Through the Angels’ Eyes

By Vartan Tasmajian

Is there life after death?
Are there angels or demons?

Martin Herzog was one of those people who adamantly opposed any notion of a spiritual life..until the day he got a very timely surprise visit by an angel named Dominic. The angel saves his life and takes him on a tour of the spiritual realm and makes it possible for him to see the earth just as angels see it.

Martin discovers a world that was twice as crowded...a world where angels and demons lived side by side with humans and worked through them to get their work accomplished. Much to his surprise though, he finds a world that his heavily dominated by evil forces. He builds up a strong hatred toward demons and accepts to return Dominic's favor by taking on a mission to stop a large development near the village of Estes Park in the state of Colorado.

Throughout the eight-month tenure, his mission becomes more adventurous. Danger creeps up and surrounds him like a fiery maze. With a threat against his life and the likelihood of being drawn into a nasty war against brutal and viciously organized crime families, will Martin Herzog decide to stay and fight the demons and their human allies or will he return home and leave his mission unfinished?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477122785

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Copyright © 2012 by Vartan Tasmajian.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Prologue . . .

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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Prologue . . .

Washington DC

March 27, 1987

By the time they finished their lunch at Todd Gray’s Watershed on First Street NE, the skies had turned gray and the temperature had dipped into the midthirties.

It started raining as Mr. Byron Scott and his secret service loyal, Mr. Harry Johnson, left the restaurant building and headed for their car parked across the street.

The driver, waiting for them in the bulletproof Cadillac, hopped out as soon as he saw them and opened the back door for Mr. Scott.

Mr. Johnson opened the front passenger door with one hand, and with the other hand he held a pink box, the driver’s lunch, which he carefully placed on the middle console before he sat down next to him.

I hope you’ll like your lunch, said the Speaker of the House to the driver. I told the chef to prepare something special for you since you were not able to join us today. When we get to my office, you can use the lounge and have your lunch there. I’ll be busy for about a half hour. Hopefully, it would be enough time, don’t you think?

Thanks, Mr. Scott! said the driver. Half hour is plenty! And I’m sure the food is wonderful as usual!

They were on their way to Mr. Scott’s office and from there to the House of Senate on the next block over.

Due to the rainy weather, the traffic was backed up on New York Avenue NW at the Seventh Street NW intersection.

As they finally got out of there and headed down Massachusetts Street, the traffic eased off.

Just when the driver made a right turn on New Jersey Avenue to continue south toward the office, a heavily dressed pedestrian, wearing a dark beanie that had half his face covered, suddenly ran in front of the car, trying to cross the street in a hurry. The driver slammed on the brakes to stop the Cadillac, but the car slid and the pedestrian got hit slightly. The front bumper of the car barely touched the man.

The driver rolled the window down to talk to the person. But as soon as the window was halfway down, the pedestrian, furious and upset, pulled a semiautomatic rifle out of the chest pocket of his coat and opened fire, pumping multiple rounds from just five yards away into the driver, killing him almost instantly. Mr. Johnson immediately opened the side door and jumped out of the car. He then, without any delay, opened the back door and pulled Mr. Scott out of the car and to safety.

As the armed man approached and continued emptying his rifle into the interior of the car through the open window, Mr. Johnson pulled his Smith & Wesson and rolled several times toward the front end of the car where he could have a better shot at the out-of-control gunman. He then fired four rounds and took him out.

Before the gunman hit the ground, three other masked men ran outside the building and started opening fire at the bulletproof Cadillac.

Mr. Johnson immediately called for backup, and by the time the assailants were getting ready to surround the car, several police cars and dozens of secret service personnel arrived and blocked the entire intersection. They took up positions behind their vehicles and called out to the gunmen to surrender, using bullhorn speakers to reach them.

More police cars arrived and pulled up on Massachusetts Street and blocked all the escape routes in the entire area.

The gunmen were now completely surrounded, and in their confusion and panic, they started shooting at the police cars that had surrounded them from every direction.

As a barrage of bullets erupted, the assailants took positions between the parked cars to protect themselves from police fire.

The gunfire exchange lasted a few minutes. Hundreds of rounds were fired, and one policeman was wounded in the leg. The exterior wall of the university library facing New Jersey Avenue was riddled with bullet holes. The gunmen were shooting sporadically; not exactly aiming at their intended targets anymore.

The secret service finally got the upper hand on the situation as the SWAT team snipers climbed on top of the college library and then shot and killed two of the assailants.

The third assailant crawled and sneaked into the Speaker of the House’s Cadillac. He pulled the blood-soaked driver out and threw him on the street and hopped on to the seat. Mr. Johnson was taking cover behind the car and protecting the Speaker of the House. He knew the keys were still in the ignition. He opened the back door to jump on to the backseat, but the gunman shot him in his hand, wounding him superficially. The door stayed open as he let go of the handle.

The gunman started driving, but Mr. Johnson did not concede. He ran and jumped on to the backseat and told the assailant to stop driving and surrender. He pointed the revolver on to the man’s head and told him once more to stop.

The man was determined to escape. His fellow comrades were taken out, and he was too scared to yield to authorities. He pulled his gun and turned around to shoot, but Mr. Johnson had his revolver pointed at him already. He emptied the entire six rounds on the man, killing him instantaneously.

The gunman had his foot on the gas pedal. The car sped toward the library on New Jersey Avenue. Mr. Johnson jumped out of the car before it hit the concrete wall and caught fire. The Cadillac was leaking gasoline and it was just a matter of time before it would completely engulf in flames. Mr. Johnson ran toward his boss and pulled him to safety.

The car caught on fire and then quickly burst into flames and then blew up, sending pint-sized pieces out on to the library building and the parked cars nearby.

Who are these people? What do they want from us? asked Mr. Scott, in a deep state of shock.

I’m not sure, Mr. Senator! said Mr. Johnson, and right then he noticed a movement with one of the downed men. He ran toward that gunman. He kicked the pistol and rifle away from him and knelt down next to him. Then, pulling the woolen mask off the man’s face, he asked, Who sent you guys? Why did you do this? Why? as he lifted the gunman’s head into his hands.

The gunman looked at him and smiled. He then shut his eyes and passed away without saying a word.

Chapter 1

Detroit, Michigan

March 27, 1987

Same day . . . almost same time

Belle Isle . . . at Detroit River overpass

The bridge was empty and totally deserted. In fact, the entire area suddenly looked more like a ghost town to Martin.

He was left behind in a dreamland where no life existed.

As he zigzagged through thick brushes, looking for someone to talk to, a weird phenomenon occurred to him: Broad daylight turned into twilight and darkness quickly settled over the wild landscape that surrounded him.

He desperately searched for sanctuary, but right then, a bright beam of light reflected down from heaven and turned the spotlight on another man who happened to be behind him and was following him.

A human being . . . in the middle of nowhere . . . ?

He wondered if he should run and embrace the man. After all, that was the only living thing that happened to be there.

But he noticed that the man under the spotlight was actually walking straight toward him and seemed to be overly malicious.

He sensed evil and wondered how this man suddenly turned up in this lifeless environment.

Frightened, he asked himself one question after another and came up with an unruly speculation: the man under the spotlight was out to get him.

Cold sweat rolled down his already perspiring face and on to his spotless sweatshirt.

Too scared to look back, he stopped and sullenly raised his hands into the air and cried for help. Just then, out of nowhere, another human being suddenly came to light. It turned out to be his best friend Armen . . . and he happened to be right there ahead of him!

Finally, someone he could trust and confide in, he thought, and right away he began asking his friend to slow down and help him out.

His friend, though, would not respond to any of his questions and continued walking at his steady pace.

Was he daydreaming?

How come you’re not talking? And where were you all this time anyway? he asked his friend repeatedly while speculating about his whereabouts. You left me all alone in the wilderness! Are we still in Detroit? he then asked, still wondering if he was having a nightmare.

Martin was actually not alone. He and his best friend Armen were on the last lap of their routine power walk when this unexplained sudden fear struck him.

Armen was leading him by a short distance that day and would not stop for anything.

You’ve got to stop, man! Martin yelled out loud. I need help, my friend . . . please! There is a raging bull behind me. He’s after me!

Armen still paid no attention to him, as if he couldn’t hear him.

Martin’s repetitively nagging and desperate pleas for attention went unanswered.

Terrified and worried, he nervously trailed his friend, who seemed to be too determined to win the race that day.

Finally, after several attempts and with a loud pleading voice,

Stop! Please! exclaimed Martin out loud.

He was drowning in his own sweat, breathing heavily and gasping for oxygen;

Stop telling me that I am dreaming. I’m not . . . OK? he said with a deep pleading voice I’m talking about a real man here, not a spirit! Please . . . !

Is this a trick to slow me down? asked Armen, finally giving in to Martin’s pleas. He then reluctantly turned around and faced his friend.

Boy, what happened to you, my friend? Did you run through a sprinkler or something? he asked wittily. There are several people on the bridge! Which one of them is following you?

Did you say people? Where? . . . Just that one man! said Martin.

They’re around us. Are you OK? asked Armen, confused.

I’m being stalked by the man behind me . . . wearing black or something! Can you see him? asked Martin in a fearful voice.

As I told you, there are several people back there. I don’t see anyone following you, though!

Armen kept his pace steady, walking backward while scanning the entire area. Wait! he then shouted wittily. There is a man in a black suit at the other end of the bridge. Could that person be the one? But why would anyone come after you? he then added.

So you think I’m crazy then?

No, my dear friend, said Armen. You’re just being paranormal today. But don’t worry. It is because this park and its environs are very spiritual. You’re being touched by spirits!

What spirit . . . what spiritual! exclaimed Martin defensively. Do you expect me to believe in spirits now?

At this point, Martin was fully aware of the world around him and was rhetorically supporting his point of view, breathing heavily and staring at the park that had swiftly turned into the subject of their heated conversation. That tracker who had scared him so much to start with? Suddenly, not even a concern anymore! Instead, Martin concentrated his efforts to prove his friend wrong.

OK, it’s more mystical . . . magical! he finally compromised.

That’s what I mean! Mystical . . . spiritual . . . What difference does it make? said Armen, wheezing, but speeding up his move forward. At least we agree on this one issue! Right? Why are you being so negative today, anyway? And I don’t know why you’re acting so weird.

Why? exclaimed Martin in a high-pitched voice. You squeeze spirituality into everything! That’s why, my dear friend!

They were both hauling their weary bodies back to the Gabriel Richard Park across the river from Belle Isle.

That’s where they launched their daily routines and that’s where they always rested. According to Armen, that park was God’s playground as well. It was close and yet far from the city noise . . . and far from the mounted up daily grinds. In fact, way on top of their agenda list was a daily ceremony of casting doubts, fears and worries, and any accumulated trauma into the mighty Detroit River. It had started as a joke by Armen, but over time these two friends had turned it into a full-blown ceremony . . .

Yes, this is how you rejuvenate your soul! Armen told Martin regularly after every session.

What they especially liked about this boutique getaway park was the weather-beaten and rotted-out wooden bench there. It was placed near the river walk, facing the river and Belle Isle, and was sheltered under the thick branches of a large tree behind it.

Nobody else dared to sit on that bench during the afternoon hours. It was uniquely theirs . . . and notoriously enforced by these two fools. This is where they unwound after their hard workout. This is where they sat and watched other sports enthusiasts as they jogged or walked along the stretch of concrete slab that ran along the edge of the river.

On this very unique and very cold Friday afternoon, though, there were very few people in the park and the entire area looked desolate.

Martin dragged himself and literally crawled nearer to the cute little park, heaving and shoving his way to the finish line, the sought-after bench.

It was a major struggle, unusual for an athletically-built person who routinely worked out at the local YMCA and had enough energy afterward to drag his best friend Armen out to the park for more workouts.

As Martin finally approached the bench, looking extremely exhausted, he could see Armen seated there, donning a big smile on his face, one that said, You see . . . I beat you! I got you this time, sucker!

As he stepped closer and closer, he noticed that Armen was actually gazing at the deep skies and not at him. The big smile on his face . . . ? He did not bother to ask.

He sat next to his mystified friend. Immediately he started acting awkwardly as well.

He leaned forward and placed his elbow on his knees and rested his head over the palm of his hand and stayed in that position. His body took the form of a crooked tree trunk, and his eyes were wide open and were locked upon the barren island across the river.

He and his friend looked like garden statues. None of them said a word or moved an inch as they sat next to each other. They both seemed to be uniquely lost in their distinct solitary worlds.

Martin Herzog and his best friend Armen Krikorian were having a very unique day indeed on this first Friday of spring. The sun was at full sight, but it was weak and had no energy left to warm the cold earth around these two middle-aged men.

Martin was extremely tense; obsessed with something that was keeping him very uptight. Armen, on the other hand, was admiring the creations of God, almost hallucinating.

A few minutes of rest was all they got when suddenly Martin jumped and stood up in front of Armen and with total excitement;

Didn’t you feel that? he exclaimed out loud. Then, looking at Armen frantically, How come you look so relaxed, man! he said, and nervously staggered around the bench.

Feel what? exclaimed Armen in a laid-back voice, still gazing at the skies.

The earth moved, man! We had an earthquake! said Martin anxiously. Didn’t you feel the tremor? I knew it would happen! he then added.

Earthquake in Michigan? said Armen, breathing heavily from under his thick mustache. Relax, Martin. You’re dreaming! And you’re acting very strangely today. Have the demons been bugging you? he then asked, still gazing at the skies, not bothering to turn his head to look at his out-of-control friend. Just look at the skies! Check the sun! Look at how it’s racing toward an army of dark clouds! An all-out war seems to be inevitable! Don’t you think so, Martin? he asked, still gazing at the skies with faint eyes.

What war, my crazy friend? Stop acting like a philosopher! said Martin with an all-out sarcastic laughter. All I see out there is a dark cloud in the distance, and we might even get some snow later! I hate it! he then added, and sat back down, leaning against Armen.

A few minutes later, Martin suddenly jumped back up and extended his arms into the air, sort of trying to catch something that wasn’t there.

What now! cried out Armen with a deep frown on his forehead. What are you doing, man?

Martin was shivering at this point and his eyes were fiery red.

I can’t believe you! he said out loud. Are you becoming senseless, my friend? You couldn’t feel the tremor earlier. Now you can’t even see?

See what Martin? You’re scaring me! said Armen, finally lifting his head up and looking at his friend.

I tried to catch that flying chariot right above our head! said Martin, looking amazed and disoriented. I don’t know how you could have missed it! It’s gone now!

OK! We’ve got a winner here! You saw a what? asked Armen. First a stalker, then an earthquake, and now a flying chariot? I think you need some coffee to wake you up! Are you going to be OK here while I go to Bob’s Big Boy across the street? I’ll also get your sweater and some paper towels from the car. OK, my crazy friend?

Yeh . . . yeh! exclaimed Martin, as Armen slowly walked away.

A few seconds later, a husky man, dressed in a dark suit, walked directly toward him. Armen was completely out of sight and the park was almost lifeless. The man appeared to be disoriented and was looking straight into his eyes. Martin remembered the ferocious face of the man and tried to stop him from coming any nearer, but the man walked more rapidly, pulling a big dagger from under his jacket and heading straight toward his chest.

I don’t think I’m dreaming! he said out loud and jumped off the bench. He stepped back, but somehow the madman managed to rip his perfectly neat sweatshirt off.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, that bright chariot appeared to Martin once again, and a dashing young man jumped out of it and immediately shielded him from the madman.

Who are you guys? What do you want from me? cried Martin out loud.

Can’t you see? I’m here to protect you? said the dashing young man. I won’t let the demons control this crazy man. He is under the influence of narcotics and is very vulnerable! He is trying to get more money for more drugs! This guy could hurt you, you know?

Saying that, he immediately turned around and got into a sort of a struggle with what seemed to be more than one spiritual being around the madman.

The struggle went on for a few seconds. In the meantime, this madman intermittently made moves on Martin, trying to hurt him.

Apparently, there were evil forces there that neither Martin nor the madman could see. A few seconds after the strange skirmish ended, the madman turned cool as a cucumber. That same man who was ready to kill him was now mellower than mellow, still holding onto the big knife, but mainly talking about his miserable life, almost crying with sorrow.

Chapter 2

As Martin was calmly talking to the madman, Armen was hurrying back with two cups of coffee in his hands. From a distance, he could see the man wielding what seemed to be a big knife in his right hand and extending it toward his friend.

He turned around and quickly went to the nearest phone booth and called the police.

Afterward, he walked back, pacing his way carefully, hiding behind trees along the way. As he approached the bench, he noticed that Martin was having a normal conversation with the individual, yet there was a big knife in this timid man’s hand.

He eased behind the man with slow and careful steps. He then jumped on him and pressed the man’s back and snatched the knife off his hands with a quick maneuver.

What are you doing, Armen? Are you crazy? yelled Martin nervously.

What do you mean? He could have hurt you, man! The police will take a while before they get here! said Armen, looking a little nervous and holding on to the big knife as if it were a big treasure.

Did you call the police already? asked Martin.

Of course I did! I had to! said Armen with big, wide-open eyes and a wrinkled forehead. You are my best friend!

The madman yielded without a fight.

You seem to be a nice man. How come you were ready to kill my friend? asked Armen in a less stressful voice. Were you the man tracking him earlier?

Armen, relax! He was not going to kill me! said Martin in a laid-back voice.

Yes, I was tracking you guys! said the madman. I don’t know why, but I was just mad at the world! I can’t even kill a fly! Do you mind if I sit down? he then asked.

I was able to distinguish you clearly. You were under the spotlight, said Martin. Your eyes were filled with rage and your face looked very scary, very evil! So what’s up with this big knife? he then asked in a softer voice. Why do you carry such a lethal weapon on you?

This and some of my other belongings are all I have in my possession. I used to collect knives, all kinds of knives . . . hunting, fishing . . . all kinds!

So what happened? You lost them? asked Armen.

My own family has disowned me and sold all my personal collector’s items and cashed the money . . . I got nothing, just the boot!

Maybe we should tell the police that nothing really happened then! said Martin.

No! I need to be punished for what I did! I threatened you with the knife and scared you and ruined your quiet afternoon! Heck, I even ripped up your nice sweatshirt!

I think the devil had controlled you there for a while! said Martin, patting the back of this total stranger. I don’t think you are cut out for violence!

I was possessed by demons! said the madman. I’ll be honest with you two. I have a major problem with drugs! I think I’m sort of addicted to them!

Drugs! said Armen with a shoulder shrug. They should lock everyone who pushes drugs on the streets! It is frying the brains of our teenage kids!

It started as a social thing. Now it is controlling me! said the madman.

You fell into the hands of the big sharks. Sadly, you and millions like you are supporting their existence. If we could eliminate the use of drugs, there will be less crime in our cities as well. I think it is all up to people like you to stop this madness!

I agree! said the madman with tear-filled eyes. Once you’re hooked, you’re done!

That is why it’s best not to start at all! said Armen.

You know, my friend, I never really believed in demons, said Martin, scratching the back of his head. But what I witnessed this afternoon changed my thinking. There must have been a reason why that spirit showed up. He was trying to help us both, you know? So stop using drugs from this day on, you hear?

I have tried to, but it’s like evil, like Satan controlling me! I lost my family too!

Is that so? asked Martin sarcastically, suddenly acting like a fool out of control. I wonder if there really is a Satan! And, did you say demons? he then added, posing awkwardly and passing air rather loudly. There! I just released the demons off me! he then said and laughed ignorantly. You should do the same!

Are you on drugs as well? asked the madman still trembling with fear. Why are you laughing? I could have killed you, my friend! I actually felt freed and a lot lighter when the demons left me!

That’s OK! I feel much lighter too! said Martin as he passed some more air. They’re all gone now! No more demons! he said, and sat down on the bench acting like a fool.

You think this is a joke? pleaded the madman with fear-filled eyes.

No, of course not! replied Martin, changing his tone and acting more like a grown-up again. But I’m sure drugs can make you feel that way too! he said, and shook the madman’s shivering hand firmly. What’s your name, my friend? he then asked him with a smile.

My name is Peter and I have one request from you guys, said the madman, still shivering from head to toe. Get those drug dealers! They ruined my life, and they’re ruining the future of our kids as well

Why don’t you tell the police that! said Armen. We are just average citizens, my friend!

But the police will not do anything! said Peter.

And you think we could? asked Armen and laughed. I see the police now. You want to run? Take your knife and run away! he said, as he nervously turned his face toward the police car parked in the distance.

I want to surrender! At least I will have a place to sleep and have food to eat!

The police came and questioned all three men, interrogating them as if they were all suspects.

Why do you ask all these questions? asked Armen. He told you that he is the suspect! I am the one who called you, you know? In his anxiety, his English was broken to pieces.

That is our routine! said one of the policemen. We have to know the details! What if you guys were the real attackers?

My goodness, this is ridiculous! exclaimed Armen with a shy laughter.

Armen! said Martin looking at his friend with a deep frown. Just let the police do their work! Don’t question them! They can take you in also. Calm down!

This man is not a criminal! said Armen to the policemen as they were taking the madman away peacefully. He is just disoriented and disturbed. He is actually a victim of big sharks that are free on the streets of your city. He should be treated mentally instead!

We will see about that! said one of the policemen, who continued walking away, holding onto Peter’s arms as they slowly proceeded toward the patrol car.

Peter turned around once more and looked at Martin. His eyes were watery and his face was wet from the tears that he had shed.

Remember! he said with a squeezed voice. Get those drug dealers off the streets! One day, if someone dear to you gets hurt by them or becomes an addict, remember what I told you! These guys are vicious and would do anything to get things their way!

A few minutes after the police took Peter away, it was quiet once again, and the two friends seemed to be back to their senses.

I think we had some excitement today! said Martin, still in shock. What is the world coming to? Why should a man like Peter opt for jail time just to have a roof over his head? Look what drugs did to him. Maybe it is best that he goes to jail. He might get over the drug habit, maybe!

Oh, the coffee! exclaimed Armen out loud. I left them on the table!

"Never mind! I am sure they are ice cold now! You promised me hot coffee!’

I’ll go get them anyway! It hasn’t been that long!

Armen walked away toward the picnic table where he had placed the two cups of coffee.

When he returned, he saw Martin staring into the air and wondering.

So what are you looking at this time, Martin? he asked, looking a bit exhausted. Are you still in shock?

Oh, no! said Martin attentively. I thought I saw that same dashing young man that I met earlier. This is the man who saved my life but then quickly disappeared! He is back again . . . standing right there . . . at the edge of the riverbank! After a brief silence, and a deep agonizing breath and looking at Armen with a pathetic smile; I am not sure any more! I think I’m having a really bad day! he said miserably. Am I seeing things? What is happening to me?

I think you need to drink some coffee! said Armen cheerfully. It will help you! I am sure you got scared! That guy did, indeed, look very disturbed!

The coffee was not too cold. Martin added several packets of sugar into the cup and stirred it as he kept looking around him with fearful and weary eyes.

He gulped a mouthful of the lukewarm coffee and swallowed it like it was plain water. That Peter guy had no friends and no place to stay! he said later as he downed the rest of the coffee.

He is a drug addict! said Armen. He could have some other issues as well!

It is just scary, Armen! said Martin with beady eyes. This man had a family, just like I do. He had a house. I don’t even have a house anymore! I am staying with you!

But you have not lost your mind yet! And you’re not on drugs! said Armen with a refreshing tone in his voice. Besides, my house is your house! You will stay with me forever. Do you hear?

Why did I drag myself this low? I’ve got to find me a job! said Martin.

Well, you could start by hunting those drug pushers! Peter gave you a wonderful idea. It could be a full-time job for you! said Armen, as he laughed out loud. Just count your blessings, my dear friend! he then added, You never know anymore . . . ! I read in the paper this morning that drugs kill in more forms and ways than we can imagine! You could have become a drug-related casualty yourself!

Before Armen could finish his last sentence, Martin suddenly jumped out of the bench again and looking straight into nothing; It’s you! Why did you come this time? Am I in trouble again? he cried with excitement.

What is going on, Martin? Who are you yelling at? asked Armen as he looked all around them to see if he could spot anyone.

Can’t you see? exclaimed Martin, pointing his index finger toward the river. He is standing right in front of us! Don’t tell me you don’t see him! Are you blind?

You are seeing things again! said Armen dismally. I am afraid this whole thing has affected you badly.

He even called me by my name! He must know me! exclaimed Martin with excitement.

After a few seconds, he exclaimed, There. He left already! Is that what you want? You must have scared him off!

Is that good or bad? I don’t get it! Aren’t you happy that he’s gone? asked Armen looking astounded.

Actually, no! exclaimed Martin, still in a state of shock. There was something special about that man. He is the one who saved my life! He was wearing some old folkloric clothing, vivid colors, and seemed to be very pleasant indeed.

As they were having this conversation, sitting on the wooden bench that was partially shaded by the large barren tree behind it, this dashing young man suddenly reappeared to Martin and stood ten feet from him, kind of cutting his view of the river.

Martin silently stood up and walked toward the man.

How did you reappear so quickly into our sight? he asked with a disturbed look on his face. How could you leave and then come back this quickly? he asked again, repeating himself.

Armen, meanwhile, kept seated and scratched the back of his head with amazement. He had never seen his friend act this way;

You definitely are losing your mind! Let me check your temperature! he said, and then walked toward his friend and placed his palm on Martin’s forehead. No! You have no fever! It’s only in your brain!

I know I don’t have fever, Armen! I feel perfectly fine! This is the same man who was here earlier! He called me by my name!

I think it’s official! said Armen, looking very distressed. You really are losing your mind!

Armen, just wait! exclaimed Martin out loud. He wants to talk! This guy is harmless! You just sit there and listen.

He then turned around and started a conversation with this man, asking questions and getting really involved in a heated subject.

Armen, meanwhile, astonished and worried, just sat back and watched Martin. He moved to the far end of the bench to get a better view and hear Martin’s nonsensical conversation.

I still can’t believe that you don’t see him. Are you blind? asked Martin looking desperately at his astounded friend.

No, I’m not blind! You’re crazy! said Armen with a loud and worried laughter. Are you a devoted spiritual man now? he then asked.

I don’t know! Is that what this is? No, I’m definitely not a spiritual man! he then added.

Martin seemed to be struggling between belief and disbelief . . . sort of being attacked by evil thoughts while being protected by good spirits.

That’s why I’m worried! said Armen. In spite of your disbelief, you have really been acting very strangely today. You are being driven by spiritual forces, and you don’t know it, my friend!

Chapter 3

Armen, extremely disturbed by Martin’s moves and worried, ran to the nearest phone booth and called Julie, Martin’s older daughter, to tell her about her father’s mental condition. Julie was not at home at the time, so he called Mary at her workplace and she picked up the phone.

I am glad you picked it up! Hurry! Come to the Gabriel Richard Park where we usually hang out . . . on Grand and Jefferson overlooking the Belle Isle! exclaimed Armen as he ran out of breath. Your father is losing his mind! Hurry up and see for yourself!

Armen walked back to the bench and sat as far away from Martin as possible, squeezing himself against the cold metal arm of the bench.

Martin was now truly involved in a heated conversation with this nobody. He didn’t even notice his friend anymore. Armen, meanwhile, kept looking at his watch and toward the street, waiting anxiously for Mary to come and help out with this