Vanessa: All Heaven Breaks Loose

By David Howells

It was inevitable that the Fitzgalen Family's stock in trade would run loggerheads into powerful religious organizations who felt only the clergy had the answers to life after death. The danger is not in disagreement with such people, but when religious authority gains the power of military capability.
In All Heaven Breaks Loose, the Family size nearly doubles, while Vanessa plans to leave the spirit world, tired of being numb, tired of not being the real world wife to her beloved Ryan.
Spirit rescues also take on a whole new hue, for there are those spirits who are destined for a different kind of judgment.
Finally, there is a greatly troubled living spirit that needs the help of Vanessa and Gustav to break free of the chains of a childhood trauma he doesn't even remember.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Howells
• Release date: Mar 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301683574

David Howells

Doctor of Chiropractic since 11/1984. Former Chief of Nuclear Medicine, Lutheran Medical Center, St. Louis, MO. Volunteer EMT, Hurley Fire and Rescue Squad, Hurley NY. Folk musician, volunteer soundman for the Hudson Valley Folk Guild. Kiwanis Club of Kingston. Society for Creative Anachronism fighter, archer, and chirurgeon. Greetings and welcome to my website. Thanks for stopping by. I welcome you to download VANESSA with my complements and see if you like the style. I'm told by readers the first two chapters are a slow acceleration (others say 'no problem') and then it takes off from there as a great page turner. Each of the four sequels had good reviews on first released a few years back, so I hope you'll try those as well. Time Snap and Hell Rise were more recent efforts I hope you'll like. The short stories have been a lot of fun to write, and are getting good response levels. Thank you all so very much! Long and merry life, best of health, David L Howells PS: I've done my best to filter out errors in the copy, but if you see one on any of the works, please notify me at twosword at earthlink dot net? I'd appreciate it (just include a three word sequence and which title, and I'll fix it with a search and correct). Happy reading!

Book preview

VANESSA

ALL HEAVEN BREAKS LOOSE

David Lee Howells

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

SYNOPSIS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 – LEAP OF FAITH

CHAPTER 2 – KITTY-TEAM

CHAPTER 3 – THE ALLIANCE

CHAPTER 4 – REVIEW

CHAPTER 5 – LAST FLIGHT

CHAPTER 6 – GATHERING

CHAPTER 7 – CALVIN

CHAPTER 8 – HOLY GRAIL

CHAPTER 9 – CHOICE

CHAPTER 10 – TUESDAY MORNING

CHAPTER 11 – THE HUNLEY

CHAPTER 12 – THE MEETING

CHAPTER 13 – INQUISITORS

CHAPTER 14 – WEDNES DAY MORNING

CHAPTER 15 – A WALK IN THE PARK

CHAPTER 16 – FAMILY MATTERS

CHAPTER 17 - MISSIONARIES

CHAPTER 18 - THURSDAY

CHAPTER 19 - FRIDAY

CHAPTER 20 - SALLY

CHAPTER 21 – AWAKENING

CHAPTER 22 - CAPTURE

CHAPTER 23 - STRIKE

CHAPTER 24 - REQUIEM

MEMBERS OF THE TALE

MEET THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS TO READ

SYNOPSIS

Lincoln Marfan had been defeated. This entity that had, in life, taken the lives of his beloved Cassandra and her husband was himself met with a fate that had never been seen before by Ryan Fitzgalen, or any other member of the now expanded Family. The divided energies of good and evil that made up Lincoln became separated in the triple diamond confrontation that was spearheaded, once again, by Vanessa. In the end, Marfan’s evil half was destroyed and the remaining fragment that was inherently good fled into the old oak tree at the Rhinebeck Cemetery.

The energies released in that confrontation also endowed more Family members with full sight (clairvoyance), and blessed three others with the ability to hear entities (clairaudience). One of those three was the cemetery groundskeeper, not yet initiated into the Fitzgalen Family.

Ralph Kithcart is now engaged to and living with Marianne Cabrini, and both are the proud owners of Ebony, the clairvoyant kitten. Zachary Lorriman, with his equally gifted pet Chihuahua, Atlas, has taken Ralph’s place as Ryan Fitzgalen’s major domo. Gustav Mendelssohn and Vanessa Fitzgalen remain on earth as spirits to guide and guard the Family in their quest to release earthbound entities. The Gladstone family (Frank, Rachel, Jerry and Janet) has not only found healing, but a whole new level of love, understanding and purpose. The ‘Second String’ Family members (Sgt. Nunzia D’Palermo, Sgt. Paul Wasserman, Rev. Daniel Pocolis, Major Ken McGuinness, Independent Correspondent Dagmar Yaddow, and FBI forensics Special Agent Russell Anderson) have each felt the pull of the Family’s mission on their lives and have begun to hunger for greater levels of involvement. Melissa Banks has turned her life’s direction from vague to focused by changing her college major to Journalism and signing on to Rhinebeck Central Schools for a future teaching position. Finally, Hawthorn Enterprises CEO Allen Hawthorn has found his adolescent fascination with Melissa grow firmly into something far more mature and enduring...he has found love.

PROLOGUE

Sally Buley lay on her cot, staring up at the cold concrete ceiling. To any ‘Death Row’ guard that cared to look at the video display outside her composite material security door, this infamous multiple murderer had the eerie visage of serenity and peace. No guard, chaplain, or psychologist, could see the raging turmoil inside her head, though they had searched either out of professionalism or curiosity. The images of her husband-victims had many body shapes, but only one face, and the voices of rage, disgust, and insanity competed for center stage in eternal and irresolvable conflict.

Yet, there was irrational hope in her mind that was repulsed and prayed for at the same time. Sally had been entertaining a visitor of late; one that no prison official could possibly know about, one that offered a slim chance for the peace she craved before a needle would end her mental storms forever...or would it? The chaplain had spoken of the need for her to make peace with her maker lest her soul be consigned to the pits of hell, or oblivion, or whatever that day’s sect of visiting holy man believed might happen to those who didn’t make St. Peter’s nice list. Certainly, Sally had been naughty. Her mother had been the first to make sure she knew that, long ago.

Like any other topic, she was divided on the subject of Hell. Her father had burned and died, so it seemed fitting she should die and burn. Yet, other parts of her felt a desperate need for salvation. It was those parts that welcomed her visitor, and struggled to speak with her over the din of their raging counterparts. Sally was divided, but not yet conquered.

Paul Robison was exhausted. Family and career should be enough for anyone, but there was a third loving devotion that competed for his attentions. For most people in his professional and kin circles, faith in God was an ever-present support in their lives. Paul’s belief in God was strong, and that had led him to express his faith with a group that many had heard of but few had been chosen to join. In his nine years long membership in the Christian Strategic Arm, Paul had progressed from soldier, to Cell Leader, to a Cell Commander with just over a hundred soldiers under him, though he only personally knew a dozen of them.

Paul’s younger brother also had a strong faith, but Mike had taken his own path of spiritual leadership as a Pentecostal minister. That break from the family’s mostly Baptist membership had long ago healed over. Paul had spoken with his brother today and was deeply troubled. The meeting with his brother’s superior officer, whom he had shoehorned into his schedule tomorrow, was laced with such a combination of excitement and dread that his mind was in turmoil. Was it possible that the event foretold in scripture was actually nearing? That event that the CSA had required of all their soldiers to believe in without reservation, yet had never been truly real in anyone’s plans for the immediate future? It had seemed far more likely that their paramilitary training would serve, if ever, to save their nation from foreign but HUMAN invasion...not this. Not what his brother had spoken of, or what his brother’s superior officer would speak of tomorrow.

From the time he was a child, his strict theological upbringing said there was no such thing as ghosts. Any paranormal manifestation was, therefore, a trick and a cheat of Ol’ Scratch. The headlines featuring these demons had tested that mindset. The Devil couldn’t battle himself, so that confrontation at the Edwards Estate had shaken his foundations. But where there’s a will, there’s a way to make things fit into your viewpoint. That Southern woman image, perhaps that was the righteous spirit turned angel come back to battle the Devil’s minions. There, one angel in the form of the woman for whom the land was home and holy ground, sanctified by her death and the deaths of her children. Who did she fight? An image of someone from somewhere else, an invader. And who came to the aid of that invader? The news videos made that pretty clear, to his mind. Throw in yet another image of a northern aggressor at the tail end, and you’ve got a reason to make a stand. His brother seemed to agree with his point of view, and so did a great leader in the Christian faith, a man he would soon break bread with.

More than once, Paul’s career in the John Deere Corporation had him making a joking reference to beating swords into plowshares. For every thing there is a season, he thought. Was the time coming when plowshares would be reforged back into swords? Had that time already arrived?

Chapter 1 - LEAP OF FAITH

Sunday evening, October 22nd, 2047: You are invited to attend the wedding of Marianne Cabrini and Ralph Kithcart. The ceremony will be held in Milledgeville, Georgia. Exact time and location to be announced.

Reception will be held at ‘The Inn’ in the town of Milledgeville, Georgia, at 7PM. We hope you will be able to add your valued presence to this important occasion. Services will be officiated by Reverend Daniel Pocolis. R.S.V.P.

Not much lead time, Rachel. Are we bringing the kids? Frank Gladstone kept a weather eye on the boat’s progress as he spoke with his wife.

Yes. It’s just Family and some friends. We had thought to get a Saturday date, but the Edwards Estate wasn’t available until the next evening.

Frank asked, Who’s giving away the bride?

Her father and mother are still around, Gerolomo and Carol Castalano. I had hoped that we’d be able to get Gustav in there, somehow. Maybe he and Gerolomo can each take an arm. Who would know, besides us, if they did?

That would have to be a first.

Rachel had been the Marianne’s majorette domo on the wedding plans. Maybe, how would we know? Anyway, Ryan’s ‘best man’ and Marianne asked me to be ‘maid of honor’.

Frank smiled to think of all the changes this group of individuals had gone through in so short a period of time. In a week’s time, there would occur yet another miracle through marriage. He’d talk to the ‘roosters’ about arranging a bachelor party on the sly for Ralph, though the thought of Marianne’s reaction to the traditional male doings on the night before the wedding didn’t invite contemplating. Then again, she might give it her wholehearted endorsement. With Marianne, you just never knew for sure. Meanwhile, there was work to be done. It was October the 15th, Sunday, 2047.

Rachel, Frank, Zachary and Atlas skimmed the Hudson River’s waters on a rented twin-hull twenty-four foot powerboat. Frank had suggested hunting for stuck souls under the bridge where a number of distraught people had taken their final dive. Frank piloted; Atlas and Zachary sat bundled up on the bow. It was too early for river ice, yet they still had to be careful. The Hudson was known for shifting silt-bars that not only ate props, but also served as a source of surprise to some jumpers, according to forensic specialists. Some bodies found stuck in the silt were determined to have lived just long enough to drown, sometimes with their heads only a few feet from the surface of the water.

Atlas was enjoying the ride, as dogs seem to regardless of the type of conveyance. Zachary was curious about animals detecting underwater spirits, given their recent confrontation with the underground spirit of Lincoln Marfan. Frank had trolled the river under the western half of the Kingston Rhinecliff Bridge. No nibbles yet. They might try again with Vanessa or Gustav, for Atlas might not be able to sense entities under water as he did those under the ground. Moving water sometimes did funny things. Frank edged up the throttle and nosed over to the eastern main abutment.

Frank trolled along a section south of the bridge where you could actually see the sediment build-up about six feet below the water. A variant of sonar kept him apprised of any silt bars ahead that would foul the prop. Zachary held up his hand, so Frank throttled back and maintained position, watching Zachary for hand signals on where to go. He switched to battery, which reduced both power and the distracting noise of the motor.

Zachary held Atlas under his arm, keeping his hand under the dog’s chest. The familiar growling thrum signaled a probable target. Locating the target was more difficult in this medium, though. Atlas seemed more disoriented, scanning right and left to lock on visually to what another, less practiced, sense had been disturbed by.

Rachel was leaning over the side, scanning the dark water. Every so often she would see something move, but chances were that it was either one of the many thriving denizens of the river or a bit of waterlogged driftwood tumbling along the river bottom. Hey, Honey, maybe we need to give a holler like Gustav did back at the cemetery.

Couldn’t hurt, Sweetheart. See if you can raise a ripple, will you?

Rachel leaned over, scanning the murky bottom. Hello! Hi there! Is there anyone down there? Hello? The boat continued to glide over the area, tacking back and forth, trying to allow Zachary to triangulate Atlas’s sensing of...whatever. It was working, too. Their path reverse-spiraled to a relatively small area. With Frank’s peripheral vision, he saw a different hand go up. Turning his head, he saw Rachel leaning over the side of the boat.

She saw something close to the surface, maybe a couple of feet below. There had been other vague objects, but this one wasn’t moving downstream. Riverweed? It was hard to make out anything, as the surface of the water was reflecting the sunlight. Rachel reached out with her hand to create a shadow window she could see through. There, something was there. Hello?

What at first seemed to be a thatch of riverweeds jerked, revealing two eyes that stared wide and panicky. Rachel’s reality skipped a heartbeat. Something came rocketing out of the water, latching onto Rachel’s outstretched arm. She screamed, FRANK!!!

Frank was already looking. Zachary’s head snapped around. Both saw the hand that had latched onto Rachel’s arm. Atlas now had a visual cue and began to bark non-stop, pausing only to take a quick breath, and even that intake of air featured a snarling sound. Fearing Rachel would be pulled into the cold river water, Frank did a quick grab of her coat belt. That sudden stabilization gave Rachel a breath of sanity in her moment of horror and surprise. Frank, it’s got me like a tentacle. I can’t pull my arm back!

Frank threw the control settings to ‘hover’. Zachary was more used to dealing with the unexpected, so came in first with action steps. Frank, you keep hold of her belt. Whatever it is has focused its energy in a death grip. I think it just wants out of the water. I’m going to see if I can get it to let go. Zachary leaned over and tried to swat at the hand and wrist that rose above the Hudson. No good! I just pass through. Rachel, talk to me, what’s happening?

Rachel responded, never taking her eyes off that hand from the depths. I can feel the pressure of the grip. My fingers are starting to go numb and I can feel my hand throb.

Frank, hang on to her belt and get ready to haul back. Be careful or we’ll wind up tipping the boat. Atlas, CHILL! You’re giving everyone a headache! Rachel, I’m going to grab your arm. Grab your right hand with your left for support. Maybe we can either break the grip or haul it up. Ready? One, two, PULL!

The two men started pulling, careful not to jerk so strongly that they might dislocate an elbow or wrist. They had to stop when Rachel screamed out that they were going to break her arm. Frank said, We need help! If we all concentrate on Gustav, maybe we can get him to show up here. Happy, happy, joy, joy on the count of three. One, two, three! All joined in a desperate vision to be happy to see their deceased lawyer there to lend a hand. Moments later, the German cavalry arrived.

"Good afternoon, got your message. Now, what seems to be…oh my Heavens! Rachel! Do you have a fishing permit?"

Rachel knew Gustav was doing his best to defuse the terror of the moment. However, GUSTAV! Can the crap and get me out of this!

"Very well. Let's keep our wits, shall we? So far, no one has tried to do you physical harm. Someone mainly seems to want to keep you from leaving. It hasn’t actually tried to pull you in, am I right?"

Frank responded. Maybe not, but all three of us couldn’t break the grip. We can’t make physical contact with the appendage. The contact focus by the entity seems to be entirely on the hand’s surface contact with Rachel’s arm.

Gustav remembered his embarrassment at Bernhardt Elmendorf s gravesite for not having simply engaged the entity in conversation. Have you tried talking to the person? The sudden silence was sufficient answer. Allow me? No one argued. Gustav leaned over the boat and could see why Rachel had been given a royal case of the willies. There was a face hidden in the murky waters with eyes that almost glowed. That would be worth a nightmare in anyone’s book. For the first time, Gustav was happy that he no longer had the capacity to sleep. The hand on Rachel’s wrist appeared male, judging from the structure and the nails. The wrist showed no sleeve, but there was some hair on the back of the hand, so, My good man, your grip on the young lady is causing her distress and discomfort. Would you consider lessening the strength of your grip? We promise not to pull away.

The eyes narrowed slightly and, moments later...The grip strength has eased off a bit. He’s listening. Gustav, I’m so sorry for snapping at you. Thank you!

"Not to worry, dear one, you’re doing fine. Now, good sir, we would like to render you assistance. Can you speak to me?" Gustav looked into the water. Rachel wouldn’t get her head any closer out of fear that the other hand might latch onto her hair. Both men stayed right where they were, in case a tug of war became necessary. The eyes slowly moved back and forth, but even a one-way conversation was enough to reduce the desperation in those eyes. Gustav reached forward for the wrist, carefully, slowly, and detected his own ability to make contact with it. Excellent.

Zachary divided his attention between Rachel protecting and Atlas managing. Gustav, the three of us tried, with all our might, to pull back. The guy’s a real stick in the mud. How are we going to get the fellow out without breaking Rachel’s wrist? he wanted to know.

"My dear man, whoever it is, is only stuck in the mud because that is what he believes. In truth, he's not stuck at all. Remember Bernhardt and how we had to pull him out? Same thing with that dowager, Mrs. Lawson. We need to have the entity let go of the old before it can embrace the new." Gustav leaned over the boat again. Sir, we are going to extricate you from your predicament, but we require your assistance. I am going to let you grasp my arm with your right hand. Between Rachel and me, we WILL pull you out of the silt. You have to do two things. First, hold onto us. Second, you have to divorce yourself from your bonding to the silt. You are dead, sir, and your spirit is stuck there only because you believe it to be so. Trust us. We’ve done a lot of this and it ALWAYS WORKS. Do you understand me?

This time, all faces leaned over, carefully so as not to tip the boat. The eyes now went up and down, rather than back and forth. Gustav stretched forth his hand and the entity’s right hand grasped Gustav’s wrist. There was a solid connection. Now, the two men will lean to the opposite side to trim the craft. Frank, can you secure Rachel in some other way? Frank took off his belt and created a lanyard on Rachel’s coat belt to anchor his wife from the opposite side of the boat. Well done, Frank. Rachel, you and I will begin to pull, now! Sir, hold on with an equal grip on each hand. We are pulling you up. Believe in that. The mud is letting go of you. Believe in that as well. You must trust us!

Trust came hard, but it came. With a few minutes effort, gradual progress could be seen. The arms came out higher until the eyes were now seen to rest in the face of a longhaired, bearded, slender faced man. The face broke the surface of the water and the miraculous look of joy on the man’s face was heartening. He was pulled into the boat, as Zachary held onto Rachel’s belt with one hand, the muzzle of a snarling Chihuahua with the other. So, this is what the First String people had experienced! How exhilarating! So, welcome to the surface. I’m Zachary. The lady’s name is Rachel and that’s her husband, Frank. The ghost that leant his wisdom to the problem is Gustav. Who are you?

The look of relief that freedom brought to the man’s face began to fade as he began to answer his benefactor’s reasonable request, for the answer would reveal the reason for his immersion. Still, these people had just saved him from eternal drowning.

"Alfred Delaney. I’m from Ellenville, or, I was. Lost my job as a grade school teacher there when there was a blow-up about improper use of force. Kid in my class flipped and tried to take it out on me with the sharp end of a pair of scissors. I freaked, jumped back, and kicked the scissors out of his hand. His wrist broke in three places. I was officially suspended and, unofficially, was told that I had given the school a black eye and could never work there again. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I got real mad and stopped off in Kingston to knock down a few. That got me stupid and I decided to show them all how wrong they were to do that to me. It was a spur of the moment thing that has been haunting me ever since. I just stopped the car, ran to the bridge rail, and jumped. I remember having the time to think how stupid it was to jump before I hit, and being surprised that I was still alive under the water. I was able to look up and see the surface, but was up to my waist in the muck. It didn’t take much longer for me to die. A short time, I guess, later, someone called out to me, but I didn’t answer...I was afraid to, ashamed of what I’d done. I’ve seen the ice come and go three times, so I suppose it was three years ago."

Rachel remembered when she and Gustav had gone for a ride in her son’s Mastiff. That was the day she was going to either reconcile herself with Frank, or take the step to break off with him. Gustav had suggested suicide to her as an option then, and had done so to remove that option from her ‘spur of the moment’ menu. Rachel felt her whole body turn into a goose pimple. Might this have been her fate had Gustav not intervened?

Alfred Delaney looked around, taking in the vista that he had long ago given up ever seeing again. So, what happens now?

As if in answer, Rachel noticed something. Uh, Frank, we’re drifting.

Frank moved up to the helm seat. Electric motor’s not turning. I can’t start the gas engine. Zachary, yank the emergency starter cord. Yeah, that thing. Try again. Here, you sit here, let me take a look at it. Frank and Zachary changed places, as Alfred and Rachel looked on. Frank tinkered, yanked, fussed and cussed. Zachary kept an eye on Frank, looking for a signal for what he might be able to help with, and then shifting his gaze around to see if there was anything that might pose a collision hazard. He discovered something much more distressing than a stubborn motor.

Hey, Frank, which way is the current going? Frank was too busy to register the import of that statement and, with short temper, stuck out an index finger quickly to indicate the flow of the river. Rachel had been in the area long enough to know which way was south. She caught on, quickly.

Frank! We’re drifting in the wrong direction! Frank looked up from the motor and watched as they drifted past the concrete bridge abutment, going upstream. Are we in an eddy or something? he asked. Maybe the tide’s coming in; the Hudson has tides. That was less than lame to everyone.

Zachary looked around and spotted a few pieces of small driftwood. Those pieces of wood are going in the normal direction. Do we have an anchor? Frank could have kicked himself for stupidity, but moved swiftly to the front of the boat and, raising a small hatch, tossed over a chained anchor. He watched as it hit the silt and began to dig into it, then waited for about thirty feet to pan out before securing the line to a cleat. The boat’s progress slowed, but didn’t stop. The drift began to change, as the boat shifted directions towards the eastern riverbank to the tune of a gradually tensing chain rubbing against the hull.

Rachel asked, Frank, what’s wrong? Isn’t there enough resistance in the silt to stop the boat from...going cross and upstream? This is crazy! What’s happening to us?

Gustav kept quiet, hoping his friends would iron things out, but suspecting that it was beyond their abilities. He had noticed the wrong direction of the boat first and had been about to report it when he saw Alfred Delaney staring towards the bank with the saddest expression. As the boat continued its impossible-drift direction, Alfred’s face never changed, his gaze never altered. Gustav sidled over next to the entity and, when he spoke, silenced the others’ activity.

"Alfred, what are you seeing? We can’t see what it is that you are looking at. Can you tell us?"

Alfred Delaney was quiet for a moment. Then, Thank you, people, for your efforts. You all have good hearts and you meant well. I think, maybe, it would have been best to have left me down there, though.

The boat had continued to drift. They were a hundred feet from where they had pulled Alfred’s spirit out of the silt. He seemed resigned. I tried to be a good teacher. I really did.

One hundred and twenty-five feet. The anchor did its level best to dig further into the floor of the river. The creak of the chain pulling against the cleat showed that the force that pulled the boat upstream was gentle, but determined.

Gustav asked, Alfred, rescuing spirits is what we do. Please, we have to know. What is it that you are seeing?

Alfred never altered his gaze. One hundred and forty-five feet. A ruddy red glow began to envelop his body. Judgment. It was the last word Alfred Delaney would utter within hearing of mortal man. It sounded hollow and it echoed, after visual evidence of this entity had passed from sight. That sound had just ebbed to dead silence when the moment was broken by a loud sound. The anchor cleat snapped off of the boat. A few seconds later, the electric motor kicked in. Still set on hover, the new readings taken by the laser locators were entered into the auto-pilot and the boat remained stable, one hundred and fifty feet from where Alfred Delaney was...rescued. Of those in the boat, a man and wife held each other and quietly wept. Another man held his furry companion, keeping his jaw tensed to maintain control. A spirit looked up in the traditional direction people assumed Heaven to be and prayed for a brother entity, asking forgiveness for him.

Chapter 2 - KITTY-TEAM

Marianne, Ralph, Vanessa and the jet-black kitten, Ebony, had come up scoreless. They had taken a flight to Chicago that morning to visit the German U-Boat on display at the Chicago Museum of Science and Natural History. During World War II, the Captain of that vessel had raised up the wounded craft to surrender his men, hoping that the fate of POW’s would be better than the sure death of riding the dying vessel to the ocean floor. The scuttling hatch that should have been thrown overboard had been, instead, hastily set to the side. The U.S. Navy boarding party found the hatch cover and re-installed it in time to save the stricken ‘pig-boat’ (a common name derived, in part, from the lack of shower facilities on board), and towed it into an American harbor. Since not every German submariner survived that ordeal, Ryan had thought it would be a good opportunity to see if the Fitzgalen army needed a navy.

Whether it was because over a million visitors had added their energies and karmas to the structure, or whether those that perished had all found their paths to the other side, the scouting party could sense nothing. Perhaps they would be luckier when they visited the H. L. Hunley on Monday.

Marianne got a beep on her SatCom as they were on their way out of the defunct sea-wolf. It was Allen, she told the others. They waited for her to finish the call, but her face told them that something significant had happened. The slow, thoughtful closure of the unit confirmed it. I need to sit down where it’s warm, friends. Let’s go get some hot chocolate.

Inside the main museum’s basement was a sizable cafeteria. Everyone picked up a warm drink and a nibble, then found a table to gather around. Marianne told what she had heard on the SatCom.

Puppy-Team scored a hit on a jumper from the Kingston Rhinecliff Bridge, circa three years ago. After they hauled the entity aboard, something grabbed the boat they were in and hauled it upstream, to the point of snapping the anchor chain’s cleat on the boat. The motors were disabled as well, until the jumper crossed over. This time, for whatever it means, the glow around the entity was ruddy red, and the guy didn’t seem at all pleased with whatever it was he saw waiting for him...not terrified, just sad. Gustav was there and tried to pump him for a description and all the guy said before he disappeared was, ‘judgment’. Sounded like he was a pretty decent fellow, except that he got canned from a job, knocked down a few drinks and decided on the spur of the moment to end it all. He survived the fall from the bridge, only to realize he was stuck in the silt and then drowned. His spirit suffered some guilt pangs and did a Lincoln Marfan style avoidance to his being called over, only this guy wasn’t nuts. It was ‘Jack Daniels insanity’, at best. Looks like we might get calls from time to time where our success may not be the thing the entity we are rescuing really wants. Allen says Ryan wants us to give it some thought, then brainstorm on the subject this Tuesday.

Vanessa sat at an ‘empty’ chair. Gustav was there? I thought he stayed behind to guide Allen on legal matters.

The jumper grabbed Rachel’s hand from the water and wouldn’t let go. No one could get her arm loose without breaking it, so Zachary initiated an emergency happiness beacon, and it worked. Gustav kept the coolest head and managed to get the jumper up from the silt with a team heave-ho and positive imaging.

Ralph scratched his chin. That’s going to be difficult, trying to judge whom not to boot upstairs. Who are we to make a decision like that? This is getting complicated. Vanessa, have you ever encountered this sort of stuff before?

"No, not at all! Most of the earlier entities Ryan and I worked with were first found while I wandered about. Who knows what it was that drew me to one spirit or another? Maybe that skewed the demographics. Others we sought out were from hearsay. Spirits that don’t want to be seen usually aren’t, I suppose."

This opened up some new thoughts to chew on, along with the brief snack. Ebony had contentedly fallen asleep in a claw-resistant sling arrangement inside Marianne’s now unzipped coat, provided (of course) by the ever resourceful Zachary and his catalog of over a thousand small-animal doodads. They left the museum for the hotel to check out, leaving a request for a cab to take them to the airport. The Civil War submarine exhibit was in Charleston, South Carolina. Marianne hoped the Monday crowds would be small.

Gustav hadn’t thought so, when he was asked the other day. He maintained that interest in anything to do with the Civil War would likely be experiencing resurgence in popularity, thanks to a minor event down in Milledgeville.

"Oh…yeah."

Allen Hawthorn and Ryan Fitzgalen had been putting on some finishing touches at the office when they, too, received a call from Rachel. Afterwards, Jesus, Ryan. That had to be rough, having a crossover result in an entity maybe visiting the man downstairs. It really doesn’t click with what happened to Lincoln Marfan. Stinkin’ Lincoln was a multiple murderer and deserved his own private lake of fire, complete with diving board.

Reframe it, Allen. That jumper, Alfred? Like Lincoln, he threw away the greatest gift God gave him; his life. That has to be a slap in the face to the one guy you really don’t want to get on the bad side of. There are rules here we just don’t know about and, even if we did, probably wouldn’t agree with.

Allen looked slightly panicked. Wait a minute. I want my legal council before you start lecturing.

Denied. Gustav is right where he needs to be. Rachel, Zachary and Frank need his comfort more than you need his protection. Think about it. What is the worst thing that can happen to you? ‘Loss of being’ is it, in my opinion. Alfred didn’t fall apart like Lincoln did. He stayed in one piece and was hauled off somewhere, like everyone else. Maybe that differently colored glow Puppy-Team reported had tagged him for special review. Lincoln was just blown to the wind, at least, the wicked part of him. I think his good half’s absorption into the oak tree was true poetic justice.

It made sense to Allen, but, Yeah, I thought about that, and the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. Ryan, you and I are supposed to be souls created by God, that’s soul, like singular and one to a customer, you know? I know Mom says that our minds are a committee, and I agree with her on that. But the spirit is supposed to be a single entity, from what I’ve learned from my work with the Family. How could Lincoln be divided up like that, with one part rewarded and the other part have its ashes scattered to the winds? Add to that Gustav’s confrontation with Martha Mendelssohn. Did she do a Lincoln by turning to ashes just in the dream, or did that happen for real? Did Gustav’s son Garrison rescue Martha just in time, or did he salvage her ‘better half? She was dead when Gustav and Vanessa got back to her, but they said her spirit survived. I’m getting royally confused.

Ryan leaned back in the chair, ran his fingers through his hair, and gave a sad shake of his head. Allen, I’m a hundred and thirty-eight years old and have had the opportunity to see more than most, but I don’t know everything. You are one hundred and seventeen years my junior, but you have a better handle on some matters than I do. Great, great grandkid, all we can do is to help entities cross over. How they lived their lives, how they are judged or what happens to them is not up to us. We can’t stop our work because some will suffer as a legacy for their deeds. What would happen to all of those who truly deserve our help? Should we let them suffer unnecessarily to protect those that broke God’s rules?

It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time Ryan had thought about this, for he had brought to an uncharacteristically succinct statement of how they would have to proceed. Allen thought about it. So, is it torpedo the damned, and full speed ahead?

Ryan looked at his great, great grandson. You know, at any other time, that would have been funny. We’ll talk about it on Tuesday when the Kitty-Team gets back. But... hmmm. Allen, that thought about Marfan’s spirit dividing up? Remember that part in the Bible about entering the Kingdom of Heaven with one eye or one hand missing rather than being whole and cast into Hell? I wonder if Heaven is handicapped accessible?

Allen knew when he had reached his ‘duh’ point. Look, Melissa’s got to head back to RPI tonight and you just crossed my eyes. OK if I take off for a little while?

Sure, Allen. We’ve all been putting in a lot of hours this past week. Give the brain some air. I’m going to close up shop soon, anyway. Allen gave a thumbs-up, then took off for Marianne’s house where Melissa was nailing down the last of her homework assignments in uninterrupted peace.

The borrowed Green Machine was parked at the Rhinecliff Railport, which also happened to be the local boat rental and public launch ramp. No one bothered to tell the rental person that the engines had died at a critical time in their trip, because no one believed it was the fault of the electric or gas motors. This event was disturbing from a lot of standpoints. The rental agent could only scratch his head about the defective cleat and enter its repair request along with the replacement cost of the anchor plus chain onto the insurance application. Puppy-Team headed for the Beekman Arms, where the bartenders knew their names and their favorite drinks. It was a quiet trip.

Chapter 3 - THE ALLIANCE

Reverend Daniel Pocolis was relaxing at his home in Milledgeville. It was Sunday morning and the eight o’clock service he had just completed had been unusual, to say the least. Ever since he had come back from the North, people in his flock treated him a little differently. His participation with the defeat of Lincoln Marfan (and they didn’t even know about the salvation of Bernadette Lawson) had this city looking at him as though he had a third eye, despite the fact very few details of the whole story actually made it to general knowledge. The dowager crossover would remain forever a Family secret, but the investigation into Lincoln’s double-murder and suicide was still underway. Finding Cassandra Petrocelli’s murdered husband’s body wasn’t high on anyone’s ‘likely to succeed list’.

Rev’s police friend, Sgt. Paul Wasserman, hadn’t said anything to anyone about the Reverend’s or his own role in the conflict. However, it was Paul who had arranged for the Deacons to take over for him while Rev was away. But a police officer was different from a spiritual leader. His church now saw their safe, stolid, fat and jolly leader in a new light...one of mystery. This was not necessarily a bad thing, however it did put a different spin on how people, whose births he had attended and were now married with kids, spoke to him. Was his flock paying particular attention to his message today due to his newfound depth of spirituality, or were they waiting for him to levitate?

But what really took the biscuit was that, during the hymns this morning, the singing was especially pleasing. It was the last verse of ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’, where the sopranos went up in exquisite musical counterpoint and made a harmony to please the angels. He had always enjoyed Mrs. Jane Witherspoon’s voice rising clear and poignant, the capstone to a musical tribute to God. His throat tightened, his nose stung, and his eyes misted as they always did on that hymn, which is why he made sure it was never sung before his sermon. When the song was over and the music had set the mood for him and his flock to re-enter the wicked world with greater spirituality, Reverend Pocolis’s eyes widened in revelation. Mrs. Jane Witherspoon had passed away eight years ago. He snapped his attention to the choir loft to the seat that Jane had always sat in. It was occupied by Bart Pasternak. Bart didn’t hit those high notes, no matter how tight his underwear might be. The ten o’clock service was going to be in half an hour. How was he going to concentrate on the sermon?

The PC chirped. It was Reverend Joseph LeGrand from Macon. Good morning, Joe. Can’t talk long, ten o’clock service, you know.

Hi Daniel. Won’t take a minute. C3 is having a web conference tonight and they’re trying to get as many in on it as possible. Your name is on my PC tree. I know it’s short notice and we’re not expecting to get everyone. I just knew where and when to get word to you. Nine o’clock tonight, OK?

Sure, Joe. I can free up the schedule for that. What’s the stew?

It’s this ghost thing, Daniel. A lot of people are pretty shaken and some of them are getting ready for the Second Coming...not that this is a bad thing, mind you. Anyway, we got to get a better handle on it. Rumor has it that you might have some inside dope on the matter. Anyway, we’ll see you tonight.

Bye, Joe, and thanks. Reverend Pocolis disconnected. For crying out loud. Now what did I get myself into?

The Christian Triple Alliance, or C3, came about as a response to the continued loss of unity among Christians and their sects. There was something about the Christian religious organizations that seemed genetically programmed to fragment into smaller groups. That was good on the one hand, with magnet groups appealing to specific demographics and hopefully broadening the appeal of Christianity to a wider audience (jokingly referred to as ‘sects appeal’), but it was also bad for a sinful world in shards where unity with a capital ‘U’ of the Christian beacon would be a very good thing. Reverend Pocolis had likened it to the Tower of Babel a dozen sermons ago, where Christians had a general goal of salvation through Jesus, which was the tower that pointed its way to the heavens. That, and the belief that Christianity was right and everyone else was wrong, was where agreements, and communication, ended. Open up any yellow pages and there were as many denominations as there were pizza joints, and as many individual churches as there were lawyers and dentists combined. Well, lawyers, anyway. Take any three churches of the same denomination and visit their services, and you would find that at least one of them would seem radically different from the other two.

C3 was an organization that had rallied to an agenda that bordered on fundamentalist, but not rigidly so. Eleven years ago, the leadership of three groups met to discuss pooling their resources.

The Pentecostal Assemblies of Christianity (PAC) had boasted a hundred thousand churches in the North American continent, with another ten thousand in Europe, South America and Africa. They were weaker in Asia and Australia, for some reason. Their work in feeding the poor, fighting for human rights and supporting environmental issues put them in good stead with many people, Christian and otherwise. One of their less advertised main focuses was to make inroads on God’s original ‘chosen people’ and help them to realize that the Messiah they had been waiting millennia for had been there/done that in the person of Jesus, the Christ. The organizations of the Jewish religion had misgivings towards this group member.

The Churches of Christian Disciples (CCD) was a more globally-oriented group, and many of its missionaries were living in places even college professors of world history had never heard of. While the number of churches in North America paled by comparison, only eighty-seven thousand and change, it more than made up for it with an estimated one hundred seventeen thousand churches all over the world, especially in Asia (granted, some of those ‘churches’ were shacks with half a dozen attendees). Literally thousands of remote villages had felt the healing hands of CCD doctors, seen schools and shelters arise with guidance from CCD engineers, and saw agricultural advances coupled with new prosperity in their villages. The Chinese government was particularly unhappy with this group bringing in a ‘destabilizing’ Christian influence despite the improved ability to feed Chinese mouths.

The third member was the World Baptist Alliance (WBA). It had the fewest resources in foreign countries and the fewest churches in their tally...seventy-six thousand, eight hundred, and that was their world-wide count, but that number increased almost daily. The WBA leant a vigor, zeal and energy that the other two lumbering giants could only envy. The WBA had worked hard towards eliminating bigotry, for strengthening nuclear families and to make use of the immense resources to be found in the retired community. They held strong to biblical standards from both Old and New Testaments, whether they were politically correct or not. The gay community and abortion-rights groups (to name a few) were royally miffed with them, accusing the WBA of hypocrisy in their fight against bigotry.

The C3 delegates found their organizations had a lot in common, despite their supposed sect differences in philosophy. None of the member organizations had a monopoly in their rosters of deep and profound thinkers who would grace any church or lecture hall with their wit, intelligence, and spiritual insights. Nor could any claim freedom from preachers who were passionate, pig-headed, self-righteous, inflammatory, negative twits who reveled in their position and power. Daniel sighed, shook his head and smiled. Things weren’t all that different in the other major religions. Somewhere, he had a Moslem counterpart who was prostrate on his prayer mat, bemoaning the same things he was. Reverend Pocolis would bet, though gambling was not condoned by his Baptist brethren, that said Moslem cleric wasn’t wondering about why his mosque was haunted.

Well, it was time to head on over for the