Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part 5 - Crazy man
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Part 6 - Endings
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About The Unseen Series
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life. (John 5:24)
11For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; 12they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. (Psalm 91:11–12)
The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham's side. (Luke 16:22)
Part 1 - Beginnings
Chapter 1
Sunday, 5 November, Brisbane, Queensland
SOMETHING UNSEEN AND MAJESTIC stood next to Patrick Fitzpatrick. He sensed it. In fact, the presence made him turn to his side to look. Goosebumps ran up his arms. His guardian angel?
Patrick stood on his front balcony, runners in hand, staring across the parklands. Their house sat in a quiet tree-lined street; tidy houses on one side, well-kept parklands interspersed with more tidy houses on the other side. A peaceful Sunday afternoon in Bulimba Village greeted him and washed away his thoughts of angels.
He sat down on the balcony’s top step and laced up his runners. Feet now comfortably enclosed, he stood up and looked around. Through an open window he could see his wife sitting in her favourite sun-room chair. He turned and looked up at the blue skies overhead and saw dark clouds forming in the south. As if on cue, distant thunder rumbled. He walked down the steps and did some light leg stretches. A few moments later, he heard the front door open. He turned and smiled up at his wife.
Jill Fitzpatrick leaned on the balcony rail and pointed to the sky.
“It’s okay, love. I’m not planning on getting zapped by lightning. I’ll make it a short run.” Patrick smooched up his lips and blew her a kiss. He headed towards the gate. Opening the gate he turned and yelled to his wife. “Love ya!”
Jill smiled and nodded. “Okay, just be careful.”
Patrick closed the front gate. Jill waved him off.
Another low rumble of thunder sounded as Patrick turned into Oxford Street and headed down towards the river. Lightning flashed in the sky and the subsequent low rumbles told him the storm was some distance away. It was getting gloomy. A white van passed him. Its left hand turning indicator came on, blinking brightly in the gloom. He watched the van turn into a street. White vans always made Patrick think of surveillance vehicles and this one, with its dark side panel windows, fitted the mould perfectly.
Apart from the white van, things were quiet—no people, no cars. Patrick was near the river now. He turned onto the bike path that ran alongside the Brisbane River and led to Riverside Park. As always, he smiled as he saw his sons’ initials in the concrete. He’d discovered the initials not long after the path opened—freshly laid concrete was always a target for such things. Jill wasn’t impressed but Patrick thought a bit of mischievousness in the boys was good. Jill was petrified that the police were going to turn up one day. She believed they would track the boys down, as the boys left a calling card—their initials.
With his runners now pounding the bike path, his thoughts went to Aaron in Townsville and Jack in heaven. Patrick had regrets. His biggest regret was that he only gave his sons fleeting warnings about the battle of life. Jack had found life and was now at home with the Father, but Aaron was still on the hunt. Then again, it took Patrick a long time to realise the journey of life was about finding life.
As Riverside Park came into view, Patrick picked up the scent of freshly-mowed grass. He took a deep breath—he loved that earthy smell. The park was quiet with no people or cars in sight except for a white van parked near the entrance. It was the same van Patrick saw before. He noticed a person’s head silhouetted against a side window.
Patrick Fitzpatrick was taught to be suspicious.
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Some twenty kilometres south of Bulimba, the storm clouds were dark, almost black, as they hovered over Eight Mile Plains. The suburb housed a large technology park spread over thirty-three hectares. In one of the park’s outer precincts sat a Department of Urban Movement outpost, a small, inconspicuous building, set in well-landscaped grounds, just above a running stream.
Something black sprinted through the outpost’s car park.
The thick storm clouds blocked the remaining daylight from shining through, activating light sensors in the car park. The small number of lights gave off a dim glow. Warm air spread over the car park, bringing a mint fragrance from the stream below. The air became still and calm. Birds were silent and returned to their resting places. Fallen leaves and discarded litter lay motionless. Small trees and shrubs cast their night shadows.
Through the branches of a small shrub, yellow eyes blinked. A black cat stared at something on the ground. The cat came out from the bushes and moved forward. It was curious.
A body lay on the ground. Blood trickled from a cut to the head.
The leaves and litter beside the body moved slightly. Suddenly, a strong gust scattered the debris. The cat, now alert, raised its head and looked at something above the body. The cat’s hair stood up. Frightened, the cat hissed and slowly backtracked.
