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  • Writer's pictureBelinda Lane

Story: TALES OF THE F.B.I. (Faith Based Investigations)

August 27, 2021


Written by: J. Anthony Spencer

The offices of the F.B.I. don’t exist on the material plane. Neither is it and governed but its laws. Behind a door marked Meeting Room and seated at a small table sitting in a field of Lavender are three agents. Along with Agent Hope, who recently arrived, is Faith and Compassion. The three are dressed in the white business suits that befit their station. As they sit drinking what appears to be tea, Faith asks, “How is it going with…. with the…?” “Atheist?” completes Hope. “Dwight can be… I don’t know how to put it. I mean…. He’s nice… He can be kind… A bit of a nerd… but I guess he needs something he feels is factual before he entertains the notion of a supreme being. Dwight doesn’t push his belief on anyone. He simply is. He has always been the way.” Suddenly, Compassion feels something she never has before. It’s like a gentle tugging, but of her entire being. What she is feeling does not go unnoticed. Hope looks at her and questions. “C? What’s wrong?” Compassion looks at Faith and Hope. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel like danger, it’s more like someone or something is calling out to me.” She makes the silent decision to relax and see where this call takes her. All at once, vanishes, leaving her friends to wonder where she has gone.

Compassion finds herself “standing” in a private hospital room with one patient. Amid a battery of machines and monitors lies a bald Native American boy of maybe twelve or thirteen with his eyes closed. Compassion uses a little used power known as self-orientation. Self-orientation enables the agent to know where they are anywhere and anytime on the material plane. It is a power seldom used or needed. But because something has transported here her through an unknown medium, she reaches out. “Phoenix, AZ. United States.” She can tell by the muted light coming in the window is early evening. Turning her head to the right, she sees the door is closed but startles slightly when she hears “Hello.” She looks at the boy, whose eyes are now wide open, looking at her. She knows this should be impossible with her being “out of phase” but still says “Are you talking to me?” He manages a weak smile and answers “Yes.”

“You can see me?” she asks. “Yes, I can. Or rather, I can see through you. But yes, I can see you.” He answers. She relaxes and materializes fully. “Hi.” She too is Native American. Her long black hair appears even darker as it flows over the shoulders of her while suit. “How did you do that?” “Do what?” he answers. She sighs and walks to the door, cracks it, and looks out. Satisfied that right now no one appears to be coming towards the room, closes the door. The bed and equipment dominated the private room. But besides the bed is an oversized recliner and two smaller armchairs. On the memo board is the name of the attending nurse with times of her visits. The boy’s name, Dasan Silverhorn, appears on a plate on the footboard. “Dasan, is it? May I sit?” “Please do,” he answers. She sits in the recliner. “Are you an angel?” he asks. “That would depend.” She says. “I’m not an angel in the common sense of what an angel is. Though I guess you can say I have been a Guardian Angel occasionally. I guess that could be the reason I am here, I’m not sure.”

No confusion shows on his face at this explanation. Venturing a guess, she asks “Where is your family? Are you here alone?” “I am now.” He answers. “My mom went home to get a change of clothes. She is really having a rough time with this.” Compassion looks at him and then at the equipment. She believes she knows, but asks anyway. “And what exactly is this?” And then there it is. “Cancer,” he answers. “This is the third time, and most likely the last.” She looks at this young man, barely touching his teens, and he is talking about his mortality as if it is a discussion about school or maybe a new game. “I have to say you are pretty calm on something as serious as this.” A bit of color returns to his face and his smile is brighter. “Well, Miss… Miss? What is your name? What do I call you?” He asks. “You can call me C, like the letter or Cee. It is short for my name, which depending who is saying it doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” “I like Cee.” He says continuing. “Well, like I said, this is the third time cancer has popped up. It is hard to not think that I am a burden on my family, especially my mom. My twin sister is blind, which is an additional medical burden on my mom. But can I ask you a question?” Her beauty intensifies with her smile. “Go ahead, we are all friends here.” He beams. “It’s only two of us. But anyway, who sent you?”

“Who sent me? I was about to ask you, how is it you brought me here.” She says, and he honestly ponders the response. “Well, before you got here, I prayed to the Great Spirit of my people and Jesus. Being Native American, most of my upbringing has been in the old ways. But my family has studied Christianity, and it feels just as proper as those old ways. My mother does similar prayers. I think she doesn’t care who answers her, as long as she gets any answer.” Cee knows exactly what he is talking about. To the untrained or ignorant mind, there are those that believe that Native Americans can’t be Christian. Historically, many factions of Christianity attempted to convert Native Americans, some for selfish, misguided reasons. Cee wasn’t a “convert” she found God for herself before she… accepted this position. Worship of the elements is respect and will always be. But Jesus walked this earth and his teachings were life changing for her.

“So your remark about this being the last time. Is this the doctor’s or is this you?” she asks. “Both.” He answers. “I’m not afraid. I know is my heart that there is a better place without pain, both felt and caused.” Cee smiles. “You speak well beyond your years, young man.” “I’ve been told I have an old soul.” He responds. “I will miss my family. But the burden I’m putting on them seems so unfair. I really wish I could help them. I really wish I could help a lot of people. Between these episodes, I did what I could to help people less fortunate than we were. It made me feel good. I wanted to do more but, I got sick.” Cee says nothing. She sees a person who has so much to give, if only he could. Cee knows that dying is a part of life. Had she not died, she wouldn’t be here today. But she knows her current blessing has given her the chance, in some small part, to help others. Compassion is who she is, what she is. But if she ever saw it in another, it would be this brave young man. A brave young man that, despite what he is going through, is thinking of others.

The door opens and in walks Nurse Dora, the attending nurse. “My young man, you are up. I was told it sounded like you were talking to someone.” He turns to Cee. “Just my Guardian Angel, I guess you can say.” “Well, if you are, that’s a good thing.” Says Nurse Dora. “How are you feeling today?” Again looking at Cee, he says. “Better with her being here.” “Don’t tire yourself out.” Says Nurse Dora as she exits the room. “She’s nice.” says Cee. “She couldn’t see you.” says Dasan. “Nope. I’m here for you and only you.” Says Cee. “You are such a fantastic young man. The world will be a little poorer without you.” They talk for over an hour. During this time, he seems full of energy, engaged in the conversation. Dasan looks at the clock and turns to Cee. “My family will be here soon. And you are free to stay. But if you are my Guardian Angel, can I ask a favor?” Smiling, he adds. “I asked a favor, because you are an angel, not a genie.” They both laugh but Cee nods for him to ask “this favor.” “When I am gone, could a Guardian Angel watch my family? I think they will need it. And I think I can rest better knowing they are being looked after.” Tears fill Cee’s eyes but don’t run down her face. “I really don’t know if I can do that. But if it’s possible, I will promise you, that I will try to make that happen.” The door opens and in walks his family. His father, mother and twin sister, Dyani. Cee rises and kisses him on the forehead. “I will let you enjoy your family, but I will be in touch young man.” She turns and steps into The Shimmer.

For the next several weeks, Cee visits Dasan. And their talks are amazingly thought-provoking and entertaining. And true to her word, she has petitioned for a Guardian Angel for the Silverhorn family on his behalf, but they have shared no answer with her. On a beautiful spring morning, she feels the familiar summons, but it’s weak. Immediately, she transports to his room. Dasan’s family surrounds his bed. Dasan’s eyes are closed. Then slowly his eyelid open. He looks at his family as a single tear rolls down his cheek. Then he sees her. He manages a weak smile and then closes his eyes. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, when suddenly her reach was blocked by a glowing hand. He looks up and sees a white-robed figure with his face obscured by a cowl. On reflex, she steps back as the hooded figure puts out his hand to Dasan.

An ethereal Dasan leaves his body and takes the hand. The family is crying, unable to hold back their grief and Cee feels it as well. Then the hooded figure grabs Cee’s hand and there is a burst of some unknown energy and she knows. The figure vanishes and she and the ethereal Dasan still stand in the room. “Cee? What just happened?” he asks. She smiles at him. “Favor granted Dasan, your family has a Guardian Angel. You.” For the first time since meeting him, Dasan was speechless. “They will train you soon of the rules, but welcome to The Guardian Angels. But before your training starts, touch your family. Let them feel the love.” He floats over and touches his mom, who momentarily freezes and the tears of pain turn to tears of joy. “I CAN FEEL HIM.” she screams. He reaches over and touches his twin sister, Dyani. “I CAN TOO. I FEEL YOU DASAN.” Cee puts a hand on his shoulder. “We have to go. You will be back soon.” She leads him into The Shimmer as his family continues to celebrate.


Manarola is a small town in the province of La Spezia, Liguria, northern Italy It is the second-smallest of the famous Cinque Terre towns with a population of 353. Its primary industries have traditionally been fishing and wine-making. The local wine is especially renowned; with references from writings of the Romans mentioning the high quality of the wine produced in the region. Its colorful tiered buildings are on cliffs overlooking the sea. No one notices him as he steps from The Shimmer. Clothed in white linen pants and a matching shirt opened halfway up his chest. His stride is deliberate. If there are efforts of walking up the steep streets, it does not show. Far below, the waves lap the shore and the sounds of children playing reaches his sensitive ears. A short time later, he reaches a red building with multiple units. He takes the steps to the second floor and stops before a door with cracked paint and knocks. A voice answers in perfect baritone Italian, “Hold On, I’m coming.” With a squeak, the door opens and the owner of the unit stands looking at the man dressed in white. He holds his breath before blowing it out slowly before speaking. “Michael?” Michael looks at the bearded man, with skin has bronzed by many hours in the sun, and answers. “Good day Gabriel. Aren’t you going to invite your brother in?”

(33) Richard Smallwood - Angels Watching Over Me - YouTube

(Disclaimer: We do not own the rights to the music in this video)

(All Stories are original and has Copyrights)

Thank you for joining me for Friday at Sundown. Remember… Just Breathe!

Over the next couple of months, I will be presenting mostly stories only, written by

J Anthony Spencer and myself. Again I appreciate your support (Likes, Share and Comments).

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