Doctor Kurian asked the patient under hypnosis what he was seeing.
Fleetwood blew out a breath that fogged the inside of his CPAP mask like a spiderweb. “I’m floating over my body and looking down. I see my lips are moving. I’m talking to you.”
His patient was a stage 4 cancer patient. He’d come to him for help to get rid of the voices he heard in his head. Kurian frowned. “How did you leave your body?”
“I didn’t want to. My body is dying. It kicked me out. Now I’m moving up, up, toward a big, beautiful light.”
Kurian looked at his patient. His chest wasn't moving and his oxygen tank was still. His eyes widened, he rushed over to Fleetwood, and grabbed his hand. With his fingers, he took his pulse. His heartbeat was getting weak and slow.
Kurian had used hypnosis on patients before, but he never had a patient die on him while under hypnosis. He had hypnotized Fleetwood, hoping to discover what unconscious influences could be behind the voices in his head.
Fleetwood’s skin was ashen gray. He had probably a minute left, at best.
Kurian swallowed a massive lump in his throat. I probably should just let him die in peace, shouldn’t I? He wrestled with the question, agonizing, going back and forth over the pros and cons. But in the end, the doctor in him won out. There was very little science on life after death. Reporting these findings could help the medical community. He asked, “What do you see now?”
Fleetwood’s visage darkened. “I’ve been stopped. Someone is blocking me from going to the light.”
“Who?”
“A strange person with sharp teeth and red eyes. He’s a Rishi. I don’t know why I know this. And I also know his name is Jamadagni.”
Kurian’s jaw fell like an anvil. People had spoken in hushed voices about Rishis when he was growing up in India. They were said to be monks with incredible psychic powers. Some of them could possess living people, or reincarnate. Rishu Jamadagni was the most famous Rishi of all time, dating back to 500 BC.
Kurian stroked his long beard. Could Jamadagni be an archetype Fleetwood dredged up from childhood? Maybe he represents his desire to live?
Fleetwood stiffened and let out a blood-curdling scream, making Kurian jump.
“Fleetwood! Are you all right? What’s going on?”
Fleetwood’s body slumped.
Kurian reached out to touch him but suddenly Fleetwood’s body jerked, like someone was tasering him.
Then Fleetwood’s body relaxed and he opened his eyes. Fleetwood's gaze locked on Kurian, giving him a predatory smile. His patient looked different.
Fleetwood’s arm leapt out, grabbing Kurian by his throat. He started choking him. Kurian tried to yell stop, but all he could do was feel the fire of a thousand hot suns burning in his throat. He’d never felt anything more painful in his life. He could smell his flesh cooking.
Kurian’s legs flew out from under him like bowling pins. He collapsed to the floor, breaking Fleetwood’s grip.
Kurian screamed, gasping for air, his heart pounding like it was a prisoner. He looked at himself in the mirror by the door. He had a red burn mark on his throat in the shape of a handprint. It looked like a third-degree burn. He felt his stomach nose-dive into his groin.
The elderly Fleetwood stood up and took a deep pull from his oxygen tank. It hissed like an angry rattlesnake. Fleetwood’s voice sounded different now. It was youthful and strong. “How nice. I have returned to this damn world!”
Kurian made a painful gasp, “Fleetwood…why...?”
“Fleetwood is dead. I’m Jamadagni. This body has become mine now.”
Jamadagni began striding across the room towards Kurian. Kurian hurriedly stumbled to his feet. He opened the back door to his office, then quickly locked it.
He’d built an addition to his home and later decided to turn it into an office. He’d done it because of the agoraphobia he’d developed after being the victim in a car accident a year ago.
From behind the safety of the locked door, Kurian painfully croaked, “I’m afraid our session is going to have to end early today, Mr. Fleet --, ah, Mr. Jamadagni.”
Kurian looked down and saw the door handle turning red. His mouth gaped and he quickly stepped away. The handle glowed white hot, then melted off, hitting the floor with a heavy clunk.
Jamadagni reached into the freshly made hole in the door and turned the bolt. Then he opened the door.
Kurian’s lips trembled, “What…what in the hell are you?”
A smile curved the harsh lines of Jamadagni’s mouth.
Is Fleetwood really a Rishi? Rishis are just myths. They aren’t even real. Kurian backed away into the kitchen and Fleetwood stalked after him. As Fleetwood passed by the stove, flames leaped to life on the gas burners. I’ve gotta be careful, he’s powerful.
Jamadagni growled, “I’m tired of being in this mortal realm, enduring its endless cycle. I’ve been born, died, and reborn, over and over again for more lifetimes anyone could stand. Nothing ever changes. I am ready to ascend to Moksha but the other Rishis are preventing me. They want me to continue to fight the war of good versus evil. I told them I don’t want to fight in the war anymore. But they keep reincarnating me. They keep making me come back and fight that endless war.”
“So don’t. Just ignore them.”
“No. It’s impossible. Evil always wins, every time. They say if you can’t beat them, join them. So I’m joining the dark forces. I hope this will tip the scales of power to end this conflict once and for all. That is how I will make sure nothing will tether me to this world again. But to do that, I must kill them all. They must stop reincarnating me so I will finally have peace.” Jamadagni narrowed his eyes, “And I can’t have you telling the Rishis I’m coming.“
“I won’t. Don't worry.”
“I don't trust you. And I can't take any chances.” Jamadagni raised the oxygen tank and smashed it into Kurian’s face.
Kurian stumbled back as the momentum of the blow carried him back into the family room. He crumpled to the floor, seeing lights dancing drunkenly around his eyes. Pain lanced into his head like an electric drill. He spat out a bloody tooth.
Jamadagni walked into the room. As he passed by the television, it turned on, blaring a commercial about a medical pill with smiling people.
Kurian crawled to the front door. The door led to the outside, to freedom, where he could get away. But as he grasped the handle, he felt a panic attack coming on.
He was starting to hyperventilate. He felt sweat dripping down his shirt. His agoraphobia was taking hold of him. He wanted to be alert before he went outside, to be in control. He couldn’t let his guard down. If he did, he felt like another car accident or something bad could happen to him again.
Jamadagni chuckled, “Seems like you can’t go outside. How unfortunate.”
“What? How did you know that?”
“I’m a Rishi. I’m a psychic. Good-bye, Doctor Kurian!” Jamadagni raised the oxygen tank.
Kurian desperately rasped, “You’re going to come out of your sleep. On the count of three, you will come out of hypnosis. One, two, three!” Kurian clapped his hands.
Jamadagni’s eyes widened and he screamed, “NOOOOOO!” But then his eyes rolled back into his head and his body collapsed to the ground.
The walls and windows of the house suddenly began to rumble. Kurian heard what sounded like screams of rage coming from within the walls. Then, the rumbling moved up to the roof, and it was gone.
He pulled back the drapes to the window, seeing a watery wisp of smoke rising high toward clouds of snowy powder smeared upon the sky. Kurian watched as the smoke dissipated into the bright sun.
He touched his patient’s wrist. He had no pulse. The body was cold. He hoped Fleetwood was finally now at peace. Perhaps someday Jamadagni would be too.
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