Thu, 27 July 2006  Chapter 23 - He is Right Here With UsDirect download: Chapter_23_He_is_Right_Here_With_Us.pdf Category: novel text -- posted at: 10:28 AM Comments[1] |
Wed, 26 July 2006 Chapter 22 - We Then That Are Strong Comments[0] |
Mon, 24 July 2006 Here is the text for Chapter 21 - The Withdrawal. Chapters past 20 are too big to include as text blogs, so we are releasing them as quickly as possible. Our greatest apologies to the readers who have been unable to keep up with the story. Hopefully this chapter is good enough to tide you over until I can get the next one up, which should be soon. And thanks for the reminder 'AAArron'! BtD Comments[0] |
Wed, 12 July 2006 Chapter 25 - Finding Point BComments[0] |
Fri, 16 June 2006 The episode includes several small updates from Brad the Dad, as well as Chapter 24 - "The Green Dragoon". Direct download: Chapter_24_-_The_Green_Dragoon_copy_1.mp3 Category: podiobook -- posted at: 8:12 PM Comments[0] |
Wed, 17 May 2006  Yesterday at 3:15pm Pacific (GMT -7) baby James was born. He has blue eyes, is 22 inches long, and weighs 10lbs 11oz!!!!!!!! Mother is doing very well and is in a great mood. He has a slight heart murmur, but the doctor says that there are no ill signs and the baby is very healthy. Either way, since I try not to ask for anything from my listener, I would like to ask that you say a quick prayer, or if you are not religious, please just close your eyes for a few seconds and think good baby thoughts. Other than that he is the love of my life, and a glorious addition to our family. The thing my wife and I value the most. Thank you all, Brad the Dad Category: general -- posted at: 11:58 AM Comments[2] |
Fri, 5 May 2006 THIS IS THE CORRECTED VERSION OF CHAPTER 23. The previous one had issues, and has been dropped in the trash. Please forgive the previous error.Direct download: UPDATED_Chapter_23_-_He_Is_Right_Here_With_Us.mp3 Category: podiobook -- posted at: 4:14 AM Comments[2] |
Fri, 5 May 2006 Holy Shmoly! Did I make newbie mistake! I apologize to everyone for this bad mistake. Just a heads up into the process that I go through with recording: I record the initial reading of the chapter, which obviously includes a bazillion studders, stammers, and rereads. I then go once over to take out said bazillion studders, stammers, and rereads. Yea! Then I go over the recording again to go over the timing of the speech. Some of the words from this writer are hard to say (some I have not said before), and I have to say them v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Then, thanks to the wonderful world of open-source computer magic (audacity), my sling-blade style speech can be crafted into regular human-speak. Then I pump it out to MP3 (which is get's saved as .WAV when I'm working with Audacity). During the last mentioned step, is where something didn't jive. I was lucky enough to have one of the listeners contact me and let me know -THANKS DARYL!- ...and now I'm listening to a newly regenerated version that, so far has no hiccups. I'm going to upload it as soon as possible. Thank you, and sorry again for the screw-up. I'm putting another step into my process here, and it's listen to the recording before I upload it. Hey, what a concept! Brad the Dad Category: podcasts -- posted at: 2:15 AM Comments[2] |
Thu, 13 April 2006  Chapter 22 - We Then That Are StrongComments[2] |
Thu, 2 March 2006 Chapter 21 - The Withdrawal / www.attheappointedtime.comComments[0] |
Thu, 2 March 2006 Chapter 20: Dominos Are Falling (Where?)
"Thomas," George softly called to his right-hand man, "What the fffuck is happening here?"Thomas answered with his eyes locked on the television screen just like his boss, "I have no idea… Mr. President." They watched the television as the mediacasters updated, predicted, and analyzed the scene outside the San Francisco Federal Building; both continually shook their heads. Thomas almost forgot that his existence was to protect the leader of the free world, and became immersed in the tangle of San Francisco, as the rest of the whole world did the same. "Mr. President, sir?" "Yes Thomas." "Sir, may I have permission to speak freely and give my opinion?" George stared at the ground for a second, and rubbed the back of his neck. He noticed Thomas' shiny black reflective shoes which he could perfectly see the chandelier in the reflection of. His gaze moved up Thomas' black slacks to his belt line, where he notice a gun holstered, "Thomas, at this moment we're both sitting on the same couch, watching the same event on the same television, and I think we're both as mixed-up as the other." Thomas looked confused, and mistakenly assumed that George was under too much stress to hear the opinion of a strong arm such as himself. George noticed how Thomas received his comment, and knew he came off wrong. "Thomas, we're alone for once in the oval office, and right now I think we're as equal as anyone will ever let us be. You and I," He briefly looked up, "would probably both be evenly qualified to handle this problem if it were our mess. Please… speak freely even if you don't have any advice." George turned back to the TV. "I need to hear someone's voice or I'll set adrift and go mad." "I don't think this spectacle will be the last major event of the day we'll see being broadcast from San Francisco, sir." Thomas said. "I agree Thomas." George sat back, "Mayor McCain has let lose the lions." "But…" Thomas stopped short. George turned to look at Thomas, and he looked very serious, "Mr. President I believe all that we see and will see on the television is all part of the same thing." George sat up hastily, and wore a distressed look on his face. Thomas continued, "I think that all of this couldn't have possibly happened if officials in San Francisco were playing by the rules, and now that the Attorney General is obviously in on it, it seems like dominos are falling." The President continued to stare at Thomas in disbelief, he hadn't connected the Attorney General directly yet. Thomas continued, "I dunno, I just have an awful feeling about this one. I think even what we're watching right now has to do with it." Thomas peaked up to see the President's unchanged gaze, and bowed back again. "I know that I was hired here to be methodical, and to be level headed as a protector, but I'm going to risk my job here, and come out and say it Mr. President." Thomas took one last deep breath, "I've had this weird inner feeling the last day or so, that something is going on around me, and I have no proof. I have no proof at all, but I can feel it so strongly that I am scared. It has me preoccupied at night, so I can't sleep. Even before today, and all this. Something is culminating out of sight, and I am gravely worried about it. I think this is it; what I've been scared of, and now I think I'm begining to see very clearly." Thomas stopped. "Thomas." "Yes sir, Mr. President?" "Please continue to speak of this feeling. I know our relationship professionally is, in some aspects, a very high profile and important one, but I can not stress the importance of what I mean when I say please continue, and do not hold anything back." George's mind began to reel. Thomas' words were exactly what he had been feeling lately. Maybe not the premonition of conspiracy, but the description of emotion was on spot. That alone only solidified the seriousness of whatever Thomas would have said. It was what occupied his own troubled mind causing him to lose his sleep. This wasn't a Presidential practice, this was divine. This could happen no other way. "Now I feel like your life is in danger Mr. President. I have no proof, or evidence of this at all. Only the feeling." Thomas looked up again, and saw the president listening intently. He could see the seriousness in his eyes, and knew he was looking for something. Maybe an answer. "Mayor McCain is on line one as you requested Mr. President!" Glenda yelled from the other room not wanting to enter the oval office any more after the earlier events. George picked up the receiver, and pressed line one, "Mayor?" "Hello Mr. President," McCain answered. "Hello Mayor, I hope that things are in better control than the media is portraying it to be over there," George said with a stern tone, at this point wishing he had not asked Glenda to get the Mayor on the phone. "Yes sir. Completely under control, sir." "You call a hostage situation inside a federal building involving stolen drug evidence 'under control?'" George sounded like he was being undermined. "Sir, the situation is going as planned. The terrorists are coming down right now to exit the federal building." McCain explained. "They're giving up?" The President sounded confused. "No, actually… they have requested an escaped boat at the port which is about a quarter mile a…" "I know where the ferry boat terminal is Mayor. Are there any other demands?" "No." The Mayor answered abruptly. "What, in fact, is your game plan right now Mayor?" "Sir," McCain paused briefly, "we have gunmen positioned atop surrounding buildings ready to simultaneously and precisely take out the targets when I give the order." McCain sounded on track. "Sir," Thomas called, "They're coming out now… on the television." President quickly looked at the television screen, "Damn it McCain! There are live cameras all over the place. Do you understand what you're about to broadcast?!?!?" McCain seemed to be speaking to someone in the background quickly, and returned to the president, "We have ordered both camera crews, and news stations to turn their cameras off until further notice, but…" "But what?" "There are so many cameras here; free-lance internet sites, bloggers, home video cameras, I don't think there is anything we can do about all the cameras sir." "Sir," Thomas called softly unable find his voice. George answered the Mayor more calmly now, "That's alright actually. I'm more concerned about the networks, and cable outfits. Something that graphic can't be shown on cable televi…" "Sir!" Thomas loudly exclaimed finally finding his voice. "What Thomas?!?!" George said as he angrily, pointed towards the phone signaling that right now was not a good time to raise your voice at the president, but when George looked at Thomas he saw a look of ultimate fear, and then the President turned towards the television. Mayor McCain's voice came from the other end of the President's phone, "Oh my God." George just stared at the television unable to comprehend what he was really looking at; what this meant. The most powerless feeling he could recall during his presidency poured over his body, and he was utterly speechless, and all color left his skin. The cameras were indeed still rolling, and you could bet that not a single one would turn off before this event was over. "Mayor tell you snipers to stand down." George said with a lump in his throat, almost unable to speak. "Sir?" McCain was in a state of shock too. "Tell them that is a direct and final order from the President of the United States. Not a single shot is to be fired." George turned to Thomas, who was still in a ghost like trance, "Thomas, how long would it take for the President to get to California?" Thomas snapped out of it, "I would have to consult with air-traffic, and secure Marine 1…" "Thomas… You and I were both in the air force, and I a good part of my career. How long will it take you and me to get to California if we left in fifteen minutes?" "A little under an hour, sir."
"Mayor, I'll see you in an hour. I'm coming to California." Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:57 AM Comments[0] |
Thu, 2 March 2006 Chapter 19: Moment of Silence (Where?)
Now on the top floor of the San Francisco Federal building Keith Michaels placed the live telephone handset down upon the desk and thought in silence. With the same hand, he rubbed his strained eyes, and sighed deeply. He couldn't believe the way the morning had turned out. Not preparing made him weary. Preparation like this would make anyone worried. He was very uncertain of the outcome.A colleague sat next to him in a squeaky office chair, which would creek every time he leaned forward to consult Keith. Creek, "I don't think it's going to work Keith. No matter what he tells us." Keith stopped rubbing his eyes, but did not remove his hands, "It's going to be fine, trust me. With all the publicity today everyone is under extreme pressure;peoples' backs are to the wall. At this point they just want to keep things as calm as can be." Creek, "What about Bradley?" Keith began to rub his eyes again. He thought back at the way Brad had looked on TV when the task force ripped his son away from him. He knew what Brad felt for his son. He looked more broken when they took Gregory, than when they battered him. "Brad has his own problems right now. I don't think he will know the difference by the time this is all over." Creek, "I still think it's too risky; everyone is too vulnerable out there." Keith, eyes still closed, was now rubbing the bridge of his nose. Images of things passed continued to shoot through his head. Each making him second-guess their task. Keith and Brad were fairly friendly, but it all originated professionally. He remembered the first time Brad had brought Gregory by the house in Mendocino. Keith had picked Greg up, and sat him on his lap. He was taken aback at Greg's trust. He had willingly boosted up onto his lap, and bounced around playfully the whole time he and Brad spoke. It actually gave him that warm feeling that people were supposed to feel. The feeling that the world really wasn't crazed, and full of sickos. That feeling, the memory of that feeling, is what made this the hardest decision he ever had to follow through with. The decision had been made, and only needed to happen now, and at that point that warm feeling would be long gone. Keith lashed out angrily, "Once Mayor McCain gets on I'll talk to him, and he'll listen to me. Trust me." The world was crazed again. Creek, "Dude, it's too risky." That was it. Keith stopped rubbing his eyes, and placed his arm on the desk, exposing an elbow high tattoo on the inside of his forearm, of the famous Spaniard Knight Sir Francis Drake. As his vision came back his creaky colleague slowly came into view, as did the Kalashnikov strapped over his shoulder, and barked, "This will work. We just need a fuckin' threatening image for the cameras, and no one will as much as breath once we bring him out there. This will fucking work, because after this mornings report he might as well be the damn President's kid." Right then the sound of some one picking up came from the phone, and Keith placed his own assault rifle on the desk and scrambled to pick up the handset. "This is mayor McCain. Who am I talking to?" "You are speaking with the Golden Hinde. I will lead from this point on, so just listen. I assume you have been informed of the hostage situation." "I have." "For an exchange you will provide us with a helipad equipped boat at the port, east of the building across the embarcadero. We along with the drugs, the money, and the hostage will board the vessel, and will sail, unescorted, out past the golden gate. At a location known by us, but perpendicular to the center of the bridge, we will be met by a helicopter. We will board the transport with the drugs, the money, and only at that time, will we leave the hostage on the boat where we will contact you that he is then ready for pickup, signaling finality.� �Just don't do anything hasty. There are a lot of people outside� A lot of cameras.� The Mayor eloquently advised. Keith didn't know what to think or say. He heard the greasy tone of McCain's voice on the headset, and became angry. He looked over at his partner in disgust, but then gazed upon his colleagues AK-47, and knew that he was no better, and answered, �We're coming down in five minutes with everything including the hostage. I want every vehicle removed from a three block radius of the building, and all officers must holster their weapons before we reach the lobby. If not, we execute the hostage and as much of the crowd as we can get to.� Keith waited several seconds in silence, �Five minutes sharp Mayor. Be ready and get rid of those squad cars now.� Keith hung up the phone. He stood up from his chair, and threw his gun's strap over his shoulder. He looked at his colleague, and raised his brow in acknowledgment that it was 'go' time. �Get everyone together near the front desk. We're headin' down in early.� His colleague nodded and trotted away. Keith slowly made his way towards the front area of the floor near the elevators. The mixed feelings of guilt, disgust, and emptiness filled him. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He had known down deep all along, but he had been rushed into the job so quick he didn't even debate about it a bit. Even though things seemed to be working, and the hard part, getting into the building, was over, he felt worried about what he was doing. He was pretty sure it was his conscience. Everyone made it to the elevators fairly quick. Four men, looking like the rest, in there green cargos, mud brown shirts with thermals underneath, and black beanies came strolling in with large warehouse carts. On the carts was about thirty million dollars worth of tightly packed Cocaine, heroin, meth, and designer drugs. So much that the carts themselves took several seconds to start moving when pushed. They didn't bother with the green stuff since it wasn't worth much, and it took up a lot of space. One man was not carrying the defacto Kalashnikov, but instead a twelve gauge double barreled side-by-side shotgun, and attached to the other end was a hostage. Keith, the apparent ring leader called the group to listen, �Okay everyone. It's time to rock. I guess we can't go down together with the carts, but there's two elevators, and the carts will go down second after we pave the way for you with the hostage. Everyone has their two-ways?� Keith held up his two-way phone, and everyone else in the group checked off with theirs too. It was a couple minutes since the phone call with McCain and he pushed the button to call the elevators, �Alright if everyone stays calm and just goes with the plan nothing can go wrong.� DING! The elevators were ready. Keith pointed to several men, and signaled for them to board the elevators. He also pointed to the man with the shotgun and hostage, and motioned for him to accompany him in the same elevator. The first wave was now in the elevators staring back at the others, several with carts, and several grasping their A.K.�s. �I'll see you on the boat.� Keith pressed the button to close the doors, and as he did another colleague came from the back of the crowd with his two-way phone in his hand, and he was out of breath. He looked at Keith and said, �You won't get any phone service while you're in the elevators, so any of us traveling in them will be out of communication for the ride down.� Keith nodded simply staring at his tardy colleague, wondering why he looked so distressed. As the doors began to close the late comer blurted out, �And the news is saying Bradley broke out of Quentin and can not be found, and that every single person in the prison is dead.�
As the elevator doors closed Keith stared down at their hostage, and had a moment of silence on his way to the lobby. Category: novel text -- posted at: 2:52 AM Comments[0] |
Wed, 8 February 2006 Chapter 19 - "Moment of Silence AND Chapter 20 - Dominos Are FallingComments[0] |
Wed, 8 February 2006 Chapter 18: Revelation (Where?)
Bradley (still wet) and Augustine rode the elevator together up to the 19th floor of the Mark in silence. Brad's mind was racing, as it had been all day long. He needed rest, but knew if he tried he wouldn't be able to fall asleep anyway. The door opened and Bradley spotted Father Mac from the back, sitting watching television in the center of the room. Father Mac turned to see, and slowly rose to his old feet when he saw Bradley; a bit in awe.By this time Bradley figured any man of the cloth was on the good side, and he followed Augustine out of the elevator and into the sun filled room with his still wet clothes, and matching handcuff braclets. "This is Father Mac," Augustine introduced. Mac extended his hand, and Bradley shook it with a jingle of the handcuffs. "He and I are… well, we're…" Augustine turned to Mac with a look of contemplation on his face. Mac picked up, "Bradley, I'm sure that you have questions. Now time is something we don't have too much of, but you deserve answers, so we shall give what we can." He pointed to a table in the middle of the room, "Let's sit." They sat and Augustine took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Mac folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair slowly. No one knew where to start, and silence set in. Mac began, "Enoch, and I…" Bradley looked confusedly at the priest, "Father Augustine and I are of a certain priestly order." Mac squinted at Bradley, who was still looking mixed up, "Bradley?" Brad stayed silent for a moment assuming Mac was being rhetorical, but the elongated silence persisted, and he answered, "Yes?" .." Mac wanted to get an actual response out of Brad before he continued, "You understand that Father Augustine is not ordinary, right?" "Yes, I have been shown." Mac continued, "And you understand that your paths have crossed not by chance, but by destiny, right?" "I know, but I do not fully understand." "That is expected, you shouldn't. What I am NOT going to explain to you is that divine things are happening around you, or that the LORD's powers are infinite, because I figure you understand that enough, okay?" "Okay." "I don't really know how or where to start Bradley, so I think I am just going to go with the 'yank the bandage off routine' and make it quick and to the point." Mac prepared, leaning forward and resting his wait of his forearms on the table. Bradley nodded. His whole day had been going a hundred miles per hour anyway, and he was prepared for almost anything at this point. "Father Augustine and I are of a holy order. It is an order established by thee almighty God himself, and not by the church, to oversee the deeds of men, and to watch the movements of all those who oppose them. This order is a divine protectorate over the Earth, and its ties are only to the LORD, and since his birth, the Messiah, Jesus Christ. This order, the one we belong to, is called The Apostles." A confused looked appeared on Bradley's face, and Mac asked, "Is any of this making sense thus far Bradley??"
Bradley asked, "Do you mean like the apostles who witness Jesus after he rose from the dead? Like in the Gospel and Acts?" Augustine joined back in the conversation, "Similar mostly in title. Not the same group of the Gospel." Bradley nodded slowly, but still had a confused looked on his face. "You probably are wondering why Augustine is clarifying that we are not biblical characters who are over two thousand years old." Mac said. Brad replied, "I kind of figured you weren't." The two priests looked at each other, "You figured correctly... for the most part. Father Augustine, however is known by another name." Augustine shot a humble smile at Mac, who quickly corrected, "or actually by many names. He was originally called Enoch, son of Jared." Brad was not getting it yet, "Bradley, what I'm about to tell you is going to come as a shock I suppose. You do understand what I mean when I say infinite, right?" "I am slowly learning, but I do believe. Yes, I know." "Get ready," Augustine said in a tone of warning. Mac began, "Genesis 5:23 & 24: ‘And all the days of Enoch were three hundred and sixty-five years. And Enoch walked with God, and then he was not, for God took him.’" Mac waited for that to sink in. Bradley didn't understand, and he looked towards Augustine. “I am Enoch,� Augustine explained, "The LORD chose for me to be different. Instead of dying, as do other who have sinned like myself, he brought me up to heaven with a still beating heart where he revealed certain things to me. Most importantly that he had a special quest for me. A very long arduous one." Augustine leaned back in his chair signifying a long story. "At the beginning time, during the dawn of man, the LORD had created many Angels with many jobs. The least of the Angels, or the lowest rank of Angels, were set upon earth, in a human like form, to watch over the deeds of men. They were called The Watchers, or The Grigori." The name sparked the memory of Gregory, and Bradley's concentration was broken, but Augustine continued, noticing Bradley's thoughts, "Yes, the Greek form of Gregory. Though father Mac and I find no connection, the LORD connects everything. But we must not digress from the subject at hand… The Grigori were very much like humans. To the point which they were susceptible to the temptation of their fallen brother." Bradley looked towards Mac, and Mac clarified, "The Morning Star." Bradley repeated softly under his breath, "Satan." "Yes, Lucifer had by this time already fallen, and had been given his domain, and was hard at work against all that the LORD deemed good. He tempted the Grigori into the earthly desires such as lust, greed, and wrath. Some of the Grigori mated with humans, and offspring was created. The LORD had given specific tasks to specific segments of the Grigori, and when they had not returned he looked for them. When he discovered their sinful ways he punished them, and damned them to hell. He damned all the Grigori, even the ones who had not committed the sins of their brothers, because they had not told the LORD, He created a great flood, and water rose upon the Earth to the highest, and everything was wiped from the face of the Earth. I believe you have heard of this event." Bradley nodded, "Yes. The ark." Enoch lowered his head, understanding that the info was too much and too fast for Bradley to fully comprehend. "You will not understand everything Bradley, so I am not going to attempt to explain it all, we don't have time…" "Yeah, he has a book on the subject. You should read it sometime," Mac joked. Bradley did not react. Enoch continued, "In the absence of the Angels of the Grigori, the people of Earth needed Watchers. The Lord appointed me as The Watcher. As a Shepherd, not a Shepherd like Jesus, but a Shepherd as a watcher of the people of Earth. The responsibility once given to Angels was now passed on to the humans, and unto me as the humble leader of these Watchers, of the new Grigori. I was given this task, as well as a heart that shall beat until the Rapture. The other members of the Grigori have come and gone, and were not given life longer than human limits. I have seen thousands of Grigori, such as Father Mac, thousands of brothers in Christ die. Not all gracefully, and not all proceeding to the father. The LORD has given me special powers, that are equal in many ways to Angels, but he has left limitations intact too." Bradley was listening in amazement. "Omnipresence, I cannot exist in many places at once. I have only one body. Omnipotent, I have special powers now that I did not previously, and visa verse. I only have the powers that the LORD gives me at any time. Omniscience, I am not all knowing, and still rely on the Bible as a guide. Though the LORD bestows certain knowledge on me, there is much more that is hidden." "Like now," Bradley stated. Augustine lowered his head, and replied, "Yes. Now it seems that I must solely rely on the word of GOD. I am as confused as you Bradley. Much of my power has been taken away." "But what about the prison, the guns, the table and the wall? You still have incredible powers." "That, I fear, is changing. I used those powers because at that split second I knew I was supposed to. It is very hard to explain. Like I said, in the past I have been given many different amazing powers, and I use them only at the time when they are needed. My souls can feel them, but my mind can't. That I also fear is changing." Brad looked up confused, "Why do you fear that?" Both priests were taken aback at this question. They were expecting Bradley to be in disbelief at this time and full of questions. They expected to have more convincing to do. This question brought them down to the same humanly level as the young man in front of them. Neither responded to the question, so Brad explained himself further, "Why do you fear if you've been doing this so long, and know these are God's choices. I would think that whatever happens he has the plan. Like you said there's a bunch that is hidden from you, and this must be part of it." Bradley had stunned both of them. "The only reason I am not insane at this very moment is because you approached me as a priest. Although it is hard to understand the limitless power of the LORD, I at least know he's on my side." Both priests were still quiet. "That alone gives me faith that I will get my son back." A grave look appeared on both priest's faces. They bowed their heads in a sorrowful manor. Bradley grew worrisome, "What?" The priest's looked at each other, but remained silent, "What's wrong?" Mac answered, "As I said Bradley. We do not have much time left. I say that because we are on our final mission. The last crusade." "At the end of times," Augustine began, "great things will happen. This will all be finalized by the second coming of Christ, as it is written and prophesied in the Holy Bible. Great miracles will happen again, and forces of both good and evil will amass aware the end is near. You are familiar with the rapture, right?" "It is the time when all that believer will be lifted into heaven and the non-believers are left behind." Bradley returned. "Believers in Christ. Only Christians, Bradley. The rest will be left behind to face great tribulations." Mac corrected. "Oh." Bradley said sadly, with many thoughts running through his head of his friends and acquaintences. "The LORD is merciful son, but he gave his son unto a gruesome execution on calvary. For those who do not believe this, they are denying the sacrifice that the LORD made. Understand the love you have for your son Gregory, and multiply that by a number which is so great that nothing can count that high... and then put him in the place of sinners to die. It is another love which we cannot give." Augustine explained. "The devil works constantly at this goal. Since it is a deciding factor at the end of time it is ultimately his only goal. Even beyond the rapture." Bradley continued to look lost. It was so much, and so indirect. He tried to figure out what it all meant for him. "I know you are wondering how you fit in, huh?" Mac asked. Brad's expression confirmed that. Mac answered, "The rapture comes at a time when no one on Earth will expect it." Bradley looked at Augustine hoping he was the exception, and Enoch replied, "No, not one. I do not know precisely." Mac proceeded "This rapture is to be unlocked." Bradley squinted, Mac continued, "There is a key, and you are that key, or you have that key." "I don't understand," Bradley said anxiously. "Neither do we Bradley," Augustine replied, "These are messages in tongues, maybe. Or maybe you will have a physical key to a physical door. We do not know." "I don't understand," Bradley said with tears beginning to stream down his face. He started to bow his head as the weight of the information became to much. "The key, or the one who bares the key is one of great faith." Mac explained, “You are ‘The One’.� Augustine picked up, "Which is why we were so shocked, almost stricken in awe when you said those faithful word to us about fear." Brad raised his head, and stared with glassy eyes, Mac continued. "Those were the words we needed to hear. The roles are starting to switch. I was a shepherd; a leader, and now it seems that I am looking to your for strength." Silence struck the room, and the party was quiet for some time. They sat there, and Brad was letting everything sink in. Usually humans can't quickly comprehend knowledge as intense as this. Like a loved one dying, or a big change coming up, most people have a delayed realization. Somehow Bradley was able to stack things up. It was over his head, but it all seemed in line with what he knew as God's great plan. Then it occurred to him, "Why can't I get my son?" The grave look reappeared on the faces of the priest, and they looked at each other silently deciding on who would break the troubling news. Mac finally bowed his head in reluctance. Augustine answered, "Since you are the key you are in great danger." "How?" Brad asked, tears still in his eyes. "Like we said Brad. It is his ultimate goal to keep people from the LORD." Once again Brad softly said to himself the evil name, "Satan." His shoulders shrugged, and you could see his strength weaken. "Though we are uncertain of your job Bradley, we know ours, and that is to protect you at all costs." Then Bradley raised his head, "I need to get Gregory back. He is still close enough for me to get. I won't be able to go on without him. I die everyday I'm alone." "It is way too risky Brad. The devil is obviously at work. Today's events, especially those at the prison, have proven this to me. Remember, I told you that I only have the Bible, and my own knowledge to guide me now. It is not just the Priam brothers who want you." Brad placed his face in his hands, and silently continued to cry. "I will no be able to be without Gregory for however long this takes." "Three days," Enoch said. Bradley's raised his red eyes in utter bewilderment, "Three days until what?!?!?" "Until your wait is over." Enoch answered. Father Mac stifened in fright, and went pale. He stared at the wall in deep troubled thought. Bradley asked, "I thought you didn't know the..." "The precise time?" Enoch quoted, "I don't. I know the day, but now minutes are hours, and hours are days it seems." Brad laid his head on the table, and it felt like the life flew out of him. He was helpless. The thought of not seeing his son ever again, of not being with him, to comfort him and share the moment of the greatest event… it killed him. The priests knew it, but couldn't feel what Brad was feeling. It was something they didn't know. Enoch had children, but they were all with the LORD now. Mac did not have any children being and actual Catholic priest with a limited life unlike Enoch. They did not know what to say, so they just sat there and let Bradley feel. Brad sniffed and cleared his throat, but his head remained on the table, "Can he find us?" "Who, Satan?" Augustine asked. Brad nodded. "Yes, he can, but he can't touch us." Bradley tilted his head to get a view at the priest, "But the devil has much under his control, and his influence is only second to the LORD's." "So we can't just sit here, can we?" "No, we can't" said Enoch solemnly rubbing his tired hands remembering how many ages he had been battling. "So what should we do? Should we go now?" Brad asked. "Not yet, we are waiting for the other Apostles. There are two that remain." "Now, but one remains," a loud voice came from across the room breaking the fragile conversation, and frightening the three tremendously. A man, in church clothes, similar to Enoch and Mac's Catholic garbs, stood in front of the elevator somehow making it into the room without notice. He continued in a strong English accent, bordering on the Queen's English, "Yes, there is now only one we must wait for, but we must not idle too long I am afraid." The two priests arose out of their chairs with what seemed to be renewed vigor. A smile returned to Augustine's face, and he outstretched his arms. The new priest quickly embraced one, and then the other laughing a bit. He turned, and looked at Bradley who was still seated, and as always, out of the loop. "So this is the key barer. Stand up son. Let me look at you." The priest said in a grandpa"ish" fashion. Bradley stood up, and wiped the tears from his palms. He didn't attempt, nor did he feel like, he looked as he should; like a holy person. He was wet and dressed in slacks, now clean undershirt, and stood as he was." "This is Reverend Cromwell the third Apostle." Enoch introduced. "Correction, the first Apostle." Reverend Cromwell emphasized humorously. "The fake apostle." Father Mac interjected jokingly, "He's only Anglican." "Go twirl your skirt Scotty," Cromwell returned. "Now it's good to have both you back. I would like to point out these are the end of times my brothers, and it is not time for denominational slams, nor nationalism." Enoch interrupted. He turned to Bradley and whispered, "That's the nastiest tendicy of mortals." Brad actually cracked something similar to a smile. "Yes, but he is right. We can not stay here for too long. Once father Daly has arrived we must go immediately." Said Father Mac. "Yes, and we will need money too. As much as we can get. Money can not be an obstacle for us." Cromwell added, "At this time we need to tap everything we have set up." "I have money," Bradley said. All three men turned and stared at him blankly like they didn't understand what Bradley was talking about. "I have enough." "We could possibly need a great sum of money lad," Mac said patronizingly. "No single man could spend all my money in three days." Bradley responded with a gruff tone, as if Mac's comment insulted him. Reverend Cromwell turned to Enoch in reaction to Bradley's comments, and said, "Three days?" Enoch responded, "Yes three days left." A worried look grew upon Rev. Cromwell's face; far worse than any look at the table previously, but Augustine continued, "Bradley you never know what we might need. We may need room and board, or we may need a large protective vehicle. I have no idea, but we could never have enough…" "It was thirty five million when I originally invested it. That was about a month after Elizabeth and Catherine were killed." Once again the three were silence, and looks of amazement appeared on their faces. "That was after the bubble burst, and the market crashed, and it should be more like 50-75 now. "You got this from selling drugs?!?!?!?" Mac exclaimed with an unintentional tone of contempt. "Mac!!" Augustine interjected, "I don't care where he got the money from." Fury flared inside Bradley, "It's not fucking drug money! I inherited it when my parents were killed. Once Elizabeth and Catherine passed, I invested it all for Gregory. Almost every penny. It's not actually in his name, but it's all for him alone." Mac had turned away ashamed of himself. "Why Bradley? I don't understand." Asked Augustine. "That way no matter what happened to me Gregory would never need anything…" Bradley bowed his head sadly, "I guess I didn't think of something like this happening." "I'm sorry son," Mac apologized placing a comforting hand on Bradley's slumped shoulder, "I meant nothing personal by it. I misspoke." Brad just nodded his head silently. "But Bradley…" Augustine started. Brad lifted his head, tears now of anger filled his eyes, but he wasn't angry at Mac. He was angry at himself, "The money you have put away may now save a multitude." Brad slowly nodded again letting the idea wash over him. "How can we get this money? How long would it take?" "Do we have an internet connection?" Augustine nodded inquisitively. Brad continued, "Then I could get it a little over an hour I think." "That's impossible! Through which institute?" asked Cromwell. "Everything is invested in government bonds, and with a fee I can have it transferred real time to the local financial institute which my father originally went through." "Is the fee substantial?" asked Rev. Cromwell. "Yes, very, but so is what we will take away." "So this was your father's actual money? Not reparation from the airlines?" Mac inquired. "Correct. The airlines didn't give me anything. It was a mixture of trust, and insurance." "Wow… well," Augustine eyes were still wide, staring blankly into space signaling deep thought. "let's waste no more time. Brad, you and I will go… where's the financial institution?" "Down at the foot of California St." he answered. "Okay, you and I will quickly head downtown after you transfer the money. We have a connection over there." Augustine pointed to a laptop in the corner. "You two wait here for Father Daly, and then we will embark."
Father Mac interjected, "He can stop by the hotel laundry down 5 floors, and we'll have to get the handcuffs off. If we're going to go back out in public, we'll need this to go smooth and quick." Category: novel text -- posted at: 1:27 AM Comments[1] |
Fri, 27 January 2006 Chapter 18 - RevelationComments[0] |
Fri, 27 January 2006 Chapter 17: Everything is Different Now (Where?)
After Father Augustine had finished he bolted through the prison doors to his truck, put it in first and flew out the open front gates. He needed to find Bradley, but there were many water edges to check and San Pablo bay was very large. He turned down the frontage road that split the freeway and the edge of the bay, and noticed several people staring and pointing toward the smoky walls of the prison. The waterfront home owners, who were adjacent to the prison, were all out peering across the water looking at the aftermath of what had just happened. He softly said out loud, 'Oh LORD, help me to find the lad. I need you now.' Then he noticed several of the home owners grouped together at the end of the dock which ran along behind the housing row. They were lifting someone out of the water. He sped as fast as he could towards the foot of the dock, and brought his truck to a dusty stop. He jumped out and ran over to the immerging man, and thanked the LORD as he saw a shaved head. They pulled Bradley out by both arms. He was gasping for air, but looked surprisingly intact. Enoch noticed that the facial cuts Brad had were now gone, as if he had been washed clean or renewed. For a moment Brad knelt on one knee letting the water fall from his body to the old splintery dock. Father Augustine stood bent over with his hands upon his knees, squinting as he waited for Bradley to catch his breath. He didn't have any idea what to say. He couldn't find the words. For the first time in a loooong time Augustine only had his gut to help him decide. Bradley had heard the priest's foot steps coming towards him across the dock. To him, they sounded like a clock pendulum. He wanted to close his eyes before he saw the priest, shake his head, and wake up. But he mysteriously felt the importance of the moment and his fear began to subside. He could see Augustine's shoe tops in front of him as he continued to stare downwards. Brad tried to align his thoughts before he looked up and acknowledged who he already knew was there. As Father Augustine had bent, his robe over lapped his shoes and came into view confirming his identity, and Bradley slowly raised his vision to meet the priest's. They stared silently at each other. Father Augustine confirmed, "This is very real Bradley. That's as much as I know, son." Brad remained silent, but the priest knew his words hit home. "We must get out of here; now." He slowly reached his hand out, and Brad took it. After he had risen they ran back to the still running truck, and sped to the highway going south. They remained silent for a moment; Brad still out of breath, and soaked, and Augustine still out of words. It was an awkward feeling in the truck. The two would trade stares, but still no words. Father Augustine broke the silence, "Let us give thanks." Bradley closed his eyes in immediate acknowledgement as Augustine continued, "Dear LORD thank You for Your grace. Like Daniel You have delivered us from the lion's den. We take this event as further confirmation of our tasking." Brad glimpsed at the priest who was already starring right back. Their eyes stayed locked on each other, "Help us to know what is next." he said almost to himself trailing off. The last comment confused Brad, and he wanted to ask what the hell was going on, and as he began to, the radio got hold of a signal and a newscaster's voice came through. Augustine scrambled to turn it up. "Greetings listeners, we have some of the most incredible breaking news to report." It was the lady newscaster they had heard throughout the morning. "We have reports from several different sources, which include some conflicting info. I can tell you that there is one thing we are certain of, and that is the presence of mass-confusion folks." You could feel the severity in her voice, "The following is a previously taped phone briefing from Mayor McCain:" The Mayor began, “Late this morning, at approximately 10:30 AM, a large explosion rocked the bayside walls of The San Quentin Maximum Security Prison. We believe this to be the acts of a terrorist cell sympathetic to certain occupants of the facility.� Random newscaster interjected, “Was anyone hurt?� McCain responded promptly, “Yes, unfortunately many prisoners and prison employees were fatally injured in the blast. Most beyond recognition in the short term, but we are working on identifying them as we speak.� Random newscaster, once again, “Is anyone identifiable?� “Yes, but we are abstaining from disclosure until the families are first notified,� McCain explained. “Are you aware of the status of Bradley Harris, Mayor?� McCain paused a little off guard with the question, “We are not, but have been informed that he was in close proximity to the blast, and cannot be found. This leads us to expect the worst for Mr. Harris.� Random newscaster continued with the questioning, “Were there any escapees?� “No, there were not. No one made it out of the wall, and all bodies are accounted for.� “Then Mayor, can you explain how the five guards with bullet wounds died?� No response, “Three with point blank shotgun wounds, but more specifically two killed at long range in perched guard towers... outside.� The random newscaster had made checkmate. Then there was that recognizable dead radio silence, and the world could hear McCain squirm for about 5 seconds. McCain: I have no further comments... (click) The live broadcast continued, and the familiar newswoman's voice returned "Again, that was Mayor McCain via phone. Commenting on the events that went on at San Quentin... A facility which is in Marin County... that he has no jurisdiction over. We're looking into that too.� Father Augustine, and Bradley were floored. It was obvious there were many forces at work here. It was apparently after the Mayor's announcement that he and other elite members must be conspiring about something. There was too much misconduct, and it went deep enough to get into the prison system. This meant it could go all the way up. Bradley and Augustine's minds began to reel. The radio broke the silence, “Now we have another on-location report. What you are about to hear is a testimonial of someone who was present at the events that took place at San Quentin. This report came in eleven minutes before the mayor's update, and is anything but typical.� The previous random newscaster's voice came back on, “Sir, can you state your name please?� A voice, familiar to Brad and Augustine, came from the radio, “My name is William Howe. I am the warden of San Quentin Maximum Security Prison.� The newsman picked up with the same tempo, “Where were you during the explosion sir?� Howe sounds very shaken, “I was in the immediate area, about twenty yards from the wall, in an observation room bordering the mess hall, which is where the event took place.� “Did you have a good vantage point from where you were standing Mr. Howe? Did you see anybody approach the wall previous to the explosion?� Howe, still sounding jaded, “No, my eyes were closed.� The newsman was caught off guard, “Your eyes were closed?� Howe explained further, “Yes, I was in prayer, so my eyes were closed until right before the explosion happened.� “Mr. Howe, can you explain to us what went on, and how it became that you were praying?� a startled tone came over the newsman's voice. At this point Howe stopped. The newscaster retracted his tone of voice, “Go on Mr. Howe. This needs clarification.� Howe's silence puzzled Brad and Augustine, “I want the listeners to turn up their radios. I cannot stress the importance of my message. I know that most will not believe me, but none of this is made up. I swear this upon my son's grave. Everything I have for you is very brief. I swear I will tell you all that I know, because I do not have much to tell. I… I was only there. It's like a dream where I am starting to forget certain bits. Random newscaster, trying to keep calm in the wake of mounting confusion, continued to urge him on, “We are listening intently Mr. Howe. The air is all yours.� Howe forced himself to go on, “During a newly required Retrospective Incident Meeting, a large group of guards and I had been abruptly approached by Father Augustine. He had entered unannounced into the meeting room through another door, and he plainly told us upon entering the room unannounced, that the 'end of days' was at hand, and that there was little time left to have a personal relationship with Jesus.� Howe waited for any kind of response, but there was none, just dead silence only further confirmed that his story was not starting off well. He continued, "The group of guards as a whole was very confused why they were being approached and told this, as was I. This is when a group of prisoners became unsettled, which added to our mounting confusion.� “What was happening in the outside room?� the newsman inquired. “Another priest, a black one, was attempting to convert certain prisoners. I can only assume this was in line with the other priest's apocalyptic warning.� Howe paused, and collected his memory, “The guards began to beckon to the worsening quarrel outside. Due to certain circumstances earlier, I strangely began to believed the Priest, so I tried to pacify them to no avail. At that moment Father Augustine reached into his tunic and retrieved..." Howe hesitated and dropped off to silence. The random newsman, as well at the listeners including Bradley, were hanging on the edge of their seats, “Please go on sir.� The newsman, eager for more, coaxed. Howe remained silent. Random Newsman pleaded, “Please, sir.� Howe pensively returned, “Sorry… this is where people will think I'm lying.� The newsman tried to comfort Howe, “Sir, I don't think anything you could possibly say is any more out of the ordinary than the day's previous events.� Howe seemed to speak to himself, “It's so silly, but I'm worried about my family.� The newsman continued to further comfort him, “Mr. Howe I can assure you that there is no one here to judge you.� Those were the exact words Howe needed to hear, “The priest pulled out and shone a cross burning of flame and emitting intense light.� The newsman had been outdone. The air was completely silent. Howe waited for a response for several seconds. All the newsman could rattle off was: I… I… I don't… Bradley looked at Augustine who again was already staring back wondering how Brad would except the news. He knew this all would be hard for Bradley to comprehend. Augustine had lived in the visible glory of the LORD for years upon years, and he was still had trouble understanding. Warden Howe continued with renewed vigor and a louder voice, “Floating about a half an inch above his palm was a three inch cross made solely of fire. Its magnificent luminescence dwarfed that of all surrounding light in the room. It’s presence was like nothing I have ever seen or felt before in all my days. This, and its miraculous state of suspension, stopped every single man in that room dead in their tracks, including myself. Many fell to their knees, and some covered their face, crying uncontrollably. That is when the Priam brothers entered the mess hall, and when Bradley Harris arrived down stairs.� The Random newscaster was stunned silent. He couldn't even think of a question to ask about this flaming cross, but Bradley's name, as well as the Priam's, brought him back, and he shakily continued, this time in a more serious tone “So… Mayor McCain was correct… in believing that Bradley was near the blast?� Howe did not answer directly, but continued where he had just stopped, “At this point all guards in the observation room we quelled in fear. I had started praying immediately once the Priest unveiled the flaming cross. Then,� Howe spoke vaguely as he seemed to be recalling, “I had heard a very loud sound come from the mess hall which I vaguely remember. I recall it because it was followed by a shotgun blast, and the Far East door was kicked open by Hector Priam… and Franc stood at his side. Franc called out to Bradley by name, and this seemed to draw the Priest's attention.� Random newsman, “Which one? The priest in the room with the… fla-ming cross… or the black one in the mess hall?� Howe answered, “Both actually, but the priest in my room returned his cross to his cloak, and exited the observation room into the mess hall.� The newsman asked, “What were the prisoners doing?� “They seemed to be confused because they made no move once the Priams entered the picture.� “And Bradley?� “He was still at the bottom of the stairs handcuffed, and the Priest left our room and entered his. The white priest, Fr. Augustine, stopped in front of Bradley, and motioned for the black priest to come over. They seemed to know each other, and spoke of the happening events as if they were planned.� “Could you make out what they were saying? Did it have anything to do with a bomb?� Howe, continuing to just tell his story, “A strange silence crept, and there was no sound except for the priests voices. They mentioned things I could not understand and then said good bye…� Howe dropped off, and silence filled the radio once again leaving everyone hanging. The newsman, more eagerly now, “Mr. Howe, did the explosion come next?� Howe sounded hesitant, and spoke to himself softly, “I know it was real I was there. I know what I saw.� He was convincing himself to go; almost prepping himself. The newsman about to die, but ever-so-calmly and slowly, “Mr. Howe, go on please.� “I'm sorry. I have always been a pretty plain man. Though I personally am religious I like to see things before I believe them. Now that I look back on my life I really never believed. At least believing never felt like this. Now I have seen it, and there is no doubt in my mind.� The newsman switched his approach, “Whenever you're ready William.� Howe slightly laughed, the newsman asked, “Where's the reaction coming from William?� Howe replied, “All of your comments have meanings that are completely different to me now. It's not you. It's just that my outlook is different. Everything is different now.� He sighed lengthily, “I guess I don't care who believes me.� Still talking to himself. He cleared his throat and blurted, “After they quickly said good bye the black priest stepped upon the table, and with a flick of his wrist and unforeseen power the mess hall table rose up and slammed through the side wall killing everyone seated, and many bystanders, and exposing the mess hall to the walled grounds outside.� Now the random newsman was completely without words. “Bradley was still standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of the priest. The priest was looking at Bradley, and at that point I could tell that was his reason for coming. A set of guards came in bearing arms to control the situation, I think. They pointed their weapons and tried to regain order. Again, with powers I have not seen or knew existed, the white priest raised his hands and the guard's weapons were torn from their grasp, floated in mid-air, and pointed at chest level.� The familiar news lady's voice came on, “Mr. Howe this is anchor Nancy Rock, I think you have successfully silenced my co-anchor, as well as everyone else here in the office. Please continue the story at your own pace unto the end.� Howe went on, “The Priest, now with total command of the room spoke loudly to the people around him. He introduced himself with a couple of different names, which all meant nothing to me, but he called himself The Shepherd. He began to preach like I have never seen before. His voice was intense, and bellowed louder than any voice I have ever heard. He prophesied that the end was near and that everyone needed to receive Jesus.� News lady Nancy sounded off, “What were the prisoner's reactions?� Howe answered, “They all unanimously answered to him 'AMEN.' It sounded like I was at the Giants game. It sounded as if from the masses. The unanimity of the prisoner's response forced half of the guards to their knees in freight and awe. They begun to beg forgiveness, and pray like children. At this point The Shepherd gave them their last warning.� Howe became silent. Newscaster Nancy prodded, “Then?� Howe sighed unhappily, “The Shepherd lowered his left hand and pointed it at Bradley's cuffs, and once again with divine power unknown to me, separated Bradley's handcuffs sending the chain links in every direction…� Howe paused, “and discharged the floating shotguns.� Newscaster Nancy didn't improve on the previous newsmans performance, “Umm… uhhhh…. and…� You could hear the energy leaving Howe, “The priest said something to or at Bradley. Bradley began sprinting across the hall, but was lifted from the ground and flew, suspended in air, through the exposed hole in the wall. This is when the two sniper guards got their sites on Bradley. I could not see, but from what I have been told he jumped with, seemingly super strength, over the south wall of the prison, into San Pablo bay.� “My God,� Nancy thought the account was over. Howe proceeded, “At this point I stood up. Somehow my instinct as the warden surfaced, and I ran into the mess hall. Franc and Hector were no where to be found, and I can only assume they fled in fear. The black priest lay dead on the ground appearing to be fatally wounded by the table's explosive contact. I stared at The Shepherd, and he back at me with an intense look. He looked right through me, and when we locked stares all I could do was cry, and fall to my knees.� “What happened next.� I seemed to go into a trance, and must have passed out. When I awoke everyone of the prisoners were dead.� “Was it the explosion?� “No. The ones that were obviously not killed by the explosion had no wounds. No explanation to their fatality. I had called for back up, but was in no shape to be in my position of control. I could only sit on the ground, and wait for anyone else to arrive.� “Was anyone alive besides you?� Yes. I don't understand why, but only I, the guards who remained in the drawing room, and three guards who had fallen to their knees on the second floor were still alive, but each and everyone of us was in the same condition.� “Then what?� “Then we all sat next to each other on the cement floor. No matter what our religion had been, and prayed together to Jesus. That was it. Now I'm calling you.� “So all of you are there?� “No some of the guards had followed through with a body count, and came up two short, which usually is the two guard towers we have outside along the south wall. When the towers were searched, both guards were found dead, with bullet holes in their heads. Dead center.� “They had been shot? Do you think it was Bradley during his escape, or the priests earlier?� “No, I am positive it was not them.� “What leads you to believe that?� The bullet holes were shaped like, well… I guess like an old style key hole� Newscaster Nancy, “What was that?� “That's the closest description I can come up with. The wound was a bit wider at the top, and thinned at the bottom. “Are you sure the guards were shot?� “No, actually we don't think they were shot at all.� “Now I'm confused Mr. Howe. I believe you said the two guards in the tower were shot. You said dead center I believe. I, apparently, do not understand.� “Neither do I Ms. Rock.� “Can you help me out here a little William? Everything is so confusing, and it's kind of running together. Can you expand on what you found in the sniper towers a little more?� “After checking the sniper towers we found both guards dead. We are positive it was a bullet, because we found a single blood stained bullet inside both sniper towers, and the backs of their heads had been blown out. The key hole entry wound make us think that the bullet had to be traveling end over end, which is not how a bullet is fired. It was more like a sling-shot effect, or as if it had been thrown by hand at a high velocity.� “That is very strange. How…� “What is even more strange is the fact a human skull can only be penetrated and blown out the back by something equivalent or more powerful than a strong rifle, or gun.� “Okayyyyy,� Nancy didn't seem to catch on. “It is physically impossible for a gun to fire a bullet end over end and keep it's speed and trajectory.� “Mr. Howe, do you have any hypothesis on what has happened? It obviously wasn't thrown by hand.� Nancy asked, and Howe went silent. “Mr. Howe?� “Yes, actually that is the only possibility that we have come up with yet,� You could tell Howe knew no one believed him. Especially not the newscaster, even though she had to seem interested. “What leads the team to believe this one,� Nancy asked cynically. “We checked the guard's rifles in the towers, and each had fire off one single round at Bradley during his escape.� “Un-huh.� “The bullets found in each tower were unmistakably determined, by simple forensics, to have been fired from each one's own rifle.�
Howe paused. Nancy remained silent in utter confusion. Howe clarified, “They had been killed by the very bullets they had just fired. The rifles were still in their hands. Bullets were still warm.� Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:09 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 16 January 2006  Chapter 17 - Everything is Different Now
Direct download: Chapter_17_-_Everything_is_Different_Now.mp3 Category: podiobook -- posted at: 12:17 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 16 January 2006 Chapter 16: Only Through the Lamb (Where?)
Brad flinched as the last stitch was inserted into his scalp. The doctor, who remained mostly silent during the whole procedure, now turned off the bright fluorescent light which had been blinding Bradley the whole time. As his vision came back, the dark silhouette filled with color, and the doctor's face came into view. It was an old man who, Brad guessed from his withered yet unfragile look, had been making house calls there for a while now.A guard had lackadaisically been keeping watch on Brad from the back of the small "operating room" they were in. As the doctor surveyed his work the guard said, "You should thank God you didn't end up like the other guy. Two more seconds and..." "We should thank God for a lot of things." the doctor calmly corrected. Brad looked at the doctor who remained rather concentrated on the task at hand, and went back to being silent after he chimed in. Almost as if no one else was in the room, and he had said nothing. Bits and pieces were starting to come back to Brad. He started replaying the day's events back in his mind, and anger started to set in. The mix of having to sit still in the chair, being confined to a prison, and not having his son was chipping away at his will, making every moment and every further thought increasingly unbearable. The circumstances were so incredibly intense that the world seemed like a dream to Brad, and he was just along for the ride. His body ached for sleep, and he â??no longer wasâ?? in control. The doctor finished up and removed his gloves, "He's all fixed up." "All right, up!" the guard sternly ordered. Brad rose to his feet, and instinctively went to touch his wound. The doctor slapped Brad's hand and said, "You'll be fine in an hour." At that moment Bradley noticed a flash upon the doctor's chest. Another cross? How coincidental Brad thought as things only became more surreal. With that the doctor exited the room, and Brad was left solo with the guard. The guard once again cuffed his hands, this time in the front, and embarked toward Brad's cell. At this point Brad could start to reflect on the day's events, but he was still in a state of utter disorientation and unable to cope emotionally. He felt like a ghost. As the guard led him out of the room, down a short walkway, and to a desk and door which bordered the main food hall, Brad looked down upon a large chunk of the prisoners eating lunch. He immediately noticed two rows of long metal cafeteria style pic-nic tables, with the benches attached. Everyone sat segmented by race. Whites, blacks, latinos, & several other "groups" could be distinguished apart from each other easily. It was a little weird, but Brad remembered this kind of thing touched upon in movies and such. He then noticed a priest. The priest was a black man who was vigorously communicating with another black prisoner who wore a solid black skull cap signifying his Islamic association. What Brad initially thought was arguing started to appear as pleading. The priest had been animated with his hands pointing to different areas of the prison and at times its members. He wore a distressed look upon his face, and each response was more agitated. Also surprising to Brad was the fact that a humongous Aryan looking prisoner had his arms folded sporting several association based tattoos of his own, and was nodding along with whatever the priest was arguing. The priest then reached out and grabbed the black prisoner's forearm, turned it over, and placed his finger upon a crescent moon and star that had been tattooed upon his arm. The priest poked the tattoo rapidly as he continued his intense communications. The prisoner wrenched his arm out of the priest's grasp angrily, raised a pointed finger and furiously aimed it back at the priest as he yelled. By this time the whole place was watching them. This was strange but the shocking thing was the fact that all the prisoners were totally silent and their attention was completely on the three. They resembled a group of school kids quietly onlooking as a fellow classmate gets scolded. The prisoners seemed to be worried. The black prisoner continued to become more irate with each word. He then placed his finger on a tattoo of a swastika that covered the majority of the white prisoner's upper arm, and then back at his Islamic crescent apparently making some sort of comparison. The large white man immediately became very serious and tensely glared at the black prisoner and slowly unfolded his arms. There was a moment while the room held its breath wondering what the Aryan might utilize his free arms for. He then placed his fingertips on his tattoo and proceeded to drag his claws down the swastika deeply penetrating the skin and producing thick visible streams of blood instantaneously. Both the priest and the prisoner were dumbfounded. The large white man seemingly yelled back at the black man in refute. He waved his bloody index, and then turned to the others in the room and hollered some type of message as his dripping hand motioned intensely. At this moment the door blocking Brad from the mess hall slid open with a red flashing light and sharp abrupt siren-like sound. Nothing could have gained more attention. Brad was now one level up and the center of everyone's attention. He could now hear clearly and watched as the bloody Aryan, who's attention also had turned to Brad, took a moment; and then turned back and yelled, "Father forgive me! Only through your son shall I be forgiven for what I have done!" and he knelt and bowed his head in front of the Priest seemingly in response to Brads entrance. The room remained silent, and now everyone's eyes were switching back between the penitent prisoner, and Bradley. The priest froze and stared at Bradley as if he were a ghost. Brad also noticed a drastic change in the black prisoner's state. He looked just as scared as the priest. Brad's guard had not noticed anything until this point, and was also quite confused. The priest's eyes remained locked on Bradley in awe, but he slowly raised his hand and placed it on the white man's head, and began with a trembling voice, â??Father Almighty, forgive and bless this man. Recognize his faith, and wash away his sins. Though, he has little time left, help him to embrace your word, and to be born again in your love and forgivenessâ?¦â?? As the priest started to pray several outburst from the crowd could be heard. Some confused, others scared, and some very angry. These cries multiplied rapidly with retorts and come backs. Bradley still had no idea what had just gone on, but the groups he had noticed prior seemed to fester and their reaction was very mixed. Brad started to make out anti-religious comments, and also arguments themed with white supremacy and other types of racism and nationalism. Some got up from their seats. One could not imagine a more confusing state than the one Bradley was already in, but this topped it. He looked around in shock, and then noticed that several prisoners of different race gathered around the priest, and knelt down next to the bleeding white man wanting blessings also. The black prisoner knelt next to the Aryan. He snatched his headdress from his brow and tossed it to the ground. The Aryan raised his head, and tears could be seen streaming down his cheeks. He then held out his bloody hand, and with no more reluctance in his heart the black man grasped it. Then they both bowed there heads. The chain continued, and more commotion set in. Bradley continued to survey the room. He noticed a window looking into an office that lay directly below the operating room he had just come from. He saw a couple of guards, some superiors, and Warden Howe all inside. The guards and others were all seated staring towards the front of the room, as if they were in class. Warden Howe sat upon the front of a desk with his arms folded calmly looking back at the guards in the room. No one seemed to be speaking. Then a door at the back of the room opened, and another Priest walked through. He was an average size man with dark gray hair, and he wore thin framed glasses which gave him a classic scholarly look, and he looked quite serious, as did the other occupants in the room. The guard that had been carting Brad to his cell had redirected his attention to the commotion in the mess hall. He grabbed his two-way, â??Hey this is Buddy. We have an issue in the meal room. I have no idea what the fuck is going on but Father Coleman is down in the middle of it.â?? â??Come again Buddy. What's goin' on?â?? another guard responded. â??I don't fuckin' know. We got the peckerwoods and a bunch of the other guys joining hands. Looks like a frickin mass baptism or something. We got the lunch crew raisin' hell, and it looks like a fight, and Syrus is bleedin' all over himself, but he's hand and hand withâ?¦" he became overwhelmed, "where the fuck are you guys?!?!? Get in here.â?? Buddy, the guard, exclaimed, a little shaken up. â??We're in the drawing room down stairs.â?? Answered the other side. Buddy, and Bradley turned to look through the downstairs window, and could see the guard on the other line looking through the window at the mess with a two-way in front of his mouth. Then the priest, who had just entered the room, said something that caught the guard's attention. The guard looked confuse, and Warden Howe nodded and pointed his finger sternly at an empty chair. The guard looked even more confused, and then returned to his seat. Buddy asked again, â??Jeff, what the hell are you doin'? Get the fuck out here, it's about to hit the fan right now.â?? With this Buddy grasped the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder, and aimed it impulsively at the worsening crowd. He turned to Brad, â??Stay fucking put! You don't want to fuck with me, and you especially don't want to fuck with what ever is going on down there.â?? With that the guard took off towards the stairwell. Now a lot of strange and intense moments had come about throughout Brad's day, and this added to the list, but he could not help but notice that he was alone for the first time. He was on the, currently abandoned, second floor cat walk, and everyone was below him. Two thoughts entered into Bradley's mind at this moment. Gregory and escape. All the confusion, and surrealism that Brad had been enveloped in shattered right away. His mind tuned, and the commotion seemed to disappear. The sounds around him softened to background noise, and his eyes began to scan his environment for any way out. The drawing room. He stared at it unbelieving, but noticed that the occupants had begun to argue, which meant that they were probably all aware of the building tension outside in the mess hall. Brad had to make it through the door that the new priest had come through. Hopefully the guards would eventually beckon to Buddy's call and spill out of the room leaving the doors unmanned. An escape through the drawing room was undoubtedly the only way. Brad, with hands still cuffed, started down the second floor walkway towards the stairwell to the first floor dining room. He got half way there, and looked toward Syrus, and saw that the prayer chain had grown incredibly. Now over half the room was kneeling. Brad stopped dead in his tracks. Pictures of the flashing crosses shot into his mind. He bowed his head in prayer. He asked the Lord for strength and grace. He would not be able to make it through the drawing room without them. He took a deep breath and started down the stairway. As he made his way down he looked in the drawing room and saw that commotion had set in. The guards were now standing and crowding the front of the room, and some were now brandishing their weapons. Warden Howe was trying to hold them back. The gray haired priest was remaining silent. He reached into his pocket looking as if he were retrieving something. At that moment Warden Howe moved blocking Brad's direct view of the priest's pocket. A yellowish light shone on the priest's face like that of a flash light pointed towards someone's eyes, but the light danced across the priest's face indicating a slight flicker. Undoubtedly whatever the Priest had pulled from his pocket was the origin of the light, and Bradley became transfixed on what was going on. Then every guard in the room was completely frozen in awe of whatever the priest was holding. At this point Brad's foot hit the bottom floor, with the drawing room to his right, the unsettled crowd to his front, and he was no longer isolated from anything. The prisoners were continuing to choose sides. More joining the penitent group of kneelers, and others becoming confused or angry. The yelling got louder, and was turning into shoving. Brad was still peering towards the drawing room. Some guards had a look of complete amazement on their face, and some also looking genuinely scared. The thought of moving closer went through Brad's mind, and his desire to find out what the priest held drove him to start for the, still closed, door. At that very moment a tremendous thundering sound of impact came from a solid white windowless door at the bottom of the staircase to his left that Brad had not noticed, and echoed loudly throughout the hall. The door seemed to be of the heavy duty type, probably created to withstand any sort of human breach, and on Brad's side there was no handle. The thump was loud enough to draw Brad's attention as well as the black priest's and many of the silent prisoners. Another loud sound emitted, and bits of the metal material, that the door was made of, crumbled to the ground, and was blown away leaving small holes and breaks in the area where the door handle would have been. Now the black priest stopped praying, and was now fully concentrated on the noise, Brad's attention was also on the door to his left and no longer on the drawing room. The guards were still in a trance like state, but the gray haired priest had also somehow heard the sound, and wore a growing look of worry upon his face as he also stared at the white handle-less door, waiting. Then the door rocketed open with a loud breaking noise. Three men could be seen through the doorway. The first, a guard with a discharged shotgun at door-handle level. Next, a tall strong built man clothed in a police chief uniform whose leg was extended in the air showing his as the one which kicked opened the door. Finally, a man stood staring angrily through the doorway with a filthy evil look on his face, and clenched fists by his side. â??Where do you think you're going Bradley?â?? The final man asked, to Brad's ultimate shock. â??Chief Priam?â?? The black priest exclaimed sounding incredibly distraught. Everyone and everything stopped. That name meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people in that place. That name was known. Bradley remained frozen not knowing what was going on in any sense at all. He was surrounded by opposition in every angle. There was no way out, and he did not know what to expect, how the man knew him, or how to respond except to just stand there motionless. Bradley's mind tried to tell him to turn to his original escape, and when he looked towards the drawing room every guard was kneeling. Some were crying, and holding their faces in their palms, and other were praying. Some were holding their arms out as if to embrace something. Warden Howe was now also kneeling and intently praying; head bowed with his eyes closed. The strange light had grown brighter, and was now illuminating the walls, brighter than the lights around the room. The gray haired priest had turned towards the door, and he opened it. Now silence did not 'seem' to set in. It actually did. Every sound, even those of nature, stopped except for the footsteps of the priest. Everyone in the room was as if they were mute. The priest slowly walked through the drawing room doorway, and stared at Hector and Franc across the mess hall. The two brothers glared at the priest, acknowledging him as foe. He slowly turned to the black priest, and pointed towards the cinderblock wall that was opposite the stair case and across the room from where Bradley was currently at. Bradley still had no grasp of what was happening. The black priest quietly walked over in front of the tables in the first row that the prisoners had been eating at. The Black priest's attention had been completely cut off from what he had been occupied with, and he slowly, as if also in a trance, walked towards the gray haired priest until they were about a yard away from each other. Then the black priest said, â??Be strong. Save many.â?? The gray haired priest nodded and replied, "Tell Peter to keep the gates wide. The river shall flow unto He." "With the strength of three, Enoch." "With the strength of three, Johnathan." Brad looked on. The black priest wore a grave look on his face as he turned towards the first row of heavy metal dinning tables which now held less than a quarter of the original prisoners. Then he took a deep loud breath, and like children, every single prisoner sitting or standing at the table sat down quicker than they had ever done anything, and unaware of any race, nation, or gang they all joined hands, and bowed there hands. Time was still slow motion, and Brad felt celestial and was overwhelmed with amazement. The prisoner's reaction confused him, and he then noticed that several seated prisoners had lost control of their body, and had wet themselves. They had instantaneously become children, all in a heavenly second. As that heavenly second came to an end old Father Coleman stepped up the bench to his side and mounted the table in the first row directly in front of Brad, Father Augustine, and the stairway. A massive roar came out of Father Coleman and he thrust his hands forward as if slamming open a double door, and the massive metal table in the far row flew with inhuman power, along with those seated, through the cinder block wall decimating the seated prionsers, exposing a huge hole in the wall, and annihilating everyone's understanding of reality. Bits of dust, and particles of cinder wafted through the air and settled down upon the astonished people around it. Blood had been splattered in every direction from the seated prisoner's fatal impact, and a red mist fell. The LORD had come. Right then things began to speed back up, and Father Augustine turned quickly. His eyes met Brad's momentarily, but darted up towards the second floor. Armed guards had lined the walkway. They looked seriously frightened and had shotguns pointed. Augustine raised both arms upward at the guards, and with an incredible force each one's gun miraculously was ripped from their clutch, swung around, and floated at chest's height now with the guards on the other end. Augustine exclaimed, â??Not since the day of Jonah has the LORD put in place such miraculous deeds. Praise be to GOD!!!â?? The prisoners answered, â??Amen.â?? â??I am The Shepherd! I am St. Augustine! I am Enoch! I come in the name of the LORD!!! Be warned. Now is the last of your days. This, if anytime ever, is The Moment of Truth! You brother's shall pay witness to the final acts of the LORD,â?? the priest had everyone's attention, â?? Now swear allegiance to Heaven. Give your heart and soul to the LORD Jesus, for if you do not, you will be lost. Only through the son shall you be saved! Only through the lamb!â?? The prisoners answered, â??Amen.â?? The unanimity of the prisoner's response forced half of the second floor guards to their knees in peril and God given fear. They cried out for forgiveness and wept uncontrollably. The standing guards wore dire looks on their faces, and did not know what to do, and only understood their orders. Augustine glared at the half of the guards that were still standing and said solemnly and with finality, â??Accept the Holy Trinity, or suffer the ripping and gnashing of teeth.â?? Then Augustine quickly looked at Bradley and his cuffed wrists, and with the incredible timing, the priest lowered his left hand and pointed at the hand cuffs. The hand cuff chain fiercely shot apart and the links flew everywhere freeing Brad's hands. Simultaneously the floating shot guns all discharged and fell to the ground. Now the shotguns in front of the kneeling guards had been above their heads leaving them out of harms way, but the half of the guards that did not were no more; all of them. At this Moment of Truth, Bradley felt like a child unable to communicate. Everything that went on around him was nonsensical. His brain could not hand him a next step. He looked at the cuffs around his wrist which no longer were bound to each other. He then raised his view to meet the priest's. Father Augustine's eyes locked with his, â??Go now,â?? and he pointed towards the gaping hole in the prison wall. A feeling of understanding came over Brad for the first time that day. He knew what the priest had ordered him to do was exactly what was supposed to happen. He peered through the hole in the wall, and could see a poorly kept grass area on the other side. At the far end of the grass were the prison walls which soared about thirty feet in the air. There was a low barbed-wired fence on the grass several yards from the wall, and two sniper towers flanked it. Bradley had no idea what he would do when he got outside to the grassy area, but he knew it was what he needed to do. He started for the hole, but then Brad felt hands strongly grip both of his biceps, and he was unexplainably lifted off of the floor, and with great speed through the wall's hole. The force dropped him to the ground outside, and Bradley wasted no time trying to figure anything out. He just obeyed the feeling he had inside, and ran straight for the thirty-foot wall. Both sniper towers were manned, and the gunmen's attention had undoubtedly been drawn to the exploding wall on the other side of the grassy area which they patrolled. Both were experts, and were now cocking their bullets into the gun's chamber.
Unaware of the two gunmen, Bradley heard the back-to-back blasts echo through the grassy courtyard. The sounds were followed by the breaking of glass and the flying or sparks in each sniper tower; once again, back-to-back. Bradley continued, but the gun fire did not. Bradley was coming up on the barbed wire fence which was no higher than his waist. As he reached it he jumped up with his right leg, and placed his foot on the barbed wire in order to vault off and over it, but as he rose to the pinnacle of his jump he felt the grips back on his biceps, and he was raised up and over the wall, and down head first into the bordering San Pablo Bay. He had been set free.. Category: novel text -- posted at: 12:16 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 19 December 2005 Chapter 16 - Only Through The LambComments[2] |
Mon, 19 December 2005 Chapter 15: Absolute and Unstoppable (Where?)
Conference room 216 was quiet except for the sounds of a television when Hector entered it mid-morning. He had surprisingly taken his brother's advice, and put everything in the back of his mind so he could get some rest. However, all the stress that Hector was able to shrug off was driven straight back in its origin when he saw the faces of the occupants of the conference room. Everyone was sullenly staring at the television in the corner of the room, which was locked on the local news channel.Robert Baron looked like a disappointed father. You could see the disapproval of the current situation in a tight emotionless expression. He looked as though he were waiting for someone to bare good news or tell him that whatever was going on was over. Mayor McCain looked scared and full of anxiety, more than angry, biting his bottom lips and also starring at the television. His level of stress was also through the roof, and he was the only one with his name out there in the publics' eye. Giovanni looked absolutely disgusted. He continually would run his fingers though his full dark hair and angrily comment in Italian with every new bit of negative news. Hector gathered a general status of the mission from everyone's faces, and it did not look good. He then looked at Franc who was squinting at the screen appearing to be in deep thought. He was rubbing his stubbled chin, and he would occasionally quiet the room and listen intently with any breaking information. Robert Baron was the first to acknowledge Hector, "So I assume even being the chief of the SFPD can't get us out of this one." Hector looked to Franc to clarify the subject. Franc did not remove his eyes from the screen, but only lifted his elbow off of the chair next to him signaling to his brother for him to sit down and watch along. At the same time the newscaster chimed in, and gave a recap of the day's earlier events. Hector slumped into a chair next to his brother and listened on. After the recap Robert said, "This is not a show stopper that's for sure, but it doesn't make me comfortable right off the bat. I mean�. Do we know how much longer this will last? Or how many more arrests will be made?" Mayor McCain answered softly without taking his stare off of the television, "It should be over by mid-day judging from the field reports I'm getting. Actually," McCain tried to provide some encouragement, "it could be a lot worse." "The hot topic of the day still revolves around the event of Bradley Harris and his son Gregory." The name struck something in Hector, and he quickly turned to his brother, "Why does that name sound familiar?" He whispered. The others in the room took notice of this. Franc seemed to react to the name also "I am trying to figure out that very riddle." "According to the production staff here today this has become an international news event, and we still are unable to determine why the public has responded to this story so adamantly. We are receiving numerous requests for updates on a variety of subject regarding Mr. Harris ranging from court dates, his apparent support from Jacob Hughen, and reunification with his son Gregory. We can however only continue to report what we know, and so far there is not much." "Is this the only sour event so far?" Hector asked. The group nodded unanimously. "I don't see what the issue is here. I think we're on track as far as I can tell." Hector's upbeat words did not carry an optimistic tone however. He continued quietly to himself, "But who the fuck is Bradley Harris?" "Speak of the devil!" The newscaster shook her head as she quietly read a piece of paper that was handed to her. "Of course as we reassure you that we are giving you all the updates that we have� we have in fact received a brief update from what our producers claim is a trustworthy yet anonymous source. Bradley was transferred to the San Quentin Maximum Security Facility in Marin� directly. Yes, apparently he was taken immediately to the prison without any medical attention� Now that is ridiculous!� said the newscaster angrily. She turned to someone off screen, "These were task force inflicted wounds!" the newscaster said tapping her finger tip on the paper she was handed. She most likely received some sort of hand motion to get on with it, "Sorry folks, I just can't believe this. The county is making it harder on themselves." She continued, "It says here that Bradley was transferred to the San Quentin facility, and his initial entrance..." The reporter seemed to be flustered, "sparked a catastrophic prison riot... Two prison guards are now in a critical state, and one of the inmates was fatally wounded with a shot....� This news was too much for even the newscaster. She shook her head, took a couple seconds, and continued. The reports are that Bradley is finally receiving medical attention, but there are no reports passed that." In the background you could hear the already busy phones start to ring off the hooks. "In directly related news there are no further updates on the general status of Gregory Harris. There are reports of a handful of protesters out side the Federal Reserve building urging for the reunification of Gregory with his father. Additionally, several journalists and a cameraman from Bloggers-On-Site have showed up, but reports state that nothing substantial has formed as of yet." The reporter slightly shrugged, "Just wait." The office that Hector, Franc, and the rest of the group were in was, coincidentally it seems, on Market across the street from that very building. Robert leaned back in his chair and looked out the window which faced the building, and saw the handful of protesters out on the street. Gregory is under government supervision temporarily. This is due to the fact that a proper guardian has yet to be established in the absence of a legal parent. Bradley's wife, Jennie, and daughter, Caitlin, were killed a year ago when a high speed pursuit turned fatally wrong, and the criminal collided with Mrs. Harris' car� At that point in time Hector and Franc froze in absolute and unstoppable fear. Both their faces went pale, and their eyes wide. Both of their mouths fell agape, and breathing ceased. They felt the fear of the world collapsing in on them. This is fear that a non-believer feels when they initially discover they are not in control of things. This fear was derived from the reality that someone or something else was in fact controlling the events around them. This fear ultimately came from the acknowledgment that whoever was controlling things, they were not able to be bought, or killed, or bargained with and most of all they were not on their side. It was obvious that their plan had been derailed and had been turned in-side-out, and now they were the victims. Hector slowly turned his shock stricken face to his equally devastated brother, "Franc, its over. It is like I said. There is no doubt and no escape." A smoldering look of fury shown on Francs face, "This is NOT over. I will NOT fail." Franc turned to Hector, "We are taking this to the limit." Everyone in the group had no clue what the two brothers were speaking of, and everyone's attention had now been shifted from the news to their conversation. Hector was completely confused at Franc's reaction, and what 'limit' he was referring to.
"What can we do brother?" Hector asked as he had many times before. "We're heading to Marin to stop this, now." Hector returned, "Brother, I will follow you this last time, but be aware. The forces at hand are absolute, and unstoppable." "We will find out."
Hector looked away from his brother painfully, "That, my brother, is exactly what I meant." Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:16 AM Comments[0] |
Mon, 19 December 2005 Chapter 12: You Do Not Need, You Desire (Where?)
The near-hopeless confusion that Father Augustine had been feeling had begun to eat away at the priest. He became frustrated as he sat alone in the quietness of the empty room. He rolled over the day's occurrences in his head trying to align them in some sort of order that made sense, but no matter which angle he looked from nothing opened up. He began to notice he was getting further and further from understanding anything.Bradley had been captured. The only task left for Enoch on Earth was to protect Bradley, and before he could react, he has been taken, and he did not know where. Enoch usually would have seen this coming. He knew that the end of times would be troubling, and that the dark one would use his full arsenal, but Enoch always believed he would go into this battle well equipped. That there would be a glorious victory over evil. Now it seems that it would be anything, but what Enoch expected. Why, he wondered, at this time, would the Lord take away his advantage to fulfill His Word? Why did it seem that he, Enoch a great biblical figure, would be put into the field with the people he had been shepherding forever? It was almost as though the Lord was testing him as he was the rest. Removing him from his esoteric position and placing him back into the basket from which he carefully choose him from. Why, he asked again, would the Lord discourage him at the pinnacle moment in service. It was like giving a home run hitter the league record, and then stripping him of his ability to hit in the crucial game 7 of the series. Enoch, Father Augustine, felt betrayed. He felt as though he was the center of an atrocious joke. Each time he began to go into a rage he only was able to rage at God. For he was the one who both granted and diminished Augustine's powers. He was the only one who could. Every time the Priest's rage spilled out towards God, Augustine would be immediately humbled by the thought of insubordination. This repeated until he could no longer hold back, and attempted to communicate his anger out loud, "LORD why have you forsaken me?!?! Now at the time of my ultimate tasking why do you choose to strip me of my powers?! You are making it more difficult to accomplish the goals which you have set before me. Is this a test? Are you both testing and tasking me at that same time? I feel that time is critical right now, and I do not believe I am able to fulfill what is needed of me. If I were to regain my powers I know that I would once again be able to shepherd your people." Augustine, like many others, felt a bitterness growing within him due to the fact that God was not verbally responding. The Priest lowered his head, and in a spiteful tone said "I cannot do your will if I do not have what is necessary to..." "To what?!?!" bellowed a loud deep Scottish accent. Father Augustine looked up from his bowed position to gaze upon another Priest which he had long since seen. The priest continued with a commanding bellow, "What does the great Enoch need which God hath not given him? Do you need to be comforted? Do you need consolation, or motivation?" Father Augustine remained silently gazing, in awe, at his respondent. The Scotsman answered in an angry roar "No Enoch you do not need; you desire!!!! You desire that which God hath not given you. I remember a time, "The Scottish Priest's voice calmed substantially, "when you conveyed one unwavering fact to me. A fact that, you explained, should weigh into every decision I must make for the rest of my life. A fact that you said must be kept in mind forever, and to place it out of mind is what makes great men reach their human limitation and ultimately fall. That is the one simple fact that applies to everyone of God's children: God will only give you what you need, and nothing more, and by believing that fact you must acknowledge that at any given moment in your whole life you have what you need to move forward and fulfill God's goals. This applies to everyone on this earth Enoch, those of your equal, and those that you have been selected from. Do you remember that fact; that rule by which we live?" Father Augustine looked up at his companion with tears streaming down, and said with a rasp in his voice, "Yes, yes I do. It is sometimes hard to remember in times like these."
"The best way to remember this..." The Scotsman, Father Mac?, said as he picked up the remote control to the television that sat in the middle of the room, "...is to look for the gifts God has provided us all with," and he clicked on the television, and the two Priests watched and listened to the latest news update. Category: novel text -- posted at: 4:13 AM Comments[0] |
Sat, 3 December 2005 Chapter 14 - "You Do Not Need, You Desire"
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Chapter 15 - "Absolute and Unstoppable"Comments[0] |
Sat, 3 December 2005 Chapter 13: Apparently Answering Prayers (Where?)
About forty five minutes to an hour later Bradley began to awaken to the continued rolling to and fro in what seemed to be the back of a van-like vehicle. It was pitch black, so at first Bradley was unsure if he was awakening or simply in a very disorienting dream. He quickly realized his hands were bound, and the continued rattling of chains meant that they were probably hand-cuffs. Bradley was in a deep haze and could not recall anything that had previously happened, and could not figure out how or why he was now in the back of this vehicle, or where it was going. Then it stopped moving and seemed to turn off. Bradley worked himself to a sitting position with his back against the cold metal walls. He could hear the tapping and clinking of metal, which resembled a key being put in a keyhole. A loud snapping noise sounded off as, what apparently was, the door handle was turned.Bradley squinted as a very small beam of light shone through the break in the two rear doors. Just one door was slightly ajar, but the sunlight luminously bounced off of the reflective metal walls inside the vehicle's rear containment section. Brad could now see where he had been rolling around. There was a single metal bench fastened to the wall on one side of the area, and a plain wall on the other, aside from Bradley's blood marks smeared around the bottom half that was it. He had a headache, and an immense amount of pressure which pulsated around the crown of his head. He felt a cold liquidy feeling around the area of his head, and when he realized it was a spot of blood he then remembered the events of the morning. More importantly he recalled that his son had been taken from him. The doors finally opened completely, and Brad had to wait for his eyes to adjust. Two police officers were staring back at him with no expression on either one's face, and they waited standing still. "Where's my son?" Bradley said groggily. He cleared his throat, "What have you done with my son?" Both police officers looked at each other showing knowledge of the subject, but they remained silent. One hopped up into the back of the van to retrieve Bradley. "C'mon, help me out," the officer said as he slid Brad towards the edge of the van. Bradley remained motionless until his feet were dangling off the side about 6 inches from the outside pavement. Bradley stood up on his feet, and began to wobble. The police officer that was still outside the van grabbed Brad's shoulders and hand cuffs to brace him. Brad had apparently lost a good amount of blood, and he could feel himself getting sick and turning pale. "Uhhhhhhh," Brad moaned as his vision came back into focus, "Where am I now? This doesn't look like the civic center." Bradley scanned the area and his eyes bulged when his sight fully came back to him and he then recognized the Marin Country historical building he was in front of. "Welcome to San Quentin Mr. Harris," Greeted a gray-haired drill sergeant looking man dressed in what appeared to be the maximum security prisons ranking staff uniform, "All criminals taken into custody by the task force in Marin are being confined within these walls, and you seem to be somewhat of a celebrity now with all the news stations playing the siege on repeat for the last hour or so." Bradley squinted in confusion at what the man was referring to, "You don't know, do you?" The uniformed man stared at Brad for a while and looked at the blood from his head wound. He then motioned to the two cops that he had custody over Brad now, and that they should leave. The officer named Wally looked at the staff member with an expression of shock, and silently asked, do you know what's going on? “I know, I know� he responded, the man understood how out of control things were. Both of the officers turned and left. "My name is warden Howe, and I am in charge of 'The Q' and all of its tenants, which now includes you." Bradley was a little unfocused and was trying to put a bunch of pieces together, "Where is my son?" Howe's initial expression was, that of which you would expect from a prison warden. With Brad's question it changed to a solemn, almost unhappy look. Warden Howe turned away from Brad and stated, "You're son has been taken from you due to your involvement with cultivating, consuming, and selling marijuana. He will remain in custody of the state, like the CPA I'm sure, as you will remain here until further notice from either Mayor McCain, or another superior." Bradley was still confused, and tried to gather Warden Howe's demeanor. He continued to stare at the warden with a grave expression. The warden gazed back at him, and for about three seconds they silently locked stares. Bradley slightly picked up on some sympathy from the warden. As if Howe also felt Bradley's imprisonment was unfair or harsh. Bradley gave the warden a nod in acknowledgment, and the warden seemed to shake himself out of a trance. He then motioned to a pair of guards to come over, "Take Mr. Harris to get cleaned up, and then to his holding area." Two guards came over, and pointed Brad towards a solid steel gate. They walked towards the entrance and buzzed themselves in. The gates automatically opened and Howe interrupted, "Mr. Harris." The guards turned Bradley around, "I have also lost my son." Howe was still looking away from Brad, and actually had his back to him. "I lost my son to the war." Howe slowly turned around and as he did a beam of light glistened off of a silver cross which hung around his neck, "Keep faith in your heart young man. For your son has not died, and you still will be able to see him." The guards brought Brad in, and he now understood what he saw in the warden's gaze. Bradley was now brought into a dark cold corridor splitting the front gate from another entrance to what seemed to be the main facility. He could softly hear sounds of commotion off in the distance. The barely lit cement walkway led all the way to a similar looking steel gate at the back of the room. As Bradley moved closer and closer the noise grew louder. It was voices, but nothing could be made out. They just grew louder as Bradley drew closer. As Bradley faced the steel gate in front of him the guards once again buzzed themselves in. The gate began to open, and as it cracked the noise became much more audible, and some cursing was made out. When the gate finally opened all the way Bradley stood staring as a giant area full or murders, thieves, psychopaths, rapists, kidnappers, and an assortment of America's finest. "Welcome to San Quentin kid." One of the guards said, "Someone else is your daddy now." Bradley usually would have been scared… any man in his right mind would have been incredibly scared, but Bradley wasn't concentrating on normal things at the moment. He could only think of the fact that he had lost his son. This coupled with the pure confusion surrounding him put everything in a completely different perspective. The only thing left in the entire world that he needed to keep up with, to protect, he had lost and now had absolutely no chance of getting to. The guards nudged Bradley on the back to prompt him to move forward, and as Bradley began to enter the area of thugs several of them pointed. "That's the father," a big black man, in a light blue prison suit sitting on a folded out chair said in astonishment. He pointed at Brad, and then back at a television which was showing the news. The newscast stated, "The controversial busts earlier today have caused quite a response from the local community, and beyond. What was previously looked at as a locally supported initiative now has seemed to backfire in the face of its creators. We've received thousands of calls from our viewers in the last hour since the events occurred. Some in support of the initiative… but the overwhelming majority sympathetic to the criminals. But the hottest subject of the hour is the specific bust of Father and Son Bradley and Gregory Harris. There seems to be a general cry from the public to release Bradley, and to reunite him with his son Gregory. We're not sure if it was the footage of the bust, the firing of the assault rifle, the fact they were praying, or the surprising support of Jacob Hughen, but we are continuing to receive call upon call about the issue. Here is a excerpt from one of those calls, "I'm a father. I drink alcohol, and I've smoked pot before and if anyone tried to take away my child in my own house there would be *beep*ing murder. I can tell you that much." With the last comment a loud commotion arose in the hall where Bradley stood. He heard a couple of 'hell yeahs!' which surprised him. The commotion was so loud that it took Brad's escorts off guard. Also this only added to the attention that he was receiving. Then Brad's image appeared on television, "See, I told you it was him!" the inmate closest to the television exclaimed. And the place went nuts. They started to crowd around the television, and inmates began to scream at Brad. Brad picked out some awful prison references, and violent threats, but then he started to hear cheering. "I'd fucking murder those cops too if they stole my child." An inmate said genuinely frustrated. "Hell yeah!" came a deep voice from a large pecker-wood looking man as he stared at Brad's two escorts. The prison guards became a bit fidgety, and started to push Brad through the crowd. The large white man balked a punch towards the escorts jokingly to catch them off guard and making them flinch. They clenched and raised their batons, which they were holding, to chest level, and they began to look rather scared. One of the escorts looked up a level at a fellow guard, and sent him a hand signal. Right then bright lights began to flash and sirens went off. This seemed to add to the commotion, but apparently the guard thought this was their chance to wade Bradley through the ocean of inmates towards his cell. The cheers and jeers grew loud to the point where Brad couldn't tell the difference or where they were coming from. One inmate rooted him on, and patted him on the shoulder, which initially scared Brad half to death. Then another grabbed Brad's blood stained shirt, and said, "What makes you so fucking special faggot! No one here to support you now fucker!" With that Brad's assailant, a Hispanic man, was knocked to the ground by what seemed to be the metal leg of a chair that another large black man held in his hand. At this point Brad knew he was in the middle of a prison riot, and so did the guards. One grabbed Brad by the back of the neck, and the other by the chain-link in his hand cuffs, and they pushed him, almost like a bulldozer, through the mess of inmates. Brad could do nothing besides collide with every single person that was infront of him, because his hands we behind his back. Several inmates were pushed over, some on top of each other, as the guards forced Brad through the crowd. As Brad made it past the fallen inmates the guards became stuck and couldn't move. Brad's momentum drove him to the outside of the crowd, and his escorts lost grip of him. At this point reality hit Brad, and fear set in. Bradley turned around, and saw the two guards become swallowed up by the crowd. Through the flailing arms and legs Bradley could make out about ten inmates "getting theirs" on the two downed guards. Bradley backed himself up against a cinder block wall that was behind him, and tried to become invisible. He could still see the guards being beaten, and spots and splatters of blood projected onto the guards and their assailants. Bradley was in complete shock, and even though he could not bear to watch the guards be battered he could not take his eyes off of the crowd. Then he noticed the Hispanic inmate who had assaulted him and been knocked to the ground had risen and now had Brad in his sites. Bradley watched as the inmate dug himself out of the stampeding riot, and now he was moving towards him. Brad could see he had the same intension as before, but now he had the chair leg. With his hands still cuffed behind his back Bradley was helpless. He froze against the wall, and just watched as the man grew closer. Brad tried to predict what was going to happen, and what the man would do, but nothing came into his thoughts. He was so scared that he couldn't imagine what was going to become of him now. Was this it? Was the inmate so crazy that he would just murder Brad? Brad thought Am I never going to see Gregory again? The inmate now closed in on Brad and grabbed him by the neck with one hand pressing Brad's head up against the cold hard abrasive wall. With his other hand he raised the chair leg. The same object which had just taken him down. Bradley knew the mans blow would be too much, and that there was nothing he could do. So he prayed as quickly as he ever had. Lord deliver me.
Right as the chair leg rose to its pinnacle point and began to come down on Brad's head the loudest noise exploded, and a flash emitted like a large spark. Brad's ears rang, and filled with incredible pain and he could no longer hear a single sound emitting from the riot, which was instantaneously stopped as well as all participants in their tracks. Also his face stung from the sparks of the flash. Brad had winced, and flinched as the blast happened. In a split second he had shaken off the burning, and opened his eyes; his ears still ferociously ringing. A guard was now standing in thick riot gear next to Bradley's assailant. He had the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun pointed at the place where the assailant used to have a head. What Brad had thought was burning debris, apparently was partially skull and brain shrapnel catching him across the face. He looked around for anything that made sense, and he noticed once again a beam of light glistened off of a silver cross which hung around the neck of a prison warden looking down from the second floor whose left hand was outstretched with its index finger pointing down; apparently answering prayers. Category: novel text -- posted at: 9:15 PM Comments[0] |
