by MB Mooney
Matt frowned. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the airport,” Jim said.
“To Seattle?”
“Not now. It’s gone too far for that. You’re headed to Rome, Italy. To the Assembly.”
The small private plane sat before him, and the people that he knew as parents stood in front of him. Matt turned to Jim, the cold breeze ruffling his hair. “I don’t know what to say,” Matt muttered, his voice strained, his own eyes filling with tears. “I mean, is this goodbye? Is this goodbye forever?”
Alice sobbed now. Jim held her close. “If you’re asking whether or not we’ll ever see each other again …” Jim shrugged, “I can’t say. My guess would be that we probably won’t.”
Matt lowered his head. “I should be so pissed at you guys right now, for lying to me, for keeping things from me. But after tonight,” he chuckled and sniffed. “After tonight, I guess I understand how protective you always were of me.” He met their gaze. “You never took on another major case for the Sage because of me,” he said, and Jim nodded, looking down and away. He turned to Alice. “You never had a child of your own because of me.” She began to cry. He turned back to Jim. “I’m sorry.”
A tear rolled down Jim’s cheek, a tear from this man Matt realized he barely knew. Jim shook his head. “No reason to be sorry, son. You’ll always be ours, in our hearts. Know that.”
“Oh, Matt,” Alice said and embraced him. Matt gathered the woman he loved more than anything in his arms and began to cry.
After a long moment, Jim pulled at his wife. “C’mon honey, the plane is waiting. He needs to go where he’ll be safe.”
Alice nodded as she pulled away, wiping her face with her bare hands.
“Jim and Alice … are those your real names?”
Jim smiled despite the sad moment. “They should be the names you remember us by.”
Matt grimaced as he turned and went up the short staircase up to the private plane. He turned and looked at them one last time before entering the plane that would take him to the unknown, leaving behind everything in his life that he had ever loved.
Epilogue
I have failed.
I came for one simple purpose, to divert a young man from a path that would lead him to darkness and destruction, and I failed.
The Master gave me one chance, a rare opportunity to correct my mistake.
For I have been to Earth before. Years ago. In Earth years, almost eighteen years, in fact. I came as a woman then, a beautiful woman. I had no mission, and my only agenda was to experience this life, this mortality that so engrosses and confuses the mighty messengers of Paradise. To experience it is the only way to know the dangers and the temptations that humanity faces. We are beings of immense power, so powerful that even the strongest and bravest of men, when we come to them in our full glory, fall to the ground in fear and worship. But to be a mortal is to be overwhelmed, to feel such fear, to be lost in a sea of senses and desires and desperations. And joy.
And that is where I was deceived. Here in this city, Atlanta, some years ago. A celestial being more used to the mortal flesh was able to manipulate me and seduce me. I even had a child, a boy. It was a mistake, a tragic mistake. However, children are such a treasure to our Master that he waits until the birth of the child before bringing us back to Paradise to face our fate, our punishment.
I realized my lamentable error and knew I deserved to be removed from Paradise for all of time. Throwing myself upon his boundless mercy, I begged him for quarter. I fully expected to be tormented for all of time.
But he forgave me. I saw also firsthand the compassion and wisdom of the King of Paradise. It only made me love him more. But since Paradise is outside the limitations of time, I could see the path my son would take, the lives he would destroy if he chose to take that path. The Master understood and even gave me a chance to do some good, to steer him to a different choice.
In my return, I failed.
I failed my own son.
I can hear the singing of Paradise, the music that is beyond sound, the voices that are beyond the notes of this world. The joys of Paradise draw me and cause me sorrow. I long to be one with it again. All that is left for me is to wait to die, waste away until I am brought again to my home.
My son lives, but he was always going to live. It is in his nature to live. It is also in his nature to destroy. If I could have taught him, diverted him away from those that will only use him, then the world would have hope.
But now, although the world will be ignorant of the conflict until it is too late, they must hope in others to either divert him to a life of good … or heroes to stand against him.
Acknowledgements
This book couldn’t have happened without some serious help. More than a few have assisted me in this endeavor. They were each invaluable.
First, my original beta reader, Greg Wagoner, who endured the work as I wrote it, as dark and rough as it was, and encouraged me to keep going.
Second, to the next batch of beta readers, Matt M., Gina D., and Shawn M. It was amazing getting your feedback.
Third, to my editor, Francine Phillips. You earned every penny.
Fourth, to the artist for the cover, Jeremiah Briggs. With all you’ve been through over the past year, this painting is a testament to your strength and maturity. And the painting is perfect for this work. I’m blessed to have found such a partner for my works.
And lastly, to my wife, whose patience is tested when I get into “book world.” Her outgoing husband becomes an artistic hermit for long stretches of time, and only a saint of a woman could understand that it is what I must do.
Thank you all.
Peace.
For more information on MB Mooney and his works, go to www.mbmooney.com.
And visit him on FB – www.facebook.com/MooneyMB
Now that Matt knows he is an immortal, he is thrust into a dark, underground world about to be at war. Will he choose a side or return to help his friends still in danger? Read on in MAKE A GOD. Get it at the link here:
https://www.amazon.com/Make-God-Twilight-Gods-Book-ebook/dp/B01E1T6NVU/
Prologue
I sat under the overpass and listened to the roar of vehicles overhead, a constant noise. Although I knew it to be artificial, it seemed natural. Almost.
I had been wandering the streets for days, walking, sleeping in fits on the rare occasion I stopped to rest. Dreams visited me, images of the heaven I left behind and the failure to save my son from his dark path, the path that would lead to his own destruction and the death of many innocent people.
When thinking of my failure, my initial desire was to pray, to offer up my desperation in words to the Master. From the vantage point of eternal Paradise, I have witnessed countless times when a human thought the story was over but the Master manufactured a miraculous second chance. Or third. Or fourth. The Master’s generosity races beyond comprehension, even to those glorious ones that bask in his light without the filter of flesh.
Other men already laid here under the concrete overpass before I arrived. Two of them. One man in layers of brown and red lay on a dirty blanket. He turned away from me with a grunt. A second man sneered at me from under the hood of a thick green coat with a large yellow “G” emblazoned upon it.
They were both dark-skinned, like myself, and I could feel their hopelessness. These men were “homeless,” a fascinating term. Now I am one. I remembered an age when families of humans slept together under the stars or in a cave and felt themselves fortunate to have hunted or gathered enough to eat that day.
The Earth had changed over the millennia since, revolutions and great, lavish civilizations come and gone. This nation of America was no different. Only one kingdom lasts forever, and it is not a kingdom of men.
Or a kingdom of immortals. They possessed powers of gods, but these immortals were as susceptible to the weaknesses and failures as those they call “mortal.” When gods abuse their power, it is far mo
re destructive.
I tried to save my son from the pride of his own power, the deception that more power in this world can lead to good. It is always abused. It always leads to more evil. No matter the intentions, always. There is only one power that is pure and good, and it is accessed by humility and love, not by pride. And that power must be guided by the source.
Again, I desired to turn my heart to the Master, to beg his intervention. But how many second chances does an angel get?
As the sun hung straight overhead, two men approached the three of us under the overpass. I sensed the fear in the others as we were addressed, but the men gave us a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a bottle of water. Fear in the other men turned to hunger and need. We took the food.
One of the men who gave us food sat and began to talk with me. He had kind eyes.
“What is your name?”
“Kalil.” I took a small bite of the sandwich.
“Hey. I’m Alejandro. Good to meet you.”
I nodded.
“So where are you from?”
“Far away.”
Alejandro chuckled. “Like China?”
He thought he was making a joke. I smiled. “Farther.”
“Okay,” he said, and he narrowed his eyes at me, a quick expression that quickly disappeared. He reached in the pocket of his leather jacket and produced a small, stiff paper, a card with writing.
“I’m with a local mission, a ministry,” he continued. He handed the card to me. “Here are directions, and the number is right there.” He pointed these out to me. “You can come and stay overnight, get a meal. We even have programs to help men get jobs, get back on their feet.”
I took the card, perused it. I pointed to the image on the card. “What is this?”
Alejandro stammered before answering. “That is a cross. Y’know, like how Jesus died? It means we are a Christian ministry.”
“Ah, yes, the Son of the Master.”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah.”
“You do this in his honor?” I lifted the sandwich to him. “Give the hungry food?”
“We try.” Alejandro shrugged. “Homes for the homeless, food, jobs, all of that.”
I took a deep breath. “That is how it should be.” I put the card in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you believe the Master forgives anything, any failure?”
The eyes narrowed a second time. “By ‘the Master,’ y’mean God?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes, absolutely.” No hesitation or doubt in his voice.
“Even if your failure means the end of the world?”
He paused this time. He looked above and around us and met my eyes again. “Looks like it is still here to me. The story isn’t over, I think. Still time to save it.”
“You believe that?”
“I do.” His features were sincere.
He left with a promise that I would consider coming to the mission; I was left alone again with the other two men, their hunger sated for now, and my own thoughts.
My son was now in the hands of the immortals, their Assembly. They would seek to use him and his power. How could I save him from their machinations?
I couldn’t. But the Master could.
I begged the Master for another chance, another way to save my son from becoming the destroyer.
Show me what to do, I pleaded. Show me what to do.
Chapter 1
Matt sat next to the window as the private plane ascended from Atlanta to take him east to Rome, Italy.
Sitting in a luxurious black leather seat with long armrests, every part of him was exhausted – his body, mind, soul. All he wanted was to sleep, close his eyes and rest. But he couldn’t. His brain, as tired as he was, would not stop attempting to process the story his parents – his adopted parents, he kept correcting himself – told him.
Immortals. Angels. Dark creatures of the night. An underground, supernatural world. The Assembly.
His mind raged with questions. What did it mean?
Matt glanced up at the only other figure in this part of the cabin, a tall, muscular man with a square jaw whose face held no expression. The man stood next to a narrow door that led to the front of the plane; Matt assumed it was another compartment or the cockpit. That one glance was enough to convince Matt that he would get no answers from him. That man was not there for knowledge but protection. But was he there to protect Matt from others, others from Matt, or Matt from himself?
A knock came from the door behind the man, a soft knock. Square-jaw leaned over and opened the door.
A woman emerged from the front of the plane – he could see another area beyond the door. She had light brown skin and delicate features. Her black hair was pulled back into a long braid away from her face. She was short, petite, and wore a sleeveless dress the color of blood with golden embroidery.
She was the most beautiful woman Matt had ever seen.
And she was an immortal. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. While she appeared in her early twenties, Matt sensed she was ancient.
The woman addressed square-jaw. “Thank, you Andre. You may leave us.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said without emotion and left the way she came, closing the door behind him.
She stepped towards him, and he sat up in his chair, the leather squeaking. “Matthew Walker. You have questions. I will answer what I can before we arrive.” She possessed an odd accent – Middle Eastern or perhaps African?
“Who are you?”
“Ah, yes. This has happened so quickly, I have forgotten my manners. I am Amilia; I represent the Assembly.”
His adopted parents had mentioned the name only a few minutes before. “And what is the Assembly?”
Amilia glided forward and sat across the aisle from him. The seats swiveled and they faced one another. She rested her hands upon the armrests and pursed her lips. “We are a group of people, powerful in our own way. We try to use our influence to help the world, to guide events toward peace.”
Matt thought of all the conflicts and poverty around the world, the little he knew of it. “Doesn’t seem to be working very well.”
“We are not all powerful. We do what we can. We would argue that events would be far more catastrophic were we not involved.”
Matt sniffed. “And you are immortal.”
“I am.”
“My … adopted parents said they believed I was one, too.”
She paused before she spoke, and her eyes tightened. “You are.”
Matt leaned forward. “Why the hesitation?”
“As I hope you discover while you are among us, we are each unique, with our own story and path. Even the term ‘immortal’ is something of a misnomer. We are capable of living a long time. We do not age or grow sick. But we are not invincible. We can be killed, some more easily than others.”
“This Assembly, are you all immortals?”
Another pause. “Each in our own way, yes.”
He sniffed at her. “What does that mean?”
“I cannot tell you all of it now. Each one of us has a story, and they are not my stories to tell. I hope you will be patient and hear them all. The Assembly gathers as we speak, to meet you.”
“In Rome.”
“In a small town just south of Rome, that is correct. Ostia Antica, an ancient place near the coast.”
“So … there’s not a lot you can tell me now.” He was tired and couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He didn’t care.
“We will keep no secrets, I promise you. You simply have much to learn and that takes time. If being immortal has taught me anything, it is that there is time. Always time. A generous amount of time.”
He frowned at her. “What can you tell me?”
Amilia tilted her head and caught his gaze with her light brown eyes. They sparkled.
“You will be a powerful immortal, Matthew. It is your choice wha
t you do with that power. We hope to give you time and opportunity to understand what that means and empower you to make that choice for yourself.”
He nodded.
She rose. “For now, you are tired and must rest. I shall leave you. Please try to sleep.” She moved to leave.
“One last question.”
Amilia paused at the door and regarded him.
“My old life, with my adopted parents, my friends. Can I choose to go back?”
Her eyes turned sad. “You would return to a lie?” She shook her head. “Once we know the truth, once the veil has been removed, there is no return, Matthew. Even if what you knew still existed, now that you know what you are, you have forever changed. One way or another, your life will never be the same.”
She passed through the door and left him alone again with his thoughts.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep.
*****
“How long has he been up there?” Detective Valerie Mann asked FBI Special Agent Lawrence as he drove her to the top of the parking deck.
Lawrence was a handsome man, a little too close to a Sears Catalog model for her, but attractive enough. He sighed at her. “Not sure. An hour or more from what the officer said.”
Lawrence had received the call on his cell phone as they searched the building for Matthew Walker. The boy that had killed a serial killer simply disappeared. The FBI, police, no one could find him. Valerie shook her head as she thought about it now.
The call had not been about Matthew Walker but Bill Young, her partner for the last week. A mysterious lawyer had appeared and bailed him out of jail. Now Bill was eight stories above the street and threatening to kill himself.
He asked for Valerie.
“Are you all right?” Lawrence asked, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You looked a little shaken up before.”
“Fine,” she said. “Just … just a little freaked out; that kid and his parents disappeared so quickly.” And that he touched me … and I felt recovered, less tired, less pain, she wanted to add.