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AURIC LIGHT
By Dick Sutphen
Relentlessly driving rain rattled the window casings. Lightning sizzled out of the cloud-plated sky. Mortar-like explosions of thunder
rumbled along the main street of Clammet Cove like an enemy invasion.
Denton awakened remembering Vietnam. He stared at the grey film of rain rippling down the window, blurring the November morning. He closed
his eyes, saw the firefight, felt the shrapnel pierce his head, felt the blood-wet grass, and watched the greyness seep into a black void.
He opened his eyes to escape the impressions. His eyes wouldn't focus.
The alarm clock read 66:4488AAMM.
He blinked and shook his head to clear his vision. His head felt as if something had come loose inside. Nausea forced him out of bed and
into the bathroom where he crouched over the toilet in queasy expectation. Nothing. He stood up and leaned against the medicine cabinet, wincing at the reflection in the
mirror. He shook his head again to clear his vision. The image didn't change. Around his shoulder-length dark hair was a shimmering aura of yellow light that faded into a
vivid pink as it neared his neck. Behind him was an intense white light. Denton looked over his shoulder to see where the reflection was coming from but saw only the
shower stall and a towel hanging over its door.
He looked into the mirror again. The nausea and dizziness were diminishing, but the light around his head seemed to be intensifying. He
splashed cold water in his face and stood up to look sideways into the mirror. "Yellow and pink."
Clean shirts were hanging in the closet. He rented the room from Katrina Rennell and paid her teenage daughter, Alicia, fifteen dollars a
week to wash and iron his clothes.
Tucking his shirt into his Levis, he padded barefooted down the stairs. The enticing aroma of baking biscuits and fresh-brewed coffee led
him into the kitchen. Katrina was sitting at the table in the center of the room, preparing breakfast.
"Katrina, look at my head. Do you see anything strange?"
"Did you get a haircut?" Katrina looked up from peeling potatoes. She was a stocky, middle-aged German widow, grey haired and
stoic. She and her daughter lived on the room and board from five guest rooms in the Victorian house by the sea.
"I'm not glowing or anything, am I?"
"At the Surf Club last night, Denton?" she asked and smiled. "Better sober up." She pointed at the coffee urn.
He took a mug from the cupboard, filled it and sat down across the table from his landlady, curling his feet under him in the chair. The
cozy kitchen was a warm contrast to the cold rain splattering heavily against the windows. On the counter sat a vase of purple blossoms that would later be used as a
dining room table centerpiece. Somehow, even in November, Katrina managed to display fresh flowers. The kitchen reminded Denton of his childhood; he felt comfortable here.
The cherry cabinetry and wainscoted cupboards offset the stripped maple floors. The windows, bracketed with blue and white swag curtains, looked out on the rain-swept
garden.
"You don't look too good, Denton," Katrina said.
He smiled meekly.
"Hi, Denton. Hi, Mama." Alicia said, hurrying into the kitchen, adjusting a bulky white sweater over her black wool skirt.
Dropping her school books on the table, she crossed the room to the counter and popped two slices of bread into the toaster. "I heard you typing away on your book
until the wee hours," she said to Denton, as she sat down at the table with a carton of milk in one hand and a glass in the other.
"Hope I didn't keep you up," he replied.
"I was studying for my math test." She finished pouring the milk with a flourish and set the carton on the table. For the first
time she looked closely at Denton. She squinted her eyes and looked again. "I swear, your aura's showing." She stood up, leaned across the table and waved her
hand back and forth about six inches above his head.
"Alicia!" Katrina snapped.
"Well, look at him, mom. Yellow on top and all pink down here." She fluffed the ends of her blonde shoulder-length hair.
"You see it, too?" Denton asked, relief in his voice.
"I don't see a thing," Katrina said, squinting at Denton. "I think you're both a bit blippy this morning."
"I can't usually see auras," Alicia said matter-of-factly as she buttered her toast. "But my friend Buffy can. Her mom's a
psychic and she taught her how."
"You act like this is normal," Denton said.
"Everybody has an aura, but most people can't see them. You must be real spiritual today or something."
Denton looked blankly at the teenager.
"Buffy's mom could tell you about it. She runs the health food store at Temple and Main."
"You're both nuts," Katrina said, shredding potatoes for hash browns.
"If you're spiritual, how about making my headache go away?" Alicia joked. "I didn't get enough sleep."
Denton laughed.
"No, Denton. Do it. Touch my head and make it go away."
Quiet footsteps approached the kitchen. Ruth Foster, a retired schoolteacher, entered the room, hands tucked into her quilted bathrobe.
Denton put his left hand on Alicia's head and made a silly buzzing sound. "E.T. says your headache is healed," he said.
Alicia swooned drunkenly in her chair. "Jeeeze, man." She shook her head and looked at Denton as if he were a stranger.
"Alicia," her mother chided. "Quit playing games and get ready to go to school."
"No games, Mom." She started to get up and fell back into the chair. "My headache's gone but he zapped every ounce of energy
right along with it." On the second try she stood up, gathered her books, and again looked at Denton warily. "Thanks. I mean it." She kissed her mother on
the cheek and was gone.
"Take an umbrella," Katrina called after her.
"Well, if you have healing energy, Denton, I would certainly appreciate a shot in my knees." Ruth Foster said, sitting down in
the chair Alicia had vacated. A tall, thin woman with short grey hair and a warm personality, her presence assured lively mealtime conversations about world events rather
than idle gossip. Denton liked her.
"Alicia was just horsing around," Denton said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Maybe, maybe not," Ruth said, sipping her coffee. "Please."
"Miss Foster, I'm just a detective story writer, I can't heal anybody."
"Please," she said. "They hurt so much all the time, anything's worth a try."
He looked into her pleading eyes and noticed her trembling hands. He shrugged again, smiling sheepishly, and placed both hands on her
knees. This time he did not make a silly noise, but instead concentrated on Ruth's knees. He imagined a healing warmth building up within and sent it racing down his arms
into his hands.
"Oh...oh...my, oh, my," Ruth moaned and fell back in the chair. She held one hand to her forehead. Her eyes glazed. "Oh,
thank you, God."
Katrina shook her head stood up, walked to the gas stove and turned it on. Still watching Denton and Ruth, she poured oil into a cast iron
skillet. When the oil hissed and popped, she added the shredded potatoes.
"Are you all right, Ruth?" Katrina asked casually as she cracked eggs into a bowl.
"The pain is gone. It is. Oh blessed be." She held her hands to her chest and took a deep, disbelieving breath.
"Oh, come on, Ruth. You're not serious," Denton said.
Tears spilled out of Ruth's eyes and Denton knew she was. "Ten years. That's how long they've been hurting. Ten years." She
smiled at him as he were the savior himself.
Denton shivered as though chilled by the November rain. He got up slowly, smiled at Katrina and Ruth and hurried out of the kitchen, back
up the stairs to his room.
* * * * *
The windshield wipers snapped back and forth at the highest speed in a vain attempt to provide a clear view of the roadway. Denton hunched
forward over the wheel of his Bronco II, berating himself for coming out on a day like this.
Main Street ran parallel to the beach for twelve blocks. He stopped at the red light. CLAMMET COVE - POPULATION 1828, said the sign arching
over the street above the central stoplight. The quiet costal town was Denton's hideaway. It offered the peace and seclusion that he couldn't find in Los Angeles, 300
miles south.
He had written his two earlier novels at Katrina's boarding house, and both had sold well. The house was good luck. The third novel would
be finished by Christmas.
Denton parked in front of Mother Nature's Health Food Store and turned off the motor. He hesitated before opening the door. What was he
going to say to this woman? He knew little about psychics and cared even less. "So why are you here?" He finally decided to simply go into the store, browse
around and see if she noticed his glow.
Entering the store set a windchime tinkling. Though the distance from his car to the door had only been a dozen feet, he was drenched. He
stood in the entrance way and shook the water off his poncho. A woman studying a computer printout looked up from the checkout counter. Denton figured she was his age,
thirty-five. A straight-haired blond in a long, print dress, she was pretty in a natural sort of way. "Buffy's mom, he thought.
"Hi," she said. "Can I help you?"
"Vitamin C?" he said.
"Second aisle, top shelf on the right." She pointed.
Denton was overwhelmed by the varieties and dosages of Vitamin C. After choosing a bottle of acid free 1000 milligram tablets, he strolled
casually around the store looking at displays of herbs, grains, natural shampoos, and self-help books and tapes. He glanced out the window at the pyrotechnic display of
lightning over the sea. A long roll of thunder rattled the walls of the store.
"Not many people out today," he said, setting the bottle on the counter.
"You'll probably be my only customer." Her penetrating blue eyes crossed the distance between them. "Is this to fight off a
cold?" she asked, tapping the bottle of Vitamin C.
"Ah, yes."
"It will be more effective if you take it with zinc and beta carotene."
"Really? Then I'll take some of those too. Thank you."
Buffy's mother left and quickly returned with two small bottles. She punched the cash register. "$13.28," she said.
He handed her a twenty dollar bill.
"Are you just passing through Clammet Cove?" she asked, counting out the change.
"I'm staying at Katrina Rennell's boarding house. Hiding away to work on a book."
"Really? What kind of book?"
"A novel," he said. "A fast-action thriller -- cops, blood-and-guts."
She nodded. "My daughter goes to school with Alicia Rennell."
"Yes. Well, actually, that's why I'm here. Not that I didn't need the Vitamin C, but..." he stammered and felt his face flush.
"Well, Alicia told me you're a psychic and you can read auras."
She smiled. "Yours is a beautiful yellow and fades into pink at your shoulders. I wouldn't expect a blood-and-guts writer to have such
a nice aura."
"Do thriller writers usually have ugly auras?" he asked.
She laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. It's just that if you focus your energy on writing about violence, I would expect
a muddy aura." She shrugged.
"To tell the truth, I don't think I've ever had an aura before this morning. When I looked in the mirror, there it was."
"You've always had an aura, but if you've never seen it before and you can see it now, that is unusual." She looked at him
differently, her piercing eyes seeming slightly unfocused as she stared at the bridge of his nose. After a few moments she said, "There's a darker area right
here." She touched his hair a couple inches above his left ear.
"I was hit there by shrapnel, in Nam. The metal is still there."
She nodded. "I'm brewing a pot of herbal tea. Would you like a cup?"
"I'm not interrupting?"
"You're a welcome interruption." She flipped the corner of the computer printout. "Reordering is boring."
"I'm Denton Garret," he said, extending his hand.
"Joan McIntyre," she said, accepting it.
As they settled down comfortably, teapot on the counter between them, Denton told her about his morning -- the dream, the dizziness, and
the shock of seeing himself in the mirror. After explaining the unusual healings, he asked her about herself. She was divorced and had moved from Berkeley to the Cove five
years ago. She lived with her daughter, three cats and a Great Dane named Lord Bowser in an A-frame in the mountains overlooking the town.
After she satisfied his curiosity, she asked her own personal questions.
"Never married. I attended UCLA on the G.I. bill after the war and learned to write. Worked as a reporter for the L.A. Times for six
years, until I'd saved enough money to devote a year to fiction. My first novel was made it into a TV movie. I don't imagine you read cop thrillers?"
"Sorry," she said. "There's just too much violence in the world." She looked away for a moment. "Your first love
is poetry. You've written a poetry book, but it hasn't been published."
Denton stared at her in amazement then shut his mouth and grinned. "I've never known anyone who was psychic."
"Are you willing to try an experiment?" she asked.
"Sure. What?"
"I'd like to test your healing ability, and maybe do some well-deserved good."
"Joan, I..."
"Come on. I'll leave a note on the door. A helper will be here in a half hour. She'll cover the store." Joan had on her raincoat
and was belting it.
"Where are we going?"
"Up in the hills. It won't take long." She smiled warmly and nodded reassuringly.
Turning left off Main Street onto State Route 156, it took ten minutes to reach the tall pines in Denton's Bronco II. They had to speak
loud to be heard over the roar of the storm. Rain drummed on the hood and roof of the vehicle. The windshield wipers whipped frantically. The tires hissed noisily,
throwing water into the wheel wells. After nearly hydroplaning on a curve, Denton switched into four-wheel drive.
"I've never been up here," he said. "It's beautiful."
"I live up here," Joan said. "Turn left at the next cross road."
"Who are we going to see?" he asked.
"An old man who has devoted his life to serving the planet. Now he's sick and refuses to turn to traditional medicine."
"What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know. He won't say. He buys vitamins and herbs at the store. Buffy and I check on him regularly."
"Can he take care of himself?"
Joan nodded. "He's a vegetarian and grows all his own food."
Denton turned off the main road and onto a narrow access road that wound higher into the mountains.
"There," Joan said. "Turn there."
Hidden in a clearing in a tall strand of pine trees was a log cabin. Wood smoke curled out of the chimney into the downpour. Denton pulled
up beside a vintage Ford pickup parked a few feet from the front porch.
"We'll jump out and run on the count of three," Joan said, her hand on door handle. "One, two, three."
They leaped from the vehicle and bolted onto the front porch. Laughing excitedly, they shook the rain from their coats. They inhaled the
exhilarating smell of the woods and the burning fireplace.
Lightning stabbed out of the cloud-shrouded sky and stuck nearby. Denton had never experienced such an intense electrical storm. When the
thunder exploded like a fragmenting hand grenade, he could feel the metal in his skull vibrate in response.
Joan knocked. When no one answered the door, she twisted the knob and pushed it open a few inches.
"Jacob," she called.
"Come in," said a frail voice.
The interior of the rough looking mountain cabin looked like a library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls of the large main
room. A stone fireplace covered most of the third wall, and glowing embers popped and crackled behind a screen. Above the fireplace hung photos and certificates, and on
the mantel were several trophies. Colorful Mexican serapes featuring Aztec designs covered a comfortable-looking couch, and the coffee table was made of hand-hewn wooden
planks. Two Adirondak-style wooden chairs with plump cushions sat side by side, facing the couch. In the corner of the room was a simple kitchen. A stained-glass Tiffany
lamp hung over a small wooden kitchen table and four chairs.
"Wait here," Joan said. "Jacob?" she called again, stepping through a doorway in the wall of books.
Denton took off his poncho and hung it on a hook by the door, next to a man's jacket and raincoat.
Fascinated, he was drawn to the pictures above the fireplace. In the first photo a man stood beside John F. Kennedy. The photo was signed,
"To Jacob, who makes me look good. Thanks, Jack." In the next 8 by 10 the same man was with Adlai Stevenson. A framed certificate said, "Humanitarian Award
for outstanding service to the world community." Denton was about to read the small print when he noticed the gold medallion on the mantel. The Nobel Prize. He read
the inscription. "Awarded to Jacob Levitz, 1968."
"Denton," Joan called from the doorway. "Please, come in."
Denton entered the small bedroom to see an old man with a mane of shaggy white hair, lying propped up in bed. A quilted comforter covered
his legs. In his lap was a notebook on a clipboard. The open page was nearly filled with handwriting. A brass lamp with a yellowed shade sat on a small bedside table. On
the other side of the bed was a wooden chair.
"Jacob Levitz, this is Denton Garret. Denton is a writer and maybe a healer. Jacob is..."
Denton interrupted Joan's introduction. "I know who Mister Levitz is," he said, smiling.
"I wish I could greet you properly, young man," Jacob said, feebly extending his hand. "But I'm afraid this isn't one of my
better days."
"It's an honor, sir." Denton replied, taking the old man's hand and gently cupping it between his.
"Joan wants me to let you heal me. I've explained that I'm too far gone for such an ambitious undertaking. I do, however appreciate
your willingness to go along with her. She can be quite persuasive." He smiled.
Joan touched Denton on the arm and gestured for him to take the bedside chair. She sat on the edge of the bed.
"Jacob is writing his eighteenth book. It's about education, and it will attract worldwide attention."
"Joan is my biggest fan. She's not very objective."
"Poppycock," she said. "Things won't change until all the children are educated."
"How's the book coming?" Denton asked.
"Slowly. My body is not cooperating."
"He spent four years gathering research," Joan said.
"I don't mean to be morbid, but you and I have to accept the fact that this book won't make it to print," Jacob said to Joan.
"Yes, it will. Denton is going to heal you."
Jacob started to protest, but Joan made a slicing motion with her hand, symbolically cutting off any further discussion. Denton's eyes met
Jacob's. They smiled in mutual resignation. Joan stood up to make room for Denton to take her place on the bed. "I'll wait in the other room," she said.
Ten minutes later Denton joined Joan on the couch in the living room. "He's sleeping."
Joan looked at him in expectation. "Joan, I don't have the faintest idea what's going on. I don't know anything about psychic
abilities, auras, or healings. When I healed Alicia's headache and Ruth's knees, it weakened them momentarily. The healing put Jacob to sleep."
"Could you use a drink?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, smiling into her ultramarine eyes.
"Jacob's not much of a drinker, but he likes a nip of Scotch now and then." She took a bottle and a glass from the cupboard.
"How do you know him?" he asked.
"When I opened the store, he was my first customer. He walked in that morning and said, 'It's about time.'" She looked out the
kitchen window and noticed that the rain was letting up.
"Tell me what you're not telling me," Denton said, as she handed him the glass of whiskey. He was surprised at how attracted he
was to this woman.
"In the store, when you were telling me about the healings, I heard Jacob's name so loud it sounded as if someone were screaming in my
ear. I knew I had to bring you here." She shrugged. "That's it."
"A psychic message from beyond?" he questioned.
"From somewhere," she said.
"Where else could it have been from?"
"From my Higher Self -- maybe yours, maybe Jacob's--or a spirit guide or a Master."
Denton shook his head. "I have a lot to learn."
"Not unless it's important to you," she said, taking a log from the box on the hearth and adding it to the dying fire. The thin
cotton dress clung to her body, clearly outlining it against the firelight. Warmth flooded though Denton's body. She returned to the couch and curled up beside him.
"Events are not as random as they appear," she said.
"I don't understand."
"Everything that has happened to you today has happened for a reason." She took his left hand in hers, and stroked it with her
other hand. Neither said anything. Finally she whispered, "The power went away with the storm."
Denton looked at her in surprise.
"I don't know," she said. "Somehow, I think your healing power was related to the storm."
"That's okay," he said, sounding relieved. "I didn't really want to change professions."
She laughed, then her expression turned serious. "I also sense a sadness from long ago."
"An Englishwoman I met in Vietnam. We were engaged. She was killed. I wanted to die but couldn't."
Joan continued to stroke the back of his hand.
Denton looked into the fireplace to see the new log begin to flame. He said, "When you open to love, you're vulnerable. You can lose
everything you care about in one mortar attack or one auto accident."
"But if you aren't vulnerable, you'll never experience your potential for joy and commitment." Joan said.
"My, my, what an attractive couple you two make," Jacob Levitz said, walking into the room. He wore tan duck pants, a wool
sweater and loafers. "Thank you, my boy. I don't know what you did, but I haven't felt this good in months."
Joan leaped to her feet and threw her arms around the old man, kissing him over and over on the cheek. He laughed and said, "Enough of
this emotionalism. I'll fix you lunch."
"You will do no such thing," Joan said. "Sit down." She directed him into one of the chairs.
Jacob looked at Denton and said, "She always knows what is best for everyone else. If you don't know that I have a feeling you're
going to find out."
"I just met Denton this morning," Joan said from the kitchen.
Jacob smiled knowingly and said, "Then this is a very important day for each of us, isn't it?" Neither Denton or Joan responded.
Jacob looked at Denton. "I can tell by the length of your hair that you don't write for the establishment."
Denton chuckled. "Cop thrillers, and for the first time I'm embarrassed to say it." He looked across the room at Joan tearing
lettuce for a salad.
"Why?" asked Jacob. "Don't your characters grow as a result of their conflicts?"
Denton nodded and said, "And the good guys win."
Jacob laughed. "I predict that within the year Joan will have you beating your characters' swords into plows and setting out to save
the planet."
"Jacob, I'm going to put salt on your salad," Joan said, in a threatening tone of voice.
* * * * *
In the days that followed, the people of Clammet Cove came to Katrina's boardinghouse in search of Denton. He always took the time to
explain that the pyrotechnics of the storm had interacted with the shrapnel fragment in his head, somehow channeling the healing power for a few hours.
"But won't you try to heal me?" they would beg.
Denton would sit down with them and attempt to channel the power. When it didn't work he apologized, and they thanked him.
Joan said, "The community will soon accept that you're no longer a healer. But you'd better run for the hills the next time lightning
strikes Clammet Cove."
Over a candlelight dinner on their fourth date, Denton said, "You realize that I can't get enough of you?"
She smiled, looking deeply into his eyes. "I feel like a schoolgirl."
The waiter arrived at the table with the wine. Denton tasted it, looked at Joan and nodded his approval. When the the wine was poured he
lifted his glass for a toast. "To our future."
"To our future," she said, clicking her glass with his.
"Are you sure you want a future with a psychic health food fanatic, a teenager, three cats and a Great Dane?"
"The Great Dane is cause for some concern," he said. "He doesn't seem to like my intrusion into his life."
"Lord Bowser will adjust," she laughed. "Buffy and the cats are almost as enchanted with you as I am. Five out of six isn't
bad."
He nodded, smiled and finished the glass of wine. "What would you like to do for Thanksgiving?"
"Fix you the most incredible vegetarian feast you've ever eaten."
"No turkey?" he asked.
"No turkey," she said. "You won't miss it, believe me. Let's invite Jacob. Maybe we can get him to stop writing his book
long enough to sit down to a full meal."
* * * * *
Light snow dusted the mountain landscape around the A-frame on Christmas morning. Joan and Denton sat on the hearth to the side of the
crackling fire. Buffy was curled up on the couch drinking eggnog. Jacob relaxed in the lounger chair with Lord Bowser's head in his lap.
"Has this overgrown excuse for a dog accepted you yet, Denton?" Jacob asked.
Joan answered for Denton. "Denton and Bowser have an understanding."
Buffy laughed.
"Yeah," Denton said, "I bring him bones from the butcher shop and in return he doesn't bite me."
Jacob chuckled and said, "Denton, Joan's always been beautiful, but never as radiant as she's become lately. I hope you're willing to
take responsibility for that."
"Well, it just so happens," Denton said, pulling a small gift-wrapped package from his pocket, "that I'd love to take
responsibility for that."
Joan looked at Denton in surprise, smiled shyly, took a deep breath and slowly opened the package containing an engagement ring. Buffy
cheered, Jacob applauded, and Lord Bowser growled. Joan kissed her lover gently on the lips and whispered, "Oh, yes."
* * * * *
Jacob died on the fourth of July, three weeks after Denton and Joan's wedding, and a month prior to the publication of his eighteenth book.
The funeral was attended by people from all over the world, and the media said that the timing of Jacob's death assured his new book bestseller status.
"You gave him the time to finish the book," Joan said through her tears, snuggling into Denton's arms.
"Not me," he said. "God wanted that book published."
* * * * *
Jacob Denton Garret was born in Clammet Cove, California, on May 3rd of the following year, two weeks before the publication of his
father's fourth novel. The book's hero was a radical environmental activist determined to make the world's corporations ecologically responsible. It was offered in the
Sierra Club and Greenpeace catalogs, and went on to become a TV movie of the week.
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