The Sealing

by Patrick Higgins

  Then verse three, “‘Messiah was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.’”

  Then, without missing a beat, the other Witness quoted verse four, “‘Surely Messiah has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.’”

  All eyes once again volleyed back to the other Witness when he quoted verse five, “‘But Yeshua was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.’”

  Then the other quoted verse six, “‘All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Messiah the iniquity of us all.’”

  Back and forth they went preaching this forbidden text, without ever breaking eye contact with their protesters. “‘Yeshua was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.’”

  Then the other quoted verse eight, “‘By oppression and judgment Yeshua was taken away; and as for his generation, who considered that he was cut off out of the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people?’”

  Then verse nine, “‘And they made Messiah’s grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth.’”

  Followed by verse ten, “‘Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush Yeshua; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt, he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the Lord shall prosper in his hand.’”

  Then verse eleven, “‘Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.’”

  Then verse twelve, “‘Therefore I will divide him a portion with the many, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong, because Messiah poured out his soul to death and was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and makes intercession for the transgressors.’”

  Knowing to Whom the two men were referring—Yeshua HaMaschiach—one rabbi shouted, “Stop this blasphemy!”

  Many tore at their robes. The expressions on their faces might have others think their ears were gushing blood. “How dare you judge us?!”

  One Witness quoted John 5:45, “Do not think we will accuse you before the Father. As Messiah Himself said, your accuser is Moses, on whom your hopes are set. If you believed Moses, you would believe us, for he wrote about Messiah, of Whom we speak. But since you do not believe what Moses wrote, how are you going to believe what we say?”

  Then the other quoted Matthew 23:37: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.”

  “Stop using Scripture against us!” replied a defiant rabbi.

  But the 144,000 blocked out all them out and kept their focus on God’s Two Witnesses. The more they listened, the more they learned, and drew closer to their Maker.

  Mindful of who they were, Salvador Romanero never spoke about the Two Witnesses publicly. It was as if they didn’t exist.

  Another thing the Man of Peace hadn’t done since putting pen to paper with Israel, was update anyone on the great progress being made on the rebuilding of the Third Temple.

  Whereas the last Temple took nearly 50 years to construct, after just a few months, the foundation for the new Temple was halfway finished.

  Next month, they would start building walls. With an abundance of workers at their disposal, and virtually no Muslim interference, they hoped to have it finished in less than a year. The goal was to dedicate the Temple to Yahweh by next Passover.

  Yahweh willing…

  Until that time came, Jewish practices were once again being recognized and performed, according to their laws and customs, from the temporary tent temple—similar to the Tabernacle of Moses—they constructed after the peace treaty was signed with Romanero.

  Yet, despite all that, little media coverage was given to it. Aside from Messianic Jews and born-again Christians, no one else cared.

  What made Romanero’s silence on the matter so strange was that he was the one who cleared the path to building the Temple in the first place, when he declared the Muslims sites that were destroyed would never be rebuilt. He hadn’t uttered a word about it to anyone since...

  It’s like it didn’t matter…

  16

  DICK MULROONEY HAD PLENTY of mental and vengeful motivation to track down Brian in the state of Pennsylvania, so he could levy a strong dose of familial justice to his delusional son.

  Not only had Brian brainwashed his own mother with his dangerous brand of mumbo-jumbo religious nonsense, which ultimately led to her leaving him, his vile actions led to the suicides of his own sister and former girlfriend. This meant there would be no grandchild to raise in the Catholic church—as Dick vividly saw in his dream.

  It was easy to understand why he was severely depressed and at his wit’s end. These were unforgiveable acts.

  With both females in the family gone—both at Brian’s hands—Dick was desperate to have a mano y mano meeting with the son he now wished he never had. If Brian was standing before him now, he would strangle him; but only because Dick didn’t own a gun.

  If he did, the way he felt now, he believed he really would shoot his son dead like he’d threatened to on the video!

  Then again, even two months later, Dick couldn’t muster the physical strength to get up off the couch, let alone drive to the Keystone State searching for his son and his extremely confused wife. Nor did he have the energy to put a viable plan in motion, let alone execute it. Thoughts of his late daughter rendered him prostrate.

  Besides, Pennsylvania was a huge state. With no clues at his disposal, where would he possibly begin? He could easily crisscross the state many times, for months, years even, without finding them.

  The thought alone zapped what little energy Dick still had left in his over fatigued body, bringing him back to how he felt when first responders came to collect his daughter’s lifeless body from the bloody bathtub the day after Universal Children’s Day.

  With so many fires burning all throughout Manhattan, knowing Chelsea was already deceased, they didn’t arrive on the scene until the following day. Upon viewing her suicide video, authorities had no further questions for the grieving father.

  At least I had electricity back then, Dick thought to himself.

  Much like then, he lay silent on the couch with a throw pillow covering his face. When the coroner left with Chelsea’s remains late that night, Dick prayed that the kerosene-fueled flames burning in his city would ultimately reach his house.

  Had that happened, he wouldn’t have tried escaping or calling 911 for help. Instead, he would have let it burn to the ground with him still in it. What was there to escape to? More pain and misery? More agony? How could life get any worse?

  Death had to be infinitely better than this hellish existence!

  Part of him envied Chelsea for having the strength to do what he’d contemplated many times since Sarah left him. At least in death he would be reunited with his daughter and would finally be at peace for a change.

  That is, after he spent a few years in purgatory for his recent bad behavior. Or so he thought...

  As it was, the only two things keeping Dick alive was his all-consuming hatred for his son, and the slim chance of rescuing Sarah from Brian’s evil clutches. If only he could do that, perhaps their marriage would still have a lingering chance.

  Other than that, he was devoid of all emotion. He just wanted to be left alone to drown in his misery. He didn’t need anyone�
�s help for that.

  Dick prayed that God would give him the strength to overcome the constant state of inertia in which he was trapped, so he could carry out this one last mission: revenge on Brian for destroying what he thought was the perfect Catholic family.

  But for that to happen, he first had to find him…

  The phone rang. Without even looking at the phone screen, Dick knew it was either Renate McCallister’s sister, Megan, or Jacquelyn’s parents, George and Eleanor Legler.

  Once again, he let it go to voicemail.

  Prior to Chelsea’s suicide, the many lengthy chats Dick had with his new friends had comforted him greatly. Even if they were mostly centered on revenge for Brian’s evil actions, they helped bolster his spirit, giving him strength to face another day.

  But even they couldn’t snap him out of it. His voice mail box was full of messages from them. They were increasingly worried and begged him to return their calls. But he never did. Even Craig Rubin had left a few voice and text messages, to no avail. After hearing about his untimely death, Dick regretted not answering his calls.

  But after two months of constant tragedy and despair, there wasn’t a single call, voice or text message from Sarah, not even to make sure he was okay after watching Chelsea’s suicide video.

  After nearly 36 years of marriage, it hurt. Bad.

  With Sarah gone, the living room had become Dick’s new bedroom. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed he shared with his wife for so many years. Nor could he use the upstairs bathroom where Chelsea breathed her last breath, let alone step foot in her bedroom.

  In short: there was no good reason to venture upstairs again. And since the letter Sarah wrote was still on the kitchen table, it was difficult even going there.

  Dick couldn’t help but wonder in the darkness if Brian and Sarah were wavering in their faith like he was. A big part of him hoped they were. How could they not, by being part of a false religion, especially among so much tragedy and despair?

  He could only wonder...

  All he knew for now was that the attack on America occurred after Sarah had left him, not beforehand. Surely it was God’s judgment on Brian for separating what God had joined together when Dick and Sarah exchanged wedding vows. Pain stabbed at his heart knowing their 36th anniversary was next week.

  Dick buried his face in a pillow again. The pain he felt from mourning his daughter’s death and from missing his wife so much was so unbearable at times, he thought his heart might explode in his chest.

  Not counting the church, Sarah was the one constant in his life, the one “sure thing”. Now she was gone. Dick took a few deep breaths to try stabilizing his breathing. He seriously doubted Sarah was being unfaithful to him, at least in a physical sense. But he felt completely betrayed by his wife in all other ways, especially spiritually.

  That’s where the anger came from…

  Dick looked up at the ceiling and shouted at God, “How could you let this happen to me? I’m a loyal Catholic! Before Chelsea’s suicide, I never missed going to Mass or confession! I always pray the rosary and say my ‘Hail Marys’ and ‘Our Fathers’! And for what? The loss of my family? Unending pain and suffering? How fair is that?”

  Dick squeezed the pillow covering his face as tightly as he could, so he wouldn’t hear himself weeping again.

  It didn’t work.

  He was totally clueless about his late daughter’s eternal whereabouts or that Chelsea was pleading with God this very instant, in hell—not man-invented purgatory—for her earthly father to repent of his sins and trust in Christ for his salvation before his time on earth came to an end.

  Otherwise, he would one day join her there in that same dreadful eternal dwelling place. Chelsea was eternally mindful that all it would take was for her biological father to spend one millisecond where she was to know he didn’t want to be sent there.

  But in order to avoid going to hell, he had to repent and trust in Jesus, not the Catholic Church, before his earthly life came to an end...

  SARAH MULROONEY LAY IN bed with an IV in her left arm. Even if she wanted to help the others, she couldn’t. She was medically bedridden. Thankfully, she was expected to make a complete recovery.

  At least physically. But her mind tortured her mercilessly.

  Without even watching the two videos Dick had sent her, she blamed herself for Chelsea’s suicide. She felt certain Dick blamed her too.

  Alone in the darkness, Sarah powered up her cell phone for the first time in weeks. She was surprised the battery hadn’t been drained.

  Up until now, she refused to watch her daughter’s suicide video. Seeing Renate kill herself was more than enough! It was time….

  The only sound to be heard in her bedroom came from the space heater on the table beside her bed. Sarah was grateful for the generator power. Otherwise, she might freeze to death in the house.

  Sarah closed her eyes and listened to her daughter’s final words. She couldn’t bear to watch.

  When Chelsea said, “Yes, I’m mad at you for leaving Dad and for abandoning me. I can’t understand for the life in me why you did it. I thought I’d never see the day when my own parents would separate,” Sarah fell to pieces. Her body constricted; she felt paralyzed.

  When her daughter went on, “After thirty-five years of marriage, you leave Dad a goodbye letter? Seriously? Do you realize how devastated he is? He’s been in a fog ever since you left. He looks like a zombie!”

  Sarah covered her ears with her hands and started hyperventilating. “How could I abandon my daughter at the absolute worst time in her life? Father, I beg You, please take me out of this world!”

  Sarah literally cried herself to sleep…

  17

  ONE MONTH LATER – LATE OCTOBER

  IT TOOK TWO MONTHS to complete, but with all hands-on deck, save for Sarah Mulrooney, ETSM safe house number one was as finished as finished could be.

  With the rest of the large equipment shipped on 18-wheeler flatbed trucks to the next safe house location, somewhere in Western Pennsylvania—along with many construction workers—their focus shifted from “construction” to “maintenance and survival” mode. Residents were given daily and weekly maintenance chores to carryout.

  The new 12-foot high wall was completed. The blink motion detectors—to include heat and motion sensors so wind blowing through trees wouldn’t automatically set them off—were mounted to the wall in 50-foot intervals. Security cameras were scattered about the property. Some were mounted to the wall; others were perched high up on trees.

  The 263 cottages were retrofitted to house as many exiled Christians as the space would allow. Cots took up practically every inch inside.

  Military-style bunkers, each capable of sleeping 200 people per shift, were constructed where the seven burned cottages once stood.

  Once operational, everyone assigned there would have their own bed sheets, pillows and pillowcases, which would be stripped from beds after each sleep cycle and washed every two weeks with the rest of their personal laundry. But for now, with power still out, and the residency reduced by half, only twenty-five cottages were being lived in.

  Now that the church pavilion had solid soundproof walls, it was renamed the Safe House Number One Church Sanctuary.

  All aboveground structures were equipped with industrial-strength air and water filtration units and were hermetically sealed with copper-fitting and with additional thick inner walls, to hopefully prevent the enemy from honing-in on them with high-tech surveillance devices.

  With the hospital moved underground, the daycare center was changed into an exercise room. Walls were torn down and the large room was filled with gym equipment. An equal amount of multi station workout machines, treadmills, elliptical bikes, free weights, were brought to the main exercise room located on the second floor of the second hole.

  Washers and dryers were taken from cottages to fill every available space of what used to be the general store, where many of t
he pregnant women were assigned to laundry duty.

  Canopies covered most walkways so ETSM members could walk or jog and get fresh air. The canopies wouldn’t prevent the enemy from knowing humans were there—that would be impossible—but the hope was that they would keep drones from spying on them, using facial recognition technology to possibly identify them.

  Before signing off on the project, the structural engineer on record, who’d since followed the large equipment to the next location, warned that even with additives poured into the cement to make it dry faster, the foundations of the three subterranean locations still hadn’t dried in some places—especially on the top floors.

  With time being of the extreme essence, slip forms were raised up and vertical beams were set in place too prematurely in some places, and cement was poured for the next floor.

  “Though all three holes passed the bare-minimum compression tests,” the structural engineer had cautioned, “if the soil ever shifts near or below the underground holes, the structures could collapse under their own weight. Even without land shifts or earthquakes, by not allowing the cement to properly settle, all three will surely collapse in ten years.”

  Realizing how moot his point was—everyone knew it would be destroyed much sooner than that—he let it go at that.

  Everything stored in basements all this time, was moved underground to the bottom floor of the second 50-foot hole, to include medical supplies, medicines, backup generators, and Level A hazmat suits.

  Large steel safes and industrial size walk-in refrigerators were also brought underground to store cash, weapons, various medicines and thousands of pints of blood.

  If anyone needed a measuring stick to show how different life had become post Rapture, the $1M stored in one of the smaller safes wasn’t guarded as tirelessly as the blood and various medicines in the other safes. In short, the cash wasn’t the most important asset needing protection. Not by a longshot. Chances were good they wouldn’t spend it all anyway.