“I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Rachel, looking me up and down. “I watch over this brood while Daddy and Naomi are off on their travels. Nothing happens in this house without my knowing it.”
“What kind of surveillance?” I asked.
The boys started laughing as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world.
“Not funny,” she said, turning to her brothers. Their lips shut and their backs straightened. A look of satisfaction was on her face when she turned to me again. “I don’t need cameras or microphones, Elijah. The Lord guides my vision and whispers the truth in my ears.”
“Well,” I started to say something smart back, but Naomi stopped me with a light elbow to my side. Instead I said, “Nice to meet you, Rachel.”
She nodded. “Boys?”
“I’m Abraham,” said the oldest of them. He was a lanky teenage version of his dad.
“Isaac,” said the next one. He barely looked like the others, with his straight blond hair and blue eyes.
“We’re Jacob and Joseph!” announced the youngest ones together. They were twins who looked about ten years old and full of trouble.
“So that’s my family,” said Naomi. “We’ll head out for dinner soon, but maybe we could hang out here for a while?” She dipped her head slightly, adorably.
I nodded.
Next thing I knew, we were all sitting in the living room playing some board game. I had no idea what was going on, but they talked and laughed as if this was the greatest day they’d had on earth.
Somewhere along the way, Naomi’s sister Rachel mentioned their mom. Moses went quiet then. But after the game was over, he brought her up again.
“You’ve met us now,” he said, “but to really know us you have to learn about their mother. She was the most beautiful woman to grace the earth. How else do you think they got their looks?” He motioned to his children, whose faint smiles did little to hide the suddenly somber mood in the room. “Naomi?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.” She stepped to the front of the room and pressed her wrist. A life-sized holograph sprang to life before us. It was a pretty blonde woman.
My jaw dropped open. I knew her. She was the woman from my dream, the woman who was on the white side, talking to the man on the black side. I remembered her words clearly—You must protect her.
“What?” Naomi asked me.
“Oh, it’s just—” I hesitated. “It’s just that she almost looks familiar, probably because she looks so much like you.”
“That’s what I’ve always said,” rumbled Moses’s voice.
Four little kids ran into the image, two girls and two boys. The mother swooped down and wrapped her arms around them. Then she stood and faced us.
“Number five on the way,” she said, patting her small round belly. I figured the recording was from Moses’s precept, from what he’d seen, because this woman with Naomi’s green eyes was looking at us with affectionate, beaming joy. Then the holograph faded.
“Turns out number five was also number six,” Naomi explained. “Twins.”
“Is she—” I fumbled for words to ask what had happened to her. In my dream she had been as real as Naomi beside me.
“She died giving birth,” Rachel said. Her expression was flat.
“Every day with her was a blessing.” Moses stood, and so did the rest of us. “But we all make sacrifices. Whether we know it or not, every second is an opportunity to give ourselves up for others.” He suddenly clapped his hands. “No long faces, now. What would your mother say?”
“The joy of the Lord is your strength!” the boys shouted.
“That He is.” Moses smiled. “We’ve got a little while before dark. Why don’t we get in a game of hoops, so these two can have their dinner?”
The four boys were already sprinting out the door, with Moses and Rachel following after them.
“WHY DID MY mom look familiar?” Naomi asked. “I saw it in your face. You recognized her.”
I studied the organic peas on my plate. I prodded them with my fork, as if I could avoid her question, as if I could get through dinner without telling her about my dream.
I looked up. Naomi wore a knowing smile.
“I told you,” I said. “She has your exact eyes.”
“And? What are you hiding?”
“You win,” I confessed, “no longer will I hide that your beauty has conquered me. How is your steak?”
“Exquisite.” Her lean fingers guided her knife and fork to slice the red meat. She took a bite slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She chewed, taunting me with her patience, as if she knew she would get her answer. She swallowed. “It’s funny that I’ve lived so close to this place and never eaten here. Too expensive, I guess. Want to try mine?”
I nodded. She sliced off another piece and reached over the table with her fork. I looked down the length of her perfect, bare arm as I took the bite. It was delicious.
“Do you always order steak?” I asked.
“Daddy is vegan, so I seize my chances.”
“Rebel,” I said, and she grinned.
The bubbly waitress stepped up to our table. “How is everything, Mr. Goldsmith?”
“Quite good. Thanks.”
She placed a glass of red wine in front of me, then put her hand on my shoulder. Her fingernails were bright pink against my black velvet blazer. It struck me that Naomi would never paint her nails—reason number eighty-three that I liked her. “Our sommelier insists you try this pairing,” the waitress said. “It’s on us, of course.”
I swirled the wine and sniffed it. “Peppercorn, radish, and leather.” Naomi laughed under her breath. I took a sip. “Delicious,” I told the waitress. “I’ll have to tell my father about it.”
“Oh, that would be excellent.” She clasped her hands. “Please, enjoy, and do not hesitate to flag me if you need anything, anything at all.” She bowed lightly and slipped away.
“Is there anything your dad doesn’t own?” Naomi asked.
“Lots of things, but he got interested in these classic restaurants a few years back. He always says, Service never goes out of style. So he invested in places like this. You can’t see an ounce of technology in here.”
“It’s really nice. I like the candles.”
“Me too. They make your face glow.” I took another sip of the wine and then held the glass toward her. “Want to try? It is fantastic with the steak—like paradise in your mouth, with notes of black currant. I was kidding about the radish.”
“I figured that out, but no, thank you. I’m pretty sure paradise can’t fit in my mouth. Buy your tickets yet?”
“I bought both of our tickets. First class on a luxury airline, arriving early on Friday, April 9.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You bought my ticket? First class?”
“My dad has a business trip that week, so our jet is not available. First class is the next best option.”
“I guess so.” She slumped her shoulders in mock disappointment. If I was to have any chance of keeping Charles’s warning in mind, I needed to keep my eyes off her shoulders. “Thank you,” she smiled. “It is going to be an amazing trip. But you can’t buy your way out of answering my question.” She cut off a large piece of meat.
“Which question?”
“My mother, tell me how you recognized her.” She took the bite and sat back, waiting.
“A dream,” I began. “She was in my dream. This one was different. Your mom and some other guy dressed in black were talking to me. She told me I had to go, but she didn’t say where. He told me I couldn’t go. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” she chided. “You’re still a bad liar. When’s your next ISA-7 exam?”
“July, why?”
“Good, there’s still time to practice.” She laughed. I didn’t think it was funny. “You know you’re going to have to tell me more about the dream.”
“That depends,” I said.
“On what?”
“On w
hat you’ll tell me.”
“Oh, you have questions for me?” she mused. “Go ahead and ask.”
I could not hold back a smile. No one talked to me like her. Good thing I had a first question ready. “Have you had any missions yet?”
“You know the answer to that,” she said. “You always know where I am, and we’ve talked pretty regularly.”
“Nice try,” I accused. “I know only where your body is, not your mind.” With Charles gone from school almost all the time, I figured Naomi had to have gone on missions as well. “Aren’t Christians supposed to tell the truth?”
For an instant her calm lifted and a touch of red blushed across her cheeks. “You know I can’t tell you,” she said. “Please don’t ask.”
“Okay. Just for tonight, no more questions about ISA-7, and no more questions about my dreams. Fair enough?”
“Maybe, if you agree to talk to Bart again. Just one more time before our trip.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “These dreams could be very important. At the least, you owe it to yourself to learn about them.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to Bart.” If anything, talking to him might make me feel normal, compared to his crazy ideas. “So we’ll leave these questions alone until after our trip. And maybe in Italy we’ll try a real kiss. Sound good?”
“Always pushing, aren’t you?” she said. Her grin was smooth, but thanks to our sync, I knew her heart was racing, her blood pressure rising.
“Yeah.” I didn’t need to say more. She knew my heart rate, too.
“Maybe,” she said, “but it would help a lot if you started to believe.” Her playfulness was suddenly gone.
“What do I have to believe? I thought your order picked me as some sort of chosen one.” I pointed to myself for emphasis. “Isn’t that enough?”
“How about believe in God, for starters?”
“Consider that box checked. Remember, I’m Jewish.”
“By birth,” she tested. “I’m not so sure by faith.”
I flashed her my best smile, unwilling to admit she was right. As far as the faithful went, I was at the bottom of the ladder. “I believe in love,” I said, “and you say God is love, so there.”
She nodded. “It’s a start. God is love and much more.” She leaned forward, beaming like a lighthouse. “Elijah, you are holding yourself back. You would see more if you had faith, and I believe the world needs you to see more.”
“Interesting,” I said. “But why? What does the world need me to see?”
“Your dreams and more, much more. Weren’t you listening to Bart?”
“We agreed not to talk about my dreams.” I felt like I was plugging a dam that was about to break. We’d have to overcome this faith thing eventually, but I didn’t want to spoil our night. “I’d rather talk about us,” I said. “I like you, Naomi. A lot. And you like me, too.”
A conflicted look passed over her face. Too bad the sync couldn’t tell me her thoughts. Her face went smooth again. After an eternal moment of hesitation, she nodded. Her heart was pounding. “Yeah, I like you, Elijah.”
“So what’s holding you back?” I asked.
“I’m not holding back,” she said. “I would hardly sync with a boy I didn’t like, much less kiss him. What else could you want from me?”
“Honesty.” The word flew from my lips like a caged bird set free. “What are you and your order up to?”
“You know better than any of us, because you’ve seen it. We are serving the Lord.” She suddenly smiled. “But no more talk of dreams, right? Let’s just assume I’m letting you court me because it’s useful cover. You get my affection, and I get to take you on my mission to Rome. But there’s one condition.”
So it was a mission—now I just needed to figure it out. “There’s always a condition,” I said. “What is it?”
“You have to try to believe. Be serious about it. I fear the stakes are higher than either of us know.”
I pushed away my nagging doubts and the warning bells. Opportunities like this—the heart-pounding, face-flushing kind—were not to be missed. “So if I agree to try,” I said, “I can make you fall crazy in love with me?”
She laughed warmly. “You can try.”
I nodded. “Good. So I’ll give it a try, and we’ll see where that leads.”
The rest of the evening passed in an excited blur. We talked of food, books, and Italy. Nothing about it made me nervous. If anything, it just made me nervous about Charles. Naomi seemed to be the normal one.
We rode back to Naomi’s house and parted on her doorstep. She wouldn’t risk a kiss with her family in the house. I was still just an ISA friend to them. As I flew back to the gothic campus in Massachusetts, the night felt bland and cold in comparison. But there was a bright spark in the night, a pulse in my mind—the beating heart of Naomi. I was not going to lose that pulse.
“WE COULD HAVE had this conversation virtually,” I said to Bart. This time it was just the two of us in his little office. For some reason, it seemed more comfortable that way. I did not have to behave for Naomi, but I would hold up my part of the deal and try to believe. Good thing we never said how hard I had to try.
“Technology is a cover up.” The large priest stroked his grey goatee. “It makes the world faster, more efficient, more open, but better? In some ways, yes, but it obscures what matters most: the soul. Anyone can play god with a nanochip in the head. You spend enough time playing god and then you forget that there’s a real God up there.”
“Fine,” I replied. “No technology. I’m already here.” Bart’s diatribe reminded me to keep my mouth shut. Everything would go smoother that way. “You’ve got an hour,” I said. “I’m listening.”
Bart shook his heavy head gravely. “Such a pittance for the weighty things on your mind.” He stood and stepped to the bookshelf covering one side of the room. “Tea?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
An old water heater was plugged into the wall. He poured steaming liquid into two small, porcelain cups. His fat finger barely fit through the quarter-sized handle.
“I was in Morocco last week and brought back this tea,” he explained. “They know how to make a fine tea.”
“You travel?” I sipped the tea. It was hot and good. Why on earth had this man gone to Morocco? I decided not to ask that, or if he traveled by boat.
He lumbered back to the chair behind his desk. It squeaked when he sat, as if in protest. “I travel a lot.” He smelled his tea and took a sip. “My order is an international one, with many ties around the world.”
“Your order?” I feigned ignorance, hoping to pry into what I needed to learn.
“I mentioned it before,” he said. “It’s called the Order of John.”
“A secret order?”
His sudden grin hinted at intrigue, or maybe it was just the flickering candlelight. “Are you ready to learn more?”
I nodded and tried to get comfortable in the hard chair.
“Last time,” he began, “I told you about John, the apostle, on Patmos. Well, like most of us, John died. In the generations after his death, his band of closest followers formed into a secret group of twelve living men. These men are the Order of John. The order first embedded itself in the Catholic Church and in other halls of power. No one knew its members except the members themselves. They carried the legacy of John and the keys to the Book of Revelation. Many called the book heresy. They called it crazy. They said it did not belong in the Bible. But our order made sure it remained, an odd but fitting conclusion to history’s best-selling book.”
So far Bart was making sense to me—a crazy group of men were responsible for a crazy ending to the Bible. I could go along with that. “Why did others not want the Bible to end with this revelation book?”
“Read it some time,” he encouraged. “You’ll learn about beasts, destruction, a seven-headed dragon, and locusts with hair like a woman, teeth like a lion, and breastplates of iron.”
“Exactly,” Bart said, “so you see why the book’s been controversial? Well, my order has long known that many of these details were fulfilled in the Romans’ destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD. Let me give you an example. Ever heard of the number 666?”
I nodded. “You Christians say it’s an evil number.”
“Yes, but John had something specific in mind. He wrote the number as a code to his fellow believers. He said, Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666. Well, the Caesar at the time was Nero. In Hebrew his name was Nrwn Osr. The numeric value of those seven Hebrew letters is 50, 200, 6, 50, 100, 60, and 200—totaling 666. The book of Revelation was a letter to John’s friends, and the Hebrew was a code they could understand but the Romans could not. The letter was a warning that Rome would destroy Jerusalem, and so it did a few years after John’s vision.”
“Okay,” I said, not admitting that Bart’s explanation made a lot more sense than what I’d found through a standard precept search about Christians and the end of the world. “So John saw it coming. But it still happened, and history marched on. Why are we still talking about it?”
“Because that does not explain the last three chapters of the book. Ever heard of the thousand years, the millennium?”
“For one of my classes, I read some funny stuff about people who thought the world was going to end in 2000. Looks like they were wrong.”
“Many have been wrong about when the world will end. Not everyone has your vision, Elijah. I believe the era of wrong guesses will soon be over.”
I would take his bait, especially if it would get us out of first-century history. “Why, and when?” I asked.
“The priceless questions,” Bart said. “Even within the order there is disagreement. Some think the thousand years is a symbolic number, meaning just a long time until the Messiah comes again. That’s what Augustine and Luther thought. They may be right.”
“Who are Augustine and Luther?”
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