Iona Portal (The Synaxis Chronicles)

by Robert David MacNeil

  “Yes, Lys,” Eliel answered, “every human being has that potential and more. In fact, what you saw tonight was just their first level of gifting. You each have many gifts. And you’re each unique… each one has a different set of abilities. That’s why you need each other. As you learn how your gifts work together you’ll see things far beyond what took place tonight.”

  “Can you tell what my gifts are?” Lys asked.

  “Lys, you have one of the most powerful gifts, and it’s why the enemy has targeted you. You’re what we call a singer.”

  Lys was puzzled. “My gift is singing?”

  “It’s not a matter of music,” Eliel explained. “Something in your life-force produces a sound that can resonate between the dimensions.”

  Lys was still puzzled. “How does that work?”

  “Remember as a little girl, you liked to sing ‘made up’ songs?

  “You’d begin to sing nonsense syllables, and suddenly words you never learned began to flow from your mouth. It was a beautiful melody, and you sang and sang. You thought it was silly, but that was your gift beginning to stir. You’re a singer of songs. The sound of those songs has power.

  “The sound of your song can alter reality. It can change the structure of matter. And most importantly, it can open a portal to a different world. That’s why the Archons have tried to kill you. Patrick has the authority to open the Iona portal, but only your gift can make it happen.”

  Lys was shaken. “You’re saying I have the power to open a doorway to another world?”

  “You not only have that ability, Lys,” Eliel smiled reassuringly. “It’s your destiny. It’s part of what you were created for. You’re the only one on earth right now who can open the Iona portal.”

  While Eliel and Lys were talking, Erin was pondering the comment Eliel had made about her gift. “Eliel,” she ventured at last. “You said I have the second-sight—that I can sense things before they happen.

  “The last few nights I’ve had another recurring dream, and I haven’t been sure what to do with it. I wonder if it can be significant.”

  “What was the dream?” Eliel asked.

  “It was a very pleasant dream at first,” Erin glanced nervously around the room. “We were having a picnic at a beach. It was a beautiful sunny day. We were talking and laughing. It was a wonderful time, and all of us were enjoying the afternoon. Then we heard a sound behind us.”

  “As we turned around, we saw that, just behind us, massive storm clouds had gathered. Huge thunderheads towered over our heads. Wind-driven rains were rapidly approaching. The storm was almost upon us. We quickly scrambled to pick up our things and find a shelter. That’s where the dream ends.

  “I’ve had that same dream the last three nights,” Erin said. “Each morning as I wake up, I hear the words, ‘It’s the calm before the storm.’”

  Eliel looked around at the group and then at Erin. “You can’t imagine a how accurate that dream is, Erin. The storm is coming, and your world has no idea how close it is.”

  After the meeting ended, Eliel waited until everyone but Holmes and Piper had left and then gave Holmes an unusual instruction. “Holmes, don’t go to the lake house this Friday. Stay close to home. You’ll be needed. And be alert. You must be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.”

  ***

  Saturday morning at 3:00 AM, Holmes’ cell phone rang.

  “Hello… Dr. Holmes?” a breathless voice gasped, “This is Erin Vanderberg. Please help me.” There was a brief hesitation. It sounded like Erin was sobbing. “I’m at a convenience store on Highway 380, just north of Dallas.” In a weak and faltering voice Erin described her location, then pleaded, “I’m sorry to call at this hour, but there’s no one else I can turn to. Please come!”

  Within minutes, Holmes and Piper were headed north on the Dallas North Tollway. They turned west on Highway 380 toward the convenience store Erin had described.

  Piper and Holmes rode in silence. They’d both heard the desperation in Erin’s voice and sensed the tension of the situation, though they had no idea what they’d find.

  The Mercedes pulled into the convenience store’s parking lot at 3:37 AM. The place looked deserted.

  Pulling to a stop well away from the building, Holmes and Piper got out of the car and glanced around. The night was humid and hot—over 80 degrees even after midnight, with no discernable breeze. The asphalt under their feet seemed to radiate with the built-up heat of the scorching Texas summer.

  Two rusty gas pumps stood near the west side of the building, their nozzles covered with black plastic bags. A hand-scrawled “out of order” sign was taped across the front of each.

  Broken glass from long-smashed beer bottles and the bodies of dead crickets crunched under their feet as Piper and Holmes approached the building. The only other sound was the occasional whoosh of cars speeding past on Highway 380.

  The store exuded a musty aura of dirt, faded paint and disrepair. The long-unwashed windows served as a bulletin board for hand-lettered signs seeking the return of lost puppies and offering well-used pickup trucks for sale. A long crack in one window had been inexpertly patched with a strip of now-peeling duct-tape. A fine establishment specializing in cheap beer and fish bait, Holmes thought.

  He tried the front door, but it was firmly locked. The faint illumination provided by two security lights revealed no one inside the store. Where is Erin?

  They continued around the building, seeing no one. Finally, from the shadows along the east side of the store, they heard a faint noise.

  By the light of the full moon, they could just make out something dark crumpled on the ground between the side of the building and a broken-down pickup truck.

  As they approached, they realized it was a woman, but she was scarcely recognizable as Erin Vanderberg. The Erin Vanderberg they knew was an elegant and beautiful woman, the envy of Dallas society.

  What lay on the ground before them looked more like a homeless derelict clothed in rags. Erin’s silken, chestnut-brown hair was now a dark, tangled mass, caked with blood and dirt. Her once-elegant clothing hung in filthy shreds from her bruised and lacerated body.

  Seeing them approach, Erin struggled weakly to get up but fell back to the ground.

  Piper knelt down and checked her vital signs. Erin was in bad shape but didn’t require immediate medical attention.

  As Holmes and Piper helped Erin to her feet, she looked at them with terror in her eyes. “Quickly,” she gasped, clenching Holmes’ arm in a claw-like grip. “We must get away from here. Now! They may come at any moment!”

  Chapter Sixteen: Erin’s Story

  EN ROUTE FROM DALLAS TO EAST TEXAS

  Piper helped Erin into the rear seat of the Mercedes and climbed in beside her.

  Holmes and Piper quickly discussed where to take her. Not knowing the situation, they didn’t want to risk going to Erin’s home. They needed a secure location. They glanced at each other and both knew—the lake house. Holmes headed south on the Tollway to pick up Loop 635 around the northeastern corner of Dallas.

  It was too early for morning traffic and the drive around the city went smoothly. Erin was trembling from trauma and pain, barely able to talk, but she leaned back into the Mercedes’ plush leather upholstery and slowly began to pour out her story.

  “Our marriage was always a joke,” she began. “I was just a kid, 22 years old, working as a waitress to put myself through college. I was swept away by the glamour and power. Who wouldn’t be? The man was a billionaire.

  “Rex was 31 at the time, and already one of the richest men in Texas. It was a whirlwind romance… a classic Cinderella story. But I soon discovered what he was behind the façade.

  “For our honeymoon he flew me to his beachfront house on Hawaii’s Big Island in his private jet. But the dream quickly turned into a nightmare. Our second night in Hawaii, he left me alone in bed while he slept with another woman. I found out later that’s his pattern. He doesn’t sleep
with the same woman two nights in a row. Rex even keeps his own harem in one wing of the ranch house—a private one-man bordello for his personal use, and for entertaining his clients. He calls them ‘his girls’.”

  Erin hesitated for a moment, looking down at her lacerated hands, streaked with dirt and blood. “Rex only married me because I had the right ‘look’ for his public image. He needed someone ‘respectable’ to accompany him to social functions, but no respectable Dallas family would let their daughter near him.

  “When I finally realized the kind of man he was, I demanded a divorce, but he exploded in rage and threatened to kill me. He said he would ‘lose face’ if I left him. That was the first time he hit me,” she said, her voice faltering, “… the first of many.”

  Erin took a deep breath as she struggled to fight back the welling tears. Regaining her composure, she continued, “So I chose to make the best of it. At the same time, I did everything I could to distance myself from him. I poured my life into worthwhile causes. I joined the Junior League and put in volunteer hours at Ronald McDonald house. I joined the Dallas Arts Council. I served on committees for the Arboretum and the annual charity ball. I was involved in many philanthropic projects and always gave big.

  “Over the last twenty years I developed my own reputation. I gained the respect of everyone in Dallas society.

  “Of course, Rex loved it. It made the Vanderberg name look good. But he hated me because I refused to be the kind of person he was.

  “But I never realized how much he hated me,” she muttered tonelessly, “not until… “

  Erin’s voice faltered again as she finally broke down and wept, allowing the tears to stream down her battered face. Her whole body was quaking.

  Piper gently brushed a clot of bloody hair from Erin’s face, then held her hand until the sobbing subsided.

  After a long pause, Erin clumsily wiped the tears from her eyes. “Of course, it hasn’t been all bad,” she said, rallying strength. “After the first few months I rarely saw Rex apart from social events. We’ve lived separate and very different lives. I stay in the ‘city’ house in Plano, while Rex lives at the ranch. In exchange for making appearances with him I’ve enjoyed many benefits.

  “Rex satisfied my appetite for the good life. I had an unlimited budget, and I spent big—thousands each month for clothing and jewelry. I could use the private jet and travel when he didn’t need me. Of course, there was always someone watching, making sure I didn’t do anything that could make him lose face.

  “He’s always been a hard, cruel man. You could never cross him. Ever. I learned that quickly. But I never realized how truly evil he is until yesterday.”

  She paused a moment, as if summoning her resolve. Finally she spoke again, “I discovered last night what Rex Vanderberg really is. He’s linked with them… with the Archons. They have their own version of a synaxis… their own portal… but it’s…” She shook her head and looked down at the floor, not able to finish her sentence.

  Gaining a little composure, she continued, “They know all about us… about you and the Irin. And they’re furious. There’s nothing they won’t do to stop us.”

  Just east of Dallas, Holmes pulled into a convenience store and got Erin some food, along with a bottle of Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes. They also bought a first-aid kit so Piper could begin to dress Erin’s wounds.

  As they pulled back onto the interstate, Erin’s story continued to unfold…

  At 10:45 Friday morning Rex called Erin and ordered her to meet him at the ranch immediately.

  Erin had spent Friday morning getting ready for the Dallas Arts Council luncheon at the Hilton Anatole. She’d been preparing for the event for weeks. The dress she was wearing, purchased for the occasion, would easily have set most families back a month’s salary. And that didn’t count the diamond earrings.

  But she knew better than to refuse Rex. I’ll definitely be the best-dressed woman at the ranch today, she thought to herself. Erin flipped her phone shut and, with a sigh, picked up her purse and headed for the garage.

  She took the Tollway north and made a left on Highway 380, finally turning north again into an area of sprawling estates. Huge ranch houses sat far from the road surrounded by expansive fields bordered by neat, four-rail, white board fences.

  This was horse country. The rich, loamy soil in this part of Texas made it an ideal place for running horses, and the horses raised here are elite athletes, both Arabians and Thoroughbreds. Though Kentucky is better known to most laymen, some of the racing world's best-known champions have originated in this small corner of Texas.

  And raising them is a profitable business. A single brood mare can sell for twenty thousand dollars, and a sire for over a million. Those who care for these magnificent animals treat them with great respect, catering to their every need.

  Horse people are usually good, hard-working people. They believe in God, mother, and apple pie, and go to church every Sunday. But that was not the case with Rex Vanderberg. Erin was about to discover that beyond the long driveway, the neat white fences and the cavernous barns, something unspeakably evil lurked at Vanderberg Hills Ranch.

  Arriving at the ranch, Erin turned up the long, arching driveway and pulled her vapor-grey, Jaguar XK convertible to a stop in front of the main building. Leaving the keys in the ignition, she nodded to the security guard and walked purposefully to the door.

  The structure could easily have been mistaken for a country club. Double glass doors opened onto a spacious lobby, and then into a well-appointed living-room-like area for clients.

  Erin strode briskly through the lobby and out the double doors on the far side. She followed a brick path through carefully tended gardens to the private quarters, a sprawling 23,000 square foot house overlooking a private lake.

  But she wasn’t expecting what came next.

  As she walked confidently into the main reception area, Rex was standing with his arms crossed and a look of utter contempt on his face. Rex Vanderberg was a tall, muscular man with closely cropped black hair. He stood just under 6’2” and weighed-in at 260 pounds. Never one to pay attention to style, Rex was dressed in typical cowboy fashion—Levi jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy boots.

  Three of his top hands—or perhaps it was more accurate to say, thugs—Reno, Bryce and Grat were with him. All three were bad news, but the worst was Grat. Grat Dalton was a descendent of Gratton Hanley Dalton, a train robber and murderer in the late 1800’s, one of the infamous Dalton gang. Grat didn’t have to work hard to keep up his outlaw persona. He had a reputation for ruthless violence throughout the region.

  As she walked toward Rex, Erin noted that Reno and Bryce were circling around behind her. Not to be intimidated she walked up to Rex and looked him in the eye. “What?” she demanded.

  His answer was a forceful, tooth-rattling slap across her face. “You BITCH!” he roared, as Erin struggled to remain standing. “You stupid, good-for-nothing bitch.” He struck her again, harder, then began pacing around the room. “You worthless whore… you traitor! You were never good for nothin’.” He screamed in fury, “But now you’ve joined them!”

  “Joined who?” Erin demanded, trying to control the quiver of fear in her voice. She had seen Rex enraged on many occasions, but never like this.

  He whirled on her. “You didn’t think we’d know? We know all about you… about the Irin… about your little synaxis meeting. Damn, you’re stupid!”

  “You’re trying to mess up everything.” He raged, coming closer. “The Archons came here to save us. This country’s been run by the stupid, the weak and the lazy long enough. No wonder it’s falling apart.

  “The Archons are going to end all that. When they take over, I’ll be a king!”

  Rex lowered his voice and leaned down until his face was only inches away. “Well, I’ve decided to let you in on what we do in the real world while you live in your fancy house and go to luncheons. We have our own little synaxis—some of
my girls, along with some carefully chosen ranch hands. We open our own doorway to another world every month at full moon. It only opens for a brief moment, but it gets the job done. Every month, hundreds of Archons come through. Every month we gain strength. It’s quite a show. The Archon’s methods are, shall we say, very entertaining.

  “And I’m going to show you how it’s done. Our way! In fact, I’m going to give you a front row seat tonight so you won’t miss a thing.”

  Rex slapped her again. Then, feeling that wasn’t enough, he reared back and gave her a roundhouse punch to the side of the face that sent her sprawling across the room.

  He turned to Grat and barked, “Take her out.”

  Grat and Reno each took an arm and literally drug her outside. As Erin struggled to get her feet under her, they drug her down a long path to an isolated area behind the main barn. There, concealed in a thicket of waist-high brush and mesquite trees, was an old storm cellar. Bryce undid the padlock, lifted the heavy steel door, and swung it aside.

  Without warning, Grat grabbed Erin by both arms and roughly threw her down the stairs. She landed in a shallow pool of fetid liquid.

  The place smelled of urine and blood. She glanced around in horror to see that the storm cellar had been re-fitted into what looked like a torture chamber. Manacles were fitted to the reinforced concrete walls, and blood was splattered everywhere.

  Fastened to one set of manacles was a pitiful derelict. He was filthy, unshaved, and reeked of alcohol. He hung with his head down, unconscious.

  “We’re calling this one Joe,” Rex sneered, following her down the stairs. “Grat and Reno picked him up in Dallas last night.”

  Rex watched as the men slammed her body against the far wall. Reno and Bryce held her hands in place while Grat clamped manacles around her wrists.

  Rex continued, “Old Joe was going to be the main event tonight, but he just got demoted. Now he’s just the warm-up act. We’re going to have a double feature tonight, and we’re saving the main event for you,” he spat in her direction, “Honey!”