Travels of the Spirit Warrior: Kachina
I awakened in a small room. There was nothing really extraordinary about it. The walls were beige and the carpet matched it. It was modestly decorated with some drab artwork and seemingly antique furniture. Not "worth a lot of money antique", but found on the side of the road antique. I thought I heard voices off in the distance. No, maybe it was a television.
I turned my head to survey the other side of the room. There was a small bathroom off to the side. No windows, I thought to myself. How odd. A small coffee table and an armchair were the only other things in the room. It was musty and dusty. And c-c-cold. Damn, who was I this time, I thought.
I got up to try the door. Or, at least I wanted to get up. But my legs wouldn’t work properly. What’s wrong, I thought. As I try to get up again, my body writhed in pain. I screamed out, “Ahhh!”
Footsteps. I’m sure I hear footsteps coming. I laid back down on what I concluded to be a poorly maintained sofa bed waiting quietly to see who or what was coming. “It won’t be long now," a voice says in my head. Great, obviously I don’t have much time left. There was no telling how long I had been in this body. I usually have about twenty-four hours in a host. I have no idea how long I’ve been sleep or unconscious.
More footsteps. Even closer now. I could hear keys clinking against the door. Damnit, who am I? I can’t get up. No windows; am I a hostage, a prisoner? I look down at my hands for clues; small and frail, they’re not mine.
I try to pull myself together to assess the situation, but my head is so cloudy. What is wrong with this host? Have they been drugged? Finally, the door swings open. In walks a woman. Large frame, Caucasian; by the looks of her, she’s either had a hard life or a very stressful one. She looked mean. She didn’t smile. At least not at first. By the creases of her face I’d say late 40s or early 50s. “Lots of wrinkles in her forehead...Salt and pepper hair,” I say to myself. I’m not sure if this is my mark or not. We’ll have to wait and see.
She stares at me inquisitively as if she’s assessing me . “You’re awake?”, she says with a sly grin. “Are you in pain dear?”, she continues, “Can I get you something?”
I open my mouth to talk. But it came out all garbled. I clear my throat and concentrate really hard just to muster up, “Where am I?”
“At home of course, Virginia. Where else would you be dear?” she replies. Who was she? No report given. Was I on my own this time? “Why can’t I walk?”, I asked in my most drugged voice.
“Arthritis, Virginia. You fell down the stairs when your knees locked up. Don’t you remember?”, she says while looking intently at me. I can feel her eyes burning my insides. This is serious this time, I thought.
“No, it must be the meds.”, I replied to her. I gotta keep my cool. Don’t ask too many questions. If she gets too suspicious, I may cause the host to be injured; or worse. “Of course, it is dear. Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”, she asks. “Yes, please,” I responded. I try to shift to a sitting position.
“I’ll be right back,” she states sharply. She turns and walks back out of the room, closing the door behind her, but not before I can get a glimpse down the hall. More rooms with doors, I thought. I wondered if they were empty or if they had unlucky inhabitants such as myself. I didn’t feel prepared for this. I look down at my hands again. Wrinkly, thin skin. I reach up and feel my face. Okay, so I’m an older woman. From the looks of this ring on my finger, I am either married now or once was married.
“It won’t be long now,” I think to myself. But those are not my thoughts. They belong to my host. Tell me more-- Virginia, is it? Why am I here? What do you need from me?
The door opens again and the woman brings a tray and sets it down on the small coffee table. She steps closer to me. “Are you in pain dear?”, she asks. “Yes,” I reply, “but I don’t want any pain meds.” My voice has a nice Southern drawl to it. I sound intelligent, dare I say smart. How the heck did I end up here?
“What’s wrong with you today, Virginia?”, she asks, looking surprised by my refusal of pain medication. She stretches out her hand to feel my forehead. Here we go.
I gasp. I’m traveling now. It feels like all the air is being sucked out of me as I am projected through Virginia's memories and thoughts...Too many pictures. Slow down! ......She has a lot of money…I c-c-can’t make sense of it all. Please slow down. A lot of money….the fileroom. What’s so important about the fileroom? There are other people. I saw them when I moved in. Flowers for the funeral….sign the papers….I’m falling now….did she just push me? Hospital……back in here….Carmen…h-her name is Carmen. Her name is everywhere. I can see it now on the power of attorney….
More traveling….okay, my name is Virginia Stamor...I’m 63 years old, deeply religious. Years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, but I survived. My husband, Thomas Stamor, is dead. He left me a lot of money, millions…okay. My kids, not wanting the burden of taking care of me, dumped me into this, this place. A nursing home, or so you would think.
She needs more money….she pushed me down the stairs! She thought it would kill me but apparently I’m a tough old lady. Good for you Virginia, I thought. You’re a fighter. But Carmen, Carmen is trying to kill you.
Carmen removes her hand. “You have a fever. Let’s give you some more medicine.”, she blurts out. “I don’t want to take any more meds! I’m fine.”, I exclaimed. She turns without a word to the tray. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like she put something in the tea. “Doctors ’ orders .” She smirks. It won’t be long now , runs through my head again. My head was clearer now. I knew what she was up to.
“Eat first and then I’ll give you something for your pain.”, Carmen said. Okay, I’ve seen enough. I’m ready to go now, or else I won’t be able to save Virginia. “Release me Spirit Creator”, I say to myself. I close my eyes and I am traveling again.
I open my eyes. I’m back at headquarters. “Oh, thank God, “ I exclaim. “I can walk again!” I’m alone in the lab. And for good reason, I never know if a spirit will attach itself to me and try to claim someone else. I get up and tap on the glass window. Special Agent Morehouse gives me a nod and pushes the door open.
“Well, what do we have?“ he asks while getting out his notepad. He was handsome. An African-American man in his late thirties, I thought to myself, when I first met him. He had a good soul, a calm spirit and open-mindedness while at the same time a protector. I also sensed the warrior-spirit in him. I couldn’t help but feel like he had some Native American in him somewhere like me. He was the right person to head up the Special Crimes Division of the CIA.
“There’s a woman named Carmen who is poisoning elderly people and taking their money,” I report, “she keeps them locked up in rooms and is poisoning them through their food as well as over-medicating them.” I continue on, “This woman, Virginia, Virginia Stamor is in trouble. She kept saying ‘It won’t be long now’ to herself when I was in there. I don’t think we have much time. There’s also a file room somewhere on the property. It has records of past patients and her signature was everywhere. “
“We’d better get a move on then,” he says, then pauses, “Do you need anything? You look stressed.” I felt stressed. Something was different this time. “Agent Morehouse, it was different this time. The woman, Virginia…the drugs were…effecting me . Why is that?”
He sighed and looked at me cautiously and replied, “Maybe you’re staying in the host too long? Your spirit...your spirit, Kachina is so strong that you are bonding with the spirit of the host. A genuinely good gift, but nonetheless dangerous in this line of work. You have to keep your spirit separate from theirs, Kachina. You know what happened to the others.”
“I thought a genuine spirit was what you were looking for, Louis ,” I replied. Agent Morehouse continued, “It is Kachina, how could we do our work otherwise? Look, the only way we can stamp out evil is to keep this division evil-free. Anterior motives, revenge, bitterness…there’s no place for that here. Maybe you should take a vacation. It seems to me that…”
“A vacation?”, I interrupted. “ I don’t need a vacation Louis, I need answers. Why am I taking on more of the host when I travel?” After a few moments, he says,“I-I don’t know, Kachina. But what I do know is that when you allow yourself to merge souls, spirits….you bring into your spirit all of their forbidden desires, their anger, and their lust….it imprints on you little by little until, your spirit has been eaten away. And then, you are no use to us…..you will be on the other side of the law…..and I won’t let that happen.” He wipes tears away from his eyes, “Not again.”
His partner and long-time friend, Julian, was a Spirit Warrior like me. He cries tears for him, a lost soul who embraced the souls of the people he was trying to help save. He carried the burden of their pain and anguish for as long as he could. It devoured him, little by little until he became bitter and used his travels for evil and not good. It was Julian that he shed tears for.
“It is a gift from the Creator,” my mother used to tell me. I used to hate my name growing up because I thought I was named after a doll. I often wondered why they hadn’t named me something else. When I was old enough, she told me that Kachina means “sacred dancer or spirit ”. She told me that I was special and I would someday change the world. I guess she was right as long as I don’t embrace the weaknesses of the spirit. I was starting to wonder if I was still strong enough. “Don’t worry,” I replied, “ I won’t fail you. Our work is important and I want to continue. I’m fine Louis, stop worrying about me. I just need to rest, to cleanse myself.”
“Good,” he says in his "I’m-a-Special-Agent" voice. How cute. He cares. He picks up the phone and calls another agent. He gives them the address and what they need to look for. A Special Task Force is called to the scene and I feel a sense of relief. “Wanna get something to eat? You’ve been gone for days, “ he says. “Days?!?” I replied. No wonder I was losing myself in Virginia. I should never stay in a host longer than twenty-four hours; that was my rule.
“We need to put protocols in place to make sure that I’m not gone longer than a day.”, I muttered over my half eaten sandwich. I should never been gone that long. It’s not healthy for my spirit. Already, I could start to see my colors fading. When your spirit is strong and pure, it is a vortex of colors and your light shines bright. Each color signifies something in us. Compassion, love, trust, pain, illness and death. You can’t have life without death. You will always go through some pain at some point in your life. Most people can only see the physical body die. Me? I get to see your spirit, your soul die…and I can feel it.
Virginia’s spirit was still colorful, but she had more darkness than most. She must have had a lot of troubles in her life. Maybe it was her sickness, I was still learning what it all meant.
I saw Carmen’s spirit too. Unlike good spirits, evil spirits start to become void of color, like white or some sort of translucent color that’s hard to explain. Then the spirit starts to unravel itself like yarn because you can’t be composed or uniform when you are evil. It actually looks like it is peeling away with tentacles floating hoping to latch on to someone else so that it spreads itself. It’s deadly, like cancer, I thought.
“Oh no!” I exclaimed, sitting straight up in the chair. “We were too late.” His phone rings and he answers it. “Special Agent Morehouse….yes….yes….okay, I understand. Thank you, I’ll let her know.” He hangs up the phone and gives me a strange, subdued look. He slowly starts to speak while looking at me intently, “Virginia Stamor was found dead at the Hopeful House Nursing Home. Cause of death has not been determined yet. The coroner will be doing an examination tomorrow of the remains.” He pauses for a moment and then continued, “They arrested Carmen. They’re bringing her here now. Do you feel up to it?”
I sat there quietly. Her spirit was already unraveling. I felt a bond with Virginia, could I do it? “Yes, let’s go,” I finally say.
Back at the lab, Carmen sits in the room alone in the chair. I walk in and close the door behind me. Agent Morehouse pushes the button to lock it from the outside. I hear the door lock. Showtime.
“Hello Carmen.“, I say calmly, “My name is Kachina. I am a Spirit Warrior.” She looked confused. “Don’t worry; you’ll understand everything before you die. I am only here to capture your spirit so that your evil does not pass to others in the world.”, I continue on, “You have been brought here for crimes against humanity. Unspeakable crimes and your sentence is death. However, you will not have the opportunity to spread your diseased soul to others. You will also suffer immortal death—death of your spirit. “What the hell are you talking about?”, she asks with her eyes pinned to me like daggers. I could feel anger rising in her.
“I am sorry Carmen… Let’s begin.”, I reply. I must do this swiftly so as not to be tricked. Unnerved, I stand behind her chair and place my arms around her like a mother hugging her child. “Goodbye, Carmen.” I close my eyes and prepare for my reckoning on the spirit. Failure was not an option.
To Be Continued? We'll See!...
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