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Revelations
The day was unassuming, just like any other, or so I thought. There was nothing in the sky that would have
alerted me to caution. It was beautiful, the sky a deep shade of blue, absent of the wispy clouds that like to hold on and
keep from floating off into space. If I were naive, I would have thought I was in heaven. It was just one of those days.
I picked up the phone on the second ring, as was my custom. It was awfully early to have a call, but I still
didn't care. The voice on the other end was barely audible, it was as though he were trying to speak to me through the wall
of my bedroom. I strained to listen, but still couldn't make out any words. I thought it must be a wrong number, or something
of that sort, so I motioned to hang the phone up. As it left my ear, and began its descent to the receiver I heard a cry
come from deep within it. I put it back to my ear quickly, in order to hear the source of this sudden outburst.
"Why were you going to hang up the phone?" the voice asked me. It was a deep voice, slightly raspy,
the type you would expect to find in a suspense movie, torturing a victim and the police at the same time.
"You didn't say anything," I retorted.
"Well, I'm going to be saying a lot from now on. You'd better pay attention."
"What is this, one of those radio shows where they prank call a house for a cheap laugh?"
"You have a lot to learn. I am no comedian. And this isn't a prank call. It's your salvation."
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"It's simple. I'm offering you salvation. I know a lot about you. I know things about you that even
you don't know. Don't mess with me, or I'll make your life hell on earth."
"Bull shit." Who did this guy think he was talking to me like this? My salvation? Hardly. I
had a picture of him in my mind, sitting before a computer in the dark basement, copies of every conspiracy theory known to
man scattered on the tubular desk and the concrete floor. He was nothing, and he knew I was aware of it. "You're bluffing.
You're full of it."
"Am I? That's funny. If I were full of it, how would I know you have a cancerous tumor lodged between
your lungs?"
I think my heart may have stopped for a moment, as I was caught with shock for the first time in ages. I
asked myself, "how did he know?" I only found out myself the day before, and I had been sure not to talk to anyone
about it, as I hate their sympathy. I had to find out more.
"How did you know that?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly, as if talking to God himself.
"I told you. I know everything about you. Which means you're going to listen to me from now on, right?"
"Sure," I said hesitantly. "What do you want?"
"Finally. I've been waiting for you to ask that. I was getting tired of dilly-dallying around. So
let's get down to business, shall we?"
"Okay."
"Good. Now here's the deal: you do what I say, and I'll make sure no one ever finds out about anything.
If you decide not to, I'll make your life miserable. Got it?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now I know you've heard about the summit at the Church today."
"Yeah. Bishops from all over are coming into town for a scholarly discussion, or something like that."
"You're going to attend." He was more forceful now, his voice growing bigger, and more brash by
the second.
"Why would I attend it? I haven't been to Church in ten years."
"That doesn't matter. The point is that you have business there."
"I do?"
"Yes. You are going to attend that discussion. And when you're there you're going to use the gun that's
under your pillow to make my point for me."
"There's not a gun under my pillow. I don't own a gun."
"If you don't believe me, check."
I did. Sure enough, under my satin pillowcase was a 9mm glaring in the morning sun. It didn't look ominous,
it didn't look like it could kill. It was actually calming. It was like a pacifier for the soul. It was the security blanket
for those who are self conscious. I took it in my hand, feeling the cold steel make the muscles in my hand twitch. I had
been drunk the night before, but there was no way anyone could have snuck into the house to plant the gun. I admired it for
a second when the voice spoke up again.
"I see you like it. I know you'll be a crack shot. I have a good feeling about you."
"At least somebody does. So what's this plan I'm supposed to carry out? I think I should at least know
what I'm supposed to do."
"It's really quite simple. You're going to take the gun, and in the middle of the proceedings you will
open fire on the visiting Bishops."
"Why?"
"Don't you dare question me." He was mad, his voice grew sharp, sharp enough to sever the cord
connecting us if he chose. "Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now just do as you're told, and nothing bad will happen to you."
"Okay."
"Make sure to take your cell phone with you, as I might want to talk to you to see how you're progressing."
"All right. I will."
"You're catching on. Now get to it. It's almost time."
I looked at the clock, the ancient clock that sat on my mantel. The numerals on the dial looked like hieroglyphics
to my unadjusted eyes. As they began to focus on the decaying paper, the hands became clear. It was only half an hour until
they would all be filing into the great cathedral. I had to hurry to make sure I would get a front row seat. I had to be
near the action.
"If you don't hear from me again, that means all is well. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
With that, I heard a click on the other end of the line. I was free from the control of that soothing, demonic
voice. Were his threats real? With what he had proven to me, I had to take his word for everything. I slowly pulled myself
to my feet, and began to dress. For effect, I chose black. A black shirt, black pants, black boots. I was the cattle rustler
from the old westerns I used to watch as a kid. I always thought they were better characters, they were unpredictable. There
was an allure to that. I was always the villain when we would play as kids. It just seemed natural.
The gun was lodged in my belt, my shirt being large enough to cover it without any trace of its existence.
It was unusually warm for this time of year, and I couldn't wear a coat for further stealth as it would put me out of place.
I'm sure everyone I passed as I walked down the busy main street was able to read my mind through my eyes. Even though I
couldn't see them, I knew my eyes. They were darting from side to side, never up, sometimes down, sharply focused and able
to burn like a magnifying glass in the summer sun. The sidewalk crumbled beneath my feet as I walked, constructed as cheaply
as possible just a year earlier. I almost broke my ankle several times in the matter of three blocks I had to walk. If I
wasn't going to go through with this before, I sure as hell was now.
The cathedral stood before me, its spire reaching up, acting like heaven's hearing aid. As though heaven
would want to hear what went on inside those doors.
I walked up the marble stairs one by one, taking my time to savor their memory. Countless people have walked
these steps for years in search of salvation, and here I can do it in one day. I chuckled to myself as I thought about this.
I wondered how I could possibly get myself into situations like this.
The great oak doors were open, and the hall lay before me. The pews sat lined up for a slaughter, half filled
by the lost. There were a few spots in the first row, and I meandered my way forward to get one. It was an odd feeling,
sitting in a pew in a Church such as this, and having a gun so close to me. It was empowering. It must be a similar feeling
to what the preacher has when he is giving his sermon, being in control of the lives of everyone, if only for an hour.
The Bishops filed in and sat at the ovular table that had been set up for them. They sat, some slouching,
some rigid, only partially aware that there was an audience. When our own local minister, Father Young took his seat at the
table they began. I didn't pay much attention to their discussion, I was busy planning exactly what action I would take.
Who would get it first? Would I jump the railing? Would I take a hostage? I didn't have implicit instructions about it,
so I had free will to do as I pleased. A wry smile crossed my lips, and my eyes narrowed.
I heard the word, "retribution" come from the mouth of one of the faceless Bishops and I sprang
to my feet. I cleared the railing in one graceful motion, I could have been a show horse, jumping fences with a pretty
girl on my back. Before anyone could raise a voice of dissent, the gun was out of its makeshift holster and baring down on
the clergy. I didn't say a word, I just pointed and fired. Again and again. I reloaded the clip when it fell to the ground,
spent like a newlywed lover.
They were all on the ground by this point, painted in the paint of their own sins. I heard a siren in the
distance, moving closer with every sharp, short breath I took. I was frozen, but not with panic. I was frozen, because I
was in heaven. I didn't want to leave. Footsteps approached, and I could hear the cop's cheap patent leather shoes smacking
of the marble floors. I looked up to see an ocean of midnight. They had their guns drawn, all pointed at me, making me the
most important figure in the world. Could I really be a messiah to deserve so many?
The handcuffs dug into my skin as I twisted my wrists, not in effort to free them from this noose, but to
cut them and make them swell, to make the noose tighter, to be held closer by something. I stepped over the bodies, their
red sea parting, making me Moses. My eyes never wandered as I stared and walked into the light for possible the last time.
In my cell, I was given the opportunity to make my one phone call. I didn't have anyone that I wanted to
talk to, so I decided to check my messages instead. I dialed the number on the ancient par phone, my fingers almost too big
to hit the buttons individually. The familiar ring was replaced by a harsh, mechanized voice.
"The number you have dialed is currently not in service," it stated to me, again and again, thinking
I was too dense to accept it the first time.
I wasn't as surprised as I should have been, but then again, I was a newly found man. I was at piece, and
not even a fact like that could ruin my happy mood.
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