Book 3: Shaare Emeth - The Gateway

By Teresa McLaughlin All Rights Reserved ©

Scifi / Fantasy


“I will love him the rest of my life.” Bob said. “I cannot be apart from him.”

Batresh chewed a small bite of Caesar salad. “I am glad to hear that, he will need watching over,” she responded, reaching for a glass of iced tea.

“Why?” he asked.

“Until we figure out how to remove the beast without hurting him, he will be unpredictable. It will be hard to live with him. You will have to be patient.”

Bob put his fork down and looked through the window towards the east. Less than a block away was the yellow and red illuminated sign for Llewllyn’s restaurant.

“He will be here in St. Louis until 1986, then he will move to New York City,” she continued.

“How do you know that?”

“The Jovian Portal,” she responded, crunching on a crouton.


“I am sorry, there are many details you have to learn. But, you cannot tell him. He cannot know his Ka is Tayamni, or that he was the Matriarch in his former life.” She lay down her fork as well.

“His Ka?”

“His core being. In our natural form, we consist of organized light and radiation. When we take on a physical body, everything changes. The Tayamni core of energy, you might call a spirit or a soul. It’s nothing magical, just scientific fact,” she responded. “It is our Ka.”

“Why will he move to New York? What is the Jovian Portal?” Bob asked.

Batresh sighed, embarrassed that she had not filled him in as she planned. She tossed her hair behind her left shoulder, looking through the window facing east as if she were talking to the Llewllyn sign. “We have two Temporal-Portals in this system. The Solar Portal is used to move people and objects, the Jovian Portal is used to send messages. We receive newspaper clippings, notices from the web, any news that may concern us in our missions.”

“The web?”

“Oh,” Batresh laughed, “Your world will enter a new age in about 20 years, but never mind. You’ll find out.”

“New age?”

“Sorry, I am not being good at keeping things simple, please forgive me,” she responded. “I don’t know why he will move to New York, but I think it might have something to do with his career in music.”

“But, he is studying math and computer science,” he said.

“On July 1st, 1988, he will receive a glowing review in the New York Times for an opera called, La Calisto.”

Bob looked at her with confusion.

“Later that year, on tour in Sicily, he will be murdered by the mafia near Palermo. A case of mistaken identity,” she said, taking another bite of Caesar salad.

Bob inhaled deeply and looked at her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to stop it. In the meantime, be kind to him. Give him love, build his confidence. He must be encouraged and find a way to heal from his abusive childhood,” she explained.

She continued, “His murder won’t happen at the hands of the mafia. It will be the Tlalocs or the Potacas. You can bet on that. He is too important to our mission. They know that now.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Bob responded. He looked at the empty table across the narrow isle from them, then back at Batresh. “What happened to the Hybrids that tried to kill him at the park?”

“They have been taken to a detention center,” she responded.

Bob looked at her with concern.

“We don’t like to use the term prison, but, it’s a prison, or rather a brig,” she smiled. “They will be there until we can figure out what to do with them.”

Reaching over to him, she placed her hand over his. “We also know from the Jovian Portal, that his partner will kill him in 1998, in San Francisco. But, again, I am certain it will be at the hand or instigation of our enemies.”

“How can he die twice?”

“Seeing conflicting dates for his death, shows us that his future is not set. If we did nothing and allowed our enemies to do what they would, Denny would have died at the age of 5. His father would have accidentally dropped him in the spillway at Pickwick Dam in Tennessee,” she emphasized the word, accidentally.

“So far,” she kept on, “It looks like he will die from a botched surgical operation in 2011, and from a temple bombing in 2033, at the age of 75.”

“A temple bombing?”

“That’s what the message said, near Portland, Oregon, no less.” She took another sip of iced tea.

“Why does he move so much?” Bob asked.

“He is searching, Bob,” she responded. Seeing the waitress at the other end of the café, she signaled her.

Bob tilted his head, as if to ask a question.

“He is searching for his mission. He feels he must do something, so he is looking for that,” she paused, “that vocation.”

“It’s hard to believe,” he responded.

“As you see what I have told you unfold, you will understand.”

“Hi there,” the waitress said, standing next to their table. She reached down and took their empty salad bowls. “Can I get you some desert?”

“What’s the desert Balaban’s is famous for? Oh yes, the Napoleon,” Bob said. “The young lady and I will have a Napoleon and a cappuccino, each.”

“Be right back,” the waitress responded.

Batresh smiled at him. “Denny will form a new religion, Bob. The new religion will move humanity to the next level. The Tlalocs and Potacas want to stop that at all costs.”

Bob drew his brows together.

“Humanity will join a galactic alliance to help fight these enemies. That is all I can tell you now.”

Bob’s face was pale. He looked nauseated. “Will I be around for most of these events?”

Batresh nodded. “You will have a very long life, my dear friend. You’ll be around.”

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