Prophecy of Thol

PROPHECY OF THOL

BOOK 1

DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

☀ 1 ☀

The old leather high-backed chair squeaked as Victor Bennett

settled down at his desk to read his current copy of the Journal

of Applied Physics. Victor’s home oce was his sanctuary—

peaceful, comfortable with a hint of lemon wood polish, and

most of all, convenient—it beat the commute twice a week.

Buy, a tan-and-white pit bull with a face of white hair

showing her age, slept on a dog bed in front of the wall of over‐

owing, oor-to-ceiling bookcases. Buy had one ear pitched

up; always in watchdog mode.

Certicates and awards adorned the walls, including a

framed photo of Victor with famous British theoretical physicist,

Stephen Hawking. Science prizes and exquisite images

from space shuttle missions and the Hubble telescope

completed the room.

Victor reached over to the dark cherrywood desk and

grabbed a mechanical pencil. His eyes rested on a silver framed

photograph on the corner of his desk. It was a reminder of a

bygone time. If the house ever caught re, he would rescue that

picture before he would grab his cell phone or laptop.

20 DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

The picture depicted a handsome man in his late forties, a

striking blonde teenaged girl in an unusual silver-gray formed

jumpsuit, two young towhead boys, and a nerdy looking darkhaired

guy, about twenty-ve, in sloppy clothes with cockeyed,

black-rimmed glasses from being glued together so many times.

The girl’s eyes haunted him.

He raked his thick sandy hair with both hands as he stared

at the photo with a tenderness akin to longing.

Victor managed to pull his gaze back to the magazine. He

let out a ragged breath, clicked the pencil to extend the lead,

opened the cover and ipped to an article. He underlined a

sentence and then turned the page and spied an advertisement

for academic sta at The Whitting Institute in Los Angeles.

Clicking his mechanical pencil again, Victor perused the

ad. None of the positions were for his department. He let out

an annoyed hu. They were understaed, but money was tight.

Both Victor and Stanley Daigle, another physicist, had

surprised the Dean of Physics at MIT when they announced

they were applying for a grant through Whitting to dig deeper

into the many-worlds interpretation, the Anthropic Principle,

superlaws, quantum gravity and wormholes. That had been

over ten years ago.

The peace in Victor’s oce shattered. Buy jumped to her

feet as Victor’s eight-year old son ran into the room.

“Dad! Dad!” Victor swiveled in his chair. Darren, his

replica, crashed into his legs.

“Slow down, son. What’s up?”

“Guess what, Dad!” Darren could barely contain his

excitement.

“We’re being attacked by Martians? We won the lottery?”

“Oh, Dad, get serious!” Darren said. “We can win ve

thousand dollars, and go to Disney World!”

PROPHECY OF THOL 21

“Whoa. Sounds like one of those Internet scams. Where’d

you get that information?”

“Bobby sent me this email with all the details. Come on, I’ll

show you.” Darren grabbed Victor’s hand and tugged him out

of his chair.

Victor allowed Darren to pull him away from his work.

Buy trotted down the hall, ahead of them, looking over her

shoulder periodically to make sure they were following.

Two of Darren’s walls were plastered with posters of rocks,

bugs, planets and all things scientic. There were autographed

pictures of NASA, Chinese, and Russian astronauts, and a

collector print of Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock from the late

sixties.

A built-in desk amid a wall of bookcases housed a laptop

and micro-thin speakers, game controllers, an iPod stereo

system and science toys.

Eager to plan his trip to Disney, Darren slipped into his

chair and moved his mouse to show Victor the email. The

outer-space screen-saver disappeared, and the email message

was front and center on the screen.

Victor bent to read it. “Son, this email is called an urban

legend. It’s been circulating the web since way before you were

born.”

Totally defeated, Darren slumped in his chair. “You mean

like that guy with the pet dinosaur that turned out to be a

cockroach?”

“Exactly.” Victor rued Darren’s light brown hair. “It’s a

shame, but scams and stories are all over the Internet. You have

to watch out that you don’t get suckered into believing every22

DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

thing you read. You know what they say, ‘If it sounds too good

to be true…’”

“It probably is,” Darren and Victor said together.

“Aw, Dad. Why do people do such mean things?” Darren’s

dreams of a trip to Disney World had just vaporized.

“I guess they don’t have anything better to do with their

time.”

“So, all these things are lies?”

Victor crossed the oor to Darren’s bed, sat down and

scooted back. He leaned against the wall and stared at the

posters on the opposite wall, not really focusing on anything in

particular.

Models of space vehicles and satellites hung from the

ceiling and swayed with the ocean breeze from the opened,

screened window.

Buy jumped on the bed, turned a half circle, opped

down and got comfortable. She lifted her brown nose to the air

and snied then rested her chin on Victor’s thigh.

“No, not all of them,” he said. There was a faraway look on

his face, and he appeared a little sad.

“Years ago, before you were born—actually, right about the

time when I met your mother—something happened that

changed my life.”

“What happened, Dad?” Darren crawled onto the bed and

sat cross-legged by his dad.

Victor sat quietly, thinking. “It all started when D’laine

Jackson started having these recurring nightmares.”

“Who’s D’laine Jackson?” Darren asked.

“You know that special picture on my desk?” Victor asked.

“Uh-huh. The one you never let anyone touch?” He

remembered when he was younger, his Dad had moved the

picture out of his reach. It had returned to the desk when

PROPHECY OF THOL 23

Darren was old enough to respect his father’s prizes and to

look, instead of touch.

“Yeah, that one. Go get it. It’s time to talk about this,”

Victor said.

“You want me to pick it up?” Darren asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh,” Victor said. “I know you’ll be careful.”

Like a tornado, Darren jumped o the bed and ran out of

the room. Bu

y launched o the bed and galloped after him,

barking. Darren returned with the framed photo gripped in

both hands, and handed it to Victor. He and Bu

y leapt on the

bed. Bu

y wedged herself between Victor and Darren.

Victor pointed. “This is Brian, Jamie, and D’laine Jackson.”

“Was she going to a Halloween party?” Darren asked.

“No,” Victor said. He pondered a moment. “She was

wearing very special clothes, but they weren’t a costume for a

party.”

Darren’s forehead crinkled in thought, but he kept silent.

Victor pointed to a dark blond-haired man in his late forties

next to D’laine. “This is their father, Lee, who was a leading

NASA scientist, and this is my old pal, Stanley Daigle.”

Darren waited patiently for the story to unfold.

“Brian was just a little older than you. He had a pitching

arm that wouldn’t quit,” Victor said.

“He played Little League?” Darren asked.

“Yup, his coach had big plans for him, but all that changed

when he didn’t pay attention. D’laine had just graduated from

high school and had a full scholarship to Texas A&M. She was

a brilliant young woman. She’d already been in the Advanced

Placement Program and the Texas Distinguished Achievement

Program. MIT tried to get her, but she wanted to go to her

father’s alma mater.”

“Wow. She sure sounds smart,” Darren said. “Why don’t

24 DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

you talk to these people anymore? If they’re your friends, you

should invite them over for bar-b-que.”

Victor swallowed hard. He rubbed the top of Bu

y’s head.

“They moved far, far away.”

“Tell me the whole story,” Darren begged. “Please.”

Victor nudged Bu

y to move. She curled up at the foot of

the bed. Victor put his arm around Darren and pulled him to

his side. “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone, especially

your mother.”

“Does Mom know about this?” Darren asked in a whisper.

Victor nodded. “Oh, she knows all right. She just refuses to

talk about it, so you can’t tell her I told you.”

“It’ll be our secret, Dad.”

☀ 2 ☀

Moonlight winked in and out of the room. It illuminated a

sacred space on an antique dresser. The delicate tinkle of

chimes coursed through the otherwise quiet night as a warm

breeze swayed the sheer curtains from the large windows.

A shrine sat atop a chunk of green marble on the dresser. It

contained a small brass laughing Buddha, a plastic statue of

Jesus, pictures of the Dalai Lama, and Mother Teresa, along

with a tiny brass elephant, a bronze bear and a candle. A small

oering of rice in an aged brass goblet, and a vase of red carnations

graced either side of the marble slab.

An indistinguishable noise nudged D’laine out of a deep

sleep, but didn’t wake the teenager completely.

Rhythmic.

Familiar.

Her memory worked to make a connection while she snuggled

down into the bedcovers and chased a disturbing dream

that now eluded her.

A French-hook peace sign earring was tangled in her shoulder-

length, honey-blonde wavy hair. D’laine’s face was molded

26 DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

to the warmth of the mattress just o the edge of the low, latex

pillow.

What was that sound? Her brain nagged.

Not the ceiling fan. It was silently operating on the low

cycle.

The noise was right there in the center of her brain, waiting

to be identied. Her mind sifted through the minutiae, scoring

patterns until a match could be found.

Bingo!

Like a jack-in-the-box, D’laine sprang up, snapped on the

bedside table lamp, grabbed her glasses and scuttled frantically

toward the sound.

“Buy! Buy, o the bed!” she pushed against the dog’s

butt.

Too late.

Buy, a two-year-old pit bull, barfed green and yellow

Gummi Bears in the middle of the Ralph Lauren comforter.

“Jeez.” D’laine, petite and curvaceous in a tank top and

French-cut one hundred percent cotton Jockey panties, crawled

out of the queen-sized bed. Her thighs sported deep, dark, strawberry-

colored zigzag scars. Her feet automatically found the

stool beside the bed. The TempurPedic mattress reminded her

of The Princess and the Pea story. If she were any shorter than

five-feet-two, she’d need a ladder, but the mattress was a crucial

necessity to relieve her legs of the pain she carried every day.

In a snit, D’laine limped to the closet and snatched her

thick terrycloth robe o the door hook. Grumbling, she whispered

threats against her brothers, and marched determinedly

out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed

a handful of paper towels, opened the utility closet and took the

dustpan o the hook and headed back upstairs to clean up the

mess.

PROPHECY OF THOL 27

Buy wagged her tail apologetically as D’laine entered the

bedroom.

“Who gave you the candy?”

Buy wagged her tail. She wasn’t about to snitch.

Sti ing a gag, D’laine scooped the slime onto the dustpan

with the paper towels and hurried to the adjoining bathroom.

The toilet ushed. She returned with a little pink tablet.

“Come on, Buy—let’s settle your stomach so we can get

some sleep, okay? I have a lot to do tomorrow.” She glanced at

the clock on the bedside table. “Today, actually.”

She showed the tablet to the dog. Buy snied and turned

her head slightly.

“We’re not going to play this game. It’s two in the morning.

Eat the pink stu.”

D’laine pushed the tablet into Buy’s mouth.

Buy, spit it out.

D’laine retrieved the tablet and eased it back into Buy’s

mouth while she rubbed the dog’s tummy and crooned encouragement.

“Come on, Buy, cooperate. It’s for your own good.”

Buy chewed and swallowed.

“What a good girl.” D’laine hugged Buy. She grabbed the

comforter and started to yank. Buy jumped o the bed and

watched as D’laine felt the sheets.

Dry.

Sighing thankfully, she wadded up the huge comforter and

dumped it in the corner of her room. Then she went into the

hallway and grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet. When

she returned to the bedroom, Buy was curled up between the

pillows, snoozing.

“You’re so helpful.”

D’laine spread the blanket, crawled back in bed, removed

28 DAWN GREENFIELD IRELAND

her glasses and shut o the light. “No more junk food for you,

little girl.”

Buy licked D’laine on the nose, hoping she’d forget the

incident.

D’laine tightened the fan belt on the Chevy pickup truck. The

detached four-car garage was set back from the sprawling two

story house that sat on twenty acres on the edge of Katy, Texas.

She nished up and wiped her hands on a rag, then walked

around the open truck door and turned the key in the ignition.

The Chevy purred to life, squeak less.

“There you go. Quiet once again,” she boasted. “Pretty

soon I’ll be driving you to Texas A&M.” She shut the truck o

and pocketed the keys.

Lee Jackson called out to D’laine as he approached the

garage. His western shirt, jeans and comfortably worn cowboy

boots belied his prestigious day job as a highly respected, highly

paid scientist at NASA.

“I’ve got to get more oil. Let’s go to the coin-op laundry,

then we can stop at the auto parts store,” Lee said.

D’laine closed the hood on the Chevy. She pressed the wall

switch and scooted outside as the garage door rolled down.

“Let me go wash up, Daddy.”

D’laine watched as her father shoved the comforter into the

huge commercial washer. Lee stood aside, and D’laine tossed in

a green globe. She shut the door, then fed quarters into the

slots. She dumped a plastic cup of vinegar in the bleach

compartment. As the machine began to ll with water, D’laine