Free Sample of To Hell & Back A Test of Faith

To Hell and Back

A

Test of Faith

By

VL Parker

Copyright © 2011 – VL Parker

All rights reserved worldwide.

No part of this book may be copied or re-sold.

Part One:

Before We Live, We Die

Prologue:

Something that’s Worth Dying For 

            “Between shadows and death we will reach out for the light.” Catherine once told me this in the dark of the night, but I didn’t believe her. In the darkness there is no shadow and in death there could be no life, and yet like a moth drawn to the flame I was compelled to follow her.

      Our lives were separate as were our paths, still destiny determined they would become entwined. As a plant longs for the sun and the rain, as the desert thirsts, and as we require air to breathe, so too I came to need Catherine. I wanted her to save my soul; to restore my faith in humanity, for she was my last great hope, to resurrect all that had died in me.

I felt some deep force within me forcing me to follow her and yet she was a believer in a god I did not know and a leader of a group I did not understand. Their faith was blind, being led by prophecy and dreams, but I refused to be a pawn of the gods. I would choose my fate and control my own destiny. This is what I had always clung to, but now the world had changed.

I was lost and alone; I was perplexed and confused, as chaos made me victim to circumstance. Catherine would become my cause, she became my dream and I would follow her to the ends of the Earth. For her I could live; for her I could die.

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As I sit down to write this story I question where I should begin. Perhaps I will tell you just a little about the forces that shaped me, and the circumstances that brought me into Catherine’s life.

             It was the first year of The Great War, some said it was Armageddon, others World War III. Regardless of what one chose to call it, it was bloody, it was endless, and it had taken on a life of its own. By the time I crept into Catherine’s camp I was under its control.

The carnage could trace its roots to the War on Terror, which had been launched by the United States following that terrible September morn in 2001. The attack on Iraq was swift, and then the assault on Afghanistan was legitimate. One war flowed like blood into the next, as decades of warfare shaped our lives.

     It was now decades later and Jerusalem was being attacked on all sides. Throughout the previous winter, terror spread across the city, covering it in a blanket of shadows, as rivers of blood flowed through the streets. Israel’s enemies, the Palestinians and the surrounding Muslim countries, were besieging her on all sides. They proclaimed that nothing but the complete annihilation of the Jewish people would suffice.

America and Britain endeavored to protect her, but the solution was an enigma. The more we supported Israel in her struggle, the more fervent became hatred of the Jews in the region. Our support only escalated fighting throughout the Middle East. Our War on Terror married into the war to free the Jewish people from Muslim aggression.

We have been in a perpetual state of war ever since, a confrontation against Islamic extremists. We were never resting, nor relenting from eradicating the enemy before they could destroy us. Kill, or be killed, this was why war was waged and this was the atmosphere in which I grew up. It was an age of fear, an age of anger, and an era of broken dreams. Still, in the darkness a small flicker of hope remained and we were determined that our voices would never be extinguished.

I vowed to defend democracy. I would live and die for this ideal. I was always sure of whom the enemy was. There was never any doubt about what was worth fighting for; it was only a matter of which side you’re on.

Our allies and our own spies supplied us with ample evidence against terrorist cells and the nations who supported them. We had the technology and the will to destroy them. Then the world began to change as truth was portrayed as lies and our great American nation soon became despised.

The world had long fallen into darkness and chaos as a result of the never-ending bloodshed. It was a world I could no longer understand. The atrocities of war were no longer worth dying for. I was a soldier without a cause, a man without a soul, desperate for some hope, but with a heart that had grown cold.

I had lived for freedom and I was willing to die for democracy, but what was I to do when democracy ceased to exist? I could not give up on this dream. It was in my blood. It was a part of my being. I had to find a way to defend it, to save it from the reign of dictators who swayed the nations of the world.

There was one woman who shared this dream, or at least she shared the same enemy. We were kindred spirits, compelled to fight and die for, if necessary, that which we believed.

Peter Roberts

Captain, USN

Chapter One:

Flirting with Death

It was late into the night when I arrived in Catherine’s camp. She was the leader of a renegade group that was hiding out in the mountains of Washington State following the Freedom of Jerusalem Campaign. I arrived at the camp just as Catherine’s followers were settling around the campfire. Catherine was speaking when I sat down across from her on the other side of the flames.

            “Are you sure you want to hear this tale?”  Catherine inquired to those sitting around the fire with her. They were eager to hear the story even though many had heard it before.  She sighed, “It will take much of the night.”  Everyone sat back after pouring themselves another glass of wine, preparing to hear the legend. She poured herself a drink and then she began.

It was the last day of school in Dublin and I had just returned from my final martial arts class. I was pleased to have done so well in school that year and I was especially proud of receiving my level three black belt.

Master Ming said, “I am pleased you have succeeded in achieving your goals. I enjoyed guiding you and hope you will continue on your journey toward discipline and enlightenment.”

Master Ming cautioned his students, “Remember, what you learned here stays here, unless all other alternatives fail, but if you must fight, fight to win.” He said this as he punched his right fist into his left hand and declared, “Peace over Power.”

We repeated in unison as we punched our hands into our fists, “Peace over Power.”  Then we genuflected as we all punched the floor bowing before him; we continued with one voice, “Should we fight, we fight to win.” We rose and bowed to our sensei. Following that we were dismissed.

 I admired the belt around my waist for a moment before changing. I had to hurry back to my room. I said some quick good-byes to some classmates and then I rushed out the door.

I bumped into my sensei as I was running out of the change room, so I took the opportunity to thank him for his guidance as I said, “Master Ming I want to thank you for all you have taught me over the past four years.  I hope I will live up to your expectations for me.” I knew however, that I was far too impulsive to ever fulfill such an unattainable goal. 

I hurriedly bowed to him again and as he bowed back, he commented in his gentle and melodious voice, “Catherine, your physical skills are unsurpassed. You are my best student; however you must overcome your propensity for rash and impulsive behavior.”

I giggled and apologized, but I found it difficult at that time in my life to receive a compliment coupled with criticism. I did not know how I should react so I replied, “I will endeavor to overcome my impulsive nature Master Ming, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

I gave him a quick kiss with a foolish smile upon my face. He shook his head as I turned to run, but I noticed a grin upon his face as I turned to wave one more final good-bye. I dashed out the door and rushed to my apartment.

 I had to hurry home to walk King, my German shepherd. I lived in a room in an old gray stone house, located beside a church at the edge of the university campus. My father bought it for me to ensure King and I would not be separated. I couldn’t survive without my dog. My father and I were not very close.  He was always too busy working, however I never lacked for anything financially. He believed it was a man’s responsibility to provide for his family and he did that very well.

I do remember being very close to him as a child, but my father was unable to relate to me when I became a young woman. He began to work more and more the older I became, and it was almost like he wanted to avoid me.

I suppose my unabashed expressions of my own opinions, which I was convinced were the only reality and gospel truth, often divided us. The cruelty of life, mainly his preoccupation with the never-ending war and his obsession with economic concerns, tended to divide our family. Still there was nothing I could not afford. Daddy’s money was my money. In short I was labeled a, ‘spoiled little rich girl.’ I was wealthy and opinionated.

I was also introverted and filled with a deep-seated rage that was growing up inside of me, stemming from my resentment of the lack of attention, the lack of protection, and the lack of love that I received from my father. My father and I were not close. Oh well, that stuff does not matter; I’m wandering off topic. 

Where was I? Oh yes I was heading home.

When I arrived home King was very excited to see me and was anticipating his walk. “Hello boy. Did you miss me or do you just want your walk?”

King jumped with excitement and I laughed. King hugged and kissed me with a few quick licks and then he brought me his leash. I patted his head and I said, “I see you want to go now. Alright, come on then.”

It was late May, but it felt like a hot summer night as we walked along the cliffs above the beach. It was often pleasantly cool by the ocean, but this day it was hotter than usual. I was so warm that I had to sit for a few moments to catch my breath. I had never felt that kind of heat in Ireland, during all of the years I attended university. When I had the opportunity to sit and ponder my future, I was often torn between joy and an overwhelming sense of dreadful apprehension. I didn’t know what I wanted to be, or what destiny held in store for me.

King began to bark impatiently. He never did allow me to indulge my pensive nature for very long, so we continued our walk above the beach.  I could see the fishing boats coming into shore and hear the sounds of music and laughter floating across the bay. After a long while I sat again and watched the sunset. As the sun vanished so did the warmth of its rays, along with its crimson beauty.

Once the sun disappeared beyond the horizon I walked amidst the shadows of the night until I reached a promontory, where I stood isolated above the vast ocean below. I heard the waves lapping gently against the shore, as I gazed off the edge of a precipice at the darkness below me. I suddenly felt vacant, as if my soul was unexpectedly detached, and a shiver ran up my spine. I resumed my walk down toward the harbor lights in order to escape the chill and darkness of the night.

King now barked again because he wanted to run and play. We continued our decent to the beach below.  In our haste down the rocky escarpment, I slipped and scraped my knee. The blood slowly trickled down my leg but I was able to walk, so we resumed our decline after King had licked my wound. I patted his head and I assured him, “I’m fine King, now stop that or you'll give me an infection.”  I observed that the first star had come out and silently, I made my wish to find love. 

            The new sliver of the moon shone illuminating a unique alignment of the stars. I could see them shining in a linear formation across the western horizon. Night had fallen and the harbor lights, flickering like candles, beckoned me from the darkness.

I stopped at a quaint little bar along the beach for a whiskey and sat on the patio to enjoy my last evening in town, before returning home to New York the following day. The spirits quickly dulled my pain, and with the removal of this distraction I began to watch the people around me. There were many British and Canadian sailors drinking in the bar that night, alongside some American Marines.

The bar was a pub with giant fish mounted on the walls and nets hanging in the corners. There were several old pictures of fishermen showing their manliness by holding their largest catches, alongside photos of local heroes lost in the Middle Eastern conflict.

I heard a group of sailors talking about the war. I listened as they talked gallantly, assured that God would support them in their endeavor to destroy the enemy.  I heard one sailor dressed in a white wool sweater proclaim, “Sorry mates, but I have to warn you, it’s a bitch to be there.”

The man who made this comment had worn leathery skin like that of a fisherman. His beard was beginning to gray, showing his age despite his young looking physique. His deep green eyes stood in contrast to his darkened complexion and he spoke with a thick Scottish accent. His tone and the deep furrow of his brow told me that he had his own story to tell. I was sure that the weariness in his eyes meant that he must have been to hell and back.

A young marine with red hair pushed himself toward the older gentleman and said, “How the hell would you know, you old fart?” He was quite obviously drunk.

The older man downed his whiskey and replied as he stood up, “Because boy, I just returned from that God-forsaken place.” The gentleman then turned and limped out of the bar with the aid of a cane as he warned, “Prepare your selves for hell boys. This is just the beginning of the third Great War.”

The boy shrugged him off saying, “Gramps is just pissed at being a cripple.”

Then their commander raised his glass and toasted, “Dulce et Decorum Est Pro patria mori.”

Another young marine inquired, “What does that mean Cap?”

I glanced over to see who had asked the question, it was a young boy, barely a man, with wavy dark brown hair. Despite his muscled physique his facial features were still that of a young teenager. I took another sip of my drink after identifying who had spoken and I continued to listen.

The Captain replied, “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”

Then the redhead marine that had previously insulted the old man raised his glass and bellowed, “To honor and death.”

The whole bar joined in a war cry shouted out, “To honor and death.”  I refused to join their toast to bloodshed.

My stomach turned at the hypocrisy and futility of war. These young boys believed the myth of the glory of war. I suppose they must if they are to rationalize killing and dying for one’s country. Wilfred Owen must have turned in his grave that night, had he known that the irony of his poem was so misconstrued by these young rogues.

The Captain of these men was walking toward me and he noticed my scorn. He stood beside me and asked me to not judge them too harshly, “After all,” he said, “If they didn’t put an end to the atrocities then who would? These men will eliminate the reign of terror in the world.”

“Only God can do that.” I replied.

He apologized and conceded, “You might be right, but I still think we have to try, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” I agreed.

He inquired, “May I buy you a drink?”

I motioned with my hand for him to sit as he asked, “So what are you drinking?”

“A double shot of whiskey on the rocks.” I replied

He smiled with his perfect teeth and perfect lips, and then he ordered one for each of us.

We sat and discussed many topics throughout the evening and he inquired why war unsettled me as he teased, “Are you a pacifist?”

I laughed out loud, “No I would not go that far, but it feels like we have been at war most of my life and sometimes I question why and then I remember 911. I was a little girl, but I recall it as if it was yesterday. That tragic September morn is still vivid in my mind’s eye.”

I shook my head as the Captain responded, “Me too. I will never forget that day either.”

He placed his hand on mine with such gentleness. I smiled as I continued, “I had been deeply troubled by a prophecy that my brother James had emailed me shortly after the catastrophic event. It read,

“Subject: Here is an interesting quote from Nostradamus.

"In the year of the new century and nine months,
From the sky will come a great King of Terror...
The sky will burn at forty-five degrees.
Fire approaches the great new city...
In the city of York there will be a great collapse,
2 twin brothers torn apart by chaos
while the fortress falls the great leader will succumb
the third big war will begin when the big city is burning"

 - NOSTRADAMUS

“I never verified that quote, for I was only a child when he emailed it to me at private school.  Still, it sent my soul into turmoil whenever I recalled it. I never forgot it. It stayed with me, as did the destruction itself. I still remember my mother holding me in her arms, rocking back and forth, as tears flowed from her grief stricken eyes.” I was almost moved to tears as I allowed myself to remember that day.

“I’ve never heard that quote before, but I have heard of Nostradamus. Didn’t he live during the 1600’s?” The Captain questioned as he motioned for two more drinks.

“Yes I believe he wrote that prophesy in 1654.” I answered

“Where were you on the day the twin towers fell?” He asked as our drinks arrived.

I smiled at the waiter and thanked him and then I continued, “James and I were supposed to be getting ready to go to school, we were both quite young. We were all sitting down for breakfast. My mother turned on the news as she did every morning. My father had been sipping his coffee as the cook served him his eggs and toast. He got up from the table and stared the TV dumbfounded, in shock. My mother slowly walked toward the screen and I did too. She fell to her knees clasping me to her chest, weeping. After a short while when the second plane flew into the tower dad seemed enraged. He stormed from the room and stomped off to his office and shut the door. Mom continued to sit in front of the television as tears streamed down her face. I sat there all day and held her hand. James, my brother, ate as if nothing was wrong and continued to enjoy his day off school; entertaining himself since everyone else seemed obsessed with the attack.”

Captain Robert sighed, “Yes, I must confess that day is forever with me as well. It amazes me how some people, like your brother who were wrapped up in their own lives and seemed to be unaffected by that event, it was a turning point for our nation. It shaped our lives.”

I nodded in agreement, “I was internally divided that day, as I literally shared my mother's tears and my father's rage. Our lives were changed by 911. The day marked an end to our decadent, carefree life and replaced it with a spirit of fear and a spirit of vengeance and wrath. My parents grew up in an era of security and comfort. I grew up in an age of apprehension, hate and paranoia.”

“What is it that your father did for a living? Did he work with anyone in the World Trade Center?” Roberts questioned.

“I don’t know if he knew anyone, but it is possible. My father's assets were extensive and our wealth was obscene. He had numerous business interests and relationships with many high profile businessmen. He owned a large high tech weapons manufacturing company that profited greatly from our government’s ongoing commitment to wage war on any nation that bred extremist factions of any kind.  He also was a majority stakeholder in a large energy company, and many manufacturing companies. He was the majority shareholder in Eco Air that designed energy efficient aircraft.  Eco Air opened a few years after 911.” I shook my head and laughed to myself.

“What made you laugh?” The Captain asked me.

I replied, “Oh, I was just remembering the dinner parties. Officials were often at our dinner table and I would creep down the stairs, whenever I was home, to listen to their long discussions concerning recent aggressions against the free world. They would talk much about business, but they mostly focused on politics. I gradually learned how closely tied business and politics were. Although few of the business leaders in North America were overtly involved in politics, they were certainly able to influence not only who held power, but how that power was wielded. Many prominent politicians, bankers, as well as industry leaders attended mother's exquisite dinner parties.”

I could not help but smile as I continued, “When I was a young child I loved the excitement, the dresses, and the decorations, but what I loved most was hiding and listening to after dinner conversations. I felt like a spy, I would often take notes and make a game of it creating elaborate conspiracies. I would then have to connect all the clues to save the world. It was not long however, before I became a woman and such games had begun to cease.”

The Captain smiled, “I’m sure you were the most adorable spy ever. It is sad that such innocence and games are left behind, but I do believe I can still see that childlike fascination in your eyes right now.”

I laughed and I believe I did blush a little as I looked down for an instant. I regained my composure and I continued, “I longed for the peace and joy that my mother so often loved to recall. She would tell me about her childhood and how it was in the years before the war. It sounded idyllic, but I sometimes wondered if it were not a mirage, a tainted memory, or fantasy. Our life, because of our wealth, was beautiful and ideal too. In many ways I was shielded from the darker aspects of the world beyond the gates of our estate and beyond the privileged private schools.”

The Captain asked, “How long was it before you saw the world through different eyes?”

I was surprised how much we conversed, but I continued to reveal myself to him and I answered, “I was less shielded as time went on. I would watch the news, read news articles on-line and it was not long before I discovered the poverty and the pain all around me. How could anyone help but see the world around them in this age, with information at our fingertips?”

“True.” Roberts agreed as he continued to question, “Was it the news coverage that made you anti-war?”

“Perhaps,” I sighed, “I was angry and sad, as I thought of where war and hatred had brought us, but my martial arts instructor, Master Ming, also taught us that sometimes our freedom had to be protected. I endeavored to live at peace with everyone, however I was determined to never be a victim, and as a woman I felt this need to defend myself growing with each passing year. I was confused with a longing for peace and anger at all the injustice in our world. Maybe we do have to fight, but sometimes I wonder if violence begets violence. I felt like there were two distinct personalities warring inside of me, one bent on justice and fighting for what was right and another that just wanted peace and security. The news can really warp a child’s perspective and I fear it did with mine. I became increasingly anti-war when I saw the atrocities that the soldiers participated in against some of the Iraqi, and Afghani people. I became increasingly critical as I grew older and I realized we only sent our troops to avenge or where we could financially prosper, but if you are a poor country with a desperate need for freedom and equality, no matter how grave the situation then, sorry we can’t help you be free.

“I agree, but war is very expensive. The cost is a legitimate consideration.” The Captain said sincerely as he noted with some tone of disapproval, “It is sad when some soldiers become inhumane, but the majority of soldiers are risking their lives to better the world, to fight back the darkness, not to become a part of it.”

I smiled as I said apologetically, “I’m sorry if I seemed judgmental and harsh earlier when you led your men in a toast. I’m grateful for my freedom, and I am grateful to men like you who protect it, but sometimes I question if the continual fighting does not make the darkness become a part of you. How do you retain your humanity when fighting the inhumane and how do you know if you’re fighting a worthy cause?”

He said, “That is a difficult question and a deep conversation that may have to wait for another place in time. I will say this though; I believe it is love and beauty like yours that keeps us human. If I had you at home to return to following the war I am sure I would survive it. I believe there is nothing love cannot heal.” He stood up and gave me his hand as he asked, “Now why don’t you allow me to alter your opinion of a sailor and share this dance with me?”

I smiled and replied, “Well on that note we can agree, I too believe that there is nothing love can’t heal.”

 He grinned as he led me to the dance floor.

 I cannot recall the number of dances we shared, however I remember that the other marines called him Captain Roberts. I recollect getting lost in the music and drinks, and I will never forget what he looked like.

He was about six foot one with gorgeous, hazel eyes and dark brown hair. His smile was the kind that could make a woman swoon and his lips were just the perfect size, summoning you to steal a kiss. His broad shoulders made you feel as if he could hold you forever in his arms.

He embraced me closely as we swayed slowly to the music. I loved the warmth, security and protection his presence provided. He took my breath away and I was becoming entranced by his allure, but I had to maintain the upper hand, so I played the tease.

 I felt so sensual and alive when I danced and I took pleasure in knowing the affect my dancing had on the men around me. Our final waltz was tranquil and far more tempered then our previous dances. As we swayed slowly to the music I felt his heartbeat, it was strong and steady.  I too was excited and my heartbeat quickened; I apologized abruptly, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave; I have to get up early tomorrow.”

He pulled me closer to his body and whispered into my ear, “Surely you will not leave me with nothing before I go off to war, perhaps a kiss?”

 As he spoke these words I felt his hot breath flutter past my ear. He brushed my black hair gently out of my eyes. Beads of sweat were running down the hollow of my chest and I allowed him to lift a single drop just below the nape of my neck. He was forward and yet gentle and sweet and I wanted to kiss him, I believe he knew it because he did kiss me. I confess I kissed many boys in my young dating life, but he was different. He was a man and more than that he made me want more. I never experienced that before. He took my breath away.

After our kiss he beseeched me, “May I walk you home? It is well after midnight and it is beautiful night for a stroll, beneath the stars and the moonlight.” 

I loved his deep and gentle voice. I played with the idea of having him as a lover for just one night, but I quickly dismissed the thought. “I would love to join you however, I am a virgin and I intend to stay that way, at least for tonight.” My blunt reply seemed to only intrigue him more.  I grinned as he pulled me closer to him and my eyes danced with delight at his confident, but gentle nature.

Some of the more proper of Catherine’s followers shuffled with discomfort. They did not approve of Catherine quoting the soldiers’ foul language and they hated hearing about her former licentious behavior, but she never allowed them to think she was in any way perfect. Still, they were idealists.

 I on the other hand loved her passion, her free spirit, and her beauty. She still had her long black hair, her deep blue eyes that glistened reflecting the fire and a body that drove men crazy, especially me. I could not suppress the smile, which crept across my face as I admired her flawlessness. Catherine put another log on the fire and briefly glanced at me through the flames. I swear I saw her eyes dance with delight as she continued her story.

 King barked and gave the marine a threatening growl. I laughed and bent down to give him a hug. After I declined the walk, I thanked Captain Roberts, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, but I must be getting home.”

He gallantly helped me to my feet and then he took two steps back, as he bowed and kissed my left hand. Then he replied, “My lady the pleasure, I assure you, was all mine.”

“Don’t be so sure” I teased.

He smiled and then he continued with an innocent look, “I promise to be a perfect gentleman if you would permit me to walk you home.”

            I stared at him with equal self-confidence, however I was unable to suppress my grin, “I thank you for your noble gesture, but I already have an escort.” I flashed him a smile as I patted my dog’s head. With a nod I then proceeded to walk back up the beach with King faithfully at my side, knowing the Captain’s face had placed an imprint like a photograph on my heart and his kiss claimed my soul. I was young with a wild heart that needed to be tamed.

Just below the cliffs near my house I bathed my feet in the ocean, as the salt cleansed my skin, the chill of the night air caused me to shiver, and the frigid water caused goose bumps to appear and blemish my once perfect skin.

Catherine got up again to pour herself another drink and she took a deep breath before she continued. I too remembered that night and could only imagine the pain it caused her to remember that part of the evening, so long ago.

I recalled ordering another drink on the patio. I sat watching her walk blissfully unaware, as she strolled back up the beach. I heard however, a group of the men talking about how beautiful she was and crudely commenting about what they wanted to do to her. I won’t repeat it. I also noticed they hurriedly paid their tabs as they quietly left the bar, hoping to go unnoticed. They proceeded to follow Catherine up the beach.

Catherine sat down by the fire, and after taking a deep breath laced with liquor, she summoned her courage to continue sharing her story.

 “I did not know that some of the sailors had followed me; the wind must have carried their scent away, because King hadn’t detected them either.  I had just put one of my shoes on when they came and circled me. King growled ferociously as I prepared to fight.”

 I recognized the nasty redhead from the bar as he remarked, “There was no need for you to get your shoes on lass, and we would prefer you to start with taking them off.” I spit at him as they laughed and they proceeded to hem me in.

I remembered Master Ming telling me, “Fear is your greatest enemy, but it can also be your closest friend.” I did not understand what he meant at the time, but now that I was terrified I realized I could become paralyzed with fear, or stand and fight with a vengeance. I took a deep breath and I faced my attackers, as adrenaline rushed through my veins.

I noted that I began to tremble in fear, so I forced myself to take another deep breath. King attacked one and I was forced to fight the other three. I kicked the red headed soldier in front of me in the groin with a front snap kick. He collapsed in pain and nausea. Then I turned swiftly and tripped another on my left with a sweeper kick. He fell to the ground with a thud, but the sand was soft and I knew he would get up quickly.

I saw King ripping into the arm of one of my attackers. He yelled in pain and then I heard King yelp. I turned out of concern as I witnessed one of the marine’s buddies stabbing King’s side with his knife. I sprang in a fury toward him. I was enraged that he stabbed my dog. Murder was in my heart and all my fear diminished, as hatred consumed my soul.

I managed to disarm the one that had injured my dog. I kicked him in the back and he dropped the knife to his side as he flew forward. I lunged for the knife and used it against him, as I slashed his right arm and thigh in quick succession.

The red head sneered, “Now you are going to get it bitch!”  I suddenly felt his kick sideswipe me. I had barely managed to lift my arms to block it. Initially I was dazed but I was still gripping the knife tightly. I began lashing out at them in desperation. I fought with a blind rage, as I sliced the arm of the red headed brute. This only angered the other men and increased their determination to defeat me quickly.

            I fought well but with King injured my chances of defeating these men was slim. The marines were too strong and too well trained; still I took pleasure in knowing the knife had sliced two of these beastly men.

A tall blond marine licked the blood flowing from his forearm and then he said with a sinister hiss, “Let me have the slut first. I’m going to teach her a lesson for dancing like a whore. She obviously likes it rough and so do I.”

As he uttered these words I saw the blade of his own knife glitter in the moonlight.  We lunged at one another and I felt a burning sensation on my rib cage. I was filled with so much adrenaline that I quickly dismissed it.

Then he swore at me, calling me a slut as he kicked me. The kick was so fast that I could not block it, let alone use the knife against him. He kicked me so hard in the ribs that I doubled over in pain. I collapsed; he pinned me to the ground. I was defeated.

 He sat on top of me and he held his knife to my face as he said, “You little bitch, you think you can get away with slicing me and my boy without us repaying in kind?”

I replied, “Why don’t you go take care of your boy you pig.” I spit at him in the face and he backhanded me.

I said, “Does that make you feel like a man, hitting a woman half your size?”

He smiled a wicked grin, “I will cut out your tongue and shut you up, and then I will show you what a man does to women like you.”

 I was not afraid when I thought he would cut me, but I did fear he would rape me, I would rather die than suffer that. I struggled to free myself, but it was futile and the brutes laughed at my helplessness and then, a gunshot rang out in the night. The men turned around. It was the Captain from the bar.

“Get off her Private!” Captain Roberts ordered, as he kicked him in the ribs. The men moved away from me and faced their commanding officer. 

“You sick bastards.” he continued as he walked forward. Then the Captain punched one in the nose and elbowed another in the face, and they dared not fight back.

He snarled “I should shoot you worthless pieces of shit right now, but I’m going to need every marine I can get when we ship out for the Middle East. Now get your asses back to the ship.”

 The men turned with their eyes cast down as they obeyed the order. They helped the cad I stabbed earlier get up and then they slinked away.

            The Captain helped me up and asked if I was okay. “I’m fine, but those assholes stabbed my dog.” I said as I rushed to King’s side. I knelt by him, and he was bleeding heavily. I hoped the wound was not fatal. The officer picked up my dog and followed me to the campus infirmary.    

As we walked Captain Roberts said, “For someone who proclaims to abhor violence you sure as hell fight like a soldier.” 

“Everyone has the right to self-defense, but as you said earlier, ‘Someone has to put an end to the atrocities’ and I’m so glad you did.”  I replied.

We continued up the cliffs toward the university grounds as an awkward silence fell between us. I could no longer speak as a lump began to develop in my throat.

When we finally arrived we went to the dormitory located at the edge of the campus. I knocked on the door of a room belonging to a longtime friend of mine, who was named Brother John.

 I turned to Roberts as he held King in his arms and I continued to knock on the door, as I explained, “John is a friend of mine who works in the campus infirmary as a volunteer and he has a set of keys.  He will unlock the infirmary for us.”  He must have been sleeping deeply because I knocked for some time.

Brother John and I had developed an intimate friendship over the four years I had attended university in Ireland. We met shortly after I arrived and we spent almost all of our free time together. He was my closest friend and the only person who ever really knew me.

He was studying ancient languages and religious prophecy and I was studying ancient religions and prophecies. The monks were a disappearing order and their own monasteries had closed long ago, so those who chose to give up the world were now forced to live in it. They had to, ‘die to the flesh’, without the security of seclusion, this was no easy task. We shared some classes together and grew very close. I can’t go too deeply into our history for it is too long, but I’ll say this, I trusted and I loved him deeply.

“What happened?” Brother John asked as he saw King in the Captain’s arms. He hurried us down the dimly lit corridors toward the medical room.

“I’ll tell you about it tonight if you will stay with me for a while.” I replied.

As I walked into the brightly lit room he noticed the bruises on my face.  “Oh my darling Catherine, what happened to you?”

He gently caressed my face and I assured him, “I’m okay, really!”

“My face must have been bruised when I was kicked.” I continued and then I noticed my ribs hurt as well. I placed my left hand on them and I felt the gentle stream of a warm liquid upon my skin. I stared down in shock at the blood on my hand. At that moment I did not even remember being cut.

“Catherine my dear, you’re bleeding!” noted Brother John with the deepest concern, as he ordered the Captain to tend King, while he led me to the next room.

“Take off your dress!” he ordered.

 I protested, “But I, I can’t do that.”

“Catherine, enough of this nonsense, this is no time for modesty. Besides I’ve seen you in a night gown and a bathing suit before, a bra is no different.” He said firmly. “Here is a small towel to cover your breasts, but I must attend to your wound.”

            I removed my dress as Brother John got some antiseptic and I covered up, and lay back on the table. He cleaned my wound.

“I’ll have to give you some stitches. You are lucky this cut isn’t too deep. It slid over your rib cage. ” He notified me of this and then he noticed that I began to tremble.

He squeezed my hand gently and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?” I nodded yes, but I could not stop the tears from coming. I hated crying it made me feel weak. I could be strong, but not when he showed me concern and compassion. The tears started flowing. He finished the stitches quickly and then bandaged my wound.

I dressed again and then he came over and held me in his arms. I crumbled and lost my composure. I cried in his arms as he gently stroked my hair. Tears streamed quietly down my face. I took a deep breath and told him, “I needed a few minutes to pull myself together.”

John kissed my forehead and he said, “Alright Catherine, but I’ll just be next door if you need me.” I sobbed a brief reply and he walked out the door.

When I returned to the next room Brother John and the Captain were dressing King’s wound and they assured me he would be okay. John notified me, “King’s stab wound did not penetrate any organs. He is going to be okay Catherine, but he has lost a lot of blood, you both have. So take it easy, are you light headed?”

“A little,” I confessed, “but I’m okay.” I said as he took me by the arm. I continued, “John, how can I ever thank you?” 

Then Roberts motioned for me to follow him into the hall. I took John’s hand and he held mine as I said, “I’ll be right back Brother John.”  I kissed his cheek and he nodded and went to administer another sedative to King, to ensure he would sleep throughout the night.

I followed the Captain down the hallway. “Thank you for saving me.” I told him with all sincerity.

 He took my hands in his with an odd sense of familiarity. He then carefully touched my face. I cringed, for even the slightest touch caused me to flinch and he inquired, “Honestly Catherine, are you going to be okay?”

I thought, “There is nothing you can do about it anyway, no one can.” I didn’t want him to worry about me. I refused, to be a victim around him so I replied, “I think I got my arm up just in time to block his kick. There isn’t any serious damage.

He said, “I didn’t mean your face.” I nodded my reply. I felt my throat closing up again as if a giant ball was growing in it.

 He apologized, “I hate to leave you like this, but I have to get back. I’m shipping out at dawn and I also want to make sure those bastards didn’t go AWOL on me.”

Fear took hold of me and I had no voice to speak. I began to tremble again.     

Then he looked as if he wanted to kick himself for rising up any fear inside me. He paced a little and then held my hand again and softly assured me, “They couldn’t get far if they ran and they all know that. Besides Catherine remember that they don’t know where you live and you are leaving tomorrow too.”

I took a deep breath and replied, “Of course, of course, I have nothing to worry about I’m just a little shaken.”

Roberts responded, “Let me make a call,” He continued, “I’ll see if they returned to the ship.”

He made the call and gave the order to have an M.P. hold them until he arrived.  After he hung up he informed me they were being detained. “I can assure you Catherine that these men will be severely punished.” I nodded then he lifted my chin. “I really am sorry.” He declared gazing deeply into my eyes.

I managed a brief smile and told him, “It was not your fault. I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”

He expressed regret again saying, “I really wish I arrived even earlier than I did. I wish I could stay with you now, but I am afraid I must go. I hope you will be all right.”

Brother John came out and replied for me, “Catherine will be fine. I will make sure of it.” John said this as he placed his protective arm about me.

Then John said, “I just finished giving King a sedative. He will be fine until tomorrow, so let me walk you back to your room.” I nodded my reply.

 The Captain said good-bye and left after John thanked him for helping me. John blessed the Captain, “May the Lord be with you and bless you for all you have done.”

 The Captain looked somewhat awkward receiving the blessing but he said, “Thank you”

“Wait,” I said and then I walked up to him and kissed him gently on the lips and I said, “Thank you.” I knew it was crazy and made no sense after being attacked, but I was compelled to kiss him, fearing it was the last time I’d ever feel like that about any man ever again. It was foolish, and yet I did it anyway.

Then he tipped his hat bowed and walked away. I never saw him again.

 Brother John walked across the courtyard with me toward my house. I told him what happened from the time I left the bar, after which he chastened me pleading, “Catherine, I wish you would take my advice more and stop going out alone late at night.”

I angrily replied, “I was not alone. King was with me.” Then I felt guilty for snapping at him. He didn’t deserve my wrath.

I took his hand saying softly, “I am sorry.” As we arrived at my room I asked him, “Will you stay with me tonight, at least until I fall asleep. I’m afraid without King.”

 He agreed, “Of course Catherine. Go get ready for bed.”

I went to change into my red satin nightgown and robe. He lay beside me in bed as he held me in his arms and caressed my hair. I lay my head upon his chest as he placed a cold pack on the injured side of my face.

            “My darling Catherine you have to promise me you’ll stop going out alone at night”

I attempted to sit up as I replied, “I can’t live in fear. I won’t allow some cowardly scum bags to force me to forfeit my freedom!”

He placed my head back down upon his chest saying in a gentle tone, “Catherine, I’m not asking you not to go anywhere. Just make wiser choices. Stop going to bars by yourself, and places that put you in danger. You fight well, but there will always be a foe with greater strength than your own.”

I resented what he said, and yet I knew he was right. I hated feeling weak, but a part of me was afraid and I felt I was partially to blame, so I acquiesced, “You’re right, I need to be more careful and I promise I will be." Feeling secure in his arms I quickly drifted off to sleep. Still, I felt him gently kiss my forehead before he left the room.

Morning came all too quickly, as the cold breeze and the sound of the rain falling upon my balcony forced me out of bed. I shut my bedroom window. The weather was so strange lately; one day it was hot and the next it was as if a cold north wind blew in. I went quickly into the shower to escape the cold.

While I was in the shower I was pondering a strange dream I had about Captain Roberts the night before. In the dream the Captain had died and was walking around as if he was alive. I was angry with people around me who did not acknowledge that he was no longer dead. It was the Captain and yet he was not the same man. Then the dream changed. It was as if I was suddenly transported into a different place and time. I was standing with Captain Roberts near a horse track that encircled an open field. I was entered into the horse race. I ordered the Captain to go prepare my steed, but he struggled to saddle a sow for me instead. I was angry and told him that I could not ride such a filthy creature. Then behind me there was a beautiful majestic and spirited black stallion. The trumpets announced the race had already begun. I grabbed some reigns and harnessed the black horse and rode him bareback. He rushed past all the other horses with ease. We ran as swiftly as a rushing wind. We crossed the finish line so quickly that we could not stop and I saw a great cliff before us. I jumped off the horse, while still holding on to the reins. The horse went over the cliff and even though my feet were slipping I would not let go and I refused to be pulled down as the dirt gave way. I slipped further and then I summoned a great strength and pulled the horse safely back upon the land.

Despite my desire to relish the hot water, it was beating against my skin hurting my cut a little, even though a waterproof bandage covered it. I was driven from the warmth of my shower, forced to abandon my thoughts as the cold distracted me from discovering the meaning of my dream.

I then realized the time. I had to hurry if I wanted to attend early morning mass before flying to New York.  I also wanted to say good-bye to Brother John before departing and I had to check on King, so needless to say I was in a rush.

I wore my royal blue velvet dress, and loosely tied it at my breasts.  I convinced myself that this was to avoid accentuating my cleavage and it would provide me with warmth, for there was a chill in the air. How I hated the cold. This dress was a heavy warm material with a long flowing skirt and tight waist. A form fitting, blue velvet vest was attached to the skirt and I wore a low cut white blouse with long puffy sleeves beneath. 

I had this dress specially made for me based on a statue I had once seen in Ireland of a woman pushing a cart of bread in the market. The outfit accentuated her feminine attributes and I attempted to do the same. This was a case of life imitating art, but unlike the statue whose hair was up in a bun my hair was left down. My long black hair fell to my waist and I brushed it to the side to hide my face. I then hastily decided to tie it partially back with a black velvet band.

I admired myself in the mirror for a moment and was thankful my face was not damaged too severely. I loved how the blue velvet intensified my already dark blue eyes. I grabbed my hooded raincoat and I quickly ran across the courtyard and toward the oratory. I was in some pain; however I did not give myself time to appreciate just how fortunate I was, considering what could have been.

I shivered as a gray fog swirled about me and the cold ocean breeze began to blow in. There is nothing as chilling as a sea fog. It encapsulated my being. I had to draw my cloak more firmly about me. I stumbled as I attempted to hurry my steps, for I could see no more than a few feet in front of me. A disturbing silence hung in the air that day. It made the echo of my heels upon the cobblestone all the more unnerving. The sound of the church bells beckoned me from the lifeless courtyard. 

I was flushed and a little late, as mass had already begun. I noted that Brother John could not help but admire my beauty as I removed my hood and handed an usher my cloak. I knew he was looking at my face. I noticed that he allowed himself the brief pleasure of studying the gentle curves of my body beneath my now disheveled dress. I had the courage to allow my eyes to meet his. His eyes were like fire, as the flames from the candles reflected their light.

Then the haunting Gregorian chants sent a chill up my spine. I’ve always hated Gregorian music ever since I saw the Omen One and Two movies. They were very old movies from my parents’ generation. I remember watching them when I was a young child.

I don’t know why my parents let me watch those horrific movies, I guess they enjoyed them. I hated them but it didn’t stop me from curling up on the couch watching them with my parents. I must have taken some disturbing pleasure in being frightened or, perhaps a distant part of my soul was enticed by the darkness.

The music played during these horror movies made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle as I waited for the impending evil to appear. For many years after I watched these movies, I would be filled with fear whenever I heard that style of music. It is strange how vivid the feelings are that certain childhood memories can evoke in adulthood.

I was an independent young woman, and yet the music still affected me as if I was that scared little girl from long ago. Fear could have easily consumed me had I not noticed that Brother John was staring at me. I felt his eyes burn through me as I blessed myself with holy water. I genuflected before I sat down in my pew.

I gazed into John’s brown eyes and remembered how he gently kissed my forehead only a few hours before. It is strange, I was deeply drawn to John, it was not a sexual attraction, but it was a deep longing for a connection and security I only found in him. Yet there was another side of me that took pleasure in his attraction to me. Vanity, pride or arrogance I did not know what it was, but I admit I loved the attention and concern he showed me.

I did not have time for confession today but I knew I would have to confess my sins someday. How often had I sensually tempted John? It was cruel and unfair. I was never really attracted to him, and yet I wanted him to want me.  I was however attracted to Captain Roberts. As I sat in church I remembered Captain Roberts' face and his broad shoulders embracing me. I allowed my thoughts to lead down a dangerous path as I bowed my head in prayer in a personal confession to God. He was the man I did desire. He awakened a passion in me that would not be silenced.

After mass I whispered into John’s ear, “Follow me.” I led him down one of the dimly lit hallways. I wished to say good-bye to him in private and give him a gift of a picture of the two of us together.

I hugged him gently and I kissed his cheek as I said, “I know I will probably never see you again John, but I don’t want you to forget me.” I handed him the picture of the two of us together as I continued, “Your friendship has meant so much to me over the past four years. You have been a light in my life. I understand why you plan on retreating from this world, but I will miss you terribly and I wish you could remain a part of mine.”

John was going to live in the wilderness in the Canadian Rockies. Soon he would remove himself from the modern world and seek the face of God. He took a Celtic cross off his neck, which was made of white gold. It had a single diamond figure of Christ on it and tiny rubies were placed where the nails in his hands and feet had been and a golden crown of thorns on his head. There was a flat circle of tiny diamonds in between the Celtic chainlike design that encircled the top of the cross. It was so beautiful as it dangled on its gold chain.

John placed the necklace gently about my neck saying, “Catherine, I want you to have this to remember me by, and always remember, Jesus will deliver your soul from death and He is your help and your shield.”

I was very touched by this gift. I knew his mother gave it to him as a birthday gift the year he decided to become a monk. Brother John came from a very wealthy family, as did I. He hated how obsessed his family was with the material world and that drew him to seek the spiritual. Still, I knew how deeply he loved his mother and the gift mattered to him. Perhaps this is why he chose to give it to me. It was his way of becoming more detached from the world around him, or maybe he just wanted me to remember him like I wanted him to remember me. Regardless of his motive I felt honored he had given his cross to me.

             John touched my face gently and sighed, “I’m going to miss you too, Catherine.” He gently kissed my forehead and he turned toward the confessional.

 I returned to the side altar to light a candle and I started praying for a safe and swift journey home. I knelt before a large statue of a robust middle aged man. He was very tall, perhaps seven feet, or more. His feet were standing in water and on one shoulder he carried the beautiful Christ child, while in the other hand he held a golden staff carved in such a manner so as to give the impression of wood. His staff had emerald green leaves inlaid along its upper portion, so as to give a subtle impression of a tiny fig tree.

The name of this statue's plaque had been removed, however I knew from my religion classes that this was a statue of Saint Christopher. The local church did not remove this statue, for local fisherman and sailors alike revered it. However the statue’s name was removed in the churches’ attempt to comply with Vatican orders issued in the twentieth century.

The Vatican de-canonized Saint Christopher in the late twentieth century as they attempted to purge the list of saints. The church questioned Saint Christopher’s life and origins, but I loved his story.

Saint Christopher became the patron saint of travelers after he carried the Christ child across a river. Although his story was never recorded in the bible, legend has it that he devoted his life to helping feeble people across a difficult span of water. Then one day as he is carrying people to and fro, a small boy appears before him and asks the large man to carry him across the river. Christopher agrees and carries the lad across, but as they proceeded the child’s weight steadily increased and the large man struggled to carry the child across. Each step becomes increasingly difficult as Christopher’s strength diminishes and the child becomes so heavy that it is almost impossible for the large man to bear the weight any further. Christopher summons the last of his strength and places the child on the other side, collapsing at the water’s edge. After catching his breath the giant of the man inquires, “How is it that such a small child could weigh so much?”

To which the child replied, “Because I hold the weight of the world’s sins upon my shoulders.”

Mariners, travelers and ferrymen worshiped him for centuries. Despite the fact that his status was downgraded to that of a legend by the church, many Catholics continue viewing him as the patron saint of travelers.

Thus I lit a candle and prayed, “May my journey be swift and may I arrive at my destination safely my lord. Saint Christopher, pray for me. Amen.”  My prayer was short, but I had spent some time visualizing Saint Christopher’s encounter with the Christ child.

The distant sound of a clock chiming and the gentle touch of Brother John, who had returned from the confessional, reminded me it was time to depart.  John’s hand rested gently on my shoulder as he said, “Catherine, it is time to go. You go get ready and I will prepare King for your flight. I have to check his dressings and I’ll give him another sedative. I will pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“You’re driving me to the airport?” I was surprised I expected to be going alone.

He smiled and laughed, “Of course I am Catherine; did you really expect me to let you move King on your own? Why must you try to do everything alone?”

I shrugged my shoulders and blushed, “What will I do without you John?”

He beamed as he answered “I don’t know Catherine, but I’m sure you will have no shortage of young men jumping to your aid should you request it.” I kissed his cheek and he rushed off as did I.

 I returned to my room to gather my belongings and change for the flight. I found a beautiful, fragrant bouquet of red carnations, filled with lush, rich green ferns and baby’s breath outside my door, with a card signed by Captain Roberts.

It had a sweet and simple message in them that read, “Catherine I chose these carnations for you, for they are flowers that endure, retaining their sweet aroma. My heart aches at the thought of not seeing you again. You have captivated and intrigued me. I hope our paths will one day meet again. Regardless, the sweetness of my memory of you will never fade. Wishing you were mine and I was yours, Peter Roberts”

Catherine gazed into the fire as if lost in thought, reliving another moment in time. She closed her eyes and took a deep long breath and sighed as she continued her story.

            I picked up my flowers and I took pleasure in smelling their fragrant aroma. I regretted I could not stay in the moment, but I did have a plane to catch.

I changed into a white lace dress and packed the rest of my things. I had lamented not going to confession before my flight and I felt some apprehension before boarding my plane, but how could I confess that I had extensive sexual fantasies, and confess my thoughts of Captain Roberts during mass as well. At this time in my life I was not quite as transparent as I am today.

Catherine ignored the whispers of the women in the camp. She knew they thought she should not be so candid. “Sacrilege!” One fat woman commented. Catherine grinned and shook her head before continuing with a sigh as she threw another log on the fire.   

Brother John took me to the airport and he asked, “Who got you the flowers?”

I smiled and replied “The Captain who saved me last night. That was awfully sweet of him don’t you think? ”

“I suppose.”

“John, you’re not jealous are you?” I teased in jest.

“No, I am just a little wary.” He replied.

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and I laughed, “Oh John, I’m going to miss you watching over me. These past four years have been the happiest of my life. I always felt safe when you were near. You are also my own Jiminy Cricket. What am I going to do without you?”

He grinned and blushed ever so slightly as he replied, “Just try to stay out of trouble. You’re only mortal.”

“Okay John, “I replied, “I will try to stop playing Russian roulette with my life, but I can't stop living. I have to live before I die you know.”

“Well, make sure that Death doesn't call on you before its time. Be more careful!” He ordered.

“I will, I promise.” I said with all sincerity

We arrived at the airport and I gave him a big hug good bye. He held me gently and then he said with all sincerity, “God speed, Catherine.”

Chapter Two:

 Soul Ties

I climbed the stairs and waved my final good bye as I boarded the plane. The captain welcomed me on board, “Welcome Miss Catherine, I hope our flight is not too turbulent for you, we will be traveling through some rough weather. Would you like to delay our departure until, tomorrow?”

I hated to fly and dreaded every trip I had in my father’s little jet planes, although these were not so little compared with some of the newer models my father had built for domestic flight, so I inquired, “No I don't want to delay, but can we fly around the storm?”

The Captain answered me warily, “I believe so and we may beat the storm, your father's plane can go quite fast, if we need her to.”

“Thank you Capitan” I smiled, “I would be eternally grateful if you could, the faster the better.”

            Dad owned many businesses and one of them built airplanes for both the military and for commercial use. He serviced the rich with airplanes that used a fraction of the fuel used generations before. He bought the technology for solar powered aircraft and further developed it. He capitalized on people’s and government’s fears of becoming dependent on foreign oil and diminishing oil supplies, meanwhile he secured oil interests in Alberta and off the Grand Banks decades ago. He was a genius when it came to making money.

Still I feared getting in these machines, especially when flying so low over the ocean. They seemed to be far to light and flimsy for a trans-Atlantic flight. This aircraft was one of dad’s newest additions to his solar planes. It was a solar turbine hybrid. Even though I flew to and fro from Europe more times than I can count, I could not calm my nerves. I preferred my feet on the ground. King was not thrilled about flying either. We comforted each other in our fear and buckled ourselves in for the takeoff. I pet King on his head, as he whimpered when the engines started.

I said, “Well boy you should count your blessings. Not all dogs fly in style. If this were not my father’s plane you would be placed in a tiny kennel and stored with the luggage in the belly of the plane.”  King did not seem impressed. The sedative took effect and he began to slip out of consciousness, and yet I knew he appreciated my presence and I was very happy to have him with me.

After a smooth, but stomach wrenching takeoff, I began to think of my four years with John in Ireland. It really began to bother me that I would never see him again. We were so close. No one ever knew me as intimately as John, and despite my many character flaws he loved me for whom I was, while inspiring me to be better.

I sat back and relaxed in my seat.  The cabin boy came and asked, “Miss Catherine, would you like the usual, or would you prefer a glass of Merlot?”

I smiled and said, “A Merlot would be lovely Eric, thank you.” I took a deep smell of the lovely bouquet and enjoyed my wine as I stared out the window. I lost myself in memories of the past. 

I recalled the first day John and I met. I was in a rush, running late again. It was my first day of classes and I wanted to go to chapel before school began. I slept later than I planned. It was a foggy fall morning and I was running across the courtyard toward the chapel. I heard the bells beginning to chime. Fearing I would be late I ran faster, with the clip clop of my heels echoing across the cobblestone courtyard.  Suddenly I fell, tripping over my own feet. I scraped my knee on the stone ground. “Oh Shit.” I swore out loud when a young man dressed in a in a white wool sweater and blue jeans leaned over and gave me his hand.

He asked, “Are you alright miss?” He helped me get to my feet.

I replied, “I'm fine. Thank you for helping me up.”

He smiled and noted, “You have quite a nasty gash in your knee. The cobble stone is quite hard on the skin.”

It was bleeding, but I insisted, “Oh it's not that bad. I'll be okay.”

            He gently smiled and held my elbow and motioned with his other hand as he inquired, “The infirmary is just over there, across the courtyard. Can I take you there? We should really get that looked after.”

            I grimaced as I looked down at the blood oozing from my knee and then I glanced across the courtyard and replied, “Well I wouldn't want an infection. I probably should get it looked at.”

            He took me by the arm and guided me across the courtyard and introduced himself, “I'm John, what is your name?”

            “I'm Catherine, I smiled as I awkwardly gave him my other hand to shake. “Thank you so much for helping me. It is very kind of you John.”

            He answered, “It's no problem; I'm glad I was there at the right time to help you, I only wish I could have been there sooner, to prevent the fall. Where were you rushing to?”

            “Oh,” I sighed, “I was on my way to chapel. I wanted to pray before classes began.”

            “Well, I guess we will both be missing chapel today.” He sighed.

            “Oh, I am so sorry to have made you late too.” I blushed as I felt the guilt of being a burden.

            He let out a gentle laugh, “I was running late as well Catherine; you have given me the perfect excuse for Father Martin. I won't be in trouble since I acted the part of the Good Samaritan.” He smiled a big beautiful smile.

            I frowned as I inquired, “Trouble? Why would you be in trouble?”

            “I’m training to become a monk and I am attending the college to study ancient philosophy, ancient languages, religions and prophecy, but I serve in early morning service as well. Do you know Trinity has an excellent library? They have been steadily gaining access to some of the oldest writings in the world.”

            I replied, “I didn't know that, but I’m glad to hear it.”  I further inquired, “John, did I note a little pride in your voice as you mentioned these facts? I mean, I note a very slight Irish accent in your tone, and yet you don't sound like you’re from Ireland.”

            He grinned, “You have a good ear and you are correct on both counts. I’m not from here, I am Canadian, but my mother is Irish and a graduate of Trinity. She is very fond of her homeland. Mom insisted I attend here for at least one degree before becoming a recluse. She is responsible for many of the Religious Studies Department’s recent acquisitions. She donated quite a bit of funding to ensure I was exposed to a variety of teachings before I take my final vows.”

            “She’s not Catholic then?” I asked, for I was intrigued that a man would become Catholic and a monk if his family were not devout.

            We reached the infirmary where to my surprise he opened the door with his own key. It was not open for another two hours, so we were alone. My eyebrow rose as he quickly informed me, “I volunteer here part time. I open up most mornings until all the staff have arrived then I return to cover the final hours and lock up.”

            I let him tend my wound, cleaning it and applying a bandage. He continued to speak, “I was raised a devout Catholic, until mom left the church several years ago. She is now a non-denominational Christian. She felt betrayed by the Catholic Church for keeping her in the dark concerning other teachings and even the bible itself. I wanted to attend a Jesuit college, but my mom insisted I come here. She wanted me to receive a more secular education. She feels knowledge is power and that my decision should not be made without an informed mind. I agree and so does the church. Final vows are not to be taken lightly. They are binding.”

            “Well you do enjoy talking a lot for a monk.” I chided.

            He laughed, “That is true. I hope I don't ever have to take a vow of silence. That would be difficult indeed. Where are you from?”

            I smiled, “Well we seem to have a few things in common; I live in New York, but I was born in Canada too. My mother is Irish Canadian, but my father is American.”

            “What made you come to Trinity?” John asked

            I replied, “I am also taking Religious Studies, specializing in prophecy and ancient religions.”

John raised his eyebrow as he queried, “Are you considering a life of service too?”

            I laughed as I said, “No, I’m not the kind of women to dedicate myself to such a life. I have trouble waking up for early morning service as it is, let alone at dawn for early morning prayers. Brother John, aren't you supposed to be up before the sunrise, not when the church bells are ringing?”

            He grinned sheepishly, “Yes, I’m afraid I’m not much of a morning person.”  John and I became inseparable after this meeting. It was then I decided to mark our first Christmas together with a gift that reflected our first meeting. Christmas came and he opened my gift, it was an alarm clock that played, “Are you sleeping, are you sleeping Brother John, Brother John. Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing, Ding dang dong.”  At this point the alarm had a little monk that hit two bells with a miniature hammer. When John opened it he said, “Very funny Catherine.”

            It was John who showed me to my classes, many of which I shared with him, and he showed me around Dublin as well. I was introduced to Temple Bar as well as the cliffs north of Dublin. They were only a thirty-minute drive and they became my favorite place to explore.

            Dublin's proximity to the sea was the most endearing trait of the city. There was an extensive coastline to explore; my dog and I were in heaven. John and I would walk with King for hours along the cliffs of Howth, as well along the beaches below. Sometimes the cliffs would fall abruptly into the sea and you had to watch your footing to ensure that you did not plunge to your death off a precipice. Despite the ominous cliffs, Howth was my favorite area north of Dublin. John, King and I would hike up to Howth Head and enjoy a magnificent view of Dublin and the gorgeous bay. We would often go there and kneel together in prayer and study the scriptures.

            The village of Howth was delightful too, with excellent dining. John and I often preferred the village to the inner city of Dublin. I had eaten at many fine restaurants in my lifetime, but the fabulous little restaurants with their rustic fireplaces, stone and wood, made them not only cozy and welcoming, but intimate as well, perfect for deep philosophical discussions. My favorite food was the little fish and chip shops. They were so good; mouthwatering fresh fish with deep fried potato wedges. Mm-mm that was good.

            John and I would walk for hours talking and strolling along, discussing our childhoods, our families and our classes. A whole new world opened up before us as we continued in our studies. Together we explored the rest of Ireland during our vacation breaks. We later traveled Europe and we were thankful for our families’ wealth. Very few people could enjoy such luxury, without restraint. There was nothing in this world I couldn't have, except John.

            I remember when we were in Italy together, it was a hot summer night and we were in separate rooms with a shared courtyard. I had not seen John in the shadows. We both could not sleep. The moon was clear and full. I was in my red nightgown without the over gown. It was too hot to sleep, but I enjoyed the gentle breeze of the air. I sat by the fountain when I noticed John was watching me.

“John, is that you?” I asked

“Yes Catherine, it’s me.” He replied

“What are you doing? “ I inquired, as he emerged from the darkness.

“I couldn't sleep, so I came out to the garden.”

“Me too.” I agreed and I questioned him, “Why didn't you say anything when I came out?”

“I was watching you. I’m sorry to say the sins of the flesh are too much to deny. You are so beautiful Catherine. Forgive me if I scared you.”

“You didn't scare me John. I was only surprised. How long were you watching me?” I said playfully.

“For a while…”  He smiled, “I could watch you all night.”

“Thank you.” I replied.

He came and sat beside me as I interrogated him further, “John have you ever had sex? “

“No.” He blushed and then he responded, “Have you?”

“No.” I looked down and bit my lip before I continued, “Have you ever wanted to?”

“Yes, I am a man Catherine.” He took a deep breath and sighed “But I must not give into such temptations. Have you ever wanted to?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid. I don't know why. A part of me longs to, but another part of it terrifies me. I always hoped my first lover would be gentle and sweet, like you. Then I wouldn't have to be so apprehensive.”

“First lover, did you plan on more than one?” John asked incredulously.

“No, not necessarily, however I never presumed that I would find love and still, I hoped for it.”

“I understand.” John said supportingly

“Would you ever sleep with a woman, if you had the chance John?”

“I don't think that would be wise. I long to, but after tasting such fruit, how could I ever become celibate after that?” John sighed again and shook his head, “No, no, that would be very difficult indeed.”

I looked up at him, “Even if that woman was me?”

He smiled and caressed my cheek as he replied. “Especially if that woman was you Catherine, I already love you that would make things complicated.”

“What about a kiss? Have you ever had a kiss?” I inquired.

“No.” He blushed again.

“Having no physical relations is unnatural John. We are designed for it. We long for it. We need it.” I said this as I moved in closer to him. Then I whispered, “Kiss Me.”

John pulled me in close and kissed me gently, then longingly and passionately. I smiled up at him, “For someone who has never been kissed, you kiss very well.”

He grinned, “I think that I was helped by an expert.” He chided.

I slapped his shoulder, “Hey, be nice. Now how was that?”

It was very nice. I sense that I was very passionate about wanting you, however you don't really desire me, do you Catherine?” He looked at me seriously.

“John I love you, my soul has a security and completeness I’ve never known with anyone else but you; I even want to seduce you, but I don't physically desire you. I mean you’re gorgeous and sweet and any girl would be fortunate to have you, but something is missing.” I looked down, as I continued, “Does that make sense?”

He lifted my chin as he said, “I think so; it just means that I’m not the one for you.”

“Hmm, perhaps that’s true, but would you have me anyways?” I urged and I kissed him again.

“Oh Catherine, you do make celibacy very difficult, but I love you enough to say no. You deserve everlasting love, one man for one woman. Do you love me enough to never seduce me?  I have not the strength to say no to you again.”

“Alright, I’m sorry John.  I do love you enough. I'll behave for your sake. Forgive me” I pleaded.

He kissed my forehead and smiled, “Always, Catherine. There is nothing you could ever do that can't be forgiven.” Then he kissed me goodnight and we went to our rooms, to try and sleep.

             We were very close to one another, but I wondered if a reason in part for our lack of physical intimacy was not somehow related to the dysfunctional relationship with our fathers. John was not close to his father and I was not close to mine, but we were both close to our mothers growing up.

            John's father was an angry, driven man who John recently learned was sexually abused by the priest in their local church for years. He abandoned God because God had abandoned him. His father became dedicated to working hard acquiring wealth and giving money to various organizations that were dedicated to protecting children all over the world from abuse. He was driven, but he was unable to have healthy intimate relationships. John’s dad was a bitter and angry man, with good cause. Sadly, John never grew close to his own father. John’s mother however showered him with affection and attention. She was determined to protect her son while teaching him how to love. She succeeded in this, but his father became very disturbed and resented John's choice to dedicate his life to serving a church and a god that caused him so much pain and misery. John’s father became a workaholic and reclusive in his own way.

            As for me, my mother always allowed me to help her plan the dinner parties, have a say in the decorations, and she took me to the spa to enjoy the finer things in life. Of course there was always fine dining and shopping too. Mom and I spent a lot of time together when I was young.  So did my father and I, until 911.

            After 911 my father grew more distant, busy, and he too became a workaholic, obsessed with wealth and diversification. The more the economy spiraled out of control for others, dad seemed to grow and prosper, even profiting from the housing crisis. He would see a failure in one part of the economy and build up, or purchase significant shares in responsible companies that would succeed. He bought many large and beautiful homes when property values plummeted. He purchased houses that others had paid millions for with few hundred thousand in cash during the era of foreclosures. He also purchased and rented many well-kept starter homes too. It seemed that every business decision dad made turned to gold. He had the Midas touch, but he neglected that which matters the most, family. I often wondered what happened to all those families whose homes he purchased. Were they on the street?

            John amazed me; he had nothing but compassion and understanding for his father's pain and loss. It did not touch his faith in God. He had trouble understanding why an all-powerful God could allow such evil to occur, but he trusted justice would be served by God. John believed with all his heart that God would work all things for good. John prayed daily for his father's salvation and healing.

            I confess I had little compassion for my dad, but as far as I knew my father did not have such a valid excuse for ignoring his daughter. I had bitterness and resentment and felt as if my father simply loved money and power more than family, more than me.

It bothered me that an all-powerful God did not protect innocent children and women from evil men. It angered me that he made us so weak and dependent, so helpless. I hated and feared abuse my whole life as a woman, this is what had driven me toward developing abilities from childhood, abilities that would make me stronger. I could also thank my father for that. I knew he would never protect me; I had to learn to protect myself.

            He taught me in early childhood to depend on no one, to be smart, independent and strong. He gave me the best teachers, and the best militarily summer camps to attend for four weeks every summer. While other children took dance and piano lessons, I learned orienteering and weaponry. Other children went to camps to eat s'mores and sing songs around the fire, while my brother James and I would chart the stars, navigate and practice outdoor survival tactics. I had a strange upbringing; on one level I was pampered by my mother to live a life of a princess in a fairytale and on another level I was sent away to the best schools and camps to be a survivor, preparing for a day when my father would not protect me. He called himself a realist.  I don't know what to call him, but I know I felt like I missed out on having a dad.

            I became less bitter over time when I realized I was not alone in my experience. I was luckier than many children. I had money, resources and a future with few limitations, but what I really wanted was a dad. I found it difficult to relate to God as Daddy, it was easier to think of Jesus as my King and Savior, rather than of God as my father. I did not know him well then, I was as estranged from God as I was to my earthly father, and yet some deep seed of trust existed. I expected them both to provide for me, to protect me and to watch over me. I also expected them both to answer me when I called, but I didn't know them, I didn't feel loved by them and although I expected their protection, I never felt protected. I felt weak and vulnerable. This was my reality: a conflicting fear for my safety and the feeling I was not loved by God, or by my father, married to the hope that they cared and that they would protect me if I needed them too, from what I didn't know. This was part of my soul's struggle for peace, a part of the deep divide.

            John and I both had seen the world for much of our lives from a very narrow prospective. We both loved God and hoped he was more than our narrow teaching about him. We were devout, however we both longed for something more, something beyond ourselves. We longed for a relationship, a purpose, direction and a destiny. We both were avid learners and sought the Divine in different ways, but we did seek.

            We were united on so many levels, but John was growing toward discipline, self-control, monasticism. We were soul tied, but physically we were a world apart. I was young, passionate and longing to explore the physical world as well. He was primarily spiritual. In our fourth year we began to spend less time together. We still saw each other, however we were no longer inseparable and I began to seek out other social relationships. He needed to practice being alone and I needed something more tangible.

            After this final thought of John the turbulence of the plane took me from my reflection for a while. I began to feel weary and tired, I longed to fall asleep like King, but mild nausea kept me awake, and so I watched the news. A gorgeous, dark-eyed man with pitch, black hair upon his head was on the news. His eyes shone like polished obsidian.

He looked strikingly similar to Captain Roberts, except for those eyes. The man on the news had eyes that penetrated your soul. It was unnerving, but Captain Roberts’ eyes were salutary and captivating. I sighed remembering his face. I breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers he had sent me.

The man on the news was talking about the hope for peace in the Middle East; this distracted me from my vision of the Captain and focused my attention to the man on the news again. War had always been experienced in my lifetime. If we were not involved battling a terrorist threat close to home, then our soldiers were involved in one far away. It was an unrelenting darkness that consumed mankind. There was always war, or rumors of an impending war.

My heart felt sorrow for men like my brother James, whose life was taken by the need to fight unending battles that were declared by leaders who would never be forced to fight the wars they waged.  James went missing in action three years earlier. We assumed he was dead because the Islamic forces no longer took their enemies as prisoners, except to briefly interrogate and torture them for information.

 Courageous men like Captain Roberts, so good, strong, and kind were the ones forced to fight and die in some senseless conflict across the sea. I thought, ‘I wish there could be peace and then mankind could laugh, dance and love again.’

I then allowed myself the pleasure of remembering dancing in the bar the night before. I smiled and pleasantly recalled that part of the evening. I remembered his velvet voice that conveyed strength and gentleness simultaneously. John had a similar tone, but his faint Irish-American accent made me smile, whereas Captain Roberts’ voice penetrated my soul. It is strange, but when he spoke to me it was as if I had already known him before. He entranced me, my white knight.

The news returned to the war, so I turned off the view screen and I took one last smell of my flowers and then I lay them upon my lap and I fell asleep remembering our kiss on the dance floor. I was hoping not to awaken until our journey came to an end.  I drifted off pleasantly remembering dancing in the Captain's arms. We were swaying to the music and it was as if I transcended time and space. My dream was everything I longed for my reality to be.

I had known John for four years and I spoke intimately with him often; I would miss him, but some deeper part of me would miss and long for Captain Roberts more. Though I had only spent a few hours with him I felt a deep connection to him that I could not rationalize. Spiritually I had connected deeply to John, and yet a part of my soul was tied to Captain Roberts and it always would be.

Chapter Three:

 Into the Deep; Trapped Between Light and Darkness

           

King was barking frantically when I was awakened and the plane was shaking. I was thankful that he was still harnessed into his seat. I was not. The pilot was incapable of effectively dealing with the turbulence that violently jolted the plane; it sent me crashing to the floor. I spilled the last of my wine and stained the cabin floor, and I fought to get myself back to my seat. I lost my footing and fell back to the floor of the plane. The cabin boy reached out for my hand he brought me to my seat and ordered me, “Buckle up! Prepare for a possible crash landing.”

I yelled to be heard over the clamor of the screaming engines, “Landing, we are over the Atlantic! There is nowhere to land.”

“You know the drill” The cabin boy shouted as he reminded me, “Should we lose cabin pressure be prepared to put your oxygen mask on immediately.”

I nodded as the cabin boy returned toward his seat to buckle in as well. The turbulence increased further and I feared the plane would be torn apart. A severe ocean storm had us in its grip.  The pilot was talking, but I could not make out the muffled sounds of his voice above the sounds of the engines. I could hear loud cracks of thunder above all the noise. Lighting flashed outside my window followed by a roaring thunder. I saw a bolt of lightning hit the wing of the plane and we were suddenly hurled swiftly toward the sea.

I put my mask on and I noticed that the cabin boy had not made it back to his seat in time. He had blood oozing from his forehead.  I felt us hit the water. Somehow we managed to stay on the surface of the water, but I knew we would not last long.  I yelled, “Eric, Eric, are you alright?” He made no reply.

 The captain came rushing into the cabin and asked, “Miss Catherine are you alright?”

I nodded and said, “Yes Captain, but Eric is not.”

He went to Eric's side and ordered me, “Put your life jacket on quickly and prepare for emergency exit.”

I struggled to get my life jacket on. The Captain got his jacket on and dressed Eric in one too. He then grabbed an inflatable raft and declared, “I am going to open the cabin door. Then we must jump out and hopefully we will all make it onto the raft but there are no guarantees. It is one hell of a storm out there. We are more likely to survive if we remain calm. Don't Panic!”

The cabin boy had not moved since we hit the water. I managed to get my dog out of the plane with me. We both jumped into the sea. The winds and the waves were fierce. I caught glimpses of the plane whenever the lighting flashed. I was in complete darkness and then amidst blinding flashes of lightning and roaring waves, I could not see the plane or the Captain for long. I was sure the plane was taking on water and that it would be gone before too long. I could only hope the captain and the cabin boy got out in time. The captain saved us, but did he save himself?

I feared this would be the end for me as well. It was almost a certainty. One moment I was pleasantly dreaming about Captain Roberts dancing with me, the next moment I found myself fighting for every breath, a prisoner of the darkness of the sea with only brief flashes of light to see the terror all around me.

            I lost all sense of time and prayed God would not allow my dog and I to die. I could see lighting flash across the sky above me. I struggled not to swallow the salt water but I couldn’t stop King from choking. The waves were so strong. I was sure he drowned, but I refused to let go of him, until one wave pulled me under the sea.

I lost sight of King. There was only darkness and vague images of lightning flashing above me. I felt myself being plunged deeper into the sea. I bobbed to the surface only to be overcome by another wave and I felt like the sea had swallowed me. It overpowered me. All went black and silent.

I don’t recall how much time had passed before I came to my senses and was conscious of the world around me, but I was now floating along the surface of the water. I then heard a muffled sound of a rhythmic chopping in the distance. Then I saw a helicopter flying above me. I was melancholy; still I was relieved to finally be rescued.

I was grateful to feel my body being pulled from the cold waters of the Atlantic. I struggled to speak, but I was unable. I hoped they were taking me home. I swear I could see the shoreline in the distance, I don’t know how, for I was unable to move, unable to speak and yet I could see the world around me.

 I could not lift my head and my body was numb. Unable to move, or speak I was comforted by the thoughts that I would be home soon and that I was no longer a prisoner of the Deep. I felt very tired, but I was unable to sleep. 

When I arrived I heard the pilot say that we were landing in Halifax. I was surprised that my family was not there to greet me. I was loaded onto a gurney and driven to what I presumed was the hospital. I was exhausted and longing for rest. Then all went silent as I felt myself fading and darkness consumed me.

Suddenly I was awake again and I could hear the voices of my parents as they thanked friends and family, “Thank you so much for coming, your support means so much to us.”

Mother leaned over and held on to me. She squeezed so tightly I thought she would break my bones and she brushed my hair aside. She kissed me and her tears rolled onto my cold and clammy skin.

I needed a blanket, but I was unable to tell anyone what I wanted. I felt as if I was trapped somewhere between sleep and dreams. I wished I could hug Mom and assure her I would be okay, and then I began to fear I would never be able to walk, or talk again.

Dad held my hand and hugged mom telling her, “Elizabeth, come and sit for a while.”

 I couldn’t see her anymore. I could hear someone who was talking to Mom. I did not recognize who was speaking, but I remember what they said, “Catherine was such a beautiful girl. This is such a tragedy.”

How beautiful I was? Was! I panicked, I feared I had been physically mutilated and was unaware of it, and then I remembered the bruise on my face. I wished someone would bring me a mirror and a bloody blanket. Instead I was forced to wait, resigned to my fate. This comatose state was lasting for hours, or days, or weeks, or maybe even months; I could not tell for I lost all sense of time as I seemed to drift in and out of consciousness and yet I found no rest.

They began to move me again. I did not know where they were taking me, but I was thankful to be in the sunshine. I could not feel the warmth of the sun, and yet I saw it shining brightly above me. It nearly blinded me and still I could not absorb its warmth. It was almost as if it were a cruel illusion. The fruitless trees shared my presentiment, as they stood naked all around me.

Suddenly my parents were beside me again and my mother was still crying but silently. She placed a single red rose on my chest, “My beautiful Catherine, I will always love you.” Then she kissed me as a procession of mournful people appeared before my helpless sight.

Then I saw Brother John, as he kissed my cheek and placed the picture I gave him on my heart. He bent down and whispered in my ear, “You will always be a part of me.” I was confused, as I noticed the shadows growing all around me and the light began to fade into darkness.

I heard a thud and the darkness consumed me. It was as if a heavy lid was closed on top of me. In my mind I struggled to kick and scream, pleading for someone to let me out. I then felt myself being lowered as if deep into the ground. Panic set in; they thought I was dead and they were now burying me alive! I shrieked in terror, begging them to let me out. No one could hear my silent scream.

After some time I felt myself moving upward. The sway gave me the illusion that I was floating. I heard a thump as my coffin was placed on the ground beside my grave. I was elated some one knew it was a mistake. Someone did open the lid. The sun had set and the cold of the night made me want to shiver, still I was happy to see the beauty of the full moon and the stars above me. It was the men who placed me in my coffin earlier at what must have been the funeral home.

“It’s a pity,” one of the men stated. The other replied, “Yeah,” another replied as he lifted the picture of me with Brother John and he said, “I would have loved mounting the bitch.” They laughed as they looked at the photograph.

“You’re crass bastards!” I thought. Then they set their eyes upon the cross about my neck.

One of the men reached for it but suddenly he pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. “Shit. That hurt.” He said.

The other questioned him, “What? What the fuck just happened?”

“Never mind, to hell with it, let’s get this bitch out of here” The first man replied.

Together they lifted me out of the coffin, and threw me back into my grave. “No”, I yelled inside my mind, “No, I’m alive!” As my body hit the ground I felt a piercing jolt travel up my spine. I was in severe pain. I was sure that more bruises were added to my battered body. I was discarded to the depth of the earth. I realized that I was lost between the light and the darkness.

 I heard the men laugh as they threw the red rose and picture of John and me into the grave. Then I screamed as they began to cover my body with dirt, soiling my white dress. I wailed again. My protests went unnoticed, as the weight of the soil smothered any calls for help, which were only emanating from my own mind. I was completely alone for the first time in my life. Time had lost all meaning. I could not tell if it was day or night, nor how much time had passed and my eyes could not shed a tear; I screamed no more. The futility of my wailing was painfully apparent to me. I had flirted with Death and now he laid claim to me, as the earth blocked out all light. I cried silently, while life gave way to death, light to darkness and time gave way to eternity.

Chapter Four:

Hell’s Captive

I had drifted into a state of nothingness. My heart and soul were numb like my lifeless body, paralyzed in a semi-conscious state. I was suddenly brought back to consciousness when I started falling. I grasped for roots, but they gave way and I was unable to stop my descent.  I fell abruptly with a hard thud, banging my head on a cobblestone floor. My body was bruised and battered; the lace on my dress was ripped and it was no longer a brilliant white. It was now smudged, stained with blood and dirt. My hair was a mess, but at least I was able to move.

 A distant voice from deep inside my mind compelled me to get up and walk. I obeyed. I forced myself to rise, despite the excruciating pain. I no longer had my shoes on. I could only see one shoe near where I stood, while the other one was hidden in the darkness. I don’t know why I picked my shoe up, but I did.  I strained my eyes to see as I inched my way along the ominous corridor, running my hand along a cold stone wall.

The wall was cold and damp, as if it were covered with a hairy moss. I screamed in horror as I felt something crawl across my fingers. I lifted my hand off the wall and precariously moved forward, trembling and filled with trepidation.

My feet were freezing but they refused to go numb. I longed for some relief from the cold but I found none. My only hope lay in forcing myself to walk and seek some form of escape from the torturing, frigid air. I trudged on, drunk with fatigue, but unable to sleep as I stumbled aimlessly in the gloomy tunnels.

I could not see clearly, however I sensed movement all around me as if I was walking amidst a dispiriting gloom. I continued along in the darkness and I would occasionally catch sight of a figure emerging from the shadows and brush silently past me. I would whisper, “Who’s there?” No one replied.

A great fear came upon me and I was trembling, as a spirit like creature brushed by my face again. The small hairs at the base of my neck stood up and goose bumps covered my skin. The darkness was so thick that I felt saturated by it. I could not visually detect the form’s appearance, but I sensed it stood before my eyes. I was frozen with fear. I dared not move, nor could I find my voice. There was silence all around me.

From the darkness someone whispered in my ear, “I can see you.”

“Who’s there?” I demanded, but no one answered me, so I continued blindly.

Then the silence was broken again with that same ominous whisper; “I know who you are.”