The Theory of Everything

Chapter 1
The Call

Mariel

Distracted by the image and voice in my mind, I didn't hear Mrs. Johnson. The vague image and distressed voice only conveyed two words.

Help me!

Mrs. Johnson touched my arm. "Mariel…Mariel, did you hear what I said?"

"Hmm… I'm so sorry, Mrs. Johnson. Please tell me again."

My client looked concerned. "The advice you gave me at my last appointment proved entirely accurate. I did exactly what you said. I called my sister, even though I was sure she would hang up on me, and told her we needed to reconcile–that the breach between us had lasted way too long. I certainly didn't expect what happened next; she started crying. We have completely healed our rift and become best friends again. I can't thank you enough! It's sad when gifted people like you are targeted by the religious faction in our town. It's like a modern-day Salem witch hunt."

I smiled. "People always fear what they don't understand. Thank you for your support. I've been dealing with this most of my life. I once tried to deny my gift, but it only brought me frustration. I'd rather face a little opposition than the agony caused by suppressing what God has blessed me with."

Mrs. Johnson stood and I accepted her payment.

"Same time next week?"

"Of course, dear. The do-gooders can't scare me away."

After Mrs. Johnson left, I went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, still pondering the vision and impression that had distracted me earlier. In less than two weeks, the same soul had contacted me five times. In my mind's eye, I envisioned the vague outline of a man. He appeared neither old nor young, nor had he transitioned to the other side. He remained in this dimension, crying out; or rather, his soul cried out to me for help. That concerned me. Rarely, did the soul of a living person call for help separate from its body. My grandmother said she had encountered the phenomena only once. For me, this was a first. People came to me and asked me for help while still in their bodies. Apparently, this soul had partially detached from its physicality. I couldn't imagine where to begin looking for the owner of this confused soul, but one thing remained certain, its cry was becoming stronger.

Rafe

Rafe slammed the portable whiteboard against the wall in his den and grabbed an eraser. Wildly erasing the scribbled equations, he cursed a stream of profanities. The answer had eluded him again. Did a theory of everything really exist, or had the quest for it become a carrot dangled before him by an impartial universe?

Rafe slumped into a chair and ran a frustrated hand through wavy black hair, always on the longish side, because he couldn't be bothered with spending the time required for haircuts. The same held true of the stubble on his face; a shave every three days suited him just fine.

Dropping his elbows to his knees, he lowered his head into his hands. "If only…"