The Vision: A World War Ii Soldier's Quest to Discover the Meaning of His Dreams and the Power of His Destiny

By Robert Blake

Jared Matthews is embarking on a journey which started with a well-deserved furlough from his duties as a foreign war correspondent and pilot during World War II. Everything changes for him after experiencing a vision which seems to portray parallels of the Nazi regime he had witnessed in the 1930s, to what is yet to come in the 21st century. At the outset, he meets a beautiful girl the night he has the vision, but they part ways, possibly never to see each other again. Will he find this woman he felt so drawn to? He also seeks the help of his war buddies, and a priest who offers insightful counsel and warnings about his vision. He returns to Europe and the war, while continuing to experience more dreams and visions, along with the devastation of battle. His destiny seems certain: to warn others of what is yet to come after the war is over. The future? Another dictator, but one of pandemic and prophetic proportions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Jan 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781462408559

Book preview

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Jared Matthews walked the rain-soaked streets of New York City that late September evening of 1943 until he felt he could go no more. As the sky continued to pour, he ached for a place to gather his thoughts. His first furlough in several months as a foreign correspondent ought to have been a fun, relaxing five days before heading across the country for a new assignment. Instead, waking up soaked in sweat, inhaling the stale air of a cheap hotel room, fresh flashes of a horrific vision disconnecting him from this life left him drained. He needed to find someone he could talk to, a person who could interpret all that he saw, felt, and experienced in this dream that seemed so chillingly real.

His thoughts were interrupted by a light coming from a restaurant just below street level. Though it was eleven thirty, it still appeared open. Jared ran toward the lighted haven, ducking into the stairwell as a crashing thunder rumbled above. As he slipped into the doorway, he was greeted by a smoke-filled, cozy café with checkerboard tablecloths, drippy candles, and several people milling about, eating, laughing, and listening to the guitar-playing entertainer sing a romantic tune. He spotted a secluded booth toward the back of the restaurant and hustled his muscular frame to the red vinyl, padded seat, away from the buzz of activity. Jared placed his face in his hands, trying to ground his thoughts, but the vision was still so real—it rattled him to his very core.

Welcome to Romano’s Café!

He lifted his face from his hands to see a perky, cute waitress in a black satin dress and white apron carrying a tray of dirty dishes.

What ya need, sir? she asked in a slight New York accent.

Trying to regain composure, Jared replied, Just some black coffee, please.

Are you sure that’s all, sir? We’ve got the best spaghetti in town! Her face broke into a huge smile.

No, uh, thanks anyway. The coffee will do for now. He gave a forced smile.

As she sauntered away, Jared attempted to make sense of it all. He remembered heading to bed after docking in New York Harbor and hanging out with his buddies, McGee and Ryan. Though he had been on the ship a couple of weeks, he found his mind still drowning in the war stories he covered in London. He was told to report back to the United States for more orders concerning writing some stories on the home front, along with developing the copy for a couple of newsreel broadcasts aimed at letting the folks at home know what’s going on overseas.

He had made friends with several soldiers through his military career, especially burly, redheaded Clyde McGee and lanky, soft-spoken John Ryan, both of whom he got to know in basic and advanced training at Sampson Naval Base in New York. They all trained as pilots, but Jared sought to be a journalist. Then the war broke out. They wound up in the same squadron initially, but Jared’s duties as a foreign war correspondent and missions’ pilot took him other directions. Eventually, though, they all ended up on the same ship headed home, a pleasant opening to his short leave from a nineteen-month tour in Europe. The journey was a great reunion: the three of them enjoyed playing pranks on other shipmates and reveled in their reputation as some of the best card players in the navy. Their gambling may never have won them money, but the exaggerated stories, corny jokes, and newfound celebrity status were priceless.

When their ship arrived in New York Harbor, he went with Clyde and John to a local restaurant close to the docks. After parting ways with the guys, both of whom gave him a hard time for not wanting to hit the town with them to enjoy the sites and scenes of New York City, he headed straight to the hotel to go to bed. Jared was especially tired and didn’t know why.

Upon arriving at the hotel, he signed in with the crotchety, old desk clerk and ascended the scuffed and splintered mahogany staircase he was sure was once beautiful in this previously stately home. A dwelling to servicemen and some civilians, it was now a twenty-room hotel. Going down a long corridor draped in soiled crimson and gold tapestry carpet, which he supposed was cleaned twice daily by dedicated servants from yesteryear, he found his room: number 207. He actually had a room to himself—what a luxury, he had reflected, after sleeping in a suspended hammock alongside the other shipmates, or in muddy trenches on war-torn battlefields. Turning his key into the lock, he entered a simple but cozy room. It had an antique washbasin, a small brass and iron bed, and a nightstand with a small lamp already lit. A large quilted, blanket lay smoothly across the small, soft mattress, and crisp, white pillows lined the headboard. Jared didn’t even bother to wash up, brush his teeth, or change his clothes. He simply threw his duffel bag into a corner, turned off the lamp, and lay on the bed.

Why am I so tired? he wondered. A neon light from a storefront sign outside his window intermittently flashed a green glow into his room, casting light and shadows on the wall across from his bed. He was so sleepy he simply rolled over onto his stomach, buried his head in his pillow to shield himself from the brightness, and immediately fell into a deep slumber.

At some point, Jared was awakened by a deafening crash—it must have been an explosion. Bolting up in bed, he looked at the wall across from him. A perceived sensation of heat generated off the wall like the explosion had happened right in front of him. As he shielded his eyes to the blast, drops of perspiration beaded up on his forehead from the stress of whatever seemed to have just happened.

Jared was trying to gather his senses. Being in combat for too long could stir many a soldier from a restful night’s sleep. Realizing he was not in combat and not on an airfield or battlefield, but still in a hotel room, he saw no signs of fire. He continued to stare aimlessly at the wall as the flashing green light shifted into a scene before his eyes, almost as if he were watching a movie—yet he felt a part of it.

An image of a calendar appeared on the wall in front of him, showing the year 1933 and then suddenly dissipating into another scene. He now saw Hitler speaking to crowds of thousands, people cheering, applauding, crying, almost worshipping him as he was appointed chancellor of Germany, just like Jared had witnessed in newsreels in the theater. The calendar appeared again, and pages of it began rolling forward as he saw German soldiers marching into Poland back in 1939, invading towns, removing freedoms from innocent people. He saw Jews being rounded up and killed as Hitler’s plan for prosperity turned into a horridly perverse scheme for annihilation of a race and world domination.

The calendar pages began turning again, and he now saw future days as the year 1944 appeared. He saw US and British troops invading France, and a headline appeared, as if from a newspaper, saying: Germany Surrenders. He then saw the year 1945 appear, followed by an explosion of horrific proportions, removing an entire city as another newspaper headline appeared, saying, Japan Surrenders—the War Is Over. He felt relief come over him as he realized this must be how and when the war would end. Yet, immediately the calendar pages starting turning again. Decades rolled by, replete with scenes that didn’t make sense to him: riots, wars, chilling cultural shifts in society—the calendar continued to spin. He saw more wars, followed by scenes of horrific violence in America and throughout the world—damaged economies, loss of human life, and more changes in culture and thought. As the calendar pages rolled on, and more years flew by, the calendar’s pages moved into the twenty-first century. He witnessed unthinkable destruction to American soil and the rest of the world. He saw a major economic collapse—followed by a huge explosion, grander than the one he had glimpsed when WWII ended.

The calendar appeared once again, but now the pages stopped spinning, and it began burning. He could not distinctly visualize the date it had stopped on. An image of the earth appeared that looked as if it had been damaged in some way. Immediately Hitler’s face reappeared, again speaking to thousands upon thousands of people, promising them peace, prosperity, hope, and freedom. The crowds applauded and worshipped this hero, this peacemaker—the one who would fix everything after such a great world disaster, both physically and economically. But Hitler’s face began to morph into someone else—it wasn’t Hitler, but someone like him—a successor perhaps? Jared sensed this man to be even more sinister, fooling the world with his charms. Words began to form in front of him: As it was in the past, so shall be the future. With that, the words and the vision abruptly disappeared, leaving the wall in front of him empty.

Jared was drenched in sweat. His mind reeled. Was it a dream? A vision? Was it real? He sat in bed, his steel-gray eyes staring at the wall in front of him as he breathed rapidly, in-sync with the rhythm of his heart, not even noticing that the green neon sign outside his window had quit flashing. He was dazed in thought, trying to make sense of what he had just seen… or if he even saw it. He strained to get up from his bed and turned on the lamp that was sitting on the nightstand. Running his fingers through his hair, he thought, I need to talk to someone. But who?

He quickly changed out of his sweat-soaked uniform into the civvies he had in his duffel bag. After laying out his uniform to dry, he hurriedly left his room, walking down the hallway and down the steps to the front desk lobby. The old clerk was sitting at a chair, slumped over in a deep sleep. Jared rang the small bell sitting atop the check-in desk, causing the clerk to jump and shout, Wha? Wha? What time is it?

I’m not sure. I need some information, Jared said excitedly.

What’s wrong with ya—somethin’ the matter with ya room? the old clerk barked at him.

No, said Jared. I need to see if my buddies have checked in for the night. Their names are McGee and Ryan. Have they registered?

The old clerk scanned his registry book, mumbling as he read and skimmed over the guests. No, I don’t see either one of those last names, he declared as he turned the book around to face Jared.

Jared quickly examined and re-examined the book, shaking his head. He didn’t see their names either. Frustrated, he turned away from the old clerk and strode out of the hotel’s revolving door onto the rain-soaked street, which eventually led him to the cozy Italian restaurant he was now sitting in, dazed in thought, alone in a booth, waiting for a cup of hot coffee to sooth the chill he felt in the core of his gut.

A clarinet began to play a popular tune—one of his favorites, Moonlight Serenade. Whoever was playing it was doing quite well. The melody lilted into the air, soothing his soul, his mind resting in its peace. Suddenly, he heard a woman’s voice alongside the melody. The clarinet serenaded the singer as she waited for the next stanza, and she continued to sing out with clarity and beauty.

Jared turned his head to gaze upon the girl with the lovely voice. There she stood, across the restaurant on a small stage with a thick, blue velvet curtain backdrop. Her long black hair swept over one eyebrow and cascaded to her shoulders in perfect waves. Her wide smile was highlighted by high cheekbones and blue-green eyes. Entranced by her beauty, Jared watched her sing out the words with intensity.

As she finished the last line, the clarinet played out the melody, stepping down the scales to gently whisper the final note. The small crowd in the restaurant applauded heartily, and a few whistled. The girl gracefully stepped off the stage as the clarinet began to play something else, this time accompanied by a graying man seated at a small upright piano to the far right of the stage.

After she stepped down, the lovely singer was greeted by those around her smiling, laughing, and complimenting her on the performance. She graciously accepted their accolades and then turned to head backstage.

Jared felt compelled to speak to her. Surprising himself, he suddenly scrambled out of the booth and made his way over to her, darting around some couples who had begun dancing on the small, wooden floor in front of the stage. Just at her back, Jared gently placed his hand on her shoulder, and she quickly turned around.

Jared clumsily said, I really enjoyed your song, looking at her, quickly looking away, and then staring back into her eyes.

Why, thank you, she said cheerfully.

I really needed to hear that song tonight, Jared said nervously, realizing he still had his hand on her shoulder. Oh, I’m sorry. He dropped his hand and then extended it to shake hands with her. I’m Jared, he stated.

I’m Rachel, she said with a smile, offering her soft hand. Are you a soldier?

Uh, yes … how did you know? I’m not even in uniform.

Well, I see lots of soldiers in my business, and you learn to spot ’em. It’s a look in their eyes, she said with a wink and a smile.

Yeah, I guess we’re all kind of battle-weary, he said with a slightly forced chuckle.

Suddenly, someone pushed between him and Rachel, giving her a hearty pat on the back. Great song tonight, Rachel! said a large, bald man as he moved Rachel toward the backstage area.

Good to meet you, Jared said in haste as she was whisked away. Rachel gave a quick glance back at him and a slight wave before disappearing backstage. Music continued to fill the room as more people swayed on the dance floor. It was now almost midnight, and the restaurant was packed. Jared wanted to talk with her more, yet didn’t feel comfortable following her backstage where a sign above the doorway read, Employees Only. He stood for a moment, searching the hallway where she had disappeared.

Jared slowly turned around and maneuvered his way around the couples on the dance floor, back to the booth in the corner of the restaurant. He sat and began to sip the steaming black coffee that the waitress had set on his unoccupied table. A fireplace not far from his booth crackled as the logs shifted, creating a small burst of blue flames within the yellow and orange hues.

Staring into the fire, Jared once again descended into deep thought about the vision, but now the beautiful girl he had just met kept melodically pressing herself in. Dear God, I wonder if I could tell her my vision, he thought. No, that was a ridiculous prayer—he didn’t even know her. Yet, somehow, she would be the type who would care, he countered, defending the unsubstantiated yet overwhelming sensation he had about her. He felt his heart long for her and then chuckled to himself at his stupidity—all this conviction for and connection to a stranger. He shook his head, as if trying to gain some clear consciousness and proper perspective. Looking up through the lattice woodwork above the booth in front of him, he saw the girl again, draped in an overcoat and leaving the restaurant, a small suitcase clutched to her side. Out the door she went, walking up the stairs to street level.

Quickly paying his tab with the crumpled dollar bill he had in his pocket, he got out of his booth and headed to the door in hopes of catching her. As he ascended the stairs, he saw her getting into a cab at least forty feet down the street. As she closed the door, he hollered, Rachel! The cab took off and had moved a fair distance despite the flooding streets and the still spewing sky. Jared did not call her name again—for one, he knew she couldn’t hear him, and second, it seemed ridiculous to be chasing a moonlight singer whom he had just met in an underground café in New York City. He stood there staring as the taillights of the cab blended into the wet and fog from the rain—fading away from him into the darkness of the street.

CHAPTER 2

Jared awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly rested. After leaving the restaurant the night before, he headed straight back to his hotel room. Not even bothering to see if his buddies had checked in, he climbed up to his room and went to sleep. The next morning, the sun streamed in through his slightly opened window, sending an invigorating, brisk chill that reminded all that autumn was in the air. He got up slowly, put a robe on, and headed to the showers at the end of the hall. As he opened the bathroom door, he ran straight into Clyde, who was coming out, wearing army-issued sweatpants and a T-shirt, his wet, thick, red hair sticking up every which way.

Hey, buddy, said Clyde. We missed you last night. He gave Jared a firm slap on the back. We ran into a couple of real dolls! I think I might even be in love with one of ’em.

Jared replied with a smile, "Yeah, this somehow sounds familiar; you’ve been down this road before. Remember the military nurses who boarded the ship on our passage here from Europe? You were in love with all of them!"

No, said Clyde. It’s different this time; this is the real deal! Still, a mischievous smile spread across his face.

Okay, okay, said Jared, a bit of a laugh escaping as he stepped around Clyde.

I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast! he exclaimed. Hurry up and shower, buddy. See ya down in the lobby in fifteen!

With that, Clyde headed down the hallway singing a tune. I met a gal… in Kalamazoo-zoo-zoo… His baritone voice faded as he rounded the corner to another hallway leading to his room.

Jared headed to the showers, thinking that the night before now seemed a million miles away, and the vision along with it. He now felt hesitant to even share what he saw with Clyde or John. After quickly showering, shaving, brushing his teeth, and heading back to his room, Jared put on his uniform, combed his hair, and headed down to the front lobby. Within minutes, Clyde came bounding down the stairs, his hair slicked back with Brylcreem, and smelling of too much shaving lotion.

Hey, buddy, he hollered as he bear-hugged Jared, picking him up off his feet a few inches and dropping him back down to the floor. Clyde’s large frame managed to dwarf even Jared’s sturdy physique.

You’ve got to quit greeting me that way, man, said Jared, laughing. He jokingly gave Clyde a slight slap on his cheek, causing him to retaliate with some mock boxing moves, hitting the air, pretending to beat up on Jared.

Suddenly, Clyde stopped his shadowboxing as he noticed their buddy John slowly coming down the front lobby stairway. "Hey, Johnnie boy! Hop to, man. Speed it up. We’re hungry!" Clyde said.

John accelerated his pace, moved down