"My God." Jennings uttered, his voice cracking with grief so incomprehensible it threatened to cast him off the cliffs of sanity. "What's happened here?"
After his experience in the Sutter's home he had appeared here, at the doors of his parish. He surveyed the hallowed hall in which he'd spent nearly fifteen years preaching the word of The Lord with a heavy heart. It was in shambles; nearly destroyed. The Old Church, as it was known by its parishioners, had been a centuries-old monument to the power of faith just a week ago when its minister had left for an excursion to Siberia. Very little remained of it, now.
The exquisite rosewood pews were strewn about the place, most broken and burnt like blackened cork. The celebrated stained glass murals, born at the legendary hand of William Warrington, had been reduced to sparkling chips of leadlight that crunched under the preacher's feet. The glorious vaulted rafters were buckled, the southern side collapsed entirely where the building's historic cobblestone walls had cracked and toppled at knee height, allowing entrance to the blizzard that raged outside.
With Cameron Jennings at the helm, Trinity Redeemer had welcomed every soul that sought respite from nature's fury in days gone by. Now, however, for the first the time in the history of this particular house of worship, there were unwelcomed guests within its halls. Flakes of snow had reclaimed this place for the great Mother and taunted him, discounting the work that had consumed his heart. They had cried so loudly in winters past; forming unions of fluffy solidarity that begged the aged roof to open a path to their salvation.
For years they had been denied entrance at every turn, but in the hour of man's demise they had taken arms against the intrepid rampart and brought it to its knees. The elements owned this place, now. The Old Church was stripped of all its glory. It had become home only to the cold and the dead.
As he walked the great aisle he remembered the faces of those that had marched in ceremony to meet him at the altar. In his mind he could faintly smell the flowers that had adorned the chancel on the wedding day of Kay Rose.
He remembered the beaming smile she wore, her teeth as white as her gown, as she was escorted to her suitor on the petals of roses and other fragrant morsels. She was so beautiful... so full of life and eager to spread her wings. Approaching his toppled pulpit he saw that it was stained with blood, reminding him of the trail Kay had left on the wall when her lifeless body had fallen into Denisa's lap.
Cameron shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the haunting image. He tried to recall all of the fond memories he had built in this space, fighting to block out the terrifying events of his experience at the compound. This was easier conceived than carried out, however, amidst the rubble of his past life.
Summoning his strength, he righted the podium from which he had delivered so many inspirational sermons. The purple pulpit fall was heavily soiled with blood, still wet to the touch. It painted his hands as he folded it neatly, laying it atop the lectern. The heavy stone slabs of the church's overturned altar were too large for him to move by himself, so he simply picked up the dented brass libation bowl and twisted candelabras that had stood upon it and arranged them neatly before his pulpit.
Assuming his usual position upon the mount, he looked out and beheld his ghostly kingdom. Envisioning the place filled with the friends he once knew, he raised his arms at his sides and spoke from memory in his projecting tone, the remaining walls returning his echo.
"In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened. The angel said to them, Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths, lying in a manger. And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased."
The preacher looked down to his lectern instinctually, deep gouges in the wood catching his eye. The abrasions in the grain were rigid and uneven, as though someone or something had been viciously hacked away at upon its surface. Torment took hold of him again, the wood morphing in his mind to flesh bearing cuts and punctures like those he had inflicted on the back of Jim Walker; the work of his shattered Champaign dagger. His heart grew numb, his soul retching at what he'd done. It didn't make sense to him, now.
In his work as a neurosurgeon, there had been times in the operating theater at which it seemed a greater power worked through his Earthly hands to restore the lives of countless patients. The sensation that had swept over him deep within the cavern when he took Walker's life was much the same, but the consequences of that lapse in control weighed far greater on his conscious than any that had come before.
How did it happen? Why?
What, in the realm of God, could justify what he had done that day? What dark and hidden part of him was capable of carrying out such a calloused act? Why was that schism triggered in the presence of The Lord?
It happened when Darius took to the sky, striking his Jesus Christ pose and looking to the father as though he were driving the nails. Then it had spoken the word... Parousia.
In Jennings' seminary education he came to understand the gravity of this term. It represented the Second Advent of Christ... a happening that was whispered about in every Christian congregation for the better part of the two-thousand years. It was the power of that moment that had moved Cameron Jennings... that had driven him to kill.
"They didn't understand!" He shouted aloud, slamming his fist upon the lectern. Closing his tortured eyes, he continued to address the air with passion. "They were so engrossed in their militaristic mindsets! Governed by the evil of their egos and some demented self-righteousness! They saw only some malfunction! Some mistake they'd made! Did they even consider that it could be something more? Something greater than themselves? NO!" Another slam of his fist. "They sought to destroy it; to destroy Him! I could not allow that to happen... I had to stop them... for the good of the world... I did what I had to do."
The man sighed at this revelation; feeling a sense of justification in his deeds along with a realization that it was all a bunch of bullshit. There was no rationalization of his actions that could be reconciled with his faith. He had killed a brother amongst men to spare the machine that had just slaughtered several of his friends. To what end?
If this were indeed The Christ - surely it was a miracle. Walker had died trying to initiate an EMP designed to destroy a machine. Certainly, he figured now, the power of The Lord could have overcome a pulse generated by the science of men. Was the man's murder necessary? If not, why hadn't Darius stopped him? If he had to be stopped, why didn't the Lord make use of his seemingly infinite powers to do so while sparing the man's life?
Jennings didn't doubt the abilities Darius possessed. The actions of the Horsemen, the trip through the never, the walk along the shore... the healing and revival of the Sutter family. All were miracles within themselves, all requiring a divine touch beyond the spectrum of what is natural. Darius was, indeed, an anointed force; but was he who he claimed to be?
The teachings of Christ known through the gospel seemed to contradict so much of what the machine had allowed to happen. This understanding brought to mind more verses which spilled from Cameron's lips as he pondered.
"Matthew 24... These false Christs will perform great signs and are no ordinary people; for they are spirits of demons, which go out to the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to battle that great day of God Almighty." He paused, more verses overwhelming his mind. "Revelations 16... Satan's angels will also appear as godly clergymen. Corinthians 11... For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming t
hemselves into apostles of Christ. And no wonder! For Satan himself transforms into an angel of light. Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also transform themselves into ministers of righteousness, whose end will be according to their works."
Jennings turned to face the cross; fallen from its mount, the wood splintered and cracked, the stone visage of The Lord broken in pieces upon the floor. Picking up the heavy head of Christ, Cameron looked into its suffered eyes.
"Father, have you forsaken me as well?" He said to the righteous bust. "Have I been delivered unto the hand of evil itself? In my zeal to deliver the world, have I damned it? Was I right to assume that you have again dispatched your son to work your deeds - or am I deceived by the Prince of Darkness? I seek only to do your will, Father, whatever it might be. If I am to kill in your name, I will bare that cross... but if I spite you through my gullibility, I -- I don't know that my soul can withstand the penance. I pray for guidance, but I fear I cannot trust the voices I that may respond. Please, God... please let my hand be true."
A frigid wind blew across his face as he prayed, a wisp of snow dancing over the cross. He watched for a sign in this movement; some showing of intentions from the almighty. He saw nothing to move his spirit. Perhaps there was no sign, he thought... or perhaps there was, but he was blinded to the light by his sin.
He kissed the lips of the hardened Lord, then placed him on the pulpit to look out upon his home. Taking the blood soaked cloth from underneath, he walked towards the sacristy. There was Holy Water there, with which he would cleanse the vestment. He would rinse his hands as well; wash them vigorously in the guise of Pontius Pilate, and pray for the soul of his fallen friend.
No sooner than had he opened the sacristy door was he blinded by a brilliant flash of light. Inside, before the sacrarium, stood The Lord draped in his flowing white robes.
He seemed strangely stiff, his eyes familiar. This led Jennings to look back to his lectern, noticing immediately that the stone bust with which he had conversed was missing now, as were the other pieces of the idol that had been scattered on the floor.
"You doubt me?" The statue questioned him, his voice sounding more sinister and commanding than it had when they walked side by side along the shore. It sounded mighty; almost angry, now. "You doubt the wonder of God?"
Jennings recoiled, uncertain and unsteady.
"I do not doubt God." He returned.
"Yet you doubt the word of his son?"
"No..." He continued, feeling emboldened in the realm of his temple. "But I doubt what I have beheld... that it is the work of The Messiah."
"Then you doubt me. The Christ."
"I do not doubt The Christ. I ponder the origin of your spirit, for I am not sure that you are what you say."
"As I said, then -- you doubt me."
"And if I do?" He asked. "What will become of me then? Will you strike me down? Will you curse me to Hell?"
"You are chosen, Cameron Jennings. I see the road before you; the pitfalls and the summits. I do not select a soul as my disciple without a clear knowledge of what part they will play in my plan. Still, you are a man unto your own. I have paved the way, but you must walk the path."
"And if I resist you? If I believe you are a demon?"
"Then you may rise up in my way. This choice is afforded to you. You must step cautiously, though, for we deal in the currency of eternity this day."
There was a long pause, The Lord simply staring at the priest. Jennings was waiting for more, but it became clear that none would come.
"That's it?" He asked. "You will not seek to convince me of your origin?"
"I shall offer no further explanation of my nature, for none is owed to you. I tend my herd with the staff, not the whip and dog. You will follow, or you will not."
"And how shall I make that determination?"
"By whatever means you wish - it is a matter for you alone."
"It would seem to me," he conceded. "That the decision has been made. I've shed the blood of friends for you... mortal sin stains me, now, as this blood upon my hands. If you are not of God, my fate is already sealed."
"But alas, your debt is paid, my son; tendered of your body."
Cameron ran his hand over what was his left eye, now just a patch of dried flesh.
"Yes," The Lord confirmed. "This is the penance for your crime. No sin goes unanswered in the kingdom of God, but the sweetness of a fruit cannot be judged merely by the texture of its skin. Forgiveness is divine; holy is our father. Your slate is cleaned... do what you will, now, before him."
"And what penance for your sin? For the lives of Kay, Aviram, Schlaff and the team?"
"I have killed no one."
"But you have!" He shouted. "I watched you!"
"These lives were extinguished by your machine; your flock came home to roost. You birthed unto this world a monster, and the monster reared its head."
"So you profess your innocence in their deaths? You wash your hands of their blood? What about Denisa? I heard a blast as I was carried off by your horsemen. I assume you activated her EMP... the one I killed Walker to spare you from. She told us that device would surely kill everyone in the lab."
"Not all is as it seems." He responded. "That fact will come to light along your path, which I shall set you upon now. You may choose your own route, but you will walk the path."
"So you say you did not activate the device?"
"I say not all is as it seems. I did activate the pulse, and I spread it across the face of all the Earth; clipping the wings of man. I have denied him his technology; his dominion over the Earth. This you will see when you begin along the road."
"What should I expect along this path of which you speak?"
"You will first witness the death of your society; with it will go the majority of your kind. It was begun with my appearance, and has already swept across the globe. The pieces are in aligned, the wheels are in motion. Your first duty is simply to behold; to document for the ages. Six months shall be spent as such. Then you shall reach for my disciples, of which you are one. Eleven are the others, nine shall I direct you to. Two you will find in slumber in the forest, where they shall have slept the entirety of the months. One more will be near them but separate, taking a stranger to be his own. The fourth and fifth wander the desert; you will find them there in chains. The sixth rallies the world, though a bubble in time confounds him. The seventh, eighth and ninth -a family- are comfortable at home; these you've already met before. When the time is right, you shall give them each direction."
"What direction am I to give?"
"This will become clear throughout your voyage. It will be born of your heart. You will shape the final chapter; the conclusion to the new gospel."
"That's quite a charge."
"It is yours to bare."
"Why should these people listen - to me, of all messengers? Why not gather them yourself?"
"I have touched each of their faces, but now you shall speak my tongue; their ears are tuned to its tone."
"How will I know these people? Surely they will be but a few among many."
"It will be clear to you, when you have come upon them."
"Why will I encounter only nine? What of the other two?"
"These shall remain mysterious, until I see fit to reveal them. Such is my will; the will of God himself, spoken before me."
Suddenly the light subsided, the flowing robe disappeared. All the pieces of The Lord fell to the ground in a heavy rain, again a broken pile of stone. Jennings signed himself with the cross, kissing the bloodied pulpit fall and approaching his sacrarium. Submerging the cloth and his reddened hands, he prayed for serenity in God.
Chapter 15
Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 14
