Chains of Prophecy: A Tale of Mythic Discovery

by Jason P. Crawford

  Dr. Stone cocked her head. “Why do you want to know? Are you trying to dig up dirt or something? I don’t want Greg getting hurt; he’s a good man with a good heart.”

  Sam shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just…interested in the history of someone who has become so prominent so quickly. I just want to know where he came from.” He smiled. “Like I said, it’s inspirational, really.”

  Dr. Stone returned his smile. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt anything…he did what most people do – he reached out everywhere he could. He called psychics – you know that Sylvia Browne lady? – theologians, people who have had near-death experiences, everything.” She nodded, remembering. “Nothing satisfied him until we had talked. Then he had more questions…but they were real questions; at least, they weren’t questions about psychics, if you get my meaning.” She laughed, and Sam smiled, nodding.

  “Always better to know, even if it hurts, right? Ignorance may be bliss, but the things you don’t know about don’t just go away, you know?”

  “Exactly! Anyway, he started to ask a lot of questions about Heaven – what it was like, who the Angels and the Archangels were, how God judged us. I think he really wanted to feel like his parents had gone to a better place.” Dr. Stone was smiling; Sam did his best to return that smile.

  “You know that he’s running for governor now?”

  “Yes! I think it’s a wonderful idea; he’ll be able to make a big difference there. Bring God back to California.”

  Sam’s lips drew into a hard line. This kept getting more and more difficult. “You know that political candidates are often expected to release their tax records for the last few years, just as a goodwill gesture, show there isn’t anything untoward?”

  Dr. Stone nodded. “Of course. I’ve seen more than a few elections, dear boy.”

  “Good.” Now he had to tread carefully. “When I was looking over Mr. Caitlin’s reports, I saw that he had made some…rather expensive outlays to you from his inheritance money.”

  “Outlays?” Dr. Stone thought for a moment. “You mean…oh!” And she started to laugh. Sam blinked a few times, started to speak, then held his tongue.

  “Were…were you thinking that…he and I…oh!” she managed, still laughing. “You were looking for a scandal, weren’t you, young man?”

  Sam shook his head. “No, no, you’ve got it wrong. When I first saw the payments, yes, I thought maybe he was involved in something a little bit…unChristianlike, let’s say that. After a little bit of additional research, however…”

  “You decided that he probably wouldn’t be ‘hooking up’ with an old lady like me?” interrupted Dr. Stone, between breaths.

  Sam thought of several convincing lies, digressions, then he laughed as well and nodded his head.

  “Sorry to spoil your fun, Sam, but there was none of that. It was a straightforward arrangement; I had written several papers on angelology and the hierarchy of Heaven that I hadn’t published yet. He bought the rights to those papers from me. That’s all.” She smiled and spread her hands. “Nothing to see here.”

  Sam stared at her for a moment. “He bought…papers? On angelology?” A nod. “What was so special about these papers that he would spend over a hundred thousand dollars to acquire them?”

  Dr. Stone shrugged. “No idea.” She took another sip of coffee. “The papers weren’t particularly well received by the people I had shown them to; there are a few ideas in them that go a bit against the mainstream dogmas. Nothing that hasn’t been said before, really. But he ate them up.”

  “What didn’t the others like about them?”

  “I can’t go into specifics, unfortunately; Greg bought all the rights to those papers from me. I’m not supposed to present the ideas in any way, shape, or form.”

  Sam grimaced. “So you can’t tell me anything?”

  Dr. Stone shrugged. “Well,” she began as she was rooting through some of the papers on her desk, “I used a few apocryphal sources. Gospels that the Catholic Church doesn’t recognize. Hard to get to, hard to interpret.” As she spoke, she dug around her desk, looking in file folders and piles of papers. “Interviews with people who had seen or heard angels. All properly cited, of course, but… Here,” and she handed Sam a bibliography page, “are the references I used. Track them down if you’re interested. Or ask Greg for a copy of the paper, since it’s his now. Either way, good luck.”

  Sam felt the shift in her tone, the ending of the conversation. He nodded, shook Dr. Stone’s hand, and excused himself from the room.

  All the way out here and I come away with a bibliography page for a stupid research paper on angelology? What the hell -?

  “Hi!” A familiar child’s voice came from behind Sam as he marched to the elevators. He turned to see the Laker’s T-Shirt clad form of Mikey, sitting in one of the chairs in the hallway.

  “Um..hey, Mikey. Where’re your parents, anyway?” Sam looked around, but saw no one.

  “My family is looking for my sister, remember?” Mikey narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Are you picking on me? I’m big enough to be out on my own, you know.”

  “Chill out, kid. I wasn’t trying to make you mad.” Sam took another look around the hallway. Still no one there.

  “Well, good luck finding your sis, Mikey. I have places I need to be.” He turned toward the elevator again.

  “Have you ever read the Bible, mister?”

  Sam froze. Something about the way Mikey said that chilled his blood, like a teacher asking if you had cheated on a test when he knew you had, and worse, you knew he knew. He looked back at the boy, who was now standing in the middle of the hall, gaze steady.

  “I…”

  “There’s lots of things wrong in there, you know. Lots of things. Lots of mistakes. My daddy says that the real truth in the Bible – all those books, really – is in between the lines.” He took two steps toward Sam. “My daddy says that the Bible speaks to you, that it can help you find what you’re looking for when you need guidance. Maybe you should read it, mister. Maybe it would help you.”

  Sam shook his head and laughed. “What are you talking about, kid?”

  Mikey shrugged, also laughing. “Just what it sounds like, mister!” He turned and ran down the hallway, calling “God bless you!”

  Sam punched the elevator button and massaged his temples. Feels like I’m on a goddam reality T.V. show; hidden cameras everywhere. The door opened and he stepped inside. Screw Caitlin. I’m going home and getting some sleep.

  ~~~

  “He asked about that?”

  “Yes,” came Dr. Stone’s voice from the cellphone in Gregory’s hand. “I thought it was strange, so I wanted to give you a call, let you know.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Stone. I really appreciate it.”

  “How many times do I need to ask you to call me Martha?”

  “Martha, then. Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  Gregory hung up his phone and replaced it in his pocket. So this Sam was poking into his financial affairs. Referencing his tax returns. Strange, considering I haven’t released them yet.

  He sat and began jotting down his thoughts on a legal pad. Only two places that this leak could have happened – the IRS (highly unlikely) or the accounting firm he had sent the returns to for pre-campaign evaluation. Someone over there must have gotten a little overcurious, a little meddlesome.

  Probably nothing would come of it, of course. Dr. Stone hadn’t told this guy anything important, and there were no extant records of those papers anyway. Still, it worried him...what if…

  Gregory laughed and dialed in to his special research division. His company’s best people worked there, with the highest clearances.

  “Hello?”

  Caitlin tapped the end of his pen against the table. “I have a concern. Gentleman by the name of Sam Buckland. I need to know if he’s going to be a problem.” A moment or two of listening. “Right, just feed it in, just like normal. Shoul
dn’t be an issue. Let me know when you get something.”

  Gregory hung up the phone again, stretched, then left his private office, locking the door on his way out. “What’s for dinner, Susan?”

  He heard a clang of metal from the kitchen – pots and pans being moved about.

  “We’re having goulash and broccoli. I hope you don’t mind, but my parents said they wanted to come by and visit, and since it had been so long I said they could.”

  Gregory winced, then said a little prayer thanking God that Susan couldn’t see him. “Sure, honey. It’s always fun having dinner with your folks.”

  ~~~

  Sam opened the door to his house as he chased the last of his Quarter Pounder down with his orange Fanta, intending to just fall down on the couch and pass out. He walked over to the tan sofa and sat down. His eyes fell on his bookshelf.

  Don’t do it. His hand paused in mid-air, half-reaching toward the shelf. Kid was crazy, just repeating what his old man had said. He wasn’t really talking to you. Don’t do it. And then he was opening the brand new King James Version that his parents had bought him for his birthday last year. They knew he was a humanist, but his mother was religious and always worried about the “state of his soul.”

  He flipped through the book, Old Testament, New Testament, part of him wondering why he was bothering, the other part…well, he couldn’t put his finger on what the other part was saying.

  But it was saying it.

  Read between the lines. Mikey had told him that.

  So Sam spent the next 4 hours reading the Bible.

  It was as full of shit as he thought it must be.

  I mean, give me a break. A rainbow story? He closed the covers together. A bookmark slid out from the back cover, landing face down on the floor. He picked it up, read the inscription on the back. “Dearest Samuel,” it read in his mother’s script, “May God light your way when you are lost. Love, Mom.” He turned the marker over in his hands; on the other side was a beautiful picture of the Archangel Gabriel, his trumpet in hand, delivering the news of Christ’s immanent conception to Mary, with the verse “Hail, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” on a scroll beneath it.

  Should save this for a book I actually want to read. At least it’s got a nice picture on it. He tucked the bookmark into the pocket of his robe before taking it off and hanging it up. He stretched, rubbed some of the soreness out of his legs from his marathon reading session, and then went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. As he closed his refrigerator and cracked open his 7-Up, his cellphone began to ring. Sam hurried to the other room to grab it.

  “Hello?”

  “Sam?”

  “Mr. Gonzalez? What can I do for you?”

  “Sam, were you out asking questions about Gregory Caitlin today?”

  “What? I…”

  “Sam, he’s asked for me to take you off of his file.”

  “…Oh.” Not unexpected. Sam’s heart was beating a little faster. I wonder how he found out…

  “And he also asked me to fire you.”

  Sam sat upright in the chair he had fallen into. “What??”

  “Exactly. In return for that, he won’t begin an investigation as to why one of our accountants was asking personal questions of his friends using confidential information we had access to. You know that those records haven’t been released to the public yet?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  “Sam, what the hell were you thinking? Why would you go asking old college professors about the ins and outs of their students’ lives…especially if one of those students happens to be on his way to becoming one of the most powerful men in the state, and soon the country?”

  “Mr. Gonzalez, I…”

  “No, I don’t think I want to hear about it. You have tomorrow to clear out your desk, Mr. Buckland.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Sam.” Click.

  For a few moments, Sam sat, staring at the phone, his mouth agape. Fired. The word rang in his mind like a fire alarm. He had never been fired before. His life was on its way…he was successful, he was going down the right paths, doing all the right things…fired.

  And for what? To scratch a curiosity itch? Because he just couldn’t leave well enough alone, he had to go prying into someone else’s business?

  Sam hung his head and held his face in his hands. What have I done? He knew he could never get hired in accounting again. Word would spread; this job would be his only reference and would have to say that he was fired for snooping into private matters…a real desirable quality in an accountant. All for some insane urge to figure out a mystery that didn’t need solving.

  My daddy says that the Bible speaks to you…that it can help you find what you’re looking for when you need guidance.

  The thought, the voice, was so real that Sam looked around, half expecting to see Mikey poke his spiky head around the corner. He picked the book up again, looking at it as if it were some sort of strange animal that he had never encountered before. There’s nothing in here, he thought, he knew.

  But something had been in there, hadn’t it? Sam reached into his pocket, pulling out the bookmark. The Archangel Gabriel. The Bible verse.

  Where have I seen that before? he asked.

  The living room of his house. His mother had a metal fireplace decoration that looked almost exactly like that angel.

  Sam gazed at the bookmark for a few moments, then laughed in disgust. Am I seriously considering the idea that this bookmark has something to ‘show’ me? He looked at the 7-Up can in his hand, dropped it in the trash, grabbed the bottle of Merlot.

  It’s gonna be a drinking night tonight.

  ~~~

  “Thank you, Mr. Gonzalez. I’m glad you understand. No, no, I don’t hold any of the rest of you responsible; you handled the problem and I am pleased by the quick manner in which you did so. Thank you again. Good-bye.”

  Gregory Caitlin hung up his phone and went back to his lunch. He often ate in the office; sometimes the work would not let him go, sometimes he enjoyed the peace and quiet, and sometimes it was fun watching the others move around through the one-way glass of his office windows.

  He looked again at his special division’s report: Mr. Buckland could have turned into a problem. The avenues of investigation that he was pursuing could have led to questions Gregory preferred to leave unasked. Causing him to lose his job would end those risks. However…

  For the first time since Gregory Caitlin had created his Special Research Division, there was an anomaly in the report. A possibility for error. The course of action recommended by the Division had a 100% chance of ending Buckland’s investigation into those payments to Martha Stone.

  It only had a 95.75% chance of ending Buckland’s overall threat to Caitlin’s plans.

  Gregory shook his head. Reached for the phone again. Put it back down. It was unwise to use the Division’s resources too often, too frequently. He took another bite of his sandwich instead.

  I need to make a visit down there. Perhaps something has gone wrong with her. Maybe it’s something I can fix.

  Gregory finished off his sandwich and told his secretary to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. Yes, even the meeting with the Secretary of Education. Yes, we can reschedule.

  He went down the elevator to the lobby, waved to the security guards on his way out, and got into his car. Driving to the tune of Bon Jovi, he headed toward the secure compound where the Special Research Division did its work. The signs said HAZARDOUS MATERIAL: CLEARANCE REQUIRED with large biohazard and nuclear symbols in yellows and reds.

  “No entrance.” The security guard at the gate adjusted his clothes, making sure that the approaching visitor could see the sidearm holstered on his belt. Gregory pulled out his DelCo employee ID. The guard took it, examined Gregory’s face, checked the ID again.

  “Good morning, Mr. Caitlin. Come in, please.” And the guard backed off, waving Gregory’s car into the compound.

  The cent
er building was squat, unobtrusive, small. Gregory flashed his ID once more at the door, then submitted to an electronic fingerprint scan and voice ID to enter the lower levels. When the elevator stopped at basement level 3, he inserted his custom-made key and the elevator continued to basement level 4. He stepped out of the elevator to a foyer – chairs, magazines, no TV – in front of a “clean” area. Gregory removed his suit, tie, undergarments, and went through the decontamination chamber (he always hated this part; it smelled like rotten eggs) and dressed in the specially prepared clothing provided for him on the other side.

  “Mr. Caitlin!” A balding man in a lab coat was approaching; his eyes were so bruised that it looked like he had gone 3 rounds at the MMA championships.

  “Doctor Francis.” Gregory nodded. “How is she?”

  “Readings are within nominal limits, sir.” Francis paused, consulting the tablet he held. “There has been no change in ECG levels, vital signs, nothing.”

  “Then how do you explain the sudden inexactness in her data?”

  Francis shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I might be able to postulate better if I knew how she was able to do these things…” He glanced at Gregory’s face, which hardened into granite, then picked his sentence back up. “…but as far as I can tell now, something must be interfering with the subject himself…this…” Francis paged through on his iPad for a few moments. “…Sam Buckland, right? There must be something she just can’t account for.”

  Gregory shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.” His eyes roamed the room as he searched for a solution. “She should be able to account for everything; she always has.” He rubbed his forehead. “And you’re absolutely sure that there have been no changes in her physical condition that could have caused this anomaly?”

  Francis shook his head. “None, sir. Her intravenous intake is normal, glucose levels are normal. Still sedated to constant REM sleep. I compared her readings this morning to those of yesterday, a week ago…almost no difference at all.”

  Gregory flopped down in one of the plastic laboratory chairs. “What’s going on?” Then he turned back toward his companion. “Francis, could you leave me alone for a few minutes?”

  Francis blinked a time or two, then remembered who he was addressing. “Sure, Mr. Caitlin; I’ll just be in the monitoring room next door. Let me know if you need anything or if you’re ready to leave, okay?”