words Dagon-Jah yearns to hear. No longer to be an apprentice but a master! Thanks be to Jah!

As the Praetorian Guards wait, they understand that today it is not going to be necessary to call in the Archangel. The Saint tells George the stage call is not an emergency but it also is not a dress rehearsal. They will really go through the portal.

Mavis loves her Roman guard costume and, like the others, is allowed a few variations, mostly involving sword color, sandal color, and skirt color. But the sword color has to be in the spectrum of blue, the sandal color must be in the spectrum of brown, and the skirt color must compliment the sword color. They are allowed to make these variations as long as their costumes closely match. They all know the Empress hears the inner call and is a seer, so they are careful to ensure that their costumes match well so as not to be distracting to her.

The top part of the costumes can be anything of the guards' creation because the Empress can only see their faces up to the hairline and their bodies from the waist down. This is because of the shadow and the position of the shield that covers everything from the waist up to the chin.

They take this opportunity to design the shirts and helmets however they like, especially the helmets. With feathers on top, some of them look like Roman Guard roosters, and with broad hats as helmets, some look like Roman Guard musketeers, and others, with cowboy hats and eagle feathers, look like Roman Guard cowboys and Indians. Some wear T-shirts behind the shields, some wear tank tops, and others wear breast plates with interesting colorful designs such as dragons, lighthouses, palm trees, and even one of them, a Frenchman who passed over in St. Augustine, has an image of the Eiffel Tower on his breast plate. The only important thing is that their costumes represent an Earth plane reality so that, should the Archangel be called, the costumes help locate the specific Physical Plane segment section. Only on the planet Earth, for example, will we find Roman guards to the Emperor or Zulu tribal warriors or Plains Indians, etc.

The Shadow Breakers are ready to roll. They wait to get the on-stage cue from the Saint and they are so hoping to get it. They really don't want this to be a dress rehearsal. They want to serve the Empress any way they can, so the twelve of them whose turn it is to act on stage wait excitedly to pass through the portal and into the realm of the Empress. The thirteenth guard is invisible, usually a saint, and four of the Praetorian Guards are always present -- George Truax, Jack Tolvey, Larry Welch, and Mavis Davis. The other eight are selected at random according to when it is their turn on the stage.

"Waiting for the word!" the general calls to them, just letting them know he is waiting for the Saint's command. They all stand at attention, their excitement growing.

"Roman guards!" calls out the general on hearing the Saint's voice. "Column, advance!" They pass quickly through the portal in front of them and enter the Physical Plane and realm of the living through the hot water heater closet in the Empress' bathroom in downtown St. Augustine.

With twelve of the Shadow Breakers on stage in the Physical Plane, and particularly Mavis, StumbleBlock sees the opportunity he has been waiting for to convert LoverGirl to a Bored Player. All he needs is the help of MetaphorMan, and he has already gotten him to agree to help.

He goes looking for MetaphorMan and finds him right away sitting under an Oak tree and reading a book of poetry by Keats. MetaphorMan declined to join the Shadow Breakers, an invitation StumbleBlock never gets, because he wants to spend as long as he can on the Astral Plane reading poetry. He didn't have that pleasure on the Physical Plane because he never lived on the Physical Plane. MetaphorMan is a stillborn child whose life experiences began on the Astral Plane and thus he lacks the common language keys that humans develop when physical. Having always lived in the realm of the spirit-soul, he always speaks in metaphors and symbols. Sent on his errand by StumbleBlock, he finds the Cut Ups practicing their Passion Play and notices the one they called LoverGirl. He is deeply drawn to her right away but for reasons he can't understand.

"Gain again! What's out there?" he says to JuicyGirl.

"Look," she says to the group. "It's MetaphorMan." All the girls in the group say hello to him.

"What's he talking about?" asks LoverGirl.

"He's saying we have a new player and he's wondering what play we have planned," interprets JuicyGirl.

"Why does he speak that way?" asks LoverGirl.

"He was never born into physical body," explains TraumaGirl. "His birth was traumatic and ended in his death. I can really dig it."

"Oh," says LoverGirl. "My brother was stillborn but that was many years before I was born. I always wondered about him."

"A hush fell over them," says MetaphorMan. "Time is an anxious traveler that can't be kept waiting."

"He wants to talk with you," translates JuicyGirl. "He probably is sent by StumbleBlock to enlist you in the Bored Players. Don't even bother talking to him."

"No, I want to talk with him," says LoverGirl. "I like the way he talks."

"Ho hum," says JuicyGirl, feigning boredom. 'That's what you will become if you go with him -- bored. Suit yourself." She turns back to the group to continue their rehearsal for her latest sex play tragedy entitled, 'Get a grip.' The truth is, LoverGirl can't relate at all to JuicyGirl's script, although TraumaGirl and ActorGirl like it. SillyGirl doesn't think it's silly enough.

LoverGirl leaves with MetaphorMan to discover more about him. He seems so intriguing to her. Maybe he will be her new best friend. She is getting a little disappointed in JuicyGirl, who seems self-centered. All JuicyGirl cares about, really, is getting her scripts onto the stage.

"Where do you want to take me?" LoverGirl asks MetaphorMan.

"We can go home again," he says. "Life is a tree that leaves in the spring. Buds leave together. Let's make tracks."

"Ok," says LoverGirl. "You lead." Wanting to please her new friend, she makes footprints appear on the ground behind them as they stroll along about two inches above the ground. MetaphorMan notices and smiles at her, pleased indeed.

Gladys Kurtz casts a long shadow as she gets in her car after work to drive to the rendezvous on Nine Run Road. As usual, she is careful to drive off the road, down the lane, and around the curve to make sure no one sees her and so she can spy on Jimmy Dobbs. He is bringing her two things -- a supply of crack and the name of a wealthy man who will pay a lot for sex with her. "Nothing like a city commissioner," Jimmy said to him, selling him on the idea.

Jimmy likes being a pimp and if it weren't for some nut case killing off his girls, he would have made a lot more money by now. Without those girls he is forced to find clients for Gladys, and she insists they have plenty of bucks. That's the problem with her, she's too picky. He recruited some girls lately and is making a point of not letting Gladys find out and, at the same time, he is giving them all free crack. That puts them right in the palm of his hand, and he can do with them whatever he likes. If Gladys knew, she might find a way to put an end to them, as he suspects she did with the other girls.

Gladys likes crack as much as she likes sex with strangers. She enjoys the lurid aspects of it, of not knowing what they are capable of and how they like it. But she knows one thing about them; they are entirely corruptible if not already corrupted. And once she has them addicted both to her and the crack, she as good as owns them. That's where the money comes from that guarantees her tenure in office won't be interrupted. She holds it over them, too, if they don't pay up when she needs their money. All she has to do is let a little bit of information slip, she reminds them, and they will be ruined socially. In the end, the men want the serial killer to get his hands on Gladys, but beyond doing her in themselves, there is nothing more to be done than simply pay up. And so they do.

The Indian who lives in the left corner room on the waterfront side of the old fort is making his plans to pass over. Much needs to be done. He has, first of all, to let someone know his space is coming available and so he telepathically calls Gary Gravestone on the astral phone. He learns later that a nice young woman is going to take over, and that makes him feel happy to know who will be in his spot.

He has lived at the old fort for over a hundred and fifty years and he is growing desirous to move forward. He only stayed behind to help the other Indians assimilate themselves in the Astral Plane, but most of them, too, are going forward. Now, it seems to be a good time for him to leave. Many tourists had their pictures taken with him. When they returned to their homes and had the film developed, they saw his transparent body standing with them. He knows it gives them hope of life after death and he is only too glad to help out.

The sounds and smells of the old fort will always be with him, along with good memories and bad, but he hopes to leave some of the bad memories behind. It was not easy in those days, being captured and brought to the place. He fought hard against it and he nearly died there by refusing to eat their nasty food. He only came back because of the memories and because of the Indian spirit-souls he knew he could help. He would have left the plane sooner but he wants to be as useful as he can.

Now, even with a hundred and fifty years left to stay if he wants to, it is time to move on and go forward. As he gathers his belongings around him to distribute them to his friends, the other spirit-souls that live in the fort with him begin to gather around him. They are planning his launching ceremony. They are sorry to see him go but they know they will see him again sometime later. He is really their leader in spirit and he is also their leader into the next dimension. He is the Seminole Indian Chief Osceola. His name means "Black Drink Singer." It has something to do with drinking deeply of death. His influence will always be felt just as his reputation as a good man will precede him.

To Osceola, it is perfectly balanced that a young woman will take his place. The spirits of the old fort have been there for hundreds of years and the changing of the guard is beginning. Many things are changing. Osceola knows that Great Creator is making a place for him in the Beautiful Plane. The Saint has already spoken to him about it. With this in mind he begins to say his good-byes and prepare for the time when his body will drop off. He will pass over to the realm of the Beautiful Plane. He will miss those he leaves behind, but he looks forward to meeting them again and to meeting new friends. That is the blessing of the life-death cycle. Old friends will be lost but they will be found again later on, and how happy the reunion will be.

Gary Gravestone doesn't consider himself to be just a realtor. He is in the service of the Saint and he does his job according to the Saint's wishes. He is also devoted to the Virgin Mary. By living so close to her chapel in Le Leche Shrine he can hear directly her voice counseling him on how to do his job the best way possible and how to serve both the Virgin and the Saint.

The Virgin speaks to many people in St. Augustine and all planes of reality. She speaks to Grace Courage, the woman called the Empress by the Shadow Breakers, and tells her to have courage in her writing and to be frank and honest and true. The Virgin's connection with Grace Courage enables Gary Gravestone to speak directly with Grace. The three of them talk often about reality in St. Augustine.

The Virgin leads Grace Courage to hold seances locally to anchor into the Physical Plane more of the Virgin's friends and devotees. The Virgin leaves crucifixes in her chapel for Grace to find and tells her in advance the two colors they will be. Then, Grace passes this information on to the people in her seance group and they find only crucifixes with those two colors. This is how the Virgin lets Grace and the group know she is truly with them and working with them on understanding how things are in spiritual St. Augustine.

When Grace follows carefully the Virgin's wishes, the Virgin always gives Grace and her groups the aroma of roses to smell. During the seances led by Grace and directed by the Virgin, Grace meets some of the spirits who she later writes about, but this was the Virgin's plan all along. As long as Grace follows the plan, all will be revealed.

The Virgin sent Gary to introduce himself to Grace and to let her know he lives in Le Leche Cemetery in his grave. This was the moment that the Virgin hoped Grace would come to realize that things are going on all around her that are worth her notice and worth writing about. But what she does not tell Grace is that the book will be eternally inspiring to many people, as long as Grace writes it the way the Virgin hopes she will. She wants Grace to believe she thinks of it all by herself. This is the way the Virgin likes to work, always in the background, always in support of her children.

The Virgin is the Mother-in-Spirit of many people. She gives them all the love they need, as any mother must do who wants her children to do well and to achieve their dreams. With mother's love they can find the inspiration to create the Divine Message the way they long to create it. The Madonna's child is the Co-Creator and the Creation is the Truth. Together, the Virgin Mary and Child mirror the original archetype of Black Madonna and Creator.

Because of the Virgin, Gary and Grace are friends although they live in two different dimensions of reality. This is what the Virgin hopes to accomplish, to bring everyone together in the love, spirit, and knowledge of the Divine.

Warner Thompson knows there is something about Grace Courage that gives him deep feelings of happiness, but he shies away from those feelings, having never felt them before and not understanding how to handle them. He only knows that if Grace Courage doesn't accept his invitation to his office, if she skips out on him for some reason, he will be disappointed. In fact, he fully intends to find her anyway and talk with her. His central mission of the day is to see and speak with Grace Courage. Whether he can understand it doesn't matter, only that he means to be with her on this day, no matter what.

He hears Tommy Lassiter calling to him from the outer office but he ignores him because he wants to put in a call to Grace to see when she is coming. At least this way she will know he means his invitation, that he is not just being polite.

Tommy, on the other hand, is wondering what in the world is wrong with the chief. He seems disinterested in all the facts of the murder case they have lately uncovered, what few facts there are. He wonders if the chief is going to tell him again to suppress those little pieces of evidence. The chief apparently doesn't want to talk about it right now, so Tommy lets the matter drop. He knows something is up with the chief and he decides to just wait and see what that something turns out to be.

Warner gets his nerve up and gives Grace a call, only to get her answering machine, which assures the caller that she will return the call. It isn't much but at least he gets to hear her voice. He thinks of calling again to hear the message twice but it occurs to him that she might have caller ID, so he gives that idea a rest. All there is to do now is wait.

The only other problem he can foresee is her roommate, Stephen Allger. What's up with that, he wonders? Could it be they're romantically involved? A woman her age, which is about his age, can find herself attracted to a younger man. He knows that he is often attracted to younger women, but only from a sexual point of view. And that, of course, must explain their relationship, if they actually have one. He is hoping they are just friends and roommates and nothing more. He means to find out the answer to this puzzle from Grace herself if she shows up today.

He tries to busy himself with work and he means to stay in his office all day and wait. "That's how bad I've got it for Grace Courage," he chides himself out loud. He doesn't know Tommy has returned to his office in the next room and overhears him.

"Oh boy," says Tommy, under his breath. "Here we go."

I was beginning to be afraid of Warner Thompson, but I have never been comfortable with fear. I like to meet fear head on and back it down. So that's why I got all dressed up to go visit a man who I suspect is a serial killer. If I look great, maybe he won't kill me. What a silly thought. Besides, I have my Praetorian Guards with me. Earlier I closed my eyes and peered into the bucket and saw their sandals and metal skirts. I also saw some of their faces. They are with me and so I have nothing to fear. But still it is with trepidation that I walk into Warner's office to question him about the murders, to see what he intends to do about it, and hopefully to hear what he promised to tell me. But when I see how he is looking at me, so happy to see me, I wonder if maybe I haven't played this thing up in my mind a little too much. How can a man this attractive and this happy to see me also be planning on doing me in?

As I sit down in the chair across from him I lower my head a little to peer into the bucket, and I see the guards in full dress uniform. I even see a shield with the words written on it, "Shield Guide." Whew. That makes me feel better. Little does Warner know that I have stationed a column of guardian angels all around us, and they have swords and shields and the intention of protecting me at all costs. That gives me strength and courage to look a police chief straight in eye who might also be a murderer.

"Grace, how are you?" he asks, as though he truly cared.

"Great, Warner. And you?"

"Oh, doing well, thank you."

Silence.

More silence.

Even more silence.

"I asked you here to let you know that I am becoming more personally involved in the murders and I am also looking to investigate certain people who I suspect may have some motive to commit these crimes." He looks pleased with himself.

"I see. Did you want to tell me who the people are?"

"I couldn't do that, ah, right at this point but I will help you get your book going if you like. I know something that can put you on the right track."

"Oh? What is it?"

"It's not widely known that the last victim, a girl named Louise Lauder, was killed down on residential St. George Street right in front of the Catholic School. Actually, right in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary and behind the hedge, just across the street from St. Augustine House."

"You mean right where the ghost tour stops in front of that building?" I couldn't believe my ears. Is it really possible we stood there and chatted about gangsters and ghosts while the whole time Louise Lauder was lying dead behind us? "I was standing right there on a ghost tour. She must have been lying right behind us. It was so dark that night, only a little moonlight, and all we had was the tour guide's lantern." My heartbeat picks up a little, and Warner suddenly sits forward in his chair.

"Who was with you on the tour?" he asks.

"Well, it was me and my friend Jeanette from Atlanta, and a man who was talkative and kept mentioning Jack the Ripper..."

"What did he look like?" Warner asks quickly.

"I don't remember, really. He was a regular looking guy, tall, thin, about forty or so, with a mustache, and an attaché case that made me think he was a businessman just taking a break. He cast a long shadow. He played around with me and Jeanette a little and made hissing sounds like a cat to make us think a ghost cat was behind us."

"If you saw him again could you identify him?" Warner is starting to make notes.

"Sure. I think so. Do you think he is the murderer?" I can't help but ask. In my mind I am beginning to move further away from the idea that Warner is the serial killer.

"Can't say but we will look into it. Who else was on that tour with you?"

"Let's see, there were some other people, just tourists, who didn't say much, about fifteen of them I guess. Oh! Gladys Kurtz was there."

"The city commissioner?" he asks, surprised. "Wonder what she was doing there?"

"She said she was walking home. She said she lives down on St. George Street just past St. Francis Street."

"Did she say anything or do anything that you remember?" He is looking a little confused about Gladys being there.

"She told us that there were no ghosts in St. Augustine House, that it was all a hoax. I told her that I used to live in that building, that it was haunted with gangster ghosts. I wanted to discuss that with her but instead she just walked away." I decided not to tell him about running into her again when I was last in his office.

"Well, it couldn't have been Gladys," he says.

I thought about that time the kid shot me with the BB gun and the police covered for him. I wonder if Warner is now going to cover for Gladys. I don't say anything about that. I just wait to see what he will say next.

"Look, I'll tell you what," he says. "Let's go get some lunch and talk about this a little more."

Uh oh. Now comes the time when I am supposed to get in his patrol car with him, the time I dread, the time for which I prepared myself with guardian angels. I have to make a quick decision. I decide to go with him. I just hope it's not going to be one of the last decisions I ever make.

George tells Mavis the good news about the room at the old fort, and Mavis can hardly wait to tell Louise about it. But Louise is nowhere to be found. They look for her at the Cut Ups Passion Play rehearsal, but no Louise.

"Last time I saw her," says JuicyGirl, "she was going off with MetaphorMan." Her disdain is obvious to all. "I told her she was in danger of becoming a Bored Player but she said she wanted to hear what MetaphorMan had to say. Like he had something to say other than what StumbleBlock told him to say." JuicyGirl can't be bothered any more with the problem. She is busy directing TraumaGirl and ActorGirl, hoping to fine-tune their performances in her new sex play tragedy.

"Let's go check with the Bored Players to see if she has joined them," says George, pessimistically.

"Oh, don't say that," says Mavis. "We'll have to get her back."

"Not if she's made that decision," says George. "She's entitled to do whatever she wants to do. Those are the rules."

"But she hasn't lived here long enough to even know what she's doing. We're supposed to guide her and help her to make better decisions," argues Mavis.

"Guide her, yes, but also follow her when she makes up her mind what she wants to do. If she decides to become one of the Bored Players, then we have to follow that decision and support it however we can. It's not for us to decide for her or to judge her."

Mavis can't argue with that. She recognizes the wisdom of the Saint behind George's words. She just hopes Louise hasn't become one of the Bored Players.

They approach the stage and see StumbleBlock sitting on it, looking dejected. Behind him sit Ralph Dragon, John Simpleton, GoryGuy, and GermyGirl.

"Hey, Block," says George.

"What do you want?" asks StumbleBlock, rudely.

"What's the matter?" says George. "You look sad."

"I've lost my best player. MetaphorMan refuses to play the part of St. George anymore. He says he is going to think about what he wants to do next. What does he mean by that? Is he talking about becoming one of the Passion Players?" StumbleBlock is so distressed he forgets to hide his real feelings.

"What did he say," asks Mavis, "before he went away?"

"He said, 'Gang busters. Blow the lid off.' I don't know what that means. I never heard him talk that way before. He had that new girl, what's her name, with him. They went off together talking about it. She seemed like she understood what he was talking about."

"By new girl, you mean Louise?" asks George.

"LoverGirl, that's what they call her. She was with him. They went off together holding hands. I didn't like the look of it. Hey, wait a minute," StumbleBlock says suddenly, looking suspiciously at George and Mavis. "I see what's going on. You're converting them to Shadow Breakers. Yeah, that's it! You get off of my stage right now!" StumbleBlock is steaming. Mavis and George jump down off the stage and leave to find Louise and MetaphorMan.

"And don't come back, either!" calls StumbleBlock after them. "Thanks to you, I've got only John Simpleton to play the Saint, and if that don't work I'm stuck with GoryGuy or GermyGirl." He stomps his foot and yells, and everyone gets back away from him. He is awful when he is mad. He can get himself into a murderous rage if he really gets mad, so they know to give him plenty of space on his stage.

Mavis takes her chance to get the last word in with StumbleBlock, who usually ends their encounters by having the last word. She turns around and calls out so that everyone can hear, 'You might want to consider a new play. That one's boring, it's seen its day."

George laughs. "Don't even bother. StumbleBlock never learns."

"At least she's not one of the Bored Players. What a relief," says Mavis.

"Even better," says George. "She managed to get MetaphorMan out of the group. It was a tragedy that MetaphorMan kept going with them. At least we have a chance to guide him to the Shadow Breakers, thanks to Louise."

"Let's find them," says Mavis. "I just can't wait to tell her about the waterfront room at the old fort."

Warner and I walk out of his office and, lucky break for me, do not get into his patrol car. He wants to take me to lunch on the other side of the Slave Market at the Greek Goddess Cafe. This is one of the local favorite places to eat. We go in and take a booth near the back of the dining room and sit down across from each other. This puts me in the strange position of having to look directly into his eyes more than I want to but I pretend to be diverted by the murals surrounding us that depict in bright colors the history of St. Augustine.

Warner begins to ask me some questions about my personal life, and I try not to answer them. But he is deft at getting information from a person, no doubt because of all his experience at interrogating suspects. I don't feel like a suspect at all, and I know he doesn't want me to feel as though I am being interrogated, but at the same time it puts me in a position that I am hoping to avoid. I certainly don't want him to know too much about me until I make up my mind whether or not he's a serial killer. In the meantime, while all this is turning around in my head, the server comes to take our orders.

"What's good to eat here, Warner?"

"Oh, the Greek food is delicious but I recommend it for dinner, not lunch. Do you like salads?"

"I love salads, but they have to be really good."

"Then order a Greek salad. You'll love it." He more commands me to order it than recommends that I order it. I obey.

As we wait for our meal to arrive, Warner continues to gently question me. "What about your roommate, Stephen?"

"What about him?" I dodge his question as best I can.

He looks at me and smiles. He knows, from many years of being chief of police, when a suspect is dodging his question. His smile gets bigger.

"What do you know about him?"

"As much as I need to know." I dodge his question again. He almost laughs.

"Where does he work?" He is relentless when he wants to know something. I'm going to have to give in and answer his questions.

"He's the assistant manager of the Moonlight Restaurant." I feel I have scored the point on that volley.

"What's his last name?"

"Allger, Stephen Allger." Warner makes a mental note.

"What do you know about him?"

What is Warner trying to find out? Why does he keep talking about Stephen? I can't figure it out. I think I better start asking questions of my own.

"Do you think Stephen is the killer?"

Warner smiles at me. "I didn't say that. I just wondered what you know about him. He is your roommate. What kind of questions do you ask someone before you decide to share your home with them?" How like him to appear to answer me when, really, he is cleverly couching his question as an answer.

"I know his name, I know where he works, I know I like him." I see Warner's smile fade a little.

"You mean you are involved with him?"

I can't believe this guy. How in the world does he work it around to where, right away, he's finding out my personal life? He's good; he's really good.

"I bet you get all the answers you want when you're interrogating someone," I say, teasing him and trying to change the direction of the conversation.

"No." He laughs but he won't be put off. "I just wondered if you had something going with him, that's all. I saw you out to eat with him. Are you dating him?"

What else is there to do but tell this man the truth? I can't see why a serial killer asks these questions and, in fact, my theory that Warner is a murderer is steadily losing ground with me.

"No," I finally answer truthfully. "I'm not having a relationship with him. He's just my roommate, that's all. He did invite me out to eat but it was just a good will gesture, nothing more," I fib.

At that moment the server brings our meal, so I don't have a chance to observe Warner's face when I finally answer his question about Stephen. I don't know what he thought about my answer.

The food is delicious and I promise myself to eat here again. Our conversation begins to be more about St. Augustine and what a great place it is than about my roommate or the murders. For some reason, I don't want to talk about the murders and I begin to feel safe. Just then, I remember that my Praetorian Guards are with me, so I peer into the bucket to see if I can see them. I close my eyes and wait for their faces to appear. In a moment I begin to see their faces, one after the other, in the bucket that is awash with bright purple light. The Praetorian Guards are with me in the restaurant.

"Are you praying?" asks Warner.

How am I going to explain this? "Sort of."

"What do you mean? Were you really praying?"

"I wasn't exactly praying, I was just closing my eyes to see if I could see the faces of my guardian angels." I know this will probably blow his mind completely.

"And did you see them?" he asks calmly, not at all surprised by my answer.

"Yes, I did. They are here with me in the restaurant."

"Where?" He looks around.

"All around us. Inside me." Warner looks at me intently.

"Did you call them on account of me?"

What do you tell a man when he wants to know if you are afraid of him? Do you admit it? That might give him the audacity he needs to attack you later. Or do you deny it? That might motivate him to prove you are wrong in not fearing him. But in Warner's case, there is nothing but the truth to be told because he will know if I am lying.

"Yes, I called them on account of you, but that was earlier in the day."

"And now you don't need them?" He watches me closely.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully.

Warner leans back in the booth, and I see the revelation come over him that I suspect him of being the killer. For the first time today, he has no more questions for me. As his eyes look into mine, he just sits there contemplating the position he suddenly finds himself in. He is the chief of police under suspicion of being a serial killer by a woman he hardly knows who is writing a book about it and who has called in guardian angels to protect her from him. I wonder how that makes him feel but I don't have the time to give it much thought because Gladys Kurtz suddenly appears at our table, her body casting a long shadow on the wall.

"Well, well," she says. "Look who we have here. Learning anything, Grace?"

"Hi, Gladys," I reply.

Warner looks up out of his reverie and says, "Hello, Commissioner Kurtz." Neither one of us invites her to sit, but she rudely pushes in next to Warner. Now I have them both facing me. I feel uncomfortable and I can feel my heartbeat picking up a bit.

"So, Warner, giving up any police secrets today?" asks Gladys, watching me carefully.

"Ah...Gladys, you...ah...know better than that," replies Warner, uncomfortable with her beside him. I enjoy his discomfort but I don't feel good about Gladys sitting there, either.

"I'm just curious if you're telling her what she needs to know to get that book of hers going. I thought you might want to reveal some of the evidence you gathered recently so she can publish it. She's entitled to know what's going on with the investigation," says Gladys to Warner but looking at me. "We all are." Gladys enjoys any influence she has with Warner. She enjoys thinking she can push him into an investigation he would rather avoid.

I am thinking of ways to excuse myself from the booth but I don't want to appear to be afraid, even though I am feeling a little afraid. Just as I contemplate what to do next to extricate myself from this situation, I see Josh and Aaron come into the restaurant. The look of surprise must be all over my face, because Warner and Gladys both turn to look.

Josh and Aaron see me at the same time, and Josh says to Aaron, "Look, there's Grace." They come over to our table to say hello but before they do, I scoot over as far as I can in the booth and say, "Sit down. Join us. The more the merrier."

They look at each other quickly and sit down right away. I am so relieved.

"These are my friends, Josh and Aaron. This is Chief of Police Warner Thompson and City Commissioner Gladys Kurtz."

"Actually, it's Joshua," says Josh, correcting me.

"Like in the Bible," says Warner. "Joshua was the protector of the Ark of the Covenant." It surprises me that Warner knows that but it doesn't seem to faze Josh.

He replies to Warner, quoting from the Bible, "'And Joshua said, hereby ye shall know that the living God is among you.'"

"Is that right," says Warner, more of a statement than a question. He seems interested in Josh.

Aaron says, "And Aaron in the Bible is the older brother of Moses. He helped Moses lead the Jews out of Israel to the Promised Land."

"But it took them forty years to get there," Warner says.

"Better late than never," says Aaron, puffing up a little.

Josh reminds Aaron, "Aaron was a peacemaker and did not like arguments." That causes Aaron to subside a little.

"I am honored to meet you," says Josh to Warner and Gladys. "Aaron and I were talking this morning about going to visit Grace, so it is lucky that we came in here."

Not really, I think. These guys are only twenty and twenty-one, and yet I know they are guardian angels. They must be. They always appear when I call on the Praetorian Guards. We've talked about it and they acknowledge that when they get the urge to come find me, they follow that urge.

Incredibly, Warner picks up on the connection and even comments, "Tall fellows. Come to look after Grace?"

"Yeah," says Aaron, puffing up again and enjoying the small duel with the chief of police. Josh looks at Aaron and laughs.

"What is the Ark of the Covenant?" asks Gladys, a tone of disrespect in her voice.

"Spell ark with a 'c,' Josh says. "It's the arc the archangels make when they form themselves around us."

Warner seems fascinated by Josh's answer, but Gladys argues with him. "And why would they do that? I thought the ark was a golden trunk or something with treasure inside, like a treasure chest."

"A lot of people think that," says Josh. "It's like a treasure chest but it's much more than that. When God created the world He made a promise to us that He would take care of us, and He stored that promise inside the Arc as a Covenant."

"Good luck finding it," says Gladys with a slight sneer.

"Each one of us can open the Arc of the Covenant and invoke the promise. An archangel will appear as a GodSend to protect us. The Arc of the Covenant is inside us so we can find it and open it and know it's real." Josh pauses to hear what she says. "But first we have to pray." Gladys laughs. Obviously, she doesn't believe in any of it, but that doesn't bother Josh at all.

"Well, take care of Grace," says Warner. "I'm leaving and I want to make sure she's in good hands and well protected, because you never know. You just never know." He pushes against Gladys to move over because he wants to stand up, and Gladys excuses herself as well. Josh and Aaron move around to the other side of the booth and they both order lunch. I sit with them, laughing and talking. We have a wonderful time, and when I peer into the bucket the faces that look back at me are smiling as well.

Jimmy Dobb's new girls are coming along great, and the money is beginning to pour in again. Even better, The Man is giving Jimmy less trouble, now that he is buying crack again, almost as much as before. And like Jimmy told The Man, that would pick up too.

But The Man says something strange to Jimmy. He tells him that Gladys Kurtz needs to be 'removed.'

"Why," asks Jimmy. "What did she do?"

"She's bait," says The Man. "She's leading a trail right to me."

Jimmy is scared to argue with The Man but he has to know more about this. "Who's using her as bait? She's just a city commissioner trying to make a little money on the side."

"She's sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong," says The Man. "You do it, Jimmy. I'm depending on you."

Jimmy is at a loss to know what Gladys is doing that causes The Man to want her 'removed,' but he dare not ask. The Man decides to tell him a little more than he is entitled to know.

"She's encouraging a woman to write a book about the murders."

"So? What does that have to do with...us?" Jimmy hates to throw himself in the same basket with The Man, but it seems he is in there anyway. He is undoubtedly connected to the murdered girls, and through him, so is The Man.

"She has a writer pushing Thompson to look into things."

Jimmy can't help himself. "How in the world can you know that?"

"You'd be surprised at what I know," says The Man. "You just do what I tell you to do and you'll be ok. Get her outa here and do it soon."

Now, Jimmy is a pimp and he is addicted to crack but he is good to his mother, he likes animals, and he treats most people well. He never once in his life considered himself capable of murder. The Man has badly underestimated him. No way in the world is he going to kill Gladys Kurtz but no way is he going to let her stay in town, because he knows The Man will look to him for answers if Gladys is not 'removed.'

Jimmy decides to get with Gladys and let her know he has been ordered to kill her. As soon as she knows, she will leave town and that will save her life and Jimmy's life, too. But things don't always turn out the way you plan them because people sometimes have other ideas about how things will happen.

When Gladys hears what Jimmy is saying, she can hardly believe it, and she argues with him about it. But he convinces her it's the truth and that the only way to save her life, and his, is for her to leave town. But Jimmy has underestimated Gladys. She will never give up her position in the town as city commissioner. She would rather die, she tells Jimmy, than do that. In the process of their conversation, she manages to pick out of Jimmy the reason The Man wants her dead.

"Wouldn't it work out just as well for everyone concerned if I kill Grace?" she says. Jimmy hasn't thought of that, and it seems to him that might be the answer.

"What if I kill Grace? Will that satisfy him?" she asks.

"Sure it will," says Jimmy, with a sigh of relief. "Without her writing that book, everything will go back to normal and we won't have to worry about it anymore." Jimmy always likes easy answers.

"Tell him it's as good as done," says Gladys. The truth is, she always relished killing someone. Perhaps it is a genetic trait, having a relative who is a famous murderer. She finally admits to herself that she always envied him that experience. And now, it deliciously presents itself to her.

Before she returns to her office, she stops at a pay phone and gives Grace a call. She disguises her voice and says to her, "If you know what's good for you, you'll stop that book. It will kill you in the end." She hangs up the phone and enjoys the thrill of the threat coursing through her body.

But on the other end, Grace thinks she recognizes the disguised voice of Gladys Kurtz.

The performance artists had spent the entire year preparing for the Passion Plays, and now the plays are beginning in the vast global complex called the Artists Round that is located in the St. Augustine Astral Plane above the Muy Bonita Hotel. The complex is specially designed to accommodate all the various arts, from the most abstruse to the most literal. The audience are performers as well so they are able to judge the quality of the performances. They have an award system that includes two awards, the Artist Most Admired award, called the AMA, and the Performance Most Admired, called the PMA.

The AMA and the PMA awards are much sought after and, given the results of the awards, all are hoping to achieve them. The result is that the artists are granted the opportunity to visit the Beautiful Plane in person for a few moments to experience the beauty of it. This motivates them to perfect their performances to become more prepared for the plane when they finally go forward into it.

Some of the artists are, technically speaking, not performance artists but are involved in the theatrical arts and in the performing arts. They also gather at the Artists Round and are given specific theatres in which to prepare their performances. This time, however, the Artists Round is dedicated to the Passion Plays, although the theatre, on Level 2, is open as well for the individual performing arts. On Level 2, the singers embody the angelic choir, and the musicians embody the angelic musicians. No one wants to miss this because the celestial music produced is beyond anything imaginable.

George and Mavis decide to look for Louise at the Artists Round because they know the Cuts Ups will be in performance there. They get a little bit lost in trying to find the front door because the round building goes around and around and around forever. It needs to be this vast because all the performance artists in the vast Astral Plane are in town to give their performances. The building also has infinite hotel rooms, as needed.

Unless George and Mavis ask a doorkeeper or a watcher for assistance, they may never find the front of the building. The doorkeeper stops the eternal rotation of the complex long enough to allow them to find the main entrance. Mavis is a little exasperated by the set up and mechanism of this complex, but the watcher tells her, "Relax!"

They see the almost infinitely long roster of performers and decide to do a "root search" for the Cut Ups. A root search will put them in exactly the right place within the complex the moment the search engine finds the name of the artist or artists group. George types in "Cut Ups" in the root search window and instantly they are transported to Level 4 of the Round.

The Artists Round is designed by the architect Daedalus, who bases his design upon the Divine Plan. Like the Creation, the Round has 10 levels with no hierarchy involved in the levels. Level 10 is, in the Creation, the Creator Plane but is no more prestigious than Level 1 which is, in the Creation, the Physical Plane. Like the Creation, Level 10 is not higher up than Level 1, just much more expansive. It can hold more performers.

One of the nice things about this design is it eliminates aggressive competition. Everyone is equal, and only the participation of the audience matters. This takes a little getting used to for certain new people who are accustomed to being in the limelight, but that is because of the need for ego gratification on the Physical Plane. In the Astral Plane, ego gratification is no longer a driving force. Somehow, it begins to drop off when the body drops off.

Mavis and George find the Cuts Ups in performance on brightly lighted Level 4 and decide to stay and take in the entire performance. Louise is playing the part of LoverGirl in a stage play conceived of by JuicyGirl. In this script, LoverGirl is being molested by her employer, a man who is trying to avoid getting caught fooling around on his wife. Instead of taking the honorable path and just telling his wife he wants a divorce, he decides on the dubious path of hanging onto his wife's money and molesting the young girl who works in their home as a maid on Wednesdays and Thursdays. This is a sex play script that JuicyGirl came up with after hearing part of Louise's life story.

In the play LoverGirl is trying to push the man away and get away from him, but he has her trapped in the bathroom where she was cleaning the toilet. He is shoving her against the wall and grabbing her all over her body while his wife is away at the hairdressers. LoverGirl is trying to get away from him but he won't let her out of the bathroom. His molestation takes a nasty turn into violence when he rapes her on the bathroom floor. Louise was only fifteen. The event disillusioned her to the extent that it marked the beginning of her downhill slide into drugs and prostitution. The man who did it continued on this rotten path with the other maids, one after another, until his wife caught on to his activities and shot and killed him.

The man is in the audience to view the play as part of his Personal Redemption Plan, called a PRP, where he has to watch himself and his lascivious actions acted out on the stage by his helpless, innocent victim. Then he has to endure seeing how he negatively influenced the rest of her life. He is crying as he experiences the passion of his past life. But this is good. If he can't feel empathy with his victim, he might have to become a Go Back and experience the event from the other side of it. This is as close to a concept of Karma as one finds on the Astral Plane, but the Passion Plays are designed to obviate the need for any kind of karmic readjustments.

The Creator does not want the Physical Plane cluttered with people who are hardheaded and who return to continue their behavior rather than to experience the aftermath of it. Some people might get addicted to the Physical Plane because it is the only place in the Creation where this kind of thing can happen. Only in the actions of humans on the Physical Plane can evil find a place to live, and not even in the humans themselves but in their actions. Humans are divine beings but their actions sometimes are not, so evil can live in the context of their actions. Once evil gets hold of a person and convinces them to continue those actions in order to give it a place to live, the Ecstasy of the Creation is lost to them.

As the Cut Ups continue their Passion Plays, George and Mavis decide to enter the Level 4 lobby to visit some other performances. They see one that looks interesting and enter the theatre. In this Passion Play, BridgeGenius is reenacting the circumstances leading up to his suicide. He is at a bridge tournament playing for the World Championship when his little boy runs out of the hotel into the busy street and is struck and killed by a car. This is just a small part of the play, however, because most of it is taken up by BridgeGenius endlessly berating the paramedics for not saving the boy's life, as though it is their fault the child died.

The child is played by the little boy himself so that everyone can see the point of the play. It is not mortality we need to be concerned with but our treatment of others in any circumstance, even the most dire. This kind of Passion Play is popular because so many people relate to it. Not everyone commits suicide on account of something they can't help, but everyone has blamed someone else for their troubles. What is really interesting to George and Mavis about this play is that two of the paramedics are played by DontBugMe and MaliciousCode, who apparently are practicing for parts with the Shadow Breakers.

DontBugMe plays the part of the paramedic who keeps trying to explain to BridgeGenius that they did all they could. MaliciousCode plays the part of the paramedic who pronounces the child dead based on the kooky ticker tape running behind him that doubles as a make-believe EKG machine. The ticker tape is giving him stock prices. MaliciousCode's paramedic is trying to interest BridgeGenius in life because his stocks are going up, up, up and therefore there is some reason to continue to live. BridgeGenius of course is not interested at all and in the next scene he walks out into the path of traffic and is killed. Now the paramedics are charged with saving BridgeGenius' life, but of course they can't.

"What do you think?" asks Mavis.

"Not bad at all," replies George. But they both know that DontBugMe and MaliciousCode have a long way to go before they can play the parts of Praetorian Guards. Still, it does them credit that they are practicing in the Passion Plays.

The next play they watch on Level 4 is a play put on by a prison guard who is responsible for the death of one of his prisoners. In this play, the prisoner plays the part of the guard and the guard plays the part of the prisoner. The value of this is clear. Neither one of them will elect to become Go Backs because both are involved in understanding the passion and the events of their lives that threw them into conflict.

George decides to check the root search for the Bored Players but can't pull up any information about them. He is sorry about that because he knows the Bored Players are just being obstinate, and this will get them nowhere.

"Let's check another way," suggests Mavis. "I can hardly believe that Ralph Dragon and MetaphorMan would miss the Passion Plays."

They check under Saint George and the Dragon and are transported instantly to Level 6, where the play is being performed. Entering the theatre, they see Ralph Dragon and MetaphorMan performing the play. But the play, without StumbleBlock to direct it, is taking a strange turn, one that Mavis finds pleasing.

Ralph Dragon plays Saint George, and MetaphorMan plays the part of a cartoon artist who is drawing the play as a cartoon. This makes for a divine comedy that causes the audience to laugh out loud. To see Ralph Dragon on the back of GoryGuy, who is playing the part of the horse led by John Simpleton, is enough to make anyone whoop and holler.

When the dragon rides in on the horse, MetaphorMan produces an empty colorful caption above his head, like cartoon art. The audience suspends their disbelief long enough to forget the dragon is playing the part of Saint George, and instead just imagines the dragon. This makes it wonderful performance art because, upon imagining it, each member of the audience is cast in the role of the cartoon dragon they imagine into the empty caption. Then, they have sympathy with the dragon after having the experience of feeling a spear pass through their bodies.

At that point, they fall out of the caption and roll on the floor and are dead. Sometimes they are only injured. This comedy is derived from tragedy and probably is going to win the Performance Most Admired award. Ralph Dragon could possibly win the Artist Most Admired award, if it doesn't go to GoryGuy for playing the horse that the dragon rode in on. GermyGirl is playing the part of the spear and she also stands to win admiration for playing to the hilt the irony of her role. Once she passes through someone's body as a spear, she turns herself into a nurse and then goes to heal the injured. The humor of GermyGirl as a nurse is not lost on anyone in the audience. Everyone gets a big kick out of that as well.

"They're going to win it," Mavis declares. "You wait and see."

"Wonder what happened to StumbleBlock?" says George.

"Creative differences, most likely," says Mavis. "You know StumbleBlock never allows the Bored Players to play comedy as long as he is the director."

"Looks like the Bored Players are due for a name change," says George, smiling, "because it sure isn't boring anymore."

Just as they turn to leave the theatre, something catches George's eye. "Look! Can you see?" he says excitedly to Mavis.

"What?" asks Mavis.

"The ghost. Look at the ghost in the third row from the back, in the center. Look right there!" George points to the glowing transparent figure in the chair. "Can you see?"

"Yes, I see it!" she says in excitement.

"It's the Saint," says George. "He's witnessing the play. He's laughing! Oh, he loves it!"

George's voice is overheard, and the whisper goes out into the audience, "The Saint is here! The Saint is here!"

The players on stage, on hearing the whispers, stop their play to ask the Saint to stand so everyone can see him. "Ladies and gentlemen," announces Ralph Dragon. "Saint George is in the audience!" The theatre is suddenly abuzz with excitement, as Saint George rises as requested. Everyone waves to the Saint, who waves back at them and vanishes.

"Now I know they're going to win," declares Mavis.

Later on, Mavis and George have their chance to speak with Louise, who thanks them kindly for finding her such a wonderful place to live but informs them that she and MetaphorMan are making plans to become Go Backs. George wants to hear more about this, although Mavis seems to intuitively understand it. Louise promises George to talk more with him about it later when the Passion Plays have ended, when she and MetaphorMan can get together with them and discuss it at length. This pacifies George and he hopes that Gary Gravestone will hold the room at the fort just a little longer until he makes sure Louise is positive in her decision.

Mavis is crying a little, but out of happiness not sadness. She loves it that Louise has found direction in her new life and she doesn't judge the direction Louise is choosing. Direction is all that matters, as long as it is personally beneficial, as long as no one is being harmed by it, and as long as it doesn't upset the direction of anyone else's life. All and all, thinks Mavis, the visit to the Artists Round is, as usual, a great entertaining, exciting, and educational event.

George sees how touched Mavis is by Louise's choice to go back. Just at that moment the Saint suggests something to George, something that might just work, an idea that Mavis might like.

"Mavis, dear," he says, "it's not too late to reserve a theatre. We could find StumbleBlock and see if he is interested in joining us in a Passion Play."

"You mean..."

"Why not? It might work and it could be illuminating for us, as well." Mavis knows, as wives always seem to, what their husbands are thinking. George is thinking about putting on a play about their lives and including StumbleBlock in the production. She looks at her always-compassionate husband, and her love for him shows on her shining face. He can't resist kissing her.

A few plans need to be made, but the management of the Artists Round is helpful. When George explains to them what the play is about and that it involves recreating large sections of old St. Augustine in 1704, the management of the Round opens a vast theatre on Level 10 and posts a marquee announcing auditions. Word gets around right away that two of the St. Augustine Shadow Breakers are planning to do a production of their play, "Virtual Reality, Death, and Remembrance." Although the three main parts have already been cast, many supporting parts are available, and of course many positions are available for performers who want to perform the props and sets.

Rumor has it that this is a one-performance-only production. This causes the excitement to build, and reservations for seats are already beginning to pour in. The management puts the theatre on automatic expansion mode so it automatically produces as many seats as needed. In automatic expansion mode, the theatre also automatically readjusts the location of the stage so all the seats are the best seats in the house. This is a software programming marvel created by Daedalus, who bases it on his understanding of the automatically expanding universe.

Stage relocation is accomplished by the use of special holograph equipment that requires especially skilled technicians. DontBugMe and MaliciousCode apply for positions as assistant technicians, just so they can gain experience operating the holograph projectors. Before accepting them, however, the management reviews their resumes and notes they both give George as a reference. After checking with George, who gives them the nod of approval, the management offers them both the positions of Assistant Holographic Technicians. DontBugMe and MaliciousCode are beside themselves with joy to work with the Astral Plane's best holographic technicians and equipment. Most of them hold Masters Degrees in Projection from the History of God Academy in Beulah Land. This dream come true is because of George and Mavis.

Several people apply right away to play historical props and sets. They are accepted by Mavis, who reviews all the applications while George makes a visit to StumbleBlock. As Mavis accepts the applicants they go right away onto San Marco Avenue, St. George Street, and Cordova Street to begin their historical research for the parts. The virtual reality play takes place on these three streets, and the auditions are being held on Earth Street.

The presence of the performers on these streets produces what the ghost tour guides in St. Augustine are calling "significant ghost activity," and the ghost tours quickly fill up with tourists hoping to glimpse some of the ghosts. Many orbs are photographed during this time, as the performers prepare for their parts as props and sets. One lady, who took a picture of her husband and son against the wall of the old fort, on developing the film was greeted with the ghostly image of a smiling Osceola in the center of the two men, his arms around their shoulders.

Most of the artists auditioning for the supporting cast are professionals with experience. Many of them are patiently waiting for a chance to perform the screams at Maria Sanchez Lake, when Maria ever decides to go forward. The audition line will surely be long for that part. The part of the backstabbed and staggering Spanish solider on Aviles Street was recently recast when the soldier went forward. Everyone knows the gangster ghosts at St. Augustine House are destined to become Go Backs, so no one is interested in those parts. That house might actually become unhaunted, a rarity in the annals of house hauntings, but that Gary Gravestone will never let it sit empty as long as there are ghosts looking for houses to haunt.

The ghost pirates are not giving up their posts anytime soon, and even when they do the parts will be recast with less aggressive players. The audition line will be long for those parts, considering there is a ghost ship involved and several cannons to shoot. So there is not much left right now in St. Augustine available to good ghost professionals. Consequently, the audition line for parts in the new Passion Play is winding long.

A group arrives from Animal Heaven that includes animals who want to play the animal parts in the Passion Play. This is exciting for Mavis because she loves to cast these parts. What fun to be in the company of ascended animals. Several thousand people show up to watch these auditions and to see the animal parts cast. SmartyCat, a beautiful Calico, gets the part of the intelligent house cat, and a dog named Roll-Over-Play-Dead gets the part of the faithful watchdog. A rabbit named BunnyRabbit gets the part of the Easter bunny, a parakeet named Tweeter gets the part of the singing caged bird, a horse named CharleyHorse gets the part of the carriage horse, and a bird named Corinthian gets the part of the pigeon. A wolf named GhostWolf gets the part of the ghost dog, and two cats named Muffy and Scruffy are cast in the parts of the ghost cats. Footsy the Squirrel is cast as the squirrel, and Rocky the Raccoon gets the part of the raccoon. Sterling the Deer gets the part of the deer hit by the carriage, but Mavis rewrites the part so that Sterling is only a slightly injured. Several other animal players arrive and are given supporting parts to play in filling out the sets for the scenes of old St. Augustine.

Mavis is not sure how to cast the elephants, lions, tigers, and zebras and other animals not indigenous to Florida but she finally realizes to station them with the Bushmen, who she also doesn't know how to cast. When she asks the animals if they are interested in playing the parts of animals in a petting zoo, they all agree to it, and the Bushmen enjoy the idea of organizing and running the zoo, which is outside the theatre on Level 10 as an added attraction. When management hears about the petting zoo, a special section is added to the theatre that begins to expand as more animals from Animal Heaven come to be part of the zoo. When the word gets around that there are plenty of animal parts, more animals from Animal Heaven show up to audition and are given parts to play in a reenactment of a marshy swamp. Management creates another special section outside the theatre for the swamp reenactment.

Finally, Mavis throws up her hands in exasperation. She wonders how to cast all these animals that keep showing up, but George reminds her they can always call on Noah to bring his Ark. All the animals love that. So Noah is contacted and he agrees to come with his Ark. The management once again creates another section outside the theatre, this time to accommodate Noah's Ark. All the animals, two by two, begin to get onto the Ark that also is on automatic expansion mode.

When word gets around that all the animal parts are cast and that Noah is making a special appearance with his Ark, the theatre automatically expands again. Everybody and everything wants to be part of this Passion Play.

Most of the ghost professionals are accepted and parts created for them. Mavis doesn't want to leave anyone out. They are already in rehearsal, using part of the script that George placed on file with the theatre management. Word gets around far and wide that the performers are saying the play is a "total knock out." This interest in the play causes the theatre to automatically expand again, and it is now as large as the area of physical St. Augustine. This is going to be a huge reenactment. On the Physical Plane, tourists are pouring in from all directions, attracted to the energy and hoping to see the ghosts. Sitings are numerous from one end of downtown to the other, and ghost tour companies are advertising in the local newspaper for more tour guides.

George finds StumbleBlock in his room on St. Francis Street, where he is supposed to be elaborately haunting the inn, but everyone knows he has been neglecting his post. The inn is a choice haunt, and when StumbleBlock moves on, a long line will form to audition for the part of inn ghost. His door locked and his windows closed, StumbleBlock is not interested in visitors. George bangs on the door several times before StumbleBlock answers.

"What do you want?"

"Block, what's wrong with you? The Passion Plays are ongoing and here you sit in your room."

"MetaphorMan and Ralph Dragon turned against me," says StumbleBlock sullenly.

"Ok," agrees George. "Maybe they did, but I want to ask you for a favor."

"What?" says StumbleBlock, still refusing to open the door.

"I want to know if you will appear in a play with me and Mavis about historical St. Augustine. We have a great part for you, a main character part, and we want you to be in the play with us."

StumbleBlock is taken aback by this. He has never been invited by any Shadow Breaker to be in a play. All he can think about is how MetaphorMan and Ralph Dragon will envy him. He opens the door and accepts George's offer. George tells him to go to the Artists Round to pick up the script, that he will really love his part.

"Yeah?" says StumbleBlock, finally smiling.

"Yeah," says George, nodding and smiling back at him.

My life has taken a strange turn. I just received a threatening phone call from Gladys Kurtz and I can't imagine why. But I am wise enough to be worried about it. When someone calls you on the phone and tells you that you are going to die if you do not stop writing a book, you have to take into consideration that perhaps you should stop writing the book. Unless the book is writing you, in which case you have no choice but to continue.

My roommate Stephen is sympathetic and also quite curious about what motive Gladys might have for threatening my life. So he decides, bless his heart, to go try to find out.

"How are you going to do that?" I ask him.

"Simple. I'll just shadow her a bit and see where it leads. I have a day off, and she doesn't know me from Adam. I'll tail her around and just see what I can find out."

"Thanks, Stephen. I really appreciate it. I can't believe she threatened me. I just can't believe it."

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll find out as much as I can and be back later."

Soon after he leaves I get a phone call from a producer at National Journey TV who wants to come interview me about the Phaistos Disk. I am thrilled of course and I make plans with her. She says she will email me some contracts to sign and as soon as she gets them back, she will finalize a trip for their production team to St. Augustine. I am so excited that I call Jeanette in Atlanta to let her know, and she too is thrilled.

"I knew it!" she says. "I just knew it! Work like that just can't go unnoticed."

"Archeologists probably are not going to accept it," I remind her. "You need to be an archeologist if you are going to solve a great archeological mystery and get recognition for it."

"Well, I agree it's something they can choose to ignore. It's not like you discovered another pyramid on the Giza Plateau. They couldn't ignore something they can trip over. But let that be their problem, not yours. All you care about is that your work gets out there, right?"

"Right." I was originally planning to tell her about the book but I don't see how I can do that without also telling her about the phone call from Gladys. Jeanette is already worried about me. I don't want to cause her any more concern, so I decide not to mention the book. We chat some more about her son and his work as an artist and also about her work as an energy healer, then hang up.

Out on Nine Run Road, Jimmy Dobbs waits for Gladys at their usual rendezvous but something scary happens. A patrol car goes by and then another car. Both cars turn around and come back by. The men in the cars glance at Jimmy just a little too long, and he thinks he recognizes Chief of Police Warner Thompson. As he is starting his car to leave, Gladys suddenly gets in. He would have left anyway but when Gladys gets in she starts an argument about The Man and his instructions to Jimmy to kill her. The argument becomes so heated that Jimmy gets sucked into it and forgets to drive off, and neither of them notices the palmetto fronds rustling on Jimmy's side of the car, near the ditch, or see the face of the man peering at them from behind the fronds.

"What I told you still holds," says Gladys. "I'm going to kill her."

"When?" says Jimmy, partly in disbelief. "Why don't you just clear out your bank account and get out of town? You have a chance to make it anywhere. You have the money you need, you have everything it takes to start over anywhere you want to." Jimmy is again trying to talk sense to Gladys.

"Jimmy, I was born here. My parents were born here. Their parents were born here, and their parents were born here. Where is it you think I can go? I have roots in this town that go way deep. I am not going to just pull them up and move out. Are you kidding? I can get away with murder if I want to. They'll cover for me. We take care of each other. That's the way it's always been and that's the way it always will be. Now give me that bag and let me do what I can to straighten all this out." Gladys can really be hardheaded, thinks Jimmy, as he hands her the little bag of white rocks.

"And Jimmy," she says menacingly. "I hear you've got some new girls. Well, let me tell you something. You keep them where they belong in their part of town and you keep me connected, you understand? I'm not going to give up anything. I want my life the way it is, I want you to keep on giving me the names, and I am going to keep on giving those men what they want. And that is the way it is going to be, understand?"

Jimmy agrees. What else can he do, he thinks? Gladys gets out of the car and walks quickly to her car and drives off. As Jimmy sits and thinks about what to tell The Man, he is startled by a voice behind him.

"Jimmy boy," says a man's voice. "I got something for ya." That's the last thing Jimmy hears as his breath is strangled out of him. He doesn't even see the face of his killer. The only good thing about it is that he is not alive when the words "St. Aug" are carved into his forehead.

The theatre in Level 10 where George and Mavis' play is to be performed has automatically expanded to a size surpassing anything anyone can remember. When word gets out that the filmmakers Sparse and Scarce have permission from the management to film the play, the theatre expands even more to accommodate more seats. No one has ever filmed a theatre Passion Play. They have never gotten permission before. With Sparse and Scarce onboard, the play is becoming the talk of the Creation. Sparse spends his time setting up the equipment while Scarce is busy trying to find out from George whether there is a lot of dialogue or a lot of action. George is promising a lot of both, so the brothers are both thrilled and creatively content.

All of the other plays in production in the Artists Round cancel their performances in order to attend the one-performance-only production of "Virtual Reality, Death, and Remembrance." They might as well. The only reservations being made are for the seats in the expanding theatre in Level 10. Once the Astral Plane theatre expands to the size of St. John's County, it goes on implosion mode, something no theatre has ever done before.

Implosion mode, a function originally built into the expansion mode software by Daedalus, is another feature based on the Creator's design of the Creation. Implosion mode allows the theatre to become bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. This prevents it from becoming larger and larger based on an outdated paradigm in the Physical Plane. If the inside is bigger than the outside, the theatre is not expanding according to non-eternal specifications but according to universals. Like the universe and personal reality, the inside is surrounded by the outside is surrounded by the inside.

"It's a doughnut," comments a member of management who, along with the other members of management, takes time off to watch the implosion mode function.

"No, it's a pretzel," debates one of the doorkeepers who, along with the other doorkeepers, comes to see it function.

"It's neither and it's both," comments a watcher who, along with the other watchers, comes to see it function. Watchers can always be depended on to complicate any debate. That's part of their job.

Whatever it is, it makes perfect sense, and the management, the doorkeepers, and the watchers all stop long enough to watch a theatre do something they have never seen a theatre do before. From any point of view, it is simply magnificent.

On the night the play is performed, management decides to open the theatre much earlier than usual to allow all the audience to find their seats. When the ghosts begin to arrive, management quickly makes the decision to make a special section for them. This is unusual on their part because they prefer never to give preferential treatment to any member of the audience. But in this case, so many ghosts are arriving that management does not want them to have to go through the hassle of being sat on time and again by those who are mistaking them for empty seats.

The debate continues a little too long about making a special section for the ghosts because this has never been done before. But the section is created because Argo Navis, one of the members of management, argues most convincingly, and perhaps a little heatedly, "I am not going to have Saint Teresa sat on by somebody so busy talking with their friends that they don't even notice the Saint is sitting there!"

What astonishes everyone is that once the special section is created, it too goes on automatic expansion mode. Again, a special management meeting is held in which it is discussed that management will not, under any circumstances, give out the information about the size of the expansion of the special section except of course to let George know.

The special section immediately becomes the topic of conversation as the audience waits for the play to begin. The audience is whispering that there are no less than four hundred Saints in the section, not to mention the Magi and Ascended Masters from the Heaven Plane. It was not necessary to create a special seating section for the ascended Hindu Yogis and Gurus from the Serene Plane; they are floating serenely over the audience like colorful Bodhisattvas meditating in lotus position. Sprinkled throughout the Yogis and Gurus are the ascended Buddhist monks from the Serene Plane, also in lotus position, and many Asian Masters from the Serene Plane. The ascended AmerIndian Shamans from the Beautiful Plane are perched on beautiful manifested mountain tops near the ceiling, where the ascended Islamic Sufis from the Beautiful Plane are happily spinning. A part of the ceiling has gone into automatic expansion mode to accommodate the ascended extraterrestrials from the Honorable Plane in their UFOs that are beaming on and off. Far below the ceiling and seated on the floor of the aisles are colorful Mayan Time Lords from the Creator Plane, who can be seen only because of all their beautiful Quetzal feathers. Hovering near the stage is a fluffy pink cloud, and sitting on the cloud is a mysterious little boy wearing a gold jacket.

The management, doorkeepers, and watchers put their posts on automatic so they can witness the brilliance of the theatre software that is designed to accommodate several planes of reality in one single structure. Until this time no one really believed it would do it, but to everyone's astonishment the software is functioning without a hiccup. The marquee inside the theatre is scrolling a special thanks to Daedalus, the programmer. Scattered applause acknowledges his amazing accomplishments but he humbly and telepathically gives the credit to his mentor, the Creator, and to his friend, Dagon-Jah from the Co-Creator Plane, whose small model of the universe so enlightened him in his lifetime. On hearing the name Dagon-Jah, the vast audience applauds and telepathically asks the inventor to appear. As Dagon-Jah rises from his seat in the special section, he is invisible except for the gold halo encircling his head.

All eyes in the audience turn to the special section or to the floating beings as everyone waits for the play to begin. Some people claim to see Saint Augustine in the special section but they can't be sure. Identifying the ghosts is not easy. They are not all that visible to begin with, although everyone perceives them to be there.

As the lights began to dim in the theatre the excited buzz of whispers is heard. DontBugMe and MaliciousCode, because of their lighting experience with the local Shadow Breakers, prove to be capable projection technicians and are given the responsibility of working one of the holograph projectors. They do not take this responsibility lightly, either. Towards the end of the performance, their job is to turn their holograph projector onto StumbleBlock who, incredibly, has been given the opportunity to present a soliloquy of his choice.

StumbleBlock gave the script a cursory read through. After all, he told George, with all his experience with the Bored Players, he only needs to read the script once. His mind is not focused on the script anyway but on how envious Ralph Dragon and MetaphorMan must be right about now. When StumbleBlock peers from behind the curtain and sees the size of the theatre, he knows he is finally going to get the recognition he deserves.

He is practicing his soliloquy, something to do with being an important leader of the Bored Players and how he turned the group around and made them the great players they are. He modifies this occasionally to include something about sacrifices he has made so the group can grow and develop, blah blah blah. As he is practicing his soliloquy, he also is primping and preening his appearance even as the curtain lifts. He is not needed in the first few scenes, so he has plenty of time to improve upon his appearance, which he is completely involved in doing.

The lights dim in the theatre to wild applause as Scene One opens in the living room of a home on St. George Street. Outside the house, the faithful watchdog, played by Roll-Over-Play-Dead, is alert. Inside is a comfortable room with a hardwood floor, a fireplace, several bookshelves filled with books, and a cat played by SmartyCat curled up in the lap of a man, played by George Truax. He is sitting in an easy chair and reading a book. As the scene opens, the man stands up and walks to the fireplace and picks up the ax to chop up a piece of wood for the fire. Just as he does so, a beautiful woman, obviously his wife and played by Mavis Davis, enters the room.

"John, dear," she says. "Are you ready for dinner now?"

"Yes, Isabel," he replies. "Now is wonderful." They put their arms around each other and kiss lovingly, causing the audience to collectively sigh in happiness, for John and Isabel are an interracial couple who have fallen in love and gotten married and are living happily in St. Augustine. The back story is being telepathically transmitted to the audience that John is the son of a freed slave. He is self-educated and has written a well-known book about the local Timacuan Indians. He is also making strides locally as an artist in oils and watercolors. The year is 1704.

Isabel is a budding poet and the daughter of one of the first Abolitionist ministers in America. She met John at a Freedom Meeting, where the two fell in love. They have the distinction of being the first openly interracial married couple in America and they choose to live in St. Augustine, Florida, which grudgingly accepts them. John wants to live there because of the opportunity to make strides in human rights. The old fort was built using impressed Indian labor, convict labor, and slave labor, and now this tradition is to continue in the new construction of the Cubo Defense Line. John is hoping to be instrumental in preventing this terrible exploitation of humanity. Isabel is happy to live anywhere John chooses. Wherever they live it won't be easy, but at least St. Augustine is old enough to be used to accepting into its midst unusual outsiders. Considering that John and Isabel are also English speaking Protestants when most of the population is Spanish speaking Catholics, their life in St. Augustine is bound to be both a blessing and a struggle. But they love each other and they are up for it.

Their social life is naturally restricted, due to the prejudices of the people but they are happily married and enjoying their life together, and not all of the citizens are against them. They have some good, close friends. Unhappily, slave auctions are being held in the Slave Market every week. Part of their crusade together is in trying to bring people to the knowledge that slavery is wrong and that all people need to be respected. In the Passion Play, George and Mavis are reenacting the life they lived together during the Spanish Colonial period in St. Augustine as John and Isabel Calhoun.

As the applause from the audience swells, the scene shifts, and performers playing the props and sets morph into the image of old St. George Street, where John and Isabel stroll happily down the street arm and arm. The horse played by CharleyHorse trots alongside them pulling a carriage. John and Isabel are not welcome in all of the shops, but this is something they have learned to endure, and plenty of shops welcome them. As the performers playing the props and sets continue to morph into the buildings and street scenes familiar to old St. Augustine, "oohs and ahhs" are heard coming from the audience. No one has ever seen props and sets performed so gracefully before. Mavis keeps mentally alternating her gowns to produce the entire wardrobe she owned as Isabel Calhoun. John portrays how he is admired and respected by many of the citizens as a writer and an advocate for the Timacuan Indians, who have suffered so much at the hands of the Spanish. Suddenly, at the end of St. George Street, a deer played by Sterling the Deer, is run over by CharleyHorse but is not badly injured. The audience applauds in relief.

The squirrel played by Footsy runs across the old dirt street, followed by the raccoon played by Rocky the Raccoon. The sounds of the swamp reenactment are heard in the background. Because the audience so enjoys the antiquity and scenes of old St. Augustine in 1704, the performers decide to walk all the way down St. George Street, pleasantly lit with candles and lanterns and wonderfully atmospheric. Even in those days a ghost tour is available, and as they walk past the ghost tour, they can hear the tour guide telling about the Indian ghosts. At that point Osceola makes a cameo appearance as an Indian ghost, to thunderous applause and a standing ovation. Word has already gotten around that Osceola is preparing to go forward to the Beautiful Plane.

By playing the St. George Street scene longer, the prop and set performers get the rare chance to morph into the entire street and the buildings and shops. The supporting cast playing the citizens strolls along the street in resplendent period costumes, talking and laughing just like old times. As the stage automatically expands to include the larger set, waves of applause begin welling up from the vast audience, and this encourages the cast, the props, and the sets to continue the scene for the enjoyment of all.

The holograph technicians are bringing the scene to all the audience members so everyone has a view from all possible angles. An audience member can also request a personal view of a special angle, delivered via the capabilities of one of the many spotter technicians, who spots the audience member any angle they want. Earlier, they handed out special glasses, like 3D glasses, to each member of the audience as they came into the theater, excluding the ghosts and other ascended beings that have transcended the need of such devices. When an audience member wants to view a scene in close-up from a certain angle, all they need to do is activate the glasses then telepathically request the angle from the spotter, who projects the scene at the requested angle onto their glasses. This new invention is by Daedalus, who never fails to come up with things no one else has ever thought of, except for the Creator.

After the audience have plenty of time to enjoy to the fullest the scenes, sights, and smells of old St. Augustine in 1704, the scene shifts to the old fort. The bird named Corinthian flies by, playing the part of the pigeon, and several of the other animal actors get a chance to enter and exit the scene, playing their parts nobly. A sudden burst of applause comes from the audience when the prop and set performers morph into the Castillo de San Marcos. When the supporting cast playing the Spanish soldiers materialize onto the top of the fort, everyone holds their breath in hopes the soldiers fire the cannon. Sure enough, they do, causing such a loud ka-boom that the audience stands and applauds. The performer who plays the part of the cannon is given a round of applause, as is the performer who morphs into the cannon ball and is shot out into the theatre above the audience. It just misses the pink cloud and the little boy in the gold jacket by an inch. The little boy claps his hands in delight.

As the prop performers recede the old fort into the background, the scene shifts to the construction of the Cubo Line that extends from the fort and runs west. This is StumbleBlock's first scene and he is on stage in costume and ready to enact his part. Dramatically and with much flair he takes his place on the stage, obviously proud of being the main character in this scene.

The Cubo Line is a defensive line consisting of a moat and dirt embankments planted with Spanish Bayonets, a type of Yucca plant with sharp-pointed leaves that end in needles. The construction of the Cubo Line is carried out almost entirely by impressed Indian labor and slave labor. How sad to see the degradation of human beings. The scene causes some of the audience to turn away their eyes because they don't want to remember this part of life in the Physical Plane.

Standing in the center of the scene, StumbleBlock plays the character Bury Tripod, a slave who doesn't even have a name but is called by the name of the job he performs. He buries the surveyor's tripod into the ground and he also digs holes for the Yucca plants. Sometimes he digs the moat. His entire life is spent in poor human conditions, with no personal freedom at all and he is a case in point for John Calhoun, who campaigns tirelessly at the city council against the use of Indian and slave labor to build the Cubo Line.

Clearly, the audience cannot endure this scene for long, in which the soldiers and the surveyors enjoy making fun of Bury Tripod, giving him other names like Digger and Moat Goat. Bury Tripod, only in his early twenties, has grown so used to this treatment that he assumes it is just the way life is meant to be. He might have gone on with this life, enduring it however he can, but that he sees John Calhoun strolling freely on St. George Street with the beautiful white woman Isabel. Not until that moment in time does he realize another kind of life is possible for a black man.

Underneath Bury Tripod's calm demeanor suddenly seethes an angry, jealous, and resentful man. All the injuries done him over his lifetime well up like a flood of repressed hatred and flow out of him in the direction of John Calhoun. All he can think about is breaking free of his chains and killing John and Isabel. And so he begins to hatch out a scheme to do just that. As the soldiers make fun of Bury Tripod, he quietly plans the murder of John and Isabel Calhoun.

The scene shifts back to the sitting room of the house where John and Isabel live. John is reading a book while Isabel leaves to take a carriage ride. John hears Roll-Over-Play-Dead make a sound as though in pain, then he hears a loud noise in the bedroom. He rises from his chair to see what it is. The door of the bedroom is suddenly kicked open as Bury Tripod comes into the room and attacks John, attempting to strangle him. When John goes down he strikes his head on the edge of the fireplace mantle and, mortally wounded, loses consciousness. Isabel, who forgot to wear her snood to keep her hair from getting mussed, comes back into the room to get it and sees her husband being murdered by a black man. Bury Tripod grabs Isabel by the throat and strangles her as John momentarily regains consciousness.

John opens his eyes to see Bury Tripod killing the love of his life. With his last ounce of strength, he reaches for the wood ax, picks it up, and flings it as the Timacuan Indians taught him to do, but never did he think he would throw that ax at another human being. The ax strikes Bury Tripod in the lower back, severing his spine and killing him, but not in time to save Isabel. John falls back and dies.

As the action in this scene ends, the moment comes for StumbleBlock's soliloquy but he completely forgets whatever it was he intended to say.

"Quick!" says DontBugMe. "Focus the green light onto his face." MaliciousCode rotates the holographic projector so that the cool green light falls directly onto StumbleBlock's face. The audience collectively holds their breath, for this is the moment that everyone knows about because in each person's life comes a realization of the hurt they cause others. While we may not be murderers, everything in the universe exists to a lessor and to a greater degree.

We all have memories we would prefer to block. Sometimes, we can block the memory of the hurt we cause others, but it doesn't help us to block the memory of the actions we take that are, at worst, deadly or, at least, thoughtless. Everyone in the audience, including the Saints and the Ascended Beings, can relate to the kind of experience StumbleBlock is having, for now he suddenly remembers why he stumbles and why he blocks the memory of it.

StumbleBlock rises and walks to the center of the stage without stumbling. MaliciousCode fades the green light to blue and focuses it on his face. The moment has come that StumbleBlock dreamed of. Every person in an incomprehensibly vast audience is keyed onto every movement he makes. Every person in the audience waits in anticipation of his words. But StumbleBlock says nothing. MaliciousCode fades the blue light to white, and the moment comes when StumbleBlock speaks his soliloquy.

"I give of my life to everyone here. I love you. I have been brought to see that the nightmares I have are memories of something that really happened. I did not want to accept the possibility that I murdered the two people who have been my best friends for the last three hundred years. When I think of the way I have treated them, it is more than any one person can bear. But I can bear it now because I understand it. I do not forgive myself for doing what I did; I leave that to George and Mavis, who have forgiven me. I want to say this in my own defense that I never knew life as a free man. I never knew what it was to love a woman, to hold her in my arms. I was always the man who buried the tripod, who dug the ditch, who slept on the ground. I never knew what it was to be human but I did know what it was to be a dog. Less than a dog because the dog ate first and I ate last.

But now, I want to go back and rewrite the script of my life. I will become a Go Back to that life as Bury Tripod. I will try to live it with all dignity and honor, though it hurts me to think about it. But I will do it and I only ask the Saints for the opportunity to go back and relive that life, this time with a different attitude. For it is not life that kills us. Life makes us who we are and no matter who we are, we can make life a little better for ourselves and for someone else. I want to become a Go Back. I want to give Bury Tripod another chance."

Many of the people in the audience are having sudden memories of things they blocked, and their attention drifts away from StumbleBlock and into themselves, but this is the power of performance art. Then, all eyes begin to turn in the direction of the Saints, and everyone notices the Yogis and Gurus changing rapidly into all the colors of the rainbow. The Buddhist monks are chanting their homage to Creation, the Islamic Sufis are spinning faster, the AmerIndian Shamans on the mountaintops are chanting in their native languages, and the extraterrestrial beamships are blinking at higher frequencies.

As the eyes of the audience focus on the Saints, their eyes focus on StumbleBlock in admiration of a man who recognizes his faults and who offers to redeem himself by asking their permission to relive a life that all people find unbearable.

The audience erupts into thunderous applause for StumbleBlock's performance and by instant unanimous agreement, he is awarded the Artist Most Admired award, in which he will be transported for a moment to the Beautiful Plane. But before it can happen he relinquishes the award to the audience, so that they can go in his place. This one single act of giving up the most cherished award of the Artists Round moves many of the Saints to tears, and feelings of deep love and gratitude for StumbleBlock well up in the theatre. On the stage behind StumbleBlock, George and Mavis hold each other in their arms.

While StumbleBlock awaits their decision, the Saints begin to congratulate Saint George on the play. Saint Augustine, who many thought they saw in the audience, stands up and approaches Saint George, saying, "Well done, well done. This will surely set a precedent." The audience points to the Saints as they became more visible and whispers their names as they became recognizable.

The Saint Teresas congratulate Saint George on bringing a man to redemption with the help of the two people he destroyed. Saint George defers right away to George Truax, who he insists is responsible for most of the success of the Passion Play because of his great compassion for human suffering and because of his desire to repay his debt to StumbleBlock. Several of the women Saints have already formed a focus group to discuss different ways of promoting the new redemption plan, and Catherine of Siena vows to include it in her dialogues. Clare of Assisi suggests organizing some seminars around the new plan, and Saint Teresa wants to include it in her new book about the interior journey.

Saint Vincent, Saint Francis, Saint Paul, and more of the Apostles offer Saint George their congratulations on a job well done, but Saint George defers to StumbleBlock and his great performance of a sinner redeemed. Everyone agrees StumbleBlock deserves to see the Beautiful Plane and they all admire his great act of generosity in giving away the privilege.

The Bored Players, on hearing they won the Performance Most Admired award, give that award to the audience so that everyone can stay in the Beautiful Plane for a few moments more. GoryGuy is given a special recognition plaque for playing so beautifully his part as the horse the dragon rode in on, and Ralph Dragon is widely acknowledged as the comedian of the year for his comical portrayal of Saint George.

This is a great moment of achievement for the St. Augustine Astral Plane, and on the Physical Plane, the tourists and townspeople are out in force to see all the ghost lights, orbs, and apparitions appearing all over town. The only downside is that one of the carriage horses on a ghost tour on St. Francis Street saw the upper half of a Spanish soldier ghost and panicked, running the carriage with its occupants into the sea wall on San Marco. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The carriage driver said that the horse then absolutely refused to go back down St. Francis Street again.

The audience watches with delight the Saints in the special section and notes the gaiety of the Magis, Yogis, Gurus, and Ascended Others. Everyone in the audience is preparing for a visit to the Beautiful Plane, when it will seem to them they have been transported to the plane. In actuality, the plane will come to them. Suddenly, the Saints stop talking, their eyes riveted to a dark spot rotating about twenty feet above the stage, just above the little boy on the pink cloud. George and Mavis, and all of the audience, look up to see what the Saints are looking at.

"What is it, George?" asks Mavis

"I'm not sure," says George.

"Can you ask the Saint?" suggests Mavis.

George can telepathically communicate with Saint George at any time. Because of this special connection, his name is George, and now everyone knows why his last name is Truax. He communicates his question to the Saint.

Mavis waits impatiently. "What is it? What does the Saint say?"

"It can't be," says George, in disbelief. "It just can't be."

As all eyes focus on the small rotating black spot above the stage, it becomes apparent they are looking at a black hole that is becoming a portal. The portal opens and emerging from it is a being of such pure consciousness that the Saints are discussing whether they can project a form for the being to take. As the Saints begin to focus and meditate, so do the Magi, Yogis, Gurus, and all the Ascended Beings. All of the audience is instructed to focus their attention on the black orb to try to bring it into form. But because no one understands what it is, giving it form is difficult to do.

DontBugMe tells MaliciousCode, "Quick, make the background completely white." But even as MaliciousCode turns the holographic projector onto the object and gives it a stark white background, it still doesn't help bring it into view. Instead the black orb hovers in front of the small, spinning black hole.

"The Saints say they can't bring it in. They are trying desperately to hold it but it won't take any of the forms they're projecting."

"What is it?" asks Mavis. "What in the world can it be?"

Just then, the smell of roses wafts throughout the theatre and everyone thinks, "Oh, it's the Virgin Mary." But the Saints telepathically deny that the black orb is the Virgin. Then, as they all stare in astonishment, the audience hears the Saints inform the theatre that the Virgin Mary is going to offer herself as the form for the black orb to take. While they watch, the black orb embodies the Virgin and becomes the replica of her except that her skin is coal black.

Gasps are heard throughout the audience as they realize they are seeing for the first time the most elusive being in the universe and they begin to whisper her name, "The Black Madonna."

"George, is it really the Black Madonna?" asks Mavis.

"I believe it is," says George. "The Saint says it is."

The apparition appearing before them is a being so elusive that some of them never heard of her, others heard of her but don't believe she exists, and others believe she exists but never thought to see her. Most people don't understand the nature of her existence or the purpose of it and they don't understand why she is here now. The Saints are communicating to them that the love they are all feeling for StumbleBlock, and his gift of love to the audience in the form of his cherished award, invoked her into the theatre. She is a being who responds only if she feels a profound outpouring of love in some part of the universe, because whatever part of her that can be invoked into existence in a plane of creation is composed completely of love.

The Black Madonna, called Matawil by the Mayas and Binah by the Hebrew mystics, is the Great Mother. She exists in the Realm of Primal Silence, which is a darkness beyond all conception. She existed when no-thing existed, when nothing had been drawn together, when the Creation was unformed. She existed before there was the motionless sea, before the empty sky, before there were people, birds, fish, trees, stones. She existed when there was no-thing that could tremble or cry. Flatness and emptiness were not even born yet. She existed in the time of eternal night, when silence stood in the dark. And in this darkness she conceived and brought forth a child from nothingness.

As the Virgin Mary embodies her, the Black Madonna sees the individual faces of everyone there. This in itself blesses them. They are forever in her memory for she never forgets anything. They are forever her children, and she loves them, each individual one. The Saints pray to her to appear to them again, and they hear her answer. Whenever there is a great outpouring of love, they know she will return.

For a long moment, the Black Madonna smiles at the little boy floating on the pink cloud, and he smiles at her. Then, as suddenly as she appeared she disappears back into the spinning black hole that disappears with her.

A quiet falls over the theatre that lasts for hours. No one wants to leave. All through the Physical Plane of the town, people quietly go into the churches and the cathedrals to pray, without knowing why. The Black Madonna came to see the man whom everyone loved for realizing what a miserable life he had led, through no fault of his own, and who asked permission to go back and live it again, to try to give it dignity and meaning.

"Well," comments Mavis much later. "It will be talked of for eons."

As for Sparse and Scarce, they achieved the filmmaker's dream. They can hardly believe they captured an event on film that will be viewed throughout all eternity.

Dagon-Jah waits for Daedalus to return and tell him when the King will see him. Daedalus wonders how he will tell Dagon-Jah about the King's refusal.

"I will see no one by the name of Jah," answered the King to Daedalus's request. The King worships Ur Nammu and Ur Troda. To allow Dagon-Jah into his presence is to insult these gods.

Daedalus makes a suggestion to Dagon-Jah, as he watches the terrible disappointment come over the brilliant man's face. "Were you to take the name Ur-Ra as your new name, the King will likely see you and view your masterpiece." He did not expect Dagon-Jah to adopt a new name but he had to at least make the suggestion. Dagon-Jah will not do it. "How can I disavow Jah in this way who has never disavowed me. My masterpiece will go unnoticed for now but not for all time. Jah's voice will talk to another, and somewhere in time someone will see the disk and know it is Jah's story. I will return home to Phaistos."

Daedalus must accept Dagon-Jah's decision. As Dagon-Jah leaves the palace, Daedalus remarks to him again how much he admires his work. But Daedalus cannot accept the complete loss of Dagon-Jah's masterpiece.

As the preparations begin for the festival dance in the central court of the palace, Daedalus draws the pattern of the dance in red paint in the sand. The dance of the labyrinth follows the exact pattern of Dagon-Jah's masterpiece. Daedalus draws the large figure 8 with four spirals in each loop. Then, he shows the dancers how to proceed. They lock their arms around each other's shoulders and start at the center of the spiral in the top loop and dance around and around until they cross over to the spirals of the second loop. Then, they turn and dance their way back, making the shape of a figure 8. The pattern is so large that eight hundred dancers can participate. The King is impressed with this new invention of Daedalus and compliments him, but Daedalus tells the King it is the masterpiece of Dagon-Jah.

The King is furious but he cannot discharge his inventor. Instead, he uses the pattern to make sacrifices to Ur Nammu. The King orders the release of a bull into central court. He sends in bull leapers to enrage the bull, then he orders his warriors to send in captives one by one to battle the bull, and one by one the captives are slain and mutilated on the pattern of Dagon-Jah's masterpiece.

Then, the King tires of endless bloodshed and invents a game. He sends Ariadne into the central court to leap the bull and lead it through the spirals with the captive between them. If she is successful the captive will live, but if not the captive will die. After several failed attempts, the sailor Theseus offers to enter the central court and challenge the bull. Now, Ariadne must save Theseus and lead him and the bull through all the spirals of the maze. If she takes them to the center of the other loop of the figure 8 before the bull can destroy Theseus, they will be released and rewarded.

But before she can do this, Theseus grabs the bull by the horns and pulls a long knife hidden under his clothes and slays the bull. This bull sport becomes so popular that any bull leaper who can prevent the death of a captive is called Ariadne, and any captive who can kill the bull is called Theseus. The bull that dies is given the name Minotaur – the King's Bull.

The spirals of the labyrinth become known as the thread of Ariadne and, in honor of the man who painted the maze puzzle onto the ground of central court, the pattern of the masterpiece of Dagon-Jah becomes known throughout time as the Maze of Daedalus.

A tragedy occurred later when Icarus, without his father's permission, put on the big white wings his father invented and jumped off a fourth story building in the palace in an attempt to fly over the central court where the pattern of Dagon-Jah's masterpiece was permanently painted on the ground. He died when the wings failed to hold him aloft. A legend developed from this incident in which, as the story goes, Icarus tried to fly out of the inescapable maze by attaching wings to himself with wax that melted, causing him to crash.

When Dagon-Jah returns to Phaistos he places the disk in a compartment inside the Phaistos Palace and puts with it a tablet explaining its meaning. When someone finds it they will see it is the story of Jah, thinks Dagon-Jah. For the next 3,600 years the disk remains in the compartment, preserved from crumbling by Dagon-Jah's kiln invention.

In 1905 C.E. a French archeologist finds it and the Linear A tablet that tells about the disk. But the language on the tablet has long since been forgotten, and the people, in following Ur Nammu and the other created gods, have long since forgotten about Jah. They know nothing of his story.

Parts of the story of Jah were preserved in Greek mythology, in the story of Rhea and her son Zeus, who was born in a cave on Crete. Jah's name was preserved by the Hebrews of long ago in their stories of Jahweh, the vengeful god of the people's creation. But the story is lost of the sweet and loving Jahoveh who returns every twenty star years to his mother and who speaks in the minds of people. Because Jah and Re-Ah were long forgotten by the people, Jah would have to find a way to remind the people of their creator.

So Jah came onto the Earth as Ja-sus, just as he told Dagon-Jah he would. Ja-sus taught the people of the compassionate, forgiving, loving Creator, but many of the people were infuriated like the King and would not hear of it. Ja-sus was despised by the followers of Jahweh and was murdered by the followers of Ur Nammu and the other created gods. But the masterpiece of Dagon-Jah preserves to this day the story of Jah while the jealous followers of Ur Nammu and the other created gods fight among themselves in their attempt to destroy the Masterpiece of Jah.

Before I answer the knock at the door, I peep through the curtain. It is Chief of Police Warner Thompson. I open the door and greet him through the latched screen door.

"Grace, I need to talk with you," Warner says.

I unlatch the screen door and open it. Warner walks into the living room slowly, his eyes taking in the whole room in a glance as he notes the location of the doors. While he notes the room I notice how large he seems inside my house. He didn't seem so big before but perhaps that was because I never saw him in a room with a standard ceiling. His office in the courthouse has a high ceiling, and the dining room in the Greek Goddess Cafe has a cathedral ceiling. My library has a cathedral ceiling, so I invite him in there. It has the effect of reducing him in stature, making him a little smaller and less intimidating.

"How many books do you have?" he asks, on seeing the five bookshelves of books.

"I don't know, maybe a thousand."

"Grace, I came to talk about your roommate, Stephen."

Back to that again, I think. Why this focus on Stephen? It can't be jealousy, can it? My mind wants to entertain the idea that Warner is romantically interested in me, but I won't let it run on in that direction because it directly conflicts with my other notion that he is the local serial killer. I decide to play along with Warner.

"Ok, what about him?"

"Can we sit down?" Warner reminds me I haven't invited him to sit.

"Oh, I am sorry. Please sit down. Can I offer you some coffee or tea?" My Southern hospitality is returning.

"Iced tea is fine," he replies. I go into the kitchen to make his iced tea. When I return he is standing by one of the bookshelves, reading the titles of some of the books.

"What a collection. Have you read all these books?"

"Some of them. I might get around to reading more of them eventually. Not likely though. I want to sell them on the Internet."

'Oh, I see," he says. "They're for sale. You have a bookstore on the Internet."

"Not exactly. I have a website on the Internet with books for sale on the website but I wouldn't call it a bookstore."

"Hmmm. Here are some of your favorites, I bet -- Haunted Heartland, The Haunted, 13 Collected Ghost Stories."

"No, I don't usually read ghost stories. I have so many friends who are ghosts that I leave it up to them to tell me their stories."

"Oh," he says, smiling at me. "Which you then turn into a book."

"Right."

"How is your book coming?"

Is he ever going to get to the point of his visit? What is he fishing around about, anyway? "My book is coming along just fine, I guess," I fib.

"What about Stephen. Does he read any of these books?" Warner asks, nonchalantly.

"Not really. He's interested in the conspiracy books more than the rest."

"Oh? Which ones? Does he have a favorite?"

"Well, I notice he's interested in those books on the top shelf there. Most of them are conspiracy books. I think he likes Beyond Top Secret, a conspiracy book about the worldwide UFO security threat."

Warner reaches up and pulls the book from the shelf. When he does, a knife falls from the top of the book onto the shelf, startling both of us. I don't know why, but my first instinct is to grab that knife. Without hesitation, I reach up and grab it by the handle.

"Don't touch it!" says Warner, too late. "Grace," he says, in exasperation, "why did you do that? Give me that knife."

I am not going to give Warner the knife. The instinct that I followed in grabbing the knife is also telling me not to give him the knife. I don't know why, but a part of me wants him to leave right now. But I know better than to point the blade of the knife at him, even as I know not to hand it to him. I hold it in my hand and don't relinquish it. Common sense tells you to give the chief of police the knife you are holding when he tells you too, but some other sense tells me to hang onto that knife.

"All right," he says, in frustration. "You keep the knife. But do me one small favor. Do not touch the blade."

"Why?" I ask, stepping back from him a couple of steps.

"Because it may contain vital DNA evidence." That's when I realize Warner thinks he has found the knife used to carve St. Aug onto the foreheads of those women. It simultaneously occurs to me that, because of how I am acting, he might even think that the knife belongs to me, and that I am the murderer.

The knife does belong to me. It is the paring knife my mother gave me when she was helping me stock my kitchen when I moved into the apartment on St. George Street. Now, here I am looking like the murderer in a murder movie, whose weapon has just been discovered by the police. Thank goodness it is not a gun or I would be standing there holding a gun on the chief of police. I would surely look guilty.

"Is that your knife, Grace?"

"Yes," I admit, dreading his next question. I can almost hear him say, "And did you kill those girls?" But that is not what he says next.

"Where did you get that knife?"

"My mother gave it to me. It was one of her favorite knives. She complained later on that she gave me her best knife."

"I see. And do you always keep that knife on the bookshelf?"

"No." I am beginning to feel more like a foolish child than a threatened woman. "The knife stays in a drawer in the kitchen."

"Can we go look in that drawer in the kitchen?" he asks, politely.

"Ok." I almost say, "You go first." A part of me wants to get into the drama of this situation, my one big chance to be in an Agatha Christie murder mystery as the suspect holding the knife.

I follow Warner into the kitchen. He says, "Which drawer do you keep your knives in?"

I point to the second drawer but just as I do I realize what a fool I am for showing Warner where he can get another knife. What an idiot! I told him where to get his murder weapon. Now, I might have to knife fight with him to the death. And I was crazy enough to arm him with a weapon. At that, I point the knife at him. He glances at me, noting that the knife is pointed at him. He slowly opens the drawer.

He reaches in the drawer and comes out with a paring knife. "Is this the knife your mother gave you?" The knife he holds is the exact twin of the one I hold. "Did she give you two knives like this?"

"No," I answer, in confusion. "She only gave me one knife like that. These knives are exactly the same!" I don't notice that, in my confusion, I am now holding the handle of the knife in my open palm, looking closely at it. My knife is no longer pointed at Warner.

"They are not exactly identical," he corrects me, holding his knife next to mine. "Yours has a serrated edge and a carving tip. Can you look at the blades and tell me which knife belongs to your mother?"

"Yes, it's the one you're holding."

"How can you tell?"

"When I sharpened it on the sharpening stone, it left those streaks on the blade."

"So the knife you are holding is not the knife your mother gave you."

"No," I answer, still confused. "It's not."

"Do you have a freezer bag?" Why in the world does he ask me that?

"Yes, in the pantry."

Watching me, Warner gets a freezer bag out of the pantry and opens it, saying, "Without touching the blade of your knife, drop it in here." Like a little confused child, I obey. That leaves me with no knife while Warner has the other knife. But by now, I figure I am lost anyway if he is going to kill me because he has outsmarted me to the extent that I am ready to concede I have lost the knife fight.

"Thank you," he says. "You have wiped off the fingerprints on the handle, which is really unfortunate, but you did not touch the blade, and that is good." He is talking to me like I'm a little child, so we are in agreement about that.

"Grace," he says. "I want to drink that iced tea now." We walk together into the library and sit down. I wait to hear what Warner has to say. I am beginning to realize that the knife we found is the one used to carve those horrible letters, and that if it is not my knife, which it is not, then it belongs to my roommate Stephen.

Warner takes a long sip of iced tea and says, "Earlier today I drove out to Nine Run Road. I was following a hunch. I saw a car I recognized out there that belongs to Jimmy Dobbs." Warner took another sip. "I know you don't know Jimmy Dobbs. He's a local pimp and crack dealer. I went back out there about a half-hour later, and his car was still parked there. He looked like he was asleep in it. I got out to see what he was doing sleeping in his car on Nine Run Road, and I...well, he was dead, and he had 'St. Aug' carved on his forehead.

When I first drove out there," Warner continues, "I saw another car go by with a man in it I thought I recognized. I didn't pay much attention to it but I noted the color of the car and the make. I didn't get the plate because there was no need to. When I got back to town I saw that car parked in the parking lot at the Moonlight Restaurant. I went in and talked to your roommate, Stephen, who said it was his car and that he had been out on Nine Run Road earlier taking a server home. I was about to leave to check out his story when the manager showed up and asked me what I was doing there. I told him I had been talking with his assistant manager, Stephen Allger. He said to me, 'Oh, you mean Auger. Stephen Auger.'" Warner let that sink in a minute.

I remembered how Stephen looked too long at that deposit receipt I gave him. I remembered I thought maybe I misspelled his name.

Warner takes another sip of tea and continues. "If you wanted to abbreviate Stephen Auger, you might write it as 'St. Aug.'" Neither of us spoke.

Finally I ask, thinking of my book, "What hunch were you following when you went out to Nine Run Road?

"Actually, I was following Gladys Kurtz, in case she might lead me to something. I know Gladys isn't on the up and up."

I decide I better tell Warner about my threatening phone call from Gladys and about Stephen offering to tail her to see what he could come up with. Warner is upset that I didn't report it to him immediately.

"Well," I explain, lamely, "I didn't know if you were the killer or not." Poor Warner. He sits and sips his tea, looking crestfallen and consequently a little silly in his chief of police uniform, like a little boy with a broken toy.

"I'm sorry," I apologize.

"It will certainly make a good plot for your book," he replies, gamely. Neither of us speaks for a moment.

"Ok, get packed and let's go," he says.

"Go where? I don't want to go anywhere."

"You can't stay here," he insists. "You're living with a serial killer, Grace. Get your things."

"No. What about my cat?"

"Bring the cat. I have an extra room in my house. You can stay there until we get this straightened out.

"I don't want to leave, Warner. What good will that do?"

"It will save your life probably, and you can come back once we get the DNA evidence off that knife."

"But I wiped off his fingerprints, and that knife was on my bookshelf, and it now has my fingerprints on it. What about me? I might be a suspect, too. Isn't there some way we can get his fingerprints back onto that knife?"

Warner looks at me, a little amazed. "Not without putting your life in danger."

"You know what? I don't really believe my life is in danger from Stephen. For one thing, if he kills me he has to find another place to live, and you know how tough that can be in St. Augustine." I am making a joke but Warner isn't laughing.

"It's not a joke; it's dead serious. He has now killed six people. Do you want to be number seven?"

"No, I don't want to be number seven. But let's figure something out. I feel safe with you." I smile at him and try to make up with him for thinking he is a serial killer. "And you've got a great big gun. Instead of you being so determined to get me out of here, why don't we come up with some way we can trick Stephen and get his fingerprints back on that knife."

Warner can see my mind is made up. He has to come up with a foolproof plan. "Ok," he says. "Let me think about it."

"You think about it and I'll get you some more iced tea." I get up and go into the kitchen to give him some space to work out his plan. Then, a plan occurs to me.

"I have an idea," I tell Warner. "It just might work."

"Let's hear it."

"Well, we can put my knife on the book in the bookshelf and we'll turn on the floor lamps in the library and draw the window shades. When the lamps are on and the shades are drawn, whoever is in the room casts a shadow on the shade, and from the outside the shadow makes a perfect silhouette. You can hide outside in the backyard. When Stephen comes home I will accuse him of being the killer. I will threaten him with going the police. He'll panic and reach for the knife on the bookshelf and he won't notice that it's not the same knife. When he reaches for the knife, you'll see it on silhouette, and then you can come through the back door and grab him. His fingerprints will be on the knife, I'll be in the clear, and you'll have your killer. What do you think?"

"Might work. What if he doesn't reach for the knife?"

"If he doesn't reach for the knife then I'll tell him that I found the knife, and make like I am going to reach for it. He'll grab it to keep me from getting it, and his fingerprints will be on it. You'll come in and grab him."

"Ok, but if he doesn't fall for any of this, you agree to leave the house and stay with me until the DNA evidence is confirmed, right?" Warner has me there. I have to agree.

We put my mother's knife on the shelf and turn on the lamps and draw the shades. In about ten minutes, it will be twilight outside and the shadows in the room will become silhouettes on the window shades. Warner leaves through the back door and I am getting mentally prepared for what is to come.

Just as Warner goes through the back door, I hear a knock at the front door. I peer through the curtain and see Gladys Kurtz standing on the front porch. With Warner in the backyard, I feel safe to let her in. I lead her into the library and invite her to sit down. It isn't dark but I don't think Gladys has come to kill me just yet. She probably just wants to talk me into abandoning my book. At any rate, Warner will be happy to bag two criminals instead of just one.

But Gladys refuses to sit and I notice she is holding something in her right hand. It's a knife. Does she mean to kill me on the spot? I can feel my heart beating as fear of her rises in me. Gladys is saying something to me, something about the trouble I am causing her, but I can't really hear her. I am at the bottom of a bucket and she is talking down into it, her voice sounding hollow and distant. I only know she means to kill me.

Everything is happening too fast. How can I slow it down? It's not dark yet and Warner can't see her shadow. I close my eyes and peer into the bucket. I can't see any faces or any color. I focus inwardly, calling my guardian angels. Telepathically I call, "Praetorian Guards appear. Your Empress commands you to appear. Hurry!"

"Stage call for the Shadow Breakers! Stage call, emergency stage call!" DontBugMe and MaliciousCode rotate the blue beacon rapidly to connect as quickly as possible with the Shadow Breakers. The Saint is urging them to hurry.

Almost instantly ten Shadow Breakers appear, but two more are immediately needed to bring the quota up to twelve. DontBugMe and MaliciousCode finally are getting the opportunity they have been waiting for, the moment they have been rehearsing for. At last, they will be stand-ins with the Shadow Breakers. They will go through the portal as Praetorian Guards. Quickly, they manifest their costumes, making them match as closely as possible George's costume.

"Where are Jack Tolvey and Larry Welch?" asks George. He hears the Saint say they are an advance guard who already went through the portal in the emergency of the moment. George suddenly realizes that the Saint means for DontBugMe and MaliciousCode to be stand-ins for Jack and Larry. George quickly checks out their uniforms and makes sure they have shields and swords. He gives them both a thumbs up.

"Column, advance!" George the general calls out. He leads the way through the portal, with Mavis directly behind him and with DontBugMe and MaliciousCode bringing up the rear. They enter the Physical Plane and the realm of the living through the Empress's hot water heater closet and station themselves throughout the house, especially in the corners of the library where the Empress is seated against the outer wall in one of her sage green chairs.

As I sit and listen to Gladys talking about how I am making her life a mess because of my book, I can feel my heart pounding. But I relax a little as I peer into the bucket and began to see the faces of the Shadow Breakers.

"Praying?" taunts Gladys in a wicked voice. "Or just looking for the covenant in your ark? Better search for some weapons in there; you're going to need them." She is enjoying herself in the moment, as though she has lived her entire life hoping for the opportunity to terrify and kill someone. And, horribly, I am the person she means to kill. Just as she makes a move towards me, I see Stephen come into the library behind her. Neither of us heard him enter the house.

"Stephen," I gasp in relief.

"That's an old trick," says Gladys, "but it won't work on me. I'm just a little bit smarter than that."

"But not that smart," says Stephen from behind her. She wheels around in surprise, but he is one move ahead of her. He knocks the knife from her hand and puts both of his hands around her throat, strangling the life out of her. She goes down slowly and lies dead on the floor. He picks up her knife and begins to carve the words 'St. Aug' into her forehead.

I can't speak and I can't stand to look at what Stephen is doing. If I could find my voice, I wouldn't know what to say anyway. So instead I close my eyes and peer into the bucket. I see a pulsing, electric blue light, and I see the faces of the Shadow Breakers. I am beginning to feel safe but until I can put some distance between Stephen and me I am not going to be out of danger.

Finally, it's twilight outside, and our shadows will cast silhouettes on the shades, but I am sitting in a chair against the wall and Stephen is on the floor bending over Gladys. Warner in the backyard can't see anything in the room, and Stephen won't be reaching for the knife. He already has one, no thanks to Gladys. As I realize the situation I am in, I peer into the bucket. I hear Stephen's voice and it pulls me out of myself and back into the room. He is sitting beside Gladys on the floor.

"You don't know what it's like," he says to me.

"What Stephen?" I can hardly speak.

"Being a crack baby, growing up like that in foster homes, people thinking you're a walking birth defect, treating you like a freak. Oh, it's not the crack. I never wanted crack, but years and years of the stigma of being a crack baby. You can't know what it's like, Grace. No one can understand it who hasn't lived it, and no one should ever have to live that kind of a life."

I find my voice again, "And so you killed them so they wouldn't make any more babies like you."

"Yes," he says. "Exactly. Look at me. I'm the monster they always said I was."

"What about Jimmy Dobbs?" Right away I wish I hadn't said that.

"Oh, so you've talked to Warner Thompson already." He quickly looks around him in suspicion that Warner is somewhere hiding in the room. Stephen is still sitting on the floor, beneath the window and casting no shadow.

"Jimmy Dobbs deserved to die. He was addicting those girls to crack and no matter how many I killed, he went and got more. He's as much to blame as they are for the babies they make. Because of him, those babies have to grow up in homes like the ones I grew up in. The words 'crack baby' might as well be carved on their foreheads. They cannot escape it. Ever. You can't know what that's like."

"And Gladys?" My heart is pounding.

"She's one of them," he says. "Just a high class hooker, that's all. She's no better than the rest, maybe worse than the rest because she has a whole town willing to cover for her."

"Not if they know what she is," I argue. Never argue with a killer, I chide myself.

"But they will never know. She's too smart, but not anymore. She's not too smart anymore, are you, Miss Gladys?" He pokes her lifeless body with the knife.

I start to stand up. I need Warner to see me in the room.

"Sit down," commands Stephen. "I'm not done with my performance."

He looks at me intently, and with the knife in his hand pointing straight at me, he begins to stand up. He glances at the two floor lamps and then at the window where the shades are drawn, as if putting two and two together and coming up with Warner in the backyard. "Time to go," he says. At the same time that Stephen begins to stand with his knife pointed at me, a terrible fear begins to overtake me. Maybe he knows Warner is in the backyard and maybe he doesn't. Maybe he means to kill me. He is looking so intensely at me, I think I might have a heart attack if my heart doesn't stop beating so hard. Out loud I call, "Bar Mitzvah Praetorius! Your Empress commands you to appear!"

George, standing in the right corner of the library, and the other Shadow Breakers stationed in the library and throughout the house, can feel the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius move into their bodies. As the Shadow Breakers embody the guardian angels from the Divine Plane, they feel themselves expand and they began to encompass the house, as though they become an electric blue cobalt house. Everything that happens after that happens within the arena made by the Praetorian Guards as they create a circle of shields around their Empress. They can control everything.

When the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius come in they bring with them the Divine Plane. Instantly the Shadow Breakers feel the plane spread out around them in all its indescribable glory. They might be understandably distracted by it but George the general commands them to focus on the room where the Empress sits in the green chair. He overhears the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius, on surmising the situation, tell the Saint they are calling in the Archangel Michael.

The Saint commands George, "General, spin your sword!" George holds his blue sword in the palm of his right hand, tip pointed up, and with his mind begins to make it spin. This calls in the Archangel. All of the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius and the Shadow Breakers who embody them stand at attention as the Archangel is beckoned.

Out in the backyard, Warner goes to his patrol car parked in the alley beside the house. He turns down the speaker of his radio and gets his rifle. He returns to the backyard and sets up his post behind the Elephant Ear plant, where he waits. Night falls but he can't see any shadows on the window and he wonders where Grace is. He ought to be able to see her shadow in the room. Why is she not in the room? A little time passes and he begins to get edgy. Maybe he ought to go in. Maybe the plan isn't working. Just as he is about to stand up, he hears the voice in his head tell him, "The time is coming." He sees the shadow of Stephen rise up from the floor beneath the window. Stephen is a long shadow holding a knife. Now, the voice says urgently, "The time has come!"

"Oh my God!" says Warner. Has Stephen already killed Grace? He takes careful aim with the rifle and whispers his prayer, "Oh, God. Please don't let me miss." Trying to stop the trembling, trying to steady the rifle, he slowly pulls the trigger.

As Stephen rises, I call the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius. I began to feel a presence inside of me combating my fear with love. As I close my eyes to peer into the bucket, I feel more love than I ever felt before deep inside me, and the fear begins to subside. My heartbeat begins to slow. I hear the voices of the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius reassure me, "He is here!"

As I peer into the bucket, the surface is awash in pulsing, cobalt blue light that suddenly springs into my eyeballs and explodes out into the room with a loud crack like lightning or a rifle shot. Time seems to stand still when appears before me in the center of the room a blue, winged archangel holding a silver shield in one hand and a spinning blue sword in the palm of his other hand. The light is so bright, I almost turn my eyes away, but our eyes meet, and in my mind I hear the resplendent archangel tell me, "Michael."

Just in that moment the room, the house, the town, everything disappears except for a circle of silver shields around me. I know the shields keep me safe. Spreading out around me and around the Archangel infinitely in all directions is the universe and all its brilliant planes of reality. As my mind grasps the entirety of Creation, I think I stop breathing. But I never take my eyes from those of the Archangel. They are so intense I cannot look away even if I want to.

The blue light of his spinning sword lights the shapes of the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius holding the shields, and I can see their outlines. They are in a circle around us, men and women, some of them 10-feet tall, but the blue archangel is taller. I see them lay their swords beside them and, as a group, go down on bended knee, their eyes fixed on the magnificent being in the center of the room. When they kneel, a stream of brilliant white lightning connects the centers of their shields, one after another, and locks them in place in a circle around Michael and me.

Then, the Archangel looks at me in sudden recognition as though he knows me from eons ago. That recognition brings me to stand at the center of a vast and suddenly comprehensible universe of colors, and I can hear the music of the angelic choir.

The Archangel goes down on bended knee before me. When he kneels down, I know in the moment what it means, that the vast Creation is a great living being, a World Soul, with all the individual souls related to each other like members of a family. The Archangel brings me to the Truth that each individual member is just as important to the Creation as the entirety of the Divine Family.

That concept expands my mind and I become superconscious because of the presence of the Archangel. As I stand at the center of the world I realize that the Creation is a symbol that stands for a simple, eternal Truth, that the individual soul matters as much as the entire Creation. But this Truth is so profound that it takes a universe to express it. We all play our parts in the dramatization of this Truth. The Creator is the Truth and so is the Creation.

I know that the Archangel is a GodSend and a Divine Messenger. The message is that the Creation can be shifted instantly to serve the needs of one individual soul. This is what is written on the Covenant in the Arc, the promise of divine intervention. The Archangel brings everything into perfect alignment, and when everything is in perfect alignment, the Archangel is fulfilled.

All over the world there is murder taking place and there always will be, but it has nothing to do with the Truth, and the Creation is never diminished by it. Just as I think I understand it all, I have the revelation that the Creator and the Creation are in service to the individual and also to something beyond itself, something so moving that it motivates the Creator to Create. Beyond the Creator, out in the vast, dark void of infinity, exists a being that the Creator loves as dearly as the Creation. That being is so complete within itself that it can exist without anyone or anything giving it expression. Its sole desire is to give of itself. That Being is Love.

I don't know how long I stood at the center of the world taking it all in. It could not have been longer than a few seconds but when the eternal concepts filled my mind I experienced eternity. Time spread out infinitely until it ceased to exist. Time stood still until I heard the Bar Mitzvah Praetorius again say, "He is here!"

Just then, Warner comes through the back door and runs into the room as the apparitions vanish. "Grace!" he calls out, but I can barely hear him. I might have stayed in that state of mind forever but for Warner shaking me and calling my name.

"Grace! Are you all right?" The relief in his voice at finding me alive brings me back to the Physical Plane.

"Yes, I'm all right," I answer, seeing for the first time the lifeless body of Stephen.

"The house smells like roses," Warner says.

"The Virgin Mary is here," I tell him.

"Where?" he asks in surprise.

"Inside me."

Just then we hear a knock at the front door and a familiar voice call out, "Grace! Are you home?"

"Josh and Aaron," says Warner, with a smile.

"I wouldn't want to have your Personal Redemption Plan," says JuicyGirl to Stephen. "That's gonna be a workout." Stephen is coming awake into his new life in the Astral Plane.

"Who are you?" he asks, in confusion.

"We're here to guide you," says JuicyGirl, innocently enough. "You're one of us, now," she says, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

"Who are you?" he asks again.

"That's twice. Your name is RepeaterMan," JuicyGirl says, laughing.

"I think I know him," says ActorGirl.

"No, I don't recognize him," says JuicyGirl.

"Well, then, how do you know he is supposed to be a Cut Up?" asks ActorGirl.

"George told me," says JuicyGirl. "He said I can give him a name. He said RepeaterMan has a Personal Redemption Plan that is complex and that he can start working it out with us. We're supposed to take him into our group."

"But we just got two new players today already with complicated redemption plans," debates ActorGirl, who is hoping not to lose any stage time because of the new players. "We just got RunaMuk and PowerGirl," she says, referring to Jimmy Dobbs and Gladys Kurtz. "Technically, RepeaterMan should not be one of the Cut Ups. He should be a Bored Player."

"Agreed," says JuicyGirl, "But they are reforming into a comedy act." JuicyGirl can hardly conceal her excitement. While members of the Bored Players are branching off and reworking their act, the Cut Ups will get larger audiences. "He doesn't belong with the new group. George says he doesn't really belong with us, either, but we can use him as a stage hand or a lighting tech or something."

ActorGirl is relived to hear that. If they need a stagehand and a lighting tech, it means their act is expanding, and at least RepeaterMan will not be upstaging her any time soon. As for RunaMuk and PowerGirl, they will just have to wait their turns to get on the stage. Those are the rules. So for awhile, she is still going to get as many parts to play as she wants, even though their act has suddenly grown from five to eight members.

Louise and MetaphorMan meet with Mavis and George. Louise explains to them that she and MetaphorMan have decided to become Go Backs.

"I had a stillborn brother long before I was born. We think it was MetaphorMan. And when I told him about my past life, about the addiction to crack, and that there is a man in town they call The Man who is supplying everyone with crack, MetaphorMan wants to go back and stop him."

"Gang busters!" says MetaphorMan. "Blow the lid off!"

"Right," says Louise. "We want to go back as brother and sister and start over. MetaphorMan wants to become chief of police and I just want to get the chance to live my life the way I always meant to. We think if we go back together we can both help each other to achieve our goals."

MetaphorMan nods his head, 'yes.'

Mavis loves the idea. "Do you think the Saint can arrange it?" she asks George.

George can already hear the Saint giving his consent. "Yes," says George, "I think he can."

Louise and MetaphorMan hold hands in joy, and Mavis begins to get a little weepy at the wonder of it. "Isn't the Creation wonderful?" she says. "Just think of it, two people can make a decision like this and it can happen."

"Yes," says MetaphorMan. "We can go home again."

Convincing Gary Gravestone to let RunaMuk, PowerGirl, and RepeaterMan live as roommates in Osceola's room at the old fort is not going to be easy.

"You know, Gary," says George. "These three need to learn how to live together."

"I'm not arguing with you, George," says Gary. "But that's prime property, primo real estate. I want somebody in there that can get with the program, someone that deserves it, someone who can really haunt the place with class. Come on, now. Let me parcel that out to someone else. You have to remember, Osceola is in that room. We need someone who can follow in the tradition of that energy."

"Ok," agrees George, reluctantly.

"Tell you what," says Gary. "I have a large space coming up on King Street. It's big enough for three people, and it's airy and nice. If you will let me put the person of my choice in the old fort, I will let you have that space on King Street for your folks."

"Deal," says George. He can always depend on Gary to come up with a good plan. And in the end, Gary always manages to find the proper place for every ghost in St. Augustine.

"So," says Mavis later. "Is everything straightened out to your satisfaction?"

George notices that since right before their Passion Play, Mavis doesn't speak in rhyme anymore. "I think everything is straightened out," says George, sublimely.

"Then, let's make plans to go forward," she says.

"You mean...you're ready?"

"I am," says Mavis. "I was wondering, though...well...do you think we could go with Osceola? It would be nice to have three of us go together, you know..." She is hoping George understands.

"I'll ask the Saint." He can already hear the Saint giving permission. "Yes," says George. "We can go with Osceola."

Mavis sighs in relief. "What about StumbleBlock? What did the Saints decide to do about him?"

"It turns out they thought he would do well to go back, but certainly not to that horrible life he had before. He is now a fifty-five year-old man named Warner, one of the Praetorian Guards on Earth. He's a friend of the Empress. He was there."

"But he was here only a few days ago."

"The Saints expedited him," explains George. "An emergency situation came up involving the Empress."

"Oh."

"One of the benefits of being a Go Back is Back Travel, a space-time program conceived of by Lord Pacal and implemented by the Mayan Time Lords. StumbleBlock volunteered."

"How does Back Travel work?" asks Mavis.

"When we go to help the Empress, we go to the Physical Plane through a space portal. StumbleBlock went through a time portal and was born fifty-five years ago, Earth time, in St. Augustine. Remember, we're outside the window of time. History can't touch us. With the Mayan Time Lords developing the time portals, we can go anywhere in time. When DontBugMe and MaliciousCode heard StumbleBlock volunteered, they volunteered to go back with him. They're now two young men in their early twenties, Praetorian Guards on Earth named Josh and Aaron. They're friends of the Empress. They were there."

"Back Travel sounds interesting," says Mavis, laughing with George at her dramatic understatement.

Warner invites me to accompany him on a ghost tour and then go out for seafood at the Dock and Marina Restaurant. I think for one-tenth of a second before saying, "Yes."

As we walk along St. George Street in the twilight, Warner tells me the good news that his younger sister is pregnant with twins.

"It's like a miracle, really. She didn't think she could have children and now, at 42, she's going to have twins."

"They did the ultrasound?"

"Yes. It's a boy and a girl. I'll be an uncle. I never thought I would have a nephew." He smiles broadly.

"And a niece," I remind him.

"Well, sure, a niece. But she probably doesn't want to be chief of police."

"And the nephew does?" I try not to laugh at him.

"Yes," he says, emphatically.

"And you know this because..."

"A little voice told me," he says. "I'll get him a little chief of police patrol car, a little chief of police hat, and a little chief of police badge."

"And a little chief of police gun?" I can't help but add.

He laughs. "Later on, when he's old enough, I'll take him out to the rifle range and teach him how to shoot. He'll be just like his Uncle Warner," he says, puffing up with pride at the thought of it.

The tour stops in front of St. Augustine House, and we smile at each other as the tour guide tells us about the gangster ghosts that haunt the building. Later on, we walk down St. George Street to St. Francis Street and then on to the restaurant, where we eat the best seafood in town. What a marvel, being on a dinner date with this man. I can't remember why I ever suspected him of being anything but a truly great guy.

"What are you going to do now?" he asks.

"Finish my book."

"I can't wait to read it," he says.

"Good, because you're in it."

He laughs. "What about that TV production you were telling me about?"

"I don't know. Doesn't seem important anymore."

"Oh, don't say that," says Warner. "It will get important again. Wait and see. In between that and the writing, you'll go out with me again, I hope."

I think for one-tenth of a second before saying, 'Yes.'"

As George and Mavis finish their preparations for the launching ceremony to the Beautiful Plane, a surprise send-off ghost tour is arranged, with Mavis charged with keeping it a secret from George. She is to lead George down St. George Street to St. Augustine House, where the surprise performance is to be held. Their special ghost tour is in exactly the same location as the other ghost tour with the Empress. Mavis planned it that way.

All their friends are assembled in a wide circle around a pygmy woman who waits for the guests of honor to arrive. As George and Mavis enter the group, the pygmy produces a furnace to sit on and a salamander. "This is for you, George," the pygmy says, "and for you too, Mavis."

The pygmy performance artist announces she will now perform, with the help of her assistant Sally Salamander, the ancient metaphor called "The Fire that does not Consume." She lights the pieces of wood and places them into the furnace, where they become blazing hot coals. She releases Sally into the blazing inferno where she will surely meet her death. Everyone watches as the little creature strolls into the blazing fire and promptly dies.

But before anyone can be concerned, it reforms itself and strolls out the other end, alive again. The salamander dies in the blaze but is not consumed by the fire. Everyone applauds the performance, and they all laugh as the little creature stands on its back legs and takes a bow.

"Now that's what I call properly enacted metaphor," says George, smiling at Mavis and holding her hand.

"That's what I call life," says Mavis, smiling back at him.

Copyright Notice - Disk of the World - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1993-2025, Claire Grace Watson, B.A., M.S.T., U.S. Copyright and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, All rights reserved. No part of this web page may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.