by Jo O'Neil
Chapter Nineteen
The Big Apple
I hugged Freya then bid her a reluctant farewell before watching her with wistful eyes fly back to heaven. I would have far preferred to have been accompanying Freya on her homeward journey. However, I knew this option was out of the question; God and the human race were depending on me to finish my mission, so I set out to do exactly that.
With my invisibility intact, I intuitively headed down The Mall with Central Park’s Summer Stage to my left. Dodging the early morning tourists and commuters who unsuspectingly gravitated towards my honorary angelic aura of peace, I was sandwich between the Wollman ice skating rink and Central Park’s zoo when I saw a figure scattering white feathers. I approached the angelic form who was quite intent on the task at hand, and therefore, oblivious to my presence.
When I was only a step away from the angel’s side, I said, ‘Hello.’
She turned to face me without the slightest hint of surprise. As her large, dreamy, blue eyes which dominated her beautiful features blinked, they turned to green and then hazel before starting back at blue; although I would have avowed they were a deeper shade than the original.
I looked downwards where I could clearly see the feathers she was distributing were magically replenished in the palm of her upturned hands, as the top layers floated away on the gentle breeze which was refreshing Central Park.
‘Do they fly away even if there is no wind, or do you have to revert to scattering them manually?’ I enquired.
‘Hello, Serena. I am Gabriella.’
I don’t know why I was startled by the fact Gabriella knew my name. After all she was an angel. True to her vocation, Gabriella addressed my question in a loving tone.
‘I aid Archangel Gabriel, God’s Messenger. The white feathers take flight no matter what the weather to give humans messages of hope, peace, and love. Some do have more specific tidings, such as the one I have for you.’
As Gabriella finished, the wind stopped whipping the cluster of feathers out of her hand with the exception of one large, gleaming, white quill which blew directly into my right hand which was lazily hanging by my side. Immediately, Gabriella’s halo bestowed a golden light around her which lit her golden robes and illuminated the nine golden words which formed my message.
Bringing my instructions nearer to my astonished eyes I read - You will find Hope Harper at The Plaza Hotel.
I cupped the soft, satin, tactile feather and moved it towards my heart where I hugged the plume to my chest.
As I closed my eyes I said in an unperceivable voice, ‘Thank you, Archangel Gabriel.’
I then turned my attention towards the angel before me and thanked her also. Gabriella acknowledged my gratitude, and then continued spreading God’s messages of promise, serenity, and love. We departed in different directions, but still feathers blew around me as I floated up the centred red carpeted marble stairs of The Plaza Hotel.
I was temporarily distracted from my mission when I joyously witnessed a smartly dressed lady in her mid twenties bend down to the white feathers which flooded the red steps and say to her female companion, ‘Angela, have you noticed the influx of white feathers since we lost Holly, even when we are inside buildings? I saw feathers in the coffee shop today and in the hotel foyer,’ the lady explained in an upper class English voice. Not waiting for an answer she affirmed, ‘I think Holly is letting us know she is at peace and we shouldn’t worry or mourn her.’ With this, a freak gust of wind lifted the pile of feathers which circulated around the two ladies from their head to their toes. ‘See!’ The feather observer happily screamed.
‘My dear Sophie, I do believe you’re right,’ Angela spoke with the same accent as she opened her arms in an attempt to embrace the circling white messages.
Feeling most contented I continued on my way.
The Plaza’s light, bright entrance hall, due mainly to the many large windows and chandelier graced high ceilings, was tastefully decorated in fabrics and furniture reminiscent of the French renaissance. As I neared the reception staff I noted the contrast between the two areas; the reception was gloomy in comparison, being constructed of dark wooden panels which bore the cravings of The Plaza’s elaborate mirrored initial crest. It had a far more modern appearance with state of the art technology and soulless office chairs, which were at least more practical for a working environment than the classical look.
Cautiously, despite my Divine concealment, I crept around the wooded reception desk to an unattended computer terminal and typed into the relevant field the name Hope Harper. The receptionist standing worryingly close to me was mercifully unaware of the ghostly movements of the keyboard and the monitor that flickered from its home page to indicate the hotels guest in question was staying in Terrace Suite Number Four. Freya had been right; the British Secret Service had indeed been extravagant.
I cleared the screen and headed towards the magnificently crafted, over a century old marble staircase as I invoked Archangel Chamuel to help me find Terrace Suite Number Four.
The familiar light which had guided me at MI6 appeared once again. Bobbing lightly at eye level a set distance in front of me, regardless of any obstacles I encountered from wandering glamorous guests to bright blue dressed bell boys, it escorted me to a two story suite of timeless elegance.
Hope was quite alone. She was dressed in clothes more befitting the gym. Yet far from burning up a sweat, she was lazily draped along a chic, white chaise longue, which was positioned by the foot of her bed, flicking through a fashion magazine.
I sat down opposite her, disabled my invisibility, and waited to see how long it would take Hope to register someone was in the room. Possibly a little cruel, however, if the truth be known I was keen to inflict a little harmless discomfort on my love rival, and besides I reasoned regardless of how I caught Hope’s attention I was most likely going to make her jump.
As I predicted, Hope caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye, screamed as she threw the magazine she had been thumbing violently to the floor, and practically ran out of the room. With a flicker of recognition registering, she stopped in the doorframe where she stood, steadying herself with the solid, wooden structure as she turned her head to survey me. And then without warning she burst into a deluge of abuse.
‘God dam it, Serena. Stop sneaking up on me, would you; first your office and now my suite. You’re going to take years’ off my life if you carry on silently just turning up.’
‘Hope, firstly I’m not sure our loving Father will be too thrilled you’re taking His name in vain, and secondly; how would you have me approach you?’
She gave me a contemptuous look before angrily stating, ‘Firstly, stop turning this around to make me wrong, Serena, with your blasphemy rubbish, and secondly; I would rather you didn’t approach me at all.’
‘So you would prefer it if I left you in New York to find Ryan Joshua Scott by yourself?’
For a fleeting moment a scared look crossed her face, and then regaining a degree of composure she said, ‘Where the hell have you been, anyway? You said you were going to help me.’
Her wrath waived a fraction as she completed her sentence so I decided it was safe for me to bypass her question.
‘I’m here now, Hope, to help you,’ I said somewhat tersely. ‘How was your flight?’
My question seemed to neutralise the friction, which I was grateful for as I honestly hadn’t counted on Mrs. Light-Worker making such a fuss.
‘Strange,’ Hope answered as she calmly settled herself back on to the chaise longue. She left the discarded magazine to litter the floor as she crossed her legs and arms in a defensive manner.
She’s not quite comfortable with me, I thought as I wickedly inwardly smiled. Then I asked, ‘In what way do you mean “strange”?’
As the words left my lips I wondered if it was at all possible Hope had sensed the battle of light and dark fought alongside her airplane; it appeared fro
m her recount of her journey, her clairvoyant abilities hadn’t given her access to this sensitive information.
‘I thought Caldwell and I were journeying alone, but when we boarded the plane Fagan and Cain were already on the aircraft.
‘Fagan had a parcel propped up against his chair which he kept his hand on; as if he was worried it might fall. The steward asked if he could store it for him. It was large and quite frankly, it was in the way. Fagan went berserk at the steward’s suggestion. Caldwell and Cain had to intervene because at one point it looked like Fagan might actually thump the poor man for being courteous. His overly dramatic response was bizarre to say the least, and most out of character for the professionally calm man I know.’
I had been watching the large diamond on Hope’s left ring finger to mollify my guilty conscience that my competitor for Rupert’s affections deserved no mercy, so I was entirely justified in panicking her on my arrival.
Still keeping vigil on the precious stone I was adamant would be redundant once God returned me with the promise of a perfect body and my choice of mate, I enquired, ‘Do you know what was in the parcel?’
‘I don’t know for certain as it was wrapped in brown thick paper, tied with sting both horizontally and vertically, but I would guess by its shape and size it was a painting.’
‘Curious,’ I replied knowing full well it was almost certainly the portrait of Cain Caldwell Fagan Hart. ‘Are the brothers all booked in at The Plaza?’
‘Yes, quite disconcertingly they are all in suites on this floor.’
‘I see. Did anything else strange happen on your flight?’
‘Lots more; firstly, when Fagan thought I was asleep he whispered to the other two, “I found Odile tied up in Pandora’s stationary cupboard.”’
My eyes darted away from the glittering gem as Hope proceeded to tell me, ‘Caldwell asked who had tied Odile up. Fagan replied, “She couldn’t tell me. Every time she poised herself to speak the name of her perpetrator, her words dried up. She couldn’t even tell me what her attacker was after.” And this is where it got very weird. Fagan continued to say, “If I didn’t know better I would say a spell had been cast on her.”’
Hope shuddered at the thought of spells which subconsciously motivated her to wrap her arms around her person even more tightly.
‘And then the blinds suspiciously and abruptly closed making us all jump, including the steward who was serving drinks. He splashed Cain’s right sleeve with whisky which detracted from the strange phenomenon as Cain naturally wasn’t thrilled his watch had been spluttered with liquid. The poor steward; he really wasn’t having a good day. Cain couldn’t unclasp his watch quickly enough, and then he snatched the steward’s towel to wipe it dry. I don’t know if you recall I commented on Cain’s watch at our meeting at MI6?’
I simply nodded and Hope continued, ‘Its unusual red face appeared to burn in anger as the alcohol touched it, and I swear I heard a retort which didn’t come from any human presence. On the back of the watch was an engraving. I struggled to make the inscription out in full. I can say with certainty there were three words. The first two I believe said, My Lord. The first letter of the last word was an ‘L’ and the last letter an ‘R’. Possibly there was an ‘F’ somewhere in between, but it could quite as easily have easily been an ‘S’; the writing was quite swirly, and Cain kept smoothing it with the cloth, so all in all it was hard to decipher.’
‘My Lord Lucifer,’ I pieced together Hope’s information barely above a whisper.
‘What was that, Serena, and what pray tell is going on?’
‘All will be revealed at the right time, Hope,’ I said with self satisfaction as I wondered if she found that comment as infuriating as I had when I had been on the receiving end of it numerous times from various Archangels. Before she had a chance to reply I informed her, ‘I’m going to visit our friends, Cain, Caldwell, and Fagan to see if they can give us any enlightening clues.’
‘OK. Serena, please be extra careful,’ she added.
I was struck immobile by Hope’s sudden concern.
‘I’ve a growing feeling of dread that all isn’t as it seems,’ she clarified.
‘I think you’re nearer to the truth, Hope then either one of us should wish for.’
I thought to turn myself invisible, and as I did so I orbed into the next suite along from Hope’s. I found it completely empty of human or otherwise form, both upstairs and down. In the second suite I visited I located the brothers seated in a richly decorative lounge, equal in style to the hotels entrance hall.
An abundance of natural light flooded into the area through the terrace doors. A large, highly ornamental, golden framed mirror had been removed from its hook over the fireplace, and now stood propped up against the opulent surround. My suspicions were confirmed as in its place hung the portrait of Cain Caldwell Fagan Hart.
‘Has the Harper woman had any insight to Scott’s whereabouts?’ Mr. Hart senior demanded as he walked straight through the wall leading from the terrace.
The three younger Harts looked cautiously from one to another before Fagan answered a little nervously, ‘No, Grandfather.’
The look on the three brothers’ faces indicated they were preparing themselves for a ferocious fit of anger from their grandfather in response to the unwelcome news.
Instead, his steely, cold voice proclaimed quite steadily, ‘For her sake, let’s hope she has a premonition soon.’ He looked at his grandsons with his penetrating blue eyes. ‘I will not tolerate incompetence. If Ms. Harper isn’t up to the job she has been hired for, and if she continues to make a nuisance of herself by requesting audiences with Scott’s family and friends, there will only be one course of action open to us.’
He willed the younger generation to understand his unspoken threat which he expected them to execute if necessary.
‘We comprehend, Grandfather,’ Caldwell assured Mr. Hart.
‘I sincerely hope so. Make sure you plan all the finer details this time. I don’t want to hear of another failed traffic accident. Such inefficiencies never happened in my time.’
A cold shiver ran throughout my entire body. I knew the Harts were up to no good for attempting to frame Ryan Joshua Scott, but could they be capable of grievous bodily harm or even more serious; murder? After all, the Harts did appear to be in league with Lucifer. Despite this knowledge, I wasn’t prepared for Caldwell’s next statement or his grandfather’s response.
‘With respect, Grandfather, the intelligence we received concerning Serena Lewis placed her in the vehicle with her then boyfriend, Rupert Valentine.’
‘Excuses! That is what you brought to me, Caldwell. Lord Lucifer instructed our noble family to ensure Serena Lewis didn’t live to fulfill the Divine’s covenant. It was an honour we should have relished. Instead, the intelligence you were responsible for was wrong; and even Valentine walked away practically unscathed.’
‘But she is dead now, Grandfather,’ Caldwell tried to redeem himself.
‘By a misadventure with a cosmetic surgeon, I hear,’ Mr. Hart’s tone was calm with a hauntingly evil murmur.
As the Harts’ conversation played out, I stood stunned. At the mention of my demise and the previous attempts on my life, all of which were masterminded by Lucifer, my blood ran icy cold as my brain, no matter how hard I tried, couldn’t make sense of the news I had just heard.
What Divine covenant? Was the cosmetic surgeon paid to kill me? Surely though, if this was the case the Archangels would have shown me my murder in my life review, and I wouldn’t have felt the surgeon’s pain and distress at losing me. No, I reasoned I couldn’t have been murdered; God had said it was a mistake, and the Almighty didn’t lie so I had to trust this was so.
I was forced out of my thoughts by Mr. Hart senior, who in an escalating rage exploded, ‘It wasn’t as if we hired the man to make it look like an accident. It was an accident!’
The silence was
deafening, so much so I was scared if I expressed my relief the Harts would somehow hear.
‘Just make sure the plan for Hope Harper is foolproof,’ Mr Hart ordered, ‘otherwise all three of you will deal with the consequences,’ he hissed as he vanished back inside his portrait.
‘I’ve an idea to help you,’ Odile excitedly screeched as she appeared literally out of thin air on the tail end of Mr. Hart.
The moment I saw the dark elf I darted from behind the plush sofa into the adjourning room as I was unsure whether Odile, who had mercifully materialised facing the opposite way to me, would see me if I stayed. After all my invisibility hadn’t shielded me from her in Pandora’s office, and even though Ophelia had said her magic would prevent Odile informing on me, she hadn’t mention whether Odile would actually be able to see me. I couldn’t take the chance I would be visible to her in case she acted suspiciously in a bid to alert the Harts that all wasn’t as it seemed. So I hid in the dining area and put my ear to the wall that partitioned the living space as I strained to listen to the evil Odile was about to share.
‘Let’s hear it then,’ snapped Caldwell, impatient for some good news.
‘Central Park is a mugger’s paradise, so who’s to say a mugging can’t go tragically wrong when the brave, young, attractive victim puts up a fight,’ she laughed at the wickedness of her plan.
‘Do you have someone in mind, Odile? If it becomes necessary to limit our liability, the person we would seek to help would need to be capable of forging a murder to look like a mugging which unfortunately got out of hand?’ Caldwell coldly stated.
I felt nauseous at the callousness and iniquity which was at odds with the beautiful room. I wanted to orb on to the terrace to breathe fresh air as oppose to the stench of evil that consumed the suite. But I knew it was crucial I stayed and gathered as much intelligence as possible.
I would be selective what I told Hope. She didn’t need to know, for instance, unless she had some news which would hand Ryan Joshua Scott to the enemy she would be surplus to requirements and savagely deposed of. But I would tell her to quit requesting interviews with Ryan Joshua Scott’s relatives and friends.
I also felt it was best to refrain from telling her the British Secret Service had tried to kill me because of some mysterious Divine covenant, and they had very nearly murdered Rupert in the process under the justification of collateral damage. However, after the unwelcome revelation by Archangel Raziel which effectively told me God’s precise laws of like attracting like was why Rupert had left me, I was tempted to tell Hope that Rupert had bumped his head during his road traffic accident which was the cause of his irrational behaviour to run from my arms to hers.
As I pondered what I would and wouldn’t share with Hope, I was abruptly brought back to the present by Odile’s high pitch glee.
‘Naturally,’ she purred.
‘Odile,’ Cain piped up. I could tell it was Cain by the smarmy undertone to his voice. ‘Can you tell me who tied you up and left you in Pandora’s stationary cupboard?
The silence was eerie.
‘Odile, why can’t you tell me?’ Cain had a note of higher intensity in his voice.
I dared to sneak a peek around the wall connecting the two occupied rooms. Odile was moving her mouth with not only total silence, but also without the ability to form words. If the whole affair hadn’t been so tragic I would have found it highly amusing to watch.
‘I told you,’ Fagan spoiled the quiet, ‘it’s as if a silencing spell has been performed on her to stop her telling us what happened.’
Odile started to squeak at this. Frustratingly for her (which was evident when she began to manically stamp her feet and thrash her fisted hands and arms around), she couldn’t even shake her head in agreement. Finally, maddened by the binding spell Ophelia had performed, Odile disappeared as suddenly as she’d arrived leaving the three junior Harts alone with their painted grandfather.
Supping their drinks in the peace which was more befitting for the surroundings, I had the distinct feeling no more skullduggery would be plotted that day leaving me comfortable in the knowledge I could depart the ‘Hart’ suite to report back to Hope. Just before I orbed, my hearing, which had never been anything other than mediocre, suddenly became extra acute as if something important was being said that I needed to know. Fagan was whispering to his siblings for fear of being overheard; ironically I could hear him perfectly.
‘Do you think he’s listening?’ Fagan shot a fleeting look towards the hanging portrait as his words left his lips.
‘How would we know?’ Caldwell’s tone, which was far above a whisper, implied he thought Fagan was asking the most ludicrous question.
Fagan ignored his brother’s sneer.
‘Actually,’ Cain interjected, ‘I’ve noticed when Grandfather is active the canvas is brighter. It almost has a shine to it.’
All three cautiously glanced towards their grandfather’s unlikely doorway from hell, where he truly belonged, to the world of the living. Now Odile had gone I could safely ogle the painting in my invisible mode without fear of being caught, so I joined the brothers as they thoroughly inspected the texture of the paint.
‘It looks perfectly normal to me.’ Caldwell was the first to speak.
Fagan evidently agreed, and with this confidence he boldly declared, ‘I’m not having Grandfather here with me all the time. You two will have to take responsibility too and give the painting some wall space in your suites.’
Caldwell looked troubled by Fagan’s outburst. He wasn’t keen on being the portraits guardian, whether temporary or otherwise.
‘Fagan,’ he said with charming, velvety articulation, ‘you’re the one most use to Grandfather. His portrait does usually hang in your offices, after all.’
‘Exactly! And I’m fed up of it. My life no longer appears to be my own. I’m positive his portrait feeds me evil which detrimentally influences my persona.
‘Just look at the way I spoke to the steward on the plane. It was appalling, and I’m sure you will agree most out of character for me. I was clutching Grandfather’s portrait at the time, and try as I might I couldn’t let go.’
He paused, shock his head as a heavy sigh escaped his lightly parted lips, and then continued with a calmer air; yet there was still passion in his voice.
‘Even when Grandfather isn’t poisoning me slowly and silently with criminal intent, I’m still under his curse. I don’t seem to be able to make the simplest of decisions without Grandfather dictating my course of action.’
‘He doesn’t control the outcome, Fagan. Surely you appreciate that?’ Cain asked.
‘Oh yes, I know full well. Our grandfather carelessly managed to get himself and his family in league with Lucifer.’
‘Grandfather chose to follow Lord Lucifer, Fagan. No one forced him,’ Cain clarified.
‘No, unlike me who has been persuaded into many unscrupulous ventures, including lying and falsifying my evidence against Scott who is a first rate agent, and up until my involvement Scott had an exemplary service record stemming from his days’ with the Royal Marines.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Lucifer had recruited Mr. Hart who had insisted upon his grandsons’ participation. In evil collaboration they had attempted to kill me over some covenant, and now, for some unknown reason, they were targeting Ryan Joshua Scott.
‘Spare me, Fagan,’ Cain said superiorly. Without Lord Lucifer where exactly do you think this family would be today?’
‘We may not be as prominent in the British Secret Service, Cain but . . .’
‘And don’t forget we wouldn’t be so financially secure, Fagan,’ Cain pressed his point.
Fagan glared at his brother momentarily, as if his last comment was insignificant. Collecting himself he stated in a voice that had dropped a few octaves, ‘At least our souls wouldn’t be damned for all eternity, Cain.’ Continuing in this lower tenor he asked, ‘Do you kn
ow why I had to frame Scott?’
‘No. It was on a need to know basis, Fagan. You know that,’ Cain answered with a tad of frustration in his voice.
‘Well I think you need to know, so let me enlighten you.’
