Fallen Masters (57 page)

Bobby was impressed with Marcus’s insight. He had matured a lot in a very short time. “This is as safe a place as I can get you to,” he said. “We expect your mother to be here any minute. I know you’ll want to see her as soon as you can.”

“My mom is coming here?” Marcus was overcome with the thought that he would soon see and be able to hold his beloved mommy long before he expected to. “You’re a good man, Agent Anderson,” he said in his all-grown-up voice.

“I could say the same about you, Mr. Jackson.”

CHAPTER

101

Pleasure and excitement welled up within Angel Emphatic’s being. It was an exquisite feeling that motivated him to exert his every energy to fulfill the mandate of the Tribunal—and his own desires for power and control over the minds of human beings. It was a thrill unlike any other, better than any sensual pleasures known to these hapless, self-centered creatures.

Laughter rose within the sly dark lord as well, but he did not—could not—let it out to be heard by others. If his true thoughts and feelings were known by these people, they would be repulsed by the dank ugliness such thoughts represented. He knew from long experience that he must hide his true nature when among impressionable humans, for whom he had no respect whatever. His laughter could split a person’s skull or bend steel if unleashed in full fury.

Angel Emphatic said to his companion: “The Tribunal has been pleased with us thus far and expect a glorious cataclysm for the ages. We have a grave responsibility to carry out their directives as their ambassadors on the Earth. I intend that we shall win a great victory here.”

IRA, for his part, had spent enough time with the assassinated POTUS and among the grim and self-satisfied Council of Elders to feel super-confident in his own abilities and the ultimate strength of the Dark Forces in this new battle for the ages. He felt almost disappointed that it would be so very easy to subdue the enemy this day, as he assumed would happen.

How the histories would be written and the psalms sung when the Dark Energies took their rightful place as universal rulers of all realms, visible and invisible!

Looking around at the bustle backstage, IRA replied to the one to whom he looked as to his commander in the field, “We stand here at the tip of the spear. It is ready to pierce the flesh of these poor beings—for their own good, as well as ours. How can they not know what is going to happen to them?”

He was pleased at his sly reference to an old triumph—the crucifixion of Jesus two thousand years ago. This, however, would be even more thrilling for the evil being.

“Some do,” Emphatic said, almost absently. His thoughts, too, had already turned to the aftermath of victory and the celebrations that would shake the heavens. “But they cannot convince enough of their brother beings to make a difference in the outcome.”

IRA’s unnatural teeth flashed. He was dressed in a tuxedo in order to blend in with the award-ceremony attendees. His earthly form was unremarkable, except for his eyes, which bored into whatever he looked at with singular intensity. His face shimmered in the shadows cast by the intense stage lighting, to which he turned his back. He did not love light; it upset his sensibilities. “They are weak in both thought and action.”

“That is, in part, how they have survived for so long,” the other said. “They can bend with the prevailing winds and thus survive the most intense storms. Their lack of strength has been an effective evolutionary trait for a long time. But now we are going to press them down as never before—until they break.”

CHAPTER

102

The red carpet scene outside the Hollywood Grand Theatre was a mob scene: flashing paparazzi cameras, iPhone video cams, shouting and screaming by fans, press milling everywhere looking for that “exclusive” interview, and show business celebrities and Oscar nominees arriving in limousines every few seconds. It was late afternoon, Pacific standard time, and the rich and famous squinted or wore sunglasses against the natural glare that was amplified by tens of thousands of watts of electric lighting.

Charlene St. John and her entourage arrived early, because she would be singing her new song live early in the broadcast. Her special guests, Rae Loona and Tyler Michaels, were already at a backstage cocktail reception.

During the previous week, she had rehearsed it endlessly—not only the singing but also the choreography—to get the timing down to a science. She had a long-established reputation as a perfectionist who rehearsed relentlessly and drove herself and others. Now, on the evening of the performance, she was relaxed and ready to give it her all.

As she stepped out of the limousine, with Dawson Rask as her escort, along with her publicist and secretary, Charlene looked around at the familiar scene. How many times had she been here before? Hundreds of concerts and dozens of award shows over nearly two decades came back to her in a flash of memory that nearly overwhelmed her. She paused to catch her breath. In her heart she carried her song,
the
song of her life. She touched Dawson’s arm to steady herself.

*   *   *

He looked at her and saw that her face was bathed with dying sunlight, seeming to radiate back even more powerfully than the klieg lights and strobes. Never had she looked more beautiful or healthy, or more in command of her awesome talents.

He felt her grip tighten on his arm.

Charlene propelled herself forward, head held high, past doubts and pains and memories. In her own heart, she held the image of the Lady who had given her back her life and purpose. She needed nothing else to sustain her, and she cared nothing for what might happen to her beyond the present moment.

As was the case at her concert in Mexico, she felt a sudden sense of purpose, of knowing what to do, of understanding why she was here on this Earth. It felt good, though it frightened her, and she hoped and prayed she could do what had been asked of her, that she could perform tonight as on no other night in her life.

*   *   *

Dawson looked over at Charlene, who was in her element among her fans, in front of the cameras and microphones. For a second she stopped on the red carpet. She was glued to this spot, anticipating … something.

How the heck did I get here?
he asked himself for the thousandth time. He added the question:
How the heck did
we
get here?

The whirlwind events of the past few hours were something of a blur to him, but one thing stood out: Between Charlene and himself there was no awkwardness or any discomfort whatsoever, just palpable chemistry rippling out to form an aura of peace and newfound affection around them both. That woman was beautiful not only on the outside but she also radiated the goodness of a pure spirit within. It was a source of intrinsic beauty that bowled Dawson over, and for the first time in years, he could envision a life that wasn’t filled with sorrow. He almost wept at the thought.

*   *   *

As they moved closer to the theater entrance, they were relentlessly pinned down by microphone-wielding questioners and handheld video cams and lights.

Charlene spoke to a reporter who had a microphone to her face. “I am grateful to God for everything in my life that he has touched—and for the good in this world. I know that a lot of bad things have happened to me, some very publicly, and some are happening right now, but faith is the answer to all that.”

“Yes,” the reporter said condescendingly, “but what about your song? It has been nominated as Best Original Song. Do you think you’ll win the Oscar?”

“No, I don’t,” she said simply.

“How can you say that? You are the odds-on favorite to win.”

“I’ve already won,” Charlene St. John said with a bright, familiar lilt in her famous voice. “I don’t need a statuette to tell me that.”

She felt Dawson Rask’s hand on her arm. It gave her a warm jolt of positive energy to know that he stood beside her now, in a moment that meant the world to her. If anyone could see into her heart, they would see her pure joy. And there was one who could see and know all. The Lady of Guadalupe, who seemed to appear everywhere she looked.

Early on the red carpet trail, Charlene had been sure she’d seen Our Lady, but on second glance, it was Salma Hayek!

Even here, amid the glitter and glamour of the photographers and screaming fans, with the eyes of the entire world focused on the spectacle of the Academy Awards, with the reporters scrambling to obtain screen time with the pop icon and the roar all around her, Charlene’s mind and soul were focused on the Lady, her spirit guide and master on this journey. She constantly saw imagery of her on the way there, including a bumper sticker and a tattoo on a cameraman’s arm.

As she moved along the red carpet with Dawson at her side and shouts from everywhere, she noticed a figure that seemed to be moving with her in parallel off to one side and slightly ahead: a woman with a blue veil whose face was partly obscured by the angle at which she walked. There she was! Charlene was elated as the noise about her abated. Smiling serenely, Charlene gave her fans and the television audience a radiant image of the singer at the peak of her powers and in the flower of health and well-being.

Still, even with the comforting presence of the Lady guiding her, even with her heart full of prayer and goodwill, a sense of foreboding suddenly descended upon Charlene. She looked down at the bright red carpet and, for just an instant, saw a river of blood flowing beneath her feet—and instead of the screams of her fans, she heard the cries of the damned and the wailing and gnashing of teeth of her fellow human beings, thousands, even millions of them. One instantaneous, terrifying moment. At first, no one else saw what she had visioned. In anguish, she turned to Our Lady, who seemed to pause and hold out her hands.

In her mind, Charlene heard these words:
“My child, the sins of mankind are many, but the love of God is greater still for all that. Do not be afraid as you enter the temple of the evildoers, for they are as nothing before the power of your loving Father whose angels once vanquished the forces of evil and will do so again. I promise you.… Pray with me.”

Then the woman in the Basilica, the woman whose image on the poor Aztec peasant’s cloak had touched millions of lives, was visible to those close to Charlene.

For just another brief moment, Our Lady of Guadalupe could be seen by the fans and media, causing a hush. Charlene squeezed Dawson’s hand. “Do you see her? Do you see her?” she whispered urgently.

“Yes. And I can’t believe it.” He stood with her, enveloped in a strange light, experiencing the same feeling he had known when visited by his guide, C. S. Lewis—but somewhat more powerful, definitely more
feminine,
and infinitely more peaceful.

As they resumed walking the red carpet, the vision quickly faded, but the presence remained for Charlene and Dawson. It was clear to Charlene that the image of the Lady was no longer visible to the people and the paparazzi, but the voice—a strong yet gentle voice that sounded otherworldly—came clearly to her:
“Use your voice. It is your gift to bring all who hear you closer to the Source of all goodness. Use your voice.”

CHAPTER

103

Above the clicking and flashing cameras and in the realm beyond human sight, the Dark Forces swirled and roiled in a frenzy as they realized they were losing ground.

It had been a hot day in L.A., getting hotter not cooler as the celebs strutted down the red carpet in the late afternoon for the pre-awards telecasts, even with the overcast sky.

The Dark Forces had long-planned chaos on their side, and they saw an opportunity to touch the minds of some of those present at the scene and set in motion a series of events during the short span of two minutes. Just ten yards from where Dawson and Charlene were standing, a scaffold holding cameramen for a South American TV company collapsed into a sea of journalists, some fans, and even some of the arriving stars: Jennifer Aniston’s leg was broken, and Barbara Walters would be taken to Cedar Sinai Hospital for a concussion—and giving Joan Rivers and Kathy Griffin more fodder for comedy than a team of writers could write in a lifetime.

A sea of black town cars stretched for over two miles, waiting to drop off the who’s who of the Hollywood world, the very epitome of ego, entitlement, fashion, beauty, and immeasurable wealth, fame, and talent. The wreckage of the scaffolding and the injured were cleared out within several minutes, reopening the flow on the red carpet.

By this time, Charlene and Dawson had been whisked safely into the theater by a skilled security team. The air crackled with chaos and anticipation of—something.…

This was a “red pool” moment, recalling for IRA and POTUS the time the latter was led into such a pool to experience the almost blindingly orgasmic experience of dark energies and misdirected emotions that lay at the foundation of the Tribunal’s scheme for domination of malleable and imperfect human beings to their purposes. People on Earth, many of them, saw celebrity and fame as an elixir of life, as the
answer
to so many problems and desires, when the reality was it could only be a distraction at best and an obsession at worst. The Dark Side sought to feed into the voyeuristic ego of people, forcing them to focus only on the ego or the self and thus shut themselves off from the promise and energy of the light. At least for the next few hours, they were in for a treat: a veritable orgy of ego and glitter in the form of an entertainment extravaganza like no other in the world.

For several long seconds, a strange and powerful layer of light surrounded the Earth, causing power to flicker and fade, communications blackouts to roll across entire continents in response to the surge of dark energy that had been harnessed by the Tribunal from solar flares and black holes that swirled and shot through space toward the planet.

Although they lasted less than a minute in total, the interruptions in electrical power across every grid in every city on Earth caused telephonic and wireless communications to cease. Only the broadcast from Los Angeles was relatively unscathed, protected from the malevolent forces because of the huge surge of positive energies and lightness of spirit that had gathered—or been summoned—there.