The Reluctant Prophet_A Love Story

by Karl Morgan

"Zeke, you told us the police would come at noon. Please stay with us tonight and Peter will drive you to the hotel in the morning," Paul said.

  Zeke looked up to see the reverend smiling and seeming at peace with everything he had heard. "Do you think I'm crazy?" he asked.

  Paul laughed out loud. It was a throaty laugh that broke down the tension in Zeke's muscles until he laughed too.

  After a few seconds, Paul said, "No, Zeke, I do not think you are insane, although it would probably be better for you if you were."

  "What? I don't understand."

  The reverend replied, "If you are insane, then your predictions are the rants of a lunatic. You would have no fear that the lottery winnings were somehow stolen and the FBI and others would leave you alone. If you are sane, as I believe, you are in serious danger now. Can you imagine what a government would do to have advance knowledge of future events?"

  "Reverend, you think he's telling the truth?" Peter asked. "Much of what Zeke said is unbelievable."

  "Let us try an experiment," Paul said as he stuck out his hand. "Zeke, please take my hand for a moment, and then tell me something about me that no one knows."

  Zeke shook Paul's hand and then let it drop. He thought for a moment and said, "You had an identical twin brother named Simon who died in infancy." The reverend stared at him without emotion. "This retreat is running out of funds, but it does own the house where I stayed the last two nights, which my parents will buy soon."

  "Anything else? Pick something no one could possibly know."

  "You're in love with Judy Vance. She's been with you for years and you've always loved her, but you're afraid she might take it wrong since you are her spiritual leader."

  "That's crazy talk," Peter scoffed.

  Paul smiled. "Yes, Peter, it is crazy talk, but every word of it is true, except the part about his parents buying the beach house. That hasn't happened yet, so I can't confirm it."

  "Oh my God," Peter gasped.

  "He works in mysterious ways," Paul smiled.

  "I think I need a drink," Peter replied.

  "I think we all could," Paul noted. "Zeke, give me your car keys. I'll have someone prepare a room for you. We have a lot to talk and drink about."

  "Reverend, I need to call home first, if I may," Zeke replied. "I want my folks to ship my notebooks here for safekeeping, if that's okay. Once they have me in custody, they'll probably hear about those books and try to get them. I'd like to make them a gift to the retreat."

  "Thank you for your faith in me," Paul smiled as the three rose and headed toward the bar.

  §

  Zeke woke up at seven o’clock in the soft bed at the retreat. He could not remember having slept so well. He had confessed about everything he knew and was accepted. He walked over to the bathroom and filled a glass with water. He opened the pill bottle and removed the last two pills and swallowed them. He accidentally spilled some water on the bottle lid and noticed it was dissolving. He took the lid and bottle and dropped them into the toilet where they quickly melted away. He flushed the residue away. Pretty clever to hide the evidence of future medical science, he thought. After showering, he packed his bags and headed downstairs.

  A large group of people were swarming around the open room. Each wore a floor-length tunic and a small cap on their heads. He wondered what this was all about, but knew he would be leaving for his appointment with the federal police soon and would likely not find out. He walked over to the counter to see who had his car keys and found Judy Vance behind the counter. She smiled at him and her eyes lit up. "It's a great morning, Zeke!" she announced.

  "It is," he replied.

  "Thank you so much, Zeke. It's like a dream come true."

  "I'm sorry but I don't know what you mean."

  "Zeke, after you three broke up last night, Paul came to my apartment and confessed his feelings for me. I was so happy. You can't imagine how long I have loved that man. Now, I have everything I will ever need and I owe that to you," she said.

  "You are very welcome, Judy. I am so happy for you both," he replied. "By the way, do you know where my car keys are?"

  "I've got them," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Taron standing there with the keys in his hand.

  "I certainly wasn't expecting you, Taron. I thought you flew out yesterday."

  "I rescheduled. No one is staying at the house in San Diego right now, so I'm taking a short vacation. My grandfather Charlie is due to arrive next week, so I'll be back there for that."

  "Do we have time for breakfast?" Zeke asked.

  "Sure."

  "The breakfast room is just through that opening," Judy said. "Just help yourself to anything you like."

  "Thanks, Judy," Zeke replied.

  "No, Zeke. Thank you," she smiled.

  Zeke and Taron went through the buffet line and then found a small table by the window and sat down. A server offered juice and coffee. After he left, the two men began to enjoy their food. Zeke was relaxed and looked out the window at the broad field of grass and the large temple. All the people who had been in the lobby were making their way up the steps and into the large stone building. He took a sip of coffee and looked at his table mate. Taron looked edgy as if something was wrong and the story about vacation was a fabrication. After each bite of food, Taron would look around nervously. It suddenly struck Zeke that Taron had picked this specific table so there was a clear external view and a solid wall behind him. "Taron, what is going on here? Something's up, I can sense that."

  "Where is your ring, Zeke?" the man said.

  Zeke had forgotten to put it on. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The stone was bright red. He slipped it on his finger and could feel the tingling sensation. "Untor?" he asked. Taron nodded. "But why now and why here?"

  "It's off the beaten path. The guards are not trained for an assault, only to keep vandals, burglars, and petty thieves away. There were two attempts on your parents last night after you called them. Don't worry, they are safe. I think one of my men wounded Untor, but that might be wishful thinking. As soon as you're finished eating, we need to get to the car."

  "Is that any safer?"

  "It looks like a regular car, but it is well protected. Are you ready, Zeke?" Taron asked.

  "I have no appetite," he groaned.

  "Okay, let's go. Stay low and behind me and keep your head on a swivel for anything unusual. Keep your back to a wall when you can." He opened his pocket and pulled out two small electronic devices and handed one to Zeke. "The opening is the business end, so keep that pointed away. The button on top is the trigger. Don't shoot unless you have to. We are going to go slow," the guard said. The room was empty now except for them. Taron led the way toward the door and out into the main room. It seemed deserted as well. They walked slowly forward past the furniture groupings and toward the front doors.

  When they were ten feet from the door, a tall, pale man opened the door and walked in. He had shoulder length platinum blonde hair and silvery eyes. His left forearm was covered with an electronic device of some kind covered in flashing lights. He held an unusual looking weapon in his right. He was smiling broadly. "I guess this is the right place!" he shouted.

  "Get out of here, Untor!" Taron snarled. "You're almost out of power and you'll be stuck in this time."

  Untor laughed hysterically, brandishing his weapon at them. "You idiot! I have no intention to go back to my time. Once either Ezekiel or Dave is dead, this line of time will evaporate! I will have never been here. I will lead the Brotherhood again!" He leveled his pistol and fired. Rather than a bullet, a stream of light shot toward them. Zeke and Taron dived behind the couch and the blast shot over their heads and smashed into a wall, setting it on fire. Taron pointed his weapon at Untor and fired. The plasma ball shot past his ear and struck the glass doors, blowing them to pieces. Untor fired again. The blast hit Taron's weapon causing it to explode, injuring his right hand. He cringed in pain.

  Zeke stood up a
nd fired at Untor. The blast hit him in the left forearm. The device short-circuited and fell from his arm. Untor fell to his knees in pain and he dropped his blaster. Taron launched himself at the enemy, knocking him to the ground. He kicked the blaster away and Zeke ran to grab it. Untor and Taron rolled around on the ground. Finally, Untor kicked him off and scrambled to his feet. He saw that Zeke had his weapon, so he turned and ran through the shattered doorway and across the field. Zeke leveled the blaster on Untor, but before he could squeeze the contact, Taron put his hand on the gun and pushed it down. "No, Zeke. It is not your legacy to be a killer."

  He handed the weapon to Taron and said, "But now he'll be back and try again."

  "I don't think so, Zeke. Untor will die next week when he tries to kill Dave Brewster in San Diego," Taron said.

  "But I thought Dave was from the future?"

  "It's a long story. We'd better get on the road. You have an appointment with the FBI, as I recall."

  "What about the damages here? We can't just leave," Zeke argued.

  "We'll take care of everything, don't you worry," Taron said. "We contacted the reverend earlier this morning and suggested the group session meet in the temple just in case something like this happened."

  They loaded Zeke's bags into the trunk of the Bentley, and Taron drove them down the road toward the highway and the Grand Wailea Resort.

  After fifteen minutes of riding shotgun, Zeke was fast asleep, dreaming about another encounter with Fola Untor.

  Taron held his phone between his shoulder and ear. A woman's voice said, "Hello?"

  "Bea, it's Taron. Zeke is safe and Untor is likely on his way to meet with Dave."

  "Why didn't he press the stone?"

  "He forgot to put it on."

  "Oh boy. I hope you chastised him," she said.

  "I think the encounter with Untor was all the encouragement he needed."

  "What happens if Untor jumps again? We could be going through this again and again," Bea asked.

  Taron chuckled. "Zeke is a good shot. He fired at Untor and hit his jump device and damaged it. I don't think Untor is jumping anymore."

  "Wow! I'm impressed with Zeke's shooting. Thank him for me when he's awake."

  "Tell her she's welcome," Zeke said.

  Taron laughed.

  Hours later, Taron dropped Zeke off at the lobby entrance to the Grand Wailea Resort. He walked across the lobby and sat on a long couch with his roller board and backpack sitting in front of him. He looked at his phone. The time was 11:50 a.m. He scrolled through his e-mail. He saw the shipping confirmation on his notebooks and smiled. He texted his father to delete all records of the shipment. He deleted the e-mail and the text message and then slipped the phone into his pocket. Zeke picked up a magazine from the table and looked through it. After a couple minutes, he heard a woman say, "May we help you, sir?"

  He looked up to see one of the hotel front desk clerks standing in front of him smiling. "That's okay. The FBI is picking me up any minute now." A terrified look crossed her face and she hurried away. For a moment he felt guilty about frightening her, but realized what he had said was true. He sighed and tossed the magazine back on the table. When he looked up, he saw two men and one woman in black suits walking into the lobby. A large black SUV was waiting for them out front. Zeke immediately recognized the man he had pointed at from Starbucks and stood up. As they approached, he said, "I've been waiting for you guys." Agents Marcus, Jackson, and Marshall introduced themselves. Then they led Zeke out to the vehicle where he and his bags were loaded, and then the truck rushed away.

  §

  Zeke looked out the window as the jet lifted off and headed east. He was seated toward the rear of the cabin on the FBI jet. The three agents were seated together just before the door to the cockpit. He had never flown in a private jet and was thoroughly enjoying the experience. There was no luggage check-in or security line or trudging down the gangway to stand in line with other frustrated passengers desperate to get where they were going. Agent Jackson did frisk him as a precaution, but other than that, he felt like a movie star or billionaire. Unlike those celebrities, he knew his reception back on the mainland would be less thrilling, but it was just something he had to go through in order to get on with his life. He closed his eyes, slid down into his seat and wondered if the agents had learned about his notebooks or the lottery ticket. It struck him as odd that the FBI would believe this random young man could have such abilities. They had probably already written him off as a nut. "Mr. Thompson," Agent Marshall's voice said softly.

  He opened his eyes to see her sitting in front of him. The space between the seats was quite narrow and their knees were almost touching. He sat up straight and replied, "Yes?"

  "I didn't mean to bother you, sir, but may I ask you a few questions?"

  "Please call me Zeke. And of course you can ask me anything you want."

  "And I'm Stephanie. Zeke, I want you to know that I think this is all unnecessary. Stan is a new agent and I'm sure he was staring at you and the reporter. I would have found him suspicious too," she said.

  "Thank you, Stephanie. I guess you are the only one who thinks that or else I wouldn't be here."

  She smiled and replied, "No, I wouldn't say that. Our section chief is a careful man who always likes to tie up all the loose ends. If anyone thought you were a threat, you'd be in handcuffs right now."

  "What's going to happen to me when we land?"

  "We have a place east of San Diego where we interview unique people. We heard about the auto accident. Then there was the incident with Agent Jackson. Have there been more episodes like those?" she asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Have you had other cases where you knew what was going to happen in the future?"

  "I have a hunch every now and again," he admitted.

  "Like picking winning lottery numbers?"

  "Everyone has his or her favorite numbers, Stephanie," he replied.

  "What happened to your notebooks, Zeke?" she asked.

  "What notebooks do you mean?" She stared at him incredulously. He looked back at her for a moment and then replied, "I gave them to a charity."

  She leaned forward and put her hands on his knees. "Zeke, you seem like a nice young man. If you play straight with us, this will all be over soon and you can get on with your life. Otherwise, this experience may be a bit unpleasant." Zeke only stared back at her. She stood up and walked back up the aisle toward the other two agents.

  Perhaps if the visions had not filled his head, he would have told her that he fully intended to comply. Instead, his mouth and lips seemed disconnected from his brain. The images were stark and brutal. Stephanie was lying on a concrete floor in a pool of her own blood, gasping for breath. The other two agents sat dead near the entrance to the building with bullet holes in their foreheads, trickles of blood oozing down their faces and their pistols still in their hands. Zeke could feel the bindings on his wrists behind him. The others wore balaclavas to conceal their identities and spoke a language he did not understand. After they had bound his ankles, one man grabbed him on each arm while a third pulled a bag over his head. He felt himself being dragged away. The last thing he remembered was Stephanie's labored breathing.

  Chapter 7

  The jet landed at Lindbergh International Airport at 9:30 p.m. local time. It was dark and a fine rain was falling as the plane pulled up next to a black SUV and powered down its engines. When the door was opened, Zeke and the agents filed down the gangway and hurried into the vehicle, which pulled away and headed into the city. "Where to, Agent Marcus?" the driver asked.

  "The ranch, Steve."

  The SUV went north on the 5 and then east on the 8, flying through Mission Valley and then heading up the hill into La Mesa. Zeke watched his city pass by and began wondering about the vision he had after Stephanie touched him. He wondered if they would believe him and what would happen to him if the vision came true. At least now he was in the hands of
federal police and they were supposed to be on his side. There was no telling who would risk assaulting an FBI office to get him. "Agents, why don't we go to the main office? I think it's a lot safer," he suggested.

  "That isn't protocol, Mr. Thompson," Marcus replied. "After a couple of days at the ranch, we'll know what makes you tick." The SUV descended into El Cajon and then back up as it headed toward Alpine.

  "You don't understand, Agent Marcus," Zeke said. "I had a vision on the plane when Stephanie touched me."

  "That's funny," the driver replied. "I have visions all the time of her touching me." The other men laughed.

  "That's not funny, Steve," Stephanie exclaimed. "Tell me what happened in the dream, Zeke?"

  As he told them, Stephanie became more and more nervous, while the men seemed to think it was all a joke. The SUV exited the 8 at Alpine and then drove south several miles before turning up a side road that led to a small fenced compound. A guard opened the gate and the truck pulled up to a nondescript concrete building with no markings. The agents led Zeke into the building where the door was secured. Agent Jackson led Zeke to a holding cell and locked him inside. With nothing else to do, Zeke sat on the side of the bed and wondered when the assault would come.

  The agents had taken his phone but he still wore the ring. The stone was dark. In his vision, there had been multiple attackers, unlike his encounter with the killer from the future. He reasoned that Untor was not his problem this time. He remembered that Bea had told him to press on the stone if it glowed to summon help. He pressed it over and again, but nothing happened. He heard the lock turn and looked up to see Stephanie entering the cell with a bag from McDonalds and a drink cup. She locked the door and sat on the small side chair. She removed a hamburger from the bag and handed it to him. She set a container of fries on a small table and placed the drink there as well. "Please eat something, Zeke. I only have one drink, so you can have it."

  "We can share if you'd like," he replied. She smiled at him. "Stephanie, I'm 90 percent sure my vision is going to come true." He took a bite of his sandwich.