Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. This is a story of impure fiction, that will eventually involve graphic description of sex between consenting adults. If this type of content offends you, close this page NOW! If you choose to read on you must be 18 years or older. If you are not LEAVE!!! Any similarity to persons living, dead or dying is purely coincidental. Seer's Requiem (Death, religion, BDSM) Part 1 By Lee Martin, Copyright 2008 Lane Dorsey turned off the country road and stopped his pickup truck with brief scrunch of gravel. The battered mail box's pride in the "approved by the Postmaster General" was its last vestige dignity. Thursday's mail delivery, the last one of the week, typically delivered the usual assortment of quaint coupons and requisite government notices. The mail enjoyed passenger status for the half-mile ride to the house. That unkempt gravel driveway was the only betrayal of the otherwise effective efforts put into the English Crossing Ranch restoration effort. Sitting on twelve acres, the cozy house boasted guest accommodations for six singles or couples (depending on who slept with whom), a workshop, as well as a dungeon for Lane's once-active prurient interests. The funding for English Crossing Ranch was assured when Lane was working in Europe and participated in a start-up venture that was the first acquisition by Google after the latter's takeover of Microsoft. Reviewing the mail found all of it going into the home's waste management system for recycling as fuel for the electrical generator. All that is but one non-descript, tan envelope with its manually applied RFID tag slightly askew. Lane glanced at the return address and reverently carried that one to his office and placed it in the middle of his desk. After pouring a shot of Balvenie, Lane gazed at the envelope as if it were a cleric: innocent, yet capable of inflicting grievous pain. The son of Lutherans, Lane Dorsey had long since given up on churches. His disdain for organized religion was only comparable to his distaste of political parties. That, however, did not alter his faith in God. Many had debated the seeming inconsistency between Lane's embrace of the BDSM lifestyle and his belief in God. While those debates were often scored by observers in Lane's favor, he was unshaken in that which he "known and had seen". The sun had long retreated beneath the west window when Lane simultaneously reached for the letter opener and the object of his scrutiny. The documents were screenshots of carefully-selected news items from the business and social sections of papers from around the world. Confirmed were Lane's greatest hopes and most dreaded fear. Since there was nothing left that he could do, Lane made his way upstairs. In his master bedroom suite, Lane tossed his personal memory chip onto the dresser, doffed his boots just inside the closet door and tossed his shirt into the hamper. He tossed back the last of the Scotch and set the glass on the nightstand. Lane was grateful that in spite of his trim 190-pound frame and broad shoulders that no submissive could see the tears streaming down his face. Dropping to his knees at the side of the bed, Lane Dorsey knelt before the only one to whom he ever bowed and began to speak-- ... "Father, permission to speak freely?" Answers almost never came as audible words but rather as impressions or a sense, what some would call a "gut feeling," and at other times as a vision. Visions, like a dream when one is awake, have made men and women mad or persecuted in years past. "I know I've talked to you many, many times before about Nadine. About us. You know I have loved her with my whole heart for years now." Flooded by a warm sense of understanding and affirmation, Lane was emboldened to continue. "It has been recorded that you held the sun still for Joshua. It is written that you even turned the shadow of the sun back for King Hezekiah. Now you know before I even ask it what I am asking for: I am asking you, Father, that allow me to go back and be born twenty years later. Born so that I could be a contemporary of Nadine's rather than of her parent's generation. It was only a number, a number of years that caused the gap between us to be impossible to span. You know I love her more than life itself...I love her the way I love you." A wave of consternation washed over Lane and in its retreat he suddenly understood the whole meaning of free will and predestination. The impressions came like a monsoon: Nadine's parents, Kate and Lawrence, would still meet but first become parents of boys and only one daughter could be born to them. Souls have been saved and souls have been lost. Jenny and George, Lane's parents, would go on to St. Louis from Peoria and divorce while Jenny was still pregnant with Lane's older brother. Souls have been saved and souls have been lost. His brother Jim's family would have been changed for Lane to be born a son in '77; but Jim's son Daniel would die before his fifth birthday. There were thousands, perhaps millions or more, of impressions of what could be conceived in the mind of God in order to grant this one request. Souls have been saved and souls have been lost. Father said, "No, I won't." "But Father, I love her more than life!" Lane wailed. His Father's knowing that only time will tell engulfed Lane as he began to see light. ... Mary looked up at the sound of her brother's authoritative footsteps. Brian could tell she had been crying since she called him. "Mary," exhaled more than spoken was his only greeting. These siblings, Lane Dorsey's oldest two children, were closer than they were to youngest sister Lisa. "How could this happen? Today when we were going to have breakfast?" sobbed Mary on the edge of coherence. "I don't know, I don't fucking know," Brian replied softly. The officer's verbal report had been terse: No foul play, no forced entry, and no suspicious activity in the area. While there was more work to be done, it appeared to be a death from natural causes. Mary's composure nearly returned for a moment. "Lisa will get in tomorrow at two-thirty. She got the earliest possible flight out of de Gaulle." Brian nodded. The EMT returned, "Mr. Dorsey?" Brian's face flushed as he spoke, "Mr. Dorsey is on the floor of his bedroom...." Mary's hand on Brian's arm provoked an apology. "I'm sorry, what do you need?" "Officer Kincaid and I ran your father's personal memory chip for possible causes and there's nothing there. His last workout was at 5:30 AM today and it looked really above average for a fella his age. Cardio workout upped his heart rate to 120 which is not unreasonable for his age, bench pressing his own weight.... We'll have his chip analyzed by the lab just in case; but in short, there's no reason here that we can identify as even a contributing cause of death. I'm sorry for your loss. If you want, we can call the funeral home to pick up his body." "Thank you," muttered Brian, "I'll take care of it." Mary was on the phone to another family member informing them of Lane's passing. Heading upstairs, Brian steeled himself for the sight which he had to see for himself. Brian expected to see his father's body crumpled and beaten by death. To his modicum of relief, he saw his father's body lying on the floor with arms extended upward as if to embrace and unseen guest. There was his dad's unmistakable smile beneath the sightless eyes. At the memorial service the following Wednesday afternoon, Brian, Mary and Lisa were surprised by the size of the turnout. Numerous family members were in attendance; however, the number of total strangers surprised even the normally mellow Lisa. "Where do you suppose dad knew these people from?" she queried her siblings. "Oh, dad got around you know," explained Mary. Brian added, "Yeah he enjoyed hosting parties for a few years there at the ranch, so I imagine he met lots of folks that way." The woman oozing elegance caught Brian's eye as soon as she walked into the reception area. Mentally damning himself for the thought that passed through his mind, he turned his attention back to the conversation with his sisters. It did not take the woman long to identify her target. "Hi. Excuse me for interrupting, I'm Nadine Wilson...used to be Zych. You must be Brian?" "Um, yes, I am. Brian Dorsey. My sisters, Mary and Lisa." "It's a pleasure to meet you finally. I want to express my condolences to you and tell you what your father did for me." Something about her was familiar. Brian's mind raced back to finding the package on his dad's desk. This was the woman whose life was documented in those business and social news items! Jerking his attention back to the conversation, he heard Nadine conclude: "...So to sum it up, he taught me what it means to be truly loved. For what he did for me, I will cherish his memory forever. I need to go now. You guys take care. Goodbye."