The Second Coming

by John Heubusch

  The little priest smiled as well and watched Bondurant nod toward the pope as they clasped hands. When they all bowed their heads, Parenti couldn’t help but note curiosity in De Santis’s eyes. They were fixed on something Bondurant held, a small object, a vial filled with blood, gripped in his free hand. Parenti knew full well what it was. He prayed against all odds that the vial might also be filled with hope for the world.

  PART 2

  Chapter 23

  Coos Bay, Oregon

  Four years later

  Domenika brought her car to a stop and sighed. She knew it would be a minute or more before she could move again. The driver of the log truck with a colossal load of Douglas firs had cut the corner too tight when he tried to make a left turn in front of her. With several cars lined up behind her, there was no way for Domenika to back up and give the truck more leeway to make the turn.

  As she waited, Domenika stared up at the slow clouds overhead. They hugged the tall stands of alders that blanketed the steep green hills on either side. It was a Saturday morning, and a gentle rain continued to fall as it had been doing for days. Given that it was her birthday, she’d held on to the false hope that the clouds might somehow miraculously part and make way for the small backyard party they’d planned. But the weather report predicted rain for several more days, and Domenika was resigned to changing plans.

  She tapped her fingers lightly on the steering wheel to the music that played from the radio. It would be easy to move the small celebration indoors, she thought. They hadn’t planned a grand affair. Only a half dozen couples had been invited. Domenika and Bondurant had carefully befriended just a handful of people during the few years they’d lived in Oregon. Most of those coming had children who were in Christopher’s preschool class. As the truck driver finally cleared the turn on his second try and missed her car by no more than a foot, Domenika glanced in the rearview mirror. She could see that Chris was sound asleep in the car seat behind her.

  Coos Bay, a small town on Oregon’s central coast, was quiet and as charming as a fishing village could be. It was a perfect place for Bondurant and Domenika to raise a family under an assumed last name, aside from the frequent rainstorms. Most important to Domenika, she felt safe and hidden.

  Bondurant was also more loving and relaxed living there. Christopher, albeit shy and somewhat withdrawn from others his age, was happy, healthy, and fine. With the exception of several doctor visits to treat what they thought were minor migraine headaches, he had grown to be a perfectly normal four-year-old boy. Parenti, godfather to young Chris, lived with Aldo in a tiny guest cottage nearby. He too had never been more content. In Domenika’s mind, life was good.

  It had been four years since they’d made the move from the East Coast and abandoned their life on the run. They remained ever vigilant for Meyer, of course, but as time passed, they’d stopped glancing over their shoulders every day. They weren’t completely off the grid and out of danger in tiny Coos Bay, but they had perfected the art of lying low and staying out of sight. Life had finally begun to feel normal, and Domenika had every intention of keeping it that way.

  They also followed the news closely and knew full well that their nemesis had his own hands full as he tended to the needs of his growing church. The headlines worldwide told the story. The Demanian Church, with Meyer as its supreme elder, had become the fastest-growing religion in the world. It attracted millions of new faithful each year, all of whom were guaranteed life after death. Not surprisingly, the Demanian Church’s growth in new converts showed no signs of slowing. One Time magazine cover story on Meyer’s new “Wonder Faith” calculated that the Demanian Church would surpass the Catholic faith in number of worshippers within the decade.

  There was no doubt what fueled the Demanian Church’s phenomenal global growth beyond the promise of everlasting life on this earth. It was the miracle child, Hans Jr., the named heir, who was responsible for the remarkable success of the religion. His first reported miracles, which involved healing a handful of the sick, were initially discounted and widely viewed as hoaxes.

  But over time, several families and witnesses had come forward to the media and the medical community with tales of healing. They spoke of uncanny stories involving Hans Jr. While demonstrations of the child’s healing powers remained cloaked in secrecy, medical experts at several reputable research hospitals had documented more than one hundred cases of inexplicable cures of church members with various terminal illnesses, from cancer to birth defects.

  Meyer, now one of the most famous men on earth, had boasted to many that his son would prove to be none other than the Second Coming of Christ himself. Salvation on earth, according to Meyer, involved conversion to the Demanian faith. For all those who believed, perpetual life through cloning, once legalized, was possible.

  Of course, belonging to the Demanian Church involved several mandatory contributions. Female acolytes of childbearing age were accepted only coincident with the donation of at least one of their eggs. Every qualified follower submitted to a cheek swab that provided his or her DNA to the church. In just a few years, these saliva contributions would form the largest DNA repository in the world. It was this collection from which followers, once they had passed away and applicable state laws were changed, would be resurrected at a time of their choosing through the process of human cloning. Lifetime tithing was the rule for all, and church initiation fees were steep. While there had been some credible attempts by news organizations to investigate the Demanian Church’s finances, very little had been uncovered. The faith’s assets had mounted exponentially and were believed to be in excess of one hundred billion dollars.

  Domenika and Bondurant, fascinated by the news of the child’s purported healing powers but highly wary of what they knew to be their dark source, had watched the Demanian Church’s growth with anxious eyes from afar. Each revelation of Meyer’s expanded domain and the reported powers of the child had Bondurant, in particular, more concerned by the day. He knew there would eventually come a time when they would have to act, and he reminded Domenika of it often. She knew that their son, Christopher, might play a vital role along the way. But her family had suffered its share of misery tied to Meyer before, enough to last a lifetime. At present, their little corner of the world in Coos Bay provided all the excitement she desired.

  With traffic moving again, Domenika knew she had no time to spare on the way to the store for party supplies. So she decided to take a shortcut onto Montana Avenue on her way to Al Frink’s Groceries. In their four years of living in Coos Bay, Domenika had never needed a single item Frink’s didn’t have in stock. Of course, it involved a few more turns on some roads with steep grades, and the—

  Wham!

  Before Domenika knew what hit her, it was far more evident where it had hit: from the front of the grille of her Jeep wagon all the way back to the now shattered windshield in front of her face. A large and majestic doe had leaped from the woods and jumped directly into the path of her car.

  Domenika’s instincts were sound. The first thing she did was check on Christopher to ensure he was safe. He was, though the impact of the car on the deer had been enough to jolt him awake. As soon as Domenika had a chance to collect herself, she unhooked Chris from his car seat. She held him in her arms outside the car on the side of the street. There was no other car in sight on the rural road, but one could easily and quickly make its way around the dangerous turn.

  Domenika set Chris down and admonished him to stay right at her side as she made two calls, one to 911 and one to Bondurant to let him know it was only the Jeep and the doe that had met their fate.

  But in the commotion of the calls, Domenika neglected to see something that Chris had kept his eyes on. A lone fawn stood not more than twenty feet from the Jeep. With an uncanny calm, Chris led Domenika by the hand over to the fawn at the edge of the forest. Normally, it would be any deer’s nature to dash during the shock of such an ordeal. But Chris had demonstrated a way with ani
mals, and they often seemed to approach him with little fear. Within a minute, the tiny fawn stood in perfect calm by Domenika’s side, which allowed Chris to wander over to the doe stretched helplessly across the hissing hood of the Jeep. The car’s radiator was in pieces, sending white-hot steam skyward.

  Domenika looked on in awe as Chris carefully caressed the large deer from her splintered hooves to her bent and broken legs. From there, he stroked across the doe’s wide belly. Then he moved his palms upward across the neck and head of the once-powerful animal. Domenika had never seen such healing before, but it was clear that a rapid and transformative effect had begun to take place in the doe. With every stroke of Chris’s small hands, a slight trembling took place across the deer. A barely distinguishable aura of white and pale blue light had begun to rise from the animal, and soon the doe’s eyes became bright. She scrambled off the Jeep and onto her wobbly legs. Quickly, she rose up straight on all fours and, without a look toward her savior or the minder of her fawn, leaped off into the forest. The small fawn scrambled on the roadway and followed only a few feet behind.

  Domenika could not have predicted when Chris would decide to reveal for the first time that he possessed such an extraordinary gift. Bondurant would soon arrive around the bend, and there would be much to tell him. She searched her heart and wondered whether to tell Bondurant only that she had struck a deer, nothing more. The news of the unbelievable powers Christopher had shown was certain to change their lives. It pained her to know how they might put him in peril as well.

  As they waited for help and Bondurant to arrive, she could hear the low wail of a siren. She felt the press of Chris’s tiny hand in hers. They gazed into the forest where mother and fawn had made their way. Surprisingly, both deer stopped for a brief moment and turned back toward them. Domenika wanted to believe they paused in appreciation for the young boy’s gift. Chris only waved as they turned and ran deeper into the woods. Then he laughed lightly as he leaped into his mother’s arms.

  Chapter 24

  Portland, Oregon

  As Christopher’s frequent headaches increased, Domenika and Bondurant decided they would make the trip to Portland. The boy’s doctor in Coos Bay had referred them to a pediatric neurologist at the children’s hospital there who had a reputation for being one of the best in the country.

  There was no doubt they would be taking the risk of being recognized outside of Coos Bay. Bondurant’s fame preceded him somewhat, yet they had no choice. And there was another reason Bondurant felt the journey to Portland with Christopher could be critical. He had tried to carefully draw the boy out about the accident with the deer so that he might describe in his own way what had happened. But it was of little use. Christopher was evasive and seemed uncomfortable talking about the incident. He seemed to treat his very first demonstration of unusual power as though it were as simple as making his bed. But Bondurant, ever the scientist, hadn’t slept in days. He’d had a hunch, indeed a hope, about the boy’s potential supernatural abilities, but faith and hope weren’t enough for Bondurant. It had to be proved. And there was likely no better place than a children’s hospital for him to see with his own eyes what power, if any, Christopher might possess when those in need were present. Then he could act.

  The MRI exam that Christopher underwent at the hospital the morning they arrived showed nothing of concern. Dr. Webb, the neurologist, found no injuries or abnormalities in his brain and spinal cord, and no tumors or cysts of any kind.

  The hospital had also run other routine tests on Christopher during his visit that might shed light on the source of his headaches given all they’d ruled out. They were told it would be a short while before those test results were definitive, so Bondurant and Domenika decided to take Christopher to the hospital’s playground, a small area in an interior courtyard of the large facility. Most of the young children who’d made it outdoors to enjoy the sunshine were parked in wheelchairs or sat quietly at small tables with their parents. None had the strength to make it to the playground equipment in the center of the tiny yard. It was clear Christopher was concerned that he’d have to play alone. He found a bright red ball under a slide and marched about in search of a playmate. None of the children had the strength or inclination to join him.

  Bondurant glanced over as a young boy, about six years old, looked on enviously from his wheelchair while Christopher kicked the ball toward a swing set that served as his imaginary goalie’s net. Christopher noticed the boy and walked over to him.

  “Can you play goalie?” Christopher asked.

  Bondurant was curious to see what might happen but strode over to prevent an uncomfortable moment, just like any father would.

  The child’s mother answered for him. “That’s very nice of you, young man,” she said as she smiled at Christopher. “But I’m afraid Marcus needs to stay here and rest.”

  “Here, then,” Christopher said. He reached out his hand and touched the boy’s arm.

  As soon as he did, the boy, who’d been sitting listlessly in his pajamas, lit up. Slowly, he pushed himself to the edge of his wheelchair and rose to his feet. Then, without hesitation, he walked toward the swing set. He stood as though ready to tend goal.

  The boy’s mother clasped her hands to her mouth. “Marcus, how on earth? My boy is walking! My boy is walking!” she cried out. She quickly reached for her phone and fumbled with it to capture video of the moment.

  Domenika and Father Parenti, who’d been spying on the scene from several feet away, came to Bondurant’s side.

  “My Lord,” Domenika whispered.

  Parenti took a knee.

  “I said my boy is walking! Is anyone seeing this?! I said my boy is up and walking!” the mother cried out again.

  Bondurant saw Christopher look around him for other promising playmates who might join in. Within several feet, there was a young girl sitting on a bench. A nurse held the weak child’s neck in her hand so she could raise her head and look about. Bondurant watched as Christopher approached the little girl. He braced himself, knowing their quiet lives in Coos Bay had likely changed in mere seconds.

  “Can she play?” Christopher asked the nurse.

  The little girl wore a colorful knit cap; she was likely a cancer patient. She looked pale and weak. The nurse, distracted by the commotion Marcus’s mother was making as she hugged and cried over her child, paid Christopher little notice.

  “Christopher,” Bondurant called out, ready to pull him away. “How about—”

  But before Bondurant could finish, Christopher had reached out and taken the girl by the hand. Gradually, as though she had simply been woken from a nap, she yawned, stretched her arms skyward, rose from the bench, and walked over to the swing set. Then she started to swing.

  Bondurant’s heart began to race. He watched as the nurse looked toward Christopher as though he were a ghost.

  “Watch that child!” she cried out. She bolted toward the doors that led from the courtyard back inside the hospital. “Dr. Hastings! Dr. Hastings!” the nurse shouted as she ran.

  Bondurant leaped forward to grab Christopher. As he reached for the boy, he felt himself being tugged hard by the back of his shirt. It was Domenika.

  “Jon, let him be,” Domenika quietly pleaded.

  Bondurant had never seen her look so earnest. He’d been in the presence of a miracle before, one that had involved the repair of Parenti’s spine, but nothing as meaningful as this. “How are we going to explain this to these parents?”

  “There isn’t anything we can do, Jon,” Domenika said. She held Bondurant’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Let it be.”

  Bondurant felt another hand, this one on his shoulder from below. It was Parenti.

  “Amazing,” Parenti said, looking on. “Just amazing.” It was all the priest could bring himself to say.

  Bondurant watched with them as Christopher, Aldo in tow, marched around the circular courtyard and, one by one, reached out to every child he could touch as though h
e were playing a game of tag.

  “You’re it, you’re it,” he said as he laughed and strode along from one to the next.

  Before he was finished, almost ten children had been miraculously tapped. Within just a few minutes, the playground was alive with activity, filled with children who stepped forth from their wheelchairs or wrested themselves away from their parents’ arms. Everywhere Bondurant turned, he saw only amazement or tears of joy on the faces of the parents or caretakers who looked on. Several had recaptured their children in their arms and rocked them slowly, unable to speak.

  A doctor in a white lab coat rushed into the courtyard and looked around him for a moment in complete astonishment. “Is this the boy? Is this him?” the doctor asked the nurse. He pointed to Christopher, who was kicking the ball with another child.

  Bondurant stepped in. “We’re his parents,” he said. “I’m sorry if he’s caused a stir. We’re just waiting for some test results. But we can be on our way.” He knew there was going to be unwanted, maybe even uncontrollable attention.

  The physician looked at Bondurant with wide eyes. A half dozen parents now stood behind the doctor and watched. But he had no answers for them.

  “I need to know,” the doctor said. “Is this the young boy with that church that is said to work miracles? Is this the boy?”

  Bondurant shook his head immediately. He understood why the doctor would make such a mistake. “No, no, no,” Bondurant said. “We have nothing to do with that church.”

  “Most of these parents have little money,” the doctor said.

  Bondurant looked at him, completely confused.

  “So there’s no charge?” one parent asked. She stood behind the doctor and held her daughter close.

  “Charge?” Bondurant asked.

  Domenika stepped forward. “Of course not,” she said. “Whatever has happened, it’s a gift.”

  “Where are your most severely sick patients?” Parenti said.