“Oh yes, dear daughter, you are the child of my loins, and what flows through me, flows through you too. So where were you hiding?”
The question seemed to momentarily halt Number One in her tracks, but she recovered quickly. “You are not the one asking questions,” Number One said firmly. “Those days are drawing to an end.”
“Why did you come here?” Cynthia asked.
“Just to be sure.”
“Sure of what, exactly?”
“Oh, just to be sure in my own mind,” Number One said as she stood up and smoothed her skirt down.
“You should be careful, girl. Whatever you might be thinking or planning, you should be very careful.”
“Oh I am, Mother,” Number One replied with a sparkle in her eyes. “I always am. After all, I did learn from the best. But rest assured, Mother, we have the same goals, the same cause despite perhaps our… differing methods.”
Cynthia stared at the young woman, trying to place her intentions but suddenly finding that she couldn’t read her own daughter. Had it always been this way, or was this a worrying new direction?
With that, she watched on as her daughter and heir turned on her expensive heels and exited with a slow walk, no doubt for her mother’s benefit, just to show that she wasn’t to be intimidated.
Once Cynthia was alone and sure that her daughter wasn’t lurking any longer in the hallway outside, she snatched up the wine glass and hurled it across the room, smashing it against the wall and staining the perfect paintwork there. It was a rare exhibition of anger and one that she only allowed herself because she was unobserved.
The fact was that she didn’t know what else was out there and that concerned her deeply. She wasn’t used to not being in control and she was most definitely not enjoying this one little bit.
She forced herself to slow down and regain control over her breathing.
Her plans were coming to fruition; she’d had multiple victories and her enemies were scattered to the winds and on the run. She’d turned heroes into villains and herself into a martyr. The public were now actively part of the hunt, and she was confident that the authorities would be operating on a shoot-to-kill policy.
She had almost won, and victory was in sight now, but there was still the nagging fear of the unknown. Something was moving in the dark, hiding in the shadows and out of her sight.
While she was able to allow the situation to be shaped in her favour – after all, the government were now more certain than ever to kill her enemies for her following the attack on the prime minister – it was not her doing and that worried her greatly.
She settled back into the sofa and closed her eyes, seeking the solitude of her own thoughts.
Retreating back into herself was always a great source of comfort. It was here that she did her best thinking and planning; it was here that she was able to focus fully and process her own journey, one that had been strange and still required some level of explanation.
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chapter 30
THE MISSING TIME – eight years ago
At some point, the all-consuming darkness gave way to blinding light, and Cynthia found herself woken from her slumber. It was an uncomfortable sensation to be dragged out of her sleep and not one that she welcomed.
“Let me sleep,” she spoke into the white, her words travelling on, seemingly for miles without finding a boundary.
The emptiness was a great void, but she had yet to ascertain if it was an empty one.
“I’m tired, let me sleep,” she whispered into nothingness.
“Time for sleeping’s over,” a voice called back to her.
The voice had no shape or form, no mouth to speak through, not even a body to carry its sound. Cynthia didn’t know if it was real, her imagination or even herself doing the double duty.
“But I’m tired.” She sighed heavily.
“Tired is as tired does,” the voice answered without much sense.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What does these days?”
“That doesn’t mean anything either,” she snapped, exasperated at the voice and the fact that it had stirred her from a sound deep sleep, one that had been well earned.
“ Time’s a-wasting! Places to go, people to see, wrongs to right, and a whole new world to build.”
“I’ve already tried.”
“And failed, I see.”
That remark moved her thoughts from irritated to anger.
“Hey, I did more than anyone else!” She bit. “I didn’t see anyone else stepping up to stop them, to stop him.”
“But you failed.”
“Maybe. Hell, maybe I did, so what?”
“So nothing, or maybe it’s so everything.” The voice chuckled and Cynthia’s anger slipped up another notch and she awoke a little more despite her best efforts to stay in the peaceful arms of the void.
“I tried. I tried to serve God when no one else would. I tried to stand when the whole stinking world sank to its knees and stayed there worshipping a false god!” Her voice was rising towards a shout now, and her anger dragged her further out of the void and into a waking state of life, one that she had no interest in, not anymore… well, maybe not.
“Yes, yes you did,” the voice agreed. “You have loyalty and you have faith, my child, more perhaps than anyone before you. ‘Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God.’”
“John 5:5,” she responded recognising the quote.
“‘For we walk by faith, not by sight.’”
“Corinthians 5:7. What are you?” she asked the voice.
“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.’”
“Matthew 21:22. Who are you?”
“‘Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.’”
Cynthia listened to the words and thought of her father and his preaching. She found a comfort in the words and the tones, a comfort that felt like home.
“Father?” she asked.
“Am I not all of your fathers?” the voice enquired, with seemingly genuine curiosity.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Is it my place to provide them?”
“You speak in riddles,” she said, exasperated.
“Isn’t life a riddle? Just one great big giant riddle?”
“What is this place?”
“Home, for now at least.”
“Whose home? Mine or yours?”
“Are we really so different?”
“There you go with the riddles again.” Cynthia sighed. “Maybe I’m just talking to myself.”
“Only way to get a sensible conversation.” The voice chuckled.
“Maybe I’m dead and this is hell.”
“Hell?”
“Purgatory?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“You’re impossible!”
“Some people would certainly agree.”
Cynthia would have rolled her eyes if she had eyes to roll, of course. Here in the white, she was a beam of light, a floating sheet of nothingness drifting on the winds of nowhere.
It was a pleasant place, a restful place, an empty place, that was at least until recently.
She had been sleeping and resting, resting and sleeping. Her life had been long and tiring. Her mission had been all-consuming, a pursuit that had fallen upon her, a cause that she had been chosen for. A hand from the heavens had been placed upon her shoulders and she had not turned away. But her crusade had come to an end and her fight was done. Let someone else raise the flag and fly it; she was done.
“I’m done. My time is over and passed,” she said aloud, reiterating her own thoughts.
“That’s not your call,” the voice replied as if reading her mind.
“Excuse me?”
“Your life is not yours, child. It never was.”
“I don’t accept th
at.”
“It matters not what you choose to accept.”
“It matters to me.” She pouted.
“There is a wider picture, child; there always has been and you know that. Your father knew that, and he taught you the way; he showed you the path and you walked it, child. You walked it strong.”
“Well I’m done walking it.”
“You are never done walking and you are never done serving.”
“Serving who? An empty voice in the white? You don’t even have a body. Who are you to tell me what’s what?”
“‘We have been made right in God’s sight by faith; we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.’”
“So you know a few bible quotes… so what?”
“It’s not everyone that has had a bestseller written about them.” She could tell the voice was smiling.
“Oh…, I see. Now you’re God? Is that it?”
“Maybe, baby.” The voice chuckled back.
“You are not God.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
“But how?”
“Because… because I know what God sounds like.”
“Oh really? So you've spoken to him before then? Chatted away on the phone, shared recipe tips, gossiped about the soaps, discussed the weekend’s big sporting event results?”
“I know God,” she stated firmly.
There was a long pause before the voice spoke again.
“Maybe you do; maybe you know his will, maybe you knew his will, but maybe you’re now lost, child.”
“I’m dead.”
“Nothing lasts forever.”
“I thought death did?”
“Not necessarily.”
“More riddles.”
“Well how about a little straight talk then? How about a little more path walking? How about you rise up and return to the battlefield? The war is far from over, my child, and your services are still required. There is still a war to be won.”
“In your name?” she asked dubiously.
“Is there any other?”
“Why me?”
“Because I choose you, Cynthia. You come from a long line of warriors, a proud lineage willing to stand up and fight for the cause.”
“Your cause?”
“It’s the only cause in town.”
“Didn’t I do my part?”
“Ah, baby, it’s only half time. Besides, we’ve still got a whole second half to play yet, and trust me, that’s plenty of time to mount a comeback.”
“But… I was so tired.”
“No, no you’re not, not anymore. You've been sleeping for a long time now, child. You are slept and rested, you are powered up and ready to return to the fray. The stadium is full and the crowd is excited; can you hear them, Cynthia?”
She listened and she could, a faint mass of voices off beyond the white and closing in.
“Can you hear their voices? Can you hear their cheers? That’s all for you, child. The ground is shaking now, the rumble of feet stomping on the bleachers.”
She could hear them all now. The sound was all around them, millions of souls packed into a never-ending stadium, and they were all calling her name.
“They cheer for you, Cynthia. There is no sin in taking pride in your work, in your life, in your position at my side.”
The white was now full of rapturous support, her name being screamed from the rafters, an endless stream of cheers and screams all pledging their undying and unending support for her. She felt them fill her up until her very soul felt like it would burst with their love.
“Your work is not done yet, child, and the battle is not won. It’s time to get back in the game.”
The white suddenly rose in intensity until the light was screaming blind and burning bright. It was a long way out and seemed to take an age for her to find an exit, but eventually she did and she slipped out into the world again, reborn.
For a while it took her eyes time to adjust, but slowly, ever so slowly, they began to open and everything came back into focus.
She was lying on a long metal table and she sat up slowly; her head was spinning and so was the room around her.
The great white around her now was a large open space. There were multiple windows, all of which were floor to ceiling, and the entire place was surrounded by a thick snowy landscape outside.
She was dressed in white scrubs. She slid off the table and stood barefoot on a white tiled floor. She had no recollection of ever coming to this place before or even where she was.
There was a long desk that took up the entire far side of the room and it was laden with boxes and files. There was a computer and monitor sitting there, but it looked far more futuristic than anything she’d ever seen before.
She crossed to the stacks and stacks of information and started to quickly scan through it to try and get a grip on what she was looking at.
Her first thought was to wonder just how long she’d been gone, given the computer’s space-age look; her second thought was that she was sitting on a goldmine.
Havencrest was the last thing that she remembered, the last place and the last time that she could picture herself actually being here. That had ended in defeat when the whole place had been destroyed and herself along with it.
She remembered trying to destroy her enemy, the false god along with his minions. She had been willing to pay the ultimate price for the ultimate victory, but as she started to read through reams and reams of information, she quickly understood that her failure had been absolute.
None of her enemies had been burned in the fire; only those who walked the path had perished, thanks to the devil’s ungodly tricks.
Day became night and then day again as she read. She never moved from her stool and never stopped. Every minute that went by and every word that she read only fuelled the building fire inside her.
By the time the second morning had dawned, she had begun to understand what she had at her hands. Everything that she needed was here in front of her. There were resources both financial and material, but the information before her was truly priceless.
Time had passed since she had last been here, according to some of the most recent newspaper articles – almost 15 years to be exact. 15 years had somehow slipped by since she’d been taken off the field but now she was back.
Eventually, she stood up and backed away from the desk. She arched her back, and despite the fact that she had essentially been immobile for the better part of 48 hours, she felt fine. There was no stiffness or aching, which surprised her, especially given the fact that she was apparently around 15 years older than when she’d last been here.
A thought suddenly occurred to her, and even though there were no visible mirrors in the room, there were plenty of shiny metallic cabinets on the walls.
She crossed to one and stared deeply into it. Despite her reflection being warped and bowed by the metal surface, she could have sworn that she didn’t look a day older than the last time she gazed upon her own visage 15 years ago.
She took the reflection as a sign of a gift from God. She felt energised, renewed, strong and powerful. She had slept for far too long, and while the world had moved on, the devil still lived amongst the sheep.
The voice in the white was right: it really was time to get back in the game
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chapter 31
PLANNING DEPARTMENT
Brian Dennison hurled the phone against the wall and took no little satisfaction in seeing it break apart upon impact.
The bloody thing hadn’t stopped ringing since first thing this morning, and he was sick and tired of sending it to voicemail. The aide part of his brain still found it impossible to switch the thing off.
His phone had been an extension of his own body
for more years than he cared to remember, an extension of his personality, one that he’d thought he couldn’t live without.
Being the personal aide to the prime minister meant that he had to be available 24 hours a day. By now, everyone in the government knew that all things flowed through him; he was the gateway to the man in the big chair, and he had enjoyed the power which that had given him. The problem, of course, was that while power was desirable, it didn’t pay the bills.
His salary was meagre enough, especially when compared to what he could make in the private sector. Added to the fact that his boss’ position was tenuous at best, and given the fickle waves of the public’s opinions, it was hard to make any kind of retirement plans.
The money that Cynthia Arrow had offered him seven years ago was enough to set him up for the rest of his life.
At the time, he hadn’t known where the money was coming from or even whom he was working for, but then again, Simon Clermont was merely a prospect at that point. It was only looking back now that he realised just how long a game Cynthia had been playing.
At first, when Clermont had started to make waves and move up the political ladder, he had been terrified about the day when Cynthia would come calling for her payment, but that day hadn’t come.
Years had gone by without him hearing from her, right up until he started to forget that he’d ever made a deal in the first place. Slowly she became just a memory of a sordid deal he’d made long ago, right up until almost eight months ago when she’d reappeared.
On the face of it, her request was simply to help Clermont win the election while whitewashing her own reputation in the process.
In his eyes, he had only enabled Cynthia to use her influence and money to actually help Clermont. As far as he could see, or at least as far as he’d convinced himself, he was helping his boss by stacking the deck of the election in his favour.
He was helping the country by providing them with the best possible leader, whether they knew it or even wanted it.
As for Cynthia’s own past, who even remembered it anymore? The SOUL war had been so long ago that many voters at the upcoming election had little to no knowledge of the events outside of a history class, and who was to say what really happened anymore?
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