In a year when thirty people jumped from San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge to commit suicide and succeeded, one person determined to join their throng.

Near light pole numbered sixty-nine, he swan-dives off the ledge, traveling at a velocity of eighty mph, free-falling 250 feet at low tide. Bound to converge on the despondent crowd of over 1,600 who preceded him in death since the majestic span erected in 1937, something shifts. Instant regret consumes him the second he unhands the viaduct. But the chance for survival after the four-second drop stands at less than one percent.

What if somewhere between his last contact with the steel bridge and the impact of the frigid, bone-crushing bay, hovers an alternative Courtroom in the Sky? A panel of Judges who reviews the motives in a person's life.

Here enters Ralph "Specter" Specht, the famous frontman for the rock band, Ghosts of Fleas. In the eyes of the world, he led a good life; talented, successful, and spoiled. Nobody thought he could do such a thing, fling himself over the edge, even him. Not until the dark impulse.

The defendant on trial crosses the threshold into weighted proceedings. With a blooming change of mind, Ralph wonders if he will find a different sentence than what he first intended. His verdict awaits.

By all outward appearances, among a religious community, Eliana's marriage to Jabez is good and righteous. But behind closed doors, it is harsh and stripped of joy—and few know the truth. Her husband, a leader of their worship temple, upstanding to his followers, treats her like an insignificant bug; at the same time, demands her attention while isolating her from others. A trapped, desperate, and lonely woman, Eliana cries out to El Roi, the God who sees. As the circus of days has turned into years, the petition of her lips continues to pour out from the secret chambers of her crushed heart. Hailing from a family of healers, the irony of her wounds nearly destroys her. She struggles to remember who she once was, her essence buried and unreachable.

As evil arises from the underground in blows of destruction to her people by the Darkolls—a race descended from dark elves and trolls—Eliana thinks she understands the violent history of the savage species. Until she's confronted by a Darkoll with an agenda. Eliana is weary of gruff males, yet that seems to be what she attracts: the cruel and manipulative ones who want to conquer the gentlehearted. She fears for her wellbeing, what little of it she has left.

With the Darkoll's eyes fixed on Eliana, she begins to see there is something deeper to him than what lurks in his ancient gaze; his heart speaks, too. And it comes in the gentle hush of a melody, carried by ravens and a prayer stone, telling her he's more than a strong-arm with a tainted past. That maybe El Roi has a purpose beyond what either of them could fathom, and it begins with the healing nature of something so very simple. Hope.

Choices make destinies. Destinies can also change.

The misadventure happened while on a spelunking trip in southern Turkey. An invisible portal sent me to the center of the earth, a place known as the abyss. There, I discovered an unsustainable culture existing for centuries; a race starving underground. What unfolded next came out of the Book of Enoch.

I encountered a savage giant and learned the truth on the origin of evil. He kept me alive, and I gave him hope. I'm not sure, I may have loved him. Frightful. Still, this strange event ends in tragedy, and yet with courage.

My frail mind won't wrap around what took place. The incident, and later the outcome. I've asked myself these questions: Will we have peace when none exists? Can we find the mercy of God extended toward a group of grimy, deserted, battle-weary subterranean outcasts? A cursed remnant of giants hurled during the Great Flood to the burial grounds of The Fallen. Fallen angels who had rejected their divine stations to corrupt earth, now imprisoned under the darkest valley, awaiting their final judgment.

Between the boundary of death and life I faced them and their predecessors.

Wish I didn't, except it birthed a purpose.

Or, as my surface friend, Bart, might say in one of his pub chats. "Hey, this woman I know got rocketed through a shaft to middle earth, fought in the land of the fearful dead, met living titans scrapping for escape—using her to get there—and survived to tell about it." Popping a few peanuts, he'd continue, "What do you think about religion?"