Blinded Minds: A Dreamseer Novel

By Dawn E. Collins

There's a difference between living and barely surviving...
Samara Daniels has endured the death of her oldest child, a thorny divorce – and a Sheriff's notice plastered on her door. It only took the repo guy to snatch her last bit of sanity.
In the second instalment of The Dreamseer Series, Samara's beloved Nana has left her expansive estate. The plan was to take it and disappear into a mundane existence.
Except, the recurring childhood nightmares return in full force. Angels and demons perch on the edge of Samara's consciousness – tying her to a dimension hidden in plain sight.
It's time for Heaven's armies to ramp up their strategy, as the dark forces unleash more than fury…
As the stakes get higher, Samara will have to ditch thoughts of an idle life and step up against time and prophecy to save all that she holds close to her fragile heart. To do that she must embrace a reality she never knew existed and a faith that seems elusive.
Normal has just taken on a whole new meaning…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543966107

Dawn E. Collins

Dawn E. Collins is the author of “Jireh, Provision in Chaos”, a personal memoir. She is an insurance professional, whose career spans for more than two decades. Dawn also publishes a bi-monthly enewsletter, and is a conference and workshop speaker as well. She regularly performs as a spoken word artist at Christian and secular venues alike. She lives in New Jersey with her son.

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© 2019 Dawn E. Collins. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-54396-609-1 eBook 978-1-54396-610-7

Blinded Minds

But even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, whose minds the god of this age has blinded, who do not believe, lest the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine on them.

--2 Corinthians 4:3-4

Other titles by Dawn E. Collins

JIREH, Provision in Chaos

The Dreamseer series

The Assigned Risk

Dedication

If I have accomplished anything, it is because of the love, grace and mercy demonstrated toward me by my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He has given me life and continues to perfect in me that which He has placed within me. This work is dedicated to Him in all of His fullness.

Also, to my son, Ian – an incredibly kind and compassionate human being whose unselfish love and undying support I deeply cherish. I am blessed to be called ‘Ian’s Mom’ (inside joke). I love you.

Lastly, to my dearly beloved mother—Anna Roberta Collins, whom I still miss so very much – Until we meet again, my love.

Contents

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1

To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die; A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted; A time to kill, And a time to heal; A time to break down, And a time to build up;

--Ecclesiastes 3: 1- 3 NKJV

She was still amongst the living. As far as she could tell, anyway. Samara Daniels placed her index finger over her own wrist and checked for a pulse. Yep. Still had one.

Lingering in the bedroom walk-in, she stared down at her feet. Her perfectly polished toes glared back at her from the Vera Bradley flip-flops.

Lu had insisted she buy those too. Not so justifiable, but, oh well.

Another color polish would’ve looked better. Any other color. Something more in line with her own taste. Something subtle, yet fashionable. Not the French manicure that Lu had insisted she get.

We couldn’t trust you with something as important as this. Lu’s voice drifted into the closet. Everything about you screams, ‘Help, I’m stuck in the eighties!’

Lourdes Mooney—Lu for short, was Samara’s closest friend. She had taken it upon herself to stop by and coordinate the pre-date festivities. Her loyalty was never in question. Her sense of humor, on the other hand…

Lourdes eyed the dark brown leather pumps stationed by the bed. Letting you go to the salon by yourself yesterday could’ve proven disastrous, she said. Lord only knows what you would’ve walked out of there with. Probably something hideously boring. A clear coat or something like that.

Really, Lu. Samara exited the closet. "You act like I’m totally clueless. I have been to a salon before. By myself, even."

"Yeah. And we all know how that turned out. Lourdes reached over and grabbed the shoes, holding them up. Sam, please tell me you’re not wearing these."

Samara slapped her hands on her hips. What’s wrong with those?

Nothing, if you’re going to a funeral. Of a really old person. Lourdes rolled her eyes and set the shoes on the floor. I can’t with you right now.

It wasn’t that Samara wasn’t grateful for Lu’s advice. Even with the nail polish. She liked how it looked. She did—kind of. It was growing on her. At least her toes and fingernails matched. There was something to be said for that. They usually didn’t.

The white-tipped toenails probably wouldn’t have been her first or even second choice, though. She didn’t have dainty little feet like Lu. The last thing she wanted Matt to notice was her size nine’s. It was probably the first thing he’d see now. Two gigantic, French manicured feet.

Besides, she would’ve preferred to spend the money on something else and polish her own nails, please and thank you. But Lu had informed Samara that she was absolutely not to polish anything, fingers or toes. That was tres tacky and strictly taboo in this new dating era.

Tugging on the belt to her fuzzy pink robe, Samara drew in a deep breath. Her stomach barely budged. The Spanx one-piece was really gonna come in handy. That was a justifiable purchase.

Lu pointed her newly manicured, rhinestoned fingernail at Samara. Mira, you have to be fabulous when you get the up-and-down inspections. You know that.

Samara had to agree. Philadelphia was known for its five second, up-and-down review by the other ladies. It might be the City of Brotherly Love, but the sisters didn’t cut any slack. You got the ‘once-over’ so fast you didn’t even know what hit you. By the time you realized you’d been ‘reviewed’, the jury had already given the verdict and moved on to the next defendant.

Besides, Lu persisted, you’re not broke anymore. Stop thinking cheap! She grabbed a handful of her wavy black hair, twisting it into a bun. You owe it to yourself to splurge.

There’s a difference between cheap and common sense, Lu. But what they charged at that salon doesn’t fall into either category.

Samara had grimaced when the salon receptionist slid the receipt across the counter. She was sure her eyes had rolled back in her head. ‘The Works’ had cost a small fortune.

Touching the spot over her eyebrow where the technician dropped the hot wax, Samara shivered. The petite woman with the pretty face had ripped the waxing tape off with such terrifying force that Samara had let out an involuntary whimper. One eyebrow was arched so high that the left side of her face looked like a Botox job gone really wrong.

To Samara, the whole thing just felt weird. She was in no shape for power dating. It had been twenty-five years since she had done anything remotely close to this. Here she was, a woman of a certain age, staring at her feet and sucking in her gut.

I mean, really… Samara wiggled her toes. What is the real purpose of dating? Nobody shows their true colors at the onset. Everyone is on their very best behavior, she said, giving both feet a final inspection. Just ‘puttin’ on’, as the old folks would say. The ‘ugly’ don’t come out til it’s too late.

Sam, stop tormenting us with this ridiculous, crazy babble. Lourdes shoved the shoes under the bed, far back. Dating is like riding a bike. You’ll be just fine. Now choose an outfit already!

Of course, Celeste chimed in from her designated spot across the room, bikes are very different these days. Did they even have brakes back then, or did you have to drag your feet to stop—like the Flintstones?

Very funny. Samara flung her hand at Celeste.

At thirty-four, Celeste Elam was the intentionally single, baby of the crew. Newly twisted, copper colored locks framed the perfectly shaped, chocolatey brown face that had inspired the girls to bestow upon her the nick-name Betty Boop.

Her petite, five-feet-two frame lay sprawled across the middle of the canopy bed. She had come over to take part in the festivities. Being the OCD poster child that she was, it was clear to Celeste that her assistance was desperately needed.

After all, this was the man that convinced Samara ‘I-ain’t-going-on-no-date’ Daniels to go out with him. The girls were finally going to get their first glimpse of the flower-buying, phone-calling, Matthew Donaldson. They had even tossed around the idea of showing up at the restaurant—by sheer happenstance of course. But Samara wasn’t having it.

Has anybody heard from Heather? Samara glanced at her watch. It’s getting late.

Heather Levin rounded out the close-knit circle of sisterhood. Even though they were all pretty much the same age, Heather was the self-appointed Bubbe of the group, seeing as she’d come from a long line of Jewish grandmothers. They were an ‘old people’ she had said. Wisdom was in her DNA.

Samara had to admit, of the four of them, Heather was generally the voice of reason when things got a little crazy.

I haven’t. Celeste reached for her backpack at the foot of the bed. And don’t change the subject.

Giving in to the nail polish debacle, Samara shoved her hand in the bathrobe pocket and checked her iPhone for the third time in fifteen minutes. She wouldn’t admit it to the girls, but the thought of Matt cancelling their date made her stomach flipflop.

Too much time, energy, money and pain had been spent getting ready for this shindig. And doggone it, she was going somewhere tonight. No way was she sitting around the house all dolled up.

Samara dropped the phone in her pocket and returned to the closet. She eyed a mid-length black dress but decided against it. Lu would have a hissy fit.

Getting back on the bike isn’t easy when your last fall required major surgery, she said. I have the scar tissue to prove it.

Those scars should’ve healed by now, Lu said. You keep redressing your wounds. Stop hitting the re-wind button on your past. How do you ever expect to move forward?

Samara half-shrugged. I can’t explain it.

Try, Celeste said, unlatching the flap on her bag.

It’s like finally getting my head above water long enough to gasp for air, and then getting sucked back under. Samara pushed the hangers from one end of the rack to the other. And every time I go under I feel like it’s the last time. Like maybe I won’t make it back up.

What in the world does this have to do with Matt? Celeste poked around in her backpack. The man came to the hospital when Nana was sick the last time, she said, shaking the bag’s contents. "He watched over your car when you had to leave it in the church parking lot, and he’s sent you flowers regularly since then."

Yeah, Lu said. He’s called you at least once a week since the funeral, and has finally invited you out to some swank, four-star restaurant. If that’s not worth at least a small chance, then I don’t know what is.

Samara pulled the box that held her fancy belts from the overhead shelf, hoping to find something in it that would inspire her dress selection.

I’m not saying that he’s not thoughtful, she said, rummaging through the collection. He is definitely a nice guy. I’ll grant you that much. Samara seized a jewel-encrusted belt and wrapped it around her middle, overtop of the robe. But that doesn’t necessarily make him dating material.

"Then what does, Sam?" Lu asked.

I don’t know anymore. Samara tossed the belt back into the box. Maybe that’s it. I just don’t know.

"I think you do know, Celeste said. You’re just plain scared. Stop personifying your pain, girl."

There’s nothing about my pain that’s worth holding onto. Samara peered at Celeste. Why would I want to make it mine forever? And what would I have to be scared about?

You tell me, Miss ‘I’d rather do bad all by myself’. Celeste rolled her eyes towards the heavens.

Look, Sam. Lourdes rose from the floor and headed for Samara. Your ex-husband is not a reflection of every man. There are some good ones out there. Look at me. My Charlie is the best!

You were lucky, Samara whispered.

Walking up behind her, Lu pulled a pair of taupe, patent leather, open-toe, platform heels from the top shelf and handed them to Samara. Luck had nothing to do with it, mommie.

Samara took the new shoes and eased her foot in one, turning it from side to side. Well, she said, I’m not trying to hear that it was God that brought the two of you together, Lu. She slipped the other shoe on. These heels are kinda high.

They’re sexy. Lourdes tapped Samara on her shoulder. This ain’t a business meeting.

Samara sucked her teeth. Anyway, she said, if God is really in the matchmaking business, then I should still be married. She pranced about the walk-in, breaking in the new shoes. You know how long and hard I prayed for the right man before I met Tony? And look what happened.

And so that’s God’s fault? Celeste pulled her Galaxy tablet out of the bag. Really, Sam?

I’m not exactly blaming God. Samara grabbed a flared, taffeta, knee length, red dress, and wobbled out of the closet in the three-inch heels. But He could’ve stopped me from making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

How do you know that He didn’t try? Lu asked. I seem to recall you having some weird dreams about Tony not long after you first started dating. Remember?

Samara slid into the chair at the antique vanity table and gazed into the looking glass. Two amber-speckled eyes pleaded with her. "Let go". She glanced down at the Mother of Pearl hair brush resting on the gold-trimmed, oval shaped mirrored tray. All of it had belonged to her Nana. Such a lady, even to the end.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Samara tightened the robe-belt in defiant resolve. It was time to move on. She knew. But clinging to the familiar felt safe, even when familiar meant enduring the predictable misery that always ensued. She knew this pain.

Samara had all but forgotten the dreams she’d had about Tony. It was so long ago. Over twenty-five years to be exact. They were sketchy at best, but she remembered the persistent, nagging impression that something was wrong. Very wrong. It was a feeling she could not easily shake.

But they were so in love then. And marriage, she thought, would guarantee a happy ending. Didn’t the Bible say that love covers a multitude of sins? She had chalked it up to relationship jitters and married him anyway.

And now, the dreams had returned. Not about Tony, but something far more nefarious.

Samara closed her eyes. Images from the last dream flashed before her, replaying itself in quick snapshots. She saw herself running through an open field as a dark, shadowy creature chased her, wielding a sword. With each dream, it had gotten dangerously closer. Close enough for Samara to feel darkness bearing down on her.

She shook her head, warding off the sense of impending confrontation.

As she was about to open her eyes, indecipherable words appeared against the blackness, scrolling like a fast-moving text message. Too fast to read.

Squeezing her eyes tighter, Samara strained to make out the sentences, but the words slowly faded.

Samara opened her eyes, shivering involuntarily.

That was weird. Scrolling words? The dream replays had become fairly regular. But the written messages…

How in the world could she discuss this with the girls? They’d just look at her like she had two heads.

What would she say? ‘Guess what? I’m not only having these whacky dreams again, but now I’m seeing scrolling messages when I close my eyes. Randomly, day or night. Oh yeah, and I see people I don’t know, and places I don’t recognize. Like a moving picture show.’

That’d go over real big.

And what about Noah? Lu’s voice shattered her deliberations. Have you heard from the good Reverend lately?

Looking through the mirror at Lu, Samara nodded. As a matter of fact, I have. She retrieved a pair of diamond teardrop earrings from her Nana’s jewelry box and held them up for inspection. I’m meeting him next Friday night to settle up on the bill from Nana’s home-going service, she said. The life insurance company has approved the final payment on the policy. It should be in my account by Monday morning.

And…? Celeste pushed on, nodding her approval of the earrings.

And that’s it. Nothing personal. Samara put the earrings on and retrieved the oblong, black velvet box that held the matching necklace. The set had been a gift to her Nana from her grandfather for their fortieth wedding anniversary. It’s strictly business, she said.

Honestly, Sam, if I didn’t love you so much I’d bop you upside the head! Lu said. I might just do it anyway. You don’t see what’s happening?

"I’m not reading anything into anything. She took the necklace out of the box and laid it on the table. The date with Matt is my way of thanking him for his help through this whole ordeal. He’s been a real gem. I’m meeting Noah because I was appointed by Nana to handle her final arrangements. We’re just tying up loose ends."

"And so you’re wearing diamonds to a ‘thank you’ dinner with Matt—because he’s been a real gem? Celeste tapped the Note pad. Wow, girl. You really are dense."

Touché, Celeste. I’m wearing the diamonds in honor of my Nana. She’s the one that spoke so highly of Matt in the first place. Samara placed the heirloom close to her heart. Look, this is the best way for me to handle this. Okay?

She seized the pearl-handled hair brush and began the arduous task of creating order to the tight curls.

Besides, if I even allow myself to think about the idea of dating two men at the same time after being alone for so long, my brain goes numb and I get all spastic. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry.

Mira! You feel like crying? Lu looked nonplused. Se me están volviendo loco!

English, Lu! Samara and Celeste sang out.

Chew are dri-vink me crazy! Lu crossed her eyes. Sam, she continued, "these past five years have been painfully difficult for you. You’ve buried your oldest child, your husband abandoned you and the kids, you lost your job and your beautiful home. And if that wasn’t enough, your Nana passed away."

Uh-huh. Intense, Celeste mumbled, her eyes still glued to her tablet.

You cried plenty—and we get that. Lu didn’t miss a beat. "Heck, we cried right along with you. We loved Tony, Jr. And Nana. But now, you’ve inherited your grandparent’s estate, you own two properties, you’re about to have a boat load of money deposited into your account, your kids are pretty much settled, and two very eligible, very single guys are knocking at your door. Would you please tell us what there is to cry about?"

"Please," Celeste echoed softly.

Samara shifted in the chair, searching for words to adequately explain the madness she was feeling on the inside. How could she possibly explain the inexplicable? Even though her life seemed back on track for the first time in years, she was scared—like she had to keep looking over her shoulder for the inevitable tragedy that was surely coming.

All of this new stuff was happening so quickly. The money, the houses, the men. And she didn’t even want to get started on the dreams and visions. Troubling. Terrifying. And, curious.

It was so different than what she was accustomed to. At this point, she needed everything to slow down to her normal, predictable routine, so she could take inventory. Figure this madness out.

That’s just it, Samara pleaded through the mirror. Everything is changing at this crazy, insane pace, whether I want it to or not. I just need a little time to sort this all out. You know, take a deep breath.

Is that what this is all about? Celeste looked up from her Galaxy. You’ve already had five years’ worth of deep-breathing. How much more inhaling and exhaling could you possibly need? She shut the tablet off and shoved it in her backpack. Dang, girl, get on with your life already!

Maybe breathing isn’t the best word, but I feel like I need to understand why things are happening the way they are. Setting the hairbrush aside, Samara turned to face her friends. It’s like there’s this bigger picture and I’m not seeing it. Does that make sense?

Celeste and Lourdes looked at each other from across the room, and then at Samara. No! they shouted.

2

Behold, I send an Angel before you to keep you in the way and to bring you into the place which I have prepared.

--Exodus 23:20 NJKV

Lariel traveled at the speed of light en route to his assignment. Warring angels from the most elite troupes flanked him on either side, in Wing formation. He glanced over his right shoulder and then his left, making eye contact, telepathically signaling the command for each squadron to drop back and spread out. The response was immediate.

He could not have asked for a better escort.

Gigantean wings swooshed through the night, propelling the cherubim onward. It was the only audible sound.

Numbering in the hundreds, the regiment was invisible to mankind, yet very much detectible to the inhabitants of the second and third heavens – that space just above the earth’s atmosphere where all such activity takes place. The activity of angels – God’s, and Satan’s.

Even though he was directing this mission, Lariel considered it an honor to be amongst these soldiers of The Highest. He did not take it lightly. Nor would he abuse their loyalty. It would be an offence of the tallest order. They deserved his best.

Generally, Lariel’s assignments did not warrant this large a contingent. He rarely required additional backup. But this was no regular undertaking. Conflicts in these parts were known to last for days. But they did not have days. Only a few precious hours to reach their destination. He was taking no chances.

The Prince himself had given the command for this operation. And the message was clear. The human to whom Lariel was assigned required his immediate intervention. They’d have to fight through heavily defended enemy territory to reach her. But reach her, they must.

Lariel scanned the darkened skies. He wasn’t sure how many of the rebellion awaited them. But according to recent intel, the fallen angels assigned to this region had gotten wind that something was afoot and were most likely prepared for the disruption. It would not be an easy victory.

Kinetic energy crackled the atmosphere as Lariel and his soldiers hastened on. Their swords sparkled in the night, hurling streaks of lightning across the skies. Shifting clouds gave way to the impending confrontation. The hosts in the third heavens looked on. Much was at stake.

Just as they were nearing their destination, Deanan, a Commander of the fallen angels, appeared out of the midst of a cloud, blocking their way. His squadron took their place behind him.

Squaring his shoulders, Deanan raised himself to full stature as Lariel drew closer. His seven-foot frame seemed more menacing than usual. Gargantuan arms rested casually against the once-glorious breastplate, his posture suggesting indifference to the intrusion. Or annoyance.

Either way, Lariel was not to be deterred.

The Commander’s multi-tiered wings flapped noiselessly, shrouding his figure in layers of darkness. He peered through the shadows, looking past Lariel to the soldiers that escorted the Guardian. His expression projected an absolute disdain for the armies of the Highest.

Lariel halted his troop. He had not anticipated the high-ranking officer. Not even in this province. The soldiers of The Most High drew their swords, sizing up the opposition. It appeared they were outnumbered.

Deanan shifted his gaze directly to Lariel. His visage contorted in what could never pass for a smile. Even so, the finely chiseled face could easily adorn the magazine cover of any of the sons of Adam. His magnificence had led to his downfall.

He moved closer to the Guardian and his contingent, close enough for Lariel to feel the seething malevolence seeping from his pores.

So, we meet again, Lariel, he drawled. And I see you’ve brought friends this time.

Lariel extended all four wings to full battle position, signaling his intention. He and Deanan had clashed before. The Commander’s breastplate bore the evidence.

We come in the Name of The Highest, Deanan, he said. Our business is not with you.

Deanan exhaled a sinister chuckle. No one returned the sentiment.

His arms remained crossed, his sword sheathed.

Oh, but it is, he said. "Lest you forget, this is my domain. Even He knows that."

We know who has been granted permission to control this area, Lariel said.

Deanan’s soldiers bristled.

Then why do you think that you can pass through, without incident? he asked. "Or is this the reason for your guests?"

Lariel placed his hand on his own sword. Your authority in this region is restricted. The Highest has given the Command.

The angels accompanying Lariel broke formation, aligning themselves with him. They would protect the Guardian at all cost. Even if it meant staying behind to fight while he forged on ahead.

Still, Deanan’s sword remained in its place, his posture suggesting a total lack of intimidation.

Lariel suspected Deanan had set some type of trap. He could see it in the cold, calculating stare. Everything within the Guardian signaled a warning, his senses heightening.

We will not be prevented from completing our journey, Lariel continued. And we have no intention of retreating.

Deanan turned to face his own soldiers, as if giving a silent signal. But they did not move.

You’re too late, Guardian. He turned again to face Lariel. We’ve succeeded in our quest against your pitiful human. She was easy prey. We have her bound in chains of hopelessness and despair. At least, that is what she believes.

So, he did know.

Lariel looked beyond Deanan, searching the eyes of those in league with the Commander. They seemed fidgety. Anxious. Eyes darting. Avoiding his stare. Wings fluttering.

Something was off. The Commander appeared to be stalling. But why?

"You do not speak truth, Deanan. This one belongs to The Highest and is off limits to you. And your henchmen."

We know better, Guardian. Deanan sneered. So do you.

Lariel tightened his grip on his sword. His soldiers followed suit.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly. Almost imperceptibly, but Lariel sensed it. And then, he knew. Their Prince was close at hand. Michael was coming to their aid.

Deanan knew too. He retreated suddenly, without another word to the Guardian. But to his soldiers, he said, Keep them at bay for as long as you can! Michael is close at hand!

Stabilize the enemy! Lariel instructed his angels. I will go on ahead. Join me when you can.

Several of Deanan’s contingent broke rank, scurrying off at the mention of Prince Michael’s name. One ill-informed soldier charged directly at Lariel. The blow from Lariel’s sword came so quickly, the imp never saw it coming. He plummeted head first towards earth, wings flapping frantically as he screamed for help that never came.

Lariel soared high above the confrontation as his soldiers engaged in battle. He would let Deanan go, for now. They would meet again. For now, he headed in the direction of his subject’s neighborhood, fully expecting to encounter more of Deanan’s angels along the way. But he did not. It appeared the coast was clear. Deanan had succeeded in stalling him this time. It would not happen again.

The house came into view as Lariel pierced the invisible barrier, entering earth’s atmosphere. He descended upon the tiny