Fallen Masters (36 page)

The priest walked away and Charlene went inside, thankful for this moment of privacy.

The church wasn’t completely dark, but very dimly lit by dozens of flickering candles. She stood just inside the door for a moment, awed by the silence and majesty of the enormous church. She had played in large auditoriums many times and was fairly good at estimating the number of people a particular venue could accommodate. Ten thousand could be seated here, easily.

Awkwardly, she walked up to the framed likeness of Our Lady of Guadalupe. There was something beatific about the image of the standing, robed woman. The frame was gold, and above the picture was a crown.

She thought about this place, a house of worship where so many of the faithful come to ask for help and favors.

Looking down, she saw the bloodstained lines that formed near the four moving sidewalks that people would stand on to gaze upward at the Lady in the frame. Bloodstained because so many had gotten there on their knees to pray and ask for help. Before leaving the hotel today, Charlene had gone online to look up this iconic place. She learned that there had been an attempt to destroy it by bomb, and though the bomb did some damage, the cloak was undamaged.

She also knew that, as with the Shroud of Turin, there had been various scientific studies to either authenticate or discredit the miracle of the cloak. They had been unable to discredit it, which meant that the believers still had their faith to support its authenticity.

As Charlene stood there, she felt somewhat hypocritical and quite foolish asking for a healing when she didn’t really believe it was possible. She was dying, but death was not a fear of hers. If there was an afterlife, then perhaps she would see her beloved Ryan and father again. If death was all there was … so be it. At least all this pain would be no more.

Charlene heard someone sniffing behind her, which startled her because she had been certain she was alone. Turning, she saw a woman dressed in black and wearing a veil. The woman was weeping.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you when I came in,” Charlene said. Charlene must have left the door open enough for the woman to come in after her.

The woman didn’t respond, but continued to weep quietly.

Charlene walked over to her. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you speak English? Is there anything I can do for you? I want to help.”

“There is nothing you can do,” the woman said. “I lost my only son. He was murdered brutally.”

Charlene knew of the brutal slayings that were taking place in Mexico’s drug war. “I’m so sorry,” Charlene said.

“I have come here to find peace,” the woman said.

This made her feel awkward, and she groped for the right words, not really finding them: “Look, my name is Charlene St. John. I’m a singer. Maybe you have heard of me?” she added somewhat sheepishly. Charlene reached into her purse and pulled out Paul’s card with his cell phone number printed on it. “I’m giving a concert here. Perhaps you would like to come. I’m told that the tickets are very hard to come by. I’d love to see you there. If you’d like to—”

The woman stopped weeping and looked up with an expression that startled Charlene. It was an expression of disbelief and displeasure. “Did you not hear me? I just told you I lost my son.
And you respond by inviting me to a concert?
”

“I’m sorry,” Charlene mumbled. “I meant only to—well, I’m sorry,” she repeated. Charlene, clearly feeling like an idiot, and not comfortable in this place to begin with, hurried out of the church.

CHAPTER

66

When Charlene returned to her hotel room that evening, she felt the words of a song nearly bursting from her. Sitting down at the desk, she used hotel stationery and pen to write the new words, which she set to the tune of her signature song, “Someone, Somewhere.”

This time and this place

Are ours by a certain grace

A gift from one loving Source

That guides us on our course

Somewhere is here

Sometime is now

Take my hand, dear

Let me show you how

We are one

We are one

We are one

She had just finished writing the song when the phone in her room rang. “Hello?”

“Charlene, turn on the TV,” Paul said.

“Why? I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Turn to channel 360. It’s one of the satellite news networks from the U.S.”

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll see as soon as you turn it on.”

Charlene picked up the remote, then clicked on the TV. It was showing the replay of a soccer match and the announcer was shouting in excitement as one of the players scored:
“Bustamante es exitoso!”

She punched in channel 360.

“We are bringing you breaking news about the latest earthquake, this time affecting the lower half of the Indian subcontinent. The unusual thing about the earthquake is the area that it covers,” the announcer was saying. “Like the earthquake in Turkey that has taken place recently, the area covered by this earthquake is unprecedented. Equally unprecedented is the strength of the earthquake, which, like the Turkey quake, registered at 9.5 on Richter scale. One third of the subcontinent appears to have been flattened. There is no historical record of two such large events occurring so closely together in time. We’ve entered new territory here. We have no way of determining yet the extent of casualties from the earthquake, but early estimates indicate that millions have already perished,” the announcer said in somber tones.

The screen was filled with pictures of the devastation, cities reduced to rubble, dazed survivors walking around as if they were lost ants whose colonies had been decimated.

For the next several minutes Charlene watched the pictures and listened to the descriptions of the destruction, almost unaware of the tears streaming down her face. Everything seemed to be flooding into her—flashing into focus. The lecture, her dreamlike reunion with Ryan, and her day, starting with planes crashes, meeting with Mr. Rojas, the Basilica, and the strange encounter with the woman at the church.

Then she got an idea, and she picked up the phone and dialed Paul’s room.

“Are you watching this?” Paul asked. He sat on the edge of his hotel bed watching the scenes of destruction and chaos in India. He had to force himself back to the present reality to hear what Charlene was saying to him.

“Paul, I want this concert to be a pay-per-view. Just like we did before.” She smiled slyly, knowing what kind of response she would get from him. “I’ve already announced I want all the ticket proceeds to go to Turkey for the relief of all those injured and displaced people, and this would be the perfect time to try to raise funds for this new horrific event.”

“Impossible,” Paul replied, sputtering in surprise at her request. “We can’t possibly make the broadcast arrangements for pay-per-view at this late date.”

“Make it happen, Paul,” Charlene said. She didn’t often “pull rank” with him, but she felt she had to see this through. There was so little time left—for anything.

“How am I supposed to pull this off?” Paul asked, clearly frustrated by her impossible request.

“You can announce to the world that this is to be my farewell concert, and my farewell gift to the world.”

“Even so, it would take a miracle,” Paul said.

Charlene smiled. “Do you know anything about Our Lady of Guadalupe?” She had been learning a lot herself—and very quickly—about the Lady and what she represented. Millions of people believed this was a sacred place, where miracles occurred for those who had faith. “This might just be the right place to help a miracle come true,” she said. Suddenly, she knew—she really understood—what she was here to do.

“I’ll do what I can,” Paul promised.

*   *   *

Over the next few days, the earthquake in India, and the announcement that Charlene St. John was giving the proceeds of her farewell concert to benefit not only the earthquake victims in Turkey but also the victims of the Indian subcontinent became symbiotic news stories, creating a frenzy of subscribers to the concert show, raising millions of dollars.

Charlene did a round of publicity while in Mexico City, promoting both the live concert and the pay-per-view show. She did several television interviews, not only for Mexican TV but satellite TV networks from around the world, speaking, when necessary, through translators.

“How much money do you think you will raise?” a German television station wanted to know. “I mean how much of what you raise will actually go to the victims of the recent earthquakes?”

“Everything it makes will go to help those people,” Charlene replied.

The interviewer chuckled condescendingly. “Really, Fraulein St. John? When you subtract your fee, the cost of production, and all other attendant expenses, do you actually think that there will be enough money to amount to anything?”

“I will take no fee,” Charlene said. “And I will personally pay for all expenses, so that every dollar raised will go to help those who survived these horrendous earthquakes. And,” she added, “I will match whatever is raised, dollar for dollar.”

“I do believe you have gone insane,” Paul said after the journalist left. “Once the world hears that, tickets are going to sell like salted peanuts. And you not only say that you aren’t taking your fee, but you are matching the money raised?”

Charlene laughed. “Don’t worry Paul, when I say I am paying all expenses, that includes your commission.”

“Now you’re hurting my feelings,” Paul said. “I get it. I can go without MY commission. I also get that you’re so charitable; it’s who you are. But somebody around here has to pay our bills, and that somebody happens to be me!”

But in the end, Charlene decided to cover all their bills and expenses from her own pocket. So the staff would get paid, anyway. She wouldn’t tell them that, though, until the event had concluded. It would be her secret—and the Lady’s.

Paul had no idea how prophetic his comment was about her “insanity” being contagious. The entire production staff at the show venue announced that they would be donating their salaries, and the theater waived the charges.

At the first rehearsal, Charlene sang the new song she had written. The backup musicians did not need to go through it more than once, because it had been written to the same tune and rhythm as “Someone, Somewhere.” It was stunning, and all of the stagehands and event personnel who were present gathered around to listen. When she finished, there were tears in the eyes of many, and nearly all crossed themselves.

Paul had the song recorded that very afternoon, and it was released almost immediately. Within three days of its release, the song had gone viral over the Internet, raising over $5 million.

On the day before the show, Charlene was doing her last rehearsal when a couple of Mexican police officers came to present her with a letter of appreciation.

“Thanks to you, Miss St. John, and the photograph that was taken of you kissing the cheek of one of those thugs who attempted to kidnap you, we have captured the six most notorious outlaws in Mexico. They are members of the most evil cartel of drug and human trafficking, responsible for hundreds of murders.”

The policeman showed her some of the photos that people in the gathered crowd had taken of her that night, including the one of her kissing the cheek of the outlaw.

“You see here,” one of the policemen pointed out, “the words
Viva Domingo
. That was what gave us the clue as to who these men were.”

Behind the words
VIVA DOMINGO
, Charlene saw a graffiti sketch in the alley of the same iconic figure of Our Lady of Guadalupe she had seen in the Basilica.

“That’s funny,” she said, pointing to the photo. “I remember seeing the words
Viva Domingo,
but I don’t remember seeing this sketch behind the words.”

“What sketch?” Paul asked.

“This one,” Charlene said. “Are you telling me you don’t see the drawing of a woman in robes behind the words?”

“I don’t see anything but the words,” Paul said.

“Do you see it?” Charlene asked one of the policemen.

“I have been there several times in the last few days, Señora McAvoy,” the policeman said. “There is nothing there but the words.”

“How very strange that I see it, and none of you do,” Charlene said. She reached for the picture so she could point it out—but this time she saw nothing but the words. She did see, however, rejoicing in the crowd, the same woman she had seen in the church. But that did not seem possible to her. But something about the woman felt so right. Charlene felt as if a great weight was being lifted from her chest when she looked at the woman and she also felt an overwhelming need to do something positive, an aching to do good came over her. Charlene wondered what this meant and if there was anything she needed to do.

CHAPTER

67

As Charlene made her way to the rehearsal, she reflected upon the strangeness of the last few days. Meeting Mr. Rojas, and experiencing his unwavering faith, had opened her mind and heart to matters that had been closed for so long. The attempted kidnapping had rattled her and the encounter with the woman in black in the Basilica hadn’t helped. And then suddenly seeing the same woman in the photo sent a powerful chill up her spine.

Paul had to stay behind at the hotel to arrange for some last-minute details with regard to the concert, so there were just Charlene and her driver in the car. Charlene was sitting in the backseat, humming a little song to herself, when she saw another car come up beside them. They were on the road near the Pyramid of the Sun and the Calle de los Muertos, or “Street of the Dead.” The back window of the adjacent car was rolled down, and because the SUV she was riding in did not have tinted windows, the backseat passenger was able to see her. Charlene was stunned by the expression on his face. She was looking into the face of pure evil. She cringed at this image … and suddenly the world went black.