Cursed Days

by J. M. LeDuc

  Brent turned his attention to a scroll that was placed on an easel.

  “‘At the time of Moses, three arks were made from the same

  Acacia tree. All made from chitin wood and all made for a special purpose’.”

  Brent opened the Ark of the Endowment. A light seemed to halo his hands and body as he opened it. He continued to read from the scroll.

  “‘The Ark of the Endowment was made to carry a covenant needed between man and God because of man’s immorality. Few know of this covenant and even fewer are asked to carry it forth. If ever broken, God will once again destroy the world and all that it contains.’”

  Brent could hear the murmuring start to build. Before it could get out of hand, he opened the Ark of the Enlightenment. The light around him glowed brighter and seemed to let off heat. All voices were stilled. Those watching were amazed by what they saw and waited to hear what God’s messenger had to say about the second Ark.

  “‘The Ark of the Enlightenment was made to hold the Book of Sufferings. In it are man’s fears and temptations. I do not speak of man as a whole, but each and every one of you. Unlike the Book of Life, which holds the names of all those who will enter into eternal life, the Book of Sufferings holds every name since the time of creation until the time of the last days.’”

  The voices of those watching grew in number and in amplitude. What book? I see no book? It’s a lie, there is no such book.

  Brent reached in and picked up a book. As he did, the light around him dimmed and grew grey. He opened the cover and demons could be heard screeching and moaning. Brent looked straight into the camera and read the fears and temptations of everyone who was watching. He did not read the names, but again the voices were stunted. Each person he read about knew to whom he spoke.

  He closed and lowered the book back into the ark. The halo again glowed about him.

  All were riveted to their screens. The anticipation of the opening of the final ark was barely more than they could stand. Brent began to open the Ark of the Covenant and as he did his body began to shake. Light emitted from his mask where his eyes and mouth would have been like a white hot laser. An even brighter light appeared from the cracked open Ark. He quickly shut the Ark and stared motionless at the cameras. Behind him a mist began to form. A mist that soon took the shape of an angel. An angel that reached down and picked up the Sword of Truth.

  A new voice emanated from Brent’s mouth. A baritone that was glory filled, yet caused fear in all.

  Again murmuring could be heard.

  “Who is this? I don’t believe in ghosts, why should I believe anything it says?”

  The angel lifted the sword and sliced it through the thick, still air. A high pitched sound could be heard as the sword moved with blinding speed. It caused those watching to cover their ears and cower in fear.

  “I am the Archangel Michael and this is my sword. Only God’s Chosen can carry it into battle.” He looked directly at the camera, his eyes so blue they were translucent. “Before the last of the arks can be opened, a question must be asked.” The archangel looked directly into the camera. Those who watched felt as if he was looking into their souls. “If the reason it was built or its contents give reason for another belief to be held in truth, will you declare to your followers and to the world that yours is not of God, but of man?”

  A quiet filled the air. Each knew that making such a pronouncement had far reaching consequences. Not just faith based, but more importantly to those watching, politically and financially based. Like in the times of Christ, no one wanted to give up the lifestyle they had.

  Minutes of silence seemed like hours. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled inside the Holy of Holies. Those watching were temporarily blinded by the light. When their vision returned, the angel was gone and Brent once again held the sword. He again read from the scroll.

  “‘In accordance to God’s decree, you have spoken and the arks will once again be scattered to the ends of the world.’”

  He raised the sword and struck the altar with all his strength. The altar split down the middle and lightning once again flashed. When all watching opened their eyes, the altar was in ruins, the arks and Brent were gone. Seconds later the transmission was cut and all went blank.

  “And we’re—out.”

  Brent sat beside Joan and looked over at the screen in front of them and then at the altar. All the arks and the sword were just where they were put four days ago. The broadcast was all a hologram. A brilliant piece of editing by Joan.

  “What would you have done if they agreed with the angel?” she asked.

  Brent thought back to his time on the mountain. “I had it in good authority that they wouldn’t.”

  CHAPTER 79

  Half way around the world, Alana lay in the prone position, sobbing in an endless sadness. The man she loved was another woman’s husband. She would never have the one thing that could make her life happy. She wiped the snot from her face and through her tears, she prayed to God. She clutched the cross that Brent had given her and held it tight, she felt a warmed flow through her. A cleansing spirit that wiped away all her sins, all her shame and all her insecurity.

  Alana stumbled to her knees, still clutching the cross. She tenderly brought it to her lips and gently kissed it. The love and forgiveness of Jesus soared through her being and came to rest in her soul. Tears flowed on, but now they were tears of happiness. “I believe,” she whispered. “I believe.”

  As composure found its way back to her, she prayed. “Dear Lord, have mercy on your child. If I am to live without Brent in my life, take all the memories of him from my heart. I cannot live with that love and grief. If this is not my life, lead me to my destiny.” Alana lay on the cold stone floor and fell into a peaceful sleep.

  CHAPTER 80

  Six months later, Palm Cove was abuzz in excitement. Chloe had finally gone into labor. She was wheeled from her home through the tunnels to the infirmary at headquarters. Brent held her hand the entire time. By the time she was transferred to a bed, her doctor and his delivery team were ready. This was to be a great day.

  The squad patted Brent on the back as the bed was wheeled into the delivery room. Inside the room, Lucille and Joan were by Chloe’s side providing comfort and prayer.

  From outside the door ,the squad could hear Chloe’s screams with every contraction and push. “That’s a good girl,” the obstetrician said. “You’re doing great.”

  Brent wiped her forehead with a cold towel and gave her some ice chips to suck on. He kissed her face and whispered that he loved her. “You’ve never been more beautiful than you are now.”

  Chloe could feel another contraction building. With the little strength she had left, she grabbed Brent by his shirt and pulled him close. “If you say one more thing, the doc is going to have to surgically remove those ice chips from a body cavity.” The contraction started to die down and Chloe pulled him closer. “I love you, too,” she grunted.

  “Okay, Mrs. Venturi, with this next contraction I need you to push as hard as you can until I tell you to stop. The baby’s head is beginning to crown. One more good one and it will all be over.”

  As the contraction peaked, those outside the door heard a guttural scream that hurt their ears. Moments later, they heard a tiny cry of a newborn child.

  “Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl,” the doctor said.

  Brent opened the door, tears ran down his face. His smile so big, Seven thought his face might crack open. “Get in here and see our baby girl,” Brent said.

  As the celebration began, Chloe’s intrauterine monitor went off. “We have trouble,” yelled Nurse Collins. “Everyone out now!” she yelled.

  Emergency personnel ran down the hall and into the room. Twenty minutes later all was still. The stillness was broken by the heavy wailing of Brent.

  Seven couldn’t take
it any longer and stormed the room. He would wish he hadn’t. The sheets and the medical staff were soaked in blood. They stood back, tears in their eyes as they watched Brent hold his wife’s lifeless body.

  “No,” he screamed. “Do something.”

  Susan placed her hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing else to be done, Brent. There was massive uterine scar tissue attached to the placenta. When she went through afterbirth, she tore the uterine wall causing a massive hemorrhage. It couldn’t be stopped.”

  Brent looked up at all the shocked faces. “Get out. All of you,” he cried. “Leave us alone. Leave us alone.” He buried his face in Chloe’s chest and cried harder and louder.

  A half hour later, his mother entered the room. She found Brent, soaked in blood, lying next to his wife. His arms still wrapped around her.

  “Honey,” she said, wiping his tear soaked hair from his swollen face. “It’s time to let go. She has gone to be with the Lord.”

  Brent immediately remembered the words that Christ had spoken to him. He was back on the mountain. God had told him that he would witness miracles and that he would suffer much loss. He was told not to lose faith in moments of despair.

  Brent’s eyes were hollow, not just void of emotion, but void of a soul as he slowly detached himself from Chloe. He kissed her on her blue lips and stood up. He looked at his mother with the eyes of a dead man.

  A chill ran through her when Brent looked at her.

  “There is no God,” he said through gritted teeth. He walked out of the room, past his friends and repeated, “There is no God.”

  CHAPTER 81

  Two weeks had passed since Chloe’s death. She had been buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Her tombstone read:

  Chloe Adler

  Wife, mother and soldier

  You will live forever in our hearts.

  After the service performed by Bishop Jessup and Cardinal Bullini, everyone left to go back to Palm Cove. In the past two weeks, the baby had been taken care of by Joan and Lucille. Brent refused to even hold her. Late at night when everyone was asleep, he would take her from her bassinette and rock her and cry for the loss of his wife.

  Upon returning to the Cove, Brent sat staring into the fireplace in their home. Lucille handed him a cup of coffee and sat beside him.

  “I know,” she said, “how hard this is on you, but you have a daughter to worry about and take care of. It’s what Chloe would have wanted. You know that.”

  Brent put the cup down, grabbed his jacket and walked out of his home. Like times of old, sleep would not come to him, so he walked the streets at night. All he could think of were the words that were etched over the entrance to the Holy of Holies:

  The Cursed Days which began in the garden ended for all those who have trusted their lives to my Son. But even to The Chosen, hardship must fall for destiny to be played out.

  Brent dropped to his knees on the beach, looked up to the heavens and screamed, “Why have you forsaken me? I did everything you asked of me and this is how you repay me?” He reached down and grabbed two fists full of sand and squeezed so hard, he thought the grains might cut his skin. He raised them up and opened his hands. The grains of sand fell silently back to beach. “If this is how it’s going to be, then I’ll go it alone from now on.”

  He rose and walked for hours. Nothing but loathing in his heart.

  CHAPTER 82

  Two weeks later, he was gone. He had confided in Joan and asked her to take care of his daughter. He left a note for everyone else. On it he wrote,

  Take care of each other and my daughter until I return. You know I’m no good to anyone the way I am, especially her. She is to be christened, Faith Chloe Adler. She will carry her mother’s name. Brent Venturi is dead.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J. M. LeDuc is a writer of inspirational fiction; in the thriller genre. He is a native Bostonian, who transplanted to south Florida in 1985. What started out as a reprieve from the cold weather became a permanent move due to meeting and falling in love with his wife of twenty-three years, a native Floridian; Sherri. They are the proud parents of a twenty year-old daughter; Chelsea.

  When asked, why he writes, J. M. responds, “The answer is actually quite simple: It’s just part of who I am. I was blessed to have had a mother (under whose maiden name I write) who loved the written word, and passed that passion on to me. When I was eight years old I was diagnosed with a rare congenital joint disease which prohibited me from playing sports, so all my adventure was pursued through writing and reading. By the time I reached high-school the doctors gave me permission to actively participate in sports and I threw myself into the fray headfirst.

  “I started out with snow skiing and quickly added the adrenaline rush of skydiving, scuba diving, and triathlon racing. My adrenaline pumping adventures culminated by competing as a bull and bareback rider on the rodeo circuit out in Colorado and Wyoming. I later got into survival/adventure racing, in which the races would last from 4-5 hours to 4-5 days.

  “My competitive days quickly came to an end with bilateral hip replacements in both 2000 and 2003. From that moment on I once again turned my adventurous spirit inward and quenched my thirst for adventure through my writing. You’ll find that many of the activities that I have been personally involved in become part of the protagonist’s personality.”

  J. M. is an active member of the Mystery Writers of America, Florida Writers Association, and the Christian Writers Guild.

  You can contact J.M. LeDuc at jm_leduc@yahoo.com.