The Mayan Resurrection

2

‘Attention. Lead vehicle now approaching final destination. Have a nice day.’

The sound of the Jeep’s autopilot awakens Dominique. She stretches, inclines her seat, then glances at the digital clock. Seven-thirty. I’ve been asleep for two hours.

Evelyn Strongin’s black Toyota is three car lengths ahead, both vehicles exiting Smart Highway 95, following the ramp into St. Augustine, America’s oldest city.

It was in 1513 that famed explorer and treasure hunter Don Juan Ponce de Leon first arrived in Florida, claiming the ‘Land of Flowers’ for Spain. Fifty-two years later, King Philip II appointed Admiral Don Pedro Menendez de Aviles as governor of Florida to protect the colony from the French. Menendez arrived on August 28, 1565, the Feast Day of St. Augustine and quickly fortified the coastal town, naming it after the holiday.

St. Augustine’s history would be a bloody one. In 1586, Sir Francis Drake attacked and burned much of the city; in 1668, the pirate John Davis pillaged the town, murdering sixty people. With the British establishing colonies in the Carolinas and Georgia, Spain authorized the construction of the Castillo de San Marcos, a stone fort that surrounded the city, preventing it from being seized.

In 1763, Florida was ceded to England in exchange for Cuba, then returned to Spain twenty-three years later. The American Revolution forced Spain to relinquish Florida to the United States, and it eventually became the twenty-seventh state to be admitted to the union. America’s oldest city would fall prey to a yellow fever epidemic, then see its borders occupied by the Union Army during the Civil War.

St. Augustine’s bad run of luck would change in 1885, with the arrival of Henry Flagler.

The cofounder of Standard Oil saw the city’s potential as a winter resort, and was soon investing heavily in lavish hotels and a railway linking New York to St. Augustine. A new city hall, hospital, and several churches would follow, making the city founded fifty-five years before the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock the jewel of the South.

More than a century later, St. Augustine remains a popular tourist attraction, maintaining much of its old Spanish ambiance. The stone fort still remains, as do many of the city’s original cobblestone streets and dwellings. One home dates back some four hundred years, and locals claim the older sections of the city are haunted by the souls of the dead. ‘Ghost’ walking tours are given nightly in the old quarter, passing through dark streets and cemeteries where the spirits are said to be especially active.

Dominique disengages the autopilot, directing the Jeep along Orange Street and past the two looming stone pillars that once served as gateposts to the fortified city. The Toyota continues on for several blocks, then pulls into a parking lot across the street from an old brick drugstore.

Dominique parks next to Evelyn’s car.

The old woman climbs out, stretching to ease her stiff back. ‘I’m not used to sitting for so long. Come, my dear, we’ll pay our respects, then you’ll join me for dinner.’

Dominique follows Evelyn across the street and into the centuries-old drugstore.

‘This dwelling and its parking lot were built over a sacred Indian burial site. The souls of the desecrated are still quite restless.’ She points at the front window where the headstone of Seminole chief Tolomato sits. A wooden sign stands next to the gravestone.

Dominique reads the inscription:

‘NOTIS. THIS WERRY ELABORTE PILE IS ERECKTED IN MEMORY OF TOLOMATO, A SEMINOLE INGINE CHEEF WHOOS WIGWARM STUUD ON THIS SPOT AND SIRROUNDINGS. WEE CHERIS HIS MEMERY AS HE WAS A GOOD HARTED CHEEF. H E WOOD KNOT TAKE YOOUR SKALP WITHOUT YOU BEGGED HIM TO DO SO OR PADE HIM SUM MUNNY. HE ALWAYS AKTED MORE LIKE A CHRISTSUN GENTLEMEN THAN A SAVAGE INGINE. LET HIM R.I.P.’

‘Lovely.’

Evelyn stands before the grave marker, her eyes closed, her lips mumbling something incomprehensible. After several moments she opens her eyes, then leaves the dwelling without saying a word.

Dominique follows her outside. ‘Look, maybe this isn’t such a-’

‘One must adhere to proper etiquette, child. Let’s walk, my home’s not far from here.’

They continue to the corner, turning right on Cordova Street, its sidewalks shaded by oak trees. After several minutes they arrive at the sealed metal gates of an ancient cemetery.

Evelyn nods. ‘Tolomato Cemetery, one of the oldest graveyards in North America. Prior to 1763, the site was occupied by the Christian Indian village of Tolomato. The first bishop of St. Augustine is buried in the mortuary chapel at the rear of the cemetery. Most of the Spanish settlers preferred to be placed in stone crypts, our “New World” soil never considered holy ground.’

Evelyn continues walking.

Dominique remains by her side, the thought of so many old dead people lying so close sending chills down her spine. What am I doing here? Get back in your car and drive home to Palm Beach County where the blue-hairs are still alive and kicking.

Evelyn closes her eyes and bellows a bizarre laugh, as if sharing a private joke with a ghost.

Jesus, she’s a lunatic. Wonderful. You’ve wasted all evening escorting a nut job back to her loony bin. ‘Evelyn? Hello, Earth to Evelyn?’

The old woman turns, her azure-blue eyes radiant.

‘Listen, it’s getting late, and I have an early self-defense class. How about we do this another time?’

‘Your grandmother says she misses working the onion crops with you in the Guatemalan Highlands. Her knees and back always felt so much better after your evening swim in Lake Atitlan.’

Dominique’s skin tingles. ‘I was six. How did you…’

‘My place is just over there.’ She points to a two-storey red-brick, its paved walkway lined in white and purple impatiens.

The house is over two hundred years old, its security pad brand-new. Evelyn touches her fingertips to the soft rubber pad.

A click and the front door swings open.

Dominique follows the old woman through an arched corridor into a library, its floors made of beechwood, its furnishings contemporary. An entertainment center activates along one entire wall, broadcasting a CNN News-Flash:

‘… and in Antarctica, another glacier has separated from the Ross Ice Shelf, this one estimated at three times the size of the Irish Republic. Environmental scientists working with the United Nations insist that global warming has not escalated beyond anticipated figures for this year, despite the multiple pure-fusion detonations that vaporized large sections of Australia and Asia three months earlier. In other news-’

‘Shut down, please.’

The screen blackens.

‘That’s better.’ Evelyn turns to Dominique. ‘You must be famished. I took the liberty of ordering a few things on the trip up, they should be in the delivery pantry.’

Too hungry to argue, Dominique follows her into the kitchen, a room harboring the latest in voice-activated appliances. ‘Mmm, is that fresh garlic bread I smell?’

‘Yes. And pasta with marinara sauce.’ Evelyn opens the pantry door. Built into the exterior wall is a three-foot-by-five-foot stainless-steel hot box, one end opening to the pantry, the other to the outside of the house, allowing access for local deliveries.

The old woman removes the hot pouch containing their dinner and sets it on the black pearl granite kitchen table.

‘Come. We’ll talk while we eat.’

Dominique takes a seat as her host sets the table, then opens the Styrofoam containers, unleashing the aroma of fresh Italian food into the room.

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

Dominique breaks off a piece of bread and stuffs it into her mouth. ‘Miss who?’

Evelyn smiles, placing her palm on top of Dominique’s hand. ‘My dear, dancing around the truth will only wear both of us out. Do you know what necromancy is?’

‘No.’

‘Necromancy is the art of communicating with the souls of the dead. Some believe it’s a black art, but that all depends upon who’s doing the communicating. The practice can be traced back to the ancient Egyptians and their leader, Osiris, creator of Giza, who summoned the dead to obtain valuable guidance.’

‘So… you’re telling me you communicate with dead people?’

‘With their souls.’

Dominique scoops up a forkful of pasta. ‘I don’t mean to be skeptical, but-’

‘The body is made of physical matter. At creation, each of us is linked to a specific soul, our life force, or spirit, the energy force that strengthens the body-soul connection.’

‘Okay, let me stop you there. First, I’m not a very religious person. Second, Ouija boards and all that hokey crap give me the creeps.’

‘But you’ve used them recently, haven’t you?’

Dominique swallows hard.

‘Because you’re seeking answers to something.’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to know if Michael is still alive.’

Dominique holds back her tears. ‘I just need some sense of closure. You know, so I can go on.’

‘What does your heart tell you?’

She sits back, wringing her hands nervously against her thighs. ‘My heart tells me he’s alive. My brain says something else.’

For a long moment the old woman just stares. ‘I can guide you on part of your journey, Dominique, but I can’t give you all the answers. If I did, it could alter the future.’

‘What journey? What future? What the hell are you talking about?’

Evelyn contemplates. Says nothing.

‘I said what journey?’

‘Your journey, Dominique. Your destiny, and the destiny of your sons.’

‘Know what-I made a mistake. I’m not ready for this.’ She stands to leave.

‘Leave if you want, but it won’t change a thing; in fact, it will only make things worse. For whatever reason, a higher power has chosen you to be part of a greater good, just as I’ve been chosen to guide you. I’m not your enemy, Dominique, fear is the enemy-fear of the unknown. If you allow me, I can shine a light into the void and help eliminate your fear. I can give you the knowledge you seek.’

Dominique pauses, then sits back down. ‘Say what you have to say.’

‘The first thing we must overcome is your lack of trust. I’m not a screwball. I’m a psychiatrist who relies on science and scientific observation to guide me. At the same time, I come from a family whose maternal ancestors were always adept at inter-dimensional communication.’

Evelyn holds up a finger, stifling Dominique’s question. ‘To understand inter-dimensional communication, you must first accept that we are surrounded by energy, and energy is everything and all things, it is only our perception within this universe of energy that changes. This table, for example, appears solid, yet it is made up of atoms, all of which are in constant motion. If we examined an atom of this chair under a powerful microscope, we would see mostly empty space. High-speed particles-electrons-would zip by like asteroids, and if we could delve deeper, we’d see even tinier particles called quarks, which oscillate, expanding into other dimensions. Everything is energy and everything is in constant motion.

‘The speed at which a living human being perceives energy places us in the world of the physical, the world of the third dimension. Because physical density occupies space, its perception must be processed with time. For most of us, our physical surroundings are perceived within the limitations of our five senses. But there are higher dimensions that exist beyond these capabilities. Mathematically, eleven dimensions have been theorized, taking us into realms of what many have labeled the “spiritual.” Again, the common bond in all these dimensions is energy.

‘As I said, energy is all around us. Our senses may not perceive it, but this room is filled with energy. It emanates from our bodies as heat and brain waves. It bounces around this room in multitudes of frequencies. By discerning an energy pattern, we can tap into it, using devices such as radios and televisions, videophones and satellite dishes… devices that would have been labeled the work of the Devil when this city was first christened. But the mind is also a device, and by fine-tuning it, we can communicate with those who have moved on to higher dimensions of energy. Spirits are aspects of God, Dominique, and it is spirits that create souls. Death is not the end, but the beginning of a transitional stage. After we die, our perceptions change, expanding as we acquire the higher dimensions.’

‘How do you know these things?’

Evelyn’s face creases into a smile. ‘Because, my dear, I’ve been there. I’ve crossed over.’

Dominique feels her flesh crawl.

‘Happened many years ago when I was living in Miami, right after Hurricane Andrew. Once the storm had passed, I went outside to walk my basset hound, Oscar. Stepped right in a puddle of wet leaves and zap -never noticing the downed electrical wire. Charge must’ve hit me like a ton of bricks.’

Dominique looks at the older woman as if for the first time. ‘So what happened? Did you really die?’

‘As they say, I was dead as a doorknob. The first thing I remember is feeling free, every physical burden instantly gone. My consciousness floated above my body, and it was a strange sensation to look down at myself, sprawled across the sidewalk like a puppet who’d lost her strings. A lifeless body is never very flattering. And poor Oscar, barking his head off. You know, I think he actually sensed my spirit hovering overhead.’

‘Were you scared?’

‘Not in the least, and I’ve never been scared since.’

‘What happened next?’

‘My consciousness began moving through a dark tunnel, and up ahead, I could see a light. It was God’s light, and it bathed me in a kind of love I had never experienced before.’ She pauses. ‘This is making you uncomfortable?’

‘A little. If this is some sort of sales pitch to convert me-’

‘Believe me, I’m the last person to preach religion. Fact is, I died an atheist, and not a very happy one. Of course, none of that ever occurred to me, until I experienced the life review.’

‘The life review?’

‘It’s your entire existence, every moment, every deed, every thought and feeling of everyone you’ve ever been in contact with, and you don’t just experience it from your own perspective, but from that of others-the people you hurt, the people you helped. It was amazing and incredibly intense, some of it quite sad, but most of it wonderful, like being immersed in a sea of unconditional love. Still, I saw my shortcomings, and it was quite an awakening. And then I realized I wasn’t alone, that my parents’ souls were by my side. I didn’t want to leave, but they told me it wasn’t my time just yet, that I still had things I had to do in order to fulfill my mission in life. And suddenly, just like that, I was back in my body. It felt so heavy, like a lead suit, and I hurt terribly inside. I could hear and feel the paramedics working on me, and I felt sad, because I really wanted to stay with my parents.’

‘You said you came back to fulfill a mission?’

Evelyn sits back in her chair. ‘For years, I assumed my mission was simply to help people understand death. When I recovered from my injuries, I went to work on my first book. To date, I’ve interviewed eighty-seven people, all of whom shared similar near-death experiences with me. I’ve compiled a library of pertinent data, and I’ve written two best-sellers. Despite these postdeath successes, I always felt something was missing. And then my sister died.’

Evelyn stands. Crosses the room. Opens a desk drawer and returns with a color photograph. ‘Maria and I were inseparable as children, born only thirteen months apart. The two of us attended Cambridge together. I’ll never forget the night she told me she was going off on some Mayan expedition with Julius and that jerk, Pierre Borgia. The news just about broke my heart.’

Dominique stares at the photo of the two sisters, taken while they were in England. ‘Your eyes? In this photo they’re black, like your sister’s.’

‘Yes. They changed after the accident. In fact, it wasn’t until after the lightning strike that I became a necromancer.’

‘You said earlier you’ve been in touch with your sister.’

‘She’s been my spiritual companion, my guide into the higher dimensions, the higher states of consciousness. The higher states are the forces of God’s light, the forces of good. The higher our own frequencies of good, the easier it is for us to attune to their light.’

‘Are there forces of evil?’

Evelyn pauses, choosing her words carefully. ‘By creating a world of free will, God allowed for the forces of both good and evil, light and dark. These “lesser lights” as I call them, fall into several different categories. Ghosts are the deceased who remain too confused to move into the light. Sometimes our negative thoughts or ignorance invites them into our lives. Ouija boards, for instance, set us up for ghostly pranks. By praying for these confused entities, we can help them realize the reality of their situation and guide them into the light.

‘More dangerous are poltergeists. Poltergeists have their own agenda. They are dark and evil and believe they can use their knowledge of the universe to manipulate our world. Poltergeists are the false prophets the Bible warns us about. They will entice us with their knowledge, but are not to be trusted. They can cause us great harm.

‘The purer sources of light bring us closest to God. These are the spirits. Spirits are our friends. They never judge or manipulate us, they are here only to help us see the truth. Angels are the brightest lights in the spiritual world, the messengers of God’s essence. They are always available to help, but it is up to us to ask for their assistance. Among the angels are the cherubim, seraphim, guardian angels, and archangels.’

‘And you can see them? You can see your sister?’

‘No, but I can feel her presence when we communicate.’

‘And she’s told you about Mick?’

Evelyn nods. ‘Take my hands in yours and close your eyes. Quiet your mind. Breathe in through your nose as slowly and deeply as you can, then gently out through your mouth. Focus on your feelings for Michael. Extinguish your sadness and feel him in your heart. Center yourself upon your love for him.’

Dominique breathes. She thinks of Mick and how much she misses him.

Evelyn registers Dominique’s increased energy flow as she meditates. She centers herself, moving deeper into her own meditation.

In due course she speaks: ‘Dear Lord, hold us in Your loving light. Allow Your angels to guide us, so that our experiences may be for the highest good. We thank You for all You have done, and ask You now to reveal our dearly departed, Maria Rosen-Gabriel, to us.’

A long pause, then Evelyn speaks again, this time in a higher, raspy voice not her own.

‘My son has not passed into the spiritual realm. Michael has imprisoned himself in purgatory.’

Dominique’s eyes flash open. ‘My God… Mick’s in Hell?’

‘There is no Hell. Michael’s soul is shackled with anger-an anger that comes from a life devoid of love. He was asked to make a great sacrifice. Now he loathes the decision and curses his existence, marooned on an island of space-time surrounded by an ocean of evil.‘

‘Is… is he safe?’

‘He is in great danger. A powerful poltergeist tortures him and the Nephilim -a population of lost souls. Michael’s internal rage blinds him, preventing him from defeating the poltergeist, and yet he feels compelled to remain, for it is his heavenly light that comforts the Fallen Ones. All are trapped in an equilibrium of existence, a higher temporal plane, what you would call Hell. It is Michael’s presence within this existence that has created a third-dimensional loop of space-time. The loop must be broken to save Michael, the souls of the Fallen, and humanity.’

Dominique’s fingers ache within Evelyn’s steely grip as she stares at the tears streaming down the old woman’s cheeks. ‘Maria… will I ever see him again?’

‘The Creation Story foretold in the Mayan Popol Vuh rewrites itself. The final battle will again be waged. The journey of good and evil begins anew with the rebirth of your sons. It is your role to prepare them for a battle that was waged and lost eons ago. If they are successful, then Michael will be resurrected. If they fail, then humanity is lost.

‘But beware, for another shall be born on the day of the twins’ birth. Negative energy shall flow to this child, tainting its soul while strengthening its spirit. It is this abomination that imprisons my son and disrupts the space-time continuum. It is this unholiest of unholies that tortures the Nephilim, feeding off their life force.

‘Guard against the Abomination, Dominique. Do not allow it to spawn.’