The Cotten Stone Omnibus: It started with The Grail Conspiracy... (The Cotten Stone Mysteries)

by Lynn Sholes

  Waiting Room

  Cotten sat in the waiting room on the surgical floor of the hospital. Nearby, next to the door, stood a Venatori agent.

  “Would you like some coffee?” a nurse asked.

  “No thanks.”

  “Is there any news about my son?” a woman sitting in a beige upholstered chair asked the nurse.

  “The doctor will come out to see you as soon as the surgery is over,” the nurse said.

  “Can you check?” the woman asked, her bottom lip and her voice trembling. “Please.”

  “Of course,” the nurse said.

  The woman took a tissue from the box on the floor beside her as the nurse left. She appeared so bedraggled and distraught—her hair hung in strings, some falling in front of her red, swollen eyes.

  “Your son is in surgery?” Cotten asked.

  The woman nodded. “He’s only ten.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cotten said. “I hope he is going to be okay.”

  “He broke his neck,” the woman said. “He jumped from a tree. No reason. Just jumped. He couldn’t have meant to hurt himself . . . could he? I mean, all these suicides. Something awful is happening. Did you hear what the pope called it? Demonic possessions. Can you believe that?”

  Cotten said, “Downstairs in the emergency room, that’s all anyone was talking about.”

  A man in scrubs and a blue mask dangling below his chin came into the room. “Who is here with Archbishop Tyler?”

  “I am,” Cotten said, getting to her feet.

  The doctor extended his hand. “I do have good news. The archbishop has suffered some head trauma, a concussion, but no fracture to the skull. We’ll keep a watch on that situation—make certain there’s no bleeding, et cetera. And he had a compound fracture of the left radius.”

  “Compound?”

  “The broken end of the bone came through the skin. These types of breaks are susceptible to infection, because the bone isn’t protected by soft tissue or skin. We had to go in and clean the injury site and stabilize the fracture. If infection sets in, that is a whole new set of problems, and it can be difficult for the bone to heal.”

  “But he’s going to be all right?” Cotten asked.

  “He will be here for several days so we can monitor him. We’ll keep him on an IV to make certain he stays well hydrated, and we will give him some big doses of antibiotics. But yes, he’s going to be very sore, but he should mend just fine. I’ve prescribed a painkiller if needed. He has several bruised ribs and other contusions.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll be checking on him later. Hope this hasn’t ruined your holiday.”

  Cotten wasn’t sure how to respond. “Actually, it was a business trip.” What else could she call it? “When can I see him?” she asked.

  “He’s in recovery now. He should be up in his room in an hour or so.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  When the doctor walked away, Cotten looked back at the woman whose son was in surgery. “I hope you’ll have good news, too. I’m sure you will.”

  Cotten left the waiting room and made her way out to the parking lot, where she could get a stronger signal on her cell phone. Flipping it open, she scrolled to Ted Casselman’s name in her contacts list and pressed talk.

  Two Londons

  Heaven means to be one with God.

  —CONFUCIUS

  As dusk fell over the city, Cotten put her cell phone to her ear and listened to Ted Casselman’s SNN office phone ring. It was chilly outside of the hospital lobby, so she turned her back to the wind. Maybe Ted was at lunch, she thought, glancing at her watch to compute the time difference.

  Just as she expected his voice mail to pick up, a strange voice answered.

  “Ted Casselman’s office.”

  “Hello. This is Cotten Stone. Is Ted in?”

  “Oh, hello, Ms. Stone. No, he, um . . . no, he isn’t.” The young woman stumbled and stuttered.

  “Who is this?” Cotten asked.

  “I’m Mr. Casselman’s assistant. Mr. Casselman is, um . . . I’m sorry, it’s just so awful.”

  “What’s wrong?” Cotten asked, feeling the first twinge of fear creeping into her gut. “Has something happened?”

  “Yes,” the young woman said, her voice breaking.

  Cotten held her breath.

  “A suicide this morning. Right here at SNN. We’re all devastated.”

  Cotten spun around, and the frigid air bit her cheeks and stung her eyes. “Ted?” she whispered.

  “Oh no, Mr. Casselman’s fine. He’s down the hall speaking to a detective. But I know he wanted to talk—wait, here he comes now.”

  Cotten finally took a breath. In the instant that she thought Ted had died, an invisible knot had tightened around her throat.

  “Cotten, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” Ted said.

  “I’m sorry about hanging up on you like that. John was struck by a hit-and-run this afternoon just as I answered your call. He’s pretty banged up, but he’s going to be okay. I know it wasn’t just any hit-and-run, though. This was deliberate. Like Thornton. Like Wyatt. They want to get to me.”

  “I am so sorry, Cotten. Is there anything I can do for John? For you? Everything seems to be spinning out of control.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cotten tugged her collar more snugly around her neck. “Your assistant said there was a suicide at SNN. What happened?”

  “A young tech shot himself in the men’s room.”

  “You’re right, the world is out of control,” Cotten said. “So, as if I need more bad news, what bad news were you calling me about earlier?”

  “It doesn’t seem important now, in the scheme of things.” Ted sighed. “Tempest Star put your picture on the front page of the National Courier. You with John, in the airport, hugging. It’s not the pictures so much, but the captions. And there’s another picture, with you on the side of the road crying and John consoling you. She’s tried to paint a portrait of you two having an affair.”

  Cotten shook her head. “Amazing. I guess they got to her, too. They’re covering every angle, Ted. Scare me, make me feel guilty, cause me grief, slander me. You name it. All the stops are out.”

  “Cotten, I have to tell you something, but I want to ask you a question first. Do you agree with what they are saying about all these suicides? Are they what the Vatican is calling demonic possessions?”

  Cotten put the phone to her other ear and walked, head down. “Demons, possessions . . . I don’t know. But what I do know is, it is a concerted effort to create mayhem and panic and to claim souls. It is their work, Ted. Of that I am sure. I’m—”

  “Cotten, today, not too long after the body of the tech was found, I had something happen to me. It was as if someone entered my thoughts. Not like what insane people say are voices in their heads telling them to do something. These were my thoughts. It’s hard to explain. I went so far as to take a gun out of my desk and consider using it on myself.”

  “Oh God, Ted.”

  “It was so bizarre. At first I felt sick, kind of dizzy and disjointed, not really connected to myself—or anything else, for that matter. I thought it might have to do with my heart condition. I became so overwhelmed with the feeling of despair washing over me that I actually started to cry. The world was all askew, and there seemed to be no hope for the future. I blamed myself for the tech’s suicide. Why hadn’t I seen the warning signs? I kept thinking how I am responsible for the staff and it was inexcusable that I hadn’t recognized this kid’s despondency. There was a price I had to pay. I wondered how I would ever face his family and friends—my family and friends—after such negligence. I was buried in shame, disgrace, dishonor, blame, hopelessness, and remorse. I was thinking there was no way I could be redeemed. And Cotten, I realized that I didn’
t even know the dead man’s name. What did that say about Ted Casselman? Existing in this life one more moment would be a disgrace.

  “Then something pulled me out of it. I don’t know what it was, but the words I said to you once came back to me. That suicide was not something I would ever consider. Suicide was for cowards. I realized then that I had to fight these thoughts that were filling my head—that they belonged to someone or something else, not me. My mind became a battlefield as I fought off the thing in my head. And I did fight. But it wasn’t easy.”

  “Ted, not that you aren’t strong or that you didn’t struggle, but you have to understand, if you didn’t pull the trigger it’s because they let go of you so that you could tell me what it was like. They want me to know how easy they can take control of anyone—and give back a life if it serves their purpose. They want me to understand that they can get to you, to John. Next time, they won’t let go—you won’t come back.”

  Ted took a moment before responding. “That’s even more reason why I want to put you on the air and do a special report to expose these suicides for what they are. Let everyone know how easily this can happen to anyone. Use it against the evil that’s causing all this. You’re the best one to do it. You know firsthand what we’re up against.”

  “But I don’t have anything to offer. Do you know how this sounds to most folks? Devils and demons—that’s the stuff horror films and conspiracy novels are made of. I can’t just get on television and spook the shit out of everyone.” Cotten hesitated. There was more than that. All afternoon she had thought about the attempt on John’s life. And now Ted’s near-suicide. “I don’t know if I want to go ahead with any of this. Because of me, you and John are at risk. If I give up, back away, then maybe all the suicides will stop, and you and John will be safe. I couldn’t go on if you or John—”

  “It’s never going to stop unless we do something—you do something. You know that. If you don’t stand in their way, they will win. You are the only one. And we don’t have time to wait.” Ted’s voice was sharp. “What happened to me today is happening to hundreds or thousands of innocent people every day. Something—I don’t care what you call it—took over the very way I think, Cotten. You have to do something about it right now. If it saves one life, it’s worth it. I’ll make all the arrangements. Can you get back to New York in two days?”

  Cotten felt numb. Ted was right—she had to stop this nightmare. But the cost might be more than she could bear. “I don’t think I can leave London so fast. John and I need to be here, at least for a little while longer. Plus, they say he needs to stay in the hospital a couple of days.”

  “Then we’ll do it from our London studios. Start putting together your report. I’ll get back to you with details.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Cotten said.

  “Cotten?”

  “Yes, Ted?”

  “I’m finally starting to understand.”

  * * *

  “I’ll wait outside,” the Venatori agent said as Cotten entered John’s room. After checking on him, she went and stared out the hospital room’s window south from Hampstead down over central London. It was midnight as the wind blew, and low clouds rolled past the window. She watched the city with St. Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben, and the spires of Westminster in the distance.

  Cotten struggled to understand what was happening around her. Right down to those she knew and loved. Was the reference to the daughter of an angel just a meaningless, cryptic verse from thousands of years ago, or was it talking about her? What if Edelman had guessed wrong when he interpreted the obscure glyphs? Would a broadcast help save lives or only create more deaths?

  She glanced at John, sleeping soundly. She’d do anything to protect him. And they knew it. The Fallen Ones had tried once again to take him from her. First, attempting to disgrace them both in the eyes of the Church and the world with Tempest Star’s tabloid pictures. Then they tried to kill him to send her a message.

  Cotten sat beside John’s bed, reached out, and touched his face, staring at him. They wanted her to be afraid to lose him. As she watched John, hearing his easy breathing, she realized that maybe she had it backward. Why did they want her so afraid? The revelation came instantly. It meant that she had the ability to stop them. They feared her. They were the ones who were terrified. She had to be very close to discovering what they wanted kept hidden away forever. The secret of stopping them, stopping Armageddon. This new line of thought strengthened her.

  Earlier, the staff had brought in a cot, and Cotten decided it was time to try to rest. Lying down, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, clearing her mind. She was exhausted, but not sleepy. Instead, she would turn to the liquid light. Recalling all that Yachaq had taught her, she began to immerse herself. Maybe within the light, she could find direction.

  Cotten allowed the light to come and pour inside her. It flowed in from every surface of her body. She welcomed it into the center of her being, where it spun into pure light. She felt the intensity as she envisioned its force spinning inside her core.

  Do not let go of the light, she remembered Yachaq saying with his soothing voice. Set your mind free so it moves effortlessly, not stopping on any thought, traveling through space and time in absolute stillness. Exist only in this perfect moment.

  Cotten blocked out all thoughts, concentrating only on the pureness of the light.

  She heard the wind outside the window and the hum of the elevator down the hall. There were whispers from the nurse’s station as two people discussed the latest news of the mass suicides. Nervous clinking of glass and pans came from the cafeteria somewhere in the hospital. Down on the street, a woman asked a cabbie to take her out of the city. There was fear in her voice.

  Then Cotten heard the rush of blood flowing into warm water as a woman somewhere nearby sat in a tub and slit her wrists, and the crash of the chair as it was kicked out from beneath the man who had just hung himself from a steam pipe in a building’s basement a block away. The rope from which his body swung creaked under his weight.

  People were dying everywhere. The sounds of their deaths grew like the squeal of feedback from a sound system turned up too loud.

  Cotten shook with fear, her body turning cold and sweaty. She felt as if she were coming apart, being pulled in a thousand directions by those who begged for her help. Their cries filled the darkness of the room, her mind, trying to extinguish the liquid light.

  She pushed hard to keep the light in sight and not lose the vision Yachaq had taught her. The answer must lie within the light. There was no other place to look.

  If Ripple and Yachaq were right, that all possibilities and outcomes already exist, then she would choose to exist in a different world—a better world.

  With concentration, she cut off the sounds and the thoughts that accompanied them, moving out and away, becoming light herself, light that vibrated with the rest of the universe. Connecting with all energy.

  Suddenly, she saw a tree-filled park outside the hospital, just beyond the electric sliding doors at the front entrance. Unlike the interior of the hospital lobby, the park was bright, cheerful, and full of people coming and going. There were no calls for help, no moans of pain, no screams of death. It was noon on a bright day.

  As the doors slid open with a whoosh, she walked onto the grass. The air was brisk but held the warmth of midday. She looked around at the people along the sidewalks. There was no evidence of urgency or worry, sadness or emergency. A few smiled or nodded as they passed.

  Like the two beaches she had seen from within the liquid light in her Florida apartment, Cotten knew she was seeing two Londons. One was a dark place being eaten alive by evil and death, and then there was this one, a place filled with life, hope, and promise.

  She knew that the liquid light allowed her to view a different path, another life that existed—another possibility. She had seen and taken i
t, had chosen to witness this beautiful, peaceful world and participate in it. She had moved from one of Lester Ripple’s threads to another, from one of Yachaq’s forest paths to a different one.

  In so many ways, Yachaq and Ripple had taught her the very same thing: all possibilities exist at the same time. We choose which path to take.

  Cotten stood on the grass and breathed in the fresh air. She wanted to simply walk across the open field into a life filled with peace and contentment.

  But she suddenly realized there was one problem from which she could not walk away. No one here needed her help. She could not turn her back on those who did.

  Slowly, she turned and stepped back through the sliding doors.

  Quantum Level

  The hospital room was quiet except for the occasional whoosh of the automatic blood pressure apparatus as it pumped up and then deflated on John’s arm.

  Cotten pulled the chair closer to the bed, just beyond the end of the guardrail. She rested her head on the cool sheets. The liquid light had drained every ounce of energy from her. Practice, Yachaq had told her. It would get easier. Cotten closed her eyes and slept.

  * * *

  When the nurse came in to check on John, the door cracked open, and the light from the hall spilled in, waking Cotten.

  “How is he doing?” she asked when the nurse had completed her tasks.

  “Everything looks good.” The nurse paused for a moment, then asked, “He’s very special to you, isn’t he?”

  “In so many ways,” Cotten said with no hesitation.

  When the nurse left, Cotten sat back in the chair and glanced down at her watch. It was midnight—six p.m. in Chicago. Lester Ripple’s phone number was stored in her cell phone. She hadn’t paid enough attention to what the strange little man had tried to tell her in Starbucks, but now it was becoming evident that Ripple was explaining what could very well be liquid light.