The 57th Keeper
R.G. Bullet
COPYRIGHT
Copyright 2011 R.G. Bullet
Published by
SilverHouse Books, Inc.
555 N. E. 15th Street suite: 2-i
Miami, FL 33132
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, organizations, places, events, and businesses are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person living or dead, or actual incidents or events, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher.
Print ISBN: 978-0-9831038-1-3
eISBN: 978-0-9831038-0-6
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www.SilverHouseBooks.com
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DEDICATION:
As always, for PKT...
Table of Contents:
Prologue
First Session
Second Session
Third Session
Fourth Session
Copyright
Credits
"What’s past is prologue."
—Keeper 46
P R O L O G U E
So this is what it feels like to lose the most valuable thing in the world.
Alturus thought a lot over the last week; thought about lost chances, lost fortunes, lost opportunity. Each thought turned in on itself coming to nothing and eroding his will. He’d become a hollow mechanism that barely ate, hardly spoke and never washed. He slumped on the sofa squeezing just enough energy to reach for the TV remote and click through the channels.
The screen buzzed on and flashed two news anchors. They broadcast an amateur video of a caged gorilla picking its nose and looking straight back at laughing onlookers. The news anchors made banal comments about manners and Alturus’s top lip turned to snarl. “Fool people, gorilla is laughing at you.” He clicked forward.
The next channel’s news showed police cars flashing behind a reporter who talked excitedly. “This daring burglary brought a tsunami of shock to the center of Windsor. Two men have been arrested just a short distance from the crime scene...”
“Small fool steal, big fool gets caught,” Alturus growled. (Click)
An image of woman appeared. She stood in front of a satellite outline of London. Large, grey clouds swirled across its centre. She made a feeble attempt at a joke trying to jolly over the imminent rain-filled week ahead.
“Tell me when it’s not raining...” said Alturus bitterly. “...that would be the big news.”
He clicked another channel and swung his arm out to the right mechanically clutching a jar of opened chocolate spread. He waved away some circling flies and dipped his fingers watching as an infomercial drew him in.
The man on stage strode purposefully from one side to the next. He wore a shiny suit and gripped a microphone. “Do you live in regret?” said the man, his words piercing Alturus’s haze.
Alturus sucked his fingers clean and turned up the volume.
The man’s voice was direct, clear and energized as he addressed the crowd. “I’m asking you to take action, now. Everyone stand up! Every man and women here today. Stand up!” he coaxed. He pointed across the crowd and then directly at the camera as it zoomed in. “You at home. I’m talking to you. STAND UP.” Before Alturus could question himself he rose to his feet. The man continued, “Put your hand on your heart and say proudly. I am NOT the sum total of my past.”
Alturus mumbled a repeat.
“Now say it like you mean it,” said the man as if he could hear Alturus.
“I want you to say it this time and feel it. Really, feeel it. Say it louder. I am not the sum total of my past!”
Alturus jutted his jaw up, his hand now clenched into a fist. “I am not the sum total of my past,” he said with resolve. “Today is a new day!” becoming louder. “I made mistakes but today I am starting afresh!” Alturus repeated with conviction. “I am the Keeper of my soul! I am the keeper of my soul!” He shouted. His lungs full. “I am the KEEPER....” Then, as if Alturus had been struck, he dropped to his knees and burst into tears.
