Children of the Source Page 4

  I breathed a prayer for what I was about to do. The double doors opened again and Carson led the procession. Chuck came, chained hand and foot, making shuffling half steps. Four guards flanked the man, rifles ready. Steve Deckart brought up the rear carrying a clear glass tumbler full of water. Carson paused waiting for O’Banion to catch up. He looked up at the spacecraft and then at me, and said, “I’ll talk with you after this is over.”

  “You may not want to,” I said and saw him grimace.

  “You have one minute with the prisoner, Jamie.” He walked off. The guards backed off to give us some semblance of privacy. I could feel the tension in the soldiers and people watching.

  “Meg. Did you find her?” Eyes agony, he took a ragged breath.

  “Yes. She’s with my son, Laith.”

  He breathed a great sigh of relief, but he was barely under control. “Good. Good.” Then he said, “What will I feel?” How do you answer that? Pretty hard unless you’ve done it. I had.

  “You’ll feel a jerk on your neck and then feel yourself pass out of your body, seeing everything as it is now. Plus a few other things. You’ll see Ruth and others who know you. They will help.”

  “How do you really know? I mean how it feels.”

  “In another life I was hung as a horse thief. Happens pretty quick. Don’t dwell on the body after it is over. You can’t use it again, and it’s pretty messy.”

  “Your minute is up.” We turned. Carson stood there looking tired and still. “Prolonging this would do no one any favors.”

  I turned to look into Chuck’s eyes. “Do not fear.” I touched his forehead. He shook his head, but seemed in a type of stupor. They moved forward through the corridor of vigilant guards and up the thirteen steps. Carson was a stickler for tradition.

  The hangman whispered an apology to O’Banion whose face remained impassive. I watched the black cloth hood fall over his head. Chains were removed, his hands were quickly lashed behind his back and legs tied. The noose settled around his neck. The executioner made the final adjustments.

  I could feel the tension in the air. I had to keep this collective tension away from me. Compartmentalize. I’d learned to do this. Extremely hard. There must have been sixty people standing around. Some were holding hands and praying silently. Others just looked numb. No one showed pleasure. In the hushed moment I made contact with the intelligent forces and energies I needed. I glanced over at Carson who gave me a queer look.

  The executioner stepped back. Deckart moved forward, handed the tumbler of water to General Carson, and stepped away, distaste in his eyes. Carson raised his tumbler to the sun. He was praying inside. The lever was pulled. A great gasp rose from the crowd. An awed horror. The water in the tumbler turned blood red, but Carson didn’t seem to notice, brought it to his lips, and drank. He tasted the change, spat, and dashed the tumbler to the ground. It shattered on the pavement, splattered his boots, fatigues, and dribbled down his chin.

  O’Banion’s physical body swung lightly, completely limp. Physical death was instantaneous. But everyone’s attention was riveted on General Carson. He knew I was responsible. He spun around to face me and stopped short. The fantastic energy exchanges and alterations hung in the air. He saw my face and felt my words.

  “You have his body, but he lives.” I pointed to the base of the thirteen steps where another form slowly coalesced. Carson turned. The filmy, but distinct form of Chuck ‘Dregs’ O’Banion took shape and spoke. The power, belief, and emotion of the sounds cut the envelope of stillness and captured everyone.

  “My God! I live. Look at me.” Then he pointed at the slowly swaying corpse. “That’s not the end.” His tears fell on the ground. He remained there visible, weeping with joy, for over a full minute, and then faded from sight. A woman rushed forward, and knelt, brushing the tear stained ground.

  “They’re real! They’re real!” She held up her left forefinger and I could see the moisture reflected in sun. People rushed to touch the ground where the tears had fallen and gathered the red splotched glass and tiny pools which lay sparkling crimson in the sun. One man tasted the red on his fingers and said incredulously, “It’s blood. Blood.”

  Carson stood stunned, but regained his composure quickly, ordering his men to disperse the crowd quietly. “Clean up this mess.” Face convulsed with anger, he said, “You come with me, goddammit.” We went inside his office in silence. Behind his desk, he leaned on it and snarled, “I don’t know what the hell you did out there, but I know you did it, and everyone saw it. I want an explanation. Sit down.”

  “Believe me, I took no pleasure in what happened to you. The water turned to blood to symbolize what was being done. O’Banion’s appearance was real enough and so were the tears. The message’s pretty obvious.” I paused.

  Carson sat in stony silence, blood stains on his shirt. “There has to be a way ... . To hell with the symbolism, man. I want to know how you did it.”

  “I’m trying to think of a simple way to put it. Remember the Kirlian photography I showed you once?”

  “Yeah. Energy below the threshold of physical sight. Increased light from fingertips when we thought about it. I remember.” His eyes narrowed and lips compressed. Not a good sign.

  “The fingertip stuff was on an individual level, but energy also acts on a collective level. I took it to the collective level.”

  “An example being?” He looked out the window of his office.

  “The best example is the Fatima manifestations in Portugal where eight thousand people witnessed a promised incident where the sun seemed to spin in the sky and plunge to earth. Where it was raining and muddy, everything was completely dry minutes after a drenching rain. This was October nineteen-seventeen.”

  “A collective invention,” Carson said. Little did he know.

  “Yeah, but you need to remember all energy is living and conscious. Plus all energy can be communicated with. There are Beings on the Other side who know a great deal about manipulating energy and are willing to help.”

  He watched me, blood drying on his shirt. “Then O’Banion wasn’t O’Banion.”

  “No. O’Banion was O’Banion. I knew of his emotional disbelief in life after death. Emotions carry enormous energy. They’re ideas rooted in the energy. So much so a person dying in one part of the country can project and materialize to a loved one in another part of the country. What you saw was done on a collective level. I and others lent him energy to do what he did.”

  “Well, whatever happened, the tears will dry and vanish, and so will the bloodstains. We’ll wash them out. Then things will get back to normal.”

  I shook my head. “They will stay. Watch.” Carson’s face tightened. “The people need a reminder,” I said. “Let me take O’Banion’s body. Someone will make a shrine of his grave if you don’t.”

  “No thanks to you,” he said. “And the spacecraft?”

  “They were here once before. In those days they came from a planet they almost destroyed with their minds. It would make our conventional wars seem as nothing and nuclear ones laughable. Their planet was many times the size of Earth. They vowed to the Creator they would war no more, but once on Earth the leaders squabbled and fought again. But not before some of their people left and built what they had long ago, peace and a unity, where potentials could be directed in areas other than conflict, strife, and adversary roles. They made it.” I pointed to the spacecraft. “You see them today.

  “The factions that stayed, warred. Their original leader, when he was the only one left, stood before the seared land, and the shells of the once living and cried aloud to the Creator in agony over what they had done. He begged to know what he could do to repair what he had done. Before him came a great vision of the future of the planet, its needs and potentials. So he made a vow to the Creator that he would stay and use his abilities to bring the planet to the point of its greatest potential. He has had many lives.”

  “Is this Christ?” Carson leaned forward
on his desk. “There are legends he has come many times.”

  “No. This is an entity who has evolved into one of the custodians for this planet. The entity is here now reincarnated as a man. He will guard his identity. He has kept his vow. We are moving into this time of greatest potentials.”

  “And who are you, Jamie?”

  I smiled. “Just a generic man who walked through a door the Creator Within opened for me. Everything else followed.”

  “What of these aliens? How will they deal with us? I’ve already notified Western Command.”

  I got up and stretched. “Our biggest problem is ourselves. Our leaders and others who act in fear. The aliens will not create a problem. They might go elsewhere if we make poor choices. But that is up to you, your staff, your soldiers, and others who come from Western Command. They will send a senior civilian bureaucrat. He might be a handful.”

  Carson swore under his breath. “All I need.”

  “Look,” I said, “you’re known as reliable, competent, and one of General Jagger’s favorite people.”

  Carson snorted. “Favorite people. God, that man never had a favorite in his life. If I’m one of his favorite people, that’ s a mystery to me.”

  I smiled. “He has his own set of problems. You’ll be his man here.” I bent forward. “Look, we know about Luke.” He jerked as though struck. “You think it’ s over and your son is no more. What happened to O’Banion is meant to show you physical death is not the end. You will dream that Luke is alive and communicate with him. Physical death is not the end.”

  A sharp whistle cut the air. “Troop train,” bawled the lookout. We could hear the commotion outside. The buzzer sounded on his desk. Carson stared at me his face a welter of grief and possibility.

  “Luke lives still.”

  He shook himself, took a ragged breath, and punched the intercom. “Yes?”

  It was Colonel Deckart. “Maybe it’s the two battalions General Jaggers promised ... ”

  Will Carson turned red. His voice, a lash, cut Deckart off. “If I had everything that bastard promised me, I’d have a damned brigade, and enough supplies and equipment to keep some semblance of order out of this nightmare. Have a company of men sweep and secure the area. Oh, yes, have the hangman get a body bag and turn over Mr. O’Banion to Jamie.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Carson looked at me steadily. When he spoke his voice ached with what seemed all the years he’d spent as Military Governor. “How much longer is all of this going to go on?” I could see he was thinking of his slain son, and beloved deceased wife, Linda.

  “This is the beginning of the end, Will.” I could sense his grief, anger, but also his iron will, and deep belief in his duty and purpose. “A certain Major Derek Randolph is coming in on this troop train. We grew up together.”

  “I knew that he was from here, not that you knew him. I badgered Command to get him. He has a reputation welled earned. I have his promotion to full bird on my desk. He’s my new deputy. Deckart is headed back on this troop train.”

  “Come out to Cheshire with him, Will. There is a new load of fuel for your Command chopper coming in on the train.”

  Carson raised his angry eyes to the ceiling and gave a great sigh. “They promised that two years ago.” I think the fuel was more of a happy accident than anything else.

  “You’ll be needing it,” I said. He walked me to his office door.

  “Will, O’Banion made me promise to take care of his daughter. May we take her with us?”

  “Please do.”

  “Tonight you’ll dream of one you think you’ve lost. Believe that dream.” He made no comment, but offered his hand. I took it and we parted.

  Troop train. We could feel the excitement. New people. Badly needed supplies. And news, the biggest thing of all. It was something everyone hungered for. What was going on in the world? Few knew. The Central Government Radio broadcast the news, but the contents proved superficial, censored at best. Word-of-mouth was used most, but we had better ways, and sources in our community. Local people knew this and constantly questioned us when we came to the fort. For instance we knew of the troop train three weeks before its arrival. Of course we’re talking probabilities. Some things are more likely to happen than others. This was one of them.

  I went outside. Mike, Grant, and Laith stood talking by our mounts. O’Banion’s body, in a body bag, lay across one of our pack mules. The hangman and Laith were good friends. Meg stood in the protective arms of Laith, quiet, listening. Laith created an atmosphere around him that held whatever purpose he directed. Now, a quiet, almost anesthetic one surrounded him giving an air of comfort and security.

  I greeted them and watched people still studying the blood and tear stains. They showed glistening wet in the sun. The broken glass had disappeared. The people turned to look at me apprehensively, but one man called me out, and coming toward me.

  “Jamie, Son of Endor, Lucifer’s spawn, how did you work this deception of your father’s?” The voice struck, loud, accusing, virulent, planned. Nick Ryan, a local hanger-on, saw himself as Benson’s heir apparent. Intense, thin, with an unruly shock of black hair, he had that irritating missionary attitude toward life, and coveted the leadership of Benson’s group.

  “Hello, Nick. You’re being very dramatic today.”

  Nick showed a tendency toward violence. Laith had poked him in the nose a couple of times.

  “You mock God with your tricks,” He said in a voice for everyone to hear.

  “How?” I was curious.

  He sputtered. “God would not do this.”

  “How do you know what God thinks?”

  He turned white. “You ... .”

  “I think the Creative Force can speak for Itself.”

  “But this,” he blurted, shaking, and pointing to the stains.

  “It was to show you that blood begets blood. That you may rob a person of his physical body, but he will still live. The stains will stay as a reminder of these things,” I said. I had the full attention of all the people. “I do not presume to speak for God; to be a surrogate for whatever you may call or consider the Creator or Creative Force. The Creator can speak for Itself. It does. In the breeze.” I raised my hands, a breeze sprang up, heads turned. “In the trees, flowers, and all of the Earth. The seasons and rhythms you see and feel about and within you. You go out in a quiet place alone, and speak your heart to the Creator. When you are done you feel better, and wonder when and how the answers will come. Then coincidences begin turning up presenting opportunities to solve those challenges, problems, and you realize your hopes and dreams. These experiences are the words of the Creator working and weaving within your lives.” I looked at the people and they were silent. Even Nick.

  “You are never alone for the Creator you pray to lives within each of you. When you feel comforted, it is the response of this Creator. An acknowledgement you may not know how to define. But the comfort is real, and so is the feeling of balance and rightness within.

  “Why do you look up and speak to something outside of you? Ignorant men have taught you this, not daring to believe that a loving Creator would stoop to live within its creations. But how could a loving Creator do otherwise? What you seek is within you.” I knew these people. More than half had come to us for healing at one time or another. They knew my words were not idle. I pointed to the spacecraft. “Do not fear them. Move with your dreams and gut feelings. Ask your Creator Within for answers and they will come. What father or mother would deny a son or daughter an answer to a question? When a question is asked, the answer is usually raising its head in a future experience just around the corner.” I stopped and laughed, “A storm is coming, and I have talked long enough. Remember not to destroy or fear something because you don’t understand it.” The crowd broke up in twos and threes. Most walked to the perimeter on the southwest overlooking the train depot.

  “Everyone ready to go?” We mounted our mules, moved toward the main
gate to go down the hill. Laith edged his mount next to mine.

  “You spoke well, Dad.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I smiled. “It needed doing.”

  3

  “I thought we were going to see Uncle Derek, Dad?” Laith said.

  “We are.” I pointed toward a tall clean shaven man conferring with a small group of officers two blocks away. “Send him a message we’re here.” We’d just passed the Verde Street turn-off. Mike and Grant pulled up their mounts next to ours. Everyone looked at Laith, including Meg. He faced Derek and closed his eyes. In less than a minute Derek turned, the surprised look on his face turning to pleasure. He broke away from his small knot of officers and trotted over.

  “Damn, where did you come from?”

  We dismounted and exchanged hugs. “Business at the Fort,” I said.

  He laughed. “I’ll hear about it, I’m sure. God, Laith, you’ve grown.. You’re almost as tall as I am.” He grinned at me. “Been feeding this guy pretty well, Jamie.” He clapped Laith on the shoulders. Laith grinned. “Been three years too long.”

  Meg looked up at Laith, “How did you do that?”

  Derek looked at Meg. “Excuse me, Miss. I didn’t get your name. How exquisite.” Meg blushed.

  “This is Meg O’Banion, Uncle Derek.” Laith said. Randolph’s eyebrows went up in recognition. Laith gave an almost imperceptible nod back to the body bag on the mule.

  Derek’s face tightened briefly. Then he smiled. “It’s called telepathy, Meg. Kinda like sending a message with your mind. Laith thought of me very strongly. Maybe you’ve done this with someone special to you. We all do this constantly.” He looked at the soldiers and activity between the train and the fort. People from the fort had spilled out and down to the train. “Well, General Carson is expecting me to report. It’s good to be home. I’ll get out to see you as soon as I can.” We parted.

  The storm broke by the time we got to the Church of the Nativity. The front doors and pews had long since warmed someone on a cold winter night. The place hadn’t been used for worship for many years. So it was with no act of irreverence or disrespect that we led our mules inside. The magnificent painting of Mary, Jesus, and her parents above the altar stood in excellent condition. The rain poured and the temperature dropped.