8,603 words Chapter 1               word total as of May 10, 55,309



You’ve got six months to live was the news delivered by Dr. Dean. Shocked! Doesn’t come close to how I felt. Thunderstruck, or struck by lightning would be more descriptive. I was twenty-six and had just won my twenty-eighth heavyweight pro-boxing match, and I only needed to win my next fight to be the next in line for a championship fight. I was already spending the money I anticipated earning. Now to hear, “six months!” This is devastating; my son is only six months old. I’m due to die when he’s one. Shit! I don’t want to go like this. “Can’t you do something, anything to help me? Maybe try an experimental drug, operation, or anything else?”
“Unfortunately at this time there’s nothing we can do to help you. A brain tumor of this size and its location make surgery impossible. Without surgery the outcome is always fatal.” He answered. “In the near future we may be able to shrink tumors like this, but presently there’s nothing that can be done to help you.”
I almost cried on the way home to tell my wife, and then I wondered if I should even tell her. Why make her as miserable as I’m going to be for the next six months? Why wait six months? End it now, just end it, some way and do away with six months of worry, pain, remorse, and debilitating illness.
I got home and thankfully my wife and son were still at the park where Emily takes little Joe everyday for sunshine and fresh air. I went directly to the closet where on the top shelf I keep the 38-colt revolver I gave Emily to have for when I wasn’t home.
Being a boxer meant time away for training and fighting, and the gun was more for my peace of mind than for hers. I took the gun and box of ammo, and set them on the bedside table.
How do you write a suicide note I wondered? This morning when I woke up I had everything going my way, and a great future to look forward to, then six hours later here I’m writing a goodbye letter. I begin, Dear Emily. No I can’t say Dear Emily, I’m going to kill myself. I’m agonizing over the wording of my note, and as it turns out this delay was very fortuitous, because I would have already shot myself by the time the phone rang. Dr. Dean called, “Jim there’s one possibility, but I’m not sure whether I should even tell you about it.” “Don’t give me that bullshit!” I yelled. “You call me and say there may be hope, but maybe you shouldn’t tell me, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Calm down, I’m going to tell you, I was just wondering out loud because this is so radical a procedure; I’m not sure if it’s a good idea or not.”
“What the fuck are you talking about doc?” I shouted into the phone.
“Please try to remain calm so we can discuss this intelligently.” The doc said.
“OK I’m calm, tell me what’n the hell you’re talking about?”
“ Well there’s a new science called Cryonics.”
“Do you mean Cryogenics?”
“No, No They sound the same, but this is spelled C-r-y-o-n-i-c-s not C-r-y-o-g-e-n-i-c-s.”
“Look spelling it out does nothing for me, do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re talking about? I’ve got important things to take care of here.”
“All right: Cryonics is a technique that involves cooling legally-dead people to liquid nitrogen temperature. (Under normal atmospheric pressure, nitrogen can exist as a liquid between the temperatures of 63 K and 77.2 K (-346°F and -320.44°F)
Where physical decay essentially stops, in the hope that future advanced scientific procedures will someday be able to revive, and restore them to good health. A person held in such a state is said to be a "cryo-preserved patient", because we do not regard the cryo-preserved person as being really, "dead.”
“ That’s a mouthful doc., I’m not sure what’n the hell you’re talking about.”
“Simply put, your body can be frozen so that when medicine learns how to shrink brain tumors, you’ll be revived. Your tumor cured and you’ll be able to live out your life.”
“ Hold on doc, you’re talking science fiction here. I can’t believe what you’re telling me.”
“ You’re the one who pleaded with me to do anything, and wanted to know if there’s any experimental procedure that may help. This is a new technique, and there are no guarantees, the only guarantee you have, Jim is you’ll be dead within six months. This procedure though unproven now may work sometime in the future.”
“ I don’t like the idea of being frozen. Will I be conscious of anything, or have any feeling?”
“You’ll be legally dead before you’re body is frozen. If you’re not frozen all you have to look forward to is your body decomposing; if you decide to do it, one day you may live again.”
“When you put it that way I guess there’s not much choice.” Go ahead and make the arrangements for me, and I’ll have my attorney handle the financial end, and make sure my future is protected.”
“Good thinking Joe, Putting money away for when you’re revived is an excellent idea.”
Taking the bullets out of the gun feels good, because I know I’ve got some time left. Putting it back in its place in the closet gives me a feeling of relief. I tear up my goodbye note, and go to the kitchen to pour myself a triple shot of scotch. I downed the drink in one swallow and poured another.
Thoughts and images were flashing in and out of my confused brain, how do I tell Emily? What about little Joe? How much money do I need for cryonic treatment? I downed the second scotch, and that seemed to slow my thought process somewhat. I told myself, “Think logically,” How can I think logically at a time like this?” I wondered. I needed help but didn’t know where to turn.
Help came unexpectedly from the cryonics institute where I went the next day. The director a doctor with a wonderful outlook on everything reassured me everything could be taken care of with minimal problems. “Jim,” he said, “you don’t have many choices. The best you can do for Emily and Joe is to see that they are financially taken care of. Why don’t you take the wife on a vacation and enjoy the time I you’ve left.”
I agreed with him that I would enjoy the time I had left, but our views of enjoyment differed. My biggest joy in life would be to win the heavyweight championship. I had six months to do it, I just needed to win the fight scheduled two months from today, and I would be the number one contender. I wasn’t feeling any physical disabilities from the tumor. Just headaches. I figured I could go on fighting until I lost or died. That was my way to enjoy my time I had left.
“There’s only two more fights,” I said, “and I’ll be Heavyweight Champion of the World, and then we can do anything we want.”
When I left for training camp the next day without telling her anything about the short time I had left. I didn’t think I was being deceptive, because I can live with the knowledge of dying soon. If she knew I was dying the knowledge would make her very sad, and I can’t bear to see her unhappy. I know sadness accompanies death, but it soon passes. Living with someone who ‘s dying is worse than death itself. I just didn’t want to put her through that. That’s how I justified it to myself, I just wanted to fight before I died and if that was selfish, so be it.
Mr. Zoloti, my attorney came to camp, and I signed all the necessary papers for the cryonic treatments. We went over my insurance policies to be sure Emily and Joe were taken care of. We arranged for the purse from this fight to be put in a trust fund for me, so if and when I was revived I’d have plenty of money. “Look Zyloti,” I said, “Here’s what I want on my tombstone if they fail to revive me when the time comes. ‘Here lies Jim Jackson. Heavyweight Boxing Champion of the World, born 1940, died 1966.' All right Jim, I’ll make sure that’s at the top of the list when the time comes; now I want you to take a look at this prospectus about Canadian Oil Sands. It’s dirt-cheap now, but the world is going to run short of oil soon. Then this stock is going to skyrocket.”
“If you’ll base your fee for managing my estate on a percentage of the profit you make for me? I’ll give you complete power to invest in anything you desire.” With that unpleasant task taken care of, I thanked God for the confidentiality laws for lawyers and doctors, because both tried to insist I quit fighting. I swore if they told anyone about my condition I would sue them to the max; after I used them both for punching bags.
Fight night, my head is flashing sharp shooting pains every other ten seconds. I ignore this pain as just an inconvenience. A fighter needs to be able to withstand pain or he’s not worth a pile of beans. All the legal stuff is taken care of, so as soon as I’m declared dead, I’ll be immediately frozen and shipped to the Cryonic institute. I had Emily sign the papers agreeing to this without telling her how soon it would be that I’d need these services.
My opponent tonight is “Homicide Hank” that’s the name he has earned because of almost killing several boxers with his unrelenting assaults. He’s a young Italian fighter out of Boston’s North End; he’s built like a Greek statue; solid muscle throughout. I know being built like that is more for show than for work. I know I’ll work him into the ground eventually, because his stamina won’t match mine. He’s tough, but I know I’m tougher and look forward to punching the shit out of him.
We meet center-ring, and the ref has us touch gloves. “Hope you’ve got your life insurance paid up,” Homicide Hank tells me. I just look at him as though I didn’t hear a word he said. That rattles him more than some snide remark. The fight goes along as expected for a few rounds; it’s about even when suddenly I have a blinding pain that sears my brain like a jolt of high voltage electricity, and it takes my breath away. While I’m distracted by pain; he hits me with a right uppercut, and I see stars being shot with bolts of lightning to match the flashing brain pain I’m feeling. I know the brain isn’t supposed to feel pain, but I can’t convince myself the pain isn’t real. I Grab his arms, and hang on as tight as I can while I try to recover.
The bell rings, and I stagger to my corner, spit out the mouthpiece, and take a deep breath, trying to clear my exploding head. “How many fingers,” my trainer asked, sticking his big hand in front of my face. I slap his hand away, and want to tell him to go fuck himself, but my corner-man has already put my moth-piece in.
My head feels like someone has stuck an air hose in my mouth, and is pumping my head full of air. I feel my head expanding as though it were a balloon being filled with helium. As my head size increases, the pain grows right along with it, so much pain; lightning bolts inside my head. I’ve never experienced pain like this. I know I can’t take another punch to the head, I’m thinking this could be it. I may die right now if he punches my head again. “Jim I’m throwing the towel in,” my trainer is yelling from the ropes. I gave him such a look that he changed his mind real quick.
The thought of my opponent killing me gets my adrenalin flowing, and now I’m pissed at him, and as soon as the bell rings I’m at him with a left-right-left-left, and a right uppercut that stands him straight up, and lays him flat on his back. The ref takes forever to count to ten; then announces me winner. “I hope your insurance is paid up;” I say to the unconscious Homicide Hank.
I can’t wait to get to the dressing room to take a handful of aspirin before my head explodes! The reporters are there, waiting. Just what I need, a bunch of morons asking dumb questions, “You’re first in line to fight for the championship,” stated one reporter. “Will you fight anyone else before the champion?” asked another.
“No,” I answered. “I earned a shot at the championship, and I want to take it as soon as possible, and my next fight will be with the reigning heavyweight champion.”
I got to spend the night with Emily and little Joe. I died on the way to the hospital the next morning. My biggest regret as I died was I couldn’t hold on long enough for the one fight I wanted all my life.
The cryonics institute doctors were already at the hospital; because I had called and told them, I thought this might be the time I’m going to need them. I was immediately injected with an anticoagulant named heparin, 30,000 units were given to me, and CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) was administered by a machine (thumper); to keep my oxygenated blood circulating, this minimized deterioration. It also helps cool me and helped to distribute the heparin.
My blood was drained and replaced with CPAs, (anti-freeze) substances that prevent ice formation. I was then packed in dry ice and transported to the CI (Cryonics Institute) At the CI facility I was placed in a sleeping bag, tagged, and cooled down further. It took several hours to cool me down to -120ºC and another four or five days to cool me to liquid nitrogen temperature. At the end of cooling, I was transferred to the cryostat (long term storage unit), The director had explained how the rectangular units where us patients would lay flat, and we are simply stacked on top of each other 3 or 4 layers deep (We’re in sleeping bags and are very buoyant in liquid nitrogen, so there is no crushing weight or injury). At least I had company for the long sleep.
Fifty years later.
Joe Jackson, my son is celebrating his fifty-first birthday next month, and the past fifty years have been good to him. Emily is in a nursing home, and is now seventy-four years old. Still relatively young, but with Parkinson’s setting in it was hard for little Joe to care for her. Me, I’m still floating in liquid nitrogen waiting for something to change. Somehow, I knew that change was due soon.
Joe was a good kid, and has become an M.D., so he can help his dear old dad find life again. In fact he is now the president of Nano Technology Restorative Systems. For those of you who aren’t familiar with nano tech. It’s a science where things are measured in one thousand millionth of a meter.
My son is doing amazing things with this, and so far has perfected a process to manufacture nano robots that will course through a person’s bloodstream, and detect any trauma that needs to be repaired. They will restore healthy cell structure and chemistry at the molecular level. He thinks this is the easy part, and is more worried about my brain than my body. Joe knows he can replace almost any of my organs that may have gone bad, and he knows he can repair my bodily functions with his robots. He continuously agonizes over the brain, because science knows less about it than any other part of the body.
He was visiting Emily at the nursing home, and showed her the scientific paper he had been reading, “Look mom,” Russian scientist have figured a way to shrink brain tumors like the one Dad has,” my son said to Emily.
“Oh good when are you going to wake him up? She asked.
He didn’t answer right away, because he didn’t think she would understand the complexities involved in returning a frozen person to life, but he felt obligated to explain anyway.
“Look Mom, I need to tell you the central premise of cryonics is that memory, personality, and identity will be stored in the structure and chemistry of the brain. We’ve found that brain activity is known to stop and later resume under certain conditions, it is not generally accepted that current methods preserve the brain well enough to permit revival. We’ve completed studies showing that high concentrations of cryoprotectant circulated through the brain before cooling can largely prevent freezing injury. This also preserves the fine cell structures of the brain in which memory and identity reside, and believe me, Mom; the CI has assured me many times that Dad had the highest possible concentration of cryoprotectants infused before his being frozen.
“My company has developed technologies for general molecular analysis and repair. We have developed nano-bots to do the structual repair. Our worry is whether Dad’s preserved brain information is sufficient to permit restoration of all or part of him.”
“What about his soul?” His mother asked.
“I believe his soul is asleep in God's care.”
“For fifty years?”
“Mom, look at babies that have been born after years of frozen storage in liquid nitrogen (while they were embryos). Or people who awaken after years in a coma; their soul is always intact.”
“I’m glad we’re finally talking about this. I’ve had so many questions bottled up all these years. I didn’t want you upset is the reason I’ve never mentioned them before. I just never could understand how Jim could be brought back from the dead? Jesus, is the only one who can do that.”

“Mom! As we learn more about life and how it works, our idea of death has slowly marched backwards. Once we believed life required breathing; then we learned to restart breathing, and life merely required a beating heart; then we learned to restart hearts, and life merely required a functioning brain. Now, we know that death is simply a natural process. When cells are no longer supplied with a source of energy, they stop maintaining their structure in the face of entropy, and slowly begin to disintegrate. But the march of entropy is slowed by cold. When a body is frozen, that disintegration stops almost completely, and most of its important structure, despite the damage done by freezing, is preserved. But while a body is frozen in timeless slumber, the march of science is not. As the boundary of life and death continues to be pushed back; the body remains in its frozen state. Given enough time; the ability of medicine to repair damage to a body will exceed the damage that disease and cold have done to it, and what appeared to be a dead and frozen corpse will once again become alive.”
“You make it sound so simple Joey.”
“Mom, I’m not a kid any longer. Please don’t call me Joey, OK.”
“OK, Mr. Jackson!”
“Look Mom, most neuroscientists agree that long-term memory is stored by durable structural and molecular changes within the brain, not transient electrical activity. So my hope is if Dad is revived, he’ll remember who we are.”
“I hope God doesn’t think we’re trying to cheat him by keeping Jim’s soul here so long after he died.”
“Mom, preservation and reanimation is simply a dressing up of an older fantasy. Are the elaborate preparations a body undergoes prior to cryonic suspension really so different from the mummification procedures Egyptian nobility went through prior to being interred in their pyramids? After all, both were and are carried out at great expense by dedicated people who believe seriously that the complex rituals they perform will give their patients a shot at a second life they have never seen.”
“Looking at it like that makes it seem perfectly all right then,” she said.
“This doesn’t mean that if we’re successful, and revive Dad, that he’ll live forever; at some point in time he’ll still die; one day, when his heart stops, or the stars grow cold.

The Russian discovery to cure the specific brain cancer that I had was started on my frozen brain; being frozen made the procedure seem simple, as there was no blood or respiration to worry about. Currently; no one knew how to revive a cryonic frozen person.
Joe has frozen and revived hundreds of animals without any adverse effects, and is considering attempting to revive me. He thinks now is the time, because none of the animals he revived had brain damage, and he was willing to gamble I wouldn’t either. He asked Emily for permission to do so, and she signed the papers with her trembling hand. If she had a clue what was going to happen she never would have signed.
The process was going to take months and Joe started it by injecting his robots into my still frozen body, so they could start their work. After a few months he warmed my body in a separate temperature controlled room. It was cold, but not as cold, as he hooked me up to the machines that would pump fluid throughout my body while the robots continued their repair job. The object was to eventually replace the anti freeze in my veins with blood, test all my organs, and if they were in working order; my body temperature would be slowly raised. If and when everything was good my son would jump-start my heart. Then hope when it kicked in my brain would show electrical activity along with my pumping heart. The day came when my blood was replaced, and one by one the machines were unhooked except the artificial circulation one commonly known as a heart lung machine.
Electrodes were hooked to my head to check for electrical brain activity and my head was placed in an FMRI machine so they could watch for any brain activity. Joe had restarted the test animal hearts with bursts of direct current, by alternately accelerating and decelerating the current into their hearts until the heart started beating. Once that happened the brain always showed electrical activity. Joe knew even if my brain showed activity it wouldn’t mean that I was aware of anything. This was the first step in revivification though. Get the heart beating, the brain working, and go from there. There were two other doctors with Joe and a couple of nurses.
This was a historical moment, because this is the first time ever to attempt to reanimate someone who’s been frozen for such a long time. One of the doctors was setting up a video camera to record the event. Once everything was set Joe checked the amperage, and started to apply the electricity. My body jumped, then stiffened until he cut the juice, and I sagged to the table. Everyone was looking at the many screens crowded around the room. All saw nothing but a flat line on every screen.
Joe applied the juice again, turning up the voltage this time by a factor of two. Same result. He increased the level by a factor of four and applied it.
Now there was smoke coming from the contact points as the flesh turned black. The two doctors tried to console my son by telling him he had done a magnificent job of restoring my body even if he couldn’t get that spark of life into me he so desperately wanted to.
Joe said, “One more time and turned the voltage to the max. He believed it was now or never, and by gosh, he was right. That last jolt though the electricity burned two large areas of my chest it did give me that spark of life. (Or was it her that gave me life?) The screens lit up like Christmas trees, and the beeping from the many machines was deafening. “ Joe look at this,” shouted one of the doctors, pointing to the MRI screen that was glowing bright. “I’ve never seen brain activity this pronounced before,” Said the finger pointer. “Oh shit,” Joe said. “I must’ve done something drastically wrong for this to be happening.”
I wasn’t conscious and they couldn’t determine if my brain had been fried or not. (I wish it would’ve been) The procedure was supposed to get a spark going, and nurse me along to consciousness over a matter of weeks. As far as they could tell, my systems were working fine, and they’d need to wait to see the extent of brain damage the overload of electricity had probably caused.
I woke up two weeks later only it wasn’t me. It was Elisabeth Bathoy. She was the cause of all the brain electrical activity. When she entered my consciousness it was the first awareness I had in fifty years. I was barely aware, but could feel a presence slipping into my mind. It was an eerie feeling; like a glove being slipped over my mind. We were aware of one another, and knew each other’s thoughts. The difference being she was dominant, and I could do nothing but observe. For an instant we struggled for control, and she easily won. My mind was active, but I couldn’t feel or do anything. It’s like watching a horror movie. I’m helpless to change anything unfolding before my eyes or in my head.
I’m glad at this moment I don’t have feelings, because she’s really suffering trying to move a body that has been inert for so long. She’s strong, and takes the suffering like a man. Finally she speaks, and it’s in an old Hungarian dialect, and everyone is dumbfounded along with me. It’s my voice all right, (Raspy and hoarse) but it’s not me talking. No one says a word; my Romanian voice gets louder and louder demanding something. Nobody knows what. Joe finally speaks, “Jim, Jim it’s me your son. Can you understand me?” My eyes look at Joe, and I can’t believe it, my son looks old enough to be my father.
My voice answers, “Yes,” in English. “What just happened I wonder? How could I be speaking in Hungarian, when I don’t remember ever having even heard the language? She can read my every thought, and her mind communicates with mine. She shows me how she can speak English by using my knowledge combined with hers. Between us we know at least five languages. I know one, and she knows the rest. “Good, good, Joe says,” he’s accustomed to unusual happenings when people come out of anesthesia. This was way beyond the usual, but so was the fact that I hadn’t spoken a word in fifty years. After he overcame his shock at hearing this foreign language coming from my mouth. He asked, ”Can you tell me your name?”
“Elisabeth Bathoy”
“ Good,” Joe said, “Elizabeth, can you tell me what year it is?”
“The last I remember it was 1614.”
“Where and when were you born”?
“1560 in Hungary”
”Can you move your fingers?” Joe asked as he held my hand in his. My fingers slightly moved, and Joe smiled. I swear it wasn’t me that moved them. No one had known what to expect when I regained consciousness. What happened was the very last thing anyone would’ve thought would happen; me waking up as somebody else.
They huddled in a corner, discussing what action to take. “What could possibly make him think he’s from the 17th Century?” Asked Joe.
“There are certified cases of people with multiple personality disorders where one of the personality’s believes it lived in the past, and there’s a possibility this is what happened here,” answered one of the other doctors.
“I know this sounds un-scientific, but is it possible that he could be possessed?” Asked one nurse.
“What? Did you do, watch the Exorcist last night?” Asked Joe.
“There have been studies done of people who believed they’ve lived in another time,” said the other doctor.
“Let’s let him rest, and see how he acts in the morning,” Joe said.
A psychiatrist was brought in; actually three were brought in, because Joe didn’t want any half-baked diagnosis, he wanted to know if I was brain damaged, hallucinating, suffering from a psychosis, or maybe multiple personality disorder.
The next months were filled with rehabilitation, and mental testing. Elizabeth scored in the top percentile of all the intelligence tests. I know it was her IQ because I’d never been very smart. When they tested her knowledge she didn’t do as well, but what can you expect from someone from the 17th century answering 21st century questions? She was learning fast though. She already knew everything I did; she read voraciously, and learned in a day how to use a computer and search the Internet. She found a picture of her castle on the Internet and looked longingly at it. I read the caption, the Castle of Csejthe, situated deep in the Carpathian Mountain’s of what is now central Romania, but which then was known only as Transylvania. She read what it said about her, and laughed.
The physical rehabilitation was remarkable. The repair job the nano-bots did was absolutely amazing. I was stronger and faster now than I had ever been. Elizabeth loved having the strength of a man, and worked hard to get as strong as possible. Where she came from a man’s strength was his most important attribute. She knows I’m a boxer, and she wanted to try punching a heavy bag. She asked Joe to get one for her, and when she started punching it I was amazed at the viciousness she demonstrated. It is obvious my body has a memory too, I have no mental control over it, but my body instinctively remembered the footwork and combination punches. Instinct enabled me to throw punches faster and harder than I ever could before.
”Hi I’m Doctor Abrams,” he introduced himself to me.
“I’m Jim Jackson,” Elizabeth said.
“Well Jim,” we’re going to try hypnotizing you to see if we can determine where Elizabeth came from.
He hypnotized me and injected me with several different drugs that he hadn’t told me he was going to use. He then asked Elizabeth if he could talk to me? Jim Jackson. This is the usual procedure when a person has multiple personalities, but she told them they were presently talking to Jim Jackson.
“But, I thought you were Elizabeth Bathoy?”
“I am, but I’m also Jim Jackson.”
“How can you be two people at one time”
“You’re the doctor, you figure it out.”
“Tell me about where you lived in Romania?” He asked.
She gave him detailed descriptions of Romania and Hungary during the 17th century. She named towns and villages that had vanished hundreds of years ago. When the doctors looked at maps from the 1700’s; all the towns and villages she named were on them. When he pressed for answers about me she evaded answering all questions.
The institute was having problems because they returned me to the world of the living as a different person than the one they had frozen. The doctors were sure there was an explanation and kept working on it.
There’re numerous cases of multiple personalities where the dominant one takes over. This is the explanation they came up with, and transferred me to a mental hospital for the care they thought I needed. Several psychiatrists tried their hand, but Elizabeth didn’t ever change one word of her story and gave more and more details of Romania in the 17th century that proved to be factual.
The staff of the CI and the staff of the mental facility held a conference in order to determine my problem. My Son Joe was the first speaker. When he stood to speak he was given a polite round of applause to acknowledge his accomplishment of reviving me. Every one expected him to be nominated for a Nobel. He gave a quick summary of all events leading up to this meeting, and asked for any theories on why his father thought he was from the 17th century?
Dr Johnson was introduced. He told how reincarnation research is a field of inquiry that records and analyzes memories that subjects claim to have of past lives. Young children sometimes claim to remember a previous life, and they will talk about the events, and the people they knew in that life. Typically, the child will begin talking about these memories at around three years of age, and will lose these memories at around age seven. In some cases these memories appear to be corroborated since the child's memories are shown to match closely with actual people and events. If scientists can interview these children before contact is made with persons familiar with the supposed previous family; then an objective comparison can be made between the statements made by the child, and the actual features of the previous life. In this particular case we’re definitely able to interview before contact, and we have verified numerous events told by this subject. I believe what we have here is a reincarnation, not in the usual sense of a child being born after having lived previously. The child usually has years to assimilate the spirit and body before even communicating with any one. In this case we have a spirit being reincarnated into a fully grown human with no time to assimilate before communication.”
“Are you saying the person I revived is not actually my father?” Asked Joe.
“ It’s your father in every sense of the word, he’s the same man he was but with a different spirit.”
“Doesn’t that make him a different person then?”

I can’t answer that because usually when reincarnation occurs the person has memories of a past life. In this case the reincarnated spirit appears to be the only awareness in the new body.” Dr Johnson sat down and the next speaker rose.
Dr Kowloski was introduced, there was no need for an introduction as he was known worldwide for his work on Dissociative Identity Disorder also known as multiple personality disorder. He began by telling the usual way this disorder presents itself. An individual breaches the barrier of reality and fantasy, and is allowed free rein.
Once the patient has an alter personality, a search for more alters surrounding the host personality begins. Usually the original two or three personalities proliferate to ninety or a hundred. At least one alter must be of the opposite sex. Sometimes it is even suggested that one alter is an animal. A dog, cat, or cow must be found and made to speak! In this case there is one persistent personality. I think we can rule out MPD,” he then sat down and the next speaker was introduced.
Dr Abrams a psychiatrist spoke softly when he said, “All our testing finds this subject normal in every aspect; except his delusion of having lived in the 17th century. I don’t see any reason for his continued confinement.”
The representative from the Catholic Church which was involved from the day Jim Jackson had been frozen, was Father O’Malley. The church had an open policy on cryonics, because the church thought perhaps bringing a person back from death; that person may have memories of where he has been in the years between being frozen and revived, thus finally giving proof of an afterlife,
Now they thought they at least had the proof of the existence of evil spirits. Father O’Malley was the next speaker. He knew what he had to say would be met with disdain. Men of science nowadays don’t respect religion as they should.
He said, “Dr. Abrams, I wholeheartedly disagree with you. This man is suffering from a pure case of possession. He admits to being Elizabeth Bathoy, who is described as the most evil woman in history by many accounts.
“Let me tell you a few crimes she committed. First she murdered over six hundred, and that’s not the worst of it. It’s how she killed them that merits her the reputation as the vilest woman ever. The girls she killed were tortured for weeks. They were cut with scissors, pricked with pins, even prodded with burning irons. In a cage hung from the ceiling Elizabeth Bathory would take a blood shower by placing one of the girls in the cage and then punching her full of holes so the blood would drain onto her. This practice is said to have started because of Elizabeth’s vanity. She had always been praised for her creamy youthful skin, but now she was in her forties, and the skin was wrinkling as it does with age. One day she punched her handmaiden for some infraction, and the young girls blood got on her hands. After cleaning the blood from her hands, she noticed where the blood had been was smoother and more youthful appearing than the areas that hadn’t been splashed with blood. She immediately had this young girl bound with her arms extended over a large vat. She cut the girl’s veins at her wrist, and drained all her blood into the vat, which she then bathed in while it was still warm. After she cleaned the blood off and viewed herself in the mirror she could see her skin was beautiful again, and she appeared much younger than her forty years.
“Now she needed to keep a supply of young maidens for her needs and did this by gathering them from local villages by promises of jobs in her castle.
“Sometimes she would sew a servant girl's mouth shut, force her to eat strips of her own flesh, or burn her genitals. One time she placed her fingers into the mouth of a girl and pulled hard until the sides split open. She also stabbed the girls all over with needles, making them bleed, or had torn open their flesh with sharp pincers. She liked to slit open the skin between their fingers. When Elizabeth became ill, she didn't stop. Instead, she'd have girls brought to her bed so she could slap and bite them. Sometimes she bit them until they died, and she made her male servants consume their flesh. The countess might place oiled paper between a girl's legs and set it on fire, or use candles to burn them. There was often so much blood from cutting the girls that cinders were placed around the countess's bed to absorb it. There were rumors that haven’t been substantiated that this woman was having relations with Satan himself.”
“Her family was one of the most wealthy and powerful of the time. Her uncle was the king of Poland, and a cousin was a cardinal, another was prime minister. The Bathoy-family, besides being very rich and famous, also contained some very strange relatives. One uncle was known to be a devil-worshipper, and other members of the family were mentally insane or perverted. Her aunt Countess Klara Bathoy was an open bisexual. Her brother couldn’t be trusted around children.
“She also practiced the dark occult crafts including witchcraft. Legend has it that she didn’t die a natural death. It’s rumored that as a reward for such an evil life Satan took her soul. Now! She’s back in another form, and I insist we perform an exorcism immediately to restore the proper state to this poor man who is inhabited by her spirit.”
My son responded to this macabre story by asking, “How accurate do you believe this story from 1600 actually is?”
“It’s a matter of record,” replied the priest.
“So is the Inquisition, and they did some horrible thing too. But that was back then before the age of enlightenment banished almost all of the old superstitions and myths. So now you want to judge someone for deeds committed four hundred years in the past? I’d say the statue of limitations comes into play here.”
“There’s no statue on this kind of evil,” replied Father O’Malley.
He was requested to leave the room while his proposal was discussed.
The chairman of the Cryonic Institute spoke first. “I must say that’s a gruesome story we just heard. It needs to be taken in context though. What was put on record back then had many reasons for being put there. It’s obvious this was a woman of wealth, and if someone wanted to take it; the easiest way would be to accuse her of witchcraft.”
“Hold on” my son interjected. “Why are we even talking about this? We all know it’s impossible for a four hundred year old spirit to transport itself in time and possess someone. If there’s even such a thing as a spirit. What we need to do is outright reject any idea of an exorcism. Exorcism has been known to cause considerable physical harm to the exorcized, I don’t want to risk my father’s health for some crackpot idea.”
“I concur that we can’t take any unnecessary risk with the patient. Since his revivification ,we’ve been swamped with customers. There has even been a bill submitted in the house to allow cryonic freezing before legal death for terminally ill patients. Freezing before actual death will make it easier for revivification once we’re able to cure the affliction. I must say we’re all in line for substantial financial gains, because of the success with this man. I propose he be immediately released to the care of his son,” Said the chairman of the CI.
This was voted on and approved along with a donation to the church; this was to ease the member’s conscience. In the event there was any substance to the priest’s story of possession.
I’m released to my son, and we walk out the doors of the institution side by side. I’m delighted to be free and standing in the sunshine again, and Elizabeth is excited at the prospect of being released to a brand new world. I’m surprised how much has changed in fifty years. Elizabeth is thinking she didn’t even have running water in her previous life. She has learned to emulate how I act so she can mimic the things I would do if I were in control instead of her. She’s aware there are powerful people in this world that could lock me up, and throw away the key if they had a mind to. Those years walled up in the castle (she often thought about them, and that is how I know of them.) had put a fear of incarceration into her. My body, her mind, it didn’t matter if she got me locked up she’d be right there with me, and we both knew that. I guess thinking about the dungeon cowed her a little.
My son gives me a big hug and says, “Dad let’s go see mom; she’s dying to see you.” I’m anticipating laying eyes on Emily. I’ve been dreaming of this since I thawed out, over a year ago now.
Elizabeth is soaking up everything I see; high rise buildings, so many vehicles, so many models, traffic, lights, and so many people. She could hardly believe my eyes. I was shocked myself at how busy the world had become, and I could just imagine how it was for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth and I got to see a lot that day because the hospital I had been in was over two hundred miles from Boston where my wife and son lived. Four hours of driving, and Elizabeth saw more buildings in this time than she had seen in her previous life. She couldn’t believe the vastness of the country and the prosperity she saw. I didn’t know how to feel, I was grateful to be alive, but was I really alive, or just a spirit?
All I can do is observe, and I felt voyeuristic being here, and just watching the world go by. Then I think of the alternative, and decide that what I have is better than floating in a nitrogen filled tank.
It’s getting dark when we reach the outskirts of Boston, and my son wants to wait until morning to visit Emily. “She’ll probably be sleeping by now,” he said. “I want you to meet my wife anyway Dad, and we can spend the night there at my house,” he told me.
“I’m wondering if there’s some way I can communicate with my son without going through Elizabeth? We have sort of a relationship. Elizabeth knows all my thoughts, and I get to see what thoughts of hers she wants me to. From what I’ve seen of her ways so far, I’m glad she knows through me what penalties we’d have to pay if I did some of the things she wanted to do. I wonder if I’m putting my son in danger by bringing Elizabeth into his house? It’s not like I really have a choice. The main reason I want to communicate with him is to tell him I’m not really me, and he may be putting himself in extreme danger by associating with Elizabeth and me.”
My son lives in Newton, a middle class suburb of Boston, and as we pull into his driveway I can see he has done well. I sense Elizabeth comparing it favorably with our last few places of residency. Joe parks close to the front door. I step onto the driveway, and smell the smells of suburbia. Grass, flowers, trees, and many other aromas mingled with these overpowering fragrances that trigger pleasant memories for me. Elizabeth is comparing the smells to her home, and approves favorably of the present over the past. She remembers the air where she lived always smelled of cow-shit.
Joe opens the door and yells, “We’re here Audrey,” Audrey arrives as he finishes saying her name. She throws her arms around me and kisses me. She said, “Welcome Mr. Jackson I’m thrilled to finally meet you.” When she put her arms around me Elizabeth became emotionally aroused, and now I was really starting to worry.
“I’ve made a late dinner, and I hope you’re both hungry because I’ve made plenty.”
Joe showed me where to wash and freshen up before we ate. I closed the door, and turned the hot water in the sink on full force. Elizabeth still couldn’t get over the ability to do this. She remembered how all water needed to being drawn from the well and heated in a large kettle over the fire. She was thinking if she had this luxury back then her problems of rough and wrinkly skin wouldn’t have been half as bad as they were. I washed my hands and dried with a very thick luxurious towel, and Elizabeth loved the feel of the towel. She thought it fit for royalty, and that meant it was good enough for her.
Looking in the mirror she was studying the scars on my face, and picking my brain for the answers to when and how I got them. The long gash that ran from the edge of my right eyebrow halfway down my face gave me a mean look. I sure looked a lot meaner than I was. She liked the looks of my face. Tough, masculine, scarred and handsome, I found it hard to believe I actually looked younger than I did before I was put in the tank. Getting back to the scar, it happened believe it or not, not in the ring but when I was a kid trying to outrun a queer who tried to pick me up on the way home from school.
I was in the 2nd grade and back then people were a lot more trusting than nowadays, so when the guy sitting in a black Cadillac called me over, and asked if I wanted a candy bar I gratefully ran to the car to get it. He laid a Hershey’s bar on his lap, and told me to take it. I reached through the window to get the candy, and instead of my hand closing around the candy bar it closed around his dick that he had hidden under the candy. I tried to jerk my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me. He was holding me by the wrist, and trying to make me masturbate him. I spit in his face; he was somewhat taken back by this action, and slightly loosened his grip on my wrist. I was able to pull free, and I started running like hell. He got out of the car, and was chasing me with his dick hanging out of his pants.
I looked over my left shoulder to see if he was gaining when I tripped, and smashed my face on the curb. I woke up in the hospital with twenty-seven stitches in my face. I never told anyone what happened, but because of what happened, I’ve had a life long hatred of queers.
I slowly walk into the dining room observing the contents of the house as I passed them. I was pleased with Joe and his wife’s taste in art. I looked at them both sitting there a handsome couple in their fifties. The mirror image of myself was still fresh in my mind and I thought how weird it was that my son and daughter in law were twenty-five years older than me.
Audrey is a good cook, and I wish I were the one who tasted the enormous amount of food I’m eating. At least Elizabeth appreciates it.
She thanks them with my voice and excuses me so I can get ready to sleep. I lay in bed awake as usual. I don’t expend any energy just being here watching, so I don’t sleep much.
Elizabeth is sexually aroused from her contact with my daughter in law. She lets me see her thoughts, and she’s wondering how it feels for a man to have sex as she slowly strokes my penis. Unfortunately I feel nothing, but Elizabeth evidently does as my body is aroused, and I’m breathing heavy as she strokes harder and faster, and faster. My body spasms as I ejaculate into the tissue she’s holding around my dick. She’s thinking how easy it is for a man to come. Me, I’m thinking, no I’m wishing I could be the one who enjoyed it and not her. Unfortunately this got Elizabeth thinking about sex, and she shared some of her memories with me. Memories of her fucking her husband and several lesbian encounters, “I’m a God dam voyeur,” I think. I’m actually enjoying her visualizations, but hey, I’ve been sensuously deprived for so long I don’t reprimand myself for enjoying it. I had no idea what this was going to lead to in the future,
I know Elizabeth is dreaming, and the part of her mind that normally shuts me out is occupied elsewhere. I concentrate very hard to penetrate her dream. I’m successful, because her dreams are occupying her completely.
She watches while her sister’s are raped and murdered. Then hung on the very tree she is hiding in….











Sunday, February 18, 2007 Chapter 2
5,897 words
Hagar and the Count.
In her dream I see she is remembering, and the memories are filled with remorse. Remorse that she hadn’t killed Hagar when she had the chance, remorse for her years spent in the dungeons because of him. Her memories spiraled farther and farther back in time until she came to the memory that changed her life.
Until this time she was just a normal little princess. Her memory drifts, and she’s remembering when she was 9 years old, and there was a farmer’s rebellion. The farmer rebels succeeded in entering the castle Ecsed, in which Elizabeth was accommodated.
Some children and women escaped with Elizabeth and her two older sisters Anischka and Sandra by a secret tunnel that lead to the outside. When they were found the women hid Elisabeth in a tree; however it was too late to hide the other children of Báthoy. The women were killed immediately; Elisabeth's sisters were both raped, and hung up on the tree on which Elizabeth hid herself. Elizabeth saw everything, and was not able to move. This probably saved her life. On the next morning she climbed down from the tree. She found a horse that was roaming in the woods where she was hiding, and she rode to the nearest village. There the rebellious farmers had already been captured. The farmers were tortured while she watched, and then they were executed by quartering.
A scant six years later she decided to disobey everyone’s advice, and go by herself into the woods surrounding the castle. She had just turned fifteen, and already had blossomed as a woman. She knew from the stares of all the men that she was thought attractive.
Without a care in the world she just hiked into the woods, chased butterflies, and watched the squirrels fly through the trees. She came to the lake, and quickly undressed to bathe in the clear cool water. She had just submerged herself when she heard the sound of a branch snapping. “Who’s there?” She called out. There was no answer so she assumed it must have been one of the creatures that lived in the woods. She climbed atop a rock to let the sun dry her wet body. She stretched luxuriously all the time imagining how the men from the castle would love to see her posing like this. Snap! She heard it close to her now. She turned in a circle looking in every direction. She saw nothing, and then she heard it, a sound of heavy breathing and quick movement coming from the bushes right behind her. There sitting in the bushes was the ugliest most horrifying creature she had ever seen, and what he was doing was more horrifying. He couldn’t have been more than four feet tall with an enormous head that had a face made for horror stories. He stood there with his eyes closed drool dripping from his mouth while he massaged a giant penis that protruded from his tiny form. She was both shocked and awed by the sight. Shocked by the monstrous appearance, awed by the size of his penis. The only comparison she could make is with the horses when they mated. Then the size would be comparable.
It opened its eyes, and saw her. It lunged at her, she screamed, and fled with it right behind her. They were both naked, and as she remembered; she laughed at what a sight that must have been. It caught her, threw her to the ground and pulled her legs apart. Its intentions couldn’t have been clearer, so when it leaned close to kiss her she struck by sinking her teeth into its Adams apple. It couldn’t scream but it gurgled, and struggled, shaking all over trying to free itself. The more it struggled the harder she bit. It went on for the longest while, and finally it died and fell on her. Her mouth, face, and body were covered in its blood. Her father noticing that his beautiful little princess was nowhere to be found mounted an intense search for her. He and twenty of his men decided to search the woods for her. The instant the thing died atop her is the exact time they came upon the scene. To one, and all seeing it lying on top of her brought only one thought to mind. As they were both naked it was obvious they were screwing when in her excitement she had bit and killed him. From that time on not one of the men from the castle would ever desire her again.
When she tried to tell her father what happened, he couldn’t bear to even listen, as any mention of the incident reminded him of that accursed scene. Her lying with that deformed freak, with its throat torn out, and her covered with the freaks blood. Just laying there enjoying herself was the impression one and all who arrived at the scene had gotten
Two weeks later she was married off to Count Ferencz. Although she belonged to one of the oldest and wealthiest family’s in the country; he was the only one to accept her as his bride. Publicly he announced they would marry for the beneficial alliance between the families and the large dowry she would bring to him. Privately he was excited; thinking of how she ripped that thing’s throat out. Why that was beyond what he had ever done, and he highly admired her for this. The rumor was, she had gotten pregnant by this thing, and that was the reason for the large dowry. To marry her off before she started showing her pregnancy.
Count Ferencz knew this wasn’t true on their wedding night as he found her virginal. It wouldn’t have mattered to him if she were pregnant, because if she were, once the baby came he would simply smash its head against the castle wall.
Nothing could stop the rumors that spread through out the land, it was said she had killed the Devil himself while having sex with him. Another story was she had conjured a demon for her pleasure and then bitten it to death. Stories flew around, and it was like a contest to see who could invent the most bizarre story. The stories had her bathing in blood, torturing young girls, biting to death her servants and many other extraordinary feats of cruelty.
This defamation, just because she defended her honor as she was always told she must do at any cost. Her own father wouldn’t even discuss the event with her. If he couldn’t believe her, no one could. She immersed herself in books, and pursued an education as a way of ignoring all these horrible stories about her.
Her husband, Count Ferencz was pleased with the stories, because in some of the secret societies to which he belonged, she was adored as a true witch. Anyone who could conjure up demons for their own amusement needed to have extreme supernatural powers. This boosted his standing in these societies, as they believed he would acquire these powers from his wife.
The Count moved his new wife to his Castle Csejthe. Which was his ancestral home in Northern Hungary. He left her to go fight the Turks, and to continue his pursuit of black magic. Left alone she pursued her education, and lived an exemplary life; regardless of the rumors about her. She found it hard to believe that every one could think she was as evil as the stories portrayed her to be. She did her best to help the peasant girls by opening schools for them. She also supported quite a few midwifes to help the women, and she gave her time and money to the church. Most people her knew her personally thought she was saintly, but the rumors persisted.
Meanwhile Count Ferencz was making a name for himself in the war, he became feared when after capturing 15,000 Turks in a battle he had their eyes gouged out. He ordered that one eye in every hundredth man be left with sight, so they could guide the sightless men home. When these 15,000-blinded men appeared before their king he promptly had a heart attack and died.
While traveling in the East he came upon many practitioners of the black arts and learned many secrets. He also learned new methods of torture that he immensely enjoyed. After one battle he was trying to extract information from one of the captives. ”I can show you how to get almost anyone to tell you all they know,” he told the count after watching him torture the prisoner for hours without extracting the desired information.
“OK, get this prisoner to tell me where he hid the gold Icons he stole from the church.”
“OK,” hagar said “I’ll show you something I recently learned.” He had a brazen bull brought into the chamber, it was made totally of brass, and was hollow, with a door in the side. Hagar put the prisoner in the bull; built a roaring fire under it; heating the metal until it became red hot, and then when he asked his questions they were quickly answered, because it wasn’t humanly possible to bear the pain of being roasted alive. Once he confirmed the answers he received were the truth fuel was added to the fire, and this caused the prisoner inside to slowly roast to death.
When the bull was reopened, the victims' scorched bones shone like jewels, and Hagar made these into bracelets. He presented one of these shiny bone bracelets to Count Ferencz, and this act endeared him to the Count. who wanted to learn all he knew of torture, because his favorite passtime was torturing captured prisoners, and almost as often his subjects. Before long Hagar and the count wore many bracelets made of shimmering jewel like bones.
“Lord I know of a secret that will interst you.”
“What secret are you talking about?”
“Before time began My Lord, the God Marduk, a very young god, killed all his enemies, and, "wrested from them the “Tablets of Destiny," Under his reign humans were created to bear the burdens of life so the gods could be at leisure.
“But the humans frequently died of disease and other causes, so Marduk created
the bracelets of fire that promised eternal life to the ones who possesed two of them.
The rings of fire must be worn one on each wrist. While wearing both rings man couldn’t die from any natural cause. If he was just wearing one he would be reincarnated, so the Gods wouldn’t need to make a new man each time one died.
Man was lonely and the gods created a women for him. Out of love, men gave one of the bracelets of fire to their female, and lost their immortality, but retained the power of reincarnation. The reincarnated man and woman would have the ring of fire on the right wrist of the new person they had become, and it would only be visible if one knew the incantation prescibed by Marduk.
“The’re only two of these bracelets known to still be in existance, and I believe that together we can find the owner of these bracelets, and of course acquire them for ourselves.
“When a sorccerer in ancient Egypt learned from one of his Gods how to make the bracelets visible.He knew once visible it would be possible to steal the bracelets.
Whoever possessed both braceletswould have eternal life. If one possessed just one ring that person would be reincarnated after death. The sorccerer used the incantation, and discovered that the Pharoh wore both rings, and that meant he wasn’t sharing his immortality with his wife. He wondered how this had come about, but used it to his advantage. He told the Pharoh’s wife he could grant her immortality if the pharoh died, and she married him so he would be Pharoh. She readily agreed, and they planned how he was to get close to the Pharoh in order to steal the bracelets of fire.
“She added a small amount of poison to her husbands wine, not enough to kill, but enough to sicken. He became deathly ill and she told him of the healer she had met, and recommended he send for him. The sorccerer arrived, and took hold of both the Pharo’s hands, and leaned toward him and started the incatation his God had told him to use in order to transfer the rings from the Pharo’s wrist onto his own.
“ He could feel the comfortable warmth as the rings slowly started sliding from wrist to wrist, The Pharo struggled to free himself of the grip that held him. He was so weakened by the poison he was unable to break free. Once the rings were on the sorcerers wrist the Pharo shriveled into a wrinkled corpse almost instantly.
His wife told the sorcerer, “I know you probably intended to keep both bracelets for yourself so I consulted my priest, who told me how you can die even though you wear the bracelets of fire. So give me one, right now, Or die.” He took her right hand in his, and told her, “I never thought of doing such a thing. You know I need you to make me Pharoh.” He then whispered the magic incantation into her ear , and the ring of fire slid from his right wrist to her right wrist.”
The count looked skeptically at Hagar, and told him, “I find your story hard to believe. There’s a million stories told about the Gods, and I know they’re mostly bullshit.” Hagar reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll that was made of an animals skin, and by the looks of it was ancient. It was covered with hieroglyphics The Count saw as Hagar unrolled it. “Look my lord,” said Hagar. “This was recently found in an ancient tomb, and I had to tortue a great many men to gain possesion of it. I tell you of this lord, so we can both share an eternity together. Just imagine you and I being born many times over, what wars and tortues we can experience over and over again.” The count knew this was a ruse and Hagar wanted to use him to find the rings of fire. He thought that works both ways, and I will use Hagar, and once we have the rings I shall live forever and send Hagar to his damnation.
The Count learned to read the hieroglyphics himself, so Hagar wasn’t able to deceive him of any of the meanings. They began their search in Egypt, because the scroll showed this as the location where the rings were last seen. They wondered if either the new pharoh or his wife were able to get the others ring of fire? If either one did that would mean they’re still alive, and if they didn’t, how were they to determine who or what they returned as, and where?
Their first destination was the tomb where the scroll was found. No one would answer their inquiries until Hagar captured the leader of the Tomb raiders, and used his version of foot roasting to extract everything he knew. The prisoner was immobilized lying on his back and his bare feet were imprisoned in wood or iron. The soles of his feet were smeared with lard and slowly barbecued over red-hot coals. A bellows was used to control the intensity of the heat. as questions were put, and if the questions were not answered satisfactorily, the naked soles were exposed to the flames for an ever increasing period of time. Hagar taught the Count many forms of torture during their quest for the bracelets of fire.
The leader of the raiders didn’t like the idea of his feet being roasted to cinders, so he readily gave Hagar and the Count all the information he had. Unfortunately for him Hagar wanted to demonstrate his technique to the Count. Hagar continued burning until the feet were charred to the bone: odd pieces of phalanges (one of the bones of of the toe) and metatarsals (The five bones thst form the intermediate part of the foot between the toe and the ankle.) fell to the floor. Satisfied he had shown the count how effective his method could be, and to be sure his victim would never seek revenge he dumped the hot coals onto the chest of the imbobile man, and they both watched him die as the red hot embers burned away his flesh. When his screaming finally stopped both Hagar and the Count felt the need for some fresh air because of the stink of burning flesh.
Now they knew the location of the tomb where the scroll had come from, and they were going to need help digging out the secrets held within. The Count sent his soldiers to capture the new leader of the thieves who regularly robbed the Pharos’ burial places. Knowing what had happened to his predessor he was very cooperative, and freely supplied any knowledge he owned. He also sent one-hundred experienced diggers with them to the tomb. The tomb was empty by now, but the walls were covered with drawings and maps. Maps of the desert, maps of the stars. So many maps it would take years of studying to determine a starting point for their search. They were both sitting, studying the maps , and trying to figure what their next move would be when they both saw it at once. A rat coming through the stone wall. Impossible they both knew, but here it was, right in front of them coming right through the wall. They walked to the wall and saw the rat hadn’t come through a solid wall, but through an unnoticible crack in it. Hagar and the prince looked at one another in excitement. This meant there was a hidden chamber behind this wall.
Not wanting to let the tomb robbers or their soldiers know what they had found they started digging themselves. Before long a hole large enough to crawl through had been pounded out of the wall. With a torch in each hand for light they crawled through the hole. Rats scurried away, and bugs dropped from the ceiling onto them. This didn’t deter them in the least, because of the excitement of a find that may be what they needed.
They found brackets on the walls made for holding torches, so they set theirs into them and slowly looked around. Four eyes looking at rows and rows of scrolls that had been half eaten by the rats. On a platform against the far wall were solid gold amulets with hieroglyphics carved into them. “Thankfully rats don’t eat gold,” the count said as he he put all the golden amulets in his russak. They took what scrolls appeared to be readable, and then returned to their tent to study what they had found.
The surving scrolls were all about alchemy and normally they would have been interested in these, but right now they needed a clue where to find the rings. After dispatching the scrolls to be shipped to his castle for later study the Count and Hagar studied the amulets, the clue they were looking for was here in the star charts. Fortunately Hagar knew how to read the charts, because being a sorccerer this was his forte. He concluded the rings could be followed using astronomical charts, and set up a large chart while copying information from the amulets he was able to trace the rings for the last two thousand years. Right up to the new Pharo and his wife. They lived five hundred years ago, and that’s when the recorded history of the rings come to an end.
“We need to make a new star chart like this one for the last five hundred years and follow the rings by following the alignment of the planets.” Said Hagar.
“How do you know that?”
“Look at the chart and you can see everytime the rings have changed hands mercury changed to this unusual position.”
“That may tell you when, how do you know where?”
“Why by using triangulation.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“See here, every time the rings have changed possesion mercury moves to a new position, and all we need to do is draw a triangle through Mercury, earth and the sun. See where the point hits earth? That’s where the rings are. I tested this by using the information we have and every location where we knew them to be matched up with the trangulation.”
“Well, go ahead, triangulate, so we can see where they’re at now.”said the Count.
Hagar did as told and they were both pleased to see the point of the triangle resting exactly on Turkey. A country that has been at war with the Counts country for years. Now they needed no excuse to invade in search of the rings. They could just go, and search anytime they wanted, which was right now as they gave the order to pack up and head for Turkey.
It took several months to move all his troops and equipment to the border of Turkey. They decided the rings must be in the city the triangle pointed to. This city was only thirty miles from the border. The count asked Hagar how he knew both rings would be there? Because the planets align differently when there is only one, and he showed him a copy of the chart. Then pointed out the times they knew the rings to be shared, and matched up the planet alignment. The pattern was obviously different than when both rings were transferred at once.
“The Count wanted to know how’ll we know who has the rings? Remember the first scroll I showed you told us how. “Oh yeah,” answered the Count.
They set out to find the rings that very day by setting out for Turkey.
The war with Turkey has been going on for years, so there was nothing suspicious about another army heading into Turkey to rape and pillage. This army was led by Count Ferencz . Who was searching for the wearer of the bracelets; he was known as “”Count Eyesout” ever since he blinded the fifteen thousand captives. There wasn’t much opposition to his advance, because all feared him.
Hagar told him, “I’ve pinpointed the exact location of the wearer of the bracelets, and it’s the city of Şanlıurfa.”
“OK. Where exactly is Şanlıurfa on the map?” Hagar laid a large map on the table, and pointed to south-eastern Turkey. He pointed to Urfa which is about eighty kilometres east of the Euphrates River.
“I thought you said Şanlıurfa?”
“That’s the old name; It’s now called Urfa, and here it is right here,” he put his finger on the map.
When the army arrived at the city of Urfa; a delegation was sent to meet with the Count. The city was willing to buy peace at any price. A meeting was arranged, and the city’s leaders came to the Romanian’s camp to negotiate peace terms. They were greeted individually by Hagar; he would take each one by the hands, and whisper the chanted incantation into their ears. He had discussed this plan with the count, and it seemed logical that the wearer of the bracelets would be among the leaders.
There were twenty-one in the delegation, and when Hagar whispered to the twentieth he saw the braclets glowing, but couldn’t get them to move onto his wrist. He held on, and shouted for the count. When Hagar told him that he had the wearer in his hands the count sent the remainder of the delegation back to the city. Hagar refused to let go of the man he was holding for fear he’d get away somehow.
“I know why you’re here,” he said.
“Well give me the bracelets then, so we don’t have to kill everyone and burn the city.”
“They belong here.”
“No. They belong to me now that I’ve found them.”
“Why didn’t the chant work?” Asked the Count.
“I knew you were coming, and I’m prepared to resist giving up these bracelets.” Said the wearer of the bracelets.
“The Gods sent us for the bracelets,” Hagar said,
The man laughed, “And which Gods sent you?”
“The God’s of Egypt,” Hagar said waving one of the old scrolls in the man’s face.
“My God is more powerfull than all the Egyptian gods combined.”
“I find that hard to believe when here you’re; our prisoner.” Said the Count.
Just then the Earth shook, and the old man laughed. “I don’t think God likes the way you’re treating me, and if you don’t release me I’m sure he’ll wipe you and your army off this Earth.”
Hagar held on to him tighter than before. “I want those bracelets, and I’m willing to fight God or anyone else for them.”
“What happens if we just cut his hands off? Will we be able to take the bracelets then?”Asked the Count. Hagar released one of the man’s hands, and drew his sword. He put the hand he was holding on the table, and cut it off just above the bracelet. The bracelet glowed brightly on the severed hand. The count grabbed the hand, and tried ripping the bracelet off. The old man just silently stood there watching; blood pouring from his severed wrist. “You only have one bracelet on now, so that means you’re no longer immortal,” said the Count who grabbed his other hand, and cut that one off, too. “Now when you die don’t count on reincarnation, because we’ve both bracelets now. As he was talking the man shriveled up, and almost instantly became a pile of dust.
“How can these braclets make someone immortal if we can so easily cut the wearers hands off?” asked the Count.
“The immortality only assures you won’t die a natural death. When the God created these bracelets there was no such thing as murder, because there were only a few men. Then the God created a woman for man, and women begat many murderers.”
“Hell, they’re not going to do us much good then. Are they?”
“I’m not after immortality,” Hagar told him, “It’s the knowledge I want. “When you wear both bracelets you see into the mind of God, and know everthing.”
“What good is it to have all Gods knowledge without his powers?”
“Knowledge is power.” Hagar said.
Both of them now wore a bracelet of fire on their right wrist, and both were assured that if killed while wearing it they would be born again in another time, and another place, and would still be in possession of the bracelet. Both were planing how they were going to possess the other’s bracelet.
The Count’s wife unexpectedly showed up at their camp. Hagar put his plans on hold, because he had heard of her powers. He was willing to fight God for the bracelet, but a powerful witch who would use any and all tactics was another story.
He tried to impress her with his knowledge of the occult by putting on a presentation of his magical proweress. Hagar caused a pair of horses to disapear; she obviously wasn’t impressed. Next he had a slave girl stand directly in front of the Countess, and caused her to dissapear piece by piece. First one arm, then the other. Her right leg was the next to go. This left the slave hopping about on one leg, until that too dissapeared. There was a torso lying before the Countess with only a head attatched, and Helga chanted his magical incantation, and the head dissappeared leaving nothing but a torso laying there. Hagar walked to the torso; sword in hand, and struck the areas where there should have been arms, legs, and a head. He then plunged his sword into the chest area of the living torso, and made a gaping hole large enough where he reached in, and pulled out a still beating heart. This show impressed the Countess, because she now knew what kind of man he was.
Lying in bed that night the Count confided in his wife about the bracelets. “I’m not sure how I’m going to get Hagar’s bracelet, because I know him well, and he’s shrewd and vicious. I know he wants mine as badly as I want his bracelet. I can’t just take it from him, because as you have seen; he posseses many magical powers.”
“What’s going to stop his taking your bracelet?”
“Just my army, and myself.”
“With the powers he has, I don’t think that’s good enough.”
“Don’t forget I’ve been studying for years, I have powers, too.”
“What I saw tonight proves to me that his power is far beyond what you or I have.”
“Then I’m going to kill him first thing in the morning, and take the bracelet.”
“Give me the bracelet your wearing,” she told the Count. “In case something goes wrong he won’t be able to take yours.”
“You’ll return it to me as soon as I secure the other?”
“Of course I will.”
Hagar was expecting an attack, and he had a servant who resembled him sleeping in his bed. When the soldiers loyal to the Count broke in, and mudered him in his sleep. They cut off the right hand of the unfortunate servant who was picked to replace Hagar.
On that right wrist was a braclet he had made to resemble the one on his wrist. Although it looked the same it was different by the fact it was filled with snake venom. Once it was tightly fitted to a persons arm, small barbs would pop open, and release the toxen into the skin. Death was assured within five minutes.
Hagar cut a peep hole in the tent where the soldiers had taken the severed hand. There he saw the Count seated at a table in the center. The soldiers dropped the severed hand on the table, and were dismissed, He picked up hand, tore off the bracelet, and jammed it on his left arm. Once he did this Hagar entered the tent. “Didn’t you wonder why my hand didn’t disinigrate like the ones we took the bracelets from did?” asked Hagar. A look of terror overcame the Count when he realized he’d been duped. He attempted to draw his sword but the toxin was already killing him. He did get out a last loud laugh when Hagar grabbed his wrist looking for the bracelet.
Hagar couldn’t believe he had been cheated out of what he wanted so badly. He knew it had to be her. There was no one else who could’ve talked the Count into giving them the bracelet. He started planning on how to retrieve it from her, and he was prepared to do anything, anything at all to retrieve the other bracelet.
Because Elizabeth belonged to the royal family he couldn’t just take the bracelet from her. He came up with a plan to destroy her reputatiom and thus make her vunerable to him.
Hagar started rumors of how she was killing and torturing her servants. The stories had her bathing in blood, torturing young girls, biting to death her servants and many other extraordinary feats of cruelty. He would have young girls killed; then drained of blood so it looked like a vampire was at work. He’d then have the bodies dumped around Elizabeths castle so suspicion was laid at her doorstep. After all, her ancestor was Count Dracula.
He studied all her ancestors before he found this one that would link her to the worst kind of evil. The one he picked would taint any one’s reputation. He inherited the title Dracula, Son of the Dragon, but during his life he earned his own title -- Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler.

The first horror stories about Vlad Dracula were the widely published pamphlets written by German Catholic monks, refugees from Vlad's harsh rule. In the wider arena of Christian versus the infidel, he saw himself as a Crusader against the Turks. He would insist on proper ceremony and Christian burial for those he condemned to death, and probably believed that good works, such as the building of a monastery, could atone for evil deeds
At the Easter celebration in 1456, the year Vlad first achieved the throne of Wallachia, he invited the Boyar to dine with him at the palace in Tîrgoviste. These were the long-established noble families of his country, and after serving them a sumptuous meal his guards swarmed into the courtyard, the old and infirm were impaled beyond the city walls for all to see and the remainder were made to march, still in their Easter finery. The journey was some fifty miles in length, up the Arges valley to the village of Arefu, and at the end of it they found pre-prepared brick ovens, lime-kilns and building materials. The boyar and their families were put to work rebuilding an extensively damaged fortress some 1200 feet above the village, creating the Castle Dracula. At the end of the arduous task those that were still alive were impaled in front of their creation.
Vlad Dracula ruled with a cruel hand. Just about every crime was punishable by death, from idleness upwards. The length of each stake depended upon the ranks of the victim, though one nobleman, wrinkling his nose as he dined with Vlad in a courtyard of cadavers, was given an extra long stake to put him above the stench of his fellows. It was not usually (just occasionally) the stake through the heart, as perhaps suggested by the vampire mythos. The victims were pierced from the anus to the mouth, and the stakes were carefully rounded at the end and bathed in oil, to minimize tearing and prolong the process.
Whether he was always this careful was doubtful. After all, in 1462 the Turks marched across Wallachia to find a land poisoned and bare in response to their invasion, and when they reached the capital of Tîrgoviste they were confronted with a forest, one mileby three miles, of impaled corpses, the Turkish and Bulgarian prisoners Vlad had taken. The Turks gave up and went home again.
However, Vlad's cruelty wasn't confined to this means of execution. He decapitated, blinded, strangled, hanged, burned, boiled, skinned, 'stuck stakes in both breasts of mothers and thrust their babies onto them', and on, and on.
One year he 'asked the old, the ill, the lame, the poor, the blind and the vagabonds' of his country to a feast in a large dining hall of the capital. At the conclusion of his meal he offered them an end to their misery, and burned down the hall, letting none escape. In his six-year rule he is said to have killed between 40,000 and 100,000 people.
Hagar made certain every one heard of these terrors, and became aware that Elisabeth was related to this fiend.
Elizabeth desperately tried to counteract these rumors, but ended up locking herself in the dungeon so she wouldn’t be murdered in her sleep. Her dream finally ends, and now mine begin.









Sunday, February 18, 2007
Chapter 3 8,534 words.


I wake up, and I remember her dreams, and I start to feel empathy for her. I guess just because you’re royalty doesn’t mean you live a life of ease. Poor Elisabeth had it tough back then. No wonder she’s so distrustful of me, and everyone else..
Elizabeth doesn’t like getting up so early, but she loves the strength and energy of my body and dutifully does the 100-sit ups and 100 pushups that’s been my wakeup routine forever. There’s a phone call for me, this is the very first time Elizabeth has used a phone, and she was thrilled hearing the voice emitted from the instrument. Of course she knew all about phones, because of her ability to scan my memory, and glean any and all information there. The act of actually talking on a telephone was a pleasurable experience for her. I wondered who could be calling? After fifty years I figured everyone I knew would have died by now. I answered, “Jim Jackson here.”
“Hello Mr. Jackson, this is your attorney Mr. Zloty.”
I’m thinking he has to be over a hundred and I can’t believe he has lived this long. I told him, (I thought and Elizabeth told) “Aren’t you a little old to still be working?”
“I’m sorry, my father who was your original attorney died thirty years ago. I inherited your file along with his business. Now the reason I’m calling is about your trust fund. Do you remember setting that up with my father?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well the initial investment has multiplied many times over and you’re a very wealthy man Mr. Jackson. If you’d like to come in we can go over your assets so you can take control of them or if you’d like I can continue to handle them for you.”
“How much are we talking about?” I asked.
“ I don’t have an exact figure but I can tell you, you’re worth multiple millions of dollars.”
“You mean like a billion.”
“Not quite yet, but in a few years you should be there.”
I pretend to be nonplused at this disclosure, but Elizabeth is trembling all over. Almost a billion dollars, she knows is a vast amount of money. She said, “In that case put $2,000,000 in an account that I can easily access and I’ll see you when I get an opportunity.”
“O.K. Mr. Jackson I’ll get that done right away. Where do you want me to send the paperwork?”
“I don’t know where I’ll be staying yet.”
“Let me send a cell phone to your son’s house, and then I can find you whenever I need a signature or confirmation on any issues that may arise.”
“All right, send one on over. Goodbye for now Mr. Zloty.” Elizabeth was thrilled. She knew a million dollars was a lot of money, and to have many millions meant I could live like royalty. In the manner she was accustomed to. To top it off she was getting a cell phone, something that absolutely was a miracle to her.
If she only had one of these back then! She sent a shudder through my body when she thought of back then. She told herself to concentrate on the now.
Now meant she wanted to get laid, because the masturbation she experienced last night had whetted her desire to experience sex from a man’s perspective, I mean she wanted to get laid! Using my body to see how it felt.
Audrey had breakfast ready, and Joe was sitting at the table looking at pictures of Emily and me before Joe was born. I look at her picture, and my heart skips a beat. She was so beautiful I’m thinking, and Elizabeth agrees with me. Elizabeth enjoys eating my breakfast, and I again wish I could be the one enjoying it.
My son asked me if I was nervous about seeing mom? Mom! Then I remember he means Emily and I sense somewhat the years I’ve missed, because it’s hard to picture anyone calling sweet, young Emily, “Mom!” I answer in the affirmative, and tell him I’m ready when he is.
It’s not a long drive to the nursing home where she lives. It’s definitely a first class facility and I make a note to somehow reward my son for taking such good care of his mother. We walk through the double doors, and head for the elevators as Joe tells me, she’s on the third floor.
If I had control of my body, I’d be shaking now, I’m so nervous. I follow Joe down the hall to her room; he knocks and opens the door. I stare as he walks in and kisses the very old woman in the room. I’m shocked, repulsed, confused, I knew Emily was in her seventies, but to see her. Her luxurious, thick black hair, now completely gray, her smooth flawless skin, now as wrinkled as the prunes I ate at breakfast, her twinkling eyes, those beautiful eyes are dimmed and almost sightless. I want to close my eyes so I don’t see anymore, but Elizabeth doesn’t let me. I see the I.V. stuck in her arm and the diaper she’s wearing. I’d cry if I could, but Elizabeth prevents this too. She’s staring at Emily, and she’s shocked too. After viewing her pictures shortly before coming here, and commenting on how beautiful she was. To see her now, a shriveled, dried up old woman was an affront to her senses. It made her aware of the effects of time, and she appreciates my body all the more.
Emily doesn’t comprehend when my son tries to tell her who I am. I’m glad she doesn’t, because if the situation were reversed I sure wouldn’t want to see Emily at twenty-five when I was in my seventies. I should have thought of this before we came to visit. Not much I could’ve done about it anyway, Elizabeth is in charge. We leave, and I’m happy to get out of there. My memories of Emily destroyed by seeing how time has destroyed her.
When we get back to Joe’s house there’s a limousine parked in front. A gift from Mr. Zloti, sent along with the cell phone he promised. The driver explains how Mr. Zloti was concerned I may not be used to driving after all the years of being out of circulation. The car and driver were mine as long as I wanted them. Nice touch I thought. If I was worth “Many millions,” I’m sure he has made millions from my money over the years. It was still a nice gesture and Elizabeth sure appreciated it. She could hardly believe that such machines existed, and driving one she felt was beyond her capabilities for now. Even using my abilities it would’ve been a difficult task to drive after all this time.
Elizabeth told the driver to take us to the best hotel in town, and paid for it with the unlimited American Express card, Zloti had sent with the driver.
Elizabeth wanted the best room available, so we ended up moving into the penthouse amidst opulent luxury that I had never experienced in my previous life. She lived in luxury in the 1500’s, but compared to this that luxury was medieval, well it actually was medieval. What I’m trying to say is there’s no comparison to luxury then and now. Elizabeth played with all the gadgets, the remote that opened and closed the drapes, the remote for the T.V., and stereo, even the vibrating bed thrilled her. She loved the Jacuzzi tub, and hot shaving cream dispenser. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio. She looked up and thought the sky was beautiful and the lighted buildings surrounding us, breathtaking. Then she looked down, and was overcome with acrophobia. She froze in place; her fear of falling from this great height amazed me, because I never had a fear of heights. She’s thinking, “I’ve never been higher than the castle turret before now. I need to accustom myself to these great heights that are nothing to you.
I walked into the room and she grabbed the T.V. remote and turned it on. It was tuned to the porno channel with an S&M movie playing. We watched it, she got aroused, me, I got mentally stimulated. Not having any feelings is a tough way to live, but like I said before, it beats floating around in a tank full of nitrogen.
She reads the hotel brochure and a picture of a couple dancing in the lounge gets her attention. She decides that’s where she wants to go, and gets dressed in a dark blue Armani suit she had purchased for me by using the cell phone and giving the tailor my measurements. They had delivered a dozen suits within an hour of the call. Of course they delivered all the accessories with the suits, because she had told them to spare no expense. Just get the best that money could buy.
I look in the mirror, and see my handsome self, looking back at me. The suit hugs my body like it was made for it, The blue shirt sets of my very white face framed in thick jet black hair that’s combed straight back, The scar running from my right eyebrow down to my lip gives me a dangerous look, taking away from what might have been considered a pretty boy look.
As I’m leaving I take one last look at the movie, and the closing scene of the movie arouses Elizabeth, She turns the T.V. off and heads for the lounge. She refuses to take the glass-enclosed elevator, and finds an interior one to take down. I walk into the crowded lounge and pass un-noticed through the crowd until I find an empty stool at the bar.
The place was full of women who were soft and delicious looking, and if I had control of myself, my mouth would have been watering at the sight of so much delectable flesh. Instead my eyes are wandering and settle on the man sitting next to me. He’s around my age, “I mean the age I look.” He’s well dressed and I find very personnel when he introduces himself as Alex, and warmly shakes my hand when I say, “Hi I’m Jim.” I want to look at the beautiful women, but Elizabeth has my eyes glued on Alex. “What’n the fuck is she doing, I question myself? Then I remember, (She) I start to panic, and mentally I’m screaming, No! No!” She’s entranced with Alex, and completely ignores my mental screaming. Alex is getting very chummy, while telling me the latest joke, he puts his arm around my shoulder in a friendly manner. I try with all my ability to shrug the arm off, to no avail. I can think all I want, but Elizabeth is in complete control.
I rationalize, and tell myself he’s just being friendly. Then I feel his hand on my leg, slowly moving towards my balls. Now mentally I’m sweating, on the verge of a panic attack. His hand is on my dick, and it’s getting hard. How can this be I wonder, because mentally I’m puking at the thought of some homo, holding onto my dick. Elizabeth is transfixed, enjoying every (To her) sensuous moment. She responds in kind, and puts my hand in his lap. I’m so repulsed I want to pass out, but I can’t, she’s in control as my hand feels his rock hard dick through his pants. Now I’m mentally screaming for her to stop, and she continues to ignore me.
Her and Alex decide to go up to my room for a drink, and I’m helpless to do anything to stop this insanity. Insanity is, me having sex with a man. If she goes through with this, I’ll never be the same, never be able to look in a mirror without calling myself a faggot.
We get in the glass-enclosed elevator. Elizabeth is so excited she has forgotten her fears. We’re in my room, Alex takes his jacket off, Elizabeth takes my jacket off, and we’re sitting side by side on the couch. Alex leans toward me with his eyes closed and his lips pursed, posed for a kiss. God-dam Elizabeth is leaning forward to kiss him when I see my reflection in the glass doors. The scar is vivid now and I remember how I got it. Rage! Anger boils over, me sitting here with a fucking queer, about to swap spit with him is just too much. My rage boils over, and I take control away from Elizabeth. I punch the closed eyed Alex right in the face as hard as I could. Taking my anger at Elizabeth out on him. I broke his nose and he’s lying on the floor bleeding, and perplexed. “Why,what?” He’s asking as I kick him in the ribs, and tell him to get the fuck out before I kill him. Elizabeth is fighting me mentally; I feel her regaining dominance over my mind. I run to the balcony and throw one leg over the balcony railing, and tell her, “ We’re going over if you don’t back off.” She relents and I see her fear of flying through space before hitting the ground.
I’m wondering if this is how it works for those poor bastards that have multiple personalities? Always fighting to see who’s going to be in charge.
Now I feel my wants and desires. I pick up the phone and now it’s me talking, not Elizabeth. I call an escort service and tell them to send three of their best right over. Three hours later I’m sated, and lay there enjoying the feeling as I ask Elizabeth if she enjoyed the sex as much as I did, and was surprised when she answered yes. I fall to sleep, big mistake, when I wake up Elizabeth is firmly in control. She tells me that she’s willing to compromise, as I’m so repulsed by men she will only encourage women from now on. I know she compromises because she fears I’m getting stronger and may one day overcome her.
I let her know in no uncertain terms, “I want to claim my right to a championship fight.” This enthralls her, as she always wanted to be a warrior, and this was an opportunity she couldn’t let pass her by. The opportunity to be a champion, and to be admired as her husband was for his successfully fought battles.
I go shopping for a training gym, that’s right shopping, not one to join but one to buy. I’ve got to hand it to Elizabeth, nothing but first class for her. I purchased the gym I used to train in, and Elizabeth had it completely remodeled. Fit for royalty is the term she used when telling the contractors what improvements she wanted. Everyone worked 24/7 to complete the work as soon as possible.
While waiting I started my conditioning program by running ten miles a day, doing calisthenics, and shadow boxing. I could feel the vast improvement in my physique from the rebuilding my son’s nano-bots had done rebuilding me atom by atom. My endurance was astronomical, my reflexes were sharper than ever; I felt ready for the big fight right now.
The refurbished gym was ready in a matter of weeks. I hate to say this, but it was too classy for the type of guy that normally hangs out at a fighter’s gym. I wanted to be around my kind of people, and came up with a solution. I offered free membership to anyone in my weight class who could last one round with me while sparring. I figured to get some quality fighters to frequent my gym with this offer, and keep the deadbeats away. Evidently free membership wasn’t enough of an incentive to get my fellow pugilist interested enough to enter this new world of amenities, as I didn’t acquire one member with this offer.
Elizabeth knew how motivating money was, and since we had plenty of it, a bonus of five thousand dollars would be paid along with free membership to anyone who could last one round with me in the ring. The only protection allowed would be a mouthpiece and a cup, and the gloves would be 8 ounces. I didn’t want to fight a bunch of pansy’s wearing headgear and pillow gloves, who would try to just hang on to complete the round. I wanted warriors who thought they could beat me. Also I wanted to be able to end it quickly, if I thought my opponent wasn’t deserving of a membership in my gym.
There was a line to sign up the day following the advertisement, and to my surprise the first in line was a woman named Wica. Elizabeth was thrilled to find out women could compete in this gladiatorial sport. I was dumbfounded that women allowed to even get near the ring. Of course a lot has changed since the 50’s. Elizabeth reminded me that we had hired the models that carried the round numbers around the ring as hostesses for our gym. That’s right I thought we didn’t even have that in the old days. I couldn’t fight a woman though; it would be unfair, and unequal. I hired her as a trainer on the spot, because just by being prepared to fight me I knew she had the spirit. Along with her pumped up muscular body I knew she was serious.
Several hundred signed up the first day; all had to pass a physical, stress test, x-rays and a psychological exam before they would be allowed to fight me. The $5000 was a great motivator, and not one applicant refused to participate in the test. Of course we told them a free lunch, and dinner would be supplied to all being tested. This motivated quite a few who I’m sure hadn’t eaten for a while.
One third of the applicants passed the exam with acceptable results. Now I had over two hundred potential gym members. All they had to do was last three minutes in the ring with a man who hadn’t been in one, in over fifty years. I saved the professional fighters for last, in order to get tuned up by going through the amateurs first.
Monday was the big day, I’d get to finally punch some galoot again, and I could hardly wait. Today is Friday; I’m resting for two days before I start fighting the ten rounds a day, I’ve scheduled for the next thirty days straight. We set the cut off point at three hundred for applicants, and knew there wouldn’t be a problem having that many ready for me. This would have been way to many rounds, (ten a day for thirty day’s) in the old days, but the way I was rebuilt gave me the strength and endurance for this agenda.
The ten are ready standing around the brand new boxing ring I had built in my newly remodeled gym. The word had spread of what I was about to do, and there were twenty reporters present, hoping to see me humiliated, I knew this story would sell papers, not the humdrum story of my sparring with amateurs.
I walk toward the ring, and some asshole plays the “Rocky Theme,” over the loudspeakers. The ten boxers are all warming up by skipping rope, punching speed, and heavy bags. My first opponent is already in the ring. I know he weighs in at two hundred and sixty lbs. fifty more than my two ten. He looks to be mostly solid, with just a smidgen of fat covering his muscles. I know this physique is the best for a heavyweight, not too much muscle, but enough to do damage.
I climb into the ring; remove my robe, and I’m ready for my first round in fifty-one years. The ref. has us touch gloves, and it begins. He charges me, trying to force me against the ropes. I easily sidestep him, and give him a good right to the kidney as he passes me. Elizabeth is thrilled, her dream of participating in combat is now being fulfilled, and she’s loving it. She has my adrenalin flowing, and goes on the attack to soon. I take a punch to my head, because of her eagerness. I’m telling her to let me fight. “I’m the expert,” she’s smart enough to realize what I’m saying is true, and control returns to me. I won’t make a mistake like that again, getting punched by some amateur.
My opponent tries to seize the initiative after landing that one punch. He’s rather clumsy, and not the type I want hanging around my gym. He charges again, I easily side step to his right this time, and catch him on the side of his head with a pretty good straight right. It dazes him, and already I can see the glaze in his eyes as I follow through with different combinations, he tries to counter, but just doesn’t have the speed. I finally put him away after a minute and a half; longer than I thought it would take. But hey! I haven’t fought in over fifty years. The other nine went easier, and there wasn’t one among them I would deem deserving of membership in my gym
The reporters to a man are amazed by my performance, and the story makes it to the second page of a few newspapers. “77 year old man knocks out ten younger ones.” With a short description of the action following.
I leave my dressing room the following day, and hear a commotion as I near the gym. As soon as I walk through the door, the “Rocky Theme” is loudly played over the loudspeaker system. I walk down the aisle, between a now very large crowd who cheer me as I pass. Elizabeth loves this; it reminds her of the crowds that cheered her and the count after the many battles they had won.
I look at my opponents for today; I see fear, where yesterday I saw nothing but cockiness. I can almost read their thoughts, “He must be tired after yesterday, drag it out, make him come after us. They’re living on dreams, because I feel great, and I intend to come after each and every one of them.
Today went like yesterday, and was getting boring for me. I gave instructions to offer compensation of one thousand dollars to any amateur who would withdraw from the tournament. That way I could get to fight the pros., and maybe find some competition. All but eight of the amateurs accepted the thousand; they knew it was a better deal than fighting me in the hope of winning five. I was curious about the remaining eight, and looked them over. I didn’t see anything special; whatever they had to get them to stay must have been on the inside.
The next day I was to fight the remaining amateurs, and was glad to get them out of the way. The papers were now calling me the 77-year-old bully who was using his vast experience against a bunch of innocent novices. They all predicted a different outcome when I started fighting the pros in line.
Last day of novices I thought, and couldn’t wait to get it over with. The first contender was another big man; he didn’t appear to be well built at all. He surprised me when I immediately went after him; he easily danced away from me. A man that big, so light on his feet was amazing. I left jabbed, he blocked, I right crossed, he blocked, I left hooked following with a right cross, he blocks the hook, dodges the cross, and comes back with a right uppercut that glances off my chin. I dance backwards, amazed at the speed and agility of this big man. I want him to be a gym member, so I decide to let him last the full round. I feel the need to let him know I’m in control, and proceed to beat him bloody without finishing him. He’s the first one to go a complete round, and now I have at least one sparring partner. I fight the next six, and I guess the only thing special about these guys was their need for money. I see that each one gets a check for $1500 for their effort. There’s one left, a Mexican that I outweigh by about twenty pounds. I’m surprised that he thinks he has a chance. To my amazement when the fight starts, he’s smiling. Talking in Spanish he circles me, feinting every other step. I’m holding back, seeing what he’s going to do, when he comes directly at me, hands by his sides. I throw a jab that he avoids and throws his arms around me. He hangs on; the ref taps his back telling him to break. He pretends not to understand trying to get the clock to run. He only needs to last another 2-1/2 minutes. He finally lets go, I back him up to the ropes, and throw a body punch with my right, he wraps his arm around mine; I try to kidney punch him with me left, he wraps his arm around that too. He’s hanging on my arms with all his weight. Trying to tire me out, but I don’t get tired. I admire his perseverance and courage. I decide he will make a fine addition to my gym, and let him hang on until the round is over.
The sports page has a headline “Old man boxer, finally meets his match in underweight illegal immigrant.” The story goes on to tell how the next day I’ll be fighting professionals, and that means my joy ride is over.
It wasn’t fair to the first ten, because the stories got to me, and I was determined to show them they didn’t know beans. The first ten professionals took me all of ten minutes total to obliterate them.
The papers changed their tone, and were now calling me championship material. I went through the remaining boxers, and found 33 to my liking. Now I had a total of 35 sparring partners, and one-woman trainer. Elizabeth was awed by wica’s courage. In her day a woman could never even think of meeting a man in hand to hand combat, yet here she was, willing to do so with some of the toughest men in the world. Elizabeth wanted to spar with her I absolutely refused. Elizabeth I knew didn’t want to risk my emotional upheaval by making me do something unnatural to me, so she relented.
I went to the boxing commission to renew my boxing license, and was told the statutes don’t allow anyone over fifty-five to be licensed. I argued that I was only twenty-seven actual years old, as I had been entombed for fifty years. They apologized, but said, rules are rules. Yeah I answered, “Rules are made to be broken.” I couldn’t fight for the championship without a license. I was confused on what to do, when Elizabeth suggested I offer a large purse, and take on all comers who qualify. I thought about it, and decided I could have elimination fights. The winners of these fights would get to fight me. This way I wouldn’t need to wait forever to fight, I could have Monday, Wednesday and Friday night fights.
I set up thirty-four elimination bouts for the next week, ten bouts each on Monday and Wednesday. Friday would have nine bouts. Five were to be fought on Saturday. The winners would fight each other the following week. There would be an odd fighter; he would be kept in reserve in case of accident or illness to one of the other fighters.
Of course all thirty-five,( except the spare) of my gym members would compete in the first round. That way I’d at least know there would be qualified fighters put up against me. These elimination bouts would go on weekly in order to keep me supplied with qualified opponents.
The winners of these bouts would keep fighting weekly, and the best would get to fight me. After two weeks of elimination bouts I started fighting the top fighter from each night; the fight would be a week after they had won to give them time to rest in between fights. I would be the major draw on fight days. I would fight all four days of the elimination bouts.
Now the motivation was $1000,000 to anyone who could last ten rounds, and 10,000,000 to anyone who beat me. Elizabeth tried to get pay per view to carry the fights. They weren’t interested, so I got a local PBS channel to broadcast them.
The first Monday night fight where I fought came around, other than my fans, and the opponent’s fans there weren’t very many in attendance. Two or three reporters who had been following me showed up. Of course the director and cameraman from the PBS station were there.
I read the dossier on my challenger for this night. It was impressive; thirty fights, 28 won, 26 of those by knockouts. 2 losses, and all the losses came at the worst time. When the fight really counted, he couldn’t seem to stay in there. He had won the elimination bouts two weeks in a row easily knocking out both opponents. Tonight there was no pressure on him, he was just here for the money, and hoped to last the full ten rounds. He hailed from South Africa, with the blondest hair, and bluest eyes I have ever seen. Big! Wasn’t a word to describe this guy. Humongous was more apt, He reminded me of the biblical pictures of Hercules; he was so well muscled, and weighed close to three hundred pounds. I wondered what those two guys who had beat him looked like?
We got the fight started; he tried to overpower me. And was surprised when he couldn’t move me backwards. We stood there toe to toe punching each other. I was able to block most punches, but a few grazing blows got through. I’m thinking if it wasn’t for the amazing rebuilding job those nano-bots of Joe’s did on my body, I probably wouldn’t be able to absorb the punches so easily.
He was a good fighter, and lasted three rounds. He didn’t win any money, but I sent him a $10,000 check and a membership card to the gym. He was the kind of fighter I wanted as a member.
The number of viewers, of the PBS station was up fractions on that first Monday night I fought. By the Friday night fight the number had tripled. They were featuring reruns of the fights three times a day. The end of the month they had gone from thousands of viewers to millions. Seems I was a phenomenon, every one, especially the old timers loved watching the old guy beat the heck out of the younger fighters night after night. This schedule of four fights a week amazed everyone who knew anything about boxing. Usually a champion boxer will fight once or twice a year. Here I am fighting sixteen times a month times twelve months that will be 192 fights in one year.
Pay per view was now begging for rights to my fights’. The greedy bastards’ mouths’ were watering thinking of millions of viewers four times a week. As I didn’t need any more money, I told them PBS has exclusive rights to all the fights. PBS did sell some of those rights that was fine with me, because when I needed them, they were there for me. I was happy to see their faith in me rewarded.
A clamor went up for the Heavyweight Champion of the World to fight me. He refused on the grounds the Boxing Commission wouldn’t license me because I was too old. This bought him nothing but ridicule, and he petitioned the board to reinstate my license for one fight. It wasn’t his good nature that prompted this request. It was the huge purse offered by the Pay Per View companies.
The Champion was named “azzam Alhason Abbas” (In Arabic this translated as “determined, handsome, lion.”) He was the first and only Arab champion to date. He was widely disliked, but there was no one who could beat him. He had won sixty fights in five years. At twelve fights a year he was a prolific fighter also. He traveled with his harem wherever he went. This caused much resentment that this one rag head should have so many beautiful women for himself. The hatre