by Laurel Dewey
Weyler agreed to Jane’s request before bidding her goodnight. A wave of cold air blew across the parking lot, sending Jane back into the cabin.
Kit lay sound asleep on her bed, the piece of jade perched on her forehead. Jane quietly closed the door and crossed to her computer. Her enquiring mind needed to be satisfied regarding Rachel’s choice of her pseudonym. If you’re going to change your name, Jane deduced, you choose one that creates the identity you wish to project. She typed “Meaning of Biblical name Rachel” into the search engine. A long list of Web sites appeared on the page. Jane chose the first site and scrolled down until she found “Rachel.” The text read: “Rachel (Hebrew) One who chooses to follow; An innocent lamb.”
Jane considered the irony before closing her computer. Kit stirred, knocking the piece of jade off her forehead. Jane crossed to Kit and picked up the gemstone. She sat on her bed, her mind preoccupied, rubbing the surface of the jade. Jane popped four more pellets of Arnica in her mouth before falling back on her bed. For the first time in almost a week, Jane realized how desperately tired she was. She closed her eyes and let out a long-winded exhalation. Her fingers gently caressed the piece of jade as she quickly slipped into a deep sleep.
There was a moment of peace before she felt the panic rip into her gut.
CHAPTER 27
Jane spun around. Breathlessly, she took in the scene. A sparse forest of conifers surrounded her; at her feet lay a cushion of dead leaves. Fear engulfed her. Her rational mind told her this was a nightmare. She pinched her arm and felt pain. It wasn’t a dream, she said to herself. The panic set in far more deeply. She’d been running through the woods for what seemed like hours. Everything felt severely disjointed.
Without warning, an eagle flew in front of her. The heavy flutter of wings echoed in the cold air long after it settled on the ground. It stared at her before flying off into the woods. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine. Jane turned toward the resonance and caught a glimpse of a wheel just as it slipped behind a stand of trees. Instinctively, she ran toward the motorcycle, but the rider heard her boots crunching on the dry leaves. He revved his engine and sped into a clearing, revealing only his back. Jane caught sight of the motorcycle—a baby blue motorcycle with a decal of a white dove on the fender. Jane recalled the description of the motorcycle from the girl where Lou used to live. It was Lou. Somehow, she was standing in a forest, and there he was on his baby blue motorcycle with the dove decal.
Lou never looked back at Jane as he wound around the trees. Jane ran after him, the smell of exhaust from the motorcycle stinging her throat. He knew she was behind him; she felt him loving every minute of it. As she approached a stand of pine trees, she noticed a sleek, black crow perched on a low branch. He cawed loudly, flaring his eyes wildly at Jane. Racing past the crow, she continued her pursuit.
She heard a quiver of wings above her head and momentarily stopped to look up. A coal black raven circled above her head before disappearing into the winter horizon. The motorcycle’s engine slowed. Jane peered into the distance and saw Lou 200 feet in front with his back still facing her...waiting...baiting Jane to continue the foot chase. He flashed the headlight on his motorcycle several times in a teasing gesture. Jane pressed onward, her boots suddenly thick with mud. She was within fifty feet of Lou when he zoomed forward, spitting dirt and fumes into the icy air.
Jane’s breathing became labored. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Just then, a spirited hummingbird dashed in front of her, nearly touching her cheek with its rapid wing movement. It was just enough to send her backward in mid-run and cause her to fall off balance. She landed awkwardly in a tangle of dirt and dead branches, feeling a sharp pain in her already aching back as she hit the ground. Lou brought the motorcycle to a stop far in the distance, as if he had reached his destination. Jane gingerly stood up and peered through the trees. There seemed to suddenly be someone else there with Lou; someone who felt familiar to Jane.
She moved toward them, each step pushing a knifelike pain down her legs. Yet the closer she got, the more her eyesight clouded. It was as though she were walking in a thickening fog bank. She heard the motorcycle’s engine rev loudly in the distance, but her clouded perspective couldn’t determine where it was headed. Jane kept moving, sensing a darkness closing in around her. Within seconds, her foggy vision dispersed and she took in the frightening scene.
Lou and his motorcycle were gone. Instead, another male stood twenty-five feet in front of Jane with his back to her and his head bowed forward. A jolt of terror pierced her gut. Jane grabbed for her Glock but found the holster empty. She traced his body with her eyes. That’s when she saw the crimson blood dripping from the tips of his fingers.
“Shane?” Jane half whispered, her voice cracking in terror.
Shane turned to Jane. His eyes were dead, his face pale and sweaty. “What have I done?” he said to Jane in an eerie monotone cadence.
With that, he pointed a bloody finger to a nearby outcropping of rocks. Sprawled naked on the rock was Charlotte Walker. Her deathly, hazel eyes stared skyward. But there was no sign of blood. Her ivory skin shone spotless. Shane began to sob, choking on his grief. Jane moved closer to Charlotte. She looked dead, but then quite strangely, her torso moved. Jane took a few more deliberate steps toward the naked child. Charlotte’s torso moved again, but the movement came from within her body. Jane held her breath as she watched a growing ripple of energy begin to wave under the child’s belly. The once-silent forest filled with the deafening sounds of birds. Jane covered her ears to stifle the strident cacophony, but it penetrated her senses. The wave of movement grew angrier under Charlotte’s belly until her skin protruded six, seven, then eight inches upward. The discordant dissonance of birds grew as Charlotte’s belly split open. Blood poured from a deep gash that sliced from the girl’s navel to her chest. Suddenly, a red-tipped wing punched through her skin. Then another wing. Jane stood by helplessly and watched as the head of a red-tailed hawk broke through Charlotte’s belly and leaped onto her body. Jane turned back to Shane and realized he was gone. But his voice could still be heard in the wind.
“It’s no use....”
“No!” Jane yelled into the air. It was the bloodcurdling sound of her own terrified voice that awakened her. She sat up, flinging the piece of jade onto the floor beside her bed. Darkness enveloped the cabin. She turned to Kit’s bed, expecting to see her there, but she was gone. Checking the clock, Jane realized that two hours had passed since she lay her head on the pillow. She slid off the right side of the bed and peered out the draped window into the parking lot. There was just enough light from the streetlamps to see that Clinton’s SUV was gone. Her Mustang was still there. Perhaps Kit was talking to Barry. With that thought, the cabin’s front door opened. Jane stood frozen in the darkness. Kit entered the cabin, closing the door behind her.
“Hey,” Jane said softly, so as not to startle Kit. But Kit didn’t react. She moved to her bed in a dazed and somewhat drugged manner. Jane turned on the light switch, illuminating the room. Kit lay on her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and closed her eyes. “Kit?” Jane said in a concerned voice. Kit’s breathing became deep; the kind of breathing associated with deep sleep. Jane approached Kit’s bed and stood observing her for several seconds before saying her name again. No response. Jane placed her hand on Kit’s arm. She jumped, startled out of her stony sleep.
“What? Who?” Kit quickly said, not recognizing Jane at first.
“It’s me! Jane!”
Kit focused and her usual soft expression replaced the disoriented, frightened visage. A lone tear drifted down her cheek. Jane gently reached down and brushed it off her face with her index finger. “I think you were sleepwalking,” Jane offered.
Kit’s eyes drifted to the cabin door. “Was I?”
“You’ve done it before.”
“Here?” Kit said, turning back to Jane.
Jane nodded. “What do yo
u see...that makes you cry?”
Kit shook her head, but her eyes revealed the edge of an otherworldly secret to Jane.
JANUARY 2
Jane woke several times during the night. When she wasn’t mentally wrestling with the disjointed, violent dream she’d had concerning Charlotte, she was attempting to digest the threecheese pizza they’d ordered for dinner. By three A.M., Jane decided it was better to get up than battle her head and belly. She crossed toward her laptop, stepping on the piece of jade she’d flung onto the floor. Picking up the stone and carrying her computer into the bathroom, Jane shut the door behind her so as not to awaken Kit. She sat down on the toilet and waited for the computer to boot up, giving the jade a cursory examination. The laptop toned, signaling it was ready. Perhaps it was the early hour or just Jane’s normal probing self, but she logged on to the Internet and typed the words: “Jade Metaphysical properties” into the search engine. A cavalcade of Web sites appeared. She selected one and scrolled past the drier information that discussed the mineral components. Under the header, Metaphysical Properties, it read: “Jade is the dream stone. Meditating with this stone can bring the realization of one’s life purpose. If one remembers their dreams when using this stone, the information they receive can solve problems in their life.” Jane nearly fell off the toilet as she read the words. Her logical mind screamed that it was some kind of odd coincidence. But there was no denying the unearthly visions her subconscious mind concocted.
Jane opted to log on to the Ministry Forum, figuring a dose of good ol’ fashioned hellfire and brimstone would ground her troubled thoughts. She was surprised to see that the thread, “The Power of Sacrifice” had an additional five postings since she’d left her acerbic response the day before. Jane selected the thread and scrolled down to the new posts. Posters with the names Daniel, Matthew, Joshua, and Timothy had responded to Jane’s posting, continuing the Lamb of God’s penchant for Biblical monikers. Each of them offered their own treacle-rich retort. However, the final poster—the ever-loquacious Manul.Crst.123—spoke more personally to “Mary.mog.”
Dear Mary.mog,
I hear your pain. You ask “How much sacrifice am I supposed to endure before I feel as good as all of you?” I KNOW where you’re coming from. I’ve asked the SAME questions.
Dear sister, who hurt you so deeply when you were younger? I know someone did—someone close to you who should have loved and taken good care of you. My father rejected me, leaving a giant hole in my life. Did YOUR father abandon you? Please write. I feel we are kindred spirits.
Manul.Crst.123
GOD WITH US
Jane stared at the screen dumbfounded. She started to log off the Forum, but then stopped. For some odd reason, this person seemed to truly care. While Jane wasn’t one for bearing her soul, it was late and she couldn’t sleep, so she figured “What the hell.”
Dear Manul.Crst.123,
My father was always there. That was the problem. He was a larger-than-life figure who was respected by everyone who worked with him. But they didn’t know the man he became when he came home every night. Maybe it was his pride that became his downfall. Or maybe it was an inborn sickness that took over and corrupted his ability to think clearly. But it took nothing for him to become obsessively enraged. There was no reasoning with him at that point. In order to protect myself and those I cared about, I had to sacrifice any kind of normal childhood. I couldn’t go to my mother, because she was weak. She should have stopped it. But instead, she took the easy way out. There are no soft memories for me.
Jane read back her post. She was startled by her words and the lingering hatred that entangled them. Yet there was a certain therapeutic freedom in exposing herself under an assumed name. The catharsis served its purpose, but she wasn’t ready to reveal her raw emotions to the faceless masses of the Ministry Forum. She scrolled up to the DELETE TEXT button but, in her tiredness, she mistakenly hit the POST button. Within seconds, her vulnerable declaration scrolled onto the screen for all to read. Jane felt a stunned, sinking sensation take hold. There was nothing left to do but close her computer and go back to bed.
She awoke as the morning light cut through the sliver of curtain. Her stomach still felt dicey from the pizza. Kit lay sound asleep. Jane started a strong brew of coffee and checked the cloudy weather outside before changing into her jogging outfit. The first few sips of coffee jolted her back into her body, quelling the queasiness. She was lacing her running shoes when the wind kicked up and the sky gave way outside, dumping a flood of rain against the cabin. Jane lay on her bed, feeling thwarted by the inclement weather. She withdrew a few issues of The Congregation Chronicle from her satchel and flipped through the 1989 issue that featured “The Hammer of God Will Fall on All Sinners” article. Jane noted her circled footnote on one page that read: “Members must seriously study the book of Isaiah as it outlines the signs of the end times....” She opened the top drawer of the bed table and found the ubiquitous Gideon Bible. Turning on the table lamp, she located Isaiah and started reading.
“You’re not getting religious on me, are you?”
Jane looked up to find Kit peering at her with sleepy eyes. “It’s just research,” Jane said with a coy smile.
Kit yawned. “Learning anything?”
“I’m learning that if you’re a member of the Lamb of God Congregation, you’re taught that the road to redemption is fraught with pain, suffering, and sacrifice.”
“Oh, yeah,” Kit said, still in a sleepy stupor. “It’s all about struggle, denial of carnal needs, infusing the person with guilt if they feel human desires....”
“You mean sexual desires?”
Kit jokingly put her finger to her mouth. “Shhhh. Just saying such a thing could bring a beefy young man with a lovely package right to our door...and I’m not dressed properly for such an occasion.”
Jane chuckled at Kit’s mischievous comeback. “Why did Bartosh chose the name ‘Lamb of God’?”
Kit rolled on her back. “The Lamb of God is the Messiah. I think Bartosh wanted to personify the Messiah, or Jesus, through his Congregation. But the lamb is also mentioned throughout the Bible as a sacrifice.” Jane’s ears perked up when Kit mentioned the word “sacrifice.” “While I’m not a Biblical scholar, I remember bits and pieces from Sunday School. Lambs are sacrificed throughout the Bible. Jesus, the Lamb of God, would one day be sacrificed. It’s a metaphor. It’s all prophesized in Genesis. Abraham was told by God to sacrifice his son, Isaac ‘on the mount of the Lord.’”
“Yeah, I remember that one. Cut his throat. Nice visual.”
“One can’t look at these things literally. Those who believe in the more literal Word of God argue that God was willing to sacrifice His own Son to save the world. Thus, we should be willing to make sacrifices of equal proportion. With Abraham, it was a test to prove his love for God, but God stopped him before he sacrificed his beloved son. The irony, of course, was that on that same mountain outside Jerusalem, 2,000 years later, God allowed His beloved Son to be sacrificed for Mankind. So, you see? The mountain was Divinely connected between one Father and another.”
“God, Kit, you sound like you buy into all this.”
“I think the connection of the mountains is intriguing. I like stories that come full circle.” Kit thought for a moment. “And really, sacrifice is misunderstood. To sacrifice your life for Mankind... there’s beauty in that. To sacrifice your life to save another, even one...there must be some honor in that.” Kit looked deeply into Jane’s eyes. “You understand that feeling, don’t you? You were willing to protect your brother as a child at the expense of your own safety or life. There was no question, was there? You would have sacrificed your life for him.”
Jane’s memory flashed back to that dark, defining day. “I almost did.”
Kit cradled Jane’s hands. “You understand. That’s very important to me.”
The rain stopped falling. “I’m going for a run. We should get moving soon.”
Jane felt her gut pinch. “What’s wrong?”
A smile creased across Kit’s face. “Oh, please. Get that worried look off your face. I have good days and bad days. Today feels like it’s not going to be a good one. Pizza is not on my holistic cancer diet. I need to rest, take some herbs, and meditate. Which reminds me, where’s my jade?”
Jane recovered the gemstone from the bureau and handed it to Kit. “You know where I got this?” Kit asked, holding up the green stone. Jane shook her head. “I found it in the cove near my house in Big Sur. Well, I did live in Jade Cove! There’s pockets of it all along the ridge and down by the creek. It’s a powerful stone.”
Jane agreed with the “powerful” description, but she wasn’t about to share her disturbing dream with Kit. She ran her usual circle, keeping a sharp eye out for Clinton and his SUV. Before coming up on the Cabins, a thought crossed Jane’s mind. She couldn’t believe she was entertaining the notion. Looking around to make sure nobody could see her, Jane turned and proceeded to walk backward for the remaining part of her morning constitutional. By the time she got back to the cabin, she felt pain-free.
Jane popped the cassette tape from her interview with Bartosh into her car’s player and headed out of the Cabins’s parking lot.
“Do you believe in signs, Mrs. Lightjoy?”
Hearing Bartosh’s voice again was strangely unsettling for Jane.
“Of course,” Jane said on the tape.
“They are all around us. At no other time in history have the signs been so unmistakable that we are on the eve of Armageddon....”
