The Spaces in Between (14 page)

Cameron kicked sand up and cursed the man in black. He charged over a sand dune furious over the inconvenience of dying. The man in black had set him back who knows how long, and he had no clue where he might have taken the tablets. What actually disturbed Cameron and would prevent him from getting sleep if he could was that the man in black was in league with Lam. The hive mind was wary of attacking him head on again, but he was unaware of Lam having minions. That worried him, and his train of thought made a stop at Warren Elliot station.

Would those minions target anyone else I know? Could Lam possibly know farther back to before I was the Pirate King? Surely not. Lam wanted the tablets, and Cameron not only let them kill him but take the tablets as well.

He suddenly felt himself flying through the air, and he was relieved that finally something was going right. However, when his face was buried in the burning sand he knew that he had merely tripped. What was the point of being dead if you can’t get any of the benefits of it? Cameron cursed under his nonexistent breath.

He turned himself over and picked up the offending thing in his path. It was a revolver. Cameron really didn’t know much about guns. This gun appeared to be a newer make than Ryoma’s Smith and Wesson .45, and probably wasn’t a Smith and Wesson at all. The gun itself appeared ancient like it had been decaying for centuries. What little he knew about guns he was certain that a revolver bearing the date of 1984 and ‘Made in USA’ should not be lying in the desert of an alien world with centuries worth of decay.

Cameron turned and furiously dug through the sand. His efforts were rewarded shortly by finding a human femur and a collection of more bones far too eroded to identify. What is this? A dumping ground for the man in black? Lam, even?

He twirled the femur between his index and middle finger lost in thought. He saw a shadow pass over the sand it was the first one he had seen all day. The shadow stopped at the piles of bones.
A carrion spirit.
Another denizen of this world that Cameron hated, but he dropped these feelings into the well of hate inside him. Its black waters gurgled to the mouth of the well, which now bulged like a glass of water filled to the brim.

“These bones are mine,” Cameron said, “but I’ll let you have them if you tell me where I am!” The spirit replied in a tongue that Cameron could not identify, understand, or even draw any context. This might not seem entirely strange, but it did to Cameron. Spirits, deities, and other denizens of the Astral can comprehend and speak all languages save for the Logos, the word of God. Certainly the spirit was not speaking in the Logos. Even if it was speaking the Logos all things can understand the Logos like a well-trained dog. A dog cannot speak English just as the owner can’t speak Dog, but they come to an understanding.

The spirit lashed out at Cameron with the same contempt he felt for it. He split its ethereal form with ease using his bare hands. He was still much stronger than it being solid and all. There was only one explanation illogical enough for this.

Cameron’s heart sank into his stomach. Well it didn’t really; he just felt that it should. The man in black had dropped Cameron into another universe.

7

Ryoma paced around Cameron’s cabin in Cameron’s dead body. He had raided the tiny refrigerator that was in Cameron’s room and eaten everything that was inside of it with relish. He wasn’t sure how exactly Cameron lived on just cheese and sugar, but it was delicious. Even the white powder inside the little yellow box was all right. It was like eating everything that had ever been in the refrigerator all at once. The only thing he did regret was the funny tasting sushi and wasabi that may have been weeks old. He wasn’t sure how that would affect Cameron’s digestive tract, but it might be interesting.

It didn’t matter at the moment, because of the buzz Ryoma got from the case of Redbull that was in the vegetable crisper. He was also on a much higher quest – to get into Cameron’s liquor cabinet. However on a quick investigation all he found were empty bottles. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Cameron didn’t have that great of a stock since he could will food and liquor into existence.

That would be a very handy ability
, Ryoma thought with Cameron’s brain.
I…ought to look into how much of Cameron’s brain is still intact.
Ryoma delved into Cameron’s memories.
I know Cameron is from Earth, but how did he end up out here?

Cameron’s memories started to play on the movie screen of Cameron’s mind. Ryoma remembered that he should turn off his cell phone, but since he didn’t own one he put the safety on his Smith and Wesson.

8

You would think that being in another Universe wouldn’t be that big of a deal to Cameron. If you think this surely your intergalactic terminology is flawed. The word you are thinking of is Galaxy, which is a collection of star systems. If he was merely in another galaxy that would be no big deal. Most people think that there should be a lot in the universe since it is infinite, but mathematicians and Douglas Adams know the truth. Infinity equals zero. There is not much out there in the Universe. The number of planets in the Universe that can support life are so few they can be rounded down to zero.

That left very few options where Cameron could be.

Now that would be the case if Cameron was in another Galaxy.

But this is not the case at all. A Universe is a collection of all that there is in space. What is the point of a unit of measurement if all you are ever going to count is one? That is where the Multiverse comes in. Outside of this Universe and outside Creation is
Aur
. This is the great sea of magic and chaos that is pretty much beyond human comprehension. Floating in this sea are other Universes like islands. Each of these Universes is essentially similar, but there is a slight change that makes is drastically different.

Each Universe is supposed to remain separate from the other. This extends past physical objects to the spiritual realms as well including even heaven, hell, and all the spaces in-between. Some go as far as to say there is an alternate version of us in each of these Universes that share the same soul. This is also known as horseshit. It requires a huge ego to think that you are so important the Multiverse would want to have several copies of you.

Occasionally, these Universes collide and sometimes even merge. Not that anyone would notice it. If history and reality were to suddenly change people would just believe it was “always that way”, and move on with their lives. It didn’t matter that they were wrong, because at the same time they were right. When a change is made to a Universe it starts from the very beginning of that Universe.

But there is one cross Universal event that is always noticed – a visitor.

Visitors are not welcome in other Universes. Not in the sense that certain races and religions are not welcome in certain regions of West Virginia past dark, but that an object from another Universe is rejected like a bad kidney. Even if the conditions would be correct in their home Universe the same air in another universe becomes toxic, the water corrosive, and the ground lava.

Cameron was looking at the century’s worth of damage that occurred in less than two decades. Now that he knew what to look for he began to notice that his Astral body was disintegrating. He had a feeling that his soul wouldn’t travel to this Universe’s afterlife. Matter cannot be destroyed, only changed. The Universe was converting him to matter from this Universe; Cameron didn’t want to find out what the basic components of a soul were, or if they could feel.

9

Ryoma found himself wishing for popcorn in Cameron’s minds eye theatre and it appeared in his hands. He tried some, but found it bland, overly greasy, and too salty. If he had taste buds when he started visiting the movie theatres Ryoma would have known that this was the authentic movie going experience. For the taste he was relying on Cameron’s memories. We may not always be able to pull up the memory of what popcorn tastes like, but it’s buried somewhere since we automatically know this flavor when we taste it.

On the screen was what was seen through Cameron’s eye about five years ago based on Ryoma guess from the movie marquee Cameron glanced at while walking down the street. He approached a structure that looked to him like a series of caves with stairs leading up to each mouth. It was covered in the homeless. Did Americans build caves for their homeless? Seemed rather progressive.

No, that’s just a monument.
Cameron’s subconscious replied.

Ryoma assumed this must have been near the ocean since the smell of dead fish almost overpowered the smell of human urine. He only found one of those hobo’s particularly interesting and that was he one wearing a messenger bag with a sword tucked between the bag’s flaps. Ryoma couldn’t quite identify that sword, but he found it very similar to the one William Wallace carried in
Braveheart
. He was confident in his knowledge that American’s never carried swords until now, but he noticed markers on the sword proclaiming “Made in Pakistan.” and “404 Stainless Steel”.

Cameron was also interested in the man and called the man The Urban Shaman. The Urban Shaman was nowhere as dirty as the other homeless – he seemed to bathe at least twice a week. He probably washed his clothes once a month. He did reek but it was mostly of lavender, sandalwood, and other herbs that Cameron could not identify wafting from the Shaman’s messenger bag.

“Are you the Urban Shaman?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Urban Shaman replied, “One secret for one sandwich. That is the currency here.”

“I beg you for an apprenticeship.”

“Well that’s a different matter entirely. Are you willing to give up all your material possessions under my tutelage? Willing to live here amongst us for the length of your apprenticeship?”

There was a pause. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
What’s a month or two?

“Alright. Hand me your billfold.” Cameron complied, and the Urban Shaman pocketed it. Before Cameron could protest the Urban Shaman shifted around Cameron and dropped the wad of cash into a nearby Salvation Army kettle. “Let this be the first lesson: don’t hand all your money, credit cards, and plane tickets to a complete stranger.”

***

The scene changed. The trees, sorry, tree was now in bloom.

A man in a business suit dropped a Subway bag at the Urban Shaman’s feet at the homeless monument. “It used to just cost a six inch.”

“Inflation,” the Urban Shaman replied and gestured at Cameron. “Oh, your wife is cheating on you.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask you about. I know that.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

“I need to know what next week’s lotto numbers are, then I can leave that bitch.”

“You’re mistress is pregnant with twins. She just got out of the gyno’s and dialed your number.” The businessman’s cell phone rang.

‘Hello? Are you sure?” the man answered. He wandered off lost in his cell phone call.

“Why is it that you never tell them the future?” Cameron said. “With that pinpoint accuracy I’m sure you could have given him those numbers.”

“He did not deserve those numbers,” the Urban Shaman said and opened the Subway bag. “The future is next to impossible to accurately predict, but I can see the past flawlessly.” He handed a wrapped six-inch sub to Cameron.

“This is a veggie sub,” Cameron protested, “What a cheap skate! You could easily make a living with your skills.”

“I know that’s why I am.”

“No, I mean a real living like with money. Lot’s of psychics do it.”

“Adding money into the equation cheapens the gift,” the Urban Shaman said, “I would hardly call those charlatans psychic.”

“Well, why won’t you teach me how to do that?” Cameron took a bite of his sub.

“I think this whole tirade should answer your question.”

“But it’s been six months and all you’ve shown me is the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram and the Middle Pillar. I don’t know where you’ve been but those rituals are pretty basic and pretty well known in occult circles.”

The Urban Shaman held up a hand to shush Cameron while he took a bite of his sandwich. Then another. “You say you knew them before, but your pronunciation is horrible. I will teach you no more until you can at least get those two right.”

“Yes, yes, teaching by the fine tradition of the Golden Dawn. Look those dark ages of the Occult are over. This is the Age of Aquarius! All of these common techniques are out in the open now. I came to you for tutoring in your own skills.”

The Urban Shaman rolled his eyes. “And that’s what I’m doing, but we seem to be going over this everyday. I’m not sure if it’s my skills you’re actually looking for. If you want to be a TV psychic I’m sure you’ve got all you need to start now. Geeze, if you practiced as passionately as you’d argue with me it probably wouldn’t take you another six months to get those rituals right.”

“Another six months!” Cameron said. “I don’t have this kind of time. The world is still moving on out there while we’re still squatting in this fucking, piss-soaked monument!” He threw his sub to the ground. “I’m leaving.”

With a flourish the Urban Shaman produced Cameron’s billfold from his sleeve. “Let it never be known that I am a thief or a slaver.” Cameron grabbed the wallet, but the Urban Shaman held on with ferocity rarely seen in him. There was a sense of urgency in his eyes. “Karmic debt is upon the teacher for the student’s actions. Please use what I have taught you wisely.” It was the same look he gave Warren Elliot before releasing him.

Cameron wretched the billfold out of the Urban Shaman’s hands. “You’ve taught me a couple of banishing rituals. What wrong could I do with that?”

***

But he ditched the Urban Shaman so that’s not where Cameron got his powers.
Ryoma pondered in the sticky theatre seat.
Why did he want power so badly?

A reply echoed through the theatre in Cameron’s voice: “I was afraid of being a nobody. Just another dull, boring existence.”