Gabriel's Revenge (The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic Book 2) (27 page)

Epilogue

September 5, 1998

The room was as inviting as ever as I sat on the comfortable chair and took up the mug of the heavenly brew. A new game was awaiting me on the board, white toward me this time; so I started first.

I mulled over the various strategies available, trying to decide which one to go with, but finally settled on no strategy as I moved a random pawn. I smiled as I sat back with my coffee and let the aroma fill my senses, thinking about my grandfather as I always did when involved in a chess match.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, drawing my attention to the yellow flames as they climbed toward the chimney, as always reaching farther than their fuel would allow before disappearing into a wisp of smoke.

I pondered that thought, realizing that in a way, that’s what I had been trying to do, in a lot of things in my life, trying to attain the unattainable, while burning my fuel needlessly.

Comforting thoughts of Betty entered my mind, of the last time we had actually talked, in this very room when she had come to me in spirit. I had been trying to reconnect on that level since, but now realized that while that could happen, it was unlikely that I could ever
make
it happen. Even when she told me that everything would be ok, it seemed to be a herculean effort on her part to get the message to me.

I smiled then, knowing that Betty would watch over me, be with me my whole life, and that would be enough. It was more than I deserved.

I leaned back on the chair, realizing that my eyes were heavy. I tried to keep watching the flames, but gradually they closed completely.

Prying them open again, I was looking at the dark ceiling of my bedroom, the clock to my left displaying 5:30. I moved slightly, and pain shot through my shoulder. I hadn’t realized until the EMT’s arrived that I had damaged my shoulder when I had jumped out of the way of the monk’s car, torn my rotator cuff. The adrenalin of the day had apparently masked the pain until I had tried to help Abby out of the car.

I remember thinking at the time how I had just jumped blindly out of a second story window without incident, yet jumping out of the way of a car had so easily damaged me. A few days later, Abby had brought up once more the strange coincidence of us surviving unscathed the fall from the upstairs of the house, and I had let her in on the secret of my visions and sometimes charmed life. A very rational person, she looked at me disbelieving, thinking I’m sure that I had also cracked my head in the fall.

She would be a hard sell I was thinking, but I looked forward to the time we would have for me to convince her.

Abby had revived quickly when the EMT’s gave her a dose of oxygen, but they still took her to the hospital overnight for observation.

The papers she had recovered from the Abbey were mostly paid utility and repair bills, but investigators looking into a number of phone calls to Indianapolis from the Monk’s cell phone established a connection to his accomplice, Bishop Mark Carmichael, Coadjutor to the Archbishop. Looking into his background, a longstanding connection could be made to Girard, starting with their undergraduate class at the University in Avignon.

Allen Vanguard had become involved by then, personally taking this information to the Archbishop in Indianapolis. Calling Bishop Carmichael into his office, he had admitted to knowing Girard and periodically helping him get placed in various parishes over the years. He fervently denied any knowledge of the Monk’s tactics used to accomplish his missions however. His retirement from God’s service was arranged that very afternoon, Allen holding off on prosecuting him until he had more evidence.

Later, the Archbishop apologized to Allen, asking his forgiveness for questioning his investigation, which Allen gallantly accepted.

Allen and I had come to terms before all of that happened, he apologizing for questioning my investigation. He was horrified when he found out that Abby was my daughter, falling all over himself for saying what he had in the heat of the argument.

I had also apologized for hitting him…so hard.

He had asked me to come back once more to work as his investigator, but I had graciously refused, unsure as to where my future laid at the moment.

Looking at the clock once more, I realized that I had been laying there for a half an hour. I groaned as I rolled to a sitting position, still unbelieving how long it was taking to get over this injury. Age was definitely creeping up on me.

I was getting used to the bed again, having been “convinced” by Abby that it was the smart thing to do, at least while I recuperated. The ghosts of the room were mostly gone, only the good memories remained, and I felt very comfortable being here now.

I got up and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Abby was coming at 7:00 for breakfast, with Nate. I had told her that traditional father or not, I thought I would like to get to know her friend a little better. She had of course agreed, her grin wide in happiness.

I took a shower while waiting for the coffee to finish, keeping my right shoulder and arm out of the water as instructed. Making my way back to the kitchen, I stopped in the hall and looked out on the approaching day. Betty’s garden was starting to die down for the season, but there was still a lot of beauty there; she would have been happy with it.

I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table to kill some time, not waiting for long as Abby and her beau showed up early as usual. After a warm hug from her and a handshake from Nate, Abby set about getting breakfast around while Nate and I sat at the table.

“I thought of something this morning Gabe; what ever happened to that book of Girard’s, the one he said gave him the command to kill us?”

I had forgotten all about it, having stuck it in my bulletproof vest while in the room. I went back to the spare bedroom, retrieving the well-worn book out of the pocket of my vest. Taking it back to the kitchen, I sat it on the table before opening it.

The book was very revealing.

Inside the first few pages were neatly written devotionals, but as I turned back farther into the book, the handwriting gradually disintegrated. The last half of the book was filled with page after page of meaningless gibberish, the last few pages not much more than straight lines.

Showing the book to Abby, her jaw dropped as she got to the ending of the book.

“What does this mean?” she asked with confusion on her face.

“I think my dear daughter that we were dealing with a crazy man, probably schizophrenic. That book shows the progression of his illness, the gradual disintegration of rational thought. The only words he was seeing or hearing from God were in his head!”

She handed the book back to me. I had decided to keep it, along with a few other treasures I had accumulated from various villainous people I had had dealings with over the years.

“Well, I
knew
he was crazy!” Abby exclaimed while breaking the eggs into the skillet.

“Crazy as a loon,” I added, shaking my head at wonderment, thinking about the kind of people that change our lives forever.

He had killed Frank, as well as a large number of other people, and for what? A misguided belief brought on by mental illness.

Frank had been avenged, but I didn’t feel the satisfaction that I thought I would.

But I did feel satisfied… and happy!

I had inadvertently fallen into a new life, one that involved a new daughter and all that entailed. And while I as yet didn’t know where I would end up as far as a job, I had a pretty good feeling about that too. I would land on my feet somehow, seemed like I always had.

I thought back to my old friend Julien Taylor’s words,
“Hiding from your world just gives you an excuse to avoid living.”
Well. I wasn’t hiding any more it seemed; Abby had certainly seen to that.

“Breakfast is ready!” Abby exclaimed; bringing over plates stacked with eggs, bacon and toast.

I dug into the food, ravenous for the first time in a long time. I sat there happily chewing my grub as Abby and Nate picked at each other playfully, their smiles as wide as mine.

“I have a lot to learn,”
I thought to myself as I picked up another forkful of eggs.

But I had all of the time in the world, because once again…I was living.

Copyright 2012-2014 by J.T. Lewis

(1)- Murder! Too Close To Home is the name of the book about the Ghost Murders case.

*****

Check out a preview of In Case of Death, the third in The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic series! Following that, check out the preview of J.T. Lewis’ new NA action/adventure…The Artifact Hunter!

In Case of Death

By JT Lewis

Copyright 2013 by JT Lewis

Prologue

March 5, 1999

Cairo, Egypt 

The American reached into his pocket and dug out some piasters to pay for his purchase. Handing over the coins in exchange for the sack from the robed woman, he quickly popped one of the sweet dates into his mouth. Crumbling the bag closed once again, he slipped it into his oversized safari vest’s pocket as he continued walking through the bazaar.

He loved this place.

He made sure that he always had one morning open on his monthly trips to Cairo to visit
his
Khan Al-Khalili. The deals he could make here seemed to satisfy his seldom used negotiating skills like nowhere back home. Every transaction was a new negotiation; here he was just another customer to haggle with.

He was very good at his job. Although a senior manager in his department, Petroleum Engineering no longer held his interest like it did when he was younger. Thirty years with basically the same job at the same company had left him yearning for retirement.

He considered this as he paid for yet another purchase, a hard-fought negotiation for a brightly colored stuffed parrot for his new granddaughter. He hadn’t even laid eyes on her yet, as she had been born while he was on the plane during the trip over.

“It won’t be long now,”
he thought to himself.

He had made the final arrangements before leaving on this trip. In six months he would be taking early retirement. He was looking forward to it with excitement. His wife and he would travel the world, enjoying time together as he tried to make up for the years apart that his job had demanded of him.

And now that the grandkids were starting to appear, they would have time for extended visits to their boys and their families. His mouth spread slowly at the thought. He was certain that his wife was looking forward to that part of retirement more than the travel.

A sudden prick in his back brought his mind back to the present.

“What the hell is that?”
he thought as he reached behind himself, feeling a short piece of hard plastic sticking out of his vest.

Confused, he pulled his hand back and was shocked to see it covered in blood. As he stared at his blood covered fingers, he noticed his vision closing in, blackness forming around the edges of his sight as it worked its way quickly toward the center.

“Shit!” was all he could mutter before collapsing onto the dusty path next to one of the booths. As he stared out of sightless eyes, he could feel the life draining out of him as it spilled onto the path.

With his last labored breath, he exhaled a single word, the final thought on this earth.

“
May”

***

A small monkey sniffed the air and jumped from the counter to the back of the now dead body. A pet of the owner of the nearest booth, the monkey chattered away as he reached deftly into the man’s vest pocket and pulled out the bag of dates.

Sitting comfortably on the back of the man, the little animal quickly bit into one of the sweet fruits. Holding up the half eaten piece like a trophy, the monkey let out another loud string of chatter as he jumped up and down with excitement.

The passing shoppers all smiled as they watched the antics of the little animal, stepping carefully around the pool of blood so as to not get any of it on their feet.

Stories of the funny monkey’s frolics would be the highlight of many of the bazaar’s patrons that night.

Chapter 1

September 14, 1999

The old man appeared to be around eighty.

His unkempt, curly gray hair stuck out wildly from under his ball cap as he stared ahead out of the yellow tinted glasses. His unshaven chin moved up and down almost comically as he seemed to be gumming his meal of soup and crackers.

A hand reached into view, the napkin in it wiping his chin. The middle-aged Asian woman sitting next to him let out a string of words that no one in the restaurant understood as she doted over the old man. She absentmindedly pushed an errant lock of graying dark hair behind her ear before pulling a colorful scarf down over her ear to cover it.

“Sey wan me take care you, not wripe you,” she spouted off in accented English, “You trub-oh too much, I not rike sis”