Miracles

By John Coleman

An ambitious reporter must find the truth about a man who works miracles in this supernatural mystery featuring a female lead.

Jaime Halasz is fighting for a bright future after a tragic past when she's assigned the story of her career: uncover the source of the miracles breaking out all over Atlanta, GA.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Trouvaille Press
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987316627

John Coleman

John Coleman (MBA, Harvard Business School) is an author and businessman. His professional experience includes work in asset management, housing and community development, and consulting. John lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with his wife, Jackie.

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Miracles

Miracles

by John Coleman

Trouvaille Press

© 2023 by John Coleman

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Chapter One

The lights shimmer overhead, a technicolor blanket spreading over the night sky, hazy illuminated gas clouds in shifting shades of red and yellow.

It’s 8:40 p.m. when I hear the sounds of people shouting through my open window—not so unusual for the early evening streets of Midtown—but the sound grows, and I walk to my small balcony to look out. The scene overwhelms me. At first, I wonder if it’s a show put on by the city or a local company, but it’s far too expansive and organic. The mist is creeping over the horizon, originating where the sky meets the earth but ribboning high above me, now visible in all directions.

The moon has become a pale crescent barely visible through the fiery vapor, and when the shock wears off and I pull my eyes away from the sky, I see people congregating on balconies around me and in the streets below, pointing and talking.

Has there been an explosion? A terrorist attack?

No. The lights seem to be thousands of miles overhead. There are no explosions. Nothing else seems out of place. The spring air is humid and warm. Aside from the normal city noise below and the sudden cacophony of discussion all around, things are quiet. What is this?

I quickly grow frustrated with my view. My apartment is on the third floor of my high-rise facing another condo building, so I only have a sliver of sky available to me. But across the street, I see people beginning to gather on the top floor of a parking deck, and I dip into my shoes, grab a pen and pad, and run outside.

Normally, I wouldn’t want to be a woman alone at this time of night, but the stunned crowds bring safety. Cars are now idling. Traffic has stopped. Everyone is gawking. I half run across Peachtree Street and take the stairs of the parking complex two at a time to the eighth-floor roof deck. Fifty or sixty people are now gathered and whispering to one another. It’s so peaceful and beautiful. The street noises have ceased except for the quiet murmuring of voices rising all over the city. It feels like the end of the world. Or the beginning.

I pull out my flip pad and begin to write.

Unexplained lights captivate Georgia residents

Jaime Halasz

[e-mail]

The city of Atlanta and much of North Georgia have been captivated for two nights now as mysterious lights have appeared in the skies. In a phenomenon residents are now referring to colloquially as aurora australis, luminous clouds reminiscent of the well-known arctic presentation aurora borealis, or the northern lights, have appeared at sunset, persisting until dawn.

The lights first appeared the evening of May 15 and are continuing a second night as of this writing. Millions in the metro Atlanta area have witnessed the spectacle, which has also been captured on video.

The lights have led to an influx of visitors and widespread speculation about their cause.

It’s really quite unprecedented, says Dr. Frank Aaronson, an astronomer at Georgia State University. "Aurora borealis is kind of like the lights in a neon sign. Particles from the sun travel ninety-three million miles and are attracted to the earth’s magnetic poles. As they pass through the earth’s magnetic field, they mingle with oxygen, nitrogen, and other gasses in the atmosphere to create brilliant lights.

We presume this is a similar phenomenon, Aaronson says. In 2012, a solar storm caused an aurora borealis visible from Georgia, particularly in the more dimly lit areas away from cities. But it was still concentrated at the magnetic poles. This occurrence actually appears concentrated here, not at the poles, which is something that’s never been documented. And rather than a ribbon along the horizon, it’s exhibiting odd formations in the sky overhead. We really have a lot to learn.

Some residents are concerned that the formations could be dangerous. Experts suggest this is unlikely. Dr. Aaronson highlights that any solar activity can pose some danger—including radiation danger—but there’s no evidence yet that any such risk exists.

Despite the potential natural explanations for the phenomenon, many are posing more outlandish theories. Ray Davidson, a Dacula resident, has started a blog documenting the phenomenon that speculates it’s the result of military experiments in the area or a potential nuclear incident. Similar theories have begun to spread, inspiring fear in some residents.

Alice Little, a spokesman for Governor James Brian, says there’s no foundation to these rumors. We are in regular contact with federal authorities, representatives of the US military, and local power suppliers. These events have absolutely no connection to military activity or nuclear or electrical incidents of any kind. We are working closely with the scientific community to explain aurora australis and assure it poses no threat to Georgians, but for now it seems residents of the area should relax and take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see something unique.

Not everyone is convinced. Local pastor Joe Campinola is certain the lights are a sign. We search for a scientific explanation to give us comfort, he says in a blog post. But we should open ourselves to the possibility that this is God working among us, that He is readying a great work and that this is a sign.

Several religious congregations—including Christian churches, synagogues, and mosques—in the area have begun holding outdoor evening prayer services under the lights, alternatively seeing foreboding or redemption in the skies.

It’s a warning, says local Presbyterian Nathan Smith, attending his church’s evening service. We as a society have strayed, and this is God warning us of what could happen if we don’t repent.

It’s a gift, counters David Stein, whose synagogue hosted a rooftop meeting. It’s a reminder of G-d’s love, just as He sent the rainbow after the flood in Genesis. It’s a sign that He’s still with us.

Explanations aside, most residents are simply enjoying the show. The High Museum in Midtown has opened its rooftop for viewings, serving cocktails and light snacks as patrons mingle and discuss what they see. It’s marvelous, says Shirley Sims, who attended last night’s event. My biggest fear is that I’ll come out one night and it will be gone.

Chapter Two

"

Burritos probably aren’t the best choice, huh?"

Alisha Martin laughs, and it causes her to cough a little, her fork trembling as she tries to force down another mouthful of her chopped-up steak burrito.

Yeah, probably not. I laugh.

Alisha is pale, a wisp of the woman I have known much of my life. A scarf wrap covers her perfectly smooth scalp, and several pillows prop her at a forty-five-degree angle just high enough to eat from the tray in front of her. We’re in our late twenties. She looks much older.

I met Alisha in the fifth grade, when she and I both fell for the same boy, Tommy Tilston. Our rivalry evolved into a friendship. We went to high school together and then college, where we were housemates. We both moved back to Atlanta after graduation, me to pursue a career in journalism and her to help her newly widowed mom. Alisha found a job waiting tables. I began as a newspaper reporter at the Atlanta Daily Journal. I lost her as a roommate but kept her as a confidant.

Six months ago, she was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer and given less than a year to live. We cried when she came home after her diagnosis. We hugged and said she’d beat it.

She didn’t. About a month ago, Alisha moved into a hospice where the palliative care would be better. Once a week I bring her a Willy’s burrito, and we both laugh and talk while gracefully ignoring how little of the lunch she can actually eat.

So what do you think about all this? Alisha asks. I just read your article this morning, and it seems like you’ve had a chance to start researching things. Give me the scoop.

Honestly, I’m not sure. Seems like a weird but natural thing. I guess it could be scary if there’s radiation causing it or if it’s a sign of something more intense happening with solar storms, but it feels like we’d know it by now if so. And now it’s gone, so I can’t imagine there’s any lingering problem. Maybe it’s one of those things we’ll never fully know.

The southern lights were the talk of the country for three nights but disappeared last night without a sign.

I miss them. Alisha sets her fork down and clasps her hands in her lap, leaning her head back on her pillow. You know, every night, I’d get the staff here to help me to the window over there so I could watch. I had a heck of a time staying awake, but I just couldn’t look away, you know? It’s stupid, but I realize I don’t have a lot of time left, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘maybe this is for me.’

Alisha laughs. I put my hand on her leg and laugh with her.

So how are things going in here? Any cute guy nurses? I ask playfully.

Ha! No cute nurses, she says. I’m getting a little of my appetite back. They’ve found a better dosage on my medicine to help me eat, which is nice, but it also makes me a little sleepier. Not a bad trade-off, I guess.

How’s your mom?

Ok. Honestly, I think she feels guilty she can’t be here all the time with me, but I can’t stay here without her working, so there’s not much she can do. It’s hard. After losing Dad, I think we kind of saved each other. But now, losing me, it’s hard. Just hard.

Does she need anything?

No, I don’t think so. But thank you.

She lifts her hand and carefully sips the cup of water in front of her. Before she got sick, Alisha was a remarkable figure skater—rare for Atlanta. She started as a kid, taking classes at the one ice rink in town, and by the time I met her, she was already really good. I used to love to go and watch her skate. On the ice, she was otherworldly. She would twist, twirl, and glide in a way that seemed to defy physics. And you’d often see her skating, eyes closed, completely absorbed in the moment—free and in flow in a way that only those who have mastered something can be. I remember what a tragic moment it was when the chemo first made her too wobbly to skate. For a while, she would still go to the rink at the times she used to practice, just to watch others and remember—a warm blanket wrapped around her shrinking shoulders. Eventually, she stopped that too, the watching too painful knowing she might never skate again. But even now in her declining state, her smallest movements, like sipping a cup of water, carry with them the faintest remnants of her strength, discipline, and grace.

So, you dating anyone? she asks. Without me around as competition, you have a WAY better shot.

Yeah, my love life is about as active as your appetite.

Well, get back out there! You’re not getting any younger.

She grins, a little sour cream at the corner of her mouth.

But seriously—you’ve been avoiding serious relationships as long as I’ve known you. Maybe it’s time, right?

I stiffen uncomfortably. I don’t think so, no. I’m just not feeling it. You know right now I’m focused on my work. I’d love to catch a few big stories. Make a name, you know? Dating just isn’t a priority.

Still hard to get close to people, huh?

Maybe.

I understand. I do. It will happen at the right time.

Her hand gently clasps mine. I force a soft smile and squeeze back, trying to move the conversation along.

We chat for another hour. As mixed as my feelings are about these visits, about losing a best friend a second time, I’m grateful to see her and grateful that if she has to go, we have this time together before she leaves.

When I stand up to go, I hug her, and she grabs my sleeve as I turn.

I love you, Jaime. Thanks for coming. Next week?

Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Maybe sooner. Whenever you want.

Call tomorrow?

Every day.

I walk the sterile halls of the hospice to the front door, which opens into a small but well-manicured lawn where patients can sit quietly and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. As I leave the facility, my phone lights up—my editor, Kristina Wallson.

What’s up, Kris?

We need you at a good perch along the Chattahoochee ASAP. You’re not going to believe this.

Chapter Three

It’s 11:30 a.m. on a typical Atlanta Tuesday, and I’m standing outside a restaurant called Canoe looking out over the blood-red waters of the Chattahoochee River. It may be important to note that the Chattahoochee’s waters are not normally red. They’re normally, well, river-colored—dark and muddy—the kind of color that makes you think, I probably wouldn’t drink that water. But not the kind of color that makes you think, Huh, this looks like a murder scene.

A small crowd of spectators has gathered, mostly locals and restaurant patrons. I came here because it’s the only place I could remember with a clear view of the river. The restaurant is positioned along the Chattahoochee’s banks with an outdoor bar immediately along the water’s edge. In normal times it’s a beautiful setting. Right now it’s eerie, frightening.

How long has it been like this? I ask a waiter standing next to me looking out over the water.

I don’t know. Not long. I came in early—maybe ten this morning—and didn’t notice anything. But about thirty minutes later, the guy who bartends out here ran into the restaurant and called us all outside. We watched the red color move down the river. The water, like, changed right in front of us. It took all of fifteen minutes. The whole thing was bizarre. We’ve all been in and out for the last hour looking at it.

Have you ever seen this before?

No, never. This is too weird. All we can think is there must have been some kind of spill upriver. What else could it be?

I look up and down the bank—no one seems to have a clue what’s going on, so I ring Kris.

Any word on what’s causing this? I’m standing here, and the coloration is really strange. The guy here says the change started maybe an hour or two ago.

Nothing yet. The stations are just starting to report on it. Fulton County and City of Atlanta have both issued warnings to stay out of the water and to refrain from eating anything caught in the Chattahoochee in the last twenty-four hours. I haven’t seen any experts commenting—just a few onlookers who don’t know what to think.

Yeah, that’s all we’ve got here too.

As we talk I look at the waters rushing past. The crimson tint is deep but splotchy, surging alternately lighter and darker in pockets like sediment undulating beneath the surface. This makes the river pulse more than normal. It seems alive, like oxygen-rich blood pushing through an artery.

I’ll text you if anything comes in, Kris says.

Thanks. I press End and pull up my friend Charlie Grossman at CNN. After three rings, he answers.

Hey, are you getting this? Charlie asks.

Yeah, I’m out by Canoe in Vinings. What do you make of it?

Our guys at the office are working on it now. Apparently, things like this happen sometimes—pollution, drought, floods, algae. But this is not normal. It’s happened only a time or two recently, and if the stories are true—water changing right in front of people’s eyes—it never happens this fast.

I pause to write down a few of the causes Charlie mentioned. Look, I hate to even ask, but any connection to the aurora australis? It’s a little strange this would happen right after the whole sky inexplicably lights up for three nights.

Yeah, I know. Trust me, we all drew the same conclusion. We’ve already got people calling the station claiming everything from corporate pollution to military experiments or a foreign attack. Our social media folks are monitoring it, and it’s started some religious talk. Evidently, a bloody river was some kind of biblical plague.

The first biblical plague, actually. I’m a little surprised I know this. Not bad.

Really?

Well, if my twenty-year-old Sunday-school memories are right, it was the first plague in one of the Old Testament books. You might want to look it up, being a reporter and all.

Ha—thanks. Also, try to remember that I was a reporter covering riots and political trials when you were in diapers. So I got this.

Touché, old man, touché. Keep me posted if you learn anything important?

"Sure thing. Wouldn’t want you having to do any real journalism."

I grin and hang up.

Canvassing the riverbank, I find new people to talk to. The first few aren’t any more interesting than the waiter from earlier, but I dutifully get their details. One in a University of Alabama hat just yells, Roll Tide! I give him points for single-mindedness and creativity. Finally, I come to an older man crouching on the bank rubbing his hands together compulsively. His jeans are faded, and he’s staring at the water, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself.

Excuse me, sir?

The man looks up at me.

"Sir, my name is Jaime, and I write for the ADJ. Would you mind if I get your take on all of this?"

He looks me over for a moment, then stands up. As we come eye to eye, I see his face is traced with deep lines, like canyons that time has carved into his skin.

Happy ta talk.

Do you live around here?

Not too far—a ways up in Bartow County. I wuz in town onna job.

May I ask what you do?

Sho, homebuilder. Puttin’ up a house here in Vinings.

Have you done that long?

Only thirty or forty years. Trynna see if it fits.

You can never be too certain, right? I wink. So have you ever seen anything like this?

Otha than the movies? No. Nevah seen anythin’ like this. You?

No, me neither.

Anybody at your paper tellin’ ya what caused it?

I like that he’s asking me questions. Apparently there are things that can cause rivers to turn red, but no word yet what happened here. What do you think?

He looks back out over the river for a few moments and tosses a rock he’s been turning in his right hand. As it hits the water and then sinks below the surface, the red color briefly pulsates. I think it’s a message.

A message?

Yeah, a message. I’ve lived a long time, and I seen a lotta strange things, but nothin’ like this. This is the kind of thing you read about in church, not on tha news. I think it’s a message, and someone wants us to hear it.

What kind of message is it?

Do ya know tha Bible?

Only a little.

Well, in tha Bible somethin’ like this happens in Exodus. The Egyptians was holdin’ tha Israelites in slavery, and Moses went to ask Pharaoh to free ’em; Pharaoh refused, so God started doin’ these miracles to wake up the Egyptians, convince ’em ta release the Israelites, and give ’em some hope. There was ten plagues, I think, and tha first was Moses turnin’ tha waters of the Nile inta blood.

Yeah, I remember that story a little. You think that’s happening here?

Dunno. Ain’t no pharaohs in Atlanta that I know of.

No, I suppose not.

Creepy, though, he says, his voice now soft and raspy, eyes still focused away from me and over the deep. Tha one thin’ I do remember from those Bible stories is when God sends a sign, ya best pay attention. If ya don’t, you might not like what comes next.

After more than an hour of looking at the river, I’m hungry, so I catch an Uber back into Buckhead and have lunch at Flip Burger, surfing the news and old science articles, trying to figure out what could turn water red. Kris has dispatched a photographer and asked me to write up the story. She’s sending me a few forwarded emails from experts with potential explanations, and statements from the governor, the mayor, and a bevy of other city officials and government agencies urging people to exercise caution.

On social media and in the news, people are already making connections between the bloody Chattahoochee and the miraculous lights over Atlanta. Neil deGrasse Tyson is using his Twitter account to link to scientific explanations. Some are actually pretty helpful. But none can explain the connection to the lights over the city. Some are saying it’s just a coincidence. But even some more serious scientists are beginning to offer real concern that the government needs to spend time on this to assure there’s no man-made connection between the events and that the residents of the city are safe.

This is big. Either of these events in isolation would draw national attention. Both happening within a week is gradually becoming the biggest story in the country. As a reporter, I’m psyched. This is awesome for readership. Good for my exposure. As a resident, I’m not so psyched and really hope there isn’t some sort of insane nuclear incident or natural disaster.

The wall-mounted TVs in the burger joint are all tuned to TV news, and the chyrons are blaring all-caps headlines about the blood-red river in Atlanta, many interspersing images of the river and the southern lights as they speculate about causes. The talking heads rotate among scientists, concerned citizens, and clergy, each grasping for some meaning to the events breaking out in Georgia.

That afternoon, I Uber home, do a bit more research, and file a story that runs online that evening and will hit the hard copy paper tomorrow. I give Alisha a short call to say hi, and she’s as excited as anyone about what’s happening. My mom calls me, and I answer the same questions Alisha asked a second time, not knowing much more than anyone else.

I’m tired after a long few days and start my evening routine early, a quick shower, an orange Fanta (don’t judge), and a book before bed—this one Robert Caro’s Working…a little light reading. An hour, and I’m asleep.

But then…a dream.

I’m not the kind of person who dreams a lot, or at least