James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Humor me, please,” he said. “I think this is important.”

Abberline and Challenger exchanged glances before joining Burton at the door of the shop.

Burton raised his fist to knock, but the door opened before he could do so.

An old woman stood looking at him, wearing Gypsy garb. She gave him a thin smile.

“Come in,” she said, stepping away from the door. Burton stepped through the portal, followed by Abberline and Challenger.

The place was lit only by hundreds of candles. The smell of incense filled the air, sandalwood and something more exotic Burton couldn’t quite place.

“Go,” said the woman. “Sit. Rest yourselves. This is no night to be running about. I am Lady Helena.”

“Uh, thank you,” said Burton. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I don’t believe in this…” He waved his hands about, at a loss for words. Lady Helena fixed him with a thin smile.

“You are not the first to say that. Have a seat. Let’s see if we can figure it out together.”

The three men sat around a small oval table in the center of the room. Atop it sat a deck of ancient, yellowed Tarot cards and other accoutrements of Lady Helena’s questionable trade. The incense made Burton woozy.

“This is a dark night,” said Lady Helena, taking a seat opposite Burton. “You are running toward the trouble, not away from it.”

“You don’t have to be psychic to know that,” Challenger barked.

“Yes,” said Burton, ignoring him. “We are. We seek a way to stop it. But…” His voice trailed off, seeking the words he needed to continue.

“Someone has been following me.”

Lady Helena grabbed Burton’s hands and flipped them over, examining his palms. Then she let them go and stared into his eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “You have been haunted.”

“Haunted?” said Abberline.

“Yes. Places can be haunted, of course, but so can people, from time to time. This is the Dweller on the Threshold.”

“What in hell’s name is that?” said Challenger. “Are you honestly humoring this, Captain?”

“What choice do I have?” asked Burton. To Lady Helena, he said, “Tell me, what is this Dweller on the Threshold?”

“A thing of the spirit realm that attaches itself to a human being,” said Lady Helena. “A discarded astral double of a person from a previous life.”

“Previous life?” Burton murmured.

“This apparition you see from the corner of your eye is you from a previous life,” said Lady Helena. “It has attached itself to you due to your affinity for one another. It is you, and at the same time, not you.”

“How do I get rid of it?”

“You must face it head on,” said Lady Helena. “It needs to know, in no uncertain terms, that it is no more, and that yours is the only soul bound to this world.”

Challenger snorted laughter. Abberline groaned.

“Gentlemen, please,” said Burton, shifting in his seat.

“Lady Helena, how can I possibly face it, when I can’t even see it? It exists always in the corner of my vision.”

“You can face it directly on the astral plane,” said Lady Helena. “But the astral plane is in great turmoil this night. The conflagration that plagues the city exists both in this world and the next.”

“How do I get there?” asked Burton.

“The way is dangerous for those who have never traveled as the spirits do.”

“How do I get there?” Burton said again, more forcefully this time.

The medium acquiesced. “Very well. I can see you are determined. Perhaps you are strong-willed enough to survive the journey. Come.”

The old woman gestured to a low couch. “Lie down.”

Burton rose from his seat and laid himself upon the couch.

“Captain,” said Challenger. “We’re losing valuable time.”

“I have to see this through, Professor. I believe it is connected to the chaos outside, to Bulwer-Lytton’s cult, to everything.”

Lady Helena gasped. “Baron Lytton is behind this?”

Burton nodded. “Yes. He made contact with abysmal entities that live at the bottom of the sea.”

Lady Helena shook her head. “I have heard him speak. He is very knowledgeable in the area of Theosophy, and the Dweller on the Threshold is his coinage. But he seeks only knowledge obtained from the spirit world and ignores the wisdom and patience that comes from the material realm.”

“Help us stop him,” said Burton. “Help me confront my double and put an end to this madness.”

The medium nodded. “Very well. But I must warn you, the astral plane is no place for a novice.”

“Understood,” said Burton. “Now what do I do?”

“Close your eyes,” said Lady Helena, and he did so.

“Clear your mind. Concentrate on your body, how it feels. Flex your muscles, loosen them. Start with your toes and move up your body. Make sure every muscle is completely relaxed.

Burton did as instructed. This is similar to many meditation techniques , he thought.

“Breathe deeply,” Lady Helena intoned.

Burton felt something hard rest on his forehead.

“This is a quartz crystal,” said Lady Helena. “It will help control your vibrations and protect you while on the astral plane. Continue to breathe. Focus on your breathing.”

Burton continued to follow her instructions, slipping into a familiar hypnotic state. Everything and everyone around him felt very far away and inconsequential.

“Now concentrate on moving your toes, your fingers, your arms. But not your physical body, your mental one. Your spiritual one.”

Burton felt his fingers flex independently of his actual fingers. A warm vibration spread out through his body, starting from the quartz crystal resting on his forehead and radiating downward. It was quite pleasant.

Burton began to feel light, like a balloon. He bobbed up and out, twisting around to see his body lying on the couch, Lady Helena, Challenger and Abberline kneeling beside him.

His astral form grinned, and he turned and rose up through the ceiling and straight into a dark abyss.

Captain Richard Francis Burton stared into the abyss, and the abyss also stared into him. The blackness was vast, without light or heat. The nothingness went on forever.

He felt the presence of someone behind him. Burton turned, afraid the apparition would depart like all the other times. But this time, instead of fleeing to the periphery of his vision, it held still.

Burton regarded the figure carefully, his heart pounding, his throat tightening. It was him. The Other Burton. The feeling was like that of looking in a mirror, save for the permanent scowl on Other Burton’s face.

“You killed me,” said Other Burton, and Burton didn’t recognize his own voice, realizing that we all must sound different to ourselves. He was hearing himself for the first time as others heard him, and it was disconcerting.

“I did not mean to,” said Burton. “I am sorry, for you have lost so much. We both have.”

“Only one of us can prevail,” said Other Burton. “We cannot both exist. One of us is the lie; the other is the truth.”

“Agreed,” Burton said to his double, nodding. “But how do we decide which one?”

The Other Burton was silent for a long moment before raising a hand that now held a sword. He gave a cry of rage before lunging toward Burton, who moved out of his way just in time to miss the blade’s stinging arc as Other Burton attempted to embed the weapon in his right shoulder.

“Bismillah!” said Burton. “Wait. I am unarmed.”

“Only if you want to be,” said Other Burton as he lunged once more. This one Burton parried, surprised to find an identical sword in his hand.