The Second Coming

by J. Fritschi

  Father John reached into the side of his robe and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and began to pack them with a whack on the counter.

  “You smoke too?” James said astonished.

  Father John pulled out a cigarette, placing it precariously on his moist lips. Leaving the open pack on the counter, he reached into his pocket and produced a disposable white lighter and held the flame to the end of the cigarette as he puffed on it until there was a glowing orange ember.

  Father John took a drag from his cigarette and closed his eyes. “I remember when I first found out that mom died while giving birth to me,” Father John said reflectively as smoke slowly dissipated from his mouth and nose. “Mathew got mad at me one day, I don’t remember why, and told me that it was my fault that Mom was dead. When I asked Dad later what he meant by that, he told me that my mom had died due to complications while in labor with me.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette into his empty beer bottle as the smoke streamed into the kitchen air. “He told me that it was no fault of my own and that it was God’s will, but I felt responsible for her death.” He took another drag, exhaled and took a swallow from his beer. “He explained that we could not know why God did these things and that we just have to have faith that it is part of his grand plan.”

  James looked at his brother with a long face of remorse as he pulled out a stool and sat at the island and listened intently.

  “When I asked him what faith meant, he told me that it was an unquestioning trust in something.” Father John was sitting, leaning over casually with his right elbow on the counter holding his cigarette up as the smoke trailed off and his left hand grasped the beer bottle on the counter. “He explained that if I saw God with my own eyes then I would trust that he was real and believe in him. Faith, he said, is believing in God without ever seeing him and trusting your life with him because he was something I knew in my heart to be true even without evidence to support his existence.” Father John held the cigarette to his lips between his thumb and forefinger like he was holding a joint and took another drag, exhaling streams of smoke out his nostrils. “He told me that God has a special plan for me and that if I put my faith in God, one day I would know why he took my mother away from me and what his plan is.”

  James watched his brother with a look of amazement, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

  “At first I didn’t notice anything different about myself, but as I got older I realized that I could do things that the other kids couldn’t do and that I understood the way of the world in a way that not even adults could understand,” Father John explained with a proud reflective gaze. “I have the power to heal and save; I have the power of persuasion and I can convince people to agree with me simply by saying something with conviction. I was gifted and blessed with power and knowledge beyond my comprehension,” he said shaking his head with astonishment as he took another drag from his cigarette and chased it with a swig of his beer.

  “That is when I decided to dedicate my life to my faith in God and immersed myself in the study of religion. I know there is a reason why I am here and why my mom died and I want to know more. I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge and enlightenment. I need to understand how we fit in his grand plan,” Father John continued as he took a drag from his cigarette and dropped the butt into the empty bottle as it sizzled on the counter. “That’s why I left home and traveled the world to learn the teachings from scholars and holy aesthetics, hoping that they could teach me the truth and tell me how to become enlightened, but the more I learned, the more I realized that enlightenment is not something that can be taught. It has to be experienced. That is why there are so few people who are enlightened.”

  “What did you do?” James asked captivated by his brother’s tale.

  “I went on a sabbatical to the Vatican and met the most exquisite woman you have ever seen and fell in love with her,” he recalled fondly. “She taught me things I never knew were possible and opened my eyes to a whole new world. The love we shared made me feel closer to God than I ever thought possible.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “For over a year we lived together and laughed and loved and danced. That is where I picked up these vices,” he said sardonically motioning to the cigarettes and beers sitting on the granite counter. “I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and I asked her to marry me but she told me the timing wasn’t right. She knew me better than I knew myself,” he said with a reflective pause. “She knew that one day I would leave her in my quest for enlightenment.”

  “Tell me about her.” James pleaded. “What is her name? Where did you live?”

  For the next couple of hours the two brothers sat at the kitchen island drinking beers together as Father John regaled him with his exploits. He told him about the enchanting Arianna and how they lived in her apartment above the art studio and how they entertained their powerful and wealthy clientele with lavish parties. He explained that because selling art was just a game and that it didn’t truly matter to him that he became a very successful art dealer. It was because he didn’t worry if someone bought a piece of art or not that he was able to talk about the beauty and meaning of the art in such a way that he was able to sell more than if his life depended on it. Father John understood that the key to selling was to establish a relationship of trust with the purchaser instead of trying to sell it in order to make money. He told James about all of the money they made and the people they met and the parties they had and James listened with a mesmerized glow to his face.

  Nothing mattered to Father John except Arianna’s love and she would at times become aggravated with his flippant attitude towards the business that allowed them to live the life they lived. She didn’t understand how he could be so care free and he would explain that because he had nothing when he started, he had nothing to lose. He told her all of the things he did were for her and that they were insignificant to him. In the end, all of the money and parties meant nothing to him and he realized he was left with an empty, self gratifying life and even though he loved Arianna with all of his being, it wasn’t enough. His journey was not over. He still had a thirst for knowledge and enlightenment and he knew he had to leave. Leaving Arianna was the hardest thing he ever did, but his journey was not over. Something was calling him; pulling him back.

  “I envy you,” James told him with admiration when he was done. “You have lived the most fascinating life on your own terms and because of your faith, you’ve never questioned what you were doing. You let life guide you where it may.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Father John warned him with an ironic wave of his finger as he got up from his stool. “My life may seem like an adventure, but I’ve spent it in search of an elusive answer that might not be attainable. Arianna once told me that I am a lot like a drug addict in search of the high that doesn’t exist. I keep getting little tastes of the answer I am searching for, but it’s never enough to fully satisfy me. It’s just enough to keep me searching for the answer I may never find.”

  chapter 53

  AFTER THEY FINISHED talking in the kitchen, Father John went upstairs to visit his father. He could see his dad’s decrepit body lying motionless under the neatly folded sheets of his bed, hooked up with tubes to life support machines. His heart was filled with a hopeless sense of sorrow as he paused outside the door to reflect on the great love and admiration he felt for this noble man. He watched as the machines pumped and beeped life into his father and he knew in his soul that this once great man, who devoted his life selflessly to raising his 5 sons as children of God with a moral and righteous upbringing, this man of unyielding integrity, would soon be joining God and his dearly departed wife in Heaven. It was time and Father John was going to make his dad’s transition to the afterlife as painless as possible. It gave him solace to know that all he had learned over all these years, from men wiser than he, could now be used to help his beloved father.

  The pungent stench of urine mixed with the stal
e smell of an old person caused him to wince. It was a thick, heavy smell that seemed to stick to his clothes and was not helped by the lack of ventilation in the room. He moved over to the wall adjacent to his dad’s bed and opened the dark plantation shutters and raised the window. A cool breeze swept over the father as he grabbed a lacquered side chair from the wall next to the life support equipment and placed it beside his father.

  He sat down in the chair and stared at his father’s ashen face with regretful admiration. They lost so many years when Father John was off in search of enlightenment. There was so much he had learned that he wanted to share with his father, but it was too late. All the years he was searching and seeking knowledge and answers caused him to neglect his time with his father and family and there was nothing that could be done to change that. He was going to do his best to make up for lost time in the brief time his father had left.

  He reached out for his father’s frail hand and held it in his. It was boney with thin, loose skin. Holding his handed reminded him of the security he used to feel as a child when his dad held his hand tenderly. They used to play a game where Father John’s dad would squeeze his hand three short times which meant “I love you” and Father John would squeeze his father’s hand back four quick times which meant “I love you more”. His hand had felt so small in his dad’s large hand and now his dad’s fragile hand felt so small in his hand. It was the cycle of life and Father John smiled and gave his dad’s hand three gentle squeezes with a heavy heart as he trembled with the overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry. Gritting his teeth and fighting back the tears, he bowed his head and prayed in silence.

  The silence of his prayer was interrupted when he felt his father’s hand flinch in his. Father John lifted his head and saw that his father’s eyes were half mast. His father attempted to smile at him under his oxygen mask and then to Father John’s delight, his father feebly squeezed his hand three shaky times. Father John smiled lovingly as he held back his tears and gently squeezed his hand four times.

  Father John leaned forward and pet his father’s greasy, thinning hair with his right hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently, quietly choking back his tears.

  His father reached for his oxygen mask and fumbled futilely to remove it. Father John reached over and gently grabbed his hand, resting it on the white sheet that covered the belly of his disintegrating body and then pulled the mask off over the top of his face.

  “There’s my boy,” his dad said with the creaky voice of someone who did not use their vocal cords much. “I knew you would come. I asked God to deliver you to me.”

  “I’m here now Dad. I’ll take care of you. Everything is going to be alright.”

  His father smiled a knowing smile of agreement and then squeezed his hand tight as he grimaced with pain and looked away ashamed with his condition. He held his sons hand tight as he waited for the draining wave of pain to subside. “It’s my time,” his dad told him with a strained voice. “Now that you are here, I’m ready.”

  Father John nodded his head with knowing approval. “It’s alright Dad. Your place is with the lord above. You will be with Mom soon.”

  His father’s eyes welled with tears and as he blinked, they ran down the wrinkles in his face like a cascading river. He struggled to catch his breath. “It is time I shared something with you,” he coughed in between short breaths as he struggled to get the words out. “It’s about the night you were born.”

  Father John lifted the oxygen mask back over his dad’s nose and mouth and shushed him tenderly. “It’s best not to speak now Dad. Rest and we can talk tomorrow,” he told him lovingly as he rubbed his head. His father smiled at him and squeezed his hand three times. Father John knew the end was near and as he tenderly squeezed his dad’s hand four quick times, he told his father everything that needed to be said with his eyes. As his dad closed his eyes and turned his head away from his son, Father John sat holding his skeleton hand, listening to the air pump in and out of the life support system, waiting for it to stop and for the beeping sound of his father’s heart monitor to flat line. As he held his dad’s hand, he could feel his father’s pain and what it felt like to be dying and he closed his eyes and willed some of that pain unto himself. He could feel his father’s burden lighten and his father willing himself to stay alive. He was not quite ready to go and at that moment, Father John knew his dad had something important to tell him about what happened the night he was born. He could feel the struggle and torment deep in his father’s soul. It was a burden that Father John would know well all too soon.

  chapter 54

  BOULEVARD’S WAS BUSTLING with the clamor of voices and the loud sound of dishes and silverware being swapped about as Mike held the heavy glass door open for Kate. The large, high ceiling room was filled with patrons sitting at their white clothed tables laughing and conversing. Plates of elaborate meals were being served by waiters and waitresses dressed in black pants with white button down shirts and black ties. The red wine flowed freely. The smell of garlic, roasting meats and sea food filled the air as Mike and Kate approached the hostess’ stand. The hostess was a pretty young lady with dark flowing hair, dressed in a long dress who greeted them with an inviting smile like she was expecting them.

  “Hi. How are you?” Mike said pleasantly as he stood tall behind Kate. “We have a diner reservation for two under McCormick.”

  As the young lady checked her reservation list and table availability, Mike glanced over at the large mirrored bar with its brass railings and noticed that one of the bartenders was a young blonde gal. She was the perfect potential victim for the Sterling Killer except the bar wasn’t in Oakland. Mike figured she was safe, especially since the father was under surveillance, but he also knew that she was probably stressed from everything she was hearing and reading in the news. He wanted to tell her that everything would be alright and that they had a suspect. Kate saw the look of concern constricting his face.

  “Is everything alright?”

  Mike’s face transformed into a crooked, distressed smile. “Every time I go to a bar now, I look to see if the bartenders are blonde.”

  Kate looked over at the bar and saw the bartender and a cringe of compassion flashed across her face.

  “You would be amazed at how many young blonde bartenders there actually are,” Mike said disturbingly.

  “Do you want to go talk to her?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mike said shaking his head. “We have the father under surveillance so she’s safe for now.”

  “If I was a blond bartender, I would be looking for a different job.”

  “Right this way please,” the hostess said as she grabbed two menus and led them through the tables to their booth in the back of the restaurant. Mike scanned the room for anyone suspicious as he took Kate’s black sequined shall from her shoulders as she sat. He handed it to the hostess and then eased his way into the booth. The hostess handed them each a menu and then told them that their waitress would be right with them.

  “I love this place,” Kate said with a hint of romanticism as she gazed around at the dark wood paneled walls. “My family used to come here every year during the Christmas holiday after shopping. It’s so warm and cheerful.”

  “They have great food and they pour a good drink,” Mike concurred distractedly.

  A young lady with curly, sandy hair showed up at the end of their table with her black bow tie and a white apron tied tightly around her waist. “How are you folks doing tonight?”

  “Fine thank you,” Kate replied sweetly before Mike could say anything.

  “My name is Molly and I will be your server tonight,” she informed them as she removed a pen and leather bound ticket. “Would you like something from the bar to start you off?”

  “I’ll have a Coors Light please,” Kate said cheerfully with her hands in her lap.

  “Sapphire Martini, dirty, on the rocks please,” Mike said calmly as he leaned forward with both elb
ows on the table, clasping his hands together.

  The waitress disappeared and left Mike and Kate admiring the ambiance of the restaurant and making small talk. When she returned shortly thereafter, she placed the drinks in front of them and proceeded to tell them the specials and then told them she would be back to take their orders in a few minutes.

  Mike raised his glass and offered a toast. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers?” Kate replied somewhat disappointed.

  “To a beautiful woman who I hope I don’t scare away.”

  They clinked the rims of their glasses and took a sip as they leered into each other’s eyes.

  “How’s your martini?”

  “Very good.”

  “How do you drink Gin straight like that? Doesn’t it taste terrible?”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” he informed her, feeling as though he had to justify himself but not wanting to sound defensive. “You probably didn’t like beer the first time you drank it, but you enjoyed the way it made you feel, so you kept drinking it.”

  “I know, but there is a big difference between the flavor of beer and gin.”

  “I started off drinking Gin and tonics and then someone introduced me to the martini,” he explained careful so as not to sound like a complete lush. “Once you try one and feel the rush, you want to have another.”

  “Sounds kind of dangerous.”

  “Someone once said, ‘I like my martini’s like I like my women. One is never enough and three is too many’,” Mike told her cheerfully. “Or was it vice versa? I guess it doesn’t matter. You get the point,” he said feeling foolish and wishing he didn’t say it.

  Kate nodded her head with an approving grin. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  They both sipped on their drinks and then set them down within arm’s reach.

  “What can you tell me about the murders?” she asked with a fascinated twinkle in her eye.