The Golden Key: A Quest For Freedom (The Golden Key: Quest For Freedom Book 1)

by Wilmes, Marvin

  She could never bring herself to open the letter. It was the oddest thing. She wanted so badly to rip it open and devour the last words of her eldest son, but something stopped her. Maybe it was because her heart was full of prayer that she might be able to hand the letter to Paul someday.

  As long as the letter remained sealed, a piece of Ray was still alive, still waiting to be given to the world. She found herself obsessed with the idea more than once to find the mystery friend. She had even tried once to track him down, but the Army had not been very helpful.

  She knew the idea was somewhat fanciful, unrealistic, and downright childish. It was a foolish notion of hope, but within her soul, it gave her life a sense of purpose.

  It had all taken on a life of its own when a priest named Father Ezekiel came to the church and gave a guest homily on the ravages of war and the need for mission assistance in places like the Middle East and Vietnam.

  He was an odd sort of a priest as he was very short, graying, and optimistic. His stories captivated her, and after Mass, she had needed to thank him for giving her memories of her son some life.

  "I deal in hope, Missie," he had said to her. "I also know you will find what you seek. Just keep believing in your heart and God will answer your prayer."

  She hadn't even told him she had a prayer on her heart during this Mass that had pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. For no explicable reason, she visualized that she was a guardian of the letter.

  Today, she felt a need to retrieve the letter from its safe resting place in her husband's fireproof safe. She recalled him saying if there was ever anything more precious than gold itself and could never be replaced, put it in the safe.

  She sat on the bed and wept as she held the letter in her hands.

  Oddly enough, this Thanksgiving, they felt like tears of joy. Somehow God always came out of the shadows and touched her heart, gave her faith, fortitude, and the art of survival.

  She was glad God had blessed her with Dave because he always kept her moving toward goals outside of herself...and that's what made her life bearable.

  ***

  Dave pulled out his Big Chief writing tablet from his bureau drawer, then scrounged through his St. Bernard pencil holder for a writing utensil.

  He was determined to write a letter to Santa to ask for his brother to be able to come home. It was so lonely sometimes at night when he would lie awake at night thinking about his brother in a far-off land called Japan.

  Bob often wrote fanciful letters about the country directly to him. Dave looked forward to reading about Benjo Bomber bikes and how Benjo ditches were open sewers that ran next to the streets. His brother described the smells, sights, and sounds of the country and wrote that he had signed up for a Japanese language class with another friend.

  Dave had been delighted when Bob shared with him the reality that mother in Japanese was pronounced haha. He had called his mother that many times, though, she didn't have a great a sense of humor when he would toy with her that way.

  He so loved his mother and was grateful for her presence in his life. One night he dreamed she was killed in a car accident, and he awoke screaming and covered in sweat. When he realized it was only a dream, he had cried. They were not tears of sadness. They were tears of relief.

  His family always seemed to go away just when he needed them the most. He needed Bob now. He wasn't feeling up to this man-of-the-house stuff at this particular moment, but he was thankful for his mother.

  "You're the man of the house now, champ." Bob had pulled the bill of his LA Dodgers baseball cap down, which obscured Dave's eyes from view. "I'm counting on you for that."

  It was such a responsibility he really wanted no part of. He couldn't tell Bob he was worried he might go off to another war and heroically die like Ray did, which would put him in a horrible predicament.

  He would forever be the man of the house for his mother, and he didn't want that long-term responsibility. If anything, he was going to run as far away from the military or law enforcement as he could.

  His thoughts flowed freely as he made his request to Santa. He hurriedly put his words on paper, reread them, quickly folded the paper into thirds, and stuffed it into an envelope. His mother could help him address the letter and put a stamp on it tomorrow, before she delivered it to the post office.

  As he threw the letter on the top of the dresser, he was drawn to gaze upon the plastic Jesus on his nightstand. The figure's hands were outstretched in a welcoming pose and the Sacred Heart seemed to beckon him.

  He knelt by his bed.

  "Dear God, please bring my brother home this Christmas. I really do want to see him. I miss him so and he has given me so much. It would be good for Mom, too. Amen."

  It was his safety net prayer. Even though he thought Santa could do anything, he most certainly hoped God could. If neither one could pull this request off, then maybe neither one was real.

  He struggled with those questions every day as he witnessed his mother's daily struggles. He suddenly felt a need to leave his bedroom and ask her if she wanted to play a game of checkers like Bob always did.

  He knew her answer would probably be no.

  He paused by the statue of Jesus.

  "Please God, send Mom a man that can help her face the world every day. I'm only seven. I know you want me to be the man of the house, but there are times that, well, there are times that job is just too big for me."

  ***

  Paul popped two quarters into the Coke machine. As he heard the plunk of the coins and he selected a drink, he had a minor sensation of enemy fire echoing in the distance around him.

  He closed his eyes to ward off the scene.

  He heard the cup drop and the liquid pour into the container.

  He pulled the cup out of its slot, then took a long sip of the carbonated liquid.

  His senses came alive as he let the carbonation explode inside his mouth. It was a refreshing action. How come he'd never taken the time to feel that sensation so acutely before?

  "Thanks, son." He felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "You have given everyone an incredible gift today. You brought us all out of our comfortable existences and brought us here to share a bit of ourselves with Anita."

  "No problem, Dad, Coke?"

  "I'll have a coffee. Thanks."

  "Coming right up."

  "You know, the vigil around your Aunt Alice wasn't very forthcoming. We all feared the sterile environment of the hospital, when all she really needed was our presence, nothing more."

  "You did fine by Aunt Alice."

  "Oh, I know, but I always felt like I could have done more, you know. Seeing her waste away like she did, there was nothing pleasant about that. But each day she was here, was a day she was a gift. I think I sometimes overlooked that."

  Paul suddenly saw his father in a new light with that comment. He saw the pain in the elder man's face and felt the need to reach out to him.

  They embraced.

  His father didn't withdraw, instead he fell fully into his son's arms.

  "It's your turn, son."

  "I wish Roger were here."

  There was a brief moment of silence that hung in the air between the two men.

  "I told Anita that whatever happened in the future, I was glad she became involved in my son's life. Somewhat selfish of me maybe."

  Paul tapped his father on the shoulder as he handed him the cup of coffee, which had just been delivered by a mechanical machine.

  "Not selfish at all. Simply the truth."

  Paul finished off his Coke and left his father in solitary reflection as he headed to Anita's room.

  ***

  The murmur of voices had been thunderous in her unconscious mind. Anita wasn't really sure what was happening, but she felt loved, she felt weak, and she felt nauseated.

  Nothing was making very much sense in this brain fog she was experiencing, but as her mind focused on the droning voice, she came to realize it was Pau
l.

  In her semiconscious state, she tried hard to grab onto the words he was saying. There were only bits and pieces.

  "I know about the trip...I know how torn you were between two loves...I only hope you will focus on yourself right now...I don't want you to live for us...live for life."

  The words were fading in and out, and she felt her spirit leaving her body. She seemed to rise up and hover over the bed, and she momentarily felt sorry for Paul as he desperately tried to communicate with her.

  She didn't know what to do to stay grounded. She wanted to hang onto every word he was saying. She wanted to do what he was saying. She wanted to live for life.

  But the power that was calling her was stronger than his soliloquy at her bedside.

  She wanted to tell him she understood, but the call was too great.

  She entered into a tunnel of light and consciousness left her.

  Part VI: Chapter Six

  Anita heard the waves crashing against the beach as she slowly regained her vision, and she was amazed that the pain in her body had vanished. She felt energy pulsating within her and felt as if she were floating in the air as light as a feather.

  What a wonderful sensation, she thought.

  She looked around her and was taken aback by the beauty of this island paradise. Her nostrils were overwhelmed with the fresh seaside air. Tentatively, she got to her feet and was surprised that none of her earthly limits were present.

  She was convinced she had died. She remembered the whispers and murmurs of her parents at her bedside. She was especially moved by her dad's confessions of love. She really was not ready to leave this world, but yet again, if this were heaven, it might not be such a bad idea.

  In the distance, she saw the church nestled at the base of the green hills. She decided to walk toward it. She didn't know how to give a voice to what she was feeling or seeing.

  As she neared the church, she was intrigued by the horses that were grazing nearby. She approached the beige-colored one and gently petted it as it snorted and nodded its approval.

  "Isn't this the grandest land of all?"

  She was startled by the voice. She turned to see who had invaded this majestic paradise wondering if she were about to meet the legendary St. Peter at the gates of heaven.

  She was mortified to see her late-night visitor from a year ago. "Zeke." His name fell from her lips with no effort on her part.

  "You are one very lucky young lady. You know how many people are praying for you, or, well, at least crying out for you to get well. Come, join me in the church."

  She suddenly grew fearful. What if this were a judgment of sorts? Maybe this was just a way station between worlds--the one that she knew and her final destination.

  "Do not be afraid."

  She followed him into the countryside church. Its interior was so simple, yet elegant. The oak pews were polished and shiny, the podium at the front of the church was huge, and the cross majestic.

  She seated herself in the first pew, unaware of what to say or how to approach this bizarre event.

  "You are speechless. Come now, Anita. I never knew you to be a woman of few words."

  "What's happening to me?"

  "I rather think the better question is what has happened to you. A simple Dear John letter would have done, don't you think."

  "Oh that." She brushed him off with a wave of the hand. Was this really going to be about Roger yet again?

  "Whom do you love, I mean really?"

  "I don't know honestly." She realized in that moment she was not being truthful. She did know.

  The cowboy was winning hands down. Her love for Roger had faded with each passing week. She wanted more out of life.

  "Why am I here?"

  "Ah yes, right to the point, now you are sounding like the Anita I know. Thank you by the way for accepting the engagement ring, though I must admit, that was a class act how you pulled that off."

  "Am I going to live?" She desperately wanted him to say yes.

  "Let me get to the point. That is entirely up to Roger. He holds the golden key and thus holds the power."

  "Who are you, really?"

  "I get asked that a lot by the way. Okay, I can tell you, I guess. You won't really be able to assimilate the full knowledge of my existence when you return--that is if everything works out."

  She found her fear turning to annoyance at the man's joy in toying with her.

  "You see, Anita, I am an angel. At the moment, Roger's guardian angel so to speak. There have been many prayers said on behalf of many of the people involved, and I've been tasked with bringing all the pieces together. The funny thing about prayer is people don't realize all prayer is answered. It just does not always look like answered prayer. The Master, in his wisdom, molds circumstances a certain way to put his unique twist on it."

  "Why must you talk in so many riddles? You expect me to believe you are a guardian angel?"

  "I don't ask that you believe anything at the moment. That is in your hands. You are the one, if you remember, who gave Roger the golden key. In that way, you've had a huge role in Roger's destiny."

  Anita looked around her. All of this was too much to absorb. All she wanted to do was to go home, get well, and live her life.

  "Anita, no one is an island. Each person's actions affect another person's life. The thread is endless and it wraps itself around everyday existence. Right now, Roger possesses the golden key, but many throughout history have possessed it as well. Aristotle, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, and Solomon. It has existed since the beginning of time. Its purpose is to unlock truth, but truth is not easy to find."

  "Why was Roger chosen?"

  "You don't really want to know that, do you? You want to know why you were chosen."

  "Well, okay, yes."

  "Because Roger was chosen."

  She was furious at his response. What was she doing here anyway? She was delirious, that was it, this was all a dream influenced by the aftereffects of the accident.

  Suddenly, another voice could be heard behind her.

  "God is calling you."

  She was momentarily stunned. The tears were real, they welled up in her eyes so naturally.

  "Grandma."

  "Yes, dear." Grandma Barlow stood before her in a robe of white. "Your father's heart is breaking. He can't bear to lose you. He needs you to live."

  She turned back to the pew where Zeke was sitting...and he was gone.

  "Grandma..." She got up to go to her grandmother, but was shocked to see she had also disappeared.

  "What did you mean, God is calling me?"

  The church was illuminated with an overwhelming bright light and she was drawn to it.

  "Come to me all who are weary, I will give you rest."

  She entered into the light as her spirit came into full understanding of why she was chosen.

  ***

  Paul felt exhausted as he dropped Donna off at home after telling her he was going to stop by the Dew Drop and talk to Mark. He was determined to finish his task of bringing Anita's loved ones to her side.

  He couldn't understand why Mark had been so resistant to revealing his claim to Anita's affections with everyone else. Mark was usually more aggressive with his intentions than that. He supposed Mark was loyal to Roger to a fault.

  On one hand, the triangle dilemma made perfect sense. On the other, it seemed so childish in retrospect. Love was not a chess game...my knight takes your queen. He never felt so alive since he and Donna started dating, and now that they were engaged, he felt even more whole. He looked forward to spending the rest of his life with her.

  The Dew Drop parking lot was full, even for a Thanksgiving. Paul wondered why a bar had more appeal than family and friends. Then he remembered him and Ray visiting the local watering hole in Vietnam trying to forget the realities surrounding them.

  Sometimes he was saddened that people who never tasted the ravages of war didn't realize the blessings they had in
the homeland. As he walked in to the bar, the music assaulted his ears and reminded him why he was glad Donna was taking him away from this lifestyle.

  He observed Mark sitting in a corner booth with what looked like a dishcloth held up against his face. Paul frowned as he approached his friend. "What happened to you?"

  "Ugh." Mark responded without looking at him directly. "The train wreck of my life, I guess. Have a seat. Hey, Marti, can you get my friend a drink here. What ya having, bud?"

  "After today, let's see, I want to celebrate Thanksgiving in style, how about a Long Island Iced Tea." He suddenly felt invigorated, not because of the atmosphere, but because he was set to save Roger's friend from sure destruction.

  "I just got in a tussle with one of the locals. He didn't take kindly to my political rhetoric."

  "Well, if you don't mind my saying, you look like hell."

  "Thank you, back at you."

  "Mark, have you been here all day?"

  "Nope. I spent some time with my family, but I couldn't take all the hugs and oh-aren't-we-so-thankful. No one understands I am anything but thankful. I don't have to tell you that. I'm a jerk."

  "Well, so is Anita by those guidelines. I would say she was pretty set on dating you as she thought enough of my brother to drive to Memphis to deliver the break up news in person. I care about both of you. You know, the cat's out of the bag with Donna and me."

  "So you know. Wow, you must think a lot of me."

  The waitress brought Paul his drink as he realized his brother's best friend was taking the full brunt of guilt at having betrayed him. "Yours is not the first triangle."

  "No, and it won't be the last, but Anita was engaged to be married to Roger. And what happened to us was we looked at each other one day and realized there was more than friendship going on. You know how long it took me to fight that?"

  "I'm sure quite a long time. You and Roger were tight."

  "Yeah, our friendship was solid, at least I thought it was."

  "You better have that looked at. Your nose is pretty much black-and-blue."