Powers and Principalities

quick note

2008-11-12T15:40:00.000-08:00

Well, you've probably figured out by now that this is a far stranger book than Sanctus, to which it is the sequel. I've finally figured out that I just like weird books. They're fun to write, and my favorite thing to read.

So, in warning, this novel just gets stranger from here on out. Expect epic battles, strange powers, and more wacky visions. If you like Descent Into Hell, or Place of the Lion, you'll be fine.

Thanks for reading! I'm up to 60,000 words, with 5k coming every day, and I'll post more soon.

chapter 9?

2008-11-11T12:40:00.000-08:00

The bus bounced crazily, as Brother Frank tried to avoid both the washboarded areas of the road and the nearby scrub brush that grew close to the dusty trail that had been marked as a road. I clutched the armrest of the van, and tried to relax. The drive had taken several hours, and most of the monks had been up since dawn. The desert was completely flat when we’d turned off the road, but as we drove further into the wilderness, we wound down into the bed of an arroyo, and cliffs of dust and small stones rose on all sides. The only vegation I could see were small plants the color of the ddust itself, a few stray tufts of some tough grass, and the occasional stunted grey bush. The hillsides were rugged, crusted in some places, and soft with dust in others. Not much water ever flowed here, and every drop left a distinct trace.
We pulled up to a small flat area, and parked, much to the relief of everyone. In a few moments, all the doors were open, and everyone was unloading. “Remember,” Brother frank called out as he tossed sleeping bags to various monks, “silence starts at lunch, and it’ll be best if we’re set up by then, so work fast!”
The bed of the arroyo was a flurry of activity as everyone set up their own sleeping area, then moved on to setting up the stoves, tables, and coolers needed for the food. As the sun rose towards its zenith, we finally got everything stowed safely, and gathered around the tables for the meal.
Brother Francis rolled back the sleeves of his robe, and lifted his arms to the sky. “Lord God, Father of all that is, be with us here in the wilderness as we learn to see you here. Let us learn to seek You wherever you may lead us, even when the path is hard. We especially ask for wisdom for James Mason Neale Peyton, our friend and brother in the Lord, as He seeks You. Meet him here when all other distractions are gone, and guide him towards You. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
I was embarrassed that he had named me in the prayer, and took some comfort in the fact that silence was now in effect. The area was so barren that there were no birds, and the only thing that cut into the silence was the faint sound of the wind, and the occasional insecnt. Once an airplane flew by overhead, engines roaring so far above that they could scarely be heard.
I knew that today would primarily be spent silencing thoughts and moving into mental and spiritual silence. Brother Frank had explained that we were free to explore the desert, as long as we went in groups of two or more, especially in the caves. A cardboard box at the campsite held walkie talkies and water bottles, which we were required to take if leaving the campsite to explore. It was a potent reminder of the deadliness that lay in wait for the unwary in the unforgiving desert.
I saw a small rounded mound of dirt, too small to truly be called a hill, that rose on one side of the campground, and quickly scrambled up it. I was momentarily grateful that I was wearing my tattered jeans instead of a monk’s robe. The brothers were all clad in their traditional robes, and though they managed just fine, I could tell it was a little difficult at times.
I stood on the top of the little mound: it sloped down gently on all sides, and the top was very soft and slippery under a thin crumbled crust. I could only move about 7 feet in any direction before I would begin to slide downwards. As I looked out over the arroyo, I could see back the way we had come, and noticed a tall thin crack in the side of the hills. Though the sun was almost blindingly bright, the entrance to the cave was pitch black just a few feet in. On my right, to the east, was a series of small hills—we’d driven through them on the way to the campground, and Brother Frank had said that they were riddled with small caves, some of which were unexplored, because the entrances were too small. A smooth wall of dried mud towered over the campsite, to the southeast, and in it was a small vertical chink, like a keyhole. The walls were almost vertical, and there was no way to get to the cave from above or below. Behind me, to the south, a mud hill had deeply eroded, and the bleached earth had deep rivulets and layers running through it. It made me slightly uneasy, and I mentally termed it, The Necropolis. The name seemed to fit, for no particular reason. To the west, the road wound away through the arroyo, amidst more hills. Ahead and to my left, a small mud peak rose. It was perhaps three times as tall as the mound I stood on, but significantly more massive. The slope was gentle most of the way up, but perhaps twenty feet from the top, the earth had sheared away, giving a dramatic appeareance to the crest of the hill. I thought about calling it the Matterhorn, but realized that the name of a snowy peak was out of place here. Casting about mentally for the name of a desert mountain, I settled on Mount Sinai. Wryly, I noted that on one side, the base of the hill was covered with thorn bushes.
I sat down, looking out over the camground. Most of the monks were there, their brown robes contrasting with the paler earth, yet seeming to be a part of it. A few were sleeping, most were reading, and Brother Frank was scribbling in a notebook. I didn’t see Andrey, and figured that he must be off exploring.
The silence overwhelmed me and I found myself just sitting quietly, watching the qquiet interplay of light over the rugged faces of the hills and ground. No one moment was quite like the last, and the clouds drifted quietly overhead. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t care about the Sight. It could go, or come, and I would be happy as long as I was here. I slowly relaxed until I was lying on my back, watching the clouds. They drifted over the top of the mud wall in long streamers, stretching thin across the sky, bfreaking and reforming as the wind hit them.
A piece of paper, tattered and stained as if it had been there many months, flew suddenly over the top of the wall, caught in the draft. It dipped and swirled, but never fell out of the wind stream. I watched it soaring, thinking that it was somehow fitting that the only way to move in that rarified atmosphere would be to dance.
Slowly, the sun sank in the west, and the shadows lengthened. The warm pale dirt on Mount Sinai grew more saturated in color as the sun turned red. I stood again, watching, and the whole top of the mountain seemed to be aflame, the color and light reflected growing more intense every moment. The simple white clouds were now ribbons of the brightest red, pink, and orange, and in the east even a few of purple. The sky was turning a deep indigo, and across the arroyo, the moon was rising, looking like a bride in her wedding dress.
I saw a flurry of motion below me, and realized that the brothers were gathering for dinner. I brushed myself off, and when I looked up again, the sun had sunk below the horizon and the light, though still brilliant, had dimmed on the hills and was fading quickly. I slipped down the hillside in a river of dust, and landed in a cloud. I coughed quietly, and tried to brush myself off.
A fire was beginning to blaze quietly in a firepit, and several coolers were open. I could see packages of hot dog buns being opened, and couldn’t help laughing at the sight of brown-robed monks sliding wieners onto bent coat hangers. Andrey sidled up behind me, and said in a low voice, “The camping diet makes up for the silence. Trying to eat healthy out here is impossible, so it’s camping food for a week!”
Night fell quickly, and the temperature dropped along with it. Though it was only April, I found myself very glad that I had brought not only a jacket but also a light blanket. Most of the monks had made similar provisions, and we sat around the fire, a circle of wrapped bundles. The young monk with cropped hair and thick glasses had brought a guitar, and strummed it quietly. A few of the brothers sang along, but I didn’t recognize the tunes. The sky was still a dim purple in the west, and the moon was shining brightly. A few bats flapped through the gloaming, and I watched them distractedly. The smell of the desert at night struck me: cold dust, plants releasing the last of the days warmth, and a slightly burnt tang on the wind.
Brother Frank stood up, and gestured to us to pay attention. When all eyes were turned to him, he spoke. “Brothers, as most of you know, we’ll be ending each day with prayer and meditation. I’ll spend a few moments guiding you, then let you take it from there.”
He gestured to the barren landscape. “Did you notice as the sun was going down, how quickly it grew dark? And how dark it appeared? As the sun slips below the horizon, the shadows look pitch black, and it quickly grows cold. But look now, how well can you see?”
I looked around. The moon had risen high in the sky, and was shining brighter than I had ever seen it. There were no other lights for miles. Even with eyes accustomed to the glow of the coals from the fading campfire, I could tell that the landscape was brightly lit, and the hills threw sharp shadows.
“Even in the light, the light shines brightly. Even in the dark, there is hope. Keep this hope alive against the fall of night.” He bowed slightly, and sat back down, eyes closed.
As he fell silent, I looked up at the peak of Mount Sinai. There was now no trace of the sun’s fire that had touched it only a few hours ago. It was cold, and looked almost icy. The moon’s light etched across the landscape, throwing everything into sharp relief; blades of grass that had looked dry and withered by the light of thre sun looked now like the blades of sabers, gleaming in the cold harsh light. The entrance to the cave just down the arroyo was now a vertical line of jet black, and admitted no view of its interior.
I looked up, and almost gasped at the beauty of the stars. I hadn’t seen them this bright since I had left Indiana, and only rarely then. I thought back to the line from Blake, “when the stars threw down their spears.”
I didn’t feel like praying—not that I was angry at God, I was simply content to rest in the silence for a while. The great inky dome of the sky seemed like the ceiling of a monstrous cathedral, one that held not only the beauty of the day, but the terror of the night. I turned toward the hill I’d dubbed The Necropolis, and it was more horrible by night. The white soil was almost glowing in the reflected light of the moon, and the deep rivulets were a wretched black, but I was content. There was room for it here.
I felt something like the flicker of the Sight, but it quickly fell silent. I felt the cold creeping in, since I’d been sitting still for a while. I let it come, and felt a shiver go down my spine.
In the heart of the circle of monks, the coals continued glowing and pulsing with light and heat. The heat was too weak and too far away to reach me, but I was glad for its simple existence.
After a few more moments, Brother Frank stood again, and gestured for us all to rise. “Father God, You who dwell even in the heart of the wilderness where all else is barren, meet us here. Show us the terror of your glory, and let us see You in all that You have made. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The fire was quickly banked, and I retreated to the warmth of my sleeping bag.
The night was cold, and the ground hard, but I slept well. I woke early, with a crick in my bag, and found most of the monks already moving about. The coals had been uncovered and were being coaxed back to life. A sparing amount of water had been poured into a tin coffeepot, and it was slowly warming up on a rack over the infant flames. Andrey was occupied at one of the camp tables, setting out bagels, cream cheese, and jelly. I had slept in my clothes for warmth, and didn’t have to worry about getting dressed, so I wriggled out of the sleeping bag, and went over to help him. He pointed wordlessly at the waterless hand sanitzer perched at the end of the table. I cleaned my hands and began rummaging in a paper bag for napkins.
Soon, everyone was awake, and breakfast began. Andrew, the young monk with the thick glasses glanced at the fire, the wire hangers from the night before, and the breakfast table, and began grinning. He grabbed a hanger, and motioned to Andrey to hand him a bagel. Andrey, skeptical of the plan he could see forming, raised an eyebrow, but tossed a bagel to him.
Andrew jabbed the hanger through the bagel, and approached the fire. The weight of the pastry bent the hanger nearly doulble, and something that was not quite a chuckle ran through the group. Several of the older monks looked around for Brother Frank, but he was absorbed in his reading, and didn’t notice.
Edging closer to the fire, which was now blazing, Andrew paused, trying to figure out how to make his plan work. Finally, he grabbed a broken two by four that lay in the pile of firewood, and carefully balanced the hanger on top of it. After a few minutes, he managed to finagle the bagel into the warm air above the flames, and grinned widely. He drew it back slowly, and pulled the bagel off the hot metal, and ran over to the table to spread cream cheese over the warm bread before it cooled.
I stifled a laugh, and moved over the table to grab my own breakfast. Though the thought of a piping hot toasted bagel with cream cheese and jelly was appealing, I wasn’t particularly eager to take the effort to hold the plank and the wire over the campfire. I could tell that several of the monks weren’t as sluggish in the morning, and the toasting apparatus was passing amongst the group.
Finally, the commotion caused by a group of men trying desperately not to laugh caught Brother Frank’s attention, and he quietly put his book down and came over.
Andrey happened to be attempting to toast his bagel at the time, and was so intent to keeping the hanger the perfect distance from the flames that he didn’t notice his superior’s approach. Brother Frank was almost standing next to him when he said in a low voice, “Forgoing simplicity, Brother Andrey?” Andrey yelped, and the bagel, along with the hanger and the end of the plank, dropped into the fire. He whirled around to see Frank standing next to him, and attempted to stammer out an explanation before remembering the silence and quieting himself. The look on his face caused Andrew to start snickering, and finally the whole group, myself included was laughing, and even Brother Frank was grinning.
“Get yourself another bagel, Brother, but please try to do things the simple way from now on.” Andrey looked sheepish, but grinned as he spread cream cheese on a cold bagel.
As soon as the breakfast items were securely locked away so that the few desert creatures that lived in the area couldn’t get to them, Brother Frank waved everyone over. “Just a short notice. Silence is in effect for the whole day. We will be going over to the first cave, Plunge Pool, as soon as I finish the announcement, so get your flashlights ready. We’ll probably also be going in there periodically throughout the week, but our meditations will be in there today. Don’t bring any reading material—there’s some light in there, but not much. You’ll only need your flashlights for the entry. There are sandwiches in the large cooler, please grab one and at least one bottle of water.”
The short walk to the cave was hot and dusty, and I could feel tiny particles of dirt settling into my hair and clothing. I fell into step beside Andrew. I didn’t really know him well, apart from a few conversation exchanged in the van on the journey down to the desert, but he and Andrey were the only two monks my age, and I felt more comfortable around them. They seemed to still be having some difficulties completely ffitting in with the monastic life.
We stopped beside the entrance and waited for Brother Frank. He walked into the narrow opening, and was quickly lost to our sight, though I could see the light of his flashlight gleaming faintly on the sides of the entrance. A few of the other monks entered, then Andrew. I followed close behind him, and found myself facing a wall of rock. The entrance, though thirty feet high, was no more than three feet wide, and wound in a convoluted fashion in to the hardened mud of the cliff face. It wound for perhaps thirty feet, and I gripped my flashlight tightly, edging my way sideways through the passage.
Suddenly, I felt a blast of cool air in my face, and found myself stumbling forward into a large open space. My eyes strained to adjust to the darkness after the bright light of the sun outside, but I couldn’t see a thing. I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me towards the wall, and I groped my way forward carefully. I felt my fingertips brush the cool ddirt wall, dislodging a stream of dust. I leaned against the wall, and tired to look around. The darkness was like a physical presence, pressing in on my eyelids. I founbd myself blinking as if hoping to dislodge it, but the inky blackness remained. I switched my flashlight off so as not to blind those across the cavern from me, and looked up. I could see a tiny gleam of reflected light that seemed to be flickering across the roof of the cavern. I assumed that there was a skylight somewhere above, but it didn’t seem to open directly into the large room. The air inside the cave was cool, and I could feel a current.
Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could see the dim shadowy shapes of the monks across the cave. Most were sitting, some with their heads bent down and resting on their knees, deep in thought or prayer. Again, I found myself more willing to simply sit in silence, just being, not trying to pray or even particularly to think.
It’s amazing how oddly time passes in the dark. All sense of the passage of time deserted me, and I hardly moved, just shifting enough to keep my legs from falling asleep. I absently ran my fingers through the soft dust that powdered the floor of the cave. In a fit of inspirtation, I removed my shoes, and dug my bare toes into the cool powder. I set the shoes where I could find them, tying the laces together.
I pressed my back against the wall of the cave, feeling the coolness of the rock seeping into my back. I closed my eyes, and simply was.
The cool breeze brought with it the smell of long age, the smell of cool dust, and the dryness of old bones. I dind’t mind, and enjoyed feeling the refrigerated blast on my face. I hadn’t brought a razor, and my beard was beginning to grow, though it was little more than stubble at the moment. I didn’t know if I’d keep the beard but I was enjoying not having to shave.
I could hear the occasional shuffling sound of someone shifting position, or standing after a long time sitting. Once or twice I thought I heard the clicking of rosary beads and the whisper of a prahyer. I didn’t know if there were any saints of the desert, but I doubt I would have sent up a petition to any of them if I had known of them.
I let the silence slowly enter my soul, trying to still any thoughts or memories that surfaced, but it was difficult. Nature abhors a vacuum, and my brain would bring something else to the top of my consciousness as soon as I had cleared the previous thought. I felt like a silversmith, constantly skimming off the dross, but the thoughts below were never silver, but seemed to be dross all the way down, murky and dull, heavy with impurities and base metal.
I don’t know how long I sat, still and silent, but finally realized that my legs were growing numb. I quietly pushed myself up, and leaned against the wall while waiting for feeling to return to my legs. They prickled as blood flowed back in, and I winced, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to hasten the recovery.
I noticed that I had been in darkness enough for my eyes to adjust completely, and the light from the skylight was, far from being a mere gleam, a bright glow. I could see the faces of the men across the cave from me, and even see the irregularities in the walls of the cave. It was a very round cylinder, going almost straight up. There were a few small ledges, but not enough that anyone could climb to the skylight without the help of rapelling equipment.
I thought of the rains that must come sometimes, and imagined the skylight as the mouth of a rushing waterfall. How quickly the place would full up, I thought, and wondered when the last time that much water had come through there. Brother Frank had mentioned that one of the smaller caves had only been formed in a rainy season forty years previously, and I wondered if that was this cave.
I dug my toes into the powdery dust, and realized how fragle the cavern was. Rain might not come for fifty years, but even without the rain, it was slowly drifting apart. The slow march of time would wear it down, even if the rains never came.
But the rains would come. I’d seen the hills outside, and they showed the clear marks of rainfall, though it couldn’t have been much. One of the monks had told me that there was often water in the bottom of Footprint Canyon, though he didn’t know if that would be the case this year. I let the dust drift through my fingers, and felt the cold.
I felt my stomach growl. I didn’t know what time it was, but decided to go ahead and eat my sandwich. I pulled the rather squashed bag out of my jacket pocket, and tried to reach into it as quietly as possible, tbuit the paper bag crackled pretty loudly. Every sound was amplied in that space, and I felt a little bit bad about it until I heard other bags started to crackle.
The sandwhich was cold on one side, where I’d had my back pressed against the wall, and somewhat warm on the other, where the pocket had rested against my leg. I wasn’t even sure what kind of sandwihch I’d grabbed. I pulled the plastic bag open, and sniffed carefully. Tuna. I checked it first to make sure that no-one had put lettuce on it, then bagen scarfing it down. I wondered why I was so hungry, since I’d done little that day. As usual, the sandwich taseted fantastic, like everything does on a camping trip. An odd mixture of smells arose in the cavern—I could smell tuna, ham, and I thought I caught a whiff of peanut butter and jelly.
I finished the last few bites of the sandwich, and took a few drinks of water from the water bottle I’d brought. I assumed that since we were sitting in the cold dark cavern, I wouldn’t be particularly thirsty, but I was. I hadn’t realized just how quickly the dry atmosphere of the desert, even in here, would wick away all moisture, and I wished I’d brought another water bottle. Even after stadnign, my body was still stiff, and I decided to explore the entrance of the cave a little bit. It was bright with the afternoon sun which reflected into the main cavern with a yellow glow: there were at least five switchbacks, and with every surface it bounced off of, the light picked up a warmer tone.
I followed the stream of cool air, and discovered a smaller cave just off the main one. The entrance was so narrow, I had to squeeze through sideways; even then I wasn’t sure I could make it. Unlike the main entrance, this one never opened into a larger cavern, but simply went a few feet back. I could tell that there was more to the opening than I could get to, since the air was not only fresh, but cool, indicating that it had passed through a good bit of the cavern system before exiting here.
I paused, not quite stuck in the rock, but knowing it would take a bit of squirming to get free. I was cold, and could feel the chilly rock touching my backi, my knees, my ribs, my arms. It was much darker in here, since my body was blocking most of the light that came from the entrance. I stopped edging forward, and simply let myself rest. I wedged one knee against a wall, and lifted my other foot off the ground. I tried to relax, there in the rocky cradle. Slowwly, I was able to persuade myself to relax and began to feel as if I was sinking down and becoming a part of the stone. For the first time my mind was silent, and I felt myself drifting as though asleep, though I’m sure I never closed my eyes.
I’m not sure how long I stayed there, held by the rock, and thinking of nothing, but I didn’t stir until I heard the brothers stirring in the cavern beyond.

I shaded my face with a hand as we came back out into the light. The sun had gone far past noon, and was now falling slowly towards the western horizon, though it would be a few hours until dusk. The light was bright and warm, and the air was hot, hitting us in the face like a furnace blast after the chill of the cave. We paused at the entrance, waiting for our eyes to adjust again. It took quite a while—the sun reflected off the pale dust and launched itself back into the sky, which though still blue, had gone pale, and dusty near the horizon.
As we reached the camp, I found myself drawn to the little mound I’d climbed the night before, and made my way to the top again. Several of the other monks wandered down the arroyo and around the bend. Most simply sat in camp chairs below, enjoying the warmth and light. Andrew began climbing some of the lower hills in the area, and Andrey watched.
My body was eager to move after so many hours of stillness, and I did some stretches. I felt a bit silly, but was determined not to let self-conscioousness inhibit me here. None of the brothers were watching anyway, and I raised my arms above my head, feeling my spine pop several times. The warmth of the sun was intense, but not unbearable, and I soon broke into a sweat.
After about thirty minutes of stretching and moving, I decided to explore some of the other mounds nearby. I didn’t alert anyone else—the hills were all within easy shouting distance, and none were higher than the mound I was on. There were about five little hills between the one I was on, and the Necropolis. I had no intention of climbing that one, but I wanted to get a better look at it.
Climbing each hill took longer than I had expected. The dirt was soft and slippery all over, and when it gave way I would slid back down the slope under I hit a more solid section. Before long, my shoes were full of dirt, and I could feel dust between my toes, and even gritting between my teeth. Finally, I stood on the hill that sat at the foot of the Necropolis, and stood looking up at it. It wasn’t very large, but I still felt a chill as I looked at it. The rare waters had carved rivulets down the side of the slope, and subsequent erosion had explanded them, until the uneroded sections looked like crumbling columns of an old temple. The soil was slightly different here, a different mineral in the soil, causing the wwhiter crust of dirt coveriung the formation. I’d seen streaks of a similar mineral, perhaps a calcite, on the other hills, but none were so covered in it as this one. I wondered how long the hill had stood, how long it had taken to carve it out of what had once been flat land. It still shocked me to realize that I was at the bottom of a valley that had been carved by water, and that the tops of what looked like hills were the remnants of the original flat lands.
I leaned forward, and rested my hand on the crust of earth that covered the Necropolis. It felt surprisingly warm to the touch—I had almost expected it to be cold, though there was no reason for it. The hill sloped away from me at a sharp angle, narrowing towards the top. For a moment, I was surprised, as the hill began to glow with a warm light, but as I turned I realized that the sun had begun its final dewscent and the whole arroyo was glowing with the warm colors of sunset. Mount Sinai was a mass of dusty fire across the way, and the cliff face to the right was a wall of flame, the keyhole entrance a deep velvety black. I slowly made my way back over the hills, and down to the campground. It wasn’t yet time for dinner, but Brother Frank was poking at the fire, trying to persuade the banked coals to come back to life. I grabbed a stick, and joined him in prodding tinder and wood into place, until the first tongues of yellow flame caught. Soon the fire was roaring again, and the others came and gathered for dinner. Old Brother Aidan, a monk of at least seventy, opened a few cans of chili into a battered kettle, and placed it on the rack above the flames, and stirred it occasionally. Another monk, whose name I couldn’t remember, clattered a stack of bowls, trying to separate them. Another wiped the bowls down with a paper towel to clear out the inevitable dust that had settled into them since we’d entered the campsite.
The chili was bubbling happily amidst the flames as we settled down to dinner. Brother Frank had packed cheddar cheese, onions, and sour cream, so we made a feast of the chili with the various additions. Andrew brought out his guitar again, but insteadof singing, just played it quietly, meditatively. I wondered what he was thinkning. He was a wuiet man who seldom spoke, and often seemed lost in his own thoughts. Andrey was the monk I saw him with the most often, but even then, I hadn’t seen them speak often.
I got a bowl of chilli with all the toppings, and settled into a chair next to Andrew, trying not to spill the chili into my lap or onto the ground. I mostly succeeded, but winced as a trickle of hit chili fell over and tricked down the back of my hand. I set the bowl on one knee, and wiped my hand carefully on a paper towel. It didn’t seem burned but would probably be a little sore for a few days. I waved it through the air to cool it, then picked up my spoon and dug in.

chapter 8 or whatever

2008-11-11T12:39:00.002-08:00

The phone rang just as I was riding my bike up to Northman Hall, and I scrambled to answer it, nearly wrecking my bike in the process. I let the bike slide to the ground, and opened my phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this James Peyton?”
“Yes, this is he.”
“Hello, James, this is Broither Frank from the monaqstery at St. Joseph’s. Brother Andrey’s been telling me how you would like to join us on our retreat, and I thought that before I made a final decisiojn, I’d ask you a few question myself, if that’s alright.”
“Oh! Sure, just give me a second, I just pulled up to work.”
“If another time works better for you…”
I shoved the bike into the bike rack, and wuickly looped the chain around it. “No,. now is fine, really. I’m ready.” I sat down on the low wall that ran beside the wheelchair ramp. “I don’t mean to be a bother, I just really feel like this is something I need to do.”
He chuckled slightly. “That’s alright, don’t worry about it. Well, let me just start with the basics. How long have you lived the Christian life, James?”
I shifted into a more comfortable position. “Well, I gew up in a Christian family, so it’s a little hard to say. I remember definitiviely making a choice at 9 that I wanted to be a Christian, but there’ve been a lot of little choices along the way to being a believing adult, too.” I winced at my silly response. I had hoped to impress Brother Frank enough to let me accompany the monks on the retreat.
“Alright, that’s fine. And what is your level of commitment to your local church? I believe it’s St. Joseph’s, yes?”
“That’s correct. I used to be highly involved, with my fiancée. But then she passed away, and I guess I let some of it slide. I still go to Mass every week, but usually not much more than that. I’ve been meaning to start trying to reconnect…” my voice trailed away; this was not going like I had intended.
“Very good, very good.” I couldn’t tell anything from his calm voice. Every response was given in an utter monotone. “And why exactly do you want to come along on this retreat?”
I began sweating slightly. “Well…I’ve been experiencing some pretty intense…spiritual…things lately, and I wanted to get away from the distractions here to sort them out.”
“And what about the retreat you took here? Didn’t that help?”
“YTes, immensely. But it wasn’t long enough—we only got about 30 bhours of real silence, and I didn’t start being able to really think and pray untiul the time was nearly up. It’s just so noisy inside my head sometimes. Also…” I paused, trying to decide whether to reveal this or not. Then I remembered that Andrey had probably told Brother Frank everything about our conversations already. “It’s also that I’m thinking about taking vows as a monk. Joining a monastery. I don’t know if it’s really a call…a vocation..whatever you call it. I want some time and space to figure that out.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, though I could hear something that sounded like a very quiet whispering, and I realized that Brother Frank must be praying. I felt lslightly emvarrassed to be listening in on a prayer, and turned my attention to the students passing by. A few that I recognized from Dr. Russell’s classes waved as they passed by, and I nodded in return.
“Alright, James.” I juped slightly at Brother Frank’s voice in my ear. “I think that it will be fine if you join us. I will have Brother Andrey contact you with the travel information. I believe we’ll be able to pick you up, as the desert is closer to you than us. Is that alright?”
“Yes! Yes, of course, it’s fine. Thank you, just…thank you!”
Brotehr Frank laughed again, and the warmth returned to his voice. “It’s alright, I’m sure it will be our pleasure. Have a wonderful day.”
I double-checked the lock on my bike just to make sure that it was solidly lockled, then quickly ran upstairs, knowing I was almost late. Sure enough, Dr. Russell was waiting in his office, putting folders of papers into his bag, about to head in to the class. “Sorry I’m so late sir, I had an urgent phone call.”
He looked up, but continued getting his materials in order. “oh? Anything serious?”
I caught my breath. “No sir, nothing serious just a little bit of good news. However, I do need to ask you about some time off. I am going on another retreat, a longer one this time. I need the last week of April off work. I’ll do everything I can ahead of time to lighten the load.”
Dr. Russell leaned back in his chair, and stared at me for a moment, tappingg his bearded chin with a balllpoint pen. “Getting completely out of town, are you?”
I nodded, digging in my own bag for the stack of papers I was returning. “Yes sir, to the desert. I’ll be going with St. Joseph’s monastery, from Santa Barbara. My church goes up there for our parish retreats, and I’m going with them on a retreat to the Anza-Borriego desert. It’s out pas tJulian somewhere.”
He nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Pretty barren. Well, of course you can have the time, you’ve earned it. You need to get away for a while. No, hold on to those papers, I’m going to need your help in class today.”
“What? Which class?” I was surprised, Dr. Russell rarely called me into a given class unless he had already scheduled it with me.
“I want you to come into my philosophy class, 103. We’re on Plato’s Phaedo, and I think I’d like your insights on the matter.” He stood up with a grunt, and wrestled the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“I’ll be happy to, of course, but I don’t think I’ve read that dialogue since I took the class.”
He shrugged, and walked out of the door. “That’s alright, you at least have a brain in your head. You can think, and that puts you way above this class. Freshmen. They come in so warped from an education that taught them nothing but how to spew slogan and tidbits worthy only of a tv trivia show, it takes all I can do to bend them straight and show them that they know nothing. They’re usually juniors before I can get anything good in their heads,” he grumbled. I swallowed a smile, remembering how often my class had complained about his disdain for the school systems. It wasn’t until my own junior year that I’d looked back and realized how much good Dr. Russell’s classes had done for me. “Go easy on them sir, it really isn’t their fault how they were taught.”
“No, but it’s their own fault how they leared,” he growled, unlocking the classroom door and striding in. “They can blame that on no-one else, even if they didn’t know better.” He set his bag on the table, and began unloading it.
A few minutes later, students began trickling into the room, and each took his seat around the large table in the center of the room. It was not an attractive room; the walls were smooth, some variety of off-white, and the ceiling was covered in aging acoustic tiles. The outside wall was a row of windows that looked out over the parking lot, one straggly tree, and over into another classroom across the way. The sounds of the camus drifted up through the open windows, and a ceiling fan stirred the air slightly. Cropped blue carpeting covered the floor, and the tables were sturdy, but had obviously seen better days.
Dr. Russell turned to the blackboard and wrote a series of questions: “Friendship over a distance: possible or impossible? Fictional characters: real or unreal? Is Theseus’ ship still Theseus’ ship?” I heard several people groan, and one or two eager students opened their notebooks and quickly scribbled down the questions, and sat poised for answers. I couldn’t help but laugh at that: there were always some students in any discussion class who tried to take note of every point made. I’d given up on that by the second week of freshman year—I noticed that the notes never made sense later anyway. Over the years I realized that no discussion couold be recreated: you had to rely on your own memory, and the fact that simply haaving the discussion would shape your soul, whether you remember the exact argument or not.
“Ok, class, get settled,” Dr Russel said, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got a lot to cover, as usual, and for today I’ve brought Mr. Peyton in. You all know him, and since he’s the one who grades your papers, I aassume you’ll be polite. Mr. Peyton, feel free to take a seat.”
I pulled out the seat next to him, that no-one ever seemed to want to take.
“You’ll notice these three questions I have up on the board. Let’s start with those. Mr. Hayes, would you like to guess what these questions have to do with the dialogue?”
A young man, wearing a polo shirt and khakis, looked a little startled, but spoke up almost at once. “Well…I’m not sure about the bit about Theseus’ ship, I know it’s mentioned but…On the one about whether fictional characters are real or unreal. Socrates didn’t leave any writings, so most of what we know about him comes from Plato. For the sake of the dialogue, we ould say that Socrates is a fictional character. As such…is he real, or unreal?” The kid spoke quickly, and hesitated as if unsure, but Dr. Russell let him finish without interrupting.
“Very good, Mr. Hayes. Anyone else?”
Two dark-haired girls looked at each other and tried to repress a giggle. Russell pointed at one of them, a girl with curly hair and a pointed chin. “Miss Thomas, how about you? Any thoughts about friendship at a distance?”
She tossed her hair, and responded, “Well, obviously, you can be friends at a distance. I mean, my best friend is Ashley, and she’s in Texas right now, but she’s still my friend.”
“Oh really? So distance doesn’t matter? Would she be your friend if she was on the moon? Yes? Good! How about if she was dead?” A low murmur of laughter ran around the room, but quickly died as they saw that Dr. Russell was serious. I was quickly skimming over several sections of the dialogue, trying to reacquaint myself with some of the story.
“Well, no! I mean, she’d be dead.”
Dr. Russell folded his arms, and looked at the girl. “Oh, so you only love her body? Her form?”
“No! I love her mind, her personality, her soul.”
“Do any of those change on the other side of death, given what we believe about it?”
She looked slightly uncomfortable. “No…but it’s different?”
“How is it different? Her mind and soul still exist, though they may not be physically present to you. But she’s not your friend? Hmmm. Maybe you’re just too impressed with space.” A young man on the other side of the room laughed, but quickly silenced himself.
Dr. Russell glanced back at the girl. “So when your friend dies, the friendship dies? Well, that seems tragic. Please, explain why you think I asked you this question about friendship.”
She thought for a moment, looking frustrated. “I dunno…I mean, Socrates is in jail, so he’s separate from his friends…”
“It’s because he’s about to die,” interjected the young man from across the table. “Cebes and Simmias think that he will no longer be their friend on the other side of death, and Socrates tinks he will. That’s why he launches into his speech about the immortality of the soul.”
“Mr. Lawson! Nicely done!”
I let the debate fade away into the background, and began pursuing my own thoughts. I believed, somehow, that Angie was still the same person she’d been before she died, but never really pursued the implications before. As I saidk, she was always better at this sort of thing than I am. But if Dr. Russell was correct, and I couldn’t really fault his argument, why shouldn’t our relationship continue? It could never be the same, we would never get married…but perhaps she would never truly leave me. I smiled sliughtly at the thought.
“Mr. Peyton, if you don’t mind, I’d like to pick your brain on this.”
I nodded, waking myself from my reverie. “Sure, Dr. Russell, what’s the question? Sorry, I’m afraid I was off chasing some rabbit trails there for a few minutes.”
“That’s azlright. We were continuing the discussion of friendship across a distance. Is Socrates here?”
For a moment, I froze, then relaxed as I realized that Dr. Russell could not have meant the question as a request to See, but simply as a philosophical conceit. “I am inclined to say yes. We have his words, and any writer worth his salt pours his soul out into his words. We’re here in a community intereacting with his words, so…yes, I’d say he’s here.” Some of the students shifted uncomfortably, trying not to look around the room as if they were afraid to see the ghostly shape of a man in a toga and a long white beard. I wondered what I might be able to See if the Sight hadn’t left me. I felt a slight pang at it’s absence; I’d gronw used to it, even though I hated it most of the time.
“Alriht, so that’s one vote for him being with us. So far, the class is evenly divided. Let’s pursue this a little bit. How many of us here believe in realities that can’t be seen?” Every hand went up. “Ok, good. We’ll let that assumption stand for the time being, since it’s something Socrates assumes as well. So you can’t trust your eyes to tell you that something isn’t in the room, correct?” A chorus of ‘yes’ arose, and Dr. Russell continued. “Do you have any evidence from your senses that such is the case?”
Several people shook their heads, and began to look distressed. “Look, I’m not going to attack believing in invisible things, alright. Here, do you believe in the reality of a triangle, the geometrical concept? Yes? Ok, it has no physical form, and no material existence either, so you’re on safe ground for now. Relax. This isn’t an attempt to tear down everything you believe. We ssave that for sophomore year.” A ripple of nervous laughter rippled through the room.
“Ok. Invisible realities. Would it make a difference to you if you could, in fact, see them?” Several students nodded, several shook their heads. “Ok, split class again. Oh well, we’ve gotten a little off track. Back to friendship over a distance. We’ve already established that there is an invisible entity that is the essence of your friend,, and somehow that remains in a relationship- with your own invisible essence, call it your soul if you like. So again, why are you letting physical space make such a difference?”
“But it does make a difference,” said a sedentary young man sitting near the middle of the table. “I would never have been able to establish a relationship with my girlfriend if she hadn’t been physically present.” A few guffaws started, but Dr. Russell silenced them. “Well, of course, I love her when she’s not here, and I love all the non-phsyical things about her, but the physical things are often my way of knowing the non-physical, right?”
“An excellent point, Mr. Sikora. And one that Socrates himself addresses in the Symposium, no? Good, you’ve done your homework.”
After another thirty minutes of hard discussion, the class was over. We headed back to Dr. Russell’s office, and for once I had no essays to grade. “Well, Mr. Peyton, you’ve been grading their papers, but you hadn’t been to that class in a while. What’s your opinion on their progress?”
I leaned against the doorframe. “All in all, I think they’re about where they need to be. In all honesty, sir, most of the real progress is hard to judge in class. A lot of my philosophical development happened after class, in the cafeteria, talking with my friends and trying to dodge the occasional flying apple thrown by the jocks across the room. That’s where the real learning happens, I think.”
Dr. Russel laughed as he unloaded papers and books from his bag. “That’s part of the point. I don’t expect them to get too much out of the class. I’m planting little brain worms, that will hopefully wake up when they’re having other conversations. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, and you can never be sure which students will respond. Some of the smartest people I know never had an original thought or challenged any idea of their own. Some of the students who hid in the back of the class and doodled on every paper ended up being the best minds in the class. You never know.”
I smiled, remembering my time in class. “I’m gglad I’ve gotten to be a part of this. It’s pretty neat to watch.”
He looked up suddenly, and stared at me through his thick glasses lenses. “ ‘Gotten to be a part of this’? You’re not planning on leaving anytime soon, are you?”
I hesitated for a moment. Telling someome that you’re thinking abot becoming a monk is not the easiest thing to do. Clositered orders are crazy, they say, an outdated ideal, each monk a weak-willed person cut off from normal life, or even a sexual predator unwilling to live in the world anymore/. I didn’t even know if I really would be doing that. All I knew was that I wanted to. I wanted the quiet, the openness, the community, and something else that I couldn’t even name.
“Well…it’s a possibility. You see, the retreat isn’t just for my own refreshement. I’m trying to see if God wants me to become a monk.” I could feel my face turning red as I said the words, feeling clumsy and a little foolish.
Dr. Russell had been bent over his desk arranging papers, straightened up, and looked at me. Then he took off his glasses and polished them thoughtfully on his shirt tail. I’d never really thought much about it, but he looked like most busts of Socrates I’d seen. An ugly man, on the first impression, he had unkempt salt and pepper hair that fell to his collar, and an assymetrical face. He was shorter than me, and had a bit of a potbelly. I hardly saw that anymore, he was simply Dr. Russell, a good teacher and a fine man. I’m not sure why I took stock of his appearance then, perhaps I was simply preparing mysef to say goodbye, storing his image in my memory.
“This is sudden,” he said at last. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, that’s what the retreat is for. But it’s possible I won’t be coming back next year. My loans are all paid off, and as soon as the lease on my apartment is up, I am financially free. But again, I don’t even know for sure yet whether it’s what I’m supposed to do. Just that it’s something I want to do.”
“Waste of a fine mind,” he grumbled. “Why would you lock yourself up there, away from the world? You can’t change anything from there. It’s all about being down here in the mix, really getting in with people, and getting your hands dirty.”
“I’m not convinced of that,” I said, sitting down on a folding chair in the middle of the room. “After all, the monks are there to live good lives, and to pray for the sake of the world. That can’t mean nothing. And in fact, if what you were saying in class is correct, they aren’t leaving the world. Anyone can be present to a friend, correct? Well then, perhaps the monks aren’t withdrawing, but simply trying to be a conduit between one world and the next.”
He studied me for a minute, eyes narrowed slightly and forehead furrowed. “You’re pretty insistent on trying this out, then.” I nodded, and he sighed. “I think it’s a mistake. Biut your life is your own, and if your spirit sys this is what you need to do, then it’s what you need to do. But listen to me, Mr. Peyton, I hope you’re not doing this because you think it’s somehow romantic for the lover who’s been left alone by death to swear eternal fealty to his love, and retreat from the world. That’s nothing but mere selfishness, and I’d hope you would know that.”
I sighed. “I’m fairly sure they woouldn’t let me become a monk if they thought I’d spend all the time thinking about a woman. That’s kind of not the point of taking the vow of chastity.”
Dr. Russell looked at me for a moment, then croaked a kind of laugh. “Fine, you win that one. For now. Go ahead and take your retreat, see if this is what you need to do. If not, your job is open to you for as long as you want it. If it is the path you choose, well, then I wish you well. But please do try to keep your mind alive. I’ll feel better about it if I think that one of my best students is still learning.”

Chapter 7ish

2008-11-11T12:39:00.001-08:00

That night, I dreamed again. These dreams were becoming a regular occurrence, and I didn’t know if the dreams came with the Sight, or as a response to it.
I found myself wandering through a sea of fog, trying to find some marker that would tell me where I was. I could see dim shapes moving in the murky gloom, but could never quite get a good look. Finally, the fog began to swirl away, and I found myself standing on the wooden bridge in the part again, looking down into the trickle of green water. I knew what I would see when I lifted my head, and tried to keep my attention focused on the water, but it was no use. I looked to my left, and saw the Lady in blue. She extended a hand to me, and in her hand she held a branch of thorns. The thorns cut deeply, and the wood was covered in blood. The blood fell onto the ground and splashed the bottom of her robe. Behind her stood a gaunt figure all in black, its tattered robes whirling in an invisible wind. The Lady held out the thorny branch to me, and indicated that I should take it. I pulled back in horror and turned to my right. The red-robed form was there, flames surrounding him and turning the fog around him to gold. I still could not see his face, but in his hand he held an intricate crown, wrought of gold and set with hundreds of glittering stones.
I took a step to the right, and the air shivered and shimmered with a golden light. With every step, the golden light pulsed. I reached out a hand to touch the crown—
And woke up. I swore loudly, then rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head. “I’ll See things during the day if I must,” I groaned, “but can’t I just get one good night’s sleep?” I glanced at the clock. 6:58. Rolling out of bed, I shuffled through my closet in a haze, finally yanking on a shirt and tie that didn’t completely clash.
I grabbed the newspaper from the doorstep as I ran outside, but decided to just stuff it in my bag rather than taking the time to set it down inside the house. I took the stairs two at a time, hopped on my bike, and coasted down the street.
I couldn’t shake the vague sense of accomplishment from the night before. Despite my misgivings, it had felt good to make an actual difference. The things I saw had been so useless, so frustrating, but that sudden rush of adrenaline, the quick decision, the life saved…I felt a surge just thinking about it.
I walked into Dr. Russell’s empty office, planning to drop off the papers that had been graded, and get to work on the new stack of work. Before settling in to see what sort of nonsense had been turned in, I spread the morning newspaper out, glancing at the headlines. It was the usual, politics, economics, world news, local news.
I flipped over the local section, and my heart nearly stopped. There was a mug shot featured about one of those headlines that always make you shake your head and wonder what the world is coming to. It read, Local Girl Raped, Murdered: Suspect Sought. The photograph was blurry, but I would have known it anywhere. Those same frantic eyes had stared into mine for a split second last night, just after I’d saved his life.
It took me a good half hour to calm myself down enough to pick up the paper and read the rest of the story. I put it down a few moments later, sickened.
I’m not sure how I made it through the rest of the day—everything went by in a haze. I remember making it through my usual schedule, but I don’t remember anything I said. My mind was completely knocked off course by the thought that my action, the one I’d been so proud of the night before, had gone so disastrously wrong. The paper mentioned the location where the young girl’s body had been found, and it was located less than a block behind the grocery store. He’d been running when I stopped him, and if I hadn’t…well, it wouldn’t have brought the kid back to life, but he might have paid the price with his own life.
As soon as I got home, I dialed Scott’s number. After a few rings he answered, sounding groggy.
“Scott Harkness.”
“Scott, it’s James. Did you see the paper this morning?”
“huh? No…don’t usually look at the paper. What’s in it?”
“What’s in it is that guy from last night.”
Scott’s voice seemed to brighten, as he replied excitedly, “Oh yeah? What’s it say?”
I struggled to keep my voice calm, but wasn’t completely successful. “What it says is that he raped a murdered a fourteen year old girl last night. At a house just behind the grocery store. He ran from the scene, and no-one saw him after that.”
There was a long pause on the other side of the phone.
“Scott? I don’t know what to think about this. I thought that saving someone’s life would be a good thing. You never said there would be anything like this!” I could feel bitterness and anger seeping into my voice, though I knew it was my own fault. I hadn’t questioned anything I’d seen, hadn’t stopped to think. Before I could apologize, he spoke up.
“James, I’m sorry. This truly is horrific, and I wish there was something I could say. But the truth is, we just have to act on the best information we have. The smallest hesitation, and disaster can be unleashed. Even if you hadn’t stopped him and he had been hit by the car, it wouldn’t have changed anything. That poor girl would still be dead.”

“Then what the hell good does it do to be able to See,” I shouted into the phone, pacing the living room furiously. “If I wanted ambiguous information, I’d just rely on my own two eyes and normal vision. How could anyone ever rely on this crap?” I angrily hung up, and set my phone on the table. I felt like going for a jog to release some of the pent-up energy and frustration, but the last thing I wanted to do was be out on the streets when night came on—no telling what I might See. But as the evening wore on, the apartment seemed to be closing in around me. I finally decided to take the chance, and quickly changed into shorts and a t-shirt, and headed downstairs.
As I ran, I took great care to keep my eyes on the pavement in front of me. I didn’t want to see anything else. But as twilight fell, and my excess energy was used up, I began to feel better and even relax a little bit. The summery smell of honeysuckle was in the air again, and the moon was rising into a purple sky.

I came to a long stretch of smooth pavement, and closed my eyes for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of the air rushing past, the hint of coolness in the breeze, and the feel of the concrete under my feet. “Please, God,” I whispered, “I don’t want this. I can’t deal with it. Just take it back.”
For a week, I saw nothing. No strange robed figures interrupted my dreams. No strange lights flashed when I picked up a gallon of milk at the grocery store. At first it was a welcome relief. I found myself whistling on the way to work, and sleeping more than five hours a night.
But after a few days, I’d find myself staring off into space, wondering what unseen things might be there. Just because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t still there. I watched students walking along the roads at the school, wondering what I might be able to see if I tried, wondering whether I’d see a glory or a terror.
Sunday came, and as usual, I picked up a group from the school. Erin and her fiancée were taking a different car, but Jason came, and behind him I saw Corrinne.
They got into the car, and buckled the seat belts as I pulled away from the parking lot. “Hello, corrinne,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She laughed, and glanced over at Jason. “Well, Stefan’s been encouraging some of the people in his art classes to investigate liturgical traditions, to see how imagery and iconography are used in conjection with religion. I grew up without much religious imagery around, except for the standard unimaginative watercolors of Bible scenes. I’ve really enjoyed some of the stuff he’s been showing in class, so I thought I’d try it.”
Jason chimed in. “It took me awhile to get used to it. It all felt so hokey at first. I mean, most of the art just isn’t that great, right? Ok, the stuff at Our Lady is ok, but not magnificent.”
I thought back to the statue of the Holy Family at St. Joseph’s, and felt an unaccustomed sadness.
“Hey James, you’re Stefan’s friend, what church does he go to?” Corrinne leaned forward with interest. “We’ve asked him several times, but he refuses to talk about it.”
“Oh…Well…I guess it’s ok to tell you, but please don’t spread it around. I’ll explain.” I glanced over my shoulder and switched lanes. “Stefan is Eastern Orthodox, and a pretty devout one at that. A few years ago, his freshman year, there was a big controversy over that. Some student got into a hissy fit, kept insisting that Orthodoxy wasn’t really Christian. He was furious when he found that several very popular teachers were Orthodox as well, and kept trying to get them fired. Fortunately, the university handled it well, and it blew over, but it’s still a sore topic for a lot of people. Now that he’s teaching here, he doesn’t want to stir any of that up again. So, now you know, but please don’t spread it around.”
We came to the top of a hill, and stopped at the light. The morning sky was pale blue, tinted rose and gold in the east, and in the north, foothills rolled gently towards the mountains in the distance.
“You know, Angie took me here once,” Jason said, thoughtfully. “I was still pretty messed up from Hannah’s death…well, that wasn’t all. I wasn’tt a particularly good person then. For some reason, she decided that she wanted to help, and started taking me to all these places…She could see God in anything, I think. That park right there, on the left. She loved that. You see that line of houses there, on the top of the foothills?” He pointed as the light turned green and I put on the gas.
“Yeah, I remember that.” I smiled slightly. “We went for a picnic there once, and she pointed it out. Said she called it the Kingdom of God. And you’re right, she did see God everywhere—I never could quite get it, but she was serious about it.”
“I thought she was nuts at first,” Jason grinned. “But now every time I see that string of houses, well, that’s what I call it to myself. So I guess she convinced me in the end.” He sighed quietly, and turned away from the window. “Hey, I’m sorry, James, I don’t know if that’s still a sore subject or anything. I put my foot in my mouth a lot, so I don’t tend to notice when I’ve said something I shouldn’t.”
We coasted to a stop in the church parking lot, but I didn’t unbuckle my seatbelt yet. “No, it’s ok. It’s been a year, and it doesn’t really hurt to hear about her. I’ll always miss her, but I know she’s happy where she is. She’s living in the world that she always got little glimpses of.”
The service proceeded as normal, but I grew more and more uncomfortable. I could feel the presences in the room, knew that there were things there that I couldn’t see. Finally, during the final prayers before the congregation was called forward for the sacraments, I couldn’t stand it. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked again.
Nothing.
No figures in robes, no lights, no flames. I blinked a few times, my eyes flickering quickly over the congregation. Still, nothing. It was gone. Had I spent so much energy on ignoring the Sight that I’d eradicated it? I tried again, but with no more success.
I kept trying throughout the day, but with no luck. I was sitting in the living room, thinking, when Stefan came in; I realized that it had been several days since I’d seen him. I’d been too involved in my own problems to even notice.
“James!” He set his paintbox down, and let a tote bag slide off his shoulder and land with a thump on the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t see you before I left, we had the art retreat this weekend. I forgot to mention it, just remembered Thursday.” He grinned, and flopped into the armchair.
Stefan is one of the most intense people I’ve ever met, but you wouldn’t necessarily notice it at first. He’s about average height, wiry, with dark brown hair and black eyes that could be as quiet as a church or as fiery as a lightning storm. He tends to not talk very much, and slouches a little bit, and trying to pry his attention away from anything that’s captured it is nearly impossible.
“How’d the art retreat go? I thought you hated those?”
Stefan rolled his eyes, and ran his hands through his already crazy hair. “Ugh, yeah. But I’m a teacher now, so I gotta make an appearance. It was actually kind of fun. They went to the beach on San Clemente again, you know the one. It was really nice, for the most part. It was nice to get to hang out with some of the students without having to be the teacher. I mean, good grief, even the freshmen aren’t that much younger. Nice to just be able to act normally around them. We did some sand sculptures, and most people had cameras and were taking pictures. The best part was when this one kid, pretty talented sophomore, got out his guitar. Everyone was just hanging out, enjoying the sunshine, drawing or doodling, singing along with whatever songs we happened to know.”
I smiled, glad to see Stefan happy. “What’d you think of them? I mean, the students, when they weren’t in class.”
Stefan thought for a moment, rocking gently in the armchair. His Mediterranean skin tanned at the drop of a hat, and two days in the seaside sun had given him a better tan than I could hope for in a summer. “Well…they seemed happier there, that’s for sure. When they’re just around other students who are like them, they relax a little. There’s no pressure to be cool, or contrary. They’re much more open to wonder. I don’t know why they’re so afraid of it the rest of the time. They were snapping pictures of the sun on a leaf, or the way the sand was crumbling at the edge of a footprint. Nice to see. I’m thinking of organizing an exhibit around it. I dunno, we’ll see.”
He turned towards me. “You don’t look so good, buddy. In fact, you’ve been pretty distracted for awhile. Unless you’re getting over some form of devastating pneumonia that I didn’t know you had, I think something’s wrong. Care to explain?”
Thirty minutes later, Stefan was stilling sitting in the armchair, but I was pacing the room trying to keep my thoughts in order as I finished up the story.
“Now I can’t see anything, but it doesn’t help. I know what’s still out there, and it doesn’t matter that I can’t see them, they’re still there. I don’t know what to do anymore, but it’s getting hard just to get through a day at school.” I stopped talking, unable to put my frustration into words, but kept up my furious pacing.
Stefan looked at me thoughtfully. “Have you tried the medication the doctor put you on?”
I nodded and pulled the bottle of my pocket. “Yeah. I’m supposed to take them every morning, and I can take an extra one if I start feeling too stressed. Haven’t noticed that it’s been working.”
“You don’t think that’s why you’ve stopped seeing things?”
“I doubt it. I don’t feel any different. I wasn’t even that stressed until these…things…started showing up.” Disgustedly, I tossed the pills onto the table.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to discount the medication,” Stefan said, picking up the bottle and examingingg the label. “But really, I’m more worried about that group you were hanging out with.”

“Tell me about it. I didn’t know that…Ok, I guess there’s really no reason I should have assumed that this kind of sight would be more accurate that any other kind, but still. They didn’t want to seem to deal with the issue.”

Stefan hesistated, and set the pills back on the table. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunchgin his shoulders as he always did when he wasn’t completely comfortable. “Well…Yeah…but that’s not really what I meant. I mean, I’m just going from what you said, but it seems like they were always referring to other people, those without this ‘sight’ as lesser or other than themselves. That’s a pretty dangerous path.”
I stopped pacing and looked at him. Father Timothy’s warning came back to me; I’d forgotten it. “You think that might be part of it?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that they worry me. I’m not an egalitarian, but to so consciously place yourself above the rest of humanity, decide who lives…how soon before you decide who should die?”
“They wouldn’t kill anyone. And you know I’d never—“
Stefan held up a hand. “I know, I know. You wouldn’t. At least, you wouldn’t, as long as you stay the person you are now. People change. And I don’t mean that being with them would necessarily change you, but people DO change, whether they mean to or not. The only way not to change is to stagnate, and you don’t seem the type to do that. I worry about the things that would influence you while you change.” He looked out the window at the afternoon sunlight that flooded the plaza, turning the pool into a liquid turquoise stone. A small vine traced its way up the stairs from a bush that badly needed trimming. “See that vine? It’s going to grow stiff soon. It’s clinging to that railway for support, but if you try to pull it away, it’ll never be straight again. It’s grown into it. Don’t let your soul get that entangled with this.”
I leaned against the wall. “But, if it comes back anyway, isn’t it a great gift? A great tool? Why not use it?”
“Eyesight is a tool. Speech is a tool. Every good gift can be a tool, and every tool can be misused, or used to any purpose. Hand someone a hammer, they can build a house of beauty and culture, or a slum to extort from human misery.” He gave me a small smile, then picked up his bag and paint box and retreated to his room. A few moments later, I heard his chant CD begin, and a few wisps of scented smoke trickled from under the door.
I went down the hallway and sat at my desk, hoping to get some papers graded, but found myself unable to look at them. Shuffling through a stack of papers, I came across the crumpled schedule for the retreat at St. Joseph’s. I missed the calm, even laced with the terror of the visions. On a whim, I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed the number.
“Hello, St. Joseph’s Retreat House, this is Andrey, may I help you?”
I felt my pulse quicken with nervousness, but was glad that the young monk had answered the phone instead of one of the men I didn’t know. “Andrey? It’s James Peyton. I was up there for a retreat with Our Lady of Angels in Placentia, and we met.”
“oh, yes, of course. What can I help you with, James?”
“I think I need another retreat, and thought that there might be something available at St. Joseph’s.”
“Another retreat? So soon? Weren’t you here about two weeks ago?” The monk’s voice was obviously puzzled, and I could hear him rustling papers.
“I know, but it’s…well, it’s kind of urgent. Is there anything ready? Or a waiting list? I don’t really know how this works.” I started anxiously tapping my fingers on the desk.
“Actually, there is, but I might have to check with Brother Frank. See, the brothers and a few lay brothers from the community are going to be taking a retreat to the desert soon. It’s pretty intense, though, I warn you. And it’s a rough desert; no toilet facilities, no water except what we bring in. Lots of caves in the hills. It’s pretty barren.”
“No, that sounds fine. I went camping a lot as a kid, and I’m used to all kinds of terrain. The desert sounds great, if it’s ok with you guys to take a stranger along.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
I could hear Andrey scribbling something, and then there was a loud clunk. “Drat. Sorry, dropped the phone. Ok, let me go ahead and get your contact information so I can checkl with Brither Frank. He’s usually pretty open to people coming along, but you realize that you only mentioned a potential interest in the monastery a few weeks ago. We barely know you, so he may say know, for your own sake. As I said, the retreats can be intense, and we wouldn’t want you to get in over your head.”
“Sure, sure, that’s fine. Here’s my info.” I gave him my telephone number and email address, and hung u[p the phone. I glanced up at my calendar. The retreat, if I was allowed to go, would be in less than two weeks. I wondered if I’d make it until then.

chapter 6ish

2008-11-11T12:38:00.000-08:00

I sat in a chair at the coffeeshop on Wednesday evening, sipping occasionally on a cheap coffee, and trying to look casual. Every few moments I found myself tapping my foot anxiously or clenching my fist, and forced myself to remain calm and still.
I heard the chime as the door opened, and Scott walked in. He nodded to me as he entered, but walked over to the ordering line to get a latte and a small muffin. As he waited to piuck up his order, I had the chance to examine him. I’d never really paid attention to what he looked like when he was in my apartment. He was on the short side, and wiry. He had dark straight hair, parted in the middle, and a lock of it kept falling into his face. He had an intense but not unpleasant expression on his face, and thanked the barista with a smile when she handed hiom the steaming cup of coffee. He grabbed a fistful of napkins from the dispenser, and took a seat across from me.
“So…you said you wanted to talk again,” he said, carefully breaking off a bit of muffin and popping it into his mouth. “I’m glad you did. But what in specific did you want to talk about?”
I pushed aside my dislike of him for a moment, and cleared my throat. “I went to the psychiatrist yesterday. She, naturally, thinks that I need severe help, since I am seeing things that do not exist. I was given a prescription for a sedative, and if that doesn’t work, she will advance that to more psychoactive drugs.” I dug into my pocket, and held up a small amber pill bottle. Scott held out his hand, and I tossed it to him. As he examined the label, I continued. “Now, so far the only confirmation that I have that these things are real is the fact that you saw the same things I did. I don’t necessarily trust you, but there’s no way you could have made that up. So, ok. I want to know more. I want to meet some of your people, and find out if they were ever put on prescriptions, and if it did or did not help, and what happened.” My voice was slightly harsh, but I did not want to give Scott any impression that I was willing to join his group of…whatever they were.
Scott gave the pill bottle one last look and tossed it back. “Of course. There are several people who were given rather extensive psychotherapy before we found them, and they’d be happy to talk to you. But I can tell you some of it right now. See, I did the same thing.” He held out his arm towards me, and rolled back his sleeve. His wrist was crisscrossed with scar tissue, as if he had been restrained for a time. “It got so bad they had to strap me down on the gurney to give me an injection. The drugs didn’t help me. Either they dulled me down so much I couldn’t function as any sort of normal human being, or they made it worse, opened my mind more to the visions, and twisted them into something that they weren’t, mixed them with ddreams from my own nightmares.”
I shuddered involuntarily. Scott rrolled his sleeve down, drained the last of his coffee, and stood. “We’ll be meeting tonight. It’s the best time to get to know some of them. You’re more like us than you realize.” He gestured slightly at the occupants of the coffee shop. “Look at all of them, sitting here. They’re plugged into music so they never face the silence, they connect themselves to the interenet at every chance because they can’t handle being alone, and they bind themselves to everything about them. They don’t see, and those of us who do have to protect them. It’s our duty.”
I stood slowly, eyeing the door. “Where are you meeting?”
“It’s a warm night, we usually just meet in the park. There’s a table by the playground, and we usually meet there.” He grinned, and headed for the door. “Relax, we don’t wear black robes, goat skulls, or yellow spandex. We’re mostly normal, just like you.”
I followed him out the door. “I’ve got my car, do you want a ride?”
He shook his head. “Best to walk. It’s only two blocks down that way.” He pointed down the street to the park just across from the back entrance to the college. “It won’t take long.”
As we walked, I was silent. The cars rushing by, the noise of college students out and about, and the pumping bass of stereo systems was more than enough noise for me. Again I found myself wishing to be back in Santa Barbara, enjoying the silence of St. Joseph’s. The night air was slightly cool, but warm breezes blew through, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine, mixed with the fumes of passing cars and the sticky sweet cherry scent of spilled slushies from the nearby gas station.
It only took a few minutes to reach the park, and I could see a few bright stars glinting over the tops of the trees. A small group was already gathered around the table: a pudgy young man who seemed to be still in high school, an older man with glasses and a heavily lined face, a middle-aged woman who looked like she would be at home on Wisteria Lane, and a young woman with dark hair, perched on the edge of the table. As we approached, she leaped down and ran up to Scott.
“Hey, you’re late. I thought you said you’d be here by 8:30, and it’s almost 9.” Her voice was quiet and lilting, and I caught a quick glimpse of blue eyes as she turned towards me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Brittany. Scott told us he’d try to bring you tonight, but we didn’t know if he’d actually succeed.” She held out a small tanned hand, and I shook it.
“James, meet the Society,” Scott said, chuckling. “Sorry, we call it the Society because we’ve never found a name that didn’t sound pretentious. This isn’t all of us, we’re missing Michael, Soren, and Mikaela. The gentleman in the blue shirt there is Richard, Henry is the kid, and Rachel is our soccer mom.” The woman laughed, as if it was an old joke. Richard smiled, but it was a guarded smile that spoke of pain and caution. Henry, the pudgy kid, stuck a hand out to shake, and grinned widely from a freckled face. Rachel’s blond hair was slightly mussed by the breeze, and she raised a hand to smooth it as she shook mine. Brittany tugged her knit cap down over her ears, and jumped up and down slightly. “C;mon guys, we need to get going. My mom’s expecting me to be at the coffeeshop again by 11. Let’s go.”
“Hang on a sec, Brit, we’ll make sure you’re back in time, but we’ve got business first.” Scott motioned for me to sit, and I did so carefully, still on my guard. I felt out of place in my buttondown shirt and tie—I hadn’t taken the time to change from school. I loosened my tie, and undid the top button of my shirt.
Scott cleared his throat and raised his voice a little. “Okey, everybody, we’d like to welcome James today, he’s just got some questions, and isn’t a part of the Society as yet. Richard, Rachel, I know that both of you went through pretty intense psychotherapy when you first started seeing things, would you be interested in telling your stories?” Rachel blushed slightly, but nodded. Richard’s face tightened, but he nodded as well. “Richard, you go first, just get it over with. It doesn’t have to be long, just the basics”
Richard turned toward me, and began nervously polishgin his glasses with the tail of his shirt. “I, uh, I used to be a professor. At that school just down the street. I, uh, started seeing things in class. Got to where I could know things about my students without them saying a word to me. Finally, one day I saw this big black creature standing behind one of my best students, this sweet little girl named Hannah. I knew she was having some troubles, but I didn’t know what. I freaked out a little bit when I saw that big thing standing behind her, but kept telling myself I was just tired, just imagining things.” He turned away, his eyes filling with tears. “That night, she took a bottle of blood thinners and slit her wrists. I always wondered what would have happened if I’d said something. Drove me nearly mad, but when they sent me to counseling, the young man I talked to didn’t know what to do. I got passed from doctor to doctor, and was on ten different medications. I even spent a week in an insane asylum. It got…bad. Finally, Scott met me going into the shrink for my latest therapy sessions. I was so doped up, I could barely understand what he was talking about, but something of it sunk in, and I skipped my appointment. The next day, I flushed all the drugs down the toilet, and haven’t taken one since. It took me a while to understand what I was seeing, but…you couldn’t get me to take any of those pills again.” He fell silent, and I looked away, unwilling to stare at the obvious pain he was feeling.
Rachel spoke next, her voice a soft alto. “I thought the things I was seeing were due to a nervous breakdown after my husband left me. I went straight to the psychiatrist my friend recommended, but the pills did nothing.” She smiled wryly. “They never made me sleepy, only a little irritable, but my doctor kept getting worried when nothing he prescribed would make these things go away.”
I turned back to Scott. “Obviously, everyone here doesn’t respond to the medications, for whatever reason. But you told me once that you made everyone in the group get fully tested and treated if possible. I’m assuming you’ve found a few people who were simply hallucinating.”
Scott nodded. “Yeah, we have. Either they find us, or we mistake them for a real seer. It seems like the beings we see have some sort of effect on the mentally unbalanced and they can sense them, though their impression of them may be radically different. We have to be careful. Most of those we’ve turned away, we’ve been able to persuade to get real treatment, and some of them have been completely fine. One young man, Kris, seemed very promising, but it soon became apparent that he was schizophrenic. Fortunately, after getting in touch with a good doctor and starting a treatment plan, he’s been hallucination free for months.”
He leaned forward over the table. “We really are serious about not taking in anyone who isn’t seeing the things we see. We can verify these things, to some extent, though we’re still learning about what we see. We’re still trying to figure out what everything means, though we have some pretty good ideas. You don’t have to decide tonight whether you want to join us or not, but I think you might enjoy one of our patrols. Brittany and I will be going out tonight, and walking up to the grocery store parking lot. It sounds weird, but a lot of high school and college kids hang out there.”
I hesitated. It still sounded strange. Visionary vigilantes, scouting out a parking lot. But I couldn’t resist; I wanted to know how they were able to see things that could make a difference to anyone. I nodded, and rose silently from the table.
“Ok,” Scott said, motioning to Henry, Richard, and Rachel. “Henry and Richard, you take the park here. There’s usually people over by the lake. Check the sidewalks, too. Rachel, are you ok with taking the shopping center on the corner? Yes? Ok, good. Meet back here at 10:30, and we’ll coordinate.”
Scott and Brittany turned and walked up the street, and after hesistating for a moment, I followed. The night had grown slightly colder, and the wind had picked up. As we neared the grocery store parking lot, Scott slowed slightly. “Ok, this is what we’re going to be doing. Mostly, you’ll just be looking. Do whatever you need to do to see—everyone’s a little different. Just keep both sets of eyes open. It’s rare that we see anything dramatic, but you never know.” He turned, and handed a few crumpled dollar bills to Brittany. “brit, do you mind checking out the juice shop? Grab something to drink and just hang out. Looks like they have a pretty good crowd in there tonight.” The young woman nodded, and stuffed the cash in the back pocket of her jeans. “james, you and I are going to take a quick lap around the parking lot, and then hit the grocery store.”
“The…grocery store?”
“I know, it sounds weird, but there are a lot of people there. Brittany found a women who was about to have a heart attack, and was able to call 911 right before the woman collapsed. Richard was walking back from here when he saw two guys planning a robbery. He followed them until they got near the house they were planning to hit, then contacted the police.”
“Before seeing them do anything?”
“Well, yeah, or he wouldn’t have been in time. But he watched until he was sure.”
We walked forward into the grocery store, blinking slightly as we moved from the night into the bright interior of the store.
For a moment, my heart sank. The sterile white walls of the grocery store were covered in bright packaging, orindary people were doing their weekly shopping, and garbled versions of pop songs at least 10 years out of date were playing over the muzak system. It seemed so…normal.
But then from the very corner of my eye, I saw the faintest edge of an unfolding robe. Not much, just a flicker from the corner of my eye, but it was enough. We moved off towards the back of the store; as we walked, I closed my eyes for just a moment, and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes again, I knew I was Seeing. Little things flickered on the outskirts of my vision; I looked over at Scott, and what I saw almost took my breath away. The air around him flickered like fire. In the center of his chest was a warm red glow, pulsing like the beating of a heart. He smiled slightly, but turned away and kept walking. “Just keep your eyes open,” he said.
Walking through the store while Seeing was an extraordinary experience. Wings and flames darted out from behind soccer moms, and strange lights shone on guys in sweats and carrying six-packs. To keep from looking out of place, we each picked up a few items; nothing seemed dramatically in need of action, so we made our purchases and left.
I was walking on the outside edge of the curb, still slightly in shock of the night’s events, when Scott elbowed me in the ribs. “Look!” he said, and pointed to the middle of the road. A figure stood there, swathed in black robes from head to toe; the light of the moon did not shine on it, and what light shaded the folds of its robes seemed to come from behind it.
A car turned the corner, and began picking up speed. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and saw a man running from an alleyway. He was looking frantically behind him as he stepped into the street, and in a flash I knew. I reached out a hand and grabbed his jacket. I braced myself, but as he ran past, he almost dragged me to the ground. I stumbled, and let go of his jacket. The car whizzed past in front of us, calmly proceeding on its way. The figure in black shifted, dwindled, and fell away to nothing.
The man looked back at me with a frantic expression as he scrambled to get away. His eyes were slightly crazed, and a few days worth of beard grizzled around his chin. He ran away into the darkness of a side street, and disappeard.
“Well that was…” I paused, trying to figure out what I thought about what had just happened. Scott was ecstatic. “Your first save! This is fantastic! Let’s go check in with Brit, she’ll want to hear about it, too.”
Inside the juice shop, it was crowded, but not raucous. Brittany was slumped in a large leather armchair near the door, using her straw to stir some watery juice around in the bottom of her cup. As Scott walked through the door, she bolted upright, slurped the last bit of juice from the straw, and ran up to him. “It’s been all quiet here. I only saw a few little things, but nothing big.” She looked irritated. “Anything for you?”
He nodded, and waved her towards the door. “Yes, but let’s not talk about it here. Besides, you need to get back to the coffee shop to meet your mom. We’ll fill you in on the way.”
“Holy cow,” Brittany exclaimed after Scott finished telling her the story. “That’s great, to get a save your first time out.”
I was a little uncomfortable with Brittany’s fulsome praise, but couldn’t help but admit that it was flattering. “I didn’t even know what I was doing, you know. Just...I dunno, reacted. Did the first thing that came to mind. Honestly, I think I scared the guy more than anything, I don’t think he ever even saw the car.”
An SUV drove up, and honked twice. “That’s my mom,” Brittany said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Finish your homework, kid. Drink your milk. Eat all your veggies,” Scott teased, grinning. Brittany made a face at him as she backed out the door of the coffee shop.
Scott chuckled, waited for the headlights of the vehicle to disappear, then headed for the door. “Come on, let’s meet up with the others. They’re probably waiting.”

The walk back to the park was uneventful, and we mostly kept silence until we arrived, and saw Richard, Rachel, and Henry waiting for us. Scott hailed them and jogged over; I kept my own pace, and arrived a few seconds later to find Scott already in the middle of retelling the story/. I was no longer consciously trying to See, but flickers of Sight remained. As I approached the group, I felt myself passing through an invisible barrier, and saw the faintest hint of red. I squinted, a for a moment, saw a ring of red-robed figures surrounding the group.
“So then James just reaches out for the guy, and…James? You ok?” Scott turned toward me as I halted in my tracks. “You look like you just saw a ghost!” The others laughed, as if the phrase were a common joke among them.
I shrugged it off. “Well, you said that some of these…things…you see, that they tend to gather around people who can see them. I guess that explains why there’s a circle of them around us now?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. See, we’ve been meeting here for a while, and they’ve realized that this is where we’ll be. We’ver never gotten a real clear look at them, but they’re here. Even when you’re not Seeing, the air feels a little…prickly, I guess…when they get close. Like the air before a storm, sort of. “
I shivered, but joined the rest of the group at the table. “I dunno, they give me the creeps. If they’re like the one I saw a few weeks ago, they’re a little disturbing.”
Rachel shrugged, brushing her hair back from her face. “You get used to them. Usually, it’s the tall figures in black you have to watch out for. We think they’re an archetype of death…well, that’s what Scott calls them.” She smiled kindly at Richard who lifted an eyebrow. “You see, Richard thinks that they actually are some sort of angel of death. We’ve never been able to satisfactorily determine whether they have some sort of objective existence, or are simply projections of a human mind.”
Scott smacked his palms on the table and leaned forward. “Ok, people, any other stories from tonight? Brit had to go, but it was a quiet one for her. Rachel, how about you?”
She shook her head, and folded her arms across her chest to warm herself. “No, not really. I saw a few little squabbles, some minor accidents in the waiting, but nothing big enough to merit ingterference. Pretty quiet evening.”
Henry spoke up. “We saw a couple people coming up out of the tunnel, there by the golf course. Most of them were fine but one guy was pretty high. We watched him, but he just got in the car with his friends—he wasn’t the driver—and drove off. Man, you should’ve seen the air around that guy, it was crazy. Dark purple, and this little green slimy thing growing tentacles all over him. He’s pretty far gone, I think.” He nodded with the sagacity of someone who wanted very much to be thought mature.
Scott sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I hate ones like that. There’s really not much we can do. I don’t suppose you got anything that might identify him?” Henry shook his head morosely.
“Ok, well, I think that’s about all we can expect for a night. Keep taking notes, keep working.” The four of them joined hands in the center of the table; Rachel looked over at me as if expecting me to join in, but I pretended not to notice.
“See what you can, do what you can, save everyone you can.” The meeting dispersed after that, Richard pausing for a moment to whisper something to Scott. He nodded, and Richard headed over the hill towards a small parking lot. “Well…Ok, I’m sure everything seemed a little cheesy to you. I suppose it is. But we really do want to save everyone we can; it’s all about helping other people. It’s amazing how good you start to feel when you know you’re really doing something to make the world a better place.” He inhaled deeply, and let his breath out in a great whoosh. “I hope you’ll think about doing this with us. I think you’ll end up seeing more clearly than any of us—You’re already seeing much more clearly than I did when I was twice as far along. With every person who joins us, we see more, and we’re so close to being able to do so much more.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get so intense. I just really care about this, is all. It’s given meaning to my life, you know?”
Something inside me still whispered frantically that I should just turn my back, and run away as fast as possible. But part of me wanted so badly for these visions to be about something, for my life to have some end goal, some purpose other than going to work every morning and grading papers every night. Helping others, saving lives in ways other people couldn’t do…it was undeniably appealing.
“I just need to think about this for a while,” I said, turning to go. “I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either. Just give me some time.”
He nodded, and fished around in his pocket for his car keys. “Sure, sure, that’s fine, we all find our own way. Just let me know when you’re ready.” He waved good-bye, and jogged toward the parking lot, keys jingling faintly in the night.
The moon was shining brightly as I walked back towards the coffee shop where my car was parked, and I wished I’d brought a jacket.

chapter 5ish

2008-11-11T12:37:00.000-08:00

Chapter 5
I was glad to get back to my regular schedule at school, but found that I missed the quiet of the retreat house. After spending two days in almost total silence, except for time spent in the services, ordinary noise seemed to be not only louder than usual, but I noticed yet again how filled my life was with noise. There were almost no beats of silence, and I found myself longing for it.
Monday was exhausting, though it felt good to be back at work. By the end of the day, my bag was weighted down with papers, and I was glad to toss it onto the couch and flop down next to it. I lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, and enjoyin the relative quiet, though I could hear the sound of children playing in the courtyard of the apartment complex. Stefan would be home soon, and I wanted to have something for dinner, but wasn’t quite ready to get up off the sofa. I closed my eyes, and the warm still air soon put me to sleep.
It wasn’t one of my strange dreams, but felt like a normal one. I was walking down the stairway to the labyrinth again, and the sun was directly overhead. When I reached the bottom of the stairway, there was no lower level, but a wide sea. The waves lapped at the very lowest step, but dropped off immediately into endless green depths. I looked up, and a small raft came sailing over the waters, and the young monk, Brother Andrey was sailing it, steering with a large spoon. He paddled the raft up to the brink of the sea, and motioned as if to beckon me aboard. I tried to protest, but found myself stepping on to the raft, feeling the wood splinter under my feet. The wind caught the sail and sent the craft skimming across the surface of the sea. I laughed as the spray hit my face, and lifted my face up to the sun, enjying the warmth of its light.
I heard a jingling noise, and opened my eyes to see Stefan walking into the apartment, balancing several sketchbooks and a tackle box full of paint as he unlocked the door. “Hey James. How’d it go today?”
I got to my feet, and grabbed the sketchbooks as they slid from under his arm, and managed to snag them before they hit the floor, though a few loose papers fluttered to the floor. “Yeah, it was ok. Yours? Still trying to knock some sense into the freshmen heads?”
He laughed, and set the tackle box by the door; his hands were covered with swathes of deep green, yellow ochre, and jet black. “Trying. Not really succeeding, I’m afraid. A few seem to be interested in the world around them, but mostly they just want to be cool. Oh well. You do what you can.”
I set the sketchbooks on the table, but held onto a smaller one that I recognized as his personal sketchbook, one that he always carried but never used for any of his classes. “Hey, I haven’t seen any of your work in a while, mind if I take a look?” Stefan shook his head, and turned down the hallway. I could hear the water running through the pipes as he scrubbed his hands, trying to remove as much of the paint as possible.
I settled back on the couch with the little book, and began thumbing through it. Stefan usually carried, amongst his many art supplies, a small bag with a pencil, eraser, pen, and a handful of colored pencils. This sketchbook was his record of ideas, thoughts, impressionjs, quickly captured. He took his inspirations from the world around him, but you might never know it from the things he drew.
Red feathers, white roses, and crawling vines adorned most of the work, arranged in differeing structures. Some drawings featured city skylines, aflame with incandescent tongues of fire. Every picture seemed to explode with energy, yet drew the viewer inward to the very heart of the painting.
I had always liked Stefan’s work, but his senior show had been my favorite. Almost cartoonish in style, it had been the first time I had wondered if it was possible to love a city that was as ugly as Los Angeles. He thought so, and indeed, spent as much time as possible in the city, watching it in different lights, in different weather, and in different moods. He was convinved that the city had a soul, a soul that could be saved or lost, and was determined to capture the essence of that soul in his work.
I closed the book, and set it back carefully on the table as I made my way into the kitchen.
Tuesday I met with the psychiatrist. She was a lovely African-American woman with long braids. I sat down cautiously in the armchair in her office as she quickly scanned over the forms I’d just filled out.
“Alright, Mr. Peyton, this is definitely something I’d like to look into. Now, you say you have no history of mental illness, and none in your family, correct?”
“Yes ma’em, that’s correct. We’ve never had anything like this happen as far as I’m aware.” I shifted nervously in my seat, and adjusted my tie. “I feel fine, I’m not overly imaginative or overly tired. Everything seems normal, except what I’ve described there.”
She flipped a few pages over to re-read the description of symptoms that I’d written and raiserd an eyebrow. “Yes, well, that’s certainly unusual, and I’d like to see what we can do about that.” She turned toward me, and placed her hands palm down on the surface. “Mr. Peyton, it’s obvious that something is wrong, since you are seeing things that do not exist. However, you seem to be fine in all toher regards—something rare in and of itself in this sort of case, I’ll add—and I cannot force you to follow any of the advice I give you. However, I will strongly advise that you do exactly as I say.”
She began scribbling on a pad of paper. “I’m going to prescribe a sedative, and we’ll see where we go froim there. Please take note of any adverse side effects, anything out of the ordinary. It may be that you would profit more from a psychologist’s help than from any drugs I can prescribe.” She tore the prescription slip off and handed it to me. “Follow this, and make an applointment for two weeks from now.”
As I went back out to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should fill the prescription. I had one other person’s confirmation that things I was seeing were real, but…I didn’t really trust that person. Scott had said that the members of his group were all required to get complete psychological testing before he would let them join, surely one of them had tried drugs to get rid of the visions…
I paused, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. I didn’t want to contact Scott, or see him again in any forum, but I needed to know. I closed the door, and started up the car. By the time I arrived back at the apartment, I had made up my mind.
I looked on the counter where I’d tossed Scott’s contact information. I hadn’t cleaned there in a week, and the slip of paper was still where it had landed. I dialed the number, and got a voicemail service. “Hello, this is James Peyton, I’m trying to reach Scott ? about a group he’d mentioned. Ah, I’d like to go ahead and get some more information, so if you’d please call me back at this number, that would be great. Um…ok, thanks.”
I let out a deep breath as I hung up. What was I getting myself into?

Chapter 4

2008-11-05T01:11:00.001-08:00

Chapter Four
I waved to Marie as I got out of my car. I slung my weekend bag over my shoulder, and shut the door, careful not to loock my keys in my car.
“Hey, James, you made it!” Marie’s husband, ?, gave me what I’m sure he thought was a hearty slap on the back, but was really more like getting congratulated by a gorilla. I tried not to cough, and grinned. “Hey, ?, how’s it going?” He grabbed my bag and tossed it into the trunk with a pile of other bags. “Ok, I think that’s everyone, the Barishes left earlier, so I think we’re good.” He folded his tall frame into the driver’s seat, and slid the seat back. I took the seat behind Marie, hoping for some leg room, and buckled the seatbelt.
The car coasted smoothly out of the parking lot, and ? took the turn towards the freeway. “Hope everyone’s comfortable, it’s gonna take us about two hours, if we don’t hit traffic. Once we hit the ?, it’s a nice drive by the coastline.”
Marie turned around slightly in the seat as ? accelerated to merge onto the freeway. “So, how are things going lately? You seem a little stressed at church, and I know it’s been a rough year. It was a really a hard blow to the community when we lost Angie.”
I nodded, and shifted slightly in the seat. “Well, yeah, it’s been rough, but I think I’ve been dealing with that ok. School is busy as usual, and Dr. Russell’s classes are pretty popular, so he’s been keeping me occupied with papers to grade and classes to assist. I think he’s going to be pushing the administration to make me an official tutor so I can get a raise and start working with students one on one.”
? glanced up into the rearview mirror, his warm brown eyes surrounded with laugh lines. “We haven’t seen much of you at church. You used to be pretty involved, but I mostly just see you at the services now. Anything wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothinh in particular. I’ve kind of had a rough patch for the past few weeks; I’m normally an introvert, and I enjoy being around people, but I’ve just been so busy lately I haven’t had the time for the usual stuff. I should probably get started again, I think I need to be around people. As a matter of fact, that’s part of why I’m going on the retreat this weekend. I know we’re mostly going to be silent, but it’ll be good just to be around a lot of people for a while.”
Marie smiled at her husband, and nodded. “I know what you mean, I think. Of course, I’m a total introvert, but the retreats are a nice way to be around people.”
The conversation hit a lull, and I leaned back into the seat to stare out of the window. The sound-dampening walls rushed by in a beige stream. Some effort at beautification had been made, but the exhaust fumes of millions of passing cars quickly covered the walls in dust and oily residue. Every so often, the walls would part, and a commericial section of town would flash past, billboards sprouting up like trees of metal and paper, screaming empty slogans into the onslaught of traffic. Sometimes I could catch a glimpse of a church steeple, graying the afternoon sun, lost amid the thicket of telephone lines and advertisements for restaurants with endless buffets.
Angie loved the city, and when I was with her, I loved it too, but now it seemed cold, hard, and grey. Like the ruins of a city, that simply hadn’t noticed their own decay yet. Maybe it came from growing up in an area where I could step out any day and see the massive blue dome of the sky arcing over plains as far as the eye could see. The city feels cold and impersonal. When I read Dante’s Inferno, the city of Dis reminded me of Los Angeles, and I’ve never quite shaken the feeling.
My thoughts stratyed back to the wild and barren desert de[picted in the coffee shop photographs. That was a barreness that meant something, that knew it was barren, and knew that the barrenness had a purpose. The city of sttel and concrete and architecture that only looked like something instead of being something, that was a barrenness sthat thought itself complete, that looked into its own empty heart and was satisfied.
The car grew warmer, though there was a cool current of air conditioning from the front of the car, and I grew drowsy. Slowly, I allowed myself to drift off into sleep—I think Marie glanced back once but decided not to wake me.
As my eyelids closed, the roar of the traffic seemed to grow louder, and I dreamed that I was walking along the freeway. The cars roared by on every side of me, but they were all empty. Music blared from open windows, horns honked, and tires screeched, but I could see no-one driving the vehicles.
The river of traffic was approaching an overpass, and a long tangle of vines hung down from the level above. I put my hand to the vine and began to climb, though in real life, such a flimsy thing would never have borne my weight. In my dreams, however, it not only bore me, but seemed ot carry me upward of its own volition. There was no traffic on the bridge, only a warm static light, and the sound of birds in the distance. I looked over my should, and saw the Los Angeles skyline. It looked grim in the warm light, and seemed to be covered in smoke. Fires burned in the lower levels, giving it an eerie glow. A flock of vultures circled over the towering skyscrapers, and as I watched, the vulture’s tattered feathers lengthened and became dusky robes, and their beaks shrank back and spread into grinning skulls.
In horror, I turned away, and saw the blue robed figure standing at my side. For the first time, I could almost see through the veil, and saw finely shaped female eyes looking down at me. The eyes were not cold, but lit with an intense blue fire, and I could feel her judgement of me.
“Lady,” I struggled to get the words out, “what would you have me do? The city is burning, and enjoys the warmth of its own destruction. I am one man, and I can do nothing.”
She extended a hand towards me; it was the palest skin I have ever seen, lined all through with blue veins. Her grasp was cool but strong, and as she took my hand, she twisted my so that I was forced to look once more at the city. The fires had not lessened, but were changed into a gleaming brightness, an incandescence so bright I had to shield my eyes. The circling vultures had shed their dusky garments, and now wore robes in every color of the rainbow. Their faces were clear and shining, and I could hear music rising from the city streets.
The Lady dropped my hand, and the vision changed again, and now I could see both Cities, on superimposed upon the other. Angels and vultures circled over a city that flickered in changing light, and a cacophony of mixed noises echoed against the skyscraper walls.
I turned to look at the Lady again, and the veil slid from her eyes. The moment those warm blue fires looked into my eyes I knew what she expected of me, and I reached out….
Only to smack my hand into the warm, sticky glass of the car window. I blinked my eyes, and shifted, realizing that I had slumped down into the seat, and now had an aching crick in my neck.
“Ow,” I muttered, raising myself from the seat.
“You ok back there, James?” Carson called from the driver’s seat. Marie turned around to see what had happened.
“Yeah, sorry, fell asleep. You ever have those dreams where you’re falling, and falling, and just before you hit the ground, you wake up, but you jump when you do?” I grinned sheepishly, and tried to hide the fact that my hands were shaking.
Marie laughed, and nodded. “I do that all the time. Everyone else I know has dreams about flying, but I only get the ones about falling. Carson’s always getting woken up by me lurching awake in the middle of the night.”
I stretched and yawned, looking out the window. We were making our way through small, narrow streets, and up ahead I could see a large open space. “So, where are we?”
“We’re about to turn on Mission St, and the retreat house is right next door. Have you ever been to the Santa Barbara Mission? It’s really quite lovely. One time, I came here with some time to spare before a retreat, and they had had a display of sidewalk art. It was truly fantastic, and the roses are often in bloom in the rose garden. We don’t have time to stop today, but we’ll be driving right past it.”
I looked to my right as we turned the corner, and saw a field of dark green, sparkling here and there with the bright colors of various roses. The Mission rose up on the left, a towering building covered in warm adobe, with a large plaza in front. Beyond it was a tangle of trees, but as we drove by, an opening appeared, and we pulled into a steep private driveway. At the end of the driveway was a large white house, and beyond it, a much larger stone house and a small chapel, surrounded by a garden.
As we stepped out of the car, I was struck by the silence that surrounded the area. The retreat house was several miles from the freeway, and a row of trees blocked most of the noise from the Mission. I could hear the chirping of birds, and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The air was light and cool, and the scent of several flowers drifted by.
Carson popped the trunk open, and began unloading it. I grabbed my tote, and slung it over my shoulder. The gravel crunched underneath my feet as we walked up to the white house, and rang the doorbell. The screen door was closed, but the inner door was open, and I could see a large entry way, and beyond it a living room. The living room looked like the sort of room I always imagine rich elderly aunts would have: lots of dark wood, faded upholstery, and a large faded rug on the floor. A large fluffy white cat was curled up on one of the chairs; it lifted its head at the sound of the doorbell, then blinked and went back to sleep.

“One moment!” A cheerful voice echoed from the back of the house, and a few minutes later a red-haired man in a black cassock came down the stairs with an armful of papers and envelopes. “Sorry, I was just getting everything ready for checking in. You’re with Our Lady of Angels, right? I thought so.” He smiled, and set everything on a small table before unlocking the screen door.

“Please, come in, let me get you checked in.” He held the door open as we trooped into the entry, and latched the door behind us. “We tend to have the occasional raccoon, so we usually latch the door to keep them from getting in.” He settled into a small wooden chair behind the table, and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Ok then….names?”

Carson gestured to Marie. “Carson and Marie Lawson. We’ll be sharing a room.”

The monk scanned his list. “Ah! Yes, here you are. You’ll be in St. Joseph’s, the main house. Your room is the St. Aidan room, you’ll see the name above the door. Here’s the code for the door in St. Joseph’s, don’t forget it. And here’s your schedule for the weekend. And you, sir?”

“James Peyton.”

“Ok, here’s your code and schedule. You’re in St. Joseph’s, too, in…ah, St. Edmund. Dinner is at 6, you’ll hear the bell. Please be on time—there’s Compline before that, if you’d like to join us in the chapel.” He smiled, and unlocked the door again. “Please feel free to let us know if you need anything!”

We walked over to the large retreat house, gravel scrunching under our shoes. I looked to my right and saw an open patch of grass, surrounded by trees and hedges. Around the border of the lawn, facing inward, was a series of the Stations of the Cross, and at the west end, a small open wooden structure held a huge crucifix. I couldn’t see it clearly from the driveway, but made a note to examine it more closely later.

Carson punched in the code to the house, and the door clicked open. As we stepped inside, our footsteps echoed faintly against the wood floors; they seemed almost deafening loud in the silence of the house. The short lobby opened into two rooms; straight ahead was a small kitchen area, lined with bookshelves. In the middle of the room was a long table, and a small basket of teabags and hot chocolate mix was perched on the end. To the right, the lobby opened into another small room with more bookshelves and an armchair, and beyond it, a large living room. Marie tapped me on the shoulder. “Just take a left there right before the living room, and go up the stairs. You’ll find your room up there. We’re going to take a look at the books first.”

The staircase curved around the outside wall, and on the landing, a bay window gave a view of the patio below, and the hillside beyond that. In front of the mirror was a small statue of the Holy Family. The child Jesus stood at the feet of his parents, pointing ahead, and Mary crouched down beside him, laying a hand on his back and gesturing towards his face with the other. Joseph stood behind the others, looking down towards them. He held a staff in his gnarled hand, and he looked outward, as if scanning the horizon for anything that might threateen the safety of his family. His face was strong, but lined with concern.

Somehow, that simple statue, framed by the glorious view outside the window, was exceptionally powerful. I stood looking at it for a few minutes, before finally walking up the rest of the stairs. The upper floor was simple—beige carpeting over a wood floor that creaked with every step, and a long hallway with doors on all sides. I scanned the tops of the doors until I found one labelled St. Edmund. It was a tiny room, but on the left a large window opened out over the balcony, and diffuse light was streaming in. A small bed was pushed against the wall next to the door, and an armchair was in the other corner, beside a small chest of drawers. I set my tote bag on the bed and went over to the window.
The retreat house had been built on the top of a small hill, and the patio overhung the hill by quite a bit, and from my window, I couldn’t see the ground below. It gave the illusion of being at the top of the world, looking down on the trees and buildings below, and feeling the breeze. Towards the coast, the fog was still clinging to the hills, and made the faint noise from the road sound muffled and blurry.

But off in the east, the hills rose golden, covered in dry grass. The late afternoon light struck the hills at right angles, highlighting every little ripple and bump in the landscape. The dry foliage gleamed against the clouds, and as I looked out over the landscape, the mission bells began ringing. The clanging peals reverberated through the air, the sound spreading from the house grounds, to the city, and all the way out to the golden hills.

I lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, just letting my mind drift. Though the rule of silence wasn’t being enforced yet, there was hardly a sound from the rest of the house. The breeze from the open window was stirring the curtains, and could hear a few faint voices trickling up from the patio. I was tempted to go downstairs and join the conversation—I wanted to join in the discussion, but was mesmerized by the swaying curtains.
Finally, a small bell tolled; I glanced at the clock. 5 o’clock. It was time for Compline. I debated with myself for a moment, then got up and went downstairs. The chapel was mostly empty, except for a few parishioners from Our Lady, but the small chancel was full, since the monks had already taken their seats. Most of them were older men, and one was in a wheelchair, but there were two young men who surely weren’t any older than me. One had a clean-shaven face, and hair cropped close to the skull. He squinted at the hymnal pages through coke-bottle glasses with thick black frames. The other one had dark brown hair, and a substantial beard. He seemed to be struggling to hide a grin, and was busily marking his place in the breviary.
With one movement, the monks stood, and we hurriedly followed. Little sheets of blue paper carried poorly Xeroxed orders of service, and looked to have been used repeatedly. The breviaries were well worn, and marked with homemade bookmarks. The red-haired monk served as cantor, calling out hymn and page numbers. His voice shook slightly, and grated, but carried the chant without stopping. When time came for the responses, the monks answered in something resembling unison and we tried to match them.
I have always been a supporter of excellence in church arts: I don’t ask that a performance be flawless, but I do insist that beauty and excellence bring glory to God. But hearing these monks chant, often off-key, sometimes without much passion, and almost always in a less than perfect voice, it woke something up within me. I could hear the young monk with the thick glasses struggling to keep up the tempo, even as his surprisingly clear voice soared with ease over the notes.
The chanted psalms surged forward, timeless and unchanging, churned out by gravelly voices, and I could feel the thrum in my chest as I raised my own voice in the song. The kneelers creaked and groaned as we knelt at the appropriate moments, and the pews were hard and uncomfortable. I didn’t notice—that dingy little chapel was full of the saints of God and the song of the saints, wrong notes and all, surged forward.
I don’t know how long he was standing there, but all of a sudden I became aware of a shadowy figure standing in the back of the sanctuary, behind the monks, and to the side of the altar. The form was indistinct, as if not fully present, but it was shrouded in black robes, and the face was hidden by a deep hood.
What should I have done? I didn’t know. The figure didn’t move, and I’d become nearly accustomed to these sights by this time.
The monks settled back into the pews for a moment, then stood and walked down the aisle and out the door. When I looked back, the figure was gone.
A few moments later, a bell clanged loudly from the steps of the main retreat house, and the screen door opened. We trooped up the steps and into the dining room, which opened off the main entryway. The room was open and inviting, with pictures of saints adorning the upper walls, and plants near the large bay window. There was one long wooden table, and heavy wooden chairs along both sides of it. On either side of the room, buffet tables steamed with vegetables and roast chicken. Nothing too fancy, but it smelled homey.
The red-haired monk directed us to pick a chair and stand behind it until the blessing had been said. I glanced up and down the table, and quickly manuevred myself into place beside Father Time and across from Carson and Marie.
“Hello everyone, I already know some of you who’ve been on retreats with us before, but for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Brother Frank, and I’m the leader of the monks here at St. Joseph’s.
“Now, let me explain a little bit about how this retreat works. You need to be present for every meal, but for the most part your time is your own. Your retreat director has set up some addresses, which are on the schedule you received when you arrived. We do, of course, highly recommend attending those, and of course, you are welcome to worship with us at any time. The service schedule is printed on your schedule as well. Please don’t leave the grounds, but do feel free to explore the gardens and the Stations of the Cross which you’ve seen outside. Make sure to keep the doors in the house closed so we don’t have to deal with any pests or critters.
“One final note: silence begins after your retreat address this evening. Now, this does not mean that you absolutely cannot speak. For instance, it is perfectly fine to ask someone to pass the salt at dinner. However, please try to keep the silence as best you can. Don’t speak unnecessarily, or make excessive noise. This includes slamming doors, jangling keys, and humming or whistling. If you need to talk to someone, please make sure that you do not disturb anyone else. Myself and the brothers are always happy to counsel anyone, and Father Tim is also available to you, as you know.
“I think that covers the basics! Let’s go ahead and have the blessing.” Brother Frank placed his hands on the back of his chair, and bowed his head—we followed suit. “Dear Lord, please make this a successful retreat for those gathered here today, and bless this food to our bodies as we try to listen to Your voice. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen.” There was a flurry of motion as the retreatants crossed themselves.
After loading up my plate at the buffet line, I slipped into my seat, and looked around. Having joined the list so late, I didn’t know who else was on the retreat. Besides Father Tim, Marie, and Carson, I saw several people I knew. Kathy, a rather plain woman, sat at the end of the table, carrying on an animated conversation with Julie, a pretty athletic young woman—both of them taught at the same graduate program, and they were laughing about a recent classroom experience. On the other side of Father Timothy sat Monica and Matthew, a couple a few years older than me. Monica was a vivacious brunette with curly hair and a perpetual interest in everything. Matthew, quieter, usually wore a sardonic smile, and had, as Angie had phrased it, ‘a voice meant to make women swoon over the radio.’ Angie had been close to both of them, and we’d had dinner together, but I never felt as though I knew them well. Matthew nodded slightly as I turned toward him, and I smiled in return.
“So, James…” Monica leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We keep meaning to have you over for dinner sometime, but I don’t know what your schedule is like. You seem to keep dashing off after church is over.”
I shrugged slightly. “I guess so. I’ve been pretty busy with school. I’m a teacher’s assistant this year. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough to get by on. I’m usually free later on in the week, and it’s not too hard to rearrange my schedule.”
Monica emptied her water glass, and nodded. “I know what you mean, it’s been pretty crazy in our department too.” She looked intently at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction. “I hope you don’t mind me asking this, and you totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…How are you doing since Angie died? It was last year, right?”
I took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah, almost exactly a year ago. You know, I think I’m doing ok. Not great, I mean, I don’t think it’s exactly the sort of thing that you just get over. But I’ve been able to move on. I know she’s happier where she is, and she’d be upset with me if I just sat around moping. But somedays it’s hard. We’d planned to be married during the summer, and sometimes when I think of that…well, it’s hard. I couldn’t get my deposit back for the apartment we were planning to move into, so I’m still living there, and my best friend is my roommate. I’m glad I don’t have to stay there alone, but sometimes I’ll come across a towel she picked out or something, and it’s difficult.” I jabbed my fork at the pile of asparagus on my plate and took a bite.
“So, is this your first retreat?” Matthew drawled, setting down his fork, and leaning back as far as the stiff wooden back of the chair would allow. “Not to interrupt…”
Swiping a napkin across my mouth, I shook my head. “No, not at all. Yes, this my first retreat. I’m enjoying it so far, but I’m looking forward to the silence.” I tapped a finger against my temple. “I think I need a little more silence up here, instead of all the voices, songs, and advertisements that are swirling around in there. Hoping to get all of that cleared out a little. I’ve got some things I need to think about.”
“Oh?” Monica asked, covering her mouth with her hand as she took a bite of garlic bread. “Mind if I ask what?”
I paused, unsure.
“Dear, not everyone has to bare their souls during lunch.” Matthew smiled and patted his wife’s arm. “Let him have some peace, ok?” Monica laughed and agreed.
“Let me make you a deal,” I responded. “Ask me again when silence is over. I just need some time to process and think about things. Then I’ll let you know.” I set my used napkin on my cleared plate, and leaned back in the chair.
“Sounds good to me,” Monica agreed, and Matthew nodded.
Brother Frank, seeing that most of us were finished with the meal, stood up and prayed a quick dismissal blessing. “Don’t forget, you have your first retreat address at…what time, Father? 8 o’clock? 8 o’clock in the chapel. You’re dismissed, and please remember that we are now in silence.”
I woke the next morning to the mission bells ringing through the open window. I rolled over and looked at the clock for a moment, before deciding to get dressed and go to Matins. After pulling on a worn and comfortable pair of jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt, I made my way downstairs and found a few people already gathered around the table in the kitchen, reading or browsing the available titles.
I stepped out the front door just as the bell rang, and crossed the short breezeway into the chapel. Only a few members of the group were there, and the early morning prayers seemed sluggish as we all sought to stay awake. My mind drifted during the antiphonal psalms, and only the fact that the chapel was chilly and damp kept me from dozing off again.
After the service was over, I strolled out through the dew-soaked grass towards the patio behind the main retreat house. Kathy was the only one sitting out there, and she gave me a smile and a silent wave as I walked by. I returned the smile, but headed towards the opposite side of the long patio, beyond the small fountain. I pulled up a chair, and was about to sit and look out over the valley, when I noticed the small stairway. It was set off from the main patio, underneath a small stone gazebo. I left the chair where it was and made my way down the staircase. It hugged the line of the hill, and switched back and forth as it descended. It ended below the patio; the upper level hung over the path, so no-one on the patio could see this level. As I came to the end of the path, I saw a hooded figure tracing out a slow path through the morning mist; this, however, was no vision, but a flesh and blood man, one of the monks, with hood pulled over his face. As I drew closer, I could see that he was not simply pacing or walking, but making his way into the center of a small blue labyrinth painted onto a slab of concrete. The blue path wound inward in a convoluted pattern that I recognized as a small scale duplicate of the famous Chatres cathedral labyrinth.
There was a small bench near the labyrinth and I sat down on it, trying to ignore the dew that soaked into my jeans. As the monk neared the end of one curve of the labyrinth, I saw a beard poking out from under the hood, and realized that it was the young monk I had noticed earlier. He moved slowly, pausing to mutter silently with each step. I was mesmerized; his slow unstudied movements were almost hypnotic, and he seemed unaware of my presence. He finally stood in the center of the labyrinth and paused, lifting his arms to the sky. His hood fell back, and the morning light fell on his face. It was intense, but not ecstatic, and he looked up into the sky as if searching for something. After a moment, he let his arms fall to his sides, and began walking slowly out of the winding pathway. As he took the last slow steps, he turned towards me and bowed slightly, not willing to disturb my silence.
I debated with myself for a moment, then stood up. “Hey, do you mind if I ask you some questions? I don’t want to be a bother…”
He grinned, and shook his head. “Not at all! What’s on your mind? I’m Brother Andrei, by the way.”
I turned and began walking aimlessly around the paths, and Andrei fell into step beside me. “Well…I’m not sure how to start. What…what’s it like living here? As a monk, I mean?” I stammered slightly, aware of how silly I sounded.
Andrei didn’t respond right away, and I noticed again how quiet the grounds of the retreat center were. “I love living here. I love being a monk, except when I hate it. But it’s never been about what I like or don’t like. I happen to like it here, but that’s not the point. The point is that this is what I’ve been called to do. This is where I’m supposed to be.” He paused again, looking out over the valley. The sun was rising high enough to begin clearing away the mist, but the fog that remained had turned gold and pink. “Have you been thinking about entering a monastery? Or is there another reason for asking?”
“I hadn’t thought about it before now. I don’t want to seem like I’m overly swayed by emotion or by something just because it’s new and interesting. But when I came here, it all just seemed…right. It’s hard to explain it better than that.”
He sighed, and turned towards me again, and I could see him sizing me up. “normally, I’d advise you to just get over it. Get back to your ordinary life, get some sleep, and in a few weeks, you’ll be glad. But…there’s something different about you. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know what it means. I can’t tell you what to do, though I’d recommend you start spending some time with your priest.”
I was a little taken aback—I don’t know what response I’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. A small bell clanged through the air. “I need to go, that’s the bell for Nones.” He pulled his hood back over his head, and turned to go. “You know, it would be nice to see another young dude here.” He grinned. “Brother Mark and I go a little crazy sometimes.”
Saturday I spent mostly alone, or in the living room reading. It wasn’t until late Saturday night that I even went outside again, save for meals and prayer services. After Compline on Saturday, most of the others went to bed, and the silence settled over the grounds. The stars rose bright in the deep cobalt sky, and the hills shone silver in the light of the moon. I went up to my room but couldn’t seem to settle down. Finally, I tossed on my jacket, and went outside, making sure to close the doors behind me. I wandered across the patio; the statue that guarded the fountain looked like a ghost in the pale light.
The stairway was a mixture of light and shadow, and I had to watch my steps as I went down. The lower level was brightly lit from the moon, and I had no trouble finding the labyrinth. I shivered, as the damp rising from the ocean began to sink through my jacket, and placed a foot on the path.
“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner,” the words came almost unbidden to my lips. With every step, I recited the prayer, clinging to it as I might to a rope. The air quivered and thickened, and I again saw the shadowy hints of forms moving around me—I was moving deeper and deeper into one of my seeings. I tried to merely accept what I saw, moving slowly and steadily, but it was difficult to keep my eyes from darting around. As I stepped toward the center, a form slowly solidified in the center of the circle—the lady in blue. With every step, her outline became clearer, more distinct, and her eyes shone as brightly as the stars. She stood perfectly still as if carved in stone. Finally, I stepped into the center of the circle, and stood facing her.
“Lady…what are you doing here? What is it you want me to do,” I whispered, my voice hoarse as I spoke.
She did not speak, but gestured to the outside of the circle. I looked, and like flames, the creatures in red stood surrounding the labyrinth. Though the night sky dimmed and muted all other colors, they shone as crimson as if they were lit by the noon sun.
“Who are they?” I asked. The Lady shook her head, but pointed again, this time to the stars overhead. I looked around at the brilliant points of light, millions upon millions of them.
“The morning stars sing for joy,” I heard whispered, but could not hear who spoke them. “The silent planet cannot hear their song.”
“Lady,” I repeated, “what do you want me to do? I can’t help anyone hear the song of the stars, I don’t hear it myself. How can I help?”
She shook her head again, and pointed above her. She was bathed in a light as pure as moonlight and warmed than sunlight. I looked up, and in the top of the dome of the sky hung three pure and brilliant lights.
I turned back to the Lady, and she held out her hands. Roses rested in her palms, and petals fell from them like drops of blood. “Please, Lady, what is it? Why do I see things? What do you want?”
“The City is in need of you,” the whisper came. “The City will fall, unless those who love her are willing to sacrifice. Blessed are those who pray for the peace of Jerusalem.”
I started to say that I did not love the city, that I loved peace and quiet, not rushing, noise, and pollution. But the words stuck in my throat and would not come, and I found myself standing alone on a faded slab of concrete, clothes soaked with dew, and shivering in the night wind.
From a great distance, I could hear the sound of traffic on the freeway.
I woke in the morning, and wondered if it had been a dream. I saw my jacket, draped over a chair to dry, and knew that I’d gone out in the middle of the night. But the sight? I stared up at the ceiling and sighed.
I didn’t want to be special in any way. I just wanted to live my life. If that life involved becoming a monk and living at the monastery, so much the better.
I skipped Matins and Nones, not leaving the house until the bell rang for breakfast. As soon as Brother Frank finished the dismissal, I found Father Time.
“Hey, Father Tim, can I talk to you for a little bit? It doesn’t have to be now, just sometime before we leave?”
He looked at me for a moment, grey eyes scanning my face. “Of course, James. Just let me go put my things away, and I’ll meet you oout in front of the retreat house in about ten minutes. Will that work?”
I nodded, and thanked him. I went outside, closing the screen door behind me, and settled down to wait on the bench in front of the main house. In a few minutes, Father Tim came, and took a seat beside me.
“So, what did you want to talk about, James?” Father Tim had a calming voice, very quiet and measured. It made it easy to ask him questions. Angie and he had had a very close friendship, and he preached her funeral sermon. He’d been calm during the funeral, but afterwards I was wandering through the cemetery and had seen him from a distance, tears pouring down his face. He hadn’t seen me, and I never brought it up, but I’d always remembered it.
“Well, there’s two things, really. The first one’s easier. I was wondering…How do you know what it is that you’re supposed to do with your life? Does God have something specific in mind, or is it really more up to you?”
Father Tim adjusted his glasses, and spoke quietly. “Well, I’m inclined to think that God does call some people to very specific things. There’s plenty of evidence of specific calls, think of Mother Theresa and Saint Patrick. But I think, for most of us, we are simply called to lead holy lives, and it’s up to us the path we follow.”
“Ok. But what if someone is given a special gift? I mean, something really unique, something that could help people. Is that a sign of God’s calling? Or is the person still free to do what they want? Things like that happen for a reason, right?”
He thought for a few moments, seeming to pause and collect his words.
I cleared my throat, and desperately cast around for the best way to phrase this. “I’ve been seeing things lately. Not crazy things, just…odd things. I’ve other people tell me that they’ve seen the same things, but I do have an appointment with a psychiatrist in a few days. The health center on campus tells me that all my blood work is normal.” I leaned back against the bench, and ran my hands through my hair. “I know, it sounds crazy, and I’m almost afraid to talk to a shrink about it. I’m pretty sure they would take the things I’ve been seeing as evidence that I need medication, instead of seeing if there’s actually anything physically or mentally wrong with me. What I wonder is…Geez, I hate to say this, it sounds like pride, but…what if these things that I see really are from God? What if He wants me to use them? I don’t want to be different, I don’t want a major gift like this. I just…wanted to have a normal life. But what if it’s not what God wants?”

Father Timothy stared off into the distance for a while, and I fell silent. The breeze quietly rustled the leaves of the palm trees, and the grass rippled slightly.
“First of all, I’m very glad you are going to be meeting with a professional psychiatrist. That being said, I don’t want to give you the impression that I don’t believe you. I don’t know you as well as I knew Angie, but I do know that you are a stable person, and that you don’t seem to be the sort of person who would invent such a story, nor the type who would be prone to hallucinations.”
He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Just so you know, I do believe in the veracity of some visions. We do have to test the spirits, so I’m going to encourage you to do something. Please record everything you see, and make a record of every time the information in your visions matches something in your ordinary life.”
He took off his glasses, and began cleaning them wearily. “I think the deciding factor is often this. What is it that the visions tell you? Do they say you’re special? That you’re better from anyone else? Anything that comes from God will increase love, increase understanding, and probably ask for a sacrifice of some sort. The things that come from the devil will separate you from others, will tell you that you are special, and that the normal rules don’t apply to you.” He put his hands on his knees and hoisted himself out of the bench. “Obviously, this is a complicated issue and something you’ll need to think about. I hope you’ll keep me updated.” He patted my shoulder, and walked out into the gardens.
Lunch was an almost raucous affair, since the silence was no longer in effect. All the extroverts, having pent up two days’ worth of talking, were laughing and talking at full speed, and the noise echoed around the room. I found a seat next to Matthew and Monica, across from Carson and Marie.
As I set my plate down and took my seat, Monica leaned over, and said, “Hey James! Enjoy the retreat?”
I nodded, and unfolded my napkin. “Yeah, I did, actually. I really enjoyed the silence. Wish I was able to stay for awhile longer, in fact.”
Monica laughed. “You introverts, I love you guys! Matthew’s the same way, he loves the silence. It must be really rough on you, having all this time when no-one can talk or interrupt you, and then all of a sudden, noise noise noise everywhere!” Matthew grinned, and nodded.
“Oh well, we’re only twenty five percent of the population, we’[re pretty much used to it by now,” he said. “But after a while, you do learn to set some pretty good \booundaries.”
“That’s true,” Monica admitted. “I can always tell when it’s time to get you home from a partry, it’s like there’s this little switch inside your head that flicks off when you’re had enough, and you just down. A little blinking light goes off in your eyes that says, ‘Ok, I’ve had enough of being social for one eveining, please go away quietly now.’”
I laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. While the noise of conversation was pleasant, it was also very distracting, and I often felt that I couldn’t hear myself think.
“By the way, James,” Matthew intoned, setting his fork down. “I knlow you rode up with Carson and Marie, but we were wondering if you’d like to ride back with us. We’ve got plenty of space, and we really would like to get to know you a little better.”
I glanced at Carson; “Sure,” he said. “It’s certaintly no problem for us.”
Part of me was hesitant to agree. The Greys were nice people, but Monica was quite talkative, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to have to carry on a conversation for the entire trip back. But, at the same time, they were interesting people, and I knew that Monica taught at a spiritual development program at the college, and bpoth she and Matthew were graduates of the program. They might not be bad people to ask about the visions.
“Ok, that works for me,” I said, trying to butter a small roll without having the butter rip all the way through the bread. “I think we’re supposed to be out of here by one, so I’ll pack up my stuff after lunch and bring it down to the entryway of the main house. Will that work?”
They agreed, and within thirty minutes their car was loaded and ready to go. Matthew slammed down the hatchback, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Ok, folks, time to hit the road.” He pulled slowly down the long winding driveway, and back onto the small road that ran by the mission.
The streets were small and narrow, obviously not originally constructed to be part of a major city. Pedestrian traffic was steady, and once or twice he had to slam on the brakes before we were able to get back onto the freeway.
“So James,” Monica said, twisting around in the seat to look at me face-to-face. “It seemed like you had some significant experiences on the retreat. You just have that kind of stunned ‘i-need-to-think-about-this sort of look. Do you mind if I ask what the retreat was like for you?”
“No, that’s ok. I was actually wanting to talk to you both about it, in fact. You see…ah, it’s hard to get the words out, it still sounds strange. I’ve been seeing things, spiritual things I think. I know it sounds weird, but it’s true.”
I explained about how the visions had started, and the precautions I’d taken to make sure that I wasn’t going crazy. I described some of the visions as best I could, but didn’t mention Scott or his group of people. As the story wound down, Monica wore a very thoughtful expression, and I could see Matthew’s eyes studying me in the rearview mirror, in between monitoring the traffic.
“So…well, so that’s it, really. Strange, but true.” I leaned back in the seat, and took a deep breath—I hadn’t realized that I’d barely been breathing as I struggled to explain.
“Well, you know, it’s really not that strange. I have friends that have seen angels and demons at various times, though usually not that distinctly. It’s definitely an amazing gift from God, but it seems like it’s been bothering you.” Monica’s voice was calm and relatively quiet. “First of all, do you mind if I pray for you? I think that’s really important, that you pray and guard your heart against the spiritual world.”
I laughed, and quickly sang,
“Against the demon snares of sin,
Against false words of heresy.
The hostile lusts that war within,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft.,
Against the death wound and the burning
The Choking wave,
The poisoned shaft
Protect me Christ til thy returning.
“It’s from St. Patrick’s breastplate,” I explained. “It’s Angie’s favorite hymn, and she was always mad that that part usually wasn’t sung. It was one of her favorites verses; in fact, she used to sing the whole thing each morning as she was getting ready for the day. Said it helped her get herself together, and find her place in the world. I always kind of liked it, how it brought it every part of the physical and spitirual world.”
“A great song,” Matthew tossed over his shoulder, glancing back as he changed lanes.
“James, I’m really glad you felt like you could oopen up enough to talk about this, I think that’s amazing, and I can’t wait to see what God’s going to do with this gift.”She closed her eyes, and began praying. “Lord, we want to thank You today for the gift you’ve given James, and the amazing door you’ve opened in his life. And we ask that You guard him against all evil that would come against him…”
I felt the blood creeping up into my face in a sudden flood of embarrassment, and tried to keep from shifting around in my seat. I’d never liked having people pray for me, and hearing them pray out loud made me especially uncomfortable. I’d grown up in churches where it was very much the norm, but I’d always felt as if they were trying to assert their own superior spirituality over the faith of those who were being prayed for. I knew that Monica meant well by praying for me, but I felt immeasurably relieved when she had finished, and the car ride continued with simple casual conversation.

Chapter 3

2008-11-05T01:09:00.000-08:00

Chapter 3.
“Yes, I have a two o’clock appointment?” I leaned over the desk of the health center, trying not to be nervous as the nurse confirmed my appointment, and asked me to wait and the doctor would see me shortly. I sat, and flipped through one of the magazines on the table. It was at least 3 months out of date, and I put it back.
“Mr. Peyton? The doctor will see you now. Please come this way.” The nurse smiled, and held the door open. She smiled, and I tried to return the gesture. I sat on the padded chair, trying my best not to shift so that the wax paper they had spread on it wouldn’t crinkle unnecessarily loudly. I loosened my tie, and wondered what to say to the doctor that would get me a blood test and a referral without making me look like a basketcase. Just as I was about to hop off the table and begin pacing the room to let off some excess energy, the doctor bustled in, gave me a quick professional smile, and sat down.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Peyton. It looks like you made this appointment to, err, discuss some mental health concerns you have, and to look into your options for a referral.” He consulted his clipboard, and made a small notation. “Now, what seems to be the problem.”
I cleared my throat nervously. “Well, uh, I think I may be having a bad reaction to stress. I’ve always had a pretty good imagination, but…well, I tthink it’s getting out of hand. I’m pretty jumpy, and I keep thinking that…that I see things, but when I look again, they’re not there.” I shifted my weight, and the paper crinkled loudly in the quiet office.
The doctor looked at me for a moment, then leaned forward. “Has anything like this happened to you before, son? Any history of mental illness in your family?”
I shook my head. “No, not that we know of.”
“Energy levels? Are you feeling tired a lot? Exhaustion or muscle pain?”
“No, not really.”
“Hmmmm, ok. Any dizziness or stomach cramps?”
“No.”
He scribbled some more notes on the forms, then sat back in his chair. “I’m going to go ahead and recommend some basic blooddwork for you, but I really don’t think we’ll find anything. Is it alright if I go ahead and refer you to a psychiatrist? It’s likely that this is nothing more than stress, but we don’t really want to take any chances.” He pulled a carbon copy of the form out of the clipboard and handed it to me. “Just give this to the nurse at the front desk, and she’ll schedule your blood work and help you find a psychiatrist that will take your health plan.” He smiled and stood to go. “I think you’ll be fine, you probably need rest more than anything. You young guys are always trying to do too much.”
I nodded, and stood up to go. He opened the door for me, then disappeared into another room off the main hallway. I made my way back up to the nurse’s desk, and handed over my paperwork.
“Oh, you need to schedule blood work? Ok, well, it looks like we’re free at 7am on Thursday if that works for you. Be sure to drink some water before you come in, it’ll make it easier to draw the blood. Don’t eat anything, or drink anything but water before you come, ok? Great, here’s your appointment card, and we’ll see you on Thursday. I’ll pull the list of psychiatrists covered by your insurance, and have that ready for you next time. Have a great day!’
I walked out of the health center into the warmth of a March afternoon. Scores of students were walking by in both directions, laughing and chatting, most of them with headphones dangling from their ears. I wondered how many secrets their happy faces hid.
I crossed the plaza under the bell tower, and made my way up the stairs of Northman, pushing through a crowd of students coming down from a class session that had just ended. I knocked on Dr. Russel’s door and ducked inside.
“Good morning, Mr. Peyton. We missed you in the afternoon class, did your appointment go well?” He had his usual gruff expression, but he didn’t seem upset.
“Yes, sir, thanks, it went well. I’ve got an appointment on Thursday at 7, but I should still be able to make morning class without a problem. I’ve got the graded essays for tonight’s class, and here’s the forms for the next test for 103.” I pulled a sheaf of papers out of my bag, and handed them over. He took them without a word, and set them in a folder on his desk. “Mr. Peyton, take a seat for a minute.”
He took off his glasses, and rubbed his temple contemplatively. “Your help has been invaluable to me in my classes, but James, I am worried about you. No, your work isn’t slipping, you’re too good to let that happen, but you seem on edge, and not your usual self. The James Peyton I know is a confident young man, who isn’t afraid to give his all for whatever comes his way. A happy man, a generous man. The James Peyton I see today is jumpy, tired, and almost morose. I know you’ve had a difficult year, and I’m not insisting that you hide any problems you may be having. But I am concerned.”
I leaned back in the chair, and looked out the window to the plaza below. “I’m not sure what to tell you, sir. Yes, things have been difficult. But it’s not just losing Angie. It’s…well, it’s other things that I’m not sure I can talk about. I’m getting blood work done on Thursdahy, and making an appointment with a psychiatrist. I’m going to get this straightened out, I promise you.”
Dr. Russell smiled slightly, and nodded. “I thought so. But let me know if there’s anything you need: time off, a raise, reduced schedule.”
“Sure, sir, I’ll do that.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
James shut the door and walked down the hallway. It was crowded with the usual groups, classes entering and exiting, and students simply sitting around and chatting. He walked down the stairs, and out into the plaza. The weather had turned suddenly cooler, and clouds had drifted in to cover the sun. A soft grey light shone down, and all colors were muted. James stood watching for a moment, then turned left and walked under the bell tower, and across the main walkway.
My nose twitched with the scent of rain in the air: something soft, like violets, but wild and tangy like gunpowder. The entire atmosphere was pregnant with the smell, and the air hung heavy and cold, like a washrag waiting to be wrung out. The wind picked up, dashing the scent past my nose, and like bullets, the first drops fell. I could hear several girls shrieking as they ran for cover, but most students simply kept walking.
I turned and stood facing into the wind, letting it blow my hair away from my face. The water splattered against my cheeks, and ran from my forehead down into my eyes. With the wind came smell, sight, touch, and taste, four horsemen riding the air.
The storm’s small fury was spent almost as the first drops fell. The sidewalk glistened lightly, but already the large open areas were beginning to dry. The asphalt steamed lightly as the sun broke through again, and the smell of rain in the air gave way to the tamer smells of wet concrete and washed grass. The sun’s fresh rays made everything gleam as though newly scrubbed, and the trees stood out brightly against the background of dark cloud.
As I walked across the secondary plaza, a few stray raindrops were still falling into the fountain. I walked down the concrete steps, and into the walkway: the blue plastic shades over the walkway were dripping from the edges, but little water had seeped through. A gaggle of student streamed out of th coffee shop, where they had ducked to shelter from the rain. After they left, the room was almost empty, and I slung my bag into an empty armchair. As I waited to order, my eyes drifted over the art displayed on the wall. Stephan mocked most of the art that was displayed here, saying it varied from pretentious crap to sentimental nonsense. I usually didn’t take much notice of it, but this month’s exhibit seemed to be a display of photography. The warm toned pictures depicted one of the most rugged landscapes I’d seen: hills, valleys, and even caves, all made of dried dust. A few scraggly plants sprung from the soil, but the ground was parched and cracked, and even the little that did grow was the color of dust itself. The sky was cobalt blue and intense, contrasting starkly with the pale earth. The hills rose up in structures like abandoned necropolii, ruined castles, and ancient mountains worn down to nothing. Just looking at the pictures made your mouth dry up a little, and you could feel the heat beating down from the invisible sun. Simple paths led through the desert, and the pictures progressed through the paths, from the top of the hills, down through the caves and canyons into the heart of the earth, where little light shown., Then, morning broke across the silhouetted hills, blindingly bright and warm. The pictures came up from the earth again, seeking out the light, climbing the blasted hills. In one frame, a single figure clothed in a red coat stood in a corridor made of dried dirt, the earthen walls reflecting light oonto each other until the entire corridor was aglow with a yellow light. From there, the path lead up to the top of the hills again, culminating in an explosion of light as the early morning sun shone on the clouds that streaked across the sky. The tops of the mountains smoked with morning light and cloud, and the clouds were pink ribbons streaming across the sky. In the final image, the edge of the sun’s disc peeked over the crest of a hill, and a jet contrail shot upwards like a rocket. The spirit soared just looking at the images.
For some reason, I found myself drawn to the images of the blasted desert. The landscape appeared to be swept clean of almost everything that was recognizable to ordinary modern human existence. It looked like a foreign planet, one that did not welcome humans, but which held great promise for any one who would dare take up the challenges it offered. I thought of the verse, “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord,” and felt like I understood what it meant for the first time.
“Excuse me, are you ready to order?” I jumped slightly; I’d gotten so engrossed in the pictures that I’d forgotten that I was waiting to order coffee. I was embarrassed that the barista had had to call me twice, but place my order and paid cash. I picked up my coffee and settled into the chair and pulled out the stack of papers from my bag. There was an essay from each student in one class, as well as two short essays from several other classes and test papers from another. I wanted to get a head start on some of them, though most weren’t due back to Dr. Russell for a few days.
The door to the coffee shop swiffed open, and out of habit, I glanced up to see the young girl from Stephan’s art class come in. She wore tattered jeans, a grey sweater, and a long striped scarf that wound several times around her neck before it draped down toward her knees. She walked quickly up to the counter, and ordered. As she waited for her order, she stood back and studied some of the pictures on the wall. She spent most time in front of one of the simplest images—a simple shot of a faint gleam of sunlight coming in through a sky light in the top of a cave. The image was faint, but clear, and she seemed captivated by it for a few moments.
“Tall vanilla latte!” The barista called out the order as the cardboard cup was set out on the counter. Corinne picked it up and carefully took a sip before slipping a plastic lid on the cup. She settled in a chair across the room, and pulled out a tattered paperback book. With a sigh, I went back to grading papers. For a few minutes, I worked in silence, but slowly I became aware of a low humming. I tried to ignore it, but it would dart in and out of hearing—just when I thought it had gone away, it would start up, and the tune seemed to be always out of reach.
I looked up again, and realized that Corinne was humminh under her breath as she read. I ducked my head to get a better glimpse of the book’s cover: Jane Eyre. I realized where I had heard the tune before—Angie had loved the music from the musical version of Jane Eyre and had often sung it, though I never really took much notice.
“Excuse me.” I noticed that Corinne was looking towards me. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Um…3:45. Approximately.”
“Oh, thanks. I have a painting class in a half hour, and I didn’t want to be late for it. I guess I’ve still got a little while.” She settled back into the chair, and sipped at her not lukewarm drink.
“Would that be a class with Stephan?” I asked. “I believe he’s your professor for an early morning drawing class.”
“oh!” She sat up a little straighter, and leaned forward. “Yeah, he’s my prof for Drawing 101. He’s really tough, but I like learning from him. He’s not as cynical as a lot off artists I’ve met, and he’s really hekped me improve my work. I just transferred into his painting class. It might be a little ways beyond my level, but he approved the transfer, so I guess it’s ok.” She looked at me curiously. “Do you know him?”
I laughed. “Yeah, actually. We went to school here together, and we’re housemates now. He’s a great guy, and you should definitely learn all you can from him. His senior show was amazing, but you’ll never get him to tell you about it. Find someone in the department who really knows art, and ask them about it. Truly incredible.”
She smiled, and bounced slightly in her seat. “I’m so happy to be here! There are so many interesting people here. I really enjoyed class the other morning. Professor Stephan was taking us around the campus to try to show us how to really see, how to really look at the things all around us everyday. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
“I noticed. Were you looking at the grass that morning?”
She grinned, and turned a little red. “Yeah. Well…I was trying to see if I could see the sun through the dew on the grass. It didn’t quite work, but the dew did look really nice, and I enjoy looking at grass.” She looked a little uncomfortable, and came to sit in a chair nearer to mine. “I hate to ask this but…does he ever talk about the class at all? Not that I want him to talk about me or anything, but the class seems a little odd. No-one seems that interested in beauty, or life, or the things around them. I’m not sure what they’re interested in. But it always seems like the only things that they like and get excited about are things that nobody else has heard of, and they hate the things that other people like. I dunno, I just don’t get it.”
I sighed, and leaned forward in the chair. “ Corinne—your name is Corinne, right?—you should talk to Stephan about this. Trust me, he’d love to know your thoughts on this, and as an artist, he has some really good views on the subject that are far more informed than anything I could say. Just ask him after class if he’d be willing to chat about it. I garuntee you that he’ll be happy to talk to you about this.” She looked a little skeptical, but perhaps a bit relieved that I hadn’t launched into a tirade about how she needed to learn to improve her artistic taste.
“Oh, drat, I’ve gotta run. I need to get to class a little early to get some paperwork signed for the registrar. Thanks so much for chatting! See you around!” She grabbed her bag and book, and dashed out the door. As the door swung open, I could see that full daylight had returned, and many of the clouds were gone.

The rest of the week was pretty quiet. A few odd sights came and went, but no more of the blue-robed figure, or the red robed skull. The bloodwork went well, and I made it to Dr. Russell’s class on time, and was able to hand back some of the test papers earlier than expected.
Sunday rolled around again, and I almost felt like my old self. Whether the things I was seeing had any bearing on reality or not, I still wasn’t sure, but they didn’t seem to be hurting anything, and if modern medicine could drive them away, I’d find out next week when my appointment came up with the psychiatrist.
As I drove up the hill to church, with Erin, Jason, Erin’s fiancée, and another student I didn’t know, the hills were shrouded in the last remants of low-hanging cloud, and the sunrise touching it turned the atmosphere to gold.
We unpiled out of the car at church, and erin and her fiancée headed off to the nursery to take care of the children during the service. Jason and I made our way inside, and sat down. We were a little early, so I took a few moments to glance through the bulliten. As I opened it, a piece of green paper fell out. I puicked it up and glanced at it. “Parish Retreat,” it announced. “Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Retreat house in Santa Barbara. Two weeks from now. Cost is $90, please have a check ready when you go.”
Underneath the headline was a blurry Xeroxed photo of a house with gardens. But it was really the word “retreat” that caught my eye. Jason saw me looking at the paper, and nudged me. “You ever been to one of those? I hear they’re pretty amazing, but I’ve never gone. I usually can’t get the money together, or I have something planned on the weekend they’re going.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know a lot of people really get a lot out of it. I think Marie and her husband usually go. Yeah, see, they’re the contacts for it. I might actually go this year. I could really use some time away for a while.” I folded the paper, and stuck it in my pocket as a reminder.
After church, I found Marie in the fellowship hall. “Hey James, haven’t really had a chance to talk to you in a while, how’ve you been?”
I always enjoyed talking to Marie and her husband. Marie is the sort of person whose face lights up when she sees you, and her husband was always willing to go out of his way to help, with anything that could be done. When I moved in with Stephan, he and Marie had wrestled my couch into the back of their ancient station wagon and moved it for me.
“I’m ok, thank you for asking. I actually wanted to check with you about the retreat. Is there still room?”
She nodded excitedly. “Yeah, we still have a lot of spaces open, we’d love to have you come! It’s amazing what a weekend away from everything can do for you. Personally, I find it incredibly relaxing. It’s so quiet, and of course, since it’s a silent retreat, there’s no talking and during lunch we usually just read from a book. It takes some getting used to, but it’s so rewarding. Do you want me to go ahead and put you on the list?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great. I think I could really use some time away from everything right now. Need to get my head clear. I’ve got some vacation time coming up, and I think this would be a great way to use it up.”
Marie fished around inside her purse for a pen and paper. “Ok, fantastic! Let me go ahead and get ylour email address, and I’ll add you to the update list. We usually leave for the retreat house around noon on Friday, but you can also take the train—just let me know if you need someone to pick you up from the train station in Santa Barbara. Or, of course, you can always drive yourself. If you can give anyone a ride, that’s good too.”
“my car porbbaly won’t make the drive, but I’ll take the train or get a ride here. Let me do some checking and get back to you.” I saw Erin and her fiancée start heading for the parking lot, and waved to let them know that I was coming soon. “Hey, I’ve got to go, but I’ll watch for the email. Should be fun!”
She smiled and nodded. “Great! I’ll let ? know, he’s always happy when other men are on the trip. We tend to have a lot of girls go every year, but not so many guys.” I scribbled my email address on a piece of paper and handed it back to her.
As we drove home, I wondered why I’d signed up for the retreat. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go, just that it wasn’t the sort of thing I usually did. I like being around people, and the idea of being around people and not being able to talk to them seemed like it would be [pretty difficult. But I did need a break.
“Jason, are you going on the retreat,” asked Erin. “Jared and I are signed up to go, and it would be totally awesome if you were there, too.”
“I’m thinking about it,” he replied, unwrapping a muffin he’d brought from the fellowship hall. “It sounds nice, but I don’t really have much time on the weekends and I’m completely broke. Father Tim said that I shouldn’t let the cost worry me, that the church would be happy to cover the feee if I really want to go. ?i’m just not sure yet.”
Erin nodded and resumed her conversation with Jared, most of which seemed to involved whispered giggles.
When we arrived back at the campus, I dropped the three of them off near the cafeteria, and circled back toward my apartment. Stephan aleways eats lunch at his church, and usually isn’t home until much later, so I was surprised to see someone waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I approached the steps carefully, ntil I saw that the figure was Scott Harkness. I would have turned to go, but he had already seen my car pull up, and was coming down the stairs.
“Hello Scott,” I said rather dully. I didn’t want to give him the impression that he was in any sense welcome.
“Good morning, James. Church go well this morning?” He grinned. He had a very nice, open face, but something about his grin disturbed me. It was nothing I could put a finger on, but something was definitely not right about his smile.
“Yes, and don’t do that.” I pushed past him, and pulled my keys from my pocket to unlock the door.
“Do what,” he queried, following me up the staircase.
“Act like you know something I don’t. Use your bizarre and slightly freaky abilities to freak me out by telling me about my own life. Just quit it. I’m not interested.” I shoved the key into the lock roughly, causing it to jam. I jiggled it until it finally popped free, and tried again.
“I’m not trying to disconcert you, you know,” he responded. “I just don’t want you, or anyone else to have to make the same mistakes some of the others of us have made. You have a special gift. I’m trying to help you use it. That’s all.” He stood directly behind me as I pushed the door open, and walked inside. I would have had to slam the door on his foot to keep him out, and he was inside the apartment before I could make up my mind about the ethics of doing so.
“Look, I told you, I already know what you’re seeing. I’d bet you’ve already moved on to seeing the figure in red, as well as the creature in blue, and you don’t know what either of them are there for, what either of them mean. Over the next few weeks, you’ll start seeing more and more. Even now, you could see more than you do if you wanted to.” I went into the kitchen nd loudly began washing the ddirty dishes in the sink to avoid listening.
“James, you are going to hav e to pay attention at some point. Unless you really just want to get so doped up that you can barely feel anything, you’re going to keep seeing things. It’s part of your life, no matter what. But it’s up to you how you use that part of your life. You can try to ignore it and dope yourself up or jump at every unusual thing you see. You can accept it and try to be normal, which you’ll never be. Or you can leasrn to develop it, like any other skill, and make yourself useful to society.” He paused, as I turned off the water in the sink and looked at him. “What, you thought this was all about us? No! We’re not interested in using this to promote ourselves, we juist want to help people.” His dark eyes met mine. “What if I told you that one of us saw that a maniac would set fire to a building? We took care of it, and the building still stands. We’ve been able to find criminals and prevent suicides.”
He stood, and began pacing, intensity radiating off him in waves. I could see the atmosphere around him ripple and waver, murky forms moving beside him. I could almost make out the shape of towering wings and rippling robes, but the overall figure eluded me.
“Why would I join you? You’ve been practically stalking me, intentionally playing head games with me, and yet you claim you just wwant to help people. Why in the world should I believe you for even an instant?”
He stopped pacing for a moment, and seemed to be listening. “Just come to one meeting. You’ll see what it’s like. It’s almost…” he paused, struggling with his words. “Okl, this will sound completely strange, but it really is almost like being a superhero. We really do believe that with great power comes great responsibility. That’s why we do this. There are others out there, who don’t believe the same thing. They’ve caused a lot of damage, but mostly to themselves. I don’t want to see that happen to you if I can helpo it, so let us help you.”
He stood still, waiting for me to respond. I was still up to my elbows in soapy water, trying to finish cleaning up the dishes that had been sitting in the sink for days. It sounded so bizarre. Super heroes don’t exist. I just see things. That’s it. I didn’t want to get involved in anything weird, I just wanted to settle into a good life. I didn’t ask to be special.
I sighed, and dried my hands off on a dish towel. “No. I don’t want to. I just want to live my life. I don’t want to become some sort of super hero, because that’s idiotic, insane, and smacks of megaolomania.” I got a little mad and slammed the towel down on the counter. “Now just leave me alone! I don’t want to join your damn group of wannabe power rangers, and I want you to stop bothering me! If I see you around here again, I’m calling the police!”
The air around Scott flared up, making me take a step backward. For a split second, I glimpsed a flash of red robes, black wings, and the empty eye sockets of a grinning skull. Then the air in the apartment was still again, and Scott nodded. “Fine. It’s your own funeral. But we’ll always be here. Whenever you finally realize that you need us, that you can’t do this all for yourself, then we’ll be around to help.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
I dashed over and threw the lock on the door, breathing a sigh of relief as the deadbolt slid into place. I backed over to the couch, and let myself fall onto it, the springs croaking in protest. I threw an arm over my eyes, and just tried to get my brain to slow down.

Ten minutes later, I was in the car, pulling out of the driveway. I needed some peace, and needed to be in a place where the insanity that my everyday life had become couldn’t touch me. Angie’s grave was in a cemetery only a few minutes away, but once inside the gates, it seemed like a different world. Where the town was a rushing world of concrete, metal, and sound, the cemetery was silent, immobile,, and full of green grass and old stone. In fact, Angie and I had even visited the place aa few times when we were dating. She always liked cemeteries and found them incredibly peaceful. I wish I had thought ot bring a flower, but my main concern was simply getting out of that apartment, away from Scott and his society, and away from everything but the silent eternity of the graveyard.
Angie’s grave was right under a tree, and it was usually cool in the shade. I pushed a few trailing branches aside, and crouched near the headstone. A few leaves wrere resting on the top of the stone, and I brushed them away.
“Hey, Ang. It’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. It’s been really busy, and…” I sighed, and rubbed hands over my face. I never was comfortable talking to dead people. Angie had always enjoyed talking to those who were buried here, and she was always confident that they could, in some sense, hear her or at least receive her appreciation and gratitude. I had a hard time believing that anything I said could be heard by anyone on the other side of death. I’ve always believed in the afterlife, and even in a bodily resurrection, but it never seemed to make much difference to anything I did. Even Angie, the one person in the world who knew me best, who would reach out to me if she could, was cold, distant, and out of my reach. I leaned forward, and touched my forehead to the cold stone. “Ang, I don’t feel like you can hear me but I’m going to talk to you, because I seem to have forgotten how to talk to anyone else. I’ve always had more friends than I can count, but now I feel like I’m alone all the time. I work most of the time, and the rest of the time I’m so tired I don’t want to do anything else, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I need people, but I can’t seem to be around them right now, because every time I see people outside of class, weird things happen. I…I see things, and I can’t explain them. They seem to be real, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know what any of it means. I never wanted them. I don’t want them now. I don’t want to be special. If this is a gift from God, He can take it back, because I’m never going to do anything with it. I will ignore the things I see, learn to live with them, whatever, but I’m going to do what I want to do. I wish you were here to help. You wouldn’t be weirded out by this, and you’d know what to do. You were always so open to the wonder in life. You should have been the one to start seeing these things, you would have known what to do with them.”
I idly traced the dates on the stone with my finger. It felt good to just rant for a while, even if no one heard. There was a fine layer of dust on the headstone, and the light touch of my hand sent small specks tumbling down the steep granite face of the rock. My hand brushed the trailing edge of a blue robe, and I looked up.
The creature in blue was standing on the headstone, but instead of dwarfing the stone, the headstone seemed to have become a mountain of immovable rock, and the creature in blue stood at the crest, arms uplifted to the sky. A song of incredible sadness and almost unbearable ecstasy poured from under the veil as the figure sang of things lost and things gained.
With a sudeen roar, a lawnmower came to life a few yards away, and the headstone was again the small stone it had always been. I leaned back on my heels, and looked across the expanse of stone-dotted grass. I did not want to see that figure in blue, but it had suing of the same loss I felt when I stood here, and I wanted to know about the things found.

Chapter 2

2008-11-05T01:07:00.000-08:00

Chapter 2.
I still couldn’t shake the terror of the dream of the night before as I took my usual morning bike ride around the neighborhood. The infamous “June gloom” was out in full force today, and the fog hung so low that I could only see a block in front of me. The trees slowly dripped, and their usual friendly colors were dark and muted. I half expected to see the young man in black watching me from behind any of the trees, but the ride was uneventful. No strange lights, no robed figures, not even a stray dog. The fog muted the sounds of passing cars, and I could hear my bike tires hissing softly over the damp asphalt. Though it was well past eight, most porch lights were still on, illuminating a small circle of damp over the doorways.
Out of habit, I took the path to work, and was turning into the main driveway before I realized where I was. I decided to cut through the campus and make my way back home from the other side. The fog was beginning to clear, and the sun shone through in a few places. As I turned right under the belltower, a patch of blue sky began to show clear overhead, and the entire landscape was transformed. The dark, damp trees gleamed as if they were newly washed, the asphalt shone as if it was black glass, and the concrete glistened silver. I coasted downhill through the residential area of the campus, and found myself riding beside the drainage ditch the ran through the north edge of the campus. A family of ducks was out on the water, splashing and quacking joyously. The drainage ditch, as usual, was filled with greenish water and unidentifiable weeds, but this morning a rainbow arced over it. The shimmering colors danced just beyond the other shore, and as I looked, everything changed without changing. The rainbow no longer disappeared a few feet above the nearest buildings, it now reached into the sky, a towering banner of visible joy. The green grass, already standing tall from the new moisture, looked like an army, bristling with spears and marching to cover the face of the earth. The dingy dormitories, stained with the exhaust fumes of countless cars, exuded a luminosity of their own. I looked down the ditch to where the water disappeared under the road, and in the culvert stood a women, robed all in green with a blue sash, her bare feet barely covered by the water. Where she stood, though the water level was low, it foamed forward like the crest of a wave, and where her cloak touched the water, reeds sprouted, and waved like courtesans. Her face was veiled, but from under the veil came forth a song that was like water itself as it flowed on the air.
And the song was the ducks quacking as they played in the dirty water, water in a concrete ditch. The rainbow was a smudge of color, tentatively hanging in the sky, and the bridge was empty. My hands were shaking as I made my way across the bridge and back home.
I was hardly in the door before I was dialing the number for the on-campus health clinic. The doctors there probably couldn’t do much for me, but it would be the easiest way to get referred to a good psychiatrist. There’s no way this was normal, and I knew I just simply did not have time to go mad.
After making an appointment, I tried to settle down and get something done. My resume needed to be rewritten for a job I was applying for, and there were still a few ungraded papers for Dr. Russell. I tried to work at my desk, but found myself jumping at every little sound in the room. Finally, I grabbed the stack of papers and my computer, settled myself on the couch, and turned on the TV to cover all the ambient noise, and to keep my brain distracted from anything other than the papers in front of me. After a few hours, I was typing the last bit of information into my computer, when Stephan walked in.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Working on papers for Russell?”
“Mostly resume stuff, actually. I really need to get a job that pays better. I’m thinking of trying to move a little further south. It’d be good to have a change of scenery.”
Stephan nodded slightly. “You look weird again, James. And you never sit in front of the tv to work unless you’re watching something specific. I’m fairly sure that Saturday morning game shows are not really what you want to be doing right now.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “I saw something again. It’s getting worse. I made an appointment with the health center for Monday. I don’t think they can do anything but maybe run a blood test, but they’ll be able to send me to someone who can really help. I don’t know why this is happening, and I need it to stop. Right now.”

Sunday morning dawned grey and cloudy, but as I climbed into my car to drive to church, the overcast sky was breaking into small bits of puffy white clouds. I rarely use my car, since my job is less than 5 minutes away by bike, but Our Lady of the Angels is twelve miles away, and takes 20 minutes to reach by car. I usually drop by the school to give rides to students who need it. I pulled up in front of one of the dorms, and a few students straggled out. Erin and Jason were sophomores, and had been getting rides from me for more than a year now. I try to keep in touch with Jason, since he had a pretty rough freshman year—his girlfriend committed suicide, and Angie helped him cope with that, but then Angie died, and…well, it was a rough year for both of us.
The car ride was a blessed relief, as happy chatter from Erin and Jason filled the car. Erin was in an art class, and was struggling with some of the ideas, but really enjoying getting to express herself in a new way. Jason was asking herr about various artists, and if she’d seen Stephan’s show last year. I was content merely to drive, and let my mind wander.
Our Lady of the Angels is a small church, with only a few hundred regular attendees. It meets in a little stone building that you would probably miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for. As we pulled into the driveway, we could see the ushers greeting people and handing out bullitens. A few children ran shrieking across the lawn in a game of tag, and the parking lot was beginning to fill.
I took my usual seat—on the aisle, close to the front, but not too close. The familiar liturgy swept up my mind and body as I went through the motions and words I’d spoken a thousand times before. When it came time for the sermon, we all settled back into the pews as Father Timothy made his way to the pulpit.
“In today’s readings, we encounter the story of Elijah, going out in the wilderness to die. This is not the sort of action we expect from our heroes. He has just won a great battle against the forces of evil, God has shown his hand mightily, but at the first threat from Jezebel, Elijah runs and hides. This is where we are reminded that our heroes are not stone or marble gods, not supermen or fictional heroes, but real flesh and blood. And flesh and blood are often weak. When we do not get what we desire, we fall away and seek out what we think to be our own good.
“We too often seek our own power, our own glory, and fail to see that these belong to God. He may call us to give up everything…or to give up nothing, and live a normal life. We often want to be asked to perform the greatest sacrifices, when all He asks is the small ones. We want to be His voice in the streets, and He calls us into the wilderness.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the pew. The small urging voice in the back of my head was getting louder, insistently chiming along with Father Tim’s words. No. I don’t want anything but a normal life. I want God to ask that of me—I can live a normal life. But the simple thought would not go away: This life is not meant for you.
I looked out over the congregation, those I could see without being obvious. My eyes were drawn to one man, an old veteran who sat in the very first row every week. I cringed as I saw a shadow forming by him, a shadow that I knew was not cast by any of the lights in the building. No, not here. Not a crazy sight here. I can’t let anyone here find out that I am going insane. I turned away, nothing wanting to see what shape the shadow finally took, and not really caring. Who cares what a hallucination looks like?
Rote memory and habit got me through the rest of the service. As soon as it was over, I dashed to the bathroom and threw cold water on my face. I examined myself in the mirror. My eyes looked a little bloodshot and bleary, but nothing that anyone would really notice.
I dried my face carefully and walked out of the bathroom. I found Erin and Jason in the fellowship hall, and told them that I’d be waiting in the car. As I walked out of the hall, I saw a commotion in front of the church, and walked over to see what was happening. Jim, the veteran, was lying on the ground, his face a deathly gray. One of the men was bent over him, performing CPR. I heard sirens in the distance.
I could hardly think—it had to be just a coincidence. But the shadow…the shadow.
The ambulance pulled up, sirens blaring, and screeched to a halt. The EMTs jumped out, and began to care for Jim. As they placed him on the gurney, I edged my way around the fringes of the crowd and made my way to my car.
Though shaken, I was able to drive Jason and Erin back to campus safely, and was grateful when I pulled into the parking space at the apartment. I made it upstairs, and flopped down on the couch. I was just beginning to drift off into a nervous sleep, when there was a knock on the door. I rolled over and tried to ignore it, but it continued.
I opened the door to see the young man dressed in black.
He smiled, and made the same slight bowing gesture that he’d givne me when I saw him under the streetlamp. “I’m sorry, I’m sure I’ve startled you. Please let me explain.” He reached into a small leather bag that he carried on a strap over his shoulder, and pulled out a small pamphlet. “This will sound very strange, but if I am correct, your life has taken a very strange turn lately. I hope that this will make you more open to what I have to say.”
I was too stunned to respond. This is it, I thought. My mind has snapped, and I don’t even know why. I didn’t even know if this guy actually existed outside my head. Before I knew it, he had come into the apartment, I was seated back on the couch, and he’d drawn up a chair for himself.
“First, let me introduce myself. My name is Scott Harkett. I’m just as human and physical as you are. I know you’ve been seeing some strange things lately, but I’m here in the same way you are. “
“How do you know what I’ve been seeing?”
He thought for a moment, then responded, “I’ll answer that in a minute, I really will. But let me continue for now. I’m part of a group of…well, I suppose you’d call us mystics, though I’m not fond of that word myself. I prefer “sensitive psyches,” but many of the group insist on retaining a spiritual element to the name. I’m a materialist, but I don’t see any need to let that difference of opinion divert the group from its main purpose. No, we’re not sociopaths, or mentally unstable. In fact, a prerequisite of the group is that all who work with us must be fully checked out by a physician and a psychiatrist. If they find nothing wrong except the…sightings…then they can join.
“Now, the explanation of how we knew you were seeing things. As I said, we have discovered that certain human beings become sensitive to impressions outside the normal realm. We differ as to our explanation of the source of these impressions, but we do believe them to be objective, because we all see the same things. For instance, I can tell you that last night, around 9pm, you saw a blue-robed figure, sitting on your bed.”
He let that sink in, watching my reaction.
“You see, we all really do see the same things. What you saw, I saw. And that’s how we found you. When someone become sensitive to these impressions, they tend to gather around that person for a while. We found you, because they found you.”
I tried several times to respond, but each time closed my mouth without actually saying anything. After a few minutes, Scott stood up and headed for the door. “I’ll leave you alone for now. You’ll need some time to get used to this. Here’s my number—call me when you’re ready to learn more about this gift. For now, just get used to it. You’re not insane, and you’re not sick. The things you see are real.”

I didn’t remember leaving the apartment, or walking to the park, but when I returned to my senses, I was wandering aimlessly through the park. It’s always been one of my favorite places to be; it’s a strange, narrow strip of land that borders the drainage ditch upstream from the college campus. You wouldn’t think that a park centered on a ditch would be pretty, but it is. The concrete ditch makes several small waterfalls, and there are some very nice wooden bridges. I was standing on one of the bridges, looking over into the water. I suppose I needed some time away from my mind to allow it to process everything.
What would it mean if these strange visions were actually visions of something that was actually occurring? I thought I believe in forces outside the normal realm of human experience, but it’s one thing to say you believe in something, and another thing to actually see it.
I picked up a twig lying on the railing of the bridge, and dropped it into the water. It swirled around for a moment, caught in an eddy, then sailed under the bridge and out of sight. I idly wondered what would happen if, instead of waiting to be surprised by one of these moments, I decided to see for myself. I looked upstream, and saw a young mother and her two children playing on the grass. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and a cheerful face. Her daughter ran around in a sundress, gleefully shouting at the top of her lungs and waving a leafy stick. The son, still very small, was crawling through the grass on his hands and knees, peeking up at his sister through the grass and laughing.
I looked at them carefully for a moment, tensed in anxiety, but slowly made myself relax. I closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and opened them again.
The young woman was lit up with an inner flame, and her laughter sounded like the pealing of bells. The grass around herr seemed like a rich carpet, and the afternoon sun on her hair shone like a crown. The leafy branch the young girl waved was lit up like gold, and the baby’s skin gleamed like alabaster. The ground seemed to spring up to meet the feet of the girl as she jumped, and I could hardly look at their faces. I turned to leave the bridge, and found myself face to face with the blue robed figure. It stood taller than I would have though, at least seven feet. The robes still billowed outward, though there was no wind that I could feel. It felt as though the creature was rushing toward me at an incredible speed, though it moved no nearer. I still felt a chill go through me from head to foot as I saw it. I turned on my heel, hoping to get off the bridge before it could cut off my escape, but halted in my tracks. The other end of the bridge was guarded by a figure all in red, and the ends of its garments were flames. It was also veiled, but under the veil I thought I could make out the sharp edges of a bare skull.
I turned back toward the figure in blue. It regarded me calmly but silently. I took a small step towards it, and it lifted a pale white hand to beckon me forward. I took a deep breath, and began walking slowly toward it. As I came closer, the figure faded, until it was nothing more than air when I passed, and left the bridge.

Chapter 1

2008-11-01T15:09:00.001-07:00

NaNoWriMo ’08. The day of EPIC!!!
Powers and Principalities

One day I saw the sun setting behind a flower growing on the side of the road. It was a simple flower, the sort that’s always planted beside streets in Southern California to give it that feeling of tropical paradise that normall doesn’t exist in a desert without lots of water and a maintenance crew. But the flower itself was lovely, and with the sun behind it, it seemed to glow with an inner light. Even the dark green of the leaves seemed to be luminescent, the veins providing a contrast to the green light of the leaves.
This is like that flower. Everything I see is shining from within, a light that is warm like the sun but isn’t coming from any particular sun. The faces of the people that are walking toward me are full of light. I’m almost afraid to look at them, they seem like avenging angels. Only after a more careful scrutiny do I see the headphones snaking down across their necks, and notice that they are still carrying the textbooks for a full load of college classes. Some of the girls are even wearing those sweatpants with the word “Juicy” across the butt. But their faces are still glowing.
And they don’t see it. None of them can see this. I feel like I’m in a dream but I know I’m awake.
I don’t know why it happened today. Maybe it’s because she’s been dead for a year, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, having her gone, but I still miss her every day. But life goes on.
Today started out normally. I woke up to the second alarm from my clock. Some days it’s all I can do to drag myself out of bed in the mornings, but today I just slid out from the tangled sheets and started the day. I don’t even know if I had anything in particular on my mind except the test in Dr. Russell’s class today. Prying information about Homeric thought and culture from the minds of college students is not high on my list of fun things in life, particularly when these star students have been up till 3 in the morning playing Super Smach Bros.
It took me longer than usual to knot my tie—my fingers were still half asleep, but I made it out the door on time. Fortunately, the campus is only a five minute bike ride from my apartment, and at 7 am, there’s not much traffic to contend with. Rocinante, my bicycle, is a little clunky, but she’s reliable, and doesn’t ask for much to keep her coasting along. There’s a great little wire platform behind the seat where I can fasten my bag—I have to watch some of the corners, because if I hit the dips wrong, the bag could go flying. Dr. Russell’s a pretty patient guy, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I brought in a stack of graded papers soaked through with gutter water.
As I turned into the campus entrance, I saw Stephan coming out of the small chapel that was just across the way from the administration building. He spent a lot of times in there in the mornings—it was usually pretty quiet, save for the sound of lawnmowers and the occasional over-amped stereo from a passing car.
“Stephan!” I called out to him, squeezing gently on the handbrakes so Rocinante didn’t send me flying. “You ready for the freshmen?”
He looked up and rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m never ready for freshmen.”
“Tired of looking at bad drawings?”
He walked briskly beside the bike as we passed the library. “Not so much that; a lot of them are decent draughtsmen, though most of them do need a lot of help. No, I’m tired of seeing freshmen come in, already jaded, thinking they’re hot stuff because they can draw, and never thinking beyond the first few questions that come to mind. They know that art is a good thing, and that it can be an incredibly powerful human expression…but they never go beyond that. It takes all I can do to shake them awake, and even then, only one or two a year are able to shake themselves free and actually learn to see things.”
I nodded, slowing to a stop as I dismounted the bike. “Tell me about it. Try getting kids who’ve always been the smartest person they know to not only question what they know, but how they know it, and why, and to what purpose. It’s like pulling teeth, I swear.”
Stephan ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “Got a test today, I assume? You’re not usually this dour in the mornings.”
“Yeah, yeah…you’re one to speak.” I grinned, and shouldered my battered messenger bag. “Hey, I get done with the first class at noon, want to meet up for lunch? You’ll need sometime to complain to after three hours with your little emo friends.”
“Only if you’re buying,” he shouted over his shoulder as he walked towards the small group of students huddled under the tree across the way. They all carried sketchbooks under their arms, and most carried large sketchbooks under their arms. Most seemed to be listening to music, or simply trying to stay awake, but one young girl was kneeling in the grass, pressing her cheek to the ground. She seemed amazed by the blades of grass, and was running her fingers through the thick foliage, scattering the dew with her fingertips.
For a moment, the sun broke through the early morning marine layer, and the whole scene was lit up. A beam of light struck her blond hair, and I could have sworn that her face, though turned away from the sun, was suddenly full of light. Then the clouds closed back up, and she rose to her feet as Stephan called the class to order. The knees of her tattered jeans were damp, and I could see large grass stains streaking across the blue denim.
I walked across the plaza, and almost ran into the sliding glass door. It was sluggish, and rarely opened when I expected it to. I usually approached it at a slower pace, but I was eager to get a few moments alone in Dr. Russell’s office. It was one of the few places I could get any peace in the building. Northman Hall was one of the older buildings on campus, and tended to be a bit of a sprawling maze. Notwithstanding, it was always full of students, either studying, talking, or trying to find some place to make out without danger of being caught by a professor. Sure enough, as I climbed the stairway, I could see a student curled up on the lumpy blue couch, surrounded by textbooks, trying to read as much as possible before the main rush began in an hour or so.
I hurried down the hallway, and unlocked the door to Dr. Russell’s office. I flicked on the lights, and turned on the small fountain he kept on a table near his desk. I wished I could open the blinds on the window that looked out over the plaza. It’s a nice view: the plaza is a basic stone grid, but several of the blocks are bare earth with a few trees and plants growing. In the corner under the office window sat a stone fountain. It’s an ungainly thing, and I always think a well-placed kick would tip it over, but I’ve always liked the sound of the water burbling across the smooth stones. However, I’ve learned from sad experience not to open any blinds if I want to be alone in the office.
It’s a good time to take care of last minute paperwork, and get myself in the right mindset for class. Dr. Russell is a great professor, but he likes his T.A.’s to be very active in the class, to challenge students to think, and he insists that I be there completely prepared for every class. I never know when he’s going to use me as an example in a Socratic debate, so I like to come to class well-armed with thoughts and texts from the book under discussion.
A well worn green book sat on the desk in front of the computer—the spine was creased and threadbare, but still held the pages together. I flipped open the cover to check that it was the correct text. Phaedo, yes. Good. I settled down to read.
Stephan was already standing in the line to order when I made my way down to the campus snack shop. The place was crowded but the lines were moving pretty quickly, so it only took us about ten minutes to get our food and find a table.
“So, survive the freshmen?” I asked Stephan as I dipped my quesadilla in a small dish of sour cream. “Looked like it was a field trip today or something.”
Stephan took a huge bite out of his hamburger, and chewed thoughtfully. Swallowing, he responded, “Yeah. Well. Sort of. One of my big deals is getting them to actually look at things. Most just want to think about what they think things look like.”
“Looked like that one girl was getting into it. “
“Who, Corrinne? Blond hair? Totally obsessed with the grass this morning? Yeah, I have some hope for her, but she’s not that great at drawing. I love her spirit, but I’m not sure that the Art department is really the place for her.” He sighed, and looked out the window. “I wish I didn’t have to watch the spirit get squashed out of so many people. Kids are great at keeping that sense of wonder, but we all end up falling for the desire to be cool.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I hate seeing them come in to class, more concerned about convincing Dr. Russell that they’re smart, rather than actually asking a question and learning anything.” I took a sip of water, and prepared to continue my pent-up tirade, but Stephan wasn’t paying attention—in fact, I was sure he hadn’t heard a thing I said. He was still staring out the window, eyes flickering from person to person, watching the crowds go by. “You ever wonder…what it is that we’re blind to? I mean, we’ve both moved past these first levels, but…what is it that we’re blind to? What questions do we never ask, and who wants to know the answers?”
A lot of people think that Stephan is dreamy and impractical, but I guarantee that anyone who takes the time to listen to him will not regret it. He’s also one of the finest artists I’ve met. We had some difficulties during freshman year, but we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, and I know when to just shut up and listen.
“We assume what we see. We’re both trying to get our students to see more clearly, to see reality as it is, rather than as they assume it is. “
“Yeah, well, that’s why we keep learning. Neither of us is exactly complacent about what we currently think we know.”
“Yes, but haven’t you noticed? Every time you scale a mountain, overcome an obstacle, answer a question, what’s waiting for you? Another peak, another obstacle, another question. And not just another question, but another kind of question. Not another thing to see, but another way to see. It’s like dimensions. After a line, a square. After a square, a cube.” He paused, staring silently out of the window, as I thoughtfully chewed the last of my meal. After a moment, he shook himself slightly, and grinned. “Sorry, got distracted there for a minute. Anyway, I have to run. I’ve got another class in a little while. I really like this class, and I want to get there early. “
“Ok, bud, have a good day. See ya tomorrow.”
I was still thinking about Stephan’s questions as I walked back towards Northman. And that’s where it happened. I had paused under the bell tower for a moment, and looked down the walkway towards the library, and everything changed.
Even to say that it changed is deceptive. I wasn’t aware of a change, but suddenly I noticed that it looked different. Everything…well, everything glowed. Even the most dull, uninterested faces had an inner light, and some faces glowed so intensely that I could hardly bear to look at them. The trees, the flowers, even the grass looked like stained glass with the full morning sun shining in.
And then it was gone.
Like I said, I don’t know why it happened. Maybe I’d gotten too wrapped up in Stephan’s questions. Maybe I was thinking about Angie. Maybe I was just tired. Or, of course, I could just be having a nervous breakdown.
Angie has been gone for a year. I’m still not sure how to wrap my mind around that. I’d been thinking about her for the past few weeks. The coroner’s office gave me back the engagement ring, and I never could bear to get rid of it. Maybe it’s morbid but I’d taken to carrying it around in my pocket. It was one last connection that I couldn’t yet bring myself to sever.
I walked into Dr. Russell’s office, rapping a knuckle against the open door as I entered. He looked up, his brown eyes distant with that slight wariness he always held until he recognized the intruder. He was a man of medium height, his salt and pepper hair slowly receeding across his scalp. He could be extremely generous and kind, but his demeanor always had a gruffness to it that was offputting to many people. I can’t count the number of times I’d heard freshman or sophomores complain about his lack of sympathy—usually by the time they were upperclassmen, most had realized that he truly did care about them, and wanted them to become the best thinkers that they could be. It was a thankless job, but he kept at it every year, and I respected his commitment.
“Good morning, Mr. Peyton. I apologize for my lateness in class this morning, I appreciate the fact that you took the initiative to begin the discussion.” He shuffled a few of the papers on his desk, before unearthing a manila folder. “Ah, here we are. I’ve finished looking over these essays, and they’re ready to be returned to the students.” He paused, and removed his glasses as he studied my face. “You look a bit off. Are you getting sick? I’ve heard that there’s a flu bug going around.”
I shook my head, and tucked the folder in my bag. “No, I don’t think so. I just had something weird happen. I think I just need to get home and rest. Is there anything else you need me to do today?”
“No, I’ve just got the seniors later today. You go home. We’ve got midterms coming up, and I need you healthy to get us through that.” He turned back to his computer and, squinting irritably at the screen, began typing again.
I made my way downstairs and unchained my bike; as I kicked back the kickstand and set off, I saw the girl from Stephan’s art class walking towards Northman Hall. She still had grass stains on her knees, and she seemed to be watching the clouds. Angie would have liked her, I think.
I coasted down the sidewalk towards the exit, but at the last minute, turned off and stopped in front of the chapel. I’d never really spent much time in there. It was a popular place for students to stop and pray, or think, or sometimes just study. It had always been a popular place when I was a student, and each incoming class had a few students who seemed to live in the chapel. I’d been too busy as a student to spend much time there—I preferred to be with other people than to sit in silence, generally speaking. After Angie died, I stayed away even more—the chapel was built and dedicated to the memory of a professor’s young wife who’d died at the age of 22 sometime back in the 1960’s, and I just didn’t want to deal with the kind of grief that that would be likely to summon up in me. I’m not sure why I stopped, but I felt an irresistible draw.
The doors skreeked gratingly as they swung open, and I winced. I wasn’t keen on announcing my presence if anyone else was in the chapel, but fortunately, the room was empty. The room was tiny, with room for no more than 12 pews, 6 to a side. It would seat perhaps 60 people, no more. The far end of the chapel was made of frosted glass, and the afternoon light was streaming in diffuse patterns across the floor. I watched dust motes floating through the air, gleaming with sudden animation as the light caught them.
I didn’t want to pray. Not that I had a huge quarrel with God. I didn’t blame him for Angie’s death—he wasn’t the one driving the car. But somedays I just want to keep my thoughts to myself, and today was one of those days. I wanted to make sense of what I’d seen, and talking to God rarely brought any answers, just more questions.
So what had I seen? A trick of the light? No, the sun was in the wrong position, it couldn’t have had that effect. Stress? Always possible. It’s amazing, the tricks that your mind can play on you when you’re tired. I’d been working 10 hours days for several months, and spent most nights staying up late reading. For some reason, I’d been reluctant to spend any time alone with my thoughts. I could feel something niggling at the back of my brain, and didn’t quite want to see what it might be.
I won’t deny that the chapel has a calming effect. Even with the noise of lawnmowers across the street, I could feel some of my muscles beginning to relax. Without intending to, I found myself slipping into an unconscious prayer.
You took the light from my life, and now I don’t know what to do. I don’t begrudge you for taking her, but I wish I knew what to do. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut: I never even left the school, because I can’t think of anywhere else to go.
I could feel the nudge in my head grower strong, and tried to drown it out. No. That’s not what I want. I don’t know what I want, but it isn’t that.
“I just want a normal life,” I burst out, my voice sounding surprisingly loud in the quiet room. The dust motes floated through the air, making the beam of light from the window look almost solid by their presence. I looked around the room to make sure that I was still alone—it had almost begun to feel as though there were another person there.
I stood, and hurried out of the chapel, taking a deep breath as I came out into the spring afternoon air. A passing group of girls giggled as I burst through the doors, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home.

I stopped at the grocery store on my way home, and picked up some stuff for dinner. I’m not normally a moody person, but today seemed to really be getting me down. The best cure for the doldrums, for me, is to cook. It sounds strange, but I really do love the challenge of fixing a good meal. Stephan shared the apartment with me, and was always more than happy to share whatever I cooked up.
I locked the chain around my bike and went up the stairs to the apartment. The narrow stairwell was difficult to navigate with armload of groceries and a large bag, but I finally managed to get the key in the door. The moment I stepped inside, I could tell that Stephan had gotten home first—he’d lit his favorite incense, and a thin hazy cloud hung over everything.
“Stephan!” I yelled, setting my bags on the table. “Did you unplug the fire alarm again?”
He didn’t respond, except to turn up the chant cd he was playing. I grinned, and put water in a pot to boil. I didn’t mind Stephan’s incense, chanting monks, and Byzantine icons that covered the apartment. Stephan was one of the most fervent people I’d ever known, and I enjoyed sharing an apartment with him.
After a while, the smell of sautéed garlic, mushrooms, and olive oil began mingling with the incense, and I heard Stephan’s door open. “Making dinner?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the music. “Yep,” I hollered back. “Be ready in about five minutes, you coming?”
“You had to ask?” He turned off the CD and wandered into the kitchen. His eyes had that distant look he always gets when he’s been painting for awhile, and there were large patches of paint on his hands. “Don’t forget to wash your hands—you’re going to die of paint poisoning one of these days.”
He washed his hands in the sink as I finished dumping the cooked noodles into a bowl. “Been that kind of day, huh?” he asked. I nodded, and moved the noodles over to the small table in the corner. “Yeah, pretty much. But it’s over now, and the weekend’s here. Time to eat well and rrelax, I think.”
Stephan sank quietly into a chair, and looked at me. “So what happened today? You seemed a little off at lunch, but you usually don’t cook when you’re just ‘a little off.’ Is it about it being One Year today?”
I set a plaate of steamed broccoli on the table, and shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s…Well, let’s get dinner started first, then I’ll explain.”
In a few minutes, we both had plates heaped with steaming noodles, alfredo sauce, sautéed mushrooms, and fresh broccoli. Stephan calmly twirled noodles around his fork, and said, “Ok, so what happened today?”
I sighed, and tried to think of how to explain it. “I was walking back from lunch, and happened to stop just under the bell tower. I was looking down towards the liberary, and everything…sort of changed. I mean, it was like everything was just lit up from inside, like stained glass or something. It’s hard to describe. It only lasted for a few seconds, and I couldn’t tell you whether it just suddenly appeared or disappeared, or what. I dunno, I think maybe I’ve been working too much lately. I have some vacation time coming up, maybe it’s time to take a couple off weeks off, look for a better job, all that kind of thing.”
Stephan didn’t respond right away, but just sat, thinking and looking into space. I’ve grown accustomed to waiting a long time for an answer, and knew that it might be a while before he responded. I was feeling better anyway, now that I’d gotten home and cooked dinner. The weirdness of the day had somewhat passed, diluted by the normalcy of the rest of the world. No more strange lights, or glowing people.
“Do you really think it was stress? You’re not the type to react that way. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve enjoyed challenges, and you’re always pushing yourself to do something. I don’t really think that’s it.” He spun a piece of garlic bread across his plate, soaking up olive oil and alfredo sauce. “James, I know you’re probably going to think I’m nuts for saying this, but I wonder if you really saw something.” He laughed, and took a bite of the bread. “No, sorry, that came out wrong. I don’t mean that it was in your head or anything. I mean, I think you saw something real.”
My first response was to laugh, but I could tell that Stephan really meant what he said. “But…I don’t know, isn’t that a little odd? To say that I had, I dunno, a vision or something? I mean, you’re the one who’d be the more likely to have a vision. I’m just not the type.”

Stephan shrugged. “Well, if it’s meant to mean something, I think it’ll be made clear. I wouldn’t focus on it too much. Wait and see.” He picked up his plate and set it in the sink. “Got grading to do?”
I nodded, trying to finish up the last of my meal. “Yeah, we had a test today.” I pushed my chair back, and wiped my hands on a dish towel.
“Ok, you go do that. I’ll clean up here. I need a break from the painting anyway, I’m in danger of overworking it.” He turned on the hot water, and began filling the sink.
I grabbed my bag, and headed back to my room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was one of my favorite places in the world. Two tall bookshelves stood against the wall, on either side of the bed. My desk was under the window, and a blue faux-Persian rug lay on the floor. I pulled a stack of papers out of my bag, and tossed it onto the bed. Settling down into my chair, I pulled a red pen out of my pencil holder, and grabbed the first test paper.
As I worked my way down the stack of papers, I could feel my eyes getting heavy. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was nowhere near as late as it felt, so I sighed, and continued marking the papers. After a while, the words began to make less and less sense. After all, surely a freshman wouldn’t be writing things like “To the Homeric Greek, gods were not personal, but archetypes of things in the natural world. Mars, god of war, enters the world through the human heart, the warlike spirit. Aphrodite enters through the loving heart, Zeus through the kingly spirit, and Artemis through the pure of heart. Watch the gate of your heart, for this is the House of God.”
As I stared blearily at the paper, the words seemed to rearrange themselves on the page, forming strange patterns. A strange rustling seemed to come from behind me, and I turned to see a tall cloaked figure sitting on my bed. It was swathed in blue from head to toe, and its face was hidden, though I could feel its eyes watching me. Its diaphanous robes swept out behind it, as if caught in a strong wind, and the edges of the fabric seemed to disappear into nothingness. I opened my mouth to shout, to call Stephan into the room, to do anything, and found myself starting awake.
I looked around the room, not seeing anything out of place. I could feel a trickle of saliva on my chin, from sleeping with my mouth open. I could even feel a ridge on my cheek from where it had been resting on the pen on my desk. I shook my head slightly to clear it, trying to wake up completely. I don’t usually dream during naps, and this dream had been so vivid I would have sworn that I was awake.
I stood and stretched, loosening the muscles that were cramping from sitting at my desk. As I crossed the room, I glanced out of the window. Under the streetlamp on the corner, I could make out a dark shape. It stood close to the fence and I mistook it for part of the foliage for a moment. I had a moment of panic as I wildly thought that it might be the mysterious figure in blue. Then it looked at me, and I could see that the figure was simply a young man, dressed all in black. A pale face turned towards my window. A faint smile crossed his face, and he gave a small bow, walked into the darkness, and was gone.

It's coming....

2008-10-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's right. NaNoWriMo is coming. This is my 5th year!!!

Here's the current summary of my novel. It's a sequel to Sanctus.

James, still reeling from the death of his fiancée Angie, discovers that he has remarkable spiritual abilities, including the gift of seeing into the spiritual world. He comes under pressure to use these abilities for the public good, but feels a call to become a monk. All the while, a shadowy society follows him, attempting to recruit him into their circle, and James’ teacher wants him to take psychoactive medication to make the visions stop.