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| The Beginning of the End; Story #1 of "Angels at the End of Time" | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 26 2007, 02:20 PM (347 Views) | |
| kgreen20 | Oct 26 2007, 02:20 PM Post #1 |
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What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' coming? What kinds of assignments would they receive? How would they handle their assignments? This alternate-universe series, "Angels at the End of Time," is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation. The first story in this ongoing series--the one I'm posting in this thread--was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own. In story #1 of the end-times series--co-authored by Robin Day and myself--Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria must help a family adjust to the Rapture and its aftermath and, at the same time, assist its members in making peace with God. Can they get through to a stubborn, atheistic pilot and keep him from destroying his wife's newfound faith? And can they save the wife's brother and his girlfriend from being deceived by their own boss--the Antichrist? AUTHOR'S NOTE: Even though we set this story in the late summer of 2002, it was not our intent, in any way, to imply that God was going to take His church up in the Rapture at that time. As Jesus said in the Gospel of Matthew, "No one knoweth the day or the hour." Our choice of date was part of our story. In reality, it is now fall, 2007, and we are still here (it is my conviction that the Rapture is very close, quite possibly this year). Only God in Heaven knows just when--I pray it will be this year! =) Yours truly, Kathy G. |
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| kgreen20 | Oct 26 2007, 02:21 PM Post #2 |
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PROLOGUE A young man who appeared to be about 30 sat on his bed in the light-blue bedroom. The mattress sagged and creaked under him as he shifted his weight; a dark-blue flight bag sat open on the bed behind him. Slowly, he leaned forward and opened the middle drawer to his dresser. As he did, a shock of jet-black hair fell into his eye, which he hastily brushed away. Moving his hands quickly, he shoved through his already messy drawer to look for a shirt that he actually liked. Upon seeing his least favorite shirt--the red one with white polka-dots--the young man swore, clenching his fists. Why hadn’t he gotten rid of this shirt a long time ago? It was his least favorite pattern, and it was so old and worn-out! Suddenly, a voice called from down the hallway. “Richard? Where are you?” The young man sat up straight, revealing a full pilot's uniform. Somehow, it only enhanced his movie-star looks. It complemented his dark hair and tanned skin perfectly, making his blue eyes even more prominent. He turned toward the open doorway. He glanced at the window; a snow-white dove perched on the windowsill. Bright yellow rays streamed through the window, forming a rectangle of light on the carpeted floor. “In here, honey,” he called. A slim brunette entered the bedroom, relief etched on her face. Her dark-brown hair looked tousled, and her blouse rumpled; evidently she had just awakened from a nap. “Packing?” she asked, hiding a yawn. The young man nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got a flight to Italy today. I won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” Shaking her head, the young woman let out a long, worried sigh, then bit her lower lip. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. Unseen by the couple, four angels leaned against the wall. Tess, Andrew, Monica, and the newest angel, Gloria, watched the couple intently. Gloria gazed at them curiously, as she scribbled in her almost-full notebook. Each assignment was different and new to her, and she still had so much to learn about humans. “His name is Richard Daly,” she said. “Right?” She paused to push her glasses up her nose. Tess nodded. “Right, baby. The woman’s name is Christina, and they have a baby named Jessica. The Dalys are our assignments.” As the supervisor angel nodded toward the couple, her earrings shook sideways. Her diamond brooch sparkled in the sunlight. Gloria looked up at Tess, surprised at her briskness. “Tess…is something wrong?” Tess shook her head. “No, baby; all I know is that the Dalys are about to face some difficult circumstances. I’m not sure what, but I know we need to be ready.” Unaware of the angels’ presence, Richard rose to his feet. His shoes thudded softly as he circled around to the foot of his bed, approaching his wife. “Hey,” he said gently. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Shaking her head, Christina said, “I just get a little worried about you every time you’re gone…” Richard took her into an embrace. “Listen, I’m gonna be OK. No one will dare try another attack like that again.” Each angel knew instantly that the Dalys were talking about the attack on the World Trade Center the year before. Christina's mother, who had worked in Building Number 1 for years, had been killed in the attack. Christina let out a long sigh. “I know. It’s just…well, it's just that 9-11 really shook my faith in the safety of flying.” She stepped back to lay the cigarette in Richard’s ashtray. Richard’s temper flared for the briefest moment. “That’s the same attitude that nearly made me lose my job after the…” He clenched his fists as he spoke. Christina held up her hand. “I know, I know.” Irritation crept into her voice. “But don’t people have a right to be afraid to fly now? I mean, September 11th did prove that flying can be dangerous, did it not?” Richard crossed his arms, his blue eyes flashed. “Listen, Christina! It proved living can be dangerous, regardless of whether you fly or not. The people who were in that building died, too!” He winced as tears welled up in his wife's eyes, and let his arms drop to his sides. “I'm sorry. I forgot about your mom. But still--!” He clenched his fists again. Christina flopped down onto a sitting position on the bed. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me.” Shaking her head, she twisted a few strands of hair around her fingers, while pushing her hand against the silky-soft bedspread. Richard let out a long sigh, trying to defuse his own anger. For a long moment, he just stood gazing down at his wife. “Christina, that’s not like you.” Christina was once again snippy. “What’s not like me?” Richard responded quickly. “Your snippiness. You’re not normally this way.” Without warning, Christina put her head into her hands and burst into tears. “Oh--oh, Richard!” She took a deep, shuddering breath. Richard quickly spun around and sat beside her. “Christina?” he said gently as he sat. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Christina managed to speak through her tears. “I’m so sorry, Richard. I don’t know what’s gotten into me recently.” She bit her lip. “Maybe I do. Mom’s been dead for almost a year now, and it still hurts. And now--and now--!” Her voice choked. Richard tenderly put his arm around his wife. “Maybe everything you've been putting up with is finally getting to you. Me being a pilot, your brother being a pilot--we’re both gone so much of the time. Losing your mom the way you did, and Jessica’s colic. All of that's more than any woman should be expected to handle sanely.” Before Christina could respond, a loud noise interrupted them. “Waaa-aaaaahhhh!” Without thinking, she laughed. “Speaking of Jessica,” she said. Richard nodded agreement, shaking his head. Silently, Christina stood up and trudged out of the room, leaving Richard to finish his packing. “When is that baby gonna quit her squalling?” he grumbled, laying his folded pajamas in the flight bag. “Gets on my nerves!” He slammed the lid shut and locked it. As the angels watched, Gloria couldn’t help but comment. “How can you be snippy, and not know why?” She furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. “Well,” Monica began, “it’s called having a bad day. I had one once.” Andrew responded to both of their comments. “I wish that was the case here,” he said, confusing the two young female angels. A sad, somber expression clouded his face. “So do I.” Tess sounded grim. She clasped her hands in front of her waist as she spoke. Seeing the looks on Monica and Gloria's faces, Andrew continued. “Adam and I just got word from Sam that something big's about to happen.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I have no idea what and neither does Sam, but Adam’s edgy about it too.” Gloria, in her innocence, asked another question. “Not you? Other angels of death are edgy about it--some humans are edgy about it--but not you?” Andrew shrugged. “Sort of. After last September, I’m always worried when we hear something big’s going to happen. But, I guess I’m more worried about individuals, not entire nations. The world has some strong leaders.” Putting his hands in his pocket, the angel of death looked at the door Christina had just exited through. “And speaking of individuals, I'll never forget taking Evelyn Whittaker, Christina's mother, Home that day. Her faith was so strong, and she was so excited to be going Home.” Tess nodded agreement. “Unfortunately, Christina's never been able to recover from her loss. And now, more bad times are coming her way. She senses that in her spirit--that's why she's so edgy--and although he's afraid to acknowledge it, so does Richard. Christina's going to need much help in the days ahead--she, her husband, and her brother, too.” “And the baby?” Gloria asked softly. Tess shrugged, glancing at the windowsill. At that moment, the dove spread its wings and flew off. Richard grasped his flight bag and left the room. END OF PROLOGUE |
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| kgreen20 | Oct 26 2007, 02:21 PM Post #3 |
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CHAPTER 1 Richard reclined in the cockpit of the huge jet liner. His first officer had not arrived yet, so Richard had the cockpit to himself. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun, as he wondered what his wife was doing right at that moment. The soft cushion lining the pilot’s chair creaked slightly as he shifted position. As he reached his hand upward to rub his dark hair, he smiled. Agreeing to let his friend, Ryan Whittaker, set him up on a blind date with his little sister was one of the smartest things Richard had ever done. Christina had made Richard feel comfortable and at ease from the moment they first laid eyes on each other, despite the fact that she was nearly five years his junior. But that was ancient history now. They'd been married for nearly five years, and they had a sweet little baby whose first birthday was approaching fast. Richard, for his part, had a well-paying job that he loved. Life was perfect--or almost. Richard clenched his right fist as he remembered the tragedy that had befallen the nation on September 11th. He had watched the entire world reel from the attack, but he had also been touched by the personal grief shared by his wife and brother-in-law. Only his own grief at his sister’s murder, years before, had matched or surpassed Christina’s grief at the loss of her mother. It had been almost a year since the horrible terrorists’ attack that had claimed so many lives, yet his job as a pilot still made Christina nervous. Richard saw no need for such fear, though. No one would ever attempt that atrocity again--he was sure of it. He wished that Christina could get over her fear; after 11 months, one would think she could begin to recover. She still feared for his safety, and she still grieved for her mother. Thus far, there had been no further terrorist attacks, but lately, Christina had seemed to have a premonition that something terrible was going to happen. As he opened his eyes, he frowned. A dove was perching on the airplane’s nose in front of the windshield. That little bird better take off if it knows what’s good for it, he thought, frowning. He wasn’t overly fond of birds, but neither did he relish the thought of killing yet another one with his aircraft, as so often happened. As Richard rubbed his hands on the front of his uniform, he tried to lose himself in a day-dream, hoping he could manage to avoid talking to his first officer, Timothy Hill, when he arrived. Richard’s efforts to escape into his own inner world failed, however. Instead of picturing a blue sky with fluffy clouds floating past the plane, all he could see was the runway that loomed ahead of the windshield, the sun hurting his eyes from the sky’s far left, and the dove on the nose of the airplane, turning its little head this way and that. Any moment now, Timothy would walk in and Richard would be forced to deal with him. How he dreaded that! Desperately, Richard tried to focus on anything but what was really happening around him. Still, he couldn't do it quickly enough--a familiar thud grabbed his attention. Timothy strode into the cockpit. Richard let out a long sigh. Until the previous September, Timothy had been a pretty nice guy, easy to get along with. Then, a week after 9-11, he had gotten on some religious kick and hadn't been the same since. Ever since Timothy had become a Christian, Richard had done his best to ignore his first officer, but Timothy had always been the type to talk to everyone about something if it was important enough, and obviously he thought religion was important. “What happened on September 11th was a wake-up call for the nation, Richard,” he would say. “I, for one, had to respond to that call.” Richard would just shake his head in irritation. Now, Timothy hung his pilot cap on a nail next to his head. “Hi, Captain Daly,” he greeted. Richard wanted to ignore him, but Timothy, he knew, wasn't one to accept being ignored. “Hi,” Richard said, hoping his tone would give away he was in no mood for another one of Timothy's endless sermons. In the back of his mind, Richard knew he was exaggerating Timothy's faith, but sometimes that was just how it felt. Even when Timothy wasn't saying anything, his eyes preached a sermon of their own. Timothy thumbed his nose at the windshield. “What’s that dove doing there?” Richard shrugged. “Stopped to rest, I guess. It better take off, soon, because in a few minutes, so are we.” With a chuckle, Timothy removed his Bible from his flight bag. For a few moments, the two pilots settled into an uncomfortable silence. Richard rubbed his hair backwards as he gritted his teeth. He stared at the dove, wondering if he was going to have to risk killing it to take the jet liner into the air. If it dies, it’ll be its own fault, he thought. When Richard finally looked at his first officer, he nearly laughed aloud. Timothy, leaning sideways, was gazing at the Bible’s blue cover, evidently trying to decide where to start reading. Bookmarks stuck out of the top in various places. Choosing one near the back cover, Timothy flipped open his Bible. Clenching his fists, Richard let out another sigh. Timothy glanced up. “You OK?” he asked. Richard tried to hold his temper under control. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his clenched fists against his sides. “You know, Timothy, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't rub your religion in my face like that. You know my opinions about God.” The mattress creaked softly as he shifted. Timothy's eyebrows raised. His blue eyes betrayed a hint of confusion. “I was rubbing my religion in your face? How?” Richard rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't giving the guy a fair chance. Still, Timothy could be too much at times. “You just…” Richard paused, wondering how he could justify his accusation. “You’re constantly reading the Bible...right in front of me. It's like you’re trying to rub in my face the fact that I'm not like you.” Timothy was caught off-guard, but only his eyes showed it. “Richard, that's not what I'm trying to do. You should know me better than that. Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I would like to see you become a one, too, but I'm not rubbing it in your face. I'm just continuing my reading from last night; I'm not trying to make you feel bad because you're different from me.” Richard let out a long sigh. “I'm sorry Timothy...it's just…” Richard struggled for what to say. Finally, he blurted out an excuse that he knew would only be effective in changing the angle of the conversation. “I've got a lot on my mind.” Timothy gazed at Richard, concerned. Richard hated looking into Timothy's eyes. It gave him a creepy feeling, as if Timothy was looking through him. “What?” Timothy asked, real concern in his voice. Richard decided to confide in Timothy about something that had been bothering him for weeks. “I'm afraid I've been neglecting Christina,” he blurted, wondering if getting Timothy off his back about religion was worth spilling all his concerns to the man. Timothy twisted in his seat to face Richard. His eyes locked on his co-pilot‘s. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I mean…” Richard paused again, to collect his thoughts. “I just think that my job is taking me away from Christina and Jessica too much. Not that I'd give flying up for anything...but I just don't think I'm spending enough time with them.” He rubbed his right hand on his uniform as he spoke. Timothy smiled. “I know what you mean.” Timothy tilted his left hand, making his wedding ring flash in the sunlight bathing the cockpit. Richard grinned. It was the one and only thing he had in common with his first officer. They were both married. Timothy continued speaking. “Sometimes I worry I'm spending too much time in the air. That's when I set aside one day I know I don't have to go anywhere on, and I spend it with my family.” Richard thought about the prospect. Without thinking about it, Richard said, “But you've never used flying to escape.” Timothy's eyebrows raised. Richard suddenly realized that he'd said too much. Without saying a word, Richard exited the cockpit. Timothy glanced upwards, and prayed quickly, “Help him,” before returning to pre-flight checks. To his relief, the dove spread its wings and flew upward. Timothy watched as it flew out of sight. _______________________________________________________ Christina Daly felt the small lurch indicating that the taxi had stopped. She raised her head to see where she was. Good--she was there! Without looking down, Christina un-buckled herself with one hand while opening her purse with the other. It took less than a minute to withdraw and open her wallet, hand a ten-dollar bill to the driver, close her wallet, and shove it back into her purse. Christina hurriedly thanked the driver as she opened the door and turned in her seat. Stepping out of the taxi, Christina shut the door firmly behind her, hoping it wouldn't slam. To her relief, it didn't. As the taxi took off, Christina patted her hair, then craned her neck to see what was there. So far, all she saw was an empty, rectangular hollowed-out basement, now devoid of dirt or equipment. Would the World Trade Center be rebuilt, or would the city build a memorial in its place? I hope they’ll rebuild the place, she thought. As she always did at this time of day, Christina reached into her purse and pulled out the sketch diary. Flipping through the pictures she'd been drawing for the last several months, Christina scanned the clearing away of debris, captured in her drawings. Today, she could see no difference between the sight now and the sight as it had appeared when the cleanup crew had finished clearing away the debris, in June. She patted her hair and sighed. Her shoes clicked as she strolled down the concrete sidewalk, crowded with pedestrians also curious about the city’s plans for Ground Zero. Christina wondered if she was going to be able to get anywhere today…but it was no worse than any other time she needed a change of angle. She hoped she’d be able to get a good view of the site as it still looked, now. Christina heard mumblings all around her. “Why would they want to rebuild on the same spot? It would be like rebuilding on a graveyard!” “Well, they should. That would show that America won't sit back and take destruction from anyone!” Christina chuckled. At times like this, she wished she was a reporter, so she could have an excuse to ask everyone she saw their thoughts. As Christina walked, she recalled Richard's reaction, earlier that summer, to the news that the city was deliberating whether to rebuild the World Trade Center... “I don't like it, Christina! It sickens me that they even plan to discuss such things! Those who want to rebuild the place have no respect for the people who died!” Her husband clenched his fists till his knuckles had turned white. Christina shook her head. “What about the people who lost their jobs? They need to get them back.” Richard glared at her. “You, of all people, would say that! There are tons of people that haven’t been found! Their remains might still be there! It's a graveyard!” He folded his arms as he spoke. Christina flinched. Then, gritting her teeth, she forced herself to respond calmly. A calm response, she knew, would drive her husband nuts for a few minutes, but in the long run, it would defuse his anger. “Richard, I can't imagine a greater tribute to my mom than having buildings raised, just to prove to the people who killed her that America isn't a country to lie down and accept defeat in any area!”... Unable to come to an agreement, Christina and Richard had finally agreed to disagree and not let it affect their relationship. Since then, Christina had enjoyed her daily visits to what was formerly known as Ground Zero. She had watched the cleanup crew clear away the debris, little by little, until nothing remained but empty concrete. If and when the rebuilding commenced, she fully intended to draw pictures of the new buildings’ progress. Suddenly, someone thudded against Christina’s back. Turning quickly to apologize, Christina lost her balance. Before her mind had time to register, Christina's bottom and her right elbow slammed against the pavement. “Ow!” she moaned. The impact had knocked the sketch book out of her hand and the purse from the crook of her arm. Christina reeled from the impact. She clutched her aching elbow, moaning. A voice interrupted her not-quite-collected thoughts. “Oh! No, no, no, no.” Looking up, Christina saw a young woman who appeared to be in her late 20s or early 30's; her long, brownish-red hair hung over her face, trailing against the ground. She was kneeling on all fours, searching for something. As she pushed herself upward into a sitting position, a white blouse, tucked into pants, appeared under her jacket. The jackets matched the woman’s pants. Shifting her gaze from the woman to the sidewalk, Christina noticed that her purse had fallen open and its contents had spilled all over the concrete. Among the items on the ground lay a pair of black-rimmed glasses, that clearly wasn’t hers. Christina braced her hands against the hot, rough surface of the sidewalk as she pushed herself into a crouch. “Looking for these?” Christina questioned the young woman, who looked up at her with an almost panicked expression. Christina laid a hand on the eyeglasses. Relief flooded her face, and a beaming smile followed. “Yes!” the woman exclaimed, reaching for the glasses. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome, and I'm sorry,” Christina said. “It's O.K,” the woman responded. She slid the glasses onto her nose as she spoke. “I’m sorry for bumping into you. Are you all right?” “I think so.” Christina rubbed her elbow as she spoke. The two women struggled to their feet. Christina paused to gaze at the building again. For a moment, she looked down at her sketch diary, still lying on the pavement, and bit her lip. “It's just that I was looking at Ground Zero; that's why I didn't see you. I've been coming here, every chance I get, to watch the crew clear the wreckage away. Now I just come here sometimes to see how it looks, now that they’re done.” She paused, twisting strands of her hair around her index finger, and words she hadn't meant to speak suddenly poured out of her. “My mother worked on the 102nd floor of Tower One, and--I don't know--I guess I just need to do this.” “You hope watching its progress will be healing?” The woman tilted her head as she spoke. Christina nodded. The woman put a comforting hand on Christina's shoulder for a moment as they stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by pedestrians who passed them on both sides. Cars and other vehicles roared up and down the street. Finally, Christina looked at her feet and glanced at the other people. “Look, we need to get this stuff off the ground before people start complaining about walking around us.” The woman agreed, and the two women knelt to re-fill Christina's purse. “My name is Gloria.” The woman picked up a tube of lipstick as she spoke, and dumped it into the open purse. “I'm Christina.” Christina shoved a handful of small items back into her purse. “Christina Daly.” She smiled. “Pleased to meet you.” When they had stuffed everything into Christina’s purse, they stood up. Slowly, Christina turned back toward the empty basement facility. Opening it, Christina scribbled that day’s date in the bottom left-hand corner of the page, then began to sketch a new picture of the empty basement. It looked exactly as it had when she had last sketched it. “You’re a good artist.” Gloria glanced at the picture as she spoke. “I wish I could draw that well.” Admiration welled in her voice. Christina chuckled. “Thanks, Gloria. It just takes a little practice.” Gloria quoted a commonly heard adage. “Practice makes perfect?” Christina just nodded, intent on finishing the quick sketch. After a moment, she slammed the sketch pad shut and said, “I’m sorry for shutting you out like that Gloria. I just…need to make these drawings.” She laughed ruefully. Running her fingers along the frame of her glasses, Gloria smiled. “I understand.” For an instant, Christina actually believed Gloria actually understood. Her smile was so sincere, so innocent, that you couldn't believe that she'd even exaggerate her empathy. Gloria tilted her head as she nodded in response. Maybe it was the smile, or maybe it was the fact that she’d already started pouring her heart out to this woman, but Christina found herself telling Gloria many things no one except Richard and Ryan knew about her. “I’m worried about my husband,” she began. “He’s a pilot, and I’m always worried these fanatics will try again to do what they did last September…and that Richard will be the pilot.” Her voice trembled. Gloria began to speak, but Christina had started to open up, and she couldn't stop. “When my mom died, I thought it was the end of the world. I mean--losing my mom…” Her voice broke. “And lately--well, lately, I can’t help feeling that something terrible’s going to happen again.” Christina fought tears. She didn’t want to cry, not at this moment! Biting her lip, Christina hoped Gloria wouldn't urge her to go on; she’d already said more than she'd meant to. She shook her head from side to side. To Christina’s relief, Gloria didn't push her to continue. Instead, she put a comforting hand on Christina's shoulder. A gentle squeeze followed. “Thank you.” Christina faced her new friend. She plastered a smile on her face. “Listen, would you like a cup of coffee?” Christina didn't have to wonder why she had asked that. Gloria had helped her get lots of things off her chest that she'd been needing to get into the open for a long time, so the least she could do was buy Gloria a cup of coffee. With a tilt of her head, Gloria shrugged. “Sure. That would be nice.” Christina’s face broke into a wide smile. “Come on. I know of a nice coffee shop just down the street.” With that, the two of them began walking down the sidewalk again. A moment later, Christina led the way into a small coffee shop, wedged between two other buildings. _______________________________________________________ Richard walked down the aisle of the first-class section, past the rows of passengers dressed in business suits and dresses; his boots thudded softly on the soft carpet. He only had a few minutes before he would have to announce take-off. As the passengers settled themselves in their seats, Richard scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face, shading his eyes to protect them from the flood of sunlight pouring through the windows on the left. Towards the back, Richard saw his brother-in-law, Ryan Whittaker, and smiled broadly. Good, he thought, maybe I can say hello to him before we take off. He dropped his hands to his side. “Captain Daly?” An Irish voice startled him. Seconds later, a young flight attendant who appeared to be roughly his own age stepped in front of him. She had reddish-brown hair that was twisted up into the required bun, and a slender figure. Earrings studded with pearls dangled from her ear lobes. A soft light of caring and love emanated from her chocolate-brown eyes, startling Richard. “Yes?” he responded. The Irish woman clasped her hands in front of her waist. “First Officer Hill asked me to get you. Pre-flight is wrapping up and the plane can’t take off without you.” Richard clenched his fists briefly, but forced himself to relax. Timothy Hill was the last person he wanted to see right now. The man probably thought he'd made some progress with Richard's “salvation,” a word Richard had never understood, nor had any desire to understand. “Thank you…” he said half-heartedly, not sure what he was thanking her for. With a quick glance at her name tag, he made his thanks more personal. “...Monica. You new here?” Nodding, Monica smiled, reminding Richard of Christina’s smile. He wondered briefly if Christina might be smiling at that same moment. He dismissed the thought; it was crazy. “Well, thanks again.” He touched his cap as he spoke, and turned to go. “You’re welcome,” she said sincerely. With a sigh, Richard returned to the cockpit. So much for talking to his brother-in-law before the flight. Oh well, there would be another opportunity during the flight. Anything to avoid Timothy, he thought, frowning. Richard slipped through the cockpit door. Timothy seemed focused on the pre-flight procedures. Without a word, Richard sat down and quickly strapped himself in. Then he pressed the intercom button. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain, Richard Daly, speaking. Welcome aboard Pan-World flight 87.” Richard paused for a moment and looked at Timothy. Nodding, Timothy flashed three fingers, and Richard continued speaking. “We are scheduled to take off in three minutes, and will arrive at Fiumicino International Airport at 3:30 a.m., Italian Time. We will be flying at an altitude of 38,000 feet. The cabin will be pressurized for your comfort. If an emergency occurs, oxygen masks will drop in front of you. In case of air sickness, there are bags in the back of the seat in front of you. The crew’s final instruction to you is to fasten your seatbelts until we are in the air. And once again, thank you for flying Pan-World airways.” Richard released the intercom button; he shook his head from side to side, to ease the tension. He always hated making that announcement. Most people on his flights were routine flyers and knew most of the information he'd given. Nevertheless, each flight always had a quota, no matter how small, of people who had never flown before or who rarely flew, and he had to keep giving that information for their sakes. Sighing, Richard turned toward the instrument panel. Without a word, he began pressing the necessary buttons and levers to get the plane going. Within minutes, the jet liner was taxiing down the runway; shortly afterward, it rose into the air. I hope Timothy will keep his mouth shut till we touch down in Italy, he thought, as he set the instrument panel on auto-pilot. Leaning back, he rubbed his hands on the front of his uniform. _______________________________________________________ Christina couldn't believe how comfortable she felt around Gloria. She could talk to Gloria with an ease she could muster with very few people, save close loved ones. Christina had shared more about herself in the last half-hour than she had ever shared with anyone else, except her immediate family. Gloria had only added small bits and peaces of information about herself. She told Christina about several close friends of hers, whose names were Monica, Tess, and Andrew. She shared some of her experiences in the past year or so, but nothing before that. Next to their table, the sunlight flooded their side of the room, forming squares of light on the linoleum floor. It didn’t worry Christina that her new friend kept her own past a secret. She was just relieved to have a friend to talk to, who would actually listen. She had been so lonely since her mother’s death, and Richard and Ryan’s long and frequent absences had made it worse. Jessica filled her world, to be sure, and gave it meaning, but a baby was not much company. The whole thing struck Christina as strange. Why was she able to talk to this stranger so well? And why this newfound silliness? Despite the seriousness their conversation often took, they had joked with each other frequently. “Did you know Monica is a coffee addict?” Gloria asked thoughtfully, as a waitress refilled her Styrofoam cup. Christina nearly fell out of her hard-backed chair. Gloria had described Monica as a good friend who was like both a sister and a mother to her at the same time. Christina had the same kind of relationship with her older brother, Ryan Whittaker. “So’s Ryan!” Christina shrieked to her new friend. Gloria knew how similar the descriptions they’d been giving of Ryan and Monica had been. Gloria’s mouth dropped open, and suddenly, the two women burst into uncontrollable peels of laughter. Christina shoved the tip of her stub of a cigarette against the cigarette ashtray, then pressed her fingers against the table’s smooth surface. She glanced out the window at the cars passing them up and down the street, and the strolling pedestrians. Without warning, Gloria's hand bumped her coffee cup. They stopped laughing for a moment, just long enough to watch the contents of the cup spill all over the table and drip in a steady stream onto the floor. Both women's eyes widened. As if of the same mind, they both turned to the napkin dispenser on the far end of their table. Arming themselves with handfuls of napkins, Christina and Gloria paused to glance at each other. Without a word, Christina knelt on the floor and wiped up the puddle of coffee at her feet, as Gloria tackled the mess on the table. Only after they’d cleaned the whole table, and thrown the napkins in the trash, did they see the humor in the near-disaster. After only seconds of being in their seats, they burst out laughing. “We’re just lucky it didn't spill on either of us,” Christina said. Gloria nodded, and pulled Christina's cup towards the middle of the table to avoid another spill. Christina shifted position on the chair’s unyielding wooden seat. Both women once again burst into uncontrollable laughter. Christina felt like a teenager again with Gloria around. The kind of person who had no responsibilities and got a good laugh out of anything. Giggling, Gloria rubbed her fingers against the table’s surface. Christina's eyes widened at that thought. Responsibilities? Jessica! Christina had left Jessica with a babysitter, and if she wasn't back soon the babysitter would begin to worry. “Oh, no!” Christina said aloud. “What?” Gloria asked, her voice sobering instantly. “I left my baby with a sitter,” Christina said. “And I have to get back home.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Gloria. Thanks for the absolutely wonderful afternoon.” As Christina leaped to her feet and snatched her purse, her mind was too pre-occupied with the thoughts of the babysitter’s panic to think about even finding a way to stay in contact with her new friend. Grasping her own purse, Gloria rose from her seat at the coffee shop and followed Christina toward the cash register. After Christina paid for their coffee, they hurried toward the entrance. “Want a ride?” Gloria asked, as they reached the glass door. Christina stopped suddenly, and turned to face Gloria. “That would be great.” Then, a broad smile crossed her face. A brilliant idea had just occurred to her. “Uh, Gloria…” Christina spoke slowly, deliberately drawing out the name so as to make it clear she had an idea. “How would you like to spend the night?” Before Gloria could answer, Christina began babbling. “I mean, with Richard and my brother out of town for the night, and the fact that I haven’t had company in forever, it would really be wonderful if you could come. I’m actually a pretty good cook and we can have dinner, then act like we're a couple of kids on a slumber party and--and, well…” Although she hated to do so, Gloria interrupted. “I’d love to.” Christina’s babbling ceased, and Gloria gestured towards a gleaming red Cadillac convertible parked less than 50 yards from the door. “Come on. That's Tess’ car. She’s letting me borrow it.” Christina's eyebrows raised. It seemed oddly coincidental that the car happened to be parked less than 50 yards from the coffee shop, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she laughed. “No wonder you offered to give me a ride. Any excuse to drive that thing, right?” Gloria chuckled and nodded. Without a word, she led the way toward the red convertible. This ought to be fun! Christina thought. _______________________________________________________ Richard leaned back in the pilot’s seat. Now that the plane was on auto-pilot at the moment, he and Timothy had some time to relax. Richard just hoped Timothy wouldn’t take the opportunity to preach to him or get him to open up again. Even though the silence was welcome to him, Richard wasn’t used to it. Timothy was deeply engrossed in his Bible reading. Richard couldn't help but wonder how on earth the man could understand that book, let alone enjoy it. Only the occasional turning of oilskin pages and the steady hum of the engine broke the silence. Once, Richard pulled out his wallet and glanced at a picture he’d carried around with him for years. A 14-year-old girl with long, flowing blond hair that framed her shoulders and a bright, dimpled smile spanned the picture. Richard bit his lip as he looked at her. Her cruel death had devastated him, and totally hardened his heart against God. Surely, if there was a God, He wouldn’t allow innocent young girls like Nicole Daly to be kidnapped and murdered! Guess that’s what I’m trying to escape, he thought. The memories. It hurts me, even today, to remember her. I, of all people, ought to understand Christina and Ryan’s grief! After all, their mother was cruelly murdered too, along with over 3,000 other people. He bit his lower lip again. Sometimes I think if I could fly long enough and far enough, I could outrun the pain. Wish I could! He shook his head. He pressed his lips into a tight line as he folded the wallet and shoved it back into his pocket. He couldn’t stand to look at Nicole’s photo for more than a few minutes at a time. Timothy, still engrossed in his Bible reading, did not look up. As irritation surged in his heart, Richard rose to his feet. “I'm gonna go take a walk.” Timothy nodded to indicate that he had heard. Rubbing his hands on the front of his uniform, Richard slowly exited the cockpit. His boots thudded on the soft carpet. He wanted to have a talk with his brother-in-law before the flight ended. It had mildly surprised Richard to see Ryan in first class--normally Ryan flew tourist class, when he rode as a passenger. As Richard walked among the first-class passengers, he noticed varied responses. Some turned and glanced in his direction; others just continued with what they were doing. When Richard reached Ryan’s seat, he halted. “Hey, Ryan,” Richard said simply. Ryan smiled at his brother-in-law and best friend. “I was wondering when you’d step out and ask what’s up.” It was only then when Richard noticed something indeed different about Ryan. He was wearing a dark blue business suit, an outfit he normally detested. Richard raised his eyebrows. To anyone who didn’t know Ryan’s taste in clothes, they wouldn't think it unusual to see him wearing a suit. But to Richard, who knew Ryan was a casual dresser, the image was almost comical. “What’s up with the outfit?” Richard asked. On cue, Ryan reached to loosen his tie. “Antonio Puccini,” he answered simply. At Richard's confused look, Ryan gave more information. “He’s the new Italian president. You probably heard about that on the news. He’s looking for a pilot to fly his private plane...and guess who got nominated?” Richard guessed instantly. It was all too obvious from Ryan's tone. “You.” Ryan nodded. “Well, now, Puccini’s asking to meet with me. Not that I blame the guy...I mean, if I trusted my life with someone I’d want to get to know that person myself." Richard thought back to Timothy in the cockpit. A jolt raced through his system. In a way, he was trusting Timothy Hill with his life. For a moment, the thought unnerved him. It shouldn’t, he knew--Timothy had always been a dependable, reliable, skilled pilot, and turning into a religious nut hadn't changed that. With effort, Richard put it out of his mind as Ryan continued. “But then, Puccini--or his people--bought me a first-class ticket, and I just knew I’d stick out like a sore thumb in my normal clothes. So I had to go and buy this--” Grimacing, Ryan gestured to his suit and tie. “--straightjacket and noose.” Laughing at his brother-in-law’s description of a business suit and tie, Richard patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get use to them after a while,” Richard assured him. Ryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure! Like I really want to.” An uneasy feeling welled up in Richard’s gut. To distract himself, Richard forced a chuckle out of his throat. “Well, I gotta get back to the cockpit. I don't want to leave the thing on auto-pilot all the way to Rome.” He removed his pilot’s cap to run his fingers through his hair as he spoke. Ryan nodded. “Yeah, and I’ve got to make a call.“ He pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket as he spoke. Putting the cap back on his head, Richard headed back to the cockpit. Although he had enjoyed talking to his best friend for the first time in months, he couldn't shake that nagging feeling. Christina had been right to be nervous. Something bad was going to happen. But what? He shook it out of his mind as he returned to the cockpit. _______________________________________________________ Timothy Hill leaned back in the co-pilot seat. He was grateful for the autopilot that allowed the plane to run on its own. It gave him a chance to read his Bible without Richard harping on him about "rubbing religion in his face." The cushioned seat creaked as he shifted position. He flipped the pages, pausing when he reached the 24th chapter of Matthew. The sunlight flooding the cabin bathed his seat, giving him plenty of light to read by. Normally, reading his Bible comforted Timothy, making him feel like he was wrapped in a Heavenly embrace that gave him the confidence to fly. Today though, the words on the pages sent chills up and down his spine. "No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man,” he read silently. Pausing to swallow, he then continued. “For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken, and the other left.” Timothy paused again--this time to raise his eyes--then continued. “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this. If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief would be coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken in to. So you must also be ready because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” Timothy stared at the page. He had read this passage on numerous occasions, but something was different about it this time. Somehow, it felt more real. The Lord’s going to come for His own any time now, he thought. I know I’m going to be caught up, but what about Richard? He bit his lower lip. Timothy had a sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. He felt an intense need to pray, but for what, he didn't know. Still, he’d learned to obey these urges, so, staring down at his Bible, he began to pray silently. After a few minutes, he felt the now-familiar contact with his Heavenly Father that always comforted him. The familiar thud of Richard’s boots signaled the pilot’s return; a few seconds later, the cockpit door swung open behind Timothy. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Richard walk in. With a frown, Richard cleared his throat. Timothy suddenly realized that he was praying for Richard. Sitting up straight, he closed his Bible. “Have a nice walk?” With a nod, Richard took his seat. “My brother-in-law’s on this flight,” he said. “He's going to see the new president of Italy. Antonio Something.” He rubbed the front of his uniform, then stretched his arms above his head. Timothy remembered hearing about the change of authority in Italy on the news a few weeks ago. “Puccini.” “Yeah!” Richard exclaimed. “Antonio Puccini.” He paused for a moment. “Sounds like a vegetable,” he commented, pulling a handkerchief out of his pants pocket. Timothy couldn’t help but chuckle. Richard was definitely right on that one. “I couldn’t agree more,” Timothy said. Chuckling with him, Richard wiped his face, then folded his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. The soft mattress creaked under him as he leaned back in his chair. Timothy closed his eyes and prayed silently for his friend. _______________________________________________________ “Herbie Rides Again?” Gloria scanned the row of Christina and Richard's videocassettes as she spoke. Next to her, Christina shook her head. “Nah.” “Casablanca?” Gloria rubbed her fingers on the top of the cover. Frowning, Christina vetoed that movie. “Sorry, I’ve never liked Humphrey Bogart.” “All Dogs Go to Heaven?” “Let's not.” “Star Wars?” Gloria pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Christina hesitated. “Uh, let's not watch that yet, OK? That's more Richard’s thing.” She paused. “He loves the Star Wars movies for the flight scenes. Being a pilot, that excites him.” Gloria laughed. “The Absent-Minded Professor?” Christina bit her lip. “Mmmmm, no.” She twisted a strand of her hair around her index finger and shook her head. “The Sound of Music?” “Too long.” “The Swiss Family Robinson?” Christina chuckled. “I can never eat popcorn when I watch that movie.” Gloria smiled. Ever since one of her previous assignments had introduced her to popcorn, she had loved that snack food. She hoped that Christina would offer her some. "Dark Victory?" Christina made a face. “That Darn Cat?” Christina beamed. “I love that movie!” Gloria let out a long sigh of relief. She’d been crouched on her heels by the TV stand for the past several minutes, and had gone over nearly half of the Dalys’ video collection. Christina had knelt beside her for the whole time, commenting on each video as Gloria pulled it out. The sigh knocked Gloria off-balance and onto her bottom. The videotape flew out of Gloria's hand, and right into Christina's lap. Both women burst into uncontrollable giggles. They rose to their feet as they laughed. “Here.” Christina managed, through her giggles, to hand the video to Gloria. “You put the movie in; I'll get the popcorn, OK?” Nodding agreement, Gloria flipped the TV on, and put the tape into the VCR. A broad smile spread across her face. Tonight had been one of the best nights of Gloria’s existence. Already, Christina had become a good friend. They had a lot in common, despite the fact that Gloria had the logical mind of a computer. It was the first time Gloria had made a friend without a mutual agreement to be friends. Fast-forwarding through the preliminary ads on the video, Gloria wondered why Christina was her assignment. They’d talked earlier about God and religion and things like that. Christina believed in God, believed He was all-loving, and loved God. Gloria didn't understand why she needed an angel. The angel tilted her head, as she tried to reason it out. Maybe it wasn't an angel Christina Daly needed at all. Maybe she just needed a friend. At that moment, Tess’ earlier warning about impending bad times crossed Gloria’s mind, and she frowned. She will need a friend if bad times do come her way! And the Father’s support. _______________________________________________________ Richard leaned against the dresser of his hotel room. A few hours before, the plane had landed in Rome; minutes ago, he and Timothy had checked into a nearby hotel. A five-star hotel. Richard yawned. And we can only stay overnight. Too bad we can’t stay longer! I’d love to spend a couple of days in this place. Shrugging, he removed his jacket and hung it in the closet. As he donned his pajamas, he wondered what Christina and Jessica were doing. It was nightfall, so no doubt Christina was asleep--or trying to sleep! “Jessica won’t make that easy,” he muttered. “Her colic causes her to cry all night.” He sighed, rubbing his hands on the front of his pajamas. An uneasy feeling, akin to fear, welled up in him. Biting his lip, he shook it off. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he told himself sternly. “It’s just a wild imagination. Christina worrying about me because of what happened last year, that’s all it is.” He rubbed his hair, front to back, then cracked his knuckles. As he slid underneath the covers and turned off the lamp, the foreboding feeling grew stronger. Something serious, indeed--very serious--was going to happen. But what? With an involuntary shudder, Richard pulled the covers over his neck. END OF CHAPTER 1 |
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| kgreen20 | Oct 26 2007, 02:22 PM Post #4 |
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CHAPTER 2 Falling. Richard hated the sensation of falling. It took away his sense of control. His heart pounded in his chest so loud he could hear it: thump-thump-thump. Richard trembled as he fell feet-first. Richard wanted to act, to move. To do something to save himself. In a desperate attempt to regain a little control of where he was going, Richard forced his legs to move, to run. As he did, the pull from below became stronger. The falling sensation grew stronger as he fell face-forward. The blackness around him was so thick it felt as though it would hurt himself if he fell against it. Suddenly, he caught sight of billions of twinkling points of light he recognized as stars. How was it that he falling down, yet towards the stars? Fear gripped him. Something was wrong, badly wrong. He tried to make himself turn, it didn't work. Come on. He willed himself to look upward. Turn around, he told himself fiercely. You can do it. Turn around! As if the willing himself to turn did so, he turned. Now he was falling backwards. Falling at a speed he hadn't expected. Away from the earth...away from everything he knew. Richard found himself worrying about the lack of oxygen as he raised higher and higher up. He had to be in the top layer of the atmosphere by now. Shouldn't he be running out of air? Total darkness surrounded Richard. Only the earth was his only point of light. Suddenly, something shimmering rose from the earth. As it approached Richard, it cooed. Richard recognized the shape of a dove, flying away from the planet. Suddenly, it stopped in mid-flight, or at least part of it did. Richard gaped at it. What was it doing? Flapping its wings, the dove continued with its flight, leaving a faded image that appeared to be a twin to the more real-looking dove. Richard was stunned. As the more solid image of a dove flew off into space, a dove's cooing echoed in Richard's ears. Meanwhile, the nearly transparent image turned around and returned to earth. Richard turned to watch the solid image of a snow-white dove flying into the stars and beyond. Tears welled up in his eyes. The scene was beautiful, almost like an unrealistic painting. Still, watching it made Richard feel like someone had cut out part of his heart. He wanted to sit and sob, but he didn't get the chance. Somehow, he had to make it back to earth! The loud caw of an approaching raven caught his attention. Straining his eyes to see into the distance, Richard saw the raven flying towards him. Richard's eyes widened. The raven wasn't flying towards him, it was heading towards earth! Fear gripped him again, stronger than his grief. The bird of death!! The raven approached with several loud cries. Richard couldn't stop it, only look into its evil yellow eyes as it flew directly into the planet Richard knew as home. Willing himself to turn, Richard followed the raven's flight progress with his eyes. The raven had entered the atmosphere; Richard was powerless to stop it. At that moment, a terrified scream reached his ears. Craning his head, Richard saw a familiar blond-haired girl reaching toward him. “Nicole!” he hollered. “Come to me!” To his dismay, Nicole floated away, still crying for help. Intense pain welled up in Richard; if only he could save her! It’s all the raven’s fault! he thought. Suddenly, a darkness began to spread around the globe, like a dark cloud. Somehow, Richard knew it was connected to the raven. He reached out, longing to hold Christina in his arms, wanting nothing more than to stop the darkness that was about to overcome his world, but he was powerless. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Tilting his head, he screamed into the darkness covering his home. At that moment, the light emanating from earth switched off. Total darkness surrounded Richard on all sides; there was no light anywhere. As panic surged in his heart, Richard scrooged his eyes shut. Suddenly, the falling sensation returned, followed by a loud thud. “Umph!” he grunted, as pain exploded throughout his back and hips. Richard opened his eyes and scanned the environment frantically. Soft moonlight shone through the Venetian blinds covering the windows, revealing the outlines of furniture. Raising his hand, he pressed his fingers into a soft bedspread. Thank goodness, it was only the hotel bed! Richard leaned his head against the mattress for a long moment, taking deep breaths, then shook his head violently, to bring himself back to reality. It was all right. He’d had a terrible nightmare, that was all, and he’d fallen out of his bed. Wincing, Richard lifted his sore body off the floor and struggled to his feet. As Richard switched on his bedside lamp, he looked around. Soft lamplight illuminated the room as he tried vainly to stop shivering. That dream had been the most disturbing one he'd had in years! “I hope I’ll never have another one like it,” he muttered. “Nicole! Nicole!” Agonized moans escaped from his throat. Before he could sit down on the bed, he heard someone pounding on the door. “Come in,” Richard said, without thinking. The door opened, and Timothy walked in. Despite his distress, Richard nearly laughed when he saw his first officer in a long T-shirt that fell almost to his knees and a pair of sweatpants. A worried expression creased the man’s face. “Are you OK?” Timothy asked. “I heard you call out.” “Uhhh.” Richard rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I'm fine. I just...had a nightmare.” He rubbed his hands on the front of his pajamas and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Must have been some nightmare.” Timothy approached him, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you hurt?” “Just my pride. I fell out of bed.” Richard forced himself to laugh. The soft mattress sagged and creaked as he perched on the edge of the bed. “Thanks for checking on me, Timothy, but I’ll be OK.” He hoped that his first officer would get the hint. Timothy nodded. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Groaning, Richard spread himself out on the now-rumpled sheet. As he pulled the bedcovers over him, he tried to put the dream out of his mind. I’ve got to get some sleep, he thought. Timothy and I have to fly back to New York tomorrow! Gritting his teeth, he turned the lamp off and curled on his side. Somehow, he would get a good night’s sleep! _______________________________________________________ Gloria tried to focus on the TV screen. She tried to laugh at the funny parts and sit in suspense through the suspenseful parts, but her eyes were drooping. The soft, cushioned seat of the sofa felt good now--a yearning swept through her to stretch out on it and sleep. Gloria stifled a yawn. She wanted to finish watching this movie. For the umpteenth time, she removed her glasses to rub her eyes. When she slid her glasses back over her nose, she scanned the living room. The whole room was a mess. Empty soda cans, empty chip bags, cookie crumbs, stray pieces of popcorn, and many more items of trash were scattered around the couch. She and Christina would have a major cleaning job in the morning. Try as she did, Gloria couldn't keep her eyes open. She was too exhausted. Remembering having once heard a human say that caffeine was a good way to stay awake, Gloria reached for another can of root beer. Next to her, Christina patted her hair and glanced down at the empty ashtray on the coffee table. “Wish I dared smoke a cigarette, but I don’t want to expose Jessica,” she mumbled. Gloria nodded. Having been told by Andrew, months before, about the consequences of smoking--consequences he was well acquainted with, as an angel of death--she understood Christina’s fear of making Jessica sick. Clumsily, Gloria snapped open the now-warm lid. What was the movie she was watching? Staring at the videocassette’s container for a moment, Gloria read slowly, "‘That Darn Cat.’” It was embarrassing to read so slowly, since she normally could speed-read. A Disney movie, she recalled. Made by a man named Walt Disney. Monica told me about him some time ago. Rubbing her index finger alongside the side of the videocassette container, she turned her attention back to the movie. As she sipped the root beer, Gloria just felt sleepier and sleepier. Finally, she turned to her hostess. “Christina, I’m exhausted.” Gloria yawned as she spoke. Christina laughed. “Understandable. It’s past midnight.” Gloria hadn't looked at the time since she’d gotten there. She wasn’t used to being this tired. An enormous yawn escaped her mouth before she had a chance to push it back. Her hostess laughed. “Come on.” Christina used the remote control to turn off the video before crossing the room to turn off the TV set. “Let's go to bed. I’m getting sleepy, too." At the foot of the stairs, she turned to face Gloria. “Our guest room is on the left.” Nodding her thanks, Gloria followed her up the stairs and shuffled down the hall toward her guest room. She would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow--she was sure of that! _______________________________________________________ The next morning, Richard focused on piloting the huge craft. Piloting relaxed him, helping him to forget his dream, his horrific memories. Try as he did, Richard could not shake that falling feeling. Not only had it lasted through the better part of his dream, he had actually fallen out of the hotel bed when it ended. What a rude way to awaken from a nightmare! He winced at the memory. He clenched and unclenched his hands, in an effort to relax. Finally, Richard could no longer focus. With a slight moan of exhaustion, Richard flipped on the auto-pilot. “You OK?” Timothy asked. Richard sighed. “I'm just not...I don't know.” He removed his cap to rub his hair; a moment later, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Timothy nodded. “That dream?” Richard nodded again. Timothy smiled. “I don't blame you one bit. If I had a dream that made me scream and fall out of bed like that, I’d be distracted the next morning, too!” Richard couldn't help but chuckle at Timothy’s description of what he'd heard and seen. “I just hope I never have a dream like that again,” Richard commented. Timothy nodded agreement. The cushion creaked softly as Richard shifted position on the pilot’s chair. Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by the steady drone of the engine. Finally, Richard decided to attempt to make conversation. “So, have you heard about the new President of Italy? Antonio Puccini?” Timothy nodded silently, creasing his forehead as an uneasy expression welled up in his eyes. “He was recently elected president of the European Union, as well.” Richard nodded. “I’m not surprised; he knows how to get things done, and the European Union knows it. He has some good ideas, don't you think?” Timothy bit his lip. “I guess so.” The uneasy expression in his eyes deepened. Richard looked sideways at Timothy. “What's wrong?” Timothy quoted a list of problems that didn't make sense to Richard. “Well, he’s the head of the Italian government and of the European Union. He’s promoting world peace, and he seems to have risen up in power really fast. He’s managed to convince the United Nations to consider moving its headquarters--where, they don’t know yet. Maybe Europe. In addition to appointing a new prime minister, Puccini’s got the new Israeli foreign minister and the new pope in his hip pocket, and together, the three men are working hard to convince the world religions to join together, become one. It looks as if they might succeed.” He paused. “On top of all that, he’s trying to persuade Israel to accept a Palestinian state, even though the Palestinians don’t want just a state--they want all of Israel to themselves.” He shook his head. “I don't like it.” Richard let his facial expression and his eyes show his confusion. Timothy explained. “The Bible says that in the end times, a leader will emerge from the Roman Empire. He'll create a world government and promote world peace, and he’ll make peace between Israel and her Arab neighbors. But in the end, he'll be bad news.” Rage surged inside Richard. The Bible! Why did those two words make him so angry? No, it wasn’t those words, it was Timothy’s constant use of those two words. He clenched both hands till his knuckles turned white. “Timothy, I told you not to rub in my face that you believe differently from me, or that you think you’re superior to me! I hate you jumping on me about it all the time, and I wish I never asked. I’ve had it!” Leaping to his feet, he glared at the first officer. Timothy gaped at him, clearly taken aback. Without giving Timothy a chance to respond, Richard stormed out of the cockpit. _______________________________________________________ Christina lay on her side in bed, resting her head on her left arm. The mattress sagged under her body as she wiggled into a more comfortable position. As they so often did, her daughter’s cries blocked her thought process. Jessica was screaming, as usual. Christina just hoped Gloria was sleeping OK--it was so difficult to sleep well when Jessica was colicky. Even more, she hoped Jessica would fall asleep too! I’ll be so glad when she outgrows that darned colic, she thought. As Christina drifted toward sleep, she wondered what Richard must be doing at that moment. Hopefully she'd dream about him tonight. I just hope he’s all right, and that he’s not too lonely, she thought. I miss him when he’s away! Teetering on the edge of sleep, Christina thought of how she might explain to Richard how a stranger had come to be sleep in the guest room. She imagined herself saying, “Gee, Richard, I met her in front of the World Trace Center construction site; we had coffee, and I invited her for a sleepover. It’s not like you were here to object.” Christina pursed her lips. Talk about stupid! She shook her head. The movement made her more awake and able to think of a more rational thing to say to Richard. She could wait until he met Gloria and say, “Richard, this is Gloria, she's a new friend. We met yesterday morning.” To Christina, that still sounded corny. Oh well, she could just explain it to Richard on the spur of the moment. For now, she would concentrate on getting some much-needed sleep. The pillow felt so soft and comfortable! With a final yawn, she slid into slumber land. _______________________________________________________ Richard entered the galley where meals were cooked. For a second, he wondered why he had gone there. Maybe because he needed to talk to someone. He took a deep breath, trying to push away his anger toward Timothy. The red-headed flight attendant whom he’d spoken to earlier--Monica--bent over the microwave oven, slipping some TV dinners inside. As Richard closed the door, Monica straightened her back and turned around. “Hi, there,” Richard said, as cheerfully as he could manage with his anger boiling just under the surface. With a conscious effort, he resisted the temptation to clench his fists. He did not want to discuss his anger with this flight attendant. He had a feeling she’d notice and try to get him to open up, and he didn’t feel like doing that now. “Hello, Captain Daly,” she responded, propping her fingers together as she spoke. Richard couldn’t help but smile at her accent. She was clearly Irish. “Amy’s in the first-class cabin right now, attending the passengers.” Richard nodded. Amy was his senior flight attendant. Unsure what to say, the pilot fumbled for a conversation starter. Finally, he said, “So...you’re a new flight attendant?” Monica nodded and held out her hand. “I’ve been hired to replace Elaine Taylor.” She extended her hand. “Yes; she quit last week, as I recall.” Richard shook her hand. “Is this your first shift on our airline?” She nodded, as she smiled warmly. An overpowering urge to escape welled up in Richard. He glanced at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, Monica, I’ve got to check on the passengers.” He strode out of the room, his boots thudding on the carpet. Monica watched him sadly. “Help him, Father,” she whispered in prayer. “And help his wife!” With a sigh, she turned back to the microwave oven. _______________________________________________________ Christina woke up from a bad dream. As she shifted position, she froze. Something was missing. But what? Christina lifted her head to scan the darkened bedroom. Soft moonlight shone through the window, revealing the outlines of the furniture. Dresser, chair, desk--all the furniture was in place, and although Richard wasn't lying there, next to her, she'd gotten used to his absence. Suddenly, it dawned on her. It's too quiet, she thought. Panic swept over her. Jessica wasn’t crying. That might mean she’d finally gone to sleep, or it might mean--! Christina practically flew out of bed, out the bedroom door, and down the hall. She rushed into the nursery. I hope Jessica’s all right! Holding her breath, Christina approached the crib. Silently, she prayed to see that Jessica had miraculously fallen asleep. “Oh, no!” she whispered. Panic surged in her throat. The toys, blanket, even Jessica’s little sleeper lay disarrayed in the crib. But Jessica had vanished! “Oh, please, God, no!” Christina yelled. “My baby! Oh, no! Nooooooooo!!” She shook her head violently and rubbed her face. _______________________________________________________ Richard strolled among the first-class passengers. To his relief, his anger had finally dissipated. Most were sleeping, and a few were evidently trying to sleep. Some sat up, whispering among themselves, working on laptop computers, or reading books. Wonder what Ryan’s doing, now, Richard thought, removing his pilot’s cap to smooth his hair back. Hope his interview with Puccini goes well! If anyone deserves it, it's Ryan--he's been drawing unemployment for too long now. I wouldn’t mind working for that Puccini guy, myself. He ran his fingers over his head, then turned toward the wall to rub his eyes. It was time to return to the cockpit and spell Timothy. He set his cap back on his head. The whispering and muttering suddenly ceased--complete silence filled the plane, except for the drone of the engine. Uh-oh! he thought, as stifled gasps reached his ears. Richard whirled to find out what had happened. Facing the rows of seats, he froze. Many of the passengers had disappeared! Richard didn’t know how to describe it. One minute, the plane had been full; the next moment, many of the seats were empty, except for piles of clothes. Three of the passengers who were awake sat stunned, mouths gaping, scanning the rows of suddenly empty seats. Richard suddenly realized that the plane had taken a nosedive. Cursing, he darted toward the cockpit. What on earth was Timothy doing? Why had he taken the airplane off autopilot if he wasn’t going to keep it safely in the air? Richard burst into the cockpit, only to freeze. Timothy had also disappeared! And now, this plane was going to crash unless Richard could stop it. He had to get this plane out of this nosedive immediately, or everyone left on this flight would be killed, including himself! END OF CHAPTER 2 |
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| kgreen20 | Oct 26 2007, 02:23 PM Post #5 |
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CHAPTER 3 Ryan Whittaker was trying to help. The streets of Rome were piled with traffic. Ryan knew the Cadillac he had just rented was somewhere among the tangled mess that he wanted to help clear. Ryan had never been more grateful for the fact that his body had little reaction to jet lag and he was able to quickly adjust to any time zone. Despite the language barrier, Ryan had made it clear to the Italian police that he wanted to help. Ryan paused, at one point, to wipe his sweaty face with the back of his hand. He glared at the cloudless sky, then turned back to the people needing help. As he approached a mangled station wagon, he came face to face with a young woman sitting behind the wheel, who appeared to be going into shock. Her hair was dark brown and straight, and she had a slender figure. But right now her face was badly bruised, and her blue eyes were wild with pain and fear. “My baby!” she shrieked. “My baby was in his car seat! He just...he just disappeared.” Ryan tried to steady the woman. “Calm down,” he said. Calm down, he repeated in his mind. What a joke! “Have you seen my baby?” the woman shrieked desperately. Ryan spoke soothingly. “No, ma’am, but I’m sure the police will find him. They’ll be here shortly. Just hold on. Right now, you need first-aid.” As he spoke, he laid a hand on her forehead. It felt cool and clammy. Ryan bit his lip. This was not good. The woman winced in pain. “Help me,” she whispered. “It hurts.” Ryan patted her arm. I’ve got to do something, fast! he thought. He knew that an accident victim going into shock needed to be kept as warm as possible. Ryan tugged off his own suit jacket and put it around the woman's shoulders. She dangled limply, moaning, as he picked her up and carried her an ambulance. “My baby! Please find my baby,” she pleaded. As he approached one of the paramedics, he thought about what had happened just moments ago. Ryan had seen a speeding car that wouldn't stop or swerve; he himself had tried to swerve out of its way, only to have that car slam into the back of his rental car. That had been the first hint that something was wrong. As he’d pulled to a stop, cars all up and down the street had crashed into one another. Ryan had barely avoided being crashed into from the side by a driverless station wagon. As Ryan had listened to nearby radios and eavesdropped on the police officers’ agitated discussions, he had learned that millions of people all over the world had suddenly disappeared, right out of their clothes. However, at the moment, he was unable to think. All that was on his mind was to help the injured. Gently, he helped the paramedic position the young woman on a stretcher. He patted her shoulder, then backed away as another paramedic joined the first to position the moaning woman in the back of the ambulance. He turned to a nearby police officer to report the disappearance of the woman’s child. Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead as he did so. “What next?” he whispered, as the police officer spoke with the injured woman. “What’s going to happen now?” Ryan swallowed hard. A moment later, the paramedic gave him his jacket just before draping the woman with the gurney sheet. Ryan thanked him, then struggled back into it. I’m going to be late, he thought, as he pulled his cellular phone out of his pants pocket. I’d better let Mr. Puccini know what’s happening! _______________________________________________________ Richard lurched forward into the cockpit. With a grab at the wheel, Richard dropped himself into the pilot’s seat. In desperation, Richard did the only thing he knew to do in a situation like this. Clutching the wheel till his knuckles turned white, Richard leaned back in the seat, pulling on the wheel as hard as he could. This would bring it out of the nose dive. Richard's heart pounded in his chest. He knew the chances of this succeeding were about one in two. If he couldn’t save the airplane, every passenger and crew member would be killed in a hideous crash, including himself. “Come on,” he said aloud. “C'mon, pull up!” He gritted his teeth. Almost as if his words had done it, Richard felt a little extra give from the wheel. The approaching ground disappeared, to be replaced by a view of the glittering stars. Richard breathed a deep sigh of relief as the plane leveled out. With one hand still controlling the plane, Richard pressed the intercom button. Try as he might, he couldn't keep the sound of fear from his voice. “Ladies and gentleman. As I'm sure you all know something very strange has just happened. Many people on this plane have simply disappeared, including the first officer.” He paused to take a deep breath. “I recommend everyone stay in their seats until it’s time to land.” Although it was irregular, Richard had to give instructions to the crew too. He swallowed hard, before continuing. “Flight attendants, walk slowly around the plane. Find out how many are here and how many are missing. If there's a constant panic, come notify me and something will be done about it.” Rubbing the front of his uniform, Richard took a deep breath. “I'm not sure what happened, but I'm about to contact anyone I can to find out if this was an isolated incident, or if it's happened in other places as well.” Richard shut off the intercom and bit his lower lip. He had to focus, to control his emotions; as the pilot, it was his responsibility to keep the passengers calm and get them to New York in one piece. Minutes passed as he took deep breaths, admonishing himself to calm down and relax. He wiped his face with his cotton handkerchief, then stuffed it into his pants pocket. The cushion creaked underneath him as he shifted position. At least, they were safe for the moment. A tap on his shoulder startled him; he whirled around to see Monica standing behind him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Richard nodded. “That’s OK. Are the passengers all right?” Monica sighed. “As well as they can be, for the moment.” She paused. “And you?” Richard shook his head. He pressed his lips into a tight line. “I’ll manage. I’ve got to keep myself together, so I can get the plane safely to New York.” He paused. “Would you get me some coffee, Monica?” “Certainly.” Monica left the cockpit, a pleased gleam in her eyes. In spite of his churning emotions, it occurred to Richard that his newest flight attendant might be a coffee lover. He smiled at the thought, then sighed. What a night this was turning out to be! _______________________________________________________ “Gloria! Gloria! Wake up!” The voice penetrated Gloria's sleep. For a moment, Gloria wondered for a moment where she was and who was talking to her. Then the memories came floating back. “Gloria! Wake up!” The voice sounded frantic. Slowly, Gloria forced herself to respond. She couldn't believe how much effort it took just to sit up. The mattress sagged and creaked as, yawning, she pushed herself up on her elbow. Her eyelids felt like they were pasted shut. That coffee must have put me to sleep, she thought, rubbing her eyes. But why? It’s supposed to wake you up! Maybe it has the opposite effect on angels. She yawned. No sooner did she open her eyes than a flood of lamplight hurt them, forcing her to close them again. When Christina shook her shoulder, Gloria re-opened them. An enormous yawn escaped from her throat. “Uh, Christina,” she said, confused. “Is something wrong?” Despite the overwhelming urge to close her eyes again, she forced them to stay open; with much effort, she managed to focus on Christina’s blurred image. Christina's red-rimmed eyes were wide with terror, and she was shaking. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Very!” Propping herself on one elbow, Gloria looked Christina in the eye. Whatever the problem was, Christina needed to calm down. Gloria had learned from her one year’s worth of experience as an angel that the only way to calm a human down was to stay calm oneself. She glanced down at the nightgown Christina had loaned her. “What's wrong?” she asked slowly. “Jessica’s missing!” Christina exclaimed. Gloria sat up straight, despite an overpowering sleepiness that made her want to lie down and close her eyes once more. “Are you sure?” She yawned as she spoke. “Yes!” Christina exclaimed. Gloria rose to her feet. Christina was near hysterics. “I’ve looked all over the nursery, and all upstairs. The baby gate is closed, so she can't be downstairs. I think she's been kidnapped!” Fear surged in the angel’s heart. Father, what shall I do? Gloria silently prayed. Out loud, she said, “Christina, you call the police. I’ll search through Jessica's room to see if there’s any clues as to what happened. OK?” Christina nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks. Gloria couldn’t endure seeing her new friend so upset. Impulsively, she reached out and embraced Christina in a tight hug. The distraught woman laid her head on Gloria’s shoulder and sobbed. At last, Christina wiped her face and stood up. “I’m going to call 911.” She rushed out of the room. Putting on her borrowed house shoes, Gloria left her guest room and entered Jessica’s. For a long moment, she just stood next to the crib, staring down at the tousled baby blanket. So, this is the emergency Tess said was going to happen! she thought, rubbing her fingers down one of the smooth crib bars. “God,” she whispered, “did someone break into the Daly home and steal Jessica?” “Yes and no.” A startled Gloria whirled around to find Tess facing her. “Hello, Tess.” She exhaled a deep breath. “Oh, Tess, something terrible has happened. Jessica’s missing! She's disappeared!” “Yes.” Tess paused, clasping her hands together. “And so have millions of other people, all over the world.” “What???” Gloria gaped at her supervisor. “The Bible predicted this mass disappearance, Angel Girl.” The overhead light flooding the bedroom caused Tess’s brooch to glisten as the supervisor angel glanced at the crib. “Millions of Christians were caught up in it, as well as all babies and small children. The church called it the Rapture.” Tilting her head, Gloria furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. “But why? Why would God take them away? Where did they go? Are they dead?” “In answer to your second question, they went to Heaven,” Tess explained. “But they’re not dead. They have new bodies, imperishable bodies. Bodies that can live in Heaven as well as on Earth.” She paused. “Not only did God catch up every living Christian, and every small child, He resurrected every deceased believer, and every baby and young child who was dead. They’re all assembled before God’s throne, right now.” The supervisor angel paused. “In answer to your first question: the reason God took them to Heaven. The Father has to turn His focus back to Israel, and get the world ready for the return of Jesus to this earth. There’s going to be a period of time predicted in the Bible that’ll be worse than any that’s ever been.” Sorrow darkened Tess’s face; she furrowed her eyebrows. “It’s going to be so bad that every person on this planet would die if the Father didn’t cut it short. It’s called the Tribulation, and it will last seven years.” “And God took His church to save it from this--this Tribulation?” Gloria cocked her head as she spoke. Tess nodded. “Yes, He did. And to shift His focus back to His chosen people--the Jews.” She paused. “It will start when an agreement has been signed, allowing Israel to rebuild her temple. An evil man called the Antichrist will set up that agreement.” She paused for a moment, gazing at the empty crib. “Things have been building up to this for decades, Gloria, but the events of September 11th sped them up considerably. When that terrorist attack happened, it not only devastated the lives of the people affected by it--people such as Christina and Ryan--it set in motion worldwide events that have since led to what’s now about to happen.” Sorrow welled in her dark eyes. Gloria winced. “Uh, Tess, is--is this the event that Sam warned Andrew and Adam about?” “Yes.” Tess shifted her gaze toward Gloria, as a serious expression welled in her eyes. “And now, you know what your assignment is, baby. Your job is to help Christina accept the truth, so she can turn to Jesus and be saved. Horrendous events are going to take place, killing the majority of people now alive. Christina and her husband have got to accept Jesus as their Savior--accept the Father’s love--so they’ll be ready for what’s coming.” Gloria nodded. “What about Monica? And Andrew? Do they know?” “They will, after I leave you.” Tess nodded. “First I must tell Andrew, then my next stop is the airplane Monica’s working on. I must tell her, too. Richard is Andrew’s assignment, and Ryan is Monica’s.” Tess handed Gloria a Bible. She opened it to a passage toward the back. “Read this, Gloria. And when you’re finished, read the Book of Revelation and First Corinthians Chapter 15. Then read the books of Daniel, Zechariah, and Joel--as you know, they’re in the Old Testament.” She paused. “And when you’re done, give it to Christina--she’s going to need it. There’s not a Bible in this whole house.” With a shake of her head, she pursed her lips in evident displeasure. Nodding, Gloria took the book. She read a passage in First Thessalonians, then riffled through the book till she came to First Corinthians. Silently, she read the chapter Tess had mentioned. She riffled through the pages in the Book of Revelation, scanning chapter after chapter as her computer-like mind took in every detail. She then followed it up with the three Old Testament books Tess had recommended. “I can’t believe it!!” Soft footfalls signaled Christina’s return. Laying the Bible on a coffee table, Gloria turned toward the door, as a distraught Christina rushed through the open doorway. Tess, Gloria noticed, had disappeared. “I can’t believe it!” Christina choked back sobs as she shook her head violently. “First I had to wait and wait, because I kept getting nothing but busy signals for the longest time. Then, when I finally got through, the police sergeant who took my call told me that he couldn’t send anyone to me now, that he’s getting a flood of calls like mine.” Gloria winced. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “You’re sorry?” Christina sniffled. “That darn police sergeant--I can’t believe he would take my predicament so lightly!” With a frustrated moan, she pounded the dresser with both fists, then took a deep, shuddering breath. Gloria bit her lip. How could she make clear to Christina what had happened without disclosing her identity? The Father had forbidden her to do that until the time was right. She ran her fingers along the frame of her glasses as she pondered her dilemma. Silently, she prayed for guidance. “Uh, Christina, is it possible that Jessica might have been caught up--by God in Heaven?” Christina whirled around and gaped at her. “What do you mean?” Gloria glanced at the Bible, then turned toward Christina. “I mean, she might have been caught in the Rapture. The Bible predicts it, you know.” Christina put her face in her hands. “Oh, please, Gloria, don’t make jokes with me now! God would never take an innocent baby away like that, now would He?” She slapped her arms against her sides. “Something’s happened to my Jessica, and I’ve got to find out what!” She moaned. “Where is she? Where’s my Jessica?” She shook her head a second time. Gloria picked up her Bible and opened it to one of the passages she had just read. “Read this, Christina, and see if it’s not a possibility.” “Where’d you get this?” Christina stared down at the Bible. “Richard and I don’t have any copies of this book!” “A friend of mine gave it to me.” Gloria held it out. “You can have it, Christina. I have another.” Christina reluctantly took the Bible from her new friend and read the passage in First Thessalonians silently. Handing it back, she said, “I’ll think about it.” She sighed. “I’m in shock, Gloria--I can’t think straight just yet. The sergeant said he’d send an officer as soon as he could.” She moaned. “Poor Richard! This is going to be such a shock for him! How am I going to tell him?” She whirled and rushed out of the room. Gloria shook her head, gazing at the ceiling. “Please, God,” she begged, “help Christina and Richard. Help them to accept the truth. Help me to assist them to face facts.” She took a deep breath and left the room. _______________________________________________________ Ryan hurried as quickly as he could make his sore body go. He was already 15 minutes late for his appointment--he did not want to be any later, if he could help it! He rushed through the front door of the office complex where Antonio Puccini worked. Although the building was beautiful inside and out, Ryan had no time to enjoy it. Nor was he in any condition to do so. All he cared about was reaching Puccini’s office. The better part of his morning had been spent helping people the best he could. In one case, he'd helped a teenager get his car out of a jammed parking lot. In another, he’d given first aid to some injured people at the scene of the crash of a privately owned airplane. That didn’t even count the pile-up on the street he'd been a part of when people started disappearing. Now, muscles he hadn't even known he had were sore from over-use. He wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in his bed, and take a nice long nap, then wake up and discover that none of this had happened. But it had happened, and he still had to keep his appointment with his potential boss, Antonio Puccini, even though he was tardy. Ryan hated the suit he was wearing. When he had disembarked from the jet liner, it had looked immaculate; now it looked rumpled, and blood stains covered its front. Instinctively, he reached up to loosen his tie. His sore shoulder protested. Great, he thought. I'm gonna make a great impression. I'm almost too sore to move, I'm exhausted, and I look awful in a suit. Especially one in this condition! He grimaced as he glanced at his watch. And I’m late! Less than five minutes later, Ryan entered a reception room, where he was greeted by a rather attractive young woman dressed professionally with her dark hair swept up into a bun. An open book of crossword puzzles, Ryan noticed, lay on the polished mahogany desk before her. “Mr. Whittaker?” she asked. Ryan looked at her. She looked as pained emotionally as he felt physically. Despite his dislike for being called Mr. Whittaker, for a moment Ryan's compassion made him want to reach out and hold her, letting her cry out all her pain. Still, he knew he was here to interview for a profession, and had to behave professionally. Yet, he couldn't keep the compassion from reaching his eyes. “Yes, ma'am?” he responded. “President Puccini's office is this way.” She rose to her feet. “I gave him your message. He said to tell you it’s all right--right now, everything’s in chaos.” She circled around her desk to approach him. Inserting his hands into his pockets, Ryan smiled his thanks. He noticed that her accent was not Italian, but rather a mix between Greek and American. That seemed out-of-place. He hadn't heard a non-Italian accent for the whole time he'd been there. Of course, he had only been in Rome for a few hours, so there hadn’t been much time to get to know the people there. The young woman motioned for him to follow her. Ryan did. She led him down a hallway lined with closed doors. The hallway seemed to curve, as if in a half-circle. At the end of the hall, the two entered an elevator. Inside, the woman pushed the button for the top floor. Looks like we’re gonna be in here for a while, Ryan thought. “So...” He paused. “Where were you this morning?” He hadn't asked anyone that question since the previous September. The woman's eyes brimmed with tears, and she turned away. “I'd...” She choked through a lump in her throat. “I'd rather not talk about it.” She twisted her watch around her wrist, backward and forward. Ryan understood. After a few moments of silence the elevator stopped and the doors opened. The young woman walked briskly down the carpeted hallway, till she stopped in front of another door. She rapped her knuckles on the door, then swung it open. “Mr. Whittaker is here to see you, sir,” she announced. Pushing the door wide open, she turned on her heel to walk away, leaving Ryan looking into the office. Antonio Puccini sat in an ornate high-backed chair behind a desk across the elegant room. Silk drapes covered the window behind him. Unlike just about everyone Ryan had seen that day, Puccini looked calm, normal, almost happy. He sat with his arms folded on his desk. Another man, whom Ryan recognized as the Israeli foreign minister, stood next to the desk, hands in his pants pockets. Elijah Dayan, Ryan thought. What’s he doing here? “I’ve got to go, Antonio,” the man said. “I’ll be in touch with you later.” Puccini nodded, and the foreign minister left, nodding a greeting at Ryan. Puccini leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly. Ryan fought a surge of irritation as he gazed at the prime minister. What kind of man was this Puccini, anyway? Here they were, in the grip of an international tragedy of horrendous magnitude, and Puccini was smiling! “Mr. Whittaker,” Puccini greeted. Ryan found himself looking into Puccini’s eyes. They were an odd color, brownish-gold, with a touch of green that made them interesting. Still, it was the look in his eyes that had shivers running up and down Ryan's spine. “Good morning, President Puccini,” Ryan responded. He glanced down at his suit. “I apologize for my disheveled appearance, sir, and for being late. I, uh, ran into an emergency this morning.” He smiled apologetically. “I know.” Puccini nodded. “I suspected you were caught in it when Miss Crossman gave me your message.” Puccini motioned for Ryan to sit down. Ryan did so. _______________________________________________________ “This isn’t a coffee assignment, Miss Wings!” Monica whirled from the coffee pot to find Tess standing behind her, a stern expression etched on her face. “Tess!” she said, startled. “Uh, Mr. Daly asked me to make him some coffee, so...” “So you thought you’d have some, too.” Monica blushed; Tess knew her too well. Tess put her hands on her hips. “Well, Angel Girl, you’re going to have to control that coffee love of yours for now, because this is a serious situation!” “Serious? How?” Monica turned to plug in the coffee pot, then pivoted to face her supervisor once more. An uneasy feeling rose in her. “Very serious.” Andrew appeared next to Monica, a concerned expression etched on his normally cheerful face. “Tess told me everything, just a few minutes ago.” He paused. “This is what Sam warned Adam and me about.” “What--?” Monica turned to Tess, confused. “You mean, about the disappearance of the passengers on this plane?” “Yes. Listen.” Tess nodded toward the wall that divided the galley and the cockpit. Monica approached the wall and cocked her ear, pressing it against the wall’s smooth surface. On the other side, Richard spoke into his radio. “This is Pan-World 2-niner heavy. We are declaring an emergency. Does anyone copy?” There was silence for several moments. Richard tried again. “Pan-World 2 niner heavy is declaring an emergency. Any aircraft that copy, please respond.” After a brief crackling sound, there was a voice on the radio. “Pan-World 2-niner heavy, this is Concord 06. Are you having a mechanical emergency?” Maybe it‘s only on my flight that people have disappeared, Richard thought. Out loud, he responded, “Negative.” This time, the voice on the other end sounded uneasy. “Missing passengers?” Richard winced. This was the confirmation he had hoped he wouldn’t receive! “Affirmative. First officer, too. How did you know?” Although Richard knew that it must have happened on other flights, he didn't want to think about that. The other pilot's words kept him from denying it any longer. “Passengers missing here too. Missing airplane staff, as well. It's happened all over, even on the ground.” The words, "even on the ground," was much more than Richard wanted to hear. He could literally hear his heart thumping. Christina, he thought. I hope she and Jessica are all right! Richard wasn't sure what to say next. It was the first time in a long time Richard didn't know what to say. Biting back a groan, he removed his cap and rubbed his hair, front to back. Where is that coffee, Monica? I need it! He sighed and shook his head. Well, he thought, I’m going to tell Christina about this when I get home. He gritted his teeth--if only he was near New York City right now! He glanced at the empty seat next to him. Looks like I’m going to have to replace Timothy, too! He pursed his lips. In the galley, Monica turned toward Tess, as shock surged through her. “You mean---!” Tess nodded. “Yes, I do mean. The Rapture has occurred; every child of God has been taken to Heaven. Not only born-again Christians, living and dead, but all babies and young children, too. Mr. and Mrs. Daly’s baby were included in that number.” She nodded toward the wall a second time, then turned to Andrew. “And your assignment is sitting in that cockpit, Angel Boy.” She clasped her hands as she spoke. “Mr. Daly?” Monica glanced toward the coffee pot as she spoke, then glanced at Andrew. The angel of death nodded his acceptance of the assignment. Tess nodded. “And your assignment, Monica, is in Italy as we speak. Ryan Whittaker.” Monica nodded her acquiescence. _______________________________________________________ “Did you have a good flight, Mr. Whittaker?” The Italian president leaned back in his chair. Ryan nodded. “Yes, thank you. My brother-in-law was the pilot.” Shifting position in the unyielding hard-backed chair, he folded his hands in his lap. Curiosity about Elijah Dayan’s visit welled up in him, but out of politeness, he said nothing. If it was anything newsworthy, he would learn of it from CNN soon enough. Antonio's eyebrows raised slightly as he chuckled. He slowly widened his lips in a smirk, but no smile accompanied them in his eyes. “Flying runs in the family, eh?” Ryan nodded again. Why did he feel uneasy about talking to this man? Antonio seemed to notice Ryan's hesitancy. His gaze became sympathetic. “You do not feel like talking, after what happened this morning.” Ryan couldn't meet Antonio's eyes. He stared down at his hands. Was that why he wasn’t feeling talkative around Antonio? Because of the disappearances? No, that wasn't right. He'd wanted to talk to the secretary. In spite of himself, Ryan found himself nodding again. “Would you rather talk about the possibility of being my pilot?” Antonio asked. “Yes sir,” Ryan said, almost too enthusiastically. Flying was his passion...that and the outdoors. “Very well then,” Antonio said. “When did you get your pilot's license?” Ryan still remembered that day well. “It was when I was 15 years old,” he said. “I was in high school.” Ryan chuckled. “The only kid in school with a pilot's license. I got that even before I got my driver’s license.” A smile creased Antonio‘s lips, but his eyes remained expressionless. “And then you joined the Air Force, and when your stint ended, you became a commercial pilot.” Ryan nodded. “Yes. I'll confess, though, I never encountered a disaster such as happened this morning.” He bit his lip. Antonio nodded agreement. “No, I am sure you did not. What happened this morning was an emergency like no other. Yet I am told you have a history of handling crises with courage. Yes, I know you were not in the cockpit this morning, but I have also been told you administered first-aid to a number of people on the road when it happened.” Ryan nodded, wondering who had informed Puccini of his role in that morning's events. All he himself had told Puccini’s secretary was that he’d been held up by an emergency. “I am sure that is why your appearance is a little--shall we say, rumpled?” Ryan nodded, then glanced down at his suit, biting his lip. Antonio chuckled. “Do not feel ashamed, Ryan. What you did this morning makes you a hero.” Antonio leaned forward. “You are the man I need, Whittaker, so you are hired. You will be the pilot for my private plane. How soon can you start?” “With all due respect, President--Puccini--” Ryan began. “Please call me Antonio,” Antonio interrupted. “Antonio,” Ryan corrected. “With all due respect, sir, I haven’t learned enough about this job to accept it on the spot.” Antonio looked surprised. “I am sorry,” he said, but it didn't seem like he meant it as an apology, more as a conversation filler. “I did not realize that you were...” Antonio searched for a word for a moment and said, “...uninformed.” Ryan bit his lip. And just who would have informed me? he wondered. Antonio cracked his knuckles. “All right, I will fill you in on the job description.” He paused. “As president of Italy and of the European Union, I have a busy schedule. I have to travel quite a bit, even now, and events are shaping up that will soon require me to travel even more. Even though I have recently appointed a prime minister who will handle many of the tasks of government--including forming a new goverment--I am still very busy. I need a steady, dependable pilot who is on call at all times, who has steady nerves and a cool head, who knows how to handle himself in emergencies, and who can be trusted to be ready to fly at any time of the day or night. The benefits are excellent, I assure you, and the pay is generous. I understand you are single.” Ryan nodded. Silently, he wondered what Puccini would be doing that would be keeping him so busy. Even though he was the elected head of the Italian government, the prime minister would be the one to set Italy's national policy as well as to form a cabinet. Could it be that Puccini intended to take some of those jobs over? he wondered. “Well, consider this--if ever you decide to get married, you will be more than able to support a family. Comfortably. In style.” Ryan leaned back to consider the offer. It sounded good. He could think of no ostensible reason to turn it down, yet something about Antonio made him uneasy. “All right,” he finally said. “I accept the position. When do you want me to start?” “As soon as you can get your things moved from your New York apartment.” Antonio rose to his feet. “That will not take long, I know.” As Puccini accompanied Ryan to the door, Ryan took a deep breath as a feeling of nausea rose in him. I hope I’ve made the right decision, he thought. But there’s no turning back now. He paused to shake Puccini’s hand, then departed. _______________________________________________________ Richard was frustrated. It was all he could do to refrain from shoving his fist through the jet-liner’s windshield. As he wiggled impatiently on his chair, the cushion creaked underneath his weight. He’d just had two conversations with different airport towers, and both airports were closed. Now he was forced to look for a smaller airport or somewhere else safe to land--and in the middle of the night, no less! He took another sip from the now-cold coffee, sitting on a tray next to him since Monica had brought it to him some time earlier. He leaned back in his chair for the umpteenth time, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. He glared at the stars that glittered in the distance. If only it were daylight! Monica walked into the cockpit. “Excuse me, Captain Daly,” she said. Richard didn’t take his eyes away from the instruments that showed their position. “Yes?” he said briskly. “The emergency exit ramp is ready to be inflated once you find a landing spot.” Richard nodded slightly. “Thank you,” he said, hoping his tone would indicate that he wanted her to go away. Taking the hint, Monica left the cockpit. With a sigh, Richard wiped his face with his handkerchief, then rubbed his forehead. He would have to use his instruments to make sure he found a safe spot, since it was too dark to fly by sight. He could only hope it would be possible to do so. He flew the plane in a circle around the city several times, looking for an ideal place to land. Every airport was crammed full and closed. Smoke from crashes everywhere wafted into the air, blocking the stars. After long minutes, he barely managed to make out a huge grassy area in Central Park. Perfect to land on, he thought. Richard didn’t know if it was legal to land in Central Park or not, but at a time like this it didn’t really matter. Just about every law in the book went out the window when it came to people’s safety in situations like this. If the plane stayed in the air much longer, it would run out of fuel. He made the announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you are not already in your seats, please seat yourself and buckle in. We are about to begin initial decent.” Richard hesitated, but then decided the passengers deserved to be as well-informed as possible. “I regret to inform you that no airport has room enough for a bird this size, but I’m going to attempt a landing at Central Park. Do not panic. An exit ramp will be provided for your use.” Once again, he hesitated. Somehow, saying, “And thank you for flying Pan-World Airways,” didn't seem to be an appropriate way to end his words to the passengers. Richard wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, he just switched off the intercom. Richard began the process of landing the plane. When the plane landed with a jolt, he knew that he had made it safely. About 20 minutes later, Richard stood at the top of the emergency escape slide, clasping his flight bag. All of his passengers had left for their destinations. It was his turn to leave the plane. Richard jumped upward, kicking his legs into the air. Less than a second later, his rear connected with the slide. The jolt made it feel like his stomach jumped into his throat. He slid down the ramp. If there was anything he hated as much as falling, it was sliding. Both created the same lack of control over his body. Somehow, he suspected that his dream from the night before and this tragedy were connected. It was a fleeting thought, and Richard quickly dismissed it. In the next instant, his body jolted as his feet hit the ground. He lost his balance. Falling again, Richard thought briefly, extending his arms to catch himself. “Ooof!” he grunted. Richard shook his head as he picked himself off the ground. He rubbed his hands on his uniform to wipe off the dew. Everyone had left the grassy area; only Richard was left. Taking a deep breath, he rose his feet and scanned the park to get his bearings. After a moment’s thought, he noticed that there was a wooded area of the park between him and the road that would take him home. The way he saw it, he'd have to walk. But it would be worth it. Worth it to see his Christina. He picked up his flight bag and broke into a brisk stride. It’s fortunate I have good night vision, he thought, wryly. _______________________________________________________ As he strolled through the office complex’s front entrance, Ryan shook his head. He couldn't believe that he'd been hired on the spot like that. He’d gone from a recently unemployed pilot, to a volunteer in the worst tragedy ever known to man, to a private pilot for a politician who was quickly becoming the most powerful man in the world. “If I hadn’t been laid off in the aftermath of the 9-11 crisis, I’d still be piloting a commercial jet liner,” he muttered. “And I wouldn’t have been talking with Puccini today.” He shook his head. “I’m not so sure I wouldn’t be better off going back to my old job, if I could. But I don’t know why.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to find a hotel to spend the night in.” Ryan hadn't been surprised to learn that Puccini would be holding a press conference soon, one that would be shown live on international T.V. Ryan had no intention of missing that. His shoes clicked on the sidewalk as he strode down the crowded sidewalk toward his rented Cadillac. When he neared the car, he frowned. Ryan felt an uneasy feeling in his gut about Puccini. Something about the guy was just...off. Ryan couldn't put his finger on it, but it was true. Then there was that secretary. Ryan was sure her eyes would haunt him for days. He'd seen lots of people in despair and clinging for something--anything--to give them support. Why then, did this girl especially touch him? His mind drifted to his loved ones. He had no way of knowing whether Christina, Richard, or baby Jessica were alive or de |