As they continued moving closer, the next two stair keys were variants of 11th notes, and then the next two, 9th notes. When they hit the fourteenth stair, they came upon a harmonic 7th and Paloma’s tears, which had begun at stair seven, were now flowing steadily as she continued following along with the prayers of the angels ahead of them, her heart feeling as though it would burst.
“Forever holy is the Lion of Judah; forever holy is the Lamb Who took the throne, scarred by life in the earth but forever perfect and lovely in His awesome might and wonderful power. Forever holy is the One Who will judge the earth, in Whose hands the Book of Life is held, and by Whose blood those choosing Him are covered and atoned for. Forever worthy, forever holy, forever faithful, fearsome, grand and epic is the Mighty One. In and through Him alone is all life contained; in and through His Spirit is all life sustained. Praise Him forever,” the angels rejoiced as they knelt down now on the fifteenth key, their winged feet hanging over the edge onto the fourteenth still.
The sound of the fifteenth key was a dominant 7th flat 5 beginning in D. It sounded just as she and her companions moved from the final 9th to the harmonic 7th begun in C at the fourteenth stair; the fourteenth key, sent a train of shivers through her once again.
No longer able to contain herself, Paloma fell to her knees, not caring that the skin split on them. No pain registered; only a sense of unspeakable, awesome peace as her tears continued to flow. And when she tried to follow along with the angels’ prayer of praise, what came from her mouth was something entirely different; something entirely and wholly wonderful, but certainly not the same.
As the angels rose and fell again on the sixteenth key, more altered chords played until they reached the twenty first, where they fell upon a complexe senore. And while Paloma remained behind, still at the fourteenth with her loved ones surrounding her in her prayers, praising God in one accord though unaligned with the words of the angels ahead of them, she could hear the raised voice of Lemuel, the freckle-handed angel.
He alone spoke the next praise, and somehow it seemed a shout and a whisper all at once. The humming of the angels’ wings throbbed through the air with Lemuel’s words, and as Paloma looked up, she saw the key the angels stood upon was a deep eggplant purple rather than black.
For what reason was there this change?
Purple, she knew, stood for royalty, but was there more to it?
“Veneration and thanksgiving unto the One Who Is, for HE IS has created all things. Glory unto Him, give Him glory forever,” Lemuel began as she and the others moved to the fifteenth step, knelt in thanks, and continued wordlessly to the seventeenth. “All glory unto the Creator of the universe, for His Word is One as He is His very Word, and all truth comes from the Living Truth Who brought life to each one He predestined to create in His image, to love, to cherish, and to bring into wholeness and completion within Himself, in His heart,” he continued as Paloma and her companions moved through the next two stairs in silent awe, kneeling at each one.
Kneeling at the twentieth stair, she could feel the angels’ wings beating against her hair as she bowed her head, and could no longer keep silent. A hum rose within her to match the wings of the angels, and then, she began to sing.
And with her, Edward, then Masao, Justice, and finally Jason joined in, for all knew the song; I Can Only Imagine, by Mercy Me. A song she had long been assured of as being influenced by Heaven itself.
And even then, she felt like she was inside an oddly wonderful Tardis made of music and mercy. How stepping through the reflective doorway created by Timothy’s mirror had caused this to happen, she wasn’t sure, but it certainly made for one decidedly harmonic and wonderful space of awe. But instead of Dr. Who controlling the events of time and space, it was, of course, the Creator of the universe, Whom she was closer to every millisecond of the experience.
How could she not be?
And why were images of heavenly realms intermixing with science fiction, and jazz and classical music, and life on Earth with their family and friends mingling together with the horrors of how people treat one another in times of hate? They all collapsed together into her mind and her head began to feel overly full, much like her heart was already. The tears continued to pour through her, and her voice shook as she sang, even as Lemuel continued to pray.
When the angels proceeded, in turn for the next six steps, a different angel prayed a new prayer as dream chords came forth from the keys they stood, and then knelt upon, Paloma’s heart felt like it would explode.
The same chord, all seven steps; all seven keys.
Prayers in tune with the music now; praises short and powerful as the chord played three times with each step, over and over.
Similitude.
And then… silence.
Five
Boston, Massachusetts… May 10, 1942
Peter held to his wife, Lily’s, hand as they made room for their family and friends to enter their small apartment. Chairs were set up where possible, and the kids sat on the floor as he began to speak.
For a few moments, in the near-silent room of moving furniture and the whimpering of babies, Peter reconsidered the words of Pastor Fredrickson. If, indeed, Jews were a problem, why were so many in the man’s congregation? And had anyone else taken enough of a stand to walk away from the filth coming from his mouth?
Arkadiusz cleared his throat nearby, one of his large hands brushing against the side of Peter’s head as they finished circling the chairs around the living and dining areas. He could hear his daughter, Jeanette, begin to cry in her sleep as she rested in the arms of her grandmother.
“After all that,” he began tentatively, before plowing onward. “After our pastor has betrayed us so – and yes, I understand he has likely been influenced by the Pope, by the world, by Hitler and the Nazi filth that is happening, and by those who don’t know and understand things the way we do. And yes, he has avoided getting to know any of the Jewish people I know on a personal basis, which helps nothing. So I believe we should meet together separately now. It is no longer safe to find ourselves in the midst of those who seek to bring self-loathing and the promotion of division within the Jewish community. Those who aim to institutionalize hatred of the Jews. So,” he said, looking around the room. “Who is with me?”
Behind his brother, Steven, he could see someone near the streetlamp outside, where their landlords used to tie up their horse. He could hear someone shouting as his brother replied.
“I say, good idea. And I can think of a few other families that would likely want to meet with us, as well, but…”
Steven paused, his face blanching, making his blonde hair look bright against his skin.
“But…,” Jerusha asked tentatively, pushing her thick mass of rag-curls away from her face. “What’s the problem?”
“Where will we put everyone? Who has a big enough place? At least among those of us who would attend or potentially do so, does anyone have a large place, and a large heart? I can only think of three people with larger homes. My boss – which will never work; the family whose house I used to go and – um, never mind….” Peter watched his brother’s face grow even more white, then redden as he paused. “And the only other person I know of is your cousin, Arkadiusz, but I don’t think…?”
“This will never do. My cousin, Frankie, he… no, this will not happen, as much as I would like,” the man said readjusting his glasses before patting his wife, Jolanta’s hand. He looked over at her a moment before continuing. “He is away now, anyhow… getting set to play Navy baseball, if you can imagine such a thing. Cleveland, I think he said…. This will not work, not now. Maybe not in this lifetime. We must find someone else; somewhere else, in spite of these hopes.”
“He’s come a long way since the Mud Hens, certainly,” Jolanta told them discreetly, her Polish accent thick with emotion. “And with the Red Sox, he’s done better, but now that war is on….”
She sighed, casting her face downward to where
Peter could no longer see her eyes. But not so quickly that he missed the tears that had begun to fall.
“And what are the tears for,” he heard Liraz ask quietly as she continued to rock Jeanette, who was whimpering in her sleep still. “We have come through more than this, yes?”
Arkadiusz and Jolanta nodded, and several others around the room did, as well.
“So, we meet in smaller groups; we meet together as we can, and we study Torah and Bible. This, we do, anyway; it is not a problem. We must allow God to take care of us, and the hearts and lives of those around us. Is it for us to judge that pastor,” Liraz asked a little more loudly now, tilting her greying head to the side. “Or is it for us to pray for the peace of the people – all of God’s children; all the people He created, be they for or against us as Jews – for or against us as followers of Christ.”
“But they don’t understand, and they’re attacking us,” Peter heard his wife say, startling him. “We have not gone to war against them, but the world is against all of you. I am not Jewish, and I don’t pretend to be… but you are my family; my friends; I love each of you, and in my heart, I am one with you, solidly.”
She glanced at him, squeezing his hand tighter, and he kissed her with all the pent-up fear and anger and undecidedness within him, not caring about the oohs and aws and yucks of those around them. He heard Liraz laugh, and Steven and Shannen tssk at them, and still, Peter kissed Lily. And finally, his passion running away with him, he pulled himself away and smiled at her, then turned to the people around them.
“We will figure it out, but it will mean prayer. For God alone knows what we should do, and it is not our decision to make; not on our own without the help of the Holy Spirit. We are weak-fleshed and weary and worried; He is strong and mighty and knows the beginning from the end, and the steps between,” he finally said, resolute in his new conviction.
“And so then,” Shalom said after a long pause of silence, “let us, indeed, pray.”
“Can I read something to you all, ladies, gentlemen, and children, before we part ways for the night,” Peter heard Arkadiusz ask as the group began to get restless.
The man had grasped Peter and Lily’s American Standard Version Bible from the table next to him, and it was already open. Peter nodded in assent as the room quieted down once more to listen.
“This is from Psalm chapter nine, the first ten verses,” Arkadiusz said in preface to the text, pausing a moment to run fingers through his beard before continuing.
“I will give thanks unto Jehovah with my whole heart; I will show forth all thy marvellous works,” he read, his voice strong and sure. “I will be glad and exult in thee; I will sing praise to thy name, O thou Most High. When mine enemies turn back, They stumble and perish at thy presence. For thou hast maintained my right and my cause; Thou sittest in the throne judging righteously. Thou hast rebuked the nations, thou hast destroyed the wicked; Thou hast blotted out their name for ever and ever.”
Arkadiusz paused to clear his throat, even as Peter began to picture the turning back of the Nazis. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing to hear about, instead of all the hatred that was being cast along? And wouldn’t it be wonderful if pastors like Fredrickson would come to realize that for all the talk about Jews being horrid people and causers of issues, that they would see the truth?
While some Jewish people probably did cause problems, so did people who were Gentile. While some were arguing against the world and all that it was about, others went along like sheep to be slaughtered, trusting that somehow, God would save them from the future they were walking into.
But so was everyone else, weren’t they?
And when, exactly, is God going to blot out the names of the evil? The names of those who continually performed evil in His sight, unrepentant and gleefully doing wicked? And when will people be able to rejoice in the righteous judgment of the Lord, he wondered.
Peter wanted with all his heart to see the wonderful and awe-inspiring works of the Lord, and to rejoice over His goodness coming to save the people who had been His original chosen, but how long would they need to wait? How long would it be?
When would the people of Europe be free? When would those who were perishing for the cause of people like Hitler – who killed in the name of the Savior, uncouthly and without merit or right relation to Him that anyone this side of Judaism or Christianity could really see – be able to rejoice that men of evil action and influence were halted in their tracks?
When would the God of their fathers bring justice, and in what form?
“The enemy are come to an end, they are desolate for ever; And the cities which thou hast overthrown, The very remembrance of them is perished. But Jehovah sitteth as king for ever: He hath prepared his throne for judgment; And he will judge the world in righteousness, He will minister judgment to the peoples in uprightness. Jehovah also will be a high tower for the oppressed,” Arkadiusz continued, his voice even stronger now.
The words brought Peter’s mind back to the present as the man read the last of the verses.
“A high tower in times of trouble; And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee; For thou, Jehovah, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.”
Trust.
Was that the key?
That, come what may, and no matter how things seemed, they must trust that God knew what He was doing, in spite of the actions of everyone on the earth?
Peter smiled to himself; a bitter smile that crept into his heart and threatened to bring tears to his eyes.
“Thank you,” he told the older man, who was setting the Bible back aside now. “I think that sums things up quite well, even if it doesn’t all make sense right now,” he continued as he sensed the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
Moving to wipe them, he looked around at the faces of his beloved ones, whose attention had been caught just as briefly into the text that Arkadiusz Pytlak had read to them.
And then, as if of one accord, they began to disassemble, each gathering their scarves, their jackets, and their umbrellas as they said goodbyes.
Steven and Shannen stayed long enough to help put everything away from the meal they had shared in the interim, and then they, too, left. And once Lily got Jeanette ready for bed, all was quiet.
Taking his wife into his arms, Peter moved to sit with her on the couch, where they could talk with little distraction.
Six
Salem, Oregon… May 10, 2025
Arthur looked at his dark, scarred thumb for what seemed the like the millionth time – and maybe it was – and scowled as the memory of Rosemary Jenkins’ ankle slipping out of his hand through the mirror so many years prior plagued him once again.
Now that Mark Jeffries had confessed to knowing where Rosemary and that even peskier, though pregnant, Andrea Juarez was when Arthur had held them captive, and now that he was up for parole, his moods had become less severely traumatic. Now that Mark was facing potential prison time, and Arthur could claim innocence on Rosemary’s death and maybe even receive money from the state for false – at least in her case - imprisonment, he was able to see light at the end of the long tunnel that had been his life so far.
And even Maplethorpe had commented that there had been a change; a marked change for the better. And for that, Arthur was thankful, for it was a stretch to say he got regular compliments on anything aside from his braided hair and the depth of his eyes. Even then, it was more from other inmates than anyone else, and who really needed that?
It infuriated him, how little women that worked here allowed themselves to acknowledge his handsome presence.
Was he so beneath them, and unfeeling?
The music he’d been hearing through the years – an invisible, unheard music to anyone else – had begun to haunt him again, but now, the tunes were less familiar; more territorial within his mind.
“You gonna just sit there all day, or what,” his cellie asked, laughter in his voice. “I thought you were trying
to get that drawing finished for your sister.”
And, of course, he was.
“I be workin’ on it, fo’ sho, Man, but ya know, somehow I be thinkin’ somethin’ ain’t right here no mo’ wit what be goin’ on,” he told the man, who was settled into his top, thin bunk. “I gots three mo’ days a’fore I gots ta get it in da mail, anyways, anyhows,” he continued, the music shifting once more.
And what music was it?
He had heard it a few times, and he knew the name of the band, even, but for what reason was the song haunting and stalking him? It made no sense.
There were seven or eight songs that had stuck to him, filling his mind and heart with unbidden images and memories that flooded his being with emotions he never wanted to feel again. And these, just since Mark had come to confess to him. But the song inside of him today was only vaguely familiar.
Had he ever heard it outside of his head, or was it something his mind had created without his realization of it?
Most of the songs were on the obscure side; the artists, people most of his peers would likely never have heard of, or at least, not recalled. Chicago was the only one he felt he could even mention without someone looking at him like he’d grown a second pair of arms and flailed them at them, like some deity of oddness.
Was this his punishment for listening to too much rock and roll as a child and into his young adulthood? Was it a consequence of listening to it more than to rap or rhythm and blues?
Chicago’s song, Beginnings, was perhaps on the obscure side, but it had been speaking to him, flashbacks of Rosemary and Andrea coming to mind, but also images of his mother, which disturbed him all the more. Voices from Dream Theater spoke to him in the night, tormenting him, bringing about images of Jesus on His cross. Had Arthur truly betrayed Him as a Judas, or had Judas merely been Arthur’s example to follow?
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 64