Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 32

"Ms. Morris?"

"Oh, Mackenzie. How are you doing, sweetheart? I know it's a lot to take in at first. Tell me, what has Peter already shared?"

"Mr. Jordan? Uh-not anything that makes any sense. He keeps calling me a Thyatiran? And he's going on about fishing and my therapist." I scoop a fist full of sand and rub it between my fingers. "This feels real. But there's no way it can't be a real beach. And how did you get here?" I grab her arm and squeeze it. "You feel real."

"Yes, I assure you—very real. And trust me, you are not unraveling. There is much to cover, but I have not the time right now. Another Thyatiran is arriving for her first mission. Have you seen them yet, Peter?"

"No, not as of yet. But Phillip advised they would be in this location."

"Brilliant. Everything is as it should be then. Now, not another word with her about the Thyatirans until we are all together."

"Oh. That's not going to be a problem, Ms. Morris," I say. "I was just telling Mr. Jordan I think it's best I withdraw from his class. So I'm just going to head back inside."

"Please, Mackenzie. I'll be right back after I check in with the others. Remain with Peter for a moment, will you? It's important."

The urgency in her voice compels me to stay put. "Fine. But I don't see the point." 

"Good. I won't be long," she says and makes her way toward the others.

Alone again with Mr. Jordan, we share an awkward silence as the waves crash against the shoreline. 

"I should clarify something," he finally says. "My name is not Mr. Jordan. The other students know me as Mr. Peter. This Mr. Jordan you call me is likely the form by which I will appear to you whenever we meet. Is he someone you know?"

My mind is playing tricks on me. There's no other explanation. It's futile to try to have a conversation with a hallucination of my own making.  But I still can't resist engaging in the pointless dialogue.  It would be impolite. "What do you mean?"

"This Mr. Jordan you continue to call me. Is he someone close to you?" he asks again.

"Um—no. I don't actually know you—er him—except that he teaches the Art History class at school. I've seen him around, but we've never spoke."  Quickly scanning over my recollection of events up till now, no one, including the other students, ever called him Mr. Jordan. "So you're telling me you're not Mr. Jordan?  But you look exactly like him." Still sitting in the sand, I poke him in his shoulder. "You feel real."

Ignoring my prodding, he carries on. "The others know me as Mr. Peter. This Mr. Jordan you may find will play a key role in your life one day. These projections are typically telling of significant figures. If you chose to leave us, at least part with such knowledge."

"Right. So Mrs. Jordan. She looks just like your, er, I mean Mr. Jordan's wife. Let me guess. She's not really Mrs. Jordan either?"

"You must be speaking of Febronia?"

I nod.

"It seems the Counselor has revealed another valuable resource for you. I advise you to seek them out, regardless of your decision here."

"But wait a minute. Christina, she goes to my school, is she real?" 

"Indeed.  A student, just as you.  But not Thyatrian." 

"And Mrs. Jordan is her—." I stop again, reminiscing of our first few class meetings. As her cheerleading coach, Christina is normally very engaged with Mrs. Jordan. Yet, they've barely talked while in class. Could he be right? "Ms. Eunice and Ms. Lois? Who are they?"

"If you do not recognize them yet, you may in the future. A Thyatiran may find familiar forms as important sources of help along many journeys." He casts a despondent glance. "Journeys of which you'll not be part." He clears his throat. Still sitting, his shoes now covered in sand, he leans back against his arms. "Come now, if you've set your mind on leaving this beautiful place, would you at the very least give consideration to staying for a brief time until we've been sent an alternative Thyatiran?"

I sigh. The beach is brimming with swimmers and surfers and boogie boarders. Children are building sand castles. Two boys are running full speed, throwing their skim boards on remnants of a fading wave before pouncing on the flat surface and gliding as if on a sheet of glass. There's a group playing volleyball by a bandstand. And at the far end, my classmates are seemingly in the middle of surf lessons. I'm unable to find a good reason to refuse, other than knowing I'm in the throws of a mental breakdown. "Sure, why not? What else have I got to lose? I've already lost my mind anyway."

"That's the spirit," he dryly says in the way my math teacher sounds when he's talking about quadratic equations. He jumps to his feet. "Besides, I don't believe our training location to be too disappointing."

"I guess it could have been worse. Like swamps, huh?"

"Oh, yes. The bayou. Eunice insisted we dress in...let's see, what did she call them? I believe camo was the term. Clothing intentionally the color of trees and dirt."

I smile. "Yep. Even I know to avoid wearing camo."

"Shall we?" he says, less spirited than before.

"Hey, Mr. Peter. I'm real sorry for not being that Thyatiran you wanted." Even if he is an apparition I made up, I still feel bad for disappointing him.

"No need for apologies, child. All who come, must come freely when it is their time. Now enough of all this serious talk, or Tabitha will not let me hear the end of it. Besides, today's test should prove to be quite exhilarating. You shan't conclude your time with us on an uneventful note."

"Groovy," I reply as we start toward to the others. Who knows, maybe I'll find there's a perfectly good explanation for all this. Maybe Christina, Monique and the others will also think we've fallen down the rabbit hole and this is completely absurd. Maybe we're mixed up in some government scheme of time travel and that's how we ended up on the beach.

While my mind drifts through a thousand different far fetched scenarios, I miss the part when Mr. Peter magically transforms out of his business suit and into a swimsuit. Despite the costume change, complete with a long-sleeved red and black rash guard and surfboard tucked under his arm, I don't bother asking the obvious question. "Nice board. So, you surf I take it?"

"Oh, yes. Every chance I get." His grin is huge. "There is one last thing I must warn you of. Your companions, they will find no issue when things do not appear as they should. What will seem illogical to you will not be of any concern for them. This is the gift of all Thyatiran within their Shillelaghs. I ask you to refrain from sharing your insights unless it directly relates to the mission at hand. Any discrepancies can incur risks to the others or the identified Targets for whom we are protecting."

"Shillelagh?  I don't even want to know."   

"And you may also find your unique gift troubling at first, particularly if you locate an Invader. Thus it is imperative to stay calm."

"So your saying don't freak out and don't let anyone know everything is whack."

"Precisely."  

"Got it."  I can't even imagine what he thinks is going to be worse than what's already happened.