The Book of All Things New

We are back. Did we sublimate through the ether? No. Did we scurry back through the shadows? Not quite. We simply bought tickets on NJT (New Jersey Transit) and rode back on a crowded, sticky, urine tinged bus like everyone else. I like nighttime bus rides. I enjoy the rhythmic hum of the engine, the passing lights through black, mirror-like windows and  the soft snoring percolating up from the distended abdomens of my sleeping neighbors. Tomas read a book. Some moldy, dog-eared paperback he picked up from one of the Pineys. Baylah worked on her crocheting. Edith just closed her eyes and hummed old songs. It was all very peaceful. Some of the other Pineys and a few of the Red Paint types were heading for Philadelphia too. But they were filtering in at their own pace, sharing rides in old trucks, hitching, whatever. I sat quietly and heard voices. One voice actually. It even told me its name --- Zebulon. I did not have to tell him my name. He already knew I was Sarah. At first I thought he was just a damp, greasy spot in my own imagination. But he knew things that I did not know. At least he did if he was telling the truth and I think he was telling the truth. He, it, the voice, seemed to offer a running commentary on our lives. If we were characters in a book, he would have been the narrator. And he repeated the same thing over and over and over. He said ---- Follow what you know is true... Follow what you know is true. It was almost like a mantra, like a meditation tool. But it calmed me. When we disembarked at the station, Tomas' 'familiar' wilkravitz was there to pick us up. I don't know how he arranged that, but he did. We piled into a huge, Ford SUV and rode back to his refuge among the elves and cherubs, deep in the bare, December woodlands of Fairmount Park. Our friends on the dark side wouldn't bother us here. I think it's because they couldn't figure out the elves and all. Or maybe they just didn't care about us anymore. Edith, whose powers were all juiced up after our recent meetings with the 'Reddies' said that Annie and her 'handler' had been busy. And she could visualize a lot of tortured, dead bodies to testify to that fact. The victims seemed an indiscriminate bunch. They didn't appear to have any particular political agenda. The 'baddies' were killing because they enjoyed it. Who knows? Perhaps they would refocus now that we were back. And what would we do? Confront them. Defeat them. Kill them. What else? We heard what that 'Reddie' guy, that Captain Jean Luc Pecard guy said. And we beleived him. No more waiting. No more relying on visions. We knew what to do. We always did. But now we had the courage to act. Our little Peter Pan-like buddies helped us settle down for the day in a neatly swept, cozy, windowless cellar. I tried to make the best of it, bundled in a fresh, new pile of Dora the Explorer quilts. The others were similarly cocooned. Tomas sported the Run Diego Run collection. Baylah burrowed into an equally commodious Princess Jasmine set. And we slept. Dusk would come soon enough. Let the battle begin.