The Chai' Cycle

Standing above the fallen psychopath, a lone man adjusted his denim jacket and wiped his brown hair from his face. A wave of nausea twisted through his stomach, and he gagged for a moment at the unique odor which had only recently become so familiar. “The smell of evil,” he whispered slowly. “I'll never get used to that smell.” The man stared in contempt at the fallen invader, and felt the rage burning. He knew better than to let anger control his thoughts, and he carefully began to meditate. “Rage, enter the place of the weak force,” he whispered. “Stay subdued in the flow outside the center of gravity.” The guest was taking a nap upstairs when the foul stench of evil drifted into his room and awakened him from a deep sleep. Although not fully accustomed to his newly developed senses, the most recent of the Chai' disciples instinctively knew that a dangerous enemy had entered the house. He quickly slipped into his loafers, mechanically donned his jacket and raced from his room where he saw the killer from atop the stairs. Within the lights emanating from the villain's unconsciousness, he saw the collage of his thoughts. With shades of grey contrasting blue they radiated from his dark soul and drew a picture of evil intent. As though watching a video tape, the man standing on the stairs saw all of the cruelty the stranger had planned for Lyla McDaniels, reflected in the cascading lights. Similarly, pictures reflecting terror beamed from Lyla’s horrified mind. The lights issued from their eyes created two tapestries of revealing images, and then blurred into streams of bluish gray as the ethereal mixture flowed through the room. He had seen such lights once before, and learned then that he would be invisible as long as he avoided the gray beams. Moving agilely down the stairs and darting through the lights it was an easy matter to render them both unconscious without anyone aware he was present. Now, standing over the fallen killer, he took a deep breath and walked to an empty fire place across the room. The man picked up a poker, and on his way back to the fallen girl took a small pillow from the couch. He gently placed the pillow under Lyla's head, and laid the poker near her right hand. Quickly, he crossed the room and picked up the phone. After dialing 911 he waited for a voice to respond, and he gave his report. “My name is John Reams, I want to report a break-in and possibly an attempted murder. The intruder is unconscious, and it looks like the lady of the house knocked him out with a poker before she fainted.”