the Third Secret

FORTY-SIX

MEDJUGORJE, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA

Michener watched as the world spun in a blurry haze. His head pounded and his stomach flip-flopped. He tried to stand but couldn’t. Bile pooled in his throat and his vision winked in and out.

He was still outside, now only a gentle rain soaking his already saturated clothes. Thunder overhead confirmed that the nocturnal storm was still raging. He brought his watch close to his eyes, but multiple images swirled before him and he could not read the luminous dial. He massaged his forehead and felt a knot on the back of his head.

He wondered about Jasna and was just about to call her name when a bright light appeared in the sky. He thought at first it might be another bolt of lightning, like what surely had happened earlier, but this ball was smaller, more controlled. He thought it a helicopter, but no sound preceded the blue-white splotch as it drew closer.

The image floated before him, a few feet above the ground. His head and stomach still would not allow him to stand, so he lay back on the rocky earth and stared up.

The glow intensified.

Warmth radiated outward and comforted him. He raised an arm to shield his eyes and through slits between his fingers saw an image form.

A woman.

She wore a gray dress trimmed in light blue. A white veil draped her face and highlighted long locks of auburn hair. Her eyes were expressive, and the hues of her form fluctuated from white to blue to the palest yellow.

He recognized the face and dress. The statue he’d seen earlier in Jasna’s house. Our Lady of Fatima.

The intensity of the glow subsided, and though he still could not focus on anything else beyond a few inches, he could see the woman clearly.

“Stand, Father Michener,” she said in a mellow voice.

“I . . . tried . . . I can’t,” he stammered out.

“Stand.”

He pushed himself up to his feet. His head no longer swirled. His stomach was calm. He faced the light. “Who are you?”

“You do not know?”

“The Virgin Mary?”

“You speak the words as if they are a lie.”

“I don’t mean them to be.”

“Your defiance is strong. I see why you were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?”

“I told the children long ago that I would leave a sign for all who do not believe.”

“So Jasna now knows the tenth secret?” He was angry with himself for even asking the question. Bad enough he was hallucinating, now he was conversing with his own imagination.

“She is a blessed woman. She has done as heaven asked. Other men, who claim to be pious, cannot make that claim.”

“Clement XV?”

“Yes, Colin. I am one of those.”

The voice had deepened and the image metamorphosized into Jakob Volkner. He stood in full papal regalia—amice, cincture, stole, miter, and pallium—just as he’d appeared at his burial, a shepherd’s staff held in his right hand. The sight startled him. What was happening here?

“Jakob?”

“Do not ignore heaven any longer. Do as I asked. Remember, there is much to be said for a loyal servant.”

Exactly what Jasna had told him earlier. But why wouldn’t his own hallucination include information he already knew? “What is my destiny, Jakob?”

The vision became Father Tibor. The priest appeared exactly as when they’d first met at the orphanage. “To be a sign to the world. A beacon for repentance. The messenger to announce that God is very much alive.”

Before he could say anything, the Virgin’s image returned.

“Do as your heart commands. There is nothing wrong in that. But do not forsake your faith, for in the end it will be all that remains.”

The vision started to rise, becoming a brilliant ball of light that dissolved into the night above. The farther away it receded, the more his head ached. As the light finally vanished, the world around him started to spin and his stomach erupted.