by Darren Swart
He crawled into the bed and fluffed the oversize down pillow before he lay back in the bed. The sheets smelled fresh from being outdoors. He lay back and enjoyed the smell. Evidently, Gertrude enjoyed it as well, as she sniffed all around him on the bed. He lay back with his arms behind his head. As he did, Gertrude chirped and nestled happily against his side. Occasionally, he reached down to scratch her behind the ear. She sounded like a small motor boat beside him.
This had to be heaven. The aroma of roast and potatoes, mixed with the freshness of the bed. Gertrude was happily oblivious to all but his company, as she curled contently next to him. Peacefully, he drifted into a nap. He dreamed of being back on the farm. Barb was standing beside him, smiling just like always. She pulled him close, hugging him like she hadn’t seen him in a while. He squeezed her back. He thought to himself, it is all been a big mistake. She isn’t really dead, after all. Everything is going to be just like it was before.
Barb smoothed his hair from his eyes. “Hello, Pumpkin. Have you been a good boy?”
“Oh, yes. Very good. You would be proud.”
“I always have been, and always will be proud of you.”
“When can I come stay with you again, Grandma?”
“It will be a while before we’re together again, Sweetie.”
“But why, Grandma?”
“Well, because there is much work to be done yet. You’ll have to trust me. It’s all going to work out and I’ll be waiting on you.”
The dream shifted. Now, Bess was standing beside Barb. Bess’s hand rested comfortably on Barb’s shoulder. Both women smiled at him from above. He was confused for a moment. It was as though she were reading his mind, Bess sat on the bed beside him. She reached down and affectionately squeezed his hand. “Sweetie, it’s okay. Everything is going to work out fine. You’ll see.”
The small affirmation from his grandmother was all he needed to make him feel better. Barb and Bess looked at each other. Barb nodded her head in silent agreement with Bess. Bess looked at Marty and said, “Marty, we have a very special gift for you.” She opened her hand to reveal a beautiful blue sapphire in her hand. It glowed as it floated just above her palm. She held it out to Marty. “This blue stone can change the world. It is important that only special people know the secret. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“It is a very special stone. It will speak to those who are gifted enough to hear it. Do you understand?”
He shook his head.
“Remember when we talked about the birth of the Baby Jesus at Christmas? This is just like the Star of Bethlehem for the Wise Men. It will lead you to where you are supposed to go. Your mind will be clear and help you see people for what they really are.”
His little head bobbed up and down that he understood.
Bess closed her hand over the stone and opened her fingers once again. Like a magic trick, the stone was gone. Marty laughed and clapped his hands. “Do that again.”
They both smiled at him. Bess murmured, “He is such a dear child.”
Barb continued, “We wish we could go with you, but we must stay here.”
Each woman took turns leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.
Their kisses were warm. His little arms reached up and clamped around each of the old ladies, squeezing them to him. For the first time in as many years as he could remember, he felt at peace. Everything would be okay. And then his tiny arms were empty and they were gone. He heard his named being called in the distance. Is it time for dinner already?
Again, he heard his name softly. It was a woman’s voice, but not that of either grandmother. He felt a gentle hand on his cheek, a gentle stroke and then, “Marty, it’s time to go.”
His eyes opened with a start. He straightened to find himself in Gillian’s lap. He blinked, trying to orient himself. Digger’s yellow VW was easing into the lot in front of them.
He looked at Gillian. “I’m sorry, did I drift off?”
She smiled at him. “Only for a little while.”
He struggled to remember the dream, while coping with the fact he had been sleeping in her lap. He was awake now.
He stammered slightly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
She smiled, placed her finger over his lips, and her eyes smiled at him. “It’s fine. You needed the rest.”
He looked at her. Somehow, she looked different. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time.
She hopped off the table and said, “Come on.”
Digger already had the passenger door open for them. Excitedly, he said, “Guys, you should have been there. It was awesome!”
Marty opted to hop in the backseat, leaving the front for Gillian. She piled in next to Digger. She could tell he was excited. “Okay, so tell me everything…”
They jabbered excitedly back and forth. Marty sat in the back, quiet, staring out of the window. He sat, wondering who the stranger was inside him. He refused to dwell on the madness of this, so he focused on the one thing he could trust—Barb. It was evident to him that she was conveying a message in his dream. Barb had always jokingly told him that he had been granted the vision. This was the second time she had guided him through a dream. The message was not as direct this time, so he would have to figure out its meaning. Whatever it was, he needed to figure it out sooner rather than later. The clock was ticking.
Chapter 16
He waited in the dingy bar for twenty minutes before it became obvious that his quarry had eluded him. The Bronco was still there, but there was no way they were hiding in the small bar. The American cash he flashed for information met with nothing more than sullen stares and a few growls. Considering his options, he opted for a discreet exit and eased out of the bar into the bright sunshine outside.
He hit his cell phone again, trying to check in with Boyd and Matthews. The phone kept going to voice mail, meaning the phones were off or they were. It was hard to tell. As much as he hated to admit it, he had failed. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath before dialing McPherson with the news. “McPherson.”
“Bernard here, I’ve lost them.”
“Understood. Disengage and fly directly to Charles DeGalle Airport. We’ll follow up with further instructions there.”
“Oui.” The phone chirped off in Bernard’s ear.
The call left Bernard feeling odd. McPherson seemed strangely unconcerned over the phone, almost distracted. This was surprising, considering how tightly wrapped McPherson was. Nothing distracted him. Something was up.
McPherson ended the call and looked at the duke. “Master, I implore you, may we kill him now?”
The duke’s tone of voice was similar to that of a parent with a small child. “No, Mr. McPherson. We may still have use for him.”
McPherson’s eyes dropped down and he mumbled in response, “Sorry, Sir. I guess I just a little put off at the moment. Those blokes have failed and I’m not there. It’s very disturbing.”
The duke smiled empathetically. “I know, Mr. McPherson. Soon, this will all be behind us and we’ll be able to laugh over a couple of bitters. You know, we make quite good beer here.”
McPherson brightened at the mention of them sharing a drink. “I’m looking forward to that, Sir.”
It was the first time the duke had ever mentioned any sort of social setting. He felt privileged. The duke really seemed to be taking a shine to him.
“Thank you, Mr. McPherson. That will be all.” The duke turned his attention back to the manuscripts in front of him. The cavernous room was suddenly as silent as a tomb. The small Persian beside him cleaned herself and purred. Dick quietly eased out, leaving the duke to his research. He was whistling a happy tune by the time he passed Gretchen’s desk. She looked at him coldly, as he passed. Hired thugs—she hated them all.
****
The neon marquee winked sporadically like a dyslexic Morse code. It wasn’t an issue, so long as there were clean sheets and plenty of hot water. Bone wearines
s engulfed Marty, as Gillian counted out twenties to a haggard, gray-haired night manager. There was a selection because it was the slow season. Though, Gillian couldn’t imagine a rush any time of year. She paid for two connecting rooms in the same bungalow. Marty and Digger bunked in one room and she in the other. Gravel crunched under the tires of the VW, as they pulled up. The Pancake Palace across the street painted an ugly glare on the night sky, as the sign boasted Here to Serve You 24/7. It was the closest thing to a restaurant they were going to get. Eloise sauntered up to the table. An unfiltered Camel dangled from her lips, causing her to squint to keep the smoke out. It was a practiced looked, one that had taken her thirty years to perfect, along with her indifferent attitude.
Marty never noticed the layers of coffee and mustard stains. His rapt attention was focused on a delicately balanced inch-long ash, which hung precariously from the tip of the Camel. He held his breath, afraid it would fall on Gillian and incur some sort of deadly martial arts blow, spanning some life and death struggle with the local authorities. As it was, Eloise noticed his fascination and flicked it into the floor, so he could order his pancakes without incident. Gillian’s order of cinnamon French toast seemed far less dramatic. Digger, on the other hand, earned an icy look from Eloise, as he smiled pleasantly and ordered a chef’s salad. Eloise eyeballed him with her good eye before stating flatly, “Hun, we don’t do salads here.”
He sighed and settled on scrambled eggs and dry toast. She sloshed coffee in all three cups, which turned out to be surprisingly good. Digger got in one more jab by opting for a glass of ice water, causing Eloise to walk muttering none too quietly about Yankees as she swayed back to the counter. Digger inspected the glass suspiciously, but said nothing before taking a sip.
Eloise jammed their ticket on the pre-Korean war order carousel and swung it around, so Marv could see it. Marv made great pancakes even when he was dead drunk, which was convenient, since he usually was. The threesome ate quietly at first, but began to perk up with surprisingly excellent coffee and food, though Digger did find a bit of shell in his eggs. Marv took another drink and sat back down on a milk crate in the kitchen. Eloise went behind the counter and joined him.
The electric clock was slightly fast, but not so much that it could not undo the lateness of the hour. The twenty-four hour SuperMart was a haven for shoppers and drug dealers in the middle of the night. They would need supplies for the trip and the sign at the front door promised the Hottest Deals Around.
By the time they made it back to the room, Marty was almost asleep before he touched down on the pillow. Gillian opted for second watch, leaving Digger to watch the first part of the night. Marty was, after all, still under their care.
Digger pulled out his black bag and set up a surveillance system for the night. Carefully, he placed small RF pen cameras at strategic locations inside and out. Nothing could get in without him seeing it first. He yawned, as he waited for his laptop to boot up and bring the cameras online. He watched the screen, fighting the urge to close his eyes. So far, the only threat had been from a stray mongrel, which cocked its leg on his bug. He felt a gleeful sense of satisfaction, as he pressed the remote and sent a quick zap of static resulting in a yelp and a thin whiff of ozone. The canine limped into the night, with his tail between his legs to nurse his offended privates. Digger snorted in the room. No dog was going to pee on his car while he was watching.
After a quiet three hours, Gillian instinctively awoke and relieved an exhausted Digger. She rubbed her eyes, as she moved the laptop through the connecting door to her room. She looked over at Marty who snored peacefully never noticing the change in guard.
The digital readout of the clock glared 4:30 when Marty’s eyes flew open. His mind raced and his back was soaked in sweat. The thought of the flight ahead caused his mouth to go dry. Nauseated, he padded to the bathroom to splash water in his face. After what he had been through in the last several days, a fear of flying seemed a bit ridiculous. However, no matter how absurd it seemed, it was very real and very much making him reconsider the trip. He stood in the bathroom door and stared at the locked door to the outside. He could leave and they wouldn’t know. He could go back to his old life, find another job and put this all behind him. His eyes moved slowly back to the stone. His mind went back to his dream of Barb and Bess. He remembered the feeling of comfort, as they watched over him, protecting him. The feeling of comfort washed over him. With it, came the resolve. Here in this fleabag motel in the early morning calm, he resolved to finish this. Whatever he faced, it was bigger than him; bigger than all of them.
Digger breathed peacefully in his sleep in the double bed beside Marty. He quietly made his way to the dresser. He carefully slid open the top drawer, so it would not make a sound. He quietly eased the box from its resting place and carried it back to his bed. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, he carefully removed the top. The silk inside seemed to move and dance in the meager light of the room’s single lamp. The silk rustled ever so quietly in the stillness of the room. He could almost hear it whisper to him “Yes, Yes” as a lover would in the night. Somehow, the Sapphire looked different now. In the dim light, the color seemed richer, fuller. The facets seemed to sparkle and glisten, beckoning him. Now, it was as beautiful as any stone he had ever seen. It almost enticed him to want to caress it like a new bride. He shivered with excitement at the thoughts of holding it. Perhaps it was the light, but he could almost see it glow in the deep recesses of the stone. He carefully set the box down in his crossed legs and gently removed the stone. He cradled it in his palm, gently expecting some sort of singularity appearing, or a tunnel filled with light opening before him. Nothing happened.
He closed his eyes and dropped his head, dejectedly. Perhaps he had been too eager to want it to change him; to provide his with something more than his mundane life. He stopped feeling sorry for himself for a moment and felt the change around him. Something was wrong with the room. He opened his and found he was no longer in the motel. The table before him was worn from years of use. Its cherry finish was worn through in spots. Long lines of bookshelves contained thousands of hardbound volumes. Ladders hung from both sides of the room to access the upper shelves. The antiquity of the room rose to his sense of smell. Soft golden wood tones glowed and made him feel welcome. His gaze traveled up, only to find the soft tones of a fresco depicting rolling hills of green pastures dotted with plump sheep.
Across from him was a leather wingback chair. The aged leather was buffed to rich brown hue from the many years of use. Tiny cracks appeared in the leather from ages of use. He looked around him to see if he was alone. There was not even a hint of sound, save the resolute tick of a century old grandfather clock. The clock struck the half hour and chimed once. Marty was fascinated by the room. Behind him, an ancient door handle turned slowly and the door creaked in protest, as it opened.
The tall man glided in effortlessly. His white beard was cropped short against his face. Marty smiled at the old man. He was the same as before. He felt strangely at ease with the old fellow.
He spoke. “Hello, Martin. How nice of you to visit.”
A thought struck Martin. “Where exactly am I?”
“You haven’t moved. You are precisely where you were five minutes ago.”
Now Marty was confused. “I’m afraid I don’t follow?”
“You are still in Room Two of the Starlite Motel.”
“Then why does this look like a library?”
“Because that is where you are going.”
“I’m confused.”
“I will be your guide on your journey. The room you seek will look much like this.”
“Why can’t you just tell me where to go?”
“Because what you seek is not as important as what you will find along the way. Life is funny that way. Any journey you take will not be a simple beginning and an end.”
“So, I will find something, then what?”
“Then you must find
her.”
“Who? Gillian?”
“No. Rachel.”
Marty sat back, heavily. He suddenly felt lost. “Who is Rachel?”
“She is the one who needs you.”
Marty stared at him, blankly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to appear stupid, but I’m lost.”
The old man smiled. “Your history is riddled with versions of her. Many were handed down before there was written language. I’m sure you’ve heard of Moses and the Ten Commandments?”
“Of course.”
He smiled and continued. “Your Bible speaks of a magnificent chest of gold, gilded with angels and holds the power of God, true?”
Marty looked at him, suspiciously. “You’re talking about the Ark of the Covenant.”
“Yes, the vessel is imbued with Devine power. That power is Rachel.”
“So Rachel is God?”
“No. She is a servant, as am I.”
“So, you’re an Angel?”
“No. I am a guide.”
“So Rachel is the Spirit of the Ark.”
“Yes, she is a link between our realm and the others.”
“You mean, like, between Heaven and Earth?”
“Let’s just say it’s not quite that simple, but yes, Heaven and Earth would be realms, as are many others.”
Marty’s brow furrowed. “People have been searching for the Ark for centuries. How do you expect me to find her?”
“She is not lost, but merely hidden. If you seek the man, he will take you to Her.”
“Man? What man? I don’t understand.”
“The man who holds her. He is a ruthless man, one who would use her for his own purposes. He seeks to use her power to bend the natural order of things for power and greed.”
“Is he Satan?”
“Oh, no. Satan seeks your soul. This man seeks only to subvert the balance of things. His mind is small and petty. He sees himself as a conqueror of that which he does not understand. He is an emperor of ignorance.”