The Rapture Dialogues: Dark Dimension (The Second Coming Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry James

  “We need to find out, don’t we?” Lori said.

  “Yes. I guess we do.”

  “I’m out of school for another ten days,” she said.

  “I won’t have to get back to my home base until a week from today,” he said, glancing at Lori, who looked straight ahead.

  Silence ruled inside the little car for a minute. Lori spoke, finally.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at her, puzzled by her suddenly speaking.

  “What?” he said.

  “The answer is yes. I definitely do like you.”

  She would take him up I-35 to New Braunfels and introduce him to some “real German food,” Lori promised just before they parted 30 minutes earlier. He would eat escargot still wiggling, he thought, if it meant he could do so sitting across from her, looking at her all afternoon.

  He picked up the training manuals from the chair and plopped them on the small tabletop near the bed. The manuals--when would there be time to study them?

  He would rise early and get in a couple of hours on the simulator studies to be prepared for Monday’s sessions. He had managed to convince his CO that he needed the training, and that Randolph was the place to get it. Now, he would have to produce some results to show the old man.

  He splashed his face with water, while the reason for his being allowed the Randolph TDY ran through his thoughts.

  The growing need to integrate Tactical Air Command’s advanced weapons with the latest instrument flying technology made Capt. Mark Lansing’s TDY choice easy for the commanding officer to approve. TAC was on a fast track timeline to get as many pilots as possible into theater. Mark was chosen by the Marine Corps to be an exchange pilot between the Corps and the Air Force. He was, in effect, the prototype in anticipation of integrating more pilots of the various armed services. He could not disappoint TAC--or the Corps.

  He brushed his teeth and stretched out on the bed, still in the pants he had worn most of the day. Almost before his head touched the pillow he had fluffed, he sat up. He would at least have a quick look at one of the manuals, he decided.

  He retrieved the 2-inch thick paperback book and lay back down. He read the same paragraph for the third time and knew it would be a fruitless effort. His eyelids grew heavier by the second, and he laid the manual aside.

  He removed his socks and pants and flung them at the chair several feet away. After turning out the lamp on the small nightstand, he stretched back and pulled the covers to his chest.

  He had just begun the descent into sleep when his senses burst to full alertness. His surroundings filled with a dim greenish glow that illuminated the whole room. Attempting to sit upright, he found he was unable to move even his now wide-open eyelids.

  Another trance! Only this time he was fully conscious, aware of every nuance of what was happening to him.

  The paralysis relaxed its grip, and he was able to move his head to a position that allowed him to peer into the fog-like glow. A voice spoke, at first in volume that was barely audible. It grew louder and was in a language he didn’t understand. It sounded like Hebrew, the same as the tape he and Lori had taken to be interpreted.

  Why was he now so completely in control of his thoughts? Rarely did the trance-like states allow for more than a few seconds of lucid thought. He understood everything happening now, while he heard the voice and saw the mass form somewhere in the pale greenish light.

  Though the voice continued speaking a language foreign to him, his mind translated the words. It had never happened like this before, he thought, while the form of a dark, human-like figure coalesced in the eerie mist.

  “Mark. It is me. It is your father, Mark,” the deep, throaty words were spoken in a mechanized drone.

  Dad?! Could it be?

  He strained to see something he could recognize within the black, rolling mass that was the face, highlighted by a sliver-thin line of light. No detectable features. Just a cloud-like, rolling boil of smooth, black nothingness.

  He tried to call out to his father, tried to shout, “Dad!” He could manage only a whimper within his own mind. Again, the paralysis seized him. He could only stare into the human-shaped storm within the glow.

  “We, you, I, and a few others have been chosen,” the voice said in what must be Hebrew, Mark thought. At the same time his mind translated, the words gripped his emotions as he remembered the father he hadn’t seen since he was seven years old.

  “You will be contacted, son. You must do what they ask,” the voice continued, as translated somehow by his cognitive processor.

  “This is reality, Mark. It is not a dream. You will know. It will be validated when the time is right.”

  Mark’s brain began shutting down. His eyes started to involuntarily close while he felt the blackness engulfing him just before his mind slammed shut to the world around him.

  Chapter 5

  Laura joined the singing of “It is Well with My Soul” at the chorus. It was a soothing anthem, its words seeming to soften her edginess while she sang.

  “It is well…with my soul. It is well, it is well…with my soul.”

  When the congregation began the next stanza, the door to the right of the choir opened and the young Presbyterian minister, in full-robed splendor, walked to the front of the choir and stood, joining them and the congregation on the next chorus.

  Laura had been a Christian for only a few months and a member of the church for even less time, but she felt like these people were her life-long family members. James and Lori were happy for her but refused to join her. She didn’t push. She prayed, instead, that they would one day decide to join her.

  James always said that he believed in God, but he wasn’t ready to sit and listen about “hell fire” just yet. He would, he said, come see what all the Bible talk was about when it came closer to time for needing an asbestos suit. He would take out the preacher’s fire insurance policy then.

  Her daughter…Laura felt guilty. She hadn’t taken Lori to Sunday school when she was a little girl. Or even read her stories from the Bible. Laura had attended church on special occasions throughout the years. Lori had accompanied her a few of those times--on Easter and Christmas--but said that church wasn’t for her. That God would judge her fairly. She wasn’t too bad, Lori had joked. She said she would take her chances.

  The cavernous echoing of the pipe organ sounds lifted her spirits every time she heard them, and they roared with magnificence now, punctuating the final words of the hymn in sync with each word from the congregation: “It is well with my soul!”

  When the singing was done, and announcements were made, Rev. Christopher Banyon ascended the few steps to the carved oak pulpit. He gripped the lectern on either side and began in the familiar strong voice.

  “My dear, wonderful people of St. Paul Presbyterian Church. Your pastor comes today to confess a sin of omission. I humbly ask your forgiveness.”

  There was a rustle in the pews, the women fidgeting nervously, glancing at each other and straightening to hear the young pastor’s next words. The men, for the most part, were stoic, their concentration totally on the preacher’s face.

  Laura was afraid this was the announcement she didn’t want to hear--that he was being transferred to another pastorate. She, too, fidgeted a bit before she settled to listen.

  “I confess to you, as I already have to our Father in Heaven...” He paused, as if to gather strength for the words he must say.

  “I have been slack in delivering to you the whole word of the Living God.”

  Banyon scanned his audience, lowered his eyes in thought, and again looked across the congregation.

  “The Lord has told me…that is, He has spoken to my spirit, in my quiet time of prayer and study of His Word, the Bible.”

  The young pastor straightened, and spoke with increased confidence, as if suddenly infused with new determination.

  “We have, that is, the world has, entered the time of the end. God’s prophetic truth must, witho
ut dilution, without hesitation, be proclaimed here, now, beginning with this congregation of St. Paul Presbyterian Church!”

  An uneasy shuffling, mumbling sound rippled softly through the pews. What was this? Prophecy?

  “I know, I know…” the pastor said in calming tones. “We’ve never even read from the Book of the Revelation or from some of the Old Testament books of the prophets. It’s a totally unheard-of concept.”

  He paused before he spoke, his voice taking on the intonation of a much older, more seasoned preacher.

  “The Lord has told me, convicted me in my very core being, that all is not well with my soul, as we sang a few moments ago.”

  He scanned each face again. “All will not be well with our souls--yours and mine--until we determine to get into the whole Word of God, including the Lord’s words on prophecy yet future. Beginning here. Beginning now. We shall begin learning what our denomination and most others have shunned. We will look into eschatology…and that’s just a fancy word for end-time things. Because, my brothers and sisters of St. Paul, it is my belief that we are indeed very near the time when God will intervene into the affairs of man like He did in past ages.”

  Rev. Banyon opened the big Bible in front of him on the podium.

  “Turn to the Book of St. Luke, chapter 17.”

  When the paper rustling quieted, Banyon spoke again.

  “The words of the Lord Jesus. St. Luke, chapter 17, verse 26: ‘And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man.’”

  James Morgan drank from the glass containing three jiggers of Jack Daniel that had been poured over two ice cubes. He had been at it again the night before. The sleepwalking, the mumbled words were coming with more frequency.

  Hebrew, Greek. What was that all about? The words that said in Hebrew, then in Greek--ancient Hebrew, and ancient Greek at that--that there was coming a “taking away.”

  Part of his agitation was due to his lack of sound sleep. Part, maybe most, stemmed from Mark Lansing bringing his daughter into this…whatever it was.

  He downed the whiskey, set the glass on the table, and vowed that was to be his only drink of the day. It did, in fact, seem to calm him a bit, and he thought that now some dry toast might soothe his indigestion.

  He wished for Laura. He needed her stroking, her loving gentleness. But she was doing the thing she truly loved more and more these days. She loved that church, loved hearing the young preacher spouting whatever he spouted. It was good for her. He would never discourage her from going to the church. And he was grateful that she wasn’t the type to nag him, to preach to him about joining her on Sunday mornings.

  What about Mark Lansing?

  Obviously, he was an outstanding fighter pilot and an officer with great promise. But he didn’t hesitate to get his little girl involved in something she didn’t have any business getting involved in. It was reckless of him.

  He felt the first tingle of the drink. He welcomed it, because it brought relief to his sleep-deprived nerves.

  What was the connection? Could it be his own sleepwalking and weird mumblings to Mark Lansing’s trances, if that’s what they were?

  Had to have something to do with the incident with Clark and the disks in 1947…but what?

  What about the boy’s dream, or whatever it was last night? Sounded stranger than even his own episode.

  Mark told him all about it before Mark and Lori had left for New Braunfels. How it wasn’t like a dream. It was, the boy said, as real as standing there telling Lori and him about it.

  Said it was Clark--his father--talking to him. But in a strange voice. Like the voice on the recorder the professor had translated.

  Hebrew, then Greek. What did it mean?

  Mark said he understood all of this…dream…vision, or whatever it was. Said it was in a language he didn’t know--probably the ancient Hebrew the professor talked about--but that he understood it perfectly.

  Said the thing, the human-like form who said he was Mark’s father, told him he would know beyond a doubt that it was real, that he would be contacted.

  What did it all mean?

  His ruminations snapped to a close when the doorbell rang.

  “Col. Morgan,” the taller of the two men said, producing a leather card wallet, which he opened and showed James.

  “We’re with the Presidential Mobile Ops.”

  “Secret Service?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the perfectly groomed man in the dark blue suit. “May we come in?”

  “Sure. What’s this about?”

  The shorter man said, while he followed Morgan and his partner into the living room, “It’s about your relationship with Capt. Mark Lansing, sir.”

  “What about it?”

  “We’ve been sent by a…” the taller agent said, looking without expression into James’ eyes, “…a group within a certain clandestine services entity. They are concerned that you’ve become too involved in giving Capt. Lansing information he has no need to know.”

  “You see, Colonel,” the other man interjected, “there are things involved that must not go beyond a select circle of people within certain agencies.”

  “You’re talking about these dreams and visions we’re both having?”

  The agents said nothing, but stared at Morgan, who said, “How can I tell him anything that’s going on. I have no idea myself!”

  “All the more reason to keep quiet,” said the taller agent. “These are matters of top security concerns, Colonel, I assure you.”

  “It’s the disks.”

  James Morgan’s words cut the air between him and the agents, who let them hang there for several seconds.

  The shorter agent said, “No one has said anything about … disks.”

  “Then what the…” Morgan calmed himself. “What is it all about?”

  “We can’t say more for now. Will you come with us, sir? There’s someone who needs to speak with you,” the taller man said.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “We aren’t here to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, sir,” the other man said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just a few miles. To Randolph, sir,” the tall, dark-haired agent said in a solemn tone.

  Neither of them was thinking of food. They sat at the little German restaurant picking at the cuisine for which the small town was noted.

  “You’re sure it wasn’t a nightmare? You said it wasn’t like the other…whatever they are…”

  Lori watched Mark while he picked at the wiener schnitzel. He shook his head with a negative nod.

  “I don’t know, Lori. It was different, in that I understood fully every word. I mean, I knew it was the Hebrew language…sounded like the same Hebrew form that your dad spoke on the tape. But I understood in English. In the other trances, I rarely understand anything at the time. I sometimes remember bits and pieces afterward.”

  “And, you’re sure it was your father?”

  “Not at all.” He sat forward, his elbows on the table.

  “It was in that strange, growly voice, like your father’s voice on the tape. But for some reason, I did sense it was my dad.”

  “Do you think this is some kind of mind alteration, or something like that?” Lori said, moving the food around on her plate, but not eating.

  “If it was just a nightmare, it was the most realistic I’ve ever had. But, I don’t know why anyone would choose me to manipulate my mind.”

  “You said the figure that claimed to be your father said you would be given proof? That he is alive, that you must work together in some way?”

  “Crazy, huh? Maybe that’s a reason somebody might want to use mind control--to get me involved in something or the other,” Mark said, feeling his stomach growl with queasiness not unlike he felt when taking an F-4 into a sudden dive.

  “The figure, whomever, whatever, he--it--was, said I would be contacted.”

  Both were silent for sev
eral moments.

  “Then I guess there’s nothing we can do for now. We’ll just have to wait and see if you’re contacted,” Lori said, her upbeat tone suggesting she was going to take the conversation in a more desirable direction.

  Rev. Christopher Banyon thundered with passion completely foreign to his soft-spoken way.

  “The times of Noah just before God judged mankind in the Great Flood were filled with evil and perversion. Our day is rapidly reaching the same state of vileness!”

  The congregation sat in a fearful state of concentration upon the young man who punctuated the air with his right fist. The huge, gaping sleeve of the gray and burgundy robe swung wildly while he made his points.

  “The angels of darkness came down to earth. They saw human women. They had sexual relations with them at every opportunity. The result was a hybrid offspring that literally corrupted the bloodline, the genetic make-up of humanity.”

  His voice quieted, and he paused, tightly gripping the lectern’s top on either side.

  “The Lord had to destroy all but the eight people who had not been touched by the contamination.”

  Laura Morgan, like the others, never had heard the young pastor speak with such power. As if he was being used somehow by the Lord above to channel His words.

  “My denomination doesn’t accept this view. Most seminaries of most denominations do not accept this view. But God has shown me, through His Word, through my prayer and meditation…”

  Banyon paused, looking around at the faces that looked to him to be frozen in time and place.

  “…that this is the true account of the Genesis, chapter 6 story. It was not a purely human evil that caused God to have to intervene directly by sending the global flood to cleanse the earth. It was the direct contact with humans by Lucifer’s fallen angels that caused the need for the elimination of all flesh, all people who lived on the planet, except Noah and his family.”