What the Hand: A Novel About the End of the World and Beyond

by Stockwell, Todd

  “You’re taking me here?” I said.

  “Yes, George,” she said.

  “I’ve already been here, Danny.”

  “I know that.”

  “You’re like the New Jerusalem secret police or something. Did you bug my hotel room yet?”

  She just laughed and pulled me along with her. “Come on, George!”

  “I didn’t exactly have the best experience the last time.”

  “This will be different.”

  “It was pretty awful.”

  She kept her smile, all the while dragging me toward the theater. “The truth can be painful,” she said.

  “I’ll say. Are you sure about this?” I said.

  “This will be a different kind of truth.”

  ***

  We took our tickets and moved past the concession stands. “Popcorn?” she joked.

  “No, thanks.”

  The place was busy. We had to go all the way to the far end of the building to find an empty theater. Once inside, my apprehension intensified. “Relax,” she said, “it will be just fine.”

  “If you say so,” I said.

  “Trust me.”

  I looked at her. Even in the darkness, she looked radiant, her glow reflecting off her lovely smile. It put me at peace, and I was even happy for a moment.

  She didn’t fumble with the keyboard and the little screen as I had. She just spoke, and as she did her words came across the large screen: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

  ***

  Nobody on the Old Earth could understand the beginning; understand how something came from nothing. Scientists with their Big Bang Theory as the starting point always made me cringe because many of them would avoid stepping backwards to ask where the material came from to create the Big Bang in the first place. Not to do that, not to ask that, went against every tenet of science; and yet, volumes were filled with so-called proofs by important scientists on the Big Bang and the forming of the universe and creation of earth and evolution while ignoring the question any first grader would have asked: “Well, where did that stuff come from?”

  Why couldn’t these scientists just admit some things went beyond human understanding? Admit there was such a thing as a miracle? This was reason lost once again on the Old Earth—Satan was able to blind many intellectuals because of their pride.

  ***

  As the little light left in the theater grew dimmer, I took one last look at Danny. “Trust me,” she said.

  I turned back toward the screen. So engrained was I in Old Earth creation documentaries, I half expected the screen to light up with footage from one of my grade school science classes—stars exploding, volcanoes erupting and whatnot. Instead, the screen seemed only to be getting darker.

  I became fixated on the blackness. The screen was getting darker, blacker and blacker by the second, so black it began to absorb every last bit of light in the room. All of my light, even the bright light of Danny, was no more. It frightened me, the pitch black, a feeling like drifting gradually down some endless hole. She squeezed my hand. If she hadn’t been there I would have bolted.

  The screen was no longer distinguishable from the rest of theater, which was just as black, and quiet as death—this was the blackest black and the deepest silence I had ever known. Danny squeezed harder and broke the silence. “Trust me,” she said again.

  I was only slightly calmer. Then something—I felt something or heard something or saw something—I couldn’t tell which. The something was there and it wasn’t, but it grew until, nearly imperceptibly, it was... And that something became a kind of warmth, or a whisper, or a tiny, tiny speck of white light; I don’t know what came first, the whisper, the light, or the warmth, maybe all of it.

  Danny let go of my hand, and the warmth began to take hold of me, the speck of white light began to glow, and the whisper began to form a sound I couldn’t exactly hear and didn’t understand. Then I thought I heard the sound, and I thought I understood for a moment. Except the sound wasn’t really a sound. It was more like a warming thing than a sound. And I felt the warmth was a kind of joy. That’s the only way I can explain it, and that the light was the energy feeding the warmth and the joy.

  But it didn’t become hot, though, or even warmer, if that makes sense. But the joy that was the warmth seemed to grow. The joy was alive; it had life. It was life, I somehow knew. It began to expand. And the whisper became louder, but only slightly. The whisper became a word, and the word and the life were the same.

  I can’t explain it any more than that, but the word was becoming clearer, whispered to me now over and over again, rushing through me, just as the warmth and joy and life rushed through me, and the light came through us and from the screen and around us. It filled the room, and it filled us, until we were full and lighter than ever before.

  And the warmth and the joy were the same as the light, the same as the word, whispered it seemed, but also inside of me. The word was the joy and the light. The word was both goodness and hope. The word was everything—everything important, everything necessary, everything good. The word was God. And it was so much more. The word was love.

  ***

  Outside the theater, in the sunlight, the two of us stood, Danny smiling like she almost always did, but with me smiling just as wide for a change. I was calmer and happier than I’d ever been.

  “I told you so,” she said.

  “You’ve been waiting eight years to say that,” I said. “Do you take everyone there?”

  “Only the real desperate cases,” she said, and she laughed.

  “Thanks…I mean that…really, thanks.”

  “Look at you, George…you’re brighter, even in the sunlight.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes…a little brighter. You see what can come from nothing, from blackness. Nothing is enough. And you’ve always had light in you. Just think how far you can go—and all of us, George, together. Stop looking backward all the time. We need you with us. I want you with me.”

  “You do?” I was practically gushing.

  “Yeah—you’re one of the good guys.”

  “Me—I’m a good guy?”

  “Yes…you are.”

  “It’s easy to be good here.”

  “Good is good. It’s exactly the same as it was on the Old Earth.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Go look it up. You’re always at that library anyway.”

  I gave her a push. “You have been spying on me.”

  “Someone you know came to visit.”

  “Sophie?”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “Man, I should have known. You two sneaks. She kept insisting I come here.”

  Danny just smiled.

  I shook my head and looked at her for a long time without saying anything. “You know I still have a crush on you?” I finally said.

  “Yeah, I know that,” she said, and she mussed up my hair again.

  We walked away from the Theater of History, down the streets of paradise, two lovers, light and pure and innocent.

  ***

  The next day, I took a high-speed floating train back to my shack. I greeted, wrestled and rolled around with my dogs for a bit, changed clothes, apologized to them for my brief return, and ran all the way to my daughter’s house.

  ***

  I couldn’t wait to tell Sophie about my trip, and I pounded on the door a little too hard. I heard Wiley bark. It was Renee who answered. Wiley jumped at my legs.

  “Take it easy, George,” she said.

  “Sorry,” I said, and I rubbed Wiley’s head. “Good boy. Hi, Renee. Where is she?”

  “Hello, George. It’s good to see you, too,” she said.

  “I’m sorry—how are you?”

  “I’m good, thank you. She’s in the fields playing with the children. She’s teaching them how to fly.”

  “She’s flying?”

  “Yeah—f
or a couple weeks now. It’s pretty neat.”

  “Flying? No kidding—she’s amazing.”

  “Yeah—I did all right, didn’t I?” she laughed.

  “You did Renee—you really did,” I said, and I meant it.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s nice seeing you,” I said. Renee was always good to me—despite everything I put her through. We always chatted awhile when I came to visit Sophie, but I had been away too long and missed our daughter terribly. “Well, I better go find her.”

  “Wait a second, George. What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. You’re not sulking for a change.”

  “I sulk?” I asked, even though I knew it was true. I just wasn’t sure Renee had noticed.

  “Yeah, George, you sulk. It’s pretty obvious. You’re the only one I know who sulks around paradise. And something else, George—you’re brighter or something.”

  “I might be,” I said, and I smiled.

  “You went to New Jerusalem! Didn’t you, George?”

  “You can tell?”

  “About time,” she said.

  “Yeah—I should have done it years ago.”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “Yes—you should have. What made you go, finally?”

  “I don’t know. Sophie’s been asking me for a while. One day, I just woke up and decided to go.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Well, you look happy, George,” she said, and she smiled at me like she hadn’t since a lifetime ago on the Old Earth. “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.

  “I will, Renee. I will.”

  ***

  I found her sitting by herself in the tall orange grass. The sun was half gone below the mountains, the children already on their way home. I tried to sneak up on her, but when I got close, she suddenly turned and screamed. I jumped.

  “Got me,” I said.

  “You know you can’t sneak up on me anymore,” Sophie said.

  “I know—you’re a ninja with super powers. How are you, sweetheart?”

  “Good…I missed you, Dad,” she said, and she stood and gave me a hug.

  “I missed you.”

  She looked at me for a moment. “You went—didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  ***

  Lying on our backs, we admired the heavens while I told her about my trip. I told her about Millard and meeting my old Army roommate. I told her about Tent City and my visit to the Great Pyramid, about seeing Danny and my experiences at the Theater of History. I even told her about Justin. She listened wide-eyed like she couldn’t believe any of it.

  “Boy Dad—I guess if you were going to go, you were going to go big.”

  “That’s not the average trip to New Jerusalem then?”

  She laughed.

  “You didn’t tell me you and Danny were in cahoots.”

  “Must have slipped my mind,” she said and smiled like a busted seven-year-old.

  “Slipped your mind,” I said. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

  “She’s nice. I like her,” she said.

  “Yeah, she’s all right.”

  ***

  I stood, pulling her up to her feet with me. “Your mom said you’re flying now; I want to see you fly.”

  “Dad, I did it a couple times. I can’t do it all the time.”

  “She said you were teaching the kids.”

  “Just to jump higher is all—they’ll fly when they’re ready.”

  “Give it a try, then. I want to see it,” I said.

  “I’m tired.”

  “Don’t give me that. Fly, will you!”

  “It’s gonna be dark soon.”

  “You owe me for that Danny business.”

  “Dad.”

  “Fly, girl!”

  “Okay, already.” And with that she took three quick steps and leapt a good fifty feet into the air like it was nothing, landing a hundred yards or so in the distance.

  “That looks like flying to me!” I shouted.

  She walked back toward me, blushing and looking at the ground. “Anybody can do that.”

  “You’re holding back—I bet you can go even higher.”

  “Maybe a little,” she said when she reached me.

  “Let me see—it’s exciting!”

  She shook her head.

  “Please.”

  “Okay, okay—one more,” she said, and she took off running. When she reached the edge of a low hill, she hurled herself upward, one hundred feet in the air, spread her arms and soared like an angel for at least 200 yards. Then she began to glide, taking three quick, downward spirals, tilting backwards until her feet were under her, landing softly in the orange grass.

  “Incredible!” I shouted. I was astonished. I ran to her. “I can’t believe it, Sophie!” When I reached her, I scooped her up in a hug and twirled her around a few times before letting her go. “My gosh!” I said. “That was the most amazing thing!”

  She laughed and blushed. “Stop, Dad! It’s not a big deal—you could do it.”

  “No way,” I said.

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I really doubt it.”

  She grabbed my hand and led me to the bottom of another low hill. “Look, just relax—empty that weird head of yours. Clear all those wacky thoughts. Take a deep breath. Picture yourself touching a cloud or something. Take a few quick steps up the hill and jump.”

  “All right, here goes.” I did what she said and managed to get about four feet off the ground. “That’s about what I could do in high school,” I said.

  “Maybe if you were Kobe Bryant,” said Sophie. “Come on—clear that head.”

  I laughed and tried again. This time I jumped about eight feet high, landing twenty feet or so in the distance. It shocked me.

  “Nice! See, Dad?”

  “Wow—that was pretty cool.” I took another few steps, this time I made it about twelve feet off the ground, landing maybe thirty feet away. I leaped again, this time even higher. I kept leaping, higher and farther—over and over again—ever further, leaping and laughing in amazement. Until, glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Sophie, just a blur in the distance.

  I stopped and ran back toward her as fast as I could. When I could see her clearly, I shouted: “That was incredible!”

  “That was great, Dad!”

  It did feel wonderful. “I’m going to keep going. Do you want to come along?” I shouted.

  “No, Dad. You go ahead!”

  “Come on, honey!”

  “You go!”

  “I won’t be long!”

  “All right, Dad!”

  “Wait for me!”

  “I will!”

  “I’ll be back!”

  “Okay!”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Daddy!”

  But I didn’t move. I stood there for a long while, looking at her, admiring her. The shadows of dusk isolated a pale stretch of light across her face. She was lovely, a young woman now, but always my little girl. I jumped straight up—ten or twelve feet off the ground. She looked up at me and smiled. I landed.

  Still my little Sophie, I thought, and in my heart, she would always be looking up to me for something; something I never gave her. Sure, this was paradise, but I said it before—some things can’t be taken back once done. And I know I told you there was no such thing as romantic love. But there was heartbreak. I didn’t have to look that one up. I turned away from my little girl, faced the dying sun, and took another leap forward.

  Dear Reader:

  You would be doing me a great favor by writing an honest review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be long. If you click on the link below, it will take you directly to the review page. Either way, thank you so much for taking the time to read the novel. I h
ope you enjoyed it.

  Sincerely,

  Todd Stockwell

  To write a review—go to:

  http://www.Amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/write-a-review.html?asin=B00MG14B1U

  Or go to amazon.com, look up the book and click on the review section.

  Acknowledgements

  I want to first thank my beautiful wife Ana for her love and support all these years.

  I would like to thank my editor Cheryl Redman, godsend and rescuer of this book.

  I would like to thank my first readers/editors: Karen Lacey, for her fine editing on the first draft. My brother Tracy Stockwell, who meticulously read and edited the first several chapters. My mother and sister, Sharon Stockwell and Teresa Montgomery (love you sis) for letting me know I was getting away from the story too much. Jessica Aouati for her blunt editing advice. Ana for her keen eye. Finally, Andy Meisenheimer and Charlie Emery for their invaluable editing and critiques.

  I thank Jarrod Leitch, “the greatest salesman I’ve ever met,” for his expertise with certain sections of the novel.

  Also, my brother, Timothy (Bobo) Stockwell, for coming back from the dead.

  Thanks to Mike Ashmore for technical support and editing.

  And Jeff Boe for technical support.

  To David Lorenz, a great man of God and a real life “Charlie,” who took the high road so long ago…

  Thanks to my Mom, again, this time for being the most compassionate and generous person I’ve ever known. I love you.

  To the researchers, writers, guests, and hosts, who fuel Coast to Coast AM, for their tireless pursuit of the truth.

  To the godfather of modern eschatology, Hal Lindsey.

  Forgive me Jesus and please get everyone through.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Todd Stockwell was born in Torrance, California. He lives and writes in Southern California. He is a U.S. Army Veteran and has worked as a cab driver, clerk, banker, accountant, therapist, business owner, and traveling salesman among other things. He is also a former English teacher with an MA in Psychology and a passion for eschatology. Go to neveracceptthemarkofthebeast.com and take a stand against the coming New World Order. Mr. Stockwell can be reached through: