Chapter 6

Tory was curious. She reached up and turned on the light. Jeremy pulled his backpack from his feet to his lap and pulled out the Bride’s magazine. He found an advertisement for a diamond ring and pulled the page out. He showed her the image. He studied the image closed his eyes and then lowered the paper. The paper was now missing the diamond ring. His other hand came up, revealing he was holding a diamond ring that was the spitting image of the one that had been in the advertisement.

Tori blinked. She turned on the blinkers and pulled the car over. She put the car in park, took the diamond ring from him. It felt solid. She scratched the window with the diamond.

“An apport?” Tory asked.

“A what?” Jeremy asked.

“An item brought into being, usually from a remote place, magically,” Tory said.

“No,” Jeremy said. “I took it from this image.”

Tory took the advertisement from his hand. The image had been altered, but only in the fact that the ring itself was missing, leaving a white shadow of a silhouette.

“Do it again,” Tory insisted. She turned the page over. There was a jeweled watch on the other page.

Jeremy touched the paper, studied the image on the opposite side, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was holding the watch from the advertisement.

“No fucking way?!” Tory said. “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, well, it’s temporary,” Jeremy said, not as impressed as she. “Anything I create has a life span. If I go to sleep, they go away. If I make a ring and put it down, and forget it about, it will last about 24 hours, or until I go to sleep. Oh, and if you put it in a led safe and close the door, it goes away immediately.”

“A led safe?”

“Superman can’t see through led, I can’t manifest through led,” Jeremy said. “My name is Jeremy Vale, and I am the Manifestor.”

Tory tried to not laugh. Trying made it worse. She gave in and laughed. “You’re a Superhero? For real?”

“I am a serious superhero,” Jeremy said. “And you’re the only one in the world who knows my true identity.”

Tory put the watch on her arm and the ring on her finger. A limo passed. She accelerated and got back on the freeway. The blinkers came off and they passed the limo.

“Men in black,” Tory pointed at the car.

“That’s what I am thinking,” Jeremy agreed. “They probably bugged me. Bugs and trackers don’t work on me. Either way, I need new clothes and a new backpack.”

“You need me!” Tory said.

“How do you figure?” Jeremy asked.

“Every superhero needs a sidekick,” Tory said.

“I don’t. I am a loner,” Jeremy said.

“Okay, batman,” Tory laughed. “You need me. You can’t keep stealing and thinking that’s going work out for you. It sets up an imbalance of energy.”

“It worked out for Robin Hood,” Jeremy said. “And most of my money goes to charity.”

“Robin Hood died a horrendous death,” Tory said.

“He did?”

“Yes, he did,” Tory said.

“Well, I am trying to make money as a graphic artist,” Jeremy said. “If I get my comics books going, that should make things much easier.”

“You pitched the Manifestor to Marvel?” Tory asked.

Jeremy frowned, looked out the window.

“No, really, what did they say?” Tory said.

“Everyone keeps turning me down because it’s too sexy,” Jeremy said.

“Too sexy?” Tory asked. “Sex sells… Wait, wait, wait. Playboy! You can manifest people?! You’re fucking ghosts!”

“They’re not ghosts,” Jeremy said.

“What the hell are they? Tulpas?” Tory asked.

“What’s a tulpa?” Jeremy asked.

“You know nothing about magic,” Tory said.

“What I do has nothing to do with magic,” Jeremy said.

“Really? You think it’s physics?” Tory asked.

“Everything’s physics,” Jeremy said.

“It’s fucking magic and you’re fucking ghosts,” Tory said. “There’s a reason psychics and physics is almost spelled the same,” Tory said. “It’s fucking magic and you’re fucking ghosts.”

“Stop saying that. They’re not ghosts. Half the time they have no personality at all, they’re just a shell,” Jeremy said. “I can control them, like remote controlled robots. I have some simple personality matrixes that I can download into them and they can simulate what looks like basic autonomy…”

“Egregore,” Tory mused.

“What?” Jeremy asked.

“How can you spend so much time in the book store on the square and not have read any occult books?” Tory asked. Jeremy didn’t have an answer. “Do you ever summon something sentient?”

“Sometimes,” Jeremy said. “Rarely. If the image is of a person with overwhelming, renown stereotypical character, or is archetype they can sometimes come with preset personalities. That also tends to happen if I am really tired. Something else comes through. I call them wild cards. Sometimes a wild is completely autonomous, and if they don’t freak out, well, we become instantly good friends, till I fall asleep.”

“What happens when they freak out?” Tory asked.

“Usually, I get the crap beat out of me,” Jeremy said. “I wake up later, they’re gone.”

“That is so cool,” Tory said.

“Getting the crap beat out of me is cool?” Jeremy asked.

“No. Manifesting and fucking ghosts, that’s cool,” Tory said.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “Ever heard of Midas?”

“Gold finger guy?” Tory said.

Jeremy put the magazine away. “I am addicted. I can’t go the store without seeing a magazine rack and wanting to take every cover girl home. I am trying to understand who gets personality and why. I am trying to figure out how make it last for more than a night.”

“You need me,” Tory said.

“I just said I am addicted to…”

“You’re lonely and you’re searching for the ideal woman,” Tory said. “We’re all doing that. That’s normal. Only, you also have this special ability, so instead of watching porn all day on your cell phone, you’re manifesting ghosts, trying to make it last. You need me.”

“You do realize, if I figure out to make it last, you’re not the girl I am looking for,” Jeremy said.

Tory flashed sadness, nodded. “Maybe so. I can’t compete with ghosts. Definitely not going to compete with Marilyn. I might compete with you for Marilyn. Hell, you make Marilyn permanent, I am so going to try and hit that,” Tory said. “The thing is, Jeremy, what you’re forgetting is, we’re all fucking ghosts. You’re a ghost. I am a ghost. Who I am today is only a shadow of the person I am going to become. I am not who I was. I am not what happened to me. I may not even be who I become. The trick is letting people into your life. Some will find orbits that stick. Some will get shot out. Some will spiral in, collide, and become new objects. But even the most stable objects and orbits, they have apogees and perigees and they will change over time, because there is always more than two influencing objects. You need me. A side kick. A psychic side kick.”

“Alright. I am interested,” Jeremy said. He said this with a yawn.

“That was convincing,” Tory said.

“Sorry,” Jeremy said.

“Was it the physics analogy or the ghost thing?” Tory asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said. “I am just interested.”

“Yes,” Tory said.

“You’re not disturbed?” Jeremy asked.

“Because you’re fucking ghosts?” Tory asked. “Were you actually listening to my speech?”

“They’re not ghosts,” Jeremy said.

“Okay. Because you’re fucking your own manifestations?” Tory asked.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said.

“Are you kidding? If I could summon an image from a magazine, I’d never leave home,” Tory said.

“You will eventually get hungry,” Jeremy said.

“They deliver pizzas, you know,” Tory said.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “I have had months like that.”

“That’s fucking hot,” Tory said, excited as all get out.

“You’re not angry?” Jeremy asked.

“Why would I be angry?” Tory asked.

“Well, you sort of lamented earlier about not being able to compete with airbrushed glamour models and video games and slutty pop stars,” Jeremy said.

“Anger is the enemy,” Tory said, wondering if she was quoting Yoda. “I have a guru who taught me the only superior option available to any human being is acceptance. There is only three options to any problem- fight, flight, or love. That is the formula for any choice. Take the five stages of grief. Denial- flight. Anger-Fight. Bargaining Fight. Depression-flight. Acceptance-love. Look, all people masturbate. No one should be shamed for that. We all idealize celebrities. We shouldn’t be shamed for that. We should never shame a partner for being attracted to another human being. In fact, if we truly love our partners, we would help them hook up with others. We should always be cultivating friendships and family and lovers that will last a life time, because, bottom line, everyone dies. Why would you want to die not having assured your partner and your children have access to good people. You do a disservice isolating people. That’s the dragon protecting treasure that doesn’t belong to it. Fuck all the ghosts you want, Jeremy. I am not threatened. Hell, some of my best friends fuck ghosts on a regular basis- real ghosts, not magazine cutout dolls. Some have nightly astral sex partners. Any time I have a lucid dream, sex is involved. Usually starring Keanu Reeves. You are safe with me.”

Tory looked at Jeremy. He appeared to have fallen asleep, head against the window.

“Seriously?” Tory said, not loudly. “That was like my bestest impromptu speech ever.”

Jeremy snored. She smiled. The fact that Jeremy fell asleep so suddenly and freely suggested he actually felt comfortable with her. Then she realized the ring and the watch were gone.

“Fuck!” Tory said. She picked up the page from the magazine. A passing streetlight illuminated it. It was still missing the items that were removed. “That is so cool!” She was happy.