The second coming, p.18
The Second Coming, page 18
Instead of answering, the kid pulls something from his coat and extends his closed hand to Shawn. Shawn stares at it, wondering what to do next.
Should I shake it? he wonders. Is this a new way kids have come up with nowadays to shake hands? Wow! I must be getting really old not to know that!
Shawn stretches his hand forward to shake the kid’s hand, but the kid opens his fingers, and Shawn sees that he’s holding something. It takes several seconds to recognize the two small, sealed packets of crack cocaine. When Shawn doesn’t respond for quite some time, the kid finally asks, sounding annoyed, “You buying or what?”
Coming back to his senses, Shawn frowns at the boy, who blinks his large blue eyes and repeats his question. Shawn hurries back to his car without a word, extremely glum.
Meanwhile, the two boys shake their heads in disappointment and run back to the playground, where they resume making the snowman with the other kids.
•••
Night has fallen, and Shawn has been driving slowly all day because he can’t let go of his horror at such innocent-looking kids selling drugs. Do they really have to do this in order to survive? Children these days have witnessed and experienced horrific events. They have to grow up quickly to survive. While the concept isn’t new for Shawn, this is the first time he has encountered something like that in person, and it throws him into anguish.
Survival is challenging for kids and adults alike. The recent increase in natural disasters have left the people with no recourse; governments can’t keep up with the aftermath: there’s no rebuilding, no FEMA, no grants or community clean-up. Severe tornadoes in the middle of winter have toppled homes, trees, and power lines in many areas. Yet everything looks the same as it did in the days immediately after. It can’t really be said that people have grown accustomed to their surroundings being like this, but they have found ways to adapt and cope.
Realizing that he should focus on what he can do to help instead of what he can’t fix, Shawn speeds up and eventually reaches an apartment complex. There he stops, parks his car, gets out, and enters one of the buildings.
He walks along a hallway, studying apartment numbers and glancing back at his notepad. Finally, he stops at a door and rings the doorbell. A young boy opens the door. This boy also has blond hair, but unlike the previous Samuel, this one has a soft, sweet smile.
“Yes, may I help you, sir?” the boy politely asks.
Shawn nods and asks, “Samuel Turner?”
The boy shakes his head yes. Shawn sighs with relief and reaches out excitedly to shake hands with the boy. However, the boy only accepts reluctantly, looking a little alarmed.
“I’m glad to have finally found you,” Shawn starts, smiling and pulling a pen from his jacket. “You have no idea—”
He pauses mid-sentence as another boy who looks exactly the same as the first boy appears behind the first one. Samuel Turner has an identical twin brother. Quickly muttering several apologies, Shawn backs away from the door and rushes out of the apartment building. The two boys watch him go, wearing identical expressions of confusion.
•••
Meanwhile, the Samuel Turner he’s looking for sways side to side with the rest of the congregation, singing together in harmony as the rhythm section and rest of the musicians join in, enjoying Christina’s upbeat song.
Everyone makes sounds of praise and claps along with the music. Christina strides back and forth with even more confidence. A woman in the front row “feels the holy ghost” and drops to her knees, crying.
She’s not the only one. The people of the Book Club resume their seats one by one, many—including Samuel—with wet faces and joyous hearts.
CHAPTER 11
National Child Molester
Earlier that same day, about an hour after Shawn leaves the snowy Midwestern suburb, a black Chevy Suburban pulls up to the same snow-covered house Shawn approached earlier. Two men dressed entirely in black get out, adjusting their dark shades. The kids outside stop playing and curiously watch these ominous-looking men; something about them makes the kids uncomfortable. The men approach the house and knock. At first, no one answers. The men exchange a glance, and one knocks more insistently. The same woman answers with the same annoyed expression—this time without her rollers.
Her expression changes as she studies the men and asks, a little in awe, “Who are you guys, the men in black? What can I do for you?”
One man pulls out a photo and holds it up for the woman to see clearly. He asks, “Have you seen this man? We’re federal agents conducting an investigation.”
The photo is of Shawn. The woman squints at it and, drawing back in surprise, shakes her head and says, “Yeah, he was here, asking if I was Samuel Turner’s mom. I have one child, and her name is Samantha Turner, but some of her friends still call her Sam, which I hate! So I slammed the door in his face. She’s been at home sick for a few days, and I thought maybe he was a truancy officer checking to see why she wasn’t attending classes. Needless to say, he had the wrong Sam, so he just took off, and I haven’t seen him since. Why do you ask? Is he a criminal? What’s he wanted for?”
The men show no expression as one answers in a flat voice, “We have reason to believe he’s molested several children in the area, and we’re trying to put a stop to his activities.”
The woman’s eyes widen, several thoughts now running through her head. She finally says, her mouth dropping, “I knew it! I knew there was something different about him! The way he was just standing there awkwardly at the door, and then he was staring at my child. I can’t believe he came to my door!”
The men listen impassively, and one gives her a business card.
“You will let us know if you see him?”
“Oh, yes, for sure!” the woman exclaims, nodding eagerly. “I always cooperate with you people.”
The two men start to walk away when one returns unexpectedly and gives the woman the photo of Shawn.
“His name is Shawn Abernathy.” His voice now sounds entirely different; it’s no longer flat. Instead, it’s soft and beseeching. “Ma’am, would you be so kind as to take this photograph and notify your local newspaper and social media outlet of him being in the area? You know, with all the craziness that goes on in the world today, we’ve just become so busy lately, and it’s tough for us to contact the press. It would really help us and your neighborhood.”
The woman takes the photo and nods.
“Of course.”
When the men finally leave, the woman closes the door behind them. Just as she’s about to head for the kitchen, she turns back to the door and locks it securely. A light shudder passes through her. It’s clear that she regrets being so gullible as to let this man into her house.
•••
A couple of days later, outside a house in Woodland Hills, California, Sylvia Abernathy steps out the front door of their temporary lodgings to retrieve the Los Angeles Bulletin and pauses to look at the sky. It’s a clear blue, with no clouds at all. The sky’s unusual emptiness makes Sylvia uneasy. She looks toward the gigantic tree outside their house, on which a family of hummingbirds made their nest some time ago. Their chatting and chirping often entertains the neighborhood residents and passersby, but today, they’re silent in their nest.
Wow! Sylvia thinks, looking at them closely in surprise. They must sense that something’s going on—or about to happen.
Shaking her head in bewilderment, she finally bends down to pick up the paper and sees Shawn’s photo on the front page. For a moment, she gazes at the photo longingly. It has been quite some time since she last saw him, and even longer since she saw him smile as he’s smiling in the picture. Shawn has had a near constant look of worry and stress on his face for several years now.
The photo is an old one, back from when Shawn was still a handsome young man who walked around with no care in the world. It shows him standing under a large palm tree, his face beaming with joy. Sylvia remembers the day as if it were yesterday. She had anxiously told him she was pregnant, expecting that Shawn would break up with her immediately. However, Shawn was overjoyed. He picked up Sylvia in his arms and gently swung her around and around with complete contentment. It was then that they started taking photos of each other, and it was Shawn’s idea to take one underneath this exquisite palm tree, which he said was symbolic of the start of a new life.
A bird’s sharp screech brings Sylvia back to the present, and she spots a crow flying overhead. She remembers the newspaper in her hand.
Shawn’s picture is in the lower right corner with a headline that reads: National Child Molester Headed South.
Sylvia stares at it for several seconds, utterly shocked. She starts shaking uncontrollably, not even feeling the tears that stream down her cheeks as she cries out hysterically, “No! No! No! I can’t believe they printed this trash! How can they? Oh, Shawn! You don’t deserve this treatment!”
She runs back into the house, sobbing.
•••
Night falls in Michigan City, Indiana. A man paces back and forth outside another rural motel where Shawn is staying, peering around furtively. Finally, after making sure that he hasn’t been followed and it’s safe to venture further, he marches toward Shawn’s room and knocks softly on the door.
Shawn is lying back on the bed in his room with his jacket still on. His hands are behind his head, and his eyes are open wide, looking blankly up at the ceiling. He’s been in this same position for over an hour now, preoccupied with worry.
His reverie is interrupted by the knock. Startled, Shawn darts to his feet and blinks nervously at the door. When the knocking grows more insistent, Shawn’s face turns pink, and he anxiously stalks to and fro. The knocking persists, growing louder and more urgent with each second. Finally, Shawn marches to the door, sticks his hand in his jacket pocket, finger pointed as if he has a gun, and yanks the door open.
Outside, an older man is standing with a newspaper in his hand. The man looks worn out, as if he has been traveling for a long time to get there. The man is Phillip Engelman, and he immediately asks in a hushed tone, “Shawn Abernathy?”
Shawn doesn’t answer but takes a moment to size up the older man. Something about his appearance convinces Shawn that he doesn’t need to be afraid. Phillip holds up the article in the paper for him to see. Shawn sighs, take a deep breath, and then says, sounding upset, “I’m no child molester! I’m innocent! Are you here to arrest me?”
The wrinkles on Phillip’s face spread into a gentle smile at this, and he says, “No, of course not, Shawn. I’m Phillip Engelman, and Samuel Turner’s my grandson. The kid you’re looking for?” He pauses, looking inquisitively at Shawn.
Immediately Shawn thinks, How does this man know who I’m looking for?
Phillip notices Shawn’s hand. “Shawn, you can take your hand out of your pocket. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“What are you here for?” Shawn asks, peering into his eyes.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Phillip says, smiling again. “If I’m not here to hurt you, then that means I’m here to help you. Wouldn’t I have hurt you by now if that was what I intended?”
This makes sense to Shawn, and he finally removes his empty hand from his pocket. “How did you find me?”
Phillip instinctively glances around once again to make sure no one is lurking nearby. “Clarence Monet. He’s the only one who knows where you are. He said you’re his future investment and that you’re a God-fearing man who needs help. There’s not a whole lot of us around these days—”
“Oh!” exclaims Shawn bitterly, cutting him off. “You mean there are more of us?”
“Of course,” answers Phillip, laughing. “You didn’t think you were the only one? And aren’t you a member of the Book Club?”
“Yes, but no, no,” Shawn mutters quickly, turning red from embarrassment. “That isn’t what I mean. I only meant—”
“I know what you mean and that you’re being a bit facetious,” Phillip says, his expression growing serious. “We know you’ve been fighting this battle alone for a long time now, Shawn. I can understand your frustrations. Yes, we are growing each day, and don’t look so surprised. We know about you because we have to look out for each other; there are already so few of us left after the Rapture.” He pauses, looking forlorn.
But then, shaking his head, he continues, “Clarence Monet also wanted to express his deepest sorrow for the child molestation article. He asked me to tell you that he believes in you and, more importantly, that you aren’t to trust Melody’s friend Mercedes at all. But there’s good news for you. The enemy is off your trail for now because they believe you’re headed south.”
“Mercedes?” Shawn says, confused. “Well, thank Clarence from me for his concern and well wishes, but I know Melody wouldn’t befriend someone that’s trying to betray me. She might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she is loyal. I can say that about her.”
Phillip shrugs and says, “Well, then maybe she’s being used by Mercedes and she doesn’t even know it. I do know that Clarence, in most cases, knows what he’s talking about, so you may want to reconsider his advice.”
As Shawn nods, Phillip reaches into his pants pocket and hands Shawn a small piece of paper. He continues, “I have to leave now, but this is where you can find Samuel. Memorize this address, then flush the note down the toilet. You’ve been looking for the last name Turner. But my son-in-law insisted on him taking his mother’s maiden name, Engelman, when he was born. He felt really bad about my daughter’s death and didn’t want anything to do with the boy. Everyone still calls him the Turner boy, but his legal name is Engelman. You can come by the house tomorrow.”
Extending his hand, he says, “I gotta get going.” Shawn shakes his hand. “Good luck, Shawn.”
Before Shawn can say anything else, Phillip hurries back to his car and speeds off. Shawn watches him go, holding the note tightly in his hand. He reads the address and walks back inside, where he goes to the bathroom, flushes, and watches the note swirl down the toilet bowl.
•••
It’s the end of a bright new day in Elkhart, Indiana. Shawn’s car slowly moves up an old, snow-covered dirt road, approaching the Turners’ trailer home. He is dressed up. Even his usually disheveled hair is combed, not a strand out of place. He’s a little nervous about the meeting about to take place.
As he parks, gets out, and peruses his surroundings, a shudder passes through his body, and not because he’s cold. He is overcome with déjà vu, as if he has seen all of this before. Pulling his jacket tightly around him, he mutters to himself, “It’s just as I imagined. Secluded, quiet, and simple.”
Shawn walks up to the trailer door, about to knock when the door whips opens, and there stands Samuel, glaring at him.
The past several months have changed Samuel quite a bit. Even though he’s still a kid, he looks older and more mature now. Indeed, after his nightmare encounter with the Antichrist, he developed a more serious outlook on life, and this loss of innocence is visible on his face, as well as in his tone. Without any kind of introduction or even a welcoming handshake, he says directly, “Come on in. My grandpa says you’ve been looking for me.”
Surprised by the boy’s seriousness, Shawn shakes his head and says, “Yes. Yes, I have been.” He adds, “Thank you” as Samuel moves to one side so he can pass through.
They sit at the kitchen table, watching each other in silence. Finally, Shawn leans forward and says, “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I had a visit from a holy spirit of God telling me to find you, to complete a project I’m working on.”
Samuel studies him incredulously. Shawn leans back, hoping to put Samuel at ease.
“You see, I’m writing a story revealing the truth about the New World Order, and, well, the strange thing is, all of a sudden, my mind goes completely blank. I have no idea how the story should go from where I left off, and I’m not sure why.” Then, swaying forward, Shawn adds with a note of desperation in his voice, “I think I’ve got writer’s block, and I need an ending! You’ve got to help me! I have to finish! I miss my wife and little girl! My life is totally shot!”
Samuel is thoroughly taken aback. This guy looks half mad! he thinks while Shawn thinks, The kid must think I’m mad. I’ve got to calm down.
Taking a deep breath, Shawn once again eases back in his chair as Samuel answers, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how I can help. I have no idea where my life is headed. I mean, do you know where your life is headed, how you’re going to end up, where you’re going to be? Could you answer these questions if I were to ask you the same thing?”
What Samuel is saying would make perfect sense for anyone but Shawn, who drops his gaze sadly and says, “I actually do know my final destiny. I have dreams about it every night.”
Samuel stares at Shawn and runs his fingers through his hair. He can feel and sense that what Shawn is saying is true, and there’s something incomparable about the man sitting in front of him. He gets an idea.
“I’ve got it, Shawn! You have to write about the journey you’ve taken, from beginning to end. I’m sure what you’re writing is very important. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have traveled all this way just to see me. So you should base it on the life of someone everyone can respect. You know what I mean?”
Samuel scoots his chair closer to Shawn and continues with a grave expression, “Shawn, most everyone already knows the truth about the New World Order, but they refuse to accept it. Just like they know of God but deny fully believing in Him, along with his love and power, for whatever reason. Your story should go way beyond just telling the truth about the New World Order. I’d be interested in hearing about the full journey myself, including the truth you want the public to be aware of. You know what? I actually believe it is the holy spirit that makes your mind go blank because you may be going down the wrong path.”
