Death from the Sky
“I guess you don’t have time for skydiving anymore,” Bill said one day when he was having lunch with Joe in the Institute cafeteria. “Do you miss it—and your old buddies?”
“If you mean Mike and Alison, I see them at church regularly,” Joe said. “As to the jumps—yeah, I do miss those a bit. The work we do here is often exciting, but there are long gaps of boredom too. Skydiving has always given me rush. Sometimes when I hear a plane cross the sky the old longing comes back. To give you an example I wrote this poem about two weeks ago.
Joe fished into his back pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and cleared his throat.
“The aircraft calls me as it drones across the sky,
‘Come join me in the fresh, blue air.
Look with me at the green land so many miles below.
See, the fleecy billowing clouds … they beckon us
to join them as they tumble in the wind.
‘Don’t forget your parachute
so you can jump into those clouds,
soar like a bird, twist and turn,
as the buildings below grow quickly larger.
‘All too soon you’ll be back on Earth,
ready to rise again.
I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Wow. Not bad. But tell me, Joe, what about Mike and Alison? Is Alison still on drugs?”
Joe took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.
“I’d like to say, ‘No.’ I can only say ‘I hope so.’ She gave her heart to the Lord a year ago, but she’s struggling. Some days she seems on top of the mountain, but sometimes she comes to church looking around as though she thinks she’s being followed. Last Sunday as I approached the church, she and Mike were going in. A big guy in a brand-new royal blue BMW stopped at the curb, watched them enter and then took off at high speed. Very strange.”
“So what do you think the connection is?”
“Another member of the congregation was standing on the sidewalk staring at this guy. He’s a cop. I asked him why he was staring and he said the guy’s is a well-known pimp and heroin dealer. It makes me worry.”
ÿ ÿ ÿ
At that moment Mike and Alison were having one of their frequent arguments.
“Why can’t you get some decent hours in that factory you work in?” Mike asked. “I don’t like you being out every night.”
I, Essence, was listening to the conversation and knew there was no factory involved in her night work. Alison was off cocaine, but now she was a heroin addict. The only way she could support that habit was to work for the pimp in the BMW. Though she longed for peace in her heart, she kept on looking for that peace in drugs. She only felt calm after an injection. She loves Mike, and she loves Jesus. But old habits drag her down whenever she tries to move forward. Arguing with Mike just makes things worse. She wanted to confess her problem to him but was sure he’d leave her if she did. Then life would be completely hopeless.
“I don’t have any choice!” Alison yelled at Mike. “They give the night shift to whoever they want.”
“Oh, come on, Alison, I know they could give you some daytime hours!” Mike said, trying to keep his voice down but not succeeding.
“Okay, but they don’t. They really don’t! I haven’t been working there that long, and the newbies get the night hours. But it’s unionized, so the pay’s incredibly good for factory work, and we that’s what’s giving us enough income to save for a house of our own. Maybe we can even put a little aside for me to go back to university. Maybe we can even afford the church wedding you always wanted.”
Alison smiled sweetly, and Mike’s heart filled with hope.
“Well, I’ll take your word for it then. Besides, that’s enough for now. I have a new class of jumpers to instruct,” he said, “and I have to get to the parachute school in about 20 minutes.”
Alison looked down at the dining-room table. Phew, dodged another bullet, she thought to herself.
“Goodbye, dear. Sweetest sweetheart. … I’ll be back for supper—early if I can.”
“I’ll be making pad Thai tonight—your favorite. After supper, we can go to bed early—if you know what I mean.”
The twinkle in her eyes made her intentions clear. He grabbed her in his big muscular arms and kissed her ferociously. He wanted everything she had to offer.
ÿ ÿ ÿ
As Mike arrived home at about 5:30, he saw a royal blue BMW pulling away from in front of his house. It sped up the street and disappeared around the first corner.
Where have I seen that car? he asked himself. Curiosity turned to horror as he entered the living room. Alison was there, stretched out on the couch, her left arm extended. A syringe and elastic band had fallen to the floor.
“No. No. No!” Mike screamed.
He ran straight over to the couch and knelt beside her.
“Baby, you all right? She didn’t move.
“What … what’s going on?” Still no response.
“Hey, gotta get you to emerg ….”
Mike fumbled to get his cell phone out of his back pocket. She was barely breathing.
Then she took one shallow breath and stopped.
“Don’t go, baby, don’t go. …” Too late. Mike stopped breathing, too, until the tears came, pouring from his eyes and bathing the face of his beloved. His whole body shook with rage as he slumped to the floor beside her lifeless body.
I, Essence, was with him as I am, continually, with all Christians. Though Mike was oblivious to all this, in the corner of the room, I saw Satan dancing a jig with Zeus.
“One down, one to go,” he said. “We’ll get Mike next.”
“Not really, you filthy slime,” I said. “She gave her heart to God several weeks ago. I was there in her room when, all alone, she confessed her sin. She is forgiven and is now living in Heaven with us.”
“The soul that sinneth, it must die. That’s in the book. Sin must be punished! God said so.” Zeus joined Satan in raucous laughter.
“Yes, you old snake, you know scripture well. Even so, your evil mind prevents you from understanding it,” I screamed at him. “Her sin was punished long ago when Yeshua died on Calvary. She was a physical slave to heroin. The one who created her body knows this. The blood of the Messiah paid the penalty for all the sin of the world, past, present and future—hers and even yours! She accepted that! And you should too.
ÿ ÿ ÿ
About an hour later Mike got up, went into the bedroom, and began searching through Alison’s dresser drawers, something they had each agreed they’d never do. A small black book caught his eye. Thumbing through it, he found a name he recognized—Sam Walters. Between the name and the phone number he read “very rich, BMW.”
Sam Walters … Sam Walters. I know that name. He wants me to take him on a tandem skydive—booked for the week after next.
There were many other names and phone numbers, mostly belonging to men, with comments like: take it slowly, pays well, strip first, shower, has own toys. Mike burst into tears and threw the book across the room.
Without eating, he went out into the street and then as quickly returned. He picked up the phone and dialed the police.
“Hello? Hello? … My wife has been murdered.”
ÿ ÿ ÿ
The funeral was delayed for a week—a week of hell for Mike. Though Joe and all Mike’s other friends tried to console him, no one could get through to his heart. He had no sign of emotion—positive or negative. There seemed to be something on his mind he wouldn’t discuss with anyone.
There was an autopsy, and the police chief called him in for an interview. With a guarantee of confidentiality, Mike him told what he knew—which was not much. He handed over the black book. The official cause of Alison’s death was a lethal dose of heroin. Who gave it to her, no one would say. Mike thought he knew but could prove nothing.
After the funeral, he went to the parachute school to try to get his life back in order. Gerry, his assistant, was there, with a quizzical look on his face.
“Hard, hard time, Mike,” he said with genuine concern in his voice. “But … Mike … you look … is there something you need to get off your chest?”
“I dunno, Gerry. I’ve got to do something but I don’t have the energy. Can’t sleep. Can’t sleep.”
“Hey, why don’t we go out for a beer tonight and we can talk. Would do you good.”
“No thanks.” He picked up the schedule book and studied it quietly.
“Gerry can you look after the new students for me… please? I can’t stand giggling juveniles right now. I’ve got a tandem jump booked on Monday. I’ll take that.”
“Sure, Mike. Anything you say.”
ÿ ÿ ÿ
At 9 a.m. one Monday, Mike walked into the school and started getting ready for the lesson. When Sam Walters arrived 30 minutes later, the equipment was all laid out with an extra-large chute. Sam had given his weight as 225 pounds, a little more than is allowed on tandem jump, but Mike was slim and that made up for the extra weight. Thirty minutes of instruction later they suited up and walked out to the waiting aircraft, a 2001 Cessna.
“Now remember this like your life depends on it,” Mike said. “After we leave the aircraft, I will handle the controls. As we approach the ground, extend your legs in front and get ready to slide forward a little on your bum. If anything goes wrong, don’t panic. I will look after it.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Mike edged Sam toward the door and with their bodies harnessed together, they left, Sam first.
Sam said, “This is fantastic! Oh, no … I feel kind of sick.”
“Hang in there. It’ll pass.”
Looking up, Mike saw the chute was deformed. “We have a malfunction. I’ll fix it,” he said.
With his right hand, he released the main canopy and their downward speed increased. As he reached for the reserve handle, his arm seemed to freeze.
“I can’t do it, my hand won’t move,” he screamed. “We’re going to die!”
“No. No. I’m not ready to die.”
“Did you kill my wife? Did you kill Alison?”
“Alison? You mean … Alison … She was your wife?”
“Heroin. I saw you leave my house that day.”
“Okay, okay … are you going to pull that handle? Okay, I give her one injection. She asked for it.”
“But she died.” Mike screamed.
“Must have given herself another one. I didn’t … no, not a death dose. … But, but … pull that handle, you idiot! Jesus! We’re crashing!”
“After killing her do you expect to live and….”
ÿ ÿ ÿ
Satan was determined to know whether Alison and Mike had really made it into Paradise. Cautiously he approached the Court of Heaven. By crouching down in the form of a dove, he hoped his true identity would not be detected.
“Stop in your tracks, you snake!” Michael flashed a sword across his path.
“I’m a gentle dove just looking for a friend.”
“You have no friends here Lucifer. If you have come to make a report, proceed to the Court Chamber. You can have no contact with humans. They have entered into their rest.”
“Then I shall make a report.” The Deceiver stood fully upright in the garb of a bearded old man wearing a black coat with tails and a top hat.
“I am fully in charge now of most of the people on Earth,” he said. “From my headquarters in the Arab Peninsula, all descendants of Abraham through Ishmael follow my directions whether their religion is Muslim, Christian, Humanist, Atheist or whatever. In fact, religion doesn’t even matter anymore. Even America has turned its back on God. Oil is all that counts.”
“You mean that greasy black stuff that pollutes earth, water and air?”
“I do. Ever since I taught Earthlings it could be a source of energy and light, they’ve been able to run machines that do their work and take them places they want to go no matter whether the sun is shining in the sky or not.”
“And does that make them happy?”
“It should, but it doesn’t. People have to operate these machines. Since the machines run day and night, some work by day and others at night. Groups that used to play together rarely see each other. Parents are separated from children and spouses from each other. The natural order of things is all upset—and that’s just the beginning. People work long hours to become rich so they can have more fun things but because everyone has more money the price of everything goes up. They work longer hours and then have no time for recreation anyway. I love it!”
“Why don’t they stop all this nonsense?”
“Greed—just wanting to have more. And now that greed is making them fight for the oil wells that caused all this distress, nation against nation.”
“Satan, you are steeped in evil,” Michael snapped.
Old Lucifer bowed deeply. “Thank you. I love to be appreciated. The best is yet to come. I inspired some Arabs, displaced from their homeland, with a religious zeal to punish Americans for having troops on Arab soil. They will commandeer large airplanes and drive them into a pair of buildings that represent America’s quest for financial domination of the world. These buildings will come crashing downward, totally humiliating the world’s most powerful nation. Only a few clever observers will recognize it as a masterpiece of scientific planning.”
“We know all this even though it has not yet happened,” Michael replied. “To devout Muslims these buildings represent everything they despise: the acquisition of wealth by those they call infidels at the expense of the less fortunate. In response, the President of the United States will declare war on Iraq and Afghanistan. Tell us something we don’t know.”
“That is a very tall order,” Satan said, “because it’s all described in the book you call ‘Revelation.’ Four horsemen spoken of therein will be under my control. I shall send them out to punish followers of Yeshua. I’ll bet you didn’t know this supposedly tall tale the apostle John dreamed up is about something I would do.
2570 words
Excerpted from an E book soon to be published “The Comet Approaches.” This is part of a trilogy to be simultaneously published. The preceding books are The Dawn of Time and Struggling Through a Wormhole.
