The Dawn of Grace :: A Mystery and Suspense Christian Historical Fiction Comprising of Enduring Love and Glory (Revelation Book 1)

by Christian Hunt

  “He’s coming to,” a voice said.

  David blinked groggily, throbbing pain filling his lungs. He looked up at a bespectacled man in a white coat. “Well, hello there,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Acer. How are you feeling?”

  “Awful,” David croaked. “What happened?”

  Dr. Acer cleared his throat, making notes on the clipboard in his hand. Despite his semi-conscious state, David could tell the doctor was stalling for time. Fear bloomed in his chest. Finally, the doctor said, “You and your wife were in an accident several months ago.”

  “Amy?”

  “Your wife sustained minor injuries, but she lost her eyesight. You, on the other hand, were badly burned, and have been in a coma.”

  David stared at the doctor, the bleakness of his situation filtering through his addled brain. It occurred to him that he should be more concerned about Amy, but all he could think about was how his public career was over. He had always relied on his looks, but now what would he do?

  “I need to see myself,” he said.

  At first, the doctor refused, but over the next twenty-four hours as David’s insistence grew, the doctor finally allowed the nurses to remove some of the bandages. The moment David saw the grotesque red flesh marring his face; his world spiraled into a dark hole of depression.

  When he went home, Amy fussed over him, not once complaining about her own disability. She encouraged him to start writing again, but David withdrew into his study, sitting in the dark with the curtains drawn.

  The more Amy coaxed him to continue doing the things he loved, the more he resented her. He couldn't help but notice that Amy's weight had stabilized, and she no longer seemed to struggle with eating. Both boys kept their distance from him—whether because of his scars or his foul mood, he never knew—nor did he care. Something vital had shut down inside of David, and he never managed to draw himself out of his own darkness. All the potential that he once had, all the promises that he'd made to John in Prague—all of it vanished.

  Three years later, Amy stood weeping beside David's grave, flanked on either side by her grown up sons. Neither could understand why she was grieving so, but they supported her nonetheless. His last book had stopped being a bestseller long ago, and the world of glitz and glamour had forgotten him. The funeral was sparsely attended, and no one of any significance had paid their respects. David had died a lonely, bitter man who had never recognized his blessings while he had the chance.

  Amy knelt beside the grave, tears streaming down her face. She knew that her love story had ended, but she also knew that despite all of his faults, she would love her husband for eternity. Sobbing, she whispered, “Dear Lord, forgive David for all of his sins. I beg you to give him another chance. At his core, he is a good man. He just lost his way in this world. Take his soul, Lord; I beg you. Amen.”

  Rationale still remains the greatest impediment to encountering God's mysteries.

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas Day

  David awakened beside Amy, gasping for breath. His first sensation was the weight of the bed sheets and the depth of the mattress: he was not in his own bed at home, nor was he in a hospital bed. He pressed his hands to his face and breathed a sigh of relief. That had all been a dream, an extremely bad dream. He was still in Prague on vacation with the Amy and the kids, yes. He glanced around the hotel room as his breathing returned to normal, and his gaze fell upon the Wenzel Bible. The book seemed to vibrate, to call out to him. He crept out of bed, trying not to disturb Amy, and walked over to the table. Running a finger along the edge of the Bible with a reverence he didn’t know he possessed; David realized he still had too many questions to let the subject go. John had told him to trust in the Lord, but David didn’t know how to do that. At the very least, it would take him some time to figure everything out. Anything connected to the mystical truths this book possessed would most likely require a steep learning curve.

  Perhaps—the answer then landed on his heart so softly, he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not—and he knew without a doubt what he needed to do. David dressed quickly and pulled on his overcoat. He hurried out at four a.m., his footfalls the only sound as he trotted along the deserted streets. By clock time, he had barely slept an hour. He laid aside any questions about that, too—for time seemed to have no true presence in this place. A strong wind was still howling down the alleyways, ruffling the treetops. He shivered and turned up the collar of his coat.

  Though he wasn’t that familiar with the city's layout, David felt he could find his destination with his eyes closed. It seemed his very soul knew the way.

  Clouds scudded across the full moon as David came once again to the Charles Bridge. His hopes sank in the pit of his stomach when he realized that he was standing there alone. David leaned against the edge of the bridge, his dream haunting him.

  Suddenly a voice said, “We have the free will to choose our actions, but not the consequences of our actions.” David’s head jerked upward, searching for the source. The voice continued, “If you had to tread this path, my friend, it would have costed you eternity.”

  David turned to see John emerging from the shadows. John always seemed to be at the right place the right time. The smile on John’s face as he approached was rapturous, and everything changed at that moment. The Charles Bridge glowed. The early morning fog had started to clear, giving way to a new dawn. Rosy streaks of sunlight climbed into the eastern horizon.

  David carried with him the weight and intensity of several, life-changing events at once, but he tried to keep his emotions in check. The realities that he clutched seemed too large to comprehend. The ultimately miserable devastation of his dream smothered him, and too many conflicting possibilities stirred in his thoughts. One moment he wanted to scream in anguish, and the next, he wanted to laugh in delight. John had returned. John and John alone could provide him with the answers he so desperately sought.

  The wind blew stronger, and the fog began to roll out. Haze rising off the river passed between David and John. As John moved closer, David said, “I don’t understand how I’ve dreamt these things, and I need to know what’s happening to me. Can you help me?”

  John answered him, “What I have shown you will help you reflect. I have not yet told you the most important part.”

  David swallowed the lump in his throat, gazing at John. “If you are who you say you are, then tell me, John. I’m ready.”

  “You still need to know that God has sent you more love than you ever expected to receive. I know you bear a heavy burden now, but don’t you want to know what happened to Amy?” John asked.

  “In my dream?” David questioned.

  “Some might call it that,” John said.

  All the fears and worries that David had somehow been holding at bay crashed down around him. He had to know—and yet, he didn't. He grabbed John's arm, bile rising to his throat. “Please, tell me.”

  John took a deep breath, and David tried to brace himself for what was coming next. The other man continued, “After the accident, Lucas became Amy's eyes. He helped her learn to navigate her way through the house, the yard, the neighborhood, and the fresh market.”

  David blinked back tears. “He came around for her.”

  John nodded. “Yes, he did.” John looked down. “Until one day when Sandra and Stephen stopped by to take her out to dinner.”

  “Yes?”

  “When they arrived at their destination, Amy got out of the car, took off her sunglasses, and looked directly into Sandra’s eyes. She said, 'I can find our table on my own, Sandy. I can see you, my dear.'”

  “Sandra hugged Amy in shock, stammering, 'Wha-what's this, Amy?'”

  “And Amy replied, 'Sandra, love truly can be blind. We frequently go blind for those we love, don't we?'”

  “Sandra still couldn’t comprehend what was happening. “You-you mean, you can really see me?'” she asked.

  “Amy replied that she could and that David would've never bee
n able to face her after the accident, had she not renounced her sight.”

  When John stopped speaking, David tried to put the pieces together. Was the dream a prophecy? His future, set in stone? Would Amy make the ultimate sacrifice for him, all because of his unbridled pride and ambition? Could he do something to change this terrible knowledge he now possessed?

  Or—did he have a third option? If he walked away from John right now and forgot everything that had transpired here, could he escape this fate? Could he pretend that none of this had happened, and would Amy go along with his plan? He could bury the Wenzel Bible, destroy all the photographs they made along the way, and maybe the whole vacation to Prague would simply fade into the past, along with any future repercussions. But with Amy, Christophe, and Lucas as witnesses, would it? Something in David’s heart made him stop. He drew a deep breath and turned toward John. Whatever else John needed to tell him, he hoped he was ready to hear. And if he wasn’t, he asked that God would open his heart.

  From John's expression, David knew that the other man sensed the struggle going on inside him. John added, “If you don’t believe me, ask him.” He pointed at a tall man standing in the shadows, merely a few yards from them.

  David couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, so he stepped closer. When he was near enough to see the man, David's heart plunged. The man who met his eyes with a hollow gaze had a face marred with third-degree burns, the damage extending to his neck and hands. Mangled flesh covered his scalp where hair once was. In horror, David realized that he also recognized the man. He froze as the man in his dreams—his future self—nodded at him before turning and disappearing into the fog.

  “Th-that was me,” he croaked, falling on his knees. John hadn’t just been telling him a story; he'd been narrating David’s future, the one he would surely face as he continued on his path of pride. He realized now that he would continue on this path, and he would end up just like the man in his dream. All at once, he knew what he had to do. He might not escape his terrible future, he thought, but a new, heartfelt desire to live differently was going to guide his ways. He now knew without question that assets and power would never give him true happiness. He'd been searching for happiness in all the wrong places, when in truth, no search was needed—the means to joy was intrinsically with him all the time.

  David wasn’t sure how long he was on his knees. Whether a minute or an eternity, as he climbed to his feet, he felt peace in his heart, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He turned toward John, unsure what to ask or what to say, but he sensed neither was necessary to find out all the things that he needed to do.

  John said, “Your grandfather was wise, and he gave up his selfish ways in life because he saw how it would have ended. You are his grandson, and I know you will make a wise choice.” John patted David’s shoulder. “It’s time for me to go. I have accomplished my task.”

  David stared at the man who, in reality, he had only begun to know. “Who are you and how do you know so much of my past and my future?”

  John smiled and said, “You will find out. You are a wise man.”

  David watched John turn and walk away into the first rays of dawn. Just before he turned out of sight, John paused. He looked back at David, still smiling—and winked. David fell to his knees again, for, at that moment, five stars in a halo of lights flashed around John’s head. Where had he seen this before? David undeniably knew then that John was a messenger of God. A waterfall of warmth cascaded over David's body, and he opened his heart to Jesus, the Messiah he now trusted and accepted. He offered up all the mistakes and wrong judgments that he had made.

  Tears flooded his eyes, and David held his head in his hands. Thoughts rapidly swirled through his head, and his heart felt like it had split wide open. Never in his life had he felt like this before, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could sustain. He recalled then something in the Bible about being tested with fire and being led through the valley of the shadow of death—and his lungs certainly felt on fire. But he also remembered something else, another exhortation to fear not.

  With a loud cry, he shouted, “My God, have mercy on me! I ask for your forgiveness.”

  A great flash of blinding light knocked David forward. His hands hit the pavement, and he was thankful for the solidness of the Charles Bridge beneath him. A cold wind swept over the bridge, and David doubled over against the gust. As he pushed himself back upright, he saw a white flash rippling around the bridge. Some of the flashes appeared to float while others whirled around the statues. A beautiful celestial choir swelled around him. David could sense his soul soaring with heavenly voices. He knew indeed that at that moment, he'd been touched by Heavenly hosts he'd heretofore only read about. He also knew all the things John had told him were true.

  Surrounded by celestial voices, his heart, soul, body and mind melded into one with the supernatural milestone surrounding him in angelic chorus. His family came to mind, and he held them in a prayer of blessing as he tried to fathom all the amazing things that were happening around him.

  The timbre of the voices faded as snow flurries began. David sat back on his heels and stretched out his arms as the soft, white snowflakes—each with its own uniquely created signature—drifted down from the sky. He laughed out loud and tried to catch one on his tongue. A White Christmas in Prague. He couldn’t believe it. Such a rare event. Amy and the boys would be thrilled.

  The flashes of light continued even after the choir faded, and David scrambled to his feet so he could see where they were going. The snow fell faster, but he could see the lights traveling toward the river in different directions. As he followed the lights with his eyes, they began taking on different forms as they moved to different locations along the river.

  Could this really be happening? David diverted his focus to his feet, a quick self-assessment to determine whether what he thought he'd seen hovering over the river Vltava was real. His feet looked normal enough, he thought. But when he glanced back at the river, he saw the same objects now submerged just under the surface—including a sword and a trunk. David thought about what John had told him as he stared at the objects under the surface. Hidden treasure? One of the light forms began floating toward him, pausing just below where he stood on the bridge.

  David remained motionless, not daring to even breathe. Was that the Bruncvik sword? Was he supposed to take possession of the Bruncvik sword, too? And just what was he supposed to do with it? David gripped the balustrade, continuing to stare into the light. Could this be God's way of telling him that he was forgiven? He knew he no longer needed wealth or fame to be happy, that the most priceless treasure he had already discovered within his heart.

  After a long moment of inner debate, David decided unequivocally that his priority was seeking spiritual treasure. He would leave the precious Bruncvik sword and the trunk for someone else to find. For now, he chose to learn to follow God. He tucked his Bible under his coat and turned to leave. Though he'd been awake close to thirty-six hours, he felt refreshed. Strange as it was—his whole essence seemed lighter—body, soul, and spirit. He had a lot to tell Amy.

  Another sound, however, caught his attention. Pick-pock, pick-pock. David turned back, half-expecting to see John again. The snow was falling more rapidly, and he shielded his eyes in an attempt to see who—or what—approached. Pick-pock, pick-pock. A blind person tapping his cane? David strained to make out the stooped shape shuffling toward him in the snow. Part of him screamed to turn heel and run—and yet, David compelled his feet to remain in place. His teeth clacked together, partly from the cold, northerly wind, the rest from stark-naked anticipation about what kind of creature might be approaching him.

  David steadied himself, holding his breath—a spasmodic attempt to keep respired steam from revealing his exact location. As the shape slogged in his direction, he began catching snippets of its ongoing conversation.

  “Surge et sequere me! Et abierunt omnes, et abierunt omnes”

 
David froze. The form stumbled into the light, tossing its head around and about as if trying to fend off a swarm of venomous flying insects. Its voice rasped the same words over and over, its pedant, plodding fashion chilling David to the bone. The thing in front of him growling this in Latin—and David strained to recall where he'd—the book. Did he dare look for those words in it now? The creature twenty feet away seemed unaware of David, continuing to chant, turn around in circles, and sling its head about. Heavy snowfall obscured its face.

  With trembling hands, David flipped to the back of the book—some of Uncle Franz's notes he recalled, rapidly scrawled observations about Queen Sophia's journal. Yes, there they were. David traced the Latin words with his index finger.

  Surge et sequere me. Et abierunt omnes, et abierunt omne.

  Queen Sophia had inscribed these Latin directives in her excellent, never-failing penmanship. On an inserted note, Franz had translated:

  Get thee behind me! Be gone, all.

  David swallowed, raising his gaze toward the crouched figure that still quietly muttered the Latin commands. If this thing resembling a fractured person should turn on him, then what? It’s kyphotic, withered spine hung over bones protruding through an outer trench coat, the head ceaselessly pursuing its elliptical route. What hideous events led it into such a state David decided he did not want to try to understand. He tucked the Wenzel Bible under his arm and started quietly backing away.

  The thing tracked David's nimble movement, though—arresting its own dodgy behavior, turning a hooked-nose profile, listening. David froze, but too late. The thing snarled and galloped his way, closing the distance within seconds. Through the snow squall, David could finally make out the creature's face, unquestionably human.

  Uncle Franz.

  “Uh-uncle?” David stammered, continuing to back away. The person he'd once recognized as Franz merely days ago had wasted into this, eyes bloodshot and bulging, his disheveled and uncombed beard fraying in all directions. His torso, normally trim and erect, was now gaunt and doubled in two with the weight of some unseen avoirdupois. The trench coat he wore hung in ribbons, and David could see that Franz was also wearing the same suit he had on three days ago. His white dress shirt was torn in several places, streaked with blood and grime. “Uncle Franz?” David repeated.