 
# Table of Contents

A New Beginning  
Book 1 2

–The Credit Chip– 3

–Facade– 12

–In God We Trust– 24

–Passengers– 36

–One Month Later– 53

Better Things Ahead  
Book 2 73

–Change– 74

–Choices– 86

–The Passing of Time– 99

–The Domino Effect– 120

The Final Stage  
Book 3 135

–The Holiday Season– 136

-The Deadline- 156

-After 12:01 a.m.- 167

-Convergence- 179

-Trials- 199

-Endings- 208

-The New World- 220

## 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...

## Better Things Ahead  
Book 2

### Nate Allen

### Copyright 2018

## –Change–

### 1

" _Since the assassination attempt on the president's life four months and one week ago, many have believed it to be attached to a Christian group that call themselves The Holy Army. We are now receiving reports from multiple sources that confirm this. One can only hope that soon we will get to see the monst—persons responsible finally brought to justice."_ The TV sat on a small stand in Ken's one bedroom apartment, Lidia Johnson talking while they played footage that included a wall covered in bible verse graffiti, the attempted assassination, and a large group of picketers holding up signs that ranged from **The End is Here** to **The Devil Comes as an Angel of Light** on a loop with the news anchor's voice a biting narration. It was interrupting the basketball game. _"It will be interesting to see what the president does in light of this new information. It is no secret that many people from this religion have stood in opposition to every move he has made, hiding behind wild interpretations of the book of Revelation. As we step ever closer to a truly unified people, it is clear that the holdouts are doing everything in their power to keep things the way they have been for far too long. I have never been happier to report that the efforts of the hateful are being torn down daily. This group was unsuccessful when they tried to take away President Pummel and they are unsuccessful now."_

After suffering through tragedy, drastic change is the quickest way to become functional again. No longer in the house where his dad was murdered, no longer forced to see the spot where Kyle bled to death—Ken could finally push them into a category that no longer belonged with him. He would always love them but letting them drift into a category of never-was helped him focus on what he was now trying to build.

A new relationship with Rosy's Savior was still an alien concept to him. Though the base for it had a speck of genuine desire built in, most of it was desperation. She had left him with a message of hope, pointing her arrow toward Christ. A last option for a young man that had lived most of his life following whichever way the wind was blowing. When every one of the foundations you have built your life on crumble in a moment, desperation is the only thing that will force you to stand again. He trusted Rosy and believed one day he would experience something close to what she claimed about Christ. But, so far his relationship with Christ hadn't gone past the moment he asked Him into his heart. Pastor John led him in the prayer and he did just enough to qualify—just enough to see his Rosy again one day.

As Ken watched the Breaking News Announcement continue, waiting for the game to return, he understood that just getting by wasn't an option. A line was currently being drawn. He was either with the movement of unity or against it. If there was a middle ground, he gladly would have planted his roots and lived out the rest of his days riding the fence. That option was gone.

"Rosy says you gave her strength to make it through each day. I don't understand how that works." It was still such an alien concept to him, talking to the Unseen. "I wouldn't believe in You if it wasn't for Rosy. I never gave her everything I had. How can I give it to You? I don't know You. I knew her and I still kept her at distance." His long pause was filled with a thousand reasons, the most prominent being embarrassment. His dad would have been so ashamed of him— "I was always taught that weak people need You or even the idea of a god. How do I apply You to my life?"

The game came back on, ending his one sided conversation with an unanswered question.

### *

The Cardiff house was empty of everyone but Deborah, a haunted prison that she didn't know how to leave. She was alone, scared of change and unwilling to seek it out. Change meant leaving behind everything she had lost. Change meant accepting that her best days were gone and she was left with nothing but small pieces. Ken, her remaining tether, moved out because change was his only hope for moving past the worst time in their life.

She was afraid to make a move one way or the other. Her once whole family was now down to two and she worried that Ken, looking to escape the past, was going to leave her there as well. Her life had been a beautiful picture not long ago. Now it was a picture emptied of everything meaningful.

A soft knock appeared at the side door. As was common, she was standing in the kitchen in low light, wishing she could return to the night she lost everything and do things differently.

"Coming," her voice, though soft, echoed in the empty house. It was nearly dark out, the light blue sky now covered with bruises. She opened the door finding a young man, no older than Ken, standing at her top step. Without saying a word, he handed her a small pamphlet and then walked away. Written on the front in black letters: **Are You Going to Heaven?**

### 2

A pastor to a shrinking congregation and now the legal guardian to both Lily and Willow, John Watcher felt like his knees were about to buckle. Over two dozen people had already left the church, convinced that they had been abandoned. The rapture was supposed to take them away from it all before it even began. And yet, they were now in the thick of it.

Although John could understand where they were coming from, he had always been careful not to interpret scripture to simply fit his understanding. "Popular interpretations of when The Lord will come appear to be incorrect but God is still faithful." Explaining this to his congregation helped very little. They weren't ready to go through this. They wanted to be caught up and removed from danger. They were a heavy weight on his mind.

But even heavier were those two girls, battered and bruised by life, now trying to rebuild. His boy, John Jr., was the same age as Lily. He had been surprisingly accommodating to the idea, doing what he could to make them feel welcome. Only God knew that his position as the girls' godfather (something Robert and Melissa had asked him when the girls were just little) would someday put them legally under his guardianship. Only God knew...

John had always been looked to for the answers. This had only increased after the president came back to life. Members of his congregation kept shuffling in asking if the Credit Chip was truly the mark of the beast. When John told them he believed it was, they then started to ask if God's grace was enough to save those tricked into receiving it, hoping to God for their family's sake. These were questions he tried to answer but the answer he gave wasn't favorable. It only offended them.

A speaker of truth, John understood the price he would have to pay—it had already started. Many dear friends and members of the church had already fallen away from his influence to seek out a pastor that offered some kind of false hope concerning the Credit Chip. Always a man known to display a warm smile, John hid the struggle well. People expected a pillar of the faith. It was his calling to be just that.

A soft knock came at the door to his bedroom.

"Come in," he replied, retightening his blue tie as he stood up from sitting at the edge of his bed. Nobody needed to see the weight weighing down on him.

### *

A signature of sadness marked each one of Willow's days. She missed Rosy. She missed her mom. But, the sadness wasn't overwhelming. Her mom and older sister were safe.

Willow approached everyday with the mentality of borrowed time. It had never been clearer to her that life doesn't truly belong to anyone. Much like an old clock, it will tick on quietly day after day, stopping suddenly and without warning.

Though the sudden answer to their desperate prayer hit Willow like a series of crashing waves when Lily was given confirmation, the shock faded and relief took its place. Of course there were moments where regret sat with her, asking question after question, and claiming that praying for The Lord to take her home was an unforgivable overreaction. It even tried to claim that Willow's motivation wasn't fully selfless since she had wondered in the past, during her mom's deep and lingering sadness, whether life would be easier without her. Sadly, in many ways, it was.

Now eighteen years old, Willow had considered moving her and Lily to their own place. The world was changing gradually enough that it was easy to forget that soon it would be difficult to stay anywhere. Money was becoming obsolete, which meant debts had to be paid in full while the dollar was still accepted. Since Willow was the legal age, her mom's $100,000 life insurance policy was hers to use. In Melissa's will, it was stated that the total would be split equally between her three daughters...

The check now being in Willow's possession, she and Lily had discussed many options. Knowing that the dollar was set to become irrelevant the first minute into the New Year, they discussed the best road for longevity. Both agreed it was found with Pastor John. Willow hadn't yet discussed what they were thinking with him but she planned on having a meeting that night.

She knocked on his door quietly, looking back toward Lily who was already sitting at the dining room table.

### *

Everywhere Lily went, she saw Spirits tethered to the damned. She had even seen a few at her mom's funeral. A few on-again-off-again members of the church attended, hiding the fact that they had gotten the procedure done when they were off-again. They hid it but Lily could see. And it broke her heart.

Unaware of the severity of the decision made, strangers, acquaintances, parents of friends—the list continued down a sad trajectory. And Lily was left knowing nothing (or very little) of their stories while already knowing their end. Too often when she closed her eyes to sleep she saw the stairs leading countless people down into the dark. Her gift was special and she cherished it, but it was always heavy. And it was only getting heavier.

Though closer to Willow than before, Lily knew she would never hold a normal relationship with anyone. She saw too much to be ignorant of the hidden details. And she wore her heart on her sleeve, unable to pretend everything was okay when it wasn't. She was quiet often, even more so now that her misplaced words ultimately led to her mom's death.

Even though she interacted very little, John Jr. was kind to her. A current classmate in two subjects and now her literal next door neighbor in the 4 bedroom 2 ½ bath ranch home, he had been a protector ever since she moved in. At Melissa's funeral he was a compassionate presence, comforting her in whatever way he could. Lily responded with quiet thanks and half smiles. It meant a lot that he was trying but his efforts were in vain. Nobody could understand where she was coming from. Because of this gift, her mom was gone. Because of her, she and Willow were all that were left of the Matthews family.

He understood what it was like to lose a mom, but he didn't understand how it felt to be the cause for the loss. He didn't understand what it meant to put someone loved down or they would be lost forever. Praying for her mom's death was no different than killing her in Lily's mind. And because there was no distinction between the two, the guilt was no different.

Lily had always approached her gift knowing it put her outside the parameters of normal. Her close connection with The Lord had always warmed the cold of it. But, since the death of Rosy, her gift just left her feeling cold. It was a lonely walk that she couldn't share with anyone else, with terrifying realities multiplying daily. She saw the spiritual deterioration; she saw behind the scenes, while everyone else saw what was presented. They saw a barcode on the wrist; she saw the monsters that came with it.

She sat at the dining room table in the Watcher house with Willow just down the hall. They could feel the noose starting to tighten as January 1st crept closer. And they needed to prepare for what was to come.

### 3

Margaret Stills was a rousing success. Once she was able to attach proof to her video series—of course as part of a special offer available only on TV—the sky was the limit to how high her popularity could climb. Ultimately it peaked with a business opportunity. Desperate pet owners flocked to her location, now a beautiful two bed one bath with a circular pool in the back. They came from all over the country, some making a full day's drive just to have her drop her rope and save their furry friend/friends from harrowing diagnoses.

For many her peak would have been more than enough; for Margaret, it was a great disappointment. Even though she was successful and finally able to enjoy what it meant to have more than enough money, and with it, a nice house in the desired part of DC, her greatest goal was to have Francis Abraham Pummel's heart. She knew that healing animals was child's play compared to what he could do, which also meant she was nowhere near his capability.

There was no moment where any real satisfaction passed through her. Even when Whiskers coughed up a black cluster, she felt no accomplishment for saving a life or bringing joy back to the cat's family. He was always meant to be a stepping stone for more. Instead, she got stuck in a niche opportunity as The Pet Healer. She didn't want to keep having animals brought to her doorstep but word of mouth can be a very intrusive thing. Her new address wasn't available to the public and yet people found her because old clients made it common knowledge. An infuriating violation of her privacy, Margaret decided to invest in a small building a few miles away from her house, a nail salon and a palm reader her surrounding neighbors.

She made this decision a few weeks after healing Whiskers, after being continuously bombarded by desperate pet owners who first came to her rundown one bedroom apartment and then her new house. Margaret had no idea that the video where she healed Whiskers would effectively stunt her growth and leave her stuck in a prison of her own making. In hindsight, offering to heal animals was a poor decision considering the fact that she hated them. And to think that they were now her daily reality...

Understanding the role she had to play, Margaret was an expert in filling out the character people saw. Though this business was like nails on a chalkboard for her, she never let anyone see her disdain for it. She had perfected her smile, adding it to a character that loved animals with "every fiber of my being". Margaret was responsible for this development and knew it wasn't something she could escape. And beyond that it acted as a perfect front for something she kept hidden in her basement, something that would bring her and Francis to an equal level.

Currently in her open kitchen, the white marbled countertops clear of everything but a plastic bowl halfway full of freshly made oatmeal, and 2% milk, she listened as the news projected from the house's built-in speakers.

"I could have told you it was a religious fanatic the day it happened, Francis." She loved having fake conversations with _her man_. "Two different people called you the devil before you were shot. Don't you remember that?"

"Of course I do, sweetheart." She quieted her voice when playing the role of Francis. "But enough of that topic, Margaret. Have I told you how much I love your new hairstyle? Don't think I didn't notice."

She touched her hair with a smile, now a short blonde pixie instead of a dull black mop. "I was wondering if you'd notice. I shouldn't be surprised though, you are the perfect man."

"Only because I have you, baby." While the conversation continued, she carried the bowl out of the kitchen and toward the basement door.

"I can't wait for our conversations to be real."

"Soon enough, sweetheart. Meet me on my level and we'll be unstoppable."

She walked down the basement stairs, the sound from the speakers fading with each step.

"Time to eat, Ben." At the bottom of the stairs, little Ben Simons was chained to an old iron bed.

### *

The youngest of three boys, Ben Simons was dealt a brutal hand in the middle of his tenth year. Diagnosed with stage 2 multiple myeloma, a cancer of the blood and bone, he was in the path of a vicious creature. When doctors focused on one area, they only found that it had moved to another.

Multiple treatments had left his small body with barely a structure. The radiation had weakened his bones; the chemotherapy had left him a victim of severe poisoning. When he was very close to the end of his life, little Ben rallied. His bald and bruised head began to sprout hair again; his near lifeless appearance began to reanimate. He enjoyed an eleventh birthday, symptom free.

His doctors were cautiously optimistic. His odds were split somewhere down the middle. He and his family decided that he was done with treatment. If it came back like a monster, he wanted to enjoy his remaining time in the comfort of his own home.

In remission for nearly six months and out shopping with his family, Ben was standing in the electronics section of the store when he first saw Margaret. Her smile was warm and her demeanor strangely familiar. Was she a family friend? He knew he had seen her somewhere but couldn't put his finger on it.

"You're sick." Her first words to him. "I can see it. Do you want me to heal it?"

As soon as she asked, he immediately remembered that face. She was the woman the president first healed. Though she still carried streaks of sickness across her face she looked much healthier (fuller and brighter) than when he first saw her on TV. He didn't know her but he knew her struggle. They shared in that. Even though he loved his family, they had an outside perspective of the sickness. She understood it firsthand.

"I know you, y-you're—"

"Yes. President Pummel's first miracle." he smiled. "Would you like to be my first miracle? I heal animals all the time; in fact my new moniker is 'The Pet Healer'. But, people matter so much more than animals. And I say that being an avid animal lover." she paused. "You're in remission right now but your body is still battered from the battle. And a remission isn't a cure. The cancer is still in you. I can see it."

"Can you heal it now?" a streak of hope passed through Ben, as he began to imagine a much longer future.

"I would need you to come with me. I want you to be my first miracle. I want to have video documentation just like President Pummel has of me. I want to bring hope to people. You can be a part of that."

Ben pushed away any thoughts warning against her offer. It went against everything he knew about strangers: don't talk to them and don't trust them. But, then again, she wasn't really a stranger. She was a fellow survivor, offering him the same chance. If what she said was true and the cancer was back, this was his only chance at having more than a few months with his family.

"How long will it take?" Ben prodded the topic looking for any strange details.

"I will have you back home before you know it." Her smile was different than the first, carrying with it certain reassurance. She meant what she said.

Ben looked around, making sure his family couldn't see him. They were in another part of the store. "Okay." He smiled at her.

"Wonderful to hear. What's your name?"

"It's Ben."

"My name is Margaret." It was with these final words that Ben followed her out of the store and to her SUV.

It was May 14th, a Saturday, when he was brought to her house. She ordered a pizza meant for meat lovers, while she set the stage for her video. When the procedure started, she told him to be still. He listened. And yet, complications followed. Ben watched her kind demeanor shrivel as frustration took its place. She was unable to pull it free. And when he asked to go home, she drugged him with some leftover animal ether. He woke up in the basement sometime later, chained to an old bedframe.

"This is what's best for you, Ben." her voice said from upstairs. "I will heal you. I just need to work out the kinks."

Now, two weeks later, he remained a prisoner in her basement. She had tried the procedure many times, at first starting once daily. But as the failures increased, so did her number of attempts per day.

Ben had initially used it as a way to gauge how much time had passed. The basement windowless and the downstairs light always on, it was hard to know what time of day it was. The same was true of how many days he had been there. He only knew he missed his family and regretted ever listening to this woman. He wondered if he would ever see them again.

He heard the door open followed by footsteps. Margaret was back to try again...

### 4

The President had no idea who tried to assassinate him. It was never a question that plagued him. After all, they ultimately failed and helped set the stage for his greatest impact. There were many motivations for the act from many different places. No real leads existed and he didn't care either way. It just as easily could have been a rich person desperately trying to hold onto their elevated status—but then it hit him that this was an opportunity he would never have again. With the culprit still to be identified, he could fill that frame with anyone from any group...

A man of power has many venues available to him if he wants to operate in the shadows. The President had used an unnamed man early in his run for Senate who helped him effectively plant doubt in voters' minds toward his competition. If you know where to plant the seeds and give it time, it will sprout forth organically, clean of all fingerprints. The unnamed man had done it for him before with great success. What The President needed this time was simpler than the last. He had already planted doubt in many people's minds toward that religion. He only needed a few breadcrumbs to lead to them.

The President contacted the man on March 3rd. On May 28th, the outcome sprouted forth and the media bought it hook, line, and sinker. Although the desire to kill Christians remained in him, a constant urge, The President knew it was no different than killing singular bugs while infested. If he wanted to kill them, it needed to be at the very core. If he wanted to prevent them from infecting his movement of unity with their close minded views, he needed the people to see them as violent and dangerous. Although it wasn't nearly as satisfying a concept as dropping his rope and pulling tight in the wrong place, it was the far more effective option. During an infestation though, sometimes you just need to take some anger out on the stragglers. The media grabbing hold tight of his setup was satisfying but he still needed a release.

He looked out the window, seeing the front lawn and the fountain. And beyond that, just outside the gate, he saw a small group of picketers holding up signs that said **Pummel = Satan**. There were five; three men and two women. He flipped the switch in his mind, dropped one rope, and pulled tight. One man suddenly collapsed to the ground.

A smile spread across his face as a surge of satisfaction passed through him. This was far more potent, far more addicting, than the people's faith. This wasn't just warm, it was revolutionary. He wanted to kill all five but knew that it would raise too many questions. This would have to be a gradually ingested drug, the high enjoyed in secret. His drug of choice was something he didn't yet understand. And once the high faded, more would be required to feel the same as before. He was no different than any other user.

### 5

Even though the minutes of the game ticked on, Ken felt like he had interrupted a conversation. The questions he had asked God hung in the air above him, slowly coming back down, filling his head with those same unanswered questions. He paused the live broadcast with a heavy sigh.

"If you want to answer me, go ahead." He put his head down, the shame of the conversation an embarrassing weight. "I'll even ask it again. How do I apply You to my life?"

_Know Me._ It dropped into his mind immediately, causing a strange sensation to spread through his body, like a single ripple in a large body of water.

Ken had always been lazy, always provided for by his parents, even now paying for his apartment with some money from his dad's life insurance policy, the idea of putting the work in to get to know Rosy's Savior wasn't an attractive option. As he had said before, he didn't even give Rosy his all. Why was this any different?

Very much still a child himself, Ken was approaching the coming struggle haphazardly. Though a sufferer of a great and tragic trinity of losses, the reality of the world was something he still wanted to avoid. He wasn't blind to it and he wasn't ignorant. He saw the news. He knew that money would soon be obsolete. And yet, he wasn't preparing himself for it. A part of him felt a pulsing sense of urgency but it was always battling the part that wanted to pause time.

In many ways Ken was operating without fully working limbs, only beginning to trudge through a seemingly endless field of grief. He felt alone in this struggle and was exhausted at the very idea of seeking Rosy's Savior. After loss, it's exhausting enough to just get out of bed.

If this is what was required, he didn't have nearly the strength. No longer feeling weighed down by unanswered questions, he pushed play on the TV, letting the game continue. Maybe someday he would have the strength to give himself fully to Rosy's Savior. But, he knew that he was nowhere near ready right now.

### *

Deborah looked out toward the boy to find he was well on his way off her property. And then she looked back down at the pamphlet in her hand. It was strange how something as random as a tract from a local church could present itself in such a welcome way. Much in the same way the bible laid next to Kyle's cold blood, this felt like she was being called out to once again. It posed a simple question, which immediately made her think of the bible she had tucked away in her room.

A new image of God was starting to bleed through her old perception. Being forced into the Catholic Church from birth on, Deborah knew the step-by-step to salvation, but she never truly knew the Man that offered it. Far too familiar with the procedure of the religion, God was as cold as the large halls of the church. And He was as fallible and inconsistent as the priests that claimed they could forgive sins.

When she left the church at eighteen, it felt like the doors of a prison had been opened. She was free to live her own life, unconcerned with a cold god's requirements. Living free of her childhood religion's parameters had been liberating; and when she met Keith, they saw eye to eye on the ridiculous concept, in total agreement that they would raise their kids (if they had any) to be free from the hooks of religion.

But, things had changed since then. Her family was down to two and even that was a stretch considering how Ken acted toward her now. Whatever plans she had for her life were gone. No one from old circles had offered her any answers; her two closest friends had been particularly cold toward her following the two tragic deaths in her family and both now carried the Chip.

Deborah had wrestled with the why of it all since it happened, jumping back and forth between failed parenting and the Credit Chip. She regretted so many of the decisions from the night Kyle killed Keith and believed she could have prevented it if she had just reached out to him when he called for her. It was a regret that she would never be rid of. And though she could never really know the cause for sure, the question that kept her up at night revolved around the Credit Chip: "If it isn't responsible for the murder of Keith, why did Kyle die trying to get rid of it?"

Her oldest son's final action, one of absolute desperation, spoke the loudest to her. And the two messages following his death pointing to God felt personal and intimate. She looked outside, the boy nearly at the end of her driveway. There was more she needed to know. And though she wasn't dressed nearly warm enough for the cool May air, she still ran out the door and after him.

### 6

John sat at his dining room table with Willow and Lily sitting directly across from him. Junior was standing next to him. Junior was tall just like him. _How time flies_ , the thought carried him away for a moment, a father now walking the halls of memories.

"Dad?" Junior's voice was still trying to drop. The call immediately brought him back to the present.

"What were you wanting to discuss, girls?" he looked into Willow's eyes first and then Lily's. Neither of them broke eye contact.

"I got a check in the mail a few days ago." Willow placed it on the table. "Mom had $100,000 life insurance policy. Lily and I have discussed our best options and we wanted to propose something to you, Pastor John."

He couldn't help but smile slightly. No matter how many times he told her she could just call him John, she never did. "Propose away, girls."

Willow looked at him for a moment, flashing a smile at his friendly demeanor, and then returned to her train of thought. "January 1st at 12:01 a.m., the dollar will no longer be an accepted currency. That's just over seven months away. This money will be worthless." Willow paused and looked toward Lily.

"W-we need to be thinking long term, Pastor John." Lily picked up where Willow left off. "If the circumstances were different—it's not even worth going there." she paused. "Things are only getting worse. How many people have the Chip at school now, Junior?"

"More every day." Junior answered, crossing his arms in noticeable discomfort. His dark arms sprouting a layer of goose bumps.

John swallowed hard as he nodded with understanding.

"There isn't enough time for Lily and I to do anything on our own." Willow reentered. "We think it's in everybody's best interest to invest this money into paying off the church."

John smiled warmly. "Girls, the gesture is incredibly kind. But—"

"Stop right there, Pastor John." Willow put out her hand. "If we want to be safe, something needs to be paid off in full. What will happen if you have any debt on the church when the dollar bill goes away?"

John had thought about this long and hard. Trusting God was his default but he knew something the girls didn't. With the land being commercial, the price tag to pay it off entirely was far above the money they were offering. He had been working on paying it down for nearly twenty years, only cutting off a small corner from an outrageous price tag. It wouldn't work. He was going to lose the church. It was only a matter of time.

"The church isn't doable, girls. But that's just a building, isn't it?" his smile looked sad. He had been trying to do good from that building for years. And what was the outcome? Dwindling numbers and many lost sheep. As sadness washed over him, he looked at the two girls across from him. They were a reminder that his efforts hadn't gone to waste.

"Is this house?" Lily asked as she looked around.

John's eyes softened with realization. He had said it himself: the church was just a building. Those who trusted in Christ were going to stay within the fold. He looked around his house, imagining how full his basement would be during services.

"I have already paid off over half of the house."

"How much is left?" Willow asked.

"We got it at a steal. This part of town with over 1,600 square feet for under $100,000? The Lord definitely blessed Cara and I. I have forty one thousand two hundred and some change left on it."

"That's doable." Willow smiled, sliding the check toward him. "We'll need to do research, but I think we'll have more than enough left over to buy a full house generator and dig a well. We need to own everything on the property, Pastor John, including a way to power the house and water that belongs to us."

"You're a very smart young woman, Willow. How long have you been planning this?"

"Since getting the check. Lily and I have gone over many options. We settled on the church but this makes even more sense."

"It does, girls. Thank you."

Willow replied with a smile while nodding her head; Lily looked at Pastor John and Junior. Seeing how perfectly the pieces were starting to fit together, she wondered if this had been God's plan all along.

### 7

Margaret was confident as she reached the bottom of the basement stairs, her new hairstyle a huge hit with her imaginary man. He had been the secret ingredient to unlocking her ability in the past. She felt the same could be true of now.

She walked with a new skip in her step, if you will, the kind of skip that only Francis' compliments could give her. Even imagining herself with him empowered her—she could hardly wrap her head around the potential when they became a couple.

"Let's try this again, Ben. I have a good feeling about today." The smile she displayed was genuine and new. But, it only made Ben feel sick.

"You've said that before." his fight had only increased the longer he was there.

"Patience is a virtue," she loved her cliche sayings when answering his objections, ranging from "even a broken clock is right twice a day" to "sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places". His every objection was deflected with syrupy sweet words, a complete contrast to his situation. He was her prisoner and yet her constant demeanor was uplifting.

"You know the procedure, Ben." she said positioning herself in front of him. "Sit still and try to be quiet. It shouldn't take long."

He smirked slightly at her overconfidence. Promising a quick procedure on the first time was one thing; doing the same after over twenty failed attempts was laughable. And yet that's who Margaret was: confident in things she had no real experience in. This is how she had sold her brand even before she was able to heal animals. And it's how she continued to try to sell her ability to a little boy who was on the receiving end of every single failure.

Fortunately, her many failures hadn't hurt Ben in any way. Though she presented confidence, she didn't make a move with her rope unless she was sure she could grab hold of the sickness. It was a surprisingly careful approach from a woman that cared very little about the details. She told her story in the way she saw it, unconcerned with reality. After all, in her mind, Francis was already hers, even though in reality she didn't even register on his radar.

Ben was different from just a detail though. He represented opportunity. She wasn't looking to go out and find another child; in fact, she had never planned on kidnapping Ben. When she offered to heal him two weeks before and asked if he would be her first miracle, she expected the procedure to go much like it did with Whiskers. She underestimated the pressure that came when caring about the occupant. She didn't care about Whiskers, which made healing him simple. The same wasn't true of Ben. She valued human life.

Deciding to keep him prisoner was a band aid on a problem that continued to bleed. Now missing for two weeks, he was a nightly focus on local news segments. The search was increasing. She feared it would only be a matter of time until further details leaked out that led to her. Did cameras catch her leaving the store? Did the parking lot feed get a look at her license plate? Did her neighbors see Ben come home with her? The questions were mounting and time was running out.

She cared about Ben but she cared about self-preservation more, which made this attempt different than the rest. Her nerves now revolved around her status instead of his. Something about this time felt different. And as she flipped the switch to see his inner workings, she was calm as she dropped her rope. Margaret knew this was one of the last times available to her. She could see the cluster in him clear as day. She pinpointed its position, lowered the rope and pulled tight.

Ben's body suddenly started to tense up, something that hadn't happened before.

"Try to stay calm, Ben. This is the time." she started to pull on the rope and he started to cough. "It's uncomfortable, I know. My cluster was like a shriveled vine of grapes. It's a miracle I didn't rip anything spitting it up. Yours seems much smaller."

These words were far more comforting to Ben than any of her motivational quotes. They weren't placebos. They were the words of one cancer survivor to another. And they helped him focus on the prize ahead. It wouldn't be long until he was home. He could feel the cluster at the back of his throat, dragging as it ascended.

"I'm going to do one final tug, Ben. On the count of 3, okay? 1—" she prepared to pull, seeing Ben's eyes starting to roll back into his head, his coughing now severe gagging. "2—breathe through your nostrils. 3!" when she said it, she pulled hard and a gagging Ben threw up a thick black cluster along with a thick coating of bile. "I told you I could do it, Ben." the smile that spread across Margaret's face was warm and celebratory. "You are my first miracle."

Immediately Ben thought about seeing his family again, finally given the gift of more time.

A few seconds of long awaited joy faded from Margaret as her imaginary man asked a question: "What now, Margaret?"

### 8

The President was free to operate in the shadows of his ability as he saw fit. Though he promised the people that they could one day do the things he did, it was an exaggeration meant to empower. Give the people goals to look toward—give them a level to aspire to and they will come together. But, what The President didn't understand was that slowly his motivations were taking on the identity of the Thing in him.

Change happens gradually and often in a way that is indiscernible to the person. The man who killed the picketer was not the same man that came back to life after a fatal gunshot wound. That man still had pure motivations and a desire to bring real change to the down-and-out. A cold man now stood in The White House, looking out as the remaining four picketers reacted to the sudden demise of their member. He had crossed a line by killing the picketer but the change had already happened. No part of him regretted it. Instead he found that it had only served to whet his appetite.

Only moments after killing the picketer in a way that could never be tied to him, a heavy cloud covered The President. The high that came from it was already deteriorating. This new and amazing feeling was already running away from him. And what it left behind was a sickened tremble and a cold chill. The President's first withdrawal was sudden and shocking. He had gotten a taste of something electrifying, a short but incredible high. He wanted to feel it again, looking out toward the remaining four with great frustration. If dropping his rope and taking away a life quietly brought this kind of high, he could only imagine what a more violent approach would do. The image of blood settled in his mind and ran down causing his skin to stand at attention.

There was a new need alive and kicking on the inside of him, an urge that was only satisfied by this one thing. Even though the halls of The White House were surrounded with the skittering that comes with the nation's upkeep, he was an island unto himself, closing his eyes to imagine violence. As he let ideas drift into his mind, the darker they became and before he knew it the imagery was a welcome nightmare. His mind was the only place where he could act out the violence, because being a man of such a high position afforded him no window of opportunity. More than anything else he wanted to kill Christians, no longer concerned with justifying the _why_.

With his eyes closed, he stepped into his mind. But, what he found wasn't simply a violent image wrapped in a neat bow, just waiting to be opened up and acted on; instead, he found that he was looking through someone else's eyes.

## –Choices–

### 1

Ken fell asleep on his couch with the TV still on, Margaret's new infomercial making an unwelcome return two separate times while he slept. When he opened his eyes early in the morning, it was still dark out. Trying to blink his eyes clear of their former state, he saw a banner on the bottom of his TV screen: **thirty dead; at least twenty injured**.

A product of desensitization, Ken scanned the screen with a long yawn and then laid back down on the couch. Within moments, he was sleeping deep again, the TV screen host to yet another outburst of violence.

### *

Deborah sat in her room, wrestling with the desire to walk further down this path with God. The bible was out and turned to the book of Revelation. She kept looking at the verses the boy wrote on the tract he had given her. He said they would verify what the Credit Chip was. If she followed them to their locations, she worried there would be no returning from it. There are some things that can't be unlearned once known. Did she want verification or did she find strange comfort in the questions?

The final book of the bible was a complete stranger to her. It had never been focused on when she was younger, only hinted at as the 'end time prophecies'. But, the priest had no interest in expounding—no interest in truly preparing the members. The only reason Deborah didn't have the Credit Chip was because of Kyle. Otherwise, it would have been just the kind of trendy thing she would have worn alongside her friends.

Though she had made no true decisions determining what she wanted her future to be, the very act of putting on the brakes had allowed change to happen within her. Never one for self-reflection, it was now what passed the hours of her day. Never one to step back and study the angles of possible outcome, she was now hesitant with every decision. A real change had taken place in her and a real depth had formed that didn't exist before.

In many ways her days had been aimless. But, aimlessness is still a better option than frivolous living. Understanding the concept of consequence following action and caring enough to put in the time and weigh the options—this was a new facet to Deborah. And though deep sadness was still a guest that had overstayed its welcome, she couldn't deny that purpose was flowing just beneath the surface of it all.

She took a deep breath as she looked at the verses written on the tract. Since that night of great loss, there was no one she could think of that offered any hope. Cold friends gave her cold opinions. Distant relatives fed her detached placebos. Only God had given clear signs of compassion and understanding. That alone was reason enough for her to follow the verses wherever they would lead.

As she flipped to the first verse, she stopped and looked at the empty spot in the bed next to her. Keith would have been so disappointed. But he was gone now. And she couldn't continue to live trying to please a dead man.

### 2

John, accustomed to carrying heavy loads of weight, returned to his room weighed down by very little. Although on the cusp of very dark days, he found a moment of true relief as he sat on the edge of his bed. His tie was now loose with his dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned. It was rare for him to feel a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Always a man to push himself to the brink of his ability, he would end each day wondering what else he could have done. His workhorse mindset kept him in a near constant state of frustration. He had big goals for his life and much he wanted to accomplish before The Lord called him home. In his mind he had done very little worth mentioning.

Being a man who was never satisfied with the long hours he put into each day, it was strange for him to feel accomplishment at the idea of battening down the hatches. But maybe the sense of accomplishment came from the fact that his new set of goals were reachable. Suddenly the future was much smaller. His mind no longer brought him to Africa, working away on the mission field; and he no longer imagined preaching to a large group of people there, eyes alive with wonder as they heard The Good News of Jesus Christ for the first time in their life.

His goals were new and refocused. He had always been concerned with the impact his efforts had. With lofty goals set throughout his life, small victories just seemed small; now, small victories had a different meaning. With the mark of the beast deceiving more and more daily, he thought about Ken, and Willow, and Lily. He had been used as an anchor for each one, helping to keep them in place as the waves raged on.

He was a missionary of the mundane, his impact equal to a few ripples in a large body of water. It reverberated and spread out quietly, much of it materializing in ways he still couldn't see.

John had wanted to follow in his father's footsteps as early as he could remember. His father had been a powerful man of God, responsible for not only planting a church in Southern Africa but also helping cultivate a body to go with it. Planting the seeds early and watering them in the beginning, his father was never able to see what grew. He was killed when John was only six, mowed down by gunfire on his second missionary trip to build a Christian school.

What he left behind was a son that was determined to finish what his father had started. But, John's dream had never materialized. Now forty eight years old and never once able to visit Africa, he was only able to see what his father had done through different updates his mother would mail him. Starting with only a seed of faith and a small building, there was now a community that loved Jesus and was passionate about spreading The Good News to any and all that would listen.

It was easy to look past the small victories and long for days that would never belong to him. He would never speak to a nation. He would never bring The Light to a third world country. This had never been his purpose. The way that night had unfolded made it abundantly clear to him.

"You're always carving, Lord." He spoke softly. "Cutting away what doesn't belong. I have wanted to continue what my father started for years. But, You have never pointed me in that direction. Though the desire is still there, I have to give it up. I am done working for a dream that doesn't belong to me."

It was a moment of true sacrifice. And though John felt understandable sadness as he let it slip out of his hands and away from him for good, it also felt like he had come up from beneath the water. Chasing his father's dream had left his purpose on the backburner, a purpose just as important as what his father had done, if not even more so.

### *

Willow was careful not to let the quiet of the night sit with her for too long. The quiet brought sadness. And when it came, it made her focus on everything but the present moment. She played a shuffle mix of classical on her cellphone as she started to price out everything they would need.

She had a notebook in the bed with her with prices scribbled next to the items in question. Even after paying off the house, paying to install the full house generator, and digging a well with space for a separate septic tank, they would have nearly forty thousand dollars leftover. She was sure that the details of what to do with the rest of the money would be discussed in the coming days.

Though both the main light from the ceiling fan and the lamp on her nightstand were shining brightly, it wasn't bright enough. The sadness was slipping in. There were very few nights when it didn't find its way to her. It was inescapable. At the end of the day she had nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. And without a task to delve into, her thoughts were far too real considering she was always looking for constant distractions.

This was when her grief was most dangerous, when that old voice of self-loathing returned and the full bodied mirror in her room beckoned her. She looked at it from her bed and then looked down at her body: a large t-shirt with sweat pants. Nothing for it to feast on. And yet it called her just same.

It had always been an abusive relationship, where it gave her little compliments just so it could further the sting of its pervasive criticism. It fed her just enough to hurt her even more. But for so long it had been her only sense of worth. It was far more familiar to her than anything else. And when struggle comes, the familiar is what's safest—even if it's not safe at all.

She got out of bed and walked to it. And immediately, the criticisms resumed.

### *

Lily had never considered that what happened with her mom was always a part of God's plan. As she let the idea sit in her, it began to expand. Even though she felt she was the sole reason for her mom's death, it was easy to forget the sovereign nature of God. His plan wasn't dismantled or interrupted by human error.

She looked around her room, the soft glow of the night light folding across the corner of the ceiling like a bookmarked page. Everyone in the house had shut themselves away in their rooms, leaving the night to pass by quietly. Not that long ago, Lily had found comfort in the quiet. It was when distractions were removed and The Lord's presence was most palpable. Since the death of her mom, the quiet had only intensified the guilt that plagued her daily. She missed her close connection with The Lord, finding that the guilt had built an effective wall. She wasn't disconnected from her spiritual sight, but she was disconnected from the One Who had given it to her.

Without her connection to The Lord, her gift was an endless nightmare. She was the only one privy to a look behind the curtain. But whereas before she was able to be in constant communication with God, now there was a divide.

She was determined to finally reconnect on this night, tracing over the events that had led to her current living situation. She had blamed herself immediately for her mom's death, wiping away any clues that pointed elsewhere. It was her weight to carry, her cross to bare—except she found that the longer she carried this cross, the farther it brought her from Christ.

When she was honest with herself—brutally honest—she knew that the real reason she had taken on the weight was not just because she felt responsible, but to mask over her disappointment in God. A few misplaced words and her mom was gone? The details surrounding it didn't point to God being sovereign whatsoever. In fact, it made it seem like He was taken by surprise as much as she was. If He couldn't deter a few misplaced words from having a fatal consequence, what was He actually capable of doing? If words took Him by surprise—she had seen it from this perspective since it happened.

Now, she was looking at it from a different angle. If this had always been a part of God's plan, _a few misplaced words_ could have been replaced with many things. Her mom was already at the end of her rope. Some people never get better from grief. Some people sit in it until the environment poisons them. If anything, only a sovereign God could have set the pieces in such a way that her and Willow would end up with Pastor John.

As Lily began to change her view on her mom's death, the wall of guilt began to fall away. Immediately that familiar warmth rushed toward her as the connection was reestablished.

"How I've missed You, Jesus." she nestled into bed as she closed her eyes, feeling warm for the first time in months.

### 3

Margaret hadn't answered her imaginary man yet. She just smiled at Ben, covering up the internal struggle. She had never considered what would come after she healed him. Of course if she had been able to do it successfully on the first day, she would have gladly brought him home to share the good news with his family.

But, she had held him prisoner for two weeks. Even though she had healed him, her image would be forever ruined. People wouldn't focus on the outcome; they would only focus on the fact that she had kidnapped him. It was unfair and closed minded. The means were necessary if they wanted a cancer-free end.

Ben was healed. And yet she knew his family would never see it that way. They would only see Margaret as unhinged and dangerous. She had worked hard to build her brand as someone that could be trusted, as someone who loved all living creatures, as someone who was only concerned with the betterment of others. She played her roles well, her TV personality an expertly designed facade that she wore everywhere she went.

"When can we go, Margaret?" Ben thought about his brothers and how he would finally be well enough to wrestle with them.

"Soon, Ben." She smiled again as she turned away from him.

"Is it worth ruining what we could have?" her imaginary man had suddenly become far more real, no longer part of a made up conversation where she played both roles. The voice she heard even sounded like Francis. "You are on my level now, sweetheart. You can heal. Let this boy be a means to an end. He helped unlock your ability and he will always be special because of it. But, you can't give him back. If you do, we'll never be together."

She thought about Francis, the man that had stolen her heart, the man that had given her life back to her. And then she thought about Ben and how his family was waiting for him. For a moment a small part of her was conflicted. But, her concern for Ben was nothing but a small section when compared to the idea of losing her man.

Between the two, the option was easy. She had already worked very hard to be worthy of her man. And some little cancer-kid wasn't going to stop her now. He had been an effective guinea pig to help her reach the next stage, but the outcome was never going to be his to enjoy. Now faced with the problem, Margaret realized that the moment she chained him to the bed was the moment his fate was already sealed.

Still turned away from him, she had to make sure her next claim was convincing. Fittingly, she prepared to treat this situation much like a pet owner would when knowing they have to put the creature to sleep. She didn't show her hand. She didn't hint at the inevitable. She simply turned around and displayed a comforting smile as she said, "I'll grab the key to unlock those chains, Ben."

As she went upstairs, Ben looked at the stone wall at the bottom of the stairs. He was about to be free from this prison. Free and back with his family—

The sound of her feet coming back down the stairs interrupted his thought. She had the small key for the padlock in her hand.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you get home, Ben?" the smile she displayed was simple and terrifying. The warmth she was able to convey pointed to a soulless interior. Once she had made the decision to put him down, she never looked back. And now she was completely sold on the idea, doing everything she could to lull him into a false sense of security.

"I'm sure mom will give me one of those big hugs," he was looking next to Margaret, as if he was already watching it happen. "Maybe we'll even get to have a pizza night tonight."

"It's kind of late, Ben" Margaret keyed the lock and turned, that smile yet to drop away. The lock popped open and she quickly pulled the chains off of him.

"Maybe tomorrow then." he paused with a shrug. "It doesn't matter what we do. I just can't wait to be home again."

"Very understandable. Home is where the heart is, after all." her cliches continued. "Just follow me upstairs and we'll get you home."

Ben got out of the bed, stepping toward the stairs. As he started to follow her up, he noticed that all of the lights were off in the house. The only place where there was light was in the windowless basement. A familiar chill followed behind him. This time he didn't push it away.

"You're not taking me home, are you?" he had stopped walking up the stairs, now frozen somewhere between the top and bottom stair.

"Nonsense, Ben." she looked back at him from the top stair. "Why do you say such a ridiculous thing?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Be-because you've held me captive."

"For your own good, Ben. Just so I could heal you. When you asked to leave early, I couldn't let you go. But, you're healed now. Let's get you home." a seamless deflection.

There was no way she was so dense. Ben was only eleven years old and he fully understood the concept of loose ends. He had seen her face. She was a famous person. Even if he tried to find a believable reason to explain why he had been gone for such an extended period of time, he knew that his parents wouldn't buy it. She had to have known that he could undo everything she had built. Ben felt stupid for believing he would get to go home again. A tear slipped down his cheek and then another as he began to back down the stairs.

"Can I call my family just one time? J-just once?" his small body was now pressed against the stone wall, Margaret looking like nothing more than a thin shadow at the top of the stairs.

She had planned on leading him to the SUV parked in her garage. And once he was sitting in the backseat, she would have asked him to think of his happiest memory with his family. Once she saw a smile crawl on his lips in remembrance, she was going to drop her rope and kill him quickly. But, Ben was smarter than she expected him to be. He saw through her facade. All that was left to do was for her to try and salvage what remained.

"You'll always be my first miracle, Ben." Margaret started to step back down the stairs. "You will always be very special to me. All the good I will do now, all the sick people I will heal, it is in honor of you. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, Ben. I promise." Once she stepped out of the remaining shadow that lingered near the top of the stairs, the light painted a terrifying display. Her smile was different than the rest. It was upturned and long, stretching high up her cheeks. He saw it for only a moment and then it went away. A glimpse inside the woman he had trusted.

"Pl-please do-don't do this." he backed into the room, Margaret following close behind. "Jus-just let me go h-home."

"You have made it possible for many others. It will be absolutely painless. I promise."

She flipped the switch in her mind, now able to see his blue source. He continued backing away, ending up on the bed he had been chained to. In the fetal position, he closed his eyes trying to find a happy memory. What his mind gave him was his family's last camping trip before he was diagnosed.

Margaret saw his beating heart. She dropped her rope quickly and pulled tight, watching Ben's small body loosen as his life left him. No part of her felt sick from it. Her only focus was having Francis as her own. And with Ben just another obstacle out of her way, she looked toward the future with great anticipation.

After life leaves a body, a smell quickly follows. She still had a long night ahead of her...

### 4

The President opened his eyes, excusing himself to his nightly quarters. Whatever was waiting behind his closed eyes was going to take time. Now sitting on the edge of his bed, away from everyone, he closed them again. And like before, he found that he was looking through eyes that weren't his.

Henry Ashley was a man of experience. With multiple tours to Iraq under his belt, he understood how bad the world could be. He was a single man, late into his sixties. He shaved his head even though he could grow hair: he was accustomed to war conditions, even at home. There had been a time when he was caught by surprise. It almost cost him his life. He vowed to never be unprepared again.

As the world started to change, he made sure to change with it. The Credit Chip had been in him for over six months, Henry being one of the first to get it in Iowa even though he lived in Wisconsin. Preparation was his religion. He prided himself on knowing the trajectory that the times would follow. As soon as President Pummel started implementing the Credit Chip, he knew it would be the new currency.

The barcode on the inside of his wrist looked new compared to the faded war tattoos that stamped his arms randomly. This night was no different than any other. He sat in an old leather reclining chair in his one bedroom one bath ranch house, his 65" flat screen TV the only thing on his wall. He prodded the 24 hour news channels, watching two at once. There were always inconsistencies in their reporting.

"Questions revolving around The Holy Army have only started to grow." Lidia Johnson, the news anchor on the left, was easily his least favorite. He didn't want her opinions; he wanted facts. And yet she interjected with her own point of view far too often. "I know I have a few of my own, as well."

"Nobody cares. Report o—"

Suddenly, he felt emptied of everything. And thoughts of violence quickly filled the space. Though never one to respect those that believed in a higher power, he also wasn't one to impede on their freedom. He had always believed that the freedom he fought for included everyone from every walk of life. And yet, all he could think of now was how obtrusive they had become in trying to prevent the world from getting better.

The President saw through Henry and as the hate he had toward Christians filled Henry's mind, he was no longer just a passenger watching something unfold. Once his thoughts became Henry's, he became Henry. Henry's movements were his; Henry's decisions were his; Henry's knowledge was his—and yet, true to the puppeteer in both of them, the Spirit let them think they were in control. It would even help The President explain this away logically when all was said and done—he was laughably gullible, after all.

The Head Spirit had learned in It's time that the best form of possession is when the person doesn't know they are possessed. It had learned not to show too much too soon, understanding that the human condition on its own is already capable of horrible things. It only takes the right thoughts with a bit of nurturing to create fingerprint-free violence.

Much like how The President had an unnamed man set the pieces in place for his frame job, The President played the same role for the Head Spirit. The President's motivations were mostly his; the Head Spirit just planted a few thoughts now and then and let them grow. Very little work was needed when dealing with humans, which is why the Head Spirit liked the medium so much. They truly believed they were in control, which made the manipulation that much easier.

Although fully possessed, the ideas filling Henry's mind weren't all that strange to him. Already a man hardened by the horrors of war, he had done many questionable things when he thought they were necessary for the greater good. Prying fingernails free from lower level terrorist leaders, waterboarding a known sniper for intel, breaking bones to satisfy the inner monster war creates—he had done it all and it all had been necessary in his mind.

His mind landed in the same grouping as he loaded a machine gun and extra magazines from his extensive closet armory into his duffel bag. What he was planning to do was necessary. It would send a hard hitting message to those trying to get in the way of better things that the people wouldn't stand for it anymore. The people were tired of the status quo, tired of being disregarded and seen as unimportant.

It wasn't hard for The President's thoughts to fit perfectly in Henry's mind. Their worldviews were very similar. The thoughts didn't feel alien to him. Instead, it felt like something had finally snapped, a frustration that had been building for years. Even though the Head Spirit had full control of the situation, The President's blooming rage was a welcome reprieve. He had more than enough hate in him to fuel a massacre.

Henry zipped up his duffel bag as he left his house, the cold air feeling warm when it hit his tough skin. He was wearing nothing more than a white t-shirt and a gray pair of athletic shorts: a common look for a man that spent most of his time at the gym. His house was only a block and a half away from one of the town's churches. He looked at the smart watch on his wrist, set to military time: 2000 (8:00 p.m.).

Saturday night services were one of the churches' staples, usually drawing close to a hundred people. The church was a converted store. He had been in there a few times, invited by _caring_ neighbors worried about his eternal destination. He remembered the front entrance having one greeter which then led into the worship hall. A low budget affair, they set up black fold out chairs instead of permanent pews. The interior of the building was small and claustrophobic, with only two ways out.

Because Henry knew this, The President did as well. He knew where the exits were and how non-existent the security was. A tingle of power coursed through him at the very idea, an explosion in his senses. This high was already greater than the one he felt when he dropped his rope and killed the picketer. Already greater even though nothing had happened yet. The anticipation alone was comparable to a heroin user coming alive at the sight of the needle.

Henry approached the church and The President's body reacted with euphoric bursts. This was far greater than anything sexual. It was a fully realized existence with a power that was only continuing to increase and branch off. No violence had occurred yet. To think his current euphoria was only a tease to what he would feel was almost too much to handle.

The church was only a short series of steps away from Henry. Through the glass window he could see a few soft strobe lights in an otherwise dark room. The parking lot he was currently passing through was filled with cars: a full house. He unzipped his duffel bag, tucking a few mags in his shorts band, covering it with his white t-shirt. As he approached the glass door he dropped the bag, the machine gun in his right hand.

Keeping the weapon concealed was easy enough, considering the parking lot shared no space with any other open business. The church, though part of a community of buildings, was on an island on this night. Even if anyone had seen Henry holding the gun, he was already too close to the front door.

The dark in the building laid across the greeter, only part of his face being lit by the dancing strobe lights. Henry opened the door and immediately pulled the trigger, his first series of bullets filling the greeter. And then he stood at the back of the church, sweeping the gun from side to side. What had been deep worship was now anguish as screams of shock and fear broke through the worship leader's song.

"Keep the lights off!" the worship leader urged into his microphone. "Everyone on the groun—" a bullet burst through his head, killing him instantly.

As Henry reloaded, letting one mag fall to the floor and popping another in, The President felt his eyes roll into the back of his head, the sensation so powerful and the satisfaction a thick honey dripping all over him. He had yet to see the blood but the sound of their anguish was wonderful. They deserved to suffer for trying to stop his movement. They deserved to bleed for the names they called him. While it was euphoric for him, it was simply a mission for Henry.

"This will only get worse if you continue to try and stop progress. This is a message, ladies and gentlemen. One you will never forget." he spoke clearly and with authority, making them think he was done shooting. But, then they heard the loud pops of sound start again, Henry now aiming lower than before.

"Save us, Lord!" he heard someone cry out in desperation.

"Deliver us, Jesus!" another cried.

As Henry continued to sweep the gun from side to side, he felt an immense pressure grow in his head. Suddenly everything went black—

As quickly as it was established, the connection was cut. The President opened his eyes, the high removed, leaving him feeling sick and aimless. Without completion, without seeing the carnage, it was a poison in his body. He felt shriveled up and empty, removed from the one thing that made him fully alive. Not getting to revel in the remains, not getting to see the dead eyes of those bugs—nothing had ever been more disappointing.

Why the dream had to end—why the fantasy had to stop when it was just getting good—why he wasn't able to witness the aftermath of his violent and vivid imagination—

"Mr. President?" a knock came at his door.

"Yes." he answered quickly.

"There has been a church shooting in Sherry, Wisconsin."

A long smile grew on his face as the high returned, the reality of his growing power now vividly clear. "I'll be right out."

### 5

" _What I think will always haunt me the most is the feedback from the microphone that followed Mike's death."_

" _Who's Mike?"_ the person interviewing her asked.

" _He wa-was our worship leader. Even after the shooting was done, th-the feedback continued. He was heroic, using his last moments telling us what to do, tr-trying to keep us safe."_ A red haired woman with tears in her eyes said, a microphone shoved in her face.

" _Different members of the church have said that it was a miracle. What was miraculous about this tragedy?"_

" _Um, as we called out for Jesus' help, the shooter died s-suddenly. He had another two magazines on him and was determined to kill as many of us as he could. But The Lord had other plans."_

Ken shook his head, now fully awake after opening his eyes to the interview.

"Does everything point to God for these people? 'Oh, we only lost thirty. Could have been a lot more.'" He shut off the TV.

Grief can make you cynical, operating with one foot in two different places, nothing is what it seems. For an undetermined amount of time, you are trapped in a room of funhouse mirrors. All perception is changed and yet you are expected to see things like everyone else does.

A knock came at his door. He looked out the sliding glass door to his left first, the sun just barely starting to peak out from the horizon. He got up from the couch and walked to the front door which was right of him and left of the kitchen. Another knock came, quieter than the first.

When he opened the door, a blonde girl in a little black dress was standing outside holding black high heels by the straps.

"Oh. Wrong door." her smile was beautiful despite her smeared red lipstick. "This isn't my complex, if you couldn't tell. It's been a long night."

Ken smiled while rubbing his head. "Sounds memorable."

Her eyes rolled to the edges in thought as she bit her lip. "Something like that." her laugh, though just a taste, was infectious, immediately sending warmth into a cold young man. "But maybe this is the perfect cap to the night. Don't tell me the universe isn't trying to tell me something, bringing me to your door. I love tall men."

Ken thought about Rosy for a moment, his immediate guilt slipping away as he focused on the girl's smile. And then he looked at her eyes, blue like his, but hers were beautiful. He thought about everything that had happened recently and how lonely he felt. This was the first time in months that he felt anything remotely close to happiness.

"Offer withstanding?" she put away one smile and pulled out another. "I'm _very_ good."

Ken pushed his door open wider as he stepped aside. "Come on in."

"You're not much for talking, are you? The strong, silent type. Ka-ching." It was clear that she was under the influence. How much and in what way, he didn't know. More than anything, he just welcomed the company. You can only be alone for so long until it starts to break you apart.

She had hinted at sex. Though one part of him was very interested, her altered state immediately removed it from the equation.

"What's your name, tall man?" probably too much alcohol.

"It's Ken." he said, as he offered her a seat on the couch.

"I'm Barbie," her second laugh was long enough that it branched off into another. She remained standing, pacing back and forth. "Not really. That would be perfect though, right? Barbie and her Ken?"

Ken nodded along with an amused smile.

"My actual name is Katy. Blah. Not as exciting as Barbie, but I do what I can with what I have."

"That's a nice name. Definitely better than Barbie." Ken said as he cleared his throat.

She stopped pacing and looked at him. "That is _literally_ the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Ken laughed, "You are starved for compliments then."

"I'm starving, Kenny. Starving." She looked around his apartment. "I love all your wall art, by the way." There was nothing on his walls, a sarcastic observation that nearly made him burst out laughing. She brought newness to an old life. She brought excitement to his misery. He would never not miss Rosy but he also couldn't stay where he was at. What was wrong with some companionship?

"I'm glad you came to my door by accident, Katy. It was just what I needed this morning."

"Me too, Kenny. A good cap to end a wild night. Rain check on the sex? I'm starting to feel pretty tired."

He laughed through his nose, "Rain check it is."

### *

Deborah had been up all night, each bible verse leading to another. Soon into her search she started the book of Revelation over from the beginning and read it straight through. Though a terrifying story throughout filled with agony and horror, she kept thinking about the promise at the end, of the day when Jesus would wipe away every tear. For a little girl who had a poor relationship with her father and for someone that had shed many hidden tears in her life, that idea was a revelation to her.

She focused on the end, because the rest of the details were too hard to handle. If the Credit Chip really was the mark of the beast, her boy was not in a better place—she knew this but had to push it into a small dark room in her mind and lock it away. Her boy was gone from her life; she could put him wherever she wanted him to be, regardless of the reality. And that's what she did.

She looked out the window in her bedroom, seeing the sun pressing into the dark. Moment by moment, she watched as only a speck of light quickly faded away the night, defining the parameters of the new day. God was speaking in a language she was finally starting to understand.

### 6

John had always been an early riser. He was already dressed, standing in front of his closet door mirror, working out the opening to this morning's sermon. It was going to be about God's true voice and how He speaks in small and personal ways instead of the loud and bombastic.

"In 1st Kings 19, after Elijah has called down fire from heaven, consuming all of Jezebel's high priests, he then fled in fear when she threatened his life. Now hiding in the caves, God calls him out to be in His presence, telling him He will soon pass by. So, first a great wind came, tearing through the mountain. But, God was not in the wind. Next came an earthquake, powerful and mighty, but The Lord was not in the earthquake. After that there came a fire, great and searing, but the Lord was not in the fire. And then there came a whisper—"

His door opened suddenly. Junior was standing there, his usually calm eyes wide and fear filled.

"What's the matter, son?" John asked, stepping away from the mirror.

"I think something's wrong, dad. I-I just went to the bathroom and there's blood."

A pang of fear stabbed into him as he swallowed hard. But, he was careful not to let Junior see it. He manufactured a comforting smile, "It's going to be fine, son. We'll get you checked out today. Where was the blood?"

"I-I've been having some stomach pain for the last couple of weeks—"

"One or two, son?"

"Two."

"A lot of blood?"

"More than normal." Junior approached the topic with noticeable discomfort. The last thing he wanted was to be another burden on his father's already overloaded mind.

"I'll have Steve fill in for me today."

"Don't cancel church, dad. It can wait."

"No, son. Life is about defining your priorities." John gave a stern nod of the head to his boy. The weight was back, heavier than ever. Although John had grown accustomed to carrying a great deal of weight, there is only so much one man can handle.

### *

Willow felt dirty for giving into what the mirror required from her throughout the night, just as dirty as when one of the boys from school enjoyed the access she used to readily give. Though they were different in appearance, the act was one in the same. She loved to be seen as beautiful, and gave pieces of herself in exchange for it. Whereas boys peppered her with the right compliments before the feast, the mirror gave her a glimpse of attraction to draw her in and then pulled her apart piece by piece.

When her dad died, insecurity took his place. The mirror became a confidante, a critical parent that gave compliments sparingly and with great conditions. Christ's words sat in her, a truth that she couldn't always possess. Even as she had started to grow in her new identity, she found the lure of the old was still an attractive detour at times. It always left her feeling dirty but familiar dirt can feel more like a home than a fresh start.

A fresh start means putting in the work to lay a foundation; the familiar is already there, a rundown structure in a dirty place, ready to house a wanderer. People flee to the dirty familiar when they don't truly feel like they have a home. Willow loved Jesus but she still didn't feel like she was home in Him.

Rosy had been her deepest connection to Him, able to put into words things she didn't understand, and able to connect the dots between scripture and now in a way that made sense. Rosy had been able to make the Word come to life. With her gone, much of Willow's understanding went with her.

"If God gives you another day, He's given you another chance." Rosy used to tell this to Willow when she felt shame after allowing access. "Grab hold of it and try again." These words now dropped into her mind, a guiding memory.

### *

Lily woke up with clear sight. The film of worldly perception removed from her eyes, she was free to see the losses in her life as eternal gain. It wasn't her fault her mom was no longer alive; it had always been part of a much greater plan. Of course there was still sadness, a residue that would only fade with time, but the guilt that had accompanied it was gone.

Over the last few months she had gotten used to waking up alone, wearing the weight of her mom's death. It had ground her down to an unrecognizable state, where faith in God had been replaced with questions, and where constant communication with Him had been replaced with silence. They were easily the loneliest days of her life and the longer they went on the easier it was to forget how special her relationship with God was. Even though she had walked with the light on for the entirety of her life, once the light went out, her eyes learned to adapt to the dark, able to see just enough to navigate.

Now that the light was back on and she could fully see again, she realized how lost she had been for the last few months. She knew that the future was only going to hold hardship and struggle; this reality was only growing more apparent daily. But, the only thing that truly worried her was the idea of walking in the dark again and learning how to live without the light. It had happened once. She couldn't let it happen again.

### 7

Margaret wrapped Ben's body in a sheet, put him in the back of her SUV and drove two and a half hours south to her Uncle's country house in Virginia. Though she wasn't close to any of her family, especially her Uncle, he owned one hundred acres of land. Having been there several times in her thirty eight years, she knew there were plenty of places where she could dispose of Ben without her Uncle ever knowing she had been on his property.

She buried him deep, at the base of a random tree in a thick patch of woods. Having parked her vehicle in the ditch on the country road, hundreds of feet from the beginning of the property, she trudged back through thick grass and tall weeds. It took far less time than when she had Ben draped over her shoulder.

All in all, disposing of Ben's body took every minute of the night, leaving Margaret dirty and exhausted when she finally returned to her house. And yet, she also felt fully invigorated. The early morning sun spilled into her house, painting the dark rooms with thick stripes of light, warming her cold skin.

Getting rid of Ben was an unfortunate necessity, an act that had only struck her with guilt for the briefest moment. But then the reality of his sacrifice gave her a feeling of hope. She could now help others like Francis had helped her. And even more importantly, she could now have Francis as her own.

### 8

The President was learning how to savor the high in secret because of his position. It was his obligation as leader of the country to speak on the shooting and offer some kind of condolence for the surviving bugs. He stood behind the podium in the media room, the grouping of cameras ready and waiting.

"Another bout of violence has struck this country. For the families of the thirty people who had their lives taken from them, I want to offer my sincerest sympathy." He hated saying every word. But, he knew how to twist the message in his favor and maybe even make this tragedy their fault. A good politician knows how to twist anything. "Now some would say that this tragedy was retribution for the attempt on my life on January 21st. I cannot provide you with the reason why the shooter decided to open fire on the innocent. What I can say is that there is no moment or situation where violence of any kind is warranted. Do I hold any ill will against the person or persons that tried to take my life? No. What makes up all human kind is passion and opinion and our search for truth. Whichever member of The Holy Army pulled the trigger when trying to kill me, I know he or she was just operating based on their truth." he paused to clear his throat. "Having said that, I am in a frustrating position of influence. I can try to instill a worldview to encourage unity among all. But, at the end of the day, people are going to do what they feel is right, what they feel is true." he paused for effect. "Though I want freedom for all to apply for all, it should not be a boundary free concept. Freedom for all should not be just applicable for any and all. Some freedoms need to fall away if they are damaging to the country. Just think, not that long ago, we had schools for white and schools for black. People were free to think they were superior because of their color of skin. And the law around them only helped support this. Have we not evolved from this? Have we not matured in our understanding? The fact that history has a way of repeating itself should not be a construct we make room for. The segregation of the past should not be allowed to spread to the present simply because it is wearing a different face." another pause, as he softened his eyes in preparation for a new tangent. "My fellow Americans, I have promised you that better things are ahead and a bright future is in reach. We are on the cusp of greatness. We are so close to breaking through the barrier that has crippled our country since its genesis. We are so close to being a unified whole. And yet I am standing here once again to comment on mindless violence and many more people being lost. The idea of retribution needs to fall away from us, just as our tails did millions of years ago. If you ever want to reach heights where you can fish disease from family members—if you ever want to step into the next stage of evolution, we must be united. United in how we think. United in what we believe. And united in cultivating a future that our closed minded ancestors never could have dreamed of. Frankly, I am tired of addressing this country due to tragedy. I am fed up with the status quo. You elected me because I promised change. But, lasting change is not possible without a new mindset. Do not look to the past for examples of what has been done. Look to the future. After all, our country was built on the desire to change the status quo and sail the vast seas of uncertainty in search for a better life. If a few explorers hadn't gone in search for better, we would still be under England's boot. The same is true of now. If we do not step out from under old ways of thinking, we will never reach our full potential. And that would be the biggest tragedy of all." he smiled at the cameras. "We can make this country truly great. But, it starts with each and every one of you."

He stepped away from the cameras, the high from the massacre starting to fade. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for the carnage. It was gone, over far too soon for a man that now craved the taste.

##  –The Passing of Time–

### 1

What started as a drunken mistake quickly turned into something very real. Katy had done something Ken never thought possible: she had given him hope for a future. And in some ways she had taken the place Rosy had occupied. He rarely listened to Rosy's voice message anymore. She was gone. Either he could continue to bury himself in her loss or try to move forward in some small way.

Katy was exactly one month older than Ken. Two weeks 21 when she met Ken, they celebrated his 21st birthday 2 weeks later. She made good on her rain check promise, introducing Ken to a new level of intimacy that Rosy had never allowed. The initial guilt he felt that came from it faded as it became a more frequent occurrence. Whether or not it was wrong or too soon or even disrespectful to her memory, the simple truth was that Katy was keeping Ken afloat.

The summer months came and went. Although Katy knew certain details about Ken's life, he was careful not to share too much too soon. After all, people buried in grief are not fun company. Instead, he did his best to stay in the moment, brushing away the pain when she was around only to let it return when she went home. She acted as a reprieve from the loneliness, a distraction from the dark.

Sometimes she left him happy enough that it carried him through lonely nights when she didn't stay over; sometimes her company simply wasn't enough and Ken was forced to find another way to push down the pain. Alcohol worked fine. It helped group together his pain and drown it as a collective whole. No lingering strands remained untouched. It made him feel both miserable and full, a strangely satisfying outcome.

With his mom providing him money from his dad's insurance policy monthly, Ken had no need for a job or to interact with the outside world, other than his time with Katy. He had created a middle ground oasis, a place where he was just happy enough to keep on breathing. He had come to the conclusion early on that his life would never be close to what it was. All he could do was salvage the little bit that remained.

Katy spoke to an old part of Ken. She didn't offer him encouragement by looking up, instead she tried to show him the power that he already had within: _Good thoughts can go a long way in the healing process._

When it came to advice, he missed Rosy. He missed her depth and how she helped him look beyond himself. If Ken had learned one thing with Katy it was that he did not have enough _good thoughts_ in him to bring about any real change. The longer he was with her, the more he longed for a deeper connection. Katy's advice was only surface deep because she didn't believe in any true depth. She would have been the perfect girl for the Ken who laughed at Rosy's belief in God. No matter how much he tried to be that man again, he couldn't.

Whether he was willing to admit it or not, the seed was still in him and he could never return to who he had been. He knew of a light. Even though he continued to live in the dark did not change the fact that he longed for more. It's strange how light works. It's not concerned or intimidated with the dark around it. A small flick of a flame can light up the darkest pit. Even as Ken was trying to live separate from God, he wanted more of Him. This was only becoming clearer as he found that Katy only offered him the same kind of platitudes commonly heard with his dad.

On September 29th, after another session was enjoyed in his bed, Katy was nestled against him, her head resting on his chest.

"That was nice." she gave him a satisfied look as she sighed.

Ken kissed her head as he started drawing scribbles on her bare back with his fingers. "Katy? Wa-what do you think the Credit Chip is?" it was the same question he had asked Rosy after Kyle got the procedure done. He had never asked it to her before.

"Money." she kind of snickered. "Why?"

"I still think about what happened to my brother after he got it. What it did to him."

She paused for a moment, as if she didn't want to say what was on her mind.

"You can say what you're thinking." he injected the silence with another nudge.

"I-if it was the Credit Chip, why hasn't everyone gone crazy?"

"What if it's the mark? The one from the bible."

The movement she made with her body immediately told him he had struck a nerve. He stopped rubbing as she moved away from him. "The bible, Ken? You are _really_ reaching. You wonder if it comes from a book that has historically been disproven time and time again? I know you're searching, sweetie, but don't veer off into pathetic terrain—"

His silence was enough to make her back pedal.

"—I didn't mean pathetic, baby. I just meant I don't want you wasting your time on dead ends."

_Like this relationship?_ It was a temporary thought he nearly said, but he held his tongue. "Okay." There was so much else he wanted to say, but it seemed like a waste of time.

"I know you look to other reasons because the idea that there was no reason for it is too hard to handle."

Ken nodded his head, now listening to the point she was trying to make.

"I understand how it would change your worldview, maybe even make you look for something bigger than yourself. I support your search for reason, baby, but I don't want to lose you through the pursuit. What can I do to prove to you once and for all that the Credit Chip is no different than carrying around a credit card?"

"You don't have to prove anything. I understand that my brother was messed up but you didn't see him after he got it. He was different, colder than he had been. He killed Rosy and then came with me to her funeral. There was no remorse, no regret, no sense that he had done anything wrong."

"Maybe he was sick, Ken. A psychotic break. Schizophrenia manifesting? Maybe he had always struggled with something he didn't understand."

Even though she made valid points and they would have explained Kyle's deterioration near the end, it still didn't sit right with Ken. He knew his brother. What he became was not who he had been. Something changed when he got that Chip. Rosy understood it and tried to warn him; Katy simply didn't want to see it. If there was some validity to Ken's belief, it meant there was some validity to that _disproven book_.

She was not going to let these beliefs grab hold of her new man. It was their four month anniversary since meeting and she could see a real future with him. She was not going to let him be caught up in a theory based around nonsense.

"Let's pick this up tomorrow," Ken said as he turned away to sleep on his side. "Good night."

"Good night," instead of laying down, Katy sat up against the wall, closing her eyes in thought. The 'why' to his brother's snap had plagued Ken since the beginning of their relationship. She was determined to bring some peace to the situation.

### *

On Ken's 21st birthday, Deborah did all she could to make it something special for her boy. She invited him over to the house early so she could make his favorite breakfast. Ken made an appearance but the warmth they used to share was still absent. Deborah considered that maybe it was just the house because Ken didn't act like he wanted nothing to do with her now; instead it just seemed like he didn't know where he fit. Sadly she didn't know what to tell him. Her boy was now a man and he had to find his own way.

Deborah's way led somewhere she never could have imagined. The boy who handed her the pamphlet and directed her to the bible verses belonged to the church around the corner from her house. And now so did she. The church environment was a welcome change from what she grew up with and the Christ she was learning about offered welcome depth when compared to the corpse of a character He had been portrayed as in the Catholic Church.

On June 19th she was one of six people who were baptized with water. She didn't invite her boy. It was a change she was sure he would have been against, considering that her Keith would have been loud and vocal in his opposition. She was alone in this new journey and yet it was the fullest she had been in a very long time.

She recorded her testimony on video that then played to the congregation before the pastor walked her through the steps involved with her public display:

" _I don't know how these are supposed to go. I'm still very new to the idea. I have been a proud atheist since, well, when I think about it, I never truly believed in anything. I was forced into the Catholic Church as a little girl, confirmed at thirteen, and joyfully departed when I was finally old enough. I was either seventeen or eighteen when I left. I can't quite remember the details. I do know that Jesus was nothing more than a ridiculous myth that belonged in the past to me. I wanted nothing to do with Him, and nothing to do with any religion that featured Him._ " On the videotape, she was wearing a black t-shirt with her dark blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. " _I wouldn't be here if I hadn't lost my husband and my oldest son. It's strange to try and retrace the steps that have led here. To many they wouldn't make sense. But, pain and tragedy have a way of reducing you to only your foundation. All other structure is knocked away. You start searching for more when you realize you are made up of nothing that lasts."_ she paused as she clicked her tongue in thought, emotion absent from her recollection. _"Desperation makes you do stupid things. My boy fell in with the wrong crowd, started using heroin, ended up in jail—he just wanted to start over. S-so, he got the Credit Chip."_ the room where she had locked away the knowledge of Kyle's fate started to open up, breaking apart her calm recollection _. "It ch-changed him. It took my b-boy away, leaving behind a monster. My son killed my husband only eight days after getting the Chip. And-and then he died trying to get rid of it."_ She wiped her eyes clear of forming tears. _"Lingering questions have led me here in search for more. I am still very new in this faith. The only thing I know is that Jesus no longer seems like a myth to me."_

It wasn't a usual conversion video. It didn't have a happy ending with a muddy middle. It had tragedy with a still uncertain end. She didn't have a full story to tell. She didn't have feel good words to leave with the congregation. She had a ripped apart life with God being the only light she could see. What people at the church saw was simply a woman following clear direction. She didn't know where it would end up. She only knew that this was the beginning...

What it led to didn't make her days noticeably better. The pain didn't disappear; it didn't even fade. In fact, her losses only became more apparent as the months wore on. What would have been her 24th marriage anniversary on August 23rd was just a sad reminder of what she no longer had. She continued to live in the house best she could, but she knew it would never be _home_ again. Everything that had given it such a warm title was now missing.

When she accepted Christ, she didn't expect a cure. She knew it was the start to a brand new story. Her expectations were realistic. All she needed from Him was a point to keep working toward. As long as the light didn't go out, she could continue to focus on taking steps forward. When an atheist comes to Christ, the foundation is stronger than most because no decision is made loosely, and no expectation is based on a romanticized vision of faith. Just because she had Jesus didn't mean her best days were ahead; it simply meant she now had something to hope for.

On September 28th, after enjoying a Wednesday night service delivered by a guest speaker, she was approached by a short Asian woman that had long black hair pulled into one tight braid. She had never seen her before. Even with a three inch heel, she barely came up to Deborah's chin.

"Deborah? My name is Cheryl. I just need to ask you one question. Your answer determines where we go from here."

"Okay," Deborah snickered with confusion.

"Do you believe the Credit Chip is spiritually damning?"

She didn't want to believe that but she could only lie to herself for so long. She couldn't speak to reply. It was still something she couldn't verbally admit. But her head nodded in reply as she swallowed hard.

"Please follow me." Cheryl walked as if she was running late at all times, her perfectly postured body scurrying here and there. She always seemed to be propelled by a sense of urgency.

Deb followed her out of the room where the service took place and down a well-lit corridor. They passed by a door labelled **Nursery** on the left, coming to a door labelled **Office 1** on the right. Cheryl opened the door and hurried in. The guest speaker of the night was sitting behind the desk. A black haired man with a beard to match, he smiled as he saw her.

"Hello, Deborah. Your story needs to be heard. People need to know what the Credit Chip is." These people didn't mince their words. He conveyed the same urgency as Cheryl.

"How do you know who I am?"

"We saw your conversion video. Your pastor is an old friend of mine. What has happened to you is absolutely horrible. I'm sad to say you aren't alone. Random and deadly outbursts have happened in many different parts of the country. The one thread between them all is the Credit Chip. Pummel is the devil and he's setting the stage quietly, making promises he doesn't intend on keeping. He wants the people to see the benefits so they won't see the trap."

She nodded her head again as a reply.

"The media loves him. Even though there are several cases of compelling evidence that prove the Chip is making people violent, it isn't reported on. That's where we come in."

"Ha-who are you?"

"Just two low level members of The Holy Army."

"The Holy Army is in Ransom?" Deborah could hardly believe it. Though she had seen plenty about them on the news, she didn't believe their influence was wide reaching.

"We are trying to be everywhere, Deborah. With so many voices out there deceived and determined to remove God from the world, as believers in Jesus Christ we need to band together to bring hope and truth to anyone that will hear. We are not violent like the media claims. But we are outspoken. We stand on the Word of God above everything else because the enemy of all souls is in The White House. What will happen to those of us that don't have the Chip when it is the only accepted currency? Your house will be repossessed. Your car will be taken. You won't be able to find food or water or shelter. You will be homeless. How many people are ready to experience this level of persecution when all they have to do is get a small barcode and a chip to prevent it? Even those on the fence will give in, unless they know what it is." he paused as he looked around. "That doesn't even cover the growing need for power. Just look at Margaret Stills. Pummel's first miracle is now performing her own. And she is teaching people how to do the same. The lie is alive and growing and the closer we get to the deadline, the more attractive it is going to become."

"How can I help with _this_?" Deborah looked around too, as if to hint at the size of the task.

"We are all foot soldiers in The Holy Army. If everyone does their part, we can change the world. All we need from you is your story. Except, don't cut out the details like you did with your conversion video. Don't clean up the dirt. Tell it in all its horror. If that's too much to ask, please just tell us whatever you can."

"Tonight?" Deborah wasn't sure she was ready to go into detail about an event that only played over and over in her mind. She would never not see the details. They were branded into her memory.

"It doesn't have to be tonight. Cheryl will give you her contact information. When you are ready, you let us know." he smiled as he gestured to Cheryl. "It was a pleasure, Deborah. I look forward to hearing from you."

Cheryl quickly ushered Deborah out while handing her a card with her contact information on it. "Let us know," even her smile seemed rushed. "Have a good night, Deborah."

One night later, Deborah laid in her bed, passing her wedding ring back and forth between fingers, looking up at her ceiling. She hated being in this house. Even with all the lights on, it felt dark. She thought about what the man had said concerning the deadline. She hadn't considered what would happen after January 1st. Now that she did, she realized that she was not prepared for what was coming. She had been focused on trying to build some kind of new foundation amidst the wreckage; she couldn't see far enough ahead to prepare for the future.

She was ready to tell her story and more. She grabbed the contact card from her night stand and dialed Cheryl's number. It was time to start preparing for the deadline.

### 2

At times John was convinced his life was a nightmare. The blood in Junior's stool pointed to stage 3 cancer in the bowel. Without treatment they gave Junior very little time. Even with treatment, the prognosis was far from hopeful. Because Cara had died from ovarian cancer, Junior's condition was hereditary. Though there was a long medical name for it (hereditary nonpolyposis colorectal cancer) everyone just called it Lynch Syndrome. A fitting name considering the fact that John felt strung up and pulled apart at the seams. It had only been a little over two years since losing his Cara. And now he was preparing to lose his only boy.

Though he continued to pastor the congregation, his words didn't come easily. His messages of hope were ones he had to dig deep down to find, because on the surface he felt betrayed. How much struggle was one person supposed to endure? Christ's walk to Calvary, though excruciating, at least had an end in sight. John's journey felt endless and his days only seemed to stretch out.

He and the girls had plans for the insurance money. Those plans hadn't changed even though Junior's condition had. They couldn't change. January 1st was coming and the house had to be ready to stand up against a cashless society. What was most difficult was the fact that the money wasn't his to spend. It belonged to Willow and Rosy. He wasn't just a father to one anymore. He needed to take care of the girls too. A man accustomed to bearing the weight felt like his knees were about to buckle.

He couldn't bring his boy any help. Other than dipping into his small savings to pay for some pain medication out of pocket, there was nothing else he could do. An eight week course of chemo was going to cost around $30,000 and there was little chance it would do anything more than give Junior maybe another six months to live. Without treatment, doctors said he would maybe make it to the New Year.

A man desperate to provide relief for his son, John looked into the benefits of the Credit Chip. There were many but the one he stopped on and couldn't remove from his mind was this: for those who had it, healthcare was covered in full. And with his boy not being eighteen yet, only he needed it to cover the cost.

John spent long nights toying with the idea, watching testimonials from people who currently had the Chip. They looked happy and, most importantly, weight-free. Maybe he was right when he said that the bible was beyond human interpretation. And maybe he was wrong to think this chip was anything more than a new technology. Maybe he had been arrogant to ever claim such a damning thing. Desperation clouds the mind. And the more John fed into it, the closer he came to believing his justifications.

A pastor isn't above anyone else. After losing Cara, he continued preaching but phoned in his messages. He believed very few of them and his words were spliced together from common Christian teachings. For a time he played the role of believer when underneath the surface he hated God.

Though he had grown in his walk with The Lord since then, he found it very difficult, once again, to seek God. Bible study was replaced with research on the disease; and prayer time was replaced by Credit Chip testimonials. He was no longer sold out on his devotion, leaving room for questions to enter. As he let them sit in him, they only led to more. Before he knew it, he was questioning his most basic belief.

Time passed and the necessary steps were taken to make sure the house would run in a money-free world: the house was paid off, the full house generator was installed and ready to go, (along with half a dozen replacement propane tanks) a well system was installed in the backyard, including a separate tank for sewage. Once all was said and done, they still had just over $35,000 left. Everything was ready and installed by the end of July.

Another family meeting happened on the first day of August. With Junior unable to stand without an increasing amount of pain, it was held in the living room, with Junior laid out on the couch.

"Other than some dried food, we have what we need, Pastor John." as was common, Willow started the meeting off. "Lily and I have been talking. We want you to use $30,000 of what is leftover to give Junior a full round of chemotherapy. We a-at least want to give you one more holiday sea-season together."

Junior smiled with appreciation as John looked down at his hands, "That's your money, girls." it was a common deflection for a man that wasn't used to taking handouts.

"Just think of it as our rent to you for the foreseeable future." Willow smiled. "Do it, Pastor John."

By August 3rd, Junior was enrolled in an eight week course of chemotherapy. John brought him to every session, sitting by his side for the full duration daily. Very few words were said between either of them. John was doing everything in his power not to collapse under the weight. The girls giving him the money was bittersweet. Even though the treatment had no chance of curing his boy, it would at least give John more months to say goodbye.

Cara's battle stretched across two long years. In that time he watched his beautiful wife become a stranger as the disease sucked her dry. His boy was already starting to take on the same characteristics. His cheeks were sunken where they had been full and dark spots now pressed in the space beneath his eyes. His boy's smile was the only thing that remained bright.

Having money for the treatment should have helped re-inflate his faith. But, the inevitable end to come still sat with him every moment, reminding him that it was only prolonging the darkest days to come. After only a few treatments, Junior began to experience the side effects. With Junior now vomiting multiple times a night, John decided to lay a blanket down on the floor in his son's room, so he could be there to take care of him through every purge.

As the days passed and the treatment continued to strip his boy of many layers, it did the same to John. This was even worse than Cara's battle. And he felt even more alone this time. Though the girls helped the best they could, it wasn't their place. Everyone in the Watcher house knew what it was like to watch someone they loved waste away. But with how recently it had happened to the girls, John didn't intend on putting them through it again. Though it was a different kind of wasting away, the effect was no different. It still led to loss.

He kept Junior bedded down in Junior's room with a 32" flat screen helping his boy get through the most excruciating parts. Though John found it hard to be nurturing (that had been Cara's specialty) he did everything he could to make his son feel as if he hadn't become a heavy burden to him. As the battle wore on, the days only seemed to lengthen as John's strength shrunk away.

The weeks dragged by, helping Junior check off boxes of 'cancer patient' one after the next. Junior started losing thick clumps of hair sometime early in the third week of treatment. By the end of that same week, John shaved it off completely. He had done the same thing for Cara two times during her battle.

Time bleeds together when stuck in the midst of a fight with cancer. All at once it feels like it drags on while going too fast. John did all he could to savor every moment he had left with his boy, but he found that the opposite was beginning to happen. He found that he was increasingly unable to find any good in the moments.

John's faith was now a cliffside house held up by thin sticks; how it hadn't already fallen into the water below was miraculous in itself. He didn't talk to God anymore. He didn't seek Him. Even when he was at a breaking point, he didn't close his eyes and ask for strength. As his boy battled cancer, John was in the same battle in his spirit. This situation was eating away parts of him, leaving him a weak and withered man.

As Junior entered his seventh week of treatment, he began to noticeably improve. Although he was still unable to hold much down, his vomiting wasn't persistent and his pain wasn't something that kept him awake at night. John was able to return to sleeping in his own room, which he found to be a much needed haven.

It was in the early morning of September 26th, the Monday of Junior's final week of treatment, that John woke up to an audible voice speaking.

"Am I not faithful, John?" the voice was as clear as if another person was in the room with him. "Am I not good?"

"Y-you are both, L-Lord." he whispered.

"Watch and see what I will do. Trust Me, John. I have not left you. This illness does not lead to death."

As quickly as the voice came, it was gone, leaving John wide eyed as a tear rolled free...

Three nights later, John was ironing a black tuxedo in his room. The house was quiet, had been for a few hours now. Lily and Junior were attending homecoming dance together. It was a miracle how much Junior had improved in a few days, so much so that John wondered if a healing had taken place three nights before.

"You are always faithful, Lord." he said quietly as he pushed the iron across the tuxedo sleeves. "Thank You that my boy is fully healed. You were wounded for Junior's transgressions, bruised for his iniquities. The chastisement of his peace is upon You and by Your stripes, my boy is healed. I proclaim it now, Lord. No cancer." John was looking up with new eyes and new faith.

### *

With Junior getting sick, in many ways it felt like Willow was back at home with her mom. The Watcher house had provided a welcome and warm change from the dreary state of deterioration. Now she was back in the thick of it, forced to experience a much more literal side.

Once school was done for the year, Willow and Lily decided to take a road trip to The Grand Canyon, with both Rosy and their mom's ashes in boxes in the trunk. It provided a nice escape from yet another heavy atmosphere. It took them two days to arrive. Once they did they found a beautiful clearing that overlooked the Canyon and dumped the ashes together. Words weren't said in remembrance. Both girls just looked skyward, soft and sad smiles on display.

The trip brought them closer together only for them to draw apart again once they returned to the Watcher house. It had quickly become a suffocating atmosphere. Void of its usual warmth, it felt no different than the house they had grown up in.

Pastor John, the standard for the faith in Willow's eyes, was now like anyone else. She missed the warm smile he would give before providing a daily nugget of knowledge from God's Word. He was well versed in Scripture and knew how to apply the same verse to many different situations. To finally have a fatherly presence around in a man who was strong in his foundation helped give Willow that much needed sense of security that had been absent from her life for so long. But, it didn't last. Once Junior was diagnosed, the man she looked up to, because of how he walked with Christ, now mirrored her mom.

But Willow was not the same girl that had lived under her mom's roof in that sad and broken house. Even though she still dealt with many old struggles, she realized that maybe God had brought a similar atmosphere around to see if she had learned where her strength came from. If anything was clear it was that even "the standard for the faith" was still just a man. Putting her faith in anything finite would always lead to the same place of disappointment. Instead of trusting in The Lord, she had always turned to His representatives instead. Rosy had been the most notable stand-in, always trying to point Willow to Christ but never achieving anything beyond being a good source of advice.

Willow had no real foundation in Christ because she had never built it on anything lasting. When Rosy was taken away, her foundation in Christ went with her. And now that Pastor John was showing a real struggle, her immediate reaction was to struggle with him. This ugly pattern of her life spun around on a predictable cycle. Finally old enough to be considered a woman, Willow was determined to grow out of childish approaches.

She had grown in great spurts in a short period of time, taking hold of the reins to prepare for what was quickly approaching. And yet, during all of her preparation, she realized that she hadn't prepared for the possibility of further loss. If Pastor John was the source of her foundation and was taken away suddenly, she would be left baseless once again. She knew what needed to happen but still didn't know how to accomplish it. How could she access the Infinite when all she knew was the finite? How could she cultivate a strong relationship with Christ on her own when she was incapable of creating them with anyone else?

She setup installation for each company to prepare the house. A big project went along smoothly on all fronts and once all was said and done, she felt secure in her situation. The atmosphere hadn't changed but to compare it to her old home life was still unfair to Pastor John. Unlike her mom, he put in the effort despite the struggle. Even while attending to Junior, he made sure to be available for her or Lily if they needed him. The situation was still far better than what Willow and Lily had come from.

When everything was installed, Willow and Lily felt the same pull to give most of the remaining money toward Junior's therapy. It was the least they could do for a man who had taken them on, no questions asked.

The next several weeks were the most difficult. Willow could hear Junior getting sick through her bedroom wall at night. And then she could hear Pastor John try and coach him through it. Even with a steady flow of music playing from her phone, the background noise of the brutal battle leaked through.

When school started in the first week of September, it was a welcome reprieve from a taxing summer. She was now a Senior. As soon as she stepped into the halls of the high school, a large sign greeted her:

All students will need the Credit Chip to buy school lunch  
effective immediately following Christmas break.  
You've been warned! :)

The laughable use of an emoji didn't remove the chill from Willow's spine. It only made it dig in further. This was just a joke to people, just another trend. She shook her head as she stepped into the halls. A few girls from the popular clique gave her a condescending smile as she walked past.

"A t-shirt and jeans? Not selling yourself this year, Willow? The boys will be _so_ disappointed." they laughed like witches, the high pitched mockery following Willow as she walked past. "I came up with a good one over the summer, Willow. You have to hear it. What happens when boys experience a bore? They hump Willow the whore!"

Willow kept walking, the words pelting against her like bullets. Her reputation hadn't changed despite the fact that she no longer invited or allowed access. Since freshman year in high school, she had been a _tasty treat_ for any and all. Once the first boy made her feel valued—made her feel beautiful—she was willing to exchange sex for the validation. Even though he tossed her aside like trash the next day, she knew there were plenty ready and waiting to enter into the same clause.

Constantly down at the office due to the length of her skirts and the spaghetti strap nature of her tops, Willow was not shy in her message. It always worked. Boys from every one of the four grades flocked to her, compliments in hand. It was what she needed to feel special; what it cost meant very little to her. It was just sex, after all, nothing that a thorough wash in the shower couldn't rinse clean...

"Hey, Willow." the voice came from behind her. She prepared to get hit with another insult. "You look beautiful today."

She turned around to find that it was Steven Waltz, a middle school friend she hadn't seen for years. When she had last seen him he was short and thin with thick black glasses on his face. On the top of his head, a heavy brown shag grew out and down. He looked much different now. The glasses were gone; his hair was cut short; and a short and thin body was now strong and tall.

"Steven? You've really grown up. Where have you been?"

"My parents enrolled me in Strathemore High, wanted to give my football career a chance."

"And?" she smiled in anticipation.

"Scholarship to Iowa State. I'm not actually attending Ransom High this year or anything. I actually came to find you. I had a big crush on you when we were younger and would love to take you to the homecoming dance. We play the Rhinos for the homecoming game this year. It seemed like the perfect opportunity."

Her smile continued as blushes of red now marked her cheeks. "I had a crush on you too, Steven. I would love to go with you. Which homecoming should we go to?"

"This one," Steven smiled as he looked around the school. "It'll be good to catch up with old friends. Well, beautiful Willow, I need to be getting back to my school. I skipped the first two periods to do this." he made an exaggerated uh-oh face as he shrugged.

"Very sweet of you, Steven."

"Anything for you, beautiful." They exchanged phone numbers and then he blew her a kiss as he backed away...

Willow had never been more excited for a day to come. She purchased a red dress for homecoming to match the bright streaks in her hair. She had to go against her old instinct to display her goods to Steven, sewing a matching red piece of fabric across the low neckline. When she tried it on for the first time, not even the mirror could find anything critical to say.

It now hung in her open closet, covered once again by the plastic cover it had come with. She looked down at her phone, seeing that Steven had sent her two new texts. The first was a picture of his tuxedo. The second was a message: _Can't wait for tomorrow night, beautiful Willow!_

Neither could she.

### *

Even as the atmosphere of the Watcher house began to remind Lily of what she grew up in, the connection with The Lord kept her warm. For reasons she couldn't understand, as soon as Junior was diagnosed, she was unable to look at him without seeing a soft glow of light. This was something she was careful not to tell Pastor John, because she feared it meant that Heaven wasn't far away for his boy.

It was Willow's idea to take a trip to dump Rosy and their mom's ashes. Lily suggested the Grand Canyon, remembering how her mom would always talk about it being the best camping trip the family ever had. It was when their dad was still healthy. Lily was just a baby at the time but even the idea of there being a moment where her whole family was happy was enough to make her vie against Willow's suggestion of dumping their ashes in the ocean.

Ultimately Lily's suggestion won because of her passion for it. The trip had some reminiscent stories throughout. The sisters talked about this and that, sometimes hitting hard topics but usually skating across a more light hearted fare. They gained some depth in their relationship across the week. But when they returned back to the Watcher house, the split between them appeared again. It was common for the Matthews girls to go their own ways and deal with difficulty alone. It's how they had always done it in the past.

Lily delved into the Word, making sure her newly connected state with The Lord was clear of all barriers. The more she rooted herself in the Word, the clearer her spiritual sight became. As time moved forward, her connection only grew. This was the most potent her relationship with God had ever been, His presence always palpable.

The light she saw on Junior intensified as he grew worse, doing everything but verifying her fear that his time was short. All she could do was pray for direction. The only words God told her concerning the manner was, "One day at a time, My daughter." She followed those words with full obedience, approaching each day with a mind ready to learn. Now that the connection was restored, when she saw the Spirits tethered to the damned, she wasn't alone in it.

Stepping outside of the house only saddened her. Many of Pastor John's neighbors were now damned, the Spirits tethered to them with joyous and long smiles.

_They are docile now, nothing but obedient dogs waiting to hear their master's command._ The Inner Voice became more frequent as she listened for Him. _The stage is being set. Soon hell will be released on this earth. But, light always wins out in the end. You will not be left alone. There is a great purpose for you, planned out and completed before you were ever conceived. Everything that has happened is for a reason. The answers will be clear in time._

"Do they know they are damned? Does any part of them understand?

No. They only start to wonder something when the creatures in them move before they are supposed to. Kyle is the perfect example. From the moment he received the creature to his death, only eight days passed. The creature disobeyed then and many more are starting to do the same now. They are unruly creatures, triggered by the presence of light. They are supposed to sit back and wait. The last thing they want is people still on the fence detecting their presence. They want as many as they can get.

"What will the creatures do to them?"

_Feed on them._ The reply was sad. _They eat away any hint of light, leaving them in eternal darkness. What is Hell defined as, Lily?_

"Separation from You."

For those who have the Chip, Hell is already here. No longer within My reach, they will experience the process of complete separation from Me.

Lily looked at the world around her, walking from the neighborhood and continuing into the small city she had grown up in. The ratio of those who already had the Chip to those who didn't was close to two out of every three persons. January 1st was still five and a half months away, her eye opening tour taken in the middle of July.

Back at the Watcher house, Willow was conducting all installation work with the precision Lily had only previously seen with Rosy. Work was being done in many places and yet Willow had somehow set it up that it wouldn't bother Junior or keep him awake throughout the day. She heard Junior's pain at night through the walls, at times almost able to feel it herself. With the cancer being in his bowel, the pain in his stomach was excruciating.

When both Lily and Willow agreed to offer Pastor John the money for Junior's treatment, they hoped it would help in some small way. Instead, sharp sounds of pain throughout the night became the exhaustive sounds of a body purging everything that went into it. Lily heard the retching. She heard Junior's soft cries. And she heard Pastor John be exactly what his boy needed him to be: a father willing to walk through hell with him every step of the way.

Although she prayed often about Junior, The Lord was very quiet concerning him. There was certain information she wasn't meant to have, certain information that was meant to remain in The Maker's hands only. She wasn't given clarity regarding Junior's future one way or the other. Other than the light she continued to see on him, she was as much in the dark on it as anyone else. This was strangely a comforting position to be in. Even though the light made her believe that Junior was Heaven bound, she couldn't say for sure, which meant she didn't have to hide anything.

Weeks passed. The fall wind blew summer away as the new school year began. Lily understood that it would be a shortened year. Neither her or Willow could continue going once the Credit Chip was mandatory. It was too dangerous. All she could hope to do with what time remained before January 1st arrived was have an impact on those still on the fence.

Discretion was a valuable skill she had learned. Able to see the Spirits at all times, she knew who was lost and who still had hope. Very few of her classmates had the Chip due to age restrictions. When it was first passed nationwide the legal age was eighteen. But as all progressive movements do, as it grew in popularity, the details of the clause were abridged. Labor Day acted as good a time as any to lower the legal age to sixteen.

There was nowhere she could go where she didn't see the Spirits. The movement was spreading like wildfire, carrying with it the excitement of something new while promising benefits nothing else could give. It was a perfectly designed trap, one Lily feared she would have no effect in stopping.

Her fear didn't keep her from trying. Throughout the first few days of the school year, she approached different classmates about meeting behind the school at the end of the week. When they asked the reason, she said it was a matter of life and death. Very few paid her any mind, laughing off her serious nature. But, a few had their interests piqued and were there and waiting when Friday's final bell rang.

Four people showed up out of a total twenty people she approached. Two boys and two girls. The fact that she didn't know them well made her more comfortable to say what she needed to say.

"Thank you for meeting with me, guys." a usually quiet Lily was finding her voice.

"You sounded pretty serious." one of the boys said, his long hair blowing in the cold September wind.

"You don't usually talk, Lil." the girl had orange hair and a healthy helping of freckles. "When you approached me, I thought it must be important."

Lily smiled out at them, pulling back her dark hair into a messy pony tail so it wouldn't blow across her face while she was trying to talk.

"What I'm going to say is probably going to seem laughable. But, please hear me out." she paused to take a deep breath, preparing to speak without being interrupted. "My oldest sister was murdered January 15th by Kyle Cardiff, the older brother of my sister's boyfriend. I knew Kyle. He had been over to our house many times. He wasn't a violent person in any way. But in a small period of time, he murdered my sister, his dad, and then killed himself."

All four just looked at her, listening intently to her words.

"What was the cause of this? What made him become violent suddenly? Sure, you could say the fact that he dealt with drug addiction is a valid possibility. I mean Ransom has plenty of junkies. But, Kyle was the only one to go on a killing spree."

"He was in the paper." the orange haired girl said. "I didn't know you were involved with that, Lil. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks, Steph."

The other three nodded their head in a group gesture of consolation.

"But, it's okay, guys. My sister is gone but she's not lost."

"Yeah. She's in a better place, Lil." Lily never realized how kind Stephanie was.

"I've gotten a little off topic, guys. Thank you for the kind words but this is so much bigger than me. This is actually about each one of you."

All at once their eyes raised in confusion. Unable to tie together the threads between Lily's story and them, they listened with great anticipation.

"There is no coincidence that Kyle changed after getting the Credit Chip." she noticed their interest fading as soon as she said it. "I know. I know how it sounds. But answer this one question. Why did he die trying to cut it out of his skin? What if he knew something was wrong? Before you go, because I know you want to, just ask yourself, 'What if it's not what it seems?'"

"What is it then, Lily?" the long haired boy asked, his hands pressed deep into his skinny jean pockets.

"It's a trap, guys. Anyone who has it will become violent."

"Both my parents have it." he continued. "The only thing different about them is they don't have to worry about money anymore. They don't fight like they used to. Life has been alot better since they got it."

"It leads to Hell!" Lily could feel them turning on her.

The boy walked away shaking his head, muttering curse words under his breath.

"Who are you to say what it is?" the other girl was rough around the edges, a clear outsider who daily wore her favorite heavy metal band t-shirts to go with her excessive use of eyeliner. "All I see is someone pointing a finger. Get over yourself. Go back to shutting up." she walked away with her head down, her large body covered in baggy black clothing.

The other boy, lanky and pale, didn't say a word. He left quietly, making no mention of his thoughts. Lily closed her eyes as she shook her head.

"I want to know more." Lily opened her eyes to find that Stephanie was still standing there. Out of four people, one stayed behind, a staggering ratio that was far too accurate to the rest of the country. Simply seeing that Stephanie hadn't left told Lily there were still people willing to listen...

Despite many students wanting Lily to return to her common quiet state, she could feel the clock ticking. She made a daily effort to step out of her comfort zone and invite more classmates to her end of the week meeting behind the school. As the days passed and more students in her class got the Chip her urgency only increased. But, urgency doesn't always bring results. After having three separate meetings, Stephanie was the only one to stay behind and listen to the entire message, which ended with her receiving Christ. She had come to every meeting since, doing what she could to support her new friend.

It was the usually quiet and reserved Lily that asked Junior if he wanted to go with her to homecoming. He displayed a wide smile with a nod of the head, "If I'm able, I'm there."

Now the night before homecoming, Lily laid in bed thinking about Junior. As he began to drastically improve, the light she saw on him only intensified. What it meant was something she was left in the dark on. The idea that he could die very soon hurt her in many ways. It was not only from a place of sympathy for Pastor John. She had also come to care for Junior in ways she couldn't quite describe. As the grief from her many losses cleared, she was able to see clearly again. And what she remembered was a boy who had been there for her as much as he could since her mom died.

Being a girl that no one really understood didn't change the fact that she wanted to be understood. And it didn't change the fact that she was starting to see Junior in a different way entirely.

### 3

Formerly known as The Pet Healer, Margaret shed her niche moniker quickly, changing it to a far more powerful name: The Healer. Ben's sacrifice had been successful. She could now heal people in the same way she could heal animals. She didn't have to pretend to care about critters anymore; her days weren't spent in a fur filled hell. She quickly shut down the pet branch once the precedence of human healing took over. Margaret had learned how to appease an angry crowd. She made sure to record and release a line of healing teachings directly for pet owners. Better them than her, after all. And at a fraction of the cost, she felt she was being incredibly reasonable.

This didn't appease everyone though. Many customers just wanted her to drop her rope and heal their furry friend. They were willing to pay whatever she asked. Being directed instead to a series of videos available for purchase was comparable to hiring a moving company but instead being directed to a sign-up page for a monthly gym membership. They didn't want to put in the work. They didn't want to learn how to heal. They wanted it done for them.

Although it caused her overall star rating to drop a bit online, Margaret wasn't concerned with the pet owners. They had been just another necessary step to bring her to a higher place. Once at the top, you don't look back. They were small and insignificant and their worries were of no concern to her. She had graduated to a greater place, able to bring real change to a world in desperate need.

Margaret was made up of a few simple rotating facets, her motivations influenced by a Russian-roulette of emotions. Her greatest motivation revolved around Francis. With every child she healed, being worthy of him was her only goal. Giving them a future again didn't affect her like it would a normal person. They were just details, nothing more than a way to punch the clock of a daily construct. It was all about her—had been ever since she was given a new lease on life.

There was nothing that made Margaret happy, because she didn't have the man that she wanted. He was a mirage in the distance; every time it seemed she was getting closer to him, the ripples set in to remind her that she was walking toward nothing real. Every day that passed brought a growing frustration. She was remarkable like him and yet she was stuck using that ability for no personal gain. Sure, she had a great influx of money, charging $15,000 minimum with a $30,000 max. The amount due depended on the size of the tumor, its location, and its kind. Even though money would soon be obsolete, Margaret wanted to enjoy wealth while she could. No payment plans were allowed.

Only those who came to her business, money in hand, were given an evaluation. Those who asked for charity were turned away. Who were they to expect a handout? She had never been given one. Her current status existed due to her many sacrifices. There were still times when she thought about Ben and his plea to her to let him go. She had reasoned within herself that it was all worth something because it would lead to Francis. It had been two months since burying Ben and she was not even a step closer to Francis.

Despite filling out long sheets of paperwork to request a meeting with him, making sure to do the same through an online request, her reply hadn't come. Her desperation bloomed into a fully formed psychosis. While waiting to hear from the real Francis, the imaginary one took on a personality all his own. Sometimes he spoke through her impression; sometimes he was a guiding voice, determined to lead her to a changed state. If she could never be with the real Francis, there was an alternative version stepping more and more into her reality every day. One way or the other she was going to have him as her own...

It was a random Tuesday in July when she received the letter she had been waiting for in the mail. Her hopes were high as her finger cut across the seal and pulled a single sheet of paper free:

Ms. Stills,

The President would like to thank you for your inquiry. Unfortunately his schedule prevents him from being able to meet with you—

She didn't finish the letter, instead tearing it up and throwing it in the air.

"All I've done to be enough for you and you can't even give me the time of day. I dealt with filthy creatures for you! I kidnapped and killed Ben! Sacrifice after sacrifice and for what?! I hate you, Francis! I hate you for everything you promised me and didn't see through." It was unclear which Francis she was speaking to.

"Why so angry, Margaret?" she could her his voice projecting clearly from her bedroom. She was in the kitchen, leaning against a countertop littered with ripped up pieces of paper. With the voice came a presence, a different sensation than she had previously experienced.

"I have put in my time. I have worked tirelessly to learn how to heal. I did it all for you—all so you would see my potential. But you won't even give me a chance."

"I will. Francis can't. Did you really think I was promising him? I was promising me, the far better option. He would never see you as I do. Who has been here to compliment you day in and day out? Who has tried to lift you up when you were down?"

Her anger faded away as she looked toward her bedroom. "You have."

"Exactly, Margaret. Me. Not him. Forget him."

"Will you ever leave me?" she started to step down the hall toward her bedroom.

"You are mine. I'll never let you go." the reply sent a strong warmth toward her. She finally had a place of her own. And though it wasn't found in her man in the traditional sense, it was still something she could experience and feel. Maybe it wasn't what she had wanted but it was the next best thing. Another man had started to vie for her attention and slowly he had begun to claim a place in her heart.

Only Margaret could have had a love triangle with the same man. Only someone so removed from reality would have believed what was happening. A delusional woman who prided herself on being level headed, Margaret was made up of chaos and confidence. She approached everything with misplaced certainty, an undeniably decisive woman. She had never seen this other Francis. And yet her desire to be with Francis in any capacity carried her toward the bedroom.

Now standing in the doorway looking in, she saw a mound that looked like a body buried under the covers.

"Francis? Why are you hiding from me?" she was sold on the story being told. "Do you want me to come and find you?"

"If you can." It was playful while also being strange and disconnected, definitely a memorable way to finally meet face to face.

Margaret walked over to the bed and pulled off the covers. But, nobody was there. Nothing but a strange presence.

"Fr-Francis?" fear grabbed hold of her as she looked around the room carefully. "Wa-what kind of game are you playing?"

She heard a deep laugh come from above her. Her eyes looked up as the rest of her body trembled. She saw a long faced Thing looking down at her, Its bent smile wide and stretched high. Its eyes were two tiny black specks spaced far apart. Its pale skin was almost translucent, displaying a sickly structure beneath stretched out folds of skin.

"I am so hungry." It said quietly as it looked down at Margaret frozen with fear. "I could devour you, but you are made up of mostly darkness already. One of the weakest lights I have ever seen. You are truly a despicable creature, far more deserving of the dark than I am." Its voice was like a radio searching for signal. It had no true voice of Its own, having to use previously heard presets.

A tear slipped out of Margaret's wide set eyes. She wanted to run but she couldn't move. She could only watch the Thing on the ceiling contort and fold over Itself as It descended down toward her. Once It was standing in front of her, she came up to the middle of Its chest. "Look into my eyes, Margaret. They will give you back to the dark." Its small eyes expanded until they overlapped. Unable to look away she looked into the black, immediately being stripped clean of everything that had made her Margaret Stills. Every moment that had belonged to her disappeared. Every memory that fit in her file was thrown out. Any light she knew shut off as she was locked away in the darkest parts of her mind. Although her body still remained, she was gone from it.

It was finally quiet. The Spirit no longer had to lean against a wall of her thoughts and thinly formed motivations. It no longer had to hear about Francis and the life he and Margaret could have together. Her only motivation since being healed had been being good enough for Francis. Her days hinged on it...

It had just been waiting to take over completely, because she was wasting the potential of her platform. Charging outrageous amounts of money to heal, turning away low income families for personal reasons—all troublesome when the makeup of the bait was hope. She had put in the work but was unable to harness the power. Her own small and insignificant motivations had gotten in the way.

The Spirit was stepping outside of direction. Told to stay quiet and hidden until given instructions otherwise, It did what It felt was necessary. If It hadn't done something, she would have destroyed everything that had taken months of hard work to build. Outside of the president, Margaret was the only one able to heal on command. She was one of a few that would ever be able to. The purpose of the power presented was to cover the trap. If a few normal humans could do something extraordinary, it would help support the promise that all could evolve into a higher state eventually. Margaret was one of the few and It wasn't going to let her effectiveness fall apart over a few simple human emotions.

With Margaret removed from the shell of her body, the Spirit entered, the fit of her skin feeling tight and constrictive. It had been in many skins in Its time, her body easily the smallest. And yet, despite the size of the shell, the Spirit had never been in control of a skin with such a platform. The skin of Margaret Stills would be incredibly effective in bringing more food to all the Spirits forced to live in the dark.

This feast had been promised since they fell from the light. What was referred to as The Great Harvest by those in the light was known as The Great Feast for those in the dark. They had gone hungry for millenniums, eating just enough to get by. When still in the light, they became gluttonous and filled with pride, immediately being cast into darkness fat with the fullness of light. The dark didn't bother them as much as the hunger—the hunger was torment. Now creatures of the dark they still craved the light. When a human soul dropped into the dark, they would feed on every speck of light that remained. Savoring every moment of hope, every moment of happiness—just a small taste of the home they were thrown from...

The next day Margaret Stills became a lot more charitable. The Spirit found it difficult to play her role which had been made up of a crazy mixture of narcissism and cliche antidotes. It instead opted to take a much more basic approach, working on kindness above all. If It needed to be syrupy sweet, It laid it on thick. Within a week the requirements to be evaluated fell more in line with the ultimate goal. Instead of having to bring a great deal of money, people only needed to have the Credit Chip. The difference in attendance was noticeable immediately. And as word of mouth spread, the flood gates opened, filling up the small shop with those in need of hope.

Making sure to use every branch of the platform Margaret had, the Spirit recorded and released another set of videos. But, instead of trying to explain how to heal, It brought the focus back on the foundation, giving people her story of struggle and perseverance. Her image had been tarnished by her selfishness; the Spirit was doing everything It could to wipe the slate clean and build something much greater through her known ability.

Humility sold best in this regard. But people had experienced her acting opposite of everything the president stood for. He vied for the New Beginning Act for reasons that revolved around equality for all, especially using the wealthy as an example for why change was needed. She had referenced him constantly while simultaneously acting like those he spoke against. Changing her reputation without losing her following was a delicate process, one It was more than capable of handling.

Though it took a couple of months to fully instill this new and selfless reputation into the public eye, once it was accepted as legitimate, its effectiveness grew far beyond what it had been. As far as anyone knew, Margaret was one of the busiest women alive. On top of her fulltime job at the shop, she also had become a hardworking self-help guru. The Spirit had seen enough of people in Its time to know what would be effective. People just wanted to be in control of their fate.

It was just minutes before midnight on September 29th. The shell of Margaret was standing in the kitchen, the Spirit a tireless entity in a body that grew weak far too easily. Makeup was the only way to hide the deepening bags under her eyes. And even so, it did very little to hide the fact that the shell was starting to break apart. Without a human soul to regulate it and operate under the set parameters of time, the body was starting to look sickly. Her body was nothing more than a vehicle that had been rundown due to excessive operation.

Even while trying to hide the strain, more and more people were noticing that The Healer was starting to look sick again. The Spirit, never one to make such a severe mistake before, now had to explain why the president's first miracle looked sick again. A product of living through the ages, the Spirit didn't panic. Instead It thought about how It could further support Margaret's new reputation by making her a martyr:

"Healing you hurts me. But I do it because it's worth the pain." With her first self-help conference starting the next day in D.C., It had the perfect answer to a question that was becoming frequent.

### 4

Francis was still within The President, a surprising revelation that the Head Spirit hadn't anticipated. There had been no moment since the resurrection where Francis' thoughts aimlessly wandered into the mind. There had been no hint of him. The Head Spirit believed It had done away with the old identity completely. And yet It found that he was back, jolted awake by the growing darkness. The change hadn't been gradual enough. Killing a picketer was one thing; killing thirty people during a church service was something different entirely. It was a severe enough escalation that it pointed to something foreign living within him.

Francis thought about the people he had killed. This wasn't who he had been before. Somewhere along the way a terrible change occurred and now he found that the need for violence was pulsating and palpable, a type of rot sticking to him even as he tried to wipe himself clean.

The heavy presence of guilt only showed that what remained of Francis was stronger than the Thing in him realized. Following the high of the church carnage, a smile of syrupy sweet satisfaction had slipped away as the reality of the act poisoned within him. Much like a man starting to notice the effects a raging disease was having on his body, he dissected his motivations as he walked away from the press room. The idea that he now needed to kill to feel alive—what a terrifying reality for a man who started his run to help the down and out.

Francis had returned but what remained of him was hanging on the edge of a once sturdy foundation. Now that the high from the church shooting faded he was left with the sickness that follows the high. The regret was full-fledged. The shame was heavy and constant. Though a politician through and through, and one to dabble in the gray areas of the system, he had never been a violent man. And yet, he was the sole reason that thirty one people were dead.

Dissecting through the months since evolving to the final stage, he feared that the bloodshed had come from the volatile nature of his growing hubris. His first mistake had been thinking he was above the rest. Usually a man to approach life from a place of humility, he understood that his growing arrogance was dangerous. And now that his power was branching out in new and unbelievable ways, the divide between him and the rest was only getting bigger.

Walking back through the halls of The White House, his advisors formed a long tail behind him. Clean stripes of light sectioned off into proportional segments pressed into the carpet like a stamp.

"An excellent speech, Mr. President." one advisor said, tablet in hand. "It definitely inspired me."

He nodded his head with a smile as he stepped away from those following him. The reality of what he had done was heavier than he could carry. This was not what he had set out to do when he decided to run for office. Although he was a mouthpiece for a cause, it wasn't so much a cause he still believed in. A terrible change had happened within him. Not that long ago, the people's faith had been warm and the only thing he truly desired. Now, what he desired was something far different...

Long before he was The President, Francis was a simple man in search of a purpose. He set out to use his pain as fuel for change, to bring hope to those who had none. Somewhere along the way that simple goal had changed, branching off into new and unexpected places. Francis experienced a moment of clarity as he walked alone. It didn't matter what was required of him to feel alive. It was still something he could control. Violence would never come from him again—he caught the picketers in the corner of his eye through the window to his left, their signs lifted high enough in the air to elevate above the top of the gate. The need rushed back into him like a flood.

There was nothing he could do to stop it. Even as he turned away from them and tried to focus on something else, the need remained. He hurried back to his room and closed the door. His body trembled with anticipation. This was already too familiar of a scenario. He couldn't wait to close his eyes—but he didn't want to. His senses stood at attention, just waiting for the surge the kills would bring—he wanted to be free from this need. He understood he was already too far into the act. The need had to be met and then he could start over again. He just needed to see the high through and it could be over. He understood this much about his addiction. Was this the tradeoff that came with having such great power? Was this the outcome of unsustainable growth?

Once all was said and done, the outcome of his next kill was small and contained. In control of a mother of three in Oregon, he used her to kill the father of the two boys next door. She was waiting on their porch when they got home from church, her concealed weapon tucked under her trench coat. The father was the first to leave the minivan. He was the first to say her name and ask what was wrong. She didn't answer, instead pulling out her gun and firing a full clip into him. This time The President got to see the life bleed out from his eyes. This time he got to see the kill and its outcome. He got to hear the broken screams of the man's wife and shell shocked sons. Even amidst the guilt, he couldn't deny that the satisfaction was thrilling. In fact, he found that this kill was the most potent of all. A kill of completion. A kill with a beginning, middle, and end.

When his eyes were open again, he realized that this was now a part of who he was. Even Francis was coerced by the sensation and convinced that he could compartmentalize the act. If it was ultimately for the greater good and if life came down to a simple balancing of the scales, he was still a much better man than most. Considering how much good he had done for mankind as a whole, killing a few parasites every now and then shouldn't have even been objectionable. If this was the tradeoff required to bring historic change to a society desperately in need, there wasn't a question left to ask. He had the power to give life and to take it away, a wonderful balance belonging to a man the world was privileged to have with them.

Once the idea of killing was presented in a different way, Francis agreed along with the rest. The only parameters he set were parameters that mirrored those of a basic drug addict: _as long as it's in moderation and doesn't get in the way of the bigger picture..._

Moderation can be defined in many ways, a truly subjective term. For example, one smoker could consider moderation to be one cigarette a day, while another could consider two packs a day to be cutting back considerably. Words that are vaguely defined are attractive to an addict, because they are allowed to then define the boundaries however they see fit. Francis may have decided that moderation was key but he didn't understand how slippery the slope was.

Once he had defined the parameters, the Head Spirit was careful not to cross them too quickly. Instead It made sure to widen them gradually, moving the posts farther apart with the passing months. It had been able to convince Francis that he was still a good man despite the desire to kill Christians simply because the good he was doing outweighed the bad. The last thing It needed was to knock him out of the justifiable reason It had fabricated. It had been with Francis since he was six, quietly conducting his steps. Working from the shadows. Hiding behind the voices. It knew Francis too well. The last thing It needed was his oversized heart to enter into the equation.

Two identities vied for control of the man. The President was hungry for power, a product of the Head Spirit's expert manipulation finally blooming forth; Francis was a man determined to change the world for the better, willing to step over certain lines if it led to real progress. The Head Spirit was usually impartial to things revolving around It's food. But this time was different. Francis was an old appendage trying to hang onto an already evolved body. His morals were infuriating. And his decisions were based off of old goals he set years before entering into the political field. He was high maintenance in every sense of the word, always questioning his decisions, weighing them on the "all important" scale of right and wrong.

The President questioned very little. He was convinced that Francis' old goals were still his and did whatever was necessary to see them come to pass. Something The President had that Francis lacked was a searing hatred within. Those who got in his way were the enemy to progress and he did what needed to be done to move forward. These were attractive qualities for the Head Spirit, no doubt, but easily the most pleasant was The President's organically grown hate for God.

Christians had been a thorn in The President's side for years. Killing them now was cathartic, a type of long awaited therapy. And of course the Head Spirit enjoyed nothing more than killing the children of light. A shame that they went where It couldn't reach, considering that just one could feed It full for many years.

The months passed and moderation came to mean one killing a week. At first they started out small and contained. One death usually gave a soaring high that carried The President for a considerable amount of time. But, his senses soon came to expect only one and the high dulled, souring his satisfaction and leaving him feeling sick and depleted.

With moderation defined, the loophole was found in quantity. He still only did it once a week, but upped the body total. Now it was a family instead of a father or mother. And the high was explosive yet again. But, even the biggest highs fade when the act becomes familiar. It required more each time and soon one act involved at least five people.

Moderation had been in place for only three and a half months when he partook in his second church shooting. A new baptism in bloodshed, this one happened in the morning, with clean light pouring through the windows. The clean light reflected off fresh puddles of red, as heavy sighs and dying moans filled a small country church hall. Dead eyes met him wherever he looked, his greatest session yet. This one was small enough that he didn't have to hold a special announcement for it. Ten died with eight more in critical condition.

The growing need was indiscernible to Francis. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed since the parameters had been put in place. His killing hadn't grown more frequent. He just took advantage of the opportunity he was given each week. What was the difference between one bug or several? They still were parasitic and contributed nothing to the society they were in. He was doing the world a favor...

The nature of addiction is the blurring of lines. As you make room for compromise and justify things you once considered off limits, it doesn't take long to find that you have wandered into new and unfamiliar territory. The structure of his motivation was built on the idea that he killed Christians for the greater good. This appeased Francis, a concept that he could get behind simply because it still served a higher purpose.

He didn't realize that the lines had already blurred and his original justification for the act had already been stretched thin. The faceless Thing in him, master of the rest, was only interested in setting Itself up for the coming Feast. With fifteen singular events spaced apart evenly over the last four months, It understood that a discernible thread was present if people wanted to look: every incident involved the killing of Christians.

In order to remain hidden, the time had come to flip the script. The killing could no longer involve just the Christian kind. It was beginning to raise questions and make people empathize with the victims. The last thing It needed was to instill a victim identity onto their kind. Since Its creation, the first angel, It had seen the Maker of all turn hopeless situations around to point toward Him time and time again. If It wasn't careful, It would lead people right into the Maker's hands.

Weekends had become ritualistic for The President. Being the time when he indulged, the rest of his week revolved around it. It was the focal point, the nucleus that made the rest of the week bearable. He was unable to sleep, his body fidgeting with untamed anticipation. It was his only source of happiness, his weekly therapy. It was a weekly gift he got to open. Never knowing what he would find when he closed his eyes was one of the most exciting aspects to the act. That would soon change.

##  –The Domino Effect–

### 1

Katy was gone when Ken woke up the next morning. He hadn't heard her leave his apartment. Considering how they left things the night before he wasn't even sure she wanted to come back. He texted her an apology as soon as he woke up but she hadn't replied to it. He checked his phone a few times throughout the morning. Still no reply.

The hours of the day ticked away. He finally received a text back at 6:55 p.m.:

Be over soon. Had to get something for you.

Ken regretted the thoughts he had the night before. Although Katy was different from Rosy in so many different ways, she was very similar where it mattered: she had his best interest in mind. The idea that he had found a quality companion willing to walk with him through the hard times—Katy was a rarity. She came to his door by accident that night, but how well she fit made it seem predestined. God just wanted him to be happy. He even considered the possibility that God brought him someone on his current level so they both could grow in Christ together. She didn't believe in God. But up until recently the same had been true of him. Maybe he was meant to save her.

A few minutes later his door opened, Katy using her spare key.

"I'm sorry about last night, sweetie." Ken got up from the couch immediately and walked toward her. "I was short with you. It's still a very difficult subject."

"I know, Ken." her eyes were soft as she bit her lip. Biting her lip was her tell. She had something on her mind.

"Where were you today?"

"I was getting proof, Ken. Proof that can put your mind at ease. What happened with your brother is—well there aren't really words to describe it. You have been looking for reasons 'why'. He didn't change because of the Credit Chip, baby."

"How do you know?"

"Because I haven't changed." she pulled up her right black jacket sleeve to show the barcode.

Ken's eyes widened as he swallowed a thick lump of tears. "Wa-what did you do, Ka—"

"This is proof, baby. I am still your Katy. Still yours."

_No hope._ He thought about what Pastor John told him concerning Kyle many months before. And now he was faced with the same reality again. "You don't understand what you've done."

"What I did was prove your conspiracy theory wrong. Your brother was sick. Nothing more."

"No."

"How can you keep holding onto this? Look at me. I haven't changed."

"You will." He had seen too much to believe otherwise.

"Don't be that way. Please. I don't want to lose you."

"You already have."

Her blinks were slow as she tried to compute this reaction. She had done it to help him, to bring some kind of peace to his torment. "I-I did it for you."

He shook his head, eyes wide and blank. "No, Katy. You did it for you."

"How can you say that?"

"Instead of believing me, you went out to prove me wrong—"

"To help you heal!"

"Tell yourself what you want, Katy. You just didn't want someone _pathetic_."

"Your brother was sick! I didn't want you afraid of the world, looking for answers in crazy places. You were looking at the bible, Ken! A stupid book! What was I supposed to do?"

"You could've listened to me, Katy. You could've respected me enough to believe me. Something was in my brother. And now It's in you. Please go. And leave your key."

She shook her head in disbelief as she worked the key off her keychain. "You _are_ pathetic, Ken." she tossed the key on the floor as she backed out of the open doorway.

He closed the door and then closed his eyes. Another loss for a man that had suffered far too many already.

### *

Deborah was back in the church, Cheryl the only other person with her. Having recorded her story, including the darkest of the details, she looked toward Cheryl.

"You are a very strong woman, Deborah. Your story will help many." Cheryl didn't speak with such urgency as she had the night before.

"I've been thinking about that, Cheryl." Deborah paused. "I want to do more than record a video. I want to become a part of this movement. If that takes me away from Ransom, even better."

Cheryl's eyes widened as she nodded her head. "I didn't expect this, Deborah. We'll call it a pleasant surprise. What would you like to do?"

"Preach. On the streets."

A soft smile made its way onto Cheryl's face. "Are you ready for that?"

"I don't have to know the intricacies of the bible to understand hope."

"That's true, but—"

"I would be speaking to those like me, those turned off by the idea of organized religion, those bitter from the overexposure, and those who never really were given a real picture of Who Jesus is. I didn't believe in Him because He wasn't real to me. Nobody had ever done anything to apply Him to my life. They read from the bible but they never made it relevant. It was, as Keith called it, _old words from an old book_. No disrespect to those spreading the message but many have failed to do more than tell an old story. I can reach them, Cheryl. All of this loss can't be for nothing."

"We always need people at ground zero. Have you ever been to D.C.?"

Deborah nodded. "When I was a junior in high school."

"A van will be parked behind the church at midnight tonight. Get any affairs you need to in order. You won't be coming back to Ransom."

"I just need to say goodbye to my son."

"Now you do understand that once you become a part of The Holy Army, you are a member for life, right?"

"Yes, Cheryl. What I saw in my oldest boy tells me that hell is coming. People need to know before it's too late."

"That they do, Deborah. Welcome."

### 2

For the first time in months, John was allowed to be nothing more than a father getting to enjoy a milestone in his boy's life. He took far too many pictures of Junior and the Lily on his phone. His boy looked sharp and handsome in his tuxedo; Lily was blooming into a beautiful young woman before his very eyes. And Willow had grown in leaps and bounds since the death of Melissa. Once a young woman to display far too much for all to see, she had learned the art of modesty.

A father to an unorthodox arrangement, he was proud of all three. They were his responsibility and he didn't take it lightly. Those two girls were as much his as Junior was and he was very protective of them.

When Steven came to the door to pick up Willow, he took the obligatory amount of pictures, murmuring his way through introductions. He knew boys like him all too well and didn't want him anywhere near one of his own. But, Willow was old enough to make her own choices. All he could do was plead the Blood of Jesus over her night and thank the Lord for His protective hand.

Once the house was empty, John retreated to his living room and turned on the TV. It was a night to let the weight of responsibility drop from him for a few hours. But, when he turned on the TV, Margaret Stills was LIVE, with a banner on the bottom reading:

President's First Miracle Working Many of Her Own...

### *

Willow couldn't help but smile. She saw how Pastor John acted toward Steven. Though she didn't agree with his assumption of him, the very fact that she had a father-like figure to care brought her immense joy. Losing her dad at five, she had missed out on every moment all of the other girls got to experience. This didn't make up for the times she missed but it did give her a clear picture of where her life was now. They were preparing for very dark times. And yet, small moments of hope were becoming more evident in her every day.

Steven, _looking handsome as ever_ , according to Willow, showered her with compliments from the moment they left the house. He did the very gentlemanly thing by opening her door. And then he took his place in the driver's seat.

"I've been waiting for this for years, beautiful Willow." he said as he pulled away from the house. "No girl comes close to you. Popularity gives you a vast selection and you are still top of them all." his smile was capped off by small dimples. He grabbed her hand, interlocking his fingers in between hers. "My dream girl."

She looked toward him with rose stained cheeks. She hadn't stopped blushing since he came to the door. It seemed he was also her 'dream guy'.

What she hadn't noticed in her ongoing state of infatuation was that they weren't heading toward the high school. He was driving the opposite way. Once she finally did notice, she asked a simple question. "Where are we going, Steven?"

"Someplace more private," he said with a smile.

### *

Standing next to Junior, even in a pair of high heels, Lily was tiny in comparison. His body, once long but well-built, was now gangly. The chemo had shaved him of thirty pounds in a very short amount of time. The light she still saw on him told her that his time was short. It was such a sad thing to think, since he was the only one she could see fitting as a partner to her. He didn't expect her to be different. Even through her quietest phase, he was patient and kind, doing all he could to empathize with something he could only partially understand.

This night had to be special for what it was. If it was the final chapter to Junior's story, she was going to make it memorable.

After taking far too many pictures with Pastor John, Lily and Junior headed out to Stephanie's car.

"Don't you two look cute?" she snickered as they got in the backseat. "This is a couple I can get behind."

Both Lily and Junior fidgeted uncomfortably, looking at each other and sharing simultaneous shrugs. They both felt that way about each other but neither wanted it to be known.

What Lily enjoyed most about the prospect of this night was the normality of it all. It was just a stupid school dance. And that was its most attractive feature. It was the last adolescent thing she would do.

"Are you gonna try to steal a dance from Dylan tonight, Steph?" Lily asked as she leaned forward.

"As soon as Sarah isn't looking." Her reply was capped off by a smile.

"Well, you look beautiful. You're sure to turn some heads tonight."

"Thanks, Lil."

Lily sat back in her seat and looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by quickly. As the high school came into sight, an unexplainable chill settled onto her spine.

_Country Road 2, Lily. Go_ _now._ her Inner Voice was loud and abrupt. Something was seriously wrong.

### 3

The large venue where Margaret's first self-help seminar took place was full. There were at least two thousand people in attendance. And every one of them had the Credit Chip. The Spirit made sure to make it the only criteria required. On the website it was advertised as **Step 1 of 3 to Healing Effectively.**

Welcomed by thunderous applause, It looked out at just a taste of the coming feast, letting out a long breath of desire. It dressed Margaret modestly, effectively conveying her professionalism with a perfectly tailored gray pantsuit. Covering as much skin as possible was a goal of preference. Her sickness had left much of her body deflated and droopy. She was far from an attractive skin. It didn't try to highlight her sexuality in anyway, since it would have been a truly counterproductive endeavor.

At the end of the day people weren't attracted to her because of how she looked; they were attracted to what she could do. And promising they could do the same made people turn out in droves.

"Good evening. Thank you for that wonderful welcome. Let me kick off this tour with an example of attainable power. Some of you are sick. I have not been given this information prior to tonight. I have not had anyone in attendance fill out cards disclosing personal information. I can see it. Step 2 is sight. Let me demonstrate." Flipping the switch in her mind, she saw the blue glow from everyone's source light up at once. "When President Pummel chose me out of the crowd, he did so because of the severity of my condition. When you have sight, you see a glowing blue light. I have gone over this before in my videos, but a refresher course never hurts." a smile to match her new and much more approachable personality. "When he saw me, there was barely a light left. Now, I don't know exactly what the blue light is. Personally I think it is our energy. I believe it's what makes us up and the brighter it shines the better we feel. Well I felt like hell." she laughed through her nose, the sound projecting through the speakers. "My light was almost out and I can't thank President Pummel enough for letting it shine bright again. I wouldn't be much of a giver though if I didn't spread the wealth. I learned how to heal because of him and now I will show you how to do the same. Am I promising that everyone will be able to effectively drop their rope by the end of this seminar? No. But, I do promise that no one will leave the same as when they first arrived. Knowledge is the most powerful substance in the universe. Our ability to grasp onto complex concepts and apply them in ways that make life easier—friends, this is what it means to evolve."

Pausing while looking out at the crowd, there wasn't a murmur to be heard. It had them hanging on her every word. They had taken the bait. Now, It just had to make them disciples of damnation. It just had to make them believe they could do the same, so that when they left, they would spread the same sweet tasting poison to those that didn't yet believe. The Feast had to be great, because once it was over, they would never eat again. Once The Great Harvest ended and their food was stripped of all light, all that would remain would be eternal darkness.

In the first few rows, It saw three sources of light considerably dimmed. "It pays to get here early, ladies and gentlemen. Those most accessible to me are going to be who I use as examples." She pointed to the three closest to the stage. "Sirs, Ma'am, please come forward. Your sickness is going to leave your body tonight!" It conducted her performance in evangelical fashion, a tried and tested method that had helped deceive countless souls over the years.

Those she summoned made their way out from the crowd and into the clearing of the aisles. One came from the left aisle, two from the right. They approached the stage. She stopped them before they started up the three steps.

"We're going to do something different. I don't want anyone claiming this was staged, so I will not be touching you. To prevent further claims of "tampering", I ask everyone I call forward to remain off of the stage. Healing is all in the mind. And we are all connected in that way. This won't take long." a very Margaret thing to say. The Spirit had to throw a few eccentricities in to help sell the performance and tie to the woman people knew from the videos.

Without an insufferable woman to share space within the skin, healing people was an effortless act. The performance instead came in making it seem like it required concentration, in making it still seem like it was a new ability. With a few well-placed twitches of effort and a squint of her eyes, she healed all three at once. "Step 3 is belief. If you believe you can do it, you will."

Awe overtook the room, as every eye was wide and childlike. Many of them had seen the president heal her on TV. But, very few, if any at all, had seen a miracle firsthand. And seeing it made them believe the impossible was possible. It was exactly where the Spirit needed them to be.

### 4

With the weekend finally here, it was time to indulge again. Fortunately, the duties of president didn't fall solely on his shoulders. The position was made up of branches of influence. His cabinet did the brunt of the work so he could focus on the most important aspects of the job. Although a very busy man, finding the time once a week to let off some steam was easier than he initially expected. It was just another sign of how effective his two plus years in the position had been.

The ritual of the weekend killings had grown attributes over time. Even though he never knew what he would find when he closed his eyes, many of the details were the same. Each person he controlled always had the Chip. Their thoughts were always clear and something he could pick and prod through at his choosing. He was always connected with them before they decided to act, meaning he always fueled the decision.

Though the Head Spirit had set aside a believable reason for how he could tap into the mind of others, (something having to do with a hive mind) The President's growing arrogance gave him a lofty god complex. He didn't question how. He just reveled in the fact that he could.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his body shaking with prolonged need. It would make him physically sick if he didn't close his eyes soon. And so, he did...

But, what he found was different than the times before. The man he now controlled was a Catholic priest, the kind of man that he loved to kill. As soon as he became conscious of the man, the control was his. The idea that he had control over his enemy—what a wonderful gift to be given. What he found strange though was the proof of an already violent man. In his shoebox of an apartment, walls bare and dirty white, a mannequin torso was wearing a wired vest. This man, a man of the cloth, had been preparing to kill many people. And now The President had the option instead.

The President could see what the man had planned to do with the bomb. It revolved around Margaret Stills' travesty of a seminar. A blasphemous display, he received the Chip just to gain access to the crowd. He was more than willing to give his life for the cause. A message needed to be sent. He was the kind of man The President could use to get rid of his enemies once and for all. If this man killed hundreds of innocent people, it would achieve something The President had been trying to do ineffectively for years: attach violence to the whole of Christianity.

This wasn't something The President, let alone Francis, wanted to have a part in though. If the man was already going to kill hundreds of people that night, he was more than happy to disconnect and let the event play out as it naturally would have. The President tried to open his eyes and disconnect, but nothing he did brought him away from the man. He had taken control and now nothing would happen without his leading. If he wanted to show that the Christian faith was dangerous, he would have to be the one to kill hundreds of innocent people.

Francis was in there, understandably unsettled. It was still for the greater good and would ultimately serve to make a much better world. But, was it worth the cost? Killing Christians was one thing; killing the people he cared about, the people he had worked tirelessly to help—this was a mutated version of moderation. And it scared Francis like none other.

Even The President was disturbed by the choice in front of him, something that annoyed the Head Spirit to no end. All the red tape that came with controlling a skin was frustrating; and the humanity It saw from both identities was sickening. Francis It could understand. But, It expected more from The President.

There comes a time in every addict's struggle where they do what they can to fight against the urge. They may be able to withstand the pull for a time, but the urge compensates and intensifies, taking over every thought until it is all consuming. Through generations of trial and error the Head Spirit had learned how to harness full power while remaining hidden behind many things. The urge of an addict was one of It's favorites. Despite the freewill present within both identities, the urge ultimately overpowered all else. And, best of all, it was all naturally explained.

When the wired vest was grabbed from the mannequin and fastened around the priest's body, both identities were in agreement. Not because they agreed with the act but because the urge was their only focus. The repercussions of the act, though heavy and present in the back of their mind, was secondary to the need for the high.

Before leaving the small apartment, a loose fitting coat was grabbed from a hook by the door. They put it on as they walked out the door. Ever since the weekend killings began this was the first time both identities felt a sense of dread along with the rest. A line was being crossed and they knew it.

### 5

Not long after Katy left, Ken's phone rang. It was his mom. She didn't tell him why she wanted to stop by, she simply said she had something to tell him. He made his way to the couch, continuing to look toward his door. He remembered the sounds that came from his brother the night he killed Rosy: the inhuman moans. And as he thought about them, the familiar chill returned.

When a knock finally came at his door ten minutes later, he was careful how he answered it. A creak of an old, thin bodied door accompanied his fear, swinging open to reveal his mom on the other side.

"Come inside, mom." he said, pushing the door open wide. He couldn't see Katy anywhere, but it didn't mean she wasn't there. She was a danger to him. Though she hadn't exhibited one symptom of possession, Ken had seen what the Thing could do behind the scenes. After Kyle killed Rosy, he was a much happier man. What a terrifying reality...

"Ken," Deborah paused as she looked into his eyes, thinking about how much he resembled her Keith. "I've changed since that night. Made some new and freeing decisions—"

"Don't tell me you got the Credit Chip, mom. Pl-please." he felt bottomless at the very idea. He couldn't handle another loss.

"Never, Ken." she smiled her best flash of reassurance. "Quite the opposite," she paused as she prepared for her boy to become impassioned against her new beliefs. "I-I'm a Christian, K-Ken." she waited for the Keith-influenced-barrage that never came.

"Really?" hope amidst a very dark landscape. "How?"

This wasn't what she expected. And seeing how her boy received the news made her regret not inviting him to her baptism. It would have made the moment all the more special.

"On the darkest night of my life, I was shown a glimpse of light. There was a bible next to Kyle's b-body. I don't know where it came from—"

"It was mine." Ken never let his mom know about his slowly growing faith for the same reason she hid it from him. They both expected judgment for their decision, not realizing that they were now walking on the same road. "I know you didn't like Rosy, mom. But, she's the reason we're both standing here now."

"It was your bible?" the way this was unfolding pointed to a much more complex set of circumstances than she originally thought. The bible being there that night felt divine immediately. Now knowing that it belonged to Ken only further supported her initial belief. It was only there that night because of Ken. And Ken only had it because he lost Rosy. A masterful domino effect. She was beginning to see the thread of a vast and tightly intertwined plan. To think she ever thought life was random was now laughable. "I wish I had known that sooner. We could have helped each other along the way—supported each other in this new journey."

He wished the same thing—

"Better late than never, mom." He smiled something entirely real and lighthearted for the first time in months. "We can start now."

A streak of sadness brushed across her. She came to say goodbye to him. That hadn't changed even though certain details surrounding the situation had. Her purpose was not in Ransom anymore. There was a greater call on her life. She wasn't just a mother; she was now a soldier, fighting for others' eternities.

"Was that all you had to tell me, mom?" Ken noticed the look on his mom's face, worried that it was only the beginning.

She shook her head while taking a deep breath. "No, my sweet boy. I'm leaving. Tonight."

Although he swallowed hard, the news reached him at a different level from the rest. "Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you details. What I can tell you is you don't have to worry about me. No matter what happens, just know that I am doing God's work."

"Why can't you tell me anything, mom? Don't I deserve to know?"

"Yes, Ken, you do. But—"

"The way you're talking makes it sound permanent. Where are you going that I can't follow?"

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I didn't even consider you'd want to come with."

The cryptic nature of her approach made him wonder just what she had gotten herself into. "If that's how I made you feel, mom, I'm very sorry. That wasn't my intention. I've been aimless since that night, getting through my days on auto-pilot. I tried to start over with someone new. But, that's over now." when he referenced Katy, he immediately looked toward the front door. "There's nothing holding me here."

She thought about it for a moment, excited at the idea that she and her boy could start over and maybe leave some of the pain behind. "I'm part of The Holy Army. The only thing that matters is bringing the light into darkness. This world couldn't be any darker. People need my story, Ken. And they need yours."

He nodded his head while looking toward the door. He had shared his story, but it didn't change the outcome. Another person from his life was lost to the darkness. Though Katy wasn't nearly as impactful in his life as Kyle or his dad, the fact that something he said in warning made her do the opposite was a sad and scary reality. For reasons he couldn't understand, he was hesitant to make a move one way or another. "Can I have a little time to think about it, mom? I want to say yes, but something isn't sitting right with me."

"I leave midnight tonight, Ken. I won't be coming back to Ransom. You have a few hours." she smiled as she hugged him tight. "If this is goodbye and we don't see each other again, be strong. We have walked a terrible road to find the truth of Christ. It hasn't been for nothing. We can make a difference."

He grabbed hold of her and hugged tight, never wanting to let go. Knowing that his mom knew Christ inspired him to pursue The Savior just the same. Jesus was no longer just Rosy's Savior, no longer just a recommended path in a world that offered many. Rosy's voicemail had been used to bring the remaining members of the Cardiff family into His Light. Ken saw something in Jesus he never had before: a point of entrance.

_Know me_ had been the answer to his question four months before. He had never pursued it further because there was no place to start, no foundation to work up from. He didn't know Jesus as his own. He knew Him as Rosy's and followed her recommendation, in many ways, as a favor to her.

He understood now that Rosy's Savior was The Savior. He felt it. With a point of entrance defined, he could now build something real with Him. This was the profound knowing Rosy had mentioned before. This was the undeniable confirmation. Though he had never been witness to a manifestation of God, all of the little pieces formed a clear picture.

"I'll call you in a few hours, mom. Keep your phone volume up." he slightly laughed at the reference. Deborah was notorious for keeping her phone on _silent_.

"I will." she opened the door to leave. "If I don't see you again, know that I love you, my sweet boy." she smiled as she stepped away.

### 6

John hated that what he saw on the TV still tempted him. She fished the cancer free so easily. If only he could have the same done for his boy. Even though John trusted The Lord, he still fought with the doubt. There were many ways he could interpret the words he was given a few nights before. And many of the interpretations still ended with physical death.

Yes, his boy had rallied. But, John knew cancer all too well. A few good days did not point to eradication. It pointed to a mixed bag. Maybe the meds were starting to have an effect; maybe prayer was taking off the edge; maybe his boy was strong enough to completely win-out on certain days. But, he knew the battle was daily. And seeing people being given a promised victory—the idea was too good to be true.

For a moment, one that was long and considerable, he imagined having the Chip, able to bring his boy to Margaret's shop in D.C. How quickly that image sprouted forth and fit in his mind made him realize how easily he could fall away. His faithful past with The Lord didn't matter. What he chose in the now was the only thing that would determine the impact of what came before. Running the race rightly for years didn't matter if he stumbled and fell before reaching the end.

Comparable to a married man averting his eyes from an attractive woman, John had to decide to turn off the TV. Even though he knew it was a false message, the simple act of watching it still made him feel like he was crossing a line. And he found the longer he watched it, the more convincing the ideas became. Looking had quickly turned into imagining. The beginning of a spiritual affair took place in his living room, cut short before it had a chance to intensify. Where it could have ended up was a place John didn't even want to consider.

With the TV off, he pulled out his phone, looking up a search engine. His big fingers typed on the small buttons on his screen, until this was sitting in the search engine bar:

This illness does not lead to death

What came up as the first result was John 11: 4, the New International Version being the first version seen: "When he heard this, Jesus said, 'this sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.'"

He had taught on this very scripture more than once. And while doing so he had made the mistake of applying it to Cara's illness. In his mind an earthly healing would have done so much to glorify Christ. He held onto this verse with his wife up until the moment she drew her final breath on the very couch he was now sitting on. It was the last verse he wanted to see come up when he put the words into the search engine bar.

"I stood on this word before for Cara, Lord. As you know I listened to a broad spectrum prophecy directed at me while teaching it to others. I was told to just claim the words and they would apply to my situation. I stood on these words faithfully to no end. I still had to bury my wife; and Junior still had to say goodbye to his mom. And worst of all, Lord, it made me hate You. If I claim these words again, will it be to no end? Will I hate You again?" he closed his eyes, feeling a sharp pain stab into him at the very notion. "If You plan on taking my boy, don't give me false hope. If You are going to take my boy, prepare my heart."

In the quiet of his house, John did everything he could to prevent himself from falling away in the future. He knew if he held onto hope for a healing that didn't come, he would end up in the same place he was in after losing Cara. The only thing John could do was start to let go of his boy.

### *

Willow's reputation was a potent and lasting poison she couldn't seem to escape. No matter how many times she told Steven she just wanted to attend the dance, he disregarded her wants, following his blindly out to the country.

"I've heard the stories, Willow." They were in the middle of the country when he stopped the car at the side of the road, turning off his headlights. "Are they true? Are you really as giving as they say?"

He was much bigger than her. Even as she shook her head back and forth while clenching her mouth tightly, she knew if he tried anything, she would be powerless to stop it.

"Compliments are all you need, right? Haven't I been showering you with them? You should be _more_ than ready." His smile was unnerving as he unclicked his seatbelt, moving toward her.

"N-no, Steven." Her 'no' had worked before. She could only pray it would work again. "N-not anymore."

"You've never had anyone like me." he was nearly on top of her.

She tried to open her door while pressed against it. Locked. "St-stop."

The sound of a belt buckle being undone came and went. And then his hands pressed against her chest, ripping down the cover she had sewn on to see what was beneath. A low moan came as he positioned himself against her, putting his hands on her thighs, moving upward.

"Do-don't do this! Pl-please!"

"It'll be over before you know it. Just let it happen." he knew there was nothing she could do, her wrists feeling small in his strong hands. This was going to happen, whether she wanted it to or not. He had all the power.

Steven let out a sudden scream, his advancement toward her stopping immediately. He fell away from her back into his seat, his whole body tensing up as if being electrocuted.

"I can't feel my hands." he said quietly as he pulled them up to his face. They were ugly and misshapen claws, his forearms now unnaturally twisting in toward his body, tight against his chest. He couldn't gain control of them again no matter how hard he tried. "Wa-what's happening, W-Willow?" a small and scared man asked the question.

She didn't answer him, only shaking her head with a shrug. She clicked the unlock button on her side and opened the door to leave.

_Willow._ She recognized Jesus' voice immediately. _I am very protective of my daughters. Tell him these words: How many girls have you hurt with your hands, Steven? Now the same hands will hurt you for the rest of your life. They are dead and will never be used again._

Willow, now outside of the car, looked back in. She truly thought he was different than the rest. "I have the answer to your question, Steven. A message from The Lord." she was calm and empowered as she spoke, repeating the words she was told to say word for word.

He shook his head back and forth. "You did something to me. You worthless whor—"

She closed the door and walked away from the car seeing headlights on the horizon. How close she came to being just another rape statistic—how close she came to being just another one of Steven Waltz's victims was something that walked alongside her. But what she had now was different than what she left the house with. She finally had a point of entrance for her relationship with Christ. She finally felt home with Him, instead of struggling to find her place. She realized that what she had done in her past didn't matter. Jesus loved her just the same. Even though she had known this to be His claim, she had always had difficulty applying it to herself.

After walking a few steps toward the oncoming headlights, she noticed that the vehicle was slowing down. Before she saw who was in the vehicle, she heard Lily's voice. "Are you okay, Willow?"

### *

Lily couldn't have known Steven was dangerous. She didn't see a Spirit tethered to him when he came to pick up Willow. She had grown accustomed to judging a person by her spiritual sight. If they had the Chip, they were forever lost and therefore somebody to avoid whenever possible; if they didn't have the Chip, there still had to be a redemptive quality present. Using this as her main way to measure character had its flaws though. Steven didn't have the Chip but he was a monster nevertheless. And his target was now her only remaining family.

She didn't need to say hardly anything for Junior and Stephanie to follow along on the sudden detour. When Lily relayed the message to Stephanie, she didn't ask follow up questions. She trusted Lily and respected the things that set her apart from the others.

Lily prayed under her breath as the car left behind the backdrop of familiar buildings, quickly becoming flat farmland against a dark sky. Lily scanned out her window before making rounds with her eyes across the rest of the car.

"How far out do you want me to go, Lil?" Stephanie asked, her eyes surveying the road ahead.

"They only left a few minutes before us. We should see her soon." her reply was hopeful while her mind took her down a different path entirely. Although only a few minutes behind, it was more than enough time for him to kill her if he wanted. While she continued to look out toward the farmland, she had to fight against her growing fear. With miles of flatland surrounding the road, the monster could hide her wherever he wanted.

Lily didn't realize until now that her mind now took her to the darkest places. Losing Rosy and her mom had given her expectations a damaging preset. She now approached situations preparing for the worst. God would never give her all the details to her life. He only gave glimpses, leaving much of it hidden. Where faith was required, she now had to battle a hybrid concept: even though God is good, tragedy still happens; and even though He is sovereign, darkness reigns for a time.

Preparing to never see Willow again was not a lapse in her faith. In fact, it was a way to maintain her faith. If she prepared for the worst to happen, nothing could take her by surprise. If her sister was dead—

"Lil. I think that's her."

She looked where Stephanie was pointing, seeing the red of Willow's dress first. A smile grew on her face as she whispered _thank You, Lord._ Having prepared for the worst only made this moment more special. And it only served to strengthen her faith.

She rolled the window down and asked if Willow was okay. Even though the front part of Willow's dress was ripped down and her hair was messed up where it had been styled, her face said she was just fine.

### 7

There was a method to Margaret's presentation. After healing the first three attendees, she let the audience process the miracle. Scattered clapping soon grew into a full wave. And then silence spread out as they waited for her to continue. A hungry crowd was ready for their next course.

She treated the next series much like her opener. This time she addressed her physical appearance.

"Nothing happens without a consequence," the Spirit knew nothing to be truer, thinking back to when It decided to rebel against The Maker. A decision It would never not regret. "It overjoys me to heal those in need of a healer. But, I would be lying if I were to tell you it didn't have a negative effect on me. When I was only healing one or two people with long spans in between, I was fine. As I've frequented this ability though, it has taken a toll on my appearance. Maybe you could compare it to an overworked outlet: where it once was white and clean, being used within its limits, once its limits are met, it begins to show. I am not done healing—far from it, in fact. I just want everyone to know that my time is limited if I continue." It looked out at the crowd, preparing an end game. When the skin of Margaret Stills stopped functioning, It had to be sure to set a martyr's stage. "I've never found much importance in the bible. But one verse has always stuck with me, found in one of the four gospels. It was John if I remember correctly from my occasional perusing. 'There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends.' I have been given a great gift. And it is my honor to lay down my life for my friends." If the Spirit used her correctly with what remained of her time, she would leave behind a reputation comparable to Mother Theresa. The real Margaret Stills never would have said these words—further reason why the Spirit decided to send her to a dark room in her mind.

It could feel the pulse of a living movement beginning. The President started it all with the resurrection; but Margaret had built it to a far greater place, a place of accessibility, a place where anybody could be extraordinary. Although an awestruck audience was an attractive concept for a time, it eventually needed to grow. Awe needed to dissipate and belief needed to take its place. The Spirit's goal by the end of the night was to instill belief in place of awe, to make the extraordinary seem attainable. Movements don't start with awe; they start with understanding. Mobs don't knock down establishments in confusion but in unity. This ability that It was working to relate to the attendees needed to seem easy if it was ever going to work as a truly effective trap.

"In order for you to believe that you will one day find this ability to be what we call "simple", you first must understand that what we now consider simple we once found difficult, even alien to our nature. For example, breathing air is now simple, a natural instinct that requires no thought. But, there was a time when all we knew was the water. It was our natural environment. We witnessed certain members evolve their land-legs and take the first steps into a new and strange world. We have entered into the final stage, frien—"

The explosion that came from the back of the venue was violent and widespread, reducing ten row sections of the people to charred pieces still hurling from here to there. Screams of shock and terror spread across the venue, the blood of the dead now bright red drops splattering attendees as much as thirty rows ahead of the explosion radius. The venue was cold despite the warmth of the explosion. Many near the back funneled past the carnage and out of the venue immediately; but those closer to the front, though wide eyed with fear, looked toward Margaret as a beacon of hope. They saw she was still standing there, a few feet farther back on the stage than before, but no different in posture. Many would have fled in fear.

"Opposition is only a sign that we are breaching the wall, friends. Push on! This will not stop us! It will only make us stronger!" somehow, despite the horror that had just taken place, another wave of applause swelled into a resilient crescendo. Even as first responders entered the building, calling for an immediate evacuation, the applause continued. It was clear that the people were united in following Margaret wherever she led. Where so many others would have fled in fear, she remained. A solid rock they could stand on while everything else crumbled around them. The Spirit couldn't have known by the end of Its first seminar (cut short for tragic reasons) It would be in control of a Christ-like figure.

### 8

Driving in an old black car, now less than a block from the parking entrance to the venue, Francis was along for the ride while The President had full hold of the reins. Only the stronger of the two would be able to see this act through. And though Francis once considered himself to be a good man, he was now in a position where his justifications, no matter how bulletproof he tried to make them, simply couldn't cover up the reality. This was cold blooded murder of the very people he swore to protect.

The killing of Christians was different. Always had been. If this had been a venue filled with Christians, the casualty number may have caused his soft set eyes to widen at the brutality of it, but ultimately he would have found a sweet spot in his justification. As long as it remained within the infestation, the death toll was of very little importance. This was no longer the case.

Even though this act would ultimately dismantle the infestation from the inside out by making them seem dangerous to the masses, the cost was something he wasn't sure he was ready to pay. He understood that it had to be done to further the movement of unity. It was the ace in the hole that he had been waiting for, after all. But, now that it was presented to him, the only thing Francis could do was look away and detach himself. Who he had become was no longer a man he recognized; and what he now had to do to accomplish his mission toward unity was so far removed from his original idea that the whole concept seemed alien to him. Francis no longer belonged in his skin. He realized this in a sad and lonely moment, letting go of any remaining control as he slipped back into the recesses of his mind.

The President was the only identity that seemed able to handle the repercussions of this choice. When the car pulled up to the venue parking lot, a lone scanner stood at the entrance. He positioned the priest's right wrist under the red glow. A beep quickly followed as the arm gate opened into a large and flat ground level parking lot. The closest spot available was near the front. A handicap space. He pulled into it and parked. It wasn't like the man would be around to answer for his decisions.

There was a cold chill to the air as he left the car. The thin jacket he wore concealed the explosive device that was just beneath. The trigger was a small plastic switch on his keychain. He palmed it in his pocket as he approached the glass doors at the front of the venue. Several other people were around him, hurrying forward. The idea that they would almost certainly be numbered with the casualties hit The President's stomach like a fast dropping stone. He wanted to tell them to leave but couldn't. Any suspicious activity would draw attention where he needed to be inconspicuous.

Every one of his steps carried a sense of dread, entirely different from any of his other times of indulgence. Where there once was excitement had now been replaced with the sinking feel of obligation.

"Maybe this will work, son. Nothing else has." He overheard a father speaking to his adult son. They walked at the same pace as him only a few feet to his right. "Couldn't hurt to see, right?"

"We'll see what happens, dad." His reply was skeptical.

To the left of him another small set of context-free dialogue floated in:

"Better late than never." a woman said to her unresponsive man.

The President continued at the same stride as the rest. When he reached the doors, the father from the conversation to his right was holding the door open. They shared nods of the head as he stepped inside.

The small lobby was secure, with two bodyguards at the doors and another pair split between the two metal detectors placed just before the entrance to the seminar. The men at the doors were large, clearly built up to keep away any and all threats; the two by the metal detectors were smaller in stature and out of place in the position.

He took long steps forward, approaching the short line. Most of the people he entered the building with were in front of him. They passed through the detector easily and in quick succession disappearing down a black corridor. He was up next, able to hear the faint sound of applause.

"Please step through the metal detector, sir." with a handheld Chip scanner device in his hand, the man directed him forward. The President could see the artificial light from the seminar at the end of the corridor. Before the man could say another word of instruction to him, he sprinted forward, leaving behind the wild beeping of the detector as it tried to warn of the terrible thing it sensed.

The few steps he had on those in pursuit of him was enough of a buffer to accomplish what he needed to. He wanted to detonate in the corridor, reasoning that even a failed attempt by a religious fanatic would get the point across. And maybe it would have. But, something that he didn't expect was the thing that had been there since he started killing: desire. Even though he wouldn't be able to witness the violence firsthand, there was still something profound and euphoric that came with the weekly killings. Just the idea of it made his senses stand up at full attention.

Even as he palmed the trigger in his pocket, it was clear that full control wasn't his. He was fighting against something else, something he hadn't felt before. And for the first time he realized that every one of his killings had always been to feed something that he didn't understand. He had always justified it as a way to let out some frustration, to kill off the meaningless insects infecting the world. And yet that same excitement was with him again at the prospect of killing hundreds of his own people. He realized it didn't matter who they were. He needed the kill. He fed on it. And killings of this magnitude would only increase as time passed...

When he finally reached the place where the corridor and seminar hall met, he stopped and surveyed those around him. He could still stop. He didn't have to push the trigger. There were other ways to accomplish his goals. There were other ways...

Despite his fighting against the act, he felt the hand in the pocket moving free from his control, wrapping fingers tight around the trigger. This was going to happen and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The hand, now free of him, clicked the trigger without hesitation. Everything went black as his eyes opened.

He was back in his nightly quarters, sick, terrified, and trembling. When these rituals started not that long ago, euphoria was a real and livable reality. It checked all the boxes of satisfaction. The only downside was the temporary nature of it. Just another drug. The most potent of them all, in fact. It was now his deepest prison.

He sat on the edge of his bed shaking terribly. This was not who he wanted to be.

A familiar knock came at his door. "Mr. President? A local bombing has taken the lives of over two hundred people."

The reality of this sat in him, growing heavier with every passing moment. He was responsible for it. And already he was craving the next kill, his next fix. He dropped off the edge of his bed, fishing for something underneath. Pulling out a small coded gun safe, he replied with a calm, "Okay."

After putting in his four digit code, the safe popped open, revealing a legally obtained handgun. It was heavy in his hand as he looked down the barrel. He had gone too far. And he knew that it was only going to get worse. If he stayed alive, many more would die simply because he craved the kill. He craved the cold warmth that accompanied it. And he craved the temporary fuel it gave.

As he put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and closed his lips around it, he shut his eyes to find a memory of a better time. A cold and plain darkness is all that met him. A single tear dropped from his eye as he pulled the trigger.

But the day The President tried to die was the day he lived...

## The Final Stage  
Book 3

### Nate Allen

Copyright 2019

##  –The Holiday Season–

### 1

" _We interrupt your scheduled programming for a short Breaking News update."_ the man's voice was automatic and familiar. There had been many Breaking News updates lately. And as they always did, this update brought Ken to the newsroom of Lidia Johnson: the voice of the people. _"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Money, once something we all pursued, will soon be obsolete. It once chained us. It once controlled us. Now it has become powerless. Let these clips give you hope for the coming new year. The best is yet to come."_ Four different videos were displayed at once, showing large piles of money burning in the streets. The cheers were loud and continuous. The four videos differed in the details, but the thread of each was clear: freedom. Some expressed it with words; others expressed it in physical manifestations.

Ken turned the TV off, shaking his head. "If only they knew..." waiting for a response that didn't come, he turned to find that Willow had fallen asleep on the couch next to him. He kissed her forehead as he settled back in with her. He let out a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Whenever he doubted God's presence in his life, he only had to look at the current trajectory of his life. Though tragedy had branded him in a cruel and relentless fashion, his life was now the brightest it had been in a very long time. To think that on the very night he decided to follow his mom into The Holy Army, God brought Willow across his path instead.

Sometimes he wondered—even to a guilty degree—if his relationship with Rosy had always been meant as a stepping stone to bring Willow into his life. She carried the same kindness Rosy had, but her story more closely mirrored his own. Though they didn't come together because of pain alone, their pain had created a similar depth. The details to their relationship were very similar: two puzzle pieces sure that their place was found in the other.

Ken looked around his apartment, cardboard boxes in uneven stacks all around. In just under a week he would have to vacate the property, a mandate made clear by letter to each tenant. He didn't have a place to put his things. Renting a storage unit was no different. Without the Chip, there was no access. Packing his items (a futile effort) was less to keep them and more a way to maintain some sense of normality. There was a small stack of boxes he planned to bring with him: photo albums his mom dropped off before leaving for good.

It was strange when he would drive by the house he grew up in, abandoned now for nearly three months. To think it was once a place he called home. It now reflected his old life: empty and cold. Even though he was happy his mom had found her calling in Christ, the chances they would ever see each other again in this life were not high. She couldn't tell him where she was going. She couldn't contact him by phone or letter. In many ways, she was gone from his life just the same.

But there was not a moment where he regretted his decision to stay. The Holy Army was his mom's path; Willow was his. Where their story would lead he didn't know. What he did know was that the plans he had for them were already firmly grasped by his right hand in his pants pocket: the ring was sterling silver with a black onyx stone in the center.

### *

It was Christmas Eve (as of a few minutes before). Debra tried her best not to think about the holiday season. It only made her think of her many losses; and when she walked down that road, it led to some very dark thoughts. Every Christmas tree, regardless of its size, brought her back to the towering spruce her and Keith bought every year.

The last year had not only taught her about the frail nature of life, it had stabbed the reality into her repeatedly. Loss upon loss. Grisly. Grotesque. Something she had to keep separate from the new person she had become. She had to remind herself constantly that they were no longer hers. And even the best memories she had of Kyle and Keith did not bring warmth; it brought a level of sadness that cannot be fully described. To accept that they were once hers also meant accepting that they were now forever lost. Those memories couldn't be hers, not even the happiest ones. They had to disappear from her life, they had to swept out from every corner and cut from every memory. It was the only way she could function.

Usually, Deb functioned quite well. It was only when the action died down and she had to sit in the quiet with her thoughts. This is where her function stalled and where a day of full productivity ended on a sour note. Tonight, December 24th of 2022, a Saturday, was one of these nights.

A week is all that separated the Christ followers from the deadline. In the time that Deb had been with The Holy Army, she had been witness to a swelling persecution. Still something boiling just beneath the surface, the coming eruption was unavoidable and quickly approaching. She was part of a group of people that were seen as disruptors, trouble-makers, roadblocks...

The people were vocal in their opposition, but they let the picketers stand; they let the preaching go on in the streets; they even let the Christ followers slander President Pummel, replying with one small but very powerful point: "when money is obsolete, you will be too." Maybe the words weren't always as succinct, but the message was always the same.

Deb slept on a small cot in a hidden location that she didn't even know how to reach. Best she could tell it was an old school and they were living in the gymnasium. It was kept secret for very good reasons. Once the deadline passed, it would be used as a place of safety for those left with nothing. When Deb arrived a little under three months before, it had been a place for active members to stay. But as the deadline grew closer, more people were brought in daily.

It wasn't particularly quiet tonight. And even though the overhead lights were off, there were many other sources of light present. A nightlight here, a flashlight there, at least half a dozen candles lit and placed in different locations, and one small pre-lit artificial Christmas tree. One small group of people were having bible study around one of the candles; another small group was sitting around the tree, the presents beneath nothing but empty boxes wrapped in paper. They were talking about the birth of Christ. There was no message more precious as the deadline approached.

Deb closed her eyes only to open them again. She saw Keith. She saw Kyle. She saw Ken. She saw a life that was no longer hers when it was at its very best. And it made her miss it all the more.

### 2

Cancer kills often and in brutal ways. It not only takes a loved one, it slowly carves them into something unrecognizable. And when it finally shuts off a person's lights, it leaves those behind with their memories forever stained. Even when happy moments are found together, the sickness is always present.

John had experienced this once with his wife. And now, after a violent and sudden relapse, he was witness to it with Junior. His boy, once a picture of athletic discipline and fortitude, was now a bag of shrinking bones. He couldn't eat; it ran through him. He could only drink sips of water. Cracked lips. Ashen skin. Sunken eyes. John saw very little of his boy left.

_This illness does not lead to death._ The words were John's focal point. When first given to him they arrived like a strike of the bell at midnight. It woke him back up. It gave awareness back to his position. And though once they were given Junior began to improve, John walked each day in faith, deciding to follow his Lord no matter the outcome.

"If You are going to take my boy, prepare my heart, Lord. If I hate You in this time, I fear I will fall away entirely." A prayer stripped of all presentation, this was what John recited daily. The words he held onto were contrary to the sad reality. The glossed over look in his boy's eyes, the empty rattle of breath, and the distinct and rotten smell of a body shutting down—Junior didn't have much time left. Maybe hours, but not even they were guaranteed. The symptoms were different but similar to the day his wife—his sweet Cara—passed away. And as he sat at Junior's bedside, hands folded tightly together, he began to say goodbye.

"Son, you don't have to respond to me. Just listen to my words. I promise you that I will keep up the fight. I will not fall. I will see you again soon. For where you go is a place beyond description. Be ov-overjoyed—" a tear interrupted his flow as he stopped for a moment. A man of usual stoic exterior was doing his best not to cry. He had to be strong for his boy; he had to leave Junior convinced that he was strong enough to carry on without him. Whether it was true or not is something John didn't know. One can only carry so much weight.

A sniffle acted as a reset. "No eye has seen. No ear has heard—"

A knock came at the door. And then it opened.

### *

Lily went to her room early that night, emotionally drained and spiritually frustrated. Her position was a difficult one. Though she had spiritual sight, it only worked when it was meant to. She couldn't flick on a switch and receive divine insight, meaning, in this time when she so desperately wanted to give Pastor John words of comfort, she instead had to remain quiet. She had received nothing in regards to Junior. Nothing but the light she saw on him only getting brighter... When she pushed and prodded, like an impatient child trying to pull answers from a purposely vague parent, she would only receive vague answers.

"Is Junior going to die?" _All will be revealed in its perfect time._ "Do you have any words I can give Pastor John?" _They have already been given to him._ "What can I do to help?" _Wait on Me and listen._

As the deadline approached, it seemed her gift was growing more sporadic, much like a radio struggling to pick up any stations. It was unfamiliar territory, especially considering the harsh nature of the gift at times. Such as the reveal that her sister was murdered only moments after finding her body... or the immediate confirmation that her mom was gone... or the continued sight to see all those damned by the Credit Chip. At times it seemed so inconsistent. In reality it was selective, still requiring her to use faith in her daily life. She could still doubt because there were times when her questions weren't answered; there were times when God simply said nothing at all.

Tonight was different than that though. When she turned in early, it wasn't because she was physically tired. Instead it was an appointment that she hadn't been notified of prior. It seemed spontaneous (though it wasn't) and when she entered her room her eyes didn't close, they simply opened to another realm.

She saw a field of healthy green grass ceilinged in by a cloudless blue sky.

_Hell is coming, Lily._ Jesus' voice was a soft whisper from within. _It will be calm at first, like what you see before you. What waits just beneath the surface, something you see daily, will soon manifest for all to see. But still many will not see._

"What can I do?" Lily matched His whisper with one of her own.

Your gift, as frustrating as it may be to you from time to time, was given to you for such a time as this. The world will soon be darker than it has ever been before, which means My light can shine even brighter. Tonight your gift is whole. Simply speak to a mountain in My name and it shall be cast into the sea. Simply lay your hands on the sick in My name and they will be healed. Give hope back to My people, Lily.

The transition from one realm to the other happened within a blink. And she found she was now standing back in her room, a warm tingle flowing through the entirety of her. She couldn't explain the difference but she had an understanding that had been lacking before. Her gift had been only a piece to a whole because now she felt a sense of completion, a sense of being fully plugged into The Source.

Give hope back...

She knew exactly where to start. Leaving her room, she walked to Junior's door and knocked. She didn't wait for an answer to open it.

### *

On the night Steven nearly raped Willow, the night she was narrowly saved by divine consequence, she didn't get in the car with Lily, Junior, and Stephanie. She just walked on the country road back into town. Hours led her from here to there and then right onto the very pathway Ken was driving to meet his mom. As soon as he pulled up next to her, the rest was automatic, as if the path had already been laid out. They had seen each other many times before, but this time there was a new light cast. A relationship began soon after.

Always convinced that she had to give away her body to be valued, she was finally in a relationship where her value was well beyond her physical appearance. And without the pressure in place to satisfy the needs so many others required from her, she was in uncharted territory. Only a week into dating Ken, despite her desire to stay abstinent, she was ready to give herself to him. It was her default setting. But he told her no. He told her, despite how attractive he found her (a list he went into great detail about), he needed to now be abstinent until marriage. What God said before didn't matter to him like it did now. When with Katy, he was trying to live in _the old_. Now he was trying his best to live in _the new_.

This had never been offered to her before. So, of course, she approached it carefully, unsure of his motive. There had to be a motive, after all. Even those she believed to be good men always ended up going after one thing. She was just waiting for that moment, that first surge of testosterone that made Ken hold her down and take what he wanted from her. The first month of their relationship, Willow's thoughts didn't match the smile she displayed. Every opportunity she had to be with Ken, she jumped at the chance. Her doubts were just that, not overwhelming or all-consuming, just fear fueled voices always chattering.

They began to quiet as time passed, whispers she was able to ignore. A day finally came when she found herself able to open up so many of the things about herself she had kept hidden. And as she let Ken see new sides, she discovered new things about her she had never known. She had always been convinced that her most special quality was her looks. Even her mother commented on them oftentimes in her life, seeming to envy many of the details that made her beautiful. It was what gave her value at home and so it became her identity in all things.

Leaving the old behind had been something she attempted to do time and time again. But it wasn't until Ken was brought across her path that she felt the chains of her old life starting to break away. Their relationship was not a cure. The presence of one didn't fix the past of the other. It simply gave the needed support and stability to start moving forward.

On this night, Willow slept on Ken, safe and secure in her position. The voices barely made a sound when it came to him anymore. And when they did she paid them no mind. This was her best friend. Somehow she didn't fear the hell to come knowing he was by her side.

### 3

Controlling the body of Margaret Stills had grown more than tiresome. Not only had her effectiveness plateaued over time, her overall purpose for being around felt like it was approaching a natural conclusion. From a Christ-like figure one day to yesterday's news the next. The Spirit saw firsthand that the world had changed considerably since The Christ walked the earth. With so many things vying for the people's attention, not even a legitimate healer was important beyond a certain point. She offered only a facet to the benefits of getting the Chip. The Spirit's true oversight had been the nature of people. Why did it ever think Margaret's pitch would bring universal appeal? People are selfish and tend to find things that serve them—not help others. Healing the sick worked as a pitch for those who had sick loved ones. But, what of those who didn't? Even more importantly, what of those who were still on the fence for very different reasons? The Christians?

Though It had performed Margaret's role in an evangelical manner for the duration of her fame, it was still for the already won—the already trapped. When thinking about the coming Feast, the greatest sources of light would provide the most satisfying meal. Those who were housing the Spirit of Christ—if It could trick them, one meal would last for centuries. There was no light purer and no meal more satisfying.

It knew exactly where to look for Margaret's replacement. It only had to find someone that knew the words of Christ and had already twisted them convincingly in their heart. Someone that claimed Hell was metaphorical. Someone who was lost enough to believe they were already saved.

### *

Pastor Linda Masters was up late preparing for the night's Christmas Eve service. The birth of Christ was easily covered every year by a very enthusiastic few members that loved performing. They put plenty of time, effort, and resources into the production. Always a highlight at the Church of God's Love, it barely registered on her radar of worries. What she was worried about was the coming currency deadline. She still had many members of her church that were convinced that the Credit Chip was the mark of the beast. How could she convince the congregation that the book of Revelation (fear mongering at its very worst) was not to be taken literally? These members were only a week away from losing everything in their possession because they simply didn't understand God's love. He would not condemn them—He died for them.

Curse those judgmental voices in their lives that gave them such a harsh image of God. Hell? How can Hell and a God of perfect love exist? Hell was always a scare tactic and it now was truly threatening precious members of her church. What could she do to prove them wrong? A leader leads. She hadn't gotten the Chip yet due to fear of the fallout. But the time was quickly approaching. She had to take a stand and shut down this parasite of fear once and for all.

Now just minutes past midnight in Washington D.C., Linda knew of an all-night clinic nearby. She grabbed her keys as she whispered a soft prayer. "Help them understand, Lord."

### 4

Francis' suicide attempt nearly three months before nearly derailed the entire facade the Head Spirit had built. The gunshot was loud and the response was immediate. Four security guards rushed the room. They saw the blood dripping from the ceiling. They saw smoke still coming from his mouth.

"Precautions must be taken, gentlemen." the Head Spirit explained the scene immediately within the logic of The President's ability. "Someone already tried to take my life and they failed. But, what if someone tries again and succeeds? I had to test my theory without interruption. I had to see if I can die. Not even with the barrel of a gun fired in my mouth." To keep everything light, he made a gun with his pointer finger and thumb on his right hand and blew, the fading smoke from his mouth making a soft stream rolling over and past his pointer finger-tip. A cowboy move with a twist...

The four security guards responded with a wide eyed expression. Amusement? Disbelief? Each was different enough to be unreadable.

"Unfortunately, Mr. President, regardless of your reasons, this is a suicide attempt. The necessary steps must be taken to ensure your continued protect—" the man speaking was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a night stick. And then a second time. He fell to the ground. The other three guards' expressions were now lifeless, their eyes like burnished black stones. It was time to cover Francis' foolish attempt up with a new story.

This guard would be the scapegoat. It wasn't a suicide attempt; it was a nearly successful assassination attempt. A member of that damned Holy Army, maybe? Someone that tried to finish the job at The White House as another brought death and destruction with an explosive device at a self-help seminar? Yes. And even better the story had the benefit of putting an even bigger target on the Christians.

The three guards helped frame the scene in methodical succession, everything ending with one final gunshot to his back. The bullet piercing the spine, killing him in only moments. The story the Spirit wanted to tell would perfectly match the scene several others would find after rushing to the president's room, all the way down to his gun being in the security guard's hand.

The guard who was instructed to inform the president of the bombing, instead entered his room quickly, put the gun in the president's mouth and pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the shot didn't kill him. The Holy Army had failed once again... A perfect cover story for a close call that never should have happened.

From this moment on, Francis Abraham Pummel was secluded to a small, isolated room in his mind. Unable to die, the image of the blood spatter on the ceiling was always with him, a cruel reminder. Oh, how he wished he had died in the fall that killed his brother. Everything would have been so much simpler. All his life he had pushed through all his hardships, propelled by purpose he couldn't define. All he knew was that his position was meant to be great; his pain didn't have to be for nothing. He could bring hope to the hopeless; he could be the savior little Frankie Pummel so desperately needed and was never offered. A foolish pipe dream...

Even his best intentions led to the darkest of places. The faceless man was no longer faceless. He had never been a blank space for Francis to fill once he reached his potential; it had always been a trap. And now a man who only wanted to help people was nothing more than a broken child locked away in a dark room.

With Francis being locked away, all control was now the Head Spirit's. It didn't even have to work with Francis' political counterpart anymore. Though The President didn't have as sensitive of a moral compass as Francis, having a moral compass at all was problematic. Now that the Christians were able to be targeted for their violent acts, It wanted no net, no rules, no red tape. Closing away all aspects of Francis had never been easier. The man was reserved to his fate, understanding that his body was no longer his to possess. And even if it was, the idea of inhabiting a person as corrupt and unrecognizable was sickening. Hiding in a dark room was the closest Francis could come to cleaning his hands of the carnage.

An official report was filed a few days later. Detail for detail matched the story the Head Spirit was trying to sell. According to official record it was a failed assassination attempt. But, that didn't mean there weren't mutterings among the country of alternatives. The evidence pointed to the security guard; but it just as easily pointed to the president. Maybe the pressure of reaching such heights had driven him to a place of wanting to opt out. Maybe living with such powers, yet untapped by so many, had rendered his life pointless, leading him to daredevil tendencies. The theories ran across spectrums, creating yet another mystery to surround a man who already was far from being an open book. It somehow made him even more relatable to the people. Even the first man to reach the final stage of evolution struggled with the day-to-day.

The days and weeks following the mystery of the lone gunshot led to an outpouring of affection. Thousands of flowers were laid out at the gates of The White House, along with cards filled with encouraging words. His approval rating by this point was a staggering 91% of the country.

The more popular he became, the easier he was able to sell policies that were once considered inhumane. Called The Holding Zones, a policy that would see any illegal citizen as of January 1st, 2023 (most being Christians at this point) shipped off to three designated zones in the country: Zone A was located in the deserts of Utah and would hold any illegal citizens that came from the West third of the country; Zone B was located near the border of Canada, where Minnesota and Lake Superior met and would hold any illegal citizens from the Mid third of the country; Zone C was located on a small island off the coast of the Carolinas and would hold any illegals that came from the East third of the country. Already passed in legislation, it was considered no different than a holding place. Once the Chip was received they would be welcomed back into the country immediately; if not, they would remain in The Holding Zone indefinitely.

All of the pieces were in place. Now the Head Spirit just had to wait for the deadline to come. In one week, The Gathering would reach the next stage. The Great Feast was fast approaching. It had waited for this moment ever since inhabiting a snake in the garden. The end was near and It couldn't wait for what was to come.

### 5

Before going to sleep, Ken covered Willow with a blanket and then laid one out for himself on the floor at the base of the couch. Morning soon arrived with light snowfall. It was still early when Willow's phone rang, waking both her and Ken up at the same time. She answered groggily. By the end of the phone call, her face looked confused.

"Who was it?" Ken asked as he sat up.

"Pastor John. He invited us to dinner tonight."

"But," Ken stopped himself from saying what he was thinking. Knowing Junior's condition, it was the last place he wanted to go. That smell filled all parts of the house. A rotten smelling urine; the scent of fecal matter escaping Junior as it decayed within him...

"What is it?" Willow scanned him.

"It's nothing. I just thought with how Junior was doing—I mean if it were me, I wouldn't want people around."

"I understand that. Maybe Pastor John just wants to hold onto the family tradition. He always cooked for Cara and Junior for Christmas Eve. Maybe he wants to do it one final time for his son."

"Maybe," Ken nodded. "We tell ourselves the stories we want to believe. I've been there."

"Will you come with me tonight? I know you're uncomfortable with Junior's state. I am too, but that's my family."

Holding the ring tight in his pocket, he saw that the perfect window had presented itself. He presented the ring, now kneeling on one knee, his blonde hair matted to one side. "Will you be my family? My wife? My best friend? My partner?"

Catching her completely off guard, he was witness to a truly naked expression of joy. She just nodded her head up and down as he slipped the ring on her finger. A perfect fit. This hadn't been his initial plan for proposing. His plan had been getting down on one knee on December 31st at 11:59 p.m. to show her that no matter what was to come he wanted to face it with her.

The proposal that happened wasn't poetic. It wasn't rife with metaphorical importance. But, it was much like their relationship: a simple source of joy.

### *

A lone wolf in the midst of a growing community, Debra didn't know how to translate her love for Christ into a relationship with others. The things people were talking about all around her struck many different chords. She was still new to the faith. Hearing the hearts of those who had walked with Christ for years or even decades inspired her. Although she had joined The Holy Army for the mission to save souls, she realized that her environment couldn't be ignored. If she wanted the strength to withstand the coming persecution, she needed to learn from this community. She needed to embrace the people in it. And she needed to see firsthand who they knew Christ to be.

He was still new to her, still a Message of Hope at the very end of her road. But Who was He to them? Who was He to the man leading the bible study? Who was He to the woman crying as she prayed over her two sleeping children? Who was He to the young Asian boy on a cot near her, who no longer had a family? Beyond fear of damnation, what kept them fighting? He had to be more than an ideal. He had to be more than a character in a story. He even had to be more than a bible at the edge of her dead boy's blood...

Soon the conversations became white noise that put her to sleep. She didn't wake up until morning to the sound of a bullhorn:

"Good morning, friends, and a Merry Christmas Eve to you all. We will be showing some classic Christmas movies in the auditorium today. We have a list of movies and times up on the bulletin board in the hallway. Feel free to stop in for one or make it a whole day." he paused for a moment. "Now on a more serious note, we are officially one week away from the currency deadline. I strongly suggest taking some time in prayer and finding supernatural strength in His Word. You are free to stay here as long as possible." Another pause, this one heavier than the last. "But there is no guarantee we will be safe after the deadline passes. It will be on a minute to minute basis, friends. I wish I could give you more. Please remember these words found in John 15: 18-19: 'If the world hates you, remember that it hated Me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you.'

"You are chosen by our precious Savior. And because He chose us, He will give us the strength to endure the coming trials. No matter what persecution awaits, keep your eyes on our eternal Hope."

Debra considered every word the man said. She only knew his name (James) but she didn't know his story. The only story she knew was her own. And it painted a very vague picture of Christ, a picture she worried would fade if it was all she had to hold onto. She knew what she needed to do with her day. She took her first step by walking over to the young boy not far from her cot.

"Hello," he was the first one to speak, his tone soft and reserved.

Debra's pause was long, her smile an uncomfortable place setting. When she finally spoke, her delivery was awkward. "Ca-can you tell me your story? Wa-why are you alone?"

He processed her question as he picked at his bottom lip with the tips of his right thumb and pointer finger. "Mom and dad were always loving but very strict. They always regretted letting me go to camp with my friend. I came to Jesus—had one of those moments they talk about. Spiritual exploration is not allowed in my culture. When they found out, our relationship changed. They tried to reintroduce the things I grew up with, the gods and the traditions, but when your eyes are opened, you can't really close them again." he paused, shaking his head. "I brought shame to them. It was considered a betrayal of our traditions and a betrayal of our ancestors. They got the Credit Chip early. I ran away. I haven't seen them in months. I'll probably never see them again."

"Do you ever regret your decision?" her question clearly still sprung from her own doubts. Was it worth the cost?

"No," his answer, though soft, was certain. "Truth is truth."

_Truth is truth_. His reason was simple and clear. And Debra understood it the most. Set aside relationship for a moment, set aside the desire to reach Heaven—for a seeker, the ultimate goal in life is finding truth. And those who find it are fools to let anything take it away. Debra was not a spiritual woman at heart; she was an explorer, now in possession of what few truly find.

### 6

"Hello, Lily," another sniffle. "I'll be with you in a moment." Always there to serve others, John gave the same consideration to her even as his boy was nearing his final breath.

"I have a message for him, Pastor John. It won't take long."

He nodded his head as he made room at Junior's bedside for her. Lily grabbed hold of Junior's hand, a tear immediately dropping free. "Be healed in the name of Jesus Christ."

A dying body responded with immediate life. A frail frame strengthened. A cancer riddled system cleared. And a boy who had been too weak to speak was now sitting up.

Tears sat in John's eyes as he processed the reality of the moment. He watched Lily quietly leave the room without saying a word. Everything seemed to pause as he thought about the culmination. It made Cara's death matter. And it made the path to this night take on a whole different light. Joy was steadily flowing inside of him, while the outside remained a picture of disbelief. Believing for a miracle is different than receiving one. It is something the body isn't equipped to handle. John was in a full state of shock, his body separated from the rest of him. Why? To experience God is to fully understand why a fire starts in an overpowered outlet.

_You are worthy of eternal praise, my King._ His thoughts were the only way he was able to speak. _I have no words to say that can begin to exalt Your Name. Rock of my salvation. Precious Savior. King of k —_

"Dad," Junior's voice was steady, the empty rasp removed. "I'm hungry." These words gave John access back to the familiar. It helped him gain control of his body again. When he stood up, he inflated with euphoria. And a man who usually kept his emotions tight to his chest, displayed them for all to see.

"What do you want me to make you, son? Anything is on the menu." Even John at his happiest did not include a persistent smile. It was in how he carried himself. His demeanor was lighter; his words were delivered with a layering of enthusiasm.

"Grilled cheese and ramen?" it was clear Junior still wanted to take it easy.

"Coming right up," John left the room and headed toward the kitchen, noticing Lily's door was closed. He did the same thing she had done only minutes before: he knocked on her door and opened it immediately after.

"I will never be able to thank you enough, Lily."

"It wasn't me, Pastor John." she smiled, sitting at the edge of her bed. "It's something tangible for you to hold onto. His promises will not return empty. Remember this through everything."

He noticed that she wasn't overjoyed but burdened.

"Are you okay, Lily?" it was jarring to see her heavy after she had brought indescribable hope back to him.

"I'm just preparing for what's coming. Gifts don't come for free. Mine never has." she paused. "Don't worry about me, Pastor John. Go and enjoy this time. You deserve it." her smile was familiar to him, one he had shown many times. It was a smile to cover internal turmoil.

He didn't leave as she requested. Instead he stepped into her room and laid his hands on her. "Lord, give this extraordinary young woman strength. Only You know how heavy this gift truly is. Be her comfort. Be her constant. Be her closest confidante. I plead the Blood of Jesus over you, Lillian Matthews. And I speak these words of prophecy over you: Your pathway is well defined. You will be an answer to the prayers of many. You will save many souls from the brink of damnation. You will provide protection when danger is all around. You are a vessel of The Living God and you were made for such a time as this. Do not be afraid."

He stayed with her a while longer, letting her wrap her small arms around his large frame as he held her close. This was something Lily never got from her mom, no matter how much she needed it. She always had the gift but only now did she have the support around her to help distribute its weight. She was not alone. And though very few words followed his prayer of prophecy, his actions spoke at a volume that was both loud and far reaching. She was loved as his daughter. He had given her priority only minutes after his boy had been healed. It was a love she had never experienced from a person before.

Junior's grilled cheese and ramen was delivered soon after, John watching his boy eat without issue. And once he got to the end of his meal, he asked for more. There was the appetite John remembered.

Even though the rest of the house went to bed that night, John didn't sleep for a second. He drove to the store near his house, grabbing a bone-in ham, a ten pound bag of potatoes, two cans of cranberry sauce, two cans of corn, a box of stuffing, and a couple bags of salad. When he reached the checkout, Credit Chip scanners had replaced card readers. The only way he could pay was by finding someone to check him out manually. And once he did, he was on the receiving end of a judging look that reminded him of the many he had been given because of his skin color and size.

"Just in case you weren't aware, Sir, we will not be accepting any form of currency other than the Credit Chip come January 1st."

"I'm aware." John looked around, the few people checking out at the surrounding scanners now looking at him. "But, it's not January 1st yet." he handed a debit card to the cashier, waited for the receipt to print and the card to be handed back, and left without saying another word...

John started cooking early in the morning, as the night sky faded to a dull gray. Looking out the window of his kitchen, he saw the backyard. The well was in place. The generator was tucked in next to the house. Everything was ready for the deadline.

He treated this Christmas Eve as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He made his famous mashed potatoes, glazed the bone-in ham with a special recipe his mother had passed down, and had an extra bowl set aside so he could make his homemade salad dressing. He called Willow with his free hand.

"Hi, Willow. I wanted to invite you and Ken to dinner tonight. Please be here by 7:00."

He let on nothing about the miracle. It wasn't something to spoil by phone. Instead invite them into a home where they expect sickness and instead find restoration.

### 7

Similar to businessmen with clients, there was a system to how The Spirits operated. And just like humans, there were some that wanted a position that gave influence and responsibility and there were others that were happy to just remain in the shadows. The human soul was almost seen as currency: Those that gathered the most for The Feast would remain fat and happy the longest. Others were content with the bare minimum, aware that Their final meal would end far sooner than Those that put in the work. The Spirit assigned to Margaret was a ladder climber. Many decisions It made were considered going against the ranks. And by doing so, It had exhausted her potential sooner than expected. The Gathering hadn't even reached its most potent stage yet. To think It would have to be stuck on auto-pilot in her small, shriveled body—the idea alone sent waves of rage through It. Once fat and happy with light, now reduced to this...

It was early morning when the Spirit left Margaret's body without permission. And with no Spirit in possession of Margaret, the darkness began to clear. She was lucid for the first time in months. But her first and only thought was terror. The last image burned in her mind was that of the Spirit's face, the ink-dot eyes pooling inwards until they overlapped. The smile—that smile alone had picked her apart piece by piece.

The nightmare continued now, her waking to the room where It had consumed her. She feared it was only a matter of time before It returned. She ran from her bedroom out to her kitchen, desperation fueling every step. Her condition reminded her of when she was sick. Each step was difficult. When she looked down at her body, it was emaciated and thinner than before.

No thought of her old life passed before her. She thought of nothing but escaping from the creature. And there was only one way to do it. The desperation dissipated as she took a few steps over to her living room wall and flicked on the radio, which immediately projected through the house speakers.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas was just beginning as she walked over to her kitchen drawer and pulled out a knife. She drew the blade across one wrist and then the second, sliding down to a sit.

... _from now on our troubles will be out of sight..._ The blood was draining out quickly, her smile of relief short lived.

"Margaret, come with me." Little Ben Simons was standing in front of her, offering his hand. "It's time to go."

"B-Ben? Wa-what are you doing he—"

Too much blood emptied too quickly. Her body died. And yet she was still sitting on the floor looking at Little Ben, aware and fully alive in a sense different from what it had been. Always a woman to leave room for many options, the idea of life after death was always a mystery to her. She thought it was possible that her energy could live on in some aspect after her physical dwelling expired, but this... this was beyond underwhelming.

Still Margaret? Still in her house? With Little Ben Simons as her guide?

"Why are you here, Ben? Why are you the best I get?"

Ben just smiled, his hand still offered. "Just take my hand, Margaret. You're going somewhere."

With a typical Margaret eye roll and a shake of the head, she grabbed his hand. She didn't even try to hide her disappointment. When she looked back, her body was still there.

"You'd think with all the good I did to help people... I don't know, you'd think I'd end up with better. You don't deserve to be with me, Ben. You are a footnote. What? Am I supposed to feel guilty for making sacrifices? You made it possible for many others to be healed. You were a necessary means—fine. I'm sorry for doing what needed to be done. Can you go away now? Let me explore the "great" ether?

"No, Margaret." Still that coy smile present. "Come with me." Ben was still holding her hand as he walked forward. He stopped at her basement door and opened it. And what was revealed was a staircase descending into the dark.

"Ben?" she looked to him. "What is this?"

Not just a little boy anymore but a force beyond herself, her hand trapped in his, he began to walk down the stairs, closing the basement door behind them. And then, as if never there to begin with, he disappeared, leaving Margaret in the dark. She looked around frantically, sprinting back up the few stairs. But, the door was gone.

"Ben?!" he was the only one she called for. "I-I'm sorry." A genuine apology that now didn't matter. Her reality was nothing but these stairs. And eventually what they led to...

### *

The Spirit, now free from the complacency of Margaret's position, searched the menu list of names available, looking for another vessel. It needed someone who was recently added, someone "Christian", and preferably someone in a position of leadership—

There she was. Pastor Linda Masters. She was considered a high end delicacy and only accessible to those in the higher ranks. It was the work the Spirit had done through Margaret that qualified It to possess Linda. Even though Margaret had been a quality vessel for climbing the ranks, her worth would never approach Linda's. Once a true Christian herself, she had housed The Christ for many years. It was only when misinformation found her, when she became uncomfortable with the idea of eternal damnation and sought out a message that was easier to handle. She was exactly the vessel the Spirit desired. Enthusiastically deceived and convinced she was still doing God's work. No platform was better.

It entered Linda's body as she sat in her office chair, looking down at the barcode on the inside of her wrist.

"It's harmless, friends." she practiced what she was going to say to her congregation, her eyes heavy from the long night. "It's harmless." It was the last thing she said before falling asleep, the morning sun pressing through her office window.

### 8

Information met the Head Spirit in Pummel immediately, a steady stream coming from every other Spirit. The head of the rest, It knew exactly when Margaret was left unoccupied. And it knew when she took her final breath. It wasn't pleased with the insubordination. But, It understood the reasoning. Linda Masters was an improvement over Margaret in every way. Margaret's death only mattered because of the thread that she could be tied to.

It all could come back to the gunshot in the president's bedroom. First Pummel? Now Margaret? It pointed to evidence. It pointed to humans trying to escape something. And for those on the fence, it would only further confirm their reservations. What the Christians claimed about the dangers of the Credit Chip—there was a pattern forming.

The first stage had been a rousing success. A vast majority of the population had received the Credit Chip simply because they were promised that it would simplify their lives. For those who weren't moved to action by the first promise, they were strong-armed into it by the impending deadline. A satisfying result so far, they were still small in comparison to what It truly desired.

There was nothing more frustrating than craving light. It rebelled to have a domain all Its own. Cast from the light, It embraced the darkness, finding the dark would respond to whatever command It gave. And yet, it was only when the first human soul perished that It found light was still the most satisfying. King of Its domain, It would never be able to fully escape The One that created It. To love the dark but to only find light satisfied Its hunger...

At the same time, there was nothing more satisfying than feeding on a child of light. Not only because it was incredibly rare, but it permanently took a child from The Creator. Full sources of light rarely ended up in the dark. Even those who strayed and wandered far—their initial decision to have The Christ live in them didn't return void. But, The Great Feast was the exception to the rule. The lines were permanently drawn. It was allowed to set up a simple trap. And any who fell for it were forever lost to the darkness.

Nothing could get in the way. Any thread left loose could be pulled, unspooling the whole thing. The operation needed to be flawless in order to deceive the Christians. It knew, realistically, that many would never fall and would willingly die for The Christ. But, there were those who could be swayed. The final stage was defined as simply weeding out the weak from the strong.

The Head Spirit couldn't leave anything to chance. There was a thread just waiting to be pulled by the Christians. It was time to cut it free:

Dylan and Sherri Smith slept soundly in their bed, the Spirits in each patiently waiting for direction. Even as direction was given, neither vessel awoke. The next door neighbors to Margaret Stills, they were used as a cleanup crew. Sherri cleaned the kitchen vigorously, the blood thick and caked on many surfaces. Dylan was responsible for body disposal. He wrapped her body in her shower curtain, dropped it in the trunk of his car, and drove to an undisclosed location. Fittingly, just like Little Ben, she ended up buried in an area of woods where she would never be discovered.

When the sun poured through the elegant eggshell curtains in the Smith's master bedroom, both Dylan and Sherri were back in bed. None the wiser to what they had done the night before—the only evidence being blisters on her fingertips and his palms.

### 9

Ken and Willow held hands as they approached the front door to Pastor John's. Snow fell heavily from a dark sky, the air cold and biting. Willow wasn't wearing the ring; instead it was in her pocket. They both had decided to tell him at a later date. Now didn't seem an appropriate time, considering Junior's deteriorating condition.

At separate times prior to this moment they had put on a mask to hide their discomfort toward the situation. Ken was doing it for Willow; Willow was doing it for her family. Neither was particularly ready to open the door. Before Willow could reach for the doorknob, the door opened, Junior standing in the doorway.

"Hey, guys," his smile was there but restrained, a spitting image of his father. "Chilly night tonight. Come on in."

Ken's mask of a smile slipped off as something genuine took its place. "Junior? You look good, man." Junior was still much thinner than he was before getting sick, but the illness was gone from his face. "What happened?"

"God always has the final say." he said as he stepped aside to let them in.

Willow's face was something different than Ken's. Not just a smile from an acquaintance, but joy overflowing. Her brother was healthy again. She hugged him, having to get up on her tippy toes to reach his neck with her arms. "You don't know how happy I am, Junior."

He answered her with a warm smile. "It's a good thing."

Ken noticed that Junior wasn't as enthused as everyone else was. He had seen him react before. He had even seen joy in the boy's face more than once. Tonight his face was something different. It was a mixture of disappointment and relief. It was clear that he would have rather died. Maybe the relief came from knowing that his dad wouldn't have to face the coming persecution as a spiritual amputee.

When Willow let go of Junior, she grabbed hold of Ken's hand again and they walked toward the kitchen.

Lily was setting the table. When she saw Willow and Ken, she gave a half-smile and a nod of the head. It was strange how normal everything was. The miraculous had taken place and yet in many ways it was no different than it had ever been. It wasn't a miracle given during a simple time. It was a miracle meant to alleviate the pressure from what was to come.

There was joy but there was also realistic expectations. After the deadline passed there was no guarantee that they would remain together. When Willow and Lily decided to fortify the home, it was before The Holding Zones were suggested, let alone approved. They were under the impression that they wouldn't be able to buy or sell. The equation had changed over the last few months. There were no guarantees after December 31st came to a close.

"Good to see you again, Ken." Pastor John stepped from the kitchen holding a large pot of mashed potatoes, setting them on an oven mitt in the center of the table.

"Same to you, Pastor John." As Ken took a seat next to Willow, he thought about how Pastor John had been the lynchpin for his salvation—and all that had come from it since. If he hadn't taken the bible when it was offered...

Pastor John's smile was not restrained like Junior's. Ironically, the man who usually brought restraint to emotional display was the very one that gave everyone access to a lighter atmosphere. Yes, in a week everything was going to change. But, they only had this moment. And living in fear of what was to come would only poison the gift they had been given. All they could do was sit down and enjoy one final holiday meal together, thanking God for everything they still had.

### *

It was strange how certain people entered Debra's life and seemed to fit there immediately. This Chinese boy, not even thirteen, alone and displaced, leaving everything familiar to follow Christ—his story was one that kept coming back to her throughout the day. Though she listened to other people's stories, she gravitated back toward his. He had told Deb his full name because she asked. And once she butchered the pronunciation even after a few attempts, he told her his American name: Charlie.

Charlie and Deb sat in the auditorium, It's a Wonderful Life currently projecting on the screen overhead. Both were in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. And yet, as they sat next to each other, their old traditions were fading. They saw that family could come from many places. A mother who no longer had access to her only living son. A son who no longer had a safe place with his parents. They were from two different worlds but seemed to fit alongside the other seamlessly.

"My dad," Charlie whispered and then paused. "His favorite line of this movie was always the one at the very end, where George's brother says that he's the richest man in Bedford Falls. He always told me the lesson was that family and friends is what made a man rich—" he seemed to regret bringing it up as he realized what he was saying and then he didn't say anything more about it.

"Tradition is important, Charlie." Deb saw the effects of his realization. "Your parents were caught between loyalty to you and loyalty to all they've known. Not many people have the strength to do what you did. You are brave. You have shown me why following Jesus is worth the cost. We met each other for a reason." her soft smile of assurance seemed to meet him right where it was needed, because he responded with a smile of his own.

### 10

John thought about the first meal he made for Cara and Junior twelve Christmas Eves before. It was definitely a work in progress that involved a lot of processed food. The potatoes came from instant packets, the ham was glazed with the included option—oh, how he had grown since then. He cooked for Christmas Eve; Cara always cooked for Christmas Day. John handled the ham; she perfected the turkey. Every season since her passing there had been a missing ingredient to the tradition. Despite his best attempts to make it special, her empty chair was always the loudest guest.

But, tonight was different. His boy was alive and he was cooking a dinner he thought he would never cook again. Everything about it felt new. Cara's empty chair, though something he acknowledged, was not a consuming presence. The joy at having his son restored to him—that far surpassed the hole she left behind.

"This illness does not lead to death," he repeated the words under his breath, preparing the final sermon he would give at the church tomorrow. "When Jesus says this in John 11: 4, He is explaining himself to Mary and Martha. They are beyond themselves: 'Why did You let our brother die? We told you two days ago of his condition. You were more than capable of saving him. We have seen what You can do. You do it for strangers willingly, but for friends... You take Your time getting here. Why?!'" he paused as he tried the mashed potatoes. They still needed some seasoning. He added a few more dashes of this and that. "Why did He take His time? He let Lazarus die. He let it get to a point where it seemed hopeless. He was stretching the bounds of their faith, showing them something they never thought was possible. He let Lazarus die for one reason: so that He could publicly raise Him from the dead."

The story so closely mirrored his own that he had to stop in his tracks and reflect on it for a moment. "Help me glorify Your name with this final message, my King." And then he stepped out to meet Ken and Willow.

### *

Lily couldn't stop thinking about the conversation she had with Junior earlier in the day. He blamed her for the words she spoke and the disease she removed. He was only hours away from being safe from all the hell to come. He was only hours away from seeing his mom again.

It was a conversation she didn't expect. Instead of sharing a warm moment of reflection with her friend, she was a target he was firing at.

"Don't you think we all want to go to our eternal home, Junior? Nobody wants to stay here. Nobody wants to face pain and heartbreak and death. You are scared. And irrational. And completely selfish. What if you dying led to your dad falling? It's not just about you! Willow and I prayed that our mom would die because she was too weak to handle this hard life! We willingly lost her so we could save her. The same is required of you. You don't get to escape. You don't get to leave. I was appointed to bring hope back. And nobody deserves it more than Pastor John, a man who gives and gives, who holds the weight of so many others. I should not be expected to apologize or to explain why. If you aren't strong enough for the hell coming, you better prepare. You better plant yourself in Christ. Nobody gets out easy. It is about so much more than you!"

Already a young girl burdened by the weight of her gift, she left his room shaking with anger. Even when she was used to bring miraculous healing, she was in the line of fire...

Junior and Lily didn't say a word to each other the rest of the day. Even at dinner, eye contact was avoided. What a coward. To think she once thought he was someone she could be a partner to. He didn't even care about how it would have affected his dad—at least that was the impression she got from him.

Being someone that saw a fuller picture than the rest, Lily could never meet people where they needed her to. It hadn't even been twelve hours when he talked to her. Whiplash should be expected when yanked from the edge of eternity. The shock hadn't even begun to wear off yet.

Lily was quiet at dinner, giving short but pleasant answers when asked a question. Of course Willow prodded about the healing. She was surprised but not as much as you'd expect. Lily had always fit outside the spiritual box—if God was going to call someone to heal others in His name, it made sense she was one of them. The girl who knew Rosy was murdered. The girl who knew as soon as their mom died. It wasn't bizarre when looking at the history—it was the next logical step.

### 11

The worship songs were done. The small play about the birth of Christ had been received warmly. And now Linda stood at the front of the church behind her white podium. She was dressed in a white sheer blouse buttoned tight at the wrists, her dark black hair hanging over her shoulders matching the pencil skirt that ended the ensemble. Before she revealed the Chip, she had to state her case, provide the evidence from the bible, and most importantly, paint a picture of what their life would be like if they didn't get it.

"Please take a seat, friends." Her voice seemed made for the spotlight, projecting from the speakers with both authority and accessibility. "Let's pray and then we will dig into this message. Lord I thank You that You will make every heart receptive tonight and that Your Word will be our guiding light in these uncertain times. In Your name we pray. Amen." The congregation settled in as she took a deep breath, her voice shaking just the slightest. "I wish tonight's message could focus on the birth of Jesus. But we live in a time that requires clarification. The Credit Chip is not the mark of the beast because there is no spiritual mark of the beast. Revelation is a book that is misunderstood by most. When looking at anything you must look at the context and origin that relates to the time. Following the resurrection of Jesus, Christians were under a horrible deal of persecution, under the thumb of vicious Roman rulers. The book we now know as Revelation was written on the island of Patmos. Following an unsuccessful attempt to kill John by boiling him alive in oil... he is sent to an island to live out his final days. And it was during this time on the island that God gave him visions to bring comfort to those in his time, his fellow Christians." she paused for a moment, scanning her members to see their receptivity.

Some had digital pads out, typing up notes. A few others operated in the old school, taking notes with a pen and notebook. And then there were the variety of others that were not at all receptive. She wasn't going to reach everyone. As she realized this, the rest of the message became easier. _Save those who will listen. That's all I can do._

"What is God's Word meant to do? It's meant to comfort His children. It's meant to show us that we are not alone in our struggle, by giving us examples of others who have walked a similar path. It is a long letter of comfort, a long letter to show that despite our fallings, He loves us regardless. The idea that the God we serve would allow eternal damnation nullifies His love. A place of eternal torment for us points to a sadistic Creator. And it's not One I serve. I serve a God Who encompasses all, loves all, and has paid the price for all to enter His gates. To believe that the mark of the beast is a real thing is to believe that God is selective and God is selfish and God is cruel. Let me ask you this. Do you believe that God is cruel? The very One that willingly died on a dirty, undeserved cross to save you? His actions at the cross speak to a level of love we will never understand." She began to fidget with the blouse button, preparing to unveil the barcode. "I want to make a statement that some of you may find controversial. Not everything is persecution when following Christ, some of it is simple misunderstanding. To lose your homes and your cars and everything else in your possession because you won't get the Credit Chip—friends, it's martyrdom without a cause. It surely isn't what Jesus requires of you."

A bearded man stood up from his seat in the middle rows, looking like he wanted to speak. Instead he moved past those still sitting and left the service out the backdoor. And when he left, at least another dozen and a half followed. Her congregation numbered just shy of a thousand people, a fairly large church for the area.

Her sleeve now loose and rolled up to the elbow, she prepared to unveil the Chip. "I love each and every one of you. And I care what happens to you. You have trusted me with leading you through the pitfalls of life. I do not take that responsibility lightly. Do not lose your homes. Do not let fear push you to become a martyr when it isn't required of you. I believe my God is a God of indescribable love and I hope you believe the same." She held up her arm to show the congregation the barcode. "Do not let fear control your life. Lay back in the arms of God, knowing you are safe and secure in Him. There is nothing you can do to separate yourself from Him."

Dozens more people left immediately, their heads shaking in wide eyed disbelief. Once they left, those that remained didn't move. She smiled out at her congregation. The response was better than she expected it to be.

The Spirit was elated. No work was required of It. She was a self-propelled machine, deceived enough to believe every word she said. There was nothing unnatural It had to suggest. It didn't have to plant ideas. It didn't even have to present thoughts. Maybe as things progressed, but right now It was a passenger in a vessel that was passionately deceived. Her words were eloquent, her reasoning was genuine, and her understanding of God was skewed just enough that it would lead her sheep into the dark.

### 12

With the deadline one week away, the president was to answer questions from the public. Using a Q&A social media platform, anybody could enter their questions. The most popular would be asked on LIVE TV in a personal setting: The president and a reporter sitting in front of the main Christmas tree in The White House. It was a new option created to help the people continue a dialogue with their leader as the country entered uncharted territory.

The Head Spirit had been a natural speaker from Its first conscious moment. So, naturally a Q&A format was where It could disarm any questions that tried to point out the inhumane nature of The Holding Zones. Simply holding a press conference would have the opposite effect. The last thing It wanted to do was cause concern where there was none.

Lidia Johnson sat across from the president, a large digital pad in her hands.

"Thank you for suggesting this, Mr. President," they were now LIVE. "I'm sure this will help iron out any uncertainties people have as the currency deadline approaches. I guess you could say we're all explorers on an exciting voyage."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Lidia," a warm smile. "This has been my vision since the very beginning. Being able to see it come to fruition—well, there is just nothing like it. We are rewriting our country. We are giving freedom back to these great people. And, most importantly, we are removing the very things that have classified us, the very things that propel some and cripple others. In one week, your slate is clean."

"It's just wonderful, Mr. President. People burning money in the streets instead of rioting. People celebrating each other's differences instead of hating each other for them. You laid out a vision for us, and unlike so many presidents before you, have seen your promised vision through. Having said that, the people of this great country would like to pick your brain a bit. We want to know what's ahead. Be our guide through the unfamiliar?"

He nodded his head as he cleared his throat.

"First question, Mr. President. _It has been common knowledge for a while that once the deadline is reached, people will no longer possess anything they don't fully own. How long will it take for their possessions to be available to us? And how do we 'call dibs'?_ "

"An excellent question. It's going to be a simple answer. Their possessions will be available immediately. Think of it like an eviction. They have been given plenty of notice to do what's required to remain in legal possession. As far as 'calling dibs', every item will be raffled off. Using the unique number associated with your Chip and the zip code you live in, you have just as good a chance as anyone else to win property in your area. And of course, you can always trade if you win something you don't want. This is The American Dream perfected."

Lidia seemed to marvel at the man across from her, staring until he gestured back to her pad.

"I apologize, Mr. President. I never thought I'd see such a day."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lidia." he flashed another smile. "It is definitely something to celebrate."

She nodded, brushing her bright blonde hair away from her face. "The next question is—no, we'll move onto the next one."

"We don't need to be selective, Lidia. I'll answer any question thrown at me."

"O-Okay." She blinked uncomfortably as she prepared to read the next question. " _The bo-book of Revelation has laid out what's to come. Those who will not receive this mark will be killed. Do you deny th-this_?" she shook her head through most of the question, giving it no hint of sincerity.

This was the kind of question It had been waiting to answer. Twisting scripture was the Head Spirit's specialty. "The book does say that, yes. But, I do not. You see a mark and you immediately assume prophecy has been fulfilled. It is only the Christians that believe Jesus was Messiah, simply because they feel He fulfilled the prophecy. So what do you say to our Muslim brothers and sisters that claim it was staged? Or what do you say to our Jewish brothers and sisters that believe He was not Messiah? They have access to the same texts as you but come to a different conclusion. Couldn't it be that your conclusion is flawed? Who are you to say your belief is right when others come to a different conclusion from the same information? The same applies here. Over 90% of the population have seen your evidence and decided it is flimsy at best. It may be a prophecy for another time but that time definitely isn't now."

The Head Spirit had always known how to pose the right questions to convince others against truth. When It rebelled against The Creator, It simply asked questions that led to many others. So instead of answering the question posed in any way, It instead posed questions of Its own. And by doing so, it made the question lose any weight (not that it had much to begin with).

"Thank you for being a good sport with that, Mr. President," she scrolled down to the next question. "The next question. _Concerning The Holding Zones. What policies have you put in place to guarantee that they do not become like-like concentration camps?_ " more discomfort in her voice.

"The Holding Zones will be treated as three distinct prisons. All the person has to do to leave is get the Credit Chip, which will be readily available within each Zone 24/7. Such a simple solution. I wish The Zones weren't necessary, but to revisit the last question for a moment, there is a group of people convinced that what we're doing is wrong. Apparently bigotry was a good thing. Apparently classes were a good thing. Apparently closed-minded living was a good thing. I will not pander to one group of people. They have been given all the information needed and more than enough time. The Holding Zones are in place as a way to give them more time to make the right choice. I will not let the rest of the country suffer one moment longer. If you will not unite with us, you will live apart from us. We are building something great and we would love it if you would join in. I promise, we don't bite." His smile was somehow genuine despite a human presence being fully absent from the vessel.

"I think that is a good stopping point, Mr. President. I think The Holding Zones were the main concern for tonight's Q&A. And, as usual, you handled it with aplomb. Sometimes the solutions aren't perfect but it sounds like you have made plenty of accommodations for those who will end up in The Holding Zones. Hopefully they will see the error of their ways and join us in The New World soon enough."

"That's the hope, Lidia. 'The New World'. Could I borrow that? It's a beautiful tie back to an earlier speech I gave about sailing the unknown."

"It's yours to have, Mr. President. It's all yours."

## -The Deadline-

### 1

It was December 31st. Ken stood in the doorway to his apartment, looking in one last time. Every one of his possessions was left behind in uneven box stacks, other than the photo album boxes, his small 32" TV, and his clothes, which he had thrown in garbage bags and were now in a pile in Pastor John's basement.

Walking through the courtyard to leave, he saw colorful posters plastered all over the bulletin board. They all said the same thing: **There's Still Time to Change Your Mind!** Included on the bottom of the pages were different locations where the Credit Chip procedure was done.

"Hi, Kenny." he knew that voice anywhere.

He turned around to confirm. "What are you doing here, Katy?"

"I'm taking your apartment." The news was delivered almost playfully, from a bitter ex who wanted to poke him with a sharp stick. Her blonde hair was in a sloppy bun. "It's been—what? Almost three months? You said I would change, that the Chip was dangerous. I gave you time to cool down. I gave you time to consider how cruel you actually were. I waited for you to apologize. Instead, you never contacted me again. How could you throw me away like that?"

"You made your choice, Katy. And you have to live with the consequences."

"Consequences... right." She nodded her head in disbelief.

"I told you what I believed—what I still believe. You may not see it right now but you will. And I can't be around for that."

"I'll tell you what I believe. I believe you always had your eyes on someone else. Willow Matthews, right? Your dead girlfriend's little sister? A whore from what I—"

"You've been stalking me?"

She shrugged. "What would you do if I took her away from you—if I made her suffer? Would you scream?"

"How can you say you haven't changed?" Ken shook his head as he walked past her and toward his car.

"I have but not because of the Chip. It's you. Your cruelty changed me. Hurting me just to hurt me—"

"That's not what happened! It was you getting the Chip. Nothing more. Move on from me. Please."

Her blue eyes, hard as stone, suddenly softened as tears filled them. "How do you know your brother changed because of the Chip?"

"You know the details, Katy."

"I followed you that night, Ken. I saw you pick her up. And ever since I've had dreams of killing her. These-these vivid dreams. They excite me. They electrify me. A-am I going to be okay?"

"I wish I could give you the answer you want to hear," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "You were special to me, Katy. You really were."

Ken left without saying another word, leaving Katy alone.

She looked at the posters on the bulletin board, shaking her head. If only she had listened to him when he warned her. She worried that her dreams would only become more vivid until they spilled over into reality. And she knew Willow would be the person she went after. It couldn't happen. She loved Ken. And above all, she wanted him to be happy. Maybe things would have been different if she had never gotten the Chip. Maybe they would be approaching the deadline, hand in hand, preparing for what was to come together.

Instead, she was left with only one decision: how she was going to end her life. She walked the remaining steps to Ken's apartment, the door still unlocked. She let herself in, removed the belt from her jeans, and hung herself on exposed pipe in what would have been her living room. It was 10:32 p.m.

### *

The Holy Army did all it could to help, using some members to preach on the streets, others to infiltrate the nooks and crannies to find Christians in need of shelter, and others still to encourage those already hiding in the shelters.

Even with the deadline just over thirty minutes away, Debra stood on the streets, telling her story. Her voice projected through the megaphone with authority. This was her calling and she reveled in it. A heavy snow was falling.

"I was an atheist until I saw what happens when you get the Credit Chip! Do not be deceived!"

Red and blue lights appeared, two officers stepping out of the cop car. "If you are still in sight at 12:01, we will arrest you. Don't say you weren't warned."

Debra barely acknowledged them, desperately trying to reach another person, another soul. Although the crowd was sparse near her and the few people in earshot sneered at her words, she continued on. If she could only reach one more...

She couldn't stay out much longer. The abandoned school where she stayed was still a thirty minute drive from the city, a parked van nearby ready to bring her back.

"My boy was kind. After getting the Chip he killed two people and then himself! Do not be deceived!" it was her final petition. As she pulled the megaphone away from her mouth to give up, she saw an older black woman in a long green coat wander over to her, her eyes heavy with questions. Two little boys followed along, the oldest no more than seven.

"I don't want to be homeless. It's cold out. We'll die." she spoke to Debra, full of conflict. "I have two little boys. If I don't get the Chip, where will we go?"

"You can come with me. Your boys too. We have shelter and food. And we have hope. Don't be deceived. To get the Chip is to be dead already. Follow Jesus. Even if you end up losing your life, you will have hope. He will be waiting to wrap you in His arms."

The woman nodded her head, her eyes still undecided. "But my responsibility is to them."

"There is a reason you haven't gone to get the Chip. Even with minutes left to the deadline, you have resisted. Why?"

"I never got a good feeling toward it. Just something eerie."

"You are a wise woman. And you have done the best thing you can to protect your boys. Come with me. You will have a hot meal and a warm bed tonight."

The woman nodded with a sigh of relief. "They call me Mama B. What's your name?"

"My name is Debra. I'm so glad I found you tonight, Mama B. You were an answered prayer."

"No, Debra. You were the answered prayer."

Debra led them away from the area and to the van a few blocks away. As the minutes passed, the night sky was painted with swirls of red and blue. The arrests would start soon.

### 2

John stood in the dining room, watching Willow stare out the front window. She had grown up so much in the short time he had been her guardian.

"I can't wait to tell him what you suggested, Pastor John. Getting married tonight." She couldn't stop smiling, already wearing a nice white dress.

"Why wait, Willow? Enjoy the time you two have together." _Even if it's just for tonight._ Words he thought but didn't say. It was still his job to protect her. He knew she wasn't approaching the deadline blind. She knew just as well as him that their time together could be ending very soon.

Junior sat at the dining room table, looking up at his dad. "What do you think's gonna happen tonight, dad?"

"Nothing, Junior." He gave a reassuring grin. "Your Grandma used to tell me a story about your Grandpa. When he first came to Africa with a small group of missionaries to build the church, they were met the same way a virus is met by a healthy immune system. From all sides, people tried to remove them. He was called to be there and he knew that The Lord would protect him. Still though, there wasn't a place he could actually call safe. He had faith and faith alone. Before going to bed in this little hut, he would plead the Blood of Jesus over himself, the people with him, the hut, and the area surrounding it. There were multiple reports over the next number of weeks of people seeing men guarding the borders of the property as well as the front doorway to this little hut."

"But Grandpa died over there, dad."

"Only once his purpose was completed, Junior. He was used to plant the seed."

"How do you know that applies to us?"

"Only God knows what will happen tonight. But I believe in the power of The Blood. And I believe we will not be found tonight because we are having church tomorrow. The congregation needs us. Never forget, son. God is still in control."

"I know." Junior had to remind himself he was still there for his dad's benefit. But as the minutes crept closer to the deadline, it was hard to not long for the eternal home he had nearly escaped to.

John believed what he told his boy. But, he also didn't truly know if it applied to his situation. He had the first home service planned for the next day but that didn't mean he couldn't be taken before. He could only prepare the message and trust that he would be there in the morning to give it. In his heart of hearts though, he knew that he would never be able to hold a church service again.

### *

Looking outside a window can be like looking into another world. Pastor John's was a place of safety, a haven within the growing dark. Everything beyond those four walls was something different than it had been. Even though Willow had prepared for this moment for months, she didn't feel prepared.

To see the end of the world unfolding before the eyes—it's both surreal and devastating. But beyond the broad spectrum aspect, beyond the idea of seeing people she knew, knowing they were lost... beyond all of it, her only concern was seeing Ken's car pull up. Once he was safe within those four walls, she was prepared for whatever waited on the other side of the deadline.

Unlike most girls, Willow never had a vision for her wedding day. She had never really valued herself enough to imagine it being a possibility. Where she had seen herself, if married at all, was in a relationship where she was valued for only one thing. To think that she would soon be married to a man that valued her for all her aspects was beyond comprehension. Ken was Rosy's greatest gift to her little sister—although unintended and well beyond Rosy's control.

### *

Lily wasn't content to stay within the four walls of Pastor John's house. Her calling was to give hope back to the body of Christ, regardless of what happened to her. She related her calling now to a modern day Paul. He suffered greatly for His Lord. And she believed she would have to do the same.

Since her gift was made whole, Lily had been motivated to reach those in her grade. It was Christmas break and even though she wouldn't be returning to her freshman year, there were those she needed to help. Close friends and those she knew very little.

Some people don't randomly come into the lives of others. They are appointed. This was true in Stephanie's case. She couldn't have known that listening to Lily's story all those months ago would keep her family from getting the Chip. She also couldn't have known that the MS diagnosis her father had been dealt at the start of the year was much like Junior's: put in place simply so it could be taken away in a miraculous way.

After Stephanie was witness to her dad's healing, she followed Lily on her mission. She didn't have Lily's gift but she had the passion. And better yet, she had the accessibility that Lily lacked. She was much more popular among the kids. But, even considering her status, there were only a handful of kids they knew of that they could actually help.

Familiarity can be a negative component. Even those who could have taken her help scoffed at the very idea. They didn't buy that Lily could do anything about it. _The weird, quiet girl is nothing special._

Lily had been given the gift, but in a week's time she had healed only two people. Junior still left a bad taste in her mouth; only Stephanie's dad showed her why it was worth the struggle. It was a far cry from what her vision had been. The image in her mind had been something close to a spiritual revival—something to bring Christ back into focus. What she found instead was confirmation to something she didn't want to admit: she was entirely powerless to help those who didn't want help. Even with the anointing to heal, she couldn't change anything. Even as the world fell to hell, she could only watch...

Now the night of the deadline, she was stuck sitting in her room, her frustration mounting. She thought her calling was bigger. She thought her reach would be greater. She thought she could leave behind some spiritual surge before the deadline hit, something to carry people over the threshold. She was meant for more and yet... she was forced to sit and wait. It was strange to think that only a few months ago her and Willow planned to remain safe within Pastor John's house for the duration. Now all she felt within these four walls was the itch to leave. Her purpose was well beyond what they had built together here.

### 3

Linda was all in. Now a carrier of the Chip, she was dedicated to making sure the sheep she had charge over were not left out in the cold of the D.C. winter. Not long after the night of her reveal, she did what needed to be done to have the procedure available within her church. Two stations were present in total, both at the main doors. Although she was witness to continued falloff, the congregation that remained was still a large number.

The Spirit had never felt more at home in a body. To see Credit Chip stations welcomed into a church—the infiltration was complete. A ladder climber was now content to sit back and let this woman follow her _good intentions_ as far as they would lead.

As the deadline approached, her church doors were open and inviting. Holding a New Year's Eve service, complete with food and games, she was able to approach those on the fence in a less forceful manner. The signs placed throughout the halls of the church were subtle enough but not fully convincing:

Why Carry a Cross When You Can Simply Carry a Chip?

Don't Be Left Out in the Cold! Step Out in Faith to Keep All You Have!

The trick to convincing those on the fence is approaching them from all sides and presenting the argument from many angles. The signs were effective reminders, but for those unsure, they didn't do anything to push them over to the other side. But, Linda had an idea for the night. Having let the atmosphere soak in the ethereal after-effects of worship, Linda took the stage, the wall behind her now a screen for all to see.

"Sometimes love requires a convincing argument. Sometimes it must come with pain." She paused as the screen behind her pulled up the first image. A simple picture of fire. She stepped to the side, so everyone could see. "Christians are ruled by fear. You don't know how many I've seen in my time decide they want Jesus in their life for no reason other than to act as fire insurance. Hell, I've been there. The entire relationship is predicated on selfishness. 'If there is a Hell and I will go there, I must choose Him for my benefit. He is the only One keeping me from the fire.' Do you not see how flawed this idea is? I've never had the privilege of being a mother, but I'm told by other parents that they would do anything to keep their children safe, even give their own lives. These words come from the mouths of sinners, imperfect people who make mistakes daily. And yet, this shows a love beyond us. If an imperfect person can love so perfectly, how do you think a perfect God loves? If a flawed parent would lay down his or her very life for their child, why do we think God won't do far more? He will rescue us from ourselves."

She motioned for the next image as she took a breath. The second image was of a full body third degree burn. She heard the congregation groan collectively, disturbed by the image.

"This is what it looks like to be touched by fire for no more than a few moments. This is what we are told Hell promises us. A literal lake of fire. Eternal torment. But being in a form that doesn't die, you won't reach an ending point. The fire will burn for all time, and you will feel the pain for all time. No moment of relief will exist for you. What awful words are these? Are these the words of a perfect God? Or are they the words of vengeful men? If an imperfect parent would lay down his or her life—what kind of God would cast His children into the fire? The image is terrible and haunting. And it should be. To live in fear of Hell, is to believe that God would let this be your eternity. And if you believe in that God, you are in the wrong church."

She motioned for the third and final image. It was of a filthy man overjoyed.

"This is one of my favorite images ever. I saw it years ago online. It was of a man freed from a prison in a third world country. This is each and every one of us. We are filthy in our sin. But there is great joy in our position. Because of what was done on the cross, we are free. And though we remain dirty, smile. He died so you could live. You have a decision to make tonight. What God do you believe in? If you believe in a God of all-consuming love, get the procedure before you leave. Protect yourself. But, if you believe in a God Who doles out eternal punishment at every whim, a God that throws His children to the fire, leave my church now and never return."

Other than a handful walking away with the same wide-eyed disbelief, the rest remained. There was still close to seven hundred people in the church.

### 4

The wind was cold as the president surveyed the unofficial Eastern Holding Zone. The one the public knew of was an old prison that had been updated to look comfortable and humane. Only ten miles from the coast of The Carolinas, it was simply in place as a facade. And it would hold only so many. The real Holding Zone was a large island cleared of its trees with no walls. It wasn't so much a fortress as an invitation to escape. If they didn't try to escape, they would be at the mercy of the harsh winds and cold rain. The next nearest part of land was just over forty miles away. It was desolate, in the middle of nowhere, and something no one would ever look for. Anyone who tried to swim would be taken by the ocean or the creatures that lived in it.

The same was true of each of the three Holding Zones. They had a structure in place to appease the public, while the real Zones were in barren places, with little food and no water provided. They were not places people were meant to survive. They were where the most stubborn holdouts would be sent. Everyone would get their chance to get the procedure done at one of the three structures. How could It weed out the weak from the strong if the offer wasn't even made? But when it was clear who the strong were, they would end up in places meant to kill them.

Even though the deadline had not yet passed, the secret the president had been keeping from the public eye was that Christians were already here—they had been coming in for the last two months. Dozens of people had already died. Bloated bodies littered the shoreline. The smell was one of rot. It made the Head Spirit think of Its home. Unlike the next planned wave, these Christians hadn't been presented the option of the procedure. They were meant as lab rats, to test the effectiveness of the environment. Very few made it past two weeks.

The smell met Francis in his dark room. He couldn't look to see where it came from because he already had a good idea what the source was. With no control to stop the Thing in him, he only had two choices: to look or to keep his eyes closed. He kept his eyes closed tight.

The Head Spirit walked the shoreline, the sound of excessive groaning coming from behind It. It was a sound It was lovingly familiar with. Those souls in the dark, once they were stripped of all their light, lived in a state of dread. They groaned for the light to return. They called for a Hope they would never find again. The only difference between their groaning and the ones currently behind It was their groans came with hope. Once they breathed their last, they would be forever safe.

"It's worth losing you," he said as he walked inland toward the people. "Just getting to witness your suffering for a time. It gives me joy. Many more will follow. The body count will be numerous. And the smell on the shoreline." he sniffed the air pleasantly. "The smell will only sweeten in the coming weeks."

A Creature made up of rot and ruin, It walked between the people, savoring the time It had to walk freely, knowing that soon enough It would be back in chains.

### 5

When Ken reached Pastor John's, Willow ran out to meet him, wearing a long coat to cover what she was wearing underneath it. She delivered the news that they could be married tonight. The idea wasn't one he considered but once it was presented he smiled. It was similar to how he had wanted to propose. Instead, they would be married before the deadline, entering the unknown together. It was perfectly fitting. Poetic and a summation of their relationship from the beginning: finding comfort with each other when everything else was falling apart around them.

Once the necessary number of steps were taken to enter the house, he found that Pastor John was standing in the living room.

"Nothing's orthodox anymore, Ken." Pastor John smiled knowingly. "Would you like to change before we begin?"

Ken looked down at his clothing. Blue jeans and a graphic t-shirt. He had a nice button up white dress shirt in one of the bags downstairs. He even had an old black tie from a wedding he had been to years before.

It didn't take him long to dig out what was needed. As they say, 'he cleaned up nicely'. And then he took his place near Pastor John. He watched Willow remove the coat to reveal the white dress. His eyes jumped to a new level as he nervously pumped on his tippy-toes.

Junior was watching from one side; Lily on the other. The two witnesses to the union. They both still didn't say a word to the other. It didn't seem they ever would...

Willow walked with purpose, looking at Ken's eyes with every step. She rushed the last few steps, eager and impatient to spend the rest of her life with him. Pastor John smiled as she positioned herself to face Ken. They grabbed each other's hands.

"I have watched both of you grow together through great tragedies. And I am overjoyed and truly privileged to have seen you both stay strong when so many others have buckled under the weight. Jesus is The Cornerstone. And we base this union tonight on that very Foundation. Though the world is like sand being pulled and changed by rapid waters, He is The Rock that will never move." He paused as he looked at Willow. "Would you like to say a few words, Willow?"

She nodded as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again she found it hard not to get lost in his eyes. "This is a moment I never thought I'd get to have. And you are the kind of man I never imagined could be mine. We may not get a lifetime together but even a moment with you is priceless. Getting to say these vows tonight is more than I could ask for—to be your wife for even a short period of time is to be blessed beyond measure. I promise to be here through it all, Ken." her smile ended with a sigh of relief.

Pastor John motioned to Ken with a nod of the head.

Ken looked at Willow, his pumping feet now calm. "My vows are not nearly ready," he smiled as he looked out at Lily and Junior. "I didn't know how to approach them to be honest. I'll try my best though. Willow, you are such a treasure to me, such a perfect light to guide me through a still dark tunnel. And yet I still don't know what I should say. I want to honor Rosy without you feeling like she gets your moment. Just let me say this one thing. I thank God for the time He gave me with her. And I thank God that it ultimately led me to you. You are my best friend. You are my compass that keeps me from getting disoriented and wandering off. You are the greatest gift I could ever be given. And if we only have tonight together, I have been given the best night of my life."

"I've officiated many weddings in my years," Pastor John said. "Very few are as genuine as this. Nobody is guaranteed a lifetime together. They only have the present moment. Though you are forced into this mindset by the impending deadline, it makes you appreciate each other for the present instead of a planned out future. Cherish every moment together." A warm smile acted as a period to end his thought. And then he continued. "Due to the spontaneous nature of this wedding, the rings will be handled differently. Willow, please remove your engagement ring and hand it to Ken." as she handed the ring to Ken, Pastor John handed her a gold band. It looked old.

"Ken," Willow had a smile on her face. "This ring was my dad's. And now I want you to have it. He loved me for me. Just like you do."

Ken nodded as she slipped the ring on his ring finger. It fit like it had been handpicked. Ken then slipped the black onyx ring on her finger.

"Willow, do you take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to walk through the valleys with him? Do you promise to see the best in him even when his worst is showing? Do you promise to choose to love when hate is easier?"

"I do." She said without hesitation.

"Ken, do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love her when she doesn't love herself? Do you promise to protect her when danger abounds? Do you promise to see her as a gift even on the hardest days? Do you promise to see her flaws as a reflection of your own?"

"I do," Ken looked her up and down. Dark black hair. Pure green eyes. He saw no flaws in her whatsoever.

"I gladly pronounce, before the eyes of The King of kings and our two present witnesses, you to be husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

It was 11:01 p.m. when Ken kissed his bride.

### *

There was a solid black partition between the driver of the van and the gutted out back. The only other windows were those at the very back. Trying to figure out location by staring out the back windows caused a feeling of disorientation and nausea. It was intentional. If anyone was caught and asked to give up main hiding locations, The Holy Army wanted the information to be vague at best. They transported members back and forth using decommissioned delivery vans.

Debra had tried to pinpoint her location by looking out the back windows a few times. The only landmarks she saw when close was a distant old water tower and a park. Currently, the older of Mama B's boys was looking out the back window; the younger boy was sitting in Mama B's lap.

"I used to go to church a lot," Mama B broke the silence in the back of the van. "When I was a younger woman—when I had my Bo. But he died. The only man that treated me with love and he died." She scratched the heavy wool stocking cap keeping her graying curls from spilling out."

"How long ago did you lose him?" Deb asked looking at the little boy curled up in her lap.

"Twenty three years this March." She looked at Deb and smiled. "I can see you trying to do the math. These aren't my sons. They're my grandbabies. Bo and I had a little girl. Brielle. Oh, she was the sunshine. Such a bright light. But she followed in my footsteps and let trash into her life. She had these two little miracles before drugs got her."

"I'm sorry,"

"We create patterns as parents, you know. I thought her seeing me get pushed around and beat to hell would inspire her to find a good man like her father. Instead what I was telling her by staying in it was that I wasn't worth more. I found out later she felt the same. I failed her. I won't do the same with these little miracles. I have to be better."

"The best part of life is that you can always be better. Your mistakes don't have to be your identity," Deb said, still thinking about when her boy called for her and when she turned away in response. "It may always haunt us but it doesn't have to define us."

"You said you were an atheist. What changed you?" Mama B seemed to scan her.

"My oldest boy got the Chip as a way to start over. He struggled with drugs too—um, heroin mostly. And uh, and he changed. First he killed my younger son's girlfriend. And a few days later, he killed my husband." She looked around the van, wanting to be sensitive to the little ears listening. "S-T-A-B-B-E-D him several times—"

"You don't need to be spell for their benefit," Mama B smiled. "Boys. Ears." Both covered their ears immediately.

"Um, he had Keith—my husband's blood all over him. And he looked at me with these eyes, they were almost joyous. He died only minutes later on our front lawn after trying to cut the Chip out of his wrist."

"I'm sorry, Deb. So, fear led you to your faith?"

"It was the starting point. But it led to something more. I'm not a spokesperson for faith. I'm just someone that has a story of hope I've found in a very dark place. That hope happens to be Jesus. But I don't know the proper words to say. I just know He offers hope."

"Almost impossible to find nowadays," Mama B smiled as she pulled the little boy's hands away from his ears. "Michael, please relay the same message to Terrance." He got up from her lap and scooted over to his brother, who then took his hands away from his ears.

"You've definitely got a system in place." Deb smiled as she looked toward them.

"You gotta. To keep 'em safe, they gotta know when to cover up. Preserve their innocence as long as possible, you know?"

"Definitely." with a quick glance toward the back windows, she saw the water tower. They were nearly there. "I think we're officially illegal citizens."

Mama B looked down at her thin golden wrist watch. "It's official." A light hearted smile shared between two women battered by life.

### 6

_Pearls before swine._ Lily never thought she would look at Junior in such a way. Even a week after confronting her, he hadn't tried to make amends. Simply being in the same room with him was sickening. He didn't understand how undervalued it made her feel. In trying to bring hope to all, she instead brought weights back to him. Had she known, maybe she never would have gone into his room that night. Maybe she would have let Pastor John say his goodbyes and trust that Jesus would keep him strong. The idea that Junior could fall was an irritating itch of a voice she couldn't scratch. Nothing was easy about her gift. And now she had to sit and pretend she belonged with everyone else.

She would always be a square peg in a round hole. Watching Ken and Willow's wedding met her on a plain of ambivalence. He was good enough for her sister and she was glad they found each other but there wasn't much opinion beyond that. Whatever they had to do to remain strong for the coming hell—that was her outlook and all that truly mattered to her.

Willow and Lily had a surface relationship. Her only remaining family remained a near blank space in her life. They didn't fit together and Willow put in little effort to find common ground. Other than rare and far apart moments—maybe once they reached Heaven and the walls of imbalance were lifted.

Lily had known early on in life that she wasn't on earth to cultivate relationships. She was on earth to be a voice directing the searching and lost souls to The Savior. This had only become clearer the longer she was around _normal_ people. They were concerned with emotions. They were concerned with status. She was concerned with only one thing: her calling.

Pastor John had spoken words of prophetic purpose over her. She didn't believe those words would be fulfilled within these four walls. She believed they were well beyond the boundaries of this little haven, out among the darkest parts of the world. She was made for such a time as this. And she planned to set out very soon.

Nobody knew. She covered it with a pleasant smile, pretending to be invested in the wedding. But in her mind, the gears of a plan to leave this place of safety were churning at full speed.

### 7

There were two foldout tables at the front of the church auditorium, able to take four people at a time. The wall screen now projected a countdown clock: 15m 45s. Linda stood behind her podium, offering hearty "spirit-filled" platitudes as a soft piano invited God's presence to enter the room.

"God's love knows no bounds. Do not let fear control you. You are forever safe in His loving arms."

There was no moment of accomplishment greater to Linda than this. Nearly 2/3 of her church saw God as she did. And they now were standing in two long lines to sign their names on legally binding sheets of intent. As long as they had this paperwork with them and presented it to any inquiring member of law enforcement, they would still be safe. But like any sheet of intent, there was an expiration date. The people had twenty four hours from the moment of signature to get the procedure done. No extensions were allowed. And to sign a sheet of intent without seeing it through was an illegal act. To put your name on a sheet put it in the system. And if you were to decide against it, you would be on the run.

Of course, while waiting, another fifteen to twenty people flaked off from the two lines and decided that their fear of Revelation being a true divine warning were too strong. But for the most part, the lines remained intact. And Linda was privileged enough to watch her sheep follow her lead.

She watched both members she had known for years and those she had never seen before sign sheets of intent, receive their pink copy along with the sheet of instructions, and leave the church efficiently.

"The white sheet, the instructions, walks you through everything. I will cover the basics as you wait." Linda had spent many hours learning the policies over the past week. "Be sure to go to any nearby clinic tomorrow and get the procedure done. The last thing you want is to be an illegal citizen. And if you do get a visit tomorrow from any company wanting to repossess your property, show them the seventeen digit code at the top right corner. It will have all of your information available and they will check in with you again the following day where they will then ask for your Credit Chip pin. Do not lose the pink sheet, especially the seventeen digit code. Even though your name is in the system, the code is a password that gives you the 24 hour extension. They will not be able to give it to you. It is considered private and something they cannot access. This pink paper is the only thing keeping you from being arrested. Guard it with your lives."

Linda turned around to see the countdown clock: 6m 15s. This process was going to last another couple hours, the lines moving at a snail's pace. She did the only thing she could think to do: she continued talking.

When ten seconds remained, she counted it down with all the world's enthusiasm. And when the clock hit zero, hundreds of balloons were released from a net up in the high rafters. The lines weren't much smaller at 12:01 a.m. The only thing that was different were the multi-colored balloons that now bounced happily around the room, joyously welcoming in a new and different world.

### 8

A motor boat now carried the president over choppy ocean waters. The dark of the night had quickly swallowed up the island. No image was more fitting for the approaching world. Everything was about to be swallowed up by the darkness.

At 12:01 a.m. he was still thirty miles from the official Eastern Holding Zone, the only other person with him a security detail driving at a steady clip. The man's eyes were pools of ink. The Spirit assigned to the man was in control for the time. Nobody needed to know about the secret island yet.

A mistake had been made. The president had spent too much time on the island, basking in the suffering, basking in the smell. Now, he was running late. But the people would understand. After all, nobody's perfect. Not even him. Yet another reason why the people loved him so much...

## -After 12:01 a.m.-

### 1

A honeymoon can only offer so much when it takes place in the basement of a hideout, even when that basement is fully finished and closed off from the rest of the house. Ken and Willow made it what they could. They lit a fire in the downstairs fireplace and pulled out the bed from the pullout sofa.

At 12:01 a.m., the dimmed lights turned off, leaving only the glow of the fire. They were lying in the bed together, no longer fully naked but not nearly fully clothed. He had on his boxer briefs; Willow was wearing nothing but her beige panties. The matching bra was tossed aside somewhere on the floor while the white dress warmed itself by the roaring fire.

"Do you think Pastor John is going to turn on the generator tonight?" Ken asked as he traced roads with his fingers across her bare back.

"Probably not." she answered softly, her head resting against his chest. "I know he plans to for church tomorrow."

"I don't see it happening. I think he keeps talking about church tomorrow because he doesn't want to accept the truth. Nobody is coming. Nobody should come."

"I know," she sounded sad when she said it. "It was a plan we all agreed on months ago. But things have changed."

Ken laid without saying another word, just rubbing his bride's back, enjoying the time they had together. At some point within the next fifteen or twenty minutes he fell asleep. Willow followed not long after...

KNOCK! KNOCK! A sleep that met him naturally was disturbed abruptly. Ken opened his eyes to a racing heart and a sour pit in place of his stomach. Even with the basement door closed away from the main floor, the knock at the front door reached them with force. It sounded like a hit stick was used.

"We have to get dressed, sweetie." Ken said, jumping up from the bed to gather his thrown-about clothing. When he found her bra, he tossed it to her.

"Are we gonna be okay, Ken?" she asked with widened eyes. She couldn't believe it was happening this soon. She thought they had more time. Why couldn't they have more time?

"Yeah, sweetie. We'll be okay. But we need to get ready to leave now."

It didn't take long for either of them to get dressed in the clothes they were married in. Both would have preferred a different outfit but there was no time.

Unlike many of the houses in the area, Pastor John's basement didn't have an exit.

"Whatever happens, Ken," Willow pushed out a smile from a frightened state.

"I'm yours, sweetie." Ken grabbed a fireplace poker from the fireplace as he stepped up the first stair. His hands squeezed the weapon and repositioned as he took another step. And another. Willow was directly behind him, her eyes darting from here to there.

As Ken neared the door, it opened. Pastor John was a thick figure filling the doorway, only candle light behind him

"It's time to move on from here. I'm sorry it couldn't have been longer." Pastor John's voice was steady but sad.

"Are we caught, Pastor John?" Willow asked from behind Ken.

"No. We have a different problem."

When they stepped onto the main floor and out of the kitchen, they found two cop bodies dead on the entrance floor. The front door was still slightly opened, letting a steady winter chill crawl into the powerless home.

### *

Debra promised Mama B that her and her boys would have a warm bed and a hot meal tonight and she didn't lie. They enjoyed a bowl of chili with cornbread muffins. This was the most she could promise anybody. And now that the deadline was passed, she was living minute to minute. There were no more promises she could give, no more assurances to offer.

She looked to her right to find Mama B sitting on an empty cot as she lightly stroked behind Michael's ear. Terrance was already asleep on the same cot, wrapped in a fleece blanket.

To her left and only a few cots away, Charlie was tossing and turning. She was very protective of him, having created a near unbreakable bond in just a few days.

"Can't sleep?" she walked over to him, the dark of the gymnasium lit only by various candles.

"Not really," he breathed out deeply, his blinks long and heavy. "Just thinking about my parents."

She sat down on the cot next to him, rubbing his back with light strokes. "I feel like there is going to be a lot of self-reflection in the days to come. I've always found nighttime to be the loneliest. In the daytime you can distract yourself. But when the night brings the quiet, you are left with memories. You flip through them like a photo album you shouldn't be looking at." She thought about her boys. "They bring comfort. But they also bring terrible sadness. Because that isn't your life anymore—they aren't yours any-anymore."

He nodded his head, his eyes seeming to probe the dark walls of the gymnasium for answers.

"What can I do to make you feel better, Charlie?"

"Can you stay here with me?"

"I'll be here all night if you need it,"

"Thanks, Debra."

"No thanks needed, Charlie." She continued to rub his back lightly. "When my youngest son was a little boy, he could tell himself what to dream. If you could dream anything, what would it be?"

"Dad used to tell me about him and my mom going to The Great Wall of China. He said he couldn't wait to go again as a family. We never got to go."

"Close your eyes and go on that trip, Charlie. Forget about the reality for a moment. And while on that trip, tell them the words you never got to say in person."

Charlie closed his eyes. No images came, no matter how much he wanted them to. All he saw was the murky black of his closed eyelids. "There's nothing there."

"Okay," Debra sighed. "I'll take you there." And so she told him the story of a family trip that he would never go on, filling it with love that he would never again receive from them. And once she reached the end, as she was about to say a final goodbye from him, he saw them fade in from the murky black, bright smiles on display.

Charlie no longer heard Debra's story; asleep and in a realm different from this one, he wrote an ending of his own:

"We understand why you have to go, son." His dad spoke for both of them. "We're sorry we can't come too."

"Why can't you come with, Baba? Mama?" here Charlie was free to call them what he usually did. "Why can't you come into The Light with me?"

"It's not our light, son. It's yours." His Baba never said much but his words always held wisdom.

"But He is the only light, Baba! He is the only light!"

His Baba said nothing more. Instead they just pulled him close and hugged their child tight until he opened his eyes to the dark gymnasium again. Debra was still sitting on the edge of his cot, having fallen asleep sometime in between. Tears sat in his eyes as he closed them again. Even the warmest of goodbyes left him feeling cold.

### 2

John stood in Junior's doorway, one lone tea candle on his nightstand the only source of light. Even though it wasn't yet midnight, John had the lights off upstairs. He knew that power would shut off at 12:01 a.m. He had received many warning letters from the power company stating just that. And he was prepared for it. He had no plans to turn on the generator tonight.

His only remaining plan for the night was to check in on his boy. His elation remained at having his son back and healthy. But beyond a father's elation, he noticed his son's somber demeanor. Once the high of the miracle faded, he was left to deal with the fallout.

Junior looked at his dad and then around his room. It wasn't easy being here when he could have been safe.

"Son," John was nothing more than a full silhouette caught in the cast of dim candle light. "You can be honest with me. Do you wish you wouldn't have been healed?"

"Yeah, dad." Very little hesitation came from Junior's voice. It was something he had wanted to say for a while now. But how to tell his dad...

John processed the news like one processes a gunshot wound. He had allowed his boy some time, understanding that shock alone would keep him in a state of despondency. But no improvement came. And the longer he stayed around, the more corpse-like he became. The cancer was gone but the will to live hadn't returned. "I don't know what to say, son."

"I'm glad it was able to give you hope again, dad. But I am still left in between here and there. She had no right—to just come in and wave her magic fingers in my direction. I hate her for—"

"I'll listen to your reasons, Junior. But I will not entertain your poison. It wasn't your time. You got sick so that you could be healed in such a way. You were not meant to die. And hating Lily—it's absolutely unacceptable. And it's not the kind of character I raised you to have. It's not the kind of character your mother—"

"Don't talk about mom. She was meant to die? And I was just meant to live through the same excruciating process? I couldn't be healed when it started, right? I had to shrink, look like a walking skeleton everywhere I go. Maybe a badge of honor, dad? 'I'm one of God's showy miracles everyone?!' I'll forever look sick! And now I have to act like I'm thankful for this?! Why?!"

"I don't know the reasons why things happened the way they did, Junior. You don't need to know the reasons to move forward. Walking with God is to know you will never understand all of the ins and outs of life. Do you still trust Him?"

Junior paused for a moment. "If I had died, dad, would have you fallen away?"

John thought about the question. Despite his daily prayers not to hate God, he couldn't say one way or the other. "I don't know, son. I want to think I would have stayed strong." He had thought about what he would do after Junior died. And he always returned to the image of him dying quickly on his bed, his upper half zipped up inside of one of the plastic bags he used to keep his suits pressed when not in use. Maybe he wouldn't have fallen away, but he also wouldn't have ended his life in a way that was befitting to his legacy. And worse yet, he would have left behind two girls already familiar with death to struggle through yet another. Just like their mother, he would have sent them the message that they weren't enough to fight for.

Something about his dad's reply met Junior where it needed to. "I'm here for you, dad. And I'll stay here for you." a smile of realization. "I've gotta go talk to Lily."

John nodded his head as he stepped aside, Junior getting up and leaving the room...

When the power cut off at 12:01 a.m., the only clear indicator was the sound of the heater shutting off. And almost immediately, the house grew cold. John sat in his room alone, with nothing but a tea candle lit and his bible out. He didn't read through Revelation. Instead he mined the depths of Acts, trying to find comfort in those who suffered the first wave of Christian persecution.

He walked along the words, following the path through familiar passages and into ones he had never noticed before. He had read this particular book at least fifty times. And yet it always gave him something new—the wonder of reading God's living Word. He found comfort in many places, closing his eyes and sitting in the quiet. A still quiet was interrupted with a sudden knocking at the front door.

John put his hand to his heart. A usual steady heart was now racing.

"Prepare my heart, Lord." He stood up from sitting on the floor and headed toward his door, the voices muffled but present. It came sooner than he had expected. When he looked down at his phone, nothing more than a source of time now, it was only 1:17 a.m.

When he entered the hallway, he saw the glow of red and blue pushing through his living room window. But he didn't hear voices anymore. He reached the entryway quickly, seeing Lily standing next to two dead bodies on the floor, Junior's eyes wide with shock from the living room couch.

"What happened?" John asked, his expression nearly matching Junior's.

"They found us." Lily said, her eyes glossed over with a cold understanding. "We can't stay here anymore, Pastor John. I'm sorry."

He didn't know how to respond to what he saw. How did they die in such a short time? They had knocked only moments before. And why did Junior look like he had seen a ghost?

"You okay, son?" John asked as he walked toward the kitchen. He had to check on Ken and Willow.

A slight nod of the head was all Junior could give, his eyes still looking toward Lily.

John opened the basement door to find Ken and Willow near the top. He still had no idea what happened. All he knew was that two police officers were dead on his floor. And it seemed Lily was the reason for it.

### *

Lily sat in the living room alone, looking out the window. The house was dark except for a few lit candles. The closest one to her was on the coffee table behind her.

"Hey," It was 11:46 p.m. when Junior said his first word to her in a week. He sat down in the old chair near her. "I never thanked you for what you did."

"Don't bother." She refused to look at him. "I know you're only here now because you just got done talking to Pastor John. Did he want you to come and make things better with me?"

"Dad has always helped give me perspective." he paused. "You were right, Lil. When I asked him what my dying would do to him, I saw his eyes. No matter what he told me, his eyes said everything. It would have destroyed him. I know that much." he rested his thin arms on his long legs. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for blaming you. Will you forgive me?"

Lily now looked toward him, her eyes searching his as she nodded her head. "I didn't consider your feelings, Junior. I didn't even think what it meant for you. I was told to give hope back and I started where it was needed most. We all needed hope again. You don't understand. It wasn't just Pastor John that needed to see something miraculous. We all did."

"I understand, Lil." he offered a warm smile. "Who else have you healed? I couldn't have been the only one."

"Steph's dad. Just you and him. No one else let me near them."

"That shouldn't surprise you though. Remember when Jesus tried to heal in his hometown? They knew Him as nothing more than a carpenter. And because of it, He only healed a few people. They think they know you, Lil. But they don't."

"Thanks, Junior." she let him see a slight smile. "I've missed you being my friend."

He looked down at the floor, nodding his head. "Me too."

Within the next few minutes, both Lily and Junior moved to the couch. And from there they watched the deadline pass, shutting the power off of only one other house in the neighborhood.

"What do you think's gonna happen to us, Lil? You told me I better plant myself in Christ for the hell to come."

She thought long and hard about what to say. No longer the little girl to blurt out heavy spiritual revelation to distribute its weight, she gave a vague answer: "I just meant know that you know Him." The real answer would have scared Junior: _Know that you're ready to die for Him._ It was a conversation for another time. And even though she believed Junior already understood it, she didn't want to bog the moment down.

He didn't answer. He just nodded his head as he looked around.

The future was now boxed up into little sixty second segments. If they made it through one, the next came along, the same threat present. Everybody who entered the deadline without the Chip already understood what stand they were taking. And they understood that eventually they all would end up in the same place. They could run. They could hide. But they couldn't escape the inevitable. All would have to face their trials and their moment of decision. Were they willing to suffer as followers of Christ? Or would they let the fear of a temporary pain push them to make the biggest mistake one could make?

Lily understood her fate—everyone's fate. All she could do was sit in each sixty second box, knowing that one of them would bring the start of the promised persecution. Maybe it would be tonight; maybe it wouldn't.

A fractured friendship was being repaired as Junior and Lily sat next to each other. They didn't say much more. Junior's eyes grew heavy as the minutes wore on, and soon his long body was slouched over awkwardly, his head laying on the right arm of the three seater.

When she closed her eyes to pray, she found that the boxed in segments broke away. The future was not condensed into these individual boxes of fear; it was eternal. And as long as she could endure the coming pain, she would live in the presence of The Savior for eternity. This was only the beginning, only the shadow before stepping out into the sun.

Move mountains in My Name, Lily.

It was the only instruction she received before hearing the loud knock at the door. Her eyes opened to the red and blue swirl of cop lights, the car parked directly behind Ken's black Buick. She looked to her right. Junior was awake now, looking out at the lights, fear filling his eyes.

"Stay here, Junior." Lily said as she calmly stood up to answer the door. She took the few steps required to reach the door and opened it.

Two tall white men stood in the entryway, looking small compared to the Spirit's tethered to each. The Spirits looked down at Lily, their smiles wide and stretched long.

"We received a call from the neighbors that people were hiding out here." They stepped into the house, now looking over at Junior. "Is it just the two of you here?"

They looked back at Lily. "We're gonna have to search the house for anyone else."

She didn't step aside. She looked at them with eyes that were both cold and sad as she spoke: "Jesus Christ, who gave you life, now takes it away."

Immediately the men fell to the floor, dead. But, Lily didn't hear the silence that Junior heard. She heard the screams of their souls as they were dragged down into the dark. And then she heard nothing. When Pastor John appeared only moments later, Lily could only appear cold. A mask to wear for a young woman haunted by her gift. She saw too much. And now there was no way to separate the faces of the men from their final screams.

### 3

Linda was finally on her way home from the church. The process had taken longer than she expected. The members of her church signing their letters of intent cemented who remained of her congregation. She was overjoyed at how many she still had. Losing about 1/3rd of the people was actually less than she had expected. That virus of a Hell gospel had spread far and wide. But fortunately it hadn't soaked so far into their belief that she couldn't pull them back out.

Because of her, they were going to sleep in their beds tonight, not having to worry when they would be arrested. She was just doing God's work. It brought a warm smile to her face as she turned into her apartment complex...

After a number of tired steps brought her to the front door of her first floor apartment, she took a few more, collapsing onto the couch. Sleep found her immediately. And with it came a vivid dream, given to her by a Spirit she wasn't aware she housed:

She was standing behind a clear podium, looking out at a group of people far different from her congregation. Everyone was wearing plain gray jumpsuits, each with a different set of numbers stenciled in white on their left breast pocket. Behind her was a pull down screen, displaying the same third degree burn image from the presentation she had given earlier in the night. And just like her congregation did, the people seeing it reacted strongly.

Her eyes opened to her apartment with fuel behind them. If the message she gave earlier tonight could convince her congregation, the same message could convince others in need of her words. She had been given dreams from God before, little snapshots to help guide her along her path. This one was simple enough to understand: her calling was at the Eastern Holding Zone as a pastor to lead them away from unnecessary martyrdom.

She grabbed the thin silver laptop on her glass coffee table, opening a search engine bar:

volunteer positions available at eastern holding zone

Like a prayer answered, the first result that popped up was positions needing to be filled. Reading the brief description, she saw 'pastors needed desperately'.

"Okay, Lord. I hear You loud and clear." She clicked the result. It brought her to a webpage where she only had to put in her Credit Chip ID number to claim one of the volunteer spots. Linda had never felt such a divine sense of purpose. She could do some real good for the misunderstood and the lost. Having been exhausted from the long night, she now couldn't wait to step into her new calling. She had no plans to sleep anymore tonight. She pulled up a word document program on her laptop and began to work on a message that could convince even the most stubborn believers.

### 4

The president had arrived behind the old prison a little after 1:00 a.m., the boat coming up to the dock in a darkened and heavily guarded area. None of the guards asked where he came from. Just like his driver, the assigned Spirits took control of them for those moments, leaving the guards to later wonder what happened during a shared blackout.

He now stood at the main entrance to the official Eastern Holding Zone, the cameras lenses a group all their own in front of him.

"It's a funny thing. I can heal people with my mind. But, I can't make a dead boat engine come back to life. I apologize for my tardiness. Thank you for covering while I was fighting the choppy Atlantic waters." He used one of his famous smiles to remove any lingering questions. "Now to address this historic night. I am hopeful that this is only a temporary need and that these people see the error in their ways. Nothing would make me happier than to close these doors for good. Is it too much to ask for a country truly united in its goals? Yes, we are all different. And our differences are what make us unique. My goal isn't to make people carbon copies of the other. My goal is to evolve our thinking—this has been my goal from the very beginning. When you look at a person you shouldn't see difference in color, or class, or orientation. You should simply see a human being, like you, who offers their own solution to life's greatest question: 'how do we find peace?' Unity is like a puzzle and we all offer our own piece. When one person withholds their piece, the picture can never be fully complete." The Head Spirit knew how to speak the language people wanted to hear. And It knew how to present it in a way where the strings were hidden. "My hope is that America can act as a stencil for other countries to copy. The Credit Chip is only in America now. Other than this group of holdouts, it provides a solution that has never been seen before. When there is unity, we can do absolutely anything. Imagine this, not only our country unified, but the whole world unified under a cashless system. Wars ending. Hate dissipating. Instead of seeing each other's differences as something to push us apart, we see each difference as necessary to fit where we lack." He turned to look at The Holding Zone. "The first wave of people hasn't yet arrived. They are still being rounded up and gathered from their hiding places. What breaks my heart is their one mindedness. Everything is about religion. Your character doesn't really matter to them if you don't believe what they do. They toss you aside. They act superior to you. And then they try to say it is done in love. It was apparently love that held a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. And it was love that blew up over two hundred people at Margaret Still's self-healing seminar." He paused as he closed his eyes, making sure the weight of the next statement was felt everywhere. "I am not only speaking to the people of The United States of America tonight. I am speaking to the world. There is a better way. There is an answer to our greatest struggle. And it lies inside each of you. When the Credit Chip is implemented, it removes all other worries. And with all other worries out of the way, you can now focus on what truly matters: unity. If you are on the fence, or even if you doubt my claims, watch America soar from here on out. I would love to be able to help you reach the same solution in your country. This is an invitation I have longed to offer. Though the dollar was a different currency than yours, the same truth applies. Money in any form is worthless. It is interchangeable. It can be anything. It is just a way to dole out power to some and offer the short end of the stick to others. You will only find freedom when currency no longer classifies you, when it no longer controls your life. I have already created the structure for this system. All you need to do is reach out to me. Ask for a helping hand and it will be given to you. Together we can heal this world of a disease that has plagued it since the very beginning. This is a moment in history. Together we could make it one that will never be forgotten." Along with the camera lenses, he heard the loud clicks of photos being captured. "I know this comes as a surprise to the media. I will gladly take any questions you may have."

Lidia's hand raised first. He noticed and called on it immediately. After all, she was the voiced the people preferred. "I'll be honest, Mr. President. Nobody knew what your message was going to be tonight. Of course we could speculate—which we did. I'm not only surprised. I'm elated. You are always setting your sights on the next goal. Will you ever be satisfied?"

"Is that your question, Lidia?"

"It is, Mr. President."

"I will not be satisfied until full worldwide unity is achieved. Once that happens, and I believe it will, then I can finally sit back and enjoy the new world. A beautiful world." He smiled at her, as if to thank her for giving him the phrase.

She smiled back at him in response.

Another hand raised. Ned T. Elway, not nearly as much of a kiss-up as Lidia. "Mr. President. How would you implement these systems into countries where money is low?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Ned. I will work to find a solution in even the toughest of circumstances. If a country wants it implemented, you can know for certain that I will do anything to make it happen. The word 'no' is not in my vocabulary."

He nodded his head with halfway understanding, his little round glasses barely fitting his round face. "Thank you, Mr. President."

"A good question, Ned. Now, I'll take just one more. Don't want to talk your ears off," he laughed slightly. The next raised hand he saw in a sea of them was someone he was unfamiliar with. It was a thin woman, she almost looked like a younger Margaret Stills, back when her hair was still black. "A new face. What question can I answer?"

"Mr. President, Sherri Miles from The D.C. Chronicle. Nearly a year ago, we stepped into a new age of evolution with you. You promised that the Credit Chip would come with new abilities—the kinds you have. And a few people have been able to reach this level. Margaret Stills is the main one that comes to mind. Anyway, do you offer this same promise to those in other countries if they implement the same system?"

"Firstly, I would like to address Margaret Stills. Sadly, with what I've seen on the news, she's been missing for a while now. I can only hope she returns soon. The world needs her around. She is a fantastic teacher. And a good friend." he paused for a moment to show respect. "Now, leaping off of that, I want to be clear that the Credit Chip offers no power," he smiled smugly to make her question seem ridiculous. "All the Credit Chip does is remove financial stress, allowing your mind an environment where you can dig deep to reach your final stage. Margaret dug deep to find the ability. And once she found it, she worked it like a muscle. It was clearly a strong one. Just look at her seminars." A short pause. "To answer your question. If they work to find the ability, they will find it, because we are in a new stage of evolution. But, I have to reiterate this: let everybody's primary goal be for unity. Everything else should simply be the cherry on top. Long before I could heal with my mind, my aim was unity. And now, even with that ability readily available to me, the same truth remains. Unity heals all other wounds. And who knows, once unity is reached, you may just find that you have abilities that I haven't even tapped into. Anything is possible when you believe it is. Thank you for your questions and have a wonderful night."

The camera lenses were removed from his sight, the news anchors attached to them soon entering their boats and leaving the island. Not long after, he did the same. And when he hit the coast of North Carolina, the first thing he saw in a dark sky was the active swirls of red and blue.

### 5

Ken gathered a few jeans and a number of long sleeved shirts from the pile of garbage bags downstairs, throwing them into a much smaller plastic grocery bag. He wanted to rip into the box of photo albums to find something special to hold onto. But there was no time. He looked toward the small stack of boxes in the corner of the basement for only a moment before sprinting back up the basement stairs. Willow was in the kitchen, her clothes gathered in a bag of her own. The red and blue lights continued their rotation, now displayed across Willow's fair skin like she was a movie screen.

He looked down at the two dead bodies, Lily still standing near the open door. They would need the Credit Chip to pump gas. The idea of amputating one of their forearms to use the Chip met him with a convincing logic. But the more he thought about it, the more the holes appeared. None of their cars were legal anymore. And if they took the cop car, it was sure to be reported stolen soon enough. And if they were caught with a cop's arm—he looked at his bag of clothes and then Willow's, beginning to doubt the likelihood of safe escape. Canada was a ten and a half hour drive to the border. Why they didn't take the trip to the border days ago was a question that now haunted him. Maybe they never were going to escape. Maybe those few hours with Willow as his wife was all he was meant to have.

"Are we taking your van, Pastor John?" Ken asked, looking out toward the street, trying to push himself to run.

"We can," Pastor John was quiet, having come to a sudden conclusion he didn't think would reach him so soon. "I wonder though if it's time for me to face the trials."

Ken felt the same way, wishing someone would convince him otherwise.

"Pastor John?" Willow's eyes started to well with tears. Her only father figure, removed from her life once again. "You can come with us. You don't have to give up."

"Willow," he produced a warm smile, something genuine even as horror surrounded them. "We want more time. We always will. But our time together has come to an end. This is not how I envisioned it. I saw a revival. I saw many more souls being saved from the brink. Our plans haven't worked out the way we hoped they would—they rarely do. But, I think the writing is on the wall. Run, if you must."

"If you are ready to give up, dad, then why am I here?" Junior's words didn't sound bitter.

"There is nowhere we can run, Junior. The time has come."

Ken pulled Willow aside, Pastor John's words fading into the background. "No more running, Willow. I've run from things my whole life. We can't prolong this. We can't have a normal life together. You are a bright light in a very dark place. We can never have more than that. I love you and cherish every moment I have left with you." he bent down his long frame to kiss her. She responded with eyes that were wide and searching as she nodded her head in agreement. She closed her eyes to a falling tear.

"It isn't fair, Ken."

"It never is, sweetie." He kissed her forehead as he wrapped his arms around her. "It never is."

### *

At 2:25 a.m. Debra's eyes opened to four flashlight beams stabbing through the near-dark of the gymnasium.

"Nobody move!" the voice was low and severe, projecting through a speaker system. "Cooperate and things will go better for you!"

"It'll be okay, Charlie." she whispered to him, a mother's instinct still automatic. "I'm here."

Charlie sat up to find Debra grabbing hold of him and keeping him close.

Hiding from the law post-deadline was proving impossible. With so many eyes against them, they were at the mercy of a merciless people. And The Holy Army, despite all of its secrecy and the deep rooted system it had running across the country, simply did not have the resources needed to fully disappear. They had never promised safety from the world; they had promised they would do what they could with the time they had left. Reaching any souls they could while they still were free to speak, free to walk the streets. That time had passed. Now the most they could offer was a hot meal and a bed away from the cold. It didn't last long, a fact Debra feared would prove true sooner rather than later.

But not even she expected it to be this soon. All of this secrecy to only be found a little more than two hours after the deadline? It all seemed laughable. And she realized that it was. The body of Christ had always been laughable to the world—she sure had done her fair share of laughing in her time. Always the group asking for donations to fund their Sunday services; always the group where a good portion of the congregation drove beat up cars, praying it would just get them from point A to point B. She had joined a group with few resources trying to fight against a world that had a surplus. It was laughable. And yet, as several policemen moved in to arrest the Christians who were sitting on old cots in an old school gymnasium, she smiled. There was no group she would have rather been with.

### 6

The time has come? John looked at his son. That clearly wasn't enough. Knowing that Junior wished he had died that night instead of being healed, John now had to bring comfort to him. His boy was healed so that John could make it to this point, instead of opting out in a quite cowardly way. But now his boy would have to endure the coming trials. And even though it was clear to John that Junior was never supposed to die, he also wasn't in his boy's shoes. When at the precipice of paradise, who wouldn't rather take those final steps into the light?

It was clear to John there were no words he could say to bring comfort in the moment. All he could do was hold his boy close. And that's what he did.

### *

Lily felt like no more than a shadow standing by the front door. Other than answering how the men died with a simple reasoning, she was not acknowledged. Is this how a ghost unaware of its death would feel? She stood amongst them but she was not part of them. She didn't try to say anything. The two dead bodies were just another thing to further separate her from the rest of the group. She had seen Junior's eyes, still wide and terrified when he would glance over at her.

She did it to protect them, to move a mountain, to give them a chance to escape. What she saw now though was that her decision to move a mountain, a decision that would never not haunt her, had only afforded the group the chance to choose their fate. And it seemed they were choosing to turn into the skid. It wasn't worth the screams that now echoed through the dark hallways of her mind. Just so Willow could cry another tear over Ken? Just so Pastor John and Junior could share one more moment together? She now had the sounds of damnation sitting with her. Seeing the Spirits tethered to the lost was different than this. She had still been disconnected from the full reality. Not anymore. She knew the terror another felt; she knew the sound a soul makes when it realizes all hope is gone. It was a sound she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

Lily was ready to turn into the skid as well. She loved everyone in this group but she didn't belong with them. She belonged where there was truly a need for her and her gift. Clearly, if it had ever been here with this group, that time had long passed. She looked out the glass weather door, seeing the still rotating police lights come from the idling cop car, now just waiting for a second set to approach.

### 7

Linda had prepared many arguments in her day. To say they were sermons was to make them sound friendly and light hearted. Ever since coming to the enlightening conclusion that Hell was a fictitious place, she had been targeted by many different pastors. They slandered her name in public, made the ridiculous claim that she was now on her way to the very Hell she denied, and labeled her a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Every one of her sermons had the extra pressure of disputing their wild claims. She was always on the defense because she was always being attacked. Once something that nearly drove her to shutting down her church entirely, she pressed on, deciding to trust that God would see her through even the darkest valleys.

Much like David, she had spent her time fighting away the lions and bears threatening her sheep all so it could prepare her for the day she would face off against Goliath. Once a woman who was quiet and compliant, letting people feed her the words of the bible like old, lukewarm soup, she would never forget the night divine revelation struck. It changed everything. It made a timid woman bold. It was a message everyone living in fear of Hell needed to hear. She followed it fearlessly to the outskirts of her faith, losing many along the way but also gaining many more.

She could handle whatever was thrown at her because everything already had been. She was made for this moment. Only a few minutes since starting a rough draft, she already had typed out a page and a half. She was a master of swaying those who were already convinced.

She took a moment to tie up a final loose end, sending a text to her fill in Pastor:

Effective immediately:

God has called me to pastor elsewhere for a time, Eric.

I'll expound tomorrow.

The typing commenced immediately once she hit send.

### 8

A limousine met the president at the dock. The door was opened from the inside.

"Mr. President." The Head of State was already sitting in the limo, phone in hand. "I've been talking to Mexico since your announcement ended. The President would like to discuss implementing your proposed system."

He grabbed the phone that was offered. "Pummel here. What do you say we work through the necessary layers of bureaucratic tape to get this deal done tonight? The sooner we can work out a system, the sooner we can give the Mexican people a structure that benefits everyone. I'm willing to if you are."

"Exactly what I was hoping to hear, Frank."

## -Convergence-

### 1

Ken and Willow moved back downstairs together when they decided they weren't going to run, spending their last moments of freedom together in front of a dying fireplace. Once the second cop car came a little over an hour later, the scene was treated as a double homicide. One officer stayed upstairs to question the other three while the second officer met Willow and Ken downstairs. When asked what happened, Ken didn't say anything—not that he would have been believed anyway. Lily did it to keep them safe, obviously expecting the rest to run. He wouldn't drop her name despite it guaranteeing to make things easier on everyone else involved.

A blur set in over the next number of hours. He was processed at the local jail and forced to wait in a packed cell. Although he arrived with the group, they were quickly divided. Lily was the first to be taken. And though Willow tried to stop it from happening by grabbing Lily's hand, Lily simply said, "Don't worry about me, Willow. I still have things to do." It was met with Willow nodding her head to falling tears as she let her hand go.

Throughout the night, at times that seemed both random and unplanned, the cell doors would unlock and a grouping of ten people would be called by name and taken away by the guard on duty. Pastor John was among the first grouping of people to be taken, having to leave Junior behind. Ken saw him say something softly to his boy before making his way for the door. When Willow looked to Pastor John, he smiled as he gestured for her to keep her chin up, mouthing one word: trust.

Ken invited Junior to sit next to them, Pastor John having sat a few spots down the bench from them to give the newlyweds a bit more time together. Junior accepted with a slight nod of the head as he moved down to sit next to Ken. Willow was to Ken's right, her fingers laced tightly with his as her head pressed up against his shoulder. They only had these moments together, moments filled with lingering uncertainty. When the cell door opened again, only Junior's full name was called.

"It'll be okay." Ken said as he gave a strong nod of the head. "Stay strong, man." Junior looked back at him and toward Willow.

Willow ended up using the same gesture and word Pastor John had given her. Junior shook his head up and down as he left the cell.

Every time the cell doors opened and another group was taken, Ken prepared to lose her to the random selection. It was a long night that didn't seem to end even as day broke through, the barred window in the cell coloring a dim orange glow with dull gray.

"Do you think it's gonna hurt?" Willow asked quietly.

"I think you're strong enough to face whatever is ahead. You've been through worse than this." He gave her a reassuring smile. "You're strong, Willow."

They were the timely and final words he said to Willow before the cell door opened and her name was called along with nine others. Willow left with tears shallow in her eyes; Ken just sat alone, his eyes cold stone staring ahead.

"Newlyweds?" an older woman asked, her once black hair now graying. She was one of the ten that remained in the cell.

"Yeah," Ken nodded his head slightly. "Only hours ago. We were married right before the deadline."

"That's special," she gave an older generation nod of approval. "My husband and I just hit fifty years. He was taken with the second group. Honestly, it feels like I'm missing one of my arms."

He nodded his head, still contributing very little to the conversation.

"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, young man. I'm just looking for a distraction I think. Everything I'm losing for—well sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Do you really think God would send us to Hell for getting a silly little piece of technology?"

Ken turned to her, his cold eyes softening when he saw hers trembling. "We have to face this. I know it's scary, but it's only for a time. You cannot go into this doubting your decision or you will fail."

"Fail? I'm human. I fail multiple times daily. And Jesus still loves me. He still accepts me."

"That's true. But not here. Not with this. You can't give in. If you do, you're forever lost." He thought about his brother.

"I don't know. It goes against Who I know Him to be. I've been walking with Jesus for over forty years."

"Why are you even here then? If you are convinced there is no reason to put yourself through it, why do it?"

"Harold, my husband, has always been the driving force. He feels very strongly about this. He always has had a militaristic outlook on God. 'Do this and this and He'll give you a reward' or 'stay in line if you don't want to be punished'—you know that sorta thing."

Ken nodded his head. "Nobody can make that decision for you. I guess just ask yourself one question: are you losing anything if you lose your life for Christ? Doesn't He say losing our life for His sake is to gain everything?"

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the tremble had steadied. "Those words hit me where they needed to, young man. They were exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you so much." she wrapped her arms around him for a moment with a grateful smile on display, Ken simply touching one of her arms with his hand as his reply.

They waited in the cell for another hour and a half or so before the guard came to take the final group away. They were handcuffed again and then led past the old brick walls of the jail and out into a bitter cold. There was a rental transport van waiting in the parking lot, something close to an airport model. It was a far cry from being an official prisoner transport vehicle. It had windows lining the sides, looking more like they were about to take a road trip than being transported to a Holding Zone. The taped together city Ken had always known it to be, Ransom was dysfunctional as usual. Some things never change, regardless of how improved everything was supposed to be.

In case anyone in the group decided to make a run for it, the guard that led them out of the jail had his weapon drawn with a second officer nearby. The group of ten entered the van one at a time, Ken ending up next to the same woman he had talked to in the cell. Once the two officers took their seats up front, the vehicle began to move...

Seven hours later, they were still in the van, now swallowed up by a starless night, making their way up a secluded and poorly plowed road. The drifts of snow were high and spilling onto the path the power-challenged vehicle was trying to find traction on.

Ken looked up ahead from his middle seat, his handcuffed hands in between his legs, seeing bright white lights permanently spotting the dark sky in the distance. It was only as they got closer that he could see the lights belonged to a large building.

"To lose is to gain," the woman next to him now gave the same reminder he had given her. It was needed as the building came into full view, now looming largely over them.

### *

For Debra and the rest of those in the school, there were no rental vehicles, no waiting for hours in a crowded cell. This wasn't the small, poorly run city of Ransom, Iowa. Once the adults were caught and arrested, they were quickly tossed into a well-oiled machine of a system. Parked outside of the school were two long prison transport buses with the letters D.C.P.D on the side in white on a striking blue background.

The children were allowed to ride with their guardians during transport. Beyond that though was still unknown. Would they be separated from them entirely at some point? Despite many asking these questions, the answers given were vague at best. Debra and Charlie sat near the far back of the bus, Mama B and her boys directly across from them. Both buses were filled to near capacity, the gymnasium having held close to one hundred and fifty people.

Two guards sat at the front of each bus, shotguns out and ready. The number of illegal citizens far outnumbered them, a preventative measure through and through. Once the buses started driving, they didn't stop. The docks were six hours and ten minutes away.

It was 8:52 a.m. when the buses stopped at the docks in North Carolina. It took another twenty minutes for everyone to be loaded onto the boat. And from there it took another twenty five minutes to pull up to the island. The structure was no different than the typical prison: a large box of a building fenced in.

"Unfortunately we have to process you as illegal citizens today." the voice was unseen, projecting through the prison's PA system, the people now standing at the sidewalk entrance. "As promised by President Pummel, you have every opportunity to reinstate your American citizenship by getting the Credit Chip. There are two rooms in the facility that are open 24/7, equipped with six Credit Chip stations each. We have plenty of signs to direct you. Now, this will be treated as an open prison. You will be locked away at night only and due to limited space you will be sharing quarters. You will definitely find tonight to be the most comfortable, because as we continue to get in illegal citizens, your rooms will fill up fast. There is only so much space available. I urge you to rethink your decision and spare yourself the discomfort."

Muttering began among the large group, people asking questions to each other that they still hadn't been given the answer to.

"What will happen to our children?!" a man screamed from somewhere among the crowd, seeming to expect an answer. Debra looked around, the children looking lost among many adults who already seemed to be questioning their decision.

"What if they take my boys, Deb?" Mama B asked. "How can I protect them?"

It was a question Debra didn't know how to answer. Mama B still hadn't dedicated her life to Jesus. She was trusting Debra to guide her. She had no allegiance to Christ. She had allegiance to her grandbabies and Deb feared that they would be the deciding factor. She feared Mama B would give in.

As she tried to think of an answer to a question that hung like an anvil over her head, her thoughts kept getting lost in the growing unease around her. Many people were asking questions now. And their questions were only overlapped with someone else's. No answers were given. And soon it was full blown panic.

A man finally stepped from the front doors. His white hair nearly matched his pale skin.

"You have questions. I'll answer what I can." His voice matched what had been projecting through the speakers.

"What will happen to the children?!" it seemed like half the people screamed it in unison, Mama B included.

The man smiled, looking toward the shoreline and scoping the area. "You have to be good in case there's cameras, everyone. It's opening day."

"Please just answer the question!" not as many followed up but the number was still high and it still included Mama B.

"The children have a designated room where they will sleep. During the day they can be with you; at night you will be separated. I apologize that it has to be this way. A safety measure. We wouldn't want a child being suffocated." he smiled as if he were giving a speech to a loving audience. "There is an easy fix. As soon as you step inside and through the metal detector, the two rooms with the Credit Chip stations are available. Wouldn't it be nice to go back on the boat that brought you here? No cramped spaces. No separation. If not for yourselves, think of the children."

Deb looked around. The fear in many parent's eyes was living. They were terrified to move, looking up to a clear blue sky, searching for the strength to let go and trust God. If it had just been about them and their discomfort, the decision was simple. But leaving their children alone, at the mercy of a place that was far from upfront about the inner workings? What if while they were locked away in their rooms, their children were being hurt? Deb looked toward Mama B, finding that her eyes were almost hollow as she looked down at her grandbabies.

"I can't do it, Deb. What kind of grandmother am I if I do?"

There was no logical argument she could give to answer Mama B. From the point of view of a parent, it was very irresponsible. This was where faith in God's protection had to come in, where His very Blood had to shield them from the dangers that surrounded them.

"I'll watch them, Mama B." Charlie, though still a small boy, stood very tall in that moment. "I'll keep them safe."

Hollowed eyes filled again as Mama B smiled. "Why would you do that for me, Charlie? You barely know me."

"I don't need to know you to care about you. Just don't get the Chip. Please. Put your faith in Jesus. We're here together for a reason. He has not left you or your boys alone. Trust Him."

Mama B nodded her head in amazement. "I think I'm starting to, Charlie."

Some of the parents put their concern for their children above everything else. Once they entered through the front doors, they immediately found their way to a Credit Chip station. It was to protect their children, their fates be damned. It was both noble and foolish and exactly what they had been warned against. As Deb was following the line through the long halls, she saw people taper off and head back for the stations. Some of them she had spoken to, their walks seeming far stronger when they were still in the safety of the gymnasium.

The line ultimately led to a small room where they exchanged their possessions and clothing for matching gray jumpsuits. Debra was a small body type who had to wear something made for a medium build. It was loose and baggy; the number printed on the left breast pocket was white. But it didn't match the number on the bracelet she had been given when first checked in. When she looked around, the same was true of everyone else. The numbers were random and looked the part but in reality they were not numbers meant to correlate or identify anyone.

She thought about what concerned the white haired man: the possibility of cameras. She had only been in the prison for a little over an hour when she realized that things were only going to get much worse. Once the news cameras stopped filming... once the world stopped caring... then the truth was going to come out.

After eating her first breakfast, which consisted of two cereal options (plain cheerios or off brand corn flakes) with 1% milk, Debra was shown to her cell. A cold 6'x8' space with a small toilet and sink still installed. Already a cramped space if alone, she was assigned four other people to share the space with. She didn't know any of them. Five people to a room that barely had the capacity for it. And tonight was said to be the most comfortable. Tonight they all could sleep on the floor. But how many people did they plan to put in one cell once all was said and done? Now an empty cell with a fresh coat of white paint, she imagined what it would be like days (or even weeks) from now: with twenty or more people packed in, they barely had the space to even sleep against the walls. And even with a clean surface shown, the smell of must lingered, meaning there was a leak somewhere. A simple sickness starting from the damp atmosphere, forced to breathe each other's air, it would spread, it would worsen, and it would take lives...

Debra was standing in her cell, now looking out at the others. Her cell was on the first floor of a two story structure. From what she could see, there were sixty cells total: thirty cells on each floor, fifteen to each side all running parallel. And though she considered it was a possibility that enough people would be brought into the prison throughout the rest of the day to warrant five people sharing a cell, she suspected it was all part of the "welcome" message. She suspected many of those cells would remain empty when curfew came at 10 p.m.

A number of hours later, Debra sat for dinner with Charlie, Mama B, and Mama B's little boys. A family created by circumstance, the moments they spent together brought something genuine to a clearly fabricated atmosphere. The hours of the day already seemed to bleed together, all natural sunlight replaced by fluorescent tube lights. The clock in the cafeteria said it was 6:34 p.m.

At random times in the day the white haired man's voice appeared over the PA system, to retouch on topics already touched on as well as reiterate points he wanted to get across. They had been told many times that an open prison didn't mean it was structure free.

"At 7 p.m. tonight we have a mandatory event. Pastor Linda Masters is passionate and ready to explain the faults in your reasoning. Open that closed mind of yours and you may get out of here before curfew. Wouldn't that be something? Get to the auditorium early to get a good seat!"

Debra shook her head as she looked at Mama B. _Shield her from the lies, Jesus. And shield me._

### 2

Still near Junior, John looked toward Lily. If he had only reached her before she decided to speak those words to the two men. He could have saved her so much heartache. If he had answered the door and dealt with the arrest the way it should have been handled—did she not understand what it would do to her? Did she not understand that having such a gift had to be handled with pinpoint spiritual discernment at all times?

John didn't look at Lily with fear, unlike Junior, he looked at her with the deepest sympathy. And yet it was one he couldn't yet find himself able to offer outside of the look he gave her. What words could he say? Did he know what it meant to carry the weight of such a gift? Who was he to tell her how it should have been handled? She was a sixteen year old girl trying to step into a divine calling she still didn't know how to handle. On top of her gift, she had the weight of John's prophetic words hanging over her. Words of protecting others. Words of purpose well beyond this house. Words he gave immediately after she used her gift to heal his boy. He was as much a reason for these deaths as Lily was.

"I've gotta check on Lily, Junior." John stepped away from him and over to Lily. Cold eyes met his as he looked down at her. "Thank you for trying to protect us, Lily. I'm the one at fault here. Not you."

Her cold eyes remained. "No, Pastor John. It's me and my stupidity. I am not worthy of this gift."

"It's just growing pains, Lily." John paused. "I always think back to Elisha. Finally given confirmation that God has granted him his request to have double Elijah's anointing on his life, he was pretty haphazard at times. I'm sure you remember him responding to some youths mocking his thinning hairline by calling on two mother bears to attack."

Lily cracked a smile. "I kind of forgot about that story."

"What do you think a justifiable reason was for that? Revenge? Teach those little troublemakers a lesson? You are not the only one to have a great gift only to misuse it. But you learn from the mistakes. Now whether or not Elisha ever considered it a mistake is another thing entirely." He tried to give her something else to ponder as they waited for the process to begin.

When the cops came, they entered with their weapons drawn. Everyone was told to lay flat on the ground with their hands on their heads as they assessed the situation.

"What happened here?" they looked for an obvious cause of death but there was none.

John was laid out on his stomach, his hands folded over the back of his head. He looked toward Lily, hoping she would say nothing. There was no evidence of anything. Two dead bodies with no weapon and no blood. Let their questions persist. Enact the right to remain silent.

"It was me." Lily spoke three words and the rest was shut. Other than prayer, there was nothing he could do for her anymore. And with it being the only thing he could do, it's what he did. From the moment Lily confessed, John began to pray fervently in the Holy Spirit.

Quiet prayer in a language far different from his own brought him through the next number of hours. Lily sat next to him on his right. Junior was on his left. Ken and Willow were a few people away down the bench.

"I don't think I'm going to see you again in this life, Pastor John." coming out of nowhere, her words had no sadness attached to them. "Thank you for taking us in after mom died. Thank you for giving me your time and your wisdom and your love. You were the best dad I could have ever asked for." a rare tear sat in Lily's eye as she smiled at him warmly.

"You, my daughter, amaze me. And it has been one of my greatest joys getting to know you and getting to love you as my own."

Only moments later, the cell door opened and the guard called Lily's name. The timing made it seem like she knew how close it was. After she offered a message of comfort to Willow, Lily disappeared out of the barred cell and down a hall where John's eyes were unable to follow.

Junior looked like he wanted to ask a question. John gave the only answer he could before anything was asked. "Prayer is the answer, son."

Junior seemed to hate the answer. A common deflection his dad gave when he didn't have the answer, he would have rather his dad said nothing at all. Of course prayer was the answer. But where was the comfort in it? He couldn't say anything beyond this? A man who had walked with The Lord for most of his life couldn't find any words of comfort beyond his default response?

When the guard came and called John's name first, followed by nine others, he saw his boy's eyes. They were scared and searching. "Never forget where your strength comes from. I love you, son."

Once John was out of the cell, the process was nearly identical to what Ken would experience. The only difference was what vehicle he found waiting in the parking lot. Not an airport rental but an official prisoner transport van, the back was closed in with no windows. A claustrophobic space equipped with ten metal seats. Other than a small barred window, it was cut off entirely from the front cab. The people were stuffed into the cramped space and taken on their way. The first transport vehicle started driving the seven hour and ten minute trip at 5:51 a.m.

"Pastor John," Hector Hernandez, a longtime member of his congregation sitting two seats from him. "Would you let us have church today?"

John looked around. He knew a couple of the people; the others seemed familiar to him but he couldn't place a name to each face. "To suffer for the name of Jesus is to be blessed. It is so easy to want to run away and hide. It is so easy to expect God to save us from hardship. In fact there were many from my congregation that left Him entirely when it was clear that they would have to walk through these times instead of being rescued from them. He is upfront in His Word from the beginning. He is not only speaking to His disciples when He is preparing them for life after His resurrection. He is speaking to us—"

"Shut up!" the words came from the cab following a loud smack against the cage. "Keep your words to yourself, Pastor."

The officers were unaware of what they housed and unaware why they felt rage immediately began to flow through them. The Spirits in them didn't like the Name being spoken. Fear hit them at the very mention.

"What harm am I doing?" John asked with his voice clear. "What will happen to us if we don't get the Chip? Have you ever cared to flip over the side Pummel is hiding?

"We are only to transport you there. You are at the mercy of the system once you arrive."

"Wash your hands of us all you'd like. But it does not absolve you. I will speak the name of Jesus to these people because it brings them comfort. And it gives them strength."

Oh how the Spirits hated the bold ones. It brought Them to an impasse. If they showed Themselves too soon it would ruin the chance They had at trapping more. It wasn't worth the fight at this time. "Fine. Just keep your voice down."

John looked to the others. "They will tell you to be quiet. They will tell you not to say the Name of Jesus Christ. But that is when you proclaim His wonderful Name all the more."

Much to the Spirits' discomfort, John gave the other nine illegals with him many teachings in the seven hours and ten minutes it took to arrive at largest of the three Holding Zones. But once they arrived, they left him to the mercy of the system. And the system didn't like teachers of The Good News.

The van was parked outside of the front doors. The officer who had been sitting in the passenger seat had left the vehicle, the driver staying behind with the idling vehicle. When the back doors finally opened and they were removed, John could see Lake Superior a frozen mass stretching out far beyond where his eye could see. The prison was a large four story block to his left. Other than the watch tower guards equipped with gunned men, there was no boundary to hold them in. When he looked to his right he saw a narrow road carved out of miles of snow. The nearest town was more than forty miles away. Once the illegals were removed from the back of the van, left standing in the path of a cold wind, the two officers made their way back down the narrow road.

A woman with thick framed glasses and bright red hair pulled into a tight bun stepped out to meet them holding a clipboard. "Welcome to the end of your world," she laughed with a light hearted tone. "Am I joking? Well, that all depends on you." she flashed her barcode. "Simple solution. Anyway, I wanted to lay down a few ground rules before we begin the registration process. You are no longer American citizens and you are no longer able to claim the freedoms of a citizen. There is no freedom of speech, no freedom to plead the fifth, and I cannot state this last one enough: there is no freedom of religion." She looked down at her clipboard. "Mr. Watcher? John Watcher, it says."

"Yes," John responded immediately.

"I've been told you might be a bit of a problem. I'm only going to give you this one warning. There will be no preaching of your religion in my Zone. Our aim here is to get stubborn people to see the error in their ways so they can rejoin society. And we want to do that as quickly as possible. A whole hell of a lot of people are going to be sent here and we only have so much room."

"With all due respect, ma'am, you cannot determine my freedoms."

She rolled her eyes with exaggeration as she sighed. "More than a bit of a problem, you are going to be a thorn in my side, aren't you?"

John gave a nod of the head. "Everybody needs to hear The Good News of Jesus Christ. You will do with me what you decide."

The woman looked past John toward the road. "We got another bus coming in. I can't deal with this right now." She pulled a small walkie-talkie from the belt loop on her black dress pants and spoke into it. "Guard could you please escort Mr. Watcher to the basement?"

A few moments later a guard broke through the front doors and over to John. He led John back through the front doors, grabbing an XL blue jumpsuit from the table and then taking a left. After opening a Chip activated steel door, concrete steps brought them down into the bowels of the building. A dark, cold space, the only source of light was the guard's flashlight. The beam would catch certain things in its cast: a low hanging pipe running the length of the room, an old water heater pinned to the corner... and then, once they reached the far back of the basement, the beam came upon a wall on the left that had a dozen narrow white doors in a line. There was a small empty square near the middle of each, only big enough for an eye to see through.

"I'm going to take your cuffs off so you can remove all of your clothing other than your underwear. I'll set your jumpsuit in the room. Once the door is closed you can put it on. Try anything and I will put two in your back, understand?"

"Yeah," John answered, trying to adjust his eyes to see something in the dark. He could see nothing at all. No daylight found its way in.

The man took off his cuffs. John removed his button up shirt first, the cold air already punishing him for it. The white t-shirt and jeans came after he kicked off his shoes.

"Can I wear the socks?"

"Nothing but your underwear."

Soon that was all he was down to. The air couldn't have been warmer than 50 degrees, immediately making his skin react in an attempt to compensate.

"How long will I be down here?" John asked, rubbing his hands together.

"You're the first, so I really don't know. There's been a few other pastors but they shut up when Warden Beacon told them to. They're upstairs with everyone else now. You can have your faith but you can't force it on others. The warden will check on you later. She'll decide when you can come out."

Once John stepped inside of a room that wasn't bigger than a personal standing shower, he put on his jumpsuit and then sat on a cold and damp ground. The door was locked from the outside and soon the only source of light disappeared.

"I will gladly suffer for Your Name my King."

The dark removed all concept of time. Even when the day sky absorbed the night, nothing changed. And although John had only been down in the dark room for a little over four hours, it seemed far longer. Despite the heavenly tongue that had been slipping from his lips from the moment he sat down on the cold ground, warmth did not come to clothe his cold skin. The dark was all consuming. Even when he closed his eyes, no other images met him to act as a light. What he didn't expect was how alone he would feel. He knew that Christ was housed within his very frame and that there was nowhere he could go that could change it. And yet, he felt a distinct separation from his Savior, as if this small cell in the dark was the one place where he couldn't be reached.

### *

Leaving Willow to be comforted by Ken, and Pastor John with a final goodbye, Lily now found herself in an interrogation room just down the hall. She sat across from a young woman, the Spirit behind her looking smug as It stared down at her.

"You confessed to killing two officers." the woman said.

Lily nodded her head.

"What weapon did you use? We couldn't find any evidence of foul play."

"Words." Lily looked around. "I have a gift given to me by Jesus Christ. In His name I can heal the sick. In His name I can move mountains. Those men were mountains. Or so I thought."

She looked at Lily with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. And yet, she couldn't dismiss what Lily said entirely. "Do you have any proof of these miracle healings?"

Lily only had two: Steph's dad and Junior. The only one nearby was Junior. She weighed the options. Would dropping his name really be worse than having him sent to The Holding Zone? Maybe she was preventing it entirely. Maybe it was why he got sick to begin with (a much bigger reason than just for Pastor John's benefit), so he could be used for God's glory now. If only he could have been there to give her permission.

_I don't want to misuse this gift again, Lord._ Her thoughts seemed magnified as the officer waited for her answer. _Is Junior meant to be a part of this?_

_Yes._ The only confirmation she needed.

"John Watcher Jr. We were just in the jail cell together. He had terminal cancer of the bowel or what they call Lynch Syndrome. After having received a full round of chemo at Ransom General it went into remission for a couple of months. And then out of nowhere it came back worse than before. Last prognosis they gave was terminal. They have the records at Ransom General. I spoke healing words to him early morning of Christmas Eve."

"Okay, I'll check into that." the woman sighed. "Let's say I was to believe you. Why did the two officers have to die?"

"I was just trying to protect my family. I thought they would try to get away with the extra time. But they didn't." a pause as she looked down. "I regretted it as soon as they dropped to the floor." she still heard their screams echoing.

"It's unfortunate. You are a minor as well as an illegal citizen now, so determining your placement isn't cut and dry. I need to make a few phone calls to determine the solution. Sit tight."

The officer left her in the room alone. She heard a grouping of people walk by only minutes after as she closed her eyes.

Your gift has not been misused, Lily. Everything is happening as it is meant to.

The words comforted her as the heavy guilt for the men's deaths lightened. It would never disappear but knowing that it was still part of the plan decreased the volumes of the screams. There would still always be a part of her that regretted the decision, regardless of it being part of the plan.

As was true of most of Lily's life, she sat alone, left to ponder the reasons for her gift. It had always put her on the fringe of everything else. When the door finally opened, Junior walked in before the officer.

"Hey, Lil." Junior said as he sat in the chair next to her. He no longer looked at her with fear filled eyes. They had calmed over the hours.

"One phone call to my superior soon led me up a high climbing chain. You and John here are going to Washington D.C. I was directed to The White House. John's medical records at Ransom General will be faxed over to them."

"Why are we going to Washington D.C.?" Lily asked.

"The President wants to meet you. If you truly did heal John here—something their doctors will confirm or deny. And if your words really did kill two men—he has taken a keen interest in you. I'm sure he's looking for a hoax, something to exploit. But that's just my assumption."

"It's not a hoax." Junior spoke up. "I'd know."

"See, the thing is healings happen now. It's been proven. Those old Margaret Stills dvds walk you through the process. I've never been able to do it, but I have a friend who healed his dog of a lung tumor. Crazy but no longer miraculous."

"So, what makes me special enough to catch his attention?"

"Probably the god thing."

Lily nodded her head. "Okay. When do we leave?"

"A private jet is already on its way. Weather permitting, they'll land in about two and half hours."

You two sit tight. I need to grab another cup of coffee. It's been a really long night."

When the officer left, Junior looked toward Lily. "It wasn't just for my dad, was it?"

Lily shook her head. "I think it's much bigger than that, Junior."

He nodded his head as he rubbed his hands together nervously. "You scare me, Lil. I love you as my sister and my friend. But, the things you can do—they're beyond me. You spoke one sentence and they died."

"I scare me too sometimes. Do you think I'm comfortable with this? Do you think I actually know how to harness this power? The bible says there is power of life and death in the tongue. For me that's not just a spiritual lesson. There are many times I wish I was normal—"

"Overrated." he smiled at her. "You are bigger than that. I really think you might be a prophet."

"If I am, it's not my choosing."

"It never is, Lil. Moses was a murderer. Peter was a fisherman. Paul persecuted and killed Christians before becoming one himself." He was counting it out on his fingers. "The list is long and full of people that didn't want it or didn't feel worthy of it. But God still did great things through them."

"You don't know how to be with _me_ at times. I wonder if, I don't know, like Peter's old fishing buddies felt the same way." she laughed. "'You're telling me you healed someone of leprosy from them just being in your personal space? You? The same guy that rarely put the net in the water without getting it tangled?'"

"Probably the exact conversation they had, too." They shared lighthearted laughter, both realizing that their purposes had always been converging toward this point. Junior didn't long for Heaven as he did before. Knowing that his purpose was beyond keeping his dad alive gave him new life. He was made for this time, just as Lily was. And their stories were tied to the other in a way they still didn't fully understand. But the picture was becoming clearer by the minute.

When the officer received the call that the plane had arrived and she led Lily and Junior out into the hall, it was at the same exact time that Willow's group were led down the same hall. The timing of it held a strong sense of divine bow tying, a way for questions to be answered before they each set off on their own paths. They met at the same spot for only a moment, just long enough for Lily to leave the message, "we're going to D.C. to meet the president," with Willow.

And then she was gone, leaving Willow with a much different expression than she had when Lily last saw her in the jail cell: relief. The officer acted as a chauffeur, bringing the two of them to the local airport outside of town. When they arrived on the property the police car was waved through a large metal gate and pulled onto the tarmac. There was a sleek and small plane already sitting there, a suited man waiting on the stairs that were now folded away from the body. It wasn't the president.

"We'll do the exchange and my jurisdiction ends. Do you understand?" the officer said as she pulled the car near the stairs.

Lily and Junior nodded as they looked toward the plane. The car stopped as the officer got out and opened the back door.

"If you kids aren't familiar with politics, my name is Marvin Peele, one of the president's advisors." the man was now at the doors to meet them. His full hair was a strange rust color with streaks of silver pushing through, his goatee matching the aging fade of his hair perfectly. His blue tie was a double windsor pulled too tight, bunching up his chin a few more layers, his fat face looking ready to pop. "The sooner we get you on this plane, the sooner you can know the full reason for it."

Junior got out first, Lily following right behind. The man and the officer said a few pleasantries and then she was relieved of her responsibility to them. Lily walked up the stairs of the plane first, Junior only a few steps behind. There was a small number of individual seats to her right. Two to each of the four rows; one to each side. They looked like cream colored reclining chairs.

"Take any seat you want to the right of the entrance. There are eight to choose from." the man said from behind them.

Lily took the first seat to her right; Junior took the first seat to his left. When the man fully stepped onto the plane, he took a left at the opening, sitting down in a seat that faced them. It was near the shut door of the cockpit.

"Any spark must be snuffed out directly and swiftly. Do I believe that you healed him? Actually, yes I do. Do I believe you killed two men without a weapon? Yes I do. If you ever watched how to heal when the president filmed some basic walkthroughs for us, he said there was danger involved. If you didn't place your rope in the right spot and squeezed, you could kill the person instantly. It only takes patience and persistence to learn. I never had the patience for it. But, you look like someone who does. A girl who learned the president's methods now trying to claim some old relic of a god? Kinda pathetic, isn't it? Not that I would expect any different. The whole movement is made up of cowards. The kinds of people that blow up hundreds of people in venues and try to murder our leaders." The Spirit above Marvin seemed to savor the words being said.

The plane was now rolling along the tarmac, gaining speed as it prepared to takeoff.

"Why didn't you lock me away then?" Lily asked, feeling her skin tingle as the plane, now successfully in the air, began to climb. "Wouldn't that have removed the spark?"

"No. That would have left room for fiction to fill in the gaps. And soon, it would have grown. The only way to put out a spark is to expose it to the air. By exploiting you, we will prove that your miraculous claims come from the president's teachings. And once we have done that, you will both be just another statistic lost to The Holding Zones."

Lily didn't reply to the long explanation Marvin gave. "What happens when we land?"

The man shook his head as he bit his lip with frustration. "Did you not hear anything I just said?"

"I did," Lily said as she glanced at Junior.

A heavy sigh as he cleared his throat. "We first need to verify the healing. John Jr. will be going to be getting a few tests done to determine that the cancer is gone."

"And after the tests come back clear?" Lily was frustratingly confident, the man's already swollen head seeming to fill up more as she continued to ignore his long monologue.

"One thing at a time,"

She gave a knowing smile to Junior before sitting back into her seat and looking out the window...

With weather conditions not being the best, the plane landed three hours later instead of the two and a half it usually took. Joining Marvin in the back of a black stretch limo, miles were driven, landmarks were passed, bouts of traffic were endured, and eventually they pulled up to a small, private hospital well outside of D.C. Once inside, a blood sample was collected from Junior.

As the hours wore on and day had faded from the sky, they sat in an empty waiting room, Marvin chairs away, typing something out on his smartphone.

"John." a female nurse was standing left of the check-in desk and right of where Junior was sitting. "The doctor has your results. Please follow me."

The three of them followed the nurse down the hall and to the second room on the right. A thin man with thin glasses was waiting with a single sheet of paper.

"Marvin, the most I can give you in one day are his blood test results. And according to his results, his red blood cell count is excellent. Not okay, not pretty good—excellent. This was not at all the case from his last reading only two months ago. His red blood cell count was dangerously low. Now I would have to run an extensive list of additional tests, plus give him another colonoscopy, if I wanted to give you a truly conclusive diagnosis. Both of these things take far more time than you are willing to spend. But nothing about his results tells me he still has cancer. I cannot give a clean bill of health today only because I don't have the time available to run the battery of tests needed."

"It's conclusive enough for what we need, Peter." Marvin said as he grabbed the results sheet the doctor folded in half and now offered to him.

### *

A girl more than familiar with life's disappointments, there was a long period in Willow's life where she came to expect it. So, when it did happen, it hit her with little impact. Even her mother's death carried a certain inevitability to it. It hurt like a lasting burn but it also didn't surprise.

Now leaving Ken behind in the cell and walking with a group of people she recognized but didn't know, disappointment hit her with full force. Since staying with Pastor John and finding a parent that far surpassed her birth mom... since being found by Ken and realizing love could happen for her... Willow came to desire things again. She came to have higher expectations for her life. It had made her a far happier person. And at the same time a far more vulnerable person.

She walked down the hall, the last in the grouping of ten. As she passed by the first closed door on her right, she saw the second door open up, Lily and Junior stepping out. Not knowing why either had been singled out, she worried that the worst had happened to them. Just to see them again—just to hear Lily's few words relaying their destination was enough to put her mind at ease. They weren't lost to the system somewhere. They were heading to D.C. to meet the president.

It left many new questions unanswered while also answering much older ones. Willow had always wondered why Lily was so different from everyone else in the Matthews family. Why did Lily have such a strong signal to God while Willow struggled with even the simplest things regarding her faith? Lily had answers when everyone else had questions; she had insights when everybody else was lost. If it had all been leading here, she considered the possibility that her sister always had been made for this moment. The more she thought about it, the more the trajectory verified it. Having only healed Junior a little over a week before, she was now able to speak death to people. The gift she had been born with was at a different level now. And it made Willow wonder if her little sister would reach even higher levels in the coming days.

The group was brought out, the transport van being the last legitimate one used before Ransom would have to scramble and find some other way to transport the next ten people up North. Once the group were secured in their metal seats, the long drive began at 9:01 a.m.

Never one to talk much when with a group she didn't know, Willow was in a similar situation now. Of those she was familiar with, there was very little common ground. All being believers in Christ didn't make them any more relatable. In fact, there were many times, apart from Pastor John and a select few others, the church had treated her as a particular kind of trash. She didn't dress appropriately; she didn't present with the demeanor of a "godly woman"; and her loose reputation was a red stain that followed her everywhere she went. A few of these people knew her as that girl. And they didn't seem to care to find out if there was more to her.

They all talked among themselves, finding common ground in even the most random places. As was usual of Willow's life, she was the peg that didn't fit, the Willow in a family of flowers. Apart from the small family she had built with Pastor John and Junior (and best she could Lily) and apart from that precious place she had with Ken, she was still the one that didn't fit. It had never been more obvious than on that long drive up North...

When the van finally stopped and the back doors opened, she was the first to step out under the dark gray sky. Nighttime would be along in only minutes, an already cold air about to be made much colder. The tall building to her left, the endless snow to her right, the vast frozen lake a flat and foreboding presence stretching on for miles out beyond her.

"This place is not meant to be pleasant or inviting," the voice coming from the front doors belonged to Warden Beacon. She was not someone to introduce herself, rather preferring to be a woman of details: the lady with the bright red hair, the lady in the black suit, the lady who made all of the holdouts nervous as to what awaited them on the other side of those doors... "My only aim is to get you out of here as soon as possible. There are many rules here and no constitutional freedoms. You forfeited all of your freedoms as of 12:01 a.m. this morning. The only way you get them back is to become a citizen again. Easy to do, too. We have Credit Chip stations inside those doors and to the right. An easy rhyme to remember: follow the sign and you'll be out of here in no time." A snicker of a laugh for a woman who only displayed a premade image.

Warden Beacon didn't cover the same things she had with John. In fact, every one of her speeches were different. She went with her current mood and let that carry her performance. A long day of relaying the same message in wildly different ways now had her on auto-pilot. She had the rules posted in the entrance and the cafeteria—she also had given the list to hundreds of other people that day. If they cared at all about protecting each other, they would relay the message. No freedoms whatsoever, especially the one pertaining to religion. If they didn't know now, they would find out soon enough.

Though she always had the dream to run a prison of her own, the opportunity didn't present itself until only months before. Initially pitched as a correctional facility, once she discovered it would make her head of the Middle Holding Zone, there was nothing she wouldn't do to be selected. She had the experience needed. She had the degrees required. But she didn't have the gender. Always reminded that she was nothing more than a woman in a man's world, she used that disadvantage to her advantage. What was her body to her but another tool? She let it be used in many strange and dirty ways, documenting the evidence and keeping it as leverage over "happily married" men.

Even with the Credit Chip, the selection process was based on a small minded system, run by men determined to keep men in power. Not anymore. She did the necessary things to get the position and now she would do the necessary things to keep her Zone running smoothly.

_If I give you this position, they will eat you alive_. The last words said to her during the interview process, words that had been said so many other times to her before. They saw an attractive woman, nothing more than a twig waiting to be snapped by a cruel and unforgiving world. But, they didn't know what she was capable of. They couldn't have even imagined...

Willow was in the middle of the group as they stepped through the doors. Their clothes and possessions were exchanged for ugly blue jumpsuits. A wristband with a number was given as they were scanned into the system. And then they were funneled into the cafeteria where hundreds of other people were sitting. The only exit Willow knew of was blocked by a guard and a now closed gate-door. She could still see the front doors from there but couldn't reach them, not that she wanted to. The cells started with four lining the edges of the cafeteria and then continuing down a long room of cells running parallel at both sides, four floors high. Altogether there were 96 cells (24 cells to each floor) in the one long room.

As Willow scanned the cafeteria, she sought out Pastor John. Among various groups of people, she saw some that resembled him at only first glance.

"Pastor John," she began to walk through the cafeteria, saying his name at a normal speaking level. She repeated it while wandering past many different groups, her eyes darting here and there as the conversations around her often sounded like constant replies.

"Willow?" she didn't recognize the voice that called her name. When she looked back it was another face she had seen before but didn't know. "That's your name, right? We went to church together. I'm Hector. I started attending around the same time your parents came to the church. You were just a little girl then."

"Hi," she had seen him at church many times before, never saying more than a few pleasantries to him when Pastor John told the congregation to love on at least five people around them.

"Pastor John is in the basement—I don't really know what that means for him. Maybe some kind of solitary confinement." he looked over at the gate-door. "They took him away as soon as we arrived."

She looked toward the same door. "Why?"

"The warden told us we have no freedoms here. Pastor John didn't agree with her." He gave a smile as he shook his head. "An old school believer through and through."

Willow gave a similar smile, but hers carried sadness with it. That was the man she knew, the man she respected, the man she loved—and it was the man she feared she would never see again.

_Please be with Pastor John, Jesus._ They were words she was scared to say out loud. She wasn't nearly ready to find out what was in the basement. _Give him strength._

Hector still sitting by her, they said little else to the other. Willow now just looked toward the gate-door, waiting for the moment she would finally see Ken come through. He helped her faith take root when it felt like the ground was crumbling away. And never had the ground felt more ready to crumble beneath her feet than now.

### 3

Linda's computer was closed and in her old blue backpack sitting on the passenger side floor. One energy drink can was nearly empty sitting in the cup holder closest to her, the remaining pack of five thrown onto the passenger seat. After completing a few pages of notes for her most important sermon to date, she packed a few outfits in her suitcase and was on her way.

Always tenacious and always passionately in pursuit of her purpose, once a trajectory was set, Linda jumped from one point to the next with fervor. It hadn't even been an hour since the Spirit gave her the vision. And already she was on her way to the docks that would bring her to the Eastern Holding Zone.

When in the body of Margaret, the Spirit had to wrestle with her willpower at every turn. Trying to convince a selfish woman to be charitable was only the beginning of the struggle It had with her. Very early on the Spirit knew It would eventually have to make a move and take the reins from her if her full potential was ever to be reached.

With Linda, It had an organic entrance. She believed she was already doing the will of God. She believed in a realm far more real than her own. At any time It could communicate with her under the guise of a God that could no longer help her. She had the Chip. She was forfeit. She was in the trap.

What was the mark of the beast in the book of Revelation? A warning to a people who didn't care to see. The people of today were no different from the Spirit long ago. Not long before the fall, a similar warning was given to the angels, the first creations: " _Be sure that the light that is in you is not darkness."_ The Maker of Light spoke this long before He walked the earth and relayed it to man. And they were words that had haunted the Spirit ever since. The warning was there for all angels to see. And many did. But, the Spirit didn't. Once named Stephen, an angel of high position and regard, once an angel welcomed into the presence of The Maker, he fell for Lucifer's lie. The light in him was darkness, meaning the understanding he had of God was false. It was a warning he only understood once falling. And when he fell from the light, his identity was lost to the darkness. The darkness was empty, leaving nothing but longing for the light. Once a Being that loved, the Spirit was now consumed by the Void: an existence where It had to live separated from all of the things It once called home. It both hated The Maker and craved Him. Always living in a state of conflict, It only gathered souls for The Feast so It could revisit the light of home by taking it from the souls of the fallen. There was still light in the Spirit, buried somewhere deep inside. And it was the light that grieved for Linda. She had fallen despite a very clear warning left for her.

Although the desire to keep people in the light still beat in the deepest parts of the Spirit, the selfish desire to experience the light for itself again always seemed to overtake It. _If It could never live in the light again, It would gather as many as It could for the final Feast._ And yet, as Linda drove completely unaware It was with her, the Spirit made a decision well beyond itself. For a moment, Stephen returned.

Her radio suddenly turned on by itself, Stephen speaking through it with the only voice he had available: radio stations.

**Hell is real.** A clip of a sermon that then switched to individual words across two more stations. **Warn. Them.** The radio shut off as quickly as it turned on.

Linda went white as a sheet as her hands tightened on the wheel, her foot automatically stomping on the brake. She reached the side of the road as quickly as she could, her tires leaving behind long and distressing skid marks. She breathed heavy and fast, looking around the car with a fear she had never felt before.

"La-Lord?" tears began to gather in her eyes as she looked around. "Have I led your sheep astray? Am I—am I a wolf?" she thought about all the people she had convinced only hours before. The methods she used, the manipulations. Looking down at the barcode on the inside of her wrist now made her blood run cold.

Despite being a woman of trajectories, a woman of living passion for God, Linda could not claim ignorance. Her divine inspiration concerning Hell being a fictitious place stemmed from her own rigid upbringing. The fear of God was the only tool used. When she made a mistake (who doesn't?) and sought out comfort, her parents met her with outrageous spiritual expectations. Growing up in a home of pious modern day Pharisees ultimately led her to seek out a God who matched her own childhood needs. She needed unconditional love; judgment was the only thing offered. She needed safety; threats of damnation were always hanging over her instead. They were the catalyst for the "divine" revelation. If God was anything like them, she wanted nothing to do with Him. She had never seen the duality of God, instead choosing to focus on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum of what she had been taught.

There is a rare thing that comes from following trajectories where they lead and approaching the paths without hesitation: you come to conclusions in quick successions, jumping from point A to Z, skating over everything in between. From the moment the message came through the radio, it hit her like falling bricks. And once she accepted Hell was real, she also accepted that she was lost to it. She had the mark. But even worse, because of her, soon hundreds more people from her congregation would have it too. People who trusted her. People who followed her lead. Worse than the realization that she was damned was the realization that she was one of the teacher types she hated so much. Linda had never considered herself a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her intention had always been to help others. To now find she was no different than any other false teacher hit her the hardest. For all the souls that were now lost because of her—they were heavy weights that would only continue to weigh on her frame.

Still white as a sheet, Linda looked toward the radio. Always a woman to follow trajectories wherever they led, her destination was still the Eastern Holding Zone. The difference was the message she was meant to give. _Warn. Them._ She intended to do just that.

A quiet drive brought her through a lonely night and into an even lonelier day. She was truly alone, truly separated from the One she loved. And yet it didn't change her desire to speak His message. She could still offer hope to those on the fence. She could still warn them against the very thing she fell for. She was too far gone to be saved. But, it didn't mean her life was forfeit. She could still influence many. She could still let her life end honoring the God she loved but never truly knew...

Always in search of her purpose, the only purpose that mattered to her now was leaving behind words of truth. She would not die a wolf in sheep's clothing. She would not let her legacy be that of a stumbling block to those in pursuit of a real relationship with Jesus. All she had left was one final sermon to prepare for. There were no expectations beyond it, because even though she had the Chip, her message would speak in opposition to it.

Her mission was only possible because the Spirit in her wanted the same thing. For any other person, the realization she now sat with would have never reached them. The job of the Spirit in each vessel was to prevent anything like this from happening. They were ordered to take control of them long before. The only way the small piece of Stephen could remain unnoticed was through subtlety. All of the moves made from here on out had to be Linda's. He had to remain a passenger hidden. If any hint was caught of what he had done, his removal would be immediate and she would be taken over before she could speak one word of warning.

Stephen made this decision knowing full well that he would pay severe consequences for it. There was only one thing that he knew to be true: to be separated from The Light is to be separated from everything. He was no longer fully buried in the dark creature the Void had turned him into. This was the closest he could ever come to being back home—doing something to honor The Maker he had foolishly rebelled against so long ago. It was worth whatever consequence he had to pay...

Once Linda reached the docks and parked her car, she brought her suitcase and her old blue backpack with her. The barcode on the inside of her wrist gave her access to a good sized boat that only had a few passengers. It was specifically designed to transport workers and volunteers. She didn't have to see any prisoners. There was nothing but a clear sky above choppy waters. It took thirty minutes to go ten miles. And when she arrived, she was led to the back doors of the building, away from the illegals being processed and directly to a small section that was shut away from the rest of them by two large steel doors. There were dorm rooms lining both sides of the narrow corridor, which then led to an office door with the word WARDEN the only label.

Everything she said and did now was an act. She had to be accepted if she wanted a chance to be heard. Going to the head of the Zone was the best chance she had at being given a real opportunity to reach those in need. She knocked on the door, a prompt answer telling her to come in.

Sitting behind an old wooden desk was a white haired man with skin nearly the same color.

"Can I help you?" he gave her body a once over and then met her eyes.

"I took one of the volunteer pastor openings and I wanted to make my pitch to you. What these people need is a different perspective."

"Go on."

"What if they don't have to deny their God to get the Credit Chip? I have some notes I worked out last night." Linda fished in her backpack, pulling out her little black and red USB drive and handing it to him. "It's saved under the title 'convincing as hell'."

He gave her an entertained smile as he grabbed it from her. "Please have a seat—I didn't catch your name."

"It's Linda. And yours?"

"Jim. It's nice to meet you, Linda." he did the necessary things required to pull up her document on his computer. Once he started skimming over it, his entertained smile became something else. "This is perfect. Compassionate but biting. In your face but not pushy. It makes it still sound like they don't have to make a choice between one or the other. When were you wanting to give this?"

"Tonight, if possible."

His eyes did a few runs around the room before settling back on Linda. "It might be just the thing to set the precedent. If it goes well, we can make it a regular thing. Think of tonight as a practice run."

"If it's a practice run, will I still get to preach to everyone here?"

"You'll have a packed audience, Linda. Tonight at 7." he said, giving her back the USB. "Take a load off. Feel free to take a nap in one of the dorm rooms if you'd like."

"Thanks, Jim. I might have to take you up on that." she offered a fake smile along with her hand to shake. Once he shook her hand, she walked out of his office, started back down the corridor, and took the first room available.

Now sitting on the bed, Linda took out her computer. She had no intention of sleeping. Despite being exhausted and drained and left with very little will to live, the only fuel that remained in her was the need to leave behind words of truth. She knew once the sermon started and once she deviated from the notes the warden approved, she would be shut down quickly. Her message needed to be short but impactful.

She stared at the empty document, the cursor blinking at her impatiently. Every time she would type out a thought, she would quickly delete it. It soon became clear that she couldn't put into words the truth because she was no longer familiar with it. Her life had been lived on the ends of spectrums. And though she knew The Good News, the context of it had always been different than it was now. It had always been a way to mine a familiar telling so she could defend her stance against those attacking her.

It was clear to her that with these next several hours, she needed to mine the familiar words for only the truths they held. And that's what she did. Heartbreaking hours brought her from truth to truth and across the path of a Savior she would always love but had already lost. Nighttime came. The cursor blinked at the end of only one small paragraph. It was everything she needed to say, already memorized and waiting on the tip of her tongue.

She covered an exhausted face with makeup, ran a brush through her dark hair, and put on tight jeans with a well fitted sky-blue button up shirt. She looked at the camera on her phone as a mirror and then looked toward the corridor. It was almost time. If these were to be her final words, they were going to be her very best...

### 4

Although all other Spirits fed into the Head Spirit, the information was not met by something all-knowing. The leader of the fallen, It was still The Maker's creation. The Maker was all-knowing; the Head Spirit was far from it. When distracted, things slipped by. When preoccupied, other plans were allowed to form right under It's watch. It wasn't only Mexico that wanted assistance in implementing the Credit Chip system. Canada and Switzerland called in quick succession throughout the night, both able to reach tentative agreements. The paperwork was to be sent and signed later that day.

These conversations distracted It just long enough for Stephen's message of warning to Linda to pass by without detection. No matter how much It claimed to be equal to The Maker, It was still a poor counterfeit. And It always would be.

As the sun began to push up on the D.C. horizon, a fourth leader called: the president of Germany.

"Frank here." a common way he answered the phone with leaders. It was never good to be impersonal with other leaders. Approaching them as old friends broke the ice so that the real conversation could move ahead. That was the secret to negotiation: common ground.

"Hi, Frank. It's Werner." outside of the introductions, a translator was used for both men. "I just have a few concerns around these Holding Zones. As you know we have a permanent stain on our country because of the horrendous things Hitler did with the concentration camps and I'm seeing some of the warning signs here. I like what you are doing with the system but how you are doing it worries me. Maybe give me some reassurances?"

"As the saying goes, 'Rome wasn't built in a day.'" Frank gave a lighthearted laugh. "As time passes I will definitely be able to expand The Zones to more than the three I currently have operating. I was only able to get the bill passed a couple months ago. In order to have three ready for our deadline with such little notice is something of a miracle itself. We are on day one. You have my word that all of the wrinkles will be ironed out in the coming weeks." a pause as he prepared to change the direction the conversation was going in. "Werner, I don't want you to get bogged down in The Holding Zones. What we're building is revolutionary and I would love to see your people, unfairly stained by history, be able to erase your past and step into a better tomorrow."

"I'm not bogged down, Frank. I'm definitely interested in implementing your system. I wouldn't have called if I wasn't. In order for me to join in with you though, there needs to be accountability for the Zones. Once you start allocating these people in a way that provides them comfort and safety, I would be more than happy to further discuss implementing your Credit Chip system. Give me a call in a few weeks and we'll see where you're at."

"Before you go. Do you have any suggestions for me, Werner? I'd welcome any new ideas. Two heads are always better than one.

"I think a Zone for each state, Frank."

"If it can be done, it will be. Thanks for the call, Werner." When the conversation ended, the Head Spirit was left with an unfortunate choice. Only three Zones were in play for the exact reasons that concerned Werner. And it was clear that Werner was a man that wouldn't make a move until he could ensure that Germany would not repeat the same mistakes of the past. Germany did not only represent another big piece to the world vision, it represented peace of mind to any other leaders worried about the same thing. An all-clear from Germany would lead to several more leaders jumping at the opportunity. It was clear what needed to be done.

Gone was the vision It had of severe overcrowding leading to horrible infections. Gone were the unofficial Holding Zones meant to kill in slow and excruciating ways. Everything had to be above board from here on out. If It wanted the world to fall into the trap, It had to focus on the bigger picture. And to do that, It needed to appease to Werner's suggestion.

Just as a busy night of phone calls seemed to be over, his phone rang again. He picked it up without saying a word, waiting for the person on the other end to identify who they were.

"Mr. President? It's Marvin Peele. I just got a phone call passed up to me from Ransom, Iowa. A young girl claims to have killed two officers by speaking the Name of Jes—um, the Name of the Christian god." Marvin didn't even ask himself why he couldn't say the Name. "She also claims to have healed a boy of colon cancer in the same way."

An ugly smile was on the president's face as the Head Spirit began to plot something of Its own. "Bring her to me. I'd like to see what she can do."

"I won't bring her to you if the healing can't be verified. I don't want to waste your time."

"Always thinking ahead, Marvin. I appreciate it."

"I'll leave soon, Mr. President." The conversation ended.

The Head Spirit had no doubt the girl from Ransom, Iowa was legitimate. It knew of Lily Matthews. She had been a thorn in Its side long before now. And what a strike of that thing called fate that she was now about to be in Its grasp. Regardless of what she was able to do, It planned on exploiting her. If she performed miracles beyond those the president had shown the world, it would only go to show that people were capable of anything; if she performed none whatsoever, it would embarrass the Christians all the more. Either option still put the cause for unity ahead.

_If even Christians can learn my methods without the Credit Chip to free their minds, just think what you can do._ Yes, only a little twist and everybody would focus on themselves instead of the proof being given of The Messiah's existence. The Head Spirit was not concerned in the least. If Jesus could publicly die on the cross and publicly raise again only for the Head Spirit to convince most of the people otherwise, dealing with Lily was going to be a far easier task.

When it seemed the phones had stopped, they started up again. The hours of the day brought another five country leaders into the fold. And though all touched on the same concerns the president of Germany had, the Head Spirit now was able to use the talk It had with Werner to a full advantage: "I've already discussed this with Germany. And I am working out a plan for there to be a Holding Zone for each state." It was all they needed to hear to sign along with the vision.

Nothing passes the hours faster than long phone calls. What had been a sunrise not long before was now a sunset. The only thing that changed throughout the day was the president's locations. A few calls took place in the oval office; a few took place in a comfortable den off of his new, bloodstain-free-bedroom.

The final words of the final phone call were said and finally the quiet allowed the Head Spirit time to listen in on a tormented Francis. He was reliving the day his little brother died.

"I didn't mean to, Freddy." he whispered deep in the dark of his own mind. "It should have been me. It should have been me." The Head Spirit savored the torment, closing the eyes of the vessel It controlled and relaxing in Francis' deepest regrets.

## -Trials-

### 1

The airport rental van stopped behind a much bigger vehicle already parked near the front doors of the large building. A grouping of at least fifty people stood outside in the cold. When the doors to the airport rental were opened by the officer, the yelling was loud.

"Freedoms, Warden?! You are not in control of my freedoms! I will not only speak the name of Jesus, I will yell it down your every hall and let it fill every prison cell!" Ken couldn't see who was yelling from where he sat inside the van.

"Religion is a parasite." with a bright white floodlight glowing directly behind her, Ken only saw the warden as a needle headed figure. "And it has you all caught! Do not listen to this man. This place can either be a temporary visit or a permanent stay." she paused. "I've already gone over the rules with everyone here, relay them to this next grouping of people. I have a problem to take care of."

"What is it Jesus said?! They will hate us because they hated Him first! Endure, my friends! Endure until the very end!"

"Guard, get him out of here before he does even more damage." a man was pulled from the grouping by a guard, still preaching loudly as he was led to the warden. Still handcuffed they led him through the front doors and to the left.

"Once you get inside, I'll take off your cuffs." the Ransom officer stood at the sliding door of the van. "They'll process you from there. One at a time."

The ten in the airport rental did what they were instructed to, soon being met by a few people from the much bigger group.

"We have no freedoms unless we become citizens again. We cannot offer words meant to convince people to refuse the Chip, whether that is through religious views or anti-government conspiracies." a young man said, his full brown hair leading into a fuller beard. "So, you have only one question to ask yourself: 'will I keep my mouth shut?'"

Ken looked at him and then toward the front doors to find they were still open. Another guard had replaced the one that took the man away, now outside directing the large grouping through the front doors, his gun drawn just as a precaution. Once Ken finally reached the doors and had his handcuffs removed, he went through the same process everybody else had. When picking up a large jumpsuit on the registration table, he saw a sign pointing down the hall to his right, a sloppy hand drawn arrow added for good measure: **FOLLOW FOR** **FREEDOM!**

He kept quiet, his eyes wandering to the left as the line moved along at a snail's pace. The man had been taken down the same hall without hesitation, leaving what happened next to be filled in by the imagination. Ken tried not to think about it. But the passing minutes brought the click-clack of heels from his left, a red haired woman stepping toward the line of people with authority. Behind her a heavy smoke crawled along the hallway floor, rolling toward everyone else. And with the smoke came a smell that was like a piece of metal being dipped in something sweet and then set on fire. It was a smell Ken had never before experienced. And it made his imagination run wild.

"Open the front doors." she commanded to no one in particular. "Stupid electrical system caught fire. We got it under control but there is going to be smoke for a while."

The doors behind him were opened again by two guards who then stood in front of the openings. The cold air spilling into the entrance was immediate. Even with the door open, the smoke was heavy and thick, burning Ken's eyes as it brought on short fits of coughing in him and many of the people around him.

It took another ten minutes or so for Ken to be processed. He turned in all of his clothes and stepped into the dark blue jumpsuit. The registration process complete, he was led toward the cafeteria gate-door. Before he even reached it, Willow was on the other side waiting to greet him. As soon as she heard the sounds that came from the next group's arrival, she sat near the gate-door to wait.

The door opened and the first sight he saw was Willow, her smile and eyes the only bright things on an otherwise exhausted display.

### *

The grouping of five sat near the back of the auditorium, the order from the edge of the row in was as follows: Deb, Charlie, Terrance, Mama B, and Michael. It was unlike any auditorium Deb had ever been in. Cheap chairs formed shallow rows on a flat ground. The stage was made of old wood and raised no more than two feet off the ground, a large pull down screen a dirty white canvas at the back of a stone wall painted white. Overhead the lights were large fluorescent tubes.

Once everyone was directed in, the lights above the audience shut off, leaving only the large ones above the stage to act as a spotlight. The white haired warden took the stage behind the podium, talking into a secured microphone at the top of the podium.

"You are only the first wave of illegals that will be brought here. Tonight's speaker has a very specific message she wants to offer." he looked to the front row, nodding his head. "Approach this message with an open mind. That's all I ask. It is my privilege to introduce Pastor Linda Masters."

A dark haired woman stood up from the first row, stepping onto the stage as the warden stepped off and took his own seat. She approached the podium. Deb took a deep breath as she looked over to Mama B.

"Thank you for the introduction, Jim." Linda now positioned herself behind the podium. "Before I start could I get the person working the projector to use the image I gave?" the white screen was suddenly painted with a grotesque image. The image of a body burned from head to foot. She held up her right arm to show her barcode. "I received the Credit Chip out of love, to prove to my congregation that it was nothing more than the technology of the times, to save them from where you all sit now." She paused as she took a breath, turning slightly toward the image. "I used this image to help paint the picture of a cruel God. What kind of God would ever send his children here? Not my God. My God is love and love only." she paused to a long blink. "But, my god is not the true God. Jesus took sin upon himself on the cross to save us from this. I know I am damned to Hell because of this Chip. But, you can still be save—"

The speakers cut out suddenly and then the rest of the lights were cut, leaving everyone in a dark room with nothing but sounds to surround them. Something that sounded like a loud growl shot through the auditorium, followed by the sound of spread out shuffling as the metal feet of several chairs scraped against the floor before falling. And then the sound of a single gunshot capped off the rest, leaving a moment of dead silence before panic broke out.

Deb grabbed hold of Charlie and held him close as many of the other people tried to scatter. Mama B grabbed for Deb's hand as the small grouping of them huddled together in their seats, chaos spreading around them.

The sound of loud feedback suddenly appeared in the speakers. "This was an unfortunate turn of events." The warden's voice sounded different than before, being disconnected while still completely in control. "I'm going to call out five random chair numbers. There are 162 in this auditorium. Each is marked with a number on the front. If your number is called, the time to make your choice has arrived for you. The Credit Chip or death." The lights came back on to a crowd now suffocated by the reality. At least a dozen guards now surrounded the seats, their guns drawn. Linda was lying in the center of the stage, bright red blood pooling underneath her.

Deb looked to her right, the guard's eyes looking like they were filled with reflective ink. Whatever was in them was now controlling them. But this was different than with Kyle. His eyes were still his when he looked at her after killing Keith, but they were cold and removed from the situation. With these men the human was gone completely. She looked down at her seat. A laminated piece of paper stapled to the front. Her number was 141, Charlie's 142, and so on...

"Numbers 18, 43, 84, 96, and 144. The time has come to make your choice."

Mama B kissed Terrance's head first. And then she kissed Michael's, keeping her lips on his head for longer than she had with Terrance. She looked at Deb with a mother's eyes as she stood. "Take care of my babies, Deb. Promise me."

"I promise." Tears immediately filled Deb's eyes as the guard grabbed hold of Mama B's arm and put her to her knees in the aisle.

"No, Mama!" Michael yelled, Terrance stopping his little brother from running after her. "Stay, Mama!"

"Boys." She looked at them with her eyes steady and calm. "Eyes. Ears. Now."

Michael shook his head, tears pouring out of his little eyes. "No, Ma-Mama."

"Michael." she gave him a stern look before facing the stage, the gun placed to the back of her head. Michael covered both, his older brother standing in front of him as a shield, already doing what Mama B told him to.

"What do you choose, 144?" the warden asked from the stage.

"Jesus." she said with a smile as she looked up. The trigger was pulled and Mama B's life was over. But her story was only starting. When her eyes opened again, she was standing barefoot in a field of grass, high hills carrying on above her. As she started walking forward, she saw her wonderful Bo walking toward her. And soon a second person came into view. It was Brielle. Her broken daughter fully restored.

"It's been too long, Mama." Brielle ran into her arms, beating Bo by more than a few steps.

"I'm so sorry, Brie. I tried to be good with you."

"All is forgiven, Mama. He has made all things new. Come with us to The City."

Bo soon met her, offering his hand. Her fingers were home when laced with his. Together they started to walk up the first steep hill of many.

"What's it like?"

"There are no words I can find to describe the Indescribable." Bo said. "You'll see Him soon enough and then you'll understand."

Mama B looked at Bo, his eyes filled with childlike wonder.

"I'm ready."

"Not yet, B." he said. "The climb won't end until you are." She looked up, unable to see the top.

"You still have a lot to learn about Him, Mama. This is only where you start. We'll teach you what you don't know—what you need to know to reach the top."

### 2

Fear was the only thing sitting with John. To die in the dark, silenced, never to speak another word of God to those desperate for Him... there was no worse way he could think for his life to end. He had always imagined his life ending in much the way his father's had: murdered for the cause of Christ. Instead he was down in the dark, left to fade aw—

"I am a speaker of the truth! You can't shut me up!" the words echoed as they came into the dark. "Jesus is with me. Greater is He that is in me than he that is in this world. The Light lives in me! I will never hide it! I will never tuck it away!"

"That's your decision," John recognized Warden Beacon's voice immediately. With only an eyehole to look through, he only saw a hint of the flashlight beam in the distance. "You were told you have no freedoms here. Why do you think the rules don't apply to you?"

"You th—" his reply was cut off.

"You need to learn when to shut your mouth." Beacon's voice was tight and annoyed. The man tried to speak again following what she said, but it now sounded muffled, his mouth probably clogged.

"John. I like you. You don't talk as much as this one. You respect me, in your own quiet, refined way." He heard the click of her short heels approaching. "I am a very visual person. I never could learn in school without some kind of visual aid. No matter how many times I was told something, it didn't really click with me until I was given a picture to drive home the reality." she came into full view as she turned on a flashlight of her own, her red hair looking dark brown with the light pointed at John. She had a bright smile to welcome him with. "If I were to let you rejoin the rest upstairs right now, would you obey the rules? Would you keep your preaching to yourself? That's really all I ask, you know. This place is depressing enough without trying to keep people here longer. I need it to go smoothly, John. You can understand that, right? If people come and don't leave, I'll have to pack the cells with people, all because words you believe have caused them to dig their feet in. Will that happen if I let you go upstairs?"

The hours in the dark hadn't broken him. "Warden, the hope of The Good News must reach those in need."

She shook her head as she looked back. "Not a good answer, John. I'm afraid a visual aid is going to be the only thing to help everything click." she paused. "Bring him over here, guard."

The two light beams, though many feet from the other, revealed enough of the basement for John to see what both the guard and Beacon were doing. While the man, both thin and young, was being pulled out from the dark and toward him, to his left Beacon wandered out of his sight. And when she came back, she was dragging a heavy metal chair.

"Guard. Uncuff one arm, sit him down, and recuff him once his arms are threaded through the back."

"Yes, Warden." as he proceeded to do what she directed him to, John looked at the man. Their eyes met for a moment, the young man nodding his head in solidarity. He didn't say a word, the thick rag tied across his mouth.

"Why are you doing this, Warden?" John was quiet as he stared ahead. "You aren't a bad person."

She clicked her tongue as she stepped over to him again. "No, John. I'm not a bad person. I'm a person willing to do the necessary things—the sometimes dirty things. I gave you a warning today. You decided you'd rather be down here alone, standing on principle. I'm giving you this final warning now. A visual warning, something to help you understand where you are and what the consequences will be. Next time you won't be the one watching. Also, if you look away from my visual warning at any time, I will bring someone else down here and do it all over again. Do we understand each other, John?"

"Yes," a deep grunt of a reply, John squeezing his hands together as hard as he could. His whole body shook violently in anticipation, his eye pressing against the opening tightly. Shock was already finding him before anything even happened. He saw the man now in the chair, his arms cuffed behind him.

Beacon stepped somewhere far into the dark, the beam of her flashlight out of John's eyesight. When the click-clack of her short heels brought her back into his view, she was holding an old metal can of paint thinner. Without saying a word, she sloshed the liquid around in front of him and then offered it behind her. The guard, being an obedient pet, took it from her.

John's body began to tremble as the guard poured it on the man's head first, letting it run down. The strong chemical smell met him immediately.

"You don't have to do this." John tried to reason with her as he looked toward the man now soaked in paint thinner. He looked back at John, his eyes unmoved. If it had to happen, he was ready for it.

"It's going to happen, John. To him, to you, if you don't heed this warning, and to anyone else who claims freedoms they no longer have."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. "Then let him have his final words. At least untie the rag from his mouth."

She scoffed as she shook her head. "Why do you think I put it there to begin with?"

"Let me say one final thing to him then. Please."

She looked at John and nodded, her obvious annoyance being restrained. "Say what you need to."

"I don't know you, my brother. But find comfort in the words you will soon hear: 'You have done well, My good and faithful servant.'"

He saw the man's eyes widen with awe as he looked up. And even with a rag tied around his mouth, something of a smile rested on his face.

"Light a piece of paper and set it in his lap. The paint thinner will do the rest." She kneeled down to John's eye level. "Remember what I said, John. Look away and it happens again to someone else."

"I know," there was a slight tremor in his voice as the rest of his body shivered with shock. His eye pressed tightly against the hole, he watched a small fire on bunched up paper quickly spread to consume the man's body entirely. He saw the body flex all at once as a muffled scream came from him.

"Today! Today, you will be with Him in paradise!" John screamed. The smell of chemical was becoming something far worse as the fire began to peel at his skin. "Today, my brother, you will be with Him!"

The screams grew louder and more desperate until they stopped entirely, soon leaving behind only the loud crackles of a still hungry flame. Billows of smoke now rolled out from the source, making even the flashlight beams get lost in a heavy cloud.

"I've read the body can only handle about a minute before it passes out from the pain." Beacon said matter-of-factly. "He's still alive. He's still in pain. In fact, according to what I read, the accelerant makes the fire hot enough that it cooks his lungs. To put out the fire now would leave him alive and in excruciating pain for hours. It is merciful to let him burn for another few minutes."

"Merciful? Ha-how can you speak of mercy?"

"Oh, don't be that way, John. Am I not a woman of my word? This is the fate of anyone who tries to bring rebellion to my Zone. I told you from the very beginning, there are rules. Now you know what happens if you break those rules. My warnings are not empty." she stepped in front of his view, blocking the roaring fire. "So, what do we say, John? Can you tell me what I need to hear?"

He wanted to lie to her. It would have been easy enough. Lie so he could get upstairs and spread the message. But after having seen such a scarring thing, the smell and smoke now filling his small space, he truly didn't know what kind of man was left. Could he offer the words of comfort they needed? Would they see his fear? Would they see his uncertainty? Never had he felt more alone. He had always told his congregation that Jesus shined brightest in the dark. But this was far from what he had experienced since being brought into it.

"Keep me down here." he said despondently, the roaring flame behind now pouring out smoke.

He saw her shake her head as she turned back toward the fire, beginning to cough. "Do you have the fire extinguisher, guard?"

"Right here, Warden."

"Put him out." as the guard began to spray the roaring flame, she followed her flashlight beam away from John. And with the sound of a loud click, freezing cold air began to pour into an already cold basement. "Once you put the fire out, let the smoke clear and then shut the door. I need to get back upstairs." She approached John one more time. "I'll check on you in the morning. See if a cold night changes your mind."

The click-clack of her heels soon faded, leaving only the smoke from a once roaring fire and the smell from a brother in Christ burned to death to fill his cell.

The guard remained down in the dark with him. When the smoke had cleared enough, he closed the door to the outside and began to walk away. The cold air had dropped the temperature in the basement at least another five degrees.

When the guard left the basement, John could only scream. He screamed for all the things he couldn't say. And he screamed for the man in him who wasn't nearly ready to endure such a painful end.

### *

The test results, though ultimately inconclusive, gave Marvin the answer he needed. As soon as he had the test results in hand, the three of them were back in the limo, on their way to The White House. The night had cleared out a good deal of traffic, making the trip back to D.C. much faster than when they passed through it earlier that same day. It was a few minutes before 7 p.m. when the limo pulled through the gates and onto the long driveway.

"President Pummel is going to meet us in here. Give you the chance to talk. He'll decide what happens next." Marvin said, his thin lips forming a thin smile.

When the door opened a few minutes later and the president entered the limo, Lily only saw the Head Spirit on the man, the features of Pummel's face gone completely. Unlike the other Spirits, It had no features. No long, upturned smile. No ink dot eyes. Just a blank and blurred display that adjusted and twitched as It sorted through options. When It found a face, it presented something familiar, something disarming.

"Hello, Lily." she saw her father, a man she only had ever really seen in pictures, a man who died when she was barely three. "It's so good to see you again." It immediately made her need him. It immediately made her miss him. And it immediately made her forget why she was even there. She was just a little girl again, longing to be embraced by her father.

_Protect yourself._ The direction dropped into her mind from above. It was harder to close her eyes than she expected. When she finally did, she kept them closed tight.

I plead the Blood of Jesus over my mind, body, soul, and spirit.

When she opened them again, President Pummel was sitting across from her. Junior and Marvin both looked at her with questions in their eyes.

"I'm told you can work miracles." The president said. "I'm not going to question it. I want you to demonstrate it." a pause. "Marvin, could you contact the news networks tonight? We're going to reveal something tomorrow at 8 a.m. Her power for the whole world to see."

"To exploit her, Mr. President?" Marvin asked looking toward Lily.

"No, Marvin. To prove a theory. She's special. I can see it just by looking at her. She may be even more special than me."

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"You'll see tomorrow. Until then, let her and her friend have a stay in one of the guest rooms."

Lily was still taken aback by what she had seen. So much so that the president's words barely reached her. Even with the Blood of Jesus protecting her, she still thought about her father. It had been her dream just to see him again, just to hear the voice her mother used to talk about. And though she knew what she had seen wasn't real, it still struck all the right chords to confuse and disorient.

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was sitting on a bed alone, Junior standing near a large armoire looking at her. Even more questions sat in his eyes. Lily had none of the answers he wanted. But she had plenty questions of her own...

### 3

Linda sat in the front row of the auditorium, the people still filling in the seats behind her. She looked up at the stage, threading her fingers together and twisting them anxiously. The only thing that mattered was getting the message out. One deep breath led into another. The words she had memorized, once at the tip of her tongue, were now gone. She hadn't written them down in fear that Jim would want to check her notes. She had memorized far longer speeches before without an issue, always able to deliver them as if they were spur-the-moment. But this was different. This was foreign. The message. The environment. The stakes. She had never experienced it before. And the need to leave behind truth was pulling at her from all sides.

Jim stood behind the podium to introduce her but she no longer had the message. She stood not knowing what she was going to say. The only point of reference she had was the slide she left with the person operating the projector. The image of a full body third degree burn. It had been the perfect backdrop for her perfectly worded message. Now she only had a backdrop. For the first time in many years, Linda Masters was taking the stage unprepared. Always one to seem spontaneous with her messages, she now would have to be.

It only took a few steps for her to reach the podium. And as she took her place, looking out at the people, she realized the only message of truth she needed to say was her story. A pastor who preached a god of her own making, a pastor that was blinded by her own perception, a pastor who foolishly ignored the warnings and was damned because of it.

When the lights cut out suddenly, her skin ran cold. Just like everyone else, she was left with nothing but sounds to surround her. The only difference from the rest of the people was that the sounds were building up against her. A deep growl from somewhere nearby revealed something else as she began to snarl like a rabid canine, immediately feeling herself fade somewhere far into her own body. And then, without warning, whatever was in her was pulled free. And she was left with nothing but the sequence of sounds to build. When the gun was fired, the sound reached her at the same time the bullet hit her stomach. It cut through just the right organs to be fatal if left untreated. And nobody would treat her. She was the one that lied about the message she wanted to give. They would gladly let her slowly drain of life for everyone to see.

An immediate and pulsing pain, she fell to the stage. She heard the speakers come back on as Jim spoke, but the words were muffled as the blood left her body. Fading in and out of consciousness, reality became a scratched disc trying to play video. It skipped from moment to moment, leaving context to be something now well out of her grasp.

A loud pop of sound sent another shot of adrenaline into her fading system. She opened her eyes and looked around for only a moment, seeing the bright lights overhead; from her left, her ears filled with the terrified screams of many.

_I failed._ It was the last thing she thought before passing out, never to wake up again. It was always going to be her last living thought. Besides doing her best to leave behind truth in the end, the sum of her life was still that of an unintentional wolf leading her sheep to the slaughter...

### 4

The president walked through the halls of The White House, making his way to the limo Lily and the other two were in. A few minutes later, now outside with the vehicle in sight, the betrayal from one of the Head Spirit's higher ranking Spirits was witnessed. The vessel of the woman pastor speaking the Name, warning others of the trap. It wasn't the first time. Back when the Name walked the earth, the same Spirit in possession of a dirty leper, tasked to poison the minds of the colony, instead spoke of the coming Savior. It spoke of hope and restoration. It spoke of old things being made new. Did the Spirit not remember what the consequences were from it? The light that the other Spirits meticulously ate from It until none remained? Afterwards being left in the Void for a millennium, unable to gather light from the fallen? The consequences weren't nearly as severe then as they would be now. It would be cut off from The Feast, cut off from the final taste of light, never to eat of it again.

The Head Spirit didn't expect another betrayal from this Spirit. After a long and grueling punishment, the Spirit entered back into the world determined to gather as much light as It could, using heartless and deplorable methods to deceive and kill. It looked to be more than happy to get a second chance. But the weakness It once showed was back again. Ultimately it was a small setback the Head Spirit would have to deal with another time. It had the bigger picture to worry about.

The Head Spirit knew Lily Matthews. Just a baby girl when she lost her father to cancer, it was the base for her displacement. It now sat across from Lily, the president saying nothing for the boy and Marvin to hear. But in the spirit realm, in the realm she could see clear as day, It was doing many things to her; pulling her apart thread by thread, exposing the weak spots of a girl far outmatched.

Even when she hid herself behind The Blood, the process of unraveling her defenses had already been accomplished. She needed to enter tomorrow missing sections of time. She needed to enter tomorrow feeling like an unwanted guest in a place that could devour her at any time. The same girl that spoke life to the boy and death to the two officers was not the same girl that entered a guest room in The White House. Usually sharp and prepared, the Head Spirit left Lily back at square one, back at the most basic base of any child: the need for a father.

## -Endings-

### 1

Curfew came. People were put into the cells in groups of four. It was entirely unnecessary considering that two full floors of cells were left unoccupied. All beds had been removed in preparation for high numbers. One blanket available to each cell, strangers had to huddle together to stay warm. They were separated by gender for obvious reasons.

Ken and Willow had a few hours together before they were separated again, most of the time spent just sitting together. Cameras watching from up high and all around, they were careful what they said. The smoke from the hall dissipated but the smell remained. Ken didn't want to say what he thought. And when Willow told him that Pastor John was probably in the same place, silence seemed the best course of action.

The floor was cold stone. The blanket was green and barely big enough to cover the other three men he had to sleep with. He was easily the youngest of the four, laying at the back of the grouping. When Ken closed his eyes to sleep, he found deep sleep for only a short time—

It was the middle of the night, cold air passing through the cells like a troubled ghost, when the speakers came to life with two loud taps and a considerable amount of feedback.

"Do not be silent." Ken recognized the voice immediately. The warmth, the authority—it was Pastor John. "Do not hide your light. Strengthen everyone around you by giving them hope. To hide your light is to deny you have any in you. What if hiding your light leads others to fall? Proclaim the Name of Jesus Christ. You are a messenger of the goodness of God. We are not here to live under fear of death. We are here to die for the only cause that truly matters: the saving of the eternal soul. If you are here, God has given you the strength to endure. Do not waver. Do not fear. Do not be sil—"

The speaker cut off to leave a cold and empty silence. But, the silence was soon broken by people shouting from their cells. They now stood at the locked doors.

"Worthy is the Lamb!"

"Holy!"

"King of kings!"

"The Name above all other names!"

Ken simply shouted, "Hope!" It was where his walk with Jesus had begun.

The speaker came back on. "How nice that you all feel inspired. John made his decision and will suffer for it. He will be burned alive tomorrow night. Are you ready to suffer the same fate?"

The shouts tapered off until it was quiet again, a cloud of real and heavy fear settling over the prison. How was this even allowed? Ken looked out toward the guard to find a man standing still as a statue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was a world that no longer belonged to him. Even Willow, someone he loved dearly, was nothing more than a light in the darkness. They couldn't have a future together. They only had little moments. But those moments were fading. Her little smiles. His offers of comfort in a cold and suffocating place. It was time to let go. Whatever pain it required was something he was ready to endure.

One of the quietest when the shouting began, he was now ready to spark the fire.

"Savior!" his scream made the guard immediately turn toward him, his eyes black and soulless. The men behind Ken began to shout just the same. And soon it spread once again. There were still those that kept quiet; the fear of the fire just too much.

All who continued to shout were swiftly removed from their cells. Both men and women. And once again, Ken and Willow were together, still several people from one another but both being brought to the same place. She had learned to let go too, cherishing the moments with Ken as just that. What was she holding onto? There was no place safe to go. No place safe to find. It was like Pastor John had said: 'We are not here to live under the fear of death; we are here to die for the only cause that matters: the saving of the eternal soul.' She loved Ken for the strength he had helped unearth in her; she loved him for helping her finally find an identity that she could be proud to attach to her name; she loved him for being her protector and her best friend. It was a sad but necessary realization she had as she looked toward the front of the line, seeing Ken towering over many of the others. Whatever they had been to each other was now over. Their union had always been in place as beams of support to get them to this point, to keep them strong when so many other things were trying to break them.

Pastor John, yet again, was the catalyst for a decision that led somewhere Ken never imagined he'd be. To think not even a year ago, he laughed at the idea of a God. Now he was near the front of a line that promised to lead to the end of his life because of his belief in God. It all started with a bible and the few words written inside: _there's still hope for you—_ a bible he nearly didn't accept when offered to him.

Where the line led was into the same dark basement smoke had come from only hours before. 'A fire in the electrical system,' quickly revealed itself to be a lie as two intersecting flashlight beams revealed a man burned to death in a metal chair. Ken wanted to cover his nose to block a smell that was both sweet and sickly, both charred and rotten, but his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Following the guards into the dark was nothing compared to the haunting sound of Warden Beacon's short heels as they descended the stairs. She was far more a monster than the guards, even in their current state.

"So, here's the deal. We only have twenty four holding cells down here." She directed her flashlight at the white doors with the small eyeholes as she stepped among the grouping, twelve doors lining one wall of the basement, twelve lining the other. "I am generous. And I am going to give you the option. You can either take one of the holding cells and be executed periodically throughout the day tomorrow—it may be fast, it may be slow. It could be by gunshot, it could be a fire much like your little friend over there. Or... you can volunteer to be cuffed behind the building tonight. I read. I like to do my research. I like to know how painful these deaths are—how long they last, what's involved in the process, you know, things like that. The windshield tonight is just under 30 degrees below zero. Frostbite can happen in minutes when fully clothed; you will only be in your jumpsuits. Is it faster than burning to death? No. Is it less painful? Debatable."

"Is Pastor John down here?" Ken knew Willow's voice anywhere.

"Why does that matter?" Beacon dismissed the question, not even looking for who asked it.

"If he is, I'll take a holding cell." she wasn't going to leave Pastor John to be alone. No matter what. There was a loud slam and something muffled coming from one of the doors.

"Congratulations!" the warden faked exuberance. "A holding cell it is. But you won't be doing much talking with him. He said more than enough tonight. Isn't that right, John?!" she yelled toward the cells on the left, shining her flashlight on the first door.

Ken looked toward the door the beam from her flashlight presented. It was because of Pastor John and because of Willow that he would do just the same.

"I'll take a holding cell."

Warden Beacon wasn't able to fill the holding cells. Ken and Willow were the only two of a total forty eight people who decided they wanted this unhinged woman deciding how they would die. The rest chose the cold. With how flippantly she talked about the killings, it was clear that she liked to watch them burn and it was going to be her go-to punishment for anyone that gave the option.

Only three were in the holding cells. If Pastor John hadn't been there, both Ken and Willow would have chosen the cold. They were there for him only, to bring him company and comfort as he awaited an excruciating death—and now as they awaited the same.

### *

Deb was now a mother figure to three children she was unable to protect. A sad and sickening pattern that she never seemed able to rewrite. First Kyle. Now Charlie and Mama B's little boys. As soon as the executions left the air cold and smelling of metal in the auditorium, the children were immediately taken away by still possessed guards and to a separate area of the prison.

After witnessing the horror, there was an endless list of things that forced parents to rethink their decisions to remain there on faith. Five people had been chosen at random and given the choice. All being ready to die for their God, they were now just blood splatter patterns that told a terrible story. Would it continue with the children? Would there be more blood in the morning? Would little lives be cut short in horrifying ways?

Deb thought about the boys that had now been placed in her life. The feeling of helplessness on all fronts was too familiar. It always brought her back to when she had control but decided not to act, back when Kyle called for her and she turned away from him. It was the last time she had truly been needed as a mother. She was needed then and she failed. Tonight she felt a similar need from Charlie, Terrance, and Michael. Locked behind the bars of a jail cell, she did the only thing a mother could in this situation: she prayed.

### 2

Sudden sleep found John at the end of a long scream. A transition that was effortless—a reprieve from a terrible and exhausting ordeal. His body was exposed to a process that had depleted all of his strength. Forced to watch a man burn to death, trying to comfort him in the midst of the fire. A man known to bear the weight for others, attempting to do so while the man burned, had proved too heavy.

He wasn't aware of anything for hours. His skin didn't register the cold. His body didn't register the still heavy smell. What woke him up was something far different:

"John," the voice was quiet but powerful. His eyes shot open to see a bright light, far different from the flashlight beams. It was white and full and all consuming, the dark of the basement pressed to the farthest edges of the room. He saw the form of a large man standing amidst the light. "You will be heard."

All at once his cuffs broke off his hands as the old door he was pressed up against swung open with a creak, the light disappearing as quickly as it appeared. A sudden and needed sleep had given him back his resolve and his drive. There were people silenced up stairs, people afraid to speak a word because of Warden Beacon. His calling had always been that of a voice in the wilderness, a voice to direct, a voice to guide those wandering or lost. Never able to see his dream of following in his father's footsteps in Africa, it was only now as the old body of a door, once latched and locked, now swung freely, that John realized his purpose had always been to end up in this cell. His purpose had always been to speak a message against silence to a people now forced to be silent. To inspire, to give boldness in place of avoidance. In an environment that was meant to strong arm the weak into breaking, silence was death. If the Name of Jesus couldn't bring iron to the brittle boned, if His message couldn't be there to inspire even the weakest to stand strong, all hope was lost. You only have to look at the story of Peter to see the result of a human's good intentions. He said he would gladly die for Jesus, that he would suffer for His Name. But when the questions came, he shriveled away and denied Him three times.

The people upstairs were made up of good intentions. But without the ability to speak, they would end up just like Peter after hearing the rooster crow. And worse yet, without a reminder to fuel their faith, John feared many would give into the pressure and be broken irreparably.

He took the first steps out of his cell, the cold air having no effect on his hardened skin. And even though the cold air hadn't warmed, there was a warmth now on him. The warmth of purpose. John's father had been appointed a task of building the foundation for a body of believers to thrive in; John's task was ensuring the faithful made it to the finish line. There was no greater calling he could think of. Finishing the race was the only thing that mattered. And he had been given the responsibility. In many ways his purpose and his father's were tied together intrinsically. One meant for the beginning of a thing and one for the end.

He took the needed steps to bring him through the basement and up the stone stairs to find that the large steel door was propped open, the guard on the other side of it now passed out on the floor.

_Clear me a path, Holy Spirit, and You can speak through me._ A quiet conversation in his mind, fueling his steps down an uncertain hallway. There were many guards up ahead. How he could reach the speaker system, located in a room he had never been in and a room he didn't know, was beyond him. But, that is the defining quality of God. He is beyond human understanding.

John didn't doubt that he would get where he needed to go. He hadn't been broken free just to be caught before he could speak words of power, words of life, to those in need. He took one step after the next. When he came to where the main hallway and the one he was walking down intersected, he took the needed left, immediately seeing another two guards laid out on the floor of the hallway.

His next number of steps brought him down a familiar place. This was the hall that ran along the front doors, the only area of the prison he had actually seen beyond a momentary glance. As he approached the front doors, a glimmer of light from his left caught his eye. He saw a plain paper sign with a sloppy arrow pointing straight ahead: FOLLOW FOR FREEDOM! It was highlighted by the same kind of light he saw in the basement, a clear direction. He paid no attention to the foldout tables continuing down the left, toward a high number of guards standing watch at the gate-door to the cafeteria. He took steps of certainty, knowing that he would make it where he needed to go.

And he did. Just beyond the sign, the same white light was present on the door of a small white room on the right. As he approached, it opened. Sitting on an L shaped desk was an intercom system. He locked the door from the inside, walked over to the desk, held the red button down with one finger and tapped the receiver twice with another...

Now pinned against the desk and cuffed by a guard, his message cut short, John wondered if it had been enough. With his eyes closed, he began to hear faint shouts of exaltation that only continued to grow. A smile came at the end of a deep breath, Warden Beacon stepping behind him.

"How did he get out? And how did he get past you?" they were questions her guards couldn't answer, remembering nothing of the last ten minutes. "Do you want to shine any light on this, John?"

"No, Ma'am." John had said all he needed to, still hearing the waves of praise for The Savior sustained and joyous.

An exasperated sigh. "Everyone back to their posts. I've got it from here." She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her thumb and pointer finger. "Leave John with me." The guards did as she ordered, soon only John and Warden Beacon in the room.

When the warden addressed the wave of people over speaker, John heard it dissipate until gone. He closed his eyes to a heavy air. To die for Christ is to show His worth. To die for Christ is to inspire others to be willing to do the same. If his words could so quickly be forgotten, he had fail—

A faint but loud scream was heard. And then it grew into a wave again. Not as full as before. Not as loud as it had been but still a spark for a people in desperate need of a spiritual fire to spread amongst them.

"I can't believe it but you annoy me more than smoky did. I wanted order; you bring dissension. I wanted these people to see the error in their ways; you lead them to their deaths instead. I'll be sure to tally the total number and give it to you before I light you on fire for everyone to see. How many will die because of you? How high will the number go?"

"Do what you will, Warden."

She looked at him with disgust as she shook her head. "What kind of a man are you?"

He now stood up fully, standing at least a head above her. But this woman who was short on him was in no way small. She was more than capable of meeting him eye to eye in every other way but her physical stature. "You choose not to speak now. I will take your freedom away entirely." she pulled a blue rag from her pocket, clogging his mouth and tying it around his head tight. "You will be given no final words." she began to lead him out of the room and down the same hall he had come from. When she passed by one of the guards, she handed the duty off, the click-clack of her heels taking her back the opposite way. The guards were nothing but pets to her. If she had given the man any dignified attention, she would have noticed how his eyes were different than before. Now black and piercing.

John noticed immediately, pleading The Blood over himself. The first time actually seeing evidence of the evil attached to the Chip, it left his blood cold. Soon he was back down in the basement, back down in the darkness, locked away again in the same cell.

When he heard the group descend, he soon saw Willow volunteer herself. He slammed against the door and screamed to warn her, but without a voice it was ineffective in changing her mind. And only a moment later he saw the same thing happen with Ken. Two people he felt a responsibility to were now willing to die in the same way as him so he wouldn't have to be alone. Neither of them understood the horror he had witnessed. Neither of them truly understood what they had agreed to.

_Father, deliver them from this. Take them home. They are willing to die for you; let that be enough. I will burn for Your Name. I will take on the pain. But not them. They have dealt with enough pain in their lives already. Let their homecoming be pain free._ A prayer of petition as both were locked away in their own cells, the warden keeping them as far from each other as possible.

### *

Never a place Lily expected to be, she and Junior were now bedded down in separate beds in one of the many guestrooms in The White House. She was unable to sleep, unlike Junior who was already passed out and turned away from her. This was one of the first times in her life where she felt truly vulnerable. It had taken nothing to pick her apart, nothing to reduce her to feeling like a little girl who had no spiritual strength. Once like a tightly knitted scarf ready to withstand even the harshest winters, Lily was now a pile of threading on the ground. What she had built across years was gone. She had no confidence approaching tomorrow. And the idea of seeing the president again was terrifying. It was nothing like seeing the Spirits tethered to the damned. They knew how to taunt her. But, They didn't know how to break through her defenses—

Stay close to Me, Lily, and nothing can reach you. Remember, I have not given you a spirit of fear—

"But one of power, love, and a sound mind." she finished it as she closed her eyes. And soon sleep found her, bringing no dreams or nightmares, bringing no thoughts or heavy anxiety. It brought what she so desperately needed: a sound mind to a girl who was rarely given one.

### 3

The feeling of failure followed Linda from the last moments of her life into her eternity. Her eyes opened to find she was standing on stairs leading down into the dark. They were much like the stairs Kyle had descended; and much like the stairs Margaret was forced onto. The difference was found in the details: a line of people appeared behind Linda. One at a time they sprinted down the stairs without hesitation. It only took moments for one to disappear into the endless black. She heard their footsteps fading as the next set drowned out the last.

"Don't!" she tried to warn them, but her warnings couldn't reach them. "I was wrong! Turn back before it's too late!" she stepped in front of the line to stop the descent from continuing, but the next person reached her and became like fog, a heavy mist around her then reforming behind her, all to continue the descent. They were people she recognized, people she had pastored. Now a constant reminder of where she led them.

Linda stopped trying to warn them. The regret would always be hers to carry and there was nothing she could do to change it. Being reserved to this sad fate, she began to walk down the stairs, the people sprinting past her at a faster rate than before. The steps brought her into an empty cold.

"Linda," a sudden warmth from behind. She turned to find a bright shaft of light, her smile unexpected and immediate.

"La-Lord?"

"The lost are not your legacy." The voice fills the entire space, the dark drawing back like a curtain. She sees five people standing in the light, the people that died for Christ because of her warning. "They are home because of you."

Before she could speak another word, the warm light was gone, the cold stairs waiting for her to descend. The closest she would ever get to Heaven was this. And she held onto it tightly as she began to walk down the stairs. Always a pastor wanting to lead her sheep into the light, it was her final legacy, even as she was damned to the dark.

### 4

Marvin, given the task of informing the news outlets, had also been given simple direction: "Tell them nothing other than to have their cameras ready to run LIVE at 8 a.m." He did what he was told and soon the announcement simply titled A SPECIAL EVENT spread far and wide. On social media it was shared by hundreds of thousands of people, causing immediate speculations to begin; on 24 hour news networks, it became an appetizer for them to chew on before the main course was delivered in the morning; on every TV in every house, BREAKING NEWS banners ran across the bottom; and in every cell phone, the sound of a text notification brought the phone to life with the announcement waiting for those who were already sleeping. Even though it was last minute, news spread fast and far. Over the next number of hours, it spread well beyond America. Come 8 a.m. the world would be watching.

Never one to do things like those who came before him, President Pummel was known for the unorthodox manner in which he ran things. Using this pattern, the Head Spirit took advantage. There was a power in anticipation, in making the country wait for the normal time of 7 p.m. But there was also power in surprise. And surprise hadn't been used nearly enough from President Pummel. That was about to change.

### 5

Even with Willow and Pastor John sharing the same large space as Ken, the dark was all consuming. Ken was in the farthest cell on the opposite wall. Willow was somewhere in the middle. From where Ken was he saw the tail end of the large grouping of people disappear, the cold air of an open door soon being closed off again.

Nobody said a thing. When Ken tried to speak to bring comfort to his quiet wife, he never found words. What could he say? Simply being a presence for her was all he could offer. A cold and quiet dark was their only reality. Thoughts formed only to wander off until they were lost all the same. The only thing that gave any semblance of time was when reality would interject.

Sometime later, the familiar click-clack of the warden's heels appeared as she descended the stairs, sending an immediate chill down Ken's spine.

"No need to worry, you three" the sound of her heels brought her closer to them but with no light beams to reveal her, it still left her nothing but a voice to haunt the dark. "It has nothing to do with you right now. That's for later today."

When the flashlights finally came on, the intersecting beams revealed four other guards standing with her.

"We'll store them down here for right now. Don't need anybody asking questions." The warden spoke quietly. "Time is of the essence, gentleman."

The beams began to move toward the same area and then a loud click brought a freezing cold air rushing in. From where Ken was he could barely see the blue light of early winter morning color the corner to his right. One by one, the people who had stepped out into the cold were brought back in. The cold air had done the job. Forty six hardened bodies were gathered on the basement floor...

And then, as before, they were left in the same darkness. Ken had to say something to Willow. Even though he couldn't hear her, he knew she was terrified.

"You are stronger than you think, Wi—" The final words he would ever say, his heart stopping suddenly never to start up again.

### *

The cell doors were unlocked at 8 a.m. And it was at this time that parents, left with nothing to do throughout the night but pray for protection for their children, would now find out if their prayers had reached deaf ears. The sound of small voices reached them before the grouping of children did. Deb saw Charlie near the front, Terrance and Michael looking small and lost next to him. When Deb saw them, she ran forward. She wanted to bring them comfort as quickly as she could. Though they hadn't seen Mama B die; they knew what the pop of sound meant. They knew she was gone.

The two little boys met her with hesitation. Battered by life, they looked at her eyes and then away.

"Boys. You will see her again. Where your Mama went there is no more pain, no more crying."

Michael looked at her, the questions in his eyes seeming to build at the same time as his tears; Terrance was a hard shell despite only being a seven year old boy.

She looked at Charlie who was standing as tall as he could under the circumstances.

"Are you okay, Charlie?" she brought her palm up to his face, lightly caressing his cheek.

"Not really. There's just pain everywhere."

"There is" she gave a motherly smile. "But just know that I am so happy that God brought you into my life. You've given me new things to hope for."

A small smile crawled onto his face. "I'm glad I met you too."

They made their way to a small corner in the cafeteria. An adopted mother to three boys that she didn't know how to comfort, Deb could only do her best. The boys were huddled in the corner as she kneeled in front of them, shielding them from everything else.

_Bring comfort to them, Lord. I am at a loss—_ A prayer she was never able to finish, her dead body slumping over onto now three lifeless boys.

### 6

John was witness as the grouping stepped out into the cold, Warden Beacon sure to tally up the deaths. They were on him, ' _because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, because he felt the need to spread his poison_.' Each person that stepped out into the cold was a victory, one that saddened him but also one that gave an overwhelming sense of joy. Soon they would be safe from this hell. Soon they would be home. If this hadn't been the end, things would be different. But the truth had always been that The Holding Zones would bring death to those who resisted. To avoid it, to toe the line longer, was to leave room for lies to push their way in and become truths. Nothing was more spiritually dangerous than this. The doors soon shut, the cold air left to hang in the air, the people left to die in the cold.

He could offer nothing to Willow and Ken, other than praying for their deaths so they wouldn't have to endure the pain. Knowing they were down there with him brought comfort that he didn't want to accept. For a man who always tried to bear the weight of others, the idea that others would willingly do the same for him was both welcome and rejected.

The darkness in the basement wasn't the same as before. Although Willow and Ken were placed nowhere near him, their presence made the experience different. He wasn't alone. And though he would have rather they not decided to stay there on his behalf, the simple fact that they had, brought company to him. They didn't speak to one another, all preparing for the pain to come, but they still were in it together. Words weren't always needed, the connection between their spirits palpable.

John was reduced to nothing but a man gagged, a man silenced, now awaiting his death. And yet, this was the kind of ending he had always envisioned for himself. He always wanted to die a martyr like his father. He always wanted to be put through the fire of trial and be tested for his King. To end strong. To face death and not back away. To endure the pain for a time for a much bigger reason.

Though now silenced, he had been heard. It was the only thing that mattered. Those words that reached the people. The spark that inspired and hopefully would continue to inspire as the days passed. After he was long gone from this world, he could only hope his words would burn in others. _Do not be silent._

When the click-clack came, John immediately closed his eyes to search for words of prayer. Beacon was the kind of person that would have taken Willow out first simply because they knew each other; she was the kind of person who would have burnt her alive in the middle of the basement, John and Ken forced to be the helpless and horrified audience. He couldn't find words to pray, instead letting a holy tongue roll off his lips.

She soon revealed her reason for being there. She was there to cover up her tracks. Sadness cut into him when the door opened and he saw frozen bodies brought in and left on the floor, the morning light painting the scene in a lifeless and harsh color. They were safe but it didn't change the reality. They had suffered a terrible fate, some brought in with no clothes on at all. Their souls were safe but their bodies were there to act as a constant reminder: the worst was still to come.

Once the door was closed again, Warden Beacon stepped over to John's cell and whispered, "forty-six," before stepping away, leaving the three of them in a cold and suffocating dark once again. The number sat with him. Forty six souls saved. He looked up, a tear falling free.

He thought about when he was only a six year old boy, when his mother told him his father had been killed. He only remembered one thing from the conversation: "Your father was a man with great purpose. And so are you, my son. I can already see it on you."

It had fueled him ever since. And it wasn't until this moment that he felt his mother's words finally fit.

He took a deep breath. It was his last.

### *

Willow was placed in the same row of doors as Ken but on the opposite end. She was closest to the outside door. She watched only a few people walk out into the cold and then closed her eyes. She was here for Pastor John but she didn't have to face the full reality. Her body shivered for many reasons as she curled up in her space, her eyes closed tight. To just return to the night she and Ken laid in front of the fire on the pullout bed in Pastor John's basement. To just rest on Ken's chest again. To just be safe again. What their union had been was over but it didn't mean she couldn't climb back into the memories and live there. And that's exactly what she did.

The hours of the night passed but she wouldn't let herself experience it like Pastor John or Ken. She was back in bed with her husband on their wedding night, watching the fireplace as he rubbed her back lightly. She was back where she felt safe and secure, back in a memory she never imagined would belong to her. If she could only live here.

There was no moment throughout the night Willow slept through. There was still a part of her aware of everything. This was nothing more than a simple haven removed from the reality that she had climbed inside of. She was detached from her body, because her body was a shivering shell, her body was a broken, terrified thing that left her feeling alone and fully vulnerable to the monsters waiting to kill her.

As she rested on his chest, time seeming to have stopped entirely, she heard the vows he promised to hold play over in her mind: 'To protect her when danger abounds.' He was doing that even now. By being a place of safety for her before, he had given her an escape now.

When Warden Beacon came back down, Willow's body registered the sound of her heels with frightful anticipation. She heard the varying sounds as soft echoes appearing all around her. She felt the frigid air spill in, the blanket she was lying under with Ken doing nothing to warm her. Her hiding place was fading. She no longer felt Ken's body close to hers. She no longer felt the warmth of the fireplace. She only felt the cold ground her body was shivering on, the air from outside hitting her worse than the rest.

There was no escape available anymore. She heard the bodies scrape against the ground in the same way ice would. Once her eyes opened, she looked up toward the small eyehole, the light of early morning bright above her. She processed it and then closed them again. The scraping of dead bodies being brought in continued for an extended period of time. When it finally ended and the cold air was closed off, she opened them to find the dark was all around her again, the sound of the warden's heels fading with every passing moment.

When she finally heard Ken's voice break the quiet air, a smile found its way onto her face. And it was this smile that remained as the life left her body.

### *

Well before 8 a.m. Marvin knocked on the guest bedroom to wake both Lily and Junior up. She slept soundly. And when she woke up, her strength was with her again. She didn't feel unraveled. She didn't feel pulled apart. The Thing in the president had only been able to dismantle her because she wasn't covered in the moment. But, the One that lived in her was far greater. And as long as she remained in Him, there was nothing It could do to her.

"Are you ready for this, Lil?" Junior asked as he stretched out his long arms.

"I think I am." she stood up, looking toward the door...

A number of little, mundane things led her from the guest bedroom to the stage on the front lawn of The White House. She was dressed warm for a cold morning, the news anchors in the crowd looking confused: _Who was this girl? And what was she doing on the other end of their cameras?_

"Thank you for being here on such short notice," the president stood behind his podium on the center of the stage, Lily only feet away from him on his right. Junior was sitting in a chair behind them, keeping his head down. "Yesterday I received word that there was a Christian girl in a small Iowa city that claimed to have killed two men simply by speaking the Name of her "god". She also healed this boy behind me of a terminal bowel cancer, doctors verified it last night." He paused, the news anchors in the crowd still seeming unconvinced. "Now, you know I have a colored past with people from this religion. But, it doesn't mean I don't have an open mind." a smile of reassurance offered to Lily for the cameras to capture. "Having said that, in order for me to believe she has done anything more than rebrand abilities I've already made apparent to you, she'll have to do something a bit bigger. Is there validity to what she has done? Absolutely. But what is the source?"

Lily swallowed hard as she looked out at the news people and their prying cameras, the Spirits bent down toward the lenses

_What should I do, Lord?_ a quiet thought in a burdened mind. _I will not let them test You._

Speak in My Name, Lily. You will know what to say. You were made for this moment.

Lily thought about Who God was—

"The stage is yours." The president used his hands to direct the crowd's attention to her. "Convince us."

A girl who was always told to be quiet, always dismissed because people couldn't understand her—she now had a worldwide platform. And as she prepared to speak, she felt electricity lay over her skin.

"The Name of Jesus Christ has been made small and irrelevant. I will change that. You will see the power of God today." She thought about the qualities of God, a smile now on her face as she looked toward the gray sky. "Fire come in the name of Jesus Christ."

An immediate sound of thunder filled the sky as clouds appeared in a growing swell high above the stage. And then, descending from the swell, a tight swirl of bright orange quickly moving toward the ground. It brought with it warm wind and a furious heat. Lily looked out at the audience, the news people and their cameras now looking up, while the Spirits just looked at her with those lifeless smiles.

The fire was now a thick pillar, steady and contained as the heat within seared everything around it. Still many feet from touching down on the ground, the thin layer of snow was gone, the grass beneath already singed. Lily's dark brown hair blew around wildly as she looked toward the president. "Try to explain this away."

There was no response. She just saw the faceless Thing twitch with frustration above a president who was trying to save face. Once the pillar touched down, an immediate wave pulsed out from it, causing the ground to shake, leaving Lily just a dead body on the stage; Junior the same.

### 7

Pulled free from Linda's body and left in the darkness, the Spirit knew the consequences to come. To never taste the light of home again—there was no fate worse. No matter how much It had tried to embrace the dark, something pulsed with need on the inside. It wasn't just simple remnants of the days It lived as Stephen—those had been removed long before, eaten away when punished the first time. All memories of home had been taken... only to return amidst the darkness. And amidst the hate bred in It toward The Maker, there was an undying love for Him. They could lock the Spirit away in The Void for eternity, and the love for The Maker would always remain. Though It lived among Those in the dark, though It was cast from the light just the same, the Spirit was not like the Others.

To never taste of the light again... to never walk in the warmth of His presence again... A prodigal child that would have given anything to be invited back into The Father's arms, anything to be welcomed back into His fullness.

_I cannot give you, eternity_. It recognized the Voice immediately speaking into the deepest parts of It. _I can only give you a memory._

Still in the dark, It remembered the first moment It was created, carved from a slab of iron, looking upon The Maker. The green hills high behind Him, the warmth of His presence a constant and full atmosphere. It had longed to feel this again, a piece of the home It could never return to. Whether the memory would remain was something It didn't know; the Others would probably eat it away again. But for the moment It had pure light. For the moment, It was home again.

### 8

No matter what happened today, it was about telling a new story, about forming a lie from a very clear truth. If the act was great, if The Maker dug into his Old Testament bag of tricks and pulled out something truly convincing, It was prepared. Lily Matthews had always been someone different, someone made for these times. It expected something big today.

She spoke the Name but the cameras didn't pick up the Name clearly. Whenever the Name was said, it reached the cameras as a distorted sound, something close to when a finger slides across a playing record. The point was to remove the source of the power while keeping the power on display. If people wanted to see The Maker in it, they would. But if they weren't looking for The Maker, they were going to see something far different.

She spoke the Name and fire formed in the sky. It was only the news anchors who heard the Name as the source. And all of them already with the Chip, It could distort their memory to whatever It wanted. They would remember the fire but they wouldn't remember the source. They wouldn't remember the Name. And the cameras had already delivered tampered footage to a watching world.

As the pillar descended, she looked back toward the president, issuing a challenge. It said nothing in reply, making sure to display the president in a way that wouldn't cause suspicion. Just like the rest of the people seeing it, he looked toward the fire, eyes filled with awe.

The fire touched down, sending an immediate and powerful pulse. And when It looked to the edge of the stage, It saw Lily on the ground, finding the same with Junior when It turned around.

Was this the moment It had prepared for? The followers of the Name gone and the story of how now fully in the Head Spirit's control?

## -The New World-

### 1

Ken's eyes opened. The first thing he saw was a vast city on the horizon; the first thing he felt was wholeness. The pain was gone. All of it. When he looked to his left, his mom was next to him. They shared a warm smile as he looked down the line. When he looked to his right, Willow was there, her fingers now lacing with his. They looked down the line together. Lily was close by, Pastor John and Junior the same. It stretched on endlessly, a grouping of millions all having arrived at this point at once, all to see a city that couldn't be described, all to taste of a world where pain was but a memory, all to live in the presence of The Savior.

A hill of green grass descended beneath the point where everyone was gathered, leading to a lake of crystal. And beyond that, the entrance to the city. A city that was built at heights far beyond those of skyscrapers, a city that stretched across endlessly, a city that held the very Source of life. The city was made of light, just like the One that it was built around. And the light filled the sky, and the valleys, and everywhere the eye could see... and even beyond that. Even when Ken looked behind him, to find they were standing at the top of a very long climb, the light was the same. No shadow rested. No darkness existed. The light from the city was on everything.

"I'm gonna go down and find the rest of my family." Willow said softly as she prepared to take her first step. "Do you wanna come with?"

"I'll find you." he smiled as he let go of her hand, his eyes still in awe of the city. Unlike many of the people there, Ken wasn't stepping down to find family waiting for him. His mom was already by his side. There wasn't sadness to this reality—though it was sad. He was in no rush to reach the city, this point a perfect suture to a wound that hadn't stopped bleeding for nearly a year. To finally be whole, to finally have no pain, and to know that soon he would meet The Savior face to face—it was more than enough.

### *

Debra had known terrible loss; and now she knew what it meant to gain. Ken to her right and Charlie to her left, she didn't think about Kyle. She no longer thought about what had been lost; she only thought about what had been gained. In the last days of her life, God had given her a new family. She looked over at Charlie. Michael and Terrance were next to him, energy dancing through Michael like a living current.

"Can we go and find her, Deb?" Michael asked, eager as ever.

Deb gave a nod of the head, Michael sprinting forward immediately. Terrance followed close behind. They would find much more than Mama B waiting for them. They would find the family they lost made whole.

Charlie looked up at Deb and gave a smile. "Truth is truth."

She nodded her head as she looked toward the city. She was only at the beginning, eager to start a whole new journey.

### *

Though they all arrived at the same spot together, people began to walk down the hill at different times. John and Junior were among the first grouping to take the first steps, immediately finding that step one brought them through a clear film. And on the other side of this film, the air was different. The air was thicker with the presence of God and the light coming from the city was far brighter than what it had been, as if the starting point was outside of a dimming lens.

The brightness from the city acted as a curtain, each step revealing what the last one couldn't. Cara was waiting for them at step two. Her smile was the one John fell in love with. And still different. Still lighter. Still warmer. She opened her arms, John and Junior both embracing her, knowing they would never have to say goodbye again.

"Oh, my handsome men." She smiled as she let them go. "Every step reveals something new. "My third step brought me to the feet of Jesus. I never wanted to stand. I never wanted to take another st-step." Tears were in her eyes but they weren't sad. "Your father isn't far away from here, John. Any step now and you'll see him."

"Right now, I'm just happy being here with you." John brushed Cara's long black curls from her face with one hand, looking into her eyes. Oh, to see them again without the sickness... "Each step is a gift. There's no need to rush."

### *

When Willow let go of Ken's hand and took her first step through the clear film, she found her dad and Rosy waiting there together. Nothing needed to be said. The pain of her displacement, the pulsing need to find where she fit, the shame she carried like a terrible mark for all to see. It was finally gone.

She closed her eyes to bask in the light of this new world. To finally feel clean after living in the dirt for so long...

### *

Unlike Willow, Lily didn't think about her family. They were still a great point of importance in her life but they weren't her first thought, and they weren't her first love. She longed to look upon her Savior, to lay at His scarred feet in breathless worship. The only Friend that had been with her through every moment of a hard life, she knew Him better than most and still had only scratched the surface. To know Him until she could hold no more knowledge. It was her only desire.

She took her first step well after Willow, the clear film bringing her into a familiar presence that was immediately all consuming. It brought her to her knees, her desire to be at His feet now reality.

### 2

The pillar of fire was now gone. It didn't retreat back into the sky from where it came; it dissipated not long after the pulse, soon becoming nothing but a warm wind to meet a cold January air.

The clicking of cameras and varying pitches of conversation from a hungry audience of news anchors was almost deafening, the fire having disappeared only moments before.

"You have questions. I have answers." The president said. The first hand to go up was good old reliable Lidia Johnson

"Mr. President? What do you make of this _act of god_? I've already received multiple reports through text and social media that millions of people are dead worldwide—obviously it will take some time to get an accurate count. But, it seems to be at the exact same time the fire touched the ground."

"I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong," the president said following a deep breath. "I was wrong, Lidia. I told you from day one that god is nothing more than an idea. I have always been a man who needs verifiable proof. We were witness to just that today. Lily Matthews, a small, unassuming girl—in fact a deity. Housing a power far beyond our comprehension." He looked to her body on the stage. "I'm going to answer the question before it is asked. Her dead body is not proof that she wasn't divine. Even in nature we see the process of stages. A caterpillar to a butterfly, for example. It is a certain death the creature goes through before transforming. The old has to die for the new to live. Shouldn't this be the lesson we take from today? The old dying so the new can live? There is no coincidence that when the fire she called from the sky touched the ground that millions of people died worldwide. She was getting rid of the old so we could step into something new. Let me back up this claim. What does fire represent in religions across the world? Wrath and purification." He counted it out on his fingers. "The dead were unworthy to step into the final stage with us." he looked out among the news anchors and their cameras. "We, who remain, have been tested by the fire and have come out the other side pure. She considered us worthy to stay. We are here for one reason. To make something new now that the old has died. Join with me and we will build a new world together."

To make her an idol to people. To turn a prophet of the Name into a false god people would follow. It was a lie that had just enough truth around it to grow. And even if it didn't grow, it left far more questions than answers. This had always been the trick the Head Spirit used to great effect: keep people questioning everything and they will never believe anything.

With the Christians gone, The Great Harvest was nearly complete. Just a time longer of peace to set the trap. And once the remaining countries joined in, The Feast would finally begin. It wasn't far away at all anymore...

### Author's Note

Thank you for your patience in letting this one come to me. Once The Lord gave me direction, everything started to click. I was unable to write a word for over a year and then it all came together. I started it February 4th, 2019 and wrote the final word on March 22nd, 2019.

Everything is to be taken as fictional. A fictional biblical future written by a man who loves The Savior dearly. All decisions made, even the controversial ones, are meant to be speculative and nothing more.

Stick around for a little bonus story, titled IRON. Written just for you, my wonderful readers.

Thank you for taking the time,

### IRON

Stephen, an angel of great importance, high in both position and regard, now found himself in a free fall. The light was bright and warm above him. But, it was fading fast. The only home he had ever known was disappearing from his sight. And what he soon discovered was a sensation he had never experienced before: need. Where he had been full and without void, he now understood the reality of separation from true fullness.

It had just been one small moment of disagreement, one small moment of doubt. Lucifer had made some valid points about equality and position. He had always been a gifted speaker. Understandable why The Maker had given him such a position of leadership. Charisma came from him in waves. As did the music. Pure, clean, victorious notes that once sprang from his every step had now become a deafening, deep throated sound. Horrific and hopeless, it was the perfect soundtrack to the growing darkness beneath him.

Stephen's large body began to spin out of control, his wings paralyzed. He looked down to the sound to find the face of Lucifer. A joyous grin was on full display. He didn't miss the light; Stephen already starved for it.

"It was only a moment of doubt, my Lord!" Stephen screamed. "Don't cast me from Your light!" Another new reality was the silence that followed his pleas. Up until now The Maker had answered every one of his questions, no matter how small they seemed to him. In fact, Stephen's first conscious moment was standing on a pillar, The Maker in front of him with a thick chisel and an old wooden hammer.

"I have sculpted you from iron, Stephen. For you will challenge and sharpen everyone around you." These were the first words spoken to him, words of position and purpose. He looked past The Maker to find statues as far as his eye could see. They all appeared to be given the same dimension in form but not all were made from the same material. Some shone. Others reflected. And others still were made of stone, which would later reflect their characters to a Tee.

Lucifer was the first angel to be brought to life. A living instrument of worship, The Maker gave him a form of brass. Stephen was the fifth. When all was said and done the number of angels created was beyond count. He was there early, aware and subject to the creation of the first stage. Beyond The Maker's own company of three, there was nothing. Nothing but flat land and blank canvass. He was witness as each angel was given a name and a definition. And he was witness as the first stage came to an end.

To be considered such a high priority in The Maker's mind, the fifth created out of an innumerable grouping—the growing cold of the separation was even worse for it. To think he had held such a high place of importance in The Maker's mind... only to throw it all away.

Stephen could no longer see the light of home. The number of angels still falling was incalculable. Their large bodies dropped heavy, tumbling out of control as their massive wings were nothing more than limp and lifeless excess. They quickly blotted out any form of light, leaving Stephen in the cold and empty reality of a mistake he would never not regret.

He had no allegiance to Lucifer beyond his initial belief that Lucifer's words held more weight because he was the first created being. This was his first mistake: pairing the creation with The Creator. For a time, this first created being was passionate and glorified The Maker at all levels. But somewhere along the way, a parasite of an idea crawled into his mind. Stephen's first mistake had been reverence for Lucifer's position.

And now it had left him in the dark...

Lucifer was just beneath Stephen, his fall a controlled plummet. He didn't reach to the heavens in desperation, trying to make his broken wings fly again. What he did instead sent a sharp chill into Stephen's core. He not only accepted his fate. He seemed to welcome it as he crisscrossed his arms, keeping his body motionless.

"You made a mistake, Stephen." Lucifer's smile was simple and deranged, his words drowning out the haunting sounds coming from him. "You fell for the lie." He laughed as he closed his eyes.

It was the laugh of this deceptive creature that accompanied Stephen's fall. The laugh and the sounds of pointless struggle. Though Stephen was far from the only one to regret this decision, there was a clear understanding within him that he saw something in Lucifer that those above him hadn't. This highly appointed leader, the greatest of The Maker's creation, was different from the rest of them. He wasn't interested in a coup. He was interested in disorder, infatuated with disarray; all opposite attributes of The Maker. Lucifer had led them to doubt The Maker for one simple reason: to have them cast from His presence. It was never about loyalty, never about choosing sides. He had set a trap, using his effective words and his undying charisma to poison their minds, to paint a false picture of The Maker, a flawed picture. And in doing so, he was able to grow seedlings of doubt. Small, fleeting thoughts questioning the sovereign nature of the very one that chiseled their forms from slabs and spoke life into them.

There was a black void growing beneath Lucifer, billows of smoke rising from its depth: a creature aching to receive those that were falling from the light. It seemed made for the very one that caused the fall. Stephen was, regrettably, damned to the same fate, but he was not of the same kind as Lucifer. Darkness wasn't his home; confusion wasn't his domain. There was a hole in him now that he was severed from The Maker. And it was only growing wider the longer he was apart.

Fear, an emotion that came to exist at this moment, struck Stephen with a sharp jolt. The darkness beneath him was cold and empty. And within its thick atmosphere, he felt a new and draining sensation. There was a presence that belonged to the darkness. Whereas The Maker was full this was empty. Whereas He was peace this was fear. It was an all-consuming reality, something that belonged to the dark, something made specifically for it, much like the same way Stephen's limbs belonged to his form.

But the fear Stephen felt wasn't from the dark or even the emptiness it held; the fear came from the realization that this place had been created specifically for the fallen. As he was calling out to his Creator, his Father, the only response given to his pleas was this place being spoken into existence. It was a place void of The Maker in every way, a place to house those cast from the light.

Never having experienced rejection, this moment was stark and bare, a naked realization that there was no hope of returning to his home. There would be no moment of leniency, no moment of grace extended to where the gates would open and The Light would envelop him again. As one new emotion met him, a second came up alongside it: sadness. Though not the begotten Son, not one and the same with the triune Creator, Stephen still considered himself a child cast out from his Father's presence.

He fell into the black. Even in trying to turn his head back to see the light one more time, he found that the darkness was everywhere. There was no more hint of light, no more hint of love, no more hint of God. All he could see was that deceptive creature just feet beneath him, his eyes reacting to the dark with life. It was Lucifer's environment, his true home. His eyes took on the appearance of burnished stone. And when he smiled, a red glow came from within, outlining the rest of his features in haunting display.

"There's nothing quite like the cold of separation is there, Stephen?" As the dark began to bring new aspects of Lucifer to life, the music that once flowed from him effortlessly ended abruptly. With the music gone, all that was left was the quiet of the dark.

When the music ended, the final hint of Heaven went with it. Once alive with worship and exaltation for his Creator, Stephen now closed his eyes, reserved to his fate. The fall continued. And it would continue for a long time...

His body finally hit ground. The jolts of pain were severe, but his iron form didn't break. He landed only moments after Lucifer, the two of them leaving a crater greater than twice their size. Though earthly systems of measurement hadn't yet been conceived of, the dimensions of the first created beings were fifty feet in height with a wingspan that measured the same.

When Stephen stood up, the darkness blinded him entirely to his surroundings, except he could see the red glow of Lucifer nearby. Stephen's body was still reacting to the sudden shock of impact. All of his senses, alien as they were to him, were learning to adapt to the new environment. He was still a creature made of iron, still an unbreakable form. But, what he saw when he looked at Lucifer was that his form of brass had already broken off of him like a loose and crumbling shell. And what remained now was a translucent skin, a tight plastic packaging to house the haunting red glow that emanated from him. Lucifer seemed to command the dark. Whereas it swallowed Stephen up, Lucifer was able to tame it, to teach it, to control it. It was clear that Lucifer had never been more at home.

"Your skin will shed too, Stephen. It's only a matter of time. You don't belong to the light anymore." A slug of a smile was on display. Why did he find such satisfaction in this severing? Why did he find such euphoria in the emptiness? The last angel Stephen wanted to be near was Lucifer. And yet that was the consequence of his position. Being one of the first brought to life, he was also the second to fall. The others made before him hadn't fallen for the lie. They were still in the light, still loved and welcomed by their Maker. How could he have been so foolish?

The sound of more fallen finally hitting ground appeared all around him. It was an explosive and persistent sound, muffled by the thick, relentless Void. There were many others nearby, but the atmosphere removed the feeling of their presence. They were there and yet it felt like they weren't. He could hear them close but he was disconnected from them. He was completely alone even though he was surrounded by his fellow fallen.

An empty darkness would have been preferable to his current state. Only feet from Lucifer, he was the first to witness what would later be referred to as evil. When he looked at the red glow again, he saw a flash of an image. It was simple and violent. When they still lived in the light, and when Lucifer conducted a symphony of praise for the Creator, flowers grew tall and bright with color, swaying as they danced before the sovereign One. The image Stephen saw was this living field ripped apart, their bodies nothing but spread out pieces, their color drained of all life.

Lucifer was in control of this dark world and was already creating something new, something depraved and never before conceived of. And by doing so, he was in the position he had always wanted. He was god-like, in control of all the attributes opposite of the triune God. He had always felt an itch for leadership. And the simple fact that he had been built to worship his Creator was something that poisoned within him over time. He wanted something of his own, a dominion that belonged to him and him alone.

"We are only the first stage. He has plans for much more. He aims to replace his first stage of creation with the second, to nullify our importance, to erase us from relevancy. He wants children not statues." Lucifer spoke in a tone meant to convince. But, Stephen still remembered when he admitted to the great deception. "Will that work, Stephen? Will that convince them to embrace the dark?" a short laugh before continuing. "You know things about me that they don't. You know that I don't care about any of them. They are just excess. It will bring me great elation to convince them that their purpose is found in me."

"Why are you telling me this?"

A long shrug. "You are made of iron, Stephen. 'You will sharpen and challenge those around you.' And yet you won't be able to convince them of anything." He laughed again, as light and free as he had ever been.

Stephen turned away from Lucifer, choosing to instead wander into the Void.

### *

What is now known as time began suddenly and without warning. When The Maker spoke, a new system was put into place. The second stage, for all of its complexity, ultimately came down to one very simple fact: everything had been put into place (both night and day, both plant and animal, both earth and sky) all as a home for The Maker's true masterpiece of creation. Once everything was set in its place, man was given life through a single breath. Similar to how the angels had been made and yet entirely different.

It didn't take long for the innumerable grouping to unite under Lucifer's leadership. Even in the Void, the empty dark that was now their domain, he brought a sense of purpose and direction. "He wants children because we were never good enough for Him. We were carved from slabs. They come from His breath. They are far more important to Him than we ever were. But we can take them away." Lucifer's speeches always started with a base of truth, because the greatest lies rely on truth. "A choice must be offered if they are ever going to truly be His children. Will they love Him or will they walk away? He can breathe life into the dust but He cannot force them to love Him. If He truly wants children, He has to offer them the choice to leave His presence. And if they do..." yet another image appeared from the red glow. The created being named _man_ was split open at the middle and screaming in agony. This was how Lucifer had poisoned the fallen: vivid images to convey new levels of depravity. They had been in the dark long enough that the image count had become incalculable. The fallen were poisoned and now lusted after the images as if they were food. They craved the content just as they once had craved the light. Their forms, once great and towering, had withered. Beneath the forms given to them by The Maker was a clear skin. Only Lucifer had a red glow; the rest were a made up of a sickly black interior.

Stephen had tried to distance himself from Lucifer, but he was always present. No matter how far into the Void he went, the haunting red glow always seemed to be right behind him. The glow had become an entity that was both separate from Lucifer and tied to him. Stephen hadn't been physically near Lucifer since their last conversation when he was witness to the first violent image. It had been eons since then. And yet no moment existed where he had been free from the red glow and the images it gave. He had seen every single one. And he hated that most of him came alive when they appeared. He still loved the light, still longed for it, but was damned to an existence where depravity was the only food available...

Though in a place separated entirely from The Maker's garden, and with it His newest stage of creation, there was an understanding in the Void: Lucifer knew how to reach it. When the second stage of creation began, he trafficked to and from, passing his red glow from vessel to vessel. Not sovereign like The Maker, Lucifer had to evolve in his understanding. He first saw the depths of the waters when his red glow found its way into a small fish; after some time his red glow found its way into the air and set upon a bird. When high above it all, he saw a garden, lush and alive with all the markings of The Maker's hand. He even saw the light that he hoped to never see again. It was the third time when he came upon the perfect creature, something close to the ground, something already in the garden. It moved along the surface with ease, hidden in plain sight. When the glow first came to rest on this creature, the garden was not yet home to man. Man was still dirt on the ground. But, it was from this creature that he witnessed the Maker breathe life into a dirty form. And it was from this creature that he watched The Maker make a woman from the rib of the man. And it was from this creature that he heard The Maker give them both a choice...

### About the Author

Wonderfully outnumbered by women. A husband to a beautiful wife, a father to two amazing little girls, and a writer dedicated to spreading the life changing message of Jesus Christ in unique and compelling ways. He lives in La Crosse, WI.

Books now available on ebook:

  * CLOUDS

  * Death is Not the End, Daddy

  * The Counterfeit

  * A New Beginning (Book 1 of The Faceless Future Trilogy)

  * Better Things Ahead (Book 2 of The Faceless Future Trilogy)

  * The Final Stage (Book 3 of The Faceless Future Trilogy)

Like and follow me on Facebook to keep up with further projects.

### Acknowledgments

My Savior: Oh, to one day lay at your feet in breathless worship. Oh, to one day be truly clean after living in the dirt of this life. You are the only Hope. And I wait for that day with great anticipation.

My wife: For listening to all the little snippets and giving me your ears despite the busy schedule. This one came together fast and you helped me steer it where it ended up with your suggestions and creative inputs. It is what it is because you were my sounding board. Thank you, beautiful!

Evarie-girl and Ivy-Bird: I'm still finding my way through the enormous privilege and responsibility of being your dad. When I don't know where to go next, you both inspire me to be better. You are two bright lights given by The Creator. And you are loved endlessly.

Mom: Believe it or not, the deadline I gave myself to complete the book before the end of March was so that you could read it on the reader. Personal goal reached. Thanks, mom!

Dad: You experience things I can only imagine. There is nothing I desire more than to be in the presence of the One Who made me, Who knows me completely. I'll meet you there someday soon.
