Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  The small gathering nodded in agreement. The small group left. Carson and Stokes were silent until they reached the car.

  "What do you think?" Stokes asked looking intensely at Carson's solemn face.

  "I may have come off a bit cocky in my position, but now I'm not sure again."

  "Why?"

  "Your speech about shaking the foundations of religion. They're all serious enough to meet and discuss this. There may be something beyond science..."

  "Nonsense," Stokes replied.

  Carson raised his eyebrows.

  "What are you talking about?”

  "Until we have exhausted every possible avenue in medical research and then some, I have to believe it's some kind of disease. However, whatever this is could be perpetrated by you know who," Stokes explained.

  "Satan?"

  "There is real evil in the world and everyone is exposed to it in a lesser or greater degree. If you are unfortunate enough to experience it to a greater degree then you have a stronger belief that it really exists. Take someone who has never had a bad experience. Luck seems to favor them; everything goes their way; they are successful, happy, and content. These people see the world through rose-colored glasses and cannot even fathom anything bad happening to them. They don’t have strong beliefs in evil, and don’t do much to fight it. They believe evil is something that happens to other people. When a crisis happens, they half believe it is happening to them and make the wrong decisions."

  Carson shook his head and remained silent the rest of the way home. When he opened the door to his darkened house the dim light from a small plug-in nightlight in the foyer cast a soft yellow sheen over the varnished oak floor. As he stepped inside, the floor creaked and the air was motionless filled with the ancient smell of a house that had weathered more than eight hundred seasons. He went upstairs and pushed the partially-opened door to his bedroom. The hinges struggled to move producing an eerie creaking sound that startled Linda sleeping in their king- size bed.

  "Is that you Carson?" she said in a sleep-filled voice.

  "Yeah, I have to fix those hinges. Sorry, I woke you."

  "I was half awake anyway. You know I can't sleep when you're not home."

  Carson took off his clothes, put on striped pajamas, and slipped under the covers next to Linda. He stared into the endless darkness thinking. He looked at the clock - 12:10 am. He dozed for what seemed like a few minutes, and then awoke, and looked at the clock a second time - 1:13 am. He turned on the small light on his nightstand with the stained glass shade and picked up the small silver cordless telephone.

  "Hello, Centers for Disease Control," a woman answered.

  "I'm looking for Frank Tessler," Carson said.

  A few seconds of white noise.

  "He’s not in. Do you want to leave a message?"

  "Sure."

  The call was transferred to Tessler’s voicemail. Carson listened to his friends voice and hung up. He held the phone in his hand and stared at it as if it were going to tell him something, give him more information. Then he put it down, turned off the light, and finally fell into a deep sleep.

  The Omen - Chapter 17

  Carson felt a change in the air as he and Linda stepped out of their Victorian house onto the wrap-around porch. The air was cool, clear, and smelled of the ocean, an indication that summer was ending and fall was approaching. He loved the cool breezes that blew off the ocean during a hot humid day, but now the weather was changing to its unpredictable patterns - one day could be hot and summer like, the next could be cool and damp like the fall. He felt lucky that he could afford a home where the cool winds prevailed and the smell of the ocean permeated everything.

  But, this evening, however, was different. A fear fell upon him like a dreaded weight with an intensity that was stronger than usual. He was skittish and nervous. He walked down the six steps off the porch and towards his car in the gravel-blanketed driveway. Linda went around to the other side of the car. His hard leather shoes forced the stones to rub together making a crunching sound. He dismissed his fear as a reaction to his lack of sleep and the strong coffee Linda made for him after dinner. He got in the car, waited for Linda to settle in and drove to the church for Friday night Bingo. Linda had volunteered Carson and herself to help distribute the cards and playing pieces, confirm winners, and hand out prizes.

  They arrived early and sat at the head table in the large meeting room in the church basement. It was especially crowded this Friday since the story of the Hellfire Syndrome was published and since Pastor Millard was supposed to make an appearance and talk about the most recent events. Carson heard his name come out of the whispers around him and he knew people were talking about him and the strange events.

  A door in the front of the meeting room suddenly opened and a robed, elderly pastor came out and stood next to Carson at the head table. He took his time preparing his paperwork then looked up in a gesture indicating that he was ready to start.

  "I see we have quite a turnout this evening," he said, his voice booming through the room’s loud speakers.

  The crowd fell silent and all eyes moved forward.

  "I'm Pastor Herbert Wilcox, formerly of the Grace United Methodist Church in Red Bank. Pastor Millard asked me to fill in for him while he attends a meeting of the World Methodist Council in London," the pastor explained with some difficulty. "I'm sure you all have your lucky charms with you tonight and I hope there will be a lot of winners."

  His voice faded losing its intensity and vibrancy.

  "I know many of you are concerned about what's been happening lately..." Pastor Wilcox said stopping to catch his breath.

  Carson watched him carefully. The fear he felt earlier returned like a tidal wave, but he didn't know why he was afraid - the fear was just there.

  "If you have faith in God, we can overcome this evil...if you have lived a pure life, a good life then you have nothing to fear," the pastor said. "Heaven awaits those who are good and hell awaits those who are evil."

  The pastor’s eyed rolled upward, and he clutched his chest slowly collapsing to the floor. The crowd gasped in horror. Carson instinctively grabbed hold of the minister as he fell and awkwardly lowered him to the floor. He quickly opened his robes and shirt and checked for a pulse. The parishioners surrounded Carson until he pushed them away with the movement of his hand. The crowd backed away slowly, but several elderly women remained and knelt down to help him.

  "It's cardiac arrest!" Carson shouted. The faces looked down at him unmoving. "A heart attack! Call an ambulance!"

  Carson administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation alternating with cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but the pastor did not respond. He worked harder and harder, and a few of the older women standing nearby began to cry. Carson's fear returned when he noticed that the pastor's mouth felt warmer and warmer each time he placed his mouth over it and blew into his lungs. He thought the man was coming around and worked harder and harder, but then Carson smelled a foul odor - the odor was familiar to him and brought back painful memories. The visions of those horrible memories flashed through his mind like a slide show. Then the pastor's body jerked and convulsed, shaking and thrasing uncontrollably like a fish out of water. Everyone backed away and Carson tried to hold him down. Then there was a searing sound like that of meat cooking in a frying pan and pastor's skin bubbled and pulsed. His skin turned yellow, then red, and then brown. Several women fainted; others ran out screaming.

  "It's the devil, I tell you. He's come to get us all and God can't help us anymore!" a voice yelled out of the crowd. "There's the proof!"

  "It's an omen. It's the end of the world!" a woman screamed.

  "The gates of heaven are closed and we are all going to hell!" another man yelled. "If the devil can take a pastor, he can take us all!"

  The crowd bolted out of the church like spooked wild horses. The older, less capable seniors, who moved slower, were trampled in the mad rush. People ran in all directions outside of t
he church nearly knocking down the three paramedics making their way into the church. The paramedics moved up the church steps as fast as they could - two carrying a stretcher, the third carrying a small bottle of oxygen and two large medical bags. When they entered the meeting room, five seniors lay on the floor moaning. One paramedic attended to them.

  "Over here!" Carson yelled.

  The men with the stretcher walked over the people on the floor and rushed toward Carson. Carson knew the paramedics.

  "He's gone," Carson said sadly.

  "What happened to him? Was there a fire?" one of the paramedics asked. "I've seen bodies like that come out of a fire."

  "It's a long story. Let's get him to the hospital," Carson said. "Try to keep this to yourselves. I don't want the media to get a hold of it until we know what's going on."

  "Sure," one man said. The two nodded in agreement. As they moved out of the church with the pastor’s body on the stretcher, one talked into a walkie-talkie and ordered two additional ambulances for the others.

  "Are the others ok?" Carson said as they passed the one paramedic attending the fallen seniors.

  "I can handle it until the others arrive," he said.

  Carson rode in the ambulance with the dead pastor and Linda went home. When he arrived at the hospital, he sat down in one of the cushy blue chairs in the lobby and pulled out his cell phone.

  "Hello, Centers for Disease Control. Can I help you?"

  "Yes, this is Doctor Carson Hyll from Ocean Village Hospital in New Jersey. Is Doctor Frank Tessler available? I have to talk to him; it's an emergency."

  "I'll check," the receptionist said.

  The few seconds seemed like an eternity to Carson.

  "I'm sorry, Doctor Hyll. Doctor Tessler is not on duty tonight. Can someone else help you?"

  "No. I must talk with Doctor Tessler. Please contact him and tell him it's an emergency. He can reach me at the hospital here. Here's the number."

  Carson closed his phone and wondered if he did the right thing. He got up and headed for Stokes office. He waited a few minutes in the hallway until Stokes arrived. Once inside, Carson told him what had happened.

  "This is going to blow wide open," Stokes said frantically. "It's out of control unless we can prove it's a disease of some sort! Have you found that patient in the old records, yet?"

  "No, but I will spend all night looking. Those people were hysterical," Carson said fearfully.

  "This is so terrible. I feel so bad I wasn't there. I knew Herbert very well. We were good friends. Mary was sick all day with a stomach virus and a fever and I didn't want to leave her in the house alone. What are we going to do now?" Stokes said sadly.

  "I called a friend at the Centers for Disease Control," Carson said.

  "You did?"

  "I'm just as confused as you are, but deep down I believe we have an unknown, undetectable disease on our hands and it's becoming an epidemic," Carson said.

  "What's that?" Stokes said.

  "What's what?"

  "Listen. Do you hear all that noise? Something's going on! Come on!"

  The two doctors rushed out of the office and headed down the hallway towards the emergency room. Several doctors and nurses were also running in the same direction.

  "Oh my God!" Carson gasped.

  A wall of people pressed up against the double glass doors to the emergency room. The crowd behind it grew thicker and wider as the mob pushed and shoved to get into the hospital. The people at the doors were pushed harder and harder into the doors, and began pushing back with little effect. Carson saw the glass waver slightly from the weight and then he spotted a small crack in the lower corner of the door.

  "OPEN THOSE DOORS!" He screamed at the nurses at the reception desk.

  The head nurse quickly pushed a button activating the automated door opening mechanism, but nothing happened. Carson looked at the doors and at the nurse again.

  "OPEN THE DOORS!" he screamed.

  The nurse pushed the button several times, but the doors stayed closed. The crack was now about eight inches long and growing. Carson ran towards the doors waving his arms.

  "GET BACK! GET BACK!" he screamed, but the crowd ignored him.

  The people against the doors squirmed in pain as they were crushed against the glass. Others desperately tried to move their faces away from the glass to breath. Carson pulled on the door handles, but the doors refused to move. Stokes joined him, each one pulled on one door. The crack was now about a foot long and still growing. The crowd grew and it pushed even harder.

  "CRAAACK!" the glass burst into the emergency room like a rogue wave. Hundreds of shards scattered like a stream of high-pressured water. Stokes jumped back at the right moment avoiding the explosion of glass. People quickly buried Carson in a heap of mangled limbs, blood and glass. Most of the crowd spilled over the bloody pile; others rushed in to find a doctor or an open bed. Stokes and several orderlies pulled several people to their feet, some had lacerations, and others had broken arms. Many were dazed. A nurse led each to a bed in one of the curtained examining areas. Carson pulled himself free from the man that lay on top of him – the man’s limp body did not move after it slowly fell onto the cold tile.

  "My God!" Stokes gasped.

  Carson was soaked in blood. A nurse ran over to him with several towels and wiped the blood off his face. Carson immediately turned to the man and gently turned him over onto his back. Stokes helped. An elderly woman lay next to the man.

  Carson face turned into a mask of fear. Stokes stared at him as if he saw him for the first time.

  "What?"

  "They’re my neighbors,"

  He placed two fingers over his eyes and pulled his lids down. He hesitantly, carefully put his fingers around the bloody shard and pulled it out of the man's neck - the glass had sliced through his main artery just above the Adam's apple.

  The Dream - Chapter 18

  Glowing streams of orange light from an awakening sun sliced through the thick green bush setting the dew on fire. A man dressed in army fatigues appeared out of the large leafy palms and stopped at the other men lying on the ground. His eyes were in shadow partly from the helmet and partly because the fire streams of light from the light beams ran diagonally across his chin. Suddenly his eyes widened and his jaw began to move in slow motion. Fog from the cold ground formed giant wisps that wrapped around his legs like luminous snakes.

  "Kyyyyyyyyyle!" the man finally screamed.

  The man's jaw began to move again in slow motion - he was trying to say something, but there was no sound this time. Then, the bush behind the man parted and several Asian men stood there aiming rifles at the man. Smoke and fire flashed out of the gun's barrels and the man fell forward with his chest and stomach blowing out red and meaty in front of him. As the man fell, the fire streams of light touched his twisted face and Kyle recognized the face.

  "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" Kyle screamed.

  Kyle's could feel his skin turn hot and wet. He began to shake.

  "What's the matter?" Chantress asked.

  "Oh man, what a nightmare," Kyle said sighing in relief.

  "A bad one?"

  "The worst," he said. "It was the man I saw in the restaurant."

  "Are you sure?"

  "The one that appeared here the other night," Kyle said.

  "Oh."

  Kyle went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He looked at his face in the mirror and deeply into his eyes. The windows of his mind, he thought. Who was that man? What does he want and what was he trying to say? As he stared into his eyes, he screamed again. He burst out of the bathroom and ran into the bedroom, jumped into bed, and pulled Chantress close to him.

  "What's the matter with you?" she said.

  "I don't know. Something crazy. I was looking at myself in the mirror and suddenly I saw that man. My face had transformed into his. My eyes were his eyes. It scared the hell out of me," Kyle said.

  "Maybe, this man did somethin
g awful to you when you were a child and now you remember it," Chantress said.

  "No, I don't think so," he replied.

  "Maybe, it was one of your mother's boyfriends."

  "She didn't date anybody except my stepfather."

  "I'm really sorry you're having a bad time," she said caressing his face.

  He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes. He strained his memory in hope of remembering this strange man who appeared in his life like an apparition. A man without an identity, he thought. Who are you mister boogey man? The man who saves the world? Ha! Where are you going? What is your future? Was that really my eyes I saw in the mirror or yours?