Talk To An Angel

(Novel length: 56,000+ words.)

An exceptional and inspirational novel from William Pitt.

This is how it begins:

CHAPTER 1

The light was getting brighter and brighter. Until it filled her whole head. 

Sparkling . . . tantalizing . . . dazzling. She was afraid and yet she was calm. The animal fear of being confronted by the unexplainable. Mysterious and foreign and therefore potentially dangerous.

Something told her though she didn’t have to worry. A deep-seated inner knowledge made her feel secure. Even relaxed.

Suddenly, a voice. Out of nowhere. But then she could hear it originated in the source of energy which by now was shining like another sun.

“I hope I didn’t startle you too much.” A deep sound, almost reverberating in its bass quality. “Of course, this is a total surprise to you. I know you will even question the very existence of what’s happening here. Your analytical mind doesn’t accept easily.”

She had no idea how to respond. She was still totally mesmerized by the light and the voice from nowhere. It immobilized her. She could do nothing but stare and wait for the next development.

“I will try to make you believe. It might be a bit hard because logic can’t explain what you’re experiencing.”

‘Believe?’, she thought. ‘Believe in what?’ The very word had lost a lot of its meaning for her. She even found it hard to believe she would ever find something again to believe in.

Somehow, being called by her name surprised her more than anything that had gone on before. At the same time the familiarity of it brought her back to herself. She found movement and speech again. “You seem to know me quite well.”

“Of course I do. I’ve been with you for a long time.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never noticed you before.”

“Because you have forgotten to use your eyes properly. You only look at surfaces but you can’t see the depth behind them.”

“Very well put, Mister . . .” Here she stopped. Then a sardonic smile curled her lips. “I just thought of who you are. You have no body. Therefore you are Mister Nobody.”

“That’s my cynical Evelyn. Always having a witty remark handy. No wonder people think she’s very clever. The problem is she doesn’t agree with them. There isn’t much fun in her life any more.”

That made her quiet immediately. The strange apparition had touched her most sensitive nerve. She suddenly felt saddened and hurt. And lonely . . . excruciatingly lonely.

A long silence.

Then Evelyn found herself speaking in a voice that sounded almost like a child. “So . . . who are you then?”

“I am an angel.”

That brought her back to herself immediately. She started laughing. “A – what?”

“An angel.”

“You are making fun of me.”

“No, not at all. As I said before: I’ve been with you for a long time. I’ve observed you all your life. Sometimes I’ve helped you over a rough period. You might not have noticed because you were too busy with yourself.”

She still laughed. “You mean – one of those with a pair of wings and a harp?”

“If that’s how you want to see me, I can easily appear like it. Or any other form you prefer. We’re spiritual beings. We are not limited by a fixed shape.”

By now, Evelyn had found her old cynical self again. “That’s splendid. If you change frequently, you will at least avoid getting boring like most people.”

“Well . . . let’s leave it like that for the moment. You seem to enjoy being obnoxious. That won’t achieve anything.”

“Giving up already?”

“No! Certainly not! Just waiting for a better opportunity.”

The bright light faded rapidly. A sterile, monotonous darkness took over. Until everything lapsed into nothingness.

Somehow, Evelyn felt a great sadness descending on her.

And then she woke up.

Bliss! It was Saturday. The beginning of an unusual weekend for her. She had no obligations, no commitments, no emergencies. Too often she was even busier during the time when everybody else was relaxing and enjoying being away from work. It was the price of owning and running a successful Public Relations business.

Since she not only represented a few companies but also single artists and two rock groups, she was often obliged to attend concerts or publicity stints. Or if one or more of her “babies”, as she usually referred to them, was needing attention because the media had said something nasty about them. Or their name didn’t appear large enough on a program. Or some other world-shattering event had occurred. It didn’t make much difference that she had three women working for her. One as a receptionist plus secretary. The other two engaged in convincing the public that their clients were the best in whatever they did. But when it came to the crunch it was always her to play the role of the front person.

It was quite a pleasant change to sit around in her dressing gown. Nothing more to do than drinking a few cups of coffee. Picking up a book and putting it away again after reading a few pages and getting bored with it. Then looking into the newspaper but finding it even more boring than the book. Putting on music. Soothing, slow tunes and definitely not performed by one of her “babies”. Almost falling asleep again on the couch. Sitting up with another cup of coffee and letting her mind wonder. Like a movie but without a plot. No beginning, no ending and not much sense in between.

The phone rang.

Hello, Evelyn Moreland speaking.”

“Hello. It’s John.” 

“Yes?” She had to smile. Did people really think she could remember every John she had been introduced to? “What can I do for you?”

“We’ve met at the press conference last Monday. I said I would ring you and here I am.”

Well – here he was. Whoever he was. She still had no idea what to make of the person at the other end of the line. She had talked to quite a few people on that occasion. As usual, they all had sounded and looked very similar to her. So she just remained silent.

After an awkward pause the caller must have realized he had not left a lasting impression on Evelyn. “Sorry . . . maybe you can’t remember . . . my name’s John 

Walters. The one who writes a critical column about newsy items but also works as an astrologer. We’ve chatted for quite a while about your star sign.’’

“Uh, yes – of course. Now I know. No offense – but I meet so many people.” It came back to her. A fairly nice looking guy. Approximately in his mid-forties. A few gray hairs and eyeglasses. Very eager to get to know her better. In fact, quite pushy. The tone of his voice portraying his desire to be intimate. Take her to bed as one of his conquests. Whatever he might have said to make his advances look more serious. Like trying to start a long-term relationship. Finding the perfect partner. And all the similar lies.

She had to admit she could have been wrong. The state she was in at present made her suspicious of all men. She found it hard to see any of them as honest. Or even decent. And their silly games. Truly believing they could seduce any female if they only showed off their masculinity. Being the answer to every woman’s dreams. 

Without being aware they unwittingly sounded like a character in a farce.

She suddenly realized she had been listening to John’s verbal attack without hearing a word of it. Luckily she caught the last bit of his speech that summarized everything he might have said so far.

“. . . it might be nice if we could meet again. How about coffee either this afternoon or some time tomorrow?”

“No – I can’t. I’m busy all weekend. You know how it is. A public relations job is never done.”

It took him a while to acknowledge his defeat. However, he was clever enough not to insist. After a pause full of disappointment he found his voice again. But it was turned down to an almost unintelligible whisper: “I understand. Maybe some other time then.”

“Yes – that would be better.”

“Alright . . . I’ll ring you next week.”

They hung up. ‘What a liar I am’, she thought. ‘It wouldn’t be better. Not now, not next week, maybe never. I’m sick and tired of men like you.’

Of men like John? What did she mean by that? How much did she know about him? She only had met him once. Surrounded by a crowd. With conversations more or less on a superficial level. Including his explanations about her star sign. It had all sounded so trite.

No . . . it wasn’t that she was sick of men only like John or others like him. The point was she had developed a certain distaste for all males.

Only males? She had to admit she didn’t think much of most females either. She was just tired of people generally.

Would her feelings ever change again? Maybe not. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t care any more. She had grown to detest the silly little games people played.

Mind you, she never showed her true feelings when she was in public. She had learned very well how to act her role in society. Nobody would ever have guessed what was really going on inside her. Her bright smile was an efficient mask to cover up her disillusionment and – yes – quite often a touch of bitterness.

Especially when it came to work. She was a thorough professional and proud of it. Besides, this was absolutely necessary if you wanted to succeed in Public Relations. 

However, when she was not involve in business she had no reason to pretend. 

That’s why she had been so abrupt with John.

Evelyn suddenly realized she had been sitting next to the phone for quite a while. It was time to come back to basics. Lunch. She got up and walked into the kitchen to prepare some food. Very soon the sound of cooking filled the room like a treasured piece of music.

The afternoon was as quiet as the morning. Actually more so. She didn’t even get disturbed by the phone. It suited her fine. She hadn’t relaxed like this for ages. She spent a few hours in her backyard. Soaking up the sun and appreciating the fact shecould call this piece of land her own. Courtesy of her divorce settlement. It had bestowed upon her a house with a well-established garden and enough money in various investments to make her feel secure. Quite a difference to the many years of struggle, either by herself or helping her ex-husband to establish his business.

It was not until the first messengers of darkness started to take over the day that she went back into the house. She suddenly remembered last night’s dream. Perhaps he thought of the artificial bright light because the real light was fading. Perhaps the anticipation of going to bed made her slightly anxious. Being afraid the confusing experience could repeat itself. 

Yes – confusing! And quite absurd!

Whatever the reason, she was actually surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. after she had woken up this morning, the images had been with her for quite a while. She couldn’t just shake them off. As much as she might have wanted to. They sure had been weird and even ridiculous. But they had been strong and impressive in their realism.

Usually dreams showed bits of events without any logical sequence. Often relating to a number of incidents in the past. But not this one! It was so real, she could have had the conversation during her waking hours. Except that she probably would never talk to someone who claimed to be an angel. Otherwise it was very much like her talking to any stranger. Especially her witty remarks. It made her smile when she thought about them.

And this was another real surprise. She seemed to remember almost every word that had been spoken. Even now. After so many hours had passed.

She still had no idea what she should make of the whole affair. Not being a great friend of riddles, secrets and ideas without a solution, she put the experience aside. She was in no mood spending too much time on something that was probably not worth thinking about. Today was hers for relaxation. Forget all complications.

She had a light dinner, watched some television and then went to bed. With a sigh of relief and pleasure she stretched out underneath her sheets and fell asleep shortly after. 

It happened again. The bright light. Almost too much for her. Shining at her. 

Dazzling her. Making her feel totally mesmerized.

However, there was no voice. Not a sound.

It made her nervous and annoyed. What was the meaning of this?

“Speak to me!”

No answer. Nothing. Just the light!

“If you don’t want to speak to me, go away! You’re hurting my eyes!”

But it remained. Merciless and yet not really offending. On the contrary. Somehow, she had to admit it was almost soothing. A healing quality.

After a while, she was getting fond of staring at this extraordinary phenomenon. She actually appreciated its presence.

Suddenly, the light disappeared. Not gradually like last time but in one final flash.

However, the memory of the brightness lingered on. When she woke up, she was surprised at the total darkness of her bedroom. She shook her head. She was compelled to get rid of this unwanted intrusion.

Sunday, glorious Sunday. Another day of resting and doing as little as possible. With the exception that one of her daughters had threatened to visit her. She now felt sorry she had agreed to it. She hoped it wouldn’t be one of those drawn-out get-togethers. 

Not that she didn’t like her daughters – she had two – but she was very jealous of her free time.

Mind you, she was always ready to give of herself when there was a real need. But this time the request for visiting her had sounded more like: ‘I’m bored. Can I come and kill some time with some chit-chat and gossip?’

Somehow she was even more annoyed because the images of her dreams were still floating through her mind. She tried to analyze them. What did they mean? Why had the visualization come back without the voice?

Too many unknowns. She couldn’t find any answers. It made her cranky. On a day like today that’s the last thing she needed.

But then she realized it might be interesting to work out what was behind it all. Not only behind the idea of the dreams but also behind bits of what the stranger had said. She still found it impossible to call him an angel.

Now it was clear why she was annoyed at her daughter cutting into her time. Or was she more annoyed at spending too much energy on something that could have been nothing but a fluke of her overactive mind? Perhaps she had seen a similar episode in a movie years ago and for some reason her memory had brought it back now.

In that case her daughter’s visit might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Talking about everything and nothing would make her forget. As she had said to a journalist not so long ago: “Gossip fills the mind to such an extent that the brain is flooded and can’t function.”

Then another thought came in. What if she told her daughter about her dreams. 

Gauge her reaction. Sometimes it helped talking to an uninvolved person. They didn’t carry the burden remembering. It might be interesting.

The more she thought about it, the more she liked it. Yes – she would mention her experience at the appropriate opportunity.

As soon as she had made this decision, a sense of freedom came over her. Almost immediately she was back to her Sunday relaxed self.

Finally they finished gossiping. Not because they had run out of subjects. There was always something or somebody else to talk about in a flippant, superficial way. But 

Evelyn had clearly shown she was getting tired of a meaningless conversation. 

Almost in the middle of one of her sentences she stopped and offered to make a cup of tea. Without waiting for a reply she walked into the kitchen.

Her daughter didn’t quite catch on and continued to express some opinion she had read in a magazine. Until she realized there was no response. Only the singing of the kettle and some tinkling sounds.

Soon after Evelyn came back with a cup and saucer in each hand. She put them down on the table and went again to the kitchen to fetch the teapot, milk, sugar and two spoons.

When she returned, the expression on her face had changed. It was more serious. Mingled with anxiousness and the discomfort of not being sure how to approach the subject. “Mary . . .” Here she stopped again. She sat down, avoiding the eyes of her daughter. “I . . . I don’t know how to put this . . . but . . .”

“Yes, mum? You scare me. You sound weird.”

Evelyn gave a short laugh. “No . . . nothing like that . . . I’m just afraid you might think I’m crazy.”

Now it was her daughter’s turn to be merry. “We know you are. But don ‘t worry we’re not going to tell anyone.”

Evelyn was grateful for Mary’s flippant remark. Somehow it dissipated her fear of talking about something which she had so far regarded as nonsense. She decided to cut out any further delays. Come straight to the point. “No, seriously . . . tell me . . . do you believe in angels?”

Mary was so surprised that she put down her cup really fast and hard. It made a dangerous sound of being close to breaking. Some tea spilled onto the saucer. A few drops even reached the tablecloth. “Well . . . I never . . . what shall I say?”

A long pause. Both women were waiting for the other to say something. The silence between them grew deeper the longer it continued.

Finally Mary decided she should apologize for making a mess. “Sorry about the tea. I’ll go and get a wet cloth to clean up.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my fault. I realize I sprung that question on you without preparing you for it.”

“It’s not that, mum. It’s not such an outlandish thing to say. I would find it quite normal if other people asked me about angels. But you? It’s hard to believe!”

“Yes, I know. I’m not exactly . . .”

“No, you’re not. Everybody sees you as the clever businesswoman. Down to earth. No nonsense. Perhaps even a bit cold.”

“That’s not fair. You sound like your father.”

Mary’s face slowly changed into a grin. “Yes . . . maybe. But nobody seems to know whether you have a private life or not.”

“Because it’s nobody’s business.” Evelyn sounded a bit hurt. But she quickly realized it was a waste of time to defend herself. Better get back to her original question. “You haven’t answered me yet.”

“I know, I know . . .” Mary was a bit disappointed. She would have liked to continue with her accusations. As much as she envied her mother for her composure, she frequently wished she could tear it to pieces. “Angels? You must admit it’s a bit of a surprise coming from you. You’re not known for your interest in spiritual matters.”

“Alright, alright . . . fine . . .” A bit too loud. Frustrated.

Her daughter could hear the change in her mother’s voice. It was time to reply. “Of course I do. You know how interested I am in all those things. I believe we all have at least one guardian angel. Maybe even a few. They look after us. It makes sense. Why would we be stopped so often from doing something stupid? Somebody must be watching out for us!”

“I see . . . I see . . .” Evelyn was suddenly very thoughtful. “Perhaps . . .”

Mary’s curiosity was roused. “Why do you ask? Any specific reason?”

“Yes, there is. Let me explain. I would be interested what you will say. It doesn’t make any sense to me.” She told her daughter about the two dreams. In minute detail. In fact, she surprised herself. She had not believed she would remember as much.

When she finished, silence descended on the room. It engulfed the two women. It totally engaged them in their attempt of an explanation.

Until Mary shattered the isolation from her mother. “I’m not hundred percent sure. But I remember reading something about our guardian angel appearing.” She stopped. Her face depicted her attempt to recall the information. “Now . . . what was it?”

Evelyn remained quiet. She knew the subject was too foreign to her for venturing an opinion. Besides, she didn’t want to disturb her daughter who spoke very softly to herself. Obviously trying to find the correct piece of memory.

Mary suddenly raised her hand and shouted: “Uh . . . I’ve got it . . .” Then she leant forward as if to tell her mother a great secret. “I remember it now. There was an article in one of the magazines.”

“What did it say?”

“If a guardian angel appears – either in person or any other form – you can expect something important to happen. And it gave a number of examples where people had experienced as much.”

Evelyn couldn’t help laughing. “Really? I can’t think of anything happening that I would call important. Not now. Not in the near future. Unless I win lotto or meet the perfect man.”

“Now you’re making fun of me. That’s not fair.”

“Sorry. I just find it hard to believe any of it. Maybe you’re right. I’m not meant to be a spiritual person.”

“It doesn’t matter, mum. You still had the dreams. You might get a surprise. 

Perhaps sooner than you think.”

They decided to have dinner in a restaurant half-way between Evelyn’s house and 

Mary’s apartment. They both took their cars so that they could go home separately. Time passed away pleasantly. The meals weren’t too bad, followed by a lovely dessert. They had returned to talking about nothing and everything. Pure platitudes. 

Until Evelyn made the mistake of mentioning Mary’s husband who was away at the moment on a business trip. Luckily, her daughter quickly changed the subject because she was in no mood to discuss her marital problems.

When they finally said good-night, they both felt the evening had been lovely. They promised to repeat it soon. Only then did Mary bring up the conversation about the angels again. “Whatever you think, mum, there is a hidden meaning behind your dreams.”

“I wish I knew what.”

“Maybe you should go and see somebody who can tell you about those things.”

“Oh no! That would be a waste of time.”

“Aren’t you curious? I would be!”

“Not any more. At first it made me wonder. But I’ve lost interest.”

“I’m still sure something important will happen to you.”

Evelyn laughed. “Well . . . let’s leave it at that.”

“You’re incurable, mum.”

They hugged each other once more and went to their cars. Another quick wave good-bye. Then they were on their way home.

The streets were fairly deserted. Hardly any traffic and even fewer pedestrians. ‘Of course . . . it’s Sunday evening’, Evelyn thought. ‘Everybody is getting ready to become slaves again for another week.’ For some weird reason the observation made her smile. Perhaps because she had been a slave herself for many years. And still was to some extent.

She looked forward to getting home. Sitting on her couch. Quietly, thinking. Or maybe reading a book. Definitely with a cup of coffee. Possibly even just relaxing. 

Trying not to think. She had explored her mind enough over the last two days. “Yes, 

Mister Nobody . . . and that includes you . . .”, she said to herself. It made her smile because her voice had been louder than she had anticipated. “What a load of crap”, she continued but this time much softer. Yet, the tone of disdain was unmistakable.

“Something important . . . yes, sure . . .”   She came to a sharp curve in the road. She slowed down. As she had done so often before. Just routine.

But tonight it was different.

Perhaps there was an oil spill. Perhaps some other substance.

Whatever it was, her car started to slide.

She tried to steer against the movement.

Mistake. It only made it worse.

She saw the other side of the road coming closer. Or maybe her side.

A tree . . . out of control . . . a small cry . . . like a wounded animal . . . 

A loud crash . . . metal twisting . . . glass shattering . . . pain shooting up in her chest . . . the continuous blaring of her car’s horn . . . 

And then darkness . . . nothing . . .