Angel Spirit of Retribution

By D.R. Hamilton

An innocent born with a purpose replete with an inner being and special powers. It is a very different sort of beginning, compounded by the fact that he is unaware that he is an angel and 'chosen'. Think 'Columbo' and 'The Twilight Zone' with sprinkling of 'Touched by an Angel', and King Tutt's tomb. It is a very different adventure of international crime and massive criminal organizations at war, all bent on controlling evil and monetary domination. Add to this, romance, intrigue, suspense, high technology with near sentient computers, all done in the absence of any forms of sex or bad words, and the 'white hats'...well...The 'white hats' as in all scripts, are in conflict with those dressed in black, and there are victories, as well as losses....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Mar 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228811602

D.R. Hamilton

Everyone is different, and I like that, so perhaps 'Bohemian at heart' is appropriate. My love for life goes beyond curiosity of reading books and being inspired to create by such authors as Clive Cussler, Mary Higgins Clark, Danielle Steel, John Grisham, W.E.B. Griffin, to mention but a few, and one must not forget the classics, from Twain and the Bronte sisters to Dickens and Shakespeare. So, I write. Equally, I am inspired by Monet and DaVinci, so I paint. It is said we are supposed to imitate God, so I create in painting and writing to who I am, and desire to impart some pleasure in others through those things. Although fiction in content my tales incorporate my native heritage, law enforcement, mystical beings, archeology, my love for cats, and influenced by my garden and the beauty of my country of Canada. Join me please in the adventures of my tales and I hope to keep you in as much wonder and suspense as I enjoyed in the journey.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In this day and age, we live in a time of change pertaining to radical political ideologies, religious beliefs and when justice is questionable. Everyday lives may be affected in one way or another but the constant for me has now become an enjoyable process of telling the kind of story which could be impacted by those factions. My interest in the world of archeology, mythology and angels gives me great pleasure in bringing them into the forefront of the story.

It is a joy for me to thank my friend and soul mate Jessica Bourgeois who not only encouraged me from the beginning of the book to its end but acts as my editor turning my sometimes-French way of turning a phrase into how it should read.

I would be remised in not thanking a special little Siamese fur ball known as Gibby whose mystical apparition makes its way into my writings and the reason for Angel’s GM RV being named the ‘The Gibby Mobile’. I owe him some belly rubs.

Now is the time for you my friends to begin your journey into the realm of my fictitious world ‘ENJOY’.

SYNOPSIS

My name is Angel David DeLacroix, and I have a most unusual story for you. The words others might use to describe me perhaps would be ‘clairvoyant’, ‘telepathic’ or even something of low credibility as ‘fortune teller’. At any rate, this ‘inner voice’ of mine speaks of many things to me, but also reveals to me the malevolence being inflicted by evil in this world, or events both which have come to pass, in process or will take place through visions, thoughts or supernatural images.

I am a child of the light guided by my inner being ‘PACHACUTI’ who has always been with me, making me the most intimate of a participant and not just an observer. He is hard to describe; how can you define something of no physical substance, an intelligence without any boundaries, a voice and a presence in your interior that you simply know is not someone else, but something else. He may take the shape of countless mystical spirits and in several instances, he appears as a feline.

The majority of the time these visions develop while I sleep, but in recent times they have become more vivid and occur if I make eye contact with individuals who are of questionable characters or by coincidence when an unusual event of importance is about to happen involving that individual. So, this presence, this inner being is attuned to evil, problems, danger, but in and of itself …. or ‘himself’ as I have taken to see ‘him’, his nature is of intense benevolence.

Trying to convince authorities that these dreams or visions are real and depict injustices or events which have occurred or are in the process of happening can be difficult. These stories which are revealed and depicted in my visions or dreams perhaps to you may seem to be a trifle south of reality. Fortune tellers per se, have little credibility, however, these stories are far above ‘fortune teller’ and they merit to be told. I will recount in as much detail as I can some of these adventures enabling you to become a seer as well and come to your own conclusions.

I woke up frantically wiping my sweating brow, disoriented and unable to focus. Around me things seemed in a confused shamble. I could not understand or come to grips with what was happening, but it left me with a deep sense of foreboding………….

IN THE BEGINNING

‘Once upon a time’ is an apt beginning for an odyssey, or stories that draw one into faraway places, and sometimes very strange ones, and often even stranger events, and so for that very reason I have applied those same words here. But first, before I begin, something you must know now, and I will retell it as the parts I remember, the parts I have lived, and the parts I was told…

I am old…. older than time…. I watched the oceans separate and the lands form and life bloom forth. In the beginning I, and others like me had no names. Names were simply not needed. Our Creator knew us, and we knew Him. As life became, and changed, my purpose changed also, and I was given various names. Some knew me by primitive means and called me ‘spirit’; the Inca called me PACHACUTI, others I have touched simply called me their guardian angel….

I became a boy child born a stroke after midnight on Thursday (Thursday’s child has far to go) December 25. This event had long been overdue and as close to a miracle as it can be for a loving couple, Lea and Raphael DesArchanges of the Sherbrooke area, a devout couple who had prayed long years for such a gift.

Raphael and Lea wanted a brood of children but after many years of marriage alas this was not to be. They followed the proper procedures to become pregnant. After many invasive tests for both it was determined that sadly Raphael’s sperm count was low, and it would be next to impossible for him to father a child the old fashion way. They decided to try invitro fertilization, but after many attempts, and at great cost, this was no longer a viable option.

With very little hope that they would ever conceive they discussed adopting a child. However, they were also aware it would be a long journey to adopting a baby because there was already a long waiting list, and they were of a poorer working class. So, hat in hand and with minimal hope, on a cold and snowy winter day they made their way to the orphanage at St. Joseph’s Parish.

St. Joseph’s Orphanage stood as a massive and powerful ancient red brick mountain of a building adding to their distress. Although it was extremely cold, their need overcame their anxiety and drew them slowly up the steps to ring the door bell near the massive oak doors enveloped in the patina of age.

After a pause that was short, yet seemed endless, the immense door swung slowly open to a smile on the kindly face of the woman who greeted them from the vestibule within, made warm by the fire on the open hearth. She introduced herself as Nina and bade them enter. She told them she was glad that they had been able to make their appointment, fearing the inclement weather would deter them from coming.

As they entered they could not help but feel the warmth and beauty of the interior. Rafael and Lea could not help but notice the striking and unusual medallion around Nina’s neck. It was not typical jewellery, nor by its design intended to be ‘pretty’. Even more unexpected was the unusual warmth that radiated from her eyes leaving them with a feeling that all was not lost. Somehow, they simply knew that she was a lay person, and not of the Order of St. Joseph’s.

Nina asked them to follow her down the massive entrance hall leading to a small but very comfortable office. After entering, they were asked to remain and be seated. Nina advised them Mother Superior, Therese de L’Enfant Jesus, would be in shortly to talk with them.

A few minutes later Mother superior entered the room and asked if Nina could be present at their meeting. They saw no problem with her request. As Mother Superior reached for the intercom, the door opened, and Nina was there without any prompting, by their side as if to lend support.

After a few hours of going over their documentation and their request to adopt a baby, Mother Superior told them it would be quite difficult and would probably take a very long time before their wish was met. However, she would do the best she could. With very little hope they smiled and thanked her for listening.

Nina, feeling and seeing the sadness of the couple who was now getting on in years, told them not to abandon hope. Lea and Rafael got up and Nina followed them out walking them to the door. As Nina was about to open the door she took Lea by the hand, looked into her eyes and smiled. At this point, Lea was strangely overcome by a feeling of extreme warmth enveloping her. Raphael opened the door and they stepped out into the cold air to make their way home.

Months went by and no child was forthcoming from the St. Joseph Orphanage. Nina had spoken to them many times and kept reminding them not to give up hope.

One sunny morning in late spring, Lea was preparing the gardens when suddenly she felt quite faint but was able to make her way into the house. She brushed it off, thinking that she had done too much or was possibly suffering from a minor virus. She told Rafael about the episode and they both dismissed it agreeing that it was a virus since it was running rampant in the area. The mild virus persisted, and so after a week of being sick to her stomach and not wanting to eat they decided to visit the doctor.

After a few tests, then blood and urine, the family doctor appeared totally taken aback by his findings. With fingers combing his greying hair, and an incredulous grin on his face, he had them both sit down, and then told them that Lea was pregnant. When they realized he was not joking, nor had he made a mistake, their immediate joy was expressed in wordless tears.

Her pregnancy was uneventful; they were the happiest people in the world. They had contacted Nina at the St. Joseph Orphanage to give her the good news, asking her to remove their request for adoption.

It was now getting close to Christmas and the weather had turned cold. With anticipation they awaited the arrival of their child.

Raphael adored and loved his wife with a passion which had no bounds, so when on that cold and starlit Christmas morning Lea bore him a healthy son, their joy was overwhelming.

On seeing the child, Lea was astounded by the crown of black curly hair. They both wondered from whom he had inherited this beautiful gift. Her hair was a light golden blonde and Raphael’s, what little he had left, was a mousy brown. Raphael was impressed with the amount of hair the child had but when his son grabbed his finger it was with a strength completely surprising. Raphael attributed it to family genes and decided they should call him David. His reasoning was that David could slay a giant with his strength. Lea was pleased with the name Raphael had selected for the child.

Days went by and the child’s eye colour became very noticeable not only by his parents but the medical staff, and also by strangers when he was in the hospital nursery. Whispers were being heard about a child whose eyes were so clear and piercing blue that it led one to believe that he was staring into your soul. However, one could not help but mention the fact that the child’s expression was gentle, yet kind and it held a touch of wisdom not normally seen in a child so young, and always accompanied by a smile so soft and endearing as to melt the depths of any heart.

Upon hearing these whispers Lea and Raphael decided he should be named Angel, David DesArchanges. Later in life he would be given the new surname of DeLacroix after a fire at St. Joseph Orphanage destroyed all his records. At that time only one other person knew his story and real surname and she was nowhere to be found.

Angel was growing up and his early years were not too eventful, however, very early, from birth really, he was ‘different’ but somehow this was not addressed. Perhaps denial, borne of parental love. After all he was but a young child.

Personality characteristics were beginning to emerge and, despite their ‘parental selective blindness’ caused more than a certain small degree of uneasy awareness. They were concerned that something was not quite ‘normal’ with Angel, but they could not put their finger on it.

The boy was intelligent far beyond ‘smart’, or ‘prodigy’, but even this intelligence was different. It was not like he was ‘gifted’ or ‘advanced for his age’. At least not to Angel. For him it was either ‘ho-hum’, or useful for the moment. He was annoyed when it drew unwanted attention.

In addition, it was not ‘discovery’. It was not like he picked up a book and learned new theories easily. There would be for him a need or ‘a situation that required something’, and he would simply ‘know’, like a craftsman picking up a familiar tool. What he learned quickly he would put it to practice without a second thought. And his abilities were not just mental or intelligence or deep insight, although he was abundantly rich in those gifts. He was becoming physically quite strong and had an imposing physique for a young male child.

He had no peers. For the most part, other children ‘his age’ were several grades behind him yet typically three to ten years older chronologically. His teachers could not believe Angel was only five years of age. He displayed wisdom beyond his years. He could mesmerise people on any subject, astounding the most educated of individuals holding positions in world economics and industry across the entire spectrum of power and prestige. Not that he was educated in finance, or manufacturing, it was his wisdom that captivated others.

His teachers had difficulty holding back not just his thirst for knowledge, but his seemingly intuitive abilities, and his eager want to participate in discussing and researching on a multitude of existing or obscure subject matters. What he was delving into were difficult subjects for teachers in those school grades to comprehend.

His search for answers became incessant and at a great cost in ‘friendships’. However, the disappointing part to this ‘miniaturized exploding genius’ was when these same astounded teachers leaped in with both feet, bearing tomes of knowledge to impart to young Angel, if not of his interest, or where he was at that particular moment in time, his simple and not so sweet answer was invariably ‘NO!’ Even at five years of age, ‘rebel’ or ‘different’ was most assuredly an adjective sewn firmly to his persona.

Most of all his parents could not understand why he did not make friends easily and when he did the friendship would often get extinguished quite swiftly. Angel was becoming an introvert and a loner.

In recent years Angel seemed suffered from strange nightmares. They were few and far between, but he would wake up in a cold sweat and babble incessantly about things which were about to occur, and, in some instances, he would use foreign words like PACHACUTI.

These dreams were real to him but to the outside world they did not make sense. His parents consulted with many specialists, but they were advised he would outgrow his overactive imagination, and they had a gifted child, so just be grateful and encouraging.

Time passed, and the loving family evolved into a tight knit group that functioned well around each of their personalities.

Over the years Raphael’s artistic abilities had developed into a very profitable Tattoo business, one could even say success beyond his dreams, or at least, his plans. He was well known and became an integral part of the biker community of Montreal. His name spread far and wide across Canada, the US and Europe. His circle of friends included some of the well-known Canadian and international bikers.

Little Angel was in awe of his father’s art work and wanted to have him ink something on his back. Raphael, to please his son, and with Lea’s permission of course, inked a small angel wing on each side of young Angel’s back.

After many enjoyable but painful sessions in his father’s studio Angel had gotten his wish. They were so well done and beautiful, they seemed real and elicited many comments from a variety of individuals who had the opportunity to see them. Angel was so happy and proud to have gotten his wings, his nightmares seemed to subside, at least for the time being.

Then devastating tragedy struck them, launching them into the abyss of total despair and an insurmountable path of pain that would drastically change the paths of all of their lives.

The family had gone out for a drive in the wonderful countryside on a beautiful snowy day to enjoy the winter wonderland when, without warning the weather turned bad. This can happen in les Canton de l’est, but this event seemed to have absolutely no substance.

Angel was happy because in a few days on December 25 he would celebrate his sixth birthday. He was humming his favourite Christmas Carol when he suddenly in a very husky masculine voice, yelled at his father that they were in grave danger. At that instant the car struck a patch of black ice.

As the car slewed out of control, the startled and frightened Raphael, holding the steering wheel too tightly, overcorrected, sending them careening down a near-vertical embankment. A splintered pine impaled the passenger side of the car, killing his beloved Lea instantly. His father’s head impacted the steering wheel violently, causing severe trauma to his brain. Meanwhile Angel, who was seated behind his father, suffered only minor physical injuries.

The SUV, having come to rest on a frozen ledge of ice and snow after the impact, was now silent. Young Angel knew he was in the depths of tragedy and his parents needed him, but he was having great difficulty loosening his car seat belt. He was pinned by his weight against the buckle.

He whimpered in emotional agony, calling out to his inner childhood companion. Suddenly the seat belt released, and to his amazement he found himself sitting outside the car. He looked around, and at that moment he knew intuitively that abject feeling of utter aloneness.

Frightened and unable to move he sat in the cold snow which had begun to swirl around him. Feeling neither cold or warm, he was filled with fear and despair, abjectly aware of the absence of his parents, and wanting them. He began to whimper, muttering the strangest and almost inaudible and incoherent sounds.

The quick onset of the storm had triggered many accidents, and help was slow in coming to assist the DesArchanges family.

A young police woman and her partner were the first on the scene, having spotted the fresh marks through the snow and the shattered guardrail. Far below, the glint of still glowing red taillights told of tragedy. Warm blanket and rope in hand, the young police officer made her way to the precipice and looked over the edge.

Below she could barely make out a child sitting in the snow near the badly mangled car. Without of moment of hesitation and concern for her own safety she secured her rope to the shattered guardrail and made her way down the steep incline while shouting to her partner to call paramedics and fire-rescue.

The young police Constable Mark Troy acknowledged her request and to told her to be careful as the drop to the accident vehicle was quite steep. He told her he did not want another accident victim on his hands.

The young female Lieutenant shouted back at him. My name is not Barbie, Constable. It is Pax Andros, I have climbed and rappelled much worst then this.

Troy knew full well that his temporary partner was on a fast track up the echelon of law enforcement and was more than capable for the situation. Enough discussion for now, they had a serious situation at hand, and this was a job to do.

A crew of paramedics happened to be returning from a patient transfer and responded to Troy’s call, arriving within ten minutes to assist.

The wind was picking up and he could barely hear Lieutenant Andros over the now shrieking intensity of the storm, only that there were three crash victims. At this point the paramedics began their descent while he remained to manage traffic and ensure their safety.

As Lieutenant Andros had made her way to the victim sitting by the car she could hear him, as if babbling in a low but passionate voice in a language unfamiliar to her. Her hobby, passion, call it what you will, was languages, both living and dead. Whatever this child was speaking was definitely a language, but completely foreign to her.

As she neared him the child looked up and made eye contact with her. As she looked into his unusual but tear-filled eyes there was an immediate awareness of something very different in this child. She took the warm flannelette blanket which she had stuffed in her jacket and wrapped it gently around him. A quick exam told her the boy was not too seriously injured, and for the moment, safe and warm. She left him and made her way to the car to check on the other occupants. As she discharged her duties, she could sense the child’s eyes following her every move.

It was at this point where she questioned what her eyes were telling her, thinking that she saw a strange, almost glowing mist enveloping one of the victims and a shimmering blue …. fluttering image … almost like a butterfly disappearing into the swirling storm.

Perhaps it was the storm playing tricks on her eyes. She could clearly see the impaled passenger, and the poor woman’s horrific injuries made it very clear she had died instantly. Making her way around to the driver’s side she searched for vital signs on the man but to no avail, he was ice cold, his head covered in blood, and her initial examination told her he too had suffered fatal injuries. She had returned to comfort the boy just as the paramedics were arriving on ropes and climbing gear.

She moved away from the child, telling them both car victims were deceased. Unexpectedly the child in a strong husky voice cried out. FATHER NOT DEAD!

As she looked into the child’s eyes again, what she saw staring at her were ancient astute eyes, and a sense of unease settled upon her, overpowering her beliefs on her initial assessment. What if she was wrong? This was not a doubt she entertained frequently.

At the insistence of the child, his continuous jabbering and his constant calling out the word PACHACUTI, Lieutenant Andros instructed the paramedics to check on the male victim. It was very cold and maybe, just maybe she may have failed to read his vital signs.

The paramedics scrambled awkwardly around towards the car victims while Lieutenant Andros got the boy ready to be taken to the ambulance where he could be transported to the hospital to be checked.

A shout from the vicinity of the car got her attention. One of the paramedics yelled, one victim was alive but barely. Working rapidly, the paramedics readied the victim for transport to the nearest hospital emergency treatment centre to undergo immediate treatment.

Getting an injured person up a near vertical cliff, a difficult task in good weather, but this was a difficult recovery because of the now raging storm and the ice-face before them. Time was of the essence and the paramedics needed everyone’s help getting the heavy male to the bottom of the cliff and into the recovery basket. Using a small child basket stretcher, the boy was easily brought up by Constable Troy with assistance on the lines by one of the ambulance attendants.

The Lieutenant needed to make her way back up to help him lift the victims. As she clawed and scrambled up the steep icy slope, she paused to reset her climbing brake, and something caused her to look up. She lost her footing. The child was at the edge looking down at her, and his gaze, or her inattention due to his piercing gaze caused her to slip and bang her head on a jutting jagged rock, inflicting a gash on her forehead at the hair line. She recovered her footing, scrambling the last few feet over the top.

As she turned to help with the lift, the boy suddenly took her hand and squeezed it, gazing once more into her eyes for a brief instant in a way that she found somewhat strangely different. She forced it aside in the intense situation, throwing her weight on the lines helping the Constable raise the seriously injured victim.

As the injured man was put in the ambulance the young boy was being prepared to go with a fire rescue vehicle who had just arrived on the scene to assist. Lieutenant Andros looked at the young boy who had begun crying out in distress because he was not allowed to go with his father. She told him he was right; his father was not dead, but they must get him to a hospital. The sobbing child thanked her for listening to him.

His last words to her as they put the father and son into the two ambulances touched her heart deeply. In his adult-child’s voice came the utterance. Now I will not be alone, together my father and I will bury my gentle and loving mother. The doors of the ambulances shut, and they were off into the still escalating storm.

Constable Troy looked at Lieutenant Andros and shaking his head whispered, for her ears only. This has been a strange day. Her response was unusual. "At least you did not see things that were not there. Okay! That’s done!

Constable Troy thought her words somewhat odd, but the work and weather pressed them both and he did not question. Let’s secure the area and wait for the coroner.

We leave Angel David DeLacroix’s beginnings. As time went by he grew into an impressive young man. In mediaeval times, any observer would not hesitate to use the word warrior or champion. And so, the curtains on this drama opens with time. More than warrior and more than champion, his story will unfold around extraordinary abilities and insight in an arena fighting injustice. For now, we go into one of his visions.

HOW I CAME TO BE ‘ANGEL DAVID DELACROIX’

On and off for the last twenty years, I have lived in Les Cantons de l’Est. I grew up in Lachute, a small town in Québec opposite Hawkesbury on the Ontario side of the Ottawa River.

It was not an easy life after I lost my wonderful loving mother Lea. I have to say even though my father survived the accident, I lost him as well. He was never the same and I will never know if it was the loss of mother or the severe trauma he received to the head or a combination of those two. I suspect the latter is closer to the truth.

He tended to ignore me from the day he returned home. I strongly suspect that he blamed me for her death. He spent most of his time at the tattoo parlour and with his biker friends, quite often leaving me alone to fend for myself. He also had begun to drink to the point where he would come home drunken and give me a beating for no apparent reason.

More and more I began to withdraw into myself. My nightmares, dreams and the strangest of visions were occurring on a more frequent basis. Still but a child I could not understand the grown-up world. I had no friends, no relatives, my mother was taken, and my father seemed not to care as to whether I lived or died.

I had enjoyed school and looked forward to my interaction with my teachers. I believe however, they had begun to wonder why I often showed up with bruises, and my excuses were now becoming lame.

Mrs. Anita Lamoureux, grey haired and with wisdom born of life as well as education and her profession had become my favourite teacher. Both my grades as well as my health had deteriorated, but I had always managed some transparent excuse as to why she could not meet with my father.

After one such drunken binge, my father returned to overhear me ‘talking gibberish’ with PACHACUTI and in an out-of-control drunken rage began beating me and yelling the cruellest of things to me. I cowered in an unsuccessful attempt to protect myself as he raged on. You good for nothing little weirdo! You must be one of Satan’s own sent here to torment me. I want nothing to do with you.

Even though I was big and strong for my age, I wept, not only from the physical pain but from the emotional blows from what my father said. That fuelled his anger further and his hand flew, catching me full in the face. The blow connected hard, and this time I knew I would not be able to hide from any of the school teachers, but the worst was yet to come. He roared, You are worthless! I should go somewhere and not come back and you will never find me.

My father was true to his word. He did not return that night or any other night after that. Now alone and frightened what was I to do? I was only a child.

After a few days, when my facial bruises had somewhat faded, I returned to school, hoping my longish curly hair would hide the still present discolouration at the side of my face. Mrs. Lamoureux asked if everything was OK and I told her yes it was only a cold. She seemed satisfied. At least she did not pursue it any further.

As many more days went by and the food in the house began to dwindle, I could no longer hide the fact that I was trying to survive on my own. Mrs. Lamoureux instinctively knew something was wrong and asked the authorities to look in on me as she was afraid I was being abused.

A knock at the door caught me of guard and I went to answer. There stood one giant of a big man and a gentle looking lady who, for some unknown reason, avoided my gaze. The big man asked to see my father, I told him he was not here and would not be for the rest of the day. The kind lady said in a gentle voice she would like to come in and sit as she was feeling poorly because of the heat. She moved to enter then hesitated, again speaking softly and with great kindness. Only if it is OK with you, Angel.

I abhorred the thought of them seeing the house, but I felt compassion for her. Torn, I bade them enter, and at that point I felt a severe pain on the inside of my right wrist. As I looked at it, I saw what looked like a dark mark appear, and then the pain vanished.

I went to the sink, got the lady a glass of water in the only clean glass and gave it to her. She drank slowly, all the while looking around, and when our eyes met I knew I would not be staying here any longer.

With genuine concern I asked her if she was feeling better, and again a pain shot through my arm, distracting my attention. The dark spot had grown slightly, but I was brought back to the moment when I heard her acknowledge that yes, she was feeling much better and she would like to talk with me. Turning to the man, she asked if he would leave us alone. As he turned to leave I made fleeting eye contact with him and knew he would be standing at the ready outside the front door.

The lady then crouched down to my level to speak to me, but it was the kindness in her eyes and the gentleness of her voice which drew me in. Angel, my name is Nina Andros Bion. As a child I was a ward and now I am a resident as well as a teacher at the St. Joseph Orphanage. I have come here to invite you to come and live with us.

It was the eye contact. There was such overwhelming compassion there, and more, a strange warmth that I could not presently define which caused me to stifle my protest.

Fearing another savage beating, I no longer wanted my father to ever find me. So, with a child’s logic, I introduced myself simply as ‘Angel David’, not wanting to give her my surname. I told her I would do as she asked if only to please my teacher, Mrs. Lamoureux. With foreknowledge of my father and my situation Nina picked up on my omission, understood why and discreetly kept this as their secret for the time being.

Fingering the strange but beautiful medallion which hung around her neck, Nina, looked into Angel’s eyes, sensing that he was special, and would be a force to be reckoned with as he grew to manhood. She was well-aware of this ‘child prodigy’, of all school records, and with her insightfulness, she understood their lives would intertwine not only in the present but in the future as well.

After a few moments, I left Nina who was now sitting on one of the rickety chairs and headed for what was my bedroom to get some of my meagre belongings. I packed what few clothes I had, most of which were dirty, and the cherished mementos of my dear mother. Looking in the closet, I picked up the paints my father had given me on my birthday the Christmas before the accident. After looking around for one last time I softly and sadly closed the door on those chapters of my life, but not the memories.

I came into the kitchen with my possessions and Nina got up from her wobbly chair, and in doing so, signalled that it was time to go. Again, I felt her warmth and kindness as we made eye contact. She took me by the hand and although her hand was soft, the grip was gentle. As her fingers closed around mine I felt an intense energy enter my body.

Seconds later we left through the front door with the big man she introduced as Arthur MacClintock. There was an old gleaming black Ford station wagon waiting in front of my home, and once inside, I looked out my window to see for the last time the house which had been my home, and then my prison. Arthur put the station wagon in gear and we left my past life behind.

On arrival at the St. Joseph Orphanage I was met in the generous vestibule within the massive oak doors by many children varying in age and some of the staff. Mother Superior, attired in a habit denoting the Grey Nun Order, came to greet me. Her kind eyes and sincere kindness put me at ease as she told me that Nina would be the one who would be looking after me. My initial feeling was of being safe, and it would be proven true.

I remained there for many years enjoying the beautiful serenity of the friendly surroundings where I made a few friends. Under the tutelage of Nina, I found enjoyment in writing, discovered skills in a variety of languages, Inca history, Egyptian hieroglyphs and Greek mythology.

Thanks to Arthur I became enthralled and fell in love with everything to do with motorcycles. Maybe deep down in a very lonely spot I wanted to find my father, or at least fill that void. Arthur had also taken me under his wing, pardon the pun, teaching me about motorcycles. He always loved to ride his rattletrap old motorcycle into the country side, and as I got older I accompanied him on many occasions.

It was on one of these ‘Saturday rides to nowhere’ that he suddenly braked his old machine, did a ‘U’ turn on the country road and retreated to the farmhouse lane we had just passed.

Only a disciple would have noticed the old burgundy Harley half buried inside the darkened maw of an ancient dilapidated outbuilding. A brief conversation with the elderly couple, a hastily written cheque and we were off.

Later that evening I watched Arthur help the farmer unload what looked to be the most decrepit remains of what used to be a motorcycle from an old trailer into Arthur’s workshop. As the farmer was about to leave in his truck I heard Arthur thank him for the kind-heartedness of delivering the classic Harley. I would learn that it was a vintage Harley 1936 VL Twin that the farmer had used to woo his bride those long-lost decades before. A promise of restoration and veneration, plus the gentle personality of Arthur had persuaded the old man to part with his treasure.

Thereafter, I would spend many an evening with Arthur, helping him as he lovingly caressed each piece back to life. Slowly the rusted old relic metamorphosed into a shining work of art. We continued our rides, but the focus had now shifted to what gradually became a gleaming burgundy masterpiece of love that contained both our souls.

The old machine that we had been riding to this point was a direct descendent of the VL Twin, and so it was with reverence that the machine was retired so that some of its heart could bring life to this magnificent restoration.

The hours that we spent working together flew by. Then, exactly two years