A wee glance at Realms

I finally finished my book this summer. It has been a real labor of love and strongly feel that the inspiration, motivation and topic were divinely given. It's the only thing that can explain what came out. I've been letting friends read it to see how they thought of it. So far the response has been positive. My "manager" (I know he'll appreciate that) told me straight out that he doesn't read a whole lot, but listens mostly-to books on tape. He then stated that he may read it if I posted it online (which is the new trend in book writing anyway) so I felt it may be time to wet your whistles.
May I present....REALMS.

Realms
By: Kat Barrilleaux


Life And Death

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.” – Deut. 30:19 (NIV)


Prologue

She woke up screaming. When I entered the room to calm her, I felt a mixture of chaos and excitement; a feeling that, I have to admit, I hadn’t felt in years.

“NOO!!”
“Margi?! Holy Lord God…Doctor…DOCTOR…SHE”S AWAKE…! Margi, it’s me, Nurse Harlow…listen to me…”
“Malahi!”
“Stay with me Margi…DOCTOR...listen to me honey, calm down…”
“MALAHI!”
“DOCTOR JENSON, I NEED YOU IN HERE!”

She seemed disoriented and delirious; a common reaction to waking from a lengthy coma.

“What’s going on!? Margi, you’re alright! It’s Moody Jenson, You’re at White’s Creek Hospital. Jade, what happened here?!” Dr. Jenson firmly pressed one hand down upon the gyrating women’s shoulder while the other frantically searched for pupil definition.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had been adamant about not being taken off life support. There was a fear there; a genuine fear of “The Ultimate”, as she referred to it. She believed that being unplugged would force her into a cell; a cell she would never be able to leave. It would be dark and cold, unending and, most of all, lonely.

“Malahi!”
“Margi, it’s Moody Jenson. You’ve been in a coma and I’m going to give you some medicine that will help to calm you down, ok?!” As he shifted from one eye to the next, he raised the light to the second pupil and determined that the first step was sedation…and quickly.
“What happened here, Jade?”
“I don’t know, sir…one moment she’s…then the next she’s wide awake, screaming for Mala..Malahi!”

It seemed, however, that “The Ultimate” would become something far more than she could possibly ever imagine.


llllllllll

“Good Morning, Margaret. You look like you’re feeling a little better?”
Doctor Moody Jenson walked confidently into the white walled room and stared at his clipboard. His stature possessed an air of prestige and knowledge. Of course he was knowledgeable, Margaret knew that first hand. As she sat up slowly within his presence, she found herself staring at him, lost in thought. The Dr. Jenson she knew had wanted to be a doctor since the third grade when he had broken his foot. The doctors responsible for mending his injury were, to him, angels sent from heaven; a common theme to him.
Margaret always found she rather enjoyed listening to him and, even though she wasn’t altogether sure she believed what he did, she fancied losing herself in his childhood stories where angels roamed, floating around in white dresses, playing magical horns or flutes. It was a topic that creatively inspired her and for that she had been grateful.
Margaret could not remember the first time she had met Moody Jenson. It seemed as if they had always known each other and she could only guess that they had experienced babyhood together. Knowing someone your entire life can expose differences and yet, despite their differences, Margaret felt continually grateful for Moody. Throughout her life, his presence seemed to always be in the right place at the right time. From prom disasters to personal loss and addictions, his face had become as familiar to her as a summer rainstorm.
Moody was the Best Man at Margaret’s wedding and it seemed only natural to allow him to deliver her twin children, first Joana, whom reminded the family on numerous occasions, then Roger.
On the twin’s eighth birthday, Dr. Moody Jenson stood from the dining room table, raised his glass, declared his love for the Glund family, and then announced, ‘he had been selected to be the Chief Neurologist in a neighboring city and was moving due to this opportunity to follow his passion’.
His absence was felt by Margaret; however, it wasn’t until six months after her husband’s abrupt and tragic death that she too, packed herself and her children and, in a state of delirium for familiarity, followed.

Sitting upright, Margaret placed her palm against her forehead and gushed, “Moody, where…where am I?”
“Margi, you’re ok. You’re at White’s Creek Hospital. This is gonna be cold.”
As he spoke, he fumbled for his stethoscope. After placing the ear tips in his ears, he cracked his neck and held the flat end up against her bare back. Margaret leaned forward as the cooled metal touched her skin. Her head was aching as she breathed in and out for Dr. Jenson who listened intently.
“Margi, do you…know how you…got to be here?”
Closing her eyes, Margaret’s mind flooded with the reality of where she was and why.

“…so I said to Dustin, well, I guess you can come, you know, jokingly, and he said he would see!! Isn’t that awesome, Mom?” Joana Glund, a walking contradiction, like every other 16 year old, member of J.T. Miller High School’s “Fighting Bobcat’s” volleyball team and ballet dancer extraordinaire, propped her bare baby doll feet up on the grayish black dashboard of her mother’s used 2002 Chevy Malibu and began to paint her toenails with a seashell blue nail polish she had picked up earlier that day at the dollar store. “I mean, Dustin Sickler! What a dream, seriously, Mom, you’ll see.”
“You get nail polish on my car and we’ll see who’s dreamin’.”
Margaret Glund peered calmly out the glass and lazily watched as the traffic in front of her moved in and out like waves in an ocean. She had come a long way, she had thought. Here she was, a 3 year manager of a local retail boutique, mother of recently turned 16 year old twins Joana and Roger Glund.
The last fact about her was a hard one to bear, a widow of four years, left behind by the love of her young life, Sam Glund and yet, she certainly had no reservations about attributing her growth as a person to the tragedy. Margaret smiled as she watched her little girl sitting beside her, intent in concentrating on applying nail polish in a moving vehicle. ‘It wasn’t always this easy’ she thought.
After a few lefts and rights and almost every stoplight, Margaret pulled her white, four-door, leather seats and a cup holder Malibu into the StarWhite Valley strip mall where she would be dropping her daughter off for her Saturday ballet lesson. After rounding several grassy medians that were meant to be decorative but were more of an annoying obstacle, Margaret pulled the car in front of the familiar window-walled entrance of Kit’s Dance Instruction, made sure she had correctly positioned herself between the yellow markers and slowed to a stop before turning to her daughter.
“Jo, you call me when you’re done, ok? No more of this getting a ride home and not telling anyone the ‘who, what, when, and where.’ Ok, Joana?”
Joana busily gathered her two ballet bags together and rolled her eyes at an angle her mother couldn’t see.
“Jo?”
“Yes ma’am.” She slid out of her seat and leaned back in to give her mom a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Mom. See ya tonight.”

“I had a few errands to run after dropping her off.” Margaret, although feeling a desperate sense of urgency, controlled herself, thought for a moment, and then spoke again. “I got onto the highway, heading back towards McGonnel’s grocery store. I knew it was quicker than going the back way; you know full well Sam would have argued the rest of the way to the contrary. I don’t remember having any time to react. One moment I was singing out loud, which…you know how that always turns out…and then next…a deafeningly loud crack in my left ear. After that…” Margaret stopped. She could feel her lungs pinching at her chest and winced as she took in another deep breath. Dr. Jenson looked at her for a moment then picked up where her silence had left off.
“You don’t remember anything after you were hit?”
“I..I” Margaret paused. She wanted to tell him as she thought desperately about the past few days. Her mind blurry and unfocused she simply stated, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What wouldn’t I understand, Margi?”
She let out a breath of surrender, saying, “Nothing…I…can I have a glass of water?”
“Sure. Nurse Harlow, will you please get Mrs. Glund a glass of water?” Dr. Jenson calmly asked and continued his observation. “Can you to follow my finger with your eyes?”
As Dr. Jenson continued testing her senses by tapping her in several places she was positive she didn’t want to be tapped and listening to her rapid heartbeat, he spoke softly as he told her everything he knew, concerning her case. Margi found his doctor-ness quite appealing most of the time. She had known he was a tell-it-like-it-is kind of guy and appreciated his candor.
“So, this is what I know. Uh, a male, teenage owner of a pickup truck fell asleep at the wheel. Police estimate he was going at approximately 75 miles per hour when he crossed over the three lanes of the southbound traffic he was in and angled into the northbound traffic you were in. Both your vehicle and his, careened off the road and down an embankment. You don’t recall any of this?”
“Unfortunately, no. Like I said, I heard the crack and I…I really don’t…”
Dr. Jenson continued, “You must’ve hit your head pretty hard when the cars impacted.”
Margaret paused. Clear as day, she envisioned herself lying on her back next to her smoking car. “Wait, wait, wait. I…I remember…I heard voices and I felt myself drifting in…” Closing her eyes, Margaret recalled those final moments.

“OH MY GOD!, WE NEED HELP OVER HERE!!!! MA’AM? CAN YOU HEAR ME?! Johnny, I’m not getting any response! Hurry up with that defib…”

“…and out of consciousness. My head throbbed so much…I thought it would explode off my shoulders…and…the left side of my face, it felt hardened, like someone had poured glue there and left it to dry. I think I tried to speak but my lips wouldn’t, couldn’t, move. The harder I tried the more pain shot through me… That’s when it began.”
Margaret felt her heart quicken its pace as she recalled the last few minutes of her life on Earth, as she had previously known it. Gaining excitement, she opened her eyes and continued.
“That’s when…I suddenly… I felt like…like I was flying…on my back, breeze blowing through my hair, light shining through my closed eyelids and then…everything went dark, pitch black again. I held my breath because I suddenly felt like I was under water…” Margaret smiled which contradicted the fact that tears were streaming down her face. Dr. Jenson, once again, placed his hand upon hers and squeezed.
“I know this is hard for you to remember, but it’s…Is that all you remember?”
Once again Margaret found herself torn. She wanted nothing more than to be able to tell him, to explain to him the journey she had experienced. But she knew that this would mean telling him everything, starting from the beginning, explaining every supernatural event. She took in a deep breath and sighed. Choosing her words carefully, Margaret asked,
“When can I leave, Moody? I would like to see my children.”
“Margi, it’s gonna take a couple of days. You were in a coma for…a very long time. There are still tests that need to be done and…”
“What do you mean a very long time? How long have I been…gone?”
“A little over 2 years, Margi.”
Margaret gasped. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and her hands began to shake.
“What?!”
“Margaret, you’ve been in a coma for two years.”
“No! No, it’s only been a couple days! You must be wrong!”
“I wish I were.” As he spoke he pointed to the worn television screen perched on a shelf at the foot of her bed. The bluish hue stared back at her in large printed words

Today is:
Monday, January 4th, 2009

“Oh my God.” She whispered and leaned back against the bed staring blankly towards the corner of the room.
“Margi, you’ve been in a coma for two years. Do you understand what that means? A lot has changed.”
Silence filled the air for a brief moment and Margaret jumped when Moody broke through the lull to stand and pour her a glass of water from the pitcher Nurse Harlow had placed on her bedside table.
“Did you know, Margi,” he spoke as he poured the clear liquid into a cup and handed it to Margaret,” that a couple years ago I obtained a doctorate in psychology?”
As thoughts raced and circled through her head, Margaret could only blankly answer, “You did?”
“Yeah. After…” Moody cautiously said the name, “…Sam died, I became obsessed with the human psyche; yours to be precise. It laid a foundation for what was to come, I guess.” Moody stared at Margaret and smiled but continued as soon as he noticed her eyes still searching for understanding.
“When I moved here I begged to be assigned here, the coma ward. At first I was a little distraught at the lack of ongoing excitement of human psychosis and thought maybe I had followed the wrong passion. Luckily, my obsession turned into…something else. What I do know is that this direction changed my life. Interestingly enough, I did my thesis on the coma and it’s relation to the human brain cells back in college. I guess that’s why I was drawn to this place.”
“Quite interesting: a coma. Kinda like snowflakes, not one is alike. I have this theory, however, probably due to the fact that more times than not I’ve witnessed coma patients who wake up and are suddenly rejuvenated with this burst of spirituality and faith, that there’s another side to life that maybe can be crossed by those who are in comas.”
Margaret breathed in heavily, knowing exactly what Dr. Jenson spoke of. For a brief moment she thought maybe telling him what had happened would not sound so crazy, but what if he didn’t believe her? Suddenly, a wave of paranoia swept over her. What if Moody was not who he seemed? She had been tempted by eloquent words before. Would admitting to what she had experienced somehow cause undo panic?
Moody coolly asked, “Margi, do you remember my stories, when we were kids, of angels and the afterlife?”
“Yes.” She said coyly.
“Then…can you tell me…who is Malahi?”
“What?!”
Moody leaned in closer to Margaret, smiling like a little boy, as if about to be told the most secretive secret around. Her thoughts swirled and circled in her head. Could she tell him, should she tell him?
“I…I. You wouldn’t understand. You’d probably think I was crazy.”
Moody cleared his throat and replied, "Margi, I watched you put on 47 prom dresses in the span of 10 minutes when you were 17, me thinking you’re crazy is way past prime.”
He laughed at his own joke and Margaret thought the emotion a bit strange for Moody Jenson
He then continued, “Try me…"
She sighed, heavily, still not sure of his reaction to what she was about to tell him. Stories were one thing…this reality could have her committed. She closed her eyes and emitted a silent prayer; an action that both scared and excited her. With this motion, Margaret noticed her heart begin to slow and the feeling of paranoia vanish. As if touched by a miracle, Margaret knew, somehow, that it was ok to confide in her oldest friend.
"Ok…well, like I said, I don’t remember much of the accident but what happened afterwards…I do remember. The accident was only the beginning…"
Moody pulled in, close to Margaret’s side. "The beginning of what?" he smiled reassuringly.