Welcome to Book Readers Heaven! Find Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
I've wasted 24 hours yesterday and today... everything is screwed up and I've sent in so many questions that I'd be wasting even more today to solve something that I have NO control over and which nobody will tell me what to do...
I'm tired and fed up of large corporations who think they know everything, but have no real idea of what their own software should be doing based upon standard word processing operations which are about 20+ years old...
And then providing no way to interact or get guidance...
My advice, don't even think that AI will make it better...If a program that has functioned for over 10 years is suddenly messed with and changed, you can bet that is the beginning of disasters... The addition of a simple "linking" process which is totally inappropriate for my blog, has caused me nothing but wasted time...
Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.
EPHESIANS 4:31-32
Why do you pass judgment on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God; for it is written, “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.” So then each of us will give an account of himself to God.
ROMANS 14:10-12
What we are, and where we are is God’s providential arrangement—God’s doing, though it may be man’s misdoing; and the manly and the wise way is to look your disadvantages in the face and see what can be made out of them. --WILL SCHWALBE
I don’t want to do him any favors. I don’t want a killer in my home. Everyone should understand that, most of all God.
This book is about Truth and Lies... It's about good and evil... It's about love and hate... It's about...living!
Once again, it was interesting timing that this book was selected from my TBR long list. There was nothing I knew about the book, other than it was... available to acquire... either free or a low price. I don't even remember which... I do know that I have one fault--or blessing--depending on how you look at it. When I see a free book, I automatically get it! I can't seem to stop myself, especially as I recognize that I have NO idea of anything about the book...
Well, folks, this was a winner! Even though you may not understand until the very end... I like that kind of book--do you? That keeps the mystery, the suspense alive, page by page, wondering... Or trying to pick out clues. Well, for me, it was right before the Prologue... There were three references that were provided which are intended to share the thoughts, the reasons, that, perhaps, the author wrote the story. I was hooked immediately, even before I read one word of the book... One flaw in ebooks for me is that the software has been programmed to take the new reader directly to the first page of the book. Me, I prefer to start right at the cover, so I can ponder how that front cover is meant to convey something about the book, preferably an enticing cover that welcomes the potential reader into the world they might enter.
The Prologue was interesting, only for the fact that it introduced some main characters, and which could be misleading as well. Because the first page of the book takes place about 30 years later... where we meet the main character, who from the first day of her birth, she was told lies. Still she was able to reason herself out of those lies, like many of us now are doing, and had learned about God along the way and began her life in giving herself to the community in which she had been scorned by many... A simply fascinating character that you just might like to meet... I would!
Sleep was a phantom for Hanna for most of the night. She dozed here and there between tossing and turning. For the first time that she could remember, she was relieved when the alarm went off. Rubbing her eyes, she threw off the sheet and sat up. Stretching mightily, “Ow, ow, ow” squeaked out when the side she’d bruised yesterday protested painfully. After the stiffness and discomfort eased, in a few minutes, she felt ready to get up and face the day. On Saturday mornings, she’d meet with her best friend, Amanda, for a brisk walk. Mandy lived a block over and would walk to pick up Hanna. She strode into the bathroom, yawning, then rinsed off her face and pulled on her workout gear. The doorbell rang; Mandy was always on time. Hanna grabbed her phone, shoes, and socks and trotted to the front door. “Sorry I’m a tad late,” Hanna said as she pulled the door open. “I didn’t sleep very well.” Mandy stretched. “That’s okay, I’m moving slow this morning myself.” Hanna closed the door and sat on the porch bench to put on her shoes. “Why are you moving slow today? Missing Brody?” Mandy’s husband was a cycling coach, currently riding in Europe with his team. “Yeah, that. But we had a good Zoom call yesterday. What kept me awake is I’m worried about Edda. Losing sleep over it.” Hanna looked up from her laces. “Edda? Why? She’s the most stable, reliable person I know.” “Maybe. But she met some guy online, and I think she’s being bamboozled.” “Online?” Hanna almost laughed, the thought of Edda being caught up in Tinder or Match.com being so absurd. Mandy’s face made the laugh die in her throat. “That doesn’t sound like Edda.” Hanna tied her laces, grabbed her phone, and stood. Mandy leaned against one of the porch pillars, tension stiffening her shoulders. “It doesn’t. Apparently, it’s been going on awhile. I thought she was a little distracted lately. I wished I had pressed her on it awhile ago. But . . .” “You didn’t want to meddle?” “I’m more than her boss. I’m her friend. I should have meddled.” “So, how’d you find out?” “I caught her on the laptop in a chat room. It was like pulling teeth to get her to tell me what was going on. She said the person contacted her on the memorial website she set up for Bobby.” “What were they chatting about?” “At first she thought the guy was struggling with addiction, like Bobby. Now she’s not sure. All she would say was that she thought someone was pretending, and she wanted to find out who it was.” “Pretending?” Hanna slapped her forehead. “Edda sent me an e-mail, said she wanted to talk.” “About what?” “Legal help, I think. I never responded. Right after I read the e-mail, I was interrupted. I forgot all about it.” “Well, talk to her. Her son’s death really hurt. She’s not over it, and if someone got ahold of her online and is trying to take advantage, they need to be stopped. What if she thinks she found Bobby’s dealer?” “Why would you say that?” “No specific reason. I’m just worried. I should have paid more attention.” Hanna took a step and stood next to Mandy. “Agreed. I should have answered her e-mail.” She couldn’t remember the exact wording of the e-mail now. Could Edda have been trying to find the man responsible for Bobby’s death, or was it something more dangerous? “Yeah, I’m hoping you’ll talk to her and maybe look into this guy she’s been conversing with.” “Consider it done. I’ll drop by for a visit after church tomorrow. Ready?” Mandy nodded and together they hopped off the porch. She changed the subject. “I know you had quite a day yesterday. Braden is a handful for any babysitter.” News always traveled fast in Dry Oaks. It was no surprise that Mandy knew about the incident. “Yeah, the boy has endless energy. I hope that accidently falling from a cliff is the extent of his mischievousness.” Falling into step with Amanda, they headed for the local high school to walk the track. Saturday was a light day for both of them. Amanda was an avid cyclist. Hanna’s exercise of choice was running, and a normal run for her was around six miles. To mix it up, on Tuesdays and Thursdays she swam in the local pool. While vigorous exercise always helped clear her head, Saturday was a welcome break. The pleasant easy walk and chat with Mandy helped center Hanna, especially when the workweek had been tough. She was certain she did the same for Mandy. Her friend ran a local crisis pregnancy center, and often Hanna could feel the hurt and sadness radiating from Mandy. Too many young women saw abortion as the only option, and it weighed on Mandy and, to a certain extent, Hanna as well. Saving and protecting the innocent was a central reason she went into law enforcement. This morning, the most pressing thing on Hanna’s mind was Joe. Mandy was more than Hanna’s friend. She and her grandparents were family to Hanna. Joe murdered Mandy’s parents. How could his probable release not affect her? Hanna wasn’t certain how to broach the subject. “Braden only suffered a broken arm?” Mandy asked. “Yeah, besides that, just bumps and bruises. He got lucky.” “Did he say how he ended up on the ledge?” “Chasing the dog, who was chasing a squirrel. Cassidy couldn’t keep up.” “Hmph.” For a few minutes, they walked in companionable silence. Hanna had the sense that something was on Mandy’s mind. Was it still Edda? “Sounds like there is more to follow,” Hanna said. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. It’s certainly not a Christian thought. It’s the Buckleys. Well, it seems sometimes as if they are cursed.” “Cursed?” Mandy waved her hand. “I know, I know, we don’t believe in curses. But so much tragedy for that family. First Chase, then Chase’s son, then Braden’s mother, then Scott . . .” “As a law enforcement officer, I could say there is nothing cursed about it. Just a lot of bad life decisions and unfortunate situations. Chase hung with the wrong crowd, his son was an unfortunate victim of a motorcycle accident, and Braden’s mother never had both feet on the ground—” “Okay, okay, I hate it when you get all official and pragmatic on me. Whatever the reason, it’s sad. And I hope this tumble is the worst thing that happens to Braden for a good long time.” They started their first lap around the track. Hanna could never do this boring type of workout without Mandy. “Speaking of bad things and curses,” Hanna began, “I got a strange visit yesterday.” “Visit? From whom?” “The Department of Corrections.” “What?” Mandy stopped, and so did Hanna, a couple of feet ahead of her. She turned back. “Did he die?” Mouth half open, Hanna looked at her friend. Was there hope in that question or sorrow? She shook her head. “Not yet. But he is dying. Cancer. They want to grant him compassionate parole.” Mandy frowned. “Huh? What is that, how would it work?” Hanna shrugged and started walking again, and Mandy hurried to catch up. “They want to send him to me. On hospice.” “You’re kidding.” “I wish I was. My answer is no. I’m too busy. Running a PD means I’m at work most of the time, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even have time for a dog. Besides, he’s really nothing to me.” Mandy grabbed her arm and they stopped again. “Don’t tell them no, Hanna. Don’t.” “What? Why not?” “Because. He’s at the end. Maybe he’ll finally do the right thing and tell me where my parents are.” Hanna saw desperate hope in her friend’s eyes. Surprise hit like a blow. “Wow.” “What?” “I never looked at it that way, from your perspective. I—” The sound of a car pulling into the school parking lot stopped her. It was a county car. Nathan. That he was here, now, meant not-good news. Mandy jerked around and followed her gaze. “I sincerely hope he just misses you.” Nathan got out and walked toward them. He looked tired. His clothes were rumpled, and the shadow of a beard darkened his jawline. Hanna bet he’d not been to sleep yet. “Good morning. I thought I’d find you two here,” he said as he approached. “What gives? You look like you’re the bearer of bad news.” Hanna tried to keep her tone light even as her stomach turned. He nodded, expression grim. “Afraid I am.” He looked away from Hanna, and his voice softened. “Mandy, we found a body last night. Another woman.” Nathan took a deep breath. “There is no easy way to say this. It was Edda.” “Huh?” Hanna felt as if all breath left her body. Auntie Edda? The pain she felt was real and ragged, but she held on to her emotions and watched the color drain from Mandy’s face. Reflexively, she reached out and gripped her friend’s elbow. “You’re sure?” Mandy asked, voice soft, unsteady. “As sure as I can be. I talked to her enough. I know her son is gone. Is there any other family I need to notify? News agencies were all over the scene. I don’t want any of her family to find out from a news broadcast.” Mandy shook her head. “Her husband passed a while ago. She spoke of a niece in another state, but how close they were, I’m not certain.” Her voice broke, and Hanna felt for her friend. Then Mandy seemed to brace herself and swallow the tears. “I know who did it.” She folded her arms, anger rapidly replacing grief. “I tried to warn her. It’s a guy she met online. Someone named Diego.”
~~~
Hanna was the town sheriff, duly elected, which was probably the strangest thing if you didn't get to know the town and who they might vote for. Because Hanna's father was in jail for murder... But Hanna was being born on the day that a fire destroyed a meth lab and people were killed, injured, and, ultimately, Joe had confessed to it all...
What was worse was that he had planned on one last batch to have sufficient funds--he wanted to get married and welcome his child into the world with a somewhat "clean" slate... That plan never had a chance...
To make matters worse for Hanna, she had fallen in love in high school with Jared, who had even asked her to get married... thing is, he wanted to take her out into the world--and all that jazz that young boys want to do. Hanna wanted to stay in her home town, a place that had accepted her, where she felt safe... welcomed in her church and in her community. Jared left...and broke her heart... It was obvious that she saw it as just another way she could be hurt by... men... She was just now getting to know another law officer and was at least willing to see how things might go... But it was obvious that his feelings were much stronger than Hanna's. Especially when Jared came back to town, when his father died....
By that time, the truth of the past started to unwind...
Women are disappearing, seemingly having met somebody on a dating site. There was a major fire in the area--her resources were called to that catastrophe. Hanna was being sued by a former employee who was shocked when she was actually voted in as sheriff... And his misogyny couldn't accept that she was able to fire him... And he became very vocal about it around town...
That was easy to do, because there was one man who decided he was meant to spread the news in his town, whether or not it was actually true wasn't relevant. After all, he had published a book... And apparently most people in town had read the book... It was the "real" story of what happened on the night when Hanna's father had murdered people and disfigured one of the sons of the most influential family in town. Rumors were out that he was beginning to write a book from the family whose two sons had been most affected by the murder night years ago...
And even more was to be faced by Hanna... Those who controlled the prison system, had developed a program to try to lower the numbers of people in the jails. One of the options was to allow those prisoners with good records but who were now near natural death, to go home... Home? They wanted Hanna to accept a man she had never met into her home? No Way! She thought she had forgiven him, in God's name...but...
And then she talked to her best friend who had stood with her all her life. And, for the first time learned that her father supposedly murdered her parents and got rid of their bodies. She asked Hanna to agree to accept Joe into her home, so she could talk to him and see if he would tell her, finally, where their bodies were located so they, too, could be finally with their families... Hanna gave in and soon Joe was in a hospital bed, with 24-7 hospice care, in her guest bedroom...
Fortunately, the work of the sheriff didn't ever stop, so she was able to leave him there and proceed with her life... NOT...
This is an action-packed book in some ways; in others it is a book to contemplate about the primary issues we have--the difference between Truth and Lies... And what harm can be brought about through the use of lies to get what greed requires... This one became a personal favorite, for many reasons... But the main reason is the writer's ability to tell a much-needed story and still allow readers to participate in the issues displayed... Kudos!
"You probably have to swear to keep quiet even after you’re dead.”
"It boggles the mind what people can be led to believe.”
You know, it's such a comfort to come back to a favorite author and remember most of the characters who are steadily working to solve crimes... In this case, a married couple--Sherlock and Savage from an FBI special unit continues to delight, while at the same time a new sheriff, Dix, takes primary point as he is caught in a twilight zone event as he is on the hunt for his, supposedly dead wife that disappeared about 3 years ago. Somehow, it seems natural to sit back and enjoy the book, knowing that the good guys will undoubtedly come out on top--big time!
Enter the beautiful recent widow of a renowned psychic who was murdered... and is now being tracked by an assassin... which gains her another FBI Special Agent who seems to have connected as if by fate...
“My dear Julia,” Wallace Tammerlane said, voice low, flicking a look toward Cheney, “I was distraught about what happened last night, nearly worried myself into a psychic block. Are you all right, my dear girl?” “Yes, Wallace, I’m fine, really.” He gave her a longer brooding look. “And this nonsense a few minutes ago, this man waving around a gun.” “He’s here to protect me, as are the two police officers who came rushing in.” Tammerlane said, “Let me get rid of Bevlin and this philistine agent fellow, unnecessary, both of them. I’m with you now. I can protect you. We can go over to Cecile’s for an espresso. I need to talk to you, take you away from all this.
Perhaps August will have something to say.” Cheney said, “If August Ransom is ready to check in, Mr. Tammerlane, perhaps he can tell you who killed him.” Mr. Tammerlane raised dark intense eyes. “It isn’t like that, Agent Stone, isn’t like that at all. August doesn’t concern himself with the past, with what came before—” “He doesn’t care that someone cut his life short? That the same person may be trying to kill his widow?” Wallace said patiently, “Agent Stone, when a person has crossed over, all his past pains, past insults, all of it ceases to be important. Indeed, all of life’s difficulties cease to exist. However, the truth of it is that August doesn’t know who killed him. Whoever it was came at him from behind. He told me only that he heard movement behind him, but he didn’t have time to turn around. He’d been taking cocaine, a regrettable habit of his, but he said it helped him focus, made him understand things he couldn’t have otherwise, and it slowed his reflexes, flattened any fear he might have felt. August felt only a sudden awful sharpness in his throat, then immense cold. That was the end of it, and he crossed over and everything changed. He was in The After. “But he is concerned about Julia. He loves her, has always loved her. He is here for her, not in this room with us, mind you, but close.” “He doesn’t know who hired that man to kill me, Wallace?” “No, my dear, he doesn’t know. Those who have crossed over do not become omniscient. They remain themselves.”
“But he was a psychic,” Cheney said. “Didn’t those abilities carry over to The After?” “No, Agent Stone, they did not. He’s there, you see, no need for those abilities now.” “Perhaps,” Cheney said, his eyebrow arched, “Dr. Ransom could put the word out, ask around with the other spirits, you know. Or maybe he could hang around a bit here, keep an eye on his wife, tell her when evil is closing in on her.” “Evil, Agent Stone? I don’t know that I’d call it evil.” “When someone wants to murder another person, what would you call it?” Wallace shrugged. “Anger, rage, necessity, probably all those things, but not evil. Evil seems to me to be without motive, to exist for its own sake.” Bevlin Wagner surged to his feet, the energy nearly crackling off him. “You said August isn’t here, Wallace. Well, I agree with you. He isn’t here now, but he was before. Then I sensed he had to leave.” Julia jumped to her feet. “He was really here, Bevlin? You’re sure?” “Of course I’m sure. I felt him.” “But why would he leave, Mr. Wagner?” “Who knows, Agent Stone? There’s lots of things for him to do. It isn’t all lying around and singing ‘Kumbaya.’ No, I don’t sense Dr. Ransom at all now, and I would like to. I called to him with my mind voice, trying to call him back, but he said nothing at all. “I do agree with you, though, Agent Stone. If I were August, I’d be here with Julia, not off somewhere counseling some departed soul.” He shrugged, stroked his chin with long thin fingers. “But August always went his own path, and dying wouldn’t change that.” Cheney wanted to throw up his hands and tell the both of them to go away, but one of them might be Dr. August Ransom’s murderer. One of them might have hired the man who tried to kill Julia. Cheney said, “Do you speak to many dead people, Mr. Tammerlane? ” “Yes, of course. It is a gift, a responsibility, and obligation. I will admit that August fades in and out quickly, that it is difficult for him to maintain a link with me, thus I’ve gotten only brief images and spurts of his thoughts. I don’t know why. Neither does he.” “May I come and speak to you tomorrow, sir?” Wallace gave him a penetrating look, a very effective look, Cheney imagined, to make you believe he knew things, things that were beyond you, things not necessarily of this world. Cheney knew he had to try to keep an open mind about this, but when push came to shove, he was a lawyer, steeped in skepticism. It was hard-wired in his brain not to accept anything he couldn’t see, couldn’t manipulate with his hand and his brain. “Of course, if it could be of assistance to Julia.” “Dr. Ransom was your friend and colleague, was he not?” “Yes. Poor August and I were close for many years.” “And Julia, how do you see her, sir?” “She is a dear girl. We were to have dinner Thursday night, but alas—you know what happened, Agent Stone. I will be at home at eleven o’clock. Does that suit you?” Cheney nodded, turned his attention to the prowling Bevlin Wagner. “Are you related to Mr. Tammerlane?” “Related? Goodness no. I’m Croatian. Wallace is from Kansas.” He sounded so insulted Cheney wanted to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Would you also be available to chat tomorrow morning, Mr. Wagner?” He agreed, shooting Julia an intense look. But, Cheney thought, neither man really looked anxious to speak to him. Why was that? Cheney wondered. Because he was FBI? Because one or both of them had murdered August Ransom?
“I can’t begin to imagine what Director Mueller would say if he heard you’d cell-phoned a kidnapped psychic without the cell phone.”
Julia said, “I’ll come out with Agent Stone. He’ll want to keep me within sight at all times. He’s the one who saved me Thursday night, you know.” And it was done. She’d nailed coming with him very efficiently, no fuss at all. Cheney could have told her he actually welcomed her company, and he did want her close, but he liked that smug, triumphant expression on her face. It was better than the empty fear. “I can still ditch you,” he told her when they were finally alone again. “Nah, you can’t get away from me now. Besides, I can tell you all about Wallace and Bevlin.” She lowered her voice to a Transylvanian whisper. “Stuff that will make you shudder and turn pale, roll your eyes back in your head, jerk up in your bed in the middle of the night out of a sound sleep, sweating, your heart booming like a native drum. You haven’t seen their old interview records yet, have you?” “No. It’s Sunday. Frank said he’d get all the files ready for me tomorrow morning. I’ll go over to Bryant Street and look at them before I come here to pick you up. I have this feeling, though, that since you were always their focus, there won’t be a lot of in-depth information on any other players.” “Yes, I was their only focus.” “Yes, I realize that. You wanna know something else? Don’t you think Tammerlane and Wagner could be related—they look like father and son?” “I haven’t really noticed before, but yes, maybe you’re right. They do hang out together quite a bit. Bevlin lives in Sausalito— you’re going to love his house. He asked me to marry him a couple of months ago.” “What?” She nodded. “Yep. And dear Wallace asked me for a date at about the same time. I figured that since I’m no beauty, it was because I’m rich. But both of them are quite well off financially, what with the lucrative book deals and their group consultations that bring in something like a thousand bucks an hour. Maybe they would both like to live in this beautiful house with me.” “A thousand bucks an hour? What a racket.” “A racket? Maybe, but—” “But what?” “Come on back to August’s study. I’ve got lots and lots of tapes, of August and Wallace, even a few of Bevlin on TV. Also some of Kathryn Golden, another psychic medium. You’ll want to speak to her too. Let’s see what you think after you’ve seen them.” “I’m trying to keep an open mind.” Yeah, like I’m going to believe in spirit communication. Not in this lifetime. “The mediums—do they see themselves as something like priests—the great connectors between those left behind and those in the beyond?”
“Something like that. The Beyond is just one name for the afterlife. August always called it The Bliss, Wallace calls it The After. I’ll give you one of the books August wrote.” “And one each of Tammerlane’s and Wagner’s.” She nodded. “Yes, and Kathryn Golden too. Come and watch the videos and tell me August isn’t for real, Cheney.”
~~~
Readers will be moving back and forth between two seemingly different storylines which, ultimately, form together to bring the whole book together...
Julia is the wife of a man who was murdered, with an FBI Agent now--you will quickly note--who finds his mind turning more and more to her when they are apart. Cheney was out on a blind date which was not going well and he goes outside to take a breather. He immediately sees what is happening nearby. A man had moved to attack a woman. He runs to her and saves her life... That's the first attempt...
The assassin, we find, is a perfectionist and an egotist who doesn't believe what happened was possible. And he immediately begins the second attempt, which took place in her home. Julia was more than just a beautiful wife to a famous man. She was intelligent and prepared to act on her own. As soon as the first attack was over, she prepared for a possible second... And not only did she wound the assassin, but she then chased him continuing to try to kill him! He was furious! And even when his boss said to let it go and leave town, he refused... Retribution--thy name is a conceited misogynist. This man will appear over and over as the book goes on, still not giving up his quest!
In another plot, a godfather has seen a ghost. Or, rather, he believes he has found his godchild who is now living in another state. He calls his friend, her father, who immediately contacted Dix and seeks his help to go find the woman and verify whether or not she is his daughter... Dix had been married to her and they had two children. She had disappeared a little over three years ago and Dix had become involved with still another Special Agent. But they were all in limbo since a body had never been found to prove she was dead.
Dix will be traveling and had contacted Savich for guidance. He was invited to stay with Sherlock's parents... The woman was married to a very wealthy man, much older than she was, who was in politics. A decision was made for the Sherlocks to host a party to listen to a political talk about changing his voting plan to vote for another candidate. Dix would be an outside guest visiting, but attending the dinner. It could have been a good plan, but Dix was shocked when he saw the woman. Throughout dinner, he would examine her features, slowly gaining certainty that she was not actually his wife... But as time went by he had a chance to see her diamond bracelet--the exact bracelet he had bought for his wife on their honeymoon... Later, he learned that the woman's brother played for the Atlanta Symphony and lived close to his home town... Was she or wasn't she his wife? Does everybody lie these days? There was no way to let it go... Proof had to be found! And Dix was going to find it! But soon, he had brought his lover, Ruth into the investigation that had to be done... Dix believed that something had happened to his wife--he just wasn't sure what... But he knew he wanted to get hold of that bracelet!
In the meantime, Cheney and his new partner, who refused to not be involved, if he she was constantly in danger of being assassinated, began to interview the three closest psychics with whom her husband had been friends, on of which I just have to share a short blurb with you...
The front door was ajar and so they walked into a small, dimly lit entrance hall. Cheney called out, “Is anyone here?” “A moment,” a man’s shout came from upstairs. “Go into the living room, on the right.” The small front room was all windows that looked toward the bay—the tip of Belvedere, Angel Island, even Alcatraz was in view. Beanbags, all of them bright red, were scattered throughout the room, some in small groupings, some alone. The walls were bare, no bookshelves, no photos, nothing but those dozen or so bright red beanbags. In less than a minute, Bevlin Wagner walked into the living room, wearing only a thick white towel knotted below his waist. “Hi, Bevlin,” Julia said, evidently finding nothing strange in this. He walked up to her, leaned down, and kissed her mouth, then straightened to study her face. “You look beautiful, Julia. I was so worried about you yesterday, you were so pale, so frightened.” She nodded. “I’m fine now. Thank you for taking the time to speak to Agent Stone.” “No problem.” Bevlin, the towel loosening a bit around his waist, nearly mesmerizing Cheney, said, “Agent Stone. I’m pleased you’re keeping Julia safe.” When in psychic Rome, Cheney thought, and shook the man’s hand. He wanted to tug on the towel just to see what he’d do. Bevlin Wagner was dead white, and his burning dark eyes and long black hair made for a compelling contrast. He had very little body hair. “I was in the shower, didn’t want to keep you waiting.” “You’re always in the shower, Bevlin,” Julia said. “Go put some clothes on. We’ll be right here when you get back. I promise I won’t let this dangerous FBI agent search the beanbags.” Those soul-probing dark eyes hit Cheney’s face square on. “I didn’t have time to wash my hair,” Bevlin said. “It looks clean enough, don’t worry,” Julia said. “Get dressed.” Bevlin left the room, whistling Bolero, if Cheney wasn’t mistaken. “He does this exhibitionist thing often?” “Oh yes. It’s sort of his trademark. I don’t know why, since he isn’t all that remarkable a specimen.” “Has he ever lost the towel?” “Yes. He paraded out with his towel once when I arrived before August did. The towel hooked on a doorknob and whipped right off. I looked him straight in the face and told him I knew a really good personal trainer.” “He wasn’t insulted?” “Didn’t seem to be. He said personal trainers were too hairy except for the women, and they scared him.” Cheney laughed. “What’s the deal with all these red beanbags? How long has he been doing this?” “Ever since I’ve known him, and I don’t have a clue.” Bevlin Wagner came back into the room, wearing old gray sweats, his long narrow feet bare. “Agent Stone, I know you’re here to question me about the attempts on Julia’s life.” Cheney said, “Yes, I appreciate your time. Mainly, I’d like to ask you about Dr. August Ransom’s murder. There seems to be little doubt that the attempts on Julia’s life and his murder are connected.” “I don’t know anything about any of it, I’m afraid.” He looked over at Julia and blessed her with his sweeping intense look. “If only I did know something—are the two really related? Okay, maybe, maybe. Wallace and I wondered about that, of course. I must tell you this, Agent Stone, when August visited me last night, he told me he really doesn’t like you, that you might be dangerous, and I should be careful not to anger you. He’s displeased about your being with Julia. He didn’t say so, but I’d wager he’d be much happier if she were with me.” Julia said, “Bevlin, there is no earthly—or unearthly—reason for August to be concerned about Agent Stone. He’s trying to find out who garroted him, after all. Despite what Wallace says, I think August would want his murderer brought to justice.” Cheney said, “Bevlin, what you said, it is what August thinks, not what you think, is that right?” Bevlin walked to the huge front window. “Of course it’s what August thinks.” He paused. “The fog’s finally lifting. I have three clients today. The first one a batty old doll who wants to give all her money to a nice-looking young man who says he’ll set up a trust for her. There’s a big commission for him, naturally. God knows what’s in the fine print.” He shuddered. Julia asked, “What is your role in it?” “I’ve already approached her husband, so to speak. His name was Ralph, owned a large piece of Sausalito at one time. He asked me to call his son, try to keep her from losing every dime he earned. Said those dimes had been too hard to come by to hand them over to a smarmy, good-looking crook. Ralph said he heard she’s not going to be joining him for a number of years yet, so she’ll need all the money he left her. I called the son a little while ago.” He shrugged again. “He was foaming at the mouth. Maybe some good will come out of it, we’ll see. Hey, Agent Stone, maybe you could go pop this crook.” Cheney found himself drawn in, believing for a moment that this very strange man had indeed spoken to Ralph, a very dead person. He couldn’t help himself, whatever Julia thought. “Did you really dial up the dead husband, Mr. Wagner, give him the lowdown?” “Ralph? Well, not really,” Bevlin said. “It was one of my guides who tugged on me, told me to talk to this old geezer, he needed to know what was going on.” “Guide?” “Yes, my guide. I am speaking English, not Croatian, Agent Stone. All of us have guides, all of us. But some of us are too unaware to even recognize that they’re there. I happen to have a good dozen of them, all for different matters, you see. One knows finance, one speaks beautiful Hindi, one has perfect pitch, is very proud of that and is often telling me what he’s listening to at the moment, and the key that’s being played—but he’s not much use, as you can imagine. There’s this one guide, all he can talk about is Egypt, about all the time he spent in the library at Alexandria. “My best guide is a real schmoozer, can chat up those who have passed over, tell me what’s in their hearts.” “Do your guides have names?” Bevlin frowned. “Do you know,” he said slowly, bending those dark eyes on Cheney’s face, “I’ve never thought to ask and they’ve never offered. They’re all very individual, really. I never had need of names to speak with them.” Julia said, “Bevlin, you said yesterday you knew August had been there, but he’d had to leave. But you spoke to him last night?” “Of course.” Cheney asked, “When you spoke to him, was it through a guide?” “Ah, August is different. He isn’t like other people who’ve passed. He already knew how things work, how to get through to me.” “I’ve never heard about guides before,” Cheney said. “I mean, are they dead people who volunteer for this duty?” “That’s a novel thought, Agent Stone. They’re simply—there,” Bevlin said. “Simply there, like when I first realized I could see things other kids couldn’t, a guide told me what was happening. He’s still with me. Sometimes he wakes me up when I oversleep and a client’s coming.” Cheney said, “Can you talk to one right now?” Bevlin Wagner eased down into a big red beanbag and closed his eyes. He sat perfectly still. Cheney felt like he’d wandered into Disneyland Croatia. Bevlin’s eyes slowly opened. They looked dreamy and vague. Odd how that could change so quickly. “I spoke to my first guide. He told me I had the gift but I have to continue to grow before I can truly become what I was meant to be. He said I had to work on being more grounded, and listen to those who know more than I do. He knows I can reach my potential, and he’s doing his best to help me.” “But why did he come to you specifically and not someone else?” Bevlin cocked his head at Cheney. “This might take a while. Please go into the kitchen, have some coffee. I made it this morning.” Then he closed his eyes. For a moment, Cheney was convinced he’d stopped breathing. He took a step forward. “No, it’s okay,” Julia said. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You really don’t want to try his coffee. He has bottled water.” “Yeah, sure.” Still, Cheney kept looking back over his shoulder at the man sitting as still as a tree stump on a red beanbag...
~~~
This series is moving toward 30 books and still going strong... If you enjoy FBI cases... Do check out this one... And, if you haven't tried BookBub...there's free or cheaper great books waiting for you! Catherine Coulter is a wonderful author that you should at least experience once!
GABixlerReviews
“I can’t begin to imagine what Director Mueller would say if he heard you’d cell-phoned a kidnapped psychic without the cell phone.”
“No, but when they find out, they’ll cheer you for being such a heroine.” Julia saw a couple of tourists in jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts, trying to brave the cold wind, shivering violently. She should tell them the sun would come out, maybe, but instead, she threw back her head and broke into “Tomorrow.”
“Professor!” Kuiper exclaimed. “Is the rumor true? Did you tell the president to build a wall?” “Don’t Change Horses Midstream!” Verboom bayed, running circles around Kuiper and the guests. He yanked the lapels of his tweed jacket over his blond hair and looped the anchor’s desk like a headless horseman, shouting more historic slogans. “A Chicken In Every Pot! The Buck Stops Here! All The Way With LBJ!” He neighed like a feral stallion. “It’s The Economy, Stupid! Ross For Boss!” He stopped himself with invisible reins, lowered his jacket, glanced side to side, and asked Kuiper in a whisper: “Yes We Can?” “Can we, professor?” Kuiper demanded. “Can we get God out of government?” Now trotting in place, Verboom chanted boldly: “Yes We Can! Yes We Can!” “There’s no wall between church and state!” scoffed the theologian. “There’s a wall higher than any ladder!” the historian shot back. Verboom flung his arms wide and sang, “Ain’t no ladder high enough! Ain’t no pundit low enough! Ain’t no angle wide enough. To keep me here talkin’ with you.” Then he galloped off stage, tearing through the greenroom, racing down the hall, clattering down the emergency stairs, and bursting through the exit door onto the frigid streets of Capitol Hill.
“When negotiations hit a wall, the rep asked: ‘What’s it going to take to get you in this truck?’ The answer came naturally, ‘The Flying Dutchman on surround sound.’ So, the guy ran to a music shop and came back with a version on CD.” “Richard Wagner, huh?” I smirked. “Flight of the Valkyries would’ve better set the mood.” “Woulda, coulda, shoulda!” He threw up his bare arms, pretending to conduct an orchestra of what-ifs.
The car ahead of us on the freeway had a bumper sticker: HONK FOR FREEDOM. Verboom read it aloud, slowly, as if weighing each word. “Hands off the horn, Santo. No telling what kind of freedom they’re after.”
(NPR) “From Washington, the president refuses to comment on Final Freedom or distance himself from the E.C.S. fellow Dr. Pieter Cornelius Verboom. Our sources, speaking only on background, debate whether the nascent movement is a serious political force or a stunt for the attention-starved. Opinions are split—some see Dr. Verboom as the mastermind of a revolution, others as an accidental prophet whose message was taken...” “Backasswards,” Verboom said, reaching over to mute the radio. “Isn’t the phrase ass-backwards?” Without answering, he switched the audio to CD. The opening strains of The Flying Dutchman filled the truck, and he let it play through—twice—without another word about politics. As our chariot rolled into the high desert city of Flagstaff, Arizona, I asked Verboom how long he planned to stay. He laughed—sharp and unhinged, like a man in need of medication—then mumbled something about Jonah in the belly of a whale. “My father can name every kind of tree,” he said, gazing up at the mountain slopes. “Mainly ponderosa pine, some oak, a few juniper.” “Let’s not get into particulars until they’ve got my mind universalized.” At the clinic, he scrawled my name on the intake form, listing me as his emergency contact and labeling me student. Then he frowned and tore up the form. He asked for a replacement. The second time, he wrote son. I’d like to say the title meant nothing to me, but I can’t. My girlfriend believed I’d become so obsessed with Verboom that he was taking advantage of me. When I told her I was simply following my interests and had genuine respect for his research, she scoffed. She insisted I was shopping for a surrogate father—my mind colonized by his influence and the whole of Western Civilization. Then she twisted the knife, remarking on his overwhelming manliness. “He must have great physical prowess,” she marveled, “in addition to his blind obedience to capitalism.” To my knowledge, he had no commitment to a grand economic theory, but her point was clear: the fact that I so deeply admired a middle-aged Dutchman meant I had failed to see his true nature. As for my dedication to the man, my motives weren’t mixed but many—not a conflict of interests, but a confluence. He was someone I wanted to help, and he was my cover story to get out of town. My quarter-life crisis paired with his midlife crisis.
For a few days on the open road, I could escape the heavy clouds of Lake Michigan and my heartache, narrowing my role to that of a getaway driver. To catch my breath and make sure Verboom settled in, I decided to stay at a hotel near the clinic. After three days, with my duty complete, I packed for home. Before bidding farewell to the professor, I received a text message. No greeting, no affection—just a blunt declaration: “We should see other people.” My heart pounded hard three times, heat rushing to my face. Embarrassed, I didn’t write back. I’d been saving for a ring, debating whether to surprise her with one or to let her choose. She chose: none of the above. On our first date, she told me I was too diplomatic—the only time she was polite about my politeness. A few months later, she met my mother, who, though frail beneath a wig, summoned the strength to give her approval with awkward gusto. And just like that, a year had passed. Now, I was six states away with my mentor—America’s most notorious social scientist. Not famous for his research, but for being the first man in history to have a nervous breakdown on live television with an encore on radio. Since my coursework was complete, I could write my dissertation anywhere. Why not stay in the high desert? Already sick with grief, and now unceremoniously dumped, going back to campus felt impossible. We knew all the same people. Instead of hiding in my apartment, I decided to stay in Arizona until Verboom checked out. Clearly in need of a long stay, we had his mail forwarded to the clinic. Verboom’s case manager suggested I screen my “father’s” mail for anything triggering, so I intercepted Ella’s letters and stashed them in a size-thirteen shoebox. Once the shoebox filled, I put her letters in a beat-up plastic milk crate I had found behind the clinic’s cafeteria. Some of the envelopes felt like they held Polaroids and pamphlets. I had the nerve to run my fingers over them but not to open them. In addition to Ella’s envelopes, I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
2 Behold! I send you out as sheep among wolves, therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves!” Verboom recited a verse from the Gospel of Matthew, lying in his bed at the clinic, staring at the ceiling...
~~~
I have to admit a couple of things... I thought the Orange in the title was for one man we all know... I was wrong... Second, when I announced this book and said it was weird... I was right... Because it is so much more...
It is Wild, Weird and Wonderful!
There is so much in this complex book--important info that is helpful at this time of chaos... Most of all that it all started with a man who had a breakdown and threw out words that were picked up by the people who actually liked what he said... and it became a winning slogan...
First, the author started writing the book during the time period when Obama was running for office and then proceeds thereafter... Yet, it many ways, it is not a linear movement in toto. In fact the book runs much like is being used during these days of chaos... it is more by subject or topic... So there will be multiple time periods as we explore the topics presented. And don't expect the topics to be in the right time period...
There are two main characters who run throughout the book. One of which as I read, I identified as our present president. He is a distinguished professor of psychology in the book, who has begun to have mental lapses... I can only assume that the actions of these two men are based upon similar mental disabilities which many will recognized from our present days of chaos... Only the character in the book has been actually diagnosed as having breakdowns as well as lapses into psychological trauma and flashbacks...
I held back a slew of speaking invitations. On the heels of his radio finale, fringe groups and lone-wolf fanatics began to flood Verboom with speaking requests. The sarcastic screed born in madness was metastasizing, spreading like a chain letter for the terminally outraged. As a swelling congregation of zealots clamored for Verboom to lead them out of the wilderness and into the corridors of power, the media took more notice. The New York Times picked up the Final Freedom story, calling his immodest proposal “an ironic rant taken literally by literalists.” And a leading WNN pundit fumed, “Verboom crashed our last dance with democracy.” More troubling than Verboom’s unraveling was the country’s willingness to embrace a delirious dare. People on the Left understood the rant as irony—which it was. People on the Right took the rant as an invitation to man up. The provocation became a watershed moment, a defining plot point in the media’s election year melodrama. Verboom had baited the American fringe, and they had taken it as the Lord’s Supper. As the spotlight intensified, he sank deeper into denial, refusing any discussion of politics or the press. He began to see the clinic not as a place to heal, but to hide. And yet, even as he closed his eyes and shook his head, his thought experiment took on flesh—and dwelt among us.
It all began when Verboom was asked to participate in a televised panel discussion. Including Professor Verboom, Social Psychologist, are a theologian promoting Christian Nationalism, a historian tracing US secularism, and a political scientist exposing propaganda. The first issue was aimed at the Professor. “Professor Verboom, sources within the administration claim you told the president to ‘get God out of government,’” and "to build a wall of separation between church and state." His response took it even further. “If God is truly God, how could we get such a Being out of anything?” Then, "Let God" answer the question!"
He ran off the stage, only to have his agent stop him, unsuccessfully, it seemed, when he ran back on stage and shouted. "The Union Shall and Must be Preserved." He howled to the ceiling, darted to the camera and instead of answering the moderator who asked for verification of the first question, Verboom shouted, "Don't Change Horses Midstream..." and then started spouting all of the political slogans he could think off. That is, until he began to calm down but was still pressed as to whether a wall was needed.. to which he now replied “There’s no wall between church and state!” Which could have, of course, meant anything by that time since Verboom was clearly not capable of clearly explaining his position. But that didn't stop those listening deciding exactly what was meant... Because he had again ran out off the stage and this time out of the building...
Santo was Verboom's graduate student assistant and had become almost like a son... In fact, when he had agreed to drive Verboom to a clinic, he wrote on the entry form that the contact individual was Santo, his Son... Santa, for his own reasons, found that he didn't mind that title... But when Verboom began reviewing what had happened and the responses, he told Santo that he realized an ugly thought--he could bring the whole thing down... And heading for a clinic where he couldn't be disturbed was the best hiding place for him to be...
But you can only stay in a clinic as long as you remain visibly disturbed. And that was not true, all the time, for the Professor... Then later he stated, “A terrible notion, of course, an intrusive idea inspired by the myth of Samson pulling down the Philistine temple. The Bible is such a violent book.”
Thus begins a journey of two men--one a professor and his selected assistant... Now a professor without a career with a very intelligent caretaker... With some very interesting points of concern being spouted along the way. Fact: There are more guns than people in the U.S. We are making more guns than babies...
Fact: Americans make up 4% of the world’s population, but we own half of the entire global stock of civilian firearms! Can I get a U-S-A?” “Another fact: We own at three times the rate of Canadians. ‘O Canada! Our home and native land!’”
“People wander the streets like they’re in another dimension. They don’t ask for money; they speak to the air. They look right through you, like you’re the air. Maybe I’m moving into the next dimension myself. Think I’ll fit in?” “Careful. Conservatives believe all behavior is a free and punishable moral choice, and Liberals think it’s rude to be fascinated by abnormalities—unless that abnormality is conservatism.”
Of course there has to be more to the book, right? Well, it surrounds the professor's agent and her obsession to be wherever the professor is... Yes, sex is involved, but is that all that is driving her to track the professor down no matter where he tries to hide--yes, he has actually asked Santo to keep her away from him... Santo knows why, the professor cannot say no when she comes to be with him... Why? Or is the more important question, why would a beautiful younger woman bother???
But the professor just can't stop talking--sound familiar? So going on the radio becomes the next big announcement! Stay tuned, you might even hear him. Well, no, because he goes by different names... LOL And talk included climate control, God, Jesus, men wearing clothes like Jesus--maybe klansmen... Yeah,,, and the Professor always wore the same outfit that appears on the book cover... Figure this one out! And have fun...
He prayed again, “Show me what this means. Give me the strength to do your will.”
The Time of Devastation, as used by this author, does not explain what had happened... Yet we can infer that the entire world was destroyed in some way. Yet some people survived; many now had supernatural abilities. With those abilities, people began to build a new town and a new place to worship, to thank God that they had survived... This begins the story of those people where Choices and Consequences still were a part of each life...
Lord Gabriel started dreaming again. The first dream was simple; a jewel, a glowing red ruby, fell into his hands. He knew that he had to do something vital with the jewel but not what that was. He awoke in fear of what the dream meant – not in itself but the consequences of it happening at all. “Not again,” he prayed. “Please not again. Please take this burden from me.” He dreamt again the next night. This time he was holding an emerald when the ruby fell into his hands. He tried to keep them apart but they were drawn to each other and began to merge together. He woke suddenly, unsure whether they had merged to form a new jewel or disintegrated to dust in his hands. He prayed again, “Show me what this means. Give me the strength to do your will.”
Chapter 2 November The stranger
I opened the door to the Old Chapel just far enough to be able to look in and make sure it was empty. It was, so I slipped inside and hurried to my hiding place, underneath the altar table. This was one of my favourite places to hide out, where I could relax and sleep without fear. It was on the edge of the campus, near the river and clearly one of the first buildings on the site, built not that long after the Time of Devastation. It wasn’t used now, but it was dry and looked as though it was still cared for even though I never saw anyone else visit it. I suspected that it was cared for out of respect for the memorials inside. There were three memorials along one wall commemorating the events of the Time of Devastation, but it was the fourth one, on the opposite wall, that drew me most. As the world had repopulated after the Devastation, some of those in their late teens had started to discover they had additional skills, things they could do with their minds. Some could communicate with each other, or sense where people were without being able to see them. Others could move things, or start fires, or predict the future. Those who didn’t have these skills had been scared of such magic, and the first generations were persecuted and often killed. This was a memorial to those early adepts and to those who had died assisting them. As more people developed the abilities, having such skills became more acceptable, though there were still many who feared them. Engineers had developed a Shield which could be used to prevent anyone under it using their gifts, and Shields were used anywhere people thought they might be unduly influenced, such as in shops or any building used for religious purposes. The Old Chapel still had a working Shield, triggered whenever someone entered. That was one of the reasons I thought it was still well maintained, and also one of the reasons I liked being there. Being a telepath I could always hear a background chatter of other people’s thoughts. I’d learnt how to ignore it, but under a Shield everything became quiet, peaceful, which was such a relief. Also, I’d found that I didn’t have nightmares or sleepwalk if I slept somewhere that was Shielded. My mind always felt slow and sluggish the next morning though, so I didn’t do it too often. Once I was safely curled up in my hiding place, I started to think about my current situation. I was almost happy living in this community, despite the inherent dangers and risk in what I was doing. The whole place felt peaceful, safe and non-threatening. Of course, I had to be on my guard and I did my best not to be noticed but that was the case anywhere. Now I was afraid I had been spotted. A couple of weeks ago I’d been hiding out in the cellars under the Abbey buildings. Someone had come rushing through and I had felt a current of power around them, the sort that indicated someone was using their gifts. I’d been hiding my presence physically rather than mentally, and I was pretty certain they’d spotted me where I shouldn’t be. I had got out of there as soon as the coast was clear. I’d been back once or twice, making sure I hid my presence properly, but I hadn’t risked sleeping there since because I couldn’t hide my presence mentally when I was asleep. Nothing more had happened, so I’d thought I’d got away with it. But today, I’d had classes at the college, and, as I’d been where I was supposed to be – at least as far as anyone here knew – I hadn’t been hiding my presence mentally. Doing that took a fair bit of energy so I didn’t do it when it wasn’t necessary. As I’d walked across the courtyard after class I’d felt that current of power again, whispering past my mind. I’d been surrounded by other students, but this whisper had come from a distance and I was afraid I’d been recognised. I’d shielded myself immediately, but I was very concerned that someone might have been looking specifically for me, and that they’d know me when they found me. As I thought about it, I figured I had two options. One, I could leave, find somewhere else to live, but I had nowhere else to go. And I was finding the classes in how to use and control my gifts useful, which was a bonus as it was something I very much needed to learn to avoid disaster. Or, I could stay, but I’d have to be much more careful and much more watchful. I didn’t like to think about what might happen if I did get caught. I’d have to be more rigorous with hiding myself mentally, of course, which took energy. Using my abilities always left me hungry but I could scavenge food from the kitchen, as I had today. The real danger was sleeping, as it always had been. If I started sleepwalking they’d find me, without a doubt, and I couldn’t spend every night in the Old Chapel. I figured I’d just have to sleep out in the woods more, even though the cold season was here now. I could have a fire if I was careful – it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. More settled in my mind, I left the Chapel and set off to take some of this food I’d scavenged to those who needed it even more than I did.
~~~
It should be obvious to people, at least after the Time of Devastation, that something had changed in the world... Perhaps Lord Gabriel was the first to learn of the future and that a monastery was to be built. He had learned much through the dreams that he began to have... Soon a campus and a place of worship were built. One of the main programs of learning was to teach those with new powers to actually know how to use them! Lord Gabriel had surely worked hard to find those individuals who had the skills to teach, but also to respond to medical needs in the new hospital... The community that had built up around them became just an extension to the community that was growing every day.
While Lord Gabriel is a wonderful character and works to fulfill God's guidance throughout the story, even he found he must begin to weigh the choices and consequences that naturally evolved from people being people, living their lives together in a community...
In this first book, readers will soon learn of a stranger who has come onto the campus. She was highly skilled in supernatural abilities, perhaps even higher than those she had sought out to help understand and use her sometimes overpowering talents--talents that even she had no way to know just how and what she was able to do... Her name was Leonie. She is your main character...
Leonie has kept herself hidden, managing to move through the campus, finding places to sleep, finding scraps of food that she could steal, for both her and others. The "others" are one of the mysteries that was not solved in this first book... But, soon, Leonie was to become the guardian of Lord Gabriel! Readers learn that God has given Gabriel a dream which explains it to some extent... But Leonie can only be thankful, but also very confused...
Soon she is living in Lord Gabriel's quarters and is able to openly attend the classes that she'd been sneaking into... But one of the things that was most needed at the beginning of her studies, was to learn exactly what skills and the strength of her skill levels. Two monks who are assigned to the hospital was given the task of testing Leonie... The trio began to learn about each other and develop a kind of friendship... None of them anticipated what was to happen within this tight connection... And I'm certainly not going to tell you... Except to spotlight that the close relationship of two, which was now three, would lead to an age-old growth of feelings that surely were not part of the life of monks...
Leonie, who had lived in the wilds since her early life soon found that having a room of her own in which to sleep--as beautiful as it was--often became confining. She would leave the grounds of the campus, seek out a perfect tree in the nearby woods, and crawl up into where two branches meet and fall asleep... Causing a panic back at Lord Gabriel's quarters. It happened quite often, so much so that soon one of the three friends was able to immediately seek out where she was and they would go out to verify she was safe and bring her back...
In the meantime, daily events would continue and Leonie, in her free time, would visit the nearby town and get to know people. She had been assigned to the kitchen where it was found she knew how to bake bread... She worked happily along baking bread for meals and then helping to serve as possible. But she was often asked to sit at Lord Gabriel's table to allow him to catch up with what has occurred. Soon he learned that in some ways, she was beyond the tests that were now available for measuring the level of her talents... Could she be a danger to herself or others?
But time did not allow for worry as a long-time event was coming during the Easter season. All of those who had left the campus would be returning. Preparations for housing, food, and special gatherings had to be planned!
The book is written so that the various main characters are speaking... as Easter was new for Leonie, she tells us what she was learning:
Easter was coming and the preparations were making Pedro – and Lady Eleanor, Edward and Chloe for that matter – exceptionally busy. I asked Pedro about Easter one evening when we were alone in the kitchen. We were kneading the bread for the next day, up to our elbows in flour, the rhythmic movement relaxing and conducive to confidences. Pedro smiled happily. “It’s my favourite time of the year,” he said. “No matter the extra work, or so many extra people here, I look forward to it all year round, and then it’s over too quickly.” “But why? And how? And what’s going to happen?” I asked. “All questions, you, aren’t you?” he responded. “Next Sunday’s called Palm Sunday,” he explained. “From Saturday onwards, our family will start to turn up. There’ll be people arriving all week, so we’re together for Easter Sunday.” I got stuck on one word. “Family?” Pedro grinned at me, almost as if he’d been expecting that. Sometimes I thought he had to know what I was but he never said anything about it, or acted any differently. “Anyone who’s got some connection here and wants to come. Brothers and Sisters who work somewhere else now, or who’ve left the Order, or people who grew up in this House and now live elsewhere. Anyone. They’re all family still. Lady Eleanor’ll find a room for them, somewhere.” “But what are they all going to do, once they are here?” I thumped my dough in frustration at my lack of understanding. “We” – and he definitely emphasised that word – “We are going to worship, and celebrate and enjoy each other’s company and remember what Jesus did for us.” Now, I was no expert, but I’d read and heard the Bible stories about what had happened. It was thousands of years ago, but they still remembered it. I thought of Jesus as being like the heir to a Great House that was ruled by some other Lord, and everyone thought he was riding into town to reclaim it. They had a big celebration when he arrived. Now that sounded daft to me; I mean either you came with a big army and a battle or you sneaked in to overthrow things from inside on the quiet, surely? Didn’t a big party warn the other side that you were coming? Not that it mattered, because one of his friends betrayed him to the authorities who arrested him and then executed him. I looked at Pedro in surprise. “They killed him,” I said incredulously. “You’re celebrating someone being killed?” “No,” he said. “Although we will commemorate his final meal with his friends and his death at services on Thursday and Friday. What we’re celebrating is that he rose from the dead.” I’d read that bit too, but I didn’t believe it. I’d seen dead bodies. They didn’t recover. “How?” I asked. I might have thumped the dough again. Pedro moved it from under my hands and gave me a fresh batch to knead. “Weren’t you paying attention at Christmas?” he asked. Frankly, no, I’d had other things on my mind. But I did remember we’d been celebrating the birth of Jesus, who was – allegedly anyway – fathered by God. Pedro didn’t expect a response and went on, “Jesus is the Son of God, wholly human and wholly God. God sent him to take our punishment for all we’ve done wrong, that’s why he died, so that we can be forgiven and able to be with God. God raised him from the dead to show that death isn’t the end, that evil hasn’t won. Because Jesus died in our place, for our wrongdoing, we can have life with God after our death as well as working towards a God filled life here and now.” It made a lot more sense when Pedro put it like that. It was clearly very personal for him, and for Prospero and Andrew and many of the others that I knew. “It can be personal for you, too,” he said. I didn’t think so. I mean, these were all good people, of course God wanted them. I couldn’t see why he would want me, not with everything that I’d been and done. Pedro was gently insistent, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, it can all be forgiven, it was for me.” But I just looked at him in disbelief and shook my head, and he didn’t pursue it further. Anyway, given all the busyness and the extra hours and effort we were all putting in as preparation, I was pleased to find I had a free afternoon. The weather was sunny, but still cold, so I wrapped up well – it was so good to be able to – collected some food and things from the kitchen and set off to take it to those I knew needed it. They were pleased to see me and even more pleased to see what I’d brought. They were feeling the cold, though, so I left my coat and gloves and scarf and even my jumper – there were other ways to keep warm, at least if you were gifted, and I’d be fine heading back to campus. It was such a nice day that I dawdled on the way back and went the long way round by the lake. In the sunshine, the water was blue and clear and inviting and I loved to swim. And there were ways to keep the water around you warm, if you were gifted, too, tricks I knew that Prospero and Andrew hadn’t even thought to test. There was absolutely no one around, so I stripped off and dived in, enjoying the feel of the water flowing over my body.
~~~
I hope you will check this book out! It is the type of book that must be read--experienced--to find the truth and love experienced when God is part of your life. Even if you've never known about God except through stories that didn't make sense to you... Remember, this is after a major change to the world. People are fearful, hunger is solved through theft... Possible death surrounds you... And then there is found in a community of love where you are welcomed. It seems everybody cares for each other, but you've known no such thing from the past you've experienced... When love is free to flow... joy and music surrounds you... Eyes meet... And one person seems to provide a feeling of warmth and safety that you've never known... A strand of faith awakens... Where the Spirit of God is, there...is...Love!
I told my best friend yesterday as she was driving me to vote, that I had just finished a post and had no idea what I had written... And that, sometimes, I feel like God takes over my brain and types through me...LOL
And He certainly led me to this book, which has been one of the most gratifying books I've ever read... Yes, it was written many years ago, but "now" is the time for those of us who are non-Muslim to read it too... I encourage you to do so... And, as you do, I suggest you substitute the religion you follow every time Muslim is written. Why? Because I am positive that for many of you, as it was for me, revelatory to see that this wise man and father has something you will want, and probably, need to read...
The need to know that certain things are true is a human instinct. This is the desire for certainty. It is how we orient ourselves. It is how we give ourselves direction and protect ourselves. Certainty is the mental shell that pushes away doubt. The world you live in is different because the building of certainty requires more time, more knowledge, more experience, and more trust than ever before. Every child of your generation is in the same position,
I wish I could hand you a copy of this book, for unfortunately I have reached the limit of sharing more excerpts of what I've found to highlight for my own edification... Often during the book, a thought would make me ponder what it would have been like for me to have had a father such as this. Would I have been different? I doubt it. This father who wants to share with his sons but points out that his daughters would receive guidance, about today's world is exactly where I have found myself, only at a much older age. In fact, Ghobash shares that he hopes his children will work to start studying and considering exactly what their position is on any given subject. While he shares his own thoughts and opinions, he acknowledges that each of them will also have to do the same, because the world is changing constantly and we must be prepared to live within this world, as it is... Yes! I cried!
Why are so many living on the words of those who have lived hundreds of years ago? Is this what was gained by receiving a message from God? Did God not expect us to receive His words and then take it on ourselves to study and learn and continue ongoing study as to how what they had been taught could be applied within present circumstances and surroundings? And, if you think about it, that is exactly what the majority of people have done--have had to do to continue to live within the world as it is?
Much of the book speaks of learning the Quran--indeed in early times they were forced to be able to recite the book... But then, having learned much, questions would start. One of the major ones that Ghobash discusses is the claim that their religion is a religion of peace... That is the basis by which they teach... But, of course, as the religion spreads, and it is felt that their religion of peace is perfect and should be the only religion, then it is determined by some of their faith, that force must be used to bring about acceptance...
Deja Vue anybody? For isn't that what is now happening, perhaps, again, as has occurred in Christianity? And other religious groups? In fact, what is happening now in the United States, is not even the first time it has happened... with only one difference for us... The government is the fanatics who are attempting to force violence to make us live as they think we are supposed to... And, really, even worse is being done now, if you consider the movement against our own citizens who are not white.
This book covers every single topic that has become an issue for those living right now in the U.S. Guns, Sexuality, different religions, different people, books and activities beyond religion... Anything each of us has had questions about, but were afraid to ask, or asked and was denied an answer or just ignored... This author had been there, done that, and started to think for himself... And did not want to do the same thing to his children... That, really, is what this book is about!
Truth is obviously a key point made... How can the leaders tell Muslims that they are a religion of peace and then somebody who uses the same name, begins to kill those not of the same religion? Isn't that the same as the Crusades, Al-Qaeda, or Christian Nationalists? Choosing to use violence to mandate a God of Love? How bad can it get? When the Jewish country are murdering Palestine people, isn't that the same? So let's not pretend that anybody has the right to use violence against anybody else because of religion! (or any other reason for that matter.)
Responsibility (and accountability) - What father could forget to talk about childrens' need to accept responsibility for their own actions... Why continue to look toward other countries, when the United States has become worse... What do I mean? Well, does it really make sense that a "war on drugs" means blowing up boats without knowing who the occupants of that boat are? And yet, there is nobody stopping that action by our president who feels he owes nobody even a word of accountability? When did the power of the presidency change?
I realized that since I rarely review books on request these days, that I should clarify that when I choose to "discuss" a book rather than review it, as normal, I will be including more opinion rather than just highlighting the book's content. This has been especially true for this book... As you know, during the presidency of DJT, there was an immediate ban on Muslims coming into our country during first term... Now it has become broader, and shall I bluntly point out what everybody has seen...only "white" people are truly welcomed into The nation that once offered... "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free..." I really want to know. What has changed? Why are we seeing foreign students taken off the streets with attempts to send them back home. Where has the hate come from? Or was it always here? I doubt it or I would have seen in during my campus career...
But I do want to recommend this book to everybody, no matter your faith. I was literally shocked to read a wonderful book by someone who our president tried to ban from our nation... Lumping an entire group of people for those few who cause violence is just not right! And, especially now, since that same man is destroying our country... through violence, and more!
