“Really? What kind of voices?” asks the FBI man, turned-insurance adjuster.
“Do you know anything about speaking in tongues?”
“What’s that?” he asks, though vaguely familiar with the practice, he knows it’s important to let Karen talk.
“Well, the Bible says that when the Spirit of God is upon you, when you are in touch with the Almighty and he is revealing who he is to you–”
DING-DING-DING! At that most inopportune moment, the firehouse bell across the street begins to sound! A fireman bursts through the door and calls out to his supervisor, “We got a fire.”
Bruce Watson, the shift super, gets up from his table, and questioning the accuracy of the fireman’s statement says, “A fire, or just a just-an-alarm?”
As he reaches the door, his young firefighter says, “It’s a fire, sir, we got a phone call from Mrs. Market.”
Overhearing that, Karen’s eyes grow wide! With a stunned expression and barely audible, she turns to Hinton, who is already on his feet, “Oh, my God, that’s the family!”
Hinton grabs his coat and moving swiftly towards the door asks, “What? The one you were talking about?”
“YES!”
He calls out to Bruce Watson who just exited the diner heading for the fire station, “Excuse me Mr. Watson, do you mind terribly if I follow you guys to the scene, perhaps I can be of some service to them.”
Watson yells back as he climbs on the pumper, “You can follow, but I can’t authorize you to … you know, to speed!”
At that very moment the police officer, Mark Anderson, comes out of the diner and says, “Looks like I’m headed over there, you can ride with me.” This surprises Hinton, a little too Mayberry for his taste, but he grabs papers from his car and is in the squad car before the officer can change his mind.
• • •
By this point the fire has the chair in its clutches, and is devouring the curtains, a wall painting and working on the ceiling. Three of the home’s fire alarms are now in full blast and Joanna is coughing, carrying a cordless phone and calling for Joseph through the smoke. Joseph is lowering a rope ladder out his window, and when he turns around to go get his mom, she is already at his door.
“Mom, I’ve got the rope ladder ready,” he says.
“I think we can just go down the stairs my hero.”
So they proceed carefully down the stairs through the smoke. Crouching down, they are able to breathe freely and walk out of the back door. Joseph gets a good look at the fire through the doorway as they pass the living room, and says, “Mom, it’s not that big, I think I can put it out with the extinguisher.”
She looks at him and smiles, “Everything that I love that was in that house is holding my hand right now! I’ve already called nine-one-one.”
Clutching one another to stay warm, they work their way around to the front of the house. The snow has tapered off to almost nothing, but it is still quite cold, though not freezing. Held tight in his mom’s shivering hug, Joseph says to her, “Mom, I thought the rule was, get everybody out, then call nine-one-one.”
Joanna replies, “Yes, yes. Let’s just … let’s not rush to tell your dad about that little slip up.”
“But, Mom,” he persists, “I thought we were always suppose to tell you guys everything—Just say it quick, like snatching off a Band-Aid.”
“You’re right Joe, you’re right; and I’m not saying we won’t tell him if he asks.”
“But, Mom, you guys say that you don’t have to ask if we’ve done something, but that–”
“Yes, I know; okay, okay … here’s what we’ll do: I will definitely tell your dad about …” She gestures with her hand still holding the phone. “But first let’s get the emergency out of the way, how’s that? Mommy’s house is on fire right now, and she’s a little preoccupied.”
Now at the front of the house, seeing the fire through the front picture window Joanna gasps. She covers her mouth with both hands in shock. It has now destroyed her chair, the curtains, and has completely engulfed the wall of the fireplace.
Joseph looks at his mom and reaches out his hand for her. Seeing his hand she is pretty sure of what he’s about to say, and is rushed with emotions. She is proud of her son, concerned about her home, missing her husband.
To the sound of approaching sirens he proves her right, saying, “Mom, we should pray.” She gives her hand to him, places the cordless phone in her robe pocket, and they quietly bow their heads.
As the fire truck and police car approach, the Markets stand there, praying on the front lawn. The dusting of snow causes them to approach a little slower than normal. Hinton in the police car says to Officer Anderson, “Is that them on the lawn?”
“Uh—yes, sir, that appears to be Mrs. Market … and I think that’s one of their kids.”
Hinton quips, “So what’s their story?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are they doing?”
“I believe they’re praying.”
“Sheesh. What, are they praying that their house wasn’t on fire and they weren’t freezing? ’Cause um …”
The officer just looks at him.
“I’m sorry,” says Hinton, “this business can make you a little cynical.”
“Humph, you don’t say?”
The fire team leaps from the truck and rushes past the mom and son to the house. Shift commander Watson interrupts them to ask, “Anyone still in the house, Joanna?”
Through tears she replies, “Uh, no, thank God! Jimmy and Robert are away.” The irony of being happy that her husband and elder son were not there causes her to shake her head with a slight smile.
Commander Watson moves them a few steps further away from the house and closer to the street, and gets a warm blanket from the truck and places it over them. His men are taking care of the fire as Watson supervises via radio.
Just “Like” A Good Neighbor
Over the commands and radio noise Joanna hears her name being called very lightly, but it is so soft she thought it was from the cordless phone in her robe pocket. Turning around she looks pass the fire equipment and across the street and sees her neighbor is standing on the lawn. In fact several of her neighbors are standing outside wearing their winter coats. The properties are large in their development, and there are only eight houses close by, but Mrs. Phelps is the closest in both proximity and relationship.
She is a tremendously sweet elderly widow of about 80 years of age. She has a live-in nurse companion who is equally lovely. It is Mrs. Phelps frail voice she heard calling her. Joanna waves her hand to acknowledge that she heard her. Standing with the phone in her hand, it appears she finally has a moment to take a breath and think … and remember her husband.
“Oh, my Lord!” she exclaims.
“What?” asks, Joseph.
“I haven’t told your dad!” She dials the phone but it doesn’t work.
“The firemen probably turned off the power, so the cordless won’t work.”
She calls out to Commander Watson, “Bruce. I need to make a phone call, I need to call Robert.”
Watson is talking to the police officer and Al Hinton, whom, of course, she doesn’t recognize. Excusing himself from the conversation, he walks over to her and says, “I’m sorry, Joanna, I don’t … you know, carry my cell phone; it’s at the station. Perhaps a neighbor?”
“Oh, yes. Okay, thanks.”
She looks at Joseph and says, “I’ll be right back,” and wraps herself in their blanket.
Joseph doesn’t even notice that she’s taken it, as he seems transfixed on the dying fire; impressed with its will to live. He’s remembering something. Joanna proceeds across to Mrs. Phelps. As she heads away she and Joseph, both, hear Watson on the radio saying that the fire is under control and look at each other with relief.
Truthfully, with the hustle and bustle of Robert advancing at work, and James graduating, getting accepted, and packing and leaving for colle
ge, Joanna has not seen much of Mrs. Phelps over the last year. In fact, they haven’t sat and talked for some time as they did when the kids were younger. “Mrs. P,” as the kids used to call her, seemed to have grown distant since Mr. Phelps died about three years ago. Joanna believes it’s because of the strain of losing a great husband, and also because of the confusion brought on by Joe’s recollection of the prophecies.”
“Is everybody alright?” asks Mrs. Phelps.
“Yes, thank God!”
“Thank goodness, I was a little concerned when I didn’t see Robert or Joey.”
Joanna explains, “I know. Robert’s away and Jim’s in school, remember? Mrs. Phelps, I’m sorry, but I need to call Robert, may I use your phone?”
“Yes of course,” she says; “why don’t you go in and get it, my nurse will show you. Did you know I have a nurse now? Well, anyway, Mary will show you where it is.” Realizing what Joanna said, that Jimmy, the eldest son is away at school, Mrs. Phelps figures it must be the younger son, Joseph she sees there. For some reason this is very important to the octogenarian. She begins to move to her left to try and get a better look. Her expression is one of slight discomfort … even disdain.
Inside the house with Mary, for a brief moment Joanna’s mind is blank, she cannot remember her husband’s phone number! She closes her eyes and collecting her thoughts she dials his cell phone.
As it happens, Robert Market is not asleep after all. He lies in bed looking at the ceiling. “Why did I promise her I’d be asleep by midnight? Me and my big mouth!” His frustration is evident. “Now I’m gonna be exhausted for the meeting. Lord you know I can hardly sleep without her next to me, and this meeting prep is the most important I’ve ever had. Ugh. Now I know I’ll be up all night! This is your doing. You and Joanna never wanted me to take this job! Humph, I wish I could call her. She’s probably sleeping like–”
RIIIIIING!
The phone mercifully interrupts his rant. Seeing the caller ID of a neighbor he’s instantly ready for an emergency. “Hello!”
“Oh, Robert!” she cries.
“Joanna? What is it?”
In a release of nervous tension, she lets go her tears. Sobbing, she says, “It’s a fire sweetheart; we had a fire!”
Instantaneously, and while still talking, he gets up, grabs his keys, an overnight bag, his briefcase, his coat, and heads for the door! “What? When? Where’s Joe?”
Through tears she answers, “He’s across the street, I mean, he’s at our house, I’m across the street. Everybody’s okay.”
“Thank you, Jesus! So, when? My poor sweetheart, what happened? Are you hurt at all?” His concern makes her laugh a little and immediately dispels her tension and worry.
Drying her tears on her robe she says, “Oh, sweetheart, we’re okay. It was about an hour ago, I’m sorry things have been moving so fast!”
“It’s okay. So you’re calling from across the street?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.” He’s proud that she got everyone out of the house before calling.
She follows with, “Well, more on that later.”
“What?”
“Sweetheart,” she asks, eluding his question, “what was that music?”
“Nothing,” he replies, eluding her question, and concealing the fact that he’s already in the car, which when he started it, played the radio for a moment. If Robert could have his way, he’d be home by the time she hung up the phone! But it’s well over an hour drive, and he cannot hope to drive and talk for the entire trip.
Meanwhile, looking out the neighbor’s window Joanna can tell the firemen are looking for her, so reluctantly she has to bring their conversation to a close. “Sweetheart, it looks like they’re looking for me. I heard them say that the fire was under control a moment ago.”
Robert says, “Okay sweetheart, I’ll get there as soon as I can, meanwhile, you remember the insurance papers are in the firebox in our bedroom closet.”
“You’re coming?”
“Yes, of course!”
She is very happy at the news, and seeing what’s going on outside, she closes with, “I love you sweetheart. I think they’re letting us in the house now, so I’ll see you when you get here.”
“I love you more, and I’ll be there.”
She walks out intending to talk to the fire officials; hindering her, however, Mrs. Phelps grabs her hand and asks, “Joanna, did you say that Jimmy was in school?”
“Yes,” she answers, and freeing her hand she says, “but if you can excuse me, Mrs. Phelps, I think they–”
“And so that’s Joseph, there?” she persists; now grabbing hold of the fireman’s blanket Joanna is wearing.
Joanna, a little surprised at her insistence, but wanting to be gracious says, “Yes, that’s Joe—Oh, that’s right,” she interjects as she realizes, “you’ve been away yourself, you haven’t seen much of him the last couple of years.” She adds proudly, “He’s really shot up, hasn’t he?” Joseph in fact stands almost eye-to-eye with Joanna, now.
Mrs. Phelps smiles a little, but doesn’t provide a response. Releasing her tight grip on the blanket, she remains focused on Joseph who is walking in her direction. Joanna finds her fixation odd and says, “Please excuse me.” She returns to her previous path and proceeds across the street to talk to the fire officials. Joseph meets her to tell her that they’re ready to tell them the status. Glancing back Johanna sees Mrs. Phelps still staring at her son like he was the bad seed or something. Though, Joanna lets the issue go, she is purposeful in collecting her son by her side in route to the officials.
• • •
Agent Hinton by this time has all the details of the fire. When Joanna approaches, Commander Watson introduces him as a free-agent insurance claims adjuster who may be of service. Hinton asks if she has access to her insurance documents. She tells them where they are, and Hinton offers, “Mrs. Market, I will happily retrieve and review your papers once the firemen clear the building for entry, meanwhile I will call your insurer for you if you like.”
“Thank you, yes. Wow, this is like a TV commercial or something that you’re here so fast.”
“Lucky for you I happen to be in this part of the state when your call came in.”
As they exchange information, Joseph whispers to his mom, “I think he meant to say blessed.” She smiles at him, enjoying their private joke. Commander Watson proceeds to explain what the fire has done.
Hinton, meanwhile, steps away to make a couple of crucial phone calls. His first one is to Agent, Lauren Coles, who, at that moment is rushing to get to her car at BWI airport; her wheeled carry-on bag strains to keep up with her as she rushes through the long-term parking lot. In the midst of all that, comes the phone call. She has no trouble whipping her cell phone from out of nowhere to answer.
“Agent Coles,” says Hinton, “everyone’s safe.”
“Thank God! What do you know about the journal?”
Hinton, who is surprised by her concern yet impressed by her focus, adds, “It was a small fire really. The commander tells me it only burned for about twenty minutes and that the first ten minutes it was …” he pauses, checking his notes, “isolated, deprived of fuel, so their lives were hardly in danger. I haven’t had a chance to try and locate the journal, but chances are if it wasn’t in the living room, it wasn’t affected. Apparently the local fire inspector won’t be on the scene ’til daylight.”
“Okay. Have you updated the Director?”
“No ma’am, he’s your boss, I’d assume leave tha–”
“Oh, my gosh, I better call him right away. The fire is a major milestone, and he’ll want to know we’re through it, clean.”
“Okay, but I don’t know how much he’ll like being called at quarter till two in the morning.”
“Hmmm,” she pauses; “you’ve got a point.” She sighs and adds, “I don’t know, I really think he’d want to know. I’ll think about it, thanks.” Hinton says goodnigh
t and he hangs up. Lauren stares at her PDA phone, as if hoping it might tell her what to do. Deciding not to call she drives off.
• • •
Meanwhile, pacing the floor between his home office and the living room is Deputy Director Danning. He stares at the ornate clock on the wall, which reads two minutes to two. He is nowhere near asleep, and quite uneasy. This is a real moment of truth for his little operation, and by now if the prophecy is true, something certainly has happened. It can go poorly in so many ways. First of all, this could all be nonsense, the kid and his mom are tucked away in their beds, and he’s just spent thousands of dollars to waste time and look foolish; or worse, he could somehow be distracted by all this while a genuine threat to the president is being missed. Moments like this bring doubt to even the most confident of men. As he walks the hallway of his home he thinks that perhaps the backroom criticism that he’s too young for this post have merit. Maybe a more experienced Deputy Director would have insight that he doesn’t and would have remained focused on more realistic threats.
But he’s got people checking along the usual challenges, and he’s checked, double checked, and even triple checked his findings. But then there’s the decision to use Lauren. What if the kid actually knows something and because he has left this to a young analyst—turned agent—the kid dies? If the president winds up with even a hangnail after a botch like that! He begins to wonder about his decision to place such a novice on what could turn out to be the biggest case of his career. But then again, that’s why he’s got Agent Hinton. He looks over the case file for the twentieth time, and not able to wait another second, decides he’ll send his young agent a message; to help her along a bit. At that very moment he receives a short, short text message, “fire yes, safe yes, journal not yet, hinton on, mu 30min.”
With that he sits down and eases back in his favorite chair and gives a terrific sigh. Instantly, drowsiness begins to stake its claim on him. Before he succumbs, he goes to his computer and emails Bill Ramirez one sentence, “The fire happened shortly after midnight and I’d like to see you shortly after nine a.m. tomorrow.” And last but not least, he text messages Lauren just three words, “Good job agent!”
The Journal: A Prophecy, A President & Death Page 5
