by Mark Vance
“We’re satisfied that you don’t need to know what really happened to the James Tyree Bomber Crew.” he mimicked, as the gravity of the subject matter embedded in his subconscious memory ceaselessly invades his thoughts. With an evolving sense of priorities, he doesn’t see those in the United States Government responsible for committing and covering up this heinous crime, as the principle antagonist. The adversary in his mind is more spiritual than earthly. It should not be surprising to anyone with adequate Biblical knowledge, that elements of the United States Government are actually under the control of satanic forces. The Bible clearly delineates that this world is the domain of the devil and that the majority of established bureaucracies around the world are evil, a la new Babylon. The lines in the spiritual battle between good and evil are clearly defined, and demonic forces have definite home court advantage. How to transpose the material embedded in his subconscious memory into something meaningful and enduring on behalf of the real Black Hameldon Bomber Crew still remains elusive. As an airline captain, he is expected to always have an answer at the ready, never to be without some kind of a plan. Sliding his seat all the way back and closing his eyes, he considers that degree of certainty to be polar opposite to the confusing reality of the spiritual dogfight at hand. For the next several minutes, he ponders the complex, unearthly puzzle he has inadvertently inherited, before exhaustion eventually overtakes him and he surrenders to much needed sleep.
He is awakened some time later by activity in the aisle next to him, as the flight attendants conduct the coach class meal service. Glancing at his watch, he realizes that he has been asleep almost two hours. As the fog of sleep slowly retreats, embedded images of the Black Hameldon Bomber immediately resurrect, and he resumes pondering the dilemma of a suitable course of action. It seems every waking moment since he left Black Hameldon, England has been consumed with finding an elusive solution to an ethereal puzzle, one that properly addresses his quandary from an eternal, Godly perspective. It’s not easy to rebound from the sudden realization that your presumed guardian angel is actually a demonic imitator committed to your ultimate destruction. Without the presence of Ray Wilkins however, he feels unsupported and suddenly quite vulnerable. Someone he thought was protecting him his entire life is no longer in that role, and he realizes how dependent he had become on that counterfeit entity. He is also concerned that the thin line between love and hate might expose him to serious retribution, and Ray Wilkins could become a threat to his welfare. Their lifetime relationship was predicated entirely on his gullibility, and outright acceptance of his role in an intricate, demonic scheme of mass deception.
Scanning his watch again, he calculates that with slightly more than four hours remaining, they must be near mid-ocean. The seat next to him is not occupied and none of the crew working the flight has recognized him, leaving the door to twenty questions about his visit to England firmly closed and locked. His phone conversation with Kay, before departing England, left him perplexed and skeptical regarding whether his spiritual victory was indeed decisive. Solving the mystery of the crash and sterilizing the crash site, didn’t seem to have lowered the level of spiritual activity at the Lacey residence. Wouldn’t those God forsaken television shows that purport to investigate and analyze spirit activity have a field day at the Lacey residence? For that matter, wouldn’t his employer be aghast at that kind of publicity involving one of its captains? He shudders at the thought of such a circus of ignorance and concludes unilaterally that there is no reservoir of spiritual insight and sanity aside from the Word of God. From his conversation with Kay, he begins to realize that winning a spiritual battle is going to be quite different than winning a spiritual war. His embedded memories regarding the Black Hameldon Bomber represent a high stakes moral dilemma, but the threat of future spiritual conflict with over a dozen enraged satanic beings remains a very real threat in the short term.
His attention is suddenly drawn to activity in the aisle next to him. What appears to be an ordinary, male passenger brushes past him hurriedly, seemingly heading for the mid-cabin lavatory a few steps beyond. At the lavatory door, the passenger stops, turns and glares menacingly at him. Meeting the stranger’s gaze, he suddenly realizes that he is staring into the sunken, haunting eyes of James Tyree, the apparition of the Black Hameldon Bomber’s command pilot. Steve’s concern for what might await him upon arrival in Atlanta is now pushed to the back burner. Demonic impersonators of the Black Hameldon Bomber Crew are aboard his home bound jetliner and they are not feigning any kind of camaraderie or forgiveness.
He returns the entity’s menacing gaze for several seconds, and deliberately stifles his reaction as James Tyree’s eyes transition to a deep, glowing red. The ominous figure then enters the aircraft lavatory and closes the door behind him. Steve is transfixed on the lavatory door for the next several minutes, but there is no sign of any movement. Then, he watches in horror as a mother and child approach the mid-cabin lavatory from the opposite direction. He can only imagine what evil awaits such innocence within the confined aircraft lavatory compartment. Desperate to protect the innocent, he is on the verge of physically throwing himself into the lavatory ahead of them, and is therefore dumbfounded when the mother and child nonchalantly enter the aircraft lavatory and exit with no apparent concern a few minutes later. He has a spiritual epiphany at that very moment, 33,000 feet above the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He realizes that his spiritual battle is obviously far from over, and that the battle will be fought mostly in his mind. If he can take his own thoughts captive, as the Apostle Paul suggested, the power of the dark side will be greatly diminished.
The timing of his epiphany is crucial, for in the blink of an eye, the unoccupied seat next to him is filled with a tearful, little girl, holding a teddy bear and asking mournfully,“do you know where my mommy is?”
He observes the little girl without comment, carefully assessing her dubious legitimacy, before committing to any kind of a response.
“I don’t know you or your mommy.” he replies sternly. “Perhaps the father of lies is your father too.” he charges, watching the little girl’s eyes turn fiery red as her voice changes to a low pitched, menacing snarl.
“What’s the matter Lacey? You aren’t afraid of a little girl are you?” the satanic voice taunted, as the figure of the little girl gnashed its teeth violently and offered him an inhuman, unearthly sneer, before abruptly vanishing from sight.
“This is going to be a long four hours.” he said sarcastically, peering guardedly in all directions. “I’d really hate to see any of this get back to the crew room. I’ll be the talk of the airline.”
“Are you interested in a meal, sir?” one of the flight attendants interjected, temporarily suspending his mental jousting with the spirit world.
“Sure. Why not?” he replied, smiling halfheartedly and lowering his tray table in response. The normally unappealing airline food looked downright palatable after the English fare he had endured for the last few days. Based on previous experience, normality also seemed to be an important weapon in the arsenal during periods of spiritual conflict. “In abnormal times, do normal things.” he stated philosophically, readying himself to eat.
Just as he is about to begin the meal, his action is interrupted by a deep, booming voice over his right shoulder.
“Hey … Steve Lacey! I thought that was you! You aren’t really going to eat that airline bilge are you son?” the voice cajoled. “I thought I trained you better than that.”
“Bob Swanson?” he exclaimed dumbfounded, as his long time mentor dropped heavily into the empty seat beside him.
“What on Earth are you doing here?” Swanson asked inquisitively. “Do you have family or business in England?”
Steve does not respond, but stares at the man coolly in detached silence, scrutinizing him in intricate detail and critically assessing his legitimacy.
“What’s the matter, Steve? You act like you’ve seen a ghost! Don’t you remember me? �
� Swanson asked. “You aren’t too good for your old buddy now that you have a captain bid on the heavy iron are you?”
“No.” Steve replied, stoically.
“Well, what is it old buddy? Cat got your tongue?” Swanson teased.
“Not exactly. It’s just that I remember being a pall bearer at your funeral two years ago.” he replied bluntly, watching the would be impostor snarl as it hissed savagely, in like fashion to the little girl, before also abruptly vanishing.
“Is anybody on here real?” he asked rhetorically.
“I’m real.” the lady across the aisle declared, smiling seductively at him.
“Congratulations.” he replied, ignoring the strange, flirtatious woman as he carefully surveyed the other inhabitants of the aircraft’s coach section.
“What exactly are you looking for?” she persisted. “Maybe I can help you find it.”
“I don’t think so.” he said dismissively. “I know exactly what I’m looking for and where I can find it.”
“Then perhaps we should just start with an introduction. My name is Nora.”
“Really?” he replied sarcastically.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” she asked with contrived innocence.
“It’s a long story with a sad ending.” he replied, deliberately remaining dismissive and aloof.
“We don’t land for at least three more hours. I’d love to hear it if you’d like to share it with me.” she suggested.
“It’s not for public consumption … sorry.” he replied, continually scanning the coach class cabin for anything out of the ordinary.
“That’s too bad. May I ask you just one thing before I leave you alone? Do you know anyone killed in a fire?” she inquired with a wicked, psychotic grin, as he watched her eyes redden and her face contort to a repulsive death mask.
In response, he steels himself to avoid appearing unnerved, even though this time, the entity does not retreat, but remains seated directly across the aisle from him, offering an unwavering, psychotic grin, and demonic gaze.
“What’s your end game here?” he demanded. “I’ll never do whatever you and your friends want me to do.”
“Never is a long time.” the female entity growled.
“You’ll probably spend it staring at me. What is it you freaks want? A fight? Don’t you have anything better to do?” he taunted.
“No … this is what we do. You seem to forget …we had an agreement. We gave you what you wanted, but you didn’t give us what we wanted. Now, we want what we gave you back.” the entity declared emphatically.
“And just how are we going to arrange that?” he demanded, glaring at the female entity with a High Noon stare.
“The mental transference process works both ways.” the entity said flatly. “With us all together again, we could easily take back what we gave you. If not, perhaps we could just take you out!”
“Forget it.” he declared. “You lied and manipulated me for years! I owe you nothing! Maybe I can’t rock your world, but I know someone that can. I rebuke all of you in the name of Jesus of Nazareth! In His holy name, I demand that all of you vacate this airplane immediately! Get behind me Satan!”
Instantly, the seat occupied by the demonic female entity is emptied as Steve watches her disappear. He then pauses for several seconds to catch his breath, lower his pulse rate, and carefully assess the spiritual battlefield.
“They want their money back. Well, the Lacey’s don’t give refunds!” he snarled, eyeing the airline meal before him and contemplating his next move. The meal looked cold, dry, and utterly inedible, perfect sustenance for the strangest airline flight of his entire life. “Thank you, Father for the blessing of this meal.” he prayed, before directing his attention to the meal offering in front of him. “And thank you for protecting me from all the things in this world that are opposed to your will and your way. Amen!”
For the next three hours, he checks his watch repeatedly, trying to gauge how much longer this in-flight torture will continue. He has already calculated that the aircraft coasted in over an hour ago at what looked like Wilmington, North Carolina, and he is anticipating their descent into Atlanta, beginning any minute. In spite of the unearthly distractions, he managed to successfully complete the mundane task of filling out the U.S. Customs form in front of him. He is anxious to claim his luggage and clear customs as quickly as possible. Kay is supposed to be picking him up at curbside and they have a lot to discuss. She’s really been patient, considering the nature of everything that’s been thrust on her. He is also convinced that the Lacey household is now being targeted for revenge, and he knows that the two of them need to develop and implement a defensive strategy for the upcoming spiritual battle on the home front.
Forty-five minutes later, he is progressing nicely toward his task of clearing U.S. Customs. After retrieving his luggage in record time, he is nearing the end of the lengthy customs process at the Atlanta International Airport.
“Was the purpose of your visit business or pleasure, Mr. Lacey?” the U.S. Customs officer inquired.
“Family business.” he responded. “No commerce.”
“I see. Do you have relatives in England?” the U.S. Customs officer continued.
“No. I was honoring a World War II casualty, my uncle.”
“I see … welcome home Mr. Lacey!” the U.S. Customs officer declared with a professional smile. “Next in line!”
Steve nods and begins the long trek to the front of the International Terminal. He glances at his watch and realizes that the original time estimate he gave Kay was pretty close and that she should be waiting at curbside for him. He dials her cell phone to confirm that she is nearby and Kay answers on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey. It’s me.”
“Where are you?” she asks curiously.
“At the International Terminal. I just cleared customs.” he replied.
“Oh … we have a problem. The parking in front of the International Terminal is blocked. I had to park in front of Terminal A.” she said hesitantly.
“Uh-oh.” he replied. “I’m dragging all this luggage and that means I’ll have to ride the tram.”
“Can you get someone to help you carry it?” she suggested.
“It isn’t the luggage. That just slows me down. The problem is the tram. It’s pretty isolated down there and not that well lit.” he stated.
“Are you worried about muggers?” she asked startled.
“No. I’m worried about something much worse. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. Stay put! I’m coming to you!” he ordered, before hanging up his cell phone.
Minutes later, Steve is on the down escalator to the inter-terminal tram and he is relieved to find the area crowded with fellow travelers. Strength in numbers, he tells himself as the escalator deposits him on the lower tram level. Within minutes the opposite direction tram arrives and the majority of the people waiting clamor aboard. Watching it disappear down the stretch of rail in the opposite direction, he suddenly realizes that he has become much more isolated in the tram waiting area. There is no sign of the tram to Terminal A as he carefully studies the faces around him. Only then does he realize that one of those faces is also engrossed in studying him.
When their gazes meet, he recognizes the apparition of Cole Johnson, co-pilot of the Tyree Bomber Crew. The counterfeit specter makes no attempt to approach, but offers him an unblinking stare, in an obvious, egregious attempt at psychological and spiritual intimidation. Having formally met only days before under entirely different surroundings and circumstances, their current hostile encounter resembles two entities posturing for mortal combat. Much had changed in the last few days, and the message being conveyed by Satan’s surrogate this time was all out warfare.
The arrival of the Terminal A tram was a welcome sight as Steve’s eyes dart back and forth from the track to the ominous entity gazing at him. Gathering his luggage, he eases through the tram’s
doorway, momentarily losing sight of the stalking entity in the process. The Terminal A tram is nearly filled to capacity as he burrows aboard, trying to distance himself from the pursuing entity. He immediately searches the faces of everyone around him on the tram, trying to assess other potential threats. None are familiar. His eyes then automatically sweep the crowd further out. Only then does he see him. There is no mistaking that face, no chance of casually overlooking him in a crowded airport tram. Twenty steps away, hidden behind a gaggle of travelers, Ray Wilkins, absent his normal disarming smile, is fixated on him. The apparition’s eyes are empty and cold this time, and instead of conveying love and acceptance, he is watching Steve like a stalking animal beholding prey.
