The Ether

by Laurice Elehwany Molinari

  Vero gave her a curious look.

  “You really should pay closer attention during Sunday school,” Clover grinned.

  “I saw him in my dream too,” Vero said.

  “Why do you think we got to see him?” Clover asked.

  “I don’t know. But something tells me we’ll know why someday.”

  “Are you sure? Because even though I see all these things . . . sometimes it just doesn’t make any sense,” Clover said. “Sometimes I’m not sure of anything.”

  “Can you see the wind?” Vero asked.

  “What?”

  “Can you see the wind?” Vero asked again.

  “No.”

  “But it topples trees, moves oceans, shapes mountains, and even holds birds up in flight. You can feel it, and you can hear it. And even though you can’t see it, Clover, you know it’s there.”

  Clover understood that he was talking about God. She nodded and then looked up at the night sky — a sky full of endless wonder.

  “Is it as wonderful as they taught us in Sunday school?”

  “I haven’t been to heaven yet,” Vero smiled. “But from what I’ve seen so far, wonderful doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  Tack came barreling through the gym doors.

  “Hey, you two! There’s a dance going on in there!”

  “We know,” Clover said, rolling her eyes.

  “And I promised to save a slow dance for you,” Tack said with a wink.

  “In your dreams, Tack!” she said.

  Vero pulled Clover aside and whispered, “Don’t forget . . . around us, dreams have a way of coming true.”

  Clover’s eyes went wide. Then a car horn blared next to them as Nora and Dennis pulled into the school parking lot.

  “Sorry, Tack. Ten o’clock curfew. No dance tonight,” Clover said with definite glee.

  “Ah, man! Why do your parents always have to be on time?”

  As they walked over to the car, Nora rolled down her window. “If you hurry, we might be able to get in a game of pajama Twister before bed,” she said.

  “Yes!” Tack shouted, punching his fist in the air, and he broke into a sprint for the car.

  “They are so embarrassing,” Clover said to Vero.

  Vero smiled. He was determined to savor every single embarrassing moment.

  “Race you!” Vero said.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wish to personally thank the following people for their contributions that were so helpful in creating this book:

  For my husband, Chris, who majorly helped me to define the angelic realm of The Ether . . . he was my story consultant, sounding board, and enthusiastic supporter from day one.

  For my daughter, Grace, the best little reader in the City of Angels, who devoured each chapter as I wrote it. And for my son, Luke, from whom I gleaned many of Vero’s and Tack’s youthful characteristics.

  For my mother, Joan Elehwany, who encouraged me as a child to tell stories, especially during long road trips. And for my brothers, David and Michael, who had no choice but to listen to them.

  For my Hollywood screenplay manager and friend, David Greenblatt, whose years of support and sage advice have greatly inspired my writings.

  For my brother-in-law and attorney, Guy N. Molinari, who gave generously of his time and considerable talents.

  For Larry A. Thompson, book packager and producer extraordinaire, who originally read the manuscript and shepherded The Ether to market.

  For my wonderful agents at DMA, Jan Miller and Nena Madonia, whose enthusiasm and constant encouragement was a true blessing for this neophyte novelist.

  And for the wonderful folks at Zondervan, especially my editor, Kim Childress, whose continual guidance, advice, and support helped transform The Ether from manuscript to novel.

  Thank you, one and all. Your help and assistance has been a true Godsend.

  Check out this exclusive bonus chapter from the next Ether novel, Pillars of Fire, available January 2015!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The moon hid itself in the night sky, providing no light to the forest below. The woods were dark and deadly still—not even the music of the evening crickets could be heard. The air was thick and heavy as black smoke wafted through the trees. The silence was broken by the sounds of screeching birds and wooded animals as they desperately fled and crashed through the underbrush. Something was not right.

  Deep within the heart of the forest, a fire burned, creating the smothering air. A shadowy figure sought the warmth of that unnatural fire, slowly approaching the burning embers, maneuvering around trees and rocks with the agility of a serpent.

  The figure was a woman, and behind her trailed a carpet of black, coarse hair that was revealed by the dancing flames as it weaved its way over the craggy ground, longer than a hundred wedding trains sewn together.

  When the woman reached the fire, she dropped to her knees in reverence. As she leaned toward the flames, her face became illuminated, and the wrinkles running from her chin to her forehead and ear to ear appeared like deep crevices in earth’s surface. She looked to be thousands of years old.

  “I am listening, my prince,” the grotesque hag spoke to the sharp, reddish-orange blaze before her. Her voice sounded like the screech of a hundred owls shrieking at once.

  “Our time runs short.” The fire gave voice, the flames rising and falling with the intensity of its sound. “The others have disappointed me. But you shall not.”

  A white-tailed buck unknowingly sniffed at fallen leaves that lay beneath a portion of the long hair.

  “Is the young angel the one?” the hag asked.

  “His identity will be become obvious during the trials. Then we will know with certainty,” the inferno answered, its tone equally matched with menace and coldness. “He cannot live.”

  Without warning, the end of the hair chain rose up. The buck’s eyes went wide with alarm when the hair coiled itself around its body. The deer lost the ability to breathe as the hair strangled it. Within seconds, the buck was completely encased by the hair, swallowed whole, then disappeared.

  “I see you are hungry for fresh souls,” the fire said. “And this one will be the prize of all prizes. You will no longer have to feed off the creatures of the forest.”

  “I will do as my prince commands,” the hag said. The fire cast shadows against the thick clusters of trees, creating the illusion that the tangled branches were moving of their own volition. And perhaps they were. “He will not live.”

  She stood up and turned to leave, the hair moving with her. The blaze called out to her, “Do you loathe me?”

  The ancient woman stopped and spun back around to face the fire—her eyes, hollow.

  “I despise everything He has created. So you are no different.”

  Pleased with her answer, the fire let out a haughty laugh as the ugly hag disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

  Vero Leland stood with his back up against the stark wall. His ever-changing grey eyes nervously scanned the room looking for things that could hurt him. There were long needles and razor-sharp scissors and something that looked like a scalpel on the counter. Vero was scared. Yet he was more frightened that the paper gown he was wearing would open and expose his backside. He tightly clutched the opening shut.

  “Sit down. You’re going to rip the gown,” his mother, Nora, told him. “Really, Vero, you’re too old to be so afraid of the doctor.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s getting a shot. Look at those needles on the counter!” Vero shouted.

  “I’m sure they’re not all for you.”

  Tenderness came into Nora’s eyes as she gazed upon her son.

  “I remember your very first set of shots like it was yesterday. You were so tiny. When the doctor pricked you, you cried and cried. Then I joined in,” Nora said, tearing up. “It broke my heart. The doctor thought I took it harder than you.”

  “Knock it off, Mom.” Vero rolled his eyes.
“You’re gonna embarrass me.”

  “No more embarrassing than a knobby knee thirteen-year-old boy in a paper dress,” Nora replied with a hurt look.

  “Well, it’s just that I’m old enough to get my physical by myself. You don’t need to be in here with me.”

  “But I’ve always taken you to your physical.”

  “You say you want me to take on more responsibility,” Vero stated in his defense.

  “What if the doctor has questions and you can’t answer them?”

  “Then I’ll come find you in the waiting room. I’m not a baby.”

  Nora looked at Vero. She knew he was right, but it was so hard to let go. Nora had always struggled to give Vero more independence. She feared for him more than for her daughter. Thirteen years later, she would still wake up in a cold sweat after nightmares in which she relived the night of Vero’s arrival. The night she found Vero abandoned in the hospital. The night a figure in a dark robe chased her through a grocery store while she clutched Vero to her chest. The night she so desperately wanted to shake from her memory, but knew she never would.

  “Hello, Vero,” the doctor said as he walked into the room, snapping Nora out of her thoughts. “How’s my medical wonder doing?”

  Dr. Walker had known Vero all his life, but he really only saw Vero once a year for his physical because Vero rarely got sick. Nora had brought Vero to see him a few times to discuss how to put more weight on him, but other than that, Vero never saw the doctor.

  Nora stood up and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be out in the waiting room if you need me,” she said.

  “You’re not staying?” the doctor asked.

  “No, he can handle himself.”

  Vero smiled gratefully. Taking one last look at her son, Nora slipped out, leaving him alone with the white-haired doctor.

  “So, Vero, how is everything?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “You feeling okay? Any complaints?” Dr. Walker asked as he listened to Vero’s heart with his stethoscope.

  “No.”

  “Breathe.”

  The doctor checked Vero’s lungs as Vero sucked in deep breaths. Dr. Walker smiled to him.

  “Very nice. So how’s your back?

  His question threw Vero.

  “Oh, um … my back?”

  “Your mother called a while ago, said you were complaining it hurt?”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, they bought me a new mattress, and then it cleared up.”

  Vero felt bad about the lie, but there was no way he could tell him the truth. That all his back pain had completely disappeared the first time he had sprouted his wings. That it had been nothing more than guardian angel growing pains.

  “Let’s check your vision. Put your hand over your left eye and read the chart.”

  Vero covered his eye and read the chart hanging on the other side of the room.

  “E, F, P, T, O, Z …” he shouted out.

  “Just read the lowest line you can see clearly,” Dr. Walker interrupted.

  Vero squinted as his eye scanned down the chart. When he reached the last line, the letters came into focus.

  “I can make out the last line. F, E, A …” he read aloud. “R, M, E.”

  “Nope, you got every letter wrong,” Dr. Walker told him. “Try the line above it.”

  “But I see ’em clearly.”

  “Remove your hand and read it with both eyes.”

  Vero dropped his hand. His eyes stared intently at the last line.

  “F, E … A, R, M, E,” Vero confidently blurted out.

  Dr. Walker quickly scribbled something on his prescription pad and tore it off.

  “Here’s a prescription to see an eye doctor,” he said as he handed it to Vero.

  “But I’m sure I’m reading them right!”

  Vero walked over to the eye chart and stuck his face right up to it.

  “See? I’m right. Look. F, E, A, R, M, E.”

  “Not are you only nearsighted, you’re also farsighted.”

  Then it hit Vero. The letters, F, E, A, R, M, E—they spelled out Fear me! He was getting a message that the doctor could not see—a message from the Ether. Fear me? Who was threatening him? It had been several months since he had heard anything from the Ether. And he missed it. Vero longed for the vast fields full of wildflowers, with colors so bright he had to shield his eyes. He longed for the warmth of the Ether’s eternal light. And he so badly wanted to sprout his wings and soar into the Ether’s brilliant blue sky.

  Fear me. A chill ran through Vero, because he knew that not everything in the Ether was good.

  “Any questions, Vero?” Dr. Walker asked.

  “No,” Vero answered, relieved that there was no mention of any shots.

  “Then I’ll see you next year,” the doctor said on his way out. “You can get dressed.”

  After the door shut, Vero reached down to grab his clothes off the chair. As he untied the thin plastic belt from around his waist, a nurse knocked then entered without waiting for a response. Vero quickly spun around. His hand instinctively pulled the back of the gown shut, hiding his backside.

  “Time for your shot,” the nurse announced.

  “But Dr. Walker didn’t say I needed one!” Vero panicked.

  “They never like to deliver bad news,” the nurse answered. “They make us nurses be the bad guys. Sorry, sweetie.”

  Vero looked at the woman. Even though she gave him a smile, Vero saw it was forced. That she wasn’t really all that sorry for what she was about to do to him. That perhaps after years of dealing with screaming scared kids, her sympathy turned to indifference or worse—annoyance. He got up on the examination table. As the nurse rubbed down his arm with an alcohol swab, Vero swallowed hard. Now that he was a teenager, he would put on a brave face and take his shot without incident. But secretly he regretted sending his mom out to the waiting room. He wished she were there to hold his hand.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” the nurse said in a flat voice. “Hold still.”

  Vero looked into her eyes for reassurance, but found none. Instead, he saw red. Glowing little flecks of red. He knew what those flecks meant. He’d seen them many times before. He became alarmed.

  The nurse gripped his arm, ready to shove the needle into it, when Vero jumped up from the examination table. He grabbed whatever he could find on the counter to defend himself. Vero looked down into his hand—a stethoscope! It would be about as much help as the Q-Tips that had been lying next to it.

  “Tell us who it is!” the nurse yelled as she backed him into a corner.

  “Who are you?” Vero screamed.

  She growled, exposing crooked, rotted teeth, then lunged at Vero. He rolled underneath her legs, getting away. But there was no time to catch his breath. The nurse spun and wildly jabbed the syringe at Vero, trying to stab him with it. He fell back onto the examination table. As the needle came straight between his eyes, he picked up a pillow and blocked it.

  “Tell us which one of you it is!” she commanded.

  Vero bolted to the door when she flew onto his back. He felt the tip of the needle press against his neck. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it, thrusting the needle deep into her shoulder. He compressed the plunger, releasing whatever poisons lay inside. The nurse snarled her teeth while letting out a dying shriek. Vero turned his head and watched as she tumbled off his back onto the hard floor. He was breathing so heavily, Vero thought he’d pass out. But more importantly how was he going to explain the dead nurse, or whatever creature it was, lying in the middle of the room?

  As Vero stared at her, he noticed the stethoscope had fallen to the floor. He bent down and picked it up. He wanted to make sure she was totally dead, so he kneeled, put the earpieces into his ears, and held the other end to her heart. There was no heartbeat. Relief swept over him. But then he heard something … a faint sound came through the stethoscope. It was the distant sound of eerie laughter. It grew louder and louder. H
e yanked out the earpieces and chucked the instrument to the ground. He looked at the nurse. A smile was plastered on her face that hadn’t been there previously. Puffs of black smoke began to waft from her mouth.

  Vero backed away as the nurse’s body blackened, until she became a shadowy layer of black dust. Vero had seen enough. He ran out the door and raced down the hallway into the waiting room.

  He wanted to hug his mother so badly, to know that everything would be all right. So he could feel safe again. When he saw his mother casually leafing through a magazine, sitting in the crowded waiting room, Vero ran into her arms. Nora was caught off guard by his embrace. Parents and kids looked upon Vero with interest.

  “Vero, what’s wrong?”

  “The shot … they’re going to give me a shot,” he blurted out.

  Dr. Walker stood behind the appointment desk reading a patient’s file. He overheard.

  “No shot today, Vero. Your vaccines are all up to date.”

  Nora stared at Vero intently, then she said, “Come on, you need to get to school.”

  Vero let go of his mother, his fear dissipating.

  A five-year-old boy walked over to him, laughing and pointing. “You’re wearing a paper dress,” he said.

  Vero turned beet red.

  “And I can see your underwear.”

  Vero hid behind his mom.

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