The Reluctant Prophet_A Love Story

by Karl Morgan

  Book Two of the Modern Prophet Series

  The Reluctant Prophet:

  A Love Story

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Karl J. Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover and text design: Sabrina Lueck

  Discover other titles by Karl J. Morgan on Amazon.com with the link below:

  Author Profile

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Other Books by Karl J. Morgan

  Dedicated to Aida, my wife of 25 years

  This book is lovingly dedicated to my wife, Aida, who has stood by my side for the last twenty-five years. While she and I have not gone through the same adventures as Bea Watson and Zeke Thompson, we have experienced and learned from everything that life has given us. We have learned as do the protagonists in my books that life is a much more magical and mysterious journey than most folks could ever imagine.

  At one point in the tale, Bea tells Zeke that there is much more going on than just a love story about them, but in reality that is never true. If we can just hold on to the love in our hearts and share it with those around us, just maybe the love can grow and eventually cover the planet. If our faith in God and each other was only strong enough, there may never be a need for time travelers like Bea to save us from ourselves. It is up to each of us.

  Aida, thank you so much for making me the person I am today and enabling me to craft and share stories such as The Reluctant Prophet. Thank you for helping me to see the beauty around us and for traveling with me along the winding path that is life.

  Chapter 1

  Zeke Thompson was exhausted. He had been searching for work after graduating from college for months, and now spent most of his days pouring over job postings, looking for some light at the end of his tunnel. He wanted to sleep, but today he needed a haircut, so he drove the half mile to the local strip mall and walked into the barbershop he frequented when his mane of brown hair became unmanageable. He sat in the barber chair with the cape cinched around his neck and Sheila busily cutting away at him. He closed his eyes, hoping to rest a bit since there was little else he could do at this time. He almost jumped out of the chair when he felt a hand on his knee. When he opened his eyes, a thin woman with a wrinkled face and a tattered mini-skirt was looking at him. "What do you want?"

  "Come on out back, honey, and let me rock your world for fifty," she grinned. The smell of alcohol on her breath was overwhelming.

  "Leave me alone," Zeke barked.

  "Get out of here!" Jack, the owner of the shop exclaimed as he hurried over. "I'm not going to tell you again, so get out and stay out of my business!" He took her arm and started dragging her toward the front door.

  "A girl's got a right to make a living, Jack," she argued as she tried to wriggle herself out of his grip.

  "Not in the middle of the day and not inside my shop!"

  The prostitute turned her head back toward Zeke and shouted, "I'll be waiting outside if you change your mind!"

  A random thought shot through Zeke's head and he replied, "Wait!"

  Jack froze and turned back to glare at Zeke. "What the hell do you mean by that? If you want this whore, do that outside my store."

  The prostitute pulled her arm free and rubbed it with her other hand. "You see, Jack, your customer likes me."

  "No, it's not that at all," Zeke groaned. "Just let her go out the back door."

  Jack hurried over to Zeke and pulled him up from the chair and shook him. "You stinking pervert. Take your shit out of here and never come back." He started to push Zeke toward the door.

  "Zeke's a good kid, Jack," Sheila called out.

  "Shut your mouth, Sheila. This is my shop and my rules. No perverts and no hookers!"

  The prostitute opened the front door and began to walk out. "Wait, not the front door!" Zeke yelled after her. She only winked at him and walked outside.

  Jack was pushing Zeke toward the same door when his eyes opened too wide and his jaw slackened. There was a loud crashing sound and the front windows exploded as a car jumped the curb and sideswiped the storefront. The patrons and customers dived for the floor. Both men saw the car slam into the prostitute. Her body contorted and her face slammed into the hood just before the car passed the storefront and they lost sight of it. There was a second crashing sound and then quiet. "How the hell did you do that?" Jack gasped. He released his grip on Zeke and climbed over the broken glass and crushed door frame. Zeke followed behind him.

  The car had crashed into one of the pillars supporting the overhanging roof of the mall. The prostitute was pinned between the car and pillar. She did not move and they assumed she was dead. An elderly man sat behind the wheel of the car. He wasn't moving either. Zeke looked around but could not see any other injured people. He pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

  When the police had been notified, Zeke sat on the curb next to Jack, who was holding his head in his hands and breathing heavily. "It's okay, sir, it's all over now," he said.

  "I'm sorry. I never should have assumed you were her client," Jack replied. "You're welcome back to my shop anytime." He extended his hand and said, "I'm Jack Watson. Please call me Jack."

  Zeke shook his hand and said, "Thank you. I'm Zeke Thompson. Please call me Zeke."

  "Zeke, tell me one thing. How did you know the car was coming?"

  He sighed and replied, "I didn't. I just had a feeling in my mind that something bad was about to happen outside. I didn't know what it was, but it was like a flashing red light and siren telling me to keep everyone inside."

  "Do you have a lot of these visions, Zeke?"

  "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind," he replied. "What a nightmare!"

  "Have you ever seen that woman before?"

  "No. I've been getting my hair cut in your shop for years, and this was the first time."

  "Well, we have seen her a lot recently. But she's usually around here at closing time. Today was the first time she was here so early."

  "It's too bad she changed her schedule," Zeke noted.

  "You got that right," Jack agreed. "Come on inside and let me finish your haircut, Zeke. You look like shit right now."

  §

  It was 4:00 p.m. and Zeke was sitting at a small table in an interrogation room at the local police station. Everyone in the barbershop had told the police about him warning the woman not to go out front. It had already been reported in the local media that the driver had had a fatal heart attack just before the accident, causing him to press down on the accelerator and veer the car onto the sidewalk. The woman was also pronounced dead at the scene. Zeke had no idea what information he could provide, but here he sat and waited. He waited another ten minutes until the door opened and two detectives walked in and sat across the table from hi
m.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. I'm Detective George Summers and this is Detective Sam Wainwright," the taller, blonde officer said. The officer with the dark hair and eyes only nodded his head.

  You guys can just call me Zeke," he replied.

  "Mr. Thompson, as you can imagine, this accident was a terrible tragedy. The driver died before the accident and the woman was killed by the impact," Summers said. "To me, it's an open and closed case, except for you."

  "I don't understand."

  "Mr. Thompson, everyone in that barbershop has stated that you warned that woman not to go out the front door more than once," Summers continued. "Did you have advanced knowledge that this would occur? Were you involved in this incident in any way?"

  "Of course not! I just went to get my hair cut. Next thing I know, she's grabbing my knee and trying to solicit me," Zeke answered.

  "Why did you warn her, Zeke?" Wainwright asked.

  "Have you used her services before, Zeke?" Summers quizzed.

  "No, I have not used her services!" Zeke exclaimed. "Listen, right after she touched my knee, a random thought went through my mind. I didn't see the car crash coming. I just had a feeling that no one should go out front at that time. That was it."

  "Did you hear that, George? We've got a freaking prophet in our office," Wainwright grinned. "Are you a prophet, Zeke?"

  "No, I just had a feeling, that's it. It's never happened before and I doubt it will happen again."

  "Mr. Thompson, we have nothing on you, and you are free to go," Summers stated. The two officers stood up. "But do you mind if we try a little experiment, Zeke?"

  "What are you talking about, George? This is very irregular," Sam noted.

  "Hey, it's just in fun. I already told him he could go," Summers laughed. "Zeke, shake each of our hands and tell us something about our futures." Zeke stood and backed up to the mirror behind him.

  "Just go, Zeke. Don't listen to my partner," Wainwright said.

  "What's the big deal about shaking the guy's hand?" Summers argued. "You go first, Sam."

  The other officer glared at his partner for a moment, and then extended his hand. "Zeke, it was a pleasure to meet you."

  Zeke inched forward as though the man's hand was a ball of fire. He raised his right arm slowly and slipped his hand into Sam's and shook it. "Pleasure to meet you too."

  "Anything?" Summers asked. Both men were staring at Zeke.

  "I think your wife is pregnant," he squeaked.

  Both officers laughed out loud. When he could speak, Wainwright said, "That's a good one, Zeke. My wife and I have been trying for years and nothing. Her gynecologist told her we should give up and consider in vitro."

  "I'm sorry," Zeke sighed.

  "Now it's my turn," Summers grinned, shoving his open palm toward Zeke, who took it gingerly and shook it. "Well?" he asked as they separated.

  "I don't think I should say any more," Zeke groaned as he walked backward toward the wall behind him.

  "Oh come on! You told Sam and it was hilarious. You have to tell," George begged.

  "I don't know. Can I leave now?"

  "It's okay, Zeke," Sam interjected. "We laughed about mine. Tell us."

  Zeke looked down at the floor and mumbled something under his breath. "What did you see?" George urged.

  "Your wife knows all about Stacey," Zeke sighed.

  George's face turned bright red, and he started to move toward Zeke. "You son of a bitch! I'll get you for that!"

  Sam grabbed his partner and pushed him to the opposite wall. He turned his head to Zeke and said, "You better get out of here now!" Zeke moved toward the door, staying as far from the police officers as possible. He left the room and closed the door behind him, making a beeline for his car. "What the hell is wrong with you, George? Do you want to get fired and lose your pension? Forget it. That stupid kid doesn't know shit."

  George's arms went limp, and he leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, partner. I just couldn't believe what he said."

  "He made it up, George, just like he made up the story about Shirley being pregnant!"

  "No, Sam. The kid was right. I've been having an affair with Stacey Jones for almost a year now. How could Zeke know that? And if he's right, and Maryann knows too, my marriage is over," George groaned.

  "Our Stacey Jones? Detective Captain Stacy Jones?" Sam asked. George only nodded his head. "Oh my God!"

  §

  Zeke arrived at his parent's home in Chula Vista, California, in ten minutes flat. The traffic lights seemed to change to green just as he approached each intersection. He unlocked the front door and flew up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him. Zeke kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his head. "What is going on with me?" he thought. "I must be losing my mind!" After a few minutes, he heard familiar scratching at the door. He rose and opened it for his dog, Chachis. The small poodle jumped up on the bed and waited for him. When he had climbed back into bed, the dog began to lick his face and jump about, wanting to play fetch, but Zeke was not in the mood. He rolled onto his side and the dog curled up next to him. Chachis was lucky, though. She fell asleep in a minute, while the memories of his day kept rattling around in Zeke's head. After ten minutes of fighting the thoughts, he stood and walked over to a small bookcase and removed the last of a long line of notebooks. He opened it to the first blank page and wrote:

  "September 21, 2014. A horrible day, first I was propositioned by a hooker while getting a haircut. Then she was killed by a car, and I ended up in the police station. I don't think those guys will be very friendly in the future."

  He stared at the words and considered tearing out the page. He took his pen and wrote a final sentence.

  "Three visions, one of which came true already. RIP."

  He closed the notebook and pressed it back in its place on the shelf. He pulled the notebook next to that one and looked at the cover. It read, "ZT Journal. August 2012 to November 2013. 684 visions; 317 known true." He let his fingers run over the indentations in the cover from his writing and smiled.

  "Zeke, how are you?"

  He looked up and saw his father standing in the open door. "I'm great, Dad, but I had kind of a tough day." Abe Thompson was fifty-one years old, married to Sarah for twenty-five years with one son and one daughter named Rachel. He had been an accountant since he graduated from college, twenty-nine years ago.

  Abe walked in and sat on the bed and started to pet Chachis, who was thrilled for the attention. "Do you want to tell me about it?" Zeke pulled the other notebook from the shelf, opened it and handed it to his father, who read the new posting. "Yikes! I heard about that accident in my car on the way home. Why did you go to the police station?"

  "I warned that woman not to go out of the barbershop, but she wouldn't listen. I guess the cops thought I knew something, but it was just one of those vision things," he replied.

  "Why won't they be friendly now?"

  "They made me shake their hands and tell them something about the future," Zeke said. "It didn't go over well at all."

  "You know, all of these things could be lucky guesses," Abe noted as he stood. "If not, you have a pretty miraculous gift, son."

  "Thanks, Dad, but it doesn't feel special to me now. It's a pain in the ass."

  "There's a reason for everything, Zeke. We just have to follow our path until we understand."

  "Did they teach you that at the University of Iowa?"

  Abe laughed. His laugh was deep and throaty and reminded Zeke of his childhood and how much he and his father loved to watch stand-up comedians on television. They would sit together laughing until they could not breathe. What happened to those times, he wondered.

  "Dinner will be ready soon," Abe noted. "You can tell us more about everything downstairs."

  "Okay, Dad," he replied as his father walked down the hall and then down the stairs. Chachis jumped off the bed and followed Abe, hoping to get a treat.


  Zeke sat quietly for several minutes as he usually did after being faced with the truth of his visions. By forcing his mind to be quiet, eventually he would remember that he saw something, and he was not the cause of the incident. He remembered his vision of Detective Wainwright's wife being pregnant. That was a good thing, he thought. Why did that vision not come true? Why was it always the bad ones that had a habit of being verified? What could possibly be wrong with more good visions? He stood up and stretched his aching back, and then headed downstairs, summoned by the smell of freshly baked lasagna coming out of the oven.

  §

  After dinner, Zeke and his father sat in the family room, watching Sunday Night Football, another father-son tradition that Zeke loved. Abe had a ravenous appetite for professional football. Zeke preferred the opportunity to just hang out with his dad. He knew he would move out soon. He was twenty-two already. If not for the terrible economy, he'd already be working and earning enough to rent his own apartment. He wanted to stay in the area, unlike his sister who had moved to southern Florida three years ago when she graduated. "How's the job search going?" his mother, Sarah, asked from across the counter in the kitchen, where she was washing the dinner dishes.

  "Okay, I guess," he replied. "I'm hoping to get a second interview with one company. I thought the first went great!" he replied.

  "You'll land on your feet, son," Abe stated. "You're my son, so you're smart. It's just a matter of time. Why don't you get us a couple beers, Zeke? It's not football without a cold one."

  "Sure thing," he replied as he stood up and walked toward the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator just as the doorbell rang.

  "Who the heck would be coming here at this hour?" Abe complained. "It's freaking eight o'clock."

  "It's okay, Dad, I'll get it," Zeke said. He closed the refrigerator and walked away toward the front door. He switched on the porch light and opened the door. The two detectives were standing outside. "What is it now?"