“Most people stumble over the truth, now and then, but they usually manage to pick themselves up and go on, anyway.” Winston Churchill PPenelope Spence didn’t hesitate. Throwing the sheet off her bare legs she opened the door to the bedroom. The hallway was fi lled with smoke and for the first time she realized the odd buzz she had heard in her dream was the blaring of the smoke detectors in the kitchen. Th e back staircase that led to the kitchen was fully engulfed in flames, while the main staircase was filled with dense smoke but no fire. Dropping low to the floor, she filled her lungs with air and bounded down the stairs, three steps at a time. Flames licked the foyer, forcing her into the great room off to the right. She bolted toward the rear patio door but stopped short when she saw it. The privacy fence around the propane tank was a blaze. It could only be a matter of seconds before the 250 gallons of propane in the recently refilled tank exploded. All doors in the front of the house were blocked with flames and the last place she wanted to be was in the backyard anywhere near the propane tank. Her only chance was the front window. As Penelope gained speed for the impact with the glass of the oversized front window, she relaxed and thought of Michael Walker’s words about letting her mind take her to a diff erent place. . 96 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin I put all of the things that could go wrong out of my thoughts; as I approach the window, I feel time begin to slow. I feel an inner calmness that this is going to work out just fine and I surrender to this feeling. I close my eyes, jump and wait for impact, but there is none. I open my eyes and discover I’m sitting in the middle of my front yard. A quick inventory shows no cuts or bruises; I don’t have a scratch on me. . PPenelope glanced back at the plate glass window. No, that wasn’t possible; the glass in the front window appeared intact. Th e groan of sagging timbers accompanying the collapse of her covered side porch into a pile of burning rubble caused her mind to snap back to reality. “The propane tank…!” Regaining her footing, she charged toward the street and the only object of any size and bulk she had a chance of reaching, her neighbor’s silver Buick Park Avenue Ultra that was parked on the opposite curb. If she could just get behind it. She didn’t make it. As if being lifted by invisible hands Penelope felt herself leaving her feet as the force of the explosion sent her flying through the air. She cleared the roof of the Buick by several inches and had her fall softened by the lush lawn that had been watered only a few hours earlier. She tumbled a few more feet along the wet turf before finally coming to a complete stop in a heap just shy of her neighbor’s front porch. Dogs barked. Car alarms went off . The quiet neighborhood was as bright as midday when the huge fireball erupted from behind the house that had been her home for 26 years, and instantly vaporized most of the walls and roof. Splinters of wood, none larger than a toothpick, began raining down on her. She shielded her face from the heat as fl ames began consuming what little was left of her home. . IIf anyone else told her how lucky she was, Penelope vowed she was going to deck them. What’s lucky about losing the only house you had called home your entire adult life? All of the kids pictures, all of her clothes, her beautiful 97 The Fourth Awakening shoes, her computer, purse, shoes, cell phone, shoes. Every material item she had on this planet, including her precious Prius, which she had made a special point of moving into the garage because she didn’t want to leave it on the street overnight, were all gone in the blink of an eye. The sun was just starting to rise in the east, casting golden fi ngers toward Charleston. As she sat on the tailgate of an EMS wagon with a blanket draped over her shoulders, dressed only in ratty terrycloth running shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, she knew that ignoring her mom’s advice to always wear clean underwear would come back to haunt her someday. All things considered, she was in pretty good shape. Other than smelling like a chimney sweep, she didn’t have a mark on her. Th e fire was under control but the smell of burnt plastic and rubber would linger for weeks. What hadn’t blown up with the house had been incinerated to ash and lay on top of the concrete slab. Other than the chimney and a few wall supports and water pipes, there was absolutely nothing left of Penelope’s home. It was odd to be able to look straight into the backyard from the street and see the sun coming up over the Ashley River. She almost cried when she noticed the two-foot high lump of metal on what had once been her garage floor. All non-metallic parts of her car had long since gone up in fl ames. The heat from the fi re had been so intense it had melted the roof supports, and the sheet metal of the car’s body was now covering the engine and transmission in a blanket of lumpy scorched metal. The houses of her neighbors on both sides were far enough away they had suff ered only minor damage, and thankfully no one was injured. The live oak that threw afternoon shade on the front porch was missing all of its branches on the house side and those that were still attached after the blast were black and charred. Neighbors fi ve houses in all directions had wood splinters and other tiny bits of building material too small to identify littering their roofs and lawns. Penelope looked up as the Captain in charge of the West Ashley fi re station approached. “I’m sorry for your losses, Ms. Spence,” he said as he removed his helmet. “Now you say you went through the window in the family room.” “Yes. Why? “Well, we’re all baffled as to how you got out at all.” “How so?” “You had hurricane-grade windows throughout your home. Th ose 98 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin things are designed to take 190 mph wind. Unless you’ve got solid brick, in most cases those windows are stronger than your walls. In your fi re, with the force of the explosion, many of them blew out as a unit with the frame and glass still intact.” “So.” “Ms. Spence. There is no way a woman your size could have broken through a triple pane hurricane-rated window without breaking the glass fi rst.” “I was having a pretty good adrenaline rush.” “I understand, but in the confusion you may have gone out an open window or door somewhere else.” “What are you saying?” He watched as his men continued to roll up their hoses. “What I’m saying is we found the window you believe you went out but it is still in one piece. The glass is not broken. We don’t know how you got out alive.” “Are you accusing me of arson?” “Lord no, ma’am. We’re all just going to call this one of those miracles we see from time to time and leave it at that. But, I’ll tell you what, I’d put a few extra dollars in the collection plate this week, if it were me. You’ve got a lot to be grateful for this Sunday morning.” Penelope was stunned. If she hadn’t gone through the window, how did she end up in the yard? Was it possible? No. It wasn’t. “We’re going to keep one unit on the scene for a few more hours in case there are any flame-ups. You’re a very lucky woman.” Despite her earlier promise to deck the next person to tell her how lucky she was, she had to admit he might be right. . AAfter her shower, Joey found Penelope some clothes and a pair of running shoes about a half size too big, but they were better than nothing. The two sat in the kitchen sipping coffee with a generous shot of Irish whiskey added. Penelope had managed to reach all of her children to give them the bad news and to let them know she was all right. She hadn’t been able to track down Bill, he was probably out on the boat, but she had left a message on his voice mail. Penelope cradled the cup in both hands and was surprised they were not shaking more. A strange feeling was coursing through her body. She didn’t feel angry or even sad. Despite 99 The Fourth Awakening everything that had happened, she felt grateful. She was still alive; she wasn’t injured, and no one else had been hurt. All of the material things could be replaced, and none of the important things had really changed. Plus now that damn house was gone. Grateful. How odd. Penelope took a sip from her coffee cup and held it out for Joey to top off with more whiskey. Joey poured another jigger and when Penelope didn’t retract her mug, kept pouring. When it threatened to overfl ow, Penelope gingerly drew the ceramic mug to her lips and sipped off enough of the liquid to ensure it wouldn’t spill when she sat it down. She got a mouthful of almost straight Bushmills. Penelope glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall; it was 8:45. In fi fteen minutes Senator Horn would be on Meet the Press and she would see exactly how big of a story the Hermes Project actually was. Right now that didn’t seem so important. She took another pull from her mug. “You make a great cup of coffee, Joey,” she said, finally starting to relax. Joey smiled but didn’t speak. They had been frien............