Sneak Preview of Revlation by Michael Mancini

 

Forward

 

Historically, there must have been someone who touched Jesus Christ, but we known not whom.  History could be based on fact or made up of pure fiction, it matters not.  Belief is an act in spirit; it touches us deeply.  Like the moment the first note from a song plays, it instantly transports us back in time…we’ve all been there.

Something resides deep in us…all of us…we’ve been there – everywhere.  To paraphrase the great Mahatma Gandhi, Just as all rain, irrespective of where it falls, ultimately reaches the ocean - worship, rendered to any deity - whatever their description or name - ultimately reaches the Supreme Reality (God).

The epic battle between good and evil is endless.  It resides in each of us - it is an inseparable part of being human.  We contemplate both extremes countless times each day.

Thousands of choices in a lifetime, on some level, make us who we are.  Right or wrong, our decisions - good or evil - define our spirit.  These seemingly inconsequential choices impact us, the world, and the people around us in profound measure.

Who is to judge good or evil - it’s an endless debate.  Opinions are boundless and perspectives vary greatly.  The following, long-winded and sometimes wandering rhetoric is rooted in the author’s perception of reality.  Writings forthwith, in no way reflect on Christianity - or any other religion; nor was it meant to evoke an emotional response from devoted and spiritual people.

The following story was written in an effort to amuse, captivate, stimulate and liberate the mind, body and spirit.  For those who truly believe that there is more to life than what meets the eye - this story is written.

 

I dedicate this book to Victoria, the culmination of all that is good in humankind.  Daddy loves you sweetheart and I am with you always.

Chapter One – Boys Night Out

 

Donning an immaculate white service jacket, the wine steward poured the deep ruby liquid as if gold flowed from the neck of the open bottle.  Cesari Amarone was Michael’s favorite, and to him, the 2007 vintage was supreme.

Four spotless goblets, perfectly spaced on the white table cloth, were soon filled with ample portions of the coveted elixir.  Selected for its robust and complex fruit, Michael’s mouth watered as he watched the steward elegantly place the cork down inches from his hand.  Squeezing the cork between his thumb and forefinger, he inspected it for dryness and mold; he then slowly raised the glass to his nose.  Flaring his nostrils, and inhaling sharply, he gulped down the aroma.  As an orgy of earthy-sweet fruit scents fluttered about his proboscis, it sent his olfactory senses into overdrive.  Opening his eyes, and determining the wine was perfect, Michael nodded his head in approval.

An admirer of the finer things in life, Michael enjoyed excess without concern.  To him, everything in the world had to please the eye; the clothes he wore, the home he lived in, the automobile he drove – everything had to be beautiful.

Although he knew his desire was superficial, his need stemmed from a traumatic and often ugly childhood.  Rarely embracing his past, Michael would ignore things he had little control over.  He focused on the now; like enjoying the brilliant taste of fine wine and the lively company at the table.

Vibrant and full of life, the restaurant was filled with the aroma of grilled dry-aged beef and roasted garlic – scents of brick-oven bread saturated air.  Dressed fashionably, the four men wore crisp open collared shirts and dark dinner jackets.

Michael loved the Flatiron section of Manhattan.  Drinking in the ambiance of his favorite steak-house, he raised his glass for a toast; his rarely worn cufflinks glistened as he extended his arm over his plate.  Holding the fine crystal wineglass by the stem and not the globe, he watched the ruby liquid slosh in his glass.  One of Michael’s greatest pet peeves was watching someone palm a fine crystal glass filled with lovely and expensive wine.  Staining the glass with food, finger prints and saliva somehow cheapened the experience – like catching a hooker without makeup or a cop out of uniform - to him, it just didn’t look right.

“A toast…” Michael paused extending his arm further.  “…to the greatest four guys I know.”

“Here, here.” they responded exuberantly, clicking their wine glasses over the center of the linen covered table, while candlelight danced through the luscious ruby-red liquid.

Sitting at the table were Michael’s closest friends.  His best friend Shaw, Shaw’s brother Patrick, and their brother-in-law, Desmond.

Mike Shawhan, “Shaw” for short, entered the New Jersey State Police directly out of college and was recently promoted to lieutenant.  Patrick - Shaw’s brother - and the eldest by two years, was a gifted surgeon and Des worked for his practice as a business manager.  Their respective families close, the four spent many an exciting evening together canvassing Manhattan.  Over the years, they grew to become one cohesive unit and planned a boy’s night when they could do so unfettered.  Every three or four months they found an excuse to enjoy a night on the town and Manhattan was the destination of choice.  The concentration and diversity of pubs facilitated their quarterly pub-crawl.

Tonight, they dined at Angelo & Maxie’s; one of the finest steakhouse’s in the city.  It was conveniently located across the street from the City Crab where Michael enjoyed a plethora of fresh, west coast, oysters prior to eating dinner.  Of the opinion that the City Crab offered the freshest oysters on the East Coast, Michael rarely missed a chance to savor a dozen when he could.

Grabbing the over sized steak knife in his left hand, Michael surgically sliced into the twenty six ounce Rib eye plunged a pink hunk of flavorful meat into his mouth.  Chewing with delight, he allowed the complex flavors to meld into his pallet. Washing it down with a fresh sip of Amarone, he addressed the table.

“So, where is our first stop after dinner gentlemen?” He inquired, his cheek bulging with succulent meat as he spoke.

“Uptown.” Shaw answered with a sparkle in his ice blue eyes.  Glancing at the gold medallion of Saint Christopher dangling around Michael’s neck, he realized Michael had never taken it off – even since they were kids together, he never saw Michael remove it.

 “Uptown’s good.”  Des chimed in.  “Let’s visit Cormac at O’Brien’s.”

“Good idea.” Michael approved while Patrick quickly swallowed chunk of steak.

“Absolutely.” He Patrick added.

“Good.  Now that we are all in agreement, how about we skip the espresso and buy some of those tasty cigars I saw on the way in so we can smoke them on the way.”  Shaw smirked as he gnawed on another bite of steak.  He knew how much Michael enjoyed his coffee after dinner and took a jibe at him to bust chops.

“Again with my espresso…do we really have to walk twenty-five blocks before I can have my coffee?” Michael protested.

“You love to pad the bill Mike” Shaw said sarcastically.

“I like a nice cup of coffee after a great meal, so kill me.  Besides, Leonard always offers it on the house anyway.”

Shaw conceded.  “Fine, I’m in no rush - we can drink while ginzo over here pretends he is in Italy.

Dean Martin’s rendition of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” played softly in the background as the final drop of Sambuca dripped into his double espresso. Gently placing the glass on the table, Michael watched his friends enjoy a healthy pour of Grand Marnier Liqueur Centenaire as he sipped his nutty brown coffee.  Leonard, the general manager, approached the table wearing his signature white dinner jacket and black tuxedo pants and graciously offered a second round.

“Dinner was terrific Len but we have a lot of ground to cover tonight buddy – I’m sorry we have to decline.”  Michael smiled and shook his hand.

Approaching the lobby, they stopped to select a cigar from the display case next to the bar.  Quickly locating the last maduro wrapped Montecristo in the case, Michael grabbed a box of Angelo & Maxie’s matches and met the others on the sidewalk.

The city streets were bustling, especially on a Saturday night.  While lighting their cigars, Michael glanced at his watch.

“Wow, only 7:45.” he said aloud.  “The night is still young boys.”

The auspicious start made Michael eager to begin the long walk to Midtown Manhattan where their “pub crawl” would begin.  A beautiful blue hue fell over the city as a bronze sun dipped behind the jagged skyline.  The sweet smell of roasting nuts mixed with the rustic aroma of soft pretzels permeated the air like a lofty mosaic - the melody of aromas was distinctly New York.

Each restaurant they passed offered up their own unique smells -one readily mixing with the next, they created an orgy of scent inside Michael’s nose.  Hands in his pockets, he strolled closer to Times Square enjoying his cigar and chatting with his best friend Shaw.

 “How are Keeks and Vix?” Shaw asked.

Kiki was the nickname Shaw gave Michael’s wife Kalina - Keeks was a nickname for the nickname.  Somehow, organically, the nicknames Shaw gave people evolved.  It was interesting to see how far they migrated from their original form.  In turn, Vix was a nickname Kalina gave their 2 year old daughter.  Short for Victoria, Kalina preferred Vixy over Vicky.  The name Vicky evoked visions of a freckle-faced, pig-tailed blond with little intellect and bulbous assets.

“They’re the best thing that ever happened to me”.  Michael replied.  “She saved my life you know.”

“After all you’ve been through, you deserve it Mike.”  Shaw slapped him squarely on the back.  “If you are going to live under a black cloud all your life, it might as well have a silver lining.”

Smoked to the nub, Michael’s cigar was finished as the group turned onto 46th street.  They avoided Times Square, choosing to walk up 6^th Avenue instead.  Disinterested in fighting the myriad of tourists that flocked there, the Tin Man and Naked Cowboy ensured Times Square remained live and interesting, but the sideshow had played itself out for veteran locals.

As Michael’s mind wandered he reminisced about the “good ole days”.  As a teenager, they would visit Time’s Square to gawk at the hookers and peep shows before Disney “cleaned up” 42nd Street.  Michael felt that things were more colorful, albeit a little seedier, back then.  He felt a twinge of melancholy but it faded quickly as O’Brien’s came into view.  Cormac - the manager, and Michael’s good friend - was chatting up a couple of smokers on the sidewalk in front.

“Sheez, look what the cat dragged in!”  Cormac saw Michael from halfway down the block – his thick brogue accent evident as they approached.

“How are ya potato eater?”  Michael joked in his best, but feeble Irish accent. 

“Just great, ya Guinea ya”!  Cormac replied greeting them with handshakes and hugs.

Ten years prior, Michael met Cormac as a bartender in Langan’s.  Holding great regard for him, Cormac and he became instant friends.  Langan’s - made famous by journalist, Steve Dunleavy - was one of Michael’s favorite hang outs in the city before O’Brein’s opened up.  He spent many hours seated at Cormac’s bar when he worked in the area, so Michael made it a point to visit, even if just for one pint, every time he was in the city.

The pub was dominated by a long wooden bar running down the right hand wall.  Behind the bar, floor to ceiling mirrors were lined with every kind of liquor imaginable.  To the left, framed black and white photos hung from the exposed brick wall offering a nostalgic ambiance to the Guinness scented pub.

Cormac summoned the five foot three bartender, her long dark hair pulled back in a pony tail - she moved her lean body dexterously as she approached.  Speaking with a heavy Irish accent like Cormac, she addressed the group.

“You lads are looking quite dapper this evening... you’ll have to beat ‘em off with a stick.”  She smiled.  “How are ya Mike? How’s the fam?”

“They’re doing great Stella, thanks.”

“Brilliant…tell that gorgeous wife of yours I said hello - so, what’ll it be then lads?”

Cormac graciously interjected, “Stella, first round is on me…” Cormac made a circular motion with his fingers.  “A sip of the breast Mike?”

“Absolutely!” Michael replied, “And four pints of Guinness please Stella.”

Stella reached for the bottle of Redbreast Irish whiskey.  Years earlier, Cormac was successful in seducing Michael with the coveted Irish Whisky called Redbreast, after the first sip, Michael was hooked.

As Stella started the pouring the Guinness Michael inserted a crisp five dollar bill into the juke box.  Seconds later, Roxanne by The Police echoed throughout the bar.  The traditional “pub crawl” had officially begun.  The rules were simple - they would catch a buzz at O’Brien’s, and then stop at each pub they passed for one beer until it was time to roll up the sidewalks.

Little more than a half hour had passed when “Annie Get Your Gun” by Squeeze began playing loudly.  With the exception of Des, the group had removed their jackets draping them over the bar stools directly in front of them.  Four, half filled pints of beer sat on the bar with several empties to be cleared.  Moments later, they were reluctantly saying their goodbye to Cormac and Stella, but not until Michael finished his conversation with a couple from Netherlands that were sitting next to them.

Their first visit to the US and New York City, Michael proudly suggested a list of his favorite places for them to visit over the next few days.  The chubby man from Amsterdam jotted the names down quickly on a bar napkin.  The Museum of Natural History, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Jazz at Lincoln Center and Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum were at the top.  Michael also suggested that the should visit the South Street Seaport to see the Bodies exhibition, raving about the startling methods used to mummify perfect sculptures of human flesh.

Hurley and his girlfriend were very friendly.  After offering the advice, the visiting couple insisted that if Michael ever visited Amsterdam, he would look them up.  Hurley explained to Michael that he was the proud owner of a smoke shop in Amsterdam and that he held a graduate degree in pagan theology with special focus in the occult.  During the conversation, Hurley’s girlfriend boasted about how he was published, and quite an expert on the topic.

“He authored a book called Paganism and the Occult which just recently translated into six languages – I’m so proud of him!” she exclaimed over the din of the music.

Although the couple was quite interesting, Michael knew time was short so he politely ended the conversation by trading contact information and a promise to meet again.  Barely able to get his arms around his large and grossly overweight torso, Michael hugged Hurley and kissed his girlfriend lightly on the cheek to say goodbye.  Deep inside Michael had a strange feeling he would run into them again.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, the four men walked abreast screaming the lyrics to the song Roxanne without a care in the world.  Their sophomoric behavior attracted the attention of a few tourists who pointed mumbled to each other.  The sight of four grown men in dinner jackets, hugging each other while singing, was hugely entertaining to the sober onlookers.  But, this was boy’s night out in Manhattan and a little male bonding is what it was all about.

They walked one block north.  Arriving in front Langan’s on 47th street, Michael reached for his cell phone to text Kalina and check in.  He often did so when he was away from her and she loved it.  She told him it was his romantic side that kept their love fresh.  Opening the pub door, Michael realized his cell was missing.  Assuming he lost it in O’Brien’s, he alerted the others.

“Shit. I must have dropped my cell in O’Brien’s when I took off my jacket.” He said checking all of his pockets.  “Order me a Guinness guys, I will be right back.  I’m going to run back and see.”

“You think Cormac found it?” Shaw asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure I dropped it there - I’ll be right back.”

“Okay but don’t get lost Mike.” Shaw teased him.  He knew how Michael loved to socialize, especially when he drank.

As Michael rushed back to 46th street, he remembered a shortcut between 46^th and 47^th.  He used the alleyway between Langan’s and O’Brien’s many times before, and he wanted to same some time.

The long, narrow passage that spanned the distance between the two city streets passed directly beneath a tall building.  Most locals knew of the passage but tourists were reluctant to use it being unfamiliar with the landscape.  Michael had managed the construction of several high rise buildings in the area and knew the location quite well so he casually turned down the long dark passage and quickened his pace.

The passage seemed vacant as Michael focused on the small amount of orange light spilling in at the other end.  He walked, quietly humming Roxanne to himself.  As his voice echoed slightly off the cold stone walls, it encapsulated him.

Hearing something strange over his humming, Michael stopped.  Muffled screams seemed to come from somewhere close, but he could not locate precisely where.  Standing perfectly still and silent, he ached to distinguish the source.  Confirming the location farther down the passage, Michael’s hair stood up on his arms.  Feeling like someone else was moving his legs, Michael instinctively he inched forward as his heart began to race.

Strangely drawn towards the sound, the noise grew in volume and became more defined as Michael cautiously approached.  The distinct sound of shoes scuffling on the concrete was evident as he followed the noise through the darkness.  Decidedly a female was in horrifying distress - Michael wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and squinted to adjust his eyes to the darkness.  Peering through the veil of shadows, all became evident as he witnessed two human figures wrestling on the ground.  Michael’s horrified eyes bulged at the sickening and vile display of violence unfolding before him.

Chapter Two - Mind Over Matter

 

The faint odor of institutional disinfectant penetrated Michael’s nose as he lingered in state of semi-consciousness.  His olfactory senses, slightly more sensitive than most, rewarded him with wonderful memories at times.  Unfortunately, distasteful odors manifested unpleasant emotions as poignantly as delightful ones.  The chemical scent caused Michael’s mind to spawn nightmare images of his past.  In his early twenties, Michael had the uncanny knack for getting into trouble.  Suffering the consequences of a rebellious youth he wasted six months of his life in jail. 

Buried mental scars resurfaced while his eyes darted back and forth beneath his flickering eyelids.  Cold steel bars and depressing grey concrete defaced with ink black graffiti haunted his dream.  A myriad of aspiring prisoner artists, confined in the cell before him, defaced the walls with their jail issued pens.  The conglomeration of meaningless ink spots left a mark of despair in his heart.  Somehow they made his release seem beyond reach and paid homage to his confinement.  Rarely cognizant of the residual trauma, it resurfaced at the most inconvenient times.

Dreams of jail soon gave way to even more disturbing images.  Melding into a nightmare so severe Michael’s eyes began to tear, realistic terror took hold of his psyche.  He watched helplessly as a seemingly unrecognizable, but vaguely familiar woman beat him senseless.  Bright red blood flowed from his nose and mouth profusely.  It spilled down the front of the grey workman overalls he wore in his dream.  Both eyes blackened from repeated beating, he was scarcely able to open his blood filled lids.  His hands were bound with duct tape behind the wooden chair he was confined to.

The gruesome scene played out in what seemed like a spacious, lavishly tooled garage.  Shining, meticulously kept, high priced automobiles were lined up in the five bay structure as defining classical music rang in his ears.  Seeming to come from all angles, the music engulfed him as he was beaten over and over again by his female assailant. 

As the Intermezzo from "Cavalleria Rusticana" played prominently, its solemn harmony was punctuated by the loud crack of a boney fist against his flesh each time he was struck.  Looking beyond the blood dripping knuckles of the woman who beat him, he suddenly became aware of a group of well dressed and affluent onlookers.  The small crowd applauded with each blow Michael received.  Barely visible through his bloodied eyes, he made out ten figures in all including his female torturer.  The unknown faces were eerily familiar.  Unable to bear the agony any longer, the beating stopped, and in single file and solemn fashion, each of the onlookers left as the dream faded.

“Something’s wrong.” she said as she watched his eyes flickering.  Dressed in pastel blue skirt and turquoise leather sandals, Kalina’s clothes accentuated her long, defined, and slightly tan legs, as she stood over Michael’s hospital bed.  Hanging loosely around her upper thighs and resting lightly on her firm buttocks, the skirt hinted at the mysterious beauty that hid beneath the clinging silk.

“He’s crying Shaw, look.”

Kalina’s long shiny black hair fell across her delicate features as she looked down at Michael helplessly lying in the hospital bed.  She knew how much Michael loved her thick fragrant mane and hoped to please him with the draping style she fixed it in for her visit.  Often, at night, when the two would lay together watching television, Michael would run his fingers though the long luxurious strands making slow combing motions for hours.  It comforted her deeply a feeling she missed while she stared down at him unconscious and wounded.

“What do you think he is dreaming about?” she whispered.  Beginning to tear herself, she fought to remain halcyon.  Kalina was a strong woman, not easily jarred, but seeing the man she loved in this condition wreaked havoc on her stoicism.  The ever-present green sparkle in her eye was gone, compromised by a lack of sleep and deep distress.  She needed Michael to wake up soon; life without him would be unbearable. 

As she leaned over the railing at Michael’s bedside, Shaw could identify the faint outline of her thong underwear beneath it.  He quickly averted his eyes to avoid staring. He became uncomfortable when his masculinity overshadowed his gentlemen like persona.  His love for Michael had extended to Kalina and their daughter Victoria.  Many good years had been shared between Shaw and the Raphael families.  His relationship with Kalina more closely resembled that of a sister than anything else.  In turn, he felt as if little Victoria was his own niece.  The feelings were accentuated each time Vixy called him “Uncle” which represented the closeness of their relationship.  Unfortunately Shaw found it difficult at times not to steal a glimpse of Michael’s young and beautiful wife.  She had that effect on men.  Truly oblivious to her charm, her naiveté made her more attractive. 

The infrequent peek never manifested to fantasy but male programming is sometimes difficult to control so the incident caused him to chuckle to himself.  The age difference was almost twenty years between them but he never met a woman as mature, centered and honest as Kalina.  She truly was Michael’s saving grace.

“Don’t worry, he’ll wake up.”  Shaw tried his best to ease Kalina’s concern as he delicately placed his hand over hers and stared down at his best friend.  Her sparkling gold wedding band matched Michael’s and Shaw remembered handing them to him at their wedding five years ago.  Kalina had picked them and paid for them a half decade ago.  She never took hers off.  

Kalnia grasped the cold tubular stainless steel bed rail while she held Victoria at her right hip.

“Soon Shaw, I hope he wakes up soon.” Kalina whispered desperately.  She glanced at the gold St. Christopher medallion around Michael’s neck.

“It’s been unbearable not knowing what he is feeling or thinking.” “I feel helpless and I hate it.” Her lips tightened and she gritted her teeth in frustration causing the definition in her jaw to become pronounced.  “He’s never done something like this before.”  “I don’t know what came over him.”

“Me either Keeks.”  Shaw replied.  “I know he’s not one to put himself out for other people but he’s a good man.  Maybe instinct kicked in and he reacted without thinking.” Shaw raised his left eyebrow involuntarily as he spoke with concern.

“I’m sure he never would have deliberately put himself in harms way, but I just can’t stand looking at him like this Shaw.”  “It scares me to think of life without him.”

Kalina delicately placed her hand on Michael’s chest.  She could feel his heart beat through her well manicured fingernails.  Painted “summer coral” to match her pedicure, the color played nicely opposite the golden glow of her tan.  Michael loved Kalina’s beautiful hands and feet.  It was one of the physical attributes he always complimented her on.  Just a few weeks prior, Michael took her and the baby to sun drenched Nassau for ten day.  His favorite place to steal away, Michael visited the island frequently.  He even developed friendships with some of the natives and liked to keep in touch when he could.

Victoria began squirming which indicated she wanted to explore the room.  Constantly inquisitive, she motioned towards the floor.  Her mother placed her gently at her feet so she could move about the room, but kept a close eye on her.

Brightly illuminated from the sunlight on the window sill, bunches of brightly colored flowers stood witness to Michael’s heroic event.  Mylar balloons and a box of cigars sat next to them patiently waiting for him to regain his health.  A small note on the cigar box read, “Get well Michael, NYC loves you”.  Signed by the Mayor of New York, it was without doubt, sent to take advantage of the publicity Michael had generated by his selfless efforts.

Vixy had already gotten into the small side table drawers to investigate.  Grasping the small plastic comb in one tiny hand, and a clean pillow case in the other, she discarded them on the floor at her little feet to look for more.  Since she was able to point her finger, anything within her view was fair game.  Just after her first birthday a ritual began.  She and her father would spend hours walking around their home as he carried her.  While she pointed, Michael would let her delicately touch the items while saying the names over and over again.  No matter how many times she felt them, she hungered for more.  Colorful pictures hanging on the wall were here favorite items to touch.  The colors and shapes were attractive to her, and she was curious to discover how they felt.  As she removed a small plastic cup and plastic straws from the bedside drawer, Kalina patiently showed her how to put them back where they belong.

Squatting next to Victoria, she spoke calmly. “Put them back now honey.” She said in a tone only a mother of endless patients could deliver.  Another of Kalina’s natural attributes was an innate talent for raising children, especially her own.  She was, without doubt, a natural nurturer.

While returning the items to the drawer, Vixy saw the floor nurse walk into the room.  Dressed in hospital scrubs, she wore bright yellow Crocks on her feet that made a funny noise on the spotless floor in the ICU when she walked.  Instantly drawn to the sound, Vixy watched her intensely.  She immediately noticed the fluffy red socks the nurse was wearing that were visible through the many perforations in the shoes.  Victoria looked down at her own feet inspecting her red socks showing above the ankle line of her tiny sneakers and drew a conclusion that they were the same color.  Her little red and white sneakers matched the red polka dot skirt her mother dressed her in this morning.  Photo chronicling every moment of Vixy’s life, Kalina had thousands of pictures of Vix in cute little outfits.  Quite proud of her beautiful little daughter, she posted many on Facebook for all to see.

“How’s our hero doing this morning?”  The nurse said, grabbing the medical chart that hung at the foot of Michael’s hospital bed.  Looking down at Vixy, she smiled.  Speaking in a child like tone she addressed Vix.

“And how’s the little princess?”  “That’s a beautiful dress.”  The nurse then glanced approvingly at Kalina.  “That’s a very cute outfit.”  She said as she smiled.  The nurse then looked back down at Vixy who was now soaking up the attention.

“I especially like the color of your socks.”  “They’re just like mine, see?”

She pointed down at the dots of red showing through her shoes.  Vixy noticed the similarity even before the nurse pointed it out and repeated the word “see?”  Smiling, the nurse turned her attention to the patient chart and quietly reviewed the notes.

Past middle age, and obviously a seasoned professional, the mother-of-pearl name tag pinned to the pocket of her scrubs read, “Barbara Mancini, RN”.  The hospital only allowed veteran staff to attend ICU patients, especially the quasi famous ones.  It was delicate work dealing with patients on the razors edge of life and death, and from a liability standpoint, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Standing a stout five foot tall, nurse Barbara looked as emotionally scared as a field medic with battle fatigue.  Decades caring for patients engraved a “care-worn” look in her face.  Her graying hair, tied neatly in a bun, crowned her head under a white nursing cap.  From a never ending stream of worried loved visiting the ICU, Barbara had developed a profoundly caring touch and a pleasant smile.  She was genuine, personal, and heartfelt as she explained the seriousness of her patient’s status, and took great pride in her work.

“Well, we are showing some marked improvement here.” she stated auspiciously.  Noting the chart, and visibly pleased, she spoke with slight surprise in her voice.

“I must admit, he is progressing much faster than expected.” “Losing a great deal of blood, he was in very serous condition when he came in last night.”  She looked at Kalina and flashed an empathic smile.

“He is still sedated but we have discontinued the sedative so he should be waking up soon”.

“Thank you Barbara.”  “I really appreciate your candor.”  “You’ve been wonderful these past few hours.” Kalina said sincerely as she looked at Michael who was still exhibiting rapid eye movement. 

“Well, my shift is over so I will goodbye to you all.”  Kneeling down, she looked Vixy right in the eye.  “Especially you princess.”  Vixy, peeking behind her mommy’s leg, did her best to appear shy.  A clean but crumpled pillow case rested on the floor at her feet.

“Thank you for all your help Barbara.” Shaw said an authoritative tone, a habit he barely even noticed.  Years of police work gave Shaw certain mannerisms that hinted at his profession constantly; a profession hard to mistake once witness to his conduct and immaculate presentation.

“I hate to say this, but I hope I won’t see you on my next shift.”  Barbara responded.  Smiling and crossing her fingers on both hands, she held them out in a gesture of hope.

“Take care now.”  She turned and left the room.

Meanwhile, Victoria noticed her daddy’s movements. 

“Daddy?” She muttered as she pointed at her father with her little finger.

While squinting in an effort to adjust his eyes to the brightness, Michael inadvertently yanked on the intravenous tube imbedded in his right hand as he raised it to feel the bruise on his brow.

“Christ.  What a headache.” Michael’s voice was dry and horse.

“Michael!” “Thank God!”  Kalina darted towards the bed.

Shaw approached with a relieved look on his face.  “What’s up Jackass?” he inquired sarcastically.  “What the hell made you decided to get all righteous on us there buddy?”

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“What happened?” Shaw replied excitedly.  “You ruined a perfectly good night out, that’s what happened.” Shaw ribbed Michael but his confusion overshadowed the comedy.

“I can’t remember anything.” Michael mumbled as he felt the bruise on his head.

“Are you serious?” “Nothing at all?” Shaw expressed concern.

“No.” “The last thing I remember was leaving you guys to get my cell phone from Cormac”.

“Really…”  Shaw shot a concerned glance at Kalina, his left eye twitching.

“Yeah…  I don’t remember a thing.” Michael said slightly irritated.

“You’re virtually a hero buddy.” Shaw replied trying to ease Michael’s concern.

“Babe, just relax, it will come back to you.” Kalina reassured him.  “Just give it time.”

Michael’s heart monitor began to beep.  An echo could be heard coming from the nurse station in the hall.  The chime indicated a sharp increase in his heart rate which alerted the nurse to his waking.

“Hero!”  “What do you mean hero?”

“Is everything alright.” the nurse said as she poked her head in the room.

“Yeah, its fine, um, he’s fine” Kalina stammered. “He is just a little confused.”

“Okay, let me grab the doctor just to be certain.” The nurse disappeared as quickly as she appeared.

 

Chapter Three - Not Once, Not Twice but…

 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air while Shaw, Kalina and Michael waited for the doctor to arrive.  Barely blinking, Michael stared blankly at the foot of his hospital bed with a look of confusion affixed to his face when Vixy broke the uncomfortable silence with a single word.

“Up?” she said in a soft angelic voice as she tugged on the hospital bed sheets.

She wanted to climb onto the bed with her father as she did early Saturday mornings at home.  Kalina picked her up and sat her gently on her daddy’s lap where he admired her with pride.  Michael sat upright and seemed less confused but still remained groggy.

 “Hello Pooplo.” he said with great effort in a falsetto voice.  “Pooplo” was the nickname Michael gave to Victoria when she was a newborn.  Without definition, the word represented the great affection he held for his daughter.  Vixy smiled as she tried to grab the IV tube embedded in his hand.

“Ah, no, no Vix.” her mother grabbed her hand as she tried with the opposite hand again.

“Did you hear what I said?” Kalina said sternly.  Whining with displeasure, Vixy soon gave up sensing her mother’s irritation in her voice.  Bewildered, Michael asked Shaw to explain what landed him in the hospital.

“Dude, why don’t you fill me in?”  Michael asked.

“Mike, you saved a girls life.  How could you not remember?” Shaw replied.

“What do you mean, saved a girls life?” Michael winced as he asked.  His nostrils flared slightly as his voice dropped.

Kalina leaned over the bed-rail and whispered, “She was being raped Michael.  You stopped the guy and he stabbed you. ”

“What?  When the hell did that happen…where did it happen?” Michael asked becoming agitated.

“Calm down honey, getting excited is not going to help.  We can explain but maybe you want to read this first.”

Kalina grabbed one of the copies of the newspaper she had neatly stacked on top of his bedside table.  Fifteen copies in total, she intended on saving one for the family scrapbook, after she proudly handed out the rest to her family and friends.

“HERO” was sprawled out across the front page of the New York Post in large print.  A blown up photo of the victim Michael unselfishly rescued was inset next to a larger photograph of him.  Seeing his face on the front page made him feel awkward.

“Jeez…where the hell did they get this picture?” Michael sneered as he saw his face.

“Um, hon, it’s your profile photo on Facebook.” Kalina said sarcastically.

“Oh, yeah…”

Turning to the inside front page, Michael began reading the story.  44-year-old Michael G. Raphael (photo opposite) rescues 26-year-old Gina Wilcox from almost certain death.  Michael read the article aloud as his mouth dropped.  The article painted him as a “real life hero putting the victim’s safety before his own.  When he was finished reading the article he lowered the paper to his lap where Vixy pointed at his picture.  “Daddy’s picture?” she said poking the paper.

“They caught the guy?” Michael was surprised.

“Yeah buddy.  You did well.” Shaw replied.

“Why can’t I remember anything Shaw?  Why did I even get involved?”

Michael remembered nothing of the event and it frightened him.  Kalina sensed his frustration and fear and gently grabbed his hand.

“I’m proud of you baby.” she said softly as she locked eyes with him.

“I can’t believe I don’t remember a thing.” he repeated blankly.  When the hell do I go around saving people?  I hate people!”

“Babe, you don’t mean that.  You talk to everyone.  You’re one of the most congenial people I know.” Kalina retorted.

“Hun, just ‘cause I talk to them doesn’t mean I like them.  I just want them to like me.  It doesn’t matter if I like them.”

“Mike, we all know you had it rough, I’ll be the first to agree.  And you’re far from a Philanthropist.  I wouldn’t exactly call you Gandhi, but you have a good heart man.  There is no way you could have let that girl suffer.”

As the words left Shaw’s mouth, Doctor Keelan walked into the room.  He was a tall, slender man of fifty with a soft spoken voice and strong facial features.  His hair, cut high and tight like a marine, contradicted his quiet persona.  A white lab coat covered a crisp clean white shirt and an emerald green geometric patterned tie as it swung pendulously from his gait.

“Well, it’s nice to see you conscious Mr. Raphael.”  Dr. Keelan said calmly.  “How are you feeling?”

“He’s a bit disoriented doc.” Kalina said with concern.  “He doesn’t remember anything that happened.”

“Yeah Doc, what’s wrong with me?” “Did I hit my head and get amnesia or something?” Michael pulled him self up a little straighter as Kalina removed Victoria from his lap so he could speak with the doctor.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about Mr. Raphael; in fact, it’s quite common.  Our scans rule out head trauma and all brain functions are normal.  We were a little concerned about the bruise on your head but no internal damage resulted from the bump, so we are confident your brain suffered no injury.  A slight concussion combined with the great deal of blood you lost, are the contributory factors. You lost a great deal of blood which takes a toll on the whole body.  When blood is scarce in the system, the body defends and protects vital organs to avoid systemic failure.”  Michael and the others still looked confused.  Noticing the confusion, Doctor Keelan explained further. 

“The brain is the most important organ in the body.  It must continue to receive oxygenated blood at all times.  During the accident, but the Medulla Oblongata, which controls respiratory functions and the cardiac center areas of the brain received the most to avoid catastrophic failure, the parts of the brain that control the involuntary motor reflexes receive blood first in a trauma situation such as yours.  Less important areas in a survival situation are the Cerebral Cortex and the Frontal Lobe; they are responsible for cognition, memory functions, and the learning of new information.  The body innately reacts, delivering less blood to less important areas, when oxygen rich blood is scarce.  Since memory and cognition play a secondary roll in a trauma situation, you body reacted accordingly.  It is simply a matter of survival Mr. Raphael.  That would explain your loss of memory or inability to recall what happened.”

Shaw interjected.  “So in layman terms, he won’t remember anything because the memory part of his brain wasn’t working at the time doc?”

“Yes and no.” Doctor Keelan replied.  “He may begin to remember small details over time which could help him piece together the event, but it could take a while.  On the other hand, there is no guarantee he will recall anything at all.  Unfortunately it’s not an exact science.”  “At any rate, I need to discuss a topic of some greater importance with you.” his expression became more serious.

“Mr. Raphael, your injuries were serious and as I mentioned before you lost a great deal of blood.  With injuries this severe, one would assume a significant amount of recuperation would take place.”

“What are you saying doc?” Michael asked with a look of concern on his face.

“Well, what I am trying to tell you is, you are healing at a greatly accelerated pace.  The fact that I am even standing here having a normal conversation with you is extremely unusual.”

“What do you mean, accelerated, doc?” Shaw inquired.

“Yeah, what does that mean?” Michael and Kalina said in unison.

“Well it means that you are healing at thrice the rate an average male patient your age should heal.”

“Thrice?  What the hell does that mean?” Michael asked.

“It means three times Mike.” Shaw said quietly.

“I know that for crissake!” Michael retorted.  “I mean is there something wrong with me?” he looked towards Doctor Keelan as he asked.

“No, no Mr. Raphael, not at all.  On the contrary, you are as healthy as a horse.  It’s very perplexing.”

“Well thank God for that.” Michael took a deep breath and looked at Kalina holding Vixy on her hip.  “What now?” he asked the doctor as he smiled at his daughter.

“Well, I want to keep you overnight for observation, but if you remain stable, we will release you tomorrow.  Let me make the rest of my rounds and we will talk before I leave for the day.  For now, just take it easy and rest up.  Deal?”

“What ever you say doc, you’re the boss.” Michael said agreeably.

As Doctor Keelan turned towards the door to leave, he spun around on his heel and said, “Oh, and try to keep those annoying reporters away from my ICU.  They are like a bunch of flies hanging around out there.  I told them you would be allowed to see them after your discharge and not before.  I don’t want a media circus on my floor.” He said politely.  “Apparently you have become quite a celebrity Mr. Raphael.” he winked at Michael and exited to the hallway.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room when the doctor left.  The three pondered the meaning of Michael’s accelerated healing.  Michael looked down at Vixy, still on her mother’s hip.  She leaned over the stainless bed-rail with her delicate little hand and grabbed for the gold St. Christopher medallion that hung from a long chain around Michael’s neck.  Shaw broke the long, uncomfortable silence with a snide comment.

“Thrice...” he said sarcastically.  “Who the hell talks like that?”

Chapter Four – Strange Visitor

 

The hospital appeared dim and quiet, almost vacant, from the city street.  All the windows darkened with the occasional bluish flicker revealing the rooms with the televisions playing silently.  Michael, silent in his bed, stared at the florescent light sneaking under his door from the hallway.  The recent events swirling tempestuously in his mind as he desperately tired to spark a latent memory.  The series of events that forced him into the Intensive Care Unit still eluded him.

Without the distraction of visitors and the nursing staff intruding, Michael could meditate.  The stillness of the night began to fuel his memory.  He frequently used meditation to help relieve stress, a technique he perfected while incarcerated, a technique taught to him by his cell mate.  Christopher, a black man raised in the southern United States shared the challenges of growing up black in the racist Deep South during the 1970.  The experience gave him a set of survival skills that most white American males would never develop or need.  The method worked well and came in handy in high stress situations.  Smiling to himself, he quietly thanked Chris for the wisdom he shared. 

Michael found it ironic that a man he was locked in a cramped eight by ten cell for six months with shared the same name as his patron saint Christopher.  Living in the cramped and stressful environment drew them as close, like war veterans; closeness rarely exhibited in the “real world” by opposite races.  Michael preferred thinking of his confinement in civilized terms.  The two friends shared many stories and life lessons with each other in relatively short period of time.  Although forced upon him, it was a meaningful and retrospective time in Michael’s life bringing clarity to his clouded world.

Michael closed his eyes and focused on clearing his head.  In a state of anamnesis, he reverted back to the alley where revealing last night’s traumatic events as if a movie played out in his head.

The tunnel was dark with the exception of dim light spilling in from the opposite end.  Visibility was poor and the sounds of the street grew fainter.  Ahead in the tunnel, next to the cold stone wall, he could see the faint outline of someone moving.  Inching closer the frightening noise of muffled screaming startled him.  Focusing hard on the movement, he now made out two distinct silhouettes, one figure on top of the other.  Cautiously approaching, Michael realizes that he is witnessing a violent rape in progress. 

Seeing more detail, he witnessed a filthy middle aged man forcing himself onto a young and very attractive young woman.  With one hand, the rapist managed to hold both of his victim’s hands above her head holding his other grimy hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.  His long and dirty fingernails cut into her soft cheek as his scuzzy hand pressed tightly down over her soft lips barely allowing her to breath.

Her blue eyes, filled with tears, bulged, spattered with broken blood vessels from screaming.  Terror resounded in her bloodshot eyes as she struggled for her life.   Her golden blond hair, caught between his grubby hand and her mouth, was matted with saliva and tears as she struggled desperately to keep him at bay.

Oblivious to Michael’s approach, the man continued his feverish attempt at raping the poor girl, but she saw Michael through her tears while she screamed hopelessly into the assailant’s foul hand.

Locking eyes with Michael as he appeared to her over the rapist’s shoulder, they secretly pleaded for help.  Her innocent blue eyes drowning in hopelessness enraged Michael.  For a brief second, the image of his sweet young daughter Victoria flashed through his mind’s eye.  He felt as if he was witnessing his own daughter being defiled as his temper swelled.  Suddenly, Michael leapt into action.  He moved as if something unworldly controlled him, like he no longer controlled his own body.

Clenching his right fist tightly, he swung viciously at the man from behind.  Connecting precisely at the assailant’s temple, he caught him completely by surprise.  The blow, swift and hard, was completely unexpected. 

Stunned, the rapists hand slipped off the young girl’s mouth allowing her screams to echo in the long corridor.  As the criminal dropped to the ground, Michael helped the terrified girl to her feet.  Turning his back to the rapist, who was now on his hands and knees, Michael became vulnerable to attack.   Clearing his head, the agitated and frightened bum reached into his jacket and pulled out a long sharpened steel shank.  The pain of cold sharp steel plunging deep into Michael’s side dropped him to his knees.  Fleeing as quickly as his feet would carry him; the rapist disappeared into the darkness.  As the assailant’s footsteps faded from earshot, Michael collapsed; his face pressing slowly into the cold concrete, as his warm blood collected into a large puddle beneath him.

Breaking his meditation and opening his eyes, Michael noticed his hand began to shake as his memory came rushing back.  A wave of disbelief mixed with fear overcame him.  Last evenings events seemed so distant from reality, so convoluted and unlike anything he could imagine himself capable of, he barely believed it. 

Michael mustered the courage to examine his wound.  Slowly, he peeled back the sterile white cotton dressing taped to his flank.  Blood leaked through the thick sterile gauze pad leaving a strip of red along the length of the white dressing.  The heart monitor, still connected to his fingertip began to steadily increase. 

Michael’s mind raced as he slowly revealed the jagged gash made by the rapist’s steel shank.  Surgical staples pierced and gathered his skin as they held together the craggy laceration.  Caked with dried blood and Betadine stains, it looked like some horrific Frankenstein makeup from a b-rated horror film, while pain deep in his ribcage hinted at the depth of the wound.

Michael’s anxiety gave way to rage.  He hated himself for getting involved.  Hero or no hero, he had no connection to the girl and had no idea why the rapist did what he did.  All Michael could focus on was his duty to protect his wife and child.  He decided that his actions were not heroic, but blatantly stupid, and vowed never to put himself in harms way for anyone other than his family again. 

Concerns about the media now began bugging him.  He knew they would ask stupid questions completely unrelated to the incident and he would have to explain why he went to jail so many years ago.  Beginning to feel a little nauseous he knew he had to calm down.  Suddenly the door handle his hospital room began slowly turning.

Michael quickly glanced at the clock, as he covered the gash in his side.  It seemed later than it was, but visiting hours were certainly over.  As the door opened and the room flooded with bright light from the hall he was forced to squint.  Allow his eyes to adjust and made out a female figure standing in the doorway, moved quickly to cover his semi naked torso.

The young woman standing in the doorway was noticeably embarrassed and quickly averted her eyes when she saw Michael partially exposed.  Recognizing the girl, Michael was stunned to see who quietly walked into his room, and his embarrassment gave way to surprise.

Chapter Five - Inquiring Minds Want to Know

                                                       

After sipping from the small white espresso cup, Nicholas Nevsky, without looking, carefully placed it back on the saucer next to the tiny demitasse spoon.  Fixated on an article entitled “Герой” picked up by the associated press, he never took his eyes off the newspaper.  The title translated from Bulgarian to English read, “Hero”.

Nevsky, a stout man approximately five foot eleven inches in height, wore a well groomed, salt and pepper beard, which matched his well kept white hair.  Always wearing simple clothes and comfortable shoes, he could be found, more often than not, with his reading glasses midway down the bridge of his nose.  He wore them so he might easily look over them while he was reading, and he was always reading.  Nevsky, now in his late sixties, had a scholarly and well read air about him.  His movements, precise and calculated, were unrushed, and besides English he spoke several other languages, including Bulgarian, all with a mild Russian accent.

Although Nevsky was a man of the “cloth”, he was more in touch with the secular world than many of his colleagues.  He had given up his role as a catholic priest only two years out of the seminary to “chase” the truth as he put it.  Well versed in current events, and often found traveling about Europe in search of historical evidence, he became a well respected religious theologian.  Researching many of the topics he based his career on, Nevsky obtained a PhD in Religious Theology from Oxford University only three years after he left the priesthood.  Although well known and acclaimed for his work, Nevsky managed to live simply, by design, and managed to remain down to earth.

A student of many languages, Nevsky spoke German, Polish, Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, Bulgarian and Russian fluently.  A native of Russia and raised during the Cold War, he found it helpful to speak German along with many of the Romance languages to avoid trouble while he moved about Europe to further his education.  He was most fond of the English language and wrote most if not all of his research and published works in American English.  It seemed the most logical choice of language from an academic standpoint.  Now, living in Bulgaria, Nevsky found he used Bulgarian more often than not when he spoke.  He even began to dream in the language of his chosen country.  Living in a remote area of the Eastern European countryside, he enjoyed the unspoiled beauty it possessed.  The quiet mountains of Rila provided the perfect environment for him to commune with his thoughts without interruption. 

The monastery of Saint Ivan of Rila, better known as the Rila Monastery, is where he felt most comfortable.  The oldest Orthodox monastery in Bulgaria, it is nestled in the southwestern Rila Mountains, seventy-three miles south of the Bulgarian capital Sofia, and is named after Saint Ivan who lived as a hermit there most of his life.

Founded in the 10th century, the Rila Monastery is regarded as one of Bulgaria's most important cultural, historical and architectural monuments.  Celebrated throughout the whole of Europe for its beauty and serenity, and founded by St. Ivan during the rule of Tsar Peter I from 927 to 968 AD, the religious center acted as a depository of Bulgarian language and culture in the ages of foreign rule. Destroyed by fire in 1833 and reconstructed by 1862 because of its significance both culturally and spiritually, the monastery has developed an extensive library of ancient works second only to the Vatican in Rome.  Nevsky, instrumental in building the Rila library to monumental proportions during his twenty three years rein, was rewarded for his work by recognition by the Catholic Church in 2002 shortly after the pilgrimage of Pope John Paul II on May 25, 2002 to its hallowed grounds.

A World Heritage Site, Nevsky’s home held great mystery.  Particularly famous for housing Rafail's Cross, a torso sized carving completed in 1802 by monk Rafail took 12 years to carve.  Depicting 104 religious scenes and 650 miniature figures that draw tourists by the tens of thousands each year, shows Rila’s outward luster.  Its greatest treasures and secrets contained deep in the caverns of the Rila Mountains are known only to Nevsky himself.  He held many ancient and coveted works of literature never displayed for tourists.  Most of the other monks at the monastery had no knowledge of the items he studied and archived, let alone where he kept them.  Nevsky was a private man when it came to his collection of ancient relics.  He knew all too well what greed lurks in the hearts of men and how destructive a force it can be.

Nevsky’s work revolved around one main topic, the constant battle between good and evil, between God and Satan.  His work sometimes got him into trouble with the Catholic Church in Rome but because of his notoriety in academic circles, and the large sums of money he generated with his publications and endowments, he always seemed to avoid serious repercussions.

Nevsky read the newspaper article about Michael carefully.  What held his attention was not the heroism as much as the hero’s name.  Michael G. Raphael captured his attention to the point of fascination.  If Michael was who Nevsky though he was, he had to learn more.  He had questions the article could not begin to answer.  Nevsky decided to leverage all of his contacts to facilitate meeting this quasi-famous “hero”.

Slowly crunching on the last bite of biscotti he ate with his coffee, Nevsky decided a trip to the Vatican in Rome was in order.  While there, he could collect information on Michael Raphael from his contacts at the University of Rome.  Wiping his mouth with the white cotton cloth he had resting on his right thigh, he placed it on the table next to his empty cup, and folded the newspaper sharply along the edge to facilitate tearing the article out.  Once extracted, he folded it carefully and stuck it into his pocket and looked out from the balcony where he was sitting.

Bright and warm on his face, the midmorning sun cast a golden hue over the valley of Rila as it cascaded up the sides of the mountains.  A majestic view when in full bloom, hundreds of vibrantly colored alpine flowers burst into a mosaic that blanketed the entire valley.  A marvelous display of nature Nevsky looked forward to late spring.

Nevsky, swallowing a deep breath of fresh clean mountain air, watched the Egyptian Vultures and Honey Buzzards as they danced high on the afternoon thermals.  Soaring more than a half mile up in the clear cobalt sky, Nevsky could barely see them with his naked eye.  Gliding effortlessly, he admired them and wondered how insignificant he must look as they soared way above him.  Blinking from the strain on his eyes, he stood up to stretch his legs, and walked through the arched doorway leading to his quarters.

Entering modestly decorated bed chamber, he knelt beside the bed, and was interrupted by a soft knock at the heavy wooden door to his room.

“Enter.” he said from his kneeling position at his bedside.

The latch clicked and the door creaked open.  A young Bulgarian monk poked his head in the room.  Speaking English in a thick Bulgarian accent, he addressed Nevsky apologetically.

“Oh, sorry father. I didn’t mean to interrupt your prayer”.

“It’s alright Georgi.  I wasn’t praying.  I was getting my bag.”  “Here,” he motioned with his hand, “Come give me a hand.”

Georgi hastily entered the room to grab Nevsky’s leather duffle from under the bed.

“Here father, let me.”

Nevsky, using the bed to help steady him rise, stood upright and brushed a speck of dust from his trousers.

“Thanks Georgi” he said while he walked over to his dresser. “Just leave it there on the bed Georgi.”

“Going somewhere father?” Georgi asked politely.

“Just a little trip to Rome.”

“Want some company?” Georgi said hopefully.

“If you like Georgi, you are welcome to come.”

“What’s the trip for father?”

“Just a little fact finding mission.” Nevsky smiled as he said the words.  “Well, actually, I need more cookies.”  Georgi laughed.  He knew how much Nevsky loved his biscotti and used a trip to Rome as an excuse to get some when he ran out.

“Ah, mixing business with pleasure I see.”

“Is there any other way?” Nevsky placed some clean underclothing in the large leather duffle as Georgi daydreamed.

“Perhaps you want to begin packing Georgi?”

“Oh, I’m sorry father.  I drifted off there for a second.”

“Don’t drift too far Georgi, I will miss my train.” Nevsky smiled.

Far from bright, what Georgi lacked in smarts, he made up with heart.  Always attentive to Nevsky’s needs, Georgi was willing to lend a hand when needed so Nevsky tolerated his obtuse persona.  Average in height but lanky in stature, Georgi hunched his shoulders slightly.  An appetite like a horse but racy metabolism, Georgi never seemed to gain weigh no matter what he ate.  A soft spoken man who avoided confrontation, Georgi was generally unnoticeable.  Nevsky felt sorry for him but did not pity Georgi, rather he treated him with dignity and respect.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour, and please phone a taxi to the train station.”

“Yes father.  I will.” Georgi looked down as he spoke.

“Also, have Alec pack us a small snack and a light dinner for the ride.”

Georgi left the room as swiftly as he entered.  He loved taking short trips with Nevsky because he knew the best places to eat and to sleep.  Every trip they took seemed more like an adventure than an excursion.  Life could become quite mundane at the monastery so the infrequent distraction was always welcomed.

Nevsky chuckled to himself and shook his head as he continued packing his bag.  Georgi had no family to speak of and did little traveling on his own.  He showed up at the monastery a little over five years ago and was rejected by most of the other monks as a student.  In need of an assistant to catalog selected portions of his library, Nevsky allowed Georgi to help.  He took direction and never complained of boredom no matter how tedious the activity.  Nevsky grew to trust Georgi, and he has held the station ever since.

They rode in the back seat of the taxi in silence while Nevsky reread Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe”.  Holding the book, steady as possible, as they bounced over the many bumps and holes that plagued the streets of Bulgaria, Nevsky read the novel for the sixth time.  A quick read and one of his favorites, it put him in the mood for adventure.

Eyes quickly darting as the buildings passed by his window, Georgi seemed more distracted than usual.  Catching Nevsky’s attention, it distracted him from his reading.

“Everything okay Georgi?”  Nevsky peered over his reading glasses at him.

“Huh?” Georgi replied.

“Is everything alright?”  Nevsky looked at him curiously.

“Um, yeah…Everything is fine.”

“You seem a little distracted.  What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Georgi continued staring through the car window.  Doing his best to sound genuine, Nevsky picked up on the underlying subtlety of his tones.  He knew he was hiding something but he could not put his finger on it.  Deciding not to press Georgi, he returned to the book as Crusoe just discovered footprints in the sand on his beach.  A few moments later, Nevsky glanced at Georgi again.  The same blank expression on his face indicated to Nevsky that he might bridge the topic again when Georgi was slightly more talkative.

Chapter Six - Blinded by the Light

 

Michael rubbed His eyes in disbelief while they adjusted to the drastic change in light.  It was past 11:30 at night.  Visiting hours over, Michael wondered how the visitor even got past the guards, let alone in his room.  Recognizing her from the huge photo that was prominently positioned on the cover of the New York Post, he peered at Gina Wilcox as she stood in the doorway of his hospital room.  Still shaken from his recollection of memory, he blinked as if he was staring at a ghost.

“G…Gina? What are you doing here?” he asked while he cleared his throat and sat up in his bed.

“I’m sorry Mr. Raphael; I really don’t want to intrude.” Gina gushed.  “I know I should have knocked but I didn’t expect to find you awake.”  She clutched a small white envelope in her hands.  “I was just going to sneak in and leave this for you.”

Gina wore a long shimmering black rain coat synched around her waist and black leather riding boots that reached her knees.  Beaded droplets of rain dotted the coat like shining diamonds against the night sky.  Long curly blond tresses hung loosely around her face, the ends dampened from the rain.  Small, barely noticeable, bags under her eyes punctuated her tired and drawn completion; evidence of the mental and physical trauma she was forced to endure recently.  Gina wore little make up, but her high Nordic cheek bones framed her big blue eyes perfectly.  She was easy on the eyes even in her emotional state, and her delicate light coloring and graceful features hinted at a Danish heritage. 

Speaking clearly and intelligently through her supple pouting lips, Gina got right to the point.

“I suppose I should tell you personally instead of sneaking around leaving notes behind your back, but I just don’t know how to put my gratitude into words.” she looked at Michael’s large bandage affixed to his flank.  “I feel terrible about what happened to you.  It was all my fault.”

“Your fault?”  “You did nothing wrong…” Michael attempted to save her from the embarrassment of a long winded thank you by offering solace, but Gina would not allow him to comfort her.  She came to thank him for saving her life and she was determined to get her point across. 

“Well.  I guess I should start by telling you how lucky I feel that you happened to cross my path last night.  And, how sorry I am you got hurt in the process.” Her eyes began to well up with tears.  “I, I really can’t tell you how, how indebted to you I am Mr. Raphael.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her trembling hand.

“Well you can start by calling me Michael.” he said in a comforting voice.

“Um, I’m sorry.” she cleared her throat. Michael smiled at her and looked deeply into her eyes. 

“Gina, I didn’t do anything different than anyone else put in that position.”

“I don’t believe that Mr. Raph… um, Michael.  I heard people passing bye and I know they heard me... nobody stopped to help me.” A single large tear escaped from each of her eyes and streamed down her soft white cheeks as her lip began to tremble.

“Now don’t cry Gina. Everything turned out fine.” Michael tried to console her.  He melted when a woman cried.

“How can you say that?  Look at you, you almost died helping me…” Holding back the tears she knew made him uncomfortable, Gina took a deep breath.

“It’s not that bad Gina, really.”  “Come on, don’t cry.”

Moving closer to Michael’s hospital bed, Gina hurriedly wiped the tears from her face.

“I just want you to know,” she paused.  “I believe in angels.  You are an angel Mr. Raphael.”  Gina’s voice sobered as she said the words with conviction.

“What if I told you I was looking for my cell phone?”

“Sorry, Michael, I don’t believe you.  Nothing happens by chance.”

“Suit yourself.” Michael shrugged and smirked kindly.

Gina walked towards the Michael’s hospital bed.  She extended her feminine hand cautiously to touch the bandages.

“May I?” Her knuckles were bruised and sore.  She had broken, bloodied, and jagged nails on most of her fingers with scrapes evident on her palms from the ordeal.  Placing her hand delicately over the bandages Gina closed her eyes.  Frozen as a frightened cat, Michael remained motionless as Gina began to pray.

“Father in heaven I ask you to help this man.  Please heal his wounds and make him whole.”  She trembled slightly as Michael stared at her closed eye lids.

“He is a good servant Lord.  Please let him leave here quickly and continue your work.  Thank you for sending him to protect me... Amen.”

She opened her eyes piercing Michael with her bright blue gaze.

“I want you to know that no matter what, you can rely on me.  I owe you my life Michael and I thank you deeply.”

It was Michael who fought back the tears now.  Gina’s sincerity touched him deeply.  Standing close to him, he could smell the delicate scent of gardenia.  He touched her hand gently as he spoke.

“You remind me of my own daughter.” “She’s only two, but there is something in your eyes that remind me of her.  I saw you helpless there and I was compelled to help you; just as I would help my own child.” His eyes welled up.

“Thank you Michael, I mean that.  I will never be able to repay you.”  She smiled and placed the white envelope containing a “thank you” card on his bedside table.

“I’ll let you rest now.”

As she turned to leave the room, Michael couldn’t help but say one more thing to her.

“Gina, if you ever need anything…”

“I think you have given me enough Michael.” She smiled and left quietly.

A placid silence filled the room after the door closed.  The comfort of knowing he did not risk his life for nothing soothed Michael to sleep peacefully and without further contemplation.

Sunlight flooded the room penetrating Michael’s closed eyelids as the morning nurse opened the blinds in his room.

“Rise and shine!” she said in a bubbly voice.  “You have an important visitor this morning Mr. Raphael.”

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Michael raised the back of his motorized hospital bed.

“My wife?” he asked as Kalina entered the room carrying their daughter.

“Good answer babe.  I am important.  But that’s not who she meant.”

Kalina beamed as she entered the room. Her long, shining hair flowed gracefully, while her heels clicked with each step.  Her makeup, applied perfectly, and her sun dress clinging to her upper thigh as she walked, she was a sight for sore eyes.

She wore a thin leather belt with a multicolored rhinestone encrusted buckle to accentuate her narrow waistline which allowed light material to fall gracefully over her toned and tan skin.  A single pink tourmaline stone encircled by tiny diamonds hung from a white gold chain around her neck.  Michael had given it to her for Christmas their first holiday season together.  Looking like a fashion model, Michael was reminded of just how lucky a man he was to have her in his life.

In turn, Vixy looked adorable.  A beautiful flowered headband held her golden hair off her cherub like face.  A matching, brightly colored flowered sun dress covered her white leotard which terminated at her pink patent leather Mary Jane shoes.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked with a chuckle in his voice. “You guys are dressed for a photo shoot.”

“Don’t you know Mr. Raphael…the Mayor is here to see you.” said the nurse while disconnecting Michael’s monitor.

“No.  I had no idea. What for?”

“We brought you a change of clothes.  You’re coming home today.” Kalina’s brilliant white smile was beaming.

“I figured the doctor was going to let me go today.  I feel pretty good.” Michael shot a glance at the nurse. “Why is the mayor here?”

“He is waiting in the atrium lobby for us.  They want a statement from you about the whole Gina Wilcox thing.”

Michael scooted off the bed and stood up.  Standing still for a moment, he took a deep breath.

“Well, let’s get this over with.”

“You okay babe?” Kalina asked judging from the look on Michael’s face.

“Just a little light headed…I will be fine.”

“It’s to be expected Mr. Raphael.” the nursed added. “After laying down for over twenty-four hours you’re body has to readjust itself.  No need to worry unless it continues or intensifies.”

Gathering his composure, Michael walked over to his wife, looked deeply into her bright green eyes and hugged her tightly.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hug you baby.” he whispered in her ear as they embraced.

“I love you Michael.” she whispered.

“I love you back.” Michael replied.

Victoria, standing at her mother’s side, raised her arms to indicate she wanted a group hug.  Common practice in the Raphael home, the group hug was always happily received.

“You guys are my whole world.” Michael said quietly.

After a brief embrace, Michael walked to the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind him.  Pausing to view the thick stubble that grew on his chin, he grabbed his shaving kit and began to clean the past two days off his face.    

Minutes later, Michael emerged from the bathroom wearing a crisp, white collard shirt, black Marino wool, v-neck sweater and perfectly pressed black trousers, a gold St. Christopher medallion hung prominently from his neck.

“Wow!” Kalina said when she saw him emerge clean and fresh. “You look like my husband again!”

“I guess we should get this over with.” Michael said referring to meeting the Mayor.

“Come on babe, people eat this stuff up. They love real life hero stories.”  Kalina took his hand and smiled at him. “You will be just fine.”