Page 75 of The Runner
‘No,’ said Cara. ‘What on earth are they?’
Sylvia patiently explained that the Akashic Records are the accounts of all soul activity; past, present, and future.
Cara still looked blank, and Sylvia took a sip of water and tried to explain further. ‘They comprise a body of knowledge that is believed to contain a record of everything a soul has ever thought, said or done—for all time. They are typically accessible only to spiritual masters, hence my reaching out to the ascended masters.’
‘I see,’ said Cara, looking intrigued. ‘But what does that have to do with the book?’
‘The book is your conduit to the Akashic Records which are being updated and it appears the book deletes and records events as the timeline resets.’
‘I don’t fully understand. How does that help us?’
Sylvia shook her head, a puzzled expression in her gold-flecked eyes. ‘I’m not exactly sure,’ she said, swinging her tortoiseshell glasses by one arm as she contemplated what she had witnessed in her divine trance. ‘It’s extraordinary. Mind you, it always is when you walk in here!’
Cara smiled politely, not wanting to dampen Sylvia’s enthusiasm, but her heart sank. She didn’t feel up to going deeper into the realms of yet more universal mysteries.
The familiar thought crossed her mind:Why can’t we just live a normal life?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Sylvia with a knowing smile.
‘You do?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘You’re wishing this wasn’t happening to you again and you could just be normal.’
Cara sighed. ‘How the heck did you know that? Can you see into my mind?’
‘Aside from your face being an open book?’ Sylvia asked.
Cara smiled ruefully.
‘When I enter a deep trance, the effects take a while to wear off and my consciousness remains heightened for some time. I can sense your thoughts to a higher degree than normal. I am a psychic, remember…’
‘Incredible,’ said Cara, ‘You never fail to astound me.’
‘And you me,’ replied Sylvia. ‘Here’s the thing. You are not normal. Twin Flames aren’t destined to be normal—we have access to supernatural powers that others think only occur in movies.’
‘Okay, so will the book tell me what to do?’
‘If only it were that simple, but no… If I’ve understood correctly, the book will update as a direct reaction to your actions. It’s like a sort of soul ledger,’ said Sylvia.
Cara sighed again. She was tired and frustrated and had been hoping for more concrete guidance—something specific she could do to avert the disaster she feared was about to repeat itself two hundred years ago, only it could potentially be even worse thanks to her messing with the timeline. ‘I must stop George from burning the house down in Georgiana.’
‘If that was definitely going to happen, the text wouldn’t have disappeared. From what you’ve said, the timeline is resetting, and you are free to create an alternative history for you and George in 1729.’
‘How many shots do we have?’ Cara asked.
‘I don’t know, but tread lightly. Only make the changes you feel clearly guided to make. The book could just seal again if other factors are at play, and then you will have to live with the past, present and future according to the latest version of the records.’
‘That sounds terrifyingly fatalistic,’ said Cara.
‘It’s daunting but look at it as an opportunity to redeem some of the lost one hundred and eleven years when you and George were separated because of past foolish decisions. Now you have a clean slate to do it all again, and it might come out much better this time around.’
They ended the session and Cara drove home on autopilot, the latest revelations running through her hectic mind like a ticker tape. The weight of their past, present, and future lay heavily on her consciousness as she considered the responsibility of directly affecting the mysterious Akashic Records.
Does it really mean I’m being guided to redeem our missing timeline and make it right for our past selves between 1729 and 1840?
When she arrived back at Willow Manor, she went immediately to review the book. She could swear it twinkled at her as it lay where she had left it on the table, tempting her to engage with it again. She turned the pages to the blank sections.
Her blood raced as she realised there had been a new entry after she left—the ink was fresh on the page as if it was recently written by hand:
