Shrouded Destiny

by Richard William Bates

  "I ... I ... don't understand, Father Angelino."

  "I know, my dear. You will, though, sooner than you might think."

  Her relief at seeing him dissolved into anger. “Why did you slink off and leave me like you did? You stuck me with that asshole Armand Mathias ... and Jesus."

  "It was necessary, Susan,” Angelino answered calmly. “Our destinies lie on different paths for now."

  Susan was just about screaming at the top of her lungs, releasing weeks of simmering anger and frustration. “Destiny, my ass! I'm not some pawn to be moved about in your little game. You are all alike. You, Mathias, that sonofabitch Crowley, even Jesus. You all manipulate people like puppets and all for what?” Her eyes flared.

  Angelino remained silent for a while, which allowed Susan to stew in her anger. Susan was surprised to realize she was feeling a sense of pressure being released. Being able to vent like this was a cathartic relief.

  "I did not abandon you, Susan. But you are right if you feel as if you are being manipulated. You are. Just not in the way you might imagine."

  He walked around the bed, still surrounded by his shimmering aura. He stood directly in front of Susan and looked deep into her eyes. “Please sit down,” he said gently. He placed his hand on her cheek gently. She was surprised at this gesture. More accurately, she was surprised that she could feel a warm hand on her cheek. She had assumed that the form in the room was an ethereal body without substance to it.

  "I can feel you. You're solid,” she said, blinking in disbelief.

  "Of course I am.” he replied, matter-of-factly. “I am not a ghost."

  "Sometimes I curse the day I met you, Father Angelino,” she sighed. It was not said unkindly.

  Angelino laughed loudly at this, much to Susan's surprise and irritation. Angelino always managed to laugh at the most inappropriate times. “Why is that funny?” she said with exasperation, jumping to her feet defiantly.

  He laughed again. “I'm sorry, my dear Susan. I do not laugh out of ridicule. I laugh because it pleases me so to see you showing some spirit. You've been pretty much a mousy wimp lately, if I may say so."

  "Why do you criticize me so harshly, Father Angelino?” Susan said through sad eyes.

  "It is not harshness but directness,” he responded seriously. “And you very badly need to hear it. You have been wallowing in self-pity and it is time for you to stop."

  Susan said nothing but looked at Angelino with probing eyes. Angelino met her gaze, his eyes filled with loving kindness. Why does he have such faith in me? She had given him some assistance at one time, but beyond that, she had not been any use to anybody. It was that sense of worthlessness that gnawed at her the most. She had been an up-and-coming network star once upon a time, but she had even blown that with her impatience and blind desire to scoop her competition. How different her life would have been if had she been more mature ... and, yes, honest. For the first time she acknowledged to herself that the staged video, even if essentially true to the actual facts, had been dishonest. She had rationalized that for all these years, but she was learning you could never hide from yourself, from the consequences of your own actions.

  As her internal suffering mounted, she was discovering more and more how things always ultimately boiled down to choice. The choices one made set a unique set of events in motion, like dominoes toppling dominoes. Once the chain was set in motion, there seemed to be nothing that could alter the course of that chain of events. That was only an illusion that fostered a sense of helplessness, or victimhood. One could seek to remove herself from causative responsibility by saying, “Yes, I made that choice, but I could not stop or alter the course of events once that choice was made.” She was beginning to understand choice existed at every link in that chain of events, as if each domino—continuing her analogy to herself—had, in turn, the choice of an infinite number of separate dominoes it could topple. And each of those dominoes had an equally infinite number of dominoes it could topple.

  The essence of that realization led to an inescapable truth—if she thought of each domino as a moment in time, and if each domino could be made to influence any one of an infinite other courses of action, then as she moved her focus closer and closer to the level of the single domino, she would at any given point in time be in perfect control of events. Each domino represented the NOW, the only point in time over which she had dominion. The dominoes that had already fallen she could do nothing about. The dominoes that were about to fall would fall as they may. Only the domino which she influenced at that precise moment in time—the NOW—was within her total control. This entire matrix of cascading consequences all depended upon choice.

  Suddenly, she was thunderstruck with a deep revelation. All depends on choice. Not some things, but all things. That meant the despair and pain she had been embroiled in were also the result of choices she had been making ... choices of what she thought! The darkness which had been enveloping her soul had all been created by her, by her own thoughts—thoughts given even more power by the emotional charge she had been feeding them. She had found it easier to blame Mathias, Jesus, even Angelino, for her despair, but that was simply a way to keep her from confronting her own responsibility for the choices she had made which placed her where she was.

  Angelino smiled, as if reading her deepest thoughts. “I see you are beginning to understand, my dear Susan,” he said with just a hint of pride in his voice. With that, his form faded away.

  Susan sat upright in her bed. A dream within a dream? That had never happened to her before. Or was it a dream? She could not be certain anymore. One thing, of which she was certain, however, was she felt the weight of the world lifting from her. Whether it had been a dream or not, there was no mistaking the truth of what she had just uncovered for herself. Now I understand! A sense of pure joy and freedom filled her being.

  She laid back down on the bed, smiling in the darkness of her room. As she drifted off to a deep and peaceful sleep—the first she would have had in months—she whispered softly, “Thank you, Father Angelino, you sonofagun."

  * * * *

  BILLY RED DEER had been watching Angelino's deep meditation. The ways of the Church were not so different than his people's. The Sioux, too, had their meditations, prayers, and rituals. He smiled as he watched an expression of pleasure cross over Angelino's face. Monsignor Cassidy was lying on the bed reading his Bible during all of this. He read the Bible a lot, Billy had noticed. The idea of a religion being drawn so heavily from the pages of a book was something Billy had never been able to grasp fully. His own people had passed their faith down in the telling of stories by word-of-mouth, in dances, and in other communal rituals acknowledging the divinity in even the most mundane aspects of life.

  Just then, Angelino came out of his meditation and jumped to his feet. He was obviously very pleased about something.

  Cassidy peered over his reading glasses and said, “Care to share, Angelino?"

  "It's Susan,” he said with a smile. “I just paid her an astral visit. I was concerned about her."

  "Positive developments?"

  "Oh, yes. Very positive, Billy. She's just about ready. She just took a dramatic step forward on her path."

  "Wow,” Cassidy said. “That's a pretty remarkable turnaround."

  "Well, Susan's a very remarkable young woman,” Angelino said, with a trace of fatherly pride.

  "Seriously, Father Angelino, I'm happy for her ... and for you."

  "Thank you,” Angelino replied. He shifted the subject. “Are we all set for our trek tomorrow?"

  Billy answered for both of them. “Yep. All packed and ready for some serious backpacking. How many miles did you say we had to hike in to the jungle?"

  "Twenty-five miles ... maybe a little further."

  Cassidy cracked, “This is all well and good for a young buck like Billy here, but you and I are past our best years.” He smiled.

  "Speak for yourself,” Angelino's eyes twinkled. Billy found it al
most impossible to accept the priest was well past seventy. He looked younger than Billy's father.

  "After we have found Imahoptec, we must head back to America for a while. The other priests will have to wait. There is urgent business requiring our presence."

  Cassidy and Billy nodded without quizzing Angelino. Questioning would have meant they were uncommitted to their course—a course that required a total faith in a power each of them only partially manifested. Therefore, questioning was not a consideration at that point. Destiny was such a paradox. It seemed to pull you along with a mind of its own, and yet, at all points along the way, the individual had the freedom to choose whatever course he might. Somehow, in the end, what a person chose and the impersonal pull of his destiny came into alignment and it became clear what he chose was because something within him caused him to make those choices. Was this, perhaps, the equivalent of a “genetic” marker for destiny ... some imprinted imperative which pulled us through our existence? Whatever the truth might be, Cassidy and Billy knew what course they were on. Call it destiny or call it choice ... each of them knew the path they were on would have been the same. A Knight of the Ascension belonged to the ages, not to himself.

  * * * *

  IT WAS FINALLY time to meet this new Jesus face to face. The preparations had been made and security put in place. Pope Timothy II was going to America to meet with Jesus. To most of the world, it would be a visit of supplication ... the reigning Pope acknowledging the Divine Sonship of Jesus. The real purpose of the trip, or course, was reconnaissance for The Council. He was told a leading council member was also in America, positioning herself to be close to Jesus and the Morgan woman. Her mission was to eliminate Angelino, a prospect that always brought a smile to MacArthur's face. He personally wanted to be present when Angelino's murder occurred, but of course that was out of the question. Oh, well. So be it. He would be able to imagine the look of shock on Angelino's face as his death was delivered to him. That would certainly wipe that smarmy grin from his face, MacArthur thought to himself with pleasure. It was about time someone did.

  * * * *

  NICOLE CHAMBLEAU TOOK in the lights of Capital Hill from her hotel room at the Radisson Hotel. Whatever their faults, Americans had a certain sense of style she found characteristic of their national personality ... bold, gaudy, and with just a touch of arrogance. Yes, that was America. The quiet of the late hour belied the fact the city stretched out before her was the seat of the greatest power in the world, indeed, the greatest power there had ever been. At least that was the conventional wisdom. America was soon to receive a lesson in the true application of power. America would learn how insignificant she had always been, even as she thumped her breast proclaiming her might to the world. She almost felt a sense of pity for the Americans. What a bitter pill that would be to swallow for them, having felt so full of themselves for so many decades. But it was time the real power in the world revealed itself and took its rightful place of global rulership. Nicole was proud she would be an integral part in this shifting to the new world order. She would be remembered throughout history as the woman who cleared the way.

  Chapter 17

  "RAY, YOU WON'T believe who's here to see you,” Marge said, leaning into his office.

  Ray peered up at her over his reading glasses, his eyes asking the question.

  "It's Susan,” she smiled. “Susan Morgan."

  Ray bolted to his feet. “What?” He swept past Marge into his outer office. Susan was standing near the door, looking around at the pictures on the wall. She did not see him. He stopped in his tracks. How radiant she looked. Nothing like the fawning and mousy images he had seen of her on the television screen. Something had obviously changed in her life. She wore a light aqua business suit that was stylish, yet professional. It complimented her curves nicely.

  Finally, she noticed him standing there. She beamed at him. “Ray!” She ran over and all but leaped into his outstretched arms.

  "Susan,” he smiled at her. “You look amazing. Come into my office. I have so much I want to talk to you about."

  "So do I, Ray, it's been too long."

  "Yes, it has."

  Their outburst had attracted the attention of the rest of the employees in the newsroom. Most of them knew Susan and were just as happy as Ray to see her. They began to swarm around her, greeting her, hugging her, and generally expressing their happiness at seeing her.

  "People!” Ray said. “You will have plenty of time to talk to Susan. But right now I need to keep her to myself for a little while."

  The group of employees grumbled in mock disapproval, but all of them retained their smiles. Ray led Susan into his inner office. “Marge,” he ordered. “No interruptions."

  "Gotcha, chief,” Marge said smartly.

  "Sit down,” Ray said, once they were alone.

  Susan took the padded high-backed chair facing Ray's desk and he took a seat beside her.

  "I can't believe it's you, Susan. I wasn't sure you would ever want to talk to me again. I've ... we've... all been worried about you. I've seen you on television. You haven't looked well."

  Susan smiled at him. He was struck by the serene peacefulness of her smile, and couldn't help but envy it.

  "Ray, one of the reasons I'm here is to deeply apologize for my behavior. You deserve better.” She lowered her gaze and the smile disappeared from her face as she grew more contemplative. “I was going through a very difficult crisis of faith.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. Ray saw her sincerity. “I hope you can forgive me. I am truly sorry."

  "I think I understand,” he said. “You were thrown into the middle of the biggest event of the millennium. It was bound to take its toll on you."

  Susan nodded. “It was more than just that."

  * * * *

  SHE HESITATED, AS if not certain she should volunteer anything else. A part of her wanted to keep him ignorant for his own safety. But she knew Ray would see she was keeping something from him. Furthermore, he had the right to know the risks of his association with her.

  "I saw Angelino the other night, Ray,” she said.

  "You did? Where? He disappeared the day Jesus arrived. Nobody knows where he went."

  "He's in Mexico."

  "You were in Mexico?” Ray said, somewhat confused.

  "No. Angelino came to me ... in my room last night ... it was...” she searched for an appropriate word “...an astral visit.” She examined Ray's face for his reaction. He raised an eyebrow. Susan continued, “I know how it sounds, but you know better than anyone Angelino has interesting ... abilities."

  Ray had to admit the truth of that. After all, he had witnessed, firsthand, Angelino's resurrection of Susan after her car wreck.

  "I have a feeling we will be hearing from him soon."

  Ray pondered. “Mexico.” He was thinking out loud. “What could he be doing in Mexico?"

  "He is gathering the Knights of the Ascension."

  "Yes, I imagine so. But, Mexico?"

  "I've learned, Ray, when it comes to Angelino, one is always wiser to assume he knows what he is doing. He may be the only person in the world who does,” she said, with a slight laugh.

  He smiled in response, and then grew serious. “Some things have happened which you may not know about."

  She recognized his expression. She had never known it to accompany happy news. “What's happened?"

  He filled her in on the murder of Julian Michaels, and his alliance with Arnold Wills and Harold Bennett.

  "So, I am not the only one who is suspicious about Jesus. I was beginning to wonder if somehow I was just missing something. I'm glad to know others share my concerns about him. I've felt like I've been in my own dimension, watching a cult of adoration building around Jesus while my own heart filled more and more with doubt."

  "There is more, Susan,” Ray said gravely. “Arnold Wills is pretty certain Pope Timothy was murdered ... that he did not die of natural causes as the Vatican reported."


  "Oh, no!” A tear came to her eye. “Timothy was not a bad man, Ray. He just forgot which God he was following. I always sensed sadness in him ... and kindness buried beneath his gruffness."

  "I personally never thought much of the sonofabitch myself.” Ray snorted. “I like MacArthur even less."

  "Yes, Cardinal MacArthur is mean to the core. He will thoroughly enjoy the power which comes with his new title."

  "Susan, your visit is quite timely. I was going to seek you out yet again. I have a favor to ask of you,” Ray said seriously.

  "You want me to get you an interview with Jesus."

  Ray laughed in surprise. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know that?"

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Just an intuition, Ray. I know what a news-horse you are, and if I were in your place, I would be asking the same thing."

  "Can you arrange it?"

  "I'll see what I can do. I have a feeling getting Jesus on camera in prime time will not be as difficult as you would think. He has been consolidating a lot of influence. If he is able to convert the devotion for him into a political support base, I think he will start to make moves independent of the administration."

  * * * *

  Ray considered this for a moment. He was validated by that. He had assessed the situation pretty much the same way as Susan was revealing it to him. It was clear Jesus was rapidly building a political power base. His ultimate purpose remained a mystery, however. That worried him greatly. Too much power in the hands of any one individual always led to trouble for the average person. History was riddled with eras of oppression at the hands of despots and demagogues. Was Jesus to be trusted simply because he was the presumed Son of God?

  Ray also saw constitutional struggles in the wind. He had often lamented how America had become a country of people who no longer had any emotional or intellectual ties to its roots ... to the very principles under which it had been created over two hundred twenty years ago. America was very susceptible to demagogues these days, as the legendary political survival of Crowley had demonstrated to many concerned citizens. He worried America was too eager to abandon its rights and freedoms because it felt its fate was now in the hands of the one and only Jesus. People, he sadly admitted to himself, want to be taken care of.