Fallen Masters (37 page)

When she woke up, she was surprised to see Paul and several others standing around her bed. What were all these people doing in her bedroom? Wait, this wasn’t her bedroom.

“Paul, what is this place? Where am I? What has happened?”

“You don’t know? You don’t remember?” Paul asked.

“No, the last thing I remember is sitting in the car, going to the rehearsal. Oh, the other car. Was I in an accident?”

“It was no accident,” Paul said. “The people in the other car were part of the cartel you helped bring down. They ran your car off the road.”

“The driver?” Charlene said. “What happened to the man who was driving me?”

“He wasn’t hurt.”

“Thank God for that,” Charlene said.

Paul smiled. “You can thank God for something else as well,” he said.

“What?”

“During the x-rays to make certain there were no internal injuries, the doctors made a discovery. At first they weren’t sure, so they redid the test four times.”

“A discovery of what?” Charlene said.

“Your cancer,” Paul said. “Charlene, it is gone. Completely gone!”

“What? How?”

“The doctor says it was a spontaneous healing; a
milagro,
I think he called it.”

“A miracle,” Charlene interpreted.

“Yes, well, you did tell me this is the place of miracles, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes,” Charlene said, realizing even as she spoke that the real miracle was not in her spontaneous healing, but in her search for something to explain or perhaps assuage the pain and sadness that she had been feeling so intensely. She knew that not only would she get out of that hospital in time for her concert—it may or may not be her farewell concert, after all—but it was clear to her that she was embarking on a journey that she never would have imagined.

CHAPTER

68

Charlene St. John walked onstage in Mexico City to open her concert on a picture-perfect night. She mixed a bit of Spanish with English as she greeted her fans, some sixty thousand who had packed the outdoor arena that had just been converted from the Olympic Stadium into a state-of-the-art contemporary performance space. Hers was the first musical event to be held there, and she was the first artist to test the marvelous sound system that reached every seat in the house. In this way, she felt she could touch—and be touched by—each and every person in attendance. They had come out to see her perform and to hear her world-famous voice, but she had come to this place with a purpose as well: to put herself in the presence of what she had come to think of as her special guide.

For now Charlene was obsessed, or perhaps consumed was a better word, by Our Lady of Guadalupe. The image of the woman on the cloth haunted her, and the appearance of the same woman in different guises over the last few days unsettled and yet comforted her at the same time. But no longer did she have any doubt that she had been summoned here to receive a message, or perhaps to face the end of her life, if that was the will of the Almighty. She no longer cared. She just wanted to show up where she was supposed to and to open her ears and her mind and her heart to the word she was supposed to receive.

The sound of her own voice startled her as she began the first number of the first set. The orchestra, with whom she had rehearsed diligently over the past few days, followed the tempo they had established and blended with and amplified her astounding vocal range as if every instrument were one voice—her voice. Soon she forgot everything else that had been in her mind and was, simply, the song. One number, then another, then another.

The audience was entranced. They applauded and stomped and cheered during and after each song. It was clear that they loved this slight woman who entertained them so expertly and moved their hearts with each word that she sang. A wave of love swam back and forth between the performer and the audience. Charlene’s backup singers, five beautiful voices who probably could have been superstars in their own right, stood in awe between the orchestra and the main act and felt it all come together in a totally unique way.

For a full hour, Charlene St. John sang her heart out. Seven big numbers. It passed for her in the blink of an eye, and then it was time for a break between sets.

She usually did three sets—one long one to begin, then two shorter ones—over a period of three hours. But now she felt so energized and inspired that she did not want to break. She said to the audience, “What if I just continue for a little longer before we take our first break?”

Sixty thousand fans roared their approval. Even the musicians were caught up in the excitement of the moment and wanted to play on. Charlene bowed, then turned around to her supporting groups—the orchestra, backup singers, and crew—and folded her hands as if in prayer, bowed to them, and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

As Charlene sang the next song, she looked out over the audience, visible only as dim faces in the darkness, except for one person. She almost gasped as she saw her. It was the same grieving woman she had seen in the church, no longer in black, but wearing an all-white, two-piece business suit.

No longer weeping, the woman looked relaxed, radiant, and, Charlene had not noticed this before, beautiful—beautiful beyond description.

Charlene could not tell whether the audience saw the same thing she did, nor did she know whether she was supposed to share her vision with them, or with anyone, for that matter. Instead of being startled or confused, Charlene felt a remarkable sense of peace. And she heard the woman speaking to her, not in words that were audible to her ears, but words that resonated in her heart.

Her mind—and her spirit—refocused.

“My Lady, it’s you!” She felt the warmth of the unearthly light that emanated from the woman, who suddenly disappeared from the audience and now stood beside her.

“My child,” the Lady said, as if continuing a conversation over tea. The voice filled and surrounded Charlene St. John, and she wondered what was happening in the real world. Was she still singing? Was the audience seeing this amazing vision?

“You have been given life by the Creator that you may do good and serve others. This you have done with great love in your heart, and you continue to touch so many people.” She extended her arm, pointing to the audience.

Charlene answered with humility. “But how can I sing for the entire world? Does it really matter all that much? My voice is not
that
great.”

“Oh, my beautiful one, when the Almighty desires the word to be proclaimed to all the people, He can give voice to the voiceless and sight to the blind. To you He has given the ability to achieve such a task.” Charlene felt her other self singing to the audience while conversing with the Lady.

Do you see the light

Of all creation: the day, the night?

A universe of peace and love

Of goodness that comes down from above

Take his hand

And you will understand

That we are one

We are one

We are one

“You are a child of God, in whom He is very pleased. You have accomplished the mission He has set out for you. We are one.”

The mysterious lady said the words “we are one,” just as Charlene sang the last line of “Someone, Somewhere”—
We are one
—her voice lifting to Heaven in the highest, purest, and most powerful note, causing even the angels to sing in concert with her.

As Charlene held the last note of the song, the mysterious woman rose, ascending high into the heavens. She became more radiant, her light filling the arena, and Charlene realized that she was the only one who could see her.

The pure white two-piece business suit suddenly burst into all the robes and colors of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and in her heart, Charlene heard her say,
“Remember I told you—I lost my son.”

Never had Charlene sung more beautifully, and there was thunderous applause for her from everyone in the auditorium. Just before Charlene left the stage, Paul brought her a note. She read it and smiled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “The world has been most generous in response to the recent tragedies that have ravaged our world. In sales to this concert, and in sales of the recording, we have raised almost fifteen million dollars. I am going to match that amount, as are three of the world’s richest men. As a result, including many other generous individual donations, more than one hundred million dollars for the relief efforts have been raised this very night.

“I am told that $305 million was raised for relief in Haiti after the disastrous earthquake in January 2010, and I feel certain that generous people will surpass that. God bless you all, thank you, and good night!”

*   *   *

“I
knew my lassie could do it. Just think how much your love has touched the world!”
Ian’s voice was as strong and immediate in her heart as if he were standing beside her. And she was sure now that he was.

“I know, Daddy, and I know that you will be with me for every step on my journey now,” she answered from within the dream.

The anger and grief she had felt ever since her diagnosis, her desperate loss of hope for life, seemed to be receding to more distant parts of her soul, to shores of consciousness that were far away from this place and this time. How could this be? Her father’s touch … the intercession of Our Lady … the overwhelming light that had enveloped her in those moments when she had sung her heart out for the people—and their love for her in return. Something that could only be called miraculous had occurred in the here and now of Charlene’s life. Something that had transformed her.

She awoke and said a little prayer to ask for some understanding and wisdom from the blessed Lady who had lost a son and gained a new daughter.

CHAPTER

69

Ever since the trip to New York and the encounter with Charlene St. John—followed by the tragic events playing out in the world—Tyler Michaels had felt more emotionally raw than he had ever felt in his life. And through it all, the loss of Karen and Jeremy pierced him like a warrior’s lance, penetrating his body and soul. He knew intellectually that he was not the only person in the world who had suffered such grievous personal losses. Around the world, every day, families were torn apart, parents, husbands and wives, children, dearest friends were taken from those who loved them … But the hurt was real nonetheless, and the surgeon who had lived for so long on the fastest of fast tracks now felt completely derailed.

What is my purpose? Saving lives? I saved many lives before Charlene St. John, but none since. I am without a destination.

The Swedish-inflected voice returned occasionally to advise him—or haunt him—and he began to listen to it in a different way, trying to understand the messages rather than critique them.

He was expecting Nurse Rae Loona to stop by his home for dinner after the conclusion of the worldwide broadcast of the President’s funeral. He didn’t necessarily feel up for it, but neither was he going to try to stop her. Never stand between Rae Loona and her need to express love and friendship.

He tried to read a magazine, sitting in his living room with a small fire burning in the fireplace. His heart had never been heavier, yet he was sick of feeling sorry for himself. It was very difficult for Tyler to concentrate on what he was reading or to keep a coherent thought in his head for more than a minute at a time … so he sometimes wondered if the messages he heard were coming from some long-ago memories, perhaps university or medical school lectures that he had heard while half-asleep twenty years ago. Who knew?

It was not a particular surprise that he suddenly found himself confronted with a fair-skinned man in a dark blue coat with bright brass buttons and a starched, ruffled white shirt with long, flowing white sleeves poking through at his coat cuffs. His fingers were long and tapered and seemed, oddly, to be ink stained. How could a spirit—if that’s what he was—have ink stains on his hands?

“You are seeking, my friend, just as I sought for a lifetime to touch the truth of existence, to understand the very point of creation and all subsequent existence of all creatures great and small, of our human enterprise in this vale of tears. I understand.”

“Well, I’m glad you do,” Tyler offered, “because I am having a hell of a time understanding what is happening to me—and what is happening to the world. I thought I was so educated, that I was ‘in charge’ of my own life. That is certainly not the case. Not happenin’, as they say.”

“Modern man believes himself to be wise and full of knowledge, and it is true that through his hard work and study, the human being has progressed far beyond anything I achieved, and more people today know far more than the average person three centuries ago. However, you have not recovered the lost knowledge that I pursued in my time. No one has—yet.”

“What ‘lost knowledge’?” Tyler found himself more baffled, yet more intrigued with each passing minute of this bizarre conversation. He almost couldn’t believe it was happening. He hoped Rae would show up and see this fellow and hear what they were talking about.

“Since the fall of man and woman in the Garden of Eden—”

“That’s all great, but I’m not religious in any way, shape, or form.”

“Nor am I,”
the figure stated.
“Where I am now is beyond religion but is pure spirit.”

“I’m no philosopher. I just want to understand the world around me. But it gets more confusing rather than less so, the older I get. And science is even more complicated, raising more questions than answers, as far as I’m concerned. So where do I look for the answers? How can anyone tell me
why
I lost Karen, or
why
the President of the United States was assassinated?”

“There is always a reason behind every action and reaction. It goes back to the first movement of energy at the first moment of time, if you will. We all are here for a divine purpose and a spiritual end.”