Read The Bringer for Free Online Page B
Authors: Samantha Towle
hear is the name that’s now echoing around my mind, the name of my next bring, the one that has pinned me to this stony floor.
James Maxwell Harrison.
I feel sheer and utter horror. Hysteria practically leaps up and grabs hold of me. It’s so overwhelming, momentarily I don’t know what to do with it.
Arlo, noticing my abrupt stop, turns back and looks at me with curiosity. “Lucyna?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
No. It can’t be. Not him. Not James.
Arlo’s eyebrow arches in confusion. “Lucyna?” he reiterates, taking a step toward me, awakening me.
“ Time for me to go, Arlo.” I desperately try to make my voice sound even. “I shall see you soon.”
I don’t wait for his response. I have no time.
My next actions are beyond me. My thoughts are erratic, scattered. The only thing I know for sure is that I have to save James. Nothing else matters. Just save him.
Instantly I’m there, looking at a burning car which is entangled with a tree, and trapped inside is James.
There’s ninety seconds left before he’s scheduled to die.
What do I do? Can I save him? Can I stop what God has set in motion? Surely not, I have no such power to override God’s will.
But, James.
Eighty-five . . . eighty-four . . . eighty-three . . .
Without warning, an odd sensation suddenly ripples right through my very being and then something overtakes me. Before I know it I’m at the car, yanking the door open, pushing back the air bag and pulling at James’s limp body. He’s stuck. Frantically I search around to see what’s trapping him. It’s his seat belt. I tug hard but it doesn’t give way. I follow its lead to the end, press a button and hear a click. It unravels in my hand. Taking hold of James, I put his arm around me and pull him from the car.
I half carry, half drag him down the gravelly road, his feet scraping along as I do so. Then once we’re a safe distance from the car, I carefully lay him down on the ground and sit beside him.
Then it hits me.
I’m holding James. Physically touching him. I have carried him.
How?
I look down at myself and see a human body, skin covering every part of me. I’m wearing clothes. I look at my hands. I have fingernails. I’m solid matter. I look like a human.
What . . . how . . . how did this happen? How did I become this way? Questions are spilling from my mind.
Stop, Lucyna, there is no time for this.
I quickly gather myself together and look down at James. His skin is covered in black soot and he has some cuts on his face. A large one near his hairline has blood trickling from it, the blood clotting into his hair.
What should I do?
Reaching forward, I gently place my fingertip on the cut. Instantly a tingling sensation shoots up through my finger.
I jump back startled.
What on earth was that?
Curious, I again reach forward and place my finger on James’ face, wondering whether it’s his blood that causes this tingling sensation, or just him. But the moment my skin meets his, the same wondrous sensation once again presents itself, running up my finger into my arm.
Am I touching him? Is this what it’s like? Can I now feel James?
Curiosity burns every part of me.
I keep my finger on him, marvelling at this wonderful experience, letting the sensation swill through me. Then, as if slapped around the face, I suddenly realise that James' precious time is still ticking away in my mind. It hasn’t stopped. Why? I mean it should, shouldn’t it? Have I not done enough to save him?
Forty-one . . . forty . . . thirty-nine . . .
Don’t die, James. Please don’t die. Don’t leave me here all alone. If you do, then this was all for nothing.
I take hold of his body and shake him, vehemently ignoring the sensations it creates in my hands, and will him to wake.
He’s not waking up.
Panic stricken, I shake him again - but nothing.
Twenty-eight . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . .
“ James, please don’t die,” I beseech.
What do I do? I am
James Maxwell Harrison.
I feel sheer and utter horror. Hysteria practically leaps up and grabs hold of me. It’s so overwhelming, momentarily I don’t know what to do with it.
Arlo, noticing my abrupt stop, turns back and looks at me with curiosity. “Lucyna?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
No. It can’t be. Not him. Not James.
Arlo’s eyebrow arches in confusion. “Lucyna?” he reiterates, taking a step toward me, awakening me.
“ Time for me to go, Arlo.” I desperately try to make my voice sound even. “I shall see you soon.”
I don’t wait for his response. I have no time.
My next actions are beyond me. My thoughts are erratic, scattered. The only thing I know for sure is that I have to save James. Nothing else matters. Just save him.
Instantly I’m there, looking at a burning car which is entangled with a tree, and trapped inside is James.
There’s ninety seconds left before he’s scheduled to die.
What do I do? Can I save him? Can I stop what God has set in motion? Surely not, I have no such power to override God’s will.
But, James.
Eighty-five . . . eighty-four . . . eighty-three . . .
Without warning, an odd sensation suddenly ripples right through my very being and then something overtakes me. Before I know it I’m at the car, yanking the door open, pushing back the air bag and pulling at James’s limp body. He’s stuck. Frantically I search around to see what’s trapping him. It’s his seat belt. I tug hard but it doesn’t give way. I follow its lead to the end, press a button and hear a click. It unravels in my hand. Taking hold of James, I put his arm around me and pull him from the car.
I half carry, half drag him down the gravelly road, his feet scraping along as I do so. Then once we’re a safe distance from the car, I carefully lay him down on the ground and sit beside him.
Then it hits me.
I’m holding James. Physically touching him. I have carried him.
How?
I look down at myself and see a human body, skin covering every part of me. I’m wearing clothes. I look at my hands. I have fingernails. I’m solid matter. I look like a human.
What . . . how . . . how did this happen? How did I become this way? Questions are spilling from my mind.
Stop, Lucyna, there is no time for this.
I quickly gather myself together and look down at James. His skin is covered in black soot and he has some cuts on his face. A large one near his hairline has blood trickling from it, the blood clotting into his hair.
What should I do?
Reaching forward, I gently place my fingertip on the cut. Instantly a tingling sensation shoots up through my finger.
I jump back startled.
What on earth was that?
Curious, I again reach forward and place my finger on James’ face, wondering whether it’s his blood that causes this tingling sensation, or just him. But the moment my skin meets his, the same wondrous sensation once again presents itself, running up my finger into my arm.
Am I touching him? Is this what it’s like? Can I now feel James?
Curiosity burns every part of me.
I keep my finger on him, marvelling at this wonderful experience, letting the sensation swill through me. Then, as if slapped around the face, I suddenly realise that James' precious time is still ticking away in my mind. It hasn’t stopped. Why? I mean it should, shouldn’t it? Have I not done enough to save him?
Forty-one . . . forty . . . thirty-nine . . .
Don’t die, James. Please don’t die. Don’t leave me here all alone. If you do, then this was all for nothing.
I take hold of his body and shake him, vehemently ignoring the sensations it creates in my hands, and will him to wake.
He’s not waking up.
Panic stricken, I shake him again - but nothing.
Twenty-eight . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . .
“ James, please don’t die,” I beseech.
What do I do? I am