Fallen Masters (16 page)

Tyler saw his mother and father come into the back of the visitation room. He had talked to them on the phone, but this was the first time he was seeing them since Karen had died.

Dr. Paul T. Michaels, always quick to point out that he was a Ph.D. and not a medical doctor, and his wife, Margaret Elaine, both lived in Atlanta, so they didn’t have far to come. They were both atheists, but not the run-of-the-mill, quiet, “you believe what you want and I’ll believe what I want” kind of atheist. They were what Tyler liked to call, “in your face, practicing, proselytizing” atheists.

In fact, Tyler’s father had recently written an article for
Atheism Today
magazine, beginning with the words:
“Our existence is human centered, not God centered, nature oriented, not deity oriented.
”

“You know, Tyler,” Paul said to his son as he came up to speak to him. “Both your mother and I have buried our parents, and others that we cared about, and we take comfort in the knowledge that death, like birth, is the natural order of events. There is no need for the false comfort of a ‘hereafter.’ We say a respectful good-bye, then we get back to our lives.”

Tyler nodded but said nothing.

“So I need to ask you. Do you have this all under control?”

“Sure, Dad. It’s been two days,” Tyler said. “How could I not have it under control? Let’s go golfing next week,” Tyler had replied in as sarcastic a tone as he could, and was glad to see, by the sharp intake of breath and narrowing of his eyes, that his father caught the sarcasm.

“Yes, well, we are here if you need us,” Paul replied.

*   *   *

There were six folding chairs under a canopy alongside the green-carpeted open graves at the cemetery. Tyler sat in the first chair, his parents sat next to him, then came Karen’s parents, and finally Dr. Emory. During the graveside service in the cemetery, Paul and Margaret Michaels sat there with detached expressions as prayers were said, and when the “sure and certain hope of resurrection” was promised they looked on their fellow mourners patronizingly. Unlike many of the other women, his mother did not weep. She and his father wore what they imagined were appropriate expressions of sadness.

Karen’s parents were always there for her in life, and they were there for her and for him in death. They had taken that cruise excited to come back and be grandparents, only to learn that they were coming back to bury their daughter and her child.

They had been very solicitous of Tyler, looking at him with sadness and pity. He didn’t want that. He wanted their anger. He wanted them to blame him for the death of their daughter and grandson. He wanted them to look at him in the same way that Dr. Emory did, with disdain and disgust. He wanted them to hate him as much as he hated himself. They did not. They looked at him with love and pity because he had nothing now, no family and no faith. Tyler was isolated and alone.

When the graveside services were over, everyone but Tyler started to leave. He stood there alongside the open graves with tears streaming down his face as he stared down at the two, as yet, unclosed graves. He heard people talking quietly as they walked away. He didn’t hear well enough to understand all the conversations, but he clearly heard someone say, “If he had been there with her, she would still be alive.”

Car doors slammed, engines started, and the cars began to leave the cemetery, but still, Tyler stood by the open grave.

Karen’s mom walked up to him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He shook his head as tears continued to slide down his cheeks. “No, I’m not okay,” he said quietly.

“It’s time to leave now, hon. They have to close the graves. It’s time to let them rest in peace.”

Tyler looked at her, then in a moment of pure selfish need, lashed out at her. “I could have saved her, you know. If I had been there for her, this would not have happened. But I wasn’t there, because I chose to abandon her and play the hero—I was being the hotshot, performing surgery—as it turned out, not even emergency surgery! Do you understand that?
She is dead because of me! Jeremy is dead because of me!
”

Karen’s mother looked shocked for a moment, then processing what he was really saying, realized that he
wanted
to punish himself.

“Tyler, there are forces greater than you and a scalpel at work here. There is a master plan, and I don’t begin to try to understand it. Sure I question it, but I don’t doubt its existence. God has a purpose for you, one that is far greater than you ever have known. Please don’t let Karen and Jeremy’s passing be for nothing.”

As she got to the last part of it, Tyler could see the anger and pain whirling in her eyes and voice. She hugged him and walked away. Karen’s dad nodded, and they turned together to walk toward their car.

When they got into their car, Tyler saw that the only people remaining were Welch, the funeral director, and the two men who would be closing the grave. They were standing off to one side, where they had remained discreetly out of the way of the mourners.

No, they weren’t the only ones remaining. Back in the shadowed corner of the canopy, he saw one more person. Rae Loona. She nodded at him, and he nodded back.

Seeing Rae there, that awful moment came back to him. He replayed Karen’s death scene in his mind. And as he looked at the two open graves, one adult and one child, a pattern began to develop in his mind.

Tyler had first met Karen on February 23. That was 2/23. Karen’s death was called at 2:23
A.M
.

As he looked down at Karen’s casket, there was a plaque that read
BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER, AND DAUGHTER.

There was also a small number plate on the casket, and the number was
223
.

He thought of that for a moment, considering the coincidence; then he looked back at Rae. “You’re still here,” he said.

“I thought you might need some company,” she replied.

“Thank you for staying.” He walked away from the grave, and seeing him leave, the funeral personnel started toward the grave to take down the canopy and take up the chairs and green carpet.

“What are you going to do now?” Rae asked, hugging him.

“Nothing. Go home, I guess.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t eat lunch,” Rae said. “Do you want to go have lunch?”

“I’m not really hungry. What time is it, anyway?”

Rae looked at her watch. “Two twenty-three,” she said.

“What?”

Rae realized then that that was the exact time that Karen’s death had been called, so when she repeated the time, she said the words quietly, almost reverently. “Two twenty-three,” she said.

Tyler nodded. “Thanks for the invite,” he said. “But I think I’ll just go home and crash. I need some time alone.”

“I understand,” Rae said. She hugged him again. “Mikey, when you go before the hospital board this week, just know that whatever happens, I will always be your friend, and that you are the best doctor I’ve ever known.”

*   *   *

He really was, she realized, a friend. He made her think. He made her appreciate what she had and what love meant. Almost as much as her devotion to John Travolta …

When she had lost her own son and husband, she had found comfort in Travolta’s films, classics such as
Grease
and
Saturday Night Fever,
which she watched over and over again, literally dozens of times each. She also loved laughing at
Look Who’s Talking
and was amazed at
Phenomenon
and
Michael
. Her Johnny moved her and motivated her as few people—real or on film—ever did. She had liked him a lot before he lost his son, but now she felt a kindred connection—and great admiration—as a parent who had lost a child as well.

*   *   *

Tyler had almost forgotten his summons before the hospital board. He knew that it was not going to turn out well.

“Thanks again,” he said.

When he walked back to his car, he happened to notice the license plate number of the hearse across the drive. It was
223
.

When Tyler got home, he just crashed on the couch. He rolled over and saw a tote bag on the side of the couch with a classic Winnie-the-Pooh logo on it. In it, wrapped in blue tissue paper, was a card from Karen and Jeremy. It read,
Dear Daddy, thanks for being the best husband and Dad in the world
.

Tyler felt each syllable like a kick in the stomach. It was as if someone had reached in and grabbed his heart and was squeezing it. He howled in pain, a primal pain of loss beyond measure. When he pulled himself together and grabbed a glance of his appearance he looked haggard and pale. He had not only skipped lunch, he hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, and still didn’t feel like eating.

Reaching into the Winnie-the-Pooh bag, he found a self-published advance copy of Karen’s book that was titled:

223 Blue Butterflies Say I Love You

by Karen Ann Michaels

Emotionally depleted, his scientific mind and internal coincidence meters reeling, Tyler was now officially freaked out.

CHAPTER

32

Vatican City, New Year’s Day

The
Te Deum
was sung as thanks for the year just ended. Genaro I stepped out onto the loggia from the Apostolic Palace and looked at the tens of thousands of people gathered in Saint Peter’s Square. Just before the pope delivered his message, he bowed his head.

“Not my words, but yours, O Lord.”

Looking back up, he began to speak to the crowd.

“We give thanks for God’s grace and love. At this, the beginning of the New Year, we pray for God’s mercy, that He guide us through the precarious times we face.

“In the coming days, we will face perils such as those never before faced by mankind. These difficult times will require solidarity among all God’s children, of all races and nationalities, and of all who recognize His dominion over us, in whatever religion they have chosen to reach Him.

“The Earth is at a tipping point. In the last century, men and women have turned their back on the Church, they have embraced the secular over the spiritual, and they have fallen short of God’s goodness and glory.

“Because of that, Satan has chosen this time, and the generations now present on this planet, to push out God and establish his kingdom on Earth. We will be besieged by a dark cloud, a cloud of evil. This evil cloud will incorporate all the authority of Satan, plus the combined power of all the evil that has ever resided in the soul of man, from the beginning of time until the iniquity that inhabits the souls of those living today. Each of us will be faced with a choice—to give in to this temptation of the easy path and journey toward the negative and the ways of chaos and destruction, or to choose to fight for all that is good and pure in the cosmos.

“We must unite in this struggle as never before—every man, woman, and child—link the righteousness of our souls with the goodness of all those who have gone before us, and who now, even though they dwell in Heaven, will join with us in the holy fight of good against evil.

“Each of us must ask ourselves not what we can get from God, but—am I open to receiving God’s love?

“What may I do to help bring peace to this world? What good acts may I take today, as one soul, one of God’s children among many—in my own home to bring the light of goodness, in our neighborhoods, and our nations on Earth? How can we act out of love today?

“The gift to us is free will and free choice. Along with that gift comes the
responsibility
to avoid evil, to make the
right
choices each day.

“And now, as we leave behind the days and hours of the year just passed, we give thanks to God for His just and merciful judgment and elevate our thanks to Him and His love for us.”

Dallas
,
New Year’s Day

Ten thousand people had come to the Preston Forrest Baptist Church for this special New Year’s Day service. The Reverend Glen Dale Damron was in the pastor’s study talking with his two assistant pastors, the youth minister, and the senior of his deacons.

“I’ve received a message from God,” Damron said. “And I am going to share that message with our people today. I tell you this so that when I start my sermon, you don’t all look at me like I’m crazy.”

The clergymen in the study looked at one another in confusion. It was left to the Reverend E. D. Owen, the more senior assistant pastor, to ask the question. “Brother Glen Dale, what is the message?” he asked.

“I’d rather not say here,” Damron said. “I intend to speak the words from the pulpit, exactly as God gives me those words to speak. But I will say, this will be different from any sermon I have ever given, or for that matter, any sermon you have ever heard.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do it,” said Jim Penny, president of the Board of Deacons.

“Why would you say such a thing, Brother Jim?” Owen asked.

“When you say this is going to be different from anything we have ever heard, it makes me nervous. There are already those who call us Bible-thumpers, fundamentalists, and religious kooks.”

“Are you ashamed to be regarded a Bible-thumper, Jim?” one of the other assistant pastors asked.

“No I am not, brother, and you know it,” Penny replied. “It’s just I don’t think we should depart from the message of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

“Brother Jim, if you don’t want to hear this sermon, then you are free to leave the auditorium,” the Reverend Glen Dale Damron said. “But I do wish you would stay, because in this fight that God is asking us to undertake, it will require the soul of every righteous person. And I consider you to be not only a friend and an asset to this church, but also a righteous person.”

“And this—this message you will be delivering today—you say it came from God?”

“It will come from God,” Damron said. “The message I received was to step up to the podium and begin to preach. God will give me the words to say.”

“Whew,” Pastor Owen said. “I’ll give you this, Glen Dale, you certainly have a lot more courage than I have. You are going to be speaking to ten thousand people in the auditorium, and as many as a million through our television ministry, and you have no idea what you are going to say.”