The Last Story by Christopher Pike Page A

yogi. He seemed to glow. I thought, He must be magical. He was twirling his beads again, smiling. Peter tugged on my arm and I glanced over.

    "Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

    I patted his arm. "Very much. Thank you for bringing me here."

    "Do you want to meet him?"

    "Yes. If he will meet me."

    "He stays afterward. Anyone who wants to speak to him can."

    "You want to get in line immediately," Jimmy said softly. "Everyone wants to talk to him."

    I smiled at my brother. "You look stoned."

    Jimmy shook his head. "This guy is better than drugs or alcohol."

    Jimmy was right. The moment the yogi ended the session, the line to see him formed quickly.

    Fortunately, being near the front, I was able to get a good spot. I had to wait only five minutes before I was allowed to speak to him. The people behind waited at a respectful distance.
    The audience was essentially private. I didn't know the proper protocol for meeting such a person. Folding my hands together, I bowed as the Japanese do, figuring Japan was in the same part of the world as India. The yogi chuckled, playing with a long-stemmed red rose.

    "Ah," he said in his sweet voice. "The writer of scary stories. How are you?"

    I smiled shyly. "Wonderful. I really enjoyed the chant. I want to thank you for teaching it to me."

    "You're welcome. What is your name?"

    "Shari Cooper. I mean, it's really Jean Rodrigues. Well, I go by Shari. That's the name I feel most comfortable with." I paused. "Do you understand?"

    His eyes sparkled, and for a moment I believed he really did understand that I was a Wanderer.

    That I had returned from the dead to write scary stories and help save the world. Yet my stories, I

    now saw, were nothing compared to what this man had to offer people. For the first time I sensed what I had been looking for, the Rishi's divine love. The yogi's eyes seemed to shine as if they were windows into that pure consciousness he spoke of. He was not a man like other men.
    Nothing in this world could shake him, I saw. And I wanted that peace for myself. Yet it frightened me that I might have to give up too much to get it. Briefly I wondered if Roger had left the church without me.

    "I understand," he said softly. "Will we see you tomorrow?"

    "Tomorrow? Oh, that's when you start your course. I don't know. I don't think so. I'm making a movie of one of my books, and I have to be on the set early. I know it's weird to shoot on Saturday, but that's movie biz." I paused to catch my breath. "I'd like to come tomorrow. I feel I need to meditate and do your kriya."

    He frowned slightly and touched his head. "How is this?"

    "How is what? My head? It's all right. I get headaches sometimes, but I suppose everyone does." I paused again, thinking that it was remarkable he should know my head often hurt. "Do you think it's all right?"

    He studied me thoughtfully. Then he nodded to himself. "Kriya and meditation will help this problem. Check your schedule, see if you can come."

    "I'll try." I paused, feeling silly about the ques tion I was about to put to him. "I know this is an odd thing to ask, but are there such things as chakra centers in the body? I mean, is chakra even a word?"

    He nodded. "You experienced two of them when you sat in silence."

    "In my forehead and heart?"

    "Yes."

    "Wow. I mean, that's interesting, that they're real." How did he know my experience so intimately?

    He must be enlightened, I decided. I leaned closer, unsure what I wanted from him but knowing it was a lot. "I wanted to ask you something else. It's about myself. Who I am."

    He waved away the question. "Who you are cannot be explained with words. It can only be experienced. You experienced that a few minutes ago, when you were sitting quietly."

    "I understand. I've had the experience before.

    That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I feel like I'm here on Earth for a purpose and I might be missing it. I want to do so many things, but I get so busy that I feel like