come true … Ethereal and transparent , it is a floating moment … evokes childhood memories of sunshine and sweetness .
His third dream regression into his past was certain to fix everything. The rest of their lives would be restored and their original purpose fulfilled. All of his failures resulting from poor judgment and the subsequent painful consequences would finally be purged. Any memories of the other life—if it existed—would be completely morphed into the unanswerable “what if”, only to be remembered as a dream, including the horrid night of May 29, 2003, when Keri, David, and Martha almost died at the hands of an evil monster.
A satisfying calm relaxed him. He flipped on the radio. The announcer said, “Here is that 1997 hit by Sarah McLachlan, Angel , from her best-selling album, Surfacing .”
“No way!” He turned up the volume.
A few soft piano chords introduced the ethereal ballad. McLachlan’s smooth voice followed… “Spend all your time waiting for that second chance…”
As he listened, his thoughts drifted into his past as he followed the lyrics of the song. The powerful emotion found in the music transcended the songwriter’s original theme, touching his life. He had always been a fan of McLachlan’s music, finding it a soothing escape, but to hear this particular song at this time could only be the result of divine intervention.
Over the years, he had become more sensitive. The trials of life had softened his heart to the pains and joys of mankind. He even cried in movies when the hero overcame insurmountable obstacles to save the girl or the town.
By the time McLachlan had reached the last line in the first stanza his eyes were watery. Then she rolled into the chorus… “In the arms of the angel fly away from here…” His chest tightened. Tears spilled from his eyes. He could not contain himself. Almost every word she sang seemed directed to his situation.
When the song ended he turned off the radio, not wanting to spoil his blissful state; his heart full of joy and peace.
He pulled into the garage and tucked the Angel perfume into his flight bag. Keri greeted him at the door. “Did you have a good day?”
“I’m just glad we have a weekend for a little R&R.”
And a bit of needed time travel .
“Me, too.” She kissed him, pausing to look at his eyes. “Have you been crying?”
He rubbed his eyes, turning his head away. “No…I’m good.”
“Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be back in ten.” He rushed upstairs to his bathroom and hid the box of Angel in his medicine cabinet behind a can of shaving cream.
Tomorrow morning he would be at Starbucks by six o’clock, order a tall coffee, and ingest a healthy whiff of Angel . By this time tomorrow night everything would be perfect—finally free from all regrets and any chance of reliving the horrid events of May 29th.
Returning to the kitchen, he whistled the tune to Sara McLachlan’s Angel .
CHAPTER 11
Southern California
Saturday morning — April 2003
Ryan arrived at Starbucks at 5:30 a.m. in early-morning darkness. He stood by the entrance of the store as an employee fiddled with a handful of keys.
After unlocking the doors, the employee said, “Hi, Ryan.”
“Good morning, Ashley.” He moved to the counter. “Hi, John. I’ll have a tall coffee, please.”
He took his coffee to the condiment bar, added milk and sweetener, then found a seat near the window. He pulled the palm-size, star-shaped dispenser of Angel from his pocket. He patiently sipped his coffee observing customers.
When his cup was half empty, he sprayed Angel on the inside of his left forearm. He lifted his arm to his nose and inhaled. A slight burning sensation tingled the inside of his nostrils. The volatile top note, or first scent impression, was light and refreshing with a hint of sweetness. The middle note—the “heart note” as it is called—would follow in about ten minutes after the oils in
His third dream regression into his past was certain to fix everything. The rest of their lives would be restored and their original purpose fulfilled. All of his failures resulting from poor judgment and the subsequent painful consequences would finally be purged. Any memories of the other life—if it existed—would be completely morphed into the unanswerable “what if”, only to be remembered as a dream, including the horrid night of May 29, 2003, when Keri, David, and Martha almost died at the hands of an evil monster.
A satisfying calm relaxed him. He flipped on the radio. The announcer said, “Here is that 1997 hit by Sarah McLachlan, Angel , from her best-selling album, Surfacing .”
“No way!” He turned up the volume.
A few soft piano chords introduced the ethereal ballad. McLachlan’s smooth voice followed… “Spend all your time waiting for that second chance…”
As he listened, his thoughts drifted into his past as he followed the lyrics of the song. The powerful emotion found in the music transcended the songwriter’s original theme, touching his life. He had always been a fan of McLachlan’s music, finding it a soothing escape, but to hear this particular song at this time could only be the result of divine intervention.
Over the years, he had become more sensitive. The trials of life had softened his heart to the pains and joys of mankind. He even cried in movies when the hero overcame insurmountable obstacles to save the girl or the town.
By the time McLachlan had reached the last line in the first stanza his eyes were watery. Then she rolled into the chorus… “In the arms of the angel fly away from here…” His chest tightened. Tears spilled from his eyes. He could not contain himself. Almost every word she sang seemed directed to his situation.
When the song ended he turned off the radio, not wanting to spoil his blissful state; his heart full of joy and peace.
He pulled into the garage and tucked the Angel perfume into his flight bag. Keri greeted him at the door. “Did you have a good day?”
“I’m just glad we have a weekend for a little R&R.”
And a bit of needed time travel .
“Me, too.” She kissed him, pausing to look at his eyes. “Have you been crying?”
He rubbed his eyes, turning his head away. “No…I’m good.”
“Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be back in ten.” He rushed upstairs to his bathroom and hid the box of Angel in his medicine cabinet behind a can of shaving cream.
Tomorrow morning he would be at Starbucks by six o’clock, order a tall coffee, and ingest a healthy whiff of Angel . By this time tomorrow night everything would be perfect—finally free from all regrets and any chance of reliving the horrid events of May 29th.
Returning to the kitchen, he whistled the tune to Sara McLachlan’s Angel .
CHAPTER 11
Southern California
Saturday morning — April 2003
Ryan arrived at Starbucks at 5:30 a.m. in early-morning darkness. He stood by the entrance of the store as an employee fiddled with a handful of keys.
After unlocking the doors, the employee said, “Hi, Ryan.”
“Good morning, Ashley.” He moved to the counter. “Hi, John. I’ll have a tall coffee, please.”
He took his coffee to the condiment bar, added milk and sweetener, then found a seat near the window. He pulled the palm-size, star-shaped dispenser of Angel from his pocket. He patiently sipped his coffee observing customers.
When his cup was half empty, he sprayed Angel on the inside of his left forearm. He lifted his arm to his nose and inhaled. A slight burning sensation tingled the inside of his nostrils. The volatile top note, or first scent impression, was light and refreshing with a hint of sweetness. The middle note—the “heart note” as it is called—would follow in about ten minutes after the oils in
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