The Pandion Prophecy ... Part 8
Welcome, and thank you for visiting the final chapter of “The Pandion Prophecy.”
A link to the first chapter appears below.
The music videos at the end of each chapter are an integral part of the story.
Jim Kelly turned his vehicle onto the sandy lane leading to Ray's beach house. In an abrupt panic, he jammed his foot against the brake pedal as he watched a spiral of brilliant color shoot upward toward the sky, then fold inward as though consumed by the surrounding air. Catching his breath he accelerated sharply until he brought his car to a skidding halt in front of the cottage. He shut off the engine, drew his gun and ran to the beach to see Kate, Ray and Jack, helping each other up from the sand.
"Jesus...are you guys okay?"
Jack looked at his wife and friend. They conveyed to each other in meaningful silence a stable of emotions that flowed within, from elation to sadness. "Well, that depends on your definition of the word," he replied, brushing the grit from his hands. "It's good to see you, Jim. I assume Carrie got a hold of you. With her instincts, I figured she might. Agent Lynch is the one who called her."
The sergeant holstered his gun. "I had a feeling he was involved somehow. By the way, Carrie wasn't alone in her hunch. Kate, your Uncle Will called her soon after you left his house. He was very worried." His voice dropped when he saw the expression on the detective's face. Spotting the Glock pistol in the sand, he recalled the explosion of light that had disappeared in the sky. "What went down here, LT? And where's Lynch?"
Inhaling the humid scents of the ocean, Jack put his arm around Kelly's shoulder and said, "Ethan Lynch is gone. He made the right choice. It's a long story. Before I begin, do you remember what you said this morning about needing a double shot of whiskey? I think Ray might have some in the cottage."
As Jack guided the sergeant up the footpath, Kate and Ray sat down at the base of the retaining wall.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.
She nodded, her eyes heavy with tears. "I trusted the traveler, but I was frightened when I began to sense the gateway opening up behind me. The force of energy that seized the air was so powerful -- exactly the way you described it. I suddenly felt my father's presence. His loving spirit passed from the portal right through me, giving me such peace. He reminded me of what the traveler told us when I asked him about humanity. He said, 'Remember, Katy...when they are no longer words.' It was an incredible gift I'll embrace for the rest of my life."
Ray held her hand and said, "The whispers -- they found you, like my folks found me and stayed with me last night. They were filled with a sense of joy that restored in me something I'd lost. Our celestial friend was right. It's who they were, what they took with them and what they left behind. I think the same holds true for all of life. Those are the real miracles, Katydid -- not the ones we create for ourselves." He looked up at the wide swath of blue overhead. "Lynch and the car he drove that night in Tucson were splintered images -- fractions of moments I witnessed along with many other broken pieces of time I didn't understand at first. I forgave him only because my parents wanted me to. It was hard. But when he chose to leave, given what he sacrificed and the terror of not knowing what would happen to him out there, the forgiveness was mine."
"That was the traveler's gift to you."
"Yes, and more." He lowered his vision to the beach and thought about the wide bed of sand encircling the world. "We know how the chests are released from the sand and why. But how are they getting into the earth? What or who could be trusted to bury them for the travelers?"
"I don't know," she sighed. I doubt we'll ever know."
After sharing several minutes of a knowing quiet, they stood up and walked up the path to the cottage.
On Monday afternoon, Jack and Jim Kelly sat in a private consult room at FPD headquarters. The conference table was littered with half-empty coffee cups, crumpled paper and other remnants from a tense meeting that had just ended. Two agents from a classified agency that functioned under the auspices of the FBI gathered up their files and hurried out of the room.
Jim flicked one of the thick, cardboard cups on its side, spilling the contents. "Fuckin' cowards," he said, shaking his head.
"They were doing their job," replied Jack. "I didn't expect anything else from them."
The agents' threats -- veiled and otherwise -- were similar to what Lynch had warned Jack about at Jasmine's diner. The FPD's investigation, and their attempt to intentionally misrepresent a naturally occurring phenomena, were over. The owner of the Mercedes in Tucson was not to be touched. The intimidation or coercion they suspected Lynch had used against him, both before and after the accident, never happened. Lieutenant Baron was reminded that the real Dr. Mark Faraday never met with him or his wife at St. Johns Hospital.
So disgusted were the Kelsey brothers, they left in the middle of the meeting. Doug Kelsey gave his boss a knowing look before he closed the conference room doors behind him.
Jack suspected that similar meetings were being held to contain the bizarre and simultaneous arrival of sand lances off the coasts of England and South Africa. As for Lynch's disappearance, he had no remaining family or close friends. The official version of the rogue agent's death would materialize as a brief obituary, buried in a news column and soon forgotten: Ethan Lynch took his own life on a lonely stretch of beach in southern Maine, not far from where his brother had committed suicide. The detective looked at the photograph that ran with a similar article, fifteen years earlier. The open and pleasing face of the traveler smiled back at him. Dr. Nathaniel Lynch wore black-rimmed glasses that couldn't hide the kind eyes that would later yield something far more profound.
"What are your plans now?" asked Kelly. "Still taking that week, I hope."
Jack nodded. "After I leave here, Kate and I are going to the beach house to help Ray finish the work he started a couple of days ago."
"You think that's wise after everything that happened out there?"
"They won't be back," he murmured with a twinge of sadness. He thought about what the traveler said on the beach the day before; how their numbers would continue to diminish until they were no longer needed, and what it would reveal about the world.
As the two men stood up from the conference table, Jack's cell phone rang. He recognized the CSI's number code and took the call. "Hi Doug. I can guess where you are. They're gone, aren't they."
After confirming to his boss that his assumption was right, Doug switched off his phone. He sat beside the retaining wall beneath Ray's cottage to watch the movement of the outgoing tide. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he clasped two labyrinths he'd found hidden beneath the sand. Although made of copper they were warm and pleasing to the touch. Looking down, his eyes followed the footprints leading away from the spot where he had buried the missing samples. In a hushed tone he said, "Good luck, my friend."
The outline of steps in the sand had been left the evening before. In the shadows of night, Will Martin retrieved the samples and replaced them with the labyrinths. With tender care, the professor carried the containers to his car. He opened the trunk and lifted a thick sheet of canvass covering a long-handle shovel and a chest the traveler had left behind for him -- it's wood-like substance, roughly hewn and oddly porous. He placed the powder box and fluid sampler inside and closed the lid. With swift and muted precision, the hinges of the chest fused together. Touching the coiled labyrinth embedded in the lid, Will looked up at the canopy of stars and smiled. It was a lengthy drive to the beaches of Marco Island, Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. But it was a journey he would long cherish.
By Monday evening, the lawn at Ray's beach house had been mowed; the front garden, weeded; the kitchen and bathroom, cleaned and stocked. The Barons helped their friend complete the chores he had delayed for nearly a year. The traveler rarely strayed from their thoughts.
The day drew to a close, and the three gathered on the back porch to watch the ocean at sunset.
Ray leaned against the wooden railing, his eyes probing the horizon as he thought about the gifts from the travelers and what he had learned. "For all Ethan Lynch thought he knew, he was wrong," he mused.
Kate saw his expression. "What?" she asked.
She thought for a moment, smiled and nodded, then returned her gaze to the water. "It's so very beautiful. I never really saw it before."
Jack's hands went softly to her shoulders. "We do now."
In the distance, the ocean began to pull the golden copper from the sky. From the voice of humanity, from the wind and the waves and the myriad companions in their trust and beyond, all the whispers sang; lingering from an ancient knowing, neither indifferent nor in solitude...each, part of the other. Although death may have claimed their earthly source, with restful eyes the glittering cradle mourned not. For such harmony, joy and understanding were the infusion of an enduring presence that would never end, as the eternal lights that journeyed throughout the celestial night.
For those brief moments in time, it was all there...in the saying without the words.
The sunset and sunrise of time...
Music composed by Alan Silvestri; "Pandora's Box" from "The Cradle of Life"; video created by sakis86s of YouTube; no copyright infringements are intended.
Written and copyrighted by Genna Eastman (Genna East) 2014; all rights reserved.
... for my father.
More by this Author
Welcome, and thank you for visiting the continuing story, “The Pandion Prophecy.” There are eight chapters in all. A link to the first chapter appears below. The Pandion Prophecy The music videos...
"A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature." ~~ Ralph Waldo Emerson