The Tears of the Stars Pt. 02

Author's note: Thanks to everyone for the great comments on part 1. This can't be read as a stand-alone story, so be sure to go back and read part 1 before beginning part 2. The story progression does slow down slightly in this chapter, but it will set everything up for an interesting next installment.

Thanks again to Winter Lotus for her invaluable help with editing and discussing the strange thoughts in my head.

Please comment and vote. Nothing helps me improve as a writer more than getting feedback from readers. I respect all opinions and no comments are ever deleted, even the scathing ones. Thanks again.

******

It all began to change in September. The weather began to change too. It wasn't cold yet but the temperature was dipping slowly breaking the heat wave. Jackson finished the upstairs of the barn in record time. He had laid a thick slatted hardwood floor that was polished and sealed. The walls were insulated and covered with sheet rock and now they had a fresh coat of paint on them. He left the thick exposed wood beams across the ceiling and insulated in between them.

The loft now covered the entirety of the second floor. It looked rustic but beautiful. All the furniture was his own creation. The bedroom had its own pot belly stove for heating, and was separated from the rest of the hayloft by a wall with a large, open entryway where the stairs came up. It still needed more work, but the electric and plumbing were installed. Jackson hadn't slept in over two weeks.

Dana had agreed to take Stacy to her house down closer to Albany. She'd fallen asleep and they both knew it would be a long time before she woke. He had wanted her to be somewhere safe away from anyone that might ask questions. Jackson needed the time alone anyway. His thoughts moved almost too quickly and his abilities were strengthening.

It wasn't just knowledge that he had. He knew all kinds of science and technology and history. But he also had abilities that the Ancients harnessed from different races across worlds. He knew occult languages and spells like the whispering words. It made him wonder how they learned to package the information. Most of it couldn't really be taught, he thought. Even he didn't fully understand it yet. New changes and abilities appeared constantly. It stemmed from him now, bound in every piece of him, and he learned to harness it and apply it with every passing day.

Jackson stood in the bedroom of the loft. He was stronger still as he looked at himself in the standing mirror. His muscles were thicker after the second submersion. It had been weeks since he slept with Dana. His balls hung huge and heavy. He pulled on his boxer briefs trapping the fat girth of his cock along his inner thigh. Even it had grown again, and with it his carnal urges. Then he pulled on his jeans and faded t-shirt.

Fudge started barking outside and he sighed heavily. It couldn't be helped, he reminded himself. His mother had been quite excited about the whole thing. She saw it as an honor. But it didn't scare him any longer. Not like before when Josh Callaway was on television and the reporters were covering the story nonstop.

Jackson walked downstairs through his workshop and stepped outside. A black Lincoln town car parked at the end of the driveway. A well-dressed man in a fitted suit stepped out of the driver door and walked around to open the back door. Archbishop Timothy Dormer emerged in his full vestments. He wore a long red cassock that came down to his ankles covered by a shorter white linen rochet that stopped at the knee. His shoulders were covered by a red satin mozzetta, the cape hung around his neck and over his chest and shoulders. And finally a violet zucchetto skull cap that covered the top of his head. Another priest followed closely behind him in a traditional black cassock with thirty-three buttons symbolizing Jesus' age at the time of the crucifixion.

"Ah, Jackson Travers, I presume." Archbishop Dormer said. "Your mother told me I'd find you in the barn. I spoke with her earlier."

Jackson extended his hand. "Your Eminence." He stated using the proper greeting.

"Just Timothy today." He replied. "I want this to be a casual conversation. This is Father Ignatio. He's just here to observe." Jackson chuckled at the comment. "Is something amusing?"

"You brought a devil's advocate." He replied. "That doesn't seem casual. It seems like the Church is certain of a miracle." The Vatican always sent a dissenting voice when they looked to confirm a miracle. It was the job of that priest to discount the miracle at all costs, to play the role of the Devil's Advocate.

Archbishop Dormer gave an easy smile. "A formality. He was already in the country. A stigmata in Texas that turned out to be a hoax." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind? It's a nasty habit. Show me the barn. I hear you're a carpenter. Jesus was a carpenter. It's a noble profession."

Jackson walked him into the barn with Father Ignatio trailing behind them. "Why are you interested in me?"

"Your mother thinks you know something of the Callaway case." He said running his hands down the top of a sanded pine secretary. "Beautiful work. It's so rare to see true craftsmanship. Anyway, I spoke with the boy's mother who didn't say much about you at all. But Josh is quite taken with you. I love charity myself. But I find with children that once you leave, you're quickly forgotten. You met the boy once and he remembers you well."

"And if I did have something to do with it? What then?"

Archbishop Dormer stopped and looked him over. "Well I'd be interested to know more about that."

Jackson smiled. "I grew up going to church. I was raised Catholic with a strict mother. I can tell you that God hasn't spoken to me, nor any saints or disciples or angels. I'm not touched by the Divine Hand. And I'm not the second coming of Christ."

Father Ignatio pulled the Archbishop aside and began speaking to him in Italian.

"Would you prefer to have to have this conversation in Italian?" Jackson asked, speaking the language perfectly. They turned to look at him with surprise. "Perhaps you would like to use the older languages. Aramaic? Hebrew?"

"Very few people speak Aramaic." Archbishop Dormer stated with interest.

"I speak many languages." Jackson replied candidly. "I've recently discovered that I have a knack for learning."

The Archbishop absorbed the comment and then walked around an oak dresser with exceptional detail and inlay work. "I think I might like to commission a few pieces of furniture. Well-made pieces last a lifetime unlike the manufactured junk they sell these days. Do you have any coffee? I hope it's not rude to ask before being offered."

"Upstairs." Jackson nodded toward the staircase. "I'd be happy to build anything you might like. I enjoy woodworking. I just wish I could make more money with it."

"Money." He said disdainfully. "It seems the whole world revolves around money these days."

"Even the Church."

Archbishop Dormer smiled at his boldness. "Yes. Even the church. A sin in itself." They stepped upstairs and walked toward a small table near the kitchenette. "You did all this work yourself?"

"Well, I'm just completing it. I can't expect to live with my mother forever. But I have a responsibility to her. She needs my help with the bills and the house. So, it seemed like a natural solution. Together but separate. And I'm still a good Catholic son."

"How did you heal Josh Callaway?" The Archbishop asked as if the question had just naturally fit into their conversation.

Jackson wasn't put off by the bluntness of the question. "Why is faith so often blind, Archbishop Dormer?" He asked in return setting out three coffee cups. "You want me to tell you something to help you make sense of it all. Why is it that faith is easy when you follow it blindly? Why is it when there is an overt display of it that the Church has to question it so much?"

"False prophets are a dangerous thing."

"You haven't asked me how I feel about all this attention."

"How do you feel about it?"

"I want to be left alone. Why does the Church need to meddle in my life at all? If I did heal Josh Callaway, does it look like I'm building a following to subvert the Church?" He gestured to his meager surroundings.

"No. But I have my orders from on high. They like to be thorough in these matters."

"Will you tell them to leave me alone?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet on what I believe to be true."

The water boiled in the kettle on the stove. Jackson poured it into a French press letting it sit for a minute before sinking the plunger down slowly. Silence filled the room. Then he turned and filled each cup.

"Cream or sugar?" He asked.

"Just black. Thank you."

"What proof is there in miracles? I haven't claimed any divine intervention. Dr. Monroe says there is no explanation on his recovery. What do you expect to find?"

"I'm not sure. God will show me the truth." He responded sincerely. "I don't have much time left before I retire from my duties as Archbishop. A little excitement and mystery is welcome. I'm an old man."

"I know." Jackson replied. He saw the glimmer of sadness in the man's eyes. "Yet you still smoke." He looked over at Father Ignatio. "Archbishop Dormer, can we have a moment alone."

The Archbishop nodded to Father Ignatio. "There isn't much left for us to discuss. Wait by the car. I'll be down in a moment." The priest stood and bowed delicately toward them before disappearing down the stairs. "You know I'm ill?" He said finally.

"I can smell it. And I can feel it." Jackson said.

"And you can make it go away, can't you?" He asked pointedly.

"Your Eminence, I can't explain to you what you need to hear." He reached out and took the man's hand in his. "Tell them I don't believe to be touched by God. Tell them I don't want to be worshipped. I am not an angel or a saint. I've believed in the Church my whole life. I'm just not sure this is a part of it."

"There is only one true God, Jackson. All things come from him. The Creator of Heaven and Earth."

Jackson was quiet for a moment. He struggled with the idea of faith since his discovery. "Would you like me to help you?" He finally asked knowing the repercussions it might have. The need burned in him. The Archbishop was a good man, and he felt like he should offer him a second chance.

"After you spent so much time telling me you wanted to be left alone?" The Archbishop asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll deny this conversation because I don't want the attention. But... It's worse than they've told you." He said. "It's spread from your lungs already. It's growing quickly and it's more than likely that you're beyond help. They'll realize it soon enough."

"You know this." He said. "I'd ask how, but I can see it in your eyes. These doctors run all the tests with their state of the art machines but you need none of it, do you?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose it doesn't. I appreciate the offer, Jackson. I think I'd like to go home and pray on it. It might be my time. God will choose my fate."

Jackson nodded his understanding. This was a true man of God, he thought, loyal to his faith in the face of death. "If you change your mind..."

"You're lost, my son." The Archbishop said as he stood. "Look to God and He'll light the way."

"And what are you going to say about me? You know what it will mean for me. I don't want it."

"I'll need time to pray on that as well."

******

Stacy stretched her arms and legs and yawned out loud. Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked them a few times as she focused. This wasn't her room. It wasn't the hayloft either. She was asleep in a queen size bed with a lavender cover pulled up around her. Whose place was this? She wondered. She sat up and the covers fell away from her breasts and she realized she was naked.

It must have been the Snow White sleep, she thought to herself. How long had she been dreaming? She hopped from the bed feeling particularly good. There was a note on the bedside table next to a cell phone. She opened the letter and read through it carefully.

"Dana's house." She said aloud, looking around curiously. The note said to call Dana and Jackson as soon as she woke. She looked at the date on her phone. Twenty-two days had passed.

Stacy found her way from the guest bedroom to the master bedroom. It was immaculate. She never really thought about Dana's profession that much before, but the woman was a doctor and she certainly had money. A beautiful king sized bed sat draped in white linens and a white comforter with pink floral trim. An oak dresser spanned the opposite wall with jewelry boxes and picture frames. A large plasma television was mounted on the wall above the dresser.

Two white chairs were situated by the windows with a small table in between. The table had a white and pink lamp that matched her comforter. The windows were draped in pink curtains with white venetian blinds that allowed the room to fill with light. She wondered why Dana would ever willingly spend the night in the hayloft when she had all this.

She found her way into the master bathroom and did a double take in front of the mirror. Her figure looked different. Her breasts were larger than they had been. She cupped them feeling their weight. Her skin was blemish free. She twirled around seeing the perfect curve of her ass. The smile crept across her face. She'd look like this forever, taught and smooth and beautiful. Her face still looked soft and innocent, but her blue eyes showed a flash of green.

She twisted the handles on the seamless glass shower and climbed inside. Pure luxury. The water felt amazing on her skin. She grabbed the razor and shaving cream and shaved her legs smooth. And then she felt the nest of hair between her legs. It seemed so naughty, but she lathered some cream into her soft mound and then slowly began to drag the razor across it. By the time she stepped out of the shower, she felt fresh and clean and smooth, like a new woman.

The bathroom counter was a pink marble slab covered in an array of makeup and perfumes. It was a bit of mess, she thought. Stacy used a touch of deodorant and then blow dried her hair. Her blonde, wavy curls poofed out about her face. She picked up a perfume, Chanel No. 5, and spritzed herself. Then she went to look for something to wear.

She opened the walk-in closet off the bathroom. "Wow!" She exclaimed with wide eyes. It almost seemed like too much to choose from. How could Dana ever make a decision in the morning? She had racks of blouses and sweaters, pants and suits, skirts and dresses. And shoes. So many shoes.

Stacy opened the drawers that lined one wall of the closet and stared with awe. Dana had lingerie and panties and fancy bras. She'd never worn anything like these before. Momma always bought her plain cotton underwear and solid, padded bras that covered her and held her chest tight. She pulled out a lacy, black bra and held it up to her. The cup size was still too big to fit. She took out some black nylons and sat down on a small padded ottoman in the center of the room sliding them on, one at a time. They stopped at the thigh and were held up by a small elastic band on the inside of the lacy tops. She found some black heels that fit almost perfect, just a little small, and went to look at herself in the mirror.

Stacy felt sexy. She did an exaggerated walk out of the bathroom, dramatically placing one foot in front of the other, like the models she'd seen on television fashion shows. She tried to make a serious face, sucking her cheeks in and pouting her lips. But she wobbled and almost fell unused to the height of the heels. She threw herself onto Dana's bed and stared up at the ceiling. She should call them, she thought. But she knew when she did that she'd have to go home.

The bedside table was filled with stacks of medical journals. It all looked boring and clinical. She rifled through the stack hoping for a gossip magazine or something stupid. No such luck. She tugged open the drawer and smiled devilishly. She picked up the long, slender vibrator. Her cheeks burned red with embarrassment. Stacy had friends at school that talked about their vibrators, but she never joined those conversations. She'd never actually held one before.

It had been over three weeks. The heat shot down between her thighs immediately. Her eyes burned with flecks of green. She wanted Jackson. She wanted to have him inside her, his huge, thick cock stretching her open and making her feel those amazing things. And that warm splash of him as he filled her most sacred place. The gush of moisture was hard to ignore and her hand drifted down smearing it over her whole pussy and she moaned softly at the much needed attention.

Stacy looked at the slender, pink device and knew that she shouldn't. But she twisted the end and listened to the hum, and then brought it down slowly to her slit. She nearly jumped when it touched her clit for the first time, her body tensed up and froze and she was lost in the fog of it almost immediately. It was totally different than his fingers or hers or his cock or a tongue. It was powerful and relentless and it drove her into orgasmic bliss.

******

"Dr. Monroe, the lab is back with the biopsy results on Karen Atkinson. I've attached them to her chart for your review." Nancy was one of the newer nurses at St. Peter's, a homely woman, but she caught on quickly. The nurses' station was a flurry of activity.

"Thank you, Nancy." Dana said as she flipped through a separate patient chart. "Has anyone checked on Peter Abramson in 304?"

"I checked his vitals this morning and switched out his IV drips." Sally said.

Dana looked up. "Sally, I didn't see you there. Thank you. Everything looks okay?"

"Yes. He's doing fine. Moderate pain only but he's refusing pain medication."

"If it gets worse, give him a Percocet 350mg. Tell him it's the doctor's orders." She yawned. "I've been on for twelve hours. I'm going to try and get some sleep at home. My cell phone is on in case of emergency. Good work today, everyone."

"Dr. Monroe, do you have a minute?" Sally asked.

"Of course, Sally."

"Have you talked to Jackson recently? I've barely seen him in the past few weeks. He's been up all hours working out in the barn." She tried to speak softly.

"Ahem, don't you all have work to do?" Dana said sternly. Her relationship with Jackson hadn't remained as secret as she would have liked and the women at the hospital gossiped liked teenage girls. They scurried back to their places. "I haven't." She said turning back to Sally. "He said he needed time to get some work done. He even paid for Stacy to go on that community service trip so he wouldn't be bothered."

"I'm worried that's all."

"I'm sure everything is fine. He only said good things about you the last time we spoke. Be patient."

"Okay." She said. "I don't mean to be so fretful. Go home and get some sleep."

"Good night, Sally."

Dana was pleased with the turn in their relationship. Sally Travers had certainly been making an effort to be respectful of her and Jackson. She felt bad about the crass way she spoke to her on the terrace all those weeks ago. Jackson had said that she didn't have anyone to talk to about parenting and life. He thought she just needed someone to challenge her and open her eyes. It seemed he might have been right.

It felt good when she finally got into her car. She sank into the soft leather seats and reached down pulling off her heels. She kept a pair of flats under the driver seat that were loose and comfortable and welcome after a long day. Why hadn't she heard from Jackson? She wondered. The drive home was quiet and she was lost in thought. What day was it? Shouldn't Stacy be awake by now? Did it even work the same each time? She checked on the girl every night. And every night she found her sleeping peacefully lost in some forever dream.