Intercession: Path of Discovery Series - Book III

By C.G. Clark

Intercession is the action of intervening on behalf of another, but who is interceding for whom? Kaylee Winslow has been chosen for a very special purpose, but life experiences have left her cynical and a loner who believes only in herself. She soon discovers there is much more to life than she could ever imagine. Strangers not only become famil

• Language: English
• Publisher: CGClark
• Release date: Oct 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988999553

C.G. Clark

C.G. Clark is an award-winning author of several novels, the mother of two, grandmother of nine, and wife of a retired military pilot. Her life and faith provide a wealth of raw material for her writing, but she also loves watching the world go by and waiting for the next flash of creativity. She hopes readers will connect with her characters, enjoy their journey, and perhaps draw inspiration from their stories.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: NORMAL DISPUTED

Endless rows of identical concrete buildings with their repeating pattern of balconies and windows stood like silent sentinels, guarding the city against the contaminated wasteland beyond the dome. The view from my twenty-second-floor bedroom window never changed, but that didn’t really interest me. The date was more important. It was exactly one month since my birthday.

I turned away from the window and picked up a hairbrush. As I drew it through my thick mahogany-colored waves, I stared at my image in the mirror. Emerald-green eyes stared back, but I saw no hint of what hid behind them. It didn’t matter—I knew what was there. My birthday had always been a marker for pivotal moments that transformed my life. I didn’t expect this year to be any different.

Nineteen years ago, my mother left the world as I entered it. While my father retreated into his memories, Nanny Bess protected me from the darker aspects of that reality. She read to me from a big black book she called a Bible, stories of good conquering evil, burning bushes, a man walking on water, and one who died and came back to life. My younger self believed my mother was an angel and my father was a warrior who searched for answers about why she left us, all because of Nanny Bess.

Still, childhood fantasies were fragile and at the mercy of a fickle mind seeking balance. When facts were incomplete, the mind filled in the gaps until reality shifted the narrative. Six years ago, on my thirteenth birthday, that reality showed up. I could still hear Nanny Bess.

Liam Andrew Gentry! It’s time to stop grieving for your wife. Your daughter needs you to be her father! How would Ariya feel about you shutting Kaylee out of your life?

A short silence followed as if Nanny Bess expected my father to say something. When he didn’t, she did.

Your wife is gone. That is a sad fact, but your attachment to her memory leaves no room for Kaylee. I cannot stay and watch you ruin that child.

Nanny Bess emerged from the study with a beet-red face and tightly pressed lips. She marched upstairs and returned with a packed suitcase, then tearfully hugged me, said she loved me, apologized, and left. From the study’s doorway, my father watched Nanny Bess enter the elevator and push the down button. She disappeared behind the polished metal doors as they slid shut. It had looked like a magician’s trick, and I had expected her to reappear—but she didn’t. My father said nothing. He simply reentered his study, shut the door, and left me alone in the foyer.

I vowed no one would hurt me like that again, but at thirteen, I was powerless. I chose to reject him and his surname, keeping only my mother’s, Winslow.

The same emotions of confusion, betrayal, and fear churned in my stomach as the memory replayed, and the brush dropped from my hand. I swallowed hard, fighting the sour taste that filled my mouth and throat, and retreated into my mantra. Today is just like any other day—same equals uncomplicated and sensible. My reflection mocked me. I huffed at it and left the room.

Tension greeted me at the kitchen doorway. My father’s head hung low as he gripped the counter’s edge with white knuckles. Apprehension crawled up my back. His transparent emotions conveyed anguish and unsettled me. Uncomplicated and sensible tilted.

Dad?

He didn’t move. Before I could speak again, he straightened and inhaled deeply. His back muscles flexed, then his shoulders slumped as he exhaled. He turned, and I gasped. A man who never showed emotion had tear-stained cheeks.

He moved to the kitchen table, his actions slow and unsteady, struggling with every step. Even sitting seemed difficult. He looked like he might be sick and swallowed more than once, then spoke, his voice coarse and strained.

Twenty years ago … today … I married … your mother.

My mouth dropped open. While most would remember it as a happy day, he looked stricken.

Wait. So, let me get this straight. You’re upset about something from two decades ago, yet you forgot my birthday last month?

He looked up and narrowed his eyes. I’m well aware of it as the day I lost your mother forever.

I stiffened as heat spread through my chest and face. Nineteen years … and he acted like it just happened.

Hold up. You ignored your daughter’s birthday because it’s the same day your wife died? I looked at the ceiling, red tinging my vision. You haven’t acknowledged my birthday for nineteen years. Why should you remember this one? I should get it, but I don’t. You ignore the daughter right in front of you while you fall apart over someone gone for twenty years. What am I supposed to do with that?

His jaws flexed and the familiar vacant mask returned. I kept talking.

I never had the chance to know her. I still know nothing because you won’t tell me. You won’t even allow photos of her in the house. You have selfishly kept her to yourself for nineteen years, and you want me to feel sorry for you? Seriously?

He stood, his voice and expression blank. You have no idea what you’re talking about.

I stared at nothing as he marched past me. The front door slammed, echoing through the house.

Uh huh, you have a nice day too, Dad.

I scanned the white cabinets and stainless appliances and sighed. A fitting metaphor for us - sterile and cold. I gathered my tote and left, but the silence stalked me into the elevator, down the twenty-two floors, and onto the walkway.

Blending in with the anonymous crowd was easy for me. Pointless interaction led to relationships, which only resulted in pain and heartbreak. I wanted nothing to do with it.

Kaylee!

I recognized the voice—Tinley Weaver—someone who had designated me as her best friend forever, and easy to spot. She was a rare Pollyanna in a city of self-absorbed and anti-social individuals.

Thanks to alphabetical seating, changing my surname from Gentry to Winslow meant that I sat behind her from elementary through high school. Despite my indifference toward her, she insisted on upholding the practice in our shared college classes. She declared she enjoyed a challenge, insisting that I would grow to love her. I considered her lucky I was adept at tuning people out.

As she barreled through the crowd, apologizing right and left, I prepared for another long trip to the university.

G’mornin’ Kaylee! Isn’t it a glorious morning?

She hugged me tightly—I stiffened.

Is she completely oblivious? I see dingy concrete buildings, asphalt walkways, and steel transport tracks under a murky gray sky. How is monochromatic dismal considered glorious?

Tinley seemed to read my mind—she giggle-snorted and pushed at my shoulder.

Oh, come on! There’s always something positive. You have to look for it.

I huffed. Too much work.

Tinley laughed. Oh, Kaylee! You’re such a funny thing!

Glad to be your comic relief for the day.

As we stepped onto the transit, Tinley still chuckled to herself. I shook my head.

She truly is clueless.

We found a spot in the crowded compartment as two people left. The view outside the window became a blur as the hover train gained speed. Within minutes, it entered the glass tunnel linking the city dome with the university’s campus dome. Beyond the tube, gray-green tufts interrupted the unending tan-colored landscape. Dark clouds churned above, casting an eerie glow. I sighed.

People wouldn’t give up their luxuries, even when the byproducts burst into flames that no one could put out. Their solution was to retreat under glass domes. When the population filled one, they built another while the fires continued burning, destroying the atmosphere. What happens when they run out of reclaimable real estate?

I looked up through the transparent barrier as a mass of dark gray vapor floated past.

Then again, I suppose it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. The blast wave from the exploding star would have done the job if we hadn’t.

You okay, Kaylee?

I’m fine. I looked at her.

Tinley smiled. You were far away.

I shifted the subject. What’s on your agenda today?

Let’s see …. She gazed upward, her finger on her chin. Journalism, then classic literature, then graphic design. And you?

World government, economics, then the same design class, as if you didn’t know.

I love graphic design! Don’t you?

I didn’t answer her, and as we pulled into the University Dome Station, I looked out the window. It was rude to ignore her, but I supposed she had become accustomed to it. She never said otherwise.

I noticed a crowd near the escalator. By the time we reached ground level, I had spotted more clusters forming across the commons.

What’s happening? Tinley asked.

I was wondering the same thing.

We passed one group that didn’t give us a second look, and the numbers increased as we came closer to the commons. Something odd was definitely happening.

Tinley tapped one boy on the shoulder. What’s going on?

He turned toward us, his eyes wide. It’s wild! You’ve got to see it! The water’s gone!

What? I pushed through them.

A news video on a student’s vid-phone showed a deep, dry gully with rocks, reeds, and cracked earth where there should have been a river that ran through the middle of the Southwest Desert City’s dome.

Uncomplicated and sensible just vanished.

CHAPTER 2: STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES

Rowen McCaster rolled over and stretched. She had never been a morning person, and that dreaded alarm seemed to sound off earlier every day. Even as she tapped the snooze button, she knew her short reprieve wouldn’t last long and closed her eyes to savor the moment. When the irritating noise erupted again, she gave in and rolled out of bed.

She lived alone but never really liked the silence. It was a stark contrast to her childhood home, crowded with parents, two sisters, three dogs, and a cat. When she moved to New York City, she chose a crowded boarding house run by an outspoken Irish woman named Heddie who was like a surrogate mother. That was forty years ago, and so much had changed. No … everything had changed.

Green space and single-family homes became distant memories, only visible in digital images. Utilitarian concrete and stone multi-story apartments became the new standard.

Thankfully, many of the original hotels, apartments, and commercial buildings in the city center survived the Urban-Suburban Unification Project, including the iconic Plaza Hotel. Rowen inherited the penthouse suite from her grandmother, who bought it when it became a residential property under the Unification Act. That was eighteen years ago.

Usually, the glass dome reflected conversation from the walkways and balconies through her bedroom terrace doors. The sound made her feel connected, but it was strangely quiet that morning.

She turned on the news, and the newscasters’ hushed voices created a calming ambiance as she showered and dressed. Her mind wandered to the past and Heddie’s Irish brogue came to mind, the tilt of her gray head, and the fire in her green eyes when her temper flared.

Rowen stopped brushing her hair and thought about the day she learned Heddie had passed away. It had been such a sad moment.

So many died during the pandemic, almost a third of the world’s population. Authorities had enforced a lock-down, preventing funerals and last goodbyes until doctors found a solution. Cities built monument walls covered in names like Heddie’s as a sad memorial to the lives lost. Sadly, Rowen also found Phillip and Valeri Gentry’s names there.

Their friendship began when Rowen stepped in to prevent Valeri from making a catastrophic choice. Though she still didn’t fully comprehend the dynamics, Rowen’s intervention saved Valeri’s life and paved the way for a child, and then a grandchild. She knew Valeri and Phillip had a son, and often wondered why she never heard more about the son or grandchild.

If my involvement in Valeri’s survival was so important, why didn’t I hear more about what happened next?

Because you weren’t supposed to know.

Rowen jumped. The last thought came unexpectedly. It wasn’t hers, but she had a good idea where it came from.

Rowen shook off the strange mood and finished dressing. She left the bedroom, but something odd on the news monitor made her stop. Images flashed across the display while the announcer spoke in the background.

The water in the Southwest Desert Dome’s river has mysteriously vanished. Officials speculate the cause could be a malfunction in the dome’s water filtration system or a geological shift in the aquifer. Citizens of the southwest region are assured that an investigation is ongoing to determine the cause. Officials confirm the New England Dome’s water system is functioning properly. No changes are reported in the Great Northwest, Midwest, or Southeast Domes. Stay tuned for updates on this breaking story ….

Rowen sat on the sofa, mesmerized by the dry river bed image. A tingling sensation crawled across her scalp as the small hairs on her neck stood up. She didn’t know what it meant but closed her eyes and prayed.

Rowen noticed how everyone was glued to their devices during the transit to work. Reactions varied from amusement to curiosity to worry. She could almost read their thoughts—what happened—will it happen here—how do we prepare? She prayed for mental clarity and peace before focusing on her 4D Graphic Design class agenda.

Rowen had always enjoyed graphic design. She had witnessed the evolution of graphics throughout her career in marketing. With each new development, Rowen had quickly mastered the techniques, culminating with detached three-dimensional computer visuals.

The popularity of the realistic images soared, particularly among people who were grieving the loss of loved ones to the epidemic. Life-sized visual models of memories and events gave the illusion their family members were still with them, and 4D Graphic Design was born. When the university asked her to develop the curriculum for a 4D Graphic Design program, Rowen jumped at the chance. For the past fifteen years, she had managed the program and taught the class, never regretting her decision.

While only senior-class students attempted full-scale landscapes or life portraits, Kaylee Winslow, a second-year student, displayed an exceptional natural ability. The girl was a loner—hard to reach. Still, Rowen was intrigued.

After the transport stopped, she had to maneuver through the crowd, escalator, and moving walkways to get to the Graphic Arts building. Tension was palpable and groups were lingering instead of heading to classes.

She sighed. Classes will be a challenge today.

Most of her students were already in the computer lab when she arrived. The tension was electric, and she needed to take charge amidst stiff competition from the day’s news.

Okay, class. Let’s put those away. You won’t be needing them.

The students scrambled to obey, stuffing mobile devices in pockets and totes while powering up their virtual equipment. Rowen noticed their lack of focus, leading to incomplete tasks despite trying their best.

Once the authorities report their findings and have a plan of action, this will die down.

The day’s last session was her advanced class, and she sensed they had already dismissed the morning’s unusual event, but Tinley made a bee-line for Rowen as soon as she cleared the doorway.

Ms. McCaster! Did you see the news this morning?

Rowen nodded. I did. It was quite the story, wasn’t it?

What do you think caused it? Should we be worried about it here?

Rowen recognized the girl’s anxiety. It had the potential to create the same distraction that plagued her first class.

I wouldn’t be too concerned, Tinley. The right people are looking into it, and as soon as they have something definitive to share, they’ll tell us. Until then, let’s not borrow trouble. There is plenty for us to focus on for today. Don’t you think?

Tinley tilted her head, and Rowen imagined her gears turning. Tinley smiled and hurried off to her console with a more upbeat step. She entered commands and attempted to converse with Kaylee. Rowen marveled at her childlike determination, despite Kaylee’s indifference.

Kaylee powered up her system and displayed the early stages of her 4D image on the platform, ignoring Tinley’s chatter. While all work and no play could be admirable traits, Rowen sensed there was more to it.

As class progressed, Rowen stopped by