Demon

Timothy

It’s finally Sunday. I’m so excited that Natalie is getting home this afternoon. I don’t think I’ll probably be able to see her today, but I know when we get back to school tomorrow she’ll be there.

Mom got up and went to work with Dad still sleeping again. Same as last weekend. Hopefully he won’t be yelling from bad dreams this time. I’ve heard it happen a couple of times in the middle of the night this week. I’m sorry he’s having nightmares. I’d talk to Natalie about it if she was here. I wonder if Angel can tell us anything about how dreams work. Is there some experiment we can do to help?

I’ll have to think about that.

For now, though, I’m really happy with everything I’ve done on the bible locations project. I’ve got pages and pages of notes, and I’ve marked up a map, and made a big chart full of information about archeological sites in Israel. This is really interesting, and I’m excited to show everything to Natalie. I wonder when is the next time she’ll be able to come over here.

I hadn't thought about today being Easter until Mom gave me this Easter basket before she left for work. I'm glad she did. I’m munching on jelly beans while I look over my notes.

Michael’s

I worriedly watch my beloved slumber. His plan to use the pills to achieve sleep was far more successful than he anticipated. His wife, relieved that he has finally managed to get some rest, silently departed for work, happy to see him sleeping so soundly.

However, his body is reacting to the unfamiliar substance by more than simply peaceful sleep. His respiratory system appears to be suppressed by the chemicals in his bloodstream. His breathing is unusually slow and shallow. His wife perceived this as her husband finally getting the quiet rest that he needs. But I can see that his breathing and heart rate are both becoming slower as time goes by. He craved this sleep, but I fear it is at the expense of his health.

I fervently hope that he will soon wake. Perhaps once he arises and moves about, possibly ingests some nutrients, his systems will return to normal.

As the minutes go by, however, my hope dims. He shows no signs of consciousness. In fact, his respiration has further slowed.

“My darling,” I whisper to him, trying to rouse him, “you should awaken. Your son is here, you should arise and spend time with him.”

Nothing changes. His breathing slows further, and my alarm increases. His respiration has actually become dangerously low.

“Beloved, awaken!”

Nothing. More time passes. Timothy is in his room, intently studying his maps. Michael takes a shallow breath, then pauses for several seconds before taking another.

“My dearest! Please! Arise!”

I frantically move as close as I can to him, appealing to his subconscious, trying to jolt him awake. Nothing I can do penetrates the deep torpor in which he slumbers.

“Michael! Wake up!”

Another brief breath, another long pause. The dangerous reality becomes clear to me. His life is at risk.

I don’t know what else I can do to help him. It appears that his respiration has nearly ceased entirely. I fear that this lifetime will draw to a close, our time together will end, I will find myself collecting his beautiful soul, and leaving him behind, this existence relegated to memory. I do not wish for this to happen. Michael is young, and strong, and vigorous, and it has been a remarkable privilege to observe his son’s relationship with the Seer. I want more time with him. I do not want this lifetime to be over.

I weep helplessly.

Another inhalation, very brief and shallow, followed by another pause of several seconds.

No!

Timothy sits obliviously in his room, just feet away from the unfolding tragedy. His Guardian watches, full of sympathy for my plight.

That is the answer, I realize. I have observed as Timothy’s Guardian communicates with him, and as the Guardians around the Seer speak with each other. Guardians need not always be utterly helpless to affect the lives of their Guarded. I have learned this by watching the Seer’s group.

I have never before tried to converse directly with another Guardian, as I have seen them do with each other. But I am filled with desperation and now, suddenly, hope. Perhaps there is a way.

“Guardian!” I implore Timothy’s Guardian, using the name that the child has given him. I scarcely notice how bizarre it is to be speaking to another Guardian, so dire is the situation. “Please, can you help? If only Timothy can awaken his father, perhaps he can be saved!”

Timothy

I wonder where I can get a more detailed map of Israel. I’ll bet the library has maps. Or maybe I’d have to buy one? Do bookstores have maps? Maybe I can…

“Timothy!”

It startles me so much that I drop the book on the floor. I’ve never heard Guardian so loud, so clear, except when I am mostly asleep, practically dreaming.

I’m not afraid, but I’m very surprised. Why is this happening? What is he doing? I quickly remember to open my mind up, trying very hard to concentrate only on Guardian, to hear what he wants.

It works.

“Go to your father! Now!”

I don’t stop to ask why. I know that when I hear him first thing in the morning, there isn’t time to waste, so I need to use whatever seconds I have to communicate. I still don’t know why all of the sudden I can hear Guardian, sounding so urgent, but I don’t waste time to wonder about it. I’m already out the door of my room, running down the hall.

I’m trying to keep my mind as open as I can while I’m doing this. I usually am sitting quietly when I’m trying to hear Guardian, but obviously that isn’t possible now. Guardian is in a huge hurry to get me to Dad. So I’m in a hurry too.

I burst into his room, and see him lying in bed, on his back, sound asleep. I hesitate. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. Why is Guardian so frantic? I can feel him, almost panicking, at the edge of my mind.

“Go to him!”

I go over there, and stand right next to the bed, looking at him closely. I realize that even though he just looks like he’s asleep, he isn’t moving at all, not snoring or even breathing as far as I can tell.

Then Guardian’s panic hits me, floods over me like a tidal wave. I understand now why Guardian is yelling at me. Dad’s not breathing!

Guardian pushes me forward.

I shake his shoulder. “Dad!” I yell at him.

He takes in a short breath. I’m so relieved. But then, he doesn’t seem to keep breathing. Why isn’t he breathing? I don’t know what is wrong, but I know, I can tell from what I am feeling from Guardian, that everything depends on me waking Dad up.

I actually get up on the bed with him, lean over him, stare right into his face.

“Dad!” I scream at him, louder than I have screamed since I was a toddler having a tantrum. I think he takes another tiny breath in, then is completely still again.

“Wake up!” I shriek, and I start to shake him as hard as I can, my hands on his big shoulders, frantically pulling him up and down.

Guardian is there with me, helping me. I can feel him. He must be using a ton of extra energy. I don’t hear words any more, I think because I’m doing exactly what he wants me to do. But he feels so real to me in this moment. We are both here, working together to get Dad awake, make him start breathing.

I feel even more energy, flowing all around, more than I’ve ever felt.

I lean around Dad, to push him up from behind, thinking that if he isn’t laying flat on his back it might help. He’s so heavy. I’m barely able to lift him up a little, and I cram the pillow from Mom’s side of the bed back there behind him to keep him up.

His head rolls backwards. I grab his head on both sides, and pull it back up. I keep my hands on the sides of his face and shake him some more, still yelling. “Wake up!”

His head just lolls there, heavy in my hands, and his eyes stay closed. He still doesn’t seem to be breathing. I’m really panicking now. Nothing is working. What else can I do? Suddenly I remember the last time I felt this way, terrified and desperate, when Jonathan was attacking Natalie on the jungle gym. So I do what I did then. I reach out with my mind, seeking, grabbing, trying to connect to Dad’s mind. He’s in there, sleeping. If I can’t wake him up from the outside, maybe I can do it from the inside. I feel Guardian’s energy filling me up, helping me reach. Then I think I feel the connection, a sense of Dad, together with the connection I feel with Guardian. “Wake up!” I scream again, both with my mouth and with my mind.

Finally, he inhales more sharply, and I feel him move his head away from me. I’m about an inch away from his face when he opens his eyes.