Destiny's Gate

by Lee Bice-Matheson

  I had finally perfected the art of crossing the brook without falling in. This gave me confidence on my journey. Ascending the ridge could be trickier at this time of year. I stopped to retrieve my leather gloves with suede palms so I could hold onto the tree branches and rocks when necessary. Climbing in the cooler weather always took the wind out of me. It seemed to be heavier air and effected my breathing. I took notice of this and rested when needed. Finally atop the crest, and achieving my goal, I scanned the estate. It was awe-inspiring to say the least and worth every step of the way. Everything glistened in the sunlight. It looked like an artist had swept a paint brush over the entire estate, making it appear magical as glints of light sparkled from the manor, the guest house and random places throughout the forest. Glancing over at the cottage, everything appeared to be normal. The recollection of Halloween made me shiver as I thought of zombie-like Dexter, when he chased Carole and I, and we had become trapped in the cottage with wolves surrounding us, acting as our sentries; now, it seemed like a nightmare.

  After leveraging a hook over a sturdy branch of an ancient oak tree and securing a rope tied around my waist to prevent my fall to the rocks below, little by little, I descended the ridge. I was grateful Dexter had taught me how to rock climb. Never did I think I would learn so many different skills on the O’Brien Estate, and especially from him. I missed Dexter so much and accepted that what had happened was beyond his control. I wished I had paid more attention to him while he was still alive. Next, I envisioned Conall lying at the bottom of the ridge, with his sister, Mackenzie, sprawled next to him. It was heart breaking to know that was how they had perished so very long ago, without their parents to protect them. I quickly snapped out of it and forged ahead.

  As I reached the valley, I was grateful the tall grasses were beaten down for an easier walk. Of course, there were no bees to bother me yet, so that also made me happy. I noticed animal tracks, probably wolves. They were easy for me to spot now that I was one of them. My senses were heightened and I could smell a familiar musky scent. It was Blue-Eyes ahead. What is he doing here? Stealthily approaching the cottage, I keenly surveyed the surrounding area to see if anyone was hidden from sight; thankful, no further signs were detected. As I rounded the corner of the cottage and peered in through the broken window, I spied Blue-Eyes leaning over someone. I cautiously approached, and when nearing the doorway, heard Trixie groaning; I burst into the cottage and watched as she rolled around on the floor.

  “Blue-Eyes, what’s happening?”

  I backed up, as he turned around and snarled at me. This was not a good sign. He growled and then let out a wounded howl. The back of my neck felt prickly. Is it a warning? When I looked back towards Blue-Eyes, I noticed Archangel Michael with his healing hands on Trixie. Not sure what was going on, I knew not to say a word. Blue-Eyes transformed into Allan Brewer and he sprinted over to hug me tightly. I struggled to breathe.

  “Thanks for coming, Paige. I need you here. Trixie had a fight in the night and I don’t know the details, yet. Michael will save her! I’m so glad you answered my call,” Allan said, tears streaming down his face.

  Thinking to myself, what call? I hugged him and reassured him, “Everything will be fine.”

  Allan responded, “Glad to hear you say that, Paige.”

  “Have faith, all will be well.” Where do these grown-up sayings come from?

  Michael hovered over Trixie for most of the morning. Finally, he turned to us and said, “She’ll recover, now. Trixie just needs a lot of rest. What happened, Allan?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve been waiting for her to wake up. Are you sure she’ll be okay?” Allan asked in a whisper, as if he was unsure he wanted to know the answer.

  “Yes. I am sure. Paige, you could have done the healing, remember? You have healing hands too. Perhaps that’s why Allan called you here today?” Michael looked from me to Allan.

  “I came to the cottage to find something in the library. I really don’t think I answered your call at all, Allan. I had a sudden urge to look for a book.” I studied the two of them feeling confused.

  “Sometimes, we answer the call without realizing it — acting on autopilot. You had a strong urge to come to the cottage — the call from me; and your human mind told you it was to look for a book. And, here you are, travelling through the forest and over the ridge at an extremely dangerous time of the year. Think about it, Michael’s right,” Allan added.

  “Please, don’t forget I’m just getting the hang of how all of this works, Allan.” I looked at Michael for further enlightenment, eyebrows raised.

  “Discovering our gift is a process, Paige, a testing of ourselves. Your first hint was the strong urge to come to the cottage on the first day of spring, with the winter weather still looming. Yes, luckily the weather is clear today — nice and sunny, not too much snow on the ground. However, we all know that the snow can come at any time, and out of the blue. You still arrived here at Allan and Trixie’s time of need. To take it a step further, your healing hands were needed; I was called upon by Allan and came to assist. Next time, you’ll know you are indeed answering a Divine call for help. Trust me.” Michael smiled at me.

  Thank you for helping me to understand myself and this gift better.” I bowed my head as a sign of respect.

  “We are all One. You are here and that’s what matters most,” Allan interjected. He clasped my hand and I was shocked at how on fire his was.

  Michael and Allan stepped off to the side to talk, and I watched as Trixie lay still, hoping she would soon wake up. Michael announced he had to leave and Allan said he’d stay and look after his stepdaughter. Allan pointed at the bookshelves, reminding me of the reason I believed I had come to the cottage.

  Novels were arranged on the shelves, alphabetically by the authors’ surnames: Jane Austen of Pride and Prejudice, 1813; Charlotte Bronte of Jane Eyre, 1847; Leo Tolstoy of War and Peace, 1869. The copies were ancient and I wondered if they could actually be first editions. Whose library is this, exactly? A light bulb went off in my head — why Conall’s family, of course.

  Plopping down onto a foot stool, I began to scan through the dusty books, enamoured with the collection. I gingerly flipped the pages of these classic books until I stumbled upon a poetry collection by none other than Edgar Allan Poe. There he was again — like the stone puzzle I had pieced together with his poem Alone engraved upon it in our family cemetery. I thought of Conall’s mother, Sasha Grace, the stone angel, who transformed as a result. She was a sight to behold when she had first materialized in the summer.

  Hesitant to pick the book off the shelf, I turned to watch Allan with Trixie; they had disappeared. Am I in a time warp? It felt as if I was in a trance as I retrieved Poe’s book, carefully turning the pages, one by one, until I found it! I knew, in my heart as my pulse raced, that this very poem was the next key to what was happening upon the estate. I heard a tiny voice state — the only way to read Poe is aloud, in order to understand him. Like someone nudged me from behind, I rather embarrassedly began to recite the poem for all to hear; my voice lowered:

  Spirits of the Dead

  Thy soul shall find itself alone

  ‘Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone-

  Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

  Into thine hour of secrecy:

  Be silent in that solitude,

  Which is not loneliness-for then

  The spirits of the dead who stood

  In life before thee are again

  In death around thee-and their will

  Shall overshadow thee: be still.

  The night-tho’ clear-shall frown-

  And the stars shall look not down,

  From their high thrones in the heaven,

  With light like Hope to mortals given-

  But their red orbs, without beam,

  To thy weariness shall seem

  As a burning and a
fever

  Which would cling to thee for ever.

  Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish-

  Now are visions ne’er to vanish-

  From thy spirit shall they pass

  No more-like dew-drop from the grass.

  The breeze-the breath of God–is still-

  And the mist upon the hill

  Shadowy-shadowy-yet unbroken,

  Is a symbol and a token-

  How it hangs upon the trees,

  A mystery of mysteries!

  At the conclusion of reading Spirits of the Dead, I shivered, remembering the day grandpa repeated several of the verses in an otherworldly voice. Here it was in black and white. What does it mean? I had been through several spiritual episodes before the move to O’Brien Manor and many more since I had first arrived, but this one made my skin crawl. It was like someone had entered my body and read the words aloud to me.

  Collapsing onto the closest chair, I rubbed my forehead experiencing the sudden onset of a massive headache. All alone, in this web of confusion, I sensed an imminent evil closing in. I heard strumming on a guitar and a bluesy voice singing:

  I got to keep movin’, I’ve got to keep movin’,

  Umm-mm-mm-mm, blues fallin’ down like hail, blues fallin’ down like hail

  And the day keeps on worrin’ me, there’s a hellhound

  on my trail,

  Hellhound on my trail, hellhound on my trail.

  The name Robert Johnson floated into my mind. I had to disagree with the singer as I knew the hellhounds I had been in contact with, were now my frenemies; friends and enemies rolled into one!

  Drifting in and out of sleep, it was difficult for me to gather my energy to return to O’Brien Manor. The day was slipping by and I was happy to solve the mystery behind grandpa’s random outbursts quoting a poem, once again, by poet Edgar Allan Poe. My curiosity had peaked as to who this gentleman once was and what was the meaning behind his morbid observations. In an odd way I appreciated his references to the afterlife — that it did exist. It gave me great comfort and I believed grandpa recited Spirits of the Dead as urged to by a spirit from the Otherworld. While mulling this over, I sensed a powerful presence nearby and knew this spirit was magnanimous and one that would truly change me forever.

  Now you know the Truth, dear child that you have been seeking all along; humans can be good or evil, both in the same body. There is a continuous fight between the two, until spiritual form has been achieved. Yes, Paige, through death is the rebirth of your consciousness, your soul’s spiritual journey. You become energy. And if you have lived a good life, you get to move on and help those on earth, from the spirit world — Nirvana. If you have not learned the lessons you needed to in this lifetime, you are reborn again until you do. Sometimes, angels are called upon to return to the earthly plane to help those in need. Now you have seen souls that refuse to leave the earth and they walk amongst the living. As time passes, they can become true evil. They forget who they once were and the people that loved them, and act from a place of anger and hatred. Not all see the spirits walking amongst them — it is not their journey. That is for souls like you that have chosen to come back and fight the good fight for all of humanity. Lost souls influence people to become their own worst nightmare. They can become murderers, thieves...or abusive family. Your family is from a long line of transitioners that clear negative energy from the earthly plane. What you have done for humanity, no one will ever know, except you, your family, the Angels and I. With a booming voice, He telepathically declared, And now, my child, my soldier, you are readied for battle, your soul’s journey. This is your destiny, Paige. Believe it!

  Eyes glazed, I sat in silence, ingesting the words spoken. I telepathically asked, who are you? I envisioned a tall, lean man, with long, white hair and robe, hands outstretched, hovering about three feet off the ground, speaking to me and He proclaimed, Look up Genesis, one point one to one point three. Read it and you’ll know. I scrambled to the book shelf and found a white, leather bound copy of the Bible, King James Version. Flipping quickly to the page I was directed to read, it was written:

  The Creation

  1.1 In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.

  1.2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

  1.3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

  My eyes widened and my body trembled as I absorbed the truth right there in front of me. The matter of fact voice that came to me often offering comfort, or help, was...God! My body relaxed as I continued to stare up at Him. Am I having a break with reality?

  My child, you are one of the chosen ones because of your pureness of heart. This is your reality, Paige. He smiled and then floated high above me until I could no longer see Him.

  Glancing out the cottage window, tiny snowflakes began to fall, dancing as they passed by my view. The words, destiny’s gate, popped into my mind accompanied with a vision of Peggy’s white picket fence and welcoming gate. It made me conscious that the day I walked through the gate...well...that was only the beginning of my spiritual journey. And God had indeed spoken.

  Let the spiritual battles begin. Semper fidelis, resounded in my mind and although I did not know the exact meaning, I knew it was a battle cry. Game on!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  J.R. Matheson, thank you...thank you for your valuable input, insights and intuition while constructing the skeleton, then the flesh of Destiny’s Gate, the second book in the Paige Maddison Series. You are a remarkably talented writer, and more than that, the best son! I owe a debt of gratitude to my best friend and husband, Kevin, the first person who takes a peek at my creative writing. I love you and appreciate all you do for me. You are my number one fan. Thank you for also making sure I eat and then dance for exercise. A huge thank you to Lynn Bice, our Editor. Without you, Lynn, the book would not be possible for readers’ eyes to gaze upon it. Much appreciation to Katy Slana for giving her honest opinion and time spent discussing Paige’s journey. Cindy Slipacoff, thank you for the imaginative sketch of the O’Brien Estate, again. I love it. Thank you so much to the Colombo’s, J.R. and Ruth, who have supported me professionally, and personally, including my family, since I first contributed my narratives in 2009. It launched my career in writing. A very special thank you to Marion Waters for providing the description of the medicine bundle and approval to include in our novel. My co-author J.R. and I would like to express a heartfelt thank you to the readers for picking up Destiny’s Gate and supporting the Paige Maddison series. We hope it will begin many healthy discussions around the table. Thank you, kindly.

  While writing the Paige Maddison Series, I do not read fiction, unless I am asked to do a review, when time permits. However, I do read non-fiction, often, to make sure that what is written does not look like nonsense in our human world. Here are the following books I have either read cover to cover, or referred to, while writing Destiny’s Gate, in the order they were read:

  Travels by Michael Crichton

  Grey Owl: Three Complete Works published by Firefly Books

  Legends of My People, the Great Ojibway by Norval Morrisseau

  The Grand Design by Stephen Hawking

  Science and Psychic Phenomena: The Fall of the House of Skeptics by Chris Carter

  Celtic Myth and Religion: A Study of Traditional Belief by Sharon Paice MacLeod

  The Lightworker’s Way by Doreen Virtue

  The Reality of ESP: A Physicist’s Proof of Psychic Abilities by Russell Targ

  The Last Ghost Dance: A Guide for Earth Mages by Brooke Medicine Eagle

  Spirit of the Wolf by Linda Star Wolf with Casey Piscitelli Art by Antonia Neshev

  American Indian Medicine by Virgil J. Vogel

  Currently reading An Arthur Ford Anthology: Writings by and about America’s Sen
sitive of the Century compiled by Frank C. Tribbe

  Holy Bible, Authorized King James Version

  We would like to acknowledge the magnanimous contribution of musicians to the world of writers. In particular: Evanescence for their song Wake Me Up Inside;

  Neon Trees for their song Animal;

  Muse for their song Uprising;

  Nine Inch Nails for their song Right Where It Belongs;

  La Roux for their song Bulletproof.

  Kansas for their song Dust in the Wind;

  Pink for her song Don’t Let Me Get Me;

  Gotye for their song Somebody That I Used to Know;

  Robert Johnson for his song Hellhound on My Trail;

  John Lennon & Yoko Ono for their song Happy Xmas (War is Over). It was a difficult process obtaining permission to reprint parts of these songs so we used limited phrases in order not to upset the copyright issue. Thank you so much for your inspiration!

  Destiny’s Gate painted by

  Norman Leo Bice, 2002.

  About the Authors

  Lee Bice-Matheson is the author of Wake Me Up Inside, Book One in the Paige Maddison Series, and is the recipient of the Literacy Award from the Readers’ Advisory Panel of Orillia Public Library. She has also contributed narratives to The Big Book of Canadian Hauntings. Lee is passionate about exploring ghosts, spirituality, family relationships, and higher awareness in her writing. She found inspiration for the Paige Maddison Series through the encouragement of her beloved son and co-author, J. R. Matheson, and her husband and best friend, Kevin. Lee, a former Information Specialist, works alongside her husband in his Chiropractic Clinic. Lee loves being out in nature and the only thing to keep her inside is her love of writing. She can be followed online @ http://leebicematheson.ca, www.twitter.com/BiceMatheson, www.facebook.com/leebicematheson.