Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ

by Brandon Messerschmidt

A chorus of gasps, cries and petrified screams filled the concourse like incompatible notes bellowing from a mistuned pipe organ as the people within the terminal saw what had frozen Dave and Tracey Sparks in terror.

  The skies beyond the towering glass walls were filled with jetliners which, in and of itself, is not an abnormal site considering they were at the heart of a busy metropolitan airport. It was, instead, the behavior of the dozen or so planes closing in on the airspace that caused the overwhelming panic.

  There had been countless more that glided in and landed uneventfully before these. Most of the people preparing to depart on their vacations, business trips or -in the case of the Sparks'- honeymoons had paid no attention to them whatsoever. Seventy-ton flying machines loaded with liquid explosives and carrying hundreds of souls aboard have a way of going unnoticed when they're being skillfully guided to the ground in a slow, controlled downward arc.

  Those in the sky now were different, however. There were three coming in from various trajectories in the Eastern sky, four more in the West, and at least two closing in from the North. Then there were the specs on the horizon in every direction; too many to count, really.

  There were several runways, so it wasn't the sheer number of incoming craft that was the issue. Air traffic control at this particular airport was highly skilled, so neither routing nor timing was the problem either.

  The commotion here was caused by the fact that these inbound behemoths looked to be less in the process of landing and more in the midst of crashing. Each of them left neatly tapered trails of exhaust in the skies behind them, but these trails had ceased well behind the approaching craft. Suddenly, they appeared to be falling from the sky.

  They were closing at an incredible speed; some diving steeply -nose first- towards the woodlands surrounding the landing strips, other racing in towards the terminal with their tails sinking as though the pilots were mounting a super-human effort to keep the birds in the air.

  An outbound plane had seemingly stalled mid-takeoff as well, its landing gear three-quarters retracted when the wheels were driven into the asphalt on their outer rims. Sparks flew from the grinding of steel on pavement and the rubber cushions popped, the off-kilter touchdown bouncing the craft into an end-over-end cartwheel before it exploded in a furious fireball. The shockwave rattled the glass around the helpless spectators, inspiring screaming even more motivated than before. Mushroom clouds grew out of the forest now as several airliners made their final approach into a myriad of trees.

  "David -- what's happening?" Tracey asked. Her voice shook, but she seemed strangely calm as she watched the destruction unfold.

  Her husband didn't share her composure. His head whipped wildly about, taking in as much as possible as chaos unfurled in every direction.

  "Oh God!" He shouted, pointing toward the corner at the northern-western end of the terminal. "Look!"

  Tracey turned her gaze and saw a large Airbus rolling slowly along the taxi-way in the distance. It came to rest perpendicular to the mouth of a runway, its nose just barely violating the wide open space reserved for the pre-flight charging of engines.

  At the other end of this particular runway a second albatross was touching down at a speed far beyond the realm of control. its gear bounced off of the concrete several times before securing a bite, the 737 racing like a top-fuel dragster towards disaster. The rough landing set the craft slightly askew on the pad, but it wasn't enough to steer the deadly bullet onto the grass and out of harm's way. A collision was inevitable; the only variable being what the laws of physics would do to the machines once they made contact.

  Just a few heart-stopping seconds later, it happened. Half of the Boeing's wing caught the sitting duck and sliced through the fuselage like a hot knife through butter. Debris comprised of aluminum, luggage and limbs spewed from the wreckage and flew an incredible distance at high velocity. The angle of the impact caused the 737 to turn sharply. The sudden disruption of momentum caused it to shed its wing and slowed it greatly, but it still tore along at a deadly pace -- now rolling towards the terminal.

  A hoard of people fled like scurrying roaches while others, including the Sparks family, stood frozen in terror. Tracey reached out, taking her husband's hand lovingly in her own. Their squeeze tightened as the one-armed bomb collided with a parked plane at a gate not far from their own. The force of the subsequent explosion threw them through the air, tearing their grasp asunder.

  As the walls of Jericho had crumbled at the cries of a thousand trumpeters, so did the glass giants rain down upon the terminal at the concussive salvo offered up by this blast. Heat as intense as the fires of Hell billowed from towering wall of flame, charring the flesh of those within its reach. The stench of fuel, smoke and death took hold of the air and strangled it mercilessly until it was dead itself.

  David felt fortunate to find himself clinging to consciousness, though every square centimeter of his body felt the sting of this catastrophe. He had been flung like an unbalanced horseshoe and hurled several gates from where he had stood, then body-slammed into the solid tile floor with a bone-crushing thud. The landing had broken at least a few of his ribs and driven every bit of air from his body.

  He gasped for breath as he clutched his chest, blood oozing from punctures in his hands that were occupied by deeply imbedded pebbles of glass. His face had been cut as well; the slice felt deep and seemed to start at his hairline, run down his forehead and through his eyebrow. It was interrupted there, where his eye was set in, but picked up where his cheek protruded and stretched another inch or so towards his jaw. Areas of exposed flesh felt hot, the outer layers peeling as though scathed by a severe sunburn.

  His hearing had been scrambled by the blast. As it slowly returned he found himself wishing it wouldn't . People in pain make the most miserable noises and he felt no better listening to their moaning. He tried to focus on the crackling of the fire to tune the suffering out. It was not an effective practice.

  Perhaps more disconcerting than the sounds he did hear was the fact that he couldn't make out any cries in the din of an intonation that resembled the voice of his wife.

  The pain was excruciating, but he sucked it up as best he could and rolled onto his side to scan for her with his eyes. The destruction looked like something out of a Hollywood disaster movie. Thick soot covered the ceiling, smoke and flame in every direction. Steel was twisted and strewn about, mangled heaps of debris where courtesy counters once stood. Then there were the bodies; some bent and broken, some in pieces. Survivors writhing in unimaginable pain.

  Finally, he found her. Tracey was not among the twitching dead, but she lie motionless in a sea of red. He pulled himself towards her and noted the rapid rising and sinking of her chest. This movement was accompanied by a sickening gurgle that could only mean her lungs had been pierced. From her core stood a long spear of glass, penetrating her body just below her sternum. He placed his bloodied hand on her face as he propped his upper body off the ground and looked into her clouded eyes.

  "Baby," He cried as brushed against her. "Baby, can you hear me?"

  "Sweetie?" She responded softly, smiling in a dream-like trance. "David, is that you? I can't see you, it's so dark!"

  "Yes, honey, it's me!"

  "You shouldn't be here, sweetie! You know it's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!"

  "Baby?" He sobbed. "It's gonna be okay, baby, I promise!"

  "Stop, sweetie -- don't turn the light on! I want my dress to be a surprise. It's so beautiful! I don't want you to see me yet!"

  "Hold on, baby! Just hold on! Don't you leave me!" Tears streamed from his eyes.

  "David," She smiled at him now. "I'm not going anywhere! I've waited my entire life for this moment... can you believe it's actually happening? Can you believe we're getting married today? It's gonna be so perfect, David! Do you have your corsage on? You didn't forget it at home, did y
ou?"

  "No, honey... I didn't forget." He ran his fingers through her golden mane. "I didn't forget my corsage."

  "Stop it, David -- you'll mess up my hair!" She argued. "I want to be perfect for you... I want to you to be proud when I walk down that aisle."

  "I AM proud, baby!" He was whimpering now. "I'm SO proud!"

  "Promise me something, David..."

  "What, baby?"

  "Promise me it will always be like this... promise me we'll never lose this magic."

  "Of course, sweetie!"

  "I wish -- I wish we could live in this moment forever."

  "We can!" He cried. "We can, Tracey!"

  "I love you, Mister Sparks."

  "I love YOU -- Misses Sparks. God, I love you so much!"

  Tracey's childlike grin faded to a more serious look of urgency. "I have to go now, David... the music is starting! It sounds so sweet! It's all just as I imagined it would be!"

  "No, Tracey!" He ordered. "No, you can't go!"

  "But it's time, honey! It's time for me to go now!"

  "No! You can't go and leave me here! Don't you leave me here!" He paused to breathe, inhaling the salty clear fluid running down his face. "I'll go with you!"

  "But you CAN'T come with me, honey! You have to get to the altar, silly! I have to go... just let me go. I'll see you in just a little bit, okay?"

  "No!" He ordered again, but it was too late. "Baby?"

  "I love you," she said. His wife inhaled deeply, then slipped away in peace.

  "Come back!" He shouted through stabbing pain in his chest. "Come back! You can't go without me!" The stabbing was amplified now by a wrenching, his heart seizing as though squeezed in a vice. "PLEASE!"

  Looking to the heavens, the man roared in anguish and fury. His life had been defined by his relationship with this woman for the three most formative years of his adult life. They had emerged from their hormone charged college adolescence together, taking their first eager steps into real life side by side. Fears and apprehensions had been tamed by the courage born of their bond. Without her, he was nothing more than a worthless shell of a human being.

  Before him their dreams lie discarded like the cast-off flesh of some disgusting arthropod. A future filled with the laughter of children and nights spent in arms of cozy warmth emanating from the family hearth dissolved to cold nothingness in an instant when her heart stopped its rhythmic pumping. Tracey Sparks was dead, and she had taken with her everything that David valued on this Earth.

  He scooped her lifeless corpse into his arms and held her tightly to him, rocking her gently. Her sweet perfume lingered in the air, the powerful fumes of burning jet fuel shying away from the sacred space that was playing host to a mourning lover.

  "I won't do it, baby." He whispered into her vacant ear. "I won't go on without you." A grim realization came over him, its morbid nature lost on his numbed sense of the world. "I'll meet you there, baby! I'll meet you at the altar!"

  Lowering her gently to the floor he scanned the wreckage. He wasn't entirely sure what he hoped to find -- a gun, a rope, a razor, a stray bottle of pills. It seemed unlikely that he would spot a conventional implement of self inflicted death, but the search was on nonetheless.

  Hurling himself onto the shattered remnants of the glass walls was an option, but it seemed a painful concept that might not result in quick success. He considered casting his body into the furious blaze burning on the tarmac, but it was a good distance off and would likely require a running start. His physical pain was secondary now to the internal suffering he endured, but it still seemed a barrier he might not be able to overcome in his quest for an end to it all. Surely there was an out; an option that was acceptable and assured. The only obstacle was in finding it.

  "Help!" A familiar voice cried in the distance. "Please, somebody! Anybody!"

  David's eyes instinctively assumed a new search, this time for the source of the screaming. Towards the heart of the terminal they found Terry Jackson. His elderly face was filled with panic, his wife Michelle's frail frame clinging tightly to his side. The couple was pinned against a wall in the small coffee shop that had tempted David earlier with its sweet aromas. Much of the shop's false ceiling had collapsed, the rubble cornering the two of them in a tag-team effort with a sunglass hut that had been overturned and thrust into the open entrance to the cafe.

  Terry's gaze caught that of David, the man's face lighting up with recognition.

  "Mister Sparks!" He called to him. "Mister Sparks, we're trapped! You have to help us! Please!"

  Misses Jackson pulled her face from her husband’s chest and looked out to address this ray of hope.

  "David!" She cried. "David, please! We're afraid!"

  Sparks stared at them, then down at the lifeless body of Tracey. He was torn in this moment. The Jacksons needed him. but his wife needed him too. They were in danger in the realm of the living; she may have been lost in the oblivion beyond.

  A scream from Michelle drew David's attention back to the couple. She and her husband were looking towards what had been the service counter of the shop where an orange glow had appeared. Something had caught fire.

  Terry struggled to break the two of them free from their captivity, thrashing at the hunks of drywall and twisted aluminum surrounding them. Every move he made seemed to bring more white flakes of plaster down upon them, more rubble into the small space that they occupied.

  The glow intensified, the flammable building materials spawning a deadly blaze that would likely consume them both in short order.

  "Mister Sparks?" Terry called to the man as he looked down at Tracey again. "You can't help her now! She's in God's hands -- we're in YOURS. Please help us!"

  David surveyed the two situations before him again, confused at what to do. The Jacksons glowed with life, his wife growing cold in death. He made a decision within his heart, though it pained him greatly to do so. He caressed the face of his fallen angel once again and planted a kiss on her clammy cheek.

  "Wait for me, baby." He whispered to her. "Wait for me, and I'll be there for you."

  Terry watched the man saying goodbye and wondered what it must've been like for him. Michelle had been by his side every minute of every day for over fifty years. The thought of losing her - worse yet, watching her die - was incomprehensible. The Jacksons were old; they had already seen their time come and go. It seemed entirely unfair that life had been interrupted so tragically for the young Sparks family.

  Had the old man possessed the power to reverse the roles of the two of them, he would've done so without hesitation. That was not to be, however. Despite the suffering taking place in the distance, Terry was obliged to take care of himself and his own wife at this moment. To do that, he needed to get David Sparks to abandon his fallen bride.

  "Dave." He called to the grieving husband. "We need your help, Dave! We need you to help us get out of here -- right now!"

  Sparks had already resigned himself to leaving Tracey behind. Deciding to do so and actually following through with that conviction, however, were separate matters. He sighed, the sensations of his physical pain returning to the forefront. Running his hand across her face one last time, he turned to the Jacksons.

  "I don't think that I can walk!" He explained. "My ribs are broken - my legs are numb!"

  "Your ribs have nothing to do with your legs, Dave." Terry tried to sooth him. "You need to get up -- get up now, and walk!"

  Sparks summoned every bit of his fortitude and tried to lift himself to his knees. "Yeow!" He cried, collapsing back to his chest. "It's no good! I'm sorry, I can't help you!"

  "Damn it, Dave!" Jackson shouted. "Knock it off with this pity party and get your ass up!" Terry drew on his seasoned parental instincts as he applied a firm hand to the younger man. "I don't want to hear 'I can't,' son, because you can! You can and you must! Right now! Get up, damn
it! Get up NOW!"

  Dave tried again hesitantly, the pain taunting him; daring him to try to stand. Having lifted himself onto all fours he nearly folded again, but a new resolve took hold when he locked eyes with the old woman.

  Michelle Jackson was terrified. There was a helplessness in her horror that gripped at Sparks' soul. She seemed to feel the icy breath of the reaper upon her shoulder, the killer drawing closer each time she watched David collapse in his weakness. The grand babies she had been so eager to meet would remain faceless voids in her heart. The care she had taken to live well with health in mind for so many years would prove to have been in vain when the fire ravaged her body. Without the help of David Sparks, Michelle would die a terrible and empty death.

  She didn't deserve that. Dave couldn't allow it to happen simply because he was suffering himself. He would rise above himself in this moment. For once in his life, he would exalt the chains of his selfish nature and sacrifice for the well being of someone else. He would save the Jacksons... in spite of the pain.

  "That's it!" Terry encouraged as David fought his way to his knees. "That's perfect, keep on now!"

  The man planted one foot on the ground and braced himself with his hands. Jackson cheered him on like a father prodding his son to take the first ride after removing training wheels from his bike. Placing his other foot to squat, David fought off the discomfort and extended his legs. He staggered once vertical, but quickly balanced his equilibrium and stood on firm footing.

  "Great job! Now walk! Walk to us, Dave!"

  Michelle smiled as he closed on them, turning occasionally to examine the growing orange glow. Sparks would reach them, but clearing a path for their escape in time seemed unlikely to be in the cards. She could feel the heat of the flame now, and smoke was overtaking the nook in which they existed. She wrapped her thin arms around her husband's belly, unable to bring her hands together around its girth.

  His body rattled as he shouted more encouragement to their would-be savior, the vibration comforting Michelle as she rested the side of her head against his back. She closed her eyes and tried to escape this moment.

  Her mind took her away to a place of peace. She found herself in church, singing from her core of joy in The Lord along with the members of her congregation.

  "There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole; there is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul." Her voice rose with her empowered spirit to the rafters of the temple, Christ watching over his people from his perch upon the cross.

  David had started tossing aside debris and throwing his body against the wreckage of the sunglass hut blocking their escape. Terry tried to help as well he could despite his being pinned in place. Still, the light of God filled Michelle and kept her from this gruesome place around her.

  "Sometimes I feel discouraged, and feel my work's in vain." She sang. "But then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again."

  David's shirt briefly caught fire as he threw flaming boards from the structure, but he quickly snuffed it out with the beating of his hand. The flames were growing taller, the smoke suffocating the aged couple. Terry hacked violently as his lungs burnt inside, but Michele seemed unscathed as she witnessed through her song.

  "If you can't preach like Peter, if you can't pray like Paul; just tell the love of Jesus, and say he died for all."

  With a Herculean shove Dave dislodged the hut from its resting place. Terry fell forward as it moved, opening the route to freedom. He continued to gasp for air on the ground, Sparks kneeling at his side to offer aid. Michelle stepped gracefully over the charred wood and plaster at her feet, her face still alight with an otherworldly serenity.

  "There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole;" She continued as she floated off to the body of Tracey.

  David watched her move, her sweet voice caressing his heart. She lowered herself by his wife's side, lifting the lifeless arms to place Tracey's hands over her heart.

  Terry sat up as he cleared the last of the soot from his lungs. He too looked upon Michelle in her splendor, not noticing Dave's move toward the conveyors. He had spotted something there; the body of a TSA agent slumped over the railing of the walkway. He rolled it sharply, dropping it to the floor.

  "There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul." Michelle praised, nudging Tracey's mouth closed and sliding the lids down over her blank green eyes.

  Both women were at peace there, together. The living and the dead. There was a oneness between them that was awesome in its gravity. In the midst of the mayhem around them; the chaotic battle between pain and passing unfolding as far as the eye could see. There they were together, even if worlds apart.

  Terry flinched but Michelle held firm when they heard the pop. It was almost like she had known it was coming; as though she felt it building behind her. She stood and turned slowly to greet him there. Her husband swiveled his head as well but, in contrast to Michelle, was notably stunned at what he beheld.

  David Sparks stood there in the distance, a single tear running from his eye as he gazed upon his wife. His right arm was crooked and raised, grasping the pistol he'd found and turned toward his head. He held it steady there, smoke rising from it eerily.

  There was no malfunction; no misfire that spared his life. When he pulled his trigger the weapon had reacted. The hammer had slid back and struck the charge with might. The powder had ignited and unleashed its explosive fury on the slug. The bullet had traveled the chamber at an incredible velocity, leaving the gun as it should on its way to the man's brain.

  It had been stopped in its path, however... caught, in fact; just outside of David Sparks' ear. Water welled in Terry's eyes at the sight so glorious. Beside David stood The Lord; a hunk of fiery lead held in his hand.

  Chapter 9