With an anxious expression etched in a sombre frown, Alex Dupont strode purposefully along the Quai de la Rouvenaz, weaving through the busy crowds toward the YWAM tent. He was spotted among the jostling horde by tract toting crew members worried by the unusually dark expression, and as if carried by satellite, the word quickly found its way back to the official tent... Alex the boss is on his way and he doesn’t look happy!
Those of the YWAM crew who were well acquainted with Montreux’s chief also knew Alex Dupont to be a kind and devoted Christian man, gentle to the extreme and authentically grafted into Jesus’ literal Word. He was a stickler for the truth of the Bible and the only time Alex’s expression took on a dour flavour was when he was involved in spiritual warfare or engaged in prayer against satan’s rape and pillaging of Jesus’ beloved humankind.
Slowing his striding gait as he approached the busy hub, Alex drew back the vibrant tent’s canvas access and squeezed into the crowded interior. Feeling the heat of humanity crammed into a small, breezeless space and conversing with the young YWAM team, Alex smiled occasionally at curious staff, affirming those he made eye contact with via a nod. Exploring the throng for a specific crew member, Alex quickly recognised the person he sought. Waiting patiently for Samuel to finish a conversation with a young woman, Alex judged by Samuel’s animated hand gestures he was deep in his favourite topic of discussion: how Jesus had saved him from a life in hell and his own stupidity, leaving the YWAM’s boss to ponder whether he might be in for quite a wait.
Recognising him with a beaming grin, Samuel turned the young woman’s attention to Alex and excitedly proclaimed, “This is the man who found me in the snowstorm and led me to Jesus and safety!”
Alex’s expression immediately reddened from embarrassment, but he diligently smiled back and answered the curious young woman’s questions while Samuel, almost nerdish, agreed with every word Alex spoke.
“I’d like to hear more about your story, Samuel,” a coy young female voice finally admitted.
“Well, we’re having a midnight rally later on tonight down in the Place du Marché. Why don’t you come?!” Samuel gushed.
As the young woman nodded and broke away from the discussion, she reluctantly left the tent while Alex drew Samuel’s attention with a desperate whisper, “Have you seen Ryan today?”
Samuel’s smile faded, contemplating the worried expression painted so grimly across Alex’s pained face. “No, not today. Why?!”
Alex sighed. “He was late again and I was forced to fire him. I’m worried he might do something stupid.”
Samuel immediately understood Alex’s concern and whispered back, “That job was everything to Ryan!”
*~*~*~*
A gentle summer breeze drifted across the balmy lake surface and floated around the island’s tiny circumference, mingling with the peaceful starlit scene and playfully tussling with the fabric of Robere’s grey kaftan robe. Face down and unmoving on the island’s manicured back lawn, he lay prostrated deep in worshipful adoration. Close by and hidden in the night, a worried pair of teenage eyes watched his still figure and cautiously pondered interrupting the flamboyant leader. To the teen’s surprise, Robere raised himself into a sitting pose and engaged the distraught youth without the slightest movement of his head or any attempt to search the night for the intruder. It appeared as if the enigmatic presence had been expecting the young man, and the rich, peaceful tone of his calm voice flowed across the night and filled the Maestro’s ears with relieved comfort.
“It’s so wonderful to converse with the Father, Maestro. It revitalises my soul and fills me with joy.”
It was obvious the effervescing charismatic knew the Maestro was there and once again the teen felt overawed by the unusual perception Robere commanded.
“Why are you so downcast? I can feel your bad energy from here and it’s dragging down my happy glow. Lighten up, Maestro, or you will never experience the power of God in your life.”
The Maestro almost choked on his words, stuttering trying to gather his thoughts and deliver the bad news. “T... the situation with Ryan went badly and I had to cancel the Sticky Lizards’ visit.”
Maestro waited for the information to sink in and expected a stormy backlash, but nothing came and the silence made him squirm. Robere’s silhouetted figure, still in a calm sitting pose, remained unmoving, disturbing the youth into a frenzied desire to fill the suspenseful quiet void with an explanation.
“He fought heroically to stave off the attackers and prevent the guitar from being stolen, but now he’s quite a mess and doesn’t remember anything.”
“You didn’t leave him alone, did you?” Robere’s intense piercing eyes settled on the Maestro and even in the dark the potent stare unnerved him.
“No, Robere. I managed to bring him here but I have no idea what his surname is or where he lives. I hope I haven’t messed things up and cast suspicion on our family by doing this, and just before the great rally, too.”
Energetically bouncing to his feet, Robere suddenly burst into a huge grin and affectionately slapped the teen across his shoulders. “No, Maestro. Things are not how you see them, but we must be careful not to give the devil a foothold. They took the guitar though?”
Maestro affirmed Robere’s question with a slight nod.
“Take Ryan and put him to bed in one of the spare bedrooms and then call a doctor to care for the boy. We urgently need to find out where he lives and then return him to his family as soon as possible. If I understand correctly, Ryan will choose to be a valuable part of the family’s music worship structure and a great prophet for spreading the word. Get him another guitar as well.”
Maestro nodded, but finding Ryan’s home without drawing a suspicious light upon the RoMac family name wouldn’t be easy.
Unperturbed by the teen’s story and drawing generous breaths from the warm night air, Robere’s smile erupted once again, turning his whole face into a beam. “I feel we are being led on a slight journey tomorrow, Maestro! Let’s take a small train tour of Montreux.”
Maestro’s face contorted in shock. It was only a few days until the great rally and there was still so much to organise.
Robere’s astute gaze seemed to read the Maestro’s mind and his demeanour bubbled over again. “Relax and have faith! You must learn to trust our God, Maestro. Things depend upon Him and not your organisational skills. Besides, you have to delegate authority to the other family members so they have an opportunity to grow in their gifts and faith, too. That way the family will be cultivated away from being jealous of each other’s positions and contributions and forged into a strong, united bond of love.”
*~*~*~*
Staring past the bedside lamp’s silhouette and to the small digital timekeeper silently counting her anxious heartbeat, Marie-Laure listened to the gentle rhythmic breathing of her sleeping husband, but she hadn’t slept at all. She lifted her head from her pillow to gaze around the lamp’s obstructing body and glanced at the clock... 5 am. A vicious fearful stab knotted her stomach, sending her heartbeat spiralling into a rampage of terror. Jonas had intentionally set a time limit for Ryan to be home, and that had passed many hours ago. She rolled onto her back and stared at the dark wooden ceiling, pondering the sullen face of her child in her mind as he’d closed the front door earlier that evening. It was obvious Ryan had deliberately decided to disobey his father and stay out.
Big, heavy tears filled Marie-Laure’s eyes and spilled over her cheeks, dropping silently to her pillow. She tried desperately to stifle the river of emotion leaking from her troubled heart and catch the violent sobs in her throat before they overflowed into the silent bedroom, disturbing her sleeping mate. Yet when a distraught image of her rebellious child vividly flashed across her mind, fusing her thoughts into a surge of unrestrainable grief, an unintended moan bubbled up into the quiet, shaking her husband from his sleep.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 51
With both of Anne-
Claire’s hands occupied and holding the iPod’s stringy tentacles between her teeth, the small device twisted at will and sent the light beam cascading in all directions until it finally settled uselessly on the opposite wall. Shaking her head to refocus the beam, her pupils dilated with fear as news of the situation reached her tired brain. When the light finally paused and ceased its spinning trickery, the steady beam clearly illuminated the ancient splintered wood, leaving Anne-Claire staring in horror. Her wide eyes followed the light and focused on the trembling door’s security, only just held closed by the smallest corner of the substantial metal locking bar. Tiny shaking hands gripped an enormous rustic metal ring, twisting the device with all her might and attempting to keep up the pressure on the access door’s considerable resistance.
Further anxious scrutiny with Niccolo’s screaming torch revealed an ominous plot and it appeared the straining door proposed to force itself open in spite of the lock’s crumbling opposition and Anne-Claire’s tiring efforts. Swirling with panic, her thoughts tumbled over each other, trying to think through her options and come to a sensible decision; but competing with Niccolo’s impassioned scream deflected her mind, inhibiting her ability to think clearly and for the first time, the rock star began to annoy her.
To make things worse, vast freezing water droplets cascaded around the groaning door jamb and soaked the sixteen year old, sending a chilling shiver up and down her spine, but even so, she dare not let the metal ring slip from her hands. Anne-Claire’s terrified grey eyes contemplated the perilous situation she’d trapped herself into, continually chiding herself for being so careless and mindlessly jumping into circumstances without thinking through the consequences. With the freezing water leaking past the door, it appeared to be a perfectly logical assumption that the door was almost certainly a barrier to something catastrophic.
Lacking the ability to silence Niccolo’s screech, all other thoughts cowered from the singer’s distracting scream and found it impossible to make a path into Anne-Claire’s logical mind. Convinced the full weight of Lac Léman’s deep green waters pressed heavily against the shivering door, Anne-Claire redoubled her efforts and twisted the metal ring closed with all of her might. Desperate to silence Niccolo’s scream and regain her ability to think, she contemplated loosening her grip on the metal ring and swiping at the entertainer with a swift yet deliberate hand. But as she considered her plan, a warning groan trembled through the door as if it understood her intention and dared her to release her grasp.
Unable to resolve the perplexing dilemma, it was clear she couldn’t spend the rest of her life—however long that may be—holding onto a metal ring and stemming the flooding tide about to engulf her strange, unescapable subterranean world. The ironic image of a peculiar story Grandpa once told her came crashing into her memory of a small Dutch boy hero straining for hours with his finger in the failing dike, preventing a catastrophic dam wall failure and saving many lives with just his tender human stopper. But as Anne-Claire studied the memory and the similarities, she conceded the small Dutch boy wasn’t trapped into the situation by his own stupidity.
When the seconds extended into minutes, Anne-Claire’s arms began to ache under the straining force keeping the door closed and the freezing water drenching her body. Her failing strength and dwindling resolve forced her to focus on the problem, pondering what would happen if she just let the metal ring go and attempted to run. It was clear she had to do something. Being planted like a noxious weed to the spot didn’t seem to have a future; but nor did drowning in a freezing torrent and trapped lifelessly below the castle floor.
Her mind shut out Niccolo’s distraction and began to drift past the chilling ache in her arms, focusing instead on her family. Her mum, always correcting and chiding her to be something other than mediocre; and then her dad, silently supporting his only daughter and coaxing his wife to lighten up around her. Anne-Claire choked on a gentle sob as she pondered her hero grandfather, the man who made her feel accepted and loved just for being Anne-Claire, and the person who always welcomed her and found time to lavish that love upon her. She remembered the things he taught her through his funny tales and the way he gently urged her to be the wise heroine of her own stories.
Anne-Claire stared at the faltering door and heard Grandpa’s voice gently encouraging her through the uncertain pathways of her stressing mind. Hearing his voice as if he was standing next to her, Anne-Claire swelled with courage, pulled in a deep breath and nodded as if Grandpa had given her a deliberate instruction. Gently she released one hand from the metal ring and waited for a reaction, and when the door appeared to hold its own, she quickly grabbed Niccolo’s screaming torch and tucked it into her blouse. Immediately, the passage descended into a stifling and violently tangible darkness, but she figured if her life was about to end it would be better not to see it coming.
Anne-Claire could see the passive green waves of Lac Léman in her mind lapping against the forlorn shore, but now the gentleness had turned against her in a violent crushing maelstrom, resigning herself to a sudden drowning death. She darkly considered how it would feel for her lungs to fill with water and the life-giving breath to be chased out while life itself spiralled into an unknown place. It was a hopeless thought, but she pondered whether Grandpa’s God did exist and if she died, what His response would be to her. Spending many anxious seconds in the culpable darkness trying desperately to coax herself to let the ring completely go and accept the consequences for a particularly bad decision, Anne-Claire pulled in a huge breath and began the countdown of her life.
Three... two... one!
The sound of the metallic ring bouncing solidly against the door filled Anne-Claire’s ears, followed by a rumbling, hollow crack spilling out into the dark corridor. Committed to her fate and contemplating running blindly into the darkness, there appeared to be no turning back as the massive wooden barricade creaked and groaned under duress. Her questions were answered in less than a heartbeat as the door’s remaining resistance gave way and brutally exploded open, spilling a freezing torrent across Anne-Claire, knocking her from her feet and stifling a traumatic scream with a mouthful of dirty water.
Coughing on a brackish stream and shivering uncontrollably, spitting grit from between her teeth, Anne-Claire felt around the floor as a large slippery puddle splashed between her fingers. The obstacle had been forcefully thrown open and yet somehow she was still alive, even though the strength of the action had unceremoniously dumped her from her feet and onto the ground.
Incredulously crawling to her knees, she bumped against a solid obstruction jutting into the passage, identifying the door’s rough splintered surface with her hands. Feeling the barrier’s overbearing size, Anne-Claire struggled to comprehend the need for such a decisive and unmoving barricade. It had to be at least 300 millimetres thick. Curiosity’s unwise chorus began to fill the young woman’s mind and chase away the terror with a new song. What did it hide behind its staunch facade and why did it have to be so substantial? It was obvious now it wasn’t holding back the lake, but judging by its size it was capable of doing so. Distracted by the mystery and blindly taking her soaking long brown hair into her trembling hands, she squeezed the excess water from its length, hoping to stem the freezing water dripping down her back and then plucked Niccolo’s screaming torch from her blouse, swiping at the reluctant device with frozen fingers. However, Niccolo refused to perform. The torrent of water must have proved too much for the Italian heartthrob, heroically leaving Anne-Claire to fend for herself in the darkness.
She leaned against the passage wall, mentally spent and exhausted from her ordeal, trying to make sense of what had just happened and why she was still alive. Needing to escape the darkness and survey the new scene, Anne-Claire fidgeted with the iPod cover and felt for the battery chamber. Carefully removing the batteries and blowing the water from within the case with a stringent breath, she explored the power source with the tips of her fingers and dried them against
the back of her shorts. Trying to remember which way the slender cells had been removed, she gently persuaded the pair to return the way she assumed they’d come out.
A sudden metallic clanking drifted through the darkness and froze Anne-Claire’s movements with fear’s familiar presence. The sound cut through the silence like a lightning strike, causing the young woman to panic, sending her into a frenzy of fingers and hoping to illuminate the threat with Niccolo’s unwilling bawling light. In her haste, she dropped the battery cover to the floor, spilling the uncooperative batteries from their place and depositing the cylindrical tubes into the sticky mud. Searching the ground furiously with her hand, Anne-Claire tried desperately to locate the misbehaving cover and the power source before the threat overtook her. Another metallic clank echoed around her and added a greater urgency to her fear, with her fingers dancing feverishly until the panicked searching paid off and her hand dashed against the batteries and their confining plastic cover.
With shaking fingers, she hastily cleaned the misbehaving items and pressed them firmly into the device, sealed their escape with the battery cover and then anxiously swiped the tiny screen. A faint green glow appeared in place of the welcome light and Niccolo sounded like he’d aged a hundred years. As frustration and fear vied with Anne-Claire’s fractured nerves, yet another metallic clank disturbed her and she shook the device in annoyance until Niccolo threw off his geriatric impressions and a solid, tinny youthful scream broke into the still air.
Anne-Claire held the iPod above her head, searching the massive door and the significant stream of water flowing to the ground from around the jamb. A gaping black room behind the door diverted her attention and then the metallic clank reverberated once again deep within the chamber’s walls. She pondered the nerve-racking antechamber and the direction the sounds were coming, but as she stepped towards the opening and jumped across the stream flowing into the passage, Niccolo’s scream suddenly diverted back to geriatric mode and the light dimmed. This wasn’t the time for Niccolo to desert her again, so she deliberately dashed the iPod against her leg in a bid to shake off the singer’s lethargy and once again the light reappeared with Niccolo bravely leading the way.