In Need of a Home

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In Need of a Home; Story #3 of "Angels at the End of Time"
Topic Started: Oct 29 2007, 11:39 AM (237 Views)
kgreen20	Oct 29 2007, 11:39 AM Post #1
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	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 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 was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own. In story #3 of my end-times series, a 12-year-old girl whose mother was brutally murdered is in desperate need of a loving Christian home. Will the angels be able to get her one, or will the Antichrist force her to be raised by an institution, to be brainwashed by the new world religion? And will a left-behind minister turn his life over to the Lord now that the Tribulation has begun? Yours truly, Kathy G.



kgreen20	Oct 29 2007, 11:43 AM Post #2
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	PROLOGUE The woman lay on the bare pine floor, moaning. Next to her, moonlight poured through the window, forming a rectangle of soft light on her face. Two straight-back wooden chairs lay tipped over, and her mementos lay scattered all over the floor. She could see the outlines of the furniture and other objects lying around. Since the air conditioner didn’t work anymore, drops of sweat had formed on her forehead. Across the room, her small black-and-white TV set blared in the background; the light emanating from the screen formed a rectangle of light on the pine floor below. She ignored the late-night movie that was airing at that moment. A man had broken into her home less than two hours before, and viciously assaulted her at gunpoint. When she’d gotten out of bed to get a drink of water, shortly after midnight, he’d grabbed her from behind as she had entered the living room, and pressed a revolver against her temple. First, he’d raped her, then he’d beaten her brutally, then he had stabbed her repeatedly with a long butcher knife. Before leaving, he had turned on her TV set, loudly, to prevent passers-by from hearing her cries, then slashed that same knife through the telephone wire to prevent the woman from calling 911. Now, less than an hour after the assailant’s departure, the terrified woman lay on her back, trying to hold back her moans, and silently praying for help. Blood lay in a pool next to her side. At least, she thought, Rachel knew nothing of what had happened. Rachel Nicole Jackson, her young daughter, was spending the night with a friend, for the first time since the mass disappearances of millions of people several weeks before. Thank goodness she had finally agreed to let her daughter spend the night out, instead of keeping her at home as she’d done ever since that horrendous event had taken place. “Please, God,” she whispered, “don’t let me die! My little girl still needs me. Please, God, save me!” She bit her lip. “I’m so thankful she’s not here! That--monster--would have killed her, too!” Shivers ran through Linda Jackson’s body as she glanced at the soft rays of moonlight pouring into the living room. Outside, over the blaring noise of the TV set, car engines rose and faded away, up and down the New York City slum street she and her daughter had lived on ever since before her daughter's birth. Rachel was only 12 years old. With Linda gone, who would raise her? Not her husband--he’d been dead since Rachel was eight. Suddenly, a soft, unearthly light flooded the living room. Biting her lip, Linda turned her head. “Wh--what--?” she stammered. “Hello, Linda.” A man stepped toward her. In the unearthly light, Linda saw that he had sandy-brown hair and was wearing a beige suit. Linda couldn’t believe her eyes. What was this man doing in her home? How had he gotten in without her hearing the door open? And why was he glowing like that? Was her mind playing tricks on her? “Don‘t be afraid, Linda.” The man smiled. “My name is Andrew, and I’m an angel sent from God.” He knelt over her and took her hand. “God has heard your prayers, and he has sent me to be with you.” He paused. “I’m an angel of death.” Gaping at the angel, Linda shook her head. “Am--am I going to die?” Her voice squeaked. A serious expression creased Andrew’s forehead as he nodded. “I’m afraid so, Linda.” He squeezed her hand. “But you do not have to die without hope. God has been drawing you towards Him in recent weeks. He wants you to know that you can die with the peace that comes from knowing Him. He gives you that chance now.” Biting her lip again, Linda nodded. She'd been seeking to know God ever since the recent disappearance of millions of people, weeks before. “How?” she whispered. Andrew bent over her. “Give your life over to Jesus. Tell Him you’re sorry for your sins, the wrong things you’ve done. Ask Him to come into your heart and make you new.” Nodding, Linda did as instructed. As she finished praying, a new peace flooded through her. “Thank You, God,” she said. “Thank You!” She turned toward Andrew. “Please promise me something.” She paused. “Please take care of my little girl, and see that she’s in good hands.” She coughed, then winced as a spasm of pain shot through her chest. “My husband is dead, and I have no relatives to take her in. Poor Rachel’s going to be all alone.” She gazed pleadingly at the angel. “Please see to it she’s cared for, would you? By someone who loves her?” She grabbed his sleeve. “Please?” Andrew nodded. “I will. I promise.” Linda winced again. The unyielding wooden floor sent a bolt of pain through the back of her head as she pressed it against its surface, trying to bear the sharp stabs of pain in her side and her chest. “Rachel’s a good girl, Andrew. And she loves me so.” She winced. “This is going to be so hard on her!“ “Yes, it will.” Andrew removed a pocket watch from his pants pocket and glanced down at it. “But she won’t face it alone. God will be with her, and He will send people into her life to help her through this.” He snapped the watch’s lid shut, and gazed at her face. Linda closed her eyes. Suddenly, light flooded around her. She found herself standing, gazing down at the now-lifeless body at her feet. Andrew stood next to her, smiling. “Are you ready, Linda?” Smiling back, Linda nodded. Andrew escorted her out the door into a flood of Heavenly light. At that moment, three other angels appeared on the scene. “Oh, Tess, that poor woman,” Monica said, as pain welled up in her heart. Tess nodded agreement. Gloria, the newest angel, bit her lip. “It’s all over for her.” She adjusted her glasses. Without them, she could see only fuzzy blurs. “For her, yes.” Tess pursed her lips. “But it’s just beginning for her daughter. Unless a good home is found for Rachel quickly, she will be brainwashed by the new religion being established as I speak.” She shook her head with evident displeasure as she rubbed her fingers on her diamond brooch. “And the Father wants us to prevent that from happening,” Monica guessed. Tess nodded. “Yes. And He also wants us to re-enter the lives of some people we ministered to, recently. As I told you on the day of the treaty, the Father has a mission for them. They will need our help to carry it out.” Gloria tilted her head as she looked at Tess. “The Dalys?” Tess nodded. “Yes. The Dalys.” She looked straight at Gloria. “But right now, the Father wants you to finish your assignment. He will send you back to us when we need you.” Gloria nodded acquiescence. As the nearsighted angel left the house, Monica gazed down thoughtfully at Linda’s body. On the windowsill, a snow-white dove cooed. END OF PROLOGUE



kgreen20	Oct 29 2007, 11:49 AM Post #3
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 1 The following afternoon, as the same dove flew over the small, ramshackle house where Linda and her daughter had lived, Rachel Nicole Jackson lay crumpled in a heap next to her mother’s body, sobbing. She had just come home to find her mother dead of stab wounds. “No,” she moaned. “No! Please, no!” She shook her mother’s shoulder for the eleventh time. “Please don’t be dead, Mom! I need you!” The grief-stricken 12-year-old crawled away from her mother’s body, across the room toward the sofa. The mattress sagged and creaked under her weight, as Rachel pulled herself onto the couch and glared at the TV set blaring across the room. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead in the hot living room, and grief and panic flooded her heart. With her mother gone, who would take care of her? How would she get food? Clothes? Who would comfort her when she was upset or frightened? Rachel stared at the news bulletin in progress. “This morning, in Israel, two more soldiers were killed when they tried to arrest the two preachers, at the Wailing Wall,” the anchorman said. “Fire inexplicably came from nowhere and consumed their bodies, as they moved toward the two men. Here in America, the crime wave continues. Thousands have been found murdered in their homes and on the streets in just the last week alone.” Leaping to her feet, Rachel darted across the room to turn off the TV set. She and her mother had been hearing about the two preachers ever since shortly after the disappearance of millions, and she did not care to hear any more. It’s not fair, she thought, pursing her lower lip. One of my best friends disappeared, too. And now, Mom’s dead! As she slumped back onto the couch, she sniffled. Now I’m going to be a state kid. No one’ll ever love me or want me! She glared at the sunlight pouring through the window, forming a rectangle on the bare pine floor. “Why does it have to be sunny?” she muttered. “It ought to be black and raining!” She wiped the sweat off her forehead. With a sigh, Rachel buried her face in her hands and snuffled. Her nose flattened against her palms as she took several deep breaths. She had feared and dreaded this ordeal ever since she had lost her father when she was just eight years old. On a day as sunny as this one, she and her mother had received the awful news that her father had died in a welding accident. Ever since, Rachel had prayed that God would never take her mother away from her. How she dreaded the prospect of going to a foster home or a children’s home! A knock on the front door startled her. Sighing, Rachel trudged across the living room and opened it. A heavy-set black woman and a tall, sandy-haired man stood there. “Hello, Rachel,” Tess said. “May we come in? I’m Tess, and this is Andrew. We came to visit your mother--I met her at the store a couple of days ago.” “She's dead. Murdered.” Sniffling, Rachel stood aside. “Someone stabbed her to death!“ Tess and Andrew entered the living room. Rachel pushed her bangs out of her eyes, then watched as the two visitors knelt and examined her mother’s body, grim expressions etched on their faces. For a long moment, no one spoke. Rachel leaned against the unpainted pine wall and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. More beads of sweat formed on her forehead, as she waited. She swiped them off with the back of her hand. At last, Andrew rose to his feet, folding his hands across his chest. “Rachel, Tess and I are going to see to your mother’s body. And we’re going to find a minister to give her a decent funeral.” He approached the child and patted her shoulder. “Tell me, do you have any loved ones you can stay with? Any aunts, uncles, cousins? Grandparents?” Rachel shook her head. “I don’t have no one!” She bit her lip and took a deep, shuddering breath. Andrew and Tess exchanged glances. “We’ll have to find you someone, then,” Tess said. “After we call an ambulance, Rachel, we’ll find someone for you to stay with.” Tess picked up the phone and dialed 911. As Rachel listened, Tess requested that an ambulance be sent to the Jackson home. Minutes later, two paramedics arrived with a stretcher. They laid Linda’s body on it and covered her head with the sheet. Rachel, meanwhile, packed her mother’s suitcase with her clothes and placed her belongings in a cardboard box. With seemingly leaden feet, she trudged out of her bedroom, lugging the heavy suitcase, while Andrew carried her box. As the ambulance drove down the street, Andrew put his arm around Rachel’s shoulder. “Come on, honey,” he said, gently. “Come with us. We’ll go to a church Tess and I know of.” Nodding, Rachel followed Andrew and Tess toward a nearby red convertible. She slid into the back seat and fastened her seatbelt. Tess set Rachel’s things into the back seat next to the young girl, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Rachel leaned her head against the soft, cushioned back seat. The air conditioner felt good to her sweaty skin. Overhead, clusters of fleecy clouds floated across the sky. Minutes later, they pulled up in front of a church. A sign in front read “Missionary Baptist Church.” As Rachel climbed out of the back seat, fresh pain stabbed her heart. Mom’s always been there when I needed her, and now she’s gone. She bit her lip. Why, God? It’s not fair! I asked You to never take her away! She twisted a strand of hair around her index finger, until Andrew gestured toward the door. The trio entered the sanctuary, where they found a man sitting in one of the front pews, with his head bowed. A Bible rested in his lap. He did not lift his head as they strode down the center aisle, their shoes clicking on the polished pine floor, until Tess spoke. “Reverend Logan?” Tess cleared her throat. The man raised his head, startled. An uneasy feeling arose in Tess, a sense of impending trouble. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t see you.” He set his Bible on the cushioned pew next to him and rose to his feet. “Who are you?” He scanned the group as he spoke. “I’m Tess, and this is Andrew.” Tess nodded toward the other angel, then turned toward Rachel. “And this is Rachel. Rachel Nicole Jackson. Her mother was murdered in her house last night, and now Rachel needs a home.” The pastor frowned. “What about her father? Her other relatives?” Andrew put a arm around Rachel’s shoulder. “Her father’s dead, and she has no other relatives.” He hugged her against him. “We were wondering if you would be willing to officiate a funeral for Mrs. Jackson.” Logan waved his hand. “I have no objection. Let’s go to my office, and we’ll discuss the details.” Andrew gazed at Rachel for a long moment. “Also, Pastor Logan…” He paused. “We were wondering if you could take her in until more permanent arrangements can be made for her.” Tess nodded agreement. Sucking in her breath, Rachel clasped her hands tightly in front of her waist. The pastor bit his lower lip, as a mixture of pain and bitterness welled up in his eyes. “I’m in no position to help this child or anyone else.” He scratched his left arm as he spoke. “Look what happened! Millions of people--Christians and little children, all--gone, just like that! Gone to Heaven, all of them! And what happened to me? I got left behind!” With a shake of his head, he clenched his fists. “Take the child to DHS. There’s no room for her here. I’ll conduct her mother‘s funeral, but that’s all I can do.” Sagging her shoulders, Rachel dropped her head, as she leaned against the pew. Her hands hung limply at her sides. Tess shook her head, a mixture of pity and irritation welling up in her heart. If only this man--supposedly a man of God--would think about someone else’s needs instead of his own misery, he would be much better off! Yet, she knew quite well what devastation he must have been through; it was the same devastation other left-behind ministers were going through, as well. Apparently, he had counted on his own righteousness, his works of religion, to gain his acceptance with God. When the Rapture had occurred, his pride had been dealt a severe blow. His pain must be all the greater because he had been deluded into thinking that his religiousness would save him. Now he must face that fact that it had not. She clasped her hands together as the implications of the situation sank in. If this is what the Father is calling us to do, Tess thought, then we will do our part. Perhaps God is calling us to help two people here--Rachel Jackson and Pastor Jack Logan. Out loud, she said, “Reverend Logan, this little girl is in need of real help. And with the Tribulation now in progress, we dare not leave her in the hands of the state.” Jack shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to. I can do nothing for her. Sorry.” He trudged out of the sanctuary. The side door thudded softly behind him. END OF CHAPTER 1



kgreen20	Oct 30 2007, 11:44 AM Post #4
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 2 Tess and Andrew exchanged troubled glances, and sighed. As Tess gazed down at the little girl’s crestfallen expression, she hugged her. “Don’t worry, Rachel,” she told the child. “God loves you, and He’s going to see that you are taken care of.” Rachel hung her head. “If God loves me, why did He take my mom?” She stifled a sob. “I begged Him not to!” She stared down at the imitation pearl necklace that hung around her neck and sniffled. Andrew led her toward one of the pews; sitting down at the end, he held her hand as she leaned against the smooth wooden arm that framed the side. “God didn’t make that man kill her,” he told her. “The darkness in his soul--the rage, the hate--led him to do that. And there have been many such crimes ever since all Christians, and all babies and children, were taken away from this planet, last month. Your mother’s not the only one who’s been murdered lately; thousands of others in this city alone have suffered the same fate. But even in this time of darkness, Rachel, God is still in control. He knew you would be faced with this dilemma, and He’s going to take care of you.” “What are you going to do?” Rachel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m going to call DHS.” Andrew rose to his feet and left the sanctuary. Rachel gazed down at the carpeted floor for a long moment, tears rolling down her cheeks. Tess put her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s sit down while we wait for Andrew, OK?” The two perched side by side on the same pew the minister had sat on, a few minutes before. The cushion lining the seat sagged beneath them as they leaned back to relax. While Tess and Rachel sat waiting for Andrew to return, Tess told the little girl some Bible stories. Despite her grief, Rachel listened, for Tess had a way of telling a story that drew in her listeners. Tess sensed that these stories were new to Rachel, who had never been exposed to Christian teaching by her mother, nor had ever been to church. When Andrew returned, he smiled down at Rachel. “A social worker is on her way now. She should be here very shortly.” He put his hands in his pockets as he spoke. At that moment, the front door swung open, and a slender, brown-haired woman walked in. She wore a tailored light-brown dress and pearl earrings, and caring radiated from her eyes. She glanced at Tess and Andrew with raised eyebrows; Tess nodded toward Rachel. The woman’s spiked shoes clicked on the floor as she strode down the aisle toward the waiting group. “Hello, Rachel.” The woman spoke with an Irish accent. “My name is Monica, and I was sent here by DHS.” She smiled comfortingly at Rachel. “Hi,” Rachel mumbled. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and looked up at Tess, who smiled at her comfortingly. At that moment, the pastor re-entered the sanctuary. He inserted his hands into his pants pockets as he scanned the group. “Are you the social worker?” he asked Monica. “Yes, I am. I’m Monica.” The woman held out her hand, and Logan shook it. “I’m here to see about getting the child a new home.” She glanced down at Rachel for a long moment, then turned toward the pastor. “Unfortunately, Reverend Logan, the children’s homes are all flooded with young people whose parents either disappeared last month, or have since died. It may take a while to find a suitable foster home for this wee one.” She gave the pastor a pleading look. “Won’t you let her stay with you, pastor, until we find her a good home?” Pastor Logan looked at Rachel and sighed. “It appears I have no choice." Tess nodded approvingly. “Believe it or not, Reverend,” she said, “this is the beginning of your own redemption. You may not see that now, but you will, soon.” She turned to Rachel. “You stay here with Pastor Logan, honey, until Monica, here, comes for you. She’s going to find a good home for you, with people who care.” Rachel nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” “Good girl.” Tess patted her shoulder, then led the way out of the church. As the three angels approached their cars, Andrew turned to look at Tess and Monica. “Have you a foster home in mind?” he asked, in a low voice. “Yes, I do.” Monica looked at Tess as she spoke. The supervisor angel nodded agreement. Tess knew who Monica was referring to. “The Dalys.” Tess slid into the driver’s side and inserted the key into the ignition. “Monica’s going to ask them to take Rachel in. And we’re going with her.” The Dalys were a couple whom the angels had been sent to, at the time of the Rapture. The wife, Christina Daly, had lost her mother in the World Trade Center attack on 9-11, then she and her husband had lost their baby daughter, Jessica, in the Rapture. Pastor Logan came outside, to get Rachel’s things; Andrew removed Rachel’s possessions from the car and set them on the sidewalk. As the pastor carried the box and suitcase inside, the angel of death slid into the passenger side of Tess’s convertible; Monica climbed into her DHS-issued car. Half an hour after he, Monica, and Tess had left the church, the three angels pulled up into the driveway of a two-story brick house. Tess led the way toward the front porch; her shoes clumped on the porch steps. Pausing at the door, she rang the doorbell. It jangled shrilly. A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a slender woman with dark-brown hair. “Tess!” she cried, as pleasure surged in her eyes. Dimples formed on her face. “Andrew! Monica! It’s so good to see you again.” She stepped sideways. “Won’t you come in?” The three angels entered the living room, where a tall man with coal-black hair and tanned skin rose to his feet, fingers wrapped around a china coffee cup. A mixture of astonishment and pleasure etched his handsome face. “Well, well! Tess! It’s good to see you again. You, too, Andrew, Monica.” He set down the cup on the coffee table; it landed with a clink on the table’s smooth, polished surface. Christina nodded agreement. “It certainly is! Tell me, how’s Gloria?“ “She’s fine.“ Andrew smiled. “She’s on assignment elsewhere right now, but she’s doing nicely.” Christina smiled, evidently remembering. Gloria had stayed in the Daly house during the first few weeks following the Rapture. She had led Christina to the Lord, then had helped her stay strong during the difficult days that followed, when Richard had tried to bully his wife out of her faith. Richard nodded, then frowned. “Weird, isn’t it, how much has happened since the Rapture several weeks ago? And even more’s going to happen.” He frowned. “But that’s not what you came here to talk about, is it? Something tells me you didn’t just come here to catch up on old times.” He looked from one angel to another, then rubbed his hair, front to back. “Is something wrong?” Monica nodded. She glanced toward the sunlight pouring through the left window, then turned her gaze back toward Richard. “As a matter of fact, Richard, yes. There is.” Propping her fingers together, she paused. “There’s a little girl named Rachel Nicole Jackson. She’s 12 years old, and she and her mother were left behind in the Rapture, last month. They live in the inner city.” Sadness welled up in her expressive eyes. “Last night, her mother was murdered in her own home. Rachel was spending the night with a friend when it happened, and returned home today, to find her mother dead.” Richard and Christina winced. “That’s terrible!” Christina said, exchanging a distressed glance with Richard. “Where’s her father?” “Dead.” Andrew sighed. “And since she has no relatives to take her in, she’s been placed in DHS custody.” He inserted his hands into his pants pockets. Tess nodded. “All the children’s shelters are full to overflowing, so a pastor has agreed to take her in until Monica, here, finds her a foster home.” She looked from Richard to Christina. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in taking her in. We want Rachel to have a good Christian home, with people who love her.” Monica nodded agreement. “I’m currently working for DHS, so I’ve been assigned the job of placing Rachel in a foster home.” She smiled. “Would you two like to apply to become foster parents?” Richard and Christina exchanged a long, troubled glance. As Monica watched them, she hoped, fervently, that the Dalys would agree to give Rachel a home. If they refused, Rachel would be in a real predicament. At last, Christina spoke, hesitantly. “Uh, you know, Richard--” “No!” Richard shook his head, pursing his lips. “I don’t want to be responsible for some unknown child. Who knows what kind of kid she is, having grown up in a slum? Or how much work she’d cause us?” He turned to Monica. “Can’t you find her a home somewhere else? Surely, there must be many foster parents who’d be willing to take her in.” Monica’s pearl earrings dangled as she shook her head. “Most of them are full. And the few that are available, I wouldn’t want to place a child like Rachel in.” She gazed pleadingly at Richard. “She is in real need of a home. With her mother dead, she has no one.” Richard sighed. “I’m sure of that.” He shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Monica, I still miss our Jessica, and so does Christina. No one can take her place, least of all a 12-year-old girl who got left behind in the Rapture.” Looking down, he dug the toe of his slipper into the soft tufts of carpet at his feet. As he turned his back toward the angels, facing the kitchen doorway, Christina bit her lip and sighed. Monica raised her eyes to Heaven, clasping her hands. “Please, Father,” she whispered, “give us some help here. Please do something to convince Richard.” The jangling of a telephone startled her. Richard jumped, evidently even more startled than Monica, then strode toward the phone on the TV set. As he cradled the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, he looked at Christina and shrugged. “Hello?” A pause. “Ryan! Hello!” He beamed. Ryan Whittaker was Christina’s older brother and Richard’s long-time best friend. He had lived in Rome for the past month, working for the president of the European Union. Squealing, Christina rushed toward the extension they kept in the hall, her slippers softly thudding on the carpet, and picked up the receiver. Tess took several steps toward Richard, then halted. From where she stood, she could hear Ryan’s voice at the other end. “Ryan, so good to hear from you! How’s it going?” Tess heard Christina asking her brother, from the hall. “Just great,” Ryan told her. “Kristen and I have been going out every chance we get. I’ve got great news, Brownie: I asked her to marry me several days ago, and she said yes!” Richard and Christina whooped and exchanged high fives. This was the greatest news either of them had ever heard! Tess sensed what was running through their minds: to think that Ryan, who had been a confirmed bachelor for so long, was actually getting married! She knew that Richard had sometimes wondered if he ever would, and that Christina had wondered the same thing. “Ryan, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time!” Christina cried. “Next to your accepting the Lord, that is.” “It certainly is!” Richard smiled towards the hallway entrance, as if to exchange smiles with his wife. “Have you set a date yet?” Richard asked his brother-in-law. “Not yet. We’re biding our time, at the moment.” From her spot by the coffee table, Tess heard Ryan clearing his throat, then continuing. “Right now, we’re stuck, Richard. Without knowing Antonio Puccini’s plans, it’s impossible to make our own.” Antonio Puccini was the president of Italy and of the European Union. He was in the process of setting up a world government under the auspices of the EU. Ryan and his fiancée, Kristen Crossman, worked for him: Ryan as his private pilot, and Kristen as his secretary. Richard nodded. “That’s hard, I know.” He paused to glance at Tess. “Well, how’s this? Suppose you and Kristen come here to the U.S., to get married, the next time you fly Puccini here? You could get married right here in New York City.” A pause. “Excellent idea, Richard. I’ll ask Kristen and see what she says.” “Good. I hope she says yes, and I hope Puccini will let you.“ Richard bit his lip. “Somehow, we’ve got to think of a way to get you here. And soon.” Christina nodded agreement. “Yeah.” Ryan paused. “Well, Richard--Christina--that’s not the only reason I called. I wanted to bring you up-to-date on what’s happening here.” He cleared his throat again. “Better be forewarned, Richard: a lot’s happening right now. Kristen and I have both overheard Puccini’s plans. He’s going to let the new pope set up the new religion all over the world; he says it’s going to take the place of all other religions. Especially Christianity.” Clenching his left fist, Richard grimaced, and Christina shook her head. Behind them, Tess, Monica, and Andrew exchanged troubled glances; they knew quite well what that portended. Tess folded her arms across her chest. After a loaded pause, Ryan went on. “As you guys know, Puccini fully intends to take over the whole earth. With himself as the ruler.” Ryan paused. “And he’s going to do it, too. He’s well on his way towards that goal, now. Many of the nations have agreed to be ruled by the EU, and he’s working on persuading the rest. So once that’s done, he’ll have all the authority he needs to make people follow the new religion, all over the world.” From around the corner of the hallway, Tess overheard Christina gulp. “That’s frightening, Ryan.” Silently agreeing, Tess shook her head in displeasure, then exchanged glances with the other angels. “It sure is, sis.” Ryan paused. “And that’s not all. Puccini plans to go back to Israel very soon. It seems the Jews are getting set to break the ground for their new temple. They’ve already got the plans and the materials ready, and the prime minister has hired some architects to supervise the job.” A pause. “After two years of being banned from the Temple Mount, the Jews must be very happy,” Christina said. “And the Arabs very un-happy,” Richard said dryly. “Yeah, tell me about it.” Ryan paused. “So, what’s up with you?” Christina stepped into the living room’s doorway, receiver in hand, and glanced toward the angels. “Well, you’ll never guess who’s stopped by to visit us.” A mischievous smile spread across her face as she spoke; a hint of mischief entered her voice. Ryan paused. “Uh--they wouldn’t happen to be angels, would they?” Richard roared with laughter. “Good guess, Ryan! Yep, it’s Tess, Monica, and Andrew. Gloria’s not here, though.” He sobered. “And, to be honest with you, Ryan, we could use some advice. They’ve presented us with a real dilemma, and we need to make a decision.” Christina stepped out of sight, around the corner, as her husband spoke. Tess looked at the ceiling, silently praying for God’s intervention. As the angels listened, Richard and Christina told Ryan about the little girl who’d been orphaned, and about the angels’ request that the Dalys become her foster parents. When they stopped, there was silence on the other end for a long moment. Monica exchanged a worried glance with Tess. Silently, Tess prayed that God would soften Richard’s heart--through Ryan, if necessary. Outside, a car engine roared down the street, then faded into silence. “Well,” Ryan finally said, “ever since the Rapture, I’ve often thought that another child in the home might do you some good. No one’ll ever replace Jessica, I know, but if Christina had another child in the house to love and to mother, she might not feel so lonely when you’re away, flying. And it would be good for you, too.” He paused, again. “Why don’t you go for it?” Richard and Christina gazed at each other for a long moment, then Richard nodded. “All right. You’ve convinced me. We’ll do it.” He sighed. “As you say, maybe it’ll fill the void in our hearts. And it’ll be good for Christina, as you say. With Gloria gone, she’s pretty lonely when I’m away, flying.” Christina smiled broadly in response. Richard glanced at the wall clock. “Well, if we’re going to put in our application, we’ve got to go now, Ryan. Call us tonight, will you?” “I will. Bye.” Ryan hung up. Tess heard a click, followed by a dial tone. Replacing the receiver, Richard turned toward Monica. “All right, we’ll do it.” He smiled at Christina, who had just returned to the living room, beaming her pleasure. He then turned to Monica. “What do you want us to do?” He rubbed his right hand on his shirt. Monica smiled. “I have the paperwork right here. If you’ll fill it out, I’ll take it to my supervisor at DHS.” The Dalys led the way into the dining room, where they spread out the papers on the smooth, polished dining table. For the next half-hour, as the three angels watched, Richard and Christina read the foster-parent application and filled it out. When they finished, Monica and the other angels left. Outside, Tess paused on the curb. “I’ll be in touch, Angel Girl.” Tess patted Monica’s shoulder, then climbed into her convertible. Monica stepped into the DHS car and sped away. Minutes later, she pulled up into the DHS parking lot. Inside, her shoes thudded on the linoleum floor as she hurried toward the elevator. On the second floor, Monica handed the paperwork to Ed Lowell, the director of DHS, in his office. He reclined on a straight-backed mahogany chair facing his desk; behind him, beams of sunlight poured into the room. He bent over his polished mahogany desk to read the application form. As Monica watched, her fingers propped together in front of her waist, he scanned the application, then shook his head, frowning. “Sorry, Monica, I can’t approve this. I want you to take the little girl to a children’s shelter,” he ordered. “There she will stay until a judge can decide what to do with her.” Monica winced. Dropping her hands to her sides, she turned around, took a deep breath, and glanced toward the ceiling. She then pivoted to face Ed. “Mr. Lowell, the city’s children’s homes are overcrowded.” She clasped her hands in front of her waist. “If Rachel goes to one, they’ll have a difficult time just finding her a bed to sleep in.” She took a step forward as Lowell leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening. “Besides, she needs a real family, someone who will love her and make her feel safe. She doesn’t need to be in an institution.” Lowell’s face turned beet-red, and the vein in his neck pulsated. He leaped to his feet and banged his fist so hard against the desk that his ashtray clattered. “Monica, how dare you tell me what to do!” He glared at her, clenching his hands into tight balls. “I make the decisions here, not you! I said the little girl will go to a children’s shelter, and she shall! And if you won’t take her there, then I will.” He grabbed his jacket from its coat rack, flung it over his back, and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. As Monica watched him go, a blind, helpless rage consumed her. Sometimes, she felt great anger at the humans whom God sent her to help, and this man was one such human. How could any person be so lacking in compassion?! Monica gazed up at the ceiling. “Please, Father,” she begged, “do something to help Rachel and to change Ed Lowell’s mind!” She hurried out the door, shoes clicking on the polished pine floor, and rushed toward the nearest elevator. Whatever the Father told her to do, she would have to be ready to do it. First, though, she was going to have a cup of coffee. END OF CHAPTER 2



kgreen20	Oct 31 2007, 12:06 PM Post #5
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 3 Ed Lowell had no intention of changing his mind. Nothing irritated him more than to have an employee of his--any employee--telling him what to do, or even making suggestions. As he was fond of reminding people, the welfare of children was his job, and he would brook no interference with his decisions. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The mattress underneath him sagged slightly as he shifted position from time to time. “The little girl’ll be better off,” he muttered, as he approached the church. “She will!” When he arrived at the church, he jumped out of the seat and rushed inside--only to freeze when he reached the front of the sanctuary. A man lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Blood oozed from a wound on his scalp. Ed scanned the room. No young girl was anywhere to be seen. A suitcase leaned against the wall nearby, and a cardboard box stood next to it. An open Bible lay on the pew nearest the man. Soft beams of sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows on both sides of the sanctuary. Ed crouched next to the unconscious pastor and tapped his face. Slowly, Logan began to come to, shifting his head toward the right. “Oo-ohh,” he moaned, then opened his eyes. “Who are you?” He made an evident effort to focus on the face before him. “I’m Ed Lowell. From DHS. I came to pick up the girl.” Ed looked around the room. “Where is she?” Groaning, Jack pushed himself into a sitting position. Grabbing hold of the nearest pew, he pulled himself to his feet, then winced as he clutched the side of his head. “You’re too late. Someone else got here first. A strange man kidnapped her and knocked me out.” “What?!” Ed grabbed the minister by his collar. “Do you have any idea where he took her?” Jack shook his head. “No, but I fear she’s a goner. I could tell from the look in his eye that he meant to kill her. She may already be dead.” He rubbed the side of his head and winced again. Letting go of Jack, Ed looked around the sanctuary, horror-stricken. The front door banged open; the three angels rushed inside. “Pastor Logan!” Monica gasped, when she reached the two men. “What happened? Are you all right?” She stared at Lowell, then looked around the sanctuary. “Where’s Rachel?” “Someone kidnapped her,” Ed said, grimly. “And judging from the pastor’s description, some murderous pervert. I’m going to call the police, immediately.” He marched out of the room, his shoes clumping on the carpeted floor. Andrew approached Pastor Logan. “What did the kidnapper look like?” “Well--” Jack paused. “He had brown hair.” Andrew furrowed his eyebrows. “Straight?” Jack shook his head. “No. It was wavy.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And he was wearing a black leather jacket. His eyes--let’s see--his eyes were green.” The angels gaped at one another. “I remember that man,” Andrew said grimly, folding his arms across his own chest. “He tried to murder a woman we met not long ago. And if my hunch is correct, he may have been the same man who killed Rachel’s mother, too.” Andrew winced at the thought. “Unless God intervenes and fast, Rachel will be meeting an untimely end very soon.” He shook his head. I’ve been taking too many murder victims Home in the weeks since the Rapture, he added silently. I don’t want to take Home another one. Not now. He bit his lower lip. Not Rachel. Tess nodded agreement. “We’ve got to act fast!” Ed rejoined them. “The police are on their way. What are you going to do?” “We’re going to see if we can find Rachel and her abductor.” Tess put on her gloves. “Come on, let’s go.” Jack rubbed his head. “I’ll go with you.” Monica shook her head. “No, you stay here. The police will need a description of the man who kidnapped Rachel.” The minister nodded acquiescence and leaned against the wall. “Let’s go.” Andrew hurried toward the door, with the other angels in hot pursuit. “Please, God,” he prayed, “let us find her in time!” _______________________________________________________ Rachel sat squirming, struggling with the ropes, in the chair the man had tied her to. Her feet and hands had long since turned numb and tingly. As she watched in terror, he sat at the dining table, sharpening a long butcher knife with a whetstone. Even though he hadn’t said anything, she knew he intended to use it on her. His brown, wavy hair looked disheveled. Teeth indentations formed a half-circle over his right wrist. During the struggle at the church, Rachel had attempted to bite him, trying to force him to turn her loose. To escape the sight of what he was doing, Rachel looked around the living room. The dining table, a couch, two armchairs, and the straight-backed wooden chair her kidnapper had bound her to, was all the furniture it contained. A small black-and-white TV set, similar to the one her mother had owned, stood on a small, rectangular table at the other end of the room. He had closed the Venetian blinds earlier and turned off the lights, so she had to squint to see what was around her. Narrow beams of sunlight shining around the edges of the blinds just barely illuminated the room. The scrape-scrape-scrape of the whetstone continued. “Pity your mother’s dead.” The man chuckled, as he scraped the whetstone over the knife’s blade. “And what a pity you’ll be joining her soon!” Rachel bit her lip. “How do you know about my mom?” She swallowed hard. “Because I killed her, little girl.” The man grinned at her, holding the knife above his head. “And shortly, I’m going to kill you--with this. I used this same knife on your mother, last night--I’m sure you saw the wounds.” He set down the whetstone and grinned at the child’s fear. “But first, I’m going to have some fun with you.” He threw the knife down on the table; it landed with a stud. With quick strides, he stalked toward Rachel, who sat in frozen terror. Earlier, he had tied her hands behind her back and tied her ankles together; then he had wrapped another rope around her waist, pinning her to the back of the chair. As he untied that rope, he grinned at Rachel. He then flung her over his shoulder, hands and feet still tied, and carried her into his bedroom. “No! No!!” Rachel screamed, as the man tossed her on the bed. He started to unbuckle his belt. He’s going to rape me! Rachel thought. Help me, somebody! Help! She screamed in terror. Unknown to her, three angels stood against the opposite wall, watching. Silently, Andrew prayed; in the next instant, he received silent instructions. Just as silently, he thanked God. Now, he had to act quickly. If he couldn’t save Rachel, he’d be taking her Home instead, and he did not want to do that. Since she wasn’t born again, and since she had reached the cut-off point where the age of accountability began, she wouldn’t be going to Heaven if she died now. She’d be going to Hell instead. As he stepped toward the bed, Andrew cleared his throat loudly. “What do you think you are doing?” Andrew frowned at the kidnapper, who froze beside the bed, then whirled around. The man gaped in horror at Andrew, who now appeared in his Heavenly form, complete with the glowing light. Rachel sat frozen, mouth wide open, eyes fixed on the face of the angelic visitor. Andrew marched toward him, a severe expression etched on his face. “Wh--who are you? What are you doing here?” the man gasped. Recognition seeped into his eyes. “I--I remember you! You--you--!” “Yes, I’m the angel who, along with Gloria, stopped you from murdering an innocent woman,” Andrew said, his voice low and severe. Rachel stared at him, then at the kidnapper. “And now, I’m here to stop you from doing the same to this little girl.” The man’s hands dropped to his sides, then he rushed out the door. As Andrew untied Rachel, the two of them overheard angry voices shouting, “Police! You’re under arrest, so drop your weapons!” Andrew untied Rachel, helped her to her feet, then held the young girl tightly for a long moment, whispering words of comfort to her. Relief mixed with a deep, shuddering fear flooded her. “Thank you,” she finally whimpered, sobbing. "Are you--are you really an angel?" Andrew nodded. "Yes," he told her. Rachel choked down a sob. “He killed my mom! He told me.” She looked through the doorway into the living room. “He used that knife on her! He told me he did.” “Then let’s go outside and tell the police officers.” Andrew led her out the front door, then disappeared. For the next several minutes, as Ed Lowell and several policemen listened, Rachel described her ordeal, including the man’s confession of her mother’s murder. The man himself leaned against the side of the police car, his hands handcuffed behind his back, the expression on his face sullen. One of the police officers nodded toward the man. “This man is under suspicion for several murders and rapes that have occurred in recent weeks. A string of muggings, too.” He grabbed the handcuffed man’s arm. “Let’s go!” The policeman shoved the kidnapper into the back seat of his police car. The four police cars pulled out of the driveway and sped down the street. Their engines faded as they turned the corner and drove out of sight. Ed gazed down at Rachel and sighed. “Rachel, I’m Ed Lowell. I'm the director of DHS.” He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “Come with me. Let’s get your things and go to DHS, so I can hand you back over to Monica. She’s going to put you in a foster home.” Rachel nodded. “Yes, sir.” Biting her lip, Rachel twisted her necklace around her index finger, as she followed Ed to his car. The imitation beads felt smooth to her fingertips. Wonder where that angel went? she wondered. Half an hour later, Ed told one of the other social workers to keep an eye on Rachel, then found Monica in her office, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. “I’ve changed my mind,” Ed told the angelic social worker. “I’ve decided to let you place the child in whatever foster home you see fit. I've been thinking about it, and it occurs to me that it would actually be harder to protect Rachel in an institution, just now, than it would in a good foster home." Monica nodded agreement. "There are not nearly enough staff members to protect the children in the overcrowded children's homes. In the last several days, several wee ones have been kidnapped and murdered by intruders breaking into the homes. At least the people I know of will do everything in their power to keep her safe, and they have resources to succeed." Ed sighed. "Yes. You're right." He squared his shoulders. "Give me the Daly application, and I’ll run it through.” Beaming, Monica set her cup down; it clinked as it landed in the saucer. Drawing the application out of her pocket, she handed it to him. “I prayed you would change your mind,” she told him. Chuckling, Ed signed his name on it and filed it away. Monica found Rachel sitting in the outer office. “Come on, Rachel, let’s go.” She took Rachel’s hand as the young girl rose to her feet. “I’ve got a home waiting for you. We’ll get your things first, then go.” She patted Rachel’s shoulder, smiling comfortingly. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around the child for a long moment, murmuring words of comfort, then led her out of the office. Minutes later, Monica pulled up into the Daly driveway. Rachel stared up at the house, open-mouthed. To a girl who had been born and raised in a city slum, clearly, this house was magnificent. As she and Rachel stepped out of the car, Richard and Christina stepped onto the porch. “Monica!” Christina cried. “Good to see you again.” Smiling, Richard waved a greeting. The Dalys strode down the steps and hurried across the yard toward the two. “Is this the girl?” Richard asked, glancing at Rachel. Monica nodded. “Yes, this is Rachel. Her mother’s name was Linda, and she’d been a widow since Rachel was eight.” She turned to the child. “Rachel, this is Richard and Christina Daly. You’re going to live with them for a while.” She smiled at Richard. “Richard, here, is an airline pilot.” “That’s right.” Richard chuckled. “And often, that means leaving my wife alone while I’m flying an plane somewhere.” “Yes.” Christina smiled at Rachel, who gave her a bashful grin, then hung her head. A breeze played with the child’s bangs and caressed Monica’s cheek. It felt good. Monica put her arm around Rachel’s shoulder as the child gazed down at the clumps of grass at her feet. “She’s had a very hard time, this past day.” She shook her head. “Not only did a man murder her mother, last night, that same man kidnapped Rachel, today, and was going to rape her and kill her. She was rescued in the nick of time, a little over an hour ago.” Richard and Christina stood stock-still, gaping in evident horror. “How awful!” Christina winced. “That reminds me of the time someone tried to kill me.” Monica nodded. “I remember that, too, Christina. The same man who tried to kill you killed Rachel’s mother. And then he tried to kill Rachel.” She smiled reassuringly. “He’s in custody now, though, so you need fear nothing from him.” “I’m glad to hear that.” Clenching his fists, Richard pressed his lips into a tight line. “And don’t worry, Monica. We’ll take good care of her.” “Thank you. I know you will.” Monica smiled. “And now, I need to remove Rachel’s things from the back seat.” Richard helped Monica remove Rachel’s suitcase and cardboard box. Together, they carried the two items into the house, up the stairs, and down the hall to an empty bedroom. Rachel and Christina followed them, Rachel gaping open-mouthed at everything she passed. Grunting, Richard set the box down on the bed. Monica laid the suitcase next to it. “This used to be Jessica’s room,” he told the angel. “A week ago, I moved her crib into the attic. Little use in keeping it in here, since we no longer have her.” He sighed. “While we were waiting for you, Christina and I moved this bed down from the attic and set it up.” He glanced down at the bright-green satin bedspread covering the bed, then at the white curtains fluttering in the breeze. Sunlight poured through the wire screen covering the window. Monica nodded, as sympathy welled up in her heart. She and the other angels well remembered the pain the two of them had gone through, when their baby daughter had disappeared in the Rapture. “This bedroom will be good for Rachel. It’s bright and cheery, so it’ll lift her spirits.” She looked at her watch. “Well, I’ve got to go.” Monica turned to Rachel, who stood in the doorway, staring at her bedroom. “I’ll be back soon, to see how you’re doing.” “Yes, ma’am,” Rachel whispered, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Patting her shoulder, Monica left the bedroom, followed by Richard. Christina smiled at Rachel. “Well, sweetie, let’s put your things away, shall we?” When they had finished unpacking Rachel’s things--her books, her dolls, her diary, her nail polish, her stuffed animals, her two board games, and her rhinestone jewelry--and storing them away, Christina leaned against the wall and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Well, let’s go downstairs and get us a snack. You must be hungry.” She smiled wryly. “I know I am!” She patted her hair. Rachel smiled wanly, and followed her new foster mother down the stairs. “Did you really have a baby?” she asked, as she followed Christina down the hall toward the kitchen. Their shoes thudded softly on the carpeted floor. Christina nodded, pain in her eyes. “Yes, we did. Her name was Jessica, and she was less than a year old. She disappeared when all the others did, last month.” She gazed down at the child and put her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “We don’t expect you to take her place, honey. No one can, not even another baby. We’ll see her again in 7 years or less.” Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Christina smiled wanly. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I’ve got a snack to make for us.” They found Richard waiting in the kitchen. “You hungry, Rachel?” he asked, laying his newspaper on the table. The child nodded. Christina strode toward the refrigerator, where she removed a couple of canisters and a carton of milk. “Tonight, Richard, let’s call Ryan and tell him about Rachel.” She opened the carton as she spoke. “He’ll want to know all about her, I know.” Richard agreed. Rachel looked from one to the other, evidently wondering what was going to happen next. Suddenly, Christina paused to look at Rachel. As Christina gazed down at her new foster daughter, she felt better than she had in weeks. As Richard and Ryan had said--and as Christina herself had told Rachel--no one could take Jessica’s place. However, bringing up this young girl would go a long way toward filling the hole in her heart. And it would give her something to do--time had hung heavily on her hands since Gloria had left their home for other assignments. Setting the milk on the cabinet, she clasped Rachel to her breast and patted her back. “You’ve got a home with us now, sweetheart,” Christina told her. “For as long as you need one.” “That’s right.” Richard approached them and patted the child’s shoulder. “We know that this is a very upsetting, scary time for you, but you’re not alone. We’re in it with you, and we’ll pull through together.” Rachel smiled wanly, as she slid into one of the chairs surrounding the dining table. “Yes, sir,” she said in a soft voice, then, with a deep, shuddering breath, laid her face in her hands. Struggling to hold back tears, Christina turned toward the cabinet to make Rachel something to eat. I mean to call Ryan later, she thought. She glanced at the now-sobbing child. Poor baby! What’s she been through. Please, God, help her! And help us to know how to help her. Amen. _______________________________________________________ “That’s great, Christina!” Ryan chortled into his cell phone, that evening. “Whenever Kristen and I can get around to coming to New York, I want to meet this Rachel Nicole Jackson. From what you’ve told us, she sounds like a sweet girl.” He exchanged beaming glances with Kristen, who sat across the room in one of the armchairs. The two of them were sitting together in his living room, as they so often did nowadays. Kristen smiled broadly in response. Ryan glanced across the room at the moonlight softly illuminating the city buildings outside. The moon had risen an hour earlier, and now hung suspended above the skyscraper across the street from Ryan’s French doors opening onto his balcony. “She is,” Christina agreed. “And I’m so glad we’ve got her.” She paused. “She’s so unhappy, Ryan. She’s grieving for her mother, and she’s so shaken. The man who tried to kill me killed her mother, too, then he kidnapped Rachel. And was about to rape and kill her.” She gulped. “If it hadn’t been for Andrew--!” Ryan winced. “That’s horrible.” Pressing his fingertips against the cell phone’s smooth, hard metal covering, he looked at Kristen, who frowned in evident concern. “Kristen and I will pray for the child.” “Thanks, Ryan.“ Christina’s voice trembled. “She will need them. And so will we. Right now, I just thank God for saving her life!” Ryan glanced up at the wall clock. “Well, Kristen and I have some things to discuss, so I’m going to hang up now. Catch you later, OK?” “OK.” Christina made a kissing sound at the other end. “Love you.” She hung up. Ryan set his cell phone on the coffee table, next to his coffee cup. “What do you know?” he asked, softly. “Richard and Christina have actually become foster parents.” Leaning against the back of the couch, he inserted his right hand into his pants pocket. “That’s wonderful,” Kristen said, softly. She twisted her watch around her wrist. “It sure is.” Ryan shook his head, as he reminisced about the days before the Rapture. “They’ve both changed so much, Kristen. They really have! Christina’s been more at peace since she received Jesus as her Savior than she’s been at any time, since our mother died.” He paused. “As for Richard--well, I can’t believe he’s the same man! I remember when he was such a hard, bitter atheist. Now he’s fully committed to Christ, and in the short time since then, he’s changed so much. He’s so much more caring, loving.” The mattress underneath him sagged as he shifted position, crossing his legs. Kristen smiled. “Yes, he has, hasn’t he? And you--well, you always were a kind gentleman, but since you turned your life over to the Lord, you’ve become an even better man.” Ryan smiled. “Thanks, Kristen.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a good time to be offering one another compliments or congratulations. We have a problem on our hands.” He slipped his hand out of his pocket; leaning forward, he grasped his coffee cup. He took a sip of his now-cool coffee. With a sigh, Kristen propped her fingers together and shook her head. “Yes. The wedding.” Sighing, she bit her lip. “How can we schedule it when we have no idea what Puccini wants to do?” “I know.” Ryan leaned back. “We’ve agreed that neither one of us want him to know about our wedding plans, not if we can avoid it.” He set the cup on his lap. “Of course, once we get married, it’ll probably be impossible to hide it from him. He may already know about our romance.” “Yes.” Kristen rose to her feet. She approached her fiancé and sat next to him on the couch. “Why don’t you talk to Puccini?” She crossed her legs as she spoke. “Ask him what his schedule’s going to be, for the next few weeks.” Ryan pondered her suggestion for a moment, then nodded. “Good idea. I will. Tomorrow.” He took the last sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the coffee table. It clinked as it impacted the table’s smooth, polished surface. Leaning back, he furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the wall for a long moment. “Kristen, I want your opinion. You think we should tell them about Andrew’s recent visit?“ “You mean, when he told us that story about Puccini?” Kristen shifted position. “The time he tried to minister God’s love to Antonio, years ago?” She leaned her elbow on the side table as she spoke. “Yes.” Ryan gazed directly at her. “I’m thinking about telling them, soon.” Kristen shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt, Ryan. Anything that’ll give them ammunition against Puccini can only help. After all, Andrew did tell us we had God’s permission to share it with them, though not with anyone else.” With a smile, Ryan nodded. “It’s settled, then.” He glanced at the clock again. “And now, I need to be getting ready for bed. I have a busy day, tomorrow.” “And so do I.” Kristen rose to her feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ryan. Good night.” She kissed him, then left. The next morning, Ryan slowly approached Puccini’s office, silently praying that God would help him and Kristen to keep their wedding plans a secret from their boss for as long as possible. His shoes thudded on the carpet as he walked down the hall, and his cell phone formed a bulge in his right pocket. When he halted in front of the door and raised his hand to knock, Puccini’s voice startled him. “I want you to shut down every children’s home that’s sponsored by a church. And I want you to make a list of every foster home--worldwide--that is run by Christians. I hear that lately, there have been people turning to the old superstitions to help them cope, and they may try to brainwash the children in their care if we do not stop them.” Puccini cleared his throat. “My secretary, Kristen Crossman, will be in charge of that project...Yes, this is what the pope wants. And since he's a big help to Dayan and me, I'm letting have free rein in this mission of his.” Ryan froze in horror as he listened. Puccini paused. “The pope does not want today’s young people to be brainwashed by the Christian faith, and neither do Dayan and I. Henceforth, all state children will be taught the new religion and expected to follow it.” Elijah Dayan, Ryan knew, was the False Prophet. At the moment, he served as the Israeli foreign minister under Prime Minister Jacob Barak. A pause. “Yes, sir,” an unfamiliar male voice said. Horror surged in Ryan’s heart. This would definitely endanger little Rachel Jackson! He had to warn the Dalys, but how? Ryan took a deep breath. Kristen! Does she know what he’s going to make her do? Puccini spoke again. “One more thing. As soon as possible, we need to start that I.D. system I spoke of today. This will help us identify everybody still alive and accounted for, after the mass disappearances last month. Oh, and before I forget--as soon as we've switched the whole world to the Euro, my next step will be to move this planet to a cashless society. You know what that means--everything will be bought and paid for by debit card.” Ryan wiped his forehead. His little talk with Puccini would have to wait, now--he had more urgent business to tend to. Rachel was in danger now--he had to talk with Kristen, and he had to get word to Richard and Christina! But how? he wondered, rubbing his hands on his jeans. How am I going to let them know? END OF CHAPTER 3



kgreen20	Nov 1 2007, 11:32 AM Post #6
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 4 Ryan tiptoed away from Puccini’s door. Without a word to anybody, he left the building and returned to his apartment. “How do I warn Richard and Christina?” he muttered, as he approached his apartment door, half an hour later. His shoes clicked on the floor. “And how do I get hold of Kristen?” He leaned his face against his door for a long moment, before opening it. The wood felt smooth and hard to his nose and forehead. When he entered his living room, a familiar figure stepped forward to greet him. “Ryan?” she said, softly. Ryan stared at her. “Monica!” With a loud chuckle, he shut the door behind him with a click. “Monica, of all people--uh, angels!” Monica laughed with him, her pearl earrings swaying back and forth. To her right, sunlight poured through the French doors, forming a large rectangle of light on the living-room carpet. “Ryan, God has sent me here with a message for you,” Monica said gently. “He’s sent me to tell you that He will make a way for you and Kristen to get married in New York. Also, He has a mission for Kristen: to help thwart Puccini’s plans for children. He knows all about Puccini and the pope’s plot, and rest assured that He has His own plan in motion.” Laying his cell phone on the coffee table, Ryan nodded. “Has He said what that work is to be? They plan to use Kristen in their scheme--has God said how He will thwart that?” Monica shook her head. “No, but it will become apparent very soon. In the meantime, go ahead and warn Richard and Christina as you planned, but call them on your cell phone. Antonio will not be able to track you on your cell phone--God has made that impossible for him, at this time.” Ryan nodded. “I will. Thanks, Monica.” She disappeared from sight. _______________________________________________________ Rachel lay sprawled on her new bed. Pain engulfed her soul as she thought about all the good times she’d had with her mother, and the many ways her mother had taken care of her. Her right hand rested before her mouth; her left hand made indentations in the soft, satiny bedcovers as she pressed it against them. Biting her fingernails, Rachel thought about the many times her mother had stood at the stove, making hamburgers or spaghetti for supper…the inevitable moment when, minutes before Rachel’s school bus stopped to pick her up, it would be time for her mother to leave for her work at the coffee shop, where she had worked as a waitress since her husband died…the evenings when Rachel and her mother would play a game of Sorry or Scrabble, read together, or watch a TV show. Would Christina Daly do all those things with her? Would Richard? I miss her, she thought. I miss her so much! She bit her lower lip and took a deep, shuddering breath, to prevent a sob from escaping her throat. Taking her fingertips out of her mouth, she rubbed them over her imitation pearl necklace for a long moment. Her mother had purchased that necklace at Wal-Mart for her 12th birthday, two months before. The tiny fake pearls felt smooth and cool to her fingers. She also thought about her father, and how he’d always tried to be there for her until his death. What an awful day that had been! Even now, four years after his death, that day could still flash vividly into her mind. As it did now... “Are you Mrs. Thomas Jackson?” The police officer stood in the doorway, deep sorrow etched on his face. “Y-yes.” Mrs. Jackson’s voice trembled. Behind her, eight-year-old Rachel wrapped her arms around her chest, staring at the policeman. What was wrong? “Mrs. Jackson, it is my sad duty to tell you that your husband is dead.” The police officer sighed. “He was killed in a welding accident at his place of employment. The hospital tried to call you, but all they got was a busy signal.” Mrs. Jackson just stood frozen for a long moment. Rachel shook her head violently. No! No! No!... “First my daddy, and now, my mom!” Rachel whispered, remembering. “It’s not fair!” Snuffling, she grabbed her nail polish from the nightstand and dabbed a few drops across her thumbnails, then set it down with a thud. A knock on the door startled her. “Come in,” she said. The door swung open, and Christina stuck her head in. “Come on, Rachel. If we’re going to make funeral arrangements for your mother, we need to be on our way. Richard has already told Reverend Logan that we’re coming, so let’s go.” Rachel pulled herself to her feet. “Yes, ma’am.” She trudged out the door, following Christina, Carefully, she kept her palms facing her sides so she wouldn’t stain her new pants with fingernail polish. The two of them found Richard waiting beside the car. Meanwhile, at the church, an invisible Tess watched Reverend Logan lean against the front pew, pressing her fingers against its back and gazing up at the tall wooden cross on the wall above the baptistery. She was awaiting God’s instructions as to how and when to proceed. Tess was determined to give the pastor God’s message. The sooner he gave his heart to the Lord, the better off both he and his congregation would be. On both sides, sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, forming reflected beams of light on the floor and on the pews. Logan shook his head. “Some preacher I am,” he muttered. “Here I preached to people every Sunday, for years, and I never qualified to be taken up myself! I am such a failure!” He slammed his fist on the edge of the pew. “Why? Why?” Tess received her silent instructions. It was time to speak up. Out loud, she told him, “Because it was the only way God could get your attention.” Logan jumped to his feet and whirled around, startled. “Tess!” he cried. “Forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.” “That’s all right, Pastor Logan.” Tess slowly approached him, and wagged her finger. “God has a message for you, and I hope you will listen to it with your heart.” As she spoke, the familiar glow began to pour over her. Jack gaped at her. "Wh--what are you??" "I am an angel, sent by God." Tess rested her hand on the edge of the nearest pew. "And as I said, God has an important message for you." Jack nodded acquiescence. Tess gazed sternly at the pastor. “Being a minister does not guarantee you God’s acceptance; only receiving Him into your heart does that. And I believe you know that, now.” Sighing, Logan nodded miserably. He did indeed know; she could see that. Silently, she prayed that God would reach his heart with her next words. “You’ve been trying so hard to make your life mean something, you’ve failed to turn it over to the One who can give your life meaning.” Logan nodded again. “The point is, what are you going to do about it?” Tess gazed into his eyes. “Are you going to spend the next seven years feeling sorry for yourself and blaming God for getting left behind? Or are you going to turn your life over to His loving care now, and accept His call on your life?” Stepping foreward, she put her hand on his shoulder. “God loves you, Pastor Logan. And He has sent me to give you that message. What you do with it is up to you. Even though it’s too late, now, for you to participate in the Rapture of His Church, He still has a plan for you. He has work for you to do in this Tribulation period, work that God will use to save the souls of many. Are you willing to accept it, pastor? Are you willing to turn your life over to Him, and to let Him use you as He wishes?” She wagged her finger for emphasis. She glanced at the stained-glass windows. “Look at those windows, Reverend. See how the sunlight comes through them, lighting this sanctuary. Without that light--and without the light in those bulbs overhead--” She pointed at the ceiling. “--this room would be quite dark. So dark, in fact, that you would be stumbling, groping your way, holding your hands out to avoid bumping into the pews, your podium, and every other object in here.” Tess paused. “Your soul has not been illuminated by God’s light, Pastor Logan. You’ve been stumbling and groping all these years, because you’ve not had the light of God to illuminate your way. God is calling you, now, to let that light come into your life.” Pastor Logan turned his back and approached the back wall. For a long moment, he rested his face against the wall, taking deep breaths. Silently, Tess prayed that God would get through to him now. She laid her hands on the back of the pew. Her fingertips rested lightly on its smooth, hard surface. At last, Jack turned around, folding his arms across his chest. Tess dropped her arms to her sides as he faced her. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’m willing. And I’m ready. You’re right--now that the Tribulation is in process, I can’t afford to waste any more time. I do need God’s light.” He straightened his back. “What does God want me to do?” “Pray to Him.” Tess circled the pew to approach him. “Ask His Son to forgive you, and to come into your heart. He will, if you’ll ask Him, pastor.” Nodding, Jack bowed his head. “Lord Jesus,” he softly prayed, “I confess that I never gave my life over to You. I thought that becoming a minister and living a religious life would save me, but it didn’t; I know that now. Please forgive me. Come into my life and make me new. Use me as You will.” He cleared his throat. “Amen.” As he raised his head, an exultant Tess beamed. “This is the most wonderful news!” she squealed. “I’m so happy for you, and the Father is, too.” “Thank you.” Jack smiled. “I feel so much better already.” He frowned. “I know He’s calling me to be pastor to the people who are coming here now, but do you have any idea what other work God is calling me to do?” Tess shook her head. “Not yet, but you will find out very soon. In the next few minutes, in fact.” She clasped her hands together as she spoke. At that moment, the front door swung open; sunlight poured through the open doorway. Richard, Christina, and Rachel came in, followed by three young people in their early teens. Their shoes thudded on the floor as they hurried up the aisle. “Hello.” Richard strode toward the minister and extended his hand. “You must be Reverend Logan. I’m Richard Daly, and this is my wife, Christina. You’ve already met Rachel, we’ve been told.” Jack shook Richard’s hand, then Christina’s. He smiled at Rachel. “Yes, I met her earlier. I see you have a foster home, now, Rachel.” “Yeah.” Rachel smiled, but a sad expression remained in her eyes. “Monica took me to them.” She looked down at the pew next to her, and rubbed her fingers over its smooth, polished surface. Richard nodded agreement. “Pastor Logan, we have a couple of requests to make of you, if we may. First, we’d like to discuss the funeral arrangements for Linda Jackson.” Jack nodded agreement. “Also--” Glancing behind him, Richard nodded toward the teenagers. “We found these kids huddled on a street corner on our way here. We stopped to talk with them, and found out that their parents were taken in the Rapture.” He grimaced. “They’ve been on their own ever since. They need a place to stay and someone to care for them.” He rubbed his right hand across the front of his shirt. Crossing his arms, Reverend Logan frowned. “An hour ago, Mr. Daly, I would have just flat-out refused you.” He bit his lip as he gazed at the teenagers, two boys and one girl. All three were wearing faded jeans and T-shirts, and their sneakers were untied. Their eyes looked big in their thin faces, and their cheekbones jutted out. It was evident to Jack that they’d been undernourished for some time. The girl looked down at her shoes, as she pressed her toes against the floor’s unyielding surface. Sighing, Jack turned his attention back to Richard and Christina. “However, I’m beginning to see that God has work for me, and it may involve helping orphaned teenagers as well as pasturing a Tribulation church.” Christina nodded agreement. “Richard and I have discussed it briefly, pastor, and however much we might like to, we cannot take in every orphaned teen. And there are so many now, who lost their parents in the Rapture, or who have lost them since. The children’s shelters are overcrowded with them now.” She patted her hair as she spoke, sadness welling in her eyes as she looked at the three teenagers. Leaning sideways against a nearby pew, Tess nodded agreement. She could see the dilemma the Dalys faced, as Richard and Christina frowned at each other, and Christina bit her lower lip. What were they to do? Much as they would like to, they simply could not take in every newly-orphaned young person; there were simply too many of them! What do you want us to do, Father? she silently prayed. Please, show us! “Yes.” Pastor Jack folded his left arm across his chest. Resting his right elbow on his left arm, he propped his chin on his right hand. “They need a place to stay, that’s a fact. But where?” He turned toward the three kids. “What’s your names?” The eldest boy shuffled forward. “I--I’m Todd Ellison, and this is my kid brother, Jeremy.” He nodded toward the younger boy. “I’m fifteen, and he’s fourteen.” “And I’m Brittany Hagen,” the girl said. “I’m thirteen.” She fidgeted, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. Tess smiled warmly at the young teens. “How do you do, kids? I’m Tess.” Brittany smiled, but there was no smile in her eyes. “Hi.” The boys raised their arms in greeting. Christina turned to the angel. “What can we do, Tess?” As God spoke to her, Tess smiled. “I have a suggestion.” She paused. “I’ve discovered, Pastor Logan, that your church owns a large, empty building next door. Have you any immediate plans for that building?” Jack shook his head. “No, it’s been standing empty for some time now.” Tess nodded toward the three teenagers. “Why don’t you open a children’s home just for kids whose parents were taken in the Rapture?” She smiled. “As you’ve said, so many kids are in need of homes that DHS will be relieved to have a place to put them all. Since the building’s in good shape, it will be perfect for that use.” Pastor Logan smiled in return. “It certainly will.” He turned toward the teenagers. “I’ll tell you what, kids. Until I can get the new home opened, you can stay with me.” He turned toward the Dalys and Rachel. “Tell me, do you have a home church?” Richard and Christina shook their heads. “No, we haven’t found one yet,” Richard said. “But we’d like to start coming here. We just accepted Jesus less than a month ago.” Logan smiled broadly. “I’d be pleased to have you as a part of my congregation. Mind you, I’m as new a Christian as you are--newer, in fact, because I just got born-again today. But I will teach you as much as I can.” “Thank you,” Christina said softly. “Now that we’ve got a child to raise, we’re going to need a church home.” She smiled down at Rachel, who leaned against her and fingered her imitation pearl necklace. Christina put her arm around Rachel’s shoulder. Logan turned toward Tess. “What do I do now?” “Call DHS and ask for Monica,” Tess told him. “She’ll help you get the home started. And I’ll help, too.” The angel glanced down at Rachel, who stood with hunched shoulders, gazing down at the floor. Silently, she prayed that God would help the young girl. Our job is not done with this child yet, she thought. It’s worse for her than it is for these other young people, because her mother was brutally murdered. It’s going to be much harder for her to recover from her loss. Tess shook her head. The Father has work for us to do, to help Rachel. Please, Father, heal this child’s wounded heart! Saying good-bye to the others, she left the church. END OF CHAPTER 4



kgreen20	Nov 2 2007, 11:10 AM Post #7
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 5 The next few weeks were busy ones. Reverend Logan phoned Monica, to request an application to operate a church-sponsored children’s home. In the meantime, the Dalys took Rachel to the police station where the murderer was being held. Richard and Christina both identified him as the man who had attacked Christina some time back, and Rachel identified him as the man who had kidnapped her with the intent to rape and murder her. After many phone calls to DHS and visits from Monica, a representative of Child Services, Gloria, took the application form to Pastor Logan, two weeks after his initial request. She reclined in her chair as he bent over his desk, filling out the application. Sunlight poured through the window behind him, bathing the minister in light. Gloria smiled at the physical illustration of the light that had finally entered his soul, to illuminate it. “If you’ll just sign here, Pastor Logan, your application will be complete,” Gloria told him, pointing at a line near the bottom. The pen made a scratching sound as Jack signed his name. “Now, I’ll take this application to the home office.” Gloria picked up the application, folded it, and smiled at Jack. She then left the church. As she trotted down the sidewalk, her shoes clumping on the pavement, a woman approached her. “Gloria!” Gloria’s mouth spread into a wide smile. “Christina Daly! It’s so good to see you again!” Christina threw her arms around Gloria. “This is our day for running into angels, it seems! This morning, we ran into Monica and Tess and Andrew, and now I run into you!” Gloria nodded, with a chuckle. “But what are you here for?” “Oh, I’m just taking Pastor Logan’s application to open a new children’s home.” Gloria held up the folded paperwork, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He has to go through the proper channels to get this done. That’s why it’s taken so long just to get the application to him.” “Yes, he does have to, doesn’t he?” Christina smiled, but her eyes looked sad. “I wouldn’t worry about following proper procedure, Gloria, if this weren’t the Tribulation.” She shook her head. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead; she reached into her pants pocket to draw out her handkerchief. Gloria put her hand on Christina’s shoulder. “That’s why God sent me to take the application, and why He sent the other angels to intervene on the children’s behalf. He knows the danger you all face.” As she wiped her forehead with the handkerchief, Christina plastered a brave smile on her face. “Yes, He does, doesn’t He? I’m certainly glad.” She sighed, then nodded. “Give Monica my regards when you see her, would you, Gloria?” “I will.” Gloria nodded. With a smile, Christina folded the handkerchief and stuffed it back into her pocket. “That Monica. She’s so kindhearted.” “She certainly is. She has the biggest heart of any angel I’ve ever known.” Gloria glanced at her watch. “Well, I’ve got to be on my way.” She climbed into her car. Patting her hair, Christina strode up the sidewalk toward the front entrance. Behind her, the car’s engine roared. She paused to watch Gloria pull out of the driveway and drive out of sight. As Christina stepped into the sanctuary, she sighed. So far, Rachel had caused no trouble, as far as misbehavior went. If anything, she was too quiet. And she followed Christina wherever she went. If Christina went to the bathroom, or stepped into her bedroom to change clothes, Rachel would wait outside the door, to follow her new foster mother when she came out. For a moment, Christina leaned against the wall, enjoying the silent stillness of the sanctuary, currently empty of people (except her). As she did so, she thought about Rachel. And the nightmares, Christina thought. She’s had one after another, ever since we took her in. Of course, with all she’s been through, that’s to be expected. But, still-- Christina smiled as she remembered the day she had taken Rachel shopping. She had gone through Rachel’s wardrobe the day she’d moved in, and noted several additions that needed to be made to the child’s clothes. She had taken her new foster daughter to Wal-Mart the next day, to shop for clothes. We’d better stock up while we still can, on all necessities, she thought. When the Mark of the Beast is made official, we won’t be able to make any purchases. Christina sighed. She had gotten Rachel some new clothes, but she still needed to get the child a Bible. She glanced up at the soft rays of sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the edges of the pews. Maybe Reverend Logan has some ideas, Christina thought, scratching her right arm. Rachel hasn’t been brought up in a Christian home, so she has everything to learn. As Richard and I did, not long ago. She grimaced, remembering. She needs a Bible she can understand. At least, she’s already attended two Sunday-morning worship services at our new church. And so have so many others! She shook her head, marveling. So many are seeking answers! I’m grateful that God has gotten through to our pastor, because we need him now! Christina smiled. At least Rachel likes to read! She was reading Little Women when I left. So, surely, she’ll enjoy reading a Bible if I get one for her age group. Pastor Logan entered the sanctuary. “Christina!” he greeted her. “How’s Richard? And Rachel?” He flipped the light switch next to the side door, then laid his Bible on the podium as he spoke. A pencil, Christina noticed, rested in his right earlobe. Apparently, he’d been using it to take notes in his office while studying. “Richard’s fine.” Christina smiled. “And Rachel--well, what can I say?” She sighed. Jack nodded. “I know. This is a rough time for her.” Christina smiled wryly. “Reverend, I need to find a Bible for Rachel. She’s never been raised in a Christian home, so she’s starting at the beginning of all this. Can you suggest a suitable Bible for her? One that a 12-year-old would enjoy reading?” Pastor Jack smiled. “As a matter of fact, Christina, I believe I have one. Come with me to my office, and I’ll show it to you.” In his office, the pastor approached his bookcase and pulled out a blue-covered Bible. He handed it to Christina, who looked it over carefully. It was a version of The Living Bible, written specifically for teens. “She may not be in her teens yet, but she will be, soon enough,” Jack said. “She’s already in 7th grade, I understand, although she hasn’t been in school yet, this term.” “None of the children have; the schools are still shut down.” Christina grimaced. “And I don’t know whether to be worried or relieved.“ Sighing, she gazed down at the Bible. “Well, this will do nicely.” She smiled gratefully. “Thanks, pastor!” She ran her fingers over its soft cover as she spoke, then flipped through several of its pages. “You’re welcome.” Jack smiled back. “Well, Christina, I’ve got to get busy if I’m to give a sermon on Sunday. Ever since I accepted Jesus, I’ve been engrossed in my Bible, trying to learn as much as I can.” Christina nodded. “So have Richard and I.” She bit her lip. “We have so much to learn, and so little time to learn it.” She grimaced. “And so much to teach Rachel!” “We certainly do.” The minister sighed. “Well, I’d better get to it.” “Yes, and I need to get home. Thanks again, Reverend Logan.” Christina tucked the Bible under her arm and left the church. Her shoes clumped on the sidewalk as she approached her car. Rachel begged me not to leave, but I told her I had to, she thought. Poor girl, she’s afraid she’ll lose me. I feel it. On the way home, Christina started thinking about Ryan and Kristen’s wedding plans. Ryan hadn’t been in touch since the day he’d called to announce them. He’ll let us know when he can, she reminded herself. She smiled. I know he’ll be good to Kristen. He was such a good man even before he became a Christian, and he’s an even better one, now! She pulled up into her driveway and stepped out of the car; Rachel came rushing out the front door. “You’re back!” she squealed. Liquid relief etched her face. “Yes, sweetie, I’m back.” Christina hugged her with one arm. “I got you something at the church today. A Bible. Pastor Jack suggested it.” She handed the Bible to Rachel. Rachel gazed at the cover for a long moment, then thumbed through the pages. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s pretty.” A smile spread across her face as she gazed at the cover. Christina put an arm around Rachel’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go in.” She smiled at the imitation pearl necklace adorning Rachel’s throat, as it had done every day since they had taken her in. “That’s a pretty necklace, Rachel. You must really enjoy wearing it. Who got it for you?” “My mom.” Rachel bit her lip. “She got it for my birthday. Back in July.” Christina nodded. “I see.” She squeezed the child’s shoulder. They found Richard in the living room, watching CNN. He sat on the couch, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the TV screen. Puccini, Christina noticed, was standing behind a podium, giving a press conference. Richard raised a finger to his lips; Christina nodded. “Go to your room for now,” she whispered to Rachel. “Take your new Bible with you. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Richard will be right here with me, so I’ll be safe.” With evident reluctance, Rachel acquiesced. She trudged upstairs, clasping the Bible against her chest, her shoes clicking on the steps. Christina turned toward the TV set, perching on the couch next to her husband. The mattress sagged underneath her as she leaned back, putting her right arm around Richard’s shoulders. Smiling, Richard leaned back and put his own left arm around hers’. “Today, we are one step closer to a global village,” Puccini announced. “Every nation on this planet has agreed to join the European Union as a satellite member. Within a few months’ time, their memberships will be finalized. In addition, the United Nations has agreed to turn over its designated function of keeping world peace to the European Union.” The Italian president paused to take a swallow of water, then set the glass on the podium. “To simplify the process of governing our respective regions, I have chosen to divide the world into 10 spheres, and to assign each sphere to a nation in the EU’s military wing, the Western European Union, which will henceforth be the wing that makes decisions for the rest of the European Union. For example, the nations of North and South America have been placed under the protective care of Great Britain.” Minutes passed, as Richard and Christina listened to Puccini list the nations that would be governed by Belgium, France, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Germany, Italy, Portugal, Spain, and Greece. Leaning forward, neither spoke a word till Puccini quit speaking. As the anchorman began to give his summary of the EU president’s speech, Richard clenched his right hand in his lap. “It’s happening, Christina. And I don’t like it.” He gazed at the tiny model airplane resting on the coffee table as he spoke. It was a model 747 that he had built, years before. “I don’t, either.” Christina shook her head. “It’s going to lead to more trouble than the people of this world can conceive of.” Richard nodded agreement. Gazing down at her lap, Christina rubbed her right index finger over her left palm. “I just hope Ryan calls us, soon, Richard. I’m worried about him.” Richard drew his wife against him in a hugging motion. “I’m sure he’s all right. God is with him.” Christina smiled. Richard was right. At the same time, she silently marveled that her once-atheistic husband had actually made such a statement. At one time, he would have exploded with anger if anyone else had said such a thing. Now, he was the first to remind his loved ones that God was in control and would take care of His children. Thank You, God, for the change You have made in my husband, Christina silently prayed. If You can do that, You can certainly protect my brother. Help me to remember that! _______________________________________________________ “You sent for me, Antonio?” Ryan stepped into Puccini’s office, the next day. The sky outside the window looked gray; a storm was looming. “Yes, I did.” Puccini leaned back in his chair; it squeaked as it tipped backward. “I want you to fly me to New York City next week. I have important business to take care of there.” Slipping his hands into his pants pockets, Ryan nodded his acquiescence. “Does this have to do with the United Nations, if I may ask?” Puccini chuckled. As the chuckle died away, his lips slowly widened into a smirk, but no smile appeared in his eyes. “You are a perceptive man, Ryan. It does, indeed. You heard my announcement yesterday.” Ryan nodded. “Well, I have decided that the United Nations has outgrown its usefulness. For all its talk about enforcing world peace, it is rarely able to do so. And how can it?” Puccini grimaced. “It has too many member nations putting in their two cents. It can never agree on anything, because any nation can stymie it. If world peace is to become reality, it must be placed in the hands of an organization that has the wherewithal to truly enforce it. The United Nations does not--and never will--have those resources, but the European Union does. It not only has a manageable number of nations allowed to help make decisions, it also has a standing army and a world court.” Puccini leaned forward and clasped his hands on his desk. “I am going to New York, Ryan, to see to it that the United Nations is shut down. For good.” Ryan nodded. He dared not say a word, just yet. Antonio smirked. “I had originally planned to have the United Nations move its headquarters to Rome, but upon further reflection, I came to realize that, under the circumstances, continuing to maintain the UN agency is a waste of time and money. It will be better to transfer its functions to the European Union. And rest assured, Ryan, that will be done before January.” Ryan nodded. “I see.” Antonio leaned forward, propping his fingertips together. For a second, Ryan glanced down at the polished desk reflecting his image. Antonio cleared his throat. “BTW, I am taking Kristen with me. I have a job for her there. A very important job that only one with her caliber can do.” He smiled. “Kristen Crossman has always been known for her efficiency, as you know by now. That’s why I hired her. She will be riding with us on the plane next week.” Ryan nodded, careful to keep an expression of passive neutrality on his face. He knew what Puccini was going to make Kristen do, but he dared not let Puccini learn of his knowledge. Or of his love for her. “Yes, sir. I do know all about her efficiency.” Puccini waved his hand in dismissal. “You may go, now. I will let you know when to schedule the flight.” Without another word, Ryan left Puccini’s office. Dread filled his heart as he marched down the carpeted hall, his shoes softly thudding on the thick carpet. I need to get together with Kristen tonight, he thought. Find out what she knows. If I know Puccini, he’s up to no good! Brainwashing children into following the new world religion, shutting down the United Nations, dividing the world into 10 spheres, to be ruled by members of the Western European Union, moving the whole world to a cashless society--what else does he have up his sleeve? Pursing his lips, he shook his head. That evening, he had dinner in Kristen’s apartment. He had already told her about the upcoming flight to New York; now he needed to find out what she knew. “Kristen, I need to ask you something.” He leaned forward. “Do you have any idea what this job is that Puccini wants you to do?” His fingertips rested lightly on the dining table’s smooth surface. Kristen bit her lower lip. “Yes, Ryan. And it’s bad.” Her fork clinked as she laid it on the plate. She rose to her feet and paced back and forth. “He wants to shut down all Christian foster homes, all church-sponsored children’s homes. The pope doesn’t want children being instructed in the Christian faith--he wants them to follow the new religion. Puccini's going along with this, and he’s putting me in charge of shutting them down, Ryan! Me!!” She paused and pressed her hands on the surface of the dining table. “Ryan, we’ve got to forewarn Richard and Christina. Rachel’s in real danger!” Ryan pressed his lips together into a thin line of determination. “Not if I can help it,” he muttered. “The first thing we need to do, Kristen, is take this to the Lord in prayer. We can’t fight this battle by ourselves. We need God to give us the victory.” He smiled. “We also need to start making our wedding plans. This upcoming trip to New York is the opportunity we’ve been praying for!” Smiling broadly, Kristen nodded agreement. After they’d finished their supper, the two of them sat on the couch, side by side, and bowed their heads to pray. _______________________________________________________ “Mama!!” Rachel shot up in her bed, screaming. Her hands made a small indentation in the bed mattress as she pushed her fingers and palms against it. Clouds had covered up the sky that night, so not even the starlight penetrated the pitch-dark bedroom. Rachel scrooged her eyes shut in a desperate effort to shut out the darkness. Unfortunately, she could not shut out the pictures in her mind. Terror surged in her heart, while the details of her nightmare rushed through her mind’s eye: the man who had kidnapped Rachel stabbing her mother, Rachel’s failed efforts to save her mother. It’s all my fault! she silently screamed. My fault! If I’d been there, I could have saved her--she died because of me! Christina rushed into the room, dressed in her robe, and flung her arms around Rachel. She had turned on the light in the hall; it poured through the open doorway, forming a reflected rectangle of light on the bedroom floor, as well as softly illuminating the outlines of the objects in Rachel’s bedroom. “Shh, it’s all right! You were having a bad dream,” she crooned. “You’re safe now, sweetie. I’m here.” For a long minute, Rachel nestled against her foster mother’s bosom, trembling violently. The sweet aroma of her foster mother’s perfume wafted toward her nose. Christina spoke soothingly, patting her back. “It’s OK, sweetie. It’s OK. I’m here--I’m right here with you.” At last, Rachel leaned back against her pillow. Its soft, satiny surface sagged under the back of her head. How good it felt! “Would you like me to sit with you till you fall asleep?” Christina suggested. Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, Rachel smiled wanly. “Would you?” “I sure will.” Rachel closed her eyes. Christina sang to her until she fell asleep. The next morning, Rachel stumbled down the stairs. The pain and fear of her nightmare had come rushing back when she woke up. It’s all my fault my mom’s dead, she thought. She didn’t want me to spend the night at Heather’s, but I begged her. And then, while I was gone, she got murdered! She took a deep, shuddering breath as she paused near the kitchen doorway. If I’d been home, that man wouldn’t have killed her. She’d still be alive! She put her face in her hands for a long moment, then bit her lip. I won’t let that happen to Mrs. Daly! I won’t! “I can’t believe it!” It was Christina’s voice, coming from the living room. Dropping her hands to her sides, Rachel tiptoed toward the living room and halted in the doorway. Christina paced the room in evident shock. Richard stood leaning against the wall, fists clenched, rage fixed on his face. He glared at the phone. Evidently, someone had just called them--maybe it was Ryan! Or Pastor Logan. Or maybe Monica. “So, Puccini’s going to ban all church-sponsored homes, is he?” he muttered. “And all Christian foster homes? And force all existing children’s homes to teach the new religion to kids?” Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head. “And he’s going to use Kristen to do his dirty work? How dare he?!” Rachel froze in shock. She knew what that meant. Since the Dalys were Christians, that meant she was going to be taken away! "I feel so sorry for Pastor Logan," Christina said, "getting that phone call this morning, telling him that his application was turned down." She bit her lower lip. "This is such a shock! I mean, first, Pastor Logan phones to tell us the bad news. Then, no sooner does he hang up then Ryan calls, to tell us about Puccini! This is--just too much!" As she twisted several strands of hair around her fingers, she shook her head. "What are we going to do, Richard?" Richard took a deep breath. "We’re going to pray. Hard!" He froze as he saw Rachel, then took a second deep breath in an evident effort to calm down. END OF CHAPTER 5



kgreen20	Nov 3 2007, 11:18 AM Post #8
Advanced Member Posts: 1,545 Group: Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	CHAPTER 6 “Good morning, Rachel,” he said, gently. “Any more of those bad dreams?” He approached her as he spoke. Rachel shook her head. “No.” She swallowed. “Am--am I going to be taken away?” She stared down at the tufts of carpet being pressed flat by her bare feet. Richard and Christina looked at each other soberly. “Rachel, I’m going to be honest with you.” Richard put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “My brother-in-law, Ryan Whittaker, called us just minutes ago, and gave us some very bad news. Antonio Puccini means to do just what you heard us say he’s about to do. If he and his people can have their way, you will be growing up in a facility that teaches the new world religion. Puccini is--well, what can I say?--evil.” Richard clenched his left fist into a tight ball. “But we’re going to do everything we can to prevent that from happening to you!” He pursed his lips as he spoke. “We sure are.” Christina smiled at Rachel. “The first thing we’re going to do is pray that God will thwart Puccini’s plans. And that He’ll show us a way to protect you.” “We sure are.” Richard squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “Now, I’ve got some good news, too. Ryan and his fiancée, Kristen, are coming to New York next week. They want to get married while they’re here, so we’ll be going to a wedding very shortly.” Christina smiled, then sighed. Sadness welled up in her eyes. “I feel sorry for Kristen. Being used as Puccini’s pawn to carry out this wicked plot against our children. We must pray, Richard, that God will send His angels to intervene.” “I agree.” Richard glanced at the clock. “Let’s go ahead and pray about it now, before we have breakfast. Too much is at stake to put it off.” Nodding agreement, Christina picked up her Bible from the coffee table. As the three sat side by side on the couch and held hands, Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. What does it mean? she wondered. Why does Mr. Puccini want to do this stuff? She opened her eyes to glance at the Bible, then closed them again. The mattress sagged underneath her as she fidgeted. Mrs. Daly sure got me a pretty Bible. It’s fun to read it. But what does that stuff mean? _______________________________________________________ Linda Jackson’s funeral was held two days later. (A backlog of other funerals had held it up, so that it was officiated a few weeks late.) The Dalys, Rachel, and the angels all attended as Reverend Logan officiated the ceremony and the burial that followed. A few days later--the week following Ryan’s phone call to the Dalys--Ryan and Kristen, along with their boss, Puccini, arrived in New York. Richard, Christina, and Rachel greeted them in the airport terminal. “Brownie!” Ryan laughed, as he hugged his sister tightly. Then he and Richard slapped each other’s shoulders and grasped each other’s hands. Ryan then turned his attention to Rachel. “Well, well. You must be Rachel Jackson.” Rachel smiled shyly. Christina smiled at the young girl. “Yep, it is. Rachel, this is my brother, Ryan Whittaker.” Ryan smiled in his turn, then nodded toward the woman next to him. “Yes, and this is the girl I’m going to marry. Kristen Crossman.” He inserted his hands into his pockets as he spoke. Christina smiled at Kristen. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Ryan’s told us so much about you.” Kristen laughed. “And he’s told me a great deal about you and Richard. I feel as if I already know you.” Kristen, Christina noticed, spoke with a slight European accent. She must have lived in Europe since she was a child, Christina thought. Richard glanced at his watch. “Come on, everybody, let’s go. I don’t feel safe even here. Where’s Puccini?” “He’s already meeting with several government officials, on his plane,” Ryan said. “He said he didn’t want to waste any time. He’s going to check into a hotel, later.” Richard nodded. “Then let’s go.”