23.

Nightmares and Vows

Friday, March 29 - 2:45a.m.

Some people say that dreams are nonsensical leftovers brewing in the dark depths of the subconscious with little or no meaning. Others insist that they can be profound, inspiring, even prophetic. Mike had once read that we use dream-time to plan the future, and his occasional episodes of deja vu seemed to be like remembering parts of a dream. That’s why he felt so empty when he woke up from the nightmare. He prayed it was not a glimpse of the future.

In the dream, the normally fast and noisy world seemed to run in slow motion and was now muffled, almost silent. The only sound was the ringing in his ears. He saw people near him crouched on the floor in terror. Others just stood, screaming in muffled silence. Uniformed guards were running toward him in slow motion, yelling into walkie talkies. He was crouched down too, and next to him lay Jennifer sprawled on the floor in a heap, blood gushing from her body in spurts. He couldn’t see where the blood was coming from. He looked down at his hands, which were covered in blood and his mind was drawn back to an odd passage from the Catholic church service that supposedly quoted Christ: “. . . the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all men so that sins may be forgiven.”

A feeling of dread came over him. Somehow it seemed as if the fate of the entire world was threatened, as if evil was winning an important victory over good, and with that victory, the demons would soon swell and conquer the world, filling it with hate.

He tried to yell, “No,” but the words caught in his throat and no sound came out. That’s when he woke up with a start, his heart pounding. He prayed it was just a dream, a subconscious specter of his insecurity and nothing more. Still, he made a vow. He vowed to protect her at all costs.

Mike was not the only one who had a nightmare that particular evening, nor the only one to make a vow. Jeremy Jenkins dreamed that he was a young boy again. His father was whipping him with his leather belt, beating him senseless as he lay curled up in the corner of a barn. The barn was on the family farm in Eastern Arkansas where he grew up. When the beating stopped, he turned around to look with tears streaming down his dirty face. His father sneered, “You’re pathetic, boy. When you gonna grow up?” His father turned and started to walk away, feeding the belt through the loops in his pants.

Pain tore at Jenkins’ back. “I’ll kill you,” the boy whispered through his tears, half hoping his father would hear him.

His father had heard. He turned around and laughed at him through his crooked teeth. “Kill me, boy? You ain’t got the guts. You’re too weak. You couldn’t kill the devil if you was standing right in front of him with a loaded gun.”

Jenkins woke up. The tears on his face and the pain in his back and shoulders brought back all the horrible memories of his childhood. He remembered how his father used to beat him senseless, often without cause. And he renewed the vow of his childhood. He vowed not just to fight evil, but to slay evil.

Cardinal Vilotti also dreamed of evil. He dreamed that Vatican City was burning, set ablaze by demons with hideous, twisted faces. The demons shouted like fans at a football game, a chorus of “Mike! Mike! Mike!” He saw a delighted Satan laughing while smoke billowed from the broken stained glass windows of St. Peter’s Basilica. Satan turned to him and hissed, “Don’t blame me. You caused this yourself.” At that moment, the Cleopatra’s needle in the middle of the piazza fell with a tremendous crash.

He woke up bolt upright in bed. After he caught his breath, his heart was still pounding out of control. This dream was no ordinary dream. It felt like a vision of a horrible future that only he could stop. He vowed not to let the powers of evil destroy God’s Holy Catholic Church, and right now he could only find one name for that evil: Mike.

Jennifer Farrell dreamed that she was standing by a huge wooden cross, and on the cross hung Mike, moaning in slow torturous agony. He was bleeding to death and she stood there crying, powerless to save him. She felt so helpless, but all she could do was stand there and watch the life drain slowly out of him. He wasn’t looking at her. In fact, she didn’t even know if he realized she was there. But somehow, she thought he was trying to give her a message. He kept whispering the word, “Believe.” Believe what, she wondered. Believe that God was kind, benevolent and just in the sight of this slow, tortuous death? Believe in him, the guy who now hung on the cross, powerless to save himself? Believe in justice, in fairness, in good conquering evil? Then he screamed, “Father, why have you forsaken me?” and then his head slumped and fell silent. And as she woke, a tear ran from her eye. She vowed to let Mike get close to her.

Tony Malone dreamed of a bright white light, a blinding light, and nothing more.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

He said, “It’s all a matter of focus. Focus your will, in order to accomplish your dreams. Focus your heart, because love conquers all. Focus your mind, because the answers lie within. Focus your soul, because the real you lies beyond your body. Choose carefully where you place your attention.”