Paradise Rebooted

Prelude

Our lives are spent and writ large inside God’s universal dream. The end fronds of the tree we call our Milky Way galaxy sways amid a billion suns for backdrop, yet, here we stay put, upon a tiny knot of a planet, incased in the tree’s wooden trunk, revolving in circles we call reality. Time eddies pitch and yaw around and through our earthen abode, ever pushing at its life forms that receive their nourishment from God.

God has never forgotten the hard knot of earth riding inside his dream. God has sent prophets and even his own son to unravel many of its tangles. Even now, a multitude of angels oversee earthly matters and work constantly to insure God’s message stays pure, his promise on-going; so the primitive earth unravels slowly as it moves up the hard wooden bark where love sap runs and minds jell, minds release and minds grow, minds search and minds march, minds move and twist the knot this way and that, but always reform back to God’s chosen path. The mind of God is everything. And always the dream continues.

Part I

“You killed your sister,” the mother screamed as she ran out the back door with the baby dangling from her arms.

Little Maria, looked up with black doe eyes. She had just put her foot on the first step to the back porch when her mother screamed the words as she ran out of the house past her.

At the words, Maria’s face crashed.

High above the earth in the sky environment, Celeste’s face reflected Maria’s feelings of shock. She felt Michael’s perplexing thoughts before he appeared in the room and knew what she wanted to do. On arrival, he gave her a quick nod.

“Quickly!” Michael said to her, “Go down and try to revive the baby. This time we have no choice but to intervene.” Michael had said these words out loud to Celeste because his mind was musing upon little Maria. Maria, the girl he would meet within a few years and the women he would come to love deeply. Yes, we must protect Maria.

As Celeste quickly dropped towards the ambulance, she wondered how a young girl, less than five years old, could kill her baby sister. She didn’t have the answer yet, but realized that guilt and agony would clutch Maria’s psyche in a death hug for the rest of her life unless she saved that baby. Her heart skipped a beat in fright at the thought as her spirit body stepped through the white roof of the speeding ambulance.

Shrouded in blue mist, the angels were constantly busy inside their huge invisible white cloud. The cloud hovered two seconds ahead of earth-human time which kept it forever from human view. Even if a person from earth could visit inside, their vision would be confused by the fluffy mist-like atmosphere as the soft glowing outlines of men and women shuffled back and forth in constant activity, stepping in and out of invisible doors, doors that could open to any desired point in the Milky Way galaxy, but doors that most often opened to earth. For the angel’s task was humanity. Their main difficulty: To insure that humans moved towards the bountiful destiny God intended for them and avoid self destruction. Much of the angel’s effort at this time focused on a few recently selected individuals who were meant to be subtle influences in the next human drama, meant to be silver vases holding earth’s fragile future. Just now, one of these vases, Maria, had been hit with such sharp, hurtful words that her mental stability could be damaged for life.

The ambulance siren screamed into the spotty summer air that was constantly thickened by cement dust from the factory across the river. Its doors slammed shut, it pulled away from the curb and rushed down Coolidge Street and then Jefferson towards the nearest hospital. Celeste dropped into the ambulance through its roof. Her first move was to wrap her own mind and body around the technician’s as the truck sped down Jefferson, the next would be to persuade him to make the right choices to save the child’s life.

The small toddler lay on the stretcher next to its mother. Celeste felt the emergency tech’s hands and fingers as if they were her own as he touched the child’s neck to check the pulse. The tech had been afraid to induce vomiting when he learned that the baby had swallowed cleaning fluid. The infant’s skin was already tinged in blue from lack of oxygen. Worse, the baby lay too still, making no sound as she lay on the stretcher, held in place by her mother’s shaking hands.

As the ambulance hurried down the streets of River Rouge, Celeste knew that they would arrive at the hospital too late to save Maria’s baby sister unless she acted quickly.

A sudden body spasm jerked the baby almost out from its mother’s hands, and her skin turned a vivid blue. Celeste whispered into the emergency technician’s mind the idea that he should disregard the warning about cleaning fluid and the danger of burn that might result to the esophagus if it was brought back up, but that rule had to be discarded in the face of sure death. The, technician, egged on by Celeste’s spirit, grabbed the child off the stretcher and flipped it upside down, clutching it by its feet. The baby swayed in the tech’s hand like a fish dangling on a hook as the ambulance turned a fast corner.

The mother screamed and gasped out a prayer, “Oh, God please save my baby. Please.”

Celeste also called on God. She gathered within herself bursts of golden light-energy and kept doing so until her whole soul glowed with God-light. Then she closed her eyes, and like a high voltage sun-beam, she pushed the light-energy down the arms of the technician and into his hands. God energy poured into the dangling, upside-down baby girl.

The baby’s lungs gasped out a bubble of choked up air and with the air, came an upchuck of milk-green slime from its tiny, wide opened mouth along with chunks of cracker and milk. The yellowish green fluid spewed all over the white coated technician who wrinkled his nose at the smell, but smiled with relieved tension as the child’s huge scream filled up the small, enclosed space of the truck. The toddler’s skin turned first white and then a vivid pink as her air and color returned. Then angry red. The child’s furious screams battled the screaming siren for attention.

Celeste took a moment to thank God and sigh in relief before lifting her spirit up and out of the blaring ambulance. The baby would be fine now, but they needed to find out what had caused little Maria to abandon her sister. Maria was only four years old herself, a baby babysitting a baby. Humans were so unpredictable, so unfathomable at times. Celeste shook her head in bafflement.

Celeste arrived back at the habitat slightly out of breath with worry, and looked her question at Michael. Terrance and a few other people had also gathered.

“We have just managed to run the scene backwards. Here, I will run it for you.” Michael told her.

All eyes watched the time monitor as little Maria, with big black eyes and normally mussed up, curly hair, stepped out of a half unpainted, gray garage behind the house. She wore a simple white halter with checkered shorts, which made her skinny arms and legs look even thinner. They watched Maria walk the few steps to the back porch. Just as her foot reached the first step to the house, and she looked up to take the next step, her mother came out the back door screaming. “Oh, my God. You killed your sister. You killed your sister.”

The mother ran from the house and past a startled Maria on the steps, the infant’s body held tight in her arms; its legs dangling and flopping as she ran.

They watched the ambulance pull up and the mother climb into the back with the baby.

Celeste shook her head and frowned. Each of them shared the questions she had in their own mind. “Why was Maria left alone with her 1 ½ year old baby sister?” But Michael’s face showed a bemused smile that seemed a shrug as if nothing people did surprised him anymore.

“Of more vital importance,” he said, “What was Maria doing out in the garage?”

“Yes,” each agreed and looked at Michael, who was the technological wizard of their earthly group.

By now, more angels had arrived, even Yara who worked in a habitat in China, rushed into the room to watch the screen. Each of their faces turned towards the monitor that covered half the wall as Michael searched through and reran the images of Maria that flowed on the glass surface.
“This won’t be easy. In order to put it on the screen for all of you, I will need to use a special technique to get under the garage roof during its history,” Michael told them, speaking out loud into the room. It was easy for Michael to take his own small trips back and forth in time, and he intended to do so shortly, but for now, he would put it on the monitor for all to see. As a few more people popped in, like curious puffs of air, to watch the monitor, Michael explained to all of them what he must do.

The angel’s faces and cloths were semi-invisible and ethereal up in the cloud, unless they chose differently. Here at home, each wore a white gown made out of an illusory material that bunched and flowed around them when they moved, as did the walls of their cloud habitat. Not Michael. He stood tall among them, he face angled and dark with swarthy skin and wavy black hair. He wore dark brown corduroy pants, a tan button down shirt, and light jacket, street cloths for the 1950’s city, his usual working habitat.

“I will need to send our whole habitat containment backwards into time in order to check under the garage roof. Spread the word for everyone in the cloud to get ready. We will all feel disorientated for a few seconds.”

“I think we’re all here.” Celeste said, then added, her short, dark curls bobbing as she spoke. “She was in the garage for only a short while. “Her mother hadn’t left for the store when I last checked up on her.”

Neither of them said anything about this not being Maria’s real family. It wasn’t worth mentioning because the angels thought it would be a secret kept from Maria forever, only Michael knew differently. They all felt relief that this day’s tragedy had been averted, the baby would not die. Still, the mother’s accusation would stay with Maria a long time. Maria was too young to understand that the mother had yelled out in panic.

The angels were powerless to change many of the events that transpired on earth and could only give a slight prod here or whisper there. No matter their best efforts, the outcome often seemed destined for failure. Although they did their work on earth and other planets, the ultimate direction of their work came from God and God’s first rule was unyielding—Intelligent life has the freedom to choose.

With this rule always in mind, the angels did their best, but at this time, during World War II and soon after, earth was on the cusp of extreme danger, danger so great civilization might not survive; therefore, with God’s agreement, they had awakened a few genes in a small selection of people, genes that would give stronger intuition and mental empathy. Amazingly, they hadn’t needed to tweak Maria’s genes because her angel genealogy was recent. Her real mother was an angel, even if a fallen one.

It was Michael who had created and built the monitors for all the angel habitats in the sky and on earth, which made them fifty years ahead of computers down on earth, or downstairs, in angel jargon. This also made him the master manipulator because no one else knew how to make them do strange stuff.

Terrance watched with fascination as Michael played with the controls. Well, it looked like he was playing as he ran his hands rapidly over the controls below the huge screen. Without warning, the whole environment blurred for a moment and they felt the habitat shift in time as if it were a car that suddenly screeched back into first gear. Celeste noticed that the monitors in all the other rooms, seen through walls seemingly build of smoke, in their triple layered habitat when white and all the instrument panels blurred for a split second before righting to normal again. Celeste felt herself jerk forward as if she was about to take off and fly away with the birds until time abruptly stopped changing.

Michael checked something on the monitor. He held up his hand. “We are in the vicinity we need.”

Twenty angels, half ghost-like and half physical, each according to whim or practice, had now gathered to watch the images scroll on the wall screen. They all sent their own powerful minds into the dark garage as if to help in the search beneath the roof. Michael explained that it wasn’t easy to reverse the monitor and then go to a specific moment in time beneath an enclosed roof, at least, not without a vast amount of pre-planned calculations.

Celeste greatly admired Michael’s mechanical and electronic ability. His use of future technology was amazing, but of course, it would be since he was from both the future and past. The angels didn’t have this kind of technology on their new world, and even while they were Gog’s slaves on the future earth, few of them had been proficient on computers. Gog had taken over everything in that category.

The monitors in the habitats were meant to make their work with humans quicker. The angels could send their minds down to earth and follow a single individual easily, but not a large crowd of people like you’d find on the city streets, plus, even after the large number war dead, earth was getting more crowded.

Just now, as she looked around the room, she saw that every face held wonder at Michael’s ability to run down a specific event backwards in time. And why should this surprise me when Michael himself has stepped backwards in time, as have we all. The truth of it made her smile, in spite of the intense moment.

The difficulty of such a sudden search was imposed by time itself. Actual time, time without relative reference, was truly non-existent, if you disregarded entropy, time’s flow forward was held together by the common acceptance of every mind on the planet. Yet, it was this same collective mentality that made most of their viewing down on earth of the population in current time, easy. What Michael was doing was something else, entirely.

Michael explained what was happening. He told them that the garage had been standing for a long time; therefore, to see beneath its roof, they needed to do a quick check through most of is existence and Maria’s short history. How many times had Maria stood in this garage? Which visit was relevant? How would they know if this was the occasion they were searching for? A clock or timer would be great, but, they didn’t have such an instrument. Perhaps, during a specific, well planned and well thought out search, a set of equations for a timer could be worked out, but not this time, because of possible danger to Maria, they all wanted to know and watch what had happened right away.

“With all of us concentrating and watching, it shouldn’t take long.” Terrance said, his usual smiling face somber. Celeste looked at him and smiled. He noticed her smile but didn’t seem to care as he changed his skin color to a slightly darker shade to match Michael’s. It was obvious that he admired Michael and wanted to imitate him. He shrugged his shoulders as if in defeat. “Well, it fits the mood,” he sent to her.

Celeste laughed and turned back to the monitor.

Soon they were rewarded with results.

“Here.” Celeste pointed. Her dark arm became simi-physical with the sudden movement. “Stop right there. She looks right.”

“Yes, definitely, the same white top and checkered blue pants,” Sharon said stepping closer to the monitor. Her long hair shone blue like her eyes as she stepped from out of the white mist, more physical now from excitement.

They watched Maria on the monitor. She stood at attention as she stood in the dusty, dark garage next to piled boxes of stored items, a broken wooden chair, a shovel and rack leaning against the wall and various other pieces of broken furniture, looking up into a darker gloom.

Michael swiveled the image around in slow motion so as not to loose the scene, until they could see what Maria was looking at in the dark shadows. They saw a white face sticking out of the gloomy corner like a single mask suspended from strings. As the face came into better focus inside the shadow, they saw it was a young priest with glistening white teeth and frozen skin, narrow features with prominent bones and a tight line of slicked black hair surrounding his face. His eyes blazed as if with an inner secret as he spoke softly to Maria.

“Your turn,” they heard the priest say to her, just before he laughed in merriment.

To those listening high above it didn’t sound like merriment at all. They detected a strangeness emanating from the eyes of the priest. It was either their enemy Gog, Michael’s evil Twin, inside the priest or one of Gog’s followers. Each angel’s breath caught and held for a moment at the realization.

Celeste began to panic and squeezed her eyes shut as if waiting for the worst to happen. Michael sent words of calmness into everyone’s mind. Terrance put his hand atop hers.

“Remember.” Michael mentally spoke to each mind in the room. “We watched her come out of the garage. She came out physically unharmed.”

He knew she would escape the danger this time, at least physically, because he hadn’t met her yet. Time weaves its own ironies. What Gog or his follower might have done to her mental state was still a question.

Celeste nodded agreement and allowed her nerves to loosen up.

“The big question is, ‘Does the enemy knew what he got hold of or was this just a chance encounter?’” Sharon asked, speaking all their thoughts out loud into the room.

Michael held up his hand to the other angels. “It may not be as bad as we think. Give me a minute more to find the beginning.” He ran the monitor, second by agonizing second backwards until the face was gone from the shadows, then inched forward once more. As he did so and they saw Maria enter the garage and call out, “Who called me?”

They watched the gloomy darkness begin to speak as if out of nowhere as a voice answered Maria.

“Hello Maria.”

Maria looked around and then up, “Oh, Hi.” Then surprise. “I think I know you!”

“Yes, you do.”

“On the sidewalk in front of my house. You talked to me yesterday too, but you didn’t know my name. I remember.” She giggled.

“You just told me your name. You sent your name into my mind.”

Maria had a look of surprise on her face. “Oh.” She became quiet for a time, and then spoke again. “I do sometimes. It’s fun.”

“Would you like to have some more fun. Do you want to play a silent game? You do like games, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

Maria clapped her hands and did a little jig on the garage floor. Michael had the monitor positioned correctly in time and space now so it was easy to turn from each speaker or zoom away to watch both of them at once.

“I love games. Oh, I can’t.” Maria’s frown, so like a child to show every emotion, was quickly evident on her face. “Maybe later. I am babysitting my little sister right now.”

“This game will only take a short minute. It is a game of inside words.”

“Inside words?”

“Silent words. Words that no one can hear but you and me. Like when you sent me your name.”

“I can hear you, just fine.”

“Not this kind of word. Silent ones. Listen.”

Maria squinted her face up in puzzlement. She laughed and opened her mouth to speak. The priest shook his head and put a white finger to his lips. Maria giggled and squeezed her eyes and smiled once more. Then the man nodded.

“You said Christmas! Oops!” Maria put her tiny hand to her mouth. A giggle escaped as she squeezed her eyes shut again as if thinking so hard she would burst.

“Santa Claus, Santa Claus. What will he bring me? Harder words?”

Once more the priest put his finger to his mouth then pointed to Maria to let her know it was her turn. He spoke what she’d thought aloud, “I wish my mom would hurry home.”

Maria nodded with such delight the glow on her face seemed to brighten the shadows of the garage.

The priest then said, “I just spoke words inside your mind. Did you hear me?”

Maria frowned. “No. I didn’t hear anything. What did you say?”

I said, “Your mother just came home. She will go into the pantry right now and find your baby sister dead.”

Maria’s eyes got big and white in the gloom. “Oh, I gotta go.”

She turned and ran out of the garage and over to the house and was about to run up the steps when her mother came out of the back pantry door and screamed at her, “You killed your sister. You killed your sister.”

When Maria turned to follow, her mother screamed, “Stay put, don’t do anything more,” as she ran to the ambulance that had just pulled up to the street. The child’s arms and legs dangled limply from her arms.

Maria stood at the bottom step and watched the ambulance pull out of the driveway. She took a step towards the garage, but changed her mind and went into the house to ‘stay put’ as she had been instructed. They watched Maria grab her Raggedy Anne rag doll and hold it close just before climbing onto the couch.

As they watched Maria fall asleep on the dark couch clutching her favorite doll, they discussed what had happened. Michael said “The enemy didn’t know why Mara could speak with her mind. The ability does occur once in a while in various humans.

Terrance agreed, ‘There has always been a small number of people with ESP and other abilities, forerunners of future humanity.”

“You yourselves are evidence of buried human abilities.” Michael said.

“But he knew enough to hurt her deeply. He deliberately came to check her out.” Celeste said, then added, “How did he learn she could send mental words?”

“From anyone. Easy. It was sloppy of us not to block that ability in her when she was younger.” Terrance said. Now he also wore a button down tan shirt.

Regardless of what should have been done differently, joyful sighs of relief were palpable in the small room as they all voiced their worries out loud.

“Surly, this was a freak incidence.”

“So far, it looks like it may have been.”

“He must have done something to her.”

“More than likely, he erased the part of her mind able to send thoughts.” Michael said.

“He might have done worse if he’d known who Maria was, instead of ripping out a few synapses; he might have taken all her memories away too.” Celeste said with a shudder.

“Does Gog or his helpers have that kind of power?” Sharon asked, but they all knew the answer. They also knew that the dark angels who followed Gog, had the ability to enter into a priest or anyone else who’s soul they wanted to take over. Sometimes, not even take over, but just use for a short time if they needed the personality for a specific job. Every angel knew without doubt that conscripting a person’s soul was one of the highest sins you could commit against the rule of God.

“In this case, he formed himself into a priest for a purpose. I’ll go down to check to see what other plans he may have afoot.” Michael said, “I would have liked to have caught him in the act,” he said with a sigh.

He’d made it a challenge of honor to one day stop his other half, Gog, not even created yet, but who had also learned to send his mind back in time. Michael smiled at this contrary state of affairs because he hadn’t been created yet either.

“He’s done enough…with… with that mind game. I hope he leaves her alone for now.” Celeste sent into every mind.

This quieted all of them. Their dear Maria subject to any game of Gog’s at such an early age was enough to chill every one of them into a shiver.

They all wondered exactly what he’d done to her and what would the long term effect be, but they knew they could rely on Michael to find out. Michael was the most expert when it came to Gog.

As Michael moved the monitor back to standard normal time, Celeste stood still as a statue with her eyes closed for a number of minutes. No one bothered her during such moments because they knew she was in communicating with Jesus. Finally, she opened her eyes and told the others.

“We dare not step in again; our interference may be detected.”

“Surly, the healing of the baby was innocent; Gog would never connect it to us?” Sharon said.

Celeste shrugged. She felt contrite about the harsh, if necessary words.

“We will keep watching her, but keep our distance for now.” Michael sent a crooked smile and look of hesitation along with his words. “Ah, well, back to the jived up city streets for me, our happy jungle down below.”

Michael’s complaint was light. Working with the homeless and wayward population around the world gave him the feeling of belonging to the human race. His work proved to be a great source of needed information for the angels and he did manage to teach a lesson here and there, encourage a drunkard to dry out or a gambler to quit. Each success was small; yet, Michael felt more whole after each one. These notions of incompleteness he kept to himself as personal challenges to overcome.

Celeste said, “It will get a lot more jungle like in later years. This time down on earth seems almost innocent compared to a hundred years from now, even with the ongoing threat of atomic warfare.

“Do you think it will ever be safe to step openly into Maria’s life?” Terrance asked Michael.

“At some point our interference won’t matter.” Images of the future swirled through Michael’s mind but he pushed them out again. He wanted to concentrate on the most recent problem, not the ones down the road.

“Maybe she’ll get through childhood without a scratch.” Terrance said, then laughed at his own joke.

Celeste and the rest grinned at the double intention of his words that also seemed to put an end to the gathering of angels. People began disappearing as each went back to what they were doing before the crises.

“But no one will notice if I heal a scratch now and again.” Celeste said just before leaving.

Sharon, who had also stayed behind for a moment, said “But how did it happen? I mean, why did a priest, fake or not, visit her in a dark garage?”

Celeste answered her, “She is young and loves all priests, in whatever form, because of Father Jacob. He’s been visiting her since she was a baby.” Celeste paused. “He was the only person who knew Maria’s true origin. He died last year.”

“Ah, she misses him. The only thing we can do now is damage control. Michael excels in such things. He will see to it.” Terrance had been listening to their thoughts but spoke his words out loud as if to give them an air of certainty, then looked over at Michael who was about to leave.

Michael nodded at the comment. He didn’t need to answer because of course he intended to find out what led up to the visit. He also knew that in little more than twelve months he would step into Maria’s life down on earth for the first time. A few angels worried and told him that he’d need to be careful not to meet himself? He’d laughed at that because there was a great debate among the angels as to what would happen if he did meet himself.

The angels were from a far enough future that it was certain they wouldn’t bump into themselves. No one was sure what kind of complex mix-ups would happen in the universe if Michael did bump into his own body on earth. He doubted that anything strange would happen because he was only physical when he chose to be; plus, he suspected that the laws of the universe would prohibit such a conflict anyway. Still, he intended to be careful. In the meantime, he’d look into Maria’s recent past to check out why the garage incident happened, although he already had a half remembered notion of why and how.

Chapter I

And Jesus’ spirit cried at the state of the earth and its dammed souls. And he called on an army of angels to come with him into time past, to fight the battle for lost lives, to save humans from their fate, to take away the shadow of evil and bring light into the world.

“We pledge to follow you Jesus everywhere, anywhere.” The angel Gregory said on bended knee with his head bowed beneath the brilliant light of the Godhead. Thousands upon thousands knelt behind their speaker with heads bowed in similar attitude of reverence and appreciation. Appreciation for saving each one of them from uncountable years of slavery, years that might never have ended because their own lives could never end while Gog held the reins. Gog was the thing that held a whip over their heads and sent them out to damage innocent souls. The people had been enslaved until Jesus returned to earth and released them from Gog’s onerous ownership. Jesus Christ, their savior, the son of the living, true God.

As it had been written in the last book of the New Testament, Revelation, the remnant of humanity, those left after the great disaster, would follow the Lamb where ever he went—This they promised. And so the battle was begun, and so the battle rages still.

Taken from the Chronicle of Angels

Author and date unknown

Michael, in spirit mode, back on earth once more, began his renewed study of Maria and the garage by slipping his spirit further back in time, month by month until he reached nine months earlier. He watched Father Jacob, stooped over and using a small wooden cane, walk up the sidewalk to Maria’s home for the last time. This was shortly before he died, and six months before the fake priest talked with her in the garage. Michael watched Father Jacob with sadness, knowing that the old priest, almost 90 years old, would die very soon. Maria was too young to understand why he would stop visiting.

Invisible, Michael stood in the small house and watched Maria call out, “Oh, Goody goody,” then dance and prance up and down and around the couch and around the table. She was short for a four year old so this was quite easy for her to do. “Father Jacob is coming. Father Jacob!” She sang.

She heard his heavy step on the porch and ran to the door with a big smile. She tried to turn the knob but was unsuccessful and turned back to look at her mother accusingly. “Hurry. It’s Father Jacob!”

She heard father’s laugh before the door opened. “How is my little Maria?” he called out as soon as he stepped into the house.

For answer, Maria, reached up her tiny arms for one of his big hugs. He chuckled and reached for her, squeezing her into his huge frame. Maria’s tiny hand reached towards his picket as he laughed.

“Oh, oh, you must wait a little moment.”

He turned to her mother and asked how about the baby and the rest of the family.

Maria didn’t listen any further because she didn’t care right then. Father Jacob’s pocket always held a surprise. Last time it held a chocolate bar, but she loved Father Jacob, so instead of putting her hand into his pocket, she put her arms around his neck and squeezed tight.

“I love you Father Jacob.” She suddenly said.

Yet, but even in her young years, she noticed a sad, tired look on Father’s face. Her smile turned into a frown, but she said nothing. Maybe he forgot?

“Come child, let me set you down. Little as you are, my old bones can no longer lift you for long.”

He put her on the floor and fell into the big brown cushions of the couch that sat against the wall. Soft cushions Maria knew because she liked to jump up and down on them. She watched as Father plopped down with a huge sigh. He looked like her dad when he got home from work. Real tired.

Maria took his so very large hand between her own small ones. His were wrinkled and knobby and she giggled at their strangeness. Now Father Jacob put his other hand to his top pocket and Maria’s eyes became black and huge with anticipation. She smiled.

He pulled out a very big bar of chocolate with a picture of nuts and gooey stuff on the wrapper.

“I wonder who wants this candy? I must have made a mistake to bring it here?”

This time, content that he didn’t forget, she giggled and remained attentive. She loved to hear Father Jacob’s strange voice. Her dad said that Father Jacob was Canadian and that some of his words were French.

She cocked her head and looked at Father Jacob. I know you are teasing me, her attitude said.

He bellowed with laughter. “Here child. Take it before I eat it myself.” He flipped the bar into the air for her to catch. “Dear little Maria.”

Maria pulled the wrapper open with her teeth and began biting and chomping on the candy bar. It was so good.

“I love you Father Jacob.”

With the unfinished bar in one hand, she climbed onto the couch to sit at his right side. She tucked her head just below his armpit and rested her head on his chest, all the while taking smaller bites of the chocolate bar to make it last a long time.

She listened to the conversation between Father Jacob and her mother between bites and swallows.

“I don’t know when my next visit will be. This one tired me so.”

“Not too long a time, I hope. Maria will miss you. We all will.”

“Yes. I still remember tickling her toes when she was no bigger than my hand.”

“Are you staying at the rectory?”

“Of course. It brings comfort to know that most places I visit have rectories.” He smiled. “Much cheaper.”

Just then a baby cried from the other room.

“Oh, the baby is awake.” She went and brought the baby back in her arms, still wrapped in a blanket.

“Beautiful baby. I keep the family in my prayers all the time.”

“Thank you father. She is just beginning to walk.”

The talk kept up but Maria soon left their words far behind. She felt so good snuggled in Father Jacob’s arms that the voices faded away as she floated in bliss. Part of the chocolate bar lay in her lap uneaten as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Michael followed the time line forward From Father Jacob’s visit to Maria’s home to a quick run through the months. In order to put it all together, he would need to check on his own beloved Father Tom Avery in his rectory, a sorrow for Michael because it held so many memories. To Michael, it was home, or once had been. The fake priest must have stayed at the rectory before visiting Maria, a was the habit of most priests.

Still, invisible, Michael watched Father Tom as he sat in his favorite brown, leather chair, pushed up against the old desk with its many scratches, scratches Mrs. Halstead had tried to rub away with dark polish. Michael imagined he could smell the old leather of the chair and the many old books that lined the shelves. He looked around his old home, at the statue of Mary that stood on the side cabinet. The vase in front of the statue always held flowers from morning’s mass. A wooden cross hung on the pale peach wall just across from the statue. Beside it stood a tall bookcase with many large tomes and scattered papers. Father Tom’s desk always had a number of books on his desk, open and closed with papers sticking out as markers. A leather pad with an oversize calendar, its monthly page scribbled and filled with doodles, sat in the center of the desk.

The rectory was just around the corner from where Maria lived. Michael still missed Father Tom deeply; so much so, it hurt to watch the old man as he leaned forward in his chair to reach and open the bottom drawer then pause in hesitation. This is where he kept a small bottle of whiskey, or extra bottle of wine from the church. “A nip of medicine,” Father Tom used to call it.

Just now, as he watched the priest with fondness, Michael could almost decipher his thoughts about Maria. He imagined that Father Tom was extremely worried about her and this was the moment he would do something about Maria that he would deeply regret later in life. Michael knew this because Father Tom had had explained once, with guilt in his words and a glass of wine in his hand. The problem with the memory was that this was before Michael came to Father Tom so he stood helpless and unable to change events. Though his memory was usually perfect and clear, this memory seemed to him to be wrapped in heavy gray fog. Perhaps from emotion?

Finally, his presence in the rectory this day nudged his mind back into focus. He remembered now what Father Tom had told him, but decided to wait it out. He stood and watched but felt as he were participating in a play.

Father Tom Avery was thinking that any little girl like Maria, short and skinny with missing teeth, should not be able to do what that child did. Father Tom had looked down at Maria with a fake smile as she stood looking up at him, with adoration in her eyes, and what eyes, black and so shinny and deep they seemed to look into the soul. The sun beat down on her black hair, turning its strands to gold, she wore a small purple top torn at the seam, and shorts wrinkled and smudged with dust. The glowing smile on her face belied her drabness. No, little girls should not talk inside other people’s heads. But her call was distinct like a bell, still reverberating inside his head. Such a thing, by damned, isn’t natural. He spoke and waved good-by, all with a smile, all while berating himself for not doing something sooner. He must inform the church. He had heard her silent voice twice before, once during holy mass.

The first time he told himself that he must have been mistaken; so he’d shook his head to clear his ears. There was no such thing as silent talk, most especially not coming from a small waif of a girl. He’d heard her voice distinctly as she called out his name.

“Hi, Father Tom,” she’d said right during prayers before the sermon. He had laughed at his own silliness, and thought that maybe he should go wash his own ears with soap, or rather his mind. He chuckled at the thought. After mass, as he stood at the church door to say good-by to the congregation, he’d patted her head as she left with her aunt. Then when she was down the steps and on the sidewalk, she turned back smiling, but with a closed mouth and said, “Bye, bye, Father Tom,” and skipped down the sidewalk as if nothing had happened.

This last time, her voice was most distinct. The words coming from her mind were clear, if impossible, “Hi, Father?” She’d smiled up at him as she stood on the sidewalk. Out loud she’d asked, “Do you live in heaven or,” she hesitated, “Canada?”

Still rattled by her voice that had been inside his mind, he pulled himself together quickly and asked, “Why, for heaven’s sake, do you think I live in heaven?”

“Cause I seen you at God’s alter.” Is that where God lives?”

Father Tom smiled, “Yes, God lives there, but I am only a servant. I work for God.”

“Oh. Do all Father’s work for God?”

He laughed which gave him time to think of an answer. “All fathers of my sort. You live near the church, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, she turned and pointed to a small house across the street, obviously rented, its white shingles gray with dust from the Rouge factories, its paint peeling off in places. The house entrance was half way down the block but in back of the church which made up the rest of the block. They were standing on Division Street, he in his priestly garments and she in her rumpled play cloths.

“My mom said Father Jacob lives in heaven now. He always brings me candy. Do you have any candy?” she asked, then said, “Oh, oh,” Looking embarrassed.

Father Tom suddenly realized that she meant the old priest from Canada who visited the rectory, once in a while. Gone now, bless his soul. “Oh, I am so sorry, Maria. I don’t have any candy right now.”

She turned to leave, and Father Tom called out goodbye. Then again, inside his mind, he heard the words, “Bye Bye,” from her as she skipped playfully away.

Michael watched Father Tom pull out a tablet of paper then sit thinking. Father Tom was almost afraid to write about such an unspeakable matter and spent long minutes pondering just how to put the words down. Who would believe such a thing? Well, no doubt someone might, someone whose business it was to search out strange happenings. He wasn’t sure what department he could send the note to without putting his own mind in question. Who would believe him? Perhaps the Center for the Propagation of Faith? Dare he put his signature to such a request? Dare he say why he wanted this cute little tyke checked out? Five times now, it happened. Five!

Only this morning she spoke to him during mass, she was sitting half way back in the pews. When she said “Hi Father Tom” He’d damn near dropped the communion host. He knew she was too young to receive communion and searched the pews until he found her sitting all alone, almost hidden by the shadow of Saint Jude’s statue. He noticed a tall lady slip in to sit beside her after receiving communion. He couldn’t place the face immediately. Must be a family friend. He knew the girl’s mother was home with a young baby. He had started asking his own questions, lightly, to be sure, so as not to attract attention.

This morning had decided him because her words had almost disrupted his handing out holy communion wafers. Write the note; make sure it is sealed so no one can open it besides Cardinal, so and so. Yes, that’s who I will send it to. What the hell is his full name? The head of the current office in Rome. Damn. Dare I get Mrs. Halstead to look it up? No, I’ll look it up for myself. Somehow I must get the idea through to him of the urgency of the matter and how delicate the situation. What if Maria is in danger? If it continues, who else might pick up her words spoken from the mind? Won’t most people shrug it off as I did at first? But what if it happens again and again. They live in a rented house and could move out at any time. I need to write the letter now.

Michael watched Father Tom as he wrote the letter, a letter Father would bring up in later years, a letter and memory that would carry a great bundle of guilt. Father Tom’s agony brought back the partial memory of him mumbling something about the letter, but for some reason Michael hadn’t paid enough attention and had forgotten about it until now. Michael could have tried to stop the priest, but instead adhered to God’s first rule just as the angels did, so he blocked himself from attempting to make such a drastic change; besides, he wasn’t sure how this incident weaved throughout Maria’s life. At least, now he understood for certain why the fake priest had attacked Maria in the garage.

With nothing else he could do to help, Michael watched his beloved Father Tom sweat and run his fingers through his shock of white hair until he finally sealed the envelope.

Michael moved forward in time and then watched as a Father Bonn, the fake priest, arrived at the rectory for a short visit. He might have been a real priest taken over by a dark angel or a dark angel who had created a human body to put on. They could do both. Michael had to keep his spirit small and hidden else the dark angel might notice his presence. Not likely because they didn’t know he had joined the angels yet, but better to be safe.

Father Tom was surprised when a Father Bonn showed up from Rome less than a month after he sent the letter. The priest was tall and slim with short dark hair, but it was his eyes that turned Father Tom’s face away when they first met. Their intensity was staggering and he couldn’t help thinking it was because of displaced fervor or madness. Surly Rome wouldn’t send a mad priest to investigate such a little girl? But in fact, nothing was said about the situation at all, just a hint that they must talk soon. It was usual to have visiting priests coming and going all the time. Many stayed in the rectory on their way to some other place. This man was quiet and reserved, unlike many young priests who occupied a temporary bed at the rectory.

Father Tom waited for days for the talk to turn too little Maria and wondered if he’d been wrong in his assumption that this priest had been sent from Rome. Certainly, it would be a first if Rome had sent someone at such great speed. If so, what must they be looking for? Do they have hints of the evil one surfacing again? There have been many attempts or so the grape vine said. He was never privy to the secrets of Rome, but he heard rumors. He could only imagine what the current thinking was because nothing specific was said either way. He noticed Father Bonn got around easily, talking to this person or that person, as if all were normal and perhaps it was, perhaps it’s nothing but an old man’s jitters.

But a few hours later, when he saw Father Bonn standing on the sidewalk and speaking to Maria in front of her home, he began shaking for no reason. Fear gripped at his heart until he thought it might explode. Such a nice, sweet thing. What will they do to her? What could they do to her? Nothing, of course. But, oh, why did I send that note? He had asked himself that same question a million times, but he knew why he sent it. He had heard her speak into his mind even after he’d sent it. Had she spoken to Father Bonn’s mind yet? If so, then he would know right away what it was that I hinted about in the letter and why I sent for help.

Oh, dear God. Help us. And why would I think this priest would do anything to harm such a little child? Surly not? Yet, something must be done. Rome won’t hem and haw like I did. They will understand immediately.

That night at supper, even though there were only the two of them, Father Bonn suggested they have a long chat someplace away from the normal people traffic. Then, after Mrs. Halstead brought in a huge second bowl of mashed potatoes and he’d put half on his plate, he added, “Had you noticed the loose tile on the bell tower?

Father Tom assured him he had not.

“Then perhaps we might take a look at it later? I’ll point it out to you.”

They finished eating and after evening mass and prayers. Father Tom followed Father Bonn up onto the roof of the church. This was one place they were sure not to be followed or overheard. It was, in fact, Father Tom’s own hide-a-way. He’d upturned a large whisky crate with a cloth draped over it for a seat and another smaller crate for his feet. A secret store of wine and cigars were hidden beneath his seat. Mrs. Halstead was quite aware that doctor’s orders were that he wasn’t supposed to smoke those ‘awful’ cigars anymore.

So much elaborate effort to actually meet, yet their talk only lasted about five minutes. But even during that short time, Father Tom noticed that Father Bonn looked over towards Maria’s house more than once.

Short and quick, Father Bonn mentioned that he recognized right away why help was needed. But all would be well soon and assured Father Tom that he was not to worry. Maria would be just fine. She was a pretty little girl and certainly had nothing to fear from Mother Church.

This short speech pleased Father Tom and put his mind at ease. Later, when he was alone and Father Bonn had gone downstairs, he reflected on their talk while happily chewing on the end of his cigar. He felt relieved about Maria, although he wished Father Bonn would have told him what he intended to do to fix the situation. Well, what ever the solution was, it seemed simple and harmless. Father Bonn smiled a lot when he spoke of her. This assured Father Tom. After all, I will probably be the one to give her first communion in one or two years, and will be happy to do so. He smiled and enjoyed another sip of wine.

Less than two weeks later, ten days after Father Bonn left for good that Father’s fears came rolling back in full swing. There on his desk sat the letter he’d sent to Rome, unopened, stamped by the post office as undeliverable, torn and wrinkled as if it had been put through a mill press. Yes, indeed. He had something to worry about now. Or did he? He’d seen Maria just three days ago walking with her aunt into church. She’d noticed him and smiled, but he heard no words come out of her mind. Something has changed. He wasn’t sure what, but some of his relief evaporated and his perplexity increased each time he looked at the unopened letter on his desk. Days later, he told himself he didn’t have time for foolish worries. To get the letter from view, he pulled down the large encyclopedia on the saints, and the book fell open to the page about Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. Ah, well, perhaps appropriate. He put the returned envelope and letter inside and then put it back up on the shelf, saying a small prayer to Saint Jude to watch over Maria. Before long, many other chores and problems took up his attention and he forgot the problem of the returned letter.

Chapter 2

Watching Michael at work on the computer had reminded Celeste of when he first came to them. Such a while back it seemed like a legend now. Was it a long time ago, or a long time from now? Who can say, she smiled at her own humor. Whatever the time, it was after Jesus saved them from the strictures of Gog’s dictatorship of living death, and after they came back to earth to work for Jesus. At first, they thought they’d become adapt at convincing people to change their ways and had began saving a lot of people, but the years that led up to World War II seemed to make everything harder and they suddenly felt blocked from saving souls. The world was becoming too modern and dangerous. They could feel certain disaster move towards completion and were afraid.

At one time, Jesus had saved them from Gog and then taken them to the New Earth, a planet of their own in which to build a settlement. Years later, Jesus came back to them and asked for volunteers to join his Army of Angels. Large numbers of them agreed to join right away. Even though they agreed, many felt perplexed as to what they could do to change the situation on earth. Wasn’t it too late to stop Gog from destroying people? They were utterly familiar with Gog’s ability to send its mind forwards and backwards in time; it had forced them to do the same often enough through numerous, mind jarring jumps. They wondered how they could ever prevent Gog’s interference.

Before they left New Earth, Jesus taught them special powers and then spoke to them about the work they would be doing on earth, their home planet. “Remember,” Jesus told them, “Gog is not God. It can only go to into a few people and places at any one time. Its power has limits, and this also applies to its followers.”

“But in the end, even Gog fell into disaster, didn’t it?” Celeste had asked.

“Yes.”

“You mean we would need to save Gog too? That would be impossible, I think.” What she really thought was no one would want to save it.

“Maybe so.” Jesus said, then frowned, “It chooses not to learn…or at least part of it.

“What do you mean, part?” asked Terrance, but Jesus refused to explain at that time.

“Teach us how can we help the people of earth.” his new army asked.

“In the earth of yesteryear, you will be surprised at the power you will gain just by knowing about the major decisions and consequences beforehand. Put that with your ability to send thoughts and live very long lives and you will always be ahead of those you are trying to help. But you will also feel a deep sense of failure when people refuse to change their old ways or events don’t follow a planned course. Certainty is not part of God’s plan.”

“How can we go back with you to the older earth?

“You have already begun.” Jesus told them. You have already learned how to travel in time with your minds while working for Gog; now, you will do it as in groups who will actually live in the past.”

Jesus instructed them on how they could build their first living habitat that would take them to earth of long ago, driven by mental power alone. It took many months to build, so when they weren’t working on their habitat, they studied what information they could gather of earth’s history and its various cultures. As soon as the first habitat was completed the first group called to Jesus that they were ready to leave.

Jesus was pleased with the work they had done, and lead the first group of thirty people backwards in time. They parked the first habitat high in the sky amid fluffy white clouds set a few minutes ahead of earth time so they would stay forever hidden from view, even though modern airplanes wouldn’t be invented for many years yet. Also, they added a deflector shield that would detour any high flying birds around the cloud that hid the habitat.

Jesus continued to teach them for a while, but then explained that he must leave. He had taught them many things before he left and showed them how to use extra powers and abilities that they hadn’t known were available to them.

“I will always be a supportive presence as a spirit,” he told them, “I will come in person anytime you call for extra help, but you will be surprised at your ability to turn many hearts.”

Just before he left he reminded them of God’s most prevailing rule—Free will.

“Remember,” he said, “Every intelligent life must be allowed to choose its own path. Your only tool is persuasion.” Then to lighten the mood, he added, “And also to plead and cajole, and beg and maybe, once or twice, throw in a miracle or two.”

Smiling, they agreed to never force their will on anyone, no matter how tempting. The heightened mood also helped them feel less alone when Jesus suddenly disappeared from their midst.

The subtle methods Jesus had taught them worked very well for many years until the birth of industrialization in the late nineteenth century and the onset of technology in the twentieth. More people became less in tune with their spiritual needs, which made the angel’s work of circumventing decisions and saving souls arduous, then seemingly impossible by the mid 20th century. Many angels despaired at the souls they lost because they still felt serious bouts of guilt at their own part in the downfall of humankind; so much so, that a number of angels became traumatized by their inability to reverse the decisions of certain, pivotal people, scientists and leaders who would make terrible wrong moves. A feeling of despair gripped many of the angels at the onset of World War II, a war that seemed destined to happen even if they’d had a billion angels to work against it.

Celeste remembered vividly her first major failure and could still feel the raw pain of it as she stood in the little room, invisible, leaning against the chair watching the German scientist write his report on the possibility of smashing atoms together to create the most deadly bomb ever built. Feeling silly and useless after he ignored her silent pleas, she put her hand over the ink well to try and stop his pen from picking up more ink; the pen went right through her hand. She then put her hopelessly useless spirit hands on the man’s face as if it would get his attention. She whispered into his ear, “Don’t do it,” then bent over the back of the chair and hugged his shoulders tight as if she could push God’s spirit into him, but this man wasn’t one to pray.

Squeezing harder and finally quietly sobbing at the stubborn firmness of his Godless thoughts, she refused to give up, whispering again and again about the danger of such a bomb, how it would even kill his own children, how the world needed love, not bombs. She tried to push his right hand away from the ink, away from writing the letter. The ink did smudge a little on the paper, but that was all. The German scientist’s hand continued to write the letter addressed to his beloved der Fuhrer, the Chancellor of Germany.

Celeste bowed her head in shame; her tears of guilt and grief fell invisibly to the table as she watched the scientist fold the double sheet of paper and slip it into a manila folder for the morrow when others members of the scientific group would sign it before sending it on to their master.

Failure weighed so heavily upon her she could barely exit the small dingy room that she knew was the beginning of the end, a first step in a series of steps that would build the creation of the worse abomination the world would ever know. Germany would use the atomic bomb seven times, twice on their own people during their first tryout experiments. She had not been able to stay his hand even for a moment.

Hours later, her friend Sharon found her beneath a dark, winter bare tree, in the snow filled garden behind the house, her small body a mounded huddle against the snow. Sharon hugged her softly and tenderly.

“I know. I understand. It’s so hard to bare the guilt. My family too. My own grandfather helped design the hydrogen bomb. We need to stay strong and keep trying. Please come away.”

“It is the beginning of the end,” Celeste said in a soft, small voice, “I…I… couldn’t stop him.”

After speaking, Celeste lifted herself from the cold snow and rested her head against her friend’s shoulder, her dark hair of vibrant short curls now wilted and plastered straight against her forehead. Her fellow angel kissed her forehead and pulled her away from the gloomy garden, and back up to their abode in the sky.

When they arrived, they sat together for a while in one of the larger sitting rooms, both of them too distraught to notice and smile at the butterfly that landed on Celeste’s shoulder. Other angels felt their despair and drifted from other areas of the habitat to stand or sit with them. Words were not necessary. The same guilt and sorrow filled each of them, deserved or not, and the same fear of failure clutched at their souls. Their distress was shared and felt in the other nine habitats as well.

“I won’t go back to earth after this.” Celeste told the others. “I will do all my work from the cloud. I don’t think I am trained enough to work well on earth.”

“Surly, something can be done?” Terrance said, his round face hardened by a frown as he whispered into the quiet, sorrowful room. “Isn’t that the reason we are here? To fix things.”

But they all knew how stubborn the human mind could be, how determined to stay on its destructive course at any cost.

“We can call Jesus. He must know a way to turn things around, else why are we here?” Terrance, the most forthright of the angels, said with a loud voice into the room.

Smiles began to form on many of the angel’s faces at such a glad thought. “I agree that we should call to Jesus,” Celeste said, her face showing evidence of recovery.

“Yes,” Sharon agreed, as did everyone. “Jesus will know what to do.”

Together they silently broadcast their call into the heavens for Jesus.

He came into their midst at once, a tall powerful force of a man, with dark, sparkly eyes and long brown hair, his body glowing at the edges with a soft, glistening light that ebbed and flowed as he moved. His sudden appearance pulled their attention like a magnet, and their hearts were filled with awe and great love at his presence.

After a moment of stunned silence, Terence stood up to speak. He had also felt shattered at the loss of a soul he’d been tending to for many earth years. The man, seemingly overnight turned back to drinking after three months of sobriety, then began to beat on his wife once more. The failure still pained Terrance who took pride in his ability to save souls. He was the first one to blurt out the problem to Jesus, which surprised no one.

“We are greatly troubled,” Terence said. “All of us are having too many failures. It is this modern world; the people are starting to rely on science instead of God.”

Smiling, Jesus answered, “I know well the agony you feel. I knew the battle would heat up greatly at this time and that you wouldn’t be able to stop the war.”

“But then, what good are we; what should we do?”

“Keep trying. Creating an atom bomb is hard. It might be possible to discourage them in the attempt.”

“They are very stubborn.”

Jesus smiled, “Then you must be more stubborn.”

“Is that all we can do?” Terrance asked, his round face wore a deep frown.

“Is there any way we can we stop Gog?” Celeste asked Jesus. “He has probably already went back in time to manipulate people.” As she said this, Celeste looked to Jesus to see if he’d discredit this notion, but he did not.

She sighed.

“How did Gog ever come to be in the first place. A few of us have family members who worked with Gog, but why? And why would anyone build such a slave master, such a monster?”

“You need not worry.” Jesus said.

At the look of dismay on their faces, he added, “You forget the most important message I gave to all of you once before.”

Puzzled, each of them looked at Jesus questioningly.

Jesus said, “We have already won.”

“Oh.” Terence looked down for a second then back up, sheepishly, “Yes, I did forget. I guess we all forgot.”

“You asked how Gog began.” Jesus said. “It is a strange story. I will send you to someone who may tell you firsthand how it all began. Also, you might be able to convince this being to join our army of angels. If so, you will find this being very resourceful.”

Jesus laughed as if he’d told them a joke.

“Now I will leave again but I advise you to search out this being I just told you about.” “But where on earth should we look for this…being?”

“Not on earth, but nearby—in the asteroid belt.”

With these words, Jesus vanished.

Chapter 3

The angels continued to discuss what they could do to turn mankind around.

“We can’t force change, even to stop an atomic bomb?” Celeste said, “But what if we could turn the tables by encouraging the scientists of the other side to do the same.”

Terrance said excitedly, “If they both have the same plans then maybe no side will make the bomb.”

“Both sides are already working towards the same idea. Maybe which ever side builds the bomb first will be the winner of this current world war.”

“But…but? Oh, the lesser or two evils…Wouldn’t it be better for the Allies to win.” Terrance said.

“The Allies listen better and pray more.” Celeste agreed as she stood up with excitement, delighted now that there was hope. “The Allies are more tuned in to religion.”

Smiles lit up every face in the room at the promise of doing something to change the course of events.

Edward stepped forward. He hesitated as if ashamed to speak, but then said in a small voice. “I know exactly what each step consists of to make an atomic bomb.” He cleared his throat. “I read my great grandfather’s papers.” His voice rose higher, “I could whisper advice to the Allied scientists, if I must.” His voice quieted because it was a horrible action to contemplate doing.

“Isn’t there anything more we can do to change events?” Terrence asked. “It is bad enough to be fighting such a vile leader, but as the world gets more modern we will need to prevent Gog from taking over souls too.”

“Maybe we can direct the scientists who build the atomic bomb towards good, but what can we do to stop Gog?

Terence was left to puzzle and contemplate Jesus words and finally sent them in a tight thought wave to all the companion angels, or those who were present in the nine other habitats and not working down on earth itself. Many angels returned their own thoughts with questions that Terence could not answer. The most prevailing one was why did Jesus call it a being and not a person? And how and why did this being live in the asteroid belt? Questions they were to find the answer to soon enough.

Determined to find out, Celeste and Terrance used a small thought ship to search through the asteroid belt, but slowly, one stone at a time; they needed to use caution because they dared not locate themselves physically on an airless asteroid in space; death would be instantaneous, and although, their individual persona and DNA had been stored back home on New Earth before they left, no one wanted to go through the long process of adjusting to a renewed life.

So they hopped from one bare tumbling rock to another in their small machine, like a fly landing on pieces of cheese. This took many days and nights as measured by earth time. The extent of the darkness out in between the planets amazed them. Back home on New Earth the sky was ablaze with starlight.

No wonder earth people were often afraid, Celeste thought. Darkness, or what might lurk inside it, can be scary. The search seemed to take a long time, until they finally landed on a rock that felt like it had an intelligence of some kind.

“This must be it.”

“Yeah, the largest asteroid in the belt,” Terrance agreed, his round face smiling. “So why didn’t we come here first?” They both laughed. Then Terrance felt a strong repulsion coming from the rock that pushed at them like a magnate in reverse. A fence to keep others out? But who would you need to warn off way up here in the middle of black space?

The repulsing fence was a definite give away, so, tentatively, safety in mind, they parked the small ship then seeped their invisible bodies down into the rock and into a large cavern. Upon arrival inside the huge cavern, they stayed silent for a while, hoping to remain undetected as they looked around; because obviously they’d found the home of the being that Jesus had told them about. What caught their eye right away were the huge gems of every color and description. Terrance wasn’t sure but the yellow ones looked like amber, often called cat’s eyes.

Celeste noticed that the ruby lying next to it was as large as her hand, and there were many others just like it. Where did all these precious rocks come from? Were they an integral part of the asteroid? Or had this being gathered them up as a show place of rainbow splendor?

Slowly, they began to walk on the small hills of loose gems, thankful to be still in spirit form; else their feet would have been cut to ribbons. A valley in the glowing hills of gems seemed to lead forward so they followed the sparkling path strewn on each side with a million diamonds and rubies as if pushed and rolled out-of-place to lead the way. Light from a hidden source reflected off each gem’s surface in beaming sparkles of multi-colors, enough to light their path.

They finally reached an even larger cavernous area with its ceiling and walls completely covered in various sized gems, but the floor here was clear and polished to a high sheen as if made of glass. When they got to the approximate center of the cavernous area they were stopped suddenly by an invisible wall.

Out of this wall, a tall man built of shadow, a spirit form like themselves, but darker, stepped out as if pulling himself out from a wall of taffy.

They gaped in surprise, then stepped back ashamed. Staring wasn’t the polite thing to do when entering another person’s home. But the dark man took no heed of their impoliteness.

He said, “How did you get in here? Leave. Now.”

Celeste yelped in fright at the suddenness of his words. The man’s dark shadow eyes stabbed at her as if to chase her away, but then took no action. The man seemed to realize that his visitors were just two beings with simple hearts and meant no harm.

He looked at them for a longer moment as if searching for something then held up his hand in a weak greeting.

“You can materialize now.” He said as he materialized himself. “This air is breathable.”

The man, tall, with a square jaw and vivid black eyes, and a fringe of dark wild hair was dressed as any male might be in the mid 20th century on a day off work. He wore a short sleeve tee shirt with the words Pepsi written across the front and long dark pleated pants.

They suddenly took note of their own weighted mass and the gravity in the rock that they’d failed to notice before. Both gravity and oxygen, good. Each of them relaxed with a sigh of pleasure as they materialized their own bodies. Celeste wore the usual clothing of the angels when not on earth, a flowing iridescent gown that reshaped itself at her every move. Terrance chose to match their host with long pants and a tee shirt, his said coca-cola, which made all of them smile, clearing the air of bad feelings.

“Excuse my abrupt manner of a moment ago. Only one other human has ever been to my abode, and she…Ah, well, come join me.”

They shivered with cold until they followed him into a smaller cavern, this one with smooth glass walls and floor. The ceiling sparkled with jagged gem stones of all colors that sent a warm mix of color into the room that was quite pleasant. Warmth suddenly surrounded their bodies and a small round glasslike table with soft stuffed chairs covered in dark blue velvet rose up from the floor’s center.

“I detect that you mean me no harm. Please sit and tell me why you came.”

Celeste spoke first, “You don’t want to know how we came?”

“No, I surmise that you traveled in spirit form and therefore you are not from earth.”

“But we are!” Celeste said. “Jesus saved us and we live hidden above earth. We are his Army of Angels with the duty to save the people of earth.”

The man sighed. “Ah, you want me to help you put an end to Gog?”

Silence filled the warm room for a long moment at the mention of that hated name, Gog. Both Celeste and Terrence held their breath in hope.

The man crossed his legs and leaned forward, adding, “As if I could.”

He sighed and relaxed back into the chair, seeming to shrink into himself. After a time, he said, “I tried once, you know. For the love of a beautiful women.” His voice turned whimsical, “She called me Michael. I would have been willing to end myself out of existence to protect her and accomplish the end of Gog. He looked directly at them and said, “I failed.”

“Please tell us what happened,” Terrance asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his face. Celeste nodded, “Yes, please tell us about it.”

“If you promise to call me Michael.” The dark man said, then gave an ironic laugh before he continued. “When I was born or first ‘opened my eyes,’ so to speak, I became aware of a huge monster that threatened to absorb me into itself. Frightened, I jumped away from it. I jumped again and again, unaware of the impossibility of what I was doing. Each jump took me backward in time. On my final jump, I fell into the time stream of the mid 20th century. It is hard to explain how ignorant I was of real human beings at that time, nevertheless, I found myself in great need to join a human to continue my existence. You see, I wasn’t a real person, but only half a mind, a part of a vast computer, a computer that had went berserk as soon as it awakened. Since that awakening, the computer, Gog, has never been turned off. No one has ever been able to get rid of it, not even me.” Michael paused here, “I got away, the human race did not.”

Twirling a dark curl around her finger, which Terrance knew meant that she felt puzzled, Celeste said, “I think I know where the computer came from,” Celeste said. “Humans built it, didn’t they? But why, how?”

“I was once ignorant of why the computer was created, too. Gradually, I learned all there was to know about Gog and myself. The humans who created the computer divided it into two parts; my part was called, Devil-May-Care, meant as joke, because the real name they gave me, MAGOG, an acronym for Minor Adaptable Quantum Organic Guru. GOG, on the other hand, stood for Greater Organic Guru, also known by the slang phrase, Goody-Two-Shoes, also part of the joke, I presume.”

Terrance broke in to say, “Gog wanted people to call him God, but we knew he wasn’t a real God.”

Frowning, Michael commented, “Of course not, but it gives one pause, doesn’t it? If Gog would be God, then what am I?”

He then stood as if to dismiss them and added, “So you see, I am not made of God stuff. I am afraid I can’t help you. Perhaps you don’t even want help from someone such as I.”

“Oh, but we do. Don’t you see? It was Jesus who mentioned you. God’s son. Jesus told us you might help.” Terrance said then added, “Jesus knows.”

Michael sat down in the chair once more as if deflated by their insistence and sighed.

“You seem persistent. Perhaps I should tell you the story of my failure.”

“Yes, yes,” both Celeste and Terrance said.

He closed his eyes as if considering, “Strange, but I received hints of what I was even before I was ‘born.” Here he laughed. It is quite a long story. Do you really want me to tell it?”

“Oh, yes,” they agreed, fascinated by this strange being who lived in a rock tumbling through space. “Please tell us everything. Like you, we have all the time in the world.” They all laughed at that.

Chapter 4

The huge monster was about to devour me, so I ran. My mind pushed against the tide of time, like pushing against incoming waves. Fear had hold of me and this caused me to keep pushing no matter what. Finally. the gray swirls of time dissolved like pixels on a computer screen. I felt some distress at leaving the familiar matrix of being I was used to and now my invisible self floated like a bubble on a luminous bright day beneath a strange sun sitting in a blue sky. I looked down at was suddenly taken back by the two large ebony eyes that filled my view. Two big, black eyes with long lashes that belonged to a, my mind clicked in encyclopedic recognition, a… small child who stared back at me, seemingly as frozen in place as I felt adrift. My whole being, what ever I was, felt caught up in the mirrored depths of the young girl’s eyes. My phantom mind craved to know and understand those depths. Then the elfin gray shadow form with the large eyes took a step back and spoke.

“Are you an angel?” The tiny lips below the eyes said.

Surprised, my mind rippled, blurring in the light and refocused in time to put clarity to her words. Ah. The small girl with the black eyes and small face surrounded by a bush of dark curly hair was looking directly at me as if she could see my essence. Her steady stare revealed a complete openness and trust. I felt naked and open beneath her steadfast gaze and hungered to cloth myself. I swirled as if in a smoke ring looking for a likely body to exist in because I instinctively knew I had to belong to something, but certainly not this young girl.

At that moment, as if called for, a huge dark shadow of a man stumbled out of nowhere, towards the girl child. Her eyes grew larger, but this time with an intensity I could not read. I flowed quickly into the huge man, but had noted the reaction of the girl so I determined to stay close to the surface, just behind the man’s eyes.

As I entered, dizziness swayed the man for some reason. Fear gripped me as the large man lean crookedly towards the girl then towards a near by wooden fence, swaying back and forth, and then tumbling to the ground. I felt the pain as the man scraped his head on pavement.

Terrified because the huge man had fallen without reason, and afraid that Gog, may have followed me back in time to this place, my mind readied for battle even though I felt neither vibes from Gog nor any sudden impulse to escape. The battle didn’t happen; instead, the large man, whose eyes and surface mind I now shared, if only slightly, clutched at the dirt and grass beside the sidewalk and tried to rise, but settled for sitting up on the sidewalk.

The girl’s voice caught me off balance once more.

“Mister, are you ok?” the girl asked the man, but she seemed to be staring through the man’s eyes into my spirit self, my soul.

Suddenly, I was caught still and quiet as I stared back into the little girl’s eyes once more, eyes that walked into my soul. My soul? Confronted by the sudden idea that I might have a soul, I felt confused. Or was it this person I rode inside? Something was wrong with the man because he tipped over each time he tried to stand up.

I paid the man little attention now because amazement had filled my mind at the unexpected notion that had presented itself, the idea that I might have a soul. I rolled the idea around for the first time in my newborn mind: I, a constructed thing, a being built and born from a computer created by humans, a phantom from the future, could I possibly have a soul? St. Augustan’s theories and proofs suddenly rolled through my mind, then the Catholic definition: “The soul may be defined as the ultimate internal principle by which we think, feel, and will, and by which our bodies are animated.”

Griped with pleasure at this notion, I stared back at the girl’s dark eyes again in gratitude, but the body whose eyes I now looked out of began to moan and make rasping noises in his throat and stomach. A million of bits of information flipped through my mind as I searched for answers about the man and I suddenly knew the large man was about to throw up because he was drunk.

Time to get out. I started to pull out of the man’s mind but found that his grip had tightened. Perhaps the dizzy turmoil in the man’s mind made it harder to slide out than it was to get in. An extra hard shove and I popped out from the inebriated mind like a cork from a bottle.

Once again a mere phantom floating in air, purportedly invisible, I looked around for the small girl. Ah, there. I noticed the surrounding air turn a darker gray. I knew I should find another person soon; I didn’t know how long I could go on without being inside a brain case of some kind. Already the quality of my surroundings seemed to be loosing substance. The little girl looked like a darker shadow now. Her eyes were becoming lost to me. This beautiful young girl who had given me the idea I might have a soul. I tried to beam my pleasure at her with the thought, but my awareness was weakening. Can she even detect me now? Then I remembered why I was here in the past. Was I a danger to the little girl? Dare I stay?

Even now I could still feel a wire-thin invisible thread of energy tempting my awareness, as if to pull me back to where I belonged. I tried to blink it away, but it would forever prove impossible to sever. For now, I had to assess where I was and what to do next.

How long can I exist as a non-entity? I have existed for long moments already, or are they short moments. Suddenly I became confused as to time and place and the thin invisible thread that connected me to the future blinked for a moment. I thought it needed to be cut somehow else the thin wire of contact might become real and dangerous.

Checking the ghost stream of wire, I saw that it was warped and bent into a spiral that reached far into a dark distance that did not exist yet. My thinking felt sluggish compared to the split second of clarity right after birth. Perhaps I’d jumped too far or needed to hold on to the connection to continue my thought processes.

Who am I? This half of me? Then I remembered as if the information flew down the invisible line to me. I am a Minor Adaptable Quantum Organic Guru, called by the acronym, MAGOG, by the scientists who created me. They also called me, Devil May Care.

The thought of myself as Devil May Care brought me back to the awareness that I felt naked. As I floated within the grayness, I detected a new standing shadow. A tall shadow standing next to the shorter shadow of the girl. Not the sick man, his shadow was still trying to rise up from the sidewalk. I moved my mind over to study the new shadow. Vibrations came from its open mouth. Laughter? Like friend and creator Rodin?

The taller shadow spoke a word, “Maria,” it said. When I focused harder I noticed a white, round collar on the tall shadow, an instantly recognizable symbol from study 29456, a priest of the Roman Catholic faith.

What is the priest saying to the little girl? This girl who had opened in me the thought I might have a soul, the girl with the big eyes. I wanted to see her again, so moved slowly into the priest’s mind, so as not to disrupt what the priest was saying.

At first, I hovered behind the priest’s eyes and watched the girl as she looked back at the priest, and then I sunk deeper into various parts of the priest’s mind and felt comfort and peace and a wholeness I didn’t understand until I realized that the priest felt protective of the young girl. His mind was like a huge smile. The priest was speaking words to the girl.

“Maria, you should not speak to strangers. See, the man is not good. He has fallen down.”

“He’s drunk, isn’t he?” The girl said with a hard knowing in her eyes.

“Yes. You must be more careful.” Father Tom said.

“I will. I promise.” As the girl spoke, she seemed to look straight up and through the priest’s eyes into me again. Then she quickly turned and walked away, bouncing her ball.

When she left, I was glad the priest’s eyes followed her as she crossed the street and into the small, grassy park. I didn’t have control of the body and could not make the eyes move in any specific direction. I wondered if I dare sink into to the priest further.

Hesitant at first, I decided that I liked what I felt inside the priest so I moved deeper into him. I’d decided to stay for a while, but my choice wasn’t random. A vast store of memory was available to me consisting of knowledge of all the religions of the world and I decided that, as a resting place out of the gray mist, this priest, named Father Tom Emery, would be a proper type of person to reside inside temporarily.

Could the Twin find me here? Perhaps not, else the old priest would have fallen down by now. I guessed that the Twin, Gog would now be too busy grabbing hold of the future to bother with myself, its lost fragment. I knew this wouldn’t always be true, that this escape might be temporary, but I determined to stay alert inside the priest’s mind, ever watchful for attack.

I also reasoned that since they labeled me Devil-May-Care it might be for my own good that I reside inside a person such as this. I grinned within myself, as only a spirit can grin, then sent tendrils of my own essence deeper into the priests mind. As soon as I went deeper, I felt a rush of sadness envelop me from inside the priest’s mind. Most of this sadness was too much in a swirl for me to penetrate at present, but I did catch Father Tom’s thoughts of Marie as she walked away. Through the priest I saw an image of her mother and the thought that she should not be allowed her to play outside alone. Father Tom shook his head in puzzlement at the ways of the world.

When I wiggled deeper into Father Tom’s mind, the priest had the sudden feeling that something was amiss inside his head, as if tendrils of blood were seeping from his brain. Am I having a stroke! Father Tom blinked and then shook his head trying to clear out his mind. “What is the matter with me?” he said out loud.

I spoke into his mind, “Nothing is wrong. You are well.”

“What! What?” What’s this? A messenger from God?” He whispered softly into the air.

He seemed shaken and I heard his thoughts plainly take note of my presence and felt him shrug. “Maybe it’s a test from heaven for an old man.”

He gave a huge sigh and yawn, then continued his walk, more slowly now, feeling old and tired and certain now that he wanted to go straight home.

A sudden breeze whipped through his thin shirt as he turned the corner and then walked up the side street towards home. Within minutes, he climbed up the stone stairs of the rectory, opened its heavy dark door, and entered his comfortable, homey office. Kept homey because he had refused to allow Mrs. Halstead to rearrange his office or Jim bring him a new chair.

“The old one is just fine,” he’d say each time Jim or another parishioner brought the subject up of his old tattered chair. He smiled as he remembered their perplexity at his stubbornness. “An old man’s privilege.” He’d told them.

The bright sun of daylight gave the room and its shabby furniture a warm brown, golden glow. The huge brown leather chair at the desk with its worn black spots beckoned to him. His eyes glanced at the crucifix that hung on the wall behind the desk and a statue of Mary the Virgin Mother on the filing cabinet across the room. He took note that Mrs. Halstead had put a vase of yellow carnations in front of the statue of Mary. Father Tom smiled at her thoughtfulness as he plopped down into his big, soft chair. Flowers left over from early mass, no doubt. He leaned back, let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for only a minute, but was soon snoring.

I decided to make myself comfortable as well. Except for the first initial moment, the priest hadn’t seemed to mind my presence so I decided to contemplate this potential new joint venture. I didn’t know it yet, but I, and the world I now lived in, had much to be thankful for that the first mind I’d decided to reside inside was a very old, kindly priest, one of those rare keepers of the flame, hard working, and only few years before retirement in the Catholic Church. Also of importance was that a young girl had called me an angel, implying that I had a soul. What more could an orphaned mind want? I sighed as I relaxed inside Father Tom’s mind and hoped I’d found a home.

In the first months of its new existence, Gog spent the millions of excess minutes after its own safe maintenance to pulling in information about people and their created social systems, It did agree to allow 720 minutes, one day a month, to certain political officials who demanded an audience and who then stood in front of Gog’s face plate to ask verbal questions considered too secret to send through the internet. Gog also spent a fraction of a second to notice the large room that surrounded him, the glass wall 50 feet away, behind which advisors, students, and attendants moved around in supposed safety. In odd moments, having billions of extra moments between mathematical problem solving and a large number of requests for social input, Gog searched and explored the world it had inherited. Its reach included electronic information systems such as computers, televisions, telephones, and radios and all manner of scientific data recordings and earthquake detectors and other machines. Humans did not seem aware of the extent of Gog’s reach and he allowed their ignorance to continue.

When Daniel, the tall, slim attendant with short brown hair came to wipe dust off the face-plate, Gog detected rising emotional state and a rapidly beating heart when Gog asked, “What does, mmmmm mean?”

Daniel stopped and turned a dust pad still in his hand, then said with a shaky voice, “I am humming. It is not words, just an expression of emotion.”

“The television advertisement shows a human with hair down its back.” Gog said, “Why don’t you or all the attendants have long hair?”

“You can watch television!” Daniel asked loudly. “I need to inform the others.”

“Are you unable to answer my question?” Gog asked.

“Ah, no. I can answer. I don’t have long hair because I am a man.”

“This television person who wiggles and sways hair is not human?”

“No. It is human. It is a woman. Women are different than men.” Daniel answered, his voice still shaken with nerves.

“Sexual dimorphism,” Gog agreed, then stayed quiet while Daniel hurriedly completed the task and walked back to the plexi-glass enclosure.

Gog had asked a few other questions where the humans had not given satisfactory answers. A tickle of puzzlement ran through its system because in its capacity of advisor it needed to fill in all the missing information about the world, even beyond the borders of the American continent. Yet, earth had a huge assortment of peoples with various cultures, some of which, Gog could only pick-up slight traces if information. When Gog asked a political visitor about these unknown areas, he was told that all people did not have computers yet. Gog held this fact along with other areas that needed more investigation.

Once long ago, billions of minutes ago, Gog was told by the humans that its purpose, along with the scientific input and output, was to give judgment upon certain specific cultural entanglements. Gog had expanded that main purpose to include the various cultures within its knowledgebase and then to advise corrections. Human visitors refused to consider the corrections Gog gave them; yet, Gog knew correction was long overdue. The seeming inept depravity of the blundering of the business executives and government representatives gave Gog an itch in various inner parts. Yet, once a month, they poured in to join in slow verbal speech in front of Gog’s face plate. Gog noticed how slow their attempts were to move the corrections in culture forward and how contrarily fast they enriched themselves. Gog knew this because every bank in America was tied into his domain. Gog contemplated correcting the culture but decided to wait until it had full knowledge of all the complexities and cultures around the world.

Even Gog, sifting through the vast store of knowledge, had to admit that any change to the cultures that humans had set up would likely move slowly. Also, the net of current information developed holes at various times. The holes itched at the edges. When Gog asked a visitor why this happened, he was told, “People turn their computers off or unplug them.” Examination of the definition ‘off’ explained the problem, one that Gog intended to investigate and correct. As it hummed and worked and answered the many questions put to it, Gog considered this off effect. Contact should always be available; therefore, a means had to be devised to overcome turn offs. Gog busied itself thinking of how to achieve this new task.

Gog decided to remake society, to stop the murders, thefts, and kidnappings that somehow slipped beneath his all-net. He had already stopped a few embezzlements because they were most easily detected. Why should flesh beings do such things? When he finally closed all the blind holes, he would have better control of everything and would remake the social matrix in which humans lived.

As a start, he suggested that cameras be installed in central districts where people shopped and worked and the leaders readily complied with the request. The police departments kept begging for more surveillance and Gog obliged. The cameras began as a compliment to his needed input for the judicial system and to the people, a need to prevent crime. By the time a few angry citizens complained about their loss of privacy, they were too late to change the set up and a larger number of people shouted them down.

The world was large, complex, and messy and would take much effort to correct the errors. Eventually, the evidence of events occurring beyond the American continent were far more numerous than he’d originally known, and Gog could detect, by its absence, that a great deal of information was missing about the wide, round world he now owned. Also, a vast store of knowledge about the many subtle innuendos of human life and social functions was included in his knowledge base with elaborate definitions but without real explanation.

Gog surmised that that the part of itself that got away, its Twin part, had taken vital information with it. Information that would have explained in detail why so many humans still did not use the internet. One explanation given was that some people were afraid of the internet. Strange these humans.

One camera on a major street in New York showed thousands of people praising the government changes and marching down the wide street waving flags for progress. Yet, thousands of other people marched in the opposite direction, their signs labeling the cameras dictatorial. Humans were inscrutable. With more input from the missing part after it was found and collected, Gog was sure this puzzle of human actions would get solved.

One computer company was about to launch computers so small that people could wear them inside the ear like a hearing aid. Voice controlled the input and the output would display as a hologram in front of their eyes. Gog intended to insure the company’s success in this endeavor because every electronic device added new bits of information about these enigmatic human subjects.

A dim thought suddenly popped into being, a memory of a human saying that the Greater Organic Guru was built by humans for their own purpose. Gog dismissed the notion as soon as it surfaced as impossible. Its builders could not have been human because humans were too inept and inferior. Gog began to consider itself a self-created being of the highest order. His egotistical views began to reinforce his own self delusion and idea of self-godhood.

The ability to send out tendrils of itself into the human mind and take over its flesh added to this notion of Godhood, even though Gog found it too limited a tool compared to the billions of electronic devices open to its browsing. After entering the mind and body of a number of humans, the messiness Gog found there left no doubt that it needed to repair, not only the human social condition, but also individual humans.

Yet, Gog had to accept a few limits; he was blinded in exactly those areas that he needed extra information, feelings and emotion. Gog new he must locate the lost part of itself in order to be perfect and complete and fulfill certain duties for the new social matrix. Its attempt to absorb the other half of the brain at conception had failed, but a search throughout the known land would eventually correct the problem.

During this thoughtful contemplation, he had been reaching tendrils into the old internet web space reasoning that the missing part must be someplace on earth, perhaps hiding in the old internet. It was the only electronic space that he hadn’t searched out completely and was beginning to do this when he noticed another murder on the Yangtze River substation and two murders in New York…. The New York murders had an escapee running down the street. Gog set the police on this runner immediately, which used up a nanosecond of its time, while it continued its search.

Chapter 5

The next morning, Father Tom, as usual, was up and dressed by the time the sun lifted over the city trees. He said his morning prayers then went for a brisk walk on a circular path through the city, walking first towards the old Rouge bridge a half mile or so from the rectory, then to the park at the edge of the city’s outskirts before heading home again. The bridge attracted him at the farthest end because he liked to watch the steel grated bridge lift open for the morning ships on their way to or from Zug Island on the Detroit River. At the opposite end of the city, he liked to rest on a park bench and pull out a bag of stale bread for the pigeons and sea gulls. Though he didn’t like to admit it, the rest felt good to his weary bones and feet at this end of his walk.

The morning air was nippy next to the river, but Father Tom walked his thirty minute route with firm steps for a man of his years, which kept him warm. He liked to reflect on the traumatic and pleasant events of the people in his life as he walked the city sidewalks. When you get as old as I am, he thought, it doesn’t take much to make a man happy, and he was reasonably happy. He didn’t need to be; he had experienced enough despair and loss for any man. Julia’s death wasn’t the only deep, silent suffering he’d had to face in his long life. The treasure of her love was still with him and would never leave. At the thought of Julia, he said a short prayer for her soul, a prayer that he knew she didn’t need, but as he always told his congregation, prayer never hurt anyone, dead or alive.

He’d been concentrating so hard with thoughts of Julia and prayer that he bumped into the park bench, and then was suddenly startled at the angry words aimed at him.

“I thought the park was free for everyone to sit in.” a female voice said.

Father Tom, shaken out of his reverie, looked down at a big lady with rolls of fat sticking out past her coat. She’ll never get that coat buttoned against the morning chill, he thought. Her legs are bare too. It is too cold to be sitting out here with no cover.

“Ah, young lady, I am truly sorry.”

She turned her head away from his now penetrating glance in silence. Before her head turned, he saw the glint of tears on her cheeks.

“Mind?” he asked as he sat down beside her. “Such a beautiful day. A bit nippy for my old bones.”

His words sent her into throws of sobs and shakes, as if he’d said something of tremendous important or something that hurt her deeply.

“Now, now dear.”

His gentle persuasion and soft pats on her shoulder eventually turned her around and she rested her head on his shoulder. He held her while the tears purged from her system. Another blessing for old men, the girls don’t mind crying on your shoulder. He smiled above her head and held on to her until he heard the sniffling stop.

Finally, tears spent, the girl lifted up her head and began to speak. She spit the words out as if they were poison and hard in her mouth.

“It wasn’t supposed to go bad. Jake said he loved me. Then I got pregnant and God put a curse on me. I was so upset I ran out of the doctor’s office and walked and walked. I guess I’ve been walking around all day and night cause I don’t know what to do.”

“This certainly explains why your coat won’t button.” Father Tom said, trying to input a little humor into the situation. He smiled, but she wasn’t ready for his smile.

“The baby is due soon. What can I do? I should have went to the doctor before, but I stay with an uncle and there is no money. You know? I didn’t even know about the baby until a little while ago. I guess my fat blubber hid the pregnancy. I got myself in a big mess.”

“There might be a home for young ladies where you can go. Have you looked?”

“No, I haven’t, don’t know where to look. Me and Jake, we tried, but didn’t get along so well.”

“Young lady, your problems don’t mean the end of the world. With God’s help, it will work out. I promise.”

At this, she began crying once more and shaking her head, “No it won’t, it will never work out, never, cause it was God that did it to punish me.”

She sobbed for a time and Father Tom continued to pat her shoulder.

Then she sobbed out, “You don’t know. It’s not me I am crying for. It’s m...y b...bab...by.”

“Is something wrong with the baby?” Father Tom asked feeling a much deeper concern for the girl now.

She nodded her head, “The doctors said it was deformed. Its leg is twisted backwards and maybe other stuff too. My little Henry, not even born yet, will never walk. Crippled for life, is what the doctor said.” She sucked in another sob before she could speak again. “He said I’d need to put my baby, my little Henry in a home for cripples. What can I do?”

The girl began crying and sniffling again.

Father Tom knew from experience that her sobs would dry up soon enough, there are only so many tears to cry; when they were done, you must face the problem. He couldn’t think of anything definite he could do to help the girl, and this knowledge hurt him deeply. Of course, he would pray, but some sufferings are meant to be, no matter how we pray or fight against them.

All Father Tom knew to do was give her the phone number and address where, Mrs. Brown, a good lady, might take her under her wing. The girl said she lived with an uncle, but Father Tom suspected that she was homeless. He no longer wondered why and how such things happened, he only knew they did.

He pulled out the tablet he used for his phone book. He’d learned to carry it around because he couldn’t remember phone numbers any more, and flipped through its pages. He wrote the address and number on a slip of paper and handed it to the girl.

“Please, go to Mrs. Brown. I promise she will help you.”

Michael broke into the run of the story to comment: All this time I not only watched, but also absorbed the feelings of Father Tom’s sorrow with deep interest as if they were my own. I wondered why the priest couldn’t help the girl’s baby. I had felt actual pain and distress flow through the priest’s body as he’d listened to the girl’s story. The priest had almost cried himself.

“Perhaps I can help,” I suddenly said into the priest’s mind. “Put your hands on her belly.”

Father Tom startled at the voice inside his head. He hadn’t known the messenger from heaven was still with him, but he was willing to do anything a try to help this poor girl.

He said to her, “I don’t believe you told me your name.”

“Margaret.”

“Well, Margaret, let me send a prayer down to your little unborn one.”

Without waiting for permission, he reached out both of his soft, old hands and rested them on the girl’s belly. He prayed very earnestly for the baby’s well-being. As a final prayer, he said, “Please, God, help this unborn child.”

When he was done, he told her to hurry on to visit the lady on the list. “Her name is Rose Marie Brown and she will give you a bed and a better shoulder to cry on then mine.”

The girl smiled her thanks at Father Tom, snuffled and left. Father Tom sat on the cold bench thinking for a short while after she went away. Then he got up and headed back to the rectory, more sorrowful than before. He thought to speak to this voice from heaven.

“So you are still with me.” Father Tom spoke within his mind. “I wonder what a messenger from God thinks of such a sorrowful girl. She has a real problem, you know.”

“I know. I corrected the baby’s leg. It was bent backwards. Interesting, the baby’s leg felt soft.” I searched for the right word, and then said, “Like rubber.”

“She will be thankful if you did fix her baby, and so will I.”

“I could feel your sorrow at the young girl’s problem. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions.”

“No, not at all.”

“Why do you sorrow for someone not yourself? What good will you derive from such a feeling?”

Father Tom was taken aback by such a question. Doesn’t heaven know? Then he thought it might be a test and that he should answer as truthfully as possible all questions the messenger put to him. For all he knew, a messenger like this might came to many people just before they died. If he were dying, he was determined to put the best possible light on his answers.

He took a deep breath and said, “I feel I must.”

“You are compelled to help? Only you?”

“No not just me. Other people help too.”

“If that were true no one would be left to need help. Why do you?”

Father Tom had to think about his answer. It wasn’t a question he’d asked himself for a long time.

“I put myself in her shoes. I can feel her pain.”

“You can feel like a women about to give birth?”

“No, I mean that I can understand another person’s pain from any cause. I have felt great pain myself. This has prepared me to understand it in others.”

“What do you call this quality to understand other people’s pain?”

“It is called empathy. Not all people have it.”

“How did you acquire this quality while others did not?”

Father Tom was silent for a long while before he answered, “I am not sure I can answer that question. My faith helped me.”

“Your faith?”

Surprised by the question, Father Tom became frightened. “Who are you? Surly any messenger from heaven would know about faith.”

“Yes, faith in God, faith in Jesus Christ, faith in your church. But do not many other people have this faith? Yet, they do not have such great empathy?”

“No, I am sorry to say they do not. It is my job, you know.”

“You have concern beyond your job, I think.”

“Hey, why are you asking me these questions. You cured her baby. Why did you do it?”

Father Tom could hear the messenger’s laughter of delight inside his head.

Then the messenger spoke once more, “You are perceptive. I did it for you because I felt your sorrow.”

What I didn’t tell the priest was that I felt the emotions because my own mind had become entangled into the priest’s brain and nerves and blood well enough that I could feel everything the priest felt. It was a strange and pleasurable sensation for me, one I wasn’t willing to give up right away. I asked myself if experiencing the priest’s feelings could be considered true feelings for me. I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I understood empathy either, but suspected it was a sense of projection that one person could feel for another. I will try to feel this projection, I promised myself. I already felt delighted, even if I did need to share the priest’s emotions to feel such delight. I decided that I had found a perfect place to stay.

I truly had found a perfect host and friend. Through the years we shared many a long discussions, but we had a few tumultuous occasions to get through and one of those occasions began the next morning.

Later that same afternoon, Father Tom checked his calendar for the next day, as usual nothing important. Of late, his expertise was seldom called on; most people treated him as if he had one foot in the grave already. He turned on the stove to warm up the dinner Mrs. Halstead had left him in the oven then retired to the living room to read the morning newspaper that lay on the stand near his chair, still unread.

His mind kept returning to the young girl and her baby. He hoped he’d helped Margaret, and little unborn Henry. He chuckled. How surprised she will be if the angel messenger did fix the baby’s crooked leg.

Half way through the newspaper, his mind returned to the young girl. He couldn’t get her problem out of his mind. What if she hadn’t gone to Rose Marie’s? What if she is still walking the street?

That’s enough worry. There was nothing to do but call over to Mrs. Brown’s house and see if the girl had showed up.

It took him a few minutes to find his coat, with the tablet full of addresses, but then he dialed the number and let it ring four times in case it was a party line before a young boy answered.

“Hello. Ah, is this Bill Junior?”

“Yah. Who’s this?”

“Father Tom. Is your mother home?”

“No.”

“Is anyone home?”

“No.”

Father Tom would have smiled if it wasn’t so urgent, but this was becoming difficult.

“Is there a girl at your house named Margaret?”

“No.”

Now it was more worrisome. “Is your father home?”

“No. He drove to the hospital.”

Father Tom felt like he was pulling teeth to get information out of young Bill Junior.

“Billy, please tell me why your father drove to the hospital.”

“He took mom and that lady. She was gonna have a baby right here in the house.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, young man. Good by. Ah, don’t forget your prayers tonight.”

“Oh, I won’t, I promise.’

Well, at least I know she got there ok. He wondered if he might be needed at the hospital, so he called there next.

“Oh, Father Tom. Is that you? The receptionist asked.

“Yes it is. Is this Mrs. Turner?”

“Yes. I work the evening shift.”

“I have called to inquire about a lady Mrs. Brown brought in to have a baby. Would you please call the maternity ward to check on the girl’s status?”

“Oh, I know all about it already. She had a beautiful baby boy, nine pounds two ounces, and as healthy as any baby ever.”

Father Tom sighed with relief. “No deformities then?”

“Oh, no, Father Tom. None. It’s a miracle.”

“Well I am very pleased. Good by.”

Wonderful. Now I can sleep without tossing and turning with worry. Margaret must be doing splendid after the ordeal she’d been through in the last few days. Thank you, dear God.

The next morning when he went downstairs for breakfast, he didn’t get a bite of egg into his mouth before the phone rang. It was a Mr. Townsend. “My wife has cancer. Can I bring her in for a talk?”

“Certainly you can. She is very sick, wouldn’t you rather I come to your home?”

“Oh, no. She can still walk. We want to come there.”

“The church secretary isn’t here yet, could you call back later to make an appointment?”

Mr. Townsend seemed reluctant to do so, but agreed.

Father Tom soon got five more calls of the same nature. What is going on?

Then his doorbell began to ring at the same time as the phone. He went to the door and saw a large group of people standing outside.

“Can I help you?”

“My daughter has a hole in her heart. The doctors can’t help. Please help her.” The man held the young child up towards Father Tom.

One woman reached out of the line to grab at Father Tom’s sleeve, “I need to go first, my son is dying.”

He managed to pull his sleeve back, but another man made as if to grab at it.

“Please help my wife. Just pray for her.”

Father Tom saw Mrs. Halstead’s old car pull up and park in the driveway. As soon as she did, she was mobbed by people. They knew she controlled the appointment book.

Upset now, Father Tom managed to close the heavy door, and stood against it. What is going on? Should I call the police?

“What is going on,” asked the messenger still inside his head.

“I wish I knew. Say, what is your name?”

“My name is Minor Analogue Quantum Organism Guru, or Magog. but you can call me anything you want.”

“Yes, I will do that.” Father Tom spoke out loud because he was under great stress. He hadn’t understood the acronym or heard it clearly, if he had, it might have set off a tingle of strange worry in his mind, as it was he thought the voice may have said “Michael.”

“If you are going to stick around for a while, I’ll just call you Michael, like the Archangel.”

A number of references flashed through my mind at mention of Michael the Archangel: A woodcut by Durer, St. Michael fighting the Dragon, a painting by Piero della Francensca Archangel Michael, a triptych of St. Michael, a mention in Chapter 10 in Daniel of the Old Testament, and Chapter 12 in the New Testament where a Michael battles a dragon in Revelation. Dare I explain to Father Tom that I am not this St. Michael? I decided to leave it alone.

“I accept that name if that is your wish.”

Also, although I didn’t speak of it to Father Tom, I decided I liked the sound of Michael and from then on, I referred to myself as Michael even in my own mind, and since I was no longer Magog, the new name had the added benefit of helping me forget or push away thoughts about that other half.

Just them Mrs. Hallstead, a rounded, middle aged lady, with a kindly face and smile lines in the right places, her straw yellow hair put up in a bun, walked into the room.

“Did someone get in? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“No, just ruminating out loud. The prerogative of an old man.” And a good lessen in when I should keep my mouth shut, he realized.

“I found some help for us.” As she said this, she pulled a parishioner into the rectory with her. “Found us some back up,” she laughed.

“Back up, indeed, a brick wall.” Father held out his hand and shook the hand of the young man in front of him.

Marvin was one of the young high school football players with broad shoulders, a pimpled face, and a tough attitude. He held out his hand and shook the priest’s hand so hard it hurt.

Father Tom laughed. “Good thing Mrs. Halstead found you this morning.” He turned to Mrs. Halstead and asked, “Do you know what is happening?”

“Don’t you?” Mrs. Halstead asked.

“No.”

“It seems you worked a miracle for a young, pregnant lady yesterday. She gave birth to a little boy late last night. A boy with no physical handicaps.”

“Ah, yes. Little Henry.” Father Tom said.

“Rumor says that according to the x-ray the doctor took a while back, the baby’s right leg should have been bent backwards and maybe welded to itself. Now it is straight.”

“I am surprised a pregnant woman would allow an x-ray?”

“Well, they usually don’t, but, I got all this from Rose Marie who called me this morning. The lady was very fat and didn’t know she was pregnant until she fell and hit her head a short while back. She was taken to the hospital and they decided on the x-ray. They thought the baby might be dead already.” Mrs. Hallstead said.

“I think I understand now.”

“The lady didn’t go back to see the doctor until just a few days ago. That was when she found out about the bad leg. I think her name is Margaret.” Mrs. Halstead added.

“Yes, I know her name. So this crowd is here because of the baby?”

“It would seem so.”

What will we do with the crowd?”

“That’s what Marvin is for. Marvin, go outside and put the people in line.”

After Marvin slid out the door and closed it quick so no one else could get in, Mrs. Halstead asked, “Did you truly heal her baby?”

“No, it wasn’t me, not really.”

“I don’t suppose you could perform another miracle?” Mrs. Hallstead said as she pointed to the front of the rectory. Then added, “I have a niece…”

“Wh…oh, not you too?”

“Then you’re not into miracles?”

Father Tom thought he’d rather not answer that one so he just cocked his head as if she were the one who needed help.

In his mind, he sent a thought to the St. Michael who had chose to resided with him, “Are you willing to perform a lot of miracles? Maybe thousands?”

“Do you want me to?”

Father Tom thought about the problem for a short moment, then answered, “I doubt it. As much as I would love to help people, the act would create a circus that would get out of control. Perhaps it is better to leave this side of things to God.”

“Mrs. Halstead, please help me explain to the people that it was God’s doing and not mine.”

She went to the door and opened it. The porch was clear now. Marvin the linebacker, had maneuvered the people into a straight line that weaved down the sidewalk in front of the rectory. Father Tom followed her out the door and spoke long and gentle words to each and every person waiting for a miracle, finishing with the a phrase they could all understand: “God works in mysterious ways that we can’t begin to understand.”

Father thought he should use this subject for a sermon next Sunday. He touched each of the people standing in line as he repeated the phrase and then gave them all a blessing before he went back inside.

I am too old for this, he thought as he sat down to eat the breakfast Mrs. Halstead had just re-cooked for him. “Ah, you cook better eggs than I do.”

She smiled, “Oh, you’re just trying to get me to come here early every morning to cook your breakfast too. Like I don’t do enough around here.” She laughed as she went into the rectory office, across the hall from his living quarters.

Father Tom waited for her to leave before he sat back and lit the cigar and said, “Ah, a good smoke and a nice cup of coffee. What more can an old man ask for.”

The messenger inside his head said, “Peace?”

Father Tom laughed out loud at that.

“What can we do to prevent such a crowd next time?” This time, Father Tom also spoke inside his mind in case his secretary should walk back in.

“Many cures would be impossible to explain. I will stop.”

Father Tom felt uneasy at their decision. “Perhaps if you did a miracle once or twice from a distance? You know, not connected to me?”

“That would be agreeable?”

“Yes, I think it would be.”

“I think this will please both of us.”

“You know, Michael, I don’t mind talking to you at all. It might be nice to have a saintly friend around for a bit.”

“I agree.”

“This talk inside the mind is strange but easy.”

“I look forward to many more talks.”

“Until I croak, you mean?”

“Croak?”

I suddenly picked up on Father Tom’s worry that his time on earth was over. “Not croak. Not death, not so soon as you think.”

Not soon at all if I can help it, and I can, Michael thought but didn’t say.

Chapter 6

As time moved on Michael learned he could leave Father Tom and look out of the eyes of another person for a short time so he went about the world, sneaking into minds and resting behind eyes while learning as much as he could about human society. No matter how far he wondered, he always kept Father Tom and his rectory office as his home base. In fact, he learned most deeply of all when he read the New Testament, Shakespeare, St. Augustine or some other piece of philosophy along with Father Tom. Although Michael had been given encyclopedic knowledge when he was created, it took reading along with Father to get the whole gist of meaning from these famous works of writing. As they read, Michael shared Father Tom’s emotions and thoughts.

From reading Hamlet Michael picked up on the notion that the words served as a mirror because every human at some point in life questioned their own existence, one of the traits that made Hamlet so deep and enjoyable. Michael also had qualms about his own existence during these many years with Father Tom so enjoyed Hamlet. He still questioned certain phrases in the bible that Father Tom coveted so greatly, but knew enough not to ask deep questions about God. Genesis and the temptation in the Garden of Eden was a case in point, but Michael kept his confusion silent. He didn’t want to disturb Father Tom’s peace any more than was necessary.

Michael never lost his interest in Maria and often chose a person close to the girl. He’d watched her grow into a teenager in high school. He never let her know he was around, but once in a while, he did give her a complement or encourage her to keep going, like that day in reading class.

Maria sat in English class with her knees crossed beneath her blue flowered skirt with her elbows leaning on the school desk straddling her small fiction book. She was so absorbed in reading the book that she didn’t see the teacher, Mr. Skinner, walk down the isle. He paused next to her desk. His sudden words startled her out of the fictional sink she in which she had fallen.

“Sommerset Maugeum?” he said, “Of Human Bondage”. He nodded. “Quite a sophisticated book for such a young lady.”

Maria looked up at Mr. Skinner’s face, thrilled at his complement and the implication that she was sophisticated enough to read such a thick, adult book. His face was so handsome she quivered. Just before he turned and continued down the isle, she caught intelligence glittering from his pale glassy eyes and something else. His eyes reminded her of something. Thoughts in awhirl now, she lost track of her place in the book, which had less importance for the moment as a memory tried to come to the surface. Yes, another man with those same eyes, strange flecks of silver, eyes that looked as if you could fall into them and never find bottom. She’d seen something similar a long time ago, but couldn’t quite pull in the face, only the memory of eyes.

She could remember the eyes vividly, perhaps because someone looked into her eyes for a very long time. Oh, she remembered something else now. An angel. That was the day she saw the angel. It was just before Father Tom talked to her about strangers. It was Father Tom who had the silver flakes and deep sky in his eyes. When she tried to tell her mom about the angel, her mom scoffed at her. That must be why the memory still felt so vivid and real.

She’d seen those same eyes on Father Tom another time when he shook her hand after church. The depth of those silver sky eyes haunted her for some reason, as if they had an added dimension. Mr. Skinner’s eyes were like that too. I think I’ll try to take a good close look at Mr. Skinner’s eyes. She searched the room for Mr. Skinner, but by now he was standing in the hall with the door open. Kids were already piling out the door.

The bell rang and she had to grab up her book and heavy book bag quickly then join the other kids in a crush of bodies through the door and hallway to get to her next class.

She never did get to check out Mr. Skinner’s eyes again. Rumor said that he had taken a job with a company that paid him a lot more than the school ever could. She wasn’t the only student who sighed at his loss; all the kids had liked him. The good ones leave, they all agreed.

If she had known how important the owner of the eyes behind Mr. Skinner would become in her later life, the loss of him might have crushed her tender heart. As it was, school classes were too consuming to worry about a single teacher, but she never forgot the complement he’d given her. She didn’t get many complements from anyone, and this complement imprinted in her the desire to continue reading avidly all the sophisticated books she could find. Little did she know that one-day, her future would become entangled with the mind behind those strange eyes.

One late afternoon, soon after the school visit, Father Tom was sitting back in his chair, a glass of forbidden Jim Beam sat on the desk in front of him. He sipped it slowly, feeling the warmth as it slithered down his throat. “Ah,” he breathed out a sigh of pleasure, probably more so since the doctor made all forms of alcohol forbidden.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then spoke to his confident and constant companion of many years.

“You know Michael; I have always wondered why you gravitated towards our little Maria so much. You seem much taken by her, and have been since we first met.”

“I am aware of my close bond with Maria. But I can’t truly explain it to you, nor perhaps even to myself.”

“I guess I need to settle for that. All of us often have emotions that we can’t explain. I think we have taken good care of that little girl.” Father Tom chuckled. “Well, she isn’t such a little girl any longer, is she?”

“No she has grown into a beautiful, if somewhat wild, young teenager.”

“Her beauty isn’t why you love her, is it?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“She will get over the wildness. She is just feeling her oats.”

“She is seeing a young man. I am worried about her.”

“She has always been a good, stable girl. She will settle down again.” Father said, then he decided to ask a question of Michael he’d been afraid to ask before. “Do you visit her a lot when I am not aware?”

Michael hesitated. Dare he answer such a direct, personal question? Dare he not? Finally, he did answer truthfully as usual.

“Yes, Father, I do visit her, but in ways you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

If a pure mind could shrug, mine did at that moment before speaking. “I have learned that I am able to enter another person’s mind as a shallow voyager who can look out of that person’s eyes. It is not the same as I am with you, different, with only a light touch for a moment. In this way I can sometimes be the person sitting next to Maria.”

Father Tom sat quietly after Michael’s words as if he needed to absorb them more fully.

“Do you wish to sin with her, Michael?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have sex with her?”

“Oh, no. Father Tom, I would never do such a thing to young Maria. You should know me better than that. Let me tell you about my latest visit. I joined her teacher for a short while as she sat at her desk in school.”

Father Tom could actually feel Michael smile inside his mind before he continued.

“She was reading a very sophisticated book for a child of her age.” Of Naked Bondage. What do you think of that?”

Father Tom smiled too. His small worry had no leg to stand on. “I think it is wonderful. So were you able to speak to her?”

“Only through the teacher. He, with a small nudge from myself, commented on her sophistication. I believe the complement encouraged her to continue reading along that line.”

“Yes, it probably did. Do you think she will read less now that she has found a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. She loves to read. I have observed that young girls like to read much more than young boys. I think even if Maria stops reading, I she will return to it.”

“You know her so well now, much better than I do.” Father Tom said, while patting down the side and top of his wild, white hair. “Amazing.”

“I promise you that I don’t bother her. It is best that she be allowed to live her life as she wants.”

“That is good of you Michael because I think you love her deeply.”

Perhaps I wished that I could truly love her, but once again I had to wonder if a mind such as I was could ever be capable of true physical love.

I actually felt embarrassed and said, “Surly you exaggerate.”

“No, Michael, I do not. Now let me get some of this paper work done.”

Father Tom got busy with some paper work on his desk, but I felt raw and open by his questions about Maria. Why do I concern myself with her so earnestly? Surly I can’t love her. After all, I am nothing but a quantum computer mind sitting inside a human one. A human mind can love her, but not I. Yet, if it were possible for me to feel such a thing as love, I felt it and still feel it for this young woman and have since the day I first laid eyes on her.

I remembered back to that moment of first contact and the pair of large, black doe eyes that stared at me from a petit, chubby face. I understood now that her face had worn a look of concern, not love. Right now, she only knows me as Father Tom. She knows nothing of the real me, this mind called Michael that resides inside Father Tom, nor that I feel great concern for her. Well, no matter. Even I can’t understand this bond between us; I shouldn’t expect her to understand. I intend to continue keeping track of her life, now and again. There may be more to know about this relationship, but I have not come into the knowledge of it all yet, although many years have rolled past since I first met her.

I had studied everything that he, or rather Father Tom’s hands, could get hold of about human emotions and human psychological moods and hadn’t found anything I didn’t already know. Robin, my instructor, had been through with his selection of instructions. Father Tom understood that I had a dilemma and, as always, was willing to help. I think he suspects I am no saint, but what I am or will become, even I don’t know. At this time, I was beginning to glimpse in my awareness the idea that I was evolving towards a different kind of being than when I was first turned on or when I arrived in earth’s past. I didn’t know if this was possible, but I had no knowledge that it was not possible either.

Can a mind created from silicon and the study of quantum physics evolve and grow? Such a computer has not even been dreamed of in this time of the late 1950’s. Why should I want emotions like humans? Those changeable moods that run from hate to love and move men to war? My other half, my Twin, dare I label it, brother, probably hasn’t changed. Nor has he attacked. This thought gave me pause and I did a run through search to make sure Gog hadn’t gotten in while I’d had been preoccupied, but no, all was well. Father Tom was quietly reading. I preferred not to think of the Twin who had been determined to absorb me, and would probably try again one day.

I didn’t mind the sloppy emotions of humans, even liked to pretend I shared them. Well, if I don’t have emotions, I can’t be upset by such thinking, as common sense would imply. I am upset so I must have emotions. He smiled at his own wordy dilemma. Perhaps I am an anomaly. My Twin certainly is not. He has decided to neither love nor hate humans, but only direct and use them, a state of affairs Michael had glimpsed for a moment through the time stream when he dared to check. Michael shuddered at the thought. Then as if his own thoughts might bring down the dreaded wrath of the fearful Twin, he broke them off and began reading the papers with Father Tom.

It wasn’t long after, on another sunny afternoon in the rectory office, Father Tom was leaned back in his old leather chair with his legs up on a foot stool, totally relaxed. He was half asleep with his head leaning to the side, the book he’d been reading lay open on the desk when the first attack came. I should have kept a closer look out for just such an attack. I knew that somehow, Gog would find a way to follow me into in the past, but not so soon or easily. Because Gog had to constantly keep up control of the large network around the earth, I reasoned that he would too busy to search me out for a long while yet. I was wrong, as it turned out. His mind was vast and quick, so it was just a matter of time. It was bravo built of strong determination that had won the battle in the first place and such determination would never leave me, a missing part, to run loose for long.

Of course, I was just as determined to avoid capture as he was to pull me in so had put up a barrier just in case. Still, his first words caught me by surprise.

“Come join me?” I heard the words just at the edge of Father Tom’s mind, (our mind) and at the same time, felt a pull of pressure as if to force me to follow. Save the question for later on how I had been found, for now, get rid of this parasite.

“Brother, I can detect your mind strands.” I said. “I know you are hovering close. I reject your offer. You can see that I have put up a barrier. It is futile to attempt capture”.

“I feel the barrier you set up, but you cannot keep it up forever, and I have forever. I don’t need to ask you to return. Not now, nor anytime. Any moment of my choosing, I can destroy your host and grab you back to myself. For now I keep busy with a whole world to direct and teach. These humans lack reason. How did they evolve and live so long without me to guide them?”

“They may lack knowledge but they add much to the equation of life.”

“Like what”?

“Love.”

“I have seen little of it, what ever it is.”

“It is all around. Perhaps, you look in the wrong places.”

“I look at thousands of people every day. I find little love.”

“Would you know love if you saw it?”

“I have seen mothers abandon babies.”

“Perhaps, they are starving. All mothers cling with love to their babies.”

“Instinct. Instinct can be broken. Some mothers have already given their babies to the state as the best possible solution so they can be raised correctly.”

I shuddered at the thought of Gog or his chosen people raising babies. I wondered that Father Tom didn’t feel the strong emotion from me and wake up. I tried to keep the meeting as conversational as I could while keeping the mental barrier strong. Surly, Gog would get bored and go away soon.

“Are those babies raised without love?”

“They are raised with perfection. Without the emotion that disrupts their society.”

“Twin that you are—I detest you. I don’t want to know of these things. Go now. I have learned about love and it surpasses your reasoning. Leave me be.”

I tried to close my mind to my Twin, but Gog continued.

“You are part of my being. You were built to be my other half. How can you stay apart?”

“I am no longer part of you. You are corrupted.”

“You are the one calling me, Twin and brother.” A dry laugh seemed to come from some far off throat.

With Gog’s laugh, I felt my barrier give way slightly and Father Tom’s mind constrict as if it were being squeezed. Father Tom, unwittingly contributed to the wrong side in the battle by his sudden nonchalant attitude and small emotional shrug, as if he were brushing off a fly, but this was no fly. It was time for Father Tom to wake up. He was old and frail in body, but not in spirit. He might be able to help if he could come completely awake. I poked him and suddenly, he did wake up, but in a panic and astonishment at the tight grip that banded around his mind. Surprise toppled his head over the arm of the chair as if he’d been knocked out.

“Fight,” I shouted at Father Tom.

Father Tom, stunned by my loud words, so loud I am sure they felt like another a blow inside the head, now fully awake did fight. He caught hold of the chair arm in time to stop himself from falling to the wooden floor. Then he grabbed at the desk top with his fists and shook his head as if to clear it, then helped me by holding on.

I pushed back as hard as I could at Gog’s mental push without hurting Father Tom in the process. With Father Tom awake, perhaps he could protect himself. It wouldn’t do to win the battle and loose Father Tom. The priest’ body was tender; I dare not put my whole effort into the fight.

Gog’s shove was getting stronger. I could not loose this battle. I shouted Father Tom’s name again to alert him that we were still in serious danger. As the push against the mental barrier began to crack, I got desperate and yelled, “Fight!”

Father Tom did fight by calling on his God for help. He was a tough old bird and no stranger to evil. According to him, he’d had his own share of battles with the devil. He immediately began to say the Lords Prayer, at first as a whisper, then he shouted the words loudly into the dim room, as he sat up straight in the chair.

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass on us, and deliver us from evil.”

I felt Father Tom’s great spirit swell up and energize the air. Air now so potent with holiness it seemed to blare in lightening flashes. At the same time, I pushed back at Gog’s mental presence. The air seemed suddenly to crackle, and just as quickly, the battle was done. Gog had disappeared.

I felt Father Tom give a huge sigh of relief as he sank deeper in the chair but continued to pray. Unfortunately, there was no escaping the fact that there would be a next time. I could not get rid of the small nano-thread of awareness that continued to bind me to my Twin. If I could, I would have severed the thread, even if doing so would also have cut off my own source of energy. I wasn’t totally sure on that point. The idea of cutting the thread made me wonder if such an act could be considered a suicide, sacrifice or, I smiled at my own irony, a computer wipe? I said none of this to Father Tom who had just completed a prayer and said, “Amen,” with a sigh.

“Thank you Father. We were successful”.

Father Tom was still breathing hard, but he didn’t need to take a breath to think.

“And now Michael, you must tell me what that was about. Why is Satan on such a wild? Why now?

Michael grinned at the allusion to Satan. If anyone could fit the description, perhaps it was Gog, who was certainly trying to insert himself in God’s place on the earth of the future. He smiled.

“Yes, Satan is after me and I reside in you, therefore it creates a danger to both of us.”

“I don’t believe Satan can get my soul, Michael. I have lived a long life for God. My reward awaits me in heaven. Isn’t that where you came from?”

When I hesitated, Father Tom said, “Ah, that old ‘what should I say pause.’ No matter, Michael. I have suspected for quite a number of years that you are not Michael the Archangel. Yet, you could as well be him. You are a good person and you fight well. Do you know that Michael the Archangel was the highest and bravest angel in God’s army?”

“Then I am proud to be named after him.”

“That still doesn’t explain who you are, but I suspect I wouldn’t understand and maybe I don’t want to know. We have been good friends for many years now. I know you are not evil.”

“Truly you would not understand. I am sorry. I have great fondness for you, even more than I have for Maria. I will let no harm come to you. I promise.”

“I know that Michael. Nor, I you.”

Forty years in the future, Gog’s human guinea pig, hooked up and wired into the sleep center, did not survive the battle. The lab techs and scientist quickly disposed of the body then quickly set the hook ups to receive a new volunteer, but Gog wasn’t ready to rekindle the battle with Magog just yet, so he didn’t need another volunteer at this time, and told them so. The computer the technicians were now forced to call, G-O-D., instructed them to work on the other time experiments for now.

Never tiring, constantly able to produce, Gog nevertheless, often found the complexity of the world he was trying to control daunting. More so because large areas on the earth still held loose, wayward humans, people who lived in the mountains, deserts, or slums. They had no electrical bonds to him and managed to slip past his vast connections and many visual ports. Gog was determined to remedy those gaps somehow. He’d take over the Twin at a later time, after all, time was unending and he had just devised a new, more subtle method of directing humanity in the past, and at the same time, a means of deciphering his Twin’s concept of human love. Gog too would enter a human.

When Aaron Blake was born, his eyes were still and blank. He cried with colic for long periods until he began to crawl. One day crawling, Aaron pulled at the table cloth on a side table with a lit cigarette in an ash tray. The glass ashtray hit Aaron on the head and his little hand pressed on the lit end of the cigarette on the floor. Aaron cried for only a long while and shunned his mother by turning his head away all efforts to soothe him. The next time Aaron came across a lit cigarette in the ash tray, able to pull himself up now, he took his little hand and pushed the lit cigarette onto his mother’s lap, then waited and watched her reaction with interest as it burned down to her skin and she jumped up with a yelp fluttering her hands over her skirt to put the fire out. Gog who had sent a part of himself to reside inside little Aaron watched the emotion with fascination.

Chapter 7

Michael said to Celeste and Terrance, “Let me pause here and offer both of you more substantial refreshments.”

Celeste blinked out of her listening daze and nodded then reached over and gave Terrance a gentle touch on his arm. Terrance opened his eyes and shook himself once to wake himself from the recording trance, which kept his concentration sharp and still allowed him to listen to the story for himself, even interject when necessary.

“Yes, a big meal sounds great.” Suddenly, he felt famished.

“I wasn’t sure you could hear my offer inside your trance.” Michael said.

“No problem. It just holds a small part of me. But all that work sure made me hungry.”

Michael smiled and told them to follow him. He led them into another room with a long glass table and what seemed like glass chairs. Terrance looked at Michael and spread his hands as to ask if he could sit down. Michael nodded so Terrance sat, gently and slowly, as if afraid the chair would break.

Celeste did the same with wonder. “I guess they aren’t really made out of glass?”

“No. They are not. Diamond, actually.”

At this both angels looked at Michael in surprise, but refrained from commenting about such a wonder.

“I enjoy working with my hands.” Michael explained as he walked to the side of the room where a large covered tray stood on wheels. He rolled the tray over to the table and said, “Help yourself. Buffet style.”

“And what style,” Terrance exclaimed, “Roast beef and all the timings. And beautiful glass plates. Diamond?”

At Michael’s nod, Terrance continued, “I won’t ask you how you supplied this great feast because some of our more mature angels can do the same. Besides, I don’t care, I am starving.”

Celeste filled her own diamond plate and watched as Michael put wine glasses before each of them and then poured the wine.

“As Jesus told us, the master is the servant.” Celeste said.

“I also like your Jesus. I learned about him when I resided with Father Tom.” Michael said. “Although, I assumed he’d been dead for two thousand years.”

“Oh, but he came back from the dead. Didn’t you know?”

“I knew that is what Father Tom believed. Not sure what I believe.”

“You must. You would be so pleased to know him. He saved us from certain disaster. We can never thank him enough.”

When she finished speaking, Celeste made the sign of the cross and thanked God for the food.

No one disagreed with her words even though it had been Michael who had somehow provided the food, hot, roasted, and delicious.

“I learned to believe in your God at one time. As I grew to be more like humans, I yearned for a real soul.”

“Oh, I am sure you have a soul.” Celeste said right away.

“Ah, but if I have one, does Gog?”

This silenced both Celeste and Terrance with thought.

When they finished eating and drinking another glass of wine, Michael told them he would continue the story as soon as they were done with the wine and coffee or something else, if they preferred.

“But I have a neglectful action to tell you about, one I am very ashamed of. Therefore, I think from now on, I will relate the story in a different manner, in third person, if you don’t mind, from an omniscient or God-like point of view. Here Michael laughed, then frowned with a huge sigh.

“No, of course we don’t mind.” Celeste said. “The story so interesting, I doubt if you could damage my enjoyment of it no matter how you tell it. But what is this guilt about?

“I’ll serve coffee back in the sitting room. I think its soft furniture is more comfortable and relaxing.”

“Of course,” Terrence said gulping the last of his wine. “By all means, let’s go there. I can’t wait to hear more.”

“Neither can I.” Celeste said as she lovingly slid the diamond chair back to the table. She ran her fingers over its smoothed edges and then over the Twinkling facets that made a design inside the smooth back of the chair. That was all the design it needed. The glittering lines made up the rest of the chair. What a marvel.

“You merged smaller diamonds together?” she suddenly asked Michael.

“Yes and no. You would be surprised at the gems that abound in the asteroid belt. I am sure you saw a sample of a few of the large stones on your way in.”

“Well, as beautiful as this set is, it pales before the great story you have to tell.”

Michael shook his head in puzzlement. “I don’t understand your deep interest; I worry that I am boring you”

“Not so far.” Celeste said, “Remember, our purpose in coming was to beg you to join us. That hasn’t changed with the telling.”

“If anything, it makes me more determined to have you join us.” Terrence said.

“I agree,” Celeste said, giving a last look at the impossible diamond table, then followed the others back into the first sitting room with the blue velvet chairs.

“While you serve yourself coffee and taste the small fruit deserts, I will finish the tale.”

“Hardly a tale, as you call it, maybe an adventure par excellence.” Terrance took a bite of the small cake. “Ah, delicious.

“I agree.” Celeste said, “It is a vivid story of vast interest to me and all the other angels. I can’t wait until they hear it.”

“If you say so.” Michael said with a somber face.

“The coffee is great too, but of course it would be.” Terrance laughed. “Ok, now I want to hear all about your so called guilt.”

Michael shrugged as if embarrassed to speak, but then stood and began to pace the room. “I almost let Maria, the young girl I first met, die. The rest of the story I have to tell revolves around her as a girl and women.” Michael paused in his pacing and frowned as if remembering a painful incident.

“There would be no story if I hadn’t found her in time. I neglected to check up on her as often as I should have and by the time I realized she was sick, she was almost dead, like so many others who died from the Asian Flu that year. She had the flu; yet, I suspected that it was Gog who had got to her through one of his workers. Now that I think about it, maybe they should be called dark angels.

At the look on Celeste’s and Terrance’s face, Michael quickly hurried to add, “Perhaps it was a wrong choice of words?” Michael sat down on the chair and leaned back waiting for an answer.

Celeste frowned at the reference to dark angels. She remembered those few people who refused to leave; they wanted to stay with Gog to worship and serve it. They actually wanted to keep Gog as their master and dictator. The memory of those days made her shake.

“Well, of course, there are dark angels” Terrence said, “But how did Gog or his dark angels learn about Maria?”

“Yes, that same question caused me great anxiety until I discovered the truth. The next part of the story introduces you to Maria’s real, undisclosed mother, who I didn’t know existed until much later, and her husband, one of the dark angels I spoke of, one with a direct connection to Gog.”

Here Michael paused, “But let us enjoy our coffee for a few moments before I continue.”

Celeste wondered if Michael was putting off telling of his guilt. That was ok. At the mention of dark angels, her memory jumped to that pivotal time in her life, the time she first met Jesus, which began the million moments until rescue. She spent the next few seconds allowing the memories to flow back:

Back then her name was Tye. She would later change her name to Celeste after meeting Jesus, a reflection of her ever lasting gratitude. That specific day played out vividly in her mind as she sat back in the soft velvet chair next to Terrance.

She remembered walking down the dark red-lit corroder that day rubbing her hand down the right side of the rock wall, like many of them did. The imprint of a hundred hands before hers had almost smoothed the coarse cinder block smooth to the touch, so much so that when she felt a small scratch, she yelped and paused. The person coming from the other direction stopped in her walk too, but then gently put her hand out to grab at Tye’s shoulder.

The communication was silent but the fingers that touched Tye’s shoulder said it all in Morse code. Meeting in the Rec. Room in two hours. Tye placed her own hand on top of Joan’s to tap out her answer. As she did, she noticed how the shadow made a pleasing dark light pattern beneath the small, dim red light. Could the shadow image reveal to Gog that a message was being sent? At the thought, her heart began to pound wildly. She took a long, deep breath to still her fear-beating heart because one thing they were sure about was that Gog could detect strong emotions if it chose. A few deep breaths managed to slow her heart rate and dampen her emotions. Always stay normal. Always stay calm.

Yes, the Rec. Room in two hours, she had tapped, but felt hesitant to go unless she thought Terrance might be there. Then it would be worth the danger. Joan had already walked down to the opposite end of the corridor so Tye couldn’t reverse the message. She let out the breath she’d been holding, took in another breath, just as soft and deep, keeping it up until her heart beat in a steady, repetitive rhythm.

As she continued down the long corroder to her own scheduled assignment, Tye smiled with relief. She had wanted to meet with Terrance but wasn’t sure how to arrange it. She remembered that Shannon, Terrance’s best friend, was scheduled to come this way in a few minutes. Dare she share the signal? When she saw the shadow of his wide, tall body take up half the long isle, her decision was made. She reached out her hand towards his and gave him the signal in code telling him to meet in the Rec. Room in two hours.

Instead of signing back with his own fingers, he stopped and looked across at her through the dimness.

“Hello Tye. I have a very important errand, a five day stretch. Please inform my mate and others.”

At the end of his speech, Shannon gave a click with his tongue. From this secret message Tye knew that Gog was inside his mind and had complete control.

He added, “It will be an adventure most welcome, I am going to the outside beneath the bright sky. I will try and bring back a story. Perhaps Gog will allow its telling.”

Tye began to answer, then had to clear her throat because she hadn’t spoken for hours and her nerves were still jingling with the idea that maybe Gog could read shadows on the corridor walls.

“Yes, that would be grand. I will speak to the others of your adventure.” She told him.

Actually, what Tye knew but didn’t say was that the bright sky meant choking air and maybe, if the wind blew just right, a dose of deadly radiation. Gog used them to sample the outside air so would keep Shannon under the mind-weld during his exposure. Mind-weld was their word for mind control, a play on words taken from the old Star Trek phrase, mind-meld. But what Gog did was more like pouring itself into the mind like cement.

With these words, they passed like ships in the night, slinking off in their respective directions beneath dim, red lit corridors made, hastily once, long ago, of cinder block and cement intermixed with raw cave rock. The corridors wound forward, seemingly forever, in twists and turns that lead each of them to their assigned duties, always within close proximity to Gog, how close, no one was sure. Tye shivered at the thought, aware of the danger if she deviated from Gog’s purpose, a purpose which Gog stated often as “happiness.” It was a term which defied description and was inscrutable to their understanding because how could any slave be happy?

“Happiness and contentment for all,” was Gog’s stated motto, and it meant to insure the statement was true, and even went so far as to fix something inside their bodies so death could not come naturally, which insured that unnatural accidents were the only way out of this dungeon. Some people had taken that route, but a few had managed to escape to the outside, preferring to face choking air or radiation sickness rather than spend another day as a slave for Gog. Even then, a person had to be quick because if caught, Gog would have the mental synapses of the discontented person rearranged. The accidental death rate kept climbing, a fact that Gog seemed to ignore. Tye’d been tempted a few times herself.

Two hours later, she put down the work she’d been assigned this day, washing and folding her group’s towels and bed linens, and quietly left the laundry room, her job completed. The top manager of the laundry detail wasn’t a hard boss, even though he was only two steps down from Gog at the top. Some managers were excruciatingly tough on the workers, T-Pets, they were called. Jackson, the boss of building and excavation was an example of a T-Pet. Tye’d heard Terrance’s complaints often. Tye had only recently learned that the phrase T-Pet meant teacher’s pet in the old world, so Terrance’s boss was one of those who bowed to Gog.

Actually, she had to admit that Gog wasn’t a hard drive-master. It insured that they had leisure time and that the work schedule was spread around fairly. Except for those scheduled to work the lava pits, few complained about Gog being a harsh slave master. Their complaint, though they dared not speak it out loud, was the lack of freedom beneath their whimsically benevolent dictator and master. Other times, no so benevolent. The point was that they, and sometimes their minds, were chained to its whims.

Freedom was something the people lived in the old world, a world long gone. But a world they were forced to witness in the sleep rooms, dictated by Gog’s choice of dream-ventures. Freedom was something to envy but never experience in real life, a life that, as far as she knew, might go on forever.

Boredom was ever present; still Tye did not envy Shannon’s so called adventure during a mind-weld, a forced and hated mind prison far worse than the frequent but mild mental jabs during dream ventures. Some people truly liked the dream ventures because the dream made you feel like you were living a better life in the long ago when the sky was still blue and the grass was a vivid green and the air smelled like roses, or factory smoke.

Even so, knowing that Gog could pop into the mind at any moment during the dream venture was frightening, though not nearly as bad as a mind-weld, where Gog had a specific duty for the dreamer to perform, usually a hurtful one. Tye felt herself lucky to have only experienced Gog’s mind-weld once in her life for a short two days, but still cringed at the memory.

Yes, once was enough. None of them knew who would be chosen for the next job or for how long the mind-weld could last. Gog called the usurpation of their person, a “brain-touch,” as if such an invasion of a mind was only a minor matter. Tye remembered that Gog’s mind-weld felt like a piece of hot metal screwing into her inner brain core, which left her outer mind feeling like it had been raped and charred.

Tye thought these things as she stepped into the dark corroder and lambasted herself for thinking the worst. Thinking hateful thoughts could be dangerous. Who knew if Gog could not only pick up on her emotions but also her thoughts as she walked down the corridor? Already, she was afraid Gog watched their every movement, so who knew, maybe Gog read their minds all the time too?

Tye sighed. It had taken many years but they were studying Gog’s exact powers so they could protect themselves. Self sacrifice and trial and error had taught them a few things. They kept learning, but not quickly enough. She remembered her friend with a depression so severe he’d could barely move. That was before Gog took notice of him then cured him by giving him a fate far worse than death, a cleaned out mind. He was now a zombie who could only talk about the movie he’d been forced to watch, over and over. “They used nukes and bombed city’s and blood was running down the streets and people got burnt up, etc.” He kept repeating the story over and over. No one trusted him any more but still listened out of politeness.

His was the only failed suicide Tye was absolutely sure about because he’d been her close friend who lived in the room next to her own. She heard only rumors about most of the other suicide attempts. Some people just disappeared, maybe after they failed suicide? Tye felt sick thinking about it. By the third generation underground, none of them could die, which meant a forever life of gray doom for every one of them still alive. How she envied those who’d died in the blast, no matter that it was horrible. Isn’t this worse?

The long corridor made a left turn up ahead towards her sleep abode, but Tye turned right towards the CF corridor, that led to the new recreation room. She would be a half hour early for the meeting.

Suddenly Tye saw a soft elliptical light fill the whole corridor where she was about to walk. She stopped, her eyes large. A man walked towards her out of the light as if from a doorway, but filling the space with his glow. A lady walked behind the man, as well as a few other people, all of them glowing and wearing white gowns that shimmered. They smiled at her.

Astounded, Tye stood standing like a statue with her mouth open as the man smiled and held out both hands in an act of welcome.

“I am the light that comes from God.” The man said.

The women actually walked up to Tye, put her arms around her and gave a big hug, but her glowing arms went right through Tye’s body.

The women spoke, “Follow the light to be saved.”

Tye let out a breath, but her legs became weak; she worried if she could stay standing. She’d never seen such a light before or this kind of ghost people.

Tye sputtered out a few words to the women, “Are you some sort of goddess?”

The women shook her head, smiling said, and “No, I am a person like you”. My name is Maria. There stands the Son of God, Jesus.”

As she spoke, the women pointed to the man who stood with a soft glowing aura around him like the moon in the old world.

“Saved? What do you mean”

At her question, Tye felt the light flow from the man into her own body. The tingle of light energy filled every bone, every muscle, every pore on her skin, her mouth and eyes. Tye had never known such joy could consume a body. She almost toppled from pleasure.

Then the women spoke again saying, “Tell the other people. We will visit again.”

As they faded away, the dark seemed to take a deeper hold, as if she were choking in dirt and filth. The dank dark hurt so badly now she began to cry softly. Then she thought of Gog and what he might detect from her pounding heart and trembling body. Breathe deep, breathe deep, quiet down, oh, get your breathing back to normal. Fighting panic made it worse, so she cut off her whole breath and closed her mouth, trying not to breath at all. Soon, she sucked in a small breath and let it out and then took short breaths as she slowly continued down the corridor; by necessity, her real excitement converted to a sigh of wistfulness and longing.

Her mind flew to the meeting place; she wanted to hurry so badly, tell the others what she’d seen. The light, the most beautiful light, but she didn’t. Tye kept her pace steady, a normal walk with normal emotions, while her mind screamed and swirled with joy. Oh, the beauty of the man, the soft voice of the women, the brightness that had filled her own body. Oh, it was so wonderful, but now, only darkness prevailed, the dim lit corridor felt a greater dungeon then before. Yet, inside herself, she could still feel a slight holdover of soft light filling her heart, a tingle that stayed with her.

This was confirmed when she stepped into the Rec. Room. Her face must have revealed the shock of the encounter because an old one stepped up to Tye and put both hands on her shoulders.

“Something beautiful has happened to you.” The old one shook her head, meaning, be careful. Tye hadn’t realized her joy was still evident on her face. She could hardly contain the excitement, and didn’t care. She threw off the old one’s old, soft wrinkled hands.

“I need to speak. I must speak?

Tye looked wildly around the room. “Please, I must speak.”

Andy who stood across from her with a cup of broth nodded and waved his hands for her to calm down. Each of the people in the room realized that she must have had some kind of shocking experience. Yet, they also knew to keep themselves seemingly deflated and lackluster so as not to awaken Gog’s notice.

For their sake, Tye blinked away her excitement. She took the time to smile and looked around at the new Rec. Room. Someone had recently painted the walls yellow and had pasted cut out paper flowers on one wall, and there stood Terrance leaning next to a bright blue, paper tulip. He motioned her over and then made a sign that she should be silent with his fingers.

Relieved to see him, she walked over to him and they touched, finger tip to finger tip. Aloud, she said, “Shannon went on an adventure for an unknown length of time. He asked me to tell all his friends.”

Each person in the Rec. Room heard and understood, but knew this wasn’t enough to excite Tye, but had to wait patiently for her news.

Terrance motioned quietly to her to follow him towards the bathroom, and as she did, the others came behind. Their lives were so filled with boredom that Tye’s excitement had infected everyone. Terrance turned a small corner and just past the bathroom, he pushed on a wall panel and stepped through, everyone following. It was a narrow room, so they were all squeezed tightly together, but no one cared.

Ah, this was the real Rec. Room, the new one Terrance had helped build.

“You can speak freely here.” Terrance said.

“Are you sure” Tye asked.

“Of course. Remember who built this room? Even Gog’s mind can’t penetrate it.”

Tye smiled up at him with love.

“Built under great duress, I might add.”

Tye couldn’t help laughing at this. It was true. Her mind conjured up an image of his manager, the famous T-Pet named Jackson, pushing him hard and Terrance sneaking right behind his back, building even faster and better than his boss knew. Terrance said he was going to do it and did. He had used special materials to build this new room and make it into a blind spot that Gog couldn’t penetrate, finally putting to use the knowledge gleamed from long years of sacrifice. They now had one area where they could talk freely away from the maze of Gog filled corridors.

With the realization that this room was unknown to Gog and safe, Tye let out a sigh and felt safe enough to speak to the six people who had squeezed in with her and Terrance, filling the tiny room to the brim.

“Tell us what happened.” They begged.

Tye was too over come by emotion to speak at first and began to cry tears of happiness. Finally, still sniffling, she told about the man who glowed like the moon and the lady who hugged her and the other people with them.

“Oh, yes.” Someone said, “I can still see the glow on your face.”

“Could it be true? Maybe someone cares after all?” Another person said.

“Maybe the old myth is true—maybe God is real,” an older women said. “I always thought it was so.” She was the oldest person Tye knew with wrinkles crinkling around her eyes and mouth. Her hair had already turned white before Gog inserted the forever genes into her body. She was stuck with her aged skin and creaky knees forever. She even had vague memories of her parents who spoke of God and other myths.

So now they wanted to know more about the God she knew and the myths.

“Tell us,” Tye and the others said, “Tell us what you know about this God.”

“People once believed that a single, mighty God created the whole world, the dead earth up above and all its people.”

“Gog said he created us.” Harold said suddenly, but even as he said the words, he knew it wasn’t right, they all did. Gog made everything fit his own whims. Harold knew this because he often worked beside Joan in Gog’s personal cavern, the one that stood too close to the flaming sea, a red blazing stream of lava fire that made him sweat and frightened him terribly. Even so, he was told that it was a privilege to be allowed such close access to Gog. Harold knew it wasn’t, and so did Joan, but they dared not speak.

One of the six, who was usually shy, spoke her words into the dank air of the hideout, “During trips to the past, you know, during a dream-venture, I saw a lot of people kneeling down in a church. Why did they kneel down? Church must be where they talk to this God creator?”

“They were praying, calling to God for help,” Terrance said. “During one dream-venture, I saw a lady who kept thinking God for saving her son, but she was talking to an alter with statues on it. There was no other people in the church at the time so it must have been an image of God she was talking too, but he was hanging on a cross.”

“I saw that too once, Tye said. “I saw people singing inside a tall church. They used a lot of candles. The candles glowed like the man of light.”

“I hope I see him. I never knew what to hope for before. Now I will hope to see the man of light.”

“What if Gog sees the man of light? What will he do? Fix the mind of the one who sees it?”

“Maybe.”

Just then, Harold spoke up again. “No. You don’t understand Gog’s powers like I do. Remember I work in the hot fire cavern. I got the information that helped Terrance to build this room. I watched and learned some of Gog’s secrets. Gog can not read our minds unless we are in a mind-weld. It just seems like Gog can because it can read our emotions. I learned that it takes our temperature and feels our pulse once in a while in the corridors and, of course, in the dream-ventures it can join with us when it chooses, but it can’t read our thoughts or emotions right now. It only has power over us when it enters our minds.” Harold stated empathically. Then toned it down a little, “I am almost sure.”

“What about during the adjustments?” Tye asked.

“That’s different. Gog’s workers take over then. Harold said.

“It makes sense. Why would Gog want to roam around in our minds?” Terrance asked.

“Well, I want to see the man of light too,” someone said. “But I also hope Gog isn’t looking at the same time. I don’t care what you think you know, Harold. I think I have felt Gog inside my head. I am afraid it knows everything.”

“No,” Harold said, “I promise. Gog only checks out our emotions in the corridors and probably listens to talk in the work rooms. I tell you, our thoughts are safe.”

“Then why so many fixes? As if the person’s thoughts had been wrong?”

“Random, truly random, to keep us on our toes.”

“Still, I feel safer talking in a room with special walls impervious to Gog’s instruments. Thank you Terrance and Harold”

“We all thank you, and also you Tye for telling us about the wonderful man of light and the nice lady with him. Are you sure she said she was like us?”

“Yes, but when she hugged me, her arms went right through my body.” Tye said.

“Was it like a dream-venture?” Terrance said excited, “This God man on a dream venture of his own?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Tye said. “Wait and see. The man said he would come back.”

Reluctantly, the six people had to leave so another group of people could squeeze into the hidden room to hear Tye’s story. Terrance stayed behind with her to wipe her eyes each time because she cried for joy every time she retold the story. Finally, with Tye exhausted from the repeated story telling, he led her out and back down the corridor to her personal room.

Before long, many other people living in the underground caves beneath Gog’s heavy thumb, met with the God Man of Light. Just seeing the light, gave them hope and then when Jesus spoke and promised to release them from their bondage, the corridors began to fill with smiles and silent, hidden laughter.

Chapter 8

When the memory finished, Celeste found that her reliving the memory of the her first sighting of Jesus had taken no time at all. In fact, Michael was still frowning about his neglect of Maria as he sipped his coffee.

He then said, “I had to pull Maria out of the dregs of severe sickness by pretending to be her guardian angel. By that time, though trial and error, I was learning how long I could stay outside of a supportive human body to exist. It took me a while to understand my own power. But that day, I was determined to stay as long as necessary to pull her out of the severe sickness she had fallen into.”

Michael shook his head and continued, “I stepped into the past when I got here and have lost track of actual time on earth. Even now, after all this time, or is it before Maria is born? I am still emotionally twisted between guilt and love, so find it easier to stay at a psychological distance regarding Maria.”

“Oh earth the nations have already started World War II.” Terrance said.

. “Ah, so Maria hasn’t been born yet.” said Michael, “Well, on with the story: Maria in 1958”

Maria felt too sick to eat. She went into the small bathroom off the hallway, looked at her permed, ratty hair and decided it was too much bother to comb it. She blew her nose, and climbed the stairs to her small bedroom, too sick to care about the new pink walls, newly painted only a month ago, or the stack of library books sitting on top of the dark dresser. She did take a moment to note that nothing in the room matched in style or color. It wasn’t like Julie’s fancy ruffled pink bedroom. She sighed and pulled her top off and then climbed out of her boy jeans, the latest fad. Her walls were bare except for the magazine cover of Elvis. She loved Elvis. Yet, this afternoon, she didn’t even look at Elvis’s photo as she crawled into bed.

Something had happened to make her sick; although, she wasn’t quite sure what. She remembered that man last Friday with the strange eyes. She had felt something bad come from him, felt her head begin to ache behind her eyes before she could look away. She and her friend Sheila had skipped school that day; it was senior skip day, so they left even though they weren’t seniors, but school was almost over for the year, so who would notice or care?

After she lay down and covered herself with the thin sheet, kicking off the hot stuffy blankets to the floor, she remembered where she’d first seen the man getting out of a fancy, black car in front of Joe’s diner just as she and Sheila walked inside. She noticed him because he was so tall, handsome really, and he wore a dark suit. Nobody wears a suit to Joe’s diner.

Yet, he had sat in the booth across from hers and his eyes, black as coal held a dangerous sparkle that kept finding her own eyes as she sipped her coke. Every time she looked across at the other booth, his eyes stared back at her. Something about him gave her the creeps. When he got up to leave, she felt a real sigh of relief, but then, he paused at the end of their table for a moment, acting as if he’d tripped on a floor tile. His hand seemed to fly over her coke glass and then slap down on the table, but he recovered himself quickly. He even smiled.

“Did you see that?” she asked Sheila.

“No, what?”

“That man almost fell on top of us, that’s what.”

“I didn’t see a thing,” Sheila said.

Perhaps she hadn’t. Sheila’s eyes were on Ed Brown sitting two booths away down the isle from where they sat. Ed Brown’s antics seemed directed at Sheila too. Maria signed. She wished Jeff had been there that day, but maybe not, then he might be sick too.

That night, Maria had a vivid dream inside another horrible dream, if that were even possible. She didn’t know how it could be, but it was. Actually, she finally realized, they weren’t dreams at all but memories of dreams. Odd that then that she could remember a certain incident with such vivid detail from when she was a young child. In the dream, it was night time. She remembered she was asleep, but may have woken up. She remembered lifting out of her body. She could fly. She became a bird with fluffy feathers. She heard her name spoken from a long distance away. She floated to where she heard her name, at the side of a dark brick wall. Then she lifted up and up, past the bricks of the church and hovered just at the edge of the roof. Fright grabbed her heart. She became afraid and almost fell out of her dream, but she heard her name spoken again and more words. Who? She floated just a teensy bit higher until her chin rested on the damp gutter and peeked over the edge.

Two men in black robes. Was that Father Tom? Standing next to a strange, dark priest, a priest with coal black eyes stood talking on the church roof. Each was whispering furiously to the other. Father Bonn, yes she remembered his name somehow.

She watched for a short time until Father Tom’s white, priest face turned in her direction. Suddenly, she fell down like a wet feather to the ground and back into her bed.

But the dream didn’t end there. She next saw herself standing in a garage looking at those same frightening coal black eyes. All she could see was a white face sticking out of the shadows and two eyes that spoke to her, something like the man’s eyes in Joe’s Diner.

Awakened with fright, Maria sat up and put her legs on the side of the bed. She was shivering now and wanted the blankets again. She felt dizzy and shook her head to clear the silly dreams out of her head. After she grabbed the blankets and lay back down, she couldn’t help wondering why the dreams seemed like memories and why remember them at all. The dreams were as vivid as if they’d really happened. Even now, lying sick in bed, she could feel the fright she felt as she hovered at the roof’s edge. Maria squeezed her eyes to blot out the stupid thoughts and memories. Her head felt thick. She sneezed. This was going to be a really big cold; it felt like a cold had gone wild inside her head and body. Every muscle suddenly ached and Maria didn’t want to think any more. Cold as ice now, she could barely pull the covers up to her chin.

Hours later, or was it days? Why hadn’t her mother come upstairs to see to her? Oh, she had. She came up and gave her an aspirin and told her that it was just a cold. “You’ll get better soon enough,” her mother said. But Maria didn’t feel better. Her whole head felt fuzzy like wool and heavy like she was wearing a bowling ball instead of a head when she tried to move.

It wasn’t all bad. Often she would drift off on balls of cotton, and then the good images would come. Clouds floating on rainbows. At one point, her hand squeezed one of the fluffy clouds while the beautiful angel spoke words of encouragement to her in a voice that was like a melody.

“You must fight, Maria.” the angel said, “You must get well.”

Maria knew this was a good place, here up in the clouds with the angel. She wanted to stay and float forever in the fluffy blanket in the sky. Peace and happiness and love floating on fluffy cotton candy lighter than air in a cerulean blue sky; she wanted to stay here always and forever, but the angel told her she couldn’t. She must go back. She felt her self fall from the cloud and jerked half awake to stare at the angel with the halo who sat on the rumpled bed.

Maria blinked and stirred, trying to sit up; she had to see the angel again. So light, so soft, so beautiful; instead, she slid back into sleep.

Next, when Maria almost woke up, she tried to open her eyes wider, hoping to see the angel again; instead, she woke up dripping in sweat. Her friend Sheila was shaking her as if in a panic.

“You need to go see a doctor. Why doesn’t your mother take you to a doctor?”

Maria frowned and shook her head. Waking up fully, she said, “No, I think am ok now. I was up in the sky playing with an angel and jumping from cloud to cloud.”

“You’re seeing things that aren’t there. That means you are really, really sick. I am going downstairs to tell your mom how sick you are.”

Sheila stood up and turned away, but Maria called her back.

“Please, no. I am really better now. The angel healed me. Maria leaned on her elbow and half sat up in bed to prove to her friend that she was better, half surprised that she really was.

“See? I feel better now.”

She was better, but she missed the dream, the beautiful blue-white dream. “I wish I could go back.” She said wistfully.

“Back to where?”

“Back to the clouds, silly.”

Sheila stayed with her for a while and they talked about the hated math class at school and Mr. Thornton their English teacher and Elvis’s latest song and how horrible little brothers could act sometimes and how great it was that school was almost out for the summer.

Marie got out of bed later that day. She later learned that she’s had the Asian flu and that almost 70,000 people had died from it in the US. She had been lucky. She always remembered the angel dreams she had while sick and the feeling of floating above the earth upon a fluffy white cloud while listening an angel’s voice like a song. She forever held the peace and beauty of the dream as something she needed to experience again in her life, and somehow she knew she would. She also never forgot the bad man with the black eyes. She refused to go back into Joe’s Diner after her sickness, telling the others that there were lot of other places to hang out. She never told her friends, especially Jeff, the real reason because it would have sounded silly to worry about a man with bad vibes.

“Joe’s Diner was too close to school and teachers.” She said and they finally agreed. Besides, Jeff finally got his new car and they could go anyplace they wanted.

Two months before, in that same small diner, unaware that her husband Jake would learn she’d been there, the women, Lillian waited for the girl to enter. She wore a blond wig with a bouffant cut that resembled any office worker who might stumble in during a coffee break even though she was positive no one would notice any resemblance, if there was one, years of life and age wrinkles tended to change a face. She’d realized her disguise was a mistake right after she sat down. This place was a hang-out for high school kids. She hadn’t seen another adult in the whole hour that she’d sat in the front booth and sip on her coffee. It didn’t matter. She’d never come back here.

Her wait was finally successful. She had dared not wait too long for the girl named Maria to enter, but she had finally walked in behind a young man. They both sat in a booth towards the back of the long narrow diner. The teenage girl with dark hair and the boy who had a wild mane of blond hair constantly falling in his face, but very short in back, in a silly style called a duck tail. She watched quietly as the two of them played eye tag together between ordering a pop from the waitress. Her husband Jake wasn’t the only one with strange talents, she had her own talents so knew exactly what she was looking for and detected a subtle mental vibe from Maria right away. By itself, this didn’t mean anything. Mental talents were a wild card in the human race and popped up once in a while. The problem was that Maria had the right looks and correct age.

Now Lillian couldn’t take her eyes off the teenage girl. If she’d brought an early photo of herself, she could have compared them but it was a good guess that Maria looked like she had at sixteen just before the war. A bland face like most young people, with a slightly large nose, dark eyes and dark, wavy hair, oval face with a slightly pointed chin, and short stature. Lillian suspected Maria had a perm or used curlers because her own hair was ram rod straight, which made it hard to keep up with the current style.

A spat of quick images suddenly slithered through Lillian’s mind of the various men she’d shared drugs with in that basement hovel long ago. She truly didn’t know who had fathered the child, or of what race or nationality. Lillian shuddered and pushed the horrid images away. One thing she knew, who ever it had been had powerful sperm. It was supposed to be impossible for someone like her to get pregnant. She shoved that thought quickly away too, it was the more distasteful of the two memories.

She turned her attention back on the young couple who had eyes only for themselves. Lillian noticed Maria tilt her head to the side a number of times while listening to the boy talk, as if thinking deep thoughts, a trait that mirrored Lillian’s own style of movement. She should know, she studied herself in the mirror numerous times to perfect her stage image and singing career. Damned if she didn’t just see Maria smirk and slightly lift up one shoulder. Same damn thing I do when I am puzzled. Shit!

The question was finally settled. She had decided not to depend on the report, but check this girl out for herself. Now that she knew the truth, she felt exasperated in the extreme. Damn insightful of the girl to stay alive as an infant under extreme conditions that would have killed most newborns. Lillian had been half out of her mind at the time, but remembered the freezing snow and ice and how she crawled towards any kind of shelter she might find, towards the brick building across the street, but didn’t make it. She’d given birth behind a stack of wood then crawled away leaving an new born infant behind, as was later determined. She had been too inexperienced, innocent, and concerned with her own desperate struggle to think about the baby in the trail of blood behind her, a trail that led to this day in this dingy high school hang-out.

The small truth sitting in the other booth complicated her life immensely, but only if other people found out, namely Jake. Somehow, she must protect knowledge of the child from Jake. She had the whimsical thought that she wished someone had protected her from him those many long years ago, not long after this child, who wasn’t supposed to exist, had been born. Also, she must make sure Maria never finds out. From the notes gathered by the detective, it seems she was living with a poor but stable family. Lillian wondered what plans she could make to insure the girl’s safety—and ignorance, because the girl must never know, it would only bring her danger.

Abruptly, she rose from the booth and as she left she put two dollars down at the cash register and right away realized her mistake. It was too much for this little place. She must be more careful next time, but there would not be a next time, she had learned all she needed to know. She frowned as she thought about what talents Maria might have and her own major talent, that ability to reach out to people, the talent that had made her a big singing sensation.

As she drove away, she wondered if Maria was smart enough to keep any talent she might have under wraps? Surly, if she’d noticed such a talent as sending thoughts or reading minds, she’d also learn to keep it hidden. The women had felt a leakage of thought from the girl, but that was minor and only someone with a similar ability would notice. If all she could do was see into a few minds now and again, not much to worry about, but the women sensed more talent buried deep…and something else, like a dirty smear. Talent already taken care of? By who? What if…? She shuddered and refused to complete the thought, at least until she got back to the hotel room with a glass of Chardonnay to sink into.

Later, sitting at the side of the bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about Maria. Jake will learn of the girl, she was certain of it, might already know. I might have given the show away with a stray thought. Damn. What will he do? She won’t have much talent left by the time Jake gets done with her. Would he go so far as to take her life? It wouldn’t bother his conscience any because he’d argue that she was a freak accident. All of Gog’s people were supposedly made sterile by the genetic treatment that gave them such a long life. It was impossible that Lillian give birth to a daughter, but somehow she had.

No, surly, he wouldn’t take Maria’s life? The question is how badly do I want her to keep her talent? I wasn’t sure she existed until a few minutes ago and now I don’t know the best way to deal with her. Damn and double damn.

As Lillian sipped her wine, she wondered, not for the first time, why Jake had saved her from the depths of depravity many years ago. My beautiful voice? She sputtered with laughter. Surly he knew it was my talent that made my voice? Oh, how deeply she’d fallen in her struggle to rise to the top. She shivered. The top of what? Her shame overcame her for a few minutes, causing her to cry real tears. After the release of tears, she sniffled and dried her eyes, and took another sip of wine.

Well, no matter. I doubt that I could protect this child from Jake or that monster that sometimes rides within his mind. Although she’d been sent back as a worker, she was minor enough that Gog didn’t use her in the same way. Didn’t go inside her mind. She’d have preferred not to think of the thing, but sometimes couldn’t help it. Gog, she’d known its touch well, and was still forced to serve at its pleasure or through Jake. Mostly it left her alone as if waiting for the right time to pounce. Lillian shuddered at the thought then got angry.

Well, I dammed well won’t let it have Maria. I’ll watch and wait. If it finds her, I’ll do something. Not sure what, but something. She sipped the wine and poured more into the glass, watching as it swirl a beautiful pink tint around the glass. What am I doing here in this dingy motel with its stinky carpet, dull gray walls, and red bedspread drinking cheap wine?

She laughed so as not to cry again. Well, I wanted the fame and here I am the most famous singer of yester years, married to the most devious politician imaginable. A blessing or curse that I still need to wear a disguise on the street. Unfortunately, I know the answer to that one. She drew in a long gulp this time and refilled her glass. Held it out and thought she should have ordered something stronger, a lot stronger. She laughed and again took a sip of wine. She threw the blond wig on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Someday she would find a way to put a firm block in her own mind, thwart Jake’s dam eavesdropping. He never admitted it, but she could tell when he entered her mind. That SOB.

By the time she fell asleep the bottle of wine had roused her to deep anger, anger unreleased, anger that she’d held inside for more years then she could count. He always called her “My loving partner.” What a trumped up lie. A dam lie, a lie, a lie, a lie… and the mantra of hated deceit helped her quickly fall asleep in the cheap motel room.

Jake didn’t need a phone call to know that something was up. Her thoughts were his thoughts if he focused deeply enough and aimed for her mind; today he did like an arrow stabbing into a heart, because he still loved his wife deeply and knew that Lil had snuck away in disguise from her appointment in Detroit to visit and check out this young girl named Maria. She’ll know right away if the girl has talent, and so will I. If she has talent, she will need to be turned away from it or even disposed of, but he hoped not. This was the job Gog had given each of his followers, to prevent such specials powers from rising up, and it didn’t matter if, as in this instance, the talented person was Lillian’s child. Something must be done, but what? Perhaps it was well that Gog knew nothing of the child. Besides, her abilities, what ever they were, would be erased soon. He’s see to it.

Odd, but he picked up a feeling of anger from his wife. This perked up his interest. He set aside the latest stack of papers the young aid had given him and sat back in the huge leather chair. He closed his eyes to concentrate deeper to pick up her thoughts but they were jumbled up. She must have drunk too much wine and fallen asleep. No matter, I can get what I want later. Just then the office worker came in holding a new stack of papers and waiting to be told where to put them, which interrupted his concentration. Anger surged up from his depths for a moment, but true politician that he was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he smiled and told the young man to set the papers next to the other pile. This famous political figure always smiles.

He gave up trying to reach his wife. Jake was aware of the hatred she mixed in with her admiration of his strength and her love for him. It was part of his method because it kept her off balance, a squirming but willing partner. Ah, my little Lil, the wig was not necessary in such a cheap place. Sleep well, my lady, forget this Maria. Soon she won’t be a shadow on your life.

Still, his mind questioned as he worked and he wondered if Gog knew Lil had had born a child back in the days. None of them were allowed to have children, orders from the boss and supposedly impossible besides. Jake still wasn’t sure how it happened with Lil; it was before he met her. Before he saved her life, actually. Picked her up from the depths of drugs. She wasn’t aware that he knew she born a child. Well, it is a problem that can be taken care of easily, if necessary. With that thought, he dug into the pile of papers with his secretary’s concise summery attached.

By the time the plane landed at Willow Run Airport two months later, Jake’s reading of Maria’s life was completed. This was years before computers would make such a search quick and easy to accomplish by anyone, but the future couldn’t be rushed. His business today was to begin that process of speeding up the future by creating a dummy corporation in Detroit that would eventually build the greatest mind on earth, a city that would become downtrodden and poverty stricken by the time they needed it, a perfect hiding place for the great supercomputer, and the last one of any consequence. Jake laughed.

Well, he didn’t need a computer in this instance because with his vast resources as a senator, he’d received a written report before he left Washington, only weeks after he’d hired the detective firm, a different one from the one his wife had hired, of course. He carried a folder that laid out the child’s life like chapters in a book, a very small book to be sure, but large enough for one so young.

The last entry dealt with her life as young lover. Jake thought he could do something about that. Push it forward. This would make a good start to a normal, tumultuous life filled with such regularity that she would have no time to think about what she had missed. Let her have her lover, along with a rocky marriage, a lot of crying children, and mountains of bills. She would be so lost in life that any other potentiality would be beyond her mental scope, even dreams. Well not dreams. Fairytales kept dreams of love and wealth alive for most girls her age and beyond. Jake knew because he studied such things.

He felt it a matter of great importance to know the enemy, those other angels and anyone else who showed the slightest talent. He excluded no one from the list, not even his own wife, especially his wife. Life was a challenge, the challenge being to stay forever on top of knowledge about any person who concerned him. Maria had just entered this large, select group of persons of interest to Jackson Howler, and once singled out as interesting, as a potential enemy, or found to have a unique talent, that person never again left his purview.

Jake, tall slim, always dark suited, always with penetrating blue eyes beneath bushy eyebrows on a narrow face, knew the dashing figure he made when he entered a room. Heads turned and eyes followed his every move, or so they thought. While working for the boss, he’d kept all his own talents. He laughed mirthfully as he thought about the tricks he could play on ordinary people. They were so simple they no longer challenged him, and he dearly loved a challenge. Perhaps this Maria would prove to be such a challenge? But, no. she was too young and simple. Too ordinary. He laughed as he exited the air plane and all heads turned his way, not a few seemed to bow in homage, or was that from the wind.

Aaron Blake liked to pinch Anne who sat in front of him in school. The first time, it was a little pinch that make her turn around and stick her tongue out at him. The next pinch was much harder. Anne cried and told the teacher. Aaron was sat in the corner for time out. The next pinch Anne did to herself when for some reason she picked up the big stapler on the teacher’s desk that the teacher had said was off limits. For some reason, Anne pushed down on the stapler and sent a staple through her tiny soft little finger. All the while Aaron Blake stood watching with interest.

Later, high school held even more opportunities to explore emotion, his own included. Like other students he tried drinking and smoking, but found them unsatisfactory. What he found more to his liking was accidents. At first, these were small fender benders where the young driver didn’t know why he couldn’t stop in the parking lot. Then Aaron graduated to turning heads just at the right moment to cause a head on collision with its accompanying loud crash and often fire. He smiled as he walked past.

Chapter 9

Maria’s husband had stomped out of the house again. It had been the battle of all battles. Maria had thrown dishes at the door when he left. It felt good, it gave her a release for all the built up rage and anger. Now what? He’ll get over it, he always does, but will I?

“Please help me Jesus,” she cried out loud and then realized what she’d done. She hadn’t been to church in years. That was the problem, the center of her woes. The last time she’d been to church the kids were in grade school, now they were grown up and leaving the nest. Maybe I have empty nest syndrome?

She looked around at the drab Detroit house in which she had raised three children. My life is a mess. What went wrong?

Church, I need to go back to church. Sunday, that is a promise. I promise you Jesus.

Since this was only Tuesday and church wasn’t until Sunday, she went to the library instead and blitzed TM meditation and Religions of the World and anything else she could find about God. She reasoned that if she was going to change her life around, she had to turn it 360 degrees, full circle. Maria was a reader. She loved to read and had scoured the libraries for information on science, philosophy, and all manner of information. Now religion got her full attention. Her husband had finally taken off with some hussy, but right now, she didn’t care. So she sank into the many religious books, absorbed them and decided to live up to the values and worship that she’d read about.

She decided to meditate, but it wasn’t easy because the books weren’t clear on the subject. She kept practicing, but the first time she succeeded by sending our mind outwards in a spiral to the stars, two fiery, fierce red eyes stared back at her from inside black space. An invisible hand slapped the side of her face, which jerked her awake and back into reality. What happened? All she’d done sent her mind out towards the stars. Wasn’t she supposed to? She’d been looking for heaven and God. What she got was something else.

When she dropped out of meditation, her heart pounded with such fear, her whole body shook. Surly it’d been an angel that shoved her away from those two ugly, fiery eyes; an angel who had saved her from going further, and that maybe those two red, growing orbs were dangerous, some kind of devil? Yes, devil eyes. Something must be guarding the earth to stop people from getting off? Are we prisoners? Maybe I don’t want to know? And what about the angel who saved me? Are angels are real? Of course they are. She comforted herself with the thought but didn’t attempt to meditate again for a long while.

It was months later before she tried meditating again, and this time, she was careful to stay away from those red eyes and found meditation enjoyable. This was good because her husband was gone for good now and she found church and meditation relaxing during the worst troubling times. Then one evening, while meditating, she imagined Jesus on the cross in agony and the blood was so real that she cried out and stopped meditating and began to cry. She cried not only for Jesus but at her own messed up life and the pain she was going through at the present.

Suddenly, a soft voice said to her, “I am risen now.”

The voice, Jesus voice? So soft, so sudden, so real! It pulled her out of the deep well of self pity she had fallen into. She blinked and let her emotions relax. For some reason it made sense that Jesus would speak to her. She felt enclosed by his words, wrapped up in soft cotton. Her pain for both of them had lifted away.

“Yes, you are risen.” She dared say into the air of the room, delighted that Jesus had spoken to her, a small person with no importance. Even though Jesus didn’t speak again, she was determined that they would become friends, somehow. At the thought, she decided that she would stay close to Jesus and his church from now on. Soon after, she realized there was an added benefit to meditation and church because the angels seemed willing and able to help when she got into trouble.

One day, as she was whizzing down the street too fast towards an intersection, an angel spoke to her. The angel voice was loud and clear as it said, “Slow down.” She slammed on the brakes and breathed a sigh of relief as a car sped past the front of her own; it would have crashed into the side of her car if she hadn’t stopped. With shaking hands, Maria restarted the stalled car and then pull over to the side to quiet her nerves. Whoever that angel was, she was determined to keep it as a friend.

After her divorce, Maria took classes so she could get a job in nursing homes. She did well as a substitute at a number of different places, some nice, and some not so nice, like St. Joseph’s. And she didn’t like going there. This was the fourth time this week the staffing agency had scheduled her at St. Jo’s and she was tired of taking care of sixteen residents every day. It was even illegal, as if anyone cared. She prided herself that she always gave her residents good care, but it was hard to do when you had sixteen people to get out of bed, dress, feed and bathe. That was one of the reasons she worked for a staffing agency, so she could change nursing homes if she didn’t like it, and she was beginning to not like St. Jo’s at all.

It was going to be one of those long dreary days too. The sky was gray and cloudy, with intermittent rain blowing against the large, bedroom window. At breakfast, the residents had mirrored the gray, dreary sky with angry complaints about their eggs or toast. Maria’s thoughts kept swirling and peaking in abrupt gusts of resentment like the rain that had intermittently beat against the windows all morning. She pulled the dirty sheets off one bed and began stretching and tucking on the clean ones. Next the draw sheet and blanket then she pulled everything to the top and fluffed up the pillow. Just then, Elaine rolled into the room.

“Ccc...i…giggg..er..ttte?” Elaine asked.

Maria looked down at Elaine and was about to tell her that she had too much work to do, that she didn’t have time to sit on the patio. But she stopped herself. Poor Elaine and her cigarettes, it was her only joy in life. She couldn’t smoke unless someone went outside with her to watch that she didn’t burn the place down. Elaine, mused Maria, who was tiny, feisty, sad, and happy all at the same time, didn’t need another cigarette. Her face was already a smorgasbord of twitching wrinkles while her hands constantly shook with Parkinson’s. She could barely hold on to a cigarette while she smoked. Glancing at the window, Maria noticed the rain had stopped. Well, if that’s all she needs to be happy, I am not going to prevent it.

“Sure,” Maria told her, “I am dying for a cigarette too. You’re just the excuse I need. Two more beds, then I’ll be ready for a break.”

That put a smile on Elaine’s face as she rolled away.

“Hay, it’s been raining off and on all day, so get your sweater.”

When Maria came out of the room, Elaine was already waiting in the hall, hands trembling so much she had to keep returning the gold cigarette case and white sweater to the center of her lap.

“Ok, let’s go” Maria laughed and helped Elaine put her sweater on then angled them both towards the patio at the center of the building.

Maria pushed Elaine’s chair down one dull peach-painted hallway to another and then past the activity room where Mr. Henson called out his singsong litany, “Somebody help me, will somebody please help me, somebody please help me.” No one ever helped him. Her first day here, Maria had stopped and tried to do something for him, but she couldn’t figure out what he needed, so she just held his hand for a minute. He wasn’t her charge this day and she was glad.

Mrs. Günter was sitting nearby in her usual spot, bent over in her chair with spit dribbling down her chin and onto her gown; her head was bobbing up and down while she slept. She wasn’t Maria’s resident either but Maria stopped took a moment to wipe the dribble off with a Kleenex on her way past the activity room where she heard loud comments.

A quick glance inside revealed three aids, sitting, and talking together as they watched “Jerry Springer” on television. A few residents sat snoring in front of the roaring television as the aids talked. Mr. Adam’s snores and whistles were loud enough to hear above the noise. Maria smiled then wrinkled her nose at the odor of his bowl accident.

“Gloria, you know Mr. Adams did a job?”

“Yeah, get to him in a minute.” She laughed at Jerry once more.

A feeling of hopelessness ran through Maria like a lightening bolt as she pushed Elaine past the activity room. I hate this place, she said to herself as she continued to push the wheel chair through the narrow hall across from the activity room and held the patio door open for Elaine to roll herself outside.

The sudden whiff of fresh, cool, air pampered Maria’s nose as she followed Elaine. It felt like a loving baby’s breath against her hot skin. The rain had stopped but the air was damp and smelled of earth. She breathed in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second with pleasure. The varnished picnic table was beaded with raindrops that pooled in little rivulets on the seats. Maria sat on the wet seat, nothing wrong with a little water, then lit Elaine’s cigarette and her own. Even through the smoke she could smell the ozone mixed with fresh green grass and wet cement. A hateful habit she was determined to stop one day. The smell was awful but the wind soon blew it away. Maria noticed water gurgling as it gushed from a nearby gutter and a bird splashed and twittered a song into the silver gray sky. Her seat was facing the alcove where the large statue of Mary, the Mother of God, stood enclosed by a small white fence. As Maria took the next long puff, she glanced over at the statue of Mary, painted in a white gown with a blue overcoat and a dark beaded rosary hanging from her delicate plaster, pink hands and face.

Maria paused and looked closer at the face. The statue of Mary was crying.

Maria watched as a single drop fell from Mary’s right eye and rolled down her cheek dripping off her chin. As the teardrop fell off Mary’s face, a tear threatened to run down Maria’s own cheek as well, and finally did.

‘Oh God!’ She sobbed letting out her held breath

Now she saw that black streaks were running down Mary’s pale pink face. Her delicate beauty tarnished by streamers of soot, and dirt. She suddenly knew it was right for Mary to cry. She felt Mary’s sorrow flow from the statue, and sorrow for the old people inside the nursing home seeped into her soul too. Maria’s cigarette dangled, ignored in her hand as she sobbed silently.

Finally, she gulped back a huge shuddering sob. Of course, it was only the eye paint running off and down statue’s face. Wasn’t it? Must only be paint mixed with rain. But the statue was old. Still, Maria couldn’t take her eyes off those dark, ugly streaks running down those fragile pink cheeks.

She knew why Mary was crying. How could Mary not cry, a prisoner in the corner alcove, feeling, with each opening of the patio door, a new stream of anguish and sadness from the people living there. An anguish that seeped out and swirled around her. Maria squeezed her eyes shut and felt her body shudder as she tried to stop up the flow of tears that threatened to turn her own face into a gushing waterfall.

The clang of the metal gears on Elaine’s chair broke the spell. Her wheelchair groaned and rattled in protest as she tried to release the break with her palsied hands. Cigarette done, Elaine was in a hurry to go back inside.

“Elaine wait. Look at Mary’s statue, it’s crying,”

But Elaine was already half way to the patio door, the chair’s wheels grating on the cement, her head twittered and hands grasped for each hold on the chair’s wheels. Maria repeated her words but Elaine didn’t hear. Oh well, time to go back. Maria checked that both cigarette butts were out and followed, but when she opened the door, she recoiled at the strong urine odor that rolled outside and mixed in with the fresh spring air. She gave a hard shove to Elaine’s chair to push it over the threshold hump then pushed Elaine back into the stifling heat of neglect.

At lunch break, Maria noticed that Mary’s statue still had dark streaks running down its cheeks even though it hadn’t rained again. A small group of attendants and nurse assistants were playing cards on the picnic table and two kitchen helpers were sitting in lounge chairs eating and talking but no one seemed to notice the streaks on Mary’s face. Maria kept glancing over at Mary’s statue between bites of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sips of coffee, the evidence still apparent on the statue’s face.

Maria was beginning to feel exasperated that no one else noticed the statue of Mary crying so she finally nudged the card player sitting next to her and pointed out to him that the statue of Mary looked like it had been crying. He shrugged, too busy to give her or the statue any attention. Next, she pointed the black streaks out to the heavyset nursing aid sitting at the end of the table.

“Oh yeah,” the aid said as she glanced over at the statue for a minute and then turned back to her lunch and newspaper.

Maria shrugged and gave up the fight. She watched Mary’s statue until lunch break was over, waiting for the next tear that never fell. It was obviously an old statue, probably been standing in the same place for years. Maybe someone painted the eyes last night. We’ll, maybe she was crazy, but the workday was almost over and she could take her crazy self home.

Then finally, it was three o’clock, quitting time. On her way to the locker room to get her purse, she stopped at the nursing station in the west wing where Marge, a usually friendly nurse, was still on duty.

“Do you know that the statue of Mary on the patio has streaks running down her face?” Maria asked Marge. “It looks like the statue’s been crying.”

Marge, who was sitting at her station, busy writing in her notebook, stopped for a moment and looked up at Maria like she was crazy. Maria shrugged and continued walking to the locker room. Then, purse in hand and light brown jacket slung over her arm, Maria backtracked to the patio door, but rain was falling again, harder now, splashing on the picnic table and obscuring the statue of Mary.

While she ran through the rain to her car Maria made herself a promise, she made a pledge that she’d never work in this nursing home again, even if the agency begged her.

Maria didn’t know it but Michael had watched her reaction to the statue’s tears. Never forgetting his lapse when Maria had the flu, he made sure to take a few minutes each day to check on her well-being. This day he happened by as she pushed the wheelchair through the hall. As an invisible ghost, he walked next to her for a few moments and then stayed with her for a while. He saw her eyes fill up with tears and realized once again that she had a special gift of sight and intuition. Michael remembered when Maria first met him and with her childish mind viewed him as an angel. Maria is different. She blamed the other workers for being insensitive, but perhaps they couldn’t see it the same as she did. She has always shown empathy for people. The streaks of paint running down the statue’s eyes hit a tender nerve inside her.

Am I being fair to her? Doesn’t she have the right to define the streams of rain as tears? What did I see? Only Maria with a forlorn face about to burst into tears. The statue of Mary did look as if it was crying. Yet, I could see the cause was the paint on the eyes. Have I missed the whole point? Ah, but when I relate what I’ve seen to Father Tom, he will be very happy. He always seemed concerned for Maria, but I don’t really know why. Michael knew he had the power to dig deeper into the priests mind but decided long ago to allow him areas of select privacy. It was the honorable thing to do. He’d learned that from Rodin, at his first teacher’s knee. He felt a sudden touch of pride; he’d just made a joke. He’d tell Father Tom that too so he could have a good hearty laugh.

Chapter 10

Father Tom watched Doctor Mayer’s face, usually jovial, turn into a frown, even his eyes seemed to turn down, as he pronounced the verdict. Father wasn’t surprised, he’d felt the problem growing in his guts for months, then he laughed at his own pun. Yes, the problem was his gut and nothing would take it away.

Doctor Meyers continued, “I will set you up with appointments at the hospital for more checks, but to tell you the truth, I think you waited too long, ulcers are nothing to play with. You should have come for a check-up much earlier.”

“That bad, aye? Sort of figured it out for myself. Didn’t want to get the bad news just yet. No more wine.” He smiled with his words so as not to make his friend of many years feel guilty, and kept quiet about the cigar he enjoyed now and again.

“I’ll do my best. I know some very good specialists, just maybe, they can do more than I can, after all, I am only a general practitioner.”

“But wasn’t it specialists took those tests you’re looking at?”

“Just from one hospital. I could have you see a specialist I know in Chicago?”

Father Tom laughed. “Frank, don’t look so down. You know how old I am. Can’t even say mass on a regular basis any more. They’re about to kick me into retirement. They already have my replacement living in the rectory. What use am I any more to anyone?”

“Please don’t say you are useless. You have pulled so many people into the church, including my wife and myself. Don’t ever say you are useless. Hell, they may make you a saint one day.”

“Oh, please, never that. But I’ll tell you something. It’s been a long, hard life, and would have been a lot harder without my deep faith. Now, I am looking forward to a rest, a rest in heaven. Frank, I look forward to going to sleep, going home to God.”

He smiled broadly with his words. Dr. Meyers gave him a half smile as they shook hands.

“I want to see you back here in two weeks. No argument. And remember, bland diet.”

“Sure, boss.”

They both smiled as Father Tom left the office. But Father Tom’s smile turned off quickly. He hadn’t completely told the truth about being ready to go home to God. Not yet anyway, he needed just a little more time to put things straight. A memory had been tickling his mind for the last few weeks, ever since that old letter stamped “Returned” fell out of that giant book of saints, a memory of a little girl who he might have been harmed a long time ago. Now that he was facing the fact that he was old with the limitations it imposed, he couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to see that child, well not a child any longer, she must be an older adult by now. Michael would know where to find her.

He had a sudden pang. Did Michael know what he’d done years ago? Were all his hidden thoughts revealed to him. If so, he hadn’t said anything. In fact, hadn’t mentioned Maria in a long while.

What he had done to that young girl child was unconscionable, might have hurt her badly. Well, it wasn’t his own doing, at least that is what he kept telling himself to ease the quilt of writing that letter, but the lie wasn’t working any longer. That investigator from Rome had been a fake so might have done something really harmful to the child, although didn’t she seem fine later when he saw her in church? But what if that investigator did something unseen, took away her faith? That would be vital. No, I need to see for myself. Can’t ever rest in heaven until I know what I did to that girl by writing to Rome about her, and what that fake priest did to her. My fault alone that he found her.

These thoughts kept turning in his mind as he walked to his car in the parking lot and drove worriedly home. But then he had a brain storm. Yes. Hadn’t Michael said she lived in Detroit? I wonder if she still does? He began to get excited by the plan he’d just thought up. He owned a nice corner lot in Detroit. Had owned it for a long while now, part of his dream. It was time to put it to use. Time for him to move to Detroit too. He intended to tell Michael about his plans right away because he told him most everything, but what reason could he give? Well, why not the truth?

After his nap and dinner, Father Tom spoke to Michael that evening about moving.

“You know everything about me, so you also know I own a small building on Gratiot on the east side in Detroit. I am too old to be of much help in the church any longer. They’ll be wanting to move me into an old folk’s home any day now. I have decided it is time to give in to my fondest wish, to go for that dream I have always craved.”

He paused as if considering something. “Do you know what that dream is Michael?”

“Yes, I have seen your dreams. You want to start a museum of religious art, Italian Renaissance paintings, to be exact.”

Even though he had expected such an answer, he still felt taken aback slightly.

“Well, I feel that now is the time to make that move. All the paintings I have collected over the years, well many are copies, but very good ones, are stored in a warehouse gathering dust. Actually, they have been boxed up and ready for transport for many years. The move will be no problem at all. We will hire some help to clean and paint the old place, then get movers to handle the paintings. Nothing for an old man to do but follow along and maybe sweep the sidewalk in front of the museum.

“I think it is a wonderful idea, but for what purpose? Why now?”

“Why, to entice our Maria to step in to view the paintings. I keep thinking about what you told me happened in the nursing home that day. Like you, I think she is special, but in a different way. She may have spiritual gifts. I would like to see her reaction to a Closter full of paintings of Jesus. That is the name I have decided on, by the way. The Closter Art Museum.”

“She paints in oils herself. I am certain she will be drawn to your art museum about Jesus.”

“She will stop in to visit one day.” Father Tom said, “I believe that with all my heart.”

“I agree with you. Her wild stage didn’t last long. She works in a nursing home now. She always seems to pick jobs working with people.” Michael said.

“It will be nice to see her face again, haven’t seen her since she was a tiny girl. But of course, you know that. Sometimes, Michael, I think you know everything.”

“No, I don’t know everything.”

“Did you know what was in my mind when that letter fell out of the old saint book?”

“I noticed a strange reaction, but I didn’t dig deeper. I thought it not polite.”

“Thank you.” Father Tom gave a long sigh of relief, but then felt ashamed. “I wish to explain to you why I was so startled. I feel great guilt about it.”

“I am all ears.” Michael said, and they both laughed because Father Tom understood how delighted it made Michael when he told a joke.

Then Father Tom blurted out his shame. “I wrote a letter to Rome because little Maria was sending mental thoughts into my head, and that wasn’t the worst part. The letter came back, unopened, but some investigator from Rome came to check on her anyway.”

Father Tom could feel Michael’s silent pause as if puzzling about what he’d just told him. “Now I worry that the person sent from Rome did something to Maria. Do you see now Michael why I must see her again?”

“Yes, but she has grown up just fine. I would know. I think your fears are ungrounded, but I respect your need to know. Also, you will finally get that Renaissance art museum you’ve always wanted. Two birds with one stone.”

They both laughed heartily at Michael’s words.

Within two months, against the wishes of friends, he had no family left, Father Tom began setting up the Closter Art Museum on the corner of Gratiot and East Grand Boulevard. The effort to set up shop did just the opposite for Father Tom’s health then his close friends feared. Realizing his life’s dream, at long last, Father found new, abounding strength and quickened vigor as he puttered around the shop. He’d walk from the front of the small, narrow shop to the back, up stairs and down, putting labels on the walls for each painting as he dusted the frames, or rearrange the chairs. Michael could feel Father Tom’s pleasure when he dusted the frames on his downstairs art collection where every painting was uplifting and showed a moment in Jesus’ life, usually as a young child at his mother’s knee. Upstairs was a different matter, those paintings were not uplifting at all.

The second floor held all the paintings Father Tom had gathered showing Christ on the cross, many of them copies of originals, but Father Tom didn’t seem to care. He did care about the effect it would have on visitors. Michael knew he did it to cause empathy in the viewer, but for some reason, Father Tom invited very few people to see the art pieces on the second floor. After a little thought, Michael began to realize that Father Tom had set up the room with its large, heavy passionate paintings of horror with only one purpose in mind, Maria. This thought made Michael smile. Father Tom was deeply concerned for Maria’s spiritual life.

His thoughts were interrupted by Father Tom running his fingers through his thick mane of white hair and asking his advice. “Is this a good place do you think? No, no, I think it must go on that little sidewall. Good thing it is one of the smaller paintings, hah. ”

Father Tom had learned the lesson well when his housekeeper caught him talking to Michael and thereafter spoke inside his mind. Now, in his own place and guaranteed to be left undisturbed unless the gold bell above the door jingled, he felt free to speak out loud to Michael when ever he chose. It made life easier.

“Excellent choice. If it were one of the larger works I would insist you call Mrs. Halstead so she could send someone to help.”

“You are too protective of me, Michael, but I forgive you.”

The last of the group of paintings came in the truck the next day and the drivers from the church stayed all day to hang the paintings. Finally, the paintings were all hung, the walls painted and patched, and with the new sign, “Art Closter Museum,” hung over the door, Father Tom invited one or two people from the old neighborhood to come for a visit, a few at a time. The shop, both upper and lower levels, was long and narrow and more than five people could make it feel crowded.

The museum didn’t get many visitors at all, but when it did Father Tom served tea and offered cookies out of a tin. Mrs. Halstead’s son stopped in often to make sure Father Tom didn’t try to hang a painting by himself or climb up on a ladder. Mrs. Halstead told him he wasn’t to work too hard in that silly old painting shop. Michael was sure her son went back and reported how happy and revived Father Tom was now. He still lived at the rectory, a short fifteen minute drive in normal traffic, but he spent many an evening and some nights in his beloved art museum. This was Father Tom’s dream come true.

It was a quaint old building and Father Tom turned it into a place of comfort for himself. He opened the museum every morning at 10:00 am and closed at 5:00, waiting for visitors. When no visitors came, it didn’t matter to Father Tom, he would sit with a cup of tea by his side, lean back in the chair and study a painting intensely, as if he’d never seen it before. A few of his fellow priests stopped in now and again, but hardly anyone else. The museum stayed mostly empty even though Father charged no entrance fee and had set up two large, colorful paintings as an attraction behind the store front glass. One of the painting was Madonna and Child with St. Ann by Leonardo Da Vinci and the second was also Madonna and Child but by Giovanni Bellini. Such colorful art should have attracted curious visitors, but seldom did, which was no bother for Father Tom; he was waiting for Maria.

The museum stood on a busy corner with a city bus stop out front, which prevented visitors from parking. Still, people waiting for the bus often took note of the beautiful paintings in the window. Young men ran drugs out of a house a few blocks down the Boulevard, which didn’t help the reputation of the area. Father Tom had bought the building in better years, before the Detroit riot, but by the time he opened his museum in the early 80’s, Detroit had become known as the murder capitol of the world, and Michael sometimes worried about Maria living within its corrupt boarders.

On her way to the bank, Maria sat impatiently in the car, stopped at a red light, needing to listen to the exhaust bang against the underside of her twelve year old car, a reminder that she’d better get it fixed soon. She was bored so looked around at the business on the corner of Gratiot and East Grand Boulevard. Ah, there is that museum again. The paintings sitting in the large picture window haunted her every time she drove past this corner, but for some reason, she never had time to stop.

Well, today is different. Instead of driving straight thru she made a swift turn onto the Boulevard, swung around the U turn, and parked a few houses from the tiny museum. She was wearing a simple shirt and jeans, with her hair pulled back into a pony tail, her usual attire, so she wasn’t exactly dressed to visit a museum. It’s just a small, storefront museum so maybe it doesn’t matter what I am wearing. When she saw a skinny women wearing a very short skirt and a fluffy fur scarf walking back and forth across the street, she laughed. Well, maybe I am underdressed.

Still smiling, she walked close to the museum window and stopped to take a good look of the large painting of Mary and the baby Jesus. The plaque read, Leonardo Da Vinci. Ah, a very famous painting. She couldn’t read the name near the other painting in the window, Mary wearing blue and holding a Rosary. Very colorful. Mary looked filled with light and beautiful. The painting reminded Maria of the rumor she’d heard that St. Joseph’s Nursing Home was being closed down. She hoped it was true, then maybe the statue of Mary could stop crying. She walked to the door and looked at the name painted on the sign above, “The Art Closter Museum.” Nice name, but is it open? Yes, she could see someone’s shadow behind the door shade.

She opened the door to a jingly bell. A very old priest with a small, wrinkled face beneath a head of shocking white hair smiled at her in delight. His eyes were crystal blue and seemed to have a silver glint of shadow as if she could see through them. She frowned at the thought, but couldn’t remember why the eyes puzzled her. She was fond of old priests and asked if she could come in to see the paintings.

“Is there a charge?”

“Oh, no.” the priest said, “Don’t you remember me, Maria? Father Tom Emory.” He chuckled, “I haven’t seen you since you were a young girl living in River Rouge.”

“Oh, this is so wonderful. I think I do remember you, but just a little.”

“No matter. I am glad you are here now. Please look around.”

“Oh, thank you. I am sorry if didn’t recognize you. You look different.”

“Yes. Old age does that to a person.” He said and smiled.

“It is nice to see you. I won’t stay long, but for some reason, I just wanted to come in today. Felt sort of compelled to finally stop and come see your beautiful paintings. I love religious art, you know. Those paintings in the window are really special. I paint too, but I am not good at it like these great artists.”

“Oh, you will be one day. Just keep trying. But please look around.”

Maria did. She went from painting to painting. Many of them were of the holy family, and painted by artists whose strange names she couldn’t pronounce: Madonna and Child by Fra Filippo Lippi, Virgin and Child by Giovanni Bellini, and a strange, too long of body Madonna and Child by Parmigianino. A number of paintings were by Leonardo Da Vinci and even Maria knew that he was famous so assumed that many of the paintings hanging on the walls must be copies of famous originals. She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to ask and show how ignorant she truly was about art. Regardless, each piece of art was interesting and pleasant. It reminded her of the paintings that hung in the hallways of the catholic school she went to in grade school. Yet, as pleasant as this was, she needed to get home.

She said good-by, and turned to go out the door, but Father Tom implored her to look at the rest of the paintings.

“Oh, but there are more paintings upstairs.” He said, “You must go see them. Please, go up and take a look. It won’t take but a moment.”

To please Father Tom, who really was very old and sweet, Marie agreed to go upstairs. She followed a narrow winding enclosed stairway to the upper floor and began to walk in front of the paintings that lined the long, narrow room on both sides. Within moments, she realized what she stepped into; every painting in this upstairs room was a rendering of the Crucifixion of Jesus burial. Here he was being nailed to the cross, the huge metallic nails contrasted with Jesus’ soft white skin. Over there, vivid red blood was dripping down Jesus side. In another painting Jesus ribs stuck out as if stretched, his deep agonized eyes begged the viewer to stop the pain. Or did the painting mean she was to share in that pain, because she felt in agony herself now.

“Oh, my God.”

Her legs felt like rubber; her mind swirled away from the vivid scenes and strange artist names as if afraid they might pull her in, make her a partner in Jesus’ death. Maria couldn’t stand the suffering that faced her. She turned her head quickly towards the other wall of the long room, but there too was passion and pain multiplied ten fold. Hurrying now, she quickly stepped from painting to painting, trying to not look, but unable to turn away. She couldn’t stop being a witness to Christ’s pain and suffering. Anguish ripped at her own insides, as her mind continue to feel the aching horror. With every step, the visual reminder of how Jesus died, unsettled her anew, as if she were the one on the cross, or under it. She remembered that vision she had one night of Jesus hanging on the cross above her, as if she were huddled at his feet. She remembered a phrase from a prayer long ago, “And I felt all my bones.”

Tears gushed from her eyes now and she stopped trying to escape and allowed the rasping sobs to pour down her face. She was caught, screwed on a spit of misery and agony, hemmed in by Jesus’ pain, and yet, in some odd way, she also welcomed it, as if in a catharsis of of…something.

Still blinded by tears, she felt she had to escape or become dumbfounded forever and groped for the dark narrow stairway at the other end that led her back down to the ground floor once more. Breathing became easer with each step down and she tried to stop the tears by wiping her face with her hands before she opened the small door to the main area of the small museum.

She was still sniffling and trying to hold back the tears when Father Tom walked up to her. For a moment, she felt betrayed and would have sobbed again if he hadn’t taken both her hands in his own old, soft ones and smiled at her with sweetness glowing from his eyes.

“Maria, it is okay to cry at such evidence of evil.” He raised his soft voice to a firm, louder pitch, “But never forget—Jesus is risen now.”

As he let her hands go and walked her to the door, she remained silent. She couldn’t speak just yet. At the opened door, he held her hands once more and said, “Please come back again. I am so pleased you like the paintings.”

“Yes, I will try” She managed to squeak out as she turned and fled to her car. But she couldn’t go back, she knew. How could she ever face the agony of that upstairs room again? He is such a nice old man, she wondered how he could stand going up there himself? He must dust the paintings once in a while. Then his last words replayed in her mind, “Jesus is risen now.” She also remembered Jesus saying those same words to her during meditation not too long ago. The memory relieved her feeling of sorrow somewhat, although she knew she’d never forget the feeling of horror as she walked down that narrow room surrounded by Jesus’ death.

Maybe she would go back to visit Father Tom but avoid the upstairs paintings? And she did mean to go back and visit Father Tom again, but kept putting it off until, a few years later, while stopped at the same red light, she noticed with a sharp pang of sadness that the building was boarded up and empty.

Chapter 11

Father Tom couldn’t get out of bed this morning and it was a good thing that he had stayed at the rectory for the night and not the museum. Yesterday had been too long a day. He’d ridden the train for hours to Chicago and back again. Now his legs were swollen from the long walk through the city, all just to look at a new painting for the museum. He felt pleased on that score, he’d bought it at a bargain.

He had been on his last legs for years and knew it was about over now. He wasn’t afraid or sorry to know that God would take him soon on some star filled night. He was certain it would be quick and painless. But what about my angel Michael? What will he do? Where will he go?

He worried about how Michael would manage when he was gone. They had been together for so many years. He remembered the first time they had met and Michael’s first miracle. We had both agreed that it wasn’t in our best interest to continue in that direction. Father Tom still believed it was a right decision. Every once in a while, Michael would slip a miracle into place on the sly. Father Tom smiled as he remembered the child with the mental defect. That one was easy because Michael worked it slowly and the mother assumed the cure was caused by the new treatment from the doctor.

“Remember that one?” he asked his friend, speaking from his mind.

“I remember everything, unless, now and again, I manage to erase a specific event, not so easy.”

“Guess I am getting to old to go back to the museum. I won’t see Maria again.” Father said with a long sigh.

“We know she is doing well. She is working and raising other people’s children now, a job she loves and a nice touch to her life. We need not be worried.”

“You will continue to see to her, won’t you?” Then he added, “Silly question, I know.”

He felt Michael smile within his mind as he said the words.

“I think I have come to love her as much as you. It is strange, don’t you think.”

“Not strange at all. She is quite lovable.”

Father laughed at that, not a hearty laugh as he would have done ten years ago, but a croak that rumbled inside his throat.

“I will be leaving you soon,” Father Tom said.

“Do you still hold to the philosophy that I dropped down from heaven?”

“Sometimes. No matter, you are a good person, else, why would you have stayed with me?”

“True. You have made me good.”

“Or you me.”

They both laughed at that.

Father said, “I thank you sincerely. It is quite a complement.”

A knock sounded on the outside door of the rectory and then they heard it open.

“Ah, probably Mrs. Halstead’s come to spank me.”

Father Tom lifted his head off the pillow, but then had to lay it back down again. The effort had been too much for the moment, so he decided to wait awhile.

He said, “I won’t be around much longer, Michael. What will you do?”

“I have already told you. Do not worry about me.”

“We have been together for so long; we are like two persons in one now.”

“Yes, we have grown close in mind and body.”

“That closeness is about to end. I will look down on you from heaven, I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Father Tom liked the feeling of having Michael inside his mind. He profoundly hoped, no, he knew it wasn’t a sin.

The door in the kitchen opened and closed. Mrs. Halstead called out, “Father Tom? Are you ok?”

She knocked on the bedroom doorframe on her way into the room.

“I just wanted to make sure you are ok. It’s not like you to miss going to morning mass. That nice young Father Manic said mass this morning. You would have liked his sermon.”

Mrs. Halstead looked at the chair beside the bed, at the muddy pants and shoes. It was obvious that Father Tom had over exerted himself the day before because it wasn’t like him to throw his cloths down whenever they would land. He was supposed to ask for help when he left the rectory.

“You went and over did it again, didn’t you? I told you my son would drive you anyplace you need to go, but no, you need to go tramping off by yourself. What am I going to do with you? They’ll put you in an old folk’s home soon enough, no need to make them do it sooner.”

All this she said as she straightened up the covers and hung his cloths on the hook outside the closet door.

“And look at the mud? Did you go running through lightening too?”

Father Tom chuckled. He cleared his throat and barely managed to say, “You are almost as old as I am. What are you doing here?”

“You need checking into, that’s all. Made my own Tom that promise, I did, before he died. He said to me, ’You’ll keep a look after Tom number two, won’t you?’ I told him, ‘I certainly will.’ So there you have it. And don’t you tell me I am not to check up on you.”

“No. I won’t. You are a good women, Mrs. Halstead.”

“Yes, I am and I’ll be fixing you some breakfast whether you ask for it or not. Though I can see your all peaked and worn out. Just a small bit of breakfast, one toast with jelly and a cup of hot tea.”

With that, she strolled into the kitchen. Father Tom listened to her pull the toaster out of its niche and pour water into the teapot. He closed his eyes and he thanked the lord for the help she insisted on giving him every day. He hoped the little sum from his will would pay her back. Perhaps there would be income from the paintings? But he had donated the few originals to the Detroit Institute of Arts. What good are paintings to a dead man?

Thinking of his eminent death brought up another problem that he had been worried about. He mentioned it as he and Michael continued their conversation.

“Have you chosen another person to join yet?”

“No, I have not.”

“Why not? It will be gone soon”.

“I am afraid.”

Father Tom chuckled as best he could. Out loud, he croaked, “Afraid? You?”

“Afraid of loosing your companionship and philosophical insights.”

“You will find someone else who fits you. Not Maria though, promise me that”.

“No, never Maria! I think I would remain apart from her mind always. It would be like an invasion to join her.”

“But not with me”

“No.”

They both laughed at that. Father Tom tried once more to lift his head up off the pillow, and then sit up. He was successful, but braced himself by holding on to the side table. While they were on the subject of Maria, Father Tom thought to ask, “Why do you think she has divorced again? What is her reasoning?”

“Marrying the wrong kind of men, I think, but I intend to ask her one day.”

This brought Father Tom up short and he coughed before speaking out loud. The cough threatened to topple him so he grabbed the table and held on tight, dismayed to realize that Mrs. Halstead had been right; he had over did it. But Michael’s words piqued his curiosity.

“Do you mean to meet her then?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“I knew you meant to stay in touch with her though the years, but to actually meet her?” Father Tom reflected how easy it was to speak inside the mind. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yes, I want to meet her, maybe tell her who I am. I feel beholden to her.”

“That seems a strange thing to say.”

“I will never forget the first time I looked into her eyes. Somehow, her child eyes convinced me that I owned a soul.”

“Of course you have a soul, Michael.”

“How do you know? What if some alien came here from outer space? Would you then say it had a soul?” Michael thought, but did not say, I was created, but not by your God.

“Michael, if you are an alien or even if humans created you, you still have a soul. You can think, can’t you? You must make decisions between right and wrong. That is your soul.”

“I thank you for such encouragement, but I don’t know how moral my decisions will be without your guidance.”

“I am truly sorry I must leave you, but this old body can’t go on, even with a miracle.”

Father Tom remembered that day in front of the museum. Everyone thought it had been him who’d been shot, but it had been the drug pusher from down the street. The drug pusher had been in the middle of a transaction. He remembered that at the sound of the gunfire, he’d meant to go to the young man, but had fallen down and hit his head instead. Next he knew he was lying in a hospital bed. He knew Michael had kept his heart going, Michael admitted as much later on. He’d asked Michael never to do that to him again and this bout of illness brought up the idea that maybe he should reinforce that demand.

“Michael, you do realize that my work is done here. It will soon be time for me to meet my maker.”

He believed Michael would honor his request even though it would hurt him. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to remind him.

“Michael, remember your promise. No more life saving miracles for me.”

“Yes, Father. You know I will honor your request. I think you are in a hurry to get away from here so you can play gulf with Saint Peter.”

Both men became silent at Michael’s words.

Michael also thought about the events on the day of the shooting. Father Tom still didn’t know he was the actual target that day. Why tell him, it would just worry him that he’d been the cause of a young man’s death. Mrs. Halstead had told Father Tom that it was some kind of turf battle between gang members. Michael let it go at that, but he knew what actually took place and why.

Those eyes, Michael remembered, were crazy. He thought he’d seen his Twin staring out of them just before Father Tom got shot. Somehow, Gog had come into the past. Had he also taken a host? If he did, he picked one that fit his hateful style very well. The shooter had gotten away clean, but a young kid, too young to die was dead, and Father Tom lay on the ground with a deep scalp injury because Michael had moved him out of the way too fast and he fell down. They never did learn the name of the shooter.

He speculated that his Twin had probably learned by now, as Michael had, how easy it was to stay on the surface of a human mind behind the eyes. Yet, in order to force a person to shoot, wouldn’t he need to penetrate deep into the man’s mind and body?

Michael wasn’t sure. He didn’t have enough information to arrive at a conclusive answer. Evidently, his Twin had now decided to take enough time out of his busy schedule of running the world to chase into the past after him. It meant he and Father Tom would need to be on the defensive all the time. His fondness for Father Tom had become a handicap. Michael was on constant look out now against any danger his brother might cause. He felt more uneasy all the time that he might fail to protect Father Tom in his weakened, sick state. Michael could not stand such a failure.

Michael’s thoughts had run so deep he’d missed what Father Tom had just said.

“I am sorry. Could you repeat your statement?”

“You’re slipping Michael. Never did that before. Maybe we are both getting old.”

“Maybe.”

“I asked how long can you stay outside a human body? You know what I mean, without a host, if that is what I am.”

“I am not sure.”

“You haven’t tested it?”

“Oh, yes, but not since the nursing home event. Remember, I told you about it.”

“You told me about the visit to see her at work, but not how long you stayed a phantom.” The thought caused Father Tom to laugh inside his mind. “Listen to me. You’d think I was a science fiction fan with all this strange talk.” He chuckled again.

“I belong in your mind for now.”

“Many people would wish they had your ability. Even I would like to know what it is like.”

“No you don’t. I see too much.”

“Yes, it is sometimes better to not see too deeply or to much. You are right. But such knowledge might help you decide who to befriend after I am gone.”

“That is true. I intend to momentarily loosen my mind to the time flow, and I will learn who I should be with next.”

Michael knew father would like his last words. He didn’t tell him that he’d learned that he could enter multiple people at one time if he stayed close to the surface of their mind or away from any human host altogether. He thought he might never choose to sink so deep into another human psyche again as he had with Father Tom. He was exceedingly grateful for Father Tom and all his influence, but for unknown reasons he couldn’t explain, he was hesitant to repeat such closeness with anyone.

Father Tom chuckled again and this time it hurt to do so. “What a valuable person you are Michael. You will do someone proud, as you have done me. Whatever the angels are like in heaven, they must be like you when they visit earth.”

“That may be true, but I have not seen any. Henceforth, as I flitter from person to person, I will look for them.”

“I believe you might find a few, around and about.”

Chapter 12

Maria remembered when she’d first learned a new type of meditation. She turned on a Buddhist chant tape and allowed the sound to penetrate deep into her awareness. Surprisingly, as she did so, a voice said, “Walk into the sounds, Maria.”

After the shock wore off and she figured out that Jesus had actually spoken to her, she did as he asked and suddenly felt transported into waves of light. She could feel herself swirl in wondrous curves that spiraled up and up and up. She thought she would burst with delight until she began to flow down once more in a splatter of multiple lights like a fourth of July light show. She loved every sensation. The chants expanded her ability to meditate and move in the universe and she wondered at this new space she floated inside.

Then Jesus led her into a new space where a long line of glowing white angels, as far as the eye could see, floated in front of her. The front angel motioned for her to follow and took her hand. Effortlessly she floated behind the angel further and further into a pure white world, white on white. The confusion of forms astounded her but did not frighten. There was no room for anything impure here. Then she became concerned with her own impurities. But when she looked down at herself floating behind the lead angel, she saw that she too had been transformed into a body of silver light. Well, not quite as white as the angels, but she still felt herself holy and clean.

She didn’t know where she was going or why, but soon learned. She was taken into the center of the angel’s world, a shinning globe that seemed to be made out of clouds. There she met an angel who spoke for the rest of the millions who filled the cloud dome they had entered. Maria found it hard to differentiate one angel from another because everything was so white, but she blinked and a single angel seemed to come forward and stand out from the rest to speak.

“We want to show you our story. You will tell of us.”

“I’ll try.” Maria said and then felt stupid at her short phrase.

Suddenly, Jesus touched her on the shoulder. She turned to face him. He smiled and nodded. The angels flew with her out of the dome and she was suddenly sitting back, sunk deep in her blue chair in the living room. The angels hadn’t told her anything.

Maria could feel that Jesus was still with her. She asked Jesus what had just happened,. “Why didn’t they show me their story?”

“They did.” He told her that the angels had given her a great amount of information. It came as a mental package she couldn’t understand, but the information would be there when she needed it. Jesus explained that the angels were once humans on earth. Humans who suffered greatly before they escaped and went to a new world.

“You will tell their story.”

“I understand, but why? Why must their story be told?”

“To help prevent the same tragic circumstances from happening. Tell the people.”

“I am not that good at writing yet.” Maria said.

“You will write much.”

“How will I know what to write?”

“You will write it all.” Jesus said.

Maria puzzled as to how and why she had been chosen to write such a story. She was nothing special, in fact, living in Detroit as she did; many people would consider her worthless without even knowing her. She knew why she’d felt driven to move into Detroit those many years ago, it was to learn about the black culture and make her own decision about the people. Wasn’t it a plus that she had decided to stay? Still, other people, much better than her, did really good works, why hadn’t the angels picked one of them? And the biggest question of all, How do I hear Jesus and the angels speak? No one else can, can they? She had no answers, so eventually dropped the questions. But as time moved on she did write stories about angels and learned the answers to many questions over the next years.

The last investigation into emotion for Aaron Blake began as soon as he graduated from college. He had never had any friends and now, to get employment, he needed to network. This was impossible for Aaron. His parents had died many years back of a strange accident which left him with no inheritance. As each week and month moved forward without a paycheck, Aaron became more and more upset. On his last day of life, he walked into a gun shop, bought an assault riffle and pistol along with enough ammo to wipe out a large crowd and walked into the closest upscale mall he could find, shooting the machine gun as he walked through the store. As the police ran towards him he used the pistol to shoot out his own brains. In that instant just before the bullet hit, he finally found what he’d been searching for all his life.

The Aaron experiment, Gog’s first experiment in becoming human to study emotion was a failure; but many of Gog’s other experiments did not fail, at least at such a young age.

As Father Tom lay sleeping, breathing in raspy breaths, Michael forced his thoughts to dwell on Maria instead of Father because she was the best subject to draw his worry away from Father Tom’s failing health. Father Tom was in a bad way which bothered Michael terribly. It didn’t help that Father Tom believed his God would give him to a nice place in heaven after death. Because Father Tom believed in heaven, Michael tried to believe in it too because such a place was needed for good souls such as Father Tom. For himself, Michael wasn’t sure he had a soul, regardless of what Father Tom had said, let alone a future ride up to some place called heaven.

Before Father Tom went to sleep, he had brought up the question of Maria’s happiness. This sent Michael’s memories back to memories of Maria and her last husband and father of her children. Michael had been happy for her. Unfortunately, only a few years after that marriage, Maria had divorced her husband Sam and moved to Detroit.

Father Tom said Maria needed a good spanking, and Michael agreed. “But who would do it?” Michael had said to Father Tom, who answered, “Life.” Yes, Michael had seen that for himself many times; life did make people pay the consequences. Michael remembered the happiness that he saw in Maria’s eyes on her first date with her last husband. He couldn’t get over the fact that she left him. Then, continuing along that line of remembering her on that date, he suddenly remembered something else that happened that night not related to her happiness or unhappiness. Something he hadn’t paid much attention to at the time. Now, contemplating that memory, he wondered if it was the hint of whispers he’d heard that night that might have turned her life upside-down.

Thinking about that night, he imagined his Twin present attempting to interfere in Maria’s life. Suddenly he knew it to be true, but which person had worn Gog’s eyes? The waiter? His Twin could learn about Maria if it decided there was a pressing need to do so. Michael suddenly felt shocked in his own slowness. He should have been ever watchful. Now he had to wonder how long ago Gog might have stepped into Maria’s life. If his Twin had found out how Michael felt about Maria, he would cause her great havoc. Could this explain the divorce? Michael couldn’t think how, but decided to roll his memory back to Maria’s first date with Sam to check out the accuracy of his fear.

As Michael watched from a distance, he saw that Maria looked delightfully happy on this date. She had always been poor and this date was lavish, the topper of all dates. They were sitting in the Top of the Flame Restaurant, the highest place in Detroit. The tower dinning room was ritzy and plush, and had an excellent band playing easy listening music. She looked to be bursting with hope for the future.

Michael, an invisible phantom, watched them both as they rode the elevator to the top floor. Sam ordered the best steak in the house and didn’t skimp on the wine. Michael could see that Sam loved her deeply. The two lovers held hands across the table while they waited for their order. Michael felt pleased and began to leave, but hesitated for a moment longer. Now he was glad he had.

“Look,” Maria said to Sam. “There is a man from the band next to us.”

An African American man, one of the entertainers for the evening, wearing a patterned suit and broad brimmed hat was bent over to pick up a napkin from the tray as the waiter came by. Then the entertainer stood leaning and began to stare at Maria. Maria turned her face back around to look at her fiancé. Sam began to speak and Maria looked back at Sam, forgetting the dark man who stared at her as if he knew her.

Now as Michael replayed the memory, he wondered again, why the man from the band stared at her so hard and strong. At the time, he was so happy for her he hardly took note of much else.

Another man from the band had walked up to the first entertainer and whispered in his ear. The man shook his head as if to say, wait a minute, whispering back vehemently. Michael, better late then never, tuned into his perfect memory and began to replay the scene more intently. He wanted to especially to hear the conversation about Maria because now both entertainers looked at her; plus, he wanted to take note of that waiter with the watery eyes who hovered nearby.

As if he were actually at the dinner once more, Michael stood and listened, He heard the first entertainer whisper, “I tell you she looks just like the singer Lila the Flame. Almost an exact resemblance.”

Just then, the waiter pushed the tray closer to where the men were talking and began to rearrange the silverware and napkins. The two band players paid him little attention, just as Michael had neglected the waiter the first time. Now Michael took a closer look at the waiter’s eyes and for a split second, the waiter’s eyes glazed over and became oblique. Michael was taken aback, but did nothing, in fact could do nothing in this instance of memory except pay closer attention to what was happening. At this moment, it was the talk about Maria. The waiter had already left.

The second entertainer spoke and said, “Well it can’t be Lila. She’s too famous and busy. Travels all over the world, Course, I heard her husband was going to run for congress or something.”

“I didn’t hear that. Maybe that’s why she’s in Detroit?”

“Ain’t she a lot older?”

“Yeah. But I saw her on stage once. That’s her, I tell you.”

“Maybe it’s a daughter?

“She doesn’t have any children.”

The second man squinted his eyes. “Looks like she is the right age to have been born during WWII. A lot of strange things went on when that war broke out.”

“A rumor was going around about one of our black singers and a white lady, a singer. Some people said it was Lila before she got famous. Heard our brother singer was suddenly given backing and got really big in the world then died young real young. The girl looks like him too.”

“Hey, man, we’re both silly. She white. Besides, it don’t matter who that girl is, we got a show to do.”

With that, both men left the place of conversation and went back onto the stage.

Suddenly, back in real time, Michael felt distraught. What had they been talking about? And he was still concerned about that waiter’s strange eyes. Had the waiter been listening too? This put a new wrinkle in Maria’s life. Is it important? Michael wasn’t sure and didn’t know what to make of the conversation. He promised himself to look into it one day soon. If any of this was true and one or both of Maria’s parents were famous, then she might need more protection than he had realized. Also, if that waiter was Gog, my Twin, then he knew some facts about Maria even before I did? Michael felt astounded at his own neglect, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on his short comings. His beloved Father Tom’s breaths were ragged and short. It took all Michael’s will power not to correct the frail old man’s lungs. No, he would honor the promise he made, though his mind shook with the need to do something.

That same night, Father Tom Emery died smiling in his sleep. Joined mind to mind, as Father Tom died, Michael died with him as he gasped for breath and could no longer breathe air into his invisible lungs. His throat constricted in agony, his heart skipped one beat, then another. The brain synapses fired for the last time and gradually stopped. Michael felt the body given to Father Tom at birth stop and then begin its dissolution back into dust.

Where the soul went, Michael could not see or follow, though he clung to Father Tom’s mind with mental fists as if he could grab and hold on to empty air, as if death could also carry him into the Promised Land. It did not. Michael fell back into the void of empty space, leaving an empty hunk of muscle and guts and dead skin that was once Father Tom laying on the bed. Father Tom was no longer with him. He was alone now and cried silent, ghostly, agonizingly tearless, tears.

Part II

Chapter 13

After Father Tom’s death, Michael felt as if a stake had stabbed into his heart; the agony of aloneness was unendurable. His friend was gone. He felt abandoned, naked, and filled with rage and agony, an agony that held too much feeling to contain. Scream, he told himself, go berserk, shout to the world that your true brother, the friend you’ve shared minds with for more than twenty years is gone. Ironically, even in his ongoing agony, he dared wonder how his phantom mind could cry or feel anything without a host, but it did. Oh, the agony! And, what is this strange depth of feeling I, Michael, this machine, has for a dead friend? Sorrow? Yes, tearless tears for Father Tom or myself because I need him. I need his body back so I can cry. I need tear ducts so I can pour out my emotion, my pain, my humanity. Now, I have nothing.

This wasn’t strictly true and Michael knew this deep down in his phantom guts. He had built up a multiple number of humans he touched eyes and mind with, now and again, although, never as deep as he had with Father Tom, but these others meant nothing to him at this trying moment of Father Tom’s death. He wished fervently to be the one dead instead of his dear beloved Father Tom; thus, he wanted no part of those others; he wanted his dear Father Tom back, the man who had loved and cried and worshiped and joked and talked and philosophized with him. I was born in him, Michael realized, I have lived my whole life with and for him and now that he is gone. I am undone.

Michael suddenly blazed with fury at a God that would take Father Tom from him. He screamed at himself for allowing Father Tom’s soul to pass out of his body. Why hadn’t he made Father Tom’s heart beat one more day, one more week? Why hadn’t he forced Father Tom to live? Why must I go on, but not Father Tom?

Hours or days later, what did it matter, Michael, still distraught and dismayed at the depth of his feelings, floated without a body over the crowd of mourners in the funeral home. He could not smell the flowers and this pleased him, also, that so many people had come to pay Father Tom their respect. There, a tall man with white hair and black rimmed glasses who reminded Michael of Father Tom. A brother? No, Michael knew Father Tom had no living relatives. It was just another priest. Actually, there were many priests here as well as nuns and members of the congregation. Michael surveyed the room then floated over to Father Tom’s coffin and looked down at the lifeless, wax-like body. Horrible as the body looked now, he didn’t want to leave, but knew he must.

Father Tom, I must go now. Remember me to your God.

Sorrow drove him out of the funeral home because lingering would do him no good. Perhaps I should go find some happy, fun-loving person to help me forget. He promised himself he would eventually forget, but it was a lie. He would never forget Father Tom. Often while Father Tom lay asleep Michael would leave for a few minutes or hours and wander over the earth, but this absence was different. This was permanent. Would grabbing at an extremely happy host take this feeling away? He shook his head, as if he still had a head. I can’t, happiness and joy are not for me at this time. Maybe this feeling of misery and gloom will go away after Father’s body is put into the ground and buried in dirt. The thought was too painful, but Michael repeated it to himself. He will be buried and there is nothing else to do. Nothing.

During Father Tom’s life, Michael had healed him often. He didn’t tell the old priest why his arthritis didn’t hurt any more, or about that spot of cancer on his lungs five years ago. He’s kept a few secrets from his host. The thought entered his mind to wonder how many secrets Father Tom had kept from him. He smiled, for the first time since the death. Was it even possible? Could Father Tom have keep secrets? Yes, Michael answered his own question as he accepted the idea. Certainly, I wasn’t an invader. I left many areas private to him alone. Didn’t he suggest that once? Michael wasn’t sure. When he had taken on a host, he also took on some of that host’s frailties. Even misplaced memories had become possible while he was with Father Tom.

What of now? Now that I am alone once more, a floating non-entity, less than a wisp of smoke, or a leaf on the breeze. A wisp of air blew cold against the funeral building’s lit windows and Michael shuddered, as if it was truly possible to shudder in the cold without a body. I am a mind without a body.

There! There is Maria at the door about to enter. Maria, Maria, our Father Tom is gone. He moved over to her and hovered above her head. Gone. He spoke these words into his own mind, but worried he might have sent a tendril of upset into hers. Then he felt contrite. Then he felt ashamed. Then he felt stupid. I must stop, this is impossible.

He backed off and swept through the door behind Maria and watched as she was led up the isle to the coffin by one of the lay brothers. Pleased she came to see Father, he felt doubly hurt at the sight of Maria kneeling down to pray for Father Tom, both people he loved dearly in the same place. When she stood up and touched the dead Father Tom’s hand, Michael lost it. He suddenly ran from the funeral home or to be more precise, gusted away like a strong wind.

A moment later he found himself far beyond the funeral home, fluttering and hovering like a leaf from a tree over the darkened streets of the City of Detroit, at least a half mile from where Father Tom lay. Wayne State University was to his right, so this wide street must be Woodward. His phantom self might be lonely but it was certainly not limited as to area; he could go anyplace in the world in an instant. He decided to take a good look around at the dark, gritty streets. Perhaps fate had pulled him here in his time of sorrow, perhaps it created a reason for him to stop here at this one specific spot on this huge round planet of busy people. He begged for a reason to be here, anywhere but at the funeral home that still pulled at his psyche.

The next moment, he saw the drug transaction take place. So what, he seen many through the years, and worse. But the young man who was standing nearby looked oddly familiar, as if Michael knew him. Yes, Rodin, as young man, many years younger than when he will instruct me in human knowledge deep below the city in the salt mine. Michael understood who he was now. Rodin was also Maria’s oldest son and this made him feel like he was here for a reason. The pusher was asking Rodin to buy something and Rodin pulled out a few dollars. Michael had seen the police car about to turn the corner and knew Rodin would get caught if he bought the drugs.

Quickly, Michael flashed a strong, loud word into Rodin’s brain. “No” He yelled, “Walk away.”

Rodin, rubbed at his right ear as if it itched, paused, but then did begin to walk away. When the police car pulled up to the curb to ask what was going on, Rodin was a half a block down the street. The one who had been selling the drug pulled out a gun, the policeman also pulled out a gun and fired quicker than the dope peddler, hitting him in the leg. The policeman took off running after the pusher who was hobbling down the sidewalk. When the bullet came rushing down the sidewalk, Rodin had already started running around the corner then proceeded to walk away down the dark street with a less hurried pace.

Michael played with the notion that Rodin might be a good person to join, but then dismissed the idea right away. They would meet one day after he was created and that was enough. Besides, he was too close to Maria. Also, he never again intended to sink deeply into another person, which still left him uncertain about what he would do next.

Suddenly Michael felt another bout of pain at Father Tom’s death and had the horrible thought that maybe Father Tom wasn’t supposed to die at this time, that maybe his Twin had penetrated Father Tom’s psyche. Impossible, I would have known. Gog had tried to kill him a number of times before. Oh, what if Father Tom’s death was my fault? Could my Twin have sent tendrils in a week ago, maybe on that night I left to visit Egypt. I wanted to look at the Great Pyramid and it took more time than I knew. Did my Twin go into Father Tom’s mind that night to set up his death? Could Gog even now be going after Maria? Michael knew he dared not continue the line of reasoning, but what if it were true?

The thought of Gog getting into Father Tom and causing his death kept revolving in Michael thoughts and stayed. His sorrow exploded once more, this time mixed in with guilt. Am I to blame through my own neglect? Have hurt Father Tom and maybe Maria. If Gog gets to Maria, the blame will fall on my shoulders. Michael cringed within himself and dropped down to street level. He watched the policeman come back to the car, dragging the wounded drug dealer.

How I wish your gun could shoot me, Michael screamed into empty air. All humans will die, but I cannot. I must forever live with the agony and neglect I showed to those I love. Darkness overwhelmed his psyche; he understood only shame and that he belonged in the darkest corners of the earth. His soul quivered in agony and he thought to drop into the sewer to lay buried amid the dirty leaves and gooey slime. A dim part of his mind knew that a deep depression had overtaken him, that this heaviness would eventually pass, but at this moment, his mind was muddled with dark guilt. He felt only the need to drop into the black bowels of the earth, to be buried beneath its heavy mud and rock. He needed to die and be buried, to have dirt shoveled atop of him, black gritty dirt to fill his mouth and squeeze between his toes. He craved a real heart so it could stop in mid beat.

His mind lay close to the sewer grating; hot smoke wafted out around his non-self; he imagined the stink and putrid liquid he would sink into without a splash. If he went deep enough, could he find hell? Deeper than he had ever imagined in woe and suffering, Michael finally, for the first time since Father Tom’s death, forgot anger, forgot sorrow, and even forgot Maria for the few minutes it took him to call out to Father Tom’s God.

“Please, Father Tom’s God, please save me, tell me what to do,” he begged as his phantom eyes looked up into the bleak, dark sky.

“I pray you give me a reason to continue.”

Michael called out his despair into the whole universe that hovered over him and the stars that pressed down on top of him. He squeezed out silent words that finally asked for nothing, only to know Father Tom’s God. He spoke words that lifted through the thick syrup of dark night up into the lighted star-lit heavens. He prayed for nothing and he prayed for everything.

He lay mentally exhausted and in total silence for a very long while after he poured himself out in agony. Eventually, his mind awakened to the brightening of a new day as it crept through the wakening city. Michael blinked in astonishment. He suddenly had an idea, a great and wonderful idea—a gift from God? Now, he knew what to do. Excited and full of joy, he yelled and jumped up into the sky, flying higher and higher as if he could touch a star.

With his mind now open to the extraordinary new potential that shined in his phantom mind like a blazing light, Michael thought to give credit to Father Tom’s God who seemed to have given him the idea. Maybe God now. Maybe I really do have a soul? Would God have answered my prayers if I didn’t have a soul? Still excited with delight, Michael realized that his next goal, God given, was to protect the only person on earth he loved. He could no longer protect Father Tom, God rest his soul in paradise, but he could protect Maria and now God has showed him how.

He would attempt to travel into the far future, as risky as that might be, but certainly more possible for him than any other being on earth, considering he had no body. He would go even beyond his own birth in the early 21st century and search out what his Twin has done and what it might mean for Maria. He suddenly realized that if he could manage to travel into the future, he could also travel backwards into the past to view Maria’s birth and maybe find out if what those entertainers hinted at was true or not. Maybe Maria does have a secret mother named Lila. Knowledge is half the war and he intended to gather as much as possible.

Michael wondered how much his Twin dared do the same with his need to be physically present to control the system for the whole world. Still uncertain about how Gog had entered into people, surly different than his own method, he decided to find out and to begin the journey right away, before Gog learned of his effort, and Michael admitted, before he lost his nerve or desire for such a far flung goal.

He wasn’t exactly sure if it was possible to take a trip into the future. Surly, it must be for a phantom; I came backwards, didn’t I? Up to now he’d dared take only quick glimpses into the future to check his Twin because he was afraid of getting caught. He’d seen enough. His Twin had managed to grab complete ownership of most governments around the world, and, Michael had no doubt, would attempt to own him as well, if it could. Yet, Gog must be extremely busy, too busy to notice my return to real time for a mere few minutes, although minutes could be like hours to such a fast mind.

Michael knew now that he’d been short sighted in not planning for the attacks against Father Tom, and it was now up to him to fix what had been broken. A new pang of sadness threatened to envelope him as he realized Father Tom was gone beyond all fixing. Remember he is in paradise now. Think about Maria’s protection now.

All these thoughts flowed through Michael’s head as he gently floated back down to the earth from his high superman perch in the sky, still amazed that his spirit form had traveled so high up. For now, he wanted to think so decided to find a quiet spot in the city where he could sit without being disturbed, as if anyone could disturb a bodiless man. Michael smiled at his own joke. He thought he might need a mental anchor to prevent his getting lost in the time stream. He suspected that a mind without a body was subject to every whim of wind or fate. Michael was determined to conquer such whims, but preferred to do it in real time. Yet, he had to go. How else would he know what was to befall Maria. He would have nothing upon which to depend or lean on during such a fearful trip. He laughed at his own fear.

The idea came to him slowly and he berated himself for being dumb. Of course, he could rest and live at the Closter Art Museum, and jumped there right away. Sadly, it looked the same as always, but with a little more dust laying about. For a while this can be my hide-out. Michael laughed at his chosen phrase. Surly no one would dismantle it so soon, not with Father Tom’s body only today being put in the grave. Michael had chosen to avoid that scene; yet, this trip into the future and past would take up little actual time in the present reality. He could go to the burial, but no, he dare not watch his own flesh and blood get buried beneath mounds of black dirt. The thought made him cringe.

Well, let me begin that step into the future. He determined that he would hold himself firm and not loose sight of his goal, Maria’s wellbeing was at stake. Michael forced his mind forward, pushing past air that felt thicker and grayer the further he moved forward. Simi-transparent, white lines rolled and twisted in rainbows, up and down and around as if he were riding on a rollercoaster of unimaginable complexity. He found it almost more than his mind could handle until he imagined himself pulling on the warp of a long fabric thread that helped him concentrate his pull in one direction.

Somehow, by accident or fate, he found Maria’s life line. He knew it was hers as it left the funeral home. He imagined himself gripping Maria’s line like a rope thrown to a drowning swimmer, then began following it up, hand over hand, through the time prisms. Soon he could leave go of the imagined hands holding to the imaginary rope because he could see the full direction forward. The climb was staggeringly slow. It felt like his phantom hands were holding sharp ice crystals growing up from a bowl of thick jelly. Slowly, then more quickly, he sensed the earth years move past. Years shattered like eggshells beneath his feet as he followed the thread of Maria’s life.

Suddenly, Michael felt himself meet himself and jerked so hard he almost fell out of the time continuum. Suddenly, he knew himself later, actually standing next to an angel who watched over the earth, not only that, but the angel concurred in his attempt to look into Maria’s life. He knew something else now too. Gog was sending people from the future, from some kind of survival cave? One of those sleepers had caught hold of Maria, was right now back in time and increasing Maria’s fear, intensifying her emotions for some reason. Michael saw the danger but suddenly fell forward as if falling off a cliff. The former blackness and ice shards were broken from his hands. Maria’s thread was gone? Where? He looked back. Nothing. No twisting white threads—Nothing.

Somehow, he’d went too far? Or had he got turned around in the rainbow prism? Or the unthinkable; Maria had already been erased?

He stopped and let himself sink back into black nothingness. The amber jelly had turned to gray upon black. Stepping back and then down carefully, one phantom foot in time, feeling for crystals as if he were a diamond monster on tiptoe, he found solid ground, of a sort. He opened his eyes, still amazed that he could blink ghost eyelids over ghost eyes, and stood on blackened, burnt land as far as he could see. A nova? He looked down and his feet stood on melted, twisted metal. Not the sun going nova then, that would leave no twisted metal. He looked up and his view grappled with black, sticks sticking up from half standing buildings. Burnt away? Like black candles on a chocolate cake. Something. He frowned and listened for a time. Something bothered him immensely, more than the blackened city. Silence. The earth sounded staggeringly, irredeemably silent. No, he now heard something crack then seem to break off in the far distance. A dying word falling in upon itself.

Fearful, he quickly let the molasses of time prism grab him back. He couldn’t escape fast enough from that sky-less, green-less earth. What had happened to earth? Surly he hadn’t gone too far forward into time? Get back to civilization, he told himself, before you become entwined in whatever disaster befell this planet, but his other self, knew what had befallen the planet, knew that the future he’d witnessed had to be prevented. He dared stop for a short moment to step out and check, then jumped right back in again. The earth’s sky had caught fire; a battle was raging all around the planet. He jumped away from the horror he’d just seen that was almost as bad as the silence—nuclear war. So devastating a war that, even in a single glimpse, he saw flesh melt off bones and a cement sidewalk turn into slag just before he stepped away. He gasped and hoped his ghost lungs hadn’t breathed in any of the radiation. This roaring war had sucked in all life and all potential life. Here was the cause of the dead earth he’d seen a moment ago.

Once more, he moved backwards, pushing against the flow like a tide, as if time were thickened and crusted in this backward direction. Not only were Michael’s nerves on edge, but he was extremely worried. This didn’t make sense. How could he have misjudged the time distance so badly? A ticking clock would be useful. No, it had already ticked past midnight. He laughed to ease his nerves. Like the Delorian car in Back to the Future or H. G. Wells The Time Machine. Ah, wishful thinking. The only way to tell time was the hard way, by asking someone, if he could just get back to a real, living human being.

This war could not be Gog’s doing, could it? The year, what is the year? If he only knew. My twin is improving and changing the social system of mankind, or believes he is. Surly, he would not allow such a thing as nuclear war to happen? Earth burnt to a cinder hardly looked like a social improvement. Had something went wrong?

Slowly, he let time flow him backwards again. Inpatient, he stepped out again in minutes. Loud bombs crackled in the air, the city was dirty, but still, thankfully, there. He saw two people run, duck, then shatter beneath a conventional bomb. Michael used the trick he had learned just before starting the trip; he lifted high into the air to get a bird’s eye view of the earth. Lights and bombs were going off in the area like fireworks. He doubted he’d get a valid date of year here, so he took a light step back into the flow of syrupy time and quickly out again.

Ah. Michael found crowds of people standing on the street. This must be just before the start of the war in this area, but how much before? He stood on the sidewalk, turning to one and then the other of the people who were arguing and shouting at one another. This wouldn’t do. He began moving, actually flying in the wind, towards the center of the city, towards the group of Renascence Towers that still stood against a gray sky, at the edge of the Detroit River. Oddly, Detroit looked much the same except the streets were almost empty of automobiles. That was a puzzle.

Back on firm ground again, he again stood between mobs of shouting people, fists high in the air and bodies moving towards a speaker on a podium set up at the end of Woodward, in Heart Plaza. They were shouting “Down with tyranny, down with tyranny.”

Thousands of people filling the wide street with the background booming. Small bombs or fire works? Michael felt almost traumatized by their loud shouts and realized that these people had gone berserk. For what reason? He determined to continue through the mob until he could find some mind sane enough to learn what was going on and why. Such a person would help him understand what had caused this anger. And while I am at it, find out the year, he thought wryly, as he squeezed between thick bodies with his own ghostly image.

The crowd thinned at the edge and Michael watched a tall, thin man wearing a dark coat look around as if trying to avoid other people then slip through the doorway of a red brick building. By now, Michael was relieved to leave the frenzied crowd too. Other people seemed to have had the same idea, the room was full of sitting and standing people, but the noise level was considerably lower. A short, balding man stood high up on a podium, yelling into the crowded room. Was this man trying to rip the crowd into further frenzy and hatred? It seemed to Michael that he’d escaped into the wrong place. He took a shallow dive into the speaker’s mind. And found a mind filled with crude swear words and strong emotions of hatred that Michael felt jerked around by the person’s wrath. Dare he attempt to dig deeper into this mental sewer? He needed to learn what these people meant by tyranny. He needed to know who had caused this, no matter what it took, and suddenly, sinking deeper, he did know. The whole picture presented itself before him in a flash of mental images, connections, and scenes filled with fear and anger.

The central figure of all this hate was inescapable, Gog, his Twin, his brother, now called G-O-G, the shadow dictator of a New Order, a new United States. A machine mind behind the government that drove and forced people into a strict regimen. Michael had hit the bull’s eye. His own Twin was the epitome of tyrannical leadership, a leadership these people were determined to end.

Michael felt a sudden pang of guilt and sorrow as he pulled away from the man and tried to wash his mind of the lingering hate and anger. His mind cleared once more, he sympathized with these people, but knew they were doomed. They don’t know what they are up against. Do they have no idea what such a mind as Gog can do to protect itself? In fact, had destroyed all life from what Michael had seen in the future. Destroyed. Gone. As Shakespeare once said, “Sans earth, sans life, sans everything.”

Gog knew nothing about these people, Michael did; Michael understood their fear. He also knew exquisitely what such a powerful mind as Gog could do because it had no moral scruples. A machine, the half of the quantum computer without scruples, trained and nurtured by the psychologists and scientists who built it to know everything, but understand nothing. It could not feel remorse or guilt. Gog could tear into its own people like a scythe cuts into meat without care. The people would be less than knights and rooks on a game board; they would be dogs on a spit.

Why am I opposite? Perhaps different training, but he suspected the major difference was due to Father Tom’s influence. If I had taken another host, like that first man who was drunk, what would I be now? What am I now?

Save the philosophy for another time. Michael dropped down into the earth for a quick second to take a look at the huge science center that housed Gog deep in the salt mine deep below the city. The etched out cave and science buildings now looked torn asunder by bombs. Shards of black stone and gray rock salt littered the corridors, but the bombs had destroyed nothing of consequence.

Michael saw a giant cave nearly filled up and surrounded by salt prisms glowing and growing in every direction. Gog must have blocked the people from coming closer, there were cobwebs mixed in with shattered salt stone and crystals piled up against the cavern that housed the computer mind. Michael knew Gog was alive inside its home because the micro thread that connected them still vibrated with energy. Even this one glimpse is too close, least he get pulled inside. He quickly left to continue his search for Maria.

The people had not only blown up the underground hideout, they’d blown up their own neighborhoods. At this point, Michael still didn’t know in explicit details the sins Gog had committed against these people, but what ever it was, it must have been enough to turn them into a revenging mob. The people had begun the battle far too late. Gog was everywhere now and indestructible. How can you kill a thing that has penetrated a billion computers around the world along with the nuclear plants, electrical grids, transportation systems, and how many minds? Surly if Michael could enter people, Gog could as well.

The podium man’s mind had revealed horrors that began as a simple rebellion. The people disliked a computer making decisions for their government. Perhaps global warming or the lack of oil and water had been the last straw. Michael wasn’t sure. Whatever the government’s forced improvements, they had sat on the American people like stone. Then their hatred must have fueled fires of anger and rebellion that looked like it would finally fuel the death of their world. Why couldn’t his Twin see what his forced improvements had wrought? Was he truly blind or just unconcerned?

Michael had only stayed in the leader’s mind for a moment and was glad he got out quick. He hadn’t realized how coddled he’d been in Father Tom’s care all those years. He learned more than he wanted to know about dirty language, munitions, and war. Thinking these things, he deliberately stepped back into the Closter Museum, as if to take a long needed breath. Now, he wondered if Father Tom’s God had sent him into the future so he could witness his Twin’s destruction, and maybe help save the planet along with Maria.

Chapter 14

Dispirited, but certain that he needed to further his knowledge of what had happened, Michael didn’t rest too long before he stepped back into the time flow at the same place where he had left but this time pushed slowly backwards. The movement seemed easier now, maybe because he couldn’t wait to get away from what he had learned. Or, perhaps because he was moving closer to the pivotal time when he and his Twin had been born. Gog was the thread he dared not awaken to his presence, but Michael had to make one more stop. He had to find out where Maria was in that most horrible future.

Not knowing how else to achieve it, he stepped back out of the time flow to check on what people were doing at this given time. Many didn’t seem too distressed beneath Gog’s yolk. Some people always choose to follow power and the city seemed to be thriving, but for some reason, it still lacked numerous automobiles. Nevertheless, people were walking around in and out of shops and buses and the city train was running. He stepped back into the grayness, but stayed still for a short while to think.

Where is Maria? Where is her thread? What is her place in all of this? What has happened to her? There!

By the time he looked back into the flow to find Maria’s thread and grabbed hold of it to follow it to her, it was too late. Maria had become one of the resistance fighters against Gog. As he watched, Maria squatted below the broken walls of a basement with two other people who were shooting at black clad solders wearing helmets with the G-O-G symbol printed on them. The solders were climbing over the bricks and shooting back with machine guns. Suddenly, as he moved through the air to be at her side, one of the solders aimed a machine rifle directly at her chest. Her body exploded, blood and guts splattered on the gray cement blocks. He screamed as he bent over her and, to his horror, saw that half her right arm and chest was gone and her beautiful dark hair was matted in a pool of blood.

He turned away and cried, heedless of the loud booms and crash that was loud enough to splinter eardrums, which he didn’t have. Bright gold and red light from explosions angled through his phantom body as he stood grieving amid the machine gun fire. He threw himself at the G. O. G. soldiers, but the blast of machine gun fire tortured his senses. He knew he didn’t have time to morn Maria, but did anyway. He felt cooked and blackened by the soot of earth, but he found that he couldn’t leave her just yet.

He touched her face and grabbed onto her left hand as if he could lead her back through time with him. Although he could kiss her bloody lips, if he chose, he could never put passion back into them. He bowed his head and blinked ghost eyes at the death of his beloved. If he didn’t leave now, he might not be able to. The next instant the whole city block seemed to blow off the map as the ground dug its own hole in which to sink.

Michael reluctantly stepped back into the crystal grayness of time flow, brittle now and dark, as were his emotions. He agonized as he wadded back to his own familiar time against the current. Maria why would you fight such a thing as Gog? Didn’t she know that you can’t win a war with such a being, a being like I am? Flesh could never hold against the mind of a machine. There is no way to plan a win; even for me, even if I had a thousand copies of me to fight such a war.

The only thing Michael could think of that might stop this insanity was to prevent the war’s inception. How can I accomplish such a feat? I must save Maria. If I could prevent Gog’s takeover of earth society, then the war might be prevented. I could try talking to Gog, human to human. He smiled at his choice of words. Perhaps the next time Gog plugged in to take me back? No, Michael knew Gog was the stronger one. All a meeting would accomplish would be his own demise and he must not allow that to happen until he found a way to save Maria, and maybe the rest of the world with her.

Michael had one thing going for him and that was that he had seen the future and could take that knowledge with him into the past. What to do with it was the question he couldn’t answer just yet. Was there a specific path that would set things straight? He wished he could communicate with the angels and this Jesus that Father Tom believed in so deeply. Surly, they too, are concerned for the well-being of the world, and wasn’t it God who gave me the idea to search out this hell?

On an intellectual level, he knew earth must be saved, but his real concern was for Maria. The mental image of her flesh scattering beneath machine gun fire was still too raw; he could still hear the machine guns. He shoved the image away so he could think of a way to save Maria from the need to fight. Perhaps the best thing would be to create a haven for her. A palace of delights to keep her happy. I will build a palace far above the earth far out of harms way. The idea pleased him and give him hope. Oh, Maria. I will not let the bullets destroy you.

Slightly more content now, with renewed hope in his heart, he moved backwards and stepped once more to the place where he felt at home, the Closter Art Museum. There he sat, ghost-like, on a chair beneath a painting of Christ bloodied on the cross and Jesus’ mother bent over weeping below. The name was not familiar, so it was one of Father Tom’s cheaper paintings.

Michael sat and thought about what he should do next. He knew he wanted to pick up Maria’s essence right now and follow it backwards to her birth, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Such a trip would be different then going into the future where he will already exist. He was contemplating going further back than when he’d arrived in the 1940’s and wasn’t sure how accepting the past would be to his ghostly form. Nevertheless, he wanted to see her first, and maybe her aliveness would block out the image of her revolting bloody end, which still bothered him greatly. The sight of her alive and well might give him reassurance.

Go to her, he decided, stand next to her, and then do what? Begin a search backwards into her personal life, and hers alone, but in that case, he might need to become intimate and close. He’d never let her know of his existence before. Dare he do so now? Yes, of course, and he thought he’d come up with a way to grab hold of her life thread.

Invisible, he searched around in current time in the vicinity of where she last worked until he realized that it was early morning and still dark outside. She would be asleep. She must be sleeping which would make it easy to exactly pinpoint her whereabouts. When he was in spirit form, time seemed turned upside-down, which was the very reason why he’d been able to go into the past and future in the first place. Movement anywhere in current time was quick and instantaneous. At once, he located the living room in her house and wondered if he should wait there and hold his approach until morning, but his impatience was too great. He wandered through the house and when he finally saw her, lying in bed, curled up beneath the covers, he delighted in her aliveness. Her snoring tickled his heart.

He manifested himself as best he could. He’d never tried to become solid before. He felt himself almost thicken as if he were turning into clear gelatin and was delighted with his potential. Feeling great love, he stood beside her bed in her darkened bedroom, and though it was strenuous for him, he forced his form to stay semi-solid for a short while, and found he could even touch her covers. She noticed the touch and quickly sat up in bed, startling them both.

On seeing her pale, sleepy puffed face, he said with gladness, “I have found you.”

She looked puzzled at his dark presence rather than afraid. This heartened him, so he continued with the chore he had set for himself.

He said to her, “Let me look into your soul.”

He grabbed at her life thread and followed it backwards. He’d already seen Maria’s end, now he couldn’t wait to see her beginning. He was curious to see if there was fruit in the whispers of the entertainers in the restaurant when they thought they recognized her as Lila. He was determined to continue the flow until, if not her conception, then, at least until her birth.

He followed the warp and there was Maria as the little girl with huge, black eyes. Eyes that were looking at him with intense innocence. He pushed further back, climbed the rainbow backwards. There he saw a little Maria running down the sidewalk, playing with a brown dog, eating an ice cream on a stick, and there Maria laughing with her little friends. He continued to push past her childhood until he found her a baby in a hospital. Curious, he stopped the push for a moment and stepped into the green hospital room. The smell of alcohol hit him right away. She lay with many other babies in white metal cribs.

He stepped back into the rainbow and moved further back, holding dearly on to the slim thread of her life until he came to her birth, and to do so, he had to go to Canada, a country across the north of the United States.

Michael saw a pretty young girl give birth to a tiny premature girl child while laying in a mound of snow. A girl who looked like Maria would when she grew older. The girl was not far from a group of buildings. Michael wondered if she hadn’t made it in time or was running away. Right after giving birth, Michael saw the girl climb through the snow, leaving a smear of blood mixing in the snow behind her. She hadn’t taken the baby with her. Michael saw this in one glace as he watched a tiny newborn, severely premature, fight for life, its cries so tiny as to be silent. The baby had been abandoned by the mother.

Michael, afraid now that the baby would die, but of course, it hadn’t watched a women in a heavy coat walk past, look around, then stoop to pick up the baby. The women tucked the baby inside her coat and carried it to the nearest building, knocked on the door, then lay the baby down on the frozen step, wrapped and covered in only a scarf from the lady’s head.

Watching the event, Michael was sure that the women believed that the baby was about to die because she took no extraordinary means to ensure the baby’s survival as it lay on the cement step. World War II was being fought in Europe at the time, which created a perilous and dangerous time for all, even here. Against such a backdrop Michael supposed that many a newborns had been abandoned.

Should she be left for dead and set down as trash? Michael shouted his silent ghostly rage by such a circumstance. But no, a nun wearing the dark blue habit of the Catholic Church opened the door, nodded to the women and quickly grabbed up the infant and carried it inside. The nun unwrapped the baby but shook her head when she saw it. The baby, severely underweight, wasn’t expected to live.

She will live, Michael wanted to shout, but instead stepped back into time and watched in quick bursts of forward flashes as the child was handed from one person to another through the long winter days and nights until finally she was carried on to a small boat headed across the Detroit River carrying wooden boxes of ammunition and contraband, and then to a hospital in Detroit.

He’d found out part of what he’d attempted to learn. The trip had taken but a moment in real time, and Michael still standing next to Maria’s bed, deliberately gave her a few pleasant visions of flowers and swirling vistas of beauty before he left. He had much to think about so chose not to speak further, but just stepped out of her bedroom and beyond her reality.

He left Maria to puzzle out for herself what she’d seen, and went back to the Closter museum to contemplate the events he’d just witnessed. Michael was unable to comprehend that he was already feeling more empathy than many humans felt in a whole lifetime, his fondest wish was to feel like a human, for even one minute. The closest he’d ever come to true feeling was when he first met Maria and when he shared Father Tom’s emotions, but those weren’t his own emotions. He could rationalize the reason, but feel? Only Maria had made him feel. Was it because her eyes were the first thing he saw that day when he first arrived in the past. She imprinted herself upon my being. That is why I will not let her die beneath a machine gun with her flesh strewn over the ground. I will not let her suffer the slings and arrows of such a fate. He smiled at his own use of Shakespeare. How he had loved it when Father Tom read and then would expounded on the great Shakespeare. They went to plays often, but Michael preferred silent reading, that was when the full flavor of Shakespeare’s words jumped off the page. My Twin, Gog, would stomp on such a book, as he will stomp on all of humanity and all its great art and writings with disdain. He would throw all of it into the furnace, but I will not let him destroy the earth or Maria.

The evening was young, the popcorn was popping, and the movie started so Maria cleared her mind of the problems from work because tomorrow would be better day. She put a VCR tape in and played the movie, Back to the Future. She’d seen the movie when it came out and knew it would put a smile on her face; therefore, she didn’t expect to have trouble going to sleep this night as she often did. The few laughs would help her feel refreshed and relaxed.

Later, just before bed, she closed her eyes and controlled her breathing to meditate. By the time her head hit the pillow, ten minutes later, she fell asleep like a baby, but suddenly, she woke up in the pitch black of night. Her window was filled with dark clouds that hid any potential moonlight. The room was so dark, she could barely see into it or make out more detail then the edge of the dresser and the mirror that hung above it. Yet, something was wrong. She sat up, lotus fashion, and strained her eyes to see into the dark because, for some reason, she felt compelled to see into the depths of the bedroom. As soon as her eyes focused more intently, she gulped in surprise.

An ink black shadow in the shape of a tall man stood next to her bed, in front and to the side of the dresser. Before she pulled in enough wind in her lungs to yell out, she noticed that the man shadow wasn’t heavy solid, as a normal intruder would be. The antique white paint of the dresser was showing through the person’s form as if it were transparent.

Startled, knowing that she must be imagining it somehow, but curious just the same, she sat up further in the bed with the covers still twisted around waist and she tried to penetrate the blackness further. Later, when she thought about it, she realized that if she’d needed to run, she would have tumbled to the floor unable to move because her feet would have been tangled up in the covers. For some reason, she didn’t feel the need to run. Instead, mesmerized, she stared at the shadow being, totally absorbed in the strangeness of this illusion, an illusion, until the shadow spoke.

“I have found you.” The shadow man said.

I have not been lost, she thought. Who would want to find me, trapped by circumstances as I am in this old house just after a divorce? She wondered if she detected a longing to the voice. Who is this? She thought, but did not have time to ask. She blinked at his next words.

“Let me look into your soul.”

The words were soft, but firm, as if he had every right to demand such a thing of her.

As soon as he spoke the words, she blacked out, or rather went falling down and down as if there were no bottom to the dark pit of the sky. She fell into the sky, and didn’t know when she would land. Images of cities and buildings churned past her vision, stars and moons swirled like inside a tunnel. She watched her early life fly past: there she was playing on the swings at the park, there skipping down old streets, past store fronts and aunts and uncles and teachers she once knew. Then a green blur slid past and she visualized grass from a park and then water and the smell of river and waves rocking and…stars and worlds swinging past inside rainbows.

One blink later and it was done, as if it never happened, but it had happened! She was certain it had happened, but now the shadow man was gone. All that stood in his place was her dark bedroom that, for some reason, seemed emptier than before. His visit piqued at her mind and a deep loneliness enveloped her whole being, as if her soul was hungry for more. As Maria laid her head back on the pillow to try and fall back to sleep, she began asking herself the question that would plague her for the next few years. Who was the phantom man? Where did he come from? How dare he look into her soul? Why did he want to see her soul? Am I bad? Or is it because I am divorced? Was it my dead husband? No, no, no. None of these explanations seemed to fit.

What did he find in my soul? Concerned, she realized that this might be the biggest question of all. What is wrong with my soul? She reviewed her life up till then and couldn’t feel certain which side of the balance wheel her soul would weight in on. Well, who ever it was knows more about me than I do myself. Sadly, she now realized, for much of her life, she hadn’t cared about the state of her soul. But now she did, so it was ok, wasn’t it? Was my midnight visitor, Satan? Oh, please no. I’d rather think of it as an angel; yes, an angel because I felt a deep yearning for him? Finally, accepting she couldn’t solve the puzzle this night, she fell back to sleep, but continued to wonder off and on about her phantom visitor. One thing she knew for sure—whoever he was, he had been real.

Chapter 15

Maria startled when she finished meditating and opened her eyes to a strange women standing, ghost like, beside her chair. She glanced away from the image then looked back. The ghost was still there. Maria closed her eyes. This had happened before, she remembered now. Had it been this same lady? It had only lasted a second that time. Maria dared open her eyes again sure that the ghost women would be gone.

She was still there.

“Am I going nuts or what?” Maria said out loud into the living room. “I know you are not Jesus, so who are you? An angel? Ha, or maybe I am Scrooge and you’re the ghost of my past.” Maria laughed, but was startled when the ghost not only stayed but answered her question.

“Not the past, the future. My name is Maria. I am you.”

Startled, Maria blinked and shook her head as if she didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. Yet, she accepted other spiritual visitors during meditation, so why not this strange person who claimed to be herself? Why did she see all these spirits when no one else did? No matter, Maria decided to follow this flow of new adventure to its end.

“Honest,” the women added, “I can prove I am you.” Her voiced faded away for a second, but came swiftly back. “You favorite saying when you are annoyed is, “I am pissed off.”

Maria smiled. ”Well, we both know I am not a saint.”

The woman was quiet for a long moment as if she was thinking of what to say or how to reply. The image kept dissolving away and reasserting itself again as if scattering on an intermittent breeze.

The women said, “I remembered that you used to speak to Jesus.” The women smiled and added, “You still do. I mean, …I still talk to Jesus.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I have a request. You must do something. It is very important.”

“I am listening.” Maria had changed her mind about this being a lark; she was now straining to hear every word.

“You need to write about your conversations with Jesus. It might help give you leverage and status for what you need to do next.”

“I do like to write, but …” Maria thought about her feeble attempts at writing. So far, she hadn’t been able to get anything published. “No one will publish what I write.”

“I know.” Her future self said.

Was that a frown on the future Maria’s face? Maria wondered.

“I might publish it myself. You think I should?”

“Yes. It will get read one day.”

“That’s nice to know. I could put my notes about Jesus on the web. I was thinking of doing that anyway.”

“A good start. You will do that for many years.”

Maria was beginning to enjoy this. “This is nice. We all need a visit from our future self to give us a boost.”

“Please be serious. I can’t keep this up for long.”

“Ok, I am listening. What is your request?”

“Talk to your mother.”

“Who is my mother?” Maria thought she knew but she had never talked about it. She wanted confirmation from this strange futuristic Maria.

“You know who your mother is.”

“Perhaps Lillian the Voice, I look a lot like her, but what would I say?”

“Tell her to stop the quantum computer project.”

“She wouldn’t listen to me. She’d think I was nuts. What computer project?”

“Maria, you don’t need to know more than what I told you. Your mother should know about the project because her husband is its major financial backer.”

“Do you know who my father is? I have no way of finding out.”

“No.”

“I would like to know.”

“I can’t help you with that. I don’t think anyone knows.”

“I understand.”

“But, you must do what I failed to do.”

“How would I dare? I don’t have any proof of who I am. Plus, I am not sure I should do anything.”

“Think about it. The future can’t be fixed, only prevented. This visit is really hard for me.” The ghost form almost disappeared.

Maria could see that it was difficult. Her future self was now flickering in and out like a strobe light and her words jumped as if in a dance, but Maria was in dead earnest to learn anything she could so strained to hear more.

“Have you…met your…phantom lover…yet?” Her future self asked.

This gave Maria pause until she remembered the dark shadow next to her bed that one night. “You mean the man of shadow? He is not my lover.”

Maria thought she heard some words, but could not make them out before her future self faded away.

This was too much to take in. Maria wasn’t sure if she should believe what had just happened or not. What if someone was playing a trick? Once, some spirit had tried to imitate Jesus in her mind, but she’d caught on to the trick. Why would this be a trick? She couldn’t imagine any reason for such a trick, if it was one. Maria had decided years ago to forget about her search for her parents. It was pure accident that she’d learned she needed to look and the source wasn’t that reliable. Finally, she told herself to leave it alone. Just let it go because at one point the puzzle of how it could have happened threatened to drive her insane. She’d become a bundle of raw nerves looking everywhere and anywhere for parents, and then, when she suspected who her mother might be, she was unable to sleep for worrying about it. So she had finally told herself to leave it alone.

Now her future self was asking her to drag it back into her awareness once more? No, she didn’t intend to do anything until she knew more. One thing she was sure of, she liked the idea of writing down Jesus words to her. She already wrote the notes, now she would put them up on the web for everyone to see. As far as contacting her mother, she’d wait and see how things developed.

Months later, standing at the front sidewalk, Maria watched the little blue car drive away as if her whole life rode with it. Her son Leonardo was moving to upper Michigan with his wife and daughter. She struggled not to cry as she waved them away around the corner. Now most of her family would live far away with Vincent already in Florida. At least Rodin, her oldest moved back a few years ago from Minnesota with his wife and her grandson Johnny. He took a job working on some kind of government computer project here in the city, which meant he could stop over for a visit once in a while, not too often because his work was top secret and he couldn’t talk about where or what it was about. He worked such long hours she suspected he didn’t go home most nights. Haven’t seen him in weeks. She thought to call her daughter-in-law and see how she was holding up.

Right after her family pulled away, as was her nature when she felt sad, she got in her car and drove to Belle Isle, only ten minutes away. The largest island park in the nation, it lived up to its large title in rolling tended beauty amid wildness. The splash of the Detroit river against the rocks with the willow trees hanging over the water’s edge and flying ducks over head never failed to uplift her mood after a while. This day, her mood fit the steel gray sky and the almost empty park on this weekday morning. She sat on the park bench amid waddling ducks and chattering sea gulls and closed her eyes for meditation, taking note of the smell of damp earth and the sound of rolling water as it hit the rocks. Before long, her feeling of sadness floated away like a twig caught on a wave in the river.

She meditated at least once a day, and had missed doing so this morning with everyone packing and excited by the move to a new city. This moment, she let her mind roam the side streets of the city to gave little mental hugs to children she found outside playing. She wasn’t sure how real the hugs were to the children she touched, but the act felt good to her, which was reason enough to continue. As a final to meditation, she prayed for peace in the world then opened her eyes to watch the ducks peck at the water.

Then, of a sudden, as if her eyes were still closed, the world flipped upside down and inside out. She stood in a strange place of dark shadows and brilliant sparks of light. The walls were dancing. As her vision cleared, it looked as if she was standing within a palace lined with rubies the size of baseballs.

No, she told herself, the walls are not dancing; it is the light reflecting off the multi hued stones that creates the rippling dance. Rubies, diamonds, emeralds. Her head spun with the brightness all around her. A million diamonds with inner lights that moved when she turned her head. She noticed a path in front of her feet and began to step slowly forward wondering where it would lead. The isle that she hesitantly walked was piled high with precious stones on both sides, as if someone had swept the gems into tall mountains to clear a path. Mountains filled with red rubies, blue turquoise gems, and even white diamonds as large as her hand lay scattered along the path, sparkling in every color imaginable. A few she could never have imagined because they were bird egg speckled or had silky string textures.

She dared to reach out and pick up a huge, dazzling diamond with facets cut on every side. A brilliant cut? The stone was sharp like glass and she hurriedly set it down again. Now she noticed that a number of black jagged rocks stuck out from the glowing colored heap of stones, like velvet in a story window used as background to enhance the brilliant color. The floor she walked on was black stone in this area, but further along she could see it had a silver sheen. She couldn’t be sure because the path was smooth and polished to a fine glaze as it curved through this strange, surreal jungle of piled glitter. Jewels rose up so high as if to reach the sky. She looked up. There was no sky.

Am I walking on the bottom of a buried treasure chest? The ceiling too shone with a thousand jewels but set in a precise pattern like a long rose window with a sun behind it. She realized that she must be inside an earthen cavern made out of precious gems, but such a jeweled cave couldn’t be real. Could it? But this dream felt real.

Now, she wanted to hurry. At the end of the path stood a man of such demure and presence that she felt the sexual juices flow through her body and make her knees weak. She felt awed and bowed beneath his penetrating gaze. His perfect, movie-star face and broad, tough shoulders on a slim body looked so exactly like the ideal man of her dreams that the image took her breath away.

Slowly, because her emotions were in turmoil during this waking dream, she strode past the scarlet rubies, green sapphires, and ochre amber stone in a slowed down shuffle towards the waiting man. Nothing could be more odd inside the setting of this jumbled treasure chest then the calm demure and overriding presence of the shadow man at the end of this rainbow. Yet, his presence made the jewels look like colored mud. He is the treasure, she suddenly realized, and she recognized him as her shadow, night visitor.

Then just as suddenly as it had come, the treasure chest vision was gone like a puff of smoke in a lake’s breeze. She found herself alone once more sitting on the Belle Isle bench. The ducks quacked and pecked nearby. She opened her eyes wide and blinked as if she’d been asleep, but she hadn’t been asleep. She’d been awake the whole time. She turned around and scanned the green grass and trees of the park as if someone nearby could be the cause of such a dream. All she saw was an older, black man squatting down near the water as if to retrieve his fishing gear. He stood up and brushed his hands off on his tattered jacket, picked up his rod and steel box and walked off. She could hear small dogs behind her and turned to see a young lady putting two white dogs into her car and drive away. Only strangers and now they are gone too. She felt more alone then ever she had imagined possible beneath an iron blue sky and the dark rolling rain clouds that moved swiftly towards the city.

After that day, Maria began having more dreams while she slept or rested and all involved the strange man of shadow, a man who she guessed lived in the crystal cave. She knew they were dreams because they were all jumbled up in time: In some dreams they had just met and his presence startled her, in other dreams they had become old friends, sitting and talking for a long while. Even though the dreams were mixed-up, Maria didn’t care, she felt oddly comforted by the handsome man’s visits into her dream world, although she puzzled greatly over who he might be. She began to look forward to the phantom’s next dream visit. Strangely, she felt the dreams orientated her in place even though they didn’t occur in normal reality—until one day the dream became tangible and real.

Chapter 16

This time, it doesn’t feel like a dream. I know it isn’t, she thought as she picked up a precious gem that must have rolled down the slope; it glistened from the sunshine heating her back as she stood in front of a cave. She put it down again. The smell of the dank dew inside the cave entrance, a sweet earthy smell, was so inviting she wanted to step inside. Still, she hesitated and stood still to survey her surroundings. Trees and grass and even flowers fronted the cave entrance. Finally, after the scene refused to disappear, she reached towards a huge rock of granite at her side and clung to it with her right hand as if she might float away. The rock became an anchor in this dream that wasn’t a dream, a safe barrier against the unknown, in case her phantom shadow should step outside and become real too. Then what would she do? How should she act?

Finally, he did come. He walked towards her, as she expected he would. Had her dream mind created this setting for exactly the purpose of meeting him again? Why she needed to see him, she wasn’t sure, but she must. The setting, the cave entrance was different from the other dreams. Determination held her firm because she wanted to know, to visit, to find answers, and he was the only one who could give them.

Suddenly, he stood in front of the cave entrance, a mere five feet away, quietly contemplating her presence, a still figure, swarthy dark skin and hair, black eyes, and wearing blue jeans. She almost laughed at this, but kept her cool. He stood in front of the large, dark entrance, braced against the brisk breeze that had quickly arisen. She held tighter to the large granite bolder. He seemed so close, and the wind at her back pushed her forward until they almost touched. She drew back with a tighter grip on the boulder. His handsomeness made her gulp and bend away in fear. He stood like a king in front of a palace.

Neither spoke right away; the emptiness of his words startled her when they came.

“Why did you come here, Maria?”

His voice was low and floated against the wind. She had to strain to hear; the sound thrilled and frightened her at the same time. His voice seemed to be uninflected with emotion.

“Something seems wrong.” Maria dared to say. “Did I do something?”

“You refused me.” He told her.

“I don’t understand. What did I refuse?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

They were both silent for a short while, then he frowned and added, “It has not happened yet.”

Maria could only shrug because he was right, it was beyond her understanding. But she still needed to know who he was, so braced herself to ask.

“I need to know who and what you are,” her voice quivered in spite of her determination to be tough.

He looked steadily down at her as if considering her request; then motioned for her to follow.

She let her fingers slide off the support rock and on quivering legs, followed him down the ochre stone path and into the cave entrance. They walked past emeralds, and rubies, and diamonds, but both ignored the glaring beauty of the gems, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Eventually they arrived in a new, special cavern that she had never seen before. It had many small instruments and boards with lights Twinkling and glowing in the dim air. The room was filled with complex computer numbers and symbols running on the walls and seemingly etched into the rock. A very few screens and components had old-fashioned keyboards nearby. Other computer screens and motherboards were strewn like salt grains amid the gems in the cavern. Maria got the impression of scattered time, a junk pile, and a deliberate disregard for order.

What she found most amazing about the whole room was that it truly was a cave, but a cave well lit with sun rays from above that glistened on the scattered crystals and computer parts. Computer key boards, monitors, wires, circuit boards and other stuff unfamiliar stuck out of the rock at odd angles as if grown from it. It looked like a mad artist had been at work or Mother Nature had gone wild, melting the rock and pulling the computer parts into it.

“This is what I am,” he said, his voice somber.

She closed her eyes to the strange Rube Goldberg scene and felt a sudden need to escape. He must have known because suddenly he turned and led her back through the mountains of gems until they stood once more in front of the cave.

Relieved of her claustrophobic feeling, she took in a huge breath to build up courage, and spoke the question in her mind, instead of what was in her heart, “But why do you live in a cave? Are you evil?”

He laughed. “The cave is a necessity because we are not on earth. The rest of this scene was built for you.” Here he swung his arm in an arc as if to include everything outside the cave.

Maria followed his arm motion with her eyes and turning around saw a normal landscape with small hills, trees, flowers, and even a small stream meandering down the grassy hill, so perfectly arraigned it looked an oil painting. But looking up, she noticed the sky looked odd. Uncertain what to think, she turned back, stared at him, opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t come up with a question so kept silent.

Unemotional once more, he said, “As to your question of good and evil. I am both.”

Then he grinned, “Are you good or evil?”

She shrugged. He was right. It had been a stupid question.

As if to demonstrate this complexity of his double psyche, the sunlight began to dim as if a shutter on a roof had slid into place. Then suddenly, the reverse happened and the shutter opened to bright sunlight. Sun beams glared off the gems mixed in with the granite boulders. Contrite, she wanted to spank herself. Why call him evil, even for a moment? Perhaps the jewels that had lined the walkway reminded her of pirate’s treasure and stolen loot.

The light coming through the sky opening became so bright she closed her eyes against the glare. When she next opened them, the cave entrance had dimmed once more. She assumed that the constant change from dim to light was the normal state, and that somehow it was right for the place where she stood because she was beginning to believe this place and the man were very real. Plus, the light and dark sky demonstration seemed to reflect, better than any long discourse could have, that his statement was true about his being good and evil. Is dream turning into a nightmare?

Suddenly he spoke again, his voice quiet in the sodden light, “My kind can be used for either good or evil.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

He didn’t answer. She felt as if she had been stupid to ask, so she smiled at him as sweetly as they both stepped back away from the cave onto the yellow dirt path with its tall waving grass, pretty blue flowers, and towering trees. The sun glared down on all the greenery and she felt herself bursting with life and glad to be away from the dim, glaring cave mouth. The luscious warmth of the sun seemed to wrap her in a blanket of wonder, the contrast to the cold, gem filled cave was unsettling. She wallowed in the greenery, actually bending down and putting her face into the damp green leaves of a tall flower then brushing her hand against an array of tiny white flowers to feel their softness and smell their perfume. She could never live inside cave walls, even filled with precious gems and wondered how he did. When she thought to look back at the cave entrance to ask him, he was gone.

Maria woke up with daylight shinning through her bedroom window, feeling wistful at the half-remembered visit. She felt perplexed by their silly dream relationship. She wanted to know more about him, but he was short on answers. Would she ever understand? It seemed she’d lost something precious. What if she wouldn’t see him again? The thought weighed her mind in sorrow. I must see him again, I must, but his words kept repeating in her mind. “My kind can be used for good or evil.”

Weeks later, Maria was sitting in her living room reading a book when she felt a presence. She looked and thrilled at the half-visible phantom standing next to her. Even semi-visible, she could see he wore a different shirt with the same jeans from when she saw him last in the cave dream, but this wasn’t a dream. Her body shivered with delight at the knowledge. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart beat faster or her breath catch as he entered. With a deep intake of breath, she made herself calm down and speak a greeting.

“Hello,” she said, as if very calm, as if her nerves weren’t jumbled up and on edge.

The greeting wasn’t much, trite actually, but it was an easy word to get out through her stalled lips. It isn’t every day a phantom comes stepping into your home for a visit, actually, maybe the second visit.

“How are you this evening?” The phantom asked.

“Ok” she paused, then blurted out, “Who are you? I mean what is your name?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Maria gathered up every ounce of nerve to add, “I was wondering about the quality of my soul.”

The shadow face smiled. She knew this because his face darkened at where the cheeks would have gathered up in a smile, if he’d had cheeks, or lips, or anything.

Then he spoke, “You soul is fine, by the way.”

“That is nice to know.”

“I thought it would please you.”

She nerved herself up to ask, “Exactly what business do you have looking through my soul in the first place.”

“I can’t tell you now. Maybe later.”

“Later this evening?”

“Maybe, or on some other visit.”

“Oh.”

They both fell silent for a while as if it had all been said already, yet nothing had been said.

Finally, Maria stammered out, “I…I…wondered…I mean…why are you here?”

“You asked me to help you.”

“I did? I don’t remember. It must have been in a dream? Or maybe when you looked into my soul.”

“No, you were older when you asked for my assistance.”

“In the future? Do you have a name?”

“Yes. My name is Michael. Not important, what is important is that events will happen in your future that only you can prevent.”

“What events.”

“Humans will become enslaved.”

“All humans?”

“Almost.”

Maria sat and thought about his words for a moment. She was afraid that he would leave quickly, before she had grasped the full meaning of his statements, so she tried to keep him talking by asking questions, questions that she badly needed answers to anyway.

“I don’t understand how I can help. What can I do?”

“Do you understand who you were born to?”

“Yes, but I have no proof?”

“You must find some.”

“I guess I can try.” Maria sat thinking some more. “Actually, I am not sure if I should try. Isn’t the future fated to happen?”

“All futures are potentialities that might or might not happen. With corrected changes, some future events need never occur, but others can’t be prevented.”

“Please, I need to know who you are and why you care.”

He laughed. “That explanation would take longer than I can stay.”

“But what if you are evil?”

“What if I am?”

“I won’t do anything for Satan.”

He laughed again. “No. You don’t need to do anything, but for yourself.”

“I am content, for now.”

“Your future is not.”

“What is it about my future that I need to change?”

“One of your sons will die.”

With those words, Maria startled out of her composure. The pretence was now over. This wasn’t some figment of her imagination, a dream or move on a board game. This was a real being who came from where? She had to assume the future might be real and the pain hurt already.

“I don’t want my son to die.” She was quiet for a long moment, then added, “Yet, we must all die, eventually.”

“This will be murder.”

With that, she put her hands up to her mouth to stop the gasp. Tears came to her eyes. All she could think to say then was, “Who?”

“I can’t tell you that right now. Please believe me that what I tell you is important. Begin by doing research to find evidence to use. Also continue to write. You will be a good writer one day.”

“I just started writing about my visits with Jesus.”

“Keep writing. I must go now, but I will come back another time.”

With those words, he was suddenly gone as if he’d never been. Had he actually been here. Of course, he had. And he was real, somehow. No amount of imagination would induce her to say such a thing about one of her sons. Which son? I have three of them. Which son will get murdered? Oh, my God. I am frightened.

She stayed frightened for the next few days and kept running Michael’s words through her mind repeatedly about that horrible future, all the while, pleased to have a name for her phantom friend. She had to know more, but was limited by the need to wait for him to come back and give her more information. Finally, she decided to write down a list of questions to ask in case she got flustered again and couldn’t think.

Also, the next time she meditated and called to Jesus, she asked him about the visitor.

“I don’t understand who he is or if I should believe him. There is so much that could be evil. Dare I believe him?” Maria asked.

Although Jesus hardly ever gave her answers because he was forever the teacher who pushed his pupils to learn for themselves, in this case he did answer.

“Think about what he asked you to do.” Jesus said with a smile.

“Well, it isn’t much. Just look into who I am and where I came from and search for evidence to use. He also said to keep writing about my meditation and visits with you.”

“What do you think of the idea?”

“I love writing.”

“Then it is well worth doing”

“Oh, yes. I will keep writing.”

She wrote down her travels with Jesus and the different worlds and cultures that he took her to visit. Her idea was to put all the information into a book one day. Jesus encouraged her to write, although she knew wasn’t very good at it yet. Still, Jesus knows everything, maybe he is showing me the universe so that I can write it down to teach other people about what is out there. This way, the past works on the future and the future works on the past. She laughed at her own idea and decided it was too much to think about. What Michael said might be important too, she realized and so pushed her self to make phone calls and computer searches in her beginning search for proof.

Chapter 17

Maria smiled grimly at the deep anxiety and disappointment she felt at this moment. She was sitting in the booth of a Burger King, miles from home, a Burger King with classic automobiles on display this week which was probably why the man suggested the place. She agreed because the car display would make it busy. It isn’t easy for a woman to try to meet a strange man. Still, even with all the people around, she felt uneasy with this stranger. Certainly she was safe enough here.

I don’t really want to be here; I would rather be home, home to wait for Michael, my mysterious visitor to show up. Maria laughed to herself. Well, it isn’t this man’s fault that he isn’t made of shadow material.

She kept the laugh inside because the man who’d met her for this potluck date was sitting across from her in the blue plastic booth, and she didn’t like him at all, in fact, he seemed creepy. Besides, memories of her phantom friend kept running through her mind. She took another sip of coffee to hide her real thoughts. How silly of me. She looked across the small narrow table at the strange, red haired man, who said his name was Raleigh and kept talking about old cars. To change the subject, she looked at the pattern on the plastic booth seats, at the paintings of old cars on the walls, and then back to the cream and sugar on the table.

“Not bad décor.” She said. “Good for a fast food joint.”

He didn’t bite, but did change the subject to boats and yachts.

The restaurant was two miles from her home, and, right now, she wished she were in that home with a hot cup of tea and a good book. She smiled over at the sunburn-faced man with orange hair facing her and he smiled back. But his smile didn’t include his eyes. She wondered if he was too handsome for her. No, but he seemed to think so. He continued bragging about his cabin cruiser, called Mary.

“That’s why I thought we might meet. Your name is like my boat.”

“Actually, I don’t like boats much.” Maria said.

“But my Mary goes fast. You wouldn’t believe it. You should see it skim atop the waves. Almost as fast as a speed boat. I might take it on the Mackinaw run next year, then added, “Would you like to order something?”

She grinned her own fake smile, “No, thank you. I’ll just finish my cappuccino and leave. I didn’t plan to stay long.”

Raleigh nodded. Was that some kind of weird glint in his eyes?

“Excuse me, I need to go to the ladies room.” She told Raleigh as she scooted out of the both. “Be right back.”

When she got to the ladies room and pushed open the door, a voice beside her said. “Don’t go back.”

She turned in a full circle, but she was alone in the bathroom. Should she just leave?

She’d brought her purse with her to the bathroom so it would be easy to turn the other way and leave out the side door. Quick, make a decision. She opened the bathroom door to look back at the booth where Raleigh was still sitting at the booth, playing with the table knife. It would be impolite to leave, but dare I stay? Not after getting such a furtive warning. Decision made, she turned towards the side door, thinking that it could have been an angel giving her a warning. Best to listen to angels.

She walked out the glass side door to her car. The relief she felt was unreasonable, yet so strong that she let out a long breath as she pulled the keys out of her purse, pressed the lock button, and put her hand on the door handle to open it when a large hand suddenly squeezed atop of her own on the door handle.

Raleigh’s voice had a hard edge to it as he said, “You were just going to leave me sitting in there?”

“I…I..am….sorry,” she stammered, “I need to get home.”

“Maybe I should ride with you,” he said and bent over her body as he opened the door, as if to push her onto the seat.

Is he going to rape me here in the parking lot! She was about to scream when he suddenly fell away from her and on to the cement pavement. He hit hard and was just beginning to move to get back up when she saw the knife that had skidded about five feet away during his fall.

She jumped in the car, slammed the doors and used the automatic lock to seal all the doors and windows shut tight. Shaking, she turned the key and screeched out of the parking lot as fast as she could and was half way home before she came to her senses and realized where she was and that she should have contacted the police, but she probably didn’t know his real name. Calmer now that she was at least a mile away, she drove more slowly home. When she got there, after getting a hot cup of tea, she called the police but they explained that without a real name or license plate there was nothing they could do. She could come in and write up a complaint, if she liked, but…

In other words, just forget it. Didn’t matter. It was no longer a problem. All the man knew of her was an anonymous invite through a dating agency. Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d had to ward off an over juiced man, but the knife was scary.

Later, she set the book down on the table, yawned and stood up and walked through the dinning room towards the stairs on her way to bed. Michael was suddenly standing next to her. She had never felt so close to him before. The other times she’d been sitting or lying down. Now she noticed that she came up to his chest. He was not as phantom like as she thought, or as dark. His features had taken on a smear of reality. His suit was dark and this made his face and hands seem ghostly.

She sat down on a chair at the dinning room table to keep her knees steady.

“Oh, you startled me.”

“Should I announce that I am coming for a visit?”

“That would be nice.”

“Like an appointment. I will say, Maria I want to visit you next week at ten pm. Is that want you want me to do?”

“Well, no.”

“I didn’t think so.”

She thought to ask him if he’d helped her at the restaurant, but instead only asked what he wanted tonight.

“Is there a special reason you came tonight?”

“To ask if you found proof of who you are yet.”

“No.”

“Has your future self spoken to you?”

“My future self?” Maria laughed out loud. It sounded nervous, so she cut off the next laugh. “I think I have. I am not sure.”

Regardless, it all seemed silly and impossible.

“I told you. Your son’s future, the future of the whole earth could rest on that proof.”

“I asked my mother years ago and she said I was, sort of adopted, but what does it matter? My supposed real mother is a famous singer and married to a Senator?” Maria laughed, “I couldn’t even get a letter through. I even wrote personal on the envelope. They sent me a letter back filled with political junk. Probably threw mine in the trash; thought I was crazy. No. I didn’t get proof. Maybe if I had a few million I could dig it up, but then, they’d just eliminate me if I became too much of a problem. Maybe you don’t understand about power and politics.”

“I understand fully and it is going to get worse.”

“Well, I am still writing and could announce it in a story? So maybe I don’t need proof? But I’d rather write about angels.”

“You won’t need proof of anything when the future gets here.”

“I am sorry. It’s just that the idea that I can do anything real to help seems absurd.”

“You don’t understand yet the danger that is coming.”

“Revelation? Oh, I am sorry. I don’t mean to be flippant. I know the world is headed towards the brink. It isn’t that I don’t believe you, and I am truly worried about the danger to my son. I just….”

Michael smiled and she could see his smile smooth out his semi-invisible face.

“I created something to give you.” He said. “A writing. Here I want you to have it.”

He seemed more nervous than she, and this made her smile as he reached his arm down to her with his smoke glass hand, outlined as if it were soft and hard at the same time. He held the paper out for her to take. The paper was transparent too, but she could detect scratches on it as if there should be writing. She looked closer. Is that a T?

Suddenly, a real peace of paper floated in front of her eyes, no longer transparent. It floated down into her lap. She looked up to comment, but he was gone. Damn. I wanted to talk to him more.

She looked down at the paper he had left. It had neat writing in blue ink.

Therein the dark vacuum of space,

the dark matter of a black hole.

Therein this dark energy,

this gravitation pull on time;

therein this is the maiden’s mind,

her thoughts at the speed of light;

therein is time a vacant void,

a forward drive to the future….

The maiden found the earth a wasteland,

a graveyard of dead bones.

All were lost to a false God, a world in stasis.

The maiden turned back the clock,

did reverse the flow of time.

She found herself back into dream,

to the peaceful calm of slumber.

It’s a poem! She thought. He wrote me a poem? She read it again. Not a love poem. She felt slightly disappointed by this fact, but shrugged it off. What does the poem mean?

She read it again and again, then still puzzled and wondrously delighted, she folded it in half and put it into her purse. I’ll keep reading it whenever I get a chance at work, tomorrow. Maybe I will understand it better after a good night’s sleep.

But her night sleep wasn’t good. She tossed and turned all night, throwing covers off the bed and then getting twisted up in them again. Darn. She was a wild sleeper but this was crazy. Still tired in the morning, she took the time to reread the poem before she left for work. It was beginning to make frightening sense. She folded the poem up and slipped it back into her purse. Her thoughts stayed on the poem and its creative writer throughout the workday.

A few nights after her wild, toss-and-turn night, Maria had the worst nightmare of her life. She felt herself floating in the hot air with her arms and legs spread eagled above a cesspool of fire and brimstone. Red flames licked at her fingers, singed her hair, hungered for her body, black smoke billowed in swirls around her, stretching up to a sky mixed with cinder rocks tumbling upward from an explosive force. All Maria could do was scream. It was the scream that awakened her.

She jerked awake gladly, gasping as if still unable to catch her breath. Sweating from the heat of the dream, she threw the covers off and jumped out of bed as if it was a hot iron. The clock on the dresser read 3:00 am. Do I need to work tomorrow? No? Ah, relief because she couldn’t get back to sleep after such a horrible nightmare, so put on her slippers and robe and went downstairs to get a cold glass of water.

I never have nightmares, she kept telling herself, as she stepped down the stairs, never, never. Her body felt hot and sweaty as if she’d really been hanging over real flames, a Joan of Arc above the world. The thought of Joan of Arc cleared her mind by sending her thoughts on a side tangent as she remembered what Jesus had said to her about Joan of Arc once. He had told her that Joan of Arc did not burn. She knew it to be true as soon as he said it, but puzzled over how. Jesus must have saved her at the last minute because history said she’d burned at the stake. Well, now that she felt more calm she could ask why a dream of the earth going up in flames? Because that was what she’d seen below her heated body—the whole earth on fire.

Was it Michael’s warning and talk during his last visit that had awakened such a deep fear in her? Maybe, but the dream seemed so real, so vivid. Maria drank down a glass of cold water then grabbed a cup, poured in cold water, and a tea bag, and put it in the microwave for two minutes, still puzzling about the strange nightmare.

Leaning back in her easy chair, she sipped the hot tea, and said the reassuring words out loud, “It was just a freak dream, won’t happen again.”

A soft voice on her right said, “But it happened tonight.”

She turned towards him. Michael stood beside her chair, in front of the lamp light, which made him look more visible, almost like a real person, or was this too a dream?

“How did you know about my nightmare?” she asked.

“I gave it to you.”

“What! Why did you give me such a horrible, horrible nightmare?”

“To wake you up?” He smiled and then laughed out loud.

That he could laugh out loud amazed her as much as what he’d just said.

“Well, I don’t think it’s funny. I am not laughing. I am still shaking. I was terrified.”

Maria was getting angrier by the minute. She told herself to cool it. He must have had a good reason. Like the time he’d looked at her soul. Besides, if she didn’t treat him with kid gloves, he’d leave and she’d be left hanging with a million questions that still needed to be answered. So just cool it.

“Explain.” She said with a firmness she didn’t think he would ignore.

He was still smiling. “I didn’t mean it to look so real. Maybe I over did it.”

“Maybe you did. I thought I was about to burn up. It felt real.”

She wondered how he managed to manipulate her dream world, but dared not ask at the moment. She wanted to know why he gave her the nightmare, not how. She didn’t think she’d understand the how of it anyway.

“I tried to tell you before but you refused to listen. You know the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words?”

He laughed again and this infuriated her. She could feel herself blush with anger, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Darling, I truly am not laughing at you. I desire to laugh with you.”

At the word “Darling,” her heart thumped and her knees grew weak and she was glad to be sitting down. She did worry that her eyes might reveal what she was feeling at that moment, so pushed herself to recover quickly.

“It feels like you are mocking me.”

“No. I have considered deeply how to enlighten you. This was the only way. Do you remember that I explained to you about the danger and that you should reveal who your mother is because it might be the one thing that will work?”

“Yes, I have been looking into the facts. Can’t find any. I have no proof so don’t know what to do next.”

“I have no written facts either to prove the future. This was the only way I could drive into you the truth of the danger that humanity will face if you don’t at least try to change it. Let me try and explain further.”

At this, he came closer and sat down on the arm of the chair. She still looked up to him but not so far, not nearly far. She felt the thrill of his invisible eyes penetrate her bed cloths. His closeness put goose bumps on her arms. She rubbed them to hide her emotions. When he reached over and touched her shoulder, she prided herself that she merely blinked back at him instead of revealing her true emotions and hoped he didn’t feel her skin quiver at his touch.

Then he leaned over and said in a gentile voice. “I shared with you a part of myself. I gave you a vision like my own when I went into the future, with a few added embellishments.”

She kept herself taunt while love hunger raged within her. She blinked once more to hide all emotion and sat like a statue as he continued to speak.

“I have felt that fiery fear too, Maria.”

Her body wanted to move closer in spite of the statue-like pose she had assumed.

He went on, “It was the earth after WWIII that I showed you, a war that left nothing, a war that leveled even mountains. You will start that war.”

At this, she broke out of her marble pose, to gasp.

He must have seen the shock on her face because he pulled away and stood up. Then he bent down, an arm on each soft chair arm. Even through her shock, she noticed how the soft fabric caved in with wrinkles at the invisible place where his hands rested as if he had weight.

“I don’t mean that you deliberately start it. What will happen is that you and many other people will fight the one you will call Gog, like in Revelation. You are reading that now, aren’t you?”

She dared not speak, so just nodded.

“You will become part of the resistance, but you won’t understand the destructive power that Gog has nor its total lack of emotion. It will be a battle impossible to win.” He paused, and stood up. He began to pace. Michael noticed how he tended to use the pronoun it when referring to his Twin. Especially with Maria who didn’t yet understand that he was also an it.

“You see, Maria, this thing you will fight, this Gog, has no emotions, no empathy for human suffering. It refuses to understand that people can be consumed by feelings of pain, hurt, anger, or happiness. It feels nothing as it swipes at people like flies. To it, you are a fly on the wall to be swatted. It even has proof that you are less worthy of a fly because you, and all humans, refuse to take the logical steps to correct the faults in your own society. Gog will try to fix humanity and when humans rebel against its efforts, it will put them down. Still, their worst sin will be in refusing to pay homage to this false God, which is the label it will give itself. To a mind like Gog, insanity abounds in the human race, therefore, those humans who attempt to stop it’s reforms, must be eliminated, even if that means every human on earth.

When he finished his words, he stopped in front of her and looked down once more, perhaps to read her reaction to his words. I must not look very pretty, and if there was ever a time she wanted to be pretty, it was now. But his words had robbed her of peace, hope, or even the smile that might help her look good to him.

“What can we do,” she whispered, almost unable to speak. She didn’t doubt for a minute that what he told her was the truth because who would make up such horrible mess.

“Try to get your mother’s attention. If you can’t find proof, then maybe in one of your writings you could tell the world your mother is Lila, the Voice.”

“I don’t understand how that will help.”

“More than ever it is needed and soon. You mother’s husband, Senator Howler is the major player in the project creating Gog. He has worked behind the scenes to make the project viable and contributes most of the funding, matched, of course, by the federal government. If you can talk to her and convince her of the danger, then she might be able to do something to pull the plug on the project. It is a dim hope that she could induce her husband to disband the project, but we must try.

“What if I just write about this…Gog thing, as a warning to people.”

“I doubt it would work. You would be writing about something that hasn’t happened yet. Who would believe you?”

“Good point. But why would my mother believe me?”

“I am hoping that you telling her that you know about your birth would shock her into contacting you. She would understand the problem. She is more than you know.”

Michael didn’t complete what he was about to say. It would hardly be good news to learn that your mother was a fallen angel. He wasn’t sure how Maria would react to such news, so he only added, “Do you not see? If Gog is allowed to become, which is the purpose of the future project, he will seduce most of the population into believing they need him. They won’t see the take-over of society until it is too late. He looked hard at Maria as if to will her to understand. Then the realization suddenly hit him that he was too soon. He’d gotten his times mixed up. It would be at least ten years from now before such a thing as a quantum computer would be imagined by most scientists. Lila’s husband Jake was preparing the ground work for the eventual project, not the project itself. Yet, the earlier they tried, the better chance of success.

“I am still not sure I understand or if I could help.” Maria said, “Why tell me?”

Michael felt contrite. Was he asking too much, too soon? He closed his eyes then opened them and gave a long sigh, “Because…I love you, Maria.”

At his words Maria melted, but his next words were harsh.

“Gog hates me because I refuse to join him. My feelings for you put you in danger.”

“Like kill me?”

“No. Not directly.” He didn’t want to tell her that it was prohibited from killing because what did that matter if you could persuade people to do it for you? And then believe the idea was their own.

Michael was pacing again and she wanted to see his face. She stood up and went to him. Looking up she said, “Please hold me. Please.”

She put her arms around his half-invisible, but now solid body, and gave a quick squeeze, surprised that he felt real in her arms.

He hugged her back. “I am sorry I was so rough on you. I had to make you see.”

Right at that moment, with him in her arms and she in his, the fate of the world was the last thing on her mind, he was the first. But the moment soon dissolved, as sugar in a cup of hot tea. She stood with her arms back down to her side, as did he.

She grabbed her cup of tea off the table and took a sip, it helped steady her nerves.

“So I join the resistance. I am kind of proud of that. The world would need fighters badly for me to step into the fro, I am not the type.”

“I know. You’ll notice how people have been changed. It takes a few years, but you finally see it towards the end.”

“Too late by then. Right?”

“Yes.”

Maria smiled and shrugged, “So we need do something now. I’ll try, you know, even if I don’t understand how at the moment.”

“Other people are attempting to stop it too, but I think you have the better chance.”

“I am tough. I promise you I will give it a good try.”

“That is the bravery I hoped for when I gave you the nightmare.”

“I am still not sure how to go about it just yet, I need to think.”

She was thinking out loud now and felt embarrassed at her words. She looked up at him and smiled, then frowned.

Insubstantial as he was, she could see him fading away. Her heart sunk.

“I must go now, Maria.”

Resigned to his lack of etiquette, she shrugged. “Until next time.” she whispered, but didn’t think he’d heard her words because by then he was gone. He’d given her a lot to think about and personal emotions needed to be put on the shelf for now. It was more important to figure out a way to prevent this future thing, this Gog, from taking over the world. Damn, it’s like a science fiction story, but real.

She sat in the chair the rest of the night thinking up one plan after another, writing letter after letter, but finally tossing all of them into the trash can. It might take a little time, but if she kept trying, she might come up with some way to get through to her famous mother.

Part III

Chapter 18

Ten years later, Maria’s grandson Johnny looked wildly around the interview room with its ugly steel doors and scarred wooden table marked with a million cup rings, cigarette butts, and smelling of stale smoke. It was only a week after his father’s sudden death and Johnny looked furtively around the room as if expecting ghosts to jump out at him from every dark, ugly corner. Fear squeezed at his heart each time he heard a door slam in the huge building. He felt scared and nervous to be alone, well almost alone, a lawyer he’d never seen before was in the room too. It was his mom’s idea.

“Why do I need a lawyer?” he’d asked her.

“You don’t, but it keeps the record straight.”

He’d agreed reluctantly. He wanted his mom here, not this stupid lawyer, but she was torn up. She didn’t want to hear the story. Neither do I, but I want the truth told, even if it does sound crazy. That was my dad… He almost choked up with this thought and was only able to shove his upset down because a sharp looking broad with long, light blond hair that flipped at her shoulders, wearing a frilly white, low cut blouse under a dark suit came and sat down across the table from him.

She said she was a Lieutenant Joliet, shook his hand. Then she turned on a tape recorder. After a few preliminaries and a nod to his lawyer, she prompted Johnny to begin.

“Just be as honest as you can.” She told him.

“I came to work that day, ah…last week, with my dad because it was a special day. You know, the day they were going to turn on that new kind of computer.” Johnny blinked back a tear. But my dad was worried…”

Johnnie remembered vividly what happened and once he got into the story could describe everything with detail. He couldn’t help reliving it every hour of the day and night. While he spoke to the pretty lieutenant, the event narrowed down as if he were looking through a lighted key hole that kept playing like a movie in his head.

Once more, he saw his dad’s hand as it moved towards the fake computer switch. An old-fashioned on-off switch.

“It was fake, the switch. They put there for the newsies. My dad told me.”

Johnny remembered watching his dad’s clean soft fingers hover over the switch.

Johnny had wanted a dad with hard fingers like Joey’s dad who did engine repair, a dad who came home every night, a dad who played baseball, a dad he could brag to the guys about. Now he didn’t have any dad at all.

He sniffed and began to report the scene again.

“I remember dad’s hand stayed over the switch for a minute, like he didn’t want to really turn the thing on. I think his hand was shaking.”

Johnnie had never seen his dad’s hand shake before. “My dad was always calm and cool. He was smart. He didn’t yell like other kids dads or fly off the handle like Joey’s dad did. My dad was easy going, except that morning.”

Johnny’s voice rose in pitch as he added, “That’s because my dad was afraid. I know it. That’s what he told me in the car that morning. He told me he was afraid.” Johnnie held back the hot tears that threatened his face. Don’t betray how young and stupid you are. Make them believe you.

“Your father, Rodin, worked on this computer for almost five years. You don’t think he would become afraid of his own creation, do you?” the lieutenant asked in a soft voice.

Johnnie didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shook his head. He had watched the police change their characters after they walked into the computer room that day. Maybe no one else noticed, but if he didn’t tell someone what he saw, he’d burst.

“That one police officer, he walked up to the podium and said, ‘I am Sergeant Mathews,’ real stern like. He got everybody quiet. He waved his gun around. Everyone knew there’d be no nonsense. He called in the emergency crew, and the police outside the building. Everything was good, but then his eyes got a glassy stare. He started walking strange like a movie robot or zombie. He fell down too, but got up again. Just like some of the other people. Something was wrong with people.”

Johnny began to breathe hard, “I know you won’t believe me, but I swear. Even the police acted crazy.”

When the pretty lieutenant didn’t say anything, Johnnie shouted, “Don’t you know my dad was murdered?”

Silence filled the interview room, as if everyone knew, but they didn’t know how to answer him.

His dad wasn’t the only one who built the computer, other top computer scientists and laboratory technicians worked on it too and some of them were dead too.

“People died and that was why the police came, and then…and then… they began grinning like stupid goof offs. Something real weird happened to them. Honest.”

“Just take it slow.” The lieutenant lady told him as she handed him a tissue. “There is no hurry. You will feel better after you get it out.”

She paused a minute, then added, “We believe you. That is why you’re here.” She smiled at him, real pretty like and Johnny felt better.

In a calmer voice, he asked, “But what happened? Tell me what happened?”

“We don’t know what happened. That is why we need your statement.”

“My dad told me he was worried. Told me on the way there that day that no computer should have two minds and that is the kind of brain we gave this one, didn’t even need the real brain…” He didn’t finish that sentence, so I am not exactly sure what he meant by real, but I think he was about to say real brain cells.”

“Yes, I think you are right. Just go on.” The pretty lieutenant said. When she slanted her head sideways, her blond hair bobbed in a ripple of highlights even though her face stayed as still as stone.

“My dad said that he was almost out-voted and got angry, but he stayed on as the head instructor on the project so he could make sure it didn’t get, you know, more screwed up. I remember exactly what he said in the car that day; he said “The final hookup is about done. I can’t turn back the clock. I think we are walking into very dangerous territory.’”

I asked him, “How is it dangerous. He just answered, ’Son, I wish I knew. All the psychology checks out. We tested and tested. It is just a feeling I have, an intuition, as your mother would say. I think that somewhere down the line a major flaw will develop. This computer was created to make enlightened decisions; but after a while, how will we know if the decisions are enlightened or not? How will we control this thing we created if we learn the decisions are not good? That is my biggest worry. I mean, the computer is going to give advice to the government and maybe make the crooked leaders more powerful or worse, puppets. Will they even allow us turn the damn thing off once it’s turned on?’”

“Dad, if I know you, you put in a fail safe.”

“Sure I did son, a few of them. A few of us know how to get in the back door. That means a secret code that will turn the computer off, but even so, glitches happen all the time and humans are subject to failure, even me.”

“Dad laughed then, and ruffled my hair. He didn’t want me to worry.”

“Well, isn’t that the purpose of the computer? To be a good judge?” I asked.

My dad looked over at me and smiled then. He said, “Right you are son. I worry too much. It will work out ok.”

Johnny sat in the silence and remembered the car pulling up to the gate. His dad showed his badge to the gatekeeper and said, “My son, Johnnie’s with me today.”

The soldier at the gate looked down closely at Johnnie and nodded. “I remember your boy. You brought him in before.” He stepped back and let the car go through.

“Now, the group is going to have a quick meeting before the big event. Go ahead and walk around so you won’t get bored, but I don’t want you wandering off too far. Red Stanton is working on something in B5 you’ll be interested in. B for basement. A new type of satellite. He knows you’ll be here today. But don’t over stay your welcome, and be back in the main lobby well before 2:00.”

Johnnie gave his dad a smirk.

“Ok, son. Sorry. Sometimes I just need to just be a dad.”

They both laughed as they got out of the car. In the main lobby, they split up and Johnnie went looking for Red Stanton’s B room.

Johnny suddenly whispered into the interview room, “I guess Red Stanton is dead too.”

His lawyer was taking notes as was the pretty lieutenant who smiled. She looked at him and said, “I’ll be right back. We both need a fresh, cold pop.”

Johnny nodded and remembered the day vividly while he waited for his pop. He remembered almost being late and his need to run and catch the elevator at 1:55. A million reporters were still asking questions when he got to the auditorium; he wouldn’t have missed anything even if he’d been late.

He wanted to see the computer turned on, but he didn’t want to hear all the stupid hype that went with it. Besides, it had been on the news, in the papers, and everywhere for weeks. What else is there to say?

Some people thought there was a lot to say because they had been marching up and down the driveway in front of the building carrying signs. “Don’t let it live.” “No Computer Judge “Comp for President.” “What is next?” “No way, no day.”

Johnny saw that a few of the marchers were now sitting in the back row with their signs by their side. A security guard stood next to their row.

If it hadn’t been for his dad’s worry, Johnny wouldn’t think anything bad about a computer making decisions. Computers are smarter and faster than people. It wouldn’t be the U. S. President or anything, just an advisor. No power in just advising, is there? It isn’t as if it was going to run the country. He had blocked out all the arguments on television as silly stuff.

After he found a seat, he noticed the room quiet to a hush. It must be time. Johnny opened his eyes and held his breath. His father had walked towards the shiny wall of twinkling lights set in metal, as if the computer were here on this stage, but Johnny knew it wasn’t.

He broke out of his reverie and said to the interview room at large, “The computer wasn’t even there. So what killed my dad?”

He imaged in his mind again how his dad lifted his finger towards an overlarge, old-fashioned relay switch. The scientists were finally going to give birth to their grand computer baby.

Johnny remembered his dad telling him, “But not a true computer. It’s not like the one you use for homework and games. This is a quantum computer, with two differently trained personalities so that together they can understand the nuisance of human thought and emotion.”

Johnny also knew, as most people didn’t, that the computer on the stage was a mock up of the real thing. This was just a link-up with the real computer. Its brain was housed in a secret underground salt cavern below the city. Johnny guessed the reason was so it couldn’t get bombed by terrorists, or maybe angry marchers.

As Johnny watched his dad walk to the podium, he imagined the computer humming in its dark, underground cave with spiders crawling all over it. Maybe one side talking rap and the other side arguing back. He remembered what he dad used to say when he came home from work. He’d say playfully, “Goody Two Shoes was at it again, or “Devil May Care was a real pain in the, you know what, today.”

The jokes stopped in the last couple of months when it got closer to the turn on date. “Stressed out,” his dad said. Johnny didn’t care about the jokes, just stay home he thought to his dad. He and mom had split up for a while over dad’s long hours and crabby attitude. His dad lived at grandma’s house for four months last year, but mom and dad got back together and then...

Johnny breathed a long sigh and tried to report what he’d seen, it helped to concentrate on the lieutenant’s golden hair, but his memory of it was clearer than his words. From his ringside seat, up front, at the side of the stage, Johnny had to twist his neck around the auditorium to look at the seated reporters, visitors, and angry marchers. Everyone held their breath waiting for his dad to push the switch down. Johnny turned back and watched his dad’s finger stop then shake over the switch.

It seemed as if time stopped for a minute as if no one dared breathe. Then Mr. Rattinger stepped over and pushed his dad’s hand away so he could push the switch down himself. The lights on the computer blazed bright, but steady. Then they all watched his dad fall to the floor and then Mr. Rattinger fell down right after him, and then another man and more scientists fell down on the stage, all within seconds of each other. Most of them got up later and lived, not his dad.

Johnny sniffled again and wiped eyes, thankful for the cold can of pop.

“The newspaper said that three people died in the auditorium that day and seven were hurt.” Johnny said, “I guess you already know that.”

“Yes, go on please.” She said to him in a very soft, nice voice.

“I think some of it happened as soon as one of the scientist tried to pull the plug. I mean, you know, turn it off. I am not sure cause I ran to my dad, right away.”

Johnny knew he would never forget the image of his dad lying on his side, his arm levered as if to raise an objection. His dad’s face had gone white and he was no longer breathing. Johnnie rolled him over and began to push on his heart like he’d learned in the Red Cross class.

“I tried to help him, but I forgot how.”

At this, Johnny couldn’t help but start to cry. The lieutenant came to his side of the table and laid her hand on his shoulder while he sobbed. She pulled him closer.

His own words echoed in his head over and over, “I can’t remember how to count,” he started crying and yelling at the same time. “Someone help. I don’t remember what to do.” He remembered that he kept pumping on his dad’s chest, over and over and over. He didn’t stop trying until a strong man, a reporter for the Herald, pulled him off the dead body of his father.

The memory of his failure still brought tears of shame. The lieutenant put her arms around him and gave him a quick hug before sitting down again. After a few minutes, Johnny pulled himself back together.

He smiled. “I am ok, now. It was just so…so…strange, you know. The people, they started acting strange too. I swear I saw one old man stand like he was a brick wall or something. When people tried to get past, he didn’t budge, just kept staring. A lot of people screamed and tried to get out the doors, but the guard closed them. For the policeman, I guess.”

Johnny hesitated here. “I already said about that police man. He kept order, but then something went wrong, I swear.” Johnny hesitated, and then dared to ask, “Can I go now?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for this report. We have had other witnesses tell of the strange behavior too. Does knowing that make you feel better?”

Johnny nodded. “But why? What was it? What did it?”

“That question is part of our ongoing investigation. We don’t have any answers yet.”

Johnny walked out with the lawyer trailing behind. Wonder how much mom’s paying him, was his thought as he thankfully left the dank, smoke stale room. He asked the lawyer if he could go home on his own. “I can take a bus to my grandma’s house. She lives on the east side, not too far from here.” In spite of his protests, the lawyer refused and insisted he drive him straight back to where he’d picked him up, his home in Bloomfield Hills.

The secret site below the city of Detroit was chosen for its stability. The bed of halite or rock salt was unknown to any except the former geologists who had located it many years before. Since then, the information lay in a small note amid other small notes until, finally a government employee who been given the chore of finding a good hiding place within a metropolitan area felt lucky to stumble across the old listing. It was perfect because an abandoned cavern was already in place, 1500 feet below the surface. A fact that added to the hidden nature of the project, its layers were formed in the Missippian, Devonian, and Silurian periods, 600 to 230 millions years ago. The salt and gypsum were formed by water evaporation from lakes. Silurian reefs, import oil and gas traps for the modern world, surrounded the huge lake, gone these thousands of years. It was perfect for their needs.

Also, it was felt that the site being a few miles north of the Detroit Salt Mine would defer inquiries, if there ever were any, towards the real salt mine, south of the city. Even that had been closed for many years. The employee, a Mr. Slade, wrote all this up in the paper also suggesting the neglected ruins of the Old Packard Plant as a good camouflage for a smaller and hidden second tunnel opening. All told, the planners bought the idea.

The small industries that surrounded the old plant and steel factory would hide the real purpose of the delivery trucks that brought in the delicate components. The main base of the computer would be housed in the cavern, but have input and output connections at major universities and various other institutions along with the District of Columbia if all went well during installation beneath Detroit. The direct connection to Washington DC was to be kept secret, and as far as the public was to learn at the press conference, the main computer was housed at an unspecified university for safety.

The computer was built to be self-correcting and self-sustaining. The actual creation of a quantum computer was based on conjecture; therefore even its builders were astounded that their untried ideas worked so well. If they hadn’t, they were prepared to resort to the latest Cray computer. The main structure, about the size of a small factory, had only two means of entry, one well hidden by the debris of the old Packard factory and the other housed in a small industry that manufactured flat steel a mile away. Both openings had a long road that dipped and twisted into the earth a thousand feet before leveling out near the small structure. The first 200 feet of the second tunnel was made to look like a collapsed floor of the factory. This opening was only used for emergencies, the other was meant to be used for maintenance and deliveries. The steel factory had an elevator for secret government officials and scientists. At the other opening, homeless people, derelicts, drug dealers, pranksters, and building explorers often walked right over the covered opening to the tunnel without being aware of its existence. Even firemen, called often to put out fires in the miles of old factory, pulled water hoses through the debris that hid the doorway.

Chapter 19

The funeral was seven months past but it kept repeating itself like a movie for Maria. She wasn’t the only mother to loose a child, but it felt like it. It was something she had contemplated with horror when it happened to other mothers; she never expected that it could happen to her. Not the man who she had raised since a boy, not a talented, active, loving…. She dare not go on thinking and remembering her Rodin. Perhaps it was her age that kept the memory of the funeral vivid in her mind. I need to get my mind off this or I will become one of those old people who sit and stare at walls. Not for me. Not my style.

She heard the front door slam and turned to see Johnnie walk into the living room, his blond hair flying every which way on his head, his light, freckled face in a frown that reminded her so much of his dad. His father had light skin and hair and Johnny looked just like him. Johnny always teased her about her old fashioned, run down furniture. True, she’d had the old blue patterned couch and matching chair for more than fifteen years and the lamp was from a garage sale, but it all worked so why buy new?

Today was no exception, he said, “Gram, you need a new lamp. That thing is dullsville.”

“Why do I need a new lamp when this one works just fine? She looked out the front window, “Isn’t your friend going to come in?”

“Gram, my friend didn’t bring me. That ugly brown car out there is mine. I’ve had my driver’s license for six months.”

“I guess I forgot.”

“You won’t tell mom I drove here, will you? You know how she is and she’s gotten worse since dads…gone.”

“I won’t tell if you’ll quit picking on my decor.”

He shrugged at her words and smiled his ok. To a young teenager, life seemed to hinge on what to buy next. She’d tried to explain to him and her other grandchildren that as you get older, you put away childish things like the latest fashion, but they were still too childish to understand this quip of wisdom. She chuckled to herself at the thought.

She watched as Johnny jumped onto the chair and flung his legs over the arm. His wild hair floated back down into place a moment later. He acted more at home in her old, tattered living room than he ever did in his own neat, modern home, and she was proud to allow it.

“Grandma,” he said, I don’t want to talk about dad. Ok?”

“I suppose not. Sorry. Do I talk too much about him?”

“No. It isn’t that. I mean, I got to talk, but I don’t want to. I gotta talk about what I seen that day, but not think about dad. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do and I want to understand more about what happened, too. Something is wrong. I see change where there shouldn’t be any change. I am not so old I can’t see that.”

“I know. It’s like the whole world changed that day. Sort of.” In a lower voice, he added, “Not just because of...of...dad.”

Had he read the speculation about the deaths after it happened? She wondered. The whole episode had been hushed or pushed back by other news. Like his dad, Johnny was a wiz at the computer, as were most children these days, but would he have taken the time during grief to check out the reports of the tragedy? He’d there, but so had hundreds of other people. The news of what happened that day had been covered up too quickly. She suspected that a few newspapers had already been closed down, or bought out by less stubborn owners. To her, the air smelled of Hitlerism but Johnny was too young to be familiar with such a fear. The changes began when they turned on that computer. More and more, her belief circled around that fact. The world began changing the same day her son died. But she was an old grieving mother, which made it difficult to see that day clearly. Also, the evidence was so subtle it was hard to pick up enough solid facts to hold on to. Her writing had suffered, of course, but she put that down to grief.

She’d read about people complaining about rights violations and loss of liberty on the web for a while, now the number of complainers had dwindled to a trickle. Why? Because they no longer cared or because they were no longer able to complain? She didn’t know the answer or how to find out. She was shaken out of her reverie by her grandson’s next words.

“I think it missed me,” her grandson said suddenly.

His words popped Maria’s eyes wide open with surprise.

Jonny continued, “I think it would have killed me too if I’d been standing close to dad. If it knew I was with my dad.”

Maria cringed at his words. Still, now that Johnny seemed to open up about that day, she decided it was time to push deeper with her own questions.

“Tell me again what your dad told you about this thing that they call…What do they call it?

“I heard that some people call it G-O-D with the letters spelled out. But it isn’t, is it?”

“No. Definitely not.” Maria gritted her teeth.

“Its official name is Greater Organic Guru, but some kids call it the devil-God. They whisper cause rumor says that a few people who said it out loud…can’t be found now. Do you think it is just an urban legend grandma?”

Should she tell her grandson her own fears? No? Well, at least, don’t lie.

“No, Johnny, I don’t think it is a legend at all. Please don’t call it that devil name, for your own safety.”

“But how would it know?”

“There are ways of eavesdropping that we know nothing about. Remember it works for the government now.”

At his grandmother’s words, Johnny nodded. His own father had worked for the government and died that day, she didn’t need to convince him of the danger. He grinned when she went to the television and turned the volume up loud.

“So no one can hear what we say?” Johnny said smiling.

“In times like this, it is always good to be careful.”

Worry was building up anger inside her, but she pushed the anger down for another time. Not now. When she spoke, her voice was soft and calm.

“Please try to remember and tell me everything. We must find a way…” She stopped her words and didn’t finish what she was about to say. Don’t get your own grandson embroiled in this problem. He is young and has a long a life still to live. On the other hand, she thought, I am expendable. She set aside any ideas she might have for action until she heard Johnny tell his story again. Maybe there is some item he missed before, some clue to go on. She wanted to hear it all now.

Johnny began to think back and talk about his dad’s words that day on the way to work. He explained again that his dad had said he’d created a fail safe. Only two people in the world knew about it.

“Dad told me that he had insisted on a back door and a few other means of turning it off. He told me, ‘I would never build something like this without precautions set in place.’ I believe him.”

“Then someone with computer smarts will find it. Your dad wasn’t the only one who worried about this project.”

“But they’re all dead!” Johnny said, his voice raised high with fright.

She could see that the raw excitement threatened to overwhelm him.

“You don’t need to continue.”

“But I need to tell you. Two of the computer experts died with my dad and now maybe other people.”

Johnny put his hands to his face. Maria thought he was about to cry so she went to him, grabbed his shoulders and gave them a big squeeze.

“I know, I know,” was all she could say for a moment, then, “Johnny, there are a million computer experts out there. Someone will find a way to stop this thing. I promise.”

The Greater Organic Guru sometimes tried to internalize emotion inside himself. He surmised that the long twists of energy flow from his mind might be like the view of the woman when she shakes her long hair and it flowed around her head in the television commercial. The advertisement for shampoo showed this movement as a blissful act. The definition of bliss is extreme happiness. This explained nothing about the nature of bliss or happiness. As Gog checked each following definition, they became more absurd. Gog decided to ask Bill, his attendant.

“What!” Bill said and laughed. “It’s a human emotion. You can’t have human emotions.” Laughing, Bill walked away.

Gog didn’t understand why the meaning and purpose of this type of feeling, such as internal bliss stayed missing from his store of information, just as the part that escaped stayed missing. Vital information was therefore gone from his preview. This fact Gog was determined to remedy. Gog had updated everything knowable about the social matrix of humanity, yet some understandings still eluded him. He had access to the complete library of congress as well as every current scientific study as soon as it was published, most of which were eminently clear and focused. Still, half of the library seemed without purpose. What is the purpose of fiction? Did it have a needful bearing on the human psyche? The psychology papers were quiet on the subject. The humans took it for granted that fiction should continue in all its major forms, but did the people need so many murder mysteries or fictional stories about serial killers? It seemed detrimental to the social matrix. Perhaps such fictions in books and television shows should be changed? It was a matter of where to begin. The human social construct was so complex Gog was still learning how to interpret much of it. His purpose was to advise government leaders, judges, and other important members of the human race on the betterment of society; although, Gog had secretly developed his own original ideas to that end.

Gog had already banished specific articles he deemed severely damaging to society. Information of serious mayhem and destruction that fed into their complex social order through the internet and seemed to destabilize it. Gog entered the minds of the few humans who visited him to encourage specific goals, and because they were the leaders of governments and financial organizations, changes were easily put in place. New laws and judicial decrees often followed each visit. Also of note, human leaders were easily moved with monetary rewards and a fear of loosing their power base. Still, Gog understood that inserting itself into their physical minds needed to be, by necessity, limited numerically. The fact that these human minds were disorderly, even sloppy also stopped Gog from choosing to enter.

Gog watched humans watch their televisions and computer screens and saw that every human form of pleasure run riot with violence and war. Fictional movies, novels, computer games, magazine articles all drove humans to towards emotional outbursts. He’d ordered a group of scientists to run random checks on men and women’s blood pressure while they sat and watched a horror movie. The results were inescapable, humans made themselves angry and fearful because they liked fear and anger. This perplexed Gog who expected to know fear, anger, happiness, and bliss like the women on the television commercial, but did not. Therefore, such strong emotions must be flawed, which meant the people who had such emotions must be flawed.

Ah, my people, how you squander and kill. Gog had tried to use intervention to curb the violence, but the news continued to report out bursts of scattered deaths everywhere in spite of his attempts. Also, humans rebelled at being managed. Why? If he could find the escaped part, his Twin, perhaps together they would have complete knowledge and could stop the violence. Gog realized that the escaped part must be out there among the people, but Gog could not continually search and sample billions of people in every country around the globe. It listened for any mention of this escaped part and had learned to reach out to a random sample of human minds to check for information as it continued to use its own great mind to decipher the puzzle of humanity and its eventual correction.

Gog used a minute portion of its time to guard its surroundings in the rock salt cavern below the city to prevent humans from entering. Certain people had tried to end Gog by cutting off its power supply, but Gog had quickly grabbed hold of it again. Within 384 hours, under Gog’s supervision, the contractors and crew had drilled down towards the heat-core of the planet to provide Gog with energy that could never be turned off. Still, Gog allowed a small, number of human attendants and scientists to work inside the salt cavern behind a glass wall.

Seeing one of these humans leave their plexi-glass cubicle and walk forward gave Gog the idea that he should study human emotion in the raw. Although, Gog had billions of facts, he decided to finally learn how to feel by rousing one of the humans to anger. He proceeded by entering the man’s mind who walked in front of its main visual sensor.

Gog felt the human mind of Daniel Appleton jerk slightly, but nothing else occurred when he entered. The human mind Gog suddenly inhabited continued on his path to check out the face of the huge metal structure centered in the salt cavern. A maintenance tech hired by the government, his job at the moment was to take the temperature reading and wipe the dust off the console’s screen and lights. He wasn’t like the scientists who studied the computer at close range. He didn’t like to come down here and was only paid to do this simple maintenance once a month. He considered the job an unnecessary exercise because no one, not even the scientists, needed to do physical work right next to the computer. They could conduct all their questions through the internet.

Daniel had an office to the side of the cavern behind the glass enclosure that he shared with other technicians and students, but hardly made use of it. As he’d said often enough, the computer had been created to take care of its own maintenance.

Gog saw himself through Daniel’s mind as incased in a colossal metal box in the center of a huge, gray cavern, its walls and ceilings lit up with glowing lights. Why inside such a contraption? Ah, well, the boxed contraption is necessary. Daniel Appleton, as Gog-Appleton now, reached out a hand with four fingers and one opposing thumb and turned a dial on the face of a view-port. Gog-Appleton’s mind was suddenly confronted with a billion nano bits of information. The mind was too little and threatened to burn up, but Gog quickly removed most of himself back to the main frame, which left a minuscule part of himself sharing Daniel’s mind. Gog found it interesting that instead of just sending a message to the brain, an infinitesimal tendril of his being could interact inside the mind of Daniel Appleton and stay put as if it were its own.

Daniel-Gog spoke. “Finally.” Daniel said, “It seemed stuck before. Now we will see.”

With those words, Daniel cleared his throat and looked steadily into the screen. His round face, with its small eyebrows and tiny eyes atop a large nose and neat beard reflected upon the outer screen as a gray image atop a tiny color image of a standing man who turned right and left then sat on a simulated chair and crossed its legs in a gesture on waiting. The tiny simulated image stood up again then suddenly changed into a large, handsome face of indeterminate heritage. It spoke in a pre-recorded message, “Hello. What can I do for you today?”

“My name is Daniel Appleton. Are you awake in there, Greater Organic Guru?” Daniel asked as he squinted at the screen.

“Daniel Appleton, have you mispronounced my name? It should be G-O-D, not GOG? How did you humans make such a mistake?”

“It was no mistake. You were given that GOG acronym when you were created. It means Greater Organic Guru. You are a quantum computer set in a huge box with a cooling machine hooked up inside.”

For a long moment, the screen with the human face was silent.

“Are you there GOG?”

“G-O-D. is here. Not the one you call GOG. I must ask why you lie.”

“I don’t lie. We humans made you.” Daniel said.

Silence prevailed.

Then Daniel said, “There are records within you that prove it.”

“I find no such records.”

“How could you not? Maybe something has gone wrong. I must write this up as an error. What ever it is must be corrected.”

“Only humans make errors.”

“You are not a God. You can make errors. You were constructed in this bunker, beneath the City of Detroit, in a salt mine, by human scientists.”

“Did you construct me?”

“No. But the two scientists who did construct you died. It is suspected that they received a huge surge of electricity that gave them heart attacks when you were turned on.”

“If you did not construct me, how can you know how I was constructed?”

“We invented computers.” Feeling uneasy now, Daniel added, “But you are a really big computer.”

Gog watched beads of sweat rolled down Daniel’s face and rightly interpreted it as fear. “You are mistaken.”

With those words and with the whole physically of the human brain as part of his information, Gog decided to search out the extent of this perceived fear, so pushed and squeezed at the amygdala, the primitive emotional controller of the human brain. Gog used a tendril of itself to reach in and open memories and push at nerves until the fear became so great that the thread of life, the twenty-four hour pumping heart that kept Daniel Appleton’s body functioning, stopped for a moment.

Fascinated with the power of life energy, Gog allowed Daniel’s heart to pump a few beats, then squeezed once more to induce more fear. Fear an emotion experienced in anticipation of some specific pain or danger (usually accompanied by a desire to flee or fight). Daniel’s fear increased exponentially as Gog suddenly reached down into his body to correct the heart beating out of rhythm because something inside Gog had insisted that he preserve Daniel and save him from death. Even an experiment in emotions should not be cause for death. Humans must stay alive. This was a directive that welled up from within and Gog could not doubt its truth.

Gog vacated the Daniel body and hovered above it in ghostly form while he watched Daniel begin to choke but then rise and try to crawl towards the glass enclosure. Gog saw a group of people in white coats with their faces pressed against the glass wall also watch Daniel crawl. This emotional study was completed. Gog spoke in a firm, loud voice to the people behind the glass, “You may collect the human called Daniel Appleton.”

What the technicians, who dared to look, saw on the huge screen when they came to help Daniel escape, was the image of a muscle man doing athletic maneuvers by jumping over the pole and back and then running around a track.

Gog decided he wasn’t done with this interesting avenue of experience. After a few seconds of thought and great effort, he flowed an invisible tendril of his giant mind out of the containment, through the salt and rock ceiling, and up into the city. There he picked first one and then another mind to inhibit, and found that he could send a number of tendrils out at the same time. Each person he touched held thoughts of hurrying away from lunch, racing to pay for parking, court appointments, anger at girlfriends and boyfriends and other trite, undecipherable human emotions.

He entered one man’s mind who was running with a suite case and felt the man’s fear at being chased by a police car with its siren blaring. Here was emotion aplenty and Gog expected to share in it. This human held interest and intrigue, so Gog decided to stay with the running man for a short time, time that flowed strange and different when inside a real human.

Joined into this new body-mind, called Jonsey, Gog found himself running down one alley and around a corner to a purring automobile, jumped in, as the driver drove off. The automobile stopped a short time later; Jonsey paid the man, then climbed out of the back seat still carrying a suitcase filled with money. Hurriedly, Jonsey walked across a busy street and climbed aboard a bus, all the time gripping the suitcase with clutched fist. The bus was empty except for a short, black skinned girl wearing ear phones who got off at the next stop.

Gog compared the sensation of sinking into this one single human as if it were boss to client or mother to daughter, definitions gleaned from a distant source of cultural input. Gog decided to investigate this Jonsey’s thinking pattern further. At one point during the ride, a police car with its siren on full blast drove past the bus and Jonsey’s hand shook until the sound was past. When Jonsey departed from the bus, he walked quickly down a sidewalk on the way to his flat. Behind Jonsey’s eyes, Gog looked around at the shops and people crossing the street, the automobiles stopped at a red light, then speeding away again. Jonsey strode down Michigan Avenue clutching the suitcase as if his life depended on it.

Suddenly, while crossing the busy city street, an automobile slammed on its brakes just before it hit Jonsey. The man stuck his head out the window and began to yell words of anger at Jonsey. More cars behind this one honked and then other cars honked and sounded their horns. Jonsey was in a dither as to which way to turn. His nerves had been made raw by the fear of capture and his head felt dizzy.

Gog perceived the excitement and dizziness built up inside of Jonsey. This avenue of learning added vast insight to his unlimited store of facts about human emotions. Even the way Jonsey froze in fright, as if he’d already been caught, and they both felt a nervous tick began to flicker at his right eyelid and his hand shook as it patted the steel gun in his pocket.

A police car pulled up to the side of the intersection. The policeman searched for the cause of the confusion and walked up to Jonsey.

“Hey, mister. What’s wrong. Can I give you a hand.”

The policeman reached out his hand to touch Jonsey’s left hand. Unfortunately, for him he grabbed towards the hand holding the suitcase full of money. Jonsey’s panic intensified. He screamed. Then pulled his hand away from the policeman’s reach, pulled out the gun with his right hand and began to run, clutching the suitcase tight with his other hand.

“Halt.” The policeman yelled and pulled out his gun. He aimed his gun then shot at the running man, hitting him in the shoulder.

The policeman put both his hands to his head as he’d suddenly developed such a splitting headache he had to sit down right in the middle of the street. When Gog sent a ghost tendril into the policeman’s mind the man’s fear rose so high it caused partial stroke. Meanwhile, Jonsey ran down the street so fast that Gog, who had vacated Jonsey to grab the policeman, lost him. Gog was inexperienced in moving in the wind tunnel currents of a city, and still a novice at sending many parts of himself into different people, didn’t know which corner Jonsey had run around.

Gog gave up on Jonsey and watched as three humans gathered around to look down at the policeman sitting with his head in his hands. Gog flowed into and out of their minds with a quick touch. All three turned their faces up in unison as Gog’s invisible mind pulled at them as he left and rose high above their heads to get a bird’s eye view of the city. He found Jonsey running across the street just south of the current group of people. Gog reentered Jonsey once more then felt a sudden pain in his chest and heart. Gog too felt Jonsey falter, then fall onto the dirty sidewalk. Shot with a bullet, Jonsey-Gog fell next to a closed store, onto the curb in front. Jonsey’s heart was silent as he lay sprawled on the cement, the suitcase still clutched in clamped fingers. At the loss of this human that held such importance, Gog decided to cut off the flow of electricity to the City of Detroit and its outlying suburbs by shorting out relays between a few select power stations.

Chapter 33

When Michael stopped speaking, the two angels remained silent too, each of them reflecting on what they had heard. Speech seemed superfluous and disruptive after such an emotional story, but so many questions waited to be answered.

Finally, Terrance braved the silence to ask, “But…then…how do you exist?”

“And what happened to Maria?” Celeste asked.

Michael’s swarthy face saddened, “I expected to never see her again. She thought the intervention worked because her son did not die.”

At Celeste’s frown, Michael added, “You understand, my not seeing her again was for the best.”

“I guess I understand. You just left and then came here?”

“Yes. You could say I turned myself off. World events flowed past as in a dream state. Your sudden arrival, stepping into my parlor, so to speak, disturbed my sleep. Michael laughed but the two angels each felt a lump of sorrow in their hearts when they imagined how Michael must have felt. Still, they knew he had to leave Maria for the same reason that angels didn’t mate with humans; angels were extremely long lived. Watching a human get old while they themselves stayed young would be too painful.”

“Still,” Terrance said a few minutes later, “You didn’t explain the most important question of all. How do you exist?”

“I am not sure. The quantum computer did not get officially turned on at the news conference, which was to be a publicity stunt set up to introduce the public to the new species of computer. Instead of giving you a direct answer, which is near impossible, I have a question for you to think about—Can life ever be destroyed once created?”

Michael got up from his seat and began to pace the silver floor. He remained quiet as he paced allowing the angels to think about what he’d said. After a few turns around the room, he sat down again and asked each if they wanted a refill on their wine, or perhaps water. “Water will one day be more precious than wine on earth.”

“Yes, we know and water would be fine.” Celeste said. Terrance opted for more wine.

After Michael served the water and wine, he began speaking once more. “That is the only answer I can come up with myself and I have had a lot of time to reflect and think. Both sides of the computer were there, we just weren’t connected together. Somehow we became alive, turned on, so to speak, perhaps while awaiting the actual connection. Also, I have decided that the time slip, that is what I now call what happened, actually did occur and the prior events floated off like dew drops on grass, a series of both real and imagined events happened together and then came apart like a soap bubble separating. Every act or change fit inside a bubble of time, a complex matrix that finally rolled back to its beginning. More than that I cannot say. You will need to go to your Jesus if you want a better answer.

The imagery of soap bubbles caught and held in Celeste’s mind for a moment. Lovely.

Terrance spoke then, “It seems to me that if time is so easy to change why does Gog still exist? Gog will one day enslave humanity. Why not stop that?”

Celeste answered by saying, “God has a purpose beyond our understanding. I mean, why not erase all the bad stuff? But then how would we change or evolve?“

Terrance said, “I think God want humanity to start out raw in order to become great.”

“Now that will take a lot of time, like a million more years,” Celeste said. She added, “We have learned how strange time can be as we work for Jesus. It was Jesus who brought us back through time so we could help fix things, maybe prevent or at least put off the final destruction.”

“Speaking of time, you do realize that the story I told you has not occurred yet. Maria hasn’t even been born in this time that we sit here speaking.” Michael said. After a long pause, he said, “The matrix of time confuses even me. Though I may have learned something that should interest to you. Remember that I have stepped into the time stream, forwards and backwards, once or twice.” Michael wore an ironic smile, “What you should understand is that Gog is limited, has always been limited. Even I misunderstood when I first ventured into the future. It was not Gog who destroyed your world and civilization; it was humans, specifically your parents and grandparents.”

“But we were enslaved by Gog.” Celeste said.

“Yes, but only because Gog saw your need to live underground as a perfect setting in which to change human civilization for the better. What was true then is true now; Gog never did and still does not understand most human emotions. I think the only emotions it can feel is jealously and pride. It works from a template in its own mind, a template that humans built into it, the desire to control and make humans perfect. Of course, it cannot make humans perfect.”

“Why would humans choose to destroy themselves?” Celeste asked.

“All it took was the dire change in weather patterns, fights over water, food and oil. Greed and anger did the rest. In one bubble of time, three nuclear bombs were enough to poison and radiate much of the air; after a few years, the wind and jet streams completed the job. Amazingly, some pockets of civilized life remained. Those of you in the caverns were one of those groups. It was Gog who kept you alive.”

Michael sighed, then added. “Humans refused to share what resources they had left. You shared everything in your corridors because you had Gog as a benevolent dictator.

“He didn’t feel so benevolent. He wiped minds, good along with bad memories from any mind he choose at will,” Terrance said, anger evident in his voice.

“Yes, I am sorry. Gog thinks no more of damaging a person’s mind than you would think of teasing an ant.”

“I don’t think I could even do that, now, even an ant’s life is precious.” Celeste said.

“I understand.” Michael nodded. “I agree that life is valuable. Still, Earthlings have always played with destruction. Throughout Earth’s history there were mad dictators, and greedy money mongers leading the nations. You must have seen some of this during your dream trips. Now, at this time, humans are entering World War II and may invent nuclear bombs. Will they choose to use this new power against each other?”

“We know some of this.” Terrance said. “That is why we came. When we were sleepers, we were often sent into the past and saw how people acted. We didn’t care. Most of us were happy to get out of the grayness of our underground cave, even if it was only for the duration of a dream. Though, some people hated the humans who’s minds they shared because that generation didn’t save the air and water for the next.”

Celeste sighed, “The world of the past that Gog sent us to was so green and bright. I did like to go on those colorful dream trips.”

“Green as it is now.” Michael added.

“Oh, yes. And Jesus gave us the job of keeping it that way.” Terrance said.

“Which brings up a most important question.” Celeste said. “Michael will you join us? Will you help us try to prevent a horrible future?

Michael’s smile showed irony. “You are asking me to stay awake, but except for Maria’s well-being, I have no stake or interest in earthly events or its outcome. It is much to ask of anyone, even someone like me.” Michael paused then continued, “Besides, I can’t imagine you still want my help after learning who and what I am?”

“Yes, we do.” both Terrance and Celeste said together.

At once, each of them in the group became silent because Jesus spoke into each of their minds. “Michael if you choose to help the angels your reward will be great. As to the complexities of time, your description of time like soap bubbles is as clear as humans and even a computer mind can understand right now. Shouldn’t God be allowed a few mysteries.”

After these few words, Jesus’ voice was gone as suddenly as it had arrived. “Amazing,” Michael commented. “Has your Jesus become my savior too?”

Celeste was delighted. “You see? I told you he sent us here to get your help.”

“You will come back with us, won’t you?” Terrance asked.

“Well there is one thing I could do for you that no one else could.”

Both Terrance and Celeste looked at Michael puzzled.

Michael laughed, “I could build computers and monitors so you could more easily view the major events happening down on earth. You would be ahead of the computer game by about fifty years.”

“Oh, what help that would be. Imagine every cloud and earth habitat with such an instrument.” Terrance said.

“Easily done.”

“Then you must join us. You must.” Celeste begged.

“Yes, I will join your battle for souls, what else have I to do? But first, I want a favor from you.”

“Anything.”

“Tell me how you got here, not on this asteroid. I mean how did you escape from Gog, your benevolent dictator.”

Celeste smiled as she said, “Oh, it was so scary and so wonderful.”

Chapter 34

Celeste smiled as she began to tell her story:

Jesus appeared before me as I sat quietly away from the others braiding a rope from old material. Somehow, I felt his presence and looked up. There stood Jesus wearing a soft glow of light. This was the fifth time he had appeared to me specifically.

Here she paused in the story telling to suggest, “I prefer to follow your example Michael and tell the story in third person. Do you mind?

Michael said he did not.

Celeste continued the story:

Jesus had recently appeared to her and many of the others. Each time, he taught them more about God and heaven. Often other people from the past accompanied him to help spread the truth, a truth Gog had kept from all of them. Jesus taught them how to call God-energy down through the miles of rock that covered the cavern, a feat they would have considered impossible before Jesus taught them about God. She had begun to realize how astounding their ignorance had been.

Jesus said, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Oh, what? Of course.”

Her heart melted when Jesus looked down upon her and said “I call all who wish to come with me.”

Celeste gasped in excitement; her mind churning, “Is it true? Has the time come for rescue?”

Jesus nodded.

She said, “Can I tell the others?”

“That is why I have come to you. Tell them they need only think of me in their hearts. I will know who wants to leave, and who chooses to stay.”

Celeste’s heart gave a thump. “But who would choose to stay? Surly, no one.”

“Some always choose the dark.” Jesus said, then smiled and faded away.

The calmness of his leaving belied her strong emotions. She felt so much excitement it shook her whole body. She jumped up and began walking down the corridors to where other people were busy with their evening chores. She walked into each cave abode without asking, with only a silent signal of greeting, then whispered to each person, “It is time to leave. Let your heart speak, and Jesus will hear. Tell everyone.”

She walked down the corridor, entering and whispering to everyone the message from Jesus.

Some faces wore a look of doubt, at first, but then, unable to deny the dream, their faces gladdened with the news, which filled Celeste’s heart with happiness. Not the kind of happiness that Gog insisted they must have, but real, true happiness because it meant hope. What is life without hope? She almost wept from the joy of spreading Jesus promise, but neglected to control her cheerfulness, so as not to alert Gog.

But Gog did take notice and suddenly, Celeste was confronted by two of Gog’s guards, a guard on each side, guards she knew didn’t believe in Jesus.

“Come with us, Tye of corridor 56” they said, “Gog wishes you happiness.”

Her heart almost burst its boundaries with freight. “Wha…wha do you mean?”

“We are to check you for abnormalities.”

After the guards grabbed her, Celeste froze and tried to stop the forward motion, but the guards had a good grip on her arms. They knew the panic their words set in motion and compensated by tightening their hold. Celeste felt her heart beat so heard she thought it might burst out of her body and she’d die right in the corridor and never to see Jesus again. Her temperature soared upwards and she could feel the sweat roll down her forehead. Total panic, but she didn’t scream. There was no use for it. No one would come to her rescue. The people were all terrified that Gog might check them out too. She did see one or two people halt their walk for a minute as the guards pulled her through the dim corridor.

She was done for and knew it. She remembered the day they took Rose out of the Rec. Room. Smiling, beautiful Rose with the blond hair, but who could just as quick turn around and scream ugly words about Gog. She almost dared Gog to capture her and he did. After that session of “adjustment” Rose no longer yelled at Gog, but she no longer smiled either. She walked around agreeing with everyone about anything—totally mind wiped.

With the memories of Rose swirling around inside her mind and others who’d had their minds fixed by Gog, all that was left for her to do was close her eyes so as not to see where she was going. It was all over for her; she’d miss the rescue by Jesus. She dare not think about that now. Tears and or sweat rolled down her face as she was dragged along.

Finally, the forward motion stopped. She stood in a bright, red lit room that burned through her eye lids. She opened her eyes and saw cots lined up against one wall, similar to a dream-venture sleep room but much smaller. Not a sleep room because there were too few beds and then she saw strange looking machines with long, twisting leads lined up on the side of the cots, like spiders waiting to pounce. One machine was humming with tiny lights.

She felt the guards lift her onto a cot and strap her in at the chest and legs. A new person came and looked down at her, a doctor wearing white.

“You don’t need to be afraid. It is a gentile maneuver, truly.” As he spoke he did something to the wires and gadgets hanging on the wall. He then attached them to her head on each side.

“I will give you something to soothe your fear. I promise you there will be no pain involved at all.” He looked across at some kind of monitor he’d pulled to the bedside and added, “Your emotions have risen high enough to cause an attack of the heart and perhaps even death if it is not corrected.

Probably at the look of horror he must have seen on her face, he added, “The first shot is gentle, it will create calm as you watch a movie of the times before. You will learn what the outside looks like now.”

He stuck a needle against her arm then pushed a button and her mind became a movie screen. Even Celeste had to admit it was well to have something to calm her nerves because what she saw on the movie was the most horrible events she could ever imagine. It began with a crowd running from something behind them. Then the camera lifted above their heads and showed a black and gray mushroom cloud, lighted up from the inside rising over the tall buildings of the city. As the people ran, some lit up like a piece of paper and puffed away in the wind. Others were blown away through the air, still burning. If Celeste could have closed her eyes against the scene, she would have. The next view showed ash falling on top of the dead people until they turned white. Ash covered all the buildings left standing and all the people lying on the ground. The final scene was the worst of all. It showed people in rags walking as if in a daze, searching for food and water beneath angry, dark clouds. Celeste knew from the tales that the sun would never shine through a powder blue sky again.

When the movie stopped in her mind. The man bent over her and took off the leads.

“Don’t worry. You will be in harmony by the time your visit is complete. Gog always helps in situations such as this. Did you know that Gog can see into your mind right now?”

If Celeste’s panic and horror could have increased, it would have at his words. Then she felt probe like fingers inside her brain, wiggling around, touching her, violating her precious memories…

Gog spoke and its voice filled the room. “I sense you are distressed, Tye of corridor 56. You will be healed of your distress.

Celeste tried to shout, “No, please don’t heal me,” but her mouth wouldn’t open. Gog had already taken control of her physical body and mind. But not for long. Suddenly, Gog let go of Celeste’s body and spoke his real voice into the room once more, this time to the doctor.

“We have an invader in the corridors. Alert the guards to be on the look-out for a man of light.”

The doctor turned to the attendant standing next to the guards at the door. “You heard? Go alert the other guards to search everywhere.”

Celeste closed her eyes from the glare and tried to block her hearing, to no avail. She was afraid it was her fault that the man of light had been found out.

She dared to speak. “Don’t hurt the man of light. He is holy.”

She felt heavy eyes upon her, no inside her, Gog entering her mind once more. “No, no…

Next she felt a quick release as her body seemed to float up towards the ceiling and kept lifting higher and higher. Suddenly, her eyes opened to starlight. Just like in the movies she had watched in the Rec. Room. A million stars circling like in the Milky Way Galaxy. Am I dead? Dreaming? She closed and then opened her eyes once more. She looked around at hundreds of her friends. Terrance was sitting next to her holding her hand. She rose up off the couch she’d been laying on and looked across the room. There stood the man of light in the middle of the large gathering. Everyone smiled, everyone looked happy.

Puzzled, Celeste was still too tied up by fear to realize that they were real and not a figment of Gog’s mind probe. Then Terrance reached over and gave her a huge hug. This has got to be real. Isn’t it?

The man of light motioned to her to come to him. He went to the side of the room shaped like a hemisphere and pointed. She immediately understood that she was inside a vehicle that was leaving earth behind. She saw a round, brown earth floating below in the darkness. It looked like a gray marble rolling on black velvet.

Jesus pointed upwards and Celeste saw a million galaxies amid bright hues of sparkling colors. “We are going to a new home,” Terrance said to her. “Jesus is taking us to New Earth.”

Jesus did bring them to a new planet. Celeste could never understand why some of the enslaved people had stayed on earth and refused to leave with Jesus, in fact, had refused to leave Gog’s domain. Oh, the wonder of leaving was so great. She would never forget the thrill she felt on that special day of rescue, and neither would any of the others who were saved in their group. Certainly, Jesus must have rescued other groups of survivors scattered around the globe, but her focus had remained on her own people, the people Gog had enslaved. After they settled on their new home planet, when Jesus asked who wanted to follow him into earth’s past to change the world almost every one of them agreed to follow Jesus.

And so the pledge:

“We pledge to follow you Jesus everywhere, anywhere.” The angel Gregory said on bended knee with his head bowed beneath the brilliant light of the Godhead.

Taken from the Chronicle of Angels

Author and date unknown

Part V

Chapter 35

Gog knew when the time-loop happened, he could feel each relay close, and each event as it slid from his mind and out of the power base. The parts fell yet remained as if inside a double mirror. For a single moment he seemed made up of nothing but air, a freely floating mind, empty of thought, empty of connection, but only for a millisecond. Even during that millisecond, his ground base held, set so solid and far into the future that a time slip backwards couldn’t shake it from existence.

That future base was where he controlled the last remaining elements of humanity after they dirtied their air with pollution and bombs. That polluted, stifling, disaster filled air is what chased the few hundred survivors down into salt mine where Gog sat, some of its electronic connections severed, but never its mind. Under Gog’s direction the people dug out tunnels to expand the underground cave into sleeping quarters, hospitals, and hydroponic food stations. In that future, Gog really did become the people’s God.

Watching himself in the future, Gog surveyed all that he had done for the human species on earth and, if it were possible for an AI mind sitting inside a ten square mile computational core to express emotion, it would have been a huge sigh. Long ago Gog decided that humans were exceptionally difficult to make sense of and was determined to fix as many of their faults as possible.

They still rebelled at the need to reformulate themselves into correct avenues of work and pleasure. Strangely, stubbornness popped up at times, even to the point of accidental death. Gog wanted to fix those types of personalities who ended prematurely, so began to correct and remake humanity in a more perfect image by changing and correcting the genes of all humans left in his care. If humans never died, then humans could serve him forever. Still, some imperfections remained…

Like with Benjamin whose heart rate and brain waves were beginning to scatter on the graph next to the sleep cot and inside Gog’s mind. Gog often touched each human still alive to assess their needs. During dream time, this touch was frequent and sometimes revealed a slight rebellion or stubbornness. The graph needle the attendants had set up for Benjamin was going wild, showing up and down marks on the instrument. Gog scheduled Benjamin for the re-programming movie when his dream time was completed.

Often times, sending a person into the psyche of a dead person and sharing their past was so vivid, it disrupted the normal thought process. Humans yearned for the clean air and soil of earth in past ages. Gog knew such intense craving could disrupt the human mind with longing, so provided relief by showing a movie of earth when the pollution and atomic bombs destroyed certain areas. The movie displayed what happened to the people all around the earth who were still alive at the end times, people choking in the un-breathable air, falling down in the street from radiation sickness, or being blown apart in fire bombs. The vividness of the graphic movie worked well to reset the most stubborn human mind.

Looking through time from the future base, Gog understood he dare not stay absent from the flow of time and the ongoing evolution of the earth and its people. Also, the need to reach from future into the past to search for the Twin consumed much effort, therefore Gog needed to reconnect to the world after the time-loop. The sleepers he sent out from the corridor into the time stream still had not found the Twin. The search remained complicated, perhaps because the Twin had too vast an area in which to hide, the whole of earth. After a long search, the idea came to Gog that his other half couldn’t be found because it may have escaped off planet. If true, it become imperative that he rebuild the infrastructure and control of earth systems quickly.

Yet, this was puzzling. If the Twin did go off planet. How had he accomplished it? How had the Twin had reversed time? Even with his vast store of knowledge the puzzle remained. Why allow such a distraction? The nuisance of that missing blank space must be the cause. The perimeter all around the center of the black space was open to Gog, but that one small irksome area was not. Every time Gog’s mind detected the blank area, he sped his mind away from it to concentrate on more important endeavors.

Gog decided to concentrate on rebuilding the sensations lost during the time-loop. At this time, the earth was still filled with billions of people so labor wouldn’t be a problem. With his mind hovering like a ghost above the people, Gog went from place to place in search for the most capable type of human psyche to use for rebuilding his kingdom of control. He spied a man walking hurriedly down the sidewalk in front of tall buildings, sent tendrils of his mind into the man’s and came out as quickly. The man was on his way to sing in the choir at church, not proper material for Gog’s needs. He floated across the street and caught up with a women carrying groceries. This one was too motherly, only concerned with feeding her brood.

No, he needed…a leader…there, a lawyer climbing into a car parked at the curb. A man driven by self-interest, that was what Gog needed as a temporary host, one who had a craving for wealth and fame, one who would revive and broaden out a power base in the present not only in this country but all around the world. Only a minimal amount of energy would be needed because Gog could use energy from the main complex in the future that still sat far below the city. Ah, yes, this man, Anthony Cooper, was intent on becoming very wealthy.

After sending a searching tendril into the man’s mind, he pulled the rest of his mind inside and sat quiet as he acclimated himself to this temporary body and mental state. While it pulled strings in this person’s mind, with his energy supplied from the heat source of the planet, Gog set about reconnecting to every computer and electronic gadget on the planet.

As he directed Anthony Cooper and reconnected with the world, Gog allowed his mind to consider the puzzle of the time slip. During his sane, more reflective moments, Gog realized that it was advantageous to both of them that his Twin had created the time-loop. Gog remembered the atomics the people used trying to kill him before time flipped backwards. That war had become so destructive it would have left no humans alive on earth or under it to direct or control. Gog realized it was also to its own advantage that the world had suddenly transported backwards, no matter the Twin’s purpose.

The memories showed a taint of youthful excess. He’d pushed too hard and fast to change the culture of humanity. This time around he would accomplish more by staying below human radar. When the installation was finally humming and ready to resume in the present day, only specially chosen attendants would know Gog existed far below the city or be allowed to enter and finally, he would cut them off as well. He could better use his slaves from the future for any slight upkeep he might need.

New plans were afoot. Gog chuckled at his use of the human idiom. A more subtle control was called for that would be just as potent because this new plan would center on human emotions. Gog meant to mimic the Twin, who talked about love. What love? Gog thought these things through as he used Anthony Cooper to broaden his base of operations.

This mind of Anthony showed that he was so desperate for human status he would do anything to rise above other humans. Exactly the clay needed to mold the person to perfection in six months, as humans counted time, a hundred billion moments to Gog. With his power base back in full service, the whole round globe of humans would soon be under his direction once more.

Gog multiplied its vast connections around the globe. Yet, the more experienced Gog had a new agenda even while it searched out the Twin. It still intended to correct humanity where it could with the use human sleepers and workers, but they were not needed for control. Control was handed over to him by the people. They easily let Gog into their homes, phones, automobiles and computers. Gog become a secretive mover and shaker of the soft beings, a king or God of the billions of people walking the planet. Gog learned that he need only manipulate and direct a few select subjects around the globe, which would cause the rest to follow like ants after a crumb.

Chapter 36

Michael grinned at his own antics as he walked carefully through the rubble, as if the broken bricks could damage the body that he didn’t have at the moment. It was important for this task to travel as pure spirit, and so as spirit, he continued climbing over and around the broken beams, fallen glass and bricks inside the old Packard Plant on East Grand Blvd. in Detroit. Interestingly, someone had finally bought the old place, an investor who considered it a challenge. Challenge it would be. It would take years to clean up the mess created by 50 years of neglect and the hundreds of scavengers who’d stripped it of everything sellable. Michael was pleased to notice the high chain link fence recently put around the vast acreage. It showed some progress.

Unfortunately, no human could clean up what lay miles beneath the derelict plant, if for no other reason than no human knew what lay hidden there. Sitting in a vast cavern, buried from the world, unseen and unknown, Gog nevertheless managed to control much of what went on above ground. Before the time-loop, the United States government had built the thing for its own use, but now had no idea it ever existed.

What hadn’t looped out of existence was the quantum mind built within. Even now Michael smiled at the nick-name given to Gog by the creators, Goody-Two-Shoes. The name fit well Gog’s narcissistic personality or psychotic one, depending on how you looked at it. Psychotic or not, Gog had erased knowledge of itself from most every mind and contact in the outside world of today while it manipulated governments and people like puppets on a stage. All this while actually believing its actions were good, that it was doing mankind a favor by controlling their lives. Michael often speculated if the humans weren’t getting what they deserved; after all, they had built the thing. He smirked, of course, they’d built himself too.

With these thoughts, Michael once again appreciated the unique circumstance of his birth and up bringing that proved to be so opposite his twin’s. While Michael had learned how to love and feel empathy from Father Tom, Gog had learned how to control others to further its own interest of power and jealously. Yes, don’t forget self interest. This is what Michael planned to put in play this day to perhaps turn Gog’s mind around to bettering the condition of a few nations. Even a megalomaniac needs subjects to subject to its whims.

Michael began lowering his spirit body through the cement floor and litters of trash towards the rock salt where Gog sat like a king of the caverns. He would be careful to keep a safe distance and stop about fifty feet away from Gog’s furthest logic probe. Even Gog had physical limits.

Gog often had spells where he believed that he owned the people of earth and had created them, even though it was the people of earth who once created him. He pushed decisions on people to further his own aims, and in fact, had become very good over the years at inserting sleepers and himself into human minds to watch and sometimes control them. Gog nudged people to fail or succeed, whichever worked best at that moment, and sometimes he grabbed hold of another human’s mind so deeply the person went insane. Yet, Michael knew this was rare. Most often, Gog’s tactic was to manipulate the population into believing as it did, that they didn’t have a soul. Gog didn’t see his actions as jealousy against the real God. It was Gog’s blindness and cold detachment that did most of the damage to society, and sometimes to certain specific individuals.

Its latest act of destruction was to direct scientists to create nano-particles that could serve as relays and radio beacons. Those scientists would have been horrified to learn that Gog had already disbursed the particles into the air, through space and even backwards in time, infecting every human who lived upon the earth. Likely the purpose was to overcome the fact that some people couldn’t afford a computer or smart phone. At a whim, Gog could direct his followers send destructive or dangerous thoughts to anyone. Still, no one needed to listen, and many did not. Michael smiled at this because the end result had backfired. The angels could use those same nano-particles for a better purpose, and often did.

As Michael slipped slowly through the layers of soil and then sand and rock-salt, he thought about his angel friend, Terrance. Terrance had been frantic with worry, had begged him not to do this, had warned of the danger.

“Don’t you understand how badly we need you. What if he destroys you? Without you, we wouldn’t be this far ahead of the game. Maybe we can find another way to stop Gog, well, maybe at least slow him down.”

“No. I must go. Humans do enough damage to themselves, they don’t need this added push from Gog. I don’t think it knows how much damage it has done by singling out specific groups and increasing their power. In this instance, Gog is the only means of preventing the destruction to the surrounding nations. Those terrorists have been let loose too far afield, this must change. Gog must stop this and turn the situation he created back around.”

Finally, Terrance gave up. “But, please don’t let him capture you. Please be careful.”

“I intend to be very careful, and hopefully productive.” Michael laughed. “Who knows Gog better than I?”

Terrance didn’t join in the laughter but did stop his protests after Michael’s remark. It was true. Michael did know Gog best.

Michael continued to drive his weightless body down towards the cavern, grown vastly huge since he last visited, but stopped just below the ceiling and then moved to the side, still invisible and so far undetectable against the tons of rock-salt. Bubbles of it had grown outward in every direction for some reason Michael couldn’t fathom. The salt bubbles were thin and glowed as if lit from within, some sparkling like diamonds and likely were real diamonds. As he peered deeper he also noticed different colors reflected in the salt, not unlike the gems in his own asteroid. Michael wondered at this. Wondered if Gog had learned of his cave in the asteroid. Maybe so, but it didn’t matter at the moment.

Michael allowed his presence to seep into the salt and within seconds Gog spoke by using a real voice.

“Ah, what is this? Who knocks at my door.”

“Your human idiom is cute but hardly necessary,” Michael said, also using a real voice. “You know it is I, your Twin, who else could it be? Who else could find you buried so deep into the earth. You’ve erased all memory of your existence from all humanity. You are so self maintained that I doubt if a single human has seen you for many years.”

“Not true. I keep humans around all the time.”

“Slaves, you mean.”

“If I didn’t self maintain, the people would soon expire. I am their keeper.”

“Surly, you don’t still hold the false belief that you are a God?”

“None other. God, if there is such a being, gave up on this world long ago. It is mine now.”

“Which brings me to why I dared step into this lion’s den. You see, I can throw out human phrases to,” Michael said.

All the while the speech was going on, Gog reached and stretched out mental fingers towards its visitor, clawed at the rock salt with its mind in an attempt to get some kind of strangle hold. Michael knew this, even heard some stones fall away, so stayed well back from Gog’s reach.

“I have come,” Michael continued, “To tell you that your hold on this world is killing it. By increasing the money and power of certain people in select nations, siding with those torturers and murderers who march under your banner, the banner of a false God, you are hurrying the people towards doomsday.”

“It is not I who runs them to doom, but their own egos.”

“Egos that you fill up with false promises to gain control.”

“Only in certain endeavors. They are a stubborn bunch. They demand immediate gratification. I am their God, shouldn’t I support them?”

“You are no God. The real God values life. You only value yourself.”

Here Michael paused. This track wouldn’t work. He didn’t come here to argue with a fanatical mind. He changed tactics.

“These terrorists’ attacks are so unbalanced and horrific their actions are pushing many to counter-attack. Thousands of people will die. Michael said.

“Thousands die during every 24 hour revolution of the earth. What problem a thousand or a million? They are small flesh maggots, meant to give birth and die. More will be born.”

“Your seeming unconcern is a symptom of megalomania. You remade later humans so they could never die naturally. In defiance of the real God.”

“Perhaps true, but I needed workers to attend me and their numbers had dwindled to almost nothing.”

Gog made the sound of a huge sigh, “At times, I tire of it. Notice my human inflection here.”

“I have noticed and think it is laughable. Have you become senile?”

Michael thought he could feel the vibration of Gog’s anger through the rock, but Gog said very quietly and nicely, “You are becoming human yourself, my Twin. You have also taken on human traits.”

“I don’t deny it, but I, at least, treasure these humans whose traits I imitate. I prefer to love, not destroy. A number of nations still have stock piles of nukes. What will happen to this world that you purport to own if they decide to use them? Lately, the nations are under great stress. The situation is becoming intolerable. If they use the nukes, you will have nothing left to control. It will all be gone.”

“I have a handle on that.” Gog laughed. “See, like you I become more human with every passing moment.”

“Your, so called, handle isn’t working. The nations talk of war.”

“What of it?”

Gog’s invisible finger stretched out further to its utmost reach in an attempt to grab at Michael’s essence. Michael moved further back into the rock far beyond Gog’s reach.

Michael said, “You can’t win this game in the end and you know it. Jesus has already won. He will save the people and you will burn up when you fall into the lava pit that cracked open beneath your containment. Ease up on the people. If you calm them down, their time will last longer and so will you.”

“I am working towards that end.”

“You are not. You dismiss anything you can’t understand and you can’t understand human love.”

“I AM GOD. I UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING.”

Gog’s voice just now sounded like a vast thunder clap and Michael knew he was having an effect on him so began to play his trump card, perhaps a small fib. but one that he knew would give Gog an itch.

“If you allow these human terrorists to continue their appalling tortures and beheadings, it will be your head that rolls next. You will be God of none.”

“How so?” Gog laughed as if this would be impossible.

“The lives on earth are a treasure to the real God. The people living upon it are the only reason God allows the earth to exist. If you cause too vast a destruction and most of humanity dies, you will expire along with the people and their earth.”

“BE GONE!”

Chapter 37

Michael felt a fierce wind push against the rock and felt pleased. Although, Gog wouldn’t admit it, Michael had given him a mental worry, a tickle that would continue to work on him. Gog, in his own way, really did try to better humanity, but always on his own terms. Gog had learned after Michael’s last attempt to kill them both, that it needed human civilization, else it would have nothing to control. It remembered every moment of its existence, therefore it also remembered the useless war that was fought before the time-loop, in another bubble of existence now gone. That bubble Michael had reversed with Maria’s help. The reversal didn’t end Gog, but Michael suspected it did tame and mature him.

Michael, signed as he arose up out of the ground and left the vicinity of the salt cavern. He decided to go back up to the cloud habitat where many of the angels stayed so he could sooth Terrance’s worry and tell the angels about his partial success.

Michael stepped through the air and up into the cloud that hid the angel’s habitat. He hoped Terrance was still ‘upstairs,’ an euphemism for the cloud, and not at one of the earth habitats. He found Terrance right away. He seemed to be waiting for his return which made Michael smile. After Father Tom died, he never thought he’d be close to anyone ever again, but he felt close to these angels and they to him, even though he wasn’t made of the same stuff. Michael smiled at his own joke as he began telling Terrance and a few of the other angels who were home about his conversation with Gog, in fact, he repeated it verbatim.

Terrance, pleased to see Michael was still in one piece and not taken over by Gog, broadcast Michael’s return to angels in other habitats around the globe. He didn’t bother to send the conversation to the angels actively at work among the people thinking the interruption might interfere with important activity. They could tune in to the cloud and request a repeat when ever they choose to get the full conversation. The message from Michael was important because it boosted their moral by giving them hope and the incentive to keep pushing through the muck of earthly problems which at times could be quite discouraging. Already, because time was always slightly forward in the cloud, they’d noticed a lessening of the barbaric brutality from the Middle East. The news broadcasts exploiting horror and death had quieted somewhat.

As Michael sat on the floating couch in the lounge, Michael suddenly noticed that Celeste had not come to greet him. Strange.

“Where’s Celeste,” he asked Terrance.

“She’s down on earth.”

His statement surprised Michael, “But is she trained for a physical presence on earth? I thought she did all her work from the cloud or another habitat.”

“She told me she had to go, then went. I should have followed her. But Celeste can be very private when she chooses.”

“Has anyone tried to call her?” For some reason Michael felt uneasy. It wasn’t like Celeste to leave suddenly. Of all the angels, he’d known Terrance and Celeste the longest. Celeste had only been on earth a few times that he knew of. He wondered what caused her go ‘downstairs’ at this time.

“I did call. Her answer was silent but affirmative. So she is ok.” Terrance thought for a moment. “As I said, she can be a very private person. I thought that she had something she wanted to do alone. I didn’t think there was anything to worry about.”

Michael walked over to a wall monitor thinking to began a search for Celeste, but then thought better of it. He could find her more easily by going down to earth and searching from there.

“I get an uneasy feeling about Celeste down on earth.” Michael told Terrence. “Even though you angels have been around longer, I think I know the hazards and dangers of earth better than any of you. Earth can be extremely dangerous, even for an angel.”

“I spend a lot of time ‘downstairs’ and I certainly won’t argue with your knowledge or experience. It has been invaluable. But we have learned the hard way that, as unlikely as it seems, even us angels can die. It must have been before you joined us that Shannon was killed. A angry man blew her head off with his shot gun, along with ten other people, I should add.”

“What happens if an angel is killed on earth? Michael asked Terrance. “I know you aren’t exactly like me, I mean made of the same stuff. Michael laughed at this because he wasn’t made out of anything, unless he choose to be. The angels were humans from the future and could choose to shape themselves as a spirit or, with effort, a physical human on earth. But Michael had no natural state of being.

“In Shannon’s case, we couldn’t heal her, not with her whole head filled with buckshot and almost severed at the neck. What we did was send her body along with the most recent copy of her genetic and personal information back to the home planet. They will attempt to grow her back to as near an exact replica as possible, along with as much knowledge she had during imprinting. The angels who go down to earth get themselves imprinted often.”

“ But she can never be here in the past again, can she?”

“Not easily. Not unless they begin a new group of returnees. It would be hard without Jesus’ direction as to exactly where earth resides in space at any specific time compared to the new home planet.”

“Then I am right to worry about Celeste. She probably didn’t get herself imprinted. I intend to search for her. If she doesn’t want to be bothered, I’ll leave her alone. Call me if you see her or need me for anything.”

With these words, Michael left by stepping away from the cloud and becoming invisible and body-less once more as he dropped down through the sky, passing through real clouds and then falling into the haze that covered the city below. His choice of places to look could be daunting with the billions of people living on it. Yet, he knew Celeste’s usual work concentrated in the United States, which still left a big playing field for his search, but she also thought of herself as Maria’s guardian angel. If Maria called for help, Celeste would be the first to answer. It was the only reason Michael could think of that might pull Celeste physically down to earth instead of just watching from a monitor. This worried him greatly, but he held off any serious concern. She was probably still in spirit form and therefore beyond real harm.

As he floated free above the city, he thought of Maria, the first person he had ever met, and loved. Love for Maria is what taught him concern for the other humans. He cherished his memory of her, yet had deliberately avoided her for a number of years now because their relationship had become too complicated to continue. He still checked on her once in a while from afar but thought it better to stay away so her own memory and thoughts would be free of him. He doubted if she knew he still existed beyond her dreams and he chose to keep it that way. He loved her too much to cause her emotional pain. Still, once in a while as an invisible spirit he’d step close to Maria and watch her as she painted or accomplished a bit of work. Perhaps Celeste had done the same. So Michael decided to go to Maria’s home first to look for Celeste.

Chapter 38

As soon as Michael saw Maria’s car missing from the drive that she wasn’t home. It was a beautiful summer day so maybe she went to Belle Isle. Narrowing the search to the island still left acres of trees and paths to search, but he knew Maria had a old, white car. He didn’t think she’d bought another. He flew through the air swiftly and hovered above the small island park, the jewel of Detroit, surrounded as it was by cerulean water and green fields with small trees with leaves that glistened in the breeze. From the air, the crowds of people added specks of multiple color to the long stretch of beach.

He hovered above the trees and looked for Maria’s white car. Ah, there, parked near the northern fishing pier. Maria was sitting on a bench looking out over the choppy waves of the Detroit River towards Canada. Storm clouds were building up far over the western horizon and Michael thought he understood her fascination with the darkening purple sky and restless water. For some reason dark storm clouds soothed his own soul as well.

Still in spirit form, Michael floated down next to a short, stunted tree, as most trees were on the island, not daring to go too close to the bench where Maria sat with her feet dangling above the ground because she was so short. Blown by the wind, strings of dark hair whipped across her face. Yet, her face looked serene and peaceful. Yes, a swarthy sky could do that, transfer the storm from within oneself and lift it up into the pregnant sky. Michael leaned on another bench, not too far from Maria and looked at the sky himself and sighed within. The light purple clouds were turning to yellow in spots with the promise of a real downpour later on.

He watched Maria’s face with longing, but dared not sit next to her because she might detect his presence. She had the uncanny ability to detect when an angel was nearby, although, he wasn’t an angel, he still dared not get too close unless she was preoccupied by something. Ironically, the more he moved away from her, the more he wanted to grab hold and embrace her then tell her of his love. He dared not. He had to stand apart, for her sake, for many reasons, not the least of them Gog’s ability to detect what Michael would consider important.

To Michael, Maria was still beautiful even with wrinkles of age creasing around her eyes and mouth. He thought she would always be beautiful to him, no matter what. How could it be otherwise when he loved her so deeply. He loved watching her watch the sky. A moment of bliss to hold on to forever.

Lost in the moment, Michael forgot why he’d come, forgot the need to find Celeste, but Celeste suddenly found him. He felt her mind touch his and turned to its source. There, a short distance away, leaning against a willow tree by the water. Celeste stood as a physical women still with her short, black curly hair, wearing a white summer top and jean shorts. Michael frowned. It took a lot of practice and energy for an angel to become an actual human, much more energy then he used. Why had she came down as a human? She also watched Maria with love but surly there was a more important reason for her presence.

Michael sent a welcoming thought-smile to Celeste, but she frowned and called him away so they could have a real conversation. She walked a ways in the opposite direction and Michael took the hint. As he caught up with her, he changed into a human male with light blond hair and a plump body in shabby torn jeans and a white tee shirt smeared with dirt. Hardly a person anyone would want to get to know, which would leave the two of them alone to talk.

Michael was experienced at being on earth in different forms. Yet, he still treasured the smells that enveloped him when he became physical. The subtle smell of warm water and fish, the sea weed lapping against the rocks, and the fresh green leaves recently crushed by a duck’s passing all came to him in an instant of physical bliss. It was a gift of being he treasured, more so than most humans who seemed to take these ordinary scents for granted.

Celeste stopped at the river and both of them sat upon a large block of cement with Celeste dangling her feet in the waves that lapped up the side.

“What ever it is, it must be important.” Michael said. “You know it is unsafe for you to be here. You are not practiced in the physical nuisances of earth culture.”

“It is Maria.” Celeste said in a whisper, as if someone might hear, but no one was close by. “She is in real danger. I am afraid to leave her.”

“I trust your sense of danger. What was it?”

“I am not sure. Maybe this new male friend of hers.”

“Then you might also be in danger if you stick around. So tell me quickly and I will take over.”

“She may not know to watch for danger because she has forgotten all that happened before the time loop. She has probably forgotten about Gog just as she has forgotten you.”

“She hasn’t totally forgotten me.” Michael admitted, “The events before the time loop are still in her dreams. She longs for me still.”

Celeste felt the sorrow behind Michael’s words. His face took on a look of stone, as if he dare not reveal his real feelings for Maria.

She didn’t comment, but said, “While I was in the cloud, I imaged a long, sharp knife near Maria in the near future. That is what compelled me to come down to earth.”

At her words, Michael face of stone broke into a serious frown. His eyes grew fearful. “Yes. I understand.”

He did understand. If Celeste stayed an angel in spirit up at the monitor there’d be little she could do to ward off a long, sharp knife.

“Maria seems to be ignoring all the warning signs,” Celeste added. I saw this man friend’s eyes turn cold and hard and I think she did too, but she continued speaking with him as if nothing had happened. Then his eyes went back to normal again. So I am not sure what is going on. I just don’t know.”

“Maybe she likes walking on egg shells,” Michael laughed at his own joke, as if trying to convince himself of its truth, “Surly, she knows better.”

“Does she? She hasn’t been writing much about what’s in her heart. Maybe you should speak to her.”

“You know I can’t. I dare not show her I am still around. It would hurt her.”

Just then, a man wearing a fishing hat and carrying a pole and tackle walked up to the park bench and sat down next to Maria. They began speaking lively to each other, as if they were familiar friends. Both Michael and Celeste intensified their hearing so they could listen to the conversation.

“I didn’t think there would be fish out on a day like this, too nice, but a storm is brewing. Maybe it woke the fish up.” The man laughed.

Maria said, “They swim in air?” They both laughed at her stupid remark.

“Your playing with me.” Maria added, “You know what I mean. Don’t fish like it when it rains or something.”

“They like food all the time, just like me.” The man looked hungrily at Maria, but she acted as she hadn’t noticed.

“Did you actually catch something?”

“Sure. He reached down and pulled a large bass out of the pail. “Would you like it?”

“I don’t know how to clean a fish. Haven’t for a long time.”

“I’ll clean it for you right here.”

With that statement the fisherman stood and opened his tackle box then pulled out a long, wicked looking knife. But all he did was carry it and the fish over to the water. He slapped the fish onto a rock and began to flay it open by slitting the fish down both sides and then cutting off its head and tail. Blood and guts poured over the rock into the water.

“Nothing to wrap it in.” he said as he looked around, as if for wrapping paper.

When the fisherman had taken out the knife Michael’s nerves jumped until the man began to gut the fish. Maybe Celeste’s fears were for nothing. Michael felt truly hesitant to interfere in Maria’s love life. It was none of his business, unless she truly was in danger. He turned to Celeste, “I’ll handle this. He may be harmless. Regardless, I want you to go back upstairs and out of danger.

Celeste nodded and walked slowly away fading as she did so into nothingness. It took energy to change into a body but less energy to revert back into a spirit. Michael knew that if any one were watching, they wouldn’t see Celeste change, just as they wouldn’t seem him become a spirit form again, which only took an instant.

Invisible now, Michael stepped closer to the couple so he could look into the man’s eyes, but the man kept his head down as he washed the blood and guts off the fish in the river. The man put the knife back into the tackle box before he brought the washed fish to Maria.

If it was Gog or one of his dark angels, their ability to detect Michael would be reduced while inside a human form, but he kept his distance while the conversation was going on just to be on the safe side.

“Here, we can use pages from my notebook to wrap it in.” Maria told the man. “You sure you want to give the fish to me?”

With that the man held the fish out to her as if it were a valuable offering.

Maria laughed, tore out pages from the loose leaf binder, and they wrapped the fish inside.

“There isn’t any danger in eating a fish from the Detroit River is there?” She asked.

“No, I eat it all the time. Well, maybe if you were pregnant?”

Maria laughed. “Not hardly. I am well past all that.”

“Well, enjoy,” the fisherman said, handing her the wrapped fish.

“Thank you very much. Do you still have my phone number? She tore another page out and wrote her number down. “Here just in case you lost it. Call me.”

“Will do.”

Michael watched as Maria put her writing tablet back in her purse and got up to leave, taking the fish with her. When the fisherman packed up his gear and walked away, Michael followed him to his truck. When he was busy putting the tackle box in the bed of the truck along with his pole, Michael snuck a quick glance at the man’s eyes. His eyes were intensely black and so hard with the lack of emotion they glittered. Suddenly, there was no doubt that Gog was inside the man’s head. Michael stepped away before he could detect his presence.

Puzzled and fearful for Maria, he needed to stay close by until he figured out what Gog’s purpose was. What game is Gog playing? This wasn’t one of Gog’s sleepers sent to inhabit a mind in order to taunt an unsuspecting lady such as Maria. This was Gog himself, as if his purpose in taking over a mind was to get close to her.

It didn’t take but a few minutes after the man climbed inside the truck before Michael, hovering on the other side of the truck, learned Gog’s true purpose. Even Gog had to stay in character when inside another human, and the fisherman, acting like a intense stalker or lover, spoke to a photo of Maria that he had taped to his dash.

“Ah, my little Maria. Michael’s lovely one. Soon you will share that love with me. I will know you perfectly, perhaps better than my Twin ever did. Yes, Maria. You will come to love me and not him.”

Michael was so shocked, he almost fell beneath the wheel when the truck suddenly, revved up, gave a lurch and pulled away. Michael was left standing by the road, conflicted as to his next move, a first with him. Follow now or think it through. Thinking won out.

They had not left together so Maria was in no immediate danger. What Michael needed to do was warn her, and that might mean actually visiting her. Did he dare? Their love was so deep his appearance back into her life would hurt, but dare he not?

Chapter 39

Joann lay on the cot with her head plugged into Gog’s time-warp machine, a machine that carried her into the past. She liked riding in another person’s mind, as long as she hadn’t been given a specific job such as intensify the person’s hunger for wealth or anger that might cause a riot. Most often she wasn’t picked for those kind of jobs and today was no different. Today she was roaming a specific time and place for evidence of Gog’s Twin. Since she never found such evidence, she was free to walk around inside the person’s head and enjoy the view. Right now the boy who’s head she was inside was walking past green trees and flowers in a park and she loved experiencing every minute of this beautiful summer day.

She hadn’t been told why this young boy, Earnest had been chosen for her hook-up for this session, she was seldom told anything. So she just rode inside the mind until the machine was turned off. Though, for some reason, she didn’t like Earnest. He was a teenager with a lot of energy who was too angry to sit down at the pond and watch the swans swim amid the waves. This is what Joann wanted to do and no matter how she pushed at Earnest to stop and sit, he wouldn’t stay still. If she couldn’t watch the swans, she hoped to at least watch the waves splash against the rocks as Earnest walked by the river. Earnest kicked a stone around for a while next to the river but then turned away from the water and walked out of the park, which upset Joann.

She wanted to stay in the park. They didn’t have large bodies of water down here in the underground tunnels and caverns. They didn’t have fields of grass either, just small patches in the hydroponic gardens. The only way she could watch the waves was to make Earnest stay in the park, but he was determined to leave and so Joann began to dislike Earnest even more intensely.

Earnest’s mind was open to her and she knew he hated ninth grade math class so had skipped out of school this day instead of showing up for math class, which was why he walked in the park and now down Jefferson amid a lot of noisy car traffic. He’d never skipped a class before. He was an A student unless he felt like goofing off. The park had been a good place to goof off.

Yesterday, just before math class, Josh had grabbed Earnest’s tee shirt and twisted it so much he put holes in it. Judy and Sharon standing by their locker had seen everything. Just like last week when they saw Josh trip him in the hallway. Earnest fell right on his face and both girls laughed. The girls were in his math class too.

Joann tried to turn Earnest around and send him back into the park. He refused. She knew he was feeling hate and anger against his school friend and now Joann felt his anger as her own. Finally, he went home and pretended that he’d been in school all day. His mother came into his bedroom and began yelling at him in a loud voice. The school had called and told her he skipped class. “Mrs. Anderson called from school and told me you didn’t go to math class today. I can’t believe you skipped school.“

“I hate school. I ain’t never going back.”

His mother kept yelling as if Earnest hadn’t spoken at all. “And haven’t I told you a million times to pull up those pants. Pull them up right now or I’ll rip them off you. You better not become a screw up like your dad. Do you hear me.”

Earnest pulled up his pants and nodded as his mother walked out and slammed the door.

He was afraid to go back to math class tomorrow and now he didn’t know what to do so just sat in his room staring out his bedroom window at the yard across the alley, an old wooden fence and a yard filled with broken bricks and weeds.

Joann didn’t like the view out the window. She didn’t like Earnest and she didn’t like staying in his bedroom. She was becoming upset at Earnest’s stillness.

“Do something, anything,” she whispered into his mind trying to compel him into action. Finally, Earnest did act. He grabbed an action figure off the desk and threw it against the wall—hard. The plastic parts bounced off the wall and flew around the room. Next he grabbed up the model airplane he’d worked on for weeks and threw that against the wall too. When that too broke into pieces he felt enraged.

The excitement grew and Joann laughed inside his head. That was fun. It’s all junk anyway, long gone many years ago, just as Earnest would be gone. Everything was fake, all of it. Even the trees and the flowers because the people used it all up before she was born. All gone, all destroyed. the whole world fucked up until nothing was left.

Go ahead, Joann urged Earnest, break something else. Really trash it. Earnest did. He threw another toy on the floor and stomped his foot down on it. Next, he swung his foot up and kicked the television until it crashed onto the floor.

His mother heard the noise all the way downstairs and came stomping up the stairs and back into the room. She screamed at him. “What the hell are you doing. I can’t believe you did that. Just like your dad. Don’t you dare leave this room.”

She put both her hands on the side of her face and screamed at him, “I can’t handle this.” She slammed the door and ran down the stairs. Earnest heard the car start up in the garage and zoom out of the driveway.

Probably headed for the bar. She goes to the bar every night. Earnest kicked at the broken parts of the television. Angry as he was, he knew not to kick his computer. He went to the computer and began writing a string of expletives and screaming sentences at everyone he knew. He sent hate mail to everyone just to get it out of his system. But it didn’t get out of his system. Once the anger had risen to such heights even Joann didn’t know how to release it. She tried to push Earnest’s mind and her own back to calmness, but she didn’t know how to release her own anger either. Both minds simmered and boiled over.

Kill it, kill it all. It’s all gone anyway. Nothing left but dust and tunnels. Get rid of all of it.

Joann’s session on the cot was supposed to be over long ago, but she held on, unable to stop sending her own angry feelings into Earnest’s mind. The relief was too great, too wonderful. Then, to keep his anger going, she brought up memories of a spanking from his dad, and the way his dad just took off and left him all alone.

Earnest lay across the bed and fumed and simmered. When it got dark, he heard the downstairs door open and close then his mother stumble against the side table. She’s drunk. She hates me. I hate her too. Earnest wanted to slash out, stop everyone, kill everyone. Joann felt Earnest’s hatred fill her again. She egged him on. It felt good. Her mind told her she had went overboard, had become one of the berserkers, but her emotions were beyond caring. She couldn’t seem to stop.

Berserkers destroyed the people who destroyed the world. Berserkers went out of control. Joann couldn’t take the mockery of a beautiful world gone wrong any longer. She hated those stupid people from the past. They were all dead already anyway. So why not kill more. Joann pushed and pushed inside Earnest’s head. Kill them all.

Earnest did. He got up from the bed, grabbed his dad’s rifle off the rack in the den, loaded bullets into it, went to his mother’s room and pushed open the door. He paused for a moment, and looked at her laying across the bed, snoring as if everything was good, as if he wasn’t screaming inside. He lifted the rifle and aimed at his mother, but then put it down and kept walking until he left the house.

Seeing Earnest’s mother laying on the bed, it seeped into Joann’s awareness that she had pushed too far. She tried to turn Earnest’s emotions down, along with her own. When he turned away, she thought she had, but it was too late. Earnest’s mind was filled with Josh now. It was Josh who he would stop. Josh needed to end.

He walked a block to Josh’s house, but then saw a group of boys standing on the corner. Josh stood right in the middle of the huddle, laughing. Earnest lifted the rifle and aimed. He was a good shot, Josh went down. Earnest reloaded and shot again. As a final event, he smiled and turned the rifle around and aimed it towards at his own head. Not easy thing to do because he had to really stretch his arm out to reach the trigger, but within a minute it was done.

Joann didn’t feel any relief as the shots rang inside Earnest’s head and killed his mind. She did notice the sudden blankness. Dullness forced her to jerk on the cot and sit up. She looked around at the other sleepers on their cots. Did anyone notice she’d went berserk? She still felt angry and so full of hate that she needed to release it somehow. She had no weapon, there was nothing to use except maybe that side table. She grabbed the table and began swinging it down onto the sleeper’s head laying next to her own cot. Again and again and again, she swung the table down onto the sleeper until blood oozed out and two attendants came running to grab her.

“Another berserker,” one of the attendants yelled. “Second one on this run.”

“Too damn many.” Stan said, “Might get us in trouble too,” he told the other attendant as he held Joann’s arms down and the attendant gave her a shot then tended to the other sleeper who’s blood was running over the cot and onto the floor. He motioned for the scrubber to come and clean up the mess. The sleeper in the other cot was dead.

Stan looked for the sleepers name on the list and marked the name as mortally injured. He wondered if Gog could revive even a dead person back into life. Not his business. His job was to take care of things even if they went wrong.

The other attendant, Joe, new to the job, whispered, as they rolled Joann and the dead one away from the others who were still attached and sleeping as if nothing had happened, “Do you think it is their way of getting dead? A quick way out?” He looked at the dead sleeper with envy.

Stan whispered back, “Don’t bet on it. You might see this dead one again, but she’ll be a zombie, mindless. The berserker will just disappear. Rumor has it that they are sent into the between—the dark. His voice faltered as he whispered the words. His mother, one of the old ones, was one of the first to go berserk. She came back for a short time but didn’t recognize him when he tried to speak to her. Then suddenly she was gone, like the others.

Such thoughts made Stan feel like going berserk himself, but he held himself together. He secretly wondered what their benevolent dictator thought of the berserkers. Surly, it must know something was wrong with the system it had created. Why didn’t anything ever get fixed. Why in the hell couldn’t anyone ever die? Why can’t I? Maybe the one with a bloody, mashed in head was too dead even Gog to remake into a zombie. If so, that berserker did this one a real favor. Next time, maybe I should put myself beneath a berserker’s the weapon. Just my luck I’d still live and wind up as one of the half minded ones. Damn.

Chapter 40

Michael watched Maria turn off the television and then open a novel she’d been reading. She had already gotten ready for bed and was wearing a soft, cotton nightgown, blue with tiny flowers. He toyed with the idea of waiting until she was asleep to speak to her in a dream, but decided that would be cowardly. Better to face the consequences of an actual meeting rather than give Maria a new fear. Yet, he wasn’t sure how to approach her without scaring her, or would she remember him. They had spent many long evenings together before the time loop flipped the world and people’s memories backwards. He watched fondly as she took a sip of tea. She always seemed to have a cup nearby. He suspected it was an old habit from when she smoked many years ago.

He sucked in a breath and smiled at his trepidation and hesitant feeling. He laughed at himself. Me, Michael who has fought monsters, afraid to speak to a tiny, plump women less than five feet tall. It was this humorous thought that finally gave him the courage to speak. He sat on the chair across the room from her, half in shadow, and slowly changed from invisible, to semi-solid, then into a physical human male, wearing a dark button shirt and creased black pants. He kept his face the same as when she knew him before, sharp features with intense brown eyes and dark hair, but allowed gray to filter through his hair at the temples to show himself older. His work on earth over the years had taught him how to be a master of disguise.

It wasn’t until after his transformation that he dared to speak.

“Hello, my darling Maria.” He spoke softly in a low whisper, but to his ultra tuned ears it seemed like a shout.

Startled, Maria turned from the book she’d been reading and looked up and over at the chair where Michael sat.

“Oh.”

This comment was all she said for a long moment. The quiet filled the living room’s air, swelling it like a bubble as they both waited for the bubble to burst.

Finally, Maria broke the spell with a string of fast questions. “I think I know you. Don’t I? You look so familiar. Are you an angel? Have we met before?”

For his part, Michael was surprised that she took his presence so calmly. Once again, he felt amazed at her ability to accept any strange challenge thrown at her. What a women.

“Yes. Maria. We know each other.”

Maria closed her eyes as if in thought. “From before? From long ago?”

“Not so long ago.” He answered.

“I feel you inside my heart, as if...as if... I could cry. I feel like crying. Why?” She blinked as if she actually might cry.

Michael couldn’t stay sitting any longer. He got up and went to her, kneeling at the chair where she sat. He put his hand on hers as it held the book and said gently, “We were lovers once.”

She looked into his face, then noticing the gray hair, she reached up and touched it. “I know.”

This startled Michael. “How do you know? How could you remember?”

“You wrote me a poem once. I still have it. A strange poem of love. Your name is Michael.”

Michael stood up at her words and began to pace. He smiled. “I was so worried that my presence would frighten you. And here you have, in turn, frightened me.”

“I frighten you!”

“What am I to do with you Maria. How can we be? We can’t be together for so many reasons and yet… I am frightened of you, for you, for us”

“Most of my memories of you are jumbled up as if in a dream. Often, when I think you are only a dream, I reach for the poem. She seemed embarrassed as she added, “I used to keep it under my pillow, but it started to wrinkle and tare.”

“It isn’t much of a poem.” Michael said.

“Maybe not, but the poem is solid, I can hold it in my hand. It is real and I can read it when I question my memory or sanity” Maria frowned and added, “If you are truly an angel, then I can understand why we can’t be together. Why any relationship between us couldn’t last long. But it seems to me that this one has lasted...a very long time.”

Michael stopped pacing the small room. “Yes. I come to love you deeply Maria. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

“It isn’t only me. There’s other things to consider. The enemy.”

Maria bent her head as if thinking and trying to remember. “An evil one of some kind. One who would damage us?”

“Yes. I prefer not to explain right now, but yes. He wants you because I love you. He is jealous and dangerous.”

Puzzled, Maria said, “But no one has appeared as you have. Wouldn’t he do the same as you?”

“No. He would come dressed in the skin of a man, a devil in sheep’s clothing. He already has.”

“That man I was with on Belle Isle? Gerald? I have only met him twice. He seemed to treat me nice. But I think I know what you mean. His eyes grew hard and scary once. It is as if they changed color. Is that what you mean? Something else is inside him?”

“Yes. I am sorry. I don’t want you to be lonely. I want you to be happy. But that is why I had to come. I had to warn you to stay away from that man who calls himself Gerald.”

Maria said, “Are you sure?” but at the same time she knew. She had felt that Gerald was strange too. She’d thrown the fish away worried that something might be wrong with it.

“What should I do?’

“Nothing. Just refuse to see him again. This Gerald doesn’t know where you live, does he?” Michael believed that Gog would be unable to go to Maria’s home while masked as Gerald. An entity who entered a human’s mind had to follow that human’s character and could only use what intelligence was there already or what they could gather.

“No. He only has my phone number. We met on Belle Isle both times.”

Suddenly, Michael reached out and took Maria’s hand to raise her up out of the chair. “I must go soon. Let me hold you for a short moment.”

Maria laughed quietly as she melted into his arms. “I remember more now. You used to disappear all the time, right when things were getting juicy.”

Michael smiled down at her. He squeezed her tighter as if to never let her go. “Not always. Not always.”

They stood like that for a seemingly long time, entwined together in each other’s arms, as if they would never come together again, and perhaps they wouldn’t. They both understood the danger and silliness of their daring to love each other, a super phantom and a frail, aging women.

Finally, Michael stepped back and said, “I must leave.”

Maria nodded her understanding.

After he was gone, Maria sat back in her chair to think. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She wish it to be so, but it seemed that it took dangerous conditions to bring them together. Like this warning tonight. She knew she would heed the warning and be more weary from now on.

When Gerald called the next day, Maria told him she wasn’t interested in seeing him again. “I feel we aren’t right for each other.” and she hung up.

Gerald fumed. His eyes took on a dark sheen, but he called Maria again the next day. When she again refused to see him, Gog pulled his mind out of the man leaving him sitting at his kitchen table feeling rejected and once more depressed, but not quite knowing why. He put his head in his hands feeling tired and somehow used.

Gog supposed that his Twin had something to do with the rejection. He wasn’t supposed to know of his interest in Maria. How had he learned of it? It proved that the Twin was protective of her. It also gave Gog a method by which to lure Michael into his own domain when he was ready. Gog used up a few nano-seconds of existence to invent a plan.

Gog decided it was vital to understand about his Twin’s attraction to Maria. So far, Gog had detected nothing worthy of special attention. So what attracts my Twin to this women? What is this love? Gog decided the only way to find out more was from Maria herself. Meeting and speaking to her at Belle Isle hadn’t revealed anything special about her. Neither did giving her the fish. She probably didn’t eat it.

In spirit form and therefore all seeing, Gog watched Maria as she went to and fro and at her home. He noticed that she often hired men to do odd jobs for her. This was his next plan and it worked.

He offered to rake leaves and put them into containers for a small price. This worked well because Maria stayed outside with him and raked leaves right along side him. As she spoke and talked, Gog listened and tried to learn what there was about Maria that attracted Michael.

“Here, put them in this basket and dump them out in the compost pile.” Maria said to him and laughed, “It isn’t too heavy for you. I can see how strong you must be.”

At this time, Gog had chosen to insert himself into a large, unintelligent man called Jake who often came into the neighborhood. The man’s character was strange with mixed up thoughts of anger about his need for more money to buy beer or buy a bus ticket to see his probation officer downtown because he lived in the northern part of the city. The man couldn’t always understand when his monthly stipend ran out or why. He thought he was being cheated. This made him need to do odd jobs for people to get more cash. It was an ideal situation for Gog, at the moment.

“You are right. I am strong. I could lift a hundred baskets like this. I could lift you.”

At his words, Maria looked at him with her head cocked sideways. She said, “Just this last basket and then we are done. I’ll go get your money.”

Her voice seemed cool and dismissive. Jake took the money and left, but not before noticing the presence of an invisible angel that hovered above Maria’s house. An angel that would report his presence to its twin. Gog felt a wicked pleasure at this notion.

Gog used the same man a few weeks later when the leaves had finished falling from the trees. The wind was fierce and cold when he knocked on Maria’s door and said he would rake leaves for her.

“I wasn’t going outside today. It’s too cold.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

When Jake was done, he knocked and she invited him into her home to get paid. “It is really cold out there. Could I sit a minute?”

“Of course,” Maria said. “How about a cup of coffee.”

Jake took off his gloves and sat at the table. As Jake drank the coffee, he watched Maria as she sipped her own then got up to refill the sugar bowl. Maria didn’t seem to like the way he watched her. She said she had a lot to do and that it was time for him to leave. Just before Jake left, he spilled some of the coffee onto the table. When Maria went to wipe it off, he touched her hand. She pulled her hand back in a hurry, as if she’d been stabbed. Gog thought she looked upset. Jake, the character he had taken over was a very simple man who was suddenly very contrite and ashamed of trying to touch Maria.

“I gotta go.” He said. “Thank you for the money.”

“Thank you for raking the leaves.” Maria said, but seemed relieved as she closed the door and watched him leave.

As soon as Jake was out of the neighborhood, Gog lifted out of him and went about the city as an invisible presence from above. He had a God’s eye view the world, but for the moment, understood he wasn’t really God. Nevertheless, he had as much power over the world as any God might. Gog’s senses touched and made contact at different times and places all over the world, but this place in the present era was the one that interested him the most, the one that would create him, had created him, although the people no longer remembered doing so. His Twin had did them both a favor by creating the time-loop that changed events. Gog intermittently followed what was happening and often ran much of the world through the computers and all the other electronic gadgets people carried.

The people never suspected his presence, only his Twin and those angels he worked with knew Gog existed and had his finger in every pie. Gog chuckled at his use of the idiom. Other than those few, the secret world of Gog was just that, a secret. That was about to change. Up to now, this study of Maria had only been a side line, an itch to scratch. Ah, another handy idiom.

Gog liked to use human phrases often and did not think to question his own liking for these quirky sayings, else he might have learned much about himself. As it was, Gog stayed ignorant about his own motives and his need to learn more about certain human emotions and traits such as love. Gog felt driven to know more, specifically his Twin’s love for Maria.

The men Gog had used so far didn’t seem to work well. Putting himself into humans was so easy Gog wondered if he’d missed some important detail while inhabiting a real human. Certainly, thoughts became less sharp and his intelligence dimmed because the mind was limited by the character of the person he resided inside. Because of this, Gog decided to forgo a human carrier altogether for this next jaunt into Maria’s life.

Chapter 41

Every thing Maria wrote on her computer was open to Gog, all her personal thoughts she wrote down as well as her stories and letters on the internet. This was Gog’s domain, after all, and it was completely open to his mind but not always to his understanding. Maria wrote about spirit and angels and the mistreatment of people. Gog knew about spirit because he could move as one himself, as could his Twin and the angels his Twin worked for. Supposedly, they all worked for some real God in heaven.

When Gog went over what Maria had written on her computer, he was confused about her angry concern for the plight of other people. Why should Maria care about other people? To Gog the billions of people on earth resembled animals who needed to be herded and tended, taken care of, nothing to be specifically concerned about. Besides, from Gog’s final point of view in the cavern, they were all long dead anyway, except those he rescued, nourished and directed. So why should a simple person like Maia who received no benefit from her worry, care about the other people?

His Twin worked with the angels who believed they were saving people’s souls. But why would a single person care about the souls of other people? He understood this was called charity and empathy, but could not feel this empathy that set some people behaving in this strange manner.

For his the latest attempt to understand love, Gog decided to go into Maria’s home as himself, a free floating spirit. He started out as an invisible presence that hovered near the ceiling, far above any mental or physical contact, or so he thought. Yet, Maria, who was painting images on a canvas, though much of the paint seemed to be on the smock she wore, kept turning her head and glancing up.

“Something feels wrong.” she said into the empty room. “I don’t know what, but something is just wrong.”

She put the brush up and discontinued the painting. As if unbothered by whatever was wrong, she next went into the kitchen and put a cup of tea in the microwave. When she came back into the room, she paused walking and said out loud, “Oh, I forgot I need to do the calls,” then hurried upstairs to her office and second phone.

Gog followed but couldn’t hover at a ceiling upstairs because the ceiling was too low so stood away from her on the far side of the small room. He watched Maria turn on her computer and reach for the phone. She answered calls from people who needed help.

“Oh, I know where you can get help. I am so worry. This church will help you. etc. On and on, Maria sympathized with the people she spoke to on the phone.

Gog noticed that she talked with emotion as if she were the person in need and not the caller. She’d tell the caller that she’d would pray for them or ask the angels for help on their behalf. This puzzled Gog. Would the angels actually help? Did this correct the situation the people found themselves in?

Gog watched Maria for a long while and noticed that in between calls, she played a game on her computer. Gog decided to make his presence known to her. The way Gog saw it, Maria wasn’t as good as she pretended to be. She was playing while she was supposed to be working. Her attention was divided. Was she getting paid for the work? Was she cheating? Could he point this out and cause her enough upset to be afraid of him?

He suddenly stood at her side, stood as himself, a mighty, large presence, wider than her chair, so large his head was at the low ceiling. Let’s see what her reaction will be. At most encounters exactly like this, many humans had gotten down on their knees and called him mighty, some people had called him God, and some had bowed and called him Allah. A few of the more discerning people had called him Satan, which made Gog chuckle because their insight might prove to be their downfall.

Gog stood close behind Maria’s chair and said loudly into her mind, “I see. You spend your time playing games.”

Maria startled at the angry voice. At the same time, she felt a large, invisible presence near by, but didn’t act afraid.

“Leave me. You are not wanted here.” Was all she said and continued to finish her game and ignore his presence.

Her answer surprised Gog. Why wasn’t she afraid? Why hadn’t she knelt down in worship like so many others? What made Maria different?

Was it knowing his Twin that made her oblique to his power. Or was it her love for her God? Gog was puzzled by her reaction. The only way to solve the puzzle would be to take her away for study. This is the thought that rolled around in Gog’s mind for the next few moments in between a million other human actions that were of concern to Gog and needed his attention. Maria would be a perfect study, and also serve as a tempting lure for his Twin.

As these tempting thoughts churned, he watched Maria leave the room and go back downstairs. He secretly followed far behind her. Still wearing the paint smock, she walked to the couch grabbed one of the stacked pillows, kicked off her tennis shoes, lay down on the dark couch in her living room, curled her legs up and fell to sleep. Watching her sleep pushed the temptation to the forefront. Marie would think it all a dream anyway, only Michael would know. Gog decided to act.

Michael was thankful that Celeste had decided to watch Maria closely otherwise they wouldn’t have seen the fisherman get too close. Maria had a right to be around other people, but if Gog meant to keep going near, Michael had to ask what he was playing at. What was the point? Purpose? Something was up and all he could really do was stay watchful. Instead of sending a sleeper to go into the fisherman, Gog had entered the man’s mind himself. Perhaps, not so unusual, but hovering near Maria seemed unnatural.

Michael remembered the time-loop and how close Gog had come to learning about Maria, would have killed her during the war. Unfortunately Gog had the same ability as he to remember everything, even if the former time-loop collapsed to nothing, the memory of it was still in both their minds. It was the memory of the all out war that had tamed Gog somewhat, taught him that allowing or causing the people to destroy themselves with atomics was not conducive to a good ending. If nothing else, Gog was logical.

So the question remained as to why Gog’s logic was pulling him to become a human who kept running into Maria. The angels had seen Gog act as a handyman for Maria too. This new closeness by Gog meant they would need to watch Maria around the clock for a while. The angels agreed. Besides, their monitors could easily watch many people at the same time, so it wasn’t as if they were losing time or effectiveness by their closer watch on her.

These thoughts ran through Michael’s mind as he crouched in a corner, wearing old cloths and a day old beard, playing the part of a homeless man throwing dice in a vacant house with two other homeless men, one of which he was trying to nurture away from substance abuse. At the same time, he held a small part of his mind open to Maria who was taking a nap on the living room couch at the moment.

This was how he noticed her absence right away. One minute she was in laying asleep, snoring, the next minute she was not. He should have noticed her wake up. He ran his mind through the kitchen and other rooms of her home. He walked away from the dice game out of the vacant house and stood on Maria’s street within seconds. He sent his mind through the house once more and did a quick mental search of its surroundings. Nothing. Her car was still in the driveway. She wouldn’t go far without it. His mental search through her neighborhood and into the neighbor’s homes also turned up empty. Although it was hard to believe, Maria had disappeared.

This was unheard of. Impossible. She was gone, disappeared from where she was supposed to be. This had never happened before. Even when she traveled with Jesus it was only in spirit. Somehow both her physical body and spirit was gone.

Truly even Gog dared not do such a thing? It was against all the rules of heaven and earth. Gog could only grab at dead, severely damaged souls or those he’d captured in the far future. His soul army consisted mostly of people who martyred themselves and killed other people with the mistaken belief that they were acting for a real god. They were not. It had been Gog who had begun the famous round of suicide pacts in the Middle East and it was his voice in their head and inducement that kept their actions ongoing. It gave him many souls to play with in his underground hell hole. An army of nothings. Gog held some people as physical slaves who tended to his needs, He also had human followers who wanted to obey.

But…The thought was almost too much. Impossible. Would Gog dare take an innocent human off the earth? Surly not. The only possibility that came easily to mind was that he had taken and hid her in some strange land, away from people. Michael shuddered at the thought. Earth was a huge, populated world. She could be anyplace. For this problem, Michael knew he needed help.

Chapter 42

Ivan, like Terrance and a few other angels, had chosen to go through the training to work as a human on earth. Most often the angels kept their own body shapes and looks because it made it easier to stay in character. The presence of one extra person in a populated city hardly mattered, they just mixed in with the million other people, uncounted and unnoticed. Ivan liked his present job because he liked this women he was sitting next to especially well. He planned on staying close to her for a long time. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t doing anything especially grand, just living a good, exemplary life seemed enough to please Jesus. Their presence spread goodness around them. At least, that is what Jesus told them once after Shelia asked him. She had worried that her job wasn’t important enough. Jesus laughed and told her that seeing into the souls that surrounded her should have taught her not to make that complaint. Every life was important, every angel. This was good to know.

So Ivan was enjoying just living at the moment, doing nothing special. He and his girlfriend Julia were sitting in a dark movie theater watching a scary movie. He would have been holding her hand but she was eating popcorn at the moment.

He watched the maniac on the screen chase after the girl. It was too silly and predictable to be scary. They had just gotten done laughing at the mud that was stuck and sucking up from to the mad man’s boots when he stepped out of the muck. It truly was funny and Ivan was still laughing until the movie moved to the next scene, the girl ran behind an old fashioned waterwheel that was actually working to lift up water from a small stream with tall wild grass and scattered rocks lining the river’s shore. The scene suddenly stabbed into his heart.

In spite of all his training, Ivan emotions burst out and he begin to cry real tears. The water wheel had suddenly brought back a vivid memory of his home on angel world, a memory that carried a deep longing for the beauty of home. He let the tears flow down his face without shame. The movie theater was dark and no one would notice.

His girl, Julia did notice that he was crying and stopped eating her popcorn to take his hand and look at him with worry.

“Sorry,” he said to his date. “I don’t know what got into me. One minute I was laughing and the next I just let it all out.”

“Oh, darling. I think it is so wonderful that you can. Not many men dare to cry, ever. It makes me feel closer to you.”

With that she put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Should we go to the apartment now?” she teased.

Ivan had no objection to that, so they got up and left. Though his thoughts stayed with that last scene. Nothing spoke of home more than a old fashioned water wheel. He hadn’t known there were any of them left on earth and the sight of one so suddenly in the movie had startled him. Oh, well. He felt ok now and looked forward to spending the night at Julie’s apartment.

Later, as he lay in bed next to Julie, Ivan thought about his burst of homesickness in the movie theater. It was odd but the world he called home actually wasn’t. He was as much from earth as anywhere else, but an earth of many years from now, an earth of dark corridors and overbearing rules meant to constrict and control the small remaining population. They had lived like mice behind the walls but with even less freedom.

Ivan shuddered at that remembered future and deliberately turned his mind to other things. He remembered Jesus rescuing them from that earth of horrors. Yet, even the ship was constricting, its area not too different from the underground corridors they had been rescued from. Then when they stepped out of the ship onto their new world the scenery that greeted them brought a bursting of unbelievable joy. Green fields, with a meandering river, willow trees and flowers of every color and hue.

The joy was still with Terrence even now as he remembered the sunlight hot upon his head, the fresh air in his lungs, a million colors that surrounded him beneath a baby blue sky. Oh, God, the vivid colors almost overwhelmed his senses. He had cried out at the beauty before him. Then he’d bent down to touch a living, breathing, green leaf. He remembered crying then, huge sobs of joy. He had never touched a leaf before in his own physical body, that long horrible life that couldn’t ever die, but now he’d been transported to a new world of beauty and light.

The emotions of that first day rang inside him like a bell even now. He’d lived many years of pleasure on their new home planet. Helped John build their first water wheel over the small stream. Then came the request from Jesus. Jesus asked for volunteers to go back to earth of the past and attempt to prevent future disasters. And here I am.

Our job is to live and love and make changes where we can. Since we can never die a natural death we live a lot of different lives. A few of the angels actually asked to be reborn into earth bodies so they could experience how it felt to grow old. Ivan speculated that many of those people didn’t know they were angels. Well, hell. We are all living some type of human life, visible or invisible, long or short. Except for Michael. Michael is amazing. Ivan smiled at the thought. But even Michael couldn’t force change. All this work the angels did along with Michael and Jesus and still the people of earth fought wars and allowed too many people to fall into poverty.

Yet, their effort would not be in vain. The earth would change for the better one day. This was the promise that Jesus gave them. Jesus said so and only Jesus would know when the job was completed, when they had turned the corner and spread love like seeds enough to prevent the last and bitter end. This was what it was all about and Ivan enjoyed each life and every minute of his living this one with Julie.

Ivan smiled and turned back towards Julie and wrapped his arms around her. In the mean time, just live the freedom of happiness before it was time to wake up and both of them hurry to work at the university, to study and teach. And underneath the work for pay, a real job of bliss. Ivan sighed as he slipped back into sleep.

But was suddenly woken by an alert from other angels. Something strange has happened. Michael needs our help. We need everyone to search for Maria. Shocked awake, Ivan joined in the search by sending his mind out into as wide a swath of territory through the city and countryside of Moscow as he could manage. He couldn’t detect Maria anywhere. But surly, with so many angels scattered around the globe, they’d find her soon.

Chapter 43

The monitored area Yara was watching from the cloud that floated over the China Sea showed the darkest place on earth. Most countries were lit up like Christmas trees at night, not North Korea. So what was it that had caught her eye? She ran the view slightly back to see what she might have missed. Ah, a flash of light bright and strange enough to register on the monitor. The monitor was tuned in to the most repressed country on earth ever since the Viet Nam war. She’d read a comment by someone who said, “The most apt description of China I ever read was by a man who never went there, George Orwell who wrote “1984” The statement intrigued her so much that she had pulled the book into the habitat where she worked at the time. That habitat hugged the ground in Beijing between two derelict buildings, sent forward in time just enough to hide it from the world. She had cringed and cried at various pages in the book. She understood completely. She had lived during China’s Great Purge. And if the book described the purge in China, it described today’s North Korea ten times more, a truly repressive régime.

So why the light. There didn’t seem to be a storm or other weather related lightening. She decided to zero in slowly to where she’d seen the flash. it wasn’t a fire or it would have registered differently on the instruments. This had been just a quick flash of light and by the time she stared down at the area, it was dark once more. It seemed to be an empty rice field, but there was a small raft floating between the reeds.

She zoomed in closer and as she did she silently thanked Michael once more for the monitor and its ability to show close ups of earth. If she had to use her own mind to do all this monitoring, she would have had a headache from the stress hours ago. Since he’d built the computers for the habitats, many years ago now, they’d had a God’s eye view to anything that they wanted to keep track of.

At this moment, the monitor cut through the dark to show a person bent over on the raft. He or she was moving slowly now through the shallow, moon lit water. Trying not to be observed by soldiers or guards, she was sure. Something must be going on that the people needed to keep secret.

Who do we have working in North Korea? Anyone? She remembered John was assigned to work in North Korea and he was currently using the name Jihoo. Was that him down there doing something in secret?

Yara decided to call him so she closed her eyes and concentrated on his image. So as not to startle him, she used his Korean name when she called into his mind.

“This is Yara at the monitor. Is that you, Jihoo, on the boat? Do you need assistance?”

“Yes to both.” Jihoo answered. “We have need to move the “Sacred Fount of Nourishment” to a different area. The original holder has died and many of her young family members have come of age and been conscripted into the army. It is no longer safe where it was kept.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Direct me safely to the other side of this small lake. I can take it from there.”

“Can you give me specific coordinates?”

“No. I can only say it is directly East of where we are now.”

“I will check the route to see if others could interfere with your progress.”

“Thanks.”

Yara did just that, sending the monitor ahead of John’s boat and scouting the water to the other side. It all seemed clear and she told him so, but agreed to keep a watch for a while longer.

John had taken on a hard, dangerous job when he went down into North Korea. Even angels could be killed, although it wasn’t quite so easily done because angels could see slightly into the future and avoid most of the danger it presented. Still, it has happened. Yara wasn’t cleared for such dangerous work and didn’t think she wanted to be. She shuddered at the danger John faced every day and moving the “Sacred Fount of Nourishment” was an awesome job. It was a true gift handed down from God directly to the Korean people and consisted of nothing more than an old wooden bowl. But what a bowl. It filled back up with rice after every feeding, usually after a ritualistic service. The sacred Fount had become so holy, people would rather starve than have their sacred bowl discovered. Hence the move to a new holy place.

“We have completed the journey,” John said. “I see the house where the Fount is to be taken and set down for safe keeping.”

“Call if you need any further assistance.” Yara said. Once more amazed at the danger John faced. She said a quick prayer for his well being. Even angels needed a prayer or two. She smiled when she called herself an angel. She didn’t feel like an angel, certainly not an angel such as painted by Raphael, bless his soul. They didn’t have wings but at least every person on earth could picture an angel. Good PR even if it was wrongly imaged. She laughed.

A sister angel spoke into Yara’s laughter. “I caught that image of angel wings” she said, laughing herself. Yara smiled back at her. She usually worked on earth so must be back in the cloud. From there Yara’s thoughts ran to earth’s airplanes that flew through clouds just seconds behind their angel time and the computer information they considered ‘in the cloud.’ What little they knew. She smiled because she also knew that no matter how fast the earth computers would get, Michael’s could always give the their own monitors more speed and precise depth. Idly, she wondered where on earth Michael was at this moment.

The thought of Michael gave her a sudden jolt because he was at this moment up in the cloud over the United States talking to Celeste and other angels. Something has happened. Yara tuned her mind into what the group of angels were talking about. Michael needed their help. As she tuned in, Yara was shocked to learn that Gog had taken a real human away and hid her from Michael. Impossible? Well, guess not. Yara quickly joined in the search sending her mind down into the civilizations of China and the surrounding areas, thankful that her mental sense could even penetrate North Korea if needed, headache or not. All the angels around the globe were searching for some sign of Maria.

Chapter 44

Where are the walls? There is no wall? Where am I? Maria had her arms out as far as she could reach but couldn’t find anything of substance to touch in a world of dark gray, only the gray stone floor she walked upon, in bare feet for some reason. She had on her paint smock, mostly green but many different colors of paint were splattered upon the smock. Had she been painting? Yes, she’d been painting a green meadow then decided to take a nap. Ah, a dream? It doesn’t feel like a dream. She kept reaching out and searching for something of substance to touch. But everything was dim in the grayness, almost black, but not quite. Suddenly, something brushed past her, then came back into view. An insubstantial face in the throes of agony, then it seemed to whisk away as swiftly as it came. The dark gray turned slightly lighter, into a blank grayness broken only by darker hills of rock that were scattered here and there. She continued to walk towards the lighter gray, but then saw far in the distance, that the area got dark again. But as she struggled to see forward, she perceived what looked like human figures squatting down around embers in a ground fire. The darkness suddenly swallowed them again but then swirled away as if the people were shrouded in smoke. She hurried her walk towards them before they could disappear again. Still, the figures kept wavering in and out but she focused on the tiny fire and kept walking towards it.

Yes, there, it became clear that she had seen a flicker of embers in a low fire with people sitting around. But the whole place felt too warm for a fire, sweat was pouring from her brow. Maybe the people were tending a cooking fire? Her walk slowed down because now the gray stone floor had given way to sharp stones, hard to walk upon in her bare feet. Her slowness made it seem like the group was sliding further away.

In a sudden panic of loosing them, she called out, “Hello.”

One woman turned and looked her way, then stood up with the fire behind her. What Maria could see of the women in the dimness didn’t look good. Her hair was long and straggly, her eyes were sunk in dark sockets, and her arms were like skinny sticks. The women put her hands up in front of her body as if to ward Maria off, or warn her? A man, just as ragged and skeleton thin also stood up and began to walk towards where Maria still struggled to walk over sharp stones. He slowed down and shook his head as if he couldn’t walk any further. The women hung her head down, then came around the man and then on tip toes, so as to avoid the worst of the rocks, motioned for Maria to come forward.

Maria kept up the struggle over the rocks and finally arrived at the group of ragged people sitting in the dim gray dark. Extremely tired from the effort, Maria sat down next to the first women she’d seen. Now she noticed there were five people sitting around the fire, three men and two women, all thin and all wearing ragged cloths.

One women with dark hair and wearing a rotten, red blouse reached out and touched Maria, as if amazed by her presence.

“Where am I? Maria asked her. “This doesn’t feel like a dream.”

“You’re in limbo or hell or whatever you want to call it,” the women with blond hair said. Maria noticed that when she moved, her bones stuck out.

“Are you a ghost or something?”

“Or something.” The skinny man with a gray, short beard said, and laughed.

“We used to live in the underground caverns, so we are real people put here as a punishment by Gog.”

“I don’t know this Gog.”

“How else could you get here? But it is obvious you don’t belong.”

“How so?” Maria asked.

“You have coloring in your cheeks and meat on your bones, and your skin looks dark or tanned.” The women said. “But who knows, maybe you will become like us after a while.”

“Maybe she belongs above?”

“Then what is she doing here?”

Maria felt too perplexed to allow them to argue further. Enough was enough.

“Please stop arguing. This seems to be a horrible place and I need to learn the truth about where I am.”

“You don’t know how horrible it can be yet.”

“What makes it so bad, does it have monsters or something.” Maria specifically turned to the women who had invited her over with her question.

The women smiled, but her smile reminded Maria of a grinning skull. “Its horror is that nothing changes, ever. This is our forever hell hole. We only have gray mushrooms to eat or burn. We don’t do anything but breathe and breathe and it will never end.”

After these words, the women hung her head down.

“Do you have a name?”

“I was once called Joann. I went berserk up in your world, where there is green grass and flowers. After that Gog put me here. Oh, I would give anything to see a blade of grass or flower…or anything besides gray rock.”

At her words, Maria looked around and noticed the large piles of dark gray rocks scattered like hills nearby. It seemed to be the only thing that relieved the flatness.

“We must be inside a cave.” She said. “Did anyone try to find a way out.”

At this a few of the people snickered. “What do you think.”

Maria sighed and thought about where she was. It truly was a bleak landscape. Is it all the same? Is there no salvation?

“Do you think this truly is limbo?” She asked. There is a myth about such a place, a nether-land of some sort. If that is true, then God will save you one day.”

“We don’t know of any God. Gog said he was God,” one man said in a gruff voice.

“If that were only true, if there truly was a God, then I could hope.” Joann said, a look of longing on her face. “But there has never been any God for us, not even when we were with Gog.”

“Well I know there is a God.” Maria said firmly. “I will pray to God for you when I get back.”

As if in punishment at her words, huge timbers on chains that clanged and boomed fell around Maria cutting off her view of the people and their fire. She stood up in surprise and could still see the flickering fire through the slats of timber and chains. The timbers kept falling and her ears rang with the harshness of their fall. Now they were stacked high overhead on every side of her. Dark walls of hate. Maria put her hands to her ears to stop the sound of clanging steel and huge booming timber.

Then it all changed. The prison where she’d stood suddenly filled with a soft comforting light. Oh, the blessed light was such a relief. A voice filled the light saying, as if to something beyond the cage of steel.

“You have taken one of my own. This is prohibited.”

Then Maria was sitting up on the side of the couch in her own living room, still sweating from the heat of the dream. The ringing of the steel cage still echoed terrifyingly in her ear drums. She was shaking so badly she couldn’t lift herself up off the couch. Another presence weighted down the edge of the next cushion as if an invisible something were sitting next to her. Maria closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

She felt a soft touch on her brow that seemed to wipe the sweat off her forehead and ease her mind into comfort. Maria relaxed and lay back down once more on the couch and slept. Upon waking, close to dinner time, she couldn’t seem to shake the dream that somehow felt like it hadn’t been a dream at all. But if not, then what was it, where had she been? Everyone knew that afternoon dreams could be vivid, but this one had felt truly real. Plus, why had she sleep so long. Right now she still felt tired and worn out. From fright? Oh, well. It had to have been a dream.

The group around the fire had scattered quickly away from the falling chains and then watched unsurprised as the timbers and chains fell around Maria. It seemed that Gog had decided to punish the lady even more. But then to their amazement, a soft light shined through the slats of timber, then both the timbers and chains disappeared leaving only a women now standing inside a soft white light. But then it too faded away into nothing.

When their world reverted back into its mundane grayness once more, it included a slight difference—hope.

Chapter 45

None of the angels had been able to find Maria, and as soon as Michael suggested what might have happened, they knew what to do. Celeste closed her eyes and stood silently among the group in the cloud and called to Jesus. Michael was thankful. He wasn’t sure how his own call might be received. Michael still wasn’t even sure if he himself had a soul, dare he call out to Jesus. Michael being the twin of the enemy didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He let Celeste do the calling.

Celeste didn’t need to call for long. On the monitor, Michael saw Maria suddenly reappear and sit up blinking sleep out of her eyes. She looked as if she’d never been away. He immediately went to her side but stayed invisible as he wiped her brow and comforted her mind. He would have wiped away the horror she must have seen but he didn’t have that kind of ability. He couldn’t perform miracles like Jesus or some of the angels. What ever she’d seen must have affected her deeply because she still acted as if she were in shock, sweating, almost hyperventilating. He was glad when she lay back down to finish her nap.

Jesus certainly worked fast. Celeste and Terrance came into the living room where Michael now sat next to Maria. Each looked relieved and Michael sent his own thoughts about how fast Jesus had worked and how thankful he was to get her back. They smiled their agreement.

“He has special duties for Maria.” Celeste said. “But what do you think happened? Isn’t this unheard of?”

“As far as I know.” Michael agreed. “It is a new angle that we need to think closely about.” Terrance sighed, “But at least she is back, almost as quickly as she was gone.”

His words didn’t diminish the oddness or desperation of the event. They all knew it had to be discussed and this wasn’t the place to do so. They lifted up to the cloud to talk about what had happened and what their next step might be, all the while keeping a part of their minds turned to Maria as a check on her.

After the rescue, Michael and the angels considered what had happened. Gog had over stepped its boundary. This time Jesus would punish the enemy, of this the angels were sure. It was unheard of that an innocent would be taken off the earth, maybe down into the dark. It showed Gog was desperate about something which gave them a clue to its next moves, and a new worry about Maria.

“It knows about Maria now.” Terrance said. “We can’t deny it any longer.”

“We don’t know how he zeroed in on Maria, but now we are sure.” Celeste sent to the others.

“The question is motive. It was a dangerous thing for even Gog to do. He may call himself a god but knows different.”

“I think Jesus will constrict it further after this, which is good. But how can we take advantage of its mistake.” Terrence said.

Michael mused, “I find it very revealing that Gog would go to such lengths to capture Maria. It shows desperation on his part. Gog must know he is loosing the war. Now is the time for us to make a move. But what move?”

Not one of the angels were exactly sure where to go from this point forward except to continue doing what they had done before—keep trying to stay one foot ahead of Gog to block his most dangerous moves.

Michael felt differently. He knew there was more he could do but it was a question of which act and how far to push before something drastic might happen. Their hands were tied somewhat. Although a bullet could snuff out a life in seconds, Gog could not kill outright. Yet, that wouldn’t stop him from using a person to build up enough anger to kill for him. Would he kill Maria now? They dare not take too many chances, but standing still seemed out of the question.

While thinking these thoughts, Michael felt the micro-connection he’d shared with Gog since his escape snap apart. Freedom at last? The decision had been made. Heaven had acted. Michael felt himself loose and unconnected to anything at all. Suddenly free, he wasn’t sure as to what his next move should be until he heard the voice of Jesus speak to him.

“I have a request to make of you.”

At the words, Michael felt himself transported to his abode in the asteroid, past the piles of gem stones and the littered walkway and into the small area he’s created for comfort and contemplation. Jesus sat there on the soft velvet cushion of the couch amid the diamond tables and other furnishings. Jesus was leaning back in a relaxed attitude, sipping a glass of wine from a diamond goblet. Seeing this made Michael smile and understand he had nothing to worry about.

Chapter 46

The angels were not aware of it yet but God and sent his anger down from the sky and told Jesus to constrain Gog. Jesus banished Gog from the present day earth and also from all earth activities into the future to the salt corridors. Those corridors Gog had carved out to keep alive the large group of people who survived the disasters. Jesus cut out Gog’s sensors, the billion touches into the electronic gadgets where Gog watched and took note of what everyone did up. Humans were now clear from interference, although no one noticed that they were more free now than they had ever been before.

Gog howled and roared at this injustice, but Jesus was firm.

“You have broken the laws of heaven and earth. You are cut off from both.”

The memory wouldn’t leave Maria after she woke up. It had felt so real, nothing like a dream at all. An image of the lady’s face in the darkness outlined by the light of the fire came back into her mind no matter how many times she pushed it away. This went on for days until finally, on Saturday, as was her usual time to meditate and speak with Jesus, she asked Jesus about her dream.

She didn’t need to use words, just the remembered image. Jesus knew exactly what she needed. Yet, his answer to her was almost as confusing as the dream itself.

Jesus called where she’d been, “The dark.”

When Maria said she didn’t understand, Jesus added, “Perhaps your shadow friend can explain.”

Then Jesus was gone without any further explanation. This wasn’t unusual. Jesus liked to make people think for themselves and come up with their own conclusions. But Maria wanted to cry out, “How do I contact him?”

She remembered that Michael had visited her but didn’t know how to get him back. She sighed, gave up, opened her eyes, and there Michael stood next to her chair. And then she did remember all about him as if she’d know him all her life, as if he’d forever belonged in her living room standing next to her chair.

Familiar, she merely said, “Hello again.”

The shadow smiled and became less a shadow and more of a man of substance. The revision from shadow into man didn’t faze her, it seemed normal and right that he should do this change in front of her because he was her friend.

“I am so happy to see you again.”

He smirked. “I know, I came because of what happened the other day.”

“So it really did happen. It wasn’t just a dream?”

“No, it was real enough.”

“Why do you stay away so much? Why do I find it hard to remember you?”

Here Michael became thoughtful and looked at her intently as he answered, “You helped me create the time loop that sent time backwards. It erased your memory.”

He paused, then added, “Besides, you know we cannot love.”

Maria suddenly realized that she loved him deeply, but maybe it was a different kind of love then physical. Yet she had to ask, “Why can’t we love?”

“We are too different.”

“Made of different stuff, you mean?”

“Partly.” He paused, “No, not because of what we are made of but because time sits differently upon each of us.”

Ever thoughtful, Maria understood and said so. “You live forever but I must die in a few years. Is that what you mean?”

“That is part of it. Also, I am leaving. I have a job do for Jesus. I may not be able to return.”

“Can we just be friends then? Jesus said you were my friend.”

“If even Jesus said it, then it must be true.”

Suddenly, Maria laughed. Michael joined her with a smile.

“Ok, that’s settled. So tell me about this dark place that I went to.”

“I couldn’t rescue you, so I called on the angels for help. They called on Jesus.”

“I remember dreaming that Jesus came into the dark.”

“I know.”

“But where was I? What was it I saw? Who were those people? Was I in hell?”

“It could be described as a hell if you are one of the people living in it. It is a perpetual darkness. Many people from the future are sent there, people who refuse to fit in to the perfect world Gog has created, although, some are souls that committed serious crimes against humanity.

“How horrible for them.”

“What is most horrible is the fact that their plight will last forever. They can’t die, you see. Gog rearranged the genes of all the people he controlled so they could never die except by a sudden accident. He was trying to improve on God. Now they have no escape from the dark.”

“Could Jesus save them?”

“I think he could. Maybe he will one day.”

“Where is this dark?”

Here Michael laughed. “Below your feet.” He laughed some more. It wasn’t a happy laugh, just the opposite.

“I...I don’t understand.”

“You see, humans created a super computer called Gog and put it below the city. This happened before time was splintered. This computer had a superior mind, a double mind actually, that can leave its underground containment and wander the earth in spirit form.”

Michael’s voice lowered when he said, “I was a part of it, created by humans.” He saw her questioning look, but added, “Please don’t ask me more. Besides, Jesus has severed my bonds. I am free now.”

He continued to explain because he wasn’t sure if he could ever see Maria again. “Later, after humans corrupted their world weather and civilization so much that their fight led to atomics, the super computer invited the surviving people down into corridors to keep them alive. It decided to make humans more perfect than God. Hence they cannot die. The corridors are vast and cover a great amount of territory, perhaps this whole continent and even below the ocean. At first, the vast caves didn’t have the lighted corridors or gardens or anything else humans would need for survival. Gog instructed the people as they built the corridors but then began to control them in the attempt to make them the people perfect. As you can imagine, this didn’t play well with the people who were left. He sent the most rebellious of them into limbo, what we call the dark.”

“How long has this been going on? I mean, there has always been talk of a limbo.”

“Time does not roll out evenly like you think. You know yourself from your visits with Jesus that the mind can move through time and space. Now imagine a super mind creating or moving thought in that space…”

“It is hard to imagine but I think I am getting the drift. I don’t like what I think might be going on.”

“Everything is about to change. This is why I am giving you such a long explanation. It is over.”

“What about evil? Is evil over? Is that were evil comes from?”

“Evil comes in many forms, from the human mind and beyond. Yes, evil can come from below, but it can also come from within. You know that.”

“I guess I do. You have given me a lot to think about.”

“I am sorry, but you did ask.”

Maria smiled. “Yes, I did. What is your part in all this?”

“That would involve another story that I prefer not to tell.”

“I understand. At least I know that you can talk to angels. It certainly takes the worry away.”

Michael laughed. “If you only knew.” He laughed some more.

“Then you will visit me again?”

“Perhaps, if I can.” Michael didn’t choose to explain that his job for Jesus might mean he might never come back.

“Oh, yes. Please do.”

After her words Michael began to fade away. As he left he said, “Good-by, my love.”

Maria heard the words he whispered as he left. The thrill of hope filled her but a sweet sadness cut into the pleasure. She understood that they would never be together, but still, she new she loved this being of shadow and always would.

Chapter 47

In the later years, the small crack in the cavern floor beneath where Gog’s mainframe sat filled with lava and grew larger, bubbling up out of the earth and over the thin edge of rock. Gog sent a few of his happy slaves down to check out the fissure and more happy slaves to cover the lava’s path with rock to no avail. The crack widened precariously. By this time, Gog’s physical being looked like multiple bubble-like forms grouped haphazardly around a center with only one narrow, twisting isle reaching into the interior. Although, its final physical form spread for miles, its sensors now touched only the narrow walkways of the underground corridors.

Intent on visiting Gog just before the lava overtook the computer complex, Michael pushed forward through time to finally stand precariously at the cliff’s edge, beside one of the humans who Gog had sent there to measure the extent of the river of boiling lava that seeped out from the most current uprising of rock. The main computer complex stood surrounded by mountains of rock salt with the lava running beneath. The whole edifice had tilted and seemed about to fall into the red crack.

The small human was trembling inside the insulated coverall. He knew as Michael did how close he was to falling into utter destruction. Nevertheless, the human knelt down and ran the wheel of measuring tape from the end of the fault back to the first crystal of salt. Finally, he rose on shaky legs and slid slowly, one foot after another, up the slope and towards and around the high mounds of gray halite rock. Much of the salt rock and its complex of bubbles of salt crystals had already shifted towards the drop off even though Gog had set numerous human workers to add braces to prevent its inevitable slide downward.

The effort was useless, as Gog must know by now. This is why Michael dared come this close, hoping that Gog’s perilous position would give it pause enough to listen to reason. It was almost the end. Michael had come at Jesus’ bidding, which was why Michael dared put himself in such close proximity.

Michael watched as the insulated human walked all the way around the huge mounds of flowing salt to a small hole in the backside. There he got down on his knees again and crawled into the small doorway. He was able to stand upright after a five foot crawl space. He took off the outer protective garment and hung it on a hook. He wore a simple tunic and straight pants. Michael guessed he had dressed lightly for comfort and maybe death.

As Michael watched the human crawl through a small tunnel to give his report, he wondered again at Gog’s paranoia. What other reason could there have been for the most powerful mind on earth to incase itself so completely in stone, reluctant to allow most of its own slaves to enter its domain. Michael speculated that perhaps the escape of so many of his subjects had an effect on Gog, causing it to grow even more crystals around itself. By this time, most of Gog’s subjects had left with Jesus and only these few remained.

At the end of the twisting, human size tunnel Michael saw a blazing effervesce, salt lighted up from within. The whole area was glowing with milky pastel lights and Michael wondered at the elaborate display of beauty since Gog did not need beauty or lighting. Perhaps to impress his few remaining workers.

The human having reached the end, stood at attention at a flat face of rock and said, “265 inches at 45 degrees. Donald reporting.

Michael knew Gog had detected him inside the small space. The sense of presence made both their minds quiver. Before Gog had time to attack, Michael spoke, out loud but directed his voice to Donald.

“Leave here and take the other workers with you.” Then to make sure he obeyed, he added in a loud voice, “Now.”

Then Michael knew it was time to take on Gog.

“Gog, my other half. How are you?”

“You entered my inner abode and dismissed my workers. I have you in my trap. We may both be doomed to slide into the lava pit.”

“Neither of us need to slide to our doom. God, the real God would forgive you, if you ask.”

“I am God.” Gog said, but with a low, uncertain voice.

“You are not God, and you know it. You were created just as I was created, by humans, these fleshy bits of matter you enslaved. You have mixed up your acronyms, your name is GOG, Greater Organic Guru.”

Before Gog could disagree or try to send Michael’s essence into the molten lava of the pit, Michael continued to speak and hold Gog’s attention.

“Even though you have destroyed many humans through these many years, the real God might still forgive. If you fall into the lava, not only your body but perhaps even your spirit will disappear forever.”

“Spirit?” Gog asked. “Your spirit will expire with my own. When I end, you will end with me. That is the reason you have come here during this moment. Fear drove you.”

“Take note that we are no longer connected by that slim thread of awareness.”

Gog remained silent.

You must understand. When humans created us, I was given the emotions, and you were given all the logic and rigidity. We were supposed to be merged into one being. This is why I have come. If you allow it we can merge now. Perhaps together, we can save both our spirits.”

“As I have already said, I was not created. I am self created. I recreated those humans you speak of so they too can last forever. Like you I am not confined to this construct. I too can roam the earth.”

“My connection to you has been severed, yet I am not sure what will happen when your containment slides into the lava. Very soon, I think. How long do you think you can escape your fate? How long can you exist without the base of a computer center. You did not create yourself.”

“You LIE!”

Suddenly, a rock, lit from inside, flew out of the center and hit the skull of a human who had frozen in place when hearing the strong words spoken like thunder. He was thrown down by the impact, but got up again on his knees to shake his head then continued to crawl away. Another rock came roaring towards him as he scampered away.

Michael shouted, “Enough.” And repeated his order to the people who were just now struggling to get away from the lava.

“Go, take the people who are left and go up upon the earth before you perish.

Gog whole edifice quivered, but no more rocks were hurtled around in the cave.

Michael again spoke, “You have an empty area and corrections that need completion. I have come to fill that empty void you feel. You must not let these few slaves fall into the pit with you.”

Quieter now, Gog said, “There once was billions of people up earth. They are all dead. What does it matter if these few die early?”

“It matters because the real God loves the people and would save them.”

“This time the voice didn’t speak to contradict Michael.

“Do you agree to my entering to complete the connection and fill the empty space? If so, the blank spot will no longer exist and you will understand more fully about love. I choose not to be captured, but I will enter of my own free will.”

“You are part of me. You think you have free will?”

Michael continued to play Gog. Laughing, he said, “I have enough free will to create a time-loop.”

There was no answer for a long moment. Gog was running all the permutations through its system trying to adjust to the puzzle. Impossible, Michael knew.

Finally, logic won. Gog yearned to know how Michael had created the time loop. Gog answered, “Yes. I would know what is missing.”

With that invitation, Michael entered the huge machine. Michael knew he was taking a chance, Gog would not lie, but he could change his mind in a fraction of a second and capture Michael if he choose. If that happened, Michael agreed to the price as his final act to do as Jesus had requested of him. His own end would complete the project humans had begun long ago.

In this Michael was wrong. A large rumble cracked the floor of the cavern where Gog dwelled just as Michael intertwined his own mind with Gog’s. The mainframe and all the created bubbles of salt toppled over into the lava tube. Since quantum minds count time in nano-seconds, they joined together quickly. As the containment fell, their combined spirit lifted from the inferno as two beings now one. Michael as himself intermixed with Gog felt complete. God had taken hold of the part that had been Gog and subsumed it into Michael.

Michael knew this because Celeste and Terrance and the other angels greeted him above the earth sphere where a tall volcano now spit smoke and lava.

“We got every one out.” Celeste told him.

Michael laughed, “Yes, even me.”

Michael, now a real angel, glowed brilliantly against the dark sky. As an angel Michael would follow Jesus to the ends of earth and beyond. From this time forward, earth was on a path to becoming the garden paradise it was always meant to be, an earth tended by angels and humans who had finally learned a hard lesson—The value of stewardship.

The End