162_Chapter Three – Day 4 – Amber’s Revenge

I have no idea of what motivated me to write this title after calling forth the Day. They came into my head, and my initial thought was, “I am not writing that. ‘Amber’s Revenge?’ Why would I write words like those?” It sounds ominous and even a little dramatic, but the thought was persistent in my mind, and now, it is written. There’s no turning back, not from a sentence like that.

As I think about what the words might mean, I hope they represent Amber’s opportunity to avenge all she has lost finally. I hope this day gives us an avenue to find resolution against the man who tormented her. Still, even with my hopeful thoughts, the temptation to remove them pecks at me because I do not know what they actually mean. Are they friend, or are they foe? I imagine today is the day I find out. Besides, I genuinely feel it would be against the guidance I trust to remove them, and so they will remain, along with the journey to what their definition truly is.

I am a little tired tonight, but I feel driven to write. So, I return my consciousness to the cave, where I now sit in the middle of the floor. My head is down, and my hands are in my lap. Amber is watching me, waiting for me to ‘wake up’ and tell her what is going on. She is not in her happy place. She is angry and impatient, but I notice; she is not manic. She is expressing the legitimate emotion of someone who is far from home and doesn’t know why.

She wants to go back, but she cannot leave. She can visit her family only in her mind, and she is not happy about being kept from them. I may have been able to help heal the manic part of her mind, but it has opened her eyes to reality again. She can no longer be distracted by decorating a cave because this is a healthier Amber. This is the human Amber, the Amber who knows and loves her family. This Amber wants to love and protect her family. She is not the type of person to take infringement of her rights lightly.

I will need to keep her in the dark about a few things, or she will not cooperate. We could be here for months, maybe even years, trying to accomplish what we might do in just a few days. If I want to help her move on, I must take it in steps, very specific steps.

I raise my head slowly.

She begins speaking before my eyes have a chance to meet hers, “Who are you and why am I here?”

I look into her eyes and see the face of a woman who will fight for what she wants, for what she believes is right. At this moment, she sees me as the person who is keeping her from her family. She will demand a correction to this injustice if I allow her to take control of the situation.

I do not respond. I simply rise and walk to what appears to be a credenza at the far side of the cave. I pour water for both of us from a pitcher which rests on a decorative metal tray. Several crystal glasses surround the pitcher. “No more coconuts,” I think to myself as I look around the cave and notice it now looks more like a home than a cavern.

She does not move from the place she stood upon my return to the cave. Walking back to where she stands in the center of the room, I hand her one of the glasses and go to sit on what appears to be a futon.

The furnishings in the cave are modest but homey. There is a rug now, where I was previously sitting on a dirt floor and lamps to light the area with a soft, yellow glow. There is still a rock wall face behind the furnishings, but it adds integrity to the room. For the briefest moment, I remember the Flintstones, and I smile.

Amber takes the glass, momentarily stunned by my dissention. Then, as she comes back to herself, she throws it against one of the walls. It shatters and then disappears.

She doesn’t notice. “I asked you a question,” she says, “and I expect an answer.”

She is not aggressive. Her voice remains calm and even. She is exceptionally calm for how angry I know she must be. Her response to me addresses shock at my lack of common courtesy more than fury over my total disregard of her opinion.

I take time to find a comfortable position on the futon. Then, I look at her and say, “And we will talk about it when you are in a place to listen.”

I am amazed by my words. I honestly expected myself to answer her, but I realize I cannot let her think she is running the show, not even for a moment. My response is a clear indication of who is in charge and must be very condescending to drive its point home.

My statement is the kind that might send me over the edge, but Amber is not me. I can see she is as insulted by my treatment of her as I would be if someone were to address me in the same way. However, unlike me, she stops to consider her response before she speaks.

While I wait, I sit on the sofa and drink my water. I lay back like our conversation is nothing more to me than it would be if we were discussing the weather. 

Her outrage grows, and she begins to pace. It is not the manic pace to which I have become accustomed. It is just her anger and her only outlet for the rage. She has no other place to go. The only side-passage in the cave was the one that led into the second cavern, and it is now gone. She cannot go beyond the falls, so the only outlet she currently possesses is her walking.

While I watch her pace, I see she is not as steady in her stance after my comment. It was not the answer she expected either, which gains me a bit more position.

Unable to say nothing, she buys time with empty threats, “You can’t keep me here, you know. Eventually, I will leave.”

“And go where?” My tone is dry as I answer her. I don’t like doing it, but it’s the step I need to take.

“Anywhere; I don’t know; somewhere. This isn’t the only place on Earth,” she says, frustrated.

“But, technically, we’re not on Earth anymore. Are we, Amber?” My words are like a slap in the face.

She stops and looks at me. She is not shocked by my comment but by my use of her name. She does not remember our previous meetings. The sickness influenced her, and now the memory of our time together is gone. She believes she is meeting me for the first time. At this point, as far as she knows, we are strangers.

I can see her replay the events in her mind. She woke in a cave and found me meditating in the middle of the floor. She does not recall ever having met me before.

For me, this is a good sign. Before she recovers herself, I take hold of my position as the one ‘who knows what the heck is going on here’ and continue, speaking calmly. “I suggest you get yourself another glass of water and have a seat. There are apples in the basket if you are hungry. We have a lot of work before us, and I need you to be focused before we can begin.”

She is a bit bewildered at this point. She had a whole plan of what she would say when I ‘returned from my meditation,’ and now our conversation has taken an uncomfortable turn. Stunned, she walks over to a big comfortable armchair next to the credenza and sits. She stares at the floor of the cave, thinking hard, not quite knowing what to do next.

I get up to fill another glass of water for her. I take my time, allowing her a few moments to adjust to this new reality. There is a stack of plates placed neatly next to the pitcher and glasses. I take one and gather onto it some bread and a couple of the apples, which lay sliced along another serving tray. I see she found herself a lot of busy work during my absence.

Gathering the plate and the glass, I walk over to where she now sits and hand her the water. Then, I rest the plate on a table next to her chair before finally returning to my place on the couch.

After returning to my seat, I speak again. “My name is Linda, and you are here because you promised to help me.”

She is completely lost at this point and says, “I what, when? What did I promise to do?”

I smile. “We’ll get to the details soon enough. First, we must establish ourselves and find a way to relax.”

She drinks the water, which I know will calm her, and then, eventually, she starts to pick at the bread as I speak about the beautiful country outside. The description of perfect, picturesque landscapes and fresh, clean air is enticing. “I will show her these places, but not until we complete our work. You need to regain your strength and focus, so you can have the opportunity to return to your family.”

She jumps at this comment. I know my goal is to help her let go, but she will never release her hold unless she understands this is the only way to return to them. If she understands we both have the same goal, it is only her trust I must win, not her independence.

I smile, “Yes, Amber, we are here to help each other. If you help me, I will help you find your way back home to your family, but we need to work together to achieve this goal.”

She watches me closely. She is unsure what to think at this point, but she is listening now instead of being resistant. She sits, legs crossed, relaxed in the chair, eagerly eating the fruit and bread. For a moment, at least, she is accepting the idea; I am not here to keep her from her family but to help her find her way back to them.

Letting go of the planning relaxes her. She is now much looser in the conversation, so I ask her to tell me about them. She is eager to share. She laughs and cries as she relives moments from her past with them. This is us getting to know each other, and it is the first step in building the trust we so desperately need to move forward.

When the conversation lags, I decide it is my turn to open. I tell her enough about my family to paint a relatively clear picture of my upbringing and my current quest to release a torturer from my soul. She listens with her heart wide open and her soul fully invested in what I share. Again, she is the Amber I met many months ago, and I am grateful to have a second chance to know her.

I recall the day in the chapel when I felt this was something we could never have, and I do not squander the opportunity. I tell her of my work to help people find their way home, and her mind opens. I do not explain ‘the other side’ to her. Not yet. Telling her this detail would distract her. She doesn’t understand the connections between our worlds. She would think of it as going away, and she is not ready to move on. So, for now, I just talk about my work helping lost souls and leave it.

“…and now, I need your help,” I say.

She looks surprised. “Why would you need my help?”

“Well,” I say, “I’ve found I have something inside of me. It is holding me back from my true potential, my true joy, and I believe you can help me release it.”

She is unnerved by my choice of words, so I must move forward carefully. I do not want to upset her.

“Why would I know how to do that?” She asks, feigning complete ignorance, hoping I will not say what she knows I will.

“Because, Amber, you’ve done it before.” She still watches. I must be very clear but very careful. I do not want to lose the ground we’ve gained. “While it isn’t exactly the same,” I continue carefully. “It is similar. You have the sight, and I need you to see for me. I need this if I am to ever be at peace.”

She is uncomfortable but still hopeful this will not go the way it appears to be going. She decides to try and redirect it, “I don’t know why you would think I have this ‘sight’ you reference. Maybe, you’re looking for someone else.”

Finally, I must say the words she dreads. “I know about ‘him,’ Amber. I know what you did, and I know his part in it. He is gone now. He cannot hurt anyone anymore, but I know you saw ‘him,’ and soon I will need you to look inside of me, and I will need you to see.”

She is stunned by my comments but not losing any footing. She knows this is true and either cannot or will not fight the inevitability of it.

To my utter amazement, she says, “O.K. What do you need me to do?”

I smile. “Nothing tonight, we have not prepared. We will rest and talk about it more tomorrow. There is much we need to do before we move forward. Being well prepared in these matters is the most important thing.”

She looks at me, and I am not sure if she is entirely on board at this time or if she thinks she can just play along and then sneak out while I sleep. It doesn’t matter at this point. She cannot leave this place. Even if she could, she has nowhere else to go. She will possibly look for a way out tonight, and when she doesn’t find it, she will probably play along, waiting for a chance to escape. I’m not worried. Her plans will work in my favor. Organizing an escape will offer her a distraction while we prepare.

She is afraid to face this evil again, but she will grow strong over the next several days, and she will succeed where I have failed. She will see, and then she will realize the only thing to do will be to cross. She fears both of these events, but she will face those fears and conquer them, as will I. Now, I must sleep, and eventually, after her searching, she will as well.

I return to my sitting position, now on a warm carpet, and I close my eyes. After a moment, I open my eyes once again to find myself sitting in my own home again, relaxed and ready to sleep. I hope Amber will eventually be able to find herself in the same peaceful state. For now, she sits, processing what I have shared, but hopefully, when she regains her bearings, she will find the sleep she needs to continue this journey.