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| The Calls of Shadows: Part 2 |
Everywhere she turned, whispers followed.
“Jonathan would have loved this,” one guest murmured.
“A shame about the scandal,” said another.
Her husband’s death, paired with the revelation that his prized artifact—the Psalms scroll—might be a forgery, had tarnished his reputation and left her drowning in debts. Their legacy was unraveling, and the pitying glances of the guests only deepened her humiliation.
The walls of the ballroom seemed to close in around her. She excused herself, slipping through a side door into the quiet sanctuary of the powder room.
Evelyn gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection. Her pale face, lined with grief and exhaustion, stared back.
“Get it together,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
As she reached into her purse for a compact, the lights above the mirror flickered.
She froze, her breath hitching. The muffled music and chatter from the ballroom faded into an eerie silence. The air felt charged, as if a storm was building. She turned toward the mirror, watching in horror as the glass began to fog over—not with heat but with something unseen.
Letters appeared, traced by an invisible hand.
BRIAN
Her heart pounded. She stumbled back, her purse falling to the floor.
“Jonathan?” she whispered, barely able to force out the word.
The writing continued, slow and deliberate, until another word emerged beneath the name.
Evelyn pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. The message was clear: Jonathan was reaching out to her from beyond, urging her to find someone named Brian.
The lights flickered once more, and the letters vanished as if they’d never been there. But Evelyn knew what she had seen.
Her husband’s voice whispered faintly in her mind: “Find him, Evelyn. Brian. Arklow.”
The halls of the Arklow Bible Museum were quiet as the last visitors departed for the day. Obadiah—stood in the Psalms exhibit, his hands clasped behind his back. The warm glow of the lights bathed the artifacts in a golden hue, but an uneasy tension lingered in the air.
Gabriel and Michael’s visit weighed heavily on him. Their warning about Jonathan Harrington’s death—and the prophecy that Evelyn would seek him out—had left him restless.
He gazed at the ancient manuscript in the display case, the golden light casting shadows over its worn surface. The Book of the Law, uncovered in Josiah's time, a reminder of a king who had reignited faith in a people who had nearly forgotten it. Jonathan Harrington, taken by a demon, he thought grimly. Antioch again. How far has his reach spread this time?
His reflection rippled faintly in the glass, a momentary distortion as if the weight of the past had brushed against the present. This scroll had been hidden for generations before its rediscovery transformed a kingdom. Now, another scroll, Jonathan’s scroll, had become the center of a mission to restore a family’s shattered legacy.
Obadiah straightened, the echoes of purpose stirring within him. The work of the faithful, past and present, carried on.
“Brian,” called Cole, breaking the silence. His hurried footsteps echoed as he approached, clipboard in hand.
Obadiah turned, his focus shifting from the scroll to his colleague.
“Mrs. Harrington is here,” Cole said, his tone low. “She asked for you specifically. She’s waiting in the lobby.”
Obadiah nodded, his thoughts racing. So it begins, he thought to himself.
Making his way to the lobby, Obadiah spotted Evelyn near a glass display case. She was a petite woman in her sixties, her silver hair neatly pinned back, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil she carried.
“Mrs. Harrington,” Obadiah greeted, his voice calm and soothing. “How can I help?”
Evelyn turned toward him, clutching her purse tightly. “Mr. Sessions... I—” She faltered, then took a deep breath. “My husband sent me to you.”
Obadiah tilted his head slightly. “Sent you to me?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “He’s gone, but... he’s not gone. I hear him in the house at night. I feel his presence. And at the fundraiser... he wrote your name on the mirror. He whispered to me: ‘Find him, Evelyn. Brian. Arklow.’ Why would he send me to you?”
Obadiah gestured toward a nearby bench. How do I explain the unimaginable? He knew he couldn’t tell her everything—not yet. “Let’s sit. Tell me everything.”
As Evelyn recounted her experience, Obadiah listened intently. She described Jonathan’s belief that the Psalms scroll would secure their legacy and how an appraiser had declared it a forgery.
“I don’t know what to do,” she finished, her voice breaking. “He trusted the dealer—a man named Victor Caldwell. But if it’s a fake...” Her tears flowed freely, her grief and fear overwhelming her.
Obadiah reached out, placing a steady hand over hers. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he assured her, though the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him.
The air grew heavy, charged with a faint energy. Obadiah felt the ripple of a spirit’s presence. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where Jonathan’s ghostly form appeared, flickering and translucent.
Evelyn gasped, her gaze darting around. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” Obadiah said softly, his gaze fixed on Jonathan’s apparition. The spirit nodded toward him, his lips moving as if to say, “Help her.”
Obadiah turned back to Evelyn. “I’ll look into Victor Caldwell. I’ll call you once I have answers.”
The next morning, Obadiah arrived at Victor Caldwell’s office, an unassuming building tucked away on the outskirts of town. The shelves and display cases were filled with artifacts that exuded a false air of legitimacy.
“Mr. Caldwell,” Obadiah said as he entered, his tone calm but commanding.
Victor Caldwell, a wiry man with sharp eyes, looked up from his desk. His practiced smile faltered when he saw Obadiah’s expression. “Who’s asking?”
“Brian Sessions. Director of the Arklow Bible Museum.”
Victor leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “What can I do for you?”
“The Psalms scroll you sold to Jonathan Harrington,” Obadiah said, his voice steady. “It’s a forgery.”
Victor’s expression tightened. “That’s a serious accusation. Do you have proof?”
The lights flickered faintly, the room’s temperature warming subtly as divine energy rippled around Obadiah.
“Jonathan trusted you, and you betrayed him,” Obadiah said, his gaze piercing. “Where’s the real scroll?”
Victor paled, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t have it—I never had it.”
Obadiah stepped closer. “You’re lying.”
Victor slumped into his chair, trembling. “It’s in the back,” he finally admitted. “I kept it for leverage.”
Obadiah followed as Victor unlocked a cabinet, producing a worn leather case. Inside lay the authentic scroll, its energy unmistakable.
Later that evening, Obadiah returned the scroll to Evelyn, she clutched it to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t believe it... Jonathan was right all along.”Obadiah stood a few feet away, his hands clasped. “He wanted to make things right—for you, and for his legacy.”
Evelyn turned to him, her voice trembling. “Why did he send me to you? Are you... an angel?”
Obadiah’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Your husband is at peace. He sent you to me because he trusted I could help. That’s all you need to know.”
Before she could reply, the air grew warm and light, and Jonathan’s ghostly form appeared beside her.
She sobbed as Jonathan faded into the light, her trembling hands clutching the scroll as if it were a piece of him still with her. Obadiah’s gaze lingered on her briefly, his expression softening. “Take care, Mrs. Harrington,” he said quietly before turning toward the door.
Several weeks passed before Evelyn Harrington returned to the Arklow Bible Museum. Obadiah was reviewing notes in his office when Cole announced her arrival. She carried the scroll in her hands, wrapped in delicate cloth.
“I thought about what Jonathan would have wanted,” Evelyn said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. “This belongs here. It’s where he wanted it to be.”
Obadiah accepted the scroll with a solemn nod. “He’d be proud of you, Mrs. Harrington. You’ve honored his memory.”
Evelyn carefully signed the donation paperwork, her trembling hands now steady with a sense of closure. She glanced up at Obadiah with a faint but sincere smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sessions. For everything.”
Obadiah inclined his head. “It’s what Jonathan would have wanted. You’ve honored his memory.”
She nodded, clutching her purse, and after one last glance at the scroll, turned to leave. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way down the hall, the weight of grief lightened ever so slightly.
As the door closed behind her, a warmth lingered in the air. Obadiah glanced at the scroll now resting on his desk, its significance illuminated by the soft glow of the room.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” Jonathan’s voice seemed to whisper on a breeze only Obadiah could hear. “I’ll always love you.”
With a final glance at Obadiah, Jonathan’s form dissolved into light, leaving behind a profound stillness.
Obadiah stood in his office, the scroll resting on his desk. For a moment, the weight of this mission lifted, leaving him in quiet reverie. Another soul at peace. Another life set back on course.
Turning back to his notes, Obadiah’s thoughts lingered on what lay ahead. Somewhere, another mission waited—a call he would answer when the time came.
