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Automated response - A New Line Emerges by Steven Clark Bradley

What would you feel if America fell and the nation was taken over by a dictatorial power? Would you adapt? Or, would you lay down body and soul to protect your homeland? Read Chapter two of Steven Clark Bradley's newest work in progress, Automated Response and feel what could happen unless we are vigilant and devoted to the United states of America.

Automated Response

Patriot Acts Part 3

A New Line Emerges

Chapter 2

Edgecombe County, North Carolina

September, 1969, 1:52 p.m.

“Just deal with it.” was the last thing Peter Barlowe’s father had told him, before he died.

Peter had walked into his home in Edgecombe County, North Carolina just as he had as far back as he could remember. There, to the right, he saw his father, Marshall sitting on the edge of the couch with his face buried in his palms, shaking and weeping a torrent of tears.

“Dad, where’s mom?”

Peter Barlowe looked at the various things that were scattered around his father, on the couch and the floor. He saw pictures of his childhood, his mom Betty and his dad’s great-great grandmother Winnifred Atkinson Barlowe’s portrait, who had lived in Edgecombe Co. The floor was littered with old folders everywhere; all of them opened with their contents spilling out.

What’s he looking for? Peter wondered. “Dad, where’s mom? You’re starting to scare me.”

Marshall Barlowe looked up at his son with a face that screamed out disaster and guilt.

“Mother, you want your mother? Well, boy, you ain’t got no mother. Not no more.”

Young Peter Barlowe took in the words from his father. The pitch, the expression across his father’s face and grave sound of his father’s voice, and most devastatingly terrible thing of all was the words themselves. It all told this young twelve year old boy that his life had been drastically altered and was in permanent disrepair.

Marshall Barlow sat on the edge of the couch with his eyes weeping into his palms. He raised his head and gazed at the son he had always loved; an affection he had rarely attempted to display.

The expression he saw on his son’s face made him hurt so badly that he had to hold the gun in his left hand down with his right lest he raise the barrel to his head and pull the trigger earlier than he figured he’d be forced to.

“Peter, I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t; I swear I did. Everything about that damn place is automated, and it’s only the beginning. Don’t try to run, cause they’ll kill you.”

Peter looked over at his father and took in the words that even he, at his young age, realized would be the last ones his father would ever say to him.

“Son, I love you, I always have. But, you cannot give up what’s ours and what was started by our kin, our blood.”

Peter walked slowly closer to his father and saw the gun in his hand.

“Dad, what’s wrong? I know about the lost colony and the stupid shooting over a stolen cup that was to have killed off all of them, and I know about the SPU. I’m not afraid; tell me what I have to do.” Tears rolled down the boy’s face and he felt as if his knees wobbling under him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

Marshall looked at his son, Peter with serious etched all over his face.

“My boy, Michael O’Rourke has taken the line; he stole it from Eldridge Harrison.”

Marshall saw the confounded stare in his son’s eyes.

“Peter, I know, you’re young, way too young to endure what has happen here today. I …”

“What has happened? Where is my mom?” Peter demanded.

“Son, listen to me, you can’t run! If you run, they’ll kill you, and I can’t stop it now. Once a thing like this gets rolling, there’s no stopping it. This will never be far from you, Peter. Once they take you …”

“Take me, take me where?”

“You have to grow up fast and stop the system. The new line will build it, and they’ll use it too.”

“Dad, I don’t understand anything you’re talking about.”

“That’s not important. They’re going to take you, son and when they do, you’ll be chipped. No one knows the things we’ve done. No one even comprehends how many masters we’ve served; all the while exacting all the power, funding, technology and information they took as their booty. Every president since Wilson’s been our puppet, and that was all under a civil leadership. When this crowd gets their claws on the codes we have from every nation that’s anything, no one will ever be able to stop the SPU.”

Peter mouthed the letters S.P.U. “You’ll forget these things after they block out this day, and God knows how many others from your memory. But, my only hope is that if you hear the words, ‘automated response’ they will force this day back into your mind. That’s the best I can do, son.” Marshall Barlowe stared back at his son and rose from the couch.

“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve built a system that will take down the whole thing down. Just deal with it …”

Young Peter Barlowe turned his head toward the shattering sound of breaking glass and then saw a hole appear in the center of his father’s forehead. Blood shot out of his dad’s head and splashed over Peter’s face. Peter dived to the floor and heard the back door fly open and slam loudly against the wall. He lay silently and exposed on the living room floor and saw four sets of feet enter the room. He saw them walking over to him and then they grabbed him and lifted him up.

“Peter, we got here as soon as we could. You’re dad’s had a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. O’Rourke, you just killed my dad. He told me everything. I will not go with you. Did you kill my mom too, you lying bastard?”

“Listen, calm down. I didn’t kill anyone. Your father was about to kill you too. Come on now, you’re delirious, and I’ve got just the thing to help you forget all about this.”

Michael O’Rourke walked over to Peter and put his arm around his shoulder. Peter pulled away from him and punched the much larger man in the ribs. O’Rourke felt it, too.

“I don’t know what to believe.” Peter said in a child’s manner that seemed to pretend it all away.

“Of course you don’t, Pete. That’s actually good, in a strange sort of way. In fact, I fully intend to tell you what to believe, my boy.” O’Rourke looked at his men.

“Get him outta here. And, one of you get back in here and clean up this mess.”

Michael O’Rourke, the new chief of the Strategic Perception Unit could not believe it had come off so flawlessly.

“Finally, it’s all mine. Now, I’m the real most powerful man in the world.”

Three large men picked up Peter Barlowe and cuffed him and led him outside. As they walked him out the back door that had been kicked off its hinges, Peter saw the lifeless body of his mother sprawled across the blood-splattered table, with a large knife protruding out of her chest.

“You killed my mom! You bastards killed my mom!” Peter screamed and fought to get away from his captures.

Two of the men carried twelve-year-old Peter Barlow out of the house and to a black car with US Government plates. They jostled him into the car and he looked to his left at another young unconscious body next to him, in the back seat.

“Fish, Fisher is that you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him; he’s OK. As a matter of fact, why don’t you join him?

The SPU operative placed a mask over his own face and closed the backseat divider and pressed a button his on his dash board that sprayed half the normal dose of gas that he’s have administered to an adult. The young boy pounded on the divider but soon, he felt his strength give way to a sleepy, foggy haze and everything went dark.

Falls Church, Virginia inside SPU Center

March 7, 2011

“I remember.” Peter said quietly, but more loudly than he had intended as the darkness of 1969 fade and his eyes gazed into the darkness of 2011. He fine-tuned his ears to the sounds of soldiers as they walked down the huge Falls Church facility corridors.

“It’s an automated response.” Memories started flashing and streaming through his mind and he saw what this horrible system would do.

“Peter, listen carefully, they’ve build a system that will take down the whole …” his father had said. “Just before they blew him away.” Peter whispered. “…if they take us down, everything goes with us.” He had heard so often since he had become part of the SPU. The memory shot through his mind and he grasped the sides of his head. “We’ve chipped every soldier, Marine, Seaman and Airman since 1988, and Reagan, Clinton nor Bush knew a thing about it. Even Tate didn’t get that information.” He groaned in mental agony.

“Your dad killed himself!”

“No, you killed him.” Peter Barlowe, heard his mind silently cry out.

“Your father killed your mother; stabbed her in the heart.”

“You lie.” He screamed out loudly and looked down at his watch. “Only two minutes.” He told himself. “I have to stop it.” He heard the sound of heavy footsteps voices approaching his location. He stopped breathing and listened carefully.

“This O’Rourke guy is dead.” One soldier said to the other. “Yea, Harrison’s not gonna take any shit!”

“Jaime’s dead? That leaves only me to take all the heat.” Barlowe realized.

He positioned himself with his back to the wall of the cleaning room and switched his flashlight on. Peter looked down at the chameleon suit he had put on. He pulled the mask over his face and pressed a button on the inside of his jacket. The suit came to life and he took on the colors and blended into the room, but the suit’s one flaw was the initialization process that produced a whining sound that the SPU techs had not managed to rectify, and which the soldiers policing the corridor could hear.

“Did you hear that?” One soldier said to the other. Barlowe heard the soldiers walking toward the door.

“I have to get to the chamber and reset it the failsafe.” His watch told him he had forty-eight seconds.

He heard the footprints coming his way and saw light break through the darkness as the cleaning room door slowly opened. He pulled his legs back prepared himself.

Two US Army soldiers aimed their weapons into the room and looked inside. They saw nothing and walked into the room. When they came close enough to trip over Peter, he drove the force of both his adrenalin-laced legs into the chest of one of the soldiers. Peter leapt to his feet and rapidly raced down the corridor, firing as he ran as fast as his legs would take him.

The Army advance soldier was one of a team of ten sent in to conduct code enforcement and to shoot anyone on sight who threatened US Forces in any way. The soldier ran into the corridor and saw him. The one soldier still left breathing ran after him and radioed his commander.

“I got him, Peter Barlowe …”

“One second…”

“One second, I ain’t got one …”

“Who are you, what company?”

“Taggart, sir, Advanced Infantry Clearance.”

“Give it to me, soldier.”

“I got Barlowe. You know, like the number two … sir.”

“You’ve got a shoot to kill on that dirt bag, Taggart. You Copy?”

“You better believe it … sir. Target is racing around into the left corridor.”

“Secretary Blake wants Barlowe dead. Do you copy that?”

“That’s affirmative and happy to oblige; engaging now.”

Taggart crouched forward and advanced with his weapon held tightly and impatiently ready. When Taggart turned the corner, Barlowe sprayed bullets in every direction. Taggart took cover and returned fire, even though he couldn’t see anything except the holes that Barlowe was inflicting upon the facility walls.

Barlowe turned to run and a bullet grazed the chameleon suit’s programs controller, which rendered him instantly visible with only 22 seconds left to stop the automated response.

“I think I’ve brought a knife to a gunfight.” He knew he had no chance to stop it and only one chance to remain a free man, even if no one else would be.

Barlow turned and looked at Taggart. The rest of Taggart’s men ran up behind Barlowe, with their weapons trained directly on him.

“Get down on the floor, now.” Taggart screamed.

Barlowe looked at his watch. “Hmm, seven seconds.” He told himself as he looked up at the soldiers.

“I said get down on the floor.” Another of the armed soldiers shouted.

“It’s alright boys. You’ll be working for me in three, two, one.”

Taggart, who had appeared deadly ready to blow Barlowe away, suddenly dropped his weapons to his sides and stood at attention.

President Harrison and his family and staff had already been airlifted out, the first to leave the facility and were already in the air in Marine One. Throughout the whole facility, every man and woman in uniform simply stopped searching and stood at attention waiting for their next orders.

“My goodness,” Barlowe said in great amazement. “Will you look at that?”

He walked up to the soldiers who did not bat an eye. He took one of the radios and set it to intercom.

“Thank you for your service. You are serving under a new protocol now, a new set of rules. Be as you were until further notice. You are under the orders of Peter Barlowe, your new Commander in Chief. Await my orders and return to your base.”

“I could get used to this.” Barlowe said out loud. “I think I already have.” He heard the echo of hundreds of voices resonating throughout the facility with the same two words.

“Yes, Sir.”

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley



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All Fall Down - Patriot Acts Part Three by Steven Clark Bradley

All Fall Down
Patriot Acts Part Three


Ramallah, Palestine
June 6, 1995 1:58 p.m.

“The Two minute window is closing.” The operative reported perched high up inside a bombed out building in Ramallah, Palestine that had once been filled with families who had been forced to flee Israeli tanks, mortars and laser-guided bombs. With an uninhibited view, he looked out at the indescribable ruin and carnage that had already been inflicted on this people whose leaders had passed up every opening for peace.

“Copy that” the operative’s base contact affirmed.

There, with his precision fully automatic .50-cal. Barrett M82 ready to accelerate the conflict into a full-blown war, Colonel Fisher Harrison took in the complete and utter destruction of a society literally crumbling around his location. He looked to the left and saw the barricaded windows with camouflage material shrouding the soldiers posted there, ready and willing to fire at anything that moved.

Fisher raised his eyes and looked straight out ahead. His view was good enough to look into the Calandria refugee camp. It was a cauldron of vicious plots and miniature bomb making factories, which made ad hoc missiles and jackets designed to be used only once. He glanced downward and saw a mother with her scarf removed and wrapped around her three small terrified children’s eyes. Hoards of terrified city dwellers were crouched down, never glancing upward, and fleeing through the streets; trying to stumble on a loaf of bread and a few bottles of water during a lull in the barrage of attacks.

America's Emerging Culture of Death
by Steven Clark Bradley

The world had condemned Israel for its attacks, but Fisher had determined it was justified and obliged, just like the validation screaming in his head for the killing of the evil terrorist he was about to blow away. Every street was strewn with blown up cars, dead bodies and silence, only cut short by the frequent short volley of gunfire in every direction.

Smoke rose high into the sulfur-ridden darkened sky. Throughout the capital city of the land of a people without a country, old men, young women with children in their arms and in their wombs hid and prayed to the god in whose name they were fighting. Fisher doubted they deserved a country. Then he realized that his job, his own people deserved scarcely more than these who had been constantly lobbing missiles and sending suicide bombers into the heart of Israel.

Inside the so-called governmental zone, every building belonging to the Palestinian Authority was flattened except Arafat’s own presidential headquarters, but Fisher knew that the only reason the structure was still there was because Israeli forces had allowed it to remain. Arafat had been allowed to live, but with stipulations. The former leader of the Palestinian Liberation Organization who had carried out and ordered the torture and murder of hundreds of thousands of people was now the only hope for peace and survival for this war-weary people.

Arafat only left his compound twice a day to greet his followers and to speak with the press, which Fisher knew was now and which was why he had placed his very steady eye peering through a chamber that would place a beam of light, invisible to others, but very clear to Fisher, in the center of the President of the Palestinian Authority’s forehead. As soon as the clock struck two o’clock; as soon as the clock signaled the last breath for an elected leader who Fisher Harrison regarded as a terrorist, it would be time to unlock, pull back on the trigger and then get the hell away.

Fisher glanced constantly at his watch and thought about the SPU superintendent’s words before boarding the El Al flight to Tel Aviv in Chicago. He had travelled as a civilian and when he arrived at O’Hare Field, he was not allowed to board the flight until the next day. He knew that wasn’t a problem and that the SPU was impeccable in its ability to cover every base.

“It’s only a shaky finger or a call that can stop this murderer from meeting his 70 virgins.” Fisher quietly amused himself. “And the recall is almost over.” Fisher told himself.

Almost every mission had left him in a kind of obtuse, morose feeling of remorse and sorrow, but not this one. For Fisher Harrison, this was simply code enforcement. He was cleaning up the neighborhood. He was doing what he was trained to do, and he didn’t even have to convince himself, this time.

Obama's White House is Falling Down

“Hey Yasser, here’s hoping that all them virgins are men.” He almost laughed out loud. Then he remembered the superintendent’s orders and outrageous words. “What was it again?” he asked himself with his eye still staring out the end of a scope at the extremely exposed head and face of one of the twentieth century’s most ruthless terrorists.

“The war’s not getting the attention it needs, Colonel.”

“War; what war?” Fisher truthfully didn’t know what the superintendent was talking about.

“The war that your new mission is going to start. There’s never been a conflict that the SPU hasn’t had its hand in starting, since the founding of the nation. Now, I need you to get your ass over to that cursed place and blow the bastard away.”

“Blow him away; which one? That could be any number of bastards’, as you call them. Could even be you … sir.”

“I don’t care; just kill’em, Arafat, I mean. I want him dead, dancing with those virgins. I need a war, Colonel!” Fisher Harrison turned slowly with an unconcealed scowl poignantly stretched across his face.

Without ever taking his eye away from the scope attached to his M82, Fisher touched his face as he realized that his thoughts had produced the same expression of unbelief and anger in the present as in the past. He returned to the present mission at hand and glanced down at his watch. Only fifty-two seconds remained. His palms felt uncharacteristically wet and he wasn’t certain if he were afraid of the result of a successful mission or if he was exaggeratedly gleeful at once again meting out a guilty killer’s just recompense.

“What you need is to be shot on sight, Barlowe.” Fisher recalled telling his boss. “And, I hope I’m the one who gets to do that too.” The superintendant looked puzzled at first then his face took on an expression that told Fisher that his SPU superior knew Fisher would do it. “I can’t wait till that directive comes down …sir!”


“Colonel Harrison, I think the odds are more on my side than on yours. Just stay useful and you won’t have to forfeit your retirement plan. Anyway, it’s always been this way, and it won’t be changing anytime soon.”

“Then the country’s nothing but a lie and never existed at all.” Fisher blurted out.

“Well, Harrison, one day it is going to be just you and me, mono et mono. We’ll see then who has the biggest package, don’t you think? Anyway, we both have a boss. So, give me my war, Colonel Harrison.”

March 9, 2011, 3:23 p.m.
Outside Washington D.C.

Suddenly, Fisher felt himself shaken by explosions erupting in the distance and very close, and President Fisher Harrison felt his whole world start quaking. He leapt forward from his bed, but he was forced right back down on the mattress he was strapped to around his wrists and feet with a needle forcing a steady stream of sedatives into the veins of his left arm.

Fisher felt a throbbing, stabbing pain shoot through his head each time he tried to recall how he had gotten where he had suddenly awaken.

“I was speaking … yes, President Tate’s funeral…yes that’s it. Then …” He shook his head as the throbbing in his head became almost unbearable. “… then all hell broke loose.”

Part One: Brothers at War
A First-Hand View of Jacob's Trouble

He could barely recall it, but he could still hear what had to be the most deafening sounds even he, a man who had been battle tough, had ever heard in his life. He began to mouth the words to himself. “The sanctuary shook, the ground seemed to pound and then it all came down and … Margaret … Nate? Oh my God, Margaret! Nate.” He screamed. “Where are they? I can see it in my head. It just came tumbling down on all of us. Yes, I remember”

Fisher tried to get a hold of his fear and rationally wondered where he was. He lifted his head off the bed and looked around the dark room. It had a musky odor and seemed damp. Slowly, he brought all his skills to bear and tried to understand where he was. He recalled the dream he had just had. One set of words he had heard in the dream filled his mind.

“Well, Harrison, one day it is going to be just you and me, mono et mono. We’ll see then who has the biggest package, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Fisher told himself. “He wasn’t there! When we took the Falls Church facility, he wasn’t there! It had to be Barlowe!”

Part Two Brothers at War
The Heartlessness of Terrorism

Fisher heard clapping behind him and a spotlight flashed on forcing Fisher’s eyes closed from the light that had killed the darkness all round him. A voice spoke out behind the bed he was latched to.

“Bravo, bravo, you are a tough one, President Harrison. We knew you had been inoculated many years ago. So, we thought you’d not be under for too long. We needed just enough time to get you out and under control.”

“And my family, where are they?”

“Well, let’s talk about that a little later, why don’t we?”

Fisher began jerking at the straps and shouting and trying to rip his arms and feet loose. “You will tell me now.” Fisher screamed.

“Mr. President, though that title hardly fits you any longer, we have to bring some sanity to the situation, as it is right now; so, first things first. I did notice that you recalled my words, mono et mono. That was impressive, to say the least that you remembered them and even in a drug-induced stupor, those words, from so many years ago, rang out in your mind. You either have a very well-tuned mind or I made a mighty impression on you. It’s probably a bit of both, don’t you think? We had you plugged in Fisher. We saw everything you saw, and I was proud of you. You haven’t lost a bit of your style, Mr. President.”

Part Three Brothers at War
Inside Ramallah

“Barlowe, if you hurt my family, I’ll kill you.”

“Now, Fisher, you’ve said that one before, but just as I told you in nineteen hundred ninety-five, I have the upper hand. It seems easy to conclude that now, don’t you think? But then, how could you know? The cat was away and mice did play. Fisher, you guys made us invisible and more lethal than ever. Did you think we put all our eggs into just one basket? Fisher, you know us better than that. You were one of us, and now, you are nothing; not SPU, not a father, not an operative and certainly not a president. You don’t need to get used to it, actually. You won’t be alive long enough to worry about it.”

“What have you done Barlowe? The nation can’t take much more right now.”

“Nation, what nation would that be? The new one or the old one? The one you never got a chance to lead, you know, the one I just destroyed? I do understand you, though. It will take some getting used to by the … what were they called before? Ah yes, the American people? So, stop with all the threats.”

Barlowe walked over to a door behind Fisher’s bed where he was secured. He waved his hand and closed the door and watched through a window as a mist filled the air and President Fisher Harrison fell back silent and motionless to the bed.

“Mr. President,” Barlowe said. “Don’t waste your breath. You don’t have too many left anyway. There will be more than enough time for killing later.”

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Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com ____________________________

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.

Four lessons For Willow Morgan - Kassadia's Triumph by Steven Clark Bradley & Selin Alicia Bradley

Chapter Three

“Oh God, I have wanted and have tried to do right, to maintain the order; to keep my people on the road to reason and righteousness. You have kept me and my family safe all these years. Until now, you are the only one to have shed blood for me; now I am willing to be or do what you see fit. Protect our Willow, I beg you. ”

Walter Morgan lay flat on his back; looking upward toward God and thoughts came and went about his arm, but his mind never left his daughter. It was indeed gone, but as though it had never been there. He could not be so patient concerning her.

“She was the natural order and it must be given to her!” he cried out.

His eyes drifted to the cavern ceiling and sort of looked through it, as his mind peered through time while summoning back his recollection of his thirteenth birthday. It was then he, just like his beloved little girl, Willow, had embarked upon his newly-found understanding of who he was and what his great responsibility would be to the Neph, as the keeper of the Realm.

“That’s why I buried it here in the first place; so it would be far enough away from me that I couldn’t give it up no matter what the consequences would be.” Then, his father’s voice seemed to invade his thoughts.

“Young man, this is the time to take hold of the Scepter; to let it take hold of you as its protector, its bearer and its crown. It is the sign of the covenant between our kind and the Creator. We were an aberration, Walter, outside the box, not according to the plan, but The King has great tender mercies. He made a way for us to have peace with Him, but only a part of our lot has bowed before the King. It is for that this Scepter was given to us, not as an idol, but as a visible sign of our submission to the one who made the way with his blood. Now, hold out your right arm, Walter.”

~~~

“Why didn’t you tell me your name was Melek?”

“Miss Willow…” Melek saw Willow cross her arms in disgust. “Yes, I mean Willow. You are a persnickety one, aren’t you, but it suits you. Actually Willow, I do not recall your asking me my name, but I could be wrong. We are not perfect creatures. The dark thing we just cast down was once my dear friend, but he chose the way of his master. He is proof enough that we are frail like your kind, and you got the same frailties on both sides.” Melek said in a half-hearted jest.

Willow rolled her eyes and Melek continued. “Anyway, this is not about me. And, you will soon see that the things you shall encounter will make you either a queen of great deeds and service for your kind, or a vassal of a dark ruler who shall never allow you an ounce of freedom.”

“But you said my father was in danger.” Melek nodded his head. “Well, we had better get our cool selves over there then, don’t you think. I have to save my father.” Willow insisted with tears in her eyes. “Father…”

~~~

“I’m afraid.” Walter Morgan heard his younger voice travel through his mind again.

“Yes, and it gives me peace to know it too, Walter.” his father said with a positive and victorious voice. “That means you have taken it sincerely, for indeed becoming the Supreme Leader of a countless number of Nephs, of which many are, as of yet, unaware of their difference, is a bold task, my boy. There are many who have never yet sprouted their wings; a phenomenon that no one can explain. And, the number always stays the same, too; one hundred and forty-four thousand, Walter.

“What you are taking hold of and the role you shall now play, to say the least, my son, is no easy task. But, I have great confidence in you. You are a strong one, as will be your kin. Yet, have no confidence in your strength. In that, we are no different than the humans around us. We and they must all trust in God, and to uphold His covenant, which was sealed in pure blood.” Walter recalled the unforgettable expression of pain, determination and fear that overtook his father’s face, at that moment.

“My son, there are only three things that I have determined that I would relinquish my life for. Two of them are your mom and you. Since we lost mom last year that just leaves two huge parts of my life I am prepared to die for.”

Samuel Morgan got down on one knee and peered into his son Walter’s eyes. “You know, I would not even think about it, Walter. If you were in danger, I’d die to preserve your life, without a thought or regret.” Samuel hugged young Walter Morgan and a much older Walter Morgan saw it in his mind as he lay on the cave floor still going over all the things that had brought him to such a low point in his life.

“Walter, I am proud of you and so proud to be your father. Yet, there is one who is over you and over all. It is He who forgave us, transformed us and set us free. To him I can yield all, because I know he can do no wrong and is pure and holy. You can be no less sure of your fate, for trouble shall follow you and you’ll need to know when to make a cry for help…”

Walter opened his eyes and stared, for a moment up at the cave ceiling. His brain told him to move his right arm, but it was gone. He pushed himself up with his left arm and got on his one hand and knees.

“I only get one of these in a lifetime, so I had better make it good!”

He heaved and shook and his skin opened across his back as great shimmering black and purple and blue colored wings unfolded. He rose to his feet and his face began to shine, and he reared back and hurled a deafening cry, heard by no human, but which wailed in the ears of every Neph alive, sprouted or still in hiding.

“Willow, help me!”

Throughout every nation, in every city and into the ears of every Neph, Walter Morgan’s cry blasted forth causing some in certain parts of the world awaken in fear and terror while others, in other areas to scream in fear at the sound that no one else around them had heard, including Willow. Many of them instantly sprouted their wings, leaving them in shock.

~~~

“Dad!” Willow cried out. Her head turned almost instinctively to the sound and she knew where it had come from.

“Angel, Melak, what was your name again?”

“Miss Willow … whatever! That is how you use that expression, isn’t it?” Willow looked exasperated, but she answered him patiently. “Yes, that was pretty good, in fact.” Melek smiled and was obviously proud of himself.

“I think I am finally mastering it.”

“You mean the language?”

“No, I mean you humans.”

“Well, it appears,” Willow looked behind her and caught a glimpse of her wings. “I am not exactly … human.”

“That is true, Miss Willow, but you act just like them.”

Willow wondered if that was a compliment or a cut-down. She determined it was a mixture of both. “Anyway, Malachi, I heard my father’s voice come from down below in the caverns. I know them well, but you cannot tell my father. I’ll get grounded for sure if he learns how many times I went wandering around. I certainly don’t want grounded, now that I have wings.”

“It’s Melek, and he knew every time, Miss Willow.”

“Knew every time what?”

“Your father knew where you were every time you escaped without his permission, because I told him.”

“You are such a loser, Meleki!” She smiled because she knew she was getting on his angelic nerves each time she wasted his name.


“It is Melek, quite easy actually, if you just try. That was your father’s voice you heard. He has exercised the rite. As the King of all Nephs, he can hurl one time only.’ Melek looked at Willow who had a very worried look across her face.

“Then, that means he’s in big trouble, doesn’t it, Milton?” In spite of her fear, even Willow laughed.

“I am so happy to be a Watcher.” Melek responded. “That took away any possibility of ever being your father.” They both laughed and leapt into the sky.

~~~

Walter Morgan fell to his knees and his wings folded up into his back and he raised his one arm toward the Keeper of the covenant.

“Oh God, I have sought to do what your word told us. I did not do it to find grace with you, because I found that grace through your deeds, and not those of my own. I have sought to please you, but look at me, now.” He thought about Willow and the danger she was in. He remembered his father’s words when he had told Walter he was willing to die for his son. Walter knew he would do no less for his Willow.

“Oh God, I should have been more responsible. My father even warned me about Kassadia.” Walter shouted with tears in his eyes and heard his father’s voice again, in his ears.

“Yet, Walter, my son, even now a new lord of the dark-Hearts has been decreed, this one will grow into the most ruthless and heartless of all the black-Hearts and he shall stop at nothing to get this symbol forged in the same blood as it was with all flesh. He shall seek to corrupt our kind’s peace between God and the Neph. This dark warrior is only different than us because of a plague of darkness, which all humans and all the Neph have as well, except for our faith in the one who cleansed us and who was wounded for us all, which the Dark Hearts have rejected. His name is Kassadia.”

Young Walter Morgan played the name through his mind and it even sounded frightening to him. His face turned a bit ashen and his father saw it.

“Walter, it is OK to be afraid sometimes, and deathly dangerous at others. Fear can be your friend in keeping you on the right path. To fear Him who formed you and pardoned you is the very start of the understanding needed to defeat Kassadia.

“Don’t let the name scare you. It is but a name, and he was not always so … dark. He failed at what you are hoped to achieve, and darkness spread throughout all the land of humans and the Neph. If he wins the Scepter, The Neph will be eliminated.

“As Kassadia’s hand spreads darkness, it will grow and our kind, and those we live amongst will become more and more accustomed to the dark magic of the Dark-Hearts, and the covenant of blood will be abandoned. He will become clever and ready to stop at nothing to get what he wants; your power and your authority, this scepter.

“He will be your greatest adversary with but one call upon his leadership; to wage a never-ending struggle to get to the top where he intends even to defy God, as the master he seeks serves did long ago. It is his unction to get the Golden Scepter and to use it for wickedness.”

Walter Morgan saw his younger self hold out his right arm.


“Walter Morgan, will you uphold the truce with the dark-hearts and will you always seek to be a peacemaker?”

“I … will seek peace with those who can be peaceable.” The boy said with a quivering apprehensive tone. “I will make war with those who seek to break the covenant.”

“Your word has been given and your word is believed by your sacred honor. You have acquired the needed knowledge through the four lessons.

“Now, my son, take this Scepter from me, as I give it freely without remorse. It has now released my claim, having willed it to you and I now pass it onto you.” Samuel Morgan looked at his son Walter for a moment and smiled and spoke softly.”

“Now, take hold of it and become a man after God’s own heart.”


Young Walter Morgan looked down at the pure golden Scepter his father held out for him to take. The base of the Scepter was round and the precious metal, which was engraved with leaves from the tree of life, shimmered in the light. A long ornate stem, embedded with rubies, and emeralds, rose up from the bottom in a manner that was twisted into a beautiful design that told the bearer of the Scepter that what lay ahead of them was a call of intricacy, uncertainty and reliance on the King of Kings.

On top of the golden stem was a round design that resembled a golden, jewel-incrusted sun flower that had thin, long, golden needles all around the design that naturally drew the eyes to the center of the round top of the Scepter, which held a huge red diamond, the worth of which had to be inestimable. There was an inscription on it that showed the ancient quality of the symbol of peace and power. It read, “Then the king extended the gold scepter to Esther and she arose and stood before him.” Walter’s father realized how awestruck his son was.

“Yes, Walter, this is the same Scepter that was given to Esther when the King of Assyria chose her to be his queen more than three thousand years ago. She, of course, was no Neph. Yet, she was willing to be the queen of a foreign monarch to save her people from their enemies. Are we not doing the same thing? We are not Watchers. We are not humans. Still for the sake of our people we maintain our secrecy and we only act when called upon for good. Now claim it, and never let it fade away and preserve it.”

Walter’s mind painted the picture before him and he recalled grasping the golden Scepter. He felt like it was almost magnetic as it seemed to pull his hand toward it and the small hairs on his arm leaned forward toward the Scepter.

Walter’s memories showed the young boy reaching out to grasp the scepter. He heard a rumbling sound and he felt the windows rattling a loud pounding sound seemed to fill the whole house. He looked out the window and saw the face of an angry young man, around Walter’s own age, peering inside with a furious expression across his face. He was hitting the windows as hard as he could even though he knew he could not take the scepter in that manner now. His would have to be of a more sinister nature, sometime in the future. Walter recalled his feelings of fear and confusion.

“He is your nemesis, my son. Kassadia is enraged. He is too late, and he knows it, but he will not fail to disrupt your rule, to break the covenant and to rule the Dark Hearts with evil intent and destruction. Son, after lots of study and direct talks with God, I have come to the conclusion that the Dark Hearts are spiritually insane. They should know the could never overcome the maker, lest everything simply cease to be. Yet, they refuse to yield their souls. They hate to be controlled, and they will do anything to win their power back.” Samuel Morgan looked at his son and flat on his back inside a cave underneath an ancient temple, in the land of cave-dwellers, Walter saw it clearly in his mind. The words his father spoke to him in his memory from the past meant more to him now than when he had first heard them.

“Do not try to negotiate, to make; there is no peace to be made with him, for his peace is only for his own selfish ends. Your battle shall never end with him or with his line after him. The battle between light and darkness is an eternal one and you have been entrusted with the battle of the ages. Hold the scepter and rely on your creator, the one who came amongst us and showed us how to live and then gave his life to save ours. That is love, my son. Kassadia will attack you on all sides, but the Branch, he will never give you more than you can handle.”

“I believe you, my father, and I take this upon me to bear the burden of saving the covenant of the Neph.”

Walter’s hand wrapped around the precious golden symbol and he immediately felt its force invade him and fasten itself to Walter’s being. The two, he and the Scepter became as one and each would eventually become dependent on the other.

Walter suddenly felt a sharp, jabbing pain shoot through his back and shoulders. He felt his insides tearing or more like something that had started working for the very first time. He cried out in pain as his bones repositioned themselves and the skin across his upper back tore open and something like feathers unfolded and then, the pain was gone, and Walter Morgan felt them, the wings his father and mother told him he’d one day sprout, which he had always thought was a joke.

“It only hurt for a moment, and then it was gone.” Walter recalled.

“Yes, my son, that was my experience exactly. Tell me, was it worth it?”

“You mean the tearing flesh, my bones being shoved around and feeling these enormous beautiful things crawl out of my back? Yes father, it was worth it and so much more.”


“Walter, you took on the Scepter before you came into your wings. Your daughter will sprout before she claims the Scepter.”

“My daughter? I am going to have a daughter?”

“That’s but a just a detail right now, my son. It only means she will be exceptional in our history. You, take great heed to protect the Scepter well. Wherever you place it, there is where it should be. If you choose to honor another Neph with this gift, you shall be released from its devotion. If it is claimed and taken by another, without your knowledge or agreement, your arm will crumble into sand and over the next twenty days, you shall turn to dust, unless the Scepter is regained. My son, it is a great honor to take on the Golden Scepter. With the privilege comes great responsibility and personal sacrifice to maintain the covenant’s order…”

A sound that resembled twisting metal filled Walter’s ears and his reflections of his childhood were suddenly forced away. He only heard his father’s last words that day as he came back to his present predicament.

“Kassadia must not get the scepter. He must not find it. He must never have the Scepter.”


Beside him, all around him, the Dark-Hearts had surrounded him and were about to assault the King who had once subdued them. He felt his fallen brothers’ presence, even if he could not see them. Then, it was right there, and appeared suddenly in front of Walter Morgan’s face.

“Walter, Walter, we are really going to talk together, but ... later.” Kassadia said mercilessly shaking his head. Walter tried to extend his wings, but something was sprayed into the air and Walter felt like his eyes had weights on them and in spite of his most earnest effort, he was quickly asleep and a prisoner of Kassadia, the prince of the Dark-Hearts. Kassadia looked at Walter and shook his head in pity.

“I really liked your words you spoke to the Maker, Walter. It was all so very touching. I am such a jerk, sometimes; I know that.” Kassadia said out loud as he looked down at Walter Morgan, the Lord of the Nephs, now under his control. “But I like me that way.” He thought he was being a jerk again and laughed loudly.

“I can even recite that last part. Now, what was that?” Kassadia looked down at Walter Morgan, the King of all the Neph and shook his head. Kassadia laughed and mocked Walter and shook Walters’s unconscious body. “Ah yes, I remember, and I’ll say it with all the disrespect I can muster.” Kassadia sarcastically and rebelliously held up the Scepter, smiled and shouted out the words Walter had spoken before God.

“Look at me now!”

________________________________________

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Patriot Acts
The Republic of Iran has linked up with radical American Militia groups to carry out a covert nuclear attack on America. Colonel Fisher Harrison, the best trained Special Ops killer the military has, is the one person who can effectively retaliate against these adversaries. But Colonel Fisher Harrison was framed for a murder he did not commit by his former boss--now the President of the United States of America. The two adversaries must put aside their differecnes and unite to stop those in league to bring America to its knees.
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StillBorn!

Unknown to Wallace Findings, a one-night stand results in twins. The mother is murdered soon after their birth to cover a hideous crime, which sends Findings on an eighteen year hunt for her murderer. One twin is adopted and welcomed into a wonderful life of plenty and privilege. The other is rejected and left an orphan, in a world without identity or care, facing brutal treatment and sexual abuse. This twin seeks out Findings and his sibling and all those who had abandoned him to carry out a plot of revenge. In the end, Findings discovers his role in a baby for sale scheme in which he and his unknown children were victims.


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Probable Cause

Greg Bradford is an escaped mental patient, a man who wants revenge, a man prepared to do anything to get his life back and has a plan to do it. Corbett Mandeville, a homicide detective known for solving some of the worst murders in the state, has to stop him. But, Corbett Mandeville has secrets of his own that created an affinity between him and the vindictive mental patient that drives both to stalk their prey and take justice into their own hands.

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____________________________________________________________

Steven worked a number of years in various countries in Europe, Asia, and Africa. He has been to 34 countries and has worked extensively with Kurdish refugees from Turkey, Iraq, and Syria. Steven also established a school by correspondence for African students in the African countries of The Gambia and Senegal West Africa. He is the founder of a Cultural Center for refugees in France, where he lived for six years. Speaking fluently in French and in Turkish, Steven has been in 34 countries. Before returning to the United States in 1995, Steven worked as an instructor of English and Business skills for four years at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.
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Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part One
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley

Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part Two
The Preservation Of The Neph
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley

Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part Two - The Preservation Of The Neph

Chapter Two

Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part Two
The Preservation Of The Neph

Goreme Caverns, Cappadocia, Central Turkey


“I can’t believe the years have passed.” He thought. Another voice filled his mind, as Walter Morgan took a large pick and swung it hard against the cavern wall. The loud thud was the result of thirty-five years of falling rock and debris that made it so hard to get to it.

“I know it’s here. I put it here myself.” he thought out loud as he swung the heavy pick-ax again, and it collided with the stone that separated Walter Morgan from retrieving what he had come there to get. Then another voice filled his mind and the sound of it made him lower the pick and listen intently.
“Wally? Where’d he get off to? Walter Aaron Morgan you will get to this house this instant!” He smiled at the sound of his mother’s voice. “I loved buying those bugs.” He laughed and heard his mother’s screams. “Walter Aaron Morgan, I am going to kill you! I hate those things!”

His kind and studious face took on a great childish grin as he remembered how those plastic bugs had made his mom so crazy when she pulled the blankets down and saw them planted right on her pillow.

“They looked so real.” Walter told himself. He pulled the pick into the air and swung it hard against the stone wall. “They looked so real, those bugs.” He heard a definite crack this time and reared the pick back behind him again.

“The tomato worms were the ones she hated most.” He reminded himself again.

He yanked the heavy pick forward and crushed the remaining wall and a pitch black hole was suddenly flooded with light, and Walter Morgan’s mind was flooded with his father’s voice. They were the same words that had often made him stronger and afraid to ever give up.

“Walter, you get in and get back out fast! It doesn’t take power to do what you must. It takes speed, accuracy and a determination to survive. It is our heritage, rarer than gold and of inestimable value.” Walter’s mind saw his father wrap an arm around his son’s shoulder. “My boy, it will all be clear. It is here that you will understand your significance and how to possess it and hold it with humility and to consecrate yourself to helping all men and women without respect of person. It is the way of the Neph.”

Since then, it was what drove him, just as his father had said it would be. It was Walter Morgan’s duty to pass his birthright on to Willow, just as his father had delivered it to him. It was that drive to preserve their unique and hidden difference of his line that had shed its insatiable appetite for evil and instead had yielded their kind to God.Walter swung the tool around one last time and the opening grew large enough to reach in and take back what he had placed there thirty-five years earlier. He reached in and felt a large box on the tips of his fingers. He pushed in further and dug his fingernails into the wood and pulled hard. He pulled it out quite easily.

~~~


“Miss Willow, you shouldn’t squirm so much.” Willow looked down and saw the flickering lights of the valley farmers who lived off the land in that part of Turkey.

She saw the rock spires of Goreme just out ahead. Willow spotted places where there was light and then darkness until another little patch of light appeared, with pitch blackness overtaking the land of Cappadocia. She kicked her legs with excitement as they soared above it all and screamed out in pure enjoyment mixed with fear.

“This is what I was born for, isn’t it?”

“I am but a created creature myself. We too have demonstrated our capacity to go the wrong way. You will meet many Black Hearts on this excursion to prove my point.”

“What you’re really trying to say is that you are not perfect and could drop me, right?” she confirmed.

“Not in so many words.”

“What? You used twice as many words as I did.” Willow wrinkled her brow and took on a half-perturbed, half-inquisitive look across her face. She looked at the great beast and was sure she had seen a great smirk or smile or something that told her he was messing with her.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“And what would that be, Miss Willow Daisy … um Willow?” as the Watcher descended and landed on a ledge carved into one of the spires that had clearly been someone’s home a couple thousand years ago. The Watcher got down on one knee and placed Willow on her feet.

“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Willow told the Watcher. “But you are hiding something from me, I know.”

“Smart of you to say, Willow. You Nephs are all different. Seems that …”

“What did you say, and no angelic hocus-pocus, OK? What’s a Neph?”

~~~

Walter Morgan looked down at his own hands that were tugging on the box that should have been almost fossilized by the weight over it and the thirty years that had past. “It’s too light.” He said loudly with a strong hint of real fear. “We will not survive without the scepter of truth. It cannot be done.”
Walter looked down at his trembling hands that held a urn that was far too light to contain the scepter. He unhooked the latch and opened the lid. “Gone? Perhaps stolen; either way, it’s just as gone. Walter reached into the urn and pulled out a letter. He held it up and tried to open it but his hand shook, trembled so badly until it seemed to dry out and then his whole arm crumbled into dust.

“Whoever owns the scepter rules the Neph.” Walter recited to himself. He held the envelope with his left hand and pulled the letter out and unfolded it with his teeth and began to read it.

“Now, now, you needn’t be so frightened. You’ve had a good run, but nothing lasts forever. Walter, you know the rules of the challenge. The house cannot refuse, and I think that just might be you. I admit to you though, it’s hardly a challenge, since you know longer have what I’ve just taken from you. “Whoever own the…”

“Yes Kassadia … whoever owns the Scepter rules the Neph … yea, I know! And, I know there is nothing resembling a Neph in you!” Walter screamed while crumbling and crushing the letter in his only hand and looking at his right arm that was no longer there. “When I put my hand to possess the scepter, it took possession of my arm. I have to get it back.” he shouted. “Willow!”


~~~

“Lord Kassadia, they’ve been spotted just over to your right, there on that ledge.”

“Where do you mean? I can’t even make them out with these binoculars.”

“My lord, please forgive me, but you half-breeds are of a more frail nature than we Watchers.”

“I am not a Neph nor a Dark Heart, oh fallen one.” Kassadia told the dark Watcher. “You do know how to get on my nerves.”

The fallen Watcher sneered at Kassadia. “I am an original. I have not given my will to the maker, like the Neph. We are of a more pure race. We didn’t take the name. It was given to us, but Dark-Hearts just stuck.” Kassadia reflected. “I guess it’s true, but I like me that way. Take a message from me.”

~~~

“Miss Willow, you make my lights sputter and my wings quiver nervously with your persistence.” Willow giggled that she was able to drive an Angel so crazy. “Though, Miss Willow, I can surmise that by human logic, you think you have a right to know.”

“See, I told you that you were smart. So, tell me, what is a Neph?”

“For this purpose we are going to such lengths. But we can talk about it as we continue. Your family is special in the ...”

“Wait! Did you hear that?” Willow stood silently frozen and listened for the sound again. She heard nothing then saw something there, but transparent and swirling over her and the Watcher.

“Willow!” She turned her head at sound of her father’s voice.

“You heard that, right? You had to have heard someone calling my name!”

The watcher didn’t respond to Willow this time. He sensed the presence, one of his own, gone bad and no time to tell her even to get down. He reached down and took Willow by the hood of her coat and left her dangling in the air while he scanned all around.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” The words did not give her the feeling of safety that they once did. This was all too real to let mere words give her hope. There was an adversary there that got the Watcher’s attention. “Put me down! I insist.”


The watcher did even glance her way but squatted down and placed her carefully and firmly on the ledge. Willow ran to the side of the stone dwelling and hid in the dark.

A black thick shadow seemed to hover and swirl in the air. The Watcher saw it coming at him and drew his great sword and swung it at the black leathery Watcher. It suddenly appeared and the sound of their swords colliding was deafening for Willow, but she knew that victory was not certain.

“But, I have a good idea what a Neph is.” she said. “Because I feel like I want to fly.”

A sharp pain shot through her sides and she fell to the floor and screamed and then the pain was gone. Willow rose to her feet and felt behind her back. “Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” Then she smiled broadly. “Are they real?” Willow felt them. “Oh my goodness, I’ve got wings!” She decided to use them when she saw the black shadow thing coming at her.

Willow leapt into the air and just knew how to do it. Her wings responded instinctively and she moved perfectly. The watcher saw Willow leap into the air and yelled out to her. “Get down!” But, as soon as he did, the dark leathery Watcher swung his sword and struck Willow’s Watcher in his armor sending him crashing to the floor. He landed with great force. The dark Watcher heard him hit bottom and dived toward the Willow’s protector. She took a large rock in her hand and dove toward the dark Watcher.

The dark Watcher smiled to think of what his master would think of him if he killed a King’s Watcher. His face turned grave and serious. The King’s Watcher lay on the floor waiting to recuperate. He saw the dark Watcher drawing near, but he could not yet move. The Dark Watcher pulled his sword back and readied for the kill. As the dark Watcher got in striking distance, Willow threw the large rock and hit the dark Watcher in the chest sending him crashing to the ground as well.

“HaHaHa! Loser!” She screamed. The King’s Watcher had now fully recovered and had to subdue his dark brother before his regenerative powers kicked in as well. Willow’s protector had needed some protecting from her. The Watcher was grateful for his life, and Willow was happy to have lived the moment. She felt so much older now.

***

Walter Morgan knew that he had pass on the Scepter to Willow before the end of the night. If Kassadia could keep the Scepter till midnight, his line would then rule, and the covenant between the Neph and the King would be broken, and it was 6:23 p.m. now. The shadow of the dark hearts would then again dominate the minds and hearts of all men and women, and like a great Pandora’s box, every hidden evil thing that had been forbidden to grow and the dark tentacles would take root would infest the whole world of humans.

“Willow is the next in line.” Walter said out loud. “Today, she shall grow into her wings.” He shouted again. “Willow!”


***

The King’s Watcher jumped on top of the dark Watcher’s body. “Who sent you? We have the covenant, and you know the transition that must happen to keep the agreement that was sealed in perfect blood.”

“The realm is hers no more. It has been removed and you will do service to Kassadia, after the transition.”

The King’s watcher grabbed the dark Watcher’s neck and squeezed strongly. “What are you talking about? She is here and ready to...”

“It belongs to another now.” The dark Watcher found the idea of Willow’s father lying in a cave in Goreme with his right arm turned to sand amusing. “It really was quite a chore to find where he had hidden it, but nothing is impossible if one’s life depends on it. Nothing personal, but they are half-breeds, and now, their lives depend on us.”

“Wait I heard it again. Did you?”

“It was your father, Willow. He is in great danger, and so are you.”

***

Kassadia placed the binoculars to his eyes and he saw Willow crying and the King's Watcher giving strong blows to the face of the dark Watcher. Kassadia found it all so entertaining and laughed every time a fist came in contact with the dark Watcher’s face.

“It’s going perfectly. There are myriads of others who will serve me, if this one dies.”

***

Willow reached behind her and felt her wings. She told herself to make them disappear and she felt them fold into her body and she knew she was different, unique, and special.

I am Willow Daisy Morgan, constantly changing and very much alive!”
Four Lessons For Willow Morgan Part One
by Steven Clark Bradley
& Selin Alicia Bradley


_________________________________

Patriot Acts by Steven Clark Bradley

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I hope everyone who reads this will not just think
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That is why I declare the main theme of Patriot Acts
in one key phrase:

No unconditional Talks
Just patriot Acts!

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Four Lessons For Willow Morgan by Steven Clark Bradley & Selin Alicia Bradley

There is nothing more important than imparting strong values into the lives of our children. It is getting tougher and tougher today, with parents giving up more and more of their authority and responsibility to the schools and the government, to be faithful to the call of bringing up our children with examples of mercy, confession, fairness and conviction. Yet, nothing can do more for a child's future than teaching them about honesty, good choices and hard work when they are still young. That is why I have started this little book called Four lessons For Willow Morgan.

This is a story a story about decisions, wise judgment and strong convictions, about that which is right and that which is wrong.

I am writing this a bit differently than I have in the past. This time, I am writing it together with my 9 year old daughter, Selin Alicia Bradley. She is a bright, sweet and very smart young lady and loves to read. So, this is a two-fold project that gives my little girl lessons in creativity and this story can stimulate lots of children to seek more than their own self-interests, if they venture to read it.

Willow is a little girl who is growing up and who feels urges of rebellion, disobedience and disrespect starting to take hold in her life. Her mother and father recognize it and want to instill some true life lessons in her young heart.

Read chapter one, (the only one I have written thus far) and it may make you recall the times you were faced with decisions and how hard it was, at times, to do the right thing. I hope you enjoy it. The young lady playing part of Willow Daisy Morgan in the blog is my beautiful daughter, Selin Alicia Bradley.

Steven Clark Bradley
Author of Patriot Acts Nimrod Rising StillBorn! Probable Cause

I bet you'll love it!

~~~

Chapter One

Cappadocia, Central Turkey

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

“Sounds cool.” she mumbled with a twinge of mischievous glee.

Willow looked around the place and thought it felt a little creepy, but she kind of liked it. “I was stupid not to want to come here. It’s…” She paused as her eyes darted around the room and her clever little mind formed her ideas as to why something was not to her liking and how other things were just right.

“It’s obviously something clearly … cool.” Willow thought out loud as her mind drifted back to a moment that had actually seemed to carry her to this rustic, old beautiful place with ancient old monuments of a people who lived and survived in the caves of Goreme, Turkey.

Four Weeks Earlier
Cappadocia, Central Turkey

She wondered if it was really all her daddy’s doing, getting her to that place. “Ridiculous!” she always told herself. But she had developed some kind of ritual about asking herself why her father had brought her all the way to Central Turkey.

“He’s an Archeologist. It’s what they do.” Willow reminded herself sternly as she was getting herself ready for a perfect day, though not quite, since her daddy would not be with her; he’d be too busy on a dig somewhere in the ruins of Goreme, she knew he was special. He had a knack for reading people, sometimes perfectly sizing them up before he really knew him. Walter Morgan had not been stingy with his talents and had passed a portion of his gifts to her; things she was only now learning about.

“He’s somewhere watching me, I just know it.” she laughed.

He had told her it would be good for them to be together, but Willow Daisy Morgan was sure that she had talked less to her dad than she did in between his world-wide journeys. She had been almost under lock and key constantly, but she understood it was dangerous and it didn’t make her upset. What it did do, though was to make her probing mind try to put two and two together without the needed information. She was sure the one man she loved completely and trusted without doubt had brought her there for some reason other than he had said.

“So, it has to be good, then.” Willow reassured herself. “He’d never do anything bad to me. I just know my daddy. And my mom, she’d kill or be killed to protect me.” Willow decided to play along, and, today was different. Willow had a free day today, and she could go out and wander in the caves of Goreme and see how people lived in a time when her habit of comfort was very seldom lived. Willow heard a knock at her door.

“Miss Morgan, you know it’s your free day. Your guide is here.” the house Butler kindly shouted through the closed door.

“Hi Franklin, I’ll be right down.” She shouted back.

Willow pulled her boots on and her jacket. She just knew something big was on for today. It was the strangest feeling she had ever had, and it animated her ... energized her. She zipped up the jacket and put her Cubs hat on her head and got ready for … whatever. Willow walked over to the door and saw a picture on the wall suddenly tilt to the right.

“That was weird.” Willow admitted. She walked over to the picture and reached up to straighten it. Crooked things, half-closed doors or drawers closed with bits of clothing sticking out of them made her a certain kind of crazy. It was a compulsion, but she didn’t fight it.


Willow took hold of the picture and she felt a gust of wind brush across the left side of her face and then on her right and it seemed to swirl around her. She was afraid and wanted to scream, but instead used the words she had made herself believe would shield her from any danger.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

She felt its touch and then saw it swirled into a perfectly pure white mist. What scared her was that she wasn’t scared at all. “It’s too beautiful to be bad, but she knew that way of knowing if something or someone was good or not did not always work. She decided to let it show her.

The mist moved, more slowly and it took on a shape. Willow was sure she saw wings and it was massive and peaceful and had a glow that was not from power but purity, like something that had never done wrong.

“That’s better than me.” Willow told herself.

A face emerged and smiled at Willow. It stretched out its arm and touched her and it spoke. Willow knew it wasn’t speaking English, but she understood it.

“Are you Willow Daisy Morgan?”

“Come on now, you’re telling that you just barged into my room and appeared so coolly, and you’re not even sure of my name?”

“Well, I was just told to ask you that.”

“Don’t worry.” Willow said. “I know it was rhetorical.”

The white beautiful beast looked a bit confused. “It means you were being polite, right?”

The white glowing image livened and looked more confident. “Yes, that’s right. I was trying to … connect with you; I think I read your age group says that to each other, right?"

Willow rolled her eyes. “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

“I am a Watcher, Miss Willow Daisy Morgan. I guess that is one type of Angel, according to humans.”

“Well, I think you’re cool, so just be yourself, cause I always am. I think this is what my teacher called a culturally teachable moment or something like that. But you really are very beautiful.” The Watcher’s wings glowed a bit brighter, obviously appreciating Willow’s words.

“And one more thing.” Willow said. “You can just call me Willow. It’s a lot easier, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, Miss Willow.”

“I didn’t say Miss Willow. I said just plain Willow.”

“But, Miss Willow, there is nothing plain about you at all.” The Watcher looked at Willow and wondered. “Oh my, none of my brothers told me I’d have one of them.”

“And what do you mean by ‘one of them?” Willow wondered. “You know, one of the stubborn ones who know everything.”

“You mean there’s bad luck in heaven?” Willow asked.

“Not until today.” the Watcher replied.

Willow looked frustrated and then they just laughed.

“I hope you’ll come back and see me soon again, but I have to go now.”

“Indeed, Willow, you do have to go … with me.”

“With you? No way! If I am not downstairs in a couple of minutes, I am going to get so grounded.”

The Watcher touched Willows forehead and she rose up off the ground.

Willow looked down at the floor below her and started trying to protect herself again.

“Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.” She shouted with her feet dangling in the air. “Willow Daisy Morgan, unchanged and alive.”

Willow was flaying her legs and kicking at the white beast and it shook its head and smiled. Franklin was again knocking on the door.

“Miss Morgan, are you Okay?” Willow looked over at the door and then hers and the Watcher’s eyes met.

“Willow, no one shall compel you. It is you and you alone who can decide what you wish. Doesn’t a life of greater importance interest you?” Willow stopped throwing her feet around and calmly looked at the Watcher.

“Willow Morgan, can you hear me?” Franklin asked while pounding on the door.

“Guess it’s now or never, huh?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, because it is never too late to do good, but I know what you mean.”

“You sure are a strange angel.”

Franklin was giving the door body slams now. “Open the door, Willow!”



“And how many Watch…angels have you known that would give you the ability to form such an opinion of me?" Asked the Watcher as he leaped into the air.




"Come down here." Willow demanded. "I don't have time for this. Franklin's going to kill me if I don't get down there."

Franklin pounded again and again and took out his cell phone. He pressed a key into the lock.

~~~

Willow's father, Walter Morgan was up a hill on one of the caves; digging in one of the ancient homes and collecting an ancient treasure of information. He had a cell phone to his ear and a small pick in his other hand pounding a certain stone that looked like nothing but which was precious to his professional eye. He felt the other cell phone in his pocket vibrate and threw down the pick. He took the phone read the name of the caller and spoke into the cell already pasted to his ear.

“Honey, I am sure this is about Willow. No, don’t worry; she’s going to be fine, just like you and I were. With significance comes risk. I’ll call you back. Love you too.” He closed the cell and opened the other.

“This is Walt.”

“Sir, Miss Willow has locked herself in her room and refuses to open the door. Should I…?”

“By all means, Franklin. You can open the door.”

Willow heard the key enter the lock. She extended her hand and the Watcher took hold of it. Franklin turned the key and suddenly, she felt herself racing upward and saw the ceiling getting closer and closer and then it was gone. They flew low and towards Israel.



Franklin threw the door open and stepped quickly into the room. He heard a noise above him and looked up and saw nothing, but he was sure he saw a shoe, a boot that was there and then … not.


“If I get grounded, I am gonna tell God and he’s gonna … demote you!” Willow said laughing with her hair flying backward and the wind bouncing off her face. She was very much alive and loving it.




The Watcher looked down at Willow and she smiled with great excitement. The Watcher did as well, but knew the entire journey would not bring her joy. “Not one with her type of personality.” Some things had to be learned with difficulty and sometimes pain.

Walter Morgan’s phone rang again. “Betty, she’s going to be alright, I promise.” He looked up and saw what only those like he, his wife and his daughter could see. Out in the horizon, headed South East, Walt Morgan saw his daughter zooming through the sky; held up by a watcher of God. “Honey, believe me, she’s well on her way.”

Willow’s eyes again saw the present world again and left the past behind. She looked down and saw the book neatly fitted inside the box. She picked up the card again.

“Wow, that day made me a believer.” She thought.

Willow was changing. At thirteen, she was, “not a kid anymore.” She blurted out. She looked up at the ceiling and really liked the magical way the nightlight shined into the rafters above that held up the whole place.


“People are smart” she decided. “Sometimes.” She added. Willow knew that meant she didn’t need her mom and dad to tell her what to do anymore.

“I can figure things out just fine for myself, anymore.”

Being a ‘good little girl’ at church three times a week was just not her anymore. It had all become so routine; so boring. The world just seemed so big to her now with so much to learn, both good and bad for a thirteen-year-old who did not want to play the game of being who she was not. It would be a moment of discovery. Her attitude made her feel guilty, but it was a journey she had to take.

Willow glared out the window into the dark night sky and saw the distant flickering lights from homes down the hill of some who were not as rich as she was but who probably had more peaceful hearts than she did. She looked around the room again and walked over to her bed. Willow got down on her belly by her bed and reached under it for the box she had shoved under there right after she and her parents had arrived earlier in the day. She pulled it out and gazed down at the box that she just knew had something magical about it, because it was the only thing she could think about all through dinner. Willow knew that she had not found it by chance; the treasure, which is what Willow called it and what she thought it might lead to.

“I just had to open it.” Willowed said quietly out loud. She recalled how her fingers sort of tingled when she touched the box, and how her hands were not her own; reaching and just taking the cover right off. It seemed … “Unavoidable, really inescapable.” Just as her fingers were doing right now.

Willow pulled hard and the top of the box was sudden in her hands and she felt suddenly frozen; not with fear. It was some kind of understanding that she’d never be the same after this adventure. It was the kind of quest had usually only imagined or dreamt. Willow pinched herself to make sure it was real. The not to pleasant feeling shot up her arm that told her it was the real deal.

Willow placed the cover on the floor and saw the same envelope on top she had not been able to muster up the courage to open the last two times she had ventured this far into whatever it was that awaited her. Then, both times she had managed to hold it up to the light and see a watermark image of the massive estate that her mom and dad brought her to on the card through the envelope. It was then that Willow knew she’d be there, somehow. So when her mother and father announced this little summer getaway, she wasn’t shocked one bit. In fact, she even pretended not to want to go so they’d make her do it all the more. She had them figured out a long time ago, but she loved them that way. Willow also knew that her mom and dad had her pretty well figured out too. She was sure they knew of her pretend life, singing, going on young people’s outings at church, but not really because she liked it. She had actually snuck away three times from church, but her mom knew it, but had not told Willow’s dad and Willow was sure her mom was smarter than her young mind liked to admit.

Willow took the box and again held it up to the light, but felt a powerful urge and ripped it open. Willow’s hands were shaking a bit, but she still pulled out the card that was inside and seemed, in her mind, to be clamoring to get out. She took the card out and turned it over and read it. The message started with, ‘Dear Willow’. The thirteen-year-old was so rattled by seeing her name there that she dropped it to the bed. Willow looked down at the box lying on the bed and her name was no longer there. That seemed to replace her fear with intrigue and disappointment, especially disappointment, in fact. Willow picked it up again and her name appeared there once more. “Isn’t that amazing?” she almost shouted. She opened it and let a scroll slide out. She unrolled it and began to read.

“Good evening to you, you’ve decided to open the box. Your interest has peaked that could not stop you from looking inside the box. You’d still look in without delay if there had been ten thousand locks.

"You’re off on a journey of discovery and an unbelievable tale. Be careful who you talk to and do watch out for their sweet and evil spell.

"You are going to see what many have not. You’re going to know, don’t forget to ask ‘what.’ I cannot assure you that you’ll come back here exactly as the same kid. Yet, it is known that if you do not take the journey, you’ll forever wish that you actually did.

Beware of the black hearts, for they will make you the same as all of them. Look on with a full heart and become someone you have never ever been, and by the way … have fun!”

Willow took the words into her mind and thought about the poem that had gripped her heart and mind and tantalized her. She read the rest of it.

“Look to your right at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive.”

“Wait a minute!” Willow said. She got off the floor by her bed and walked over to the other side and looked down at the box and scroll card. Now it read, “Look to your left at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive.” Willow chuckled and giggled. Isn’t that the most awesome thing you’ve ever seen.” She almost shouted again, both a tad bit scared and totally amazed.

Willow got on her bed and looked down at the card again. “Look straight ahead at the window and be ready to take a dive, it’s a voyage of faith that will make you know you’re alive, and stop playing around and pay attention.” That frightened her a bit and she dropped the card, but her curious heart made her quickly pick it back up, and she pinched herself again. She was awake alright.

“This is why I’m here.” she told herself. So, she read the rest.

Author Steven Clark Bradley
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