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Inspiring Voices - Robert Blake

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109 pages

English

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Jared Matthews is embarking on a journey which started with a well-deserved furlough from his duties as a foreign war correspondent and pilot during World War II. Everything changes for him after experiencing a vision which seems to portray parallels of the Nazi regime he had witnessed in the 1930s, to what is yet to come in the 21st century. At the outset, he meets a beautiful girl the night he has the vision, but they part ways, possibly never to see each other again. Will he find this woman he felt so drawn to? He also seeks the help of his war buddies, and a priest who offers insightful counsel and warnings about his vision. He returns to Europe and the war, while continuing to experience more dreams and visions, along with the devastation of battle. His destiny seems certain: to warn others of what is yet to come after the war is over. The future? Another dictator, but one of pandemic and prophetic proportions.

Sujets

Thriller

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Publié par	Inspiring Voices
Date de parution	21 janvier 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781462408559
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0180€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Copyright © 2014 Robert Blake.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible ® , Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. ( www.Lockman.org )

Inspiring Voices books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Inspiring Voices
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.inspiringvoices.com
1 (866) 697-5313

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0854-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4624-0855-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013922555

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 1/20/2014

CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1
Jared Matthews walked the rain-soaked streets of New York City that late September evening of 1943 until he felt he could go no more. As the sky continued to pour, he ached for a place to gather his thoughts. His first furlough in several months as a foreign correspondent ought to have been a fun, relaxing five days before heading across the country for a new assignment. Instead, waking up soaked in sweat, inhaling the stale air of a cheap hotel room, fresh flashes of a horrific vision disconnecting him from this life left him drained. He needed to find someone he could talk to, a person who could interpret all that he saw, felt, and experienced in this dream that seemed so chillingly real.
His thoughts were interrupted by a light coming from a restaurant just below street level. Though it was eleven thirty, it still appeared open. Jared ran toward the lighted haven, ducking into the stairwell as a crashing thunder rumbled above. As he slipped into the doorway, he was greeted by a smoke-filled, cozy café with checkerboard tablecloths, drippy candles, and several people milling about, eating, laughing, and listening to the guitar-playing entertainer sing a romantic tune. He spotted a secluded booth toward the back of the restaurant and hustled his muscular frame to the red vinyl, padded seat, away from the buzz of activity. Jared placed his face in his hands, trying to ground his thoughts, but the vision was still so real—it rattled him to his very core.
“Welcome to Romano’s Café!”
He lifted his face from his hands to see a perky, cute waitress in a black satin dress and white apron carrying a tray of dirty di shes.
“What ya need, sir?” she asked in a slight New York a ccent.
Trying to regain composure, Jared replied, “Just some black coffee, pl ease.”
“Are you sure that’s all, sir? We’ve got the best spaghetti in town!” Her face broke into a huge smile.
“No, uh, thanks anyway. The coffee will do for now.” He gave a forced smile.
As she sauntered away, Jared attempted to make sense of it all. He remembered heading to bed after docking in New York Harbor and hanging out with his buddies, McGee and Ryan. Though he had been on the ship a couple of weeks, he found his mind still drowning in the war stories he covered in London. He was told to report back to the United States for more orders concerning writing some stories on the home front, along with developing the copy for a couple of newsreel broadcasts aimed at “letting the folks at home know what’s going on overs eas.”
He had made friends with several soldiers through his military career, especially burly, redheaded Clyde McGee and lanky, soft-spoken John Ryan, both of whom he got to know in basic and advanced training at Sampson Naval Base in New York. They all trained as pilots, but Jared sought to be a journalist. Then the war broke out. They wound up in the same squadron initially, but Jared’s duties as a foreign war correspondent and missions’ pilot took him other directions. Eventually, though, they all ended up on the same ship headed home, a pleasant opening to his short leave from a nineteen-month tour in Europe. The journey was a great reunion: the three of them enjoyed playing pranks on other shipmates and reveled in their reputation as some of the best card players in the navy. Their gambling may never have won them money, but the exaggerated stories, corny jokes, and newfound celebrity status were price less.
When their ship arrived in New York Harbor, he went with Clyde and John to a local restaurant close to the docks. After parting ways with the guys, both of whom gave him a hard time for not wanting to hit the town with them to enjoy the sites and scenes of New York City, he headed straight to the hotel to go to bed. Jared was especially tired and didn’t know why.
Upon arriving at the hotel, he signed in with the crotchety, old desk clerk and ascended the scuffed and splintered mahogany staircase he was sure was once beautiful in this previously stately home. A dwelling to servicemen and some civilians, it was now a twenty-room hotel. Going down a long corridor draped in soiled crimson and gold tapestry carpet, which he supposed was cleaned twice daily by dedicated servants from yesteryear, he found his room: number 207. He actually had a room to himself—what a luxury, he had reflected, after sleeping in a suspended hammock alongside the other shipmates, or in muddy trenches on war-torn battlefields. Turning his key into the lock, he entered a simple but cozy room. It had an antique washbasin, a small brass and iron bed, and a nightstand with a small lamp already lit. A large quilted, blanket lay smoothly across the small, soft mattress, and crisp, white pillows lined the headboard. Jared didn’t even bother to wash up, brush his teeth, or change his clothes. He simply threw his duffel bag into a corner, turned off the lamp, and lay on th e bed.
Why am I so tired? he wondered. A neon light from a storefront sign outside his window intermittently flashed a green glow into his room, casting light and shadows on the wall across from his bed. He was so sleepy he simply rolled over onto his stomach, buried his head in his pillow to shield himself from the brightness, and immediately fell into a deep slu mber.
At some point, Jared was awakened by a deafening crash—it must have been an explosion. Bolting up in bed, he looked at the wall across from him. A perceived sensation of heat generated off the wall like the explosion had happened right in front of him. As he shielded his eyes to the blast, drops of perspiration beaded up on his forehead from the stress of whatever seemed to have just hap pened.
Jared was trying to gather his senses. Being in combat for too long could stir many a soldier from a restful night’s sleep. Realizing he was not in combat and not on an airfield or battlefield, but still in a hotel room, he saw no signs of fire. He continued to stare aimlessly at the wall as the flashing green light shifted into a scene before his eyes, almost as if he were watching a movie—yet he felt a part of it.
An image of a calendar appeared on the wall in front of him, showing the year 1933 and then suddenly dissipating into another scene. He now saw Hitler speaking to crowds of thousands, people cheering, applauding, crying, almost worshipping him as he was appointed chancellor of Germany, just like Jared had witnessed in newsreels in the theater. The calendar appeared again, and pages of it began rolling forward as he saw German soldiers marching into Poland back in 1939, invading towns, removing freedoms from innocent people. He saw Jews being rounded up and killed as Hitler’s plan for prosperity turned into a horridly perverse scheme for annihilation of a race and world domina tion.
The calendar pages began turning again, and he now saw future days as the year 1944 appeared. He saw US and British troops invading France, and a headline appeared, as if from a newspaper, saying: “Germany Surrenders.” He then saw the year 1945 appear, followed by an explosion of horrific proportions, removing an entire city as another newspaper headline appeared, saying, “Japan Surrenders—the War Is Over.” He felt relief come over him as he realized this must be how and when the war would end. Yet, immediately the calendar pages starting turning again. Decades rolled by, replete with scenes that didn’t make sense to him: riots, wars, chilling cultural shifts in society—the calendar continued to spin. He saw more wars, followed by scenes of horrific violence in America and throughout the world—damaged economies, loss of human life, and more changes in culture and thought. As the calendar pages rolled on, and more years flew by, the calendar’s pages moved into the twenty-first century. He witnessed unthinkable destruction to American soil and the rest of the world. He saw a major economic collapse—followed by a huge explosion, grander than the one he had glimpsed when WWII e nded.
The calendar appeared once again, but now the pages stopped spinning, and it began burning. He could not distinctly visualize the date it had stopped on. An