Fallen Masters Page 15

  CHAPTER

  35

  Raymond drove expertly through the city traffic until he reached the campus of Columbia University. Pam led Charlene to Pupin Hall, then into the lecture auditorium itself. The lights had been dimmed inside, with the only illumination being small floor lights to enable passage up the aisles. Because it was dark, and because so many of the attendees were interested in the upcoming program, no one noticed her, and Charlene and Pam were able to take their seats without bother.

  The seats were padded and comfortable, and as Charlene sat there she thought of the enticing food aromas she had experienced at Dellafiore’s. Tables were extremely difficult to get there, but she had used the restaurant as a ruse to enable her to come here unobserved. Now her several days of eating nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches caused her stomach to revolt. She had been that close to real food, but had simply walked by it without so much as an appetizer. She should at least have taken some cheese.

  The barely audible conversations from the audience and the soft whisper of the air-conditioning made Charlene sleepy, but before she drifted off, Pam glared at her as if she were a child misbehaving at Mass. The thought made them both laugh.

  The audience grew quiet as the lights onstage shifted to a hue of blues and purples. For a moment Charlene had the feeling that she was about to take the stage, for she had performed in this exact lighting many times before. An applause that could only be described as polite greeted the man who walked out onto the stage. This was the speaker, Dr. Emile Zuckerman, according to the program.

  Dr. Zuckerman appeared to be in his late forties, or possibly early fifties. He was wearing a jacket and button shirt, but no tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short. He was of average height and weight with a pale complexion and eyes so blue that Charlene could tell the color from her seat. Dr. Zuckerman looked out over the audience for a long moment, without speaking. He held the silence for so long that some in the audience began to wonder if the esteemed lecturer had suddenly and unexpectedly developed a case of stage fright.

  Then, his first four words hit Charlene like an unexpected blow to the solar plexus: “The dead can speak.”

  What does he mean, the dead can speak? Charlene thought. If the dead could speak, did he think for one minute that Ryan wouldn’t have spoken to her by now? Their love was as strong as the cinematic love between Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore in the movie Ghost. Perhaps even stronger, because Ryan wouldn’t have to go through Whoopi Goldberg, he would speak to her directly.

  If he could. Which he can’t, because regardless of what Dr. Zuckerman just said, the dead cannot speak.

  Charlene was so incensed by the idea that she started to stand up to shout out loud that he was lying, and she was proof that he was lying. “This guy is crazy. I’m not going to stay for this nonsense,” Charlene whispered, furious.

  Before she could stand, though, Pam reached out to hold her in her seat. “Don’t you say anything, don’t you even wriggle around in your seat if you don’t want me to open a can of whup-ass on your bony frame,” Pam hissed.

  At first, Charlene’s eyes opened wide at the unexpected reaction from Pam; then the absurdity of Pam opening a can of “whup-ass” on her caused her to smile broadly, and she smothered a laugh, shared by Pam. After that, she turned her attention back to the fool onstage who had just told her that “the dead can speak.”

  “Let us start with the fact that ninety-one percent of Americans believe in the survival of the soul,” Dr. Zuckerman said. “That gives us a basis upon which to explore the possibility of the living communicating with the dead.

  “Descartes said, ‘I think, therefore I am.’ The ‘thinking’ he asserted was beyond the physical, thus, a manifestation of the soul.”

  As Charlene listened, the inner turmoil she had been feeling released its hold on her, and she began to relax, to let his words resonate in her—and this was a sudden flash of realization—in her soul.

  * * *

  Pam was listening like everyone else in the auditorium, but she was also keeping a close eye on her friend. She had heard Dr. Zuckerman speak before, and she had read many of his books and papers. When she learned that he would be lecturing at Columbia University, she was determined to see to it that Charlene attended the lecture. She was sure it would be good for her friend, and now she felt rewarded for her determination. As she watched Charlene gradually lose herself not only in the words, but also in the deep, spiritual meaning of Zuckerman’s lecture, she could see the moment that the pilot light, extinguished by the wind of Ryan’s death, was reignited.

  “And now,” Dr. Zuckerman said. “I want all of you to conduct a little experiment, a journey into the recesses of our own soul. We will do that by means of a meditation exercise.”

  * * *

  The lights grew much dimmer, so that the audience was now in total blackness, the only light being a small purple halo that hovered around the speaker. His words were quiet, repetitive, entrancing, and Charlene felt a light-headedness—a tingling that moved from her toes up to her head. She escaped her body and seemed to drift in the darkness above, fixated upon and circling around the purple halo that surrounded the soft, almost melodic, entrancing words from the speaker—words that lost coherency but somehow imparted a meaning much greater than the sum of their parts.

  Charlene thought that when you meditated you were supposed to feel serene and quiet. Instead, something else was taking over, her pulse was racing, and she could actually hear her heart beating in her ears—and then everything went black.

  CHAPTER

  36

  What had happened to the speaker, to Pam, to the auditorium? How did she get here, and more important, where was here?

  The shrubbery was crisp and clear, sculpted like the most beautiful castle grounds of Europe that were maintained by ten generations of gardeners. And she had never seen flowers like this, the colors so bold and sharp, the fragrance intoxicating, not only appealing to her olfactory senses but also somehow—and she didn’t know how this was possible—emitting musical notes in perfect harmony.

  Beyond the garden, she could see sunshine dancing like jewels on the water. Waves came rolling from the sea, crashed upon the shore, then left rainbows in the sand as they retreated. Never in her life had she been anywhere more beautiful or more beguiling than this place. As foreign as it was to her, as improbable, there was nonetheless a comfort to it, a welcoming warmth that was beyond all understanding.

  Yes, this was her place, more home than any home she had ever before experienced. All the trappings of her life; her wealth, her fame, her success, were but unneeded, indeed, unwanted encumbrances. She would gladly shed them and stay here, forever.

  Then, in the distance on the beach, in the bright light of sun between sand and sea, she sensed more than saw a man standing there, waiting for her. Suddenly she was ten years old again, and that long unrequited wait in her small house in Denbigh was over. The man in front of her was her father!

  Charlene ran toward her father with the wind at her back—but no, she wasn’t running, she was gliding, for there was nothing physical in her movement except for the closing of the distance between her and her father. But when she reached him it was physical because she could feel his arms around her, and she could feel his breath upon her neck as he spoke to her in the Scottish accent she had not heard since she was that ten-year-old girl.

  “Och, and when did mi’ wee bairn become such a beautiful lady?” he asked.

  As he pulled her away from him to look at the woman she had become, she felt tears rolling down her face.

  “Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” she said. “Do you know how much Mom and I have missed you all these years? You were not only my father, you were my hero. When I read books about knights on prancing white horses, you were my knight—my Scottish knight with claymore and shield.” Even as she spoke to him, she asked herself, Is this a dream?

  “I know how ye loved me, lass,” Ian replied. “I
can hear it now in your singing, a voice that all Heaven can hear.” Ian laughed. “Och, and many ’tis the time I’ve told the chorus of angels here that the sweet voice they envy is that of mi’ own daughter.”

  “Daddy, this is the best dream I have ever had. I’m so glad that I fell asleep during that boring lecture.”

  Ian smiled at Charlene and put his finger under her chin. “Ye are not dreamin’, lass. For ’tis all real. You are here, and ’tis your own father who is talking to you. You have a gift, my girl, from God’s Forces of Light. The world needs you. That’s why you were put on the Earth in the first place.”

  Charlene knew, now and forever. He had passed over in the car accident. Yet he was speaking to her in this moment, and where he was—and where she was—did not matter. “I know that it’s my imagination,” she said. “But I don’t care. I have never been so happy in my life. I want to hang on to this delusion as long as I can.”

  The smile left Ian’s face, and his expression became one that Charlene could well remember from her childhood when he was telling her something and wanted to make certain she was understanding him. He would say, “Listen to me, lass. I promise you, you are here and I am here, and never has anything been more real than this moment.”

  “This can’t be real, Daddy,” Charlene said through her tears, wiping them away. “If this were real, don’t you think Ryan would be here? I know, I know. You don’t know Ryan, he came after you, long after you. But he was my husband, my love, my reason for living.”

  Ian smiled again. “Lass, sure an’ you would nae be for thinking now, that I dinna know mi’ own son-in-law? I know Ryan, and he is here.”

  “This can’t be happening,” Charlene said through tears. Then, “Is this Heaven?”

  “This is where you are supposed to be,” her daddy said reassuringly.

  “If Ryan is here, where is he?” she asked.

  “Honey … I am here.” The voice, truly Ryan’s voice, came from behind her and she spun toward it.

  Ryan was on one knee on the ground, extending a long-stem blue rose, just as he had on that magic moment at the halftime show of the Super Bowl game, now so long ago.

  “I know that we will be together, heart touching heart forever,” he sang to her, not in the funny, off-key voice he had used when first he met her, but in the voice of an angel, as if Nat King Cole, Elvis Presley, and Luciano Pavarotti had all gotten together and lent him their voices to make one beautiful voice.

  Ryan stood then, and Charlene allowed the spirit of him to wash over her as if she were the shoreline and he was the water. With every breath she took, more of her physical being, or at least her perceived physical being, was being eroded away to be replaced by the essence of pure and unadulterated love.

  As he stepped closer, she was mesmerized by how handsome he looked. She knew somehow that he was in spirit form, but it was his physical form that she was seeing now, and if possible, he was even more handsome than she had remembered. All those months of his sickness had been washed away and he radiated his essence.

  Charlene reached out toward him; then she quickly pulled her hand back. What if she tried to touch him only to find out that he wasn’t real? She couldn’t stand that, for if she felt nothing, she would awaken to discover that this was nothing but a dream after all. No, she didn’t want that; she would not be able to stand that. To lose him again would be even worse than when she lost him the first time.

  She would not touch him—she would enjoy him while she could.

  However, Ryan was not to be denied, and he reached out to her, pulling her to him with a kiss that was more intense than any kiss they had ever shared before. When he kissed her, she felt a surge of energy permeate her being, an energy beyond anything she had ever experienced, more wonderful than anything she could even comprehend, and she knew, at that moment, that Ryan was real, as her father had been real, and that this place, wherever it was, was real as well.

  “You are here?” she said when, finally, the kiss ended.

  “No,” he said. “You are here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will understand, in time.”

  “Ryan, is this Heaven? I mean, the beautiful shrubbery, the lovely flowers, the wonderful sea and shore. Is this Heaven?”

  “Heaven is what you want it to be,” Ryan said.

  Suddenly Charlene gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Ryan! Have I—?” She paused, not certain she could complete the sentence. “Have I died?”

  “No, darling, you haven’t died. Nobody really dies here. I am the one who died—for lack of a better word—remember? You are still very much alive. And as you can see, hear, and feel, so are we. Just vibrating at a higher frequency—like a note that humans cannot hear, but dogs can.” He laughed with a heavenly mirth.

  “Then, I don’t understand. If I am alive, what am I doing here, in Heaven, with you?”

  “You are here for a reason,” Ryan said. “It was not mere coincidence that Pam brought you to the lecture. Nothing is mere coincidence.”

  “Then why am I here? What is the reason?”

  “God needs a favor,” Ryan said.

  Charlene laughed.

  “Why do you laugh?”

  “God needs a favor? From me? Ryan, on the surface of it, can’t you see how silly that sounds? God is—well, God. If God needs something, why doesn’t He just do it? What possible favor could I do for God?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, with a foundation of anger for having to help this Supreme Being who took the loves of her life away from her.

  “The world is in chaos. You can make a difference, honey. You can be a game-changer.… Will you help?”

  Suddenly what had been humorous turned to anger, the intensity of her anger erupting like a volcano. She was inconsolable and all the grief she held on to for months came pouring out.

  “The Universe or God or whatever the hell you want to call this needs my help? Where was he when I was crying myself to sleep at night when my father died? Where was he when I was wishing my heart would just stop beating so I didn’t have to feel the pain in my chest when you died? Tell me … where was God at that moment?”

  Charlene did not expect an answer to her question, nor did she receive one, then.

  CHAPTER

  37

  As Charlene stood there on the shore, her back to Ryan, she saw a huge wave coming toward her from the sea. The wave, glistening in the sun, was the most beautiful shade of turquoise she had ever seen, growing higher and higher as it approached. The wave curled at the top, but wasn’t spilling over. Instead, it shed spindrift, like sparkling diamonds, from a peak that was at least ten feet high.

  Charlene continued to watch as the wave rushed toward her, mesmerized by its beauty, somehow unafraid even though she knew it was going to hit her. It spilled over right on top of her, but even though a wave that large should have knocked her over, it didn’t. The breaking wave did not leave her drenched either. Instead, if left her inspired and enlightened.

  If asked to put into words what she felt, she would not be able to, yet she knew God in that moment. She knew unconditional love and it rivaled any feeling that she ever felt before. It was as if the wave had been a living water to quench the deepest thirst—of faith, love, and understanding.

  She looked back at Ryan and saw him smiling at her.

  “You felt it, didn’t you?” he asked. “You felt God’s love.”

  “Yes,” Charlene said, her voice sounding so small and insignificant in this place. “Do you feel this?”

  “This is my existence now,” Ryan said. “Consider the gulf between the poorest beggar on earth, holding out his hand in the hope that someone will give him a crust of bread, a pauper with no place to lay his head, and the life I lived on Earth, with so much money that I could have anything man is capable of producing. The difference between what I was then and what I am now, is many times greater than that gulf between the beggar and billionaire.”

  “
Ryan, what is this all about?” Charlene asked. “You said God wants a favor. What kind of favor?”

  “I will try to explain it to you,” Ryan said. “But I will be able to open the window only a tiny crack. You will have to open the door to understanding yourself.

  “There are positive and negative forces in the Universe, and the veil between those forces is weakening as the Dark Forces are gaining strength. We are all a blank slate when we come into our physical form, and our ability to make choices—our free will, as it were—is being lobbied by these positive and negative political forces.”

  “Ryan, you are saying things like positive and negative forces, but what you are talking about is simply good and evil, isn’t it?” Charlene asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. Oh, I understand good and evil, all right. But I don’t understand what role I can play.”

  “There is a war brewing, a war of apocalyptic proportions, and souls are at stake. Believe me, Charlene. You can make a difference.”

  What Ryan was saying was overwhelming, and Charlene was trying desperately to understand him, and to ascertain her role in this war he was talking about. He was still talking to her, but the words were fading in and out, and she was straining to hear.

  Then, like a television screen during a storm, the beautiful scene around her began to drop out. Ryan was fading out of view and Charlene knew she was being pulled away from the loves of her life. She reached out toward him, not just to touch him, but also to grab hold of him, to anchor herself in this place, but her fingers grasped only thin air. She was being pulled by a riptide of reality back to her seat in the theater.