She hadn’t expected any noticeable changes to occur, as Michael had once informed her that tapping in to such levels would take years, but she enjoyed the meditation for what it was: an hour of serenity and centering. A time to reflect on her own soul as she searched for balance. Each morning session left her with a positive vibe that seemed to strengthen her self-confidence. Each evening brought a pleasant calming, and she soon adapted to the exercises well enough that weariness no longer overcame her. Still, she slept well each night.
During the day, she had found herself spending more and more time with the children, realizing that she thoroughly enjoyed their company, and of course her reconnection with her father grew quickly as he was almost always nearby. She did show concern for him, observing how often he had stepped out for a cigarette, but she did not voice her thoughts on the matter. He had been through his own ordeals, and had obviously found a way of coping that was familiar to him.
“It’s just boredom,” he explained to her when she once gave him a look after coming inside from his third smoke for the day. “Not a whole lot here to keep me occupied. Don’t worry, pumpkin. Once we’re settled in our new town and I start working again, I’ll be done with it.” She had offered him an understanding smile, while she silently hoped he wasn’t kidding himself.
As usual, Michael said little to her. After the early morning conversation they last had, she was grateful that he had been willing to be there for her during her breakdown, but he apparently was not yet ready to open up all lines to her. She wanted to rely on patience, as Moonie had advised about her meditation exercises, but that proved difficult for her, knowing that her time with him was very limited at this point.
The only main difference that broke the monotony of the days in the ranch house occurred just before dinner time on Wednesday. Moonie had called her and Jim via intercom, requesting that they meet them in the basement. Finding the door unlocked, they descended the steps to find the two men waiting for them by the large, electronic console with the multitude of monitors fixed above. Megan secretly referred to this digital wonder as the “Bat Computer.”
“Your new ID’s,” Moonie announced as he handed them driver’s licenses and social security cards. He had taken their former licenses and used the photos to transfer them to the new ones. Jim and Megan studied them, impressed by how authentic they appeared. “There’s no way anyone can tell they’re fake,” he added.
Jim took note of the state that the ID card was registered to. “We’re moving to Florida?”
“Fort Lauderdale,” Michael specified. “Hope you don’t mind the humidity.”
“I thought we’d be somewhere more remote,” Jim said.
“It’s better if you’re somewhere fairly populated,” Moonie explained. “Easier to blend in. It won’t be too hard for you to find work as an electrician if you want to. But you’ll have enough funds to retire comfortably. And you’ll have access to everything you need. Shopping centers, tourist attractions, an airport, hospital, those kinds of things. You’re gonna love your new place. Right on the Intracoastal. Oh, and you have a dock with a nice boat too.”
“A boat! Are you kidding me?”
“Registered in your name, Mr. Smith,” Moonie said with a wink.
Jim looked down at his license again, noting his new surname.
Megan grimaced at her own ID. “Megan Jones?”
“Best if your last names differ,” Moonie suggested. “We’ve all had to change our surnames a few times. Look at me. My current legal name is McBride. Christ! Do I look like a Mc-anything to you?”
“Like I keep telling you,” Michael cut in. “Just tell people your dad was Irish, but you got your Italian mother’s genes.”
“Son,” Jim said as he rubbed his hand through his thinning gray hair, “I appreciate all of this, but I don’t know a thing about boats.”
“You’ll learn,” their host shrugged. “Think of it as a new hobby.” Then his expression changed to a more serious one. “Listen guys, it’s almost a zero percent chance you’ll have any problems with the Agents of Shadow or their ties with the authorities, but if for any reason the shit hits the fan, and you need to be on the move, you’ll have the water to get your asses out of town. You’ll be able to head for the Bahamas if you need to lay low. From there you can take a flight out of Nassau to practically anywhere. Speaking of which…” he handed them two tiny booklets bound in navy blue, “your passports. I’ll also have your bank cards ready before you leave.”
Jim didn’t know how to begin thanking him. “Guess I’ll start reading up on how to navigate the waters,” was all he could say as he shook Moonie’s and Michael’s hands.
Michael gave him a firm shake back. “I have a very close friend who’s the C.O. at the Coast Guard station in Fort Lauderdale. He’s not a Kee… not like us, but he’s an ally. I’ll give you his contact information. All you have to tell him is that you’re a big fan of Mickey Mantle, and he’ll do everything he can for you.”
Megan had to stifle a laugh. Her father’s expressions were more than comical as he struggled to handle his composure like someone who had just hit the lottery and stood in shock, just before the brink of either dancing around like a maniac, or falling into the fetal position and crying like an idiot. “Do I get my own place on the water too?” she half-joked. “Or do I have to face the humiliation of moving back in with my parent?”
“Sorry, Meg,” Moonie sympathized. “A lady in her early twenties being that financially set to have an upscale place on her own is rare. People might get to talking about it. You’ll have a more humble… looking place inland, but not too far from your dad’s.”
“Alright,” she said with a puckered face. “Didn’t hurt to ask.”
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “You’ll have what you need there. Plenty of home security features. And you’ll find your bank account will be more than enough to get a good car and other necessities. We’ll give you a list of essentials you’ll want to have. But whatever you do, don’t get anything too showy. Appear as if you’re living simply to everyone you associate with. Jim, with your more upscale place, I would give off the impression to the neighbors that you’re a skilled investor who prefers to keep to himself. If you decide to go back to work, and anyone asks…”
“I’ll tell ‘em I do it for the enjoyment, not because I need to make a livin’,” he acknowledged. “Listen, fellas. This is all incredible, and I’m indebted to you both. But how is it you can afford to give us all this?”
Moonie smiled proudly as he glanced at the “Bat Computer.” “Did I tell you I was good at what I do?”
“A hundred times,” Jim almost moaned.
“Again, don’t worry,” Moonie assured him. “I know how to work the system. Everything we’re supplying you with, including your funds, is completely untraceable.”
Their introduction to their new lives came to a close when Emily and Alex called down from the top of the stairs, announcing they were finished with their school work for the day, which Michael had left for them to do at the kitchen table an hour ago, and asking when dinner would be served.
“I don’t know, Mick,” Moonie said to his friend. “I’m thinking linguine with clam sauce tonight. How about you? You in the mood for Italian?”
“Sounds good to me,” Michael replied.
“Good, cause you’re cooking.”
****
His dream ended the same as always that night. The last portion consisting of her screaming for him from inside the LCD screen of a computer monitor, him pounding against it, hoping beyond hope that he could somehow puncture the barrier and reach through to pull her out of the horror that held her captive inside. But it was, as always, like using a twig against glass as durable as diamond. Just before his eyes shot open and he sat up in a cold sweat, the image faded. An unfamiliar woman’s faint, whispering voice spoke for the first time since he began having the nightmares over three years ago…
When the world’s
end is at hand, you must save it, for only you can. And if you succeed, your daughter will change it.
Panting in the darkness, his eyes that were wide with terror soon turned to grief. Was the voice a message from beyond? A repressed fragment of his wiped memory suddenly resurfaced due to Megan’s similar comment before? Or was he just going mad? He would never know, he believed, and to look further into it would only torment him more.
Michael lay back on his bed, and reached for his prepaid phone, plugging into it a pair of headphones that he retrieved from his nightstand. He searched through his saved playlist, and selected the one song that would only bring him more sorrow. Not caring about the effects on his emotional soundness, he put the song on “Repeat.” Over and over, Curtis Lee’s “Pretty Little Angel Eyes,” played in his ears. He loved the Oldies. A genre that offered easy sing-along, from what seemed like a simpler time, though it was before his time. This one had once been one of his favorites. It was their special song once.
Each time the song played, his angst and fury bred in the pit of his soul, until he could take no more. Finally, he stopped the music, slipped on a pair of athletic shorts, and made his way to the basement’s gym.
Once again Megan’s own dream stirred her from slumber. It did not contain the same vivid images as Michael’s, only a blur of horrid sights and sounds that never formed definitive description. Except the silhouette in the wooden chair. When she opened her eyes and marked the time at 4:23 a.m., she listened expectantly for his footsteps, but they hadn’t passed by her door this time. Maybe, she thought, he hadn’t dreamt that night like she did. He only seemed to attend to the morning workout on the heavy-bag when he did have the nightmare. Megan however, made her morning swims into a daily routine since her first time in the pool three days ago. She found that she enjoyed the exercise as much as she did running, if not more.
She took a moment to wipe the sweat from the back of her neck, and then went back to sleep, knowing she would be up again in a little over half an hour. She did not dream during this quick snooze, but in her mind, for some reason, she thought of music: strangely enough, the kind her dad used to play in their garage on those Saturdays that he sometimes spent detailing an old Ford Mustang he used to own.
When she opened the basement door shortly after 5:00, sporting her new favorite, blue bikini, the familiar thudding from below immediately echoed in her ears. She guessed he must have passed by her room after she had fallen asleep again. She carefully made her way to the gym and saw him in his usual spot in front of the bag, delivering the same fury upon it as she had seen twice before. She said nothing at first when she started to make her way to the other side toward the pool room, but she placed a gentle hand on his bare shoulder for the brief second that she passed by him.
He didn’t turn to her, but he did pause his workout when he felt her soft touch. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your routine,” she said as she continued toward the pool room door. “I just wanted to let you know I was here. Sorry to bother you.”
“I knew you were there,” he answered quietly. “And you’re not bothering me.”
She stopped and turned her head to give him a sympathetic smile, for she knew the haunting in his heart that drove him to the gym some mornings, but she found she was smiling at the back of his head as he still faced whatever opponent he envisioned the heavy-bag to represent. So she reached for the door.
“Do you really think it was meant to happen?” he suddenly said just as she pulled on the handle to let herself into the pool room. She stopped immediately at the sound of his voice and turned again to him. His back still to her. “Do you really think God planned it, knowing the path I’d take because of it?”
She let go of the handle, letting the door close again, and approached him slowly, swinging her towel from underneath her arm to rest about her shoulders behind her neck. “Of course I don’t,” she answered softly. “When I said it was meant to happen, that’s not what I meant.”
He finally turned to her, wiping a waterfall of sweat from his face with one hand. “What did you mean then?”
She smiled gently, realizing he was finally ready to listen. “There are millions of terrible, sinful acts that happen in the world, Michael. God doesn’t mean for any of them to happen. At least I don’t think so. He’s shown us the way, but He’s also given us the free will to either follow it or ignore it. I believe the evil that happens is beyond His control, brought on by the temptations that have also entered our world.”
“Like your theory about the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden,” he remarked. “You know I’m not sold on that. The stories in the Bible aren’t literal. In ancient times, lessons were taught through story telling. Extended metaphors. Adam and Eve couldn’t have been the first humans to walk the earth, not when paleontologists are digging up remains of the first human ancestors from millions of years ago. And other cultures had created stories that predate the Bible, but held similar themes. The ancient Greeks’ version of the forbidden fruit was Pandora’s box.”
“It doesn’t matter if the story isn’t literally true,” she suggested. “It still reflects the idea that somehow, an item that contained evil, whether it was a tree or a box, was put here, and humankind opened the breach. I don’t believe God put it there. And that ties in with what I meant. God didn’t plan your loss. These Agents of Shadow did. Maybe God knew it would happen, being omniscient, but that doesn’t mean He allowed it any more than you would allow your children to do drugs. Even if you educate them about the risks, you can’t stop them when they’re grown up and on their own.”
“But you said it was meant to happen,” he interjected.
She drew in a breath. “I don’t know how I know this. I can’t pretend I have all the answers, but what I said felt right. And I’ve had plenty of time to think about it since then. And what I think it means is that the result of your tragedy was meant to be. I believe God saw what happened to you, as He sees everything, and because of how it affected you, He chose you afterwards.”
He blinked. “Chose me?”
“They say God doesn’t carry out His work directly, but instead He works through us. Maybe He sees all the corruption and evil, and like you, He’s had enough. And He chose you because of your own free will to take a stand against it. You said yourself that by the law of this Alpha Magic, that you shouldn’t be able to tap into it anymore because your heart is burdened with anger and other emotions. You said that this magic is only able to flow into a Keeper of White who has only love and compassion for humanity and nature, and yet you, even with your want for revenge, can still access it. Did you ever wonder why you’re the exception to that rule? Maybe God has something to do with it. Maybe He has control over that certain plane of existence, and even though your heart is no longer at peace, He’s graced you with the means to carry out His will. Regardless of the rules of your Alpha Magic. You have to remember, this Code of yours was set by other Keepers, maybe the first ones. And your Order may be bound to this Code, but God isn’t bound to it.”
Michael was left by what she professed, with a pensive expression. “What you’re saying reminds me of a hypothetical conversation I had with Father Chris a while back about the Holocaust. How God didn’t allow that to happen, but He was there for those who had suffered from it. And that if it didn’t happen, something worse could’ve happened later in history instead.”
“And God’s there for you, Michael,” she said with faith in her voice. “And if this Dark Year had been completed, maybe the cataclysmic effects would have been worse than anything else that’s ever happened before. We can’t know what the outcome would be if your past had been different. But I think God must have seen something terrible that may happen, and knew someone would have to stop it. So I believe he chose you. If your tragedy never occurred, if you never had anything to set you out on this quest you’ve embarked on, someone else would have been chosen. I really believe that, Michael.”
Michael lowered his head
. “I’m not sure I do. Throughout history, people have robbed, attacked, killed, and done unspeakable things to others… all in God’s name. It doesn’t get any more hypocritical than that. No matter how righteous a person feels his actions to be, he’s delusional to think he’s carrying out God’s will if he takes a life.”
“I agree,” she said. “But those atrocities were committed against other people. Human beings. These agents… they’re not human. They’re vessels of evil. Summoners of demons from an unnatural world that feed on the souls of the innocent. I wouldn’t worry about hypocrisy when it comes to ending them. They’ve abandoned their humanity.”
He looked away from her, considering her ideas. “Why did you say I was going to save the world?”
She stopped and blinked with a hint of confusion. For a moment, she didn’t know what he was talking about. It took a few seconds for her to remember what she had said. “I… I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Honestly, I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think I even thought to say it. It just kind of… came out. Like I had no control of what I was saying. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. A sad expression fell upon his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m buying into any of this anyway. There’s also the possibility that there’s no such thing as fate. That shit just happens. Cause and effect. You know?”
“Sure,” she agreed. “Sometimes shit happens. But during all the meditating I’ve done here, I’ve been thinking a lot about… well everything really. And at some point recently, one particular thought occurred to me that leads me to believe that’s not true in your case. In fact, I’m convinced this was truly meant to be.”
The Paladin's Redemption (The Keepers of White Book 3) Page 25