Fallen Masters (50 page)

“I am afraid it is too late,” he said aloud. But no one heard him.

At the same time, Tyler was now quickly warming up to the idea of paying attention to the Swede-voice, but to some extent, he was still confused. He was getting more than a tad tired of Rae Loona’s endless prodding, and flat-out sick of her relentless John Travolta lovefest. OK, OK, maybe he could see that they were
GO-ING PLA-CES,
but how was this all fitting together?

OK. He was unwilling to give up entirely feeling blue. He was stuck in it, so what? After all he’d been through …

He kept listening to Charlene St. John’s newest CD and found it consoling.

In his car, heading to meet Rae, he flipped on his iPod, which he’d plugged into his car’s auxiliary outlet.

Atlanta

Late at night, after reading Mama G’s latest posting on
Putting It Together—
“Now Is the Time to Take Action”—Rae Loona, a longtime subscriber to the seer-astrologer’s e-newsletter and podcast, sent an email to the W
IN
AN
I
NSTANT
R
EADING
offer on the website homepage. In her entry she asked Mama G, “What action should I take? Please clue me in.”

Within a few minutes, Rae had received notification that she had won the prize! “Talk about bizarre,” the nurse murmured aloud, staring at her laptop screen. “This is spooky.”

Early the next morning, Mama G replied to Rae: “You will search, and you will find. You are on a quest to find the Key. You are not alone. You know you are go-ing pla-ces!”

Before Rae could reply, the astrologer sent another one-liner in addition: “You’re going to L.A., aren’t you?”

How the heck did Mama G know about Los Angeles? Rae reflected for a moment—breathed in, breathed out—and thoughts about Tyler and fate filled her mind. Feelings of hope filled her heart.

“Yes,” she typed.

“There you will be led to take action. You are at the center of it all. I am going to Los Angeles, too. For the first time in my life!”

“So all this is not a coincidence?” Rae emailed back.

“Is your friend’s contact with the Swedish philosopher a coincidence?”

She decided not to answer Mama G.

But Mama G came back to her, big time: “You are needed in L.A., child. You have a unique destiny awaiting you there. Save the boy.
Save the boy
.” Rae had no idea what boy was meant by this, but she knew in her heart that if Mama G said a thing, then it must be the truth. She just had to figure it out somehow.

At the airport, less than twenty-four hours later, Rae met Tyler. She had managed to pack her best dress and surprisingly few other items in a single carry-on—to avoid the extra-baggage charge and because she had so little time. The two held their electronic tickets as they joined the line to board the aircraft.

“She said we have a destiny in Los Angeles.”

“Who?

“Mama G. The seer.”

*   *   *

“You know Mama G?” Tyler had long since realized he should never be surprised by Rae’s revelations to him, but he’d truly had no idea about this. Even he knew about the world’s most famous astrologer, and he had once or twice visited her website himself. A long time ago.

“Sure. I’m a regular. I love all that woo-woo stuff. And Mama is the real thing. I can testify to that.”

“I won’t ask…,” he said simply. Then he turned to her and was completely serious. “My friend Swedenborg came to me again.”

“I didn’t know he was ever not with you, Mikey.”

“Listen, this is important. He didn’t give me any specific instructions about L.A. and what we are supposed to do there. But I have a strong thought—knowledge, really—that the President’s son is there, and somehow, we are supposed to be involved in finding him and saving him.”

“That’s it!” Rae exclaimed. “We’re going there to be a part of it. That’s what Mama G meant when she said, ‘Save the boy.’”

The two compared notes as they sat together in their business class seats. Then they were quiet. Rae closed her eyes to get some rest. Tyler flipped on his iPod and settled in to listen to Charlene St. John’s newest CD. His eyes remained wide open for the entire flight.

So, they were go-ing pla-ces … maybe. But it occurred to the doctor that they were going to one place where they were supposed to be. Perhaps there he would learn how this was all fitting together. It didn’t matter anymore what he wanted, or what he thought he wanted. He was being led by his spirit guide, the amazing Swedenborg, and he finally decided not to fight it anymore. To go, to do what he was asked to do, to be who he was supposed to be.

En route to Los Angeles

Also en route to L.A., but on a different airliner, Patricia Rose Greenidge was beginning to
see
what lay ahead. Often she had visions, sometimes scattered and unconnected, but of late she was seeing things that were all of a piece: from her encounter with the Council of Elders, which still blew her mind when she thought about it, to her contacts with Rae Loona and Dave Hampton. She had even sent and received messages to Dawson Rask and that FBI agent who was searching for the President’s son—and who had the deepest and most accurate insight of anyone else on the planet as to what was happening globally.

Putting it all together … now she knew exactly what was happening and why this particular group of people was converging on L.A.

This was the time when the Army of Light, the forces of the Council itself, would reveal itself in a battle against the darkness. It was all coming down to this. And she would be in the middle of it, or present to see it unfold. She was called, just like the others, to be present on the battlefield for the confrontation.

Mama G, along with the whole world, would be there to see it happen.

*   *   *

Mama G saw the Governor sitting across from her, as clearly as if he were also a passenger on the flight. But, instead, she was back in the Council chambers. Her ears were filled with music, her heart with love, and her mind with foreboding. It was like nothing she had ever heard, and yet at the same time the most natural sound in the world. Could it be nothing less than the music of the spheres? Harmonies that set the planets in motion?

Now, with so much gratitude and a loss of fear, she heard the music—whole, eternal, suspended in air. She heard the harmonies that would never be lost as long as she was open to being this in tune with everything around her.

“The signs in the heavens are all converging,” she said to the Governor. “That is why I am traveling to the States.”

“The time is now. All God’s children have their tasks,” he said. He really wasn’t talking. It was as if his eyes, glinting in the light, were telling Mama G to keep on keeping on. A powerful message.

She responded with a smile. Mere words were of lesser value at this moment.

Mama G had her theme for tonight’s website post, which would be done remotely—from L.A. She was grateful to the Council for revealing the truth to her. She felt privileged and in awe of the power of Light in a world threatened by darkness. She had her marching orders. For sure.

Mama G closed her eyes and started to pray. And suddenly, as if words were now becoming pictures, Mama G saw the number
1
slide across her closed eyes, followed by
512.
She sat very still, hoping, for once, her vision was clear as crystal. She heard the word “Jesse” being said as if over a loudspeaker in an airport. Suddenly, Mama G saw herself in an airport terminal, in front of a departures board showing flights. Brightly lit was flight 1512 from L.A. to Marcus via Jesse Airlines.

Mama G was skilled at sorting out symbols, and these were child’s play: 1512 had to be an address, and Jesse probably meant the street. She knew that time was of the essence and for once she was happy that she lived in a time of technology. She pulled out her cell phone and accepted the disastrous charges to make some phone calls. She prayed that she would be in time.…

CHAPTER

91

This was all too ridiculous. Maybe it was nothing but his overactive brain coming up with the next storyline for Matt Matthews. Are writers sometimes forced to live in the very worlds they create?

Who needs his help? A dead writer? Why him? Why now?

“
Because we have come to now,”
C. S. Lewis said.

Dawson looked up from the notes he was taking, not at all shocked to see C. S. Lewis standing right there in the hotel room with him. No longer in a World War I uniform, Lewis was wearing a tweed jacket and a dark blue tie that was somewhat askew. He had a high forehead and dark, very penetrating eyes.

“Well, so you finally decided to talk to me,” Dawson said.

“Oh, but I’ve been talking to you all along, dear boy. You don’t think you were suddenly blessed with the power of precognition, do you?”

Dawson had never seen a film clip of Lewis, and he had no idea what Lewis sounded like, but the accent seemed just right—exactly like that of Ian McKellen. In fact, he wondered if it was McKellen’s voice he was hearing. Perhaps it was. Perhaps his subconscious was merely supplying that voice for this occasion.

“Why are you doing this? What is going on? Why am I getting all these visions?”

“
Because we need you,”
Lewis replied.

“Who is we? And why do you need me?”

“We are us, the souls of planet Earth.”

“But you are no longer of this planet. You are dead.”

“
Do I look dead?”

“You look like you just stepped off the set of
The Lord of the Rings
. You know, it was made into a movie long after you were gone.”

C. S. Lewis laughed.
“Tolkein and his confounded elves. Never quite my cup of tea.”

“What?”

“I’m teasing you, dear boy.”

“You are avoiding the question. What do you mean when you say ‘we need you.’ Who is we, and why do you need me?”

“I did answer the question. My soul is still of this Earth, as are the souls of all who have gone before. Your Mary Beth’s soul, my sweet Joy’s soul. The soul of your late President. There are Dark Forces gathering, and the world is in trouble. But you can have a positive influence on stopping the Dark Forces.”

“Why me? What can I do?”

“You are a writer, Dawson. Like me. That’s why I have come to you. You can change the future and plant seeds of hope with your writing.”

“Clearly you haven’t read any of my books—my bubblegum fiction, I believe one man called it.”

Lewis chuckled.
“I will tell you that you are going to develop a series of books and create a world similar to what I did in Narnia. You will inspire millions of people about the world we live in, and you will influence the choices they make. Choices that will stop the Dark Forces of evil.”

“You really have that much confidence in me, do you?”

“We all do. But, it isn’t just your writing. You are going to play a very active role in the events to come.”

“How?”

“Via your friend, Bobby Anderson, for one. His role in all this is pivotal. He needs your help, and you are going to supply it.”

“You’re talking about those cult murders he is dealing with?”

“I am indeed, but they are more than mere cult murders. They are all hooked in to these same, evil Dark Forces.”

“So let me get this straight. I’m to help Bobby solve these cult—”

“Not cult.”

“These, ritualistic murders, and I’m also to write a series of books that will help turn back the Dark Forces.”

“Right you are. And a few other things.”

“What other things?”

“When they happen, you’ll know.”

“Thank you for not saying; ‘If they bring a knife, you bring a gun.’”

C. S. Lewis laughed again.
“You’re a riot, Dawson. Don’t be late.”

“Late?”

“For your flight to LAX.”

“LAX? That’s a term you’re familiar with?”

“I’ve not the slightest idea what it means. You’re the one that put the words in my mouth,”
Lewis said as he slowly faded from view.

*   *   *

Dawson stood at the large plate glass window in Terminal Two, looking out at the many aircraft waiting to be boarded at Melbourne airport. Because Terminal Two was the international terminal, he heard a collage of languages behind him: Chinese, Japanese, Korean, German, as well as English in dialects from American to English to Australian to Indian.

“Fahrgaste nach Frankfurt sollten jetzt laden.
Passengers to Frankfurt should be loading now.”

His cell phone rang—another call from Bobby Anderson. He smiled as he punched up the call.

“Tell me, Bobby, are all these calls on your call plan? Or are we poor beleaguered taxpayers having to pay for them?”

“Of course you are paying for them,” Bobby answered. “This is, after all, official business. And this is really important—I left you a message which you may not have listened to. I’m just glad I got you before you boarded. I know that we had plans to meet in L.A. during your layover, but I would like you to change your plans and stay in L.A. I need your help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Do you remember when I spoke to you about the ritualistic killings?”

“Bobby, that’s not the kind of thing that will just slip through your memory. Of course I do.”

“Well, I—I almost hate to even bring this up on the phone. You’ll think I’ve gone crazy, but I believe there is much more to these killings than meets the eye.”

“Dawson, ask the lad if he thinks there is a connection between these killings and the assassination of the President?”

“Oh great, Ian McKellen is back,” Dawson said.

“What?”

“It’s not really Ian McKellen, it’s actually C. S. Lewis. He just sounds like Ian McKellen.”

“Holy crap, I’m coming to you for help and you have gone mad on me.”

“Do you think there is a connection between these killings and the assassination of the President?”