EXCERPT Chapter 1
Maxwell Legassa sat alone in his home office, pondering. Three years had passed
since he had opened his Internet marketing business, and the sale of his
supernatural thrillers and his erotic books, along with his books of poetry, was
not going well; too much competition.
Max had begun writing the x-rated books out of desperation since his other,
more serious, novels had not been big sellers. As he sometimes said privately,
?Only your publisher knows how little you make.?
After almost a year of fruitlessly seeking a reliable agent or publisher, and,
having expended significant amounts of money and time in sending off manuscripts
and synopsis?s, he had opted to publish through one of the online publishers on
the Internet.
Having made his books available in both print and download form, he soon
discovered that they didn?t go anywhere unless he conducted a serious marketing
campaign.
Then an x-rated e-book publisher in London had contacted him promising
abundant royalty earnings if he would crank out some pornographic-type works to
be sold on the Internet as instantly downloadable e-books. With dollar signs in
his eyes, he had sat down at his word processor and begun typing out the
requested novels. Although ?sex sells,? even these didn?t produce a bonanza as
he had been led to expect.
He had ended up spending almost all of his time trying to attract attention to
his masterpieces, and he had not put down any fresh ideas for a new novel in
over six months.
Max picked up his worn deck of Rider Tarot cards and held them in his hand for
a few minutes as he meditated. He shuffled them and laid them on his desk and
picked a card. The IX of Wands. Yup, that?s me, he thought, beat up and on the
defensive, but at least I?m still standing.
He sank into a deep blue funk.
Max was a tall thin man, shaven-headed and mustached and well past middle age,
and he was lonesome and sorely in need of some human interaction. He always
said, defensively, that he was safe in his castle of writing, but right now he
felt so goddamned alone that he could claw the walls.
Max owned a humble little yellow house in a shabby neighborhood of Largo,
Florida. The advantage to it, as compared to many people in the area who had
overbought and were struggling with mortgage payments, was that he had managed
to pay the place off and therefore did not have to make a monthly payment.
As an additional way of keeping expenses down, he had dropped the home owner?s
insurance, hoping every hurricane season that the monster storms would hit
elsewhere. His excuse was that, ?they always find a way to avoid paying anyway.?
So far, he had been lucky.
He was married to a woman named Marsha who worked as an accountant for a
non-profit organization. They had come here from California, and, even after a
number of years, they were still not adapted to the predominately southern
culture and manners of the native Floridians. They simply could not get use to
the rudeness of the people; men who wore baseball caps in restaurants and
butchered the King?s English, and women who waddled around screaming at their
equally crude, snot-nosed kids.
Shortly after purchasing the house, Max had hired an independent contractor
who had made the carport into a room, and Max then converted it into his office
with a desk and large leather executive-style chair and his computer and printer
and shelves full of books and papers. The walls were adorned with framed print
outs of some of his book covers as well as a couple of his oil paintings from
earlier days. As he sat at his desk typing day after day, he could almost
convince himself that he was a successful author in a Manhattan apartment. But a
glance out the window at the passing parade of pickup trucks and low-rider,
rap-spewing cars, quickly brought him back to reality.
Yet to him it was his own little world, and when he walked in each morning and
closed the door he felt like he was home. At least here he could escape into
his own realm of fantasies and dreams. But more and more lately he was feeling
the solitude and isolation closing in on him. He needed to talk to someone,
needed some live human contact.
He sat before the monitor staring at a blank page and waiting for something,
anything, to surface in his mind. Another sex book? He had grown tired of
writing the erotic stores; after awhile they became boring. A supernatural
thriller? Yes, but how can you write something like that when you simply feel no
inspiration? Writer?s block? Yeah, that must be it.
Max went into his small kitchen and heated up some coffee in the microwave and
returned and plopped down in his chair and lit up another cigarette. Smoking
too much? Yes, probably, he thought, but at this point, who the hell cares?
Besides, I could have become a vegetarian and health nut and would probably have
died of cancer at age forty-five. Keith Richards seems to be going strong, and
look how he?s lived! Sure, don?t smoke, eat right, and get hit by a truck.
Screw it! He took a swig of coffee and a deep drag. What am I going to do?
He logged onto the Internet and joined millions of other bored surfers. Then
he came across a site labeled, ?Meet-ups.? Hmm?this might have something
interesting. At least they seemed to be offering some groups where one could
attend meetings and meet some real people.
Max entered ?metaphysics? into the group search engine, and a group appeared
called ?Inquiring Psychics.? He clicked on the appropriate link and noticed that
they had a meeting scheduled for Thursday evening at 7:00pm. It was specified
that those attending should bring a small personal item belonging to someone
else.
Max sat smoking and thinking. What have I got to lose? he asked himself.
What am I going to do, sit here and go slowly nuts from the solitude? He
clicked on a button and signed up to attend the meeting. He sipped his coffee
and stared out the window.
Chapter 2
Max had been born in San Francisco and was raised, along with two brothers and
a sister, in Sacramento, California. His mother had suffered through years of
abuse and then was deserted while Max and his brothers and sister were still
young.
Max had never gotten along well with his siblings and never had many friends.
He had become a voracious reader and had withdrawn more and more into himself
and his own world of fantasies. He often found it difficult to paint reality on
the canvas of his imagination.
From an early age he had developed the habit of writing poems and some of his
frustrations and observations in notebooks that he always carried with him.
Later, this habit proved valuable when he became an author.
Because Max was viewed as somewhat eccentric by his classmates at school, he
was often subjected to ridicule and developed the habit of responding to taunts
by using his fists. He developed a violent temper and had once been taken to the
juvenile center after beating another boy unconscious. This had made him
something of a hero when he returned to school, but it did not enhance his
record later when prospective employers did a background check.
Despite his failure to fit in at school, he had a quick and retentive mind.
He was bored with his studies and yet managed to graduate at a comparatively
young age.
Shortly after graduating from High School he decided, like Jack Kerouac, to
hit the road, and one night he just threw some things into a bag, stole the
money in his mother?s purse, took the cash he had saved from a part-time job and
simply left. He never went back.
Max bummed around from town to town working at odd jobs, getting drunk, and
shacking up with assorted girls and women in rented rooms and houses.
He entered into and left a disastrous first marriage, spent some time in
Tijuana, Mexico, and then met and married a lovely Mexican
woman named Marsha, and, finally, after several years of bumping around the
country, they had ended up in Florida.
Having purchased a small house, some degree of stability had finally set in
with Marsha working as an accountant and with Max sitting in his home office in
front of a computer cranking out slow-selling books and cherishing hopes of
becoming a big-time author.
But, after a time, the realization slowly sunk in that ?big-time authors? are
few and far between, and unknown writers are a dime a dozen. This realization
proved fertile ground for the conception and birth of frequent bouts of
depression that all the cigarettes and black coffee in the world were not able
to dispel.
Max began some metaphysical studies with the emphasis on tarot cards and
magick. He always spoke of ?magick,? which he considered the real thing, as
opposed to ?magic? that was often little more than trickery and sleight of hand.
Something in the dark recesses of his subconscious seemed to stir whenever he
read about ceremonial magick or went into deep meditative states. This proved
to be a portent of things to come.
Chapter 3
Thursday evening arrived, and Max climbed into his silver Honda and headed for
the psychic?s meeting that was scheduled to be held at the Coral Reef apartments
in Clearwater. He had invited Marsha to accompany him, but she had declined
citing her heavy day and the fact she had to get up early for another round of
corporate bludgeoning.
Max drove up Starkey Road with his Google map on the seat next to him as a CD
of Steely Dan played. In his pocket was a ring belonging to Marsha. He had his
window rolled down and his left arm hanging out holding the cigarette that he
was smoking. He cursed the driver of a big black Hummer that was tailgating him,
but he was feeling better just to be out of the house for awhile.
Max found the address and parked in front of the Coral Reef?s office. Going up
to the office door, he rang the bell and was greeted by a pleasant woman named
Betty who was the manager of the complex and who was also a practicing psychic.
The office had a large lounge area, and there were already half a dozen people
sitting around visiting. He was greeted warmly and made to feel welcome. A woman
name Sonia, who had a thick European accent smiled to him and offered him a
small sack of ?mini-Belgian waffles? that, she explained, came from her new
bakery business.
A man named Ike and his wife Gina eyed him curiously and went back to talking
to another couple.
Betty asked him if he had brought an item belonging to someone else and
instructed him to place Marsha?s ring on a tray along with a pile of other
objects.
God, it felt good to be out meeting some living breathing human beings! More
people were arriving, and finally the room was filled with over two dozen
people.
Tamara, the group leader, stood and announced that tonight they were going to
be doing psychometry or ?token-object reading.? She walked around the circle of
people with the tray containing various items, along with a stack of paper and
some pens.
Max picked up a small ceramic figure and some paper and took out his
omni-present fountain pen and held them in his hands. This was something new to
him.
?Hold the item you picked up and meditate over it for a moment, and then write
down your impressions on the paper,? Tamara said.
Everyone did so, and soon the participants were busy jotting down notes on
their sheets of paper. When everyone had finished, Tamara began going around the
circle calling on each one to read what they had written. Some of them were
quite accurate while others were just random guessing.
The man who was holding Marsha?s ring read from his scribbled notes, ?I sense
that this ring belongs to a woman who is connected to someone who is here
tonight. I feel she is a woman who works in an office with a position that
involves numbers.?
Max squirmed uneasily in his chair?this was hitting close to home, and he
realized that this was more than just a parlor game.
When it came Max?s turn, he read his notes, ?A stern, gray-haired lady. Black
high heels. Old-fashioned dress and hat.?
?My God,? Ike, the bespecktacled serious-faced man cried out, ?that was my
mother! That was a ceramic piece that she used to keep in her bedroom when she
was alive.? Ike and Gina glanced at each other and smiled slyly.
The people were staring at Max, and he felt smug and quite proud of
himself.
?Well, that was quite impressive, Max. Have you been practicing psychometry
for a long time??
?No, this is the first time I?ve ever tried it.?
?Interesting! You see everyone? Some people just have a gift. Well done,
Max!?
The next half-hour was devoted to a question and answer session, and then
Tamara announced that the next meeting would be in two weeks and that they would
be practicing mediumship.
As Max was shaking hands and saying his goodbyes, Tamara came up to him and
handed him a CD and said that she was giving it to him and that she hoped he
would benefit from it.
Max drove home with a warm glow. He had not felt this well in years.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Max sat quietly in his office. He inserted the CD into a
player and eased back in his chair. A calm male voice began to speak and give
instructions on how to enter into a state of deep relaxation.
Max?s eyes were closed, and he was breathing deeply as areas of his body began
to release pent-up tension. He was surprised to notice just how tense he had
been, and, as he relaxed more and more, he entered a trance-like state. The
voice on the CD instructed him to picture a logo of his choosing in his mind in
the area of his forehead known as the ?third-eye?.
Max pictured a gold-colored five-pointed star, and the man said to center his
attention on this and allow his attention to enter into it. Max did so, and
experienced a weird, disconnected sensation. He felt a flutter of uneasiness.
Now instructions were given on how to ?balance the chakras,? and the man on
the CD explained how to begin with the bright-red chakra at the base of the
spine and draw white light up into it and allow the wheel of this chakra to
begin to spin and glow and expand.
This was done with all the chakras moving up the spine until the crown chakra,
true violet in color, was reached. Now, he was instructed to visualize a golden
glow above his head and to mentally draw it down so that it permeated his body
while, at the same time, the white light from below ascended and mixed with this
golden light. Max was feeling a warm glow over his whole body.
A female voice that sounded like Tamara?s came out of the CD player and said
that she was going to help in the opening of the third eye. She said to picture
a light switch and to mentally flip it to the on position, and then visualize
the third eye opening.
?Picture a zipper on the top of your head,? the voice said. ?Now, zip it open
all the way across your head until you reach the nap of
your neck. I?m placing a ball of turquoise energy into your spine. Now close
the zipper.?
Max followed the directions but was feeling alarmed. It seemed that his whole
body was tingling, and he felt a peculiar scratching sensation in the center of
his forehead. He opened his eyes and jerked upright in his chair. Just for an
instant he saw a black-clad figure standing in his office door leering at him;
then it was gone. Instinctively, he started to reach for the 9mm Glock that he
kept by his desk, but then he realized that you can?t shoot a phantom image,
especially when you?re not even sure it?s there.
Max shivered. He glanced around the room, and things looked slightly
distorted. There seemed to be a few patches of cloudy mist hanging in the
air.
?Now, close your third eye, and let the gold and white streams of energy merge
and continue to wash over you.?
The CD had reached the end, and Max stood up and shook his head from side to
side, and he felt an unexplainable urge to start babbling incoherently. He
walked across the room and felt light on his feet. He felt alive and wonderful.
He returned to his desk and sat down and lit a cigarette. He stared out the
window, and his mind was racing. What had just happened to him? What strange
energies or forces had he tapped into? And who was that figure that he had
seemed to see? He shook his head.
This must be my imagination playing tricks on me, he thought. I?ve been alone
and isolated for too long, and I must be getting slightly daffy. Still, there
was no denying the difference he now felt in his body. Something had definitely
taken place, and whatever it was had certainly left him feeling differently. As
a matter of fact, he felt great!
The phone rang and Max picked it up. ?Hello?? Silence, heavy breathing, and
the line went dead. Strange.
| 
Children`s Fiction
Non-Adult Fiction
