Seasons of Heaven (10 page)

TIM NORTHMAN’S FAMILY HOME

NEW JERSEY—A FEW DAYS LATER

Tim had done his best to take it easy for a few days. Even if the Brass would have let him return to work right away, which they wouldn’t have, he knew that it was a good idea for him to take a few days off. That was okay for two reasons: One, he hadn’t had much time to spend with his son, Yann and two: he had plenty of work he could do at home.

Tim was sitting in the living room that day, watching Yann build something with his blocks. The television was on, but the sound was muted and spread out in front of Tim on the coffee table were the files of missing person’s cases he’d been working on his own time. Tim looked at Yann. He was such a handsome boy with his dark hair and big, dark eyes. His heart swelled with love when he looked at him and he hoped that someday the boy would be able to understand why his father was hardly ever around. Tim’s family was important to him, but they often ended up taking a backseat to his career. Tim had guilt about that, but oftentimes he would assuage that guilt by telling himself he was making the world a better, safer place for Yann’s generation. For now, everything in Yann’s world was organized and without chaos. That was the way the doctors had told Tim and Elise they should keep his environment. The Asperger’s made him dislike any changes in his routine and have a heightened sensitivity to and become over stimulated by loud noises, lights and strong tastes or textures. Tim and Elise…. Mostly Elise because Tim was never home, did their absolute best to keep things in the home calm and quiet so as not to upset him.

Tim glanced from Yann over to the television. There was another special bulletin running about the plane crash. It had been running all night and day. The anchors were talking about it in somber voices, interviewing experts in the airline field, talking to family members and rescue crews while all the while a ticker tape ran along the bottom of the screen that said:
331 people lost or missing in the largest commercial airline tragedy in history
. Tim caught bits and pieces of it throughout the day. He didn’t need the sound on to know that it was a horrible tragedy. He could see it in the eyes of the loved ones who waited at the airport for news about their family members or friends. Tim shuddered. It made him sad and once again consciously aware of the fragility of human life.

He stopped watching the screen and turned back towards his work. He was going through all of his old case files, trying to find any that had similarities with the case he was working on…. The one that they may have solved a few days ago had he not let the killer get away….Tim was his own worst critic. He expected a lot of himself, and he never took it easy on his own psyche when he wasn’t able to come through.

Tim Northman had been a criminal squad inspector at the New York Police Department for a long time. He was a hard-working man, who spent at least fifteen hours away from home every day. His absence often resulted in a series of arguments with his wife Elise. He frequently thought that he hadn’t embraced a career fit for a family man. He had been working on this serial killer case for the last two years, with almost no clue or evidence to work with. The killer’s modus operandi was atypical and something worried Tim: No one had ever heard or seen anything about this man, leading him to believe that this man might not even exist. The press even named him “Ghost”. Tim’s gut told him that what happened in Queens a few nights ago definitely had something to do with it all, he just didn’t know what. He was struggling with putting it all together while not feeling his best on account of the violent confrontations of that day. He needed the time off from work to recover physically and mentally, but also to try and shed some light on the recent events. Tim looked back at his son. Sometimes that’s all it took to remind him that the entire world wasn’t bad. He was surrounded by so much hatred and wrath that he often thought of chucking it all in.

“Nothing was able to heal such tremendous hatred,” he used to say to his wife. He shook off that thought and picked up one of the files just as his phone rang. He reached over and picked up the cordless phone out of the cradle.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” it was Eddie.

“Hi, how are you?” Tim asked him.

Eddie laughed and said, “I’m fine, but I’m not the one who got my head bashed in this week, you told me so yourself, remember? How are you?”

“I’m doing great,” Tim told him. “I need a favor,” he said, looking at his copy of the photo in his hand that the killer had dropped that night. “Can you run that photo of the kids through all of our facial recognition software and see if we can match any of the faces in it and also can you have the techs start trying to find out where that gym they’re in front of is at?”

“I’m on it. I don’t have anything solid yet, but I will call you as soon as I do. You take it easy and enjoy your time at home.”

“I’ll try, Eddie.”

“Zen man,” Eddie said before he hung up. Tim hung up with a smile.

After Tim hung up the phone he took out the folder in his cold case files on young Thomas Marchal once more. The case had gone cold some time ago, but something about one of the boys in the photo that the man he called “Ghost” had dropped, reminded Tim of the photos he had of the missing little boy, Thomas. The picture from the warehouse was grainy and in black and white so he couldn’t be sure…but his instincts told him it was connected. The little boy Thomas had completely disappeared. No traces of him or any evidence of anyone taking him had ever been found. The parents had of course been suspects but were ultimately cleared when further investigation by an astute detective turned up the fact that there were other strange things happening in the little town.

First, there had been a rash of reports of thefts. Someone was stealing things from children, personal things like backpacks and journals. Then there had been the rumors, people saying that someone or “something” had been stalking their children in the dead of night. They’d seen “apparitions” at night, hovering in their homes typically near their children’s beds. Then there was the sordid case of child molestations at a popular children’s outdoor center in the area….Tim was certain they were all connected. He looked at the photo in his hand once more. He wondered how this photo, his case and Thomas Marchal all connected. He looked back at his Yann and wondered how a parent could live through a loss like that. He vowed to himself that he was going to do whatever he could to figure this all out and at the very least bring some much needed closure to those grieving parents.

CHAPTER NINE

“EARLY DEVELOPMENT”

A SMALL VILLAGE IN THE NORTH OF GAUL

800 A.D

Deep in the heart of the mysterious Hercynian Forest, an enigmatic territory where it was said that the rivers all flowed north and so vast that it was said one could not go from one end of it to the other in sixty days’ time, the gigantic oaks grew so densely that their colossal branches intertwined. It was a place where a secret rite was held, one that was observed only by a select few insiders and took place in the bowels of the dark forest where amongst a pathless, impenetrable mass of vegetation existed a mystical corridor. This corridor was said to be the access door to an ancient underground tunnel. The tunnel had been carefully dug through the mountainous rock and according to the legend the enormous stone that blocked the entrance to the corridor opened only once a year, during the night of the winter solstice. At that moment, visitors could easily penetrate the hollow earth…If they hurried. At dawn the stone once again closed the entrance, only to open again either during the rise of a full moon or on the next winter solstice.

Many adventurers waited for the great roar that signified the opening of the corridor. They fused with the darkness of the deep tunnel as they entered and began their journey, trying to make their way to the mysterious crypt that waited on the other side in the castle of the Mont Mézenc. The crypt, guarded by the druids was said to encase the treasure of the Celtic Kings of Velay. Once the fortune hunter had been swallowed up by the darkness, they were never seen again.

Legend told of evil horsemen on skeleton mounts looking after the treasure and devouring anyone trying to access it. Others believed that the visitors actually made it to the crypt, but once inside they were blinded by the sight of the splendid wealth contained there and so overwhelmed by it that they forgot to get out on time. They wasted too much time trying to grab more precious objects than the narrow corridor would allow them to escape with. Either tale would explain why the druid’s treasure remained undamaged in its hiding place. It was said that things will remain that way until the day a new and wise druid will come to take the treasure himself. 

The Celts that lived in this realm were said to be ferocious in battle. They didn’t fear death. To them, death was a chance at a new life. They believed firmly in reincarnation and death was only something that was placed in the middle of a long life. They believed that one had to go through a certain initiation. They had to pass through multiple states of existence in order to gain necessary knowledge and wisdom. It was a druid rite.

A young man sat on a massive, freshly cut tree trunk. In front of him sat a very old, bearded druid man. His name was Olham and the younger man, Reynald had come to ask something very important of him.

“Do you know how to change things, Reynald?” Olham asked him. “I believe you do, you are sharp witted enough to come here.”

“I came to see you, Olham, because you are the only one that can help me.”

“Why should I help you? You know that would result in serious consequences, my dear friend.”

“I have been fighting for this beautiful planet for a long time. But… you know that we are not able to control the fate of the persons we care about. Nature is always stronger.”

“That is why there is a natural selection, an order,” Olham reminded him.  “Natural selection came about for a reason. The planet cannot accommodate everyone all the time. There has to be a “weeding out” of the weaker organisms, not the ones best adapted to their environment. It’s been in play for a long time, and now you come here to ask me to disturb it. Why would I do that?” 

“We do not dispose of the same forces as Evil does. He is present everywhere except for the hearts of certain persons, I am sure of that. There exists a solution to attain our goal: to choose the right people. Natural selection does not discern between right and wrong or good and evil.”

“So who is going to choose them, you? You know I trust your capacity of judgment however; you cannot be the only one to decide. It is too risky.”

Reynald took time to process the old man’s words. He knew Olham was right about the danger of the situation, but Reynald wouldn’t have come here and asked what he did of the old man if he didn’t believe it to be the only way. This wasn’t a decision that had come about lightly. It had come with the agony that all great decisions are wrought with. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to Olham so that he would understand, but without the old druid Reynald’s plan would never come to fruition.

Reynald remained silently wrapped up in these thoughts for some time. Eventually, with a heavy sigh as if the pressure of the world sat upon his shoulders, Olham went on to say,

“All right, I understand, I should have known that you wouldn’t have come to me unless your plan was ready.” He feared that what Reynald wanted to do wasn’t as right as the younger man believed it to be, but he was torn between that and the trust and respect he had for his old friend.

Reluctantly Reynald told him, “I do have a plan and I suppose if I am to ask you to help me you have a right to know of it.” He was hesitant to tell Olham, knowing the old druid would object. He knew at the same time that it wasn’t fair to ask for his help without giving him all of information. “I have decided to create a place on this planet where these people could go. The good and kind people, the ones who deserve salvation. It would be a place of transition, a second chance for the chosen ones. Those who have lost their beloveds, the ones who sacrificed their lives to protect the others remain apart from their loved ones…while there are those who kill…assassinate….”

“What do you mean? How do you plan to do that? What will be your rules?” Olham asked him, obviously shocked at what he was hearing.

“I need you to trust me.” Reynald told him, in a pleading tone. “Take me there. Please, Olham.”

Becoming somewhat agitated Olham said, “Reynald, you have to be more explicit. I need more facts about what you plan to do. I cannot take you there just because you ask, especially armed with the information that you’ve already given me. I have serious concerns about it, and what you’re asking me to do….It’s dangerous.”

“We are the only ones to know about their existence. Take me there. This is my chance to achieve my goal. This isn’t for me; it’s for the ones who deserve peace and a happy ending.”

Olham stood up and silently stared at Reynald for a long time. Finally, and ominously he said,

“You know that from now on everything will be different.” It was a warning and Reynald took it as such.

“I know.” It was something Reynald had dedicated many more hours of his thoughts to, “But we have to try.”