The Light Warrior Files
Epilogue: New Beginnings
By Chris Ward
It was late evening, between 9 and 10 anyway, on the last day of 2006. I stood beside
Ishmael and Dustin, staring into the distance. Despite, or perhaps due to, my unusually
agitated nerves, I found myself remembering all that had happened since the events at
Kirby Plaza.
Official reports of what had happened were all carefully sanitized. I suspect the facts are
only truly known to those of us who were there. According to those reports, an unknown
murderer broke into the building and massacred Mr. Linderman, Mr. Thompson, and an
unidentified third victim. It turned out that the slightly overweight gentleman, who had
been with the man in the horn rimmed glasses, was a suspended Los Angeles police officer
named Matt Parkman. According to the newspapers he was critically injured while heroically
attempting to apprehend the murderer. They also listed one DL Hawkins, apparently an
escaped convict, as also injured in the clash. The explosion in the sky was explained as
nothing more than a flare a witness had fired in an attempt to gain attention to what was
occurring.
The Hindi gentleman was making headlines of his own. His name turned out to be Mohinder
Suresh, son of Dr. Chandra Suresh. He was traveling around the country attempting to
persuade everyone that people such as myself existed and were growing in number.
Although he was using some of his own research, he was also basing much of his claim on
the research conducted by his father, some of which I found in a copy of the book
Activating Evolution.
Luckily, Professor Suresh was meeting with limited success. People had enough trouble
accepting those of different races, religions, genders and sexual preferences. If they were
suddenly forced to face the fact that people with what could only be termed super powers
existed, the result would not be pretty. Hell, during World War II just being of Japanese
decent was enough to place you in what was euphemistically termed a “Relocation Facility.”
The best people like me could hope for would be to wind up locked on a deserted island
somewhere so that we could be studied and, most probably, exterminated.
Angela Petrelli, the well known mother to both Nathan and Peter Petrelli, was making
headlines of her own, along with her daughter-in-law, Heidi Petrelli. Neither of the Petrelli
brothers had been heard from since that day in the Plaza. Although I privately suspect that
they’re both dead, which opinion is shared by Marita, Ishmael and Dustin, Angel has
indicated that she isn’t so certain. Given that Nathan Petrelli was capable of unaided flight,
and Peter was apparently a walking bomb, I can understand her hesitation.
A couple of weeks previously, Marita and I had the three of them over for dinner. Over the
course of the evening, they filled us in on the news that had recently been received. First
of all, they proudly informed us that Dustin had been accepted into MIT and would be
starting in the fall semester of 2007. Apparently his intelligence and skill with electronics
was enough to overcome his age. The other news they brought was at least as exciting.
During the course of the time they had spent at the apartment, apparently one of their
physical unions worked, because Angel was around two months pregnant.
Marita’s nightmares had ceased after she killed Daniel. Angel believes that the fight, and
his death, excised the last of the demons that kept bringing them back. Unfortunately, my
nightmares were just beginning. For nearly a month after the events unfolded, I was
tormented by recurring nightmares based around the horrifying fear that he had forced me
to experience. Marita, without even the slightest hesitation, became comforter for me just
as I had been for her.
Suddenly, music interrupted my reverie. With a slight grin, I dropped my gaze and watched
Marita walking purposely toward me. Her white dress, perfectly setting of the brown tones
of her flawless skin, shimmered and glowed as light reflected off the varied shades of
white as well as the intricately patterned pearls with each deliberate step. Short, off the
shoulder sleeves, tight against her flesh, flowed down into a low cut bodice. Below the
bodice, the dress tightened across her midriff, hugging her hips just before it suddenly
exploded into a full and flowing skirt, ending just below her ankles.
A gossamer veil flowed down her face, ending just below her chin. It was secured into
place with an intricately worked series of thin golden chains that were woven through her
luxurious brown hair. When she reached me, we turned toward the front and faced the
minister.
A pleasant, elderly gentleman, the minister spoke for a time on love and marriage. Shortly
before midnight he walked us through the I Do’s. After exchanging the rings, we reached
the end. As Sunday, the 31st of December, 2006 became Monday, January 1st, 2007, I
carefully lifted her veil. Laying it gently along the top and back of her head, I stared for just
a second into her glorious auburn eyes, with just the tiniest flecks of gold, before losing
myself in her kiss.
Reluctantly, we broke the kiss and turned to face our family and friends. As they stood to
their feet, applauding and cheering, I reflected. Later, of course, we would have the
reception. After that we would have an entire day to ourselves, most of which would be
spent preparing for our honeymoon, on which we would embark early tomorrow morning.
The primary wedding gift from Ishmael and Angel, it would take most of a month. Tomorrow
we would fly to Sioux City, where we would drive for maybe half an hour out of the city, until
we reached my birthplace. Once there, we would spend a couple of days walking through
my past. Afterward we would be flown to her birthplace of Panucha De Soto, in Hidalgo,
Mexico. Once there, we would spend a couple more days looking through her past. Once
done with that, we would be taken for a two week romantic honeymoon to Spain.
All of that, however, was still in the future. What mattered to me, at that moment, was that I
was walking toward that future, arm in arm beside the woman who was my friend, my lover,
my soul-mate, my compatriot, and now my wife.
With a new beginning, life was good.
Epilogue: New Beginnings
By Chris Ward
It was late evening, between 9 and 10 anyway, on the last day of 2006. I stood beside
Ishmael and Dustin, staring into the distance. Despite, or perhaps due to, my unusually
agitated nerves, I found myself remembering all that had happened since the events at
Kirby Plaza.
Official reports of what had happened were all carefully sanitized. I suspect the facts are
only truly known to those of us who were there. According to those reports, an unknown
murderer broke into the building and massacred Mr. Linderman, Mr. Thompson, and an
unidentified third victim. It turned out that the slightly overweight gentleman, who had
been with the man in the horn rimmed glasses, was a suspended Los Angeles police officer
named Matt Parkman. According to the newspapers he was critically injured while heroically
attempting to apprehend the murderer. They also listed one DL Hawkins, apparently an
escaped convict, as also injured in the clash. The explosion in the sky was explained as
nothing more than a flare a witness had fired in an attempt to gain attention to what was
occurring.
The Hindi gentleman was making headlines of his own. His name turned out to be Mohinder
Suresh, son of Dr. Chandra Suresh. He was traveling around the country attempting to
persuade everyone that people such as myself existed and were growing in number.
Although he was using some of his own research, he was also basing much of his claim on
the research conducted by his father, some of which I found in a copy of the book
Activating Evolution.
Luckily, Professor Suresh was meeting with limited success. People had enough trouble
accepting those of different races, religions, genders and sexual preferences. If they were
suddenly forced to face the fact that people with what could only be termed super powers
existed, the result would not be pretty. Hell, during World War II just being of Japanese
decent was enough to place you in what was euphemistically termed a “Relocation Facility.”
The best people like me could hope for would be to wind up locked on a deserted island
somewhere so that we could be studied and, most probably, exterminated.
Angela Petrelli, the well known mother to both Nathan and Peter Petrelli, was making
headlines of her own, along with her daughter-in-law, Heidi Petrelli. Neither of the Petrelli
brothers had been heard from since that day in the Plaza. Although I privately suspect that
they’re both dead, which opinion is shared by Marita, Ishmael and Dustin, Angel has
indicated that she isn’t so certain. Given that Nathan Petrelli was capable of unaided flight,
and Peter was apparently a walking bomb, I can understand her hesitation.
A couple of weeks previously, Marita and I had the three of them over for dinner. Over the
course of the evening, they filled us in on the news that had recently been received. First
of all, they proudly informed us that Dustin had been accepted into MIT and would be
starting in the fall semester of 2007. Apparently his intelligence and skill with electronics
was enough to overcome his age. The other news they brought was at least as exciting.
During the course of the time they had spent at the apartment, apparently one of their
physical unions worked, because Angel was around two months pregnant.
Marita’s nightmares had ceased after she killed Daniel. Angel believes that the fight, and
his death, excised the last of the demons that kept bringing them back. Unfortunately, my
nightmares were just beginning. For nearly a month after the events unfolded, I was
tormented by recurring nightmares based around the horrifying fear that he had forced me
to experience. Marita, without even the slightest hesitation, became comforter for me just
as I had been for her.
Suddenly, music interrupted my reverie. With a slight grin, I dropped my gaze and watched
Marita walking purposely toward me. Her white dress, perfectly setting of the brown tones
of her flawless skin, shimmered and glowed as light reflected off the varied shades of
white as well as the intricately patterned pearls with each deliberate step. Short, off the
shoulder sleeves, tight against her flesh, flowed down into a low cut bodice. Below the
bodice, the dress tightened across her midriff, hugging her hips just before it suddenly
exploded into a full and flowing skirt, ending just below her ankles.
A gossamer veil flowed down her face, ending just below her chin. It was secured into
place with an intricately worked series of thin golden chains that were woven through her
luxurious brown hair. When she reached me, we turned toward the front and faced the
minister.
A pleasant, elderly gentleman, the minister spoke for a time on love and marriage. Shortly
before midnight he walked us through the I Do’s. After exchanging the rings, we reached
the end. As Sunday, the 31st of December, 2006 became Monday, January 1st, 2007, I
carefully lifted her veil. Laying it gently along the top and back of her head, I stared for just
a second into her glorious auburn eyes, with just the tiniest flecks of gold, before losing
myself in her kiss.
Reluctantly, we broke the kiss and turned to face our family and friends. As they stood to
their feet, applauding and cheering, I reflected. Later, of course, we would have the
reception. After that we would have an entire day to ourselves, most of which would be
spent preparing for our honeymoon, on which we would embark early tomorrow morning.
The primary wedding gift from Ishmael and Angel, it would take most of a month. Tomorrow
we would fly to Sioux City, where we would drive for maybe half an hour out of the city, until
we reached my birthplace. Once there, we would spend a couple of days walking through
my past. Afterward we would be flown to her birthplace of Panucha De Soto, in Hidalgo,
Mexico. Once there, we would spend a couple more days looking through her past. Once
done with that, we would be taken for a two week romantic honeymoon to Spain.
All of that, however, was still in the future. What mattered to me, at that moment, was that I
was walking toward that future, arm in arm beside the woman who was my friend, my lover,
my soul-mate, my compatriot, and now my wife.
With a new beginning, life was good.
