Chapter 26
Francis was confused. He certainly didn't like the energy he was picking up. He felt a powerful surge of darkness and light, good and bad. It was as if a war were going on somewhere nearby. And then there was a sense of breaking through the shield that was around Rob, and Francis understood everything, like a Zen satori, in one blinding moment.
With that experience of breakthrough, an audible crackle filled the air. Rob jumped up and ran out into the waiting room. Francis hesitated a moment, startled and dazed, and then ran out after him. A lightning bolt of electricity ricocheted through his brain as the Abbot fell to the floor in response to the rock which hit him in the occipital region of the back of his head.
"It's time for a second baptism, Abbot. It's the only way to clean you up," said the young man as he placed a noose around the unconscious monk's neck. The blond hair of the Baptist gleamed in the sun and his eyes glazed over as he dragged the abbot back through his office, out the office door, down steps, and to the front of the trailer where there was a meditation garden made up of a few benches bushes and flowers, with a circular pond about fifteen feet in diameter in the middle.
"I'm sure that you've gotten a lot of your insight and spirituality by sitting here and praying and now you will experience the ultimate--death and rising for the last time."
Chantal and John had gotten stuck on Route 80 West. Neither of them could think straight at this point. They sat for a few minutes trying to collect themselves when they heard the siren coming closer and closer. They turned to look and saw a police car, red and blue lights flashing, coming along the shoulder of the highway.
"Here we go again," she hollered to John. "This is the drill. We put on the flashers, keep this car unlocked, and get into Dave's car."
Before they knew it, they were in Dave's car and moving along the shoulder of the highway at a fast clip and then on to Route 209 South. The journey seemed endless. The three of them were testy with each other. Finally they were driving up the driveway to the monastery. Gold, followed by Chantal, followed by John, ran across the lawn and into the Abbot's office. The door was wide open and the energy was palpably negative.
"Something's terribly wrong," Chantal said, stating the obvious. Francis would never leave his office open with progress notes lying openly on his desk and the filing cabinet unlocked. Let's try the main building."
Once inside, Gold ran up the stairs in the main building, checking rooms. Chantal ran into the library which was empty except for the wisdom of the ages lining the shelves, and John hollered down a basement door. The place was deserted.
Dave barked orders: "We need to check every corner of the grounds. Chantal please walk up and down the far third of the property around the trailer--front and back. John, please go to the opposite end of the property, up and down the driveway, looking in the weeds on either side, and I'll examine the grounds, front and back, of the main house.
"What are we looking for?" John asked.
"A body, and I hope we're not lucky."
Chantal walked past the trailer and saw two long marks in the dirt and grass as if something had recently been dragged across the lawn. "Maybe I've been watching too many mystery movies," she thought to herself, "but I might as well follow the marks and see if they take me anywhere."
The trail ended near a bunch of shrubbery and it was then that she caught a glimpse of a blond head blending in with the tall faded brown weeds. She quietly walked closer and heard Scripture being recited.
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will never die."
"Where is he?" she screamed. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"
The blond head turned slowly and said: "He's died and risen for the last time and now he's where he needs to be--with his God."
She screamed so loudly that the other two came running to see what was going on. In the meanwhile, she ran into the pond and felt around with her arms and legs until she found the lifeless lump which she started pulling to the surface. Her two friends were in the pond lifting the burden along with her almost immediately. The three of them were barely able to drag the monk on to shore.
John hollered: "Wait, there's a rope around his neck; it's choking him." They pulled the end of the rope up and found a rock of about twenty pounds in weight. John released the noose from Francis's neck and began pushing on his chest to expel water. The boy was nowhere to be seen but Dave wasn't too worried. They had his name and description and would be able to pick him up easily. He went over to the Abbot's office to call the station for back-up and to get the information out on the street. First he dialed 911 for an ambulance.
As he put down the phone Chantal walked through the door whereupon they simultaneously heard what sounded like a knocking on the floor in the next room. Dave drew his gun and Chantal got behind a chair. The rapping continued. Dave hollered through the door, what do you want?
A weak voice responded: "Help me, help me." Dave cautiously opened the door and found a young blond man sprawled out on the floor, bleeding from the back of his head.
"What the...?" Dave said.
Chantal was behind him. "That's what I was coming in to tell you, Dave. Rob Williams was not the guy we saw outside. They just look a bit alike. The guy standing at the pond was the one you met at the church after that Miss Von Kiel from the Center for Traditional Catholicism gave you his name and address."
"Okay, okay, we'll sort it all out. Let's get some help here." In the background they could hear an ambulance screaming.
John rode in the ambulance with the now conscious abbot, uneasy about the possibility of brain damage since Francis had been under water for God knows how long. Dave was out on the streets looking for the perpetrator and Chantal remained at the monastery in order to fill in the community about the events whenever they returned from wherever they were. She took the liberty of rummaging in a hall closet and found a gray tunic and a towel and washcloth. After a warm shower she threw her clothing in a washer in the basement and, garbed in the tunic, sat drinking a cup of herb tea at the kitchen table.
Rob was treated and released from Pocono Medical Center. He had a laceration in the back of his head which was stitched up and was told to stay awake all night and have somebody in the house with him. His head pulsed with pain but his spirit was relieved that he was still alive.
Francis' headache subsided when he mentally bathed himself in clear light and focused on the negative energy draining from his body through his feet. He had a large "egg" on the back of his head and spent that day and a good bit of the days thereafter following fingers and lights with his eyes and being poked and prodded by physicians.
Eyes resting, Francis lay on his hospital bed thinking about the monastery he had to run and the patients he needed to see and in walked a priest from St. Matthew's, the local parish community which served the hospital.
"Well, this is a reversal of roles," said the jovial dark-complected cleric. "I've been coming to you for spiritual direction for about five years now and it's finally my turn to minister to you. What can I do for you?"
"Get me out of this place, Tony."
"Wait a minute, Francis; I seem to remember a lot of talk about abandonment, God's providence, and living in the present moment."
"I am doing all of that, but the lower part of my soul still wants me out of here. Now that I've said my piece, I will continue working on abandonment."
"That's just what you taught me, Francis, and it's nice to see it in action, humanity and spirituality working together for the good of the person and the good of the hospital."
"Get out of your pulpit, Tony."
"I'll do better than that--I'll get out of the room. I'll do what I can to get you released. Take care my faithful friend."
"You should have seen the looks on the faces of your community members when they came in from their day of playing and praying at the state park to find yours truly sitting at the kitchen table in a monastic tunic," Chantal said.
"I'm sure it livened the place up," Francis laughed. "I'll bet it really stripped old Benedict's gears."
"Yes, but he's always a perfect gentlemen. He said something like: 'may I get you something for your feet, Dr. Fleur?' And Sister Scholastica was so grateful that you were being taken care of by Doctor Johnson-Angelo. It seems that she went to him a few times prior to entering monastic life and really likes him."
Dave interrupted. "All right you two, enough of this rowdy behavior. The doctor said I could fill you in on a few more details, Francis, so here goes. Our friend, Mark Wilson, went over the Delaware Water Gap bridge into New Jersey, always a dangerous thing to do--hope no one here is from Jersey, after his little visit to the monastery. A forest ranger called the State Police after observing him standing on the banks of the Delaware and hollering obscenities at God for about a half hour. Extradition is pretty easy; he's on his way back now even as we speak."
Francis' clinical mind began to process the recent events: "The poor guy was so caught up in the superficialities of religion that he became paranoid and killed Beth, seeing her as a threat to religion. When that didn't solve his internal conflicts and make the world and the Church better, he must have thought that killing someone from the other end of the spectrum would do it, and thus Father Theophane met his demise. I suppose I was symbolic of the whole spectrum. How does it go, something old, something new."
"Let's see if I learned my psychology of religion well. Wilson is indiscriminately pro-religious, but tends to be extrinsically or letter of the law oriented," queried Dave.
"Sounds accurate to me," added Chantal, "although I think it's a bit more complex than that."
"Yes," Francis thought out loud, "there is probably a dual diagnosis here--perhaps borderline personality disorder, which often begins in early adulthood, exacerbated by his religious or spiritual problem, to use the DSM IV diagnosis. Not that the insurance carriers would care."
"Okay Doctor, I give up, tell me about borderline personality disorder," the detective said with an amused sigh.
"Borderline people have great difficulty with identity. They don't know where they end and others begin emotionally. Thus, they can become very paranoid and fearful of abandonment, projecting their hang ups on to others and believing that others think of them negatively, when it is often their own low self concept at work. Some will try to achieve identity by joining a group and vicariously becoming someone. Cult members are of this sort. Mark Wilson was probably trying to find his identity through the Church. When he perceived it as threatened, so was he. That is the reason I am so convinced that we need to live by what we believe, not by what we call ourselves, how we dress, what groups we belong to, even though those groups can be of great help to us when we allow them to serve us and we avoid becoming a slave to them. Enough for now, Dave?"
Before Dave could respond, in walked a perky, healthy-looking young lady in white. "Time for the abbot's massage."
"I'm not sure what this has to do with anything, folks, but I'm going to take advantage of it while I can. I think maybe John was just doing a good deed when he ordered this."
Francis and Matthew sat at the water's edge. The bright fall sun reflecting off of the pond made their faces shimmer and brisk air invigorated them.
"The nightmares really have stopped this time, Abbot. I'm getting to know a whole new side of myself."
"Does your anima have a name yet?"
"At first she wouldn't tell me her name; she was mad at me for not paying attention to her, for being afraid of her, for not letting her help me. Eventually, she confided in me that her name is Dawn."
"How beautiful," mused Francis. "Dawn brings light to our day and the anima brings light to our inner being. Matthew, we've got to face the things that frighten us and make friends with them so that we can become whole. On a psychological level, we might say we need to get rid of our defense mechanisms; on a spiritual and monastic level we might say that we need to grow in purity of heart."
"Is that why you're sitting here by the water, Abbot? You were almost murdered on this very spot and yet you seem so serene as you sit with me."
"I didn't think about it on a conscious level, Matthew, but, yes, I'm certain that my inner wisdom drew me here for that reason."
"Speaking of wisdom, I think I see Dr. Fleur making her way through the weeds. I'll let you two talk. Thank you for your time."
"Thank you for telling me how you're doing, Matthew. I'm sure all will be well."
"Don't let me disturb you guys," Chantal said as she appeared through the foliage like a doe after her young. "I can take a walk for a while."
"Well, I was just leaving, Dr. Fleur," said Matthew. "I know that the Abbot's in good hands now that you're here." The overgrown boy was becoming a man.
"Please have a seat," said Francis.
Chantal began: "You know me, Francis. I need to plunge right in."
"Surely, my friend. Why change at this point in your life?"
"I still can't figure out what made Rob come to your office for an appointment at that time and what made our murderer lurk around at exactly the same time. The timing of those events pulled the whole thing together and helped us to catch the real murderer."
"Some people call that Asynchronicity.@ Remember that from graduate school, Chantal?"
"Yes, I do, Francis, but I never quite understood it."
Francis spoke slowly and prayerfully, as if he were listening to an inner voice. "You see there's a cosmic or spiritual time that's much different from our time and it has to do with the convergence of events, not the hands on a clock fashioned by our human minds and hands."
"Mmmm, I'm beginning to remember it a little. Something like you once told me about oriental medicine. We have a nervous system that we all talk about and can see and can dissect and we have a whole other nervous system of energy that is less visible to the eye. Our Eastern brothers and sisters talk about energy meridians and chakras and the like."
"Exactly, my good friend."
"Buy why did John think the person in the car outside his home the night Beth was murdered and the voice of the radio caller on the tape was Rob Williams, Francis? I still don't understand that."
"John has a lot of potential for the gift of intuition which I believe the Holy Spirit gives to each of us according to her own desires and plan, but John has not learned to use it very well yet. It takes much practice. Besides, there was so much happening on a spiritual level at one time in his life that he probably just got his signals crossed, so to speak. Interpreting the information received is an art. I always offer my impressions very tentatively and see how people respond. Once John opened up to this process, he began trying too hard. It gets in the way. But don't miss the most wonderful part. John's 'misinformation' saved my life and society is being protected from a very disturbed young man and hopefully he will find peace as well. The interpretation of the superficial or accidentals of the situation was inaccurate, to speak philosophically, but the substance was right on target, dead center--time, place, the whole deal. I am grateful."
Chantal continued, thinking out each word as she spoke. "Rob felt some kind of a deep connection with you at some point, probably when you were doing Therapeutic Touch. He felt as if you had penetrated his very soul. That experience flipped him out. He got so frightened he just got up and ran out of the room into the waiting room and there Mark Wilson hit him over the head with the rock to get him out of the way."
"That's right, Chantal. And then I went out to see what was going on and that's when I got clobbered. Ouch!"
"Ouch is right! I am so grateful that I saw those scuff marks in the dirt and grass, Francis, and that I could follow the marks over to the meditation pond. Another minute or two and things could have been very different. You've been given a clean bill of health, Francis. The doctors said that because you were healthy, a runner, you meditate, you eat right and practiced Therapeutic Touch on yourself going into this trauma you had a better prognosis for getting over it unscarred."
"Yes, that's another part of oriental medicine--do as much prevention as you can. Shortly before all of this happened, Chantal, I had an especially keen sense that something was about to break. While I was taking Rob's history, and a lot more strongly during Therapeutic Touch, I had profound sense of darkness and light, a split right down the middle of the personality, but I was very confused. It didn't seem to be coming from Rob. I couldn't understand what was going on. It must have been coming from Mark Wilson in the waiting room.
That experience was so powerful that it kind of clogged my perception of Rob, but eventually I broke through and had a sense of a lot of old hurt and pain that Rob needed to let go of and that his prognosis was pretty good if he would work with forgiveness and inner healing through journaling and meditating and the like. I got that information in a split section but as soon as it happened he was up off the bench and out into the waiting room."
"I am honored that you shared that personal experience with me, Francis, but there's still something else, isn't there?"
"Well, yes, I hesitate to talk about it because I don't understand it myself yet. My concept of God and my prayer have been changing since the beginning of this year. I took a little updating on Therapeutic Touch at the beginning of the year and since then I've met one person after another, either from the Orient or who's practicing some Eastern form of meditation. Books have been coming my way about it, and now I feel like when there's an extreme need I am getting some extra help."
"You mean like from God, Francis?"
"Well, God has always been helping. It's some other thing that's happening, though. When people experience intuitive information, Chantal, sometimes it's through an inner sense without words, or pictures, or anything at all sense related. Some people get pictures. Some might even hear words. I usually have an inner sense. I've lately been seeing a color as well--a beautiful orange that seems to be aflame or aglow, that seems to be boosting or supporting or adding to my connection with the cosmic Christ."
"That's another thing! Speaking of orange, Francis, last week when you were at the hospital and I was here waiting for the community to return so I could try to make some sense of what happened to you to the group, this little man appeared at the door, and I do mean appeared. I didn't even know he was there and then I heard the doorbell ring. He was dressed in orange robes and his brown hair was shoulder length. He had a deep resonant voice and a gentle smile, plus a name as long as an eye chart. Believe it or not, I was more curious than afraid so I went to the screen door and spoke with him. I didn't even unlock the screen door. He asked for Brother Francis and I said that you weren't in at this time.
He said: "Thank you sister, I was just coming to see how he is doing."
I said: "I'm not a nun but Abbot Francis has had some difficulty and is in the hospital at the moment."
Then the man said: "I know you're not a nun, I meant sisters, in the broadest sense of that word since we are all brothers and sisters and I know that you have a special relationship with Brother Francis."
And then he said to me: "I am sure our Brother will be fine. Please be at peace. And he walked away."
I stood there not knowing what to say but feeling a profound peace that I still can't explain and I knew with great certitude that you would be well. I think how I knew at that time is how you know things at times."
"Yes, it is knowledge understood at a deeper level. Thank you for telling me that, Chantal. That confirms issues a little bit for me."
Dave had a sense of meeting Mark Wilson somewhere before. Could that have been a little advance warning?"
"Very possibly, Chantal. I've still got some praying to do on the matter."
"I'll be going, Francis, and leave you to your prayer."
"Enjoy the rest of the day, Chantal, and thanks for everything."
"I certainly will enjoy it, Francis, I have a date." And off she skipped.
Francis sat there quietly for a long time and then as the brilliant orange of the sun gleamed on the pond he took off his sandals and habit and waded into the life-giving water.
Om, shanti, shanti, shanti.