A Journey of Souls

by Michael McKinney

  “That job in Kuwait that we talked about; is there any word on it yet?”

  “Not yet, if it's available I'll know by next week.”

  “Okay, I guess we'll wait and see then, but if it isn't, I still wanna be overseas within a month, preferably sooner than later.”

  “Sure, that's fine. We can do that. Well, that's it for now, that's all I needed to hear from you. I'll get your paperwork lined up. Like I said, I have to run it by my supervisor. Once he signs off, I'll write up the contract, you can have a final look at it and we'll go from there. That's about all we can do today. Why don't you call me next Thursday? We'll at least have your paperwork ready.”

  “Sounds good, Adam.”

  “Good to see you, Tom.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I'm glad you came in today, so we can get the ball rollin’ on this.”

  “So am I.”

  “I wanna get you all squared away before we get moved,” Adam Fischer says.

  “When will that be?”

  “We'll be completely out of this building in one month.”

  “Is that why the work's bein’ done outside?”

  “That's the reason. As soon as they're done this building goes on the market.”

  “Yeah, you said you were moving to Washington.”

  “That's where the action is. If you're a military contractor, you almost have to be there.”

  “Makes sense. Will you buy another building in D.C.?”

  “We'll sign a lease for a year before we decide.”

  “Pretty expensive I'll bet.”

  “You wouldn't believe what office space costs in Washington.”

  “Selling this place should help,” Tom Crosby says.

  “Not really, we'll be lucky if we break even when we sell this place. We bought it in March of 07, when real estate was through the roof, market's cooled off since then. This building is almost forty years old.”

  “Someone'll buy it. Just wait for the right price.”

  “Oh, it'll sell. We just can’t wait too long. It's costin’ us a fortune. We're cuttin’ every corner we can, tryin’ to save money and it's still costin’ us a fortune.”

  “I'll bet.”

  “All this work, inside and out has to be completed in three weeks. That's our deadline. Those work crews you saw outside have been at it seven days a week for over a month now.”

  “That's gettin’ it done.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Okay, well I guess I'll call you on Thursday Adam.”

  “Please do. Maybe I'll know something by then. If I find anything out about that job in Kuwait, I'll call you. I have your cell number. Thanks again for stoppin’ by Tom.”

  After a handshake and a polite goodbye, Tom Crosby exits and within seconds is in the elevator. As the door closes his thoughts turn to how he will tell his wife that he'll soon be leaving to go overseas again, and whether to tell her anything at all. A tempting thought comes to him, why not leave unnoticed and write her a letter explaining why he made this choice? He knows that doing so, would be less than honest but it would avoid something that Tom Crosby finds very uncomfortable. That is a long and candid discussion between a husband and his wife about feelings, about shared emotions and commitment, but most importantly about future intentions.

  Years of living in a war zone have deadened his capacity to experience and consequently express any normal degree of emotional sensitivity. It's simply a language he'd prefer not to speak. Tom Crosby knows if he tells his wife he's going back overseas, it will spark a long and emotionally unpleasant conversation, a conversation he would prefer not to have, so he pauses and says to himself, ‘I'm goin’ overseas. I'm not goin’ through some heart to heart discussion and spill out my guts because somebody else wants me to.'

  His thoughts are jumbled, tossing between what he should do and what he wants to do. When the elevator door opens, it returns him to the present moment and he walks to the front door to leave.

  As Tom Crosby thinks about the upcoming changes in his life, Omar al Shaliki and his sister Adara have just finished a meal together at the food court in the Al Monsour Mall in Bagdad. The familiar scene of mall-goers walking by as others casually enjoy their meals is a welcome respite from the usually grim difficulty of living in a war zone. All seems perfect as they sit and observe their surroundings. Seeing people interact naturally, hearing occasional laughter and the innocent banter of children, even the taste of their Chinese food seems to infuse the very air with a sense of optimism and reinvigorated hope for a peaceful future. Though they finished their meal fifteen minutes ago, Omar can see in his sister's eyes she'd prefer to dwell just a bit longer. The open stores, the human activity, the sights and sounds of people socializing again are all so reassuringly normal.

  The quiet smile on Adara's face is undimmed when she hears her brother say, “We have to go.”

  “I know. Thank you Omar for this wonderful evening. God willing, many more will come.”

  “Next time we come, we'll go to the movies.”

  “You need to save your money.”

  “What I need is a job. I need to be hired to do what I was trained to do.”

  “You will.”

  “The government needs engineers to rebuild this country. I should've been hired a year ago.”

  “Be patient. It will happen with god's will.”

  “I hope,” Omar says as he glances at a wall clock in the distance that reads 9:15.

  “Are you ready?” Adara asks her brother.

  “Yes, if you are.”

  After one more leisurely walk around the food court, it's time for them to head back to their home in al Washash nearly four miles away. Within minutes they've passed back through security checks and are soon in the warm open night air of Bagdad. Once they go through the last security check point at the entrance to the mall’s parking lot and walk the open streets of Bagdad, they know and feel more vulnerable to danger. Despite the possible risk, Omar and his sister feel a surge of confidence and optimism as they make their way back home. Perhaps they and the people of Iraq have reached a turning point in their patient struggle for the return of normalcy. If only for this passing moment, all things seem to be possible.

  Back in Richmond, Virginia, Tom Crosby has concluded his interview and is ready to make the two hour return trip back to Amherst. As he leaves building, he looks at his watch. It reads 2:24. Outside work crews are diligently trying to complete their various tasks before the allotted deadline in a few weeks. A strategy of allowing only one work crew to occupy any one side of the four-story building minimizes the risk of accidents. The window cleaners with their thirty-two-foot-high scaffold have completed the entire front side with its thirty-eight windows and are disassembling the forty-two-foot-long scaffolding frame to move it to the other side of the building.

  The top down process of disassembly is uncomplicated but requires careful and sustained attention. Today, like most days, that job belongs to Paul O'Malley, a man who's worked with and on scaffolding for nineteen years and knows the routine well. As he removes piece by piece, the long pole like metal sections and carefully sets them aside, Tom Crosby is walking toward his truck in the parking lot to begin his trip back home when he hears his cell phone ring. The voice he hears is Adam Fischer's, the same Adam Fischer he's just had a conversation with in the building behind him. He's calling Tom Crosby with unexpected news. As Tom Crosby answers the call, he notices the time. It's now 2:27.

  In Bagdad, nearly six thousand, three hundred miles away, it's 9:27 in the evening and Omar and Adara al Shaliki are strolling home after a rare treat of having dinner at the Al Monsour Mall. The pleasant experience is still resonating in their thoughts as they walk on together in silence. Omar knows of a cafe along the way and has just enough money to buy himself and his sister a cup of coffee What a
perfect way, he thinks, to end an enjoyable evening. Since the city-wide curfew has been lifted, a growing number of shops have been open at night despite the intermittent power supply and the serious risk of terrorism. Omar knows this cafe is usually open and seeing its lights from a distance they know tonight is no exception. Two gasoline-powered generators provide a back-up source of power for this well-lit cafe and because of that, it’s known as reliably open for business to its patrons. As Omar and his sister enter the open air cafe, Adara takes a seat and Omar walks to the counter to buy two cups of coffee. The clock on the wall reads 9:34.

  The local time is 2:34 in the afternoon for Tom Crosby in Richmond, Virginia. The cell phone call is from Adam Fischer who has just learned that the contractor job in Kuwait is available. As their brief conversation continues, Tom Crosby, standing only twenty feet from the building where the call is originating from, moves closer to it to stand in the shade and within seconds is only a few feet from the metal scaffolding.

  Meanwhile working over thirty feet above, Paul O'Malley is unaware of Tom Crosby below and continues removing the metal poles and braces one piece at a time from the scaffolding frame. Below him, at the corner of the building, he sees landscapers working at a hurried pace. They too, are working under the pressure of a deadline and trying to complete their work as soon as possible.

  With his attention focused on his work, Paul O'Malley doesn't see the landscape worker get into the dump truck loaded with mulch and expects nothing awry as he loosens and removes a ten-foot bracing pole. He moves carefully to set it aside when a powerful jolt knocks him to his knees. The landscaping truck has accidentally backed into the end section of the scaffolding with enough force to dislodge the ten-foot long metal pole from Paul O'Malley's hands. As it tumbles downward, one end of the metal pole wedges in the bracing of the scaffolding frame and the other end continues to fall until it strikes a utility line carrying almost seven thousand volts of electricity. Instantly anticipating the danger, Paul O'Malley quickly moves to the safest place on the scaffold. He huddles on the wooden planks as far away from the metal frame as possible.

  His unfailing perspicacity saves his life but for Tom Crosby, still standing on the ground and only inches away from the now electrified metal frame, the danger is fatal. Unaware that death is only inches away, he casually lifts his hand to rest it on the metal frame. When he does, over six thousand, eight hundred volts of electricity enter his body and instantly stops his heart. The electric wall clock mounted above the elevator doors inside the building's lobby marks the exact moment of Tom Crosby's death. It reads 2:39. An unlikely accident has brought his earthbound journey to its end. Tragedy waits for others in this world and not only by accident.

  In a cafe in Bagdad, Omar al Shaliki has just bought himself and his sister a cup of coffee to cap off their evening together. As Omar's sister Adara, glances at the clock on the wall, it reads 9:39, Bagdad time. She turns her head to see her brother bringing two cups of coffee to their table and notices his attention is directed out into the street. Omar is looking past his sister at a man whose fast approach is menacing and he has the look of another world in his eyes.

  When he's only a few feet away, the man screams, “God is great,” and then the deafening blast obliterates everything within a hundred feet of the explosion. Another suicide bomber has taken his life along with the innocent lives of those around him and among the dead are Omar and Adara al Shaliki.

  As bloodshed, bedlam and death visits its fatal confusion on another tally of innocent victims, in a different reality, one impervious to the mortal shock of murderous brutality and violence, two beings of radiant energy are casually walking along a paved road. Once again it's Brianna and her apprentice Calvin Milner. Their nondescript surroundings give no hint about where they are or where the road leads. Calvin sees an intersection ahead and asks his counterpart, “Are we here to meet our new arrival?”

  “Yes we are Calvin. He's on his way.”

  As they walk toward the intersection Calvin sees a small gazebo off to one side and a pickup truck parked across the street from it. Within minutes they're only a few feet away from the wooden structure that seems placed solely for their convenience.

  “Come Calvin. Let's sit down.”

  “Thank you, whose truck is parked over there?”

  “That belongs to our new arrival. His name is Tom Crosby.”

  When Calvin looks down one of the roads that leads into the intersection, he can see on the horizon the orange glow of a sky illuminated by flames. The rest of the sky is darkened, ominous and laden with smoke, and he sees something else. Two figures are approaching from that area and toward the intersection where Calvin and Brianna are seated.

  “There's someone coming. It looks like a man and a woman,” Calvin says.

  “Yes, it's Omar al Shaliki and his sister Adara. They're on their way to their next destination.”

  “What is that place behind them in the distance? It looks like a battle zone.”

  “That's what it is Calvin, a living hell of pointless killing and needless human agony.”

  “Is that where they came from?”

  “It is, but not where they're going.”

  Within minutes, Omar and Adara are smiling at Brianna.

  “Omar and Adara, hello to both of you and welcome,” Brianna says.

  Correctly assuming his presence is not perceived, Calvin says nothing.

  “Where are we?” Omar asks.

  “You're home, Omar and Adara. You're both home.”

  “What is this place?”

  “It's a place of renewal and new beginnings, a place where you both belong.”

  “Who are you?” Adara asks.

  “My name is Brianna and your name is Adara al Shaliki.”

  “How do you know us?”

  “I know all who come this way, where they came from and where they're going.”

  “We came from a terrible place,” Omar says.

  “I know that. The darkness you came away from is behind you now. Don't look back at it. It's time for you both to move forward. You are loved here by those who are waiting to see you again. Look there on the road ahead,” Brianna says as she points onward.

  As Omar and his sister both look, they see three figures a few hundred feet away waving invitingly at them from the road in the distance. They both instinctively know it's their departed parents and younger sister. Adara's eyes well up with tears as she sees them.

  “Go Adara, and greet your parents with a kiss. Go Omar. Offer your tribute of love. Use your knowledge and engineering skills to build a new world of hope and possibility. This is the world you both wanted and so now it is yours.”

  Without words, Adara offers her kiss to Brianna and Omar does the same. Then, buoyantly happy, they tearfully walk together to be reunited with their parents and sister. Brianna and Calvin watch as they make their way down the road and soon see the family's joyful reunion.

  “They look happy,” Calvin says.

  “They do.”

  As Calvin watches the happy scene, something in his peripheral vision catches his eye. He looks to see a man coming down the road from a different direction.

  “Someone's coming.”

  “His name is Tom Crosby,” Brianna says.

  “Is he our next arrival?”

  “Yes he is and we'll deal with him as his condition warrants.”

  As Tom Crosby approaches, Calvin notices something different in Brianna's demeanor. Her manner and countenance changes from the warm gentleness that was so welcoming to Omar and his sister moments before, to something more stern and earnest. Calvin senses a confrontation is imminent.

  After walking the distance to the intersection, Tom Crosby sees the gazebo and his pickup truck parked alongside the road. He also sees Brianna who stands to meet him while Calvin, unseen and anonymous obser
ves.

  “Who are you?” he asks.

  “You should be asking yourself that question, Mr Crosby.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about you, Marine Captain Thomas J. Crosby, veteran of the Iraq War and genuine military hero, a true master in the art of ‘Shock and Awe.’ Aren't those your credentials? I hope you'll pardon me if I don't say thank you for your ‘service’ as you call it.”

  “What's your problem, lady?”

  “Oh, I don't have a problem but you certainly do.”

  “What is this place?”

  “It's the other side.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's like a train station or an airport where people arrive from somewhere and make their connection to go somewhere else.”

  “I don't know what you're talkin’ about. That looks like my truck over there.”

  “And so it is. You'll need it to get where you're going.”

  “And where is that?”

  Pointing into the distance to the dark, smokey horizon illuminated by fire, Brianna says, “right there, Mr Crosby. That's your destination, the battle zone of war and its attendant mayhem.”

  “I'm actually a peaceful man.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I see. Well, I guess this is a case of mistaken identity and the next time I look at the moon, I'll call it the sun. A thing's intrinsic quality is not changed by re-naming it. If you're a man of peace than Jack the Ripper was a gynecologist.”

  “You can go to hell lady.”

  “No, I'm afraid I can't do that. That's your next address Mr Crosby, not mine.”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “What was that?”

  “I know what you're talkin’ about, that day at the checkpoint when I opened up on those people in the car. If you think you can lay some guilt trip on me over that, you're wastin’ your breath. We fired warning shots, they never slowed down. What was I supposed to do, let my guys get killed by a suicide bomber? No, if you're dumb enough to charge up on a heavily fortified checkpoint, then you can expect to get ripped open. It's called war lady.”