Over the years I've pinned down a few key concepts and began "world lines," whole realities with their own characters and facts. Its like a comic book fantasy land, but with a more adult twist.

One of the novels I'm currently working on deals with a lot of social issues. One is homosexuality and gender, the other is gangs, and yet another is..I suppose you could say woman liberation or what have you.

This world line is set in present day, with your average lineup of characters. Its a bit of a take on Ghostbusters, but with a more paranormal twist. The main character himself has dependency issues due to having a lot of interesting talents and no want for them. During the course of the novel this issue is addressed accordingly. It is now my pleasure to present you with the sypnosis and the third chapter of the as-yet complete novel that introduces the main character.

Its modern day earth. The Gods of old, long ago having grown tired of humanity, have left their extra dimensional houses and sought to meddle in the affairs of other planets. But they didn't quite tell one of their crew about that. Oh well.

Meet Tim. He's your typical nearly 30 something, with strange powers to see dead people. Oh, and to leave his body. Fight off demons. You know, your average guy, right?

In the midst of this Tim is recruited by a lively Lou (if you know him) also known as Lucifer (if you're a bill collector) who just happens to be, in all truth, a despondent Hades, ex-God of the Underworld.

It seems that Lou has a little administration problem: how do you keep a demigod named Satan under your thumb when you wish for autonomy and democracy in the after life?

Satan it seems has higher wishes in his role as the leader of Hell. And he'll stop at nothing to find the right people that have the right insecurities (and gullibility) to be his unwitting pawns in securing Hell's future as the dominant equation in the afterlife.

Death, communism, and tropical times for all.

Tim threw the bottle of J.D. across the room as another ghost appeared out of thin air. “I have some unfinished business, please, you must help me.” Tim sat up in bed wearily and through the vision of too much alcohol he smirked.

“You're a pretty cute fifteen year old,” he told the female ghost as she stood there fresh from dying. “how'd you die? Where you getting buried? Mind if I find your body for payment? Ya know?” He winked with a sly grin and the ghost faded out of existence. When that happened Tim promptly fell back onto his bed.

“I oughtta slap you,” an older woman said. She appeared as a viscous soup before cascading down from the ceiling into a feminine figure.

“Dammit Mom, can't you let me enjoy my drunk self in peace?” his Mom fluidly sat down next to him in bed.

“Your gift is from God, why do you not help people with it?” Tim sat up and looked at his mother. His eyes got really teary and then he promptly moved his head over to the side of the bed and puked into a bucket he kept close for this very reason. “Ugh, I hate seeing you like this. I'm going to drop hints on your father to call you soon. Timothy, I don't want anymore drinking out of you tonight, got it?”

Tim sat up in bed and opened up a silver cigarette case, producing a very large hand rolled cigarette. Made out of marijuana. He lit it up with a silver Zippo and then found the remote to his television. He turned it on and quickly found Cartoon Network, happy that an anime was playing. “Do you mind Mom, you don't make the best window. Not quite a door, no, but not so much a window either.”

His mother's ghostly figure sneered at him and then promptly fizzled in front of him, shrinking into nonthingness. He reached over to the other side of the bed and picked up a bowl of half-eaten popcorn. Dinner didn't go down so well, in fact it just came up. But he anticipated munchies.

It was only a few minutes after the splif was spent and the popcorn was gone that he passed out.

* * *

Daylight filtered through the half closed blinds hitting his face; long probing hands poking his eye lids until they snapped open. He threw off the covers weighing down his body and grabbed the remote hitting the power button to silence the television.

Just as soon as he stood up his phone rang. He jumped looking over and then with the slow cumbersome steps of morning meditation, he crossed his room to pick it up. Not many people called him. The people that usually did were disembodied, and he really didn't appreciate it. Especially not when he just woke up. Hesitantly he reached for the phone and answered with a grainy voice. “Mushi mushi?” A slight sigh at the other end told him it was his father.

“Hi, son.” His father said in disdain. “Your mother was in my dreams last night. I want to come and see you.”

“Uhh..” Tim was hesitant for a second, but found a good excuse. “I'm busy working for the next few days. How about next week sometime?”

His father snickered. “Working on what, liver failure?” A tick of the tongue. “Look, I've called your psychiatrist. She hasn't seen you for weeks. We really need to get yourself situated.”

Tim shook his head. “Dad, it doesn't matter. I'm not taking drugs to stop hallucinations that are real. I'm not taking a pill just to filter out what normal people don't see, I've got better things to do.”

His father sighed. “Alright. So don't take a pill, take a bottle of liquor and a joint. Same thing, you know? Don't do this to me Tim, I've already lost your mother.” Tim's father gasped as Tim growled.

“I wish I have. She's bothering me every second she can form into a vapor!” He slammed the phone back on its cradle, effectively hanging it up, and sat down on the floor in a lotus position and found himself absentmindedly rubbing his temples. Once more gaining composure, he stood up and traveled into his bathroom.

Tim turned on the shower and let steam fill the air. He began to wash his face in the sink when he saw a dark figure in the mirror. He turned around, and to his surprise, it wasn't there. “Funny trick,” he said to the figure. “but you ain't fooling me. Go away.” The figure opened up the medicine cabinet in front of Tim and threw out a bottle of Vicodin. “You better pick that up asshat.” The unseen demonic figure bellowed out an unearthly growl, Tim followed with his own.

Without warning the noisy shower handle turned the other way, immediately inviting the cold water out from the depths of the pipes in his studio apartment. This made Tim a very cranky guy―it took a number of minutes to get warm water anywhere in his apartment. A soft blue pallor began to grow outward from Tim's body, almost like a second ethereal skin. His ethereal arm reached into the shower and grabbed a hold of a nothing that suddenly turned into a dark something with glowing red eyes. The blue pale arm reached back towards Tim's physical body and he stared it straight in the glowing-coal eyes with a stone cold glare. “Listen ethereal waste of matter,” Tim said with no hint of fear. “I don't come to your house and trample on your shit.” His other ethereal arm poked at the eyes of the demon. It screamed in pain and tried to get away from Tim's grasp. “Pick up the bottle. And you better have a way to get that hot water back in here. Or you're gonna find yourself sans existence, got it?” The demon's head seemed to bob and Tim's ethereal arm let him go. “And remember, punk” he said with a Clint Eastwood mock up of a voice. “I'm not just some scared shit-for-brains medium. I'm the real deal.”

The bottle of Vicodin found it's self back in the cabinet just as fast as the knob turned the other way back to hot. Steam cascaded out of the rain falling from the shower head. “Good demon. Stick around me for awhile and you may have yourself a bone.” Tim smiled as he began to undress. “After all, New York City is a pain sometimes.”

* * *

Work...work...Tim got that sometimes. Mostly when rent was a week near due. Odd jobs, the odd ghost evacuation. Today he had money to burn because as it turns out the demon that had faced him in the bathroom was there to pick up an old lady and take her somewheres not so fun. Tim knew heaven nor hell existed, so he sometimes played the role of tour guide to the after life; a venerable Map to the Ether. He wasn't a bad guy, mind you. Anytime he saw death descend upon a person and a demon approach he took matters into his own hands. Demons, you see, aren't human. They never were, never will be. Tim considers them aliens in a sense. Except they belong in a completely different dimension, not on a different planet.

So as he exited out into the hallway a ghostly old lady, Mrs. Griffen to be exact, was wondering the halls trying to get people to pay attention to her. Tim got real close to her and whispered into her ear. “Psst, lets go back to your apartment Mrs. Griffen.” Mrs. Griffen turned to Tim and smiled.

“Oh my God, I thought I was dead.” She frowned when she saw Tim's face.

“Actually my dear, you are. We're gonna get you to your body and I'll see to it that the portal is opened so you can cross over, okay?” He watched as she nodded.

The two began to walk, or float, depending on who you are, really, when Mrs. Griffen turned around and waved a finger at Tim. “But if I'm dead, I can't possibly open the locked door to my apartment.”

Tim shrugged his shoulders with a sly smile. “We'll figure a way, don't worry.”

Finally in front of her door Mrs. Griffen looked on at Tim wondering what he would do. Like before in his bathroom his body was washed aglow with a soft pallor that emanated up and away from his body. His wisp of a second arm reached into the door and unlocked the dead-bolt with a bit of struggle on his part. He then knocked on it a few times, “Mrs. Griffen?” speaking before he entered into her apartment.

“I was just watching Murder She Wrote in my chair while knitting and I guess my old heart gave out.” Mrs. Griffen offered up as Tim found her body.

Tim turned off the television and faced the incorporeal Mrs. Griffen. “Well, I'm not sure when you died exactly but you're lucky it wasn't earlier. I had a demon come to me this morning. He coulda easily fooled you or overpowered you and took you to a land of not-so-nice stuff. Or had you for a meal, I'm not sure exactly what those 'tards like to do.”

Mrs. Griffen looked at Tim in awe, like a deer caught in head lights. “Oh my, well thank you for protecting me.”

Tim shook his head with a bit of rosy cheeks. “Hey don't worry about it, I was just protecting my best--”

Before he could end the sentence with 'interests' Mrs. Griffen pointed to her purse. “Dear I just took out two hundred for bingo tomorrow. Its all yours, I won't be needing it.”

Tim smiled. “I mean to say, I was just protecting everyone. You know? Those demons, pesky things.” His arm raised and fell limply as he addressed her body.

Mrs. Griffen turned and gasped as she saw her lifeless corporeal form. “I am really dead, aren't I? I never really looked at myself..my body.”

Tim nodded. “Yep, it happens. Don't worry about it. But self realization's the biggest part of the game.”

In between the two of them an ovoid doorway of light seemed to shape it's self out of an inverted plane of space, and then slowly opened in a jade light show. Mrs. Griffen smiled at Tim. “Thank you dear. You're a good young man, I'm so very glad you were here to help me through.”

Tim smiled too. “You're welcome. Enjoy your next life, whatever it may be.”

Mrs. Griffen pondered for a second. “Can I come and visit, if you like?”

Tim's spectral skin quickly formed and pushed her into the light. “Nonsense! You're going to have the time of your afterlife!” And with that all what remained of Mrs. Griffen was her dead body and possessions. Speaking of possessions, he had two hundred dollars to collect! He went to her purse on the table and opened it quickly finding the money she spoke of. And some Winston cigarettes. Score!

He nonchalantly turned the television back on and walked back out, locking the door again with his other worldly talents. Two hundred dollars...that's a good day at a bar, he thought.

***

So he sits at the bar nursing his third beer. He lives in New York, sometimes visiting the city in his '92 Honda Accord. It gets around. His living arrangements were on the outskirts of the Big Apple, and he liked it that way. Too many people, too many spirits. He felt them all on an aural level. It was hard enough living in an apartment building, but it was harder to leave it. After banishing a ghost or three from the building for the landlord his talents hadn't gone unnoticed. All he had to do was pony up a thousand for rent a month and all his utilities were taken care of, short of the telephone.

In walks a woman into the bar. Ball cap, baby blue long sleeve shirt and khaki pants. Out of place conservative Soccer Mom. She asks a few patrons something and then one points to him. “Here comes a customer,” he said. He belched silently as she approached him to make sure it didn't happen in the course of conversation. Time to spit game.

“Are you Tim?” The woman asks as they make eye contact.

Tim nods and extends his hand. “Why yes, I certainly am. And who do I owe the pleasure of meeting?”

The woman furrows her brow, slightly off guard but hesitantly replies while grabbing his hand and making a limp attempt at a handshake. “My name is Cathy.”

Tim motioned to the bar stool next to him. “Do you want to take a seat next to me or do you want to grab a booth?”

Cathy surveys the bar and finds too many people for her liking. “Lets take a booth.”

Tim nods and looks over to the bartender, motioning her to his spot. She strolls up smoothly.

“Yes Tim, another beer?” She watches as Tim shakes his head.

“No, I'll take an iced tea with a lemon and two spoons of sugar.” The bartender slides away. “We'll be over at the booth in the corner,” he says with a slight raise of his voice.

Tim stands up taking his beer and moves to the corner booth, an astonished Cathy seats herself on the bench across from him with wide eyes. “You know, thats my favorite drink.”

Tim nods with a smile. “Yes, I do know. All it takes is a slight shake of a hand, and a flash of whats on your mind can be mine. I apologize. I've lived with these gifts for the better part of my twenty-eight years but I'm not so good at controlling their effectiveness. Kinda sucks, you know? Or maybe not..” He smiles to the bartender as she sits the iced tea down in front of Cathy. “Put it on my tab.” Cathy moved to say no. “Don't worry, business expense I can say.”

Cathy sips the tea and settles in. The young man was nine years her junior, but pulled off the gentlemanly act well. “So I hear you can help people with troubles..that are..lets say..not of this world?”

Tim nods. “I can certainly help. My success rate is seldom believed in the psychic community, but I tend to stay away from most of those kooks.”

Cathy was taken aback by Tim's candidness. He had known her drink, but that may well be a parlor trick, right? “Well, I don't know. We've done everything we can think of. Even had a priest bless the house, nothing seems to work.”

Tim's gaze locked on and was all ears. “Two things. One, give me steps you've been through and secondly tell me what they've told you.”

Cathy looked down. “Well, we've lived in our house for a number of years and never have had a problem really. Then suddenly one night our daughter awakes screaming bloody murder, saying that her bed has been moving violently. We've all felt a presence in our house once or twice, but its suddenly become more violent and..well, just feels evil.” Cathy sips her tea. “So we have called a respected psychic demonologist before all of this and they found that the ghost in the house was benevolent, a previous owner. They had a priest bless the house and some of the activity went away. But now its back, worse than ever. The activity before was playful. Even helpful. You see, sometimes we'd forget to turn the light on for our daughter on the door step and when she came home at night it'd be on for her. Or the paper boy would miss the step and we figured it was somewhere in the bushes―low and behold, it'd be sitting on our dining room table. But now it frightens us, we hear voices and footsteps..” Cathy's eyes began to become teary. “I just want our family to be normal again. I don't want to move away because of some ghost.”

Tim nodded. “Alright, here's two observations; seems to me the blessing probably worked. So something stirred up the spirit and its not happy. It may even be a new spirit, for one reason or another. Secondly...don't be afraid of these things. As much as they'll throw stuff at you, try to scare you witless, you have to be strong. I've learned that. These things get their kicks off of making us miserable. Trouble is, most of those, aren't humans. They are demons. So I have to go and check it out. I'll go now, if you like. Mind driving me?”

Cathy stared at him incredulously. This guy was disalarmingly sane, and down to earth. But she had jumped through message boards, friends of friends, and numerous other hoops to get to him. There had to be a reason why he was hard to track down. She watched with contempt as he took a swig of his beer and finished it.“Well, I'd have to talk to my husband..”

Tim chuckled. “Lady, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering what someone of my reputed abilities is doing in a bar at ten thirty am on a Saturday morning. I'll be honest, I may be a drunkard, I may be a guy of some-what questionable moral stance, but I'm not out to hurt anyone living. I've had too much problems with the dead and other likes. You allowed two strangers―a reported demonologist and medium into your house, and a priest. Maybe I'm the ticket. Have a little faith. I've been a salesman quite a few times in my life, the worst kind, too, I worked on commission. But you know what? My charisma and my knack for getting to know people a little too well only helped me help them better. You didn't navigate through message boards and people to find some guy in a bar for nothing, did you?”

Cathy blinked and shook her head no. “Okay, but the second I think otherwise you're going to be walking back to your car. Got it?”

Tim shook his head. “Sheesh. Have a little faith in your fellow human, hmm?” Tim stood up as Cathy slid out of the booth. They headed out of the bar and into the brightness of day.

* * *

The house was two hours away. During the drive Tim explained to her the better part of his situation, to put her more at ease. Leaving out certain details he talked about his mother's death, her intermittent return, and various points of his life. He told her how he was a sensitive, in fact, often too sensitive, and has just fallen off the train of life because of his abilities. “I know I'm not perfect, and I know why. I've got problems, but don't know how to fix them in a way that'll make me happy,”

A beautiful suburban home was waiting for Tim at the end of their trip. The minivan parked in the drive way and he unbuckled his seatbelt and promptly exited. As he stared intently at the house, he did see an old man peering out an upstairs window. But he felt something heavier. There was not one, but count them―two beings to deal with. Oh boy!

Cathy walked up to the house and entered it, no key needed. “Brent, I'm home. I found the mythical Tim. He's agreed to help.” A man about Cathy's age exited a side room and held out his hand as he approached Tim.

“Nice to meet you Tim, we've read and heard a lot about you.” Tim nodded. He has done the odd job in the past, and his name gets around by word of mouth. He usually requests people don't pony up to the media about his activities, but everything else is fine.

“Before I begin, I have to make one thing clear, and I apologize for not mentioning it earlier: if I'm successful, and believe me, you'll know if I am, I usually ask for some monetary supplement. Because I don't know if you've heard about this and I've failed to mention it, I'm not going to really worry about it. I usually let my clients set their price but I will take no more than five hundred dollars.” Cathy and Brent nodded.

Brent put his hand on Tim's shoulder. “Buddy, if you can help us out we'll be grateful. Parting with a little cash to take care of what seems to be a lifetime of trouble won't hurt us any.”

Tim smiled. “Great. Thank you. I'd like to do a tour of the house, natch. I already know you have an older man here. He's not the source of your trouble, I don't think. You have two entities here. One's the good cop, the other's the bad cop. Or the good one's just the bad one's whipping boy, so to speak.”

Cathy took in a deep breath. “Right then, follow me. I'll show you my daughter's room. Its the source of most of the disturbances.” Tim was lead up stairs and into a teenage girl's room. He noticed a strong presence of not-so-good and began to touch things in the room to sample memories and gather clues.

“So Mindy and her friends have sleep overs a lot, hm?” Tim said as he looked around the room with seeming disinterest.

Cathy was only slightly off guard this time, but knew that Tim was definitely special, as she had yet to say much about her daughter, let alone her name. “Yes. I'm the kind of mother who allows the girls to thrive in their own little world, so long as they behave well enough.”

Tim looked at Cathy. “I'm glad. Reminds me of just before I left the house when I was twenty. Me and my friends hung out, my sister's friends too. My Mom was pretty good at that as well. Can you get a hold of Mindy for me?”

Cathy furrowed her brow. “Well, we have dinner around five most generally. She should be home around three or four.”

Tim shrugged. “That's cool. Its your time, not mine. I just prefer the whole family be present. She's a part of this. In fact, she's the reason you're having these disturbances.”

Cathy's jaw dropped. “Oh my god, why her?”

Tim shrugged. “I don't know,” lying through his teeth. “but if I can talk to her I can gather more information. The more the merrier, as well. I'll need your support when I take care of this other entity. They're not around right now, I don't think they'll show up until around the time Mindy comes home.”

Cindy turned around “I'll go call her to come home.” and walked out of the room.

As Tim left the room he spotted a tiny needle hole of space that wasn't space. It was a spindle of darkness suspended in midair that he suspected would grow until it eventually allowed passage to earth. And whatever came out of it was definitely the problem.

* * *

Brent, Tim, Cathy, and Mindy sat at the family table. Tim took a drink of his water and looked at everyone calmly. “As I've said, you can't fear these guys. They're relatively harmless in the face of stone-cold-bravery. Don't budge and don't give them a reason to come back. With that said, I'll take care of your problem. I have a very high success rate. I'm pretty sure its one hundred percent for the people I've helped, though I've had a couple idiot entities come back to me.”

Mindy, Cathy, and Brent nodded.

Tim continued. “I know its scary,” he turned towards Mindy. “but sometimes this stuff happens for one reason or another. Playing with Ouji boards is a pretty popular reason. See, with me, banishing ghosts is easy. They've been here, they're going to stay here until they fade out. Some don't know they're dead, some just don't want to leave. Unfortunately, when you use a Ouji board, you're contacting something that's ready to come here. It quite often spells trouble. So don't do it again, alright?”

Mindy gasped and nodded. “I'm sorry, I didn't know, I really didn't know.”

Cathy shook her head. “Mindy, I warned you about those things!”

Mindy began to cry. “I'm sorry, I'm soo sorry...”

Tim held up his hand. “Quiet. I'm going to close the portal. Its getting bigger as we speak. What I like to do is take care of whatever that comes out of it first and foremost, then close its entrance. Pretty easy. Lets all go up to Mindy's room.”

They exited the dining room and walked back upstairs. Sure enough the room was cold, energy was being drawn from all over.

Mindy felt a shiver up her spine and began to rub her hands together in reaction to a deep chill. “I think its going to start soon,” she said, her hot breath turning into a vapor in reaction to the cool of the room.

Tim smirked. “Yeah, I don't think, I know.”

Deep growls began to emanate from all points of the room, Cathy backed away with a scream holding an ear shut with her hand. “I hear so many voices, I can't understand them!”

“Its just portal chat, so many things trying to get through. Usually just one perp comes through at a time until it gets its ass kicked.” Tim stood next to what was the needle of no space, its dark shape growing larger in a rhythmic canonical spiral. After a few minutes of screams, growls, bed quakes, pictures falling, and stuffed animal tormenting, a hand erupted out of the spiral. Tim's blue pallor thrusted from his feet and out from his arm, shaking hands with the demon's dark twisted paw. He pulled it out of the portal and into reality.

Mindy began to slink back in excited breathing, but Brent stood behind her with his shoulders firmly on her. Cathy looked towards her husband in fear, but he stood firm with her as well. “Be strong, Tim needs us.” Cathy silently nodded and looked on with a more braver stance, quaking legs giving way to her actual feelings.

“Hi there buddy, nice to meet'cha.” Tim stood face to jaw with a six foot monster.

Growling a gnarled sentence, it reached for Tim's other shoulder. “Let me go, or you shall incur my wraith!” The demon brought its other arm up swiftly, but was held in midair by a second blue hand outpouring from Tim's fleshly body.

“Tsk, tsk. You need to leave this family alone, okay? You're not being a nice guest, and Mindy's tired of your tricks. Right Mindy?” Tim's gaze turned towards Mindy.

Mindy opened her mouth a few times, but decided she couldn't speak. She nodded in agreement.

“Now, how about you go back down through your little portal,” Tim said, returning his gaze towards the demon whose eyes had began to flush with a searing orange brilliance. “Or I can kick you the puck out. Either way works for me.”

The demon, resorting to more scare tactics, grumbled a guttural growl that put Issac Hayes and Chris Barnes to shame. Tim smiled and nuzzled the demons nose and began to speak in a fatherly tone towards a child. “Aww, you're such a cute little demon. Yes you are! Some day you'll be a man, and you'll be the leader of a big ole' death metal band!”

Erupting in rage, the demon catapulted Tim across the room, who slowly skidded to a noiseless halt on the heels of blue energy. He rushed back towards his assailant and clocked him square in the jaw. “Listen bucko, I don't appreciate that. Here we are, trying to have a civilized conversation and you're just being plain rude. Apologize to my friends here!” He grabbed what passed for the demon's ear and twisted it, moving its head towards the family.

The demon growled and grasped the small of Tim's arm with a ginormous paw. Tim reacted by contorting the ear even harder. The demon's arm fell limp and it erupted in a canine yelp. “Say it,” Tim commanded.

The demon faced Mindy and began to speak in a raspy, nearly unintelligible voice. “I'm sorry Mindy, please, get this guy off me!” The demon tried to wriggle from Tim's grasp, who just pinched on the ear and screwed it in the opposite direction it had once been.

“Now, now. Its time to go to your hole.” Tim pointed to the portal, which was once again a black needle of nothing. The demon lifted up his arm towards it and it funneled outwards at a faster pace than before, and eventually was large enough for him to fit through.

“I hope you learned your lesson. You're no longer invited here.” Tim let go of the demon's ear, which moved at that instant to tackle him. Kicking it down below, it yelped again and was too strung out on pain to retort back with anything as Tim pushed him towards the portal. “Buh-byes,” Tim said in a overly hyper tone, waving his hand as a little kid would. The demon sunk down through the portal, and Tim used his spectral hands to collapse it into a dark prick of a pinpoint until it simply ceased to exist. “This concludes our broadcasting day,” he said, turning back towards the family who gawked in shock at the comical spectacle they had just witnessed.

Tim clapped his hands together loudly, and thrusted his shoulders up a few times like he was getting pumped for a boxing match. “Whats next? You want your senior citizen out too, right?”

Brent nodded, and quickly moved to grab his wife as she fell to the floor. “Yes, we..we would like that.”

“No problem,” Tim said, quickly finding his way out of Mindy's room and towards the attic where he saw the old man peak out. “Hey mister, you up here?”

He climbed wooden steps, creaking with age, and rounded up to what amassed to a foyer not fit for a modern day attic. “Nice place,” Tim said, peering wall to wall at the expansive room. In one end sat a love seat, rocking chair, and large book case. The elderly man's ghostly figure coalesced onto the rocking chair.

“What do you want,” the elderly man asked.

“Its not what I want,” Tim said, pointing to himself. “Its what the owners of this house want. And that simply amounts to you leaving.” Tim walked closer towards the old man, who stood up on shaky feet.

The elderly man wagged his finger at Tim and raised his voice. “I will not do any such thing, I've lived here all my life and I don't intend on leaving until the day I die!”

Tim pondered for a moment, having dealt with this kind of thing before, he didn't really know how to tip toe around the issue. “Well, I've got news for you sir, you are quite dead. D. E. D.”

The elderly man shook his head and raised his voice. “I want you out of my attic!” A gust of wind formed from nowhere, and a book made its way off the shelf and towards Tim's head.

Tim blocked the book (thankfully a paperback), and then sighed. “Okay, you're alive. So what, you're able to control wind and throw books?”

The elderly man shook his head and sat back down on his beloved rocking chair. “I didn't do that.”

Tim crossed his arms in frustration and began to tap his foot. “Okay, so who did? Sure the hell wasn't me, buddy.”

The elderly man crossed his arms over his chest as well. “Look ruffian, I'm not going to sit here and debate this with you. I am most certainly not dead, and I am most certainly not leaving!”

Tim shrugged his shoulders, turned around, and put his head down. As he approached the stairs, he looked back up. “Hey, by the way, how was breakfast?”

The old man furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

Tim smiled and took his foot off the first stair down and came about from the railing. “You know, the most important meal of the day. How was breakfast? Or dinner last night? Or Lunch today?”

The old man sat in deep thought. “Well, you know, my memory isn't as sharp as it used to be.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah, that, or you haven't eaten in--” Tim looked over as Mindy slowly made her way hesitantly up the stairs with a glass of water in hand. “Hey Mindy, how long have you lived in this house?”

“Since I was three,” she said meekly, looking over at the old man.

“Alright, so, I'm gonna guess our elderly friend here hasn't had a meal for at least twelve years.” Tim took his vision off of Mindy as the old man stood up and briskly made his way towards them.

“I'm sick and tired of this pedantic questioning. Here, I'll show you I'm not dead!” He held out his hand towards the glass of water in Mindy's grasp. She tried to make her way back down the steps but nearly fell.

“Its alright sweetie,” the old man said and motioned towards the glass of water. “mind if I have a drink?”

Deer in headlight almond eyes shook left and right as Mindy hesitantly handed the glass to the old man. As he made a grasp for it, it promptly fell to the floor and shattered.

The old man stared at his hands and bent down towards the shards of glass, trying in desperation to pick up at least one single fragment, but his hands kept coming up short as they translucently slid effortlessly unhindered by the laws of physics. “I..I am dead?”

Tim clapped his hands loudly. “That's right Mr. Oates! And wow, what a wonderful prize we have in store for the million dollar answer!”

As before with Mrs. Griffen, a modicum of jade light appeared as a sliver, and quickly burst outwards in an ovoid shape behind the ghostly Mr. Oates who now stood dumbfounded peering between the jade glow and Tim.

“But, I don't want to leave yet. This..this is my home!” Mr. Oates tried to back away from the brilliant entrance and found himself face to face with Tim's azure aura, his fleshly arm moving towards Mr. Oates back, a blue ethereal one resting on Mr. Oates shoulder.

“Its okay, you told me you'd live here till the day you died, right? Well, now that you've finally made the conclusion we've all known, its time to make good on your promise. Have a good time!” And with that, Tim shoved Mr. Oates into the light with a grunt and it promptly disappeared.

Mindy, tired of the deer-in-headlights look bounded down the steps and came back up with a broom and dustpan in hand, she made short order of sweeping up the broken glass. “I'm..I'm going to get my dad,” she said, looking up at Tim.

Tim politely nodded and followed Mindy slowly down the steps.

Cathy, now up and about from her spell, hugged Tim tightly as he entered the kitchen downstairs. “Tim, you have done so much for our family. I wish I knew how to repay you.”

Tim shrugged. “Usually cash or check. That works out the best.” Tim turned around to face Brent, who had put his hand firmly on Tim's shoulders.

“Certainly, here is five hundred dollars for your troubles. I really don't think this is enough.” Brent shook Tim's right hand and slipped him the money like a drug deal was going down.

Tim smiled. “I thank you for your kindness, but I don't require much. Just feel free to let anyone else know about me if they shall need my services. Unless, of course, they're journalists. Alright?”

Brent and Cathy nodded in unison. “I can see why you don't like to advertise,” Cathy said. “You'd probably be booked for years to come.”

Tim smiled and nodded in agreement. “Probably. And I'm not about to get a day planner. Shall I call a cab, then?” As Tim motioned for the phone, the door bell rang.

Mindy was heard bounding down the stairs, yelling an “I'll get it.” She opened the door without hesitation and stared at a tall man, made taller by a top hat, dressed in a fine suit and resting his hands on a cherry wood ornate cane.

The man tipped his hat at Mindy and smiled. “Good evening young lady, if you don't mind, please let Tim know his ride is here.”

Backing away and with school girl glee, she bounded into the kitchen as Tim was about to pick up the phone.

“Who was it,” Cathy asked her daughter.

“Umm..I dunno. Tim, your ride is here. That's what the man says at the front door.” Mindy looked over to her mother with an expression that told her something wasn't quite right.

Tim put down the phone slowly and tried to peer out through the kitchen, into the living room, and at the front door. Not getting a well enough glance, he decided to approach the front door outright.

“Hello Tim,” the fine suited man said as he approached. “I'm sorry to come calling in such an alarming way, but its kind of urgent. I'll be happy to give you a ride home.”

Tim looked back at the family he had just helped and waved good bye. “Have a great night folks, looks like I've a ride already. Don't worry none about me.”

Tim walked out following the suit and closed the door silently. He smirked as he saw a pearl white, whiter than white should be, stretch limousine before him only feet away. He felt nothing but good intentions from the man in front him, and it wasn't because of his Armani suit either.

At the behest of his kind giver of the plush ride, he entered the cushy limo and sat face to face with a deeply copper tanned dreadlocked man, wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, humming a tune and thumping his sandalled feet idly.

The other man removed his top hat and slid into the seat next to Tim; as soon as the door closed the car began to drive away.

Before another word was said, the suit produced three champagne glasses and doled them out amongst Tim and the dreadlocked beach bum.

“Thanks,” Tim said ecstatically, not having a drink in the last several hours.

“You're very welcome Tim. Now, allow me to introduce myself,” Suit said. His features were pointed, symmetrical, but well kept. His hair, a slick backed black mane. Tim couldn't guess his age, though he was sure he was in his mid thirties somewhere. The man extended his hand slightly towards Tim, and Tim grasped it firmly, but did not shake. “My name's been a few things through the years, but most call me Lou. My esteemed colleague here is my only “begotten” son, Jesus.”

The dreadlocked man extended his hand towards Tim. “Hi, I'm from Nazareth.”

“Wow, I thought you were white,” Tim said in a shocked tone.

Jesus nodded. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He shrugged. “I don't mind it, works better for PR.”

“Now that we've got our names down, tell me Tim, how would you like a large contract with a nice, limitless expense account?” Lou asked, taking a sip of champagne while gazing towards Jesus with a smile.

Tim shrugged. “Depends, what would it entail?”

Lou draped his arm around Tim's shoulder and hugged him. “I like your attitude. Lets go to my office, and discuss compensation before I fully explain the situation at hand.”

The car was wrapped in a brilliance of all the colors the rainbow could offer, and made its way off the ground and towards the heavens...

Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States