The Blessing

By Stan Yocum

THE BLESSING, a novel that involves a strong spiritual intervention from a young girl named Lita, who possesses powers that are extremely difficult to explained. Her mission is to educate Nathan, who’s a reporter, in how mankind is progressing down a path that will unlikely afford them the knowledge they seek. Lita, unfortunately, is viewed as a disciple of Satan, since she has no connection with any form of religion and states that her God goes beyond what any religious order has ever preached. Her mission is to guide Nathan so he can help expand the human mind in areas that completely overwhelm him with doubt, uncertainty and confusion. Lita then informs Nathan that she will be killed because she refuses to accept any form of religion. Nathan, therefore, personally takes on the task of keeping Lita alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664147904

Stan Yocum

Stan Yocum is a writer who has written suspense/thriller novels, and also general fiction and love novels. He also raises assistance dogs to help physically disabled adults, children and veterans. He is married, has two daughters, two grandchildren, and resides in Palos Verdes California. Other novels by Stan Yocum: The Price of Admission Unrelenting Nightmare Without You Hostile Takeover Corporate Spy Reflection of a Hero Please visit: www.stanyocum.com

Book preview

ONE

SERGIO immediately stopped when he felt the soft, subtle vibration slowly edging its way through the soles of his boots. He stood perfectly still, the movement of the ground grabbing his attention. Then the vibration grew, and the sound of a low guttural rumble penetrated his eardrums. He dropped his drill as fear suddenly seized him; knowing immediately that it was the one thing that terrified him the most.

Cave-in! he screamed at the top of his lungs in his native Spanish tongue. Run!

And run Sergio did, as did thirteen other miners who were in the same tunnel of the coal mine. They had all been drilling and every single one of them held the same fear Sergio did; being buried alive was not the way they wanted to die.

Sergio ran as fast as he could down the tunnel as the rumbling sound increased dramatically and the ground began to shake uncontrollably under his feet. He saw the lights hanging overhead start to flicker, and then suddenly go out completely. A single light from the lantern attached to his helmet was now the only illumination that allowed him to see the clouds of dust and rock debris falling around him and filling the tunnel with a ghastly presence. The light bounced and darted around in front of him as he sidestepped falling rocks that were growing larger by the second. The whole scene turned surreal to Sergio when he saw beams of light from the other miners up ahead jumping in and out of view as they also tried frantically to scramble toward safety.

In his frenzied effort to sprint back through the cave, Sergio bumped hard against another miner lying on the ground, hearing the man cry out. The tortured cry penetrated Sergio’s conscience and he immediately stopped running. He needs help, his mind called to him.

As difficult as it was—his mind now screaming, No, no, forget him! Get out!—Sergio forced himself to turn back. He was horrified when his lantern cast its light on his good friend Saul who was sprawled on the cave floor; blood gushing from a wound on his leg caused by a falling rock.

Saul! Sergio cried out.

Go, Sergio. I can’t move. Go! Get out!

No! I’ll help you.

Sergio started to lift Saul, but then heard a sound so dreadful it caused him to close his eyes. Not a hundred feet from where they were, the top of the tunnel suddenly let loose and tons of rocks and boulders, plus enormous amounts of dirt and dust instantly sealed off the escape route. As rocks started crashing down around them, Sergio launched himself on top of Saul to protect his friend.

When the rumbling ceased, Sergio brushed debris off of Saul’s face. Are you all right?

Saul nodded, but Sergio knew his friend was in great pain. Then Sergio heard the voices of the other miners calling out. He called back; informing them that Saul was injured. Shortly, Sergio saw lights approaching.

All fourteen miners were still alive, but how long they would remain that way was anyone’s guess. They all knew that the amount of oxygen trapped in the sealed tunnel wasn’t enough to allow them to continue breathing for very long.

Another few hours passed, and the lights from the lanterns began to dim and then go out as the batteries started to die. It had been over three hours since the cave-in and all of the miners were now huddled in an open area of the tunnel near where Saul had fallen. Each man prayed silently, hoping that help would arrive before it was too late.

Sergio could tell the air in the shaft was becoming thin, making it more and more difficult for him to capture a full breath of air. His full attention was focused on taking that next breath, striving to gain the needed oxygen necessary to survive. The thick concentration of dust filling the tunnel was not making the effort easy. He could hear the other miners also choking and coughing.

And then another lantern went out. Sergio now saw only two other beams of light besides his own. He began to pray again, knowing that complete darkness would soon envelop them. Then he looked down at Saul; his friend’s head cradled in his lap.

They’ll come, Saul. They’ll save us. I know they will.

Saul looked fearfully into Sergio’s eyes as if to say, I don’t think so.

They will, Sergio repeated. I can feel it.

As much as Sergio wanted to convince his friend, the fact was he wasn’t so convinced himself. The people above had to know there’d been a cave-in, and, therefore, had to be trying to get to them. However, Sergio hadn’t heard any sound yet, indicating that the people above were attempting a rescue, which concerned him greatly. He realized the rescue crew may indeed be working hard, but could they clear a path in time?

Then suddenly Sergio thought he heard something. He straightened up and listened more intently, straining his ears to penetrate through the darkened shaft. It was a voice, a faint sound as if from a small girl whispering to him. He looked down at Saul. Did you hear that?

Hear what? Saul asked, punctuated by a cough.

A voice. A girl’s voice.

Saul listened for a moment, but then started shaking his head. Sergio asked the other men if they had heard anything. They, too, indicated they hadn’t.

There, Sergio said excitedly a moment later. There it is again.

And once more Saul listened. I don’t hear any— Saul didn’t finish his statement as he suddenly writhed in pain and grabbed his leg.

Sergio unconsciously ignored the pain assaulting his friend and stood. He slowly started heading back down the tunnel toward where they had been drilling. He could still hear her calling to him. Her voice was very faint, but he could hear it nonetheless. As he came closer to where he had been when the cave-in first started, her voice became clearer and easier to hear.

Stand back, Sergio, it instructed him in Spanish. I will open the rocks above you and you will have fresh air.

What?

Just stand back. You will see.

Hesitantly, Sergio took a few steps back. He wasn’t too sure about following instructions from a voice no one else could hear. Then a realization came over him; he was hallucinating from lack of oxygen. Dejection swarmed over him. He crumbled to the ground and started to cry, knowing his life, and those of the other miners, was over. He didn’t want to die. How would his wife and daughter live without him? He lowered his head into his hands and made no attempt to hold back the tears.

Then another noise shook him from his torment. He glanced up and listened. It wasn’t the voice of the girl—it was another noise he knew all too well from his years in the mines, much like the one he had just experienced. It was a small rumble, and soon rocks began to fall onto the cave floor from the ceiling above. The hydraulic drills that were still protruding from the rocks, abandoned when the miners fled for their lives, also were freed and dropped to the ground. Sergio immediately looked up, knowing this was the end, and began praying for God to accept his soul into Heaven.

Then Sergio suddenly felt a strange sensation that caused him to abandon the thoughts invading his mind. He concentrated on the sensation. It was … it was cool air rushing in at him.

Breathe, Sergio, breathe, the girl’s voice told him.

Sergio closed his eyes and took in several deep breaths. Then he turned to where he had last heard the voice. There, as if standing in a haze, was the distorted form of a girl. He stared at it in total disbelief. How could a small girl be here? But then he realized that she wasn’t really there, only the faintest outline of her body and face was, which was more like a silhouette.

Call the other men over, Sergio. Let them breathe the air, too.

Who are you? he asked. Are you really here?

No, I’m not, Sergio. You only sense my presence. Call the other men.

The vapor thin haze then vanished, and the form of the girl was gone. Sergio remained staring at the spot until finally he began shouting to the other miners. Over here! Come over here, quickly! There’s fresh air.

Fresh air? someone shouted back.

Yes! Yes! Sergio cried out again. Come quickly, all of you.

Where are you, Sergio? another miner called out.

Back down the tunnel. Help Saul and bring him too.

A few moments later, the thirteen other miners trudged into view of Sergio’s lantern, which was now the only one still casting a dim light. Two of the miners were carrying Saul. They placed him on the ground and then frantically took in gasping breaths of oxygen-enriched air. All the men fell to their knees and gave grateful thanks to God for saving their lives.

Sergio, however, had the strangest feeling that it wasn’t God who had saved them, but rather a small girl, or at least the form of a small girl. She was the one who had provided the miracle.

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IT took over two days for the rescue crew to finally reach the miners and haul them to the surface. No one could explain what had caused the secondary tremor that forced a small crack in the rocks; it was more than 300 feet from the original tremor. What the crack had provided, though, was a supply of air from a previously abandoned excavated tunnel some eighty feet above where the miners were trapped. During the two days of waiting for their eventual rescue, the miners lived in total darkness. They didn’t care, though, because they could hear the continued efforts from the rescue crew in the tunnel above, which meant that survival and the embracing light of the sun was within their grasp.

TWO

NATHAN Allan Crowe let out a big yawn. It had been quite a night, although, he had no complaints other than the evening’s events went well into the morning hours. The remarkable thing was his companion was more than ten years his junior. That had amazed Nathan; known as Nate to his friends. The experience had shown him that the difference between a twenty-three year old young lady and a woman of his own age was quite notable. Forget the mental aspect between the two ages—that was not what Nate was making a comparison to, since the majority of younger women couldn’t match a woman eleven years her senior in that category. But the quality of their skin and the tone of their muscles, he thought in recollection, is where the comparison obviously favors the younger woman. Then a thought struck him. Maybe his companion for the evening had the same thoughts about men, and, if so, then he would surely be on the less impressive side of her comparison.

Unfortunately, he thought, that’s what happens when a person spends hours and hours each day sitting in front of a computer pounding out newspaper articles for the World Sentinel. And that’s what I do, Nate concluded in thoughtful reconciliation, stifling yet another yawn.

At thirty-four, Nate was still in fairly decent shape, especially taking his hectic work schedule into consideration. He had medium-length brown hair, was clean-shaven, had a charming smile, and stood just a tad over six feet. He was slender in stature, mostly due to genetics, and looked quite nice in whatever he wore.

Just then Brian, a fellow Sentinel compatriot, walked up and handed Nate a cup of coffee. You look like you need one of these more than I do.

Nate glanced up and smiled. Thanks. It was a late night.

Really? Please do tell. Brian sat down, his expanding midsection causing the buttons of his shirt to stretch beyond their limits.

Well, Nate started out, postponed by a sip of coffee, she was quite good looking and … very, very young.

Oh, this is sounding better all the time. Do go on.

No, no, Nathan Crowe never tells. He would never compromise his sources.

Cut the crap. Was she any good or not?7

Does it matter? She was twenty-three. When was the last time you had a woman who was twenty-three-years-old?

Brian rubbed the balding spot on top of his head as he thought. Uh, probably when I was twenty-three.

My point exactly. We’re in our mid thirties, good ole buddy, and how often do we get the opportunity to be with a twenty-three-year-old woman? Huh?

You obviously got the chance last night. I, on the other hand, never get the chance. My wife would be a little pissed off about me doing something like what you probably did, and would definitely make me compromise my sources.

Both men chuckled as they took sips of their coffee.

You know, Brian, I actually envy you. A wife and children; you have it all.

And don’t forget the dog and cat.

Ah yes, the dog and cat.

And the minivan. Life isn’t complete until you own a minivan.

You’re there, my man. I only wish I was.

No you don’t. You couldn’t possibly. You’re dating twenty-three-year-old women.

As young and attractive as she was, it’s nothing compared to having a loving wife, children, pets, and even a minivan. And you know it.

Brian sighed. Yeah, you’re right, but I still like hearing about your exploits.

What are you saying? I never tell you about my exploits.

I know, and that’s what bothers me.

Their laughter was cut short when Nate’s telephone rang. He punched the speaker button. Yes.

Mr. Hollingsworth would like to see you, the voice of Mr. Hollingsworth’s assistant, Cynthia, announced.

Mr. Hollingsworth was the chief editor of the World Sentinel. The paper had firmly established itself as a search-out-all-possibilities newspaper, and notched itself as a tabloid that reported the truth no matter whom or what felt the sting.

Nathan Crowe had joined the Sentinel staff four years earlier. However, immediately after graduating from college, he’d spent seven years moving his way up from a local to a major city newspaper, until he was offered a position at the Sentinel, a national newspaper with worldwide circulation. He jumped at the opportunity, even though he knew he would have to take a major step back in seniority regarding the types of articles he’d be assigned. That didn’t bother him, though. Nate knew that he was a good reporter, and would accept and excel at the challenge. From that point forward, every article or story he was assigned gained him more and more exposure, and a reader following that was growing by the minute. Nathan Crowe wasn’t the Sentinel’s top reporter, not yet anyway, but he sure was climbing that ladder quickly.

I’m on my way, Nate responded, hanging up and then looking over at Brian. Sorry, buddy. I guess you’ll just have to wait to hear about my night some other time. Maybe after you buy me a few beers.

I’ll save my money, Brian said, standing and tucking his shirt back in place. You’d hold on to that ‘Can’t violate the confidence of my sources’ crap until I ran out of money. I’ll talk to you later, man.

Brian grabbed his coffee, gave a thumbs-up sign, which Nate knew referred to the twenty-three-year-old, and then walked away.

Nate got up and headed across the room to the chief editor’s office, and entered when he saw Chad Hollingsworth wave to him through his interior office window.

Yeah, Chad, what’s up?

Take a seat. But first put this in the DVD player, will you? It’s a recent feed from CNN.

Hollingsworth handed Nate a disk, which Nate placed in the DVD player before taking a seat. Hollingsworth hit the play button on the remote. What Nate saw on the TV was a scene shot at night, with work lights in the background shining on people standing around with strained and anxious expressions on their faces. The camera moved slightly and a reporter holding a microphone came into view.

I’m standing in front of the entrance to the DeVol coal mine in La Camocha, Spain. Rescue workers have been working steadily for the last two days to free fourteen miners trapped hundreds of feet below the surface. We received word about an hour ago that they are going to start bringing the miners up. People and loved ones are standing by hoping their prayers will be answered, prayers they have been giving endlessly for the past couple of days. There has been no word on whether any of the miners are alive. Officials said right after the cave collapsed that oxygen was their main concern, and whether there was enough trapped in the cave for the miners to breathe until rescue workers could get to them. We should know briefly.

The camera moved and once again showed the entrance to the cave, partitioned off with chain link fence covered with opaque green plastic. People standing outside the barrier could be heard talking, while holding hands tightly. Nate couldn’t understand anything of what they were saying because he didn’t speak Spanish, but he had a pretty good idea of what the overall theme of the conversations were—Oh God, please let him be alive. Please!

Just then shouts could be heard as the elevator carrying the first group of six miners reached the surface, and the dirty, sweat stained, shaken, and thankful men emerged from behind the barriers—one of them on a stretcher. Loved ones immediately rushed forward and embraced the miners with affectionate hugs and tears of joy.

Over the next few minutes, Nate watched as two more elevator trips arrived at the entrance to the cave, which capped off a jubilant return of all fourteen miners alive from below. The reporter was once again commenting on the situation and the fortunate outcome, when there was a sudden scream and some commotion in the crowd standing around the entrance. The cameraman quickly worked his way through the crowd and zoomed in on one of the miners who was crouched down on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin, spewing forth words that Nate again couldn’t understand. He was speaking to a young girl, whose face was obscured by a shawl draped over her head.

The voice of the news reporter broke in as the camera zoomed in and picked up the man’s tearful face. This man, the reporter said from off screen, who I understand is one of the miners, is thanking this young girl for saving their lives. I’m not sure what this is all about, since no one other than the rescue crew was allowed into the cave since the cave-in. Hold on, now the lady standing next to the girl is speaking. Hold on. The reporter listened, and when the woman finished, he interpreted what she’d said. The woman indicated that the young girl with her never left her side, not even once, but said she did pray a lot. Now the man is insisting that the girl was in the cave and … wait … I think he said she led them to fresh air so they could breathe, and that’s why they are still alive.

Nate saw the young girl reach out and touch the miners face. The miner clasped her hands and kissed them, and again spoke to her in almost a reverent tone.

The reporter interpreted what he was saying once more. The miner is unrelenting. He keeps repeating that the girl saved his life—all of their lives. He’s now calling her an angel of God.

Nate could see people in the crowd now pressing forward to get a better look at the girl. The shawl still prevented Nate from getting a good look at the girl’s face, though. She was bent down holding the miners face in her hands. She whispered something to him that the reporter couldn’t hear. Finally the miner rose to his feet and backed away. As he did, he pressed his hands together, kissed his fingertips and then held his hands out to her, repeating the gesture several times as he was ushered away.

Hollingsworth switched off the player and looked at Nate. So what do you think about that?

Nate leaned back in his chair and threw an arm over the backrest. I think the miner was trapped down in the cave too long.

That’s exactly what I thought, until I got a telephone call about an hour ago. You know Nevel Strum, one of the freelance reporters we use in Europe?

Nate nodded.

Well, Nevel sent me this video feed and then called me once I had a chance to burn it on this DVD and view it. Apparently, the woman the young girl was standing next to is the girl’s nanny. Nevel talked to the lady, and found out that the two of them, the lady and the young girl, had been at the site since the cave-in. A friend of the lady is the wife of one of the miners. That’s why she and the young girl were there, to support her friend until the outcome was resolved. Thank God it turned out as it did. Anyway, Nevel said he personally asked the lady if the girl could have slipped away from her and somehow found her way into the cave and actually did save the miners. He told me the lady said no, that the young girl never left her side. They slept together on the ground, like many of the other people did. Nevel did say one thing, though, that I found interesting.

Yeah, what’s that?

He said the nanny did mention that a few times, right after the cave-in, the girl closed her eyes and stood perfectly still as if in a trance. The nanny said the girl then talked to someone named Sergio, and would not respond to any questions or be broken from her trance. And here’s the really interesting point. Nevel then asked around, and found out that one of the miners was named Sergio. And guess what? That was Sergio who was on his knees thanking the girl for saving his and the other miner’s lives. Hollingsworth then leaned back. Interesting, huh?

Nate smiled. I guess. But then Nevel may have gotten mixed up in a notoriety stunt without knowing it.

I don’t think Nevel would fall for a ploy like that. He’s too seasoned. No, I think there’s something to this story, and we should check it out.

Nate shrugged. Fine. Let Nevel look into it.

No, I want you to go there.

There? As in Spain? Why?

Because that’s where the young girl lives. Apparently, she’s under the foster care of T. J. Boden. Ever hear of him?

Certainly, who hasn’t? He’s a renowned author.

It’s been set up for Boden to meet you and introduce you to the young girl. You’ll be staying at his estate as a guest.

That should be fun … meeting Boden that is. So, what do you want me to find out about the girl?

Find out if she’s an angel.

You’ve got to be kidding?

Do I look like I’m kidding?

No, and that’s what concerns me.

Be as concerned as you want, but I want you in Spain by tomorrow evening.

Come on, Chad, really?

Yes, really. And another thing, I want you to take Vicky Spaulding with you.

Nate visibly slouched down in his chair. Vicky Spaulding? Who’s Vicky Spaulding? And more important, is she any good? I mean, does she know how to handle an assignment like this?

Not as well as you do, but then she has religious beliefs.

So what?

You don’t.

What has being religious got to do with doing this story? If it’s that important, then by all means send Vicky. Maybe Nevel is religious. If so, then the two of them can handle the story just fine.

Hollingsworth leaned in across his desk. Listen, Nate, you’re a very good reporter. You know it; we all know it. But I figure I have twenty plus years of experience on you. That’s why I’m sitting on this side of the editor’s desk, and you’re sitting over there. Believe me, there’s a story here, I can smell it. If it turns out to be a notoriety stunt, then I’ll be the first to apologize. But I don’t think it will. It may even be the story of a lifetime. I believe there’s something unusual about this young girl. I did some checking around, and there are reports that she has been involved in other situations like this. I want you to find out who she is. I mean, really who she is.

That sounds much more up Vicky’s alley, if I get your drift.

You get it, but I want your impartial, objective slant on this, too, countered with Vicky’s religious insights. I think you two will write a dynamic article.

Nate shrugged once more. Maybe, maybe not. But I’ll go, and I’ll take Vicky Spaulding along to satisfy your interest in complete objectivity. But I’m the lead reporter, don’t forget that. She’s … well, she’s my assistant.

Her name will appear on the article, too. Right under yours, of course, and in a smaller font, but identified nonetheless.

Okay, boss. When do I … I mean, when do we leave?

Tomorrow morning. Cynthia has your tickets. Keep receipts for all your expenses, too. You have a habit of losing them.

I’ll let Vicky take care of that so the accounting department can yell at her if we happen to charge through one or two expenses without proper support.

Try to have fun with this, Nate. Let your reporter’s imagination go free on this assignment. Don’t alter your gift to write what’s true because of your personal doubts.

I never have, but I still think this assignment is a ridiculous waist of my time.

Let me be the judge of that.

You’re the editor, so it’s your choice. I’ll call you tomorrow when I arrive in Spain, assuming it’s not too late in the evening.

Good. And be nice to Vicky.

Only kind thoughts, I assure you.

Also, please dig deep and find out the truth in this.

I will. Call you tomorrow.

Nate stopped at Cynthia’s desk outside of Hollingsworth’s office and asked for the tickets. When she handed them over, he looked down at the one for Vicky Spaulding. Vicky Spaulding. Where does she sit?

She’s on the floor below us.

Thanks. I’ll get you a souvenir from Spain, Nate said as he started to walk away.

Yeah, like the one you got me from Hawaii?

Did I get you one when I went to Hawaii?

No, and I don’t expect one from Spain either.

Ah, but I might surprise you this time.

I won’t hold my breath.

That’s probably a wise move. Wish me well.

Dig deep, hotshot.

I love it when you call me ‘hotshot’. Bye.

Nate waved and then headed to the stairwell. Third floor, huh? he thought as he bounded down the stairs. Probably part of the Washington D.C. staff that covers