 
### A New Beginning  
Book 1

### Nate Allen

### Copyright 2017

–The Credit Chip–

### 1

" _My name is Tyler and I want to share with you my story. I was buried in debt. My marriage was falling apart; we were going to lose the house! I was near the end of my rope, but, then I heard about a new beginning. No debt! A brand new credit score! Was it possible? Honestly, it sounded too good to be true. Just another scheme, right? I thought, 'Oh, how much money do I have to put into this too-good-to-be-true solution'? Nothing! Believe you me. Nothing! I didn't believe in miracles, until one happened to me. The Credit Chip is my miracle. If you don't believe me, try it yourself."_ the man on the TV changed his position, as he unbuttoned his right dress shirt sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. On the inside of his wrist was a mark. It was something close to a barcode, but with less lines that varied in thickness, and fewer numbers: 033060330. _"This is no scheme. I'm going to quote our great president. 'Money is worthless. It's just sheets of paper. It's just a way to hand out power. But, with the Credit Chip, everyone is equal.' A new beginning? Equal classes? Isn't this what we all want?"_ A phone number appeared at the bottom of the screen. _"The procedure takes less time than a visit to your doctor. It hurts less than a tattoo. And it heals faster too."_ the man smiled. _"I started out by telling you a story. Now, let me finish it. We not only got to keep our house, we qualified for a better one."_ a woman walked into the picture to join him. _"And my marriage is better than it's ever been_." they both smiled as he put his arm around her. The words **Credit Chip** appeared above the phone number. And then the commercial ended.

Ken Cardiff watched the TV with his eyes wide open. This Credit Chip was already too close to him. His older brother, Kyle, in and out of jail for the last few years, now owned that very thing. It was only one of the many markings on his heavily tattooed arm. But, it scared Ken. His brother had always been misunderstood. He fell in with the wrong crowd early on and never recovered.

He only wanted a new beginning, like this 'Tyler' from the commercial had. But, the words Rosy said only earlier that night scared him. She talked about the book of Revelation. She said the Credit Chip was the mark of the beast, and that the newly elected president was the beast himself. She said that the fact that he'd done more for this country in less than two years, than any other leader had before him, was only another sign. If what she said was true, Ken knew that his brother was already lost. But, she had to be wrong. The president was a humble man, who received people as they were. It was one of the things that made Kyle go ahead with the procedure. A new beginning. Don't we all want that?

Even though they didn't see eye to eye on everything, Ken and Rosy were a close pair. They met as kids. She was a giant compared to him when they were young, but now the equation was flipped. Ken was six foot three, and Rosy five foot seven. They were already thinking about marriage. Kids. What comes after. High school had been done for almost two years now. They had tried college, but debt was the only outcome. They were a close pair with many things in common, but they were also mismatched. When Rosy wasn't around, Ken would make fun of her faith. He would say, _"It's_ _old words from an old book."_ Yet, on this night, all he could think about was that _old book_. And those _old words_. And how, since his brother got the procedure done, something in him had changed.

And not for the better. He wasn't bright and full of life like 'Tyler' from the commercial. He was quiet and reserved. He wasn't the brother Ken grew up with. Only two days after his procedure, and Kyle was already a shell of his old self. Sure Kyle had been troubled, but at least he still had sparks of life. Now, they were gone.

### 2

Rosy closed her eyes, thinking about Ken. She thought about his ocean blue eyes, his dark blonde hair, and his smile. Oh, that smile. When she first met him, that smile was more gaps than teeth. He was the smallest boy in her grade, and the quietest. But, he grew into a loving man who had hold of her heart. No one else compared. No one else had that smile, or those ocean blues.

The only clock in her room was digital. A red glow in an otherwise dark room: 1:18 a.m. She had just given nearly an hour of her time to studying the book of Revelation, and even though the bible was closed, the words still stuck with her. That mark on Kyle's wrist could have been pulled from the scriptures. Even the numbers. Though not three sixes, it still came to it once adding the first and last set of threes together. When she thought about Ken, she also thought about Kyle. He had had a quiet crush on her for years. And even though she didn't feel the same way, it didn't mean she didn't care about him. Ken was her _someone_ , which made Kyle nearly her brother.

"Jesus." she whispered with her eyes closed. "Please be with Ken tonight. And please, don't let it be too late for Kyle." But, she already knew it was.

### 3

Kyle laid with his face turned toward the wall. His right wrist itched badly, like the time he had accidentally picked poison ivy to wipe tree sap from his hands when camping. It was a mistake he regretted, much like the one he had now. Ever since getting the Credit Chip implanted, a voice had followed him home. He didn't feel empowered like 'Tyler' from the commercial. He could only think about all of the rejections in his life, from the way his parents looked at him when he was hauled away due to possession of heroin, to the sorry smile Rosy gave him when she said she didn't feel the same way toward him.

His life was only rejection. Fs in school. Alienation from his peers. Never good enough for anyone. Never the first choice for girls. Always the lesser choice. Every rejection he ever had was playing on his closed eyelids like they were a movie screen. And he was watching as something unfamiliar started to build up inside of him.

He saw his first days of school. He saw fights with his brother, and how his parents would always side with Ken. He saw every disappointed look his mom gave him, and every embarrassed expression his father would display. And then, he saw Rosy, and how she reacted to him telling her how much he liked her. That was right before she chose Ken. Another rejection. But, here is where it stopped. The rejection from Rosy. It started back at the beginning, when he told her he liked her. The result was the same. And when it got to the end, it started over again.

He started to cry quiet but heavy sounds. It was something close to the exhausted moan of an elephant. It didn't stop. It only intensified. It didn't matter that Rosy had rejected him nearly five years before, it still hurt. And he still wanted to be with her. She was everything sweet and loving that he wanted. But, of course, his little brother got her too. He got everything.

### 4

If Kyle had lived in a state that wasn't so progressive, the procedure would have been illegal. But, Iowa was a progressive place. It was the fourth state to sign the New Beginning Act, following New York, California, and Florida. The state was now in a building process. The Credit Chip scanners were starting to pop up in local grocery stores, fast food restaurants, and retail outlets. Everything was "free" for those with that little chip.

For those without, the world was continuing to crumble. Debt was no longer a hole to climb out of. The option simply wasn't there. The country owed too much money to other countries. And it looked for the money from its inhabitants. Money that just wasn't there. The poor continued to lose; the rich continued to gain.

But, President Pummel set out to change that. He came from poverty himself. _Always looking in from the outside, always wishing he could have nice clothes, a warm place to live, and meals that would stuff him full_. His story was a best **-** seller: **From Poverty to Power**. Critics called it many things, summed up in these words: the humble beginnings of a great man.

Equality was his pitch from his obscure start in the Senate to the Spotlight. Equality. No lower class, no upper class. It baffled and amazed his predecessors how he could change the status quo in less than two years. Or at least start to change it. He had a plan that was coming to fruition, something no one else before him could claim. There were still many hurdles to overcome, but he was making progress.

### 5

It was late enough that nothing remotely good was on the TV. Mostly infomercials, and old reruns of shows that didn't interest him. Ken shut off the TV. Immediately, his eyes focused on the closed door only feet away. Kyle was in there, once again having to live at home because he couldn't keep a job. It was the second time in two years. Their mom was about second (and third and fourth) chances; their dad was about tough lessons. He didn't agree with Kyle being at home again. But, he let him stay for the night: a very short grace period. He still had a soft spot for Kyle, because he knew the potential his oldest had. The potential he had wasted.

Ken was a body of goose bumps as he heard his brother's moans. Slowly, he stepped toward the door. Cold air was slipping from the crack at the bottom. Cold air that wasn't just cold, but heavy. And sad. And almost paralyzing. His bedroom was upstairs, past a dark kitchen in an already sleeping house. He was scared. He wanted to call for his brother, but he didn't know what would answer. Something _unknown_ was down in that basement, something Ken had never felt. All at once, the lights shut off. And he could only hear the almost inhuman sounds his brother was making. They weren't just the sounds of crying, they were the sounds of manifestation. The _unknown_ was surfacing.

Ken closed his eyes and ran toward the stairs on the opposite side of the basement. It was an aimless, desperate attempt to escape a fear even his worst nightmares hadn't produced. But, he tripped and fell and was knocked out cold.

### 6

A peace rested over Rosy that she couldn't explain. At times the dark was filled with weird sounds and monstrous shadows. Tonight, it was filled with peace that was undeniable, and palpable, and everything she needed. It was like Jesus was sitting at the edge of her bed, calming whatever worries she had. When she would close her eyes to sleep, she saw clean light. She didn't see Ken, or Kyle, or the increasingly dangerous world. She saw light.

_Life is but a vapor, Rosy_. It was a quiet thought that fell into her mind like a small stone into a body of calm water. She knew that her life was almost done. When she opened her eyes again, she had to call Ken. She had to say goodbye. Her phone was a fancy touch screen; her background was a sun setting behind the three empty crosses on Golgotha.

She unlocked her phone with a swipe of her finger, and then pressed 2, until the goofy picture of Ken cross eyed with a small helicopter beanie on his head came up on the screen: calling _Future Hubby_. The words swayed across the screen. It rang four times and then went to voicemail: "Hey, you've reached Ken. I'm sorry I missed your call, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Okay, um, bye."

Hey, baby," Rosy held back tears as she said goodbye. "I needed to call you tonight, because, I love you. And I'll miss you." her bottom lip started to quiver. "And Jes **-** Jesus loves you. I know you **–** you've grown up in a family that doesn't believe in Him. I know that you don't want to hear about Him. But, it's what I have to tell you, because I won't be here much longer. I'm being called home." she nearly ended the call there, but instead continued. "This world is only going to get worse, baby. I know the character in you. I know there's a man of God waiting to rise up. But, I also know that it's your decision. Jesus is real. He is the only freedom, the only new beginning. Anything else is a lie. There is no freedom that the world can give you. Don't believe the lies. No matter how bad it gets, please, don't believe the lies. I love you, and really hope to see you again someday. Bye, baby." Rosy ended the call and then closed her eyes again.

She saw that same light, getting closer and closer to her. She didn't have much time left at all.

### 7

Kyle only saw Rosy. She hurt him so much. Every kiss she gave to his younger brother when he was around, every happy laugh she made, every cute giggle; they should have been for him. But, they weren't. They were for his brother, just like the new car he was given because of good grades, or the happiness that always seemed to be with him. Kyle was barely able to get a loan from his dad to buy a beater. He was a disappointment. Kenneth was the good boy, the 'perfect' one. He was the privileged, the favored, the loved.

The sounds now coming from him were almost inhuman. It wasn't low moans, but sharp shrieks. He could feel something in the room with him, something sitting right behind his eyes. It planted an idea in his head that only grew: _what if you were to take something he loved away?_ He kept his eyes closed, but the thought became images. Then sounds. Then a surge of power flowing through every part of him.

He was going to take away Rosy. And how his brother's happiness would fade. He imagined a Ken that wasn't privileged, but devastated. And it made him happy.

Two days before, when that little chip wasn't in his wrist, Kyle would have been deep in conflict. He would have thought about all of the good his brother had done for him. He would have thought about the first time he went to jail. When his dad wouldn't post bail, Ken did using his own money. Or, maybe the time he was broken down on the side of the road, and Ken got up in the middle of the night to pick him up. Two examples to a very long list.

But, because of that little chip there was no conflict. Just a satisfying smile. It would feel so good to take away Ken's happiness. Kyle got to his feet and walked toward the door.

### 8

The president had gotten used to the voices. They had been with him since childhood. Since the accident. The voices and the man, the man no one else could see, the faceless man in the red striped suit. He was always watching him. Always watching. And the voices were always leading.

When he was only a boy, the president should have died. He fell from a third story window and landed on his back. He was in a coma for nearly two months. When he woke up, he wasn't brain dead as the doctors expected. He was fine, but he wasn't alone. The man was by his side. Faceless, yet not. It was him, in the future. A portrayal of the power he could have. The voices said that he would rise above poverty and have power, if only he listened to them. He was only six when he should have died but didn't. Only six. Now, he was forty two.

He was handsome, like a fifties ad man: dark hair slicked back, face cleanly shaven, with a voice that was crisp and authoritative. Women wanted him. He was the poster child for humility. Even though he lived in the white house which had 132 rooms, he had a small bed in his study. He wasn't accustomed to rich living. Thirty five bathrooms? Eleven bedrooms? Three kitchens? Three dining rooms? One library? One bowling alley? And a movie theatre? He did what no one else had before him, instead of inviting the powerful to stay in the white house, he invited the poor.

_The only way to unite the people is to show that classes don't exist. Races don't matter. We are people. We are all equal. One nation, not under God, but under us, as a people. Only then is peace possible._ It was a speech he hadn't yet given. But, the time was approaching. There were still those believers, who claimed that Jesus was the only way, and that everyone else would perish in a lake of fire. _Lies! Lies from people who won't open their eyes. People who only spread judgment. And hate. They are the enemies of this peace. They are the enemies._

### 9

Only feet behind Ken's unconscious body, the bedroom door opened, and Kyle walked through the darkness, up the stairs, and out of their parent's house. But, in a realm different from this one, Ken was very much awake. He was dreaming about Rosy and their wedding day. He saw a portion of her thick light brown hair pinned up in a fancy bun with the rest of it hanging free. He felt her body against his when they danced to their wedding song. It seemed to last forever. And then everything faded away, and it was only them, in a place of complete white.

"Goodbye, baby. I love you so much." Her green eyes watered.

He couldn't answer her. He couldn't speak a word. And then, like everything else around them had, she began to fade.

_No!_ He couldn't say it. It was just a loud thought in his mind, a scream that he couldn't scream. And then he woke up. Gray daylight was pressing through the window above the couch. Many hours had passed. He was crying in this realm too. That dream was too real, almost like he had actually said goodbye to his Rosy. He ignored the pounding headache he awoke to, desperately trying to find his phone. He had to know she was okay. He had to know that it was just a dream, that he would call and she would answer with that excited _hi baby!_ she always answered with.

But, when he fished his phone from the couch cushions, he saw that he had a new voicemail. It was from Rosy.

### 10

When Rosy fell asleep at 1:32 a.m., she never woke up again. Instead, just like Ken, she was in a realm different from this one. Before Kyle suffocated her with her own pillow, she found Ken and had one last dance. One final goodbye. At 2:15 a.m., she was gone from this world. She walked through her goodbyes in spirit and then stepped into the light. Jesus met her with a smile, saying, "Welcome home, My daughter." It was January 15th, 2022, a Saturday, when Rosy Andrea Matthews made it home.

### 11

After Kyle left the house, he walked over to Rosy's located only a mile down the road from his parent's house. He was in a white t **–** shirt and ragged blue jeans. It was only ten degrees above zero. But, he didn't notice the cold. He only thought about killing Rosy. Would it be a fun mess or a quiet victory? The pronged end of a hammer, or a pillow? When he closed his eyes, he imagined blood. He wanted to hurt her. Oh, he wanted to hurt her so badly. It was that chip, that Thing that now lived inside of him. It had no mercy. It had no conscience. And so, neither did he.

He thought about the first moment that he liked Rosy. She had been a tall, lanky tomboy, until that one day came where she no longer was. The day where her breasts started to develop, and her hips started to expand. The day Rosy started to become a woman was the day Kyle wanted to be with her. If she had only liked him back, things would have been different.

Kyle and Ken had been over to the Matthews' residence enough that they were considered family. They were privy to the 'family secret' that they never locked the second story deck door in case someone got locked out. Kyle planned to use this. He imagined her blood, but then he imagined what would come next after he was caught. He wouldn't be able to watch his brother suffer. He would be taken away. So, he decided to make it a quiet victory. He would slip in, suffocate her with her pillow, slip out, and leave no trace. And that's exactly what he did.

When the gray morning came he was back in bed in the downstairs bedroom, happy. There was no guilt in him, no little voice telling him what he did was wrong. This was a new beginning. He could be anybody he wanted to be. And after killing Rosy, he was happy. Yes, happy, like 'Tyler' from the commercial. This is what the Credit Chip promised. But, what was the cost?

### 12

The president wasn't able to sleep the closer it got to the second year anniversary of his inauguration. It was only six days away. He had worked on the speech he was going to give tirelessly. He had his topics neatly organized, with a flow that could poke holes in any of the peoples' retorts. He would start with his New Beginning Act, trying to make it nationwide, swaying the undecided by attacking the wealthy. He would point out that while everyone else was drowning, they were flourishing. He would lead by example, saying how he lets the poor and unfortunate stay in The White House instead of the wealthy. He would say how he detests the rich and their over-inflated egos, and their 'give **-** me **-** give **-** me' attitudes, and their god complexes. And then he would say, the only god is the people of this great country united as one.

The only problem was the believers. They were against equality. They said no to gay marriage. They said no to a religion for all people. Anything that didn't fall in line with their _old book_ , they opposed. It was that _old book_ that had people thinking he was the devil in a man's body. The only devil he knew of was those against his plan, against the voices, against the man he was destined to become. The believers were the devils of the world. But, he had something planned for them. If he could fire the people up enough with the beginning and middle of his speech, they would get behind the end. This would be something memorable.

It was a day he both dreaded and anticipated. If the people said no, the voices would tear him apart. But, if they said yes, the faceless man, his potential, would be fully realized. The president always knew there was a reason he didn't die when he should have. He was meant for great things. He was the man who could bring peace to the people. That was his purpose.

### 13

Ken closed his eyes as Rosy's message started to play:

" _Hey baby. I needed to call you tonight, because, I love you. And I'll miss you. And Jes-Jesus loves you. I know you-you've grown up in a family that doesn't believe in Him. I know that you don't want to hear about Him. But, it's what I have to tell you, because I won't be here much longer. I'm being called home."_ a pause _._ _"This world is only going to get worse, baby. I know the character in you. I know there's a man of God waiting to rise up. But, I also know that it's your decision. Jesus is real. He is the only freedom, the only new beginning. Anything else is a lie. There is no freedom that the world can give you. Don't believe the lies. No matter how bad it gets, please, don't believe the lies. I love you, and really hope to see you again someday. Bye baby."_

He listened to it three times, hardly able to keep himself from getting Sick. He tried to call her phone, but she didn't answer. It just rang. Over and over again. He finally stopped trying and dropped his phone. It felt like the air had been let out of him. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't. It hurt so much. He had just seen her the night before. And now she was gone.

Sadly, he wasn't able to think about her green eyes, or her cute little giggles, or her contagious laughter, or her all around wonderful personality. That's what he wanted to be thinking about, but instead, he thought about his guilt. Something that he had kept hidden from her was the fact that he saw her as a smaller person when she talked about her faith. Even though Rosy never knew how Ken saw her, he felt, and feared, that she had. Now, as the reality of a world without her began to weigh on him, he regretted even thinking it.

Ken's family didn't believe in Jesus. They didn't fake it by attending church. They were a family of _other horizons_. Gay marriage? _Sure, love doesn't have just one pairing._ Take God out of schools, courts, and every place public? _Absolutely! God shouldn't be something we are forced to acknowledge!_

Ken's mom came from Catholic origins. Jesus was nothing but a routine. He was a boring Sunday lesson. Ken's dad came from an atheist father, and a mother who became Christian. It was what caused their divorce. Ken's dad was old enough to choose who he wanted to have as his primary guardian. He chose his father.

Ken and Kyle were raised to believe what they wanted to believe. If it was nothing, that was their choice. And nothing is what they chose.

But, on this morning, this _nothing_ was lonely. He just blankly stared at the closed bedroom door, wishing it was all a dream. So, he closed his eyes and tried to live in a place where it was. Impossible. As soon as he closed his eyes, they opened again. He was alone. She was gone. And this _nothing_ had left him an empty man.

### 14

Rosy's family was comprised of all girls. She was the oldest, with two younger sisters, and a widowed mother. They all loved Jesus with genuine hearts. That's the only way to explain it. Genuine. It had become hard to find in people.

### *

Rosy's body was found by her youngest sister, Lily, who was fifteen and fully aware of the coming dangers of the world.

When Lily found her, the first thing she did behind falling tears was smile. Not like Kyle did after killing Rosy. No, Lily's was a peaceful, selfless smile. Her sister was home with Jesus, and that was the greatest reward. Anybody who had eyes to see and ears to hear, knew that the end had begun. And Rosy, a kind and soft hearted person may have died because she was too fragile to witness what was coming. Maybe she loved people too much, that it would have broken her heart to see what they would become.

Her body was found early, just as the gray day began. Lily dreamt that Rosy said goodbye, as they were sitting beneath a cool cloud streaked sky in the middle of summer. She had told her to be strong. It didn't startle Lily awake. Instead, her eyes just opened. And she knew before she ever found her body that her sister was already gone.

### *

Everybody in Rosy's family had a dream where she said goodbye. Willow, the middle and quietest sister, dreamt of her goodbye where Rosy had one of her warming smiles. They were standing under an endless starry sky. She said that Willow was strong. Willow was the last to wake, and the second to wander into Rosy's room. Unlike Lily, she didn't smile behind falling tears. She just cried.

### *

For Rosy's mother, Melissa, her goodbye was in the calm of her bedroom, with the song _Nothing But the Blood_ lightly playing in the background on her CD player. Rosy told her not to mourn her, but to look forward to the day when she would join her. She said it would be soon.

When Melissa wandered into Rosy's bedroom, she was already crying.

"No!" her cries weren't soft, but loud and painful. "No! Jesus, why?! Why?!"

It was too much to handle. She still missed her husband as if he had been gone for only a few months, when it had actually been almost twelve years. But, he was her someone. Her perfect fit. The life she had when married to him had never fully returned. And now, as she looked at the lifeless body of her firstborn daughter, she wished it was her instead.

### 15

In a realm one over from this one, Kyle was running down a tall flight of stairs. Up above him, a sign of flashing neon displayed in bright color:

A NEW BEGINNING?

WITH THE CREDIT CHIP

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!

An arrow pointed down. These steps were very much like the ones at the place where he had gotten the procedure done. It was the same tile layout, a square within a square. He sprinted down the steps as fast as he could. He wanted a new beginning, more than anything else.

It was an endless staircase, always leading down, always promising something new, but only getting darker. There was no door. No new beginning. And once Kyle realized how long he had been running down the steps, he stopped and looked back from where he came. There was a light on up the stairs. He started to step back toward it, realizing his mistake. But then it went out. And there was only darkness.

He woke up. There was a soft pound of fear deep in his chest initially. But, because of that little chip, the fear faded fast. Something substantial to his soul had been taken away. An element that made him human. Maybe it can be described as a lobotomy of sorts. His body was still there, but the most important part of him was gone: the part that loved.

### 16

Even with all the power he had, there was nothing the president could do to quiet the voices. As the anniversary day got closer, they got louder. They assured him if his speech failed to catch fire with the people, he would die. At first they were just soft whispers. But, as time passed, and as things happened in his life, they became familiar voices: a mother who never found him good enough, a father who left for another family, and his little brother, who fell out the same window the day he did, but died on impact.

That day always haunted the president. They were visiting his Aunt's house out in the country. She was wealthy enough to have an acre and a half of land with an old three story house, full of wide windows. They were in the attic, the highest room of the house. They weren't supposed to be up there. He was supposed to be watching his little brother behind the house. But, he knew about the attic, about the wide window that swung open where you could see everything. He snuck past his parents visiting with his Aunt, crept up the old wooden stairs, and followed his curious instinct to that forbidden place. And his little brother, a mini version of him, followed. He was a curious boy, despite being _unnaturally quiet_ , as his mother said.

The president never forgot what he saw when he got to that wide window. His mom and dad were now outside, fighting. His mom slapped his dad across the face; his dad answered with a slap of his own. It knocked her down.

"Fwankie!" his little brother tugged at his white t **–** shirt as he swung the window out so that he could hear. "I wanna see too!" The screen was missing. "I wanna see too, Fwankie." His full name was Francis Abraham Pummel, but his little brother called him Frankie, or at least tried to.

Frankie lifted his brother toward the window, high enough so that both could see. But, he wasn't strong. And his little brother was getting heavy. It happened so fast. His weight pulled them both out of the window and into a free fall of thirty feet. He landed on his back; his brother landed directly on his head. The last thing he heard before his coma was the snap of his little brother's neck.

His mother never forgave him for that. She said he was the reason his dad left. He was the reason she felt empty. And only moments before she died, unable to speak, her eyes said the same thing.

These were things that the president hadn't written in his tell **-** all book. These were secrets that no one else knew.
–Facade–

### 1

Ken didn't want to think he was empty. Weak people were empty. Weak people needed belief. It's what he had always been taught by his dad: _"There's nothing in this world you can control, Ken. There is no God, no great plan. You make your own fate. It's the people who can't fend for themselves that turn to belief, because if there is a god, maybe he'll help them. It's a weakness we can't afford, son. And a lie we can't buy into, because when everything does go to hell, we are ready for it. Someday everyone will see that this world is an accident. Our existence. Everything. It's a miraculous accident that started a chain reaction. Nothing more. Your mother and I have given you the freedom to think for yourself. Not what some 'old book' tells you is right, or what close minded people claim."_ But, was it true? What he remembered about Rosy was how calm she always was, how she wasn't weak, and how, in many ways, she was much stronger than him.

And now that she was gone, he remembered everything he hadn't cared to notice before. It was the little things that he would miss most, like the way she would sigh whenever she looked at him, or would laugh contagiously at even the smallest jokes. The little things. And even though Ken hadn't gotten word from anyone that his Rosy was dead, in his heart, he knew she was.

He hadn't pulled his eyes away from the bedroom door since hearing her message, because it didn't just make him think about her, it made him think about Kyle. If his dad's words had really been truth, why had Kyle turned out the way he was? Was it the result of a life without faith? Or was it just bad choices? He couldn't help but think that it would have been different had they followed that 'old book'. It was a fleeting thought, soon covered by his doubt. But, it wasn't gone, only hidden, like a small seed with deep roots.

There was a truth he couldn't deny. His entire life had been a well-built facade. And he knew that even if Rosy wasn't dead, he would still be empty, because she had just been another part of that facade. His life was like a nice house with nothing on the inside.

### 2

The Matthews girls all gathered at Rosy's bedside, dealing with her death differently.

### *

Melissa was the picture of shock: eyes red and wide, brown hair pasted to her cheeks, a terrible tremble in her fingertips. She was the first to touch her body. And as soon as she did, the tears fell out of her heavier than they ever had, heavier than when her husband died, heavier than her three miscarriages before having her wonderful Rosy. This was the saddest day of her life. She wasn't able to celebrate the life Rosy had, because she just wanted to die with her. She kissed every part of her face, trying not to feel her cold skin. And for a moment, it was warm again. For a moment, but only a moment, it was like the first time she held her after her sixteen hour labor, and kissed her forehead. And then that moment went away, never to come back again.

### *

Willow, still, just cried. Rosy understood her much more than her mother or Lily did. Rosy cared to see her for the sparks she hid beneath her silence. The rest of her family hadn't taken the time.

### *

Lily was the only one who could find the light in her death, because she had foresight into what the future held. It was a world that would have broken her sister's heart.

The peace that filled the room had now become something completely different. Rosy hadn't died in her sleep, she had been suffocated. And a Spirit that loved watching Kyle kill her, now watched the aftermath. Cold started to seep into a room that had been warm.

Lily could feel It watching. When she closed her eyes, she could see the shape of It: tall and emaciated with a crooked spine covered with layers of baggy skin overlapping. Its face had a long, toothless, upturned smile. It was standing behind their mother, watching her.

"Jesus," she whispered. "Help my mom. Protect her. Let your Blood cover her." With her eyes still closed, she saw a ray of light come from nowhere. She heard the sound of gushing, and looked toward the hall. Blood was pouring from the light, already a living puddle on the floor. It stepped into the shape of a man that took the ray of light like a long sword, and stabbed it into the Spirit. She heard it screech, and then felt an immediate release. Not one of warmth, but more like a curtain being pulled back. She saw Ken's older brother walking down the hall behind that deformed Spirit, walking toward Rosy's room. And then she opened her eyes.

From early on Lily had been given the gift of spiritual sight. When Willow had had a fever of a hundred and five, and was starting to circle the drain, the Lord revealed to her that a demon had latched onto her. He told her exactly the words to pray. She did, and Willow's fever broke within fifteen minutes. But, this was beyond that. Without seeing anything more than a glance of Kyle in the hall, she knew that he had killed Rosy.

### 3

As Ken's facade was starting to come undone, Kyle's was only beginning. He had regretted the Chip for those first two days, more miserable than before. But, then power came to him. He had never felt it before. It was electrifying, like shocking a dead body back to life. It was euphoria that laid over him like a blanket, covering him with something false. It was the unknown stepping into the role of _comforting_ and starting over his story: _He could have a new start. He could be anything he wanted to be. And it was all because of the Credit Chip!_

Who did he want to be? His aspirations were no longer entirely his own, but what the unknown wanted him to be. It wanted a puppet. And on this morning, It only wanted to watch what came next, as Ken found out Rosy was dead, and as the sadness stabbed into him. It just wanted to watch and enjoy. Kyle was not Kyle anymore, not who he had been. He would never be that man again.

### 4

The life of the president was a near perfectly constructed facade, built entirely by the voices. He was a man for the people, a man for the poor, a man for the down **-** and **-** out. Though, sometimes it was still a life he didn't want. Sometimes he wished that he would have died and his little brother lived. But, maybe that feeling was just coming from the stress of the speech. It was the reason for his third nosebleed of the morning, and his second severe migraine of the week. Why not hopeless thoughts as well? It wasn't just the stress from the speech, but the stakes of it. These had been ideas close to him from before he started in the Senate: equality for all! (and how to achieve it) But, the time hadn't been right. Not when he was in the Senate. Not when he was elected. Not until now.

Nobody was particularly close to the president. He performed his job with a quiet power, appearing when needed. His announcements were rare. But, when they happened, it was like lightning in a bottle. Not even two years on the job and he was one of the highest ranked presidents in history, simply because of results. He didn't just speak empty promises. He delivered.

The president was from the independent party; the Senate was a mixed bag. How he had gotten so much done with such divided goals was some kind of miracle in itself. Nobody else had been able to make real progress with a mixed bag. Actually nobody had been able to make real progress even with their party the majority. So, how was it happening now? Everything has a time. There was a reason that the president didn't die when he should have. There was a reason that he was changing what it meant to hold the position. There was a reason the pieces were now fitting together, when they hadn't before. The time had come.

### 5

Time passed, as it always does. Ken sat with his phone in his hand, completely blank. Lily had called him because he had been placed on her heart. She hadn't known what to say, she just called. And as soon as he answered, nothing had to be said. Her call was proof that his Rosy was dead. He could only whisper, "I'm sorry," and then ended the call.

Three days later he said the same thing, standing in the entrance to Rosy's church. It was an open casket for close friends and family to say goodbye. Many people were crying. Some were consoling. And some were smiling. Ken couldn't understand those people. How was it something to smile about? She lived a full twenty years? But, he didn't ask them why.

Ken had never been to a funeral. He didn't know what to do. He just tried to keep the tears from coming out of him.

There was a pit in his stomach; the emptiness was spreading. He hadn't seen Rosy since their last time together, only hours before she was killed. A part of him wanted to see her again. But another part wanted to stay in that entrance, because once he saw her body, it was final. His Rosy was dead and she wasn't coming back.

"I'm here, Kenny." Kyle put his hand on Ken's shoulder and sighed heavily. "You'll get through this."

Was it true? Ever since Rosy died, the emptiness had started to erase everything he had known. It had taken all color from his seemingly colorful life and replaced it with dreary shades of gray and black. Food was tasteless. His parent's shallow words were souring inside of him. His dad had said the same thing Kyle had said, but he didn't have any cure to give. His dad just said that he would get through it. _How?!_ It was a question no one answered.

But, then Ken remembered how Rosy would talk about Jesus. She had said that He was always there for her, closer than she could comprehend. She brought Him the big and little things of life, from the fights she would have with Ken, to the deep sadness she felt after her dad died. Jesus was in her every moment of every day. And even though there had been a lot of pain in her life, Ken thought about how she had still been happier than him, or his "self **-** sufficient" father, or his tightly wound mother, or his screwed up brother. All followers of _nothing_. And all completely empty beneath the surface.

### 6

A little over an hour later the coroner was called, and Rosy's body was taken away. And what was left were two sisters and a mother each trying to keep their heads above water.

### *

When the Lord put Ken on Lily's mind, she was still cold from what had been revealed to her. She was afraid that she would blurt out the truth about Kyle as soon as she dialed Ken's number on her phone. But, she didn't. She remained as quiet as him. And then, knowing it wasn't Rosy, he simply said he was sorry and then hung up.

Lily was the only one to watch the coroner put Rosy's body in the back of the white van. After it drove away, she stayed outside. The gray sky had become a dirty white sheet. No bright colors. But, it was still less dreary than the inside of the house.

Three days later, the sadness found Lily. She had a dream that she was crying, and when she woke up, the death of Rosy finally hit her. It didn't matter that she had a close connection to Jesus. Pain was still pain. And what she felt on that morning was sharp and searing.

Lily did her best not to show how much she was hurting. She had to be strong. Her mom and Willow needed it. After all, she had been given the gift of spiritual sight. She had to be above the pain. If not her, who else? She had sight into the _unseen_. She had a perspective they didn't. And yet, the pain was as raw and red as a terrible burn.

The house hadn't brightened. Even with the morning sun spilling in, it still felt dark. Lily picked out a black blouse and a matching pencil skirt for her mom from a closet of thrown-about-clothing and set it on the dining room table.

Her mom was the picture of aimlessness. The funeral started at 10:00 a.m.; it was already 9:50 a.m. and she only had on a black bra and dark hosiery. Walking around the house like someone already dead, she kept drifting past the clothes on the table, whispering things to herself as she gravitated toward Rosy's room.

Lily's pain was sharp but her mom's was on a different level entirely. She knew she had to be strong for her. Time continued to tick away as Willow appeared on the couch, arms folded and head down. Her tight black dress was broken up by a tight red trench coat. Lily gave a soft smile of reassurance that Willow accepted with one of her own.

She grabbed her mom's blouse from the table and found her down the hall, standing in front of Rosy's closed door.

"Mom?" Lily called before reaching her. "We have to go." She offered the neck hole of the blouse.

Her mom turned to her, eyes empty of everything. "Okay." A tear rolled down her cheek as she bent her neck down to let Lily put the blouse on.

"Your skirt's on the table. We're gonna be late, mom." They already were late when factoring in the drive.

Lily asked Willow to warm up the car while she helped her mom look as presentable as possible. Sliding the skirt over her hosiery and flipping her hair up into a mess of a bun, Lily was the parent in a house that hadn't had a real one in years.

She led her mom out of the house and into the passenger seat of their car. Willow drove, her movements automatic and programmed. For such an emotional day, the ride over was anything but: a pocket removed from reality.

But, then the car pulled into the gravel lot of the church. The reality of what was truly happening that day was a vicious animal that tore into Lily. She watched the same thing happen to Willow as she pulled the keys from the ignition. Her mom just stared ahead...

When they entered the church, Lily saw the memorial board she and Willow had put together. It was propped up at the entrance to the main hall. They walked as one damaged unit, moving from the church entryway to the main hall entrance.

It was there that people offered their condolences and their obligated words of hope. It was there she saw Ken enter the church. And it was there he whispered, "I'm sorry."

But, then Lily saw Kyle follow behind him. A chill crept down her spine like a slug and stayed there. It was Kyle, but it was also that Spirit, tethered to him, staring at her with that toothless, upturned smile.

### *

Willow retreated to her room, and climbed under her covers. Her crying hadn't stopped since finding Rosy. It wouldn't stop for nearly a full day. When it finally did, it was only because she was too tired to cry anymore.

Losing her dad when she was only five and now losing the closest thing she had to him—

Three days later, she dressed in a short black dress, the red streaks in her dark hair draping across her low cut neck line, displaying her heavy cleavage. She was just a piece of meat to so many. Even the mirror liked to feast on what she offered. It didn't matter that she despised what she saw. She knew that she had what the boys wanted. And she flaunted it freely. Willow was willing to do anything to feel important, if even for a few fleeting moments.

Her outfit wasn't appropriate for Rosy's funeral—what outfit is? But she didn't know how to leave the house without wearing her facade. Without it she wasn't important. Without it she wasn't seen. She needed to be seen for something.

Cat-eye makeup was part of her daily ensemble. She wore it like a mask, along with her false eyelashes and her dark red lipstick. A lot about Willow was an ensemble because nobody had shown interest in what was genuine. The only person who had was now gone...

Once dressed she watched her mother, a continuous train-wreck, wander up and down the hallway. Nothing was new about her grief. Most of Willow's memories of her mom included severe symptoms of depression. Neglect was a common reality in the Matthews house.

Willow had always been impressed by Lily's resolve. That feeling increased further as she watched her baby sister play mother to their mother. How she was able to do what needed to be done—how she wasn't falling apart on the morning where they had to say goodbye to their big sister was beyond her. Lily's strength had to have been supernatural because Willow found it hard to even function.

When Lily was finally able to lead their mom to the car, Willow immediately felt like a dead body was placed in the seat next to her...

She drove the short route to the church, pulled into the lot, and heaved a heavy sigh. The way the sun highlighted the cold morning day made it seem hopeful. Except, the reality was not just the funeral to say goodbye to Rosy but the days to follow. If her dad's death almost twelve years before had left her mom in a suspended state of grief, what would the death of her first born daughter do to her?

Together they entered the church but in every other way they were separate. Three fractured pieces of a whole, like a cracked glass trying to hold water, they leaked from everywhere.

### *

Melissa stayed in Rosy's room, and laid where her daughter had been, whispering as if she was still there...

After the tears stopped running, Melissa was left in a body that only continued to breathe. But, the life had been taken from her. Three days later, she was asked to be presentable for an occasion that had left her entirely empty.

Time had no importance. Rosy had left a void that overtook her being and now she was nothing more than a blank space in a cold and dark world. Somehow she got dressed that morning. Somehow she got in the car. How she had ever arrived at the church remained a mystery to her.

She kept fading into The Shock. The Shock held many memories of her Rosebud. It was a place she never wanted to leave. There she had everything she ever needed. There the sadness couldn't touch her. But everyone kept pulling her out of it, asking questions and offering their condolences.

If someone offered her a hug, she accepted. The sooner they left her alone, the sooner she could slip back into a world where her Rosebud could never die.

### 7

Time passed, and when Kyle left his room and saw Ken sitting there with a lifeless expression, he basked in it. Like bathing in the sun in summer, it warmed his bones. Now, Ken was the sad one. Now, Ken was the empty. Not Kyle. He walked past his grieving brother without hardly a glance, and when he walked up the steps, he saw his father standing in the kitchen.

"What are you going to do today, Kyle?" his father's question was almost rhetorical.

"Get my life together." he smiled. "Sir, thank you for not giving up on me. I've been given a new beginning, and I'm not gonna screw it up."

His father looked at him with cold, searching eyes. He was looking for the lie. What he found in his oldest boy was a sense of hope.

"The place down the street is having open interviews today between two and four. There is no shame in fast food. A job is a job. I'm only giving you one more chance. One more. If this is the wool being pulled over my eyes, I won't hesitate to let them lock you up and throw away the key. Do we have an understanding?"

"I won't screw it up, Sir."

"I want to believe you." he stopped and sighed heavily. "I'm going back on everything I decided last night, because I see something genuine in you. This is your last chance. And I want to try and help you one last time. Once you get a job, you pay rent to live here. But, you will get a job soon, because from sun **-** up to sun **-** down, I expect you to be job hunting. If I see you trying to get a free ride, I'll throw you out. No questions asked."

"Deal." he smiled. The Credit Chip had put something genuine in Kyle, something his father could see. His father hadn't seen anything of value in him in a long time.

Kyle hurried upstairs and showered, lightly cleaning the sore mark on the inside of his right wrist. And then he got ready, covering the tattoos on his arms with a white dress shirt. Kyle didn't get the job, but he could feel that this time was different. This was going to last.

Three days later, he went with Ken to Rosy's funeral. In the process of trying to make his father proud, the fact that he killed Rosy fell away from him, like a scab from a wound. And the presence of the _unknown_ slipped comfortably inside of him, letting him live his new life. Much like a dream that is forgotten, he didn't remember killing her. Or if he did, he didn't believe it.

Some type of artificial soul replaced the one that had been taken. It appeared to have all of the needed elements: love, care, compassion. But, it was only pretend. Kyle genuinely felt like he loved his brother as he put his hand on his shoulder and told him, "I'm here, Kenny. You'll get through this." But, it was only a fake soul playing a role, and the _unknown_ letting him think he was free. But, that was only for a time.

### 8

The preparation for this speech alone had trimmed the president's already slim physique of fifteen more pounds. His head hadn't stopped hurting since he started writing it, but he couldn't take a break. The voices didn't like that. If he closed his eyes to sleep, they would follow him as nightmares. He would see his mom holding his little brother, neck broken, and eyes lifeless little orbs. And she would just look at him with blame, and hurt, and hate. His father was there, but he never looked back at him. When he would call for him, he simply said, "You're the reason." No matter how many times Francis Abraham Pummel called for his father, the reply never changed.

He was as much a puppet as Kyle was. The voices had pushed him to this point. The faceless man was what he saw when he looked in the mirror, hoping someday he would see his own reflection, hoping someday the voices would quiet and be pleased with where he was. But, he feared he would never get far enough. It was only the hope of relief from the voices that drove him. If this speech was successful, maybe, just maybe, the voices would leave him alone, and he could have peace.

Three days later, he had a thick stack of sheets next to the printer. The speech wasn't just coming together. It was nearly complete. Apart from his many responsibilities as leader of the country, the speech was all consuming. Not a usual responsibility tied to the job, he had embraced the unorthodox. He wrote his speeches, despite the nagging of the majority in his cabinet suggesting he hire a qualified speech writer. These were his words and his vision, fed to him by the voices.

He hadn't slept. He couldn't. He was so close to done. The closer he got to completing it, the quieter the voices got. He was working on the closing of the speech, his plan for those against equality. It was the most important part of the speech, and somehow the part that was flowing out of him the easiest.

### 9

Even as everyone else stepped into the main hall, Ken couldn't move from the entryway. He was frozen. Both of the main doors had been opened, so the things going on in the main hall were heard from where he stood. He could hear music. It was one of Rosy's favorite worship songs. An instrumental piece that had always made her feel at home. Ken didn't know the name of it. He hadn't ever cared to.

But now it was what made him feel close to Rosy. It was what led him to a place where he could say goodbye. And with a deep breath and a quiet sigh, he stepped into the main hall. On his right, after a large bouquet of flowers, her memorial board was on display. Her graduation photo was the center piece, with smaller, more personal photos surrounding it. He only looked at it from a distance, giving it recognition, but none of his time. If Kyle hadn't been right behind him, maybe he would have stopped.

The doors to the main room were held open by built in stands. Rose pedals started at the doors and continued in. The main room had twenty pews on each side. Only a few people were sitting. The rest were standing, lined up down the middle. Only the music could be heard.

When Ken stepped into the main room, sadness washed over him like a wave. Everything about the day was for her, to remember her, to respect her, and to value the time they had with her. But, all he could think about was how he hadn't respected her, how he hadn't valued her, and how, when he really was honest with himself, he hadn't shown her the love she deserved.

When it came time to say goodbye, he just stared. Her face was hers, yet somehow it wasn't. It was his Rosy, at least in appearance. But, the quality that had made her Rosy was gone. It was only a body, but it wasn't her, not who he had known. He couldn't say anything to her body. Instead, he closed his eyes, and he saw her alive. Her eyes were the closest thing to pure copper he had ever seen. She didn't say a word, she just smiled.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "I should have loved you when I had the chance. I should have shown it every day. You were beautiful, and wonderful, and everything I wanted." he paused. "Goodbye, my Rosy." And then he opened his eyes.

### 10

Lily stepped away from her mom and sister. Even when she couldn't see Kyle, she could still feel the Spirit staring at her. She walked over to the memorial board her and Willow had put together over the last three days, and stared at the many pictures of Rosy.

"I have something for you, Lily" it was the Spirit. Its whisper was multiple voices alternating. Every word was said with someone else's voice. A woman. A man. A child. Always different.

Lily closed her eyes. Rosy's pillow appeared at her feet. "Jesus." she whispered. "Please not today. I can't handle it. Not at Rosy's funeral." And immediately, the feeling of being watched was taken away. The Spirit didn't leave. It was a part of Kyle now, but her connection to that realm was temporarily disconnected. Jesus didn't just block the Spirit from Lily, He blocked the knowledge of Rosy's murder from her mind for a time, so that she could just say goodbye.

Walking into the church and past the filled pews, she looked ahead to the front of the church. The casket was propped up, the lid open. Cut off from the spirit realm, she was just a fifteen year old girl feeling the full pain of her loss. Cut off from sight she was blind to what was familiar.

A slow walk brought her to the casket and Lily finally said goodbye. She smiled behind a steady stream of tears and said, "You aren't this body, Rosy. You are with Jesus, happier than ever." she stopped and looked up. "I'll keep up the good fight for as long as He has me here. Someday soon, I'll see you again. And then we'll never have to say goodbye. But, for now, goodbye, Rosy. I love you." she kissed her sister's forehead and then joined her mom and sister on the front pew.

### *

Willow felt like a space to be filled. She wasn't like her mom and sister. She was the opposite, from the streaks of red in her hair, to the earrings lining both of her lobes, to her _unique_ style of clothing. She was seen as weird but easy. Easy to manipulate. Easy to fool. Boys knew just what to say to her to make her feel loved. They only had to play a role and she would allow them access. And she had. More than once with more than one. They were mistakes she kept making, and only Rosy had known about them. Only Rosy had loved Willow for her.

Willow's love for Jesus was genuine, but in her own way. She believed, but didn't know what to do with it. She didn't have a close connection like Lily, or that decades deep relationship like her mom, or that missionary heart like Rosy had. Willow's was a walk of not knowing where she fit. Not with Jesus. Not with her family. Even her name. Everyone else was a flower, but she was Willow. Rosy had told Willow the story of her name, how her mom wanted to name her Daisy, but it was her dad who wanted Willow. He knew she was going to march to the beat of her own drum. Willow was daddy's girl, and when he died, she lost her place. She lived with a mom who had wanted a Daisy, but got a Willow instead.

She walked away from her mom, past Lily, and into the main room. She was the first to walk across the rose pedals, and up to Rosy's open casket.

"What do I do now?" she asked. "You were the only one who un **-** understood me. You were m **-** my be **-** best friend. You loved me f **-** for me. What do I do now, Rosy?" the tears trickled down her cheeks. She thought about only four nights before, when she let a boy from school have access to her. She had felt dirty ever since. She didn't say goodbye to Rosy. She walked away, and sat at the front pew, hanging her head. Weighed down by heavy shame.

### *

Melissa walked separate from her daughters, led in by Pastor John. Even at a funeral, the gossips watched. And later on the gossips would talk: _I think Pastor John is over the death of his wife_. _Did you see the way he looked at Melissa Matthews, how he was hugging her, and rubbing her back as she cried?_

People talk. It's all it was. In reality, Pastor John was having a hard time helping her get through this funeral, because it reminded him of his wife's. This church was the same place where her service had been held, almost two years before. The cancer had eaten almost all of her. Despite all of the hurt, his relationship with Jesus had deepened with time. His wife had been his only love, and after she died, he made a covenant with the Lord that he would never marry again. Instead, he knew he was called to be a voice for the final days, preaching The Good News to a fallen world.

Melissa was on auto **-** pilot. When Pastor John led her into the main room, she followed. But, it all felt like a dream. Rosy wasn't dead. It was just a long nightmare that she would wake up from. Even when she was staring down at the body of her first born daughter, she waited to wake up, run from her room, and embrace her first child. She waited. And waited. And waited...

### 11

Kyle didn't fit at her funeral. He was a shadow to Ken. Nothing more. He couldn't explain why he felt so uneasy, or why, as he followed Ken into the church, he felt like his skin didn't fit him anymore. A rage spread through him as he heard the soft instrumental music playing through the speakers. He didn't recognize it, but the Spirit did: _Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus_. He could feel his fingers beginning to curl, and an extreme heat searing the entirety of him. He saw a cross above the doorway to the main room, and immediately his head started to throb, and his nose started gushing blood. No one noticed, not even Ken.

He followed his brother to the doorway of the main room, and stopped. Ken continued in, but he couldn't. The heat on him was only getting hotter, like his skin was about to boil. His head now felt like it was going to pop from the pressure. He looked up at the cross, and started to back away. He was afraid of it.

Kyle continued to back up, unable to take his eyes of that wooden cross above the doorway. Terror shot through him in a way it never had before. There was no power to be had. The Spirit didn't have any to give. Just like Kyle, It was scared of the cross. Only by leaving the church would It find solid ground again; and only by leaving the church would Kyle feel that he fit in his skin again.

### 12

The speech was complete. It was where it needed to be, designed to come out of the gate firing, designed to silence those who disagreed before they could say a word. It was a speech of attacks, followed by solutions. It almost felt like he was campaigning for the presidency again: Attack. Solution. Smile. Repeat.

But, this was much more important than the position. It was a real shot at change. It was a way to give power back to the powerless. It was a way to give equal opportunity to every person in the country. They only had to adhere to a simple system, a simple mark that contained all of their information in a small barcode, unique to them like a fingerprint. It was a solution that required the trust of the people in his country. He had worked tirelessly for two years to gain their trust. And according to his approval rating, he had it.

### 13

Ken was one of the last to say goodbye. He noticed Kyle was gone, but he didn't miss him. He now was free to feel the loss of his Rosy without having to pretend to be okay. Quietly he walked back down the main aisle, and sat alone several pews from the front. This was the first day in his life that he actually knew what it meant to hurt. Everything else had been shallow cuts, easily healed by care and short periods of time. But, this was an amputation. This was the pain of losing a piece of himself, but only realizing it after she was already gone.

"I haven't prepared a speech." Pastor John started to speak from behind a wooden podium at the front of the church. Ken didn't look up. He closed his eyes and listened. "I just want the words to come from my heart." he paused. "I remember the first time I met Rosy. Melissa and Robert Matthews wandered into this church one Sunday morning. Rosy was barely seven and just tiny. Willow, who was only four, was practically the same size." he smiled with wet eyes. "I have had the privilege of watching her grow from that little girl into a strong woman of God, who was a daily example of Christ's love. Honestly, she made me a better person simply from knowing her." he became silent, as he gripped the sides of the podium tightly.

Ken's eyes opened as the silence became a presence around him. He saw that the pastor wasn't done speaking, he was fighting back tears. After clearing his throat several times, he spoke again. "This isn't something I've been transparent on before. After losing my wife, I turned my eyes from Jesus. I co **-** couldn't understand why He would let that happen. I was angry. I was hurt. But, it was Rosy who reminded me of the friend we all have in Jesus. She's the reason my walk is deeper than ever." he smiled with a bright red face pasted over his dark skin. "Today, we remember all the things Rosy taught us, and the wonderful gifts she left behind. It's always hard to say goodbye. But fr **-** friends, for us who believe in Jesus, goodbye is only temporary." He stared out into the crowd, and then he stepped down from the podium.

The pastor's final words weren't met with criticism or disbelief. Ken just listened, digesting every word. They had a life to them that his father's didn't. A sense of purpose. If this Jesus was real like Rosy had told him so many times, he wasn't the product of something random. He had a purpose.

### 14

Melissa heard something close to white noise as Pastor John started to speak. It was the same thing she had heard when Pastor John gave a eulogy for her Robert nearly twelve years before. Time hadn't healed her loss. Her walk with Jesus hadn't patched it up like so many of her _Christian_ friends had promised. Instead, time had only made her miss her husband even more.

Even as Pastor John reminisced about the special person Rosy was, Melissa wouldn't listen. She couldn't listen. The death of her husband had nearly destroyed her. How could she survive the death of her firstborn daughter? It was a question she wouldn't dare ask. She had to believe this was a dream, because if it wasn't, she had no answers. No will. No fight.

### *

For Willow, something happened as the eulogy began. The shame lifted from her as a message fell into her mind: _Willow, I made you to be the eccentric, unique, outgoing person you are. Don't let anyone tell you different. I love you for who you are._ After hearing this message, Pastor John's eulogy was drowned out. And Willow just sat and soaked in the truth that she was loved for her. It didn't matter that she wasn't like Lily, or Rosy, or her mother. She was loved for who she was.

"Thank you, Jesus." she whispered while nearly crying. "Thank you." she was able to look at the open casket and say goodbye to her sister, knowing she would see her again someday soon.

### *

Lily's life from day one had been lived on a different level from the rest of her family. One foot was in this realm, the other foot was in the spiritual realm. She was given sight the rest weren't. But, for a time it had been taken from her, because she had asked. So, as she sat and listened to Pastor John's eulogy, she was just a little sister feeling the pain of losing her oldest sister. The emotions were simple, but hit her like crashing waves.

This was the first time she had experienced pain separate from the spirit realm. And it was lonely. But, it didn't keep her from turning her eyes toward Jesus. Despite all of the pain pouring onto her like boiling hot water, she looked up, and said, "I trust You, my Jesus."

### 15

Kyle left the church. But, the heat was still consuming him. He tripped up the hill toward the sidewalk. But, the heat was still consuming him. He couldn't breathe, like a person who had been in a fire filled building for too long: the heat was permanently on his skin; the smoke was permanently in his lungs. Or so it seemed.

Only when Kyle was on the sidewalk, off the property, did the heat start to cool down. He didn't question why he had reacted in such a severe way. Instead, immediately he reasoned it away.

With permanent blinders fastened to him, he could only see one side: _his reaction in the church wasn't worrisome. It wasn't the church that had made him feel that way. It was Rosy's funeral. It was being around death, saying goodbye when he never had before_. _Of course! That's what it was. What else could it have been?_

Instead of focusing on any whys, he focused on what came next. The Credit Chip had promised a new beginning. And the brochure had gone in depth: _More likely to get approved for loans of all kinds, no matter your history! Get a step ahead in the employment game! Participating businesses already equipped with our scanners are 75% more likely to hire those who have the Credit Chip! At participating locations, all groceries free!_ Of course the fine print hadn't been discussed. ' _All groceries_ ' essentially meant a paperless WIC document: milk, eggs, bread, cheese, and a select few fruits and vegetables. And maybe a couple 64oz bottles of juice.

But, they had also provided him the statistics. The Credit Chip was spreading fast in the states that had passed the New Beginning Act. Iowa had only passed it four months before, and already thirteen cities had scanners in more than twenty five stores. It was a wildfire, beginning to devour conservative thinking with a simple promise: WE OFFER A HELPING HAND.

There were two stores equipped with scanners in their small city of Ransom. One was in the corner of a small grocery store about a mile from the church. The other was between the coin machine and ATM at the city's biggest retail store. These were two places he hadn't applied, completely forgetting what the brochure had promised. He was 75% more likely to get a job at either of those locations, all because of that small barcode on the inside of his wrist.

### 16

With the speech done, the President was able to close his eyes. And once they were closed, they wouldn't open for several hours. He didn't have any nightmares. In fact, for the first time in years, he had no dreams at all.
–In God We Trust–

### 1

" _We are grassroots."_ A young woman's voice spoke as bright red letters started to grow onto the black television screen: E.F.A. Beneath the letters were these words: Equality For All. _"Listen. Learn. Accept."_ The screen faded to white, and then a commercial began:

A man was sitting at a table. His beard was thick. His hair was short. He looked at the camera and spoke, _"On every coin, and every dollar bill, there are four words: In God We Trust. But, why? What has that belief given us? I, myself, used to be a firm believer in God. I went to church. I gave tithe from every check."_ the man paused. _"But, then one night, my wife and daughter were shot dead while getting ice cream at the super market. Only them. Everyone else was untouched. What kind of God would allow that to happen?"_ he stared at the camera with unflinching eyes, like he was waiting for an answer. _"The sooner we realize that god is an idea, and not a reality, the sooner we will be able to accept our situations."_

The screen faded to another story. This time there was a thin black woman sitting in a rocking chair. Her eyes were cold stones. _"My baby boy, Tyrese, only five, has stage four leukemia. The doctors have given him two months at most."_ she seemed too blank to cry. _"I used to believe Jesus was the Way."_ she shook her head back and forth. _"What a lie."_ she paused.

It faded to another story. A white haired man, and a red haired woman were sitting on a love seat. A lake could be seen through their back window. They looked at the camera with confusion.

" _What do we say?"_ the man asked.

" _Just tell your story."_ the camera man answered quietly.

The woman began to speak. _"Our son was a beautiful person."_ she held up a photo of a black haired boy with thin rimmed glasses, green eyes, and an infectious smile. He couldn't have been any older than sixteen. _"He was someone who could make you smile on the cloudiest day. He was kind to everyone. When he told us he was gay, we accepted him. But, word passed around our small southern town, and members from the church started to post signs outside of our house: Fags burn! A Wholly Abomination! There's a Special Place in Hell for Your Son!"_ her eyes were glossed over with animosity, while her husband looked at the camera with nothing but a blank stare. She continued. _"He killed himself, because of you. You judgmental, arrogant, evil people. You killed my son."_

It faded back to the black screen with red letters. _"Open your eyes and see that 'god' has no place in the world."_ the young woman's voice paused. _"Equality comes from loving all, and accepting all. And that only happens when we get rid of these outdated beliefs. This was a message funded and produced by E.F.A."_

Despite the many nods his parents gave to the grassroots commercial, Ken didn't agree with the message. Since Rosy's funeral three days before, the reality of God had started to settle into him. And what was starting to grow was genuine belief. Not from someone's preaching, but from something already in him. Something that had been born with him: the knowledge of the existence of God.

It was a small faith that he hid beneath a skeptical shell. The shell of an atheist. That shell was for his family to see. But, beneath that shell, true faith in God was starting to course through him. He focused on what Rosy had told him. He listened to her final message more than once a day. It never grew tiresome. And somehow, it always felt new.

At this moment though, Ken's skeptical shell was polished and pretty. He didn't want them to see what was starting to come alive in him: the influence of Rosy. They hadn't liked Rosy. They saw her as _a weak girl who will pull down our strong boy._ Nothing was farther from the truth.

### 2

On the dining room table in the Matthews house, a box with Rosy's ashes sat unopened. It had been delivered only a few hours before. Melissa didn't even know it had been delivered. Since getting back from Rosy's funeral, she had crawled deep inside of herself. And her bedroom had become a sad dungeon she locked herself away in. It was completely void of light. No music played. No scripture was read. It was a room of darkness, where her broken pieces were scattered. In six days, she had lost fifteen pounds. She couldn't eat. It came back up immediately. The sadness was a sickness that was going to kill her if something didn't change soon.

### *

Willow wasn't home. She was lying naked in a boy's bed, trying to keep herself from falling apart. She felt dirty, as she always did once she let anyone have her. But, the _dirty_ was all she felt she deserved. The words she was given at the funeral kept her warm until she got home. And then the reality of it all made the shame return heavier than before.

Her mom was too sad to see what was happening with her. Her little sister was the only functional one. But, to put it simply, Lily was Lily. She didn't understand Willow. Never had. So, Willow only had the boys from school who offered her a shoulder to cry on. And then they offered her a bed to lay in. And then they offered a "piece of themselves." It was a simple, slick, and rehearsed manipulation. And Willow, a broken girl, didn't know how to say _no_.

Once again, she was deep in her mistake. She had been here before, but in a different bed, with a different boy. Nothing was long lasting. Boys saw an easy target, who would make herself available if they only acted the part. And so, many of them did. Willow had been sexually active since her fifteenth birthday.

"Please forgive me, Jesus. I don't know how to stop. I feel empty every time. I want to stop. But, I don't know how." she whispered to herself, as the boy returned to the bed.

### *

Lily was Lily. Of course she missed Rosy, but she didn't see the emptiness that so many others saw. She had a holy perspective, where even tragedy had purpose. She missed Rosy, but she also knew that she wouldn't have been able to handle what was coming.

The Lord spoke to Lily in many ways. Lately, it had been through dreams. And what she saw was haunting. She saw Kyle step down their hall, with that Spirit attached. She saw him grab Rosy's pillow and hold it over her face. And then she saw the mark on his wrist. Black, like his soul. And then she saw millions of people with that mark, standing together. It was a sea of people. Up above them, on a high pedestal stood a man. Faceless and successful. He was a man of promise. A man of miracles. He only required their pledge, their deposit. And once he had it, the ground split open to become countless staircases that they followed down into a never ending darkness.

She had been given this dream the night of Rosy's funeral. It was the same time that her connection to the spirit realm was reconnected. Lily didn't mourn Rosy's death. More than anything, she was just happy that Rosy wouldn't have to see the nightmare that would soon be upon them.

### 3

Kyle was bagging groceries. He got the job at the small grocery store. It was his second day. When he brought home the news, his dad had given him a look of approval, maybe even pride. And it had fueled every moment since. He wouldn't screw this up.

Though, temptation had already found its way to him again. His first day on the job, Tommy, aka Skin **-** and **-** Bones Jones, a local drug dealer, had wandered into the store, and slipped Kyle his new phone number if he wanted a _taste_. Apparently his new batch was life changing.

Kyle hadn't been able to stop thinking about the needle, and that initial injection. It lifted him to places where body and consciousness separated, where he could fly like a bird. He missed that. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. _Just a hit! Just a small amount of time to fly again! To be free! I'm not addicted. I can stop when I want. But, I don't want to stop._

The Credit Chip promised new beginnings, to erase past mistakes. But, the same empty man that needed a new beginning was still empty now that he had it. And the Spirit in him didn't try to talk away his addiction, It made it desirable again. Like with everything, Kyle only saw one side. With drugs, he saw the time of flying. Not the agony that came after.

He looked down at the groceries he was bagging, unable to focus on why he should stay clean. It had been so clear to him. Now, it was foggy. He just wanted to fly again. More than anything, he wanted to fly again.

### 4

Washington D.C. was warm for that time of year. January 21st and no snow. No smoke in the breath. No jackets needed. Even the night air, usually bitter cold, was warm, like a spring evening.

Externally, the president was a picture of poise. His face was clean shaven, his hair was combed up and back. He was groomed to his usual perfection. Anyone who saw him saw the always **–** professional, incredibly calm man they had come to expect. But inside, the president was a mess of jumbled nerves.

His audience wasn't the usual stiff suits from the House and Senate. This was a speech for the people. He wanted to hear their reactions as he spoke, not the obligated applause from the stiff suits. A large platform had been built at the front of The White House, in between the bushes and the fountain. Tall lights capped the ends of the stage, making night feel almost like day. In the open field past the fountain, the hundreds of chairs were filled with people of all kind.

Behind the podium stamped with the presidential seal, a man was speaking. It wasn't the president. It was his opening act. He set the stage with words of praise. But, the president didn't hear any of it. He just sat and looked out at the people. His nerves made it feel like he had never given a speech before. He looked down at his sheet of bullet points, and took a deep breath.

"Let's give our great president the standing ovation he has earned!" the man finished. And now he was clapping along with everyone else. The president was the only one sitting. With humble nods of the head, he stood up and took his place behind the podium.

"Thank you." he said. "Thank you." he repeated. He hadn't demanded respect, but somehow he had it. If anyone could make the people believe in this plan, it was him. The atmosphere was filled with his praise. The people loved him. The president's nerves calmed as the applause only grew.

### 5

The E.F.A commercial was the last to air before coverage for the presidential announcement began. It hadn't been a coincidence. It was a message meant to coincide with the president's.

Only now was he starting to speak on the screen in the Cardiff living room. Ken didn't sit and watch it with his mom and dad, though. It was going to be the same message that his parent's tried to feed him. He didn't want to hear it. He slipped out of the room, and up the stairs. He missed his Rosy, and needed to hear her voice again. He dialed his voicemail, and after hitting a few numbers, she began to speak.

A smile grew onto his face as he heard her voice. This was the only feeding of the spirit he had. Her message claimed that _Jesus is real, that He is the only freedom, the only new beginning_. And Ken knew that he was starting to change, because he believed it. He wanted to know more.

Since Rosy's death, Ken had started to come to life. He hadn't expected it. When she died, he had expected it to take him to the darkest of places. But, instead it had given him a new beginning. Only through her death could he see the impact she had had on his life. And now it was starting to change him through and through. He wanted so much more than he had. Not materials, but something internal. He wanted his empty existence filled.

From downstairs, he could hear his parent's clapping. Apparently they liked what they were hearing. When the message was over, he ended the call. He grabbed his gray coat from his room, and then went back downstairs.

"You should listen to this." his dad said. "It's dead on."

Ken ignored the comment, replying with, "I'm gonna take a drive."

"Where to?" his mom asked.

"I don't know." he said. "But, I'll be back in a while."

"Okay." she said. "I love you."

"Me too, mom." Ken turned left at the bottom of the stairs, and passed through the kitchen. He left out the back door, and got into the car his dad had bought him due to good grades: Beautiful. Black. Buick. It had been his most prized possession. Now, it was just a reminder of what was no longer important to him.

He pulled out of the driveway and took a left. He was going to the church.

### 6

In the darkest of dark, Melissa laid, ready to give up. She was nearly lifeless. She didn't have enough energy to speak the name of Jesus. But, she knew she was dying. She tried with all she had. But, her throat was closed. She only had the strength to open her eyes.

In the middle of the darkness she saw flakes of light begin to fall from mid **-** air. She closed her eyes, and reached out, recognizing the Presence. And immediately, she felt a hand grab hers.

"Be strong, My daughter. I am with you."

And immediately, strength returned to her. But, the sadness remained. She was still lying down, holding Jesus' hand with all she had. Then she heard Him breathe in. And when He breathed out, air was literally pushed back into her lungs. This happened twelve times. Twelve breaths for the twelve years her Robert had been gone.

"Draw near to me, Melissa. Don't fall away, like so many will. The end is near. I'm coming soon."

### *

The boy was kissing Willow's neck. His hands were in places they didn't belong. He wanted access again. She didn't know how to say no. But, she heard a small voice whisper in the thick of her thoughts: _I made you, Willow. You are my princess, not a piece of meat. See yourself as I do._

It was what she needed to hear to say _no_ , to know that Jesus didn't see her as dirty, but as His princess.

### *

Lily knew that Jesus was visiting her mom. She stayed in her bedroom and thanked Him for giving her back the life that had been drained out of her.

### 7

Kyle left his job mid **-** shift, after he finished bagging the current groceries. He knew exactly where Skin **-** and **-** Bones Jones lived. He had been there several times before. Lots of _flying_ had happened in that old rundown three bedroom one bath. The house was only across the train tracks behind the grocery store, down by one of Ransom's many bars. It had been white at one time, but was now a disaster. Old bike parts randomly grew out of the thin blanket of snow. The stairs were spray painted the colors of the rainbow. Used condoms were usually stuck along the curb, belonging to the women who gave "good sex for a good price".

Skin **-** and **-** Bones Jones had every brand of junkie come through. One of his favorites was Kyle. Kyle was always willing to try something new. And if he didn't have the money, he would get it somehow. Yes, Kyle was lucrative. From breaking into fancy homes and stealing valuable things, to bashing in car windows to sell the CD player, Kyle knew how to get the money. Or he would do Skin **-** and **-** Bones a favor for flavor, for _taste_. Skin **-** and-Bones liked Kyle simply because a junkie will do anything for their next fix.

### 8

"Thank you." the president said, as he lifted his hands to calm down the applause. "Thank you." The applause began to lessen. He put down his bullet points on the podium. He had planned to come out of the gate firing. And that's what he did.

"Rich people make me sick! They want more of everything while those who deserve more continue to have less, and less, and less! I truly believe that's why my New Beginning Act has only passed in four states. So, I'm here to attack the way you think. I'm here to give you the facts, and to put it all into perspective. It's not conservative thinking that is keeping the bill from passing. It's rich people. It's the people in the House, and the Senate, who want to hold onto their valuable possessions, who want to hold onto their power. Am I taking any of that from them?! No! I'm giving equal power to everyone. But, they don't want that. They want classes. They want to look down at you with their noses pointed in the air, and say, 'You are lesser than me.'

"But, I have a solution. My New Beginning Act would make money obsolete. Imagine. No classes! Equal opportunity! Equality for all! It's all possible with the Credit Chip. Just like your finger print, it's specific to you. It's a small barcode that you have permanently stamped on the inside of your wrist. With it you can buy, and sell. For those who have made mistakes in their life—haven't we all?" he smiled. "The Credit Chip gives you a new beginning. It gives you a new credit score. It erases your past mistakes, from bankruptcy down to felonies. I understand this requires trust. But, if you will, trust me." the people started to cheer. The president didn't quiet them down. He waited, and basked in the praise. It was a good start, but there was much more to be said.

### 9

It didn't even take Ken five minutes to drive the three miles to the church. He didn't know what he was going to say once he got inside. He didn't even know if it was open, or if the pastor was there. But, if the pastor was there, Ken wanted to hear more about how Rosy had affected his life, and how he could become the kind of person she had been.

He got out of his Buick and walked toward the building. It was dark inside, but his car wasn't the only one in the lot. He tried opening the door. It was unlocked. In the entryway, he remembered how alone he had felt. He was tempted to walk back out. But, he continued in.

Pastor John had stopped at the church an hour early to prepare for the special Friday night teaching that started at 7 p.m. It hadn't been a coincidence. As soon as Ken stepped into the main hall from the entryway, Pastor John stepped from his office into the same hall. He hadn't known someone else was there. When he saw Ken, he smiled.

"Hi, Ken," he said.

"How do you know my name?" Ken asked.

"Rosy talked about you a lot." he paused. "How are you doing?"

"I miss her, but there was a lot about her that I didn't respect when she was here. I made fun of her faith behind her back. I saw her as a weak person because she had faith. I didn't deserve her, Pastor."

"Rosy knew you didn't believe in Jesus, Ken. That's what she prayed with me about a lot. She would ask the Lord to provide something to change your heart. She loved you. And I believe you loved her."

"I didn't know how much I loved her. And now that she's gone, I realize she was the best part of me. She was kind and loving when I wasn't. Selfless when I only wanted more for myself. What her death has done to me is make me see how empty my life is. Mom and dad have always talked about self **–** sufficient living, how everything is random, how God is an old joke that someone took too literally. That's what I used to think. But, going through real hurt changes your perspective."

"Absolutely." Pastor John nodded his head. "It's in the darkness that we look for the light. And we believe the lie that we can do it on our own, but we can't. Jesus usually shines the brightest in tragedy, because He carries us, Ken. Otherwise, we wouldn't make it. The death of someone close is like a ship wreck. We're still alive, but we're not on solid ground. We're in an endless body of water. We've already gone under several times. Our strength is barely there. We might be floating on a plank of wood, which represents our vices and our escapes. But, it only takes a few small storms to push us under, a few small setbacks. Then the water fills our lungs. We try to get back to the surface, but we don't have any more strength. And then we die, and disappear into the darkness. I know it sounds hopeless, Ken. It's depressing and probably not what you want to hear. But, without Jesus, there is no hope."

_NO HOPE._ Immediately, Ken thought about Kyle. His next question was one he didn't want to ask.

"What do you think the Credit Chip is? Rosy believed it was the mark of the beast talked about in that final book of the bible. Is there _no hope_ for those who get it?"

"Do you know someone who has it?"

"My brother."

Pastor John's eyes deflated immediately, and sadness filled them. Ken saw it happen.

"Is there _no hope_ , Pastor?" Ken felt sick to his stomach.

Pastor John took a deep breath, "I don't know, Ken. I don't know what you want me to say." the tall, thick man looked almost childish. His posture and his soft tone was the answer.

Ken backed up toward the entrance.

"Please don't leave yet." Pastor John said. "You came here for a reason. Don't leave until you have Jesus in your life. This world is only getting darker. You are here. Now. Don't leave, Ken. Not until you ask Jesus to be your Savior. Not until you know that there is hope for you."

"Thanks for your time, Pastor." Ken said as he was starting to walk out.

"Wait." Pastor John grabbed a bible from the table by him, and wrote something in it with pen. He slipped in one of his cards, and offered it to Ken. "I'm always available if you need to talk. I want you to have this bible. I know you want Jesus in your life. Take it."

Ken couldn't even make eye contact. He felt sick and baseless. But, he grabbed the bible from Pastor John and then left the church.

### 10

With every breath breathed into Melissa, life, and meaning, and purpose was given back to her. After the twelfth breath, she felt new. She was able to see the loss of her Rosy as the temporary separation it was. Her eyes had been opened to the danger she was in. She had walked over thirty five years with Jesus, yet she was in danger of falling away.

"Forgive me, Jesus. I've been bitter, and angry, and unforgiving toward You. I've hated You for taking Robert. But, he isn't my first love. You are. Please forgive me, and give me the strength to endure what's to come. You've brought me through too much for me to stop loving You now." these tears were new. Not tears of sadness, but tears of life. Tears of repentance. Tears of love for her Jesus. Even though she couldn't feel his hand holding hers anymore, she knew He was still in the room with her. He was always with her.

When Melissa finally turned on a light in her room, she saw her reflection. Someone new was looking back at her. Someone cleaned out of all the hurt and pain that had dirtied her for so many years. She opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. None of the lights were on. It was dark, like her room had been.

So, the first thing she did was start turning on lights. She turned on the hallway light. And then walked to the living room, turning on the two lamps at each end of the couch, the main light, and the dining room light. Once she saw the box on the table, she stopped turning on the lights and just stared.

"My Rosebud," she said, with tears dripping down her face. "You've brought me so much joy." Melissa wasn't waiting to wake up from a bad dream anymore. No matter how much it hurt, she was living through the reality. And just because Jesus had visited her, it didn't mean that pain wasn't still sticking to her skin. He hadn't come to numb her, but to strengthen her, to give her sight past her circumstances. That was the difference. And that was why Melissa didn't fall apart at the sight of Rosy's ashes sitting on the dining room table.

She wasn't drowning in the sadness anymore, she was swimming through it. It was still all around her, but her eyes were focused on the prize. On the beautiful sky above her, on the eyes of her Savior, on the promise of forever. She would see her Rosebud again. And then forever would be her reality. But for now, she had to say goodbye.

### *

As Willow was getting dressed under the covers, she felt proud of herself. She had said no, even when the boy kept insisting, kept trying to get access. She said no. And now she was clothed enough that she could get out of the bed and put on the rest of her clothes.

"What's changed?" the boy asked.

"I have." she smiled. For the first time in a very long time she felt different. It wasn't fleeting like at the funeral. Jesus had stepped into her dirtiest of places, not to condemn her, but to show her the beautiful person He saw. She had never known where to start with Jesus. She had faith, but she hadn't felt she was ever good enough. But, now she saw that she was His daughter. Not lost in the shuffle, but a princess in the eyes of The King.

### *

Lily could sense the change in her mom. It changed the atmosphere immediately. Life was coming back to the house, to her family. And Lily knew why. The end was near. Jesus had stepped out of eternity and back into time to give a selection of His people something to hold onto as the days grew darker, something palpable, where they could remember His healing touch, and His loving words. Strength to stand strong.

### 11

Kyle was cold. A thin white thermal under his maroon work polo wasn't warm enough for a windshield of **-** 10 degrees. But, the cold wasn't important. He had crossed the train tracks, and could see Skin **-** and **-** Bones Jones' house from where he was. He passed the DMV, and the small hardware store. And then he crossed the street.

There was no money in his pockets. The Credit Chip wouldn't help him with this. But, Kyle had a plan. A seed that had dropped into his mind ever since he saw Skin **-** and **-** Bones: _take it from him if he won't give it to you_. Kyle knew the layout of the house. He knew where new batches sat. He even knew where the weapons were kept. When you do favors for the town's most lucrative drug dealer, you get a behind the scenes peak.

Once he stepped onto the property, Skin **-** and **-** Bones came out the front door, like he had been waiting for him.

"Kyle. Looking good, bro." Skin **-** and **-** Bones said with a smile. He was as his name implied. At most, a hundred and forty pounds clothed his lanky six foot frame. His dark eyes were contained within dark bags. His teeth were white caps. Clearly expensive. The smell of what was inside the house was all over him. "Since you've been so loyal to me, bro, I'm gonna give you a go. Come on in."

Kyle walked the ice covered sidewalk, stepped up the multicolored stairs, and followed Skin **-** and **-** Bones inside. The interior was a dark den, stripped clean of any warmth. The walls were covered with drawings of monsters. Monsters with many eyes. Eyes that stared. Eyes that watched. Bad trips in a bad place.

"Sit down, Kyle. Relax. Tie yourself off. I'll get the needle ready." Skin **-** and **-** Bones said from his bedroom.

An elastic strap was on the dirty glass table in front of the couch. He grabbed it and took a seat next to a girl who smelled of the 'good sex' she gave. Her eyes were wide and suddenly terrified. She looked at Kyle like he was one of the monsters on the wall. He ignored her, tying off his right arm, and smacking it to find the vein.

Skin **-** and **-** Bones came from his bedroom with the needle. Kyle's body was already starting to shake. He had missed the needle. He had missed the feel. Every part of him became aroused. It was the feeling of life. The feeling of freedom. It touched his skin and then stabbed in.

"Ready?" Skin **-** and **-** Bones asked. "It hits hard."

"Yes." once Kyle said it, Skin **-** and **-** Bones injected.

He closed his eyes. It wasn't euphoric. Not like it had been so many times. He wasn't flying, but falling. Falling far and falling fast.

"Are you afraid, Kyle?" he heard alternating voices. Every word was someone else's voice. It was the Spirit. "You made a mistake."

He opened his eyes, trying to escape the voice. But, the monsters on the wall were now alive, saying the same thing. Bad trips in a bad place. He couldn't escape it. With his eyes closed, he fell into the darkest of dark. With them open, he saw stairs appear at his feet and continue down into the earth. Down into the dark.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help me!"

There was no help. _No Hope_. He just heard the words, _you made a mistake_ coming from everywhere, and everyone, and everything.

### 12

The president waited for the applause to die down, and then continued.

"Some of you will say that I'm rich. I live in The White House that has 132 rooms. But, I lead by example. I am the first president to invite the poor and the needy to stay in appointed rooms, because _I_ used to be very poor. I hated feeling like I was on the outside looking in. I know how it feels. You feel small. I propose that we take it away from everyone, that equal opportunity is given to all. There is no great, there is no small. There is just us, as a people."

"You're the devil!" he heard it come from one person in the back, and then another on the opposite side. This was the perfect opportunity to attack, because he had been attacked first.

"I'm the devil?! Tell me why!"

"It is written—"

He cut the person off, "Are you going to quote that outdated book?! This brings me to my next topic. Outdated beliefs! Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Ma'am, for helping me make a point." The president smiled. "These outdated beliefs have held us back! The idea that some god up in the clouds will smite you if you live your life the way you want! The idea that some devil will torture you for the rest of time if you don't believe in this god! This has held us back! Since the genesis of this country, outdated beliefs have held us back! The real problem with money are those four words that stamp every coin, and every dollar: in god we trust! In god we trust? Why? I give you the chance to defend yourself. To explain why we trust in god, and why we should continue to trust in god." nobody spoke up. "My argument is that god is an idea, not a reality, but a position people can achieve, where if we unite as one, we can do anything. I believe that's what our founding fathers meant. They knew this country could be great, so they set their sights on an idea: god. Not a reality, but a position that we all can have. If we work together. One nation not under god, but under us, as a people. An example I would like to give is army ants. When army ants are alone, they are weak. But when the colony of millions come together, they can eat a cow in hours. And so I ask you, how much bigger are we than army ants? How much more can we accomplish?" it had quieted the crowd. He had them by their throats and was starting to squeeze, starting to change what they believed. Nobody had expected this. But, now that it was being talked about, they were listening. Even the wobbly Christians listened. Even the man from one side, and the woman from the other, who had called him the devil, listened. All at once, it stroked their egos, and made them think the impossible was possible. If only they came together, as one. The stage was set for the president's final proposal. He had them where he wanted, and he wasn't letting go.

### 13

Ken left the church, aimless. He had avoided what he no longer could. Rosy had warned him about the Credit Chip, about how Kyle shouldn't get it. He had written it off as the belief of his weak minded girlfriend. _Old words from an old book_. But, since her death, those _old words_ had started to become truth. And now, he believed what she had said, but didn't want to.

The idea that there was _no hope_ for Kyle almost brought him to his knees. Ken had never really been close with Kyle, despite desperately wanting to be. Though only two years apart, the divide had always been there. It should have made the idea somewhat easier to swallow. Instead, it hurt even worse. Ken had always wanted to rescue Kyle, hoping someday he could save him from his troubles. The idea that that day would never come, hurt more than he could describe.

Ken knew where to find freedom, where to find fulfillment. Jesus is the only freedom. But, in order to have freedom for himself, he had to accept that his brother was already lost, with _no hope_ of being saved. He couldn't do that. It hurt too much. So, he let ignorance slip back over him. He let himself believe that there was still hope for Kyle. Standing outside of his car, he closed his eyes and imagined the day when Kyle was better:

He saw life in his brother's eyes, a new shine in his cheeks, and kindness dripping off him like honey. He saw him say, _"Thank you, little brother. I couldn't have done it without you."_ Ken had imagined this many times, in many different ways. It had been a dream of his, to one day see his older brother happy. His biggest dream. And he was nowhere near ready to give that dream up. There was still hope for Kyle. There had to be.

### 14

Though her frame was frail, Melissa lifted the box from the table and walked down the hall. The weight reminded her of when Rosy was little. She had carried her to her bedroom almost nightly. Immediately, her imagination told her it was Rosy again, that she could still feel her presence in the house. Melissa didn't welcome it. She rebuked the thought, and took her authority in Christ, knowing that her Rosebud was nowhere near there. She placed the box in Rosy's room and closed the door.

### *

Willow left the boy's house discreetly, dressed for the cold. Her red trench coat was waist high, tight to her body. Her hat was black, pressing down her red streaked hair, and covering her ears. She was a quarter of a mile from her house, not carrying the heavy shame that usually weighed her down. Though she had slept with him, she left with an assurance that he would be the last. His name wasn't important. Nothing about him was important. He was just another face, just another boy who had used her for what she gave too easily. His only importance was that he was the last.

### *

Lily didn't know what to do next. She could hear her mom walking around, but didn't want to interrupt. She wanted to see the light that had been missing from her for so long, but didn't want to get in the way. Lily knew about the box on the table. She had put it there, not knowing what to do with it next. Rosy had never specified. She hadn't put much importance on her body after death, because it wasn't her. It was a shell, a costume, a suit to wear for a time. She had wanted cremation, to return to _the dust from where we come_. But, that's all she had ever said.

Sitting in her room and waiting in the quiet, Lily wasn't focusing on what to do with Rosy's remains. They would decide that as a family. She was focusing on the life that was returning to her family, feeling deep in her spirit that _life_ would soon be very hard to find.

### 15

Kyle continued to scream, but no one replied. A room full of people all lost in their own worlds. Or maybe they couldn't hear him at all. He saw Skin **-** and **-** Bones about to snort a line of cocaine on the table, and reached out for him. When Skin **-** and **-** Bones looked up, his eyes were hollow sockets. He repeated what everything else was saying. And then everyone in the room joined in. Fear hadn't truly existed in Kyle until this moment. It was the inescapable feeling of hopelessness. It was the realization of his only reality: the dark.

He remembered the advice he had been given after he got the barcode tattooed on him: _take advantage of your new beginning. It is the only one you get._

When he looked down at the barcode on the inside of his wrist, he started to cry.

### 16

The president looked out at the crowd. He realized silence fed him more than applause.

"We can be god! Never before has this country been positioned to have the opportunity, the power, that I offer to each and every one of you. We can rewrite the history books! They won't talk about how people were poor and rich. They'll talk about, how in the year 2022, the people finally learned the power of equality. And if you will accept this plan, and fight for it, you will be a part of history. Imagine if the people wouldn't have fought for the thirteenth amendment. Slavery may still be around today. But, President Lincoln saw what the world could be, and he fought for it. I will fight to pass this bill in every state, because I see what the world can be!" he paused. "But, just like back then, there are problems with this country. Problems we can fi—" Bits of brain and blood shot out of the side of his head, and the president fell to the ground. Nobody had heard a gunshot. Nobody had heard a sound. But now, the sound was panic. Many people scurried like cockroaches when exposed to light.

The same man who had introduced the president was now kneeling on the stage, trying to revive him. But, he was already gone. Eyes wide and empty. The man stood up behind the podium, and said, "Don't panic." But, his voice was panicked. Everybody's was. Nobody knew what to do. Their president was now just a dead body on the stage. And everybody in the country watching the speech had seen it happen.

Now paramedics were on the stage, trying to revive him. Their stethoscopes found no life. Their fingers found no pulse. His eyes haunted anyone who saw. Their great leader had been killed, like so many before him **...**

But, the day the president should have died was the day he lived. Three minutes after a silent shot blew his brains onto the stage, the president stood back up. The hole in the side of his head started to seal itself. He looked out at what was left of the people. Silence had become something even more powerful: awe. Nobody said a word. They could only watch as a man healed himself before their very eyes. They could only watch as the idea of _god_ became a reality.
–Passengers–

### 1

Ken drove back toward his house. The bible was a passenger in the seat next to him, a truth he wanted to have in his life, but didn't want to believe. All because of Kyle. But, the ignorance he tried to cover himself with only covered the surface. A man of God was starting to grow out of him, and through his chosen ignorance. Like a bamboo tree grows through, not around, what is above it. It was something Ken couldn't prevent. Now that he had been exposed to the truth, it had become like water to his body. He couldn't live without it.

He didn't know much at all about the passenger next to him, or the wisdom it contained. He wanted to know more, but he also wanted to know less than he already did. He was conflicted. But, like bamboo, the truth about Kyle was starting to grow through his ignorance. And the need for purpose in his empty existence outweighed everything else.

Not even halfway back to his house, he pulled his car over to an empty curbside, and grabbed the bible. He turned on his interior light, and opened it to the inside cover. _There's still hope for you, Ken._ It was the only thing Pastor John had written in blue ink. On the small card was his contact information.

But, Ken didn't call. He just sat with the bible open, unable to deny his need for it. He flipped past the index and into the book of Genesis. When Rosy had spoken of creationism, he had seen it under a shell of his parent's own influence: _We are random, well-formed molecules. There is no God. The world wasn't created. Any sane person can see that._ And that's what he had believed. But, when he read, _In the Beginning God created the heavens and the earth_ , something snapped alive in him. Whatever long, convoluted explanations he had been given about his existence from his parents, was explained so elegantly in Genesis 1:1. And what followed was something so beautifully simple, yet unfathomably complex. The Creator spoke and things were that hadn't been. Ken read about every step, from the creation of light on the first day, to the creation of man on the sixth, to the seventh day when The Creator rested.

As Ken read about creation, something new was being born in him. It was almost like his body was going through the process of becoming something that hadn't been, like creation was happening within him: _And the Lord said, "Let there be light in Kenneth Daniel Cardiff." And there was light._

### 2

Even though she was no longer there, Rosy's print was all over the house. And even though Melissa had been given sight above the very sad circumstances, she still missed her Rosy so much. Every part of the house had her imprint. From when Rosy was just little to the last moment Melissa had with her, it was in the house.

She left the hallway, and entered the living room: an aimless journey. She didn't know what to do next. Despite the many lights she had turned on, it still felt dark. She was swimming through the sadness, trying to keep her eyes on Jesus, trying to remember that someday she would see Rosy again. But, at this moment, it felt so far away. The sadness was all around her. Her encounter with Jesus had pulled her back to the surface, but the water was still deep, the waves were still high, and the storm was still roaring.

She had to keep her eyes toward her Savior. But, once she left her bedroom, she could no longer feel His presence with her.

"I can't feel You, Jesus." she whispered as she closed her eyes. "I only feel pain. Why did You lift me up from the pain of losing Robert? Was it just to face more pain? To live through the death of my daughter? Why did You lift me up? Why didn't You take me home?"

Immediately, she saw Willow and Lily appear on her closed lids. They were the answer. Rosy had been her first child, but not her last. They were her reason for continuing on.

### *

Willow was less than a block away from her house. Her steps were small but certain. She hadn't said a word since leaving the boy's house. She had sighed. It wasn't due to her usual heaviness. It was a sigh of content, a sigh of knowing her place with Jesus.

The sky was dark and cold. Flakes of snow fell in a slow peppering. From where she was, she could see her house. Lights were on. There hadn't been lights on when she left. It had been the same dark and dreary place since Rosy's death. But, when she saw lights, she felt hope.

### *

In certain ways Lily was no different from anyone else. She was still just a little girl waiting for her mom to come and see how she was doing, to be told that she was loved. Having a connection with the Lord like she had was at times a very lonely place to be, because once she stepped out of His presence, she had to face those who didn't fully understand her.

It was in His presence that she felt home. So, once again, she closed her eyes and started to pray. But, this time, she prayed for something any little girl desires: _to be wanted._

### 3

The tragedy of Kyle's life had always been perception. He was firstborn, but second in his father's eyes, because Ken had always achieved in the areas that his father valued. It didn't matter that his teachers told him his worth. It didn't matter that they said he was smarter than most. He never saw it from his father, and so never saw it on himself. He was a waste of potential. A father's shame. A mother's weight. And now, he was reliving all of his failures as the reality of his loss became clear.

Like a man being dragged from dim light into utter darkness, Kyle watched as his life slipped from his hands. He wasn't dying, but changing. He was becoming the Thing who killed Rosy gleefully and who basked in his brother's grief. He was an audience of one, witnessing the possession of his body and mind. All that was left of Kyle was eyes to see, eyes to witness what he could no longer prevent.

The very thing that now controlled him desired destruction. It knew that the time had come for Its manifestation. It looked around and saw Skin **-** and **-** Bones in a drug induced daze, drawing strange pictures with his fingers on the dirty glass table. The girl sitting next to It on the couch was staring at the ceiling with an empty, wide smile on her face.

It moved Kyle's arm to touch hers. It spoke from his mouth: _kill Skin-and-Bones._

Her eyes came to life immediately. And in unflinching obedience, she grabbed the razor blade from the glass table and walked over to him.

"What's up, girl?" he said with a quick nod of the head.

"Let's go to the bedroom." her words were practiced seduction, a phrase she had clearly said many times to many men.

Skin **-** and **-** Bones nodded his head like a broken bobble toy. A dopey smile crawled on his face as he took her hand and followed her into the empty bedroom—

When Kyle's eyes opened, he wasn't shaking. It had been a bad trip. All of it. And his head was clearer now than it had been in hours.

Except... when he looked over at the girl next to him, her hands were wet with red. Her leopard printed top was splattered and stained the same color. Her knees were messy smears. And dots of all sizes trailed up from her neck to her face.

The room was as cold as the outside. She smelled of old metal. And on the floor, faint red footprints led from the bedroom to the couch. Kyle's heartbeat quickened and then nearly stopped completely. His body was his again. But, the dread of this reality was worse than the possession.

Kyle stood up and walked opposite of where the footprints led. The bedroom door was open. When he flicked the light switch on, he saw Skin **-** and **-** Bones' neck cut open, still draining blood. The old blue comforter on the bed was soaked.

When Kyle looked back at the girl, he saw her look up at the ceiling again and smile.

### 4

The President looked out at the people, his dead and gone eyes now coming back to life. It was a rebirth, a baptism in clarity. Francis Abraham Pummel was no longer a man tormented by his past, because his past no longer belonged to him as it had just moments before.

The death of his little brother by his own hand, the abandonment of his father, and the hate and excessive blame from his mother... it was clear to him now that they were nothing more than stairs he had to climb to reach his much greater calling. A threshold had been crossed and as he stood on the stage, staring out at a blur of a crowd coming back into focus, he reveled in the clarity. Fear no longer existed in him; doubt no longer wandered around in his head like a lost child.

He had always been acting the part of president: a scared man afraid of the voices that plagued him, afraid of disappointing yet another presence in his life. Francis Abraham Pummel hadn't been fit to run the country; his ideas weren't even his. They were a product of the voices. He was nothing more than a sound box, an attractive vessel to appeal to the masses. All of his power, all of his weight came from his internal passengers. He had been made up of smoke and mirrors.

But, the day Francis Abraham Pummel should have died was the day he truly began to live. He now possessed a full and undeniable clarity. He was no longer one half trying to keep a grown man from falling to pieces. He was complete. He was now in control. Before this moment of resurrection, his head had been filled with dead end roads and thoughts jammed against one another. Now, only one thing was in his head: an ideal that rang truer than anything before it:

He was the answer and anyone who stood in opposition to him was the enemy.

### 5

As light began to grow in Ken, dark fear accompanied it. He had always rooted for his older brother. He had always expected that this phase would pass and brighter days would come. But, in the glow of a new light, the truth he wanted to hide from sat in the car next to him. There was _no hope_ for his brother.

No amount of rationalization could convince him otherwise. No bright imagination could conjure up any plausible reality of a happy ending. Ken knew that the light would shine brightest on the very thing he wanted to deny. And it was, in a relentless fashion.

The bible was still open on the seat next to him but he had stopped reading it. The effect it had was immediate and every word served to spread it further into him. He craved this new light but couldn't continue. The reality of trading this new light for the undeniable knowledge of his brother's demise was too much to bear.

Looking out at a dark night lit only by the orange glow of streetlights lining the street, Ken blinked away forming tears. It was in this simple setting that he had seen a thousand times before, where he drew new inspiration and new hope. Just as the streetlights were able to light up the darkest of nights, who was to say that this new light in him couldn't do the same thing for his brother?

Ken left the bible open on the seat next to him as he put his car back into drive to return home. He didn't drive more than a block when everything in his car suddenly shut down, leaving him just enough time to pull to the side of the road before it stopped moving.

### 6

When honest with herself, Melissa wasn't only sad because Rosy was gone; she was sad because she had longed to return home for years. Neglecting all three of her daughters wasn't personal... it was her way of preparing them for a life without her. She had thought of suicide many times in many different ways. But, she always held on for reasons she never fully understood.

It turns out while trying to distance herself from her girls they were the reason she was still holding on. It wasn't a choice she had made, because she honestly believed they would be better off without her. It was a selfish stance that she had always justified as being 'a better alternative'.

Melissa had no idea what destruction her neglect had left beneath the surface of her remaining girls. Willow was willing to give herself to anyone because she had no one; and Lily, though given a private line to God Himself, still felt alone and broken. And it was Melissa's fault, simply because she had stopped trying.

When her husband Robert died, she died with him and left behind a sad, selfish shell. She had very little understanding of her importance in her two daughters' lives. Twelve years of grief couldn't continue. And now that Rosy was gone it couldn't become an even darker pit. Her responsibilities were still great and finally she was beginning to understand that.

As she knocked on Lily's door, she wasn't privy to the immediate and bright smile that lit Lily's face as her prayer was answered. It was gone before she opened the door. There was still a lot of healing to do. And it started here.

### *

Willow entered her house hopeful. She ran up the stairs quickly, letting the light welcome her to a new atmosphere. Something was different. Warmth existed where it hadn't before. The atmosphere finally had a pulse and the sense of renewal was palpable.

She saw that Lily's door was open, spilling light into the dark hallway. Without saying a word, she hurried toward it.

### 7

Kyle walked into the room with Skin **-** and **-** Bones' dead body. The girl in the leopard top hadn't only cut his throat once but multiple times. The razor blade was on the pillow next to him: just another item covered in his cold blood.

"I made a mistake." Kyle said quietly as he looked down at his wrist. "I can fix it." taking the bloody razor blade from the pillow, he wiped the red on his work shirt and touched it to his skin. "Get rid of it. You'll be free. You just made a mistake. You just made a mistake."

As he brought the sharp end of the blade to his wrist about to apply the needed pressure to start the surgery, he had a simple thought: "Mom can help." After all, she always had in the past. Always. Whenever he needed her, she was there. She could fix this mistake...

He dropped the razor into his front right pocket and began to dig into Skin **-** and **-** Bones blue jeans that he had thrown on the floor when trying to get the 'good sex' he was promised. He found a thin keychain that had two keys on it. It was to that long, white Chrysler parked behind the garage out back.

Kyle was convinced he was still in control, unaware that he was nothing more than a puppet. He knew a mistake had been made. He knew that the Chip had to go. But, he didn't understand the permanency. He didn't understand the trade he had made.

The illusion of control is no different than possession, because when It moved Its hands, Kyle listened. It convinced him to kill Rosy without hesitation and now enjoyed setting the pieces in place for the final reveal.

Enough details were still unclear to leave the benefit of the doubt. Bad trips had happened many times before. For all he knew, he was still on the couch sitting next to the girl in the leopard top. After all, everything seems real when you're flying... or falling. Euphoria and despair share the same space for users on a consistent basis.

So, how was he to know whether this was real or not, considering the nature of a bad trip? The only thing Kyle knew for sure at that moment was that the Credit Chip was a mistake that needed to be fixed. And he took the keys he found in Skin **-** and **-** Bones Jones' pants and drove his long, white Chrysler back toward his home. His mom would be able to help him with this...

### 8

The President didn't see any enemies in the crowd he had been addressing. In fact, what he saw when his eyes were clear was reverence and fear. Though the crowd had thinned, those that remained were bowing before him, hands lifted high in worship. They had seen a true miracle and were convinced that only a divine man could come back from the dead

A smile spread across his face as he stepped out from behind the podium and walked to the edge of the stage.

"Nothing is impossible when we unite as one!" his continued smile was sincere. "Your adoration is magnificent. Your worship is a blanket that warms me." he felt a strong power begin to pulsate through him. He didn't yet know the extent of his power, but the longer he experienced this improved form the more he understood that his importance was stratospheric.

He was the missing piece to the final equation set in place at the beginning of time. He understood something about 'god' that he never had considered before: 'god' wasn't a sovereign entity that operates outside of time; 'god' wasn't even an idea created by the weak and weary; 'god' was simply the final stage to evolution. He now understood that the title of 'god' always belonged to the first person who reached the final form.

He was god. He was as divine as the universe was ever going to allow. He was the culmination. And a man who had lived his whole life timid and with practiced confidence was now able to look out at the people and know his worth.

"I am here as an example to you, to lead you into that level our founding fathers always desired: one nation under god!" he pointed his finger out at the people. "You can be god! Division has always caused us to fall short of our greatest potential. Division has forced us to look to the sky when all of our answers are already within each and every one of us." his mission statement was no different than when he started the speech. It was all going to come down to the New Beginning Act. Except, unlike before, he was now confident that it would pass without a hitch, because it was now coming from a god.

### 9

Ken was just over a mile and a half away from his house with his Buick parked in front of a red one story with a big pine tree out front. The ground was hard. The air was frigid. He buttoned up his gray coat, tucking his bible under his right arm as he wedged his hands deep into his coat pockets.

He had hope as he took his first steps back toward his house. Only moments before he had been sure of his brother's damnation, but now a new light was shining on him. There was a new light in him because of the passenger he now carried with him; the same option had to be true of Kyle. If he read these same words and a light was born in him the same as it was in Ken, there had to be hope.

A desperate brother walked with purpose. And soon his stride advanced from a walk to a run. This hope sustained him while the orange glow of the streetlights continued to remind him that light can shine in the darkest of nights.

But, sometimes hope is manufactured. Sometimes you can want something so much that hope can come from anything. Something as simple as the glow of a streetlight can seem divine when the reality has a far different meaning. Hope can bring a man to the brightest of days or his very darkest. When handled wrong, hope can be incredibly dangerous.

### 10

Ashamed and speechless, Melissa could only embrace her two girls. She had no current words to say, because she was only now realizing the pain she had caused. When she looked at Lily, she didn't see a strong fifteen year old girl; she saw sadness. And when she looked at Willow, she didn't see her bright, eccentric, outside **-** the **-** box beauty; she saw a young woman who had no identity of her own.

Sniffles came from all three, but Melissa's were most persistent. She was finally there for them, willingly taking full blame for their pain.

"Where do we go from here, mom?" Lily asked softly, glancing toward the hallway, thinking about Rosy. "How do we stay together, when the grieving process hasn't even started?"

"I don't have that answer, Lily." Melissa whispered. "We just can't go through it alone. Th **–** that's the mistake I made with your father. An **-** and that's why it has lasted so long."

"What if that happens again with you for Rosy?" Willow's voice was surprisingly assured.

Melissa didn't answer quickly. She closed her eyes and truly considered the possibility. "If that does happen, be there for each other. Even if I fail to be there, don't go through it alone. But, I promise you, I will do my very best, girls."

Lily and Willow looked at each other and then back at their mom. While choosing to trust her, they also started to let go of her. It was clear that she didn't have the strength built into her, and though they both wanted her to be there for them more than anything, they knew they had to prepare for the exact opposite to happen.

### 11

You never stop being a child in need of rescue. Kyle drove with surprisingly steady hands while his heart pounded within him at a rate that his body seemed ill equipped to handle. He focused on his destination above everything else. Home is where he wanted to go. Just to be home again, just to be where mom could make it all better. No mistake had ever been permanent. Even his worst mistakes always had a light at the end of the tunnel.

It was easy to push everything that he had seen behind him. After all, Skin **-** and **-** Bones belonged back at that dirty house where he was leaving him. Everything belonged behind him, including the realization of how severe this mistake was. No permanent consequences belonged to him. There had always been another chance given, another road made possible. Even though he had seen the reality with his own eyes, he could easily come to a place of well-built denial.

Kyle had driven three miles of the total five. The closer he got to his house, the clearer he became. Real hope sat in the seat next to him, a passenger that weaved a simple tale that spoke in contradiction to everything he had seen before it. Skin **-** and **-** Bones' dead body could have just as well been a capper to his bad trip. Yes, that's what it was. And Rosy. The small flashes he remembered of the night she died... it was all a bad dream. He loved Rosy. He had wanted her for himself. He never would have done anything to hurt her.

Kyle's mind spun several justifications that only further served to lull him into a sense of welcome and long **-** sought **-** after security. With one mile remaining until he arrived home, Kyle was convinced that his brightest days were still to come.

### 12

"In preparation for this address, I wrote out a concise set of bullet points. I knew every word I wanted to say." he looked at the words scrolling on the teleprompter, ignoring them entirely. "However, I wasn't aware that tonight it would be revealed to us all that I am the first one to take the final step in evolution. My notes have slightly changed for obvious reasons." The President smiled out at the people, instantly relatable, instantly accessible, and universally loved.

Something suddenly happened that not even he had anticipated. His sight evolved from crystal clear to supernatural. He was now able to see into people, their inner workings playing out before his very eyes. In the healthy, their interior was a shade of dull blue with illuminated organs. But, for the sick, spots of black were present, dimming and interrupting the illumination. He didn't need to know what they had because he knew how to remove it. He had an understanding of his new abilities immediately, as if the instinct of it had always been built into him. It could be compared to a baby knowing to breathe as soon as they emerge from the birth canal. And yet, it was completely different. Maybe it was closer to some form of sonar. All comparisons could scratch the surface of what he could now do, but none could capture the complexity.

Once his new vision started, his mind seemed to separate into sections that were all able to operate simultaneously. There was no "back burner" as he used to know it. Everything was firmly at the front of his mind and he was able to focus on it without difficulty. What remained of his speech paced back on forth on his lips as he surveyed the audience. The translucent skin he saw now made everyone seem like ghosts with blue lights turned on inside of them. He surveyed past cabinet members, past security guards, past everyone deemed important, until coming upon a soft featured woman far back in the crowd. Her light was almost gone completely. The sickness was severe.

"The best thing I can do is lead by example. This isn't just about this speech anymore. It's about changing the lives of everyone in this country. Somebody tried to turn the light out in me. But, instead all it's done is show me the light that is in all of you. Some have been dimmed by sickness and disease. I see it and I can heal it." his eyes glanced down at the spray of blood that stained the stage. "Someone tried to kill me. They failed! They couldn't stop the change that I'm here to bring! This is the day that old ways get left in the past where they belong. I will lead you into a beautiful future, where your greatest self will finally be allowed to grow and flourish."

_Her name is Margaret Stills._ the voices that used to threaten were now compliant passengers, nothing more than a source of information. The president reasoned within that nothing was out of the ordinary. His whole person was at a heightened level. He had seen the seating list earlier in the day and his mind clearly had done the rest of the math, figuring out her row and matching it with what he had already seen.

"Margaret Stills. You are very sick. I can heal it. Please come up to the stage."

### 13

Ken ran in bursts, using the streetlights as a stop and start point. The distance between each one was at least a few hundred feet. It helped him make progress toward his house without tiring him out. When under the streetlight he would walk with deep breaths with his hands at his sides. Once in the dark, he would sprint again.

As his body continued to push forward, his mind rewound. Ken thought about Kyle. He thought about all the good things he wanted for him and how they had yet to happen. He thought about the first time he knew his brother was in real trouble. His dad's livid face almost looked like something out of a nightmare under the revolving red and blue lights of the cop car parked out front of their house.

And he remembered how it got to that point. He went downstairs to get Kyle for dinner and found that his wide eyes darted from side to side like an antique cat clock.

"Ken?" his right forearm was folded over the crease of his left. "What do y **-** you need?"

"Mom wanted me to tell you dinner is ready." Ken averted his eyes, looking where Kyle was looking. "Is something wrong, Kyle?"

"Just tired, man. Could you bring dinner down here for me?"

"If mom goes for it."

She did. But their dad didn't. As was common from the strict man, he came stomping down the stairs to investigate. And as soon as he saw Kyle's face, he knew that he was on something. Though a lot of arguing happened between their mother and father, the straw that broke the camel's back is when a used needle fell out of Kyle's sheets. There was nothing their mom could do. Kyle had crossed a line and their dad left no more time to argue. The cops were called, Kyle was arrested, and it all went downhill from there.

Ken continued forward, the streetlight pattern of stopping and starting had brought him within two blocks of his house.

### 14

The sudden ring of Melissa's cell phone effectively broke up the air between the Matthews girls.

"It's Charlotte. I wonder why she's calling." Melissa looked at her phone and then at her girls.

"It might be important, mom." Willow said as she separated herself from the group and started to walk toward the hallway. "We'll pick this up later."

Lily followed Willow without saying a word. They sat next to each other on the couch in the living room, both thinking about how empty the three seater felt now that Rosy was gone.

Meanwhile, Melissa composed herself, clearing out her emotional state with a few consecutive sniffles. She let the phone ring a few more times and then hit Accept.

"How are you doing, Charlotte?" Melissa hid the fact that she had been crying extremely well.

"Why hasn't the rapture happened yet, Melissa?" Charlotte, the old family friend, the old confidante, the old sister in Christ was clearly terrified.

"What are you talking about?"

"The beast has risen. The great falling away has begun. Why aren't we gone?"

"I don't know what you're referring to, Charlotte."

"Turn on the TV. It's on every channel."

Melissa pushed her phone away from her ear. "Girls? Can you turn on the TV?"

"Sure," they replied immediately as she began to make her way out to the living room.

What she immediately saw on the bottom of their forty inch flat screen were bold words:

### Resurrection or Hoax? Miracle or Deception?

And then she witnessed live footage of the president conducting himself in an almost evangelical manner. A second camera angle was shown and she saw a crowd of people lifting their hands high in praise.

"This is truly an unprecedented moment." Lidia Johnson spoke over the footage. "We have all been witness to footage that shakes the foundation of belief. An assassination attempt foiled. A new level of evolution revealed."

The cameras now split the screen, simultaneously showing the president on the stage on one side and the woman he had called up on the other. She was unassuming in appearance. A short black trench coat hung off her thin and sagging structure as she made her way to the stage.

"Will we witness the first verified miracle in history?" the news anchor continued. "No doubt, no matter what happens this footage will be dissected by experts from all fields. No stone will be left unturned. But, I cannot deny what I have already seen with my own eyes."

Melissa forgot she was on the phone, letting it fall to the carpeted floor as a strong and lingering chill settled on her spine.

### *

As had been Lily's perspective since the death of her sister, she knew the world would become a place that would have broken Rosy's heart. And even though the news anchor seemed unsure of the validity at the moment, she knew this was the beginning of the end.

### *

Willow only knew one thing apart from missing Rosy: her family was all she had now. They either had to band together or fall apart alone.

The only thing that sat next to them now was fear of the unknown.

### 15

The long car Kyle drove seemed to coast the last mile. The last turn he took before pulling into the driveway seemed more like how a boat lists on soft waves. Somehow his last mile was serene. Though short lived, he found the euphoria he had hoped the heroin would provide. But it had nothing to do with the heroin. There always comes a moment of true clarity when users are ready to start from square one again. Kyle knew with the help of his mom, he could beat it for good this time. He just needed one more chance.

Kyle pulled the car into the driveway, shutting it off as he ran to his house. He saw two blurred silhouettes through the living room curtains, standing in front of the big bay window right of the side door entrance.

"Mom!" his voice seemed to carry throughout the whole house as he stepped up into the kitchen on his immediate left.

"Kyle?" it wasn't his mom who answered. "What the hell are you doing here?" his dad's voice carried a presence all its own before he ever saw him appear in the kitchen. "Your shift was supposed to be until closing."

"Mom!" Kyle called again, hoping she would come to his rescue.

Both his parents walked out to the kitchen together. His dad took one look at him and knew that he had used again. His mom stood behind his dad with soft and sad eyes. She looked at her oldest son, softly shaking her head.

"I already told you the deal, Kyle. You had one more chance. One more! Your chance is gone." his dad fished in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. "I wanted better for you, son. Why couldn't you just be like your brother?" no words had ever stabbed into Kyle with such force as the final sentence his dad said before he started to dial 911.

Kyle looked to his mom again only to find her compassion was quiet and dried up.

"It's always been about Ken. I've never measured up to him." the words seethed from Kyle, dripping with hatred. "He's perfect and I'm trash." as he closed his eyes to regain his composure, a flash of images began to play on his closed eyelids. He saw snapshots of the night Rosy died. The images no longer seemed like a bad dream to him. They belonged. They were his. And as he remembered holding the pillow over her face, and watching her sleeping body wriggle and react, a slug of a smile crawled onto his face. When he opened his eyes again, he took great pride in the dark reality.

"But perfect Ken is now damaged, isn't he, _father_?" Kyle met his dad's eyes without intimidation. "I made sure of that."

Their puzzled eyes looked at him. His dad hadn't pressed CALL yet, his fingers frozen in place as he realized just what Kyle was saying. "No. You didn't have anything to do with that girl's death."

"Why should that surprise you? I've always been the screw up. I've always been a disappointment. I killed her! And it's been so much fun watching your perfect boy fall apart!" the smile on Kyle's face wasn't human. It was a perfect display of the thing that now inhabited him. He registered both his parent's wide eyed, fear filled gaze as his father began to shake his head.

"You're right, Kyle. You are a disappointment." his dad hit CALL as he looked away from him. All Kyle saw was his mom shed a tear as she walked away, no longer able to even look at him.

His dad, now looking at Kyle again, began to speak to the operator on the other line. "I need to report a murder."

Kyle noticed the knife block on the counter to his left. The thing within didn't need to plant an idea. Kyle only had to think about the many times his dad put him down, the many times he had written him off.

A moment came in the conversation with the operator where his dad turned away completely. "The name of the victim is Rosy Matthews."

This was his chance. Without a thought more, Kyle grabbed a steak knife from the block and stabbed it into his dad's back. He felt both alive and entirely empty as he pulled it free and stabbed again.

His dad hardly had a chance to react, one arm flailed back in response before his body dropped hard to the kitchen floor, shattering the screen of his phone and ending the call. His moans sounded like gurgles as blood filled his mouth and leaked out like foam.

Another stab. Another. And another. He kept stabbing because this was it. This was his last true moment of life. His final high. Kyle's eyes were wide as explosive tremors danced through him, his dad's blood dotting his face like common paint spray.

He stopped stabbing and flipped his dad over. But, his eyes were flat and his skin pale. He was dead.

If there was a moment of true regret, it was only that he hadn't been witness to his dad's eyes popping with realization as they drained of life. This had been a long time coming, something Kyle had imagined before only to talk himself out of. He both hated the Thing in him and loved It. He loved that he had the backbone to stand up for himself now.

As he looked up, he noticed that his mom was standing at the base of the stairs that acted as a bridge between the kitchen and the living room. Tears stood in her eyes that now looked as flat as her husband's. He didn't know if she had seen the whole thing. He didn't care either way. She was just as bad as the dead man on the floor anyway. When he really needed her, she walked away.

With the bloody knife still in his hand, Kyle used the back of his free hand to wipe the spraying of blood from his face as he turned away from her. She couldn't speak a word as her oldest son walked away and he didn't care to.

### 16

The woman, emaciated and struggling to walk, made her way to the front of the stage. The crowd parted to let her through, split between whether to pay attention to her or the miraculous man standing on the stage. Those in the crowd who had never attended a church service before finally understood the appeal. The only difference was that this man didn't require them to have faith; he only required their assistance to help the woman get to the stage. None of this _old book_ nonsense. Everyone found it truly refreshing.

The president had all the power. He spoke and they listened. He told them to part for her; they split like the red sea. These men and women, most of them accredited and respected, followed his command without question. Having this power never once fit loosely on him. It never once felt alien to his humble understanding. Since coming back to life, nothing was surprising. Everything simply felt like pieces falling into place.

He watched Margaret Stills navigate toward the stage, her frail frame looking like it could collapse at any time, which made him question why she had ever been there to begin with. As soon as he wondered it, he could see it. She had gone to a psychic—ridiculous as that is—and was told that she needed to be at the announcement. She made sure to be, waiting in line all day to ensure she would be one of the select few allowed in.

She was a woman at the end of her rope, having tried every treatment known to man, from crystals to healing baths. It all had the same effect. He could feel her skepticism as she got closer and closer to the stage.

"No treatment has worked before, Margaret." he began to speak as his eyes followed her. "You are frustrated. You are skeptical. But, that is to be expected. There is only one truth and I am proof of it. I'm not offering you a treatment; I'm offering a cure. And in time I'll show you how you can do the same for someone else."

She had stopped walking for a moment to listen to him. He could feel her belief shifting toward him as she started hurrying toward the stage. It was warm and immediately gratifying. Though everyone believed he didn't require their faith, they were wrong. Faith brought warmth to him, a warmth that was addictive and all encompassing. Now that he had gotten a taste of it, he never wanted it to stop.

Discovering he was now made up of so many facets intrigued and excited The President. Francis Abraham Pummel had grown tiresome. The same old sob story about his brother and the parents who never gave him what he needed, the same old self **-** deprecating view on life. Francis Abraham Pummel was good for one thing: his accessible and inviting appearance. The rest was rot that needed to be scraped away.

Her thin bones barely seemed to hold her together now that she was away from the crowd. There barely seemed to be a skeleton underneath the black trench coat. She was a popsicle stick sculpture, held together with school glue. And yet, her pace was quick and determined. She was convinced of this cure and hurried toward it the very best she could.

The quickening pace lathered thick warmth onto The President. He could feel that her faith was unwavering. She was only feet from the stage now. He could only imagine the shower of warmth he was about to receive from the crowd. They all were going to witness just a taste of his power. Just a taste.

### 17

Ken continued forward, now hearing the sound of police sirens break the dead quiet of the night. His pace quickened as he saw the red and blue lights appear ahead of him. He couldn't be sure but it looked to be right where his house was.

A familiar chill filled him as he thought about the first night Kyle was taken away for possession of heroin. And somehow he knew those lights were once again for his brother. So much for the hope he had seen in the streetlights. So much for the hope of better and brighter days for his brother.

_No hope._ It was an inescapable reality for Kyle. Ken could do everything to outrun it. But what he didn't know was that the faster he ran toward his house, the clearer this very sad reality would become.

Ken had to force himself forward. The part that wanted to believe there was still hope for Kyle wanted to slow the pace and find a doorway to a simpler time. The tragedy of time is that it is unstoppable. Even the best attempts to hold onto a moment always prove futile. Time is a machine with gears that never stop turning.

His only reality was the red and blue lights ahead. The details to why still remained unknown. But, Ken knew they were signals pointing to tragedy. It was something he didn't want to see but something he could no longer avoid. The time to face what he had been avoiding with Kyle was less than a block away.

Three cop cars were in front of his house: one in the driveway parked next to the long, white Cadillac, and two parked along the curb. Ken's feet were heavy as stone as he approached his house. His stomach soured as a lump of tears appeared at the back of his throat.

Kyle's body was on the lawn alongside the curb. A pool of blood spread out from under him. Two officers were inside, one was next to Kyle.

"Ka **-** Kyle?" Ken called to his brother, hearing a clogged rasp coming from his body. "Wa **-** what happened?" he grabbed his blood soaked hand as the bible wedged under his arm fell to the cold ground.

"Ka **-** Ke **-** Ken?" Kyle's eyes were quickly draining of life. "I'm sorry, bra **-** brother." They were the last words he would ever say.

An aimless little brother tried to walk forward only to find his knees buckle, sending him face first into the grass. His blood stained hand felt cold against an even colder ground.

"I'm sorry, son." The officer approached, careful to respect the situation.

Ken heard him but it sounded like it was coming from far away. "What happened?" somehow he was able to ask the question without vomiting.

The answer the officer provided was distorted and inaudible. The only thing Ken heard was something about his mother being safe. The officer continued to speak. Ken could only nod his head as a reply even though he was unable to process any of it. Once the officer stopped talking, Ken only knew one fact: his mother was safe.

He remained on the grass, cold as his brother's blood. Slowly what the officer told him started to leak through and began to drop onto him like heavy stones. Kyle's death was the end of a much bigger tragedy than Ken could have ever imagined. His father was dead in the kitchen, covered up with a bed sheet. And Rosy, his sweet Rosy, was dead because his brother had killed her.

He processed this in drips and drabs, unable to do anything more than look up at the night sky. He looked up, knowing God was his only hope. He was a battered young man, trying to compartmentalize the shock so it wouldn't crush him. But the weight was growing heavier by the moment. It pressed down onto him, allowing no moment of clear sanity. An immense pressure began to build in his lungs as the lump in his throat grew. He thought about his Rosy—he thought about his dad—he thought about Kyle—

It was an endless loop. Confusion, delusion, and denial were only a few of the characters being thrown about in his mind. It couldn't be real. This was just a bad dream he would wake up from. This was just a bad dream...

After a few moments more his mom wandered from the house and over to him. She still had no words to say. She just knelt down in the cold grass in front of her boy and hugged him tight. He was her last tether to sanity; and in many ways she was the same for him.

She looked at the dead body of her oldest boy, the large pool of his blood reflecting the red and blue lights. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she saw Ken's bible sitting just left of Kyle's cold blood.

### 18

It was impossible not to think about Rosy as the Matthews girls watched something terrifyingly biblical broadcast on every channel. She had been incredibly passionate about warning everyone she could that the end was near and the time to get right with God was now. Even though Rosy possessed a kindness unlike any other, she also had fire in her words. Her convictions had been clear and she had led a good deal of people to Christ in her short lifespan. It would always be her legacy—

### *

The event on the TV played out in a spirit stained display. The masses saw hope for a better tomorrow; Melissa saw the immediate danger behind it. But, what frightened her the most was how the president's demeanor immediately drew her in. Even though she knew what he was, there was still a part of her that wanted to believe. She quickly found, as she let her mind wander, that she started to question the validity of that _old book_.

You've never seen a verified miracle, Melissa. On second thought, you've only seen disappointments in your life. Unanswered prayers. Countless lonely nights. What kind of God leaves you alone?

"Turn it off, Willow." she said as she looked down at the carpeted floor.

Willow hit the power button on the remote as she looked toward her mom. "I felt it too, mom." Willow shook her head as she looked around her, the TV now a portal to a very real and present darkness.

Even with the TV off, Lily stared at it with prying eyes. She had seen many things when looking at him, most notably a faceless man, elongated, with a torso made up of six chains with large hooks at the end of each. They were already set deep into the president: one in each arm, one in each leg, one at the back of his head, and the final one at the base of his neck. The faceless man was directly above him, the chains moving like limbs that then conducted the president's moves.

"He's just a puppet." Lily said softly as she looked at Willow and then her mom. She then thought about Kyle and the reason why their sister was no longer with them. "Kyle killed Rosy. He was just a puppet too."

Willow looked toward her sister as a chill slid down her spine. Rosy's death suddenly took on a whole new level of devastation. Her big sister didn't die peacefully in her sleep; she was murdered by someone they had considered to be a family friend.

"When did you know this, Lily?" Melissa grew sharp, her tone confrontational.

"Wa **-** when we found her body." Lily didn't tell her mom until now because she knew she couldn't handle it. She feared the same was true even now.

Melissa thought about what her youngest said, looking toward Rosy's room. "Why did you wait until now?"

"I **-** I've been carrying the weight, ma **-** mom. It wo **-** would have been too heavy for you."

Melissa looked down, knowing what Lily said was true. In fact, it was too heavy even now. She found her eyes being drawn back to the black television screen, wanting to turn it back on to witness a verified miracle...

### 19

A high fades all too quickly. Any addict would tell you this. What had been a euphoric moment of long **-** time **-** coming quickly dissipated, leaving Kyle covered in his dad's blood in the cold.

He both hated and loved—no, he hated the Thing in him. He only loved It when It had the reins. But as It always did, It released full control, letting him sit with the reality. He had killed Rosy to hurt his brother; and now, he had murdered his dad for reasons he couldn't define.

Kyle tripped down the three steps, the cold January air feeling like flames on his sensitive skin. The heroin coursing through his veins brought a small high when compared to the high he experienced when killing his dad. It had lit up every one of his senses and he realized that it was his new drug. The Thing in him would want to kill again. And he was powerless to stop It.

Looking down toward the mark on his right wrist, Kyle lifted up the blood stained sleeve of his once white thermal. There it was, still healing like one of his many tattoos. It had been in him for only eight days. And two people were already dead because of it.

His mom wasn't able to help him like he thought she could. She walked away. Even his biggest defender had grown tired of giving him chances. Stepping through the front yard, he heard the sound of sirens. Much like a man lost at sea preparing to let the water take him, Kyle understood what had to be done.

The steak knife in his right hand was red and sharp, but it wasn't precise enough for the surgery he needed to perform. He fished in his right pocket, carefully pulling out the razor blood tinted red by Skin **-** and **-** Bones. If he could just cut it out, then that Thing would be gone too.

He was willing to face the consequences for what he had done, but he would never let it happen again.

The sound of the sirens were growing louder. He could even see the faint blue and red pushing up into the night sky. They would be there soon, which meant he had very little time to do what needed to be done.

With his non **–** prominent left hand he grasped the thin, square edge of the razor blade, set it along the outer edge of the barcode and pressed hard. Fresh blood began to leak and a surge of seething pain shot through his arm. The fingers of his right hand began to tremble, his left following not far behind.

A straight vertical one inch line of red ran along the right side of the barcode, bleeding steadily. The chip was in the center. He only needed to cut a horizontal line along the top that intersected with his first and he could dig the chip out. One more cut. Both hands shaking, he positioned the blade on the opposite top corner of the barcode. He applied the needed pressure to cut, guiding the blade along the top edge—

A main artery was severed and the blood started to drain out of his body. Kyle collapsed to the ground, quickly experiencing what it meant to be empty in every sense of the word. He was just aware enough to know that the red and blue lights were there.

A light skinned black man appeared above him, shining a flashlight down on him. It was the only light Kyle would experience. The man didn't offer empty platitudes as he checked Kyle over. He saw the extent of the damage and the pool of blood gathering under Kyle and knew there was nothing that could be done.

Kyle wasn't coherent enough to hear Ken's heavy footsteps on the street. He only recognized when his name was called by his little brother. He looked up to see that Ken had taken the place of the officer. He was able to apologize for Rosy before the lights began to turn out. Kyle's very last thought was regret.

One realm over from this one, Kyle opened his eyes to darkness lit only by the dim red glow coming from the sign of flashing neon up above:

A NEW BEGINNING?

WITH THE CREDIT CHIP

ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!

A bright green arrow pointed down.

He could see that he was at the top of a staircase that continued down into the blackest of black. There was no new beginning. And as he looked up at the sign, his only source of light, it began to shut off...

### 20

Sure footed but extremely thin, Margaret surprised everyone with how quickly she made her way up the few stage steps. The President stood at the very edge of the stage, his presence a thick force that made those in the front few rows weak in their knees.

He could feel a collective anticipation. The crowd before him was in awe—he could feel the same from those viewing on their television screens at home. Their faith was when he was warmest and as he turned his attention toward Margaret, he felt waves of adoration sliding toward him.

"Come meet me in the center of the stage, Margaret." The President conducted this meeting as if he had done it hundreds of times. She listened and obeyed eagerly. When standing face to face, The President was a head taller and at least seventy pounds heavier. Considering the fact that he only weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, he still couldn't believe she was able to stand.

Knowing what to do next was instinctual. The President looked into her source of life, the blue light nearly overcome entirely by the black spots. "Now, Margaret, I can see the source of the problem. I need you to trust me."

There was a cluster of black spots in her body, a tangled up mess all connecting to one source. He just had to get ahold of the cause and everything else would come with it. The President understood the true power of the mind and how to harness it. It came down to understanding each step. Even the most complicated tasks can be accomplished when you know the steps.

As he started to perform the procedure with his mind, he focused on how to word each step. It was a skill he planned to pass down to everyone willing to take the time to learn.

"Think about lowering a rope that has a slip knot down a well." he explained to the crowd. "You only have to know where to drop it; the rest is about precision. If you can learn to be as precise as a surgeon, you can remove even the deadliest of diseases. Step one is visualize. You first must learn to see what makes up a person. Once you can do that, you map out the location, drop your rope, and go fishing for the disease."

Margaret immediately began to cough as The President took a step back. "Let it come, Margaret. The procedure is nearly done." The source was caught. He now pulled it up. Her coughing intensified as the cluster slid against the wall of her esophagus. One final pull remained. He closed his eyes to fully focus on the last step. Her coughing sounded violent and desperate. He had to be careful not to tear anything.

With a deep breath in he gave a final, forceful yank. Margaret's coughing led to relief as she spit a dried out black cluster from her mouth. The blue light in her intensified and he knew that she was cured.

A wave of warmth immediately consumed The President. And then another. There was an ocean of waves coming toward him, the faith of the people growing dramatically by the moment. They had witnessed an undeniable miracle and what was even more awe inspiring was the fact that The President had walked them through the steps. He wasn't interested in keeping these abilities to himself; he wanted to share them with everyone else. After all, there were a lot of sick people that needed help, people he didn't have access to. But, if he could teach his methods to others, he could truly change the world for the better.

Though great power now surged through The President, his motivations hadn't changed. Above all else he wanted to give the power back to the people. This began by first removing their crutches. The biggest crutch of all was the idea of a god. For too long people had lived as slaves to the concept of a higher being. It needed to stop. If real progress was going to be made and lives were going to be changed, 'god' had to go away once and for all.

–One Month Later–

### 1

" _Take control of your life and help someone in need today. We can be done with the days of losing our loved ones to disease. Instead of watching them suffer needlessly, praying to the unknown forces for a miracle, you can take control. You simply need to Drop Your Rope! Say it with me! Drop! Your! Rope!"_ the midday infomercial playing on the TV in Ken's living room was hosted by Margaret Stills. She was still bone thin but her face was a little bit fuller. _"One month ago, the world watched as that miracle of a man fished a cluster of tumors from me. I went to my oncologist the next day. Scans showed I was 100% cancer free. He dropped his rope and pulled out my cancer. You can do the same for someone you love, or if you're feeling generous, you can do it for a complete stranger. There is no limit to our capabilities anymore. That miracle of a man has brought us into the next stage and I couldn't be more grateful."_

Ken watched with a deep pit in his stomach. He had only just begun to process all that he lost one month before. Every time Margaret flashed the barcode on her wrist, it only haunted him. Three people were gone from his life because of it. And now she wore it as a point of pride, a badge of loyalty for "that miracle of a man".

With Kyle gone and the truth about what he had done to Rosy finally revealed, Ken didn't know how to mourn him. It almost seemed like he had been a rabid animal finally put down. He missed his brother and yet he hadn't had his real brother in years.

His dad's death, on the other hand, hit him like heavy rocks. After the death of his Rosy he had questioned a lot of his dad's beliefs (or lack thereof) and started to separate himself from his influence. But, that didn't mean he was ready to lose him. And now that he had, he wished he had handled the time with his dad better. If he had stayed home on that fateful night, like his dad had asked, maybe he could have kept Kyle from killing him. Maybe he could have even saved Kyle. Or maybe Kyle would have killed him too...

There was much to the situation that Ken had to box up and hide away. There were many lies he had to tell himself in order to still function. He couldn't change what had happened. Since getting the Credit Chip, Kyle had been a ticking bomb. Ken was fortunate not to be around when it went off. He knew this and yet the questions of 'what if' continued to plague him.

### *

Upstairs in the depleted Cardiff home, Ken's mom sat at the edge of her bed, the white day pressing against the window to her right. She had been wrestling with something profound since the night her husband and son died. That bible sitting in the grass next to her son's blood was the clearest message of hope she had ever gotten. In even the darkest night of her life, there was a light at the end of it all: at the edge of her dead son's blood, Christ was waiting with His own.

This wasn't something she had told Ken. Though both shared the same house, this was something that hadn't been discussed. In the last month, very few words had been spoken between either of them. She was left to pick up the pieces of whatever was left to salvage of her family. And this began with herself. Was there any real cure for the devastation of that horrible night? Yes, the president's messages of unity were as sweet as honey but something about them left the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention.

She had seen Kyle's eyes that night. They weren't his. Something was looking at her through him, with total disregard to the horror unfolding. That wasn't her boy that night, which made her wonder what exactly It was.

The only correlation she could find was the Credit Chip. Rosy was killed only two days after his procedure. It couldn't have been a coincidence. Yes, Kyle had been in trouble for the last few years, but her boy had been kind. Her boy didn't kill Rosy. Her boy didn't kill his dad. Something else did and she couldn't shake the feeling that the Credit Chip was fully to blame.

### 2

Changing your surroundings is supposed to help with the grieving process. Melissa had heard this from a close friend, who helped her pick out fresh and exciting colors of paint for the interior of the house. What had been a soft display of yellows, whites, and tans (colors meant to go with any type of furniture) was now bright turquoise, highlighter orange, and explosive sunshine yellow. It clashed with the bright red couches...

It definitely gave the old two story house a modern feel. What it didn't do was help Melissa move on in any way from Rosy's murder. Her dying peacefully in her sleep was one thing; being suffocated by that monster Cardiff was another. What kind of God would allow it to happen? Sovereign over everything but too consumed with His own agenda to keep her Rosebud safe? Her Rosebud who brought joy to everyone?

Her encounter with Jesus a month before had faded almost entirely from her mind. Those twelve breaths meant to bring her back to life now felt small and deflated within her. It raised her up for a time but the reality of her daughter's murder served to make her encounter null and void. Certain information negates even the most powerful moments with God. Information that changes how you look at The Savior is the first step to walking away from Him entirely.

What she had always believed about God now felt fabricated, like happy details we attach to commonly heard stories. She knew very little about Christ apart from what the Bible told her about Him. And she began to wonder if the rest was just wishful thinking. Had she ever truly felt His presence? Had she ever heard the still small voice of The Holy Spirit? Or was it all fabricated?

To think these things after walking with Him for over thirty five years was not only surprising, it was downright terrifying. She was doubting everything she had ever believed. And even though she knew there was real danger involved, it didn't stop her.

A new temptation had begun to plague Melissa. The healing of Margaret Stills was a viral sensation. People had tried to debunk it only to be reaffirmed in its validity. It was the first verified miracle in existence and it hadn't stopped there. Wherever the president saw sickness, he removed it. He simply _dropped his rope_ and pulled out whatever was ailing them.

The bible was full of miracles that happened over two thousand years before...

She was tired of holding onto the unverifiable when she had access to a man who was performing the verifiable daily.

_Don't fall away, like so many will._ These words were still written in her mind, the only defense against her growing doubt. But, as the days wore on, she could tell those words were beginning to fade.

### *

Willow sat in study hall. Whispers surrounded her. Her reputation was stained; everyone knew that she gave access with very little persuasion needed. Usually a compliment was foreplay enough.

But the day she finally said 'no' was the day she meant it. Word had gotten around of her stance and now taunting was a near constant. The girls threw their judgmental looks and passive aggressive lobs; the boys stoned her with condescending sludge. It was hard for her not to feel like a piece of meat when everyone saw her that way.

Dressed modestly opposed to the buffet she usually set out for hungry eyes, Willow glanced down at her math homework. Numbers, letters, and shapes; it made no sense, just like her being at that school.

In one month things had begun to change drastically. One Credit Chip scanner was now installed and a viable option for anyone that wanted free lunches. A select few teachers and a handful of seniors had the procedure done and enjoyed using the express line.

Willow hoped her time at this school was coming to an end. It wasn't just because she didn't fit in with the others. It was because she wasn't supposed to. The line was drawn and the president had made it clear that the New Beginning Act would instill an unbreakable unity in the people.

It was still early but change was coming down the pipeline. Soon that one scanner and its express line would be the only option. Willow understood this; she also understood her stance. She would never get the Credit Chip because she was a daughter of The King.

### *

Lily was pushing through another day of freshman year. Gym class had proven to be an eye-opening experience on how far things had progressed. Lily's gym teacher, a heavy set, bearded man came in with the same Spirit tethered to him as Kyle's. His right wrist was wrapped in gauze. He conducted the class with a kick in his step, excited to be part of a unified people.

When Lily left class, she saw at least a dozen Spirits floating above teachers and the older students that she passed in the hall on her way to her next class. That mark stamped the inside of each wrist, a clear badge of their coming damnation. Just like Willow, Lily saw that this was quickly becoming an unsafe place to be.

### 3

The first disciple of "that miracle of a man", Margaret Stills sat at her computer, making fliers to stick up at local DC locations.

Is Your Pet Ill?

Have All Treatments Proven Futile?

Are You Preparing to Say Your Goodbyes?

Don't Give Up Hope!

Let Me Drop the Rope!

Contact Me Today!

Her cellphone number and email address stamped the bottom.

She printed out hundreds on bright green paper, simultaneously sharing the ad to her social media page. Her time of explosive fame had been a wonderful shot in the arm. She immediately became the most recognizable person in the country, the catalyst for what was now unfolding. But, it was already fading. And Margaret was left doing all she could to spread the teachings of that miracle of a man before she became just another face in the crowd.

Taking advantage of the opportunity had afforded her the chance to sell her basic healing tutorials on TV. She wasn't near the level of precision the president possessed but her confidence in it was growing daily. Filmed in her little one bedroom apartment, she had laid the foundation for a teaching series she hoped to expound on.

She still needed to practice, which posed enough of a problem in itself. It was harder to find terminally ill subjects than you might think. She had been fortunate enough to find an old cat that the owners no longer wanted when they found out she was riddled with tumors.

The poor old creature was her first unsuccessful guinea pig. Margaret dropped her rope but had no reference for the location of the ailment. She started tugging with her mind but had hold of the heart, killing the creature instantly.

She knew the risks involved. They were risks the owners didn't need to know about. After all it was still an experimental procedure. Many pets would probably die. But, practice makes perfect. She couldn't continue with her tutorials if she wasn't able to show her followers something verifiable.

As she had done so many times before in the last month, she pulled up the full video of the president healing her. There were things she could still learn from it. And who better to teach her than the man who had saved her?

She was fully alive with anticipation. A woman who had tripped throughout the first thirty eight years of her life with no definable direction now had a heading. The universe had led her to that very spot on January 21st to give her a clear and wonderful message: _I'm just getting started with you._

### 4

The President never recited the rest of his speech. Though worded perfectly in the build up to his final proposal, he found that actions truly did speak louder than words. He didn't have to convince them of anything. He only had to put it in the simplest terms: unity. The Credit Chip was a mark of a unity. Everyone that was finally willing to step hand in hand into this beautiful new world would get it because they believed in what it represented. All of its benefits were just the cherries on top.

Two days after the announcement, the New Beginning Act was passed nationwide at the Supreme Court by a slim margin of five to four. If everything went smoothly, his plan stated that the dollar would be phased out gradually over the remainder of 2022 and no longer accepted starting January 1st, 2023 at 12:01 a.m. He worried that his biggest hurdles were going to be the rich, who had just over nine months left to look down at those they considered to be beneath them.

As society had progressed and man had evolved in knowledge and capability, it had also brought with it haughtiness. Classes were now built into the fabric of the culture. The rich were powerful; the poor were powerless. The President couldn't wait to throw the fabric in the fire and knit together something new and never before seen. He was only concerned with those that wanted the unity he was offering; everybody else could go to hell (figuratively speaking, of course).

America had been founded on the idea of freedom for all, but The President was not an ignorant man. Freedom for all will automatically take away freedom from some. It had always been that way, a constitutional paradox. He was offering them the ability to have real control for the first time in their life. Those that wanted to remain selfish and elevated above everyone else were in for a rude awakening; and those that wanted to hold onto _outdated beliefs_ were about to know what it meant to hit rock bottom.

### 5

Six inches of snow covered Ransom, Iowa in a clean blanket. Ken looked out the window of his bedroom, thinking about when he, Kyle, and his dad made a snowman together. It was in nearly the same spot where Kyle died. He never thought it was possible that things could deteriorate so quickly. Not too long ago everything in his life had been uncomplicated with the future looking bright and certain.

Now, everything had been erased from his life and he was left with a decision he still wasn't ready to make. A light had been born in him; whether he ever planned on letting it grow remained a question to be answered at another time.

Ken was barely old enough to be a man. Unfamiliar with tragedy but now plunged headfirst into it, every day he had to answer the same question: _"What now?"_ He never was able to understand Rosy's pain when she needed him to; and now that he could understand it she was gone. In fact, she was a big part of his pain. But at the same time, she was the only thing keeping him from going under.

He still listened to her voicemail daily. Trying to imagine a day without it was too dark. She gave him the slightest glimpse of hope in a world that never seemed to brighten. She was the only light left—

The doorbell rang, the sound running up the old wooden stairs like an enthusiastic dog trying to draw Ken outside and out of his darkness. He heard it and disregarded. Knowing his mom wasn't home to answer it, he hoped whoever it was would just go away.

The doorbell rang again, close enough to the first ring that it rode on its echo. Dog #2 was even more excited than the first. And when the third sprinted up the stairs, it put the first two to shame. It was annoying enough to force Ken out of his room and down the stairs.

Though the most commonly used door was on the side of the house, the only doorbell was at the front. It was only used by people that weren't personal friends...

At the bottom of the stairs, Ken was careful not to glance left. He still would see the bloody sheet covering the mound that had been his dad. He walked through the living room and over to the door. A fourth ring started right before he opened the door.

Pastor John was standing there, his thick body nearly filling the doorway.

"Hello, Ken." a warm smile grew on his face. "I just wanted to stop by to tell you how sorry I am for the horrific things that have happened to you in such a sudden succession. I can't relate to your pain. I imagine it's entirely surreal, maybe comparable to how a soldier feels when he wakes up from battle to find that his limbs are now gone."

That described it to a Tee. The shock of it was in stark contrast to the brutal reality. Ken nodded his head but couldn't keep eye contact.

"You've been on my heart, Ken. Our last interaction was on that terrible night. You left the church and I could feel that The Lord was speaking to you so strongly. I could see the need for Him in your eyes. Coming to Christ isn't about conforming to a set of standards; it's about having eternal security."

Ken didn't want to hear it. Just another pitch from a man trying to sell him something. The night the bible fell from under his arm and onto the ground was the last time he had looked at it. Whenever the desire to pursue it further tapped him on the shoulder, he only had to look around to be reminded why it wasn't worth his time.

"It's only going to get worse, Ken." these words fell on him from a great height, leaving immediate bruises.

"How can it get worse?" Ken's tone was stripped of all personality. "Is your god a sadist?"

Pastor John shook his head, that warm smile still present. "There was a time when I thought the same thing. Pain can make a person bitter." he sighed heavily and then the smile fell away from his dark face. "There's a line, Ken. You either choose Christ or you die in the dark."

The sky immediately turned black. Pastor John was gone from the doorway, now replaced by the creature with the toothless, upturned smile towering over his tall frame, looking down—

Ken's eyes opened to find a chill had settled on his spine. Something was beating on the inside of him for the first time since the horror one month before: a sense of urgency.

### *

To everyone but Ken, his mom was known as Deborah. Out to lunch with one of her good friends, she was stirring her hot cocoa, watching heavy snowfall gather on the front of her red compact.

Her friend had asked her a simple question: "How are you doing, Deb?" But, she still couldn't find an answer to give. What answer could she give? She shouldn't even have to give an answer considering how recently her world had been ripped apart. Her reply came through her sad, simple eyes. What a stupid question to ask...

Their friendship had already changed. Deb was lost at sea; her friend was picking through her Caesars salad, completely unable to comprehend the gravity of her many losses.

The minutes ticked on. Her friend's salad became a bowl of soup with crackers crumbled in it. She continued to stir her cocoa, staring out the window far more than looking toward her friend.

"I can tell your mind is somewhere else, Deb." Her friend said as she wiped her mouth and put up her hand to call for the check. "We'll try this another time. Okay?" her friend's warm smile felt frigid.

The waitress arrived shortly after the signal was given.

"Separate checks?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Deborah.

"Not necessary," her friend rolled up her right leather jacket sleeve to display her barcode. The waitress pulled a small, palm sized scanner out from her apron, a red line skimmed over the surface of her skin followed by a small beep.

"You're all taken care of, ladies. Stay safe out there. It's a cold one." The waitress disappeared from the table with a final, assuring smile.

Deborah's eyes were wide and terrified as her friend looked at her with an exaggerated shrug. "Speed and convenience, Deb. Every day they find new ways to improve life."

### 6

Rosy's ashes remained in the Matthews' house. There was very little chance they would ever leave that box sitting in her untouched room. The spreading of ashes is usually symbolic of a semblance of peace with the situation, a way to free the one you love to leave your life.

There would never be peace in Melissa's heart over this. And she knew that her relationship with her God had been fractured, the hours of each day cracking it just a little bit more. She had no desire to seek Him. He didn't deserve her time. He didn't deserve her dedication. A God of ultimate power let her Rosy—her favorite—be suffocated in her sleep.

The house, alive with a new and wild color scheme, had never felt more like a prison. The only light on in the house came from the glow of the LCD TV in the living room. Switching between a few favorite news channels, she was feeding her astonishment toward the president.

"On this, the one month anniversary of that miraculous day, President Pummel has promised to do something that will leave us talking for years." the man's voice spoke over a collection of clips of the president touching people and healing them. "Since he healed Margaret Stills, he hasn't stopped. Wherever he sees sickness, he drops his rope, pulls it out, and moves on. As miraculous as that is, he claims we haven't even scratched the surface. He also has said numerous times in the last month that we will someday be able to do the same thing. What a time to be alive."

### *

Willow drove through the heavy snow, Lily sitting in the passenger seat. School was done for the day.

"Are we going to be okay, Lily?" Willow turned down the radio. "Is mom?"

There were many things Lily couldn't see. In this situation she was just as blind as Willow. But, they weren't blind to their mom's deterioration. They weren't blind to the eerie atmosphere their house had. Though never able to really understand one another, they were still sisters. And as their mom continued to deteriorate, they were beginning to grasp onto the full reality.

"It's going to get really bad, Willow. You just have to remember Who lives in us. We can still have an impact."

"I don't know if mom is going to stay faithful to God. Rosy's murder has broken her."

Regret flooded Lily. Had she never said anything, had she kept the weight to herself, maybe her fractured family would be in the process of repair instead of breaking apart even more. No one understood her or what it meant to have a view into the spirit realm. It was incredibly lonely and heavy and ostracizing.

Lily could only nod her head in agreement. There was no alleviating the pressure from this gift.

### 7

An eager student of the universe, Margaret always made sure a wide variety of doors in her mind were wide open. Looking for the answer to life's greatest questions had only increased since her diagnosis. She was hoping for some kind of light at the end of a long and dizzying labyrinth. But she never could have guessed that she would meet the man of her dreams as well.

He had been inside of her being, an intimacy far superior to the carnality of fornication. She had been his first and that made her infinitely more special. At least that's what she wanted to believe. But, Margaret couldn't shake the feeling that he had already moved on. He dropped his rope, pulled out her cancer, and ended it with a warm hug. And then she was escorted off the stage and helped back to her seat by security. A strange way to end their first meeting considering she expected there to be many more...

Then again, he was a superior being to her. Why would he want someone unevolved, someone small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things? He would want her only if she were equal to him. Margaret looked at the framed Time magazine cover featuring the president hanging over her TV and smiled.

"I'll impress you, honey. I'll learn how to be everything you want. I'll be the next to take that final step. I promise."

Margaret looked back at her computer screen after hearing she had a notification. It was a message through social media, in response to her digital ad:

Hello, Margaret. The oldest of our children, Whiskers, is a ten year old tabby. After extensive visits to the vet, we have been informed that there is nothing more that can be done. HELP!!

We aren't ready to say goodbye...

Margaret looked back toward the picture as she began to type a reply.

There is still hope for Whiskers. When can you meet?

### 8

When first healing Margaret, the ability was still new to The President, a weak muscle trying to lift something heavy. But, he had found that just like with a muscle, the more he worked it, the more he could handle. He was confident that he could lift a great deal of weight now.

If this couldn't convince the holdouts that he was here to bring the true solution to a dark and cruel world, nothing could. Lives would be changed forever and hope would be returned to the hopeless and drained. It was ironic that churches around the country were warning people against him when he was the only one offering real hope with real results. If the god they claimed was real, why did he hide while challenged? If there truly was some great creator, how come The President was the only one doing anything to help? When he posed these questions to believers, they—as always—quoted that _old book._ Nonsense about the beast rising from the sea—leave it to a believer to bring fairy tale imagery into a logical conversation. He was tired of them holding up their signs in front of The White House, warning against his mark and calling him the devil. He was tired of conversations that focused on an unseen god while he, a man for all people, was doing real good for real people. How they could still claim him to be malevolent, how they could still say he was here to bring death and destruction—the close-minded were built on ignorance, a people lower than the lowest, a people who would never break free from basic Sunday school teachings.

The President needed to shock the world alive from its old state of being. What he had done up until that point had convinced those ready to believe in something, but he had yet to do anything to sway those who already believed in something else. That was the challenge. And that was exactly what he was convinced would happen after they witnessed what he had in store. It would make the stories from their _old book_ look small.

### 9

There are times when fear is necessary. Complacency is a common trait to grief. Staying in and away from everyone, hoping to one day function again is expected. But, when the building is on fire, you don't sit and reflect on the pain; you get to safety.

Ken's dream had come out of nowhere and jolted him awake. The pain was still debilitating. The pieces that had been ripped from him were still bleeding heavily. He wasn't better. He was severely injured but aware enough to understand the severity of the situation.

Changing out of the same dirty sweatpants he had worn for four consecutive days, Ken stepped into a wrinkled pair of blue jeans and zipped up a black hoodie over his stained white t-shirt. The time had come for him to face what he had been avoiding. A month before a light had been born in him. And though it was buried beneath the brutal reality, it didn't mean that it was gone.

In fact, as the reality of loss continued to weigh down on Ken, heavier with each passing hour, he longed for that little glimpse of hope he felt when reading the bible. It was like a line of sunshine stabbing through the thick cold of a very dark place.

He thought about Rosy's voicemail as he fished a black stocking cap from his closet floor. Even though she was gone, her final words to him continued to have great influence. And now her influence was pushing him from the house he had left only once in the last month—for the double funeral.

### *

Deborah was haunted. The mark that made her son monstrous until his death, the mark that took her husband away violently—

The walls were closing in on her. Some people, like her friend, took it because it was convenient. Her Kyle had taken it for its clean slate benefits. It was all around her, spreading daily in its popularity. The president was an understandable catalyst. He promised that people could do what he did. She had been witness to his resurrection on the TV; she knew there was something strange and powerful about him. He offered hope and yet his mark brought monsters.

"Did you see a ghost, Deb? Why are you giving me that look?" her friend's smile was still light hearted. She dug in her purse as she prepared to leave.

"What does it feel like? The barcode I mean." Maybe she would give some insight into what Kyle experienced. She could only hope...

"You hardly feel a thing."

"Ka-Kyle had it. It drove him mad."

Wiping her mouth with her used napkin while clearing her throat, she replied. "No offense, Deb. But, Kyle was an addict. I know you are looking for a reason why this tragedy happened. He was using again when it happened, wasn't he?" a callous question asked with a matter-of-fact tone.

"That wasn't my boy." Deb shook her head back and forth slowly, the words pushing out of her softly.

"Yes it was. Deny it all you want, Deb. That is who you raised." Cold eyes were looking at her, the same cold eyes Kyle gave after stabbing her husband, her Keith, to death.

Without saying another word, Deb got up from the table and left the restaurant. She knew everything she needed to know about the mark. That wasn't her boy.

### 10

Melissa found that her mind was starting to fully play enemy to what she believed. God had been the scaffolding upholding her structure for over thirty five years. And yet she now questioned every experience and everything that she had held so near to her heart. That monster Cardiff was allowed to murder her Rosy, a reality that spit in the face of everything she had ever believed about God. She had always believed Him to be defined by His goodness. Even within the storms, His inherent goodness told her she would make it through simply because He is good.

Now she even questioned that. If God isn't good, if that quality doesn't even belong to Him, what is He? People walk away from God when they are convinced that He isn't Who they believe Him to be. Despite all of the pain over the last twelve years, Melissa's life raft had been the knowledge of His undeniable and untainted goodness. If that was gone, so was He.

She watched the clips on the TV, a woman lost in disappointment. The idea that the God she had followed faithfully for so many years (the God she had loved with all of her heart) never existed felt like dropping a small stone into an endless pit: she was falling further with every passing moment. The only light she could see was the hope the president offered. He brought some kind of light back into her. With God gone, she felt aimless. He was all she had known. And with Him gone, she had to wipe the slate clean. Her understanding had to broaden, her closed mind needed to open again.

Melissa was hardwired with need; she would only remain together if something held her in place. If God no longer was going to be her scaffolding, the president had to be. She watched the TV with a renewed sense of fascination, deciding in that moment to open herself back up to the hope of brighter days. Even though it was the darkest time of her life, it truly felt like the lights had come on. God was the only thing familiar to her. But, what was familiar had left her alone in the dark. Continuing with Him ensured further darkness...

But, the president offered something new. Instead of expecting people to give all control to him, he inspired them to take it for themselves. If God wasn't real, then this was her first day in over thirty five years of truly walking in the light of reality.

As she glanced down the hall toward Rosy's room, she felt a strange sense of hope. This wasn't going to be the same as her experience after losing her Robert. She was going to take control of her situation instead of submitting in prayer and trust.

### *

Willow approached their house and drove past it.

"Where are we going?" Lily asked as her head turned back toward the house.

"I'm letting go, Lily." Willow said as she glanced at her. "I can't watch mom slip even further into her hole." She paused for a moment, her eyes seeming to shuffle through many thoughts. And then it stopped on something shocking. "Would God answer our prayer if we asked Him to take mom home?"

A pang shocked Lily in her core. She had thought about the same thing. "I don't know. It would be very merciful of Him, because—"

"Mom's going to fall away." Willow said it softly as she turned toward Lily. "Isn't she?"

Lily gave a sad nod as a reply.

A tear touched the edge of Willow's eye and then rolled free. To think that they were praying for their mother's death so she wouldn't perish; to think that they were preparing to say goodbye to another member of their dwindling family so soon after losing their big sister.

It would have been easy to slip into a state of despair, but Willow understood the severity of the situation. This was about eternity. If her mom kept going on her current trajectory, there would be no hope for her within a matter of days. She was ready to say goodbye for now if she could have her again forever.

### *

Lily had no further insights into her mom's situation. She didn't need to have the gift of spiritual sight to see the signs. Her mom had let go of God and turned toward the president. When God was mentioned, she would seethe in reply, a poisonous mixture of hate and disgust. It was Lily's fault for the current circumstances. And now it was going to be her fault if her mom perished. She made the mistake of letting revelations meant for her leak out to those unable to handle it. Knowing her mom's history, she should have known what the truth would do to her. As soon as she saw a real light in her mom, real hope for rebuilding their family, she snuffed it out with a few misplaced words.

Deep regret sat next to her. She could only trust that God would be merciful in this situation and take her mom home, because she knew that it was already too late to salvage any part of her mom's life on earth.

### 11

The parameters of the procedure hadn't been discussed. Margaret had a medium sized pet carrier in her SUV as well as the address where she could pick up Whiskers. Disclosing her rate of success against fatality with the owners didn't seem necessary; she wasn't looking to tarnish her reputation as reputable, after all. And it was really no different than a terminal person trying to get a procedure done in another country: it's already known to be a long shot.

Scooping her keys out of the small bowl on her counter, Margaret left her one bedroom apartment. The image she gave off was of a woman converted to a higher understanding. You only had to fully watch one of her infomercials to feel the thick drip of hypocrisy. She had yet to heal anything. She didn't even understand the most basic workings of a person, which was step #1 according to the president.

And yet, using the fact that she was the president's first miracle as a way to instill an image of confidence and capability, she was effectively deceiving people with a concept she had no firm grasp on. Granted, no different than most other infomercial spiels, but the risks carried a far different weight. This was life and death, hope offered through three simple words: _Drop Your Rope!_ But, it was far more complicated than that.

Margaret was willing to sacrifice whatever she had to if one day she could have that _miracle of a man_ by her side. A necessary means to an end she felt was more than deserved.

As she approached her SUV, she began a dialogue where she played both parts.

"What chance do you give Whiskers?" a slightly different voice than her own.

"I am fully confident in my ability, but there are still risks involved. All procedures carry risk. I promise you I will do my very best—no, that's not right. Weak, Margaret. Weak. Try again. I-If he can be healed, he will be."

There it was! The perfect antidote to a question she was going to have to answer every time. It was just vague enough to sell them on her ability while still leaving room for an explanation as to why it didn't work.

Sitting in the seat of the SUV, she started the vehicle, backing out and away. Experimental procedures couldn't be held against her. They knew the risks and now she had the needed answer to the nagging question. With a smile and a sigh, Margaret looked up to a gray sky, the sun a bright smear pushing through. A metaphor for her life, no doubt.

### 12

In many ways The President was a billboard during a traffic jam: he promised that better things were ahead for a people frustrated with being stuck. He was there to inspire them to keep inching forward because it was all going to amount to something soon enough.

Unlike the speech one month before, the preparation for this day wasn't on him. He was calm and collected, waiting for the media and press to gather outside The White House so they could follow him to a location he had yet to disclose. The members of his cabinet had done an effective job of hyping him up. All he needed were the eyes of the hopeless to watch him LIVE on TV and it would bring hope back to them.

Nobody knew what he had planned. Not those closest to him in his cabinet, not even those responsible for gathering together the media. As he had done for most of his presidency, The President used the power of anticipation to great effect. This show of power—this display of hope for the hopeless—couldn't be planned. The power of a miracle comes in its suddenness. If you are waiting for a miracle, its arrival is welcome but still expected. This needed to break through all expectations if it was going to have the needed lasting effect.

The President was an old fashioned man. Even as he continued to push for his New Beginning Act, a technology of great advancement, it was only a vehicle for distribution. On his right wrist, a simple black leather banded watch ticked away quietly, always reminding him of his humble beginnings. Even as the first evolved man, now above his dark and difficult past, it still acted as a photograph he looked back on from time to time. He was above it and yet it still had made him who he was. His motivations still stemmed from it. His understanding of a less-than-fortunate class made him their defender. Nothing about his evolved state had shifted his motivations. His power only gave him a greater exclamation point to add to his cause.

After pulling the double Windsor tight on his black tie he looked at his watch: 5:30 p.m. Pushing a small button on the intercom box in his office, The President heard a swell of static and then he spoke, "Please make sure everyone is prepared, Charlotte. We leave in fifteen minutes."

### 13

An hour and a half passed. It was six o'clock in Minnesota and seven o'clock in DC.

### *

The heat was low in Ken's black Buick. He was parked in the gravel lot of the church—had been for over an hour now. There were two other cars parked in the lot on the opposite side from where he was. He could see a few lights were on in the church through the windows right of the main doors.

Much like the night he came upon Kyle's dying body, he was in a state of trying to pause time. There were many reasons why Ken had avoided God or the bible since that night. It wasn't just his anger towards him; there were implications that would come with it. His brother died with _no hope_ , which meant he was now forever lost in the dark.

Everybody wants to think that better is waiting on the other side for loved ones that have died, as if the destination is automatic: "They're in a better place." But if Ken was to accept that Christ is the only way to eternal life, he also had to accept that his brother and his dad were forever lost.

A moment of self-preservation entered the car as he looked at the church in the rearview mirror. Yes, he had to accept the very sad reality, but it didn't change the fact that he still had a choice. He loved both his dad and brother beyond any true words of description. They were gone and there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how much he wished he could. The only thing he had control over was this moment. Rosy's message had kept him afloat through it all. And he had a chance to see her again someday, something he—sadly—couldn't say about his brother or his dad.

It was the thought of getting to hold his Rosy again, the thought of getting to appreciate her for everything she was that he hadn't noticed before—this was the catalyst that finally helped him open his car door and start walking toward the church. The snow fell slowly now, like leftover confetti dropped from a celebratory sky.

Rosy's influence, for the second time, had helped him open back up the door he had closed so tightly. He understood very little about God, definitely not enough to trust Him. He walked toward the church only because he trusted his Rosy. This was her truth. And he wanted it to be his as well.

### *

Deborah stood in her kitchen, the image of that horrible night a bright stain that couldn't be scrubbed away.

"Deborah?" A man was calling for her from somewhere upstairs. It almost sounded like her Keith. Her eyes darted to the stairs a few feet to her right, Keith's blood stain still a faint pink on the white tile floor. "Deborah?" the same voice.

"Keith?!" she answered, her voice creaking with fear. "I hear you, sweetheart!"

Silence sat a heavy presence all around her.

"I-if you're here, an-answer me."

Nothing. A projection of her desires, maybe? A quick visit from another realm to this one? A grieving imagination wishing for just a bit more time with her love? All possibilities and all irrelevant.

She was alone, gripped tightly by the terror of not knowing exactly what her boy was. It was vicious and void of a heart. The eyes that looked at her seemed to look through her. After finishing off her husband, It made sure to stab into her in some way as well. She had seen Kyle's eyes when on heroin. Those eyes didn't come close to resembling what she saw before he walked away from her, covered in her Keith's blood. They were void of everything and yet full of something dark.

By itself grief can shut a person down section by section. With the added weight of terror, it becomes something undefinable. She wasn't able to enter any kind of grieving because the reason for her many losses didn't make any sense. If it truly was the Credit Chip, what was behind it? And how could she accept the reality of it?

Looking for a reason 'why' after loss almost always proves to be an exhausting exercise in futility. If you can understand the 'why' maybe you can find some kind of peace in it. This is at least the reasoning the mind gives. But the reality is an overwhelming sense of aimlessness, much like how a fish flops around desperately once removed from water.

The greatest loss in grief is purpose. Deborah and Keith had plans to travel once their sons finally left the nest once and for all.

" _We'll take a trip across the world, Debby. Just me and you! We'll put our house up for sale, all strings cut away. Our boys will be able to take care of themselves before you know it."_

Keith had been planning on it for years, saving big chunks of money toward their next and greatest chapter. This was before Kyle started using, back when the future still looked very bright.

Now, Deb could only think about how it all went wrong. Her boy (the first she housed within her body) called for her that night. There was still some sense of hope in his eyes, a drowning man reaching out for a helping hand. But, she let Keith berate him. He called for her again and she gave no reply. Maybe the Credit Chip had always been the scapegoat for a truth she didn't want to admit.

"We failed him, Keith." she said softly to a falling tear.

### 14

Willow and Lily sat on the front pew of the Main Hall at the church, Pastor John a large and comforting presence sitting next to them. They had arrived at 5:50 p.m., only after calling his cellphone to see if he was available to talk. As he always did when he was needed, Pastor John took the time, bringing his fifteen year old boy, John Jr., with him to the church.

"How are things going, Willow?" he asked with a smile of reassurance. "You seemed troubled on the phone."

"I don't know what to do, Pastor John." she said, looking down. "Things are bad at home. Mom is unravelling."

He processed the information with a few slow blinks. "In what way is she unravelling? It's to be expected with Rosy having passed so soon—

"She's falling away from God. She's finding hope in the president's miracles."

"The walk gets long, Willow. All we can do is pray that The Lord gives her strength."

"She was doing better until she found out Kyle murdered Rosy."

Another pang of guilt shot through Lily, who was sitting quietly next to her sister.

Pastor John swallowed a considerable lump, trying to keep his soft, dark eyes from widening with fear. "I wasn't aware of that. Information like that would be hard to move past." For a moment he seemed uneasy, having to reposition himself while clearing his throat. "What can I do to help you with it, girls?"

"Pr-pray with us that The Lord takes h-her home?" it was a statement that sounded like a question. Willow understood the enormity of the request. She was essentially asking for spiritual euthanasia.

"Why do you want that, Willow?" his reply seemed to show its seams the further into the conversation they went. "God can still turn this around for His good."

She shook her head, letting her eyes rest on his. "She's been sad for a very long time. She doesn't have the strength to hold onto her faith, e-especially with daily miracles coming from the president. I can see it in her eyes, Pastor John. She's done. At the end of it all, isn't the only thing that matters is what we believe?"

He saw a lot of Rosy in Willow, the same wisdom, the same fire burning. The quietest Matthews girl was starting to find her voice. "If God were to answer this prayer, Willow, what would happen to you and Lily?" Pastor John analyzed every angle of a situation, even his faith in Christ was built on a base of logic and clear reasoning.

"I turn eighteen in two months."

His smile was wide but short lived. "The reality of this, girls: we would be praying for your mother's death. Will it haunt you? Will a moment come where you regret ever thinking it, let alone praying for it?"

How could it not haunt Lily? It was her fault that it had even come to this. But she didn't say a word. She could only shake her head.

"I can't say I won't regret it." Willow spoke up. "But I know what I would regret _forever_ is watching her continue to live only to fall away from our Savior, to receive that mark. I couldn't live with that. I can live with letting her go now so she can be at peace."

As he let a deep breath out, Pastor John nodded his head. "You have grown considerably in a very short time, Willow. This is selflessness on a level I have never seen before."

"When eternity is on the line, the best we can hope for is our loved ones making it to Heaven. If she stays here much longer, she won't go to Heaven."

The bluntness of her statement sat with him for a moment. It was easy to forget how black and white everything had become. He was no stronger than anyone else and was careful not to expose himself to miracles that were sure to deceive even the most faithful believers.

"I'll stand in agreement with you, girls." he said, offering his large hands. Willow accepted first and then Lily. He then closed them over theirs. "Lord, your Word says where two or three are gathered in Your Name, You are in the midst. Only You know Melissa's heart. And only You know the extent of hopelessness she feels. We thank You for being a merciful God, Whose grace is sufficient for all. Willow, Lily, and I are in agreement. If Melissa will fall away from You in the coming days, bring her home. Let Your grace supersede her current state of derailment. Rescue her from herself. We pray in Jesus' powerful Name. Amen."

Lily let go of Pastor John's hand and walked away, feeling a cool breeze immediately follow behind her. She knew what it meant. It was an answer. "Mom's gone, Willow."

### *

The glow of a TV in a dark house can easily be one of the saddest settings. When you know that the TV represents hope, you also understand that the hope is manufactured. For Melissa, the TV was her only light. And what was now broadcasting through it would only serve to intensify it...

The president stood alone at the entrance to a children's hospital, a natural behind the camera.

" _Storms always hit us suddenly, it seems. Without warning, on an unassuming day, we go from having a sturdy foundation to rock bottom. The sweet little ones in this hospital and their families know this reality all too well. For many it's dire; and for some there's nothing more that can be done." the president smiled as he grabbed hold of the slender metal door handle to the glass door. "The sun comes out today, friends. Follow along."_

A light appeared in the left corner of Melissa's eye, a light far different than the one the TV displayed.

She turned toward it.

"Come with me, mom." Rosy was standing in the hall, a bright smile offered with an extended hand.

The sadness washed away as she stepped toward her. "Is this real, R-Rosebud?"

She nodded. "Dad can't wait to see you again."

Melissa stood and grabbed hold of Rosy's hand. A bright sheet of light was in front of Rosy's room. Melissa could feel a cool breeze coming from it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough, Rosy. I hope Willow and Lily can forgive me."

"They asked God for this, mom. They love you enough to let you go."

Melissa could only display a sad smile. She knew she had left a hole of neglect for her two girls. But, she also realized she had given them whatever she had left. It just turns out not much remained in her. "Will they be okay?"

"Yes. The Lord will walk with them, as He promises."

"Okay." She looked back toward the chair, seeing the cold blue glow of the TV falling onto her body. And then she stepped toward the light holding her oldest daughter's hand...

At 6:06 p.m., Melissa Matthews drew her last breath. A merciful homecoming for a woman who was nearing the precipice of eternal damnation.

### 15

Whiskers sat in the medium sized cage on the coffee table in the middle of Margaret's living room. His meow was barely a croak. And even though he could hardly make a sound, he continued to cry out for his owners.

"You can calm down." Margaret said, sitting down on the couch across from the cage. "Either way your pain will end today."

The TV was the backdrop for her second attempt, with her muse, that _miracle of a man_ , now fully framed.

_Step one is visualize._ This is something she had been unable to do with her first attempt. He hadn't gone into detail past that, a frustratingly vague approach that left her teetering on the edge of her final form.

"What's the secret, honey?" she spoke to her TV. "What am I missing?"

He smiled as he started to open the door to the hospital. She paused the live broadcast, that smile meant just for her. It gave her inspiration to dig deeper. And as she did, she received what she had been blind to before. A dim blue light was now coming from the cage.

She opened the cage door with a pinch of her two fingers. Once able to fully see Whiskers, she saw a definite skeletal outline within the soft blue glow.

"You are my inspiration, Francis. With you I can do anything." She understood what he meant by visualization now. It was literal and eye-opening. The inside of Whiskers looked like a night light trying to shine through a thick sheet of glass. He croaked out another meow, curled up at the back of the cage.

Yet again, Margaret looked at the TV. His smile filled her up with things she couldn't fully describe. It wasn't just full-bodied inspiration; it was belief. He represented so many different things for her. He had given her new life and new direction. When preparing to die, life takes on a fading perspective. You hear the ticking of the clock, knowing that time is running out. You try to make the last of your days matter but find that very little of what you've done will last beyond a very short period of time. A strained relationship with her family would have been Margaret's sad legacy. That _miracle of a man_ had given her a second chance. She was determined to leave behind something lasting this time.

As she reached for Whiskers, he hissed. There was still some fight left in him.

"I might be able to do it from out here, cat." It was clear that he meant nothing to her. "But, if I mess up, it's on you." She tried to reach for him a second time. His hiss carried with it a nasty swipe. His long claws nearly ripped into her hand. "Stupid animal." Focusing on the blue glow and the faint outline of his inner workings, she saw a small spot of black near his heart.

"Visualize, Margaret." she coached herself as she let out a deep breath. "Make it look easy."

She pulled out her cellphone, pressing the camera/video icon. The red button on the bottom of the screen was just waiting to be pushed. She made sure it was set to record her while she could see the screen. Her face was still a thin display that her brown eyes were sunken into. Even the generous amount of makeup she had applied in preparation for this video did very little to hide the fact that she had been terminal only a month before.

"You're looking better every day." she believed the lie. "Just smile and sell it."

When she did smile, it was bright enough to hide some of the damage from her long battle with cancer. But, she also knew that her sickly face is what sold people on her healing. The cancer was gone but the effects of it didn't disappear. Only time and a good deal of plastic surgery could give her the face she used to have.

She took one more breath before pushing the red button with her thumb.

"Hello, friends." her smile sprang to life, a warm welcome to any audience. "I told you I would provide you with real footage of healing. You will see that Whiskers, this sweet ten year old tabby, is frightened and doesn't want to come out of his cage. Though unfortunate, I don't want to cause the little guy any unnecessary discomfort. Since it is an invasive procedure, we'll let him stay where he's at." she capped off her opening with another one of her smiles.

"President Pummel, that miracle of a man, told us the first step was to visualize. He didn't expound on that. So, let me do it for him. A blue light emanates from the inside of the subject. And that blue glow gives you sight into the workings of the body. Though I can't say for sure what President Pummel saw when he looked into me, I have to imagine what I'm seeing in Whiskers is very similar." she paused. "I'm going to keep the camera focused on Whiskers for the rest of this video; my voice will be guiding through the process."

She held the phone at the entrance of the cage, far enough out that she could still see Whiskers with her own eyes. As long as she could see what he was made up of and where the problem was, she had a real chance of pulling it free.

Unlike the president, Margaret lacked the confidence that comes from natural ability. He came back to life and new understanding came with him; she was just trying to replicate the miraculous, to give meaning to her second chance. But practice, though never able to guarantee perfection, is a crucial component to any ability. Margaret's determination was her greatest asset. And her mask of a personality fit her perfectly. She could sell any lie because she believed the lies she was selling. Come to think of it, she was perfectly suited to be the next one able to heal because her faith was child-like and the doors of her mind were wide open. She was essential to bringing a new set of reasons for getting the Credit Chip to those on the fence. She didn't know it, but the Thing in her did. And It was happy to sit back and let her use all of her energy and determination to further the cause.

She saw the blue light because It wanted her to, because she was hungry and would bite down on any bait that passed by her. It liked desperate people; they were easy to fool. Offer false hope to the hopeless and the rest takes care of itself...

With the location of the black spot clear in her mind, Margaret closed her eyes and dropped the rope, making sure to keep the hand holding her phone steady. This was different than her first attempt. She had an understanding of what needed to happen. She knew the location. And now all she needed to do was be precise in where she tightened the slip knot and it would be done.

"I can see the sickness. You may soon see Whiskers begin to react. I know I did when President Pummel started to pull the cancer from me." she narrated the events with soft voiced expertise, her eyes remaining closed. "I nearly choked."

The spot in Whiskers wasn't any bigger than a hairball, much smaller than the cluster in Margaret. This was an easy case. If she was unable to pull it free from him, there was very little chance she would ever be able to. _Drop. Your. Rope._ It truly was as simple as she claimed in her videos. And yet she was struggling greatly. She opened her eyes again to look at Whiskers, that black spot taunting her.

"It's a bit more difficult with him in this position. His body is tensed up. Definitely my toughest case." She had to act as if she had done it successfully many times before. After all, she had sold a good deal of videos claiming experience. A charlatan now in too deep, Margaret could feel the pressure building.

She glanced up at the paused screen, Francis' smile another surge of immediate inspiration. She closed her eyes again with a smile. She simply dropped her rope, tightened the slipknot and pulled up. The next thing she knew Whiskers was making the sounds that come before a hairball.

### 16

At 6:59 p.m., one minute before the broadcast was scheduled to go LIVE, The President looked out at a group of camera lenses.

"I would like to thank everyone for coming today. Before we go LIVE, I am going to ask something a bit unorthodox of all members of the media." He flashed a smile. "I want many perspectives in this hospital, because the effects will be felt in many different places. So, when you follow me into the hospital, I want one camera from each network to head to the second floor. The remaining cameras can focus on me. That is all I ask. Fair enough?"

A mixture of male and female voices spoke in agreement at once.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the media, today we bring hope back to this country." He wore another one of his genuine smiles. "Count me down."

They did and when it hit seven o' clock, The President gave his opening. All at once relatable and compassionate to those suffering, it felt more like a heartfelt message than a monologue. Using his painful past still worked when he needed to convey real empathy.

Once he opened the door of the hospital, the air immediately smelled like cleaning chemicals, a sanitized cover for a very sad reality. The woman at the front desk was wide eyed at seeing the president.

"H-how can I h-help you, Pr-President Pummel?" even with her dark skin, her blushed cheeks were apparent.

"Hello. Rhonda, is it?" The President's smile was electric.

She nodded like a bobble head, making sure to unveil the mark on the inside of her wrist. "You've gi-given me something to be-believe in again." Her lips drew back like dark stage curtains, revealing a mouth of white but crooked teeth. "Working here, th-though rewarding, can also haunt you at ti-times."

"Life can be very haunting, Rhonda. A sad fact that I want to change. I hope that I can give you a new outlook by the end of my visit. Maybe remove the nightmares completely." Every smile he gave felt different from the last, a strange talent all its own.

Her reply was inaudible, an open mouth unable to form words. This had been her wish for a long time. And now that it was being addressed by this miraculous man, this savior of the down-and-out, she finally felt real hope.

"If you don't mind, Rhonda, I would love to meet some of these _tough_ fighters."

Once again she could only nod her head as she pointed behind her.

"I had one goal in mind today, Rhonda, but after seeing you, I'm taking a bit of a detour." he was able to switch vision with very little concentration. He only needed to flip a switch in his mind to see the blue glow. When he looked at her, he now saw a tangled mess of black blotting out the full shape of her brain. "You deal with severe anxiety. I can see it. It's a mess of tangles in your mind. It won't take long to detangle." The President didn't need to touch Rhonda; he only needed her compliance. "I know how it feels to be weighed down by heavy thoughts. It is absolutely exhausting." While speaking he was already detangling the mess in her mind. "Many years of fear and worry have drained you. Let today be a new beginning for you." He timed his words perfectly, because when he was done speaking, the mess in her mind was detangled. He displayed another one of his thousand smiles toward her as he began to walk past the desk. Her eyes, welling with tears of relief, praised him as he continued on.

Ten or fifteen foot lengths beyond the desk, a large wooden door labelled ONCOLOGY 1 separated the sick from the visiting. The President looked back, the camera lenses (and their humans) obtrusive tag-alongs.

He opened the door, immediately seeing a young bald black boy, garish and depleted. His skin was ashy and bruised. The little boy's soft black eyes fell on The President, immediately hardening with fear.

"Excuse me, young man." The President approached him with long paces only to find the young boy stepping away from him and the camera lenses. "There's no need to be afraid, young man. I'm here to help." The smile he displayed was picture perfect.

"M-my help comes from The Lord, S-Sir." this young boy couldn't have been older than eight or nine.

A surge of annoyance shot through The President, his genuine smile now becoming a mask.

"You're suffering, son. You don't want relief from it?"

"My suffering is for a time. But, m-my reward is great. You offer false hope. Je-Jesus offers real hope."

A small wrench dropped into a large engine, The President could feel everything falling apart. And, to think, everything was broadcasting live. How he responded would determine the image the people had of him after this day. He knew that ultimately this boy, a sad product of parental brainwashing, needed to be discredited. But, if he wasn't careful, it would be seen as nothing more than him attacking a sick little boy.

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Wi-William."

"This world is filled with a lot of sadness, William, and a lot of pain, and a lot of unnecessary struggle. It is commendable that you are willing to suffer for what you believe in. But, isn't it also unnecessary? Why is suffering for _god_ a requirement? Couldn't you argue that your situation is unfair, even proof that maybe god doesn't exist? Or, at the very least, not the god you think?"

"I don't like being sick. It hurts. I don't know why this happened to me. I just know that you can't make it better."

The President could only flash another one of his smiles, doing what he could to prevent those watching from seeing the animosity starting to build up inside of him.

"I n-need to go back to my room." William didn't give a chance for a rebuttal. He turned away and started heading down the corridor where many of the doors were propped open.

For a brief moment, The President had a violent thought splatter against his mind: _Kill the boy. It_ _would only take a tug of the rope in the wrong place and he would be gone for good._

With a long blink he pushed away the sudden violent thought. Where had it come from? He had never been a violent man. And yet, for a moment, the idea of it was invigorating. The boy had challenged his motive, his character, and his ability to help. _What a parasite! What a disgusting example of the infestation of old beliefs preventing real change._ It didn't matter that the boy was young. He was part of a very real problem.

The President turned toward the cameras. "Little William is what America is all about. Freedom of expression and freedom to hold whatever beliefs you want. We may have differing views but he is undoubtedly a champion. I love meeting those that define the word bravery." Yes, this was a perfect way to erase the nonsense little William posed. Praise him while simultaneously discrediting. "It is his prerogative to receive or reject what I offer. I respect his decision entirely and send my best wishes to him and his family. I came here today to change lives and bring hope to the hopeless. There are dozens in need of just that. I don't need to see them to fix them. All you have to do is listen and you'll hear the sound of relief spreading like a tidal wave."

The President was done asking for permission. Little William had soured the whole concept. He knew what was best for them and he now had the ability to provide it. When he closed his eyes and focused he was able to detect each blue source of life and with each one he was given a clear outline of the inner workings. There were over sixty sources of life in the children's hospital, but only twenty six had black spots. His ability was a mishmash of evolutionary traits that ranged from echolocation to a heightened awareness of his surroundings. Nothing was supernatural. Nothing pointed to other forces working in him. Give false hope to the desperate and they will believe anything...

Able to see each spot of black, he simply lowered twenty six ropes in his mind and fished them free. He left the hospital immediately afterwards, the cameras remaining behind to feast on the details. He wasn't interested in staying behind to bask in the warmth of new faith, not after William nearly ruined the entire thing. He worried that his image was already tarnished from the encounter.

Even though he was quick on his feet and salvaged it best he could, he knew that the full impact of the moment had been lost, because that little parasite had effectively sown doubt in the viewer's minds. Now his hope was counterfeit to what this Jesus offered.

Once again the idea of killing William entered his mind. Instead of pushing it away like before, he closed his eyes and bathed in the concept. He quickly found as he let it stay it began to grow. He was no longer just thinking about killing William—after all, William was just one bug from a much larger infestation...

### Author's Note

This is book one of a planned three. I will try my best to release the second book in a timely manner. Ultimately my goal is to always release a product that is both quality and truly unique. If you enjoyed A New Beginning, I invite you to check out my other releases while I work hard on book 2. Follow me on Facebook to keep up to date with my progress.

Thank you for taking the time, reader

Nate Allen

Other books available now:

CLOUDS (my debut, written during a very dark period following the death of my dad. Some graphic content with Spiritual undertones. Not recommended for Christian genre readers)

Death is Not the End, Daddy

The Counterfeit

### Acknowledgments

My Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Without You I am utter darkness. You give me purpose in a world filled with aimlessness. You give me a solid foundation in a world that's teetering on the edge of collapse. Let every word I write be all for Your glory.

My beautiful wife, my wonderful partner, the ultimate mother to our girls, you fully encompass the definition of 'God's best'.

My girls. Evarie you are a constant source of joy to everyone blessed enough to know you; Ivelyn, though you are still being knit together by our beautiful Creator in your mother's womb, you are already fully in my heart.

Mom. Without you I never would have continued writing. Having one positive voice amidst all the naysayers made all the difference. I will always be grateful for your support then and your continued support now.

Dad. The years have faded you from my mind almost entirely. And yet, you remain the catalyst for every story. I look forward to the day I get to see you again, but I know my mission for Christ is far from over.

