Though making progress, Alana grows discouraged about how little she understands about Messenger. Messenger reveals there is much more going on than meets the eye.
We’re looking for your stories of receiving a message from an unexpected source. Or, can you tell us what message would you like to receive—or give? We want to hear your stories - long or short, profound or pedestrian, and to collect any messages you'd like to share. Send us an email at messengerthenovel@gmail.com, and you can see some that we’ve already received on our social media pages. We look forward to hearing from you!
M's Message:
I sat in a class as the first words out of the professor’s mouth were: “There is an artist within each of us. The purpose of this class is for you to find that creative spirit within you.” His words rolled over me and moved me to the core. By that fall, I’d signed up for my first photography workshop and was on my way. The message from the professor changed my entire life.
-M.N.
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Episode 4 Complete Text 📖
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MESSENGER RECEIVES A MESSAGE
Alana was huddled with Messenger at Ed’s Starbucks one cold day the next week. They sat on their stools at the long table. Messenger loved her particular stool at Ed’s. Whenever Alana suggested that a chair or booth would be much more comfortable, she shook her head. “No, Baby. This is the exact right spot. The energy comes up here. Everything’s just right for receiving.”
Alana strained to feel something, anything through her seat. “Energy? From where?”
“From the earth. Right here.” She picked both swollen feet up and put them back down. Holes covered her sad shoes. Alana decided to dip into her dwindling savings and spring for a new pair of sneakers for Messenger.
Messenger carefully folded the rough brown napkins somebody had grabbed and left on their table. “Oh, goodie day! Won’t these come in handy later?”
“To wipe your mouth?”
“No, Child. For the messages. Napkins don’t really work so good, they either tear or smear. But they’ll do in a pinch, since I’m out of paper again.”
“I’ll bring you some more tomorrow,” Alana promised.
“Thank you!” Her face broke into a smile, practically shone.
Alana noticed she’d rubbed some lotion on her cheeks and she looked more rested.
“Not so ashy today, huh?”
Alana just nodded. Messenger did that a lot. Read her mind. No, that was too way out there. She probably just observed where Alana’s eyes rested, then used logic to figure it out. Right?
Messenger pulled out the nub of a flat, red carpenter’s pencil from one of her pockets and closed her eyes. “Give me just a minute,” she murmured. She sat very still and her eyes watered.
Is this a message? Alana’s heart leaped. She sensed that Messenger wanted privacy, so she turned away and let her eyes wander around the coffee shop. People stared at them, then dove back to their phones, tablets, laptops. Alana glanced over to the coffee bar and noticed a tall, blonde girl with checked bell-bottoms, very stylish, who ordered from Ed. Behind her stood this old guy they often saw on the street, his poor neck permanently bent forward at an excruciating angle.
Alana snuck a glance back at Messenger. She smiled with her eyes still closed, rocked back and forth to some gentle, silent rhythm. She scribbled with the pencil. Alana realized she’d never watched her write before. Messenger was left-handed. Her hand looked like a crab as it drug across the napkin. She always had the shadow of ink or graphite along the side of her left pinkie finger and hand. Alana strained to make out the scribble. She thought she heard Messenger humming, but maybe it was the crowd or the espresso machine.
“Can I read it?” Alana asked when Messenger stopped writing, even though she knew what the answer would be.
Messenger kept her eyes closed and laid her hand over the napkin. “Sorry, Honey. This one’s not for you.”
Alana felt like arguing. “But why not. What harm would it do?”
“Nope! You read it—you take some of its power.” She did seem sympathetic when she said it. “Listen—I don’t read them either. I just write them and whatever comes out, that’s it. Bad penmanship and everything. No wonder I can’t write so good. Teachers tried to change me to right-handed when I went to school, then fussed when I couldn’t form my letters just right. So—there’s that. Hope folks can read the messages and make out what they need to.”
“Have you ever considered asking somebody to use a computer and print them for you?”
She opened one eye and looked at Alana, then must have thought better of it and closed it again. “Honey, those computers are all well and good. Yes, when they’re about the business of connecting, they’re very good. That net, you know.”
“Wait—the Internet?”
“Sure. You can call it that. Don’t you see? More and more people are figuring out how everything’s connected. But how come people still feel so alone?”
Alana thought about it. “I guess they miss real human contact. That’s what people aren’t getting.”
Messenger’s eyes flew open and she took Alana’s hand. “Listen to me, anything that means something to you, write it down by hand. Hand’s directly connected to the heart—don’t you know? Yes.”
Alana later fact-checked and found Messenger was right—as usual.
“And I wouldn’t get too dependent on those computers. Just in case.”
Alana pushed because she didn’t like the ominous tone to Messenger’s advice. “What’s going to happen to our computers? A disaster? Or a terrorist attack?”
She smiled that, “You’re so sweet,” smile of hers. “A disaster? No. But better safe than sorry. And don’t you worry. No matter what happens, everything’s going to be okay. From either extreme, it’ll swing back. Always corrects to the middle way.”
“Seems like people are moving to the extremes these days.”
Messenger laughed. “Yeah. It’s about time to cue the aliens.”
Alana’s eyes popped. “Aliens?!”
“If they arrived on the scene, we’d all cooperate like you wouldn’t believe, right?”
“Probably.”
“Uh huh. It’s about time. And it’s about time for me, too. Gotta go deliver this.” She collected her bags and Alana helped her stick her arms into her outer coat.
“Can I tag along?” she asked.
“No, Honey. Not this time.”
That’s what she always said. Alana fought her rising frustration.
Messenger put a hand on Alana’s arm and kissed her cheek. She waved at Ed. “Take care.”
Alana watched her walk slowly through all the people down First Avenue, biding her time. “Where do you think she’s going, Ed?”
Ed leaned on the bar. “No telling!”
Alana sighed and quickly finished her latte. Today, Ed had made a flower in the foam for her. She’d grinned at him to acknowledge it. She had to admit, Ed was attractive. He would actually be very hot, she thought, if he wasn’t so annoyingly aloof—especially about Messenger. She waved goodbye to him, too, headed out the door quickly, because today, she’d decided not to obey Messenger.
Messenger already had a head start, though not a long one, judging by how slowly she always walked. Alana scanned up and down the block, past all the dead grass and trash in the tree medians, then walked around the neighborhood. She asked the Flower Lady, the lady with the Chihuahuas—who wouldn’t even answer! Not even a simple question! She asked Ostap, the owner of So Hair, whom Messenger had introduced her to. He sat in his usual spot, straddled his orange plastic chair outside the barber shop. Nothing! Nobody had seen Messenger that morning, so they said.
Are they lying? Alana wondered. Covering for her? Did she ask them to? Why? When she’s agreed to cooperate with me? What’s she up to? Alana was determined to find out. Are they all just enjoying messing with me? she wondered. None of it made any sense. Who can I trust here? Who will trust me? And another burning question: How does she disappear like that, when she always walks at a snail’s pace? How does she do it?
MESSENGER’S DOUBT
Messenger headed down the street, pulled her red stocking hat down further over her ears. Damn cold place! She wouldn’t be surprised if snow came later. Oh well, she thought, let it come.
How will I create this swerve? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know the whole picture. So far, so good. Nothing had happened to make her believe the Watchers suspected anything. Oh, she knew they would catch on soon and she’d have hell to pay for all the rules she’d already broken. The rules she intended to break.
She just needed more time. Things were progressing with the girl. Two steps forward, one step back. Expected. What she hadn’t expected, what she wasn’t prepared for, was her heart. How the girl made her feel when they were together. Her eyes are just like my daughter’s! Messenger stopped in her tracks and shook her head. No! she ordered herself. Stop thinking about the other one. Focus.
What Messenger was sure of, though, was her aim. Follow that, no matter what it costs you. If your aim is clear, you can do anything. That was her training. That was her way. It would not fail her now.
MESSENGER AND ED
Used to be, Messenger mused, doing what we’re doing would get you killed in a New York minute. She shook her head. Now things have changed. Evolved. She bet everything that the timing was right to let a little more light in, that there would be enough critical mass to hold the center. She sensed the girl was on her way. She closed her eyes and gathered energy in her heart. Of course, she had doubts. There was no way to know for sure what would happen. What she wanted to tell Jackie and all the rest of them was: the old way doesn’t work anymore. We have to change it up. But she knew they wouldn’t listen to her. I’m going to have to do it myself, she decided. Risk it all. And that girl’s just the one to help me.
“Refill?” Ed called from the bar.
“Don’t mind if I do.” When he brought the coffee to her, she gave him her biggest, best smile. Ed couldn’t resist. He actually smiled so wide he showed her his teeth. A first!
Now, we are finally getting somewhere with him, she thought.
A mom and her little girl, about five, walked over and sat across from Messenger at the long table. The mother placed a small to-go cup down in front of her daughter, then took the plastic cap off. Steam rose up.
“It’s too hot,” Messenger heard the mother warn. “Just wait a minute.”
The little girl, her braids tied with pink plastic balls, sat patiently and watched the steam. They all focused on that small cup until the mom tested the hot chocolate, then handed the cup back to her daughter. The little girl blew on it and took a sip. Whipped cream formed a foamy mustache all along her sweet upper lip. She giggled.
Messenger had tried to distract herself from the little girl, but she was tired. Too tired. You’re getting old, she told herself. That’s all there is to it. She couldn’t hold it back. She didn’t have the strength anymore.
She saw, as if right in front of her, here, now, in Ed’s Starbucks, a glass storm door on the stoop of a row house. Her mother’s house. The main door stood wide open and she could see through the glass of her mother’s door, a toddler, with four little baby teeth on the top, four on the bottom. Smelling so sweet, of baby powder and freshness. Her palms laid flat on the glass to balance herself. She’d done it several times because, the way the light shone, all her tiny fingerprint smudges danced across that glass. Her face glowed, her eyes impossibly bright. There was pure light in her smile, just for Messenger. Tears poured down Messenger’s face as she smiled back at her. The baby waved, like it wasn’t for the last time.
Messenger’s arms filled with a terrible emptiness, knowing what she knew—that she would never hold that little girl, ever again. Such a beautiful, horrible sight. She couldn’t bear it. She had to turn away.
WHO GETS THE MESSAGE?
The day was sunny, but very cold. A few flimsy clouds spread out here and there, but mostly the sky shone clear blue. Alana and Messenger had agreed to meet in the park. Messenger liked the music and to walk around the fountain—very slowly, of course. The water was turned off this time of year and the fountain dry, so people liked to sit in it. On a sunny day, you could even take a sunbath. Alana’s heart leapt as it always did when she spied a flash of red through all the people milling around. Messenger sat on a bench at the south gate. More and more, for Alana, a good day was one spent with Messenger. A bad one was when Alana couldn’t find her anywhere, no matter how long she searched. Then doubts were her only company.
Stay professional, she constantly cautioned herself. Don’t get personally involved. You’re a journalist. This is just a story. But the “just a story” had grown legs. Every morning she checked her blog and found more views. More posts from people who’d received messages. Momentum was building. Could this story become more than just an article? Alana wondered. Could it grow into a book proposal that would snag her a nice advance she could live on while she investigated? A dream come true! A spark of excitement played across her gut each time she thought about it. Alana sensed there was much more about Messenger to be discovered, more than just the messages. She had to keep going. Alana sometimes felt guilty about how much fun she had hanging out with her and everybody in the neighborhood. She also had to admit how much lighter she always felt when she was with her. What’s happening to me? she wondered.
“Hey there.” Messenger stood up and stretched out her arms. Messenger gave the best hugs in the world, warm and strong. She never let go until you did. Alana wrapped her own scarf tightly around her neck, breathed in the cold, crisp air.
“Don’t you love that music?” Messenger asked.
Alana heard at least three melodies all playing at the same time—somebody crooned jazz on a sax, a little brass combo blasted a quicker number, and the piano guy who was always there played a show tune. People-watching was excellent here in the park. Students. Street people. Tourists took photos, nurses pushed old folks in wheelchairs and mothers or nannies pushed babies in fancy strollers.
“What’s up for today?” Messenger giggled. “I know you have plenty you want to ask me!”
“Yes, I do! But aren’t you cold? Want me to run and get us some coffee?”
“That’s okay. We’ll get some in a minute. Got any more of those chocolates?”
“No. Not today. Wait, I gave you a whole bag the last time we were together!”
Messenger chuckled. “Oh, Honey. They’re long gone. I gave them all out.”
“To who?”
“Oh, you know. My friends. Jackie, the Flower Lady. I think I gave one to Ed. Those kids begging around here.”
“Who’s Jackie?”
Messenger sighed. “Oh, you’ll meet Jackie soon enough.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to get to know her real well.”
“I’ll buy you some more chocolate later today.” She sat down beside Messenger and shivered at the cold wood beneath her seat. “You really aren’t too cold?”
“Not a bit. It’s a lovely day.”
“It is. Okay. Ready for questions?”
Messenger met her eyes and smiled. “Sure, Honey. Shoot.”
“Well, I guess I get how you receive the messages. Sort of . . .”
“It’s a mystery,” Messenger interrupted. “That’s all there is to it. Mystery. The mystery will always remain—no matter how clear things may seem. But, listen. Don’t ever fear mystery.”
“Okay, if you say so. But I have more questions!”
Messenger laughed. “Of course.”
“Okay. A message comes; you write it down. But how do you know who it’s for? How do you find the right person to give it to? Aren’t they all just random people?”
Messenger inhaled deeply, then blew the air out with a “ha” of steam, it was so cold. “Let me see. How can I tell you? Well, first I wait.”
“Of course you do!” Alana smiled.
“Then, I hold the message in my hand and I see myself . . .”
“You see yourself? How?”
“In my mind’s eye. I see myself giving up the message to somebody. That’s it. I get a very clear feeling—not a picture really of a face, but a beat that’s just theirs. Their vibe. When I find that person, I know it. I feel a ding right here.” She pointed to a place just below her heart. “Where you cut a chicken breast in half—my wishbone!” Messenger laughed her head off.
Alana knew what wishbones were, though she’d never cut a chicken breast in half in her entire life. She only ate boneless.
Messenger wiped her eyes. “Why aren’t you laughing? That was hilarious!”
Alana laughed, too. “Okay—if you say so. Now—you were saying . . .”
“Yes. Back to my wishbone, hee, hee, hee.” She touched the same place. “It vibrates here, you see. So, I know when I’ve seen the right person. BINGO! I give it to them. I recognize the person, even though I’ve never laid eyes on them before. Oh—I get so excited. It’s all I can do to hold back from throwing my arms around them, crying, “Oh, goodie! It’s you!”
“You don’t really do that.”
“Are you crazy? They’d run for the hills! Oh, and let me tell you. It’s real interesting the different reactions I get. Some people won’t even take their message out of my hand because they don’t want to touch anything I’ve touched. I scare them, I guess. Most people will take them, though. Some take the message to be nice, but I know for a fact they crumble it and drop it when they get a few blocks away. Doesn’t matter. It’s touched them. It still makes a difference.”
“How do you know?” Alana couldn’t believe how much Messenger was revealing. Is she beginning to trust me? Even though she recorded everything Messenger said, Alana also took notes, not wanting to lose a word. She struggled to keep up.
“It was a gift, you see. By taking it, they received. Each message carries energy with it beyond just the words.”
Alana was distracted by a guy standing a few feet from their bench, who preached aggressively at the top of his lungs about the end of the world. “There you have the four levels of heaven. Listen to me, people! The four levels of heaven!” Alana braced as he approached them. Messenger looked him right in the eyes and he stopped yelling abruptly.
“All right,” he told her. “Have a nice day.” Then walked off.
“That was weird.”
“He calmed right down, didn’t he?”
The man made Alana think of the few negative posts she’d received. “Do people ever hassle you when you give them a message?”
Messenger frowned. “Sometimes I’ll run up against a really dark one. He’ll stare at me with dead eyes of pure hate. You’ve seen eyes like that in pictures—Hitler, Charles Manson, you name it. All humanity Xed out. All that’s left—don’t call it ‘animal’ and insult the species we share our home with—is darkness. But they chose it. Being the devil is a choice. That’s what people tend to forget.”
“Wow!”
“Yes. But there’s not that many baddies, really. Just forget all that. Don’t give it energy.”
“Back to people receiving their messages,” Alana coaxed.
“Well, some people do read them. I love to watch when they do, but usually they won’t in front of me. Once, I had a young man, skinny as a string bean, dirty as me, everything about him seen better days. He took his message, read it right on the spot and I watched tears fill his eyes. He’d accepted it. Glorious to see! And this woman bent at the waist and bowed to me once. That was so nice! Every encounter, whether positive, negative or neutral, changes things. It moves things forward.”
As Messenger told these stories, Alana noticed she rocked gently back and forth on the park bench. Before she knew it, Alana was rocking in sync with her.
“Once there was this man in a fancy business suit, tan trench coat. Cufflinks! He grabbed the message from me and lowered his eyes to read it. The biggest teardrops I’ve ever seen poured out of his beady eyes—truly beautiful. He whispered, ‘thank you,’ then hurried off. I knew he’d keep his message. No doubt about it. I know when every message is truly received. I feel that, too.”
“How?”
“Oh, I just feel it here.” She pointed to the same wishbone spot. “I remember once, this little boy, big wire-framed glasses strapped around his head, bigger than he was, read his out loud, stumbled over the words. He read that message three times through before he got all the words right, then he smiled, looked up over those glasses with angel eyes. I dearly loved that.”
A mother pushed a little dark-haired baby in a stroller towards their bench. When the baby caught sight of Messenger, she flailed her hands and kicked her feet. Cooed her head off. They all laughed and Messenger talked to the baby. “Yes, yes! You are absolutely right! Couldn’t have said it better myself! Bye, bye!”
Messenger turned back to Alana. “Have you ever watched a baby learn to walk?”
Alana shook her head no.
“Oh, they go up, teeter, fall down, shake, get back up, fall again. Over and over. But the drive to move won’t let them be, so they keep at it. Easy does it. Day after day. One day, you can’t predict when, they get up, teeter. Just like they’ve done every single day. But instead of falling, they take right off and walk. It’s done. They can walk and they never go back. Simple as that.”
Messenger rearranged the folds of her coat. She pulled her red hat down to cover one then the other. Alana noticed she’d suddenly grown quiet, as if the whole subject was too much to bear.
“You okay?” Alana finally asked.
“What? Oh, yes. Just thinking about somebody far away. Yes—it’s almost a miracle. Little children just rise up and go. They’re gone. No warning. They just do it.”
“That baby was so cute. Hey, do you have any kids?”
Alana was on the subway headed back home, when she realized Messenger had immediately returned to other stories of people receiving their messages. She never answered Alana’s question.
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