Destiny's Gate

by Lee Bice-Matheson

  The grandfather clock chimed four times announcing it was four o’clock. My grandparents insisted it was time to open the gifts. I actually thought to myself, who needs gifts, but the little kid inside ignored me. I was appointed ‘the gift giver’ so I handed each one of us — Hanna, mom, dad, grandma and grandpa — a present, before choosing one for myself. I knelt beside the Christmas tree, admiring the beautiful decorations adorned by grandma in the colour scheme of gold, then insisted on taking a cell phone picture of everyone smiling. It was the gift that would last a lifetime.

  Finally after much cajoling, I picked out a tiny, red gift box with a gold bow and tag, inscribed with PAM. I was shocked, as I had not been called that name in years. In fact, the last time I remembered it, I was ten and a childhood friend insisted on it. It was the acronym for my full name, Paige Alexandra Maddison. I looked curiously at mom, then dad, and back to the present. They urged me to open it. It was a red velvet lined box with a silver key inside.

  I was speechless as I held the key. While contemplating what is was used for, dad became impatient and grabbed my hand. He led me hastily to the front door. Lo and behold, in the driveway, was a sweet ride — a royal blue metallic, convertible, Volkswagen Cabriolet, with a hard top. I squealed with delight.

  “It’s time you had your own set of wheels, Paige. You’ve proven your maturity and we think it’s time you had a little independence. Aren’t you happy you got your license on your sixteenth birthday, as soon as you were eligible?” Dad laughed and pulled me towards him for a bear hug. Mom rushed to the foyer and joined in. He added, “The hard top is for the harsh winters we endure.” His eyes glistened as he pulled away.

  “We thought you should know, Paige. This was one of Dexter’s last projects. Dexter worked nightly on it and kept us updated by texts,” mom added. “He really wanted to participate in this special gift by repainting the original lemon yellow to the royal blue. I guess he thought it’s your favourite colour?”

  It was the coolest car I had ever seen, and when I ran outside and checked out the tan interior seats through the marginally tinted windows, I was elated. Tan seats do not attract the heat in the summer months as much as black seats, a pet peeve of mine. I was thrilled and felt extremely grown-up that they entrusted a car to me. Then, boom, it hit me in the gut. What a painful realization, as it saddened me to remember, once again, Dexter was dead. I found it hard to swallow, as a lump formed in my throat. I sat in the driver’s seat and ran my fingers along the leather steering wheel. A smile came over me. Imagine Dexter’s parting gift to me was this car, and his dog, well, Trixie, my new friend. It was overwhelming and I cried sappy tears, which translated, means sad and happy tears. Regaining my composure, I entered the manor and said, “How can I ever thank you for this, mom and dad. It’s the best gift ever!”

  We rejoined everyone in the living room and grandma piped up, “Isn’t it great, Paige? Now you can explore more of the Camlachie area and get to school on time.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  Grinning from ear to ear, I flopped down onto the couch and said, “Yes, it is. I am so grateful this Christmas, and especially for all of you.”

  So much had happened, lately, and looking back over the last several months, it felt like I had been on a monster roller coaster of a ride. I wanted to scream and release the tension I knew had been brewing. Was I supposed to handle all of these grave situations by myself? And then, barely noticeable at first, a light in the corner of the room grew bigger and brilliant, the longer I stared at it. I must be losing my mind. The warmth from the light enfolded me and I felt safe. It was yet another reminder that I was not alone in this struggle against evil, and to have faith! Mom noticed my silence and suggested I lie down before Christmas dinner, as it was going to be quite a feast. She let it slip that she had prepared her special turkey stuffing with onions, celery and secret spices. Grandma had baked her famous pecan and pumpkin pies, and Hanna decided to make a new casserole that Peggy had passed on to her — broccoli and creamed corn bake, as well as garlic mashed potatoes, and last but not least, the turkey. I headed back to my room aware Trixie followed a short distance behind. I fell into the bed, closed my eyes and was comforted to know she was watching my back.

  Before my nap, I saw the same bright light over by my bedroom window and smiled, knowing I was safe on this special day. My dreams were fluid and ran one into the next. I dreamt I was floating amongst the clouds, speaking to an angel, and she was instructing me on how to protect myself on the earthly plane. I knew I had listened intently, but when I awoke, there was no memory of what she had said. I hoped I would remember later. Leaning my head over the edge of the bed, I noticed that Trixie had vanished. A slight feeling of panic stirred, until I heard her out in the hallway. I could not figure out if she was coming or going.

  Closing my eyes, I drifted back to sleep. In the next dream, Peggy spoke to me and as much as I tried, I could not hear what she was saying. She looked distraught and pointed frantically at something, over and over again. Try as I might, I could not see what it was that she was warning me about. I tried to turn my head and found it impossible.

  Again, I dreamily awoke and heard clicking noises. When I became more conscious, the sounds emanated from the hallway. Breaking into a cold sweat, I was at my wits end until I saw Dexter entering the room. He walked over to me, put his hand on my forehead and drew the sign of a cross and vanished. I fell peacefully back to sleep.

  In the fourth and final dream, I was up on the ridge overlooking the estate on a clear, sunny day. It was the place where I felt most invincible. It was a spiritual place to me, and I smiled as I heard Conall and Mackenzie chatting, until they noticed me standing behind them. They stopped talking and hugged me fiercely. It was wonderful. Their mother, the angel, hovered above us. She touched my head, and a warmth flowed down throughout my body; I was filled with a glorious, positive energy when my eyes popped open.

  Christmas dinner was definitely in the works as I smelled the turkey vapours wafting down the hallway into my room. I was starving and bounded into the washroom to freshen up. I dressed in my red jeans, and red and black blouse that mom had picked up for me while on her travels. My attire reflected my hope and passion for the season.

  Walking into the dining room, it was refreshing to see everyone seated around the table dressed for the specialness of the day, with bright smiles on each face. Any negative memories were suspended, for the time being. Positive thoughts and laughter was the best medicine for this tortured soul, yet I could not help but wonder how long this would last.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Trust Your Gut

  Boxing Day sales in Canada were awesome. It was a tradition mom introduced me to when I was thirteen years old. Initially, I thought it was more of a pain than anything, cavorting with crowds of people bumping into each other, in order to find a super cheap deal for the one item they thought they needed most. However, I began to appreciate the time spent with mom, and the laughs and chuckles we would have about the personalities that nudged into our paths. We set out by nine that morning, and talked excitedly about Christmas, and how much fun it was with the family. Then our conversation grew serious.

  “Peggy was instrumental to my spiritual development as a teen. Of course, Peggy was much younger then, and quite a risk taker; nothing could get her spirit down. Living on the estate, I sensed eyes upon me and never felt truly alone. Sometimes I wondered if it was normal living as I did, though I accepted it as my normal. One day, I walked along the road after school and was urged to take an alternate route. I wondered why, until later that day when I overheard my parents talking about a terrible accident on the very road I normally followed and had left to walk through the forest home to O’Brien Manor. A drunk driver hit two acquaintances of mine from school, same grade, walking along the gravel road on the curve I had detoured from. Bang, and they were gone. The truck took them both out. Peggy explained that a spi
rit urged me to leave the road.”

  It was such a sad story but mom had made her point. I admitted, “Mom...that’s happened to me too!”

  Before I could add anything further, she jumped in and reiterated, “Always trust your gut instinct.”

  We did not talk much during the remainder of the trip to the mall, as traffic had increased. I felt nauseated and a bit dizzy as we drove up, and noticed the mall parking lot was full; two football field-sized lots, full. Wonderful! Mom must have sensed my anxiety as she reminded me of the elderly lady we had helped the year before that took a tumble, when her purse strap became snagged on a steel post, tugging her backwards, as she walked away. I recalled catching her just before she fell to the ground and broke any bones. Although she could have experienced a serious injury, it was a funny sight to see — the elderly lady broke out into hysterical laughter. It was quite surprising actually. Remembering the incident, I immediately felt a sense of relief.

  Mom parked across the street from the mall in a partially empty lot and jested, “Remember, Paige, we only buy what we need.”

  I took a few deep breaths and managed a weak smile in return.

  Walking through the revolving door at the mall entrance, I lost my breath fleetingly. However, I did not sense anything out of the ordinary as I looked at the people milling about inside. Later on I did recall an odd, short, middle aged man with round glasses, standing inside the doors, his back half turned, as if holding something he did not want anyone to see.

  Mom and I walked arm in arm into the main hallway. It was jammed with hundreds of shoppers. I already regretted not wearing my lighter winter jacket, as I was heating up from so many bodies.

  Mom was thrilled when she found a frilly white blouse, good for any suit, as she described it. Then it was my turn, I spied some green Guess jeans on sale for a third of the regular price in exactly my size and was elated. We soon decided to go our separate ways since shopping would be easier in single file.

  I marched into Margaret’s Gift Shop filled with items from around the world and found an engraved, handcrafted marble box with the words “Live, Love, Laugh” etched on it. When I reached to pick it up, my hand brushed against a black, oblong stone; I quickly withdrew my hand as it felt as if the stone had burned me. The store manager, as indicated by his name tag, had been watching and when I looked at him in annoyance, he turned away to talk to one of his student staff members. I read the description of the stone: Praying Stone found locally. I carefully picked up the box from the opposite side and carried it to the check-out.

  “Watch what you touch in this store,” the student said quietly. “For someone as sensitive as you, it could be harmful.” He cut short our conversation as the owner walked over and informed his assistant he would cash me out.

  “How long have you been gifted?” the manager pried. He stared at me awaiting a reply that I was not willing to give.

  “I am not sure what you mean.”

  He ignored my response and continued, “The stone you touched was uncovered at a nearby estate. You may have heard of it? O’Brien Manor?” His eyes seemed penetrating.

  Feeling hot and extremely uncomfortable, I denied any knowledge and responded, “Never heard of it. Can I please buy my gift now? My mom and I are in a hurry.” Could he be reading my mind?

  “Sure. Here you go,” he said and grunted as he placed my purchase in an eco-friendly paper bag. I noticed he had slipped something else inside the bag.

  Searching for mom, I bravely negotiated the hall packed with shoppers. In the meantime, I explored inside the bag, cutting my index finger along the nail on a business card. Yeow. The card had a man’s name, Edgar Allan, printed on the front of it, and on the back was a handwritten message: You are in danger. Call me right away!

  First of all, how did he know I was gifted? And second of all, I have my own circle of friends to confide in, thank you very much. His services were not needed. I threw the card in a trash can before reconnecting with mom who hugged me on sight and oozed excitement as she explained how thrilled she was that she had found two crystal candle holders for her parents and a flashy red tie for dad. I feigned interest but was relieved when she announced that it was time to return to the estate.

  As we headed out the same entrance we came in, I noticed the middle-aged man was still loitering in the corner; he winked at me. I was disgusted by his gesture. As we crossed the road to our car, I had a vision of the man in his home surrounded with mountains of junk. He was a hoarder. It gave me the willies.

  I talked to mom about my vision in the car, and she commented, “Paige, sometimes we are shown details about a person and are not really sure why. We have a gift from Creator and He works in mysterious ways. Some people think it’s a gene passed on from generation to generation, especially in the Scottish world, our heritage. Others believe people who are psychic are evil, and talking to devious or foolish spirits. Our job is to assess what feels right, from a place of love, and to ignore anything else. For example, if you sense a warm, glowing feeling that envelops you, then it’s Creator, or an angel, if not, it’s pointless listening to lost souls, or paying attention to visions that seem random.”

  I thought to myself, sometimes you cannot ignore everything else, especially if it hurts you physically in some way. I figured out that mom did not know about spirit wolves or about me transitioning souls for that matter. Some lost souls can and want to be saved. I decided it was best to keep this fact to myself. As for the visions, this was still unclear to me.

  The next morning, dad announced he was taking our family on a road trip in my new car, with my permission, of course. I agreed, after all, he insisted on experiencing the car himself, to make sure it was safe.

  We drove north along Lambton Road, parallel to Lake Huron, enjoying our family time alone. On several stretches of the highway, the sun glistened on the lake, reflecting off the ice embedded along the coastline. There were several quaint villages along the highway, some with boutique type stores and marinas. Dad insisted on stopping in a town called Bayfield to get some fresh air, as he put it, and to look at the sailboats for sale. I knew he had always wanted to buy one but found them too expensive to own in the Toronto area. Unpredictably, mom decided they should find one of the sales team and take a closer look. Dad disappeared for awhile, as we walked around the marina. I noticed a man grabbing a ladder and setting it next to the rear of a sailboat — it was up on stilts; later, I learned it was called a cradle. The man proceeded to climb up and into the boat. I almost broke out laughing at the idea of walking on a boat in the middle of winter; it was crazy, until dad insisted we do the same.

  We toured three boats — all twenty-six feet in length: a Hughes, a C & C and a Tartan. Each boat had different advantages to their layout; mom went with her gut once she stepped onto the Hughes. It was love at first sight. She said it felt like it was ours already. It had a wide beam which enhanced the space in the cockpit and below in the sleeping quarters. There was an oversized V-berth at the bow of the boat housing the master bedroom, a head nestled below the bed — gross, but at least it had one — a teak wood galley with stove top and fridge, and a long single berth, tucked underneath the stairs and cockpit. Up top, there was plenty of space in the cockpit where you steer the boat, and at the front, or bow, there was ample room to lie down in the sunshine. It was a white sailboat named Mahalo — Hawaiian for hello, or thank you. An hour later, after credit verification and boat licensing, we owned the boat. The marina offered to store Mahalo until the spring and then have it shipped to a small marina close to Camlachie. I could not believe the spontaneity of my parents and pondered how in the world they would sail a boat this summer when they lived in Italy?

  Next, dad insisted we stop for a bite to eat and took us to the marina restaurant where we dined on turkey club sandwiches with the best maple bacon and tomato I had ever experienced. As I took my second bite, dad announced th
ey were moving home in June. I practically spit out my mouthful and was totally elated. What a Christmas present this was.

  We jumped into the car and drove her back to the estate. I beamed the whole way home and decided my new car would be named Lucille, wanting to mark this day in my memory forever. I could not wait to give the good news to my grandparents.

  Back at the manor, grandpa was visibly excited. “Did you tell her?” He took one look at me and continued, “Why of course, you did. You’re glowing, Paige. Isn’t it magnificent?”

  Despite feeling slighted for being the last to know, I hugged him dearly and began to cry. Selfishly, I was thinking that I was tired of being alone on the estate with family I had only met six months prior, and also of handling all of the bad happenings on the estate. Mom joined in on the hug and then turned to include her mother. Grandma, on the other hand, was frowning so much, her amber eyes blazed. Mom seemed not to notice, but I sure did.

  That night as I lay in bed suffering from insomnia once again, I rejoiced at how great it would be to have my parents back home at the manor with me. With mom living on the estate, there was nothing we could not fight together. I would have to ask her to help me with the supernatural battle, but how? Would I reveal to her every detail of what has happened, through all the events, on the estate? Or should I soften the flow of events and gain her trust in stages? What a dilemma to have at the age of seventeen. Aren’t parents supposed to fight the boogie monster? When did the change occur?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Otherworld

  The remainder of the holidays spent with my parents were joyful. Each day we discovered trails we had not set foot on before using our snowshoes gifted from my grandparents. It was the best gift to the three of us. The snow glistened as the sunshine reflected off it; sunglasses were a definite must. Breathing in the fresh air, tiny icicles formed on the hairs inside my nose and then quickly melted. We spied deer, and a fawn that looked like Bambi from the Disney movie, and a red fox. Dad prided himself on knowing all about the animals of the forest; on this day, mind you, one particular set of tracks had him bent down and studying them intently. As he straightened up, he had a puzzled look on his face. I could not read what he was thinking while he kicked snow on them. I shivered, as I hoped these were not the tracks from the black canines. We continued hiking towards the desolated cemetery.