by Linda Hawley
“Thank you, Sinéad,” I said quietly.
“I’m relieved you’re alive, Ann,” Sinéad told me.
“I’ve never heard her talk like that before.”
“Maybe she’s evolving,” he said seriously.
“How long’s he out?” I urgently whispered, nodding to Paul. I felt fearful of him.
“A few hours. I plunged in the full dose. He won’t harm you now,” Joe reassured me, rubbing my shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Ann. I’ve never had a subject come out of sedation that fast.”
“It’s okay.”
“How’s your neck feel?”
“Sore. What’s it look like?”
“It looks like someone tried to kill you. I can even see his handprints.”
Joe extended his good hand to help me up from my sitting position. I rose, standing, a little shaky. Then he pulled me to him in an embrace.
“You’re too valuable to the world for me to let anything happen to you,” he quietly spoke into my hair. “It was my fault. I should have given him another shot earlier.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said simply, pulling away from him to look into his face.
“I think I definitely screwed up here,” Joe said guiltily, with pain in his voice.
“I can heal,” I said, patting him on the chest.
I slowly moved away to walk towards the kitchen. I wobbled and nearly fell, and Joe caught me with his good arm.
“Whoa there. Let’s get you on the couch.”
“Not the couch,” I said, repulsed by the memory of Paul sitting there.
Joe deposited me in a lounge chair. I sat there in silence.
Joe went to the kitchen freezer and made himself an ice pack, then wrapped it around his broken finger.
“Wet cloth?” I asked Joe, trying to keep my talking to a minimum.
Joe brought the wet cloth over. I reached down to Lulu, who hadn’t left my side. I needed to clean her up.
“I never suspected,” I said quietly to Joe, as I cleaned the blood off Lulu’s fur. I couldn’t help the tears that fell from my eyes.
“He made you see what he wanted you to see,” Joe said, pulling up a chair to sit next to me. His eyes went to my neck. “You’ll have a nasty bruise across your neck. It almost looks like someone tried to hang you.”
My eyes snapped to him. “Just what I always wanted,” I said sarcastically.
Chapter 20
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2015
“We need to be silent until you get to the middle of the bay,” Joe said to me just before we entered the garage.
I nodded, then hugged him. “Thank you for everything.”
“Stay safe, Ann.”
I nodded, then looked back into the house sentimentally—viewing the home that had nurtured me.
“Thank you, Sinéad,” I said to my digital friend.
“You’re welcome, Ann. Stay safe,” she replied.
“I’ll do my best.”
Standing still for a moment, I looked over at Paul one last time. I was fleeing my house alive, no thanks to the man lying unconscious on my living room floor, bleeding into the rug. I turned with disgust away from him.
Joe, Lulu, and I entered the garage, I threw my bags in Joe’s van, and Lulu and I jumped in the back.
“I’ll be right back,” Joe said as he closed the back doors, sealing us in the van.
I opened one of my bags and pulled out my Helly Hansen sailing shoes and put them on. I could see through the driver’s side window that Joe entered the house again, and then as the garage door started to open for us, he opened the front car door and jumped in the driver’s seat. He had a smirk on his face.
Lulu and I sat in the back of Joe’s van without any windows; I couldn’t even see the house as we drove away for the last time. I hugged Lulu, grateful that she had protected me from Paul. She licked my neck, clearly aware of my injury.
“Good job Killer,” I whispered, as I ruffled her fur.
Twelve minutes later, we were parking in the Squalicum Harbor parking lot. Before we exited the van, Joe turned off all interior lights of the vehicle. It was late at night, and the marina was quiet. After Joe gave me the hand signal that we weren’t followed, he opened the driver’s door and then the barn doors in the back of the van to release us. Lulu started a low growl as Chow suddenly materialized out of thin air, startling me.
“Cease,” I told her quietly.
Chow put his hand on my arm to calm me. I guess I was a bit jumpy. He looked me over with a curious facial expression. We quickly grabbed my bags, and after entering the gate code, made our way down the gangway to the floating dock, on our way to Woohoo’s slip. There was a bit of wind on this dark, moonless night.
It’s gonna be a bit choppy out there.
When we reached the slip, I quickly unplugged the power cable charging the sailboat’s battery bank and threw the extension cord on-board, as Chow huddled with Joe, speaking very quietly. I assumed that Joe was filling Chow in on the interrogation.
After I boarded, Chow passed Lulu to me, and then he joined us. I opened the companionway door, and Lulu jumped down while Joe passed my bags to Chow, who stored them below deck. Chow emerged from the cabin with a handful of foul weather and safety gear for us both. He was also an experienced sailor, and knew we would have some chop coming out of the bay.
Sitting on the cockpit cushion, I primed the motor, and then flicked on the marine radio, turning to the channel for the harbormaster. After powering up the depth finder and navigation computer, I pushed the button starting the engine while Joe released the bow and aft lines, freeing the sloop into the night.
I briefly waved to Joe, saw him turn to leave, then put the Woohoo in reverse to back out of the slip, while Chow manned the docking pole to shove us off if I got too close to adjoining sailboats. As we cleared the slip, I shifted the engine forward and steered with the tiller towards the harbor entrance. I purposefully left the mast and running lights off as we motored slowly through the marina, to avoid notice. Chow and I took turns donning our foul weather gear, then strapped on the Sospender life jackets with built-in safety harnesses. I also put Lulu’s lifejacket on her, even though she was staying down below; I didn’t know what we would face this night. If the Woohoo heeled with rails in the water, and one of us went overboard, the life jacket would automatically inflate. As we reached the harbor entrance, I switched on the mast and running lights. With no contact from the harbormaster, we entered the harbor without any pursuers, and I opened the engine’s throttle.
As we entered Bellingham Bay, the wind was on our bow blowing 15 knots, creating four-foot swells in a chilly night air. The bay was known for this kind of behavior. I switched on the NOAA weather radio to listen to the forecast; if we were going to be in bad weather, I wanted some advanced notice to prepare. I gave a hand signal to Chow to close the companionway door, sealing Lulu in the cabin, to keep her safe and to keep us from sinking in case the weather worsened. It still burned my throat to speak.
Chow got Lulu settled below deck, popped up out of the cabin, then sealed it. He clipped two six-foot tethers from our harnesses to mast rings. If the sailboat suddenly heeled, it would likely prevent us from flying overboard. He looked down at his glowing dive watch, checked the time, then came to sit right next to me in the cockpit.
“You okay?” he asked me over the drone of the engine.
I nodded my head.
He leaned into me and spoke into my ear. “He got what he deserved,” he said flatly, just as I saw the orange explosion from my hill in Fairhaven out of the corner of my vision.
My head snapped to the neighborhood just as a second explosive fireball followed the first.
“Sinéad’s sacrifice for you,” he said into my hair.
“She blew the house?” I asked in shock, looking into Chow’s eyes.
“Joe wired her that way the day you moved in. Sinéad was programmed to protect you at all costs.”
Tears welled for my binary friend, and I quickly wiped one away, as I watched the yellow-orange blaze on the hill. My hand reflexively went to my neck, as I watched my home and car burn, with Paul inside.
Chapter 21
THE SAN JUAN ARCHIPELAGO
The Year 2015
As we motored to the leeward side of Lummi Island, into the Rosario Strait heading towards Patos Island, the adrenaline masking my emotions began to wash away in the wind and sea. Feeling sorrowful, I was grateful when Chow offered to take the tiller. Being on the leeward side of the island, the swells had lessoned considerably, which was a relief to us both. I rolled the interrogation events around in my mind as I sat in the cockpit facing him as we moved at six knots, the only sound being Woohoo’s motor.
There were no other vessels in sight, although our nav system showed some distant contact. As we passed Clark Island on our port side, I heard a whooshing sound off the starboard side, drawing my attention. Both our heads snapped instinctively in the direction of the sound as we popped up, looking into the dark night. Quickly, I raised the seat cushion I’d occupied, reached into the storage cabinet below, and retrieved two marine flashlights, handing one to Chow. Together we shined our lights to the starboard side of the Woohoo toward the sound, just as an Orca surfaced for air not ten feet from the vessel, spraying us, as we again heard the whoosh of air exhaling through its blowhole.
“Whoa,” I reacted, snapping my head back.
Chow laughed out loud.
As I wiped the spray from my eyes, I carefully held my light steady on the animal, only to discover that we were in the presence of an enormous pod of killer whales. I leaned around Chow and reduced the engine’s throttle just enough to keep us moving. With their dorsal fins proudly visible, I counted at least a dozen animals but knew that twice that number were likely under the surface. I knew that Orca families living in the San Juan’s have from seventeen to fifty individuals in each pod.
Just then, another whale surfaced right alongside the sailboat, making both of us reflexively step back away from the starboard rail. Chow and I looked at one another and smiled wide. It was a magical moment, turning a horrific night into a blessed event. The parade of Orcas continued with us for another five minutes, frolicking in our bow.
After the pod had passed, we throttled up the engine. We agreed to motor through the night, instead of releasing our sails, to maintain our anonymity while we sailed to our island rendezvous. Chow took the helm while I unhooked my harness and then went below with Lulu to rest.
In the cabin, I shed all my foul-weather gear. Calling Lulu up to the galley cushion, I removed her life jacket, and motioned for her to sleep there. After pulling the double sleeping bag from its waterproof sack, I rolled it out into the V-berth for myself. I was too emotionally exhausted to find pajamas to sleep in, so I pulled off my pants and shirt, then snuggled into the bag. This double sleeping bag was what Armond and I slept in when we sailed, and I swore that I could still smell his scent, even after all this time. I breathed deeply, remembering him. Being comforted and also longing for him, I started to remember a conversation from five years before on this very sailboat.
Chapter 22
THE SAN JUAN ARCHIPELAGO
The Year 2010
We were moored on a buoy in Shallow Bay on the west side of Sucia Island. Armond, Dad, and I were reclined on the padded bench seats of Woohoo’s cockpit in the middle of summer. Elinor was staying at Aunt Saundra’s house for the weekend. The western horizon had turned shades of crimson-orange, then to indigo as the stars were beginning to emerge. We had sailed to Sucia to witness the Perseid meteor shower.
“It’s so clear tonight,” Armond said, looking to the sky.
About forty minutes later, Dad remarked, “Would you look at that?”
“What?” I asked.
“Look North to South, Ann,” Dad instructed.
As I looked, I could see the transparent white Milky Way galaxy, visible against a backdrop of stars bright and faint scattered across the sky. “I can’t remember the last time I saw the Milky Way,” I said, amazed.
“And how many stars are in it?” Dad asked me.
“350 billion,” I replied, appeasing my teacher.
“Right you are,” he nodded, satisfied that his pupil had remembered.
Armond chimed in. “I remember the last time I saw the Milky Way. It was before I started my humanitarian work in São Paulo,” he reminisced. “I spent a month backpacking the mountains of Brazil, and I spent two of those weeks with an indigenous tribe that had only ever seen Caucasians a few times…”
“You never told me about this,” I said, interrupting, as I sat up and faced him.
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” he responded, kissing me on the forehead. “It was the tribal Shaman who invited me to join them.”
“How were you able to communicate with the tribe? Didn’t they speak an archaic language?” I said curiously, looking at him.
“The tribe did, but the Shaman had been taught Portuguese by a Pale One—which is what he called Caucasians—who had stayed with the tribe for nearly a year. Since I speak Portuguese, that’s how I communicated with the Shaman.”
“Why did he ask you to join them?” Dad asked.
“He said that a spirit had come to him the night before and told him that a Pale One would come the next day. So I stayed for two weeks…”
“How did you find the tribe?” I asked curiously.
“That’s an interesting part of the story. Three days before I found the tribe, I had a dream where I was shown a map, and the map led me to a native tribe. I woke up at dawn, and the map was clear in my head, as though I had a photographic memory.”
“We all know that must be divine intervention,” I teased.
Armond had a notoriously bad memory.
“Very funny, Ann,” he said, thumping me on the head.
“Hey!” I said, pretending to be hurt.
“Anyway, with the map in my head, I followed it.”
“That’s really something,” Dad said softly.
“I know; it gets even more interesting. The tribe claimed to have knowledge of the beginning of time and to know the future. They believed they were the guardians of life on earth, keeping the world in balance. They were a spiritual tribe, who practiced meditation and dream-sharing, and they had psychic abilities. Their Shamans are chosen at birth, and from ten to fifteen years old, they’re separated from the tribe and live alone in a cave.”
“How do they eat?” I asked.
“Always thinkin’ about food?” Armond said, with a smile.
“Well, I’m curious.” I glared, then stuck my tongue out at him.
Armond tried to grab it, but I pulled it back in my mouth too quickly. That made me giggle.
“The tribe leaves food outside the cave so that the Shaman’s only activity is to learn spiritual things. The one I met told me that their tribe was the keeper of The Prophecies.”
“What’re The Prophecies?” Dad asked, sitting up, his interest piqued.
“There are three of them. In order to prepare for the first one, the Shamans have been planting sacred stones in a ceremony within their caves for more than a hundred years…”
“What kind of stones?” Dad asked, urgency creeping into his voice.
“Phantom Herkimer crystals. He said those stones were only found in their caves and a few other places on earth. The Shaman said the event that would trigger the beginning of the first prophecy was when a woman met her child self, aided by the power of a phantom Herkimer crystal.”
“Ann and I discovered twin phantom Herkimer diamonds in New York State when she was a girl,” Dad remarked simply.
“I lost mine,” I sadly announced.
“So a single crystal will ignite these prophecies?” Dad asked.
“The Shaman said it will. The event with the Herkimer unlocks the paranormal dreaming abilities of the woman.”
“Who’s t
he woman?” I asked.
“The tribe doesn’t know. They only know that she will be the key to all three prophecies. They call her The Guardian. The Shaman said that the event with the crystal will happen within a dream itself…”
“It sounds like something will shift as a consequence of a single event,” Dad added.
“Yes. From that first dream, The Prophecies begin. The Shaman told me that the tribe’s sacred crystal ceremonies also had another purpose…to protect the woman from harm. They use the Herkimers to clear the chakras of the woman’s body, especially the crown chakra, so that the woman would know her spiritual purpose.”
“How can they clear the energy centers of her body if they don’t know who she is?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the second prophecy?” I asked.
“After the first prophecy begins, the second prophecy will quickly follow. This is when time itself begins to be purified…”
“How?” Dad asked.
“The woman will undo the wrongs of the past, purifying it. He said that she is the guardian of time itself.”
“Now that’s quite the responsibility…to guard time itself!” I mocked.
Armond thumped me on the head again.
“Hey!” I rubbed my head, grumbling.
“Hey you…behave yourself,” he reprimanded me playfully.
I tried to be more reverent.
“If she’s righting the past, then what are the wrongs?” Dad asked, engrossed in the story.
“The wrongs of mankind. The Shaman said that there are historical events that shifted mankind’s direction from its intended path. These crossroads are what the Guardian of Time will repair. She will time travel to purify the crossroads, to ensure that better choices by humanity can be made.”
“What is the third prophecy?” Dad was curious, eyes ablaze.
“There are three Wisdom Keepers. The Guardian—the woman who unseals The Prophecies—is one of them, and the other two are both men. In the third and final prophecy, the Wisdom Keepers will bring a message to humanity, creating a celestial event.”