Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters used are purely fictional; any resemblance to actual people is purely a coincidence. All locations, however, are described as I have found them, for the most part. Everything else…is entirely up to the reader’s perception.

“I believe in Spinoza's God, Who reveals Himself in the lawful harmony of the world, not in a God Who concerns Himself with the fate and the doings of mankind.”

Albert Einstein

I

Romance

She was late. Of course. Girls are perenially late for everything. For some reason, it’s fashionable for girls to be late, but not too late, and demanded of men to be early, or else. It’s a bit amusing, when you think about it. Or maybe it’s just me.

But that was why I set the reservation at 1830, and told her to meet me at 1815.

I leaned against the wall, looking for all the world a quiet young man waiting for a dinner companion in Suntec City’s Fountain Terrace. The maître d’ was curteous enough to leave me alone, along some perfunctory questions delivered with a half-smile. Well, at least service was better than most, but then, this was Kenny Rogers Roasters, after all. I adjusted my half-frame spectacles, more out of boredom than anything else.

To everybody else, I was people-watching. Unexpected, of course; I was waiting for somebody. But the extra time I had bought for myself was for another, more crucial, purpose. I closed my eyes briefly, and concentrated in the area between and slightly above my eyes. I imagined myself opening an eye there, as though there really were one, willing it to be true. And then, my third eye opened, and I started to See.

Opposite me was a merry-go-round, empty of passengers, occasionally announcing its availability through flashing light and cheery song. But on a higher plane, it was in motion, ferrying children in an eternal circle; probably a memory etched into reality. A nearby cart threw a soft, light shadow across the floor; it didn’t signify the absence of light, but the presence of a watcher. Spirit guides floated past me, following their human charges, in the form of every creature known to man. The people walking through may be quiet, but chatter on the astral planes was so loud I had to put up mental barriers. Beings lurked in the shadows, for whatever hidden purpose they may have --

And one of them jumped out from an unlit corner, latching itself onto a passing woman.

I recognised the type. It was a neg, short for negative inorganic being. They were parasites, attaching themselves on passing living things and feeding on their victim’s life essence. Most of them were minor nuisances, as forgettable and harmful as a flying ant. Some, though, were large and powerful enough to physically affect you, like this one.

To most people, there’s no way of telling when you have encountered one; hell, it’s difficult even for people like myself. Once attached, the more powerful negs attract all kinds of negativity into your life: you become more aggressive and agitated; people start treating you differently; your work would be affected; all sorts of bad things would happen; even your thoughts shift and warp, becoming perverted inversions of what you once were. Even worse, they tend to attract more and more of their own kind, until you are reduced to a host body. And getting rid of them is an exercise in tenacity and a test in mental stamina.

This one was shaped like Medusa’s head, complete with snakes, perched on a writhing mass of tentacles. A tendril issued from its underside, hooking itself onto the woman’s ankle even as she walked away.

What happened next was reflex, born from a lifetime of doing this sort of thing. I partially projected my consciousness from my body, seeing two sets of images superimposed over each other at once. I flew over to the neg, keeping my physical body in place, broadcasting a loud psychic message: DUCK AND COVER!

It turned, aware of my presence, of course. But by then, I was already in front of it. It hissed, trying to charge me. I floated away, letting it fly past. I conjured a blue axe into existence, gripping it tightly in my right hand. While it was still in flight, I severed the tendril connecting it to the woman’s leg. It snarled in frustration, echoing in the confines of my mind.

It changed direction, turning towards my physical location. I raised an arm, and tossed the axe in its direction. It tried to dodge, but I directed the flying axe accordigly, embedding it deep within its skull. It screamed, frozen for a moment.

I zipped back to my corporeal body. From this position, I generated a ball of bright bluish fire, crackling in the realities above this. I flung it into the neg’s open mouth, transforming it into a spear. I followed through, changing its course ever so slightly, until the tip struck the neg’s core, a hard, dark, sphere. I threw my will at it, and the weapon broke through, reaching into the creature’s heart.

And detonated.

Dark, soft, fiery energies burst forth from the neg, ripping it in half from the inside. Its death cry was, perhaps, louder than the explosion. It disintegrated, with nothing holding it together. The energies, wild and swirling, were soon dissolved into the Universe, fading into the background. A half-minute later, there was no trace of the neg.

You just had to do that, a mature, female, English voice sighed.

It was the watcher. I turned my attention to her, drinking in her details. She was wearing a black cloak, complete with a hood that obscured her features. She was levitating a few inches above the ground, with no feet that I could perceive. Perhaps she didn’t even have any. The hem of her cloak lazily drifted about. She wasn’t exactly solid, wasn’t exactly invisible, like a highly transparent piece of glass, existing in between two realities.

I couldn’t just stand here and do nothing, I replied. Even then, I knew that that would be an exercise in futility. watchers are notorious for being pacifists and indecisive, even as they recorded events in their head. She would no doubt file a letter of complaint with whichever Power she reported to, to be archived in whatever vault they used to store the reports they made on me. I swear, if I were to slay a demon in order to save a watcher, the first thing the watcher would do would be to bemoan the creature’s untimely and extraordinarily violent end. The second thing it would do would be to condemn my obviously hyper-aggressive behaviour and action.

That act was uncalled for!

Neither was the neg’s action.

That was its nature, Michael Chiang. Surely you can see that?

I do. It’s precisely because of its nature that I intervened.

That is still a transgression against the Universe! I’ll see to it that Deus hears about you.

Suit yourself. You lot never had to deal with negs and the like anyway.

Come again? Anger crept into her voice. I remembred to scan the area; the other beings had fled the moment the attack begun. Newcomers, sensing the recent altercation, were warily walking past us. Some wisely skirted around the two of us.

That’s right. The watchers never had had to intervene in any actions anywhere. All you have done and ever will do is to stand somewhere safe, watch the action, then swoop in with your accusations and your condemnations, and then tell the Universe how we’re such bad men for doing such evil things. You lot make me sick!

And why? We are just doing our jobs!

And so am I. It’s up to people like me to move in and take action, to safeguard an unknowing, ungrateful, uncaring population of ignorant sheep against the horrors of the Universe, the same monsters they had had a hand in feeding. The gods, both Above and Below and in all directions, aren’t going to intervene by themselves, unless someone asks for their help or if they had a vested interest. There’s no Universal police force to go after these negs and rogues and what-have-you. So, people like me, with our terrible talents, have to protect the people from them. I restrained my hands from moving, as they would normally have done; there were people around me who couldn’t see what’s going on.

Why?

Why? Because we can. We possess the ability to See, Hear, and even Touch the Universe. Only very few people can willingly and consciously do that, out of the billions of people on Earth. These abilities come with a responsibility: use them wisely, or not, or not at all. I will use my gifts, and my chains, for mankind.

Why?

I snorted. Because even mere men deserve a chance for enlightenment. Someday, anyway.

She sighed again. It’s not your responsibility, Michael Chiang. Nobody assigned it to you. And what you’re doing will prove costly to you in the long run; I’m sure even you know that. It’s for your own good.

My own good? I spat. Who are you to tell me that something is for ‘my own good’? Not you, not your fellows, not even the gods! I gave myself that duty. And because I did, it’s my choice, my duty, my burden, all of it! I embrace it to the fullest! I will savour the anguish, the triumph, the sorrow, the joy, the horror, everything! I will willingly and joyfully pay the full cost in karma, without regrets! I will march into Hell itself for the world if needs must! Who are you, watcher, to tell me what to do if you and your kin have never faced the horrors I have faced? The nightmares I have seen? I have saved that woman the anguish that comes with neg attachment; you have done nothing but cluck your tongues and condemn me. I have helped dozens more in the course of my work; you and your kind wouldn’t so much as lift a finger for the needy. I have borne the scars of war; you have not even swung a sword. Don’t you tell me what to do.

The watcher didn’t get a chance to reply. Nicole Ho finally arrived.

She breezed in through the double doors. There was always this unfantomable quality about her, a mix of confidence, cockiness, naïveness, and sheer lunacy that made her irresistably attractive to most males. That she looked good helped. Tonight, she was dressed in a deep red swishy halterneck that reached down to her knees, striding along on a pair of white open-toe high-heeled shoes. Her hair, pumped up and dyed a deep brown, tumbled down her back, swaying as she walked. She was also carrying a brown plastic-like handbag.

“Hey!” she called, from maybe three metres away, waving.

Oh, yes, she was also extroverted as hell. I sensed the watcher grimacing, her exhortations falling on suddenly-deaf ears.

I turned to face her more directly, closing my third eye some. If I left it open for too long, I would risk sensory overload.

Besides, I didn’t want to alarm her.

I stood up, walked over to the main entrance, just in time for her to reach me.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Her voice was a bright, sharp, high-pitched pink. She flashed a brilliant smile, coming almost too close for comfort. A few random thoughts flashed through my head: In those heels, she’s taller than you. She smells good; must be some kind of perfume. She must be wearing contact lenses; see those circles around her irises? Are you betraying Eleanor like this?

The last I answered with a sharp NO.

I shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“Did you wait long?”

The Eternal Lie: “Not really.” It was, after all, only 1835.

And besides, you were doing something productive, anyway, eh?

“Let’s go, then!”

“Right.” Together, we approached the maître d’ hôtel, greeting us with a smile she was paid to give. Or maybe it was genuine; KRR, after all, had a reputation for service no other restaurant in Singapore could easily match. She led us to our table, near the back end of the restaurant and next to a window.

The restaurant had earned its reputation for quality. It was elegantly decorated, built to look like an extended family ranch, completed with treated wood. Near the far end was a minibar, serving the usual alcoholic fare. An autographed guitar adorned a wall. The other walls were decorated with photographs and records of the restaurant’s namesake singer. Seated at the tables were quiet couples, small families, and larger cliques, enjoying a National Day dinner at an internationally acclaimed restaurant. The ambience was perfect for what I had in mind.

I sat facing the front door, where I could observe any movement into or out of the restaurant. While there was a rear entrance, of sorts, I had never seen anyone using it; chances are, it would never be used while I was here.

Are you sure you should be staying here? After what you did just now, it could be dangerous to stay in the same place.

I recognised the voice, a hot pink, rolling voice that belonged to one of my current spirit guides, floating somewhere on a higher plane.

I can’t cancel the reservation, can I? Not on the basis of an astral event that nobody saw. I certainly can’t justify it to Nicole or the staff without raising undue suspicion. Besides, this restaurant is fairly occupied; negs usually can’t stand operating in such environments.

Suit yourself. But don’t blame me if something goes wrong.

She flashed a grin. I smiled back. Some months ago, I took up a temporary job as a photographer, while pretending to look for work. My last job had me shooting an advertisement for an ad company. Nicole was the rep from that company, overseeing things in behalf of her senior, who came down with dengue fever on the last day of the shoot. We sorta-kinda clicked, and swapped contact numbers after that. The rest was history.

She flipped through her menu. I made no move towards mine.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” she asked.

“I am. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Heh. Cool.”

I shrugged. I had over thirty minutes to glance through the restaurant’s selection when I first arrived, conveniently displayed as part of its storefront. Fortunately, my wallet had enough paper money; and even if I didn’t, I still had my so-called expense account.

It took her only five minutes to decide. We signalled a passing waitress, and made our orders, probably enough to feed a family of four. When the waitress left, Nicole turned to me, with an exuberant smile.

“So, what have you been up to these days? Still following people around?”

“Pretty much, but it gets routine.” I told almost everybody I knew that I worked for a private detective agency, helping to track unfaithful spouses and rebellious children and other such things. It saved plenty of trouble that way.

She chuckled. “Routine? I thought it should be more exciting than that.”

“What’s so exciting about chasing old men and their mistresses? They don’t even know how to watch their backs. They’re not even challenging.”

“Aiyah, you ah, don’t be so arrogant, can?”

I shrugged. “I can’t help it if they aren’t security conscious.”

She mock-sighed. “You, ah, you’re impossible lah”

I shrugged. “Oh well. What about your work?”

“Same as always, I guess. But, you remember that guy I told you about? The one I said I thought was gay? Ian?”

I nodded. Oh boy…

“I ran into him last week, on the way home. I saw him holding hands with this guy at the bus interchange. They were so close together. Guess I was right, right?”

“You can’t ever tell this sort of thing,” I attempted. Not that it’d do much good.

A waitress materialised, set our table, dropped off two glasses of cold water, and left.

“But then, I saw them talking to each other, smiling at each other. They’re definitely attached.”

“How d you know?”

“Aiyah, this sort of thing very obvious, lah. It’s very disgusting, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re two grown men, lah! It’s just not right for two men to be behaving like that in public. It’s not natural.”

“Only to you. Homosexuality has been around since the time of the Greeks, and probably even beyond that. In those societies, it was all right to be homosexual; it was even celebrated in some cases. In Asia, even, it was so common and widely-accepted that it became part of Asian culture for a long time, surprising even the Western travellers who visited Asian cities. They accepted that it was something natural, something that shouldn’t be reviled.”

Her face contorted into an expression of distaste. “But then, it’s just…wrong.”

“Why is it wrong? Sex is amoral; there’s nothing right or wrong about it.”

“It…it just goes against the Bible, lah.”

Oh, and another thing: she was Christian to the core. Which was why I never bothered to tell her about what I really do.

I raised an eyebrow. “Only because priests ruled that it’s immoral during the time of the Crusades, I daresay. Let’s be realistic: homosexuality is biological. It’s a combination of genetic, hormonal, and environmental influences. If it really went against the Bible, then God must have a sense of humour.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s break it down. The priestly class ruled that homosexuality is immoral to varying degrees. Certainly the ones over here do, for the most part. They say that it goes against God. They also say that God is he Supreme Creator, and is in charge of just about everything. Now, homosexuality, as I’ve said, is determined by genetic, hormonal, and environmental factors. All of which are under God’s control; certainly an unborn baby can’t decide them, and neither can a young child. And people discover their gender identity at a fairly young age, probably as they enter puberty; at this age, they again have no power to influence the above. This postulates that God either creates homosexuals from birth, or does nothing to prevent homosexuals from realising that they are, in fact, homosexual. In either event, it shows that homosexuality is not against God, because God either created it, or let it happen.”

My hands flowed and spoke with my words, emphasising each point, as they normally did. But I was losing her; I could see it in her eyes.

“But just because God lets it happen doesn’t mean that God approves of it.”

“Surely. But let’s examine things. A baby cannot determine the hormones it receives from its parents, or the combination of genes that make it up. Neither can the parents; the technology to perform genetic engineering on such a scale does not exist. At this stage, if God exists and if he were omniscient, he would know which babies become homosexual or heterosexual based on their genes. But, because homosexuals do exist, we can infer that he doesn’t intervene to change the genes to make the babies heterosexual; certainly not in the case of existing homosexuals.

“Now, take a look at the environment. The child cannot, of course, change the environment he is born into or grows up it. He simply doesn’t have the power to do so. So power has been invested in the people around him. But the people around him aren’t perfect, are they? They wouldn’t know if their actions or their environment would lead to the emergence of a homosexual; if they did, and cared, they’d have changed things so that the child would grow up a heterosexual. If they did know, and didn’t care, then it’s up to God; but he didn’t do anything, and the child remains susceptible. If they didn’t know, then it’s up to God again; but evidently, he didn’t do anything.

“As for the child, he doesn’t have much of a choice. His genes make him predisposed towards homosexuaity to begin with. While he may be able to resist environmental factors for a while, he cannot deny his genetic destiny. Those who tried ended up going through bouts of depression. The only time a homosexual can become heterosexual if it the factors are environmental alone, or if his genetic predisposition is weak enough to be overcome. But, as evidenced by the large number of homosexuals out there, it’s not always true. So, the average homosexual child can’t stop being a homosexual; if God exists and cared, he’d take action.” I never stopped being a debater, even outside the education system.

“Maybe you don’t see the action.”

“Maybe so, but if he did take action, then the homosexual community would one day become heterosexual. But it hasn’t happened yet, and there is no sign of that happening any time soon. I have yet to hear about widespread conversions to heterosexuality. So, in the absence of evidence, it can be safely assumed that God didn’t take action.

“That’s assuming he exists, of course.”

“Aiyah, you, ah…”

I sipped my glass of water. “What?”

“Nothing.”

I shrugged. She took a sip of water. Then: “Hey, I ask you ah, what religion are you?”

“It’s…complicated.” Rightly so. When Guatama Sidharta, Krishna, Allah, Deus, Guan Yin, Jesus and Mohammad can appear in the same room, in front of you, it’s hard to tell what religion you should subscribe to. If at all.

“Okay.”

And then we talked, and talked, and talked some more about other stuff. We touched the usual: general happenings in life, some current events, family and friends, and career. The last, I steered to focus on her as much as I could; I couldn’t bloody well talk about my actual job. Nobody in my line of work ever does, for obvious reasons. I relaxed, trying to enjoy myself.

I would have, anyway, if not for a stirring in the air. Something was wrong, somehow, somewhere. It was like a piece of embedded dirt, caught between one’s skin and one’s flesh, stuck in both and neither. I had the vague sense that something was bound to happen, but I wasn’t sure what.

The food arrived, delivered with the same level of service the restaurant was famous for. I had ordered a plate of honey-bourbon barbeque ribs with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Nicole, in the spirit of celebration, had decided on a Ceasar salad, a wood-roasted turket breast, and some beets. I’ve always found it fascinating how she managed to wolf down so much more food than myself, and still remain as slim as she was.

So we talked and ate. And ate and talked. We talked about anything and everything that caught our fancy, branching from one topic to another on the most insubstantial of tangents. I watched the bright yellowish evening light deepen into a reddish-gold tinge. Coupled with the good food, I was starting to feel just a little human again.

But, dammit, something was wrong. I could just sense it, like an itch that wouldn’t go away.

That’s right, Michael Chiang! We’re coming for you!

What the hell?

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, before tearing into another piece of roughly-cut chicken.

“Hm?” I had finished my dinner some time ago; I was just waiting for her, like I always did. Out of sheer bordom, I had arranged the hard, silver, utensils on the plate such that they were all facing down, indicating that I was done. A waiter appeared, cleared the plate, and disappeared.

“Yeah. You just stopped talking for a while. Is something wrong?”

You’re not going to live through tonight, Michael Chiang!

What the fuck?!

“Nothing.” I kept my face as neutral as possible. “Just nothing to say for now.”

I’ve always been a listener more than a talker; most of the time anyway. Any other day and it might have worked on her. But not today.

“No…something’s up.”

I had a faint tearing sound in the distance. It wasn’t physical; it was astral, as though something had broken through a barrier separating universes and dimensions, and was manifesting itself on Earth.

And it was nearby.

I managed a brief smile. “Oh, nothing, really.”

“Come, lah. Tell me!”

I shrugged. No harm humouring her. “Just marvelling at how good you look tonight.”

She blushed, and grinned. “Really?”

I nodded, feeling my skin flush. Romance was never my strong suit; not that I cared.

I quietly stepped out of my body, looking for the source of the manifestation. But nothing came to mind. Dammit; this place was too crowded, too active, for me to do my work properly. And there was Ho to consider.

Shit.

Michael! Look up!

I looked up.

A portal started to manifest at the entrance.

SHIT!

It was a gateway between one dimension and another, between one plane and the one above or below. More often than not, it meant that someone wanted to enter this world; and in my experience, it brings disaster. Crackling with deep purplish ethereal energies, it yawned open. A host of beasts sallied forth, eager for blood; at least, that’s what I inferred from the shrieks in my mind. With my third eye closed, all I saw were black rolling waves, streams, tubers, and other shapes, making for me like a minature tsunami. I couldn’t run; once they had locked onto a target, the only way out was someone’s death. Preferably, not mine.

“Thank you!”

I concentrated, opening my third eye a crack. I Saw a large snake-like thing hurtling towards me, baring oversized teeth. I sliced it in half with a column of blue divine light. I didn’t dare open my third eye any further; it could create a karmic link to the opposition, which they could ride to virtually teleport in front of me.

“You’re welcome.”

But it welded itself back together, more enraged than wounded. I changed the angle of attack, this time blasting straight through its body. I overloaded its core energies, and it vanished. The bolt continued through a few more beings, thinning out the horde’s ranks. But the fuckers were still coming.

“I spent, like, half a day trying to decide on what to wear.”

Remember: magick is just will and intent.

When faced with superior numbers, introduce superior firepower. I Touched Reality, and ignited the air around the horde. Bright, blue fireballs manifested, sweeping towards the spirits. I willed the flames to engulf the mass, saw each flame jump from one entity to the next, jumpstarting an astral conflagaration. But they were still coming. I couldn’t let them reach me, or Nicole. But I cuoldn’t tell her what I could See, and I couldn’t just get up and run; that’ll induce panic, suspicion, fear, all of which would fuel their efforts.

“Guess it paid off, eh?”

For all intents and purposes, I was a sitting duck.

“Yeah!”

They just kept coming. I threw my will against the surging mass, willing them all to burn, just burn and die. The black roiling masses shrieked, tried to disperse, but failed. My head started to throb; God, it’s getting difficult to keep this shit up.

“You want something to drink?” she asked, cocking her head at the bar.

There’s only one way to end this: seal the portal.

“No thanks; I’m trying to stay sober.”

I transmuted the fires; this time, they became streaks and sparks of energy. I reached out for the portal, definining its thresholds in my mind.

“All right, then.”

I moulded the energies to my will, trying to stitch the portal closed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she added.

I gathered energies from the environment, interlacing it with the stitches for a stronger bind.

I nodded. “Let’s get the bill.”

The portal closed, finally. I smoothed over the region where it once was, leaving no trace behind.

“Okay.”

What the hell was that…? They usually don’t operate in crowded areas.

Not tonight, lad. I were you, I’d get to cover ASAP.

I paid the bill, and waited anxiously for the change. I tried to stay calm, hiding everything under a veneer of patience. Those things are attracted to fear and desperation; by remaining calm, they’ll have a harder time tracking you down, and attaching themselves to you. Nicole and I made some small talk; I played along, keeping my eyes and ears open. Thank God; she stayed away from God. That’d just stir up the local energies even more, and make things worse.

We sauntered out of the restaurant. She was still smiling. I tried to play along with a smile of my own. But, inside, I knew it had only begun.