DEVINE INTERVENTION BOOK ONE THE MESSENGER
CHAPTER ONE –AN UNEXPECTED DETOUR
In a secluded retirement enclave, north of Philly, a stoic figure sits at a console. His fingers dance across a virtual keyboard. He has no social security number or fingerprints on file. Gray dominates his hair and beard, yet his pewter eyes sparkle; an intense radiance that commands immediate respect.
He began an abbreviated countdown.
“THREE.”
His efforts to save the planet were now in motion. Within twenty-four hours two disciples would accompany him on a quest to enlighten. It was late January, 2004.
Snowflakes swirled around the pickup as it cut through the night. Behind the wheel, Bob Griffin concentrated on the road. In the passenger’s seat; Lisa Holmes continued to talk about their future.
“TWO”
A near record storm was finally winding down; after a weekend of ice, snow and below freezing temperatures in Eastern Pennsylvania’s Pocono Mountains. As they made their way back toward Philadelphia, the moon slid between wind driven clouds.
They were rolling east on a dark stretch of road.
“ONE.”
Coming around a bend the steering wheel bucked, then spun out of Bob’s grasp.
“Zero!”
His tarnished, red, 94 Dodge Ram, whom he affectionately called Molly, careened off the paved surface, plowed into a snow filled meadow; where it came to a stop. Before Bob and Lisa could react, a buzzing filled their ears and they lost consciousness.
“So far so good,” the stoic figure observed.
Bob squinted from a harsh brightness; accompanied by a far off drone. Maybe it’s only a spotlight and the noise is from a generator, he thought. So where am I? He turned from the glare and noticed Lisa standing beside him. She was wearing a one piece, shiny green and burgundy number, and her brass colored locks were gathered in a pony tail. He blinked. A moment earlier she wore jeans, a Sheep Skin Coat; her hair hung lose, falling past her shoulders.
“Hey Lis, you okay? Where are we?”
“How should I know, I’m scared. Can’t feel my body,” she complained. Bob searched his surroundings, but failed to determine any sense of distance. The whiteness dazzled his eyes. He couldn’t even tell what they were standing on.
“Do not be alarmed, Lisa, Robert!”
“What! Who’s that?” Bob asked in a shaky voice that didn’t sound like his own.
”I am the Messenger,” a reply pressed in from all directions.
“Where are we? Lisa stuttered. Her rouge lips barely moving.
“Are we dead”? Bob wondered aloud.
“No, you are in a realm I’ve created, so that we could…uh…get acquainted. Do not be afraid. I require your assistance. I will use the name Mathew Wells during this visit. You will receive further instructions. For now goodnight.”
Lisa’s head slid forward as if she had nodded off for a second, then jerked awake. She found herself sitting inside Bob’s truck, in the middle of a snowy meadow. She turned her head to find him dozing beside her. She punched his arm, none to gently. He awoke dazed, and stared at Lisa.
“Wha… What’s your problem? He grunted at his bothersome lover.”
“Oh, I don’t know… Bob. You were asleep behind the wheel. We’re not on the road, and you’re asking me? Let’s ask Molly, maybe she has a clue!”
“Lis, the last thing I remember-came around a curve. Was straightening out; when the wheel twisted to the right. A tremendous force of some kind. I don’t know…wait…someone asked me to help him. Damn that’s strange. Lis… Lisa, what’s wrong? You’re shaking!” He put his arm around her for support. She pulled away; her lose bangs dangling in front of cobalt eyes. Moonlight splashed across the freckles dotting a trim Celtic nose.
“Stop! What did you just say about a man asking for help.”
“ I remember a man’s voice. He said he was the Messenger. You were right next to me, but where the hell were we?” Bob asked.
“All I remember is coming around that bend and good ol’ Molly swerving to the right. Like I’m talking G forces here. The truck skidded off the road, into this meadow. I thought it was a dream, a dream with incredible resonance. Except for one visual, you. Standing beside me. You were wearing a super tight outfit that seemed to change color. Next thing I know, you punched my arm.” He rubbed the spot absently. “That brought me out of it. What just happened to us Lis?” She maneuvered on the seat to search his coarse angelic face. Gazing at it; a burst of recognition lit up her own.
“I remember now. Except the part about what I was wearing. There was this loud voice. Beneath the sound of the words, a humming… seemed to twang on every nerve ending in my body. You could feel each word, deep in your bones. Bob I know you heard the same thing I did.”
“Hey, I’m not denying it. I’m at a loss right now.”
“Well you’re suppose to have all the answers Griffin”
He grinned at the lascivious minx. Testing him, even in the face of bizarre occurrences; she still kept the score.
“So, what’s going on?” Lisa asked. She looked calm but her pulse was racing.
“How could both of us have the same dream or hallucination,” Bob deliberated. “Whatever really happened, I come away with the impression… we’re to help this Mathew Wells accomplish a task, … a mission.”
Through this exchange, Molly’s engine purred, smooth, steady. Feeling more alert, Bob backed slowly out of the field. His monster tires guaranteed success. Once the rubber hit the asphalt, he stamped on the accelerator and they were on their way.
“What the… where did all the gas go? I filled the guzzler on Friday when I went on a beer run. There’s only a quarter tank left.” Since his dashboard clock refused to work; he asked his co-pilot. She checked her cell, “ten forty,” then her watch, “twenty of eleven can’t be,” Lisa objected. “We turned off of 611 just past ten.”
“This shit isn’t even funny,” he said. Hearing a click, Lisa flinched. The Pearl Jam disc Bob had loaded, what seemed like minutes earlier, popped out.
They proceeded down an even smaller road that snaked through Rydal, Pennsylvania. An exclusive neighborhood, featuring generous parcels, wrapped lovingly around humongous dwellings. State owned land of wooded hills and shallow valleys garnish the township. Lisa’s father, Nicholas Holmes owns a lucrative Real Estate company. His success mirrored by the size and splendor of his palace. A rambling: contemporary two story mansion, meticulously positioned on a ten acre lot. This was Bob’s immediate destination.
They were heading home from a three day hiatus at the Griffin family log cabin. A ski expedition to Big Boulder, provided hours of exercise and laughs. The slopes were ideal, a packed powder base, with temperatures approaching thirty. A stiff wind out of the Northwest, whipped the light snow into swirling curtains of white. Bob thought back to the fun they had before the storm began in earnest.
Chris Santore and his girl friend Beverly proved their superior slalom skills once again. Chris often claimed he owed them to their savior, Jesus Christ. Bob took these opportunities to joke, ‘I’m a believer,’ in a lame Evangelical imitation. Bob’s best friend Kevin concentrated on the tubing area. He bamboozled Scott and Meissen to tag along for kicks, and even those two ended up having a blast.
Scott repeatedly fell off of the tube on his tenuous journey up the mountainside. He had to resort to crawling across the slick surface, then lunging at his escaping conveyance. Meissen would be nodding off by the time he reached the top, due to his ingestion of OxyContin and Bombay Gin. Scott craved the opposite effect, injecting crystal meth directly into his bloodstream by the hour. Their friends were diverse.
Now, all that was in the past. Bob had to get his act together. Return to the real world. First thing in the morning he had to slap an engine in a late model Buick. As he approached the gate, a uniformed sentry scrutinized the interior of the truck to eyeball Lisa. Once she gave her four finger, I’m okay, signal, he allowed them to continue up the expansive drive. Bob pulled up by a fountain, dark and still in the winter starlight.
He hauled Lisa’s belongings from the truck, up a set of marble steps and beneath an arch, into a vast entrance hall. With no one in sight he dropped her bags on the Italian tile, gave her a quick kiss and said he loved her. Lisa whispered.
“Don’t tell anyone about this episode until we know more”
“Okay,” he agreed, knowing he would mention something to his younger brother. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out Lis.” Walking away; she turned and placed her index finger vertically near her full lips.. In his anxious state he disregarded a basic rule. Talk softly or be recorded by one of her dad’s countless fiber optic ears.
Lisa walked through the sitting parlor and a well lit breakfast room into a gourmet kitchen, housing restaurant size appliances and up to the minute high tech enhancements.
“Didn’t know you were back yet sis,” Lisa’s younger brother remarked; studying the contents of the refrigerator.
“We debated whether your crew would make it home tonight. What a storm!”
“Yeah, a real blizzard. Couldn’t hardly see our rides from the cabin.”
Her brother found what he was after, grabbed a fork and headed for the stairs. In the family room Lisa’s mom talked on the phone. Lisa walked over to her chair and kissed her cheek. Sharon Holmes followed Lisa with her eyes and smiled. She held up her index finger, which meant I’ll be with you in a moment. True to her gesture she disconnected and asked her daughter to retrieve a Benson & Hedges from across the room. The obedient daughter brought over a cigarette and lighter.
“Some mess out there, huh kiddo? Did you and your friends have fun on those mountains?”
“It was alright.”
“Was wrong? Did you and that Griffin fella have a fight?”
Mrs. Holmes voice slurred, her eyes looked bloodshot, unfocused. The skin around her chapped lips appeared taunt weather beaten.
“No mom, nothing like that. Guess I’m tired.”
“Well put on your PJ’s and relax.”
Chapter 2 Coming To Grips
After Bob left the vestibule, he jogged down the steps and jumped in his truck. He turned down the heat, then slipped her into gear. Circling back to the gatehouse he tried to piece together the facts.
“Okay, so what do we have here? I’m driving along the same road I’ve used plenty of times. We’re turning, and Molly,” he slapped the leather covered steering wheel to get the pickup’s attention, “pulls out of my control, hops over the curb and comes to rest in a field. That’s already strange. But noo, that’s not even the bizarre part. At the same instant we’re transported somewhere else. Yes doctor, I said transported. Lisa and I are standing side by side. Not in the truck: not in a snowy field, somewhere else. An out of body experience: shared by both of us? And, oh yeah. Let’s not forget the voice.”
“I am the Messenger. Give me a break!” Bob rolled out of the driveway as another thought surfaced.
“How did we get the same information? A shared delusion? I don’t think so.”
He cruised toward the city, questioning his sanity and keeping under the speed limit. He wanted to tell his dad when he got home. But tell him what? He opted to wait, rather than come off half cocked.
The Griffins, or what was left of them, lived in Northeast Philly. Their section, Castor Gardens was a budding ghetto, populated by a generous mix of Spanish, Asian and African Americans. Not too many Anglos left in this neighborhood. Yet the Griffin guys felt comfortable here. Bob’s father George, younger brother Jimmy and a chocolate Lab named Mo; completed this struggling family. His mother Sandy was taken from them in a devastating automobile accident, some ten years ago. They say time heals all. No one told the Griffins.
George was a superb auto mechanic, who happened to be employed by Nicholas Holmes’ business partner, Herb Lerner. That is how Bob and Lisa met. Lerner BMW boasted a prolific sales department which kept George and his staff busy. The youngest member of the family attended Father Judge High School. Unlike many of his peers he enjoyed reading, especially classic SciFi. He also invested time on the internet, honing impressive digital skills.
Bob zipped through the house heading for the fridge. After close inspection he grabbed a loaf of bread and lunchmeat from the drawer, reached for his beer. Now he was set. George and Mo came up the steps. The dog galloping, George shuffled. Bob tried to temper his dog’s jubilation. Mo hurdled toward his favorite human almost knocking Bob over. The dog had a big smile, his tail a swishing.
“Take her easy you crazy Lab. I see you, calm down.” Bob and his dog made quick work of the sandwich.
“Hey son, how was your excursion into the never ending blizzard?” Mr. Griffin asked, a thin smile clinging to his somber mug. He wore a ratty jogging outfit and white canvas sneakers. A perpetual shadow lingered on his jaw line; no matter how frequently he shaved.
“Get any, from that wealthy vixen of yours?”
“No father, I respect her far too much to allow us the act of fornication, before we are joined in holy matrimony.” Bob lectured with a straight face. “I’m shocked you would entertain such notions.”
“Where’s Jimmy at, on the internyet?” (Not sure why), Bob had always associated the medium with a ploy by the Russians to steal the enthusiasm of young Americans.
“Probably, if he’s not in the garage tinkering with his bike. Jimmy, your bro’s home, come up for air… say hello”. From the basement a gangly dark haired kid emerged. The brothers hugged till their bones creaked.
“How was your weekend, Jim?” Bob asked. “Dad drive you up a wall while I was away?”
“Nah, he was tolerable this time.”
Bob folded his arms, leaning against the windowsill.
“Were you working on the cycle this weekend? I know my tools are right where I left them, right?”
“Sure”
“Do me a favor… anyway. Clean up the mess you didn’t make in the garage, then go to sleep. But.. hold up one minute. Need to ask you something.” Jim gave him a furtive glance, but waited. Bob turned to his dad.
“You going in early tomorrow, or can we do a quick turn at the table?”
“Don’t need to be in til eight, so I’m game. Think I’ll catch up on some sleep.” Griff, as his co-workers called him, rubbed his eyes before examining his eldest from the foot of the stairs.
“You feel alright? Look kinda pale. Too much partying, or are you coming down with something? Get some rest!”, George called over his shoulder as he lumbered up the stairs.
Bob signaled for his brother to sit across from him at the Dining Room table, which rose above the tattered green carpet like a megalith; dominating the room by its size and stature. Even though it was scarred and pitted the surface still held a shine. Fashioned from New England Birch, this caramel rectangular affair suffered from a fairly common deformity. The Southeastern leg was shorter than its three counterparts, which produced a rocking jerky motion for those who sat at that end.
There were two additional pieces of furniture stationed in the room. A Cherry wood breakfront, guarded the passage to the basement steps. Leaning against the far wall an overburdened hutch, teetered beneath layers of books, magazines, and numerous bush league trophies Bob accumulated during his formative athletic years. Water stained gypsum panels sagged from the mottled framework of the drop ceiling holding them in place. A grease encrusted hexagonal chandelier hung ominously overhead. A single window allowed diffused moonlight to enter the paneled interior.
“Bro, listen something’s up. It might turn out to be important. Jim noticed a glaze to his sibling’s eyes.
“I’ll tell you more, as soon as I find out what’s going on.”
“What are we talking about here?”
“That’s just it, right now I’m not sure.” Bob gave Jimmy what he hoped was a reassuring smile.“Tomorrow I’ll know more. Just be ready to approach whatever It is with an open mind.” Jim sprang to his feet.
“Whatever you need me to do, I have it covered. I’m down with it. But, why the drama, the clawing suspense?”
Bob often felt he couldn’t measure up to his brother’s mental capabilities. This undertaking might provide him the opportunity to change that assessment.
“Perhaps tomorrow we’ll have more to discuss, for now you need to straighten out the garage and get some sleep Say no to the nyet, he ordered; sending him to the nether regions.
The perplexed mechanic stepped into the Living Room. Collapsing into a worn cushion, on a once noble sofa, he caught an accurate reflection of himself in an antique crooked mirror. His blonde hair looked muddy, his face washed out. Even the jade beams of his eyes lacked their usual depth and sparkle. Sinking into the foam and velour trenches, he wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Mr. Holmes was in his home office. He talked slowly, summoning the precise diction for the caller’s benefit. With the tips of his fingers he massaged bloodshot orbs. He sat behind a custom mahogany desk.
“Do not give it a second thought, Mr. Harrison. The paperwork will be completed in the morning, and the whole matter sewn up by midweek. Yes, I appreciate your honesty. Well thanks… you also. Goodnight.” He stabbed a button; disconnected then mumbled, “asshole”. Holmes stood, glanced at a row of screens built into the wall. No sign of Lisa’s arrival on the readout. At the wet bar in the alcove, behind the wooden monstrosity he poured himself a Scotch and water.
“Sharon? Did Lisa come in yet?” He asked the intercom. Maybe he’d missed the flashing light, the silent alarm which designated an outside door had been breached.
“She’s in her room. At least I think she’s up there.” Mrs. Holmes whispered.
“Alright I’ll try her extension. Lisa, Lisa are you there?”
“Yes dad, I’m here… not feeling well, was almost asleep. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“Well alright young lady,” he replied, disappointment in his tone. “I’d thought you would have dropped in to say hello. Did you enjoy the weekend?” Without waiting for an answer, he added. “I sure hope Bob drives that prehistoric truck carefully on the ice.” When his daughter did not respond to the bait, he left her with, “good night doll. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you in the morning before class.”
Lisa murmured a goodnight. She hated that moniker which is why he used it. Miss Holmes slid back into her four post bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her heart pounded like a runaway bass line. She felt exhilarated and scared. ‘What happened earlier tonight in that field? And what did this Messenger from God want from them?
