The Son of Man

by CW Johnson

  “Hey, where’s the money from the bank?” Barney bawled, suddenly remembering.

  “B-Brother Michael has it.”

  “How much we get?”

  “D-don’t know, Brother M-Michael never s-said.”

  “Never said?” Barney yelled. “What do you mean he never said?”

  “He s-said t-t-tomorrow w-w—”

  “Come on gimpy, spit it out!” Barney said, making a rolling motion with his hand.

  “He said t-tomorrow we was all g-gonna get j-j-jobs.”

  “Jobs? It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get a job.”

  “It’s cold as hell out here tonight, isn’t it Barnabas?” Brother Michael’s voice came from behind Barney.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s kinda chilly,” Barney said.

  Michael was carrying a handful of firewood. He dropped it into the fireplace, reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of toilet paper, and strategically placed it into the wood. From another pocket, he produced a book of matches. Within moments, a brand new fire was popping and crackling at their feet.

  “So…what did you think of the earthquake, Brother Michael?” Barney said.

  “That was not an earthquake, Barnabas.”

  “Really? Sure felt like an earthquake from where I was sittin’.”

  “‘How thou art fallen from heaven, o Lucifer, son of the morning.’” Michael quoted, staring into the fire. “’How thou art cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations.’ How many earthquakes say things like that, Barnabas?”

  Barney felt uncomfortable. He’d heard it too, but he didn’t want to think about it.

  “Gather around me, my brothers,” Michael said, motioning for the two men to move closer. Pete moved quickly. Barney held back a moment before slowly moving in.

  “Barnabas,” Michael said, “who do you say that I am?”

  “Like you said, you’re Brother Michael…whatever that means.”

  “The voice you heard tonight, the one you called an earthquake, was the second sign foretelling the coming of the only begotten of the father, whose shoelaces I am unworthy to untie. Soon there will come a third sign. The third sign will horrify the world and bring it to its very knees. All three of these signs will appear before the child is born.”

  “W-what’s the f-first sign, Brother Michael?” Pete said.

  Michael ignored his question. “Peter, who do you say that I am?”

  “You’re B-Brother Michael,” Pete said softly, “my f-friend.”

  Barney felt a stab of jealousy.

  Brother Michael, silhouetted against the blackness of night, slowly stood up and smiled down at Pete. Pete jumped and scrambled backwards, narrowly avoiding the fire. Barney yelped and jumped to his feet. Standing slightly behind Brother Michael, to the right and to the left, two huge figures appeared and stood glowing in the firelight. The being standing to the right placed a colossal hand on Brother Michael’s shoulder and began speaking in a voice that somehow sounded familiar, as old as time itself.

  “This is my son, champion of the only begotten; of him I am well pleased. He is the first of three. You are the first of many. You have been chosen to bear witness of him, as he has been chosen to bear witness of he who is to come. He is the first of three. You are the first of many!”

  They were gone as quickly as they had appeared. Michael slowly sat back down on the rock where he’d been sitting. Barney and Pete stood staring at him. Finally, Michael spoke softly.

  “I am the first of three, the first of three great signs. You are the first of many. The first disciples, the first of many disciples. I will teach you many things, and you will bear witness of my teachings and me, as I will bear witness of he who is to come, the only begotten of the Father.” After a long pause he continued. “Ask me anything, I will tell you everything.”

  The campsite fell silent; only the crackling sound of the fire could be heard.

  Pete finally summoned the courage and sat down at Michael’s feet. “Brother M-Michael, d-did you s-say I c-c-could ask you anything, and, and you’d t-t-tell m-me everything?”

  “Yes, Peter, ask me anything.”

  “Well, this is k-kinda s-stupid.”

  “Go on, Peter, ask your question.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “Why…do I…s-s-stutter?”

  Barney snickered, drawing a fiery glare from Michael.

  “W-well, I said it was s-stupid.” Pete said, lowering his eyes.

  Michael reached down and gently patted Pete on the shoulder. “It’s not stupid at all, Peter. I understand what it was like for you to grow up with an impairment that invited constant cruel ridicule your entire life. It must have been dreadfully painful, especially coming from your own father.”

  Tears welled in Pete’s eyes.

  “But it turns out there’s a reason for your impairment. You stutter so you will believe.”

  Barney crinkled his eyebrows and looked up from his place at the fire. “Huh?”

  Pete glanced around at Barney and Brother Michael. “I don’t know what that means either.”

  “You stutter so you will believe,” Michael repeated.

  Pete looked at Michael and shook his head. “Sorry, Brother Michael, I don’t get it.”

  “Pete,” Barney said, “say that again.”

  “Huh?” Pete said, scratching his chin.

  Michael smiled at Barney.

  “Repeat what you just said to Brother Michael.”

  Pete looked up at Michael, who smiled and nodded.

  “I don’t remember what I said. I just wanted to know why I stutter—”

  “Pete!” Barney hooted. “You didn’t stutter. Not once!”

  Pete’s face dropped. “I didn’t stutter, did I? I didn’t stutter. I’m not stuttering now. Four score and seven years ago our forefathers gave birth to a bowl of chicken. There once was a man from Nantucket…The skunk sat on the stump. The skunk thunk the stump stunk but the stump thunk the skunk stunk.”Pete began chanting faster and faster. “The skunk sat on the stump. The skunk thunk the stump stunk but the stump thunk the skunk stunk.” His eyes filled with tears as he chanted over and over, clapping his hands to the rhythm. He chanted until he became too emotional to continue and he began to cry. Brother Michael cried too.

  “It’s a miracle,” Barney said softly, staring at Brother Michael in the firelight. “It’s a real miracle.”

  Nine days later

  ~~~

  The wildly gyrating news footage zoomed through the pandemonium and settled onto the horror staring back with black, glistening eyes. The focus waned and the camera wobbled as something out of sight banged against it. The face of a frantic woman came into view. Instantly, the camera was back, focused on the nightmarish aberration. The oozing mouth was moving.

  “Woe! Woe! Woe to the inhabitants of the earth!” The camera began shaking wildly. “Woe! Woe! Woe to the inhabitants of the earth!” The surreal, terrifying scene bucked against the sounds of screaming. “How thou art fallen from heaven, o Lucifer, son of the morning! How thou art cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!” The unblinking footage bounced and blurred against the pandemonium.

  “It’s been nine days since the great earthquake. We’ve all seen the footage, we’ve all heard the sounds, and felt the earth move. What does it all mean? This is Hugh Brolley reporting live, from CNR headquarters. With us in studio is Dr. Stephen Fulbright, the author of the bestselling book The Paranormal Crutch. Also joining us is the executive editor of The Conservative Eye News, Reverend Lloyd Neal.

  Dr. Fulbright, we have the footage. According to everyone involved, it was a clinical impossibility for Mr. Edward Selander, the man in the film, to do what he did.”

  “But he did it. How could it be impossible?”

  “And- and- please let me finish, scientists around the world are saying that a worldwide earthquake is impossible.”

  “There again, how could it be impossible if it happened?”


  “Let me make my point, Doctor. Some exceptionally prominent people are saying this wasn’t an earthquake at all.”

  “Who’s saying that? Of course it was an earthquake. Are they saying what happened in California wasn’t an earthquake?”

  “Scientists are saying that whatever it was, triggered the actual earthquake in California.”

  “I don’t know who they are. Are they saying it was a supernatural event?”

  “I’m saying these people had some real problems with the so-called ‘worldwide earthquake.’ First of all, the epicenter had apparently been in downtown Nashville, Tennessee, a place not known for its seismic activity. And it was unlike virtually every other known earthquake ever recorded. This one seemed to build momentum as it moved further away from its epicenter.”

  “So?”

  “Also, unlike every earthquake ever recorded, this one didn’t originate from tectonic activity.”

  “So? How are they saying it originated? Are they saying it was a supernatural event? That’s all I need to know.”

  “The scientists we talked to have no idea how this so-called earthquake originated, but doesn’t it bother you that it originated from the very place this footage was filmed, on the very day, hour, and minute it was filmed?”

  “No, no, no, we can’t be sure when this footage was filmed.”

  “Excuse me, Hugh, can I jump in here?”

  “Yes, by all means, Reverend Neal.”

  “This footage was shot by a well-known and respected news crew. There were several witnesses, including a United States senator.”

  “Senator Groyden was in a hospital room down the hall. Let’s keep our facts straight, Reverend.”

  “There were three nurses and the news crew. How do you explain the death certificate stating that Mr. Selander died at the very moment the earthquake started?”

  “Easy. It was a fake.”

  “Oh come on, Doctor. You’re telling me the nurses, the news team, and the hospital all took part in some elaborate scheme to dupe the world? For what reason?”

  “I’m saying we had some very strange and abnormal seismic activity. I’m saying it brought out all the kooks.”

  “Oh, I see. They were all kooks.”

  “Well, what do you think it all meant, Reverend? Do you think it was a message from God?”

  “Of course!”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. Everything can be explained away by this all- enveloping God myth. That’s why you have to buy my book, The Paranormal Crutch. In bookstores everywhere.”

  “Nice pitching, DiMaggio.”

  “Excuse me? DiMaggio wasn’t a pitch—”

  “Let’s go over what happened, shall we Doctor?”

  “By all means, Reverend Neal.”

  “Mr. Selander, brain dead—he had been in a coma for two months—sat up in his bed and quoted Isaiah 14:12 to the letter. The entire world heard his quote in the form of a never before experienced, non-tectonic, worldwide, earthquake. Then the man dropped dead in front of a news camera. What is it gonna take to convince you, Doctor?”

  “We had a strange earthquake, Reverend Neal. Everything else you just said was bunk.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. We appreciate you coming into the studio to chat with us. On to other related news, scientists continue to be amazed at what little damage the earthquake caused throughout the world as a whole. Only seventeen people were reported killed while fifty were injured. Most of the deaths and injuries occurred during the secondary earthquake in the Los Angeles, California, area. Business and services worldwide were able to resume normal activity within a week. I’m Hugh Brolley, thank you for watching CNR news.”

  ~~~

  Deep in the great void of space, the school bus-sized craft floated 380 miles over the marbled turquoise planet. Its orbital speed, around 17,500 miles per hour, insured that it would return to this very spot, somewhere over the west coast of Africa every 97 minutes. The gleaming chrome cylinder, with its odd wing-like protrusions, glistened against the blackness of space. Suddenly, the craft’s four reaction wheels whirred to life. The gyros aboard the Hubble space telescope began tugging the big craft hard to port, as the hatch door energized and slowly swung open.

  The craft methodically maneuvered around until the precise Fine Guidance Sensors began to slow the gyros down. The bulky telescope coasted to a stop exactly where it was told and quickly began focusing on a tiny point somewhere between the earth and star cluster NGC 3532. Once in place, the four cameras located within the Hubble’s wide field and planetary camera began recording data.

  Camera number four was recording a large panoramic view of the area, a view that would later be scaled down to be in proportion with the other three images being recorded simultaneously. The magnified view then fell on WFPC2’s planetary camera. It was viewing a region of space four times smaller than that seen by the wide field cameras, but was recording four times as much detail, focusing on an area no larger than the state of California and two and a quarter trillion miles away.

  Three hours later, deep in the lush, green Puerto Rican hills, 26 electric motors located at the Arecibo Observatory whirred to life and began tugging the vast Gregorian dome—suspended 450 feet above the inverted reflector—until it was over the exact spot corresponding with the frequency of the same small area of space.

  Near San Diego, California, at the Palomar Observatory, two 125 ton dome shutters began swinging open. At the Atacama Large Millimeter Array, deep in the Atacama Desert of Chile, 64 colossal antennas, each spanning forty feet, began eerily moving in unison like mammoth faces staring into the sky. They moved until they located their programmed coordinates and stopped. Within hours, computers were crunching out the numbers as all over the world scientists frantically scrambled, checking and rechecking the disturbing data, now pouring in from everywhere.

  ~~~

  Brian Mines turned and locked the door to the bank. It was all but over. Two weeks earlier, when the earthquake hit, he thought for sure he’d be caught. With the banking operation down, it would’ve been impossible to get that $30,000 back into the system without his wife finding out it was gone. He was not a rich man and it was only a matter of time before she noticed the missing money. He’d been hiding the checkbook and luckily all online access to their account was unavailable because of the quake.

  Within the last few days, he’d been able to slowly filter the old money through the system replacing it with new money which he quickly deposited back into his account. So far, he’d been able to launder $24,000. He’d be able to get the last $6,000 from a shipment coming in the following morning. Then it would finally be over.

  As he drove toward his home in Brentwood, he realized how incredibly tired he was. For the last few weeks since the day of the quake, the day that strange young man had changed his life forever, he’d mindlessly been obsessed with getting the money back into his checking account. He hadn’t had much time to think about anything else. Now, dark, unsettling thoughts began to emerge. Would Michael Brothers keep his end of the bargain? If he didn’t, what could he do about it anyway? How did he know about little Hanna, where she was buried? No one knew that but him. He could be sure of that. If anyone had known about it, he would’ve been in prison now instead of driving down I-40.

  Poor little Hanna…if only she hadn’t started screaming like that. She was a couple years younger than him, a lot when you’re only twelve years old. She didn’t mind what they were doing, at first. They shouldn’t have been doing that. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He would’ve given anything if he hadn’t put his hand where he did, but she didn’t need to start screaming like that. He put his arm around her neck to shut her up…but she died…and so fast. Only years later did he realize he had cut off the blood supply to her brain.

  “Oh God,” he said out loud, remembering the moment he realized she was dead. They had been building the road in front of his best friend Tyler’s new house and they had just finished d
igging a trench for the water pipe. He put her in there under the cover of darkness, put his jacket over her, and covered her up with a couple feet of dirt. Tears welled in his eyes as he remembered that night.

  “Hanna, Hanna,” they were calling for her all night long, searching for her all over the neighborhood. He could still hear her mother crying as she called out. He could hear her calling and crying as he lay in his bed, the first of many, many sleepless nights. The next morning he was too upset for school. His mother wasn’t surprised. After all, the missing child was a friend of his. He spent the day staring out the window watching anxiously as neighbors and police continued searching the neighborhood. By then, they were all certain she had been taken far away.

  After a few days the search for her was called off. The work crew arrived and began working just inches from where Hanna’s body lay buried. He thought he’d lose his mind each time a worker jumped in and out of the trench. Finally, they unknowingly finished burying her along with the pipe they had been working on. A week later, she was under the brand new blacktop road in front of his best friend’s house. There she remained, resurfacing only in his frequent nightmares. He’d never told anyone, not a soul, so how could Michael Brothers have known?

  He pulled into his driveway a little relieved to see the lights in the bedroom were out. Marge was already in bed. He quietly opened the front door and made his way downstairs to his den, mixed himself a Crown and cola and settled down to watch TV. He scrolled through the dozens of channels until he found the news and threw the remote onto the couch.

  “Just one call is all you need,” the attorney said, smiling into the camera. Brian threw his feet on the coffee table. A large, round-faced man appeared, waving a check.

  “Rupert Tuckett got me half a million dollars.”

  The camera switched back. “I can’t guarantee you half a million dollars for your accident,” the smiling attorney said, speaking in a thick southern accent, “but I’ll sure see to it that you get every penny ya’ll deserve.”

  His smiling face gave way to an attractive African-American woman, sitting behind a desk in front of a large room. Techno music thumped as numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The music faded and a close up of the women’s face came into view.