Circles Of Fear

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Jason slowly opened his eyes. The sun cascaded through a leadlight window that stood metres high above a cross and an altar, piercing his aching head. He blocked the light with his hands and sat up on the long wooden bench he had slept on. The sun’s transformed coloured beams warmed his damp clothes as he focused his painful vision on the tremendous image of the Virgin Mary that broke the light’s passage on the way to his face.

  He sat in silence and awe at the experience. He didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Tall trees swayed in the wind, momentarily breaking the light’s passage through the window. He put his hands down beside him as his eyes became accustomed to the light and stared at the vision before him with a constant gaze. He looked around. He was in a stone chapel. He remembered nothing past being at his father’s wake and his head split with pain as it looked for answers it couldn’t give. He stood and walked to the centre of the light’s beams in the aisle between the rows of long wooden benches, only a few metres to the step up to the altar. The loss of Malinda and his father bit deep inside him as he fell to his knees with his face in his hands and he began to cry.

  An elderly nun, working in the vestry, was disturbed by the crying she could hear coming from the chapel. She laid down her pen and silently went to investigate. She stood blocking the light from the window, matching the shape of the Virgin Mary, her habit forming a black silhouette in the bright light. Jason wept heavily into his hands.

  “Why do you cry in the house of the Lord?” she asked. “It is a place for much rejoicing.”

  Jason dropped his hands to see the silhouette that had asked the question.

  “Am I alive?” asked Jason.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you the Virgin Mary?”

  “Goodness me no, I am Sister Parker of this convent. You are on holy ground. What brings you here?”

  “I wish I knew; I remember nothing about how I got here. The last thing I remember was my father’s wake. What day is it?” asked Jason.

  “I believe it is a Saturday, we have no great need of time, time does not exist here, only relevance.”

  Jason rubbed his aching head. “It was last night then. I took to drinking and I have never drunk before. I couldn’t stand the pain of losing my wife and father all in the course of a few weeks. I shouldn’t have done that. My father taught me not to drink. I’m sorry; I’ll find my own way out.”

  “You are deeply troubled, by what name are you called?”

  Jason looked puzzled. “You don’t know who I am?”

  “I have no idea. We have little contact with anyone but ourselves here; I’m not even sure of the year.”

  “It’s nineteen ninety-five. You haven’t seen me on television, or in the paper?”

  “We do not have such things here; we are here to serve the Lord. You say nineteen ninety-five is the year? If that is the case, you have been guided here. What is your name?” Jason smiled; a person who knew only of him as he sat there, a person who would not treat him with any false motives in mind, someone he could really talk to.

  “Jason, my name is Jason.”

  Sister Parker extended her hand to Jason. He took it and she helped him to the end of a bench, then sat beside him.

  “Why do you wear your hair so long Jason?”

  “I’m a musician, a rhythm and blues player. My father was always telling me to cut my hair so I left it long. I was in rebellion with him until just before he died.”

  “Fathers always worry for their sons, or they would not be fathers. God worried for Jesus; his hair was long, but he still loved him.”

  “My father never said he loved me until he was gone. He was not well. He had a bad heart. The doctor warned him, so he wrote a letter that was given to me after his death. He said he loved me but his nature stopped him telling me. He worked so hard to give my mother and me a good life, that it put a lot of strain on his heart. Now he’s gone. I was going to get together with him in a couple of months, but it’s too late now. My wife and my father were all I had, except for my daughter. I’m so frightened of losing my daughter now; she’s so precious, she’s just like her mother.”

  “The Lord has called your wife and father. He knows you have the strength to go on. If you have a daughter, you are far from being alone; some of each of them is in her.”

  “I don’t know what to do. My wife and father were very wealthy. I have done well from music of late, and as well as that everything was left to me. I never have wanted money, I wanted to become my own man. The things I valued most I have lost! I don’t understand, what am I to do?”

  “What do you want to do Jason?”

  “What, really?”

  “Yes really, you must have some goals Jason.”

  “I want to look after my daughter and I know this may sound silly being very wealthy plus a well known musician, but I really want to help people less fortunate than me. Do you think they will laugh at me if I tell anyone?”

  “Jesus gave his life so others may be free. Some still laugh at him. The cry of the devil will always be with us, only the strong and pure overcome. How rich and well known are you Jason?”

  “My music is played all around the world and I don’t know how much wealth I have. Many millions, It doesn’t really matter to me.”

  “Can’t you see how much of a position that puts you in to do what you want to do Jason? With your influence and money, you could help people all over the world; your daughter will be so proud of her father. I feel I have asked for you in my prayers. A lot of people have waited for someone like you Jason. You didn’t stumble in here, you have been sent. Do you see why you have had to bear such pain? The devil lost his fight with you, you have come home.”

  “But I’ve never been to church in my life, sister.”

  “I feel you have never stolen or harmed anyone, but craved for love. Would I be right?”

  Jason looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “You don’t have to live in the house of the Lord to walk with him, nor do you have to know you are serving him. As you walk through life your feet will not mark the sand for many will carry you; you are blessed Jason. Go, your daughter is worried for you.” Jason’s headache had disappeared, he felt new. He looked up at the light beaming through the coloured window onto his face and rose to his feet, taking Sister Parker by the hand.

  “Thank you; I still don’t know what to do though.”

  Sister Parker looked into Jason’s blue eyes as they sparkled in the sunlight. “You will know. Just go and do what you want to do, for it is the power of good.” Jason kissed Sister Parker gently on the cheek then made his way towards the large main doors. He turned, halfway towards them.

  “Sister Parker, may I come back some time?”

  Sister Parker smiled. “You’ll be back; no one will be able to stop you, you are chosen and there is nothing you or I can do about it.”

  Jason made his way through the grounds of the convent. Nuns sitting in the gardens gave him puzzled blank looks, but he smiled and continued on. He found a gate in the tall stone wall and he was surprised to see the hustle and bustle of a main road on the other side. Jason made his way along the footpath looking for a taxi when a white Holden Commodore pulled to the side of the road, tyres squealing. It reversed alongside Jason and inspector Trout stepped out the passenger door, followed by Sloan, who was driving.

  “Jason, there’s an APB out on you, where have you been? Your friends have been worried sick about you. They said you disappeared from your father’s wake yesterday. We traced you from a bar in the city, where someone saw you getting into a stolen car with two other young men. We caught them after a high speed chase and they said they dumped you at the oval just down the road. Half the force is looking for you. Where have you been?” said Sloan.

  “Sorry, I got drunk. I spent the night in the chapel in this convent here and a nun helped me out this morning. Sorry, I’ve been very upset, but I’m okay now.” Jason climbed in the police car
with them and they headed for Jason’s home. Trout radioed their find to headquarters who called off the search.

  “Shame about the Sister’s convent going under the hammer isn’t it?” said Trout.

  Jason frowned. “What do you mean, going under the hammer?” asked Jason.

  “They haven’t been able to pay their bills for some time and the place is being auctioned this afternoon,” said Trout.

  “Where will the nuns go?” asked Jason.

  “I don’t know. I just read it in the paper the other day. They don’t make any money, so no one wants to help them,” replied Trout. Jason knew exactly what he wanted to do and just followed his instinct.

  “What time is this auction?” asked Jason.

  “I don’t know, what do you want to know that for? You going to buy it, ha, ha, ha?” laughed Trout.

  “Yes I am. Now find out what time the auction is please,” asked Jason.

  Sloan looked around at Jason’s serious face and realised he wasn’t joking.

  “Get on the radio Trout and find out what time it’s on!” said Sloan. Trout radioed in the unusual request and received an answer as they entered Jason’s driveway.

  “It’s on at midday,” said Trout. They pulled up in front of Jason’s hills home, where Tammy raced towards the car, as Mary had let her out as soon as she realised who it was. Jason opened the door and Tammy jumped on to his lap giving him a big kiss. Jason looked at his watch.

  “It’s eleven thirty; I’ll never make it back in time. Wait a minute! You’ll have to race me back there!” said Jason.

  “Why?” asked Sloan.

  “While I was pissed last night I think I killed a couple of nuns. I’m not sure, but we better check. You know, code three, or whatever you call it,” said Jason.

  Sloan looked at Jason and smiled. “I don’t know what it is Jason, but there is something about you. Let’s go.”

  “Hang on a minute I have to get a cheque book.” He rushed inside, collected a cheque book and gave Tammy to Mary, saying he wouldn’t be long, he was just going to buy some nuns a convent.

  Sloan weaved through the hills, siren and flashing lights ablaze. The media’s interest swung towards the plain police car as it pulled up alongside the small crowd gathered for the auction at the end of the long driveway leading to the main building of the convent. The media recognised Jason as he pushed to the front of the crowd in front of the auctioneer and waited eagerly to see why he had arrived as he had. The auctioneer was nearing the end of the bidding; two real estate investors were locked in battle to buy the sprawling property and historic buildings.

  “If I could have your attention again please we will continue. The bidding stands at six million five hundred thousand, do I have any more offers?” said the auctioneer. A grey haired gentleman in a well-cut dark suit raised his hand. “Six million, six hundred thousand I am bid,” continued the auctioneer.

  “Seven million dollars!” shouted Jason. The crowd stood in complete silence. The grey haired gentleman raised his hand again.

  “Seven million, one hundred thousand I am bid,” said the auctioneer. “And I inform everybody the bidding has now passed the reserve price”.

  “Seven and a half million!” shouted Jason. The grey haired gentleman raised his hand.

  “Seven million, six hundred thousand I am bid,” said the auctioneer.

  “Eight million dollars!” shouted Jason.

  “May I ask that the long haired bidder be recognised? I feel he may be a real estate plant escalating the price of the property. I feel the price may be out of the bidder’s reach,” objected the grey haired gentleman.

  “I’m Jason Brinkly, musician and owner of Brinkly International Marketing. I’m sure you would have known my father, Bob Brinkly,” said Jason proudly. The grey haired gentleman fell silent.

  “Eight million dollars I am bid,” said the auctioneer, “Eight million dollars once, eight million dollars twice.” He brought down his hammer for the last time. “Sold for eight million dollars to Mr Brinkly.” The media crowded round Jason.

  “Why have you bought this property Jason? Are you planning a recording studio or something?” asked a young female journalist.

  “No, I am giving it to the nuns who have been here since the place was built two hundred years ago. Modern times have made them open to attack from things they have no control over and I can’t let that happen,” said Jason.

  “Why?” asked another journalist.

  “I don’t ask myself why, I just know that’s what I want to do. Last night when I was in trouble I was helped by one of them, now it’s my turn,” said Jason.

  “It’s rumoured you cancelled your world tour. With your latest CD riding high in the charts all over the world, do you think that’s a wise thing?” asked the young female journalist.

  “I just lost my father and my wife. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Now will you please excuse me,” said Jason as he broke through the surrounding hoard of journalists who then dashed away, punching numbers into their mobile phones. Jason presented a cheque to the auctioneers and a few phone calls assured the auctioneers that the cheque was as good as cash. Arrangements were made for the transfer of the deed to the property for Monday, when the cheque had cleared. Jason was unsure who to leave the property’s trust in, so he went to investigate. A nun stood in the entrance to the convent. Jason spoke to her after he had climbed the steps to the door.

  “I am looking for Sister Parker, I need to see her urgently,” said Jason.

  “I don’t know of a Sister Parker, but perhaps Sister Staples can help you. She is the Mother Superior. Please wait I will bring her,” said the nun. Jason waited patiently for a few minutes, then an elderly nun appeared at the door.

  “I am Sister Staples, the Mother Superior. May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m Jason Brinkly and I just bought the convent and grounds at the auction and wish to give it back to you so you may all stay where you belong. I was hoping I could see Sister Parker to give her the news myself and work out how we can place the deed to the property in hands that will not try to take it from you again,” said Jason. Sister Staples gazed hard into Jason’s eyes.

  “Mr Brinkly, the only Sister Parker who was here died over one hundred years ago in a fire in the chapel,” said Sister Staples.

  Jason shook his head. “That can’t be. I spoke to her only this morning, in the chapel at the rear of the grounds. She helped me and I am in great debt to her.”

  “The chapel has lain in ruins since the fire. Funds have never been available to repair it; come I will show you.” Jason followed her along the familiar pathways that he had walked that morning, until in the sunlight beneath some huge trees stood the stone shell of the chapel. Jason walked up the steps and into the empty shell. The wall above where the altar had once stood held the shape of the leadlight window, but it was quite empty.

  “There were benches, an altar and a leadlight window with the Virgin Mary. There was red carpet in the aisle. Where has it all gone?”

  Sister Staples stared in disbelief; Jason had given a perfect description of the chapel before it had burnt down. She realised that Jason was the person whom they had waited for.

  “Would you please come this way?” asked Sister Staples. She led Jason through long corridors in the old convent building. He followed closely. The walls were adorned with old paintings of nuns. Jason stopped and looked up at a painting hanging in the light of a window at the end of a long corridor . Sister Staples turned.

  “Why do you stop? Jason?”

  “It’s her; it’s Sister Parker.” Sister Staples walked back the few paces that she was ahead and looked into his eyes.

  “Yes, it is Sister Parker, heavens above, we have our saviour. She wrote much about your coming before she died. You are blessed Jason. Come this way and I will help you to understand.” Sister Staples led Jason to a library and pulled out a large handwritten book. She opened the parched pages, letting Jason read
of a vision of the future that Sister Parker had recorded when she was young, in her own handwriting. She had written that: ‘A young man would come to deliver them and many, from peril. He would possess a daughter, of his own, who would rise up to strike at the devil long after he had gone. They would come after the devil had lost his fight with them and they would have suffered much. The year would be nineteen ninety-five’. Jason sat in silence. He tried hard to understand what was happening to him, as he read on. ‘The young man would rise up in a high place and strike at those who do the work of the devil. He would pave the way for his daughter to fight on. They would be both blessed, their feet would never strike the sand, they would be carried’. The book was very old, many pages beyond where they had read were stuck together; they could read no further. Jason closed the book.

  “I am surprised to find what I have searched for so long. I understand why I feel like I do sometimes, now. I must carry this calling in silence; I am well disguised to do what is asked of me. My daughter will know only when it is time and somehow I feel I will know that time when it comes.”

  “Please put this building and its surroundings, into the control of all who would want to come here. For one person to make decisions concerning its future would be very dangerous. Sister Parker was tied to the altar and the chapel was burnt down. Murdered. The devil is everywhere and you must remember that. ”

  “I may return for help and guidance at some time.”

  “We are the ones who need help and guidance. Go and do whatever you feel you should do, for only good can come of it. You will return; no one can stop you.”

  Jason picked up the newspaper on Monday morning, on his way home from taking Tammy to school. He glanced at the headlines on his way out of the newsagent’s. “Jason Brinkly buys city convent ruins, to make into park in memory of his wife and father”. Jason jumped into his Rolls Royce, left to him by his father. He drove as fast as he could to the grounds of the convent and found the place was in ruins. He walked the stone walls feeling a strange presence. There was a shed on the grounds; the only thing still intact. He forced the lock from the chain and opened the door and when the dust had settled, found there was an old packing case against the back wall. The lid slid off. Inside were two old oil paintings; one of Sister Parker, the other of Sister Staples. They both bore the date, eighteen ninety-five. In the bottom of the case was an old hand written book. Jason recognised it immediately. He placed them all carefully in his car and took them home.

  He hung the paintings in the hall beside each other and put the book in his safe. He stood in the hall looking at the paintings, absorbing the experience. He asked himself no questions, for currently he had no answers.