The
Vision
One more slow breath
to calm my racing heart. Now somewhat composed, I reach for my doorknob and
step inside. On the other side of the entryway, my husband sat behind his
mahogany desk, tying Mayflies. His annual fishing trip starts tonight.
Despite my day, I felt
a smile ease my tension. The sight of him at work with those led magnifying
glasses remind me of all the little things I love. His silly frames magnify
dark brown eyes, making them stand-out like a character in 'Little Red Riding
Hood' that's just a writer’s bonus. On the other side of our picture window,
our sons' load split wood and dry goods, they have a full load for their
three-day fishing extravaganza.
I stood there for a
moment watching my little family at work. They seemed unaware of my return.
Which I didn't mind, I needed some time to think.
I retreated to our
bedroom, landing in my deep-set mauve-colored reading chair. The smooth curving
armrest perfectly fit my arms, allowing my fingers to dangle over the edge,
allowing my fingertips will trace the ornate nail-head buttons. The velvet
swaddled my skin, and the deep furrows across my forehead faded.
I considered the old
gypsy's words. Wild random images reignited conflicting thoughts. I wanted to
relax and forget the things she told me. Again, I tried to clear my mind, so I
reached for the morning newspaper.
The lead article featured a story about a house fire. The title read, 'Tragic
Accident Claim Two.' With immediate interest, I picked it up and began reading.
The story opened with a quote from the fire marshal, "I see no evidence of
arson. This tragic accident claimed the life of Mr. and Mrs. Bogart. They both
retired from Allen Intermediate. Students and Faculty alike will mourn their
passing."
As I read the article, flashes of that moment formed a new story.
Hungry flames fired across my thoughts. My eyes fired red burning in pain
and distorting the images. Tightness trapped fumes in my lungs, a coughing fit
reeled me back.
"That's not
right," anger swept over me as I shook the paper, "this article is
wrong. An arsonist did this, someone she used to teach.
"Yes," I
whispered. In my mind, the killer emerged from the woods. He walked up their
driveway. A slung back duffle bag hung from his shoulder it garnished a logo.
The words on it blurred. He waited in the dark for the lights to go off. From
the bag, he pulled a packet of cigarettes. When he lite up, I could read the
logo. It said, Winston. Immediately I knew the cigarettes connected us.
"That's crazy," I whispered to myself and maybe an angel.
I knew the contents of his duffle bag. I watched him set the fire then
blend into the night, as he watched nearby. The urge for a smoke assaulted over
me. I dismissed it then read the article one more time. My eyes grew heavy as I
read, …no evidence of arson… the paper read. My hands still held the paper as I
drifted into silence. Deeper and deeper down into the black mist of sleep, I traveled.
That familiar tune began to play. The song clung to my memory. A male voice
sang the haunting melody, '...A blue moon shines and with wings of fire I
fly...'." The song washed across my thoughts like waves spilling on the
sand. The song grew stronger for the first time, the voice had a shape, and as
he came into focus, the song stopped. A garment of light moved in every
direction those billowing layers glittered with illumination. Our eyes locked
his eyes beamed like moon glow. I couldn't look away from his beauty. His
majestic appearance mesmerized me in the same breath he terrified.
"Greetings," spoke the angel. "Libby, I bring you a purpose from
on high and a quest."
The jarring of my senses slammed into my dream. I bolted awake leaping to
my feet. I stood trembling, even now that I was no longer asleep, I could see
him. Long flowing hair danced behind him, for the wind traveled with him. The
wind was a sweet-smelling breeze that caressed my skin with fragrance and
melody.
"You must go see the Fire Marshall, or there will be another
fire," his voice a resounding echo in time.
Terror held my feet in place, and I violently trembled. With a burst of
energy, I ran from the room seeking my family. Fly Fishing Canada Style was on
the TV as they went over their checklist. My husband smiled at me, and I sat
beside him. His warmth made me feel safe.
"So, how was your little nap?"
I glanced at my watch, shocked to see it had only been thirty minutes.
"Okay … I ….
guess, I have a bit of a headache and more work to do at the office." A
white lie but I was not ready to him the long version.
"I'm sorry to hear that dear, want some Advil?"
"Yes, please." I didn't know what else to say. It's not like
you can start a conversation with there's angel in our bedroom. I tried to
clear my mind and not think of anything, not an easy thing to do. I had
neglected church for several months, why would an angel show himself to me?
The deep woods and crystal river on TV caught my eye. I decided to focus
on the show and nothing else. The fisherman pulled his fly rod back for a D
loop cast and before I knew it. A vision began to play out in my mind. A young
family of three was going to die in a house fire if I didn't do something about
it. Under the crescent moon, the hooded man entered their house. The crescent
moon would be tomorrow night. Guilt and a bit of panic hit me.
"The sons of man can only be saved by the hand of the willing.
Either a hand in prayer that moves the Almighty, or a hand in action." I
heard the angel say in a voice of distant thunder.
How could I stop a fire? I don't even know these people. I opened the
vision in my mind. Like the reading of a book I study the young family. The
husband was about thirty. His young wife had short, pixie hair and a slim
build. A body of a dancer wearing a blush leotard and matching leg warmers. She
held a piece of mail. I began to concentrate on the letter until I could read
their address. 1501 E 11 St. Her thumb was over the city, but I could make out
the zip code.
"This is crazy" I muttered. "Honey I've got to run back to
the office, can you guys get your fishing supplies gathered without me?"
"What about your headache?"
"I'll just have to tough it out." We kissed, we always do
before parting, and I headed back to Madame Zinn's House of Cards."