by Lynn Sholes
* * *
She dragged out books, including four Bibles. Chauncey had written in his note that the tablet was protected by the word of God. Cotten started to reach into the chest again, but then she suddenly returned to the Bibles. That was it! The secret was protected by the word of God. The Bible!
“Which one, which one,” she said, opening the first one, then tossing it aside. She gripped the largest—a leather-bound Bible—and yanked it away from the other time capsule items. It was heavy, too heavy. Cotten pulled the book into the brilliance of the camera lights.
It was then that she heard the crowd start to react to the mist. Clutching the large volume to her chest, she looked along the Embankment and saw what she feared the most—what she had prayed would not come.
Like twinkling stars in the twilight of night, the fireflies came.
First a few, then hundreds. Soon the Embankment became ablaze in their glow.
They emerged from the mist and swirled around the tip of the Needle, fanning out across the Embankment and the river, rushing toward the throngs of people.
Panic swept the crowd.
Somehow Cotten also knew they were swarming not just along the banks of the river, but also across the towns and cities where millions listened and watched.
* * *
Richard clutched the gun in his pocket. He felt the dampness of the mist as it rolled off the water. He heard the buzz of his brothers approaching. What if this Stone woman was right? What if this was the beginning of the end for him and his kind? He was tired. Exhausted. Maybe he would actually welcome the end. He had no zeal anymore. Mariah had left him. Eli had no respect for him.
Richard lifted the automatic and aimed at the priest. It was going to be a clean shot, no obstacles to block it. His finger tightened on the trigger. “Squeeze,” he whispered.
But he couldn’t.
For the first time, he realized the enormity of the transgression he had made eons ago. And maybe now he understood the meaning of eternal damnation.
Richard turned back to the river and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the gun into the dark, swirling waters of the Thames. He fell to his knees.
* * *
Cotten ripped apart the strands of twine holding the Bible together. The book fell open. There, hidden in a cut-out, was the crystal tablet.
She grasped it in both hands and stood.
The sound of the swarm increased to a roar. Like a blast furnace, the heat from the demons scorched her skin. The scent of sulfur filled her nostrils. She heard the screams of the people succumbing to the onslaught.
“Oh God, help me.” Her words echoed across the Embankment and along the river at her back. “Help me to see, to hear.”
She knew that there was little time left before the demons swept up the souls of all present. The believers had come to see the tablet, to witness the handwriting of God. As she held it in her hand, she looked at the inscription. The words were written in Enochian—the tongue of the angels, the language of heaven.
The language of her heritage.
Scanning the words, her gaze fell upon the reference to the final cleansing.
“Cotten?” John said.
Quickly she translated in her head. “Ripple was right.” She turned to John. “It says that Armageddon has to happen.” As she read on, she realized that Edelman had misinterpreted the ancient glyphs on the Peruvian tablet. In Enochian, it became so clear to her. And at the bottom of the tablet, the portion that no one understood, were brackets and symbols and numbers—Lester Ripple’s thread theory, his scientific proof that the Kingdom of God is within you. Suddenly, it all made sense. But she had no time to explain to those gathered before her or the millions watching around the world.
Cotten looked up. “John, it doesn’t say the second cleansing will be led by the daughter of an angel. It says that the daughter of an angel will lead them away.”
She realized that even Chauncey had gotten it wrong. The message on the tablet wasn’t meant for the world, it was meant for her. The last secret was not just a reference about her, it was a message from God to her.
Suddenly, she knew she had the power to defeat the demons. It had been there all along.
She understood.
She wasn’t going to teach everyone liquid light. She had to create the reality—her consciousness would exist in the new world and her consciousness would have all these people there. It would be by their free will which world they chose as their reality.
She would lead them away from the pain, the suffering, the darkness.
Cotten grasped the tablet firmly and held it higher. The mass of people reacted with a plea for help.
The blinding light of the fireflies reflected off the surface of the crystal and shone back across the Embankment in rainbow spears. The reflection pushed against the brilliance of the fireflies with a powerful force that seemed to halt their advance for an instant.
In that second, Cotten became totally immersed in the liquid light. She blocked out the roar and the crippling heat of the demons. Her senses became acutely aware of what lay before her, and she suddenly envisioned two Embankments. The first was amassed with thousands of souls reaching out to her in desperation, holding on to their last moment of life. The second was a scene of tranquility and calm as fall-colored leaves fluttered in the crisp breeze. The massive crowds were there as well, but each face bore an expression of content, happiness, and peace. Ripples on the river sparkled in bright sunlight like diamonds under a blue sky. The air was fresh and sweet. The city glistened. This was the reality she chose for herself, and she would put them all—all those who would come—in her reality.
She must lead the way and take those who believed with her. Knowing this was the moment—there would be no other—she gripped the crystal tablet and stepped onto the second Embankment.
Alligator Lake
There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
Cotten looked out the window across the water. Being at Thomas Wyatt’s cottage brought her much peace. The ever-changing surface of the lake, almost like a living creature, mesmerized her. Everything about it calmed her soul.
The perfect place to make the biggest decision of her life.
She walked out onto the porch and took a sip of the warm tea from the heavy mug she held. Winter had invaded the remote North Florida woods with invigorating cold air. Cotten didn’t mind. The crispness of the cold felt good—clean and fresh.
She heard the sound of tires crunching along the gravel entrance road as a car approached through the pine forest. Cotten wandered to the end of the porch and watched the Mercedes sedan pull up beneath one of the many giant oaks scattered across the fifty acres of backwoods. Monsignor Philip Duchamp opened the driver’s door and got out. He gave her a friendly wave before pulling the handle of the side door.
John Tyler emerged from the car and waved to her as well. “Is this the place?” he asked as they approached the porch.
“This is it,” Cotten said, smiling. She wrapped her arms around him as he stood on the porch. Before stepping back, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “So now it’s Your Eminence, Cardinal John Tyler.” She gave a bow and smiled broadly.
“Just clawing my way up the corporate ladder,” John said.
“And Monsignor,” Cotten said. “As ever, it’s good to see you.” She motioned to the door. “Gentlemen, glad you could make it. What can I get you two? Hot chocolate or green tea?”
“Hot chocolate would be great,” Duchamp said.
“The same,” John said as he and the monsignor chose two chairs around the dinette set.
Duchamp picked up a newspaper from the table and read the headline: “International Peace Accords Signed.” He smiled before continuing al
oud. “Treaties are being drafted and confirmed around the globe as world leaders choose new paths to peace.” He looked at Cotten and then John. “Who would have thought this day would come?”
“If anyone ever doubted miracles,” John said, “there’s the proof.”
Cotten set two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table and took a seat opposite the two men.
“I am still amazed at what happened, Cotten,” Duchamp said.
She sipped her green tea before speaking. “I never realized that I had been in training since the day I arrived in Peru until the moment I stood on the Victoria Embankment. In that instant, Yachaq’s words came back to me. He told me that just as there are many paths in the forest leading to different destinations, all the paths of life lie before us each day, each minute—we simply choose which to follow. He taught me to see with new eyes. Standing at the base of Cleopatra’s Needle, I knew what I had to do. I had to choose a new path for all those who were ready. I chose for them to be a part of my reality in this place.”
“Sort of like changing lanes on the expressway,” Duchamp said, “and having everyone behind you shift into your lane, too?”
“Exactly,” Cotten said with a nod. “Now everyone has a fresh chance to choose new directions in life, but without the immediate threat of the evil that was devouring innocent souls right before our eyes.”
“It doesn’t mean there’s always going to be clear sailing ahead. Evil still exists,” John said. “But whether we call it the power of intention, the law of attraction, liquid light, whatever—all we have to understand is that all possibilities already exist, and everyone has the ability to do what Cotten did. Make good choices, walk the right paths, and the final reward will be the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Duchamp placed the paper on the table. “I suppose the big question is, what happens next?”
“And that’s why we’re here today,” John said.
“What do you mean?” Duchamp asked.
“In the world we left, Satan and his army have found a strong foothold,” John said. “There are still so many who were left behind who deserve to be spared.”
“And we have a limited amount of time to do so,” Cotten said. “God’s message declared that there will be a final cleansing to wash away evil forever.”
John rested his mug on the arm of the chair. “The secret must be offered to those left behind before the End of Days occurs.”
Suddenly, Duchamp seemed to understand as he looked at Cotten. “So, do you stay here, where peace could last a thousand years, or return to help those who face an impending End of Days?” He hesitated, drumming his fingertips on the table in apparent thought.
Cotten said, “John, would you like to take a walk?”
“I would love to.” He rose and looked at the monsignor. “We might be a while.”
With a knowing glance, Duchamp picked up the newspaper. “Take all the time you need, Your Eminence.”
Cotten and John went out onto the porch and down to the dock extending over the lake in front of the cottage. They walked to the end and stood in silence, gazing toward the far shore. The black water lapped against the pilings, and a breeze stirred the surface just enough so that a small skiff tied to the end piling bobbed gently.
“I’ve decided to go back,” Cotten said.
“I knew you would. And I’m going with you.”
“No,” she said, turning to John and touching his face with her palm. “You should stay here. I must go, but you don’t have to. There are so many here who need your faith, your guidance, your wisdom. You can teach them.”
“I realize that, Cotten, but you’re not the only one God speaks to. I get a message or two from him now and then. The people in this world already understand. Look at the headlines in today’s paper,” John said. “And Duchamp can take care of the needs here.”
“I know he can. It’s just that if anything should happen to you because of me . . .”
The wind blew Cotten’s hair in her face. John brushed it back and threaded it behind her ear. “Do you really want to return without me?” he asked, taking her hand.
She smiled. “No.”
“Then it’s settled.”
She lowered her eyes and stared down at the water. She had something else to say to him, but didn’t know if she had the courage. Just do it, Cotten, she thought. Just look up and say it.
But she didn’t have to look up on her own. John put his hand under her chin and lifted her head. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Cotten opened her mouth but couldn’t force the words.
John cocked his head as if to ask again what was wrong.
“John,” she started, then paused before speaking again. “When you had the accident in London, I was afraid that I would lose you forever, and I felt sick and angry with myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Well, I’ll always feel it was my fault, but that’s not what I’m talking about. There was another reason I felt that way. Because of something I hadn’t done . . . hadn’t said.” She wavered, then finally spoke. “I want you to know that I love you.”
He took her in his arms. “I know. I’ve always known. And you know that I love you, too.”
They held each other for a long time before finally stepping apart and again looking toward the distant horizon.
“So, shall we?” Cotten asked.
“We shall,” John said.
She closed her eyes and began their immersion into the liquid light.
* * *
Inside the cabin, Monsignor Philip Duchamp glanced up from the newspaper. The evening brought a gathering darkness across the lake, the growing shadows masking the far shore. He could barely make out the skiff lazily swaying on its tether at the end of the empty pier. Duchamp stared for a moment at the serenity of the scene before returning to his reading.
[contents]
Hades Project: A Cotten Stone Mystery © 2007 by Lynn Sholes & Joe Moore. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Edition
First Printing, 2007
Book design by Donna Burch
Cover design by Kevin R. Brown
Editing by Connie Hill
Midnight Ink, an imprint of Llewellyn Publications
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sholes, Lynn, 1945–.
The Hades Project / Lynn Sholes and Joe Moore. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (Cotten Stone mystery ; 3)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7387-0930-7
1. Stone, Cotten (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women journalists—
Fiction. 3. Good and evil—Fiction. I. Moore, Joe, 1948– . II. Title.
PS3619.H646H332007
813’.6—dc222007013605
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Midnight Ink
Llewellyn Publications
2143 Wooddale Drive, Dept. 978-0-7387-0930-7
Woodbury, MN 55125-2989, U.S.A.
www.midnightinkbooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
acknowledgments
The authors wish to thank the following for their assistance in adding a sense of realism to this work of fiction.
Dr. Seth Lloyd, PhD
Professor, Department of Mechanical Engineering
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Cary E. Moore
Special Agent, Office of Special Investigations
United States Air Force
Jimmy Young
Former Officer, United States Secret Service
Jim McCormick
President, CENCORE, Inc.
“The descent to Hades is the same from every place.”
—Anaxagoras, Greek philosopher, 500–428 BC
in the beginning
After losing the great Battle of Heaven, Lucifer, the Son of the Dawn, and his rebel angels were driven from Paradise—cast out for all eternity into a world of darkness. Obsessed with hatred and vengeance, Lucifer, now known as Satan, plotted his first act of revenge against God—the temptation of Adam and Eve.
Seeing that Man was vulnerable, and armed with the knowledge that all humans could be tempted, Satan began his battle to prevent souls from entering the Kingdom of Heaven. With each passing Age of Man, he devised ever more elaborate methods of tricking the naïve human psyche into repeating Adam’s original sin. To do so, Satan’s Brotherhood of the Fallen and their offspring, the Nephilim, roamed the earth in search of prey, building their ever-increasing list of souls that were damned forever to the same darkness from which Evil thrived.
There was one who shared their blood, but not their condemnation. She alone stood in the way of Satan’s ultimate goal: to claim all the souls on Earth to his Dark Empire. He had the ability to tempt Man, but she had the will to stop him.
She was Cotten Stone, the offspring of the only forgiven Fallen Angel. God formed a covenant with her father, Furmiel, the Angel of the Eleventh Hour. For his repentance, God granted Furmiel mortality, and he was given two daughters—twins. Because Furmiel could never return to Paradise, God took one of the daughters at birth to fill her father’s ranks in Heaven, but the second daughter was to live on Earth. She was therefore called upon by God to fight in His name.