The Andre Chronicles: Chapter 3
Light Bearer, Origin Unknown

Although the summer night air was still warm and I sat across a roaring, crackling fire from Andre, the psychic chill continued to raise gooseflesh on my arms. The entire evening had me more than a little stunned. I was trying to figure out how best to continue this bizarre conversation without coming across wrong.

He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fire and turned toward the lake. Moonlight was reflecting off the slight ripples stirred by the gentle breeze. Over the past couple of hours, the vacant campsites around us had slowly begun to fill in with tents, campers, and pick up trucks pulling large boats. A couple dozen campfires had sprung up nearby as humanity slowly crept toward our isolated corner next to the woods.

In the distance, someone lit off a peppering of firecrackers. Each quick bang echoed off the water and punctuated the darkness. A moment later the air was split with an intensely bright Roman candle streaking skyward. In a small way I was reminded of the blast from the supernova Andre had projected when we met the week before. From another corner of the campground, loud country music began blaring, and the sounds of laughing, drunken voices interrupted the peace of the still July night.

I was just preparing to float Andre another sea of questions when I saw his energy suddenly shift and a rare audible sigh emanated from him. I looked up, and was surprised to find his personal shields had dropped. A strong sense of deep frustration, sadness and loneliness radiated from him and washed over me. He was staring out over the campground with its usual Iowa mix of race, education, level of imbibing and taste in country music. “Poor bastards,” I heard him say. “They really have no clue.” I frowned, somewhat confused. “What do you mean?” Andre turned to stare at me. I think he was unaware he had spoken out loud. His shields went up again. “Nothing,” he said and stood as if to go. Oh no you don’t, I thought, I have way too many questions that I want answered. I got up and crossed over to him. He lit another cigarette, his eyes darting sideways, senses on higher alert as I approached. “What do you mean they’re clueless?” I asked again.

He sighed, as if I had asked a thousand and one questions already and was tired of my extreme case of the curiosities. I could tell he wanted to be understood, but didn’t really want to explain. He paused a moment, took a quick drag and blew smoke in the direction of the happy drunken voices we heard from a dozen campsites to the south of us. “No clue. No depth. No spiritual understanding. No idea where their race is going. No idea of the big picture of good and evil.”

Where their race is going? Interesting phrasing, I thought. I made a mental note to ask him later about that. For the moment, I wanted to understand the emotional shift I had witnessed. “Good and evil?” I gently prompted, taking what I hoped was a safer line of questioning. Andre didn’t even look in my direction, but walked over to his car as if he were about to leave without saying a word. I followed, and gently put a hand on his shoulder. I knew something was very wrong, and that he was shutting down. As I touched him, the connection strengthened my psychic perceptions. Extreme isolation washed over me, and I had the sense that he felt like he was the last of a species. I consciously sent understanding and caring through that light touch and he turned, partially facing me. I let go and Andre paused, but did not look at me. His eyes were focused on the water, taking in the moving changing ribbons of moonlight. I let him be and several moments later caught his sideways glance at me. I could tell gears were turning in his mind. Instead of leaving, he abruptly shifted and leaned back against the hood of his car. Tell…not tell. Tell…not tell. Andre was struggling with something, tottering on the edge of a huge internal debate. He was trying to decide whether to divulge whatever was on his mind or leave and continue to keep his secrets to himself. Those dark eyes bored into me and finally he spoke.

“You don’t seem like the usual fluff bunny,” he stated matter-of-factly. I laughed gently. Fluff bunnies are folks in the metaphysical and magical communities who think everything is bright and white and light and good. Picture super blond air-head, add a sampling of all kinds of disconnected metaphysical experiences, collect all the most popular books (especially if they pertain to love spells) and magical tools and you have the makings of a fluff bunny. All collection, no substance. “No,” I responded in all seriousness, “I’ve never been a fluff bunny.” “Do you believe in evil?” Andre turned to me to fully see and feel my reaction. Whatever my response, I knew the answer was extremely important to him. I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, absolutely I do,” I told him. “You can’t have love and light without having the counter of dark and evil. It’s that yin yang thing. The universe has to be balanced.” “Dark doesn’t mean evil,” he responded defensively, a hint of vehemence in his voice. His own dark eyes locked with mine and narrowed abruptly. I could tell he was again on the edge of suddenly leaving. I watched him reach into his pocket fishing, I thought, for his keys.

I paused a moment, thinking quickly. Somehow I knew I had one last shot at this. Carefully, I spoke. “No, you’re right. Dark is just dark, like a dark night sky or a dark colored shirt. It’s not evil; it’s just an absence of light. Intent to consciously harm without caring, that’s closer to how I define evil.” I stopped, suddenly remembering and reliving my first awful awareness of true malicious and hateful intent. I let out a heavy breath trying to rid myself of the old appalling images that still haunted me. “I’ve met evil,” I told him seriously. Suddenly the intensity of his gaze pierced me like a hot knife. His eyes were filled with questions. What does she mean by that? I could almost feel his suspicious thoughts. How much does this psychic woman know? What has she picked up? Andre paused, and withdrew his hand from his pocket holding not keys, but his cigarettes. His eyes were still locked on mine and I felt that strange tugging sensation again, as if he were trying to wordlessly glean information from me. Without glancing at the pack, he withdrew a single smoke and lit it quietly. His fingers beckoned in a circular motion for me to continue talking. I sighed again. I hated reliving this stuff.

“When I first started my psychic business, I worked on the case of a missing boy in Minnesota. To make a long story short, I put myself inside the mind of the sexual perpetrator….of…. of….children.” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath before I could continue. “I did it to try to determine where this boy had been taken and what had happened to him. That’s when I first hit this horrible sense of pure, malicious, vicious, hurtful crazed anger and what I now understand as evil. After torturing him and abusing him sexually, I clairvoyantly watched that man chop this innocent ten year old into pieces and toss his parts into a lake.” I looked away for the first time, and drew in another breath, forcing the images away again. Even though fifteen years had passed, they were still vividly branded into my mind. “I know evil when I see it,” I stated with a definite edge in my voice. Andre blinked then and without a word, pushed himself away from the hood of the car. Silently he made his way back to the camp chair by the fire, apparently satisfied with my answer. This time, he sat in it, leaning forward, obviously more intent on talking. The firelight played with the shadows of his face, creating a fascinating half and half mixture of deep, dark shadow and warm glowing highlights. I blinked, taking in the mix. The duality seemed to reflect a deeper, more accurate inner part of what made Andre who he really was.

“You know other energy workers.” He made the statement and then paused. “Yes. I personally know some pretty powerful projectionists around the country,” I replied. “I know a man in West Virginia who practices rolling quartz balls across a surface without touching them. I know a woman in Texas who can light candles without a match. I also know a man in the St. Louis area who can direct lightning and thunderstorms.” Andre looked at me, his eyes hoping for an answer he knew would not come.

“Have you ever met anyone like me?” he asked.

I thought about Andre’s mind touch abilities and the intense energy balls he had thrown at me earlier. I had to answer honestly. “No,” I said. “You have a unique method of working. I’ve never seen anything quite like the projection you do. It’s very impressive.” Andre sat back; a mixture of things seemed to be running through him. He cocked his head sideways, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. He took a drag off his cigarette. The smoke from it merged with that of the campfire. The silence between us lasted several minutes. I was determined to let him have the time he needed to process whatever it was that was going through his head. We both stared into the fire’s embers and I rose to add more logs to the glowing coals. Together we watched as flames licked at the new fuel, catching it and burning with a chaotic sort of zest. Before our eyes, the dead log was transformed first into flame and then to ember, sparks and ash. Living specks of light floated upwards into the night sky, freed from their prisons. They danced on the still air before vanishing into the darkness. Finally Andre spoke.

“Then I am alone.”

I picked up his sentiment immediately. Last of a species…I didn’t know if it was his thought, or my own.

Pausing, I searched his face. He was obviously feeling isolated, but something more going on behind the scenes about all this. “It’s true,” I said. “I’ve never met anyone, or even heard of anyone who can do what you do. Have you ever found someone who has your…abilities?” Andre shook his head. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak, but I could tell this was hard for him. I waited patiently as he was obviously working at how to word something. He toyed with the cigarette pack for a moment, pulled out another, lit it and looked up at me. “No,” he said quietly, “never. Like I told you before, I’m…different.” A sort of resigned silence descended before he spoke again. “Do you know the term ‘light bearer’?” he asked. I nodded. I had heard the phrase in several contexts. “Yes, why do you ask?” He looked down and sighed heavily. It was the first time I had seen him look anything but confident and self-assured. “I,” he paused and looked away, “was given the name of Light Bearer….” I sat back and this time it was my own head that cocked to one side. “This is a bad thing?” I asked. Andre looked up in surprise, questioning whether I was serious. “You are aware,” he stated with an edge in his voice, “that Light Bearer was Lucifer’s title.”

I swallowed, taking in that statement and its implications. My mind turned several directions of somersaults. I stared across the fire at Andre. What was he trying to say? He was trying to tell me something, but what? “But, if I recall,” I began carefully, “Lucifer was not the only who had the title ‘light bearer.’ Prometheus did also, and Diana in Greek mythology. Even the term Mahatma I think mean’s or translates as “enlightened one.” In my mind that’s a variation on “light bearer.” Andre didn’t respond immediately. He was lost in his own thoughts. The flames of the fire wrapped around the logs for several minutes.

“I’m too dark for most people to…” he started to say, and stopped. “But, not evil. I don’t perceive evil in you,” I interrupted. Andre looked up, the glow from the fire again dancing both dark and light across his face. “What exactly do you perceive?” he finally asked. I bit my lip, working on how to proceed. He deserved an honest response, however strange it might be. “Well,” I began, “I’ve been trying to puzzle that out. It’s true that you seem to have this sort of ancient warrior kind of feel about you. While I hear you talk about being dark, and knowing the dark, there’s a whole story there you’re obviously not saying. I can tell you very thoroughly understand evil, but for some reason that doesn’t scare me. It’s as if you know evil, but also fight against it. But, there’s something bigger here that I haven’t put my finger on yet..” Andre nodded, his whole body listening above the crackle of the fire. “And?” he asked. “Well, with the whole strange age thing…let’s say it’s true. As weird as it sounds, let’s say you really are more like eight hundred. Is there any explanation for why I might think that? Well, first, humans as a general rule currently live to be maybe seventy plus years old, but even the Bible refers to men who were several hundred years old…like Noah for instance. It’s possible that the Old Testament was not exaggerating.” “Could you have had these skills in a past life and they’ve come forward with you? Could I be just picking up on some kind of reincarnation thing?” I frowned, not liking how that sounded. “That just doesn’t feel right to me, it’s too pat.” I pressed my fingers together and plunged on, spouting theories. “Also,” I continued, “some ascended masters or yogis have been reported to live several hundred years. Do I think that’s possible…yes. If such an individual existed in Western culture, I suspect they would choose to not make their longevity or their….” I searched for the right words, “their special abilities public. It would put them under too much scrutiny and make them subject to superstitious crap from the locals.”

Andre nodded again, listening and waiting. I paused, wondering if I really should continue. He motioned again with his hand, indicating for me to go on. I drew in a deep breath. There was another possibility, but I hesitated to say it out loud. I sighed and wished he would speak. It was not to be, and I rubbed my eyes and forehead reflexively, not sure how to continue. “The last possibility I can come up with comes from a purely legendary source. The idea of vampires that live hundreds of years has been reported throughout history in several cultures around the globe, but….” Andre suddenly sat back, his eyes ablaze with a deep amber fire. I wondered if I had insulted him. I watched his lips purse and his fingertips steeple together. My breathing stopped as I waited for his reaction. He’s going to think I’m an absolutely mental case, I thought. “So,” he said finally. Shadows playing across his face, hiding the mysterious glow from them once more. “You touched on something I’ve wondered about too…you’re the only one who has even remotely come close.“ He took another cigarette from the pack in his pocket, cocked his head and lit it. In the brief flare of the lighter, I thought I saw those dark eyes shimmer golden again for just a moment. He exhaled, blowing a light stream of smoke across the embers, which flared and sparked at his command.

“So,” he said again, dark eyes glowing in the firelight. “Which of these do you think is closest to the truth about who and what I am?”